Talk About This and That

We're not going to talk about the fact that my car died again on my drive back to Stanford.  And how Lolita might be dead forever.

We are going to talk about how the tow truck man was talking to another tow truck man, but then reprimanded him for using foul language because there was a lady in the car, and how he opened the door for me.  Gentleman do exist, they are just older than my father.

We're not going to talk about how much money I spent to get a plane ticket back to San Jose or about how I sat down on the plane and just cried.  Just cried and cried and cried and avoided eye contact with anyone and everyone.  Or about how I'm a dummy and booked the shuttle for the next day.

We are going to talk about the fact that a homeless man gave me his bus pass for less than the price of a ticket and then told me all about his deceased wife.  And then we'll discuss how the bus driver and I got to be really good friends on account of the fact that I had been on his bus for about an hour by the time I got off.  And we are going to talk about how good it felt to come home and shower and eat cereal and just lay in my bed until I fell asleep, feeling for the first time in this entire day that I was where I was supposed to be.

And then, I'll tell you that that was a day of sadness and today is a day of happiness, and that there are always a billion things good in my life.  Like the fact that even though my car blew up, I made it safely to the side of the road.  And that I was only an hour from home and my hero-dad raced over to save me.  And that smart phones make it so that when you book a shuttle for the wrong day, you can figure out how to cheaply get back home in approximately one minute - perfect timing for catching the bus you need.  This summer is going to be good, my friends.

If nothing else ever, this summer is going to be good.

I Want a Perfect Body

And I want a perfect soul.

If you really love something, then you treat well, I think.  I've heard that somewhere at least.  It sounds true enough to me, anyways.  Let's for a moment, except this as truth.
I've been thinking about how I treat my body.  Not very well.  I must not love it.  I think I should love it.  It's a gift.  It allows me to do anything.  It allows me to feel, and touch is my favorite of the senses.
I torture it sometimes.

When I wake up in the morning, I pick out an outfit and go into the bathroom.  I take off every scrap of clothes that I wore to sleep and do a full evaluation.  I shudder at the fullness of my hips and  the lumps on my thighs.  I suck in my stomach and try to press it in with my hands.  I begin the process of putting on my clothes.  I contort and twist my body into fitting into whatever items I have picked out.  Sometimes I wear sausage-casing-esque "shapewear" in order to make the bulges look smoother.  They're fine at first, but after hours of wear, my body begs to be freed.

Once I'm dressed, I begin the process of plastering colors on my face.  Mascara, eyeliner, foundation, powder, bronzer, eye shadow, sometimes blush and lip gloss.  When I was 13 my dad noted that mascara was Spanish for mask.  I think about that sometimes.

I fill it with junk.  Or what's worse, I eat raw vegetables for about 8 hours until my withdrawal-shaken body lashes out and I then eat way too much of whatever it begs for.  Usually sugar.  Sometimes potatoes.  My body has weird cravings for potato products lately.  After I do that, I think about how weak I am.  I am filled with regret.  I drove my body to want this, but yet I look at it so disapprovingly.

This is not the peak of my body mistreatment.  In high school, hardly a day went by where I didn't skip meals.  Being hungry and then overly full seemed to be the regular.  And eating in front of people was always a struggle.  I went through a period of time where after binging, I would take laxatives in order to try and erase all the bad I just ate.  But then my body would just feel as sad as my mind did.

I don't always feed it so poorly.  But rarely do I let it move the way I should.  For most of my life exercising was admitting that my body was disgusting.  It was like saying - hey I am fat so I need to go to the gym.  Every invitation to do physical activity was perceived as a slight on my physical appearance.  And I grew to dislike it.  So, so much.

When people didn't like me, usually I blamed my body.  Let me clarify.  When boys didn't like me, I blamed my body.  I told myself that if I wore clothes that had a size with only one digit they would all like me.  That what separated me from the girls who had boys chasing them down was the number on the scale - and I hated my body all the more for it.  And that lead me to treat it worse.

At night, when I go to take a shower, I do a repeat of the morning's body check.  I stick out my belly to see how far it will go.  I get mad at my wrists and ankles and calves and shoulders and knees and thighs and cheeks for not having the decency to be small and feminine.

I'm not going to censor like I usually do and not post this.  Usually when I mention how I actually feel about my body, I am met with half-hearted attempts at telling me that I am actually beautiful and that I should own my body and that here's how I can be healthier and that my body is divine.  Sure, maybe all of those things are true.  But sometimes, its all I can do to not hate my body.  To simply just know that it is the way it is and not be mad at it.

