It's the moment you've all been waiting for....an update!
Sorry it's been awhile. I've been busy, you know, with being awesome. Actually, my schedule has become a lot busy because since I last posted, I got a role in a play called "Suburbia." I play Erica, who reminds me a lot of Samantha in Sex and the City. I've always pictured myself more as the Charlotte type, but I guess that's why they call it acting. There are 4 guys in the cast. my character flirts with/hangs all over three of them. The one guy I don't get to cozy up to is the really hot one. Aw, snap! Oh well, he has a steady long-term girlfriend anyway and he transfered from Holy Cross so, you know. I actually have to do a stage kiss and by stage kiss I mean making out with a first year grad student center stage. Croikies! I must admit, the first time we had to act out this scene, I was quite nervous. It was just so awkward, this forced attraction. But again, 'tis acting. It actually ended up not being that awkward and it's as non-emotional and mundane as getting my daily cup of Starbucks from LaFortune. In other news, I have become a coffee addict.
I did not expect at all to be cast in the play, since I'm a freshmen and freshmen usually don't get cast. I basically auditioned on a whim (Angela auditioned, too, for the first time ever) and did not expect anything. But hey, I got the role of stage slut. Actually, my character is not a slut. I had a long conversation with the director (a senior) today about my character being a powerful, promiscuous woman, not a slut. Anywho, once I found out that I got the role, I was really excitied and, naturally, told people about it. I was talking with Jason, who lives in Knott Hall, and after having a discussion about mean boys, told him I got a part in the play. I said "I guess I'm a thespian now." Jason gave me a weird look and said "Oh, you decided that just now?" and I said "Well, I did some in high school, too." This only rendered an even weirder look from Jason who could only say "Oh, ok." He looked very uncomfortable so I decided to take a guess at what he might be thinking and say "Jason, I said thespian, not lesbian." The awkwardness immediately lifted and he said "Oh! ok! That's good." long pause. "What's a thespian?" Oh, Jason. Looking back on that conversation, it is quite humorous to replace the word thespian with lesbian, especially the part about high school.
The other day when I went to rehearsal, I walked into the wrong room. Usually not a big deal, but I thought rehearsal was going to be on the main stage of Washington Hall. I was mistaken, as my rehearsal was in the practice room. Before I knew this, I walked towards mainstage and almost walked onto the stage before realizing that it was not Suburbia rehearsal going on, but Asian Allures. Asian Allures=an all Asian fashion show. I felt very out of place. I left, but I should have looked for Asian chick. I haven't seen her around. My life is empty.
It started snowing. I hate snow. You can tell who's from California and experiencing their first snow because these are the people who freak out and get childlishly jovial over each and every little flake. Soon, the magic of a winter's snow will wear off and they, too, will realize that snow is just Satan's way of saying hello. I hate being cold, so I bundle up to the extent of Ralphie in a Christmas Story. Today, as I went to class in my giant purple coat, scarf, gloves, hat, and hood, people curiously asked me where I was from, expecting me to say California or some other warm place. When I said Ohio, they looked at me like "What's your problem? You should be used to this!" I will never be used to this.
I was all bundled up to go to rehearsal tonight and I wore a leopard earmuff headband thingy. The director commented on the leopard print and I said "Yeah, I kind of have an obsession with leopard" which I do, in case you were unaware. He said, "What" and I repeated myself and he goes, "Oh! I thought you said you clubbed a baby cheetah!" Actually, it was a baby leopard, and I used a spear. I left rehearsal that night the same time as Steve, another cast member (the guy who graduated last year who I have to kiss). I headed in the same direction as him out of the building and he goes "Aren't you going to P.E.?" I was and he said "Well then the north exit is the other way." Shoot, I thought it was, but I have the sense of direction of a blind person. I felt the need to explain my direction blunder with an anecdote and said "I have such a bad sense of direction! This one time I got lost going to my high school senior year!" I am a dork. Why did I tell him that? Why the heck am I telling you that? He responded to my story of infinte wisdom with "How did you get into this school? Are you a legacy." I said, "No, I'm really smart, I just act like a dumb blonde sometimes." He said, "I once dated a girl like that and she dyed her hair blonde and it was funny because it fit her so well." I said, "I have a blonde wig!" and left. I thought I'd better skidaddle before I volunteer any other unnecessary and potentially embarassing stories. And having a blonde wig is a good note to end on. I'll just let him wonder why I have the blonde wig. I should change my facebook picture...
When I got back to the dorm, Steve had friended me on facebook. My first thought: I didn't make such a complete fool of myself that he thinks I'm a loser! My second thought: maybe he wanted to read my profile and get my personal info to see just how weird I really am. I figure there are only three reasons for friending someone on facebook
1) You genuinly like the person and intend to see them again
2) You want to stalk them and gain access to their personal info and be notified when they have updated their profile
3) You're simply going for numbers and you just want more facebook friends
I'm thinking/hoping most of the time people friend me for reason #1, but in the case of castmates, they don't intend to see me again, they have to. And some have to kiss me. I should freak people out and pretend to have mono.
A new P.E. class has started. Yay! No more handball and ultimate frisbee and all the games that brought back terrible memories of being picked last in grade school. But guess who I still get to see? Smurf! The first day of class, she was late. The teacher did attendance and said, as most teachers do on the first day of a new class, that we should tell her what we prefer to be called. When she called Smurf by her real name, she said "You can call me Smurf." I couldn't help but teehee a bit at this. I mean, it's really quite a paradox. The teacher took note of the nickname and said, "I don't know why you're called Smurf, but I like it. That was my favorite cartoon." My thoughts not-so-exactly. Before switching P.E. classes, we had our last day of Fitness for Life, which was capture the flag. I ran over to the other side to get the flag. Smurf was on the opposite team from me. I tried to escape "the enemy" so I could get the coveted flag, which was really just a smelly old jersey, but Smurf would not let her team down. All she did was move to stand in front of me as I was running and I ran right into her. I felt like I hit a brick wall. As I was checking my vital signs, the brick wall that is Smurf did a fist pump and said "Gotcha!" as if moving to the left to block someone was a grand defense tactic. I'm cruel, I know, but that hurt like a mo fo! (what did you say?!)
One more story, I promise. You should read it. It's a good one. One Saturday night, I found myself in Knott Hall, channel surfing with Caitlin, Jason, and Joe Bonath. We called Dana and Angela and they decided to join us after a night of partying at Morrisey. They didn't seem to inebriated, but after some chit chat, it was slightly more evident. Dana fell asleep on the couch in the common room and Angela told me to check on her to make sure she was all right. I shook her awake and told her to go to her own bed. After re-waking her up a few times she sat up and asked, "Do I have a pulse?" Now, the strangest part of this question is my response, which was to actually check her pulse, as if I expected to gain a different answer than "yes, you are alive and well, therefore you have a pulse." Nonetheless, I checked her pulse and assured Dana she had one. I noticed she was sweating a lot and I asked her why she was so hot. Dana said, "It's because I have a pulse. A pulse will do that to you." I asked her to explain further, but she simply said nevermind, in a tone that said, "You could never understand." She then sauntered off to P.E. and to bed, where she still had a pulse. She still has a pulse to this day.
Ok, all. I'm done for real now. This should give you your fix from all that time you were blogalicious-less. And by you I mean Metzger.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Friday, October 28, 2005
Italiani Pazzi
Happy Halloween! I love Halloween. This weekend, I'm celebrating the pagan holiday by burning crosses and worshiping the dark lord while playing with a oigi board. Actually, I'm going to an SYR dressed as Marilyn Munroe. Look for pictures to come in my photobucket. They should be fantastic.
I've only been back from fall break for a week, but it feels like much longer. I guess it's because I'm always so busy, I had some Mike Peterson Show shoots this week, which means I'm in next week's show. Everyone should watch the show next week. I'm not even kidding. It's the Halloween special and it's the funniest one yet. It's freakin' amazing! It's on every day next week starting Monday at 4 and 8 on channel 14. Watch it or you're not allowed to be my friend anymore.
