I can’t tell if the universe is screwing with me

My professor randomly announced today that he was canceling the midterm exam on Wednesday. He also decided he was canceling class on Friday. This sounded swell to me, because I was already planning on a) studying very little and b) not attending Friday’s class, because I have tickets to a concert. However, I’m concerned. I don’t know if this is the universe’s way of saying, “Excellent! Bask in this good fortune! You deserve it! Life is a technicolor musical, and YOU know every song and dance step,” which would be grand… or if it’s the universe’s way of saying, “Yep. That’s it, slack off. Enjoy it while it lasts. Here comes the reckoning.”

My Ideal Grocery Store & Obnoxious People

After nearly three years of living in this city, I’ve finally found my ideal grocery store. It’s close, it’s cheap, and the cashiers want you to leave just about as much as you want you to leave. I swear the woman who bagged my groceries practically chucked them at me. Didn’t ask me if I found everything okay. I think I might love her. Is it too soon?

Yesterday I was studying in one of the many study areas on campus. It’s not like the library where people will burn you in effigy for breathing too loudly, but it’s also not too noisy. It’s just casual. Even by those standards, there was this one guy who was talking OBNOXIOUSLY loudly. He wasn’t even there using one of the computers, he was just standing there next to his increasingly uncomfortable friend who was using a computer. And the guy was just going off about his girlfriend. I was trying to read over in the corner, but it was difficult, because phrases like “that fucking bitch” and “goddamn whore” kept puncturing the bubble of casual quiet. People were glancing sideways at him. People were making incredulous eye contact with each other. One guy lightly banged his head against his desk.

And finally, finally, after he started off on another “and you’ll never guess what THIS bitch did…” anecdote, a girl a few computers away, like, slammed her fist down on her desk and called over to him, “ALEX! CALM DOWN! EVERYONE HERE HATES YOU!” And the guy sitting next to me started applauding, and another guy joined in. And Alex finally quieted the hell down. It was amazing. It was like a scene out of a movie.

*Will Ferrell elf scream* SANTAAAA


There are three things I really, really love about this time of year:

  1. Chocolate oranges. I’ve learned over the years to just buy them for myself, wrap them, and then put them under the tree, because my family drops the ball sometimes, and then Christmas is ruined.
  2. Chocolate crinkle cookies. There’s a Mennonite community near where I live that makes the absolute best chocolate crinkle cookies. If I could harness their abilities and make my own, I would do it. But alas.

So basically, everything I love about the impending holiday season revolves around food.

The Hat of Destiny and Magic

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 personMy 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.

I’m a mess. There, it’s official.

My roommate and I are already at that point in the school year where we’re leaving to go to class at the last possible second. Three weeks ago, we were leaving half an hour early, ear buds in, bags fully packed with folders, writing utensils, and the assigned reading. Nowadays, however, you’re more likely to see one of us sprinting out the door when we should’ve left five minutes before, holding crumpled papers and a piece of toast and screaming, “I’M LATE, BYE.” No ear buds; there’s no time to untangle that shitstorm. We frequently don’t grab the right books and have to run back, screwing ourselves over even further. And when I use the royal “we,” of course, I really just mean me. I say we to make myself feel better. I think I saw her sprinting out the door, like, once. And even then she was wearing this really cute dress. I usually wear whatever’s on my floor because it’s within reach. I’m a perpetual life mess.

My roommate is a bona fide adult, and I am not

When I say my roommate can cook, what I actually mean is she LOVES to cook. She’s constantly making cookies, muffins, super complicated dinners, and what have you. I try to get in there and make my own crappy meal before she does, because hers is a whole production and she’ll be in there for hours. I cannot impress upon you the degree to which I can’t make food. I  live off sandwiches and macaroni. I don’t even know how I’m alive.

She’s also extremely creative. Right now she’s making a grilled cheese with tomatoes using BAGELS because her bread expired today. To put this in perspective, MY bread expired four days ago and I’m going to keep making my basic turkey sandwiches until I see green mold. This should give you the idea that, in addition to having no creative aptitude for food, I also don’t have any sense of self-preservation.

The most creative thing I do is toast the bread before I stick it in my eight-dollar toaster from Sears and then throw on the ham and cheese, so I can trick myself into thinking it’s like a croque-monsieur. I’m livin’ large, people. (It’s not even remotely like a croque-monsieur.)

Right at this very second I’m eating a coconut banana muffin that she made. I hate both bananas and the flavor of coconut. But this is good. This is really good.

I think my wallet is worth more than what’s inside of it at this point.

