Filed under: Flash Fiction, Late Night | Tags: college, dorm life, drinking, flash fiction, friends, hunting knife, kids, ridiculousness, rules are meant to be broken, stranger than fiction, travel, video
Grease and cheez whiz dribbled down their fingers as Pat, the purported king of steaks, watched them through the window.
Katie Mac and Clyde Thornton happily discussed their holidays as they attempted to finish their massive cheese steaks.
“You met a vagabond in the middle of the desert?” Katie asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, he was asleep at the top of a sand dune in the Mojave. He seemed like a pretty cool guy,” replied Clyde.
They departed the Philadelphia landmark, driving down the dirty alleyways of south Philly, the sky dusting the air with dandruffy snow. It seemed like a moment appropriate for a remixed Beatles ballad, or perhaps some Creedence Clearwater Revival. But the radio remained silent, and the two chattered on, occasionally interrupted by the creepy woman narrating the GPS directions.
South Campus seemed eerily quiet when they arrived at Villanova. Few students roamed the grassy knoll or slushy sidewalks. The street lamps illuminated the falling snow like Christmas movies often do. Clyde grabbed Katie’s luggage and followed her to the dormitory.
“You lost your wildcard. Your banner ID is 00692443, if they ask. You study biology here. You are not a freshman,” Katie coached him before they walked in the door.
“Got it,” Clyde replied. Does she honestly expect me to remember that? thought Clyde.
The automatic door swung open with its familiar malaise.
“Howdy folks,” said the security guard upon their entrance into the building. They tried to keep walking in, but the guard stopped them. “You’re going to have to sign him in,” he said to Katie, gesturing to the grizzly Clyde.
Stupid all girls dorm in a Catholic school, she cursed for the thousandth time.
“I lost my wildcard,” Clyde said. “Here’s my driver’s license.”
The security guard was not amused.
“Are you confused? I know the rules are confusing. All guests, especially males, need to be checked in,” he stated coldly.
Clyde and Katie glanced nervously at one another. Of course there’s a problem, Katie thought.
The guard took another look at Clyde, back to the identification card, back to Clyde. Begrudingly, he took out the sheet of paper and began to sign Clyde into the dormitory.
“You know,” he said with a sly ‘I know you’re lying’ tone to his deep voice, “you really don’t look like someone who goes here.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Clyde replied in disbelief.
What is that supposed to mean?
“Well, obviously I can’t know everyone. I don’t know everyone. But I know I’ve never seen you around here before, and you really just don’t look like someone who goes here.”
Really now? What the fuck has gotten into this guy?
“Wow,” they said.
“So, Mr. Thornton, where do you live around here?” The guard would not stop.
Shit, shit, shit, I didn’t tell him what dorm he lives in!
“Uh.. I live off-campus.” It was a save, or at least as quick of a save as they could get. Whatever.
“Mhmm,” nodded the guard, as he handed Clyde his ID back. The two continued to walk down the hallway, silently.
A flight of stairs and the usual fidgeting with the lock to her room, Katie exclaim “WHAT THE FUCK?” with some notable exasperation. ”I had no idea there would be so much red tape to get you in here.”
They discussed their options. Clearly, Clyde needed to get the hell out of there once midnight rolled around. That guard was watching. A couple beers later, they emerged from the room, game plan set.
*******
She looked at Katie with wide eyes, pink Blackberry pressed to her cheek, mouthing “what are you doing?”
Don’t give me that, Barbie.
Katie knew she need not explain to the curly haired visitor. That chick knew exactly what was going down.
Katie opened the window to the laundry room, gazing back at Clyde, who carried a 4.5 inch hunting knife. It looked like a murder weapon, but apparently Clyde had already checked with the police years ago if that was the case. Clearly, it was just a weapon used for breaking and entering.
“You might want to move back,” he said as he thrust the dagger into the heavy-duty screen.
Their spectator looked on for a minute, then pledged to stand outside the door to keep a look out. She kept talking on the phone with her mystery friend about pie or something tragic.
Clyde was no match for the screen. Within two minutes he had sawed a gaping hole into it, his passageway into the building. Even John Madden would’ve been rendered relatively speechless (at least for John Madden standards) by Clyde’s dexterity with the knife. “Brett Favre is a guy where, he puts on his contacts and he can see better. But this Clyde– he doesn’t need any contacts!”
