Say Cheese! Not You Scalia...Say Formaggio

I am taking Current Issues in Constitutional Law this semester. My first assignment was to list 5 things I know about the Supreme Court. Ummm, when did Law School become Elementary School, dawg? Answer:

Obviously I had to google the Supreme Court as soon as I received this assignment. As I observed the plethora of photographs of the Justices, I noticed one thing: every photo looks like my elementary school class picture. So, I took the liberty of using Microsoft Office Paint to edit in that little faux whiteboard. Take that photoshop.

Check out Chief Justice Rehnquist in the center. Homeboy was obviously not on good terms with anyone that day or he just had an enema based on his knee clenching stance. Don't poo in the robe, Rehnquist!

Momism: Deny Deny Deny

I am visiting Big Mama. What does this mean? This means that homegurl gonna be loaded with mad material fo da blog. Thanks, Mommy.

Me: Nothing is on TV.

Mindel: Well, we can watch a movie on deny.

Me: Huh? On deny? Is that a new network?

Mindel: No. You know? They play movies or whatever ON DENY.

Me (raised eyebrow): OnDemand?

Mindel: Isn't that what I said?

No, mom. That's not what you said.

Me: Holy Moses walking through the desert. I need to blog about this.

Mindel: Do you have nothing better to do with your life? Is this what you do? Blog?

Thanks for making me feel better about myself. Mom.

The Reason You Suck...

...is not because you are a vampire. I made a funny. No, the reason you suck is because there are three rows of cubicles. THREE ROWS. I am the only person sitting in this area. And YOU, Mr. gargantuan earphones, have decided to sit your 1992 looking self right next to me. Really? Who does that?

Obviously, the only reason I have such a big poblem with this situation is because this guy is wearing gigantic headphones. Pretty sure your 2006 Dell Inspiron does not make you a DJ, so there is no need to wear those melon sized headphones, Samantha Ronson.

My Excuse: It's Finals Week; Yours: None

Excerpt from a recent text convo with a guy I dated:

Me: What does a flower call his friend? BUDD-Y! hahahaha! (Yes, I made this up. Im-press-ive.)
Shawn: you are the dorkiest person ever
Me: Oooooooh! Will you notify Guinness? I always wanted to be in a booooooook. Thankyouverymuch.
Shawn: You are so good at making me want to punch you.
Me: Weird. You and Chris Brown flirt the same way.

Yep. Looks like that Mayan homeless man who read my palm and told me that I have an amazing love line must have been wrong. Weird.

Why I Associate Brazilians With Torture

Groupon was very polite today, as they are everyday, and sent me a wonderful deal. The e-mail title read:

"1/2-off Brazilian Blowout"

First Reaction: WHAT?! What kind of sick tortured soul would want to do that to their Hoo-ha?

5 Seconds Later: Brazilians are SICK. First, they try and enforce the notion that women who are 18 and older need to look like Lolita in their nether regions and now they are implementing some new strategy of torture. Oh, so sorry, I guess waxing every square inch of your va-jay-jay was just not enough.

10 Seconds After the 5 Seconds: Oh. Um. They meant the hair on my head. Blowout...hair straightening mechanism for the hair on your head. Hmmm. I knew that.

(P.S. No images here because the most appropriate ones would probably get me kicked off the blog and we all know how much you would hate that.)

So That's Why Child Labor is Illegal

I am crying in my little corner cubby because I just found out that my hero is a sham. This is almost as bad as that time I ran out of cheese and I didn't have my back-up bag-o-cheese like I usually do. So, you're probably wondering who this mysterious hero is. It is the Hot Piece Of Ass who quit her job on a series of white boards and e-mailed the pics to her boss and co-workers. LIE. Ummmm, homegurl did not do that. Ugh. Every time I think I have found someone cooler than me, they just have to go and ruin it.

(Just to let you know, Little Miss Dream killer, the acronym for Hot Piece Of Ass is not HOPA. Now you are just a DOPA...think about it)

Nonetheless, Dream killer got me thinking about the worst job I have ever had. Trust me there was some stiff competition for the #1 spot but one stood out like a nun in a mall: Gloria Jean's Coffee. Oh the glory days.

I started working at GJC at the ripe age of 17. I was so excited. Free coffee everyday and 20%-off the tin lunch pails I collected. I wouldn't be surprised if you had some major jealousy issues going on right now. Anywho, that rosy view created by my Jewish excitement over free/discounted goods was quickly removed. Why do you say that, Lauren?

Well, let's see. One of my co-workers, a round and bald gay man, we'll call him Floyd, liked to talk about his life. Floyd would chat me up daily. He would sit on the counter and eat and tell me stories. Oh. Did I mention that Floyd had dentures and would remove them to eat? So, gummy Floyd would tell me stories about him and his boyfriend. "Omg. My boyfriend is so controlling. But I love him so much. It's because he's huge. He's like 7'1. Do you know what that means? Yeah. It's like a horse. So good." Ummm. Excuse me? I'm sorry. I don't think my 17 year old ears heard you correctly. Did you just compare your big boyfriends ding-a-ling to a horse? Floyd was fired.

