Soup and Salad.

Uh oh. Spaghettio's. Speaking of which, I learned just the other day that Chef Boyardee was apparently a real person once. I'll leave the tertiary research to you. Look it up on everybody's favorite open encyclopedia that anybody can edit, because I have to go play Smash Bros. with my roommates.

Oh, by the way. Sis played her violin concerto up north a few nights ago to critical acclaim at the Capital. She did such a good job. She's getting so famous. Soon she'll be able to say hasn't dealt with anything so common as money in years.

May I Eat It, Too?

Another day, another dollar, team. The semester is clipping by at an impossible rate. Time has been roughly going at the rate of three actual minutes to every one perceived minute. That ratio is reversed when I'm in class or reading or working on homework. But so it goes.

If anyone wants, they can bring me a cake at the end of the semester. I'll likely be in my apartment. If that doesn't work for you, feel free to just drop it off anytime. I'm hyper-willing to accommodate cake-droppers all the day long.

I've got a good attitude about everything. Attitude is just a lot better with cake. Either birthday party-flavored or completely chocolate, if you please. Yes, I'll hold.

Nothing to Do. Nothing to Lose.

Technically it is past midnight. Technically I'm zonked out of my mind. But technically, lots of cereals I love were half off today so I'm feasting on Trix. I tried to stay away from them for awhile since they're ostensibly only for kids, excluding rabbits in particular, but I'm disappointed to say they're just lots of little fruity swirly spheres, no longer the imitation fun-size fruit bites of my youth. When this change took place, I do not know. All I know is it's a sign of the times.

General Mills, I'll start respecting your exclusionary "It's for kids!" advertising mantra once you start respecting my childhood. Honestly.

The other day I parked somewhere I wasn't quite certain I would be able to. An hour later I had no ticket, no boot, and no towed vehicles. That's when I knew I am a son of royal blood and destined to be king of all parking everywhere.

Here's to me. And you. And all of the people.

I Want to Graduate and Move, Fast.

Yesterday as I was leaving my apartment I passed the best-smelling girl I have ever... smelled, I guess. Had the pleasure of registering by scent? She smelled like cream that you put on a fluffy angel food cake and top with blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, strawberries, and raspberries. As far as the cream goes, I couldn't quite discern if it was more frosting-like or yogurt-based. It felt very sweet but still had a tinge of wholesome healthiness to it. Anyway, if I ever see her again, I'm going to refrigerate her.

This morning when I went running, every single house had their sprinklers on. (Passively mentioning of an active lifestyle! I'll blow right past it and hope everyone thinks that it's so natural to me that I mention it without thinking.) Some of them kept away from the sidewalks, and others sprayed full blast at the sidewalks, almost exclusively. Hoping to get some concrete-berries out of the deal, I suppose. What would those smell like? Well, it's making me think of the all-natural air freshener we get after fresh rainfall. Today's post was obviously brought to you by my sense of smell.

Anyway, it feels great to run through sprinklers in the summer. To everyone who has sprinklers in this city: make sure you're getting that sidewalk. It's, uh. It's needing a good. Sprinkling. So. Please.

Post-script, here. Look at yesterday's post again for a written-while-awake updated version.

I'm Dealing with It, Okay?

And what do we do when all our friends leave for the weekend for some kind of ridiculous nature-walk vision-quest nonsense? That's right. We weep the bitter tears of the lonesome, we use a gift card at Subway, and then we go on a date. Yes, in that order.

Incidentally, my sandwich wasn't that great at Subway. My gift card wasn't good, or good enough, for a premium sandwich, which I suppose is the kind of fancy-pants aristocratic super-meal I prefer. So I tried a tuna sandwich with all the fixin's.

(Now there is a curiosity of punctuation. "Fixin's" looks like the name of an out of the way diner, while "fixins'" looks like what the diner would stick on the sign out front. Is there no hope for compromise? I'll have my top men working round the clock till I crack this case cold.)

Right, my fixin's. I used to love tuna at Subway, and pretty much never ordered anything else whenever I went there in high school. But last night I could barely stand it. Why so, you ask? What changed? Well get ready for a possibly super gross story, depending on how vividly you paint the picture I'll present.

On my mission one of my companions made the best omelette: egg, onion, and tuna. And that's it. You can see where this is going, but I'll be the legal guardian of any type of subhuman primate if it wasn't completely delicious. So one day I struck out to make it on my own. Bad decision, right? Wrong. It was just as delicious. Not too hard to mess that up.

But that night was the night I started to come down with the flu. Several vomit sessions and one blurred passage of time later, I was better, and thought I'd try to make that omelette again. No dice: once I made it, it was as repulsive to me as the idea of it was to you when you first heard about it. I did some experimenting, and I had no problem with plain tuna, plain egg, or plain onions, nor with any of them in league with other ingredients. But when they combined forces in any capacity, it would shut me down and bring out the worst in me. So to speak.

Well you can bet I asked for onions on my tuna sandwich last night. Waste of a gift card. Dear me, though, thank goodness I didn't ask for eggs.

Oh, What's in a Blog?

When I was in elementary school, my teacher read us a book where some kid was eating worms every day for some reason. Like you do. One day he forgot, or was tricked into forgetting, so in the middle of the night before the day was technically over he took a megaphone and announced to the neighborhood that he was about to do it so he wouldn't break his streak. Anyway. Writing in my blog every day is slightly more rewarding than eating worms. I imagine if I missed a day I would just let it go.

Yesterday we went to a space camp with my family. We signed up and this place assigned us roles on a spaceship adapted from a surprisingly spaceship-like room. I wasn't fooled, it was just a room, but that didn't make it any less incredible. I actually went to pretend space yesterday afternoon. Better believe it.

I tell you what, Mormon Messages? These YouTube videos we watch in Sunday School sometimes? A genuine blessing heaven-sent for teachers and classes both. Multimedia is the way to go.

I woke up this morning to three of my nephews jumping on me, throwing pillows on me, and generally making merry in the direction of my person. It was working to get me up, until I bought some time by letting them play games on my iPod while I came to and licked my wounds. Your move, little kids. Your move.

So, guys. What's up? Life good? Family treating you well? Glad to hear it. Nothing else to say, as far as I can think of. Or maybe you and I are in a fight. In which case I don't want to tell you anything else right now. I'm currently feasting on Korean candy, and it's incredible. As such, I've got to go.