In my room, we bake almost every weekend.
It's pretty much a ritual at this point. Tradition. Routine. Whatever you want to call it.
And we usually make super awesome things, like brownie cheesecake sundaes, or pumpkin chocolate-chip cookies, or chocolate cookies that needed cocoa powder but we didn't have any so we used hot chocolate mix instead, or other delicious baked goods that require sharing.
We make them (I make them (Meghan helps (Sydney watches))) and then we take them around the floor to anybody who's home and make them eat our delicious food or else.
Jokes, we don't have to force them to eat it. They usually just eat it without any encouragement at all. Like the time that the plate left our room with over three dozen cookies, and came back with five. Like that.
This morning I made Oreo brownie cupcakes. And yes, they are as good as they sound. They're so delicious, in fact, that I didn't want to take them anywhere, and instead merely texted the boys on our floor saying if they wanted one they had better come get it, because I sure as hell was not going to be bringing one to their door.
Logan came by twice, both times while I was on the phone with my mom (on separate occasions, incidentally), Jacques got one after we went skating, Kyle just somehow knew there were delicious things in my kitchen even though I don't have his number and showed up to get one. You know, the usual.
Then tonight, my suitemate walks into the kitchen and goes "...Emma? Did you take a few bites out of one of these?"
Umm... no. No I did not. But sure enough, there is a brownie cupcake in our kitchen with two bites out of the side of it... just sitting on the plate with all of the rest.
Boys. You are supposed to eat the whole cupcake.
Who does that? They're like children who don't know that this isn't actually their kitchen, and therefore they can't just leave their half eaten cupcake on a plate and come back for it later.
On the plus side, they loved them and they all said thank you.
At least their mothers taught them something.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Moonlight Shadows
Kids these days
(we’re all kids these days)
don’t know how
to calm
down
child’s minds
two minutes at a time
(and then the next two, and the next
but never the six).
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
I May Have Shattered Glass In My Foot
Usually when I sit down to write a blog post, I have something specific in mind.
Yeah, bet you didn't know that, did you. Well just shut your sassy mouth. Because I do.
Tonight I just felt like this night / this week / this past month and half has been too weird not to be shared (I may have taken a subconscious cue from the Bloggess).
Just the other day my friend and I were talking about the fact that people we know now for all of their quirks and oddities seem completely different from the people that we met during those first few weeks of school, though they are in fact all one and the same.
I, for one, never would have guessed after that first weekend out to dinner that my floor would end up being this fucking strange.
But they are.
And it's great.
Some people seemed sort of intimidating and now I realize that they're just goofy little children (Nemo...) and others seemed so mature and above my level of humor when I now realize that they too are, well, goofy little children.
Seems to be a trend around here.
My roommate and I enjoy baking, and it's pretty much a Saturday trend for us now, which is great for the rest of our floor because, well, they're boys. And they eat. A lot. And when I keep my door open, not only can they eat a lot, but they can eat any time they want.
Sitting on my bed, talking to my mom on the phone, somebody scooters into my kitchen (yeah, that's a commonplace verb around here), takes a cookie, says "see you around!" and proceeds to scooter around the floor in circles for the next ten minutes. Normal.
They're having some recruits staying with them again this weekend, and the first question I get is "will you make them something good?"
Lucky for you, we're making cupcakes.
You're welcome.
Anyway, I am eventually getting to the shatter-glass-in-the-foot thing.
Tonight my roomies and I were just watching movies after creating my fifth social media account (why do I do this... I don't even have friends) while the wind was valiantly attempting to tear down the building. Like, since when did we live in Wyoming. Anyway.
A couple of the guys decided that what better place to do video chat roulette with total strangers than on Sydney's bed, so that became part of our night as well.
May I just add, while we're on the topic, that the boys on our floor talk so loud. It's like they're afraid that if they don't yell, their voice won't actually carry through the microphone to the people they're trying to talk to.
Just add a few decibels, Jacques. You won't even need a microphone any more for that person in Brazil to hear you.
So we're watching a movie, they're screaming at some poor soul over the internet, and the wind is pretending it's a tornado.
