Fast and Furious: Montana

   Happy Holidays!

   For the past week or so, I have done a lot of nothing. Luckily, that’s exactly what I wanted to do so I feel pretty accomplished.

   As I’ve been chillaxing, I’ve also been doing a lot of reminiscing since I’m back in my home town, surrounded by all my homies. (On a side note, I find it amusing that Word recognizes “chillaxing” as a word, but not “homies”).

   One particular memory that popped into my vegetable-state brain was the time I decided to re-enact Tokyo Drift in my maroon 1994 Mitsubishi Expo. AKA: Shooter. 

Shooter

   It was the summer before my sophomore year in high school and I was a regular veteran when it came to navigating our Montana back roads. I’d been sporting my license in my Claire’s wallet for over a year and I was just gaining some new privileges, one of which was being able to tote around more than one passenger during the daytime. My friend and I decided we’d take a big step and ask my parents if I could chauffer the two of us to Lake Como, the local “beach”, which was about a 45 minute drive. They said yes under one condition: I had to bring my younger sister and her friend as well.

   I didn’t care because I happen to like my sibling so my friend and I quickly donned our Old Navy bikinis and packed a snack bag. I felt so adult-like.

   For the past few months, ever since I watched The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, I’d taken a liking to “drifting” my eggplant-esque soccer mom car around the 45 degree turns on one of the dirt roads en route to my little home in the boonies. I was getting pretty good at it, if I say so myself, and felt bad ass while doing it.

   I had the great idea to take my carload down that particular road on the way to the lake to show off my superlative driving skills as a sixteen year old white girl. In an attempt to show them I wasn’t even the least bit worried that my trick would fail, I even sped things up a little during the approach. We were going about twenty-five when I switched from gas pedal to brake pedal, whipping the steering wheel to the left and shouting “hold on to yer shorts!” as the back end of the car skidded sideways at a miraculous pace. It was at about mid-swing, I’d say, when I realized there was much more motion and speed occurring than during my usual drift attempts. During that realization was when the rear end of my mom wagon went too far right and slid right off the road into a ditch and barbed wire fence. Dust was surrounding us like gritty, brown smoke and Maroon 5 was shouting at us from my ghetto-rigged iPod-to-stereo device.

   No one said a word. Not my friend who, upon glancing over, I saw death-gripping the sides of her seat and not blinking. Not my sister in the back who looked like she just saw something dead. Not her friend who’s left eye was twitching as she stared ahead. Nothing.

   As the dust settled, I recommended we all evacuate the vehicle. I opened the driver’s side door and noticed I’d have to step down about an extra foot in order to reach the road. I also noticed that once any sort of movement from the passengers occurred, my car responded by wobbling back and forth as if on a teeter-totter. I let the two younger girls get out first, my friend and I leaning to the side to balance things as they climbed out of the door behind me. I exited next followed by my friend who looked as though she didn’t want to be my friend for much longer. Upon examining the situation, we realized two things. 1) my car was definitely not going to be moved simply by pushing the gas pedal considering only two tires were on solid ground and 2) I was going to be grounded.

   Our first idea was to somehow maneuver my car back onto the front two tires by pushing against and on the rear bumper. That didn’t work so instead we had one person stand inside the driver side door and another person push on the back to try to balance as well as push. Surprisingly, that also didn’t go as well as we had hoped.

Actual Photo

   After a good fifteen minutes or so of trying every trick we could think of, we decided to make the dreaded phone call to my parents. I had my sister call because I was already afraid of the reaction. During the callI’m pretty sure I could hear my dad yelling through the phone as I stood at least five feet away.

   They showed up not too long after the call for assistance was made. I’m pretty sure my dad didn’t even say a word to me as he tied on some towing straps in order to pull me out with his truck. At around this same time, a cowboy came along in a much larger and stronger looking pickup and offered a helping hand. I was mortified.

   I kept myself busy and out of the way by standing on the other side of the dirt road, smooshing red ants with my bejeweled flip flops. My friend and I attempted to be lighthearted but we both knew there was a storm coming in my direction.

   About a half hour later, my eggplant was safely on all-fours and my dad’s attention turned to me. My heart sunk and sweat was emitting from odd places on my body as my dad made his way over to my side of the road. Instead of a raging lecture, I received an “I’m disappointed” speech and a not-so-happy facial expression. After reasoning with my mom, the parenting decision was that I was still allowed to go to town with my friend and other passengers but to enjoy it because it would be a while until I’d get to drive again. My license, my driving privileges, and my freedom would be suspended for the next couple weeks.

