Things that irritate me about Spring.

There are lots of things.

Take this morning, for instance.  I woke up after having the trippy-est dreams of my life and got dressed. It was all good.  I made my way to the door...

...and that's when I heard it.  A cacophony of screaming.  Of crying.  Of WHINING.  And even worse...of laughter.

The entire town's little league teams were gathered on the green across the street.

Oh dear god.

Can't we bug bomb the crap out of that?

So.  Number 1: Little Leagues.  Or more specifically, large gatherings of children.

Plotting my demise.

Children.  I break out in hives around children.  I believe I've already posted about my aversion to Chuck-E-Cheeses.  There's a reason for that.

Me and children have not, and will not EVER mix.

Moving on.

The second.

I'm walking around campus enjoying the nice weather in my T-Shirt and jean shorts.  I'm feeling pretty great wearing flip flops.  My hair is swinging around in a ponytail.  Sound good?

Not.

Enter girl-in-a-sundress-that-looks-100-times-better-than-I-do.

How do they even do that?  Aren't they afraid of the wind blowing it up?  Maybe they don't care? Or they have cute underwear they want to show off.  Maybe.  I don't think even my cutest underwear would make me want a Marilyn Monroe moment though. 

What gets me the most though: it looks effortless.

You see, when I wear anything resembling a skirt, or something dressed up or whatever----I get shocked stares.  And "oh wow you dressed up!" or "Jenny you look good today!"

How I must look when I wear something besides a hoodie.

Because I clearly don't any other day.  For once I would just like people to SHUT UP and not draw attention to the fact that my jeans are always covered in muddy pawprints/paint and my tops are always covered in beagle fur (and quite possibly more pawprints).

I do LIKE to look good.  I just don't like to ruin my good clothes.  But hey, staring at me like I'm in the transformation scene of another teen movie is encouraging.

It tells me I can't make friends until I change.

.............yeah Grease.  I'm looking at you.  Horrible moral to YOUR story.  How about that one?

Anyway.  It's not even that they are in a sundress.  They have MULTIPLE cute spring outfits.  I'm stuck on my jeans.  I don't think I own a casual sundress.

It's not like I can...

....nooo....

No. My prom dress won't work.  Stop even thinking it.

Anyway.

Everything I have is either toooo fancy or...jeans and a hoodie.  I don't think I own a single cute sundress.

I do have one long one.

But who does that to go to class? Other people.  Not this girl.  People would try to take my temperature if I tried.

Because I don't do that crap.

Again, MOVING ON.

Scenario #3:

I'm walking around. I like my legs I guess.  They're covered in scars and crap, and my knees are kind of knobbly, but I think knobbly knees is cute right?

Oh. Right. Only on baby animals.  Got it.

SO WHAT THE HECK DO I CARE IF THEY'RE TAN OR NOT?

Gah.

Anyway.  People are always working on their tans.  Base tans, Golden Tans, Tanning Beds, Tan Lines, whatever.

And I get a whole bunch of slack either because my legs are really white.

OR

...because my arms are always tanner than everyone else's.

Pick. One.

And stop obsessing!  I like to lie outside in the sun too.  Whatever. But I've come to terms with the fact that my legs will never be perfect.

Even if I do get "the perfect tan" they will still be scarred, bruised, knobbly and probably covered in bug bites.

It's my life.

There. Right there. There's a bruise. See? That's my life legs.

I think I'm done.

There are lots of things that still irritate me about spring, but right now I need a shower.

It's ranting time.

Also, I'm on vicodin (YAY tearing my throat apart!) and it took my 3 tries to type the word "also". ...And another two.

So here's the deal.

If you have to write every-single-goddamn-facebook-status about your relationship: you're trying too hard.

You want attention.

"You're SOOOOOOOOOOO in LURRRRRRRVEEEEEEEEEEEE."

Eff that.

You're an attention whore.  It's annoying.  I don't want to hear anymore about what is supposed to be private.  You're not "with the cutest boy everrrrrrr!"

Pah-lease.  I don't think anyone in my friends list is winning beauty contests around the world.  Not that they should be, but whole creeper albums of you and what's-his-name is rather annoying.

Not that I don't get the warm-fuzzies (4 tries) for my boyfriend. I do.  He's awesome.  However, I don't need to post friggen' essays on facebook about it.

People already know.

It's been almost 5 years.

But what's better is if people don't CHOOSE to know, and CHOOSE to ask me about it: you really aren't aware (3 tries) of my relationship status.

You don't know the nice things (2 tries) Don does for me.  That doesn't mean I can't be happy for them.  You know, WITHOUT TELLING THE ENTIRE WORLD.

