Lists on lists

During my time in college, I've constantly struggled to figure out what to do with myself in my free time. I've tried studying, reading, working, socializing, as well as several other things, but nothing has brought me such great pleasure as staying completely inside my own head. I may be participating in outside activities (mostly perusing tumblr), but I never turn my brain off. This usually results in what I consider to be a hilarious train of thoughts that should be shared with the world. Every once in a while when I can keep the train on track for long enough, it does get shared with the world via this blog. If the train isn't too long (i.e. longer than 140 characters), it may be shared with the world via twitter.
Since starting this blog, I have realized that there is no better way to spend my time or to express my thoughts than writing (hence alexusescommas.blogspot.com). Unfortunately I can't always produce a captivating lengthy narrative when my heart is yearning for self-indulging entertainment. Recently I have been developing an interest that somewhat alleviates the stress of writing something that is worthy of a whole chapter in a book: making lists.
I know. Nerd alert. I always thought that people who enjoyed making lists were freaks. Then I realized that I do it ALL the time. For as long as I can remember, if I needed to remember something, I wrote it down. I mostly have done this when I'm going on a trip; I make a list of things that I need to take in order to remember everything (though that may have more to do with some sort of anxiety than enjoyment). More recently I've been creating lists in my head in order to entertain myself. Please understand that these lists are rarely simple lists: they usually represent the complex and cluttered workings of my mind and each list leads to another list. The first list I made that I truly enjoyed was "Reasons why ______ is gay." For this person's sake, I must omit his name and the list, even though it really was a gem.
If I haven't yet convinced you that making lists can be fun, just know that I've spent the last hour making a list of lists that I could include in this blog post. And just for a little more convincing (and a glimpse into my mind), I will include them in the end of this post. Some of them are short and some of them aren't interesting at all. But the way I see it, making lists is like playing sports when you're a child: pointless, stressful, possibly traumatizing and to be done only "for fun" and not to win.

Things someone should pay me to do because I'm so good at them
Sleeping
Making lists
Dressing myself
Listening to songs on repeat

Things I do when no one is looking
Dance
Look at myself in the mirror (frequently)
Talk to myself (though this sometimes happens when people are looking, which isn't good for either of us)
Sing (usually better when no one is listening, for everyone's sake)

Things I would do every day for the rest of my life without anyone paying me
Write
Draw
Play with puppies

Things you couldn't pay me to do every day for the rest of my life
Make phone calls
Wake up before 7am (that early is pushing it, but I'm trying to be realistic)
Math
Science

Things that make me so excited that I make strange noises
Puppies
Jeans
Birds

Emotive noises I make on a daily basis
"Meh," when I don't like something, disapprove or have no feelings at all towards something but am obligated to respond
"Hnnnnn!" I don't know exactly how to type this noise, but if you know me, this is the noise I make when I see a puppy or a bird. Or a midget, but that's for the completely opposite reason.
"Waaah" when I realize that no one loves me, which happens every day.*

Songs I listen to on repeat
"Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler
"Shake It Out" by the UNC Loreleis
"Party" by Beyonce
"Cockiness" by Rihanna

Things that make me smile uncontrollably
Jennifer's Body
My best friends
The UNC Loreleis (Spring concert and the debut of their new album on March 24!)
My twitter profile

Things that, if my room was raided by MTV, would tell someone all about me
Dixie Chicks poster
The skeleton on my desk
Approximately 74 Pepsi cans scattered about the room
Lorelei poster/stickers
Zero room in my closet and drawers

Easy things that I have difficulty doing
Remembering my keys
Typing my last name
Closing a door, apparently

Things I just don't understand
How cell phones work
The appeal of tube socks
People who don't care about how they look

Things that freak me out
People on stilts
Talking to people
Endless loops
The future
Being dirty

Things I should be doing right now
Studying
Reading one of my many textbooks
Getting a job
Eating
Anything but this

Everyday things I find strange
Shoes
Kissing
Eating in public

Generalizations
Any human under the age of 10 is a "baby"
"Babies" that aren't within 5 feet of a parent are on their own and are at risk of being stolen
Every dog is a puppy no matter its size or actual age

Songs that I have to hear at a party to be satisfied
Party
Booty Wurk
Dance (A$$)
Killing Me Softly (This one rarely happens)

A partial list of potential lists


*This is an over-generalization and a joke. Please don't lecture me.

