February 23, 2005
February 22, 2005
The Room Mate Chronicles (Leslie): Chelsea's Hall
After the hurt of not being at least, a little fought over I actually walked down to my new room to find it completely empty. I was on Chelsea’s hall and a little nervous. Chelsea was the R.A. notorious for having extremely loud sex and extremely wild tenants. Suprisingly both the room’s former occupants had failed out which meant only 2 triple refugees were given a brand new place to live. Being the first to arrive I grabbed the cooshier spot by the door and begin to set up shop. Korn posters, pen & ink drawings from high school, silly pictures of family and friends and numerous black light paraphernalia were hung helter skelter on the wall. I was a little more “dark” then.
It wasn’t so bad not being in the triple anymore. I had room for pictures, posters, crap, and leftover food from Webb center. This leftover food would become a story in itself. Which would cause Nicole and Tiesha to never quite look at me in the same manner again. I can tell you one thing, tuna sandwiches should NOT be stored in in closets. In terms of decor college has got to be the only place where stud posters can co-exist with thoughtful quotes with babies. I guess they do have an inverse relationship. You have to meet the stud to have the thoughtful baby right..ehh..nev. mind.
My new room-mate did not show up for a week. Angela came in at 3 a.m. in the morning her first day. She had 5 dudes with her and a plastic bag with clothes. I learned later that she had been staying at a fraternity house with her boyfriend, Hi (yes that is his name) rather than squishing up in the dorm. She was trying to be a “little sister” to the Tekes. I’m still not sure what that meant.
We did not get off to a good start. She turned on the light upon her arrival and scared the crap outta me. Her friends proceeded to pick over my stuff and look at me as if I were a science experiment. This was only the beginning. Her typical come-home time from that day on was 3 a.m. if she came back at all. Often times she would stumble in drunk and pass out on the first soft thing she encountered. Twice that was the foot of my bed and I had to drag her over to her own side. Another time, it was the dirty carpet in the bathroom and she almost went to class with the lint on her face.
Angela was a party girl. She drank every night and partied everyday like the Kiss song. I will credit Angela for introducing me to parties in general, fraternities, and merits of cramming 8 people into a civic. It was because of Angela that I realized that for some college is not about grades or classes or even working towards a degree. For some it’s all about the social affairs.
The perks of being Angela’s room-mate worked something akin to Matt Leblanc on Friends. I met all these people through her that I kept me in parties and in “cool” until the end of my college career. Angela failed out (left) that year. She sent me a couple of letters from PA talking about Hi and how he had moved to her state to be near her. I think she's probably a mom now. People that wild always tend to burn out quicker. I'm guessing though. She maybe at a bar as we speak.
Cool by your own merits is great, buy cool by assosciation is “f***ing AWESOME!” as leaping Lizard would say.
It wasn’t so bad not being in the triple anymore. I had room for pictures, posters, crap, and leftover food from Webb center. This leftover food would become a story in itself. Which would cause Nicole and Tiesha to never quite look at me in the same manner again. I can tell you one thing, tuna sandwiches should NOT be stored in in closets. In terms of decor college has got to be the only place where stud posters can co-exist with thoughtful quotes with babies. I guess they do have an inverse relationship. You have to meet the stud to have the thoughtful baby right..ehh..nev. mind.
My new room-mate did not show up for a week. Angela came in at 3 a.m. in the morning her first day. She had 5 dudes with her and a plastic bag with clothes. I learned later that she had been staying at a fraternity house with her boyfriend, Hi (yes that is his name) rather than squishing up in the dorm. She was trying to be a “little sister” to the Tekes. I’m still not sure what that meant.
We did not get off to a good start. She turned on the light upon her arrival and scared the crap outta me. Her friends proceeded to pick over my stuff and look at me as if I were a science experiment. This was only the beginning. Her typical come-home time from that day on was 3 a.m. if she came back at all. Often times she would stumble in drunk and pass out on the first soft thing she encountered. Twice that was the foot of my bed and I had to drag her over to her own side. Another time, it was the dirty carpet in the bathroom and she almost went to class with the lint on her face.
Angela was a party girl. She drank every night and partied everyday like the Kiss song. I will credit Angela for introducing me to parties in general, fraternities, and merits of cramming 8 people into a civic. It was because of Angela that I realized that for some college is not about grades or classes or even working towards a degree. For some it’s all about the social affairs.
The perks of being Angela’s room-mate worked something akin to Matt Leblanc on Friends. I met all these people through her that I kept me in parties and in “cool” until the end of my college career. Angela failed out (left) that year. She sent me a couple of letters from PA talking about Hi and how he had moved to her state to be near her. I think she's probably a mom now. People that wild always tend to burn out quicker. I'm guessing though. She maybe at a bar as we speak.
