The final countdown

Friends, it's the 30 minute countdown to NanoWriMo. 50,000 words, one month. In between running like a chicken with my head cut off to class. There will be tears. There will be blood (how appropriate with my previous two posts). There will be drunk college students in outrageous Halloween costumes distracting me from writing. There will, perhaps be poorly constructed outlines that mean shit when it comes to actually beginning a story.

Yet even though writing is reputed to be a lonely craft, I am surrounded by friends, new and old, who are partaking on this insanity alongside me. Some of them are going in cold, with zero outline, only intuition and 100% determination to finish. Because sometimes, you gotta just write, and accept the suckery that is bound to happen at some points. Then revel at the genius that is bound to happen at other points.

NanoWriMo seems crazy to some--and they're absolutely right! But I'm excited to be part of this insanity--for the sake of strengthening both my writing and connection with other writers. 

"We are never ever gonna be immortal"--another parody

I remember when I saw it
His fangs out
Saying I'll eat you, you little girl
And he
Didn't even wait to bite my neck
So gross, so scared,
Un-human, ew.
Then he tried to turn me into them, like I
Didn't have a life, not important, trust me
Remember how he looked into my eyes,
And made it so blurry, no freedom, no time to
say no way
Ooooh, I hate you vamps, just go away
Ooooh, this time, I won't be tricked, I won't be tricked

We are never ever gonna be immortal
We are never ever gonna be immortal
You go drink some fresh blood give some fresh blood not to me
But  we are never ever gonna be immortal
Like, ever

I'm really not a fan of drinking blood
Nasty
Inconvenient
Not to mention hard
To keep
Dead friends and family in your stomach
Not me
Rather not be
The scum of the Earth
Thank you

Oooh, I hate you vamps, just go away
Oooh, this time, I won't be tricked, I won't be tricked

We are never ever gonna be immortal
We are never ever gonna be immortal
You go drink some fresh blood, give some fresh blood, not to me
But we are never ever gonna be immortal
Oooh Ooh

I used to think
that I could endeavor
And I used to say
Vamps were so damn cool

So he tears me up, and he's like, be one of us,
And I'm like, I just, I mean,
Life is SO dangerous
You know, like
I am NEVER gonna be immortal
Like ever
No

We are never ever gonna be immortal
We are never ever gonna be immortal
You go drink some fresh blood, give some fresh blood not to me
But we are never ever gonna be immortal

Oooh, Oooh 

"Just Bite"--A parody by Kira Marshall-McKelvey and Maria Landschoot

“Just bite” Red blood, Dracula, oh-oh eh I’ve had a little bit too much, much All of the blood, it start to rush, start to rush by How does he sparkle man Can’t find your birthday again Where is my will, I lost my mind, mind What’s gonna happen to my soul? I love your eyes, baby, but  can’t see you in the mirror anymore Keep on sucking, what’s the name of this vamp? I cannot move but it’s alright, a-alright Just bite, gonna be your last, da doo-doo-mm Just bite, make those marks babe, da da doo-doomm Just bite, gonna be your last, b-b-b-bite Bite, bite, just j-j-just bite Wish I could get my fangs out, oh oh oh-oh How’d I get your blood in my mouth Control your progeny babe, baby vamps have tempers they say And we’re all getting glamoured tonight, oh oh oh-oh What’s going on in New Orleans I love your eyes baby, but can’t see you in the mirror anymore Keep on sucking, what’s the name of this vamp? I cannot move, but it’s alright, a-alright Just bite, gonna be your last, da da doo-doo-mm. Just bite, make those marks babe, da da doo-mm, just bite gonna be your last, b-b-b-bite bite, bite, just j-j-just When I come out of the coffin checkin’ out that fangbanger, can’t believe my eyes, so many blood bags ready to suck, ain’t gon’ give it up, steady tryin’ to stake it up like a magistrar, I’ma bite it and drink it ‘til next night yeah Compton I can see that you want so much human the way you’re drooling with them fangs more and more And now there’s no reason at all why you can’t make me one of you in the meantime take my clothes and let me watch you sink your teeth and bite, gonna be your last, da da doo-doo-mm, just bite, make that mark babe, da da doo-doo-mm just bite, gonna be your last, da da doo-doo-mm, just bite, make that mark babe, da da doo-doo-mm Just bite gonna be your last, b-b-b-bite Bite, bite, just j-j-just bite Woo! Let’s hunt! Half demonic, sick, hemoglobin, got my coven, it’s symbiotic half demonic, sick, hemoglobin, got my coven with Godric, Half demonic, sick, hemoglobin, got my coven, it’s symbiotic, half demonic, sick, hemoglobin, got my coven with Godric. Go! Use your teeth, scrape it out, eat it, tear I want it, just stay sane enough to stop it, Not yet! Suck it, bite it, fangs out, need it, take the resto (I got it) in my veins-o (I got it) Just bite, gonna be your last, da da doo-doo-mmm, Just bite, make that mark babe, da da doo-doo-mm Just bite, gonna be your last, da da doo-doo-mm, Just bite, make that mark babe, da da doo-doo-mm, Just bite gonna be your last, b-b-b-bite, Bite, bite, just j-j-just bite

Mass-ive revelations

Tonight I went to Mass with a friend, 1) to avoid doing homework, and 2) to get a broader view of religion and Catholic traditions. Thus far, my immersion in religion has been a Month long overview of Hindi chants (but sometimes they go over your head at 5:00 in the morning), and memorizing the "as we leave this friendly place..." song from my Quaker elementary school. Normally I'm fine with skimming the surface of multiple religions, but it can also be cause for a floating feel. Like you're a floater between friend groups, and you just don't have the guts to commit. Two of my close friends are Catholic, so I wanted to see their beliefs from a closer stand point. Also, I think candles are cool, and I kinda missed seeing them since apparently responsible adults are just not trustworthy enough to have candles in their dorms.

Having never gone to Mass before, there were quite a few words I didn't understand, gestures I was still working on getting right when people were moving on to something completely different, and concepts I didn't necessarily agree with. But there was a part that stuck with me. We were told that many of us may feel love, compassion, and spirit, but oftentimes we don't show it. This was worded in the context of Jesus, but the message is strikingly universal. Human beings are inherently good natured. I truly believe we are inclined to feel joy, happiness, and peace, but sometimes we let moods and obsession with small annoyances in life bring us down. And even when we have sinned, wronged, screwed up--whatever you want to call it--every mode of belief sees value in self-improvement, service to something greater than yourself, and joy.

I also noticed that I was previously caught up in resentment because Catholics believed in praying for those who didn't believe in God, or who were questioning. I thought it was finger pointing and accusations of "you're wrong." But even as a person who is still questioning the presence of God, I see these prayers as an act of love and protection rather than an accusation. They want to share their beliefs and how they've been brought up with those around them. Most everyone wants to be enlightened, and it's a kind gesture to show how others how they've found clarity and enlightenment.

Newness can be uncomfortable--especially when 200 people around you are saying things in unison that you've never even heard before. But it can also be a mind bending yet refreshing experience. I was raised to keep an open mind, yet I rarely mulled over religion, thus blocking out many worldly views. I may still be searching for religion--or for the answer to "do I want to find religion?" but in the meantime, it's nice to un-block my brain and experience traditions and values that are important to so many around me.

We all have the potential to be joyful and free. And thus begins the journey to find the many ways to get there.

Chocolate works too. Never have I still felt devoid of joy after eating a chocolate bar.

Namaste.

The apocalypse is coming!

Living in a land-locked state can be a funny thing. Not funny ha ha, but funny as in, oh a little rain and wind is coming, and suddenly the grocery stores are all out of bottled water. Not sure why everyone is convinced a drought is coming at the same time a bunch of snow arrives, since power outages don't shut off running water as well. All through work I kinda giggled at the rampage of doomsday purchases, and glanced at the sorry shelf of batteries. Then I got home, saw that Penn State was considering canceling classes, and one thought arose in my head:

"Oh shit. The apocalypse is coming."

