The Wild English Major Wildabeest

They're out there. They're eating your food, sharing your classrooms, breathing your air. At first glance, they may seem like harmless creatures--cute, even. But these are ferocious animals, ready to pounce at any moment.

The English Majorus may stem from several different genus. They can be difficult to distinguish from Complete Nerdus, I-Had-A-Weird-Childhood-us and the Great Eyeglassed Monster.

Habitat:
The English Major Wildabeest can be found hiding in her dorm, camouflaged under a university hoodie that is not actually her university. This species is unable to breathe for long periods of time in public areas, so she must often retreat to her home to come up for breath. Her home is easily distinguished by the various Dante references she posts around her wall, the fedora that is laying on her dresser, and the multitude of bookshelves.

When forced to depart from her natural habitat, the English Major Wildabeest takes to the back of classrooms, cafés that are not Starbucks, and...That's it. Then she retreats back to her home. It is common for the English Major Wildabeest to emerge from hiding on football weekends--she then hunts for the great ramen monster at the nearest Wegmans during game time.

Diet:
The English Major Wildabeest takes to eating ramen, mac 'n cheese, and Pop Tarts. This is a defense mechanism, in preparation for the long winter in which she will have to send millions resumés and live in a box.

The English Major Wildabeest does not always need food for energy, however. It is common for this species to gain energy from watching frat boys say stupid things to each other, being the example essay in class, and John Green novels.

Appearance:
The English Major Wildabeest comes in various forms of appearance. Often the female species can be spotted sporting a bun, braids, or some other hairstyle that takes less than ten minutes to accomplish. They may humor themselves by gathering in groups and trying to imitate the Popular Girl-us with the winged eyeliner look. This often results in humiliation and something that appears to be a black eye.

For warmth, the English Major Wildabeest can be seen wearing various Disney tops, and jeans that were on sale at Wal-Mart.

The male species can be recognized by his sweater vests, peacoats, and blue jeans with accidental holes in them. Sportswear is absolutely forbidden in this species' attire.

Both species can also often be found wearing glasses.

Behavior:
The Wild English Major Wildabeest is easiest to spot through her behavior, for she is one of the few of the college student species that does not enter the gym every morning. She may, on particular stressful days, run on treadmills for a few minutes, but this is odd behavior, and she is on danger mode the entire time. The English Major Wildabeest often uses a bound-paper rectangle with black print inside as a defense mechanism--this particular defense is called reading. It can be used as defense in two senses 1) So that annoying guy in her Gen Ed won't talk to her on the bus and 2) Knowledge is power, and she knows her Wordsworth obsessed teacher will ask some question about Lyrical Ballads next class. 

The Wild English Major Wildabeest strikes when you least expect it. A silent creature, she creeps almost un-noticeably in the back of classrooms, watching the Frat Boy-us and the Hungover-us flounder about as the Great Horned Grad Student tries to generate some discussion. She is the unknown predator, slowly watching her prey sleepily raise their hands in class--she strikes as essays become due, or during the last week of class. She may go in for the kill as she takes exact quotes from the assigned reading, references classics that she read outside of class, or attends office hours.

Namaste.

My Makeup Addiction: The Eyeliner Edition

So as you might have learned from my last makeup post, Ulta opened up in town. It's not like it's impossible to get quality makeup elsewhere, but c'mon, who passes up a store entirely devoted to glittery stuff, nail polish that smells like coconut, and neon things that you can stick in your eye?

Sane people who have to save up for an apartment, that's who.

The thing about my friends and I, is that we are very routine-driven creatures. We can spend a year watching Alex Reads Twilight and we wouldn't be bored by a second of it.

To our future neighbors who have to hear us singing to Mulan and watching Edie Izzard: Dress to Kill for the millionth time, my apologies.

So as we prefer doing the same thing, we've gotten to know Dairy Queen quite well. But you can't just end a hangout at ice cream. That's social suicide, obviously. And so, for the past week, as my friends and I have purchased our hot fudge sundaes and brownie blizzards, the next thing that comes out of one of our mouths is "let's go to Ulta!"

