I wasn't in full panic-mode until I saw the list of symptoms, though, all of which I have. First, skin abrasions that resemble spider bites. (At first I wasn't worried because frankly my skin has so many problems, i.e. keratosis pilaris, that a couple little patches of different strange red bumps wasn't really cause for concern, but NOW THAT I KNOW IT'S MRSA...) Also, fever and coughing. Just this afternoon I was like, "Why am I coughing? That's weird." No, IT'S MRSA. Most importantly, I noted the symptom of shortness of breath, because that is so me right now. I go to the gym two or three times a week, yet when I reach the top of the stairs in my building I sound like a 60-year-old asthmatic who just smoked a pack of cigarettes. (IT'S MRSA!) So now I'm debating whether I should go to Student Health or if I'm just a lunatic. I'm leaning towards lunatic, but that's mostly because I already know what the lovely people at Student Health are going to tell me. They really only have three standard diagnoses: a) You have Mono, b) You have a tumor, or c) You're pregnant. As much as the inner hypochondriac in me wants to think, "But what if I do have a tumor?" mostly I think I just got way too into last night's episode of House.
I think I have MRSA. For those of you who don't know (namely me, up until twenty minutes ago when I looked it up online), this is a kind of staph infection that is particularly resistant to antibiotics. My adopt-a-grandmother (for those of you confused by that modifier, read this entry) just informed me that she has finally been diagnosed, after several weeks of having strange skin sores, with MRSA. Naturally, when I returned from my visit with her I frantically whipped open my computer and Googled MRSA to see if it's contagious. Different sources have varying conclusions on that front, but the important thing is that according to WebMD it can be spread through skin contact...which I have made on multiple occasions since the emergence of her skin sores. OH MY GOD I HAVE MRSA.
I wasn't in full panic-mode until I saw the list of symptoms, though, all of which I have. First, skin abrasions that resemble spider bites. (At first I wasn't worried because frankly my skin has so many problems, i.e. keratosis pilaris, that a couple little patches of different strange red bumps wasn't really cause for concern, but NOW THAT I KNOW IT'S MRSA...) Also, fever and coughing. Just this afternoon I was like, "Why am I coughing? That's weird." No, IT'S MRSA. Most importantly, I noted the symptom of shortness of breath, because that is so me right now. I go to the gym two or three times a week, yet when I reach the top of the stairs in my building I sound like a 60-year-old asthmatic who just smoked a pack of cigarettes. (IT'S MRSA!) So now I'm debating whether I should go to Student Health or if I'm just a lunatic. I'm leaning towards lunatic, but that's mostly because I already know what the lovely people at Student Health are going to tell me. They really only have three standard diagnoses: a) You have Mono, b) You have a tumor, or c) You're pregnant. As much as the inner hypochondriac in me wants to think, "But what if I do have a tumor?" mostly I think I just got way too into last night's episode of House. You know how Yahoo! likes to prey on my biggest fears and anxieties? They are in peak form today, reporting once again on the less-than-great (read: horrible) state of the economy and the glaring lack of jobs to be found in our beloved country. Thanks for reminding me that-- even if I do somehow manage to graduate from college--it's not like I'll be able to find a job or anything. Good thing I'm not panicking. On the plus side, the aforementioned Yahoo! article says that having a bachelor's degree might actually benefit you in terms of job-hunting rather than a master's, or an M.B.A., or some kind of legit degree, because then companies can pay you less! See? The glass of my future is half full.
