SB is Infested with Demons! Oh my!

Today(09/20/09) I ventured into Isla Vista, a small college town on the north (I think) side of UCSB. My parents were with me, as they had promised both a meal and a new bike. Plus, after this I wouldn't see them for a while.

But I digress. We decided to eat at a dirty but promising little place across from Embarcadero Hall. While we were looking at the menu (one of those hanging ones that a short person has to practically break their neck to see) the man in front of us recommended the club sandwich. The club sandwich with avocado and all sorts of yummies. It sounded delicious (my mum ordered it). My mother and I thought this man was giving his recommendation because he worked there, or he was a regular and just overly friendly. Turns out he was a regular but also a bit irregular.

My parents and I decided to sit outside, as it was a nice day and and a great place to people watch. We sat three tables away from the Club Sandwich Man and were thoroughly entertained. The Club Sandwich Man's (now CSM because I'm too lazy to write it out) friend came along. Charlie was an old homeless hippie and the two struck up a delightful conversation.

First Charlie bashed Republicans mercilessly, and boy oh boy does he hate the government. This topic led to CSM's diatribe about the cliffs of Santa Barbara. CMS said, "Every month we have some kid die because he's drunk." Okay, not every month but yes Santa Barbarans do seem to like to mix drinking and cliffs. Let me tell you something. Intoxication + cliffs = bad. Easy fix? Stay away. There's plenty of parties despite not being a party school.

CMS continued, "They're at the cliffs drinking in the dark." Stupid people. "Then someone has to take a leak. He can't see the edge of the cligg at night and BAM!" I'm sorry but I'm sure all those accidents are not from needing to pee. Perhaps someone just gave them a gentle nudge. "The school should put solar powered string fences up to keep their students safe." Solar powered string? Huh. "But they don't care about their students." This statement started another rant about the quality of the school.

Just as I thought the remainder of lunch would be boring, CSM began talking about killing someone. "If those laws weren't protecting him I'd take care of him myself." And this my friends led to the best conversation I've heard in a long time. The conversation was about demons.

CSM: "They're everywhere! Yesterday I was in that parking lost and saw one run into that there building! Right through the walls! I caught it on tape! One time I say three school buses full of children, no adults but the bus driver. Demons were latched on the bus swearing! And jumping from car to car. Two dumb girls were walking and one ran right by them. ZOOM! They didn't even see them because they were invisible."

Charlie: "Karma man. It's all because of karma. And the school is built on Indian burial grounds. I got a book all about it."

CSM: "No Charlie, you just aren't listening to me! They yell profanities and no one hears them! They're invisible!"

So demons are real? The Winchester brothers should come to IV and perform an exorcism. And why can't anyone else see these profanity slewing black creatures? Is he sure he's not seeing the people of our generation who seem to think that black is a good color regardless of season and think that a certain word is an adjective, noun, verb, adverb, and expletive all rolled into one?

I don't know perhaps the world is going to hell in a hand basket, but if it is I want to see thses demons before the world is overrun with them. Also, yes Mr. CSM is not all there he twitched and seemed to have some form of turrets syndrome. I am not mocking him so don't get defensive or offended. I am merely telling a story and commenting.

juice ingredients

Why is Snapple Mango Madness juice's third ingredient kiwi juice? Two above mango puree. It just doesn't make any sense.

Pray to the Pagan Nuns and Buddha.

The title of this blog has nothing to do with my making fun of religion. One day in my junior year of high school my friends were looking through a book order catalogue for teachers (and yes we were doing this in the MIDDLE of class not during lunch). And then there is was. Confessions of a Pagan Nun (I know book titles are supposed to be underlined but you can't do that.) by Kate Horsley. "Confessions of a PAGAN NUN?!" I pointed it out and we laughed for a bit. After all a Pagan Nun is an oxymoron and oxymorons are fun.

Since then the three of us (okay mostly Priya and I) make a joke of praying to the Pagan Nuns and Buddha whenever there's a test or something equally as hard.

Also, Buddha is just involved because he's amazing.

pants.