Italian class has been especially interesting lately. We're learning the difference between the imperfect verb tense and past participle tense. Carolina, the crazy Polish teacher who doesn't speak much English decided the best way to teach this would be by changing a story from the present to the past. Sounds reasonable enough. This little excercise started out with her holding up pictures of the story and asking us to describe them. Now, I think I should really start wearing my contacts, because when I looked at this picture, all I saw were 3 pink jelly beans walking down a road, so when she asked me to describe it, I became quite confused. I eventually picked up that the 3 jelly beans were really the 3 little pigs and that I am blind. The story continued, and all was going well until Carolina said that after the wolf blew down the first little pig's house, he at the little pig. At this statement, we all paused. One girl asked the question that was on all of our minds. "He doesn't eat the pigs, does he?" Carolina responded (in English, for more emphasis) "That's your version! The wolf eats the stupid pigs in Italy!" Italiani pazzi. After we had finished the slightly violent version of "The Three Little Pigs," Carolina said, "Your homework is to do the same thing with that story about the girl with the red hood." I think she meant "Little Red Riding Hood." All was regular with this story. The next day when we reviewed our homework, Carolina tried to express why we use the imperfect to describe Little Red Riding Hood by saying "Little Red Riding Hood is dead, or at least she doesn't exist anymore." There's no magic or optimism in Italian fairy tales apparently. Of my two professors, Carolina is definitely the crazier one, or maybe I just don't understand Italian. But this one time, I swear she had this conversation with a student.
-Carlolina: "What happened"
-Student: "I don't know"
-Carolina: "A pizza?"
-Student: "Yes."
Like I said, Italiani pazzi.
After Italian class, I have theology, and you all know what happens in theology.....ASIAN CHICK! For a while there, I was quite worried that she had dropped theology, which didn't make sense since it's a requirement. However, I soon realized that she just showed up sporatically and skipped theology a lot. This is probably because going to a class where there is talk of God and morals makes her uneasy due to her proffession, such is the saying "sweating like a whore in Church." So the one day this month that she get could away from the office (the office being a random street corner in Southbend) and decided to show up to theology, she wore a sweatshirt with words on it. Now, I can critique this without even having to talk about what the words said. Why the heck can't this girl buy a single top without writing on it? Is she trying to draw attention to her chest by making people read what's on it? True, that's a crafty advertising campaign, but enough is enough. Her shirt said "Southville Strikers" on it. It looked slightly vintage, so I'm assuming this was her previous place of business. She worked in Southville and "striker" was her nickname, derived from her sexual techniques. Oh, Asian Chick, when will the madness stop? Never, I hope, because then I would have nothing to write about.
I've only been back from fall break for a week, but it feels like much longer. I guess it's because I'm always so busy, I had some Mike Peterson Show shoots this week, which means I'm in next week's show. Everyone should watch the show next week. I'm not even kidding. It's the Halloween special and it's the funniest one yet. It's freakin' amazing! It's on every day next week starting Monday at 4 and 8 on channel 14. Watch it or you're not allowed to be my friend anymore.
Italian class has been especially interesting lately. We're learning the difference between the imperfect verb tense and past participle tense. Carolina, the crazy Polish teacher who doesn't speak much English decided the best way to teach this would be by changing a story from the present to the past. Sounds reasonable enough. This little excercise started out with her holding up pictures of the story and asking us to describe them. Now, I think I should really start wearing my contacts, because when I looked at this picture, all I saw were 3 pink jelly beans walking down a road, so when she asked me to describe it, I became quite confused. I eventually picked up that the 3 jelly beans were really the 3 little pigs and that I am blind. The story continued, and all was going well until Carolina said that after the wolf blew down the first little pig's house, he at the little pig. At this statement, we all paused. One girl asked the question that was on all of our minds. "He doesn't eat the pigs, does he?" Carolina responded (in English, for more emphasis) "That's your version! The wolf eats the stupid pigs in Italy!" Italiani pazzi. After we had finished the slightly violent version of "The Three Little Pigs," Carolina said, "Your homework is to do the same thing with that story about the girl with the red hood." I think she meant "Little Red Riding Hood." All was regular with this story. The next day when we reviewed our homework, Carolina tried to express why we use the imperfect to describe Little Red Riding Hood by saying "Little Red Riding Hood is dead, or at least she doesn't exist anymore." There's no magic or optimism in Italian fairy tales apparently. Of my two professors, Carolina is definitely the crazier one, or maybe I just don't understand Italian. But this one time, I swear she had this conversation with a student.
-Carlolina: "What happened"
-Student: "I don't know"
-Carolina: "A pizza?"
-Student: "Yes."
Like I said, Italiani pazzi.
After Italian class, I have theology, and you all know what happens in theology.....ASIAN CHICK! For a while there, I was quite worried that she had dropped theology, which didn't make sense since it's a requirement. However, I soon realized that she just showed up sporatically and skipped theology a lot. This is probably because going to a class where there is talk of God and morals makes her uneasy due to her proffession, such is the saying "sweating like a whore in Church." So the one day this month that she get could away from the office (the office being a random street corner in Southbend) and decided to show up to theology, she wore a sweatshirt with words on it. Now, I can critique this without even having to talk about what the words said. Why the heck can't this girl buy a single top without writing on it? Is she trying to draw attention to her chest by making people read what's on it? True, that's a crafty advertising campaign, but enough is enough. Her shirt said "Southville Strikers" on it. It looked slightly vintage, so I'm assuming this was her previous place of business. She worked in Southville and "striker" was her nickname, derived from her sexual techniques. Oh, Asian Chick, when will the madness stop? Never, I hope, because then I would have nothing to write about.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
I'm TB Free
Sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been busy with midterms and such. You know, I do have a life outside entertaining you people. But that life would be empty without your enjoyment from reading about that life.
Vince Vaughn's Wild West Comedy Tour was the most amazing night of my life. The comedians were hilarious and Vince Vaugh was oh-so hot. I got there an hour and a half before it started and got 6th row center seats. Pretty freakin' awesome. In between each comedian, Vince Vaughn would come out with one of his actor buddies, which included the guy who played Ralphie in A Christmas Story (he didn't shoot his eye out), Justin Long from Dodgeball (the cheerleader kid), and the guy who played the gay painter guy in Wedding Crashers. It was amazing. During his bit with Justin Long, Vince Vaughn threw a dodgeball out into the audience. As the dodgeball sailed towards me I reached my hands up. It grazed my fingertips and the guy behind me caught it. So dissapointing. After the show, most people left. Caitlin and I stuck around to see if we could catch a glimpse of Vince Vaughn. While we were waiting, we spotted Brady Quinn, the Irish quarterback. He started walking towards us. We start to (discreetly) freak out. He comes to about 4 feet away from us, stops, turns, and says "hi" to his friends standing near us. As Caitlin and I begin to crawl towards a hole where we can die from embarassment at actually thinking Brady Quinn may be coming over to talk to us, we spot Vince Vaughn! VINCE FREAKIN' VAUGHN! He was just walking around, signing autographs and taking pictures. I had no pen. I had no camera. I had no hope. But I did follow him around like a lost puppy (as did about 50 other people) and stood 2 feet away from him. I could have touched him! He's so tall! I was right next to Vince Vaughn! AHH!! I noticed that Justin Long and the Wedding Crashers guy were just standing around and Justin had a pen. I went up to meet Justin and shook his hand and asked for his autograph. He was really nice and friendly and he said I looked like Jennifer Jason Leigh. I had no idea she was, so later that night I looked her up and realized that this may or may not have been a compliment. In any case, he signed my ticket "Elise, lots of love always, Justin Long." Justin Long has now replaced Vince Vaughn (who seemed rather grumpy with his fans) as my desktop. I also shook hands with the Wedding Crashers guy and told him he was my favorite part of the movie, which may or may not have been true. I left with the biggest smile on my face. I could have died at that moment and been perfectly ok because my life's goal of meeting Vince Vaughn had been fulfilled. I had nothing else to live for. However, I now have a new goal of becoming famous and re-meeting Justin Long and marrying him. We'll see how that pans out.
After the show, I had an SYR to go to. I was an hour late because I spent a lot of time simply running through my hall screaming "I stood next to Vince Vaughn!" In any case, I got ready and went to the dance with Dana and I met up with my date for the night, Steven. All was going well as I was still on a "I just met a celebrity" high. Then Steven pointed out the leprauchaun, or rather, the guy who dresses as the leprauchaun at pep rallies and games. I told Dana he was there and as she was turning her head this way and that to get a glimpse of him, the leprauchaun bumped into her. That was pretty cool.
I was sick for about a week and a half. I had the worst cold of my life. It was absolutely terrible. I started telling people I had tuberculosis, just to convey how bad I felt, though I probably had nothing worse than strep. In gym class, I mentioned to creepy guy that I was sick (he was following me as usual so I figured I'd strike up a conversation) and told him jokingly that I had consumption. Later that day, I went to the health center and found out I just had a really bad cold. Kind of dissapointing for how crappy I felt. I was walking back with my prescription medication and saw creepy guy. He said "Hey, how's it goin'"? And I said "Good! I just got medicine from the health center!" and he goes, with an excited smile on his face "So you really did have TB?!" I said, "No! I have a cold!" He dissapointly said, "Oh, ok," and trudged off. Obviously, he was hoping I had TB so I could join him in his club for "people with strange and rare diseases," his disease, of course, being rabies.
