Tag Archives: humor

Loft Beds & Bonobos

Disembarking a loft bed has an inherent indecency to it, especially when you’re a nineteen year old college student. Firstly, there’s the unflattering contortions you have have to make to climb down the ladder, which digs into your feet, already two ugly enough appendages. Your stomach folds in on itself, everything hangs in ways it shouldn’t and you just want to get it over with as quickly as possible. You don’t want people to see you getting off a loft bed and you don’t want to see people do it, so maybe you avert your eyes a little when it happens. We climbed trees as children and as monkeys. No young adult looks attractive behaving like either. Not that this deters us in the slightest from doing just that.

It’s an even more unattractive endeavor when you’re going through these humiliating motions in order to take a shit at three in the morning. Thankfully no one witnesses the entire sequence of animalian tendencies, but you know you’re doing it, and now you’re painfully aware that you’re human, just a dirty hairless chimp really, and you probably should have taken a shower before you went to bed because everything’s just uncomfortably sticky. It’s especially fun when, squinting like a blinded chihuahua, you run into someone you know in the hallway. She’s up at two in order to flirt with a boy with whom she has an unspecified relationship, and they’re probably waiting until the common room is completely, assuredly empty in order to have sex there, or something of that nature, because there may be polygamy involved with his best friend, and it’s really very complicated and you don’t want to think about it at three in the morning.

The really concerning part is that if you’re coherent enough to have their fucked up relationship flit across your mind, then the turd you’re about to pass in the bathroom definitely could have flitted through theirs. But then you start thinking about polygamy, because it’s a hell of a lot more interesting, and maybe they all have some sort of arrangement that makes it work out. You don’t know, it could be perfectly natural. Our nearest relation in the animal kingdom is the bonobo and they live in peaceful, utopian little tribes where everyone just happens to have sex with everyone. They’re like hippies except without the secret trust fund to fall back on and without the sad, depressing future domestic life they’ll eventually enter when they hit thirty and start craving stability.

That’s when you reach the communal bathroom and become aware that your neighbor is kneeling at the toilet vomiting up the excessive amount of alcohol she drank two hours previously. And you kind of judge her a little because it’s a weeknight, the parties aren’t poppin’, and it’s just a bit pathetic. However, whatever superiority you may have felt immediately dissipates when you realize that it actually still is the weekend, a Friday no less, and you’re in the grey area between drunk and hungover, and you kind of hate yourself for forgetting that. Because it’s all fun and games until your utopian little tribe falls asleep. You may not be able to have sex with everyone like the bonobos, but at least you can commiserate.

You do your business, wash your hands, and abuse the paper towel dispenser. At this point your smeared makeup just accentuates your imperfections and unexciting averageness, so you don’t really want to look in the mirror but you do it anyway. You kind of poke pointlessly at a red spot for as long as it takes to realize you’re making it worse or until someone walks in on you, whichever comes first.

The lovers in the hallway have disappeared so you hurry back to your room hoping not to see anyone else. You struggle with the door just long enough for some attractively disheveled nobody to walk out of the laundry room looking for the men’s restroom. You’re almost tired enough to pointedly ask him who the hell he is and why he’s in your building but instead you politely tell him that the restroom is on the fifth floor. Then you have a coughing spasm.

This is why you return to bed angry and wake up angry. You really wish you hadn’t left in the first place and you really wish the carefully crafted and restrained person you present to the world were actually real. And this is why loft beds should be abolished.

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A Quick Weather Report

For those of you living under a rock, perhaps you’ve heard that New England is absurd right now. Some snow drifts are taller than me, and you can sled down outdoor stairways (the dining hall looses many trays in winter weather this sustained). Any chance of celebrating Mardi Gras is out of the question right now.

There are icicles hanging from awnings right now. That’s right, icicles. For some reason, I thought this was a phenomena contained to the very far north, but apparently they’re actually a normal thing in New England. Still, I’m impressed by them.

I’m equally impressed by the locals who insist upon ordering iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts. And the fact that people bring their animals out in this weather. That’s not to mention the wild ones. We’ve had subzero windchill, and yet somehow there are still bedraggled pigeons in the train station. Some naive part of me expected (wanted?) to find fully frozen animals underneath the snow. Apparently the only ones that haven’t migrated have burrowed into the ground.

I think people should migrate, and I’m not talking about the sad march to Florida that you make when you reach retirement. I mean every goddamn winter. I want out.

