#279 – Packing

When you plan to travel to exotic places, foreign lands, or beautiful Oakland, CA, you get all of the details of your trip taken care of ahead of time. Airplane tickets, hotel reservations, weather forecasts–looks like you’re all set. Except you can’t forget the most important part of traveling–packing. You make checklists and jot down reminders, just basically try as hard as you can to not forget anything; but in the end, it makes absolutely no difference. You’ll remember your gloves, but forget your coat. You’ll remember your charger, but forget your phone. You’ll remember… Wait, what was that thing I was supposed to remember? Hang on, I know this one. Hmm… I guess it wasn’t too important. So anyway, you get to the airport, go through security, and hear them say “Take off your shoes and walk through.” You take off your boots and get ready to do your walk of shame with your one pink fuzzy sock and your other brown sock with a hole in it, and just then it hits you: you forgot to leave your AK-47 at home! Happens every time.

#278 – Public Restrooms

Whether you like it or not, public restrooms are a part of life. The stalls that slam shut with a sound that could double as a battle cry, the mini trashcans that are just big enough for half a q-tip to be thrown in, the toilet seat covers that don’t protect against a droplet of water (it’s not a droplet of water) let alone Hepatitis C. These are all parts of the public restroom experience whether you’re at five star restaurant with celebrities like Britney Spears or at a Denny’s with people like… Britney Spears. But the worst is when someone is waiting on you to come out, and you’re stuck dealing with the mess of a situation in Stall #3. You do your best with the cards you’re dealt; you get out, let the next person in, and then immediately hear “Oh my God! What kind of person… What kind of animal… Jesus Christ! Sick!” And like in most situations in life, I turn to Shaggy for advice.

#277 – My Name

What’s in a name? Well, to answer your question, Romeo, everything. Everything is in a name. Your name dictates which path you will take in life, and unfortunately for me, I will forever be held back by the name Lara Havatian. You will never hear a coach call out “Havatian, sub in for Parker!” I will never have a style to call my own like Beethovenian or Shakespearean; Havatianian sounds awkwardly redundant and by looking like a misprint, my last name will be assumed to be Havat. And apart from the macro level, my name has always been a nuisance in the small day-to-day events in my life. Every interaction with baristas and hostesses and the like turns into a qualifying round for a spelling bee I didn’t know I was a part of. “Can I have your name, please?” Lara, l-a-r-a, Lara. “Can you use it in a sentence?” Lara was unaware of how low the standards of coffee shop employees have dropped over the past few years, leading her to wonder what the person behind the counter is actually capable of if unable to spell a four-letter word on her own. “Thanks, Laura. And your last name?” Havatian, h-a-v-a-f-u-c-k-i-t, Havatian.

#275 – Driving

Remember that time in your life when you were actually excited about getting your license so you could do that super cool thing called drive? Yeah, me neither. Once you realize that driving isn’t what those arcade games make it out to be, all the fun of it is out the window.  For one thing, there isn’t the same excitement about getting to a checkpoint in real life as there is in a game; instead of bikini-clad women with checkered flags waving you in, you have police officers with breathalyzers. And as crazy as it may seem, there are actually some pretty strict laws about running over hookers unlike in Grand Theft Auto. What the misery of driving really comes down to is basically a difference of opinion between drivers and law enforcers. What CHP calls  littering, I call getting Wario and Toad off my ass with a banana peel. And what a police officer would call running over a prostitute, I call bonus points. And what a Sheriff calls armed assault, I call practicing for GoldenEye 007. That last one wasn’t a driving reference, but I still think my interpretation is better than that Sheriff’s.