Pants. I don't care for them but I dislike skirts more. There is nothing nice about feeling my thighs rub together when I walk, or a breeze showing off my knickers. The main issue with pants is the size. Anyone that knows me, knows that I am a small person which makes finding pants which fit close to impossible. If they fit in the hips they're too long, and if they're the perfect length they don't fit in the hips; and they never fit in the butt (mainly because I don't have one).

Obviously I resolved to buy the ones that fit in the hips and live with pants that are too long. After all it is easy to hem or cuff them. Then I found American Eagle. Now I'm not saying I condone the high prices of their over rated clothes but when I find a pair of jeans that fit, I'm loyal. So for four years every time a pair of fifty dollar jeans go on clearance I buy them (using a coupon of course! then they only cost me twenty). And every time I was ecstatic to find that the zero regulars always fit perfectly!

Until now. Recently I bought a pair of low-waisted boot cut jeans with a medium blue wash. I already owned this exact pair of jeans but in a straight leg. Obviously they should fit. They didn't. Not only are they about two inches too big in the waist they're too long. As it is American Eagle I assumed they'd shrink so I removed the tags and threw it in the wash. I washed them with hot water and dried them on high. And they were still too big. Unfortunately now I had to keep them. I could live with wearing a belt, as I usually wore one anyway but the length was annoying the living daylights out of me.

I bought the pants for their thirty-two inseam, instead I got a thirty-six. 36! That's a whole four inches! I understand the pants being an inch or less off, after all nothing perfect but four whole inches?! Insanity. Never again will I buy American Eagles crap (unless it's really cute or on sale...) I will buy all my pants at Macy's, or Charolette Russe, or Forever21 or Abercrombie (okay not Abercrombie because their massively expensive).

Things I Found While Packing For Life

7 AP study guides
1 chemistry textbook
3 doublesided French Star Wars posters
1 never been used Ariel yellow bag
1 elementary school language arts textbook from Miss Nelson is Missing
5 Ariel show programs
6 scripts including: Narnia, 12DP, Frog and Toad, Snow White, Wizard of Oz, Miss Nelson Has a Field Day
1 decorated notebook from Mr. Mandon's seventh grade English class
1 pair of Steve Madden high heels, size eight
1 guide to the graphing calculator that I never did understand

Residence Assignments.

Forgive me, this is a bit old.

Two names, two phone numbers. that's it. Just two names to tell me who my room mates are. How can I know from such little information? Judging a person by their first name is like judging a book by it's cover.

Cindy, a rather exotic but generic name. She could be anything. A serial killer. Really, she could be anything at all. Brenda is a bit more descriptive, more original. Just by her name she seemed less murderous. I had known both a Cindy and Brenda in high school. Both were very sweet, but these two girls could be the exact opposite.

There is other information on my residence assignment letter such as where I'm living; the quad, the house, the floor, the room, but none of that matters while those two names peer at me from their place at the bottom of the page with their ten digits. At least a last name would allow me to look them up on facebook and see if their normal.

One and a half weeks later I still haven't called them. Fear grasps me every time I see that letting sitting on my bedside table. I continually find excuses not to call, but now I must. With my heart fluttering in my chest I pick up the letter and my phone and dial the top number, Cindy's. (They could have done it alphabetically, Brenda then Cindy but no. That would be too kind to those of us with OCD.) The phone plays me some song I've never heard of until it clicks. Someone has answered! I inhale preparing to introduce myself by phone, to a stranger, when I hear a recorded voice telling me that the person I am trying to reach is unavailable and that I should leave a message or just hang up.

A message?! I get up the courage to finally call this girl and she can't be bothered to pick up the phone?! Maybe she really is out to get me! Or maybe she really was busy. I doubt it.

Perhaps Brenda will be diffrend. So I hit the green button until I hear a dial tone (yes I was using a house phone. The horror!) and call Brenda. The phone rings, my stomach flips, and I am greeted by another answering machine telling me to leave a message. Do my roommates even exist? What were the changes that neither would pick up their phones?

So, overall I have left two bumbling messages on two phones belonging to two complete strangers.

Delightful.

UPDATE!!
That was about two weeks ago. Since then I have spoken to both and they seem very sweet. Which is good, I have no way to defend myself it they do actually try to kill me.