This one is about giraffes

I haven't written in here in forever, as school really takes a toll on my creativity. However, I've had moments where I think of something witty that might work as a facebook status, but instead I wrote them down in my phone to be used as potential ideas for this blog.

1) How people get a giraffe from zoo to zoo.

I vaguely remember this one. I was sitting in Panera with one of my friends, and he was talking about how a giraffe got moved from one zoo to another, and we're both sitting there wondering how in the hell they transport something like a giraffe. I mean, there are those horse cart things that can go on the back of a truck, but I think it would really be quite awkward to see a giraffe's long ass neck sticking out of the top while driving down a highway. Actually, that sounds like something you could get a ticket for.

Officer: Hello, do you know why I've stopped you today?
Driver: Why, officer. I'm so sorry, I must not have been looking at my odometer; I'll try to be more careful next time.
Officer: Wrong. I couldn't help but notice you are transporting a giraffe. That's quite a distraction to other drivers.

That would make quite a story for your friends.

There was a Magic School Bus computer game that I used to play when I was little that involved finding the animals that were in the wrong habitat and transporting them back to the right one, and one of the animals that was in the wrong habitat was always a giraffe. And you know where I always found him? In the fucking arctic. Or at the bottom of the ocean. Seriously, people? You realise that even in a perfect world, I can't travel the world in a matter of seconds, and that giraffe would have definitely been dead by the time I got there to rescue it. Really poor planning on that zoo's part. I'm surprised there hasn't been a lawsuit by now. Anyway, they used a helicopter to transport them, with a cage hanging down which was where the animal went, but I still don't really find that to be an effective way to transport a zoo animal.

Now, here's the idea I propose, which probably already exists, we just don't know it: an underground railroad for zoo animals. Think about it, just stick a little staircase with an elevator in each exhibit that connects to a network of tunnels that each animal can use to go to other zoos. I'm not going to think this one through, because I'm sure there are other people who would actually like to, so I'll end this one for now.

To be continued.

Reflections on vanilla crack. And by "crack," I mean Tazo tea.

With of all of the middle upper class snobs in the world, why is it that when I go to Starbucks, I get stuck sitting next to the hippies that smell like feet?

I'll tell you why, it's because upper middle class people have no time to sit around in a Starbucks all day. They take their shit to go and drive off in their oversize SUVs to their decent paying jobs.

So why am I here? Why don't I just go to Dunkin Donuts? I'll tell you.

1) Tazo tea is my crack. And since I can't drink coffee (sadly), a Tazo tea latte is enough to fool me into thinking that I'm drinking some fancy overpriced flavoured coffee.

2) I have an image to uphold. The whole "I'm a broke college student but I own an iPad" image. It's harder than it sounds, trust me. So Starbucks is my way of fooling the world that I am too cool to eat dinner and that I would rather just live off of my fake overpriced coffee, because I'm young and I can get away with it.

3) This is the most important thing. Starbucks allows me to have an alter ego. This all started when my friend and I went to Starbucks one snowy day. You know how they ask you for a name to write on the cup, right? Well she was all like, "I'm gonna give them a fake name." And so she did. But she didn't give them just any name, right? She told them her name was "Roxanne." It's one thing to just be like, "hey my name is derp," but to give them a name with a completely different personality is so empowering and something you can do at Starbucks that you just can't get away with anywhere else. I mean, "Roxanne" just says, "I'm a free spirit girl with crazy hair and a flair for show business but I'm also a complicated soul deep down on the inside." That is just awesome.

So of course, next time I went to Starbucks, I was like, "I'm gonna try out a fake name." But I didn't want any conventional name, and I was pretty much joking with the guy because I was so offended he didn't ask me for a damn name, so I told him my name was Thaddeus, but in a girl way. So he gave it a female spelling and thus my Starbucks alter ego "Thaddieusse" was born.

I really wish I could drink coffee.

Because Wednesdays kind of really suck.

Bonjour world.

Wednesdays suck. I've figured this out because it's right smack dab in the middle of the week. It's obviously not Friday yet, but it's not even Monday, so it's not like you can just sit in your sweatpants all day long and watch netflix and use the excuse, "because it's Wednesday." Unfortunately, it doesn't work. I know because I've tried.

