I'm becoming a thief.

Even though my condition is not Aladdin-adventure worthy, I wish I had a monkey-friend to help me get food. I am hungry and starving too.

So in the attempt to tide me over until my next meal (who knows where it will come from), I bought some Easy Mac from the vending machine for one dollar. One dollar. Normally, I would be morally against such measures (who knows where that stuff comes from . . . ), but my starvation was in a desperate state. I had only eaten a granola bar more than six hours prior. Upon microwaving it, I began to consider where I might obtain a utensil. I felt that I didn't have much time, therefore I didn't want to walk across campus to the Wilkinson Center to obtain a fork from the Twilight Zone or the Cougar Eat. I meandered into the FLAC (Foreign Language Activity Center) in order to ask the secretary there for pity. (See the state of desperation I'm reduced to?) There was no secretary at the desk, so then I returned to the vending machine area, retrieved my Easy Mac from the microwave (somehow pasta that cooks in three minutes seems highly suspicious to me), and went to the fourth floor.

I went to the work room of the English Composition Office. Really, it's an area that employees only should frequent, but since I'm a former employee, why not? In the drawer labeled (I think I may have even labeled this drawer) "knives and utensils," there were no plastics to be found. I therefore spirited away with a metal spoon. (Not the utensil of choice, but beggars can't be choosers.)

Then I went to a different floor, ate the Easy Mac, washed the spoon in the bathroom with hand soap and hand sanitizer, and replaced it in the drawer. Meanwhile, the unknown secretary didn't notice a thing.

I'm not sure how I feel about all of this. I'm not sure which part of it makes me uncomfortable: is it washing dishes in a bathroom (although, I think, probably sanitary)? Is it the fact that I ate Easy Mac with a spoon? Is it the fact that the ingredients include many things unidentifiable to me? Is it the unappetizing quality of the meal? Is it the fact that I am now wasting much more time blog-confessing rather than doing the thing that I originally felt time-pressed to do? Or perhaps, is it the moral deprivation of my thievery?

There are so many things wrong with this picture.

Happy Birthday, Jon.

My brother Jon likes to think that I have gas. Despite my general lack of flatulence (I'm pretty sure I'm mostly normal in this respect), he likes to make fun of me in front of people and tell them I'm gassy.  (He makes fun of me for other things, too, but that's another story for another day.)

Scenario 1: I didn't go to Sunday family dinner (which has morphed into dessert night and appetizer night in various phases, to the point where I'm just not sure what to call it anymore) this week because I "didn't feel good," which could any number of things, except, probably, that I have gas. I have never once excused myself from any function due to gassiness, at least in my recollection. But Jon decided to tell the group that was my reason, anyway. 

Scenario 2: In Costco yesterday, Jon found some Gas-X while I waited in line.  In another ennobling gesture, He shouted, "Amanda, Amanda!" My attention, along with the attention of the rest of the Costco-member store-goers (or maybe just those behind us in line), was had. Then he said, "I found some Gas-X! Do you want some?" 

I love my brother. Happy 26th, Johnny-boy.