Grievance

I hate walking up stairs behind someone who doesn't step on the stair the entire way. When I see half of their foot hanging off I immediately envision them tripping or slipping and crushing me to pieces.

Please be careful. Stair safety is of the utmost importance.

Wait.. Did We Really Fight Mexico in WWI?

I suppose the above statement could be categorized as "Things Annie Tried to Say." I promise, I am not that pathetically obtuse.. it was more of a "Things Annie Should Have Thought About Before Speaking Aloud" moments.

In any case, with the semester winding down much faster than I expected, I am in full job search mode. Finding a co-op would be so much easier if I didn't have the one stipulation of GETTING PAID. Were I to put aside my financial discrepencies and once again work over 40 hours a week for free, I am sure I would have a job by now. But realistically speaking, I simply cannot live anywhere but at my parent's house were I to rely solely on what is, or isn't (for that matter) in my bank account.

I did have a phone interview today, which, let me tell you, is the only way to interview. Not only do I not have to worry about how professional to look in order to make a respectable first impression, but I was able to a) do my laundry and b) clean my bathroom at the same time. Three cheers for multitasking.

And yes, I literally cleaned my bathroom. Not just moved all the dirty clothes from their permanent pile near the shower, but actually bleached all bathroom surfaces. And it is surprisingly rewarding. I'm becoming progressively more domestic - I wish I could have taken a picture of the utter disaster that was my apt last year and compare it to the significantly less embarrassing state of my current one. It is a comparison worthy of a before-and-after infomercial... I should invent some bizarre organizational tool just so that I can share this transformation with the world.

Should I take it as a sign of my increasing middle-agedness that I enjoyed cleaning my bathroom? Along with taking walks with Jess, watching meteor showers (or lack there of) in the quad, and playing the USAToday crossword puzzle (not to be redundant) daily? Maybe. But if being prematurely middle-aged means I can dance to John Mellenkamp in a hall worthy of your local VFW with minimal movement and consider it one of the most entertaining nights of the year, then bring it on, baby.

The Bloodhounds. The Trapsetters.

As if I wasn't already busy enough, I've been sucked into this time eater called The Caucasian Chalk Circle, which is a Brechtian play about a bunch of crap that I still don't really understand. I have spent more time sitting in the big dressing room in Ell hall than I have in my own apartment.

Now, don't get me wrong--I love to perform and I enjoy it immensely, but this play is just bananas. And three hours long. I am supposed to keep a journal about the rehearsal and performance process for a class and one journal entry says, "Today we worked on the second and third stories of the play. So I sat and did other homework for three hours."

I suppose I had nowhere to go with this, aside from being able to vent a little bit. And it serves me right because when I'm not held up in the dressing room or on stage for three hours, I am spending my time during the day steaming costumes for the 90+ characters that are portrayed in this piece.

In short, I may not be a business or premed student, but I substitute their hours upon hours of homework for costume-steaming, sitting, and suffering from cracked skin and the threat of mercury poisoning if one of the dressing room lightbulbs happens to break...again.

Dear Dining Hall,

As much as I appreciate the delicious pizza, the endless options of food, and the newly expanded selection of desserts, I LOATHE you for being so accessible. Rest assured, dining hall, that there is a special fatty area spanning from my gut to my thighs that has your name written all over it.

Love,

Jess

Frizz, the Whiz

Halloween in college still baffles me. I find it amusing how Halloween is really fun and cool until you hit like 7th grade and become "too good" for it, and then you get to freshman year of college and all of a sudden it's back.

I suppose saying Halloween comes back is incorrect, because it is an entirely different holiday when you are in college. It is the one weekend, yes weekend, of the year when dressing like a two-bit whore is not only acceptable, but encouraged. I saw a group of five girls dressed as the slutty versions of the following: A pirate, fire fighter, racecar driver, nurse, and police officer. Quite possibly the most cliche bunch of the night.

I firmly believe that if you choose to dress slutty on Halloween then your freshman year is the prime time to do it. How else could you so easily exude your sexuality and use it to get older guys to like you and buy you alcohol? Once you hit sophomore year, though, it is time to get creative. I get sad when I see people my age still pulling the same tricks as the freshmen girls because, let's face it, once you are in your 4th year of college you are not only an adult, but it is likely that the years of dining hall food combined with hours of sitting and studying have wreaked some sort of havoc on your body. I saw more costumes that were scary due to the amount of excess flub pouring out of them than I was of the costumes covered in blood and gore.