   I tried to enjoy my remaining freedom as much as I could that evening but had trouble ignoring my oncoming penalty. Despite donning my new denim mini skirt and statement tank-top, I just wasn’t having a great time.

   Surprisingly, my friend still remained my friend after the incident. My sister remained my sister and her friend remained her friend. If anything, it brought us together because we could laugh about it after my grounding term was completed.

   The basis of this tale is that I blame Hollywood for creating such an influential movie concerning driving tricks. If I had never seen that movie, I never would have attempted to drift my eggplant on Montana back roads. Ok not really, but it makes me feel a little more innocent. 

Home for the Holidays

   Well I made it through semester #5! Only 5 more to go! Half-way point! Ugh, that’s so depressing. How is it that I have more school? Shouldn’t I be done by now? I guess I’m starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel now. Semesters are going by faster than ever and it’s kind of scary. Sometimes I day dream about the “real world” and how different life will be when I don’t have five classes worth of homework and exams to study for. I’m sure the entrance into that new life will be bittersweet – I may be done with attending school but then I’ll have to work every day for eternity. What’s better? I guess I’ll find out in a couple years.

   Spending my last week in my little apartment consisted of studying for hours on end. I’d wake up, make a pot of coffee, grab my enormous fleece blanket my sister made me, turn on the fireplace because our house was 56 degrees, and begin the eight hour stint of sitting on my butt. I’m really thankful to have such a cozy and quiet home to utilize for studying purposes because my brain requires zero distractions if something needs to be accomplished. My upstairs neighbor (we live in a 4-plex) usually works 8-5 during the week but for some reason was home most of the day on the Friday before and Monday after my study-weekend-from-hell. She doesn’t mean to but she sometimes sounds like a 250 pound goat when she walks through her house. She keeps her heels on and I could literally trace her movement through her apartment because of the clomp-clomping of her shoes. That was distracting.

   Finals went well and I was so happy to run away from the Business building knowing I don’t have to step foot in there for about a month. I basically lived in that building. I probably should have just set up a cot on the fourth floor to make it easier on myself since every single one of my classes would’ve been within twenty steps. But no; instead I trekked back and forth to campus every morning and afternoon, taking an hour out of my day just to walk. I guess that’s a good thing – got my exercise!

   Now that I’m home I never want to leave. So far I’ve slept in until 11:00 most mornings, had delicious and nutritious breakfasts because my dad is a breakfast kind of guy, been able to watch more than enough brain cell-killing TV shows (Jersey Shore marathon?! Heck yeah!), and bake a lot of yummy treats. It’s been fantastic. Do I really have to go back??

Here are two reasons why home is where my heart is:

< Shadow & Abbie >

Presenting: Places My Hair Gets Stuck

   I have really, really long hair.

   I love my long hair. I get a lot of compliments on it because it’s naturally straight and strawberry blonde. It works as a nice scarf in the winter to keep my neck warm and a horse-like tail in the summer to whip flies away. Ok, I don’t actually do either of those things but it gives you a visual of just how long my hair is.

   Now that I have really talked it up, I will present the challenges of having hair of such a length.

Presenting: Places My Hair Gets Stuck

Exhibit A – Underneath my backpack strap.

Occurs: Daily. Sometimes multiple times a day.

Why this happens:  I usually fling my backpack over a shoulder and only realize my hair is trapped beneath the strap when I go to turn my head quickly in the opposite direction. Very painful and irritating

Results: Has caused me to throw my backpack on the ground as well as make animal-like angry noises.

Exhibit B – In my gum.

Occurs: At least once a week.

Why this happens: I must either chew gum with only my front teeth, allowing it to be easily accessed on the off chance that a piece of hair flies anywhere near my mouth, or I unknowingly mistake my hair for gum despite its dissimilar texture.

Results: Gum is ruined. Hair is sticky. Angry animal noises are made. People stare.

Exhibit C – In my armpit.

Occurs: Every time I wear a tank-top.

Why this happens: I sweat, ok? Don’t you? So my hair sticks to my sweat when I work out then migrates to my armpits and get stuck. That just presented a pretty gross visual. But seriously, it happens. And it’s painful.

Results: Sweaty hair. Weird sensation in my armpit since I don’t usually sport much hair in that general area. Weird looks at the gym. Pain.

Exhibit D – In my seatbelt thingy.

Occurs: Every single time I get out of my car.

