erm... is that even a major?

"There are too many people who choose their majors and their careers based on what their parents want, what their friends say is good, and they end up realizing at forty-two years old that they hate their lives. Don't do that. Follow your own passion. Your passion is what makes you the happiest, what you're an expert in, what you spend all your time doing and thinking about, what you love the most." 

- Professor Ken Sereno (Comm. 200)

... Looks like I'm in for a prosperous career in Harry Potter.

Speaking of which... I've been driving myself mad in my efforts to avoid Half-Blood Prince exposure (set photos, trailers, sneak peeks, etc.). It's really quite difficult when you spend as much time as I do on mugglenet.com (and I say this with no shame).

But it will all be worth it come July 15th.

So, so worth it.

New photo from Empire Magazine... 

Does anyone else get the sneaking suspicion that Dan is turning into a vampire?

for anyone considering coming to USC.

It's college decision crunch-time for a bunch of seniors, so I thought this was appropriate.

10 Things Prospective Students Should Know About USC 

(Before Sending In Their $300 Deposit)

1. It's called the University of Spoiled Children for a reason. (If you don't know what "Citizens" are, don't own an iPhone or a Blackberry, and/or think "True Religion" is the title of a spiritual self-help book, do yourself a favor and go to state college instead.)

2. It's also called the University of South Central for a reason. (Here, not even frat bros are too manly for pepper spray.)

3. If standing for 4+ hours in a colossal solar oven, repeatedly being obliged to do the SoCal spell-out (really? must we spell out the inanely long "Southern California".. again?) while watching brute-like men throw themselves at each other as if in some Neanderthal homoerotic fantasy does not sound like your idea of sheer and total bliss, you will not survive football season. Or if you do survive, you will come out of it a weaker, sadder, sorrier person.

Did I really pay $160 for this?

4. USC is located on a very small, trapezoidal-shaped, ghetto-locked piece of land. This virtually guarantees that its students live in a tiny, insulated bubble. Accordingly, on the extremely rare instances that you will see puppies, small children, and/or people from the outside world, you will freak the hell out. 

USC's small, trapezoidal campus is comfortably cushioned on all sides by... South Central.

5. #4 also guarantees that if you ever need to avoid anyone, which you inevitably will, you will fail at doing so. Encounters of the most excruciatingly awkward nature thrive beautifully at USC.

6. If you are a girl who also happens to be a normal human being, USC will take your self-esteem and break it into millions of little pieces. If you do not have at least 1-2 full hours each morning to devote to perfecting your immaculate, boho-meets-hipster-meets-LA-chic look, don't even bother. You might as well affix a paper bag onto your head before going out in public. (Unless you're a science major, in which case this does not apply.)

USC: an army of Lauren Conrads...

... and bohemian/hipster, Urban Outfitters catalog types.

7. There are only two dining halls. EVK, the one you will most likely frequent, serves approximately three edible items per day: marinara pasta, pizza, and salad-- or "my daily meal of noodles and leaves," according to EVK regular/hater Nitasha R. (I should, however, concede that EVK does occasionally show faint glimmers of humanity, e.g. their grill and fondue days.)

8. If you live around the Quad (and most freshmen do), you will be woken up and driven to violent and/or suicidal thoughts on random Sundays by terrible "rock," "rap," and occasionally "Christian" concerts, none of which are actually attended by more than 3 people, yet all of which persist intolerably for at least 6 grueling hours. 

9. Whether you want it or not, USC will provide you with a quality classical education... in Greek life. Not only will you learn the Greek alphabet, you will also be able to name and describe every sorority and fraternity in existence, possess the lowdown on every invite, exchange, and/or frat party that is going on at all times, and acquire the highly intellectual skill of being able to sort girls into their respective sororities by the color of their tote bags (and frat guys by their bro shades).

DG- and I didn't even need to cheat!

10. The Spirit of Troy (the marching band) and their head-splitting, maddeningly repetitive tunes will haunt you forever, no matter where you go. Even if they're not blasting the fight song right outside your dorm, rest assured that they will always find you (they've cropped up in such  unlikely places as American Idol, the Grammys, and my worst nightmares).

