Judge Judy: Music Edition
Why is it that snow is the only weather taken seriously by government and school officials? School is cancelled when there is half an inch of snow, but today it was a torrential downpour and the thought of canceling class isn’t even toyed with. Meanwhile, ALL my folders were destroyed and because I get the cheap paper ones (might as well have spent the extra 50 cents on the plastic Five Star ones because now I’m buying this paper shit for the second time, but the one thing I’m not jappy about are my folders/books…pens on the other hand are a totally different story), all my papers are tie died. I literally turned in a wet, purple stained worksheet to my teacher today (yes, I get worksheets…remember I’m a COMM major). It was almost as embarrassing as my sign in sheet experience last semester. For my history discussion every week, we had a sign in sheet that was passed around the room and for some reason, every Monday I exclusively had rainbow colored milky pens on me (so not typical Flal) and of course the sign in sheet always started with me so the entire class saw a periwinkle “Allison Miszner” signed above their normal navy/black inked names. That’s what I get mortified by. When I use mud from the ground to draw war paint on my face at a tailgate, I feel totally normal.
So with this horrible weather plaguing College Park, I’m forced to wear my hideous Hunter rain boots (I thought purchasing hunter green Hunter boots would be ironic and comical, yet it just limits me from wearing anything red in fear of looking like Christmas- sidebar: I will never wear a holiday colors when it’s not the holiday- and brown because I’ll look like an upside down tree.) I’m also unable to kill time between classes tanning. Therefore, I have to sit in the buildings my classes are in waiting for class to start, judging all the girls who don’t have Hunter boots (hunter green Hunters are still better than polka dot/plaid no names…)
I typically spend my time in between classes listening to my iPod, which is extremely outdated by the way. It’s the old Product(Red) Nano. Judging? I also have a very strange variety on music on my iPod. It’s not that I don’t like music, I just don’t die for it like I did for the Rachel Zoe Project premiere last night (In: Jeremiah, Out: Brad, Never Was: Taylor), so the music on my iPod ranges from current techno for the gym to very out dated Nelly.
A lot of the time when I’m just casually listening to my iPod, I’ll put in on shuffle. Want to know some the songs that might come on? Destiny’s Child’s “Bug a Boo,” S Club 7’s “Bring It All Back,” Puff Daddy (I believe that’s who he was at the time he recorded this song) and every other Bad Boy’s “I Need a Girl Part 2” (no Part 1, never Part 1), Ashlee Simpson’s “Pieces of Me,” and Usher’s “U Got It Bad.” That’s just to name a few. And to be honest, I like those songs so I don’t change them. But the issue is that I’m deaf. I mumble and I can’t hear shit (two things that make me a very poor communicator…maybe I should consider changing my major). Needless to say, this forces me to listen to my iPod extremely, extremely loud.
Another thing I do when I listen to music is I completely and entirely forget I am in public and go into a fantasy world where I am the one signing, not Jessica Simpson. So I don’t realize that people can hear what I’m listening to. When you have you iPod on full volume and your sitting right next to someone outside a classroom where there is virtually no noise, chances are they can hear you. When you’re listening to “I Hate Everything About You” or “Barbie Girl” (I suffer from severe mood swings) and the stranger next to you can hear, well, they judge. They judge you on your odd choice in music. I don’t really appreciate being judged for my music. I don’t even know what’s “cool” to listen to anymore. If you’re listening to Rihanna you’re a mainstream sell out, but nothing else seems to be appropriate for a casual day time listening either. Sorry I’m not sorry but I’m not going to blast some Steve Aoki shit at 3 in the afternoon. Headache central.
This concern for being judge for my music goes beyond the iPod though. For years, I’ve suffered from FOBDJ. That’s Fear of Being Disc Jockey. When it’s your job to be car DJ, you are always, and I mean always, yelled at and judged by the driver and passengers. Well then why the fuck did you ask me to DJ. Ask literally any frat guy, because which one of them isn’t a “DJ” these days? Same goes for the TV. If you don’t want to watch Cupcake Wars, don’t give me the remote, ass hole. It’s not like I’m a stranger to being judged. I’ve been judged for my strange habits since childhood. But it’s one thing to think I’m weird because I can’t sleep without artificial air (must…have…fan), but its another thing to think that because of my choice of music. Like fuck off, I like Chingy. But to be honest, none of this would be a problem if class was cancelled because of the rain. So in order to save myself from future embarrassment about my music preferences, I’m starting an international initiative to have work and school cancelled in the event of rain. Who’s with me? Until then, I guess I’m just going to have to listen to, I don’t know, Drake? He’s acceptable right? “Over” is so last year though. Like WTF?!
