Let’s face it, folks. East-Town Mall has seen better days. I visited the local mall yesterday in order to get three inches of my hair chopped off. As I sat waiting for my turn in the beauty seat, I engaged in some habitual people watching, one of my favorite sports. During this time, I noticed only two types of people. First, there were a plethora of mall-walkers. It seems that, as the weather becomes less pleasant, the one thing this mall is good for is exercise. At least a dozen pairs passed me by in the short time I loitered outside the hair salon. The second type of individual I noticed were little punks in their early teens, or mall-rats as I will classify them. These “young adults” seem to have nothing better to do than stroll the mall endlessly or simply hover in one place until they decide that the soda machine is no longer the cool place to be. Their dress, as well as their behavior, is characteristic of their title. According to the woman that scissored my hair, the presence of such mall-rats is not uncommon. As I left the mall and ran my fingers through my freshly cut hair, I pondered one question. Who would win in a battle to the death? The team of mall-walkers or the gang of mall-rats? I would definitely be rooting for the walkers. However, after careful thought, I’d have to put my money on the rats. Sadly, the lurking hoodlums are more intimidating.* *(I think that may have something to do with too much eyeliner and too little parental guidance.)
Around campus there are many "garbage centers", if you will, where one will find numerous garbage cans in which to dispose of their waste materials. The cans are separated into different types of recyclables and pure garbage. Often there will be a sign above one of the cans, the paper/cardboard can, asking that no milk cartons be thrown in along with the other paper products. I noticed at one of the garbage centers, the message on the sign is preceded by " 'please' ". " 'Please' no milk cartons", or something to that affect. Why the quotation marks around "please"? Is this like when someone uses air-quotes, suggesting that they do not really mean what they are saying as it would otherwise seem without the help of the air-quotes? Are they being sarcastic in their politeness? Are they telling us, "We think you should do as we ask no matter what and feel no need for pleasantries. However, just to be funny we will ask you politely. It'll be one of those funny stories to tell at the next holiday party."? I think from now on when I ask someone to do something for me I will insert air-quotes around the please just to see the person's reaction.
-I do not like milk. I have never liked milk. I do not drink milk and will not put milk in my cereal. My milk consumption is limited to the negligible amounts that are added to certain foods. (mac & cheese for instance) -To make my dislike for milk even worse, I was raised on a farm and the milk I was forced to drink was whole milk. When I attended school and experienced the horror known as 2%, I was mortified. Whole milk is sweeter, and 2% milk is basically 98% water and 2% milk. The foul liquid tastes even worse than the milk I grew up with. Bleh. And my friend taking a liking to skim milk just mystifies me. -I do realize that, as I continually forget to take my calcium vitamins, I will most likely suffer from osteoporosis in the future. But hey... my bones where never very strong to begin with. -Anyway, the other day I purchased my first bottle of milk. A whole quart. I felt so grown up and responsible. I only bought it so that I could make that box of macaroni that I had been craving and to mix into the oatmeal that I was also buying. I had no intention of allowing the nasty fluid near my mouth solo. -However, yesterday as I cooked up a hot pocket, I browsed the refrigerator for something to drink. Water was simply too boring, I wasn't in the mood for capri sun, I decided that I shouldn't drink the can of soda, and I like to save the grapefruit juice for the morning. I stared into the fridge in disappointment when I saw the little-used quart of milk that had been pushed aside. "Hmmm," I thought, "What the hell. I'll give it a try." After all, it had been a long time since I had given milk a chance. I poured myself a glass. -My first gulp was an experience like seeing an old acquaintance that you haven't seen in years. It was like a feeling of reminiscence. Not particularly enjoyable, but not overly terrible. It was the second sip that did me in. It was then that I realized, "Oh yeah, there's a reason I don't drink milk." I drank a couple more swallows because it seemed like the right thing to do. However, the majority of it went down the sink. Hopefully I will not make similar mistakes in the future.
