Fame.

By now, I'm sure you've seen it. In fact, you've probably seen it far more times than any normal human being should have to see it in an entire lifetime. What is this "it" I'm referring to? My face. In a mere 48 hours, my face has managed to get itself plastered all over various websites that it should have never, ever ventured: America's Most Wanted, People of Walmart, even 1000uglypeople.com! KIDDING. Kidding. But just incase you haven't been following along with my recent spike in a very, very oddly based fame, here's a quick recap of what the last 48 hours of my life have entailed. What I initially presumed to be a moderately embarrassing, but quaintly hilarious article in a low-key campus newspaper has skyrocketed into an adventure that not even the craziest theory could have predicted.

The Ramblings of the Forty-Eight Hour Fame:
1. The Auburn Plainsman wrote an article on me for being- you guessed it- Keurig Girl. Even though it has over 16000 views and counting, it still came as a complete surprise that...
2. Cosmopolitan (yes you heard me right), COSMO-FREAKING-POLITAN picked up the article. SAY WHAT?! I may or may not have fainted when I saw my face being tweeted to their 1.1 million followers.
3. Shortly after this, other news sites began to discover the story, including The War Eagle Reader, AL.com, and Seventeen Magazine. At this point, I'm rocking in the fetal position on the floor of my room, hyperventilating into a paper bag. It's fine.
4. Keurig reached out to me on Twitter. They want to send me "a surprise." Wut. I don't even know who I am anymore. WHAT IS HAPPENING?!
5. A Cosmopolitan reporter called me. On my cell phone. While I was in class. She asked if she could interview me. For another article. WHAT?1/?!84O239P--93KJ SD!>/?!??.
6.  The Odyssey published yet another article on me. I'm slowly beginning to lose my sanity. Why are people actually reading these things?
7. Cosmopolitan released my interview with them. My face is on the front homepage of COSMO as a "Most Read Story." Sanity= gone. Mind= blown. HOW?!
8. A movement has started to get me put on the Ellen DeGeneres Show. #KeurigGirlOnEllen is actually a legitimate campaign.. I just can't even comprehend what's happening right now. I'm in denial that this is actually real. I'm being Punk'd. Where's Ashton??
9. People all over the world (California, New York, even Bulgaria??) have begun following me on social media, sliding into my DMs, and telling me reasons why they either A) love me or B) hate me. Who are all of these people? How did they find me? Why on earth do they find my coffee addiction so uncannily fascinating??

I literally don't understand how this happened. What is even remotely fascinating about a really weird and awkward college student with an embarrassingly unhealthy addiction to caffeine? How did this same freak even manage to acquire a fan (and hater, lol) base? What is life? I honestly couldn't tell you. One day I'll tell my future children of the olden days when their mother was a world-famous celebrity, with stories of my life being projected amongst those of Justin Timberlake, the Kardashians, and even the Biebs. They'll probably dismiss these stories as mere delusions, and honestly I don't blame them. I'll probably be locked up in the psychiatric ward of a mental hospital by this point, anyways.

Well I don't expect my fame to last much longer than approximately 0.32 seconds, but hey it's been a great ride. Keurig Girl out, homies. See y'all on Ellen.

((Also hi, sidenote: check out the links if you want the full, non-bullet pointed stories. They're probably more interesting than my odd ramblings anyways.))

The Freshman Files: A Midterm Update.

After what has simultaneously seemed like two days yet also two years, we have reached the midterm. I'm 1/16 done with college- what?? Most people would think that by now, the embarrassing stories would have decreased. After two months, we probably should have gotten the hang of this whole college thing, right? HA- no. Let me just fill you in with a few random snippets from me and other miserably awkward freshmen.

