Mood: Zzz...
Weather: Flurries
Listening to: The heater....heating?
Welcome to what was easily the worst day of my teenage life! Today was bad because;
- I wore pencil-heel boots to a 14-hour school day. 0__x
- My laptop caught a flu! #__#
- I have a calculus test on Tuesday!!!
- I performed the Heimlich maneuver on my Iced Cappuccino in the middle of Tim Hortons. D=
- Did I mention I have a calculus test on Tuesday?!
Ahem . . . listen up, feet-loving females all over the world. Pencil heels are vile creatures capable of breaking nails, the bones in your toes and quite possibly your ankle if you trip (like I did) on a sidewalk in freezing weather, six inches from a cozy Starbucks.
Now I sit at home nursing aching feet (with painful welts all over ‘em), while said boots stand regally on the soft living room carpet all shiny and perfectly unharmed. There is clearly no justice in life in general and the fashion world in particular.
Who’s with me? =D
***
My laptop today caught something called the DNS client virus. It screws me over every time I log into my school’s wireless LAN. I’ve tried Tylenol but the CPU won’t cool down. Ice packs are my next bet. -___-
***
Calculus test: *prays for her life and future career chances that rely on crappy grade* #__#
***
Oh my…the Tales of the Iced Cappuccino.
Once upon the time, there was an innocent girl (yours truly) who was on her way to science class with her equally-innocent friend (Friend). Along the way, the two travelers felt famished, so stopped at a Tim Hortons by the hallway (read “forest path”). They ordered two Iced Caps and then proceeded to cross the dangerous cafeteria (read “foreboding forest of human-like trees”) to get to the other side.
It was a shortcut to class (read “journey’s end”).
So our first innocent traveler carried one too many things, laptop, jacket, gloves, and the Iced Cap. She set them all down snugly on an empty space at a table and then reached over for some napkins . . .
Unbeknownst to her, her Iced Cap was clearly suffering some sort of throat blockage, because her arm picked up said drink’s mental cries of help and swung out to knock it loose enough to breathe again.
It was about this time that I realized the drink had swung onto its side on the table, slammed to a hard stop and flung half its contents into the previously-safe air.
Like a really bad movie slow-mo, I watched the flecks of coffee flit through the air and splatter all over the floor and on our table’s previous occupant’s shirt, now christened Victim Girl. She didn’t appear to care too much, so I simply grabbed a couple of napkins (because I’m calm like that) and set to scrubbing whatever liquid had landed onto the table. Screw the floor. D=
My helpful friend snagged me some more napkins to wipe up aforementioned mess. Then she stood by . . . and giggled uncontrollably. DX
“Dude, don’t turn around, okay?” came a male voice near my left ear.
I ignored it, figuring some guy was talking to the dude at the nearby table. He was, but I should’ve really paid more attention.
“I’ll get it, don’t turn around,’ came the guy’s voice again, this time laced with suppressed mirth. I finally peeled my eyes off the now-clean table to see . . .
The dude seated at the next table was facing away from me. Now his once-black leather jacket was speckled with a million flecks of mocha-brow liquid, clinging to the material. His friend, the guy who’d spoken earlier, sporting a highly amused grin on his face, was wiping the poor victim’s back off. My ever-loyal friend, for her part, was choking on a laugh.
“How come you’re not freaking out?” Victim Girl said to me, as she swiped at a stain on her shirt. My friend nodded in agreement, but felt the need to add,
“You are weird.” o__O
“If I were you, I’d be crying over this. The drink’s half-empty!” said Victim Girl (I really should’ve learned her name). In response, I gave her a grin. I couldn’t help it. When you’re literally dying of laughter inside, it’s hard to keep a stoic face, even when apologizing to Victim Boy.
“No problem,” he replied. Total sweetheart. I began to feel awful. The stupefied faces of Nice Guy’s female table-mates, however, erased that feeling.
What can I say, you burn more muscles laughing than frowning? =D
His friend, still hiding a grin, led him away, and my friend took this as a cue to release her oppressed mirth. She doubled over, clutching a chair for support, and didn’t stop even when we bade Victim Girl farewell and sat down in our seats in class.
Halfway through class, she turned to me and murmured, “Good thing it was a leather jacket. Else it’d never come off.”
I whispered back, “Good thing today was the first time I skipped out on the whipped cream-chocolate sauce topping I get on every Iced Cap. Else he’d be nursing early white hair.”
Yeah, you can totally see why today was not my day. 
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