Because everyone knows that Penn State only cancels classes when REALLY REALLY bad things happen. I think they've shut down only two or three times before in the history of the world. High schools cancel when a light sprinkling of snow threatens to come down, but this is college. This is serious business--it's the real world, my friends. And in the real world, people get hit by tree branches.

Seriously, though. The one loophole PSU has found for not yet canceling classes is to send out a mass email that tells us to use our better judgment, to not go outside if winds pick up at an outrageous speed, but oh by the way, we'll be missing important tests, quizzes, and bio labs if we do decide not risk, y'know, dying and all.

If they do cancel class, however, I'm plenty prepared with hoards of ice cream, pasta, and '90's music to have dance parties too. So if you ask why I haven't finished my homework, it's because I'm a great thinker who wants to have something to do tomorrow--in case PSU does decide to acknowledge that apocalypse that is sure to arrive tomorrow.

Also, it gave me an excuse to buy ice cream.

Namaste.

Seriously though, fellow Penn Staters: If it looks like a bunch of branches are flying around, for the love of all things living, don't go outside!! This is one point when Hermione was wrong: dying is worse than getting a bad grade, or getting expelled. 

Bliss vs. regret

So often we're told that we should take risks in life, be bold, and most importantly, find happiness. While I'm a big advocate of happiness (why do you think you see me munching on chocolate so often?), I see lack of regret hiding in a shadow of life's necessities. Happiness is bold and flashy and is more easy to spot, but I can only imagine the burden regret has on anyone's last days on Earth.

Obviously it would be absurd to pull a Luke Danes and live as a hermit just to avoid regret, but where is the line between having a few moments of bliss and protecting yourself from those "if only I..." moments. I've seen this over and over again in the drinking culture of college. Partying looks fun, and not overthinking if someone would be weirded out by a simple "hi," seems delightful, but at the same time, I see people, 10 years after college, who whine that "if only they had gotten their shit together in college, they'd maybe have a better job." It's a fine balance, happiness and regret. They can be twins more often than you'd think.

In my case, the battle between these two twins is found, ironically enough, in family. I think everyone can relate to the stress of dealing with family that you don't necessarily get along with. Sometimes you'd rather run a marathon than figure out the lines those people are talking in between, or how to respond to a rant when you were secretly thinking about that episode of True Blood you saw last night. Yeah, it can be hard to deal with that kind of stuff. But so is running around a marathon. So is cleaning your room. So is not reading that chick lit that tempts you by your bed and turning to some Jane Eyre instead. Yet people still do it. It can feel monotonous. So often I've flipped through science flashcards thinking, "what's the point?" Same goes with having that millionth conversation about consequences, curfews, and chores, but it's not gonna kill you.

Yet those conversations and difficult moments with family are exactly where I've taken a wrong turn. In hopes to be "happy," I've distanced myself from people I've experienced the most conflict with, and shoved guilt and regret away as a fly that would stop buzzing if I just kept ignoring it. Turns out, the fly doesn't die if you plug your ears and go "la, la, la, la, I can't hearrrrrrr youuuuuuu!" I may not miss the conflict, but that's not what makes the entire person that I cut conflict from. Like anything in life, it's not an all or nothing situation.

Sure, you can have the bliss of knowing you haven't fought in a while, but then you realize that 1) your rhetorical skills are a little rusty (I'm just kidding, they're a lot rusty), and 2) you also haven't spoken to a beloved family member in over a month. Or if you had, it was to get a pair of socks or something, or to rant about some boy problems. That's not happiness. That's avoidance.

Shit happens. People fight. People also get over it. It's way better to have a few unpleasant moments than to regret an entire relationship lost because you wanted a few nice evenings sans argument.

Namaste.

Sluts on Halloween

So it's that time of the year, when we start trying to become something we aren't...okay, perhaps that's every day, but every Halloween, everyone goes nuts over outwardly expressing their distaste for normalcy and starts throwing on some Batman suits, fuzzy cat costumes, and Harry Potter glasses.

...Or this is how it should be. But rather than getting creative with fun personas and disguises, people seem to view Halloween as to throw off all their clothes, and pose as a practically naked person. Let me rephrase: They pose as a practically naked person for whom it is socially acceptable to be that way. Because, let's be real here, if I left it at the first definition, every freaking weekend would be Halloween. It's a sad world when it's lame to go as a horse, and exciting to go as whores.

Chyeah, that took me five solid minutes to come up with. Win.

I know there's another side to this. Jenna Marbles does a fair job explaining why sluts on Halloween throw off a large portion of their clothes:

But let me ask you something, who gets more candy: Kids who dress as adorable pumpkins, well-dressed cats, and superheros, or skanky playboy bunnies? I don't know about you, but I'd much rather have a month's supply of Snicker's bars and M&Ms than some STD and one mother-fricker of a hangover.

I've found the length of time that you can respect a woman to correlate with the length of her skirt. Think about it. Long skirts are elegant, well designed, and also really really fun to twirl around in. Short skirts kinda fall limp, just like the conversation you're having with the short-skirt wearer. The more traditional costumed may not get the most attention at that next big Halloween bash, but I'm a firm believer that that the slutty Hallowen-goers get attention at the beginning of the night because they're flashy and have a gazillion extra bucks to spend on a measly piece of cloth.

Sure, it's fun to act uninhibited on Halloween, but you can still do that without your boobs falling out all over the place. Plus, isn't half the fun in getting creative with your costume ideas? Why let a consumerist, "let's not respect women" store take the fun out of it?

I mean, hell, I'm going as a hippie. And you can't buy "namaste" and a go-with-the-flow aura at the same store that sells lacy black bras and cat ears.

Namaste. 

The 100th!

Wow,  a hundred blog posts in eight months. If someone had put me at gunpoint at the beginning of March and told me I would have to write that amount by October, I'd have told them they were crazy, 1) because they were pointing a gun at my head, and 2) No one with a social life could possibly write that much. So maybe my social life is questionable, after all, I blend conversations I've made characters have with the ones I have in my own life. But blogging almost daily has proven to be more than not torturous...It's actually been fun.

I've either been highly, highly productive, or one hell of a procrastinator. I guess it depends on if you see homework as half done, or half un-done. Or, you know, ignorable, until you squeeze in a hundred more words about sweatpants and lobster slippers. Priorities. It's definitely kept me writing, even when I'd rather kick and scream and even read Ivanhoe instead of put another word on my computer. Just kidding, I'm actually enjoying Ivanhoe so far, thanks to the reading switch Maria and I have done. But there's something about ranting about your own life that's easier to tackle than making up another character's. Don't get me wrong, I love writing fiction, and as E.L. Doctorow says, "writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia." But it can be exhausting! And when you're running on six of hours of sleep, you tend to find the lazy way to do things.

When I started this blog, it was with the intention to "embark on a spiritual journey," track my progress on meditation and chanting the 45 minute Guru Gita at 5:00 every morning. In hopes to be a tried-and-true yogi, I feigned some grand epiphanies that sounded all spiritual and whatnot, and tried not to tell the world that while my month long yoga retreat was delightful, and I learned a lot, it hadn't changed my core in any way. I was still girly and insecure. I still had attachment to material goods. I still couldn't walk through Target without buying everything off their makeup shelves. And in some way, I equated this to failing. Other blogs I'd read started off with the intention to rant about their lives, and ended up being a grand spiritual journey. In fear that I was regressing, I kept doing yoga, hoping the major life change would come.

But, it turns out, I wasn't regressing. I may be blending into the collegiate lifestyle by wearing less hippie-ish clothes, and I've even participated in a fitness yoga class or two (okay, or just one), but I've realized that Shoshoni taught me to self-reflect, and want to grow as a person. It may not have driven a spiritual journey in the most traditional sense, but isn't everyone's journey different? If we all went down the same road, we have a major traffic jam, and we'd all start giving each other the finger and yelling profanities out the window. As it turns out, yogis come in all different forms. Sure, you're gonna have more of the vegetarian people who wear long skirts and bandanas and take vows of silence in some areas, but that's only one kind of person. Yoga teaches us that we are all one, united by breath. And to try to make yourself something you aren't is just as bad as slapping a bunch of foundation on your face, buying some jeans you don't need, and eating a burger...times a million.

