Tonight, I "Party Host-ed" Brecon Prom, an event that hasn't been held in three years. There was a lot of talk about potentially having it, and as a dorm president, I felt obligated to do something about that. So I sent out an e-mail/survey, people responded and... I had a party?
It's funny, because I'm not much of a "party" person. If I'm going to hang out, I prefer to do it in a smaller group of friends I know really well. The only exception to this might be rugby socials, but even those it's my teammates and I feel pretty close to a lot of them. Point is: I didn't throw this party because I wanted to have a party; I was trying to do what the rest of the dorm wanted.
Honestly, I think it went pretty well. We didn't have a ton of people, but that's because I didn't advertise it super-heavily. Firstly, because Brecon can only hold a Level 1 party, for 30-60 people - and I didn't want half of the college coming to a party that they wouldn't be able to get in to. (I mean, not that half of the college has enough motivation to trek all the way to Brecon, when we can't even get a third of our sorry arses to Plenary... but I will save that one for another time.) Secondly, I thought people in Brecon would be more comfortable with a chill, "mostly-Brecon" party. And thirdly, Brecon Prom was described to me in the past as "a giant, naked orgy" (no, really. That is an actual quote. But I'm not naming my source.) and "really sketchy, with lots of sketchy men." So while I told everyone that nudity was ok, it was optional and not required.
I found out that hosting a party is a lot of work. Oh wait, actually, I already knew that from Rock Drag Ball, but it was more pressure this time, because 1) I didn't have the entire team around to back me up, and 2) it was a "wet" party, so alcohol does require more planning. Not only in terms of the preparation, but during the party especially to make sure that everyone is ok.
With the number of people who came (I'd estimate we had up to 45 on the higher ends of the night, if that), it was a lot easier to keep an eye on things. One of my other party hosts, MW (21-years old as required to have a party with alcohol) was really phenomenal. She was really available, on top of things and amazingly helpful. RB did a lot of work for the party, too, as did a few other people, to whom I am eternally grateful. I could not have done all of that by myself.
Glad it's over, though. And can't believe the chaos of this weekend - Prom Dress Rugby, Haverfest, May Day. Wow.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
a post, dedicated to...
...WH, my ex-boyfriend.
So, all my talk of being a commitment-phobe the other day, as well as someone else's blog post about boyfriends made me think of my last serious boyfriend, and I decided that he probably deserved his own post on here. (If he knew about this, he'd scoff at me, look sheepish, probably argue with me about it, and maybe change the subject. Yes, he is adorable.)
I should probably come right out and explain that I haven't been in any other "real" relationships. There was the boy who asked me out in fifth grade, to which I replied "Where are we going?" (Ahahahaha, 11-year-old self. Good one.) I called him my "boyfriend" in a journal that I tried to keep for all of a few days and "liked him a lot" and I'm pretty sure I remember the word "special" being thrown in there somewhere... but I'm pretty sure we never even held hands. Ahh, such an awkward age. After this boyfriend that I'm about to talk about, I was kinda, sorta, maybe seeing someone last year, but I was still adjusting to being new at "the college thing" and I really ended up just not having time for him. We went on a few dates and got along really well, but I think we were just both in very different places in our lives. There were other boys who asked, but who I just wasn't as interested in and tried hard to be nice to about it. In some ways, it really wasn't them - it was me, and my enjoyment of my own independence.
Anyway, WH and I actually go pretty far back. We went to the same elementary school, but because we were a year apart, I didn't really notice him much until about 7th grade, when another boy, JF (note: different "J" than in previous posts) and he and I sat together in math class. Our school had a program in which it moved "advanced" students up a year in math. Don't ask me why it did this - for children like me who actually never showed an aptitude for math in particular it made no sense. JF and I were the first to qualify, (I have no idea how I did, honestly) when we were in 1st grade, but others were added later. I actually remember being given these tests and not knowing why I was taking them. Even when I found out, I remember thinking "but I like English?" But, I suppose it kept me out of trouble, because I really had to work hard to make up for my lost 2nd grade year. Oh, and then I skipped Algebra 1 when I transferred schools... This is probably why I have such a complete and total loathing of ANYthing with numbers now.