I receive e-mails from the University whenever a student gets robbed or mugged or what have you. Recently one came up that said somebody had gotten robbed a few blocks away from where I live. The guys demanded his wallet, he gave it up, and that was that. All I could think was that if someone robbed me, this is what I’d have to fork over:


I would hope we’d all get a few laughs out of the absurdity of the situation, and then they’d give it back out of a sense of newfound camaraderie and we’d go on our merry way. More likely they’d take a look at the two bucks and fifty cents (plus like 50 movie stubs going all the way back to 2004) I have in there and give it back, disgusted.

Hi! Sorry! Don’t hate me!

Um… hi. *peers out nervously* I know. It’s been a while. Long time, no see. How’ve you been? You all look GREAT. Yes, I’m buttering you up with compliments. What’s wrong with that?

I’m back at school, living in an apartment with a friend of mine. We haven’t taken the trash out since we got here, and I have a bunch of canned food but no can opener, so basically we’re thriving. I was taking a French History course, which I was really excited about, but I had to drop it because taking five English-heavy courses on top of having a job and commuting eight hours every weekend is stupid.

The commuting is because it’s my little brother’s last year playing high school football, and it might sound trivial, but I’ve been trucking it around all over the state of Michigan with that team for the past three years. I’ve driven five hours nonstop just to meet the fan bus in a city I’ve never been to. I’ve bought hot cocoa just to warm up my hands while tailgating in snowy parking lots. I once went to a game where it was 80 degrees one minute, and downpouring the next. And I’ve loved every minute of it. They have a place in my heart. I’m going to miss this.

So, I think that’s everything I’ve been up to.  I’m on season four of The Vampire Diaries. I started watching Game of Thrones. Two days ago, Darren Criss performed at a pep rally for the Michigan/Notre Dame football game. He was HERE. IN THIS CITY. Mere MONTHS after I was unable to go to his concert, he comes to ME. And I DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT IT. WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME? My mom’s response to this was, “You should get out more.” Well, I would if I thought there was a chance I might just happen upon Darren Criss singing an impromptu rendition of the Michigan fight song, but how often does that happen?

I’m going to exorcise this building of its demons

Someone at work recently told me I have an interesting vernacular, which nobody has ever told me before. So I took into account the things I’ve been saying around the office:

  • “This little shit is giving me the business,” as I was laminating paper
  • “Can you hold these forms for a hot second?”
  • In response to “the coffeemaker is on the fritz”: “Well, that’s Bad News Bears.”

Needless to say I think I’m carving out a niche for myself here. I’m the person that says things like “Bad News Bears” in casual conversation. I’m also the person that laminated something so woefully wrong that it came out looking like an accordion. (Clearly it was giving me the business.)

Also, I was in the bathroom just now and I heard this crazy clunking noise coming from the walls. My immediate reaction was “holy shit, this place is haunted and there is a ghost and I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS IT.” I mentioned this to somebody and they dismissed it as “the pipes.” But you and I both know that it’s NEVER the pipes.

This is a rough approximation of how I would fare if you were to drop me in the middle of nowhere and expect me to find my way home

My dad’s job involves making commercials for local businesses. So when he asked my brother Alex and I if we would mind being in one, because they were running low on extras, we reluctantly agreed. We were told it would be a quick shot of us kayaking down the river… you know, just a little something they could put into the musical montage for this resort. I figured since it was a “quick shot,” somebody could just stick me in a kayak and then push me towards the camera, and I could pretend to know what I was doing in a suitably competent manner for all of 20 seconds. (Ha. Should we laugh together? Let us laugh.)

The first warning sign was when I was trying to help the resort owner carry a canoe, and I had to relinquish my half to the cute employee named Steven because I have the upper arm strength of a really wimpy child. And did I mention Cute Guy Steven? Attractive males don’t usually show up right before I’m about to do something awesome. They usually show up when I’m about to do something awkward and horrible.

Anyway, the people in the commercial included myself, Alex, Cute Guy Steven, two girls I didn’t know (but who I would find out really knew their way around a canoe), and this guy Felix who is our neighbor. (Remember this post? He was the guy that stole the baseball from me.)

The man in charge, Felix’s dad, said, “Now don’t any of you tell me this is about to be your first time in a kayak.”

Alex, the only person present who knew that this was the first time I had ever even been this close to a kayak, smirked. Actually, no, that’s not true. Once when I was at summer camp ten years ago, I kayaked. It wasn’t a success. I ran us aground, and there was a mutiny.

So the whole thing went about as well as could be expected. Cute Guy Steven helped me into the kayak, whereupon I was immediately launched downriver even though I was supposed to wait for the rest of the group. The next take we did I fell ass-backwards into the kayak. Then I ran into Felix’s canoe. And while we were all waiting around for the next take, I freely admitted to these people, who were big on nature and doing activities, that I was all about air conditioning and and TV. It was all very, very bad.