sup, bumblebee

So I was a bumblebee for halloween on Saturday. (On Friday, with plans of attending a Too-Soon party, I dressed up as "sexy Tamsen Donner" of 1846).
Apparently I made some kind of impression.

John has threatened to use "bumblebee" as a nickname. I've warned him that I will retaliate. I do not take well to condescension.

Today, though, I discovered John wasn't the only one who enjoyed my costume (which, not that it matters, was pretty damn conservative. I was wearing more clothes than a lot of people). I was standing in the Ratty by the omelette station, and I'd been in someone's way I suppose.

Me: Oh, sorry.
Stranger: Sup, bumblebee?

Maybe it's the prosopagnosia, and I really did meet this person and talk with him at some length (It also might be the a-a-a-a-a-a-alcohol, although I'd be shocked if I'd actually forgotten anything from that night completely). I have no recollection of any of this, though.

Un po' strano.

Love always,
Clara

things that people do that are awkward

1. When you're sitting in a room and, to make conversation, someone looking at a computer says, "Oh my god that's terrible!" The other people in the room exchange glances before someone inquires as to what is so horrible/great/hilarious. There's always the awkward pause when you think, maybe no one will ask, and then you'll never find out.

2. When you see someone that you sort of know in the bathroom, and you both sort of emit barely audible squeaking sounds. This is the least direct method of acknowledgement possible.

3. When you're doing something a little weird (e.g. buying lots of bananas to fill out a meal credit), and you see someone you know (weird things rarely go unnoticed). You make some self-deprecating comment (e.g. "I'm out of dining points! I have to use credits, and I don't want to waste them! I'm irresponsible!") and the other person agrees, and scolds you. (Being scolded in public, in general, is a weird thing.)

4. When you're waiting for cereal and the cafeteria workers are cleaning that counter, which is always covered in cereal. You wait for them to walk away (you smile so that they don't think you're being impatient), and then you pour your cereal and it goes everywhere. This is definitely because the bowls in the Ratty are so shallow, but you feel kind of bad.

Love always,
Clara

moral: staple guns are actually really dangerous

Yesterday was full of excitement.

1) I met John's family in the Ratty. I had not expected to see them there (note: Why do parents seem to want to go to the Ratty when visiting Brown? If you want to pay 12 dollars for lunch, go somewhere with food that doesn't suck!), so I was entirely unprepared. My hair was wet, for heaven's sake. But David told me that they were around, and after a moment of fretting about the wetness of my hair and whatnot, I went over to say hello. It was only a little bit awkward, although I found out later that John's sister was standing right behind me while I fretted to David. Yikes.

2) Buxton had a little soiree last night, so we spent a good portion of the day setting up. Vivian and I were staple-gunning fabric to the walls (like curtains. Very classy), when somehow a staple ricocheted off of the molding and stabbed her hand.
Naturally the two of us dashed off to Health Services, not telling anyone where we were going or why (no time!), and they fixed her up. But in the mean time, excitement! Adrenaline! New friends! A bunch of us Buxton girls had dinner later on, so I'm kind of considering the whole experience to be a net positive, although it wasn't my hand.
(But Vivian really is fine.)
(Now I sound horrible.)

Today has been significantly less interesting.

Love always,
Clara

the brown university mens social society

Also known as BUMSS. Also known as AEPi. Also known as the story how I may have broken my toe.

The formal was last night. I ran into Lucas in the morning and he was acting fishy.

Lucas: Hey Clara, excited for tonight?
Me: Yeah. You should come!
Lucas: Nah. Do you know the rules?
Me: What rules?
Lucas: We're not a frat, and it's not a formal. The venue thinks we're a men's charity society.
Me: Right. Cool.

Apparently the mill (an historic landmark) doesn't host fraternity events, so the boys had to get creative. It wasn't a lie so much as a half-truth anyway. They definitely do charity work, and they are indeed a social society of sorts, if you're flexible.
It counts.

The formal itself was a ton of fun. All of the classes had to sing their serenades (Friday, Girlfriend, Party in the USA) while the dates watched in a mix of shock, glee, and horror. I did my share of peoplewatching (which you must know by now is one of my favorite activities). It was all a marvelous time.

Then Benny and Alissa and John and I watched Silence of the Lambs.
Because that makes a lot of sense.