Anyway, we all sat together in math when JF and I were in 7th grade, WH in 8th, and were probably kind of delinquents sometimes. I seem to recall a fair bit of goofing around. They'd gang up on me and put balled up papers in the hood of my sweatshirt, I'd swear at them; it was great fun. On April Fool's day, we snuck into open classrooms and turned all of the desks facing the back of the classroom. I think we even got clever and asked the gym teacher, with his set of master keys to assist us. Somehow, our social studies teacher suspected us... I'm pretty sure I failed at looking innocent.
The next year, coincidentally, WH and I both transferred to H-field. As I think I might've mentioned, our town doesn't have a high school, so it makes sense on some level. For him, it was convenient because his parents are divorced and his dad lives in the town. For mine, I just needed to get the hell out of M-ville and my parents wanted me to have a year to get to know people before high school. (They knew that it could go either really badly, or really amazingly, because 8th grade is a tough year. Luckily, I ended up completely in love with it.)
While I was making friends over at the middle school, WH was having a harder time. I remember talking to him on AIM a lot (remember when people used to do that!?) and him talking about not quite being sure if he fit in there. He's kind of quiet, until you actually get to know him, and since high school is a big adjustment for all of the freshmen, I can see how he would have gotten overlooked at first. It also didn't help that my loathing of M-ville was probably proportional to his loving of it - his class was about 100 times better than mine, in terms of fewer behavioral issues, more really nice people, etc. So he wasn't as keen to be uprooted as I was. I reassured him that I'd be there to hang out with the next year, and in the mean time, invited him out with my "cool" 8th grade friends. (No, really. We went to this coffee shop in town - that our parents had to drive us to - and thought we were really awesome.)
By the time I came to the high school, I thought he was crazy for insisting that he didn't have friends. For his part, he seemed stunned that he did - he kept insisting that he didn't really know how it happened. (Um, because he's really awesome. Duh.) He still hung out with my friends and I sometimes, and since we lived in the same town, we were still in close proximity. Since we were in a bigger school and in different years (and, unfortunately, different math classes, until the year we stopped dating), we didn't see each other as often - but we did have the same lunch period. He ate with a bunch of goofy guys (for some reason, they would always call over to me from across the cafeteria and try to get me to date their friends... I was nonplussed about the whole thing... the other girls at my table were kind of jealous, even though none of them were very good-looking) and I ate with some girls in my year, but he and I would always detacthc ourselves from our aforementioned contingents and take the same route up to our classes together and give each other a brief summary of our days. As silly as it sounds, I always looked forward to our 2 minute walks. (I was probably tired of hearing the girls constantly talk about boys. I liked them well enough, and thought a few were attractive, but on the whole, didn't understand what the big fuss was about.)
As we moved into the end of the year, WH and I started spending more time together. We had wanted to hang out one weekend and see a movie, but it was my mom's birthday and I ended up not being able to. He asked me to come with him to Starbucks after school the following Monday, and of course I wanted to. (Not nearly as cool as "our" coffee shop, but it would have to do.) I remember having this vague suspicion that there was something different about this "get together," but not really knowing what it was.
We met up and walked into town together. I remember being nervous and not knowing why. Seriously, I hung out with this kid all the time - what was my deal? We got to the shop, ordered drinks and sat down near the window together. We made small talk - I have a distinct memory of telling him about how my parents bought me a new lawn mower (I decided it was "mine" because I was the one who mowed all of our grass - a fact, of which I was very proud). Then, he looked down at the table, cleared his throat and looked up at me again, and something about the way he looked at me triggered something, and it hit me: Oh my god, he's going to ask me out. And just as quickly as that lightening bolt struck, a second: Oh my god, I really like him. I really want to date him! (Or, such were the deep thoughts of my 15-year-old self, approximately.)
"So, uh, we've been friends for a while..."
He was hesitant and, quite frankly, adorable about it. I remember waiting for him to get it out, and wishing that I could just hurry up the process (and make him less nervous) and yell "YES!" but realizing that I should really let him finish. Our only hesitation was our friendship, which we agreed we would maintain, even when we eventually broke up (we were pragmatic high schoolers). As he walked me out to my dad's car when he came to pick me up, we awkwardly hugged and said good-bye. I was ecstatic.
When I blurted out the news to my parents, my dad couldn't suppress a grin, and my mom gave a small knowing smile, then raised her eyebrows at me. "Well, it's about time!" were the first words out of her mouth. I gaped at them in shock. "Yeah, we were wondering when you two would finally get around to it." I spluttered at them some more "But - wait - I didn't even... hold on - seriously!?" They continued to exchange looks and smirk at me some more. It was maddening. "Yeah, it's been a while. You guys really took your time. A few months ago when we dropped you off at that movie with that other guy who asked you on a date, we looked at each other in the car and said 'When is she going to get around to dating him?'"
