I’ve been moved-in for about a week now, and things are just peachy. That is why Princess Peach is here — because things are just so peachy. Originally I was thinking of featuring James and the Giant Peach because that is more masculine than girly Princess Peach, but she caught me eye. That darn key-yootie (cutie)!
There’s really not much to say. College is cool. My floor is cool. The people are cool. Class is awesome. Studying is awesome. Square dancing was awesome, and so was the girl I square danced with. The weekend was cool. I got my PS3 on Friday, but did not bring it to campus. I also purchased a meal plan today so I will be able to eat soon; that’s a good thing. My room mate isn’t coming at all, and I was bummed about that. I suppose, though, that it’s rather nice to have the room to myself.
So that’s all peachy and such, but the best thing happened to me today. I started to drink coffee.
I was at the local Open Pantry ((Open Pantry at Marquette, in my opinion, is the best one-stop shop. I love the Tornados (not the actual storms, but the food.) )) and one of the employees approached me and asked if I’d like to join the free green club. I did, and as an incentive to join I received a free 16 oz. cup of coffee.
Neat, but I never drank coffee regularly, nor did I know how to get my own coffee. I sat down near the coffee machines to think, and I called my mother who promptly picked up and talked with me about life in addition to explaining her style of drinking coffee. I considered her input, finished my Tornado, and proceeded to get my free cup of coffee.
The cup was hard to get out; I had to use two hands. That was strike one. Strike two comes in two parts: 1) I poured cream (creamer?) into my cup first, thinking it was coffee. It was, afterall, called French Vanilla and that sounded like a very tasty flavor of coffee. 2) I spilled the cream (creamer?) everywhere because I tried to use one hand to pour it out. Now strike three was most painful. As I poured the hypercaffeinated coffee into my 16 ounce cup, I smiled absentmindedly thinking about how mature I was becoming. I came back to reality when I felt this warm sensation engulf the top of my right hand. How shocking: Coffee had run over the brim of the cup and was eating my hand.
I have to say, I am proud of myself for not dropping the cup, screaming, or making a huge mess. I just clenched my teeth and crinkled my eyes. Then I ran for napkins. I sipped the coffee and it tasted nasty; I don’t think I will be drinking coffee black for awhile. So I added some of what I now knew was cream (creamer?) into my coffee only to have some more coffee overflow and burn me. Ergo, I was not able to add much of that elusive French Vanilla cream (creamer?).
Distraught, I resorted to adding sugar packets. Two packets, I thought, would do the trick. Afterall, Lorelai never really added sugar or cream (creamer?) to her coffee. ((I have to check on this. Maybe she did. I should know this.)) Two packets was not enough. I added four more, and that was not doing what it was supposed to be doing. So I added two packets of granulated sugar packets because I thought they would be more powerful as opposed to the six packets of pure sugar cane I had added. With eight packets of sugar, the coffee still tasted like coffee. So I grabbed four or five more packets and stuck them in my pocket and jetted out of the shop because adding sugar packets, stirring, and tasting the concotion every few moments made me feel like a foreigner — which I technically was.
In my room I added the rest of the sugar packets, sipped some more coffee, and left for my biology lecture disapointed. After class I came back and enjoyed the rest of my cool 16 oz. cup of coffee. It was a little sweeter. I’m sure that it will taste better tomorrow when I: 1) Don’t add as much coffee as I did today. 2) Add some cream (creamer?) to sweeten the flavor.
I’m looking forward to it. It had better be free coffee everyday. I will be very mad if Open Pantry jipped me.
One more cool thing: My Math 25 Nature of Mathematics class only lasted about 25 minutes. I don’t know whether to celebrate. It was a great 25 minutes, but I imagine how greater it could have been if it was 25+ minutes. I suppose we aren’t supposed to know what-if, right? If we did then that would make reality even more bitter, since it is already somewhat bitter with the option of thinking,as opposed to knowing, what-if. Bitter like black coffee; blech.
Love to you, mynlieffs. ((Mynlieff (main-leaf) is Dutch for “my love”. I added the “s” to make it plural, but I am not sure if that is grammatically correct. It is also the name of my biology professor who is also the mother to one of my friends who I sent a letter to in the snail-mail today. I hope I spelled it right.))