Friday, May 27, 2011

Waking Up is the Hardest Part

I set my alarm for 7:00 a.m. to get all ready for work at 8:00 a.m. I had high plans to actually do my hair. And eat breakfast. It was Friday and I was going to bask in its glory every possible minute.

Well, I woke up to my roommates talking. And that never happens because, oh yeah, I'm always up first. So I blinked. I wrinkled my forehead, a little annoyed that they were stealing my last few minutes of sleep. And then I looked over at my alarm clock.

Boom. 7:44.

say WHA? Yeah. It was flashing red like it was going off, but there was NO SOUND. What kind of alarm even has that as an option??

I untangled myself from my sheets, a fast chant rising in my throat: "crud, crud, Crud, Crud, CRUD, CRUD." I got progressively louder, leaping out of bed and considering my options. I habitually said a prayer, though I think it was something like "Oh crud, help me, bless me, please. crud." Real poetic-like. Then I flew to the bathroom, tripped into the shower, still singing my little crud song.

I somehow washed my hair and face at the same time, I shaved blind, a doused myself in soap and called it good. Two minutes flat. Still in my towel, I did my makeup, blow-dried my bangs (otherwise, things get ugly), and brushed my teeth. Then I finally got dressed, stumbling into my pants while (stupidly) trying to put on my shoes at the same time. I threw everything I needed for the day into a bag and then just fled the premises.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes, people. I got relatively attractive in ten minutes. In the time my roommates were still groaning their way out of bed, I was showered, dressed, and out that door like magic. It probably scared them. But it was all just a miracle. I mean, I impressed even Me.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Smoked Out

I like jalapenos. I like them a lot.

aaand I feel like I'm about to slip into a Dr. Seuss style narrative. 
We'll just stop that right now. 

Back to what's important: jalapenos.

They're delicious, right? Spicy and wonderful and good in anything? Well, my roommates don't agree.

It was Sunday and we came home from afternoon church starving, so four of us wound up cooking at the same time. Everyone was feeling rushed, fighting over stove tops and pans. I was making pasta sauce, chopping up veggies, boiling noodles, throwing in some sauce and adding in half a jalapeno for good measure. I practically lit them on fire, burning everything to get it done faster--because I was being nice. Because I wanted to get out of the way so everyone could enjoy a lovely meal on a lovely day. But roommates started to sweat.

First, it was the little things: someone wiped a tear out of their eyes, another commented breathlessly on the smell or the sudden heat. They averted their eyes, looking down as if they were willing themselves to get past it. I went on, blissfully unaware, completely immune to the burn they were all struggling to fight off. Actually, I stood at the stove and breezily reminded them of how last time I used a jalapeno they all had a meltdown. I said I was sorry and weren't they all glad this time was better? But then someone gasped, someone choked, and everyone freaked out. All at once.

One roommate walked into the kitchen, stopped dead in her tracks and ran back out, laughing and choking and coughing all at once. Another roommate came from around the living room corner just to assure me it wasn't so bad; instead, she gasped and wailed, "Holy crap, there's like a WALL." Someone ran to open a door, tripping over her feet as she kept her eyes closed tight against the tears. Someone else bent over, laughing and wheezing, begging me to stop the torture. I burnt everything faster, waving my hands wildly in an attempt to move the air, laughing probably sardonically, and screaming for everyone to JUST CALM DOWN!!!

And then it was suddenly over. Mere minutes later. I mean, they were sniffling forever after, wiping at noses and eyes, still sputtering on the air, unable to help but laugh warily whenever they looked at me eating.

Really, it was kind of embarrassing. But mostly funny. I mean, I almost killed my roommates. Hysterical, right? Why, yes, yes indeed.

Friday, May 20, 2011

I am a Grown Up

Relatively speaking, anyway.

That's right, I turned TWENTY years old the other day. It doesn't feel any different, but it's a lovely thing to not be a teenager anymore. Still, I have felt the pressure to be all "mature" and "grown up" and it's been really boring. The heavens have been weeping for me.

I have an internship that's all good for me or whatever but super exhausting and kind of useless at the same time.

I have a job which I love, but it's still a job.

I have no money. Well, not for things I'd usually spend it on (e.g. clothes, shoes, clothes, clothes, clothes).

I wish I could take a trip somewhere. Somewhere sunny. Like Austin. To watch a movie. In July. With my sister(s).

But I have no money.

Figuring out financial aid is a pain. Figuring out expenses is an even bigger pain.

I kind of want a car, I kind of need a car, but I kind of hate drivers in Provo so I kind of don't want a car.

I have no housing for Fall/Winter and this could be a big problem.

Unless I have a car which I can then live in.

And I was supposed to be enjoying a sort of vacation from school and thinking and staying busy. Instead, I have all that to worry about and stress me out. Plus my internship is literally a class--with assignments and everything--so I didn't really think that one through. I wish I could undo my plans to go to summer classes, but that would mess up my perfect fall schedule (seriously. it's perfect), so that's not going to happen. Instead I have a 8-5 work schedule. And that is my life forever after.

Welcome to adulthood, right?

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

The Curious Case of the Herpes

My roommate has a rash. And she likes to talk about it, describing how nasty it is and how terribly it itches and how it lasts for weeks. Luckily, she follows up with a quick, "Don't worry, it's not contagious." Gross? Why, yes, indeed. Yet pitiable, always pitiable. And she just went to the doctor to ensure she wasn't dying. They admitted there was no known cure and that she just had to wait it out. In the meantime, they gave her some drugs to relieve the itchiness and redness.

It was herpes medication.

We spent a good half hour laughing over the drug description, including side effects and a warning that just because you're on herpes medication doesn't make it non-contagious, so don't be doing the nasty, you oversexed psycho.

We're planning a party for when it finally goes away. She'll be shirtless--"finally." Her words, not mine. And I'll be getting a cake reading "Herpes-Free!" Mostly because I want to see the baker's face when I request that message. And because it's funny, having a roommate on drugs for an STD.