Category Archives: Uncategorized

White Board Art Project

Well, I’m back from break. I hate school and I hate being back so I thought I’d procrastinate doing anything useful by writing a blog post! My sister will be so proud; I’m on my game this week!

Here’s a picture that sparked many fits of laughter in my household last week.

Let’s discuss:

The main image is obviously the mentally unstable man in the middle with beady eyes. This was drawn by Uncle Rick, what an artist he is. I believe it to be a self-portrait, though last time I checked, Uncle Rick did not black eyes and his hair did not stand straight up on end, nor did he have a banana for a mouth. But since I’m all for self-expression, I accept the drawing for what it is: a strange interpretation of Ronald McDonald.

To the left of “Uncle Rick” is my mother. When I walked into the house for the first time last week and saw this beaut, I knew exactly who it was supposed to be. This instant recognition was made possible by my sister’s artistic skills and my mother’s uncanny resemblance to a stick figure. If you’ve never met my mom, you just did. She looks JUST like that drawing, which is weird because there really aren’t very many details. I think its just the glasses and hair. And stool. Because, you see, my mom is pretty short. She has to have me get things down off of shelves that 12 year olds could reach. I’m actually surprised I’ve never come across her climbing on the counters to get something down. That would be a sight.

The two stick figures to the right of Ol’ McDonald are me and my sister. If you can’t tell, our square shirts read “UConn” and “Albertus.” What a clever way to delineate between us. Also, we both love to wear sleeveless, boxy shirts so we do look quite like we do in reality. I have to say though, I did a little editing of myself. At first I had eyes that were almond-shaped and slanted. Though I have nothing against those of Asian decent, I myself am not Asian in the slightest, so I corrected my eyes to just dots. Far more accurate, obviously. For some reason, my sister has glasses on. I mean, she has glasses and she wears glasses, but that is not a distinctive fact about her. Obviously whoever drew this part of the picture (cough, Uncle Rick, cough) was just being superficial. Which is odd for someone who took just a dramatic interpretation of their own portrait.

As for the person above my sister and I, that’s our cousin Tara. As you can tell by her shirt, she also loves sleeveless, box shirts and lives in NY. As far as I know, her hair is blonde, so I’m a little concerned with how dark Uncle Rick colored it in. Perhaps it was that self-expression coming out again.

And the last part of the drawing, also courtesy of Uncle Rick, is Higgs, our cat. She does not tremble, though the picture makes her look a bit shaky. I believe that Fricky (Uncle Rick’s nickname, for the uninformed) was either going through withdrawl of some kind or temporarily had Parkinson’s when drawing Higgs. She is also black, so its strange that she looks very white in this picture. She does, however, have two ears, so that’s pretty accurate.

The bottom part that got cut off is my mom’s attempt at adding to the humor. But obviously is got cut off and I’m not too worried about it because, well, sometimes when Mom joins in, she kills it. She almost killed the White Board Art Project, but I didn’t let it get to me. Instead, I wrote all about it.



Cassie No-Pants

Its been over a month since I’ve last posted, much to my sister’s dismay. Sorry, Cor! But you see, I’ve been taking tests and writing research papers and going to awards banquets and just generally being a student/over-programmed sorority girl. If it helps at all, I’ve done pretty baller on everything thus far (save one community nutrition project… and I don’t even really think that was my fault, seeing as my teacher does not speak english).

Currently, it is Spring break. And where am I? The romantic Storrs, CT. Yup, that’s right, I’m still at school. Right now, I’m sitting at the RA duty desk. Eating pizza. By myself. Its really quite sad, being almost the only one in my building. WAIT! I take that back, there were some construction men here this morning from 8-10. I never saw them, but I certainly heard them. I believe they were drilling into my personal wall, or maybe the ceiling, though there’s no mark to prove it. I can for certain say that as soon as I gave up on trying to sleep (I even put my earplugs in, I haven’t rocked those since living in the Pi Phi house!) these mysterious construction men stopped their work.

