Amish Cars

Weeeeee! Look at this new site! That's pretty neat, yeah? Yeah. It is. I kind of feel like I have to introduce myself or something, but I'm not going to do that. Actually, the fact that this is the intro for this post is a pretty good indicator that I can't think of an intro for this post.

A few months ago, my sister got a new car. There are two things wrong with that statement - 1. I don't actually know how much time has passed since she got this car, and 2. It's not actually a new car. It was a salvaged title, but when it comes to cars, 'new," to me, means, "different than the previous one," which this car is. Actually, there was no previous car... Um... My sister got a car a while ago. It's a pretty nice car. She named it Alfred, and it's black. I don't know what kind of car it is other than a black car. Named Alfred. Like I said, it's pretty nice, except it doesn't have cruise control. Or power windows. Or power locks. And the headlights are questionable at best. I was riding in it recently, and I thought, "If the Amish believed in technology and drove cars, this is the kind of car they would drive. No cruise control or power anything, and the headlights are like candles."

A time period unbeknownst to me after my sister had purchased her Amish car, my dad also purchased an Amish car. I fear that my family is slowly making the transition to Amish...ness (Amishism? Amism? Anyone?). Every time I come home from college, now, I expect to see the lights replaced with candles, a fireplace where the stove is, and the TVs replaced with etch-a-sketches. That last one would make watching the Vikings a little bit less tragic, I guess. I could just skip watching it and sketch a big "L." That would stand for loss. Because the Vikings suck and lose all the time. Boy, this post certainly changed topics pretty quickly.

Dream Come True

Yesterday, I actually lived out a dream. Not in the sense that it was something I'd always wanted to do, though. I just literally experienced something that I once dreamed about. Two years ago, during my freshman year of college, at which point I was attending Concordia-St. Paul, I lived with my friend from high school, Damian. One particular morning, Damian had woken up earlier than I had, and I'm pretty sure he was waiting for me to wake up so he could tell me about a dream he had the night before, because when I woke up, almost instantaneously, he told me about his dream. Like, seriously, I wasn't even out of bed, yet. I think he was watching me sleep. Anyway, Damian told me about his dream.
"Okay, so, I was climbing up this mountain, right? Like, a HUGE mountain! I was climbing up it, and I almost fell a couple of teams, but I caught myself, and I looked down, and I couldn't even see the ground anymore, that's how huge this mountain was. So I was climbing it, and I made it to the top, and I looked out and I could see everything. (At this point, I made a smart remark about how incredible that is, considering he couldn't see the ground before) Oh, shut up. It was a dream, and I could see everything. I mean, EVERYTHING. Then - this is the best part - I skydived all the way back down to the bottom. It was so awesome!"
I took this all in, and then replied with, "Wow! That's a pretty sweet dream. You know what I dreamed about last night? I dreamt that I got new glasses..." Yeah. That's pretty much what my dreams have become, now. I remember once, a long time ago, I dreamt that I was living a particular level on Donkey Kong Country for the Super Nintendo. The level was "Mine Cart Carnage," (thank you, google) and in the level, you're in a mine cart in an abandoned mine shaft, and it's like a roller coaster. So I dreamt that I was in a super awesome roller coaster, which is a pretty sweet dream to have, let me tell you.
So, yesterday, I lived out a dream. Can you guess which one? Yup. The glasses. I got new glasses yesterday. Literally, a dream come true.

