Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be in an anime.  I could choose to be some mech pilot, or have powers to fight crime and do random shit to people, or even be surrounded by tons of girls who would fight over me.  You know, all the things that could never happen in real life (especially number 3).  But then I remembered what age groups all of the people who take these roles are:  teenagers.

Being twenty means I no longer have the suffix -teen at the end of my age.  As I've always said, you can fix just about any problem by throwing enough acne ridden, sexually frustrated, and mentally unprepared teenagers at it.  But what good does a twenty-year old do, experienced with adult responsibility, not to mention the ability to make decisions rationally with one's brain rather than the libido.  Logic is the enemy of success, especially in settings where the person who can yell the loudest is often the winner. Besides, who has to be around to pay taxes to fix all the shit that these kids go and destroy.  Freaking brats on my lawn.

Even outside of anime, I can no longer have my own slice of life introduction, where I get to stand in front of the class and write my name on the board, then spout something stupid that everyone will remember.

You better keep good on this one.

There are no self introductions in college, only the mutual awkwardness shared by a large group of strangers, hoping that you won't get paired up with that "one guy" for the group project.  You're lucky if you meet one person in your classes.  I will never be able to be known as "the transfer student."  At the very best, I could be "that white guy..." 

Well, it's that time of the year again, and Christmas has come and gone.  I bet you enjoyed getting some nice pairs of socks from aunt Bertha, right?  Probably. But what about the rest of the holidays?  Did you enjoy those too?  Nope, cause Christmas sucks.

Now don't start lookin' at me saying, "Ah, look at this humbug."  You know Christmas is the worst time of the year.  Don't get me wrong, I love getting presents and stuff.  You probably thought I was just some spoiled kid or something. Well,that's not the point of Christmas is it, you fat money slave?  Christmas is about food, family, and joy to the world.  That's what I hate.

Let's roll back about three weeks (or three posts, if you actually still read this blog.) Winter holiday number one, Thanksgiving.  Take the overwhelming feeling of being stuffed to the brim with dry turkey and mashed potatoes, then copy and paste that to December.  There's Christmas dinner, as well as dinner for the next week or two, depending on how many people stay at your place to mooch for their entire vacations.  What is the point of such a huge meal twice a year?  Oh ya, America (do I really have to go any further?).  Does anybody actually like turkey?  Or is it just that we are so stuck on the idea that we need to kill a bunch of ugly birds and feast upon their tasteless flesh because that's what our ancestors did? 

Something about that unnaturally colored dangly thing makes me want to eat it.

I don't know, but I'm sure none of them had access to a deep fryer, which is the only way that would make a whole turkey taste good.  You can make anything delicious with plenty of fat.

While trying to keep your lardy eyelids open while under the effects of all that tryptophan, you're then forced to open presents.  Free stuff, cool, cool.  But Santa didn't magically make this and shit it out under your tree (sorry kids).  Someone had to wade through crowds of people, punching multiple solar-plexi trying to get you this gift.  This is proof of their love for you.  If they got you something like socks or a sweater, you are nothing to them. 

Don't even mention the fact that you have to go to church.  Luckily, Christmas fell on a Sunday this year, so we only had to go once, if at all.  So what if it's Christ's birthday.  The only place people go to on my birthday is the Red Robin.  If anything we should be going to a manger or barn or something to celebrate.  We don't go back over to Spain and enslave the natives there on Columbus's birthday, do we?

At least the decade old Christmas songs that have been playing on every radio station for the past three weeks have stopped.  Now we can look forward to the stores putting out all the Easter candy within the week!

College is all about finding yourself.  Finding out how much money you can spend on random crap you don't need before running out of money.  Finding out how much you can drink before having a night stuck face-in-toilet.  Finding out how many girls you can sleep with before you catch something.  But most of all, how much sleep you actually need.  Or at least how much one can survive on while still being able to respond when the teacher calls on you.

Sleep: 1 Osaka: 0

After one of my finals, specifically for my dreaded 8 am class, my teacher took me outside and said something along the lines of how I'd slept through most of her class.  Whatever, I wasn't really listening, I just wanted to go back to my bed.  She asked if I had work during the night time which would have kept me up, which is sort of true, depending on what you call "work."  Dealing with roommates who won't shut up is, in fact, hard work. 

Most of the time I went to bed around 12, and although I'm not any good at math, is less than a full night's sleep if you plan to be productive the next day.  But we've already seen how productive I can be, haven't we? 

There's nights, such as ones after the midnight release of Call of Duty Modern Warfare 3, where you don't really want to sleep.  At that point there is balance that needs to be maintained.  The balance between how much you can get accomplished that night versus the amount of caffeine it will take to last you until you can come home and crash after your classes are over with.  Then there is always the worry you will become nocturnal permanently, which doesn't bode well for any social life one would have during the daylight hours.

I said I'd update at least once a week.  Well, we've seen well I've kept up with that.  But it doesn't matter, because finals are all over and I have nothing to do for three weeks.  And since I've drunken a Monster, I feel up for something funny.

While my energy levels are high, with heart beating like a racehorse's while just sitting here, there is little ambition to do anything.  Let me tel you something about ambition, kids.  Don't be like me, writing a small time blog while trying to balance life-changing decisions like "should I buy the regular or lo-carb Monster." Go out, get a job, get married, and live a full life.

Ha, what am I saying.  I got $100 dollars for my Slacktory gig, there is no way this lifestyle can go wrong.  Besides things like:

Forgetting how to be funny.
Being forever alone.
Having a heart-attack after ingesting too many energy drinks.

Barring any horrible occurrences that would leave me mentally crippled, out of money, without a usable computer and internet connection, or otherwise dead, I'll be fine.

Coming this week, the return of Humbold Hijinks, finals edition.