I’m up at twelve/I LIVE on the EDGE.

The only reason I’m awake rather than asleep right now is because I thought I’d get a head start in the laundry that has been sitting in the corner of my room since Sunday. Now my laundry is happily spinning in the basement, being rid of a plethora of foul smells and spills. In eighteen minutes, or at 12:48 AM, I will make my second trip down to the laundry machines to switch out my wet, clean clothes into a dryer, where they will become slightly less damp. It troubles me that I must pay for such dismal service, but if I don’t want my jeans smelling like yesterday’s half-digested burrito, this must be done on a weekly basis. Usually, it’s three bucks a week without separating the whites from the colors, but today it’s most likely going to cost me $4.50. Three bucks a week multiplied by around eighteen weeks is almost 60 dollars. That’s sixty dollars I’m paying for a service that doesn’t do much in the way of either cleaning or drying. To be perfectly honest, I think it’s a service that should just be added into the tuition.

Well, today was fun. Started off by waking up at ten thirty, and going to brunch with friends in the dining hall 4 floors below me. I had my Saturday bagelomelettewich, with bacon, American cheese, and mushrooms. Then I read some more of Tempest, staying awake by the power of caffeine. Then, after a shower, the same group of friends and I made our way to south dining hall, which turned out to be a mistake, since, not having been outside for the whole day, we didn’t have the knowledge that it was in fact freezing outside. The night degenerated into us just lounging about in one of our rooms and channel-switching on the TV. I also had a burrito at the Student Union, a choice which I am regretting now; my stomach feels awful, and I am in a room that smells like rotten eggs. Febreze is just about the only thing that is keeping me from choking to death on expelled body odors.

Ah crap. I’m really tired right now, and my laundry won’t be done till 2 AM.

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Friday Late Night.

As much as I’ve come to enjoy UConn while I’ve been here, the late night activities continue to be…almost childish. It’s unfortunate, since late night is the only activity aside from clubs that UConn provides for those who don’t party. Yet when I went to late night last night, the only good thing was the food, and I wasn’t hungry. I wandered around the Union with my friends for about 20 minutes, and in those 20 minutes, I realized that there really aren’t many activities provided. There are about three activities along the hallway to the movie theater, and that’s about it. The reason for this is probably ergonomics. The lines are long and winding. Seeing them acts as a deterrent to those who want to enjoy late night, but either have a tight schedule, or who simply don’t want whatever it is late night is providing enough to wait in a line that could last a half an hour or more. We’re all college students, adults almost, and upon visiting late night, we are given activities that could have been placed in a middle school. I understand that late night occurs every Friday, and right now, the economic situation isn’t exactly conducive to a late night that could resemble a fair or carnival, but still, it is enough to drive people to stay in their dorms and drink rather than to go to late night and have some mild fun.

That’s all for right now.

Argh,

Isn’t it such a pain in the ass when you know the wireless connection is working, but you’re computer just can’t connect to it for whatever reason? Even after checking and rechecking the WEP password, it still just taunts you with the connection timeout message? Yeah. I hate it too. Luckily there is an ethernet port in the house. Unfortunately it is in the exact opposite corner of the building. Hoo-fuckin-ray.

Pet-related question.

I own a purebred Golden Retriever. I look at all the other GR owners, and their dogs go nuts over a tennis ball. Mine doesn’t, it would rather go fetch it once, and then forget about it, or hunker down and chew on it for the rest of the time I am outside. Perhaps I should have spent more time teaching the whole “fetch” idea. I’ve seen dogs that get their exercise by playing fetch. I just would love to have my dog fetch the fucking ball.

Chihuahua: Rat, or dog?

Let me get my qualifying statement out of the way: This is a one-dog scenario. In fact, chalk this up as a rant, just read for your leisure. If you feel the need to respond, vehemently supporting the miniscule pooches, feel free. Just be easy on the curses.

I was in New Jersey for a couple days, staying over at my aunt’s house. Now, I would have seen my four cousins, had they not been involved with every camp and extra-curricular activities excepting those dealing with the kitchen sink. Hope the punchline got across in the last sentence. Anyway. Moving on. Since no one was home for most of the time, my aunt driving her kids everywhere and my uncle going and doing whatever he does on a Thursday and Friday, I spent most of my time with their two dogs and the wonderfully mute gardener named Gustavo. Knowing the dogs a little better than the worker, I chose the dogs to play with. Naturally.

I don’t have a problem with Tobler, the Boston Terrier. He’s great. His life begins and ends with the tennis ball. It’s not a hard choice when it comes to getting his daily exercize. Just throw the ball with those hand-held catapults, because after twenty minutes, you’re not going to want to touch it. It may not even be the same color by then.

It’s a different ballgame when it comes to Georgie, the Chihuahua. First of all, she doesn’t get it to play much. But that isn’t her worst canine crime. Her worst canine crime is getting Mini-Me’s guard dog addicted to treats. That’s right. No exercise for Georgie, but ounces of doggie treats for the cutest little doggie in the world.

Because of this addiction, the dog is conditioned to think treats are natural occurences. No longer can you make the dog sit, or stay, or roll-over. No. It gets what it wants without having to do anything. I tried to get the rat to sit before it got its treat, which I took from its dog food. Didn’t work. At least she’s not picky, though I wouldn’t be surprised if the dog gets whatever caviar is left on the table at the end of the night.

