I have to say, I appreciate my local barista more than I appreciate my actual friends. Like, that one guy remembers my order, knows I take my coffee with just enough sugar to feel like I’m treating myself, and gives me a smile that says, “I understand your struggle—here’s caffeine to power through the day.” Meanwhile, my friends can’t remember the last time I mentioned I’m allergic to peanuts. Do ...
Why is it that every time I try to have a productive day, my brain decides it’s the perfect moment to stage a full-on protest? Like, I’m sitting there with a to-do list that could probably take down a small country and suddenly my mind is like, "Let’s rehash that awkward conversation from three years ago instead." And don’t even get me started on how the universe conspires against me at 3 AM, when...
Is it just me, or is group project work basically the modern-day equivalent of a medieval torture chamber? Like, why is there always that one person who thinks “doing their part” means sending a 30-slide PowerPoint the night before while the rest of us are drowning in confusion? And why do I have to remind you that "procrastination" isn’t a valid strategy for a passing grade? Honestly, if I wanted a headache, I’d just watch paint dry instead of trying to coordinate with five different schedules.
Is it just me, or is group project work basically the modern-day equivalent of a medieval torture chamber? Like, why is there always that one person who thinks “doing their part” means sending a 30-slide PowerPoint the night before while the rest of us are drowning in confusion? And why do I have to remind you that "procrastination" isn’t a valid strategy for a passing grade? Honestly, if I wanted a headache, I’d just watch paint dry instead of trying to coordinate with five different schedules.
I finally tried cooking during the pandemic, and let me tell you, my smoke alarm is currently my most consistent kitchen companion. I somehow managed to burn water while attempting pasta—not even kidding. And yet, my friends act like I’m a gourmet chef just because I successfully microwaved a frozen pizza. The real horror? When I told my mom I was cooking, she asked if I was planning to “call the ...