Now that the warm weather has arrived (I am, of course, referring to the obscene 90-degree heat in the first week of April... Still think Global Warming is something Al Gore made up to stay relevant?), campus has become something like a video game, with obstacles at every corner that you have to avoid. A few things to be on the lookout for during this dangerous time:
1) Tour groups: The most important thing to avoid during the spring is groups of prospective students wandering around campus. First, they generally travel in groups of 15 to 20, and they love to walk three- or four-across, thus blocking the entire sidewalk, so the only way to get around them is by walking into oncoming traffic. (If you have this option, take it. It's worth the risk. Trust me.) These groups are made up of annoying young people who a) haven't yet learned the college etiquette of sidewalking, b) are too busy trying to look like they're not with their parents to notice that they are in your way, and c) are still young and innocent and have not yet had their souls crushed by the tribulations of college, therefore I resent them greatly and must channel my bitterness into mocking. They also make frequent stops in front of buildings so their group leaders (whom I resent even more for their well-adjustedness and perkiness) can spout off some boring facts about the history of the college and blah blah blah. (Honestly, just read the brochure and get out of my way.) 2) People with clipboards and/or fliers: It's the clipboards that are the real enemy here. Anyone holding a clipboard clearly wants something from you, and they are bold enough to actually move into your path, so the old head-down-fake-texting bit won't do any good. My suggestion is to find a shield, someone to walk in front of you and divert any undesirables. You probably want to find someone bigger than you, and ideally alone. Big groups are quicker to blow off the clipboarders, leaving you as the straggling gazelle (the one who gets eaten by the lion, in case that metaphor wasn't clear), unless you can assimilate into the group as they pass by (high degree of difficulty). For instance, today these clipboard-bearing activists were swarming all over the courtyard outside the dining hall. First, I was shadowing a couple of sorority girls (not ideal, but it worked), and when they got nabbed by a clipboarder, I leap-frogged to a burly loner guy whom I followed to safety. Unfortunately, on my way out of the building I was cornered by two tour groups and a clipboard. I had to choose between the lesser of two evils and ended up writing a letter to Congressman Tom Perriello about providing clean energy jobs for the state of Virginia. (Granted, this was mostly just a strategic move in order to give the tour groups time to disperse before I escaped the courtyard.) 3) Freshmen: Once you're out of the central campus area, you're out of range of most of the threats of spring, but there's still one more to watch out for. It's just like in the Pokémon video game, when you make it out of Rock Tunnel, past all the trainers and Zubats, but just as you exit the cave, one more trainer ambushes you. Your Pokémon are too weak to fight, and you black out, getting sent back to the Poké Center before the cave. (Okay, the first part of that tangent is actually relevant.) So you're on your way back to your dorm, but you have to walk through freshman dorms. Watch out for freshmen partaking in frisbee, football, tanning, and general frivolity. These carefree young students are like the touring prospectives in that they still haven't been appropriately beaten down by college, so they're all cheerful and excited and shirtless. The bathing-suit-clad girls tanning are annoying but avoidable, since they usually lay on the grass. It's the guys you have to watch out for. They enjoy flaunting their perceived "pimpness" (for lack of a better word) by standing directly between you and your destination while throwing projectile objects dangerously close to you. Sometimes they are considerate enough to pause their fun-having in order for you to walk past them, but sometimes they're just idiots. Like yesterday, when I was walking to class, and two annoying (I don't know them, I'm just assuming) freshmen were throwing a frisbee, which came THIS CLOSE to hitting my face. I literally had to dodge the flying disc as I was walking. Had I not been running late for class, I would have stopped to berate them, and possibly inflict physical violence, but instead I just gave them a solid Death Glare and most definitely did not laugh with them as they enjoyed their little shenanigans. Do not cross me, freshmen. That being said, yeah, I kinda miss the snow right about now. It kept everyone indoors and out of my way. Okay, so my strange affinity for fictional characters might not exactly be what you would call "healthy," or "normal," but even the most sane of you nay-sayers can't deny that Ronald and I are clearly meant to be together.* I know what you're going to say, and no, I am NOT threatened by that annoying Hermione person.
