Give me Moors

Our Society's treasurer sent out an email to our new members to get their help with an event:

Dearest New Members,

I still need one or two moor people for this opportunity, let me know if you're interested.

Cheers,

-TH

In case you were not aware, Moors are Muslims of North African decent who conquered what is now Modern Spain and Portugal and started the Iberia Caliphate which lasted almost 800 years.

It's also a derogatory term for muslims and blacks.

Well done sir, well done.

Roaches

So the "apartment" I'm living in through my college, is disgusting.

When I signed up to live here, I was told that this section of housing was "Newly Renovated!" How naive I was! What would have been more accurate is that SOME of the apartments have been renovated . . . roughly a third.

Now because my College is putting all of its energy in renovating some of the dorms, they don't even bother to keep up the older ones, ERGO mine is falling apart.

A five-star shit hole.

The shower leaks water all over the floor, and apparently has been doing this for decades because not only was mold growing under the tiles, but it had come through the wall and covered the floor, chair and wall.

The pipes leak (onto the fuse box), The hot water heater barly works, the oven doesn't, and there are no overhead lights. The only light switch in the bedrooms turns off the power in the ENTIRE room, which you know, is real convent, if you like resetting your clock every day.

It also doesn't help that I'm living with college guys, who are not the cleanest people in the world, especially when living in a place that has been inhabited by college guys for the past 30 years.

It's Disgusting.

And always with disgusting living places, there are cockroaches.

Now I hate roaches as much as, well everyone —but that doesn't mean I freak out every time I see one.

So I come home the other day and my roommate, as usual, is at his desk doing his homework.

He turns around, looks at me awkwardly and says "sorry—

I look down

Apparently he had no choice but to use my really nice shoes because he "has kind of a phobia of roaches"

Who DOESN'T have "kind of" a phobia of roaches?

No one likes them! The word "Icky" was actually coined when Queen Victoria saw a roach in her carriage!

(I made that last bit up)

He definitely did not "have" to use my shoes. I look over to his side of the room and he has three, yes THREE pairs of shoes just sitting by his desk! One pair were his old running shoes that he also wears sailing. He should have used those to kill the roach, and then throw them out, because those smelly grimy things need to go. And he also had another pair that were rubber flip-flops which, if you were not aware, are the most perfect roach squishing shoes of all time!

Now usually I don't care if my shoes are used for killing insects, and I guess I really don't care that much now either. But you can clean the squished bug and blood of my nice shoes and put them back where you found them, or in the very least, don't leave the dead cockroach on the floor.

He could have at least extended me these courtesies, especially considering he really had no excuse to use my shoes when he had plenty of perfect roach-killing-objects at his disposal.

Annoying ginger roommate, "Y U NO BE NORMAL!?!"

Cave

I've become obsessed with this song.

My Racist Dream

Sometimes you dream dreams about the upcoming zombi apocalypse, sometimes you dream racists dreams, but it is a rare occasion that you do both. But the other night, it happened to me. Now, I don't consider myself a racist, I don't hate people because of their skin color (though remember in this case, gingers do not count as people) but sometimes you are just bombarded with so many stereotypes in the media that you can't help but dream about them.

See what I just did there? I blamed the media for my zombi apocalypse/racist dream.

Thats called transference.

So as I lay in bed, contemplating all the French work I had yet to do, I finally nodded off into dream land. Little did I know the horrific visions I was about to see, accompanied by poorly written sitcom comedy!

Suddenly I'm working for this firm in the city and were all trapped there past working hours because there was an announcement a terrorist attack was about to occur at midnight. As it gets closer to 12, the people started getting anxious.

So to help them calm down I regal them with this little gem: "this might be the last conversation we ever have."

People were not amused, though my friends there who were in the debating Society started arguing that we were NOT in fact having an actually conversation because more than two people were involved and you cannot technically have a "conversation" without more than two people.

I of course prove them wrong —with my brain logic— and escape the city to an alternate universe-version of my old town with two of my friends.

The terrorist attack hits, and the majority of the populace become, what else, zombies.

So most people in the town are now zombies. Awaiting our ultimate demise, we go to our old high school, but not until at like 1:45 so we could "hang out with friends," but were not required to actually "go to class."

My dude friend became a guardian of the school, and did thorough searches of everyone entering to make sure that no zombies got in.

The next scene my brain did one of those weird things where I'm still in the dream, but I'm not a specific character, and even some of the characters change around their identity, but I digress. There were three friends in the school, one guy who was really cool, found out that everyone, including his friend the guardian was actually a zombie, and then they demanded that he choose the person to turn him into a zombie. He was very picky about it, because most of them were ugly (though not real zombie movie ugly) and decided on one, which then turned him into a Zombie.

But then none of the three friends turned out to be actually zombies and then I magically come back into the story and run away with the girl.

You can't explain that!

We end up going to the other high school in town because, after the first one worked so well, we thought we'd try it again.

When we finally reach the other school we find, not former high school clansmen, but a group of middle-aged black women.

They were searching for a device that Rusty from ABC Family's really crappy show, GREEK!, had installed for them.

They climbed up this ladder to the box, but found that at one point it had been condemned, because as they opened it, a metal foldable ladder came flying down, hitting many of the older black women in the face and knocking several of them off the ladder.

Don't worry they were fine, it is a dream after all.

All of a sudden the first woman to look into the box starts tearing up out of thankfulness. "Oh my GAWD!"

