Happy Birthday To Me! I lost my Mind, my Pants, and my Dignity.

Hello all you Zoolicious Zoogermeisters! Poopsie here, reporting from W.A.S.P central, CT. Today is a very special day my frisky freaks, and why you ask? Well, to be blunt, today is my 20th birthday, the big two oh, double digits part 2, my own little 2012. I can hear the walls crumbling around me as this quarter-life crisis impales me! One step closer to the golden (more like browning yellow) years, peeing through a tube and shitting through a funnel, getting gastric bypass surgery, developing osteoperosis, diabetes, cancer of all sorts or worse, WRINKLES…. its a wonder I haven’t shot myself yet today. But seriously folks, time on this earth is short, as I’ve all too quickly discovered in my 2 decades, so make sure you suck life dry of what it has to offer. I’m talking food, sex and splenda (the Godesses’ cocaine). Confused? Let me elaborate. So today, I’m awoken at 4:47 am by my two dogs, one of whom is majorly affected by separation anxiety to the point where you must be within his realm of vision at all times or he will practically piss himself and start wimpering and moaning (jesus Caliban, no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend), the other is a very sexually active female who pretty much humps everything in sight and is disobedient as the day is long. These two wake me up at the shank of the morning hoping for a brisk walk out on the field because nature is calling and I guess shitting all over mom’s used-to-be-white, now sandy yellow (TMI? oops!) carpet is just no longer quite as satisfying as rudely rousing master Poopsie in the middle of her dream about certain stags jumping over the moon….woo, anywaysss I wake up, walk them, feed them and am too awake to go back to bed so i get on my spandex and go for a run.

So I’m running down a nice nature trail just a little ways from my house, enjoying the cool breeze against my face with L’s favorite jessie james songs, “My Cowboy” and “Blue Jeans” on repeat, thinking to myself “Who cares if I’m 20? I’m still young, I’ve got time to accomplish my life goals! Besides, I’m foxy as fuck and obvi I’m in awesome shape because I run and eat well and blah blah blah” when all of a sudden, something snaps, and the cool breeze at my face quickly moves to my thighs and legs, which are suddenly BARE as my spandex have fallen down to my ankles because the elastic band on the waist has split in two, and now here I am, running down a residential rather upper class street with no pants on, turning this way and that searching for the flimsy goddamn elastic band hidden somewhere in the bushes or on the road or up my ass somewhere (it happened so fast, it’s totally possible) looking like a female John Belushi out of Animal House or a seriously disoriented cow, or even a certain Polar Bear on our floor who likes the occasional piss-out-the-window all the while and oh god my panties are exposed and here comes a car oh jesus look at that deer over there! It looked at me and said with its eyes, there is no way my herd is seeing me in the same vicinity as a pants-less loser like you. It’s social suicide.

Fuck you deer, and your ticks.

Well, the car was moving ever closer to I just jumped into a bush by the side of the road, which didn’t much help, because hellooooo it’s effing WINTER and the bushes are BARE kind of like your LEGS so you are still EXPOSED. TO. THE. WORLD. I got away luckily, with just a few dozen trucker honks and furrowed-brow double takes from the well-to-do old timers in their Acura’s or back window oggles from the youngsters and their soccer moms in family Suburbans (“Look mommy, there’s our old babysitter! And she’s NAKEY!)

More on this later…I have another story about a certain luncheon with la mia daddypoo, a former polar bear himself. Until then, woe is me!

Live well (and clothed, preferably) my darlings,

-Poopsie

Turkey Qualms

So Thanksgiving is coming up, a time when family and friends come together, invade each other’s home for a minimum of 2 days during which they’re supposed to take up all the extra bedroom’s in the house, completely invade the bathrooms in the mornings (especially if you’re Aunt June) and gradually eat one another out of house and home while giving “thanks” for everything they have. It’s a time when people are supposed to be gracious and giving but are allowed to be slovenly and selfish because hey, nobody’s gonna call you out on your array of shit on Thanksgiving! Your family ought to thank their lucky stars that they have you to veg out on their couch and watch the playoffs or whatever the hell game is on while they slave away in the kitchen, clean the house, get the groceries, do your laundry and cook the meal that you’ve been waiting for because, after all, you’re family. Ugh, I know this is a rather pessimistic outlook on the holiday but I you must forgive me because I just need to vent. It’s not that I don’t like the family get together aspect of turkey day; on the contrary, I love getting everyone together to celebrate the existence of food. Who doesn’t? It’s just that it’s so damn hard for me when I haven’t had a decent family reunion since I was about 8 years old! Yea, no kidding, a long effing time. To tell you the truth, my family doesn’t even home cook our thanksgiving dinner. No, we GO OUT for thanksgiving every year, which is fine, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve always loved the idea of getting up on the big day, doing your part in the kitchen and then sitting down with the people you love and sharing the meal that you all put some effort in making. That’s what it’s about, isn’t it? “Thanks for Giving your all to this meal” and not just “Thanks, Gimme!” What’s happened to our society that all we do is want want want when it’s scientifically proven that getting more more more does NOT in any way make people happy. It’s true. Once you have your basic needs, getting more stuff, money, clothes, hair, etc doesn’t make your life better. In fact, in my opinion, having everything you want makes your life WORSE. Well, actually, lets not get ahead of ourselves…if what you want is a steamy golden stag with a smile that’ll make you go weak at the ovaries and achilles tendons that would make the Achilles himself want to kill himself with a chainsaw, then perhaps having everything you want would, in fact, make your life a bit better, but we’re talking the exception to the rule here.

Yea, Pitt’s got nothing on my hubby

Now where was I? Oh, right, Thanksgiving. hmmm, I really don’t have much more to say on the subject, other than the fact that I am oh so psyched to taste that sweet potatoe pie that I love so much. Plus stuffing. mmmmmmmmmmm stuffinggg. Okay well for serious I really have no more words so I’ll leave you with a good quote for saying grace on turkey day. “Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub, YAYYYYYYYYYYYY GOD!”

Live well my darlings

-Poopsie

It’s country music for strippers, and we love it

Here’s a little treat for you. I claim the front-row boy with the brown hat, but if any one of them bought me my favorite pony, I think I’d be set.

Rock on.
-L

Grab that Intro to Studio! Quick! IT’S RUNNING AWAY!

You fucking wish

If you are currently in the throes of an All-American collegiate experience, you are probably praying your way through online class registration right about now. Our hearts are with you. We are having a range of difficulties with SLU’s registration system, APR, here at The Zoo. Maneater was totally screwed over and had to wheedle her way into at least two of her four rather necessary courses (I think her classes are still up in the air), Bee and Poopsie scraped by with minor damage, and Y scored all four classes in one sweep. As for your favorite Zoologist, L? Well, as I like to say, those bitches ain’t got nothin’ on me.

Here is my weekly schedule starting January 18th, 2009:

Monday: Classes 8:00am-3:10pm, sleep 3:10-7:00pm, dinner 7:00pm, followed by more sleeping

Tuesday: Sleeping, homework, eating, and sleeping, in no particular order

Wednesday: See Monday

Thursday-Sunday: See Tuesday

I suppose somewhere in my exhaustive schedule I could squeeze in a little time for personal development (partying), physical improvement (Pilates once a week, oogling the boys at the climbing wall on the daily) and social networking (partying). And, of course, this frees up a lot of time for Zoological research. I’ll simply camp out at the student center during the “homework” portions of my five-day weekend and pretend to study while observing my many favorite animals.

Here’s to not failing my classes next semester – ROCK OUT!

-L

That is one fabulous set of teeth

Here’s a gem from the dark world of funny condom commercials. Is there any condom commercial that isn’t funny? Anyways, this dude is the man. Ingenuity is such a turn-on.

