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Well, the semester is winding to a close; finals are in full swing, excuses are running out, coffee’s losing its effect, sweatpants are seeing a lot of each other, and washing machines are starting to wonder if it was something they said (cause no one is using them..get it).

Stress brings out people’s true nature…and sometimes that can be scary to witness.  Some people deal with the demands of life in a calm, healthy and orderly fashion. Others…don’t.

I don’t freak out like a lot of these crazies.. but I have been the lucky duck winner of living in close proximity with a heaping chunk of kooky dingbats (what a beautifully accurate description, might I say).  There ends up being four basic classifications of people when they are forced to deal with stress:

You’ve got your basic crackpot:

These weirdos run up to anyone they know and whine about their pitiful lives.  I know, this is a pretty broad category, but I feel it is important to get out there, and so I ask you, my audience (each and every three of you) to allow me this.

The crackpots can be identified by their unnatural exposure of the whites of their eyes (you can really begin to see the gentle curve of the usually hidden eyeball in its socket); they will many times wear scarves, hats, gloves or even their winter jacket while they sit inches from a radiator (since their body is in essence shutting down, they no longer have an internal thermostat); and more likely than not they will have some crusty substance located somewhere on their face. Try not to look directly at it.

Next is what I  like to call the indulgers:

Indulgers are punks who think its okay for them to go hog wild and ingest all kinds of substances just because they have a few cumulative exams and some two-digit page papers…okay maybe there are worse coping mechanisms.

They lose any and all body-health morals and stick to a strict diet of fried dough, cigarettes, caffeinated drinks and the occasional slim jim.  Many times they will also indulge in study-breaks.  By focusing their energy on a topic of less pressing importance they are able to ease themselves into a false sense of carefreeness (that is a word, i’m sure of it).  They will strike up conversations with other indulgers (who were about to do the same) about things like perceived reality, the accuracy of astrology or a whole host of other highly interesting but less compelling matters.

Thirdly we have the hobbits:

I don’t know exactly what a hobbit is, other than having hairy feet, but I use this term to refer to people who lock themselves away, thinking that they will actually buckle down and check off all of their to-do’s because they’re smarter than all the dummies who work together.  There’s not much more to say about these folk, but I do wonder what they do in there…probably just shaving their feet.

                                                                          ^i apologize for that

Lastly, my favorite, the wise guy aka the jokester:

Jokesters pretends that nothing is wrong most of the time.  They attempt to lighten the mood by pouring out their saucy, witty remarks over the boiling entrée of crackpots and others.  Not only do they have the ability to step out of their tiny, insignificant world and see all of the humor inherent therein, but they can attempt to pull others out there with them to gain perspective… and if that doesn’t work they an always resort to sarcasm to make everything worse.

Please keep in mind I made all of this up.

To help me cope with stress, my darling roommate brought me a jelly-filled donut.  Much appreciated.  My only regret is having not taken the  batteries out of her camera before I dove in to the world of sweet white power and irreparable-stain-creating red dye.

The cheerful, bubbly tone that came pre-programmed into my cell phone exploded into the serene night air.  My body spasmed as it was unceremoniously jerked out of a dream having something to do with store-brand cream cheese and a rhino spelling bee.  Grabbing my phone, I carelessly thumbed ‘snooze’ rather than’dismiss’ and cursed; my sleep voice grumbling a few octaves lower than normal, I drew out the foul vowel.

I lumbered heavily off the cliff that is my bed, which stands about four times higher off of the ground than normal to ‘maximize storage’ as my mom puts it. Then I told her I could open a warehouse under there to rent out storage space and she didn’t get the joke and said I should really just focus on getting settled in before I started to make any big plans.

Tripping over the rug, I loped over to my roommate’s bed.

“Liv” I grumbled.

“Hmmghh” she managed and rolled to face me.

“Elfing” we croaked together.

That was when I began to really wonder why I had signed up to be a part of this marvelous annual tradition.  To welcome newcomers to the school, sophomores volunteer to surprise firsties (no, we don’t say freshwomen) with goodies left at their door, installed in the dead of night so that they will find them in the morning.  Sounds nice, right?Well, it gets creepier.At 3:00AM on the first night of elfing, tradition had us tiptoeing downstairs to our Elfee’s (creative, I know) room with handfuls of newspaper, masking tape and previously-ripped-out magazine pages. Our number one goal was to not wake up the little buggers as we somehow taped the newspaper over their doorjamb so they’d wake up, open to door and (hopefully, with enough momentum) walk into/through the wall of paper.

You wouldn’t believe how not quiet masking tape is when you most need it to be. Pull it slowly, it sounds like the drowsy deflation of a whoopee cushion. Pull it fast, it sounds like the building is being torn open by Reptar.

Lucky for us, our elfees were across the hall from each other, so we were able to help each other out with the installation process.  Once the newspaper was more or less covering the door and we had used up every cringe face in the book, it was time to hang up the magazine ads.

We spent the night before on our salsa-stained rug tearing out magazine ads and altering them in stalker-y ways in favor of our elfees, with whom we are well unaquianted.  Ads that said “Want gorgeous, flawless skin this winter?” became “Stefanie is gorgeous, flawless” … the power of a black sharpie and brute pressure.  A beautiful, toned model man on display to sell some undies is now thinking, “Oh golly, I’m so depressed I can’t even put clothes on ever since Rachel left me alone here after an amazing night” We could’ve shortened that one a bit…  A picture of an orange wearing sunglasses, sipping orange juice from a straw was given a thought bubble: “orange you sad you aren’t Anna?”

Pretty witty.

Believe it or not, the school endorses this rather than fining us for hazing.

In this context, the heart symbol is meant to say: “I hope this past week has been exorbitantly less horrible for you than it has been for me. Lacklusterly,”

I’m in college and there are no males. But I’m okay with it.

Back when I was a mopey junior in high school trying to figure out just how far away I should choose to get from my home sweet home my mom found a women’s college a few hours away.

‘Just give it a chance! Think about it.. Humor me!’

‘Fill out the application why don’t you’

‘Let’s go on a tour!’

‘Golly isn’t this lovely! Look at that sequoia what a sight. Is that a goose I see? That’s a goose, gee wilikers they have a goose! ‘

‘O wow you got in! okay!’

No, my mom doesn’t actually talk like that. But it happened and I’m here and I’m a sophomore and it’s actually pretty great.

Now, I know what you’re thinking (unless I don’t know and I’m completely wrong) but no, we’re not all lesbians.  True, there is a rather high percentage and true, men come thinking that we are all desperate for whatever it is they think they have to offer.  But wow! Being in class and not having to worry about how your unbrushed hair looks or if your question is dumb or that you might be too enthusiastic about raising your hand is AMAZING.

I guess I’ve neglected to mention the name of this expensive great establishment…

It’s Mount Holyoke College out in good ole South Hadley, MA.

Yea, it’s breath-takingly gorgeous, get over it.

So I’m an English major. Maybe I shouldn’t say that incase I have some egregious typos or parenthetical phrases left open or run on sentences.

Since this is my first postamajig, I’ll keep it short.  Lure in some unsuspecting dopes who should by now be drooling for more.

I will leave you with what I think is pure genius, from Madame Bovary (If you thought I was joking about the whole English major business.. I wasn’t):

“…human language is like a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to, when what we long to do is make music that will move the stars to pity.”

What is make-up?

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