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Voice Crackin’ and Hottie Lackin’
So classes have finally started and most of us have already had a week or two by this point. (I’ve had two days…no class Fridays. I’m not willing to sacrifice my opportunity to eat my way through College Park when everyone else is in class. I can’t tell you how good it feels to laugh in everyones’ faces when they are walking in the direction of campus and you are high tailing it on over to the diner.) My classes are fairly easy (won’t take something with less than 80% A’s, it’s just too risky…fuck major requirements), and by fairly easy I mean extremely easy. It’s like some PR bullshit, this intercultural therapy session, a kumbaya creative writing workshop, and babies. Yes, I am taking a babies class. If I don’t, trust me, I’ll have no business having one. I still probably won’t after. I’m only willing put one nasty, slimy piece of chicken on the grill and you can bet your bottom dollar it’s going into my mouth. Sucks for the kid. They won’t be getting a ton of protein.
With the nature of these classes being so friendly, there’s always a first day introduction period, as most people experience in the beginning of a new semester. Needless to say, I fear, dread, and loathe this every single fall and spring. I hate introducing myself to a bunch of strangers and, to be honest, don’t really give a flying fuck about your hobbies. A strange thing happens to me when I have to say my name, year, major, where I’m from and some variation of past time/favorite band/what I was doing during the earthquake (by far the stupidest ice breaker question I’ve had a teacher come up with to date…seriously who gives a fuck). My voice becomes extremely high pitched and cracks every single time (you’ll notice as I anticipate my turn, I clear my through continuously and take multiple drinks of water to try and prevent the voice crack, but like Miley, it can’t be tamed), so I sound like this crazy shy loser who usually doesn’t speak to other humans. Then there’s always the Long Island accent that becomes thicker than Beyoncé’s thighs (ugh I want to be that baby) so I now sound like a shy loser and a huge JAP. Then there’s always the debate… “Do I say I’m from Port Washington, NY? No that’s too specific. Long Island, NY? Too obnoxious. But plain old New York is so vague. All these Maryland hicks say what county their from. Nassau County, NY? Just as obnoxious…” It’s really a struggle. But not as bad as what to choose as my hobby. Let’s be honest, I have no hobbies. I wake up, go to the gym, sit on my ass, talk shit with my friends, eat, eat, and eat some more, go out at night, then sleep. Ok, pretty normal life, but where are the hobbies there? I despise the person who says their hobby is “hanging out with friends.” That’s not a fucking hobby you moron, it’s just something you do because you don’t have a boyfriend. In one of my classes, I settled on “exercise” as my hobby because I wanted to sound skinny and hot like the girl who said “running” before me (she totally stole my answer), but then I got all these strange looks like “If exercising is your hobby, why aren’t you skinny and hot?” I ask myself and the man upstairs that question everyday. The answer: You washed down a pie pizza with a handle of Smirnoff last night. Ohhhhhh…
Obviously I have anxiety issues, and a bigger issue that I hate introducing myself to people, but feel the need to be an internationally famous blogger. I guess my confidence only exudes when I have the computer as a buffer. Does that make me a cyber bully? Yet, I can suck it up and deal with the three minutes of stress this causes. What I can’t deal with is the other freaks who give TMI and get oddly specific. You know who I mean. The person who tells you their life story and you just want to stand up and shout “Dude, no one here gives a shit.” No one really wants to know that you babysat your little sister all summer but she can be annoying sometimes or that you are taking this class because…sorry I feel asleep at this point. Same goes for the teachers. We’re only allowed to give a 30 second tid bit about ourselves but when it’s your turn, you get to give us your entire educational and professional history. One of my teachers went particularly far in telling us that she lives alone with her two cats and spends her free time “spinning yarn and shooting competitive pool.” I wanted to raise my hand and ask, “Wait, so you’re a real life cat lady?” But that would make me another type of person that I hate, the kid who raises his or her hand to comment when it’s just so unnecessary. It’s like, there are 15 seconds left of class and you are choosing to ask what the meaning of life is now? Bad timing man.