Wednesdays suck because it's typically the busiest day of the week. For everyone. So if you're ever in the position of "oh shit, got nothing to do," you can't even ask your friends to hang out because they're all busy. And for my friends reading this, it's not meant to be a slap in the face. I know that asking a friend to hang out on a Wednesday (especially one that's two weeks before finals) is like asking a mother of newborn twins to go out to the bar with me. Just not happening. It's just one of those unfortunate things about life.

So how did I deal with this Wednesday? Well, it was my inner hipster, actually, that decided to emerge today and was all like, "Hey, Emily, you should go to Barnes and Noble and just look at books." So you know what? That's what I did. On the way I decided to stop at Starbucks, because an outing where you are indulging your inner hipster isn't complete without overpriced coffee.

I feel the need to mention the value of self image. Because the whole time I was out, I felt like this:

but I looked more like this:

(you know, that "oh shit, finals are coming" glow)

I've deduced that in this phase of my early life crisis, I need to get some cool fake hipstery glasses.

Anyways, back to Starbucks. When I went inside, and took my place in the line that was literally to
the front door (as in, my butt was basically touching the door), I noticed a familiar face in front of me. It was the astronomy professor. I've never had a class with this guy, but I have such a fondness for him, and I'll be honest when I say that it all stems from the fact that he wears suspenders and looks like Santa Claus. It's awesome. So I'm sitting here, really wanting to talk to him, because I just feel like professors would just have such interesting things to say outside of a lecture hall, and while waiting for our drinks, I eventually tackled the social anxiety long enough to spark up a conversation. It subsequently died within sixty seconds of beginning, (probably because I thought I heard him say "I rule the planetarium" instead of "I run the planetarium" and I started laughing) but hey, whatever. I get points for trying. When I have a green tea frappe in my hand and a hipster mentality, I don't give a shit what anyone thinks of me.

Do you ever have that feeling when you walk into a place and you feel as though the only thing that would make the place better are like, flying unicorns? That's how I feel whenever I walk into a Barnes and Noble. If all of my dreams were to come true, they would do so in a Barnes and Noble. I don't think people understand is that there were so many great men and women who poured their hearts and souls into their books, and when you walk into a bookstore, you're walking into a room full of souls. It's like an art museum, only you can admire the art, pick it up, admire it some more, admire it in a big comfy chair, and then buy it and take it home with you to admire whenever you please.

Outcome of my hipster adventure: I left with Kurt Vonnegut's "Cat's Cradle" and Jack Kerouac's "On the Road," with a green tea frappe in my belly. Life is good.

Why doesn't the United States have more nude beaches?

Hi. So I haven't been on here a whole lot, obviously, but you know, school sucks and I'm busy and all my spare time is spent procrastinating.

Also, remember back to, "this blog is like a kick ass Christmas present that I just want to play with everyday?" Yeah, Christmas was four months ago, so it's safe to say that the thrill has kind of gone away. But it's a good present, so I certainly won't forget about it. Actually, to be honest, I wish I could write more often, but lately it's just been "ALGHIAOIENVOAEINRE SCHOOL," so there's not much creative energy flowing.

Anyway, I've been presented with two questions this week that seem good enough to talk about.

The first one was asked in my french class, so of course, it was in french, and the point of the question was to practice my knowledge of verbs in the conditional form, but whatever. The question was:

If you could be another person (any person in the world) for a whole day, who would you be?

Obviously, my answer was Ms. Frizzle, based on my recent fascination with a woman who owns a magic bus, but this later prompted some greater introspection. 

Who would I be if given this opportunity?

Part of me wants to say that I would be a pirate, but I don't think it's as fun as it looks when Johnny Depp does it. Scurvy doesn't sound like much of a thrill.

Another part of me wants to say something like, "Oh, I'd be Abraham Lincoln," but then I remember that he's dead. What do you think the odds would be of me being Abraham Lincoln on the day that he dies? 

Then there's the part of me that's all like, "Hell nah, I'd be myself." Because in reality, I'm the only one fully equipped to be myself. What happens to my body if I'm hanging around in someone else's? Am I just sleeping for a day? Do I just disappear? What? 

