Today in my Culture and Cuisines class, as we wrapped up a rather spicy discussion about American regional cuisine…terror struck. My face was still red hot from my fervent defense of true Tex-Mex* when my professor picked up a seemingly harmless white paper bag. He told us to “taste one” and pass it around; I thought we were going to get mini Snickers bars or something. This hasn’t happened since middle school, but back in the day we used to be rewarded for participating in particularly intelligent discussions, right? As the bag was handed to the first student to be passed around the room, I had a special sparkle in my eye as I felt that a reward was entirely appropriate this afternoon.

Apparently not.

As the girl in possession of the paper bag peered inside, her facial expression told me there would be no Snickers bars for us today. No ma’am. She pulled 2 tiny items out of the bag, placed them in front of her, and awkwardly looked away from them. I didn’t have my glasses on (which rendered me completely worthless in this situation) and it wasn’t until the bag arrived in front of the guy next to me that I saw them: toasted grasshoppers and larvae.

Right.

Awkwardly, I seemed to be the only one who initially thought that eating these things was just entirely out of the question. As I sat there looking disgusted and super disappointed about the no-show Snickers bars, everyone else just popped these things into their mouths like they were Baked Lays. Really? So, I did it.

For the record, the grasshoppers had the texture of those fried green peas that you get from Harry and David…and the flavor had…a special spunk. The wormies tasted better. Just a few short years ago, I was so picky that I didn’t even like tomato sauce on my pasta and here I am today eating grasshoppers and wormies. I am so proud of myself. My horizons have been broadened. Bigtime. Thank you, Cornell Hotel School!

*Good Tex-Mex? Not above the Mason-Dixon Line. Sorry, friends. I will not budge on this one.

The first day of classes. As a student at the Hotel School (affectionately dubbed “Statler High”), it would only be appropriate to care deeply about my appearance on the first day of school. Statty is a place where everybody knows your name and your natural hair color (girls, maintain your highlights). However, 8:40 am classes? Maybe not so much. I woke up to the bright sun at 7 am Thursday morning and realized that with early classes Monday through Thursday, an outfit consisting of a polo shirt, mascara, and some sort of denim would be just fine from here on out. (Fashion tip for future hotelies: really, just throw on a polo and call it a day).

Special Events and Catering. A field trip to New York City plus a little menu planning. Throw in some presentations to Cornell’s Slope Day planning committee and a chance to actually implement our ideas on some real-world stuff…and you’ve got a reason for me to drag my sleepy self out of my big pink bed at 7 am. Bravo.

Business and Hospitality Law. Hi, I’m scared. Prelims (exams) start at 5 pm and last well into the night. Like, midnightesque. Good one. I used to be a little mock trial lawyer when I was in middle school but something tells me my 7th grade courtroom skills are not going to help me brief a case about a discrimination suit involving a hotel worker.

Culture and Cuisines. My favorite! This class seems amazing… and is the one with the cooking lab (see the calamari entry; I was terrified). It’s a teeny tiny class, maybe 17 students, and we sit in a circle and discuss foods and cultures and once a week, we cook together. And then we eat. I love love love it. After taking a pre-test, I was disappointed to find out that I retained little to no knowledge from my Anthropology of Food course Freshman year… except for the two (separate) lectures about aphrodesiacs and soul food. Um, sooo I’m going to awkwardly end the entry here.

My room, as promised

The view from my balcony…

Not impressed with my room? Here it was when the previous tenant lived there:

and finally…
Our new hallway, which my housemates and I decorated with an “around the world” theme:

I don’t even want to talk about the atrocious things I saw on Project Runway tonight. All I can say is that if anyone (even Michael Kors) tried to dress my mother up in anything from this episode, I am 100% certain that she would turn and walk right off that runway.

Life has, for lack of a better way to put it, kicked my butt the last week or so. The room decoration and move in was a herculean effort. Opening week for the new 3500ish freshmen and their families for tour guides is a feat that only tour guides themselves can fully understand and appreciate. My current state is a nice little cocktail made up of very little sleep, many fruitless Course Add-Drop attempts, and an outrageous “no, you may not take Belly Dancing because the course is full. Good luck trying to sign up for a PE. Have you considered archery?” Add my very first City of Ithaca parking ticket (only $15.00, don’t worry Dad I’ve got it covered), a dash of crisis in my personal life, and a tank top on an unseasonably cold evening… well, you’ve got one grouchy lady over here. Classes do start tomorrow though– looking forward to those, honestly

Ok, but archery? Were they serious?

So, as of Monday evening, I have officially arrived back in Ithaca. My journey from New York City was not an easy one.

It baffles me how one girl accumulates so much… stuff. Just stuff. Everywhere. Heavy stuff. I paid big bucks to ship two giant suitcases– 70+ pounds each despite what the teeny scale said at the FedEx store– and brought another monstrosity of comparable weight with me on the bus.

Enter Big Red Shipping and Storage, bringing 19– yes, nineteen– of my items out of their warehouse for me and carrying them up the teeny tiny spiral staircase in my new (very old) house in Collegetown. Stuff everywhere.

The room I’m living in this year is one of 6 bedrooms in a house in Collegetown that I share with 5 friends and it has some fabulous features. The guys on Queer Eye would have a field day. A funny sloped ceiling, “vintage” hardwood floors (use your imagination), 40 (FORTY) inset shelves of varying sizes and shapes, 7 windows, a little baby door in the wall, a closed up brick fireplace with a mantle, and a big door that opens up onto a little balcony that has access the the roof. Now take the posh and fabulous room that you’re picturing in your head and make it 10 times less fabulous and posh. Rework it into “charming.”

So, given my fixer-upper of a room, I did what any logical person would do.

I painted everything pink.