Some Thoughts on Today

I've been exercising more often lately, which, to say I had been exercising with any degree of constancy would, by nature of how I am usually a lazy-girl, mean I am exercising more often.  I mention my exercising because I realize that I had forgotten about endorphin's, and how after I am done working out I want to do more and more things.  Like a surge of productivity, those endorphin's.

Also, I like the way that when I take off all my clothes after the exercising and before the showering, there are patches of skin across my body that are all splotchy and red and sweaty.  It is like a road map of blood flow, and I am the united states and my veins are interstate highways.  Don't credit it me for that one, because I'm pretty sure I got it from that one episode of the Magic School Bus where the bus shrinks and the class goes in that one dude's body. (Except that I actually think that was two episodes of the magic school bus.)

My brain does this thing when I am running, where it struggles to think about anything else besides how much I hate running.  I find that the longer I can get my brain to forget to think about it, the longer I can run before I want to walk.  Unrelated (but slightly), Jillian Michaels is such an enchanting she-devil.

Isn't the Summertime Grand?

I don't think they appreciate the summertime at my new job.  They are like deadlines, deadlines, work, training.  And I am listening, but not all the way, because in the months of June through, oh, mid-September, my brain is at least 20% thinking about sun-tans and beaches and books and not having any cares in the world at any moment.  I'd like to keep it that way, you know?


And the living is easy, my friends.

Sweet

My little brother just turned 16.  Coincidentally, on Saturday I wore the same shirt that I wore to my 16th birthday party.  It fits me the same now as it did then (it vaguely looks like a maternity shirt).

Thinking about my 16 year old self makes me mostly realize how much less I had to worry about, but at the same time, how I have probably about the same worry level now as I did then.  So probably in 5 years when I think about my college days I will wish that I had reveled in how little I had to worry about.

But 16 year old me knew what she wanted.
She wanted a Stanford education, and she wanted people to not think she was little or that nothing great would come from her.
21 year old me is all too indecisive
One day she thinks she wants this and the next day she thinks she wants another thing and the next day she is driving home because she wants to quit school and live at home now.  And then when the weekend is over she goes back to school and fails a couple midterms.  Well, in her head it felt like she failed.

This third-person thing is getting creepy.

That is all.

Long Overdue

It's been a while, my friends.

And back, by popular demand(not), is a post where all the little strings of my thread in my brain come together - not to become some sort of fabric or item of clothing, but a giant ball of knots that only Maniac Magee himself could untangle (side note:  that book is still awesome, and you should reread it as an adult, unless you are a child in which case, i wasn't aware children read my blog.  actually I wasn't aware much of anyone read my blog.  except wonderful people.  if you are still reading at this point, i can say with 100% surety that you are a wonderful person).

Yesterday I walked home around 1:00 pm and just about everything about the walk wanted to be blogged.  But they were all different things.

There was the way that when you tilt your face towards the sun and there is a gentle breeze and life seems perfect that you can let the world be perfect in that moment.  There are a lot of moments like that in life, where you just feel good and everything feels right.  They are the tender mercies that I've heard about.

Also, right after that happened, this guy gave me this look like what the crack in the jack are you wearing slash I think you might be from outer space slash your hair looks nice.  1-2 of those things might not have been communicated in his look.  Then I realized that most of the time, I am a spectacle.  Coral pants and shirt that can only be described as ugly, but in a cool way and sunglasses.  then I realized that what is a spectacle without spectators.  And I gained new-found respect for you, my dear blogger-dom. 

I was thinking about the spectacle/spectator relationship as I found an empty classroom last night and danced in it with complete fear that someone would walk in on me for about half an hour.  Then I doodled on the chalkboard for another half hour.  It was largely productive and largely unproductive simultaneously.  I took a picture before I erased it all:

Betsy the elephant is probably the best friend I've had for the longest in my life.  We're going on like 8 years of best-friendship now.  That's pretty significant.  And sad.

