Archive for December, 2005

I Had Fun Writing This…Maybe Because I Had Another All Nighter

December 14, 2005

You will never guess what I just did. Never in a thousand worlds or ways will you guess what I just did.

For my final paper for a class, I wrote about my floor, how it smelled, and everything that happened that you yourself have read not long ago. I had to add some things, change a bit of the format so it would be better read as a paper and not a post in a website, and comb it over for language. Well, not really. I still fucking used a shitload of fucking bitchin’ ass swear words to fucking spice up the damn ass piece of fucking shit paper. Bitch. But I turned it into a 7 pager. I needed to bring in outside textual support, too. Those ended up being the movies Hairspray and Bambi, the song Naked by Avril Lavigne, a website about Harry Potter and how he helps kids read, and an excerpt of one of my favorite poems [the last 7 lines or so]. Impressive, huh? Yah. I thought so.

I was so very tempted to use all your comments in the paper. One of my friends, though, worried that our Professor wouldn’t accept that because bloggers and what not aren’t a form of publication. I won’t get into that argument. Yes I will. We are published, dammit! See? Look at my webpage! It’s published! And if you make money off of it?! Even better! I’ve made a dollar on those ads so far. Isn’t that exciting? A dollar!*

So I turn in the paper today. I’ll let you know how I do in the class.

Also. I want to go to Europe for Spring Break ’06, and because half my school will be abroad, I think I will have to make it happen. I’ll skip out of school early, head to London first, and go with some people on a whirlwind tour of some places where I won’t be able to communicate with anyone. That will be just plain fucking amazing.

If the London thing doesn’t work out, I’ll see if I can visit my other friend in Firenze. Oh Italy. How I want to eat everything you have.

OR I could go to Paris. I speak a little French. Rusty, high school and some of college, but enough to sound like an 8 year old with a speech impediment French. But that’s not important. Being in another country is.

OOOR I could even go to where some former residents are bumming around. One is in England somewhere. Possibly Ireland. A quarter of me hails from there. I think it may be time to rediscover my roots. And some beer.

I really want this to work out. Can you imagine me in Europe? Crazy ass. Craaazyyyy aaasssss.

Also. Nicole has a crush on Jon.

I told you I’d write it. And now the world knows. The world! And now the world can either comment on either my paper, my trip to Europe, or Nicole and Jon.

Comments, please! Ha.

*How cool is that?! A dollar will buy me a beer on Monday night at one of the bars! Mmm. Honey Brown.


Golden Shower

December 13, 2005

Per my previous To Do list, let us talk about how I got a little wet at my friend’s holiday party this past weekend. It is a doozie. Doozy? Or maybe it’s a hard S…doosy?

Next semester, a lot of my friends are going abroad. One is going to Firenze. 2 or 3 others are going to London. Yet another is going to Madrid, and still one more will be in Paris. This means that there is the distinct possibility I will never see them again ever, which is really sad.

So what better way to celebrate our friendship than getting rip roaring drunk off of boxed wine, cheap beer, and flasks of alcohol?

I say there IS no better way!

A lot of the people there were in my fraternity, which made for an awesome time. Calm down. It’s not a normal frat. It’s a co-ed service fraternity, aka full of dorks. Though, I AM part of the best family in the frat that has ever existed EVER, so everyone else can just bow down and kiss it.

So anyways, at about 1 in the morning or so, just about everyone at the party felt the need to break the seal. This meant that going to the bathroom became a 10 minute endeavor, which, while drunk, is equivalent to forever and a DAY. So, in order to conserve time and enable a quick release for pent up alcohol, my little, Jewels, and I decided to use the bathroom at the same time. She took the toilet. I took the shower.

After a brief chat slash orgasmic explosion of urine, we both finished at about the same time. A moment of sobriety hit, and I realized I should rinse out the shower because, well, I’m just polite like that. Not polite enough NOT to pee in their tub, but polite enough to rinse it out afterwards. Please. Hold your applause.