I'm just really good with people. My social skills are top- notch. Ex. 1: While socializing with a nice boy late at night in the library, I tried to explain my nocturnal body clock: "Yeah, I'm never alert enough to get work done in the morning. I'm just really a nice person. WAIT. NIGHT PERSON. NIGHT NOT NICE. I MEAN NIGHT." *Boy looked at me like I had Ebola and ran away in fear* #makingfriends

"I walked onto a Tiger Transit bus and sat down, then realized I didn't know how they worked and stood up and got back off." - Sammy

While Chandler was moving her laundry from the washer to the dryer, she had to cross over a boy sitting beneath her. As she stepped over him, an unnamed article of clothing fell from her pile of clothes and landed atop the boy's head. You can use your imagination to figure out what was dropped. The boy stared with mouth agape, completely horrified. Chandler stared back with mouth also agape, even more horrified. She eventually summoned enough strength to sprint out of the laundry room, never looking back.

"I ripped a giant hole in the crotch of my jeans during my first AU Singers performance." - Taylor

Rebecca was told to go talk to her RA, and being the responsible girl she is, she obliged. When she knocked on his door, he said, "Come in," and once more, she obliged. When she walked in, she found him in his bed, half- asleep, unclothed, and sporting a fashionable sleep mask. Feeling very uncomfortable, she quickly spit out what she needed to tell him. *Insert 30 seconds of very awkward silence* Rebecca fiddled with her keys to break up the silence. *Insert 30 more seconds of very awkward silence* Finally, the RA replied, "Sorry, I thought you were one of the boys.... Can you step outside so I can put some pants on?" Rebecca obliged.

"I face planted on the concourse in front of a sorority handing out flowers... They didn't give me a flower." - Sarah

Ex. 2 of my adept people skills: While talking to a boy as I exited class, I swung the door open, assuming that it would hang open long enough for me to walk through. I was wrong. The door swung back with the speed of a freaking guillotine, knocked me over, and rammed me into the wall. The boy nervously laughed and walked away as I slowly peeled my dismembered body off of the ground. He hasn't spoken to me since.

"I wore my hot pink shower shoes with heart holes to class one day." - Catherine

One morning I was running late to class and didn't have time to make myself a cup of coffee. Determined to make it to class on time, I threw on clothes, grabbed my backpack, and ran out the door. It wasn't until I got outside that I looked down and realized that I had forgotten to put on pants.

"I scored a 0 on a 25 point question on my first math test... My teacher literally circled it and wrote "This makes no sense." It made perfect sense in my head..." - Shannon

Attention all: I have achieved campus- wide fame. I am now known as (drum roll, please) KEURIG GIRL. Yes, I take my Keurig to the library. No, I am not ashamed. I have now been Yik Yakked about multiple times... swag.

Searching for Christmas present ideas for your friends and family? A K-Cup signed by me would make a great keepsake. It would probably get passed down as a prized family heirloom for generations to come.

Side notes:
1. Sleep really is optional.
2. I spill more coffee on myself than I actually manage to consume. And I consume a lot.
3. I have barely escaped being hit by cars on six different occasions. In all likelihood my luck will soon run out.
4. I have gone insane and will soon be transferring to Bryce Mental Hospital.
5. I am even more awkward than I originally thought.

At this rate, there is no hope for me. My only solace is knowing that I'm not alone. We are the freshmen; we stand together, united as one body of dysfunctional, unfortunate, and awkward souls. 1/16 down, 15/16 to go. 

The Freshman Files: Week One.

Well this past week marked my first week as an official college kid. As you can imagine, things did not run quite as smoothly as I had hoped for. Judging by my first week, this year is going to be full of miserably awkward encounters, mistakes, and adventures. Stay tuned for more updates from me and other stupid freshmen. But for now, let's begin: Week One.

The clock strikes midnight as I approach the front door of my dorm. I notice red and blue lights atop an ambulance flickering in the distance. As I get closer, I realize that there is a pants-less body collapsed on the sidewalk. First of all- what? Second of all- WHAT?! I discreetly watched as paramedics loaded pants-less John Doe onto a gurney and sped him away. Apparently the party Señor Pantalones attended was hoppin'. I wouldn't know, because I was on the floor of my dorm organizing school supplies.

