Snowbound and Irate

So, I'm officially here, finally. Not just in Icaria, but in my room in MacArthur Hall at Eupheme. Nothing's unpacked but my laptop for the moment, but at least that much is done. Currently, I'm braving the chill evening breeze to air the room out. I'd almost believe I was a responsible student if I walked in on me, at this point.

Finding the school after leaving the B&B was pretty easy, especially with directions from my secret admirer after I complimented her muffins (the blueberry sort, you perverts.) It's hard to get lost in a town this size, though; I swear, all I'd need to do would be to climb the nearest tree, and I could probably get a birds-eye view of all the major streets from there. It wouldn't even need to be a particularly tall tree.

First obstacle successfully completed: find the school. Which lead directly to the second obstacle: negotiate the administration, and explain why I was a day late in arriving. Thankfully, with my parents entirely out of a reasonable time zone to contact in a reasonable manner, I was able to reasonably explain that there had been simple, reasonable miscommunication, and today was actually the day I was meant to get to town. Isn't it grand, living as we do in the Age of Reason? You can get away with a lot, as long as you know that fine line between buttering up your school officials and too obviously kissing their well-educated asses.

Having made it through both of those rings of fire, it was a cakewalk to find MacArthur Hall. Ah, home sweet home, at least for the next nine months or so. I'm also reassured: there were sane people there. At least two -- Emi, who apparently has the room next to mine, and Sam, who was moving out of the room I was moving into. Emi had a cold, apparently, which does wonders for reassuring me that he's not really a cyborg plant. (We're close to Stepford, after all; it was worth considering as a possibility!)

There were then the traditional offerings to new blokes: a cup of tea, and a few hits on the shared blunt. Aside from Emi's apparent pirate fetish (which hey, can you blame a guy?) they both seemed pretty normal. Though the stereo warning that "Lucy" -- whoever she is aside from the hot date Emi was having to miss -- wasn't looking for a boyfriend? Pretty damn funny. Even if I did let my lack-of-sleep slip show and mangle us into a digression on girls being girls versus girls being guys.

Aside: what is it about androgyny that comes in and out of fashion? Is it the mystery? Is it the fact that Julie Andrews was pretty fucking hot as both Victor and Victoria? And how about the issue that I don't really care how butch Shirley Manson is, I'd still do her in a heartbeat if given the opportunity? Maybe this is a side effect of that whole thing where sexuality isn't an absolute, but a spectrum, and I'm just further to the side of "hey, I'd totally get in the middle of a Rufus Wainwright/Alan Cumming sandwich if given the opportunity" than most other guys. Of course, in my experience, most other guys are absolutely desperate to prove they're not gay, not quote-unquote "weak", not standing out from the sheep's herd. Baaaa.

Sam's apparently in a band. Ska. And looking for a brass player. Conveniently enough, I did remember to bring my trumpet. We'll have to see just how things go once I can settle in and give them a try-out.

Sam is also, apparently, a bigger pothead than South American drug smugglers flying planes into Miami. That, or he's been hotboxing guys with the tolerance of bull rhinos up in his room. Emi took me upstairs to my room after Sam left -- which is probably good, because it kept me from staring at the man openly, given the sheer imbedded funk in the room. I'm surprised there wasn't resin caked on the walls in layers thick enough to scrape off and re-smoke.

After Emi abandoned me to the imposing reality of my situation, and I ascertained that the crap they had for cleaning in the Hall wasn't up to this particular challenge, I went in search of the first place I could think of where I could find them: the girls' dorm.

You can all point and laugh now at me being a sexist pig.

And this, of course, is the point in which I ran into Dot. At least, she didn't deny that she was Emi's Dot -- Dorothy, Diva of Delaney Hall. I'm not quite sure I trust Mon Capitan's position that she's the best girl on campus, even if he did offer me a position in the crow's nest. Actually, I will say that the girl thinks quick on her feet, and doesn't take shit -- even if I wasn't trying to give her shit. Go me and my first impressions, huh? And she owns me a raincheck. Note to self: make sure it's worth it when you cash it.

Ah well, at least she had lysol and that Oxy-clean stuff. Which, in combination, have done wonders for getting this place so that it doesn't smell like a Rastafarian Shrine. But now I'm so tired that the thought of facing class tomorrow makes me whimper. I cling to the bright spots: tomorrow night I can properly unpack, and in the morning? I think I actually have a date for coffee. Let's hope I can find the place.