Clyde hoisted himself over the ledge, hopped down, closed the window and brushed himself off. It seemed like the perfect moment for the Mission: Impossible theme song to play for the near-celebration. Katie couldn’t believe their little plan had actually worked. He was inside (not a sex joke.)
Wow, that was easier than I thought (also not a sex joke.)
Now to just get him upstairs.
Before they made their way into the hallway, Clyde noticed a rip in his shirt.
“My favorite shirt! My Mom gave me this,” he said dejectedly. (Even rule-breakers love their Mamas.)
It took a while to creep Clyde up the stairs to the dormitory room. After all, anxiety rendered Katie half a moron.
There has gotta be another set of stairs, she thought a hundred times. (After twenty minutes, she found them.)
Clyde did make his way to Katie’s for an evening of card playing, boozing, and other stories of their respective adventures. He even got to take a hot shower to wash off some of that mountain-man.
Morning crept up on them like Christmas to a Jew, but it made no difference. No one ever suspected Katie of the torn screen, and the snarky guard never came to beat Clyde’s ass. (Like anyone could do that to Clyde– kid’s like Wolverine, Batman, and the Fantastic Four rolled in one!) Clyde completed his road trip, Katie finished her calculus homework, and no one died in a freak accident involving falling library books.
It was such a good day with good feelings, it would’ve inspired Katy Perry to write a song.
Filed under: College | Tags: college, drinking, fast food, flirting, food, perks of college, procrastination, slacking, sleep, Villanova
College is great because I can indulge in my guiltiest pleasures and worst habits. I don’t necessarily exercise this perk to the fullest (although I have intentions of doing so in the future), but here are some of my favorite abuses.
- Drinking This seems obvious. It’s college. As I have mentioned before, Villanova isn’t exactly a party school, but I have indulged in a few alcoholic beverages since I’ve gotten here. Don’t kill me or anything,
Mom. - Procrastinating College is the best place to put shit off. In fact, it is a part of your day every single day. There is always something you can procrastinate on, from work, to cleaning, to laundry, to bathing, to eating, to sleeping… The list goes on. Pretty much, if it is a task, there will be people in college who procrastinate from doing it.
- Staying up late At least now I have a reason to stay up until unholy hours (I need to finish what I have been procrastinating on!) Exhibit A: It is 5:50 in the morning, and I have been awake since about noon- which was yesterday. Even the weekends provide time to stay up extra late, especially if your social life permits such activities.
- Screwing up my sleep I have had a nice history of doing so, but college has enabled fucky patterns even more so. I love it. Okay, that’s a lie, but sometimes it is nice to sleep all day. This goes hand in hand with staying up late.
- Eating unhealthy foods Because they don’t serve much else anyway! Pizza is available 24/7, and all the take out options are extra unhealthy, so really, if you want to be a fattie, you can.
- Flirting with people I should not be flirting with I really excel in this one. I can always find a grad school student, or some other bad catch to flirt with. Always. It’s almost as if I am a magnet for them. And, let me be honest- I enjoy every rotten minute of it. Wholeheartedly.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness, Uncategorized | Tags: complaining, discomfort, drinking, family, holidays, katieism, kids, kids table, parade, Rant, ridiculousness, Thanksgiving
A good friend of mine is spending her first Thanksgiving abroad, or rather, is having her first year sans Butterball, hoopla, and football games. But being the friend that I am, I decided to remind her of the realities of Thanksgiving, or rather, that Thanksgiving is a kind of shitty holiday anyway, and that Chrismahanukwanzika/New Year’s/St. Patrick’s Day are way better holidays anyway.
My advice to her: “I encourage you to have a beer, watch a bootleg version of “A Christmas Story”, and read this list of the top reasons why Thanksgiving Sucks, and You Aren’t Missing Out Anyway.”
So here it goes.
1. Watching your parents get drunk all afternoon- It’s one thing if it’s the summer and everyone is kicking back margarita’s at the BBQ. But in the winter, it’s a bit different dynamic. Everyone is bitching about their job and their shitty football team. Plus getting drunk with other family members is entirely different from getting drunk with neighbors. Family feuds, old slides/photographs from the Triassic era, and handle races surface. (Okay, so maybe not handle races, but it certainly does seem like your father and your uncle are trying to see who can drink more of that Johnny Walker, doesn’t it?) Best part of all: you get to be stone cold sober all day. Gotta love being underage.
2. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade- Parades are overrated, and that is fact. It’s one thing when firefighters (or Apple Blossom Queens) are chucking tootsie rolls at your 8 year old head, hoping they get extra points for getting you in the eye, but it’s another to watch idiots-dance-on-floats/giant-balloons-of-characters-from-children’s-television-walking-through-a-city hundreds of miles away… on TV. The coverage is always littered with commercials, people singing about Christmas (you got the wrong holiday, dumbass!), and obnoxiously perky journalists dressed like they are stuck in the Tundra (wimps- like New York is even cold.)
3. The Kids Table- Personally, I have been sentenced to Life at the Kids Table, (even though I was already taller than my Grammy at age 10.) Since graduating high school, I am now not only sitting at the kids table, but I am Resident Bitch (RB) of the Kids Table. I wipe snot and ketchup off their grubby faces, make sure no one eats the stick of butter, and that a food fight doesn’t erupt. And, in my free time, I listen to the chillens discuss the latest from Pixar and Thomas the Train, while I cut their turkey into bite size pieces and their parents get sloppily drunk off cheap booze in the other room. It really brings joy to my heart knowing that I am helping the community. Not.
4. Being Uncomfortable- It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving if I didn’t sit in an exorbitant amount of traffic, sleep on a futon, or have to get crammed in the middle of five people in the backseat of a mini van on the way to the high school football game. But Thanksgiving doesn’t stop at physical discomfort; there is always social and mental discomfort too. Like when Great Aunt Emily comes to town, so does her nasty choke-up-mucous-and-old-lady-cooties cough, and questions about my bowel movements and dating. The Thanksgiving visit might only be a pregame to Christmas, but in and of itself, the discomfort of dealing with her is still one hell of an ordeal.
5. Black Friday- Great, I can buy dvds for $2.50 a piece; yeah, if I buy at least ten, and I arrive before 6 AM with my store flyer, a frequent buyer card, and manage not to get run over by a frantic woman driving a Hummer through the parking lot. Pass. Selections suck because everything gets picked over by the time your hung over ass feels like getting out the door (okay, okay, you snuck your own whiskey from home with you), crowds are uncontrollably large, rude and demanding, plus you lose an hour of time alone circling the damn parking lot for a space (you settle by parking half on the curb, half on a melting snow bank, and cross your fingers you don’t get a ticket from that mustachioed cop near the store entrance.) It’s the shit show of all shit shows. I’ll take Cyber Monday. I do much better with beer and a computer.
Filed under: Late Night, Lizstomania, Uncategorized | Tags: awesomeness, chocolate, diner, drinking, drive thru, drunkenness, eating, Falmouth, fast food, food, grilled cheese, ice cream, MadAtoms, McDonalds
Recently, Madatoms, one of my favorite blogs, featured “The Drunk Cookbook.” I couldn’t help but laugh; I definitely have had some run ins with similar “cooking” situations while ham-boned.
Here are some of my personal favorites- stories, recipes, advice- for when it comes to late night eating and drinking extravaganzas.
The McDonald’s Run
Once upon a time there were three idiots: Katie, Nick, and Shawn. Those three idiots tied one on and decided it would be a great idea to go to McDonald’s. It had been a while since they had all been to the fastfood mecca, and aside from not having much money, they wanted cheeseburgers.
This particular McDonald’s had a late night menu. 2, 3, 6, 9, 11, and 12 to be exact. No one could order a double cheeseburger, or a Happy Meal, or any kind of ice cream treat. Giddy with drunkeness, and annoyed the boys could not decide what to get, Katie shouted out “We’ll have six number 3s, two 11s, and a 12.”
$40 later, they were handed six quarter pounders, two ten piece chicken McNuggets, and a chicken sandwich of some kind. And don’t forget about the large bag, filled with French fries, and three large coca-colas.
It was disgusting.
