touch your thighs I'm the lonely one...
Jesus fucking Christ it's hot out. It is totally killing me. I don't want to do anything.
But, I've got a fresh pack of smokes, and a huge cup of iced tea, so I'm ready to do the long-awaited (you know you've been waiting) "Back at Vassar" post.
First, actually, let me tell you about my last couple of days at home. More specifically, the last night, which was by far the most pathetic thing that has ever happened to me. It all started when the Waldenbooks movie night being held in my honor was cancelled, and Rory and I decided to go to the Festa. The Festa Italiana is a little carnival that has been held in my former church's parking lot since time immemorial--there are crappy rides, lots of Italian food, and trashy Lynn residents. Nostalgia may be coloring my memory, but I always look forward to the Festa, and this year promised to be almost good, as they had three real rides--the Scrambler, the Round-up, and a spinning, car-rocking thing--instead of the usual one. Elise and her boyfriend, Tyler (no, I am not kidding--her boyfriend), were supposed to come, but they bailed because Tyler wanted to play the drums. That was clearly just an excuse, but I don't blame them, since Rory and I are the only people who truly understand the draw of the Festa. Of course it sucks. That's the point. The joy is in the disappointment.
Anyway, they dropped me off at Rory's and we walked down. We bought twelve tickets, planning to ride each of the three once, and started on the random spinning one, to go, theoretically, from worst to best. Except that when we got off, we both discovered we felt incredibly ill. We sat down for a bit, to rest our stomachs, and after about 10 minutes realized that the possiblity of us vomiting all over ourselves was very high were we to go on the other rides. So we sold our tickets to a family, walked home, and watched Comedy Central while I tried unsuccessfully to get in touch with Elise. My aunt drove me home at about 11, I went to bed, and that was the end of that. My aunt, upon hearing the story, said, "That's really embarrassing--you shouldn't tell people."
But as I like to revel in my patheticness, I am spreading the story far and wide. I will also add that the previous night I had accidentally flushed my favorite ring down the toilet at a cafe in Boston. Quite the send-off, no?
But now I'm here, and oh, how good it is to be back, even if it is 90 degrees with 100% humidity. My room is pretty big, long and narrow like last year's, but I like it. My closet is absolutely enormous--I swear, it's at least 4 x 4, and since I have about 12 items I usually hang up, quite unnecessary. I still haven't unpacked my clothes, because I'm debating whether or not I want to put my dresser in there--I need to do something with it. To be honest, I really haven't unpacked anything, because I don't have any shevles or anything for my books and assorted crap. Ah well. It'll get done eventually.
I also need to find classes, as at the moment I'm only registered for two, both half-credits, and one of which I'm going to have to drop, as it ends 10 minutes before my ballet class, which is in the middle of nowhere. I've been emailing professors all day, but none have replied yet, so for tomorrow I don't actually have any classes to attend. And as awesome as that is, it's really more problematic, in the long run.
Oh, and just to add to Stephanie's Week of Shame and Embarrassment, I locked myself out of my room last night and had to trek halfway across campus to get a key. (Which, I now remember, I still haven't returned.) After such an ordeal, I was too fagged to go out, so I sat in bed reading the new David Mitchell (incredible, if anyone cares) until 3 in the morning. Today I got up at about 1:00, made a half-hearted attempt to decorate my door and put posters up, went to ACDC for the first time, and bought my first pack of deli cigarettes of the year. And that, as they say, is that. I am officially the lamest person on the planet.
Edit: Also, I will shortlly be moving to liquored_up. mayzelle is tired.
But, I've got a fresh pack of smokes, and a huge cup of iced tea, so I'm ready to do the long-awaited (you know you've been waiting) "Back at Vassar" post.
First, actually, let me tell you about my last couple of days at home. More specifically, the last night, which was by far the most pathetic thing that has ever happened to me. It all started when the Waldenbooks movie night being held in my honor was cancelled, and Rory and I decided to go to the Festa. The Festa Italiana is a little carnival that has been held in my former church's parking lot since time immemorial--there are crappy rides, lots of Italian food, and trashy Lynn residents. Nostalgia may be coloring my memory, but I always look forward to the Festa, and this year promised to be almost good, as they had three real rides--the Scrambler, the Round-up, and a spinning, car-rocking thing--instead of the usual one. Elise and her boyfriend, Tyler (no, I am not kidding--her boyfriend), were supposed to come, but they bailed because Tyler wanted to play the drums. That was clearly just an excuse, but I don't blame them, since Rory and I are the only people who truly understand the draw of the Festa. Of course it sucks. That's the point. The joy is in the disappointment.
Anyway, they dropped me off at Rory's and we walked down. We bought twelve tickets, planning to ride each of the three once, and started on the random spinning one, to go, theoretically, from worst to best. Except that when we got off, we both discovered we felt incredibly ill. We sat down for a bit, to rest our stomachs, and after about 10 minutes realized that the possiblity of us vomiting all over ourselves was very high were we to go on the other rides. So we sold our tickets to a family, walked home, and watched Comedy Central while I tried unsuccessfully to get in touch with Elise. My aunt drove me home at about 11, I went to bed, and that was the end of that. My aunt, upon hearing the story, said, "That's really embarrassing--you shouldn't tell people."
But as I like to revel in my patheticness, I am spreading the story far and wide. I will also add that the previous night I had accidentally flushed my favorite ring down the toilet at a cafe in Boston. Quite the send-off, no?
But now I'm here, and oh, how good it is to be back, even if it is 90 degrees with 100% humidity. My room is pretty big, long and narrow like last year's, but I like it. My closet is absolutely enormous--I swear, it's at least 4 x 4, and since I have about 12 items I usually hang up, quite unnecessary. I still haven't unpacked my clothes, because I'm debating whether or not I want to put my dresser in there--I need to do something with it. To be honest, I really haven't unpacked anything, because I don't have any shevles or anything for my books and assorted crap. Ah well. It'll get done eventually.
I also need to find classes, as at the moment I'm only registered for two, both half-credits, and one of which I'm going to have to drop, as it ends 10 minutes before my ballet class, which is in the middle of nowhere. I've been emailing professors all day, but none have replied yet, so for tomorrow I don't actually have any classes to attend. And as awesome as that is, it's really more problematic, in the long run.
Oh, and just to add to Stephanie's Week of Shame and Embarrassment, I locked myself out of my room last night and had to trek halfway across campus to get a key. (Which, I now remember, I still haven't returned.) After such an ordeal, I was too fagged to go out, so I sat in bed reading the new David Mitchell (incredible, if anyone cares) until 3 in the morning. Today I got up at about 1:00, made a half-hearted attempt to decorate my door and put posters up, went to ACDC for the first time, and bought my first pack of deli cigarettes of the year. And that, as they say, is that. I am officially the lamest person on the planet.
Edit: Also, I will shortlly be moving to liquored_up. mayzelle is tired.