I mean, really, what nineteen year old knows how her life is going to turn out, or what she's supposed to be? If there are such nineteen year olds, can you tell me the secret of life? It might sound cooler to have a blog that has all these fancy-shmancy epiphanies that make me sound all smarticle, but that's only half the time. Reflecting about my screw-ups, or telling the world about my love of coffee isn't a regression, or a failure. It's just a girl trying to work out all the puzzle pieces of her life.

Also, saying "I know everything, mwahahaha" in a blog just isn't very exciting. You gotta have some conflict, people!

Namaste. 

Eleven questions

So I found this blogging survey done by The Pondering Yogi that I found interesting. A little bit like those facebook note surveys everyone and their brother did back in middle school, only slightly more intellectual than, "has your crush texted you lately?" After all, it is *gasp* possible to go more than five minutes without a crush. So anyway, I've decided to participate in this survey and then tag some of my favorite bloggers so I can see their answers.

1. On a rainy day, what is your favorite thing to do?-- Honestly, sleep. I don't know what it is about grey and depressing weather that makes me so sleepy, but I find it so easy to just curl up with Ernest and my comforter and snooze for hours on end. Plus, I don't even need to listen to any forced white noise. But during my awake hours, I enjoy watching Gilmore Girls marathons, reading some classy chick lit, and--what else--making massive amounts of coffee. 
2. Would you rather read a good book or run a marathon, and why?--Read a book. Always. It could be a book about bricks and I'd pay someone to let me do that. I look like a zombie when I run. I breathe like a 500 pound person after two minutes of running.
3. What is your fantasy career? And are you working toward it?--Well, being an English major, I'm either working towards becoming my parents, or a homeless person. Perhaps a lovely mix of both. But actually, my dream job would be working as a television writer for a sitcom like 30 Rock. The only thing I can do now is 1) suck up to people in the film industry, and 2) write, write, write, until words come out of my ears. A lot of people who end up successful in the television industry worked really really hard, never slept, were in the right place at the right time, and had an uncle who owned a studio.
4. How many pets share your home?--My dorm home? One, if you count my pillow pet (and I do). At home home? Two lovely little snakes named Severus and Sovngarde as well as an adorable cat named Layla.
5. How long have you been friends with your oldest friend? And how did you meet?--6 years, and we met in sixth grade, when we realized we had a mutual obsession of chocolate and shiny things. Obviously how every friendship should be initiated.
6. What color makes you feel vibrant?--Pink!!
7. When you indulge in a something you consider luxurious, do you save it for a special occasion or do you use it joyfully?--Let me go put on some $15 dollar lip gloss while I work on homework and get back to you on that one.
8. What's the best dish that you make?--I make a mean cereal, and toast if you're into that whole burnt flavor. Oh, and I've got mad baking skills. I just dump twice as much chocolate into something than what the recipe called for.
9. Makeup or no makeup?--Makeup, makeup, always makeup. Seriously. I'm addicted. No wonder my paycheck disappears so fast. But eyeliner and I have stopped seeing each other because giant-ass eyelashes make your eyeliner traverse to your eyebrow, so you end up looking like a raccoon. Not pleasant. 
10. What is your favorite type of tree?--Maple!
11. What thing from your childhood have you held on to that still brings you happiness?--My collection of stuffed cats, because my brother and I invented a freaking world with those things. We had their own political system, complete with vicious presidential debates and Olympic events that decided their president. Those sorry looking things are chock full of memories. And dirt. But mostly memories.

And now for the annoying lovely tags:
1) The oncoming storm
2) Just Sayin'
3) Organized Chaos
4) Thoughts in the Space Behind your Eyes
5) Life, Love, and the pursuit of Candy Mountain
6) The Man in the Grey Coat
7) Thoughts and Such

Reading people or reading war?

Hello, internet friends! Might I just notice what lovely weather we're having? Seriously, it feels like Spring out there. And yes, I realize not that I've said this, it's gonna start snowing any minute now and we won't be able to tell that there are bodies under the 12 layers of pants and coats we'll have to wear for the next four months. But the fantastic smells of fall and cool breeze that's just right has inspired me to blog.

That, and the fact that my entire life is spent here anyway. But it sounds more poetic to let the weather be your writing muse.

My friend Maria and I are in the same English class, and while we have similar writing styles, and the same joy out of devouring a good book, our views of what makes a good read are drastically different. I mean, poor writing is easy to spot, and we can easily agree when Stephanie Myer says, well, anything, it's just wrong. But in terms of content, I could spend an entire reading about ordinary people and their lives, (which is what our most recently assigned book entailed) and Maria is enticed by action, pirates, and history. How is it that our eyes can glaze over the same work the other found enthralling? Is one of our views more justifiable than the other? It's not to say that plot is better than character development, or vice versa; when one falls flat, the whole book falls apart. But when I read about normal people having normal lives and emotions, I'm able to overlook a few boring plot points. And since I know a majority of people (or at least a majority of my friends) prefer action-y novels, I thought I'd clear up why I'm not bored out of my skull when I read about people and their lives:

1) You can better understand people in your own life.
The characters I read about are often distinctly similar to my own friends and family. And while I'm constantly trying to figure out the motivations that are behind these people's actions, it can clear so much up when you read a book that directly states someone's emotions and point of view, rather than dancing around those motivations. Even those cheesy teen books about "the popular girl" gave me so many "aha!" moments when I realized they had pin-straight hair, perfect bodies and perfect clothes, often because other aspects of their lives were far from perfect. I may not have known a whole lot in middle school, but at least books gave me the enlightening realization that even the scary robotic groups are insecure too.

2) You can borrow character traits for your own works.
Okay, so we had a very prolonged discussion about what constitutes inspiration versus stealing in class today, but my argument is that character traits are more universal. Plot points are easier to pick out as "stealing," whereas you can have multiple characters who hate science class, or wear pink on Wednesdays (in that sense it would be alluding another work), or who are afraid of change. I mean, think about it: in real life, finding two people who are left-handed and shy is not all that coincidental. But the stars have to align in order to find two people who ate a protein bar for breakfast, got an 84% on a test and got yelled at by their parents because the university payment system was less than ideal.

3) Escape is nice, but so is finding out you're not alone.
A lot of people read to escape their own lives, and I see the advantages in that, but when I'm feeling down about something, what comforts me most is to find out there's someone, somewhere, thinking the same thing. The whole teenage girl, "no one understand me" mindset is a common one, but it can be easy to overlook that it's universal until you read a few (million) books that say the same thing. It's nice to discover some characters that I could be friends with and relate to. Perhaps its my own solipsism that's talking, but sometimes you just gotta be reminded by the authors of the world that you're not a freak of nature. Or if you are, so is more than half of the rest of the world. 

You know you're an English major when...

1) You procrastinate your other homework by writing an essay.

2) You spend your weekend nights reading Jane Eyre and writing your fifth novel.

3) Every either/or dilemma ends with "that is the question."

4) You re-read the books your professor assigned for fun.

5) You don't bother arguing with friends unless they can back up their claims with data and warrant.

6) When someone asks you what celebrity you want to meet and everyone else says J.Lo, you say "Charles Dickens!"

7) You forget to check your phone when a bajillion people are texting are you because you're too busy reading.

8) November is the most stressful of months not because of No Shave November, but because of NanoWriMo.

9) You journal about life's problems, rather than talking to an actual person.

10) Some of the greatest people in your life are characters you've made up.

11) When someone threatens to take your cell phone or computer away, you reply, "that's fine, just don't take away my books!"


What are some of your signs that make you a crystal clear English major?