This brings me to the problems that I have with those movies/tv shows where two people switch places. Call me strange, but my first thought is always, "how do they go to the bathroom?" If I had switched places with an old man, for instance, I would be traumatised. Nor would I ever look at that old man the same way again. They probably don't have this problem in Brazil, with all those nude beaches and whatnot. 

I don't even remember the other question that was on my mind. 

Viva le Bacon!

Spring is finally here. And by "finally here," I mean, "it took you long enough, mother nature." It's no wonder we refer to nature as a woman. As beautiful as she is, she's definitely hormonal. Like, PMDD hormonal. Let's get Mother Nature some psychological help. We could bury some Midol in the ground or something, except I think that may piss off the EPA, so let's not. Anyway, speaking of Spring, which is great and all, allergies have hit me like a brick wall. Actually, I just sneezed after I wrote that sentence, so maybe I'm allergic to similes.

Allergies are just the worst thing ever. I mean, probably not as bad as cancer or anything, so if you have cancer, I'm sorry, but in my little "I'm young so everything revolves around me" world, allergies are the worst thing ever. It's not just the staying up late at night sneezing, or the fact that my eyes are so itchy that I am one step away from growing Wolverine nails and just blinding myself here and now, or the fact that I'm shuffling my feet everywhere and seeing the world through my little fog (Claritin really hit the nail on the head with that one), or even that I wake up in the morning with my throat being three times larger than it usually is and can't enjoy any type of food or drink. The biggest problem I have with allergies is that everything that usually annoys me annoys me three times more. I'll tell you what annoys me today. Vegans.

Now, before I begin, and manage to piss someone off the wrong way (not like I really care either way), there are two types of vegans.

1) There's the "hey guys, I'm just gonna sit here and be vegan because I want to and it doesn't bother me if you decide to eat meat because it's your right as a human being to make your own damn decisions" vegan. Also known as a milder form of Anorexia, but the people are nice, so I don't really mind. These are the kind of people who make it easy for us all to coexist peacefully. It's just kind of like, I'll sit over here with my massive BLT, and you can eat your tofu patty and soy nuts, and we can still be friends at the end of the day.

2) Then there's the "I'm vegan because I'm, evolutionarily speaking, one step above everyone and I have all the money in the damn world to spend on all of my fake, processed shit, and all the time in the world to sit around in my homegrown organic farm, and I won't stop until every damn person on the planet is also vegan" vegan. These are the people who believe that we are no better than animals, but that for some reason, humans are the only species that should willingly starve themselves for the greater good. Why is it okay for a lion to eat a steak, but not me? If we're on an even playing field with the animals, then as long as I catch it, I can eat it. According to these vegans, we should all ignore the fact that there are starving populations in other parts of the world, completely neglect a source of food, and live off of processed soy products.

So, as with everything in life, it's not your opinion that matters, it's how far up my butt you are about it that bothers me.

I was on campus the other day, just walking around, minding my own business, when all of a sudden, I'm almost run over by this girl with a piece of paper that she was asking me to sign. The paper was a petition to get more vegan options in our dining halls on campus. That would be all well and good, except that it's so damn expensive, and I'm not paying more in fees so that you can have a grand buffet of bird food. If you willingly decide to exclude like, 90% of food from your diet, you can't really complain when a campus dining hall doesn't have your favourite veggie tofu quinoa. Make that shit yourself and get out of my face.

Viva le bacon.

And Claritin. 

It is my firm belief that backpacks should never have wheels.

I have a couple of things to say. Also, at this point in time, sitting here in the geography lab writing this, I am having a crazy amount of deja vu.

1. I think that deja vu is a cool concept. Except I don't think that I've been here in a past life, I just feel like I dreamed about doing this exact thing. Which I probably have. Which is weird.

2. Anyway, lately, I've been thinking about the whole, "what the hell am I going to do with my future thing," and I've been seriously thinking about maybe getting a second degree after I graduate. Something in science. I'll tell you why. I am a scientific person. When I was six, and other kids my age were still sucking on their thumbs and wetting the bed (okay, I did once, I'll admit, but I never needed those weird child diapers), I was reading books on the solar system and watching Magic School Bus and Bill Nye the Science Guy. And also Rugrats and Spongebob, because let's face it, without them, I would have turned out to be the weirdest person on the planet. Like "I'm in college and I still use backpacks with wheels" weird.