Quiet

Things have been awfully quiet around this blog.  I've been busy with studying for finals, taking said finals and writing a paper and then going home.

Oh, and then once I got home for spring break, within hours I had convinced my oldest sister to drive down to California with her two little children to spring break with us. or really to spring break with me while the rest of the family had to continue with their normal people lives.  

I loved having Adri home.  We went to Disneyland, we lazily watched television, we went to the targets and the thrift stores, and we bugged our little brothers.  Meanwhile her children were fed candy after candy after candy and I chased them around like a madwoman because they are so stinking cute and they grow faster than dandelions in your front yard.  Also, I may be addicted to toaster strudel.  

I got really caught up in it all.  There was so so so much noise all the time.  It was glorious, it was like growing up in my parents house again.  I was actually left home alone for a couple of hours one day with only the zoo of animals we keep and my sleeping grandmother to keep me company and the quiet was absolutely deafening.  I actually got scared by that thing that we have in or house that sporadically sprays stuff that smells good.  You know you've seen the commercials.  

I have come to learn this week though, that when it comes to little kids (they are hardly babies anymore), all bets are off for me.  I mostly mean that I will do anything for those little suckers, but I also mean that I get sick really easily around them.  I think they expose me to about 17,846,921 new germs a day which I willingly absorb in the form of wet kisses and having my nose "eaten" until I beg for it back.  Which means that today, I am le sick.    (Also possibly to blame: Disneyland).  

I feel seriously sickly.  Like I am easily weak and my body feels achy and stiff and I keep getting the chills despite the fact that I have the space heater on and I keep wrapping myself in blankets.  Swallowing feels like shoving knives down my throat, and I think I have a fever.  My point in all this complaining is that whereas three days ago I wondered what I would do when left in the lonely quiet of my school-home, now I wish I could have that sort of quiet.  

My violin-practicing housemate had been subletting his place to a seriously quiet and sweet girl and now he is le back in all his violin-practicing glory.  Meanwhile, my neighbor to the back (slash his place goes directly over my bedroom) seems to be hosting some sort of boys night which involves what I'm assuming are video games making motorcycle noises on the tv that backs up to my bedroom, and jumping up in down every few minutes in the room that is above me.  What I wouldn't give to be trapped at home with only eight fairly silent animals to keep me company.  

This post is admittedly whiny, which I don't really like to do because whining is boring to read and I just feel worse after writing it.  But I will publish this anyway because it explains the quiet of my blog which has been going on and which I think will continue to go on for a few days while I try to recover while simultaneously starting a new term in school.  This quarter system really throws you through a loop every single time.  I am possibly more negative due to the fact that I have a sinus headache.  Yummers.  

This is the part where I should throw in some cutesy photos of my week to make this end on a positive note.  Sadly I did not take any.  Weird.  

Instead, please to enjoy:

Blake Griffin at the Beach

Aladdin's Mysterious Lack of Nipples

A Photo of one of Upland High School's parking lots as found in a Google Images Search?

Yeah.

Cyclical Theory

History repeats itself.

You've heard this too, right?  I've never really been a believer.  Until five days ago.  When I realized I was reliving last winter.  

On Sunday I broke my computer screen.  Yep, yep, you heard me right.  Broken, smokin'.  And this time I am too cheap to fix it, especially when Betty probably only has like 8 months of life left in her.  So, what do you do?  You ask the internet to provide you with an old school computer monitor that you can hook up to your laptop so that she is still functional.  

The same thing happened a year ago (for those of you not in the know about these sorts of things) and it got me to thinking that there is something that I am probably supposed to learn from the set of conditions that I am currently in.  Because things look a lot like they did a year ago.  Namely, school is frustrating and sometimes altogether uninteresting, I feel like I spend all too much time alone and wishing I were at the beach, and I am riding the struggle bus in trying to secure a summer internship for this summer.  

So what is it?  Why am I going through all these things twice?  I am a firm believer in the fact that all things happen for a reason.  All things will work together for my good, if you will.  So what is this good?  

Well I will tell you one.  The computer, she is largely bad for me.  In the day and a half that I didn't have a working computer, I was so productive and so happy.  There is something not good about having a large amount of your interactions with a screen.  Even if there are people behind them.  I mean, to a point it is good, but it shouldn't be the main dish.  

