Past few days have been a whirlwind of events.
First I experience the rest of my classes. Then we're visited by a Texan who cannot speak correctly, followed by a procession of freakin' wizards. Lastly, the townhouse I was partying in tonight got busted by security and I booked it out the back door and down the hill, contributing to the flow of freshmen/sophomore/junior rampage that spilled back onto campus.
Yeah.
I'm beginning to wonder if I've become that girl...you know...?
International Relations is taught by a 85+ year old man who switches from Spanish to English and I'm not sure if he realizes it...Nor can he hear. We played a game yesterday where the class was split into four groups. Each group represents a world power. We're supposed to play fair. Naturally, I get the fuckin' Castro-bitch in my group who wants to overthrow the other three countries and become the world's single super power. As Ambassador I slapped him across the face and arched a brow, repeating the words, "does ROME ring any bells to you?". Then I said we should abduct Putin. No one knew what I was talking about. *Sigh* Putin, your pale muscles and steely smile will have to wait. But this kid kept waving his hand and flipping the collar of his pink (salmon pink to be exact) polo like he knew.
He didn't know.
And Italian is awesome. I'm actually learning Italian.
English is taught by a BC graduate who is probably only three years older than me....Don't get me started...
And theatre class? It's pissing me off. Why? I have no idea. Probably because everything this chick is yappin' about is shit I ALREADY KNOW. And have done. Whatever. Easy 'A'.
Today we had our convocation. A gathering of the class of 2013 plus a guest speaker. Our speaker was the author of An Unreasonable Woman, Diane Wilson. It was our summer reading book...no one (including me) read it...it's about the politics of shrimping....yeeeeah...
The Convocation was held at Bellermine Manor, an ancient establishment that's been on the grounds of Fairfield longer than the actual college has been there. It's walls are a combination of dusted stone, stained dark grays and blacks, each surface polished until it shines as if coated by a fresh veil of rain. It's spires kiss the sky and its windows reflect images older than a majority of the staff--images of celebrations held in the great North Wing and polo matches outside on the finely cut lawn. Ancient crests and seals of forgotten family members flanked the high walls, professing pride in a blood line that probably no longer exists. Gargoyles crouched at the corners of the building, their mouthes gaping open and teeth curling inward. When it rains, I'm told the water flows from their mouthes and down to the grass, essentially watering it. Also, the man whose said to have originally occupied the massive house was an old philosopher, a man with a mysterious past and a criminal record, apparently. Something about stabbing whores but...we don't judge. God always forgives. Right, Jesuits?
It was a sunny day and the thick, hazy bands of sunlight bounced off the windows and shimmered over the heated grass, making my ass sweat like no other. Bees fleetingly hung about but soon enough it become too hot even for them. Butterflies were committing suicide by ramming themselves into the building and podium. White chairs were set out for the students and we all grudgingly took our seats, myself perched between a friend named Ashley and a very quiet girl whose name I never actually got.
A stone lion, its twin parallel to it, sat proudly upon a column that graced the carved steps, the path leading up towards a raised dais where fourteen wooden thrones sat, each one carved with a biblical image.
I felt like I was gonna fucking meet the Pope (*coughAKAChancellorPalpatinecough*)
That damn lion kept staring and I swear the heat was getting to me because at one point I told Ashley that it had blinked.
Next music began to play from, like, NOWHERE and down the main aisle walked the fourteen heads of college (their official name is the 'Upper Panel'). They were dressed in flowing black robes, their various loops of silk and pointed hats displaying numerous degrees of education. One man wore a yellow silk hat, its color matching that of the fur-trimmed sash that crossed over his chest. The president of the college led the procession, his hands grasping a silver scepter (no. joke.) that sparkled in the dying-summer heat. Around his neck hung the largest white-gold medallion I have ever seen, its face stamped with the seal and crest of Fairfield University.
With the way this was looking, I half expected Professors Snape and McGonagall to be taking up the rear of the procession. It seriously looked like Hogwarts had invaded Fairfield. First Bellermine Manor and now this? Naturally, I was having my own little victory.