Also, yesterday I dropped a class. My photography class.  Because going to that class feels a little bit like standing naked in front of the person you like's parents/the casting agent for skinny-model-agency/Adam Levine.  (Sorry, I was just watching the voice.)  Which is to say that just because I have no talent or experience in photography doesn't mean that you should completely disregard all of my work and make me feel like a waste of time.  It's not actually that bad, but it isn't exactly the supportive environment I had hoped for.

You know what they say about how to get to Carnegie Hall though?  Practice.  By which I mean, I am not giving up on photography, I am just giving up on that class.  But also, I mean, I have already sung in Carnegie Hall in my life.  This is not a joke, that actually happened.  This is a picture of me right around the time of that performance:

This photo could have been taken anywhere, but will you believe me when I say it was backstage in Carnegie Hall? Also, at least one of those girls looks really pretty.  And usually I ask permission before I post photos of my friends on my blog, because it's on the internet, but this picture is already on the internet, so I didn't ask.  Sorry Britt!  Love you!

This is now nearing that point where I've said most of the things that I can remember that I wanted to say and now there is not much more of a point to writing.  That's kind of the definition of my blog though.  

Yeah, man.

A Few Things

"My feet hurt in heels sometimes and other things women talk about." - Liz Lemon

I've been feeling awfully girly lately.  Like 15 year old girl girly.

It's mostly because I have this recent obsession with painting my finger nails.  I by "recent obsession" i mean since about January, I've been painting my fingernails really weird colors every three or four days.  I have a veeeery pale pink, a grey-ish blue, a purple-ish brown, a tan-ish/skin color, and a mint green.  It's getting to be sort of neurotic of me.  The other day the oven was on while I was painting my nails but I was done making dinner so I opened the door and stuck my hands inside to make my nails dry faster.  In my defense, it was our toaster oven, which really doesn't get that hot.  BUT, I have finally quit my habit of biting my fingernails.  This is a habit that started when I was about 9.

This is me making a terribly weird face RIGHT NOW

In other news, I was trying to describe to someone why living off-campus is AWESOME, and I couldn't put it to words.  Then yesterday I accidentally said it after a long day (we're talking 8 straight hours) of being in the photo lab on campus.  I was packing up to leave and telling a friend:

I'm going to go home and eat toaster strudel and take a bath.

I couldn't do wither of those things if I lived on Stanford campus.  Because they have no baths (only showers) and no one ever buys/makes food.  I feel like even most students who live in apartment style housing still don't do it.

Speaking of photography, I had the final for that class tonight, which mainly included each person having a turn at showing 20+ photos from throughout the quarter.  And then the whole class looking at them.  It's awfully exciting.  Even though the work is done, there's a flutter of nervousness and the validation that comes from others telling you that they cannot stop staring at one of your prints.  Or from your professor telling you that something you made is different from what anyone else could have made by looking at the scene and that he really enjoys your point of view.

I plan to take more photo classes throughout my Stanford career.  And my life.  I'm thinking I might take some digital, but I really don't know how to work photoshop, I only understand the dark room.  I have some prins I am very much proud of though.  And I will have four photos be up on campus for the world of Stanford to see.  I hope my Mom doesn't mind that she's in one.  And also one is of Marcus' feet while he's getting ready for church.  Everyone said it looked like an old man.  Another is the crock pot on top of my fridge in my tiny place here at school and the last one - get THIS - will be my own feet.
Isn't that just crazy? I hate my feet a lot.  But one day it was raining and they were filthy and I got home and wanted to wash them and I took off my pants and stepped into the tub and the water around the drain and the dirt all over my feet was just too much for me not to take the picture.  It's one of my favorites, but I feel oddly weird having people see it all the time.  Like it is too personal to share.

I'm putting finals week as the blame for why this post sort of jumps from one segment to the next without connection but without enough lack of connection for it to be purposeful.  It stifles my creativity in all the bad ways.

Lastly, the Hunger Games is coming out this weekend. YOU GUYS.  How many of my study breaks have been me watching the trailer.  One billion thousand, that's how many.  Please to enjoy it here.

Super lastly, my family has been rick rolling each other lately which is weird because my roommate has been telling me how she actually enjoys that song lately and I just wanted to promise that I will never rick roll you dears.  Because I figure reading this guy is punishment enough for whatever karmic retribution is headed your way.


