V Day.

So. It's that time of year again. If you must know, today my outfit consists of a black shirt, dark gray jeans, and brown boots. I did decide to don the pink and gray heart socks that my mother sent me in honor of this momentous day in the lives of anyone who has ever been attracted to anyone else. Mother Nature has decided to grace us with some of the l-word today, it's 46 degrees outside and I barely need a jacket. I awoke this morning to an upset roommate and Taylor Swift playing in the room next to me. Lovely. Taylor can actually be a bit depressing, especially on a day like today. It's no wonder February is the most depressing month. If you're in a relationship, you're getting frostbite trying to hold your significant other's hand, and if you aren't, you're depressed because you're not in a relationship and you're cold. Upon walking into the lobby of our fair dorms, I was graced with the presence of two people in an extended embrace. Necessary? Nope. They then proceeded to sit next to each other (very closely) and talk about feelings, I presume. I went along with my normal routine, filling my water bottle and glaring at them through my bangs. I doubt they saw, they were too busy gazing into each other's eyes. I continued my day without too many more "incidents." However, I did see a couple making out while walking. Miraculously, they did not run into anyone. Now there's a feat. Very impressive. During my lunch, I did not want to be listening to the (very loud) vocal stylings of the glee club, singing things like "L-O-V-E" and "Can't Hurry Love" and just about anything else with the l-word in it while clothed in hideously costumed, over-the-top pink and red outfits. However, I was graced with an anti-date in honor of the holiday. This included Jamba Juice and a cookie. Valentine's Day isn't that terrible, I suppose, especially if it means I get free food.

2.2.11

"Put your hands in your pockets, you freaks!" This is what I want to shout at every couple I see walking around campus foregoing their circulation to get some quality time holding hands. Of course, I don't. I restrain myself. It's February, and love is in the air. Joyous. However, just because it's Cupid's month doesn't necessarily mean that there is an increase in the amount of public affection shown around campus. Nope. Couples have been everywhere, all the time. Toting their offspring, sporting their rocks, picking each other up from class. I'm not against love or anything, it's just something I didn't expect to see such an abundance of at college. But back to the point. It’s currently 12 degrees outside. Fahrenheit. Ew. Among these lovers traipsing around campus looking into each other's eyes while slowly losing feeling in their extremities are students braving the cold. One of my favorite was braving the cold in, that's right, basketball shorts and flip-flops. This was another moment in which I wanted to scream something like, "Didn't your mother teach you any better?! You freak." "Freak" seems to have become my new word. It accurately describes many people with whom I associate. In the most positive context, of course. I mean, the people of the religion to which I am a member are often called a “peculiar people,” right? We choose to come to an institution in a place where we could potentially lose body parts to frostbite just by walking to grab some dinner. And especially if our hands are out of our pockets so we can have our arms all over each other. Another thing. We don’t need to rub each other’s backs in American Heritage. This is historically known as a very demanding course. Are they taking notes? Nope. They should be. It’s not Valentine’s Day yet, people, and even if it were, you would still need to take notes. Just because you’re in love or whatever does not mean you get an out. Yeah, it’s February. To me, that translate to, “It’s cold.” Not “Let’s waste time and body heat to celebrate our love.”

safety week.

So. Two weeks ago we had an event called "Safety Week" at our lovely little institution. This "Safety Week" consisted of various activities including random door checks, a safety seminar, and a "Stoplight Dance" for which we dressed in clothes that displayed our current relationship status for all to see. Red if you're taken, yellow if it's complicated, and green if you're single. The abundance of green was apalling. I wore black. Interpret it as a metaphor for my love life, or interpret it as my protesting the idea that all personal information should be posted for the world to see, I don't care. I fell asleep through the safety seminar. But hey, I got 100 points out of doing everything I did that week, the maximum anyone could get. That got me free ice cream and some Jolly Ranchers. Does that mean I'm the safest? Doubtful. I walk down Freshman Hill alone all the time in the middle of the night, probably not a good idea. Last night in our hall meeting, our next door neighbor told us about a group of guys who fly down here to our lovely little town specifically to rape Mormon virgins. Joy. My roommate says she'd die to protect her virginity, girl's a fighter. Me? I've got my pocketknife and rape whistle, I think I can handle my own.

ahh, college.

So I'm in college. Big deal. Classes, I can handle. Roommates, I can handle. But something I was not prepared for was the abundance of... couples. That's right, boys, girls, the whole shebang. It's really the PDA of the couples, it's simply the vast plentitude of couples. They're everywhere. Seriously. I can't even go work out in the student gym without seeing at least one. And they're cute, too. Always holding hands, toting babies, sporting their diamonds. You might think I'm embittered, being single and all, and that this is my way of lashing out on the male population for not noticing me, but on the contrary, I love couples. They're adorable. They just, frankly, are not particularly what I'd like to see every day between classes. A change of scenery would be nice, is all.

highlights of my day.

Only one casualty, a plate in the dishwasher. Heaven knows how one plate in the middle of the dishwasher can get broken with the others around it intact, but hey, they make it happen.

"Umm... Excuse me? Excuse me? Umm... I love you."

The guy in the redneck truck who whistled at me as I was turning onto Jeff Davis.

The African American girl with blue, purple, and neon green tye-dyed hair walking into Walmart.

swiss miss 3.