Another famous person came to Notre Dame: Jim Caviezal (the guy who played Jesus in The Passion). He said the Rosary at the Grotto and talked about his faith journey. How very Notre Dame. All these famous people just flock to Notre Dame. Bon Jovi was rumored to come to our pep rally for the USC game, but all we got was the real Rudy (I would have preferred Sean Astin) and Joe Montana (whom I stood in line behind during Frosh-O and I didn't even know who he was). Oh, and about the USC game, I'll just say one thing: The Irish played amazingly and it was an incredible game. But that is the last time that the Trojans will beat Charlie Weis and the Fighting Irish.
Moving on...
I'm on fall break now. I thought it would feel weird being home, but it really doesn't even feel like I left. I didn't expect anything to change, but I expected it to feel different. It just feels like I was at a really really ridiculously long school day or maybe summer camp. If anything has changed, it's that I've developed a better appreciation for the little things, like not having to eat food off a tray. I'm trying to visit with as many people as possible, which isn't too hard, considering most people are still at school. But I saw my grandparents, Tim (who looks so freakin' awesome with his faux hawk), Heather, James, and I visited Hoban, so I'm good.
When I get back to school, my dorm is having a Halloween party and I need a good idea for a costume. I want something clever, pretty, awesome, sexy, interesting, good, etc. So if anyone has any ideas, let me know because right now all I've got is a headband with cat ears on it.
That's it for now, kiddies. I'm off to lounge around my house and enjoy the comforts of cable, my own room, and not having to wear sandles in the shower.
Vince Vaughn's Wild West Comedy Tour was the most amazing night of my life. The comedians were hilarious and Vince Vaugh was oh-so hot. I got there an hour and a half before it started and got 6th row center seats. Pretty freakin' awesome. In between each comedian, Vince Vaughn would come out with one of his actor buddies, which included the guy who played Ralphie in A Christmas Story (he didn't shoot his eye out), Justin Long from Dodgeball (the cheerleader kid), and the guy who played the gay painter guy in Wedding Crashers. It was amazing. During his bit with Justin Long, Vince Vaughn threw a dodgeball out into the audience. As the dodgeball sailed towards me I reached my hands up. It grazed my fingertips and the guy behind me caught it. So dissapointing. After the show, most people left. Caitlin and I stuck around to see if we could catch a glimpse of Vince Vaughn. While we were waiting, we spotted Brady Quinn, the Irish quarterback. He started walking towards us. We start to (discreetly) freak out. He comes to about 4 feet away from us, stops, turns, and says "hi" to his friends standing near us. As Caitlin and I begin to crawl towards a hole where we can die from embarassment at actually thinking Brady Quinn may be coming over to talk to us, we spot Vince Vaughn! VINCE FREAKIN' VAUGHN! He was just walking around, signing autographs and taking pictures. I had no pen. I had no camera. I had no hope. But I did follow him around like a lost puppy (as did about 50 other people) and stood 2 feet away from him. I could have touched him! He's so tall! I was right next to Vince Vaughn! AHH!! I noticed that Justin Long and the Wedding Crashers guy were just standing around and Justin had a pen. I went up to meet Justin and shook his hand and asked for his autograph. He was really nice and friendly and he said I looked like Jennifer Jason Leigh. I had no idea she was, so later that night I looked her up and realized that this may or may not have been a compliment. In any case, he signed my ticket "Elise, lots of love always, Justin Long." Justin Long has now replaced Vince Vaughn (who seemed rather grumpy with his fans) as my desktop. I also shook hands with the Wedding Crashers guy and told him he was my favorite part of the movie, which may or may not have been true. I left with the biggest smile on my face. I could have died at that moment and been perfectly ok because my life's goal of meeting Vince Vaughn had been fulfilled. I had nothing else to live for. However, I now have a new goal of becoming famous and re-meeting Justin Long and marrying him. We'll see how that pans out.
After the show, I had an SYR to go to. I was an hour late because I spent a lot of time simply running through my hall screaming "I stood next to Vince Vaughn!" In any case, I got ready and went to the dance with Dana and I met up with my date for the night, Steven. All was going well as I was still on a "I just met a celebrity" high. Then Steven pointed out the leprauchaun, or rather, the guy who dresses as the leprauchaun at pep rallies and games. I told Dana he was there and as she was turning her head this way and that to get a glimpse of him, the leprauchaun bumped into her. That was pretty cool.
I was sick for about a week and a half. I had the worst cold of my life. It was absolutely terrible. I started telling people I had tuberculosis, just to convey how bad I felt, though I probably had nothing worse than strep. In gym class, I mentioned to creepy guy that I was sick (he was following me as usual so I figured I'd strike up a conversation) and told him jokingly that I had consumption. Later that day, I went to the health center and found out I just had a really bad cold. Kind of dissapointing for how crappy I felt. I was walking back with my prescription medication and saw creepy guy. He said "Hey, how's it goin'"? And I said "Good! I just got medicine from the health center!" and he goes, with an excited smile on his face "So you really did have TB?!" I said, "No! I have a cold!" He dissapointly said, "Oh, ok," and trudged off. Obviously, he was hoping I had TB so I could join him in his club for "people with strange and rare diseases," his disease, of course, being rabies.
Another famous person came to Notre Dame: Jim Caviezal (the guy who played Jesus in The Passion). He said the Rosary at the Grotto and talked about his faith journey. How very Notre Dame. All these famous people just flock to Notre Dame. Bon Jovi was rumored to come to our pep rally for the USC game, but all we got was the real Rudy (I would have preferred Sean Astin) and Joe Montana (whom I stood in line behind during Frosh-O and I didn't even know who he was). Oh, and about the USC game, I'll just say one thing: The Irish played amazingly and it was an incredible game. But that is the last time that the Trojans will beat Charlie Weis and the Fighting Irish.
Moving on...
I'm on fall break now. I thought it would feel weird being home, but it really doesn't even feel like I left. I didn't expect anything to change, but I expected it to feel different. It just feels like I was at a really really ridiculously long school day or maybe summer camp. If anything has changed, it's that I've developed a better appreciation for the little things, like not having to eat food off a tray. I'm trying to visit with as many people as possible, which isn't too hard, considering most people are still at school. But I saw my grandparents, Tim (who looks so freakin' awesome with his faux hawk), Heather, James, and I visited Hoban, so I'm good.
When I get back to school, my dorm is having a Halloween party and I need a good idea for a costume. I want something clever, pretty, awesome, sexy, interesting, good, etc. So if anyone has any ideas, let me know because right now all I've got is a headband with cat ears on it.
That's it for now, kiddies. I'm off to lounge around my house and enjoy the comforts of cable, my own room, and not having to wear sandles in the shower.
Friday, October 07, 2005
The Perks of Being Sober
I think it's time to answer the question that's been on everyone's mind since my last post: What inatimate household objects doubles in weight after 10 years of usage?
Answer: A mattress.
The extra weight is due to all the dirt and sweat. Think about your dorm mattress and how many people have slept on it. Now go ahead and cringe.
Caitlin was the first one to guess this right, but that's probably only because she's my roommate and was able to play 20 questions for quite a while. In any case, Caitlin wins. The prize: being mentioned in my blog. Though this may not seem so fantastic to everyone else, Caitlin is ecstatic about it. Trust me.
Onto other things...
I started a new P.E. class (yes, I have to take gym in college). My first class was self-defense, which involved a lot of eye gouging and groin kicking. There were only 3 males in that class and they seemed kind of shady, like they were taking the class so they could see what a girl would do if they tried to attack her. My new gym class is Fitness for Life, which is your basic gym class with a bunch of useless, repetitive fitness information and games that you never wanted to play. Last class, we ran and played capture the flag. I'm not a big fan of either. However, no matter how bad/slow/lazy/unathletic I think I am, I can always look to this one girl in that class. Now, let me start by saying that I usually do not like to make fun of obese people simply for being obese. However, the situation calls for it. There is a girl in my class who must weigh close to 300 pounds. She shows up to p.e. late, even though her previous class is nearby and she has a bike. The first day of Fitness for Life, we had arrange ourselves in alphabetical order without using words. I have the luxury of simply going to the end of the line without asking questions because my last name conveniently begins with Y. The large girl, however, decided to take the last spot in line. I mouth the words "What is your last name" to her. She responds, in a non-whisper "Murphy." I reply "Oh, we're supposed to be in alphabetical order." She retorts "I don't know how the heck we're supposed to do that without talking. That's just stupid." Fine, Murphy. For your lazy butt, we'll rearrange the alphabet. After getting in alphabetical (or in this case Murphabetical) order, we had to introduce ourselves by saying our names. Murphy's intro went like this: "My name's Sade, but you can call me Smurf." Smurf??? There is nothing small or smurflike about her. We then had to jog 20 yards. No big deal, right? Oh, but it was a big deal for Smurf. She simply stood at the baseline the whole time and refused to run. When we did crunches, she merely laid on the ground. It's one thing to be obese. Some people can't help it. But to be entirely lazy is completely different.
