(We hated the movie version too-this is just for dramatic
effect.)
The elusive DuzCuzzes have returned once again! We know
we’ve lost a lot of our most passionate viewers (most of whom originated from
Eastern Europe, especially concentrated around Slovakia and the Czech Republic.
To those of you remaining-Zdravo! Ahoj!).
We thought we would give you guys a little sample of what
your favorite celebrity writers/cat wranglers, R-Nasty and L-Nasty’s
schedules have looked like since we moved out of our parents’ houses and into
the real world (meaning liberal arts college and WWOOFing). L-Nasty is going to go first, since she cares more about this blog than R-Nasty does, and R-Nasty will follow up with what she's been doing on her "gap year" or whatever. I think it has something to do with farms or goats or something.
6:45 AM: I jolt awake to the dulcet tones of the
Proclaimers’ “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)”
screeching from my iPhone. Who set my alarm ringtone to this? Who hates me this
much? I manage to smack it off, just in time to hear my roommate hack up some
phlegm, gag on it, then roll over. She has stripped naked during the night, and, in one
of her signature moves, her eyes are open while she sleeps. Initially, I found
it disconcerting to awaken and immediately make eye contact with an unconscious near stranger, but now that I have seen her vomit (repeatedly) and we have become close, I
find it strangely comforting to have her hollow, unseeing eyes follow me around while I get
ready. I stagger to the bathroom, making it to the toilet only to discover that
the Stealth Pooper has struck once again. I have spent several weeks trying to
apprehend whoever has been leaving monumental, sculptural shits several times a
week. It is a question that keeps me up at night (along with my roommate’s
sleep talking), running over the list of potential culprits until I fall into a
deeply troubled slumber. My plan to poop having been foiled, I try to put on some
eyeliner. I stab myself in the eye. It hurts. Am I bleeding? Only a little. I sniff a crop
top, find it acceptable, and put on some faded high-waisted jeans and clogs. I
look like a skanky suburban mom from the mid '90s-my ultimate fashion goal. I
go outside. It is approximately 15 degrees. I make eye contact with a
squirrel and sneer at him.
This is what regret and winter in New England looks like.
7:30 AM: Breakfast. I avoid making eye contact with anyone I
know, and head straight to the buffet. None of that granola bullshit for me,
please. At the hot food, I make the dubious choice to take the grilled tempeh.
I know this is a bad idea, but I do it anyways. This will probably come up in
my next therapy session. Why do I insist on making choices that I know will negatively affect me? Dr. Kendall? I pour some coffee into my travel mug, only to find
some curdled soy milk already in it. Okay. I sit down in the dining room,
glaring at the acquaintance that looks like she might want to sit near me. I’ve
made a huge mistake. This tempeh smells like ass and tastes of sadness and
fermented bean curd. I’m over this.
8 AM: Physical Science. My first class. This is even bigger
bullshit than the tempeh. Some kid is sitting in my spot. It’s fucking
December. We’ve been in this class for four months. I am not playing musical
chairs. There are twelve people in Physical Science, and my professor
insists on calling me Sabina, the name of my friend who is also in this class.
It is definitely a power play. She also seems to think that we are in a
committed relationship, since she once saw Sabina (the original) stroke my back and whisper in
my ear. I am okay with this, since she has become significantly nicer to both
of us and seems to be really rooting for our relationship to work.
It is too early for this my professor's grating Boston accent, and I spend the two hours of class time drawing dicks with faces on my notes on nuclear fuel storage. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for paying for my college education. I am learning a lot.
It is too early for this my professor's grating Boston accent, and I spend the two hours of class time drawing dicks with faces on my notes on nuclear fuel storage. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for paying for my college education. I am learning a lot.
