Saturday, December 10, 2011

Sir Digby Chicken Ceasar

I am really good at naming things.  Like, really really good.  With just one look I can tell you if a name is interesting or as boring as plastic-flavored pudding.  I have put my talents to use and started making a list of names so I am ready for the people, animals, or nameless vagrants I may need them for in the future.  I select these names based on the following criteria: how unusual it is, how fun it is to say five times fast, and how many nicknames I can make it into.  Names I’ve already come up with:

  • My future dog: Sir Digby Chicken Caesar

  • My future son: Ashley (after that guy from gone with the wind)

  • My future fish: Rothbart or Doofinshmurtz

  • My future daughter: Persephone

  • My future husband (who will have to legally change his name): Bartholomew Safari Stevens

  • My future cat: Kitty

Some people with boring names like Jane, Todd, Lance, Josie, or Tim (to name a few random ones), might be jealous of my superior names (I mean, come on, they are pretty fantastic).  But jealousy will not make their names less boring.  If a person is insecure about their dreary, washed-up names, if they have names, for instance, like John, Todd, Lance, Josie, or Sue (to put some totally random examples), they do have options that will help them heal.   There are, of course, ways to legally change your name to something more interesting, but if someone has neither the time nor the recourses to make the change, I’m sure there are all kinds of support groups that help people cope with their dull as dirt names.  If there aren’t support groups available, I may consider making it my life’s mission to start one.  It’s a noble cause that would relieve unnecessary suffering everywhere.

Besides, until I have my name legally changed to Castalia Euphrosyne Smith, I could use some healing too.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

No Listening, Please

My friend and I were walking to campus today and we passed my religion teacher who said hi and remembered my name, which I thought was nice of him.  The timing of the encounter was not so great, however, because my friend and I were discussing the details of the January sale at Victoria’s Secret.  This may not have been as much of a problem if I didn’t naturally have one of the loudest voices ever, especially when I am discussing something I’m interested in.  No, really, it’s embarrassing.  My friends are considered loud people but they often need to remind me to please not shout in the movie theater.  Even polite people (you know, those girls who won’t say anything even remotely mean unless they look at their feet while they do it) will occasionally ask me to quiet down.

I don’t think I’m the sort of person who is bawdy, tawdry, or generally naughty, *snigger* but I do have pretty bad timing.  In situations like these I usually cope by imagining how it could have been worse.  For example: 

Other things that are not so great to be caught talking about in front of your religion teacher:
  1.          How many times you have skipped church this month.
  2.         Awkward moments in the girl’s locker room.
  3.      Your lifelong goal to never spend more than half an hour writing your religion papers
  4.     Your religion teacher.

And I’d like to end this post with a link to a youtube video that is hilarious (the video, not the link):

Tuesday, December 6, 2011


It’s the week before finals at long last.  That means I’m going online to do homework but really looking at blogs/facebook/pictures of dogs wearing hats.  Whatever I’m doing, I’m glad I’m not outside.  It’s cold outside!  People always ask me (like, every day.  It’s kinda weird) if I prefer being too hot or too cold.  When I say too cold they always point out that when it’s cold you can always wear a heavier jacket so it’s better to have it too cold.  Bullfeathers. 

Cold is the worst.  Heat just drools on you and makes you way too sleepy, but cold is downright mean.  Every time I go outside in the cold it sticks needles in my eyes and gnaws on my bones like a dog worrying a stick.  The amount of jacket doesn’t matter because the cold here can invade through the slightest kinks making your skin dry and flaky and turning your guts into knife-like shards of ice.  Blech.

This afternoon I wrote a paper for one of my classes (due today) and started another one (due tomorrow), but I was distracted by looking at pictures of me from high school.  They typically range from this:

To this:

To this:

Although thanks to my photographer friend, I do have a few like this:

And now I am continuing to avoid homework by writing this rambling blog post.  I suppose I’d better get started on my paper, which of course is code for “watch a Jimmy Stewart movie on youtube.”