Why? Why? There's only one shade of foundation that matches one's skin. A little bronzer goes a long way. Hell, we only have two eyes. There's only so much eyeliner and eyeshadow you need before you start looking like a very confused chameleon.

But apparently I'm on a mission to buy all the colors of all the things.

Because you know what you need when you have career hair? Career lipstick. Which, as it turns out, must be something other than hot pink. Who knew?

And once you hit the eye color mission, you find colors that are so alike in color, you can't even notice the difference. But one is titled espresso and the other is titled iced coffee, and who can possibly only take one coffee inspired eyeliner? That's like Sophie's choice!

Then there's the rewards. Ulta doesn't just say "hey, once you spend $100,000 you get a poorly baked cookie and 15% off the next purchase" (Hot Topic, I'm looking at you). No, you get a free gift bag, if you spend $20 on Ulta brand product. And do you know what is in that gift bag? More career lipstick. Obviously one must spring for such a gift. Plus you get a new bag to put all your shit you don't need precious makeup in.

The ironic thing is that all these purchases happened right before school starts. And school, by definition is a time when you have neither time nor money to makeup-ify. And so, the makeup sits in its ten thousand pouches, just waiting for its purpose to fulfilled. And then it starts to get abandonment issues and wonders if it just looked tempting in that beautiful fluorescent light, and is just useless powder that makes skin look orange. 

I literally spent an hour before my camping trip putting on all my eyeliners so they wouldn't feel hurt. They didn't feel hurt, but my eyes sure did.

I mean, as fun as it is to put on makeup, it's not an essential. We just force ourselves to believe it is, and then we spend entire camping trip wondering if our skin looks presentable to passing fish. Like, maybe that trout is opposed to pimples, and that bass over there refuses to go near humans without seafoam green eyeliner.

Hey, it has the word "sea" in it. Anything's possible.

Not only is there the addiction to wearing makeup, but the addiction of staring at it is almost as strong. Like, my best friend and I could have spent two hours productively writing and singing at the top of our lungs editing. Instead, we spent the first hour dumping all my makeup onto my floor and staring at it. We would ooh and ahh at white liquid eyeliner--and I'll tell ya, blogs don't write themselves while you're staring at overpriced chemicals.

I don't know how I spent a month without makeup, because clearly now I cannot live with shelling out entire paychecks to poke myself in the eye.

Namaste.

We Natured: The Story of Bears, Rope Swings, and 6 Foot Fish

I'm not inclined to brave the natural world very often, and yet I put myself in situations where I backpack, hike and bike on a regular basis. I'm not entirely sure how this happens in most cases, but this particular "let's go in nature" persuasion went something like:

Father: Kira, would you like to camp with us?
Daughter: [unable to tear herself away from all things technology] Ehh, not really.
Father: There will be s'mores.
Daughter: Okay!

And so, we drove off for a weekend of delicious desserts family bonding time.

Day one induced quite a bit of shock at my departure from makeup (my eyeliner is still recovering from abandonment issues) and lack of both 3G and WiFi. I learned that inflatable kayaks make great napping posts and that camping is a prime activity for puns.

If you've talked to me for more than two seconds gotten to know me, you'll have realized that I love puns. Like, there is no lukewarm affection here. I hard core pun it up until everybody's rolling their eyes and wondering who raised me to tell such terrible jokes.

The answer would be the one person who loves puns more than I do: My father.

Thus, we did what any sane family would do--we decided to have a pun contest that fateful first day. It was a close call, though I must give the crown to my father for announcing that if a six foot fish ran for office, he would run for president of the school board.

The runner up, however, came from yours truly; as my father realized that he needed wood to start a fire, I proclaimed that a "fire would be nice." Would? Wood? Heheheh, gettit?