Why this happens: My hair and my seatbelt have some strange attraction to each other. Due to this, when the seatbelt gets sucked back into its hidy-hole when I go to get out of my car, my hair likes to go along with it. I don’t realize this until I am completely out of my car but my head is still somehow attached to the vehicle. Severe pain occurs.

Results: Loss of precious hair. Angry stomping. Watery eyes if enough hair is stuck. Stares.

And finally, Exhibit E – In my boyfriend’s “beard”.

Occurs: Whenever I see him.

Why this happens: Facial hair is basically like a giant comb. You do the math.

Results: No pain, just…awkward. He usually freaks out because it tickles his face and I try to pull it out before he loses it and yanks out pieces of precious hair. On the upside, my hair usually ends up tangle-free!

not. again.

   A year or two ago, I bought a set of three really cute dangly earrings from Target and I have a hard time not wearing them. For instance, today I’m wearing the black pair. Yesterday I’m pretty sure I wore the silver ones. Gold isn’t really my thing, but that pair gets worn pretty often as well.

   Anyway, I’ve always taken off those little rubber-stopper-thingies that come on the backs of dangly earrings and tossed them in the trash. I never had a use for them and, to be honest, I thought they looked kind of tacky. I never had a problem with losing an earring, either, until I purchased the puffy coat.

   I love my puffy coat, don’t get me wrong. It keeps me warm during my thirty minute walks to and from campus in the snow, so I definitely can get past its minor flaws. There are two things I’ve noticed about it that do, however, present problems.

1.       You know when you were little and you found it hilarious to rub a blown up balloon on your head? Well 15 years later, the affect isn’t as cute when I peel off my jacket in class and my hair makes it look like my head just exploded. Why, static electricity?

2.       The puffy collar hits me right below my earlobes, which doesn’t mesh well with dangly earrings. Getting to this in a moment.

   Another issue I’ve encountered is I look like the black Michelin Man. After eating twenty seven Twinkies. But! I’m okay with that.

   So last year, on just an ordinary (torturous) day of school, I donned one of the three pairs of danglies and strapped on my puffy jacket to head to class. Upon returning after about four hours, I reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear when I noticed one of my earrings was missing. I was devastated. I stopped to investigate my scarf, my collar, my hair to see if I was somehow tangled in hopes of finding the missing item. It was gone. I wasn’t willing to give up that quickly, however, so I turned around and backtracked the way I had come.

   The Jewelry God must have been on my side that day because about 30 yards back to campus I found it! Nestled in the snow, unharmed and sparkly, I spotted it and literally squealed one of those awkward “yeeee!” sounds. I smiled as I began walking back home, my earring safely dangling from my right earlobe.

   After having such a terrifying experience, you’d think I’d at least contemplate sticking a rubber-stopper-thingy on the backs of those earrings to keep it from happening again. But I didn’t. Instead, I basically reenacted the incident the next day.

I believe it was my black pair, though.

   So the very next day, I was walking home and, as I stepped inside my apartment, I saw in my reflection in the window that I was not symmetrical. I was once again missing an earring. Immediately irritated as well as worried, I threw down my school-related objects and began retracing my steps, this time jogging. I wasn’t expecting to find it because for one, the Jewelry God only works miracles every couple months and for two, I was hungry and the further I got from my house, the more willing I was to just turn around and eat the leftover pasta that was calling my name.

   As I was jogging, I realized there wasn’t much hope. I had been everywhere on campus that day and couldn’t remember the last time I knew I had it. Slowing to a walk, I decided to give up. My poor, poor black dangly…

   But then! Peeking out from under some old, discolored snow was something black and shiny. As I approached it, I couldn’t believe my luck. I found it! What fortune! I snatched it up, wiped the mud off, and un-bent it all with a huge smile on my face. I was so pumped that I jogged all the way back home despite the weird looks I was receiving as well as the fact that I usually do not jog. Ever.

   Since those two very frightening experiences, I now make a point to attach the rubber-stopper-thingies on the backs of all of my dangly earrings. I have a hard time trusting the Jewelry God to provide me with another miracle any time soon. And who wants one dangly anyway? Lame.

commence weirdness!

   My family prides themselves for being abnormal. For instance, my dad sometimes walks around the house shuffling and almost-drooling when he gets into one of his “weird moods”. My mom has started watching Tosh.0 and finds it amusing to “Gaddafi” herself. If you don’t watch Tosh, you probably won’t get that visual the way I hoped you would. Let’s just say it’s not something I would wish upon you. My sister treats our cat as if it came from her womb. I used to get worried when I heard one-sided conversations emanating from her room, but now it’s pretty normal. I attribute our cat’s obesity to her as well. I guess that’s what you do for someone when you love them: make them fat.

