In Keeping With the Season: A Scary Thought.

Homeless.

Well not exactly. But I don't know where I'll be living a week from now. With a roommate? On campus? Off campus? With anyone I know? No idea.

My residence hall is being closed. Everyone has to move out by Sunday. The heating/pipes are busted beyond repair. The build is hecka old anyway and with no way to keep the residents warm during the winter months (and it gets very cold here) out we go.

My first thought?

Yes. Now I don't have to change that dang lightbulb.

Second thought: hey! I just decorated my room the way I like it! Do all that again? Shoot. We all know I'm not crafty.

But then it sank in. Adios my little residence hall. Sometime in these past two years I learned to love your ugly green carpet, the asbestos in the ceiling, the way I could just yell down the hall and talk to everyone. I loved the teeny rooms that forced everyone out into the common area where we'd watch movies, have dance parties, and birthday cake. Bless your fifty year old outdated heart.

I'm not too nervous really. I know I'll have someplace to live. It might not be ideal but I'll have a roof and a bed. Necessities? Check. I can work from there. What I am worried about are my residents. There was definitely some freaking out associated with this news. Tears, stress, one or two "I need to go punch something"s. (You know who you are - and thank you for not.) I'm in charge of these gals. I love the heck out of 'em. Mostly I'm sad that the community I've worked so hard to build will be split up.

So this week. I have a test on Friday. A paper due. Probably a quiz. I have a lab research paper to finish (and by that I mean start) and what else? Oh yeah. I have to box up room, pack everything and move. And then there is the 21 other girls I need to help. Emotional toll? Yes. I will be stocking up on the tissues, the pillows for those that need to punch, and I'll work on my soothing voice. "don't worry. It'll be ok. You'll have a place to live. We'll work it out. Please don't pull the drinking fountain off the wall."

Things That Amuse Me

Ok let's just get it out there. I have a weird sense of humor. After all, what other 19 year old girl voluntarily spends her Saturday morning listening to the hi-LAR-ious puns of NPR? (Carl Kasell thank you for existing.) It's fine. I've come to terms of acceptance with my weird self.

So I'm wacked. Maybe that's why I find this amusing.

(once again *pictures that should go here are at the top because that's all I can figure out. Yes I go to college. Don't worry.)

This is the paper towel dispenser in the bathroom. And a knob to turn in case of emergency.
...
Emergency?

"Mom! Quick - I've sliced an essential artery! My life is bleeding out! And the worst part is... THERE'S NO PAPER TOWELS!!!! oh please no. the humanity. What Can I Do?????"

"Don't worry **darling! I know what to do in case of an emergency! I'll just TURN THE KNOB!!"
"bleeding miraculously stops. End scene with sunset, violins, and mother-daughter bonding. Another save by the emergency feature of paper towels"

phew.

*These pictures by the way were taken very stealthily by yours truly. There were girls washing their hands when I wanted to snap my shots. So I had to resort to fixing my hair. For a long can time. Which is harder than it sounds because my hair is about four inches long. How long can you "fix" an A-line? (I mean, I could have just snapped the shots but I have some pride.) At least I didn't resort to popping zits - but it was close. Hi my name is Sierra and I take pictures in library bathrooms. Date me. I'm real cool.

**My mother has never once called me darling. It it really was her she'd probably use one of her more original terms of endearment. Like buttnugget. True story.

Cutesy (my seventh level of hell)

I tried to write this post before. And then I promptly messed up and erased the whole thing. yaayyy technology. So this will not be nearly as eloquent as the one before. (just use your imagination k?)

But. A quick summary.

Cute = throw up in my mouth a little bit.

It's a great word when I want a generic lazy description. But heaven forbid it should ever describe me.

Why? Because I've come to associate it with general gushing and things nauseatingly adorable. Sometimes I feel like girls strive to be nothing other than cute. Depth is not important, just as long as it looks good. Cute is precious, but completely inept. There's no real value or gain.

This sounds harsh, and may admittedly be a long overdue reaction to years of being "cute." Thank you freud. I blame it chubby cheeks, baby fat, and a tendency to look a solid five years younger than I actually am.

I would much rather be intelligent, useful, hard working, loving, gentle, creative, determined, strong, thoughtful, or pretty much anything else. But cute?

Shoot me.

This being said...

The picture above is of a bunch of birthday cards that I made for residents in my dorm.

As an RA of mostly freshman girls, I remembered how lonely my first birthday away from home was, so I've tried to make theirs a little more special. I make the cards and have all the other residents sign. Then we sing and have cake and give the card to the birthday gal.

And while I've tried to leave out the pink lace and excessive exclamation points (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! u r sooo cute!!!!!!!! we love u sooooooooo much!!!!!!!!!!) these homemade cards could very well be described as... gulp... cute.

*shudder*

I tried not to be. I fought it. I resisted. But with a limited spending budget celebration gets a little creative. It was forced on me. I'm not adorable by choice.

Now excuse me while I go giggle and overedit pictures and spread sunshine and do everything short of pooping bows and glitter.

Love This More Than Words

Sometimes I come across things that I love so much I want *everyone to know about them. This picture falls in that category. I claim the bangs and puffy sleeves of the little girl on the left.

*everyone clearly means the three people that follow this blog - hi mom! (Lizzie.. Ryan.. bless your hearts.)

The Psychology Paper I Wish I'd Written

Psychology. My 1010 class.

After the teacher handed back the first test he told us that if we re answered the questions we missed and wrote a one page paper describing what we learned from our experience of taking a multiple choice test, he'd give back half the points missed.

I know this is a generous offer, and I took advantage of it so clearly I don't have a lot of room to be snobbish here, but the paper thing got to me. I mean, if the paper had to explain why the answers are correct it' be one thing - but what we learned about test taking strategy is entirely another.

I mean really? I know I'm in a class of mostly freshmen (judge me I'm not in all upper division classes), but we made it this far, shouldn't we at least know how to take multiple choice tests? I'm thinking ACT, SAT,and the eight million other state mandated curricular tests issued in my high school experience. Oh well, I wanted the make up points so I wrote the paper anyway. But here's what I really wanted to say.

First Test - and What I Learned About Multiple Choice (actual title)

I learned that the expectations of intelligence and basic skills for incoming freshman in college are squat.
Other than that?
Nothing.
Wait. I learned I should study a little more.
Actually. I knew that so...
Nothing.

The End



That doesn't fill the one page requirement? Shoot.
Note to self. Next time just study harder, get a better grade, and skip the bitter essay for make up part.

A Rather Average Post

So I've done it.
Joined the world of blogging.
Actually I have a confession to make. I've had this blog before. Did I ever do anything with it? No of course not. So a year (or two) and a total of three posts later, I'm starting over. I'm all about good intentions I guess.
And now that I'm MUCH older and sooooo much more mature and responsible (sike) I think I can handle keeping up a blog.

To begin, a quick introduction yeah?
I'm Sierra and my life is pretty much.. average.
Average intelligence, average looks, average talents.
But here's the thing. It's still my life and somehow all of those average, seemingly moments add up to something kind of ... above average.
And I want to keep track of those moments.
So here goes.