So I zip up, then reach down and turn the knob of the tub. Only a few drops of water leak out, but yet…why is water still going down the drain? Curious and curiouser…

I must have stood in a running shower for a solid 7 seconds before I realized what was going on. I freaked out, turned off the shower, and just stood there for a second. There was a few moments of silence, with Jewels standing outside the shower, and me standing in the tub. The curtain divided between us.

You just did something stupid, didn’t you?
Um, I just showered.
Let’s go tell people.

Other than that one moment of ridiculousness [well…there were many, but only one where I got wet] it was, as Cassandra Sanchez would say, a FABULOUS NIGHT!

I’ve only one semester left of this.

Wherein I Tear My Ears Off And Relish In The Silence

December 12, 2005

Because I don’t have a car [we won’t get into it again] I have to find my rides to and from Boston. Meaning, anyone who can take me, I will go with you. Simple as that.

So a few weeks ago, I needed to find a ride back to school, and it got to the point where I was 2 days away from the return trip without a way to return. So I got in touch with one of my friends, and she was able to secure a ride for me.

I would have been better off dragging my way back to school by my tongue than driving in that car.

It started with there not being enough room for all 5 of our luggage. Mind you, two of the girls in the car thought that bringing enough dirty laundry to clothe all of Africa and parts of southern Europe was a good idea. So, as a result, I had to sit with my suitcase in the back seat right under my feet. I’m a 6’3″ lanky bastard who needs a bit of leg room. This didn’t happen on this trip.

We continued down hill from there. For the first 3 hours of the trip, we listened to Christmas music. Carols, TV show specials, anything that was sung EVER regarding Christmas, Jesus, and Santa freaking Claus was played. It was mind numbingly horrible. Several times I felt the urge to toss myself from the vehicle if only to taste that sweet sweet pavement.

So we revolted. The 4 of us said NO MORE, and forced something better into the mix. Since we’ve all seen RENT that weekend, we put in the soundtrack to listen to some good ol’ Mimi likes crack and Maureen’s good in bed music. There was a singular condition, though. If the driver [we’ll call him Ferguson] didn’t like the music after two songs, then he gets to switch it back to what he wants.

Guess what. He didn’t like it.

So what did he do? He took the CD out of the player, shoved it into my face, leaving it lodged there. While I screamed for mercy, he then continually beat my head against the window whilst screaming into my ear. Then he peed all over me.

That is what it felt like. When he put on Michael Jackson.

For an hour and a half, we listened to him. For an hour and a half, I suffered through more A-CHUMON-UGHs, A-WHOO-HOO-UGHs, ACHs, and crotch grabbing than is legally allowed under the whole cruel and unusual punishment idea. Michael sang for what seemed like hours on end. And I wept.

Now, Ferguson is obsessed. Heartily and unhealthily obsessed. The King of Pop slash Surgery slash Molestation is God to this man, and I was stuck in his car.

You haven’t seen true horror, Internet, until you’ve seen Ferguson perform Man In The Mirror. It was like Satan himself formed a band, and his back up dancers were stoned, limbless animals outfitted with prosthetic limbs. Oh God, I just got dizzy thinking about it.

When the song came on, Ferguson let out all the A-CHUMON-UGHs, A-WHOO-HOO-UGHs, ACHs he had. He mimicked Whacko Jacko word for word, dance move for dance move. Yes. It is true. He danced. While driving. For a good duration of the song [and for many others] his head was being flung like a booger [that’s for you, untitled] to the left and right as he flung his arms in choreographed dance moves. Choreographed, people. In a car. While driving.

FERGUSON! I’d feel at safer driving at 90 mph with at least one of your hands on the wheel.
It’s okay! I do this all the time! [a midst gyrating and singing]
Well…I just don’t want you to get pulled over or anything. For dancing. To Michael Jackson.
Oh, I’ve already been pulled over for that before. I didn’t get in that much trouble!

