The other day I was on Mystery Google, which is a great deal like regular Google in that you type in a search request and you are given pages that match the perimeters of the search. How it differs however, is what makes Mystery Google interesting: instead of getting the results for your search, you get the results of someone else's.

It was fairly interesting at first, typing in things like 'you've failed me for the last time', 'okapi' and 'Okie from Muskogee' and getting things like 'kilts' and 'adult sized onesies'. Then I got a phone number and a message that said 'Text for ur next mission.'

So I did.

From what I can tell this is not an uncommon occurrence, people put in their number and a message similar to the one I received and then wait for a response, they then text back a 'mission' for the replier to complete; such as dressing up like a ninja or serenading an acquaintance via phone.

While I find giving a stranger one's number dubious, leaving confusing lyrical messages on a Michigan teenager's phone is certainly an interesting waste of time.

-Jess

Last week (I think it was only last week) when I was washing my hands, I noticed a several small yellow squares leaned up against the washroom mirrors. Every square was embossed with the slogan: DontBeATOSSER
I was mildly amused by this and took a square for myself. I then proceeded to the recesses of the cafeteria to eat my lunch. At lunch I had soup, a peach, and 700ml of water because I had a headache from dehydration. After, when I was wandering around looking for a trashcan I came upon a much larger yellow square that was likewise decorated. The larger square was a table with two young women seated at it.
I walked into the general proximity of the table, being as they had no other students' attention at the time, they greeted me. I was given another yellow square with a handy British insult and treated to a speech on the importance of bottle recycling. I was also informed that that day only I could receive a free item of a type determined by how many bottles I gave them. Zero for a magnet, 3 for something I don't remember, 5 for a bag like tarp thing, and 10 for a t-shirt.
Without further ado I went out to my van to put my lunch kit away. While I was there I figured I would collect all of my bottles and bring them back as I am an utter slob and need to do this sort of thing whenever I am reminded.
I did not bother to count them and simply shoved the bottles in a plastic bag. I also took the full one from on my dash, in case I became thirsty at a later time.
When I walked back to the table, the two girls starting laughing; apparently they had not expected anybody to return so quickly with so much. One of them counted while I gave them the bottles: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and...
Drat.
So of course I did what any person who wants a tee shirt for the equivalent of less than a dollar: I gave the full bottle in my hand a long hard look, and then I drank it.
Directly after this incident, I went to my 50 minute math class. For the majority of my class all was well, I did my equations with little difficultly and leisurely checked them. However, this was not to last.
At about the 45th minute I began to experience mild pain in the area of my bladder, which I ignored as I only had 5 minutes to go; four minutes later this pain had increased by no small amount and had spread to the area of my kidneys. At the end of class, instead of hanging around for an extra 5-10 minutes as is my habit; I stood up quickly and jerkily made my way out.
The closest washroom to the math lab is only about 30 metres away: this bathroom was of course closed for renovations. The next closest bathroom that does not involve stairs is approximately 100 metres away, which is quite a waddle.
I still have no idea how to find a place casual enough for me to wear a shirt like that.
-Jess

Les Immortels

The more French I encounter, the more I realize the language I am taught in class differs absurdly from the language my father (a native speaker) knows; my father has pointed this out as well. So in order to solve a mystery that plagues the nation, I asked the teacher why.
Apparently our textbooks are intended for American students (unsurprising), thus the vocabulary used is not a Canadian dialect; it is instead most likely developed using french as advised by L'Académie française in France, an advisory council for the french language.
Disregarding Canadian schools' odd textbook choices, the members of the French Academy have a most fascinating nickname: The Immortals. Pretty intense no? The reason for this name is that barring impropriety, members' terms are for life, as a consequence most of them are quite elderly; currently the youngest was born in 1952 and the oldest in 1908.
-Jess

The inevitable has happened: I have been told by a teacher not to feel ignored if they do not call on me. This may sound odd, but it happens often; at least it does to me.
The primary reason for this is my love of answering questions, which was never really curbed, because only rarely in any class I was in did another student wish to answer. Ostensibly the reasoning most of my teachers neglect to call on me, is because of a need to know whether the rest of the class is also aware of he information, not just the over-exited know it all bouncing up and down in the front. From what I have been told when I mention this, my problem is not shared by the general populace.
This occurrence is by no means limited to school, anywhere people ask questions of a tangentially academic nature it is inevitable that I will dominate the discussion to the point where it is made clear to me that the reason I'm not being called on is in no way personal. Drivers ed, youth group, and church to the point where there is a known quota of how many questions I am allowed to answer.
Of course now that I'm in college there are other students who actually join in as well, which is a fascinating thing for me. It will be interesting to have some outside input.
Though I suppose since other people want to answer too, I shall have to learn to control myself.
-Jess