Days two and three, besides Tarzan-style swinging into a lake, involved getting to know the wild creatures of the Allegheny. The thing about nature-ing, is that you can't pick and choose which wildabeests visit your campsite. If it were up to me, there would be giant eyeshadows roaming about in its natural habitat. While there was nary a trout to be found, I later learned, that creeping at the bottom of the 120 ft lake were 6 ft fish...fish whose bodies were 33% teeth. That's two feet of teeth. All of a sudden, my legs went from swimming machines to appendages that looked eerily similar to smaller fish.

The bad part about 120 ft lakes is that they make it quite possible to drown. The good part about 120 ft lakes is that creatures that roam on the bottom will only see teeny tiny dots on the top. That's quite a journey to get some nice, fishy lunch.

Other creatures one may encounter during one's camping trip are the wild frat boys, mighty music-blarers, roaring motor homes, and nocturnal drunks (same family as the wild frat boys, but may differ in appearance and smell).

Oh, and bears.

During our last night at the camp ground, some family friends visited as we sat around the fire. We weren't terribly loud, nor are we terribly oblivious. However, somehow, sometime in the course of three hours, a bear strolled into the neighboring campsite, dragged an entire bucket of food into the woods, and proceeded to eat all the contents of the bucket, minus the TP. He even sampled a bite of aluminium foil. My stepmother and I both concluded that it was the wild frat boys playing a wild prank on our neighbors before even the thought of bears seeped in.

I suppose he was a rather gentlemanly bear, who wished not to impede on our fireside fun. How courteous of a creature who is about to inhale all food in site.

Living in State College, I never thought I'd have to sleep with a whistle by my side. I was mistaken. 

The hosts later informed us that this bear had been around all summer--he had, in fact, learned how to open up water bottles, was well versed in the art of honey-stealing, and had once stolen a guest's lobster and steak.

At least he has good taste.

Namaste.

The "Why Girls Annoy Me" Defense: Decisions

So I've seen a number of "why girls annoy me" videos on YouTube. And while Jenna Marbles has covered a number of topics in her "understanding girls" videos, there is one particular annoyance that has not yet been addressed. No, it's not going to the bathroom in groups (sometimes it's to discuss you, sometimes it's because we have the same pee schedules). It's the fact that taking forever to decide things seems to be a nuisance to the male species.

Well.

Do you know what happens when we don't think through all our options? Impulsive nature. Do you know what comes out of impulses? Too much candy, too many shoes, a terrible haircut, a breakup.

So think verrrrry wisely before you start wishing we were more spontaneous. Those pro/con lists might just be saving your relationship.

Sure, taking an hour to decide which lipstick to wear may seem rather inane at the time, but what seems to be the little picture for you, is actually the entire evening for us. Let's say that we're going out with some girlfriends, and we just bought some cute heels. We want to show them off to our friends because we just spent like, an entire paycheck on them, but we also know that our other friend enjoys bringing us to her farm, in which case the cute shoes would be ruined. We could pack our flip-flops in a bag, but that would mean getting a bigger bag, which would mean changing pants, because purple and brown just don't go together.

And that would just ruin girl's night, okay?

It's not that we're indecisive. Much. We just simply enjoy thinking things through, in order to make everything a little more pleasant for everybody.

Think of it this way: You know how we magically come out of the bathroom smelling like vanilla, donning fuller eyebrows and looking like we just spent a weekend in the sun? That's at least two hours at the makeup store. What you see is the finished product. We're like actors in a play. What seems like a simple performance, is actually hours upon hours behind the scenes, rehearsing lines. Do you know how long it takes to match an eyebrow pencil to your eyebrows?

And sometimes, if we're really desperate to come up with things to talk about (we've all had those awkward moments), it feels like a bonding moment to say "should I do this or this?" Maybe you're in the rocky beginning stages of dating, and you and a girl are going to see a movie. It may seem simpler to just go see Jackass and be done with it (but please don't take her to see that film), but she might want to sneak in that she likes action movies, but that her favorite actor is Jennifer Aniston, who's starring in that new rom-com.