And just because I can, another photo:

Sign me up for whatever this is. Just for the purple warm-ups.  

Friederich Nietzsche Once Said,

"We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once."

I'm not joking, he actually said that.

I've hit a trifecta:

1. I did Jillian Michael's "Killer Buns and Thighs" video yesterday on level 1, doing the modified versions of all the moves, and today I am the perfect level of sore.  You know, where you can feel the muscle's tenseness if you move just right, but it's not so bad that you avoid moving in that way.  It makes me want to dance around my apartment.
2. I ate crepes today.  Before church there was a little brunch for the women-folk and I got to both make and eat crepes.  It was yum-a-liscious.  And fresh berries are on my go-list.  Forever.  
3. I made a fool of myself in public today, only slightly intentionally.  We were talking about something or another in Sunday school and I decided to comment on making the choice between going for a run or reading my scriptures in the morning and then closed it off with, "which, I mean, I do neither of those things."  Which evoked more laughter than I would have expected.  But I felt embarrassed because I forgot that I do read my scriptures most days.  

Ok, what is this a trifecta for?

Umm, I don't really know.  Oh man, FAIL.

What I mean to say is erm...

Hmmmm...

Pretty tulips that were down the street?

No, I don't think that was it.  

Here we go!  What I mean to say is, it's my blog, and I'll say what I want to.  But that doesn't mean I just say every thought that goes through my head.  (I know, you are surprised).

I have this friend who is one of my few loyal readers that I am not related to and she doesn't like it when I talk smack about myself or, more accurately, when I apologize for being a bit much on my bloggy-poo.  But you know what, I don't do it for you(obviously).  I do it because I want to acknowledge that I'm aware of how weird/whiny/conceited I sound.  because really crazy people don't even know that they are crazy.  average-ly crazy people are generally knowledgeable about their schtuffs.   

Well...

Was that really it?  I think the pretty tulips might have been better as a point.  

Oh you know what is great?  Today my dad offered to give me money!  Isn't that the college student's dream.  And also, I definitely got some dancing in so today can't have been a complete waste.

Sorry, that might have been a bit scatter-brained.  

The Thinker

I've been overcome with hatred for my a couple of my classes lately, which is really bad.  I just have this huge gap between what I'm actually studying and my real life (or any jobs that could come about as a result of what I'm studying).  So I've been a little down on Stanford lately.  Why am I here again?  Why do I keep busting my butt when I end up getting the same grades regardless of effort and it allllll seeeeems soooooooo poiiiinnnnnntttttlllleeeeessssss?

(Whiny enough for ya?)

So, among all that, I decided I needed to get some good Stanford on for the first time in a little while.  So I went to the museum and I saw the Walker Evans exhibit.  In case you don't know (I didn't), Walker Evans is the photographer behind these beauties:

All of which I got to see in person.  I was staring and staring and staring, and it was good for my soul.  And then I saw this quote and I knew I was in love.

"Stare.  It is the way to educate your eye, and more.  Stare, pry, listen, eavesdrop.  Die knowing something. You are not here long."

You are not here long?  Walker Evans, from the dead was speaking to me.  Do it!  Explore!  So explore I did, and as I turned a corner in our museum, I saw this little beauty.

Yes, that is the famous Rodin sculpture, "The Thinker".  I think it's one of 6 if I remember right.  Seriously, the museum at my school owns this and just got it back and I think I'm too cool to still go here?!?  Geeze Louise!  This guy really knows how to put a girl in perspective.

I wonder if Rodin had that in mind as he made this famous thinker.  To get me to thinking.  What am I thinking?  What is he thinking?  Am I overthinking this whole thing?

(Terrible joke-y enough for ya?)

But seriously, my school is awesome and full of splendor.  And I've been realizing that now is a great time to be.  I keep wanting to fast forward through the next year and a half and just be done studying and schooling and stressing and all that jazz.  But who doesn't look back at their college years with fondness?  I look back at my freshman year with fondness and it's only been a year and a half.

In five years, college will have been a blast.  I think.

