Say It Again, Sam!

As much as I hate double posting things, I'm going to post my latest Xanga entry here as well, to keep you all in the loop.

I have learned to document what people say, in the phonectical spelling of EXACTLY HOW IT'S SAID. And I've learned something very valuable. Most people, though they say a lot, have NOTHING TO SAY. Fascinating, isn't it?

I've found someone to rival the good ol' folks at St. Joe's in the 'stating the obvious' department. Better than Law, History, and English/Writer's Craft combined. I kid you not. Some random chick in my Western Civ lecture has absolutely pointless points regardless of the topic. I love it.

Quotes:
(after comparing Sparta and Athens for a half hour) "Is it safe to say that Athens and Sparta were different?"
(after discussing the democracy of Athens) "So, was voting allowed, or not?"
(on the meaning of democracy) "It's like a dictatorship, only people can speak and stuff."
(on Pompeii being buried by volcanic ash) "You know, that's just like Atlanta. Do you think people really could survive in a hidden city under the sea?" (yes, Atlanta. Not Atlantis. Atlanta.)
(on Greek tragedy) "So, is this supposed to be sad? Or is it, like, sarcasm?"
(on building the pyramids) "I bet that took like, five years. And they would have to work at least five days a week. No weekends off. That sucks."
(on the meaning behind Lysistrata, a feminist play on women's rights) "I bet the women were just trying to get attention."
And that is all for now, folks. But there have been three weeks of classes. I will keep you posted. And, wherever you are, whoever you are, remember: you can't be as dumb as all that.

A Man Walked Into A Bar...Ouch!

So, I walked into a parking meter today.
Twice.
Just strolling along, minding my own business, when WHAM. It socked me right in the gut. Luckily, I had a binder in my arms, so my friend Ashley and I just laughed it off.
Not so the second time.
I was speed-walking to try and catch the OTrain. Not paying too much attention, as RENT was playing on my MP3 player. And all of a sudden, the wind was knocked out of me. I stumbled, my books went flying, and I fell on the ground. Everyone around me had a chuckle at the dorky clumsy girl. Unfortunately, that just made me even angrier.
So I kicked the parking meter.
And now my toe hurts as well as my stomach.
My ego's not doing too well either.

Barking Mad

Last night, after struggling to get to sleep, I was woken by earth-shattering DOG BARKS. At first I was sure that I was dreaming, because nobody in their right mind would allow a dog to bark at 3 in the morning. Hah. Yeah right.
This continued for fifteen minutes straight until I got up, closed my window and lay back down. Then, for some strange reason, the barking got louder and louder and louder, until my entire body was consumed by the most annoying RRRRRRRRRRRRUFFFFFFF! RUUUUUUUUUUFFF! RAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWR! It was part dinosaur, part dog, I promise. Then it stopped abruptly. I heard someone say "Good Lord, will someone just shoot that damn dog!" The goings on of my neighbourhood astound me.

Meatball Mania

Nothing I write ever ends up being posted. That's another entry this week that's somehow been misplaced. And now I have to attempt to harness the power of wit in a captivating blog entry.
My very first university essay is due on Tuesday. This is all wonderful, except for the fact that it's worth 15% of my final grade. See, I don't do too well when I don't know what the teacher is expecting. Normally I would write an opinion piece so laden with subjective points that my teachers would die laughing. Unfortunately, this is not the kind of behaviour that goes over well with university professors. Hmmmm.
Did some cooking today. We made 8 dozen meatballs, 6 dozen cookies, 2 dozen muffins and two large lasagnas. Wonderful. Had a little escapade with the 8 pounds of ground beef, however.
It all began with a grease puddle. Anyone who's cooked ground beef knows that it oozes fat juice when it cooks. My cousin Natalie decides that this should be scooped out. Makes sense. But the stupid meat kept getting in the way, so she couldn't get all the juice out. I decided to help her. I pick up the enormous meat pot, and tip it to the side. It's working wonderfully. I was even being careful to not let any meat fall out.
Then it SNUCK AROUND THE BACK! That's right, I was holding the spoon against the edge of the pot, draining the juice, when EIGHT POUNDS OF HOT HAMBURGER SHAVINGS poured out. I swear, the stuff bounced. On the floor, on the over, under the oven, on the counter, in my socks, in Natalie's shirt and ON THE MICROWAVE (which is rather far away from the stove). Needless to say, we could have made quicte a few more meatballs, if it weren't for the vast amount of cat hair clinging to the ground beef.
Who wants to shave their meatballs before eating them?

Hum-Drum-Monday

As I woke up this morning, I recalled a similar day last year. This day is commonly referred to as Monday, and I decided to do a little comparison. Last year, any given Monday would have me feeling sleepy, lethargic, and in a general state of 'I don't want to go.' This morning, however, I am wide awake, excited, and actually EARLY to head out the door and go to school. Bizarre, I know. Think about that while you're in your high school classrooms, guys.

Rain, Rain....go AWAY!