 *Note to any humorless, SoCal spell-out loving, USC-adoring readers I have undoubtedly angered: Don't get angry. This was all written in good humor. Obviously, USC isn't an entirely useless, blinged-out intellectual wasteland.

i think i just sold my soul.

So I'm gathering my stuff to leave Comm 339 this afternoon when, in my peripheral vision, I see this random kid in my class walking towards me.

To help you better imagine the situation, here's a short rundown:

Appearance: Tall, built, short brown hair. Wears fitted v-necks, mostly in dark colors, and designer jeans (today, they're Seven). Possesses the "I'm paying $40k a year to go here, but who gives a shit, I'm taking over my dad's company anyways" attitude of the typical moneyed 'SC kid. 

Class attendance: Sporadic. Most likely a senior.

Class participation: Minimal. Pretty sure his most noteworthy moment in class occurred when he fell out of his chair on accident.

Smart phone of choice:  Blackberry.

... You get the picture.

So anyways, as I see him approaching me, I'm slightly confused, because while our class is pretty small (20, 25 kids?), he and I have had no previous history of conversation.. or even mutual acknowledgment.

Me: (looking blankly at him)

Him: Hi. Um. Can I.. pay you for your class notes??

Me: 

Him: You obviously pay attention and participate more than, like, anyone in this class, and you seem to do all the readings, and I mean, I don't do anything, so I'll pay you for your notes. How much do you want? Whatever sounds reasonable...  Thirty bucks?

Me: (thinking how funny it is that he thinks I do the readings) Uhh... I really don't take that great of notes, I mean... they're pretty basic. (they are)

Him: I'm sure they're perfect. (it is quite obvious by this point that this kid is going to epically fail the final without my notes, and I almost feel bad for him.) Does thirty bucks sound good??

Me: Uh... (thinking I could probably jack up the price if I wanted to...)

Him: Like, I'd really appreciate it.

Me: (internally laughing at how pathetic this guy is) Sure, okay..

So he types in my phone number on his Blackberry, and we plan to talk later. Meanwhile, I'm beginning to ponder:

1. Whether he expects me to photocopy forty pages of notes for him... (fat chance). 

2. How I can best blackmail him in the case that I let him borrow my notebook... and he doesn't give it back.

But he didn't give me much time to think it over. Because one hour later, after randomly running into him outside my dorm (I'm telling you, this place really is too small), I'm handing this virtual stranger my PRECIOUS notebook, containing an entire semester's worth of notes, in exchange for a crumpled up twenty. (He promised to give me the last $10 when he gives me back my notebook, which, when you think about it, makes absolutely no sense... but somehow sounded okay to me at the time.) Can you say SKETCHY?

Sure, it might be just a notebook. But I feel like I've just sold my soul (which, apparently, is only worth $20). Plus, I'm 85% certain that he is going to steal, lose, or desecrate it in some way or another. 

Which basically means I'm fucking screwed.

10 surefire ways to sever ties with your roommate.

In light of my recent promise to Felicia (the roommate) to dedicate my next post to her... here are 10 guaranteed ways to tick off your college roommate (all in good fun, of course), inspired by a year of hilarious (or not so hilarious) roommate exchanges.

1. Make disparaging comments about everything your roommate puts on as she gets ready in the morning. Example: (Roommate puts on a shirt.) "Uh... are you sure you want to wear that?" (Roommate tries on a different shirt.) "HAHAHA" (Roommate begins to get angry.) "Just leave it on.. I don't think anything could improve this situation."

2. Stand right behind your roommate and read what she's typing, as she's typing it,  over her shoulder... whenever she's trying to write a paper.

3. Frequently lock yourself out of the room. Your roommate will be forced to open the door for you so many times that she'll either begin to check for you whether you have your card before you or she leaves the room (if she's nice), or accumulate feelings of spite against you and begin to purposefully lock you out every time you leave the room, even if you're just going to the bathroom (if she's REALLY nice).

4. Mount/jump on your roommate every time she is lying on her bed attempting to do work/sleep/rest. Scream "MOUNT!!!!" every time you do so.

