Instead of Actually Completing My Grad School Applications . . .

List of Things That Are Going To Be a Tough Sell To Strangers When I Move to A Strange City for Grad School (which I currently obsess over):

-Yes, that's my real sneeze. No, really.

-Yes, I love Star Trek. And Stargate. And Battlestar Galactica. And The X-Files. And Buffy. You like video games? Dude, you're such a dweeb.

-Yes, I'm wearing this American flag kerchief. Unironically.

-No, I don't see a problem with having "Tearing Up My Heart" by *NSync and "Institutionalized" by Suicidal Tendencies on the same mixed CD.

-Yeah, I said mixed CD. As in still not on board with the mp3 shindig.

-And by not on board I mean deeply terrified of electronics and other storage/computing systems whose brains I can't see.

-Yes, I went on a thorough grocery shopping trip and returned with 3 tubs of Greek yogurt and 64 cans of Diet Coke. No, I don't see the problem with that.

-I swear I'm going to stop talking about my past achievements once I get more comfortable and no longer think I need to persuade you to like me. Should happen any month now.

-Yes, that's my real cough. Yes, I've heard the Zoolander "black lung" joke before. No, sadly, while that's enough incentive for me to want to change my cough, I'm afraid I'm not the one in charge here.

-Yes, I'm politically conservative. It's because I hate poor people. And bunnies. And myself, cause I'm a woman. Gross.

-No, you can't have any of my barbeque chips. Step off.

-I am currently working on a plot to destroy Oprah.

-Yes, I'm always going to think I'm smarter than you. I'm well aware of how unattractive this is. Nothing has helped so far.

-No, you may not  talk to me while the Olympics is on.

-I find talk about settling down and buying the dream house to be alienating from women and a turnoff from men.

-If you get all 'sharey' and dump your completely legitimate and complicated emotions on me I'm going to smile sympathetically, pat you gingerly on the elbow, and run for the hills.

-Yes, I really do like Bill Pullman that much.

-I totally use the fact that I can make my eyes imitate Bambi in immediate danger of being decapitated by evil smoke monsters to my advantage.

-Yes, I'm that nostalgic about entire sections of the past that I didn't live through and don't necessarily agree with.

-Yes, I'm typically this hostile and dismissive of all women in my program until you prove yourself. And by prove yourself I mean cold-fusion level prove yourself. As in, you better be an art history genius who has also literally discovered cold fusion, because otherwise I'll remain unimpressed.

-Yes, again, that's my real sneeze. Yes, I have noticed that I sneeze after every meal. No, you are not living with or associating with a cartoon character. Don't believe all the hype.

-Yes, I really do watch Reality Bites this often.

-Yes, I'm secretly a prude. You just have to dig real deep to get to it. No, that in of itself was not a dirty invitation.

-I bawled through the entire last ten minutes of Voyage of the Dawn Treader. I will hit you very, very hard if you make fun of me about this.

-Oh yeah, but the way, I hit people. Pretty frequently. And keep on thinking it's a term of endearment, despite the vehement protest of peers.

-If you ask me to go fishing I'll wonder what plot is afoot to destroy me.

-Yes, that's a bottle of spf 105 sunscreen. Apply liberally.

-All those jokes about how paranoid I am--yeah, they're not actually jokes. That humor there is what we call a Coping Mechanism.

-Yes, I understand that my punkish influenced clothing and my abject fear/respect/obeisance to authority figures is a wee bit of a contradiction.

-Yes, I'm a complete fraud. Anything funny I say was stolen from a movie, TV show, or a funnier friends' facebook status.

-Yes, that's my idea of fashion. I'm so sorry.

-I've had an ongoing sneaking suspicion since I was eleven that I am actually not smart/liked at all, and that I'm living in an elaborate Truman Show-esque world where my parents bribe actors to carry on the delusion. No, your jokes about how you're still waiting for their check in the mail are not funny.

-Yes, that was my attempt to flirt. No, there's nothing I can do about the toe-twisty-head-tilty thing. Any efforts to control it can only be sustained for about a five minute conversation, in which I won't say anything coherent, because my attention will be so fixed on the toes and the head angles.

-No, our budding friendship will not recover if you  negatively go off about Peter Pan, Mary Poppins, or Disneyland.

-I'm only .05% joking about my animosity towards whales.

-Yes, I love Katy Perry. Why would that surprise you?

-I genuinely have the hots for David Bowie. In Labyrinth specifically, but also in general. I listen to "As the World Falls Down" alone and pretend he's trying to seduce me by hiding from me in a magical bubble.

-Yes, I'm that avid of a supporter of Turkey, our oft-maligned friend.

-No, I never actually recover from missteps in common repartee. If I once misidentified a piece of art and was corrected in the conversation, I will carry that shame to the grave.

-Yes, I really do take myself this seriously. Don't let the self-deprecating laughter fool you. The fact that I can explain most of my likes and dislikes with a four-point analysis reveals the lie of the laugh.

-I understand that my chances of being a rock star, buddies with Velvet Underground, present at a Toy Dolls concert, an agent of an intelligence agency, or a protege of Joey Ramone are dwindling by the millisecond, if they aren't already impossible. That is a handful of many, many reasons why I will truly be less than satisfied with my life.