The other women gather around the box which appears to be a portable salon hair dryer (the one where you sit in the chair with the helmet-like thing over top) and the rest of the women were hopping around excited because they could get their hair "did" before they were turned into zombies.

But! We were mistaken!

What they thought were curling irons was actually an inflatable TV, at which point they all looked at me to make it work.

We go back to the cafeteria and I blow up the TV and try to start programming it. Out of nowhere my mom appears and helps me program it, since the TV, and all the available stations were broadcasted in the 70's, and she lived through the 70's.

Because we were all aware of our eminent doom to the zombies, we decide to put on something that would calm down the black women, many of whom were older and had overall lumpy figures (This isn't important to the plot, but I had to mention it somewhere).

So we spend the last few hours of our non-zombie lives watching the Cosby Show.

The End.

Gingers≠Blondes

Let me clarify this once and for all:

Gingers are NOT Blondes.

I'm bringing this up because my ginger roommate insists that he's blond. He came into the room today, as I lay hungover/somewhat still drunk in my bed, and starts talking about what bad sunburn he got from sailing. Granted it was bad. He's head was burnt in an downwards triangle that pointed towards his chin, and his ghost pale legs had odd red stripes on them. I don't know how he got such odd marks, but I digress.

I'd feel sorry for the guy if he didn't follow up the tale with "I guess you know what I mean, us guys with blonde hair and blue eyes always get burned"

. . .

Did he just imply that I look like him? A ginger?

Not acceptable.

My annoyance would have been forgotten if he didn't wander into my study corner later, sit down and say "can I ask you a question?"

I thought"This is wierd"

"Wow this is awkward to ask."

"Where is he going with this? Granted he's usually awkward, he just doesn't admit it"

"I might be interning in New York this summer, and I was thinking maybe if you're ok with it, since I'm not 21 yet . .

I catch on, and am eased that its not some more awkward question. I started thinking, hmm, maybe giving him my license would be good for him, it might get him out more. I need to get a new one anyway, mine still has "UNDER 21" written on it several times. But then he had to ruin it.

" You know, since we look so similar: blonde hair, blue eyes"

"WHAT?!?"

I bit my tongue. Hard. Not only did he again claim that we both had blonde hair, he implied that I looked like him, a ginger!! We do NOT resemble each other in the least. But there he was, for the second time that day, calling me, in essence, a ginger look-a-like.

And for the record I do not have blue eyes, they're pale green (though they were a really cool yellow, yes, yellow color in high school, but then they changed back. . .)

Now not all red-heads are gingers. To be a ginger you must posses the glowing red hair, pale clammy skin, overabundance of freckles, and generally creepiness that reflects the fact that you don't have a soul.

My school's debating society has debated on several occasions whether or not gingers should have the same civil rights as normal people.

The resolution was defeated.

There is no way I'm giving him my license now. Especially when he asks like that. He would just let it go to waste anyway. Its not like he even goes to parties now. He often puts homework ahead of going out on the weekend, I can't imagine how awkward he would be in a New York club.

Actually I can

I also don't want the kid wondering around the Big Apple with my identity. And signature.

He looses stuff constantly.

So a hint to all gingers. If you are asking a really big favor from a non-ginger. Do not compare yourselves to the person in question.

You can't complement someone by saying they don't have a soul.

Post Script: The word "blonde" for those of you not brushed up on you're blonde vocabulary, is one of the few words in the english language that still has a gender. e.g. He is blond and January Jones is also blonde.

Ahh, January Jones . . .

Like a Boss

While preparing for my school's big spring event, where everybody tries to out-prep each other, I came across this gem, has my friend as recently titled "like a boss"

Scratch and Sniff.

My roommate has questionable hygiene.

I assume he showers every day, but that is an assumption, which means I might be giving him too much credit. I occasionally see him take showers in the afternoon, and sometimes when I'm not here I know he has taken a shower earlier because I'll find large puddles of water around our apartment. Seriously puddles, he just doesn't drip water, he leaves puddles behind like a fucking sea creature. I don't know how he can carry that much water with him out of the shower, but he does. Of course I don't know how much water retention gingers have in comparisons with real human beings.

I just know he doesn't takes showers in the morning. This is nice because the one time he did take one in the morning during fall finals he bitched and complained that there wasn't any hot water.

Really? You mean there wasn't any more hot water for the third shower in a row? Wow, thats surprising considering the school just bought our water heater 35 years ago!

But the thing that REALLY grosses me out the most, is his habit of sniffing his clothes. Anytime he picks up clothes to change into, he sniffs them. And not just a slight silent sniff. A loud I-can-hear-you-in-the-next-room kind of sniff.

This worst part is, he has YET to reject any of his clothes after sniffing them. Not that dirty running sock, or that red sweater he wore everyday for a week, not even that shirt that was drenched in sweat the other week and has beeb lying in the floor since.

Each time a hear a loud sniff in my apartment, I cringe at the though of what he might be putting back on. . . .eguh.

Tiny Hiatus

I know I haven't been updating as much as I have been. Mid-terms among other things have been eating up a lot of my time.

BY REST ASURED!

Soon I shall avail you with the limitless antidotes about alcohol, and my ginger roommate!

Until then, well, find something to entertain yourselves, I suggest reddit

For those of you who have never been to reedit before, you will forever love me for showing it to you while simultaneously hate me for showing you something that is very addictive and will take over your life.