On the way out though (taxi back to the frat house, frat to keeney), I tripped on some steps outside. Take that not as an indication of any inebriation (blasphemy!) but an inevitable consequence of the two facts that I was wearing heels and those particular steps had basically zero friction. I had to pretend I was okay, because the only thing more embarrassing than falling down the steps is falling down the steps and actually hurting yourself, but now my pinkie toe is still swollen and possibly broken.

Not so good.

Anyone who saw me limping down Wriston this morning (high-tailing it to an ultimately useless review session at the cruel hour of 11 AM) should know that I was fighting through the pain.

Love always,
Clara

P.S. This has been a rambly post. Look at how much I care.

it's a rough life.

So, yesterday, I slipped out of this place I'm staying before anyone could see me and prepare me breakfast. I did this without thinking, because most of the things that any of us do, I'm pretty sure, are done without thinking, but anyway it caused a bit of a fuss, because my host's housekeeper Gina was meant to prepare me breakfast.

I wouldn't make that mistake today.

I came out of my room a bit after eleven to find Gina in the kitchen. On the table, there was a box of Raisin Bran (someone's got inside sources, because that's my absolute favorite), milk, a plate of cheese, several bread rolls, some jam, some butter, two slices of coffee cake, a plate of ham, and a glass of orange juice.
And one chair.

My appetite, it seems, has been overestimated.

I suppose there are worse problems in the world than being served an extravagant breakfast over spring break. This might actually be the least-genuinely-problematic problem I've ever had.

Love always,
Clara

jo's run

If you needed to know anything more about that awful Friday song, here's an analysis that would have gotten an A in my MCM class last semester (except that it completely neglects Freud, and no analysis is complete without Freud.)

Last night I went to Jo's with Hannah and Andrew. They had tater tots at Jo's last night, which was new. There was also a new guy behind the counter. I don't know his name, but if he works at Jo's, he might as well be Jo (there is no real Jo except Josiah Carburry, who was once a professor of psychoceramics.)

Henceforth, I will call him Jo.

Jo: We have tater tots tonight! It's a middle school flashback!
Me: Nice!
Jo: There was always that one really mean lunch lady. Or! Oh! Every school had one of these! The lunch lady with a really big butt!
Me: I don't remember seeing any of our lunch ladies' butts.
Jo: Well, you could tell from the front.
Me: I don't think I even saw their hips. I think it was obstructed... by... the food? The barrier thing?

I have forgotten crucial details of the Potomac lunch room format. Can you see the servers' hips? I don't remember this. All I remember is that guy with the hat, and that we would always refer to all of it as "SAGE Dining Services". There was no nickname for SAGE Dining Services. The term was typically used with derision, as I recall. I don't know. I didn't often eat the food that was prepared daily. I spent a year eating apples, and another year eating fruit salad and m&m cookies, and none of those things involved much interaction with anyone involved in the process.

Hannah: I'm going to get tater tots, because they're new and exciting. I like new and exciting things.
Jo: You're gonna love me then!

Jo is most certainly new and exciting.

On the way out, we went to Little Jo's so that I might buy some Fig Newtons (Whole Foods is so far away. I have not gone in ages. I keep meaning to but what a time commitment, you know?). Hannah encountered a friend of hers to whom she has been trying to introduce me. The first time he stumbled by our lunch table, I was meticulously eating all of the blue M&Ms out of my cup so that only leaf colors would be left. Such an activity, as you may or may not know, can engross me completely, and of course it did in this circumstance.
This was our second meeting. I emerged from the little store as they were talking, and opened the bag I had bought of chocolate covered peanut+pretzel+raisin+awesome.

I did offer him one.

Love always,
Clara

it's a pig!

It's a pig! It's a housebreaker pig!

Actually it's a mouse. But I've decided mice look kind of like little tiny pigs.

Compare:

Go ahead and try to tell me I'm wrong.

Anyway, last night apparently there was a mouse in our room. I didn't see it, but I got a text from Genevieve.

Genevieve

Holy FUCK there's a mouse in our room.

That was also my reaction. When I got back to the room she explained the situation to me; apparently she'd seen it, but it ran behind my dresser and then she moved the dresser and then it was not there, and no one else was freaking out except her. I said that if I had been there I would also have been freaking out.

