life as a transfer student

I've a feeling this ^ will become a regular feature on my blog.

For the past few days, I've been contemplating my existence as a Transfer Student. I knew transferring here would be difficult; it would be different, but it's just another step along the path of my college career. I never realized, really, how difficult it would be. It's been hard, transferring here, but especially, I think, when I did; I transferred in in January, right in the middle of the school year. For the first month I was here, I was horribly lonely; everyone around me already had their friends for the year, and they didn't really bother themselves with even saying hi.

You know how everyone says that during your college experience, you will meet people who will be your friends for the rest of your life? Well, people've told me that, at least. In sitcoms, in real life (hi, Ang), college students meet people they just click with, and they keep in touch.

The problem is, I've already done that. I already went to school for two and a half years; I already had friends with whom I was inseperable; we had sleepovers, did girly things, went shopping together, talked about boys together (I mean, "talked together about boys"). One of my favourite memories is of last summer, when Holly stayed overnight at my house, and then the next night, I stayed at her house; we felt like little kids again, baking cookies, dancing around the house to "Chicago," taking a walk at 2 AM. My best friends were from that school. And then, I transferred. I'm settling into life here, but friend-wise, I still feel uprooted. I hate the fact that when I need to cry to Holly, when I need to talk about someone, I have to call her. Call her, or wait until the weekend when we can get together for a little while. We aren't together all the time anymore. There are days when I want nothing more than to be back at that school, with people who love me, being able to be with my best friend without worrying that I'm taking up her weekend and her boyfriend needs to see her and I want to spend some time with mine, too.

I've always raved about two-year schools, about how they're such a great start for one's college career. And truly, they are. Mine was, at least. I began going there when I was sixteen, and over the past two and a half years, I spent more time there than I did at home; the staff, the faculty, the Dean, my friends...they became my family. I've been excited with the foodservice manager when his daughter has kids*; I've had a crush on the dashing, gorgeous science professor; I've giggled with the anthropology professor when she was helping me combat the static that was possessing my skirt before a performance; I've gone to the visitation and funeral for my theatre dad's mom; I've chased down one of my guys and put mascara on his eyelashes before a play; I've slow-danced with my favourite professor at a gala when Glenn Miller big-band songs were playing; I've played Spin the Bottle with a group that included the shy, retired art professor, and had to smooch him; I've been in the Student Government; I've gone stargazing in the middle of the night; I built sets, moved pianos, acted in plays, ushered, babysat, ran errands, played in orchestras, sang in choirs, accompanied choirs, I was in the honours choir and travelled downstate to sing in a mass choir, was paid to accompany one class last spring. I was there longer than many of the people on faculty now. I just wish I'd known how horrible it would be to leave, how I'd have to start all over again, how the first college always feels like the real college.

*and he brought back some chocolate from Switzerland for me, and always kept his little m&m dish full for me; no wonder I've lost weight since I transferred; I call this the Junior -15

annoyance:

I have to run some errands, find some props for my small group's 45-minute presentation on Friday, but I keep putting it off. Why?

Because I have the SECOND-BEST PARKING SPOT IN THE WHOLE LOT, that's why, and at the thought that after I drive off to do my errnads, another car will slide into that spot and I'll have to park at the other end of the lot when I come back, my skin hurts.

Update: Yeah, that's what happened. IN THE RAIN, TOO. But I have great, comfy workout pants (for the first time in my life, I could get size small! happiness!), and a rockin shirt (for 30% off that price, HA!).

lyrical interlude

She may be the face I can't forget
The trace of pleasure or regret
Maybe my treasure or the price I have to pay
She may be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day

She may be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a Heaven or a Hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
A smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell....

She, who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
She may be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows in the past
That I remember 'till the day I die

She may be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I care for through the rough and ready years

Me, I'll take the laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is
She....She
Oh, she....

Elvis Costello, "She," from the "Notting Hill" soundtrack.

I've always thought this is such a beautifully romantic song, and I love his voice. Most of my favourite songs come from movie soundtracks, because there's such a variety*:

"Dreams," the Cranberries, from "You've Got Mail"
"Killing me softly with his song," Roberta Flack, from "About a Boy"
"Sympathy," GooGooDolls, from "A Cinderella Story"
"R-E-S-P-E-C-T," Aretha Franklin, from "Two Weeks Notice"
"Anyone at All," Carol King, from "You've Got Mail"
"Immigrant Song," Led Zepplin, from "School of Rock"
"Ain't No Sunshine," Lighthouse Family, from "Notting Hill"
"Razzle Dazzle," Richard Gere, "Chicago"
"I Guess the Lord Must be in New York City," Sinead O'Connor, from "You've Got Mail"
"You Sang to Me," Marc Anthony, from "Runaway Bride"
"Remember," Harry Nilsson, from "You've Got Mail"
"Still Haven't Found what I'm looking For," U2, from "Runaway Bride"
"Say a Little Prayer for You," Diana King, from "My Best Friend's Wedding"
"Dream," Roy Orbison, from "You've Got Mail"
"I'm Coming Out," Diana Ross, from "Maid in Manhattan"
"Kathy's Song," Eva Cassidy, from "Maid in Manhattan"
"All That Jazz," Catherine Zeta-Jones, "Chicago"

* stop laughing. variety in the music, not my taste in movies. obviously!

here, kitty, kitty...

A little something to spice up your morning... Knock yourself out!


Edit: The link now actually does have something to do with cats, instead of iranian personals, etc. heh.

how appropriate

Today I was seemingly driving in circles, in a town neither of us know very well at all, trying to find the huge Goodwill store I'd seen before. We scampered through a ghetto and emerged at the other side, unscathed. Between pillars supporting the freeway up above, down, around, through...and suddenly there was a church, in the middle of the receiving docks and huge factories. It was a red brick community church with a dome on the top, and I looked twice at the sign out front, Divine Message Changed Weekly:

"Lost? Need Directions? Stop inside and talk to us!"

I ignored the Divine Message (TM), stopped at a gas station instead, and threw a shoe in front of the cop car parked outside. Smooth, very smooth.

Gimme a b! u! d!

I just went to the fridge to fish a pickle out of the pickle jar, and noticed the twelve pack of Bud Light that's hogging all the space on the bottom shelf. If I actually liked beer, or if they were strawberry daquiris instead of this junk, I might take one. But, nah. It's funny seeing them there, though -- and even more funny knowing that in UNDER SIX MONTHS NOW (as of yesterday) I can buy my own. And then if I want some wussy drink, I can GET SOME.

Today was promising. Is promising. Not as promising as Spring Break was, but promising nonetheless. I woke up early, putzed around online for awhile, then filled out an e-mail thing for my communications class, and forwarded it to a few people...then realized that it was 8:44, I had a 9 o'clock class, and I was still in my pajamas. Way to go! I still haven't showered, but I'm heading out the door in a few minutes to go downtown with a friend, so I HAVE NO TIME.

Spring Break was amazing. It was my third Spring Break ever, and by far the best. I slept in almost every morning, did a lot of baking and cooking, and spent the afternoons/evenings/early morning "I can't believe you were out that late!" with my friends. My parents were in Arkansas from that Tuesday through Saturday, and my brothers are old enough to take care of themselves now, so I didn't have to be there all the time. It was so relaxing, and I really didn't want to come back up here, to face the brutal reality of strangers, colder windier weather (with the exception of today, which was a whopping 45 degrees!!! t-shirt weather!), and three tests and a presentation this week.

( )

I've been so on edge the past few days; any annoyance, anything, takes me ever closer to snapping. I feel so brittle. Maybe it's because spring break is around the corner...I don't know. I just know that I hate feeling this way. I don't like feeling so jittery, so fragile, playing the part of someone who's interested in what she's doing, when all I want to do is curl up in a ball (wait, I'm not flexible enough for that, ha ha kidding no, really) and hide. Maybe part of it had to do with reading The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath. It shook me, how someone so normal as the person in the book could be shuttled along on such a quick downward spiral.

I used to be pretty okay with change, but lately, I've become horribly inflexible. Tonight, Dad called me, and told me that I can't come home tomorrow (the beginning of my spring break; I always leave here around 2:30 in the afternoon, and I had already made plans for tomorrow night). There's going to be another blizzard, and he doesn't want me out driving in the twelve possible inches of accumulation. This means I can't go to the play tomorrow night. I can't go to the cast party. I can't see my people. I was looking forward to it so much -- I know a couple people here, but not like the ones I have back home...

I've been crying off and on ever since he told me I can't come home then.

I can't stand my roommate anymore.

One hour to go until "Whose Line is it Anyway?" comes on, two back-to-back episodes.

loud food and news

The other day, Tony from my small group in communications mentioned how he hates it when people munch on chips in the computer lab -- "Don't eat LOUD FOOD there!" and mentioned how foods such as marshmallows and jello...something like that...were much more suitable for computer labs.

I'm eating baby carrots. The loud kind. And I'm not feeling as guilty about the crunchings and munchings as I normally would, because I'm too tired and disgusted.

Good news: it turns out that my roommate did loan my guitar to our next-door neighbour. So I know where it is; I just still don't have it back.