10 AM: I walk past the blow-up sex doll in my dorm’s common
room and go up to my room, only to find my roommate sitting on the floor with
her head in her hands. There is an empty bottle of olive oil next to her. The
room smells like salad. This is concerning. She looks up at me with an unsettling desperation in her eyes, and I realize that her hair is drenched in oil. I am reluctant to
ask what has happened, but I do, and she screams, “This is your fault!!!!!!” I vaguely remember her complaining about her dry split
ends, and telling her to rub a little argan oil on the ends. Instead, she has
poured a 16 oz bottle of salad dressing all over her head. Choking back soft, soft
sobs, she gets up and staggers to the bathroom. I hear a screech and know that
she has found the Mystery Poop. I decide to relax by playing Neopets. I am this
close to spending real money to buy more NeoPoints so I can buy an igloo for my
Ogrin. I am not ashamed.
12:30 PM: Lunch. I make a concentrated effort to avoid the
tempeh, or any meat substitute, really. I sit down at a table next to my friend Henry. He looks like a cross
between Bambi and Satan. Another friend of mine has a plate of fries, and she
reluctantly passes a few around. “Claire gets one, L-Nasty gets one, Julie gets
one, and Henry GETS A DICK UP HIS ASS”. I check my phone to make sure my
Neopets are all fed.
2 PM: I go to class. Some girl decides to raise her hand and tell an incredibly long personal anecdote, which after several minutes appears to have nothing to do with the discussion material, but rather is some charming story about some time she was petsitting for her neighbor's turtle, and it pooped on her hand. I find this to be one of the most deeply inane and uninteresting stories I have ever heard, so I draw more dicks. Also, Neopets.
4 PM: I go to my Microeconomics professor’s office hours.
She is meeting with another student, so I sit in the hallway. There is a corkboard and a thumbtack next
to me, so I draw a dick with the tack into the board. She comes out and catches
me, just as I am about to finish the tip. She clears her throat, and I spend the thirty minutes of our meeting desperately avoiding eye contact and sweating profusely.
6 PM: My roommate and I go to yoga. My roommate is a chain
smoker, so she spends the hour coughing up a diseased lung and taking frequent
breaks. This instructor is a sick bastard and likes to make everyone do partner
work, and I end up having to drape across some random post-bac student’s back,
so my face is right next to his butt. Please don’t fart. Please don’t fart.
Please don't fart.
7:30 PM: We decide to go to the sauna, but when we walk in,
the only other person is my house chair. Fuck. He is wearing nothing but some
kind of towel made for a midget, or maybe a hand towel? A bath mat? and when he stands up, I see some serious
cheek. Fuck. The tempeh is coming back up. There is nothing quite like sweating out gallons of water in a closet-sized closed space with a near-stranger who is dressed solely in a towel made for an infant. We try to make small talk, and I stare firmly at the ceiling, praying for a reprieve from another butt flash.
8 PM: We go to dinner. The sauna has made me look like a
wrinkly red fetus. Is this what I looked like when I was a baby? Is this what I'm going to look like when i'm old? Concerning. I order an avotomacon sandwich, but I haven’t really
recovered from seeing my house chair’s bubble butt, and the turkey breast reminds me
of it a little. I love turkey. Will I ever be able to eat cured meats again?!?
10 PM: I finish my essay on whether we are
approaching an Orwellian or a Huxleyan future. If I was dictator of the
universe, I would brainwash everyone by making them play Neopets all day long.
I am bored, so my friend Alex comes over and we give ourselves prison tats.
This is what my life is now. I get a little high and overzealous and decide
that it is a good idea to use a sewing needle to give myself a fairly large
tattoo on my forearm in the shape of Totoro. I start bleeding profusely. When I’m
done, it looks more like a molar from one direction, and a disfigured cat from the
other. I hope I don't get hepatitis.
2 AM: I jolt awake to the deafening sound of my roommate's fart.
I hope you guys have enjoyed this lil nugget of my life! Every day is new and exciting and usually emotionally damaging in some subversive way, and best of all, I don't have hepatitis!
Love,
L-Nasty
P.S. Here is a visual description of my college experience thus far.
