Michelle's Journal
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Monday, November 10, 2003
7:42PM
Sometmes I wonder about the straight boys here...
Me: Let's see Love Actually.
John: What's it about?
Alex: Chick Flick!
(Pause)
Alex (completely serious): Let's see Brother Bear.
Me: NO.
Alex: Come on, Phil Collins does the music.
Tuesday, October 7, 2003
9:06PM
It's good to be timely- so now that it's tuesday I'll tell you about my weekend. I went to Philadelphia with Cat and half my suite. Actually, we didn't do much in the city.
Saturday we went to a Renaissance fair. Quite fun. Cat was mad though because we refused to play along with all the actors in costume. We'd hear, "How are my lords and ladies?" and completely ignore whoever it was. The persistent ones I had to resort to my 'angry walk' as Laurel calls it. Sunday we went pumpkin picking, which was nice while it lasted. But we had to lug those damn things home on the Jersey transit, I'll say no more.
More news: I'm sick of classes.
Okay, well I'm too tired to say more. Plus, I have tons of ethics work to finish before I can even dream of going to sleep. I'll say more this weekend.
Sunday, September 28, 2003
All week Monique was bothering me to go to a club. So last night I was in charge of finding one. (Can I state now that clearly I'm not cool enough to do this). Anyways, I found a couple, but she wanted free cover. So I found one with free cover. It seems people like free cover, and before I knew it nine people were coming. Okay.
So I get the address, 647 King Street. Okay. We go to West Village. So there I am marching in front of nine very glamed up girls. So we're walking and walking and it's getting darker and more seedy. The addresses go up to 147 until they are blocked by a giant warehouse. Darn, so I lead the pack up a few blocks to walk around the warehouse. But do you know what's on the other side of this warehouse? The Hudson River.
And I haven't heard the end of this. Johnny has dubbed me Minister of Transportation and every time I leave my room someone shouts, "Do you know where you are going?"
Well, we ended up eating chocolate mousse in Little Italy. Thank god for good mood inducing effects of chocolate.
Wednesday, September 3, 2003
6:54PM
Yes, yes, I'm alive, kicking, breathing, etc. I was about to explode at home, but now I'm back in this wonderful city and doing quite well. I arrived monday to lots of screaming and hugging and jumping and hours of stories and late night chatting and two nights of parties and movies at Lincoln Plaza and shopping on Bleecker and lots of high hopes for this year.
Haven't written because Fordham's checking for whatever virus that is and we won't have internet for another week. (I'm in the library- it was vicious fighting for this computer).
I'll elaborate when I can do this in my dorm. Plus, we're going out.
Monday, August 25, 2003
5:17PM
Today I visited my State Farm Insurance Agent. I love how I say that like we’re close and personal friends: like he really has been there when my house burned down, when my yacht capsized, and when my children were struck by lightning. Truth is, this was the first time I met him. His name was Bill and he was a nice man. I asked if I could call him, simply, ‘My Agent’ and he replied, “If you want to.” He, he, he.
I was there so he could ask me some questions for a safe driver discount. The questions were on a video- The Reality of Driving- (sarcastic laugh). Don’t worry; I wasn’t sarcastic answering his questions. I told him how Boy XY in the video was a bad driver because he was too aggressive, and Girl XX was a good driver because she was attentive, blah, blah, blah. The whole time I wondered if the filmmakers still took themselves seriously. They were ambitious young men once, who idolized Hitchcock, learned about The Actors Studio, and studied French Noir. Now, they are forced to break every rule of good filmmaking just so State Farm can dramatize a ‘bad driver.’ The ‘bad driver’ is this really obnoxious girl who’s driving, drinking coffee, eating pretzels, looking at a map, changing the radio station, putting on makeup, and talking at the same time. Suddenly, a bus pulls into view. But, she’s not paying attention. The camera switches to slow motion and turns sideways to zoom in on the STOP sign. Menacing music is cued as a little schoolgirl gets off the bus. The screen goes black, and tires screech. Ha, ha. Good-bye Susie Q.
