What happens at rehearsal... (pretend this was posted 2 months ago, k?)

The men were having issues with one of their dance numbers because one guy was missing and it was throwing off the formations. There was one part in particular where two of the other men lift him. So I--in my skirt and heels--jumped in and tried to act like a man. Wide stance. Shoulders back. Be, um...manly.

(It's possible I don't know how to be manly.)

(But I tried anyway.)

Song began and choreography went much smoother till we shifted into the next half of the song, which changes a bit. I'd only seen the guys do it once so I got into place and then--oh shit.

I remember this part now. It's the part where the guy I'm filling in for gets lifted.

And the moment I realize this--on video--I very clearly swear.

Whoops...

I may have a problem.

It didn't go off though! That means it worked, right?

I set fire to a yam. Not on purpose, I mean, why would anyone try to set a yam on fire on purpose? I stuck a plate in the microwave with cut up pieces of yam on it and thirty seconds later, a corner of one of the pieces was totally black. Just a tiny little speck. Except that speck reeked of smoke that went straight to the smoke detector directly above the microwave, which made me panic.

You know in stereotypical pagan ceremonies where women dance all naked and "free" and worship the moon? I looked like that, but with clothes on and waving a towel at the smoke detector.

I have a love/hate relationship with bike helmets. I hate them because they're disgustingly ugly, but I love NOT being injured.

One time I rode smack into the back of my dad's pick-up. Another time I tried to do a one-handed maneuver and now I still have the scar on my knee. And one time I rode straight into a telephone pole and chipped my front tooth.

So now that I've been biking again, I've been reluctantly wearing the helmet.

Last week, I fell off my bike, scratched up my legs, got dirt everywhere including inside the handlebars, and broke the chains that attach to the pedals. But I'm okay because I was wearing the friggin' helmet!

I have a thing for talking inanimate objects.

They just make life better, you know?

This one I found outside of the Education wing at school. It's such an Education-major thing to do too, you'd never find it in the Crim wing. We just post newspaper clippings of weird ways to kill people.

Also found at school, the existentialist garbage bin:

This is a legit staircase that legit leads to the Chamber of Secrets. I'm 99% certain. Not 100% though because there's no way in holy hell I'm going down there to find out.

See? Make. Life. Better.

Happy 27th

I asked my brother what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday, and he sent me this:

(source)

I said um, no. Acceptable answers would have included "chocolate," "vanilla," and "Dairy Queen."

Eventually I got my act together and spent several hours googling peanut butter. Did you know if you use natural peanut butter in baking, it'll separate and be yucky? So you can't even pretend it's healthy.

I made two cakes, two frostings, and one fitness bootcamp. That's balance, right?

Five by Five

1) I saw a guy walking down the street literally stop and smell the roses. Either that or he thought he could snort them. Hard to tell.

2) I am the photocopy machine whisperer. Feel the photocopy machine. Be the photocopy machine.

3) Why does everyone hate on February? It's the month of love, people. Love and reading breaks. Best. Month. Ever.

4) There are three important arts reporters in the city and one of them called me at home. I mumbled "Hello..." then did that frantic oh shit cough and attempted to sound like I wasn't still lounging in bed watching the Family channel and downloading the Twilight movies at one in the afternoon.

5) Roll Up The Rim is back and I'm 0 for 6. Statistically, 1 in 6 is a winner. Statistically, I'm getting my ass kicked by paper cups. Update: 0 for 8 0 for 16!

And then I melted into the carpet and was never seen again.

After a break, all the women were called back to rehearsal. I tucked my water bottle under my seat, and flipped open my score.

And hiccuped.

Loudly.

Flushing, I pursed my lips and tried to listen to the music director discussing the rhythm of a particular section. We'd had issues getting the timing right and it--hiccup!--didn't help that the words were in Japanese. Meanwhile, I was trapped in the middle of a row of seats, surrounded--hiccup!--by the alto section on my left and the rest of the sopranos on my--hiccup!--right, with no means of slipping out quickly.

Or quietly.

I tried concentrating on my breathing; I tried not singing; I tried clutching my score to my chest like a blankie. My face felt hot and red.

For a minute, I thought maybe they'd gone away so I sang, "O ni! Bikkuri shakkuri--hiccup!"

Even the music director snickered.

And then I died. The end.

This is what happens when I go unsupervised.

- Get off at the wrong bus stop because apparently there are two 148th streets.
- Spend half an hour walking through the suburbs looking for a shopping mall.
- Realize a shopping mall is unlikely to be located in suburbia.
- Find the other 148th street, find the mall, only to remember I'm a broke-ass student.
- Head back to bus stop.
- Realize student ID card (with Upass) has fallen out of pocket.
- Panic.
- Power-walk back to mall, frantically scanning the sidewalk with big bug-eyes.
- Panic some more.
- Spot student ID card on the other side of the street, at the corner of an intersection.
- Sprint towards it without checking traffic.
- Narrowly avoid getting smushed into pavement by red car.
- Snatch up student ID card.
- Skip home.

I am unimpressed.

My work got graffiti'd, for the first time since we opened last year. I wouldn't be so bothered by it except they wrote this:

Seriously? That's the most creative thing you could come up with? What happened to graffiti art? I demand high-quality vandalism.

This would never have happened in a text message.

To graduate, my school makes everyone fulfill writing, quantitative (math) and breadth (other electives) requirements. An advisor finally called me back today and while I had him on the phone, I realized I didn't know if I'd completed them all.

Me: Oh, okay. And what about my...the requirements... What about my width?

Advisor: ...

Me: Not my width. I mean I know my width. I mean the... the required... writing and math and...

Advisor: Your Writing, Quantitative and Breadth requirements are fulfilled.

Me: Breadth!

Advisor: ...

Me: Sorry.

Pretend this was posted December 26th

Christmas 2011 consisted of lights,

food,

and Justin Bieber. Life-size.

I learnt that there is no way to wrap a frying pan without it looking like a wrapped frying pan; that not everyone is familiar with GPA (I said 4.0 and they said outta 10?); and that sometimes, you're gonna get photo-bombed by a shark.

No really, a shark.