The Finals are Coming

Here it is.
The week all students dread:
FINALS WEEK.

It's that week in the semester when BOOM everyone shows up again and you're just sitting in class like "I thought everyone had dropped this class".
It's that time when everyone - students and professors alike - are just so tired that everything is funny. Not seems funny. Is funny.
For example, one of my classmates was tossing an object into the air and catching it during one of our classes. Wasn't bothering anyone. Suddenly our professor turns around and does a double take.
"Is that a hard boiled egg?"
My friend and I started laughing hysterically as our classmate just stared at him.
"No. . . "
"What is that?"
"It's lip balm. . ."
"Oh okay."
"Do you have something against hard hard boiled eggs?"
"I really do not like hard boiled eggs."
"Okay. . ."
Our class was not the same that day.

And here is a haiku about finals:
I can't remember
I learned this four months ago
No no no no no

This is not an overreaction.
Trust me, it is not.

A Pinteresting Tumbl of a Day

I cheated.

This isn't from Pinterest or Tumblr, but it's a little late and too hard to try and incorporate "Quora" into the title of this series, so yeah.

This is basically the coolest thing I've seen all day week month year ever.

And it's people like this that make me wish I'd kept on in math and piano.

Find the whole thread here.

If you won't learn from your own mistakes. . .

. . . at least learn from someone else's.

Namely, MINE.

Okay, freshmen, listen up: no, you don't want to cram your first two years full of gen-ed classes because you don't want to be slammed with whatever classes are required for your major. 

You'll go crazy.

But don't slack on your gen-eds . . . Like I did.

Namely, I was really good in taking my foreign languages while they were still fresh from high school.

I waited about four years to take my math.

I waited about five years to take my sciences.

Ten out of ten would not recommend!

So if you're one of those stubborn people who doesn't learn from your own mistakes, at least learn from mine.

(Oh yes, and I also have to take speech; ironically after I've given the bulk of my class presentations.)

Exit, Pursued by a Bear

I don't know where the stereotype of non-physically active nerds came from, but I really don't think it's true.

For example, I am a nerd.

To an extent.

And I exercise(d).

I mean, I still do, I just haven't in a while for various reasons, among them being shin splints, a cough that won't go away and messes up my pace, and college.

But, as an English major, I don't see why this is.

I mean, one of the greatest physical chase scenes in history was written by Shakespeare:

"Exit, pursued by a bear."

Now, I will be the first to admit that we don't always approach exercise the right way.

Or at least, I don't.

Ever heard of that 10% rule? How you're not supposed to increase your mileage by more than 10% per week?

Well, I basically lived by the 100% rule for about 2 and a half hours once.

5 miles to about 10.5.

Not the brightest thing I've ever done.

But regarding the nerdiness. . .

So I was running down this road that was way longer than I expected it be, and then I realized that it was the longest side of right triangle. The Pythagorean Theorem popped into my mind and I started sorting it out.

As I was running.

As if the cars weren't enough to worry about. . .

Confessions: I pronounce everything wrong.

This is really embarrassing to admit as an English major and a bookish person in general, but I really do butcher the art of the spoken word.

It's the reason I took Spanish instead of French.

French people should thank me for that, because they would have murdered me.

But I seriously am horrendously bad at pronunciation. 

Point en case:

Friend of mine lost her school ID a few months ago, and our decals expire every year.

She got her ID, but then couldn't get a decal for a while, because they moved the office or whatnot.

Well.

She ended up getting a parking ticket - hey, there are only so many "visitor" spots - and mentioned it to me.

I mentioned to her that someone had said that if you didn't pay it, they wouldn't send you a bill or anything.

Then I said, "I guess it makes sense; I mean, they're not city or munsiple police".

She just stopped and stared at me.

"Alyse. Do you mean municipal?"

"Yeah. . . yeah, that's it."

She looked at me and laughed.

"You know what you are? You're one of those people that read a lot but never say the words out loud."

Yes.

Yes, that is exactly what I am.

That, and a dummkopf.

And actually, I can pronounce that right.

Walking in a Winterless Wonderland

And a fall-less wonderland, as well.

For those of you who live in South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, and the like, you understand what I'm saying.

For those of you who live in other parts of America or the world, let me explain.

We have very odd weather here.

It starts warming up in February.

No lie. 

It starts cooling off in October or November.

We basically have no winter.

I'm 21, and I've seen snow once in my life.

It was around Valentine's Day, and I was babysitting about 20-30 minutes away from my house. The kids' grandmother called and asked if we'd noticed the snow.

I got insanely excited -- 17 years old and it was snowing! Woo hoo!

I was really nervous about driving back into town, because I'd never seen snow, and now I had to drive in it? 

The kids' grandfather followed me into town, which was really nice, but then after running around in the snow like a three year old (which my dad described as "typical college kid behavior"), he wanted me to drive around with him.

I was really afraid of just going 'round town for fun, but it actually wasn't that bad, because no one else here knows how to drive in snow, so no one else was about.

Also, in my biology book, the author mentioned a compound - I think some sort of salty stuff - and called it a "deicer". Well, in my limited knowledge of ice and snow, I first assumed it was a fancy French word for something and pronounced "deh-eye-see-yer".

Um, no, it's "de-icer". A thing that melts ice.

Oh.

Well.

Okay.
This also explains why - when test driving a car - I looked in the dash thing-y (the word escapes me at the moment) and saw this really weird looking object.
It looked like a toothless comb.
I showed it to my dad like "What is this thing??"
He laughed and told me to guess.
Apparently it was an ice scraper.
Oh.

First of the Last Days

Oh my . . . that sounded much more bleak and apocalyptic than I meant it to.

What I'm talking about is the first day of classes tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I'm a senior.

It'll be the first day of the last days of my college education.

And while I'm really excited about that, I'm kinda bummed, too.

I feel like I've just hit this point where I'm ready to have a degree and start being a productive member of society, but I feel like I want to do so much more.

I want to go to Europe.

I want to own a salon.

I want to learn fencing.

I want to go to the beaches in Florida.

I want to see snow. (Not in August, obviously, but I do.)

I want to write what I want to write, but I don't know what I want to write.

I guess tomorrow is one step closer to all of that.

Yep, I suppose it is.

Creatures of Habit

Long story short:

my place of work has a mailbox right next to the mailbox for the dentist's office next door.

I walk into work this morning and end up stopping to stare at where the mailboxes used to be.

Key word USED.

Past tense.

Somebody moved them.

Normally that wouldn't be such a big deal. 

Except for one little detail that I'm not sure was missed or deliberately ignored.

They switched the mailboxes around.

Let that sink in for a moment.

. . . sigh. . .

We're all in for some confusing mail calls. . .

When the last final's done. . .

. . . we all like:

No, really.

That's what we do.

Oh, and by the way, I'm officially a senior now.