You're so lucky(!)

I am sitting in the JMC lab, playing with the amazing and rather grimy Macs, and I am happy. Why? Ohhh, a multitude of reasons, my friends.

1. I am wearing my red Coke Phi retreat shirt. I love this shirt. Not because it is Phi Mu. Not because I have any special memories of the Phi retreat (I skipped it in favor of the RUF lakehouse weekend). Not even because I like Coke very much. But for some reason, this shirt has found its way into the t-shirt throne of my heart, and I have loved it faded and soft for two years now.
We have been separated these four weeks because of rush and the no-greek-letters rule, and it has languished alone in a cardboard box at my house (I did not trust myself to have it here. I knew I'd forget and wear it and be banished to the sorority dungeon). And last night my sweet mother brought it to me (AND bought me dinner - I do like parents) and I have been reveling in its cotton comfort today. Ahhh. I love it. So. Much.

2. I devised a new go-to-sleep method (born during the days of damp sheets). Instead of starting out under the covers, I curl up on top of my duvet with a blanket. I wake up around 1 am, it's cold, and I crawl between the sheets. Boom. That's it. I don't know why it excites me so much. Except for the fact that it works better than Valium and for some reason reminds me of the makeshift tents Jim and I used to make in the living room ("Hey! Let's drape blankets over the heavy dining room chairs and hope they don't fall over and kill us during the night!").

Hmm. Those are only two reasons. But hefty ones. Oh yes. Very hefty. Throw in current song obsession (Do You Want To - Franz Ferdinand) and September and you'll understand.
***
In other news, rush is over and my Life and I had a rapturous reunion. Time to sleep and do school is sweet. I want to adopt several of the new girls as the little sisters I never had (I told Mother to bring home a girl. Instead - Jim) because they are precious. Hmm. Maybe Jim can just marry one of them . . . Brother mine, marry a girl that I can be sisters with. Just not for a long time. That's right, I know you don't read this blog and I'm taking full advantage.

I was about to start rambling about how I am hungry and have only a crushed peppermint in my bag and then I remembered the Story of the Week. Ahem.
All through rush week, Claire and I encouraged one another with thoughts of the traditional rush Waffle House run on Friday night (read: Saturday morning). I lived through Friday on five hours of sleep hanging onto the thought of a chocolate chip waffle at 1 am. We decided that 1 am required a male presence, and only Stephen was man enough to seize this privilege, this rare opportunity, this once-a-year trek to the House early on a Saturday morning.
We decided the one on Columbiana was the least sketchy. Um, wrong. New Waffle Houses are way weirder than the old crusty ones that just have the random psychotic truck driver. We were not disappointed. Three very inebriated young men struck up a conversation with the table beside us. Well, two of them did (one couldn't talk). And the older couple answered back friendly as could be, as one by one the guys approached the table, each apologizing for his drunk friend, each drunker than the last.
Yes, children, that's your weekly inoculation against alcoholism! It's not attractive anywhere, especially not at Waffle House in the wee hours. Even a chocolate chip waffle won't sober you up.

And now - I am going to read outside in the splendid weather, reading for the most amazing history class with the most amazing Dr. Brown. We talk about nationalism and maps and other stuff I hate and I'm completely obsessed. Good class, that.

The nice man cometh

Happy news: after a week of a room so humid our sheets felt like wet towels at night, I finally filed a complaint on the maintenance list. Along with a haiku on our sufferings, imploring the maintenance man to come quickly. I returned that afternoon to an enormous humidifier sitting in the hall. 

    Now? I can sleep between my sheets instead of camping on top of the duvet. Our towels actually dry out between showers. And we are no longer in danger of succumbing to walking pneumonia as a result of the dorm room climate. 

Moral of the story: I credit the haiku. Poetry = power. 

***

I like people. My roommate and her efforts to scary my psyche with her nursing textbooks. Anna and Erin, who hug me when I feel twelve years old. Our amazing neighbors, Claire and her dancing and counseling, and Meagan with her dry wit and one-liner pronouncements on life-things. Deborah and Channing and Joanna and Michael, my favorite freshmen who are now sophomores and I feel old. The charming new people in my classes that are becoming friends. The guys in Beeson Woods that I still think of as "the Ramsey guys." RUF folk. Dr. Brown the walking history textbook and Dr. Steward the good-kind-of-challenging teacher. My favorite library people Ms. Lori and Ms. Gail. All the cute little freshmen who are my brother's age and make me feel very older-sisterly and semi-maternal. I even like the Campus Security officers after last week's trauma. Yes, my Samford people. I like you lots. 

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The other biggest news in my life: Moe's has officially changed the Moo Moo Mr. Cow, the greatest fast food kid's meal known to man (close second: Dairy Queen and the free dilly bar). Yep. Cut the price to $3.29 and the burrito in half. They did keep the cookie, which leaves them a few shreds of decency. I think I could like the new Moo Moo. 

But I will still jump in the car with any semi-acquaintance who mentions Dairy Queen. Especially if it's one of those really old, crusty red ones in the middle of some barren cotton field town in South Alabama. I'm kind of obsessed. 

***

And now you've got to build a bridge

That only you can walk across

Wear the truth until it fits

Pay the price and bear the loss

-Emmylou Harris, "Hold On"