HEY, I TURNED 21!

I turned 21 last week, which means I now claim legal ownership over the beer in my refrigerator. Here’s the final tally on desserts that I amassed during all the birthday hooplah:

  1. A pan of cheesecake brownies
  2. A cookie cake
  3. A brownie with cookie dough on top (!!!)
  4. A bag of mini M&Ms from Tara
  5. Heart-shaped Valentine’s brownies that my brother’s girlfriend made
  6. Chocolate cookie bombs, which were balls of cookie dough inside a layer of brownie INSIDE a casing of CHOCOLATE (ASDGKDHGDKL)
  7. Two giant cookies that I bought for myself, unaware as I was that a veritable hurricane of sugar (see above) was on its way

My roommate and I went home for the weekend, which I tried to call my Birthweekendday, but it didn’t catch on even a little bit. On Valentine’s Day Tara and I played a really cutthroat game of Monopoly with my brother Alex and his girlfriend. I was just on the verge of expanding my empire and unleashing HELL when Allison arrived, and she put a stop to it. (I guess it was for the best.) We then went out for dinner and a stand-up comedy show. (The comedians were from LA, so they made a lot of jokes about snow and potholes.) The next night, my mom made me breakfast for dinner (I WAS IN HEAVEN) and then Allison and Holly took me to a bar downtown. I’m not going to lie here, it did get pretty wild. We left the bar after a bit and went to Burger King, where we were told we had to order and leave because the dude manning the frying pans had to go pick up his daughter at 11:30 (seriously) (and we weren’t even surprised… this has happened before) so we took our food from that Burger King to the other Burger King. We even ordered more food. We’re not assholes. The only thing weirder than going to a Burger King already laden with Burger King food is doing that and then not buying anything.

I don’t feel very different, being 21. However, I seem to have missed my window of opportunity for fleeing from busted frat parties and jumping fences and going on some kind of drunken excursion in the woods. Teen movies told me this would happen. Teen movies lied to me.

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So I saw Iron Man 3…

…and I LOVED IT. I’ll be seeing it again whenever my dad’s schedule permits, because I’ve decided he’s seeing it too. I wasn’t a fan of Iron Man 2, and also right before I saw Iron Man 3, I read a review someone posted about how it was almost exactly like The Dark Knight Rises in terms of plot. So maybe I just had low expectations, but I don’t think so. I loved it. I loved Don Cheadle. I loved the writing. I loved Gwyneth Paltrow being a badass. I loved RDJ and Ty Simpkins, the little boy who I just realized was also in Insidious so now I think I need to breathe into a paper bag or something. And now I just looked at his IMDb page, and there’s going to be an Insidious 2? What the hell? Why is this happening? Why is my past coming back to haunt me? When I watched Insidious the first time, the power went out and the TV froze and I almost peed myself for the first time since the tender age of five when I did it on purpose just to spite my mother.

Happy Mother’s Day, by the way, Mom. You had a rough job, because I was the kind of kid who pissed herself out of spite. This post got off-track. Here’s what we can take away from it: I was a terrible child and Iron Man 3 was spectacular.

ONE DAY MORE

Today I got hit in the face with a slushball. By a tree. It wasn’t even a person throwing it. I feel like I could be at peace with this if it had been an actual person. Like, “Wow, so there’s this asshole running around throwing slushballs at people indiscriminately. I hope your favorite show gets canceled, you piece of shit.” And then I could move on. But no. It was a tree, and that felt personal. It was like the universe zeroed in on me, wound up, and let fly, delivering a cold pile of soggy foreshadowing right in my face just to let me know who’s in charge and exactly how the rest of my week is going to go.

But you CAN’T GET ME DOWN, UNIVERSE. My spring break technically starts TONIGHT, after my four o’clock class. I’m scooting over to my grandparents’ place for the night, and then home, where I will be LAZY and INEFFECTIVE for the next week and a half. GET EXCITED. One more dawn! One more day! Ooooone… daaaaaay… more! *revolution music*

I ate the pinata.

I spent my birthday frantically writing an English essay and watching my team lose fantastically at basketball.

Elodie: Holy hell. I just turned on the Michigan/MSU game and then I immediately turned off the Michigan/MSU game.
Alex: I know isn’t it great
Alex: Happy birthday by the way
Elodie: Oh shut up

Alex is a State fan. It’s a constant source of strife.