The next day, Katie found the bag of uneaten fries, as well as disgusting, unidentifiable McDonald’s residue all over the car, and a beach of salt on the seats. It was as unappealing as the stories of digestive woe and anguish the band of idiots experienced that night. While they vowed to never go to McDonald’s again, and have not visited since, one day the story will come back to life, and the band of idiots will undoubtedly terrorize another McDonald’s drive-thru.
Challenge Meal: The McGangBang.
The Diner
“Let’s go to the diner!” It was a Thursday night, and they roomies should not have alerted Katie that they were awake.
Katie was hell bent on getting to the diner. She was loud and jumpy and rather wild. Especially for only 1:30 in the morning.
While they did not go to the diner, despite Katie’s calamity and craziness, Katie would repeat these sentiments on other nights. (This was not the first time Katie had drunkenly begged for a diner run, but it was the first time at her new home that she would shout in the night for such ridiculousness in eating.)
Ideal meal at a midnight diner run: greasy, or desserts. Or both if you can stomach it.
Challenge Meal: Whatever their most advertised monstrosity/eating challenge is on the menu.
Grilled Cheese
Grab a frying pan/skillet, a pound of butter, whatever cheese you can muster up from the depths of the fridge, some kind of bread.
Turn on stove. Throw butter in a cold pan, wait until it burns and smokes.
Place bread and butter haphazardly on pan.
Eat when ever you become sick of waiting for bread to brown, or until it’s almost on fire.
Drinker's note: Your drunk grilled cheese will NOT look this nice.
How many times have I done this? At a minimum, every Saturday night from June to August of 2010. And then some.
Challenge Meal: Eat as many grilled cheese as you can. Or accompany it with other leftovers in the fridge. Half a pizza? No problem.
The Ice Cream Man
When in doubt, if you are drunk and hungry, always get ice cream. The more, the better. This is a fact, intoxicated or otherwise.
One day Katie and Katelyn decided it would be a fantastic idea to get three pints of B&J at the White Hen Pantry (RIP) for a small get together of no more than five people. By the time they got back to the beach, it was only three. But only two wanted ice cream (duh) and they noshed at maybe half of one pint… But ice cream is great melted, sitting in the bottom of a cooler that’s been sitting out all night next to you on a beach. If you’re drunk enough, by all means, go for some ice cream soup to help that hangover.
If you are in the comfort of your home, dig in with a spoon. No other utensils necessary. No clean spoons? Go for a fork. Feel like closing the freezer? No worries- once everything defrosts you can just close the freezer door again in the morning as if nothing every happened. Family and roommates probably won’t notice for at least three weeks.
Drinker's note: This definitely seems like an ice cream treat a drunk man created. First of all, Fig Newtons are NOT the world's best cookie. In fact, they are even cookies. Second of all, when you're drunk, you will add weird things to your food, especially ice cream, which specifically invites you to add crazy things to! Drunk ice cream sundaes can be the best or worst thing that ever happens to you.
The best way to satisfy drunken ice cream cravings is to find a fast food joint that does not turn off the soft serve machine at night. While this varies from place to place, BK and McDick’s are certainly your best bet.
Challenge Meal: The whole quart of ice cream. Think I’m crazy? Drink enough whiskey, and if your into other things and have the munchies, I guarantee this is attainable. Whoever said less is more was wrong.
Up next, hangover breakfast!…..
Filed under: Song of the Day | Tags: drinking, feels like summer, indie, Modest Mouse, music, song of the day, video
Polar opposites don’t push away
It’s the same on the weekends as the rest of the days
And I know I should go but I’ll probably stay
And that’s all you can do about some things
I’m trying to drink away the part of the day
That I cannot sleep away
I’m trying to drink away the part of the day
That I cannot sleep away
Two one eyed dogs, they’re looking at stereos
Hi-fi Gods try so hard to make their cars low to the ground
These vibrations oil its teeth
Primer gray is the color when you’re done dying
I’m trying to drink away the part of the day
That I cannot sleep away
I’m trying to drink away the part of the day
That I cannot sleep away
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: drinking, Falmouth, Fay Beach, friends, happiness, life, love, summer, sunrise
Sunday August 15, 2010 @ 2:33 PM – Driving home, currently in bridge traffic
I always have these grandiose plans. These spectacular ideas, how I think things will go, how I want it to lay out.
Last night things did not turn out how my crazy mind wanted it to… We had no beer, no great storytelling, and no huge plan.