Second, I am supposed to learn to not eat my feelings.  Which I am doing a terrible job of.  Every time I am bored or tired or stressed or (insert emotion here), it makes me want to eat a bagel with cream cheese and raspberries and a tad of powdered sugar.  (P.s. that is possibly my new favorite treat ever - except that nothing can top orange juice).
Also, I am probably supposed to learn that happiness is a choice.  Which is also something I am still struggling with.  I mean part of growing up is realizing that a good grade or a new toy (or item of clothing) isn't going to make you happy.  YOU are going to make you happy.  So if I'm supposed to be making myself happy, am I doing my job?  I've been trying to think more about that lately.  And to remind myself that I've actually got it pretty good.

Dudes, I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Hugh Jackman is entirely too attractive for his wife.

She just looks so .... old.

January 31st, 2012

Wake up at 6 AM.
A headache.  5 hours of crappy sleep.  I have this problem where I know I have to wake up early, and so it's harder for me to fall asleep.

I copy out my cheat sheet for my first midterm of 2012.  I read through the book.  I search for the tiny details that we didn't talk about that they will be evil enough to bring up.  I wonder if they enjoy it.  I assume that my professor does.  I remember, "Seriously, don't email me, email the head TA."

Cereal is a real meal if you add vitamins. And cue the spilling of 2/3 a can of enchilada sauce onto the wood floor.  Somehow the 10 second rule doesn't apply?  Something else go wrong, please?  I just need a little adversity today.

Decide I'm late.  Drive to school.  I pay for parking and head to my P.O. Box.  Good news hopefully?  Nope, tax forms and that fix-it ticket was not properly documented.  Another 1.5 months to fix the fix-it.

Developing chemicals.  My hands smell slightly of science and eggs.  Holy cow, I am bad at this and these pictures are ugly.  And boring.  Why would I take so many photos of a matchbox?  The ones with flame are kitschy and the ones without flames are good for putting you to sleep.  Sounds like an A+ to me.

Lunch break.  It's almost the moment of truth, but let's not think about that just yet.

Cold enchiladas.  Lunch of cham - just kidding.  Lunch of students.  But I make food like Mexicans.  I get another Mexican point because of how dang delicious these leftovers are.

Test time.  Yuck.  Oh wait, cute guy is sitting next to me.  You are seriously huge.  6' 5" and 245 if I had to guess.  And you look like a big stupid jerk.  But somehow you are suuuuper cute.

Sarcastic joke about how you live for test-taking?  Asking me how ready I feel for the test?  I think I'm in love.  You actually listened to my answer?  Well, maybe if we go out, one good thing will come out of this test.  Oh wait, we didn't even exchange names.  Except I learned that your name is Tyler.  I am le creepy.  You have got to be on the football team.  And you're in my hardest class, so you must be smart.

Oh good, everyone else thought this test was torture.  There's no way I could have been properly prepared for that.  I never want to take another test.

Oh wait, there's two more "midterms".

Two more prints, and you're done with photo for the day. This is definitely a "fake it til you make it" class.  Oh wait, am I done?  I'm totally donezo.  Printing is better than taking photos.  because you can make a boring photo look good without actually having artistic talent.

This yogurt has been in my backpack all day.  It's a little too warm, but it is delicious.  Is it gross to drink the yogurt juice?  Too late.  It's all gone.  Oh my french vanilla.

The hard part of my day is over, which is saying something because I haven't gone to kickboxing yet.  Change and go!  I am angrier than usual.  Hard kicks.  Punching with my abs.  I think I'm mad at today.  Yes, that's what it is.  I still have some fight left in me, Tuesday.  You can't take it from me.

Dinner!!!!  I love food.  Food is the answer to a day like today.  That's emotionally dependent eating.  Oh wait, I am emotional eating.  But a little OJ can't hurt.

And one last thing.  Photography.  Everyone's photos are so much better than mine.  But somehow the prof makes me feel good about my photos.  He's good.  That workout was tough.  I can still feel it when I take really deep breaths, or am I just nervous?  Because no one has chosen my photos to talk about, and what if no one does.  Burning the corners was good?  I just felt like the edges were boring.  Thanks dudes!  Your photo was cool too.

Now I am done.  Wait, what?  Euphoria?  Yes, please.  Smile the whole drive home.  I love those endorphins.  And the roommate baked fresh bread.  And the jam is delicious?  Yummers.  No seriously, this is the best smell there is.  EVER.