AIS Final

Finals week ended last Friday, so, you know, I probably should've written this last Friday. Maybe Saturday. But come on - give me a few days to gather myself first. If you know me, you know that I tend to not study, partly because I hate it so, but mostly because it usually isn't necessary. For AIS, it was necessary. If you will refer to my previous post(s) (I don't remember if I had more than one, but I feel like I would) in regards to my AIS class, you'll see that I have struggled mightily on the tests, but lucked out due to the professor's philosophy of adding points. Well, good ol' profe informed us that he will not be adding points to the final, which made me sad. Throughout the semester, he let us keep the test packets, and he gave back our answer sheets, indicating which questions we got wrong. My course of action was clear, then: Memorize all 200 questions from the four tests we'd taken during the semester. Except, maybe it wasn't so clear, because the professor didn't tell us what the right answers were to the questions we got wrong. I probably spent three hours looking up the right answers online (Google - the ULTIMATE study guide), and still didn't find the answers to some of them. I thought, "Well, now I have a 33% chance of getting them right instead of 25%. That's a step up, yeah?"
Over two days, I dedicated two hours (Total - let's not get carried away, here. I studied, but I'm still me, yo) to memorizing these tests, and I nailed it. If you go back a little bit, though, you'll realize that I spent more time finding the right answers to questions than I did actually studying. Holy whoa, yeah? I was torn between being thrilled and being not-thrilled over that little factoid.
Friday, the day of the final, arrived. My final was at 9:00 AM, which you have to understand, is very early for me to be taking a test, even if it's just recalling information from memory. I went to bed at around 11, a reasonable hour, I thought. However, when I know I have to wake up earlier than I usually intend to wake up, I become restless throughout the night. This night was no different. I woke up at 5:30, and, for some reason, seriously considered just getting up. Then I woke up at 6:00, then again at 6:20, and once more at 6:45. I was tired. I decided that I should drink some cream soda for breakfast, because, you know, caffeine. Cream soda is a lot like coffee in that sense, except it's delicious instead of offensively awful. I feel insulted when someone offers me coffee.
Anyway, if you were wondering, cream soda is not an adequate breakfast item on it's own. Or probably just in general. I felt a tad sick. I went over the four tests again real quick-like to see if I still had them memorized - I did. I put on my finals week attire of sweatpants over basketball shorts, a shirt and a sweatshirt, and was on my way.
I arrived at the classroom about five minutes early, and it was PACKED. WAY more packed than it had ever been for any other test. There was a single desk in the very back of the room. "Ha, perfect. It's like they were waiting for me to get here." Except, there was a different professor at the front of the room, and I didn't recognize anyone I glanced at in the room. "Oh no. This isn't my final," I thought. But then my professor came out of the back room, and a wave of relief washed over me. I slowly gathered that there was another class that was scheduled to take their final in this room at this time. The other class was a pharmacy class, and they found a different room and filed out. As soon as they were all a safe distance away, my professor said, "I was about to offer an extra credit opportunity: five points for every scalped pharmacist, ten points for every scalped pharmacy professor, and twenty points for the scalp of the head of the pharmacy department." Awesome. I laughed, more so out of discomfort than humor.
12 minutes later, I had finished the final. I ended up getting 86% on it, which was a huge disappointment. A lot of the questions to which I could not find the answers were on the final. This made me sad. I managed to get a B in the class, though, so whatevs, yo.

TGWSIFOMIFR, Part 3: Blonde Joke Come To Life

That stands for "The girl who sits in front of me in Family Relations," in case you haven't read the previous two posts in regards to said girl. Last week was the last week of classes, which means the last week of Family Relations, which, hopefully, means the last time I will ever sit in the same room as this girl. I decided, just out of nostalgia, to sit behind this girl again. Things were going well. She didn't even have her laptop open. The whole taking-up-an-entire-row-to-stretch thing was still going on, and her elbow hit my leg multiple times. I let it slide. But then it happened. In order for you to really comprehend what happened, I have to tell you a blonde joke. The joke is much better told in person because there are hand movements, but hang in there.
So, a brunette walks into a coffee shop. The lady working says to the brunette, "Your hair is so beautiful! How did you get it to be that way?" The brunette responds by running her hand through her hair and says, "It's natural."
A few minutes later, a red-head walks into the coffee shop. The lady working says to her, "Your hair is so beautiful! How did you get it to be that way?" The red-head responds by running her hand through her hair and says, "It's natural."
A few more minutes later, a blonde with streaks of greenish-yellow in her hair walks into the coffee shop. The lady working says, "Oh my. You're hair is...interesting. What happened to it?" The blonde responds by running her hand through her hair, starting at her nose, and says, "It's natural."
Do you get it? The greenish-yellow streaks in the blonde's hair was snot, because when she ran her hand through her hair, she started at her nose. It's gross. So, guess what the girl in front of me did. Yeah, she ran her hand through her hair, starting at her nose. Not once. Not twice. Thrice. Yeah, thrice. It was disgusting. And she was staring right at me as she did it. I'm almost positive I gave a look of horror mixed with disgust, and it didn't even phase her. She just turned around, stretched (hitting my leg with her elbow), flipped open her laptop, and began to Facebook creep. Things escalated very quickly, and not for the better.

