Anyone need their lawn mowed?

Aaah family dinners. A time to feast on sarcasm, insult, and Vicki's delicious home cooking.

It was at said daily gathering that we could be found devouring the spoils of a newly purchased grill when all of a sudden the door bell rang. Weary of robbers and environmentalists, mom and I sent dad to deal with the interruption. He opened the door and adjusted his gaze to the pudgy ten year old standing on our porch. Mom and I tried to decipher the child's muffled request over the crunch of our perfectly salted peas. Dad closed the door and returned to the table with a smirk on his face.

Dad: The kid wanted to mow our lawn. He and his sister were pulling a wagon with a weed whacker and some wires and tools.

Dad chuckled as he scooped up some peas with his fork.

Dad: Hey! (he pointed his fork at me) You should go ask if they have any jobs!

This is what I'm dealing with, people. Send sympathy cards.

Check your manhood at the door, lest you burn it with wing sauce.

One great thing about being home is getting to hang out with Joe. My interests generally align with those of a 17 year old boy (minus little girls and the weight room, to name two.) I did not find a single person in Boston who followed or enjoyed watching mixed martial arts. Most people thought I was weird for doing so. At home, it's a given that the fight will be watched one way or another.

Last night was UFC 98. I'm not a fan of Pay Per View, in general. After a little research, I decided Joe and I would go to Buffalo Wild Wings where I would drink copious amounts of beer, bet on fights with him and force him to be my designated driver. That plan was foiled when I discovered Joe's still on a restricted license and can't drive after 12. Ugh. High schoolers.

Three of Joe's friends joined us. The fights were set to start at 10 but we were all hungry and bored so decided to leave the house at 8. Joe drove the youngens and I to BWW. Joe's "car rules" restrict the music selection to hip hop and oldies so we blared disco the entire way there.

Sidenote: I will never understand why high school boys feel the need to A) stare everyone down B) make strangers feel uncomfortable by rolling down the windows, blasting Brick House and winking at mothers behind the wheel and C) use only the wrist of their right arm to drive.

Bringing testosterone filled high schoolers to Buffalo Wild Wings is like bringing bringing Noelle and Christina on the T dressed in costume on Halloween. They spend 20 minutes trash talking each other before making crippling life decisions. 

Joe and I, despite the warning from our waitor, decided on the hot wings. Joe's friend Tyler decided on the Blazin chicken wrap. For those of you who have never been to a Buffalo Wild Wings... an order like this occurs so rarely that the chefs bet $10 on Tyler finishing his meal.

The food came fast and the chefs and waitstaff hid in various corners to watch the reaction from our table. Joe took a bite of Tyler's Blazin wrap and started tearing up. The waitor brought him a little cup of chocolate milk to ease the pain, at which point Tyler and Zach called Joe a little bitch and insults were exchanged.

By the time Tyler had consumed 3/4 of his wrap, the waitor had delivered 6 cartons of chocolate milk.

Waitor: (replenishing Tyler's milk carton supply) Dude. These are usually for little kids but take some more! I don't know how you're eating that, dude! You're crazy! I think you've had a gallon of milk, man!

Joe: (still complaining about the single bite he took 20 minutes earlier) I feel like one of those cartoon characters that has just eaten something hot and is steaming from the ears!

Face redder than a stop sign and eyes tearing like my mom at graduation, Tyler admitted defeat. Someone in the kitchen was out $10. He just couldn't do it. He downed the rest of the milk and went to the bathroom. Tyler returned and put his forehead to the table while everyone made fun of him.

After 15 minutes in this position, someone finally asked Tyler if he was ok.

Tyler: Dude. (He hushed to a whisper) I forgot to wash my hands before pissing.

The table erupted in laughter. Tyler's mouth wasn't the only thing in pain. Zach handed him some Handy Wipes in a futile attempt to dull the burn. Tyler disappeared into the bathroom returning 10 minutes later with a distressed look on his face. The waitor sensed his pain and asked how his mouth was.

Tyler: That's alright. But I forgot to wash my hands before I went to the bathroom.... So now it burns... (points to his crotch.)

Waitor: Ooooooohhhhhh. Sorry man, I can't help you there.