It's not like our room is an especially mouse-friendly place. We keep it relatively clean. There are no open foodstuffs. It's generally more or less presentable. A mouse was entirely unexpected, and, frankly, unwelcome.

So I decided it was necessary to try to lure this mouse out of the room. I had some left over jam, and I am under the impression that all mammals like jam, so I put the open jar of jam in the hallway and we left our door open last night. Hopefully it worked, but no one can say for sure can we?

Anyway, this all leads me to the following absolutely real conversation.

Nick: Clara! There was a mouse in your room!

Me: I know! It's horrible.

Nick: So, Clara... is catching mice your jam?

Me: ..... Wow. That was a good joke.

It all reminds me of every single time I've tried to write a joke. A super long and overly complicated build up, for a silly pun punchline.

But this was real.

Love always,

Clara

fetishes...

This is another one of those blog posts that gets out of control because I haven't really done much in the past few days, and thus have very little source material.

I sure love three day weekends.

While I was doing all of this not-much this weekend, I happened to do my MCM reading (which isn't due until wednesday! I'm such an overachiever, guys!). It was wild.

I was reading a deep analysis of a shitty Nicholas Cage movie,* when I came across this passage:

... the camera suddenly embarks on what could only be called a wet dream of surveillant omniscience, craning up and over the walls of the hallway in an "impossible" shot that tracks across one room after another as if the ceiling had been lifted off, peering down into each until finally it locates the object of narrative desire.

So I'm pretty sure that this shot could indeed be called something else. A "fantastic illustration" of surveillant omniscience? A "prime example"?

Although, when you look at the rest of the language, I think this author just wanted to slip "wet dream" into his scholarly masterpiece.

*Okay, I haven't actually seen the film in question, but I really don't like Nicholas Cage. On that note, this author was obsessed with him. The article discussed five or six films, but the author only managed to name that one actor, who happened to be in two of them.

Seeing as everything is fetishistic in cinema anyways, I can't even make a Nicholas-Cage-fetish-joke. It wouldn't even work.

Me: Hah! You have a Nicholas Cage fetish, obviously!

Author: Are you referring to my inherent fetishistic scopophilia? Yes.

Me: ...

Love always,

Clara

foooootballllll

This weekend is homecoming. Who knew?

To be fair, homecoming in college is very different from homecoming in high school. Here, there are classy-looking alumni all over the place, and no one cares what dress you're wearing, although they might be wondering why you're wearing a dress to begin with. We're yankees, and we don't do the sundresses-and-pearls-to-football-games thing.

Obviously.

Anyway, we had our homecoming football game tonight and I'd say it was pretty awesome. I ran around with some Jameson kids beforehand, but (rather rudely; I apologize) peaced out to see where John was sitting. His seats were better.

Getting there was an adventure though. He'd texted me that he was sitting in front of two shady characters with whom I'd had enough contact to recognize. So I was making my way across the stadium, and I see these two sitting down and assume that John is nearby. It was a fair assumption. So I'm looking around that area, and not seeing him at all, but I keep using these two guys as a reference point, so I'm basically staring at them, standing awkwardly in the aisle, and I know they see me, and they're likely wondering why I'm staring at them and typing furiously into my phone.

I imagine I looked creepy as a mofo.

So finally I see John somewhere else entirely and make my way over there and I have to explain to him why these two people now think I'm a total freak.

Not that they didn't already, actually.

Whatever.

We beat Harvard though! And we had clever cheers! I like sports. I don't like playing sports, but I enjoy watching them. I feel like every time I try to play a sport, the sport tries to entice me... and then shuts me down. I've just been hurt too many times. I know to keep my distance.

I'm horribly cynical these days.

That's not entirely true. Neither is anything Alex tells you about little children. For the record.

Love always,

Clara

ice coffee

An interesting fact is that in many parts of the world, iced tea is marketed as "Ice Tea". In english. The international community's refusal to participate in our use of the perfect passive participle ('iced') is perplexing to me, but after a year of drinking Lipton Ice Tea in Switzerland, I've come to terms with the fact that the product sounds more like a chunk of herbal ice than anything else.

Which brings me to my next point: How not to make iced coffee.

So yesterday I bought a coffee maker for 20 bucks because I'm finding I rarely go to the Ratty for breakfast, and anyway the coffee at the Ratty looks like swamp water or something. It was a good investment, I'm pretty sure. It also makes water hot, so if I want to use it for tea or soup or something, that's also an option.

