Just Because There is No Seating Chart, Doesn't Mean You Can Sit Wherever

College classrooms don't usually have assigned seats but that small technicality doesn't stop most people from claiming a specific spot. In my case, most of my courses end up in the same room on different days so I tend to sit in the same seat each time (the one right in front of the door, despite the fact that opening and closing it is quite the hassle). The seating arrangements are established the very first day and are practically written in stone afterward. You can imagine the frustration caused by people who insist on messing up the flow of everything by stealing someone else's spot...

Usually, I don't have this problem, probably because I sit in the chairs right by the completely annoying door. But for some reason, I haven't been so lucky this year. One day, I could be sitting in the middle of a row of empty chairs...The next day, I can barely fit my notebook in front of me because everyone and their mother/grandmother has decided to sit next to me for reasons unknown. But nothing tops the fact that in one of my classes someone keeps stealing my seat every other day, forcing me to keep bouncing to a fro like a bad game of musical chairs.

Next time, I'm buying a name plate and showing up early. Let's see how they like that one.

Caffeine in College is Serious Business

College and coffee go hand to hand (a pair almost as amazing as college and ramen), so it's absolutely appalling that our campus coffee shop just can't seem to get its mixed drinks right. I must admit when you walk in at the right time and the right person is behind the counter, you can walk away with a cup full of caffeinated magic. But more often than not you're just left with a bunch of milk, a splash of expresso, non-existant flavorings and broken dreams.

Most workers have the tendency to skip on everything that matters. Like the syrups that separate a mixed drink from just regular coffee. The slightly outrageous prices do not make it any better.

There's also the handful of people who don't know how to make the drinks on the menu, even though the ingredients list is literally right in front of them. Being a creature of habit, I always order the same drink with chocolate, white chocolate and hazelnut, making it extremely obvious when someone makes it wrong. And my friend Brandon shared an awful story about how he ended up with chai with expresso in it. After he specifically requested no expresso and the worker sharply responded "We don't put expresso in our chai...". Of course, the irony was not lost after that mistake.

One of these days they will realize the error of their ways and stop messing with the wonderful caffeine dependency that upper-level college courses inspires. But since I'm leaving in May, I probably won't see that day come so I won't get my hopes up.

Some Poets Just Don't Know How to Read

One of the most annoying things about poetry is the stereotypical way that most poets read their work in front of an audience. That dry, lifeless tone that makes you think that sharing their words is a private torture. The nonsensical way that they choose to slooow doown certain words...and add random pauses...beforespeedingupwithoutwarning and using unnecessary EMPhasis on random SYLlables...And of course, the ending must not leave the listener with a sense of closure--no matter how final the words seem--but simply fade into nothing...

Where in the world did that kind of performance technique come from? Who made the golden rule that poets need to sound like philosophical jerks in order to come off as "deep"? The conspiracy is deeper than all of us; poets have been reading like this for years. All I know is that these back-door-lounge-room type performances need to stop.

I'm slowly learning that even though listening to a poet read their work aloud let's me hear the intended rhythm, their voice takes away from my personal experience. There has been a quite few times where my poetry professor has played audio from live poetry reading that made me want to bang my head against the desk in pure frustrated disappointment.

Poetry is ruined by pretentious intent.

Not every poet does this; I have heard the few impassioned writers that stir more emotions with their voice than just their words. Sadly, their names escape me because the bad greatly outnumber the great. Those horrible performances still ring in my ears.

I don't read poetry aloud often so I'm not to sure about how I want to do it, but if I have to sound "deep" to sound like a poet, count me out.

Voting and Graduating: Two Things I Will Take More Seriously

After procrastinating for as long as I feel is comfortably possible, I have finally decided to fill out both my absentee voter ballot application and my application for degree candidacy. Right now. At the same time. I should have done both of these things a while ago but time is a slippery little thing. One moment I'm writing a reminder to myself, the next moment a month has passed and I still haven't even printed anything out.

The concept of time might be slippery but it hasn't got away from me just yet. It's still pretty early in the semester and there is plenty of days left before the big election. I just have to kick it in gear and ignore the urge to set everything to the side and save it for tomorrow. I will try my best though the shininess of the internet is quite distracting.

