posted by Caitlin



To whom it may concern:

Actually, this is practically for any 19+ on WWU’s campus.

Isn’t it lovely that Canada is only a hop, skip and a jump away from us in all of it’s glory? The lower drinking laws, the good times, the great culture! I know that’s one of the reasons I decided to attend WWU. Well, it’s not solely based on that fact; I am Canadian, as a matter of fact. I’ve discovered it to be interesting that people seem to believe that the great city of Vancouver is directly across the U.S./Canadian border. But once they do finally make it to the city, I also notice how their jargon immediately spots them out as punk American tourists. Canadians will not hesitate to poke fun at any of our neighbors to the South, especially if their young and under 21. Also, Vancouver can be a dangerous place if one does not know the area. So I though it may be a good thing to those who plan on visiting my great country any time in the future to make a list of helpful hints. I know you will, so here are some tips to blend in and survive with the Canadian crowd.

A) Language
1. Washroom: Rather than “where’s the bathroom,” simply replace it with “washroom.”
2. Pardon?: Instead of “WHAT?” when asking someone to repeat a sentence. Canadians tend to find “what” extremely harsh and rude (and American).
3. Two-Four: When picking up an extremely over-priced twenty-four case of beer, refer to it by it’s proper Canadian name.
4. Mickey: for a pint of liquor
5. Eh?: It is a very acceptable phrase, if used correctly. Best for asking for reassurance on a statement you’ve already made. For beginners, it’s best to use it in a sentence such as “I know, eh?” or “Get a load on the prices here. It’s ridiculous, eh?”
6. DO NOT ridicule a Canadian while in Canada. Not only will this perpetuate the belief of the "Ignorant American," but a group of Canadians can easily kick your butt, which would certainly put a damper on your holiday.

B) Traffic
1. Traffic is HORRIBLE in Vancouver. Always be on your guard, especially when driving with friends and loud music. Seriously, as much as I hate to admit it, Canadians are very inconsiderate when driving. They may apologize when you step on their foot, but they will not hesitate to cut you off on the road.
2. It is nearly impossible to make a left-handed turn anywhere Downtown Vancouver. Avoid them at all costs, unless you enjoy sitting at a green light while people are honking behind you, and then attempting to safely screech through an intersection at a yellow/red light.
3. That blinking, green light? It means that it could at any time turn into a yellow light. The pedestrians have the right-of-way on any street with a blinking green light.
4. Ugh, here’s one I still don’t quite understand. There are signs before an intersection that will light up about 10 seconds before the amber “slow” light turns on. My Vancouverite friends tell me it’s just a handy signal to speed up before the light changes…ha.
5. Parking in Downtown Vancouver can be a nightmare. Don’t be surprised if you’re towed after the meter has ran out. They’re ruthless. Make sure to keep an eye on your meter, or park off of the Downtown streets, either in your hotel’s parking lot, or take the sky-train. Information can be found at a hotel concierge desk. Also, when riding the sky-train, be sure to pay the ticket price. If you are caught without a ticket, you can face a hefty fine if caught.

B) Alcohol
1. Alcohol is very expensive in Canada. This is because the taxes they place on alcohol pays for things such as the building and maintenance of roads for the province. Plus, Vancouver is preparing for the 2010 Winter Olympics. Hey, it’s a big country, but there ain’t a lotta people in it.
2. Have two pieces of I.D. handy. Your driver’s license and passport can work in a pinch. If you’re not confident on carrying your passport around with you, or don’t have one, it is safe to assume you’ll only be asked for one piece of I.D. If for some reason you are still not accepted inside, there are plenty of other places to go to. It is Vancouver, after all.
3. Be prepared to drop a lot of money in one night if you’re going to a club or bar. A regular shot of any liquor costs between $6 to $7.50 Canadian. A beer such as Corona can cost up to $5.75. However, there are some places that sell $10 pitchers of beer, or a toonie per pint ($2). Then again, those places are usually not the best quality or safest.
4. Make sure to exchange your American money if you’re planning on going to a bar or club. Many places only accept American money at face-value, so make sure you know how much you wish to spend, and exchange it beforehand.
5. Clubs and bars close at 2 a.m.
6. DO NOT DRINK AND DRIVE. In Canada, drinking & driving is a federal offence.
7. I realize many RA’s have already explained this, but do NOT still be intoxicated when passing through the border. Even if you’ve come from Canada where the drinking age is 19, you can still be given a DUI or MIP in America if you’re over the legal limit (which is very low).

