My father was a very meticulous man. He didn't care much for housework, but he organized his mind more than anyone I have ever known. He kept extremely detailed notebooks filled with ideas, quotes, contacts, lists, and diagrams. And his filing cabinets were immaculate.

I was looking through one of his cabinets just recently, when I came across his "Memories" folder. Leave it to my dad to organize his most cherished memories within an alphabetized system. The folder contained photos and postcards, some crafts my brother and I had made for him over the years, and this. A letter I had written to my father when I was about 8 years old after he had been working out of town for a few months.

"
Dear Daddy,
I miss you very much how much longer do you have to go to Vancover? I hope not that long do you want to have pizza or taco bell? When you were gone I got a new friend she's in kidergarden. She nice I think you'll like her to when you meet her well that all the time I have bye bye for now       love,

Jasmine.

"

At least now I know why my parents thought I should become a scientist.

To those of you who do not believe in love at first sight: you are wrong.

While riding my city's underground rail system today, I saw a boy. He had pretty brown hair, brown eyes, brown glasses, brown shoes, brown socks, a brown jacket, a brown sweater, a brown messenger bag, tan pants and a tan collared shirt. It was really quite remarkable. I can't explain why I was so immediately enamored. Maybe he reminded me of a caramel chocolate bar?

He had something in his left hand, but it was obscured by various other people. I strained to make out the object, contorting my body and staring at fuzzy window reflections, but it was difficult without making myself out to be such an obvious creep.

At long last, while nearing the University station, he turned. My eyes widened and my heart stopped. In his left hand, he held a half-eaten bag of

brown bread.

And that was it. I knew it. I had fallen in love.

One day, I will give him a container of Nutella, and my fairy-tale romance (filmed in a brown wash) can begin. Love at first sight. It happens. And it happens with bread.

Hey, remember when I almost got into a fight over eating noises? Well, I turned into the girl that I hate!

A week ago, I purchased a grilled cheese sandwich from a fine little place on campus. The grilled cheese sandwiches are delicious because they are coated in garlic butter, and are especially delicious because they cost a mere $2.50! It is bad for my heart, but great for my... figurative heart.

In any case, I purchased a grilled cheese sandwich. Right before my Southern Baroque art history course. Normally I wouldn't be so rude as to eat in class, but that day I was particularly famished and needed my nutrients! (The processed cheese and buttery nutrients). So I scrambled into class, a few minutes late as tradition would dictate, and began to devour said sandwich.

Almost immediately, a girl in front of me turned around and glared somethin' fierce. It was as if I had just come in and announced to the class that she was a "big fat cunt!" Which I almost did, by the way, because of the whole... her being a big fat cunt with a glaring problem.

The most astounding part about this, however, is the fact that she was eating carrot sticks at the time. One would imagine carrot sticks would garner more obnoxious noises than a grilled cheese sandwich, but perhaps I am mistaken (no, I'm not). Maybe she was simply offended at my clear disregard for "healthy choices"?

Regardless of her reasoning, I admit it. I became one of those. An in-class, disruptive eater. How despicable!

It's cool, though. I'm a hater through-and-through. And I never said I didn't hate myself.