Eventually, the tears dried up, the burning stopped and Tyler begged the waitor to take away the rest of his wrap. Lyoto Machida (the guy I called to win) beat Rashad Evans (the guy Joe called to win), knocking him out for the first time in his MMA career. I barked for a few minutes while Joe stormed out the front door. Everyone returned home fairly unharmed.

A word to the wise: DO NOT order the Blazin anything! Check your pride at the door before your hurt yourself. And by God if you must get something Blazin... PLEASE wash your hands before touching anything but the wings.

Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter Ten.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes
Chapter Three: Lasso of Death
Chapter Four: Future Pilot
Chapter Five: Soldiers Making Out
Chapter Six: Steve Almost Pees Himself. Literally.
Chapter Seven: Schwayze's playing tonight but Uncle Bob is trying to hang squirrels.
Chapter Eight: On the Ice: Big Mike Scores Big and Anna Skates Away
Chapter Nine: Buca di Beppo: Crop Dusting and Gorging
Chapter Ten: Peppermint Bark


I am so glad I held on to the Peppermint Bark recipe.

Anna and I blast Fiona Apple on our way to the grocery store. Tonight is her last night; we will attempt Peppermint Bark.

We collect all our ingredients and start cooking.


It is 11:30 pm. While the chocolate melts, we try to figure out how to crush 6 oz of candy canes without waking anyone.


We put the candy canes in a freezer bag, each grab a weapon and run outside to beat the canes on the driveway.

BRRRRRR.

Our Peppermint Bark turned out heavenly. It was devoured in less than 24 hours.

Great success.

Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter Nine.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes
Chapter Three: Lasso of Death
Chapter Four: Future Pilot
Chapter Five: Soldiers Making Out
Chapter Six: Steve Almost Pees Himself. Literally.
Chapter Seven: Schwayze's playing tonight but Uncle Bob is trying to hang a squirrel.
Chapter Eight: On the Ice. Big Mike Scores Big and Anna Speeds Around.
Chapter Nine: Buca di Beppo: Crop Dusting and Gorging

Buca di Beppo is a small Italian restaurant in downtown Birmingham. It's dad's favorite. The decor is random and awesome with strange pictures covering the walls and tacky little do-dads hidden everywhere. The tables are in the basement; it looks like what I'd imagine a Speak Easy to have been but with more booths and brighter lighting.

Ten of us shuffle into a booth by a 3 foot picture of a girl with her chest popping out of a leotard being fed spaghetti by some unidentified man. The servings are family style so we order many large dishes to share.

We stuff ourselves to capacity. The food is delicious. Dessert comes and Aunty Ann starts drooling.



Steve calls dad and Uncle Bob secret fat kids because they are arguing over which of them will get how much of which dessert. We all battle the food coma at the end of the meal.


As we stood to put on our coats, one person in the party who's identity will be protected, announced that everyone should stay away because they were crop dusting.

This is one of many new words Anna learned while staying with her cousins.

Crop dusting
	v. farting while walking or running n. crop duster

Joe's expert predictions hold that this will be a good year for crops.

This Winter Wonderland is ruining my life.

I am FINALLY finished!!!! No more finals!!!! Now, all I have to do is get to Michigan. Which may be more difficult than I imagined.



Michelle was supposed to fly out tonight but her flight was canceled... Then her re-booked flight for tomorrow morning was canceled... So tonight I will be having nightmares of Logan Airport packed with angry students and old people. I am not a very patient person when traveling. I get claustrophobic sometimes. This is not a good combination.

If I weren't flying out tomorrow I'd be loving this snow storm!



It's a winter wonderland!



Christina! My dark little snow angel!



Fed Steve for the third time since he arrived this afternoon (not including snacks) and he's out.

Erin's the BEST Secret Santa Evarrr

The second annual Secret Santa Extravaganza occurred last night at 7:30. I originally thought Christina had me... but ALAS! It was Erin all along! Schneaky schneaky.

She made me the funniest card called Being Maria for Dummies with hilarious steps including:

• Have an unhealthy obsession with Ultimate Fighting Championship, martial arts, and sweaty guys rolling around together on the floor
• Listen to all kids of music ranging from Whitney to Kings of Leon to that weird techno house stuff
• Wear all black, all the time. Acquire the nickname 'Princess of Darkness."
  
  

I cracked up.

