Reaching for the coffee, dropping the donut

So here's what I need to/am working on for this week:

-research research report due in a month (for every day of school I come without research I get points deducted from my grade. Don't ask)

-write sock puppet play (for a class)

-ace some tests

-do some grueling homework

-clean my laptop

-learn to play 'River Flows in You' from Twilight for my mom.

I think that's it. Now of course all you college types are like 'WHUT? THAT'S IT? AND YOU THINK YOU'VE GOT PROBLEMS!'

Well. I do.

But before that, I need to go over my stunning adventure that cheppened this shabbat. Please; bear with me. Due to the request of a friend, I will write personal narative style, of all I remember. Okay, and a one-two go now


The warmth of the house rushed onto whatever part of my face was not covered as I trudged inside, bringing a nice portion of the landscape with me.

"Boy I am cold, sleepy, and also hungry," I muttered to myself becuz I do this. I yanked off my purple hat and threw it on the couch. Then I carefully began unwinding my purple scarf, and folded it neatly beside my hat. I unzipped my coat, hung it up on the tree, then proceeded to unbutton the sweater I had on underneath. I then pulled off my boots, and attemped to stand them up in the shoe row, but after they had flopped over enough times, I gave up. I now stood in the frozen tundra of the front hallway of our house, wearing a green flowered shabbat robe, some socks, and a green pair of glasses.

"Boy I am sleepy and also hungry," I repeated to myself so I shouldn't forget. I dragged myself into the kitchen and decided on what to eat. I glanced at the clock, and it read 2:35. I had just come back from dropping Yonina off at a playgroup, and now I had an hour (somewhat) of IGUANA time. But iguana was hungry, so she had to make herself a parve snack. But I was cold also, and I thought to myself:

"Hey, why don't I make some oatmeal?"

The original packets are parve, so after a fair bit of rummaging in the pantry, I triumphantly pulled out a dull-blue paper packet of oh'tmeel. I crossed the room to our bowl cabinet, pulled out a small glass dish, tore the packet (on a place with NO WORDS OR PICTURES) and poured the dusty stuff into the dish. I took the dish to our hot water kettle and tipped some of the boiling liquid into the mixture, giving it a soupy look. A horrible smell of rubber and the inside of a macy's filled with kitchen.

"Aw (insert bad word here), this here oh'tmeels got no flavoring!"

It was true. So, setting the foul smelling dish on the table, I decided I would have to flavor the oatmeal myself. But how exactly do you flavor an oatmeal? Honey! I exited the kitchen to our other pantry, and yanked out a half-empty bottle of honey. I took this back to the table, and squeezed a nice dollop of the stuff onto the brown goop. Now it looked like brown goop with some glue on top! I frowned.

"Maybe it will look better after some stirring," I reasoned with myself as the smell of macy's with some honey on it wafted into my nostrils. However, after tasting a spoonful, I saw that not much had improved. 'perhaps I should add sugar,' I thought. So, I turned to the stove and grabbed the tall sugar-shaker we usually use for grapefruit. But when I tried to sprinkle some onto my oatmeal, I slipped a bit, and the glass jerked forward. In a somersault of what can only be described as the best karate kung fu ever performed by sugar-shakers, the small glass did a 180 flip right over my oatmeal, emptying nearly half its contents onto my food before slamming on the other side of the table with a large CLACK. I glanced at the oatmeal. It now had a nice sized mound of sugar on it, dissolving fast. Since I had just had my braces tightened to ultra tight and my teeth were probably most vulnerable, I began to have second thoughts about eating this contraption. But we had a problem- I was still hungry. I stirred in the sugar and took another hearty bite. I chewed thoughtfully. I swallowed.

"Hmm," I said, "grainy, with a touch of burned rubber."

Something was missing. My oatmeal still did not taste like oatmeal. It tasted more like the mall. I have not personally tasted a mall, mind you, I mean it tastes like the way the mall smells (confused yet?). Brown sugar! Those oatmeal packets always have something about brown sugar on the front!

Opening my mom's baking cabinet, I pulled out a full bag of pre-opened brown sugar. I carefully undid the twister at the top, taking note on how to redo it when I was done. I tipped the bag over the dish of oatmeal. Nothing came out. Now ever I know how this goes- tip it too far and ALL the stuff comes out, and my mom would be mad. To avoid that scenario, I crumpled a bit of the sugar closest to the edge and ,pinching the bag carefully, a perfect sized lump of brown sugar plopped onto my mixture. I stirred it in, and the oatmeal grew to a toasty golden color. It finally looked like oatmeal! I hoped this would be the right one...I sealed the brown sugar and put it away in the cabinet, then sat down to my snack. I glanced at the clock. 2:49.

I took a big spoonful. Hmmm...

"Nope, now it just tastes like someone who works at cinnabon just walked into the Macy's."

Well, you can't always win. I bravely gulped down the rest of my cold oatmeal, and went back to the living room to enjoy my last ten minutes of iguana time.


This has been an iguana-flashbacks production. You may now return from the edge of your seats. We hope you enjoyed it, and have a pleasant day.

Also, you look like you could use this fish...(SQ6)