So, to make up for my hiatus  from blogging, I thought I’d tell a terribly embarrassing personal story. Sounds fair, eh? I call this tale “Cassie No-Pants” and it starts back in July ’08.

I worked at overnight camp that summer. For those of you that haven’t been to summer camp or just clearly don’t understand how grand it is, let me explain. I spent two months swimming in a lake, jumping on a water trampoline, playing tennis, making arts and crafts (I still have an octopus I made out of yarn and a tennis ball… I’ll post a picture later. He was a wizard) and getting absolutely shit-faced. (Side note, I just audibly farted. Good thing not a single one of the 300+ residents was here to hear it)

Let me break down a typical night for you:

8:30pm: Children are in their beds, all counselors in the bunk are putting on make-up and curling their hair in the dark, attempting to be quiet though the kids keep asking questions about where we’re going. Bowling, obviously.

9pm: We’re allowed to check out. Counselors stream from bunks into the HQ in 4 in heels to tell whoever is on duty they’re leaving camp.

9:15pm: Catch the BVH van (that’s the only bar within, o, 20 miles of camp)

9:30pm: Do at least one jagerbomb. Order a pitcher. Drink at least 2 beers out of this pitcher in 10 minutes. Hey, when you have to be back in the bunk at 12am, you have to make your minutes count.

10pm: Another jagerbomb. Possibly a BLlime. Maybe just a whole other pitcher.

10:15pm: Wasted. Playing games like “Pitchers” I’ve got a great story about that game, but thats for another time.

The rest of the night is spent dancing on an extremely tiny dance floor, possibly grinding up on boys you’ve seen give piggy-back rides to little boys. The trick to getting back to camp without being “caught” was to still be able to say your first and last name coherently. If you could do that, no one cared how gone you were. And as long as you could get up the next morning at 7am and be a chipper counselor. I was very good at these last two things.

So, the real story starts one night, somewhere in between saying my first and last name without slurring and waking up the next morning. Upon waking up, I discovered something very peculiar: I did not have any pants/shorts or underwear on. When I went to sleep, I certainly had shorts on. But now, several hours later, I did not. Strange, to say the least. To make it that much weirder, I had a not-my-own tank top pulled up around me like a skirt. huh?

So, I called a fellow counselor over. I was in my bed, the top bunk of a bunk bed. I asked, “Umm, Why don’t I have pants on?” My colleague did not know where my pants had gotten to. I believe at this point, another counselor brought me some shorts from my cubbie (no, we absolutely did not have closets, just a cubbie room).

Upon great investigation, my shorts and underwear were found in the adjecent cabin (it was connected to mine by a shared bathroom). I had slept-walked into the other cabin, stripped down, taken another counselor’s shirt to put on like pants, and walked back into my own cabin where I then got back into bed without the counselor who slept on the bottom bunk noticing or feeling any movement. That, my friend, is finesse.

Word of my situation quickly spread across lower girls camp. I soon became known as “Cassie No-Pants” Mind you, this is in July. the beginning of July. We were at camp until August 17th. I had this fabulous nickname for almost all of camp. And to go with this new name, I also got a song.

This song was to the tune of SpongeBob SquarePants and had lines such as “Who doesn’t wear pants when she goes to sleep? CASSIE NO-PANTS!” Children sang this song long after the summer was over, as proven here, taken in October.

My facebook name was Cassie No-Pants for at least 3 months. I went through sorority recruitment with that name. How did anyone let me in?? Thank goodness I wasn’t discriminated against.

And this was only the start to my drunken- sleep-walking ways. I apparently tried to kick a child out of her own bed one night. I vehemently deny doing this, however…

Marathon TV is my favorite kind of TV

I hate the weekend when I’m on break. Saturday and Sunday ruin my TV groove. Channels play marathons all-day, everyday Monday through Friday. If I can’t watch five to six episodes in a row, I’m not investing my time.