I would like to say that Floyd was the worst part. But he wasn't. The worst were the customers.

Pregnant Lady (frowning): Miss, I asked for decaf.

Me (smiling): Yes, ma'am. I made you a decaf.

Preggy McPreggerson: Um, well, THIS tastes like it has caffeine in it.

Me (smiling): (thinking: No shit Sherlock. Did you think it was going to taste like apple juice?) Don't worry ma'am, it's decaf.

Preggo My Eggo (scathing tone): Miss, I don't think you understand. I cannot have caffeine. I am pregnant.

Me (smiling): (thinking: Oh really? you mean you aren't hiding a toddler under your shirt?) I understand. I assure you it's decaf.

Preggy: Just give me a refund.

Whatever. At least I got food poisoning during one of my shifts and puked all over the floor. True story. That's right HOPA! Who's the winner now??? (vulgar Mc Hammer dance move)

What I Learned in the Library Today

I think I grew more hair on my arms. This is not good because my arms already look like Godzilla's twin. So much for studying. Now all I want to do is try to braid my new locks of love.

(Disclaimer: This is not an accurate representation. The lighting in here does not properly portray my hair growth)

Momism: Pretend Slutty Mama Say What?

My mom is a very untraditional mother. Hard as nails, but my best friend in the world. Since she is so offbeat, her advice tends to never come out properly. Hence, Momisms.

Me: (looking at an old pic of mama) Damn, mom. You were hot. Why don't I look like that now?

Mindel: Don't be ridiculous, Lauren. I was hot, wasn't I?

Me: Duh. Why'd you have to go marry a short, not so cute, Italian? You messed up my cute genes.

Mindel: You're pretty, Lauren, but you're as tall as a tree stump. I don't know how you are so short.

Me: Yeah, thanks. So, boys must have been all over you in high school. Did a bunch of boys like you because you were so hot?

Mindel: No. The boys liked me because they thought I was a really big slut.

Me: Um...

Mindel: Yeah. I had thin eyebrows and wore white lipstick, so they thought I would have sex with them.

Me: Oh...

Mindel: That's why I would never let you wear white lipstick. Too bad you have two watermelons for boobs...you're like jailbait.

Me: Thanks?

The Reason I Want Stick Jalapenos in Your Nose is...

...you fart in the gym. I really want to know, and I mean REALLY REALLY WANT TO KNOW, why people think that it is socially acceptable to fart in public places. Excuse me Mr. "It's a natural occurrence and everybody does it!" Unless your butt is farting vanilla scented air, I really do not want to be trapped on the treadmill next to you while you toot so many "Silent but Deadlies" that the army is trying to recruit you.

It is one thing to be walking outside, in the open, with fresh air surrounding you, and let one loose. See, the difference here is that you are polluting FRESH air, which will eventually give your stale butt-air a big hug and then eat it for dinner. Thus, leaving my nostrils as happy as a Billy Ray Cyrus mullet. It is a whole different ballgame when you decide to release your toxic fumes in an enclosed area. Let me explain. When you fart inside, you are adding stale air to stale air.

Stale air + stale air = a butt load (or a butt empty) of stale air

This leaves my face looking like a pug because it is all scrunched up from the noxious fume (yes, noxious, because you are depleting the ozone layer one fart at a time) surrounding me. I can try to escape by switching treadmills. Oh. But wait. There's the raw egg in a baby diaper smell again. It has spread faster than the mustache trend.

So, PLEASE REMEMBER, it is NOT a natural occurrence and everybody does NOT do it.

Finals Makes Me Wanna Throw Bologna

Guess what?! It's about that time, again. WHAT TIME IS IT? It's time for me to lose my mind and start talking crazy. Not straying from the norm too much, but I am a wee bit more off center than usual. Right this moment, I am sitting in a cubicle in the back corner of the library, or as I like to call it, the building of tears. I have these nifty little earplugs that mold to the shape of my ear. THEY. ARE. AWESOME. These bad boys make me want to jump in a pool to see if water can break them down. I will take a bath later and let y'all know how it goes.

Next, I have consumed two mugs of coffee, a whole grapefruit, and 2 Fiber fruit bars. Obviously, I did not think this through when I was packing my lunch. Now I am the crazy girl, who is slouched over because of the intense stomach pains. It feels like Rocky Balboa is practicing for his next match. You'll get the Russian, Rocky...just leave me be.

Last, my hair smells like coconut and my body smells like vanilla. I am supposed to be memorizing the Code of Ethics that I am to live by once I'm a blah-yer, but all I can think of is how bad I want a macaroon. DAMN YOU FAT MAN SOUL. Damn you.