PURITANS. WHY.

not eating with six people

today, an entry with special guest blogger stephanie lepp.

we chose this picture because maybe it will deter steph's previous stalker, who sounds like a creepo lunatic and really should, for the good of humanity, find a washing machine full of knives and jump in.

perhaps not that bloody.

just like fling himself off a building that is more than 9 stories tall.

today we are going to hall alone because we don't like anyone else because they are bitches except zeina and p to the riyanka and abdullah and nathan. we also are elitist snobs and hate people who are country. and dumpster dive. because they're not girly girls.

people who were born in 1990 or later are perplexing. rosie hooked up with one and now feels like she should like....grow a pedo stache and wear flannel and have unspeakable things in her garage or something. just to conform to stereotype.

actually since she is a woman this makes her a couger. this means that she can wear inappropriately tight clothing and too much makeup and have an inexplicable and really unnecessary (and slightly painful) predilection for leopard print. and she would have no friends because everyone would secretly hate her but they'd feel bad because clearly she was trying to make up for some kind of emotional drought by going about children.

stephanie also knows legit hipsters but since they're legit didn't know what a hipster was until she got here, in which case a young lady informed her that hipsters dumpster dive and own beet farms.

actually, now that stephanie thinks about it, he only picks beets. he just harvests them. he doesn't actually own the beet farm.

rosie and steph agree that owning a beet farm would make him the Man. and that's not cool. that's falling prey to the system.

oh the unaware masses.

also, nice boys win. in the end.

douchebags turn into wifebeaters and then get sent to prison. or they're super rich but women only like them for their money. (and their huge penis. -steph)

(rosie disagrees with the above comment and thinks that rich boys have small penises because their douchey ways have to be overcompensating for something.)

the kappa face: "i know you but i'm only going to acknowledge you as a lesser being."

you know things are bad when...

you wake up with a start because you were in such a deep sleep and you're convince that you've slept through your alarm and are fucked, only to discover that in fact your alarm is scheduled to go off in two minutes and you've managed to fall into a near coma in actually 7 minutes.

need some advice

how does one seduce a redheaded bartender.

why

overheard at bar:

"i told you, all the asians are mine!"

why can i never escape?

alas

so between burying my head in my arms while crying over the amount of work i have, and eating chips with cheese at hassan's, i went to see black kids last night. things to note:

1. british people don't really mosh so much as drunkenly stumble around in close proximity to one another.
2. the lead singer of black kids does that kind of funny dance that looks like he really needs to pee IN REAL LIFE. ALL THE TIME.


3. thai food here is just not the same.
4. as a result of #1, i now have the mother of all bruises on my foot.
5. it was a pretty unattractive crowd. not gonna lie.

6. that's about it. i would be more detailed, but i drank and entire bottle of wine and was like this BEFORE i went to the show.

why scottish penises are the best (supposedly)

matriculation lunch, an affair in which visiting students are singled out like john riley at a death metal concert. namely, everyone is dressed in black/white suits and robes, and we are presented with the conundrum: if we dress in color, it's like screaming "hello i am an american and don't belong" but, conversely, if we try to make do with black and white, it's like "hi i'm kind of a wannabe tool."

anyway, the lunch itself was pretty delicious. sat next to an old scottish professor who's allergic to gluten. she thinks that barry o is unqualified to be president because he has yet to work out his daddy issues. she also instructed me on the proper way to dress for a formal scottish function.

"when my son was a boy we had him in kilts a lot. it's, you know, good for the boys. it's good for the development of their privates. keeps them cool."