Longest day in the history of forever. Yesterday, I mean. But, in true blog-addict fashion, I will detail every minute of it.
Class was simple enough, with Linguistics and ASL, but then I had my 3 hour Psych lecture. That, surprisingly, wasn't horrible. The professor was out of town, so he videotaped his lecture, and played it on a huge screen. Movie-tastic.
Here's where the fun part kicks in.
Up until now, I have been adjusting very well, making friends, talking to people, finding my way around. Well, last night there was a meeting for the Christian group on campus, and I decided to go. So, being that the bus ride is 1.5 hours long, I stayed at the school instead. Mistake?? Between the hours of 5:20 and 7:30, there is very little to do around campus. Both Tim Horton's are closed, the bookstore is closed, and the main cafeteria resorts to serving burnt pizza. Not that I would knock it on a decent day. But yesterday was cold, and wet, and RAINY, and my feet were soaked completely through. I WANTED coffee. No deal. Instead, I wound up on the fourth floor of the Journalism building (don't ask me how...I don't know how I got there) watching the news (prayers for the people at Dawson College) and drinking a vending machine tea.
That lasted for 2 hours. Decent. I didn't die. I was just wet.
The meeting went wonderfully, and I hooked up with some girls that are going to save me from my lonely Wednesday afternoon wandering.
It was after the meeting that things got worse.
I know. Worse than what?
Well, imagine this. It's late at night. Your shoes have puddles in them, and you are shivering from head to toe. The campus is pitch-black, and there is no one you know to walk you to the parking lot. Hell, you don't even know where the parking lot is!
I asked for directions. The lady told me. It started to pour, and I was soaked. Then I realize that the lady gave me wrong directions. And I didn't have a cell phone to call Dad. So I kept walking.
Darker, wetter, and increasingly frightened, I began rushing around in frantic circles (you know when a wild animal gets trapped somewhere, and they start flipping out? Yeah). Unfortunately, that just got me wetter, and more lost, and even more frightened. What a wuss.
I was 20 minutes late. That's what happens.
So, I find a pay phone, call Dad, and arrange to meet him in a new place. Five seconds from where I think I am.
I ask another lady. Her Carleton pin says 'ASK ME!'. I figured that was a sign. She gives me directions, and I run. I trip and fall in the mud. Lovely.
20 minutes later, I realize that it was the same lady, and she gave me the SAME WRONG DIRECTIONS.
Just as I'm freaking out because I'm LOST LIKE A LOST PUPPY!!!!!!! (those are for you, Amy) I see lights! LIGHTS! That means PARKING LOT!
At 10:00, I found Dad.
Joy to the world.

Espresso-capades

So, it's halfway through week one of classes, and I'm absolutely loving it. So far I've had History, Language and Social Identity, Sign Language, and Linguistics. My sign prof is deaf, so the entire course is taught through immersion - from the moment I enter that class, I'm not allowed to speak English. I can only use my hands to communicate. It's fun, because it's a beginner level course. Wahoo.
Tomorrow I have a Campus for Christ meeting. That will be interesting, I think- chances are I'll meet some pretty cool people. I'm a little nervous, but hey, we all know I'm not a fan of meeting new people.
Funniest thing happened today. I'm walking through Starbucks, just checking out things, when I remember that I have a Starbucks card in my wallet. So, I stand at the counter, and ask the guy if he can check the balance for me. Sure, he says, and I proceed to root through my wallet, desperately trying to find it. The guy asks me what I want, so I order, figuring that if I can't find the card, I'll debit it and suck up the loss. The guy puts on the milk for the latte, and then leans back over the counter. Then, the wittiest exchange in the world occurred (as he's making my latte):
Him: So, you look awfully familiar.
Me: Really? I haven't been here before.
Him: You don't know me?
Me: I don't think so.
Him: Would you like to?
At this point he hands me my latte.
Me: Uh, not especially.
Him: No? Too bad.
I pull out my debit card. He refuses.
Him: It's on the house.
Me: No, that's fine, really.
Him: Come on, you shot me down, just take the coffee.
So I did. And then I ran away. Fast.

Block Party

We arrived home, exhausted, after a day of birthday partying (my cousin's 14th) only to discover that our street has been barricaded, and there is a large posse of minivans that have taken up residence. Apparently this is the Second Annual Pepperrall Crescent Party, at which everyone and their children consume large amounts of sugar and alcohol, and keep us awake all night long.
The very loud and very obnoxious band has set up their stage in the driveway next door. Think Billy Rae Cyrus + the Barenaked Ladies + a really bad Vegas Elvis impersonator. Then combine those three, add in someone who cannot play the drums, and a backup singer who has a terrible lisp. Add in the fact that my bedroom window is STUCK OPEN, and the fact that I have to wake up early for church tomorrow. Toss in some hyper cats, and a father who HATES people.
Oh gosh. Make it stop. They are BUTCHERING Summer of '69.
Make the sickening covers end.
The flyer states it will end at 10:00. It's 10:05. Dad's giving it another half hour before he calls the cops. No joke.
Plus, the band has named themselves 'The Spicy Hot Chili Peppers'. I'm not joking. There are people out there who are actually that sick.

