A Little Halloween Story

I had about five other ideas for posts today, but it's Halloween and this story can't be put off for another day.

Let me give you a little history--

I've been living in this dorm for two and a half years and I've seen a lot of things. I've seen drunken freshmen carried off by EMTs, hairy guys dressed as cheerleaders, and Campus Safety trying to break down the door of suspected pot smokers. Quite a bit of weird things happen around here, but it's a college dorm. You expect that.

One of the strangest things that would occur happened in one of the rooms down the hall from me. My friend, the current RA of my wing, used to live there with her roommate and I would occasionally hang out to watch movies. Sometimes, the closed door-- which would usually stick when anyone tried to open it, by the way-- would creak open, driving us to get up and shut it. After a period of time, it would open again and the cycle would continue. My friend told me that the lights sometimes blinked on and off, leading her to believe that the room was a tad haunted. This ghost, she rationalized, was male, as this used to be an all-male dorm. And, to repay the thing for being irritating, she gave it the most obnoxious name she could think of-- Eugene.

I only half-seriously believed in Eugene. I believe in ghosts mainly so that they never feel like they have to prove their existence to me. I'll be fine with my unfounded suspicions, thanks. As a normal person does, I tried to explain away the door phenomena by theorizing that the pressure changes in the room forced the door open. I would mention these things to my friend, but then added that, you know, it could still be a ghost, right? Call it added insurance.

Well, for a while, Eugene stopped showing up. He wasn't ever mentioned around the wing. Then this morning happened.

In the wee hours, the current residents of that particular room were sitting up and chatting. The lights were off, the blinds were drawn, and the only illumination came from the glow of their computer monitors. Suddenly, one of the girls saw a flashing light out of the corner of her eye. She waited for a while, then got fed up and convinced herself that the computers were acting screwy. So the two girls turned off their monitors and plunged the room into darkness.

Except...

The light was still there. It was an orb, really, golden in color. It zigzagged back and forth around the room, scaring the girls out of their wits. Screaming, they tumbled out of their room and spent the rest of the night with the RA, too frightened to go back to their own beds. Several boys, having heard the commotion, volunteered to stay the night in the room, but didn't see anything.

Eugene was baaaaaaaaaack.

Talking to the girls this morning, I found out that they had lots of odd activity occurring in the room. They would hear scratching by their ears and other auditory points of interest. To corroborate their story, the girl next door claimed to have seen the orb too. Interesting.

Do I believe it? Let's be honest, I'm scared to say no. I don't need spooks appearing to me. Nooooo way.

You don't think Eugene's real? Fine, then you can tell him!

Happy Halloween.

K.

PS. Odd that it happened so close to the holiday, yes? Hmm...

A Letter

Dear Girl Talking on Her Cellphone While in the Bathroom,

Hey, this is the girl from the next stall over. You know, the one wearing the dirty socks. But you probably didn't notice as you were so wrapped up in your conversation.

As much as I enjoy a little bit of entertainment while I sit there (I bring books in there all of the time), I tend to draw the line at cellphone conversations. You may be enjoying yourself, but trust me, I'm not. Public bathrooms are uncomfortable enough without the added drawback of having to listen to someone talk while taking care of... uh, business. You don't hear me busting out Shakespearean monologues, do you? I think not.

Though even that wouldn't be as bad as a cellphone conversation. See, while the monologue is a two person embarrassment (the reader and the listener), a cellphone involves three or more. Seriously, do you want to broadcast to whoever you're communicating to that you're on the toilet? If so, that's a fetish I don't need to know about.

So, in conclusion, let's stop these little cellphone chats for good, shall we? Because if I hear it again, I am going to make myself obnoxious in ways not necessarily accepted by polite society. And don't think I won't. You only know me by my stockinged feet.

Hugs and kisses,

K.

I'm An Idiot.

G-d, why do I procrastinate? Why, why, why?

I have a paper and a poem due on Monday. :( This means I have to get started.

K.

PS. Sorry that this was such a cop-out post. Maybe I'll have something better to say once I actually get something done.

Taken Over By Victorian Humor

I find that the more I delve into Victorian literature, I'm finding the most idiotic observations absolutely hilarious. My sense of humor-- and my imagination-- seem to have been irrevocably skewed.

I often picture myself standing in front of a blazing fireplace with a companion, clothed in a crimson smoking jacket and cradling a brandy snifter in my palm. We are both gazing up at some protrait of an aristocratic relative that clearly marks me as one possessed of wealth and good taste. I turn to my friend, gently swirling the brandy.

"I say, old boy, did you not find the resemblence between Lady Audley and Phoebe Marks in Lady Audley's Secret quite remarkable? Why, the illustrious lady and her maid servant are only separated by coloring, the inferior far less vibrant than her clear superior."


"Quite right, quite right," my companion harrumphs, "in fact, the only thing the young maid needs to look like her mistress is a make-over. A Pre-Raphaelite make-over! A-hur-hur-hur!"

We both chuckle heartily, then launch into a detailed discussion about my butler Nigel's latest faux pas. It seems that the blighter had mistakenly placed common butter on my table during tea instead of clotted cream. Imagine making such a barbaric mistake. Clearly, this man had never stepped foot in the hallowed halls of Eton, a-hur-hur-hur!

