I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

Those of you who have spoken to me consistently over the past 4 months or so should know that I don’t get out much. Ever since second semester rolled around and I realized that non-science classes are for remedial students (like, seriously, dumb) and I remembered that my grades don’t matter anymore, I have taken to my bed. It is unusual to find be awake before noon, Mondays do not fit into my schedule, and I would RATHER spend my Thursday and Saturday nights doing Sporcle geography quizzes and watching CSI reruns. While this may seem like a dream come true to some of you, and don’t get me wrong, it has been, for the most part, quite pleasant, let us not neglect to realize the ramifications this sedentary lifestyle has had on my body, mind, and soul.
If you hug excessive TV watching with excessive sleeping, you get fat. That bastard child of laziness. There might actually be a real reason why those are called the seven DEADLY sins. My boobs need their own zip code, my clothes are tight in all the wrong places, and mint chocolate chip ice cream has stained all of my sheets. I have not been to the gym in months; in fact, I have done nothing more than walk back and forth from class all semester, and now even that makes me break a sweat. Attractive, I know.
While, after reading the aforementioned information, you might think that I have hit an all-time low, that I could not sink any lower than eating ice cream in my bed while watching The Tudors (even Jonathan Rhys Myers can’t make me put it down), but I have done it. I have outdone myself. All of my time spent indoors, away from anyone other than my roommate and the occasional tête-à-tête with the maintenance man, has made me completely, utterly, wholly, socially inept.
You might be asking yourself: how does one actually forget how to converse with others? How it is possible for someone to forget how to act in public? Well, let me tell you, dear readers, it is very much possible. Let me give you an example. A couple of weeks ago, a few friends and I got together to have a few beers and play some pool at a friend’s house. Sounds fun and social right? Well, my guy friend brought along some fresh meat that night. He had recently become friends with this gorgeous Armenian prince who was totally rocking this Raphael Nadal slash John Mayer look, complete with the leather jacket and the “I definitely did not get this look on purpose” tussled hair. Yum. Needless to say, I was creaming over him. I tried my hardest to catch his eye and give him the “look”. You know, the one that says I am a respectable, nice Jewish girl who is completely sexually available and will do everything in my power to rock your world, if you want. I am not sure if he was picking up on it, but when he finally came over to talk to me, I almost had to go home to change my underwear. He strolled up to me, with his guitar slung across his back, tossed his hair, and asked if I wanted a shot. Stunned and wildly turned on, I looked at him, batted my eyelashes, and said “meh meh um eeeehh weellll nooooo thanks”. Oh. My. God. Was that even English?
Another story. Just the other day, I was “studying” for finals at Hillel, when the cutest boy in the entire school (or, at least, I think), walked in. I have been trying to get his attention for months, but he is super shy and overly dedicated to his work, so it has been impossible to get him to notice me. Well, that, and I don’t leave my room very much. Either way, he walked into Hillel, and I immediately perked up to see if he would say hi. So, I was lying down on one of the couches in the lounge, on the phone, and he finally caught my eye. As he was about to turn into the bathroom, he waved. He waved! And, what do I do, of course? I waved back…with my foot. My foot. Seriously? Who does that?
I do, apparently. Evidently, I use my feet to communicate with people and I don’t speak English. What has happened to me? I’ll tell you what it is—boredom. I have been so bored at school, so cooped up in my apartment, so engrossed in television, that I have forgotten how to be a social person. I have forgotten how to talk to boys. I have forgotten how to flirt. I have lost my mojo. Fuck.
I know why the caged bird sings. Because she is fucking bored, that's why.