She also gave me the following awesome gifts:



The Aries glass reads:

Aries, ruled by Mars, is dominated by masculine traits. While you're often described as a multi-tasker, you are unable to complete tasks like applying a postage stamp or brushing your teeth. It's ok to slow down, finish something, and you'll probably smell better afterwards. You will likely succeed in politics. Never reproduce.

The cookbook is awesome. In attempts to avoid homework, I made my first meal from the book "Great Food, Great Beer." Here is my (blurry) pepper steak withi balsamic onions.

Countdown to Freedom: Maria's Checklist

12/9: Theories and Processes of Communication final paper presentation

12/11: Theories and Processes of Communication final paper due
12/12: Office party (WOO)
12/13: Secret Santa with 426
12/15: Cultural Anthropology final paper due
12/16: Conflict Res and Negotiation final exam
12/18: Cultural Anthropology final exam
12/19: Theories and Processes of Communication final exam
12/20: FLY HOME

The new face of Cinammon Toast Crunch

Steve: What time do you eat dinner?
Gram: Oh about 3:30.
Steve: WHAT?
Gram: Well, I get up and have breakfast at 5 or earlier. Then I have lunch at about 10:30. Then I have dinner at about 3:30.
Steve: What time do you go to bed?
Gram: Well, it depends if there's a game on. I'll stay up to watch the games so sometimes I don't get to bed till 10:30 or 11.
Steve: Don't you get hungry?
Gram: Oh I found a delicious cereal that I snack on sometimes.
(reaches under counter and pulls box of cereal in front of her face.)
Gram: Have you ever had it? It's delicous!
(holding Cinnamon Toast Crunch like she was the first to discover it)

Lamb and Boxing

(On the phone before our journey to Western Mass)

Yai: Angelo, you have beer for the kids?
...
Yai: We have beer, wine and ouzo!

When we arrived Wednesday, Yai had a leg of lamb cooking in the oven. For dinner we had lamb, skordalia and beers.




Yai: Angelo, you're drinking beer from the bottle like a teenager!

She tortures that poor guy. Emotionally and physically.

I will puke if I see another turkey.

INTERNET ACCESS!!! A precious commodity when staying in Western Mass with the grandparents.

We just left grandma's. I will never take home cooked meals for granted again. This Thanksgiving has been fantastic. Haven't had to cook or clean at ALL! SWEET!

For some reason, it's assumed that Steve needs mounds and mounds of food or he will die. And Maria? She'll be fine.

Gram and Yai have been cooking for days in order to provide Steve with adequate "to-go" boxes. Yai has a spiral ham in the oven and made an extra turkey earlier. Gram prepared days in advance.

Tonight at dinner, Steve made me surrender the last 7 leaves of lettuce in my bowl right before informing me I can forget about eating any of the Polish sausage gram made him. Don't think I'm getting my hands on any spiral ham either. Such is the nature of holiday's with the human disposal.

Steve's box of goodies:



Maria's box of goodies:



Maybe that's a hint that I should watch my figure to find a husband. Pressure's on. Literally someone mentioned marriage last night. In reference to an approaching event. Did I mention my family is delusional?

If I am asked one more time what my plans are for after college I will stab someone with my half of the wishbone.

When Thanksgiving bites back.

Thanksgiving Feast #1: Devoured with great success.

Tara decided it would be mandatory to host a Thanksgiving party in our room. She organized it. I helped.

Long live Team Taria.



I lobbied to enforce a strict "Pilgrim or Indian" dress code but the only one who complied was Meesh. (Who was lovingly referred to as a "NavaHO" for the rest of the night.)



The initial thought of 20 people in our tiny apartment was a little daunting but the preparation was fun. We were a little worried there wouldn't be enough food but ALAS! We have a fridge full of delicious Thanksgiving leftovers. Including but not limited to:

The remainder of the divine 20 lb turkey Brian carved after Noelle cooked:



... and delivered atop a shopping cart contraption:



Delicious ricotta stuffed shells thanks to my mom's recipe and my mad cooking $killz:





Heath Bar/Pudding/Cake Mass of Heaven (that I've been told I have to recreate when I get home):




While standing at our massive buffet of scrumptious food...



... Noelle and I both eyed the corn bowl.

Noelle: Wellp. Everyone'll be seeing that later tonight.

The wine was fantastic. The food was fantastic. The company was fantastic. And in true Family-Holiday-Gathering form, the night ended in injury.