When I die I'll be a Tar Heel dead

One of the things I love about Carolina is the all-encompassing acceptance that comes with being a Tar Heel. Walking through this campus, even alone, I feel like I belong. Even looking dead into the eyes of the pit preacher today, I felt accepted.
Being a Tar Heel is so much more than going to school in Chapel Hill. It's so much more than getting into the best journalism school in the country. It's so much more than buying a blue shirt. It's shouting "TAR," knowing that somewhere, no matter where you are and no matter the time of day, you'll hear "HEE-EELS" in response. It's reading the kvetching board, hoping yours got published or that someone kvetched about you. It's singing "Hark the Sound," arm in arm, with the most pride possible whether we win or lose. It's the chills you get when you hear Eve Carson's immortal "I love UNC." It's knowing, without a doubt, that you go to the best school in the world. Being a Tar Heel is about being a family and nothing shows that better than the shirts that are being sold this year with the phrase "Together, we are Carolina."
But the most important part of being a Tar Heel, the one that defines us as students, the one that gets us more pumped up than getting into the B-school, making an A on a test or staying awake during a 75-minute lecture, is exemplified on the shirts we've all been seeing this week that say "GO TO HELL DUKE."
That's right. Submitting an application to UNC-Chapel Hill is signing a contract saying "I promise to hate Duke with all of my heart and soul." Scoffing and/or gagging when the word "Duke" is mentioned or when anyone even refers to Durham is just part of being a Tar Heel.

One thing I realized tonight after the heartwrenching loss to our unfortunate-faced neighbors is that there is a difference between a fan and a Tar Heel. I was never a sports fan growing up. Even so, I wore NC State red up until the day I got my acceptance letter from UNC. That day was the beginning of my transformation into becoming a Tar Heel. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that coming to Carolina has made me a sports fan, though this would be the place to be if I was one. I still don't really care about basketball games, stats or players. I couldn't tell you a single thing about another ACC team or even what other teams make up the ACC. But tonight and (most) other game nights, I put on my Carolina blue and I pull for a Tar Heel win. Why? Because I love my school. At the end of a game, a Carolina fan will continue on in his or her roles in life and, especially after a loss, ignore the team in which he or she had put so much faith. The difference here is that I'm not a fan. Sure, my heart dropped a little when d00k hit that shot at the last second, but I walked away from this prouder than ever to be a Tar Heel. The fact is, I get to wake up tomorrow not only at the greatest school in the world, but as a part of the greatest community in the world: the Tar Heels.

But seriously.

I don't know if I have ever been 100% honest about anything. It's just an immediate reaction, to treat people like they're stupid and hope that they're not. It's not my fault everyone isn't on the same brainwave as me, is it?

I think the reason I do it is to make myself feel better about myself. I'm not going to be humble and say that I don't think I'm better than other people. I definitely am. Sometimes people think they're on my level and, since I'm a kind soul, I just can't be mean. So to spare the feelings of my loved ones, I lie. I'm not going to sugarcoat it and call it "sarcasm," because we all know that that's just a fancy word for a lie. If you don't know that, I hope you wake up from your little dream and grow up so you can realize that people are not nice; they're selfish and mean and ruthless.
So I lie. It's practice for my prospective career in writing and it's fun for me. The way I tell the lie, with a straight face that is devoid of emotion, is practice for my backup career as a psychopath.

The way I see it, lying is my way of telling the truth to people who are on the same intelligence level as I am. See, I don't just make up lies out of nowhere. I generally make up answers to questions that have obvious or boring answers. If you're not smart enough to know the answer to your own stupid question (or to find out the answer for yourself), you don't deserve a straight answer from me. I'm just trying to help people learn for themselves. I rarely ask questions because I value finding information on my own and I think that's the best way to learn.