Rock on,

-L

Are you sick? You must have SWINE!!!

Oink, Oink! Oh no! I am turning into a pig!! I keep getting these urges to roll around in the mud and converse with spiders!

Oh wait, no I don’t.

This weekend I had a bit of a fever and a cough. I decided to go to the health center because I was afraid that I might need an antibiotic or something. Within two seconds of my being at the health center the nurse began talking about quarantining me! WTF lady?!?! I do not have swine you paranoid freak. I got that vaccine and I don’t feel all that bad. Before the lady could confine me to my room and kick out my lovely roommates I decided to tell her that I would just peace out and go home. That was yesterday. Today I have no fever. No flu. DUMB LADY. At least I got a mini vaca at home where I got to watch Australia on the HBOLatin channel and download a shit ton of music like this song!

Awesome, I know. I also get to play with a very cute puppy tonight… a real one. But I get to drive back to escuela en la mañana!

Hasta bitches,

Bee

The Happy Post! (sort of)

Here is a list of reasons to really be glad you are single. Seriously.

You, my free, single and independent friend, can be happy about all of these things:

1. Your texting bill is not $70 over because you just HAVE to keep sending lovey dovey texts to your man.

2. You don’t have to shave anything- EVER. You could look like George of the Jungle for all anyone knows. And you secretly like it.

3. When you get changed to go to bed at night, you get to wear those epic granny panties that you pretend you don’t own. (yeah you always wonder why they still make those Hanes briefs? You think you are the only one who buys them? Oh no my friend, every girl has her secret trashy underwear that cost like 60 cents and makes you feel about as sexy as a 40 year old bag lady. But they are oh so comfortable, and there isn’t any guy to see them.)

4.  You can actually read books in your spare time.

5. Holidays are less expensive, and way less stressful. What the fuck do you buy a boyfriend for Christmas or his birthday anyways? Even if you end up with a great idea you can usually bet it is also an expensive one.

6. You don’t have to share. (That includes but is not limited to- food, money, a car, a bed, the covers, bathroom counter space, income, friends, hobbies, or every last moment of your free time)

7. You can have sex with anyone you want to! (As long as L gives her stamp of approval. Which is almost never given because she has the standards of a queen.)

8. There is never an inappropriate time to eat garlic-lovers hummus.

9. Your sheets stay cleaner longer… and those things are a bitch to wash and redo

10. You can entertain yourself by making balloon animals with all the condoms you no longer use.

11. Girl time is never compromised for some relationship chat or something.

12. Of course if you want, you can always chase after highly unattainable men, and know that your pursuit is in vain. So you can go ahead and be ridiculous- maybe even try walking differently to see how he reacts to your attention getting schemes.

13. Your single friends never are jealous of you for having something that they want. AKA- You are a welcome part of the bitter ladies club which is always filled with lively and disturbing discussions.

14. You can flirt shamelessly

15. You get to make the most of those exotic men when you study abroad, and you don’t have to pretend it never happened. Perhaps you could even take pictures and mail them to your friends.

16. You get to sing and dance to All the Single Ladies whenever you feel like it. And the words actually mean something to you.

17. When you get all dressed up you can rock one of those all spandex, streamlining, make me look like the ultimate, sleek, sex pot that I am thingies (especially the ones that amp up your boobs too). And no one will be ripping the dress off later to find out you’re bound up within an inch of your life. So basically its your secret, and the rest of the world just thinks you are an absolute five alarm.

18. You are free to do as you choose with just about everything, you don’t have to compromise goals or morals

19. Your decisions are yours alone to make.

20. You learn to love yourself for who you are, because there isn’t a boyfriend to do it for you. And that, above all, is a very important thing to know how to do. Because when it comes down to it, you need to have respect for yourself and know your worth, even without someone there to tell you its true. And if a single lady is able to love and accept herself as beautiful, worthwhile, and valuable- even without a man by her side- she has every reason to be one of the happiest girls in the world.

So enjoy single-dom and the self empowerment it brings.

The “I get bored with anger really quickly” Maneater.

Love Isn’t Easy… And It Never Will Be.

I think the people who know and realize that love isn’t easy, but are still willing to put themselves out there for it are very courageous people. And we all fall victim to becoming haters of love and wanting to give up. So I really commend Maneater for keeping the faith, or trying to. But love isn’t always going to be full of rainbows and posies. And would it even be worth it if it was? I would have have to say no. Love can be passionate, yes, but hate is a passionate feeling as well. You shouldn’t go throughout a relationship constantly fighting with the one you love, but you can’t have a relationship when you agree on everything and anything. How boring would that be? First of all there would be no make-up sex. And although I have not been lucky enough to experience that, my imagination can keep me holding out for it. I don’t think you could create more passion than when you are both in love, but still a little angry. And then at the end, all you feel is satisfaction, and maybe a little hungry, I don’t know.

But I would like to share some stats of my own that I found. These results are based off of a 2007 survey taken by 70,000 adults. Survey takers estimated that 44% of married men and 36% of married women are unfaithful. The survey found that 28% of married men and 18% of married women cheated. This rate is believed to have stayed pretty consistent due to results from another survey that polled 10,000 people over the course of two decades. The results of this study found that 22% of married men and 15% of married women have cheated at least once.

So do males cheat more than women? Yes. But in all honesty, males are biologically programed to want to spread their seed as much as they possibly can. Does that fact make it okay to cheat? Hell no. But it does offer a reason for why men may cheat more than women. I personally know one married woman who cheated on her husband. And she cheated on her husband with a man she knew was married. I don’t have the statistics, but I do know that there are a number of women who aren’t afraid to be a home wrecker.  I argue that there are many single women who knowingly sleep with married men. The man should say no, but I think the single woman is just as responsible for ruining the wife’s life as much as the married man was. And I am sorry for all the women who sleep with a man that is in a relationship, because that just sucks. And it does make that guy awful, but women do it to.

I don’t think that we should just put down the guys for all the evil things they do, because the truth is women do the same evil things. As human beings, we do shitty things. But I am starting to doubt that one sex is really any better than the other. We can all be terrible awful beings, but we can also be amazing creatures that are capable of complex emotions. You may not be in control of every aspect of your life. You never can be. There are outside factors that you will never be able to control. It is how you react and handle those other factors, events, mishaps, and various accidents that makes you who you are. And I know that all of the Zoologists can handle these things with the utmost poise and strength, even when they think that can’t.

Sometimes the greatest things aren’t the things that come easy, but are the things we have to fight for.

LOVE!

Bee

I have come to piss on your parade, fair maidens. I am sorry.

The exciting thing about being Negative Nancy is that I can always bring in statistics to back up my so-called cynical viewpoints. But to be honest, I’m not cynical, I’m realistic. There’s a very big difference, you know.

If I were just cynical, I would say ‘All the men in my life have sucked, therefore, all men in the world suck.” Oh wait, I do say that…. But I say it in addition to other statements which strengthen and validate my point.

See, I understand Bee’s point of view as well. Guys aren’t all terrible, and there are definitely great relationships to be had in the world. Her story is comparable to a romantic movie that makes all girls believe that they can have that same thing- even though more likely we will be in the cast of Juno, minus the soundtrack that everyone loves. (I hated everything about that movie, including the soundtrack, but I’m using it because everyone else in the world seemed to find value in it so whatever, I’ll cater to poor movie tastes I suppose.) Wow, tangent. Anyways, the romantic movie is the inspiration that gives us single girls hope. And I think being hopeful about love in moderation is a good thing.