C) After-Hours

1. Make sure that you find somewhere to stay that is relatively nice. However, you don’t have to spend a lot of money to find somewhere that’s safe and reliable.
2. Take advantage of your hotel concierge. They usually have great suggestions of places for young students to visit.
3. I would suggest that you DO NOT visit Chinatown at night. Because of the high gang violence in the city, it is best to stay away from Chinatown within a two-block radius.
4. I would also advise that you DO NOT stay or walk on East Hastings Street, especially at night and early morning. Dangerous homeless people and drug dealers are a given. If you must walk through the area, be sure to be on your guard and keep money and passports and other valuables out of sight.

I believe that covers most of it. Just be sure to be safe, keep belongings at your side, but most of all have fun! Anything you think I’ve missed, just let me know.

posted in Dorm Life

posted by Caitlin

Sunday morning I packed my things from the Thanks Giving festivities while awaiting my ride back to the good old WWU campus. The drive would only take around 4 hours to get back, and we left at noon just to be sure to surpass the hideous Seattle traffic. I fell asleep in the back seat, my belongings tucked around me, while 24-hour radio Christmas music hummed from the speakers. As I awoke an hour and a half later, we still had not made it through the city. Outside the snow began to fall, and it was becoming dark outside. I knew someone was amuck.
We eventually made it past Seattle, when the car began sliding across the road, and we soon pulled off into a little gas station to chain up for the slippery slopes ahead. The only problem was that we didn’t exactly know what we were doing. I retract that- we had no clue what we were doing.
With two girls and a strapping young lad in the car, he naturally took the initiative to get down and dirty on the ground, tightening the metal hooks onto the wheels. After hot chocolate, forty-five minutes, and making sure the chains were good and tight, we slid back onto the freeway, not exceeding more than 25 mph. It was like driving with a grandparent, only instead of wishing I were dead from boredom, I was praying to the gods for a chance of survival.
Mt. Vernon was where the shiz began to fly. No, not fly, rather more like dead stop. Just shiz sitting there, waiting for you to unexpectedly step in it. Our car was stopped, along with what seemed to be every student at Western Washington and every Canadian just North of the BC border.
It stretched on for about 15 miles, with everyone sitting in his or her vehicles for ten minutes, and then slowly creeping upwards for about thirty seconds. Sitting. Crawling. Sit. Crawl.
For four hours.
Did you hear me? Four Hours.
I received some good cheer from my mother who had called, expecting me back already. “Well, at least you’re moving, and you’re not hurt.”
“Are you kidding me?” I replied. “I’d rather be unconscious, and then at least I wouldn’t have to sit through this.” She laughed, which made me even bitterer. I was being serious, not attempting to be a comic.
We had little means to keep us entertained. Mostly it was a round of profanities from each of us after every commercial break.
“There better be blood on this road,” the driver announced around 10:30 pm.
We passed several tow trucks, police cars with their flashing lights, a snapped tree- all lead to the false hopes that this was the cause of the hold up, and we would finally make it out alive- yet none were.
11:30 pm was when we finally broke free. Just all of a sudden. No accident. No blood. No horror. Rounded a corner, and we were out.
Disappointment and frustration flew through our veins.
“THAT WAS IT?”
“What WAS the problem?”
“I’m going to KILL someone”
(Profanities, curses, “a pox’s”).
After lugging my suitcase, backpack, purse, and food up two flights of icy stairs, I finally made it back to my room. I was exhausted. Plugging my laptop into its’ internet and power outlets, I cursed the snow and it’s misleading promise of happiness. Following the reading of the school website and its announcements, I laughed like a crazy person to myself. A four-hour drive, ending twelve hours later, only then to discover that school was cancelled.