Time to get creative, young adults. Save your lingerie for the bedroom and Halloween in college can be a more aesthetically pleasing experience for all.

And cheers to being Miss Frizzle for a night. I never realized how many people loved those books like I did!

Applause, please

Jess, I'm not sure, but I think that song actually goes "its like 10,000 spoons." But nice choice on the Alanis.

So my big news of the day is that I carved my own pumpkin. Twenty-one years of helping my dad and this year I wasn't home to do it, so I brought one back to my apt and just spent the last hour scooping out the pumpkin sludge and carving a face. It has fangs; I'm very creative. While my carved pumpkin probably could have been done better by a five year old weilding a butter knife, I feel seriously accomplished.
Maybe I should reevaluate how I spend my free time.

It's Like 2000 Spoons

Isn't it ironic that my first exam of the semester AND the first time I've overslept this semester have occurred on the same day?

And given my life-long quest for irony you can imagine how happy I am.

Grievance

I have a class in Northeastern University's largest auditorium with 499 other students. I walked in five minutes early yesterday instead of my usual ten and spotted a pretty empty row.

Why exactly must this damn girl with her entire lap top spread decide to sit in the aisle seat of a completely empty row? Everyone who wanted to get into said row had to strategically mountain climb over her and all of her crap. Of course, since it was morning, I was undercaffinated, and carrying my own plethora of crap, I essentially tripped as I was trying to scale her and her Macbook. As I regain my balance I passive aggressively apologized and death-stared her for the next five minutes while imagining creative ways to bust up her damn computer and idiot face.

Some people are so rude.

Bombs Away

Lets just say that Jess was not the only one feeling the repercussions of her 22 birthday extravaganza.

As hard as we tried to surprise her, Jess pretty much knew the "surprise" party was coming.. especially considering she made the guest list. So not so much of a surprise as Jess humoring us and pretending not to know exactly what was going on. But despite this, it was all around good fun. And full of ridiculousness.

Like when I fumbled my phone on the balcony and watched it fall three stories into the backyard, where it was raining quite hard. Miracle of the night, it still works. Go Samsung.

And not that me being awkward is anything new, but I recently discovered that I am incapable of getting into a cab normally. Rather than slide in, I always crawl in and sit on my knees.

It causes problems.

Last night on my way home from Jess' not so surprise party, my cab driver either saw something in the road or had a bad night and knew this would amuse him, I'm not sure, but he hit the brakes and I slammed my forehead into the divider. I probably shouldn't ride in cabs alone anymore.

Embarking upon my 23rd year of life..

It is unsettling to me that birthdays can be the source of so many bad life choices. Surrounding my birthday I took part in copious amounts of drinking comparable to what some may consider alcoholism, I excused myself from work, I also excused myself from class, I ate my weight in Mexican food, and in Italian food. I splurged and bought myself some clothes when I can't even afford groceries, and I wore a damn tiara and sash when I went out on Thursday night.

Thank goodness for my health, and at this point I think its fair to say for the health of others, that birthdays only happen once a year. I don't think my body, grades, or bank account would see many more birthdays if this were consistent behavior.

I hope 22 is a good one. With all of the celebration surrounding it, there have been some standards set.

Old and ready to slow down for the next few weeks (after Halloween),

Jess

Thats What (S)he Said

So last week when I "revived" the blog I fully intended to bring it back full force - as in, write more than once a week. But my inconsistency is astonishing.

Dunkin Donuts seriously underrepresented themselves this morning by giving me my large coffee in a cup with a hole in it. An initially invisible hole, so I didn't notice the gradual soaking of my jacket/bag until I was in class. To salvage as much of the seriously important beverage (I'm literally running on empty this week) I drank fast and burned my tongue. Grr.

Anyway, in my 8am Gender and Sexuality class, a charming combination of feminists, four dudes, and.. well.. me, we were watching a video about Transgendered Post-Ops (female to male) and one of the interviewees, Michael (once Judy) was discussing the male versus the female sex drive.

I'm going somewhere with this, I swear. Just bear with me.
As a woman, Judy/Michael said that all she ever wanted was the feeling of intimacy... the cuddling, if you will. Pretty much had zero sex drive.
Then (s)he started taking testosterone and Michael/Judy basically said "BRING IT ON!" All the time.

I always kind of figured this was a gross exaggeration of the difference between men and women. How much difference can gender really have on a sex drive?
According to Michael/Judy, a lot. And perhaps (s)he is right. I don't know. I've never been a male.