Friday Night

Sometimes my life is just too cool not to share with the internets.  Like on Friday night when I

changed into pajamas
edited a paper for an hour
watched two episodes of Daria
considered editing a paper some more
got hungry
considered making some food
went to jack in the crack
ate a 99 cent chicken sandwich
ate an oreo shake
thought some more about editing that paper
decided I needed to update my ipod
acquired some music
danced around my apartment for half an hour
wished it was Christmas
spent 10 minutes editing that paper
decided I was done being productive for the evening
watched more episodes of Daria.(I'm afraid to admit to the number)

I mean, what a night, right?  Such is the life.  I take relaxation where I can get it in the final throes of the quarter.
(remember the show Daria from mtv? turns out it's still good)

I mean, if there is one thing that I don't shy away from on my bloggy-blog, it is making myself sound like a fictional character who could not really exist because real people have to not be as weird and incoherent and obsessed with dancing in the mirror as I am.  But that's what I love about you, blog-world of blog-readers that I sometimes pretend are imaginary people who laugh out loud and sometimes give standing ovations to my words, you don't judge me and you listen to me ramble.

Oh if I have a talent, it is the ability to raaaaamble.  Go on and on and on about things that aren't of much import at all.  I mean, why say something with just the facts in a concise way, when you could be saying something with all the opinions in a way that is a billion years longer (again, give or take one billion years)?

Did I ever tell you about the word I meant to invent?  I don't have a name for it, but the word means when something is an example of itself.  Like the paragraph that begins "Oh if I have a talent, it is the ability to raaaaaaamble."  That paragraph is an example of itself.

Dudes, it is good to be silly every once in a while.  Silly like you are dancing in a car by yourself.  Silly like people in commercials about snack foods or car insurance.  Silly like Draco Malfoy.  That kind of silly.  It's good for the soul, you know.  It's like eating a fresh baked cookie, but for your emotions.

This post needs to end before things get worse (as if that were possible).

And because I believe every post deserves a picture:

A gratuitous photo of me dancing in pajamas at approximately 11:43 PM on Friday night.

Oh, the Blogging

Talk about Bloggers block.

It turns out when you leave your house only for maybe 20 minutes a day, you find topics to blog about hard to come by.  So here is another installment of ......

"Make my Mundane Life Seem like Every Little Detail is Interesting."

This is where I (you guessed it!) try and make my boring life seem like a collection of cool little things.

And let me tell you, I'm not about to shy away from the story-within-a-story thing even though it is pretty much bad story-telling.  

Anyways, I have sensitive teeth.  Like when I poke fun at them they take it personally and give me the cold shoulder for a week (sorry, but I couldn't resiiiiiiist).  And when I mentioned this to my mom, she said she had some hippie toothpaste that I could use.  And by hippie toothpaste, I mean this:

I mean all natural ingredients?  I am not a pioneer walking across the nation here.  I have the technology.  I think my actual response to my mom was, "I'm no hippie!  I throw six-pack rings in gutters that drain to the ocean!"  Which is a lie, but also wait a minute, I am kind of a hippie with these things. Because (and I'm switching to story number two here)......

I haven't used shampoo in about two months.  Since I was at the Stan-ford.  There, I said it.  And you can't even judge me because my hair looks like this:

Make fun of me all you want for being all 13-year-old-myspace photo, but my hair looks goooood, darnit.  And also, didn't instagram make that cool again? Just sit there and let that one soak in.  Weird mirror and over-abundant conceit sold separately.  

I just use baking soda plus water to wash my hair and apple cider vinegar plus water for a finish.  It doesn't quite have a conditioning effect, but it helps smooth things a little.  And while we're on the subject of my hair and all it's fabulousity, did I mention my hair is magic?  I throw it in a bun for a few hours and it comes out looking like I curled it with a huge curling iron.  

The point of this tidbit is that I walk around the house looking like this:

Just about all day errr day I am sporting this look.  Muy sexi, I know.  

Which is why this look + makeup that is leftover from the day before + this van (parked all by its lone-some because there is no way in narcissism that I can park this sucker in a way that is within lines)

Should not equal me getting hit on, am I right?  But yet that is what happens when you drive your little brother to work at 330 pm still in your pajamas and looking like you got run over by the ugly van.  Isn't it always that way? 

