A Decemberous Miracle

I'm writing for the first time in months because this story is far too good for me to pass up.

Finally through with the semester, you're safe to assume I've spent all day lazing about.  I've even managed to run out of snackables, which is tragic, considering food is a source of supplemental entertainment for me.

Today was marked by stretching to the absolute limit of passing time just... because... I had to. While on my 4th hour of watching online show re-runs, something out of the corner of my screen-affixed eyes caught my attention: my mother stood in the dining room, with a box.

This was not very extraordinary. Boxes are relatively common to receive at houses wherein the residents shop online or have generous relatives during the holidays. But what WAS extraordinary was my mother's hesitance to open it.

Emitting various "Hmm!"s and "huh"s, I found upon further inquiry that while the address was 100% ours, the names attached were NOT ours. My mother is no more a "Laurence" than I am.  What's more, it was from a Judy and a Cliff, with love - I kid you not when I say I have never even MET a Judy nor a Cliff, let alone in combination.  And I certainly expect no love from them.

My mother, being honorable and moral, called the company that sent it - a holiday gift-basket type company, y'know, the kind that sends fruits and nuts - and after a good ten minutes on the phone with a representative, they came up with only one solution: ENJOY IT. That's right. There was no return address or number to contact. It was ours.

Overwhelmed with the glee of impending free edibles, I expected my mother to open it. The box even SAID "Open Immediately". But my mother refused on the grounds of the upcoming dinnertime and - more likely - maternal rights to torture.  Luckily my aggressive older sister caught word of the free package and ripped into it before my mother even knew she was in the house.

And more miraculous than receiving it was its contents: AN ENORMOUS BASKET OF COOKIES.

It's a Decemberous Miracle for me, my family, and my sweet-teeth! There's enough even for it to last until my twin sister gets home at the end of the week (maybeeee...)!

Now some of you reading this might be sitting there, thinking. "How horrible! That belongs to somebody else and you know it!" "That's it? You're not going to look into this further?" "Have you no guilt? Have you no SOUL?"

All I can say is that while I may be lacking a conscience or maybe even a human soul, I do not lack one thing: cookies.

NEW THINGS

A new blog post! I'll admit it. I forgot I even had a blog for a while. I kinda go to college, which makes me kinda busy. Apparently.

ALSO: I have a new laptop! It's shiny and black and ultimately terrifying. I've technically had it for a month or so but I've been afraid to actually use it, to the disdain of my fellows. I guess this blog serves to show my official transition to the Shiny McGee. (Though my trusty green Monster's still right next to my desk, just in case.)

Though there are perks to any new computer, I just hit a major speed bump:
MICROSOFT PAINT IS TOTALLY NEW AND DIFFERENT.

I think I know how to get its settings close to the janky old version we all know in love.

... Close enough.

broken laptop

As you may have inferred from the title, my laptop is broken.

And I don't mean broken like I'm dumb and it's slow cuz, being dumb, I download everything I click on.  I don't even mean it's broken like hyper-virus infection broken (though there have been those moments).

When I say "broken", I mean my laptop and life source for the past three years is Schwarzenegger-as-Terminator, shot-up-and-falling-apart broken.

Not even duct tape can rescue it at this point.  It's become so unholy as to resist the duct tape. It RESISTS the duct tape! What kind of evil machine can - WOULD - do such a thing?!

A laptop past its warranty is apparently its own free agent.  If it tries to kill me, I may just have to put it down.
OH GOD IT KNOWS I'M TYPING THIS. AUUGHH---

Trip, fall, fail

This happens to me a lot.

Followed by this.

Because I trip and fall often, and mostly on stairs, my legs almost always look like this.

You can tell that I have a problem here.  I'm trying to identify the source of the problem in order to find a solution.  I don't think my toes have grown longer, and I doubt my center of gravity is shifting.  I'm just a klutzy lady and that's all there is to it.

Amputation seems like the most illogical, impractical, and sure-fire option to me at this juncture.  I don't know whether to cut off my toes, saw at the knee, or just lop off my entire lower half.  I shall consult a surgeon post-haste!

Extra Meat

The dining hall has switched from serve-yourself buffet style to a more personable ask-and-ye-shall-receive method.  The food is surprisingly better, but it would seem they almost anticipated the dangers of all-you-can-eat goodness and added the asking policy for better security.

The idea is that everybody gets one serving, fair and square.

