for my previous list, click here.
things that peeve me:
-really breathy, french female singers. get a room. with yourself.
-people that eat tuna salad sandwiches behind me on the bus. please get a room as well.
-cat butts and how they seem to be backed into your face whenever you are just trying to relax. i’m flattered, cats of the world, but no thank you.
-the ubiquity of tomatoes. i don’t like them, but feel i have to because those suckers are all over my food. when did i realize this? april of my 21st year, naturally.
-when partially fluent (usually never past 1st or 2nd year) girls speak poor french whenever we encounter a french term in a non-french class (for instance, my theater history class last semester had two girls that sat behind me, kicked my seat, and also spoke really basic french to each other whenever a french term came up. it was torture.) words and their use, whatever language they are in, are of high importance to me. it was sacrilege, guys. i’m glad i sat in front of them, because then they couldn’t see me wince the whole time.
favorite literary hotties:
-rosencrantz and guildenstern. packaged set.
-the chairman from memoirs of a geisha.
-henry de tamble.
-nick carraway, after he dates jordan and realizes she’s a wench.
-my freshman year, i took a shakespeare course and my professor told me i had written “the crassest paper [she] had ever read”. it was on lavinia from titus andronicus and i’m pretty sure i made fun of the fact that lavinia probably had no chance of a career in puppetry (she has both arms + her tongue cut off in the play). am i proud of this? hells yes.
-if you are ever interested in googling me (i just cringed), the fourth search result reads “after mackenzie filson left, quidditch sort of died.” am i also proud of this? i think you know the answer.
-the other day the girl who sublets my room (super nice, sane, lithuanian, harvard student) and i gchatted. she started off the chat saying “i dont know if you’ve heard, but the gates of hell have opened on the east coast and they don’t know exactly where.” i actually freaked out, told my mom, and had her talk me down and tell me it was probably a joke. i watch too many twilight zone episodes. way, way too many. and one of my favorite book series is about the gates of hell opening, so i should just really steer clear of sci-fi. because she was only talking about the weather and how hot it was in my apartment. homegirl got duped.
-this past may i biked with a group from a bike shop to castle island. there was one girl who brought speakers, motown tapes, and a tape-player and blasted music the whole way for us, speakers nestled in her backpack. from then on i wanted to be that girl, tunes blasting from my backpack. i’m 87% sure it will cut down how rude people can be to bikers on the road and provide a 60% increase in my usage of cat eye-liner and growing my hair into a bouffant.
things that can kindly keep on happening:
-texts asking whether i get home safely.
-the gradual growth of both avett brothers’ beards.
-the indestructibility of the bright orange nail polish on my toes.
-puppies that sleep in the crook of my arm.
-finding post-it notes in my room (i was gifted over 3000 post-it notes two christmases ago. schwing.)
-swimming in my leaf-covered community pool. the leaves are for added intrigue (i don’t know if i’ve said this, but i’m a mermaid, ya’ll. i swear), i like to think, and not because i am the only one that uses the pool or cares about it.
the woman i want to be:
-when told she has food on her face, in her teeth, on her blouse, simply shrugs it off and says, “eh, whatever. it’ll find its way out” and continues whatever she was saying or whatever she was eating.
-giggles whenever she finds a good grad school program for linguistics and english. swoon.
-wears black, brown, and navy at the same time and does not give any hoots. no hoots whatsoever.
-goes dutch, whether she likes the guy or not.
-knows how to talk to eight year olds and eighty-eight year olds.
-always remembers her ear plugs for concerts. and flosses. and knows how to pluck her eyebrows.
-is not book-prejudiced. a book is a book and someone out there put a lot of effort into it and cried about deadlines and picked apart the third sentence in chapter seven for three days. that means reading books that get scoffed at a lot, i.e. fifty shades, twilight, harlequin romance novels with bare-chested fabios, and books with talking dragons. all of them. no complaints.