Two People Can Change the World

Today, I rushed around going to the Bursars Office, the Financial Aid Office, class, lunch, class, finally got home, did a bunch of financial stuff, cried, laughed, talked to Tony, then went to my room to study for the GMATs.

Take a deep breath. You need it after that sentence.

So then I took a deep breath and got on my laptop and checked my email right before I was going to leave to go hang out with some wonderful friends. An old, dear friend g-chatted me! [Funny how gchat really effs with the spell checker...] This dear friend is part of a pair. Let's call them Matt & Kim (bt-dubs, check that band out, it's wonderful). But their both girls....so...Louise and Thelma. So talking to one always makes me miss the other, because they're kind of a pair. Like, gloves. If you put one on, you obviously want the other one too. Bad analogy. Anyhoo.

So Louise gchats me: In response to my I HATE ALL THINGS FINANCIAL AID RELATED status....

5:46 PM Louise: me too

me: me three

i hate them all

Louise: i hate money

5:47 PM we should revert to barter

me: i agree

5:49 PM Louise: hows life other than that

me: shitty

but, it'll get better soon i'm sure

5:50 PM Louise: just school shit?

wanna tlak about it?

5:51 PM me: not really

i'm actually on my way out

but thank yoU!

Louise: okok

me: i want an email from you

about your life

Louise: ill catch you another time

me: b/c i miss you a bunch

Louise: lol ok will do

me: or a phone date

Louise: I MISS YOUUUUU

me: youre gonna make me cry!

5:53 PM okay i love you

<3>

5:54 PM Louise: lol, i love you too. i guess ill catcha next time

Three reasons why this conversation reflects why I love this pair.

1.) Louise promptly agrees with my absurdly angry status and makes a witty comment about it that is neither pretentious nor stupid. It's just funny. And very supportive. And I totally agree with it right now. (As a business major, totally something I don't support.)

2.) She doesn't ask me about the status, rather asks how everything else is. Important for two reasons. One, she knows I've already been worked up about it forever and probably not something I wanna type out. And two, she probably can guess everything I say, and it's pointless, because it's just Drexel giving one more poor, broke, and overworked student the shaft up the ars, and HARD. Owww, the chafing, you can't imagine.

3.) I say I have to go, and she promptly understands and lets me go. After my 5 psychotic, NO NOT YET I STILL WANNA TALK TO YOU BUT CAN'T, PLEASE KNOW I STILL LOVE YOU last statements.

And this conversation has not just happened once. The same type of deal with both of them, all the time. Thelma and Louise are just some of the nicest, most genuine and reliable people I've ever met. But during this particular conversation, as I started to miss both of them a lot, I teared up. I realized how different my life is now without them right around the corner. It's not like Thelma and Louise visited the Bermuda Triangle However, it's one thing when you can run out of your house screaming because of a stupid little mouse and meet someone at 2 a.m. to let you sleep on their floor, and another when you just have to rely on gchat and occasional drunken Skypes or phone calls.

[Picturing the next time I'm going to eat pie]...Here's to you Thelma and Louise. Two people can change the world (or to be more anthropology-correct 438's world). ;)

We were supposed to grow up?

Something happened to me on Thursday night at work, and it still boggles my mind.

A.) I had to send someone to the ER. She had a seizure. OR FOUR. And her friends FINALLY agreed with me to call 911. Who then couldn't find the restaurant. I tried to explain it to them, but the lady was yelling at me, so I stopped. She ended up being fine, at least she was walking. (Thanks for the 10% tip, twat waffles.)

B.) I got stiffed multiple times on multiple (over $50) bills.

C.) Some girl threw sangria in her ex's face. And then blamed me that she had to pay for it. Here's what went down:

It was 12:35. Last call for food. I didn't want anymore tables because my sales were really high and I had to clean the kitchen. But, I got roped into taking one last table. So, I took their order, put it in the computer, let my manager know I was done with food, dropped 3 checkbooks and picked up 3 more. So with 8 credit cards and about $100 in cash (and who knows if it's counterfeit yet, I have to check!) I run by my last table (let's call it 32, just for the hell of it). The two girls at 32 are screaming "HEY, HEY, HEY 'CUSE ME, HEY!" "What's up ladies? Need to order more food?" The girls are like "Gurrrllll, yo gotta move us! Can we move?! Can we go somewhere else?!" Silly me says "yea, just gimme a minute to make sure I get paid." My manager goes "What's up?" and I reply "they are being annoying, they want to move, let me take care of this first." And as I turn my back, table 32 throws their cup of white sangria in 53's face. Turns out, he was an ex (who tipped more than they did I might add).