Needless to say, I was a child about the whole situation and started to laugh. Out loud. But because I was simultaneously drinking my disappointing coffee, choking ensued.

Subtle, Annie.

WHY, GOD, WHY?

Today was abysmal. I have a cold, I'm physically exhausted, I barely had time to eat except on the train and during class, I had a presentation to do in my three-hour class, I had to teach a dance class all the way in Brookline, I had to go to my jazz class, I had three hour rehearsal, and the only thing getting me through all of this was the promise of a slice of red velvet cake that Pam had swiped me from the dining hall. Red velvet cake is my favorite cake. I nearly sprinted home and threw open the fridge and scoured the living room and kitchen for the cup containing my one glimpse of happiness for the entire day. I found the cup. It was in the trash. Empty. My other roommate ate the cake. She ate my happiness.

"Slinging" Praises to the Gods of Injury Recovery

I decided to continue the punning.

So, as it turns out, I have strained my rotator cuff muscles. Pro- I don't have to wear a sling. Con- I have to have physical therapy. Pro- My physical therapy includes massage. So let me use my injury as a teaching moment for anyone who reads this:

Do NOT wear just socks when going down stairs, regardless of the amount of flights.


Now, in the spirit of punning, I shall blog about my Shakespeare class. (If that went over anyone's head, it is because Shakespeare LOVED puns.)

My Shakespeare professor is a 30-something-year-old man, who undoubtedly could have been a member of Sesame Street's multicultural, actual human being cast had he chosen a less academic path in life. Well, aside from the fact that he creepily doesn't open his mouth very wide when he speaks and anyone who watches Sesame knows that articulation and animation of face are key components.

ANYWAYS, this man, who assumedly lives with his mother or a herd of cats, never fails to amuse me or Alex during class discussion. He has come up with some gems:

"Well, as the Beatles say... All you need is GLOVE!"
(This is in reference to the Shakespeare family's legacy of glovemaking. The "joke" was followed by raucous laughter from select ass-kissing English majors)

"Have you guys ever tried rhyme?"
(Ok.. I'm not sure how to approach this. Have I ever tried rhyme.. when? Today? Ever? If you mean ever, then YES, I'VE TRIED RHYME, YOU ASS. If you mean today then, well, I haven't necessarily TRIED to rhyme, but perhaps at some point I inadvertantly did. Either way, what the hell kind of question is that in a college literature class?)

"So Shakespeare began his writing in the 1500s, which is the 16th century. I know this sounds confusing. Let me elaborate. So the 1400s are the 15th century, the 1500s are the 16th century, the 1600s are the 17th century and so on. The discrepency falls in the first century, which were the years 0-100. So when it was time for the second century, the years ended up being 100-199."
(OHHHHH, so that explains it. God, I've lived nearly 22 years and never had to learn that before)

The thing that makes this class the worst, is that despite the ridiculous things he says, and despite the fact that he doesn't know a single teaching technique beyond standing in the front of the room and asking, "Ok, so what else stood out from the text?" after each person in the class responds for an hour and forty minutes, and despite the fact that I don't have service in the room so I have to rely on doodling to pass this waste of time, is that there are people in the room that genuinely think he is a funny, brilliant professor. As this class continues I may have to take a tip from someone like Juliet or Lucrece and do myself in before I can't take it anymore, either.

Moving on to a part of my life that is more dear to me. I know this must sound sarcastic since I clearly treasure my Shakespearian education, but it's actually not.

My babies at the Child Center are the most adorable ever. Three is the BEST age. I have learned so much from the little guys. For example, I had NO idea that once kids grew up their penises disappeared. I learned this from one of the little boys, who came to this conclusion because his mother does NOT, in fact, have a penis in her old age. Another interesting thing that I learned today is that even though if the tongue of my sneaker is even a little out of place, I'm really uncomfortable, a three-year-old can run around for two hours with his shoes on the wrong feet and feel great. I've also learned that when kids like books they memorize the crap out of them. To get out of reading a book to one of the little girls today I skipped about twelve pages when she looked away. Without missing a beat she told me that I skipped a lot. I'm a horrible person.

My job teaching dance classes to kindergarteners is also amazing. I get paid $40 a class to sit there while kids jump around the Camp Rock and Ho Down Throw Down for 40 minutes. I want to kiss whoever allotted that much money per class in the After School Enrichment Program on the mouth.


