Just point me in the direction of the BINGO tournament.

The other day while I was in the bathroom of the suite, I got to thinking about where I will be living next year.
This in turn led to a shiver running down my spine, at what kind of horrors are going on in that apartment now, it being occupied by male swimmers.

I had a day-mare(?), imagining walking down the hallway with a black light, and the walls lighting up like a Christmas tree, in March, on fire.

At that exact moment, another, terrifying thought struck me. The other type of enclosed living environment. Not housing for seniors, but senior housing.


Think about it. A nursing home is the college dorm of the golden ages.

• An all you can eat buffet style cafeteria, complete with little cups of jello.
• You're stuck with a roommate with whom you may or may not get along with.
• You are completely free to wander the halls, if you are on the right floor, of course.
• If you become lost, you can ask anyone to help direct you to where you are going.
• There are visiting hours.
• To be quite honest, you can have sex with whomever you want, and they won't remember it the next morning.

I'm now terrified at stepping foot in a senior housing facility, much less carrying a black light.

I come for the sand, not for the money.

I had an interview for a summer internship today.

Not sure how it went.

I don't think I'll get the position.

It's far away, appears to be no pay, requires training that I don't have, and they hope that the intern will return after being set free.

And I don't see that happening.

To be honest, I'm probably going to move to Maryland at some point.

And I don't even know if building engineering is anything I am interested in.

But being so close to the beach would be so nice.

What Not To Wear: Cotton Edition

It has been brought to my attention that my fashion sense....does not exist.

I've worn novelty t-shirts all through high school and the first two semesters of college. I like them. They are cute, and often have clever phrases plastered across the front.

Fatal flaw. I missed the memo that girls aren't supposed to wear t-shirts past the age of..16? Maybe it is because I never had a real Sweet Sixteen. The government must send out notices about the rules and regulations.

I have always been known as the girl who wears those witty/cute/clever/really cool t-shirts. Or maybe that is just what was said to my face.

As such I am currently working on a new style for my wardrobe. Goodbye brightly colored monsters and cupcakes. The time has come for style.

This is probably the source of my paper doll obsession.

Suggestions will be appreciated and reviewed.

Knock twice before invading

Apparently the title of this post is actually a book/article about meningococcus.

What I was looking to talk about was housing registration.

Somehow or another, we completely lucked out. 1300 when the numbering starts at 1286. We got the room we wanted, in the building we wanted, at approximately the altitude we wanted.

But I am still led to wonder what will happen when time comes in to move.

Each bedroom sleeps two people, but are completely different sizes. One has its own bathroom, one has a walk-in closet, and the other is a closet.

And we are already preregistered for what room we'll be in. We drew lots to determine who went where.

I can only hope that B stands for bathroom.

Or Benevolent gift from the closet gods.

I use an astrolabe to plan my future.

Scheduling classes was a disaster.

You would think that the honors program would involve perks, like a continental breakfast, after dinner mints, and priority in classes. Clearly not.

The math class I needed to get in filled up and I had to waver in. And then the people "helping" out decided to not do their jobs and made me struggle to get into classes that should have been easy.

They don't seem to understand that I can't register for classes if the co-requisites are filled.

And yes Doctor. I don't know where you've been but that class has always been required for an Engineering Major.

And someone else told you that about a half hour before I mentioned it again.

How did you forget?

I guess we all can't play with toy trucks and EZ Bake Ovens.

Once again I'm back to being unable to control my urges.

Let me explain.
As a kid, I was not really a doll type of girl. I had little soap operas going on between my 4 pack of crayons (every one knows that any more than that just gets complicated and turns brown), what with the floozy red and arrogant blue hooking up and yellow and green being the dysfunctional secondary couple that kept getting in the way. The same type of playing happened with my sweet collection of toy cars. I had this pretty awesome car that changed from pink to white if I ran it under hot water. Therefore it was the cool one, and various soap-opera scenarios ensued.
I digress.
I never really played with dolls. I had stuffed animals that I liked more, and despite having lots of Barbie stuff, I just could not get into it. Maybe there just was not enough drama.

However. I have recently discovered an updated version of my mom's favorite past-time as a girl: Paper dolls.
It took 18 years, but now I've discovered a fascination with dress up - tragically for me, this manifests in me opening up sparkly pink web pages designed for 7 year old girls...while at work.

I can't help it. Curses to you glitter and flash animations.


And I hate it when the clothes don't snap on and I have to drag them into place.