The girl asks for another sangria, I don't feel like putting up a fight, I give it to her, give them the food, drop the check. Run by the table again "HEY, HEY, HEY 'CUSE ME, HEY!" "Hey ladies, what's up?"

Girl: Why we have to pay for two sangrias?

Me: Well, I had to ring them both in or the bartender doesn't make them.

Girl: Well she didn't even drink the first one! It's your fault too, cuz you didn't move us.

Me: Look, it wasn't my decision to serve children like yourselves, but if you wanna make a big scene and throw alcohol away, you still gotta pay for it.

Seriously?!?! Seriously?!?! WHERE DID YOU GROW UP? Nowhere obviously, because you are still a freakin 4 year-old. Go home. And don't ever leave again. In fact, try to get hit by a bus before you magically reproduce. Because I know that when your kid comes out, your gonna try to get him to pay the bills, cuz it's his fault you FORGOT A CONDOM.

URGH. I'm still worked up about it. And it has me doubting myself as a human being, or maybe just human beings in general. I don't wanna be stuck serving people like that forever. Neither do I want to grow up and work in an office forever. I don't wanna take the GMATS, study, or even finish school. I want to country-surf until I can come back to America, meet the man of my dreams, and live happily ever after (doing nothing for money and being able to volunteer everyday). However, it is my senior year, and like it or not, grad school is in my future. So is trying to find a job, however that is not going so well.

I work 40 hours a week (usually 32-36, sorry) and go to school. I'm tired. All I want to do when I have a spare minute is watch TV, do some recreational things, and be lazy. Which is why I got up at 9 a.m. and cleaned and tried to be productive. Yet, I'm sitting here writing a blog post about how my life is going nowhere instead of doing homework or studying!

If this is growing up, I wanna be 70. And now.

How I Made 5 Dolla'

“Revenge and punishment are different things. Punishment is inflicted for the sake of the person punished; revenge for that of the punisher, to satisfy his feelings.”

Sorry, I love quotes, and I had to share that. (Read a stellar article here: an acquaintance from a former writing class wrote it!)

Onto more shallow things.

I made extra money last night at this restaurant I work at. I had no more than three tables at a time, so I wasn't doing much work. Sat around for 45 minutes watching the Phillies beat the Dodgers into a bloody pulp on the big screen TV. Took a lot of breaks. Went on a Starbucks errand. Generally dicked around a bunch. Minimal work, minimal pay. This is how a restaurant works.

However, last night, I hit the proverbial jackpot. Meaning, I made a 50% tip off of a table. Without them knowing. [Heck-to-the-yes!]

Table 31. A couple. African American. Early 30s. Intoxication level: guy, slammed; girl, tipsy. Time: 9:15 p.m. 45 minutes before the margarita special and 1 hour and 45 minutes before the half off food special.

So I say hello, chat them up a bit, because I can tell they are part of a certain breed of restaurant go-er that enjoys a little flirting. Get them their margaritas, then their food, all before 10:45. In the course of flirting (yes, I am a shameless whore, I will do anything for that extra 5% tip...within reason...) the guy tells me I "look like that girl, you know, that girl that's the daughter of that guy...well, she's a model, and you look like her! Except your lips aren't that big."

Now, in the course of serving I've been called many things. Including, but not limited to, a pretty version of Rumor Willis (hatred still burns for that statement, there is nothing pretty about her), a taller version of Kelly Osbourne (yea, gurl), "white girl", and a "curvier" version of Angelina Jolie. Funnily enough, most comments come from the way I wear my hair or my lips. I don't understand this, but perhaps I've just seen my lips too many times to think about them.

Anyway, I drop the check at 10:45. By 11 p.m. one of my dear friends says "hey, there's a scam you can run. Don't close your tables if they pay in cash." Without going into criminalizing details, the computer system has a glitch which allows you to keep extra money.

Basically, I dropped the $26.75 (or close to) check. The table gave me $30. About 18% tip. Great! I'll take it! Then, I ran the scam and made an extra $5.25 off the check. Now, I just made about $9 off of a $26.75 check. 33% tip. [Heck-to-the-yes!] I'm so happy, I could just take a break! Which is promptly what I did.

When I walked back past the table, the guy handed me an extra $5 "because you look like a model. You know, with smaller lips." Well thank you so much sir. I hope you guys have a wonderful night, come again.

So, $14 off of $26. A little over 50% gratuity.

Almost as good as that time someone handed me a $50 bill to keep one guy's water glass filled for an hour.

PBR (and how the hipsters ruined it)

This scene has played out many times in my life, and across Philadelphia...