At risk of losing your interest, I'm going to conclude this blog.

-Jess

Revival of the Fittest

.... hahaha. puns.

Okay okay, so due to lack of.. well actually due to pure laziness, the Pinetrapple Express took a brief hiatus. But never fear, faithful fans (all 2 of you), Jess and I have returned.

So things to know -
We no longer live in the building with Eartha Kitt, so unfortunately "Eartha Kitt Sightings" will be next to none from here on out. As much as I loved listening to her talking nonsense in various polos and matching fisherman's hats, we have moved on to relatively less ridiculous living arrangements (ie not sharing a bed in a room with a kid named greg in an apartment with no furniture). However, despite the infinite amount of space in my current apartment, I am sure ridiculous items will still find their way into my bed.

Jess and I have started taking walks on Sunday to sweat out the toxins of general college debauchery. While most people our age may have the energy to go to the gym after being alcoholically paralyzed, we are surprisingly ancient. We may look like 21 year olds, but for some reason are both plagued with bad backs, bad knees, and an uncanny ability to collect injuries.
For example, Jess is currently at the campus med center visiting some of Northeastern's fine medical staff due to an incident involving socks and stairs. She may need a sling. If she does, I will be an excellent friend and probably laugh. Sorry Jess. Not that I can talk. Black eye count for 2009 is at 2, and I can't blame anyone but myself.

I am fairly certain that when I logged on to revive the blog, I had somewhere in particular to go with it, but have since lost my train of thought. So, with this post of useless information I will leave you. But don't worry, our 2 fans. We will both be back with words of wisdom (or nonsense) very soon.

Annie

Fuck you, Blogger, for deleting the entire post I just wrote.

The Hesitate Song

Pam, Mitch, and I have been at Universal the past two days--Islands of Adventure and Universal Studios respectively. I'd like to share some musings from our experiences.

Bill Paxton. Watch the following video. I have noted the appropriate places to take note of what the presumed interchanges between Bill and the director were.

First of all 0:55- Thank you Twister ride for beginning our "adventure" by showing us the most depressing clip from the entire film.

1:37-
Director: Ok, Bill. Enter the shot and find a comfortable position.

2:12-
Director: Bill. Look to your left at Helen.
Bill: But Helen is not there.
Director: Right, but during the attraction she will be.
Bill: I don't understand.
Director: Act like Helen is standing to your left.
Bill: Act?
Director: Sorry, PRETEND that Helen is to your left.
Bill: Ok. Hey, Helen.
Director: No, don't talk to her!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fc2VqBxkwBE&feature=related

Hillbilly Babies. We were behind the World's luckiest babies. Not because they were rich. Not because they were smart. But because they had triumphantly won Genetic Russian Roulette. Their mother was a squat red head. Their father's teeth started rotting about fifteen years ago, around the same time that his hair started to fall out. And somehow, their two little girls were the most adorable, filled-with-potential babies I've ever encountered.

Shim. Universal Studios just opened this bitchin roller coaster called the Hollywood Rip Ride RockIt. Clever. Basically you get to select the music you listen to as you ride and the ride is filmed for you to keep forever. (http://www.hollywoodripriderockit.com/#/home) So since it opened yesterday or today or something we waited in a painfully long line. Behind us there was a crew of three Japanese... humans. The girl with bleach blonde hair, her boyfriend with a hot pink, very long fashion mullet, and a transgender (male to female) who assumedly had several steps left in ...her transformation. Mitch and Pam were both a bit nervous and wanted to sit with one another as there were only two seats per row so I decided to man up and take my own row. Unfortunately, this is not what happened. I made a music video with the transgender.

Lack of Oxygen. There were tremendous thunder storms that kept holding up our ride experiences. One particular occasion was in line for Dueling Dragons where we were stuck in a narrow cave-dwelling of a line. Due to the lack of oxygen we raucously dreamed up all the scenarios in which JK Rowling could have outed Dumbledore to the world. Examples:

(While reading to children at a public library)
JK: And Dumbledore--footnote: gay--said to Harry...

(Making an important news announcement that aired over regular programming)
JK: I stand before the entire world today to share with you that Dumbledore, our beloved wizard and headmaster of the prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is a mo.

You had to be there.

Sire. Pam says, "Hello, sire" to all.