Cool by your own merits is great, buy cool by assosciation is “f***ing AWESOME!” as leaping Lizard would say.
February 17, 2005
The Room Mate Chronicles (Leslie): The Accidental Octupus...
CA has somehow lifted the imaginary bar for blog writing. So since this is a comparitive piece in a sense I will try to “bring it” as well. Because as Jody says, I have “No time for fake rhymes.” She has promised me for doing so that she will show me something mediocre from her other “side” talent of graphic design. It will have to suffice for now.
I can’t say I had a vision for what my room-mate should or should not have been. You see, I have never had a room to myself the entirety of my life up until the past two years; much less an entire domicile. I guess my main issues were crazy overblown ones. Like these errant thoughts: “I don’t want a room-mate who has sex in front of me.” “No Brokedown Palace shit where they smuggle drugs in your book bag.” “Please let them like X-Files.” “And God, please don’t let them own a Hamster.” These were my silly concerns. So naïve. Just so naïve.
I was late signing up for college and henceforth late getting a place to live. ODU was stuck with too many students and too little space. The solution of course was to pack 3 cats in a sack and hope they did not claw each other to death. So here I was stuck in a triple and a day late to arrive. My card said my room-mate names were Jennifer from Richmond and Tianna from Louisa. My name was in pink highlights, which basically meant when the time came I would be the first to go when a space opened for me.
Me and the fam get to Rogers sometime in the evening on move-in day and haul my crap up the steps to my new room on Ryan’s (the RA’s) Hall. The doors had octopuses representing each of us on our door, much like Kindergarten where you have a sun or star sitting on your designated desk. Were we octopuses? My mom was laying groundwork for later laughter in picking out all of the boys she thought were cute. Little did she know they would all be revealed to be gay. Sorry mom. Jesse, Adam, and some dark haired fellow on floor two. I felt bad for her because she picked 3 gay son-in-laws thus killing her chances for grandchildren.
I walked in the room to find Tianna sitting at the computer tearing the legs off her octopus. Jennifer wasted no time in saying hello and introducing herself. Tianna, however looked up and continued to cripple her cre’ papered sea animal.
Tianna’s days consisted of writing in her journal and playing solitaire on the computer. There was no time for idle chit-chat or dilly dallying of any type. There was ONLY time for quiet thoughts of studies and personal reflection. My uncle says “Lee can talk a hole into the broad side of a barn.” That’s pretty much me. I like to talk all the time. Which didn’t always work out with Tianna. She would pretty much grimace as if in pain when I would try to share any sorta mundane college story with her in a feeble attempt to bond. My stories were stopped dead in their tracks with monosyllabic answers like, “yeah, no, or my favorite: huh?”
Jennifer on the other hand liked to talk, dance, sing and party (all of which very loudly).
I had met her previously on the ODU tour with her wild looking younger sister and her funny mom. It was actually a relief to see her standing in the room when I got there seeing as to how no one from my high school was in Norfolk. Cool girl. I seen her off and on until my last year. She had a baby with a basketball player and moved to the towers apartments. I hope she’s doing well.
Seeing as we were all desperately cramped in the room, we were forced to venture out and make new friends. At least me and Jennifer would. Tianna had Dell and that’s all she needed. I met the other sea creatures across the hall that would become my room-mates the following year but that’s next weeks blog.
We never had room-mate issues because there was literally no room. There was no room for boyfriends, or hiding spots for hallucinogenic drug paraphanelia. (Much less hampsters or damnable rabbits) It sucked air out of the room to chit chat. There was no space for decorations or posters of any sort. Just room to sleep, shower, and leave.
And eventually the time came for me to LEAVE. Ryan presented this to me as if it were an option or a choice. He said you may stay if you like, but a room is waiting for you. Tianna and Jennifer -I think didn’t want ME per se to leave, but they did want that space. I was sad because I wanted that grandiose..please don’t go speech and it never came. Plus they were my first room-mates. Best friends we weren’t - but still. I took my octopus off the door and we swam on down to Chelsea’s hall.
I didn’t see either of them until a fire drill 3 weeks later. When each of them pulled me to the side to confess they hated the other one and wish I stayed. What can you say about hindsight. Without me there to clog up room they were forced to socialize with each other. Guess it wasn’t meant to be.
The fable part of the story is I put the paper octopus on my door that first night away from the triple and it wound up back on Ryan’s hall stuck on some random door. I’m starting to sound like Rose Niland….
Until Chelsea’s Hall….
