I've reached new heights of laziness

On Friday, Casey and I decided to take the weekend off from work. Since neither of us have weekend jobs, we had to find a new way to do that. We packed our bags and made extravagant plans to go blob at my house and do as little homework as possible.

I was impatiently sitting with my suitcase in my room, sending her Skype messages.

Sara: Are you ready?

Casey: Almost.

S: How almost?

C: Five minutes.

S: That seems like an unreasonable amount of time.

C: To pack a suitcase?

S: If I come help, it'll be two and a half.

C: If you come help, we'll be here another hour.

S: I'm coming over. I'll show you how to stuff everything into your bag without folding it and still be able to zip it without sitting on it. You'll have to carry all your toiletries, though.

C: Can you distract yourself for three minutes please?

S:...I--I can try. I have a funny taste in my mouth. Should I brush my teeth?

C: Yes. Definitely.

I got my toothbrush and my toothpaste, walked out the door, and thought, "I feel so weird walking out of my room without a purse. I wonder why I always bring it with me." I had just pulled the door shut with an echoing click when I remembered, "Oh, right. Because I keep my keys in there."

"NOOO," I said, clinging to my door. But it had locked behind me.

Casey came upon me a few minutes later, plastered between the doorframe.

C:...Sara?

S: Yep.

C: What are you doing?

S: Nothing.

C: Did you lock yourself out?

S: Perhaps.

C: And how many times have you done this now?

S: *holds up four fingers*

C: Yeah. No more. Start locking your door yourself.

See, when this first happened, I complained bitterly that my door locked behind me in an unfixable way, and I was victim to its evil design. Then Casey found the button on the side of the door that lets me lock it myself when I get outside. But this takes an extra four to six seconds of effort on my part. Which is just too much.

Apparently, I'd rather wait for half an hour while a campus security officer finds the keys and lets me in.

You Learn Something New Everyday

I am very bad at understanding what people want. I hardly know what I want. I spend fifteen minutes everyday at the dining hall going, "Wait...do I want ice cream? No. But maybe. But it's cold out. Is ice cream better in the cold? I should find out. Yeah. I want some. Oooo, look! Brownies! Wait...do I want a brownie?" 

So I have an understandably hard time magically inferring what other people want. Most of my conversations go like this:

Guy Waiting in Line for Vending Machine: Do you have an extra quarter you're not using?

Sara: Yep. I also have two dimes and four pennies.

G: Great, thanks!

S: What for?

G: The extra quarter. 

S: You're thankful that I have one? 

G: Yes.

S:...Why? 

G: Um.

S: Do you--? OH! Oh, I see. I'm sorry.

G: Ha! That's okay. It's just one of those day--

S: You have OCD. You must compulsively find out what loose change everyone has. Well, sir, I have forty-nine cents.

G: I'm just going to go stand over there now.

I often don't realize my mistake until it's far too late to correct it. For instance, over the summer, my family bought a new car. This may sound very fancy and exciting, but it isn't. The last time we had needed a car was when gas prices started to go through the roof, and we needed something more economical. While we were purchasing a hybrid from a Honda dealership, a salesman cleverly noticed that my father was middle-aged, and was therefore due for a crisis. He offered my dad a "great deal, really great," on a second, sporty car if we bought it with the first. Without consulting the rest of us, he went ahead and bought a bright yellow S2000 convertible. 

This is the most out-of-character thing he's ever done. Considering this is the same man who refused to let us paint the walls any other color than white for the first eighteen years we lived in our house, and who was driving a white 1990 Volvo station wagon, and was purchasing a white Hybrid Civic because the gray was too "garish" and the other hybrids we looked at were too "flashy," we were just a tad shocked. He came back to himself soon enough, though. The convertible sat in our garage, with a car cover (yes, it was covered while in the garage), and we weren't allowed to walk past it. I'm not joking. If we were in another car that needed to be pulled up next to his car in the garage, all people who were not the driver needed to exit the car while it was still on the street and then walk into the house through the front door, not the garage door. We were not to touch it, remove the cover, or under any circumstances, emergencies included, dare to drive it.  This would make slightly more sense if he had very young children. But his kids were nineteen, seventeen, and sixteen.  

He drove the car a grand total of three times in the years he had it. During that time, we all became licensed drivers, and since his car was off-limits, it left his four family members sharing the Civic. Which did not work so well. So finally, over the summer, I convinced him the car was causing him more stress than it was worth, and he needed to turn it in and get something with a bit more room, and most importantly, something we could all drive. I accompanied him to the dealership to turn in his convertible. While he was signing paperwork, an apprentice car salesman, who was a bit older than me and fairly cute despite having braces, kept me company.

Apprentice Car Salesman: So, do you go to school?

Sara: Yeah, I do. I'm an English major.

A: Are you? Have you read Jack Kerouac's On the Road?

S: No, is it good?

A: It's wonderful. I have an extra copy, actually.

S: Really? With you here? Can I borrow it? I'm bored.

A: It's not with me, but if you want to come back with your dad when he turns in *random thing I have no clue about* I'll bring it for you. You can keep it and everything.

S: That's so nice! Thanks!

A: Sure thing. You'll have to call me when you're done, of course, and let me know how you like it.

S: LIKE A BOOK CLUB? I LOVE BOOK CLUBS.

A: Erm--sure.

S: Yay! It needs a name.

A: And maybe after--

S: The Roadsters. It refers to the book, but in public, people will think we're in a motorcycle gang. 

