And Coffee Went Everywhere

Pandora-ing Breakable by Ingrid Michaelson
New Addiction Mint Truffle Hershey Kisses
    Remember when I mentioned how I needed to go to bed at a reasonable hour so I wouldn't be late for church and be proclaimed a heathen? Well, in case you weren't aware, three am is not a reasonable hour. Especially when you're coming down with a cold. Get comfy, I've got a couple of rants coming here, dear reader.
    Let me just preface this first one by saying that I have a horrid immune system. And many strange ailments. But those I will not get into at the moment. What I am going to talk about is the fact that, from the second week of classes on, I have not gotten sick once. Not a cold, anyways. I was free from the common cold all semester, and yet now, two days after my classes end, my nose is threatening to fall off, and my throat is made of sandpaper. Feels great, reader, feels great.
    Secondly, it did, in fact, snow today. Enough to coat my car during church this morning (which, yes, I was late for. Don't judge; I'm getting sick).

    The only thing is, it's not quite cold enough for the snow to actually stick on the ground. It has coated some leaves and such that are laying on the ground, but aside form that it's really just floating through the air. Bummer. 
    It's almost eleven now, and it's still snowing a bit, but it hasn't stuck at all. It snowed almost the entire time I was at work, though. Speaking of work, guess who forgot to take the lid off of an urn of coffee when she made it, and let a whole urn of hazelnut cream coffee spill all over the floor. That's right, this girl, right here. My hands still smell like coffee, and I've washed them many times.
    Also related to work, we close at eight on Sundays. Did that stop tons of people from coming in at seven fifty-five? Of course not. So I couldn't start my cleaning 'til they'd all left, which ended up being around eight-thirty. Boo that. Luckily, some very kind people (read: everyone who worked with me tonight) helped me out with all my cleaning; it was my first night closing on my own, and I honestly had no idea what I was supposed to do aside from the windows and floors.
    So... Here I am, totally zonked and with nothing of particular interest to write about. Except that apparently (i.e. according to one of the managers) I sound like a dying cat when I sing gospel music. Epic Fail.
  
    P.S. I've been trying to come up with a statement that is synonymous with "epic fail." Let's face it, folks, "epic fail" is completely overused. We need to give our everyday vernacular a little make-over every now and then. I was thinking something with the word "legendary"...