Blackies

Every college student's dream is to come home to a warm plate of brownies, right? (Actually, my roommate hates brownies, so I should probably specify that brownies are every NORMAL college student's dream.) Well, we all know that brownies aren't magically going to appear, so one must go about making them for themselves. Fortunately, my roommate Jeffro and I and our friend Heidi had the brilliant idea of making them for ourselves.

We pulled out the ultimate fudge brownie mix, poured in the 1/4 cup of oil, 1/2 cup of water, two eggs, and began stirring. Then we (Jeffro) stirred until all the powder was mixed up, plopped it into a pan, and placed it in the preheated oven, setting the timer for 45 minutes. After the goodies were securely in the oven, we began to clean up the kitchen. As we were cleaning, it began to smell funny in the kitchen, almost like something was burning. But that was impossible, for the brownies had only been in for five minutes. Suddenly, Jeffro noticed that smoke was pouring out of our oven. We threw open the door and were bombarded by smoke. After it cleared, we peered in to see the blackest brownies ever.

Jeffro went into panic mode, realizing that all our hard work was being wasted, and reached in to the oven to grab the pan. Fortunately, before she grabbed the pan, she realized that she didn't have any protection. I calmly handed her some as she jumped from one foot to the other, and she took the blackened brownies out. She took them outside (clearly the most logical place to take dysfunctional brownies) and we began to inspect our creation. While at first look it had seemed that we had a super oven that cooked brownies within two minutes, as we peered closer we realized that only the top of the brownies were black, and the rest of it was, well, goo.

After making this startling realization, I ran back inside to see why the oven had produced such strange results. I opened the oven door and saw that one of the heating coils was hanging down into the oven. I turned to Jeffro to ask her if she'd seen that when she was putting the brownies in. "Uh . . . Yeah? I didn't think it was a big deal." was her response. What? Not a big deal? Uh, fire hazards aren't big deals anymore? Ruining brownies isn't a big deal? Cool bud.

And yes, we still ate the goo that some people call brownie batter.

Aussie

Remember when you were a kid how those big jumping toys were the coolest things that ever happened to you?

Well, remember how whenever you think about them now that you're an adult, they're still the coolest things ever? Fortunately, Jeffro and I remembered this over the summer, and decided to take action and do the coolest thing ever, and go to Kangaroo Zoo, which might as well be called heaven on freaking earth.

We walk in and are instantly surrounded by huge blow up toys with animals attached--A dream come true. Unfortunately, we are most definitely twice as tall as anyone else. We boldly walk up to the desk, where the lady takes our money and asks us how old we are. (Guess what? They don't have an age limit!) After a bit of small talk, she discovers where Jeffro and I are going to school, and she informs us that she's going there as well. Finally she lets us in and we begin to have the time of our lives.

If you've never been surrounded by a bunch of blow up toys and four year olds, and this sounds appealing to you (in a non pedophile way) then by all means, go to Kangaroo Zoo. I won't go into all the details about the jumping, sliding, flipping, bouncing, and playing, for it would only make you jealous. No, the real story happens later.

After we got exhausted by all the jumping, sliding, flipping, bouncing, and playing, we went to play mini golf in the darkened mini golf room. We walk in and see a group of people, one of whom steps up to us and asks us if we're the ones going to college soon, then informs us that he's going up there too. (Is everyone in the entire world at the same college?) We say how cool we think that is (what else can you say?) and go our separate ways.

The end. Great story, eh?

Oh but wait, I left out the part about how today in freshmen orientation we were supposed to say something we liked, and when it came to Jeffro who said she liked Kangaroo Zoo, the kid sitting next to me freaked out because apparently he worked there and then he got this look in his eyes like he knew something and he asked us "WAIT. Were you the girls in the mini golf?"

Uh . . . Yes?

What are the odds that out of close to 1,500 people who are enrolled in this freshmen orientation class, we would be in the SAME EXACT ONE as this kid?

