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My mom sent me an e-mail asking how scavenger hunt is. How the hell does MY MOTHER know about scavenger hunt?
That, however, was not the purpose of her email. The purpose was to tell me that maybe I should have gotten an apartment after all. Thanks mom. I knew we'd have this conversation sooner than later, I was just suprised that you didn't happen to mention it 15 minutes after I made my now-in-retrospect-bad-decision to stay in housing next year. After you saw me between a rock and a hard spot, after you witnessed basically me writhing on the floor in agony while trying to make a damn decision about where to live the next year. Now I can walk into that godforsaken room every blessed day and say "Actually, I REALLY should be somewhere else, and this is actually draining my mom's wallet dry, but whatever, I'll make the best of this place because she told me that whatever I ended up deciding was ok." Thanks again, mom, and happy mother's day.
I'm going to stop that. I sound dangerously like my sister.
I am guilty of participating in 3 scavenger hunt events. I can post 2 of them here, the third one was to draw a layout of the new dorm that will be built as if designed by a third grader. The dorm was in the shape of a rocket ship, and it had some really awesome features, such as robots that did your cleaning, a huge ball chute, gravity-free house lounges, and rockets in the basement that would launch the rocket into space in the case of a nuclear war. These are my other two contributions to scavenger hunt:
The Google thing is for something I'm not quite sure. It'll only work in one building on campus, and when one is in that building and types in google, he will be directed to this google, which is a tribute to judgment day, which is tomorrow. There's a website address for it that I can get if I really wanted to get it. The second icon is for www.theassb00k.com (a play off of facebook.com...duh), and instead of poking there is pinching, so that's the pinch. I think anyone can go log into that, and you'll be pinched.
In other news, I just found out that Julie had made an Alex montage to commemorate his death on Roswell. She worked on it for I don't know how many daysa few months again (when we were even watching Roswell, by the way) and I can only imagine her staying up till 5 AM clutching her teddy bear and a box of tissues listening to what is a male equivalent of Sarah McLachlan's "Angel" or something while the enormous pictures of Alex, perfectly synchronized to change at the beat of every song, lights up her tear-stained face. Oh Alex, we will miss you.
Sorry you guys. Alex does die.
The plants in this room are dying. One of the arms of our cactus has mysteriously rotted off, while the African violets are doing a really swell job of wilting. 2 years ago, around this time, when my cactus was going through a patch of trouble, my mom told me that it symbolized her will to live. That was subsequent to the time with all the drama with my sister (ps, I don't know if it's valid to apply someone else's cactus to your life, but oh well). So I'll apply my plants here: the rotted cactus symbolizes my rotten soul, and my wilted African violets represent my wilted interest in the problems of colonization. That was last quarter's topic in reading cultures, and yet I found myself in front of another colonization book this weekend. I am definitely lacking a green thumb here, but now I do know that the jolly green giant does indeed make cream of spinach.
I have to vacuum.
Christ, I really need to get a life.