Dead Girls and Pancakes: Why You Shouldn't Have to Use Someone Else's Random Ideas

Assignment Six: Create a poem that ends with a random line provided by a fellow classmate.

You just have to love the random exercises that can come up in a creative writing class. In a course that is finds it foundation on the participating students' imagination, it doesn't seem to weird when the professor steps back and let's someone else come up with the subject for the prompt. Things like that are supposed to end beautifully; amazing creativity through secret collaboration. But the problem with this brillant "secret collaboration" is that the unsuspecting student has absolutely no control over what insane idea they end up with. Finger-crossing doesn't block stupidity.

This time around, each student in my poetry workshop class was given a slip of paper and a few minutes to come up with what they would consider a "good" way to end a poem. Just the final line; no lead in, no clues. Our professor stressed the word "good" because her intention was to   randomly distribute these images as prompts and we were urged to refuse the temptation to sabotage one of our peers. You can imagine how well this all worked out.

Of course, I think my creation "sunset was shattered against the rising tide" was pretty awesome, though my friend "Brandon" did not agree. His opinion is actually invalid because any mind that comes up with something that has to do with dead girls looking at pancakes. I don't remember the exact wording but that main theme is pretty much unforgettable. There is obviously something with the boy, which is common knowledge really. Even though I'm not too excited about the line that I received, but I'm extremely sorry for the person that got thrown that demented gem.

Good luck, whoever you are.

Free Lunch Does Exist, Even When You're Picky

I suppose I should be honest and say that the horror that was Monday and Tuesday of this week wasn't all inconvenience and unhappiness. It did prove that my college has some amazing people on its staff, specifically the Dean of Students who is my favorite person at the moment.

Even though the staff though they were being helpful in our time of need, after being kicked out with no warning, free meals at the school cafeteria seemed like a slap in the face. Our dining services are horrible, sanitary but disgusting. Anyone who says otherwise either doesn't know how food is supposed to taste or has been eating the stuff so long that they're just used to it. I live in the apartments so that I don't have to waste time and money trying to survive on whatever garbage the chefs decide to throw on the menu. Going back to eating in the cafeteria this year is not a part my game plan.

When Serena and I went to retrive our belongings after the initial evacuation, safety concerns forced us to wait for an escort. As we stood in the lobby, the dean of students arrived on the scene and gave us an update on the situation (and pretty much confirmed the rumor that RA's roommate was hanging something on his sprinkler). When he told us that he was covering our bill at the cafeteria, it was with that sort of excitement that screams "I know that what I am saying right now is great news to you! I'm happy to help!" in a completely genuine way. Picky eater that I am, I threw his generosity right back at him--in the most polite way that I could--and asked if we could get credit somewhere, anywhere else on campus. His face fell flat for just a fraction of a second before he assured me that if I asked food service would be happy to accommodate my needs.

I am such a pessimist that I didn't even bother asking. Hungry and furious, I simply stumbled into the cafeteria for lunch and check out my options. Nothing worth mentioning. Defeated, I made my way to a friend's apartment to see if they had any plans for lunch. I was only a handful of yards away when the dean of student drove up to me in a golf cart and flagged me down. He was happy to inform me that he spoke to food service who agree to let me eat in the campus's made-to-order cafe instead the hole-in-the-wall cafeteria. My mood improved by 2000% then and an extra 1000% when I actually went to order and learned that they never set a price limit (Know that I did not abuse this opportunity and ordered a reasonable amount of food).

That moment alone made my day, week, semester even. So much so that I wrote him a thank you card and dropped off at his office this afternoon. It's always the small bright spots in chaos that can make the most difference.

Welcome Back to Your Apartment. Don't Make The Same Mistake Again.

Everything is back to normal, except for the huge fans outside my doorway. And the fact that it feels like a full week has passed when it has only been two days. Being misplaced will do that to you.

There is a lesson to be learned here: Don't hang things off indoor sprinklers. It's not only a stupid idea, but it can endanger many lives and cause a large amount of unnecessary damage. That one boy has to be the most hated individual on campus right now. I attend an uncomfortably small school. Everyone should know who it was and how it happened by now.

