5:55 a.m.: My flight from Portland lands in Newark. I inexplicably got upgraded to first class, where they served me wine in a plastic cup before the plebs in economy had even gotten their luggage up. I like to think the reason I got upgraded is because I’m pretty and have a dazzling smile combined with a winning personality, but considering I printed out my ticket at one of those Kiosk things it MAY be because of a system error.
6:10 a.m.: I walk off the plane, walk into a Starbucks, and promptly fall asleep on the bench in there.
6:25 a.m.: I am gently shaken awake by an elderly woman who informs me that if I need any money or a place to stay, she knows places that could help me.
6:26 a.m.: I have an internal battle during which my shoulder angel tells me it is morally wrong to lie to this kind old woman and take her money just so that I can buy 12 cupcakes to see if I can break my personal how-many-cupcakes-can-i-eat-in-an-hour record. My shoulder devil tells me that if she assumes a girl in a North Face jacket and leather boots is homeless, she deserves it.
6:28 a.m.: Unnerved by my unwavering eye contact and mutterings to my shoulder companions, the old woman leaves without giving me money. I count it as a win for my shoulder angel, and assume that is one less bag of coal I will be receiving this year.
9:00 a.m.: I wake up with a cramp in my left butt cheek and a feeling of extreme panic. Turns out that panic is not from having overslept, but is from the elderly Japanese man sitting far too close to me. He’s a mouth breather. I HATE mouth breathers. What is with the elderly in Newark?
12:30 p.m.: While waiting for Penn Station to announce the track my train will be on, I accidentally elbow a guy using crutches in the eye. No, this really happened. I straight up hit a handicapped guy in the face. With my elbow. I took away one of his main remaining faculties, vision. With my totally functional limbs. Yeah, I’m the worst. If you still like me after reading this far, I applaud you and would like to add you to my will so that when I die you are responsible for dividing up everything I have hoarded in my basement. You’re welcome.
2:30 p.m.: I finally arrive back at my TH and put my face directly into a medium-sized Bacio’s pizza. Surprise, kids, don’t try this at home, because all it will do is get buffalo sauce in your eye without at all satiating whatever hunger demon just told you to plunge your face into those cheesy depths.
6:00 p.m.: My housemate and I head to Adam’s in order to purchase what is DEFINITELY NOT a 8 foot Christmas tree that is now illegally in my living room. I figure, I wasn’t really that offended by the smoking ban, so I should find some other Vassar rule to get absurdly upset by and then violate. CHRISTMAS TREES. WHAT’S NEXT, VASSAR? NO RED MEAT? NO VIRGIN SACRIFICE?
6:05 p.m.: I realize that I have been illegally drinking since freshman year so why does another rule that isn’t going to be followed matter? Wait, is there a statute of limitations on this? Can I get in trouble because of a humor article?? Lily Doyle is a pen name!!! My name is CATHARINE BOND HILL. I repeat, Catherine Hill. Spelled with a C. Oh no.