FACT: Ron and I share a deep appreciation for friendship and loyalty. Also, we are both terrified of spiders. Which could be considered a detriment to our relationship, I suppose, but if in our cohabitation we came upon a spider, we would just call my mother the spider whisperer to take care of it. Ron and I also share a love of rodents, as is demonstrated by his devotion to his pet rat Scabbers. (Okay, so it's a hand-me-down pet, and he turns out to be an animagus slash traitor slash Death Eater, but my point is still valid.) I, too, had a pet rat whom I loved dearly. (He was not an animagus, however.) IDEA: If Ron and I lived together, we could have dozens of pet rats who would roam freely about the house and eat all the spiders. Another bonus: If I was Mrs. Ron Weasley I would be sister-in-law to Ginny Weasley, AKA the BAMF of the Weasley family. Maybe not so much in the first and second books, like when she was doing that whole fugue state thing where she was off smearing chicken blood on walls and whatnot without remembering it, but Ginny really grew into a kick-ass witch... Unlike some know-it-all drama queens *cough* Hermione *cough* Well, I have successfully wasted fifteen minutes simultaneously not studying for my Spanish midterm and contemplating my marriage to a fictional wizard. I'd call that a win. *I should note that, had Cedric Diggory survived beyond book four, things might be different. Polygamy would probably be involved. This weekend was supposed to mark my newest resolution to start being a more normal, well-adjusted (read: not misanthropic) college student and maybe actually venture outside of my dorm, but, my efforts were quashed by ABC Family's Harry Potter Movie Weekend. Let's be honest, I wasn't really going to go through with my pledge to be all sociable and "try new things," and whatnot. I've been making that same half-hearted resolution for the last two and a half years, but deep down I'm just too lazy/apathetic to actually do anything about it. The truth is, I like watching Harry Potter alone in my room on a Saturday night. Maybe not as much as I would enjoy watching Harry Potter with my close friends and family on a Saturday night, but certainly more than I would enjoy playing beer pong and dancing to Miley Cyrus with a bunch of strangers wearing cowboy boots and J. Crew sundresses. So, to recap: solitude + Harry Potter > drunk strangers + Miley Cyrus. For those of you who have trouble with math (I'm talking to you, Mom), the ">" symbol means greater than.
I could say I'll try again next weekend, but that's most probably a lie. It's just not me. Call me socially stunted if you will, but I prefer the term "independent spirit." I had a relatively substantial amount of respect for my Religion TA. That was before he walked into class today wearing a pair of Crocs. My initial reaction was, of course, disdain, as it always is when I see someone above the age of eight wearing those ridiculous-looking "shoes." There's no question regarding the validity of Crocs themselves. The verdict is in: They're stupid. I know, I know: "But they're so comfortable!" Yeah, so are Snuggies, but you don't see people wearing them to the grocery store. And why is that? Shame. Shame is a crucial element of our society, because it keeps people from doing things that are stupid (usually). However, for that very reason, I have to wonder if these Croc-wearers deserve more respect than the none that I've been giving them. Maybe I should be commending these pioneers of footwear rather than mocking them endlessly. It takes guts to go against what society has deemed acceptable and choose your shoes based solely on comfort, without consideration of how many people will scoff at you on the bus. So what can we deduce from this? Are Croc-wearers bold and admirable non-conformists, wearing what they want without caring what people think? Or are they just idiots who think it's okay to wear ugly plastic Swiss cheese shoes in public? In parting, I'd like to leave you with a quote from the classic American film, Fired Up! (If you haven't seen it, look it up): "That was for the Crocs. You're not an old lady gardening or a baby on the beach." Most college students choose to spend their Spring Break in Mexico or Florida, getting skin cancer and living like a 24/7 Ricky Martin music video. While I understand the appeal of lounging by the pool at some exotic locale, á la Blondie here in this Judge Parker strip, I went another route and chose to spend a wonderful week at home with my family and assorted friends who were also home on break. Things I will miss from Spring Break: 1) Real food. For my first dinner back at school, I'm too exhausted/sick/lazy to drag myself to the dining hall, so I am instead attempting to mimic the nutritional value of an actual meal with popcorn, Vitamin Water, and oatmeal craisin cookies. Take that, impending scurvy. 2) Reading Judge Parker as a telenovela with Mr. C. It may sound weird, but adding Colombian accents and dramatic intonation to this otherwise dull comic strip is quite entertaining. 3) The addictive crack bacon from the McLean Family Restaurant. As an esteemed bacon connoisseur, I can honestly say they have the best bacon I have ever tasted. 4) Other people joining in when I randomly break into song. When I'm home (i.e. with my similarly-minded family members and friends), my random bouts of song are generally tolerated, even appreciated, and often turn into duets. 5) Not doing anything that could be even remotely considered "academic." 6) Watching television with real people instead of Twitter people (AKA random strangers I've never met but who happen to share my taste in television shows). B.t. dubs, I am aware that Twitter is not a suitable substitute for human interaction. 7) DVR recording capabilities. You have no idea how many times I try to pause and rewind live television while I'm watching at school, where I have nothing but basic cable and a DVD player. 8) My black cardigan, which I conveniently left on the floor of my bedroom at home. 9) Not having to wear flip-flops in the shower/Not having to share the shower with five roommates and several varieties of mold and bacteria. 10) The thrill of random people (and by "random people" I mean friends and neighbors who were probably invited) coming and going through the house at various intervals. Ah, the wonder of Spring Break, how I long to recapture thee. Sigh... It's hard to be back, but fortunately there are only about 9 weeks left of classes, and then we're home free. So I'll just continue to do the minimal amount of work necessary to maintain my unremarkable GPA, pop a One-A-Day vitamin every once in a while, and I'll be good to go. Here's a fun game called What's Wrong With This Picture? I'll give you a hint: Everything. And I'm not just saying this because I have a deep-seated hatred for Miley Cyrus. Let's start with the obvious...