I spoke to someone who actually felt sorry for him. "People must be giving him so much crap right now", they moaned to me as I complained about how foolish his idea of interior design was. We all know it's wrong to judge, but tempers are flaring at the moment. People will talk. And yell. And curse.

Honestly, my opinion is highly biased. I had a previous encounter with the boy that was less than pleasant, leading me to refer to him as Douchebag C*** or DBC for short. It has a wonderful ring. It was catching on before, but it's really taking off now.

After all this, I will find it almost impossible to not destroy his existence the next time I see him. But when it really comes down to it, his own stupidity and the sprinkler system already beat me to that, so I don't really have to do a thing. Karma.

Fire Safety Doesn't Always Involve Flames

The worst Monday is the kind of Monday that makes you feel like you've gone through a entire stressful week in less than 24 hours. When it's all over, you sit down and realize that tomorrow is Tuesday. You might just have to do it all over again in the morning. That is the life that I lead.

The day started off like any other: with a bowl of Raisin Bran and early morning writing session as the Today show provided background noise. After I got ready for the day, my roommate "Serena" invited me on a quick afternoon Target trip, which was only moderately successful but completely enjoyable. 

It was when we returned from this adventure that everything started to fall apart.

As soon as we pulled up to the building, we heard the fire alarm and saw half of the apartment's residents sitting on the grass a few yards away. It was said that the second floor resident assistant's roommate was just sitting in his room, minding his own business, when suddenly the sprinkler system in his room just went off. And didn't stop. Within moments, the rooms next to and underneath that "accident" were flooded. 

All this started happening around 1:10. I had class at 1:40, my stuff was in my room and I was trapped outside. As you can imagine, I didn't make it. 

Angry and hungry, Serena and I left campus and grabbed a nice lunch at a nearby healthy deli/cafe hoping that it would all be sorted by the time we got back. Of course, we returned to small scene of chaos. Carpet cleaning services were on duty and people were checking the electrical system as we stepped through the door. The power was off. We were told that we needed to grab whatever we might need for the next few hours, leave the building and wait for an update. But there would be a chance that it wouldn't be sorted out by nightfall. In that case, they would provide "alternative accommodations".

Refusing to go wherever our already over-crowded residence system wanted to place us, Serena suggested that we travel to her grandparents house if all else failed us. After getting what we needed for at least the next 24 hours out of our rooms, we parted ways. I went to my second afternoon class. 

An email update came about an hour later that explained that our apartment building would be should down for 24-48 hours. Cots would be set up in the gym and each resident would receive free cafeteria meals until the building is reopened. We simply left campus and decided to just hope for normalcy in the morning.

Oh, yeah...about that boy just sitting in his room when the sprinkler went haywire? Of course it didn't just go off on its own. Apparently, he hung stuff on it and broke the release mechanism. So in the end, people's belongings were destroyed and everyone was misplaced because some boy wanted to decorate his room. Fantastic.

I am blessed though. It could have been much worse..Our unit was completely dry. 

The most ironic part of it all was that we were scheduled to have a meeting on fire safety tomorrow...

College Food Intervention FAIL

I called this blog College Without Ramen for a reason, even though this is my very first post that's actually about food. Eating fake, processed junk seems like a waste when you have a complete kitchen at your disposal. I don't always eat meals made from products straight from the farm, but I'm definitely not eating any ramen, tv dinners or fast food. But after watching the eating habits of one of my roommates, I realize that not everyone feels the same way that I do.

Little Miss "Bernadette" doesn't eat real food. For the last three weeks, I have only seen this girl eat frozen snacks, frozen pizza, frozen burgers...If you can stick it in the microwave for a few minutes and eat it with one hand, she's all over it. Okay, she ate delivery pizza at one point in time, but still. She has not had one "home-cooked" college kitchen meal since we've been on campus. After the other day when she left to go get food and returned with more Stouffer's Pizzas and Hot Pockets, I decided that I'd had enough.

I planned a food intervention. When I suggested the idea of an "apartment dinner", she brightened up.

"I just got paid! I was thinking about ordering pizza for everyone!"

Should have seen that coming. After shutting her idea down with sharp determination, a quick trip to Target was made. We ended up with creamy Chicken Alfredo, a dairy-free supplement for those of the lactose intolerant variety and peanut butter cookies that were overcooked but still slightly tolerable. When dinner was served, my other roommates and I settled down at the table with our wonderful meal waited for the break-thru moment. Which never came.

