It's three days post-break, and the memories or why I struggle to survive these classes are already streaking back to me.
I realized I honestly have no problem with the classes themselves. My argument lies with the naming and description of the classes.
For example:
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Arizona, Day Two: Two doors too many
The hotel is nice. Located blocks away from a shopping mall and within walking distance of several restaurants, it is something we look forward to coming back to at night.
The one thing the team hasn't been extremely fond of is the bathroom, or more specifically, the bathroom doors. Each bathroom has a pair of walk-in closet type doors, which meet at the middle, and do not lock. you don't even have to turn a handle to get into the bathroom, simply push the two doors open, and you're there. It makes taking care of bathroom-related business less-than comfortable, knowing someone could walk in on you at any moment.
As I took my first shower of the trip, I decided to fix this. I brought my swimsuit in with me, and using the drawstring, tied the handles together on the inside to create a lock, of sorts. Proud of myself, I showered without interruptions, dried off, and began to untie my self-made lock.
One little thing I forgot: when strings like that are exposed to heat and water, they tend to expand. So there I was, no longer feeling smart, but quite stupid, trying to unlock myself from the new self-made prison.
Three minutes of panicked embarrassment and the use of my keys later, I managed to wedge the knot undone, without any teammates noticing the problem. I'll probably take some heat now that I've written about it, but I figured you all deserved a story you'd enjoy.
By the way, the Auggies swept today in our first day of action. a 2-0 start to the trip, not too shabby.
The one thing the team hasn't been extremely fond of is the bathroom, or more specifically, the bathroom doors. Each bathroom has a pair of walk-in closet type doors, which meet at the middle, and do not lock. you don't even have to turn a handle to get into the bathroom, simply push the two doors open, and you're there. It makes taking care of bathroom-related business less-than comfortable, knowing someone could walk in on you at any moment.
As I took my first shower of the trip, I decided to fix this. I brought my swimsuit in with me, and using the drawstring, tied the handles together on the inside to create a lock, of sorts. Proud of myself, I showered without interruptions, dried off, and began to untie my self-made lock.
One little thing I forgot: when strings like that are exposed to heat and water, they tend to expand. So there I was, no longer feeling smart, but quite stupid, trying to unlock myself from the new self-made prison.
Three minutes of panicked embarrassment and the use of my keys later, I managed to wedge the knot undone, without any teammates noticing the problem. I'll probably take some heat now that I've written about it, but I figured you all deserved a story you'd enjoy.
By the way, the Auggies swept today in our first day of action. a 2-0 start to the trip, not too shabby.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Repeat to yourself: Three more days...
I've had my radio alarm set to Air1 since about November, when the radio dial somehow rolled down from 102.9 Christmas music to 102.5 Christian music... I have to be honest, it's been a great start to my days, putting me in a right frame of mind right off the bat, but it's also held drawbacks.
The biggest downfall to the soothingly familiar music waking me up is, I don't mind laying in bed for a longer time, listening to the music and morning show. And also drift in and out of sleep.
This was one of the problems I faced this morning, as I didn't actually get out of bed until I realized I was less than minutes away from class time, with at least five-minute drive ahead of me. The importance of the class period, since we didn't actually have a lecture, was to sign up for a good day for presentations. Jumping out of bed, I threw on the closest clothes I had to me, and raced out to my car. As always, Augsburg parking was ridiculous, with no spots available, so I nestled into a pay meter, dug into the change in my car, and threw in 30 cents. Yes, 30 cents. The first coin I put into the meter was a nickel, which I didn't realize until it was down. You don't get credit for nickels, by the way...
The biggest downfall to the soothingly familiar music waking me up is, I don't mind laying in bed for a longer time, listening to the music and morning show. And also drift in and out of sleep.
This was one of the problems I faced this morning, as I didn't actually get out of bed until I realized I was less than minutes away from class time, with at least five-minute drive ahead of me. The importance of the class period, since we didn't actually have a lecture, was to sign up for a good day for presentations. Jumping out of bed, I threw on the closest clothes I had to me, and raced out to my car. As always, Augsburg parking was ridiculous, with no spots available, so I nestled into a pay meter, dug into the change in my car, and threw in 30 cents. Yes, 30 cents. The first coin I put into the meter was a nickel, which I didn't realize until it was down. You don't get credit for nickels, by the way...
Thursday, March 4, 2010
The Short Sleeved Rule
When I was young, one of the rules I had to adhere to involved my clothing choices, specifically during the spring. I was not allowed to wear shorts and short sleeves outside until the snow had all melted away.
Being the patient child that I was, I'd often spend some of my warmest spring days with a snow shovel, digging into the larger snow hills, and either sprinkling the shovel-fulls of snow around the yard, or dumping it into the puddles that had formed on either side of our driveway. It was always a race to have short sleeve privileges again.
I'm 22 now, and have been picking out my own outfits for at least four years now, but I notice that this practice isn't completely dead in me quite yet. As I walked from my car to class this morning, I found myself kicking at larger snow banks, as if I was still 16 years old (give or take 10 years), waiting to put on short sleeves for another spring.
And although this really has nothing to do with the story, I also still can't resist trying to slide on ice patches, or stepping on what looks like thin ice, in what in reality is nothing but a stupid attempt to soak my foot with ice-cold puddle water. I guess old habits really do die hard.
*First baseball game of the season tonight, at the dome... Go Auggies!*
Being the patient child that I was, I'd often spend some of my warmest spring days with a snow shovel, digging into the larger snow hills, and either sprinkling the shovel-fulls of snow around the yard, or dumping it into the puddles that had formed on either side of our driveway. It was always a race to have short sleeve privileges again.
I'm 22 now, and have been picking out my own outfits for at least four years now, but I notice that this practice isn't completely dead in me quite yet. As I walked from my car to class this morning, I found myself kicking at larger snow banks, as if I was still 16 years old (give or take 10 years), waiting to put on short sleeves for another spring.
And although this really has nothing to do with the story, I also still can't resist trying to slide on ice patches, or stepping on what looks like thin ice, in what in reality is nothing but a stupid attempt to soak my foot with ice-cold puddle water. I guess old habits really do die hard.
*First baseball game of the season tonight, at the dome... Go Auggies!*
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