I'm thinking I should just have an "Interesting Person of the Week" whenever I write a new blog entry, because I meet so many interesting people. However, this week I cannot just pick one, because there is another interesting person I must discuss. I've actually already mentioned this person. He is the creepy guy from the Mike Peterson Show writers' meeting who had violent/obscene ideas and looked like the lead singer from the Crash Test Dummies. Anyway, this guy has decided that him and I are best friends. Rapture. I honestly feel uncomfortable around this guy. He really is creepy. The other girl writer for the MPS agrees. Turns out that creepy guy is in my P.E. class (which turns out to have a cornucopia of interesting people in it). I was talking to a rather good-looking boy after P.E., but creepy guy scared him off when he caught up with me walking back and decided that, as best friends, we should talk. So this guy is preventing me from making any other friends in that class. After the last P.E. class, creepy guy decided to tell me all about the time he had rabies because he tried to tackle a woodchuck and it nearly ripped off his thumb. That's the stupidest lie I've ever heard. I don't even want to believe that it could be true, it's so ridiculous. In my opinion, the rabies adds to the creepy factor. The other day, we (MPS writers) were doing a shoot for the MPS. The skit was that the latest fashion trend was the unzipped fly with boxers sticking out. Creepy guy jumped on the opportunity to participate in this skit. I was there to play the girlfriend of one of the unzipped boys. I prayed that it wasn't creepy guy. Fortunately, it wasn't. This made creepy guy quite upset as he declared "By the end of this shoot, I will have a hot girl with me!" Then he glared at me as if I was supposed to jump up and say "Oh! Pick me!" To his dissapointment I said nothing and looked the other way. After the shoot was over, I headed over to the dining hall for dinner with the girls of 6A. Creepy guy followed me. I tentatively asked him who he was meeting at the dining hall, knowing already what the answer would be. He cheerily replied "Oh, I assumed we would eat together." Ok, now don't hate me for what I said next, but let me explain. I told him "Oh, actually, it's girls' night and I'm just eating with some girls from my dorm. Sorry." Exit creepy guy. I know that was horrible, but honestly, this guy makes me really uncomfortable and Caitlin doesn't like him either. I had to tell him to leave. He's quite stalkerish and I don't like him at all. So don't think I'm a terrible person! I didn't learn enough in self-defense class to invite creepy guy to dinner!
On a less catty note, last weekend, I was invited to an SYR. SYR=Screw Your Roommate. Each dorm has an SYR each year. Tradtional SYR form means that your roommate picks a date for you, thus screwing you over if the person sucks. However, most people just pick their own dates. Joe from my Italian class (and from New Jersey--ew, I know) asked me to go. He's pretty good-looking, so I figured why not. The theme for the SYR (they all have themes) was 70s' disco. Therefore, I wore a top with sequins on it. I don't know if that's 70s', but I really like sequins. Joe, on the other hand, raided the thrift store and wore tight plaid pants and a gator-print jacket. I know what you're all thinking: sexy. Anyway, I show up to his dorm about an hour before the party because that's when the pre-partying is happening (aka drinking). Joe and his buddies are already drunk. I join their sober dates on the futon and laugh at them as they belt out N*Sync tunes. Surprisingly, they know all the words and even some of the hand-motions, something they would probably not admit to when sober. The actual party is at a bowling ally off campus and on the bus ride over, I soon find out that Joe is a very complimentary drunk. What he said includes, "I really respect that you don't drink." "You're a really good-looking girl." "I'm the hermit crab racing national champion" "You're not like most girls. You're really cool and you're a good person." In case you were wondering, the hermit crab statement really is true. Bowling was a ton of fun. Actually, the whole night was a lot of fun, but bowling was great simply because I kicked butt. If you've ever bowled with me before, you're probably wondering how this happened. I mean, I won the game and my score was only 90. Well, let's just add bowling skills to one of the many advantages of sobreity.
While at the disco bowl, I met one of Joe's friends, Andres. Andres is a very cool guy and we hit it off. So the following night, we talked and decided to hang out at his dorm. Andres lives five doors down from Joe, so I was planning on going over to say hi to Joe at some point. Unfortunately, my plans were foiled when Andres and I were talking in the hall outside his dorm and Joe walked/stumbled out of his room. I waved. Joe didn't and walked/staggared back into his room. I figured he was just drunk and confused. Monday after Italian class, I asked Joe what he did on Saturday. He replied, "I don't really remember. I was just drinking in the room I guess." I said, "I saw you and waved but you didn't wave back." He said, angrily "Oh that I remember." He then went on to say how I like Andres better than him and how he's used to girls liking other guys more than him and blah blah blah. Quite pathetic. I disputed his claims and that was the end of that.
This Saturday will probably be one of the best days ever. The love of my life is coming to Notre Dame. And I've got tickets. The Vince Vaughn Wild West comedy tour is on Saturday!!! I love Vince Vaughn! His mug shot from when he got arrested for fighting is a bar is my desktop. I hope I'm able to get good seats so I am able to proffess my love to Vince Vaughn. I'll tell you all about my crazy evening with Vince Vaughn in my next blog, or more likely, I'll talk about how I had crapy seats and I went to another SYR after the show.
Answer: A mattress.
The extra weight is due to all the dirt and sweat. Think about your dorm mattress and how many people have slept on it. Now go ahead and cringe.
Caitlin was the first one to guess this right, but that's probably only because she's my roommate and was able to play 20 questions for quite a while. In any case, Caitlin wins. The prize: being mentioned in my blog. Though this may not seem so fantastic to everyone else, Caitlin is ecstatic about it. Trust me.
Onto other things...
I started a new P.E. class (yes, I have to take gym in college). My first class was self-defense, which involved a lot of eye gouging and groin kicking. There were only 3 males in that class and they seemed kind of shady, like they were taking the class so they could see what a girl would do if they tried to attack her. My new gym class is Fitness for Life, which is your basic gym class with a bunch of useless, repetitive fitness information and games that you never wanted to play. Last class, we ran and played capture the flag. I'm not a big fan of either. However, no matter how bad/slow/lazy/unathletic I think I am, I can always look to this one girl in that class. Now, let me start by saying that I usually do not like to make fun of obese people simply for being obese. However, the situation calls for it. There is a girl in my class who must weigh close to 300 pounds. She shows up to p.e. late, even though her previous class is nearby and she has a bike. The first day of Fitness for Life, we had arrange ourselves in alphabetical order without using words. I have the luxury of simply going to the end of the line without asking questions because my last name conveniently begins with Y. The large girl, however, decided to take the last spot in line. I mouth the words "What is your last name" to her. She responds, in a non-whisper "Murphy." I reply "Oh, we're supposed to be in alphabetical order." She retorts "I don't know how the heck we're supposed to do that without talking. That's just stupid." Fine, Murphy. For your lazy butt, we'll rearrange the alphabet. After getting in alphabetical (or in this case Murphabetical) order, we had to introduce ourselves by saying our names. Murphy's intro went like this: "My name's Sade, but you can call me Smurf." Smurf??? There is nothing small or smurflike about her. We then had to jog 20 yards. No big deal, right? Oh, but it was a big deal for Smurf. She simply stood at the baseline the whole time and refused to run. When we did crunches, she merely laid on the ground. It's one thing to be obese. Some people can't help it. But to be entirely lazy is completely different.