   Getting to the point here, over Thanksgiving break we proved this fact. As we were sitting in the living room watching some over-rated comedy or another, the power went out. We all sat there in the darkness for a good two minutes before my sister, very meekly, began singing:

   My mom, of course, immediately joined in and began singing along with her. I chimed in after getting over the initial amusement. My dad contributed where he could. 

   It was pretty amusing because none of us could remember the order of things after “five golden rings” and so just kept repeating “turtledoves” for everything. By the time we got completely through the entire song as best as we could, the power came back on.

   We resumed watching our movie as if nothing had happened.

i beg of you.

   I am about to rant about a pretty unpleasant topic: bathrooms. Just to forewarn you.

   I work at a pretty professional office. The women dress up in pencil skirts and panty-hose and the men nearly always sport ties. Fortunately, I get to wear jeans and sweatshirts because I inhabit the basement.

   I work in the mornings a couple times a week and have encountered something that not only grosses me out but also kind of ticks me off.

   The women who tippy-tap around in their unconventional high heels on the linoleum above my basement location have always given me the impression of highly sophisticated and feminine business ladies. I admired their dedication to beautifying themselves every day in order to come to work at an office in Montana.

   Lately, however, that reputation has been extinguished. These women are not classy.

   Everyone poops. You know that, I know that. There’s even been a book written about it. Go here if you don’t believe me.

   Most people also know that coffee makes you poop. Something about the enzymes that really get your bowels moving? I’m not sure.All I know is it's a pretty proven fact. 

   At work, we have an unlimited supply of really cheap, chewy coffee. It tastes almost as bad as it smells. My fellow employees have developed some sort of addiction to the substance and migrate to the tiny, white-washed break room to refill their mugs at least once an hour.

   I’m getting to the point, just wait.

   I get to work at about 9:30 which means most of the office workers have already settled into their desks, refilled their mugs at least twice, and discussed their lives with everyone within a three foot radius. This has also given their stomachs enough time to process the crud they’ve been ingesting for the past 90 minutes and, to be modest, get things goin’.

   Lately I’ve noticed that some of these fancy ladies are saving their business for work. Either they run out of their houses in too much of a rush to make a five minute pit stop in the ‘loo, or they forget every single day how badly the coffee makes them need to go #2. Either way, it’s very irritating.

   The last thing I want to smell in the bathroom at 9:30am is nasty coffee-induced lady dumps. The worst part? Our bathroom doesn’t have a fan. The second-to-worst part? Our bathroom doesn’t have any stink-diminishing spray. I’m honestly tempted to just buy one and bring it with me to work.

   Ladies, why are you doing this? Why are you drinking copious amounts of coffee every day that force you to stink up the bathroom for a good five hours? I guess it could also be the same lady every day. In which case: why, Lady? Can’t you do a respectful flush once in a while, at least? Diminish the stench a little? Or maybe hold it until you go home for lunch? Or go at home in the first place?

   I understand, sometimes you’ve just got to go. And sometimes that moment occurs at your place of work. I get it. I’ve been there. But not every day! I dream about coming into work, using the bathroom, and not almost passing out due to either holding my breath or the intense odor.

   All I ask, my lovely perfumed coworkers, is to keep in mind that the bathroom has poor ventilation. Remember that as you make your way down the hall to refill your mug for the fourth time.

   Please and thank you.

a renovation

   I'm so excited! I've always struggled with html and formatting concepts on websites, which is why my previous blog was kind of, well, ugly. But after perusing some of my other favorite blogs, I noticed that there was some sort of free blog template website out there in internet land! So I traced one down and, voila! Prettier, right?

