The Daily Durvy

On Friday, Alex and I decided that we needed to go to the Apple Store. His phone wouldn’t respond to his touch (that’s what she said) and my computer would randomly close any program that I was running (that’s not what she said). What she started as a quick trip with Alex turned into me, Alex, and two of his frat brothers. The conversation in the car was about the merits of “douche nozzle” as an insult. I have to say, it is a much better insult than “douche bag.” What is so bad about being a bag? But I digress.

We made appointments with the Genius Bar for 5:00 and 5:15, and figured we could leave at 4:30 and get there in plenty of time. We are obviously stupid, because 30 or 45 minutes to get from DAVIS TO SACRAMENTO is obviously not enough time. This is not LA, it should not take more minutes than miles to get somewhere. Sacramento Arden Mall is about 23 miles away. It should take about 23 minutes to get to the mall. That’s called logic, unless you’re in LA. Then logic states something 23 miles away will take you 23000 minutes to get there, or about 16 days.

We were obviously late, so we had to go on the standby list. Have you ever been on the standby list for the Apple Store Genius Bar? I’m still on the Standby list. I could actually go 23 miles in LA before I would get helped on the Standby list.

About 40 minutes into our stay at the Apple Store, one of Alex’s bros suggests we go to Hooters for dinner. Which is obviously more classy than trashy, which is right up my alley, so I was totally happy.

Maybe it’s because in LA even the waitresses at regular restaurants look like young Cindy Crawfords except blonde, but I was not really impressed with the girls at this particular Hooters. I mean, they were cute, and they had big boobs, but they were just meh. Is that mean? Is that like calling a stripper flat-chested? Like calling a Hollywood starlet old? Like telling your old sorority sisters that you resent that you spent so much money trying to be their friend?

After all of that fun, Alex and I got home and, like the old farty couple that we are, we sat on our couch and watched The Office DVDs and lit our fireplace-scented candle and ate the last of our jelly beans. Because we don’t have a fireplace and we were really low on desserts. And when we ran out of soda we decided to go to bed. Because staying up is just no fun without Diet Dr. Pepper. LITTLE LIFE LESSONS, PEOPLE.

There is really nothing that makes me happier than nudity. Seriously, I like being naked, I like when other people are naked and I like seeing other people naked. I don’t know why this is such a ridiculous notion, but I usually keep this particular fact to myself because most people think it’s weird.

Anyway, nudity. I was watching Jimmy Falon and they were talking about the Italian Saturday Night Live. Apparently, in Italy, if the skit isn’t funny they just cut to a crazy-hot naked woman dancing. That is an excellent idea, because at least there is something going on.

(If you can’t tell, I’m also not a huge fan of Saturday Night Live. I’m sorry, it’s dumb. It used to be funny, sort of. Now SNL is actually the absence of funny.)

Why is nudity not allowed on television? Do we really have sticks so far up our butts that boobs make us uncomfortable? Is it the word? I mean, “boob” is pretty awkward. Or, if we look at shows like Gossip Girl, boobs are not allowed but skirts short enough to show Blair’s hooha are. Awesome guys.

Do you like my use of “hooha” as a substitute for “vagina?” My freshman year of college one of my roommates called her vagina her “koorah.” She was from Sacramento and we LA girls thought that was the cutest thing ever. So we made our 6-person suite into a sorority: Kappa Delta Koorah. We considered applying for a school charter, but we got drunk instead.

I bike really slowly. Like an old Asian lady on a grown up tricycle passed me while I was on my way to class. So I decided that I was going to work out at the gym and improve my bicycle muscles. Because those are real, and they are connected to the running bone. Apparently, I have both. WHO KNEW?

Not me, because I have gained 20 pounds in the last 2 years.

For the last 4 weeks, I have been dieting and going to the gym and I lost 10 pounds. I mean, that was mostly intentional, but I didn’t mean to lose 10 pounds so quickly. I am quite proud of myself for losing the weight of course, but I am mostly proud of my new huge new bicycle muscles and the fact I am no longer passed by old Asian women.

Though a few sorority girls on pink cruisers sail by me, I don’t let that get me down.

Small victory. I’ll take it. And the 10-pound loss. Pretty soon I’ll have to buy new pants! And then I will gloat all over the Internet about by new small pants.

I may even post pictures of my butt. Wouldn’t that be a treat?

“John!”

“Wha?”

“The guy who plays Jim on The Office. John Krasinski.”

“Right. I thought you meant like, Jon, from AEPi. I thought you were having a sexual fantasy about him.”

“Nope, but I’m about to have a sexual fantasy about John Krasinski.”

“Goodnight, beezie…”

School sucks. I mean, it starts early, takes up the majority of my time, and dominates my thoughts no matter where I am. Standing in line at the grocery store? I’m thinking about a paper. Getting dressed in the morning? I’m trying to wear matching shoes and pants that are vaguely clean so I’, not laughed at during my oral presentation later that day. Having sex? OMG I HAVE 300 PAGES TO READ BEFORE 9AM.

There is also the other small problem I have: I’m smart, lazy, and just itching to cut as many classes as humanly possible. I get bored easily, and I REALLY like Law and Order: SVU reruns.

However, in recent months, the burden of continuing my education has fallen to my shoulders. To say the very least, it has made me acutely aware just how much it costs to take 4 classes at a major university. It also makes me want to go to our new dean and ask her for a personal loan from her $500,000 salary. But that is a story for another time.

To motivate myself to go to class, I have crafted a soundtrack. Just like in the movies or the new episodes of Heroes that show Claire in college. Now that is glamorous. Music while I bike my 45-pound backpack to my Renaissance Lit class? Check. Music as I walk down the halls, hair flapping in the wind gracefully? Double check. Until I realize that my “gracefully flapping hair” hasn’t been washed in 48 hours. Then it’s a little gross. But only a little gross, and if anyone asks why on campus with hair that atrocious, I can say that I just got back from the gym.

Because that’s how I roll.