I'm thinking I should just have an "Interesting Person of the Week" whenever I write a new blog entry, because I meet so many interesting people. However, this week I cannot just pick one, because there is another interesting person I must discuss. I've actually already mentioned this person. He is the creepy guy from the Mike Peterson Show writers' meeting who had violent/obscene ideas and looked like the lead singer from the Crash Test Dummies. Anyway, this guy has decided that him and I are best friends. Rapture. I honestly feel uncomfortable around this guy. He really is creepy. The other girl writer for the MPS agrees. Turns out that creepy guy is in my P.E. class (which turns out to have a cornucopia of interesting people in it). I was talking to a rather good-looking boy after P.E., but creepy guy scared him off when he caught up with me walking back and decided that, as best friends, we should talk. So this guy is preventing me from making any other friends in that class. After the last P.E. class, creepy guy decided to tell me all about the time he had rabies because he tried to tackle a woodchuck and it nearly ripped off his thumb. That's the stupidest lie I've ever heard. I don't even want to believe that it could be true, it's so ridiculous. In my opinion, the rabies adds to the creepy factor. The other day, we (MPS writers) were doing a shoot for the MPS. The skit was that the latest fashion trend was the unzipped fly with boxers sticking out. Creepy guy jumped on the opportunity to participate in this skit. I was there to play the girlfriend of one of the unzipped boys. I prayed that it wasn't creepy guy. Fortunately, it wasn't. This made creepy guy quite upset as he declared "By the end of this shoot, I will have a hot girl with me!" Then he glared at me as if I was supposed to jump up and say "Oh! Pick me!" To his dissapointment I said nothing and looked the other way. After the shoot was over, I headed over to the dining hall for dinner with the girls of 6A. Creepy guy followed me. I tentatively asked him who he was meeting at the dining hall, knowing already what the answer would be. He cheerily replied "Oh, I assumed we would eat together." Ok, now don't hate me for what I said next, but let me explain. I told him "Oh, actually, it's girls' night and I'm just eating with some girls from my dorm. Sorry." Exit creepy guy. I know that was horrible, but honestly, this guy makes me really uncomfortable and Caitlin doesn't like him either. I had to tell him to leave. He's quite stalkerish and I don't like him at all. So don't think I'm a terrible person! I didn't learn enough in self-defense class to invite creepy guy to dinner!
On a less catty note, last weekend, I was invited to an SYR. SYR=Screw Your Roommate. Each dorm has an SYR each year. Tradtional SYR form means that your roommate picks a date for you, thus screwing you over if the person sucks. However, most people just pick their own dates. Joe from my Italian class (and from New Jersey--ew, I know) asked me to go. He's pretty good-looking, so I figured why not. The theme for the SYR (they all have themes) was 70s' disco. Therefore, I wore a top with sequins on it. I don't know if that's 70s', but I really like sequins. Joe, on the other hand, raided the thrift store and wore tight plaid pants and a gator-print jacket. I know what you're all thinking: sexy. Anyway, I show up to his dorm about an hour before the party because that's when the pre-partying is happening (aka drinking). Joe and his buddies are already drunk. I join their sober dates on the futon and laugh at them as they belt out N*Sync tunes. Surprisingly, they know all the words and even some of the hand-motions, something they would probably not admit to when sober. The actual party is at a bowling ally off campus and on the bus ride over, I soon find out that Joe is a very complimentary drunk. What he said includes, "I really respect that you don't drink." "You're a really good-looking girl." "I'm the hermit crab racing national champion" "You're not like most girls. You're really cool and you're a good person." In case you were wondering, the hermit crab statement really is true. Bowling was a ton of fun. Actually, the whole night was a lot of fun, but bowling was great simply because I kicked butt. If you've ever bowled with me before, you're probably wondering how this happened. I mean, I won the game and my score was only 90. Well, let's just add bowling skills to one of the many advantages of sobreity.
While at the disco bowl, I met one of Joe's friends, Andres. Andres is a very cool guy and we hit it off. So the following night, we talked and decided to hang out at his dorm. Andres lives five doors down from Joe, so I was planning on going over to say hi to Joe at some point. Unfortunately, my plans were foiled when Andres and I were talking in the hall outside his dorm and Joe walked/stumbled out of his room. I waved. Joe didn't and walked/staggared back into his room. I figured he was just drunk and confused. Monday after Italian class, I asked Joe what he did on Saturday. He replied, "I don't really remember. I was just drinking in the room I guess." I said, "I saw you and waved but you didn't wave back." He said, angrily "Oh that I remember." He then went on to say how I like Andres better than him and how he's used to girls liking other guys more than him and blah blah blah. Quite pathetic. I disputed his claims and that was the end of that.
This Saturday will probably be one of the best days ever. The love of my life is coming to Notre Dame. And I've got tickets. The Vince Vaughn Wild West comedy tour is on Saturday!!! I love Vince Vaughn! His mug shot from when he got arrested for fighting is a bar is my desktop. I hope I'm able to get good seats so I am able to proffess my love to Vince Vaughn. I'll tell you all about my crazy evening with Vince Vaughn in my next blog, or more likely, I'll talk about how I had crapy seats and I went to another SYR after the show.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Word to Your Mother
This blog is going to be mostly shout outs, because I never do that, but they will be intertwined with my characteristically funny anecdotes, so keep reading.
My first shout out goes to Dave Wartko and Brian Fair, even though neither of you read my blog, mainly because you are fools. In any case, the reason I am shouting out to them is because Brian went home this past weekend to celebrate his mother's 50th birthday. He brought back with him a Swensons double cheeseburger. (For all of you non-Akron area dwellers who do not know what Swensons is: simply put, it is the best hamburger place in the world. No joke. I'm addicted. They must put crack in the patties.) Brian gave the blessed burger to Dave, who so very generously split it with me. Even though the cheeseburger has been through a 5 hour car ride and 2 days in Dave's fridge, it still tasted like heaven on a bun. It was amazing. So thank, Brian and Dave, for sharing that most scrumptious, delectable, wonderful hamburger with me.
Next up on the shout-out list is Tim Adkins, because he reads my blog. Tim, I've been enjoying our chats as of late. I miss you and our lunch time chatter!
Another shout out goes to my Dad because his birthday is tomorrow (Sept. 29). He doesn't read this blog either, but I thought I should put that in there. For my Dad's birthday, I picked out a sweatshirt from the ND bookstore Web site and had my Mom order it. This was good, but seemed a bit impersonal. So I made him a delightful card that says "I wish I could be there for your birthday, but alas, I am out here in Indiana under the Golden Dome. So I got some of my Notre Dame friends to wish you a happy birthday!" I then proceeded to copy and past pictures of famous ND things from the Internet, such as the Dome, saying "Enjoy your golden years!" and Regis Philbin saying "You look like a million bucks!" I'm so creative. Even after the card, the gift still didn't feel quite right. So what do I do? I steal a soup spoon from the North Dining Hall, tie a green ribbon around it, and stick it in the envelope. The funny thing is, my Dad will absolutely love it.
I'd also like to give a shout out to everyone who poses nude/half-nude in their facebook picture. Actually, I don't want to shout out to you. I want to shout AT you. Put some clothes on, you freakin' floozies!!! A certain redneck from Suffield has an especially disturbing facebook picture. He was completely naked (ew) with only a cowboy hat covering his privates. (It was a small cowboy hat). My good friend Amelia told me about it and as soon as I saw the hideous image, I wanted to poke out my eyes and vomit. If you get the chance, I suggest you check out this picture, just so you know what NOT to do in facebook, though I'm sure the awesome people who read this blog wear clothes, not cowboy hats. (By the way, if you're really itching to see the naked cowboy's picture, his name starts with a T and ends with a J Gaydos.)
Another shout-out goes to Metzger, because she loves pirates. I also love pirates. A pirate could kick a ninjas butt any day of the week. That's the end of this shout out.
Next and final shout out goes to (suspense creating drumroll)...................................................
ASIAN CHICK! She's back! Your life feels whole again, now, doesn't it? Admit it, you missed Asian Chick's crazy antics. Actually, she has not been in class lately, and this has been dissapointing. But the last time I saw her, she was wearing a Notre Dame sweatshirt. Now, I may be reading too much into this, but the back of the shirt said "Lucky Since 1998." I'm assuming it was in the year 1998 that she became a lady of the night and thus began her prostitution business. Perhaps she runs an entire brothel called "Luck" and they were founded in 1998, thus their slogan is "Lucky Since 1998." This is only my assumption, but based on her past work uniforms, oops, I mean outfits, I don't find it too farfetched.
Well, that's all for the shout-outs. Don't feel bad if I left you out. It's probably only because I don't like you or you don't write comments on my blog. Speaking of comments, it has come to my attention that some people do not know how to write comments on my blog. You simply click on the thing that says "# comments" (sadly, that number is usually 0) and a little box will pop up in which you type your witty, admiring comments. And don't be anonymous. That's just frustrating and guess work is not my strong suit. Oh, I almost forgot! No one answered the question from my last blog correctly! No one even attempted! (Except Laurell Marshall, who always comments and is just freakin' awesome. Shout out to Laurel!) This isn't a riddle, it's an actual fact! I will repeat the question here and you all should keep on guessing. What inatimate household object doubles in weight after 10 years of ownership?
