This past Sunday I spent the day moving into my dorm. This involved going up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down stairs until everything was in my room. I don’t have that much stuff, but it seems like 900 million things when you don’t have your dad and brother there to do all of the lifting. Usually I just stand in my room and supervise, “no that goes there” or, “DAD! Don’t put that on the bed!” and even, “DON’T SLAM THAT TOTE DOWN DO YOU NOT SEE THE BREAKABLE SIGN I NEATLY TAPED ON IT???” I really am greatful for their help, but I don’t want my expensive perfume smashed into tiny bits. Now, the interesting thing about all of this up and down the stairs business is every time I passed my neighbor’s room his parents had the furniture arranged in a different way while he was telling them, “no this will not fit.” Curiosity got the better of me and I peeked in the room only to find they had a GIANT carpet to put down on the floor. So they turned it one way, but that didn’t work. So they turned it the other way. And then they had to lift up both of the beds so they could fit it in the room. By this time the desk was sticking half way out of the room, and halfway into the hall. My mom invited his mom into my room to show her how my roommate and I have set up our furniture because we find that it works out quite nicely. She then explained that he has a couple of chairs and OF COURSE they want their T.V. on its own stand so they could play video games.
Once my mother and I got everything in the room we realized we forgot my printer and microwave. We went to pick those thigns up and when we got back we saw that he finally got everything to work out in his room, and they did this by shoving his dresser into his closet and turning his bed against a different wall. Now, I am not exaggerating when I say that they seriously have five hundred chairs in their room. I mean it; every time I go by I see one more chair in there!
I actually think I am going to like my hall this year. Last semester no one on the hall talked to anyone else, unless of course they were smoking pot outside, at 2 in the morning, allowing the fumes to drift into my room. My hall last semester was a weird bunch who didn’t smile and most likely killed babies for fun. My R.A. was practically non-existent. I believe I saw him in the dorm twice. My R.A. this year is better about being seen. He is nice and when we had our hall meeting he made us do an exciting “speed dating” thing. Except it wasn’t really speed dating we were just getting to know other people. We were uneven so the two lines were all out of sync so for a large majority of the game I got to know the same five people really well. Finally he came down to our end of the line and I told him I think we should invert the lines so we could get to know other people. Well let me tell you that was a disaster. I don’t think he understood what I meant, and after three minutes we finally got the line switched up enough that I met about three other people. So far everyone has been quite loud and happy. The guys right across from me have a Wii so they are constantly playing with the rest of the guys on the hall gathered around them telling them where to go or what to do, and they go there or do whatever is instructed to them which I suppose gains them more points or something, because five minutes later you can hear them SCREAMING and LAUGHING and GIGGLING and slapping each other on the backs for a job well done.
Tuesday was the first day of classes. I had Teaching Exceptional Adolescents and French II. TEA was really fun; I really, really like my professor. That class is a basic instructional guide on how to teach special education students. We are given case studies that we have to research and present to the class. I think the most notable thing from that class was when my professor was talking about the Swine Flu. He was telling us to be smart, and that we wouldn’t get it unless we didn’t wash our hands, or we let a pimp spit in our mouths. The class was pretty silent for a few seconds and then all it takes is that one person to make a noise and suddenly everyone is laughing. I think if a pimp spit in my mouth swine flu would be the least of my worries. French was alright; I really, really, really loved my professor last semester but she sadly wasn’t teaching 106 this semester. So I have some guy whose name I simply cannot pronounce (I doubt I ever will) and he is… interesting. Being that this is French 106 he speaks 98% of the class time in French. He repeats himself in English when he can truly tell that we are lost. The thing about this class is that it is largely composed of Freshmen. I think I am the only senior (SENIOR!!!) in there. I am taking it again with my really good friend who is a sophomore, but other than us, I think there are only one or two more sophomores out of the 20 or so people in the class. But that isn’t even the interesting part. Get this. There is a TEN YEAR OLD in my class. A TEN YEAR OLD IN FRENCH II. And she is good. Everyone sort of stares at her with a hint of resentment as we stumble over verbs from last semester.
And now I must take a moment to tell you about my French classroom. On Tuesdays and Thursdays we have class in one room and on Mondays and Wednesdays it is in a different room (I have no idea why). Now, to get to the room on Tuesdays and Thursdays we have to go to the Sports Center. We have to go in, go past the gyms, go past the exercise rooms, past the rock climbing wall, past all of the sweaty people in exercise clothes who are staring at us because we are normally dressed with book bags and purses and things. Then we go down a set of stairs to a dead end and go in a door to a creepy hallway. Then we pass more exercise rooms and things, and FINALLY we come to the only two classrooms in the entire sports complex. Can someone please explain to me why on earth we have class here? The room is really big but our class is small, so it is hard to hear the professor because his voice (which is quite and masked by a really, really heavy French accent) carries up to the ceiling and we are all, “WHAT? WHAT DID HE SAY? PARDON?”
On Wednesday I went to my British Lit class with my professor named JAMES DEAN. He is a fiery old man and I think I am really going to enjoy the class. Then it was time for Grammar and my professor is awesomeeee. We had to go around the room and tell our name, status (SENIOR!!!) major, and something interesting about ourselves. One of the girls in my class was born on Christmas! That was exciting. I chose to share that I have lived in a lot of different states and then she asked if I could name them all, so I did. Then came the running. I have exactly 15 minutes to get from one building on one side of campus to another building on the other side of campus. I have to cross two streets; two busy streets full of cars and motorcycles and lights that never seem to change. If I am lucky I will make it on time to Psychology of Education, a class where we are required to keep a blog. I love that! We were assigned groups and we had to come up with a name, so my group is called the Purple Parrots from Legends of the Hidden Temple. We got our field placements and I am going to a nice school located in a different state. In reality it is only a 12 minute drive from my dorm, but it is in the next state over.
Then it was time to go back to French where we played charades in class using verbs we have learned. Now, let me explain this to you in case you don’t know this about me. I. HATE. GAMES. No, I take that back. I. LOATH. GAMES. With every fiber of my being, I loath them. I would rather sit at the dentist or the doctor getting shots or root canals than play a game in class. The first person goes and their verb is “to dance” and other people get words like “to sing” or “to talk on the telephone” or “to drink water.” So I get my card. And I look at my verb. And I’m all, “No, this can’t be right.” So I go up to him and say, “Ummm I forgot what this means.” And he told me it meant “to be busy.” And I said, “How do you act that out?” BECAUSE IT COULDN’T BE ACTED OUT. And he just looks at me and says, “I don’t know, make something up.”
Okay Frenchie. Maybe you have a different way of playing charades in France, but here in America we act out what is on the card, and this simply CAN NOT be acted out. So I’m up in front of the room, and I tell the class “good luck” and begin to act this out. I pretend that I am writing on paper, and shuffling through other papers and then I keep looking at my watch, hoping this portrays my message. It did not. Everyone was guessing writing, or time, or anything but being busy. I stood up and looked at my professor and said, “I don’t know how else to act this out.” Then I heard it. Someone murmured “busy” to themselves and I said, “YES! NOW SAY IT IN FRENCH!” and the problem was NO ONE KNEW HOW. So while the professor was writing a clue on the board I flashed the card to my friend in hopes she would say the answer and I could sit down. No luck; she couldn’t read the writing. Finally they got it and I could go back to my seat.
Internet, it was awful. Just awful. I now loath that class.
And sadly, that is where I am off to now. So good bye people of the Interweb. I hope I make it through my class and don’t die of humiliation!