So I've decided that my life aspiration is to be Ms. Frizzle when I grow up. I've set up a timeline to achieve this goal.

1. Get a degree in science. Like, every science imaginable. Sleep with headphones in playing Bill Nye episodes, that cool show Through the Wormhole with Morgan Freeman, and anything Neil deGrasse Tyson has ever said in an effort to infuse my head with knowledge of all that is scientific.

2. Graduate, acquire plenty of random dresses with matching shoes that have things on them like food, space, the rainforest. There has to be a store somewhere in the world that sells science themed attire.

3. Acquire a magic bus, capable of displaying emotions and turning into anything I desire. *

*I just now, after years of living on this planet, appreciate the irony that this show seems to think magic is the only way to explain science to children. Am I complaining? No.

4. Go on a joyride through an inner city neighbourhood, picking up a number of children representing a diverse array of ethnicities and other minority groups. Preferably orphans/foster children, since I'm going to be taking these kids out into space, and into lightbulbs, and human bodies, and electrical sockets.

5. Get a pet lizard. I forgot that part.

There we go. I'm all set for life. Sounds much more fun than being a doctor.
Face it. She looks like she's having way more fun than the rest of us.

3. Backpacks should never have wheels. Actually, when I get down about myself, I always come to this conclusion:

At least I do not use a backpack with wheels.

 People who use rolly backpacks seem to have a personality of their own. A kind of personality that says "I let my fingernails grow really long," and "I always run whenever I have to go anywhere," and "I talk to myself when I am running to class." It can describe a person who was in those weird child diapers until they were 12. Someone who always seems to have peanut butter on their face. Have you ever looked at a person and thought to yourself that they probably have plastic wrap on their couch at home? I'll bet you that their backpacks probably have wheels.

Twenty years old, and I'm searching for life's answers inside fortune cookies...

I know it's late, and I meant to write this last week, but hey, better late than never. In light of the Easter holiday, I decided to write about something "Easter-y," and by "Easter-y," I mean something kind of weird that happened to me that my friend told me to write about.

First, I should mention that I'm going to be a Godmother. My cousin asked me to be Godmother of his daughter who's going to be born in May. Now, if you know me, you're probably very confused and scratching your head right now... I mean, come on. I own a shirt that has Jesus riding a dinosaur on it. Who is really going to put me in charge of the spiritual upbringing of their child?

My cousin. That's who. And I'm excited about it, so haters gonna hate.

I had this long story planned out, but being that it is the internet, and I don't feel like writing in detail, you all get the spark notes version. On one Sunday morning, I woke up feeling pretty miserable. I was exhausted, and feeling kind of unloved. And then I saw the stuffed piggy that I have on my desk for said Goddaughter. And then I was like, hey, if God exists, I should just ask him to give me some sort of sign or something. Like millions of other people haven't done that before... I mean, if he exists, it's probably the second most sought after prayer after the whole, "help me win the lottery/get skinny/find love" shit. Which brings me to a tangent.

If God exists, you really think he's up there waiting to grant your every wish like a genie? No. Tangent over, because I really don't feel like discussing the topic of religion when I'm up to my eyeballs in homework and I'm run down and grumpy and exhausted.

So anyway, back to the story. I'm laying there, on my bed, contemplating the meaning of life and whatnot, my purpose in people's lives, whether or not there really is a God (I should mention too that it was a Sunday morning. This is what I do instead of church, and I like it just fine), then I'm like "Hey, God, if you're up there, why don't you make yourself useful and give me a sign or something?" Then, once I'm all done, I go eat some eggs. Such is my life.

Later that evening, a great turn of events allowed me to stay at home another night, and to celebrate, I was like, "hey, significant other, let's go get some chinese food." So we did. And it was great. Then came the fortune cookies. One said something about how talented I am in the arts and music, and I was thankful that I had this cookie to remind me. I only get this fortune cookie every time I eat chinese food. But anyway, the second one said, "God will give you everything you want." And I was like, holy shit. That's a damn crazy coincidence if I ever saw one. It totally could just be a coincidence too. I mean, the chinese restaurant has pictures with George Bush all over the place, maybe they commission a Christian company to write their fortune cookies. Or maybe some douche over at the factory is totally trying to fuck around with me. Or maybe, just maybe, the creator of the universe is reaching out to me through chinese food.