Friday, October 29, 2004
My mother and brother carved the pumpkins, and being the infinitely supportive daughter and sister that I am, I gave unfailing encouragement, saying things like, "That one looks like my chemistry TA" and "Please don't make pumpkin pie, I like apple ones better."
This one is my chemistry TA
I'm thinking of dressing up and staying at home on Halloween night so I can be a spooky candy giver. During particularly boring lectures the past two weeks I got several costume ideas. I thought, why not dress up as a diatomic gas particle? Or, maybe I'll dress up as Descartes. Or, even better, I can be Socrates and question the pants off the unsuspecting, sugar-high children. Maybe I'll be a skank.
Of course, if I really want to scare little children, and believe me, I do, I can always sing to them. Guaranteed nightmares! While they stand there in utter shock, face paint dissolving in cold sweat, I can poke them with a stick and grab their candy. Since I live close to an elementary school, I'm bound to get lots of candy this way.
Monday, October 18, 2004
Emergency Post
The Avocado is supposed to be on a hiatus, I know. And I'm supposed to be studying for my midterms. But see, I cannot stop listening to Creed's 'One Last Breath". This can only be done on the computer with my massive headphones on, so alas, I am glued. The guitar riffs that run through the song tug on something inside of me. It renders me motionless and if you watch me you'll see me frown. I frown in pain whenever I hear something beautiful. If you observe my face when I listen to classical music you'll think I'm in some sort of deep, sorrowing pain. In a way, I am. I'm not a big fan of Creed - their sound is often too harsh and muddy with overpowering drumming and too much treble - but people, you have to hear the beginning of this song. Their website is probably the best I have seen, giving you all of their songs plus all of the lyrics.
If I want, I can do online physics questions for 'bonus marks'. I am greatly skeptical of this. I can guess that everybody in my program will take advantage of 'bonus marks' - keeners, all of us - thus ridding the 'bonus' marks of their 'bonus' quality. If we all get bonus marks, we're still all the same relatively. This forces me to do the online questions, as they will probably end up be worth actual marks when it's all worked out. They're basically variations of the textbook questions, and I don't see how they will prepare me because staring at a computer screen will just make me blind.
I am the epitome of someone glaringly in lack of sleep. On the busride home today I yawned so frequently my face hurt. I can just imagine the thoughts running through the minds of my fellow bus-prisoners: Shit that girl has problems. Ouch that yawn looked like it hurt. Better not stare she looks dangerous, with the braces and all. If you were to find the number of my yawns as a function of time, you'd - no, you don't want to do that, please don't do that.
I can't thank you enough for reading. I am emotionally unstable, but hey, I have readers.
Soon: Jenny Wets Her Pants Again
The Avocado is supposed to be on a hiatus, I know. And I'm supposed to be studying for my midterms. But see, I cannot stop listening to Creed's 'One Last Breath". This can only be done on the computer with my massive headphones on, so alas, I am glued. The guitar riffs that run through the song tug on something inside of me. It renders me motionless and if you watch me you'll see me frown. I frown in pain whenever I hear something beautiful. If you observe my face when I listen to classical music you'll think I'm in some sort of deep, sorrowing pain. In a way, I am. I'm not a big fan of Creed - their sound is often too harsh and muddy with overpowering drumming and too much treble - but people, you have to hear the beginning of this song. Their website is probably the best I have seen, giving you all of their songs plus all of the lyrics.
If I want, I can do online physics questions for 'bonus marks'. I am greatly skeptical of this. I can guess that everybody in my program will take advantage of 'bonus marks' - keeners, all of us - thus ridding the 'bonus' marks of their 'bonus' quality. If we all get bonus marks, we're still all the same relatively. This forces me to do the online questions, as they will probably end up be worth actual marks when it's all worked out. They're basically variations of the textbook questions, and I don't see how they will prepare me because staring at a computer screen will just make me blind.
I am the epitome of someone glaringly in lack of sleep. On the busride home today I yawned so frequently my face hurt. I can just imagine the thoughts running through the minds of my fellow bus-prisoners: Shit that girl has problems. Ouch that yawn looked like it hurt. Better not stare she looks dangerous, with the braces and all. If you were to find the number of my yawns as a function of time, you'd - no, you don't want to do that, please don't do that.
I can't thank you enough for reading. I am emotionally unstable, but hey, I have readers.
Soon: Jenny Wets Her Pants Again
Friday, October 08, 2004
Jenny Wets Her Pants
Allow me to bring to your attention something that happened to me today. I have ceased to question why things like this happen, why I'm always victim, and why they happen regularly. Nowadays I merely sigh, roll my eyes, examine the damage, and continue like nothing's happened.
