Thursday, November 24, 2005

Turkey day has reached its end for my family: everyone has gone home, all the dishes are done, and we’re all stuffed. Another successfully delicious dinner, filled with fun anecdotes that sometimes resulted in random people saying, “Well that was a Chloe story,” surprising me with how many people actually read the lame e-journal. I’m now relaxing in my favorite arm chair, just feeling good.

We got a lot of snow yesterday/last night, which was a nice change for the landscape. Also, I got to drink some of the Beaner’s Bullet Brew (fabulous, really, I’m so impressed. That will get an entire post to itself at a later date).

Monday was monumental as I got a speeding ticket on the lovely PA turnpike. It ruined most of my day, but stuff like this happens, I guess.

Before I left Gettysburg I grabbed a can of soda for the ride. I don’t have cup holders in my car, so on cans I kind of have to hold them between my legs on the seat. It’s a little uncomfortable but whatever, it works.

I opened the can, and it exploded all over me. Literally, everywhere. I tried to keep my attention on the road while avoiding getting the entire car covered in Cherry Coke (can I sue for this?), but the carbonation destruction was too much. While focusing on the spillage, I stopped noticing my speed and BAM, there was a cop.

He walks up to the window and not only am I shaking uncontrollably because I’m so upset, but I’m also covered in Cherry Coke in a specific area that made it look like I peed myself. He kind of looked at me, turned away, and talked without looking directly into the car. I was ridiculously embarrassed. Knowing my luck, the cops probably have a “comments” section for when they run your license number, and I’ll be forever known as the ‘peed-herself-girl’.

The actual fine for speeding was $73, but there is $90 worth of other crap tacked onto there that makes a grand total of $163. That’s a lot of money. Plus a couple of points against my license; I’m not exactly sure how many, but it’s not good. This will undoubtedly come out in the tabloids when I run for president. I can see the headlines now: “Bed-Wetting Campaign?” “Speeding for Road Safety?”

Anyway I’ve moved beyond it: I’m going shopping tomorrow (black Friday, 6am, $500 Macy’s Gift Cards, oh yea) and then I plan on making an apple pie (or at least attempting to. I figure, if George can, I can.).

Hope everyone’s break is going well & Happy Thanksgiving!

Saturday, November 19, 2005

An Interview with a Chloe: A Brief Introduction to a “Chloe Story”

“He’s really a DILF,” Chloe said this afternoon.

“A DILF?” We all repeated.

“Yeah, you know, a Dad I’d like to --” Chloe explained. But who needs to be explained that?

Chloe is my darling room mate and we’re soul mates. When my parents called me at the beginning of the year and asked how the rooming situation was, I told them I’d met my soul mate and we were going up with Liz to Massachusetts to get married. My Dad laughed.

Then three months later, when my family came out for my birthday, they met Chloe. The first thing my dad said was, “Are you the girl that is marrying my daughter?”

Chloe let that process for a second and then replied, “Yes. Yes I am.”

My Dad looked to my brothers, (ages 12 and 14) and said, “Boys, meet your sister’s wife.”

And that’s the Chloe and me.

Chloe is a fantastic person. She’s a physics/math double major, can eat 1600 calories worth of ice cream in twenty-four hours (not to mention how efficiently her and I solely can down a Gingerbread Man Chocolate Brownie dessert of deliciousness), and makes one hell of a townie, but she has one main problem. Her stories suck.

I don’t mean suck like, “Guys today I saw a rock,” boring suck, but suck as in she just can’t tell them. She could run into Dave Grohl, he could instantly fall in love with her, sweep her off her feet and fly her to the Caribbean for two weeks, and then propose to her; but the story would just be told in a way where we’d all be completely unresponsive because of its lack of excitement. Not even, “And then I found 5 dollars and punched him in the face” can remedy her problem.

This story infamy has gotten widespread throughout the Gettysburg College Campus. Chloe doesn’t even have to be around; if you tell a story and it’s bad, people will comment, “Well that was a Chloe story." This trend has now spread from the Gettysburg College Campus to the University of Maryland, thanks to the group we went to the Terps' football game with this afternoon.

The story of the Chloe story within itself, is a Chloe story.

Chloe blames her family and her high school friends for this ailment. They’ve lived with her for her whole life, and never have told her about this impairment. When questioned, her mom replied, “Actually, Chloe, no one ever actually listens to your stories, so we wouldn’t really know.”

However, this impediment is being corrected. Friends around campus are forcing the Chloe to re-tell her stories when they suck. Slowly but surely, step-by-step, detail by detail, her stories are showing definite improvement.

The moral of this is please, if Chloe tells a sub-par story, help her out. And if someone tells a bad story, call it a Chloe story.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Top Ten Reasons to be a Chem Major

1. You've got nothing better to do between 12 and 6am.
2. You thought the P in P-chem stood for Party.
3. You needed something to consistently pull the old GPA down.
4. Learning how to use a bomb calorimeter is essential in life
5. We use latex protection
6. Goggles are just super damn sexy.
7. We can legally do distillation
8. Chemists never die. They just reach equilibrium.
9. You've got Alcohol and Acid all in one go.
10. Chemists do it organically, inorganically, on the table, in the hood, and in chains.

What is Ba(Na)2?

Why did the white bear dissolve in water?
Because it was polar.

H2O is water and H2O2 is hydrogen peroxide. What is H2O4?

What do you do when you find a dead chemist?

What weapon can you make from Potassium, Nickle, and Iron?

What do you call a tooth in a glass of water?
One Molar Solution.

A chemist walks into a pharmacy and asks the pharmacist, "Do you have any actylsalicylic acid?"
"You mean aspirin?" asked the pharmacist.
"That's it, I can never remember that word."