CSI, I Shouldn’t Be Alive, Ghost Whisperer, NCIS, Law and Order:SVU. I’ve watched at least one marathon of each over the past week and a half. My favorite marathon, though, was the Lock Up one on New Year’s Day. Yes, that’s right, I watched at least 7 episodes in a row of prisoners and they’re sad predicaments. I’ve come to a few conclusions as a result:

1. I could never survive in jail. NEVER. I just wouldn’t trade a honey bun (literally, a honey bun snack cake) for an enema made of shampoo and water delivered from a used water bottle. Literally. 

Though, if I landed myself in prison, I have a few tricks up my sleeve to make it appear as though I was not a lilly pulitzer-clad,  pearl earring-wearing, kate spade-loving sorority sister.

2. Tattoo your eyeballs and no one will mess with you. And I mean literally no one. Well, maybe not the prison guards, but the other inmates. Freaky colored whites-of-your-eyes get you a lot of street cred, mostly because it means you stuck an unhygenic needle into your eyeball.

These are the guys from the show that tattooed their eyes.

3. Go a jail that lets you adopt kittens. They’re super cute and give you a mental escape from the hell you’re in. Plus, if you have a reason to stay out of solitary confinement, you won’t be a bad inmate! Not that I would be, but sometimes you just cant help but expose yourself to the lady guards.

4. Get sent to prison in Europe. I watched an episode of Lock Up: Abroad. The jails over there are awesome! Some of them have olympic size pools or peacocks roaming the ground. One that I saw even let you leave for the weekend! That’d be so sweet. Its like having a job, except you don’t actually have to do anything productive and you don’t make any money.  But you can go home and do whatever you please on the weekend (expect watch marathons, obviously).

5. Do something REALLY bad. I mean, if you’re going to jail for something, it might as well be something with a good story. I’ve seen so many prisoners who embezzled like $2,000 dollars or stole their ex-wife’s credit card and got something like 15 or 20 years. And then there’s the people who kill their entire familys and get 20 years. What is up with that, justice system? So, if I’m going to jail, I’m going for something big, like blowing up a car or poisoning a bunch of people. (not that I would do that :D)

I’m sure I’ve gained more knowledge than that, but I think I’d need another marathon to refresh.

I will never again travel with old people. not even one.

On Sunday, we drove from the San Antonio airport hotel we stayed in to our timeshare condo. Naturally, my mom missed the turn from a major road onto a back road that would bring us the Wild Oak Ranch. Thankfully, we were able to correct the mistake easily (sometimes the GPS just can’t “recalculate” after one of Mom’s direction fumbles) and drive through a parking lot to get to the right road. As we turned, Mom said “Oh! There’s nobody on this road!” And there weren’t, but my sister and I could tell that too, seeing as we have functioning eyes. This may not seem annoying (yet), but allow me to continue.

 Yesterday, we missed that same turn. The only difference this time was my Aunt Shirley, who’s nearing 70, chirping incorrect directions at Mom. We drove the same parking lot. And Mom said, no joke – word for word, “Oh! There’s nobody on this road!” When my sister and I erupted in laughter, she just couldn’t understand why.

This is when the story gets really good. Corey called Mom old, mind you in a nice way. Something about how old people repeat themselves or along those lines. And Mom comes out with this little speech, “You know, its OK when I call myself old, but I don’t think its OK for you to say it.” Pause. “Just saying.”

Oh Mom, you are old. I hate to break it to her, but everything she does is old. She takes bus trips (she was, in fact, the inspiration for Corey’s post about bus trips). She wears shoes that velcro (but NOT Shape-Ups, I would never let her wear those, though Aunt Shirley does indeed own and wear these abominations). She reads menus and road signs aloud. She is SERIOUSLY confused by one-way roads. She asks Captain Obvious questions. For example, I fell on some very slippery stairs today. In my defense these Texans don’t have any anti-skid/slip strips on their cement stiars because it never rains. Except for when we’re here on vacation. So, I fell, caught myself, and stood up. Mom looked right at me, after watching everything happen, and goes, “What happened?” Um, what happened? You know exactly what happened! And thats what I said, followed by “Corey actually pushed me.” Mom didn’t think that was very funny, but it was.

