My Life is Going Great Right Now

Well, just as the whole "not gonna graduate" thing seemed like it was taken care of, and my life was getting back in order, I have another blow to deal with. Yesterday, before going to Target for a little Saturday afternoon shopping, I dug into my desk drawer to get some of the cash my father had so kindly given me to finish off the semester. Yet, when I looked in my hiding spot, it was gone. $100 dollars missing from my desk drawer, coincidentally (or not) the day after I noticed my phone charger was absent from the room.

Since then, I have been searching EVERYWHERE for these two items. I have devoted pretty much all my time towards finding them. Since I am broke and phoneless, and therefore can't go anywhere, its all I really could do. I have emptied my drawers, rummaged behind my desk, and checked all my bags, pockets, and even my shoes. Nothing. I've had zero luck.

So what does this mean? DId someone actually come into our room and go into my desk looking for cash? When could they have done it? Why would they have chosen MY room? Or did someone else who lives here--or someone they invited in--do the dirty work? Well, I just don't think they could be that coldhearted, or more importantly, that stupid to steal from their roommate. I haven't been able to get any info from my roommates since they are both home for the weekend, but I hope I can get some answers soon.

Most of all, I hope I can get my money back, because I was really depending on it, and I really appreciated my Dad giving it to me. My old man doesn't often just hand over bundles of cash, so when he did, I vowed to make it last til the end of the semester. Now, I have to let him know it didn't even last one week.

Whoever did this is just down right mean. It's that simple. I could go on and on blasting their character, cursing their souls, and using every profanity I know, but when it comes down to it, the person is just plain mean. They didn't just steal from me, they hurt me. And no amount of words can describe what I think of them.

Because my school shares a coordinate psych department with the College of Mount Saint Vincent, I take several of my classes at their campus about two miles away. Manhattan runs a shuttle bus there, but, since its been warm, I often choose to walk at least one way or the other. Its good exercise, and it doesnt take me that much more time since I often have to wait for the bus anyways. But, even more so, its an extremely pleasant walk. Though MC is technically in the Bronx, it falls right on the edge, just next to the beautiful suberb of Riverdale. Its a fairly wealthy area, filled with large homes and plush yards, yet pretty unassuming also. On Riverdale Ave., one of the neighborhood's main streets, there are often people walking around, mothers pushing their young children in strollers, elderly couples out for some afternoon sunshine, and business men on their way to the nearby deli for lunch.

I walked home today after class, and it was incredibly uplifting. After a long winter and a rainy month so far, it was nice seeing people out on the streets, smiling, laughing, and talking to those they pass. Normally I take Riverdale Ave and then turn down to Broadway, but today I took the back route, walking along the Henry Hudson to the residential areas nearby. The houses there are gorgeous, and everything so quiet. Its hard to believe that just a half a mile away lies busy Broadway, filled with street vendors, honking taxis, and the obnoxiously loud subway.

I love that I can have both here in my part of the Bronx. I love that walking down one street, there is the hectic lifestyle typical of New York City, and on another its like any small town. I love the diversity of the people-- Black, Hispanic, Asian, Jewish Orthodox. I love the family owned delis, Irish pubs, and small grocers-- but thank God there's three Dunkin Donuts in walking distance so I can get my iced coffees. Its a perfect balance, made for someone like me, so incredibly fickle and unsure of what they want.

I'll miss this when I graduate. I've said it a million times, but I will in no way miss the papers, the exams, and the 8 am labs that have filled my college career. I am sick, sick, sick of school and ready to try something else for awhile. But I will miss Riverdale, and if I ever have the money, I would gladly live here some day. I just hope it retains its charm for the 100 years it will take me to afford a house in this zipcode. But for now I guess I will just have to enjoy it while Im here, and hope for the best in the future.

My Living Nightmare

Well here I thought that if I wasn't going to graduate, it would be because of my own stupidity and laziness. Yet, it turns out it may not be my fault. I got an email today from my academic dean, a woman I'd never even met, informing me that I'm three credits short of graduating. Although I was told NUMEROUS times in Spain that I was taking enough courses to receive the standard 15 credits, it turns out it was all a lie. Now they are trying to tell me that the courses fell short several hours to receive full credit. I can still walk, although I had no interest or intention in doing so, but technically I can't receive a diploma, the one thing I actually want. In order to do so, I will need to go through another semester, all for one lousy course.

