*peeks from behind piles of chemistry notes*

Oh.

Hi there, internet.

It's, uh, nice to be... back?

Right about now is the time I actually appreciate my lack of followers. Anyway, the last time I posted was, uh... oh wow. A year ago... hmmm....

I am actively deciding to be unashamed.

To ease my way back into the land of the internet, I'm not going to explain where I've been. I owe you no explanations, Internet,  and honestly, I don't think there's enough people who care to merit an explanation. So there. :P

I will give a list of updates though. Without further ado:

1. I passed my first years of college! Yay! I did not drop out, I did not gain fifteen pounds, and I most CERTAINLY did not flunk any courses. *fist pump like a champ* (I told you, I did.)

2. I have successfully made friends at school. It's nice to have people to belong to. Quidditch really turned my life at school around.

3. On top of that, I've met one of my best friends in the world at school. She's my roommate, and although we both have our own best friends at home, I feel incredibly close to her. She's one of my favorite people in the world.

4. My BEST friend is still my best friend. She now has a boyfriend who I wouldn't get along with under normal circumstances. He's incredibly opinionated, he's not the most empathetic of people, he feels very victimized for being part of the majority (straight white cisgender male) and boy is he VOCAL about it. He's also very much a Christian and a devout Republican. We have, uh, clashing personalities, to say the least. However, he loves her very much. He protects her, he makes her feel safe. He is willing to wait for her. And he makes her happy. So there is nothing I can say against him. Not a single thing.

5. I'm taking Organic Chemistry now. *whimpers*

6. I uh.... I have a boyfriend. And I'm crazy about him. It's so, so silly. And so fast, and so.... wonderful. He's sweet and adorable and dorky and clever. He's mild-mannered and funny and polite and cuddly. He thinks I'm beautiful. He's a little clingy and he doesn't respond well to authority. He doesn't know very well how to play the 'life' game. He's a people pleaser in the wrong ways and he's dragged into drama too easily. He doesn't know how to be romantic. He's very attached to me- he's decided to marry me after only 3 months of dating. He's Clark Kent, not Superman. But I prefer Clark Kent; I don't want a golden boy. I want someone real. And while I'm not so sure we'll be together as long as he assumes we will, I have no intentions of going anywhere for a while. Because I love my Clark Kent. I love him. And I'll stick with him.

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SideNote: I'm watching Roadhouse right now. Damn, Patrick Swayze. 

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SideNote 2: Still watching Roadhouse, when suddenly BOOBS DUDE I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THIS YIKES

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I believe that's all. I've run out of word juice. I will attempt to continue this.... no guarantees. Adieu, my pretties. 

STUPIDITY. I suppose.

So, I'm a college student.

Yes, I'm bringing it up again, it's part of the blog. So hush.

Anyway, I am a student of veterinary medicine. I have to take dozens of courses in anatomy, zoology, biology, chemistry, and all sorts of other classes that end in y. (Physics-y?)

Anyway, all of these science and math courses add up to one enormous pile of zitty, sweaty palmed stress. I have to study for all of these classes, as well as build up experience in all sorts of animals. I must get perfect grades, as well as a number of other things to prove my 'roundness' as a student. There are 28 veterinary schools in the country, and I intend to get into one of them.

However, I attend what is known as a 'Liberal Arts College'. I don't mind that the school focuses on more than simply the sciences- it varies the people who attend it, it gives me opportunities to meet professors who interest me, and gives opportunities for classes that I wouldn't choose or be able to take at other, career driven colleges. HOWEVER.

THIS DOES NOT HELP ME.

I want to be a Veterinarian. I do not want to be a philosopher- so why is philosophy a required course? I do not want to be an artist- so why is an arts class required? I do not want to be a musician- so WHY is a music course necessary? I DO NOT WANT to be these things- so WHY MUST I LEARN ABOUT THEM?

I enjoy learning about them. I sing all the time- just ask my roommates. I draw (terribly), and I love reading Socrates. HOWEVER.

I am not interested in learning about them now. I need to take science courses- I can't afford to divvy up my attention between Organic Chemistry and The Art of Listening. I need to focus on what I am to become- not on what other people deem important to me as a 'young adult in need of preparation for the harshness of life'.