Today, my sister and I walked all around downtown. There are a bunch of tourist attractions throughout the area and we trapsed over many many blocks. We ate lunch a 40-minute walk from where Mom and Aunt Shirley were, and asked them to pick up us there so we could get to the movies in time (We saw the Black Swan… its fucked up).

Corey talked to Mom on the phone when they were coming to get us. The conversation when a little like this:

Corey: So, you need to get to Flores and we can meet you on the road.

Mom: I don’t see that on the map.

Corey: Do you see the Market?

Mom: No.

Corey: Do you see Commerce Street?

Mom: No.

Corey: What do you see?

Abridged here.

Corey: So you see Houston Street?

Mom: Yea, we’ll meet you there.

Corey: No, but do you see Flores off of Houston?

Mom: Yes. But that’s another road, we don’t want to drive down another road. Are you at Houston yet?

Are you at Houston yet?? We were over a half hour away! It was just so funny. I literally walked down the street after Corey hung the phone up, laughing out loud. Then I would stop. And then start laughing again. It was just so funny.

There are SO many more stories I could share. And I will. Tomorrow.

You know its finals when…

When you’ll do anything but study. I’ve been in the library more hours this week than I’ve been anywhere else combined. I’ve gotten some done, but lets face it, when I have facebook, snake ON facebook, my email, TotalFratMove, MyLifeIsBro, DamnYouAutoCorrect, and now TUMBLR, I’m just surfing the web reading funny things and posting pictures that are pretty.

If you haven’t heard of Tumblr and you have something important to do in the next, o I don’t know, month, DON’T SIGN UP. Its addicting. To sum up the site, you find pictures/quotes/videos that you like on other people’s pages and then just repost them to yours. Its a beautiful thing. If you go through mine, you can tell what my favorite things are: shoes, cats, pretty rooms, and HEDGEHOGS.

Which brings me to my next point. I am getting a hedgehog. Don’t try to stop me and say, Cassie, you can’t keep that in your dorm room! WATCH ME. Sorry, ResLife, its happening. I promise to be clean though.

I texted my mom this morning and I said “I’m getting a hedgehog. We’ll discuss later.” She texted me back in like, 30 seconds and said “We’ll discuss it now.” AHAHA I love sassy Mom texts! Needless to say, I’ve spoken with her and shes convinced I’m just doing this because she won’t let me get a cat.

If you’ve never considered getting a hedgehog, you’re crazy.

Let me tell you about the moment I realized I could get one. I became SO EXCITED that my eyes started to water, I was giggling uncontrolablly and I went and told everyone that was on the 3rd floor and still awake. I think my hands became paralyzed for a few seconds too. (Don’t understand this reference, check this link out at about 2:28:

Look at how cute hedgehogs are though, REALLY:

So I’m getting one after me and my sister (and my mom) go on vacation to San Antonio over break. I’m sure we’ll have some ridiculous posts about that too 😀

O, and here’s the link to my tumblr, follow me!

Hip-Hop at IHOP

When I went to school to Florida, I worked at an IHOP during my second semester. Neither Florida nor IHOP on their own are that bad/ghetto/redneck. But put those two together, and you’ve got the mecca of weirdos.

I recently rediscovered the livejournal I kept while living in Florida. There are some really great descriptions of the people I worked with and I thought I’d share them here because they are truley gems.

 Nolan is the dishwasher guy. He has the words “thug” and “life” tattooed onto his forearms, among others. Whenever people talk to him, somehow they reference “when he gets out” I don’t have the slightest idea what that means, but i think he might be a criminal. Which makes the fact that he asked me out even scarier.

Yes, Nolan asked me out. And yes, he was on work release from prison. As in, the van from the jail would drop him off and pick him up when his shifted started and ended. In the time that I was there, he was actually promoted to short order cook. Goo job, Nolan! But in the last week I was there, he was released from prison and no longer worked at IHOP.

There’s this woman, her name is betty. She is the one that is training me and she is your classic diner waitress. She has fucked-up teeth with a huge gap in the middle and they’re nasty. She lives in a motel and has a boyfriend. I found out yesterday that she is married. to a man in NEW YORK. She doesn’t really know where he is but she needs a divorce for tax purposes.

