The Oscars, Retreat, and Other Awesomeness
This is going to be a bit of a ramble.
In honor of my poor roommate, whose year-long relationship with her boyfriend just ended, I submit the best break-up song ever:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBR2G-iI3-I
I was angry with her earlier today because she was allowing an annoying tendency of hers free reign: she likes to invite people to our room. Not one, or two. Four or more people. And she has a knack for doing it at the precise moment that I want to shower or am in dire need of a nice, long nap. I do not appreciate traipsing around in a towel, and obviously I am not going to get any sleep with five people guffawing over a Youtube video, perched on my chair, my roommate's chair, my bed, and her bed. One of them I have termed the "Wandering Pothead" because of his nighttime escapades--which ended in our room the other night at two in the morning. Wandering Pothead was sober today, but that did not diminish my tremendous annoyance at him left over from the other night.
I was about to let loose with my infamous temper, when Meg graciously allowed me to come complain to her. Thus no one died from my impending wrath.
Hours later, I also remembered that my roommate is newly single and deserves a bit of leeway right now. She was playing, I think, Korn this morning at eleven AM, and you really only do that kind of thing if you're emotionally unstable.
I had Sisterhood Retreat last night, and in case you haven't observed from the Facebook photos, we painted our faces and then went out and vandalized the very large and conspicuous rock we have in the Greek Courts with spray paint. Most likely the Sigmas (the Cult, in case you've forgotten from my earlier description) will repaint it next week. Ah well. We could fight back, but they post guards by the large, conspicuous rock, and really, they're the only people who depend that much on the fleeting sense of victory provided by painting a large rock. Guess all the eating disorders have finally eroded their self-esteem.
In the middle of the night, the door blew open, which makes me feel really safe, as I'm going to be living in the house next year (side note: yay!) I thought that I left behind nights of being awakened by my own uncontrollable shivering when K-Ville packed up, but apparently not. It was fun though.
We watched It Takes Two and High School Musical. (The estrogen in the room was stifling.) High School Musical makes me really wistful--I don't know why, it fails miserably as a piece of art--especially the Graduation scene where they all sing "Together, together" quietly in their graduation gowns.
On my graduation day, my mother and I were in the car and she asked me how I was doing. I didn't know how to answer her: all I felt was a faint tingling and a sense that I was entering a huge, cold, almost disturbing world, far from the safety of high school and the familiarity of all its beloved faces. I didn't voice any of this, though. She laughed and said, "Oh, no need to answer. It's only the best day of your life." And, even though I didn't realize this, it actually was. The stadium we graduated in was huge, and outside it was so brilliantly sunny that every moment was crisp as a photograph.
Anyway. Whoo, digression.
I'm doing better at this whole college thing. I no longer feel like I've been dropped into this strange place by the Hand of God, or something similarly unnerving. There's a ritual to this, there are rhythms and shared experiences and commonalities even in our patterns of speech.
I'm getting my Big Sister on Tuesday. Deanna found me at chapter today and playfully said, "Someone's looking for you," then smiled knowingly and walked away. Deanna and Becca Leslie are best friends, and I would like nothing more than to have Becca as my Big. I hope that Deanna was trying to reassure me.
I really wish I'd gone to the gym today. I've concluded from a careful study of Elon's male population and couples in general that girls who are larger than a size two rarely get boyfriends, or even dates. Normally I wouldn't care, but I have to come up with one of the latter by Semi-Formal (ick / eek). I had a conversation with a very pretty and slim sister today, and she said she tries to go to the gym once a week. Once a week? I go about four times a week, and I don't look like her. I'm trying not to turn into an Elon girl who spends all her time in the gym and nary an hour in the library, but the temptation is so strong to just allow one to drop, because, right now, with all my sorority activities, I just don't have time to keep up both. I feel pulled in so many different directions. Not that that's anything new. My mother has been trying to make me into a sorority girl for years now, and, lo and behold, she succeeded. My dad tried to make me into the sort of student that had a shot at the Ivies. Looks like that didn't work out. But I did read War and Peace for him, as well as some extra Shakespeare. I draw the line at the classics. He's simply going to have to find another child to push that kind of thing on.
Wow, this post makes very little sense. Although this post better illustrates the contents and methods of my brain better than most. Very few things are simple, and I can make connections between all sorts of experiences. The world exists as a unified whole for me, and I've never been very good at separating out the various parts. Doubtless this will serve me somehow in the future, although I frankly doubt it.
The Oscars are going on right now, not that I'm actually watching them due to this psych paper. From the looks of things, Slumdog Millionaire is cleaning up. It would be really shocking if it didn't win Best Picture and the brilliant Danny Boyle were not named as Best Director.
