Slang It Yourself

Creating your own slang is so cool. My best friend Loreal is really good at it, and I've stolen about ninety percent of what she's come up with. The only one I can think of right now is "fucky." A great word. Very versatile. Oh wait--also, saying "OMG!!" in spoken conversation is something I've picked up from her.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I went to a Key Club convention with a bunch of juniors that I hardly knew. It was unbearably awkward. The only good thing about it was the slang of this guy, Gabe. We were watching some gymnast on TV, and Gabe said, "She looks all professional and whatever, but you know she's really about to yak." I had to dig my fingernails into my palms to keep from looking like i was having a grand mal seizure from laughing so hard and trying to repress it. Then he said, "I just came back from the lobby. There's a buttload of people down there." I think I had to leave the room.

The champion, though, was my supervisor when I receptionisted at Sole Survivor Corp last February. When she really liked something, she'd call it either "Genius!" or "Perf'!" When I accidentally stamped away seven hundred dollars of the company's money on postage tags, she said, "Holy buckets!!" Then she insisted on accompanying me to the post office, with her dog, so that I could finagle it back (digression: the power dynamic of your boss sitting in your passenger seat is just indescribably weird). When I came out of the post office, triumphant, she said, "Oh my God. About thirty seconds before you came out, I seriously thought I was gonna yerf."

My current attempts at slang-it-yourself include adding the suffix "tastic" to random words, like "nerdtastic." I also say, "That's fucked up!!!" in response to anything that I think is just really cool, or surprising, or whatever. Like, why should "fucked up" necessarily have a negative connotation? I'm learning. Further attempts will be documented here....of course.

(addendum: except on blogger, where it is 1:25 AM)

1:19 AM

It always seems to be 1:19 AM.

Catharsis Humor

I'm a big fan of catharsis humor. The best part about embarrassing yourself is telling someone about it later. I think that's the driving force of this blog.

Case in point: Sister calls me. We have a nice chat, but I'm waiting for another call so I have to cut her off. We say goodbye and hang up. Five minutes later, the phone rings. It's Kirsten again.

Danielle: (annoyed) Kirsten, quit it! I'm waiting for a phone call!!!
Kirsten: I know! I know! I'm sorry, but I just had to call you back because....(in a whisper)I fell.

See what I'm saying?! It's human nature. Every time I do something embarrassing, my first thought is either, "OMG, I have to tell [insert friend here] about this," or, "OMG, I have to post this on Hubbard's Cupboard and tell innumerable strangers about this." Clearly, my sister is the same way. And the more people you share it with, the merrier--which is why I think I detected a touch of hope in her voice when she asked me, "You're going to put this on your weblog, aren't you?"

Kirsten, I hope this makes you happy. MY HOT SISTER FELL ON HER ASS IN THE PARKING LOT WHILE LOOKING FOR HER BOYFRIEND'S CAR AND THEN JUST SAT THERE LIKE SHE MEANT TO DO IT.

Whenever I pass a clump of people on the street, I generally assume that they're cooler than me. And--let's be honest here--they usually are. But I should not be so quick to judge. Yesterday, as I was walking to the Co-Op, I passed a group of U of C kids. As I stepped onto the grass to let them by, I overheard one of them say, in that self-important, over-enunciated nerd voice:

"Can we just pretend The Temple of Doom never existed?"

Somehow, I felt better.

Another Note
I reached an important realization about myself today. I cannot do anything, not a THING, without keeping an inner running commentary on it. Is this particular to me? I'm sure it isn't. But I think it's great! It's the stuff that comedy gold is made of!

The best part about having the Onion in print circulation on campus is that whenever a new issue comes out, you get to pass distinguished-looking academics sitting on benches, fully absorbed in it, with adorable little smirks on their faces.

What up.

Last night, I was reading through my old emails from the first quarter of my first year. I feel like time passes so quickly it overlaps onto itself. Whatever I expected 19 months to feel like, it doesn't feel like that. It feels like it's still occuring on some plane, just beyond the horizon.

Anyway, I stayed up until an ungodly hour reading these emailed, fascinated by how much I've changed in such a seemingly short time. For example, I used to sign my emails, "Take care," or even, "With love." Now I've moved on to "Best," or even the old fallback, "Sincerely." I also used more exclamation points.

Finally, I used to be pretty freakin' hilarious! Witness these gems:

I have no idea what this is about
Date: Sept 21st, 2001--five days after my arrival
Subj: LOREAL!!!!!!!!!
Message: CALL ME!!!! OMG!!!! AS SOON AS YOU GET THIS CALL MY CELL!!!!