Laze about for half an hour.  Reflect.  All's well that ends well?

Yes please:

My face reflects that.

Naked Gymnasts (of the male variety)

I can tell I already have your attention.  Admit it, I'm right.

So here's the thing.  Nakedness makes me pretty uncomfortable.  Not my own body.  I'm fine with that.  I know what it looks like and I'm not particularly embarrassed by it.  It is what it is.  But I do noooot particularly feel comfortable looking at other peoples bodies. That's their business, and when someone is a complete stranger, I would rather not see that much of them.  

But I rented this locker, right?  So that I wold better be able to keep my resolution that was about moving.  So that I could have a place to put gym clothes and to shower so that I could go throughout the rest of my day without either smelling bad or going all the way home just to come back.  

Except that the building that my locker is in is called the Ford Center.  Which is used by exactly three sports groups.  1.  the crew teams - both male and female.  2. the volleyball players (I haven't seen any of the volleyball boys there) and 3.  the gymnasts.  

And all of these groups wear not very many clothes.  The volleyball players are actually the most dressed.  They wear those little spandex shorts, but they wear full on shirts!  The crew teams (who if you are not an east coaster, are the groups of people who row boats together in races) wear those little spandex shorts and either nothing or sports bras, depending on gender.  

And the male gymnasts!  They are the worst!  They wear those leotards kinda like wrestlers do - and they are suuuuuuper tight.  Except it doesn't stop there.  They roll them down to below their hip bones so that they aren't wearing shirts.  And then, they stand in groups all along my walk through the center and into the girls' locker room.  

But here's the thing, what are you supposed to do in this situation?  Obviously, you can't just stare at the practically naked bodies (really - they are leaving about half a square foot of their bodies to the imagination).  But also I feel like it is equally rude and weird to be blatantly looking away - like I'm saying I DON'T WANT TO LOOK AT THAT (even though I don't want to look at that).  So everyday as I walk into the building, I pick a spot on the back wall  in the direction of the lockers and I only stare at that spot.  

It's probably just as awkward as staring at their bodies, or at my feet, but this way, I don't run into any of the machines or anyone.


Anyhooozzle:

A photo of yours truly, because I used to do that more often and people are saying that I'm starting to get soft.  Ok, no one said it, but I like this picture of me and my super messy place.  Such is college, right?

Wax On, Wax Off

The following story might seem like I am trying to induce sympathy, but in reality, I just like telling someone my stories.  Because I am a chronic over-sharer.

Yesterday, I got out the wax. You know, the kind where you remove unwanted hair.  Well, having forgot that our microwave had just minutes before had been an oven (and was still sort of hot), I went about nuking my wax in order to get it hot.  And then I grabbed it by the handle and carried it to the bathroom.  And then when I went to open it in the bathroom, it was explosively hot.  And I can accurately use this word because the wax exploded over my left hand and half my bathroom.  As soon as it was on my hand I wanted to get it off, but I knew touching it would only burn my other hand, so I just shook my hand, confused and in pain.  After about 10 seconds, my hand simply went numb and then I was able to think, and I ran it under cold water.

The orange-y stuff is wax.  The pink stuff is my skin.

I knew I had three things to do, listed in order of importance that they struck me at the time.
1)  Clean the bathroom.
It was halfway covered in wax and I kept stepping in it, slowly accumulating a waxy, tangly wig on the bottom of my foot.  So appetizing.
2)  I had to get all the wax off of my body.
Which mostly included my foot, and also my non-pain hand which had somehow also acquired a significant amount of wax.
3)  Heal my hand, make sure I didn't get it infected.

For about forty-five minutes, I took a fork and scraped the wax off of every linoleum surface in my bathroom.  About every 12 seconds, I would remember my pain-hand which would then scream at me until I doused it in cold water, which gave the most instant, gratifying relief I have ever felt.

After getting extremely frustrated that I was not going to be able to get all the wax out of my bathroom before my roommate got home (Did I mention I was home alone during all of this?), I decided I should at least try and get myself cleaned up.  My clothes also had some wax, so I carefully took them off and got in the shower.
It seemed like such a smart idea at the time, but as soon as I got into the shower I realized all I had done was make it so that either my hand hurt incredibly in the warm water, or that my body revolted in disgust from the cold water.  Oh and now the shower was all sticky.  Like seriously.  So I got out, and immediately started scrubbing the tub, which didn't work.  But my feet were pretty clear of wax, so I figured now was a good time to try and clean the floor again.  Which also didn't work.