4:25PM
Okay, for a very formal (and my favorite, very gossipy) weekend activities posting:
Saturday I put my moral conscience at ease by visiting the sick. Lindsay got her wisdom teeth out on Thursday. You’ll be glad knowing she’s been quite the little trooper ever since. She was able to watch two movies and have a lengthy discussion on school vs. home. Of the wisdom teeth, she said she misses them (I made that up), but is confident their removal will reduce the frequency of her headaches. I for one will miss hearing her Excedrin woes.
Sunday was the final Sex and the City party at Maria’s. Sheena wore her I Love NY shirt in support of the affair. Clare was gone, so she didn’t block the TV doing her Pilates moves. But, Maria was too busy stealing my magazines to make the usual black current tea. My mom calmed me down with some darleejah at home.
Sunday, August 24, 2003
2:18PM
Yesterday afternoon I came home and heard the distressing chirps of birds. “Please be robins outside,” I begged. Were they? Oh, no. In my kitchen the old birdcage was out with two new parakeets inside. (For those of you who don’t know I’m super afraid of birds. Too bad we had a bird for 9 years. In June it died. This was a glorious summer; I wasn’t afraid to walk around my house anymore). I figured the bird would be replaced eventually. But, a week before I leave? They couldn’t wait 7 days. Is this incentive to move out faster? Because, believe me, if I could get on a plane right now I would. And is it really necessary to have two birds? Did my mom hope to double her friends in one purchase? Having two just means they talk to each other instead of her. She stands at the cage, mimicking their language, only to be ignored. Ha, ha. I guess you’re not the Mary Poppins bird lady you thought.
My mom said they bought them now because, “Petsmart just received a shipment, and if we didn’t act who knows how long we’d have to wait?” Oops, sorry, didn’t know how exotic the green and blue breeds of parakeet are. And at $19.99 a bird I’m just glad you collectors didn’t start a bidding war.
Now my mom and sister are downstairs arguing over names. It’s like listening to two twits debate philosophy. The old bird was named Chi-Chi. My mom called it this because, “That’s what sound birdies make, Chi-Chi.” Well, my all too perceptive sister thought it was named after the Mexican Restaurant Chi-Chi’s. And even though she now knows the truth, she’s still adamant about keeping with the Mexican theme and giving the new birds Spanish names. My mom wants to name them after famous duos. She genuinely believes in the originality of “Jack and Jill,” and “Lucy and Desi.” Yeah, because any half-wit toddler couldn’t think up the same.
Oh, but Chi-Chi, I shall miss you. You provided bunches of entertainment. Especially when we’d all be enjoying a family dinner and we’d hear squawking coming from your cage. And we’d see your wings and feathers flapping through the bars as you ‘went at’ the key chain originally hung to decorate the cage. And, my family, instead of ignoring your public desire, would shout, “GO CHI-CHI GO!” right over their tuna casserole. And I loved when friends came over and a look of terror arose on their faces as they asked, “What’s your bird doing?” Um, well……
Friday, August 22, 2003
8:42PM
Today was my last day of work. This afternoon (I’d like to think in tribute to me) the fire alarm went off.
I was standing in the copy room and a loud buzz persisted. I had no idea what it was until Deb turned around, “I didn’t know we were having a drill today.” Adults have fire drills!? How very…first grade. Too bad their method of evacuation can’t contend with the- drop what you’re doing- form a single file line- and MARCH method of American grammar schools. Half the office went to the vending machine for snacks and the other half grabbed cigarettes before sauntering downstairs. After the fire department showed up to confirm it wasn’t a drill, some people drove away ‘leaving work early’. The dedicated execs stormed the firemen and implored for their laptops.
Today threw me for a loop, but Fordham’s fire drill did too. Ehhh, I forgot about the Fordham’s drill ‘til just now. Since McMahon Hall is a high-rise no one is allowed to leave their rooms during a drill, or actual fire for that matter. Instead we wait around for the loudspeaker to give instructions. Lying in our rooms could be relaxing…except the whole freaking building goes into jailbreak lockdown. The alarm sounds like a siren. The hall lights flicker like Chernobyl in meltdown. And the metal doors in the hallways, which I didn’t know were doors because they were built into the walls, slam shut. So even if you wanted to run down the fire escape, you’d be trapped. That drill had me anxious all year, I’d smell something burning and it was like, “hey stranger, let’s watch what goes in that microwave.”