It's a Trap! D:

Yesterday I saw a poster with an ice-cream sundae on it. Being as it was clearly to my interests, I stopped to read it, in large friendly letters it said: Make your own sundae, September 9, 11:00-1:00, Free. Looking at my schedule I noted a large amount of available time that overlapped with the times stated on the poster. I decided that if I somehow managed to remember, I would go to the event to see what was what. I was so naive back then.
So today after French I sat at a table with a good view of most of the cafeteria. After about an hour, which I spent reading a book for English, I noted that the amount of tables being set up was excessive if only intended for serving ice-cream. By reading the label attached to the booths it became clear that the tables were all for liaisons from different companies and organizations.
I still couldn't see any ice-cream, so I wandered into the fray.
The first people I passed were three different groups of bank employees asking students to sign up for visas, they gave me a highlighter shaped like a triangle and then talked to me about how it was important to get a credit score before one became in debt due to the expense of secondary education. I politely told them, "Shut up you're not my mom!"...I mean, "No, thank you."
Next I happened upon a booth dedicated to pregnancy safety and the importance of abstaining from alcohol while pregnant. I accepted a few pamphlets and alcohol free drink recipes from the ladies at the booth, but I declined to pester them with questions as I know most of the facts and am a teetotaler on general principal i.e. not their target audience.
At this point people started walking by me with ice-cream, yet still no sign of the source. I took note of where those with frozen deliciousness were coming from and headed there with determination in my heart.
On my quest I saw a Grande Prairie Public Library booth, an GP Art Gallery booth, a 2010 Winter Games booth, and I wandered too close to the STI awareness booths and was given a lollipop, a pen, and a condom. If I ever figure out the thought process that led to that particular combination of items, I'll be sure to let you all know.
After battling (Read: strolling haphazzardly) down a narrow hall, I finally came upon the table of ice-cream!
Unfortunatly the table was far too buzy, so instead I ate a banana from the nutrition booth. It was tasty.
I had a point, didn't I?
-Jess

Mmmmm... hyperglycemia.

Two hard days of orientation: being sat in a auditorium to be talked at, going to various classrooms to be talked at, going into the cafeteria and running back out wailing like H.P. Lovecraft's imagination had torn into reality between the drink table and the chips when the band started playing at volume approximately in the same decibel range as a jet takeoff. (Nerve damage aside they were pretty good, I listened from two floors up.)
I liked most of the speeches given, but since I went to all of the available sessions I heard some sentiments repeatedly; being my paranoid self, my mind rapidly developed crackpot theories about all of them.
The sugary speeches about how great all of the faculty are and how much they care about our education beside being all around swell guys? CULT. That how much they compliment each other could put a person off of sweets for the rest of their life, natural or otherwise. It speaks well for their work environment, but seriously? A complement or two is nice, but we are going to get to know these people, our interactions with them will affect our attitudes towards them far more than what we are told about them; if he or she is a great person, let that speak for itself.
I could go on.
I kind of wish to learn the name of Mr. Sunglasses from our session today, anybody who wants to 'bedazzle the shit' out of a lab coat would certainly make for interesting conversation.
The closing speech today was a caution about the h1n1 flu virus/ how to properly wash your hands tutorial. It detailed the myriad ways one can become infected, as well as the proper length of hand washing and frequently missed hand areas. The woman giving the talk wondered out loud why there was no song dedicated to these oft missed places to remind us; I thought it obvious, have you ever tried to rhyme 'cuticles' ?
Classes start tomorrow, wish me luck~
-Jess

I’m going to school this year; tomorrow is orientation day. It’s going to be my first day of school in eight years.

I’m somewhat anxious about this change. Though academic learning has always been one of my favorite forms of entertainment, I can claim very little enjoyment of schools; my experiences in elementary school were generally unpleasant past third grade and were of mixed value even before that point.

While I have little doubt that I will do well in my studies, I do worry about my ability to behave warmly around fellow students and teachers. I have made progress socially, but I still have a weak point in regards to feeling comfortable around strangers. A person whom I can feel relaxed around would greatly ease necessary interaction.

Tonight I will set my alarm and pack a lunch; tomorrow I will observe the social structure of the student body and hopefully isolate a prospect for friendly communication.

I will set aside these worries for now; they have no use until I can set a realistic problem to work on.

-Jess