Frustrated, and remembering that I was still naked from my shower, I decided clothes might be good.  And holy crap, my hand hurt!  But I couldn't even put anything on it because it was still covered in wax.  Literally, some parts of it were about a quarter inch thick.
Oh the pickle I was in.  Pain, mess, stickyness, inability to touch anything without increasing the mess.

Finally, I thought, I should just take care of my hand.  And so I got a mixing bowl, and filled it with water and half of our ice supply.  And left my hand in it for about two hours until it felt like it was going to fall off while I called my mom, realized she couldn't come help me, and watched the Incredibles.  And cried.  In all of this, I didn't cry until I realized that no one could come fix it for me and that my hand would hurt and my bathroom would be sticky for a couple of days.

At this point, I considered going to the hospital, because oh yeah did I not mention the part where I took my ring off and some wax and skin came off with it?  But then I realized no health insurance plus no money equals no bueno.  And I took about a billion drugs, and explained it all to my roommate when she came home, and took a second shower (which actually helped clean up the shower because the hot water melted the wax off) and decided to go to sleep.

And every 1-2 hours as I slept I would get woken up by the feeling that my hand was on fire.  So I got new paper towels and new ice cubes and thank goodness my roommate brought an ice pack to college.  But it was the crappiest sleep I've ever had.  I practically OD'd on ibuprofen, but I survived the night, decided today was a sick day, and have since done most of the homework I was supposed to do last night.

Oh, also, apparently half a bottle of baby oil will get wax off of your hand, but not off your linoleum floor.  I still don't know hat gets wax off of your linoleum floor.

Oh and my hand is totally fine today.  It's just like I burnt it on a curling iron or something.

Ugh A Bug A Boo.

Sometimes the title of my post has almost nothing to do with the content of the post except that when I think about the feel that I want for the post, a random something pops in my head and most of the time I just type that in.
The thing that popped into my head first was the ugh (you will see why in a minute, gosh have some patience, internet reader!), but then I didn't want it to be a whiny post so I added the rest so it sounds more whimsical (Did it have the desired effect?).

All stupidness aside, I am saying ugh because I am apartment hunting!  And I have never done that before.  It goes a little something like this:

Landlords:  Who are your references?

Me: Ummm.... My parents?  Please take pity on me because I am a starving college student.... please?

And I start school in a month and a week.  So hopefully I find somewhere to live.  .... please?


But speaking of me moving soon, I am trying to get my Southern California on before I leave.  Which means eating fresh fruit:

Watching the Project Runway with family:

That blurry woman on the television is Nina Garcia.  In my opinion, the toughest judge of the show.  Although her personal style is a little boring.  Where's the color?  Where's the prints?  Where's the jewelry that is larger than a human ear?

I'm also planing a beach trip, going to the taping of a Hollywood show, and I'm doing lots of tanning and reading in the near future.  Like LOTS of it.  Did you know you can do a lot of tanning and reading in Southern California?

Summertime and the living is easy.... for now.

Give me an apartment please?

Driving Back to Stanford (aka BAD)

I went home for Memorial Day Weekend and in general, fun was had.  But that is a future post.  Today's post is on the drive back to Leland Stanford Junior University. (No it is not a junior university, it is just named after Leland Stanford Junior, thank you very much).

OK well first off, I hate this drive.  The drive from the LA area to Stanford is probably the only thing that I regularly do that I absolutely hate.  Well, I also hate exercising, but sometimes I kind of like it too.  This drive just sucks.

I have made that drive in the dead of night almost every time I've done it.  I have made that drive while trying to suppress the urge to throw up.  I have made that drive 11 times now, and 9 of those I was completely alone.  All of those in the last 9 months.  And more than once on that drive, I have shed tears and vowed never to drive ever again.  It is a cursed drive, I promise.

6 hours.  6 hours alone is enough to make me act a little bit crazy, but 6 hours driving is just really taxing on my soul.  But of course at the end of Memorial Day Weekend, the drive didn't take just 6 hours, it tool an entire 8 hours.  8 HOURS!!  Oh my goodness, the bad state of mind that I was into by the time I had finished the drive.

Right after the Grapevine (it's a real city, but you better believe my family makes jokes about things they heard in that area at every possible opportunity), there was an accident on the 5 which was actually cleared by the time I got there.  But because the accident occurred about 10 miles before a construction site, I was in stop and go traffic on a highway (with a speed limit of 70 mph, mind you) for one and a half hours.