I can’t say I had a vision for what my room-mate should or should not have been. You see, I have never had a room to myself the entirety of my life up until the past two years; much less an entire domicile. I guess my main issues were crazy overblown ones. Like these errant thoughts: “I don’t want a room-mate who has sex in front of me.” “No Brokedown Palace shit where they smuggle drugs in your book bag.” “Please let them like X-Files.” “And God, please don’t let them own a Hamster.” These were my silly concerns. So naïve. Just so naïve.
I was late signing up for college and henceforth late getting a place to live. ODU was stuck with too many students and too little space. The solution of course was to pack 3 cats in a sack and hope they did not claw each other to death. So here I was stuck in a triple and a day late to arrive. My card said my room-mate names were Jennifer from Richmond and Tianna from Louisa. My name was in pink highlights, which basically meant when the time came I would be the first to go when a space opened for me.
Me and the fam get to Rogers sometime in the evening on move-in day and haul my crap up the steps to my new room on Ryan’s (the RA’s) Hall. The doors had octopuses representing each of us on our door, much like Kindergarten where you have a sun or star sitting on your designated desk. Were we octopuses? My mom was laying groundwork for later laughter in picking out all of the boys she thought were cute. Little did she know they would all be revealed to be gay. Sorry mom. Jesse, Adam, and some dark haired fellow on floor two. I felt bad for her because she picked 3 gay son-in-laws thus killing her chances for grandchildren.
I walked in the room to find Tianna sitting at the computer tearing the legs off her octopus. Jennifer wasted no time in saying hello and introducing herself. Tianna, however looked up and continued to cripple her cre’ papered sea animal.
Tianna’s days consisted of writing in her journal and playing solitaire on the computer. There was no time for idle chit-chat or dilly dallying of any type. There was ONLY time for quiet thoughts of studies and personal reflection. My uncle says “Lee can talk a hole into the broad side of a barn.” That’s pretty much me. I like to talk all the time. Which didn’t always work out with Tianna. She would pretty much grimace as if in pain when I would try to share any sorta mundane college story with her in a feeble attempt to bond. My stories were stopped dead in their tracks with monosyllabic answers like, “yeah, no, or my favorite: huh?”
Jennifer on the other hand liked to talk, dance, sing and party (all of which very loudly).
I had met her previously on the ODU tour with her wild looking younger sister and her funny mom. It was actually a relief to see her standing in the room when I got there seeing as to how no one from my high school was in Norfolk. Cool girl. I seen her off and on until my last year. She had a baby with a basketball player and moved to the towers apartments. I hope she’s doing well.
Seeing as we were all desperately cramped in the room, we were forced to venture out and make new friends. At least me and Jennifer would. Tianna had Dell and that’s all she needed. I met the other sea creatures across the hall that would become my room-mates the following year but that’s next weeks blog.
We never had room-mate issues because there was literally no room. There was no room for boyfriends, or hiding spots for hallucinogenic drug paraphanelia. (Much less hampsters or damnable rabbits) It sucked air out of the room to chit chat. There was no space for decorations or posters of any sort. Just room to sleep, shower, and leave.
And eventually the time came for me to LEAVE. Ryan presented this to me as if it were an option or a choice. He said you may stay if you like, but a room is waiting for you. Tianna and Jennifer -I think didn’t want ME per se to leave, but they did want that space. I was sad because I wanted that grandiose..please don’t go speech and it never came. Plus they were my first room-mates. Best friends we weren’t - but still. I took my octopus off the door and we swam on down to Chelsea’s hall.
I didn’t see either of them until a fire drill 3 weeks later. When each of them pulled me to the side to confess they hated the other one and wish I stayed. What can you say about hindsight. Without me there to clog up room they were forced to socialize with each other. Guess it wasn’t meant to be.
The fable part of the story is I put the paper octopus on my door that first night away from the triple and it wound up back on Ryan’s hall stuck on some random door. I’m starting to sound like Rose Niland….
Until Chelsea’s Hall….
February 16, 2005
The Roommate Chronicles: Episode OneSunflowers and Stomach Pumps
When I was a senior in high school, I had a writing assignment about comparing two opposite things. I chose to write about something that I feared deep down in my heart of hearts, way down where egg blankets and that scene from Nightmare on Elm Street (the original) when Freddie’s arms were all long, lie. I dreaded being stuck with a college roommate like my friend Daina. Now, don’t get me wrong. Daina is totally getting one of the cushiest clouds in heaven, with full access to all the half-naked hot man servants she can stand, I just really wasn’t into the idea of sharing a shoebox-sized excuse for a domicile with her.