The only benefit of these introductions is that it gives you the opportunity to find undiscovered hotties in your classes. (The most important thing I’ve learned at Maryland…there is no such thing as an undiscovered hottie. They all, and I mean all, have girlfriends. Or they’re gay. That’s what they tell me at least.) My goal of every semester is to find a hot GDI (God Damn Independent…and that’s just for the GDIs. All us dependent Greek Life members already know what that means) in all of my classes. I’ve successfully done this many a time, but the problem is with the execution. Basically, where do you people go out at night because there’s no way I’m talking to you soberly. I’m more looking for the “Oh my Godddddd, you’re in my classsss” sort of run in. And yet this semester I find there are no attractive GDIs in my classes and any hotties have already been discovered (by me…I’m getting a new show “Flal the Hottie Hunter” on A&E). I have one more class I haven’t had yet, which will undoubtedly have a more lengthy introduction period seeing as it’s 3 hours long and a 12 people wide. I better not forget my water that day. And the potential for undiscovered hotties? None. I already cross-referenced the class roster with Facebook. It’s all part of the process. Hate and discriminate based on a guy’s profile picture and I’m doing a lot of both. Like WTF?!
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Back From the Blackout
Hi everyone. I’m back from my black out, and I’m not talking about the black out caused by Irene. I’m talking about my weeklong blackout of pre-class partying at school I have been drinking myself into. I got here a week and a half before the start of classes just to celebrate my fifth semester at the University of Maryland. Five semesters…such a milestone right? Kind of like a 20th birthday or 12 year wedding anniversary. All incredibly important moments that need to be marked to binge drinking and blacking out. (Like honestly, did I eat last night? Can’t decide if I hate blacking out my late night eating or if I love it. So unclear.)
I’m finally living in my own in an apartment, out of the comfortable supervision of the sorority house. My favorite benefit of living on my own is all the TV channels we have. In the sorority house, we only had basic cable so I had no choice but to solely watch Brvao. (Not that that was an issue…has anyone seen Most Eligible Dallas? Epic. And it just confirms my desire to be a southern belle. I know I may be different than them because I’m, what’s the word, Jewish, but Texas could use a little bit of that.) Except now we have to deal with things like real people, including the revisiting mouse that pops its head into our living room. Let me just say, having to get your friend’s boyfriend to set up traps is not as conveniently fun as you think it would be. It’s just a reminder that it’s your friend’s boyfriend setting up those traps. What’s wont someone love me! I just miss having my daddy do everything for me. Ugh growing up sucks.
Does anything really change when you’re a junior? You have this image that by the time you’re this age you will have a host of friends greeting you at every party you attend, but quite the contrary is true. You and these people you regularly gather in tiny ass houses with to drink and listen to blasting music have had two years to establish that you aren’t really friends, you just casually fraternize together. Therefore, you don’t need to waste time with small talk. It’s actually more liberating than pathetic. However, the worst part about coming back to school really has to be the freshmen.
Oh I know that sounds so cliché and ridiculous. Like “oh yeah freshmen suck yeah.” But that’s not how I mean it. I truly mean it for practical reasons. Ok like all these random chicks are coming up to me asking me if I’m freshman, just looking to expand their new group of friends, and I just want to be like, “bitch, do I look like a freshman?” As soon as I tell them a junior, they run away in fear and I’m like wait now I’m not cool enough for you? On the flip side, all these random guys are coming up to me asking me how old I am and once I tell them I’m a junior they won’t leave me the fuck alone. Dude, you’re too young and I don’t wanna chat about living in the dorms with you. At all. Get into a frat and then maybe we’ll talk.
With all these aforementioned randoms walking into any house that they hear music in (not that I do much different, I usually don’t know whose cups I’m flipping or whose couch I’m dancing on), these parties get SO crowded. I have a definite over heating problem and when you add an extra 60 people to the mix, that’s an issue. I just hate the first two weeks of school when anybody and everybody just go to these parties that I’ve put two years of regularity and commitment into. In weeks to come, some will stay but most of them will soon enough find their own social scene and the crowds at the parties I go to 4-5 nights a week (too much?) will thin out, much like many sorority girls have over the summer (ugh, I just miss my trainer.) For now, we need to deal with the heat, the people, the small talk and the touching. Ew, the touching. I’m like Larry David; I hate human contact. I also think of inventions that I never implement. (You know that You Tube video “Come on Irene.” Yeah, I fucking thought of that first. Not really because I’m creative, but more because I just don’t know the words to pretty much any song every created. I have most trouble with “Happy Birthday.”) If you didn’t watch this Sunday’s Curb you probably have no idea what I’m talking about, but that’s ok. You probably have no idea what I’m talking about most of the time anyway. Most people don’t hate being asked how old they are as much as I do. But seriously freshmen, hop up off my D, I’m a junior. Like WTF?!