Actually, this part wasn't that bad.  I spent the first half of the time being Ms. Grumpy-Car (my last name is Grumpy, and my husband's is car, but I'm sort of a feminist so I go with the hyphen), but then I decided that was stupid.  And since I discovered three cd's that I had forgotten about in Lolita (my car, who is now clean inside and kind of on the outside too), I decided it was time for a one-girl jam sesh.  Three minutes into that, a car full of 17-yr-old boys was next to me and decided I was hilarious.  So they started trying to attract my attention.  Which ended up with a few cat calls and kissy faces in my direction.  Which, you know, I will always take the ego boost.
But their mistake was to encourage me.  Because after they were safely out of sight, I decided to up the ante. There was like choreography and attitude in my ogjs (one-girl jam sesh, duh).  So I'm just doing my own thing and appreciating the fact that I can enjoy myself even when I am stuck in a billion (and I mean a billionnnn) traffic.  Then I realized the truck full of guys probably 5-10 years older than me on my left was taping me using their iphone.  Somewhere, there is probably a youtube video of my dance moves and insane vocal stylings titled something like "Girl stuck in traffic sings and dances in car"  or something else creative like that. When I saw them I was overcome with a fit of the giggles, which of course started the whole truck of guys in laughing.   At least I improved someone's traffic experience.

So yeah, traffic.  But as the hours wore on, my positive attitude was replaced with tiredness and loneliness (when did I turn into one of those girls who hates to be alone so much?) and the Dr. Pepper I had gotten at the gas station was almost all sparkling water and not very much of the syrup that makes it DP.  And I got sooo emotional.  It all just took it's toll.  I realized around 10 pm that normally I would be back at Le Stanford in my cozy bed by then and then around that time I came upon the second accident of the drive.

And it was a gnarly accident.  I'm pretty sure someone died based on the wreckage I saw, although I'm pretty sure I got there before the authorities did.  But I was so sucked dry from the drive, that I just started crying.  Like uncontrollably.  Ok, it was in control because I was still good to drive, but I just hated everything about that moment.  I don't really like crying, or most definitely admitting to crying, but it was just too much.  Then Green Eyes came on in my car and it made me feel sad in a good way and I listened to it about a billion thousand times.  Literally, 25 or more times.

Sorry for a long, wordy, complainy post, but you didn't have to read it if you didn't want to.  But there is hope.  Today is a new day, I am alive, and Lolita and I made it back to the Stans.

But I do have to make the drive one more time in then next 1.5 weeks, sooo.  If I have some sort of emotional breakdown around then, you'll know why.

Mwergh.

You know how I said that occasionally I have been known to flirt a little bit in order to get something from something from someone?  Well the opposite works too.  I don't quite mean flirtation, I just mean I can have pretty good customer service sometimes.

On Saturday I volunteered at a TED event.  TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, and Design.  It's basically a conference full of speakers who are pretty good who talk about "ideas worth spreading."  I hear about TED talks all the time at schoolio.  People think they're really cool.  At some events tickets are $6,000, but at the one I worked at they were only about $200.

Anywho, the TED event was pretty good for me because I am good at smiling and answering questions.  Everyone was really easy to work with and it was great.
Mostly.

It bugs me when people think they are entitled to things.  Or think that they are more important than other people.  Ok, story time.

Because I worked at the event, I got to hear all of the speakers (until I decided I was exhausted and just ditched the whole thing three hours 4 hours before it ended - but in my defense I had already been there for 7 hours with only a 15 minute break for lunch).  But they were really cool talks so I had been taking little notes on my program.

After lunch, when the next session was starting, a few people had lost their programs and asked if they could have mine.  I told them where they could find more and people were generally ok with that.  One lady just wouldn't take no as an answer.  She asked for mine and I told her where she could find others and she still just wanted mine.  So I told her I had taken notes in it and she just said thanks and stuck out her hand.

WHAT THE HECK??  Just because I was wearing a red staff shirt and she had paid money for her ticket does not mean that she can take anything she wants from me.  What's next, does she want the jewelry I was wearing?

I don't know why this bugged me so much, but it really did.  Am I crazy?  I know it was my job for the day to help people, but I wasn't about to carry them to their seats or anything.  I'm probably overreacting, but it really got under my skin.  It made me not want to help people for the rest of the day.

