Despair.com

http://despair.com/laziness.html 

The tool is misdirection and effect is humor.  This is obviously ethos because laughter is an emotion.  This is a successful add because it made me laugh out loud, and I rarely laugh out loud at written things.  This entire site, which was introduced to me by a few very nice boys who have too much time on their hands, is very funny.  It takes the inspirational posters and turns them into depressing statements.  This Laziness one in particular is great because we have been told forever the statement of "Success is a Journey, Not a Destination," but we never think to ourselves "stop."  We have all been through journeys of different sizes, and we know that we shouldn't just stop, but we laugh at the idea anyway.

I love paper towels.

I am sort of a germ phob.  Saliva freaks me out, as well as even brushing up against people I don’t really know in crowds.  Now, there are good days and bad days with that.  Sometimes I find it excruciatingly hard to be within 2 feet of someone, even my favorite people in the world, and other days I’m just fine sitting side by side.  To come to college and share an apartment with five other girls is a tad rough on me psychologically, for obvious reasons.  Some girls just don’t know how to deal with their own hair.  They let it flow down the drain in the shower.  Now, that’s all fine and dandy except for the fact that our drainage at Heritage is very poor.  The shower fills like a tub.  We have two showers: the tub-shower has a huge showerhead that all my roommates love.  They say it’s like being in a rain forest.  I don’t really understand that.  Hopefully there are no animals or plants growing in there, at least yet, but I guess it could be considered a rain forest because it can’t drain so you step in and you’re already ankle deep in a river.  Now, I am a beast in comparison to my other roomies.  I’m only like 5’8’’ maaaaaybe 5’9’’, but my other roommates average 5’4’’.  The “rain forest” showerhead would smack me in the forehead, so I prefer the other shower.

The kitchen is a whole other story.  Girls eat so much.  The dishwasher is full all the time, so dishes just start to accumulate all over.  Then it turns into this big scary monster so no one even wants to go near it, we just set our dishes down as a sacrifice and run.  Talk about gross, our hand towels.  No one has decided to wash them yet, so they just kinda linger around the kitchen and they’re always wet.  I won’t even touch them any more because I’m afraid of where they’ve been. But I have found my solution, paper towels.  Yes, I may be killing trees, but at least paper towels are clean and keep me and my germ-phobic self happy. 

What? Something Interesting About Myself?

All of my teachers in smaller classes ask us to go around the room and one at a time say our name, where we are from, and something interesting about ourselves.  But what qualifies as interesting?  I have heard the blandest and the most ridiculous answers during the first few days of class.   What are people thinking when they make up their mind about what to say?  Are they thinking of the cutest response so that the boy three rows over remembers them?  Are they just trying to get through class by choosing something simple?  Or are they trying to impress everyone?  We all have absurd things to say about our selves, but most of us don’t say them, or at least tone them down. 

Even though people don’t want to admit it, there is this underlying competition among the class to get the best response.  Some people decide they would rather forfeit than step on the court and play the game, so they give a bland answer like “I like to sleep.”  Well duh, everyone likes to sleep.  Some people try to impress the class and try for the “oohs” and “ahhs.”  So they say they’re related to some apostle or prophet, if you’re playing with Mormons that’s a three point shot, if you’re out in the real world you’re benched.  Others overshoot the “interesting” concept and just disturb the class.  I heard a girl say she has kissed Michael Jackson’s giraffes.  No one really knew what she meant and no one knew anything about these giraffes so she got the polite nod from the class; air-ball.   Other students try to shock everyone.  When it comes to the shock factor, kids usually turn to their joints.  So what if you can dislocate an appendage or pop your joints out of their sockets?!  The only response you get is “DO IT!”  So when you say you have double-jointed shoulders, all you really want to do is stop the class and show everyone how “cool” you are because you were born as a mutated child.  No one really cares nor does anyone really want to see it.   Half court shot and miss.

(To be honest, I do have really gross, messed up thumbs that don’t allow me to give a “thumbs-up”.  So maybe I’m just jealous that everyone else’s joints expand their range of motion and make them seem cool while mine restrain me and I am stuck having to give the “okay” sign instead of the thumbs-up all my life.)

Boys in the Dorm, Even After Hours

Three days ago we were six normal girls living in room 88 of Penrose. We talked about our home lives, what we did in high school, and what we wanted from our college education. We talked about what callings we wanted in the ward and what we like to eat for dinner. But just three days later boys have taken over our apartment. They are there all the time. They make us stay up later, study less, and they are there even as we drift off to bed. Now, I wish they were actually there, but they exist only in every conversation and in every decision; when we leave for class, what we do at night, where we go for lunch, when we buy our groceries. Everything.
72 hours was all it took to turn six bright, 18-year-old young women into blubbering teeny boppers who seemed to be playing with their Ken dolls just a month before. We know we’re ridiculous, but that doesn’t stop us.
I write this wondering what happens in the abyss that is a guy’s dorm. Do guys just not talk or what? We are over in our building freaking out over the pointless things while guys seem to be sitting on their couches playing video games and eating their Top Ramen. Do guys ever take the extra long way back just to glance into a window hoping to see a certain girl? Do guys ever talk about a girl they’re never even met, but just noticed in class or in the ward? Do guys ever find it hard to concentrate in class with that one girl sitting in their view?  Why all the secrets, boys? It’s time to tell all.  Fess up and blog.

The Ovens Cook the Honor Code

The ovens in the dorms are ridiculous.  

First of all, they get way too hot.  How am I supposed to make a decent cookie or muffin if the oven temperature gage lies to me!  I mean, we are at Brigham Young University here, and honesty is very important and I believe it is a large part of the honor code.  How are we as students supposed to follow the honor code if our kitchen utilities don't even do it?  I mean seriously, 350 turns to 375 and those 25 degrees are the difference between a fluffy, soft cookie and a stiff, dry one.  There should at least be a warning sticker on the ovens to all of the psychotic bakers like me.  

Oh, and my oven light doesn't even work.  So not only do I have to adjust the temperature accordingly for all of my recipes but I can't even check up on my babies while they are maturing into their sweet selves.  Why don't I just open the oven door and to see them? Well, like any REAL baker knows, when the oven door opens too much heat escapes and that will cause disruption to the baking process.