Moral of this story: My own parents know me better than I know myself.
As a 15-year-old, I was flabbergasted at this revelation.
Anyway, WH and I spent the next 15 months together - we dated from the very last day of May, my freshman year, to the very beginning of my junior year, somewhere in the middle of September, I think. We had a really good time. To be honest, we had a pretty low-key relationship. We still did our 2-minute "day debriefing" every day... although now we held hands, and everyone suddenly thought we were a-d-o-r-a-b-l-e. (I remember being distinctly uncomfortable with all the attention given to a new couple, and wishing everyone would just leave us the hell alone about it.) We still played video games and watched movies together... although now we cuddled in between. We spent time walking around town and thinking up novel ideas for dates that didn't rely on our parents driving us around too much. He put up with my quirks, such as the need to meticulously plan everything and the "no-kissing-at-school-because-I-don't-like-couples-who-excessively-PDA-in-the-hallways" rule and brought me flowers and Spaghettios (my favorite childhood throwback food EVER) when I was sick; I made an effort to be more feminine and actually purchased some skirts (whaat!? It turned out, halfway through our relationship, that he still thought I looked "cute" with messed up "after softball practice hair" and wearing a sweatshirt and jeans) and wore them and tried really hard to be spontaneous when his friends came up with crazy last minute plans, and bought him clothing sometimes, because that's what I thought girlfriends did for boyfriends.
Our official line is that it was a mutual breakup, but, really, I know that I'm the one who instigated it. It was the beginning of my junior, his senior year and I realized two important things: 1) I didn't have enough time for him, and wasn't able to make it and 2) He wasn't entirely happy in the relationship, but was too nice to ever say anything about it. I really believe that it was the right decision. For my part, I really was way too busy - that was the year I spent most of my lunch times in the chemistry teacher's room, stressing about not understanding any of the material, and also the year that my tonsils became permanently infected and I spent most of my time extremely ill. (Think of how much money he saved on Spaghettios and flowers by getting out of that relationship!) I'm also a really independent person, and am easily scared off by the fact that someone else's happiness is dependent upon me. It was good for me to have a break from that, especially with the chaos that ended up being that year.
For his part, he started dating another girl a few months after me, and while I had a vague feeling of loss, I knew it was right for him. I just sensed that he wanted more from the relationship than I was willing to give. He never would have pushed me, and maybe he didn't even know exactly what he wanted, or how to express it - but I just couldn't stand the idea that things weren't quite what he wanted. Sometimes, when you love someone, you have to let them go. I cared about his happiness so much that I really wanted it for him, even if it wasn't with me. We ended our relationship with an awkward hug outside, as my dad pulled up to pick me up, a bittersweet echo of how we had begun.
We spent my junior year, his senior year on very awkward terms. (Of course, that was the year that we finally had a class together. Thanks, Universe.) We were polite, but I knew that, despite my best efforts, I had hurt him. It also didn't help things that shortly after we broke up, his best friend committed suicide. Having gone through it with my aunt about a year and a half before, I knew (on some level) what he was going through, but I didn't know how to help him. I tried to be there for him, but I also didn't want to upset him by seemingly too clingy after we'd just broken up and were on weird terms. Sometimes, I wished we had still been dating, just so that I could better comfort him.
After he went away to college, we got back on track. He called me up on one of his breaks and asked me to have dinner with him at the new vegetarian place in our town. (Oh, yeah - we are both vegetarians, although I started eating fish again some time during my junior year as I desperate attempt to "get more protein" and be healthy again, before I knew that my tonsils where I why I was sick all the time.) I was relieved that he had initiated the contact, and that he was no longer cold and distant toward me. We avoided the subject of the year we had spent apart until the very end of the night, as I was walking him out, after hanging out in my kitchen for a while. "Yeah, I'm really sorry about that," he began, and I told him that, really, it was ok - that I was sorrier, since I knew that I'd hurt him and didn't know how to make it better. "I just needed time... but I realized that I was being stupid, because, you remember how we promised we'd stay friends?" I smiled, because I had been hoping that he had remembered, too. We ended the evening, as is our pattern, with a hug, and promises to talk more often and keep our friendship. Since then, we've both been really busy, and away at our respective schools - especially when he went to India last spring semester for study abroad. Still, we've managed to have a few adventures, among them, some more vegetarian food, and an epically failed, although hilarious and enjoyable attempt at making a "Tofurkey," something we've been talking about since before we started dating, but never got around to. (We still, apparently, have yet to make a successful one. Maybe this Thanksgiving?)