The Politics of Friendship

One of my good friends and I have polar opposite views on almost everything: I'm agnostic, she's Catholic. I'm a liberal, she's a conservative. I like chocolate, she likes cheese (okay, I like cheese too, but that's beside the point). We have little in common besides our love of glitter, being random, and going to Baby's on Mondays for milkshakes and gossip. Because, let's be real here, who doesn't love to gossip? Because we know what topics to avoid, we can generally maintain good friend status and go on with our lives. Sometimes tension arises, but usually that's from my hips after sitting a classroom for an hour.

However, with the elections approaching and the debates being a major talking point, we've gotten into quite a few debates of our own. Things got heated. Then ugly. It's a lucky thing facebook doesn't have a screaming match emoticon, or that thing would've been abused to no end. I felt a friendship slowly degrading because our views were so fundamentally different, mainly because, after much thought and reflection, I've decided to take a pro-choice stand, and she takes a pro-life one. Abortion was something I had a Republican view on for quite some time, and it's still something I don't take lightly. If I were to be faced with a pregnancy, I wouldn't personally be able to abort. Yet for many reasons, I am pro-choice, and this was the topic that raised the most screaming matches and name calling from both sides.

These are vitally important topics, and I am in no-way demeaning them, but because I know I cannot change someone's mindset, nor should I try, I avoid these conversations like Jillian Michaels avoids ice cream. Friends are great to discuss important and challenging topics with, but especially during the stress of freshman year, I also look to them for escape from the monotony of life. I mean, who else can you throw crazy random dance parties with, or walk around telling towns-folk that "Jack loves them"? It's a thing that happened:
Jack Attack!

Politics are ugly. Vital, but let the already sworn enemies attack each other with it. Friends can be different, they can think the others' views are sooooo last term, but it's still possible to maintain pleasant, if not great, relationships with them. After all, if we were all clones of each other, that would be a little like bland noodles on a rainy day.

Who likes bland noodles? No one, I tell you.

Namaste.

A moment in which a movie makes me re-consider life.

Monday night, as usual, I watched a film for my English class, and while I admit I was slightly distracted when my friends decided to paw at my lobster headband (which ended up breaking, so sad), I was still enthralled by the film. This week it was 13 Conversations about One Thing. Maybe the plot wasn't the most exciting, and the setting was a tad dull, but I'm a sucker for movies about people and their lives. People have always fascinated me, and the more hard to figure out they seem, the more I want to discover. If you haven't heard of the film, here is the trailer: 

There's quite a few meanings you could take away from the movie, and since it's an English class, we were encouraged to find the meaning as anything but "to find happiness," or "to experience life." So I may not be a genius to volunteer that I found this film to show some average peoples' quest for happiness, but it was strange to think, "wow, these people sure don't see the light in their lives', how depressing," only to realize that it's scarily easy to do the same thing in my life. It can be draining to be un-enthused by everything, yet I've always felt down when I'm also feeling lazy. Why is this? I mean, sure, it can take a lot of effort to be smiley all the time and have rainbows coming out of your ass when there are things that annoy you, people that you want to hit over the head with a frying pan, and the mere fact that you're having chicken for dinner again makes you wish you could curl up in a ball in your room and scream, but maybe, just maybe, the "smiley, life-is-one-big-giant-musical" façade isn't truly happiness.

Emotion, like everything else, can be on a spectrum. I mean, in the course of an hour, I could've experienced all of this, and them some:

That could have something to do with being a teenage girl, but you get my point. It's bothersome when people see a major I chose, a relationship I'm in, or a lovely little MacBook Pro, and ask, "does it make you happy?" Because everything varies. Except for the Mac. That ALWAYS makes me happy, if I choose to ignore the fact that now I'm a completely broke college student. Sure, there are times all this reading and writing makes me want to run screaming around the block (yet I don't, in hopes that at least some people on this campus still believe in my sanity). There were moments in my relationships (friends, and otherwise) where I claim I'll throw a hissy fit if I ever have to see that person again. Two hours later, I'm laughing so hard I'm crying and sharing my joy of yoga/ice cream/shiny things/music video parodies with them. It's not because I'm wishy-washy or unstable, but because we can't just stay at the same emotion 24/7. That would make us robots, which aren't supposed to take over the world for at least another 50 years. 

As a kid, I thought happiness was something you win or achieve, like a shiny gold medal that you can hang up on your wall. Sometimes that feeling of elation is so high, and so intense, I think I can yell out the window, "so long, sadness, see you never!" Then I watch Titanic and start sobbing, "There was totally enough room on that piece of wood for the love of her life!" Nothing like a sinking ship to put a damper on your mood.

Things go wrong in life. Homework gets dumped on you. Families and friends get annoyed/annoying. But despite all the not-so-hot stuff that will always be there, you can still be happy. That doesn't always been being chipper or faking a smile, but I've come to realize that constant happiness isn't something that will just flash its neon lights at me. Contentment gets underrated sometimes, but it's starting to unveil its comfortable qualities. I go to a great school, I have a supportive and amusing family, and my friends can, 99.999999% of the time, put me in a good mood. Plus, I always have chocolate in my fridge.

And, in the words of Bob Marley, "Don't worry, be happy."

 Namaste. 

Things I've learned in college, part 2

I'm midway through my first semester, and I'm hoping I've learned a quality thing or two, not just about foil characters and plus-que-parfait verbs, but about college life. This may differ from other freshmen experiences, since I'm not observing the insanity that is East Halls, but I'm just taking the small things that upon reflection, seem to have a bigger idea to them.

Or I just want to rant about my life in college. That's highly likely too.

1) Mean Girls is better in a fort.
Maybe because it's a childhood movie, or everything is better in a fort, but ever since my "Fort-itude" experience, watching Mean Girls under a few blankets and leopard print duct tape have caught on to some of my friends (although epic duct tape may not be involved). Some people start Uggs and shorts as fads (ew), some start jeans and skirts (cute, but only on Wednesdays...and only if it's pink), and I start fort movie nights where we can laugh about high school and feel glad we're no longer in it.

2) A-Tension
So this one's slightly more serious, but I've noticed, finally after stressing to the point of exhaustion about my grades, that professors don't give a flying fishstick about grades. Have you ever seen a flying fishstick? Me neither. But sometimes it's something I'd like to see given. I've spoken with my professors a few times, and while I've debunked my theory that professors are these other-wordly, high and mighty creatures, I've also seen that as soon as I start my sentence with "I'm concerned about my grade..." they get significantly colder. Obviously professors want us to do well and not live in a box after college, but they're annoyed with that whole "I need to get 100 million percent on this test so that it's fridge-display worthy at home!" The whole point of classes is to think, and to question, and to get out of your PJs. Unrelated, but you know it's true. My professors are even hesitant to give out reading quizzes because they think it's far too high school to try to prod us to do the reading. They actually expect us to want to do the reading, and reflect on it later. A big shiny A is only an afterthought, not the reward.

Now excuse me while I study like a crazy person for my midterms.

 Okay, point taken. Yes, doing well is important, and I haven't quite been driven out of the idea that grades don't necessarily matter. Doing well in some numerical form never goes away, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that the growing doesn't end just because you're getting an A in the class. So hey, if you're getting a B in some of your classes *cough cough* just say it's an excuse to motivate yourself to do some more mental growing.

3) Sometimes, you just gotta be classy.
There's nothing like spending a Friday night with a big-ass bag of Salt & Vinegar chips, some sweats, and a romantic comedy or two, but after too much casual, I start to feel a little gross. Like, after the fifth day of wearing sweatpants, I start to wonder if I'll expect to go to my job interviews in a hoodie. It's a scary thought. So even though the hour of straightening my hair and squeezing myself into an ever-shrinking dress (damn dryers...) can seem like torture, it's nice to feel to cute again. There's only so many times you can shove your hair into a ponytail (especially because my ponytails look like a bunch of squirrels attacked my hair) and say "ah, screw it." Unless you're talking to a construction worker. (yay puns!)