This one goes out to my girl, @chancahoon. Chandler, being the bright and intelligent freshman she is, only had one class on Tuesday morning. (Or so she thought.) She spent the entire day frivolously skipping around campus without a care in the world. It wasn't until later that night when a kindhearted friend (ehhem) questioned the rigor of her schedule. Upon reexamination, Chandler came to the realization that she had, in fact, unintentionally skipped two of her classes. On the first day.

Upon examining my schedule, I noticed that my calculus teacher is named Hing Huong. I didn't think much of it and wasn't really worried about it... And then he opened his mouth. Professor Huong was actually the inspiration for the Asian girl on Pitch Perfect. He speaks very little English, and the small amount of English that does come out of his mouth is uttered so quietly that it actually registers as a negative decibel on the decibel scale. Mom and Dad: if you're reading this, please send me a hearing aid in my next care package thx luv u :)

Jenny, my roommate, was texting as she walked down the hallway of our dorm. Deciding to take the stairs instead of waiting for the prehistoric elevator to reluctantly creep up to our floor, she continued texting as she made her way to the staircase. After opening up the door of the stairwell, she looked up from her phone to find that she had not entered the stairwell, but the dorm room of two alarmed strangers.

While simultaneously dragging my monstrous laundry bag across the quad to the laundry room and scrolling through Instagram (In hindsight, I realize that this probably wasn't the best idea), I didn't see the loose brick ominously paved an inch above its neighbors. Needless to say, I tripped, the laundry went flying, and I face planted onto the brick pavement. The number of stares and laughs directed at me as my socks rained across campus far outweigh the number of stars in the sky.

I entered the elevator to find an extremely attractive male already in there. When he asked me, "What floor?" all that came out of my mouth was, "Uhhdfahhhhuhh yes." Surprisingly, he didn't ask me on a date after that encounter.

Other notes I have regarding this week:
1. The number of bags of popcorn that I have classified as "meals" this week is frankly alarming.
2. Care packages from family members are the bomb.com.
3. Don't sing on the elevator because people will be standing there staring when the doors open.
4. The corridors of Haley Center were actually designed by terrorists to make freshmen minds explode.
5. College is fun.

My Future.

Wrapping my mind around the future has always been a bit of a struggle for me. Where will I be ten years from now? What will my life look like? Who will I be? When it comes to finding the answers to these questions, I most represent Velma blindly digging through the dirt trying to find her glasses. But recently, I had an epiphany.

While on a family trip to Six Flags, I saw my future self in the flesh. I recognized my reflection in a glistening layer of sweat covering the body of a 500 pound man unable to clasp the restraining device on a roller coaster. I can't even begin to describe the range of emotions I felt upon laying eyes on him. It was as if I was meeting my long lost twin for the first time. For storytelling purposes, I have named my mysterious counterpart "Jason."

Jason did some serious squeezing in an attempt to click that safety belt, but it obviously wasn't going to work. Imagine trying to turn a baby sock into a unitard. It's just not gonna happen. When the coaster attendant told Jason he was going to have to leave, he wasn't phased. He nonchalantly sauntered off into the distance, munching on a cinnamon pretzel and sipping a large slushie. Jason didn't care that a heart attack was inevitably in his near future. He didn't let this dissuade him from pursuing his passion. This brief encounter with my soulmate left me a changed woman.

It's no secret that I eat a lot. I have an unnatural obsession with food. When my metabolism slows down, it won't take long for me to turn into a stick of butter. But seeing Jason gave me hope. Jason let me know that there is in fact a sugary, pretzel-shaped light at the end of the tunnel.