Don't ask me why someone who likes action movies would also like Jennifer Aniston--I'm not judging.

Namaste.

Your Guide to Quarter-Life Crises

We all have them, don't lie. You see that "nah, not me" face you're making? Stoppit.
Whether you're in college, have just graduated, or spent a few years in your high school job, there's a point where you go "what the hell am I doing?" and hope to the heavens that once you hit 30, there's some secret book that tells you how to do life properly.

So how do we fix these crises? *shrug* I don't know, you're asking the person who spent five hours watching Grey's Anatomy because she didn't want to think about her own life. The escapist route is the most common one for those going through this crisis, but it manifests itself in strange ways.

Allow me to elaborate.

1) The traveler
This person, when stuck at his own home, must dwell in his own uncertainty and be reminded that he hasn't washed his sheets in four years. But, with a different background and more superficial friends, he can certainly forget about the misery he'll have to subject himself to when he returns home for an office job. The traveler often has no problem getting into massive debt as he hops from hostel to hostel and orders various teas in England. When asked what his address is, the traveler will stop and stare for a little bit, answer with a vague "I'm home free" and drink some French wine.

It can be difficult to differentiate someone who travels out of fear, versus someone who travels because they're ambitious and enjoy real brie. Usually, the quarter-life-crisis traveler can be spotted when he clearly hasn't showered in a month, and starts drooling at the sight of a hamburger. 

2) The Mommy-Moocher.
This person enjoys taking two things: Free food and her childhood. The Mommy Moocher pretends growing up is something she can try on, but she can always go back to her overly pink room and breakfasts that magically appear in the kitchen. She avoids freaking out over her rent by pretending that her parents are superheros who can fix everything by simply snapping a finger. Apparently this person's been watching too many musicals, because when else have you seen snapping a finger do anything except annoy your cat?

It isn't uncommon for this person to go back to her childhood home, make a fort, and proceed to color under it.

3) The over-compensator.
It is likely that ever since this person blew out 18 candles, they've been thinking "HOLY SHIT WHAT AM I DOING HOW DO I ACT...WHAT ARE THIS?"
Kudos if you got the reference.
But instead of letting his peers smell weakness, this person pretends that he's got it under control. He reads a few law books, memorizes a few bits of jargon, and spends an entire month's paycheck on some suits. This helps innocent passersby undergo the illusion that this person, when scared, becomes awesome instead.
Oftentimes, you will hear this person talk of the "next great project." This is normally followed by "when I have money."  

4) The mental escapist.
The mental escapist uses television as a safety net. This allows her to stop thinking about where her life is not going, and to instead, laugh at grown women who never grew out their partying phase (cough cough Snooki cough). The mental escapist is likely to use television that requires little brain activity, such as Gossip Girl or America's Next Top Model (which is becoming co-ed this season...whaaat?). Oftentimes this person has the most wrecked of sleep schedules, because they lose themselves in a season of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and realize it's 4A.M.

You can often spot a mental escapist when you hear someone who quotes other people's words than come up with their own.

Namaste.

The Post Collegiate Summer

Being one of the State College-ites who chose not to take summer classes, I've had a full-fledged break. And while being at home can seem strangely akin to high school life, there are some differences between teenage summers and post-freshman summers. For one, no matter what you do, there's a high chance you'll think you could be do something else that would look more impressive on your résumé. I know watching Game of Thrones is educational--unfortunately, Graduate programs may not have such advanced thinking.

1) You will sleep in. A lot.
Once upon a time there was a high school student who had the inability to sleep past 7:45 A.M. She thought this to be a curse. Then she went to college, and can no longer drag her ass out of bed before 11:00.
Your parents, who may accuse you of sloth-dom, will be more understanding if you explain that you were up late reading your textbooks for next semester. Really, your textbooks will be collecting dust in their respective packages until classes start.
Try to maintain some normal sleep schedule a few weeks before classes, or if you have a job that requires you to wake up at ungodly hours. But then break that schedule when you discover a highly addictive show, book, caffeinated beverage, etc.

