Tag Archive: timbaland


It was never really a mystery to us why it seemed like our entire floor in the dorms in college hated us.

Sarah and I lived in the room at the very end of the hallway. Our perfect square of a room was the gathering place every Thursday night to watch The OC and later Grey’s Anatomy. Our room was the meeting place of the whole group of us for those three or four nights a week we went out to parties. And later, our sophomore year of college, our room was next door to two of our good friends, whose room would blare with the latest Justin Timberlake song or One Republic’s “Apologize” before it was cool and overplayed on the radio.

We did dumb shit, like dress up like the some cracked out version of the Spice Girls and sing really, really loudly after 2 in the morning. You know, when the whiners on our floor were sleeping, and had been since 11 pm.

As a group, we’re loud. I mean, I scream and screech a lot, I laugh loudly, and I shout when I’m happy or excited. Multiply that by at least four and you’ve got my core group of friends in college. And we were together constantly.

Add in the fact that we lived in an all-girls dorm. In the really, really old dorms. As in, I lived in the same dormitory my grandmother lived in. The same dormitory my mother lived in. It’s old. We also lived in the dorm mostly populated by the college of music kids. They’re all artsy and hipster-y and obviously too smart and better than us to get loud and crazy all the fucking time, like we did. The best part about our dorm is that it was the closet to the street with all the bars on it. And it was relatively close to a lot of the off-campus housing and greek life. (And let’s get real: I loved me some fraternity parties before I was of the legal drinking age.)

I think this photo adequately demonstrates the potential Le Le and I have when it comes to getting crazy. lolz (Ps. Le, does that headband look familiar? bahaha)

My point is, our floor hated us.

We were constantly hushed and asked nicely to be quiet. And when all else failed, we were told on. When we realized that the RA’s were about to come bust us, we’d quickly finish the shot glass full of five o’clock vodka on Leah’s or my desk, turn the music off, grab our coats and fly out the door.

I mean, we didn’t want to get written up. Again. Or have to pour our alcohol down the bathroom sink. Again.

Even when we weren’t drinking (illegally) in the dorms, we were loud. And probably really, really obnoxious. I’ll leave you with this one memory I have, a memory that really reinforced the fact that everyone on our floor just did not get me, or my friends.

You know how in college dorms there are all kinds of random-ass signs for random-ass shit? Like, sign up for ballroom dancing in one of the rooms by the cafeteria, or do you need a tutor for some really hard singing class you’re taking? Well, I can’t remember why we decided to make a sign but one night we did, and we hung it on the walls all over our hallway, and all of the doors to the bathrooms, and the mirrors, and the door to the stairs.

It was a nice sign. It didn’t ask anyone to donate their first born to some demonic cult or require anyone to spend any money on anything. It was just a nice little sign to remind people to have a good day and to provide a little pick-me-up. Sometimes people just need that. Classes are hard. It’s really hard to walk fifty feet to a building across a nice little field to go sing for a couple hours a day. And it gets cold in Michigan.  And sometimes blowing off class on a Friday to play Ultimate Frisbee in Adam’s Field is just really… hard. So we posted our sign to let people know we cared.

Our sign was not appreciated. When we woke up the next morning, every single sign had been torn down and thrown away.

The people on our floor were dicks. And they hated us.

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Some people do their best thinking in the shower. When I’m in the shower my mind is usually blank, or singing Christina Aguilera songs at the top of my lungs like I’m the winner of American Idol. And in between songs, I could be thinking really excellent thoughts, like MmmMMM! Shampoo smells yummy OMG I need a band-aid why is shaving my legs so hard!? DAMN IT!

When do I do my my best thinking? When I’m driving.

One minute I’ll be blasting *NSYNC and singing along obnoxiously (Laaaance, Joey, Justin, JC, Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis!!!)* and the next I’ll have an idea pop in my head that makes me wonder something.

This very thing happened the other day. Only it wasn’t *NSYNC, it was John Mayer featuring Taylor Swift (OMG love love love!). And it wasn’t so much of a great idea as it was that I realized yet another thing in this world I just don’t understand.

Item # 58,492: The Compass

I don’t get how they work. The only way I know what direction I’m going is by the little green letter on my rear-view mirror. And even that means nothing to me. I forget it’s there because I never, ever use it. N, S, E, and W mean nothing to me. Nor does NE, NW, SE, SW, or any other combination of those letters that is actually possible that I may be forgetting. (I don’t think you can have EW or WE or NS or SN?? Baha!)

One time or another, when I was asked by a boy which direction he needed to be driving, I used my hand to point. It wasn’t really the answer he was looking for.  Communication fail. He was asking a NSEW type of question while I was answering in a(n) (almost) Left or Right type of way. But I was mostly thinking “that way” or “this way” or “over there.”  So, yeah, obviously, it went well.

Exasperation ensued. I explained that NSEW meant nothing to me and it really shouldn’t exist anymore since L and R tend to suffice. He explained that it has something to do with how our brains are wired (men and women, that is. Not he and I, specifically.) Apparently, men are wired to understand NSEW while women …. aren’t?

Perhaps it goes back to evolution and how men left the nest to hunt?

That makes me wonder, though, about those tribes or areas where women are the “breadwinners” and the huntresses for their villages. In those places, women are the ones that go on a quest for food while the men sit home and do jack shit except get fat and talk shit about how the women are never there to take care of them. Even now, women do the grocery shopping. That’s today’s “hunting and gathering” and you don’t need NSEW at the grocery store!

Penguins = Love

AND PENGUINS!  THE LADY PENGUINS LEAVE THEIR LITTLE FRAGILE BABY EGG WITH THE MAN PENGUINS TO GO FIND FOOD WAY THE FUCK OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE IN ANTARCTICA AND THAT PLACE IS FUCKING FREEZING. THEY JUST GO TO FIND THE FOOD AND THE MEN SIT THERE ALL HUDDLED UP TO KEEP WARM WITH THE UNHATCHED BABY PENGUINS AND SING ABOUT THE SAFE RETURN OF THEIR LADY PENGUINS.

(This is clearly very professionally researched.)

My point is, in these cultures (yes, penguins included), do those women understand NSEW or do they go by landmarks? Because that’s what I do. Give me a landmark and I will direct the shit out of it.

Maybe in those cultures, the lady penguins are like, “Oh, giiiiiiirl, I REMEMBER that glacier! It’s this way! We’ll be home and ready to vomit into our freshly hatched baby’s mouth in, like, twenty minutes! Let’s get waddling!”

Maybe I don’t feel bad about not understanding compasses. It’s not like I’m outdoorsy and enjoy going places where there isn’t a starbucks and a sushi place within ten minutes of wherever I am. I probably won’t ever require the use of a compass. It’s not like I’m a pirate. I don’t even like boats! I have terrible motion sickness. No open seas for me.

I’m sure this lack of understanding of direction has nothing to do with the fact I get lost all the fucking time.

*Oh, I’m sure you were wondering why I made a little note for this footnote about *NSYNC. Here’s the deal: if you do not understand why I typed out the guys in *NSYNC’s names like that, click the link. Watch that video. And around 2:10, you will know why I did that. Whenever I listen to that song, I sing their names in that order at that part because it’s fun.  Also, at 1:25, Chris looks like a chimp.

That is all.