This article was bound to be written sooner or later. With the premiere of the third movie, Eclipse in the Twilight Saga, now seems like an opportune time to focus on the central character of the series, Bella Swan.

She may be clumsy, physically awkward, and above all, socially inept, but she is also the luckiest girl in the world. Imagine moving away from your friends and family to some hick rain town, then capturing the heart of the hottest kid in school who hasn’t paid any attention to anyone else?

In the second movie, Jacob falls in love with her while Edward is away and she just dangles his heart on a thread. In the real world, if she had done that, some trick would’ve called her out and snatched Jacob up. That’s how reality works. If Bella and Edward went to my school, they’d be the two most hated people. Always holding each other, and being isolated and weird. Yeah, I’d hate them.

If Twilight were written about the love triangle between Jacob Black, Meredith Dawson, and Edward Cullen, Meredith would’ve been dead around page 20. I just can’t comprehend how lucky Bella is. She’s had too many run ins with death to make it believable anymore. Seriously though, if it were me, I’m so offensive that some vampire somewhere would just snap my head off in two.

Bella Swan has the life. She lands the heart of the hot vampire AND the hot werewolf. Let’s back up. Bella somehow manages to MEET a hot vampire and hot werewolf. That’s just absurd.

Also, her dad is hot. Her boyfriend is a hot vampire who has claimed love for her until eternity ends. Her best friend is a hot (literally) werewolf who has also claimed his love for her. This all just fell into her lap. For these sexy, female-infused reasons, it’s obvious why Today I Want To Bella Swan.

I am a saferide driver. I am also a Northwestern student. These are NOT mutually exclusive. Please read below to know the rules of saferide, in my humble opinion and based on personal experience.

1. Saferide drivers are not deaf. I can hear every word you’re saying. A Prius is a car that is virtually silent, and we are in close proximity. In summary, YES I know what you’re saying. It may appear that I’m fiddling with my clip board, or playing with the music, but really I’m listening to your entire conversation. Example? One time two people got in my car and started talking shit about *Trudy. I replied and said “Trudy Hosebottom? Yeah, I know her”. They were extremely embarrassed and remained silent the rest of the ride.

2. I am not a cab driver. People forget that saferide drivers are actual students. It’s just plain rude if you don’t greet your driver. A little hello, or ‘hey how’s the night going’ goes a long way. I know that if I like the person in the car, I drive down secret routes to get to their destination faster.

3. If you pregamed, or smoked. I know. It’s pretty funny to drive around drunk people, a personal favorite of mine. But there’s really no point in pretending. Most of the time, I’m drunk when I drive!  (kidddding….)

4. I am not your gondola master on a romantic boat ride through the sights of Venice. My saferide car is not your bedroom. Everytime a couple gets in my car and starts making out and being gross, I contemplate crashing the car and killing all three of us. Keep your hands to yourself. VOMMIES!

5. Finally, just a heads up to all the people who obnoxiously wave and try to hail down saferides. You look like a jackass! People who are driving have rides that they need to get to, sooo stop waving your arms like a sky dancer. Great.

As a final note, I will add that when I don’t have rides, I will drive down Sheridan road asking people if they want rides. Don’t get me wrong, it looks really creepy, but every 5 years I like to do something nice.

And these are, the Rules of the Ride.

Supposedly everyone always has dreams where they are giving a speech naked, or their pants fall off, or something of that nature, but have you ever known anyone that that has actually happened to? Well is the tale of the time I was half-ass naked.

