The Upstairs Neighbors–who do exercise tapes at all hours of the day, leading us to believe they in fact are secretly keeping a pony or perhaps a mini-horse

(this is particularly exciting for me as Mom owns two miniature donkeys or “donks”

Pineapple and Scarlett, or as my sister calls them, Faticia and Anger Dart

Pineapple and Scarlett, or as my sister calls them, Faticia and Anger Dart

and it is a great dream of mine (for her) that we one day breed miniature mules)

This is quite a tangent. I’ll start again.

The Upstairs Neighbors and the Next Door Boys (who are in the habit of sending one flatmate to the curb while the others shout the grocery list from a window. On at least one occasion, they specifically requested “some drunk vodka”) have all been quarantined in their respective flats.

They have swine flu.

We learned today that if one flatmate gets the swine flu, everyone living in the flat is essentially quarantined in their own flat. Officials from the university are hired to go to classes on your behalf and do all your grocery shopping for you (very importantly meaning we wouldn’t have to haul a week’s worth of shopping up the perilous Adams Terrace hill).

So, obviously we’re spending a lot of time figuring out how to get one of us to contract the swine flu. We’re having a party on Saturday, and I’ve got my fingers crossed that one of the guests has the flu. At least two of the guests are my flatmates’ church friends, too–they’re around a giant group of people once EVERY WEEK. Surely one of them’s got something.

I’ve finally managed to find and attend all of my lectures and tutorials. The following facts about my professors/TAs are vitally important:

1) My New Media professor is roughly seven years old, from England, and glared at me when I made a small noise during a pause in the tutorial. Granted, the small noise was a result of me desperately trying to contain my laughter after he made an extremely odd joke which got no reaction from anyone in the room (it was one of those comically awkward silences), but it wasn’t obviously a stifled laugh. And he had to reel around quickly in his chair in order to glare at me. God, seven year-olds are sensitive.

2) My TV Studies professor looks like a cross between hilarious comedian Tig Notaro

most famous for being on a show I dont like at all (I love Tig, though)

most famous for being on a show I don't like at all (I love Tig, though)

and the Artful Dodger

which is to say: vaguely cockney and from the 18th century

which is to say: vaguely cockney and from the 18th century

She’s also worn the same shirt every lecture. It features what I believe to be one of the crows from the old Kia Ora ads:

It’s a little weird.

3) Similarly, my TA for the TV Studies class looks like a cross between Jonah from Sumer Heights High

though obviously Jamie is my favorite

though obviously Ja'mie is my favorite

and Mr. Bobinksy from Coraline

less blue, though. Obviously

less blue, though. Obviously

4) New Zealanders don’t know how to pronounce the name “Carrie.” I am 100% serious. I was asked how to pronounce my name or if someone was using the correct pronunciation three times in one hour today.

Aislinn, one of the people who ran my orientation, literally went down my street knocking on doors until she got to my flat to beg me to go on some sort of “weekend outing” with the orientation group. Something I’d specifically chosen not to do. But I’m a coward and I can’t stick to my guns (especially not when a very nice person has embarrassed herself several times over to convince me to do something), so it looks like I’ll get to spend time with the oh-so-wonderful orientation group this weekend.

Next time you hear from me, don’t be surprised if I’m full of sullen, seething rage.