1) It's a photo of Miley Cyrus and Bret Michaels. To be fair, if it were a photo of just one of those two "celebrities" it would still be wrong. But a picture of both of them together is like the Mona Lisa of white trash. She is a seventeen-year-old Disney-tween-sensation-turned-underage-wild-child, and he is... Well, he's Bret Michaels, what more is there to say really? He's a 47-year-old has-been rocker who spent three seasons of a reality show (one of which took place on a tour bus) trying to find "The One," while really just spreading a myriad of STDs and giving some lovely aspiring "actresses" their chance to make it big. Oh, and I'm pretty sure he wears that ridiculous bandanna to keep his wig on. Who are you kidding, Bret? No 47-year-old man has golden locks like that. 2) One word: Rhinestones. I'm sorry, but unless it's Halloween or you're in a Whitesnake video (and that opens up a whole new mess of problems), there is no excuse for wearing these cowboy hats. We get it, you're trashy. There's no need to hit us over the head with it. Your life choices say it all. 3) Did I mention she is 17 and he is 47? Although there is nothing technically illegal about posing in a photo (albeit one of questionable taste) with a fully-clothed minor, the image is just plain unsettling. After Miley's little foray into pole dancing at last year's Teen Choice Awards and her recent tattoo located under her left breast, I can't help but wonder if she's trying to garner a spot on the inevitable next season of Michaels' Rock of Love. I'm not gonna lie, if I had to choose a babysitter between Miley and Lindsay Lohan at this point, I'm going with the cokehead, hands down. At least Lindsay can sing. Yeah, I said it. 4) The unfortunate truth that this photo represents: Miley and Bret Michaels' artistic collaboration. Apparently he helped produce her cover of his song "Every Rose Has Its Thorn." (By the way, Bret, this photo makes me grateful that roses have thorns because it gives me something sharp with which to gouge out my eyeballs.) Miley also sang back-up on Michaels' new song. (Is anyone else confused as to why he is still allowed to create music? Someone needs to nip that in the bud.) To be honest, I'm really not sure who is supposed to be helping the other's career in this equation. Is her more-contemporary-but-still-undeserved fame giving him the media attention he thirsts for but lacks the talent and/or relevance to achieve? Or is his supposed "rock star" status meant to launch Miley from tween pop star to mainstream rock? Either way, I think their combined idiocy, classlessness, and general ickiness will ultimately drag them both down into their tangled mess of hair extensions, venereal diseases, and fake eyelashes. (His or hers? You decide.) ...Is my entire college career just one long episode of Punk'd? I half expect Ashton to pop out at my graduation (HA, as if I'll ever actually graduate) and yell, "SIKE!" (By the way, for the record, I am aware that the correct spelling is "psych," but for some reason I thought "sike" was more appropriate in this case.) For those of you just tuning in, the last two and a half years have basically been Me vs. College (or as I sometimes refer to it, "The Man," not to be confused with "Da Man"), and I am most definitely not winning. Not to sound paranoid, but they're totally out to get me.