In honor of my poor roommate, whose year-long relationship with her boyfriend just ended, I submit the best break-up song ever:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBR2G-iI3-I
I was angry with her earlier today because she was allowing an annoying tendency of hers free reign: she likes to invite people to our room. Not one, or two. Four or more people. And she has a knack for doing it at the precise moment that I want to shower or am in dire need of a nice, long nap. I do not appreciate traipsing around in a towel, and obviously I am not going to get any sleep with five people guffawing over a Youtube video, perched on my chair, my roommate's chair, my bed, and her bed. One of them I have termed the "Wandering Pothead" because of his nighttime escapades--which ended in our room the other night at two in the morning. Wandering Pothead was sober today, but that did not diminish my tremendous annoyance at him left over from the other night.
I was about to let loose with my infamous temper, when Meg graciously allowed me to come complain to her. Thus no one died from my impending wrath.
Hours later, I also remembered that my roommate is newly single and deserves a bit of leeway right now. She was playing, I think, Korn this morning at eleven AM, and you really only do that kind of thing if you're emotionally unstable.
I had Sisterhood Retreat last night, and in case you haven't observed from the Facebook photos, we painted our faces and then went out and vandalized the very large and conspicuous rock we have in the Greek Courts with spray paint. Most likely the Sigmas (the Cult, in case you've forgotten from my earlier description) will repaint it next week. Ah well. We could fight back, but they post guards by the large, conspicuous rock, and really, they're the only people who depend that much on the fleeting sense of victory provided by painting a large rock. Guess all the eating disorders have finally eroded their self-esteem.
In the middle of the night, the door blew open, which makes me feel really safe, as I'm going to be living in the house next year (side note: yay!) I thought that I left behind nights of being awakened by my own uncontrollable shivering when K-Ville packed up, but apparently not. It was fun though.
We watched It Takes Two and High School Musical. (The estrogen in the room was stifling.) High School Musical makes me really wistful--I don't know why, it fails miserably as a piece of art--especially the Graduation scene where they all sing "Together, together" quietly in their graduation gowns.
On my graduation day, my mother and I were in the car and she asked me how I was doing. I didn't know how to answer her: all I felt was a faint tingling and a sense that I was entering a huge, cold, almost disturbing world, far from the safety of high school and the familiarity of all its beloved faces. I didn't voice any of this, though. She laughed and said, "Oh, no need to answer. It's only the best day of your life." And, even though I didn't realize this, it actually was. The stadium we graduated in was huge, and outside it was so brilliantly sunny that every moment was crisp as a photograph.
Anyway. Whoo, digression.
I'm doing better at this whole college thing. I no longer feel like I've been dropped into this strange place by the Hand of God, or something similarly unnerving. There's a ritual to this, there are rhythms and shared experiences and commonalities even in our patterns of speech.
I'm getting my Big Sister on Tuesday. Deanna found me at chapter today and playfully said, "Someone's looking for you," then smiled knowingly and walked away. Deanna and Becca Leslie are best friends, and I would like nothing more than to have Becca as my Big. I hope that Deanna was trying to reassure me.
I really wish I'd gone to the gym today. I've concluded from a careful study of Elon's male population and couples in general that girls who are larger than a size two rarely get boyfriends, or even dates. Normally I wouldn't care, but I have to come up with one of the latter by Semi-Formal (ick / eek). I had a conversation with a very pretty and slim sister today, and she said she tries to go to the gym once a week. Once a week? I go about four times a week, and I don't look like her. I'm trying not to turn into an Elon girl who spends all her time in the gym and nary an hour in the library, but the temptation is so strong to just allow one to drop, because, right now, with all my sorority activities, I just don't have time to keep up both. I feel pulled in so many different directions. Not that that's anything new. My mother has been trying to make me into a sorority girl for years now, and, lo and behold, she succeeded. My dad tried to make me into the sort of student that had a shot at the Ivies. Looks like that didn't work out. But I did read War and Peace for him, as well as some extra Shakespeare. I draw the line at the classics. He's simply going to have to find another child to push that kind of thing on.
Wow, this post makes very little sense. Although this post better illustrates the contents and methods of my brain better than most. Very few things are simple, and I can make connections between all sorts of experiences. The world exists as a unified whole for me, and I've never been very good at separating out the various parts. Doubtless this will serve me somehow in the future, although I frankly doubt it.
The Oscars are going on right now, not that I'm actually watching them due to this psych paper. From the looks of things, Slumdog Millionaire is cleaning up. It would be really shocking if it didn't win Best Picture and the brilliant Danny Boyle were not named as Best Director.