Last week was the infamous Paddy Murphy week, sponsored by Northwestern’s own Sigma Alpha Epsilon gentlemen. It’s basically a week of sororities being crazy and competitive trying to win points. Of course, their hard work and silent hatreds are all in the name of charity…The sorority that wins at the end of the week receives 10% of the total amount raised in the duration of the week. As I like to say, I do it for the kids. Anyways,  the week was comprised of dddodgeball (shameless, yeah yeah yeah…), a carnival in the south quad, a scavenger hunt, penny wars, a Paddy Murphy Widow contest, and at the end of the week a fluffy, friendly powder puff football game. Let’s focus on the football game, shall we? Three/Four sororities were very close to the title of champions, and winner of this Saturday took all. My sorority had made it to playoffs for third place, which was our last chance to score points for the day. Despite the fact that it was flag football, bitches were knocking girls out left it right. It was one pitcher of water on a white shirt away from being a porno. It’s funny because people would be knocking the shit out of each other, and then giggling afterwards. The score was 0-0 towards the end. It was the fourth down, and Tridelt was itching to score. Our quarterback called hike, and the 6 or so of us spread out. I ran straight for the corner, she threw to me and I caught it. As I’m running for the touchdown I jump over the cone, and as I’m doing so, a girl from the other team grabs hold of not only my flag, but MY PANTS. The thinly lined Under Armour shorts (that actually belonged to my roommate) were ripped in half to shreds. As I lay on the ground exposed, all of SAE, and a large majority of the female Greek members got a penthouse view of everything I have to offer a man. Most girls would be crying in humiliation, or running away completely embarrassed, but I proceeded to laugh and just slap my ass. People are on the ground laughing. It was quite a sight, not that I could see because I was laughing so hard I started to cry. Thankfully the touch down counted, which was all that really mattered. Oh, and my SAE coach was kind enough to strip down to his skivvies and give me his shorts. (Thank you, MF). After a few more intense plays, we ended up winning, but that really wasn’t the highlight of the day. I was just happy to cure the existing jungle fever on Deering Field. Needless to say, that was the time I was literally, half-ass naked.

The sexual script for women 60 some years ago implied that women would graduate from high school, settle down with a moderately attractive/successful man, and pop out children like Octomom. Today, women are in the fight for their lives to dominate the world.

I, for one, want nothing to do with that fight, at least not today. Today I want to be a 1950s housewife. Even though June Cleaver lived a miserable life due to her sexual frustrations (let’s face it, Mr. Cleaver was a closet homosexual), I think she had a pretty good set up. Women like Liz Lemon and Tyra Banks promote the image of women being strong, independent, and taking charge, but I’d rather sit at home and clean. As a housewife, my daily duties would include rummaging through my children’s fancies (diaries, underwear drawer, under bed compartments), sitting on the floor (because in the 50s, women didn’t deserve the privilege to sit in a man’s chair) reading tasteful women’s magazines, and organizing the tea rack in my lovely kitchen. To stay social, I would throw dinner parties for my husband and his business associates. I would prepare dinner (subject to my husband’s approval), speak only when spoken too, and clean up after everyone was finished. Then after a little beating, my charming husband would read the daily newspaper in his bed, while I, in my own separate bed, would silently do needle point.

Being a housewife would be a great learning experience. I would learn how to do other people’s laundry for them, how to make a first place county fair apple pie, and above all, how to be a subordinate member of society. My wardrobe would consist of stylish, yet restricting lady slacks, elegant dresses, and blouses with enough buttons to cover any indication that I was a woman.

I think I would truly excel at being someone’s wife, in a house. Our dog would be a little fluffy thing that I secretly hated. As soon as everyone left the house for the day, I’d whip the vacuum out so fast, that dog wouldn’t know what hit him. I’d chase him around the house until he peed in a corner (which later, I would be expected to clean). Multitasking at its finest! The floor has been vacuumed, the dog has gotten its exercise, AND he’s been to the bathroom. Yes, I would be the best housewife ever. For all these reasons and more, I think it’s appropriate that today I want to be a 1950s housewife.

It seems from the look of my life and my writing, I really like Justin Bieber. I’m pretty sure that I’m actually 10 years old, but that’s neither here nor there. This post is the start of a new theme in my blog about things that have happened to me…that I hope never happen to you. This is the time I met Justin Bieber. As a freshman RTVF major, I didn’t really have a lot going on academically. Sure I had homework but meh, it’s RTVF. I spent a lot of my time searching for funny videos on Youtube, and one fateful day I stumbled across itsy bitsy, teenie weenie, Justin Bieber. No one had ever heard of him. He has just another kid with a guitar on the internet. I watched his video of him performing Cry Me A River and instantly fell in love. Yes I was 19 at the time, and yes he was, well, not old enough to ride a roller coaster by himself. Sometimes you just can’t help what your heart wants. I fell in love with him. He was just so damn cute! I wanted to cut his hair off and sprinkle it in my bed, he was just so darned cute. Anyways, I showed the video to my roommate, and she too fell in love with him. We were obsessed. I continued to forward the video to my friends, considering I had to share the love affair. Still, no one had ever heard of him. Fast forward to the summer… I was interning at 103.5 Kiss FM under Ty Bentli in Chicago three days a week after giving tours in the morning. I would hang out in the studio from 4-8, basically fooling around with callers. It was a pretty great internship. Ty’s always in the know of what’s really popular in the media, and I told him about Justin Bieber (one of my many male obsessions). He hadn’t heard of him UNTIL his producer told him that Justin would be coming by the studio to promote his first single One Time. Ty told me and I threw up rainbows and dreams of pedophilic misdemeanors. The other interns I worked with thought I was a kook, but the day he came was the greatest day ever. I came in the office with butterflies taking shits in my stomach. It was great. I waited in the DJ studio for him to come in…