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Re-Plan or Pluck
Those of you who know me know I have had an entourage since I was 11. My entourage is quite different than Vinny Chase’s, however. Unlike the wannabe crack addict (who, by the way, doesn’t seem to get much work of recent, yet still has awkwardly fake looking paparazzi following him at all times…word to Marky Mark Wahlberg: you need to make the paparazzi on your “Emmy Award winning” show look more realistic or you won’t be getting an Emmys for your “final season”), my entourage does not consist of small gingers or weight-dropping shelled reptiles. My entourage consists of a handful of small Jewish women scattered around Long Island who are responsible for my skin, hair, nails and, the ultimate moneymaker, face. I have no shame. It’s time consuming and costly to upkeep a moderate physique and look. (I casually spent over $100 in Sephora yesterday. I needed a new Nars Laguna bronzer! Then I came home and realized I had 4 half used Nars Laguna bronzers. It’s ok, I have a money tree in my backyard.) Needless to say, when I got the phone call from my waxer who doubles as my facialist (I’ve consolidated in recent years…I can only trust the best) on Tuesday telling me her daughter was having a baby and she would have to cancel all her appointments through Monday, I went into crisis control/panic mode. (Actually it was her husband who called and all I wanted to say was, “This is her third grandchild!! Is witnessing the labor really necessary?!) I’m going back to school on Saturday, and when I tell you these brows need to be shaped and pours need to be cleansed, I am not being dramatic. Eyebrows/face skin > birth of grandchild. That’s a cardinal rule in my book.
So my first step was to cry, for about an hour. (‘I can’t go back to school with bushy eyebrows! Nobody will love me with brushy eyebrows! My shapely eyebrows are all I have!!’) Then I realized that this was a test, and I needed to pass it. It was time to sink or swim, or in this case re-plan or pluck. So I got out the pen and paper and made a list of all of my friends. Then I eliminated the ones who don’t live in the area, therefore wouldn’t have a local eyebrow waxer recommendation. Then I eliminated all the ones who have bad eyebrows, therefore wouldn’t have an acceptable eyebrow waxer recommendation. That left me with two people, who conveniently go to the same place. I speedily made a next-day appointment at the overpriced spa of which I feared would be the demise of one of my best attributes. (I’m telling you my eyebrows really are the perfect shape, length and width. It’s no mistake though, I’ve worked hard for them. Blood, sweat and fly hair management.)
So I go to this new place, and right off the bat I don’t like it and it had nothing to do with the fact that I hate change. (I cried for three and half months as my mom redecorated our previously all-white house, which looked like an insane asylum. I thought it was fitting.) I go to a woman, not a big, corporate waxing spa. I go to the Average Joe’s of waxing, not the Globo Gym. It’s just me, my waxer and her dogs, having good conversation filled with shit talking and gossip. This new place offered me tea and coffee. I was like, ’sit down and talk shit about the woman in the next room with me.’ As this old woman leaned over me, examining my face under her 1,000x magnifying glass used to expose any and every blemish or skin imperfection, she said to me, “You need a facial, baby.” Bitch, please. One, we do not have the granddaughter-grandchild relationship that me and my regular waxer have, this is a one time deal and two, do not call me baby. Excuse me, but last time I checked I didn’t come to you for advice about the quality of my skin. And FYI BITCH, I am getting a facial on Friday, so FUCK YOU! I nodded my head, closed my eyes and decided she would be waxing my eyebrows free of conversation. I would not give her the courtesy of my lovely “employee banter.” (I tend to make friends with anybody I meet who is working anywhere. That includes waiters, cashiers, waxers, etc. They just flock to me.) She followed suit and silently proceeded to wax my eyebrows and I have to say, she made them a tad thin. So once again, FUCK YOU, you borderline fucked up my eyebrows.