A: Uh-huh. And maybe after, we can, you know, apply our favorite parts of the book to our lives.

S:...Are you asking me to take a road trip with you? Because I don't know you well enough for that.

A: Um.

Well, as it happens, I completely forgot about our book club the next day, and never saw him again. But today, in one of my classes, a short story we read referred to On the Road, and it made me think of him. And not in the best light. I still haven't read it, but our teacher summarized it briefly for us.

HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW MUCH SEX IS IN THAT BOOK? DO YOU REALIZE WHAT HE WAS ASKING ME TO DO? And it's FAR too late for me to go back to the dealership, give him a piece of my mind, and slap him dramatically. I had no idea. And I am much offended now.

Also, the car we got after turning in the convertible works out much better for our family. We can all drive it; just as long as we have called my dad and gotten his express permission, agree not to drive anyone else in it, and park it in the center of the driveway when we're done so we don't scratch the sides on the garage.

Why I'm Going to be Kicked Out of Italian Class

Every Wednesday, my Italian class has a conversation hour with a very nice woman here from Milan. She is very concerned with manners, and etiquette, and our not going to Italy and immediately offending everyone there by incorrectly pronouncing the names of cities/making rude hand gestures/wearing an American flag as a wrap dress. Today, in her quest to make us socially acceptable, she taught us telephone etiquette, since we had finally learned the section of vocabulary that would make this possible. I mean, we learned it in theory. Some of us brought our books home from school over Spring Break, and said, "Homework over Spring Break is an outrage. They want us to suffer under the weight of our stress. They want us to stack up everything we're supposed to do over our break and shrivel under the icy stare of failure. I refuse!"

"You refuse failure? You're going to do your homework?" some of our mothers said, lamenting that after all this time, they still had to talk us into doing it.

"Never!" some of us said. "VIVA LA SPRING BREAK!"

"Please don't start a bonfire with your textbooks," some of the mothers said. "And put your shirt back on."

Well, that's all fine and good. Some of us have a rebellious streak. Some of us needed to relax. But some of us did not consider the consequences. Like, not being able to participate in phone etiquette because we didn't know the vocab. And not being able to tell Milan that we couldn't participate because this would definitely get us into Trouble.

Thus, this happened (except in Italian):

Milan: Okay, Adam*. Why don't you make a pretend phone call to Sara using everything we've learned.

Adam: Sure! *makes ringing noises, holding his fingers like a phone.*

Sara: *panics and lets phone ring*

Milan: ...Sara?

S: Right. *picks up imaginary phone.* Hello?

A: Hi, Sara. This is Adam. How are you?

S: Adam? Adam who?

A: Adam Fender.

S: I think you have the wrong number.

A: I'm in your Italian class at school.

S: Nope. I'm hanging up now.

A: No! I'm tall! I have black hair! We worked on that one project together last semester! I'm also in your math class! ADAM FENDER.

S: Oh. You. What do you want?

A: I'm so sorry to bother you, but I need a *word I don't know.*

S: Do you?

A:...Yes.

S: That's nice.

A: Do you have a *word I don't know* that I could borrow?

S: No. Please don't call this number again. Goodbye.

*Names changed. All physical descriptions and locations are accurate, though. But changing the names clearly protects their anonymity.

(And if anyone wandered over here from Blogtations, welcome! We hope you enjoy your stay.)

Instructions for an Eventful Morning

1. Wake up with a burst of energy and a burning desire to paint your fingernails.

2. Bring clothes coordinating with your polish colors, as well as your make-up, into the bathroom, and set nail polish in front of them, admiring how well they match.

3. Lay towel down on the bathroom floor in case of spills, and take off old nail polish.

4. Spill bottle of Nail Polish Remover everywhere except the towel.

5. Scream, "NOOO!" and start mopping it up with your only available resource: toilet paper.

6. Start thinking of reasons why the stain on your mother's bathroom rug was definitely there before and consider which photos you can doctor to prove it.

7. Put on new nail polish.

8. Spill bottle of nail polish everywhere except the towel.

9. Scream, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD," and then realize you used all the toilet paper cleaning up the last spill.

10. Frantically search for a box of Kleenex in the bathroom cabinet, and then discover Kleenex sticks in the nail polish, giving it a fur-like effect, and that you have smeared it all over the rug.

11. Think of reasons why this stain was definitely there, too.

12. Take off pajamas, and put on clothes. Well, try. Learn that putting a bra on while your nails are wet is the hardest thing you've ever done.

13. Get full finger's worth of polish on the back of your favorite black bra.

14. Scream, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" and frantically try to wipe it off. End product should resemble a particularly untalented child's art project.

15. Try to wash it off with water.

16. Doorbell rings.

17. Remember that the AT&T guy is supposed to be over about now, and realize that you are the only one at home. 

18. Put on wet bra and a shirt and run downstairs, yelling, "I'm coming! Don't leave! I'm almost there!"

19. Discover it is a door-to-door salesman.

20. Squirm in wet bra, realize you are still wearing pink pajama pants, and eventually get him to leave by saying you're very ill and likely contagious. Cough for good effect.

21. Get phone call from AT&T  saying they are running late. Mutter to self.

22. Discover water and nail polish have transferred from bra to shirt.

23. Survey damage.

24. Put pajamas back on.

25. Leave note for mom explaining the current state of the bathroom.

26. Go back to sleep.