Classiness moment part deux happened on Saturday night when I went to see a production of The Producers with a friend. Normally, we'd been going to the HUB movie like every other person in the universe who doesn't drink the night away, but when an opportunity to see "Springtime For Hitler and Germany" arises, you gotta take it. Seriously, if you haven't yet been acquainted with this song, allow me:

You're welcome. I'd almost forgotten how much fun it was to go to a play. People react more. There's more excitement buzzing throughout the theater. Plus I think it's far more fun to see my fellow students act uninhibited on stage than at a party...and no one throws up at the end of the night. It's a win-win situation. It's just plain classy.

4) 10:00 on a Saturday night is the best time to take a shower.

Seriously, though. The honors kids are studying, everyone else is partying, and you are left to the glory of taking a time un-limited shower. I don't know about you, but I use my shower time to think about the world. All my best "what-if" moments have happened in the shower. When else could I wonder if my toe ring could ever cut off my circulation? Never, that's when. I mean, as entertaining as it is to hear about every aspect of my floor-mates' lives, the silence (minus the hissing of the water) can be refreshing. No one's giving you the stink-eye because you just came out of a 30 minute shower, when the actual washing part took five. It's a beautiful thing.

5) Campus squirrels are ridiculously friendly.
It's a little scary when you think a squirrel is about to eat your face.

So, friends, that's all I can think of thus far for my mid-semester observations, but I'm sure there will be more to come. Also, shameless plug here, check out The Curator on October 24th--I wrote more stuff about college life. I mean, check it out before October 24th as well, since it's an awesome online magazine that makes you think things. And then wonder if your previous mode of thinking was all wrong. Which is always fun.

Namaste.

"You will need this skill later in life..." SAID NO ONE EVER

In high school, I could've go a day without some teacher claiming that "we would need this later in life." Understandably, I've had to crank out a few essays, read closely, and I still can't get away from those goshdarn locker combinations, but some things--sorry teachers--were just torture devices in our adolescent years, and I have never seen these "life skills" since I left those dull and depressing doors of high school.

So, without farther ado, I present to you:

Kira's sparkley and amazing list of things we do NOT actually need later on in life:

1) Long division
Last I checked, calculators were everywhere. Even if you don't want to nerd it out and spend your entire paycheck on a graphing calculator, you can pick up your cell phone, pop in a few numbers, and POW! You have your magic answer. I mean, seriously. If you're at a party, and you have sixteen friends there and 30 cookies, you're gonna have zero friends and a stomach ache if you spend the next twenty minutes scribbling out on a piece of paper, only to find out that everyone has to split the cookies into sixteenths (okay, I didn't actually do the math. But you get my point). And I resent the fact that even if you've got this whole long division thing down, and y'know, you're feeling pretty cocky and maybe start jamming out to some Maroon Five, wouldn't you know it, you put the 2 in the wrong place and the whole thing gets screwed up. That's just wrong. For the sake of the easily distracted, let us use calculators. When I'm stranded on some island and am at a loss as to how many people go into our magical life-saving boats, you can say "I told you so." 

2) Dodgeball.
Dodgeball is not a sport that anyone plays for "fun." It is for the big popular kids to bask in their big popular glory. When was the last time you heard someone come back from their 30th high school reunion and say they had a wild night of dodgeball? That's right--'cause it didn't happen. Because those big popular kids become balding alcoholics, and the people who are now successful are too scarred from teenage memories to even think of the game. 

3) The waltz
Okay, so people do use this one in weddings and sophisticated parties, but I'm distraught that I haven't had the opportunity to actually dance where that's supposedly the main purpose. I mean, those giggly groups of girls you see straightening their hair in the bathroom? Yeah, they all claim they're pumped to dance, but go into Indigo and you'll see a bunch of alcohol induced ass shaking. Grinding may be easy, and you don't have to take a class to learn how to get up in someone's face like that, but it looks stupid and slutty. Where is the classiness?? Next time you're at a club, as Jenna Marbles would say, I dare you--I double dog dare you--to waltz in the middle of a club. Hey, you never know what could happen if you start a trend. Drunken waltzes may be the next big thing since dresses that stopped halfway down your ass.

4) I-Messages
Let me just start off my saying I'm genuinely shocked that no one has turned this into an i-phone app--you know, with a little screen full of conflict resolution tips, cute "I'm sorry" emoticons and whatnot? Yeah, pretty genius if you ask me. As the "Hippie Quaker" of my friend group, I've been known to try to end conflict as soon as it arises, but that usually goes something like, "alright, I don't wanna fight; I'm outta here. Let me know when you're not pissed anymore." Because you know what happens when someone says a well-intentioned I-Message? The other person will very politely nod, look like they're considering the other's statement when really they're thinking about blueberry muffins, then go, "yeah, well, sucks to be you." Then gender depending, they'll go spread some rumors about that person or punch them in the face. Possibly both. I-messages are far too formulaic for the circumstances. Let's be real here, one of those joys of fighting is to see who can get the most creative with insults. I find the "you're a bitch" arguments to be dull and fruitless, but there's much glory in "you're a dog-faced newt!" "oh yeah, well you're a pickle-toed mulberry! So there!" No one wants to get boxed into conflict resolution when they're on a roll with their new set of comebacks. 

And lastly, on a happier note, you will never ever have to know how to brave the politics of the cafeteria world ever again. Unless you work in a fashion magazine. In which case, you're screwed.

Namaste.    

Yoga: A necessity, or a hobby?

As midterm season creeps up on me, I've been having the "ohmygod, I have to study for five bajillion tests and only now am I realizing I was thinking about cheese when the professor was saying something important, and I have this weird cough that I think is something serious, oh god what if I'm dying, at least I won't have to take my midterm, but holy bajeesus I JUST SPENT AN HOUR FREAKING OUT ABOUT HOW MUCH I HAVE TO STUDY WITHOUT STUDYING AT ALL!!!" feeling that many freshmen are experiencing right about now. So with each moment of free time I have, I end up panicking because I wasn't nearly as productive as I should've been, and only ranted about how much I need to study.

Enter the need for yoga. For the past two years, yoga has been a part of my daily routine, and I attribute my much, much, MUCH more relaxed nature to this practice. Even on the days when I seem uptight, my friends, you haven't seen me in elementary school when I had anxiety attacks when I couldn't figure out what to do next on a computer game. It's amazing how much more at ease you can feel when you engage in a half hour of deep breathing and stretching. But the question is, with limited free time (that I don't take up on this here blog--yes, I see the irony, and am choosing to ignore it), would I feel less stressed if I used the time to review flash cards and watch creepy vampire films, or to have some sort of yogic routine?

Doing yoga in college goes along with the feeling of being at home--it's familiar, it's something I know I enjoy, and much of the time, it's the one thing I can call my own. Sure, I own pants and shirts, but yoga is one of the few things I started not because someone suggested it to me, not because it was popular at the time, but because I wanted to. I use it as a time to encourage both my body and mind to become strong, and to self-reflect. The monotony of homework disappears when I'm lifting up into crow pose, or simply meditating for five minutes. I may not be able to improve myself as a yogi as much as I'd like--even with two hours of yoga and 90 minutes of meditating at Shoshoni, I barely started breaking ground in detachment, love towards all sentient beings, and recognition of the ego--but now, more than ever, I'm realizing how much I rely on yoga to stabilize myself, rather than simply enjoying it.

The purpose of yoga is not to push yourself, but to observe. When most of your day is spent telling yourself to study harder, write better, and basically create more hours in the day (unless you can run on two hours of sleep--I admire those people), you need some time to see how it's effecting you. Because soon after you keep pushing yourself and not taking the time to reflect, you're gonna pile it all up until you reach major meltdown mode.

Sometimes, you just gotta breathe. And that right there is not a hobby.

Namaste.

Take me Home, Cata Bus Roads...