Normally, I think im pretty good under pressure, and, when dealing with others, I keep a cool head. After working in the restaurant business, I know how awful it is to be yelled at by people, especially when its not your fault. Today I was not calm. Today I was VERY, VERY angry. After going to see Dianna, my advisor, I yelled between tears about the ridiculousness of the situation, claiming that it was complete "garbage" and "utterly unacceptable" that they would inform me of this now, a month before graduation. She tried to appease me by saying the dean was willing to award me one more credit, meaning I'd only need two to graduate. Seeing as this still necessitates that I take another course, you could see why I told her that meant complete shit to me.

The anger I feel about this whole situation is indescribable. I am a 3.8 student, on the dean's list, who has fulfilled every requirement thus far in a timely and appropriate manner. To find out that after three and a half years, NOW something is going to keep me from graduating, something that is clearly not my fault, but the error of the negligent and irresponsible administration, is infuriating. My parents too are livid, and for once I am happy that my mom is the kind of irrational psychopath who will threaten to "drive up there and sit in the President's office until he fixes things or (she) is going to write to every single donor on their list telling them what a horrible school Manhattan College is". And, trust me, my mom loves a fight that much that she is willing to risk her job to take off work and drive to New York for her own personal protest.

So on top of my already immeasurable senioritis, I have this distraction to keep me from doing my work. Even if this problem is fixed, I may not graduate seeing as I can't bring myself to do anything after hearing this incredible news. I sat in the library today, trying desperately to work on a paper that's due on Thursday. In over three hours, all I got done were two paragraphs. I spent most of that time answering phone calls from my parents and checking my email for any updates. By the time I had calmed down, I was too tired to do anything else, seeing as I only got about 5 hours of sleep last night.

You see, on top of my academic issues, I have two of the most self-centered roommates ever. Last night, they invited people to our room to pre-game, an event that happens at least twice a week. In the beginning, I tried to be cool about it, hoping the parties would be less frequent further into the semester. But, no, they have not waned, and I often have 5-10 people in our room several nights a week.

Last night was my favorite though. By 12 o'clock, when I was ready to go to bed, I told my roommate Morgan I was tired, and asked when people would be leaving. She answered that she was going to Fenwick's shortly after, and that she was sure Tara, my other roommate, and their friends would quiet down. Now, I know my question was rather passive aggressive, but I think it was clear that I wanted people out. Our room is set up similar to a studio apartment, with just a small "half-wall" between the bedroom-- no door, just a flimsy curtain on a shower pole. Trying to sleep with 6 or 7 people playing drinking games just 15 feet away is not undesirable, its impossible.

Around 1, though, I let out a sigh of relief when everyone left the room. Within minutes I fell asleep, exhausted from a busy day. However, just an hour or so later, the party returned and I was made wide awake. Turns out everyone had just gone outside to smoke, and were now ready to return. I shut my eyes and tried to swallow my anger, but sweet relief would not come. Finally, by 2:20 I got up and told Tara I wanted everyone out. Gratifying to say, but not very helpful, since I was now wide awake and still agitated. It wasn't until at least 4 when I finally fell asleep, after Morgan stumbled back from the bar, stomped through the room, tried to rouse Tara from the peaceful slumber she so easily fell into, and yelled out my bedside window to her friend below.

I live in a nightmare. A nightmare that, after today-- after reaching my breaking point-- I will no longer allow. There will be no more parties in this room. I'm making sure everyone is out by 11 so I can go to sleep. I will not be kept awake all night so that I must rely on several cups of coffee to make it through class the next day. If I'm not graduating this semester, it'll be because I won the lottery or because I'm running away with Jake Gyllenhaal. It will NOT be because I was too tired from someone else's parties to do my work, and surely NOT because my asshole dean won't give me the credits I deserve. I'm not going to let that happen.




That felt REALLY good to get out of my system. Good night, everyone. Here's hoping I actually get some sleep tonight.

When I went to bed last night, the rain was just starting, a light drizzle that my knit sweater, held above my head, could protect me from. This morning, I awoke to near-darkness and the noise coming from our window air conditioner told me the rain had picked up.