Bad news: I'm relapsing. Or something. My tonsils got huge when I got mono, and they still haven't reduced in size, but for the past four days, my throat has been really sore and icky the way it was when I was getting mono. I told mom today (while I was eating breakfast) that I have to swallow down the middle of my throat, so nothing touches the sides. I've been drinking a ton of orange juice and eating really healthily (healthfully? healthy?). I usually get 6.5-8 hours of sleep a night...but lately, it's been hard to stay up late, and I've fallen asleep at 8:30 and slept 11 hours. I've noticed that my balance is off-kilter again, and I can't smell things very well. I couldn't do the whole aerobics lesson last time; I was fine with the toning and stuff, but we got to the cardio -- I usually love it -- and I had to sit out for the rest of the class, because I was dizzy and my side hurt so bad.

I thought this part was over. I've felt fine for the past month. I've been exercising religiously and eating health[suffix] for the past month and a half.

I'm going to bed.

"I am SO pissed off."

I am so mad. Today, when I was gathering my stuff together to take home this weekend, the corner under my loft seemed empty. I backed up, looked again, and MY GUITAR is missing. The guitar given to me by one of my friends -- his first guitar. Someone TOOK it. How they managed this, I have no idea -- my door is always locked when I'm not in my room, unless I'm stepping next door (literally, next door) for a second -- I'd notice if someone came down the hallway. I don't know if my roommate loaned it to someone without my permission, or what. The girl who'd be most likely to borrow it is gone for the weekend.

I'm feeling a little violent, people!

gimme your muzack

What music do you listen to? Recently I've organised playlists, and the one I'm currently listening to is as follows:

• On and On - Good Charlotte
• One Time - Good Charlotte
• I Never Said - Good Charlotted
• Ways of Forever - Good Charlotte
• One Week - Barenaked Ladies
• Millionaire - Die Prinzen
• Underneath it All - No Doubt
• Disease - Matchbox 20
• The Remedy - Jason Mraz
• Here and Now - Good Charlotte
• Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen
• Wake me up Inside - Evanescence
• My Immortal - Evanescence
• Something About the Way You Look Tonight - Elton John
• Dreams - Cranberries
• Zombie - Cranberries

Oh, and the Good Charlotte ones: I'm not so sure of the titles. The titles are on my old computer, and so I just picked out the phrase in the song that would make me remember which one it is. ;)

The Michelangelo Project

I'm taking part in The Michelangelo Project this year; a day of creativity in honour of Michelangelo's birthday. Tomorrow, March 6th, I will be watching a foreign film (Amelie), writing at least one poem, and performing in a concert. Yet another brilliant idea from Elena Nazarro - a.k.a. french toast girl.

and to think I laughed at him.

One of my professors in college was forgetful -- oh, so very forgetful. One time, he lost his laser pointer after a presentation, and we spent a good five minutes searching the classroom top to bottom. I spotted it first -- it was clipped to the v-neck of his sweater. heh. Another time, he forgot to bring something to class, and quipped, "Yeah, I forget anything unless I tie it to my body before I walk out the door." And I laughed.

I'm not laughing anymore -- at him, that is. Right now, I have a cellphone and fingernail clippers stuffed down my shirt (hey, I've gotta use that space for something), because I don't have any pockets, and if I don't keep these appliances on my body, they'll get left down here in the dark, damp computer lab, just like my coat and shoes (separate times), and the alarm on my cellphone won't wake me up in five hours and I'll sleep late and miss my speech.


On second thought, maybe I should leave the phone down here.

A tale of two hands...

A couple of weeks ago in health class, I noticed that the female guest lecturer had big hands. No, not just big. HUGE. She was small and thin, but her hands were so long, they looked nearly as long as her forearm. I caught Kristen's eye and mouthed, "Look. Her Hands. " She looked back at me; "Have you seen that Seinfeld...?" And we both nearly suffocated on the laughs we were trying to keep inside.

Jerry: She had man hands.
Elaine: Man hands?
Jerry: The hands of a man. It's like a creature out of Greek Mythology. I mean, she was like part woman, part horrible beast.
Elaine: Would you prefer it if she had no hands at all?
Jerry: ...Would she have hooks?

you. yes. you. listen up, pianna man.

If we've talked for, oh, a good 45 minutes while taking turns playing the piano, and I find out that you're originally from Russia, and then I notice a bit of an accent, and that you have a Russian jawline and teeth, and nose, and eyes and hair, and, deep down inside, I know, I just know that your name is "Viktor" or "Pietr," do not introduce yourself as "Sam."

Thanks for bursting my bubble.