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.