Now I will drop the bomb…

You see, the truth is you probably won’t have the love that those romantic movies advertise. Or maybe YOU will- but the girl next to you never will. Yet, even though the odds are greatly against us, women continue to believe that they are in fact the exception to statistics on marriage and relationship failures.

I bet that nearly every woman (in the US) who gets married thinks she is in love with her man and she will love him for the rest of her life. Well over half of them are wrong, plain an simple since over 50% of all marriages end in divorce. And each one of those just-about-to-get-married-women also probably thinks that her husband loves her and is a trustworthy, loyal, loving companion. Well, that is true…. except for the over 30% of them who cheat on their wives.

So yeah, I hate to be the party pooper, but the likelihood of being the couple from The Notebook is way less than you being the single, old lady who lives alone in the house down the street who makes cookies for all the kids in the neighborhood and has 18 cats.

And here I am, telling people how pointless it is to put any faith in love or to assume it is going to happen to you, and yet look at me, I want a beach wedding, I want to be married to only one person forever, and I want to have great sex the whole time. I want this, and really want to believe that it will happen even though it isn’t likely at all. But I still go through life thinking- oh maybe I’m the exception, or maybe I’ll find the right guy, or oh but I’m really good at relationships (despite my bitter, biting posts, I am actually a lot of fun to be around and I am generally easy going, happy person.) and so I pretend that I could totally find love and make it work. And of course, some women do, and they are the ones that we all look to for guidance an assurance that the same thing will happen to us. If Bee can have a kick ass relationship with a guy who texts her pictures of puppies, I totally can too! And maybe you will, but the key thing I guess is that you really can’t expect it.

So I will say that while Bee gave you the honey to whet your appetites, I’m going to remind you that the majority of the world is starving. And there really isn’t much you can do about it except keep trying or give up.

Now as angry and hateful as I sound usually when I post, I’m going to let the world (or the three people who read this blog) in on a little secret. I’m going to continue to try. Because I DO like guys and I DO want to have a relationship someday and have it work out and we can go and pick out sheets together at Bed, Bath and Beyond and make each other smoothies for breakfast to ensure we get enough vitamins in our diet. I honestly think that sounds great. And so no matter how much the odds are against me, and no matter how unlikely it is (because seriously, I’ll probably not have a success story when it comes down to it) I still believe in true love and I think I could be the exception to the statistics which proclaim that spending time on love is not really a worthwhile investment. I’m going to be that stupid, optimistic, get-crushed-1000-times-only-to-end-up-divorcing-my-husband-who-cheated-on-me, because I’m stubborn and I want to believe in beautiful lasting relationships even if they aren’t in the cards for most of us.

But don’t worry, God has given us other great things that are much more easily obtainable.

Like Ben and Jerrys… and vodka

So there. I have depressed myself and everyone who read this. Unless you’re one of those people who refuse to believe facts because they don’t like what they say and will therefore go and spout about how ‘oh no, you’re going to fall in love with someone someday, you’re just being negative’. To all of those people let me say this, as much as I appreciate your psychic abilities and your blatantly ignorant views of joy for the future- I’m going to stick with the facts, which happen to disagree with you.

Ms “I live in a world of unsweetened tea” Maneater

Suck it, Freud.

Hello all you gorgeous biddies…and bodies (male version? maybe?)! I am absolutely psyched to be a new member of the Zoology team! I really have nothing to blog about as of yet, other than the fact that my unbelievably gorgeous and charismatic stag is cavorting around with some effingly perfect unicorn (i.e. his girlfriend), and has decided to completely drop off the face of the planet so that I can’t even gawk at him anymore by the watering hole, where all the animals play! Besides the fact, my ovaries hurt, and my fingernails did not grow at all today, which is totally an omen from the universe. But, I digress. I’d like to share with y’all a little story I wrote out of complete boredom at the end of the summer. I was just sitting in my kitchen, eating my organic/vegan/gluten free muffin–don’t judge me–and was you tubing some shit like Are You Afraid Of The Dark episodes from the good ol’ days, when nickelodeon didn’t suck, when it occurred to me that I should probably do something that at least feigned productivity. That’s when I decided I’d test out my ability to tap into the unconscious, and just wrote a completely stream of consciousness story. I call it, What you should have learned in History class:

“In 14th century Sweden, Marxist painters became influential in the Royal Cabinet in great part because of a man named Ralph Schwerdenheimer—the later Duke of the Netherlands and enemy of the Czech Republic and, of course, the Red Sea. Schwerdenheimer was a man of God, a preist in the keenest sense of the word, all too fond of his cousin, Ms. Belvediere Rash, who’s soul had been possessed in the year of 1312 by a band of decrepit gypsies hoping for some time on the farm in Sicilia and some power in the law firm of the great Bambisto Rash, the most powerful man in the world of paint and justice, the evilest of evils, and Ms. Belvediere’s not-so-beloved husband. The two had been married whereupon a wandering gull landed on the ImslowlikeJerrry Ferry between Marigoul and Mousk, and asked the lovely Ms. Belvediere as to whether she’d like a cruller for lunch or an exuberant, extravagant, jelly doughnut of a lifestyle by the time she turned 28, the year of the sword. That did it. She was married inside a week to Bambisto Rash at a cottage just outside of Burnhamster Quicken County and the two lived drearily ever after—that is until Ralph Schwerdenheimer was borne from a lycopene flower in the year of 1330, quainine clad and filled with the heroicism and energy of Jacquemeister Havacracker, the Swiss Pageant clerk who himself invented the word of God and later, of Bon Jovi.”

Seriously people, if you want a good college entrance essay, contact me. Not even Freud could tap this unconscious. Suck it.

Ciao, Bitchessssssss

-Poopsie

Introducing Poopsie!

Forgive the name, ladies and gents.

The Zoologists have been shorthanded these past few months, considering the fact that we have, you know, lives to attend to. That and we can lay claim to actually having hobbies (woot, woot!). Anyways, despite the flurry of activity recently seen on The Zoo, we have to decided to recruit a fresh perspective to our ranks: the ever gracious and not-socially-retarded Poopsie. Don’t be fooled, however – Poopsie is one crazy-ass chica and knows how to bring the house down. (Correction: she doesn’t know how to bring the house down, she just brings the house down. Inadvertently.) When she’s not bringing houses down, she’s burning the roof off of a chinese restaurant. Just ask her neighbors. She is also completely and utterly neurotic in her research. She’ll walk through the Zoo two dozen times picking random breakfast items for the rest of the Zoologists just for thorough research. If you happen to be a rather attractive stag or wolf, I bet you’ve caught her creeping on you at the Zoo. She doesn’t have a wandering eye…she’s on the prowl.

Point is, people, this girl ain’t innocent.

Welcome to the family!

-L

Enough stings, here’s a little honey!

In light of recent opinions, I would like to share mine…

I feel like the male population has taken quite the beating lately. So I am going to offer up a few reasons why not all men are spawns of Satan.

Here in the wonderful world of SLU, I have basically all girl friends. However, at home I have a lot of guy friends at home. It mostly ends up being me and my best friend (who is a girl) and all guys. I hang out with my girls friends every once in a while, but the core people I hang out with tend to be dudes. I like hanging out with them because they are always up for an adventure. You can just hang out with guys. There doesn’t have to be a constant stream of chatter to have a conversation. One of my guy friends is a man of few words. But when he does speak almost every word he utters is full of meaning and I generally find the groups of us nodding in consensus with smiles on our faces.