What Could Have Been: A Tale Of A Midnight Breakfast

Finals week is upon us. Or, it's upon me, at least, and my fellow Jackrabbits of South Dakota State (my roommate and I agree that it should be changed from "Jackrabbits" to "Fightin' Hobos," but that story is for another time. Actually, that's the whole story. I just told it). Last night/this morning, at the cafeteria, there was a free breakfast for students. I believe most colleges have this, so if you went to college, you know what I'm talking about. Ours is referred to as the Midnight Breakfast (I totally just made that up. I have no idea to what it's referred as. By me, it's referred to as the Midnight Breakfast, and that's all that really matters here). Oddly, the Midnight Breakfast started at 11:00. At around that time, one of my roommates informed my other roommate and I about the impending luncheon that was actually a breakfasteon, then left. About twenty minutes later, we decided to go get some free breakfast food. I suppose I should have bypassed the Midnight Breakfast in favor of studying for my final the next day (today), but I mean, seriously. Free food > studying. Every time.
So my roommate and I got in his car and drove over to campus. We drove around looking for a close place to park and finally found one in the parking lot a dorm that is connected to the cafeteria. The second set of doors to the dorm, however, were locked. We knocked on the doors for a couple of minutes until, finally, a guy walked by. He looked at us and laughed. Then kept walking. Seriously? I was legitimately angry with this guy. Why would he not open the door? I can't even think of a sarcastic reason to put here. Probably because I'm still angry and not thinking clearly. Anyway, a few minutes later, a true gentleman came and opened the door for us. We went to the cafeteria and saw that there was a huge line. I bet if that first guy would've let us in right away there wouldn't have been a huge line. We waited for a few minutes and did not move at all. We then decided that Perkins was a much better option, so we left.
On our way to Perkins, we realized that Perkins costs money. Then we realized that Wal-Mart is right next to Perkins and, though Wal-Mart also costs money, is a lot cheaper. We went directly to the doughnut (donut?) section. Boxes of doughnuts were just $4. BOXES of doughnuts. We split a box. I ate two, and then I felt sick. Then, our other roommate came home and informed us that we "really missed out!" which, oddly enough, did not make me feel better.
So, just to recap, some jerk wouldn't let us in the building that was hosting the free breakfast. Consequently (not really), we didn't get a free, delicious breakfast, but, instead, paid for food that made me sick. *Sigh* What could have been...

Fear Of Change

That title actually has two meanings: The fear of things changing, and the fear of receiving coin money in exchange for paper money. I have both. I put my change in my wallet, but then my wallet gets all bulky and heavy. It's just a hassle. However, this is going to be about the other "fear of change," you know, the one that actually exists.
Yesterday, my housemate bought a new TV stand for his room. His other one was a little dilapidated, and the new one was clearly an upgrade. Also, It only cost like ten dollars. He was pretty excited to set it up and, when he removed the old one, he contemplated drastically rearranging his whole room. He moved a couple of things around, but ultimately decided against the complete home-makeover. While he was moving his couple of things, though, our other housemate asked if we needed help, which we declined. He then said that he was going to rearrange his room next week: "Rearranging your room is always a good thing." My response was, "Yeah, and if you do it next week, you won't have to study for finals!" which is totally true. I mean, you can't study and rearrange at the same time. Well, you can, but that'd just be exerting a ton of effort, and neither would be as effective as it would be without the other. I had to ponder these new ideas and theories and whatnots. I hate studying, and, quite frankly, I don't need to study, especially for the finals I have. I thought about the possibility of rearranging my room during the whole ten foot walk from my housemates room back to my room, and even for a few seconds upon entering my room. I decided against it. At the time, I thought it was because I just didn't feel like moving stuff, but upon further contemplation, I believe I have an underlying fear of change. If I rearrange my room, it will be different, and different is bad. I would like it stay the same; I feel safe in here. The underlying fear of change could also explain some other habits I have, like not looking for the remote when I lose it. I know that if I find it, I'll change the channel, and change is scary. It could also explain why I wear the same pair of jeans for days at a time - I feel safe in those jeans. I don't want to change into a different PAIR of the SINGULAR word, jeans (I will never get over how nonsensical the word "jeans" is. If you have a pair of jeans, you really only have one thing. And that one thing doesn't even make sense). This fear of change has an unhealthy hold on my life. I'm stuck with it, though, because in order to get rid of the fear of change, I, myself, would have to change, which is the one thing I fear most. If you don't count like 20 other things I fear. This is quite the conundrum. I should've stuck with that Psychology major.
Just as a disclaimer, I don't have a fear of change. Or, more correctly, I don't have a crippling fear of change that prevents me from looking for the remote control. I don't do the things I said because, sometimes, I'm lazy and/or unmotivated. Except the jeans thing. There's just no point in changing jeans every day.