I stood in the kitchen frantically washing the growing pile of dirty dishes. Reached for the aluminum can opener Tara used for the cranberry sauce. Tried to quickly scrub it with a sponge. Instead sliced open my thumb and watched as the blood poured. I left it under water watching the red fall into the drain while repeating Tara's name until she came over, dialled her mom and announced my injury.

Christina sprung to my rescue.

Christina: Girl. Sit down.
Maria: I'm fine.
Christina: GIRL. SIT. Elevate your hand and press this towel against it.

For a second I thought I'd lose my thumb. But I just ended up with this little cut. Which is a lot more badass in real life.





So glad I'll have a scar to remember our first ever Big Girl Party!

Maria's Kitchen Success: Chicken Francese

Lucky for me, my mother is a master chef.

Tonight I expanded my cooking repertoire with mom's Chicken Francese recipe. SO good. I made Noelle come up and eat the other piece of chicken.

I'm going to have to find a regular victim to practice my recipes on. Tara's a vegetarian so that won't work. (Except for when we finally have our Fondue party.)

I am currently accepting applications for Maria's Personal Taste Tester...





Vicki's Chicken Francese Recipe:

• Mix two eggs with salt and Parmesan cheese.
  
• Dry two chicken breasts and coat in flour.
  
• Dip chicken breasts in egg mixture.
  
• Fry in oil until both sides are brown.
• Take chicken off oven and either get a new pan or wash out current pan.
• Put in pan: less that 1/4 cup oil and butter, 1/2 cup chicken broth, 1/2 cup dry white wine.
• Simmer chicken in pan for about half hour.
• Juice a lemon and put juice over chicken for the last 15 minutes of cooking time.
• Devour and enjoy with the rest of the wine.

If you want to attract guys, rub McDonalds all over you. Or just carry a bag...

Fanueil Hall is by far my favorite weekend destination. I haven't had a single bad experience in that area, so far.

Friday night, Erin, Meesh and I went to the Green Dragon. It was my first time there. The bouncers were fun, younger guys who called us over to go inside.

Initial reasons this bar was a great choice...

...#1 No line
...#2 Cute and hilarious bouncers
...#3 Awesome bartender

Soon after ordering our beers, the band returned from a break and started playing covers. The Lisa Love Experience was the first female-fronted cover band I've seen so far. She was kick ass. She belted out those tunes with a spunky attitude and crazy dance moves.

Meesh, Erin and I boogeyed and made new friends including some Long Islanders and some Irish, who have apparently invaded Boston. People were dancing so intensely that the floor was shaking and we thought it might fall through. Here's a little video of the band singing a song that reminded us of Noelle.

Eye Spy:

1. A crazy Irish man posing for a picture, completely unaware he was on video
2. The annoying Long Islander who kept following us around
3. The singer (who is not named Lisa) pointing at me while belting it out
   
4. The psychotic, drunk groupie who kept trying to stroke and leap onto the guitarist
   

Sweet cover band at the Green Dragon. from Maria F on Vimeo.


The night ended and we headed to McDonalds to get in on some Walk-Thru Window action. Little did we know....

Erin ordering:





Meesh ravaging her burger:





If you are looking for ways to meet men, walk around with a McDonalds bag in hand. We were approached by literally every guy on the street. Everyone wanted a fry. Some really went over-board. We were trying to hail a cab and some 30-somethings came over begging for food and talking to us. One reached in Michelle's bag for a fry and instead pulled out her entire burger. We all started screaming as he devoured over a quarter of the sandwich in one bite. He ran away, mouth full, as I screamed I'd stab him with my heel.

We decided to relocate because no cabs were stopping. Two guys were walking up the Government Center stairs behind us, asking for fries.

Us: Go away.
Guy: Can I have a fry?
Us: No. We are never getting McDonalds again.
Guy: Come on! Where are you guys going, anyways? Where's the party?
Me: I'm not sure... my dad's coming to pick us up right now.

WELL! That is the best defense mechanism ever because he scattered faster than Chris running from dogs.


THEME OF THE YEAR #37: Compiling good lines to make guys go away.

1. My dad's picking me up.
2. No thank you, sir. (Noelle)
3. Why don't you give ME your number and then maybe I'll call later. (Tara)
4. Keep moving! (Erin)
5. Surprise transvestite costume (Katie)
   

Saturday was even more eventful so I'll write about it later.

Sleep tight, kids.