But Alyssa the MAGNIFICENT over here threw me an iParty on Twitter! AN iPARTY. And that just made it all worth it, because how many friends do you have that would throw you an iParty? NONE. They are a rarity. Alyssa is like a MAGICAL UNICORN. And EVERYTHING at the party was edible, I think. (You did say “go ahead and devour the valuables,” right Alyssa?)

First Week of School: ACCOMPLISHED

I just finished my first week of school! “What?” you say, bewildered. “But it’s Thursday!” YES. YES IT IS. I am basking in the glory of the no-classes-on-Friday schedule. I’ve heard of it. I’ve dreamed of it. But I never thought it would actually HAPPEN to me.

My French professor walked into class on the first day and immediately started spewing French. I mean, duh, right? That’s kind of his job. But I had to mentally shift gears and jump from “what is this crazy alien language he speaks” to “I, uh, I kind of understand the phlegm-ridden sounds you are making, but only like every third word.” I started to wonder if I had actually passed the proficiency exam, or if that had just been a dream and I was here by mistake.

ASTROBIOLOGY was an experience. It is apparently a relatively new branch of science that deals with the origins and evolution of extraterrestrial life, and the possibility thereof, so (clearly) I spent most of the class Facebook chatting the word “ALIENS” to people. After class everyone said stuff like “it was nice meeting you!” to each other, but I snickered to myself, having spent the entirety of the class eschewing friend-making, opting instead to Facebook chat in the corner with the friends I already had. I’m so fun.

Anyway, I’ve got to find the laundry room in this place. It was a hot, sweaty week.

APOCALYPTOUR! (And other things)

When Tara and I were in high school, we were in the National Honor Society, so every so often we had to do community service. Sometimes this was rewarding, but more often than not, it was simply uncomfortable. Like the time we volunteered at the movie theater, and the only other guy there was The Uber Hottie. Since the cash registers were far above our skill level, we basically stepped aside and let him run the show. The people in charge delegated me to kicking people out of the handicap seats while people were filing into the theater. (My actual job was running around and firmly telling people they couldn’t sit in the designated aisle seats. My stern admonishments were not always warmly received.)

Anyway, so one winter we volunteered to work at this marathon thing. I can’t, with any certainty, tell you what this marathon thing was. I want to say they were running, but I remember it being freezing and snowy. Snowmobiling? BMX racing? I can’t recall. Anyway, there were at least a hundred booth things. Long story short, Tara and I got off the shuttle, looked around, and realized we had no idea where we were supposed to be. We proceeded to walk around the entire area for an hour or two. We called our friend, who was the NHS president, and she assured us that the NHS group was there somewhere (even if she herself wasn’t). So we continued to look. We ran into both of our fathers (hers owns a restaurant and he was there serving food. Mine was just there for fun because he likes that type of thing). We never found the NHS booth. Finally, we looked at each other, shrugged, sheepishly got back onto the shuttle, and left.

I tell you this to exemplify how our plans usually go. And in a few days we are going to the Apocalyptour show.

“So what time should we leave?” she said over dinner. “How much time should we give us?”

“Well,” I said, counting on my fingers, “we need time to get turned around twice, we need time to take at least four wrong exits, and we need time to get lost looking for a place to eat lunch and dinner.”

“Seven hours?” she suggested.

“Seven hours,” I said, nodding.

I’ll keep you informed.

Venus Flytraps = badass

I’ve owned a lot of cool things in my day (lava lamps, marshmallow guns, life-sized piggy banks… once I even briefly owned a pony). But hands down, the coolest damn thing I ever owned was a Venus Flytrap. For the life of me, I don’t know where I got it or how it came to be in my possession. I can only assume I heard the phrase “carnivorous plant that eats meat and bugs” and shouted to the nearest person, “Sign me up!”

I think we named it something ridiculous like Fluffy, as opposed to something awesome like Jaws, to lull the bugs into a false sense of security (as if the bugs would hear us talking about it and catch on). Anyway, Fluffyjaws (as it will henceforth be known) and I bonded, because I treated Fluffyjaws like both a pet and a plant. This probably wasn’t the best strategy, considering my inability to a) keep pets alive*, and b) keep plants alive**. Predictably, after a week or two, Fluffyjaws died from… well, who knows? Not enough water? Not enough bugs/meat? Crazy fungus? Too much sunlight? Could’ve been any of them. Could’ve been all of them. Nonetheless, those few days I had with Fluffyjaws were indescribably awesome, because having a Venus Flytrap is something every wannabe badass should do at least once in their life.

* RIP Jazz the Hamster
** RIP every plant I’ve ever watered