The Jane Genie

I have a lovely little group of friends here at UCF. As many a wise owl told me before I moved down here, I would find people who liked the same things I do. These people share the same opinions as me and enjoy the little things, like drawing zombies in our notebooks and playing endless games of pool during our free time. I guess (as people in general) we're all pretty desperate at the beginning of university to make friends so we end up becoming this exaggerated version of ourselves. Like some sort of weird animal attraction display. I admit I blew my crescent like any good Parasaurolophus in the first week and yes, I did speak to people but it was after the first week that I finally settled down and talking to new people actually became just the normal thing to do rather than some sort of omgIhavetomakefriendstalktomehahahahahaaa.

So there we were, my group of sandwich-eating ornithopods, at half ten in the morning some time last week. Probably Thursday. We were in the Stannary (student chill-out area/canteen) when a load of guys rolled in and ordered a round of beer at the bar. At half ten in the morning. Was I wrong in thinking 'blimey, they're a bit early'? I guess if you want to drink from half ten in the morning then you can, who am I to judge. I caught the eye of a Parasaurolophus on my right and went back to my roll. Half ten on Thursday morning might suit you as a pefect time for drinking, especially if you're a heavy set Ankylosaurus like these blokes were.

And then today I was sitting back on a stool in the Stannary before I was joined by two students I know, both in their second year. It wan't half eleven. No exaggeration, every two minutes I was asked to go and get a drink, to buy a drink, to go and get a drink, to have a drink, to go and buy a drink. And I got so sick of it. I like these people, but I almost just walked away. What is so unfathomable about not wanting to drink alcohol in the morning? It was like I was trying to protect my eggs of moral highground from a pain in the arse Dilophosaurus (the one that kills Wayne Knight in the original Jurassic Park).

This is why I'm glad I'm a Parasaurolophus. Because I have a herd and we like each other and all agree on the same things. And there's no real pressure to do stuff we don't want to do. My crescent is finally a nice, healthy colour.

And that's not a euphemism.