The teachers sat down, each in his or her own wooden throne and a girl from the glee club appeared with a mic and proceeded to sing the national anthem. Secondly the head of the english department and my personal advisor for my creative writing major (a very scholarly older gentleman, definitely the type who would sit in his office and translate ancient tomes from old forgotten languages into english) spoke. And OH!
Speaking of mysterious, while the head of the college of arts and sciences spoke, a priest sat next to me. And God help me...but this priest...this priest...
He wore his typical black attire and Roman collar. And don't think ill of me but...this priest was the Ewan Freakin' McGregor of the papacy. He had smooth skin and the softest pair of grey eyes I have ever seen. The world was in his stormy eyes, as if he possessed wisdom far beyond his young-ish years. His hair was dark and he was clutching an ancient, 1st edition copy of Don Quixote. He features were sharp and his chin clean shaven. He sat with grace and every movement his seemingly well toned body made was focused and intended. He placed a hand on the empty chair that sat between me and him (the girl had gotten up and run away to her own friends) and around his middle finger sat a fat gold ring, stamped in semi-precious stones to create the Vatican's crest--the keys and tassel. I leaned in and told him I liked his book. He turned his head to look at me and GAWD ALLLLLLMIGHTY I had to hold myself back from melting. He somehow held such a presence--the very air around him crackled with knowledge and a sharp wit, almost.
Don't ask me how I figured this all out--I'm a creative writing major. I notice detail.
Him: "You like it?"
Me: *squeak* "Yes. One of my favorites."
Him: "One of mine as well." -Nods to head of college speaking- "How long is this going to last?"
Me: *laugh* "Too long. Aren't...aren't you hot, Father...?" (all of you reading, stop laughing. I meant TEMPERATURE wise.)
Him: "Campbell. Father Campbell. I've just arrived from Glasgow. I'll be relieving some of Father von Arch's Sunday masses...And yes. I am incredibly warm." -big smile- "And you are?"
Me: "Fiona Barbour."
Father Campbell: "Fiona? Am I to guess that I am not the only person of Scottish blood on this campus?"
Me: "Ahh...I'm Irish."
Campbell: "Shame." -winks-
Me: "Heh..."
I am so going to Hell.
ANYWAYS. That Diane Wilson woman spoke for an hour and a half. I slept. So did Father Campbell, his arm still clutching that edition of Don Quixote. Afterwards I went home (gah, my dorm room is now home. That's odd) and took a three hour nap. It was freakin' glorious.
Then came the night. Pre-gamed at a friend's dorm and room-hopped. Drank a beer or two and a cup of Jack & coke but the night was young and my buzz was nothin' so we headed to a townhouse where a few friends of a friend were throwin' a hella sick party. To make a long story short, we were there for ten minutes, crowded into a tiny apartment with 39 other people when campus security pounded on the door.
There was a unanimous freeze throughout the entire apartment--no one moved, no one breathed; they just froze. Silence prevailed for 10 seconds before someone dropped a Smirnoff bottle and hell broke loose. Sliding glass doors were opened at the back of the house and people began spilling from them.
I continuously shouted, "IT'S THE FLUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!" about ten times as I squeezed past junior rugby players, freshman girls unfortunately wearing heels and Long Island guidos. Much like the stampede that killed Mufasa, the group of 35 to 45 people trampled down the grassy hill to the dorms on main campus, everyone wielding their keys and swipe-cards to get into the buildings. It was epic, exhilarating, dangerous and hella fun. ;D Soon after, I decided to turn in because there was nothing else going on and my buzz had been killed. Fail.
Well, there's always tomorrow night.
Last night was epic as well--A group of ten girls (including moi, and now known as the Sawk Group) room-hopped in all five dorms and got smashed. We raced across floors, did shots of Skyy, Jack and Smirnoff, ate chex mix, sang Miley Cyrus (I know, we're awesome), collected numbers, bummed cigarettes and told crappy jokes. The night ended with us playing duck-duck-goose in the middle of the quad at 1:30 in the morning. It was bawla. I was pulled away from the festivities early though (early=1:45) by a phone call that I had to take. ;D
Well...those have been my days. I survived my first week of college and now I'm starting off my first weekend.
I'm excited.
Are you? :)
I'll post again tomorrow.
