Slick up your pick up

For some reason, the voice of one little foreign guy at last nights party keeps echoing in my head. "Do you know where Chile is?" He followed me around and asked me this about 12 times before I caught a ride home. The first time he asked it went like this (parenthetical references hold what I wish I had said to preempt further questioning):

"Do you know where Chile is?"

"The country (why, are you trying to get home)?"

"Yeah"

"The skinny one on the West coast of Argentina (the country that likely looks like an appendage of yours)?"

"It's in South America, near Argentina"

"Thats what I said (I'm almost grateful my ex-boyfriend is running interference on this one)"

...5 minutes later...

"Hey do you know where Chile is?"

(fml)

The Bishop's Difference

Proof of validation for what feels like a lifetime spent between historical buildings and uniform violations: my graduation announcements.

I have a list of people who I hope will send me money.

I have the package complete with name cards, cards, and envelopes.

I start stuffing envelopes as my mother taught me to do when I was a small child of seven and she no longer felt like doing our family's Christmas cards. At a rapid and accurate pace, I am almost finished stuffing the 50 graduation announcements in about 15 minutes.

This is where it goes south. There seems to be way too many envelopes for each card. And some are bigger than others. I figured that there was some sort of error, and I now have lots of extra envelopes for my future letter-writing campaigns. This is not logical at all. This is maybe where I should have taken an extra math class.

The great thing about Bishop's is that (almost) everyone is exceptionally smart in their given field. My peers continue to astound me in what they are capable of, and the general sense of impending success my class exudes as we approach graduation. This intelligence, however, rarely extend past the walls of classrooms.

The usual problem with overly book-smart people is a lack of common sense. Mine just happens to coincide directly with an acute lack of coordination and patience.

So, as I'm sure you've figured out, the envelopes were not an extra bonus. One envelope was meant to fit directly into the other, so that people could send back money in the smaller envelope, which you are meant to address to yourself. This lead me to the urge to calculate the real profit possibly made. If 50 grad announcements with name cards cost about $100, and you have to put two 44 cent (I am still astounded there is no symbol on my keyboard for the cent sign) stamps on each (in order to incite a return envelope), that is about $2.88 cents per card sent out. Not every person will send money. Is it worth it?

The real question, however, is was my expensive high school education worth it. If I am able to graduate from what is one of the most difficult secondary education institutes in the country, yet am unable to open a doughnut box, let alone assemble my own graduation announcements, was the investment worth it?

Well, once again, I'm putting all my eggs in the basket that is the big apple. I'm sure some street smarts will smack me in the face once I hit the ground running. 126 days to go!

Thanks, Mom

This first one is from a really cool art exhibit my mom and I went to on Ray St. in Northpark last weekend. The artist, Micah Smurthwaite (www.strawhater.com) made this installation called "Death By Consumption". When we got to meet him, my mom said, "Oh yeah, my daughter is totally into the whole recycling and global warming thing: she digs through the trash all the time when I get too lazy to recycle." Thanks, mom.

Thankfully, this guy was enough into the environment and my 6-inch heels enough to reply, "You dig through trash? That's hot." (So, actually thanks?)

Another gem, discovered just this morning, were my bottles of Diet Coke I stupidly left in the fridge. My mom, just to make sure I understood the consequences of my beverage, crossed out the label and wrote "TOXIC" on one bottle, and "CANCER" on the bigger bottle. (Evidence is inconclusive - that's my story and I'm sticking to it.) Thanks, mom.

Lastly, my mom is throwing my graduation party at a house 3 doors away from my ex-boyfriend. She mentioned she thought it would be funny to invite him, along with a "parade of ex-boyfriends!". I'm more than a little nervous. Thanks, mom.

Today's Winning* Headline

Yellowstone Supervolcano Bigger Than Thought

Really? Bigger than thought? Is thought quantitative? How big is thought exactly? What qualifies as a "Supervolcano"? Wouldn't the addition of the precursor "super" indicate that said volcano is, in fact, big?

