Ramen Extraordinare!

Okay so...I've been mulling over a bowl of sodium-infested maruchan ramen for like...a good hour. What is this? Why have I been reduced to eating food that people who have a high-school diploma aren't forced to eat? I long for the days of gelatinous fats and meats that are the bane of processed food's existence. Watching Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern, I try to convince myself that the unpalatable noodles and re-hydrated veggies is some sort of exotic cuisine and that I should be thankful for my bounty. And yet, despite the illusionary thinking and attempt at deceiving my tastebuds, all in all, it still tastes like salted cardboard with a hint of old carrot.

Aside from my failed need of real food, including produce that I haven't been able to wrap my mouth around in ages, I will be leaving soon. California beckons, and thank goodness too. I'll be staying with my sister and her husband, who's family owns a taco shop. This, will be my  new safe haven. Menudo, tripas, tongue and avocado abound. My flight leaves on sunday, and I can hardly wait to sink my teeth into the food that is my heritage-sake. Something that isn't fast food style college eats.

I think i'm going to go throw up.

The Power of Milanos

Well, its nearing the last week of finals before winter break and virtually everone is gone. Ali, one of my best friends is on permanent hiatus from UA. My roommate had moved last week and wont be coming back for spring semester. The last person here is my innate little friend, Sarah. She's stressing over her laundry. Don't worry. That's just the tip of the iceberg for her. Just thinking about all the things she stresses over stresses me out. Besides that, Im pretty sure I found a way to make Milano's even better. Dipping them in Nutella. I KNOW. I am a glutten for fat I guess. Such is the life of a college student.

You will be reunited with old friends.

Okay so, yeah the title is sappy. But that's what the little glossy strip of paper said as I opened it from the stale encasement of its fortune cookie home. It all makes sense of course. I'll be going home soon to California. From the dreary snow-ridden city of Akron, Ohio. College life, wahoo. Joyous occassions abound, or at least that is what they try to tell everyone.

I guess this whole thing started on a whim. More or less my two best friends had something to do with it. Shelby comes in, offers me apologetic bottle of orange juice; saying sorry that our friend Sarah spread her gross disease among the floor. Then after some idle chit-chat, we were off to wake up Ali and once again, back in my room, sitting on the floor and talking.

These things usually start off strong, and end up more flabby than the underside of your grandmother's arm, but oh well, might as well try. Why Cinderblock? Ah well, you'll find out eventually.