Not Just Fat and Skinny Anymore

Please forgive any grammatical errors, as I am writing this immediately after it happened and publishing it once I'm done typing. Let's face it; I'm not about to win any awards for most reliable blogger, so I need to get this one posted while it's on my brain.

"I used to think there was just fat and skinny. Apparently there's a lot of things that can be wrong on your body."
-Cady Heron, Mean Girls

I briefly mentioned days off at my job in a previous entry, but the short version is that I don't have a traditional 5 pm Friday - 9 am weekend. In fact, weekends are some of the busiest times where I work. This Saturday was a particularly busy day for me; on top of my regularly scheduled activities, I promised some students I would drop them off at the movie theater for a 9:30 pm movie. I have the distinct privilege of driving the short bus to Walmart on Saturday nights at 7:00 just about every week, and this week was no exception. I made it home around 8:20 pm, struck up a conversation with my coworker Yolanda, and was inspired by our conversation to go wash all of my dishes before I did the movie dropoff. By my calculations, if I didn't do it right then, I wouldn't do it until Monday. (I intend to spend my Sunday--one of my days off--in Shreveport with my fiance.)

Full of determination, I headed to my apartment. I unlocked the door, opened it, turned on the light, and then I saw it: I had a visitor.

Specifically, I had a cockroach.

Being from the South myself, I haven't had a lot of exposure to lands where bugs do not want to be all up in my business. I have come to understand that cockroaches in the South are particularly large and extremely crunchy when stepped on. My experience living in old buildings--particularly residence halls--in the South has taught me that no matter how clean you are, cockroaches still might come for a visit. I did a good job cleaning my kitchen before I left for the summer and still returned to a dead cockroach in my kitchen. I didn't let it ruin my day.

Here's the thing: I don't like to kill bugs, even big ones. I once showered with a cockroach and had one of my coworkers remove him from my shower once I was done. (I told the roach it had to be still, and it complied.) Another time, I put my trash can over a cockroach because the same coworker was watching the Pittsburgh Steelers in the Super Bowl and couldn't immediately come over to make sure the cockroach got safely out of my window. I had to leave the room because the sound of the roach flapping around under my trash can was bothering me.

But I did not kill them.

This night, I didn't know who to call to help me with the roach problem, so I took matters into my own hands: I was going to trap it in a cup and take it outside to play in the bushes. What happened instead, however, is that the roach ran into a crack and hid.

So I broke out a can of disinfectant spray and held the button for a solid ten seconds. If you've ever seen Night at the Roxbury, it was a lot like the bathroom scene , except with disinfectant instead of hairspray. If you haven't seen Night at the Roxbury, start this video at around 0:06.

Then, I not only washed my dishes, but I mopped my kitchen. I took the students to the movies, and when I returned, I mopped my bathroom. And I vacuumed. And I sanitized a bunch of surfaces.

Fast forward to room check (after I have returned with the crowd from the movies, of course), which is at midnight on Friday and Saturday nights. I enter one of my suites, and Belle flings her door open. She is wearing a towel. Some students are more comfortable hanging out in towels/their underwear than others, but Belle is not one who I have ever seen wearing just a towel. Something must be up.

"KIM?!" she says.
The roach is still on my mind.
"What is it? Do you have a roach?"
Her eyes grow wide.
"What? No! IS THERE A ROACH??!"
"No. I mean yes. Well, there was.  But he might be outside now. I don't know. But it's okay. You don't have a roach. There's no roach in your room."
"There's a roach in [our building]??? I am going to [the boys' building] tonight!"
"No you're not! Also, you know where there are more roaches than [our building]?"
In unison, including her suitemate Anne who witnessed this conversation: "Outside."

After we straighten out the roach dilemma, Anne says, "Hers aren't attached."
"Nooo!" Belle exclaims.

Apparently, they were discussing ear lobes. Someone pointed out that Belle's ear lobes are attached, and she was  looking for other people with attached ear lobes. I was no help.

I told her that I think she's beautiful, and I never even noticed that her ear lobes were attached...not that attached ear lobes are a defect in the first place. Then, I spewed out a story my sorority sister Tiffany told me about some woman on a show called "Sex Sent Me to the ER." I didn't even know that was a real show until Tiffany relayed a story about a couple who melted a giant gummy bear (remember my gummy bear love?) and poured it on the woman while it was so hot that she burned off a layer of skin. YIKES. I told her that burned off skin was a defect, not attached ear lobes.

At that point, I knew I should probably just stop talking and go to bed, so I finally asked, "Do you feel better about any of this, Belle?" to which she replied, "Yes," and I left the suite satisfied that I hadn't totally failed at my job for the night.

Cady was correct; things were much simpler when it was just fat and skinny.