I ended up giving her my program.  But I also flashed her a look that was both a smile and a dirty look at the same time.  I don't think I've ever really done that before and meant it.

And then, just so that there's a picture in this post:

A (crappy) picture of a dancer from Stanford's PowWow a couple of weekends ago.  

Getting in touch with my roots, yo.  

My sick-bed

I thought this was some biblical phrase.  But it turns out in only appears in the Book of Mormon.

But still, you can picture it in Biblical times.  Someone gets sick and so they lay them in bed and try not to catch whatever the sick person has.  Well I was sick this weekend, and let me tell you I can picture just fine.

My sick-bed involved about 30 hours of me leaving my sick-bed only to shower and eat and go to the bathroom. Social interactions are really for losers anyway.  And by losers I mean healthy people who enjoy their lives.  It also involved every pillow I own, pajamas, about a billion tissues, and my computer.  Oh and little cups of super hot water with honey in them that I would steal from the cafeteria at school.  Don't worry, these are the to-go cups that are meant to be stolen.

On Saturday at about 5, I came back from a very fun day in San Francisco exhausted and all sick-y feeling.  So when I couldn't fall asleep I spent all of my time instead watching movies.  Here's what helped me to feel better.
A little Hugh Jackman:

but seriously folks, they don't even airbrush this man because he is THAT GOOD LOOKING.  He is my celebrity crush of all celebrity crushes.  Too bad he has a wife.  No really, it's too bad.  

And also what helped me feel better was a little of the modern rat pack.  That's right, we're talking Ocean's 11:

And really, Matt Damon had to get his own picture for this one because in my mind he steals the show in this movie.  I just want to give hum a hug and tell him that he's just as good as Brad Pitt and George Clooney at being a con-man.  

He makes such a good nerd.  

And by this point I had exhausted all of the eye candy on my computer.  So on Sunday, wanting to be more reverent anyways, I watched the Lion King, which did help me fall asleep.  And then later some General Conference to help me make up for not going to church all day.  

And even though I'm still not 100% and my nose hurts from all the nose-blowing that's been going on here in this tiny room, it's good to be talking to other humans again.  And not just watching them on my computer screen and pretending I were friends with all these gorgeous men.  Really, a man should not be more gorgeous than I am, but still I am not complaining.  

Oh my sick-bed.  You are the only perk of being sick.  

The Mature and Responsible Thing to Do

I've been thinking a lot about how my life is different now that I'm twenty (because it so totally is, and I'm not being sarcastic).  No, but f'reals, I feel a lot lately like I'm supposed to make real people decisions and be in charge of all my schtuffs.  What ever happened to safety nets?

But also I'm twenty.  Isn't that when people go out and do crazy things and learn about random new skills and meet people who change their lives and are just a tad irresponsible?
Apparently not at Stanford.  Everyone here is too busy changing the world and securing their summer internships with the Dalai Lama or McKinsey Consulting.  But I don't really like that.  It drives me a little bit crazy.  I've always been a bit of an over-planner, but I feel myself pulling back from planning every facet of my life and more and more just going with the flow.

And so Wednesday I was feeling blue.

Call it post-birthday slump, call it being hormonal, call it whatever, I was just a little down.

So being the twenty-year-old that I am, I took the high road on this one.  Meaning I bought a bunch of orange juice, skipped work for the day, and laid in bed and watched The Incredibles. Yes, I am quite the responsible adult.

Stupid life responsibilities and the way they make it impossible for me to travel my way into a bajillion debt without worrying about how I would sustain myself.  Maybe realizing I have to be responsible is enough for this year round, right?

Hold that thought. I'm off to send a billion emails to professors and write a couple cover letters and then practice climbing up the walls in my hallway.  Oh and I had cereal for dinner today.

Remember Free Time?

Yeah those were the days.

The days before I went to bed at 1 am and woke up at 7:30 to finish homework.  The days before I spent about an hour and a half just walking around campus to all the places I went.  The days before I had three midterms within a week and a half of each other and I skipped meals just to study or finish homework.  The days before I gained stress-weight all the time.

I spent a lot of time today remembering those days.  They were good to me.  I can almost remember the way it felt to sit in one spot for so long that my butt actually hurt.  The way it felt to spend more than 15 minutes a day with any of my friends.