At that time in my life I wouldn’t have considered myself a tomboy, exactly, nor so “punk rawk” that I denied my lifelong obsession with Days of Our Lives. In fact, I didn’t even know I liked punk rock until the Hench later pointed out to me that most of the songs I liked, that the pirate radio station with no jocks back home played, were in fact punk in nature. I was just kind of a t-shirt and jeans girl. Makeup and interesting haircuts were just too much work. I had my getting-ready-for-school routine down to 7 minutes from bed to car, and I wasn’t going to sacrifice another second of sleep for some mouth-breathing sophomore. Instead of batting my eyelashes, I thought the way to the boy’s heart was through a thoughtfully chosen Adam Sandler quote. I can’t help it. I always had older brothers, and if I wanted to stay in the room and MAYBE get a chance at the NES controller during a Baseball Stars tourney, I had to adapt to their sophisticated social practices. Even if when I got my turn, I insisted that my bro do the code so my team could wear the purple uniforms.
The long and short of it is that, like MC Skat Kat and Paula Abdul, for mine and Daina’s friendship, it was opposites attract. She was organizing the carpool for everyone to go up the road to see Romeo & Juliet starring Leonardo Retardo and Angela Chase, I was planning the Monty-Python marathon. In fact, as I type this entry, I am instant-messaging with Daina. I suggest we meet up in Philadelphia on Saturday to take in the Dali exhibit, and she points out that Debra (formerly Debbie) Gibson will be signing autographs on South Street. If I knew then what I know now, that even though Daina has mastered the art of the Thank-You card (and any other kind of card, actually) and I usually slip by with a simple “thanks man!”. You know, that old Japanese proverb that says “Only that which is the other, gives us truly unto ourselves.”…blahblahblah—koombyahcakes.
So back to the roommate thing. I showed up at ODU on a sticky August day, with two brothers loaded down with boxes of my crap. When I opened the door, I was greeted with a sea of sunflowers. Sunflower bedspread. Sunflower hand towels. Sunflower mug holding sunflower-topped pens. Sunflower shower curtain acting as closet door. The 4 foot-nothing ball of sunshine AKA my new roommate and her mother were applying something sunflowery to another surface when I walked in. She’d gotten permission to move in a day early since she was coming all the way from New Jersey (ahem, so was I). So she picked the “good side” (re: inner) of the room and had already gone all Christopher Lowell on that bitch. So there you go. I got a Daina. Sort of.
Tracey, AOL Screenname: Sunflwrs79 (what else?) wasn’t all that bad. Sure, she was a sugary-sweet little sprite, but she had a car. And she was funny. Once, while driving down Little Creek road, she shouted out for no apparent reason, “Norfork Paint! That’s crazy!”---a soundbyte that simply will not leave my head, and plays back whenever I drive past one. We were also an extremely compatible sleeping team. We’d stay up until 4 or so, get up 10 minutes before the 9am class, then report back around 2 for the nap until dinnertime. Lather, rinse, repeat. It was with Tracey that I forged my rag-tag group of dorm friends before the Hench and I took on world domination. We’d go to parties and while I pretended to be too cool, Tracey would disappear into the crowd and re-emerge with some new interesting person she thought I’d like to meet. Once, I commented on some guy walking by being hot, and twenty minutes later I was beckoned from across the party, and UP ON STAGE, by Tracey (she was a shortie, remember). When I made my way to her she just said, “This is Ben”, motioning to the hot guy who passed by earlier (it should be noted, that while this Ben was given the moniker “Beautiful Ben”, I would have laughed at such a notion if he was encountered later, given the true perfection that was Ben from downstairs. That boy sure was pretty.)
I soon found out that all Tracey’s sunflowery-goodness was chemically based. She was on some kind of anti-depressants, which I really don’t have a problem with. Hell, I chew one of them bitches down once a day so I can’t even front. Problems arose, though, one night when she was hanging out with some friends of ours over in Whitehurst. I was stuck cranking out a creative writing portfolio (that I should have been accumulating over the semester, natch), so I wasn’t there to witness her whip out a bottle of her pills and wash the whole thing down with a couple of swigs of Goldschlager. Blech. I can barely get just a swig of Goldschlager down, let alone a bunch of pills to boot. So yeah, I got a call from the boys about what she had done and that she was on her way back to the dorm.
One stint sitting in the swanky waiting room of the Norfolk Sentara emergency room between my ultra high strung (and miffed that he couldn’t go out to the club because of this) RA and the drunk idiot friend who wanted to get in her pants later, I came to find out that even if she took a few hundred of those pills, she couldn’t have killed herself. Anti-depressants are kinda designed that way. So they pumped her stomach and sent us on our not-so-merry way.