I was all of my guard when they guy in the truck next to me wolf-whistled and then said, "Heeeeey" in that way that is flirting.  Not that he was cute or anything, but can you take these things seriously when not even your Mom would tell you you look good?  Which is just a figure of speech, because my Mom is very supportive.  She told me I looked good today.  

So did you get your fill of poor story-telling, typos, and hair-cissism yet?

Welcome to Weirdsville.

OK, let me begin by saying I don't know how Moms do it.  I've been sort of the next best thing to mom since Sunday to my two nephews (okay well maybe my mom has been more of a mom to them, but....) and let me tell you it is pretty much impossible to feel like a normal person and to be all child-rearing-y all the time.  Granted a 20 year old like myself probably doesn't have the patience required to simultaneously watch a 3 year old and a 18 month old (they are to the day, a year and a half apart - yikes).

The point of this whole thing was - holy free birth control!  If you're wondering what I won't be doing for at least another 4 years, it's having a baby.

The other day I was making these

and I was all dressed in a skirt and chasing after babies and also barefoot in the kitchen and I thought, "The picture of domesticity"

Mine did not turn out that pretty for the record.  They are cookie dough truffles from here.  Redonkulously easy to make and similarly delicious.

..

.....

Sorry I was drooling over the thought of eating cookie dough right now.

The real real point of this whole thing is that I have hardly left home in the last few days except to go to the gym.  Because, you know, the forced-surrogate-mom-hood.  Not that I don't enjoy it.  It's just that I've actually been around these guys since last Monday. as in still June.

Oh my tangents.  (to be read like "Oh my goodness" except well, you get it)

The gym.  Okay back to the real story.  On Dayday (let's call it that because I have no concept of days in this summer haze thing I am in), we had a massive break in our water line which caused us to turn our water off for several hours as we tried to locate and fix it.  Meanwhile, I, being smelly and in need of an excuse to get my rather rotund rear off the couch for something besides baby-chasing and eating, decided to go to the gym.

My parents got me gym membership for the summer (subtle, aren't they) and it is a nice gym and we had no shower and they have showers which are significantly better than the showers I used during my entire freshman year of college, so I took my own towel, shampoo, and razor to the gym.  Can you say classy?  (Also, can you say run-on?)

I used to make fun of people who showered and got like ready for the day in the gym before I went to college and lost my fear of showering in places in that are not my home (I realize that makes me sound ... bad but it's just that showers are weird stalls in dorms).  But then I became one of those people and now I think they are cool.  Isn't that how it goes?

Also, I'm still not as bad as the lady who spent two hours curling her hair in the gym locker room.

But I did blow dry my hair.  So not by much.


I hope no one (aka my parents) took offense to this post, but I meant it out of love?  And also no one reads this blog in my house (except me of course, because you have to make sure you don't sound like too much of a dweeb ..... dweeb?) so who cares.

Yeah, I'm going to call this one.

Sooooo......

In case you haven't noticed (and I totally don't mind if you haven't), I haven't blogged in a few weeks.  Which is pretty uncharacteristic for me.  I try to get in a few a week.

It's been weird.  I moved home and I didn't freak out on the drive home.  And I've spent my days since I got home being laaaaazy and sitting around on my butt and wishing one of the billion places I applied at would want to hire me.

Oh and also I've been working out like a fiend.
Seriously, a lot of work out DVDs and gym classes have been going on since I got home.  Hopefully this will be a healthy summer for me (except that I have a cold right now).

This post is none of the things that I want it to be.  Which seems to be a recurring problem for me and part of the reason that I can't seem to get back on this blogging bandwagon.

I put a lot of myself onto this silly little blog.  I'm working on a letter to the room I lived in for the last about 9 months, and it is weird because there are so many things that I can't get them all right.

But I've been home for officially over two weeks and I think it's time for my laziness to be over.  Which is terribly easier to say than to do because I have no routine and so I end up just watching a billion television.  And now that it's a real television in a real house, it's not like I can just block TV from my computer.  I have to have real self-control.  What the heck is that?