Maybe it's the food poisoning...

...but someone get me Henry Cavill and a layer of vegetation, STAT!

This CNET article describes the phenomenon surrounding my rapidly increasing phone bill. Americans (such as Maria) are sending more texts than they are making phone calls. I need to get a hold of Verizon and change my plan because my phone bill doubled this month solely due to texting. Is that even possible? I guess I have to entertain myself somehow during Cultural Anthro.

The next time I'm mad at any of you, I'm sending Jess to poison your chicken. Someone's got it out for me. Today was my first time ever having food poisoning. My dad sent me this article about a recent salmonella outbreak. Cook your chicken people! I already told Jess next time I cook her dinner it will be sprinkled with ExLax or something equally uncomfortable.

The upside to being sick was that between vomitting sessions I was able to catch up on season one of The Tudors, which my roommate Ali happens to have on DVD. CAUTION: This Showtime series is extremely addicting (probably due to all the good looking men). The story line differs greatly from The Other Boleyn Girl, which scarred me with controversial topics such as incest.

When not vomitting or drooling over Henry Cavill and Jonathan Rhys Meyers, I caught up on some very interesting reading in the Wall Street Journal, which I get delivered to my dorm because I’m smart like that Professor Nowak makes me. Basically we should all seriously consider adding a layer of vegetation on top of buildings. Not only is it super sweet but it is good for the environment and could potentially save some of those tax dollars.

In 2001, Chicago Mayor Richard Daley, inspired by a trip to Hamburg, Germany, decided to cover about 20,000 square feet of the roof atop Chicago's City Hall. City officials in Chicago now estimate that their green roof saves the city about $3,600 a year in cooling and heating costs. If all of Chicago's roofs were greened, they add, the city's peak energy demand could be cut by 720 megawatts -- enough electricity for 750,000 people. The load on the city's storm-sewer system, meanwhile, would be slashed by about 70%.

In other news, we may have a problem. J wants to see a movie this week. What movie did he suggest? Out of all the movies in theaters? Beverly Hills Chihuahua. Yea. Did I mention I hate dogs? Great.

He suggested this movie and then read me the synopsis over the phone. I did not respond enthusiastically. He took the hint and said he was just kidding. Was he though?

He was either A) trying to choose a movie he thought I'd like (even though I spent several hours enjoying watching men beat each other to a bloody pulp with him Saturday), B) seriously just kidding and we simply don't get each other's sense of humor or C) truly hoping to go see this new Disney masterpiece mess up. I'm not sure which is worse but I will wallop him if he tries to make me see a romantic comedy starring a bedazzle dog.

I hope you're as proud of me as my parents are.

Feast your eyes on this, ladies and gentlemen. Perhaps the best meal I've ever made. EVER!





I added the lemons to the picture because I was afraid it might look like I fried some chicken, peed in a plate and tried to pass it off as a delicacy. To prove otherwise, I will also provide evidence of the recipe I worked from:



I scribbled down directions my mom gave me the second I got in the door from a 25 minute walk home. Give me a break.

Mom's Lemon Chicken That Maria Made Successfully So You Can Make It Too:

chicken
olive oil
butter
lemon
white wine

Fry the chicken in olive oil until it turns a little brown on both sides. Then put one tablespoon of butter into the pan. Let melt. Add 1/3 cup fresh squeezed lemon juice, 1/3 cup white wine and a lot of love. Let sit until you can no longer resist the delicious smell.* Share the rest of the wine with the roommates. Indulge.







*Keep in mind these portions are small so make more if you plan on serving more than just yourself in front of the TV.

I'm an intern but don't have to get people coffee. This is the life.

It's Monday. Which means our coffee run was to Primo's. It also means that, despite a possible hangover, Nichole harassed me the entire 4 minute walk there, 9 minutes spent retrieving three unique orders of coffee and 4 minutes back to the office.

Nichole: You should get that cinnamon bun.
Maria: (peers into glass case to find one-month old cinnamon bun with old, gooey, wrinkly, discolored raisins sprinkled over top) Eew. Those raisins scare me.
Nichole: You need to improve your social skills.

It's ok. She gave up sugar (for a good cause.) Now she gets her kicks watching me indulge in sugary goodness.

.....

Here is a pictoral layout of our weekly coffee route, in case you wanted to stalk me.