   On a different note, I'm becoming less concerned about homework as it gets closer to Christmas break. My roommate and I have found various ways to distract each other from necessary tasks. We've always been able to procrastinate but it's getting to an extreme.
   For instance, before Thanksgiving we both had a bunch of homework to accomplish but there was a huge storm passing through that dumped at least a foot of beautiful, snowman-building snow. Therefor, we of course spent about 2 hours playing outside in the sparkly whiteness, taking pictures of each other and ice skating on the street in front of our apartment. Not real ice skating, of course.
We then proceeded to come inside, drink cocoa and apple cider, then play music as we put plastic up on all our windows because it dawned on us all of a sudden that it was pertinent to save energy. (For those of you who live in places that don't get to -15 degrees at night, you probably don't understand this. I don't feel bad for you.)
   It was all fun and games until we realized it was 10:00 o'clock at night...on a Monday...and we had accomplished literally nothing that we actually needed to. Needless to say, it was a late night.
   Yesterday was sort of a deja-vu. We both brought Christmas decorations back from home and were super excited about putting them up. We have the awesomest brick fireplace so of course we had to put up stockings! We have five up...I don't know why.
   We also put the cutest twinkling snowflake dangling lights in our big living room window! Aw, so Christmas-y! We spent probably three hours in Christmas la-la land and had to come back to reality. Once again, it was later than anticipated and we succumbed to homework overload.
   It was a lot of fun, though! It's nice to have decorations up to put us in the spirit. Here's a picture:

I love a good food baby.

   I tend to be a count-down-er. I count down to my birthday, to fun trips, to being able to see loved ones, to holidays, etc. It’s always been that way. Sometimes it’s unfortunate because I get the feeling I’m counting down my life in a way. Willing away my days here as a living being isn’t exactly a good way to go about everyday life, but when you’re trying to get through college it's kind of a necessity.

   As you can imagine, I counted down the days until Thanksgiving break with vigor. I started in September, probably, and did a mental cheer each morning knowing I was just that much closer to getting to go home. I hadn’t been home since Labor Day which was kind of odd.

I even made a list of the things I was looking forward to the most:

1. My dog
2. Sleeping
3. Eating
4. Not doing anything
5. Time to watch tv
6. My dog
7. And seeing my family, of course

   As time crept by, my excitement increased. I found it hard to go an hour without thinking about being home. I had this little bubble of excitement/energy that grew bigger every day. I found myself day-dreaming about copious amounts of home-cooked food and sleeping in. I woke up one morning from a dream and could’ve sworn I could taste pancakes. My dad makes the best pancakes.

   Anyway, of course my accounting professor would schedule an EXTREMELY IMPORTANT EXAM the day before Thanksgiving break began. Because, you know, everyone’s in the mood to spend 8 hours locked in their bedrooms studying accounting on a two-day school week while everyone else on planet earth is having fun and packing to go home.

   I managed to get through the endless studying session and took my exam. The drive was torture because I just wanted to get home. Luckily, my driving companion made a cd so I was distracted slightly.

   Home was magnificent! I pet my dog, slept a LOT, spent more time eating than sleeping probably, managed to do nothing a lot, watched tv a lot, pet my dog some more, and hung with the fam. I even got to experience gluttony (which I haven’t had the chance to since I am poor and my meals typically consist of cheese and crackers or bagels) because Thanksgiving surprisingly occurs during Thanksgiving break. I succeeded in stretching my stomach relentlessly and now that I’m back at school, I can’t seem to get full. But it’s ok! Well worth it.

   I never knew how much I would appreciate being home when I first left for college. I was so ready to get out of there that I didn’t even take a second to be sad! Now that’s sad. Now I divulge in every second of spending time in my old stomping ground because as I get older, I don’t know how often I’ll be revisiting. Growing up is not fun at all! I would love to have my mom around to give me soothing backrubs when I’m about to pull my eyelashes out due to stress, to have my dad there to cook me all my favorite dishes, to have my sister near to talk to when I don’t feel like anyone else wants to listen, and to have my dog there to be a silent and loving companion when I’m feeling down. I guess I kind of miss my cat, too, but she’s fifteen pounds and has butt-clumps so I don’t really know how I would benefit from that. Maybe she could be another silent companion, less loving though.

   Luckily, I get to go home again in the very near future! I can already taste the pancakes…

...?

You know that one person in class that talks to themselves?

They scare me. 

fall.

    I love fall. I love the leaves and the way they sound when they crunch beneath my shoes. I love the brisk but sunny mornings. I love having an excuse to drink coffee and chais whenever I please. I love sitting in my living room by the fireplace, watching crap tv.

   All these things sound great, right? There’s just ONE THING that completely ruins fall for me, and that is the appearance of the common cold.

   I can’t think of anything more irritating than when someone in my class just can’t stop sniffing. It’s like they don’t notice they’re sniffing every seven seconds. And there are different classifications of sniffing.