Anyway, I am now dating my best guy friend. It’s a recent thing that I’m glad didn’t happen in high school, because I feel like we’ve done a lot of growing since then and we now know that we always come back to each other. But I have to confess, I was very hesitant about the whole dating thing. By first boyfriend was a total dud, and I didn’t like the way he made me felt. And after I finally got the guts to end that I just wanted to be single and merry for a really, really long time. I was and I loved it. But over that time I developed a fear of relationships. Even the thought of a relationship freaked me out, I could feel a sense of being smothered come over me. So this summer, when things started to get serious with the chocolate lab and I, I felt really anxious. I still didn’t feel ready for a relationship, even though I was practically in one, minus the label.

So what changed my mind? Him.

He showed me that relationships didn’t have to be boring and suffocating and that we could both have our space, but still be really close. He squashed my fears, well, our fears, of messing up our friendship not only with each other, but with the rest of our good friends. We were able to hang out with other people without making them feel like a third wheel. And that was really important to the both of us. We didn’t have to make this big adjustment on our lives for each other because our lives already seemed to just fit. That sounds worse than how I meant for it to sound, but it works. Haha. This is starting to sound mushy, but I guess I just want to say that I appreciate all that he has done, because lord knows that whenever I see his name flash on my phone screen my face lights up. Especially when he is sending my pictures of his new puppy (also a chocolate lab, go figure), with cute captions that say “Hello Bee!!”

Don't you just want to eat me up!!!!

So I think that guys can be great. And yes, guys can be really, really sucky. Especially, when they mishandle your heart. But the fact of the matter is that girls can be just as bad to guys. They just have to put off a tougher exterior than we do because they are “unemotional beings.”

So kudos to you males who compensate for the bad eggs of your sex! I like to think that we zoologists can compensate for the bad eggs of ours!!!!

LOVE!

Bee

Are you a vicious man-hater? Join the club!

So once upon a time, I used to love guys. I thought being friends with girls was stupid and that they were catty, bitchy, whiny, and didn’t enjoy playing in the dirt nearly as much as they should.

That was when I was 8.

That was back before I realized that guys are, in fact, even worse than girls. Guys lie, manipulate girls, whine when they don’t get their way, get cold way too easily, complain when you steal the covers, make you brush your teeth after you go down on them before they will even LOOK at you, and hate when you are on a diet, but also hate you if you look anything less than a supermodel. There’s a whole lot more that I won’t get into right now because I have a 7 page paper, a journal entry, over 100 pages of reading, and at least a partial night’s sleep which must be attended to.

Anyways, what I really wanted to write was a small, uplifting anecdote from my day. I am working on a project with two guys, and while I thought it was going to be an ultimate disaster, it has actually been going pretty well. Did I mention this is for a gender class? Yeah, props to these guys. Anyways I was talking to one of my partners before he left the library on his razor scooter (no I’m not joking), when he mentioned that this was his favorite class of the semester. I asked him how, since all we do is bash men for installing the glass ceiling for women all over the globe. He said to me, “Yeah that is hard, I mean, sometimes I just want  to raise my hand in class and be like ‘Not all guys suck, really!’ ya know?”

What a CUTE sentiment! Awww. Guys don’t ALL suck,  do they? All I needed was for someone to tell me that and I’d change my mind.

Oh wait. I’m being sarcastic, whoops! Anyways, you know what I said back??

“Well, you know, guys really do suck.”

He looked horrified.

“I mean as individuals they can be nice an all” (yeah IF THEY’RE GAY) “but as a whole they are pretty, damn shitty.”

He left the library. I think we might never talk again. I crushed his dreams of being both a worthwhile human being and having a Y chromosome. Sucks to be you, dude. You can’t have it all, you know. You don’t get pregnant, have to sit to pee, get a period, or get paid significantly less even though you have to spend a shit load of money on bras so you look respectable for your job… but you ARE the shittier gender and I’m allowed to hate on you in every single gender class I ever take. And no, you don’t get to raise your hand and defend yourself.

Yep, thats me. Its understandable though, isn't it?

Peace out Scouts!

Wow, I’m the super-bitch, Maneater

Eye-Fucking: A Frontier Science

A fleeting glance here. A quick wink there. Yes. You just had a quickie. An eye-fuck quickie.

As zoologists, we have a fascination with eye-fucking. And apparently, so do the animals. However, there is a right and wrong way to eye-fuck. To start, you never, ever initiate hard-core contact when first beginning an eye-fuck tete-a-tete. When you see a potential eye-fuck buddy, start off with a few sideways glances. Keep the glances to a minimum to start with, so that the target does not become sketched out. If you can sense that the target is looking your way, and you’re feeling a little naughty, catch the target’s eye, while maintaining a slightly dirty mind-set so that the look is sexy as hell. Make the eye lock brief. This will leave the target engaged and wanting more. When you, or the target, exits the area, I suggest using the hard-to-get method and not make any eye contact. This will make the target believe that they are on the chase.

Now, the next time you see the target you can initiate eye-fucking. You have managed to draw the target into the chase, so he will be more likely to glance your way on more than one occasion. To tempt the target, and to get his gears grinding, you may want to start with a look from under your eyelashes. This is a very cheeky move that will leave a little something for the target’s imagination. After the first glance, instead of brief and indirect glances, you can let your eye locks linger.

You will now be able to successfully entice your target. He can now be your eye-fuck buddy. Here are some moves to try out. Eye Brow Movement: Eye brow movement is comparable to the pelvic thrust. By adding a little brow movement, you manage to send many sexual signals to your eye-fuck buddy. By raising one eye brow you are asking a suggestive question. This is like saying, “Should I get out the lube?” or “Wanna get naked?” By raising both eye-brows twice, in a quick succession you are making a sly statement, such as “I know what’s under those worn in jeans” or “I can do nasty, awful things to you.” The Wink: If your feeling really bold and randy you can try a wink. I would suggest practicing this first. This is an advanced move that must first be perfected. Many people have trouble winking. When they attempt to wink they focus all there attention on only closing one eye and forget what the rest of their face looks like. So practice in a mirror first. Then you can practice on some dweeby boys that don’t stand a chance with you.

This guy has the wink down!

You are now armed with the best eye-fuck artillery.

God Speed, ladies!

Bee

Ironic: Zoo Style

To the tune of Alanis Morissette’s Ironic:

A zoologist sees a new animal
She eye-fucks him and realizes he’s a sophomore
It’s a big stain on your new white shirt
It’s his voicemail call ten times in a row
And isn’t it ironic… don’t you think

It’s like hickies all over your neck
It’s an Irish accent every night at ten
It’s a bad condom that you just shouldn’t use
Who would’ve thought… it figures

Miss Studious had a major quiz
She packed her bookbag and went to the library
She stayed up the whole damn night just to memorize
Then she realized the quiz was on Monday and thought
“Well isn’t this nice…”
And isn’t it ironic… don’t you think

It’s like hickies all over your neck
It’s an Irish accent every night at ten
It’s a bad condom that you just shouldn’t use
Who would’ve thought… it figures

A toilet paperless stall when you’ve already peed
A tarot sesh with a football star
It’s like ten thousand boys when all you need is a man
It’s meeting your soccer husband
And then finding out he likes guys
And isn’t it ironic…don’t you think
A little too ironic…and, yeah, I really do think…

It’s like hickies all over your neck
It’s an Irish accent every night at ten
It’s a bad condom that you just shouldn’t use
Who would’ve thought… it figures

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out
Helping you out

LOVE,

Bee

Who knew “Marry me” was code for “I never want to talk to you again”?