Picky-eater Bernadette refused to even try the food. In fact, as the three of us chatted over pasta and wine, she sat in her room and played video games. Which is something that she does ALL THE TIME. She's even left a hilarious game night midway to socialize with her "online friends". But that has nothing to do with the current point that I am straying away from...

She only came out of her room when we started trying our peanut butter cookies. Of course, she praised them, so we decided not to give them to our worst enemy and let her have them instead.

Lesson learned: Bernadette just doesn't eat real food. No fruits; no vegetables. Or pasta and Alfredo sauce apparently.

Somehow we will figure this out. But I'm beginning to believe that if it's not dough smothered in sauce and topped with processed meat, it's not getting past her.

I'm not giving up. Even if it takes all year.

A Personal Day

Today is just one of those days. You know, the ones where you don't feel like doing anything productive and would rather waste the day away napping in the sunshine like a fat pampered cat...It's a good thing that I only had one class today because I don't know if I could handled anything after that.

And now I'm here trying to make a post out of absolutely nothing. Riveting stuff. I think I'll stop here before I blow you mind with any more of my amazing prose.

Happy Video Game Day

Today is National Video Game Day. While I would ideally celebrate the day playing Smash Bros. with the main group until delirium sets in and words stop making sense, the closest I will get to that magic is a few intense solo sessions with my roommate's copy of Rhythm Heaven. Wonderful fake holidays such as these should never fall on Wednesdays when other people are either at work or school while I'm at home enjoying the boredom of a class-free day.

Oh well, maybe next year.

The Party Pooper That Wasn't Invited

Imagine: You weren't invited to a party/get-together that your friend put together. After you find out about it, would you be mad at your friends that were guests or the host that didn't invite you? If you answered "your friends that were guests", you may want to re-evaluate your life because you might be a petty jerk.

Sadly, this is not a hypothetical situation for me. Prepared for quiet night of relaxation, I was completely caught off guard when I was invited go out and celebrate one of my friends 21st birthday. My long-time friend "Brad" was not included in this adventure and when he found out about it, he was naturally upset. However, it's not natural that he decided that ignoring me completely is the best course of action. You know, because I personally left him out due some deep-seeded hatred or something. Everything is my fault.

Brad doesn't realize that he was purposely snubbed by the birthday boy for various reasons. His name was brought up a bit during the festivities and it was made excruciatingly clear that he was not supposed to be there. Last time I checked, that makes it a problem between the two of them. But if he wants to be a petty jerk, then so be it. His name will just have to be added to the growing list of "People Who Hate On Me and Actually Think I Care". Which doesn't really exist because making it would imply that I care.

He can get back to me when he comes to his senses.

Best Cure for Writer's Block: Start Writing

No matter how long you stare at a blank screen, words won't magically fill the white space. Nothing will show up until you start hitting the keys. Pearls of wisdom learned the hard way: by staring at my blank computer screen for about 10 minutes, waiting for a flash of inspiration.

Nothing worth noting has happened today. It's been a very relaxed day actually. No drama, relaxed classes. And nothing beats a long late night trip to Target. The only thing keeping me from curling up and perusing the internet until I pass out is this post, a pile of laundry and the fact that I haven't written that pancake poem yet. Even after eating New York style cheesecake pancakes at IHOP yesterday, I still haven't quite got the theme yet. But I'm working on it and the night is still young.

It's the perfect time for the deep poetic magic to happen.

Delinquency. No Excuses.

I wish I had some fantastical excuse for not writing a post yesterday and writing today. Like a not-so-tragic accident, a random blackout caused by a powerful downpour or a secret call from President Obama asking me for personal assistance with his reelection campaign because he knows I have great connections. But yesterday was my 10th accident-free day, it only rained for a moment and the closest I got to Obama was a call from a campaign volunteer back in my hometown asking if they could count on my vote this year.

