The end of winter is in sight. I can feel it. Now, odds are it’s going to snow again, and I’m going to feel very silly. I shouldn’t fall into this trap every year. But right now it’s a balmy 45 degrees, and as far as I’m concerned that means spring is coming, and the days of frostbite and windchill are behind us.
Did I ever tell you guys about the Bastille concert? Actually, let me pose a follow-up question: did you guys know that Detroit in winter is cold? See, I knew this. Or I thought I did. I thought I was prepared. I had my big winter coat, my boots, my winter hat, my mittens, even a sweatshirt underneath. And I felt slightly ridiculous getting in line for the concert behind people in cute skirts and flowy dresses. A few hours later, however, it would be I who was laughing. Well, not really. We waited in line for three and a half hours when it was -10 degrees out, plus windchill. Nobody was laughing. But I did feel vindicated. I had to give Tara my second pair of gloves because she was suffering, and I can’t even say for sure what the cute-skirts-and-dresses faction did. I spent the whole time facing the other direction so as to shield myself from the wind, so I literally just didn’t see them for a solid chunk of time. The concert venue was downtown, and nearby businesses actually came out with blankets and hand warmers for us because the situation was so dire.
I should also mention that I had the flu. Or, well, I was in denial of having the flu. (This would be confirmed later.) So there were a lot of factors going into this that could have rendered it an entirely unenjoyable experience. However, despite being so cold that I didn’t remove my bulky winter coat until halfway through the concert, and despite being so sick that I had to pull over on my way home, I can say with absolute certainty that that concert was one of the best nights of my life. It’s definitely in the top ten. Bastille was fantastic, and we did a lot of dancing, and at one point I almost got hit with the microphone cord when Dan Smith went into the crowd, so basically it was perfect.
I would do it again in a heartbeat. Maybe without the cold, if we could finagle that. I just put my winter coat away, and I’m hoping I don’t need it again for a while.
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:
- A pan of cheesecake brownies
- A cookie cake
- A brownie with cookie dough on top (!!!)
- A bag of mini M&Ms from Tara
- Heart-shaped Valentine’s brownies that my brother’s girlfriend made
- Chocolate cookie bombs, which were balls of cookie dough inside a layer of brownie INSIDE a casing of CHOCOLATE (ASDGKDHGDKL)
- 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.
I was recently persuaded to download that trivia app, QuizUp, and it was a costly mistake. I swear I haven’t done any homework since I downloaded it eight hours ago. CUE THE FLASHBACK.
Me: I just got it
Me: I immediately started playing, just dove right in
Me: My roommate just heard me yell “SHIT”
Me: I think I accidentally unfriended you?
Me: Hypothetically, how would one change their location on this thing?
Me: Or rather, change it BACK
Me: Because it says I’m playing from American Samoa
Me: This all happened within five minutes of me downloading the app
Tara: Elodie, what the HELL
Tara and I then embarked on a furious battle of Harry Potter trivia knowledge that got more and more intense, with the result that we were eventually hitting buttons and choosing answers before we had even processed the question. At one point Tara said Harry’s aunt’s name was Pam.
Tara: I don’t even want to talk about that one.
Me: We all have regrets.
Tara: I thought they were going to ask me about Marge so I freaked out when I saw all the P names.
Me: You don’t have to explain yourself to ME, I said James Potter’s nickname was Padfoot.
SOMEONE HELP ME. I WAS HAVING ENOUGH TROUBLE DOING PRODUCTIVE THINGS EVEN BEFORE THIS CAME INTO MY LIFE. NOW I AM TRAPPED. FOREVER. I’VE ALREADY ACCEPTED DEFEAT.
The semester’s almost over, which means it’s time to say good-bye to my lit class peopled entirely with hot English majors. In the spirit of that, here’s this:
Me: I’m in fantasy lit and there’s a guy I’m too scared to sit next to because he’s so cute, so I got the shitty left-hand desk in the corner instead.
Tara: Your lit class is like a mystical land to me, filled with abnormally attractive people discussing literature in an intelligent manner.
Me: It just got more mystical, the professor brought doughnuts.
Me: Oh my God I think I took the doughnut the cute guy wanted, he was right behind me and he groaned as soon as I took my doughnut.
Me: Sucks to suck.
Tara: You should have told him that.
Me: I’m pretty sure that’s the expression I gave him as I took the doughnut back to my corner and ate it slowly and vindictively.
Last week I was bitching about a tornado. This week I’m bitching about snow.
Over the weekend, Tara came to visit. I woke up on Saturday morning, but it was cold and I didn’t think Tara was awake yet, so I just stayed in bed wrapped in my blankets like a burrito and stared out the window. It started to snow lightly, which then turned, right before my eyes, into a fully fledged whiteout snowstorm. It was at this point that I sprang out of bed, ran into the hallway, and collided with Tara, who was gesturing at the window and going, “Holy shit! I mean… wow. I think I’m going to be trapped here forever. Holy SHIT.”
My mom called last night and asked if there’s anything she needs to bring to my grandparents’ house when we meet there for Thanksgiving. I told her I need my winter coat, because after twenty years of living in a place that is prone to snow, I’m still an idiot. I’m literally walking around campus while it is fifteen degrees out wearing three jackets on top of each other.
“Okay,” she said. “So I’ll bring your white North Face jacket.”
“Mother,” I said, “we are WAY PAST the white North Face jacket. I need the gigantic black coat that makes it look like I’m walking around in a SLEEPING BAG.”
I’m wearing sunglasses everywhere even though it isn’t sunny, just to keep the wind off my face. My car door handle was frozen shut this morning. I got frostbite walking back from class because I forgot my gloves. I know this certainly sounds like bitching, but I’m actually just getting excited. Wind and snow and frostbite means WINTER IS HERE. CHRISTMAS IS COMING. I need to make some Pillsbury cookies or something!
My Friday night was shaping up to be quite lovely. It was drizzling outside, and I was staying in. I had my pajamas on. I was planning on doing some online shopping, re-reading Harry Potter, and listening to my little brother Alex’s football game on the radio, as I wasn’t able to be there in person. My roommate had made scones. It was practically ideal. And then… well, then I got a text.
Mom: We left The Hat in the trunk of your car
Mom: You need to wear it tonight
Mom: You know what’s at stake. You must wear the hat.
Me: Oh, God.
The Hat is a very special hat that was knitted by one of the parents on my brother’s team back in 2008. It must be worn at every game by a football parent or otherwise affiliated person. When The Hat is not worn, we lose. Always. And the one time, the ONE TIME The Hat just HAD TO BE tragically misplaced (in the trunk of my car) was the one game that would make or break our season. If we didn’t win, we would be out of the playoffs. We were hanging on by a thread as it was. And the magical Hat was some 300 miles away, in my possession.
So I had to wear The Hat.
I sent a picture to Tara and explained the situation.
Tara: You were born to wear that hat.
Me: That look in my eyes is a cry for help.
Tara: You look like you’re being held hostage and your captors are forcing you to wear it.
At one point, my mother Facetimed me to make sure I was wearing the hat. Then she made me prove it to everyone in the immediate vicinity, so I waved awkwardly to all the people in the bleachers, and they cheered at me like I was the chosen one. BUT THE HAT WORKED. We won the game, and our playoff dreams are still alive, and I’ll be returning The Hat to its rightful place soon enough.
Tara had a date the other night, and I said to her, “Should I send you possible topics of conversation all night just in case there’s a lull?” to which she said, “Do it.”