PRIMO'S- I always have issues with this place. The guy that works there likes to make fun of me and tell me I look "out of it" and that he wishes me good luck outside in the big bad world. Today the girl mumbled. I couldn't hear anything and ended up with Free Trade coffee that tasted like flowers. I'll be leaving Nichole my punch card as a parting gift.



SWEETWATERS, Tuesdays and Thursdays- Love this place. My goal of the summer was to be able to assertively nod at the cashier and be given m y coffee without saying a word, a la Nichole and Damian. I don't foresee that happening in the next two weeks.




ESPRESSO ROYALE, Wednesdays- Two dollar lattes every Wednesday. Not quite as loud as the one in Boston. This is the site of my first large coffee ever.





STARBUCKS, randomly- Sometimes we go here when Nichole wants a muffin or we are feeling brave enough to try the new Vivianno which we have a coupon for so don't feel bad tossing it after a sip because it tastes like crap.

Someone get this girl an apron...

A drastic increase in hunger has insisted my culinary repertoire grow since arriving in Ann Arbor. Two weeks ago, I was feasting on ham and cheese sandwiches, a pickle and some Cheez-Its for dinner. Lunch consisted of two Pop-Tarts. Breakfast was a bowl of cereal.

The sandwich component of my day has transformed into turkey and cheese sandwiches warmed in my filing cabinet at work for lunch (accompanied by carrots and an apple.) Breakfast, if consumed, remains a bowl of cereal. Last week, dinner was spaghetti and canned mushroom sauce with a salad drenched in balsamic vinaigrette every night except one. I attempted grilled ham and cheese but failed miserably. I placed buttered bread into a pan on the stove and went deaf from the high pitched sizzle resonating from my dinner. The blackened char coating my wheat bread was indicative of my failure. I sucked it up, picked off the black and ate basically warm ham and cheese.

This week I've moved on to chicken nuggets and a salad with red wine vinaigrette. I will alternate with spaghetti and perhaps another shot at grilled cheese. I no longer worry that kitchen appliances are plotting to attack me. I get angry when my food disobeys me but I will be dominating these mischievous edibles in no time.

The Real World! Ann Arbor!

Apparently I'm an abomination to the world of competent grocery shoppers thriving in suburbs and cities nationwide. I should not be allowed to enter any self-serve nourishment establishment unsupervised lest I harm myself or some organized, focused grocery expert.

Mike took me grocery shopping last night and guffawed at everything I placed warily in my cart. I can't help the fact that my mother should host Top Chef, my dad holds a gold medal for Most Effective Shopper in the World and Jose and Maria take good care of me in the dining hall at school. I have no idea what I should buy or make or eat. I usually just eat what's placed in front of me. Which has been very little this past week.

I get it. This is that thing. The one I've been successfully avoiding for quite some time now. I think they call it "The Real World." I've been living MTV's version for quite some time now (this is the story of six college girls... picked to live together...) My version of the Real World has been fun and games. For the most part. A month ago I would have jumped on Noelle and forced her to accompany me to Late Night for some deliciously unhealthy fried food.

Goodbye mozzarella sticks and chicken wings on demand. Hello 40 hour work week and no one to cook for my tired self when I get home.

While 426 sleeps, I plan my first experiment...

So I'm sitting here with three pages of my paper finished still feeling the effects of my trip to UBurger six hours ago. I mean, really? I didn't even finish my burger (with extra special sauce, mmm) even though it was delicious.

This started me thinking. I have been eating so much shit lately that I wouldn't be surprised if I grew a couple of spare limbs (poor Lakshmi.) This can't be healthy. In fact, I feel so completely unhealthy that I have decided to stage an intervention... with myself. Starting right now I will undergo emergency detoxification. This means that for the next three days (Wednesday, Thursday and Friday) I will eat only fruits and vegetables and drink only water. The only exception allowed will be for peanut butter to accompany my apples and liquor to subdue the belly growls. I will decide Friday if this detoxification should continue through the weekend but I will guarantee right now It will not go on past Monday evening, which is when I will arrive in my nice, clean, warm home in Michigan. How can I detoxify when my mom has spent all day cooking a juicy Thanksgiving Turkey? That's just not fair to her.

But for now and the next few days, stop me if you see me reaching for the cheesy bread in the dining hall.

In the words of that multi-color haired girl from Paramore: I think we have an emergency.