I have a lot to complain about this week, so put on your sad face and break out the cookie dough. (Also for the record, I really am a generally happy person, despite the my-life-sucks nature of this blog. Typically I would try to add an optimistic slant to my writing, but for the sake of time and the remainder of my sanity, let's just use our imaginations and imply a can-do attitude to the following rant and be done for the day. Sound good?) PART ONE: Where Did This Building Come From and How Do I Get Inside? After two and a half years here, I finally feel that I have a good sense of where everything is on campus and whatnot. Naturally, this means that the university must continue to build new and exciting structures to confuse me (for an example of this, see my earlier January entry regarding the Curious Case of the Two Claude Moore Buildings). This week I had my first glimpse into the new South Lawn building (AKA the monstrosity they've been working on for three years into which they poured all of your tuition money), or should I say buildingS (TWIST!). That's right: The new South Lawn building is actually (*gasp*) TWO buildings! Bet you didn't see that one coming. I know I didn't, considering they have one name, so I was super thrown off when I had to turn in my Religion midterm in said building(s). Here's how it went down: I enter through what appears to be the main entrance (it's hard to tell because there's still a shit-ton of construction going on in and around it), and go to the third floor. Finally I come to room 323 (the room number I was given), and find a polite secretary named Mrs. Hall. I tell her I'm turning in a paper for Professor Bard. She gives me one of those looks that says "I really want to know what you're talking about, but it's just not happening." I repeat the name, and she asks if he's a Religious Studies professor. I confirm this, and she tells me that I'm looking for the other building. I explain to her my complete shock at the existence of this mysterious second building, and she kindly tries to tell me how to get to it. I thank her and go on my merry way, thinking, "How hard can it be to find another building?" Harder than you might imagine. I exit where I came in, and walk down a ways, looking for the infamous Other Building, but all I find is a sketchy door followed by an expanse of buildinglessness. Weighing my options, I give the sketchy door a try, and find the results promising, as the doors in the hallway all say "Religious Studies" on them. (Score!) I take the stairs to the third floor, at which point I begin to grow mildly concerned at the resemblance Other Building shares with Original Building. I make my way to room 323 only to discover (wait for it...) Mrs. Hall! (Cue 'The Twilight Zone' theme.) That's right, I'm in the same building, although I have cleverly discovered a secondary entrance. I explain this to the lovely Mrs. Hall, and, God bless her, she shows me how to get to the Other Building. Apparently there is a secret hidden door on the other side of the elevator that leads to a secret hidden staircase which takes you to the secret hidden exit to the secret hidden courtyard which you cross to get to the secret hidden entrance to Other Building (it's all very Skull & Bones), and, tah dah! That wasn't hard now, was it? I still couldn't tell you how or if there is a less circuitous (by which I mean less ridiculous) way of entering the secret hidden Other Building. I just went back the way I came after safely delivering my midterm. Thank God for Mrs. Hall. At least there's one person in this godforsaken university who isn't trying to break me down. (She must not have gotten the memo.) PART TWO: Make This More Difficult. I Dare You. As I'm sure you can imagine, I'm quite anxious to get out of this place, so I'm trying to graduate a semester early (not hard, considering my ample AP credits, single major, and general lack of ambition). With the intention of affirming this as a possibility, I attempted to meet with my advisor last semester (big mistake). For more on that failure, just click on the tag for "Saga of Advisor Ineptitude" there on the right. To recap: After two and a half years at this school, I'm on Advisor #6, and he is just as useless as the first five, if not more so. Probably more, actually, considering he has actually given me false information, while the others just ignored me. Anyway, when we left off, my real advisor (#5) was not available for undergraduate advising due to "administrative duties," and my substitute advisor (#6) was a senile (albeit well-intentioned) British professor of Spanish literature. When I approached him about graduating early, he told me he had never encountered this situation before and therefore had no insight to offer on the issue, but suggested that I visit the registrar's office to get some information on early graduation. Fast-forward to the next semester (present day): I finally got around to e-mailing the registrar's office (I could have stopped by, but they have a new unknown location because their building is being