ERGO. scottish men have higher sperm count. if you have sex with a scotsman, plz remember to use a condom/plan b thanks.

also apparently it's a scottish rite of passage when your "tummy gets big enough" to wear your kilt at your waist.

i'm getting fat

full and satisfied! due in no small part to hassan's and his delicious delicious cheese fries. har.

have been pretty much drunk since 7ish. first crew date of the season = penny game = more or less a bottle of wine per person.

today a rando norwegian grad student i evidently met last night at the kings arms texted me. his name is oyvind. even though he just isn't cute (although, to be fair, i have no clear memories of him being hideously unfit for public viewing) i am debating going on a date with him simply because his name is oyvind. this perhaps makes me a bad person. just like how 70% of the reason i go to the king's arms is because there's a redheaded bartender who is so ginger and endearing and ginger.

a hilarious man asked to take pictures of the st. catz quad from the window of my room-- he's photographing it for a book for the yale press london office, so i was like sure why not. he drooled about the architecture here for a bit. when i mentioned that i lived in a eero saarinen designed building for 70% of the year i think he had a silent orgasm.

in other news, the concept of jungle juice is apparently the most baffling thing ever to british people.

i am hungry

quick explanation of the title: as most of you probably know, a biscuit in britain is some form of retarded cookie - its less attractive (fraternal) twin, if you will. all attempts so far to explain a proper american biscuit (served with such highbrow delicacies as fried chicken, butter, and corn) to a brit have ended in much confusion and disaster. it makes me quite sad, because biscuits are so delicious.

in other food related news, because i'm hungry:

things that spark a tiny glimmer of hope within my esophagus:
1. chicken, tomato, pesto and mozzarella paninis at the alternative tuck. so delicious. the bread is perfect and the cheese is a delight. i have been here for a week and eaten four already. part of this is because i keep missing lunch, for nefarious reasons detailed later. also the man who works there always greets me with a jolly "g'day mate!" which he never seems to do to anyone else so i'm left confused as to whether i should be sad that he is making fun of me because i'm american or happy because that's so mary kate and ashley in winning london.
2. the jcr bar. $1 cider, $2 gin and tonics. best of all, i pay with my college card which means i get to explain this to mama and papa wu as a "food expense" which lets me off the hook at least until i go over 115 lbs and my parents decide i am morbidly obese and should stop eating again.
3. expensive ass cigarettes. this is a bad thing for my wallet (and hence my stomach - less monay for the foodstuffs) by a very good thing for my lungs. it is also a bad thing for the kid in med school right now who would have been treating me for emphysema in x years time had i not made good health choices.
4. fat free yogurt (err.....yoghurt?): it is delicious no questions asked.
5. the kebab stand on broad street: slightly questionable, quite greasy. delicious cheese fries. apparently, the british version of a kebab involves a pita, which just prompts me to ask: WHY.

things that make me think they must use their appendix for something here:
1. lack of seasoning. seriously, uk. you fucking made india a colony partially for its spices and you can't even decently season a meal. let me repeat: you TOOK OVER A COUNTRY. EXPLOIT THAT SHIT. you should all be shitting paprika; instead we are downing plain boiled potatoes sans salt at hall. what gives? the last time i saw a plain potato was in that movie everything is illuminated. except oh wait they were in BUMFUCK UKRAINE. you can do better than a former soviet state, come on. maybe eugene hutz can come here and make his mustache rain herbs or something.
2. retarded hours. scaf and lunch are only open for 1/2 an hour. that's less time than it takes for a siiiiick laxer to pick up a qpac slut at saturday night toads.
3. ketchup. it's kind of sweet and overbearing. eating it with fries makes my mouth kind of tired. going from the usually bland food to the ketchup on steroids here makes me wonder if now i know what it's like to move from a leper colony to los angelos. oh wait they are the same thing.

i just don't know:
proper dinner ("hall" as opposed to the grab and go "scaf") begins promptly at 7.15. a bell rings. which means the doors close so you can't get in but if you happen to be seated inside, you'll still probably wait an unreasonable amount of time (aka >5 minutes if you're hungry which i always am) before you get soup, and then another long ass gap before the main course (dishes are served. britain will take none of this buffet tomfoolery). this leaves one with plenty of time to decide exactly how socially awkward it would be to start a conversation with the rando sitting next to you/contemplate why no one ever seems to drink water in this country. in the states people are wandering around with nalgenes and gallons of water; here, people barely touch their cups. i wonder if the british are like camels have covert humps somewhere on their bodies to store water. it's probably the same place where they store their non-repressed drunk personality.