Today, in order to grumble through the absurdities that are my bank account, I had to take the Cata Bus to the bank, and while I'm sure I set you up to read about the ridiculousness of Cata Buses, I'll save that for another time. After fixing everything with a simple single digit (apparently zeros do matter in the checking account world...who would've thought?), I trekked over to the bus stop to take me back to campus. As I was standing there, jamming out to some Katy Perry Beatles, I realized that just being on the corner of my childhood street, I instantly felt lighter and more free than I had in month. I still had the same amount of reading to do, the same number of tests to study for (that being one, but still), but somehow, I was able to take in the stress of college life in a more relaxed way simply because of the setting I was in. I mean, for 10 years, I would ride around on my little pink bike around the block, and my most pressing matter would be what kind of "magazine" I would write--which ended up being a few lines and some pictures.

My view on life may have changed (or I like to think it has since my American Girl Doll days), but sometimes just revisiting a place where you were more joyful brings that feeling of "things are gonna work out." In my dorm, I have daily freakouts about how my future is going to shape up to be, or if I'm doing enough studying, the right kind of studying...if my left arm looks weird because it's more muscular than my right. When I'm home, I'm able to keep more of a distance from those freakouts, and respond to them in a way a (wise) ten year old might: "you get all squeaky when you worry--sit down and have some cake." (No, it is not a coincidence that this is the third post in a row in which I've mentioned cake).

I'm all for new settings, but sometimes, you need your home to remind you not to act like a rabbit on crack over a single test--to just take a deep breath, have a few rounds on that bike with a bell on it, and laugh at life.

Namaste.

A price of free time?

So I've managed to debunk one myth about college that upperclassmen like to scare us freshman with: We do, in fact, have plenty of free time. I'm no longer scurrying past a row of lockers to make the 3 minute class change, nor am I sitting in front of a study hall teacher who is practically disintegrating in front of me. On my busiest day, I have a total of 3 hours of class time. Wednesdays are like the mecca of scheduling. But let me tell you, after the first month of "oh, this is great, I'll have tons of time to watch 30 Rock marathons before French," that's when all the tests, quizzes and essays piled on top of me. And that's when I realized that I'd fallen victim to the false freshman belief that just because you don't have homework assigned to you, doesn't mean you have nothing to do. It makes getting distracted by that cute picture of a puppy on facebook a hell of a lot easier to do, but study you must, and sometimes this realization doesn't happen until midterms sing a little song that goes like this:


DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN.

Or something.

But as I'd mentioned earlier, just because you have 3 hours of free time, doesn't mean you will use it all to diligently sit at your desk. I may sit at my desk, but for most of that period I'm tapping my foot thinking, "hmm, I'm wondering what's for dinner." Then I remember it's the same old pizza and mushy vegetables, and that disheartens me a little bit. At least I can still be a fruit-ivore. 

So there's a price for being a responsible adult making responsible decisions, that end up being, "I'll study for my English midterm after this one last episode, one last season--eh, screw it, I'll study once I'm dead." I'm not saying I wish I could be locked up in the dungeon that was my middle school study hall, but at least there you were forced to study or die of boredom. Here, there's no one telling me I can't invite people to hang out and watch How I met Your Mother in between classes or video chat with some far-away friends. Sure, my roommate tells me to make grownup decisions and what have you, but to that I go, "pshaw, let's go get some espresso milkshakes at 2:00 in the morning." No time like the present to go party like a wild child with some caffeine. Unless I decide to be that person in a senior citizens' home riding a motorbike....but actually. 

So there is actually tons of extra time to be ruthless and idiotic studious and responsible, but I guess my high school teachers were onto something when they said time management would turn up in our later lives. Damn you, health class, you've ruined me. 

Namaste.  

 

A slice of Life

So today I was scanning groceries at work like a normal person, when one of my bosses told me to shut off my register light and come find him after I had finished ringing up my customer. Normally when this happens I get a positive cashier review or I'm allowed to go home early, but it never fails, when I'm told an authority wants to see me, I'm convinced I'm convicted of the utmost worst crime and the world as we know it will come to a crashing halt. It's like when a cop car passes you--that "oh shit" moment, like you Jay-walked at the wrong time or something.

So, trembling like a puppy who'd just been caught chewing up the sofa, I found my boss, silently followed him behind the front desk and to the back room. In front of me was a gigantic white sheet cake with raspberry filling. Do you know when was the last time I had raspberry filling? Last week! And that's like, decades ago! So I give my boss a kind of quizical look, and he just nonchalantly shrugs and says, "hey, want a piece of cake?"

To which, I obviously reply, "is that a rhetorical question?" Except not really, because on some occasions, I do try to keep my nerdiness on the DL. Like during times I say DL. But as I was chomping away on the greatness that was this cake, I learned that it was the customer service desk manager's birthday, and she had chosen specific people with whom she wanted to share this dessert. While we'd always been friendly to each other--and once even braved the fiasco of a bird with an injured wing outside Wegmans--I didn't stop to think that people could form a relationship with  someone that passed them by a couple times a week. It struck me that this exchange of pleasantries that had built up throughout the year made for a connection that may not have been flashing with a bunch of neon signs, but it was there, in its own quiet way.

You don't have to shower people with every passing thought to create ties with them. Today I found out you just have to show up, be polite, and be patient. People notice the quiet ones, eventually. And they put you on the VICE list (very important cake eaters). Which is always a quality list to be on.

It's the little things. The cliché is there for a reason.

Namaste.

Shy extroverts

So I've posted a few times about the idea of being an introvert, but never have I labeled myself as an extrovert. I mean, how could I, when the idea of a more than two second conversation with someone I don't know sends me quaking under my covers? I love people--observing them that is--but when I have to make some kind of impression that I can spit out a coherent sentence, or be charming and witty, I sound something like, "uh, um, goodbye--no wait, hello, er um, so you liking college? Where do you go? Oh riiiiiiiiight Penn State, that's why you would be on this campus."
Yep, the too-awkward-to-function feeling is a fun one--especially when people start to wonder if you're an alien dressed up in glittery human clothes as a disguise.
The other day, however, my friends were discussing if they were introverts, and when I immediately volunteered that I was one, Megan pshawed that little tidbit of information. Because not only do I wear my feelings on my sleeve, I flash them like a neon light so even people in Timbuktu can see the mad/sad/angry/confused/annoyed at mankind day that I am having. Introverts, as it turns out, don't wildly wave their arms going "ooh, ooh, pick me, I'm an introvert! I am, I am!"

That may or may not defeat the entire purpose of their claim. English class, what have you done to me?

So having this personality mesh can be cause for quite the identity crisis. Sure, you can say, "I'm a student," or, "I'm a person who eats chocolatey things for breakfast," but the core person can take a bit of digging. We're not apples here. You can't eat around the bruises and sweet outer-layer to find someone's core. God, I really want an apple.

I guess it all comes down to the idea that your childhood makes most of what you are. As a kid, I was gregarious, excited about the littlest things, and not afraid to show it. I also wore fluffy clothes. That last part still stands, but sometimes I wonder if a quiet nature is inhibition that comes from fear of looking foolish, or a reflecting personality that just takes a while to develop.

I'm probably one of the craziest in our group of friends, and I drag my more subdued friends on 1:00a.m. runs to Wall-Mart so that we can observe the "drunk bus" (entertaining, but didn't live up to my standards). Yet I still prefer to curl up with a good book on a Friday night. Sometimes I think I could get used to spending more time alone, other times, it feels like the worst punishment in the world.

I guess what I should take from this, is that especially during a time when your personality stays constant the same amount of time as Lindsay Lohan stayed sane, you shouldn't place so much importance on labels. Sure, I act shy and awkward in some instances, but I still love people, even if I'm not right up in their face about it.

We're all humans here...by nature, we're social animals. Just some of us are more "wheeeee!" about expressing it.

Namaste.

Sweeping up humiliation

Somehow, somewhere, fate decided to make my most humiliating moments come from sweeping. I don't know what it is about a broom and and a left-handed person that makes for disastrous moments. If you recall, at Shoshoni, the most non-judgmental place on the face of this planet, was embarrassing moment number one, where I got critiqued for my "on the knees" floor sweeping technique. Cue the tears, the "why me"s, and the "om namah...oh, screw it, I'm pissed."

