Boys Are Stupid, Throw Snowballs at Them

So, I'm on vacation in New York (obviously) where I am stranded by the snow in the Heights, which would be fine except I am pretty much out of clothing and need to get home to pack and return to the city before I trek below the Mason Dixie Line to visit friends in D.C. and Baltimore. Snow? Not so awesome. Though I did have an awesome day of Billy-building (or watching others build Billy, as the case may be) and Trivial Pursuit.

Anyhow, I will leave you with three boys are stupid moments before I get back to vacationing. And by that I mean sleeping as much as possible:

• Words that you never, ever want to hear from a guy you are only sort of friendly with: "So, I want to know why you're not dating my roommate." Followed by: "I realized you could have thought I was going to ask you out, but ... I wasn't ... not that you're not ... hahaha."
  

• Something you should never, ever do in a blizzard: Plan an outdoor date. Because you know what? Four-inch heels (even in boot form) and makeup (even if advertised as waterproof) and hair (that was meticulously done and looked awesome) should not be exposed to a blizzard for prolonged periods of time. Even if there is sesame chicken at the end.

• Something else you should never, ever attempt to do in a blizzard: barbecue, which was my brother's plan. Two and half hours and no edible food later, he called it quits.
  

Deep Thoughts: The Almost End of the Semester Edition

Laughing out loud while reading = charming. Laughing out loud while watching TV = significantly less charming.

Fijian is an adjective, not a country, and writing in script should be banned.

Eye care is ridiculously expensive.

I ate my last Reese's pumpkin and now I have to wait until after Christmas to get more seasonal Reese's (tree-shaped ones!).

Flat Stanley is going to a medical marijuana dispensary (he needs to get a true L.A. experience). Will I get my 8-year-old brother kicked out of school? Maybe.


 

Shoe Lust: The Green Edition

My friend and I make Shabbos meals themed by color, in which all of the food has to be a single color. I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it is awesome. When I am in New York for winter break, we are doing a meal for the only color of the rainbow we haven't done yet—green. Part of the rules are you have to dress in the color of the meal, and I am lusting after these beautiful green shoes, which I can definitely not justify buying. Oh, well. At least you can all see them.

Inappropriate Questions: A Rant

Or, boys on dates are not the only ones who ask inappropriate questions about my family. (Ed.: I went looking through my blog archives to link here to one of my favorite dating stories, but I apparently have deprived you blog readers of this anecdote. So, I will give it to you here. Once, on a first date, a guy was very taken aback by the size of my family—which is fair—and one of his first responses was to ask me if I ever told my parents to stop having children. His follow-up question was whether I thought my parents were irresponsible for having so many children. Charming.)

Anyhow, back to the scheduled programming.

Yes, my parents have a lot of children. Yes, that's unusual. I don't know what part of that entitles people to ask whether I think my parents are "done" having kids. Quite frankly, I'm not privy to information about my parents' family planning, and I hardly think it's a question that you would ask anyone else, so I'd rather not be asked it in front of a Shabbos table full of guests I just met.

And, yes, my youngest sibling is significantly younger than I am. But if you're curious about our relationship, you might not want to phrase your question as, "Does he even know who you are?" (Especially, because I might actually be sensitive to that.)

A Virtual Primal Scream

At Columbia (and probably lots of other places), on one of the nights of finals, there is a set time where students let out a primal scream. In the absence of frightening my roommate by doing that, consider this my virtual primal scream:

So, it's 12:45 a.m. ITunes (yes, the I should be capitalized; I know it's ugly) is on shuffle and is spitting out a mix of Glee, Disney, Jewish music, and Rent, which I'm sure is not an accurate reflection of my music collection. I have been snacking ridiculously (candy cane Joe-Joes!) and procrastinating in every way possible. My room is a total disaster. My part of the group paper I'm working on is probably less than half done. I'm not tired so much as uninterested in writing. I want a real donut, not the kosher-bakery variety. I am crazy excited about going to the East Coast (green meal and used books and the Newseum and people who will play Trivial Pursuit with me!) but am not entirely sure how all the work is going to get done before I leave. (This is pretty typical finals fare, I realize.)

And I have a rant about ridiculous financial expenditures (not my own) boiling up inside me, which shall remain unwritten for now—both for propriety and time concerns. I'll leave you with this:

In Gilmore Girls, when Paris and the gang drive into Stars Hollow to work on a group project and they pull up in a fancy car, Lorelai says something to the effect of: "Wow. She must have baby-sat an awful lot to afford a car like that."