posted in Extra-curricular

posted by Caitlin



…The search for the perfect present for that “someone special,” only to settle on a dinky, cheesy Christmas ornament or sweater you know the receiver will never enjoy.
…A tree that is awkwardly placed in the middle of a room, posing as a great fire hazard, only to later be burned to a crisp, polluting our already tainted air.
…Forced to fake a “Christmas spirit,” with stretched, aching smiles while visiting relatives that we would normally never volunteer to see, but feel obligated to do so since it’s “that time of year.”
The food is the one thing to look forward to, but slaving in a hot kitchen is not- and don’t even get me started on carolers and fruit cake.
It has yet to even begin and I'm already sick of it.
There is but one holiday to pass before the festivities begin, but that’s a piece of cake… or pumpkin pie, if you will. There’s no need for conversation at a time like this- that’s overridden by the need to stuff our faces while (ugh) football is blaring from the wide-screen television set. No annoying carols, no need to buy gifts, just simply food and television.
My kind of vacation.
I’m excited to return to my natural habitat for the Giving of Thanks. I had a taste of home last Veterans Day weekend. My soft bed (although now in my sisters room, as she has taken up residence in mine), and my friends were all there- and oh, how I love a cupboard full of clean silverware and dishes.
The well-stocked refrigerator is always exciting, and makes me giddy every time I open it. The beams of light shine down on me through the mist of the cool air, like angels that have been awaiting my arrival. I believe the reason that I get such a joy from it is because of the food that is served here at Western, if you want to call it that. As I was choking some down the other day I overheard that the same food we eat at Western is the same that is delivered to many prisons around the state. The idea that they are eating like kings (too good for them), while we are eating like inmates (I can barely chew it) particularly irked me as I chugged a glass of liquid hormones. But then again, I suppose that every kid in a school has felt as though they are in prison, with no exception for us. We live in what could be described as a cell, completely furnished with two uncomfortable bunks and linoleum floors. But prisoners are at least given a sink and toilet bowl in their room, while we must drag our belongings down the hall. Heck, prison is even free of charge, including meals, and they have the opportunity to receive at least a high school degree while there.
You know, this prison thing isn’t sounding too bad.
But back to the matter at hand- the up and coming Holiday Season.
I’m sure you’ve noticed the decorations in our Bellingham mall. They’re not so easy to miss. Do we no longer have the patience to end one holiday before adorning for the next? I suppose not. Those big, heinous lawn snow-globes are in this season, I understand. You know, the ones that whirr around some bits of Styrofoam that is supposed to resemble snow, complete with a fat Santa riding a reindeer or whatever, while it’s raining outside? Not to mention that we live in the North West, so it looks a little out of place while it sits atop some puddled, wet grass and leaves.
People have that much spirit.
Just wait. By the time I go home for Thanks Giving, right smack in the middle of my muddy lawn will be a giant, glowing, whirring plastic snow-globe, complete with my family wearing spirited smiles and Christmas sweaters while watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” all week long.
At least I can expect free food.

posted in Adjustment

posted by Caitlin

Dedicated to a good friend, and all other Merlles and Moyles out there.


Once upon a time,
When the world was truly sublime,
There came a half-grown girl
Whose name was that of Merlle.
She was always awfully kind
As I’m sure that you will find,
To those who were in need
And always performing a random good deed.

Merlle resided in a quaint town
Managing a Lost and Found
After moving from the city,
For she found the country bright and pretty.
The townsfolk all admired her
Because of the tasty martini’s she would either shake or stir.
So one might question why
Merlle would never have a guy.

Unattractive, her looks were not,
Nor was the collection of books she had bought.
Are you scratching your head?
Be prepared to be amazed instead,
For I know the reason,
Though it may sound decievin’,
But I would never tell a lie
As to why Merlle never loved a guy.