A Healthy Dose of Pessimism: Changing Majors

You know you’re a college student when people stop telling you to follow your dreams.

That's because these dreams are stupid, especially with space entering the competitive market. Stick with firefighting kids, because now only the rich can be astronauts.

That’s because these dreams are stupid, especially with space entering the competitive market. Stick with firefighting kids, because now only the rich can be astronauts.

You know you’re a very screwed college student when you don’t know what those stupid dreams even are. This is why I switched my major today from Music Industry to English. Continue reading

Why This Week Blows

I haven’t written in a long time (a problem which I will address later), but have decided to wield my keyboard again in a misguided attempt to change the world. Or rather, I will talk about myself, seeing as there is so little I know about the world.

Why this week blows:

1) Blizzards

Completely real blizzard Juno blew into the East Coast with the fury of an anti-vaxxer on an online forum. I was subjected to temperatures in the teens, icicles threatening to impale me at every awning, and, later, the perils of black ice and slush. The snowfall earlier this week only added to the slushy disaster that is Boston’s roads, screwing with public transit and with my innocent Californian expectations of winter. Meanwhile, at home it is 60°. Continue reading

I get catcalled for the first time

Last week I was catcalled. It was on the minor side: “Hey, hun, why don’t you smile?”, but a catcall nonetheless. Now, I really wanted to spin around and go all feminist on the perp’s ass. “Look, asshole, women aren’t walking down the street so you can look at our pretty faces, you can go fuck yourself.” Or something of the like. So I turned on the spot to put him in his place.

Except he was a disabled man in a wheelchair. And I wasn’t sure what to do. “Alright, dumbfuck, you have no idea what it’s like to be part of a large group of oppressed people who are only just now making large strides in equality. Nevermind that disabled people are in the exact same situation. Sure, you have no legs, but do you know what it’s like to not have equal pay? Oh wait…you do? Fuck, man…”

So instead I muttered, “Uh, I guess I’ll think about it,” and hightailed put my headphones in. A friend of mine suggested I should have said, “That was uncalled for and normally I’d go all feminist on your ass, but I’m just going to walk away.” (It’s funny because he can’t. I’m a really horrible person.)

I was also street harassed by some foreign high school boys on a bus. “Aye, you are a-very pret-ty! I would-a fuck-a that-a!” I know they were high school boys because they were hanging out the windows of a yellow school bus. I know they were foreign because of their thick accents.

I never experienced street harassment on the west coast. Maybe it’s because I lived in a small town, maybe it’s because everyone on the west coast was substantially prettier than me, but it didn’t happen to me there. The opposite happened. Once, a homeless man called me an “uptight hippy bitch”, which is an oxymoron. Which I pointed out. That was a mistake, and a story to be told another day.

This comes as a surprise because I never considered myself attractive enough to be catcalled. Turns out, that was entirely arbitrary idea, because catcalling doesn’t make you feel attractive. There’s a great artist named Tatyana Fazlalizadeh whose campaign “Stop Telling Women to Smile” came to my school. It’s been amazing to see her artwork plastered around campus.  I strongly suggest you check out the video on the front of her site.

 

Phone call with Mom

A talk on the phone with Mom inevitably begins with asking for money. It’s not that I’m short on money, quite the opposite in fact for a college student, I just didn’t have enough money on my debit card in this instant to buy an online textbook. Plus, I need that money for weed. After the exchange of financial information, the conversation turns to more motherly things, because mine is the stereotypical Jewish mother, and we’re not even Jewish.

Are you sure you don't need me to send you money, dear? I heard college students buy lots of pots. That's for plants, right? I'm glad you understand the importance of gardening.

Are you sure you don’t need me to send you money, dear? I heard college students buy lots of pots. That’s for plants, right? I’m glad you understand the importance of gardening.

Continue reading

5 New Apps On My Phone

1. Tinder

I recently posted about this here. I love Tinder. It gives me license to judge people on face value, which, unfortunately, societal norms don’t allow me to do face to face. Anonymity is a beautiful thing. I’m going on my first Tinder date on Friday. I fully expect to feel as awkward as Mitt Romney at a reggae concert. Yet I look forward to it, because for lonely college students everywhere, the Tinder logo represents the possibility of sex and regret.

Although some people skip straight to the regret.

Although some people skip straight to the regret.

Continue reading