Everybody loves a good cashew. If you don't, you are clearly a communist.
I recently found out something very exciting about my biology class. Our teacher is a very interesting man. (That's not the exciting part.) He comes off completely normal, and in all honesty is a pretty cool guy, but hidden beneath that pleasant exterior is a core of bold pessimism. In the first day of class alone he proved how both Spiderman and 95% of the fashion product world is complete bullshit. I won't bore you with the details. (Mostly because I didn't really process anything he said because I was busy thinking about how I could turn in to a blog.) Anyway, his teaching methods are unique as well. He heavily relies on group projects and group learning, so on the first day he let us choose groups and group names. (We're the Biologizers.) Just after we finished what I like to call the Biolodraft, I thought to myself, "What if my group turns out horrible and the people suck?" But not to worry! He proceeded to tell us that if we had a rotten egg in our group, we should take it to an outside trashcan and throw it away, as it might make us nauseous. Also, if we had a troublesome group member, we could vote them out of the group. I want to make sure you got that, so here it is again in bold: We can vote to kick people out of our group. Oh yeah. Survivor Fall 2011: Biology Class. So as I'm trying to stifle my preemptive power trip, I immediately begin sizing up my group to decide who to make alliances with. Then he goes on to say that not only can we kick someone out of the group, we can kick them out of the class. Not permanently, of course, but for the day. Still, that's giving us some power. I have literally been praying for someone to be a dick so we can kick them out. And the best part is that we vote with the remote clickers, so it's anonymous!! The only negative side is that I'm having a very hard time focusing on the material because I'm so obsessed with the idea of expelling a classmate. I think I'm just going to frame someone.
I think S might be the the most important letter in the alphabet. I came to this conclusion whilst making pasta for dinner, and I said to myself out loud, "I need more pot." Of course I meant to say "I need more pots", but that's not how it came out, and if that had been in a different scenario, say a police department cookoff, I could have had some serious explaining to do.
I think my least favorite thing about parking garages is driving down them. Especially if it's driving down more than two levels. It's kind of like a slide, but instead of fun, smooth, brightly colored plastic, it's rough grey concrete with obstacles on every side and cars speeding towards you around blind curves. Actually, besides the dizzy factor, slides and parking garages are nothing alike. I don't even know why you thought that in the first place.
I know I've been ranting a lot about music lately (I really haven't though), but I've got one more for you. I've decided that we have got to start getting a little more creative with our lyrics. And I'm not counting rap, cause that wouldn't even be fair. Specifically, I'm talking about slow emotional-ish songs. I've also decided that if I hear another song with lyrics even remotely similar to: "Some people laugh, some people cry/ Some people live, some people die" I'm going to track down the writer and personally maim him/her. Seriously though, you can use lie, buy, deep fry, anything but those lyrics. The only thing I haven't decided is whether I'm going to use an aluminum or wooden bat to beat the crap out of them.
I realize this has been discovered by nearly every human in the nation, but in my opinion, the serving sizes for food on the sides of the packages are only applicable for anorexic midgets. Thirteen Cheezits? Yea right.
Going down the stairs with limp arms is much more fun. Try it next time. You won't be disappointed.
I am starting to doubt the legitimacy of certain sayings in the English language. The first one brought to my attention is this: When a male is being skittish or girly, other males with usually say something along the lines of "Come on man, grow a pair!" (A pair as in male genitalia, not pear like the fruit. That would be ridiculous, confusing, and generally unhelpful.) As pointed out by a comedian, this makes no sense at all. "A Pair" is the most sensitive part of the male body, thus growing another pair would make you far more vulnerable. Along these lines, after kicking a curb (by accident), I broke off two toenails and was bleeding. I asked for a bandaid when we got to the apartment, and I was told to "Rub some dirt on it." I didn't, obviously, as I'm not a huge fan of gangrene or hospitals. Yes, I understand the meaning of the saying, which is to suck it up and stop whining because you'll be fine, but I do have to question the origin of the phrase. We all know that when you get an open wound, the first thing you're supposed to do is clean and bandage it so it doesn't get infected. How then did someone come up with the advice to "rub some dirt on it"? That seems amazingly contradictory and downright stupid. Even decades ago when the medical practice was questionable at best, I have a hard time believing people thought it was anything remotely close to a good idea to rub the wound with dirt. It just seems ridiculous.
Fact of the Day: "Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo" is the longest grammatically valid sentence in the English language that only uses one word.
Shout out to Pat Murray.
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