Tuesday, October 21, 2014

99 Problems, and Socks are One

So I was listening to Jay-Z's "99 Problems" and I was all, you know what, Jay-Z, we have a lot in common. Besides the differences in background, attire, and musical interests, we're basically the same person. I mean, I too have at least 99 problems, and a "bitch" is also not included in that list. In fact, bitches are so far from my problem list, I should make a sequel to the song called "care to have some tea, bitches, you've been lovely and haven't caused a single issue for me."

I smell a top-chart single.

Anyway.

That song got me thinking, well, if Jay-Z and I have the same not-problems, what exactly are our 99 problems?

And thus, my 99 problems list was born:

1) I cannot for the life of me find any matching socks. I'm pretty sure my dryer eats them as a bedtime snack or something. Or it could be that ever since the beginning of time, I've gone to bed with two socks on and emerged from bed with only one. I'm sure there's a pile of socks collecting dust in my sheets right now.

2) My last name is apparently incomprehensible. Hyphenations freak people the fuck out. Am I married? Divorced? A creature from Mars? The world will never know.

3) This.
4) I have so many pints of Ben & Jerry's in my freezer, I end up getting overwhelmed and having no idea what to choose. Is it a Coffee Coffee Buzz Buzz kind of night, or should I just pile all the flavors on my head and drown my sorrows in a giant lump of caramel, peppermint, and calories?
5) Similarly, I have such an addiction to Bath & Body Works fragrance, that it's starting to not be able to fit on my dresser. I know smelling great is good and all, but at some point I start to smell like a weird mix of forest and chocolate and my skin doesn't even know what to think.
6) There will never be enough coffee in the world.
7) Justin Timberlake took my sexy, and he refuses to bring it back.
8) Ke$ha took all my glitter.
9) I'm twenty-one years old and I still desperately want to be covered in glitter.
10) I'm torn between loving sorostitute lipstick and not wanting to look like a sorostitute.
11) Every single shirt I wear is considered slutty, even tee-shirts with cartoons on them.
12) I love food...
13) And I want to be thin while still consuming is much food as I possibly can (see #4).
14) I get legitimately angry at people for not sharing my love of the em dash.
15) And for semicolons.
16) But when people start throwing colons in their essays, they better watch out.
17) My life is so littered with first world problems, I'm already running out of problems by #17.
18) I despise times new roman font, but I'm so trained to abide by MLA format, that I despise any other font.
19) Every time I go onto Youtube, I convince myself I will only watch one video and then do my homework.
20) I'm such a liar.
21) I'm still on a search for my alcohol not to taste like alcohol.
22) I despise it when people use parentheses, then I go on my blog and realize every post is littered with the very punctuation that I hate.
23) I hate my laugh, so when I try not to laugh, I end up thinking about dead puppies, which ends up making me laugh so hard that I snort.
24) I scold myself every day for laughing at the thought of dead puppies.
25) My feet are morally opposed to shoes.
26) I am a person who wants to experience nature without, y'know, actually experiencing nature.
27) I seem like an idiot who can't use scissors #lefthandedprobs
28) When I go on movie dates, I say things at the like "it's an educational experience in the inner workings of a strip club."
29) So then I don't get many dates.
30) I hate cooking (see #12).
31) I'm morally opposed to pens (see #27).
32) I'm quite possibly the only person in my twenties who still laughs at inappropriate poop jokes and "that's what she said" jokes.
33) I still get weirded out by saying I'm a person in my twenties.
34) I'm still waiting for my letter from Hogwarts.
35) Today I told my roommate that I wish I was Voldemort because he doesn't have to deal with things like runny noses.
36) Whenever I speak French to people, I end up spitting on them.
37) Whenever I speak French to people, I end up getting that "are you even speaking words?" look.
38) I wish being a writer involved not so much writing, but sitting around and thinking important thoughts and dictating words at people.
39) I tell people I'm an English major, and I instantly get a look of pity.
40) Or the whole "oh, so you want to be a teacher then?"
41) So apparently I'm turning into my parents.
42) It's more and more common for celebrities to be younger than me.