Fuck  Happy Endings

So my best guy friend/lover from high school and I were talking this fall when he decided “hey lets get married.” Being a total Penguin wanna be , I know its sickening, I thought it was cute and we started dating. Oh lets not forget he’s in the marines which equals 12 hours away and the last time we’ve seen each other was May. Anyways it was awesome we talked all the time and were really excited about being together. Sorry if this makes you want to puke, I’m a little nauseous myself, but you need the background info. OK so the first two and half weeks were great blah blah blah then BAM he runs me over with a Mac truck. What I mean is he totally ended all communication. As an awesome totally hot girlfriend that any man would want I continued to text and attempt to contact my Man Flesh just because I was concerned and missed him. Once again I’m sorry and I hope you can control your gag reflex. Anyways an entire week went by and then a miracle occurred when he ended radio silence so to speak and answered his phone. We talked for about 2 milliseconds when he decided to call his mother, understandable but whatever,  he texted me a few times then once again fell off the face of the earth for another week. By this time we had been dating for a month…woooo…fucking whoo! At this point the ass face had started declining my phone calls. Dick! right? Ok so I decided it was time for extreme measures. I called him on my roommates phone. Smart right? I thought so. Ok so he answered. What The Fuck right? So he was partying with friend and didn’t even recognize my voice then proceeded to say ” I don’t want to talk because I don’t want to say something I’ll regret”  Hmmmmm thats sketchy. I then told him to call me the next day and then re told him that I was having surgery October 13th. Silly me thought he would care. I didn’t hear from him for what a surprise another fucking week. Did he call me before surgery….NO. Not only that but he declined my phone calls when I was in the hospital and trying to tell him I was ok.  Apparently being dissected is no big deal these days. Ok so the weekend after my surgery I was actually quite surprised but we did talk for about 15 minutes. Impressive for this guys huh? But guess who initiated it. ME! No surprise there I’m sure. Now on top of this, which is already enough to make me want to chop his dick off, a girl from his marine thing wrote on fb two different times. Once saying “hey fire crotch…i miss you” (yes he’s ginger..don’t judge me) then the other saying “You have a girlfriend….ahh shit….how are u”. I asked him about this hyena and he said they had a fling……which means he was doing god knows what to her while texting me hun this and hun that at the same time. Completely ridiculous. Now we’ve been a  couple for two months and in the past month we’ve only talked about 3 times. So, after some advice from a delicious Rhino on my floor and the agreement from my roommates, I have decided on a different approach with this unique specimen and will no longer attempt contact. If he doesn’t talk to me soon he can shove the engagement ring up his pasty ginger ass!!! Hope you enjoyed this story of how ridiculous my life is. P.S. to make the story even better, I haven’t seen any action in 1 year and 2.5 months. I’m dying ladies!!!

I hope you have better luck!

Auf Wiedersehen Bitches,

Y(am I so amazing)?

Spice Up Your Life

Halloween was tons of fun, if a little subdued. Yours truly and the Zoologists recruited a couple of girls and went out on the town as the Spice Girls. While researching our costumes, we ran across this gem. This was made a little before Ginger Spice (never trust a ginger kid) left the band, which forms the running theory why this video is made sans actual Spice Girls. I think this wins the “Most Fucked Up and Written-While-On-Acid Music Video Concept” award. Whatever, the Spice Girls were awesome and the 90s is probably the greatest decade in the history of mankind. Enjoy!

Rock [out to 90s girl band pop] on.

-L

Swine flu

Hello, SLU campus. The Zoo is sad to report that all Halloween events have been cancelled by the university. As angry as I am, I would rather NOT contract H1N1 from some dude slobbering all over me or, rather, just breathing body fumes in the OC, so I fully support the university in their decision.

Despite this, I am utterly devastated: this means I can’t creep on – I mean, track – the grizzly I’ve become completely obsessed with in the absence of my beloved tree frog (donde estas?!). Whatever, he has a girlfriend. Fuck penguins. And fuck swine flu, while we’re at it. No. You know what swine flu needs? A good-old-fashioned session of chainsaw rape. That’s right, H1N1, fuck you with a chainsaw! I WANT MY GRIZZLY!

You know why they call it swine flu? Because it actually originated from pigs, but not real pigs. Zoo pigs. It’s been proven that swine flu was transmitted to the general population through beer pong cups.

One last note. I deeply admire a certain ferocious grizzly that threw down his plates in the zoo tonight and told all the animals to stampede into Thelmo (which is basically the overly formal law of  the jungle). Great, peeps, let’s all stuff our hot and possibly infected bodies into a little meeting room. I was wedged between a snotty little chipmunk who likes to breath into people’s faces and a badger that looked like she was ready to chomp my head off the minute I so much as hiccuped.

Also, developments from the Txt Wars, as I like to call them. Later. I’ve got to study for a quiz tommorrow, and I’ve got to stock up on sleep. This body is a temple…and if swine flu want to mess with it, I’ve got chainsaw rapists for white blood cells.

Rock on,

-L

In for the long run

I got shitfaced this past weekend. I got shitfaced the previous weekend. I will get shitfaced next weekend.

I am so fucked. Except for the fact that next weekend is Halloween and arguably the craziest weekend of fall semester, I am dreading it. I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. The booze bus, to be specific. My liver feels like it’s been in a boxing match twice already, and now it’s limping into the ring for next weekend – and if weekends were boxers, hellooooo Mike Tyson. Fuck my life. I’m no pig when it comes to professional partying. Thankfully, Y is currently in post-op mode so she can probably be my sober sister. Btdubs, I had a pretty sweet cripple joke but Y asked me to cool it, so use your imaginations: [insert cripple joke here]

Don’t you worry, Zoo readers (all 2 of you), I’ll get around to some of the heavier stuff. Like field research on new animals we’ve discovered, roosters I’ve run into, and a particularly big rhino that might have ulterior motives.

Rock on,

-L

Yes Ladies- I’m talking PORN.

Ok, so this is a pretty private subject, right? Well since when has that ever stopped me before? Exactly, it hasn’t.

The reason why I’m writing this is because the other night us zoo females were hanging out watching some shows with deliciously hot manflesh and the topic of porn was brought up. And there were some varying reactions. But I was the only person who legitimately watches it.

Yes. I watch porn.

Like everyday? All the time? No. But occasionally I’m feeling a little rowdy, and god knows all the men in my life suck and sometimes the Nora Roberts, or teen romance book just isn’t cutting it. So, I might check out some stuff online. Now I am not the avid porn consumer who is like registered to hardcore, legit sites. But there is plenty of free sexy videos online. By plenty I mean millions. Seriously if you can’t find something you like, dude, you are not sexual AT ALL.

That’s not to say there isn’t fucking weird ass shit online. I know that I’ve found plenty of odd, on the verge of horrifying, clips. For example, I once clicked on a link which brought me to a video of a couple having sex outside in their hammock. That’s not so bad, right. Oh I forgot to mention– the camera guy was inside the house next door, breathing heavily and occasionally ducking out of sight so that the couple didn’t catch him recording their torrid affair on film. And the worst part is that he went and posted it on fucking YouPorn, which is an insanely popular and large porn site. I bet they would be more than a little upset to know that they are the source of many people’s fantasies. Either that or completely flattered.

And then they would move away from the sketchball next door.

But anyways. I stand strong on my opinion that a little bit of porn is good for you. Its visual. Its sexy. Its free. And if nothing else, its good to be able to learn to laugh at something that could be totally embarrassing.

If the whole watching women with fake tans, boobs, hair color, nails, and names really is too much for you to handle (but seriously don’t knock it until you try it. I think you should even try it a couple of times honestly…) you can always check out literotica.com.

This is a site filled with erotic short stories. And you know what? Some of them are really good. They can be like romantic novels, condensed down to just the sex and some vague character development. (Hey, this isn’t for when you are looking for a good read, its when you’re looking to get off. If you don’t do that either, we need to talk.) These stories range from really long (like an actual story) to just a couple pages and if you just pick stuff out of the toplist section they tend to be written coherently. The site is easy to maneuver and it has those handy dandy categories, so you don’t end up reading something about a grandfather aged dude getting it on with his high school aged candy striper- definitely NOT my thing.

