Toucha-toucha-toucha-touch me, you are dirty.

Today was a normal Tuesday morning. I woke up wondering why I’m alive, why I have to get out of my ever so comfortable bed to face to day. Then I turn over and see your face and then I feel sadness sweep over me.

Actually, that wasn’t this morning. I was in a fantastic mood, I wasn’t tired, I was very chipper and ready to face the day! Then you asked if you could use my bobby pin and I thought to myself, “That isn’t something you have to return… it’s like toilet paper…. I don’t want it back.” Although, I’m sure tonight you’ll be trying to give it back to me. UGH.

Anyways, after Bible, I made my way to BWVW but I ran into Lauren on the way (YAY!!) and then you found us with your creepy radar and started talking to us. I hate you. Go away please. You scratched your disgusting, unwashed, untamed, wildabeast that you call hair and then had the nerve to TOUCH MY ARM RIGHT AFTER. Am I the only one who realizes how disturbing that is?

First, touching people when you talk to them is too motherly (my own mom doesn’t do that) and also just creepy. It’s lesbian to me. I don’t want you to be a lesbian.

Second, you scratched your head and touched someone else. That’s unsanitary and very disrespectful to my beautiful arm. I bathe daily to keep that arm clean. You. Ruined. That.

I swiftly pulled away and said, “Don’t touch me.” But, like discussed in blogs past, you think that is an invitation to touch me more. No. When I say don’t do something, I MEAN DO NOT DO IT. Seriously, have respect.

Oh but when you tried touching me this time it was worse…. WAY WORSE. You went for my face. My beautiful, clear, healthy, amazing face (I sound conceited, but if you felt this thing, you’d understand). I had to move your hand away from me. Seriously. Ugh, you’re frustrating me woman.

Just last night on the way home from dinner we dicussed how your biggest insecurity is your acne. It just dawned on me why you might have it. Yes, puberty plays a huge role. Did you ever think though that touching your face multiple times (especially after touching what creatures live in that scalp) might be a big reason for that? Yes. It is.

I don’t want what you have.

So please, in the future, be curtious to me and others. Do not try to touch me. Especially after scartching your head or anything for that matter. Oh my…


Scalp Snack. Yum.

I realize your head has a large surface area, but seriously, it’s not a gold mine. There cannot be THAT much stuff to scratch off. Like, every time I turn around, you’re scratching your head. What the what? WHY? It’s like a nervous tick. Some people twirl a strand of hair around their finger, some tap their foot, some build New York skyscrapers, you scratch your head. Not just scratching. That is bad enough (you are aware that it makes you like you have lice?), but it gets worse.

You tilt your head at a very awkward angle, like I’m not even sure how you can do that. So while your chin is generally pointed toward me, you predictably scratch your head. Weird, but not so horrid, I suppose. Then, you examine your fingers, like some treasure now exists under those nails. Then you smell it. It must be smelled (though sometimes you skip this step, which doesn’t make it any less painful to watch). Then you eat whatever is up under your nails. Whatever just came from your scalp, you are consuming. Do you not understand how unhealthy that is.

I mean, I think food is around for a reason. Like to keep us alive and stuff. That’s why we have to go get it. God didn’t create an endless well of cheese flowing out of our armpit because food isn’t meant to come from your own body. That’s why cannibalism is frowned upon. You are dancing on the cannibalistic line. That scares me. Especially because we have carving knives in our room. Will you scalp me, like an Indian? What if you run out of your own scalp food and need more? See the concerns this habit brings?

Not only is it really weird, it is disgusting. I try not to gag every time I have to watch. Army crawling down the stairs of a movie theater is weird, swinging from the Eiffel Tower is concerning, eating your own scalp is just unnerving. I cannot bear to watch, but I can hear you doing it. That’s the worst part of all. I know you’re doing it even if I try to turn away.

There’s one thing I hate with a desperate passion: puking. But every time I am forced to endure this debacle, I have to control the bile creeping up in my throat. It is that revolting. I’ve often wondered why you can be more normal. Or even a complete jerk. Like just why. May I refer to the person drowning in sand? Yes? Well, that’s what it reminds me of.

I also don’t like it when you try to get my stuff for me or share food. Just stop, and think about where your hands have just been. That’s right, excavating your scalp for the past half hour. Who knows what new specimens of diseases you’re ridding your head from, then consuming. I can barely think about it.

I’ve tried to think of a nice way to say FOR THE LOVE OF MERCY PLEASE STOP BEFORE WE ALL ARE FORCED TO KILL OURSELVES but I haven’t really thought of anything yet. My options so far:

1. Hello, did you notice that you are scratching your scalp? Would you mind stopping? Oh, and also eating your nails is a gross habit. Just wanted to throw that in there.