But things turned out alright.
I saw shooting stars.
I tried a drink called “Surfer on Acid.”
…
I saw the most beautiful sunrise. It looked like someone had sewn thread of gold through the sky and clouds.
I had a great talk with S on the jetty. We talked ab out work and summer and Hot Sauce and he told me how beautiful I am. I had greasy hair, an old sweatshirt, and boxers on, and even though I denied it, I suddenly felt beautiful.
It was nothing like the night I imagined, but dare I say it, it was better.
Beloved Fay Beach
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness, Uncategorized | Tags: dream, drinking, imagination, life, weirdnerd
UPDATE: This is my one hundredth post!!! And, the more I read this, the more increasingly disturbed I am by my own ridiculousness. Definitely worth reading, if not for just a laugh. Peace.
Everybody has quirks. I have really, really strange dreams. Sometimes they are trippy, sometimes they are disturbing, and sometimes they are just plain fucked up. Last night, the Captain and I sat down for a chat. He ended up giving me a night full of wackiness, and figments of my imagination I didn’t even know were possible to have. Thankfully, we are on such good terms he didn’t leave a hangover. Here is what I can remember of my wild night, in no particular order:
- Well, let’s get out the most disturbing stuff first. Remember this is a dream. I was molested by my grandfather (not the one I am currently living with.) It was just as sick and twisted and upsetting as I imagine it could be for anyone. Because we couldn’t make it home in time, the whole gang ended up staying at a hotel on the side of the mountain (you’ll see.) It was late. The hotel room was suite style, and somehow I ended up in the same bed as my grandpa… Nannie was off taking care of Missy’s kids. I dunno. It was weird. The worst part was I could’ve sworn I was really being fingered. Uh, gross?? When I started yelling for my Mom, he left me alone. She asked what had happened, because I was pretty clearly upset. Grandpy jumped in and was like “She’s 18 and very attractive,” or something to that affect (as if it would make a difference.) My mother rebuked with something like “Well she might be 18, but she looks 20, and we all know where she got that from.” Mom, she always has to get her shots in.
- I elected to leave the hotel. In fact, I was so pissed I was no longer going to live with my grandparents (I guess I was doing that at the time?) I ran around looking for Nannie. I walked into Missy and Grey fooling around in bed by accident. Eventually found Nannie. Explained the situation to her. She was just as repulsed as I was. Grandpy kept pulling that line to defend himself. I remember thinking “God, I doubt my grandparents even fuck anymore. What the hell is he doing with me?”
- Anyway, at one point, Missy, me, my mother, and Nannie were all standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom. We had weird hair, all very similar. They are all blondes in real life and I am a brunette. But we all had a salt and pepper do. My blonde highlights were only on my bottom layers, and I had a really sexy haircut. In fact, I want that hair. Missy had curly hair in my dreams, so the color came in and out. My mom looked strange with light brown highlights, ditto for Nannie. While I stared at everyone in the mirror a robed Missy suggested I just wear revealing clothes and Grandpy can just get some eye candy. I was like “Are you kidding????”
- I left the hotel and ended up at a field/camp ground/rec center type place where there was a big party going on. There were people from school, work, everywhere. At some point, I ran into Yasemin. She grabbed these enormous bottles of vodka and Captain (of course) out of the bed of a truck. We sat for a minute and watched these black guys playing basketball. I had had one sip when Yasemin shouts “Run!” and books it down the road, away from the party. Of course, the cops had shown. And being the idiot that I am, I ran toward the building. I tried to hide behind this air conditioning unit thing, but lights were flashing all around it so I gave up, came out with my hands up.
- Mrs. Calisi and my Fab Five girls were nearby and saw me walking. Mrs. C was bitching, all “you are intoxicated, you’re gonna get arrested, blah blah blah blah, you’re in trouble!” I remember very defiantly saying “I am not intoxicated,” and Kate said in this really meek, but pissy voice “Well I’m intoxicated.” It was a true Kate moment. Love it.
- Continuing in my defiance, I proceeded to be all “I am not gonna get arrested” even though I was pretty certain the cops came because there was a huge, illegal party going on outside in the middle of the night… And it turns out, that the cops came because KiKi died. I thought it was the little girl who I really saw at the beach yesterday, but it turns out it was this old woman named KiKi.