• The dainty sniff: usually comes from girls who are trying to be discreet, still irritating though. It’d almost be better if they just manly-sniffed once every ten minutes instead of dainty-sniffing multiple times per minute.
• The snorty-sniff: generally erupts from a dude who should really contemplate just leaving the room and taking care of that. Really gross and moist sounding. Has made me gag. 
• The relentless sniff: most common type of sniff during tests because of the angle of one’s head. On average, a sniff occurs every five seconds throughout the entire exam. Has made me contemplate serious violence.

Here is a picture of what I endure during a test.

   I don’t know about the rest of my peers, but I generally try to keep some sort of snot-catcher with me in class during cold weather to prevent irritating everyone due to constant sniffing. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m the only person who gives a shit because I haven’t had a class in the past two weeks where there aren’t at least 3 relentless-sniffers. It is so distracting that I admit I’ve looked up from my exam just to death-glare at them and mentally curse them.

   Seriously, people. Grab a freaking tissue on your way to class if you know you’re having some phlegm-related issue! No one wants to hear you sniffing snot back up into your sinuses. Repeatedly.  

breaking in.

Sometimes I think back to my high school days and think, “Man, I don’t have any cool stories…”. My college friends tell me these crazy things that they did like throw big parties in the forest or take a road trip to someplace random just for kicks. But then these memories come flooding back and even though they aren’t insane and daring, they’re still pretty damn funny.

For instance, my best friend through high school and I were pretty dumb. We weren’t very good at communicating with our parents, seemed to be breaking curfew more often than not, and partook in a lot of scheming of plans that always managed to fall through. My mom will probably read this and think “really?” Yes, really. But you didn’t notice because a) teenagers generally can’t communicate with parents b) “breaking curfew” as in by five minutes and c) of course teenager plans fall through. So not only were we dumb, but we weren’t the slightest bit rebellious. But I like to pretend.

Anyway, I can recall this one time when my friend and I drove to my house after school to get ready for some sort of sport event. We had to get prettied up, of course. As we got into my awesome maroon Mitsubishi Expo to leave, I realized I was no longer in possession of my keys. We laughed because everything’s funny at sixteen. I attempted to re-enter my house to look for my awesome camo lanyard only to realize I had locked myself out of the house as well.

Obviously we panicked. There was no way we were going to be late to the game and miss watching the guys pretend to warm up when really only focusing on how long they can flex their arm muscles, seemingly oblivious to the crowd of giggling girls wearing too much eyeliner. Whoa! Sorry about that.

So we circled the house, pushing on windows and wiggling doorknobs to find a point of entrance. Nearing defeat, an idea occurred to me. My little house had a semi-dilapidated greenhouse that attached to the dining room through a set of doors. I remembered a little window at the end of the greenhouse, the only one with a screen, and decided that would be our ticket in. I ran to the garage to fetch a box opener, my adrenaline pumping at the deed I was about to do upon my own home.

I carefully wiggled the piece of wood off from covering the screen and hastily cut a few slices around the edge of the screen, somewhat like a doggy door, and motioned for my friend to crawl through. She looked at me like I was nuts but I defended myself by reminding her it was my house so therefore my rules. She obliged.

I remember urging her through despite the mass of cobwebs and dead beetles that prevented a smoother entrance. I even gave her legs a little guidance as they were waving sporadically halfway out of the hole, but she didn’t appreciate that and responded by kicking me in the ribs. She finally made it through, Indiana Jones style, and entered the dining room. The keys were retrieved successfully! I then realized I had to cover up my breaking-and-entering evidence. I resorted to using some duct tape, replacing the wooden slab, and piling a few odds and ends to block the proof.

We made it to the game in record timing! We told everyone our awesome story and shared a few high-fives at the expense of our rebellious deed.

It took me about a month to confess to my dad that I was a vandal. I sheepishly pointed at the hole in the screen after leading him into the greenhouse. He looked at me as if I was half-“special”, half-ill-bred and informed me of the spare key stuck to the back of the door to the garage. The garage I entered to retrieve both the box cutter and the duct tape. The garage my car was parked right in front of.

Our story wasn’t so cool after that.

NOT friends, cont'd.

To see Part 1 of this post, click here.

    Tysha and I managed to survive in the same living space for an entire semester. I came to realize that having an odd roommate is part of the "college experience" and provided me with numerous learning opportunities. To emphasize, let's go through some pro's and con's.

      PROs of having a roommate who was literally the exact opposite of myself:

   1. Taco Bell really does taste better after 11pm. I was once offered one of her three bean burritos while doing some late-night homework. This could also be considered a con, however, because it took me about three months of random indulgance to realize late-night bean burritos don't exactly, uh, sit well.

