Sorry, Darwin. No Dice

Some people are bestowed with the gift of sparkling wit and intelligent conversation.

Alex and I aren't.

But our facebook chats still kick some serious ass, so I figured I would share one such chat with you.

Me: The embarrassing moment when you're scrolling through your tumblr dash and accidentally drool on your keyboard...

Me: I mean what I didn't do that.

Alex: You're such an intriguing specimen.

Me: I should let scientists study my habits to determine if evolution actually happened.

I'm guessing not...

Peer Acquaintances Forever

There comes a point in every peer relationship where I feel the need to point out that, though it may sometimes seem like it, we're not actually friends.

Usually such times occur when the person checks on my well-being, or asks how my weekend was, or some other unnecessarily personal comment that reeks of a lingering hint of concern.

It's adorable.

In a strictly "aww, you're so naive" kind of way.

I have to strongly fight the urge to pat them on their cute, presumably fluffy little head like you would a puppy who just tried to eat a hair tie.

For instance, a couple days ago in choir. A guy who for all intensive purposes we will heretofore refer to as Moob-Man broke one of those "peer acquaintance only" boundaries.

But first, let me preface the situation.

A few nights before, I played Halo with a bunch of guys at one of my friend's houses. I didn't want to go because I thought I would suck, he took the bullet and played on my team because we were already acquainted with each other through theatre and choir, and then I ended up kicking everybody's asses.

Well, not everybody. But not the point. The point is at the end of the night, I definitely fought the head-patting urge.

Back to choir.

I sit down with my drum, he sits down with his drum, I'm planning on sitting in social silence until the director stops arguing with the loud, talkative girl. He decides this would be the opportune moment to ask "So hey, how was the rest of your weekend?"

...

Dawww.

I'm sorry, this is the time for an etiquette intervention. We're not actually friends. Thanks for playing, though!

This is me we're talking about. If I want to be your friend, I'll be your friend. If I haven't talked to you except when trying to avoid an awkward situation by striking up conversation with the person nearest me, that most likely means you will be stuck as a peer acquaintance forever.

Sorry, bud.

That was a mere head-patting example, but there are, however, those who I actually do want to take by the shoulders and speak those exact words to them in my most patient, pitiful voice so that maybe, one day, they can understand.

We're not friends. We... are not friends. Nope. Not us. Me and you, we're just... well, we're not friends. Get it? We're not friends.

My most awkward tutoring student ever decided to tell me as I left into the gale force winds yesterday to "be careful out there, you might blow away."

Umm...what.


Buddy, buddy, buddy... not friends. I tutor you. That's it.


And you're bad at it to boot.

Trop mal, mon petit ami.

Please don't name your stuffed animals after me.

Congratulations, You're a Jackass

Sometimes, I tell a complaint in the form of a story.

Like this.

There is nothing worse than getting to about 8 o'clock and having your phone on 7% battery.

Like, I'm just chillin' in my basement watching a movie or engaging in some equally important and integral to society-type activity, and my phone's all like boo-de-lee-boo you need to charge me now.


What the hell am I supposed to do then?

My phone charger is all the way in my bedroom. I can't watch How I Met Your Mother until my eyeballs start to bleed if I have to go sit in my room for my phone to charge.

And what if someone sends me a really important text?! I have to charge my phone for at least thirty minutes if I want it to last the rest of the night, I could miss something!

And what if that person does text me, and it is important, and I don't respond?? The results could be DETRIMENTAL.

Okay, maybe not detrimental.

But it still sucks.

So I'm forced to find a new activity, such as reading (in my room) or playing guitar (in my room) or pointlessly searching tumblr (also in my room) just so that my dumb phone has time to charge so that I can keep talking to my friends all night.

And it's at that point in the story that I'm like, dude... you're a jackass. First world problem.

While I have to charge my phone, and it's such an inconvenience and stuff, there are people, like, dying and stuff.

While my woes are about whether or not anybody important may talk to me in the half an hour it takes to charge the battery on my smartphone to a reasonable level, some people are worried about things that actually matter. Like, where they're gonna sleep or something.

Only in first world countries, man. Only in first world counties.

Your phone won't charge? Congratulations you first world snob, you're a jackass.

Sometimes In Photo...

We have three times as many work days as I actually need.

And I forget my book.

And I have an hour and half to kill doing absolutely nothing.

So instead of doing absolutely nothing, I vie to instead write paragraphs in French, about French-y things and stuff. You know. The uszh.

(Okay seriously, how are you supposed to shorten the word "usual" into something even slightly discernible. This inability is to me a very troubling fact.)

((I bet you're glad you know that now.))

Then, when I finish my paragraphs, I decide to blog about my paragraphs. Because that is a logical next step, right?

I wrote about le fromage and les poissons qui ne sont jamais delicieux and now I'm hungry.


Even if the fish are never delicious.