Let’s back track a little bit. The number one man in my life is Robert Pattinson. No questions asked. If you’ve ever seen my facebook, you’d recognize the picture of my on head with Kristen Stewart’s body and Robert Pattinson from a Vanity Fair photo shoot. Everyone in the studio knew of my fascination with R Patz and they let me put that picture up as the desktops to all the computers. Flash Forward… So back in the studio, I’m filming Justin Bieber as he walks into the DJ studio and he sits down at a chair front of the computer and proceeds to stay, ” Whoah, what is this on the screen? This is super creepy”.

It's always best using a default desktop.

I don’t blush very often, but at that moment my face turned BRIGHT red, and everyone in the studio burst out laughing. Justin looks at me, back at the desktop, and then back to me and says, “Is that you?” I quickly denied it, but he replied saying, “No, that’s totally you. That’s really creepy and weird”. For the rest of the afternoon, Biebs wouldn’t stand next to me. When he left, he hugged all the interns (even the dudes) and then waved to me. Awesome.

From that day on, I vowed to someday meet him again and re-introduce myself but not as a creepy tween trapped in a 19 year old’s body. That was the time I met (and humiliated myself in front of) Justin Bieber, teen sensation.

For those of you who know me or have ever facebook stalked me, you’re well aware of my love for the Twilight series. Yes, I am ten years old. Vampires have really become a pop culture obsession. Vampire tv shows, vampire movies, vampire porn- it’s everywhere. There are a lot of different variations and myths about vampires, but from what I’ve discovered during my very thorough research, today I want to be a vampire.

Glittering skin, everlasting beauty, incredible speed and strength, where do I sign up!? Being a vampire would be the coolest thing IN the world. Considering I am nocturnal, and wouldn’t have one of those daylight rings (Vampire Diaries reference), the vampire lifestyle is perfect for me. Sleep all day in my coffin, and at night, just rage. You know, dancing at the keg, pulling people into the bathroom, draining them of blood, and going back on the dance floor. That’s a night to remember.

I could make people do my bidding for me while they are under mind control via my red, color contact-less eyes. If I was ever mad at anybody, I would just destroy their eternal soul and turn them into a vampire.
As a member of the undead, I would throw sick monster parties. Oh you know, just playing some BP with my zombie homies. I haven’t even thought about how quickly they heal! I walk in a zig zag, and frequently injure myself, but with awesome vamp healing powers, I could just go jump off a cliff, or stab myself just for the hell of it. Vampire strength and speed would really have come in handy circa 8th grade. In gym, we had to do these fitness tests and as that lazy weiner in the corner, I never did that well. With vampspeed, I would just DOMINATE the pacer and be the coolest kid in school. I also never made it to the top of the rope that we had to climb and felt like a loser, but not now. With vamp skills, I just frolic up the rope and ring that damn bell.

After reading this, I think you have to agree that being a vampire would be fantastic. Sure you have to live forever, watch your loved ones die before you, have terrible-life threatening cravings for human blood, and be a weapon of mass destruction, but it’s totally worth it for cool fangs. For these obviously rad and groovy reasons, it’s clear why today I want to be a vampire.

When you think of lazy, what comes to your mind? Morbidly obese people? Homer Simpson? Minorities? I personally think of the elderly, or as we young people say, the OLD. I find myself getting lazier and lazier, and today has reached its limit. I want to be an old person. Essentially, old people don’t have to do anything for themselves. Diapers allow them to recline in their recliners and not worry about getting up to take a dump-at which point they call on their concerned (guilty) relatives to wipe their behinds for them. Old people don’t have to walk anywhere. The semi-lazy use canes, but everyone else is riding dirty in wheelchairs. Old people say “Oh my hip! Ma joints! Ma knees”, but in reality, they’re perfectly fine and smug honking their little wheelchairs horns at the young and unwrinkly. The best thing about being old and lazy is that thing you attach to stairs that you can sit in. I live on the 4th floor of my house and it is a bitch climbing those stairs. If I had one of those little chair-stair things, I would be set for life. On top of it all, old people don’t have any responsibilty. They can just sit, fartin’ around and wait for social security to pay them for sitting and fartin’ around. I do that all day long, but no one pays me. Old people are lazy. You always hear the saying “respect your elders”, but in real life, I should be respected, because I can remember where I put my glasses. Also, I have to brush my teeth everyday to keep them in mint condition. The old just have to pop them out and put them in a cup of seltzer water.