#274 – Yearbook Pictures

Yearbook pictures are just God’s way of saying “I will always have the last laugh.” Try as you might to forget those heathen years, yearbook pictures will be a lasting reminder of your 4 year bout with the disease called awkward as shit. So regardless of how hard you try, you can never forget that bad hair day year you had as a freshman. You will always remember that in sophomore year, you had the only photographer in the world who takes a picture on the count of 2. Junior year will forever be a reminder that you shouldn’t wear a strapless shirt in a picture that will be cropped shoulders up and leave you looking like you decided to take your yearbook picture halfway through streaking through the quad. And then comes the worst of them all: the senior portrait. Personally, I think the term “portrait” is used way too loosely. The only thing you’re portrayed as is someone who’s interested in something going on over towards the left. I see it as symbolically suggesting that you’re too embarrassed to face the camera head-on and that you’re ready to pretend those last 4 years never happened. Sounds about right.

#271 – Music on the radio

Question: who decided it’s okay to be playing mainstream club music on the radio at 8 in the morning? While you still haven’t gotten over your hangover from the  night before, the first song lyrics you hear on the radio are “Bottoms up! Bottoms up! Got a couple bottles, but a couple ain’t enough!” when all you really want (and can handle) is a couple bottles of Sprite and Gatorade. This is followed by “Black and Yellow, Black and Yellow, Black and Yellow, Black and Yellow!” when the only color you see is red brake lights for the next 10 miles ahead of you. But in general, the music they play on the radio has taken a big hit in quality since, well, forever. Sometimes it’s just better to turn the radio off completely and focus on cussing out the idiot who’s driving slower than you and the maniac that’s driving faster than you (GC).

#269 – Relationships

Whether you’re in one, have been in one, or are thinking of getting into one,  you’ll always end a relationship with the same thought: why did I do this to myself? That initial bubbly feeling of a new boyfriend or girlfriend only lasts for so long, and by the end of the overly drawn out course of your relationship, all you’re left with is some extra fat on your stomach from constantly going out to eat and a bunch of embarrassing moments that were funny when you were together but are now just potential blackmail material. Don’t get me wrong: with relationships, when they’re good, they’re really good; it’s just when it comes time to break up that things go sour. So take a page out of Sammie and Ronnie’s book and just break up. And then get back together. And then break up. And then go on a break even though you’re already broken up. And then break up again. And then find some way to get your stuff back.

#267 – Getting asked questions you would never say yes to

No, I do not want a “pretty flower” with my pedicure. No, I do not want to see the dessert menu. No, I would not like to buy a rose for the other girl I am out with. Life is full of unnecessary questions, and the answer to those questions is already written all over my face by the time I hear “Would you like”. But maybe I wouldn’t be so quick to say no if the questions were phrased in a way that shows what they really mean. “Would you like to pay an extra $12 for me to doodle on your toe with a toothpick?” “Would you like to make the transition from blindly stuffing your face to pure gluttony?” “Spare any change?” And yet, my answer still remains a firm no, no, and NO.

#266 – The Sale Section

An awkward zipper, unnecessary buttons, a crusty pattern. The sale section is full of them, but you’ve already braved it to the fitting room so you end up trying them on regardless. “How many items?” Three tops, two of which can double for a parachute and one in a size that wouldn’t fit a fetus. And then it happens: the moment when you realize why it is that the item you picked is on capital S-A-L-E. Most of the time, all you get out of a fitting room session is a fresh deodorant stain on your own clothes and a feeling of dread when you realize that parachute top #2 actually fits you like a glove. But if it’s cheap enough, chances are you’ll end up getting persuaded into buying it. Forget that you haven’t recycled since 1992 or that you think global warming is a total lie; that “Go Green” shirt is kinda sorta almost cute, and it’s only $9.99! Damn it, sale section, you win again. And no returns on sale items? Great.

#265 – 89.999999%

You don’t round up, Professor? You don’t make any exceptions? Not even just this once?

Oh…alright. It’s fine. I understand.

Oh, what’s that you said? You’re dead inside and is taking out her frustrations on a poor, innocent college student because of your lifelong battle with incurable mediocrity and your own failure in becoming more than a local community college instructor lecturing on contemporary moral problems at 8am to kids showing up to class in pajamas, assuming they show up at all?

It’s alright. I’ll gracefully accept my B+.

WHAT? The f*ck do you mean you only give solid letter grades?!