Though I don't believe this process is wrong, I think I owe some people some explanations. If you're reading this and recognize any of the following lies, you're smarter now than you were when I told them. If you don't recognize any of them and ask me if you're on the list, my answer will be no.

A list of lies, made right.

My name is not Tres.
Or Garret.
I have never been strangled.
You can't make more than a 5 on an AP test.
That's not your baby.
I've never killed or eaten a person.
I don't hate Glee, I actually really like it.
No, I didn't hear what you said and I don't care.
I'm not sorry and I never have been.

Dress to Impress

I recently came across this (via etiquetteforagentleman.tumblr.com) and I could not disagree more. I may be the only one who feels this way, but the way I see it, the only way a person can be a better person than an attractive person is to be an attractive person who is also a stylish person. Got it?

Frankly, if I see an attractive person, I'm interested in him/her. That's all it takes. I don't care if you're a "good person." Or even an interesting person. I entertain myself enough to get through a conversation. The only purpose of the other person in a conversation is to make myself look good. Mainly because talking to no one seems to be an automatic red flag for some people. Also, because talking to an attractive person makes you look better.

Now onto style. One of the only things that can make me interested in someone else moreso than myself is if they're dressed nicely. Nice clothes get you in the door, but unique, fashionable, edgy clothes will get you in the bed (sorry for being crude...). Not only do good clothes make a person more attractive, they make a person more desirable all around. I'm waiting patiently for the day that I find my style match: someone who understands and challenges my style at the same time and would be willing to discuss my clothes, his/her clothes, other peoples' clothes, next year's clothes, vintage clothes, designer clothes, cheap clothes, celebrities' clothes, etc. Not only would this make a person more visually enticing, but we would actually have something to talk about.

The One Who Dwells Within

I have never hated being in college as much as I have this week. It's this week every semester, actually, that I, along with a few thousand other UNC students, begin to lose my mind. My first exam week went by relatively smoothly. At least I don't remember any tragedies. Second semester finals week is a complete blur to me, besides the mental breakdown I suffered while studying for economics (Ralph Byrns if you ever read this, I HATE YOU). But all was well and good after that was over because the end of that exam week meant summer.

This week before exams even started, things took a sharp turn. A downhill turn. Off a cliff.

Monday. All is well for most of the day. Internal conflict begins.
Tuesday. Went to sleep at 5pm.
Wednesday. Woke up at 7:30am (from 5pm the night before). Exam. Personal conflict causes me to completely stop focusing on class, exams, learning and breathing. Nap, even though I had slept for 14 hours the night before.
Wednesday night. Go to dinner. Get to dinner, head starts to implode. Skip all LDOC celebrations, bed at 9:30.
Thursday. Campus health for 2 hours. They don't tell me anything. French exam review. They don't teach me anything. Froze to death on the way home. Bed at 9.
Friday morning. 12:30am. I'm awake. I'm shivering. It's not cold. I can't swallow. I can't see anything. It's at this moment that I believe the demons began to enter my body. Yes, demons. The ones who dwelt within Cain, Nero, Judas and Legion, as well as Belial and Lucifer, the devil himself in the flesh. Can't breathe. Force myself out of bed to take some medicine that I know isn't going to help. May or may not have contorted my body into odd positions and ate some spiders.

At some point this weekend I regained control of my body. I'm just patiently waiting for the demons to return and, frankly, I'm afraid to see what's going to happen. But kind of excited.

Someone get Sir Anthony Hopkins on the phone.

True Life: I'm Awkward

College is a time when people tend to make great realizations about themselves. Students figure out where they're going in life, what they're good at, how much they can drink...I found out exactly how awkward I am. If you're wondering, the answer is VERY awkward.

In high school, I never had to face this most prominent part of my personality. I had a group of good friends and I never had to speak to anyone outside of that group. If I wasn't with them, I was at home where the only person I had to talk to was my bird. And she would take any attention she could get.

