My mind is full of epidemiology and...this

I think the best thing about living at home is free stamps.

When I lived with Joe it was a life of constant stamp deprivation. Here is a sample Saturday morning interaction:
"Do we have stamps?" Allie asked. "I need to mail this form that's basically more important than anything else and my life depends on it getting in the mail today."
"Nope, last time I checked we didn't have stamps," Joe said casually. "Have you bought some since two Saturdays ago?"
"Nope."
"Then we don't have stamps."
"Ok, I guess it wasn't that important," Allie said, shrugging.
Literally, things just didn't get done because neither of us had the motivation to actually buy stamps. (Ok, Joe didn't have the motivation. I played the poor card: "OMG a book of stamps is like EIGHT DOLLARS shouldn't free mail be a RIGHT in America I mean SERIOUSLY?")

I need to find a song that speaks to me. I thought of this because I was listening to "Kanye's Workout Plan" on a run and I was filled with nostalgia about how, during senior year, that song just SPOKE to us. There's a party tonight? We WERE so excited! We couldn't WAIT to find out who was invited! It was just so US! (note: conversations like that actually happened. Because Kanye was definitely, absolutely writing his lyrics while thinking of bored suburban high school senior girls). On that note, nothing pumps up my 1.2 mph jogs like hearing a blast from the past. I was chugging up a hill ("I think my lazy fat ass can, I think my lazy fat ass can" said the Little Blue Engine) when "Say You'll Be There" by the Spice Girls came on and almost palpable was my desire for a time machine to come and instantly whisk me to fifth grade in Courtney's living room so we could choreograph a dance that included a lot of hip bouncing and finger wagging on a circular motion. Then we could sit around talking about what it must be like to get your period. And maybe call Paul. Oh the good old days.

I think what I hate most about the holiday season is how lame I feel. Yes, I know magazines are inherently aspirational and articles about budgeting your time and calories between 45 Christmas parties aren't actually meant for the average person who isn't a socialite or the CEO of Loews hotels or...something. But guess what. I have not been invited to attend one Christmas party this year. I think the closest I've come is babysitting while the moms baked Christmas cookies upstairs and got drunk off Bailey's. And I'm baking cookies to bring to class tonight. Does that count? WHY DON'T YOU LIKE ME??! Yeah, maybe it's because I don't have a job and can't tag along to Joe's not one but two holiday fiestas with the ship. And because my friends around here a) live with their parents so can't host or b) live alone but are boys and don't get the urge to host parties.
Maybe.

It's that time of year again when I hate other students. Students who just talk about how hard they're studying, how much time they spend in the library, while I'm sitting around writing this hurr blog, drooling over what cookies I will bake for my imaginary party and glancing half-heartedly at my epi notes that I've already looked at 47 times while babysitting. Just like at Northwestern, people make me feel bad and doubt myself because I'm not a hobbit who curls up at a study carrel with a pillow and one 100 Calorie Pack of Chips Ahoy for 12 hours (please...I'd pack that and an apple and popcorn and cheese puffs and a Luna bar and almonds and sushi and a whole duck to roast under the desk and...). It's not like I don't study, nor do I do poorly on the tests. I just hate when other people make me feel bad about my minimal work efforts. This paragraph is poorly written and makes no sense and makes me look like an asshole. Thank God I'm not in law school.