I’m looking at the maaaan in the mirror!

That should speak worlds to you, Ferguson.

I didn’t say much for the rest of the trip because I was concentrating on maintaining sanity. About an hour later, we were back at school. I said my goodbyes to the rest of the crew, and got out of the car. I went to my room, put down my bags, and rediscovered God.

Notes, To Do’s, and Whores Whores Whores

December 11, 2005

Mental note to self via blog:

Remember to blog about the following…
*Car ride with Michael Jackson
*Alzheimer’s disease and asshole kids
*My possible Europe debut
*Showering in all my clothes at a party last night.

That is all.

Oh. I forgot.

free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores free home delivery whores

untitledhusband has the right idea.

No, But I Can Tell You 31 Ways To Suck It Dry

December 11, 2005

In a recent phone call [labeled UNKNOWN] to my cell…

Hello, is this John Bloginyourface?
Uh, yah. Who’s this?
My same is Cassandra Sanchez!
I’m calling from Baskin Robbins, and I’d like to know if you would like to take part in a promotional campaign!
Probably not. What is it?
Well, if you can name 31 flavors Baskin Robbins ice cream in 31 seconds, I will send you a check for $31.31! Would you like to participate?
No, not at all. How did you get my number?
Oh, well it is most likely because you have eaten our ice cream and signed up for something.
I don’t eat there, sorry.

Could you remove me from your list?
Of course, sir!
You have yourself a FABULOUS night!
…You have a fabulous night as well, Cassandra.

The question I have is how it the HELL did Baskin Robbins get my phone number?! God, I hate telemarketers.

PS…this phone call came at 8:30 in the pm. Damn ice cream crazies.

Heeeere’s JOHNNY [selling you some shit]

December 9, 2005

It is about…quarter past 4 right now, and I am up doing that paper about I don’t even know that I should have done earlier that I didn’t do because guess what? Senioritis has hit hard, and has left me debilitated and stoic in my studies.

Meh. Who cares.

Anyways, I thought I’d take a break and read some blogs. What I normally do is sign onto my site and just queue up all the blogs I have in my sidebar, plus a few others, and make my way through them. Was I surprised to see ADS all over my face [meaning sidebar] just screaming at me HELLO, VIEWER! and slapping me about the ear, nose and throat. I didn’t even get an email telling me they started!

Now, those ads that are up right now are apparently just fillers until some real company decides to advertise on Come To Find Out…, which may never happen. Who knows. The thing that I found hilarious is that, as of this post, there are 7 text ads. Two about the NFL, one about a casino, two about poker [three if you count Texas Hold’em, I guess] and then an ad for a Start Your Own Blog! type of thing.

I only remotely care about the blog one. I have my own blog. You have your own blog. We all have our own blogs. We could bathe ourselves and each other in blogs. Dirty and a little forward of me? Yes. Kinky and fun and you know you want to try it? We’ll set up a date.

All that other shit I could give a flying turd about. And more than likely, you could care less, as well. Which is why I’m hoping some advertisers that actually have products I’d like to see contact me soon. Stuff like funny t-shirts, blog add-ons, and mail order brides and grooms*.

So let us give it some time. And hopefully something fun will come for us all. Fun for us to click on, and fun for me to get some beer money**.

*The holiday gift of the season. Just make sure when you wrap it, you punch in some air holes. No one likes a dead body for Christmas…or do you? Do I need to see if I can get that ad?

**Seriously. I advertised to advertisers using the line Help Me Buy Beer. Maybe that’s a deterrent?

Pepe Le Jesus Christ This Reeks

December 8, 2005

I know some of you are just aching to know what happened with the recent occurrences on my floor. I’ve deemed the scenario Harry Potter and the Sack Of Rancid Assholes. This is the book where Harry dies because of lack of oxygen and Hermione finds out Ron is gay. That, and Professor McGonnagall gets busy with Dumbledore. In stores for the holidays.