That was before Thanksgiving break. She came back after pretending like nothing happened. Over Christmas break I actually hung out with her and my friends from home as we were venturing into NYC for some Chrimmastime fun and she lived on the way. We even slept at her house. She made the effort to lug all of her crap back to ODU from North Jersey after Christmas break, only to decide the night before classes started that she was going to leave. I was sort of bummed. Sure she made a quick trip to the booby hatch, but when haven’t we all, if not to such an extreme degree. This one time I was trying to fix my fan, and all of a sudden I thought of a new, ingenious way to fix it, and thought out loud to myself “Am I getting smarter?”. She heard me and put on this little stance maybe like a body-builder or a troll of some sort and grunted “Am I getting Smah-tah???”, for no reason whatsoever. She was random like that.
She could be really annoying and downright weird, but I would come to find out that she really wasn’t that bad. Probably number 3 on the long list of roommates I had over the years (Not counting the Hench, who was a by-proxy roommate or Meredith and Julie, but they are for another manifesto altogether).
I know I really should bring Daina back in around here at the end somewhere, as is proper writing technique and I’d be shamed by the writing community (or maybe just my 12th grade writing teacher, but who’s counting)…but I don’t really have any way of bringing her back. Daina’s never washed down Paxil with any kind of schnapps and she really doesn’t do voices. I dunno. She is short though. A weak connection indeed.
Next up from the Roommate Chronicles: NN8!!
At that time in my life I wouldn’t have considered myself a tomboy, exactly, nor so “punk rawk” that I denied my lifelong obsession with Days of Our Lives. In fact, I didn’t even know I liked punk rock until the Hench later pointed out to me that most of the songs I liked, that the pirate radio station with no jocks back home played, were in fact punk in nature. I was just kind of a t-shirt and jeans girl. Makeup and interesting haircuts were just too much work. I had my getting-ready-for-school routine down to 7 minutes from bed to car, and I wasn’t going to sacrifice another second of sleep for some mouth-breathing sophomore. Instead of batting my eyelashes, I thought the way to the boy’s heart was through a thoughtfully chosen Adam Sandler quote. I can’t help it. I always had older brothers, and if I wanted to stay in the room and MAYBE get a chance at the NES controller during a Baseball Stars tourney, I had to adapt to their sophisticated social practices. Even if when I got my turn, I insisted that my bro do the code so my team could wear the purple uniforms.
The long and short of it is that, like MC Skat Kat and Paula Abdul, for mine and Daina’s friendship, it was opposites attract. She was organizing the carpool for everyone to go up the road to see Romeo & Juliet starring Leonardo Retardo and Angela Chase, I was planning the Monty-Python marathon. In fact, as I type this entry, I am instant-messaging with Daina. I suggest we meet up in Philadelphia on Saturday to take in the Dali exhibit, and she points out that Debra (formerly Debbie) Gibson will be signing autographs on South Street. If I knew then what I know now, that even though Daina has mastered the art of the Thank-You card (and any other kind of card, actually) and I usually slip by with a simple “thanks man!”. You know, that old Japanese proverb that says “Only that which is the other, gives us truly unto ourselves.”…blahblahblah—koombyahcakes.
So back to the roommate thing. I showed up at ODU on a sticky August day, with two brothers loaded down with boxes of my crap. When I opened the door, I was greeted with a sea of sunflowers. Sunflower bedspread. Sunflower hand towels. Sunflower mug holding sunflower-topped pens. Sunflower shower curtain acting as closet door. The 4 foot-nothing ball of sunshine AKA my new roommate and her mother were applying something sunflowery to another surface when I walked in. She’d gotten permission to move in a day early since she was coming all the way from New Jersey (ahem, so was I). So she picked the “good side” (re: inner) of the room and had already gone all Christopher Lowell on that bitch. So there you go. I got a Daina. Sort of.
Tracey, AOL Screenname: Sunflwrs79 (what else?) wasn’t all that bad. Sure, she was a sugary-sweet little sprite, but she had a car. And she was funny. Once, while driving down Little Creek road, she shouted out for no apparent reason, “Norfork Paint! That’s crazy!”---a soundbyte that simply will not leave my head, and plays back whenever I drive past one. We were also an extremely compatible sleeping team. We’d stay up until 4 or so, get up 10 minutes before the 9am class, then report back around 2 for the nap until dinnertime. Lather, rinse, repeat. It was with Tracey that I forged my rag-tag group of dorm friends before the Hench and I took on world domination. We’d go to parties and while I pretended to be too cool, Tracey would disappear into the crowd and re-emerge with some new interesting person she thought I’d like to meet. Once, I commented on some guy walking by being hot, and twenty minutes later I was beckoned from across the party, and UP ON STAGE, by Tracey (she was a shortie, remember). When I made my way to her she just said, “This is Ben”, motioning to the hot guy who passed by earlier (it should be noted, that while this Ben was given the moniker “Beautiful Ben”, I would have laughed at such a notion if he was encountered later, given the true perfection that was Ben from downstairs. That boy sure was pretty.)