She's lost. The woods are dark and deep. She's been attempting to find the edge of the trees, but she's been walking for hours, for days, for weeks. The longer she walks, the darker it gets, and she's dropped her flashlight. The haunting noises are getting louder with each passing step. She can no longer hear her own thoughts, only the frightening sounds of the darkness. The night has grown cold and she has grown weary. She becomes disoriented, forgetting from which direction she came and which direction is home. The treetops block her view of the sky as again she looks upward, searching for stars to guide her. She's lost. She's cold. She's hungry. She's tired. She's lost.
She's lost and is beginning to lose faith in being found.
Down in the dumps... Get it? You will. To be completely honest, I’ve been freaking out. Sadly, today was only the third day of class and already I find myself struggling for breath. But this would be a boring, depressing story. Instead, let’s talk about the little convenience we like to call, “running water”. I have turned down a camping invite to Rock Island two consecutive summers, citing lack of running water as my scapegoat excuse. After all, my everyday hygiene habits, such as hand-washing, teeth-brushing, showering, toilet-flushing, dish-washing, etc., require the use of such a luxury. Basically, I like me some running water. Huge fan right here. For this reason, it is uncool for the little punks to turn off my water for large chunks of the day, no matter what legitimate, necessary reasons they may have. The mere knowledge that I cannot flush the toilet makes my bladder contract more than its usual activity. It’s like getting the urge to urinate right in the middle some long event as you sit in the middle of a crowded auditorium and intermission ended 7 minutes ago. At this point, you know you must hold the piss in (no matter how painful) and this becomes the only thing you can think about for the next hour and 23 minutes. However, the need to urinate is the better of two unfortunate biological needs a person can experience while their water is shut off. I for one do not attempt to be ladylike. I belch in public and often announce the fact that I have a grundy and then proceed to pick my undies from their improper position. And yet, I constantly deny the fact that I have ever farted or even poop. I refuse the idea and write it off as purely ludicrous. However, yesterday, while the water was on the outs, my tummy was in an unsettled state. I was fairly positive that holding anything in my body for the hours it would take for the water to be turned back on was simply not healthy. I decided that it would also not be academically wise to leave the situation unresolved during my three hour night class. What was a girl to do? I have never been able to perform such activities in a public restroom. My body does not allow it. However, yesterday I left for class early in an attempt to find a quiet, little-used restroom in which to relieve myself. I succeeded, though I felt slightly dirty after having done so. I cannot believe I have just written this all out. I’ve just shared a poop story with the world. I’m pretty sure this is wrong on many levels. enjoy and I’m sorry
Today marked the beginning of second semester classes. To this I give a giant "BOOOO." The entire day has been simply overwhelming. My morning began at an unfortunate 6:37 with an alarm that interrupted my dreaming, which included combating mutant, explosive jellyfish. My first class, Differential Equations, was at an early 8:00. I was comforted only by the fact that the prof and I are already old pals. Then I was off to Proofs. I’m not sure it is healthy to have math classes from 8 – 11 twice a week. This may prove to be a problem. Proofs has already provided me with 3 pages of notes, front and back, most of which is words not numbers, and most of which I do not fully understand. I’m fairly positive that this class will bring me much suffering. I then attended a class that I am on the waiting list for. We had to form reading groups that we will be working with for the rest of the semester. I skillfully formed a group with four young lads. At the end of class I went up to discuss my position in the class with the prof. I continued to babble on and on until he bluntly asked, “Will you stop talking?” Yeah sure, no prob dude. I have honestly never had that problem before. No one has ever expressed the idea that I talk too much. Ever. Normally around people I don’t know it’s more like, “Kate, say something.” I found that quite humorous.
Sometimes words don't mean what you think they do, but when you learn their real meaning, sometimes it doesn't matter. In a way, they'll always have the meaning (or be attached to the meaning) that you originally assumed. Does this cause words to change meaning over time?