2) It will be very difficult to read a book without A) a pencil in hand and B) analytical thought.
Sometimes, you just want to read for fun. Like, who ever applied literary theory onto the Sookie Stackhouse novels? College students on break, that's who. While it can be fun to realize that not every lecture went to waste, it can also turn a five hour reading project into a two week one.

3) You may have a strong urge to tell your parents, not ask, what you're doing/where you're going.
Family dynamics are obviously a case-by-case basis, but do resist this urge. Your parents most likely realize that they have far less control on their kids as they grow up, but if you're living in their house (or even if you're not) it can be nice to hear that their children respect and appreciate them. If you aren't asking for their vehicles or money, it's perfectly fine to ask for a tad more freedom. But don't go all "I'm an adult, what do you mean 'midnight curfew'?" while you watch their cable and eat the chips they paid for.

4) You will try to squeeze every activity you've ever done onto your résumé. And then you'll start freaking out about how to get a career.
Even if you have what you deem as a "silly summer job," it really will look impressive on your résumé if you persevere. Show up early, get to know your managers, take extra shifts...you never know who may be writing your next recommendation. And everybody worked their way from the bottom. Except Paris Hilton, and nobody likes her.

5) If you fell victim to the freshman 15, you may be tempted to stare into your closet and try on old jeans. Don't. This will make all semblance of self-esteem fall out the window. This self-esteem can shoot right back up by setting early alarms with the intention of exercising, then sleeping through them instead.

Namaste.

This is Not How You Bookshelf! The Ballad of the Pink Spray Paint

In preparation for our approaching move to an apartment in (gulp) three weeks, my friend MC and I decided to paint a bookshelf. It was in fair-ish condition, but it's obviously vital that all our furniture go with a pink theme. We're not the most handy when it comes to household stuff, but we figured we could just hop into Lowes, get some hot pink paint and a couple of brushes, and we'd be well on our way to success.

That is what you might think. You would be wrong.

So MC's father gives us advice not to use spray paint, to use a primer, and to use Latex paint. We later discover that fathers, on occasion, know things. We are not so enlightened at this point. We walk into Lowes in awe of the general vastness of the store and make confused looks at people wearing red vests until someone takes pity on us.

Fortunately, an employee asks us seemingly useful information, such as "what is the bookshelf made of?" and "how big is it?" This is when it all goes wrong--After informing said employee that the shelf wasn't terribly large, we hear the five words that will make all hell break loose: "You can use spray paint."

And to naive souls, spray paint seems to be the obvious solution. It's cheap, fast, and fun to shake like a Polaroid picture. We buy two cans because, little do we know, we think we're being over prepared.

At this point, we're already in a hurry to beat out the rain that's threatening to cover State College (what else is new), so we shake up some spray paint, go a little nuts while accidentally painting spiders bright pink--does spray paint kill spiders? If so, this project involved insect manslaughter--and realize that all we're doing is making the shelf look spotty and splotchy. The only sp- adjective we intend to go for is splendiferous.

After getting the "I told you so" spiel from MC's father, with heads down and credit cards up, we return to Lowes and cry to a new employee. By the time we get to the words "spray paint" he looks at us as though we were trying to make cheese out of wood. And thus begins the introduction to primer.

Ohhh, you need primer to make your paint stick? Aren't we the fancy ones?

So, seeing as the first employee lied to us, we end up spending roughly $50 on fixing a bookshelf. Do you know what we could buy with $50? A new bookshelf.

The irony never ceases to astound me.

Primer and paint in hand, we return to the garage to start priming that shelf up the wazoo. We drag the shelf into the garage (and get our hands dyed hot pink along the way) and watch the white primer mix in with the hot pink spray paint whils't listening to Alex Day music.

And then we see the carpet. With splotches of pink. And that is when I hear "KIRA! I NEED SOAP AND WATER!"