Sometimes This Isn't Just Like Mean Girls

We have an intercom system in our building used for all of the important things our students need to know: announcing pizza deliveries, finding students who forgot to sign in, and letting everyone know there will be a male on the hall.  I'm actually shocked I've never posted about the drama that comes with this intercom; a few years ago, there was a meeting about the intercom and how the staff could make it less annoying and excessive.  Even I don't like the intercom all that much sometimes. I can't stand getting buzzed on the intercom right when I am in the middle of a nap or when someone needs something and I literally just took off my pants. Even worse is in the summer when we have camps in our building and the staff gets on the intercom every two seconds about pizza or something else camp related. It's one of the biggest love-hate things about my job, but I understand why we have it.

Among the aforementioned announcements is the dreaded laundry announcement:  "If you have laundry in the washers on 1st West or 3rd West, you need to come get it. All of the washers are full, and people need to do laundry." My former co-worker Lisa used to call herself the Laundry Ghost and threaten to take the laundry and hide it if people didn't claim it in a reasonable amount of time.

Laundry announcements don't generally affect me because I do laundry at my boyfriend's house where the washer is large and the cost is...free. Today was one of the rare times I did laundry at work, however, and I was pleased to find this sign taped to a dryer after I couldn't find my own clothes in washer A:

The note at the bottom reads,  "By the way, a button was loose in the washer. We left it above this sign on top. Have a lovely day/night/evening."

What a pleasant surprise! I am pretty excited about having my laundry paid for rather than being griped at over the intercom for leaving it in the laundry room too long. Sometimes, this isn't just like Mean Girls.

Gummy Bears in Real Life

About two months ago, I decided I wanted to train for and run the Chicago Marathon. I am running with the American Brain Tumor Association's Team Breakthrough, and I am so excited! (Shameless plugs for my fundraising/story page and progress blog.) One thing I have loved about getting fit and fly from training besides the little line I am getting on my arm from baby weight training and the shrinkage in my waist is hydrating. I LOVE drinking water now. I want to drink water all the time. Sometimes, I crave Crystal Light; when I am most vulnerable, I have a Cheerwine over ice. (SO GOOD.)

Anyway, the point is that I like to drink water. Hydration is sexy.

But it hasn't always been this way for me.

Back in college, I had great intentions to drink water that always ended with half-consumed glasses of water on my desk and half-consumed bottles of water in every sorority tote bag I owned. (The total was somewhere around 514.) One day, I decided I'd had enough and gave myself a new strategy: I would put candy at the bottom of my water bottles to make me drink the whole thing. Not just any candy, though: Haribo gummy bears. Since my goal was to drink water, not to lose weight or eat less candy, my trick was acceptable and, more importantly, worked! When I started carrying my colorful beverages to my classes, people quickly asked questions. The responses were varied, but my friend Jill and I eventually split the cost of a 5 pound bag of Haribo gummy bears to help us survive and stay hydrated through the stresses of second semester of senior year.

While cleaning/reorganizing last night, I found some of my favorite Haribo gummy bears and decided to throw them in a water bottle for old time's sake. Tonight, I am eating water-soaked gummy bears while working the desk. A few girls have asked what I am eating and gone on with their lives, but one of my particularly vocal seniors (the "KFC is for fat white people!" girl) asked what they were, so I offered her a taste. She fished one out of the bottle, took a bite, and exclaimed, "This really IS soaked in water!"

I gave her a look, and she said "I thought they were soaked with vodka." I responded with a sarcastic, "Yeah, because I'd bring that to the desk."

Her reply? "Yeah, but you know people soak them in vodka in real life, right?"

Bless Her Heart, She's Not From Around These Parts...

Because my job is not quite the traditional 9 to 5, Monday through Friday gig, I don't have a traditional weekend. Instead, I have two days off, one of which is Tuesday. On most Tuesdays, I go out of town and am not around for the adventures of Tuesday night. Most recently, Tuesday nights have become the nights for the fire alarm to go off in the building. This may or may not have something to do with the fact that one of my co-workers cooks for her hall on Tuesday and tends to go above and beyond my efforts of bacon and ice cream. Nevertheless, Tuesdays are eventful nights around here, and this week was no exception. In fact, our facilities person reports that this was the first time he'd ever known about this particular event happening at our school.

This week, we found a snake.

Source: http://rebloggy.com/post/food-snake-spaghetti-snakes-zeus-ball-python/35779102538

Specifically, my coworker Courtney found it. Now bless her heart, but Courtney is not from around these parts and Louisiana has brought its own set of challenges to her in the form of roaches, mice, and what we even once thought might be a roach-mouse. She came to us at the beginning of August from the great state of Michigan, and she has been quite the trooper. In addition to surviving the ridiculous August heat of our fair city, this poor girl has had more "hall visitors" than anyone else in the building. No matter what, she is a champion.