Even though our feelings for each other have changed, WH will always have a special place in my heart. He was truly an excellent boyfriend, and there is no doubt in my mind that he will one day make an amazing husband, for a very lucky woman. I can't express how thankful I am that we were able to remain friends, and that we still talk, because as much as I like him, I also admire him as a person and am proud to be able to call him one of my friends.
I talked to him recently, and we plan to have lunch when we're both back home, at what is now "our" vegetarian place and catch up about my sophomore, his junior year of college.
My, how time flies!
So, all my talk of being a commitment-phobe the other day, as well as someone else's blog post about boyfriends made me think of my last serious boyfriend, and I decided that he probably deserved his own post on here. (If he knew about this, he'd scoff at me, look sheepish, probably argue with me about it, and maybe change the subject. Yes, he is adorable.)
I should probably come right out and explain that I haven't been in any other "real" relationships. There was the boy who asked me out in fifth grade, to which I replied "Where are we going?" (Ahahahaha, 11-year-old self. Good one.) I called him my "boyfriend" in a journal that I tried to keep for all of a few days and "liked him a lot" and I'm pretty sure I remember the word "special" being thrown in there somewhere... but I'm pretty sure we never even held hands. Ahh, such an awkward age. After this boyfriend that I'm about to talk about, I was kinda, sorta, maybe seeing someone last year, but I was still adjusting to being new at "the college thing" and I really ended up just not having time for him. We went on a few dates and got along really well, but I think we were just both in very different places in our lives. There were other boys who asked, but who I just wasn't as interested in and tried hard to be nice to about it. In some ways, it really wasn't them - it was me, and my enjoyment of my own independence.
Anyway, WH and I actually go pretty far back. We went to the same elementary school, but because we were a year apart, I didn't really notice him much until about 7th grade, when another boy, JF (note: different "J" than in previous posts) and he and I sat together in math class. Our school had a program in which it moved "advanced" students up a year in math. Don't ask me why it did this - for children like me who actually never showed an aptitude for math in particular it made no sense. JF and I were the first to qualify, (I have no idea how I did, honestly) when we were in 1st grade, but others were added later. I actually remember being given these tests and not knowing why I was taking them. Even when I found out, I remember thinking "but I like English?" But, I suppose it kept me out of trouble, because I really had to work hard to make up for my lost 2nd grade year. Oh, and then I skipped Algebra 1 when I transferred schools... This is probably why I have such a complete and total loathing of ANYthing with numbers now.
Anyway, we all sat together in math when JF and I were in 7th grade, WH in 8th, and were probably kind of delinquents sometimes. I seem to recall a fair bit of goofing around. They'd gang up on me and put balled up papers in the hood of my sweatshirt, I'd swear at them; it was great fun. On April Fool's day, we snuck into open classrooms and turned all of the desks facing the back of the classroom. I think we even got clever and asked the gym teacher, with his set of master keys to assist us. Somehow, our social studies teacher suspected us... I'm pretty sure I failed at looking innocent.
The next year, coincidentally, WH and I both transferred to H-field. As I think I might've mentioned, our town doesn't have a high school, so it makes sense on some level. For him, it was convenient because his parents are divorced and his dad lives in the town. For mine, I just needed to get the hell out of M-ville and my parents wanted me to have a year to get to know people before high school. (They knew that it could go either really badly, or really amazingly, because 8th grade is a tough year. Luckily, I ended up completely in love with it.)
While I was making friends over at the middle school, WH was having a harder time. I remember talking to him on AIM a lot (remember when people used to do that!?) and him talking about not quite being sure if he fit in there. He's kind of quiet, until you actually get to know him, and since high school is a big adjustment for all of the freshmen, I can see how he would have gotten overlooked at first. It also didn't help that my loathing of M-ville was probably proportional to his loving of it - his class was about 100 times better than mine, in terms of fewer behavioral issues, more really nice people, etc. So he wasn't as keen to be uprooted as I was. I reassured him that I'd be there to hang out with the next year, and in the mean time, invited him out with my "cool" 8th grade friends. (No, really. We went to this coffee shop in town - that our parents had to drive us to - and thought we were really awesome.)
