Thursday, February 23, 2006

An e-mail correspondance. (Nothing is edited. All typos included).

2/22/2006 03:57PM
TO: Mum [Bev], Dad [Ron]
FROM: parkca01 [Moi]
Subject: bizzee, bizzee.

See, the good thing about a 9-5 job is that it starts at nine and ends at 5. Everyone always says that the college kids have it so easy. Really, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. For me, usually, I’m up at 730 to go to the gym. Then I go directly to class from 9-12, and a one-hour lunch (sometimes. Usually only three out of the five days because I have seminars) before I have another class or lab at 110. If it’s a class, I get out at 230, and can do homework & shower until 5. If it’s lab I get out around 4 and then go directly to band (and I do not pass go, I do not collect my $200) until 5:15 (and we’re ALWAYS let out late). Usually then I have time to go to dinner for an hour until I have either another lab, a meeting, or a lecture to go hear. After that I usually spend another good 2-3 hours doing homework until I can finally spend a half an hour to relax before I’m just exhausted enough to fall asleep (lately, I can’t make it past 11:15 because I’m just so beat). And that’s on a day where I don’t have a test or an exam the next day – if I have an exam on the following day, then I’m lucky if I get 5 hours of sleep because the only time I have to study is late at night because my days are so filled. It’s been a little bit rough lately. I think you should send pizza & beer monay to the help Carinne’s sanity fund.

Love your favorite college student.

2/22/2006 04:04PM
TO: parkca01, Ron
Subject:RE: bizzee, bizzee.

Well I have an 8-5 job. I have to get up at 6:15 to get the boys lunches made & out the door. I leave at 7:30 to catch the shuttle to get to work on time. If I’m lucky I get on the shuttle as soon as I get there, if I’m unlucky (like today) the effer pulls away as I am getting out of the car & walking towards it. Then I’m 15 min late. Work till 5, go wait for the shuttle to take me back to the lot. Today I get to go to the company store for Aunt Lynne & Uncle Michael for Steeler ketchup bottles. Home to clean up the house and do 2 or more loads of wash. Pick up the boys. Back to fold wash & chill until the whopping hour of 9:30 or 10 if I can handle it because I’m so beat. Don’t even get me started on weekends…..

P.S. I thought you had beer – AKA Sweet Sweet Lovin

P.P.S. I bet your Dad will send his favorite college student $$ anyhow.

Sent:Thursday, February 23, 2006 8:28 AM
Cc:Bev; Ron
Subject:Re: bizzee, bizzee.

To the overworked college student!

I am very dissappointed. The Pizza essay has a 500 word requirement and this only has 259!!


2/23/2006 09:19AM
TO: Mum [Bev], Dad [Ron]
FROM: parkca01 [Moi]
Subject: RE: bizzee, bizzee.

Mu-um, make him do it.

2/23/2006 09:26AM
TO: parkca01, Ron
Subject: RE: bizzee, bizzee.

ME!?! Make DAD do ANYTHING!?! You’re funny.

Sent: Thursday, February 23, 2006 9:28 AM
To: parkca01
Cc: Bev
Subject: RE: bizzee, bizzee.

Wah wah wah, go cryin to you mudda!

Big baby!

Cell Phone Correspondance.
TO: Bev

Carinne: I kicked ass on my presentation today. My professor even said it was exemplary.
Mum: I'll see about talking to your father about pizza & beer money.

TO: Carinne

Carinne's voicemail picks up.
Dad: You'll be glad to know I put $40 in your account for pizza money. Enjoy. But the 500 word essay is still required. I expect that on my desk by 5pm tomorrow.

I love my parents!!!

Friday, February 03, 2006

So Amelia turned 21 on Thursday. Although the legal technicalities have never phased any of her habits, it's still monumental when you can go and drink a beer wherever you please. She celebrated with her friends at the bar for a few days and then on Saturday Dan had a party for her and all of her non-21 friends. Pretty good times.

All day Saturday, Dan and I were getting ready for the party. We hit up the grocery store and I decided I wanted to get a bunch of balloons for the shindig. Turned out the grocery store price for a dozen balloons is equal to that of a dozen roses. So we hit up Rite-Aid.

"Excuse me," I said walking up to the counter. "But -"

""Hold on, I am doing something," the cashier replied. He wasn't doing anything, I swear. Not a darn thing.

"Okay, what," he finally said.

"Do you guys sell latex balloons?" I asked.

"Latex balloons?" He asked, looking confused. The man was older, but not older than latex.

"Yeah, like for a birthday party." I said.

"Yes, I think they're ten cents a balloon."

"Fabulous. Can I get a dozen?" I inquired.

He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "Well, do you have any balloons?" He asked.

I refrained from rolling my eyes, and replied, "I guess I'll go find some." I went back into the aisles of Rite-Aid, and found the balloons and returned to the cashier.

"Okay, here we go," I said. The man looked at the balloons and then smirked at me.

"But what about the ribbon?" He pursued. "If you don't have any ribbon then you won't have anything to tie them with and they're going to be flying everywhere."

I gave him a look, and again replied, "Well I guess I better go get some," and headed back into the aisles of Rite-Aid.

For the third time I returned to the counter. My lovely friend the cashier said, "Well, I guess we're ready to go then. But you have to tie the balloons. I'm not going to tie the balloons." I just kind of did my are you kidding me laugh and handed Dan the ribbon to cut so I could tie.

"And you're going to have to tell me when to stop with the helium," he continued. "Because if you put too much in, well, it'll pop, and then you're still going to have to pay for it." Was this guy for real? It was so hard not to just bust out laughing. I nodded and did the best I could to keep a straight face.

Finally, with the ribbon, balloons, helium, and a certified helium-balloon capacity filler watcher, we were able to finish the balloons. It turned out to be about half the price of that at the grocery store, but double the effort. Crammed with a truck full of balloons, Dan and I returned to campus.

A few hours later, Dan needed a money order. "Watch the only place we can go is Rite-Aid," I joked.

So two hours after the balloon incident, I found myself sitting in Dan's truck, in front of Rite-Aid, miserable and incredulous about the fact that we were again at Rite-Aid. Not once in three semesters have I ever gone in that store, and I would soon be entering it for the second time in one day.

We walked in through the doors, cool and nonchalant. I did a quick survey of the scene; no one to the right, an old lady reading some Valentine's cards, and [sigh of relief], a person I had never seen before at the counter.

Dan and I strolled confidently over to the counter where we needed to go, when BAM, out from behind an aisle, my favorite cashier rolled out like the stealth bomber.

"Aha! Did you pop any balloons?" He smirked.

I did the best I could to be as sweet as possible. "No, no they're all still perfectly in tact."

True story.