This got me thinking. These women always overstep their boundaries. I’ve been so spoiled by going to my regular waxers, facialists, manicurists, hair dressers, etc., women who know me and tell me what I need to know without sounding like ass holes. Also, they have earned the right to tell me when I need to change my grooming routine. I have known them for years and we have developed a relationship in which that is ok. Don’t you, woman who I am meeting for the first time, waltz in and think you can tell me what to do because even if I thought I trusted you from that start, the second I saw how you thinned my eyebrows a smidge, I would have thrown that advice out the window anyway. One time when my regular manicurist Wendy/Jessica (she goes by both, just depends what apron she picks up that morning I think…pretty sure neither is her real name) was out on maternity leave (again with the fucking babies ruining my routine), I went to a different woman in the salon only to have her tell me I needed an eyebrow wax. Again, FUCK YOU, clearly I maintain my eyebrows very well, as you can see. I don’t need you telling me that. Just cut my cuticles and we’ll be on our ways. I don’t know maybe it’s just me, but it seems like these randoms think they have the right to tell everyone what to do. Well, newsflash, you don’t. I’ve put years of trust and commitment into the women who can, so hop up off my d and leave me the fuck alone. And to my entourage: stop getting involved with babies, because that’s always the cause of all this shit anyway. I blame the babies! Like WTF?!
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Singing in the Rain
So I guess all the youngsters are leaving camp today because it’s down pouring and it just seems like it always rains on the last day of camp. Now I have to deal with all the annoying little twerps in their slutty rolled over Juicy pants and tight ass sugar lips or basketball shorts and Baby Gap sized Nike Dunks at the diner. I liked it so much better when I didn’t have to worry about all the 13-year-old bitches showing me up in clothes that wouldn’t even fit my pinkie toe. Wait till you go to college, and trust me you won’t be wearing those child sized tank tops anymore and your midrift will most certainly be covered at all times.
So I kind of love the rain because it completely legitimizes my desire to sit on my ass all day and watch the Teen Wolf marathon on MTV with any food I can find in my house on my lap. (I would do this anyway, but when it’s nice out it’s not socially acceptable to stay inside, which really pisses me off because why can’t I watch TV when it’s 80 degrees and sunny out? What if I don’t wanna go to the pool. I’ve accepted my paleness and I own it.) I’ve spent most of my day singing in the rain and watching TV and eating (my three favorite things to do…I tend to frolic around my bath tub/shower singing and pretending I’m outside in the rain holding an umbrella.) However, I did need to go out for a few things today.
I went out to go to the gym (t-6 days until I go back to school… aka six days of Last Chance Workouts) and to see my friend Jess who decided to fall asleep on me, only to leave me to eat all her leftover pita and hummus from her lunch. (I’m on a budget, so I figure I should just follow around my skinny friends and influence them to get things I like for lunch knowing they won’t finish it. I’m saving up for leopard Keds made of pony hair from Neiman Marcus…my little pony Keds! Waste of money? I think not.) The rain was awkwardly thick, but then again not, and I noticed that the setting options of my windshield wipers were sub par, leaving me unable to decide where to leave it.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. ‘You’re car is a piece of shit, obviously the windshield wipers blow chunks.’ This is true. But I also drove my mom’s car and it was the same problem. Cars just don’t give you enough options for wiper speeds. It’s like it either needs to be drizzling or raining lions and tigers (I makes just just as much sense as raining cats and dogs…) Mother Nature doesn’t have a set M.O. She does what she wants when she wants. So I don’t understand why cars only have three settings for their wipers. I’m driving today and I would put the wipers up and the screeching against the dry windshield sounded like nails on a chalkboard, but then I turned it down and it was like someone was dumping buckets of water directly on my car.
Look, we all know what kind of driver I am. I don’t need lack of adequate windshield wipers making it worse. When I create the Flalmobile in 2015 (That’s the year I’m gonna make it big, if not sooner… Flal will be the next reality star brand- if Snooki can do it I definitely can. I don’t see Snooki cars driving around), there will be like 47 settings for the windshield wipers. You’ll be able to use them if you’re driving around on a sunny day or if you decide to go on a joy ride through a pond. That’s what Ford needs to work on right now (I like to support America’s economy with American cars.) Until then, watch the roads when it’s raining because as long as I’m on it, nobody is safe. Like WTF?!
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