Busosaurus

So, for some reason, my post from Tuesday wasn't...posted. This hilarious anecdote should be shared with everyone, so I post it again:

This morning was my first adventure at Carleton University. Aptly titled 'Carleton Serves', it involved me and 12 others leaving the school at 7:30 for the Ottawa Food Bank. There, I lugged boxes around all day, and folded 1500 paper bags (with my partners in crime; Alia, Jessica, Tamara, Jill and Emily).
Surprise, that was not the funny part of my day.
No, that came later, after I was dirty and exhausted, and JUST WANTED TO GET HOME.
I got on the bus.

You aren't laughing.

Good.

Going to high school in Barrie, I learned quickly that IF YOU SIT ON A BUS LONG ENOUGH, IT WILL GET YOU WHERE YOU WANT. Don't believe me? Try it. In Barrie, everything runs in a circle. Get on the Downtown bus, and it goes downtown then uptown, downtown then uptown. Not so with Ottawa buses.
I assumed (I know, I know ass-u-me...) that if I took the same route as I take in the morning, only BACKWARDS, it would get me home.
I got on the OTrain. I arrived at Bayview. Step One completed. I jumped on the 95 Orleans, as I do in the mornings. Then it went terribly wrong.
Do you KNOW where Orleans is?
ONE AND A HALF HOURS AWAY (by bus)
Instead of soon arriving at the Fallowfield Station, I arrived in Orleans. I told the bus driver where I was headed, and then he LAUGHED at me and closed the doors.
Then, I saw the 95 Fallowfield.
Hmmmm.....number 95...Fallowfield Station.....by George, she's got it.
2 hours later, I arrived home.
Stupid bus.

Orientastic!

Today was Academic Orientation Day, and man, was it an adventure. Got a free breakfast (the best kind) and was awkwardly self-introduced to large groups of similarly awkward people. Free t-shirts were distributed (Arts &Social Sciences - You can't have smarts without arts!), and we were ushered into the gymnasium to hear none other than the brilliant Steven Lewis (ask who he is, come on, I dare you). This all occured before nine o'clock.
Want to know what else happened before nine?
I was asked out 3 times
I was grabbed/pinched/fondled 4 times
I was asked for the time 8 times
I was assaulted with two croissants
I witnessed three purple boys wearing skimpy underwear run across the Quad.
Oh yes. Carleton: the finest school in the country.
After awhile of being asked the same questions, I developed a routine response. Can you figure out the questions?
A: Alicia. Near Toronto. Barrie. St. Joseph's (for the Barrie-minded). Linguistics. Yes it's obscure. Because they offered me lots of money. No, I live with my dad. Yes it's a long bus ride. Two buses and the OTrain.
So, next time ANYONE on the Carleton campus approaches me, I'm sure the above is what will spill out of my mouth.
Someone handed me a free book and DVD today. I'm hoping that they weren't stolen or something. Although, they were Christian books. Maybe I look like the kind of person who needs Jesus (true, but I've found Him already...)
Til' Tomorrow,

Mail or Female?

Yesterday, a strange man came to the door. Apparently he used to live here, and he had magically forgotten to give us our mail key. All is well in the world, now that we can get mail. However, having lived here for 8 years, this man DID NOT KNOW which mailbox was his. That's right. 8 years. No clue. Poor man. He was a Newfie, too, so Dad said it wasn't his fault. I don't know. I think you'd have to be from a lot farther away than Newfoundland to not know where your mailbox is (Think Saturn...). Anyways. Desperate to get the mail, Dad sent me out on a mission (apparently, I'm the new kid, therefore, I need to be initiated). I went to THREE different mailbox units (The Canada Post units with like, 60 boxes each). I got to try the key in EVERY SINGLE box....with no luck. I think I have carpal tunnel. Anyways, after I got home, defeated, wet and tired, Dad informed me that he called the neighbour, and found out which mailbox was ours. So simple. Why didn't I think of that?

Organized Chaos

Here I am, day one, upstairs bedroom, Pepperrall Crescent, Nepean. Not quite Ottawa, I hear you saying. For all intents and purposes, Ottawa is EXACTLY where I am. I arrived yesterday with twelve boxes, packed full of books, clothes, shoes, purses, and other such valuable paraphernalia. My room is wonderful. The boxes magically unpacked themselves (ha!), and everything is put away in it's proper place. Except for the minute lack of shelving (it's not the closet's fault I have too many clothes), everything is perfect. And, of course, I feel especially grown-up, because I have a room abounding with technology. Plus my own cupboard in the bathroom. Face it, as far as living situations go, this is no dorm room.
Other than unpack, I have done very little. Perhaps tomorrow I will have something more to say about the real reason I am here: university.