My first shout out goes to Dave Wartko and Brian Fair, even though neither of you read my blog, mainly because you are fools. In any case, the reason I am shouting out to them is because Brian went home this past weekend to celebrate his mother's 50th birthday. He brought back with him a Swensons double cheeseburger. (For all of you non-Akron area dwellers who do not know what Swensons is: simply put, it is the best hamburger place in the world. No joke. I'm addicted. They must put crack in the patties.) Brian gave the blessed burger to Dave, who so very generously split it with me. Even though the cheeseburger has been through a 5 hour car ride and 2 days in Dave's fridge, it still tasted like heaven on a bun. It was amazing. So thank, Brian and Dave, for sharing that most scrumptious, delectable, wonderful hamburger with me.
Next up on the shout-out list is Tim Adkins, because he reads my blog. Tim, I've been enjoying our chats as of late. I miss you and our lunch time chatter!
Another shout out goes to my Dad because his birthday is tomorrow (Sept. 29). He doesn't read this blog either, but I thought I should put that in there. For my Dad's birthday, I picked out a sweatshirt from the ND bookstore Web site and had my Mom order it. This was good, but seemed a bit impersonal. So I made him a delightful card that says "I wish I could be there for your birthday, but alas, I am out here in Indiana under the Golden Dome. So I got some of my Notre Dame friends to wish you a happy birthday!" I then proceeded to copy and past pictures of famous ND things from the Internet, such as the Dome, saying "Enjoy your golden years!" and Regis Philbin saying "You look like a million bucks!" I'm so creative. Even after the card, the gift still didn't feel quite right. So what do I do? I steal a soup spoon from the North Dining Hall, tie a green ribbon around it, and stick it in the envelope. The funny thing is, my Dad will absolutely love it.
I'd also like to give a shout out to everyone who poses nude/half-nude in their facebook picture. Actually, I don't want to shout out to you. I want to shout AT you. Put some clothes on, you freakin' floozies!!! A certain redneck from Suffield has an especially disturbing facebook picture. He was completely naked (ew) with only a cowboy hat covering his privates. (It was a small cowboy hat). My good friend Amelia told me about it and as soon as I saw the hideous image, I wanted to poke out my eyes and vomit. If you get the chance, I suggest you check out this picture, just so you know what NOT to do in facebook, though I'm sure the awesome people who read this blog wear clothes, not cowboy hats. (By the way, if you're really itching to see the naked cowboy's picture, his name starts with a T and ends with a J Gaydos.)
Another shout-out goes to Metzger, because she loves pirates. I also love pirates. A pirate could kick a ninjas butt any day of the week. That's the end of this shout out.
Next and final shout out goes to (suspense creating drumroll)...................................................
ASIAN CHICK! She's back! Your life feels whole again, now, doesn't it? Admit it, you missed Asian Chick's crazy antics. Actually, she has not been in class lately, and this has been dissapointing. But the last time I saw her, she was wearing a Notre Dame sweatshirt. Now, I may be reading too much into this, but the back of the shirt said "Lucky Since 1998." I'm assuming it was in the year 1998 that she became a lady of the night and thus began her prostitution business. Perhaps she runs an entire brothel called "Luck" and they were founded in 1998, thus their slogan is "Lucky Since 1998." This is only my assumption, but based on her past work uniforms, oops, I mean outfits, I don't find it too farfetched.
Well, that's all for the shout-outs. Don't feel bad if I left you out. It's probably only because I don't like you or you don't write comments on my blog. Speaking of comments, it has come to my attention that some people do not know how to write comments on my blog. You simply click on the thing that says "# comments" (sadly, that number is usually 0) and a little box will pop up in which you type your witty, admiring comments. And don't be anonymous. That's just frustrating and guess work is not my strong suit. Oh, I almost forgot! No one answered the question from my last blog correctly! No one even attempted! (Except Laurell Marshall, who always comments and is just freakin' awesome. Shout out to Laurel!) This isn't a riddle, it's an actual fact! I will repeat the question here and you all should keep on guessing. What inatimate household object doubles in weight after 10 years of ownership?
Friday, September 23, 2005
Charlie is my Home Boy
As some of you may have gathered from my blogs, and if your lucky to know me well enough, my phone calls, I'm having a great time at Notre Dame despite my apprehensions all throughout the summer. However, I didn't really fall in love with this place until the first home football game. Notre Dame really does have the best school spirit and the best student section in the world. Now, I'm not a big football fan. I just learned what a first down is. But the excitement of the game just catches you up. It's unavoidable, and I love it. Last Saturday, the morning of the first home game, one of the boys' dorms (Zahm) came outside my dorm (P.E.) at 5:00 a.m. yelling "Wake up PE!" which was very effective in waking me up. At 7:30, I was re-awakened by the upperclassmen banging on my door and yelling "Get up freshmen or we'll get the master key and drag you out of bed!" That was not an empty promise. From there we practiced the cheers for the game (I freakin' love the Irish jig) and then got ready for the game. Campus was all a-buzz. Yes, that sounds corny and cliche, but it is oh-so true. People were everywhere in green, gold, and blue selling hot dogs, shouting cheers, watching the band, etc. The frosh of 6A (my dorm section) have started a new tradition of sock decorating before the game, meaning we take white knee-socks and decorate them with magic markers.
The game itself was amazing. It was quite the emotional roller-coaster, with Notre Dame being down three touchdowns, but coming back just in time to tie the game up and bring it into overtime. The student section is so exciting and I have never yelled so much in my life. At every ND touchdown, small groups of people lift one person up to do pushups as many times as the score. Now I know where Hoban got that tradition from. Looking across the student section and seeing so many people being thrown up in the air is awesome. Overtime was nervewracking and ended in a heartbreaking loss for ND. That was seriously the most heartbreaking sporting event I have ever witnessed. Again, I'm not a hardcore football fan or anything, but I was deeply affected by this game. The whole campus was somber the rest of the night and my friends and I basically went back to the dorm after the candlelight dinner and went to bed. It was that depressing. However, the Notre Dame spirit prevailed after the lost with a cheer of "We Are ND."
What's also amazing is how much the students love our football coach, Charlie Weis. They are even wearing shirts that say "Charlie's Angels: Putting the Nasty back in Dynasty" or "Charlie is my Home Boy" in the same style as the "Jesus is my Home Boy" shirts.
Regis Philbin was at the game and on Monday, I watched the beginning of Live! with Regis and Kelly and Regis spent a decent amount of time talking about Notre Dame and showing his personal pictures of him at the campus (i.e. Regis praying at the grotto, Regis at the dome, Regis saying hi to a duck at the lake). Does Regis ever talk about your school? I didn't think so. I win.
Enough about football. I wish I could give you an update on Asian chick, but she has become very uninteresting. But here is my latest dillemma:
My jeans got stolen. I am so incredibly upset. They were my favorite pair of Gap jeans. I left them in the laundry room to dry, as I have done many times before and as everyone else does. But when I went to get my jeans after dorm Mass on Sunday, they were gone. I immediately made "Lost Jeans" signs on my computer and taped them up around the dorm. So far, no one has given them back. I was going to send out a dorm-wide e-mail asking people to check and make sure they don't have my jeans, but my dear boxing buddy Angela brought me back to my denim realty and said "You know, if someone stole them, they're not going to give them back." Fooey. I have to go shopping now and that takes so much planning and time to get a bus.
NDTV, the student run television channel, has a show called "The Mike Peterson Show" and it's like a combination of Conan O'Brian and Saturday Night Live. I interviewed to be a writer for the show and I got in (yessss!). This made me think that I should perhaps change my role model from Katie Couric to Tina Fey, but that is beside the point. I went to the first writer's meeting in Washington Hall and was locked out of the building. I was pacing outside the building trying to figure out what to do until someone came along and opened a door that I hadn't even noticed. I go to the meeting, where I am one the only girls. At first, I thought this might be good, being among all these boys and me being single and in a boy-meeting slump (meaning I met a ton of boys frosh-o weekend but then all at once I stopped meeting them and am stuck with only a couple numbers and none of them connecting me to really attractive men, though there a lot of those on campus). However, I forgot to realize that most of the boys who are involved with television and writing are theater people, meaning they are either crazy or gay. This was fine, though, because I had been getting worried that I would have no crazy or gay friends on campus, given the conservative feel of it. I should have known that all I need to do is join a theater group.
