Real World Limbo?

Springtime on a college campus equates to three things: booze, boozing outside, boozing early.

So what does this mean for us twenty-something year olds who have recently joined the real world? We have jobs that we can't just decide we don't want to show up for, because we'd rather drink on the beach…and our weekends no longer begin at 4:00 on Thursday afternoons.

BUT, we still like to have a good time, and let's be honest our brains don't yet have the full mentality of an established real-worldian, so where does that leave us??

As the weather begins to get warmer, we're only going to want to booze harder and booze earlier. Only now we could be looked at as having a "problem" or being immature.

I mean come on. I turned 21 less than two years ago! I may be participating in "real people" activities during the work week, but as far as I'm concerned, when 5:00 rolls by on a Friday afternoon, I'm still in college.

Being in your twenties is kind of like being in real world limbo. You're still young enough to go out and make bad decisions and start drinking at 12:00 on a Saturday afternoon…but not yet old enough to casually drink red wine at dinner parties or base your nights on whether or not you can get a babysitter for the evening.

In the meantime, all I know is that today is the first day of spring, I'm 22, and I want an ice cold beer. And until the day arrives when I'm "supposed" to be mature 24-7, I will be busting out weird dance moves at bars with people I don't know, turning Wii sports into a drinking game on a Sunday Funday morning, prank calling people, and spending the end of my weekends curled in a ball on my couch.

Once Monday comes around, I'm back to being my mature working girl self, but the college H.Bop is always waiting patiently inside of me until Friday when she can be unleashed once again.

- H.Bop

Funnest Game Ever

When Swanenenena and I aren't hard at work on the job, we have some riviting conversations. Just last week in the midst of our own stupidity and seemingly witty banter, we came across what just might be the most fun game in the world.

It all began with potty language and food/restaurant names - two things you probably would never piece together, or want to piece together for that matter. However, we don't question our thought process, so we would strongly advice you not to as well.

Let me throw out some examples for you so you can wipe that "What the fuck is she talking about?" look off your face...

1. Dickin nuggets ....TRANSLATION: Chicken nuggets
2. Titty tots ....TRANSLATION: Tater tots
2. Hard Cock Cafe ....TRANSLATION: Hard Rock Cafe

Or if you wanna get a little crazy and take it to the next level, you could do a lil something like this...

"I'm starving! I was gonna go to New World Diareah (New World Tortilla) for a flat wrap, but since it's out of business I'll have to go down the street to Pizza Slut (Pizza Hut) or go back to my room to make some dickin noodle soup (chicken noodle soup)."

This game may be for the immature minds only, but we highly recommend it to those who approve of potty language and good times.

- H.Bop

Reasons Why Taking the Train Blows (Volume 6)

The Peasants Revolt

Today I woke up to discover that we would be graced with warmer weather. In fact, it was 29 degrees when my lil' head lifted from the pillow. My first thought: "Wow, I might actually not freeze my ass off on the train this morning".

The train is usually unbearably cold. The heat is blowing, but due to some infrastructure malfunction, is sucked directly outside (thus, I have concluded that the MBTA is solely responsible for global warming). The train this morning was lovely. I was all snuggled up, eating the Munchkin I reluctantly took from the box The Talker had brought to share, when out of no where, the revolt began.

The menopausal crazy broad who always bitches about having to pay income tax in Massachusetts and property tax in New Hampshire (hint: move, lady) firmly stated that she was hot. Then The Talker followed suit, expressing how uncomfortable the heat feels when it is 29 degrees outside. Next was the guy who looks like a baby eagle. Soon, in the spirit of Paul Revere, all of the idiots were in a full out mutinous rebellion against the conductor, demanding the heat be turned off.

I managed to peer over the top of my seat while staying out of sight of the crazies. It was like I was watching that slo-mo scene in Hook where the Lost Boys hurl paint at each other, only these loonies were hurling insults and pumping there wedding band-less fists in the air with the enthusiasm of a man who bet his own dick on a horse race.

The conductor had no choice but to end the chaotic rebellion by not only turning off the heat, but turning on the air conditioning (the obvious choice for a 29 degree day).

Instantaneously, the retards settled down as their internal temperatures plummeted at the rate of the Dow. The normal people on the train slowly emerged from hiding and looked carefully around at each other, making eye contact and exchanging "what-the-fuck-was-that" glances. Then we sat in an unprecedented frozen silence, pondering how soon an inevitable revolt of this intensity and unconformity would happen on Wall Street, and how unbelievably fucked we will all be when it occurs.

March 6, from now on, will be known as The Idiot Revolution Day.

-Swanenenena

Cool it with the Smooches

Last night on the Green Line, I was the unfortunate witness of the most disturbing PDA ever recorded by mankind. Two kids, who were no doubt fed a constant diet of indie rock and self-loathing, embraced in a full-out, boobs-to-chest, passionate but gentle bear hug. Their skinny arms wrapped around each other, their hands resting atop each other's backpacks. Then, as if playing a game of H.O.R.S.E., each one would kiss the others face (not lips, not cheeks) in a slow, moist kiss. Then the other would reciprocate. It was a constant onslaught of wet, lippy awkwardness with lingering spit strings for good measure.