To Devi, my Jewish friend
Message: I hath not forsaken thee. Hath? What is the appropriate Old English word to use in that context? What is the Old English word for "I"? Is it even Old English? Isn't Old English comprised of strange letters like that AE thing? Like Caedmon's poetry? Oh wait--you wouldn't know who Caedmon is. He's a Christian poet. Speaking of Jews, there's a guy on my floor who wears a yarmulke all the time and doesn't eat at the dining hall because it isn't kosher. He made me think of you. Not like the first time I saw him, but just now, he made me think of you. Actually, you made me think of him.

To Kirsten
P.S. I wrote this in the main library (The Regenstein, aka "The Reg") and as I was walking to a computer I passed Anna Chlumsky and our eyes met! No lie! OMG! She really goes here!

To Nikki
In other news, I've been sick as fuck for the past two weeks. My mom sent me ecinachea, and I tried to get my fluids, and I carried around ample kleenex, but to no avail: I felt like I was about to collapse yesterday. So I literally dragged my uncooperative, achey ass to the student care center at 1:15 expecting to acquire some free Sudafed and still make the 1:45 bus. Two hours later I was hooked up to an IV with a 0.9% Sodium Dichlorate solution dripping into my left arm, having been diagnosed as "severely dehydrated." What's weird is that I didn't even feel thirsty. I just felt crappy. Adding to the fun was the fact that it was the nurse's first time hooking up an IV to anyone. She had a supervisor and everything, but I guess she miscalculated in the puncture-vein-->insert-needle sequence, resulting in the supervisor saying to me, "Let me get you a new gown, honey" because the front was stained with my blood. Anyway, I feel MUCH better today, but I'm hyperafraid of becoming dehydrated again. So I've been carrying around this gargantuan waterbottle which I continually refill. I tried to refill it using the water dispenser at the dining hall but
that didn't really work; it just resulted in me spilling water everywhere and getting all embarrassed. The point of this story is the "drink lots of fluids" advice is valid. Take it from the red welt in the crook of my elbow.
2003 addition: Not mentioned was the fact that after the nurse squirted blood everywhere while sticking the IV into my vein, she put her hands up to her head and started crying, "I messed it up! I messed it up!" I don't think it's a very good sign when the patient is the one comforting the nurse.

Finally:
Why I felt very lonely first quarter (written to Loreal):
Today, I was sitting at the dining hall, and my housemates were talking about how they organized their buddy lists. My friend TJ said, "My categories are friends, college friends, and family."
All of a sudden, I said, "You guys, you know what's weird? We have *college* friends. COLLEGE friends. Like, we're in COLLEGE now."
Everyone sort of nodded and looked at me funny. TJ said, "...I'm not following."
"And what's more," I said, "We're *each other's* college friends."
TJ said, "Uh, I still don't get it."
"Oh, I get it," said Courtney. "She means that like, it should be 'friends' and 'high school friends,' since 'college friends' should be considered the people who are our friends now, since high school was in the past."
I didn't have the heart to explain. Sigh. No one here gets it.
-Danielle
P.S. If you were here, I'd just have said, "OMG, *COLLEGE* friends!!"


THANK YOU CHICAGO!!! GOOD NIGHT!!!

Why are so many guys here going bald already?! IS IT SO MUCH TO ASK THAT MY FIRST REAL BOYFRIEND HAVE A FULL HEAD OF HAIR?!?!

I knew it.

My chances of meeting my soulmate, according to the Soulmate Calculator:

Your probability coefficient: 2.20598152138655E-09.

You have to meet 453,312,954 heterosexual males who are between 18 and 25 years old.

They also must meet these marriage status requirement(s):
- Never Been Married

You might have to move.

My Zola & Dostoevsky professor is the most adorable man on campus. He's about seventy, very tall, with a droopy white moustache and a French accent. He's animated and gregarious and makes random growling noises in the middle of class. He also calls on us by name, which I could not figure out, since as far as I was aware, he'd made no obvious effort to learn them. Then, on Thursday, I noticed that he had a large white paper in front of him with small rectangular pictures organized in rows. He had somehow gotten all of our ID pictures, photocopied them onto a piece of paper, and written our names underneath them so he could recognize us by face. Verdict: 85% adorable, 15% creepy.