The shortness of these paragraphs attests to my ADD and the fact that I don't really remember how to write a good blog post.  (Have I ever written a good blog post - maybe like 4 times max).

I don't know.  I may or may not currently be in a mood that I can't seem to sleep my way out of and I may or may not be using blogging as a way to get out of said mood.  But the point is, I had big plans for this summer and I'm not going to let myself sit here and waste my life away in probably the last time I will ever get a  "summer vacation" (in the way that I know it) in my life (unless I grow up to teach) (why would I say that?  do I want to grow up to teach?).

So, about 83,451,465,739 tangents later I'm going to go ahead and call this blog post a day and try and move on with my whiny pathetic life.  I mean my awesome, adventurous life.  Or something.

Ya digg?

A Few Odds and Ends

I'm supposed to be finishing packing my room, which for me simply means throwing all of the random schtuffs in my room into plastic bins and then eventually into the back of my car.  While listening to a billion musics.

Also, this guy:

One of my favorite parts about blogging is that I'll be going across my day as regular and then something will hit me and I will just know that I want to blog about it.  The reason why that is awesome is because I start looking for things that are cool and funny and then when little things happen, I'm in a good mood planning the post.  

This guy hit me.  He is like my childhood.  From the Saved by the Bell vibe going on to the faint memory of childhood pizza parties, I just really wanted to post a picture of him.  I can't even quite describe it, but the cup made me happy.  

Another random little tidbit:

The other day I was walking across campus in the morning and there was hardly anyone around because there weren't classes that day so who in their right mind would walk around in the morning?  Plus it felt earlier because of the doom and gloom that is the weather we're having up here. 

That whole paragraph is not related to the story hardly.  

Anyways, I'm walking along and then suddenly I drop my cell phone, and I'm upset so I say, "Oh Fiddlesticks!"  and this man who is like the only other person awake in the Stanford morning is about ten feet away from me and he just stops and is looking down and laughing at my reaction. But not aloud.  Just kind of thinking about how absurd my reaction was.

I felt like I brought something unexpected to his day, but also, I don't know this man, so how can I say if he was laughing at my quirk or just at me?  I guess I should just give him the B.O.D.

And lastly:

A woman with full hands asked me to help her open a door that I was sitting sort of close to the other day.  Except that you needed an ID card to open the door and mine didn't work for that dorm.  And hers was in her back pocket of her jeans.  I said I would carry all her stuff for her, but instead she just asked me to get it out of her jeans.  

I think I was hit on. But she wasn't even college-student aged.  She appeared to be in her late 20s or early 30s.  

It was just weird.  

Well, I started with and odd and ended with an end so....

(to go with the cheese, of course)

The Only Thing

I don't like about this shirt is that it implies that I am only 50% awesome.

Oh and that it's actually my little brother's shirt.  But Marcus and I can share like ALL of our clothes.  It's kind of magic.

And isn't it really hard to blog without blogger?

I mean, I know that my brain is still here and that my computer is still here, but I have like 3 drafts of posts that basically have like a sentence each in them that are supposed to get me started.  And I kept thinking of things and then flipping to blogger and being completely unable to write them down in an easy way (never mind the fact that I could have typed them up somewhere else or used a paper and pen).  So blogger, I say to you: Booooooo. 

Which reminds me.  Someone in the google family has a similar sense of humor to the one that I have.  Hence this little gem:

Oh google chrome, I knew we were soul mates.  Every time things suck, I too say Boo. Also, can you even read that?  It says boo

OK, so let’s witty-gritty.  It’s like the nitty-gritty except it’s the part where I try to be witty.  Which is not to say that I succeed very often.  I would say about 80% of the time I end up thinking I posted is like when someone changes their facebook status to show that they bought a gallon of ice cream at Albertson’s – does anyone really care?