- I was anxious. Someone just died at this party. People were sobbing. As I was looking for my friend Shawn, who I thought was at the party, pallbearers came out of the building, and Shawn in hysterics, laying on top of the casket, freaking the shit out. Thinking about it, it is hilarious. In my dream, I took this very seriously. Apparently, it was Shawn’s great aunt KiKi, not just any random KiKi woman.
- The casket was brought down to the pavillion I was standing under. Everyone was sad and generally freaking out. I guess a lot of people knew KiKi. (Actually, I had talked to KiKi when I got to the party initially.) As I stood in the crowd, I found out that she was 92, had done a lot for the community, and was the one who actually threw the party. Go figure, right? She had said something about wanting to live until the last possibly second of her life, and I guess she did that. She was also Jewish, which meant her funeral had to happen before sundown/sun up/something like that. (Daylight/nighttime was flickering throughout my memory of my dream.) So we did it right then.
- Weird things continued to happen. Though hysterical, Shawn thought it was a good idea to open the casket. At first, all we could see was from her knee down. And Shawn kept poking at this soft spot just above her knee until it had this big gashy indent, kinda like a bad panna cotta actually. He continued to do this has he screamed and cried. Then someone pulled out her entire body, which according to some weird Jewish burial tradition, had been beheaded. She was naked, and her boobs were old, let’s just say. This same random person wore the body on them kinda like you would wear that lead jacket at the dentist for x-rays. Eventually KiKi made it back into the coffin, but not without sufficiently weirding me out.
- The casket went back into the building. A huge crowd of people rushed to get inside, and of course, the guards working the door wouldn’t let me in. Apparently the building was too full or something like that. I was pissed. I’m not quite sure exactly happened after that, but I do vaguely recall trying to flirt my way inside. And you know what? That is something I would probably actually try. Ha.
- Back tracking through my dream, or at least my memory, I was in Pennsylvania. We needed to get somewhere. Saw Uncle Bill and three other family members… We drove down the mountain to some event. It was a really steep drive, almost like the Sunday River Road. Like I held onto my seat. Then the event took place. This part is vague.
- But this part is not. The event is over. There are like six or seven different ways to get back up and around the mountain, but we can’t remember which way we came. There are two or three cars. It was literally like something from a movie. We were driving the car up through this moderately sized stream of water that was covering the “road” which was a lot more like a dirt path. There certainly wasn’t concrete or pavement. We kept going up these winding passages and either getting stuck or having to turn around or whatever. It took forever. I felt like Indiana Jones, though.
- There were no trees on the mountains at the beginning. But once I started driving a car that had no floor (just like the Flintstones!) we were in forest. And I was driving up easily a 65 degree grade, being chastised by (I think) Uncle Bill to drive faster. I was afraid my feet would drag against the ground. And my feet kept getting wet from the puddles and rain and water that seemed to be.. everywhere.
There you have it, the greatest/craziest/most fucked up dream(s) I’ve had in quite a while. What does it all mean? Honestly, I would rather not know. That was a little traumatic.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Boston College, Boston University, choices, college, drinking, friends, George Washington, happiness, ice cream, Massachusetts, money, moving out, Northeastern University, Villanova
Scenario: You hear the ting ting song of the ice cream man coming down the street. You race to find a dollar, alert your sister, and bolt outside. The creeper stops the truck and greets you. And then you are faced with the toughest decision you may make all day, if not all week: what the hell am I going to get?
And this, my friends, is the exact dilemma I face with finally picking a college.
Like the ice cream man, price is important. What can I get with a dollar? (Nothing.) And so is perception. What will my friends think if I get this? (Loser.) You have to enjoy what you order. Am I going to like how this tastes? (You better.) Ice cream needs to have the right bells and whistles. No gum balls in this one? (You’re fucked.)
So while in some aspects, I have my choices limited down to ten (because those are the schools I applied to,) that’s still ten fucking choices!
Right now, I have been accepted into 8.5 out of 9 schools, and I am still waiting to hear back from NYU. Which means I can decide from:
- University of Vermont
- Boston College (1/2)
- Boston University
- Northeastern University
- UMASS, Amherst
- Fordham University
- Villanova University
- George Washington University
- Hawai’i Pacific University
(Those were organized North to South, by the way.)