Anyways, on to the whole incident of nerve gas being released on my floor. Because I didn’t handle it immediately [I mean really, give me some credit. How does one go about this? I didn’t go through this in protocol training] my residents took it upon themselves. They went in steps.

Step 1: Bitching
I’ve never seen the likes of this type of bitching before in my life. I’m in the presence of greatness, people. Getting these kids to come to a floor meeting or program is like trying to recreate the birthing experience with a full grown man and a mail slot. But for this? I have never seen more people discuss aka bitch about a problem as a community before in my life. They were outside their rooms having full fledged conversations and debates about it. About a smell. Normally, society could be crumbling outside, and the most they’ll get upset about is that the dining hall didn’t have nuggets today.

Step 2: Advertising
Some of my residents took it upon themselves to let the rest of the floor know what was going on. This entailed writing on half sheets of notebook paper WHO SMELLS?! and posting it on every tape-able surface on my floor. Doors. Stairwells. Walls. Everywhere. It is so very nice to see my floor take an active stand for once. Civil and student rights would be better, but I suppose we have to start small.

Step 3: Odor Control
The only thing that smells worse than a sack full of various types of shit is a sack full of various types of shit wearing cologne and perfume. I’ll admit, when I first smelled it, I Febreezed the hallway, and even gave a few sprays of my cologne [Curve Splash] to make things better. It was about as effective as Tom Cruise’s I’m not gay! See?! I got someone pregnant! statements. I even called FixIt, who said that the smell was so strong, they would have to wait for the day time supervisor to figure out what to do. When I got back from class, I was smacked in the face with an even worse smell. A combination of death and decay, car freshener, hair spray, Lysol, and Victoria Secret Spray. The smell was so fierce, all the hair immediately fell off my body.

Step 4: Rumors
Like any other person without the answers [see:Bush], my residents began to just make shit up. Here are but a few of the gems I heard that caused The Stench 2K5.

*Someone up on the second floor peed the carpet last night while drunk. So now its seeping into the ceiling and starting to get moldy and gross.
*Ross killed his roommate. Will you get in trouble for that, John?
*The walls [concrete bricks, mind you] are actually hollow. What usually happens is when winter starts, animals from outside find their way into the building to stay warm. It must be a dead squirrel.
*Don’t be stupid! It was a dove.
*One of the guys from that room pooped in his trash can last night, and is too afraid to go empty it, because someone might see him and make fun of him. So he’s waiting, with the poop, until the right time.

Step 5: Operation Begone

I have no idea what happened here. None whatsoever. Usually my residents will tell me anything. Where they’re going out to. What club serves them alcohol. Everything. But they will not tell me how they got rid of the smell. I’m honestly a little afraid that some sort of Lord of the Flies type of fiasco happened while I was in staff meeting. All I know is that before staff meeting, I would get queasy having to walk to the stairs. After staff meeting, there was only but a hint of the smell. Within the hour, it was completely gone.

I don’t know what happened, nor do I want to know what happened. I am just happy that my residents somehow managed to return the floor to the adequate living standards we have become accustomed to, and everyone on the floor is still alive. Now if they can just take this initiative with the woman’s bathroom, we’d be set.

Seriously. You all think men are gross? Well, its the women’s room that has poop smeared on a stall and sanitary pads carpeting the sink area. You people are disgusting.

Ta Da

December 7, 2005

So, being the studious student I am, I stayed up till 5 last night working on my blog.

Did I even touch my 15 page paper comparing The Rocky Horror Picture Show with the painting American Gothic that is due on Friday?

Please. Ask that question one more time, and I’ll try not to pee myself laughing.

Instead, I tried to add some new and fun stuff to the site for you all to enjoy. If you look over at the sidebar, you’ll notice a few things. Firstly, I was able to fix some indenting problem with each section in the sidebar. I don’t know how I fixed it. But I did. Hurrah.