But that’s the whole point of this post.  The point is that blogs are such a weird concept.  I basically share a little piece of my world with some shapeless audience and pretend that you all are hanging on my every word (But aren’t you though?).  And you in turn decide to read it all, personal information and all, even if you don’t know me very well.  I know because I do it.  I read blogs of strangers.  They are (for the most part) somewhat famous on the internetz for the blogging skills, so it’s not that weird, but still, it’s pretty weird.  I know intimate details of the lives of women who live in New York, DC, Provo, and Arizona.  I have never met these women.  But I know the nicknames that they have for their husbands and a lot of the things that make them laugh.  Creepy?  In some ways yes, and in some ways it is actually quite awesome.  I feel connected with these women and I like it. 

I was trying to put into words why I blog recently because I was supposed to get other students to be interested in blogging at an activity fair at my school.  The thing is, I don’t even really like writing.  I think I like attention.  I like telling stories.  I like being able to put into words the new beliefs and ideas that I get about my life.  I try to do it often, because I think it makes my brain work better.  To have an entire infinity of people to bounce ideas off of. 

I also try not to do things that are easy.  Because most of the time I bore myself writing them.  Like posts that are like OMG listen to my cool cool life.  Or lists.  At the start of this blog I did a lot of lists because they were easy.  But not in a while.  They’re easy to write but boring to read.    Stories are better.  But since I suck at those, quips and anecdotes do.  And mostly I try to do things where my personality comes through.  So that I don’t sound like my life is perfect or that the things that I think are funny are actually the funniest things in the world (but f’reals, that spinach joke was hilarious ….. to me) or really anything where I come off as the awesomest (unless it is a reference to how I am the awesomest at life, because well, the obvious reason).  But at the same time, a blog is soooo narcissistic. 

I don’t know.  This post is already too long, but I can’t really tell because I wrote it in a word document instead of in blogger.  And I also don’t really know what I’m getting at except to say that blogging is weird but I like it.  Is that weird

Jambalaya

This post has nothing to do with jambalaya other than the fact that jambalaya kind of sounds like jumbly.  And my life is awfully jumbly right now.

Stanford is a weird place. It is a lot like all of my dreams coming true.  There is great weather and great people and great departments.  And I love it.  It's like tiramisu.  Delicious and refined and energizing and just a little bit too much but in that good way where you like the indulgence of it all.
It's also like success boot camp sometimes because a lot a lot of people think that money will lead to happiness.  I think that more often money leads to a desire for more money.  Catch-22, really (but not really).

All of the pictures that come from my webcam automatically go into a folder called Narcissism, because well, you know. But I can't be the only one who knows.   

Oh and also, Stanford is like one big question.  And that question is: What do you really want to do?
How am I supposed to know what I want to do?  I mean I know what I want to do today but also that involves laying in bed all day and watching movies (Let's be real, they are probably of the Disney variety) and then getting all dressed up so I can teleport to the party where all of my friends are dancing and they clap and yell, "Oh Shnaps!" at all the cool dance moves that we take turn doing.  And afterwards I teleport home and my family is playing a board game and the babies are being cute and everyone keeps saying, "that's racist" because Marcus said that he likes his chocolate milk really dark.

But here's the real thing.  It's that one of my eyes is significantly bigger than the other and I don't think I can pull off bold lipsticks and I almost don't hate the way my feet look.

Are you catching on to the feeling of jumbly-ness?

That picture reminds me of how I want to make the Gamboa family motto, "Well, at least I am having a good hair day."  Because while Gamboa's may be modest about many things, not hair.

Oh but just because I want to spend today doing the fun nonsense doesn't mean I will want to do it forever.  I mean I will also want to eat good food and eventually have my own man-friend and little monsters.  And I want to probably do something else.  Like put this $50,000 a year education to use and like enter the work field or whatevs.  Who knows how?  Oh wait, God knows.  Why won't he just let me in on the joke already?

How could you possibly not be tired of reading all of this jambalaya?  I'm practically tired of writing it , but then, wait no, I don't really get tired of telling people every third thought that pops into my head even though there is no sense of whatever that fancy word is that means that everything goes together somehow.  Stupid jumbly-brain and my inability to think of the words that fit in.

Well I think that's about enough for one post.  Welcome to ten minutes of jumbly-brain.  I hope you enjoyed your ride.  At this point, we are unable to give refunds if you are not satisfied with your experience.  Good day.