CREDIT: Charlie Sheen as Lindsay Lohan’s mentor
This is really the best thing I’ve ever heard. It’s even better than when I was assigned to play the windchimes in my elementary school’s orchestra or when I had to stand in the water at my friend’s Japanese-themed birthday party because I was too tall to fit on the bridge for the photo. “Why, Isabella,” you might inquire, “is this the best thing you’ve ever heard?” Well, because if Charlie Sheen can be a mentor, so can I. I have always wanted to be a mentor. I have so many things to teach. For instance, when you’re taking vitamins and the instructions are in Chinese it’s best to just estimate how many you should take. I usually go with about five pills, sometimes 12, often 18, depending on how sick I feel. And in class when you’re asked a question and don’t know the answer, just respond with Queen Elizabeth II and/or Gandhi, but usually Queen Elizabeth. And if you are assigned to play the gravedigger in your middle school production of Hamlet, remember that there are no small parts, only small actors—then quit because really that’s a dreadful part. So thank you, Charlie, for the inspiration!
D: Going home and not eating at 5 p.m.
Leaving Yale for break is like leaving a senior citizen compound, except we play less bingo and have worse doctors. (And I mean five out of the five times I’ve gone to DUH—excluding the time I thought I had contracted a rare tropical disease, thanks to my complete confidence in Yahoo answers—they’ve misdiagnosed me.) When I’m at Yale, I eat dinner at an obscenely early hour. When I leave Yale, I don’t have jet lag, I have food lag. Recently I was having dinner with my mother. I told her I wanted to eat later; I meant around seven. Because, you see, I have gotten into the rather bad habit of eating at 5:30. But my normal mother assumed I meant 10:00. By the time my risotto arrived I was napping at the table. So while eating anytime past six makes me feel young and wild—kind of like a normal person feels when they take body shots off a Brazilian named Estefan—it’s also rather tiring because when I eat at 10:00 I can’t go to sleep at 10:00, which really throws off my spinster lifestyle.
FAIL: Homework over Spring Break
I don’t think Yale quite understands the definition of a break, so I’m here to elucidate. A break does not mean you can assign me extra reading assignments and extra writing assignments and, since I’m currently enrolled in a math class, god help me, extra problem sets (really I was not actually assigned any extra math homework but as it takes me half a year to emotionally prepare for the humiliation of attempting to do math it always feels like extra) because you think I’ll have free time. I won’t have free time. I’ll be very, very busy removing my green, fluffy, terry-cloth robe from the trash—my mother has the rather annoying habit of throwing it away every time I take it off, which, granted, is not often, even though I have told her multiple times that my green fluffy robe is my soul (if you are wondering what my heart is that would be my pink pig Gilbert)—and eating pomegranate snow cones. So you see, Yale, I don’t have time for your extra assignments. I’ll be much too busy.