The elderly have it real easy. They can poop their pants, sit down all day, pop their teeth in and out. For these reasons of laziness and more, it’s obvious why today…

It's all just a joke on us.

I wan’t to be the elderly.

It comes around one a day, every single year. It is a notification everyone receives on Facebook.

It’s…a birthday.

And it’s the most important birthday ever- it’s mine! Today I want to be the coveted birthday girl. It’s my birthday which means everyone has to be SUPER nice to me, smile at me all the time. If you’re really my friend you will ask me at 11 PM the night before if I’m excited for “the big day.” I will answer you excitedly saying “OMG! Yes, I am!” Then at midnight all my friends will call me and wish me a happy birthday. I will say thank you, and hang up on them to answer all the other phone calls. That day, if you don’t wish me a happy birthday, I’m going to bitch about you behind your back. ALSO, I will send out an annoying Facebook message (even to people I don’t go to school with!) about doing something for my birthday.

Because I am the birthday girl today, I’m going to tell all my close friends to come out to a birthday dinner. Of course, I pick the restaurant. It’s not your birthday, so I don’t care what you think. If you can’t come to my dinner, you’re a bad friend, even if it’s to do homework. And even though I’ve organized this dinner, and dragged you out of your room, you will all pay for my dinner because, well, I’m the birthday girl and that’s what you do for a girl’s birthday.

If I’m the birthday girl, then a lot of people will ask me if I feel any older. That’s a dumb fucking question. I sincerely doubt I will feel any different than the previous day, with the exception that I may feel fat because of all the food I ate at my birthday dinner, which you probably paid for. For these reasons and more, it’ makes perfect sense that today I want to be the birthday girl!

No, not the underwear you perv!! If you have ever walked past Urban Outfitters, gotten off at the Belmont stop on the EL, or went to college you’ve seen those hipster type kids. Urban dictionary defines them as ” a subculture of men and women typically in their 20′s and 30′s that value independent thinking, counter-culture, progressive politics, an appreciation of art and indie-rock, creativity, intelligence, and witty banter.” In layman’s terms, people who think they’re cooler than you. I wanna be one of those today!

Super cool hipsters wear cool thick glasses, baggy hats, sexy plaid (not to be confused with hobo-plaid or working class/proletariat plaid), size too small jeans, and cool shoes like Converse. Also there is a combo of face piercings and tattoos, or just multiples of either. Hipsters just walk the earth like they have so much to do. Like if I were a hipster I would wake up and think “Jeez, I have so much photography to do today. I also have to chain smoke. But I can’t do those things before I poke the lenses out of my thick framed glasses”. Hipsters all hang out together in cool hipster places like Kaffein. They’re too cool to spell check, but they’re also too cool to care. If I were a hipster today, I’d probably make out with my emo boyfriend, and go shopping at Urban Outfitters and we’d buy the same size pair of jeans. They would be skinny and interfere with our genitals. Then I’d wear a hat. Then I’d squiggle some cool doodles on my white Converse. Then I’d read a book in a park and judge fat kids. Hipsters are just cool. You can’t question it, deny it, or successfully imitate it. Hipsters live in their own cool world, and that makes them A-OKAY in my book. And that’s why today I want to be a Hipster.

Having personally met the tiny tot this summer while working at Kiss FM, I gotta say he’s pretty fucking rad. He’s a genuinely nice person, he’s adorable, and whether you’re a fan or not, you gotta admit that although he may not have pubic hair, he does have talent. Now he has the world on his shoulders and teens, tweens, and everyone in between loves him. His main criticism is that he looks like a child and sounds like a girl. Well, think of the transformation that will occur in two years. If I were the 18 year old version of J Biebs, it would be the Olsen-Revolution all over again, but for females, which is significantly creepier and louder. I would just bang everything in sight, roll blunts with Timberlake and Usher, and then go to sleep in my revolving circular bed next to Russian supermodels.

I’d also want to be this immaculate child star to prove that crazy teeth-destroying drugs, eating disorders, and obvious (L)insanity are not the answer. I would definitely take a musical break to “focus on my acting career”, and then produce crappy movies, and then I would probably get engaged to a stripper. 18 Year old Justin Bieber will, if he doesn’t fuck it up, have everything any little Canadian could ever dream of, which is why Today I want to be the 18 year old future version of J Biebs.