By the time I came to the high school, I thought he was crazy for insisting that he didn't have friends. For his part, he seemed stunned that he did - he kept insisting that he didn't really know how it happened. (Um, because he's really awesome. Duh.) He still hung out with my friends and I sometimes, and since we lived in the same town, we were still in close proximity. Since we were in a bigger school and in different years (and, unfortunately, different math classes, until the year we stopped dating), we didn't see each other as often - but we did have the same lunch period. He ate with a bunch of goofy guys (for some reason, they would always call over to me from across the cafeteria and try to get me to date their friends... I was nonplussed about the whole thing... the other girls at my table were kind of jealous, even though none of them were very good-looking) and I ate with some girls in my year, but he and I would always detacthc ourselves from our aforementioned contingents and take the same route up to our classes together and give each other a brief summary of our days. As silly as it sounds, I always looked forward to our 2 minute walks. (I was probably tired of hearing the girls constantly talk about boys. I liked them well enough, and thought a few were attractive, but on the whole, didn't understand what the big fuss was about.)
As we moved into the end of the year, WH and I started spending more time together. We had wanted to hang out one weekend and see a movie, but it was my mom's birthday and I ended up not being able to. He asked me to come with him to Starbucks after school the following Monday, and of course I wanted to. (Not nearly as cool as "our" coffee shop, but it would have to do.) I remember having this vague suspicion that there was something different about this "get together," but not really knowing what it was.
We met up and walked into town together. I remember being nervous and not knowing why. Seriously, I hung out with this kid all the time - what was my deal? We got to the shop, ordered drinks and sat down near the window together. We made small talk - I have a distinct memory of telling him about how my parents bought me a new lawn mower (I decided it was "mine" because I was the one who mowed all of our grass - a fact, of which I was very proud). Then, he looked down at the table, cleared his throat and looked up at me again, and something about the way he looked at me triggered something, and it hit me: Oh my god, he's going to ask me out. And just as quickly as that lightening bolt struck, a second: Oh my god, I really like him. I really want to date him! (Or, such were the deep thoughts of my 15-year-old self, approximately.)
"So, uh, we've been friends for a while..."
He was hesitant and, quite frankly, adorable about it. I remember waiting for him to get it out, and wishing that I could just hurry up the process (and make him less nervous) and yell "YES!" but realizing that I should really let him finish. Our only hesitation was our friendship, which we agreed we would maintain, even when we eventually broke up (we were pragmatic high schoolers). As he walked me out to my dad's car when he came to pick me up, we awkwardly hugged and said good-bye. I was ecstatic.
When I blurted out the news to my parents, my dad couldn't suppress a grin, and my mom gave a small knowing smile, then raised her eyebrows at me. "Well, it's about time!" were the first words out of her mouth. I gaped at them in shock. "Yeah, we were wondering when you two would finally get around to it." I spluttered at them some more "But - wait - I didn't even... hold on - seriously!?" They continued to exchange looks and smirk at me some more. It was maddening. "Yeah, it's been a while. You guys really took your time. A few months ago when we dropped you off at that movie with that other guy who asked you on a date, we looked at each other in the car and said 'When is she going to get around to dating him?'"
Moral of this story: My own parents know me better than I know myself.
As a 15-year-old, I was flabbergasted at this revelation.
Anyway, WH and I spent the next 15 months together - we dated from the very last day of May, my freshman year, to the very beginning of my junior year, somewhere in the middle of September, I think. We had a really good time. To be honest, we had a pretty low-key relationship. We still did our 2-minute "day debriefing" every day... although now we held hands, and everyone suddenly thought we were a-d-o-r-a-b-l-e. (I remember being distinctly uncomfortable with all the attention given to a new couple, and wishing everyone would just leave us the hell alone about it.) We still played video games and watched movies together... although now we cuddled in between. We spent time walking around town and thinking up novel ideas for dates that didn't rely on our parents driving us around too much. He put up with my quirks, such as the need to meticulously plan everything and the "no-kissing-at-school-because-I-don't-like-couples-who-excessively-PDA-in-the-hallways" rule and brought me flowers and Spaghettios (my favorite childhood throwback food EVER) when I was sick; I made an effort to be more feminine and actually purchased some skirts (whaat!? It turned out, halfway through our relationship, that he still thought I looked "cute" with messed up "after softball practice hair" and wearing a sweatshirt and jeans) and wore them and tried really hard to be spontaneous when his friends came up with crazy last minute plans, and bought him clothing sometimes, because that's what I thought girlfriends did for boyfriends.