Anyway, during the meeting, many ideas were tossed out there. Some of them were funny, some of them not so much. There was this one kid who had a plethora of over-the-line ideas. Everything that came out of this kid's mouth was violent/sexual/innapropriate/totally creepy. He was pretty creepy looking, too. He reminds me of the lead singer of the Crash Tests Dummies (They sang that Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm song). I'll be sure to stay away from him. On the plus side, my idea got picked and I get to act in it! Hooray! I would tell you the idea, but it doesn't really make sense in writing and if you don't go to Notre Dame. All I'm telling you is that I play a really obnoxious girl in the audience who shouts random stuff.
So I go to the filming for the Mike Peterson show at 2:00 because that's what time the e-mail said it was. I get there and everyone gives me really weird looks and I'm like "hey what's up?" and they're like "The filming isn't until 4:30" and I'm like "Oh, I thought the e-mail said 2:00" and they say "That was about yesterday's filming" I feel dumb and leave. I come back at 4:30 and get dressed in my "costume" which consists of "The Shirt", green athletic shorts, knee-high yellow socks, my turquoise Roo shoes and a side-ways baseball cap--basically what I wore for the football game (minus the cap). Right before the segment where I actually talk, the sound girl came and attatched a microphone to me. That was akward, considering she had to clip it onto the back of my pants. You get to know someone really fast when they have to clip something on your pants. So my scene comes on and I give my lines (which are actually a bunch of shouted ad-libs). After that my 30 seconds of stardom are over, I realize that every time I shout I close my eyes, giving my face a very strange expression, probably not matching the scenario. I'll just have to see how it turns out and hope that people will laugh with me and not at me. Or if they laugh at me, I hope that don't know who I am.
One more story...At the Mike Peterson show, there is a musical guest. This week, he was a sophomore guitar player from O'Neil hall. He is gorgeous. I try to catch his eye before the show, and despite my bright display of green and gold, he doesn't look over. I begin to lose hope, but once he starts performing, he occasionally looks at me in the audience and smiles. Warm fuzzies abound. After the show, I get up to leave and notice he is at the doorway, looking my way and smiling. I smile back and head over to tell him I enjoyed his performance (when what I really mean is "I enjoy your physique and hair style and chizzled facial features"). Just as I'm about to reach him, the elderly woman who had been sitting behind me in the audience goes up to him and gives him a hug. It is his grandma. Again, I feel stupid and leave. I hope that's not going to be a theme for my participation at the MPS.
This blog is kind of stale. I'm really sorry. I'm trying to think of something witty to say, but I just can't. Am I possibly losing my MoJo? I sure hope not. Since I have failed to entertain you with my words, I will try to please you with my pictures. Check out my brand spankin' new photo bucket account. Just type in "elisey1987" at photobucket.com. It's some good stuff. I'll leave you all with a little trivia question: What inatimate object in your home doubles in weight in the first 10 years of owning it? Leave a comment and try to answer. If you get it right, I'll doing something very Notre Damish like light a candle at the Grotto for you.
The game itself was amazing. It was quite the emotional roller-coaster, with Notre Dame being down three touchdowns, but coming back just in time to tie the game up and bring it into overtime. The student section is so exciting and I have never yelled so much in my life. At every ND touchdown, small groups of people lift one person up to do pushups as many times as the score. Now I know where Hoban got that tradition from. Looking across the student section and seeing so many people being thrown up in the air is awesome. Overtime was nervewracking and ended in a heartbreaking loss for ND. That was seriously the most heartbreaking sporting event I have ever witnessed. Again, I'm not a hardcore football fan or anything, but I was deeply affected by this game. The whole campus was somber the rest of the night and my friends and I basically went back to the dorm after the candlelight dinner and went to bed. It was that depressing. However, the Notre Dame spirit prevailed after the lost with a cheer of "We Are ND."
What's also amazing is how much the students love our football coach, Charlie Weis. They are even wearing shirts that say "Charlie's Angels: Putting the Nasty back in Dynasty" or "Charlie is my Home Boy" in the same style as the "Jesus is my Home Boy" shirts.
Regis Philbin was at the game and on Monday, I watched the beginning of Live! with Regis and Kelly and Regis spent a decent amount of time talking about Notre Dame and showing his personal pictures of him at the campus (i.e. Regis praying at the grotto, Regis at the dome, Regis saying hi to a duck at the lake). Does Regis ever talk about your school? I didn't think so. I win.
Enough about football. I wish I could give you an update on Asian chick, but she has become very uninteresting. But here is my latest dillemma:
My jeans got stolen. I am so incredibly upset. They were my favorite pair of Gap jeans. I left them in the laundry room to dry, as I have done many times before and as everyone else does. But when I went to get my jeans after dorm Mass on Sunday, they were gone. I immediately made "Lost Jeans" signs on my computer and taped them up around the dorm. So far, no one has given them back. I was going to send out a dorm-wide e-mail asking people to check and make sure they don't have my jeans, but my dear boxing buddy Angela brought me back to my denim realty and said "You know, if someone stole them, they're not going to give them back." Fooey. I have to go shopping now and that takes so much planning and time to get a bus.
NDTV, the student run television channel, has a show called "The Mike Peterson Show" and it's like a combination of Conan O'Brian and Saturday Night Live. I interviewed to be a writer for the show and I got in (yessss!). This made me think that I should perhaps change my role model from Katie Couric to Tina Fey, but that is beside the point. I went to the first writer's meeting in Washington Hall and was locked out of the building. I was pacing outside the building trying to figure out what to do until someone came along and opened a door that I hadn't even noticed. I go to the meeting, where I am one the only girls. At first, I thought this might be good, being among all these boys and me being single and in a boy-meeting slump (meaning I met a ton of boys frosh-o weekend but then all at once I stopped meeting them and am stuck with only a couple numbers and none of them connecting me to really attractive men, though there a lot of those on campus). However, I forgot to realize that most of the boys who are involved with television and writing are theater people, meaning they are either crazy or gay. This was fine, though, because I had been getting worried that I would have no crazy or gay friends on campus, given the conservative feel of it. I should have known that all I need to do is join a theater group.
Anyway, during the meeting, many ideas were tossed out there. Some of them were funny, some of them not so much. There was this one kid who had a plethora of over-the-line ideas. Everything that came out of this kid's mouth was violent/sexual/innapropriate/totally creepy. He was pretty creepy looking, too. He reminds me of the lead singer of the Crash Tests Dummies (They sang that Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm song). I'll be sure to stay away from him. On the plus side, my idea got picked and I get to act in it! Hooray! I would tell you the idea, but it doesn't really make sense in writing and if you don't go to Notre Dame. All I'm telling you is that I play a really obnoxious girl in the audience who shouts random stuff.
So I go to the filming for the Mike Peterson show at 2:00 because that's what time the e-mail said it was. I get there and everyone gives me really weird looks and I'm like "hey what's up?" and they're like "The filming isn't until 4:30" and I'm like "Oh, I thought the e-mail said 2:00" and they say "That was about yesterday's filming" I feel dumb and leave. I come back at 4:30 and get dressed in my "costume" which consists of "The Shirt", green athletic shorts, knee-high yellow socks, my turquoise Roo shoes and a side-ways baseball cap--basically what I wore for the football game (minus the cap). Right before the segment where I actually talk, the sound girl came and attatched a microphone to me. That was akward, considering she had to clip it onto the back of my pants. You get to know someone really fast when they have to clip something on your pants. So my scene comes on and I give my lines (which are actually a bunch of shouted ad-libs). After that my 30 seconds of stardom are over, I realize that every time I shout I close my eyes, giving my face a very strange expression, probably not matching the scenario. I'll just have to see how it turns out and hope that people will laugh with me and not at me. Or if they laugh at me, I hope that don't know who I am.
One more story...At the Mike Peterson show, there is a musical guest. This week, he was a sophomore guitar player from O'Neil hall. He is gorgeous. I try to catch his eye before the show, and despite my bright display of green and gold, he doesn't look over. I begin to lose hope, but once he starts performing, he occasionally looks at me in the audience and smiles. Warm fuzzies abound. After the show, I get up to leave and notice he is at the doorway, looking my way and smiling. I smile back and head over to tell him I enjoyed his performance (when what I really mean is "I enjoy your physique and hair style and chizzled facial features"). Just as I'm about to reach him, the elderly woman who had been sitting behind me in the audience goes up to him and gives him a hug. It is his grandma. Again, I feel stupid and leave. I hope that's not going to be a theme for my participation at the MPS.
This blog is kind of stale. I'm really sorry. I'm trying to think of something witty to say, but I just can't. Am I possibly losing my MoJo? I sure hope not. Since I have failed to entertain you with my words, I will try to please you with my pictures. Check out my brand spankin' new photo bucket account. Just type in "elisey1987" at photobucket.com. It's some good stuff. I'll leave you all with a little trivia question: What inatimate object in your home doubles in weight in the first 10 years of owning it? Leave a comment and try to answer. If you get it right, I'll doing something very Notre Damish like light a candle at the Grotto for you.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Million Dollar Baby
Warning: To fully understand and appreciate the first part of this blog entry, you must have read the last one. You should just read all of them because their freakin' awesome.