43) I think I just spotted a wrinkle on my face.
44) Oh shit.
45) I hate laundry so much, that I will actually buy new underwear, just so I don't have to do laundry.
46) Speaking of laundry...
47) Who has time to separate their whites and darks anymore? Not me, that's who.
48) My conversations with other humans are 20% my own original thought and 80% Eddie Izzard skits.
49) Every time someone has a birthday, I do Eddie Izzard's "cake or death" bit, and people think I've literally gone insane.
50) I'm in college, so I've literally gone insane.
51) I'm constantly in the struggle between being a hippie and hating Kumbucha, kale, and tea.
52) I tell people I meditate, but really I just sit there and think about not thinking.
53) I hate making plans with people, not because I hate people, but because I then force myself to show up to our designated hangout two hours early, and then I sit there and freak out about how late they'll be.
54) Online shopping is a thing.
55) My savings account is not a thing.
56) My entire paycheck goes to my workplace #peoplewholovecheese
57) My body forces me to dance in public places whenever there's music.
58) For some unknown reason, my friends pretend they don't know me in public places.
59) I'm OCD about not being too OCD.
60) I want to rule the world someday...
61) ...But I hate telling people what to do.
62) My entire train of thought during a yoga class is "if you keep me in this position for two more seconds, we'll have a problem."
63) I deny being a "typical girl"...
64) But I love Rom-Coms.
65) And pink.
66) And flowers.
67) I'm torn between thinking this love for rom-coms and pink and flowers is the patriarchy at work, or I'm just a walking cliché.
68) I have and always will be confused and intrigued by the invention of a spork.
69) I still laugh hysterically at this number.
70) I refuse to admit that Stars Hallow and Lorelai and Rory Gilmore are not real.
71) I have such an awful memory, that I write things that I've heard from a TV show/book/friend and think that I'm such a creative genius who came up with everything on my own.
72) I'm an English major who hates reading Shakespeare.
73) I have a desperate need to name everything I own "Alphonso."
74) The last time I named something Alphonso, I crashed it into cars and became $1000 in debt.
75) I spend so much time with my best friend, that we end up saying the exact same things at the exact same time.
76) People then assume me and said friend are the same person, and are utterly shocked when they don't see us together.
77) If I consciously think about breathing, I forget how to breathe.
78) I have kept a journal since 6th grade, so it will forever be documented that I said things like "cheetahlicious" and "gurrrrrrl power" (non-ironically, might I add).
79) I love the feeling after a Jillian Michaels workout, but I'm so terrified of her, that I feel like she's gonna leap out of my TV screen and tackle me.
80) I quite possibly consider my pillow pet a legitimate friend.
81) #foreveralone.
82) I'm a French minor, but every day I forget how to say certain numbers, letters, days of the week, etc. I mean, the literal translation in French for "ninety" is "four twenties and ten." What even is that?!??
83) I despise people who make lists on the internet.
84) I read far too many Thought Catalog articles to stay away from lists on the internet.
85) I want to look like a badass while still letting people know I'm not actually a badass.
86) Which is fine for me, since my body rejects anything badass (alcohol, hair dye, tattoos).
87) I once had a baby tooth that refused to grow up.
88) So now I have a $2000 fake tooth and I'm not even thirty yet.
89) I both want children and hate children, simply because their fingers are ALWAYS STICKY.
90) I'm at this weird place where people my age are getting married and I'm just like "I'm sixteen, what of it, pass the crayons please."
91) People tell me I should have grown out of my incessant need for dessert by now.
92) If I haven't had two desserts a day, something feels incomplete.
93) I am both inspired by Jess from New Girl, and horrified that I basically am her.
94) I'm still confused by what's fun about college parties.
95) Maybe it's because I'm a junior and I've never been to a college party.
96) I am forever cursed by being an introvert and extrovert at the same time.
97) Even if I realize I'm too old for glitter and stop wearing it, it still follows me wherever I go.
98) I can't hug people because I always get foundation on their shirts.
99) I am both ashamed and proud that I have become that person who makes Buzzfeed-esque lists on the internet.