Yesterday, Burcu and I went to a concert on top of the large parking garage on campus. I almost don't want to talk about this because it's kind of important to me, and I don't like to get too personal on this weblog. But while I was there, we sat on the ledge overlooking the Chicago skyline and watched people arrive, and I realized that I know next to none of the students here. I have very few close friends. I would like to befriend more people, but I don't know how. Perhaps my...loneliness, I guess...can be attributed to my housing fiasco last year, and living in an apartment this year. To my shyness and my semi-laziness. And most of all, sadly, to the fact that I don't drink and don't party. I'm learning to not let that hinder me, but it takes a long time, and the years are passing.

Anywayz, I had a conference with one of my writing professors on Friday. She's great, but she talks faster than any adult I've ever met. She said I write well, but I try to be tragic/sentimental/sympathetic while being comedic and mocking, and it "doesn't really work" all the time. There are two ways it can come across, she said: either as uncomfortable jolts that confuse the reader as to what emotions he or she should be feeling, or as a message that tragicomedy is the *human condition*. Basically, I'm trying to be Dorothy Parker and it isn't working. Rats. She did say, however, that I should study humor as my final project. Woo! The chair of the University of Chicago Writing Program thinks I'm funny!

This week has been insane. After the emotional apocalypse that was my weekend, I had to suffer through three consecutive midterms, test rat estrogen cycles, and look at least somewhat presentable when I ventured forth into the outside world. As a release, Burcu and I sang Disney songs at the top of our lungs for two hours this evening. I've decided to make it my life's goal to learn the lyrics to all the songs from the Golden Age of Disney movies--i.e., from The Little Mermaid through The Lion King, with some selections from Oliver & Company.
I also found out today that I was accepted into the Athens Civilization Program for next spring. Woohoo! By this time next year, I'll be quite the cosmopolitan! Or dead!
In an effort to be sunny, here are some things that I LOVE:

• my cat
  
• hyphens
  
• swinging at the park across the street as the sun goes down
  
• the phrase, "I want to SOCK her fat face!" (courtesy Devi Rao)
  
• dangly earrings
  
• Dell variety puzzles
  
• Six Feet Under
  
• that Kim Locke didn't get kicked off American Idol tonight!
  
• Dorothy Parker, poet/author and my new hero
  
• beautiful people
  
• when the phone's for me

Meet Leah.

Enough serious stuff. I often post about the crazy antics of my roommate Burcu, because it's so easy. But underrepresented in this weblog is the quieter roommate, Leah, whose quirks are perhaps less obvious but just as adorable. Here is a collection of anecdotes to get you better acquainted with the brilliant San Franciscan down the hall.

Anecdote #1:
Leah receives mysterious scammy letter telling her to call an 800-number regarding her "$1 million sweepstakes entry." She is intrigued and decides to call the number. I don't have the heart to tell her it's scammy, and besides, I'm kind of curious about what will happen.
This is Leah's end of the conversation. (note: everything is said completely un-ironically):
Leah: Hello! I'm calling regarding my $1 million sweepstakes entry. (pause) Umm...oh goodness, I don't know. I'd probably pay my parents back for the money they put towards my tuition, and I'd take a vacation, and save the rest of it. I don't know--what would you do with 1 million dollars? (pause) Oh, that's really neat! How many kids do you have? (pause) Wow! That's really great! (long pause) All right! I'll take...hmm, let me see...one subscription to Photography Today, one to Vogue, and one to Self. Okay, great! Wow, thanks, I think you're very nice, too. I really appreciate your help. Have a great day!

Anecdote #2: Friday Night
Lucas, Leah, and I are leaving a party. Leah is a bit tipsy (she doesn't usually drink--Friday was unusual). We're halfway down the stairs when Leah freezes. "I'll meet you guys outside," she says. "I just have to run back upstairs really quickly." Figuring she forgot her keys or something, we shrug and keep going.
Then, we hear her (heterosexual) voice coming down the stairwell, talking to the girl who was sitting in the hallway outside the party-apartment.
Leah: I just wanted to tell you that I think you are so beautiful. Seriously, I've seen you around campus before and I always think that you're just gorgeous. I just thought you should know.
Girl: (flattered) Oh, thank you so much! Wow, thank you!
Me: (to Lucas) That is such a Leah thing to do.