I have a bike on campus, and bike from class to class as I'm lazy and biking is fun and relaxing. I also like to bike fast and dangerously, testing my brakes to their limit. But that's beside the point. It was raining moderately today so I brought paper towels to dry the seat because I parked it outside. On my first biking trip this morning - from physics to English - everything started out fine. It wasn't raining too hard so I still held hopes of Normal Hair for class and I skillfully managed not to hit anybody. Half way there I felt small gushes of water go down the middle of the back of my pants. At first I ignored it because it was raining and I had to concentrate on weaving between the masses of people, but I immediately got off my bike when I realized my butt shouldn't be feeling wet and that there shouldn't be a stream of water going down my pants.
My backpack is one of those backpacks with lots of straps hanging of the side. They're annoying so I tied them together in the middle. They're long so they still hang in the middle, kind of like a mullet or a tail. In my biking position the straps end conveniently above the top of my pants, allowing rain to slide directly into them. After realizing this, I thought 'Whatever. Get to class', and resumed biking, thus exacerbating the condition of my pants.
In the English building bathroom I tried to examine the damage, but it's rather hard to look at your own butt without a full length mirror. I twisted and strained but couldn't see anything. It felt wet, but I needed to know if I was at least fit to go to class. Exiting my stall, I approached the one other person in the bathroom.
"Excuse me, how wet is my butt?"
"Um, it's pretty wet. Quite noticable."
"Great. Does it look like I pissed my pants?"
"No it's not in that spot. It's not between your crotch."
"I wish I had a hairdryer."
"Maybe there's a dryer in here." We looked but alas, only paper towels.
"Maybe you can stand in here for a while. Might dry up a bit."
"Nah, I'm going to class."
I arrived at English two minutes late. I don't think anybody noticed the state of my pants, but I felt my neighbor needed to know so I kept turning to her and saying, "My ass is so wet."
A wet ass wasn't going to keep me from learning*, so I proceeded to philosophy after English, albeit on foot. Oh the true thrill of walking! Wet behind, now wet feet. And wet hair (I had forgotten my umbrella in the car). After philosophy I looked at the dark triangular patch the rain made in a full length mirror. The lighting was bad in the bathroom and I probably couldn't see that clearly anyway, but it didn't look too bad. Luckily the color of my pants only turned a little darker when wet.
* The real reason is that I don't know a single person in my philosophy class, so there would be no way of getting notes. I know the names of two people (not including the professor), I don't have their contacts, and I doubt they remember my name. Besides, it's only wet pants.
Allow me to bring to your attention something that happened to me today. I have ceased to question why things like this happen, why I'm always victim, and why they happen regularly. Nowadays I merely sigh, roll my eyes, examine the damage, and continue like nothing's happened.
I have a bike on campus, and bike from class to class as I'm lazy and biking is fun and relaxing. I also like to bike fast and dangerously, testing my brakes to their limit. But that's beside the point. It was raining moderately today so I brought paper towels to dry the seat because I parked it outside. On my first biking trip this morning - from physics to English - everything started out fine. It wasn't raining too hard so I still held hopes of Normal Hair for class and I skillfully managed not to hit anybody. Half way there I felt small gushes of water go down the middle of the back of my pants. At first I ignored it because it was raining and I had to concentrate on weaving between the masses of people, but I immediately got off my bike when I realized my butt shouldn't be feeling wet and that there shouldn't be a stream of water going down my pants.
My backpack is one of those backpacks with lots of straps hanging of the side. They're annoying so I tied them together in the middle. They're long so they still hang in the middle, kind of like a mullet or a tail. In my biking position the straps end conveniently above the top of my pants, allowing rain to slide directly into them. After realizing this, I thought 'Whatever. Get to class', and resumed biking, thus exacerbating the condition of my pants.
In the English building bathroom I tried to examine the damage, but it's rather hard to look at your own butt without a full length mirror. I twisted and strained but couldn't see anything. It felt wet, but I needed to know if I was at least fit to go to class. Exiting my stall, I approached the one other person in the bathroom.
"Excuse me, how wet is my butt?"
"Um, it's pretty wet. Quite noticable."
"Great. Does it look like I pissed my pants?"
"No it's not in that spot. It's not between your crotch."
"I wish I had a hairdryer."
"Maybe there's a dryer in here." We looked but alas, only paper towels.
"Maybe you can stand in here for a while. Might dry up a bit."
"Nah, I'm going to class."
I arrived at English two minutes late. I don't think anybody noticed the state of my pants, but I felt my neighbor needed to know so I kept turning to her and saying, "My ass is so wet."
A wet ass wasn't going to keep me from learning*, so I proceeded to philosophy after English, albeit on foot. Oh the true thrill of walking! Wet behind, now wet feet. And wet hair (I had forgotten my umbrella in the car). After philosophy I looked at the dark triangular patch the rain made in a full length mirror. The lighting was bad in the bathroom and I probably couldn't see that clearly anyway, but it didn't look too bad. Luckily the color of my pants only turned a little darker when wet.
* The real reason is that I don't know a single person in my philosophy class, so there would be no way of getting notes. I know the names of two people (not including the professor), I don't have their contacts, and I doubt they remember my name. Besides, it's only wet pants.
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
I got up at 3:30 am this morning. Let me explain.