Since I was not on campus Tuesday night, I don't know exactly how it went down, but I'm pretty sure this is what happened:

• Courtney sees the snake and hopes and prays someone just lost a shoe string.
• It's not a shoe string. 
• Or spaghetti. 
• Definitely a snake.
• Courtney runs down her hall to the desk, flailing her arms and screaming "AHHHHHHH! IQUITIQUITIQUIT!!!!!!" the whole way.
• Kristy, another of our co-workers, is at the desk and begs Courtney not to quit but refuses to actually go out and look at the snake.
• One of them calls our facilities person for instruction.
• The instruction is to call the campus police to remove the snake.
• My coworkers cower in the back while the bold police officers carry the snake away in some kind of container.
• The day is saved.
• Hopefully, that snake is really far away from our building.

Of course, most of this is just my interpretation since I wasn't there and have only heard stories. 

After I returned from my math class this morning (boasting a 100 on my Geometry/Accelerated College Algebra exam, might I add), Nurse Mary, our beloved school nurse, was hanging out at the desk doing her regular Friday medicine counts and being generally awesome. Somehow, the subject of the snake came up, and Nurse Mary gave us her thoughts on the police taking the snake back outside. Nurse Mary is a wise woman full of great advice, and I felt it needed to be shared:

"Next time there's a snake, y'all call me. I'll send it to snake heaven. I would beat it to death, you bet your bottom dollar. I might be screaming the whole time I'm doing it, but I would beat it to death. It may live if it stays outside, but if it comes inside, it's going out in a body bag."

Also, a little throwback for the old people like me:

Badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger 

Mushroom Mushroom 

Badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger 

Mushroom Mushroom 

Badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger

Mushroom Mushroom 

Badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger 

Mushroom Mushroom 

Badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger badger 

A big ol' snake - snake a snake oh it's a snake

Bacon and Ice Cream

I was surprised to realize yesterday that I hadn't posted a single thing this month, but February has just flown by! We had a well-deserved week off for Mardi Gras break in the middle, but I am not sure where the rest of the time has gone. I also realized yesterday that there have been no Senior Sneakouts or particularly wacky programs this month, so I guess that explains some of my silence. Fortunately, we ended the month with a bang.

Thursdays used to be big nights on my hall. We called them 2 West Thursdays last year (it's alliterative, y'all) and SWAG Night this year, and it's basically a night where my peer mentor leads the efforts in preparing some sort of late night snack for the hall. Sometimes it is as basic as grilled cheese or pancakes, but more formal nights have included taco night (meat, cheese, tortillas, and all the dressings) and even a wine and cheese wannabe party complete with every type of cheese my task force and I could think of, as well as enough sparkling grape juice for a six year-old to point at me in the checkout line and say to his dad, "That lady is buying a lot of wine." (The dad's response? "That's sparkling grape juice; she's not a wino.")

While I was working the front desk Wednesday afternoon and pondering what to make for this week's SWAG night, one of my students walked up to ask a question. After answering her, I asked a question of my own: "What should I cook for the hall tomorrow?" Without missing a beat, she responded "Bacon and ice cream."

Source: http://www.cookdays.com/ice-cream/how-about-bacon-ice-cream/

At first thought, I wasn't terribly excited about or impressed with the idea, but the more I thought about it, the more excited I became. Last night at room check, I told everyone about the event, and explained excitedly, "You can have bacon and ice cream, or just bacon, or just ice cream!!!!!!!!" The responses ranged from strange glares to moderate excitement about either bacon or ice cream all the way to being almost as excited as I was.

Since I drive the short bus to Walmart every Thursday evening, I waited until tonight to purchase the materials. I left with three half-gallons of Blue Bell Neapolitan and five pounds of bacon. I typically buy the generic gallon of cheap ice cream, but I was a big spender tonight and bought Blue Bell. My hall appreciated it, and it made a difference in the level of awesomeness at the event.  In fact, several of my girls are on the newspaper staff and were there with a camera photographing the event so they can document it in the next edition of the newspaper. I can hardly wait. The verdict?

Bacon and Ice Cream Night is pretty darn awesome.

My girls ate every last bit of the ice cream, and I saw many of them putting their bacon in the ice cream and eating them together. I think this must be the way biological mothers feel when their kids score the game-winning points in a sport. The ice cream ran out before I could finish room inspection, but one of my students allowed me to dip my bacon in her ice cream, and I liked it.

If loving bacon and ice cream is wrong, I don't wanna be right.

There is more to this story, but I need pictures. Stay tuned.

YOLO

On Monday nights, my office hours are from 10:00 pm until midnight. They are not usually very exciting, so I often take that time to research dental insurance options, play Candy Crush Saga and/or Farmville 2, or talk on the phone. This week, I was on the phone when Connor stopped in my door frame as she often does.