Now, after checking weather.com, as I do religiously, i find out its going to be raining pretty much all week: Tonight, heavy rain; Monday, showers; Tuesday, showers; Wednesday, cloudy (what a relief!); and Thursday, what else, showers. Then, after a so-so weekend, it'll be back to mostly cloudy weather.

On a day like today, when you want to do nothing but lye around anyways, i dont mind the rain. I snuggle up under a blanket, watch tv, and eat way too much. For one weekend day, its not so bad. But theres nothing I hate more than a rainy weekday--walking from class to class, trying to keep hold of your umbrella, the bottom of your paints soaked to your knees from deceptively deep puddles. And that's when I can even make myself get out of bed. Mostly I don't want to do ANYTHING. I have your classic case of Seasonal Depression. Cold and/or rainy weather makes me miserable: I have zero motivation, Im tired, and Im cranky. I go on an all Skittles diet, daydream about my grade school school bus, and lie in bed with my Barbie coloring book, just to degrade myself later for the poor quality of my artwork. If I lived in Seattle, I would be a complete psycho. Or at least more so than I already am.

I'm gonna try to hang in there this week but it's definitely gonna be tough, and I'm probably not gonna be a person im proud of. So if anyone has any prozac, please send them to me, in large doses, because its looking like its going to be a LONG few days, and I really don't want the authorities coming to take me away for listening to One Sweet Day on repeat for 48 straight hours. So any donations, anything you have, would be greatly appreciated.

Gym Rules

When you enter the fitness center at my school, there are several rules printed out on the entry door: sneakers must be worn, no food allowed, wipe down equipment when finished. You know the stuff. But after this semester, I think they need to add a few more rules, rules that should go unsaid, but clearly need to be reiterated amongst the Manhattan College community. If I had my way, these would be some of the guidelines on the gym door:


1) No Cell Phones! Ok, its one thing if you pick up your phone as you're pulling on your jacket and sweatpants, but its an entirely different thing to be using it while walking on the treadmill. Not only is it incredibly bizarre that one feels the need to talk on the phone that badly, but, even worse, you are abusing your time on the treadmill. The other day I watched a girl walk on the treadmill for 10 or 15 minutes while on the phone. I thought she was just lazy and a halfassed exerciser, but then, I find out this wasn't even her workout. She was waiting to hang up before she pumped up the speed and started her run. There's only 10 treadmills in this place, people, and only 5 functioning ones, so you better start running and then get the hell off. I'm stuck over here on the exercise bike because you need to talk to Jenna about next weeks sorority meeting? I don't think so, sister.

2) While in the fitness center, liquids should be confined to water and sports drinks only. Last week I watched a girl on the treadmill who, unlike the aforementioned individual, was actually busting her ass. She was running at a speed I could only dream of reaching, and it looked like she was doing it with ease. I was truly impressed. That is, until I looked at her cup-holder and saw she was drinking a cup of coffee as she ran. Ok, sometimes I'll have a little coffee a half an hour before a run to give myself some energy, but WHILE working out? That's entirely different. The thought of it alone makes me want to vomit. Coffee is for Starbucks, water is for the gym. I dont think theres anything else that needs to be said.

3) No street clothes. Ok, this one is actually on the list of rules already, but apparently others have a misguided opinion of what "street clothes" entails. When I go to the gym, I wear a t-shirt and sweatpants. If I'm feeling particularly sexy, I might switch up that ratty tee for a ratty tank-top. But I do not wear full makeup, a baseball cap, or Uggs. These are not gym wear. First off, no one's taking your picture, so you can wipe off the makeup, Paris. And baseball caps should not be worn during indoor physical activity. They are BASEBALL caps, as in that sport played under the glaring sun. I know the florescent lights in here are bright, but the rest of us are seeming to manage just fine, chief. And the Uggs? You're on an elliptical, not climbing in the Andes. Lose em.

4) When working out, your appearance should be equivalent to energy exerted. Disregarding the heavy makeup hoes, I am still astounded by the perfect appearances of many girls at the gym. I don't know how they do it, but so many manage to walk out after an hour and a half workout with perfect hair, not a single sweat mark, and nothing more than a "healthy glow". I, on the other hand, walk out smelling to high heavens, with my hair falling out of my lopsided ponytail, and my face so red that I think people consider calling the paramedics for me. My appearance is nothing less than offensive. So how do these other girls look so cute? Well, honestly, I don't care. I just want it to stop, because its making me look like a pig.