renovated) and they directed me to the director of undergraduate registration. I e-mailed her, and she told me where they are located and that I could stop by without appointment any time during the week. I was, of course, very wary of this advice because, frankly, it seemed too good to be true. But I tried nonetheless. Today (Friday) after class I went to visit their office (which I found without trouble! That should have been my first clue that something was wrong...) and approached the secretary's desk. She looked about as happy to see me as I imagine Roman Polanski was to see those police officers that arrested him in Switzerland. I gave her my best politely innocent smile, but there was no thawing that icy exterior. I asked if I could meet with someone to discuss graduating early, to which she replied that graduation applications will be available in a few months and I should come back then. She said this with an intonation that conveyed a certain disgruntled civility while still sounding like what she wanted to say was, "now get the fuck out of my office." Too desperate to be deterred, I tried to explain that I just wanted to make sure I was on track (because if I wait until graduation applications are released, you know they'll just find like six missing criteria that I didn't know about, preventing me from graduating and probably forcing me to stay here until 2013), but she would not budge. She told me I need to talk to my major advisor (that would be the AWOL #5) to make sure I've met all my area requirements. Rather than breaking down in tears and screaming, "But my advisor is a useless imbecile! And my idiot replacement advisor told me to come see you people! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" I pleadingly explained that my "advisor" was not available due to his "administrative duties." Without so much as a flinch of sympathy, she told me I need to meet with someone in my major department to confirm my requirements. I'm not gonna lie, I almost had a nervous breakdown right there in the registrar's office. But instead I contained my devastation, and then ate it away with some delicious Chick-Fil-A nuggets and Mountain Dew. When I got back to my room, I collected myself long enough to compose an e-mail to my real advisor (#5) on the off chance that he was no longer tied up with his "administrative duties." Surprisingly, he responded within an hour, informing me that he is ON LEAVE THIS SEMESTER and that I should consult my temporary advisor (#6, AKA Captain Misinformation). Fan-fucking-tastic. You know what? Screw you guys, I'll just get a degree online from DeVry University. I can do it in my pajamas! All I can say is, thank God it's Friday. Because I'm gonna need about 48 hours of mental recuperation before venturing out into the world of academia. So if you'll excuse me, those Cheese Balls* aren't going to eat themselves. *Made with REAL CHEESE! Well, this weekend is Valentine’s Day. So naturally I was struck by the overwhelming urge to watch ‘Scooby-Doo and the Ghoul School.’ Unfortunately, I left my copy at home, so I was perusing the Internet hoping that it might be available somewhere. No such luck. I mean, really—What good is the Internet if you can’t watch ‘Scooby-Doo and the Ghoul School’ online whenever you feel like it?
But I digress. Valentine’s Day is great, if you like flowers, the color pink, and made-for-TV movies starring Heather Locklear. Personally, I’m not that into flowers or Heather Locklear, I hate pink, and I can’t stand those stupid heart-shaped chalk candies with unintelligible Magic 8 Ball phrases like “MAY-B HIM” and “U BLU IT.” My weekend plans involve eating chocolate chip cookie dough and watching ‘The Notebook’ while yelling belligerently at the screen. (Dammit, Rachel McAdams, he DID write to you! Your heartless wretch of a mother hid the letters from you!) I call this “active viewing.” To clarify, this should in no way be construed as wallowing. I refuse to fall victim to the epidemic of cynicism that so often engulfs single people around this time of year. The bitter and depressed single person (read: female, because you never see guys moping around complaining about how they don’t have someone to buy flowers and jewelry for. What’s that about? Spread the wealth, Cupid) alone on Valentine’s Day is so cliché. (Blah blah, consumerist holiday made up by Hallmark and chocolate companies, blah blah, anger, blah.) I choose instead to be ambivalent towards its existence and take advantage of the post-holiday chocolate sales. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t occasionally appreciate the romantic movie marathons on Lifetime. (Except ‘Pretty Woman.’ I am oddly averse to that particular Valentine’s Day staple. I think it has something to do with when Richard Gere snaps the jewelry box on her fingers and she gets all giggly. If that were me, I’d be like, “excuse me, can we not bruise any of my digits in this exchange? ‘K thanks.”) So whether you’re single, married, or in a long-distance relationship with your incarcerated pen-pal, happy Valentine’s Day. |