Dick: "Yo, let's play some beer pong. Let's pregame. Let's go out!" (throws fist in the air)

Jane: "Well, I don't have that much money."

James: "It doesn't matter. We'll bike to the store, get some PBR, then we can go to Oscar's that has a 22 oz of PBR for $2.50!"

Dick, Jane, James: "YEAH! GO PBR!"

Someone irrelevant: "PBR sucks balls."

Dick, Jane, James: "YEA, well you can drink whatever you want (gives crazy look that could be interpreted as a threat). GO PBR!"

That's because I hang around with a lot of hipster-esque people. And broke people. And people that live in Philly/college scene. And people who appreciate PBR for what it is - a hipster beer that is cheap and relatively good compared to what you'd expect for a beer that is the same price as a can of Coke.

Then those damn marketing people went and ruined a good thing.

NBC Headline: Pabst Blue Ribbon More Popular than Ever Now; Sorry, Hipsters.

Usually found smoking European cigarettes and/or cloves, hipsters are known for their despise of anything "mainstream" and their fondness for irony. They listen to bands that no one has ever heard of and start fashion trends that are cool because of their "uncoolness", e.g., trucker hats or vintage plaid shirts.

This is where Pabst Blue Ribbon comes in.

"It's an anti-establishment badge," said a major market wholesaler. "It seems to play to the retro, nonconformist crowd pretty well."

Hipsters enjoy drinking a beer that isn't as "established" as other better-known brands, asserting themselves are more "genuine" and "unique" than the mainstream that surrounds them.

They should be careful though. With the incredible rise in sales, Pabst Blue Ribbon could become so popular, it may enter the mainstream, and hipsters will have to abandon it in favor of another "cheap" beer.

Yes, I understand that the hipsters will give it up now that it has become popular. That's why they said "Sorry, Hipsters." But, I think PBR should think again. If it's really spreading, it will spread out past the hipsters, to people like me. And more importantly, older, wealthier versions of me. Price will jump again and PBR will have to be replaced.

And that's the scary part.

WHAT WILL THE HIPSTERS GO TO NEXT?!?!?!?!

Student Loans

Unfortunately, I'm graduating with debt. Fortunately, Drexel has taught me how to avoid paying it!

All a student loan is is a contract between someone with money and someone who wants to learn that says "Here is money, pay me back more later." The broke person signs it and continues to be broke until they are 25-30 years old.

Contract law: What does there need to be for a contract to exist?

1. Agreement between at least two parties that was entered by mutual assent to be bound.

2. Must be supported by consideration. (I.e. both parties are receiving something from the deal).

3. The parties must have legal capacity.

4. The contract must not be for illegal purposes or contrary to public policy.

If any of those four conditions are not met, then a contract does not exist and neither party is bound by it. So here's how I'm not going to pay my student loan bills.

Number 1: I didn't want to agree, I had no choice. I really don't want to pay back the $572,893,000 I owe. And I don't like commitment. And, I don't want to be bound (sounds like a painful S&M scene that will go on after I graduate. The government will have handcuffs and a whip...)

Number 2: I received nothing from this deal. All I got were some lousy classes and more pain-in-the-ass-bullshit-run-arounds than I bargained for. And I still work 30+ hours a week so I can live.

Number 4: The contract was definitely contrary to public policy. I am by far the smartest human being in the world and could totally take it over. The money I got enabled me to get the education I needed for world dominance. Now if that's not against public policy, I don't know what is.

And the last argument I have to get me out of school loans is one that might actually work.

Number 3: I lacked the legal capacity because I WAS DRUNK. [Not really, but it's not out of the realm of possibility...so SHHHH don't tell anyone!]

And, goodbye student loans! And thank you for paying for BLAW 340 so I could learn how not pay you back!

(Yes, I'm being facetious, I don't actually think this is gonna work).

Sometimes, I'm just disgruntled

I hate class. I hate rude people. I hate tears, and drama. I hate bad moods. I hate drivers. I hate un-clear assignments. I hate really long reading assignments that are boring as hell. I hate when there's no outlets nearby. I hate people who can't tip, or hold a decent conversation. I hate not being able to keep in close contact with people. I hate...a lot of things.

And, I've been through all these things, as well as been/done all of these things. I internalize, and I accept this. But right now, I really wished we owned a punching bag. Preferably one that had room to glue someone's face on it. Who's face? Well, it depends what day of the week it is. Ask me when you think I'm mad at you. If your face didn't make it on the punching bag, probs not a big deal!