The day before was pouring rain, and in addition to the usual effects of rain (like making you wet and making people smelly and in turn making the bus-experience wholly intolerable) it makes me feel extremely worn out. To my utter relief I received a ride home from a friend, though despite escaping the torture that is public transit, I still felt drowsy and decided to take a nap. I napped at 6pm, with the intention of waking up at 7pm. The alarm was set and everything.
I have an internal alarm clock that alerts me a few minutes prior to my actual alarm going off, thus allowing me to wake up, turn the alarm off, and resume sleeping. I think that's what I did that night. Although at around 7, I heard a voice repeatedly shouting "GOOD MORNING, TIME TO WAKE UP! GOOD MORNING TIME TO WAKE UP!" The voice continued until I was fully awake and able to realize that I wasn't dreaming and that there really is a loud voice telling me to get up. I didn't move, thinking it was something my parents recorded. "GOOD MORNING, TIME TO WAKE UP!" WHAT THE FUCK! What kind of stupid joke is this? Why are my parents so cruel?
Then I remembered my Chinese Ding Dong clock. (Ding Dong is a fat blue cat who's able to pull gadgets out of a tiny pocket on his cat-chest) A lot of Chinese electronics talk, like my aunt's microwave that says "Be careful don't burn yourself!" every time the door is opened, and it's always a woman's voice. It's cool the first few times, but you want to set it on fire after a while.
The Ding Dong clock is in my bathroom, because I tend to drift off in the shower. I had the batteries changed recently so the alarm was sounding at maximum volume. The alarm 'on' button must have been pressed accidentally. I've never been very good at determing where sounds are coming from (a constant problem with my cell phone, because I never realize it's my phone ringing until the 10th ring), so I didn't realize the voice was coming from my bathroom until I was sufficienty annoyed. I stormed into the bathroom, slammed my palm into Ding Dong's head, walked back to my bed and went back to sleep. And didn't wake up until 3:30 the next morning.
After getting up, I read a book, completed a lab report, listened to Hilary Duff, and somewhat made up for the time I wasted for forgetting to wake up. At breakfast my dad tried to tell me the effects of a bad sleeping schedule. Except instead of simply telling me to sleep at fixed times every night, he used words like "optimum sleeping cycle" and "decreased efficiency". At 7 in the morning. I can't even speak English that early.
Note: the incoherent nature of this entry may be due to the fact that I woke up at 3:30 this morning. I can use that excuse for practically anything actually. Although I did get nine hours of sleep.
The day before was pouring rain, and in addition to the usual effects of rain (like making you wet and making people smelly and in turn making the bus-experience wholly intolerable) it makes me feel extremely worn out. To my utter relief I received a ride home from a friend, though despite escaping the torture that is public transit, I still felt drowsy and decided to take a nap. I napped at 6pm, with the intention of waking up at 7pm. The alarm was set and everything.
I have an internal alarm clock that alerts me a few minutes prior to my actual alarm going off, thus allowing me to wake up, turn the alarm off, and resume sleeping. I think that's what I did that night. Although at around 7, I heard a voice repeatedly shouting "GOOD MORNING, TIME TO WAKE UP! GOOD MORNING TIME TO WAKE UP!" The voice continued until I was fully awake and able to realize that I wasn't dreaming and that there really is a loud voice telling me to get up. I didn't move, thinking it was something my parents recorded. "GOOD MORNING, TIME TO WAKE UP!" WHAT THE FUCK! What kind of stupid joke is this? Why are my parents so cruel?
Then I remembered my Chinese Ding Dong clock. (Ding Dong is a fat blue cat who's able to pull gadgets out of a tiny pocket on his cat-chest) A lot of Chinese electronics talk, like my aunt's microwave that says "Be careful don't burn yourself!" every time the door is opened, and it's always a woman's voice. It's cool the first few times, but you want to set it on fire after a while.
The Ding Dong clock is in my bathroom, because I tend to drift off in the shower. I had the batteries changed recently so the alarm was sounding at maximum volume. The alarm 'on' button must have been pressed accidentally. I've never been very good at determing where sounds are coming from (a constant problem with my cell phone, because I never realize it's my phone ringing until the 10th ring), so I didn't realize the voice was coming from my bathroom until I was sufficienty annoyed. I stormed into the bathroom, slammed my palm into Ding Dong's head, walked back to my bed and went back to sleep. And didn't wake up until 3:30 the next morning.
After getting up, I read a book, completed a lab report, listened to Hilary Duff, and somewhat made up for the time I wasted for forgetting to wake up. At breakfast my dad tried to tell me the effects of a bad sleeping schedule. Except instead of simply telling me to sleep at fixed times every night, he used words like "optimum sleeping cycle" and "decreased efficiency". At 7 in the morning. I can't even speak English that early.
Note: the incoherent nature of this entry may be due to the fact that I woke up at 3:30 this morning. I can use that excuse for practically anything actually. Although I did get nine hours of sleep.
Sunday, October 03, 2004
DROWNING