I think that many girls get nervous or overwhelmed by the porn world. Or perhaps they think that it is supposed to be a suggestion of how they should act in bed… I don’t know. But I do know that porn isn’t supposed to be realistic. It is a bunch of ridiculous sexual fantasies all regurgitated onto one site. And just like everyone kisses different and some girls like really thin guys with long hair and others like really buff football players, everyone has a different porn style. You just need to learn to choose your link with care. You can pick out a guy that you think is attractive in a room and not be horrified by the less attractive ones around you. And its pretty likely that some girl is going to come along and choose one of those less attractive guys over the one you like anyways. Its all a matter of taste.

To emphasize this I will share one more porn sketchy moment with y’all. Once I was inspecting the “Fetishes” section of Literotica (which is not just whips and chains kind of thing, there are all sorts of non violent fetishes, for example sexy underwear- seriously there are men out there who actually appreciate them!) and I clicked on a story with a pretty vague title. Oops. Well it turned out to be a story about this girl in Japan who worked at this weird ass brothel in the city, but instead of the hookers actually having sex with clients they would actually just lay down and stick their legs through these holes in the walls into a hallway, so the hall would be filled with just suspended legs floating around on both sides. And then guys would come in and jack off on them. WEIRD. Needless to say I was not turned on from that, but hey I guess it wouldn’t hurt if someone else was. I’ll just stick to more classic themes I suppose.

Anyways…

I also like the ‘Erotic Couplings’ category on Literotica and I like the amateur section on porn sites. Why? Because it is real people having semi realistic sex. And they are people in close, trusting, albeit flamboyant, relationships. They have fun with sex and get a thrill out of showing it off to people. That’s kinda cool. And its fun to watch if you find the right video. And it is a turn on because its the stuff that isn’t acted is the best

And so some of it is funny, yeah, but so is sex. That’s  an inescapable fact- so while the acted porn might not be realistic (though I think it definitely has its place in the industry) it is like comparing Hollywood love stories and real life documentaries of people’s lives. Its very different but you definitely come away with something different with each one.

I’m sick of sex being a taboo. So I’m starting a trend. And that trend is admitting to enjoying sex and enjoying watching sex. Because hey, even if you don’t have sex right now- Everyone gets horny. And everyone wants to get off. Why do it without help?

She feels better after getting off. You would too.

So check it out. There are plenty of options, and lots of pleasure to be derived from this source of online exhibitionism.

Peace out Scouts

Love,

Maneater

If anyone tells you there is a redeeming man in the world. Spit in their face.

Yeah. Success.

HELLO LOVELIES! Here is a brief update: before today I was doing soooo well! Seriously. (I told you it would be brief, I don’t post on here about my happiness here on the Zoo… only my life’s failures.) Lucky for you my life fails pretty regularly, so you all (meaning the three of you that read this by accident while looking for something actually worth while to spend your time doing on the internet) get plenty of fodder to laugh over and make you feel good about yourselves. So, you know how I always talk about sex? Well earlier this year I was actually getting as much sex as I talk about… Crazy right? And it was great. Totally not emotionally attached. Pretty decent in the satisfaction department. And this guy had a really great back. Legit. One of my weaknesses.

And let me clarify how this came about. He and I sort of hooked up one night and then decided that it would be fun to start something really casual. He totally initiated it. I’m not exaggerating at all. He got my number from one of his friends and proceeded to text me to “cuddle”, “snuggle”, and “fuck”. Yes, and when I wasn’t busy I complied. One night I hooked up with another guy instead and my hook up buddy wanted to know if I really had. I told him I’d like to stick to just hooking up with him, I might like things casual but I like to keep it down to one guy at a time, please. So after one active night this weekend, I went on facebook and realized that he had rejected my friend request that I’d sent him. Ok… That’s weird. And then when I asked him about it (lightheartedly, I’m not really a big fan of booty calls through FB anyways) he stopped texting me until I sent him a message today… and the following conversation ensued….

Maneater –> Boy “Hey have you just been busy or is something up?”

Boy –> Maneater “I have been busy but there is something wrong. I’ve been reluctant to tell u which is why I denied ur request but you deserve to know that I have a gf back at home” What? Excuse me? Are you fucking shitting me? The one way you can fuck up a no strings attached hook up relationship. You have a fucking girlfriend. Fuck.

M –>Fucking Asshole “Oh cool. Thanks for telling me.”

FA–>M “Are u upset?” You bastard. All your fucking friends knew. I was the only one who didn’t know. And I was the stupid ‘other woman’ and I didn’t even know. But hey, I’m totally cool with it! False.

M–>FA “Only completely humiliated. I’ll get over it. Thanks for the concern.”

FA–>M “I’m really sorry. Do u hate me?” Uh… Is that a trick question? Of course I do.

M–>FA “I don’t hate people. It’s a waste of my time.”

FA–>M “Tell me how you feel.” Well, Dr. Phil, I feel like cutting off your balls and mailing them to your girlfriend with a note saying “I figured you want these for yourself, because I’m sick of them.”

M–>FA “Like skipping for joy.”

FA–> M “So u are mad.. I’m sorry”

M–>FA “I don’t give a fuck how you feel. Keep it to yourself.”

A little while later…

FA–>M “I’m really sorry if I hurt u. I knew u deserve the truth. If u don’t want to be my friend I understand.” You ass, we never were friends… we were fuck buddies… and you had a girlfriend. Nope. Not friends.

M–>FA “Yeah I deserved the truth in the beginning when I could use it to make a decision whether or not to be with you. You let me make an ass out of myself.”

FA –>M “Your right absolutely right I totally took advantage of the situation and it was terrible of me and trust me when I tell you I feel like an asshole.” I appreciate your grovelling but its “you’re right” not “your right”. Fuck you.

M–> FA “Well I don’t trust anything you say. And rightfully so.”

And so the story has thus concluded. And the icing on the cake was how he was all curious if I banged that other dude. He even sounded a little offended because I was supposed to hang out with him that night. Uh… Well sorry, but I at least was single and hooking up with other available guys. What the fuck is this dude on??

So basically, I will slap the shit out of him if he tries to talk to me in person. Then he can explain to his girlfriend at home why he had to get reconstructive face surgery. I hope she is cheating on him. With someone who doesn’t just have a hot back, but an attractive face too. Definitely something he was lacking. Thank god we only did it in the dark.

You know, I could have forgiven him easily if he hadn’t made me look like a complete fool. He wounded my pride, my dignity, and my reputation. Those things are not acceptable. You can hurt my feelings. That sucks, but damn you for cutting me down and making me look like a total slut. You’re right you bastard- I did deserve to know what a fuck face you are. But then you wouldn’t get laid at all, would you? No. You wouldn’t… the most action you’d get would be girls trying to think of ways to get you to jump into a bathtub holding a plugged in toaster.

You’re just too selfish to think about the girl who has to add you to her list of mistakes. Damn you to hell.

Peace out Scouts. Fuck you, two-timing bastards.

Maneater

Confessions of a lioness, you know, the one in the penguin suit?

I was sitting in environmental class today appreciating one of the wolves, because that is what you do when the professor decides to pop in an hour long movie about Methuselah trees. Oh let’s be honest, the movie didn’t encourage me to check out the wolf, I check him out every class. However, the movie did give me time to think a bit.

You see, there is a small pack of wolves in my environmental class. There is the blonde wolf with charming good-looks, the famous dark haired wolf who claims to be very affluent and only takes off his lacrosse pinny when he gets with chicks, and then my personal favorite the mysterious brown wolf. Yeah, the one who’s name I can’t figure out for life of me. My professor decided to stop taking attendance so now I am lost.