22. They drive on the same sides of the road as us. And their cars are as big as ours too. They have SUV's.

23. Every toilet flushes differently. You might look for the pull for at least 6 minutes before giving up and then mentally picturing the stall and figuring it out after you've left.

24. Teenagers can wear the "f" word on their shirts without getting too many weird looks.

25. There is a strange abundance of Asians.

26. Really. Every little kid is aesthetically beautiful. Even if his or her parents aren't attractive at all. They are all adorable.

27. Church in French is really difficult to stay awake for.

28. There is no shortage of man-capris.

29. Men wear two large balloons under their shirts and walk around looking like women. Because no woman has boobs that big... Right?

30. Lesbians tongue each other on the metro.

31. Old men in Speedos strip in front of you.

32. Old, fat men in Speedos play in the water fountains with small children.

33. Blogger logs you in in German.

The end.

swiss miss 2.

12. You are expected to only use one square of toilet paper. This is implicitly, but strongly, encouraged because bathrooms only dispense this amount at one time or the toilet paper is ridiculously thick.

13. If you have to pee, GO. Never think that you'll "be fine." You will not.

14. Sometimes completing number 13 requires money. No matter how badly you have to go.

15. Electric fences are for cows.

16. Alpine flies are really stupid.

17. Rivella = Coke

18. Rick Steves = God

19. Leggings pass as appropriate bottoms to an outfit.

20. Any falling water is potable, even if it is spewing out of the side of a 9th-century castle. However, water from a bathroom faucet is not.

21. Hiking down to Murren requires unleashing your inner Freud.

Still to be continued...

swiss miss.

In Switzerland...

1. All small children are absolutely adorable.

2. It is perfectly acceptable to pat the butt of the guy next to you to the beat of "Get Ready" at the Montreaux Jazz Festival.

3. No one says anything offensive enough to you to make you change if you just happen to leave your home wearing an entire outfit of neon green.

4. You can swim around a castle, complete with centuries-old poop.

5. If people want to stare at you, they will.

6. Couples are mismatched. Ex: Short man, tall woman; old white man, young Phillippino woman; attractive man, hairy woman; etc.

7. Every one of said couples is DEEPLY in love, complete with hand holding, groping, and the occasional holding of the towel in front of your girlfriend while she changes, without bothering to avert your eyes or stop making out with her.

8. What looks like apple juice is really unsweetened tea.

9. The train leaves on time, whether you are the only one of your family on it or the rest of them have managed to accompany you.

10. Everyone smokes. They all look like they're just regular cigarettes, but I can smell better. Then again, marijuana is legal here.

11. Most guys you can smell while passing them on the street actually smell pretty good. However, the ones that happen to sit across from you on the 45-minute train ride back home do not.

To be continued...

the bros.

My brother has officially become one of those boys. You know, the ones who grow up to be the boys previously referred to as those who only use girls for making out. Today he "got some play" with a girl who we will refer to as D. Necessary? No. Fun? Probably, ask him. He is currently standing around his friends, including A, who is obsessing over his facebook status. (Which is now "[A] and [G], [my brother], [the kid who introduced himself to me last night as "Flavius"] discovered the Greatest insult known to man its the " Sea Gypsy" let it be known all throughout the land on July 8 2010") They're playing DJ Tiesto's remix of "Adagio for Strings" and none of them know what it's called. Except my brother. Who, despite his knowledge of Samuel Barber's most well-known work, is slowly spiraling down the drain towards the eminent high school male personality disorder, which my friends and I have a tendency to refer to as "durhur." "P (Flavius), I think I have one thousand friends!" This is what society is coming to. And you ask me why I don't date.

car maintenance.

If there's one thing that's out of my comfort zone, it's car maintenance. Even the simplest of oil changes I have difficulty with; I always drive out of that BP confused/not satisfied with myself/lacking something I came to get done, etc. Today it was an oil change. My little car has 252, 902 miles on it. I checked my gas mileage yesterday, 35 mpg. It rocks. However, beyond that, I am severly lacking in my knowledge of the inner workings of the modern automobile. And it doesn't help that everything my buddy M (full name has been withheld to protect those not here to defend themselves) is said with a serious southern twang. (Though I am well-versed in the twang, I can't really understand him when he's behind my hood, pumping oil into my car.) "Do you want it on or off?" I asked him. Easy question, right? I still don't know what his response was, but I have reason to believe it was not one of the two options I gave him; whatever he said in response was comprised of multiple syllables. My other task today was "steering fluid." When my mother drove my car the other day (so I could eat something on the way to pick up my charges when I had woken up late), she said, "You need steering fluid." What is that? Oil for your steering wheel? So when I drove up, I said, "Oil change and steering fluid," clear as day. But, of course, human error comes into play, people forget things, I am victim to an imperfect hippocampus as well as the vast majority of our species. Needless to say, I don't think I drove out with this illustrious "steering fluid." It was not on my receipt, though it did say "taxable amount: $16.00, total amount: $31.99." I just handed my card over like the typical clueless customer. Also behind the hood, my buddy M mentioned to me that something is "looking really dirty... And I recommended it to ya last time and I'm mo recommend it to ya 'gin; it's a killer for gas mileage." (Mileage. Which on my sticker for my next oil change is spelled "milage." Once again, humans make mistakes, maybe it was a rough day at work.) I have no idea what that "something" is, and I was too confused about my total to really ask anything. So. Upstairs in my room is a book I borrowed from the library, entitled "How Women Win the Auto Repair Game." This must be my karmic cue to crack it open.