Freak if that isn't a coincidence, I don't know what is.

Collegiate

Does your college professor scratch your back in class?

Because mine does.

You have the softest ankles I've ever felt.

Today, as the doors to the elevator opened, I saw a rather old couple blocking the doorway, waiting to get on. I let the lady with her walker hobble on, as well as her husband, then quickly exited. As I rounded the corner, I overheard the old lady say to her husband, "Is this where we get off?" to which her husband replied in a loving but exasperated tone, "No! We just got on."

I love old people.

Confession #2

I'm a HUGE procrastinator.

Those of you who know me may find this confession rather strange, but trust me. I don't know how NOT to procrastinate. A teacher gives me an assignment weeks in advance, and I'll still be up all night the night before it's due trying to finish. I can't count how many times I've fallen asleep during one of these all nighters only to wake up in the morning in a panic to ask my mom if she'll excuse me from that class because my project wasn't finished. Usually, she took compassion on me and did, but now that I'm heading off to college, I don't know what I'm going to do.

The reason I mention this is because school starts in a week. And I have an entire book to read, and a five page paper to write on it. Not a big deal, right? I can fit that in somewhere between goodbye parties, packing, working, cleaning, trying to find a job, and moving, right? Especially if I promise myself not to get on Facebook, right? (Which yes, I did, and yes, which I haven't done so far.) The only problem is . . . Now I spend all my time doing other pointless things. Like . . . Blog. Speaking of which, you may have noticed, this is my third post for today.

Just ask me if I've read three pages of my book today. You won't like the answer. And neither will I when I'm up all night right before school to finish what should have been finished weeks ago.

Sherbert

Just so everyone knows, that frozen fruit treat that is somewhat like ice cream, is not called sherbert. Sherbert isn't even a word. It's sherbet. With no r.

So, if someone tries to correct you when you call it by the incorrect name, don't look at them strangely. Don't tell them that that's only how people who can't say their r's say it. Don't tell them they're stupid for pronouncing your "favorite treat" incorrectly.

Because they aren't.

And you're the stupid one.

The Roof.

It seemed innocent enough. The stars were out, the moon was yellow, and the night was calm. Perfectly romantic setting for climbing on the roof, right? Unfortunately, the only one around was my best friend, Jeffro. (Who yes, is a girl, and whose name also isn't really Jeffro. What kind of parents would do that to their child?) Since neither one of us is a lesbian, we simply had to settle for an unromantic night in a romantic setting.

So we snuck into my sleeping sister's room, quietly opened the window, and climbed out onto the roof. Fortunately, I get on my roof quite a bit, and am quite used to the steep parts. But, Jeffro didn't have that same advantage. Despite the steep slope, Jeffro was able to overcome and make it to the highest point . . . Just in time to have our friend show up and call us down.

So, we slid back down the roof, and wandered towards the window we'd left open. Much to our surprise, it was closed.

You know that moment of terror where all rationality flees from your mind? This moment was one of those times. Neither of us had our phones, and my parents didn't know I was out there. (They don't exactly approve) Options of how to get out of the predicament began to run through my mind.

Break the window? With what? My hand? That one was out.

Jump down? And break my legs? That one was out as well.

Sit on the roof all night? And risk rolling off when I fell asleep? Nope, not gonna work.

Knock on the window? (Ahh . . . A little bit of rationality) Ya know, that just might work.

Unfortunately, my sister didn't answer to my incessant knocking. Well, maybe breaking the window would be my best option after all . . . Wait! I know! The window doesn't lock! (Shh . . . Don't tell any potential thieves) Why oh why didn't I think of this before? I simply pushed up on the window and let myself in, giving my sister a heart attack in the process. Poor girl thought she was going to be abducted.

This would usually be the part where I tell a moral to the story, or add some witty closing remark, but, I can't think of one. Mostly, this was just a pointless story.