2. Yo whaddup we don’t really get along anyway stop eating your body parts before I’m forced to hurt you, and since that involves touching you, we can see why that is not a viable option

3. I give up on life. Just stop doing everything that annoys me. Read my mind or something, figure it out. Maybe you can start picking up on my disgusted glances or my obvious sarcasm. Something, anything. I’m desperate.

I’m still working on it, and a small part of me hopes that one day she’ll just decide to give it up. Like smoking or something. Is there a patch to help you stop eating yourself? If so, we need one, STAT.

grease on grease.

It’s really annoying that everything I say, you have something to say in return.

“I came to the conclusion that I’m in a really bad mood today.”-me

“Yeah, we can tell.”-the ogre  “Which is weird since you had a nap today.”

Yeah, I had a nap. Naps are good. Naps make children stop crying (for the most part) and make them feel relaxed and start new. Unfortunately, I cannot adapt to this. I live in a room with a child who, obviously, does not take enough naps. All you do is cry about how you don’t get enough sleep, or you miss home, or you feel left out. If you haven’t noticed, I attempt to leave you out of my life as much as possible. You are annoying, obnoxious, disgusting, and a negative thing to be around. Notice how I said thing? That’s what you are to me.

I can’t wait to not have you in my room any longer. I am convinced that the foul smell that I constantly smell is from you, and if it wasn’t I would still blame it on you. Your shoes are constantly near my stuff, your crap is everywhere. I’m really tired of you leaving your coffee mug and cup out when you don’t even use it… your stuff needs to be with your stuff. You have enough room as it is!! You’re absolutely disgusting. Your hair literally constantly looks like it hasn’t been washed. Please, take the time to thoroughly wash your scalp. Get the nastiness out of there. For the health of everyone in this room, please.

You’re a baby. I’m really tired of you crying all the time and when I say I don’t cry a lot you have to say something about that, too. Can’t you just learn to keep your mouth shut? Can’t you just stop being near me? I really hope you get a boyfriend soon. I can’t handle another week with you, much less another year.

Oh and tonight for hall meeting I’m going to wear my frog onesie and you’ll wear your zebra one. I don’t want to match you. I don’t like you. Go away.


No Touchy

Personal contact.

Some love it. Some hate it.

It’s one of the ways humans connect, express emotion, etc. That’s the best I can do because I, unfortunately, do not have a dictionary or other handy tools inside my brain.

But, as I’m sure we can all agree, personal touch should not come from strangers. That’s why we invented the term “stranger danger.” Ain’t nobody got time for that. I need to save my menacing glares for really important things, like when my twenty-one year old brother pulls a cheap shot, last minute red shell when I’m about to cross the finish line in MarioKart, therefore stealing the victory. Totally not cool.

Personal contact is mostly accepted from those we like and/or love. There are some things, like wet willies, that should just be kept to yourself. If your saliva was meant to be in my ear canal, I would have been born with a steady supply. But I wasn’t, so just no. But the occasional hug, fist bump, high five, or whatever your preferred method, is perfectly acceptable. I mean, I would never glare at my mom for hugging me.

On the other hand, personal contact should NEVER under ANY circumstances come from those I don’t like. It’s just in the general rules of living life. There’s an unspoken handbook that everyone with common sense has access to. To my great misfortune, most of the people I don’t like have no clue that life even has rules, much less how to apply those rules to their life. Self-restraint? What’s that? I think their thought process looks like this: “Oh, it’s not cool to embrace you awkwardly while I have no pants on? I had no idea. But since I make my own rules, I’ll do it again in a few days and cause you much grief.” And by grief, I mean straight up weeping and gnashing of teeth.

And hair. Oh my word. Do you know how long it took me to grow this hair? Okay, maybe not REALLY that long, but it takes a lot to maintain! I mean, this doesn’t happen overnight! Hair is absolutely NOT a hands-on science museum. (Though apparently yours is because you leave specimens around the room for us to examine quite often. I would say thank you if I appreciated it. Hence why I don’t say thank you.) In fact, my entire person is not. Like Emperor Kuzco once brilliantly said, “No touchy.” Wiser words have not been spoken. You must have my permission or my love to touch my hair without first filling out paperwork. Because I take into account idiocy, I will allow you one infraction of the hair respect code. After that, you get a warning and you’re on your own. No highway option. Don’t pass go; don’t collect $200.

But hair. I get that it’s beautiful and lush and all things wonderful, but keep your wonder and awe quietly in your own brain, only occasionally expressing it to boost my self-esteem at a much needed point. Shockingly, it’s actually possible to come to the conclusion that I have great hair without touching it, and that’s what I prefer that you do. Please and thank you. Come on, I said please. That means you really should comply. I mean, please was like THE magic word. If it needs some more pixie dust or something, let me know and I’ll summon Tinkerbell right away. I’m pretty sure she has weekends off, anyway.