This is all beside the point. For those in places that are not experiencing this weird pre-hurricane heat wave, it is way too hot to be drinking coffee.

Unless, perchance, that coffee is iced.

I decided it would be worthwhile to make some iced coffee, to fulfill the joint goals of learning how to work the damn thing, and having coffee this morning (this all happened yesterday). So I filtered some water and I scooped approximately 2 1/4 tablespoons of coffee mix into the filter area and I did everything right.

And then I put the resulting coffee into the freezer.

For 12 hours.

So this morning I'm looking forward to drinking my iced coffee, and I open the freezer, and it's not so much iced coffee as ice coffee. As in, frozen solid.

I've got mad skills.

Also, I'm finding it curious that so many of these random-college-moments involve refrigerators.

Love always,

Clara

refrigerator adventure

First of all, I always want to put a 'd' in the word 'refrigerator' and it's really problematic. Someone tell me I'm not crazy?

Anyway.

Story time.

So, today, I was walking out of my dorm to go buy some books (because it's the first day of classes, and I think I have my schedule mostly figured out). As I exited the building, I ran into John and his roommate who may or may not be named Lob Sing or something similar. On a related note, I'm realizing how much I suck at names.

John and the roommate who must not be named were wheeling a minifridge around.

John: Hey Clara! Want to see our refrigerator? There's a murky liquid in it!

Me: Absolutely! I love... murky liquids?

So John opened the refrigerator door for me, and, lo and behold, there was a mysterious murky liquid indeed. It wasn't at all what I was expecting. It was a sort of watered-down-magenta color, and there were little things floating (growing?) in it.

Me: It looks like there's an ecosystem in there!

It turns out, John had acquired this refrigerator from his sister's friend's sister's boyfriend's cousin's dog-sitter or something, and it was free, which explains a lot.

It was wild.

Then they left it on the lawn with this other pile of trash, where a dumpster used to be.

For some reason, this was like, the highlight of my day. I had to blog about it.

Love always,

Clara

an abundance of hangers

I ran into Ora today! I'm not sure I'd actually seen her since she graduated a couple years ago, but there she was standing in line at the Brown bookstore this afternoon.

Ora: Hey! What are you doing here?

Me: I need more hangers.

Ora: Oh, if you want to come by my dorm, I have a thousand extra hangers.

Me: Awesome! Thanks!

So I go over to her dorm. It turns out she's pledging a coed fraternity this semester (which sounds really cool), and their building shares with another frat. She wasn't exaggerating when she told me how many hangers she had. There might have been tens of thousands. So she gives me two big armfuls and we plan to grab lunch sometime and I walk back to my dorm. With two huge bundles of hangers. Going through a frat.

I felt like Edward hanger-hands or something.

It was awesome.

So that was just one of the many many uncomfortable-freshman moments that I know are in the stars for me.

Hoooray for being awkward.

Love always,
Clara

breaking and entering

That aside, my weekend was great. Actually, I guess it wasn't a weekend. More of a Thursday-Friday-Saturday. Which is funny because other people had to go to school.

Driving down was awesome. There's something about highway driving that I just love. Especially when there isn't traffic. It's sort of calming.

We relied on my awesome sense of direction to navigate, because I was confident that I knew the drive like the back of my hand, until we got to the right neighborhood, at which point I had written down the names of the relevant streets (but not which direction to turn on them).

That worked well.

We ended up seeing a driveway that Katie and I were certain was correct. As we were driving down, we kept saying how familiar it looked, and that one time in eighth grade, Isabel drove down this very driveway, because it was so long and isolated that letting a 13 year old drive was a totally okay thing to do.

We figured we were early when there was only one other car there. It still seemed weirdly quiet. I think Isabella knocked on the door.

After about a minute, an elderly gentleman stuck his head out of another door.

Man: Come on in! We're over here!

We all assumed, perhaps this is Isabel's grandfather. We walked around and came inside, to this man's study.

Man: So, what brings you here?

At this point, we're assuming he's senile. We all introduce ourselves, and he asks where we're from. We answer. We make small talk. Eventually, someone asks, "Where are Grier and Isabel?"

Man: What? Forgive me, I can't hear you.

Katie: Grier and Isabel?

Man: Speak up.

This goes on for a while. Then his wife comes in.