Secondly, I added a music section. I was in a huge conversation the other day with a friend of mine, and we were just comparing and talking and loving music all at the same time. So I figured I would share with you all the current favorite band of choice. I’ll update it every so often. So stay tuned. Get it? Tuned? Like a radio? That plays music? Ha…ha…ha?

That damn CD cover art, though. God help me the next time I do it, because I spent an hour on that alone, going through line after line of programming trying to figure out how to get a picture in that damn sidebar in the first place. When I finally did, the picture was SO HUGE it took over most of the page.

After I finished crying, I figured out how to get a smaller picture there, so hopefully I have the internal fortitude to suffer through more updates of that damn Awkwardly Dancing To… section. Slash I dance amazing.

The only problem still remaining is if you look at the 2005 Blogger Tour section, you see how it has 2 gray lines beneath it? I want the smaller one gone, and I worked on trying to get it to leave for about 45 minutes, and to no avail. If you know what the hell is causing it, for the sake of my sanity please tell me.

Finally, you will notice that I have begun what so many criticize.


I did it on a whim last night, and I’m pretty sure I’ll have no issues with it. But seeing as how I have…$82.18 in my account, which includes the paycheck I got today from work, I need some money. I need to find a way to support my lifestyle of beer, alcohol, and porn site memberships. And this is how I’ll do it.

If there’s anything else you want to see on my site, feel free to keep it to yourself*. Last night was hell, and I doubt I can go through it again. I accidentally slept through a class today because of it. And it is the last class of the year. Who does that?!

Insanely obsessed bloggers. That’s who.

*Just kidding. If you have opinions, let me know. I may ignore you, but whatever.

UPDATE: GREAT thanks to Flubberwinkle, who helped me with my template problems on my blog! Not only is she so incredibly nice and helpful, but she is a genius, and figured out my problem without even having to LOOK at the codes and what not! I hope I wasn’t comparable to one of your annoying co-workers who doesn’t even know if their computer is turned on or not! Thanks so much for your help!

Kids Say The Darndest Shit

December 6, 2005

He was injured. Injured bad.

I’ve watched this about 10 times today. And everytime, I laugh.

You May Not Be Able To Understand This Over The Sound Of My Puking

December 6, 2005

There is something drastically wrong on my floor.

A horrible, hideous, horrendous, hellish hap has happened.


Anyways, my floor is disgusting, and I have no idea what to do. This is my third year as an RA. You name it, I’ve handled it. High school fugitive taking up residence on my floor? Check. Drunk pooper in the pants-er? Been there. Pee-er in the garbage can-er? Done that. Naked sleep walker-er? Yah, I woke her up. Wanna fight about it?

But I have never handled an incident like this before. I have never had to put myself in this situation, and now I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.

If you walk onto my floor, it is difficult to see. Why? Because the wavy lines from the stink cloud are so intense, you can’t find your way out. Then you pass out and die.

That’s right. My floor smells like I took a dead rodent, old people diapers, decomposing garbage and 3 month old milk, ate it all, jumped up and down, then shat it out on a rug that was washed in the pee of a thousand babies.

And it is coming from one room.

I have never in my LIFE had to go up to someone’s room, knock on their door, and tell them that an entire building is complaining about their scent. AN ENTIRE BUILDING OF DIRTY GROSS COLLEGE STUDENTS CANNOT TOLERATE THEIR SMELL! And I need to tell them that.

I do a lot of shit for this job. I take care of more drunk idiots than any of you ever have ever. Even combined. I’ll do programming. I’ll have floor meetings. I’ll handle every single incident you can throw at me. Weed. Alcohol. Sexual assault. Domestic violence. Roommate conflicts. I’ll even handle vomit and what not.

But I will not handle your stank ass and make sure you stay hygienically acceptable for the rest of the community. An entire building is affected by you and your stink waves. Take the appropriate actions before I have to take the appropriate actions. Which is this case is drowning you in a sea of Oust, FeBreeze, and shoving Glade Plug-Ins up every orifice of your body.

You’re gross.