Boston Cream Boyfriend

According to my friends, seeing the guy you like in line at Tim Horton's is a surefire sign that you two are meant to be.

Fancy seeing you here! Oh, this old thing?

Sure, that's plausible. Or it could just be that it's lunchtime and it's the only food place on campus that's open during spring term.

If you're from another part of the world and have no idea what I'm talking about, Tim Horton's is a donut/coffee chain and is pretty much the most Canadian thing in existence. It's kind of like Central Perk, and the Friends cast is the Canadian people.

Alberta is totally Chandler. Sorry, Ontario.

I also love the potential for confusion surrounding Timmies:

You: "Call you later, I'm going to Tim's."

Your Dad: "Who's Tim?"

Oh, you know. Just my boyfriend. Things are getting pretty serious, I see him at least twice a day.

Okay, maybe three times a day during Christmas. 

You would think I would be embarrassed by the judgemental way the employees look at me when I'm back within the hour, but I'm really only disappointed that they have yet to establish my "usual." 

Someday you'll love me like I love you. 

Someday.

Also, I'd like to know why they have yet to make a sprinkled Timbit. Seriously. You would have thought that would have been one of the first.

Maybe they do exist, and the world is just playing a cruel joke on me by not letting me have them, kind of like how I can't find a Niall Horan doll anywhere. They have all the other One Direction members in abundance, but I'm pretty sure an eccentric millionaire bought every single Niall one just to screw with all prepubescent girls. And me. 

At least we have been gifted with The Priestley, if not unofficially.

Seriously, Tim's. Get your shit together and start mass-producing these things so I can buy them by the hockey-rink-load.

365 Letters

On second thought, my hand's already cramped from all the notes I've been taking (it happens when you're doing a four-month-long course in the span of three weeks). How about 365 blog posts instead?

Being at university while all of your friends are back at home for the summer is lonely enough. What makes matters even worse is that Tawna, my best friend from high school, is in Italy for the entire time that I'm in summer school. I know that I should be mature and simply wait for her to come back to the Great White North to tell her tales of my depressingly solitary life, but I'm not exactly the most civilized person.

Me and Tawna at Starbucks.

 (image: anime-ray.deviantart.com)

The thing about my friendship with Tawna is that I tell her everything. And you may be thinking, "Well, that's only natural for best friends," and I would agree. However, I think the general definition of "everything" and my definition are two entirely different things. I tell her every single thought that pops into my brain, unfortunately enough for her:

...I really need to get a life.

Well, 365 letters, 365 blog posts, or 365 text messages... the love is the same. 
♥♥♥