I'll Just Keep My Mouth Shut From Now On

I share a floor with 17 other women. This means that the number of references per day to America's Next Top Model is higher than I'm used to, and also that there are about 20 different hairdryers in a pile in the washroom. In an attempt to organize them, one of my floormates nailed some little hooks into the wall so we can hang them up. This resulted in the following misunderstanding:

Floormate: Guess what I did in the washroom today!
Me: I watched.
Everyone else: (horrified expressions)

Another Great Idea

I frequently fall asleep in my clothes. The next morning I'm hesitant to change -since I'm already dressed, it would be a waste of time. But my floormates might notice if I wore the same thing two days in a row, so I waste a good five minutes picking out a new set of clothes that match and changing into them.

I finally came up with a solution. I should buy 20 identical outfits. Twenty each of blue jeans, red t-shirt, dark grey sweater. Then they would have no idea if I had changed or not, and I wouldn't waste time finding things that match. You might think that it's the opposite, that they would think I never changed, but eventually they would either ask about it or see me doing my laundry.

Another benefit is that it would give me a cartoon character-like quality, so I could get away with more. If I always wore the same exact outfit, maybe people would be more accepting of me eating luncheon meat straight out of the can.

Flaming Lunches

The following true story gives further reasoning for my moving back into res.

For most of my second year at UBC I lived with three guys in a small house in south Vancouver. One day I brought home a doggy bag of leftover lunch from Earls.

Incompetent as I am, I usually stick to the kettle and the toaster oven when using the kitchen. I judged the cardboard box to have about 2 inches clearance on each side when placed in the toaster oven. Also, since it was slighly soggy, I figured it would be ok in there for a few minutes. So I popped it in and went to the living room to watch King of the Hill.

Shortly before the first commercial break, I noticed the air in the living room was slightly black and hard to breathe. I ran to the kitchen and found the toaster oven in flames. Let me clarify: The flames weren't just inside the toaster oven; they were coming out the edges of the door and the vents on top. I quickly unplugged it and grabbed some oven mitts. Holding the flaming oven at arms length, I ran out the back door onto the balcony. I put it down on the table and used a screwdriver to open the door (the handle had broken off a while ago). I stabbed the screwdriver into the flaming lunch and flung it out onto the lawn.

Unfortunately, the night before, some racoons had gotten into the garbage and strewn it around the backyard, along with our large collection of beer cans. When I flung my flaming lunch onto the lawn, some of the garbage caught fire too. So I quickly put on my shoes and ran to stomp it out. I put out most of it with my feet, then used the hose to finish it off. After thoroughly spraying down the pile of burnt garbage and kicking it under a bush, I looked up to see my neighbour staring at me from his window. I waved, then went back inside to finish watching King of the Hill.

Proper Doorstop Usage

On the bus a few days ago I overheard a conversation about doorstops. The four participants, all roughly my age, argued about which type of doorstops are best, and the proper use of a doorstop. The conversation lasted 20 minutes.

Now you would assume that these people were just kidding around. You wouldn't think that anyone would take the argument seriously. But some people STRONGLY prefer a wooden doorstop to a plastic one. Voices were raised.

The verdict? Wooden doorstops are superior to plastic ones, and the proper way to use a doorstop is to place it under the door, plant your foot firmly on top, and pull the door towards you.