Let’s eliminate a few.
Hawai’i – you are too damn far away and I have never been to Hawai’i. Plus your dorms are 30 minutes away from the main campus.
ZooMass – Fuck you. All my friends go there, and while tuition may be free for me, I would rather die than live in captivity with the other animals in the middle of a cow pasture.
UVM – I don’t want to become a habitual pot-smoker. And god DAMN is it cold.
Fordham – I could go here, I guess, but I never really gave it a lot of thought. And it’s small. I need a bigger school. I mean, I suppose we could get along just fine, but if I really wanted you, I would have made more of an effort.
Ha. Reread Fordham. What a break up letter.
So what am I down to?
- Boston College
- Boston University
- Northeastern
- Villanova
- George Washington
These are the heavy hitters.
For sanity’s sake, let’s eliminate NYU.
NYU – you intimidate me a little. And WTF no sports? Idiots. Get some damn athletes.
Okay.
Now here is the analysis as to why I would like to go to all these other schools:
Boston College – You are the alma mater of BOTH my parents. You have harbored my childhood with memories of football games, losing matchbox cars, and eating chocolate chip cookies at tailgates in Shea Field. I already know I’ll be happy here, because I am A) moderately preppy B) white C) Catholic D) a football fan and E) already familiar with what your school has to offer. And have been aware for years. I mean, really. My best, most favorite sweatshirt is that maroon BC juggernaut of a thing.
BUT, what’s up with the waitlist? To me, that is a sign that it isn’t meant to be. That means God, or something or someone out there, is telling me not to do it. And I listen to signs like that. Most of the time.
Boston University – I love your city streets. I love Boston. I love the lights, sounds, and smells. I love your hockey team, your diversity, your culture. I love the idea of having the option to minor in communications. I hear you’re renown for that. I know I could and would be happy in your arms. Simple as that.
BUT are there enough events on campus that my social life will be satisfied? Are you geared closely enough to your students? Because I know you have a lot of them. And on a scale of one to ten, how necessary will it be for me to get a fake id? Is there much else to do but go to the bars and clubs? (Not that I’m complaining, but I would rather start my inevitable romp to alcoholism after my senior year…)
Northeastern – You gave me a scholarship. I will definitely have a job when I leave college. You have athletics, a campus, amenities, and students. You fit the bill. I can’t really complain. I really can’t.
BUT am I going to be happy giving up my traditional summers to take classes and/or work for my co-op requirements? Uh, unless I can fulfill them all in Woods Hole, I’m not so sure how happy I will be with that….
*Perk to all the Boston area schools: close to skiing, boy, and my sports teams.
Villanova – Well, I never expected to get in. And your business school is top notch. As aforementioned, I am moderately preppy, white, and Catholic. When I first walked on your campus, I was shocked by how much I fell in love with each step. You’ve got sports, and you’ve got smarts. People have been telling me I should go here. College is my golden opportunity to travel to a new place. You’re close enough to Philly that I can find a new city to learn and love… There are people from all over the east coast here… I could go on for hours about why I should go here. And I want to finally try a cheese-steak.
BUT I don’t want to leave the people who mean a lot to me back in Massachusetts. That’s important to me.
George Washington – You have a climate that I could get used to. The people are nice. The buildings are quaint. The city is alive and new and something I have never quite experienced ever. I would love to get a chance to intern on capitol hill. I would love to wear shorts in November and March. I think we could be a good fit.
BUT it’s a little close to the Mason-Dixon line for my liking… And something in my gut is telling me no. I don’t know why.
(*Note: All these schools cost roughly about the same. A shit ton.)
I’m not quite sure which schools would equal what novelty ice creams. I think BC may be the ice cream sandwich though- safe, familiar, tasty, but not necessarily the best pick. Either way, the ice cream man is waiting to snatch my dollar and the clock is ticking. I still have no idea exactly where I should be, what to choose. Then again, it is ice cream, so how wrong can it really be?
Christ, I love ice cream.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness, Senioritis | Tags: clothes, coolness, drinking, Falmouth, friends, katieism, Lent, music, senioritis, Sonic, Westfordia, Woods Hole
As you may know, Tuesday marked Mardi Gras, and Wednesday the first day of Lent.