I may not know a whole lot about cleaning paint splotches, but I do know that soap is the herpes of cleaning supplies--it gets everywhere. So while we succeed in erasing the pink, we get a giant pile of soap all over MC's carpet. With a giant bucket of water, we flush out the soap and pick it up with our hands. Ten rags and a roll of paper towels later, we end up with dried soap carpet and a giant wet spot on the floor.

And we haven't even done the paint coat yet.

All I can say is, tomorrow is a new day.

Namaste. 

Career hair

I might as well have an entirely different blog dedicated to my hair, what with the strife it's caused. Sure, it's cause for the occasional compliment and "I wish I had your hair!" but little do you know, oh innocent bystander, that my hair has the ability to eat faces with its fangs. It's a dreadful business, dealing with the monsters that grow out of my scalp.

Perhaps we should start at the beginning...always a positive place to start.

This is the story of Kira's hair. You have been warned. 

Back in the day, I was a bit of a tomboy. The only time I painted on my face was when I wanted to look like a cat. What annoyed me more than the inability to become a cat, was when hair got in my face. And so begins the pixie cut disaster of 1998. Fortunately, Facebook wasn't a thing at that time, so I'll spare you the pictures. But at that point I was convinced that the hairdresser could grow back hair because she was magical.

Apparently hair extensions weren't a thing yet either. 

2000 was a fantastic year for my hair. Once upon a time I had a normal thickness and bleach blonde ringlets and I could just hop out of bed and everything would fall into place. Sometimes I think my hair is a fine predictor of how chaotic the upcoming year will be.

Fast forward to 2009, when puberty decided to get the better of me.

This, combined with the fact that I had no eyebrows, combined with the fact that 15 years old just sucks, made for a not-so-happy time.

2010 began the period of time when I spent way too much money on appearance made an investment in myself. 10th grade sparked a wish to be a "whole new person," which, as everyone with two X chromosomes knows, starts with the dramatic haircut. This coincides with my idea that it is absolutely fine to bleach the shit out of my hair.

Do you know how long this look lasted? Until I washed it. Some investment that was. And yes, I realize the obnoxious smile is my Zoolander face.

Unless I wanted to get my hair chemically straightened twice a week, I'd have to brave the flat iron in order to look like something other than the creature from the Black Lagoon. And so, reaching 2012, as my roommates can attest, every morning we would wake up to the smell of burning hair. Sometimes this hair would take five hours of abuse magically turn different colors, such as black.

You might think this is the hair in its curly state. You would be wrong. At least Colorado had like 2% humidity.

By the time the hair reached the length that would require three hours of flat ironing and an entire bottle of conditioner (and the fact that my blond roots were threatening to eat the black dye), I realized two things: 1) At some point, I will no longer be able to run around taking classes, and will need a career. 2) I probably couldn't get a career while rocking the half dreads half skunk look.

And so, in 2013, we enter what I call "career hair." Really, I just spent a gazillion dollars to go back to how it looked in 10th grade, but shhhhhh. Sometimes I try to convince myself I'll somehow want to become a doctor because this career hair looks somewhat like Elliot Reid's from Scrubs. Then I realize needles freak me out.

By the time I'm actually ready to get a career, I'll probably actually have purple dreadlocks or something. But we can pretend normalcy is a thing I practice on occasion.

Namaste.

Makeup: A Socially Acceptable Means of Coloring Under a Fort

So much to the excitement of roughly 50% of State College's population, Ulta has opened in town. And while I've never considered myself addicted to makeup, I certainly enjoy a good foundation or five. After my friend wrote this post about her makeup addiction, I realized the dangers of being surrounded by hundreds of shiny things, but braved the store anyway. I could've used some foundation and hair gel--you know, practical stuff.

This is what happened.

You may realize there is nary a foundation, but at least five different eye pencils, liners, eyebrow pencils, etc. Since when did eyebrows need pencils anyway? Are they going to start taking the SATs soon?

Sure, my eyes may pop a tad more with a little blue or black lined around them, but having an entire rainbow scrawled on your face isn't about to win anyone over.

