Who’s on first, what’s on second, and the transvestite’s on third

Right before I left for London (the first time…not the second time.  The second time’s really blurry, because all I could think about was wanting to teleport and I don’t remember much else) my family watched the amazing Abbot and Costello “Who’s On First” skit.  Life in the dorms feels a LOT like this at times.  I’ve been keeping a log of the ridiculousness that is my “Hall of Residence”…these events were extremely frustrating at the times they took place, but looking back on them, they’re quite entertaining.  And I figure that ya’ll will appreciate these kinds of posts instead of my insomniac bitching and moaning.

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Fire drills…they’re a necessity for those of us who have never lived in a dormitory-style building, and are used to blatantly point out the weak members of the herd that will be picked off by Darwinism.  AKA, if you sit and wait for the lift during a fire drill, you should probably never procreate.  The first fire drill that we experienced here, I proved to the masses that I wasn’t ready to succumb to evolution and ran outside without wasting precious time and oxygen changing out of my embarrassing attire.  The second fire drill we had 3 days later?  Yeeeeah…I wasn’t rushing down 7 flights of stairs like that again, so I instead put on a cute hat, skinny jeans and my high-heeled boots (ok…I was already wearing the jeans and hat, but the lesson here is: fool me once, shame on me; fool me twice-I will carry out this firedrill in style).

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Halloween was last week, but apparently it’s more fun to save the transvestiting for the 7th of November…drunken 18 year old boys are now running around the hall at 12:30 AM on a Wednesday, in bright teal sequined dresses.  In his defense, he was completely hammered (wait, is being drunk still an excuse for stuff??  I really hope so, because I use “I’m sorry, I’m sooooo drunk” on a regular basis.  But that’s not as cool, because most of the time I say it in panic from embarrassment and am completely sober.).  Needless to say…I once again (rockin’ the reindeer pj’s) went out into the hall like a grandma and told them to turn the noise down.  Clearly I’m not intimidating with my coke-bottle glasses and Christmas pajamas, as the pounding on doors and screaming didn’t stop until…well, I don’t really know because I finally just put in my magical earplugs and drifted into silent oblivion after 30 minutes of these shenanigans.

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Now, I need a shoutout from my engineers out there: how does power in a building work??  In my experience, a power outage affects (did I use that correctly?  Or should it be “effects”?  Also, should that question mark be inside the quotation marks there?  Who wants to be my English tutor??) the entire building and not selected floors.  But after our “power outage” the other night that affected (once again…”e”ffected OR “a”ffected?!?) the “building” only kept 3 floors in the dark for over three hours.  Explain to me how that makes sense, in this modern world of technology.  No, seriously-explain this to me.

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One of the most helpful and aggravating inventions stemming around the elevator is the display that tells you what floor the elevator is currently on.  So when I hit the “down” arrow for the lift to go to dinner/class/chocolate-run-number 4 I am constantly thinking about vandalizing this display because…both lifts (yes, I know…I’m trying to use British terminology) have been on the 4th floor for 2 minutes now.  Oh, they’re both going downstairs now?  Awesome.  So now I’m going to be losing weight like crazy, as I’ve started taking the stairs, and I live on the 7th story.  Watch out, Denise Austin, Buns o’ Steel comin’ at ya!  (this should also theoretically deter going to the bodega down the street for chocolate, but I can only change SO many habits, people)

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Remember when I first moved in, and my toilet was broken?  Because I sure do.  Now, my shower is broken…BUT don’t worry, I MacGyvered it.  The showers here are a bit weird-they are a bathtub with a handheld shower head held by a flimsy clip.  So when I first moved in, the clip was broken, so “showering” consisted of sitting down and holding up the shower head to rinse off.  But, 2 weeks ago, maintenance randomly gave me a new shower head AND a new clip to actually shower.  Ready for the “conflict” in this movie formula?  The clip got broken by my maid a week later, who thinks that it’s more pertinent to clean the walls of the shower than the tub itself.  In her quest for clean walls, she broke the clip, set it on the counter, and walked away like nothing had happened.  Instead of filling out my fourth maintenance request in less than two months, I took matters into my own hands.  And since I didn’t have a roll of duct tape, I totally used Scotch tape.  I feel like I need to start promoting this instead of duct tape, because you can’t even see it.  So it’s LESS redneck than duct tape, with the same result.  You’re welcome, world.

My amazing bathroom. Can you see the MacGyvering? No? That’s because I’m amazing…

So here is the latest comedy of errors: dudes wearin’ dresses, me randomly taping plastic, and my new weight-loss regimen.  Kobi: 2 Canterbury Hall: 7

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2 thoughts on “Who’s on first, what’s on second, and the transvestite’s on third

  1. I am always laughing out loud when I read these! Even from across the pond (really just across, I’m like a ten minute walk from the atlantic ocean!) you make my belly hurt and my really expensive mascara run!

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