Disclaimer: I own nothing. Seriously dude. Nothing.
Authors Note: Yeah... With the first paragraph this was intended to be an actual letter to a friend of mine, but I decided to turn it into a fan fiction instead. No one knows why, just go with it. And yeah, I will finish this one. Probably by Friday. Hold me to that.
Dedication: To gmail's spell check system and Adam Not Rove, you jerk. Get back to New York. Like now. It's boring here. Just because you can afford to actually go on Spring Break doesn't mean you should.
Don't get use to this. I'm not going to be one of those psychotic co-dependent girls who needs to call and e-mail her boyfriend every five minutes when they're apart. That's just stupid. But we're on other sides of the country, so a few phone calls or e-mails here and there won't be completely uncalled for.
For starters, the weather here is insane. It's -15 in the morning and 70 at night. My roommate Bridgette? She is a freak. She's constantly quoting Buddha and telling me to 'embrace my inner self and live in the now.' Normally people like herself would just bug me, but having to live with her may kill me. Her incense reek. I swear, they're worse than that awful aftershave you use to wear.
My wireless connection keeps cutting in and out, so if this e-mail is sent all messed up, that would be the fault of the lovely campus tech department and their amazing abilities to not fix computer problems even when you spend three hours on the phone with them yelling at them to come fix the connection problems and even consider ambushing them outside of their office and having your roommate put some curse on them in Swahili as punishment because you have a twenty page term paper due in a week and no way to get Internet research.
I am not overstressed.
Taking a break from the bitching though, I discovered something oddly amusing, yet depressing at the same time today. My government professor? He cannot spell 'politics.' That's right. Makes you feel really confident about the education system here, doesn't it?
Also, I suck at Internet Tetris. I always seem to need those long orange pieces, but the game never delivers.
Now this is the part of the letter where people would ask how things were going back in Arcadia, but 1. No and 2. I have to get across campus to class and give my government professor an English lesson. Later dude.
Grace