No, I simply forgot. The day was filled with Olive Garden, Nordstrom Rack, Super Smash Bros. Brawl, Pizza Hut and Apples to Apples. Girl time, craft time, game time with silly quotes and pancake jokes in between (I did not mean to make that rhyme). Next thing I knew, it was ten minutes to midnight and I already walking out of the door to my next adventure...Which was just walking across campus to deliver food to someone who already ordered in followed by a brief stop in the freshman residence hall for a three-way game of pool. Nothing too mind-blowingly epic. 

I blame my friends even though that is a terrible excuse that I should not be using. In fact, I take it back. I'll promise I'll do better next time. 

Who Thought Forcing Strangers to Live Together Was A Good Idea?

I am EXTREMELY happy that I can finally say--with no sarcasm or spiteful feelings--that I have great roommates. Not to say that the people I shared dorms with in the past were bad...they just weren't very good. Honestly, I never felt very comfortable with any of my previous arrangements. I spent so much time in my friend's buildings that other people thought I lived there. And when I wasn't with them, I spent my time waiting until my roommates went home for the weekend. Since  many people on my campus seem to live out of backpacks and refuse to do their own laundry, I could have a few moments to myself every once in a while.

It could have been worse though. I was once dragged into a mediation between a few of my (mostly former) friends. Everything seemed peachy keen between them, when in reality two of the girls wanted to forcefully kick out their roommates and switch rooms because of petty things like music tastes and loud inside voices. One of my friends was forced into a sort of "intervention" that was really just her roommates standing in a circle and destroying her existence in the middle of the night. And I also had to help convince one girl to let her roommate into their shared dorm after she not only locked her out but moved all of their stuff to block the door. All because the girl did the unthinkable: have other friends.

Why can we all just get along? Or at the very least, keep our heads down and stay out of trouble?

Ode to Making Pancakes, If You Know What I Mean

Assignment Four: Compose a poem about pancakes.

This is my own doing. Could you even imagine a professor just demanding something so random?

"For next weeks meeting you will need to write a poem about a lovely stack of pancakes. Breakfast is the most important part of the day after all. Let the delicious treat inspire you."

That is not what happened. Instead, it started with a normal first day of class ice-breaker. The only difference is that after each person introduced themselves, they were required to name an image they would like to use in a poem. All of the images everyone else came up with were pretty standard: feelings, various types of weather, basic deep poetry stuff. Of course, when all the attention comes to me--the very last student to speak--I have to come up with something more original than all that. So I say the first thing that comes to mind:

Syrup being poured on a stack of pancakes topped with butter. My exact words.

You can imagine the mixed reaction of laughter, confusion and slight annoyance that followed that gem of brillance. After my turn, the class continued as if nothing happened. As anyone might have guessed, the list of chosen images returned during the next class session. Each pre-assigned poetry workshop group was required to choose one and create a poem with it. With the use of a very civil coin flip, we settled on my pancake prompt. I was prepared to argue for my vision but my group was extremely open-minded.

I don't know if any other group decided to jump on my genius, but I did ask one of my friends to write a pancake poem just for fun. We ended up bouncing several crazy ideas off each other. Some involved armed robbery at the crack of dawn, others ended in murder. But most of them involved using the act of making pancakes as an euphemism for sex, mostly to describe infidelity.

The poems might not be about pancakes after all.

A Soap Opera A Day Keeps the Blues Away

Soap operas are a misunderstood art form. So much so that referring to the genre as an art form sounds stupid. If you watch one, you probably don't want anyone to know. No referencing your favorite parts of yesterday's episode or making inside jokes based on past storylines. Your friends would never understand. Not everyone can appreciate the appeal of rapidly aging illegitimate children or long lost evil twins. They are an acquired taste.

But I believe that everyone should watch at least one soap opera at some point in their lives. Not only are they inexplicably addictive, they can help you truly appreciate the simple life you lead. No matter how bad of a day you may have had at least you don't have to worry about realizing that the arch-nemesis that died trying to steal your baby is not only alive but really your sibling who was kidnapped from the hospital the day your father left your mother for her sister. Not many things can top that insane level of drama.

As a seasoned viewer, I recommend Days of Your Lives: a long running classic that moves fast enough to keep your attention but slow enough that you don't have to watch everyday. The drama and treachery can really brighten up the time between classes/monotonous daily tasks. Try it whenever you're feeling particularly overwhelmed.