Anyway, today I figured out that I have a bit of a dilemma. I AM FREAKING BORING NOW!!! Where are my multiple husbands??? I feel like I can no longer claim multiple husbands!! Because if I could I would have called the mysterious brown wolf a long time ago, oh, and there would have been a massive lioness hunt to obtain him. I would have asked my fellow zoologists to analyze a conversation I had with him. The one where we were waiting for the other class to get out and he looks at me and says “I am so tired, I hit the snooze button about five times this morning.”

Yeah, and my clever reply? “Huh, that sucks.” My God, I’m a winner. I like to stop any chance of a conversation dead in its tracks.

I blame this lack of vivaciousness on the new penguin suit that I seemed to have unadorned myself with. Ugh.

This better not be where I'm heading.

However, I have come to a solution.  I can still have my multiple husbands. I just have to be more responsible and only pick the real winners. There is nothing wrong with a little flirtation and light conversation. Dibs on the brown mysterious one. This lioness is going to get back into the action of the jungle.

Watch out wolves, someone's just been liberated.

Did anyone else hear that rumble?

Bee

Party with the Flamingos!!

Hey betches.

What do you get when you mix Miley Cyrus, six flamingos, some washboard abs, and a beach? No, Miley has not turned to bestiality. There is no homemade porno featuring Miley and her bird entourage.  Although, I wouldn’t put it past her. The girl seems like she would do anything dramatic for more attention.

I came across this video and I thought you all might enjoy it. It gave me a good laugh.

Much love,

Bee

Call/text <3 your plastic surgeon, you're due for an appointment

Let’s just say I love writing about my pet peeves. Lo and behold, one has been born – whenever something can be considered “all the rage” it means I’m going to rip it apart. With my teeth.

I’ve noticed this popping up in the facebook statuses or tweets of a lot of younger girls, usually college freshmen or those still in high school. You know the type:

Jenniii Lynn Smith class 10:15-11:50………..than idk wut……hw prolly…..i  hate psyc………dindin w/ ma gurlssss l8r 7ish………..i h8 boys they trick u n always fuck w/ ur heart………call/txt the cell <3

Oh dear God.

As many of our favorite professors would say, let’s unpack this. I cringe – no, I gag – every time I see these little announcements, because they are the epitome of TMI. The name, for starters, says a lot about you. Your real name is Jennifer Lynn Smith, right? Your parents really loved you, apparently. You’ve been Jenny since you were about five minutes old.  Only now you’re having issues with that name – it’s not risqué, hasn’t got any edge, Avril would be so disappointed. Wait! You’ve got an idea! Now, I know this has never happened to you before, this whole “getting an idea” thing, but generally people of moderate intelligence nix an idea if it’s stupid. Thinking your depressingly vanilla name will suddenly become rainbow-raspberry-bubblegum-what-the-fuck flavored by adding multiple vowels at the end is a stupid idea. Oh! And throw your middle name in there too, as if other people will actually care. Especially since about 99.9999% percent of Caucasian American females have the middle name “Lynn”. Does anyone actually know what “Jennifer” or “Lynn” actually means? No, because white bread chicks turn into white bread moms and throw names at their white bread offspring that sound cute but, for all they know, mean “Dung heap behind our village back in Ireland” or “rabbit placenta”.

Next we’ll move onto to her classes for the day. She has one class. Or maybe two, but that doesn’t matter really because she’s only going to school to get drunk as often as possible. She needs only one intellectual ability and that is how to figure out where she’s going to get her next beer. Maybe one of them is psychology, which apparently she hates. That’s understandable, however. She probably can’t understand what the professor is talking about because, as you can see, she doesn’t speak or write in English. I really appreciate her effort, though. She spelled “fuck” right. Big step up. The dozens of periods between statements directly correlates to how long it took for her to think them up. She’s probably overweight because she does nothing but eat with her gurlsssss (one for every s) which I suppose you could call her “friends”. She is evidently having romantic problems. I wonder if by “fuck w/ ur heart” she is referring to how the sober ones run away as fast as possible whenever they smell La Chienne Parisienne, her favorite Claire’s perfume. It must be hard to catch them with a head start like that – you can smell that shit a mile away.

The crown jewel: call/txt the cell <3. No, I will politely NOT call or text you. There is nothing that screams “I DON’T HAVE A LIFE” than publicly pleading for someone to drop you a message or, God forbid, waste minutes having a conversation with you. What are we going to talk about? How you hooked up with some trashed redneck last weekend? Yeah, La Chienne blew him away. He’s still passed out in his dorm room. Maybe I could explain to you how to spell what. Hello, girls! Do any of y’all have hobbies?

No, that’s not the new slang for boobs. I’m serious, girl, do not go around proclaiming your chest to be your “hobbies”. No, I’m serious! No! Don’t tweet that shit! Stop! Put down that Blackberry!

Rock on.

-L

Worst Facebook profile ever. No lie. It won an award.

Extra-curricular games to play when one has completed their daily studies.

So the Zoologists have run across a game on Reckless Tortuga videos that we enjoy…immensely. As Zoology is a science, we consider this game to be much like a model one would use to predict outcomes in the study of, say, ecology or economics. It is rather fascinating. So, without further ado, I give you:

Marry, Fuck, Kill

However, this is college. Two out of the three are not truly feasible in the Zoo’s artificial ecosystem. So after serious number crunching and smarter-than-thou bru-ha-ha, Bee and I introduced a modification:

BJ, Baby, STD

It’s quite simple. You ask a friend to apply each action to an individual in a test group – i.e., the lacrosse team or three notoriously skanky guys you’ve picked out. And it doesn’t have to apply to the opposite sex. You could try it on three friends, 0r r00mmates, or librarians. For clarification, that’s who you would give the big B and J, who you would have a baby with, and who you would willingly give an STD. I swear, this one is great for parties. You’ll make so many friends! Here’s a practice scenario for you to try:

Jeremy Bloom

Henry Cavill

Gerard Butler (p.s. I have no idea what this is from, but his hair is fabulous. Props.)

BJ, Baby, STD?

Proudly brought to you by The Zoo

XOXO

Why you should never chase the Captain with BLLs.

Saturday night was Maneater’s birthday celebration. Despite some miscommunication and an unwarranted trip to the Ticker, we had an undeniably good time. At least, I did. Maneater had to get up at 8 AM after tucking me into bed. I would go through the night and tell you everything, but I realized that I had been literally everywhere that night and done a ridiculous amount of socializing. So instead, I’ll recount the best part of smashfests: the “Oh shit I really said that?!” stories.

So, without knowing where I was or what I did, see if you can piece this historical night together.

Case #1

Ex-CA: “Hey girl! You were soooo drunk Saturday night.”

L: “Yeah, I was…Maneater’s birthday and all…”

Ex-CA: “Tim said you were really cool and funny.”

L: “Tim?”

Case #2

Girls across the hall: “You have suuuch a great Irish accent!”

L: “I can’t help it. I’m from some mad Boston Irish stock.”

Girls across the hall: “You also said you’d have sex with E’s unborn children.”

L: “Er, well, E…you’re attractive, I’m just saying…”

Case #3

Text message from Badger: Hey whats Maneaters number? Coyote would like to know

Case #4

Text message from a Rhino I danced with last year at a Ray Ross party: Who this?

Responding text message: The head committee of the Ray Ross fan club!!!!!

Case #5

Facebook friend request from the Pug that was rather harshly denied at the Tock.

Case #6

Vermont is still New York Light Lime and it still has one professional sports team – the Lake Monsters.