Which I didn't think it was, but apparently it succeeded momentarily because next thing we knew, there was the sound of shit falling and glass shattering coming from our kitchen.
It managed to blow open the windows that we didn't think to lock (since when did you need to lock windows?) and push our dish drying rack onto the floor, shattering the one glass that was in there all over our kitchen.
Mind you, not much of a feat seeing as how our kitchen is about the size of a couple tables and that's it, but still.
We swept it up but let's be real, we were distracted by Jacques obsession with letting the wind blow up his shirt and Andrew's obsession with taking off Jacques' pants.
(Really guys?)
((Nice boxers, Jacques.))
I just went into the kitchen a couple minutes ago to get water (homework makes me thirsty) and of course, being me, did I wear shoes?
Nooooope.
I think I may have glass in my foot.
Builds character.
Yeah, bet you didn't know that, did you. Well just shut your sassy mouth. Because I do.
Tonight I just felt like this night / this week / this past month and half has been too weird not to be shared (I may have taken a subconscious cue from the Bloggess).
Just the other day my friend and I were talking about the fact that people we know now for all of their quirks and oddities seem completely different from the people that we met during those first few weeks of school, though they are in fact all one and the same.
I, for one, never would have guessed after that first weekend out to dinner that my floor would end up being this fucking strange.
But they are.
And it's great.
Some people seemed sort of intimidating and now I realize that they're just goofy little children (Nemo...) and others seemed so mature and above my level of humor when I now realize that they too are, well, goofy little children.
Seems to be a trend around here.
My roommate and I enjoy baking, and it's pretty much a Saturday trend for us now, which is great for the rest of our floor because, well, they're boys. And they eat. A lot. And when I keep my door open, not only can they eat a lot, but they can eat any time they want.
Sitting on my bed, talking to my mom on the phone, somebody scooters into my kitchen (yeah, that's a commonplace verb around here), takes a cookie, says "see you around!" and proceeds to scooter around the floor in circles for the next ten minutes. Normal.
They're having some recruits staying with them again this weekend, and the first question I get is "will you make them something good?"
Lucky for you, we're making cupcakes.
You're welcome.
Anyway, I am eventually getting to the shatter-glass-in-the-foot thing.
Tonight my roomies and I were just watching movies after creating my fifth social media account (why do I do this... I don't even have friends) while the wind was valiantly attempting to tear down the building. Like, since when did we live in Wyoming. Anyway.
A couple of the guys decided that what better place to do video chat roulette with total strangers than on Sydney's bed, so that became part of our night as well.
May I just add, while we're on the topic, that the boys on our floor talk so loud. It's like they're afraid that if they don't yell, their voice won't actually carry through the microphone to the people they're trying to talk to.
Just add a few decibels, Jacques. You won't even need a microphone any more for that person in Brazil to hear you.
So we're watching a movie, they're screaming at some poor soul over the internet, and the wind is pretending it's a tornado.
Which I didn't think it was, but apparently it succeeded momentarily because next thing we knew, there was the sound of shit falling and glass shattering coming from our kitchen.
It managed to blow open the windows that we didn't think to lock (since when did you need to lock windows?) and push our dish drying rack onto the floor, shattering the one glass that was in there all over our kitchen.
Mind you, not much of a feat seeing as how our kitchen is about the size of a couple tables and that's it, but still.
We swept it up but let's be real, we were distracted by Jacques obsession with letting the wind blow up his shirt and Andrew's obsession with taking off Jacques' pants.
(Really guys?)
((Nice boxers, Jacques.))
I just went into the kitchen a couple minutes ago to get water (homework makes me thirsty) and of course, being me, did I wear shoes?
Nooooope.
I think I may have glass in my foot.
Builds character.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Welcome to Your Stage
The trees dance on the other side of my window, the people swirl around the sidewalks and funnel into the fishbowl that is the green. They buzz up and down the barricaded streets, opinions flying around in the excitement, until they all end up spectators to history while I sit with my guitar, in the eye of the storm, hearing only the moaning of the buildings and the jittery energy that hangs captive in the air.
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