Picture this: It's the Homewood High School Class of 2014 30th reunion. Everyone is chatting and pretending like they're having a good time, when suddenly a wrecking ball slams through the wall. Amongst the screams of startled guests, a slight whirring can be heard approaching. Almost heroically, an insanely overweight whale woman breaks through the billowing cloud of sheetrock riding a motorized wheelchair, her layers of fat pouring over the sides and dragging the ground. Someone mutters, "Is that Madison Collins?" Yes. Yes it is.

Some may render me a pessimist, but I call it realism. I have chosen to accept my future as the 500 pound woman. Step aside, Tracy Turnblad. You ain't got nothin' on me. *drops mic*

Middle School.

Pretty much everyone I know complains that their middle school days were the worst of the worst. Full of braces, ugliness, and just plain awkwardness, I don't think they treated anyone well. But I can promise you this: No one's days in middle school- NO ONE'S- can top the tremendously horrible nature of mine.

Reason #1: I looked like the vomit of a decomposing squirrel. I think this picture speaks for itself. No explanation needed.

Reason #2: Believe it or not, I was even more socially awkward than I am now. Let's take a brief journey back in time to the infamous Homewood Middle School 7th grade Winter Dance. As Taylor Swift's "Love Story" began to play, I anxiously looked around the room, waiting for my true love to approach me and ask me to dance. My love never came. Completely devastated and convinced that I would be forever alone, I forced my way through dozens of slow-dancing couples and retreated to the corner of the cafeteria. That's when I laid my eyes upon The One. I fell in love with him the moment I saw his long, skinny body propped up against the wall. His luscious, gray locks, still wet from a shower, beckoned me closer. As I moved towards him, I caught a whiff of his cologne; it smelled like bathroom cleaning products. Caught in a trance of love, I cut to the chase. "Do you want to dance?" I whispered to the....the.... mop. Yes, I slow-danced with a mop. It happened. We're moving on now.

Reason #3:  As you can tell from the photo above, I was up to date on all of the latest fashion trends. I am at a loss for words. One day in 6th grade, I was walking down the hall with one of my friends. Wearing cargo shorts and Birkenstocks, I was definitely dressed to impress. Suddenly, she blurted out, "Do you ever look at someone and think WHAT are they wearing?!" "Yeah," I replied, "totally..." Then she stopped dead in her tracks, looked me in the eyes, and said "I was talking about you, Madison. I was talking about you." I burned my prized Birkenstocks that night. Many tears were shed over their death.

Reason #4: I wore my volleyball spandex down to my knees. No, my entire team did not do this. Yes, it was just me. I was made fun of, yet I still persisted to stretch them to a length equivalent to that of a 65 year old Amish woman's skirt. No picture of this will be provided, for it might burn holes into your retinas.

Reason #5: Bad luck followed me everywhere I went. Since we were just on the topic of volleyball, I'll use an according example. It was the biggest game of the year, and all of the 7th grade football players had come to watch our game after their practice. While other girls were making sure to bend down to tie their shoes right in front of the boys, I was pulling my spandex further down to my ankles. In this game, my coach had me starting as the middle hitter/blocker. With my 1'9 frame, I was obviously the perfect fit for the position. As the whistle blew, the other team served the ball to us, my teammate passed the ball to the setter, and the setter prepared to set the ball to me. The boys were cheering. My heart was pounding. I thought to myself I'M GOING TO KILL THIS BALL AND ALL OF THE BOYS WILL LOVE ME. Gotta love my optimism. As the set was put up into the air, I began my approach. I jumped into the air and lifted my arms to swing through... Aaaaand I missed. I swung at the air, the volleyball hit me in the head, and I fell on the ground. Everyone laughed. The boys booed. I got taken out of the game. It was mortifying. Needless to say, none of the football players fell in love with me that night. Or any night in middle school. Or ever.

The Great Plunge.

Q: What do you do when your lunch box ends up in the toilet? 

Yes, you heard me right. My lunch box took a rather unfortunate swim. It was another one of those days... are you even surprised? I had already spilled coffee all over my books, completely bombed a test, and fallen asleep in class. Yippee. I thought to myself, "Hey, it can only get better from here!" Wrong.

