it's cold.
It's officially lotion season. Meaning I constantly have to apply moisturizer onto my hands and face because they're perpetually dry. Thank you, wind and rain.
I have decided that my apartment senior year must have an accessible fire escape (because Breakfast at Tiffany's has forever made fire escapes romantic) and ideally, shutters. Color is debatable.
Have I ever confessed my ardent love for the 'Grey's Anatomy'? It's so good. I'm not really a hospital show person, but I effin love this show. It's up there on my must-see TV list, along with Arrested Development and Curb Your Enthusiasm. And....some others that have escaped my mind.
For my french presentation yesterday (topic: perfume) I sprayed perfume onto the handouts for the class...and I guess the scent permeated all of the other papers in my folder, because while I was in Bobst working on some lecture notes for Nat. Sci, it kept wafting. That's a funny word, waft.
I spilled contact solution onto my keyboard over the weekend and thought my life was over for about 30 seconds. I think it's okay though. (knock on wood)
This past Saturday was my suitemate Kelsey's 21st birthday. She or one of the other suitemates has a friend who works at Bubba Gump's Restaurant up in Times Square (cue "nooooooooooooooooooooooo") and so they wanted to go there for dinner.
[Let me clarify one thing: I hate Times Square. I turn into the stereotypical angry New Yorker when I'm trying to walk on the sidewalk and the flocks of tourists decide to collectively stop and stare at a billboard or giant Hershey's bar. I shove, I mutter explitives (sometimes loudly) and my brother doesn't like to be around me when we're in the area - I'm that disagreeable.]
So, Bubba Gump's is indeed from the Forrest Gump movie, so there's a gift store inside the restaurant with Forrest paraphenelia. As I was browsing (to get away from the line/tourist crowd) an employee goes "So, where are you from??" I reply "...Actually...I live here." The employee pauses, and gives me a weird look before asking "...so what are you doing here?"
It was a funny/sad moment.
Funny/sad seemed to be the theme of this past weekend.
Elena and I emailed Dale (Wardlaw), and he emailed us back.
This may seem like the protocol for any normal Internet users, but when it concerns Dale Wardlaw, it is a huge fucking deal if he gets his act together enough to send a reply.
So naturally, when Elena got the email, she screams "OHHHHH MY GOD!"
Me: ????
Elena: I HAVE AN EMAIL FROM WARDLAW
Both: AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! (hyperventilation)
Okay so we didn't hyperventilate. Well, maybe I almost did.
And for those of you who don't know who Dale Wardlaw is/why we're making such a big deal out of this, you should probably know that he was our high school music/chorus director.
...now you may laugh.
Okay well I'm going to much on some pretzels because there's nothing else to eat. Sad.
I have decided that my apartment senior year must have an accessible fire escape (because Breakfast at Tiffany's has forever made fire escapes romantic) and ideally, shutters. Color is debatable.
Have I ever confessed my ardent love for the 'Grey's Anatomy'? It's so good. I'm not really a hospital show person, but I effin love this show. It's up there on my must-see TV list, along with Arrested Development and Curb Your Enthusiasm. And....some others that have escaped my mind.
For my french presentation yesterday (topic: perfume) I sprayed perfume onto the handouts for the class...and I guess the scent permeated all of the other papers in my folder, because while I was in Bobst working on some lecture notes for Nat. Sci, it kept wafting. That's a funny word, waft.
I spilled contact solution onto my keyboard over the weekend and thought my life was over for about 30 seconds. I think it's okay though. (knock on wood)
This past Saturday was my suitemate Kelsey's 21st birthday. She or one of the other suitemates has a friend who works at Bubba Gump's Restaurant up in Times Square (cue "nooooooooooooooooooooooo") and so they wanted to go there for dinner.
[Let me clarify one thing: I hate Times Square. I turn into the stereotypical angry New Yorker when I'm trying to walk on the sidewalk and the flocks of tourists decide to collectively stop and stare at a billboard or giant Hershey's bar. I shove, I mutter explitives (sometimes loudly) and my brother doesn't like to be around me when we're in the area - I'm that disagreeable.]
So, Bubba Gump's is indeed from the Forrest Gump movie, so there's a gift store inside the restaurant with Forrest paraphenelia. As I was browsing (to get away from the line/tourist crowd) an employee goes "So, where are you from??" I reply "...Actually...I live here." The employee pauses, and gives me a weird look before asking "...so what are you doing here?"
It was a funny/sad moment.
Funny/sad seemed to be the theme of this past weekend.
Elena and I emailed Dale (Wardlaw), and he emailed us back.
This may seem like the protocol for any normal Internet users, but when it concerns Dale Wardlaw, it is a huge fucking deal if he gets his act together enough to send a reply.
So naturally, when Elena got the email, she screams "OHHHHH MY GOD!"
Me: ????
Elena: I HAVE AN EMAIL FROM WARDLAW
Both: AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! (hyperventilation)
Okay so we didn't hyperventilate. Well, maybe I almost did.
And for those of you who don't know who Dale Wardlaw is/why we're making such a big deal out of this, you should probably know that he was our high school music/chorus director.
...now you may laugh.
Okay well I'm going to much on some pretzels because there's nothing else to eat. Sad.
posted by Deb Oh at 2:08 PM
2 Comments:
OMG! It can only be the Dale Wardlaw that I know from our college "daze!" I'm surprised that the earth didn't come to a screeching halt when he responded! I've loved Dale forever, and he hardly never replies to my email "wooings..." You have to be former Spence students, right? Please send Mr. Wardlaw love from one, Patrick Colegrove...he'll remember!
He'll yeah! If anyone talks to him. Tell Ian from Sydney & Emma from Honkers. Send their love.
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