Taylor. We went to Poseidon's Adventure, more affectionately known as Taylor's Adventure, where we gained an intense adoration for, well, Taylor. He prodded me in the dark with his flashlight, performed a stunning rendition of the Poseidon's Adventure cast monologue, and successfully dodged being included in the water and fire fight between Poseidon and the Dark Lord. What else could a girl want?

Jaws. In Amity we prepared to take what we thought was going to be a relaxing cruise around the harbor. WHAT COULD GO WRONG? Apparently everything. We were attacked by a shark. Our ride operator, named Hillary, acted as if this occurrence happened every 10 minutes from 9am until 7pm, which interestingly enough meant that she wasn't "acting" at all. We got a couple of monotonous "ohno. i'veneverseenthishappenbefore"s. She really killed my buzz.

Christopher Walken. Immediately when I found out that Christopher Walken was the "star" of the Disaster! attraction I became excited. However, I'm currently insanely perplexed about whether or not he was actually in the room with me. I am well aware that I was supposedly watching a hologram, but at the same time, what the heck! Watch for yourself (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XckrW82oBCs) Technology!

Mumma Mia. Being the hilarious people that we are, while in line for The Mummy the three of us noticed that a portion of the line was caught, unbeknownst to the subjects, on camera and shown in a different part of line. We figured out the part of the line where we'd be filmed and walked around like mummies to provide entertainment for those watching. When we arrived at the loading station we were made aware that we had chosen the wrong place and were walking like mummies for our own amusement. We were filmed as our raw selves where the camera actually was.

Cat in the Hat. During some downpour we decided to seek refuge in the Cat in the Hat ride. Mitch explained that the ride takes you through the story. Pam proceeded to ask, "Which story is it?" We told her it was the Lorax. Mitch also suggested that I film in the ride. I began to when suddenly a disembodied voice told me that filming was not permitted.

International Cuisine. I just thought it amusing that when we went into a restaurant claiming to be international--it did don the flags of many, many countries outside--and I was feverishly craving Mexican food, we found that by international they meant American, Italian, and Chinese. Each genre provided three different food options. We got salad.

Mazel Tov. When we got to the Spiderman ride we were provided the option of going in the regular entrance or the "single riders" entrance. Being unattached (except Mitch) we got in the Single Riders lane. We joked about the Friends episode where Phoebe questions the pronunciation of Spiderman and began pronouncing it "Speedermin" and deemed the ride Speedermin's bar mitzvah. On this ride we witnessed Speedermin become a man. His Zadie sure spent lots of money on the party supplies.


I love vacation.

Fin.

Musings

One of my 6-year-old campers asked me to check her disposable cameras to see if she had any pictures left. I said no. She threw it away.

Ask And You Shall Receive

Yesterday Mitch and I went to the mall on the hunt for a Father's Day gift, a backpack, gifts for my co-workers, and a watch. We returned with none of those things and severe fatigue.

Over the past few months I have been doing bits of work here and there for a math-a-thon at the school. (You'll understand the connection shortly.) This year's theme was Superheroes named after math concepts such as "Numerator" and "Denominator" and the like.

This morning I received two gifts from the math-a-thon coordinator. A T-shirt that says "Numerator" and lo and behold--A BACKPACK! The backpack also says "Numerator".

Needless to say, I am going to be the COOLEST camp counselor on the west side of the Mississippi (and that's a LOT of territory).

Things Found In My Bed

So due to the general lack of storage space and the complete abomination that is my room during this packing for CA process, I have been sleeping with quite an array of crappe in my bed. I have been snuggling up to the following:

A pair of earrings
A photo envelope
Nail clippers
Water bottle
Various shirts
A pen
Nylons
Hangers
A box of tampons
Nail polish remover
Nail polish
A headband
A nip of Bacardi
An envelope full of money
A shot glass from Spain
A Wizard of Oz pill case
Ribbon
A Company program


...to name a few.

I wish I was kidding.

Things Annie Tried To Say

She tried to say: "Is this parking for retards?"

She actually said: "Is this tard for re parking? I guess I answered my own question."

Grievance

As a seven-year-old, if I heard "She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain" or "Pop! Goes the Weasel" playing with a delightful music box quality from some unknown location it meant that it was around 1:30 and that the ice cream man was making his rounds. I would try to scrape up enough change to purchase a Bubble Play or Screwball and sprint up the street to meet him at the corner. (We lived on a dead-end street with three houses rendering it a hassle for the boxy truck to take the trip).

