The Hand Sanitizer At the Gym Is Bankers

I would like to apologize to all my fans and followers (all 4 of you) who don't go to Lehigh and probably will not understand the pain that I am about to describe.

In an effort to keep you entertained, I will provide some background.

(It should be noted that I'm being super dramatic and pretending the background is going to be as complicated as some J.R.R. Tolkien shit, and it's just not.)

Literally coming out of the sanitizer machines.

Background:
- There are 2 hand sanitizer sprayers at the gym. (Not the foamy Purell ones. These spray in a fashion similar to the spray that comes out of a cleaning product nozzle. Think mist ... Yes, mist works.)
- The cheapest, and therefore most popularly purchased alcohol at Lehigh, is "rubbing alcohol" flavored vodka, also known fondly by all as Bankers.

Are you all with me? Great. Moving right along.

I'll be blunt here. A lot of people at college gyms are hungover. Shocker.

So, you're at the gym. After you wipe down the sweaty elliptical, grab a drink of water, your natural next move is to get your sanitization on. No one likes germs.

You put your hands under the nozzle, and in the blink of the little blue light, you are sprayed down with Bankers. All of a sudden, you've literally just taken a handle of Bankers to the face. You're suffocating in Bankers and trying not to gag (puke) after your workout. Bankers is on your hands. It's in your nostrils. It's everywhere.

* SCENE *

Prom is Just Not A Fun Thing

Me, sophomore prom, tragic.
The woman who did my hair told
me that she'd "never curled hair" before
which pretty much explains this I'd say.

Ahhhh, prom! Such great memories with friends! Pictures, dancing, great food, limos, the whole nine yards!

HOOOOLD UP.

... Did you have ANY fun at prom? Any? No. Nope. Nada. You didn't. Definitely not.

Reasons why prom is not fun at all:

1) You're in high school. In high school, you're in limbo. You're not as pitiful as you were middle school, but you also definitely do not have the street cred of the college kids which makes it okay for you to crack a beer with Dad. So you're stuck stealing water bottles of gin mixed with liquer because you think hey, it's better than cooking wine. Or, if you're like me, you go to a dance completely sober with your teachers. So next ...

2) You're at a dance, with your teachers. Don't get me wrong, I loved my teachers in high school. We were straight homies. That said, definitely didn't care to spend a 3 hour long evening in Boston with them wearing a floor length dress that I paid way too much money to have. Which brings me to ...

3) You paid way too much money for everything. You buy a dress that the freshman 15 instantly scoffs into a hand-me-down before you can wear it again; you pay for limos and not a single person fits or is comfortable or knows what to say to their date unless you're actually dating (rare); you pay for your ticket. (I don't know if this is true in all high schools, but our tickets cost upwards of one hundred dollars. I could write probably one hundred posts about all of the things I could have bought with that one hundred dollars.*)

And finally ..

4) YOU'RE AT PROM. And prom is just never fun. Before prom, fun. After prom, wicked fun! Prom? ...

In conclusion. Prom is the bad deli meat in the middle of killer bread. Like challah or crusty sourdough.

*And by that I mean what my lovely dates could have bought with that one hundred dollars. Thx guyz.

Excuse Me? I Have to Swipe In At the School Gym?

"I'm a survivor." - My Swipe/Destiny's Child

I walk in. I'm wearing headphones, absolutely les miz about the fact that I'm about to move at a faster pace than usual for upwards of 30 minutes. (... But can I just not?)

I'm sporting a red zip up that makes me feel just sporty-chic enough to pretend I "work out" (definition please?) and I'm sipping on the water bottle I just bought to motivate me to attend my annual gym sesh.

Then, greeted by two old men* (ok, who are you people?) I'm asked to swipe into MY gym. Do I even go here? ... Do you mean do YOU even go here?

I'm sorry. I'm pretty sure my tuition alone could have purchased every single one of those "treadmills" that have a solid inch between the band and the bottom (you know what I mean, like it's scraping with each step and you kind of feel like you're running on a trampoline which lest we forget are NOT made for running on) AND all of the ellipticals that have "out of service" signs more often than not.

Not to mention the fact that I'm 4 years strong with my swipe (which is cracked and works maybe fourteen percent of the time) so I have to stand at the desk proving my identity by oscillating back and forth until a green light finally permits me into the mutha fuggin gym.

I'm annoyed. I go here.

*No disrespect to my elders. You're wise.

Why Can't I Wear Sunglasses All the Time?

Sometimes, it's just too bright.

I'm sitting in class. I'm a little tired (...it's 7:55 what do you expect), and HONESTLY, Prof, the lights are a little much.

Can we get some dimmers up in here? No? Nada?

THEN WHY CAN'T I HAVE MY SUNGLASSES ON?

Seriously. You SUMMON me from my bed with my light-blocking curtain (amazing) and subject me to nothing less than light torture. Safe to say that these fluorescents are cramping my style.

(And you know what, let's imagine I go for it. I just put my sunglasses on like IDGAF. I look like a literal D-bag. Emma, what are you doing? Take off your sunglasses.)

A girl can dream.

Do Perfume Flaps in Magazines Think They Smell Unique?

Because they literally do not.

Have you ever, once in your life, peeled open one of those ridiculous smelly magazine flaps and thought, "wow, what a distinct scent! This smells nothing like any of the other flaps in this magazine! I'm going to buy this unique eau de parfum!"