But Im Not Tired/But I am Le Tired

"But I'm not tired." We've all said that before. Granted, most of you probably haven't said it since you were around 10. I, however, say it pretty much every day of my life. This could be considered to be a sequel to my "Passion For Sleep" post that you can find back in the archives. In that post, I mention that smart people pick when they want to go to sleep and consistently go to sleep at that time. I don't do that. I go to sleep when I'm tired, which, usually, isn't until 1:30 AM. Every night, though, at around 11:00 or 11:30, I think, "I should go to bed now...but I'm not tired." Sometimes, though, I DO go to bed before I'm tired because I know that if I stay up until I am tired, I'm not going to get enough sleep because I have to wake up at a certain time for something. I go to bed earlier, but I fall asleep around the same time, because I'm not tired. One of the worst things is not being able to fall asleep. When this happens, I set deadlines for myself to fall asleep. I'll think, "Okay, if I fall asleep in fifteen minutes, I'll still get eight hours of sleep." This actually makes me fall asleep slower because then I stop trying to sleep to see how much time has passed.
On the other hand, "But I am le tired," is an excuse I often make to not do something. Similar to when I think I should go to bed, sometimes I'll be in my room and I'll think, "I should really clean my room...but I am le tired," or, "I should put my laundry way...but I am le tired," or, "I should do study for that thing tomorrow...but I am le tired," or, "I should fire ze missiles...but I am le tired," (youtube "end of the world" and keep watching videos until you find the video that makes that last thought make sense).

The Vikings Game Minus The Vikings Game

I went to the Vikings game yesterday. Your condolences are appreciated. I mean, don't get me wrong - it was fun and all, but seriously? Talk about heartbreak - and I know a thing or two about heartbreak. I'm not going to talk about the game that much, though. I'm going to talk more about the overall experience. So, I went to the game yesterday with my good friend, Mark. I'm fortunate enough to have a dad who graduated from North Central University. How is this a relevant factoid? Well, NCU is six blocks from the Metrodome, and since my dad is an alumnus, he can just call the school and ask if it's okay for me to park on campus, which it was. With Mark as my navigator, we found our way and parked. There was a car with a Wisconsin license plate in the parking lot. I left a space in between our cars so mine wouldn't smell as bad when we got back to the lot. After about two blocks of walking, I realized I should've worn a shirt underneath my sweatshirt, and I probably should've worn gloves. You'd think someone who has lived in Minnesota for 20 years would've gathered that it gets cold in December, but alas, I'm slow. Unable to feel my torso or hands, I, along with Mark, approached the stadium at Gate F. Ours was Gate E. Using logic, Mark suggested we go to the left, since E comes before F and we read left to right, which is actually really sound logic. However, logic was not part of the plans in constructing the Metrodome, as anyone who has ever been there would tell you. So we had to turn around. Upon arriving at our gate, it came to our attention that there is a new security procedure where the security guards have hand-held metal detectors, and the fans are supposed to have all electronics and metal items in their hands. Well, I couldn't feel my hands, so it took me a while to get my phone, keys, and iPod out of my pockets.
We made it to our seats, and behind us were two people, obviously. One was a guy. I couldn't tell if the other one was a young boy or the dude's girlfriend. I didn't look at them, I was just hearing what they were saying. The questionable person sounded like a young boy, but used very colorful language. I became sad that a young boy would use such language, but then I thought, "Maybe it's the guy's girlfriend, but she has a weird voice." Well, two older dudes came along and informed them that the seats Mr. Guy and Questionable Companion were sitting in belonged to the two older gentlemen. I turned to watch them leave, and the questionable one was, in fact, the dude's girlfriend. Or sister, I guess. Or friend. She was a girl of similar age. I'm really glad those two older guys sat behind us. I'm pretty sure they were BFFs and one was a Broncos fan, and the other was a Vikings fan. They were arguing and ripping on each other the whole game. It was fantastic.
Something that wasn't as fantastic was that there was a guy there in a Packers jersey and a Packers hat. Why? Just...why? Your team isn't even playing in this game. I feel like he was the owner of that Wisconsin car in the parking lot. In that moment, I hated Packer fans even more than I did before. I wouldn't be surprised if this tool was a Vikings season ticket holder. That's the kind of thing a Packer fan would do. They think that just because they're team is better than everyone else's team (which it is, I hate to admit), they are also better than everyone else.* After Denver kicked the game winning field goal, for some reason, the Vikings "fight song" - or whatever you want to call it - began to play. I was confused. That was not the correct time to play that song. We had just lost. Defeated, disappointed, but not surprised, we trudged back to my car, and realized we couldn't leave using the same directions that got us to the Dome because of one-ways and whatnot. So, like a boss, I drove towards the Metrodome in an attempt to leave the area. This is when I learned that driving towards the Metrodome is a horrible strategy for leaving the area. It took us about an hour to drive maybe five miles. AND People honked at me. The audacity of some people in the cities, I tell ya.
*Not ALL Packer fans are like this. I know some nice ones. The majority, however, are like this. Just calling it like I see it, yo.