Incident numero deux, as you may have guessed, happened tonight. I was assigned to sweep the floors during the last fifteen minutes of my shift, and let me tell you, even though I'm quality at dustpan sweeping, the regular sweeping leaves me looking like an elephant on roller skates...or at least feeling about as graceful as one. Perhaps on the outside I look like an average girl with larger than average hair, but when everyone's staring at me (or so says my brain) as I clunk around the floors, I feel somewhat like this:

Congratulations. Now everyone in the history of the internet is able to blackmail me. You're welcome.
So maybe my sweeping was clumsy, and I'm already the quiet, awkward girl in my work environment (shocker, I know), but for whatever reason, the 3 people who made passing comments about my skill level in that area seemed to hold the most power in the world, and I was about the size of a peanut M&M. By the time I tried to "jokingly" bring up that I'd been hurt, they had forgotten about what they said. Because, let's be real here, nobody is walking around thinking, "hmm, I wonder how I can judge that girl with the white girl 'fro here?" They're just making conversation. They're teasing, presumably to break me out of the timid mask I've worn for the past year I've been working.

So why do teasing comments leave the sensitive of sorts feeling like they've been trampled by an army of rocks? My sweeping skill has nothing to do with my personality, or my attitude, or any important traits besides quality chore-doer. I guess it's telling that one of my embarrassing moments happened at a place where you just let it go and the other happened at a place where you just move on. The second time, I've noticed, I was hurt a little less, and able to tease back a little more. Maybe during my third sweeping snaffoo (it's bound to happen), I won't feel bad at all. Maybe when I'm pretending to laugh it off, I'll feel a genuine chuckle come out of it.

No one's maliciously trying to critique a person's best efforts. It's a form of friendliness that the "soft marshmallow" personalities have to work harder to understand, but maybe, with time, I can sweep up the humiliation I feel, and laugh along with some people who would never actually try to hurt anyone.

Why I wish I was a vampire

No, I'm not gonna go all Bella Swan on you and say I'm desperately in love with an oddly feminine looking vampire. But after taking a class on these creatures, sometimes I think life would be easier if I was a blood-sucking, glamoring thing.

1) You'd save a ton of money on glitter.
Sparkly body spray can be expensive. And when Bath & Body Works has the ever enticing sale of "buy 3, get 3 free," you're practically obligated to grab 3 sparkly mist bottles off the shelves. But why spend 30 bucks on glitter when you can just step out into the sunlight, and, voilà, you're sparkly! Sure, you don't get the added advantage of smelling like vanilla or "Twilight Woods" (oh, the irony), but you can spend that body spray money on extra True Blood. Okay, mixed metaphors here, I know.

2) You can sing this amazingness that is this song ALL THE FRICKIN' TIME:

3) Fangs are a heck of a lot scarier than "Don't make me slap you."
Every time I've tried to seem intimidating, or serious, I end up just squeaking and people go, "aw, you're adorable when you're mad." You don't even have to try to look scary when the fangs come out. People know you mean serious business. Let's be real here--no one's gonna try to farther provoke someone who has sharp, pointy things coming out of their mouth. Unless they're pipe cleaners. Then they just look like a walrus. Koo koo ka choo.

4) You don't have to eat or sleep.
Okay, sure, you have to hunt, but that's only on occasion and you can save a shit ton of time by not stuffing your face with krispy kreme donuts salads. I mean, do you know how much time the average person spends eating and sleeping? Me neither, but that could be precious time saving the world, or more importantly, getting fantastically good at Angry Birds. What is the obsession with that game, actually? I don't even know.

But I digress. Hours upon hours could be spend educating yourself, making vampire friends, and saying really cool things like "I vant to drink your blood!" Oh, if only every vampire had Dracula's accent.

4) No more five paragraph persuasive essays
Instead of giving claim, data and warrant, you could just get right up to your teacher, look him/her in the eye and say, "you want to give us free pizza every single day." Not that vampires eat pizza, but y'know, for the sake of the other classmates (as some vampires can be quite selfless), you could save a lot of convincing time by just doing that whole glamoring thing. Maybe if I was a vampire as a youth I would've gotten a pony.

Also, you get to wear fun capes.

Namaste. 

Fort-itude

Today I planned to buckle down and not waste my free time facebooking and watching videos of cats. While I remained strong on the whole facebook thing, I spent about 30 minutes glazing my eyes over an essay, and two hours eating mac 'n cheese, watching Mean Girls, and, more importantly, building forts.

I know what you're thinking. You're pretty darn jealous, first off. I would be too. The last time I "built" a fort, the Spice Girls were still cool and my babysitter pretty much did it for me. But you're probably also wondering why in the hell a college student would turn her dorm room into a playground. Well friends, it all started with a friend with a tummy ache.

Meet Megan Jones. You may think she's only crazy, random and adorable in full health, but you would be woefully wrong. Upon feeling sick, Megan curled up under our friend Maria's blanket, making a "human fort." Even after I prodded her about if she needed meds, water, a hug, Megan just said, "all I need is a fort." She meant it as her mini blanket fort she was balled up in, but being the outrageous people we so often are, we upscaled the idea pretty fast.

Megan in her human fort

It took multitudes of leopard print duct tape and innovative use of wooden chairs, fridges, and ottomans (oh my!), but we succeeded in getting one step closer to childhood, as every college student should strive to do. At first glance, it may seem like wasted time, but just curling up underneath my fuzzy blanket/makeshift ceiling, I felt sillier and more free to laugh than I had in a while. Even studying under a fort can seem more fun. I don't know what it is about sheets and blankets that are so playful, but hang them over your head, and you're suddenly five years old again.

I can see the appeal in normal people not wanting to be hermits and actually going with friends, but it's nice to realize that you can laugh so hard your cheeks hurt, have a fantabulous time with your group of friends without spending a dime. Buying appletinis from your local bar may seem more socially acceptable (or so says J.D. from Scrubs), but quoting Mean Girls like nobody's business is a lot less lame than it sounds. Besides, being lame together with a group of awesome people can turn out to be infinitely cool.

Be silly. Make some forts. They don't call it fortitude for no reason.

Voila, it's a dorm fort!

Hey I like you, person who likes long walks on a beach

I'm a fan of social media. I mean, it would be social suicide to be born in the '90's and not post what I ate for breakfast, what I'm thinking what I first wake up, and a bajillion inside jokes with friends (guilty...too bad you can't tag people in blogs). I go on facebook at least ten times a day, and I've been known to have complex conversations via text. When I first started facebooking and texting, I limited myself to conversations with people I was already good friends with. We'd discuss important matters such as current crushes, school, and farmville gifts. I thought everything was all well and good and that I was far from techno-freak, when it dawned on me that a majority of my flirting/relationships/declarations of hopeless crushes/breakups/"I like you enough to kiss you but not call you my girlfriend" moments were initiated via facebook or text. And when an entire relationship is based off of "hey, what's up?" "nm, u?", you know that, Huston, we have a problem.

A lot of people, myself included, are more comfortable behind the written word, but how deep into a relationship can you get in 150 characters or less? Sure, it might sound more sexy to text someone "hey, what are you wearing?" (or just plain creepy, depending on the circumstances), but why not go visit said person, see what they're wearing for yourself, and then go get coffee and talk about more vital issues, such as the importance of Big Bird (you knew I'd have to throw that in somewhere). But the sad fact is that flirting is pretty much nonexistent because of accessible technology. I think my ex and I had two face to face conversations where flirting was minimal before he sent me a "I like you more than a friend" text. Well. Silly old me for thinking that a friendship was barely even starting. I forgot that everything happened in two seconds flat.

Call me old fashioned, but just because it's easier to say what we're thinking, doesn't mean the whole charade of courting should disappear along with Britney Spears' hair. I don't know about you, but I'd much rather see a guy standing outside my door with a bouquet of roses and a genuine smile than a smiley emoticon and a bunch of cliched lines that lead up to "hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but I'm a horny seventeen year old, so screw me maybe." Just because it's easier to be courageous behind that tiny keyboard, doesn't mean honesty is always endearing. Just goes to show that the whole thing about girls liking assholes--not true.