As a 21-year-old living on St. Alphonsus St., if I hear "She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain" or "Pop! Goes the Weasel" playing with a music box quality one more time I will be filled with enough murderous rage to kill an entire orphanage. I exaggerate. But seriously, is it really necessary for the ice cream man to park a stone's throw from our building and sell his goods while keeping the music on for (what I've timed today to be) an hour and a half? It is irritating enough for me never to want a Bubble Play again. Fine. I exaggerate some more. Bubble Plays are delicious.

Musings

Celine Dion followed us to New York. While in the New York underground our ears perked up as a karaoke track played the opening of "My Heart Will Go On" and a woman perched on a bench began to sing.

Things I Found in my Bed

Hey kids,

I realize that Jess and I haven't been up on "things we found in our beds" lately, which in her defense probably has something to do with her travels. I, on the other hand, have no excuse. So this morning, to sum, I was sleeping in a tiny little ball in my full-sized bed, with:
1. two shopping bags - express and american eagle
2. two books - chuck palahniuk's "Diary" and "Everything is Illuminated" by an author I can't remember
3. My laptop, phone, and phone charger
4. iPod headphones. not sure where the actual iPod is.
5. tulip petal found under my pillow. very dead and brown.
6. a tissue
7. various articles of clothing

I suppose my bed can no longer be considered a true bed. It is, in fact, a storage space masquerading as a bed between the hours of midnight and 8am.

Damnit

Well this is embarassing.

I went to Campus Nails last night for an appointment and the little Asian lady that is taking care of me tells me (not asks me) "I wax your lip." Actually, I suppose that could have been meant as a question. The syntax.. well.. whatever.

So I responded, "Really?"

And she says, "Yes. You have lot of hair."

So I cave. I mean, she's not wrong, though I never thought of myself to be one of those women with beastly mustaches. I decided that wax seemed an interesting alternative to bleach, so why not?

She does her thing and then proceeds to show me exactly how much hair she ripped off to prove her point.

I have a red spot, comparable to a Kool-Aid mustache for an hour.

Musings

The fifth grade is taking a sex education course in science that talks about changing bodies and how babies are created. I had a conversation with a fifth grader at lunch yesterday that went as follows:

5th grader: Hey, do you know what we're learning about (chuckles)
Me: Yes, I know what you're learning about.
5th grader: Oh yeah? What are we learning about?
Me: Just go sit down. It's not necessary to discuss right now.
5th grader: It's something that we can't talk to little kids about.
Me: Yes, I know. Go sit.
5th grader: It's ancient Greece!
Me: Exactly. Little kids can't handle the truth about ancient Greece.
5th grader: Do you know about our special science unit?
Me: Yes, I know about your special science unit.
5th grader: BAM CHICKA WAH WAH!

Things I learned on my trip to Montreal

1) I am able to follow suit with every other family vacation and bump into someone I know, even if it is a small rest stop in Vermont where members of a Methodist church are selling baked goods and coffee.

2) St. Hubert's is never a let down. It is great for drinks, lunch, AND dinner, which is why we visited for all three of those things.

3) Celine Dion is an ever-present spirit of Canada. She presents herself through accordianists playing "My Heart Will Go On" on the Metro, and in the form of a chocolate cake called Gateau Celine, which is served in her restaurant chain, Nickels.

4) It is possible to leave an island by taxi.

5) When faced with the challenge of reading Rhiannon's handwriting, Hotel Gouverneur thought it more logical that there would be a roommate named Parn rather than Pam.

6) Crepes are great.

7) Montreal is home to World's Most Expensive Elevator.

8) There is a creature that is half cat half skunk.

9) Canada is ten years in the past musically. It is also prone to playing hits off the Austin Powers Goldmember soundtrack.

10) Groups of around twenty skeezy old men situate themselves in open-windowed bars to hoot and holler at female passersby.

11) The Royal Ascot game at the Casino is severely addictive, especially when one of the fake horses shares the same name as the person betting on it (i.e. Pam's Pride)

12) There are, in fact, lesbians in Canada. The horrible, horrible boys on the bus ride with us felt it necessary to exclaim this fact in not-so-nice terms.

13) Bambi (yes, there was a person actually named Bambi on our bus) has a 2.92 GPA and thinks Mariah Carey's tourbus is da bomb. Gotta love girls from Everett.

14) It is possible to cross the border with nothing but a college ID. It is also possible for a person to become angry and confused when the border patrol members demand to see more ID. Maybe next time I'll try to cross with my Stop N Shop card.