Once I got to college I realized that the social life that I loved in high school was about to go down the drain. No matter how much time I managed to spend with the few friends that came with me to college, I was still required to interact with other people. If you know me well enough, you'll know that that is probably the last thing I ever want to do next to wearing sweatpants and listening to Taylor Swift.
Even in the first days of college, I was faced with a roommate that I didn't really know. Sure, we had corresponded, but I'm super charming via Facebook and text message because those are crafts I have perfected. Plus, I can usually take as long as I want to come up with the perfect response. So needless to say there was a lot of awkward forced small-talk. I figured that would die down and things would be normal after a little while. I mean that's what happens with normal people, right? Not me. For a few months our room was filled with awkward small talk, then it all eventually faded into nothing. And the scared child inside of me was perfectly okay with that.
Then this year (last year too, but mostly this year unfortunately), I've been forced into social situations that I just have no idea how to navigate: parties. They always start out pretty good because I usually go there with my friends, then my heart drops and my mind starts racing. I don't know these people. What if they say something to me? I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't even know how to talk to people. Do they want to talk to me? What if they don't even want to talk to me? I guess that's okay...but that means there's something wrong with me. It's probably the fact that I'm standing in the most awkward place and not talking to anybody. Do they know what I'm thinking? Am I saying this out loud? Oh god. I should dance or something. I'll just check my phone. Oh. Nothing. All my friends are here. Facebook. Nothing. All my facebook friends are out being social and not on facebook. Uhhhh...

In the off chance that people do speak to me, I still can't avoid the awkward. I just don't even know how to respond to some things.
For example, I have no idea how to respond to "what's up?" I can't even explain my aversion to the phrase...it just triggers awkward. Usually I ignore it and pretend the person just said "hello" or something that I think a normal person should say.
Even if an exchange started off easily, with a simple "Hey! How are you?! It's so good to see you!" I usually have no idea where to go from there.

I guess I'm just doomed to a life of drink-sipping and phone-checking...

Happy Endings

A friend of mine (Yes, I have friends. Well. Some.), who will remain nameless, recently said to me "You know, Al, college is the time when people are looking for the person they're going to spend the rest of their life with. Yep. So you should think about that."
If you know me at all you could probably guess that I didn't think about it much (you would definitely know that if you can tell who said it). But I did think about it later, probably when I should have been doing homework or something important like that.
The more I thought about it, the more I started to think about how stupid that is. Why should I be looking for forever in every single person I meet? I usually can't even remember people's names. Usually I dread seeing them ever again. I just don't think I should be wasting my college life looking for the person that I'm going to be stuck with for the rest of my life starting at age 19. And I consider myself a nice person, so I'm definitely not trying to cause anyone to suffer through being with me for that long. I'm not even sure I want to spend all those years with myself. Call me a romantic, but I would like to just let it happen. Maybe one day I'll meet someone who just won't leave me alone and we'll spend the rest of our lives together (this is most likely to happen with the aforementioned friend). Until then, why is it so bad to do whatever I want?
I, like other people of my generation, have been taught most of life's lessons through television. Sitcoms taught me that people rarely get married before their mid 30s. And these shows are still running, so the mother and the happy ending may not be found until the characters are in their forties. Or maybe never. And you know what? That's okay. And it's hilarious.
So if staying single for a few extra years (maybe my whole life) leads to the hilarity that occurs on the sitcoms I've been watching, bring it on. And by "bring it on," I mean that every person tryin' to spend the rest of his or her life with me needs to back off. Funny > Happy.

Despite all these feelings, there are a few people I would never turn down if they just said "hey. let's spend the rest of our lives together."

Here's a list of people that I would consider spending the rest of my life with (though some in a completely nonromantic, nonsexual way. I'll let you guess which ones those are), starting right now.
Chelsea Handler. Imagine the mean jokes.
Sofia Vergara. I could listen to that voice forever.
Some guy from my art class last semester. I never spoke to him. Who cares.
Kevin Jonas. And his wife too I guess.
Anyone who will buy me milkshakes and Cheese Nips.
Any kind of bird.
My denim jacket.
Heidi Klum.
Carrie Underwood.
Beyonce's baby.
A skeleton.
Mrs Lovett from Sweeney Todd. Corset and human meat pies? My kind of woman.
Brangelina.
Demi Lovato.

I would keep going but even getting that much was a stretch. All I could think about was my wardrobe.