Posts published during August, 2002

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Dorm Life

I have been an RA far too long. I’m way to sensitive about things like housekeeping, extension cords, and use of the “D” word. Yeah “dorm”. oh ick, it just feels wrong to even type that filthy, filty word.

You see, I have been conditioned. I’m an RDPautomaton now.

When I was a freshman RDP had just begun a campaign aimed at getting students to think about oncampus housing as kind of nice. RDP’s buildings therefore became known as “residence halls”, a term denoting civilization and elegance. “Dorms” on the other hand, came to be known as something subpar school’s housed students in – dirty, dank, low-income ghettos. They even gave us buttons that said “no dorm.” I think i put mine on my book bag.

And so the brainwashing, or reconditioning, paid off. I can’t say the word “dorm.” When Alaska Laura came to visit, (yes, she’s got her Bug back and is tooling around Philadelphia in it), she kept commenting on how nice VT’s “dorms” where, and how she kind of missed the “dorm” life. I would reply with comments like “yes, my residence hall is very cool with it’s AC”, or “I like living in residence halls, because of that high-quality, one-ply, soft-as-tree-bark tp we got goin.” It’s very annoying to reply to someone whose using the “D” word.

So Waggs, my beloved Advisor, who is also my teacher this semester, committed the ultimate RA-sin the past few classes. In our first class of the year, Waggs told us how her niece lived in the “O’shaghaunesy dorm” (formerly O’Haunnesy to my loyal readers). She kept commenting on “O’Shaughnessy dorm.” I cringed in my seat at every harsh letter sound escaped from her throat.

And she did it again! – today she said “my neice is running for vice president of her dorm.” UGH. Waggs, waggs, waggs. I almost feel like asking her to use residence halls in class, as “dorm” sounds so vulgar. I mean, i’m offended!

And this is why I’ve been an RA too long….

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Crikey!

HRA training is finished – returning RA training is finished – and i’m finished getting up at 7:30 a.m. every day! Today was the first day of classes. I had one. It started at 11:15, ended at 11:45. How cool is that? I basically spent the rest of my day sleeping. 3 hour naps are the greatest. Gosh, it’s just like I’m a care-free freshman again.

… but i’m cooler than a freshman.

I saw some freshman-hunters on my way to class today. Freshman-hunters are much like mullet hunters, in that they scope out crowded places to find the elusive – the spectacular, and bizarre. Freshman hunting is pretty easy in the proper circumstances.

Freshman are most easily distinguished between the months of September and November, when college campuses open for the academic year. Move-in is a good time to spot the incoming freshman. During the move in process they will undoubtedly come with a caravan – three minivans full of furniture and crap that is illegal in the res halls anyway. Mom walks around all puffy-eyed and ponders how she’s going to get fresh baked goods through the mail. Dad’s sweaty and cranky after having moved all the crap from the minivans into a room the size of a krispy kreme box, only to be alerted by the RA that half the stuff dad just installed is prohibited, and must be removed post haste! Meanwhile, Aunt Gert is reminscining about her college experiences in the all-girls community college she attended in 1962. Pepe, the family Chihuahua, shivers nervously.

Even without the familial entourage, spotting the frosh is a skill anyone can master. Just sit outside the residential half of campus Thursday – Sunday night. Don’t be alarmed at the clothing you’ll see, or lack thereof. Those sequins and straps are the tell-tale uniform of the campus newbee. Even if its 45 degrees outside, the freshman will be gauranteed to sport as little clothing as possible. This special dresscode allows freshman girls to be send a signal to creepy seniors who may want to date them. It’s like a neon sign blazing “hey, i’m a girl, i’m new, and if you buy me a drink I may dance on a table for you and your friends!”

For freshman guys, their female peers’ trashy dressing signals something even more sinister, more cruel. Basically, it signifies the pool of women they will lust over. These girls will be the chicks they want to take home to mom, or atleast out to Mcdonalds. These young, lovely girls in their two-inch platforms – friends and classmates – walking dreams in polyester and lace – they will be unobtainable to the freshman male.

And such is the life of the freshman, god bless them. freshman-hunters rejoice! It’s prime scouting season!

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Me in Plastic

People used to say things to me like, You look like a prepubescent boyOh my gawd, you look sooo much better now , Wow, your hair is uuuuugly! , andYikes – those eyebrows look like hairy catepillars! I’d get these comments from people who happened to glance at my Virginia Tech student ID card. Yes, the comments were frequent and varied, and gauranteed to produce a cruel chuckle from an offending spectator.

I think it got really bad when people would beg to see my ID in social situations – basically, so everyone could have a chortle over my funky freshman pic. In essence, my card had become a sort of party favor. When the jokes died down it was time to produce the plastic. Like magic, the room would come alive with laughter. Of course this happened at the expense of my dignity, but hey who needs pride and self – esteem anyway?

Seriously, I was admittedly thinner in 1999, and I wore braces. My eyebrows did in fact look like catepillars, and I had this chunky short hair cut. I wasn’t at all glamorous, (as I am now dahlings) but I wasn’t as hideous as my ID pic. There must’ve been some sort of secret conspiracy against me, in which the evil photographer, in an effort to produce the dorkiest image in the world, manipulated every possible element resulting in the infamous pic.

I have hated this ID since the day I recieved it. And today it was disposed of. Today I have a new ID, one in which I am decidedly not garish or prepubescent-like. My friend down at the ID office saw the offensive freshman card and immediately exclaimed , “you look like you’re ten years old!” She then directed me to immediately proceed to the booth next door to get a new ID taken. I asked was she sure? And she said “to the chair, right now!”

Wow, so in 2002 I am a whole new me. A whole new perfectly-respectable-looking me. To those who will mourn the loss of little-boy-Hänni, my condolences….

Job with Summer Conferences – finished yesterday.
Job as Resident Advisor Coordinator – started today.
Time living in M.egg – it’s over dude!
Sad about leaving M.egg – heck no ~ that place has roaches!

In addition to the roaches, people from the Middle East began to move in, and they are a bit stinky. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not a hater. I myself am a brown person. It’s just, I’m not sure if in their country they use deodorant, or if they bathe every day, or if the food they eat makes their skin smell weird, but i tell you what, M.egg is now wreaks-ville. Before I left, I met this nice kid named Mohammad. He’s a grad student, and very charismatic. The only bad thing is, he would leave a smell trail so palpable, I could tell you exactly where he had been.

One night I went into the lounge, where I smelled that Mohammad had been to the vending machine to get a Little Debbie snack cake.

And I am not the most pro-deodorant person in the world. In actuality, I haven’t consistently worn deodorant since I was in highschool. I’m not really sporty, and when I do go to the gym I come home immediately and shower, so I figure I don’t need it so much. Plus, some people say it contributes to breast cancer in women, and I’m not all about that. In any event, if I’m saying a kid needs to wear deodorant, than i’m for real – it’s serious!

So I’m aggravated, because in my move to Payne (v. nice, airconditioned w/ a private bath), I seem to have misplaced my glasses. I know those junx are around here somewhere, and that kills me. So I’ve got to sit here and squint at my computer screen.

I bet I look like Grandma Daisey, all hunched over my desk, face four inches from the monitor. All I need to complete this image is a bottle of geritol, dentures to take out and scare the grandkids with, and polyester pants pulled over my belly button. Ugh, must go hunt for glasses NOW.

file this under: go granny, go