Party Animal

I've been at college for over two weeks now, and the most adventurous thing I've done so far was pile in a car with six people and five seatbelts and drive out to the wheat fields to stand in the cold and wait for an aurora borealis that did not happen.  Last night, while my classmates were out getting drunk at parties, I folded clothes in my dorm room, ironically singing songs such as "Cabaret" and "All That Jazz."  Then, I added "On My Own," because it seemed more more appropriate to the situation.

Standing around a hot, stuffy room, listening to techno music and consuming alcohol just isn't my idea of fun.  I'd rather do homework.  Or better yet, play pinball on my computer while listening to David Sedaris audiobooks.  Which is what I have been doing.

I have left campus four times since my parents left.

One of them was to see the nonexistent northern lights.

Another was to go "postering" with some theatre upperclassmen.  For those who don't know what that is, it's where you take season play posters around town and ask businesses to put them up.

The other two excursions were taken to a nearby Safeway, where I purchased such necessities as tea, boxed mac-and-cheese, instant oatmeal, butter and milk.  The latter two items froze in the minifridge.  The butter recovered.  I'm not sure the milk will.

I've done laundry twice.  The first time, I came away with two extra socks.  The second time, I came away missing one.

Today, as I was walking past the college's most iconic building, which sports the clocktower that seems to be our mascot, I heard the strangest sound:  "Whoowuwu...EEEEE!...whoowuwu...EEE!"  Looking for the source, I saw a pigeon pacing along a window ledge, looking at its reflection.


A few days ago, I took my cone of soft-serve ice cream (which I get on a daily basis from the machine in the dining hall) up to my room, and watched through my window while a group of people in extravagant costumes bicycled through the basketball court behind my dorm.

Soft-serve ice cream is a beautiful thing.  So is sitting alone in my dorm room, blasting swing music and eating the cookies my parents sent me in my first care package.  That's my idea of a good time.

The End

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