NEVER. YOU'VE NEVER SAID THAT.

They all smell exactly the same.* In fact, most magazines in general smell like a combination of glossy paper and generic perfume all wrapped into one.

Tell me you disagree. In the comments. That's fine. My sense of smell may be off.

*I'll admit that one or two have smelled unique ... but c'mon. Outliers.

What If You Could See All of the Tweets About You

Twitter is basically there so that you can talk about the weird things going on around you when you're alone right? (See photos ... real Tweets.)

But what if you could see the Tweets that were about you? I mean, have I ever been the man who took his shoes off? Has there ever been a bus ride where I'm the perp with the headphones up too loud?

We can never be sure ... 

Parents Honestly Shouldn't be Able To Dress People

Like, I was cute (obv) but the plaid skirt,
matching headband, MATCHING PIN.
HELP.

I mean. If the photo I'm about to share with you isn't enough...

Let's talk about this.

First off, parents are usually past their prime. (No offense parents, you rule. Good job teaching me English, how to be nice to people, and like, walking. Definitely helpful.)

But c'mon. Their biggest concern is definitely no longer what they're wearing. I remember a solid phase in mama Francine's life of stirrup pants due to convenience. (Sorry, mom.) AND if that wasn't bad enough, I also remember the transference OF the horror OF the stirrup pants to me. NOT OKAY, MOM, NOT OKAY.*

Secondly, their next biggest concern is definitely not what their mini-me is wearing either. They're cleaning up after this tiny tyrant and definitely aren't too worried that said tyrant looks nice while drawing flowers on the wall in crayons.

THAT SAID, when said youngster starts being sent to school, let's talk fashion for a second. For your viewing pleasure I have attached my first day of kindergarten outfit. I LOOK LIKE THE YELLOW WIGGLE. WAS THERE A COLOR WAR GOING ON? WAS THERE?

I sure hope so. Cause if so, nice one, mom.

IN CONCLUSION, WE SHOULD TOTALLY JUST STAB CAESER. (No, but someone else should dress children.)

*I will admit stirrup pants are pretty damned awesome. Your leggings stay IN your boots. Prediction: comeback. Also, great name, stirrup pants, great name. More to come on stirrup pants.

A Guest Rant by Ryan Butler (BFFAE/BF)

Me and Ryan #nofilter
(but honestly how ugly is this photo)

What's this I see? A snap chat notification on my lock screen ... F YEAH! 

I'm thrilled to see what heinous selfie my friend just snapped so that I naturally can screen shot it and use it as blackmail later.

But wait. What's this? Purple.... No. Honestly fuck off. IT CAN'T BE. It's a snapchat video. WHY.

Let's break this spit down for a hot second.

This could quite possibly be the most annoying thing ... EVER. 

First off, in order to watch this less-than-ten-second-video (need I say inherently dumb), I'm required to be in some remote viewing location because it's undoubtedly extremely vulgar/loud/annoying/I hate it and don't care about what you're doing at all. 

Secondly, I cannot screen shot an entire video so what's the point? How can I embarrass you with this? What's my ROI? NOTHING. And more importantly, I still do not care about this video that you sent the 30 of your closest snap chat "friends."

So before you send a snap chat video, ask yourself, is it really worth it? 

... (And if you find that it is worth it still don't send it because DILLIGAF.)

Why Mean Dorks Are the Worst

6 likes and 7 comments, people.

You know exactly whom I'm talking about. C'mon.

That kid in all your classes who seems legitimately mad that you exist and couldn't possibly know all the struggles of "hard work" and self discipline. Go home, mean dork. You're mean.

By all means, be a dork! I'm a dork. We're all super weird if we're being honest. And that's okay! That's good! I love weird! I dressed up as Voldemort for every single Harry Potter premier. How normal am I?

But the second that you shoot me an eye roll or huff that I'm wearing pants that fit me, you're done. You're rude. Go home, mean dork.

Invention: Time Altering Contacts

No, not time altering as in it's 2013 and it looks like the Roaring 20s. This isn't going to be THAT crazy. So, another fun fact. I'm chronically 5 minutes late. It's truly a weakness of mine.

"Devouring Time..." -Billy Shakespeare

The clock in my car is 15 minutes fast, the clock on my wall, 10. Anything I can do to trick myself into timeliness.

I'm sure you're already thinking ... well, Emma, if you know it's 15 minutes fast, how could that work? BINGO. IT DOESN'T AT ALL. I'M ALWAYS STILL LATE.

*cue invention*

AHEM. Brace yourself.

Contacts that alter every clock I see to be 10 minutes fast. BOOM. On time.

Thoughts? Questions? Concerns? Please share with the class.

I'm so happy I'm not a brick building builder

Okay bear with me here people. 

Look at a brick building. In your brain take like, a fraction of that building (a wall, a courtyard, an arc, totally up to you.)

Now imagine having to build that. 

First off, bricks aren't light, or soft. So many scratches on your hands. So many. 

Then, masonry. How do you make sure you're lining up the bricks. I mean, think of how hard it is to even write in a straight line. We used lined paper cause we can't even do THAT. 

You couldn't be a mason. I could not be a mason. Are you a mason? If you're a mason, you go mason, you rule. Thanks for the buildings. I truly could not have done that without you.