Have fun while never leaving your house.
This is why we get flu shots, people.
Mom? Roommates? Anybody?
The air is crisp, the dorms are abuzz with “I’m going home!” and my suitemate and I are—feverish. Literally.
The flu sucks. There, I've gone and said it; plain and simple. It makes you feel gross, look gross and keeps you in bed all day (in a very different way than you'd want). Usually I'd be looking for any excuse to cuddle up with my favorite movie and relapse into a diet of soup and saltines, but not when it's for weeks on end and makes you feel just plain shoddy.
Would You Rather come down with the stomach flu the night of your absolute favorite band's concert (to which you have front row seats) OR get a weird, unidentifiable rash covering most of your body the day before your week long summer trip to the beach?
It's 8am and you stumble into your bathroom only to look in the mirror, horrified at how sick you look! You can't miss any more classes (damn you hangovers for making me take an absence when now I really need it), but you also can't show your face in public looking like this.
Back when Matt and I were first dating, I had only known him for about three weeks when he got food poisoning. His roommate took him to the ER for treatment, but he had to go back the next day for dehydration. He asked me to see if his friend who lived across the hall from me would take him, but I told him to stop being so proud and that I would take him.
Unlike the rest of the world, Thanksgiving is my least-favorite holiday. I know, I know—the food, the laziness, the time off from work, the family (well . . . maybe that’s not such a plus)—what’s not to love?
As you try to rouse yourself out of bed, you feel it. Your head hurts, you can’t swallow and your whole body just feels achy. You walk to the bathroom to wash up, hoping it’s just one of those “I slept with my mouth open” deals; it will go away in a few minutes.
There it is, the golden rule. Liquor before beer and you’re in the clear! The thing is, I know this isn’t true, I knew on my 16th birthday that this “rule” was BS. The amount of alcohol you drink—not the type and not the order in which you drink it—determines how drunk you get.
So finally it is spring…well, at least the snow is sort of melting here, and the temperature is starting to...