Rock. Bottom.

In college, sometimes you have moments that make you wonder. Wonder what to do, major in, become. Wonder about life itself. And especially, wonder why you have friends. These little moments are lovingly referred to as "petra deorsum". That's the scientific name for "rock bottom". This has been the theme of my weekend.

Loads of fun!

So I just realized the other night that I hadn't done laundry since November. I realized this because I had four more clean shirts and I'd been wearing the same jeans for three days. Call me gross if you will, but did you know that Levi Strauss has NEVER washed his jeans? He says to put them in the freezer. Maybe I should start doing that with all my laundry. It'd save me 80 cents a load.

The horror, the horror!

Finals are upon us... And since I have taken three in the last 24 hours, I figure I deserve this blogging break. Today's topic: Everything you need to know about finals.

First of all. Resistance is futile. If you haven't been studying and attending class all along, you're not going to learn anything out of the book. Let's face it. You're going to fail. So why bother trying? Just show up and take them all Monday morning. With 5 tests at an average of 20 minutes each, you could be done in less than two hours! If failure is inevitable, you might as well enjoy the rest of your week. And you can laugh at everyone else who is stressing about studying.

Multichaptasticking

I did something miraculous the other day.

I finished an entire tube of chapstick. That never happens! I always, always lose them before I finish them. I feel like I deserve an award of some sort.

This is way more prestigious than any Oscar or Emmy or Darwin award.

Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere...

Yesterday in our dorm, something terrible happened. Something awful, dreadful, utterly unpleasant, and ridiculously repulsive. It was the most dreaded day in a college student's life... Cleaning checks!

Cleaning checks are just that: your RA checks that your apartment is clean. You are assigned jobs to clean your dorm, you all do them, and then the RA comes and makes sure you did them. It's like being audited on your living space. It's stressful. Plus, you have to clean up after other people. (It does balance out, because they're also cleaning up after you, but still.)

Is there a doctor in the house?

Do you remember that time a couple of flu seasons ago when everyone was scared of swine flu? And if anyone coughed in class, everyone around them murmured, "Swiiiiine!" "He has the swine." "Oink, oink!" Well, I was thinking about that today because, guess what.

Bacon is delicious. Worth the risk.

I'm sick.

I think I'm still in denial.

Here at BYU, finals are quickly approaching. I have exactly 8 days until my first final. Everyone around me seems to have slipped into some sort of studying hyperdrive mode, yet here I am, frivolously typing away. I feel like I'm addicted to not worrying. So, I'm going to set up a 12-step program for myself to get over it this dysfunctional and addictive behavior.

1. Admit that I am powerless over my addiction--that my life has become unmanageable.

Alright, alright. I admit it. My life is horribly, awfully, twistedly unmanageable. I can't handle it anymore. I can't even open a can of Chef Boyardee Ravioli without breaking down into tears, because I am addicted to contentment. I am addicted to complacency!

Life... Is so... Hard... My lace hankie and the delicate rivulets of mascara flowing down my cheeks show you how truly burdensome this can of ravioli is to my life...

I mustache you a question...

A moustache [muhs-tash, muh-stash] is facial hair grown on the outer surface of the upper lip. It may or may not be accompanied by a type of beard, a facial hair styler grown and cropped to cover most of the lower half of the face.

The mustache, or moustache if you're British, is the perturbing paradox of man. Theoretically, the mustache adds an air of class and finesse to any schlub in a tuxedo. Truly, however, the mustache is a detriment to any and all men, no matter how angelic their clean-shaven baby face is.

Look. Even Brad Pitt can't pull it off, and apparently he's "dreamy". All it does is make him look like some 50-year-old taxi driver.