It all began last year
In springtime filled with cheer.
At around quarter to four
Merlle was working in her empty store.
Walking in was a woman lookin’
For her watch that was tookin’.
Well, this woman was more of a lady,
And her name was Mrs. Charles Sadie.

After describing the watch as green,
Mrs. Sadie exclaimed “Your eyes shine like beams!”
This came as the surprise
Which began our Merlles’ demise.
Mrs. Sadie slowly moved in,
Giving a dreamy grin,
And laid upon Merlle a dainty kiss
On the lips with carelessness.

Experience Merlle did lack
Yet surprisingly, she kissed back.
For a long time they did stand
Facing each other, hand in hand.
A couple squeezes and gropes
Led to eyebrows raised in the hopes
That two would become one
In the future days to come.

I am sorry to dishearten you,
(All I’ve told so far is true),
But the further details are unknown
So call your friends all on the phone!
Because the case is now closed,
And the truth is finally exposed,
As to why Merlle said of men “Never again”…
It’s because she was a lesbian.

posted in Extra-curricular

posted by Caitlin

Halloween has decided to show its' face a little earlier than expected on WWU's campus...
It all began Friday afternoon. My roommate, being the wonderful caring person that she is, was going to give me a ride down to Haggen before leaving to her hometown, Seattle. Me, my roommate, and a next-door neighbor piled into her little Sudan. I was in the front seat, waiting for Roomie Dearest to start the car. While casually chatting to the neighbor in the backseat, I noticed something furry on the bottom right-hand corner, outside of the window shield. Being the curious cat I am, I asked my roommate, “Hey, what is that?” motioning my head in the direction of the unknown object.
“I don’t know… Caitlin, what is that?”
It was a few of these questions repeated back and forth between the two of us until I slowly came to the dreaded realization- There, on the bottom right hand corner of my faithful roommates car, was a dead, headless rat.
Fairly soon all three of us were screaming. Arms were flailing and heads were turning between us, freaked out of our minds, girls. It felt as if forever had passed until I came to my senses and scrambled for the door handle, still waving my arms and yelling like a crazy person in the Ridgeway parking lot.
“How the heck did a headless rat end up on your car?” I asked my roommate, breathless, and with sore windpipes to boot. Possible theories were exchanged, as a very brave passer-by poked the rat with a stick, flung it onto the pavement, and examined it with great intrigue.
It seemed highly unlikely that anyone would have voluntarily picked up the rat and placed it on her car, and as far as Roomie knew, no one had a vendetta out for her. My fellow roommate parks her car all the way out on South campus, just before the health center, in front of a metal chain-link fence set on the backdrop of a “forest.” The most logical explanation- an owl could have bitten the poor rats head off, plopped it onto Roomie’s car, and decide that he just wasn’t in the mood for rat that fine evening.
So, it may not be the work of Halloween entirely itself, but the fact that there is no valid explanation as to why the heck there was a headless rat on my poor roommates car, is pretty dang creepy to me-(not to mention gross).

May your plastic pumpkins be forever filled with goodies, your costumes up-to- par scary, and heaven forbid anyone should have to smell your feet before giving you something good to eat.
Happy Halloween,
Caitlin