This presents a problem for people (like me) who want - rather, NEED - extra breakfast meat.  The early dose of protein is what gets the carnivore inside me through the day.  If I am not allowed to have an overflowing plate of bacon at least twice a week, things get ugly.

Luckily I'm not one to give up on my usual routine so easily.  I realized early on that the only thing stopping me from unlimited meaty breakfastry is an old lady with a chef's hat and serving tongs.  Compared to the usual brick wall or giant fallen sycamore, that's not that much of an obstacle.

As effective as it would be to overpower her in a brief altercation and steal the entire tray of bacon, I know this would only work once and I'd probably be arrested long before I could finish consuming my greasy delicious trophy.  No, the only way to get past the serving drone was through... her heart.

With wide-eyed and bright-smiled wonder that would match any cartoon princess, I bat my eyes at the food-woman and feign interest in her well-being, all the while slightly sucking in my more prodigious parts to seem like I'm slightly starving and in dire need of extra scraps.

I noticed an almost immediate result when the girl in front of me in the line asked for "lots of bacon".  Disappointed in the amount, she asked for "extra".  Upon my turn, I simply asked the breakfast granny 1. how her morning has been and 2. for bacon.

Here's a visual aid of the result.

Sure, there's not much difference in mass between three and three and a HALF, but think of those ratios! That halfish one is like four pieces.  So a poor girl asked for extra and got only 3 pieces instead of my unrequested (yet deserved)  4. Her bacon ratio of 3/4 is like 75% which is like a C grade.  That is WAY sub-par to my 100% A+ bacon satisfaction.

I guess my point is: I'm cute and I get extra bacon for it.

bugs.

I am not afraid of insects. Ants are quite fascinating and butterflies are beeeauuuutiful.  But some bugs are just AWFUL. Like flies.  Flies vomit and poop a lot and lay eggs on things.

LIKE RIGHT ON THE NALGENE I WAS DRINKING OUT OF A SCANT TWO MINUTES BEFORE THIS PICTURE WAS TAKEN.

I noticed the fly... birthing... but by the time it flew off, it was too late. It had nastyy nastyyy fly-birth in close proximity to my delicious drinkables, forever tainting the bottle's sanctity.  It's been hours and I'm still soaking the bottle in lava-hot detergent-water.

Another gross stinky-lookin bug ruined my life by playing "human train ride" and stowed away on my empty-box-car shoulder for who even KNOWS how long.  When my friend noticed it, we both ska-REEECHED and it buzzed off, landing on a window.  This picture does not do much for scale considering the rather hilarious perspective of the background.  But know that it was big, and it moved creepily, and was therefore gross.

Look! He's terrorizing the city!

Such a high capacity for nasty.

Secret Sneezer

I've grown up with a wonderful, loving mother.  She's still wonderful and loving to this day! She's even a loyal fan of my blog and there's a good chance that she is reading this right now. Hello, mother!  As admirable a person my mother is, there is one small character flaw of hers that I have long since vowed never to inherit.  It is the way she sneezes.

It's not just the wild gesticulations but also the sudden cannon-blast of noise that strikes fear into the hearts of unsuspecting passers-by.  It also forces a measurable deal of embarrassment into the blushing face of her daughter (yours truly).

I was at the tender insecure age of middleschoolteen when I first acknowledged the burden of my mother's sneeze.  At that age, I was seldom in any company from which I would enjoy drawing attention.  As pleasant and thoughtful as a resounding "bless you" seems, to me, it has been a nuanced controversy that I find as embarrassing as it is outdated.  Seeing a need to avoid any further sneeze-related run-ins, I consciously began to alter the effects of my sneeze.  Mediating between the extremes of the sonorous and trite "ACHOO!" and the tiny parakeet-esque "pip", I developed the perfect sneeze without any vocals or theatrics.

I taught myself how to sneeze like a cough.

And not just any cough. No bells, whistles, or phlegm. I manage to sneeze out several miniature low-decibel coughs that one might attribute to a mere throat-tickle.  It's an amazing ability and luckily it is one that's far away from the snotsplosion of a previously mentioned relative.

For years now I've been able to fly under the "bless you!" radar.  I find that classes stay on better track and conversations flow with fewer interruptions.  Until now, only a few people have known my secret.  Such as my roommate, who finds my infrequent sets of mini-cougheezes quite hilarious.

And the loneliness from not being reassured that a higher religious power has saved me from a sneezely death? Negligible.