January 28, 2009

Either Everyone Else Sweats on the Way Up to Campus or I Have a Glandular Problem

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This is from an anonymous person, named Rebecca Weiss.

9:43 a.m. — Wake up. Find inexplicable patches of dry skin on arms when I get dressed. Think they may be from cold weather shock after coming home from California. Find one in particular on inside of left elbow. Consider that someone may have injected heroin into me in my sleep. Continue getting dressed.

10:02 a.m. — Walk to class. Take off scarf at CTB. Take off down jacket at the Ho Plaza crosswalk. Eat shit on the slippery tile in front of Willard Straight. Take off sweater in front of Olin. Am left with only a tank top. Several people stare at me sweating in a tank top in sub-freezing temperatures. Consider that either everyone else sweats through their clothes on the way up to campus or I have a glandular problem and belong in a sideshow next to the man with six fingers.


11:01 a.m. — Align my path to directly view my reflection in the doorway of Olin. Get angry when someone comes out the door. How dare he interrupt me checking myself out? Shuffle slightly to the right. Damn, I am more attractive than 85% of the people I will see when I walk inside.

11:05 a.m. — Spend 20 minutes convincing my editor and general minion Peter Finocchiaro ’10 that my father’s middle name is Bass, and that, ergo, his name is Chuck Bass Weiss.

11:26 a.m. — Peter believes me.

11:27 a.m. — Open computer to sign up for my courses on Blackboard. Decide to see if anything is different on Facebook momentarily before the task at hand, despite having received no email notifications of any happenings yet today. Nothing is different.

11:52 a.m. — Have spent the past 25 minutes looking at pictures of myself from a long time ago. Boy, how I’ve grown.

1:52 p.m. — After careful research, discover that looking through pictures of people from the least recently tagged to the most recently tagged is like watching them grow up before my eyes. Then realize that in certain cases it is also like watching people get fat before my eyes. Still have not typed in the phrase “www.blackboard.cornell.edu.”

2:01 p.m. — SNACKLE!

2:10 p.m. — Consider showering. Consider the environment. Decide that showering is for selfish types who don’t care about polar bears.

2:16 p.m. — Drive to Wegmans, listening to “Juicy” by Biggie. Vow to learn all his lyrics, so as to be able to cite them in every day conversation. “Who said that,” the peons will ask. “Biggie!” I shall proclaim. “Have you grown up in a barn?”

2:20 p.m. — There are free samples. Today is the best day.

3:04 p.m. — Come back home. Sign onto computer. Receive the following e-epistle from my mother. Reads: Subject: “Are you … ” Are you a closet alcoholic? I mean literally, I have found two empty bottles of wine in your closet and a bottle of whiskey behind the second brass bed. That is very strange behavior. Normally people have a glass of wine (when they are not driving) with dinner and maybe then only on the weekends. Love MOM.

3:06 p.m. — Reply as follows: Haha that’s leftover from when I was like 18.

3:08 p.m. — Gmail pings. Mother has replied: The bottle of whiskey too??

3:09:12 p.m. — Settle the conversation with: I can’t remember what I did four years ago.

3:09:31 p.m. — Decide to show the email to everyone I know. Then decide to publish the missive in the Cornell Sun.

3:10 p.m. — Watch 30 Rock episode. Realize that Tracy Jordan is wearing gold shoes, and that I am currently also wearing gold plated Puma cleats: a fashion statement. Feel embarrassed. Then feel pretty cool. I’m like Tracy Jordan. Consider I may also be like Tina Fey. She too would watch 30 Rock in her prom dress on a Tuesday afternoon.

3:31 p.m. — Briefly consider the world’s state of affairs. Things look grim. Then ask myself out loud “Who the f are you kidding?” and look at pictures of myself on Facebook for 25 minutes.
3:56 p.m. — Look up serial killers on Wikipedia for 35 minutes, then switch to favorite topic: horrifying plane crashes.

4:53 p.m. — Consider what life might’ve been like if I didn’t go to Cornell. “Path not taken” trains of thought are a slippery slope, I think. Consider what life would’ve been like if I were a dude. Consider that bike riding seems like it would be more uncomfortable.

6:34 p.m. — Go to Sun. Run into John-David. Inquire about his pet rabbit. He calls me a “$@#-%#%&”. Become confused. Inquire further. He elaborates that Princess Von Precious sneezed blood and died two months ago. Console him by telling him that sometimes if you don’t give them a chewing stick, their teeth grow into their brain. Cite my source as a book. A book called the internet.