We've become faceless drones when it comes to flirting. The same cheesy lines aren't endearing the first time, and certainly not the fifth. Texting is useful for making plans, telling your friend you saw a squirrel eating an ice cream cone, and perhaps a few personal anecdotes, but please, for the love of all things romantic, don't let flirting go extinct. Maybe it's scary. Maybe it's awkward. But flirting is, and always will be just plain sweet. Oh, and so is raspberry chocolate. Hint hint, wink wink.

Namaste.

Today is a leopard print day

Yes, I do own leopard print jeans. And duct tape. And my pillow pet may or may not be covered in purple leopard spots. I don't have some weird fascination with these animals, but wearing brown spots on my legs makes me feel a bit more like a fashionista. And, I admit, in sixth grade, I was obsessed with the Cheetah Girls. Like, I thought they were the next big thing since the Beatles. Only with more words like "duckets" and "true dat."

Well, it seems the Cheetah Girls are not nearly as skilled as I remember them being, and although I insisted Raven Symone was the one exception to bad Disney Channel acting, it turns out being in middle school distorts more than just your boobs and butt. A change in mindset may occur. Be forewarned. So, after my obsession with this group died down, my cheetah print clothes got thrown to the back of the closet. This might have something to do with an innocent little sixth grader getting told by a big scary eighth grader (who was a bit overkill on the whole gothic thing, let's just note that) that she got dressed in the dark. To a twelve year old, that's pretty much the same thing as saying "you're worthless, go die in a hole."

Needless to say, I don't know why I purchased these jeans, except that they were $5 and this was back when I had some strange compulsion to spend money 24/7 (one of the benefits of being busy all the time--no more shopping). But something drove me to ditch the plain jeans (or sweatpants) this morning and be outrageous and bold, and all that fun stuff. While I felt the tiniest bit self-conscious when everyone around me was wearing PSU hoodies and sweats, it's oddly liberating to be reminded of your sixth grade self after a while. I may not go belting out "girl power" anytime soon, but embracing the strangely-styled twelve year old I once was is not always a bad thing. Besides, leopard print is coming back into style. Or something.

Leopard print duct tape, wheyy

Namaste.

Collegiate myths

I've been a Penn State student for almost two months now (3 if you count summer session), and like anyone starting a new part of her life, I came into college with expectations. Some were minor like, "of course I'll have salad every single night!" and other times I was convinced after a month of going to class and taking tests I'd be a completely changed individual. Sometimes I was on the right track, but I'm still me, and I still reflect in the randomness that is my blog, so just bear with me here and my crazy expectations about college life.

1) Friendships aren't like Wal-Mart...you can't get anything you'd ever want in ten minutes or less
Yes, there are thousands of people my age to talk to. Many of them are looking for friends. But just because people are open doesn't mean you can walk up to someone, go, "so...how about them parties?" and expect an instant best friendship. Insta-friends are somewhat similar to instant coffee: crappy and leaving you with a headache two hours later. Good friends need to brew, simmer, and insert another witty coffee metaphor here. It took me at least a year to get to where I am now with my current good friends. Some might see enough commonalities in discovering they were just as drunk as Billy, Bob and Joe, but knowing who's going to make a true impact on your life takes time. We're not a reality TV show here--we can't edit out the small talk.

2) Just because you have three hours in between classes doesn't mean you will study for three hours.
There was once a naive little freshman who so innocently believed she wouldn't have to study at night because she had a free period from 10-1:25. Seems like enough of a chunk to cover essays and tests galore, right? I think Dr. Cox from Scrubs has something to say about this:

It turns out, what happens in these lovely breaks in between classes, is anything but studying. Maybe I've been productive enough to run like a crazy person on a treadmill, and if I'm feeling truly ambitious, I'll bring a book from English class to read on the stationary bike. But what usually ends up happening is our friends huddle in our dorm room and laugh over slutty Halloween costumes. Homework seems less of a pressing issue when there's a group of friends ignoring it together. Why write about the importance of lock motifs in Lolita when you have to decide between being a devil or "pair of dice lost" for Halloween? It's a legit dilemma here. But then there's that whole eating thing. You may think there's no need to ever enter the dining hall--that grabbing lunch at the convenience store and chowing down over flash cards will save you hours. Ah, but then you discover that your friends have the exact same free time as you and they all want to grab some excessive amounts of frozen yogurt healthy salads before their next class. I can probably stuff my face with lunch in ten minutes if I'm alone. But with friends, we end up talking about Kim Possible and other sophisticated matters, and a bowl of soup can end up lasting forty minutes. Not to say that I don't appreciate eating with other people, since braving the dining hall alone can be quite the scary feat. But just because I could technically do all my homework before nighttime, doesn't make it a reality.

3) Salad may be available at the dining hall, but so is ice cream, pizza, heart attacks in a sandwich...
I, like every other female in the universe, have a love/hate relationship with food. I may dress up a salad to make it look enticing, but cut back on fatty dressing, and it still feels like I'm chewing on grass. I'm still a fruit-ivore, but I'm not entirely sure it balances out when I top a few strawberries on a bowl of creamery ice cream. I came into the dining hall that first night confident that I would stick to a strict diet, ignore the lovely mac 'n cheese, and be the skinniest person since Twiggy. This may work for people who don't do a happy dance every time they see a chocolate creme egg everywhere they go, but temptation cannot be resisted every minute of every day. At home, I ate what was served to me, nothing more, nothing less. At the dining hall, if you eat everything that's served to you, you'd be able to try out for the sumo wrestling team. Grownup decisions start off with realizing you can't stuff your face with burgers every night and still be able to fit in size 4 jeans. Even if you can run for...ten minutes...

Minutes, people. Not miles. My life.

4) Professors will not make you gold-medal winner of the world if you do an assignment early.
Even if I do spend my mornings gym-ing and playing epic games of War with friends, I still try to get on top of my assignments. Since I was lazy this semester and opted to only take 4 classes, this has proven to be relatively do-able. Plus, I admit, I do get a slight thrill out of writing essays, and I should stop trying to deny that I am my parents here. It's bound to happen that I do everything two weeks in advance and write to-do lists that start with "write a to-do list." Although I'm sure my English professor appreciates people who do their work and all that jazz, what I expected at first was this:

Professor: "Class, you could all stand to be more like this girl here and hand in A worthy papers before they're assigned. Gold stars, Kira!"

Apparently gold stars are a thing of the past and are buried underneath that sandbox I played in during kindergarten recess. Humph.

What really happened, looked more like this:

"Class, there's been a change in the syllabus. Instead, I want you to finish the book, and I'm canceling your short response." Change in the syllabus, to any college student, is equivalent to the Jaws soundtrack. You mean to say, I just did work that wasn't even assigned? And no references to her lovely students who keep themselves on track? What is this, adulthood? I guess those external pats on the back should be buried in the same sandbox.

5) Classes are not designed to torture you and make you the most stressed out person ever in the world.
Yes, professors may give tests to make sure we're not watching episodes of Heroes instead of studying (ahem), but they're not interested in making us all walking GPA's. Of course everyone wants their students to succeed and accomplish, but unlike high school, that doesn't take precedence. My professors have stressed that we should think, and question, and not take everything at face value. We've observed scientific studies not as what we should all grow up to accomplish, but to ask "is this a valid study? What variables might mess up the results? And are peer reviewers always that self-congratulatory?" Critical reading/thinking, as it turns out, is not just on the SATs. It's like germs--it's everywhere. Okay, maybe critical thinking is a little cooler than germs. But I'm just saying. Professors don't have some malicious goal to make us have to pull all-nighters to cram for challenging tests. Even if your English teacher does have a suspiciously evil laugh.

So I still have a lot to learn in college, but thus far I've learned not to expect so much. Oh, and that worms make kids stupid. Who knew?

Namaste.