Annie: i got home at 3am from the date and slept with my neighbor
Annie: partially because i got locked out of my apartment
So I went on a really great OkCupid date on Saturday night and stumbled back home full of picklebacks and beer. When I tried to open my door, the door’s broken card-reader rejected my key again and again. Spotting my neighbor down the hall, I asked him if I could sleep on his couch. He was like, yeah, sure. (I have all of my classes with him; we are friends.) Then I watched TV with him and his roommate, somehow ending up in the roommate’s bed a short while later.
After the roommate finished, he said, “I’m glad you got locked out.” It worked out: he got laid, and I got a bed. As he lives down my hall, I’m dreading the fact that we’ll be forced to acknowledge each other’s presences for the rest of the year in this dumb dorm. It was really nice never having to greet him before since we didn’t know each other — I only admired him from afar.
Eyelids are to Asians what hair is to African-Americans. By which I mean, eyelids are a big fucking deal, beauty-wise, and are also wrought with cultural significance. The whole fuss of epicanthic folds versus double-folds aside, what really drives my sister and me insane is the fact that the size of our droopers varies from day to day, depending on such factors as lack of sleep, crying jags, drinking, and seeming randomosity.
Yesterday, in agony over the asymmetry of her eyelids, my sister texted me the following:
The poor girl was having what I like to call a “bad eyelid day.” It’s not just like, “Ugh, my eyelids look a little off.” No. To us, it’s the difference between having a spring in your step and not wanting to leave the house. If you’re still trying to understand the horror of having such a vital part of your appearance be so inconsistent, imagine this: when you wake up every morning, you have no idea what your nose will look like. Wouldn’t that suck? While asymmetry is a big offender, another example of what could happen on a “bad eyelid day” is that your eyelids shrink to a third of their normal size. This seems to happen whenever I travel, for some reason. I always have bad eyelids when I travel. :(
Okay, so my sister texted our mother about her problem. Aimy and Mother discuss:
Okay, first of all, my mother’s advice to call a doctor is absurd. My doctor is an old white man who has probably never thought about the state of his eyelids before, except maybe when he noticed that they’d started sagging. Secondly, it warms my heart that generations of women in my family have been struggling with the heartache of volatile eyelids - it’s like the thread that connects us! - such that they came up with crafty ways to fix the predicament as teenagers. Desperate for a solution, my sister followed the tip:
I’m sorry, I know I sound like an uneducated 12-year-old when I text. It’s only when I text with my sister because I don’t care if she respects me.
Anyway, I just wanted to take this as an opportunity to enlighten the public about eyelid problems. Feel thankful if your eyelids are always the same!
Last night, Katie accurately pointed out that the guy who lives down the hall from me looks like the CGI-faced monkey that was just discovered. “HE LOOKS LIKE THE NEW MONKEY!”
Here’s my favorite comment from the CNN article:
Law students are way more fun and interesting than people give them credit for:
Ahem. Imagine my horror when I noticed several months ago that the Facebook group for the entering class at my law school was filled with such discussions. Even seemingly lightweight threads - such as what movies people liked - were hijacked by over-intellectualizing snots:
No way, I love Zal Batmanglij too! He’s definitely up and coming. The best were comments like this:
Hmmm, I’m really sorry, but I think you’ll have a hard time finding people in one of the country’s largest cities who enjoy cycling. It’s a pretty esoteric pastime. Anyway, I was showing Louisa this hot mess over the summer, which led to us brainstorming our own contributions (“Does anyone know where to get a quickie abortion in DC?”). Thus, Louisa wrote the following on my behalf:
At the time, I panicked that I would be “disbarred” (no, this isn’t the correct word, but I kept repeating it to Louisa) from being a lawyer due to discussing illegal drugs on a public forum. But I think I’m okay for now. Plus, I don’t even know if I want to be a lawyer anymore, or as I recently told Marie, I just want to be a “corporate PR bitch who happens to have a law degree.” Maybe I’m just panicking — the Group Fear mentality that pervades 1L student bodies is overwhelming. A conversation from yesterday:
Girl at BBQ: “I’m studying for the LSAT.”
Me: “No, don’t go to law school! It’s so hard!”
Niall: “Annie. You haven’t even started your 1L classes yet.”
From time to time, I accidentally say unpleasant things about my dad in public, such as “I hate my dad” or “I’d rather die than have my dad walk me down the aisle; I will have a gay friend do it.” Those around me usually look horrified, reminding me too late that most people feel warmly toward their family patriarchs.
Maybe I should just print out a copy of this e-mail and carry it around in my wallet, so they’ll “get” it. I am not an ungrateful brat. I am just a sane person. By the way, he sent this to me while I was still staying at home in August, as in the same edifice as him.
Thought Catalog published an article in May called “Don’t Judge Me Because I’m Not Close With My Family,” and it totally spoke to me. People who are close with their families can be so smug! In their defense, I guess it’s hard for them to perceive a world any other way.
Me: “A lot of the guys at my school look like they have rosacea. They are all blonde with red faces.”
Niall: “Oh my god, did you know that they just discovered the cause of rosacea? It comes from when little mites on your face explode, and bacteria comes out of their anuses.”