What Pissed Me Off This Week?

So I didn't get chosen to be a student blogger. Tear. Oh well. Now I can write whatever the fuck I want and not have to worry about the school kicking me out for making my school seem like a bunch of sarcastic drunks. I think it's because I'm a white female education major from a blue-collar neighborhood where my folks make too much for a Pell grant and not enough to pay for me to go to school. Yawn. So is everyone else at my school. Affirmative action for the student bloggers. (This liberal-leaning moderate hates affirmative action, p.s.)

"Ponderosa: Now Offering Sweet Iced Tea." Because apparently it was difficult before to open sugar packets, dump and stir. Sweet tea is infecting north of the Mason-Dixon line with full force, thanks to my bffs at the golden arches. "One dollar for all the sugar I should have over the course of three days in one savory drink? Bring it on, bitches!" False. I'm definitely an unsweetened fan. The only time I'll drink sweet tea is if it's a) sweetened with Sweet-n-Low, because cancer in pink packets is delicious; or b) with peach schnapps. Haven't had it? Go to McDonalds, get ten bucks worth, then go get a fifth of peach schnapps, dump all of it in a big pot with ice and serve. There's some sweet tea, all right. (Warning: pace yourself. That's all I have to say about that.)

Apparently I can't apply sunblock or my body is rejecting it. Every time I'm out in the sun, I come home to find myself looking like a spotted leopard with five different tan lines. I have the super white parts, covered by my clothes. Then there are parts that are tan, like my arms, that soak up the sun because they're used to it. Then I have rosy parts that are a little pink but tan overnight, where I should have reapplied more sunblock. And then there are the 'oh my God I'm a lobster' patches, like on the middle to lower part of my back, where I applied sunblock but apparently my skin or sun position or whatever failed to not make me burn.

Chad Johnson changed his last name to Ocho Cinco, after his jersey number. Probably the funniest/dumbest thing to happen to the NFL since Terrell Owens cried at a press conference. (And from now on I would like to referred to as Ruth Veinte Uno.)

Sad day to live in Michigan. Tigers lost and are pretty much out of playoff contention. Michigan lost. Michigan State lost. And the Lions are going to lose because they're the Lions and we should really not even have a football team in Detroit. Way to go, guys.

School starts on Wednesday. That pisses me off. I bought two books for my classes and it cost me 170 bucks. That added to it.

I was reading another book by Jen Lancaster and, in explaining who and what with a good friend, she goes 'Is that what you want to do?' 'No, my life isn't really that interesting.' I'm convinced people listen to about 3% of the things I have to say. I usually get cut off or the topic is changed by the next person who talks. Or maybe that means I'm not interesting either. I just use this for mental extraction so maybe if I write it down it won't make me as mad as it ferments in my brain like pretty much everything else.

I would rather write a fiction novel about me being adopted or someone else finding out they were adopted. Childhood fantasy? Getting new parents. Or living a different life. My parents are still married and we live one of the most boring lives in existence. It was necessary for me to envision two of my sixth grade teachers as my parents who had a fling in college, produced me and gave me to a family who worked in the school district they would eventually work in. (Often times I would like to burn my middle school journals but me aspiring to work in a middle school in a couple of years, I figured I may meet another creepy girl like me and need it for a sort of case study.) So yeah, don't be shocked when I write a book on someone being adopted or something weird.

I really want to shave my cat. He's laying on my bed, all hot and everything. Plus it would be cute to shave his long fur into just a mane and booties. Unfortunately, my sister's friend's mother who is a vet says he would need to be sedated for that to happen.

I washed my hair and, either because the humidity's going down or because my scalp is perhaps burnt, my head still itches. That's seriously gross.