I was in a hurry. I had only one mission: quickly use the restroom and then bolt to class. Determined to be on time, I power walked to the bathroom with my 102 pound backpack straddling my spine and my lunch box swinging from my fingers. In a rush, I violently flung open the stall door and hurled my backpack to the ground. As I did this, however, my hand muscles decided to conveniently unclench just as my lunch box dangled over The Pit of Doom. 

I watched, horrified, as my lunch box slowly spiraled downward. I cringed as I heard the splash and watched the light pink fabric quickly darken to purple. "WHAT DO I DO?!" I shrieked as I stared at the sopping blob that continued to sink further into the seemingly never-ending well. I faintly recall hearing the distant cheers of whole grain goldfish as they dove into the flushable aquarium. Finally, I shooed the sewer rats out of the way, plunged my hand into the septic tank, and retrieved the toxic mass. As the minute bell rang, I abandoned my hopes of using the restroom and, utterly defeated, trudged to class with a dripping disease-box (identified by the CDC as the root of a potential outbreak) in hand.

A: You ignore the fact that the food you are about to ingest has spent time where others have... you know...

Yes, you heard me right. I ate my lunch. I was mocked. I was ridiculed. I was probably labeled Poop Girl. But I was hungry, and I wanted my yogurt, dangit. I mean, all of my food was sealed in plastic bags, and my peanut butter sandwich only slightly smelled of urine (I'm kidding).. So I'm good, right? Maybe? No? I'll let you know if I contract any diseases.

R.I.P.

Just One of Those Days.

Today was just one of those days. 

You know what I'm talking about. One of those days. We've all had them. The only problem is this: I experience those days pretty much 5 out of 7 days a week. 4 if I'm really lucky. Here's just a snippet of a "normal" day in the life of Madison:

6:00 am My alarm begins to sound. I, still completely and utterly asleep, somehow manage to turn off my phone and chunk it across the room. All while still sleeping. (I will later have no recollection of these events ever happening.)  I'm convinced that with these skills, I could disable a bomb in my sleep. I'm clearly gifted.
6:35 am My mother bangs down my door with the force of a thousand stampeding buffalo. She screeches into my ears, "ARE YOU AWAKE?!" I mumble back a "yes" and begin to (slowly... very slowly) lift my body out of bed. As soon as my mother turns her back and leaves, I plop back onto the pillow like a rock and immediately fall back asleep.

6:50 am I finally wake up and get in the shower. 

6:54 am I fall out of the shower. I bring the curtain down with me. I do not know how this happened. 

7:48 am I screech into the school parking lot 2 minutes before the tardy bell rings. (3rd tier REPRESENT.) I grab my stuff and begin to sprint down the Great Wall of China stairs leading to Homewood High School. I trip on stair 4,325 and tumble all the way down to stair 1,619. My boots now look like they have been mauled by a bear. 

8:44 am The minute bell rings as I casually stroll into my Physics class. I begin to head to my seat, but some weasel kid is already sitting there. I utter, "What the..." as I begin to realize that I recognize no one in the class. At the sound of my voice, every student swivels their head around and stares at me as if I am vermin. One kind soul shouts, "YOU'RE IN THE WRONG CLASS, IDIOT." Still confused, I stand rooted in place like a deer in headlights for a good 20 seconds trying to comprehend what's going on. Are we running on a different bell schedule? How did I not get the memo that the schedule changed? Am I being Punk'd? Finally, I realize where I'm supposed to be and begin to sprint through the halls faster than Usain Bolt could ever dream of running. I bust into Calculus class .00001 seconds before the bell rings. You can applaud now. Thank you.

All of this happened before 9 am.

Please recognize that this is just a mere fraction of the many unfortunate things that happen to me on a daily basis. The world is clearly out to get me. Actually, I take that back. The world has already gotten me.