Wife: Hello! Welcome! What are your names?

If we had doubted that we were in the right place before, now we knew. She was so welcoming; of course she was Isabel's grandmother or something. She was just so happy to see us! Until...

Wife: So, what brings you here?

At which point, we all realize that we are not in the right house, and that we've spent ten minutes making small talk with complete strangers, who have welcomed us with literally open arms into their home.

They were lucky we weren't crazy criminals or something. If they were robbed, they'd probably be excited to have the company.

So that was awkward.

We managed to get out, and down the right driveway. Eventually.

So much for my awesome sense of direction.

Me: Where would we be without floors?

Love always,

Clara

messy mondays?

Okay.

So.

Let's talk about this morning.

I was feeling pretty good this morning. It was nice out in a it-rained-last-night-and-everything-is-clean kind of way, and I was wearing gold sunglasses and singing Mika songs to myself, so the week was off to a pretty good start, I'd say. Dad gave me a ride to the Bundesplatz, from where I walked to Starbucks, thinking, "Damn, I look good today, and I'm in a great mood, and things are generally great."

So I'm lost in thoughts (about how awesome and effortlessly cool I am, of course). And then my foot strikes that newly-rained-upon ground and I completely fall over and the things in my bag go everywhere and I am no longer the coolest kid on the block.

So that was embarrassing but it didn't hurt or anything, so I figured it was just another day in the life of Clara. Fair enough.

I manage to get to Starbucks in one piece, somehow, and order my tall sugar free vanilla soy latte and have a great conversation with the Starbucks-woman about how everyone speaks English there.

I hadn't gotten Starbucks in the morning in a while, so I'd sort of forgotten my routine, which includes sitting at Starbucks for five to ten minutes checking facebook and twitter on my phone, essentially killing time so that I could catch the well-timed 8:01 tram.

I forgot that part today; I was probably distracted again by how effortlessly cool I am.

So I'm walking from Starbucks to the tram stop, and I see someone I recognize walking out from behind me up an escalator.

Me: Max?

Max: Hey!

[That was a completely unnecessary Real Conversation]

I hadn't seen Max in ages; not since Kyle's basketball party thing that one time. So I follow him up the escalator and we chat for a bit and I realize how good it is to see him and then we part ways. I get down the escalator again and start walking towards the tram stop, and... I don't even know what happened. Somehow my foot slipped or my hand freaked out or something but I ended up spilling sugar-free-vanilla-soy-latte on myself. Specifically, on my right boob (Matt asked later, naturally).

And it was hot. I yelped. Which I think was the world's way of adding insult to injury.

At that point there was nothing to do but keep going. I'd realized I was on schedule to make the 7:51 tram (the awkwardly-early one under most circumstances), but now I was realizing this wasn't such a bad thing, because maybe I could slip into the bathroom and try to rinse/dry my shirt or something, because I smelled like a combination of coffee and vanilla, and I was wet.

So I go and catch the tram.

About two minutes later, two teachers from my school sit down basically next to me. Here's how the tram chairs work- each "unit" is comprised of two rows of three chairs each, facing each other. So on one side you've got a foursome of chairs, parallel to each other, so that four people could comfortably sit there and have one conversation, and on the other side, there's a pair of chairs facing each other that is probably more suited for intimate tram moments, whatever those may be.

So I'm taking up more space than necessary in a foursome, and these two teachers (Ms R and Ms N? I really should know everyone's names by now) are sitting in the intimate seats. So once I leave my music-coma and realize they're there, I say hi, and then return to the coma. It occurred to me at that point that this tram is probably the faculty-tram, since they have to get to school earlier.

So that's chill.

But wait.

At the next stop, Mr C (of all kinds of fame that I will not even mention because things said on the internet can apparently mess up your life; ask Max) gets on, and of course he wants to talk to his colleagues. So he sits down in my foursome.

I'm at this point bruised, covered in coffee, and sitting next to one of the most hated teachers in my school.

At which point I decided the morning was definitely out of the ordinary in terms of clara-being-awkward. I hope this doesn't become a trend.

Chris got on the tram too (I have no idea why he takes that one; it's obviously the most awkward tram on the planet) and he literally would not sit next to me, because he knew better than to entangle himself in this ridiculous quadrangle of three teachers and myself. He just gave me this look like "Um, did you make some new friends?" and I gave him a look like "Shoot me please?"