I'm sorry, this is going to be a short entry- my Quidditch team is dragging me to see Paranormal Activity 3. I just need to shout my frustrations with scheduling to the Internet sky.

OH LOOK A KITTY

It's Just My Insecurities, I Suppose

So, I'm in college.

You know, if you hadn't noticed from my previous entry.

Anyway, college is known for many things- idiocy, lasting friendships, studying, making or breaking careers, and parties.

Mainly parties.

And, as a college student of a vast two months, I've experienced four parties. Not a lot, to be sure, especially when compared to the frat boys who happen to throw parties nearly every night. I, however, happen to be what I like to call a high-functioning introvert; that is, I don't necessarily need other people around to enjoy myself. I like solitude and having time to myself, and living in a room with three roommates instead of just one (I'll explain it eventually) does not often afford me this opportunity.

I enjoy having a room to myself, listening to my music out loud, playing my guitar, reading books, occasionally losing at solitaire. I'm not a hermit, though, I do happen to like people (most of the time). But I have this ridiculous social anxiety problem that acts up if a lot of attention is on me, or if I embarrass myself, or whenever I interact with people in general. Usually this can be cured with the presence of a good friend to just sit with me and talk to me about ridiculous things; I once had an attack at a marching band rehearsal and a section leader took me off the field and sat with me for about twenty minutes, just chattering about the TV show Doctor Who with me. I was fine afterwards. Embarrassed, to be sure, but I could (literally) breathe again.

Now, imagine throwing this person into a raging party where drunken frat boys grab handfuls of ass whenever they see the chance and talk to my boobs instead of my face.

Yes, I can imagine you don't see it ending well either.

I can handle these parties surprisingly well, however; I have not had a single attack, I play mother to two of my roommates,  I creep on idiot drunks and chortle at their silliness. I happen to be the person who doesn't drink- I'm not a religious nut, I don't frown upon the use of alcohol, I am not a spy going to parties with the intent of reporting them to the administration. I simply hold dear the belief that I embarrass myself enough sober and my awkwardness needs not the supplement of alcohol to increase it tenfold.

I also just don't like the taste.

But in any case, this leaves me at the mercy of remembering every single tiny little thing that happens when I attend a party.

I remember every drunken pass at me, I remember the people who insult me, I remember every person who slides up behind me and attempts to resemble (what I can only imagine to be) a horny chihuahua who has just found himself a very sexy leg to hump.

It turns out that sometimes alcohol messing with memory may be a blessing as much as a curse, because the majority of the next day, for me at least, is spent trying to forget the people who I have had, well, encounters with.

I suppose the fact that people do look at me like I'm attractive should boost my confidence, but for me it only makes me feel less desirable. It makes me feel like a walking, breathing set of assets (I don't say talking because talking doesn't seem to actually matter to drunks all that much).

You see, I have never felt particularly attractive, ever. I'm not skinny, by any stretch of the imagination, and this doesn't bother me. My face is OK, but not fantastic. My eyes are green, which I enjoy, and my nose is not enormous or too tiny. But I have cheeks which can only be compared to chipmunks and my hair NEVER EVER BEHAVES MY LIFE IS MADE SO DIFFICULT BY THISSSS

Anyway.

I have big boobs, which I say without any shame or self-conceit; that's just the way it is. This is not a blessing at a party, especially for the socially awkward me. I have a difficult enough time flirting when the victim of my awkward conversation is sober and actually showing interest in more than my sweater puppies. When at a party and the other end of the dialogue is drunk and I can't be sure exactly what he is interested in, it makes it ten times more awkward.

I suppose learning to deal with this and teaching myself to sift through these come-ons is a fact of life that may one day earn me a legitimate relationship. For now, it is another on the list of endless things that make me uncomfortable at parties- for the full list see below*.

I have learned through many awkward situations that I am most comfortable in a setting where I am sure of myself, with a few friends who I know actually enjoy talking to me (seriously, drunken frat boys, is this really that much of a foreign concept?). Maybe this means I will avoid parties from now on- or maybe it means I'll be throwing myself into more of them, trying to prove to myself that I am more than my awkwardness.

It's college- I'm allowed to be indecisive a while longer, right?