Namaste.







Sunday, October 5, 2014

Cringe-Worthy Moments: The Profile Pic Edition

So as I've been suffering through this dreaded illness cold that's been going around Penn State, I've had some time to indulge in the ultimate millennial generation activity, and stalk myself on Facebook. For the most part, I discovered that my teenage self really enjoyed telling others when I couldn't think of a good status (what?) and how bored I was all the time, but once I got to the profile pictures, I couldn't just help but show the world what I doofus I truly was. The funny thing is that I thought I was sooooo cool posting selfies of my shaved eyebrows (my fifteen year old self didn't know how to use tweezers, apparently), duck face and all. Why, old Kira, whyyy did you ever think duck face was a good idea?

But I digress. Here, folks, are the best of my humiliating reminders that I had no shred of dignity as a teenager, as well as no shred of eyebrow hair:

Selfie, part one of a million: So this picture doesn't seem TOO awful at first glance, except for the fact that I look slightly drugged. My hair hasn't exploded yet, and I've almost succeeded in hiding my bra strap. The sad thing, however, is that selfies hadn't been invented yet. I was so narcissistic, that I was all "hey, what's a good way to spend my time? Oh, I know! Taking a million pictures of my face!"

I'm just thankful that Snapchat wasn't a thing yet.


Hey guys, look, I'm a writer! Can't you tell by this envelope with illegible writing on it? The envelope, in case you were wondering, was full a poorly written Monk/Psych script that I was sure would turn me into the world's youngest/most famous script writer in all the land. This is also a sad reminder that my body has decided to cease aging since I was fifteen.










 This is not my cat. This is not a cat that I know. I think I just google searched "cats," and was all "hey, that's a cute cat, and for some reason, it totally represents my face!" I mean, this cat and I had the same adolescent "you're stupid" look down, but seriously. Never met this cat.










Okay. What? First of all, it looks like the devil has infected my soul here. Either that, or I just got out of the mental hospital and was all "haha, joke's on you, I'm still crazy!" And now we've reached the sad eyebrow stage. Apparently after taking a million and five selfies, the second best way to spend my time was to pluck my eyebrows off.

Let's not even talk about the thing on my head. Is that paper? Why is it a hat? Why? Did the devil in my eyes make me do it?
There are so many questions I have for my sixteen year old self. This is the kind of picture you see of yourself on Facebook and immediately untag yourself in. I took it to the next level and made it my profile picture.

I'm sooo artsy. Look, I'm even looking morosely in another direction to show that I'm thinking of important, artistic things.

This picture was taken, like, yesterday. I don't wanna talk about it.












This is when I first discovered the joys of technology. I so desperately wanted a twin, that I decided to make my own--my own twin with bad hair and all. Honestly, I think I was just trying to procrastinate doing homework (some things never change), but didn't I know that the correct way to do that was by looking at cat gifs on Buzzfeed?






Can you guess whose feet these are? I'll give you a hint: they're not mine. Like, if you saw that this was someone's profile picture, you would come to the (sane) conclusion that this person practiced ballet, and was good enough to dance en pointe. Nope, not me. The last time I practiced ballet was in like 1999, before crineg-worthy profile pictures could even happen (thank goodness). Maybe I just wanted the world to think I was successful while I wrote bad scripts and looked at Google images of cats.









OH MY GOD MY HAIR IS EXPLODING.

Seriously, teenage self, flat iron. Invest in one, so you don't scare children and birds stop flying in your head.









I'm almost at a loss for words for this picture. This is when I was convinced I was going to be a supermodel, and every great model's story begins by getting her jeans horrifically dirty on a pile of wood. I think I was trying to look sexy or something, but I'm probably just thinking "this is so annoying, my knees are shoved into a log." The saddest part is that I asked for these photo shoots.