Our official line is that it was a mutual breakup, but, really, I know that I'm the one who instigated it. It was the beginning of my junior, his senior year and I realized two important things: 1) I didn't have enough time for him, and wasn't able to make it and 2) He wasn't entirely happy in the relationship, but was too nice to ever say anything about it. I really believe that it was the right decision. For my part, I really was way too busy - that was the year I spent most of my lunch times in the chemistry teacher's room, stressing about not understanding any of the material, and also the year that my tonsils became permanently infected and I spent most of my time extremely ill. (Think of how much money he saved on Spaghettios and flowers by getting out of that relationship!) I'm also a really independent person, and am easily scared off by the fact that someone else's happiness is dependent upon me. It was good for me to have a break from that, especially with the chaos that ended up being that year.
For his part, he started dating another girl a few months after me, and while I had a vague feeling of loss, I knew it was right for him. I just sensed that he wanted more from the relationship than I was willing to give. He never would have pushed me, and maybe he didn't even know exactly what he wanted, or how to express it - but I just couldn't stand the idea that things weren't quite what he wanted. Sometimes, when you love someone, you have to let them go. I cared about his happiness so much that I really wanted it for him, even if it wasn't with me. We ended our relationship with an awkward hug outside, as my dad pulled up to pick me up, a bittersweet echo of how we had begun.
We spent my junior year, his senior year on very awkward terms. (Of course, that was the year that we finally had a class together. Thanks, Universe.) We were polite, but I knew that, despite my best efforts, I had hurt him. It also didn't help things that shortly after we broke up, his best friend committed suicide. Having gone through it with my aunt about a year and a half before, I knew (on some level) what he was going through, but I didn't know how to help him. I tried to be there for him, but I also didn't want to upset him by seemingly too clingy after we'd just broken up and were on weird terms. Sometimes, I wished we had still been dating, just so that I could better comfort him.
After he went away to college, we got back on track. He called me up on one of his breaks and asked me to have dinner with him at the new vegetarian place in our town. (Oh, yeah - we are both vegetarians, although I started eating fish again some time during my junior year as I desperate attempt to "get more protein" and be healthy again, before I knew that my tonsils where I why I was sick all the time.) I was relieved that he had initiated the contact, and that he was no longer cold and distant toward me. We avoided the subject of the year we had spent apart until the very end of the night, as I was walking him out, after hanging out in my kitchen for a while. "Yeah, I'm really sorry about that," he began, and I told him that, really, it was ok - that I was sorrier, since I knew that I'd hurt him and didn't know how to make it better. "I just needed time... but I realized that I was being stupid, because, you remember how we promised we'd stay friends?" I smiled, because I had been hoping that he had remembered, too. We ended the evening, as is our pattern, with a hug, and promises to talk more often and keep our friendship. Since then, we've both been really busy, and away at our respective schools - especially when he went to India last spring semester for study abroad. Still, we've managed to have a few adventures, among them, some more vegetarian food, and an epically failed, although hilarious and enjoyable attempt at making a "Tofurkey," something we've been talking about since before we started dating, but never got around to. (We still, apparently, have yet to make a successful one. Maybe this Thanksgiving?)
Even though our feelings for each other have changed, WH will always have a special place in my heart. He was truly an excellent boyfriend, and there is no doubt in my mind that he will one day make an amazing husband, for a very lucky woman. I can't express how thankful I am that we were able to remain friends, and that we still talk, because as much as I like him, I also admire him as a person and am proud to be able to call him one of my friends.
I talked to him recently, and we plan to have lunch when we're both back home, at what is now "our" vegetarian place and catch up about my sophomore, his junior year of college.
My, how time flies!
Monday, April 26, 2010
DOUBLE MAJOR DECLARATION!
Yes, I am obnoxious as hell and that title is in all caps because OH MY GOD I HAVE FINALLY WRITTEN MY MAJOR(S) DECLARATION!
...It has only taken me about, oh, I don't know... SEVEN WEEKS to get my shit together and do this. But, ah, it feels SO GLORIOUS to be done.