He sat down in the foursome in front of mine (which was empty, which Mr C should have been sitting in, which everyone else should have been sitting in) and said good morning.

I was like "Um, no. Not a good morning. SUCH A SHITSHOW MESS OF A MORNING"

I told him the story. I'm pretty sure it didn't surprise him at all.

Love always,
Clara

venezia

... is a beautiful city.

I just woke up and dad's in the shower so let me just do a brief recap of yesterday because it was fun, but probably not that interesting to other people.

1. Wake up
2. Crazy family drama
3. Dad and I get on train
4. Switch trains
5. Get on different train
6. Eat lunch on said train
7. Get off train
8. Take a boat somewhere
9. Locate hotel
10. Wander around
11. Have dinner

While we were at dinner, we made friends with the couple next to us . The man was celebrating his 70th birthday, and they'd been married fifty years, and they were Icelandic. The woman (who I think had Alzheimer's or something) kept reminding us of that.

"Oh no, we're not from here... We're from iceland"

She also kept reminding us of the fact that she was eighteen when she married her husband.

That's a weird thought. I could get married right now.

No thank you.

Anyway, we ate and then we came back to the hotel room and watched 2012 and then we went to sleep.

Fun day.

Today we're going on a thousand tours of various kinds. It'll be sweet.

Love always,
Clara

kleine schanze

This is the park otherwise known as "Hooker Park", but that's only at night.

I knew if I came home today, I'd get distracted from my math exam (and here I am, blogging, so yeah, I was definitely right) so I spent a bit of time trying to make progress on it in the park.

So I walk into this park and there are benches everywhere and most of them are occupied, and I see the absolute perfect thing, which is a picnic table (and there's only one). So I start walking towards it, and then this random 20-something couple decides to sit down. So I have to awkwardly turn around and sit down at like, the closest possible place, which happened to be this weird quasi-bench thing. I figured they probably wanted to have a picnic or read a map or something, and I'd steal the picnic table away when they were done. So I pulled out my exam.

And it turns out, they don't use the table part of it at all; they're just nuzzling each other and whatnot, which they could totally have done on any old bench, including the one I was using, so I would have been happy to trade.

The only reason I know this is that every time I lost my math-focus I'd start wondering when they'd give up the table, or whether they'd left it yet, and I'd look over, and they'd be making out, and I'd feel like a giant creeper. I almost wanted to say to them, "I'm not trying to stalk your lovefest; I just really want that table."

Eventually my quasi-bench got unbearably uncomfortable so I figured I might as well sit in the grass, and I found this great spot against a tree. And then I realized that positioned that way, I was literally staring right at them every time I looked up.

And eventually they left and I stole the table but I figured out about thirty seconds later was that the reason they left was that the sun had moved so the table was in the shade. And it was freezing. They completely hogged the sunny table, which would have been lovely for math-exam-taking. I was (read: still am) bitter (read: randomly furious).

I seriously considered asking them to move so that I could have the table (which they totally weren't using), but I don't have enough faith in my german. I envisioned it going down something like this-

Me: Can I table use?

Couple: *confused looks*

Me: Can I... Your table?

Couple: *bewilderment*

Me: Ummmmm Auf Wiedersehen?

I also entertained the idea that I might sit down at the same table (because they were ONLY USING ONE SIDE OF THE BENCH-PART, SO THEY TOTALLY COULD HAVE BEEN ON A BENCH) and just start working and see if they felt awkward.

I was seriously *this* close.

And now I'm really angry that I didn't, because I really wanted to pleasantly do math work in the sun.

The only reason I'm not completely suicidal about this whole mess is that I saw a man with a beard and a top hat (a metal-looking top hat, if that makes sense. Not like it looked like it was made out of metal, but it was the sort of top hat that indicated that its wearer liked metal) riding a bicycle on my way home.

Also, random real conversation of the day-

Thomas: Is this in any way connected to what we were talking about?

Me: Yeah I'm getting to that part. Outdoor parties, is the point of this.

Thomas: Then why are you talking about Darfur?

Bonus points to the Potomac kids who can figure out where I was going with that.

Love always,
Clara

so profesh

I subbed a class today. Not even joking.

I'm sitting there by myself in the student lounge doing physics work (which is going to end up killing me, by the way) and I see Mr. B walk by and I sort of make friendly eye contact.