Spoiler alert: I never turned into a world famous script writer, or a world famous model. Who's surprised?



This photo makes me cringe for two reasons: 1) I remember having to spend $300 to get my hair from gothic black to the same blond it used to be, and 2) I was trying so hard to convince myself that I was such a mountain woman, and so in tune with nature, but I believe at this moment, I was bemoaning the severe lack of all things glittery. And chocolatey. And my calves hurt, because I just hiked up a mountain, and until that point, my exercise routine had consisted of walking five steps to purchase a milkshake.







I'm almost certain these aren't the last of my embarrassing photos, but I'll let my parents cover those. At least I've stopped trying to be cool and have just accepted the fact that, eyebrows or not, my photos will always reflect my inner doofus.

Namaste.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Parentheses are my Arch Nemeses and other English Major Problems

So, like a true English major, I have strong feelings about grammar. And when I say strong feelings, I don't mean that there's one type of punctuation that I'm comfortable with, that's vanilla enough not to shock anyone, and that I could use for a typical essay. I mean I rant to anyone and everyone about how sexy the semicolon is, how em dashes will make the world a better place, and that people who get overly colon-happy better watch out.

But while I have fond memories of my first correct semicolon, and how proud my father was by my em dash-filled essays, not every grammatical run-in is quite so pleasant. Ever since the beginning of my copy editing class, I have gotten angrier and angrier at elementary grammar. It's gotten to the point where if I'm reading something mediocre, I have to stop and take a moment to breathe, or books will start flying and I'll be screaming bloody murder.

There are a few points of grammar that I have particular qualms with, the first being parentheses. I am a strong believer that in a college essay IN TEXT CITATIONS ARE THE ONLY PLACES I SHOULD SEE PARENTHESES. Parentheses that don't serve this purpose make me sick--they're lazy. Why not just walk around with a sign on your forehead that reads "hey, btw, I forgot to add this piece of information, so I'm just gonna stick it in here, among some other unsuspecting words"?? The worst part about parentheses is that when used in this horrifyingly elementary manner, they usually contain information that no one cares about. For instance, if I see "I was talking with Tina (who is my best friend), and she told me that the meeting was on Tuesday," is my life better for knowing that Tina was your best friend? Ignoring the fact that there are so many ways to edit this sentence for length, let's look at the context of this parenthetical statement. Would the meeting be on Wednesday if Tina was not your best friend? Would you not talk to anyone about meetings? No? Okay good, get rid of the parentheses and nobody gets hurt.


The only thing that could infuriate me more than parentheses is passive voice. Passive voice is akin to riding on a roller coaster until you throw up, rather than just riding it once and having a nice time with your friend Tina. The only reason to use this infuriating style is if you're trying to avoid blame. And really, rather than trying to say "the cookies were eaten," why don't you get off your word processor and tell your dad you messed up and ate the cookies, and everything will be fine.

I understand that to the untrained eye, passive voice seems sophisticated and fancy, and that all the job offers will leap out at you if you say "the work was accomplished by utilizing the knowledge that was given to me," but really it just makes you seem like a pretentious asshat who doesn't know about this lovely little word called "I."

Speaking of pretentious asshats who utilize things, I cannot stand the word "utilize." While my other English major friend and I have gotten into plenty of debates about this, I still stand by my belief that you can use just about anything that you utilize. The word utilize is like that obnoxious kid in class that yells out all the answers and smells like parental pressure. In 99.999999% of all cases in which I see this dastardly word, I don't think "smart person." I think "lalalala I know how to use a thesaurus, go me!"

Oh well. If someone flashes a series of em dashes at me, I'll forget everything and become the cheerful English major again. Or something.

Namaste.



