I Try too Hard to Be Awesome

I went into writing this blog with the intent to be as consistent as possible, and I realize that that hasn't exactly been happening. This is regrettable, but it usually happens with things like this. I tend to be too hard on myself and set out too rigorous guidelines for what I want to do. I'm not saying that it's a terrible idea to have standards, but I tend to want everything I do to be so perfect that I just stop having fun with it.

Like the day I forgot my hopscotch ruler... Disgraceful.

Therefore, I'm going to stop saying what topics I'm going to write about unless I have a post already in the works. I find that I'm just forcing posts before I've really given the topic itself any thought.

Dead Russian authors? Something everyone can relate to!

From this point hence, though, I will, for sure, try to post at least once a week. I just want to flex my writerly muscles and whatnot.

 As an aside, as I was writing this, I was trying to think of a post-topic that wouldn't be funny, and for some reason Dostoyevsky was the first thing that popped into my head. I decided to search Tolstoy, though, because I thought he might be a more recognizable name. Then, I realized that I had no idea what either of them looked like; so, after I got the above picture, I searched for the D-man. This is what I found:

Apparently, there was some sort of beard-off between these two men that I was completely unaware of. I honestly cannot decide whose is more epic.

And one final thing, I was going to end with a picture of a better beard than both of these guys. I searched for the best beard and stumbled upon the World Beard and Moustache Championship! This is probably the greatest thing I have ever found by accident, and it has totally made my day! I think that link is the best way to end this post.

Things that Are Awesome (Part 1)

I haven't had the drive to write a real post, so when there's going to be a huge lack of me writing I'll write really short posts like this one.

Awesome list 1:

1. When I type playlist into t9, the default word is slaylist.

2. When people walk two deep on narrow sidewalks at half the pace of everyone else.

3. The smell of vanilla-lavender dryer sheets.

4. The fact that I can say "quarter of" and there are places where people will have no idea what I'm talking about.

5. I have been able to see the sun for the last three days straight.

Can you guess what I'm serious about?

I'm a For Realz Person Now!

I graduated college a couple of weeks ago, but I was unable to connect myself to the internet, so I'm just writing about it now. I know what you're thinking, that is awesome! College, even? And don't get me wrong, it's pretty sweet. It was definitely a huge weight off of my shoulders to finally have all of my hard schoolwork pay off. I even got the holder for when I get my degree next month.

Those scrolls are lies! Blank LIES!

In spite of the fact that I don't have the certificate of completion just yet, I still got the very real feeling that college was over and a whole new adventure would begin. I realize that is quite melodramatic, but I think that it adequately gets at my feelings at the time.

Now, looking back on the experience from a few weeks distance, the whole shebang left me downright underwhelmed. The whole affair was horridly disorganized and I couldn't help but fondly reminisce about the by-comparison Hitlerian (maybe not a word) rigidness under which my high school graduation was undertaken.

I was going to put a picture of Hitler here with a totally hilarious caption, but decided that it was probably in poor taste. Instead, here is an unrelated photo of a kitten pretending to be people!

In high school we had the routine drilled into our heads so that I was taking with the left and shaking with the right in my sleep. The teachers knew that we weren't capable of thinking on our own and as a consequence felt the need to make our graduation like a well choreographed dance that my entire class knew the steps to. Guess what college...

Not that much has changed. Sure, I can think more analytically

Found that mofo in like a second!

and critically,

Booooooring!

but if you stick me into a room with a thousand other people and no idea what to do, I'll be just as lost as I would have been as a clueless graduating high schooler.

I guess I just expected a lot more pomp and a bit more circumstance, and in the end I was left a little unfulfilled. I think I expected to have this epiphany when I got my diploma holder, kind of a light bulb telling me what to do with my life. It was the same thing I expect to happen on every significant birthday. I expected on my sixteenth birthday to be endowed with the knowledge of how to drive, at least what I hadn't learned via Mario Kart.

Back of car on fire? Not making me go faster? Lame.

That kind of thing doesn't happen, though, and I was left feeling mostly unchanged by the whole event.

I know a ceremony isn't supposed to leave you feeling changed, unless it's a circumcision, but I was still disappointed. That is, until recently. I have decided that it's okay that I don't know where I'm going yet. At least, it's okay that I only have a general idea. I've even begun to have an idea of how I want this blog to look for upcoming posts, which is much more than I can usually say for anything I do. I never have any foresight.

I can't decide if I want to talk about my insurance troubles, because that will probably just turn into a lackluster rant because I'm far enough removed from the situation that it no longer bothers me enough to make a post about it not directionless. So, look forward to a post about me being the oldest! Yay!

On Future Updates

Dear Sparse Readership,

I haven't updated this blog with any regularity, even though I said I would, and this bothers me immensely. This will change very quickly if I can get my laptop connected to the internet, a little less if not. I hope to get at least three posts up in the next two weeks.

Spoiler alert, they will contain my thoughts on graduation, insurance, and being oldest. I hope they're at least amusing to read. Once I have the internet at my fingertips, I should begin to update regularly like I set out to. Here's to hoping!

Cheers,
WrinklesPeasley

Take the Stairs

In the last week, I've taken the elevator from the tenth to eighteenth floors in my building a lot because I'm lazy and can't be bothered to walk the seven floors to my room (there is no thirteenth floor). Walking those flights of stairs would require physical exertion of which I will have none.

I don't care if this is the way to ice cream mountain...  

My physical ineptitude, though, is not the reason for this post.

Three times during the past week, as I entered the elevator, people disembarked. They sailed past me with little regard, usually absorbed in their ipods or pretending to text as to avoid acknowledging my existence.

Mashing buttons makes me seem popular.

They would  skirt by me, usually bestowing upon me a rather surprised look because "what a coincidence, someone is getting on while I'm getting off."  I can't really fault them for this either because there have been many times when I've been so lost in thought as I was exiting and elevator that I've nearly had a fear-aneurysm  upon seeing a person as the doors slid open.

It's after I get onto the elevator that I perceive their mistake. I go to hit my floor and I see that another button already alight, usually the twelfth or fourteenth floor for some reason. There are two explanations for this phenomenon: either the people who got off are just jerks who get their kicks by wasting fifteen seconds of my time, or, more likely, they were so lost in themselves that they  just assumed that this was their floor, never checking to make sure. I can only imagine their dismay when they try in vain to shove their keys into someone else's door only to look up and notice it's not their name on the cutesy door tags.

"How peculiar, my name is neither Joe nor Jane Resident."

It's not that I'm a stranger to this experience. Once, during my freshman year in college, I tried for five straight minutes to try to get into the room that was directly below mine. I was completely perplexed as to why my keys weren't working until the young man who lived in the room opened the door and asked what the hell I was doing. I stared at him awkwardly for a moment, mouth agape, then walked away. Luckily, he decided not to pursue the matter any further.

Elevators in general are sources of discontentment for the masses, causing more awkward situations per square foot than any other place on Earth. Whether it be getting off at the wrong floor, moving to the doors before they open, or being forced into a conversation with someone for four floors (honestly, just pretend I'm not even there), it's hard not to hold a little bit of a grudge against elevators for being the genesis of so many uncomfortable situations. Maybe they get some sick pleasure out of making people squirm. Maybe they think it's funny when people try to stretch their response to "How's the weather?" for seven floors.

The face of evil?

Or maybe (and most likely) people are just awkward, and having someone's elbow digging into your appendix on a crowded elevator just makes it worse.