Who Moved My F*&^ing Cereal?

Something strange is happening to the young women of America:

I call it "The Hills" syndrome.

Symptoms include: talking for hours while not having anything particularly interesting to say, drinking lots of iced coffee while running about town, and going to the same bar over and over with the exact same group of people. However, you KNOW you have The Hills syndrome when you begin picking fights with your friends over absolutely nothing. at. all.

Case in point: Friday morning, after I had gotten up early to drag myself to the gym (hold the applause), I reached up to grab my cereal out of the cabinet only to palm my roommate's oh so delicious bag of prunes. (Apparently I also live with an 80 year old.) Strangely enough, my box of cereal was now UNDER THE SINK. Next to the disgusting rusty pipes and cleaning supplies. Scusi? When she awoke from her princess-like slumber, I calmly (ok, rudely) asked her why she moved my cereal, to which she rudely (ok calmly) replied "it was on my shelf."

A healthy, Hills syndrome-free person would have had a conversation somewhat like this: "Wow, I had no idea we had assigned shelves-let's divvy them up. It's so fun to be organized!" followed by a big bear hug. Instead, it was nearly time for purple tears. (See above image as reference). I went on an assigned shelf rampage. (To understand, we currently have three girls living in a two bedroom apt.-meaning I share a room with a certain cereal-moving mcgee.) "I gave you the closet in our room!" I shouted as I pointed to the living room hanging rack that holds my meager wardrobe, "and you can't let my BOX OF CEREAL on your shelf?" I mean, it was like, sooooo hurtful, you know?

Overreaction? Check.
Meaningless waste of energy? Check
Strange stares from roommate who had no idea why I was carrying on about nothing? Check check.

All in all, a CLASSIC case of "The Hills Syndrome".

Treatment: getting a life, becoming normal, letting little things slide, being a good friend, or just plain ol' getting over it.