So, I'm disgruntled. End of story. Why? Because people are assholes and I'm tired. I wanna go home, clean, do laundry, finish my homework, and hibernate for three days, all caught up with my work, with money to fix my broke-ness, in a clean environment. I would probably just be gruntled then. If that's a word.

My saving grace today is that I just read this on Perez Hilton. I love him (hottest man on planet). That is all. Enjoy. And you're welcome.

Baltimore vs. Philly

So this weekend I had the privilege of going to the lovely city of Baltimore (home of the Orioles). When I used to live in the country, I'd travel to cities and just enjoy the scenery. Now, I end up comparing every city to good old Philadelphia. And not just the Philadelphia shown on television, but the good old Philly, west, north, south, southwest, olde, and center parts of the city.

How does Baltimore compare? Well, besides the fact that they don't have a nickname (Balty, Batty, Beehive, B-more, Barthimore) they do okay. I mean, any city that you can start a "herpes, herpes" chant at a bar is definitely on par with Philly.

There is one glaring thing that I have a problem with Baltimore: cabbies, learn how to turn your light off when you have a fare! However, besides the fact you could stand on the corner and wave at THREE THOUSAND cabs with their look-i-have-no-one-paying-for-my-service-right-now light on, when TWO THOUSAND NINE HUNDRED AND NINETY NINE of the cabs have someone in their back seat. Assholes.

However, finally when a cab whose light was not on erroneously, the cabbies were generally friendly and spoke English. In fact, I think I prefer the Baltimore cabbie personality to the Philly one. I decided this when we were trying to find a cab home right around last call time...

We finally flagged down a cab, once we got in he said "ya'll mind waiting in here for a sec? Gotta go get a pack of cigarettes" which I answered, "Me too!!" and followed him down the block into a store. I saw him purchase a forty, and ran back to the cab, where me and my fab friends proceeded to eat a pizza while on the way home. A mushroom, pepperoni pizza to be exact. The only thing I didn't like about this cabbie was he insisted that it was not the cabbies faults that the lights didn't always turn off. I call bullshit on this, because if Philly can do it, anyone should be able to do it.

The only thing that happened that really pegged us from being from Philly were when three extremely drunk friends decided to go back to the hotel a little earlier for vomiting reasons. The cab stopped and as they were opening the door, the car behind them started honking. All three turned around at the same time, yelled "shut the fuck up" and proceeded to get in the car.

And that's why I love Philly. And my friends.

Hi, my name is Andrea, and

I'm an alcoholic.

Scene: I wake up with no shirt on, my bed really messed up, my phone is getting wet on the windowsill from the rain and I'm sleeping on a clean pair of jeans and a clean pair of shorts that I neglected to put away yesterday. I further wake up and realize my trashcan is half way across the room from where it is supposed to be, but all articles of clothing that I wore last night are in fact in my room. And my contacts are put away (I vaguely remember doing that). So, my question is, how on earth did this happen? My answer: I have no effin idea. Hi, my name is Andrea, and I'm an alcoholic.

As I search deep, deep into my memory, I remember walking home from Scooters, meeting friends to walk my other friend home, and that's it. By the way, I should never travel to Scooters. It is a ghetto, shoot-em-up bar, that every time I have gone to, I've made bad friends and gone home worse for wear.

Searching a little deeper and remembering not being able to make it up the stairs outside, I find myself mortified. If I had stopped on the stoop, I quite possibly would not be writing this blog post right now. Instead, I gave it the old college try (pun intended) and made it in the front door. Without keys. Thank you, Matthew Wiley. After that, my memory fails.

All I know is the scene I woke up to, which was horrifying to say the least. Now I have 2 hours til I have to wake up, finish up my homework, and go to class. But I'm still mortified by the fact I remember nothing. So that will not allow me to sleep. At least I'm drinking OJ and water!

We are all Different

Once I was sitting at the Pit (a.k.a. an after hours bar we travel to after horrendous Mad Mex nights) and one of my former co-workers goes "I don't know, I feel so boring around you guys." I asked why, and she replied "I don't know, ya'll are just a little...off." I guess that's a good way to describe the crew that works there, and I told her that, along with "honey, you're a little off too."

As of July 2008, there were an estimated 6,706,993,152 people in the world. Six billion. That's a lot of people. Since then, many have died, and many have been born. And you know what? We're all a little "off". That's just the way it is. Except for maybe the people in Bhutan (Utopian if you ask me).

It's a good thing we're all a little off. Otherwise we couldn't laugh at the ridiculousness that tends to ensue. Below there is a link to a page with an audio file. Some guy met this girl and bothered her enough so that she gave him a business card to make him go away. The audio file are two voicemails he left her, and they are effin' off if anything ever was.

http://melodymaker.posterous.com/the-reason-some-girls-stay-single-very-funny

I think I laughed for about 10 minutes after I heard this (thanks MaryKate). And you are welcome!

