Hello,
It's been a while, like almost a year actually.
So I'm sitting in Bailey's (my roommate) attic, enjoying my final block break. It's 1:37 am and it's humid and a little too warm. I'll be home for the summer in less than a month. I'm feeling contemplative, philosophical, sleepy, silly, and a little homesick. I'm listening to Everclear, which makes me want to rage for social justice. But I'm tired, so I'll just blog instead.
I actually started this entry in November 2011. It was supposed to be a cute little update about college, but I couldn't get my words right, so I stopped. Now, as the year comes to a close, I feel like I should publish this. There will of course be a butt-ton of omissions, but that's okay. You'd laugh too much and cry too much if I told you everything.
So I wrote this little tidbit in November:
So New Student Orientation Week (NSO) all the freshman came to Cornell early and got oriented to the campus. I was studious and went to all the events. I met with my PA group regularly, played nice with all the other kids, and nervously tried to make friends, learn names, and laugh at every moment. NSO week was great for me. It was even greater for some others! The girl next door to me was getting drunk every night. I must emphasize that school hadn't even started yet. One night her crazy friends dropped her off and then decided to pay me a visit. They ran into my doorway and made my and Bailey's night. One was wearing a chicken suit; the other lifted her shirt, gave us a face-ful of boob and shouted "I love Sluts". They then ran down the hall way and bolted down the stairs. Welcome to Cornell.
Now this is me writing in the present. Enjoy.
During the first block break I ever had at Cornell, I was watching Moulin Rouge with three other girls from my floor. We heard this terrifyingly loud ruckus on the first floor of our building, it was a dim, but vicious roar. We heard it travel up the stairs and stampede through 2nd floor. Then it was on 3rd floor. By that time, we figured it was a pack of drunk men, but we were missing the hairy (pun intended) details. We heard them coming up the final set of stairs to our floor. They were at the opposite end of the hall, so one of the girls stuck her head out the door to survey the situation. She said "Oh dear God", slammed the door, locked it, and sat on the futon with a stunned look on her face. "What?" What?!" we all demanded. "They're all naked. There's like 30 of them." We all started cracking up, as we listened to them make their way through the hallway. They heard us laughing, and started banging on the door, demanding that we open. At this point, if I'd been by myself I would have peed my pants out of fear, but instead we all just laughed. This was in September. Again, welcome to Cornell.
In October, I thought I was auditorally privy to shower sex. I was getting ready for bed in the bathroom when I heard one girl in the shower say, quite breathily and a little panicky, "Oww oww stop! stop! get it out! Out! Oww OUT! Stop." I stared at myself in the mirror, mouth agape. Was this really happening to me? And then, I heard another girl shout "just wash it out of your eye, you pansy." I laughed so hard, both of them were probably wondering what the weird girl at the sinks was laughing about. Definitely one of my best memories from Dows' 4th floor bathroom.
During my first class at Cornell, my professor fell asleep during my oral presentation. That definitely made me feel like the move half way across the country for the sake of my education was worth it. I got an -A on that presentation. Insert success child meme.
In October I went to an all night Blues dance club in Chicago. I met some very interesting men there. I salsaed with a Russian computer programer named Ivan. I danced with twins from Loyola. One's hip movements were super jerky and when he tried to grind his pelvis against me, it was just painful. He'd get frustrated that I didn't grind and gyrate in return. I just giggled at him. I preferred the other twin. At the end of the night he told me I was "insatiable" and asked if I was coming back next month. There was a big fat "NO" flashing in my head, but I smiled and said maybe. Poor sucker. During the lesson, the dance instructor said she wanted us to understand that blues is about body connection, not just arm connection. To really drive this home, she had us lean into our partners, connecting from knee to shoulder without arms. My partner, a 30ish male, was little over eager and smashed his whole chest against mine and pressed his cheek passionately to mine. Terrible, awkward, and unsanitary then. Hilarious now. Dave, a 50ish man--so old enough to be my father--asked me to dance. I agreed. I noticed he kept looking down the front of my dress. Old pervert. He asked to dance again, and I politely refused. He asked a few more times throughout the night. Sicko.
I went all of January without shaving my legs. Iowa is cold in the winter! The fur helps. And I was reading Huckle Berry Finn. I was trying the method acting method for literature. Don't judge me.
Just yesterday, I was sitting on the window seal in Bailey's attic, reading, enjoying the sun and breeze through an open, screen-less window. All the sudden, Stella, the adorable kitty, crawled underneath my legs and was out on the roof. This roof is steep, only like 2 feet long, three stories up, And the cat is freaking on it. Visions of kitty sky diving minus the parachute flash through my mind. All I can think is "shit" over and over and over. I frantically call, but then realize cats don't respond well to panic. I try to calm myself and call her back in. She just meows. I want to grab her, but know that cats can be jumpy. I then decide to go get Bailey for help. But I quickly calculate what Stella could do, accidentally or suicidally, in the time it would take me to get down the two flights of stairs. I turn around and keep calling her, meowing, purring, and using all my other cat whispering skills to lure her back to safety. Finally, the little poop independently decided to come back in the house. My heart did not stop racing for several minutes. It would be just my luck to inadvertently murder, or solicit the suicide, of my roommate's family's cat. But, crisis averted.
My underwear is on inside out 75% of the time. And no, it's not what you're thinking. It's because I just lack the ability to put my underwear on correctly like a normal person. I've just embraced this about myself and now giggle every time I see that rude seam stick out when I go pee.
I've decided there are two kinds of people in this world. People who think dandelions are weeds, and people who know that dandelions are actually flowers. To me, this makes all the difference. You can choose to see beauty in the world, or you can ignore it.
So I have a ton more stories and bits of "wisdom", but I'm done now. I'll write soon, that way I don't forget everything profound and hilarious. I promise it won't take a year again.
Remember, everyday it a brand new day.
Live today with passion.
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