15) Molson beer is awesome.

16) Harry Potter references are always valid, especially when we played real Wizard's Chess.

17) Chelsie is a little angel.

18) Jews apparently run the sex industry in Canada. We learned this in one of the eight-hundred sex shops lining the gay district on Saint Catherine Street.

19) We also learned from the sex shop workers that the most effective pheromone perfume is your lady juice. (This theory has not been tested)

20) Canadian bathrooms have black lights in them because it make it very difficult to locate your veins when attempting your daily heroine fix.

21) Jen would marry a Jew, but she really likes Christmas

22) A good safe word (or phrase) to have when out at a club with your girlfriends is, "Where is Big Tony?"

23) The silver robot that poses in the park for money turns into a human when standing in the shade.

24) The purpose of a silo is to pile up dead corpses of farm animals.

25) Sometimes banana muffins end up tasting like cigarettes.

26) "Back in 15 minutes" sometimes means "Never coming back"

27) It is socially acceptable to walk around Montreal dressed as Dracula and his bride.

28) The first 45 minutes of Quebec looks like Oklahoma.

29) It is inappropriate to sing "Proud to be an American" when entering a Canadian hotel, though what can you expect from a group of people that yell "THERE ARE DYKES IN CANADA" on a packed bus?

30) Canada has lots of matching bikes.

31) The "Glass Floor" at the casino is far less impressive than it sounds.

32) Smoking pot on the street in Canada is totally tolerated. And people do it a LOT.

33) Napkins are a great tool for illustrating to someone how to masturbate. St. Hubert's got a pretty graphic drawing left on the table.

34) For some reason, the temperature doesn't change as the sun goes down in Montreal.

35) It is totally fine to be drunk at 2pm on a Saturday. It is also fine to be drunk at 4pm on a Saturday.

36) Fries are served with gravy. It is awesome and makes you feel like a fatass all at the same, glorious time.

37) If you read something you can't understand it's probably "some Canadian bullshit" (another gem from our friends on the bus)

38) A great "That's what she said" comes after someone says "There was an explosion of cream in my mouth"

39) Montreal is awesome.

Eartha Kitt Sighting

I think Eartha Kitt must be a huge party animal as I saw her at 7:15 this morning wearing the same bright orange polo shirt and bucket hat that she was wearing last night. Or she just sleeps in her clothes.

She was playing charades with the conceirge. It is unclear whether it was for communication purposes or just to get some kicks out of a Thursday morning.

Oblivion and the Art of Procrastination

With the event season completed, my tasks within the office have severely diminished. My one task for the day is data entry - something I have never been able to accomplish in a timely manner due to the overwhelming stores of knowledge available on the internet. Or, in truth, the compelling desire to read every post on textsfromlastnight.com coupled with the necessity of checking facebook 4-17 times a day.

One thing to say for hours of data entry is that I can now officially claim the title of "Master Procrastinator". I've acvtually become quite wordly, because when the old stand-bys give me nothing new to waste time on, I've started reading the news. And movie plots. I don't think there is any movie coming out within the year that I haven't read a synopsis for.

Anyway, so absorbed was I in my facebook stalking that I wasn't paying attention to which cup I was drinking out of on my desk. All morning.

Finally deciding to actually look at what I was consuming, I was slightly unnerved.

Don't ask how, or what, because I don't know, but there are at least 30 unidentified floating objects in the seemingly innocent styrofoam cup.

Blech.

-Annie

Sighting

Location: The Runkle School lobby

Subjects: Sixty-Six Third Grade Students

Event: A recorder concert

Details: Sixty-Six recorders playing "My Heart Will Go On" makes quite a racket

Eartha Kitt Sighting

Though she assumedly spent the day indoors, Eartha Kitt was wearing a weather-appropriate lime-green bucket hat.

NEWSFLASH: She does live in this building. She has a mailbox key (which I suppose we can't prove is really hers). She also has a lovely older lady friend* in the building.

*Friend: Someone who listens to and politely responds to Bwarlblahbrahhl

Grievance

Why is the rat tail still a thing? I was under the presumption that rat tails had died alongside mushroom cuts toward the new millenium when I left grammar school. At least three kids within the 2nd-3rd grade range have said rat tail. I suppose that all boys must go through a rat tail/mushroom cut period of elementary school before graduating to the current "shaggy head" look or the traditional "ski slope" hairstyle that the 6th-8th grade boys all seem to have. It is a shame that bad hair seems to be a right of passage everyone needs to go through at some point.