   2. Sleeping is necessary. Due to the fact she slept close to 19 hours a day, I found myself also relishing extra sleep. If I had a get-up-and-go sort of roommate, I would not have been able to sleep in whenever I felt like it. (You think I'm kidding about the 19 hours, don't you?)

3. Thanks to Tysha, I quickly became accustomed to the lingering scent of stale beer and marijuana. It allowed me to attend parties unaffected by the particular scent.

   See? Those are all good things, right?

   I'd go through the con's, but I would hate to be mean. Or sarcastic.

   As first semester came to an end, I decided I could deal with another semester rooming with Tysha. The decision was made mostly because I was too lazy to disassemble my enormous loft and I was afraid of having to clean all the dust bunnies out from under my desk.

   Finals week came along and I found myself facing an 8:00am Anthropology exam. Tysha was gone so I had the stuffy room all to myself. I studied late, probably too late, and was happy Tysha had chosen to spend her evening elsewhere, giving me plenty of focus-time.

   I was used to her coming’s and going’s so it didn’t surprise me much when I heard a key fumbling at our lock.

   The extra voice, however, did surprise me. Particularly because it didn’t belong to a female.

   Due to my extreme fatigue, I rolled over and forced myself back to sleep. It was almost working until I heard noises that instantly made my eyes snap open.

   For respect of your gag reflexes, I won’t go into too much detail here. Let’s just say the noise made when slapping two water balloons together closely resembled that of what was coming from, oh, three feet below my head.

   In addition to the slapping noises, there was murmuring. And…sighing. And the soft whimpering noises I was making from under my pillows to block out the horror.

   I sat awake, half crying – half humming, for about two hours. TWO HOURS. All I can say is he must have had some sort of super power. Or she wasn’t, ahem, the best.

   At about 6:00am, my alarm went off and I climbed down my loft with about three hours of sleep. Considering there was a male in the room, I had to collect all my clothes and supplies and head down the hall to the communal bathroom where I got dressed in an empty shower stall and washed my face in a two-foot-tall sink clogged with God knows what. I stalked back to my room only to literally run into the owner of the male voice from the previous night’s adventures. He stepped to the side, winked at me, and whistled as he walked down the hallway toward the stairwell. I almost puked.

   After my exam, I left Tysha a note (she was sleeping) saying I no longer wanted to be her roommate and that I was moving out for the second semester. I also told her she was gross. Looking back, I probably should have clarified why I said that. Oops.

   Also looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t say something when they were just getting going. Something along the lines of “HEY! I’M F&%#ING SLEEPING HERE!” Although, knowing Tysha, that probably wouldn’t have deterred her. I also could have thrown something at them, but then again there’s no way I would have succumbed one of my pillows to such…nastiness. So I just sat there.

   Basically, whenever you talk to your elders and they tell you about that one aweful college roommate, remember that it really does happen to everyone. I never even saw it coming. You've been warned.

study, you fool!

   Well I have learned my lesson about posting on blogs without saving my work. Last week I typed out this really funny post (I was definitely laughing to myself while typing it) and pushed “post to blog” when I finished checking over it. Lo and behold, my internet connection was lost and everything I just typed was lost somewhere in Internet land. I was pissed.

   But since I’m so dedicated to writing to no one in particular, I decided to redo it. This time I’m typing into Word then pasting & copying. Like I said, lesson learned.

   So two weeks ago I had what I like to call a Week From Hell. These roll around every so often, typically during the school year when I’m already irritated with, well, everything. But this week was particularly hellish because it crept up on me and really bit me in the butt.

   I’ve always used a day planner, even in high school, because I honestly cannot retain information. If you tell me something, I can promise you I will forget it. Unless it’s something really juicy, or if it regards dogs and/or coffee. I like dogs and coffee, and juicy pieces of gossip. This year I decided to start a new strategy involving planning my days out literally hour by hour or class by class in order to manage my time better. At first, it sucked because my days were calculated out before I even woke up but now it’s working great and I actually get stuff done! The one downfall, however, is that it only goes week to week.

   I usually make my new Week Schedule on Sundays and I look in my planner to see what all needs to be done and strategically put it on the day of the week that would work best. It’s a science, I tell ya! So the week before the Week From Hell I managed to not mention anything about all the upcoming exams, quizzes, and assignments in my little schedule. Therefore, when Sunday rolled around, I looked at the upcoming week in my planner and saw this:

   So obviously I immediately panicked, realizing I hadn’t even began studying for all those tests and exams.