I was stunned at how this girl was able to withstand the public scrutiny with no fear of physical consequences. There is no way this morning this chick's face isn't as chapped as my ass was last month when I forgot to wear undies with jeans that didn't even technically fit me in high school. The pain was real, but at least it was private.

Every single person on the train was staring at these two - including someone's grandpa who was sitting in the only seat directly facing them. He occasionally attempted to divert his eyes, but mostly he just gazed with his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

This probably falls under the same category as breast feeding. I get it - its natural and one shouldn't have to be ashamed of having a miniature human suckling a swollen boob (or in yesterday's case, chin, forehead, nose, etc.). But let's be honest. Lot's of things are natural - like shitting and hairy armpits - but the world is a better place when people deny their existence. And truthfully, there are a lot of unnatural things that improve the world and aren't fucking disgusting - things like vaccinations, hair dye, sunglasses and condoms. I'd defiantly rather see someone free of polio, grey hair and retina damage carrying a big ol' sack of condoms around than watch two 19-year-olds suck on each others faces like wet, newborn kittens attaching their mouths to Mama in search of sustenance.

Seriously, what makes these two think any innocent T-rider wants to see this? I guess this whole fuck-you-its-a-free-country-conforming-is-for-Republics shtick is admirable, but a healthy amount of anxiety over social retribution never killed anyone either. (In fact, it might have saved Gramps who inevitably had a heart attack after escaping at Park Street.)

So, to you romantics out their who, for better or worse, could careless about what other people think:

If you reserve the right to be completely disgusting while using public transit, I reserve the right to throw up on you. It is a free country. Rock on.

-Swanenenena

Everybody Poops?

I'm pretty sure this is "poop in the bathroom whenever H.Bop walks in" week in my office. Granted it's only Tuesday, but it seems like every time I step foot into the community bathroom I'm hearing sounds I definitely don't want to be hearing and smelling things I definitely don't want to be smelling.

It's OK if you want to stop reading here. I wasn't going to write about this topic (as much as I love potty language….seriously, though), but after walking into the third incidence this afternoon I felt obliged.

I'm literally have a shitty week at work.

Yesterday, I was in the stall next to my boss and when she remained planted on the pot after peeing, I immediately knew what was coming. I proceeded to b-line it out of there before we could have an awkward "I know you were just pooping in the stall next me but I'm going to pretend like I have no idea and make friendly conversation" encounter at the sink.

This morning, I exited my stall to hear echoed noises coming from the handicap stall that can only mean one thing. Once again, I quickly bombed out of there before having to hear the oh-so-horrid plop. Yes, I said it.

This afternoon, right before lunch, it happened again! I swear I must look like the type of person that people feel comfortable pooping around. Like "oh it's just H.Bop, she won't mind…"

YES, I do mind! I'm one of the most awkward people you will ever meet. I can barely pee in front of my friends, so I most certainly cannot be in the same bathroom where my co-workers are working on their other business matters.

Sharing a restroom with other people is unpleasant enough as it is, but having to share it with someone who's dropping their kids off at the local watering hole definitely warrants a request for an office pooping bathroom.

God knows no one in their right mind would use it, as it would be filthy and stinky, AND when you come out everyone would know that you just did number two….

Either way, everybody poops….I get it. But I am very (very, very, very, very) much so done with being in the presence of it.

- H.Bop

Sup, escalator... and '97?

My weekday mornings are all pretty much the same. I wake up, hit the snooze, hit the shower, hit the make up, hit the train, hit the T. Today, in an unwelcome change of routine, I also hit the escalator. Hard.

My Timbs failed to live up to their badassness. With a single misstep, I was launched forward, catching myself by the sheer grace of God against the moving handrail. I was stuck at such an extreme angle, that my shins actually hit the edge of the stair I was standing on, exposing the bottoms of my feet to the millions of people around me, my body nearly parallel to the steps.

I used every obscure muscle in my back to hoist myself back onto my feet -- no easy task considering the railing moves, totally negating any progress I made. I regained control of my body just before I was to be swallowed by the metal lid that mothers incessantly warn their children about for a reason I will never be sure of.

Surprisingly, the most mortifying aspect of the whole ordeal was not the enevitable and demeaning "Are you O.K.?" If you recall an escalator, the stairs are covered with tight metal groves. In the winter, these grooves become covered with salt. When stupid girls fall on them, they decorate black pants with salty white stripes. I have been walkign around all day like the guy from the 90's Mentos ad when he accidentally sits on a bench with wet paint.

The grooves also adorned me with a lovely bruise that looks like a hybrid between a Wolverine from X-Men attack and an Adidas tattoo. Sup 1993?

To sum up, falling down an escalator not only hurts, but it decorates you with a plethora of 90's pop culture that should have never made it out of 1996.

-Swanenenena

Note, I am not actually this Ugly..

Yesterday, my dear friend H.Bop was bored at work, and decided that to boost her spirits, she would try to find ugly pictures of me of Facebook. Little did she know that this is perhaps the most boring thing one could ever attempt to do -- like trying to find a yuppie at Starbucks. She located a particularly ugly one, to which I said I resembled the long neck from The Land Before Time.

So, because I am such a great friend, I did not get angry with her for finding joy in my unfortunate appearance. Instead, I felt badly that she picked a daunting task disguised as fun. I aided in her good time by creating this image, illustrating the extreme likeness to myself after a few drinks and a day of skiing and a long neck.


-Swanenenena