Anecdote #3:Yesterday Evening

Me: (recounting Friday's story) ...and then I turned to Lucas and I said, 'That is such a Leah thing to do!'
Leah: (embarrassed, laughing) Yeah, and you know, she was really, really nice about it! I mean, a lot of times when I tell people things like that, they get so freaked out, and I don't understand why!
Me: ...How often do you tell people things like that?

HATE: The Sequel

The one aspect of human existence that I can honestly say I *hate*, *hate* in asterisks, *hate* in the full sense of the word, *hate* with all its connotations, yes, I mean *hate*, is the part that catches you in emotions, catches you in the moment, turns you upside down, makes you vulnerable, makes you impulsive and quick to action--the part that gets you caught in yourself with no *perspective*, no rationality, no grip on reality. You know what I'm talking about. The thing that makes you hate yourself.

But one aspect of human existence that I love is the part that steps back, realizes that you are only a person, and that you end where you end; that there's a part of you that does have perspective; that no matter what stupid things you do, there's a part of you that knows what you're doing, and why, and has *sympathy* instead of just scorn, that recognizes that you're far too hard on yourself, that your intentions are really good and you really are trying.

God, I hope when I reread this in the future, I realize that I am throwing myself in every word I'm saying here, and this sums up everything that's important to me at this moment.

Heavy, heavy, heavy. I am thunderstormy today.

The weather was dreary today, hanging greyness punctuated by bouts of rain, although I have to concede that the fog was beautiful and poetic. Last night it thunderstormed. Tomorrow it will be cloudy. Saturday it will be sunny. I can pretend now that the weather is exactly corresponding to my ever-changing moods...stormy, dreary, cloudy...and sunny, I hope. Who knows what will happen before Saturday?

I hate being trapped in Thursday night.

It's late, and I've gotten this creepy, inexplicable burst of energy, and so I've been pacing up and down the hall, engaging in imaginary conversations, kicking halfheartedly at the walls, and basically acting like a crazy person. Sort of the way you get when you first realize you have a new crush. I used to love that feeling, but now I hate it. I really do. I hate having all these emotions just thrashing around inside me with no outlet.

There's a girl in one of my classes (I think it's best now to be as vague as possible when dissing real-live people on this weblog, since when I've mentioned people by name, someone invariably googles them and finds this site and I feel terrible) who inspires this totally irrational *annoyance* in me. I get seriously irritated when I just glance at her or hear her obnoxious laugh or her stupid jokes and UNNGGHH! I may have figured out why, though. I went to elementary school with a girl whose name is very similar to a kind of cheese, so let's call her Muenster. She had that same grating, suck-up quality. In second grade, she got all this attention, some award, profiled in the paper, for her efforts to clean up the litter in the schoolyard. In fact, she made up a song. It went, to the tune of "I've been working on the railroad:"

"I've been working on the schoolyard!
All the live-long day!"

I can't remember the rest, but it involved cleaning up litter. Also, Muenster was a total bitch to me and my sister. Every spring, she'd have this huge birthday party, with boys AND girls, and it was always like---who's Muenster going to invite? Who's she going to invite this year? And she'd bring all these invitations to school, and pass them out during recess, and then all the people she invited would go off and play kickball together, and she NEVER, not ONCE, invited me or my sister. After the first time, in second grade, Kirsten and I invited her to our eighth birthday party. Did she reciprocate? Shit no. We didn't fall into THAT trap twice, shit, but a few other girls did. She's also the only non-Kirsten I've gotten into a fistfight with. Wait...actually, that's not true. I was kind of a badass kid.

Well, anyway, we eventually went to different junior highs and high schools, and the last I heard of Muenster, she'd dropped out of high school and was working at Starbucks, and was profiled in the paper for protesting outside of it with other disgruntled barristas. Woohoo, Muenster! See, we always knew you'd save the world. She's also one of those people who say things like, "Uhh...I can't even REMEMBER what my real hair color is!!" WAYYY past the time when that was cool. And she wears hemp jewelry and still talks like she has a stuffy nose.

Anyway, this girl in my class reminds me so much of Muenster. I was expecting this realization to bring me catharsis, but instead, it just gets me MORE annoyed, because whenever I look at her, Muenster's fat face pops into my head! WHAT DO I DO?!?!

Well, at least I can console myself with the fact that while Muenster is making lattes, I'm getting an education from a fine institution and am actually going somewhere in life. I also spend my Saturday nights washing dishes and solving diagramless crossword puzzles, and I write lengthy posts on my *nerdlaugh* weblog about residual anger over not getting invited to birthday parties in elementary school. I think it's time for bed.