We found a lizard in the sink yesterday. Nolan said that because it scared him it had to die.Then this very small woman, her name is sylvia, came over and picked the thing up and brought it outside. This was only after Nolan had tried to scald the lizard with hot water and sprayed degreaser on him. 

A new kid started today. he is 19. he has a child. he is getting married tomorrow. As in he is going to the court house to get marriage lisence. 

One of the cooks has really pretty hair. Her teeth are rotting out of her head and she is probably 28. (I later found out that the reason her teeth were so bad was because she drank straight lemon juice several times a day. I also found out that she was a lesiban, but had two children with a man whom she lived with. She also did time in jail for something I never found out. She would always complain about the shampoo they had in jail… it apparently smelled like strawberries)

There was a new woman who was training last night. She just got out of jail. She is under house arrest. OMG where does ihop find these people!?? shes pretty nice though. The reason she was in jail was because she was a crack addict and had snuck a cell phone into her halfway house, which was contraband. The reason she had even been in jail/halfway house was because she had been going to score and she was gangbanged and had her face beaten in with a mag-light. No, really, where does IHOP find people like this??

So those are just some of the people I worked with. There was the waitress that was high on pills and broke her hand because she punched her best friend who she thought was trying to steal her 19 year old boyfriend who also worked at IHOP. There was a cook who was 6’3″ and never spoke and the day shift guy who had so many tattoos on his arms they made him wear a longsleeve shirt everyday.

Water Water Everywhere

I drink a lot of water. I mean, a lot of water. Usually 3 full water bottles and whatever I drink at meals. Which is usually at least a glass. All of this water means I pee a lot too. The other night, after I had gotten up from my bed to pee, I came back and started chatting with my roommate about how many times a day I have to go to the bathroom.

I started counting. Once when I got up in the morning. Once after my first class. Again in the library. Again in the library. After lunch. Twice at home. Before dinner. After dinner. Three more times in the library. Twice before bed. FOURTEEN times. That is actually ridiculous.

But, finding a bathroom on a college campus isn’t very hard. Sometimes I cut it a little close and have to run to the nearest building or literally drop my bad in the door of our house and run to the first floor bathroom. One time, I saw a girl go into the bathroom as I swiped into the door and literally yelled NO NO NO until she got it and let me have the bathroom first.

Finding a bathroom in public is a lot harder. When I was home last weekend, I couldn’t find anywhere to go. And it became urgent quickly. I had to run into Panera and leave my mom to order so I could use the bathroom. If there had been a line, I totally would have peed my pants.

And there are always those places that don’t even have bathrooms. Before we were in Panera, my mom and I had been in P.C. Richard and Sons (they were having a parking lot sale of refrigerators and washing machines. we made fun of them for at least 10 minutes, because really, who has PARKING LOT sales?) P.C. Richard may have believed in parking lot sales, but definitely not public bathrooms. That’s why I had to run into Panera.

I have actually peed my pants before. Completely sober. It was back when I went to school in Florida and worked at IHOP. Yup, IHOP. I have so many stories from that place… but back to this story. I had to pee when I left work, but we had already cleaned it and I didn’t feel like going in. So instead, I drove home and held it. Except the drive was 5 minutes and the walk from the parking garage to the dorms was 10. So by the time I swiped into my hall and unlocked my door, I REALLY had to go. There was one more obstacle though: my pants. The top button had broken weeks before but I chose to keep wearing them. So I had to undo the inside clipy thing to get the pants to come off. And I just couldn’t do it.

That’s right: I was in my bathroom, inches from the toilet, and I peed my pants. I just couldn’t hold it anymore. So I let it go. My pants were soaking. There was a puddle on the tile floor. I stood there for a few minutes, having no idea what to do. Then I had to emerge from the bathroom and somehow explain to my roommate what happened to my pants and why I had a towel wrapped around me.

I think I cried a little bit. It was traumatizing. I made my roommate promise to never tell anyone. But here I am, telling everyone. Because its three years later, and its still so funny.