See, that comment that my "companion" made was not at all funny, but I definately giggled at it when my professor said it in class. What is happening to me?

Seriously, there needs to be a comedy intervention.

K.

On a More Happy Note...

I've never watched "The Office" before and then I found a site with all of the episode. Enjoy!

K.

Child Abuse

Every semester, West Chester University has the distinct pleasure of hosting a group of very passionate people on its campus. These people go out of their way to talk to students, try to communicate new ideas to a vast audience, and hold up signs to allow those shyer people to understand their message without actually having to go up and talk to them. And then, without fail, the campus police come and kick them off the property.

That's because these people talk to student by berating them about the sin-filled lifestyle they may or may not be living, communicate ideas through a bull horn, and hold up signs with "aborted" fetuses on them. Yep, the crazies have come to town!

Really, I have no problem if someone is particularly religious or holds beliefs that I cannot possibly agree with. Spice of life, you know? But I want to scream when I am told that I am going to hell or when Bible verses are screamed at me over a loud speaker. Don't break my personal bubble and won't stomp on yours. But I saw something today that left me shaking with rage.

As I was trying to enter our student union, I was confronted with placards sporting bloody fetuses and sour-looking adults staring down a heathen student population. Nothing new. Then I glanced down, only to see a small boy, his plump cheeks flushed with the biting cold, handing out pamphlets with a tiny mittened hand. He was small, barely coming up to my waist, and was topped with a hat with a pompom on it. Shocked, I skirted him, shuffling quickly up the walk. I was nearly in tears by the time I pulled out my phone to call my father, my sounding board.

How could you use a child to hand out propaganda? How could you make a child stand out in the cold in front of bloody dipictions of what may or may not be an abortion? How could you possibly you a child-- your child-- to guilt the people around you? I just don't understand.

It was two o'clock; the kid should have been in school. He should have been on a playground. He should have been playing video games or watching "Dora the Explorer" or building high towers out of Legos. He should have been eating a bowl of Cheerios while coloring with crayons. He should have been everywhere but there-- representing something that he couldn't possibly understand.

I don't care what you stand for. A child is not a tool for your agenda. A child should be living his childhood because it goes by way too fast.

If only I had the courage to walk out there and give him a cookie or some hot chocolate. Woulda coulda shoulda.

K.

I Wasn't Ignoring You! I Promise.

See, I thought I was getting a handle on this blogger thing, but then I switched to blogger beta and found that tons of people had left comments that I (apparently) needed to moderate. So to all those people that left me those 33 comments, I sincerely apologize. I've tried to make it a policy to reply to every comment left on this blog, but I've failed miserably.

Well, live and learn, I guess. I'll do better now.

K.

And I Thought I Was Confused Before

Last night, I ventured over to the student union to watch TransAmerica and caught the tail-end of a panel about gender and sexuality. Having taken psychology in high school, I had some idea of the difference between the two, but I had never actually seen anyone who had gender dysphoria or issues of gender identity. There was one transexual girl on the panel who had been born a male, but had considered himself/herself a girl for many years. A few friends of mine came into the discussion even later than I had and began questioning me about the proceedings. So I tried to explain and I did... sort of... badly.

Where I got screwed up was which pronoun to use. I was trying to convey that this person had been a guy, but considered himself/herself a girl. From what I've read, many transexuals get very irritated when people use the wrong pronouns and I'm pretty sure that if that the person on the panel had been standing next to me when I was explaining, I would have gotten smacked upside the head. I don't mean to be insulting, but when you've experienced such a thing, it's hard to wrap your brain around it.

Oh yeah, if I've mortally wounded anyone reading this post, please forgive me. I clearly have no idea what I'm talking about.

K.

In Which I Make a Really Stupid Analogy

You know you're a sad and pathetic blogger when your unplanned hiatus goes that long...

I really have no excuse for it. Life gets complicated and then it swiftly de-complicates into a swell of boredom, only to re-complicate once more. My classes were/are more work than I had previously assumed (short stories, dense journal readings-- the bread and butter of a lit major), my 21st birthday took more preparation than expected, and I endured the stress of and subsequent acceptance to my study abroad program. I can only imagine what hell I'm going to be put through in Scotland.

So the last thing on my mind has been this blog. In reality, that's really how it should be. If I spend my days postponing work and sleep and play for a bunch of on-line entries, I should be in a very sorry state indeed. Yet, if one keeps a blog, one has the responsibility to tend to it. A blog is like... like a quadrapalegic, deaf/mute cat. It can be an interesting companion, but it does not have the wherewithall to take care of itself or remind you to pay attention. Ignore it, and pretty soon you have a very hungry cat sitting sulkily in its own mess. At some point, you're going to notice the smell.

Alright, so that wasn't the best analogy, but it pretty much sums up how bad I feel for leaving this little hunk of bandwidth unattended. I will try to be better. I will try to go back to reading other blogs and commenting. I will try to write interesting and insightful entries. Oh Lord, will I try.

K.