The thing about having a store entirely devoted to makeup, is that you start to see your morning routine in a different way. I don't see anyone going to Target saying "I must find the most beautiful eyeshadow in the world!" No. You go to Target to get what you need--throw in some sunscreen, some TP, a new bottle of lip gloss, and you're good to go.

But marketing-wise, Ulta wins all the genius awards--they don't advertise what you need. They advertise what you deserve. And who doesn't deserve all the pretty colors? And the sparkly things?

What it comes down to is that it's fun to color. And since grownups are seldom allowed to color on paper anymore, we color on our faces. I mean, eye pencils are basically crayons. Liquid eyeliner is paint. Keep working at it, and you could be the next Van Gogh of skin.

But once these "grownup crayons" accumulate, the situation turns dire. Just like with clothes, the more options I have, the more freaked out I become. Just because I have an entire bag of eye-coloring tools, does not mean I will grow any more eyes. And so, I overuse my favorite colors, and throw the other gajillion dollar pencils out the window. It's only from digging through the depths of my makeup bag that I even remembered purchasing blue and purple eyeliner. I might as well just have one green liner in my bag; the result would be the same.

All I can say is, my skin better stay kind to me. Because I am not about to venture the world of primers and setters and cleansers, oh my.

Namaste.

Fear and Loathing in State College

Let's face it: We could live to be one hundred years old and still not know how to do all the things. We could study all the books or knit all the scarves, and there would still be someone who knew more, or could do better.

And, as people get older, they seem to be more ashamed by what they don't know how to do/have never done. Yes, I am a major culprit. We'll learn together, dear reader. D'aww, bonding. Oftentimes I hear people say "well...I could never do that...I've never learned!"

One of the saddest things about growing up is that people often assume they can't look silly or foolish when doing anything. I don't know about you, but I seldom see a skier wearing a suit and tie, never wobbling or shouting "HOW THE HELL DO I TURN ON THESE THINGS?"

Perhaps that's because I rarely venture outside the bunny hill. But that's another story.

From what I've experienced, it's difficult to try new things when other people are watching. I've spent my first month working in the cheese department getting wrapping lessons from at least 4 different people. It's awkward and scary to declare that 1) you are a novice and 2) sometimes you won't have natural talent from the get-go.

But unless you were a superstar since age 3 and win olympic gold medals until retirement, there's a chance your ambitions are going to change. A lot. And in order to fulfill that ambition, you're gonna have to look like a bit of a fool mastering a new skill.

If the winning force within humans is ambition, the runner up is fear. Fear that we'll look stupid. Fear that we'll fail. And sure, you probably will look like an idiot tumbling down a ski slope with one ski falling off your foot and the other slamming into your face. But the trick is not how good you look doing something, it's how you present it. If you play up the silliness and make faces while you smash into a pile of snow, those looking at you either A) Aren't actually looking at you and are staring off into space while thinking about themselves or B) See you as someone who isn't afraid to indulge in your ridiculous-ness sometimes.

It's hard to take people's advice to "just let go" and literally not care what other people think. Some may pull off the aloof nature better than others, but all of us care to some extent. We want to impress others on occasion. Picturing everyone watching in their underwear doesn't help much either...though it does succeed in making you laugh at the most inappropriate of times.

What I've found to be most helpful is to start off around those you aren't concerned about impressing. While close friends are the most obvious answer, I also can more easily loosen up around older people. And turtles. Turtles are very non-judgmental creatures. Once you've gotten to that relaxed nature, it's a million times easier to go forth and adventure.

It's a lot more admirable to try new things and look weird doing it than saying no because you're scared.

That, folks, is the true meaning of YOLO. If that word must be used.

As told in Game of Thrones, Bran questions "'can a man still be brave if he's afraid?'" (137). His father's answer? "That is the only time a man can be brave." 

Namaste.