I soon found out that all Tracey’s sunflowery-goodness was chemically based. She was on some kind of anti-depressants, which I really don’t have a problem with. Hell, I chew one of them bitches down once a day so I can’t even front. Problems arose, though, one night when she was hanging out with some friends of ours over in Whitehurst. I was stuck cranking out a creative writing portfolio (that I should have been accumulating over the semester, natch), so I wasn’t there to witness her whip out a bottle of her pills and wash the whole thing down with a couple of swigs of Goldschlager. Blech. I can barely get just a swig of Goldschlager down, let alone a bunch of pills to boot. So yeah, I got a call from the boys about what she had done and that she was on her way back to the dorm.
One stint sitting in the swanky waiting room of the Norfolk Sentara emergency room between my ultra high strung (and miffed that he couldn’t go out to the club because of this) RA and the drunk idiot friend who wanted to get in her pants later, I came to find out that even if she took a few hundred of those pills, she couldn’t have killed herself. Anti-depressants are kinda designed that way. So they pumped her stomach and sent us on our not-so-merry way.
That was before Thanksgiving break. She came back after pretending like nothing happened. Over Christmas break I actually hung out with her and my friends from home as we were venturing into NYC for some Chrimmastime fun and she lived on the way. We even slept at her house. She made the effort to lug all of her crap back to ODU from North Jersey after Christmas break, only to decide the night before classes started that she was going to leave. I was sort of bummed. Sure she made a quick trip to the booby hatch, but when haven’t we all, if not to such an extreme degree. This one time I was trying to fix my fan, and all of a sudden I thought of a new, ingenious way to fix it, and thought out loud to myself “Am I getting smarter?”. She heard me and put on this little stance maybe like a body-builder or a troll of some sort and grunted “Am I getting Smah-tah???”, for no reason whatsoever. She was random like that.
She could be really annoying and downright weird, but I would come to find out that she really wasn’t that bad. Probably number 3 on the long list of roommates I had over the years (Not counting the Hench, who was a by-proxy roommate or Meredith and Julie, but they are for another manifesto altogether).
I know I really should bring Daina back in around here at the end somewhere, as is proper writing technique and I’d be shamed by the writing community (or maybe just my 12th grade writing teacher, but who’s counting)…but I don’t really have any way of bringing her back. Daina’s never washed down Paxil with any kind of schnapps and she really doesn’t do voices. I dunno. She is short though. A weak connection indeed.
Next up from the Roommate Chronicles: NN8!!
February 15, 2005
Fall 98
I told CA I wanted to do a blast from the past week. Why? College makes me laugh. I pretty much realize the excitement of the real world. So next week, I'll return to adventures in Corp America..lol..
What I found to be most profound on my first day of school were these things:
Ryan the RA gathered all the peeps in his group outside to talk about some dorm basics and some facts of life. “You may meet your best friend here. You may meet your future spouse. Or You may be the only one left from this group that graduates. That’s right people, take a look around because I guarantee you almost 80% of this group won’t be here with you until the end.” And he was right. Of THAT group in my freshman year dorm, probably only 8 outta 40 were there walking across the stage when I did. Only bad thing about Ryan was that he was continously touching himself, which would make even the most experienced listener have trouble staying focused. It also took away that "Bono" moving speech credibility. Then he gave us all condoms. Some decided to accept these tokens of sexual revolution. Others passed fearing that the people in the group would judge them. I guess you really do only get one chance at a first impression.
I think I went through five or six different cliques trying to find that one group that was closest to my own niche. Overly confident to too confident and finally my recipe of friendship: a spattering of self confident with a pinch of dork.
In my FIVE YEAR (please people what normal student graduates in four) stay at ODU, classes related to my major did not come until year three. I had not yet met my graphic design peeps yet. Years one and two were for Gen Ed classes. These Gen Ed classes are refreshing in a sense, but they also provide the kind of frustration that makes most people say “College isn’t for me after all, I learned all this shit n high school.” Does anyone remember “learning communities”? Did I ever see those people again after first semester?
I wanted college to be different but found myself repeating high school behaviors. Fidgeting, trying to go unnoticed, sitting in the back of the class and so on and so forth. It was only after my worst fear was realized, that I could move in any sort of progressive forward motion.