And then, of course, I felt the drop in mood that happens when you ponder how easy life used to be.  Because no matter how well things are going now, it always seems that things were easier to handle if they happened a long time ago.  And now always seems to suck.

And then I saw my first-ever pregnant student at Stanford.  Well at least she looked pregnant, and she looked like a student.  (I know, all you BYU students are wondering how it took me soooo long to see a pregnant student.  It like never happens here.)  At first I was jealous of her.  Because she probably has a nice husband named James or something.  And probably when she gets home (at like 5, not 9)  she and James eat together and ask each other about their days and tell stories about the funny things they saw walking around campus.  And maybe she mostly just has reading and she gets to relax when she gets home and put her feet on a table and drink a glass of orange juice and read something for her sociology class.

But then I thought wait a minute, it would suck if I were pregnant.  Like going to school where random almost-20-year-old-girls stare at me like I'm some freak and I have to walk everywhere with swollen ankles and an extra 40 pounds on my body, and it is frickin hot for February and I'm sweating everywhere and none of my clothes fit me right and I have no money, but in two months James and I have to figure out a way to pay for the two of us in school and baby.

So even though I'm busy and I'm a little bit tired of school right now, at least I'm not pregnant.  

Which is why they call me an optimist.


Oh, and bear with me through these formatting experiments.

Some Reasons I am not Angsty Right Now

Even though I have been angsty a lot lately.  (But that's all changing)

• The wonderful Kelsey had a birthday on Thursday.  I love her so much, and it was sooo fun to celebrate with her.  Pic:

• The weather.  Did you know that I suffer from SAD?  It's Seasonal Affective Disorder, and it means that I get depressed in the winter time.  Yes, I am a California girl wuss.  But this is keeping my body from realizing that it's winter right now.  Thank you California.  
• Blogging got me a job!  Well ... Kinda.  Blogging and my superior people skills.  Like making jokes in interviews.  No but f'real, the people at the Stanford Alumni Association wanted someone who was adept with social media and it's marketing uses.  AKA, I uses the interweb and I gotz me a job.  
• I'm taking an Ebonics class.  Which is incredibly interesting to study, and which makes for great conversation.  I come back with interesting facts and phrases all the time.  This is a book I use to study, along with another picture which I don't find offensive in the least bit:

• It's February.  Meaning my birthday is coming up.  Also meaning this is week 5 of the quarter.  Also meaning I'm taking a girlfriend's road trip to LA soon.  Meaning it's practically March, and then I get to go travel the east coast.  
• I decided I don't like being stressed.  And I decided I'm just going to work really hard and then not set any grade requirements for myself.  So if I work my bee-hind off this whole quarter and get C's in all of my classes, it will suck, but I will be okay with it (eventually).  So whatevs
• I finally blogged for TUSB, which I have been meaning to do for literally 2 weeks.  
• Also, I remembered not to take life so seriously.  Like is it really the end of the world if I don't get a really legit job this summer and I end up doing office work again.  And I decided that if I'm not having fun in my music theory class then that's stupid, because I love music a lot.  And that should apply to everything basically.  
• Also, I discovered good music.  Like Mumford and Sons and Brandi Carlile and Rod Stewart (mostly joking there), and Bon Iver.

So I'm happy.  And I'm fixin to stay that way.  

Stage Fright

I thought this picture was really funny.  But anyways....

Today I had to give a presentation in my Spanish class and it didn't go so well.  In hindsight, I probably didn't have enough information, although I did practice it a few times and found that it took the whole ten minutes.  My problem is that I don't have a stage presence.  I always feel like people are bored when I'm talking.  Like no matter what I say they aren't going to want to pay attention.  So then I start talking faster and faster so that they don't have to listen to me for very long, but then I blow through everything I wanted to say in half the time that I wanted to say it in.

I actually don't get that nervous when things are scripted or if it's musical.  My senior year of high school I played Queen Elizabeth in this giant choir production.  I had to sing a few solos and I had to recite lines for about a quarter of the whole production.  I looked like this:

I was not even that nervous for it.  Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but I don't know.  That was definitely the biggest public performance I've ever done (or probably ever will do), and I wasn't bad.

My sister Camille is one of those people who feels completely comfortable talking in front of large groups of people, even if it's just spur of the moment.  At least that's what she makes it seem like.

She always seems so comfortable, and people really listen to her when she talks.

So what's the secret guys?  How do I keep people interested?  How do I command their attention?

And now it's time for a breakdown.  Not really, I just wanted to throw that in there.