   The one I was most worried about was on Thursday in my upper division Accounting class. Needless to say, I spent every night up until that exam studying into the wee hours of the morning. It sucked. My brain can only handle so much information so slowly things began to shutdown, mental-state wise. The exam began at 6:30 and this is my thought process:

3:00 – Alright, self. You’ve got just about three hours to learn everything you need to know about chapters 6 and 7. You’ve got this. No sweat.

3:20 – Ok, good start. Looks like you’ve read a total of…two pages?! WTF self? You don’t have time for this! Get going or you. will. fail.

3:32 – My brain hurts. And I want some Craisins. Ok, so I’ll get up after I finish this page, go to the bathroom, grab some Craisins, check Facebook, put my hair up…anything else I can do to waste time??

3:59 – I just wasted a half hour doing nothing. Get to work, idiot.

4:30 – Now that’s more like it! A solid half hour of studying and I kind of know what I just read! Now for a reward. Oh look, Family Guy’s on! Awesome.

5:00 – Shit. Shit shit shit my test is in an hour and a half! It’s ok. I’ve got this.

5:13 – I hate my life and I don’t care if I fail. My brain hurts and this makes no sense. Another episode of Family Guy?? Saweet.

5:30 – I just realized I have to leave my house in a half hour in order to get to the test on time. STUDY YOU FOOL!

5:59 – I no longer care. Yay, tests!

   Some of you might find that sad. Or disturbing, either one. I just figured I’d give you a glimpse into the thought process of a semi-ADD college student who can’t manage time worth a damn.

escape artist

    This weekend, I joined a couple friends in a late-night trip to I-Hop. We were that bored. I remember when the idea of jumping into a car with a group of people and cruisin' down 19th to I-Hop at midnight seemed awesome, now it just makes me depressed because I realize I have to turn to a 24 hour pancake house for a good time.

    I wasn't too into the plan, but my friend Chris really wanted crepes so we just had to go. I mentally decided that I'd just order some ice cream or something.

    So we get to I-Hop, noticing we were four of five people in the entire restaurant. I requested a window booth and things were going fine despite the intense B.O. scent lingering behind our waitress. We ordered a carafe of coffee because that's what college kids do. Upon its arrival, we immediately noticed the odd hue of our chosen beverage. The taste matched the color: burnt. Burnt and chewy. Despite mixing in two creamer cups and a packet of Splenda!, there was no masking the flavor. A little bummed, I pushed my mug away.

   Ms. I-Choose-Not-To-Wear-Deodorant-Despite-Having-A-Service-Job came back to take our orders. Chris promptly ordered his crepes, my boyfriend ordered chicken strips (?), while the other female and I ordered a dish of ice cream. The next thing that happened, I never saw coming.

Uh, you're out of ice cream? Does that even happen?

    By this point, I was obviously completely turned-off by the entire I-Hop experience. I began stirring my "coffee" (if that's what you want to call it), absentmindedly dreaming about delicious bowls of ice cream, when an ant crawled out of the syrup basket. Gross.

    I pointed it out to my gal pal across the booth from me and she immediately picked up the Strawberry Syrup dispenser and began dripping the sticky pink stuff on top of our visitor. I know, I know, we're going to hell. But it was crazy! Ants are so strong; the little guy managed to heave himself across the table, trailing syrup behind him!

We all watched in silence, mentally urging him on. When it looked as if he might be seeing the light, my friend had the heart to drip water on him in hopes of washing the pink goop off. Ant (I'm just going to call him that from now on; yes, I'm assuming it was a "him") seemed to be in shock. At about this time, our fine-smelling waitress reappeared to deliver the crepes and chicken strips. We methodically hid Ant behind a empty coffee creamer cup.

    By this time, Ant was on his last leg (literally, he lost a couple in the goop). My friend the ant-torturer took the liberty of putting Ant out of his misery by using a nearby napkin. We were sad that our little soldier didn't make it. The napkin was set at the edge of the table.

    After Chris finished his crepes and my boyfriend demolished his chicken strips, we remembered Ant and decided to give him a proper burial (putting the napkin on one of the empty plates to be transported to the garbage). But, alas! Ant was gone!

    We looked high and low for him but he literally disappeared. We came to the conclusion that he must have been playing dead, and that he snuck away when we were distracted. He must have been Super Ant because he somehow had the strength to climb off the sticky napkin despite only having two remaining appendages.

    We all agreed that we hoped Ant made it back to his family in order to tell his tale. I'm sure he's going to be some sort of community hero now.