I had to literally get knocked flat on my ass to decide to make a change. Looking back now I had to fall on my rear down the main flight at BAL to change the course of my collegiate life. It was a metaphor for me of the whole experience. Fall down, get back up, change your clothes and move forward. The change clothes part was key, because if all someone knows is that the girl in the stripey black sweater fell down the steps, then to not be her—just change the outfit. Change clothes and move on.
What I found to be most profound on my first day of school were these things:
Ryan the RA gathered all the peeps in his group outside to talk about some dorm basics and some facts of life. “You may meet your best friend here. You may meet your future spouse. Or You may be the only one left from this group that graduates. That’s right people, take a look around because I guarantee you almost 80% of this group won’t be here with you until the end.” And he was right. Of THAT group in my freshman year dorm, probably only 8 outta 40 were there walking across the stage when I did. Only bad thing about Ryan was that he was continously touching himself, which would make even the most experienced listener have trouble staying focused. It also took away that "Bono" moving speech credibility. Then he gave us all condoms. Some decided to accept these tokens of sexual revolution. Others passed fearing that the people in the group would judge them. I guess you really do only get one chance at a first impression.
I think I went through five or six different cliques trying to find that one group that was closest to my own niche. Overly confident to too confident and finally my recipe of friendship: a spattering of self confident with a pinch of dork.
In my FIVE YEAR (please people what normal student graduates in four) stay at ODU, classes related to my major did not come until year three. I had not yet met my graphic design peeps yet. Years one and two were for Gen Ed classes. These Gen Ed classes are refreshing in a sense, but they also provide the kind of frustration that makes most people say “College isn’t for me after all, I learned all this shit n high school.” Does anyone remember “learning communities”? Did I ever see those people again after first semester?
I wanted college to be different but found myself repeating high school behaviors. Fidgeting, trying to go unnoticed, sitting in the back of the class and so on and so forth. It was only after my worst fear was realized, that I could move in any sort of progressive forward motion.
I had to literally get knocked flat on my ass to decide to make a change. Looking back now I had to fall on my rear down the main flight at BAL to change the course of my collegiate life. It was a metaphor for me of the whole experience. Fall down, get back up, change your clothes and move forward. The change clothes part was key, because if all someone knows is that the girl in the stripey black sweater fell down the steps, then to not be her—just change the outfit. Change clothes and move on.
February 11, 2005
February 8, 2005
She's like 25.... why would she do that?
Ok ladies, its (more) official now. 25 is old!! I was watching that new Sweet 16 whatever show on MTV and one of the guests at a party said about one of the hired dancers at the party "Ew... she is like 25...why would she do that?" The disdain made it pretty clear that by 25, there is no way that we should be in shape and shaking our booty on a clapboard stage covered by a thin gray carpet with a background of silver tinsel.
Even though i DO NOT DANCE, I would like to think that 25 is not too old to start, should I have the desire to rent myself out to rich 16 year olds for their $250,000 birthday party. But I guess I need to get with the times!
Even though i DO NOT DANCE, I would like to think that 25 is not too old to start, should I have the desire to rent myself out to rich 16 year olds for their $250,000 birthday party. But I guess I need to get with the times!
February 7, 2005
While I cannot remember the Sean Connery face…
I can remember some of College. I can almost go back. Only almost though, if I did go back it wouldn’t be the same. After working and living in the real world I don’t think I could sit in class with all that optimism.
I can remember the earthquake joke, the defininition of Mer, and the claw.
Do you remember the conversation we had about journalists who film disasters and people in poverty and talk to them as if they had not just lost a family member or a limb in an earthquake? It’s a fragmented conversation but I remember making a crazy voice and talking about a butt being exposed. Do you remember that?
Mer: 1. a descriptive adjective used to express a wide range of feelings.
Example: How are you feeling today? Mer.
2. an adjective that may also be used as a name.
Mer, what are you doing? *usually used by a girl named Kristin.
The claw: 1. a gesture made to a member of the opposite sex to show them that you are attracted to them *the claw most often times is accompanied by a hiss much like the noise made by lions of the Serengetti.
To make claw. 1. Hold hands outstretched palms facing ceiling. Then draw fingers inward in menacing “feral-cat” pose.
There are other college classics which should be story titles:
“Calling Mo-Mo. “Hullo? HU-Hullo?”,
“Leslie, I think Ron is following Me”
"The Women’s Liberation-Frog Stomp Front"
“No Time for Fake Rhymes: Jody is born."
“Hench DOES NOT Dance.”
“Running is the Only way to travel.”