5. Buy a bag of Naked Pita Chips. Proceed to eat them loudly and in rapid succession right next to your roommate as she attempts to fall asleep. Remember to crinkle the bag each time you reach for more chips to ensure that you reach your maximum volume potential. 

6. Blast "The Call" by the Backstreet Boys on surround sound speakers at least once every one or two weeks, and make sure to put the song on repeat.

7. Every time your roommate changes clothes, enthusiastically egg her on. Example: (Roommate begins to unzip her pants) "Yeah, (insert name here)!!!! Take it all off!!!"

8. Sing along to everything, even songs inside your head. When your roommate begins to sigh in annoyance, you know it's time to increase the volume and add an interpretive dance routine. 

9. Every time your roommate opens the refrigerator, tell her that she's fat. Example: (Roommate opens the refrigerator) "You're fat." 

10. Laugh and point at your roommate as she struggles (in vain) to get up each morning for class, and then struggles (in vain) to locate her glasses. Invite all of your friends over to watch your roommate get up in the morning, promising "the best twenty minutes of your life."

*I am personally guilty of committing only acts 3, 8, and occasionally 9. As for the rest... yup, you guessed it...all Felicia.

#4. Mount your roommate whenever she's trying to do work on her bed. For added enjoyment, take over her MacBook and start taking obnoxious Photobooth pictures.

in other words, i'm a softie.

As I was thinking morbid thoughts, conspicuously but unapologetically (front and center, baby) doodling the words "SAVE ME NOW" in various fonts and sizes all over my handouts, and downing my milky coffee while sitting through my intolerable Comm 200 discussion this morning, I came upon the following conclusion:

California (and college) has made me soft.

Proof:

1. A lifelong black-coffee-only person, I now take milk with my coffee.

2. I flip a shit when it's anything less than 75 degrees outside.

3. I have nostalgic thoughts about Ohio and high school, two things I used to abhor, at least once a day.

So yeah. It's true what they say: Socal makes you soft.

In other news, every Angeleno should pick up a copy of LA Weekly's People 2009 issue, because it's freaking sweet. Anybody who is ANYBODY in L.A. is profiled in it, it's super well-written and designed, and it features some amazing photography.

Who doesn't love pretty pictures?

hello, world.

Today, I finally succumbed to the epidemic that is the blog.

It might've been L.A.'s recent, weirdly Ohio-like shifts in temperature (Monday, it was a hellish 99 degrees; today, it's a frigid- in the Socal sense of the word, of course- 68), which have put me in a panicky state of disorientation and emotional trauma. (Getting dressed in the morning has never been so stressful... Strapless sundress or fur-lined parka? Flip-flops or suede moccasins?? OH GOD, TAKE ME NOW!!!)

Left: Me on Monday. Right: Me today. Basically.

Or, come to think of it, it could have also been the freakishly healthy, suspiciously squirrel-food-esque Trio bars (the package reads: Vegan/0g Trans Fat/Kosher/No Additives/No Cholesterol/Free of Gluten, Dairy, Wheat, GMO...ew) that my ever-considerate mother (for more information, check out www.mymomisafob.com) recently shipped me in bulk and that, after hesitantly nibbling this morning, left me feeling very confused.

Nutritious snack, or food for the bushy-tailed? We will never know.

In all reality, though, this blog can probably owe itself to the fact that I have three 10-12 page term papers due next week, only one of which I've started, and have thus entered into that ever-familiar phase of procrastination in which you're so deep in denial that you start having the illusion that you don't have anything better to do with your time than, say, create blogs or watch marathons of Millionaire Matchmaker (or worse, Spanish-language infomercials).

Who watches this? Oh wait, I do.

...I don't even speak Spanish.

This might not make much sense to you, but that's why I'm a failure at life and you're not. (www.fmylife.com, anyone?)

Whatever the reason, the urge to start blogging hit me today like that school bus that comes out of abso-freaking-lutely nowhere and hits Regina at the end of Mean Girls. And, choosing not to question inspiration's strange and mysterious ways (did you know it could come in the form of squirrel food?), I obeyed.

Happy birthday, blog.