So I walk into Theology the other day, and I head towards my assigned seat (yes, we have assigned seats in that class. I sit in the back because I always get there late). As I walk in the door and look at my desk, I notice a puppy pencil case sitting on it. This could only mean one thing....Asian prostitute chick has taken my seat! She's supposed to sit two rows ahead of me! Did her stupid puppy thing get too heavy that she simply could not make it the extra 3 steps it would take to get to her own seat? Probably not. She's probably just crazy.
You're probably thinking, "Lay off the Asian chick. Taking your seat is not so bad." Alright, so it's not so bad. But listen to this. I walk into the women's lavatory (hee hee lavatory) before Italian class, not really paying attention to who else is in the bathroom. As I head into the stall, I see Asian Chick out of the corner of my eye. I literally did a double take, backed up, and craned my neck to make sure it was her, and indeed it was. This was exciting, seeing Asian Chick outside of theology class. What was even more exciting was what she was wearing. Her shirt was bright turqouise with the words "Half Naughty, Half Nice" emblazoned on it. Woah, hold the phone. I think this is confirmation that she is trying to send a somewhat scandalous message to the boys of ND. She also wore a baseball cap that said "Irish Girls" on the front and "best in the world" on the back. But she, however, being cool and trendy, turned her baseball cap backwards so one saw "Best in the World" and "Half Naughty, Half Nice" right away. These are probably descriptions of her services. Plus, no one would believe she is really Irish.
Since I had already seen and analyzed Asian Chick's outfit before Italian class, I was slightly bored in theology. This boredom led to me noticing that the kid who sits in front of me wears a different Jimmy Buffet shirt nearly everday. The know-it-all girl has now taken to talking without even raising her hand and just shouts over the professor. Everytime she speaks, the kid in front of me just shakes his Parrot Head. He probably wishes he was in Margaritaville.
Enough of Theology. Let's talk Italian! I wish I could say that last sentence in Italian, but I cannot. I know little useless phrases, but someday, I'll travel to Rome and be able to order gelato in the native tongue. Or I'll have a tour guide do it for me. Anyway, I have two different professors for Italian because I have the class 5 days a week. My Monday, Wednesday, Friday teacher is from Youngstown and is quite young himself. He's pretty cool, but every Monday, he asks how our weekend was and asks certain students how many beers they drank (all in Italian). And all we can answer back is "I drink two beers" or "The beer, it does not please me." Ah, literal translation. One day, this professor claimed he saw a student at a party (apparently he attends them, too) and tried to tell us she was drunk. Seeing no reaction from the students as we didn't know what "drunk" in Italian meant, he proceeded to staggar about the room until we understood and laughed at him. The Tuesday, Thursday proffessoressa is from some country near Italy and she doesn't speak much English. To compensate for this, she has devised certain noises to convey what she means. This all makes her seem very cartoonlike, until she walks past you and she reeks of cigarettes. Cartoons don't smoke.
I joined boxing club. Yeah, real boxing club. As in "float like a butterfly, sting like a bee." I tell people I joined boxing and they usually say "Oh, kickboxing! I did that!" and I have to say, "no, real boxing." It reminds me of when I told people I was going to Notre Dame and they say "Oh, in Cleveland? I got a full-ride there!" People are always underestimating me. Though, I do have to say, that if I were someone else, I wouldn't believe me either. Training for the first 2 weeks is 5 days a week, 2 hours a day. I woke up this morning and couldn't get out of bed because I was so sore. It feels good. I'm getting toned and I'm learning to box and I'm going to prove everyone who laughed at me wrong. There's no contact for the first month, but then we can choose whether or not we want to fight. They have a fight at the end of the season that other students actually buy tickets for to watch us fight. I hope I'm good enough to do that. So far, it seems like I'm doing ok, but the movements are kind of tough to get a hang of. The girls who run the program are seniors in the ROTC program. I call them ROTC Naziis. It's a rough workout (usually consisiting of running 1 mile, 400 jumping jacks, 50 push ups, 400 sit ups, lot of arm circles, etc.) but it's a good time. My neck and shoulders are going to be huge from those arm circles.
Well, I have effectively wasted time that I should have spent doing homework. That's all for now, kiddies! And post comments, you fools!
So I walk into Theology the other day, and I head towards my assigned seat (yes, we have assigned seats in that class. I sit in the back because I always get there late). As I walk in the door and look at my desk, I notice a puppy pencil case sitting on it. This could only mean one thing....Asian prostitute chick has taken my seat! She's supposed to sit two rows ahead of me! Did her stupid puppy thing get too heavy that she simply could not make it the extra 3 steps it would take to get to her own seat? Probably not. She's probably just crazy.
You're probably thinking, "Lay off the Asian chick. Taking your seat is not so bad." Alright, so it's not so bad. But listen to this. I walk into the women's lavatory (hee hee lavatory) before Italian class, not really paying attention to who else is in the bathroom. As I head into the stall, I see Asian Chick out of the corner of my eye. I literally did a double take, backed up, and craned my neck to make sure it was her, and indeed it was. This was exciting, seeing Asian Chick outside of theology class. What was even more exciting was what she was wearing. Her shirt was bright turqouise with the words "Half Naughty, Half Nice" emblazoned on it. Woah, hold the phone. I think this is confirmation that she is trying to send a somewhat scandalous message to the boys of ND. She also wore a baseball cap that said "Irish Girls" on the front and "best in the world" on the back. But she, however, being cool and trendy, turned her baseball cap backwards so one saw "Best in the World" and "Half Naughty, Half Nice" right away. These are probably descriptions of her services. Plus, no one would believe she is really Irish.
Since I had already seen and analyzed Asian Chick's outfit before Italian class, I was slightly bored in theology. This boredom led to me noticing that the kid who sits in front of me wears a different Jimmy Buffet shirt nearly everday. The know-it-all girl has now taken to talking without even raising her hand and just shouts over the professor. Everytime she speaks, the kid in front of me just shakes his Parrot Head. He probably wishes he was in Margaritaville.
Enough of Theology. Let's talk Italian! I wish I could say that last sentence in Italian, but I cannot. I know little useless phrases, but someday, I'll travel to Rome and be able to order gelato in the native tongue. Or I'll have a tour guide do it for me. Anyway, I have two different professors for Italian because I have the class 5 days a week. My Monday, Wednesday, Friday teacher is from Youngstown and is quite young himself. He's pretty cool, but every Monday, he asks how our weekend was and asks certain students how many beers they drank (all in Italian). And all we can answer back is "I drink two beers" or "The beer, it does not please me." Ah, literal translation. One day, this professor claimed he saw a student at a party (apparently he attends them, too) and tried to tell us she was drunk. Seeing no reaction from the students as we didn't know what "drunk" in Italian meant, he proceeded to staggar about the room until we understood and laughed at him. The Tuesday, Thursday proffessoressa is from some country near Italy and she doesn't speak much English. To compensate for this, she has devised certain noises to convey what she means. This all makes her seem very cartoonlike, until she walks past you and she reeks of cigarettes. Cartoons don't smoke.
I joined boxing club. Yeah, real boxing club. As in "float like a butterfly, sting like a bee." I tell people I joined boxing and they usually say "Oh, kickboxing! I did that!" and I have to say, "no, real boxing." It reminds me of when I told people I was going to Notre Dame and they say "Oh, in Cleveland? I got a full-ride there!" People are always underestimating me. Though, I do have to say, that if I were someone else, I wouldn't believe me either. Training for the first 2 weeks is 5 days a week, 2 hours a day. I woke up this morning and couldn't get out of bed because I was so sore. It feels good. I'm getting toned and I'm learning to box and I'm going to prove everyone who laughed at me wrong. There's no contact for the first month, but then we can choose whether or not we want to fight. They have a fight at the end of the season that other students actually buy tickets for to watch us fight. I hope I'm good enough to do that. So far, it seems like I'm doing ok, but the movements are kind of tough to get a hang of. The girls who run the program are seniors in the ROTC program. I call them ROTC Naziis. It's a rough workout (usually consisiting of running 1 mile, 400 jumping jacks, 50 push ups, 400 sit ups, lot of arm circles, etc.) but it's a good time. My neck and shoulders are going to be huge from those arm circles.
Well, I have effectively wasted time that I should have spent doing homework. That's all for now, kiddies! And post comments, you fools!
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