“The Floor feels so Cool”
“Is that Grimmace?”
I meant to post this like a week ago so it would be with your old blog entries.
I can’t do anything sequentially.
I can remember the earthquake joke, the defininition of Mer, and the claw.
Do you remember the conversation we had about journalists who film disasters and people in poverty and talk to them as if they had not just lost a family member or a limb in an earthquake? It’s a fragmented conversation but I remember making a crazy voice and talking about a butt being exposed. Do you remember that?
Mer: 1. a descriptive adjective used to express a wide range of feelings.
Example: How are you feeling today? Mer.
2. an adjective that may also be used as a name.
Mer, what are you doing? *usually used by a girl named Kristin.
The claw: 1. a gesture made to a member of the opposite sex to show them that you are attracted to them *the claw most often times is accompanied by a hiss much like the noise made by lions of the Serengetti.
To make claw. 1. Hold hands outstretched palms facing ceiling. Then draw fingers inward in menacing “feral-cat” pose.
There are other college classics which should be story titles:
“Calling Mo-Mo. “Hullo? HU-Hullo?”,
“Leslie, I think Ron is following Me”
"The Women’s Liberation-Frog Stomp Front"
“No Time for Fake Rhymes: Jody is born."
“Hench DOES NOT Dance.”
“Running is the Only way to travel.”
“The Floor feels so Cool”
“Is that Grimmace?”
I meant to post this like a week ago so it would be with your old blog entries.
I can’t do anything sequentially.
February 4, 2005
February 2, 2005
Weekly Grievances
Here are just a few of the things that are causing me stress this week…amongst others-
At home: I can’t seem to find my bedroom anymore. Within hours of cleaning it, the closet somehow regurgitates all of its contents on the floor. I’m expecting a portal to some alternate dimension to appear at some point under the pile. My mattress won’t stay in one spot. For weeks now, I’ve been having dreams about sliding off of the Titanic deck and awaken to find myself clinging to the edge of the aforementioned piece of furniture. My desk and laptop are pitifully cluttered with necklaces and perfumes and lotions and yes; sigh, leftover food. My feet are larger than the width of my steps.
My mom and brother speak to the voicemail as if it is an answering machine and I am sitting there refusing to answer. I don’t understand this logic on either of their behalfs, I will usually hang up on the pope if either family member beeps in.
I don’t understand the purpose of the spamblocker if it won’t protect from spam. I’m sadly disappointed in Earthlink for not protecting me from these electronic invaders. The spam is getting crafty now too. It mocks your friends email address and then you think: “Oh an email from Carol Ann,” but no it is from Carol Aun and she is sending you discounts on Viagra and such. Crafty Spam.
At work-I love designing, but spend most of the time going to battle for my degree, my life choices (yes at work) and why I like lemon yellow better than “pee” yellow.
There are ants under my keypad. At first I tried combating them with that frozen keypad cleaner, but I keep picturing them laughing at me as I turn on the air conditioner or something.
On a good note though, the smothering apple cinnamon spray was removed from the ladies restroom and replaced with baby powder. Although I’m not really sure about what message they are trying to convey.
At home: I can’t seem to find my bedroom anymore. Within hours of cleaning it, the closet somehow regurgitates all of its contents on the floor. I’m expecting a portal to some alternate dimension to appear at some point under the pile. My mattress won’t stay in one spot. For weeks now, I’ve been having dreams about sliding off of the Titanic deck and awaken to find myself clinging to the edge of the aforementioned piece of furniture. My desk and laptop are pitifully cluttered with necklaces and perfumes and lotions and yes; sigh, leftover food. My feet are larger than the width of my steps.
My mom and brother speak to the voicemail as if it is an answering machine and I am sitting there refusing to answer. I don’t understand this logic on either of their behalfs, I will usually hang up on the pope if either family member beeps in.
I don’t understand the purpose of the spamblocker if it won’t protect from spam. I’m sadly disappointed in Earthlink for not protecting me from these electronic invaders. The spam is getting crafty now too. It mocks your friends email address and then you think: “Oh an email from Carol Ann,” but no it is from Carol Aun and she is sending you discounts on Viagra and such. Crafty Spam.
At work-I love designing, but spend most of the time going to battle for my degree, my life choices (yes at work) and why I like lemon yellow better than “pee” yellow.
There are ants under my keypad. At first I tried combating them with that frozen keypad cleaner, but I keep picturing them laughing at me as I turn on the air conditioner or something.
On a good note though, the smothering apple cinnamon spray was removed from the ladies restroom and replaced with baby powder. Although I’m not really sure about what message they are trying to convey.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)