List of the Obnoxious:
-Humpy Chihuahua Men
-Drunken Come-ons*
-Drunken Passes
-Talking to the Ta-Tas
-Disgusting beer-coated floors
-Humpy Bulldog Men (A bit more stubborn than those of the Chihuahua breed)
-The Smell
-My Smell afterwards
-Talking to the Badonkadonk (This really does happen)
-Grabbing of the Badonkadonk
-Humpy Great Dane Men (You know, the really tall ones? It's like they're trying to have sex with my back. Seriously.)

PICTURE OF A SILLY KITTY
(It makes me feel better. Humor me.)

To Begin, I Suppose

To begin, I should probably say that I am, first and foremost, a college student. That means that even if you find me interesting, hilarious, wonderful, fabulous, and inspiring (and other things that delightfully show off my own self-conceit) enough to follow this blog, you do not come first, Internet. I suppose if I become famous through my (lack of) wit and (occasional) heavy sarcasm I will actually have to rethink the dedication I intend to hold to this blog; but for now, you come seven billionth in a long line of responsibilities I have to stick to like super-glue in an awkward place before I acknowledge my own needs for enjoyment.

However, being a college student, I do need ways to handle my lack of connection in this vast, new, (occasionally) horrifying (occasionally) wonderful place. And that is where you  come in, dear Internet, as this sort of anonymity will allow me the great fortune to bitch out, complain, whine, stew, and (possibly) praise the vast amount of things that irritate me on campus.

If you have suddenly decided that this blog might be too pessimistic for your happy-go-lucky taste, be prepared, for not only will I complain like Hitler on a bad day, I will also gloat, enjoy, celebrate, dance, shout in victory, and (possibly) fist pump like a champ about any number of the excellent things this new life offers me.

I suppose to start I should actually describe me.

From what I'm told, you see, readers should learn to understand the character they read, as the expectations of that character's patterns and behavior allow for greater surprises in the future.

Anyway, I, Kat, am first and foremost, intelligent.

I know you are all screaming in your heads right now, "Such arrogance! I should never have started reading this blog! I am so irritated with the world!"

However, as counterintuitive as it may seem to be, I am not actually saying that I am intelligent. I am not telling you, the Internet, that my mental capacity is high enough for the world to agree upon me as being clever. I am simply saying that intelligence is a quality I believe I have found in myself, and I (ridiculously) pride myself on this. (I'm a Ravenclaw, if you couldn't tell.)

I say the quality of intelligence first, not because I think it is the most important quality a person can have, but because not only does it form the standards to which I hold myself, but it also is a qualification for the people I befriend. I call them my friends, they (occasionally) call themselves prisoners.

Secondly, I am unashamedly a nerd. I geek out about things, I fangirl, I jump up and down in delight, I squeal, I am willing to spend money on records (vinyl, people.) for artists I like when I myself do not own a record player. The primary focuses of my nerdiness are Music, Harry Potter, Nerdfighteria (DFTBA) and anything JRR Tolkein related.

Thirdly, I read. I read books, I read articles, I read websites. I read anything I can get my hands on- but mostly books. I swear by my personal library, and I personally believe that no person should ever regret reading a book (unless said person is over fifteen and has recently read Twilight.) *

Fourthly, I am a student of Pre-Veterinary Medicine. If you decide to research what this means (which, I admit, is a little too much to hope for) you will discover that it means that I will have very little to no time on my hands to handle such things as blogging. So, forgive me, but there are only 28 Veterinary Schools in the country and I need to get into one of them.

Fifthly, I am intensely logical. It is so ingrained into my thought processes to discover the logic in any given situation that such things as horror movies and dead bodies have lost any sort of connotation or disturbing effect on me (I have dissected cadavers before, and I would do it again.) This has also caused in me social anxiety and an intense shyness that can be cured only by the presence of a good friend.

And as of right now, that's all you really need to know. When a story happens, I will try to retell it in a way that is enjoyable, exciting, and as filled with hilarity as the terror college girls (particularly those on my Residence Hall floor) expose when they confront a the horrifying spectacle of a pet mouse. So, until next time, here's a picture of a dog wearing a tutu. See you soon (maybe)!

*I have nothing against Twilight (though its fans are another story). I do however believe that though it is perfectly acceptable for preteen girls to enjoy it, it is quite unacceptable to argue for its literary competency once you have passed sophomore year of high school. (Sparkling vampires. Seriously.)