posted in Dorm Life

posted by Caitlin



It’s done. Complete. Accomplished.
I have officially completed a load of wash. Alright, well, I actually did it last week and just chose to bring it up now.
It was a more intricate process than I was visioning in my head. The ultimate goal is to have your laundry come out as when it went in, only cleaner. It’s a very simple idea, really. They sure do manage to make it difficult here.
I have a tendency to shrink my clothes, so you can imagine my timidness as I stared blankly at all of the options before me. Colors, warm. Whites should be boiled for best results. While observing these industrial, hellish-temperatures and the spin cycles that shake the washer back and forth, making a sound as though there is a plane taking off in the room, it only made me more nervous. I was nearly freaking out when I discovered that once those doors lock, there is no turning back. It was as though the machine was mocking me in a menacing tone that said There in there, buddy, and you better damn hope that you picked the best cycle for your clothes (insert menacing laugh here). I was a little discouraged, for it reminded me of the evil heater in the movie Home Alone that the then sweet Macaulay Culkin was so desperately afraid of.
So after I waited the unnecessarily long wash cycle to finished, I gathered my clothes together to assess the damage. My shirt was all “pilly” from the excessive spinning (“This is to remove any excess water”. Yeah, right, it was practically on fire.) I tried to imagine what it would be like to be that pink extra large t-shirt in the laundry. After a trip through that thing, I would be begging for mercy while my eyeballs spun in its sockets, and I was urping on the linoleum floor.
I felt bad to have to put it through more misery, but I needed to test out the dryers.
Because of the horror stories I was told about the school dryers, I cautiously set mine on Delicates. I’d imagine that would be alright. I had calmed down since the washer, and was confident on the selection I had made this time.
Oh, how I was wrong.
Where I’m from, the “delicates” setting is for your underwear and other “delicate” things where they are to be dried in a “delicate” manner. Apparently, here the “Delicates” setting is interpreted as to taking the highest setting used to dry a pair of elephant trousers, and back it down a couple of degrees just enough so it wouldn’t shrink its underwear.
I’ll leave it at that.
I will say however that it will be a while before I attempt to do laundry again. I just hope I have enough Febreeze to get me through the days until then.

Hope your whites stay bright and your B.O. minimal,
-c

posted in Dorm Life

posted by Caitlin

I am thankful to be living on the Ridge. Despite the desperate uphill climb to get here from anywhere on campus, there is at least one reason that I am pleased: the Rec center is within a short walking distance. Granted, the path which leads to the center is loose dirt and a pretty serious downwards slope, and then there’s the struggle back up, but all in all, I think that we on the Ridge have it good compared to other campus squatters for that single reason.
Now, I’ve only visited the center two or three times, and that was only to visit the pool. But before I jet off to the swim my little heart out from the single-file turn stiles, I like to observe others in their natural work-out habitat. I suppose it’s the psychology classes that have affected me in this way. There are people sweating and expressing their manhood in the weight room, struggling with squinty eyes to lift that bar over their heads while others are encouraging to push harder. There are those who are running like lab mice on a treadmill, and I attempted to imagine how badly it would hurt if one were suddenly caught off guard, resulting in a surprised face skidding across the moving mat. There is some kind of aerobics work-out upstairs, where people eagerly sweat to the music to achieve the sought after tight buns. I wonder why I’m here, for I already nearly die every day going back and forth, from dorm to campus. Then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be dieing from an uphill climb a couple times per day, so I am thankful I don’t have to walk as far to get to the center to work out to make it easier to climb back up. Makes sense.
Before hitting the pool, it is required that I head to the locker rooms and shower off. (Just a side note: Boys, if you think you know what goes on in the girls’ locker room, I’m sorry to disappoint, but what goes on is truly not what you fantasize. There are no half-naked girls walking around, smacking each other with towels. No open showers or scandalously running around. Yes, there are indeed sweaty girls, but not the attractive sweaty- the smelly sweaty. Ew). So there I was, my goal of the night: about to plunge into the muddled abyss of chlorinated hair and sweat. I swam for about 20 minutes, yet it felt as if it was around 40, and casually walked back into the locker room. Instead of showering off, I decided that it would be practical to do that when I was back at my dorm (so I could change in comfort). However, as I was strenuously ascending the path, my legs began to feel a little itchy. No, not itchy, burning. My legs were burning off! The skin was sliding down to my ankles! Oh God, I cried out in my head, I was dieing!
I scrambled to my dorm, my hands shaking as I attempted a handful of times to plunk the key into the door. I raced to my room to grab a towel. Now it felt as though my whole body had been dipped in acid! An acid that made you itch like you’ve never itched before!
So I showered and scrubbed and rubbed. I felt relieved. Reborn. A new Caitlin, if you will. And oh so marvelously sore: My muscles ached, and it felt good! I am going to have to do this “recreational exercise” more often.
So let this be a warning to you all: if you can recall the last post that was posted by me you can recall my opposition to the shower stalls. However, make an exception in this case. Always shower après visiting the heavily chlorinated Rec Center pool. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. Oh, and don’t forget to visit the sights along the way.
Happy Trekking,
-c

posted in Extra-curricular

posted by Caitlin



People,

As I walked down the hall the other day, I received a few strange looks. I’m not sure if they were deserved.