Gah.  Trying to type.  It's so nice outside. Can't I go out there?  I think I rant (I automatically tried to type RENT) better outside.

Meh.

Anywayyyyyyyyyyyyyys.

I get that whole "I'm in love and it's new and I want to shout it off the rooftops and I can't control myself" feeling.

I really do.

What I don't get, is why you don't friggen' control it because it annoys the rest of the world.

You know why there aren't more people standing on top of roofs yelling about LOVEEEEEE?

Because they understand how fricken' annoying it is.  SO annoying.

The sad part is we don't even need rooftops anymore.
.......Enter facebook.

Dear friggen god.  I have deleted people because they will go on and on in a status (think- multiple paragraphs).  It's terrible to start.

.......................As if that's not enough, they start commenting on their own status. With more paragraphs of mush and overly graphic descriptions of feelings.

It's like they are building a manifesto. My god.  I love my boyfriend, I do- but I tell HIM that.  Not everyone. In paragraph form.  On a social networking site.

Because let's face it.  NONE of our relationships are going to be made into the next Nicholas Sparks' movie.

Not even if you write enough for the next Nicholas Sparks' novel.
So stop it.
Now.
You're obnoxious (5 tries).

You know what?  I bet you're about as in love as these two:

"I know what you are."
"Say it!"
"SAY IT OUT LOUD!"
"Overly-disclosing attention whore!"

Not that I should be that bitch that judges other people's relationships.  Wow I feel bad. I'm a jerk.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Wait, no I don't... because I WOULD HAVE NOTHING TO JUDGE IF YOU WOULD JUST SHUT UP.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

You know, I think this may have to do with my hate for tiny facebook hearts.  I think this is a big psychological issue for me.  Damn little hearts.

YOU DON'T MEAN LOVE! You don't- little hearts!

Anyway.  If no one is commenting with congratulations on your new relationship or they are finally glad to see you happy (read: you've been on the relationship merry go round and you didn't exactly stay on the same horse the whole time): you need to stop posting. Facebook has made everyone have shorter attention spans and no one cares about the amount of friggen flowers you got today except for you.

You think the other girls are jealous? Try again.  They all smell desperation.  We're bitches like dogs.  We smell fear (and desperation, that too).

So stop having the female version of a pissing contest (that no one is really participating in) and get yourself together.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I'd just like to take the time to note that this does NOT apply for those girls with significant others in the hospital, fighting disease or other major hardship, or deployed in the armed forces or oversees.

If you're posting about that, you want support, not frivolous attention. And I get that.  This whole rant is not about you girls.

BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD EVERYONE ELSE STOP IT!

Awkward Mouth-Breathing.

It's just great.  Wonderful.

Apparently I have a sinus infection.  It's what I thought was a cold until around day 10 or so of epic grossness. My mom enjoyed yelling "I TOLD YOU SO" through the phone.

I was the one nice enough to call her and tell her she was right.   So yeah.  You should be nicer about it Mom.

So it would be all well and good if I wasn't in a play this weekend.  Where I didn't have to sing.  Where I didn't  have to belt out a high note halfway through, or just belt in general.  Where I didn't have to look alive and act like I'm not a snotty mess.

But hey, I am.

So after being miserable for over a week I finally went to the doctor and got some antibiotics.  Friggen' horse pills.  They're like the size of my eyes.

....I don't have very big eyes.

But the point is they are painful to swallow when it already hurts to swallow.

At least they work.

Despite my sinus infection, I've found ways to have fun this week.  Trips to Wal-Mart are essential when putting on a play, and I had to make a stop for antibiotics and tights.

As I had just picked up my friend NICK, he was with me.  Apparently he has a thing for claw machines.  I never got into that personally.  I don't like to watch things eat my money and then, as if that wasn't bad enough, taunt me with toys that I cannot have because I have no skill.

But NICK does.  He won a bunny.  Which I claimed.  And we named "Roger" after his character in the play.

Roger, Joanne, and Bunny-Roger

Bunny Roger sings RENT songs in an annoying high pitched bunny voice.

"One songggggggggg, GLORYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY"

.

.

.

.

.

"You'reeeeeeeeeee EYESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS"

.

.

.

.

.

"You're living in AMERICAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"

.

.

.

.

.

.

Not Bad.

RENT is tomorrow and I had to make a bright outfit for La Vie Boheme.  Thanks for the new shirt Mom, because.....

I'm wearing it for La Vie Boheme.

EVERYONE SHOULD GO TO RENT TOMORROW OR SUNDAY IN DANIEL'S HALL AT 7

That's all folks.