About three minutes later, he comes back and into the student lounge.

Mr B: Hey, what are you working on?

Me: Physics.

Mr B: Cool. I'm going to ask you something, and it's going to sound really bizarre.

Me: Alright.

Mr B: Will you sit and watch a class of eighth graders do their English as a Second Language work? I was looking for teachers to sub but everyone's busy, and I've got to go sub for a class myself, because four or five teachers haven't come in today. Sick or something.

Me: Ah, yes, the first day back from break. I think I pulled that once, in like, fourth grade.

Mr B: Yeah. So can you help me out?

I was already getting up. I figured, I could read my textbook just as well in a room full of eighth graders as I could by myself.

I get there; there are four of them. That's actually a pretty average class size at my school. I sit down and Mr B. introduces me as "You remember our... well, I was going to say student council member, but she was our talent show winner!" and the eighth grade guys sort of nod. They know me. I recognize some of them. One of them is Linus, this kid who was in my ski group for a couple days, the one that we all wanted to smack.

Super.

The first half hour was pretty uneventful. Then they finished their worksheets, and their other assignment was to study for a test they had the next day. The studying they were supposed to do, apparently, was to read stories from these little booklets and answer exceedingly obvious questions, such as "How did Miko feel when he saw the shark? a) afraid b) angry c) cheerful."

I decided it was time to intervene.

First I tried to read one of these (horribly written) stories aloud and critique the style. I couldn't even get through it.

Me: Okay, what's your test on?

Kid: Grammar. Prepositions.

Other kid: Can we play hangman?

Me: No. You guys should study. I'm going to tell you about Ms. Allen and the Scotty Dog and the Tree.

I think they were anticipating some kind of horrible condescending story.

Me: When I was in... sixth grade, our english teacher was named Ms. Allen. She was kind of retarded [sorry Ms. Allen. I really didn't like you] So this one day, we were learning about prepositions, and she had these little paper scottish terriers and she handed them out and she drew a tree on the board. And she wrote on the board, "The Scotty Dog runs _____ the tree." And we all had to think of words to fill in the blank, and those were the prepositions. But we were like, "what the hell is this? We're twelve. We are way too cool for this" because it really did seem pretty condescending. But we all went up and said useless things like "the scotty dog runs around the tree" and "the scotty dog runs beneath the tree" and... well, it does help you remember whether something is a preposition. It seemed pretty useless, but I do still remember it...

Then someone started singing Tik Tok, so I decided the best course of action would be to write the lyrics on the board, and have them identify the prepositions.

Wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy

Grab my glasses; I'm out the door; I'm gonna hit this city.

Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of jack

Cause when I leave for the night I ain't coming back.

After that we did "Right Round."

Kid: You should be a teacher.

Me: I'd get fired.

I feel like a lesson was learned today. That lesson being that if these kids were legitimately stimulated and educated by twenty minutes of humoring my ADD, there is a serious problem with this school.

Love always,
Clara

wake up, wake up

Matt: What night are people going out this weekend?

Me: Saturday. It's going to be great.

Simone (who is a guy): [sung] wake up, wake up, on a saturday night

Emily and I: [laughter]

Me: That's a Hilary Duff song...

I love Simone. He's hilarious.

Talent show advertisement posters are going up tomorrow. I'll take pictures of the better ones and put them up here so that you can appropriately convey your support for my excellent graphic design skills (SPOILER: they include stick figures).

There is so much work that needs to be done by me. That sentence would have sounded a lot more eloquent in latin. Damn it, english language, why are you so hostile to the passive periphrastic?

(I love the passive periphrastic. Partially for the name, and partially for the way it allows me to convey my upcoming busy schedule without actually saying that "I" need to do anything. It's the work that needs to be done by me. Come on work. Get yourself done by me.)

(Did that last sentence sound weirdly sexual?)

(Maybe I just thought so?)

(This is embarrassing. Feel free to ignore these parenthetical bits)

Ironic funfact: On the May 08 German Ab Initio IB exam, one of the texts was on preparing for exams and reducing stress. I feel like if I had been taking the real exam, I'd be annoyed at that. Like, "Oh thanks, IB, you gave me this advice a little too late, and in the wrong language. Thanks a lot."