"Kim, have you ever heard of the saying YOLO?"
Thinking I might just score some hip points, I smiled and said, "Yeah, I have."
"Do you know what it means?"
"You Only Live Once, right?" Boom. Got Her.
"Right! So...you should take me to Dairy Queen."

Normally, I would definitely not go on an after curfew run without it being Senior Sneakout, but Connor really got me with the YOLO logic. (What she doesn't know is that it will never work again.)

I looked at the clock on my computer, and it was somewhere around 10:56 pm.  I know for a fact that Dairy Queen is not open after 11:00 pm, so I bargained with her and told her we could get ice cream from McDonald's, the only place in town I can think of that keeps its lobby open after 11:00 before Thursday night. She accepted my offer and invited her roommate, Morgan, along.

Dressed for success (or in our hanging at the dorm clothes...whatever) we loaded up into the Party Van, a silver Dodge Caravan, and struck out on a quest for ice cream and French fries. Despite the fact that I ate a filling dinner of steak, broccoli, and loaded mashed potatoes at Chili's earlier in the evening, I couldn't resist the thought of a McDouble or some chicken nuggets...so I got both. Why? YOLO. (Just FYI, YOLO apparently trumps any and all fast food breaks and three-meals-a-day logic.)

After some good food and conversation, we headed back to campus with no fewer than four bags of food for our comrades back at the mansion. Morgan requested that we listen to some rap music, so I turned to our local crunk station and found some jams. As we were pulling onto campus, a song they were particularly fond of came on, but they weren't sure what it was. Fortunately for us, I have Shazam on my ancient iPhone (take that, Connor!) and discovered within seconds that it was "Dope" by Tyga featuring Rick Ross. The girls decided they were going to go home and download it to jam in their rooms. Morgan even commented that she hoped their suitemates like the song, presumably because they were going to blast it.

Woah. Hold up. TEACHABLE MOMENT TIME!

Before room check, I had to ask Morgan to turn her music down and threaten her with taking her speakers away. When she mentioned blasting "Dope," I reminded her of my earlier threat to take her speakers away. Slightly distraught, she exclaimed, "Kim, it's either my music or drugs!"

I guess I don't want to find out what happens if I take away her speakers, but then again...YOLO.

"You Don't Even Have an iPhone."

I have a dry erase board directly outside of my bedroom door, and I really like having it there because it makes communicating messages for everyone just a little easier for me. Most of the time, however, I don't have anything important written on it, and my girls like to write/draw things on the board when they walk by.

Wednesday evening after my desk shift and before my evening run (this is becoming a thing, I promise), I went up to my room to change into workout clothes and saw one of my students portrayed in black and white with a comment about how her eyes looked like boobs, and I erased it and went about my day.

Sometime after room check, however, my board looked like this:

That's right, "I HEART TITS." I don't know if the artist was referring to birds or breasts, but based on the recent theme of my board, I went with the latter. While I have no problem with my students professing their adoration for "tits," I do not think my dry erase board is the proper venue, so I erased the message...but not before taking a picture of the board.

Photographing the art involved standing in my doorway with my iPhone 3GS aimed at the board (Go on, hate on me. I like my slightly outdated phone.) As I was attempting to take the picture, Connor walked by sporting her typical evening attire (or lack thereof) and asked, "Kim, are you taking selfies?" (That's what the kids call self portraits these days.) I told her I wasn't, but she insisted that we take a few. I attempted to do the thing where I hold out my arm and take the picture, but my former collegiate, sorority-mixing self couldn't quite take a picture that (a) was not blurry and (b) had both of us in the frame. Slightly frustrated, she pulled me into my bathroom and showed me how to take one in the mirror. (For anyone who's wondering: 1. Stand in front of the mirror. 2. Looking at the reflection of your phone, center the subject(s) in the frame. 3. Smile at the lens of the camera in your phone...not at your reflection in the mirror. 4. Take the picture. 5. Admire how great you look and discuss to whom you ought to send the selfie.)

After our brief photography session, I updated the board with a little message from me:

Ladies,
Please stop writing synonyms for "breast" on this board, and refrain from drawing boobs as well. Happy Thursday!
Love, Kim

As I was writing, Rebecca was in the hallway talking to one of her ex-boyfriends about something I didn't quite overhear. Connor, a loud and proud Blackberry owner, walked up to her and said, "Dude, Kim's iPhone is so old it doesn't even have a front-facing camera. Tell her how crazy that is,"  to which Rebecca responded, "You don't even have an iPhone."

I promptly thanked Rebecca for sticking up for me and headed down the hall to silence some girls who were laughing loudly at what I later learned was the Doritos "Goat 4 Sale" commercial. When I walked back by Rebecca, I heard her ask, "But you know you're an asshole, right?"

I can only hope the person on the other end responded in the affirmative. There's really just no other answer to that question.