Ironically, the father of two of the rat-tailled children (twins) just came to the office to pick them up. I must give them credit because their rat tails are in addition to mohawks.

Sighting

Location: The Runkle School lobby

Subjects: Two Seventh Grade Boys

Event: A fist fight

Cause: A dispute over a bottle of apple juice

Eartha Kitt and the English Language

I didn't see Eartha Kitt in the lobby this morning when I left for work, which leads me to believe that she does, in fact, live somewhere in the building, or around it. But I also wouldn't be surprised if she was watching me from behind some tall fern, or lurking in the mailbox hallway (which is where Jess and I first heard her utter mrawlblarghblargh and point animatedly at our mailbox.)
This could very well be paranoia talking, but I always have the distinct feeling that she's watching me from behind those big, bug-like glasses she wears under the hat.

On another note, I feel like I should address my inability to properly speak the English language for those of you who haven't had the privledge of hearing some form of nonsense come out of my mouth.
Most of the time (though not all) the nonsense can be categorized into three groups:
1. completely made up words (pinetrapple)
2. an infusion of two completely unrelated words
3. a yoda-like mix up of a sentence (this goes one of two ways - the order of the sentence makes no sense, or I confuse the first letters of different words)

My friend Maggie's dad tried to explain this to me once. We were discussing how I should consider hostong a talk show, when I said "I mix words up too much to be a talk hoe shoast" (case in point). His response: "You don't mix up words more than anyone else, you just talk more than most people."
hmph.

I wonder if this is how Eartha Kitt's ridiculous muttering started. In 50 years I could very well be a hotel-lobby lurker muttering mrawlblarghblargh at unsuspecting tenants.

Things Annie Tried To Say

She tried to say: "A: Are you high? and B: Are you five?"

She actually said: "A: Are you high? and four five"

Grievance

The staff bathrooms at work are awfully teeny. It is simply a one-seater with all the essentials and an unfortunately heavy door. This means that whenever I need to use the bathroom there is a risk that I will either have to wait for someone to finish their business, or even worse, someone will have to wait for me. It is already bad enough that I have pee anxiety in public, but when I know a busy teacher is tapping her toe outside the door, I find it terribly awkward.

Alas, this isn't the main purpose for this entry. I find on far too many occasions that I enter this bathroom about three minutes after someone does a number two. Since the door is heavy, the small gas chamber is incapable of airing out. It is already bad enough that I must hold my breath while I am in there, but I find that the time that someone is most often tapping their toes outside the door is when I am in a position such as this. Then I must exit the bathroom followed by someone else's stink with the person waiting behind me silently holding me responsible for it.

If I didn't have such an intense fear of dehydration I wouldn't run into this problem!

Jess

Greetings

Welcome to our blog. Here we will discuss general musings, grievances, Eartha Kitt sightings, objects found daily in our beds, things Annie tried to say this week, and much much more.

I would like to take this time to preface much of what you'll be hearing about in the future of our blog. This will be your lexicon of background knowledge.

First and foremost,
PINETRAPPLE: This word encompasses Annie's general inability to coherently speak.

EARTHA KITT: No, we are not visited by the spirit of the late Eartha Kitt. HOWEVER, there is a woman, who we aren't even sure is a resident of our building, that lingers constantly in our lobby. And she looks like Eartha Kitt. We would get her real name, but due to her inability to speak as she has but a single tooth, we can not. She is generally found inarticulately mumbling at the conceirge, at residents checking their mail, and dons a straw hat and polo shirt.

OBJECTS IN OUR BED: We can see where this could become misinterpreted. Annie and I were raised with twin-sized beds. We came to college and were given twin-sized beds. Now we live in apartment where our beds are nearly twice the size! Both our beds have somehow served as additional storage spaces to different objects such as (but not limited to) the following: A flashlight, two Twilight books, clothing, tissues, stuffed animals (that don't belong to us), and more.

OUR LIVING SITUATION: This is rather comical. We have lived the past three weeks with a grand total of five boys on and off. The first week Annie and I shared a bed and slept in a room with a boy named Greg. We have no couches, all of the chairs were stolen from dumpsters, we share a key, had no working computers for nearly a week, have dangerously thin walls, but have a gorgeous flat-screen tv.

Well thanks for tuning in. Feel free to use this initial entry as a footnote whenever our blog goes over your head.