Opinion

If someone told me that I couldn’t defeat the Jabberwocky to save some opium-induced fantasy world, I wouldn’t believe it. That’s because I survived Catholic school. After that, taking out a Jabberwocky would surely be a cakewalk. I probably did miss out on the typical high school experience by opting to go to school with 700 chicks and flurries of Hail Marys, but Catholic school – like most things in life – had its moments. I shall never forget being told off for showing cleavage because the top button on my Oxford shirt wasn’t buttoned.

This week’s column is dedicated to all the males that roam this Earth, especially you Aggies. So enjoy, boys!

College living situations are never perfect. For example, I thought the dorms would be the greatest thing to ever happen to me. My meals were cooked by NOT me, I’d be on campus and I’d meet lots of cool people to do lots of cool things with.

They used to call me Bug Girl. In elementary school, I ran around at recess catching ladybugs in sandwich-baggies and poking grasshoppers with sticks. I used to go out in the backyard and catch bees in old pickle jars. Heck, I even had pet African millipedes – the black, coiled creatures that tickle as they crawl up your arm.

Reforming the current law banning texting and talking without a hands-free device while driving is a necessary measure in reducing the number of accidents on the road. The bill will increase fines and extend the law to include the same offense while riding bicycles.

It’s 90 degrees outside (a cool evening, according to locals), pitch black and I’m sweating like an excited, yet confused dog. I’m ambling along with my family in tow in Ahvaz, Iran, which is in the Khuzestan province. I’m 15 years old, just young enough to dodge the mandatory draft. There was hot desert dirt as far as the eye could see and it was eerily silent. We planned on taking a short stroll to visit our cousin who lived down the road.

Holy shit.

The wave of March 4 student protests have come and gone, and what a spectacle they were. I joined a group of protestors at one point to see what the commotion was all about; I really just wanted to hear what they had to say.

“I think my boyfriend might be cheating on me,” said the voice.

There are two types of earwax in this world: dry and flaky, and wet and sticky.

It’s a typical late night. I’m sitting with my laptop and chatting with a friend on AIM. The conversation is going smoothly, as indicated by the coherent sentences and replies every couple of seconds or so. Although I’m working on a paper, I make the time to glance at the online chat between each sentence I type. That’s when I see “the word.” Actually, it isn’t even a real word – it’s an acronym. Three letters: LOL. Dangit. Why that acronym? When I first started chatting online (just last year – I was a late bloomer), I barely even knew “LOL” stood for “laughing out loud.” In my mind, the letters “LOL” still don’t really translate to “laughing out loud.” To me, they really mean “I have nothing to contribute to this conversation anymore.” It’s the perfect way to end a conversation, especially when you have no idea how to respond.

Everybody has that one little quirk (or six). One of my friends is convinced that high roofs will crash down and fall on her – and, therefore, is weirdly claustrophobic in food courts at malls. Another is completely freaked out by feet.