Bolder in Another Language? Or, Saying "hey" Without Wanting to Die

Let's just preface this by saying I love people. As soon as I get comfortable with a certain individual (so, two years, give or take), I have no problem seeing his/her lovely face every day of the week. I could go bowling and ice cream-ing every minute of every day with a select group of friends (let's not talk about how much I do actually go ice-creaming) and not be exhausted, bored, wishing I was an alien from mars, whatever.

But come time to meet a new face, some of the worse words ever uttered are you should go talk to him.

The cuter said new person is, the more I'll avoid him. I know, my brain is scary. We've fought on occasion.

You know that feeling where you're about to scale a mountain, and you've got all your supplies, you've got your trip mapped out, and you just have to gather the courage to actually get onto the mountain? That's what saying hello is like.

Bonjour, however, is another story.

I don't know what it is about other languages, but they instantly make talking to a new person a million times times easier. Before, awkward pauses and odd word placement made you an idiot. Now, you're just someone trying to branch out from your native tongue. And every time you initiate a conversation, you're not trying to be an annoying stalker; you're just trying to get some extra French practice.

I think the U.S. should initiate a new law that everyone's crush should automatically speak the other's foreign language of interest.

Also, you get to involuntarily spit a lot when speaking French at people. Which is always a fun time.

I once had a friendship that was mostly based on swearing at one another in French. It's the only time I've ever been able to exude annoyance at someone without being an asshole.

Maybe it's just me, but figuring out the reasons for approaching someone can be tricky business. If you walk up to someone because his face reaches Brad Pitt level of gorgeous, you're superficial. If you walk up to someone because she's talking about John Green, you're an evesdropper. Language seems to reach the non-creepy level of approachable-ness.

In reality, almost everyone likes to be reached out to because someone thinks they're nice. But for the purposes of this blog, that would be too logical.

Unfortunately, not everyone speaks some exotic language; saying "hey" to an English speaker shouldn't be nearly as scary as we make it out to be. And since I haven't made an advice-y type blog in a while, I present to you some things I've learned about approaching people whils't decreasing some level of dorkiness:

1) Talk about mutual friends/co-workers
Not in a backstabbing kind of way--go for the kind of conversation that said mutual friend wouldn't mind being conversed about. Maybe your friend Bob invented a drinking game where you have to take a shot every time it rains in State College. Or your co-worker got a malicious cat and has scratches on her left toenail. It can be tricky to blindly search for common ground, but starting off at a point you know both conversationalists can contribute to leaves out a lot of awkward pauses.

2) If possible, bring the mutual friend into the conversation.
You're gonna feel quite a bit of pressure when you're on the shy side and are responsible for 50% of the conversation. Don't let your friend take over the encounter, but just knowing that someone else is there takes away the "oh god what should I say next? Should I make eye contact with them the whole time? What if that joke wasn't even funny?" (Spoiler alert: if it's a pun, they probably won't think the joke was funny). This especially works when your friend is bubbly and can that bit of "wheee!" to a chat.

3) Discuss news that everybody knows about if they're not dead.
The Zimmerman trial evoked quite a few interesting conversations. What can I say, controversy initiates great friendships sometimes.

4) Poke fun at them.
I know, a lot of this advice could be put in a negative light. I might as well just be telling you to become backstabbing bullies to win friends. But what I mean is that we've all been at that small-talk stage: "what do you like to do for fun?" "Any siblings?" "Do you like coffee?" (although you should ask this when looking for future relationships because 1) It could lead to a date if they say yes, and 2) if they say no, it's obviously a deal breaker). Once you get to lightly tease someone, it's a subtle way of saying "I'm comfortable enough with you to notice your quirks."

Telling a new female friend to lay off the cheeseburgers is probably not the fun-poking route to take. But I was just talking with a co-worker about sleep--as a side note, you probably shouldn't advertise that you crash after 9:00 and are "so lame," but let's pretend that never happened--and when he mentioned needing his "beauty sleep," I was able to make an "oh, okay" eye roll in response.

Or that just makes you a total dick. Still figuring that one out.

If all else fails, pretend you're mute or have a rare throat disease.

Namaste.