With words as is with humans. We often make incorrect judgments about people only to realize our mistake after time. However, do we hold on to these judgments the way we hold on to word meanings? And wouldn't it be unfortunate for someone to change over time to match an incorrect judgment made of them, unless of course the judgment was a positive one?
back again Yup, me. I reluctantly arrived around 8:30 last night, only to find myself locked out of my apartment. Nice of them to change my combination without telling me, isn't it? With my arms loaded with bags, I knocked on my RA's door only to stand there with no answer. As I called a friend of mine in hopes that I could hang there until I figured out how to get into my apartment, my lovely RA came walking up and I managed to get in afterall. Crisis averted. The fabulous 5 hour meeting this morning that I had to come back for was a giant waste of my time. I think it is pretty obvious that I could not care any less about SGA and everything it involves. None the less, I sat through the meeting and was awarded only by the free Papa John's. Free food has this way of making any situation bearable. The free meal will not make up for the outrageous amount of money I spent on my books however. The total for the six required books came to $450.91, and I still need to buy them for one more class. I find this extremely ridiculous. So basically, working over break accomplished nothing but feeding the greedy hands of the bookstore. This makes me feel not good inside. bleh to being back here bleh to student government bleh to buying books bleh to leaving people I wasn't ready to leave
UPDATE: The last class worth of books ran me another $76. Anyone have a tissue?
Yesterday, I wrote out a nice, hefty check for my bill for the semester. Once again, the tears were hard to retain as I watched all of my hard earned money and the borrowed moola from my mother go bye-bye. Oh how poor and in debt I am! sigh I have to be back in Green Bay on Friday, even though classes don't start until the 17th. What a bummer. Break has been perfect and exactly what I've needed. Even working almost 40 hours a week has felt good. It also sucks that I have to leave right when things could get good with Chris. bummer double bummer
Oh what a way to leave the past year behind and bring in the new year. If yesterday/today was any indication of what the next year will bring, it's gonna be one hell of a bumpy ride. It's time to fasten your seatbelt folks. Ready? Saturday December 31st, I was fortunate enough to be schedule to work at the fine hour of 5:30 am. The previous night it had begun to snow rather badly and continued into the morning. I departed that morning at 5 am, believing this to be plenty of time to make it to work on time, safe and sound. However, I was incorrect. A few minutes later my father received a telephone call. "daddy?" And then click. After I finally won the war with my cell phone's reception, I informed my parents that I had found my way into a ditch, barely missing a telephone pole. In the short version of the story, my parents arrive and miraculously manage to pull the car from the roadside descension of horror. Arriving at work only 30 minutes late, I spend the morning in awe at how damn lucky I am. The remainder of my thoughts surrounded the plans I had made for that evening, New Years Eve. I would finally be having that second date with Chris, roughly four months having passed. The way I figured it, a New Year's Eve date insured at least a midnight kiss. We would be attending a party at the home of good ol' Loof. I looked forward to the grand time that was sure to be experienced. Needless to say, we drank some stuff. In fact, we drank a lot of stuff. I have never been so boozed-up in my life. That's what New Year's Eve is all about after all, isn't it? However, I would have to say I drank a bit too much. I was fine until we left to check out another party. This is where I begin to lose large gaps of time in my memory. Apparently, as soon as the car was parked, my body decided to rid itself of the poison. I vomited all over Chris' car, as well as on myself. Now that is attractive. I assume that when the clock hit 12:00 I was somewhere near a toilet. So much for my midnight kiss. My recollection of the events that followed is scarce and unusually random. I was put to bed immediately upon returning to Loof's. I was out. Later in the morning I awoke feeling fine, the toxic liquid having been rejected by my body. Chris came up to check up on me to make sure I was okay. Keeping it PG... we may or may not have made out for a bit. We slept and got back in time for me to make it to work at 10:30. Working was rather difficult, not because I was hung over but because I was exhausted and had difficulty handling people. I wanted to stab nearly every person that came through the drive-thru. It is a good thing there are no sharp objects near the window. Due to the split shift I worked, most of my day was spent there. During the three hours inbetween shifts I came home to shower and returned to Lomira early in order to clean Chris's car. I now wait for my laundry to rid my jacket of the foul smell and blotches of my own filthy stomach acid.