Tuesday, August 19, 2014

I'm Old, and Other Earth Shattering Discoveries

So, since the moment I turned 21, something has happened to me pretty instantly. I've sort of forgotten that I can drink--I end up staring at a bottle of wine like "what is this bitter grownup stuff?", and thus begins the search to find alcohol that doesn't taste like alcohol. But what I haven't forgotten is that my body has gone from having the energy levels of a ten year old on candy to an eighty year old woman.

You want a for instance, you ask? Oh, I have plenty.

For nearly a year I've teased my boyfriend for being tired all the time. It'll be midnight, and he's all "hey, look, it's tomorrow already; I think we should go to bed." And my twenty year old self thought the day was young, that one doesn't even think about bedtime until 3AM, that sleep is for the weak.

But now. Just the other night I was at a friend's house for a sleepover (which apparently grownups call crashing at someone's house? What is this nonsense?), and I got so sleepy, that I had to go to bed two hours before the rest of my friends even thought about sleep. I was well on my way to dream land when my friend crawled into bed--the only upside to this, however, is that I've matured into a very peaceful sleeper and not once did I try to cuddle my friend, or kick her, or steal the blanket.

So not only am I finding it perfectly acceptable to go to bed at 10:00, AND take naps throughout the day, but during my waking hours, I'm getting increasingly horrified by the vernacular of youth. My friend informed me that "alc" is apparently a thing in text speak, as in short for the DASTARDLY LONG WORD "ALCOHOL." I'm sorry, but kids these days don't have the time to type "alcohol"???? Alc? Alc???? That sounds like a cutesey little nickname for that kid you always picked on in grade school. Are kids these days so busy with their eyebrow waxing, hair-straightening routines that they don't have time to write out a 3 syllable word? If you have an iPhone, by the time you type out "alc," your phone will probably get the gist of it and autocorrect the rest for you.

The worst part, however, is that my face is deciding to turn into a silver unicorn, sprouting grey hairs every two seconds. It would be far too normal for my body to give me a grey hair in the mix of all my blonde, though; instead, I get the gift of grey eyebrows. Yes. Every time I pluck my eyebrows, I see a giant strand of silver in between my tweezers, going "heyyy, look at me! Your death is inevitable, la la la!"

And then I stand in front of the mirror and cry for two hours.

So, 21 years old and it's already downhill from here. The things you learn from drinking.

Namaste.

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Finding Your Voice: How Writing Mirrors Life

So today, in light of celebrating different writing voices, I'm gonna stray from the funny blogs I've written lately, and discuss something a little more serious. When I started Coffee, Yoga and Life's Other Necessities, my intention was to share my journey through ashrams, college, and whatever comes next (let's ignore the fact that I still have nooo idea what to do after college, and how much that freaks me out). I guess, in a perfect world, it would have been a "spiritual journey" where I yoga my way to enlightenment. Just looking back on my first post, it's amazing how much more serious I intended this blog to be:

Two cups of coffee later, and I'm still ready to fall over. Even Godiva raspberry chocolate flavor can't get me to "spring forward" like the rest of the universe and beyond. It's funny how malleable time can be; we, as humans can just decide that because the sun does its little dance of being more visible throughout the day, we should alter the clock. It still doesn't make sense. Then again, such is life.
I guess it's something I should get used to. In less than three weeks, my body's gonna have to warm up to getting up at 4:30 and mediate (sans sleep) for the next hour and a half. Meditation can go one of two ways for me: 1) starting as a lovely image of the ocean and turning into freakish drams where old friends steal lemon drops, or 2) starting as a lovely image of the ocean, and turning into "saltwater tastes funny...water...oh shit, did I remember to do the laundry? I gotta charge my phone. Hey, it just buzzed! It's not dead yet...I should really check my phone." Is it just this generation that gets the unforsaken itch to check their phone while meditating? It's kind of a dilemma, to achieve peace of mind when three different pieces of technology are yelling at you to pay attention to your social life.

So that's imponderment #1. I'm not sure if that's a word, but it sounds nice and blog like, so there you go. I'll try to update this thing regularly, but regularly may turn into "whenever I have both free time and inspiration," which may happen only when both cups of coffee decide to kick in. 