Case #7

We're exceptionally talented at negotiating with law enforcement

I hope you had equally enjoyable Saturday night.

Rock on.

-L

DRUNKENESS ROCKS

Sometimes a little bit of booze is all you need to have a good time. And a birthday. I like my birthday… it has chick beer and rum and mountain dew AND L!!!!

Life is awesome as a college girl

Go rock the fuck out this saturday night!

Score

Maneater

The Rusty Trombone

Basically, that title has nothing to do with this post. Except for the fact that now it is commonly believed that yours truly, L, is a purveyor of that particular service (which is NOT true, I seriously want to puke just thinking about it). If you don’t know what a Rusty Trombone is, immerse yourself in this educational material. All their shit is funny, but watch Office Douchebag first. Then you can wikipedia sex positions with funny, totally non-suggestive names.

This year I live with three roommates. So for all you phucktards out there (i.e., “I’m majoring in psych”) that means there are three girls, plus me, that live together, making four roommates. And if you’re a phucktard and offended right now, one of us is a phucktard. Get over yourself. Now, I know what you’re thinking: Gosh, L is so intelligent and well-spoken. Her roommates must be equally beautiful and talented. I bet they sit around listening to Chopin and discussing health-care reform.

Fuck that shit.

We are obnoxiously loud. I mean, super super super loud. And it’s not like we’re cool and play the latest obscure pop music like Matt and Kim or whatever. Nope, we crank up the ole Tay Tay and have impromptu PJs and lax/field hockey sticks-as-mics concerts, complete with glasses and retainers. Occasionally Garth or Tim make an appearance. We save the heavier stuff, like hippity-hop, for the weekends. And this shit is turned up so loud you’d think we’re doing it to drown out the screams from the waterboarding. Which is kind of true. But that’s another story.

My roomies like to pick on me. Why? Because, according to them, I “get flustered”. Yeah, they’re evil torturous bitches. Their new thing is to lock me out and not let me in until I scream “penis” really really loud. Which is great because we live right next to the only three guys on the floor and they always have their door open. Bitches. And they love writing about me on the dry-erase board stuck on our door. Totally glowing comments. Just this morning I was walking out and saw “Ask L what she would do for $5″ written on the door. Thanks, guys. It’s alright though, one of us wrote “Ask Bee what she’s already done for free” under it. Yeah, Bee is my roomie again. Skank.

Also – Y(am I so amazing?) got a freaking boyyyyfriend. Crossed to the dark side of penguindom. Girls with boyfriends lose all ability to reason, I’ve decided. What the fuck is with everyone getting boyfriends? IT’S COLLEGE. If I had a boyfriend, I would not have been at the Tick-Tock (is there some special Zoo name for it? I forget) last Saturday, completely drenched in sweat and other people’s sweat and dancing wildly with boys I didn’t know and enjoying myself. It was so bad. Some little freshmen from my hometown were there and they were completely blown away, partially because of the B.O. sauna that it is in that place but mostly because they had no idea geeky little L had turned into a full-blown lioness. I mean, I was dancing on tables and doing the Tick Tock Body Rock with an out-of-towner that had distinctly polar bear qualities. And no, it was Tock Rock only.

And don’t think the roomies weren’t in on the action. Don’t take that the wrong way. We’re not like that. Pretty close, though.

(Tick Tock Body) Rock on.

-L

The Amazing (Never Ending) Adventures of L and Maneater

Yesterday we walked for eight hours and went for over twenty miles around the rural and barely populated terrain surrounding campus. We trekked on the road and in the woods… EVERYWHERE.  And by the end of the day it was immensely painful but incredibly fun.

I think this is indicative of something in our character, and not just us, but a lot of women.

I think this journey proves that we aren’t wilting flowers, and we don’t want to be. Yeah this might sound like some radical feminist declaration of the strength of women, but I think it is a common misconception that women want everything easy. Especially in relationships. But I don’t want a prince charming. I don’t mind if the guy I’m hanging out with has a different opinion than me or has a bunch of different interests from my own. It bothers me if he fails to express himself because he doesn’t want to disagree with me. This isn’t to be confused with just starting arguments for the sake of it, but for Christ’s sake just because something is hard doesn’t mean it can’t be fun too.

So I’m going to have some fun. And if it’s hard– That’s ok. Or maybe it’s even better than ok- it can be amazing- because we get to see just how far we can go and experience a lot more than if we stayed inside a box of comfort and didn’t end up going out exploring and taking the long way to get someplace- because the prize is worth the rocky ride it takes to get there.

Peace out!

Maneater

Wow I Really Despise You

OK let me just qualify this post before you start judging me as the biggest bitch with access to a keyboard: I love people, I love guys, I love girls, I love fat people, thin people, people who are depressed, people who are happy, people who wear mismatching socks… you get the point.

But I also really, really, REALLY loathe some people. And they tend to be the people categorized as “Nice” people. Especially girls.  And on my first day back to school, I had the pleasure of meeting one of these oh-so-cute, bubbly, out-going bimbos.

The story begins after L and I had decided to take our sexy selves down to the river to go swimming. So we were down there, floating around, like nymphs in the water and having a generally grand time. While we were there another posse of people arrived. We waved and smiled but otherwise kept to ourselves. When I climbed out of the water one particular girl smiled at me, I smiled but didn’t really feel like meeting her. Apparently she didn’t get the hint when I averted eye contact because she spouted out in her high pitched, preteen tone:

“HI! My name is ‘I’m So Cute I Bet You Can’t Resist My Charming Personality and Heart Warming Smile”

I smiled and said “Hi”.

OK, really Honey Bunches, if I had wanted to know your name I would have made extended eye contact and made some small talk with you. But did I do any of that?? No. I didn’t. Because I didn’t want to meet you. So when she asked me what my name was I was more than a little perturbed. I mean it’s one thing to go forcing your overly bright, smiling, overbearing joy onto me, but it is way over the line to then demand that I respond to it.

I grunted my name at her and hoped she got the message.

But why would anyone ever NOT want to meet little miss Sweetie Pie? God, she couldn’t think of a reason apparently. She just kept asking me questions despite my lackluster interest in her shiny, plastic, friendliness. Nothing grates on my nerves more than people who act like you should feel honored or really excited to meet them. My life has been just fine without you, thank you very much, and I doubt your existence really adds to my happiness and quality of life.

"Oh My Gosh, I'm God's gift of cuteness to the world!" Yeah, well fuck you.

Finally. As if this girl wasn’t obnoxious enough, she insisted on jumping into the river fully clothed. I’m not talking shorts and a tee shirt… She had on a whole fucking outfit, cargo shorts, cute fitted shirt, necklace, earrings, the whole ensemble. I couldn’t help myself. I told her she should just go in her underwear.

“But I’m wearing a white bra!”

GASP. Like no one has seen boobs before. Seriously, this is just another sign that she thinks she is all that. She believes that someone would actually look at her chest and be really moved one way or the other. I have got news for you… I don’t give a fuck about your boobs. And if they are covered in a white bra you can’t really see that much anyways. And trust me honey, you really aren’t that cute so you shouldn’t have been worried about it in the first place. The real reason she didn’t want to go was probably because any “inappropriate” act like that would have tarnished her goody two shoes, sparkling, perfect, innocent persona that she tries so hard to construct.

But we’re in college now  and if you wanted to be cutesy the whole time maybe you should have joined a convent and gotten the fuck out of my face.

So you can suck it, Sugar Cheeks, I won’t fall for your facade. I can see through it all to your self important, spoiled, vain little center. And I don’t like you. And I don’t give a fuck what your name is.

Peace Bitches

Maneater