Also, a helpful hint. You may have hair like mine if you A) possess similar DNA, B) spend as much time taking care of it as I do, or C) find a magic potion of pure AWESOME that may or may not blow your mind up a little bit. Tragically, our DNA is nowhere close to the same (PTL), nor does magic potion seem like a viable option. Drugs do not count as magic potions. Please don’t ask about that. Looks like you might be out of luck. Sad story.

Is it possible to have a monopoly on awesomeness? Because I’d like to look into that.

I can’t wait to shed some light.

This will mostly consist of my ranting, because that’s the only action that comes to mind when *ehem* comes to mind. I really don’t think I’ve met someone in my lifetime who makes me so angry.

Honestly, you’re not a “nice girl” nor a “mean girl.” So what are you then? You’re just you. That’s an insult in itself!

Maybe I just have a small spectrum for annoyance levels and you’re breaking the spectrum every second of the day. Maybe you’re just a spoiled brat who needs to be curb stomped. Maybe it’s me? Well according to your standards, that’s exactly what it is.

Things that annoy me about you:

-You make obnoxious noises throughout the day, even in your sleep.

        You constantly clear your throat (although I’m sure you can’t help that, it’s still annoying and disgusting).

        You say “mmmmm” and “ohhhh” (self freaking explanatory)

        the lip smacking…. that’s gotta stop

-You make weird faces when you’re serious and talking to someone. Sorry sweetie, but the scrunched up face isn’t cute.

-You’re perverted, yet try to remain innocent. F-A-K-E. If you’re perverted, OWN IT. Don’t go back and forth and play innocent sheltered child then ask if I am “wet.” FREAK.

-You claim to be “so poor,” yet your house is bigger than any house I’ve ever seen, you live on the water(expensive in itself), and own like 50 zillion jet skies and crap. Don’t pull that card with me!

-I can’t stand when you blame everything on you “not feeling well” or “you’re too tired.” Take a tums, suck it up, and live your life without complaint. It’s old. Not cute.

-Don’t ask me to throw your crap away or get you something to drink or get you something. I’m not your slave nor your mother. Don’t throw a fit if I don’t either. You’re annoying, I don’t like you, get up, don’t be lazy, do it yourself.


-Stop reading my crap, using my stuff without permission, stop being a busy body.

If you just stopped doing everything that you do, then the world would be a better place. You’re so annoying all the time, even writing this makes me in a bad mood because you’re so OBNOXIOUS. I used to feel bad for talking badly about you, now it’s gotten to the point where I just don’t care because I loathe you that much.

Friends But Not Really

I’m pretty sure it’s not intentional, but it scares me the number of creepy guys I’ve met on this campus. College is cray. Not kidding.

For comfort, I remind myself that I’m not actually the one meeting these guys… I just have to meet them via one of my, uh, friends. She’s partially annoying and partially totally out there. I cannot figure her out. Like what is she thinking half the time? It’s like watching someone try not to drown when they’re sitting in a pile of sand. Just why. Please tell me that you’re not actually doing that.

I’ll give her some credit, only half of these guys have been pedophiles. I mean, 50/50 is pretty good odds, right? I mean, at least for her. We’ll roll with it. But when she talks about a guy, I feel afraid for my life (no matter how well she claims he can cook). Especially if he owns a Jeep. Or she knows him from a previous life. Those are both very bad factors.

So while I’m not trying to avoid her newfound friends that I’m probably going to fear forever, I’m trying not to bash my skull out. Why? I present three beautiful reasons that no one can argue with:

1. She claims her little brother is the best thing since sliced bread. For the record, I LOVE not having to slice my own bread, so therefore he cannot possibly top that. Plus, even on a side note, MY brother is the best 11 year old around, I don’t care how cool you think yours is. So whatevs. The bread thing sounds more logical, so let’s roll with that.

2. She unconsciously makes noises. Not makes noises while she’s unconscious, though she does that, too. She just makes noises without thinking about it. Worst of all, she SMACKS the saliva in her mouth. Saliva should be neither seen nor heard; everyone can agree on this.

3. She goes to bed early. Really, I’m not even sure how we’re friends after that. If you attempt to slumber before 11, I probably will judge you. Sleep is for the weak. At least before 11. I’ll still be up after that, but I’ll accept your tiredness.

While I try not to go insane, I consider the comical aspects of this friendship. First of all, I get great material for every kind of joke in the world, and I get to write a blog. I mean, seriously, great, right? RIGHT? But seriously… if I ever find her eating my Twizzlers, I will find her and I will kill her. No highway option. Twizzlers are reserved for those I love. Mainly me, but also those I love.

I can’t possibly continue writing because now all I can think about is Twizzlers. Yum.