Somewhere between returning home from the ashram, and my second year of college, I realized that I got more positive feedback whenever I wrote funny blogs. While I naturally lean towards more introspective writing, I toyed with silly gifs, the ever-popular "list posts," and puns...an embarrassingly high number of puns. While I enjoyed writing these silly posts, there was always that itching thought that I wanted my blog to reflect my life--and I wasn't always in a silly mood. Yet I had convinced myself that "funny" was all my readers wanted, and that sharing my introspection was too self-indulgent, too personal.

In every creative class I've attended, the teacher has emphasized "finding your voice." Similar to finding yourself, I had assumed that meant I had to search for one voice, and stick with it. To me, a writing voice was akin to a tattoo: either it was permanent, or it wasn't legit. So, because I started seriously writing in high school, I vowed my voice to be sarcastic, witty, and to include made-up words such as "sugly" (skinny and ugly--why, teenage Kira, why??). And while I LOVE writing that sort of dialogue, writing something that's supposed to be personal and sarcastic at the same time is like eating chocolate made out of rocks.

But, *shrug* the all important VOICE was set in stone, so what could I do?

Like, everything I didn't do. But we'll get to that later.

What I didn't realize at the time was how much my writing dilemma mirrored my "self" crisis. Throughout high school, I struggled with being the shy, quiet girl, who was also crazy at the same time. I didn't think that I could be totally genuine with such opposing qualities--thus, I was driven crazy by this search for a true self that I already was. Because--gasp!--I had yet to realize that a person can have different moods, different layers, and that it's totally acceptable to act differently around certain sets of people.

(Also, I'd like to apologize to anyone from high school, because my teenage brain decided to settle on the crazy, won't-ever-shut-up self as my "true self." Hmmm).

So today, I read a post from Youtuber Carrie Hope Fletcher's blog, All I Know Now . The post was so serious, so introspective, and so good, that it inspired me to just get my plain ol' unedited thoughts out into the internet-verse. But what I know now, is that doesn't mean I have to make any drastic changes to this blog, or to myself. Because my silly side vs. my thoughtful side isn't more genuine than the other. And sure, some posts will be more appealing to people than others. But forcing funny (or seriousness) out of me isn't doing anybody any favors.

I guess this is just a long-winded way of saying be yourself--hopefully in a less cheesy way--and that the self isn't this stagnant personality you just find one day.

Namaste.

How to College, the Kira Version

So it may strike some of you as utterly shocking, but my college experience has been about as normal as a micropig wearing a tiny raincoat and booties (props if you get the reference). I go to bed at midnight at the latest, and a wild game of "never have I ever" involves shots of water. Because my friends have all taken this abnormal college-ing route, it seems perfectly natural to me. However, to the outside observer, staying in and coloring on a Friday night is an odd practice, and requires farther explanation.

So, without farther ado, I present to you, how to college, the Kira version!

1) Instead of drowning your sorrows/stress in a can of beer, use Ben & Jerrys ice cream as a substitute. Take small bites of a pint at hourly intervals, so it feels like you're not consuming any calories. Then freak out when you gain 15 pounds, and claim "but I never ate anything bad for me!" (Because you're still under the impression that if you eat it secretly, it's not food).

2) To pretend that you have no social life by choice, get three weeks ahead in all your classes, and make all your classmates hate you, because you have officially become "that person."

3) Then when you FINALLY have no more homework to do for the rest of forever, have a wild night of coloring with your friends.
My poor attempt at the deathly hallows, and some 3D boxes
4) Make a drinking game with your friends (water only, because YOLO) where you read your journal and take a shot every time you mention your obsession's crush's name, every time you feel bad about yourself, every time you have multiple entries in the same day, every time you make up a word (like ridonculous), every time you say "gahhhhh I like him," and by this time you're all "wasted" on the floor.

All I can say is sixteen year old me was feeling a little...not myself.