Me: You guys, text C is sort of ironic

Room: *continues to be silent*

I've been having a lot of quarrels with the english language recently, actually. Just today, Daphna was saying how she can't quite get used to me saying "y'all." I maintain that it's more efficient than "you guys" and more clear than "you." English really needs a designated word for the second-person-plural, and at the moment, "y'all" is all I have.

It's out of a respect for the finer points of language that I speak the way I do.

Or, sometimes, it's a "word-salad."

I discovered that term, "word-salad," while reading about schizophrenia for psychology. What was alarming was that some of the examples they gave were also examples of things I would say in real life.

I can't think of a good example right now, because I'm in writing-mode, which is one of my more coherent modes, but something will come to me soon enough.

Oh, today my shoe came off when I was walking to the tram. I was feeling so confident in my high-waisted skirt and then I walked along the old brick and my shoe got stuck and suddenly my foot was still going and my shoe was left behind and I was barefoot.

It was awkward.

However: I've realized that keeping this blog has taught me to laugh at myself. Or, maybe I always laughed at myself, but now I do so with enthusiasm and vigor and attention-whore-ness. That's cool too.

And speaking of cool things and awkward moments, click here for a funny story (that sounds alarmingly like something that would happen to me, if swiss guys were that creepy, because I'm definitely that friendly)!

Love always,
Clara

rabbit rabbit rabbit

Welcome to the first day of meteorological spring!

I'm not talking about astronomical spring, here. That'll have to wait another twenty one days.

Today was also day one of my anti-stress diet. I'm exhausted, but feeling calm, so that's a good thing.

So badly wanted to buy Red Bull today. Made a friend at the grocery though!

Me: [checking out, buying yogurt] Kann ich einen loffel haben?

Coop woman: Ja! Bravo! Gut! Anfang ist schwerig... sehr gut!

Me: Danke! Aha, danke! Schone Tag!

Basically, what happened there was that I asked for a spoon using vaguely correct German grammar, the checkout woman reacted as if I'd given some kind of Oscar-worthy performance (and basically said it was okay that it had taken me this long to figure it out, because "beginning is hard,") and my ego exploded.

Me: YOU GUYS! I MADE A FRIEND!

Danny: She was laughing at you.

Me: BUT LAUGHING AT ME IN A FRIENDLY WAY!

As opposed to the is-she-retarded? way they tend to laugh at me when I ask for a "spoon fork spoon fork spoon fork spoon."

That's a true story. That happened one time. I had forgotten which word was which, so I figured if I just said both, they'd know which one I meant. It didn't really go so well.

So tired.

Sleeping in tomorrow. That'll help.

Today I wore a dress with tights. As I was walking home, I cut through Loeb department store (because it's warmer than walking around the block).

Loeb lady: Ihr Sackli!--

Me: Sorry?

Loeb lady: [pulls on my dress] [stumbles with english] ... I see your ass!

Me: Oh! Um... Thanks then! Wow... Okay... Thanks!

My dress had ridden up and stuck itself under my bookbag while I walked. I don't know how long I was walking around Bern like that. Pretty awkward, if I do say so myself.

However, I like that the Loeb worker didn't speak much english, but could figure out, "I see your ass!"

I'm sure that one comes in handy a lot.

Love always,
Clara

awkward walk-by

This happened to me yesterday.

I was walking with my mom around town. We were hungry. We were looking for lunch. And I see Connor, a freshman at ISBerne whom I'm acquainted with, but I wouldn't say we're best friends or anything.

This is basically what happened:

1. We see each other (walking toward each other on the sidewalk)
2. I wave.
3. He says hi. I say hi.
4. He asks how I am. I say fine and ask the same.
5. We are still walking in our original directions.
6. I cannot hear him answer because I've walked away.

It was really awkward. But it was the sort of thing where I had two options.

1. Keep walking (as I did)
2. Stop and try to have a conversation.

The thing is, had either of us stopped, we would have been in the middle of a pretty busy sidewalk, and we wouldn't really have had anything more to say besides "Hey, how are you, fine thanks," etc etc. And then after about five seconds the mutual discomfort would get overwhelming and we'd have a really awkward "well.. see you monday I guess" (shouted over the noise of the city, obvi) and we'd go our separate ways again.

So what was I supposed to do?! What's the right choice?!

Inevitable awkwardness.

Love always,
Clara