Insomnia is the Best

I'm afraid of a lot of things. But there is one thing in particular that I am very scared of. This fear causes me to only be able to sleep soundly during the daylight hours, which doesn't exactly help me when I need to wake up early for something. If you hadn't noticed, my last blog post (and now this one) will be posted before most people are even awake and start to think about procrastinating, however, I am just trying to go to sleep.

Insomnia is actually a symptom, not a disease. Interesting, huh? I feel like most people think it is an actual disorder. How is it treated? Gotta deal with whatever is causing it, which could be anything from noise to estrogen to a messed up Circadian Cycle. Or it is cause by extreme stress, anxiety, or psychotic drugs. I feel like the latter problems are a tad bit more difficult to fix.

Onto even more depressing things than lack of sleep, I've been thinking recently about rape statistics and how I think they are downplayed. I just did the math (loosely, so it could very well be wrong). 1 in 6 women are sexually assaulted. Let's say about 1/2 of the men that commit these assaults are repeat offenders (the rate is probably higher, most likely 75% are repeat offenders). So, 16% of women are victims, which means about 8% of men are the offenders. 73% of women know their attackers, which means 3% of the men we know may be rapists. Statistically speaking of course. That's a lot. Or at least, I think it's a lot. Especially since I'm in college which ups the chances of rapage by 4 times. There's all kinds of things that could make that number lower - like let's say not all women are attacked by men, or if we use the 75%, it's more like 1%.

Not to downplay the men's side. 1 in 33 men are sexually assaulted. Sorry, guys, I truly am. I'm also sorry this is so depressing. Honestly, I think it's just interesting data.

Speaking of interesting data, watch this video. It's this cute little old man that uses data to de-bunk third world myths. Sure, it's not the funniest or most interesting thing I've ever posted, but totally worth while.

Have a great Friday!

Candles are Nice

Sometimes the unexpected just happens. Yes, I realize this is why it is called “unexpected” and not “normal”. However, I feel as though there is an ebb and flow to life that connects the unexpected in such a way that should just not take you by surprise anymore. Like today: I realize I am getting sick with no foreseeable end in sight because I have no time to become well, I work for 10 hours at the restaurant and have about $60 to show for it (even though I took a 2 server section on all by myself – without getting weeded I may add), I get yelled at for stupid stuff, and get screwed multiple times (and not in a good way). So why did I expect the power to be on when I got home? The unexpected strikes again! (Sidenote: Maybe it’s a good sign that my iTunes just played “Dog Days are Over”.)

Not to say the whole day was bad. There is a nice glow to the candles lighting my room and my computer was charged enough to get this out.

Regardless, here are several small thoughts I can not flush out into full posts.

Why do professors rush through notes? I mean, I get it, I’ve been there. Everyone wants to get out early, etc. But I wonder if this has affected our education as a whole? Rushing means that good questions don’t get asked nor answered. Good discussion that has another level of learning hidden in it is lost. I have no idea what to do about this, but I’m sure of one thing; I will not address or try to find the solution to this until I am out of school, because there are bound to be teachers who will slow down that should have been trying to speed up the entire time. For that matter, why is my professor making us desktags (like name tags to sit on the desks, yes you remember! From kindergarten!)?

Moving on, why do people like Mad Mex? Mexican restaurant with like 14 location mostly sprawed across America. Yes, we serve margaritas. They suck. Have you ever tasted a good margarita? If you had, you would never order one at Mad Mex unless you were hard up for a marg. But people DRINK THEM UP. For a 97.5% profit margin. They CANNOT be great with that kind of profit margin. It’s just economically impossible.

Anyway, in the desktags class (International Marketing or something), we were discussing Norway and how expensive it is. My professor says “well, my friends went to Norway. They were Texans. And they went to a restaurant and ordered nachos and margs (don’t ask me why anyone from Texan would order that in Norway) and they paid like 80 some bucks for them!” To which some stupid, naïve, careless, and annoying boy gawked “Sound like Mad Mex he he *snort snort* he he.” To which I replied “I’ll kill him!” Nachos and margs at Mad Mex would be a total of $27.00 and on special they would cost $17 (and the server would be appropriately tipped approximately $5.00 and $3.00, respectively, on a good night. So, eff you, sir. You are ridiculously silly (read: arrogant asshole bastard).

And as I finish this post, the power goes back on. Thank you Lord. Tomorrow promises better things!