It's journalists like these - yes, I'm talking about today's Yahoo! News article - that make me ashamed to be a writer. Come on guys, I understand you have limited space in which to enthrall the housewives that check their spam filter 12 times a day because that's the only thing their children have taught them to do on the computer. But lets be real here.

Here are some suitable alternatives (all within the five word allotment)

1. HUGE Volcano In Yellowstone Park

2. Yellowstone Volcano Not Normal: Super

3. Thoughts Are Small, Volcano Not

4. Vacations Cancelled Due To Supervolcano (I even used their stupid word in that one)

5. Firegods Rejoice: Supervolcano in Yellowstone

P.S. This version of the word "winning" is brought to you by Charlie Sheen.

Sometimes...

...you just need The Beatles. So, I present you with an abridged version of my favorite lyrics of all time to my favorite song of all time: Blackbird.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blackbird fly

Into the light on a dark black night

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

The Shoes

I have been obsessing over this one pair of shoes from an overpriced national brand for about 2 months. By the time I got the balls to order them, they were on backorder until my birthday.

Being both resourceful and impatient, I decided to go rescue them myself. They were so expensive. Calling your debit card company in-store to see if you have enough to buy a pair of shoes is pretty embarrassing. Alas, I had sufficient funds. I practically crawled to the checkout counter. I told the sales clerk that I was about to hate myself and she was very concerned by my concern. True, people often drop hundreds a visit when they go to that trendy hot-spot, but I, by nature, am a Buffalo Exchange girl. Actually paying for an item of clothing, not to mention paying full price, is not comfortable for me.

I politely declined a bag for my purchase (trying to make my Environmental Science teacher proud) and placed the box delicately on the passenger-side floor of my mom's car. I then proceeded to park said car in the garage next to the gym. After watching my friends band, Neverready, play, I got a ride back to my car.

So, here's the problem. Everyone knows parking garages lock at a certain time, right? Well, not this girl. So, my mom's car, and my self-hatred inducing shoes are locked away (safely?) for the night. Thank God I wont ever have to deal with car matters once I move - they aren't my forte. (Did I mention my broken down car is still parked out front of my old house? I don't even want it back.)

However, I will make my unfriendly-to-the-environment-and-my-budget purchase worth it by wearing my shoes on a field trip to the San Diego land fill next month. (In case you were curious: no, I am not cut out for this class. I had to excuse myself to the nurse when Mr. Kelso demonstrated composting).

Legal Sex Female Seeks Semi-Normal Roommate

"Filling out a housing application kind of feels like online dating," said Amy Hoagland.

This statement turned out to be partly true. Making yourself an attractive, yet not off-putting roommate option is almost more brutal than photoshopping flaws before posting to match.com.

After giving up on the list of suggested roommates based on a percentage compatibility rate, I opted for Facebook creeping. Scrolling through the hundreds of faces who have similarly joined the groups Accepted NYU Class of 2015 and NYU Official Party List, profile pictures and cities of origin told me more than I ever could have gotten from "how dark you like the room you are sleeping in?"

This immediate book-by-its-cover-judgement made possible by Mark Zuckerberg suddenly made me wonder how people would judge me by my profile picture. In changing it to a more mainstream solo shot, I hope to fully avoid looking either depressed (hello, girl frowning in front of a birthday cake), or obsessive (another marked one of her interests as "my wonderful boyfriend :)"), or a terrorist (scarf up to your nose and sunglasses? Looking to make friends, I see). I hope to be a non-offensive potential roommate - I think.

At some point, it seems easier to just get a random "Legal Sex (Female)" or a "Gender Identity Female" (typical NYU: sensitive to transgender preferences) assigned to occupy the same ten square feet of living space as me for a year. If I like them, great. If not, you will be reading a lot about them here.

And don't even get me started on choosing a meal plan...