What’s the problem with walking two feet down the dorm halls in a bathrobe, wet hair, and my bathroom supplies? It’s not like I’m naked here, people.

I find it strange that I’m the one getting the looks, and I’ll tell you why.

Some (ladies, as I’ve seen) insist on clumsily dragging their clothes, loofahs, soap, tampax, into the bathroom. Then, after stepping out of the shower (which does, by the way, have excellent water pressure) they continue to awkwardly attempt to change in, what Western calls a convenient, shower stall, stepping over their feet in a wet, soapy puddle, only to discover that their pants are on backwards.

Now, is this convenience?

As I notice the others attempting their daily routine, there I am, all cozy in my nice warm bathrobe, whistling as I open the door, walk two doors down, and change in the somewhat more convenient spacing and lighting of my dorm room.

Yes, yes I know, it’s not like that in your dorm. Well, I haven’t been noticing as many lately, so perhaps they’re getting the idea. At least, all in all, no matter which system you use to change into your daily clothes, it’s better than sharing an entire toilet, shower, and sink system with the guys (no offense).

Peace, love, and happy changing (your clothes that is. Don’t you ever change),

-c


posted in Dorm Life

posted by Caitlin

Zach, just because you don't have any pictures does not make you boring. I find your writing extremely entertaining. However, seeing as how you believe you should've taken the initiative to post first, but you didn't, makes me better than you. Because I beat you to it. Clear and simple. Ah, yes, I will bask in my glory. Basking.
Basking.
Oh, so much basking.

posted in Extra-curricular

posted by Caitlin



Ah, yes, the first day of class. Did everyone enjoy themselves?

As I walked into the first of my three classes, I was amused to find that it was nearly just what I had expected. People were lining up outside of the doors at least fifteen minutes earlier than their class was scheduled to begin. We were all anxious, tired, and on time. The class was a stereotypical lecture hall set-up, which I was surprised at. I wasn’t aware that this is actually how it goes. Students shuffling in, making awkward conversation with whomever we ended up sitting next to. The murmur of voices died down as soon as the professor began writing on his blackboard, noting his name, degree, email, etc. I haven’t seen a blackboard since the nineties. You’d think they would’ve updated that by now.

We were given a list of his expectations, reminding us that this wasn’t high school, so we’d better snap out of it, blah, blah, blah.

I had to wait another hour and a half before my next class. This time, it was an even bigger lecture hall, with even more people, with very little number of any means of air circulation in site. I was trapped.

This professor had slight accent in her voice, and as I was attempting to determine her origin, she announced she was from Sveeeeeden. The guy next to me and whispered in a smart-alek tone that he was thinking she was Dutch. Well la-dee-da, look who’s all ready for college. Making somewhat of an attempt of a reply, I whispered through my teeth that I was thinking she was from somewhere in that general area. Boy, he sure thought I was a genius. I just should'nt have said anything. Maybe that’s just me overreacting. However, I was not in any way over reacting the other night when this old man corrected me on the material that the stair case in the library was made of. “Logan, c’mon, stop staring at the concrete,” (my friend Logan used to be in the concrete business. Exciting, eh?) To which I heard a nasty remark by another smart-alek man descending the stairs, “It’s stone”.

Ugh. Whatever. I may’ve had a brain fart, but that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. Besides, who cares whether it’s stone or concrete?

That’s my little bitter remark of the day.

Oh yeah, my other class was good.

This is Caitlin, signing off.

-c

posted in Adjustment