5) Spend more time arguing about Star Wars with your boyfriend than you spend doing your hair.

6) You take like, two hours taming the beast doing your hair. You do the math.
You sure I can't wear this in public?


7) Have a Cards Against Humanity tournament, in which more than half the cards involve Justin Timberlake.

8) Make sure this tournament is with your mother, because you legitimately hang out with your family like friends.

9) Go out of your way to avoid get-togethers far away from your apartment, because you're well over sixteen years old, and driving is STILL the scariest thing you can possibly think of. 

10) Become so terrified that you won't get an A on a paper, write three different versions, show them to your friends, and make them decide which one is the best.

This is not a drill. I am really the neurotic.

11) Drag your tired ass to yoga when you can get the energy once a week, and pretend it's because you want balance in your life, you can't live without a solid half hour of meditation, and look at you, you're so mature with that whole mind/body union...but secretly you're trying to find someway to burn off that Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and you detest running oh so very much.
So how much chocolate can I eat after this?


12) Drink so much coffee, every inch of your body starts shaking, and the baristas at every Starbucks in town know you by name.


And finally, wear so much glitter, you look like a disco ball. That is essential.

Namaste.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Get Ready With Me, Voldemort Edition

Hey, guys! Voldemort here. I know you've immersed yourselves in mudblood makeup tutorials and the like, but really, the key to success is intimidation, and you're not scaring anyone with your cream blush and excessively pricey eyeshadow. Sorry to burst your bubble, but you just can't buy power at a store.

Some people think I'm naturally evil. That's totally flattering and everything, but it takes practice and hours of preparation to look like I'm about to throw some killing curses at you. And it's not that I want to give away ALL my secrets, but my Death Eaters are looking a little on the pansy side, and if I'm gonna get some new followers, you all need some tips.
You think I just wake up like this??


The first thing I do is roll out of bed at 5:00A.M. I usually have to set three alarms, since I'm desperate to finish my dreams about killing Harry Potter and meeting Justin Timberlake. I mean, a Dark Lord has got to prepared when he meets his favorite pop idol. I make my bed, make my to-do list on my cave wall (paper is sooo expensive these days), and text a death eater or two to tell them they really screwed up this time. Malfoy's got to work on his texting skills; the next time he says "lol kk Voldy," he's got it coming.

Next I prepare Nagini's breakfast. She's lost taste for human flesh, so now I have to deep fry human brain and sauté onions. It's a bit of a pain to rip the brains out of my victims, but Nagini has part of my soul, so I suppose I have to spoil the damn thing. Plus this gives me time to practice my death threats, and while Nagini eats breakfast, I stitch up my cape. It's gotten several battle tears, but capes these days are so pricey, and I don't get paid to be pure evil--sometimes, you've just got to scrounge for that dark lord wardrobe.

Next is my makeup routine. I'd shower (Bellatrix just got me cherry blossom body wash as a birthday gift!), but generally smelling of flowers is a distraction from my horrible disposition, so I strive to have as much stench as possible. The hardest part about my routine is covering up my nose. I'm really quite insecure about the Riddle nose, and it makes me seem more horrifyingly non-human, if I just pretend I don't have any insecurities, or sense of smell. Usually the best trick is to staple my nose to my cheek, then use a little bit of CoverGirl concealer to even out my skin tone. It's easy, breezy, and terrifying. I use a little eyebrow pencil to draw on the nose slits, throw on my cape, and head to my room.

This whole catching Potter thing has filled up my days, so I normally have to cut my pep talks short. But I'm sure to stand in the mirror for at least five minutes, and chant my mantra of "kill the chosen one," "you look hot, Voldy!" and sometimes "be off the charts, kill everyone at Hogwarts."

A little rhyming never hurt anyone.

I try to head out the door by 9A.M. No one expects an early morning attack from evil, and I try to keep everyone on their toes. Nighttime risings from Dark Lords are so last year.

And remember, if you can't beat 'em, beat 'em anyway and prove your haters wrong.