Then I did something that dog hadn’t gotten in a long while. I gave it some much needed exercise. I got it panting a little. Poor pooch. It had to work a little bit. I brought the rodent sized canine outside into grass which I’m sure got up to its waist with a tennis ball that it seemed to favor. The ball-crazy Boston Terrier was playing siamese twin to Gustavo around the other side of the house, so I didn’t need to worry about him to come around and ruin the fun. To my surprise, Taco Bell started chasing that ball every time I threw it. It had a little trouble getting its finger-digit jaws around the tennis ball, but it scurried after the ball like a rat out of hell, or, more aptly put, bloodhound out of a bus full of sumo wrestlers.

It was amusing. I even laughed a little. I got past my frustration about the treats seeing this ratdog run after a ball that was as tall as its shoulder.

And then I thought of something. What if I had it chase a ball tied to the end of a remote controlled car? That would be worth the price of admission, I think.

Thoughts on my idea?

Just when I thought I had enough drama in my life…

There comes more. So the person who I am rooming with next semester (henceforth known as A) was asked by another person (henceforth known as B) to room with him before I asked A to room with me. So A and I performed the necessary steps to room with eachother behind B’s back. Now, B was not liked alot in the last two semesters, and we had a lot of fun keeping him out of the circle, or insulting him behind his back. This wasn’t only me, it was everyone else on the floor. It didn’t help that he was obnoxious, and often went beyond the limits of social protocol. All this added up to the decision: “Lets not tell B that we’re rooming together”. Besides, he was, quoted verbatim: “supposed to be a residential advisor” the next semester. B was fairly certain about this, and decided not to secure the plans too tightly, or for a better explanation, didn’t call “fives” on A. A hadn’t really been interested in living with B to begin with, and really hadn’t acceded to B’s request, only changed the topic whenever B asked A to room with him.

At that point, it was assumed that A would have to live with B, whether he liked it or not. A truly wanted to live off canmpus with his frat buddies. Everything turns around, though, when at the culmination of a game of assassins, A tears a ligament in B’s leg. Now B holds a grudge over A, with every conversation ending up with some sort of subtle dig at A in regard to B’s condition. Needless to say, this got annoying by the end of the semester. A wasn’t so sure he wanted to room with B. A talked about this to my then room mate, in this case, named Jerry. Jerry tells me late one night that A is looking for a room mate, and that room mate not being neither his previous room mate, who is called Train by some.

Because I really wanted to live with A, I called him that night and said I would live with him. We performed the necessary actions through the DORMLIFE website, and didn’t tell B about it, relying on the hopes that B wouldn’t speak to us over the summer.

To make this even more confusing and awkward than it already is, I was supposed to live with B before all this went down, even though B wanted to live with A.

The climax of this event occured several hours ago, when I receive an IM from B saying: “I didn’t get the C.A. position, so I guess we are living together.” I risk telling him that I am living with someone else. He understands this, actually takes it pretty easy. Then he says: “Well, maybe I’ll pull A into my room.” I am silent, because I don’t know what to say, or how to break it to him, because if I didn’t say anything, or said something random, I would be suspect of either leading him to the notion that I had no intentions of telling him the truth, or being secretive about something crafty. He pushes the conversation to the point where I have no choice but to break it to him that I, in fact, am living with A.

He went nuts, telling me to go fuck myself, and then in a cry of exasperation bordering on the feeling of being duped in a very large way, asks: “I thought we were friends!?”

So there it all is. More drama. Do I just move on, hoping it will all boil over? One friend, Bug, tells me I ought to let it be, and if B doesn’t let it go soon, then he is not a friend worth keeping.

The funny thing is that I am not losing any sleep over this. I am just curious. Because I am not moving back to the room I moved out of. No way.

I’ll get my fifteen minutes of fame somewhere else.

Through some divine intervention, I figured out that I will never have much people reading my stuff on this site, or any of them in particular. I’ve had this blog for about a year, and, to this day, roughly fifty people have looked at it, most likely a passing glance on the way to something more interesting. Perhaps I am simply lazy, but I don’t have enough creative juices to write something every week. College had plenty to do with that, but a large part goes to the rather unrewarding result of posting. I’ve been told I write well, or at least my prose is easy on the eyes, but blogging is simply unrewarding. I signed up for this site thinking that, perhaps, I could start a graphic novel. Do you know how much motivation it takes to start a project like that, besides the fact that the artist has to perfect the face each time in every frame? And if there is more than one person in the plot, the faces would have to be distinct enough to be separated from the protagonist. God forbid if there were animals.

I am not saying I cannot draw well enough to encompass what I have described. It just takes a long time, and I get sidetracked. Something simple gets complex. I risk trying something different, and end up with sometihng I didn’t intend to have. Now, that is just annoying when it comes down to graphic novelling. One might have a picture in mind, but can’t get it down onto paper, regardless of how clear the image is in his head. It is such a pain in the ass. Sometimes I feel that my eyes are bigger then my hands. I can think of an awesome pose, but can’t put it down on the paper.

Speaking of paper, that’s what I would have to use. I can’t get used to my tablet enough so that it makes clean lines. My macbook monitor is too small for keeping an eye on the overall size of the picture, so it is VERY easy to have the details down, but the proportions awful. So it is paper until I make enough money to purchase a Cintiq.

As I said, I am also in college. It provides enough distraction so that nothing, aside from assignments, get finished. Has anyone noticed that when they get assigned a book to read, they will read nothing outside the curriculum? I read almost fifteen books my first semester, and in my second semester, I read four, because I had an English class.

Now where was I? It seems I was sidetracked. The goal of this post was to say that, obviously, I will have to attain my fifteen minutes of fame outside the cyberspace, because I simply have too much of a life to grab one here.