5) No grunting. We get it, guy, youre lifting a lot of weight, and it must be really tough. Im impressed by your manliness, really. But youre not in labor, so lets keep the volume to a minimum, because not even the Black Eyed Peas full-blast on my ipod is drowning out your hideous groans.


I know I may have voiced my opinion rather roughly, probably too roughly for Manhattan College to display these exact rules, but I really don't think this is too much to ask. If we could all just act like we're in a gym and not in a club, I think the atmosphere would improve greatly. And if anyone else sees these people in their gyms, do me a favor and push them off their machine.

The Lunch Switch

**Another section from my multi-genre because I'm too busy (and lazy) to update my blog**


The Lunch switch at the Harbor Grill is always the hardest time of day. Seemingly all at once, customers abruptly stand up from their tables as they finish their meals, inadvertently whacking their shopping bags, and strollers, and luggage into the abundance of servers already clogging the thin aisles of the restaurant, all fighting for precious room to move about as I struggle to carry dirty dishes soiled with half-eaten omelets, globs of ketchup, soggy homefries, and toast smeared with sticky purple jelly that always ends up on my hands, and clothing, and somehow my face just as people are lining up at the hostess stand asking me for breakfast, when I've already brought out the lunch menus with strict directions to seat only those here for lunch, yet they all still moan, "but they're eating breakfast why can't we?" pointing like little children at a table that sat down an hour ago, at 10:30, when we were still serving breakfast and I still had an ounce of sanity and pride, back when I hadn't bussed 25 tables and crawled on my hands and knees in my nice white pants to pick up dirty napkins, and sugar packets, and torn pieces of paper once used to hold together the silverware rollups I spent all morning assembling; back when I hadn't dealt with customers who were too hot, too cold, waiting too long, paying too much; before I realized I never should have gone out last night, never should have drank two glasses of wine, five beers, two--no, wait three--shots because now my head hurts and my hands are shaking so that every tray I carry trembles and Rick laughs at me from aside even though he was the one force-feeding me socos and limes, making me destroy my life, convincing me it was a good idea—though, trust me, it seemed like one at the time—until I found myself here, now, with the worst hangover of my life, stuck in my idea of hell, swearing I'll never drink again even though I'm secretly craving a strong shot of tequila just to make this unbearable lunch switch just a tiny bit tolerable, just to make it all go away.

What is Our World Coming To?

Shooting at Nickelodeon Awards After-Party

AP
LOS ANGELES (April 1) - Shots were fired at a party attended mostly by teenagers early Sunday following the Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards, wounding three people, and police said they suspected gang members were involved.


The party in the western part of the city was thrown by someone who had attended the awards, but it was not an official Nickelodeon function and had no celebrity guests, police Lt. Roger Deranian said.

No arrests had been made by Sunday morning, police said.

The shooting occurred at about 12:30 a.m. at a drapery store rented for the party, which drew about 200 young people, Deranian said.

At least one person opened fire with an automatic weapon on the crowd after a group of five was denied entry, he said.

The three victims were hit below the waist and did not face life threatening injuries, he said. They were taken to a hospital.

The annual awards show for the children's television cable channel aired live Saturday and was hosted by Justin Timberlake .






Honestly, when did Nickelodeon become so hardcore? I thought that all violence on the channel was strictly slime related. When the Source Awards and Nickelodeon start having this much in common you know there is something seriously wrong with our country. When I was younger the scariest thing about Nickelodeon was Are You Afraid of the Dark?, a pretty awesome show might I add. Whats next? Is Raven Symone gonna be caught in a threesome with the twins from Big Daddy? Or is Jaime Lynn Spears gonna take after her sister and show up to next year's awards pantiless? Dear Lord, lets hope not. I think this is all the direct result of getting rid of Snick. I think an easy solution would be to bring back Clarrisa Explains It All and call it a night. I mean lets be honest, do you think Melissa Joan Hart has anything better to do? I didn't think so.