As per tradition, I have given up junk food until Easter. It usually goes relatively well.
But, based on my never ending victories, sprints, and pursuits over break, maybe these are what I REALLY should’ve given up:
-Talking to strange men at the 24 hour CVS
-Creepin around Woods Hole in general
-Midnight Sonic runs with guys from work
-Donuts in parking lots
-Abusing my parent’s Exxon Mobil credit card
-Purchasing neon, polyester 80s pullover winter jackets
-Sleeping until noon
-Watching UFC on pay-per-view while everyone around me speaks a foreign language
-Mixing drinks at the Vose Manse in Ganset
-Piecing together my night with Candace’s help
-Coming home after curfew
-Ignoring homework assignments
-Fooling around in bathrooms in a house that is not mine..
-Thrift shopping
-Being in cold places
-Spending ample time at a gym I technically don’t even belong to
-Getting weird allergic reactions to Tetanus booster shots
-Giving short lectures on the fundamentals of Katieism
-Spending a lot of time on iTunes
-Watching Bobsled races at two AM in the basement
This was one of the best vacations I have ever had. Enough said.
Filed under: Flash Fiction | Tags: drinking, ice cream, Martha's Vineyard, nude beaches, pirates, Woods Hole
One day I was swimming at Stony Beach when I decided that I was craving something. And that something was ice cream. I was completely overcome with my urge to eat ice cream.
So I dried off and walked back toward town.
Along the way, before I could even reach the bridge, I was stopped by a pirate.
“Argh,” he said, “We ye come find buried treasure with me? I hear there is some on the beach by the Green in Oak Bluffs!”
“Well what is in it for me?” I asked.
“I have this rum,” he replied, pulling a flask of 100 pf Captain out of his leather vest.
“I’m in!” I shouted.
The pirate led me to his moldy, old boat. We hop on and begin the ride across the sound to Martha’s Vineyard. About half way across the pirate says “uh oh.” I’m on my third shot, so I am oblivious. Oblivious to the sharks that have surrounded our skiff.
The pirate threw a back of Cheetos overboard in a last ditch attempt to get the sharks away. But sharks are too damn smart.
They began to gnaw at the bow.
I could see where this was going.
I took another shot, shouted “Nice knowing ya, bud,” and jumped onto the back of one of the sharks. Being a shark whisperer, I was able to get the shark to bring me to a floating piece of cardboard. I let go of the shark as quickly as I could- I didn’t want to deal with the shark if I didn’t have to. It swam away.
But I was stuck.
So I decide that I’ve swum drunk before and that I’ll do it again. With my flask in hand, I swim to the vineyard. Along the way, the sharks got a little close for comfort (apparently I am not as good of a whisperer when intoxicated) so I had to ditch the flask. But after two hours of swimming, I made it to the beach. Exhausted I collapsed in the sand.
When I finally woke up someone had taken off all my clothes and drawn dinosaurs (velosorpators) on me with permanent marker. Needless to say, I was pissed. But I did find my flask, still half full, laying in the sand on the beach.
Within an hour, to my amazement, people started filling the beach. And not just any people. NAKED people. But they wouldn’t come near me. It turns out I was on Gay Head Beach. But where I had been laying all day was on the non-nude side of the beach. That’s why someone had drawn on me with permanent marker. I got up and walked about twenty feet to my right and laid back down.
People started coming over in no time. I was even asked to play paddle ball with some unfortunate old men.
By the time the day was through, I had finished my flask, a few beers, and a large turkey sandwich someone had brought over from Pie in the Sky. I was even able to snag some clothes from other friendly beach neighbors. While the day seemed lucky, it didn’t end quite as nicely as I had hoped.
I had to walk fourteen miles back to Oak Bluffs in order the catch the ferry.
But the ferry was sold out. But that didn’t matter because I had no money.
And I had a sunburn.
A little bummed I couldn’t go back to sleep in my boyfriend’s cozy bed and tell him about my crazy day, I strolled down to Nancy’s, hoping to find someone to buy me dinner and a drink. Lucky for me, my Uncle Mark was there (chatting up a very pretty woman). As the sun set, we cruised across the glassy sound, not a sign of a sunken ship or shark in sight.
——-
I think I call it “Series of Weird Events in the Life of Katie.”