All right, well off to find out who’s being charitable and wants to hang out with me tonight.
Thursday, August 21, 2003
12:10PM
Yeah, so it’s only my second entry and I’m already resorting to at-a-glance bullet points of my days. Normally I’d think of beautiful transitional sentences, but the working conditions at home aren’t suitable. The computer is in my parent’s room, and they go to bed at 10:30. Shuffling around at two in the morning wouldn’t be appreciated. Right now I’m on lunch at work so I’m on a deadline (sort of). Mainly I just want to actually go to lunch. Plus, it’s noon, so creativity won’t blossom for another 9 hours. Pleasant reading:
· Tuesday night was a very sad occasion. It was the first many farewell dinners; Clare is off to South Bend and Al departs for New Orleans today. We were forced to go out to dinner because Clare already packed the crepe pan. I suppose it was for the best; I would have sobbed all over the plates of lemon sugar in ridiculous nostalgia. At least the pictures of us flipping crepes in wacky aprons and chef’s hats remain, thank god for those. And since Clare was my chauffer on Tuesday she helped diminish my separation anxiety even further. In a voice somewhere between an ailing cat and Betty Boop she serenaded me with “Where is the Love?”- You know I’ll miss you a ton dear friend.
· Yesterday, Liz came in from Milwaukee, and we went swimming at her grandma’s pool. And can I just say how much I love hanging out with Liz. I feel hilarious around her; she laughs at everything I say. Usually when I make a joke people look at me half disturbed, half amused. Like they’re confused. Their head and heart debates, “Should I laugh?” On the one hand it might be a nice gesture to patronize the young girl, but on the other I might give her some crazy idea like I’m interested. She’s think herself a bona fide Margaret Cho and wouldn’t shut-up, and I really want to get back to watching paint dry, reading Das Kapital, making a necklace out of fruit loops, etc. My mom laughs at what I say. And Liz’s mom and grandma did too at dinner. He, he, he. I have some admirers.
· After Liz left, met up with Maria to see Le Divorce. Decent movie. My favorite French fashion moment was the pregnant lady’s shirt. In the style of Warhol’s Marilyn Monroe, the Gerber baby’s face multiplied right there on the cotton. And I definitely loved the end when the dozen Eiffel Tower security guards couldn’t reach the mad man at the top because he blocked the door…with an umbrella.
Tuesday, August 19, 2003
So I’ve jumped on the bandwagon. I hadn’t considered keeping an online journal before because I thought, “Who’d want to read about my life? It’s so boring.” But reading your journals has assuaged this fear. In fact, I’m actually feeling a little bit better about my day-to-day happenings.
What’s new? Last night we were all meeting at Sheena’s house and deciding what to do from there. Too bad the couch was so comfortable and Maria, Al, and I were dead. We ended up lying around all night (except for the drive thru Wendy’s ‘Late Night’…stupid influential advertising) mindlessly watching TV and pretending to enjoy Clare’s Cleveland pictures.
Mostly we watched I Love the 70’s, VH1’s weak attempt to piggyback off the success of I Love the 80’s. Of course Clare and Sheena kept comparing it to I Love the 80’s. All I could do was shield my sorrowful eyes from them. I tried to watch I Love the 80’s at school. But when everyone else shouted, “I REMEMBER THAT!” I stayed silent. I DIDN’T REMEMBER ANYTHING! By the time they reached 1985, I was curled up in my room covering my ears with a pillow. Yet, their excited cheers still taunted me through he door.
Damn my parents for keeping me so nerdy for so long! I didn’t know that ‘pop’ was a culture until, well, let’s be honest, until I was 16. And that was by a fluke. I finally started driving and while I programmed the radio to oldies and smooth jazz I came across. Apparently, Eminem and Nelly were more than fictitious names whispered during passing at Benet. My parents kept me in the dark for so long I’m amazed I went to college where I did. Seriously, junior year was the first year I could go to Chicago with no adult supervision, and two years later I ship off to Manhattan all alone. So basically in one year my shock levels went from soaring to non-existent. He, he, he.
Current mood:  accomplished
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