It's funny, because I've known I've had to do this. I've been planning to do it. It's been in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS on every "To-Do" list I've made in the last seven weeks. Somehow... it just hasn't gotten done. As I told one of my advisors, LSB, I'm just being a commitment-phobe about things, as I tend to be in the rest of my life, too. (I would liken it to my ex-boyfriend, but I think he deserves his own post, if only for putting up with my bs for so long!)
Weirdly, the actual act of writing it was not the hard part. It was the stress leading up to it and the anxiety of "Aaahh, what do I even write!?" I'm not one of those awesome people that has it all figured out. I used to be, but I wrecked so many of those plans, that I've just decided to stop making them.
I'm posting what I wrote, because I actually am really pleased with it. I sound like I know what I'm talking about, I think! (Key word being "sound"... hope my dean & advisors buy it!)
My motivations for pursuing a double major might not be as fleshed out as others’ detailed career ambitions, but I still believe that this path will help me achieve what I eventually want out of my life – even if I haven’t fully solidified what that is. I enjoy classes in both disciplines for very different reasons, and I can’t imagine my college career continuing without a strong presence of either of them. English classes have always consistently been among my favorites, for as long as I can remember. If anything, college has made me realize the depth of the study and what advantages there are to pursuing it. I am often asked, when I declare my intent to have English as one of my majors, “But what will you do with that?” Quite simply, being able to write well, clearly express ideas and analyze material critically are crucial components to success in any field. No matter how much brilliance an individual possesses in a certain area, the coherence of the expression of the material is vital in any field. Even someone working alone in a lab must be able to produce a clear, concise account that explains the data he or she has produced and what it actually means, why it is significant. While English has always come more naturally to me than other subjects, and probably has an effect on my affinity for it, I believe that I am still far from any mastery of the subject as a whole – there is so much that I still want to improve on, and I believe that majoring in the subject will bring my closer to satisfaction with my own skill set. Although I am still unsure what I might use it for, I am confident that the skills I acquire in this major will carry over into every aspect of any later career I choose – and probably also other areas of my life.
Psychology, on the other hand, is something that I have always been attracted to, but did not have a chance to fully pursue until college. It does not come as naturally to me as English, but that is part of its appeal – I like the chance to think differently from the humanities mindset that I am used to, and that comes more naturally to me. Sciences in general have never come easily to me, despite my avid interest in them, so Psychology, as a social science, seems to be a good compromise. Although I see English helping me on a broader level, my narrower ambitions (at least for now) lie more within the realm of Psychology. To be honest, people fascinate me. I have always been interested in how they work, what motivates them, why things sometimes go wrong on something deeper than a physical level. What motivates me most about the study of human beings is the opportunity it gives to potentially help them. For a while, I had dreams of going to medical school, and while I have changed courses for a number of different reasons, my underlying desire to help heal people remains the same; my ambitions have not really changed, rather, the way I plan to go about achieving them has. I believe that an undergraduate degree in Psychology, and plans for a graduate degree soon after, will lead me to that. Although I am just getting started in this field, my classes in it excite me, and the idea of spending another two years focused on this material is truly an exciting prospect.
Double majoring is also more feasible (in a practical sense) for me because of two factors: 1) I am not going abroad junior year, and 2) only English has a required thesis. These two things are important, for they are often the major roadblocks standing in the way of a double major. I have planned it out with my advisors, and have a solid plan to complete both degrees in the remaining two years – the semester that I will spend here instead of elsewhere is crucial to getting all of the required credits in each subject in. As for a thesis, although writing two theses has been done, it is not advisable for everyone and I feel that the required English thesis will be enough to keep me occupied during my last year here. This is not to say that Psychology will be short-changed in my attention – I will still be taking the senior seminar, as well as potentially pursuing research opportunities, possibly during the summer, so as to be able to split my attention between both subjects in a way that will allow me to give both my best work.
Yeeeeah, I hope this is good. Especially since it has been so long in coming. I really need to stop being such a paperwork delinquent...
...It has only taken me about, oh, I don't know... SEVEN WEEKS to get my shit together and do this. But, ah, it feels SO GLORIOUS to be done.
It's funny, because I've known I've had to do this. I've been planning to do it. It's been in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS on every "To-Do" list I've made in the last seven weeks. Somehow... it just hasn't gotten done. As I told one of my advisors, LSB, I'm just being a commitment-phobe about things, as I tend to be in the rest of my life, too. (I would liken it to my ex-boyfriend, but I think he deserves his own post, if only for putting up with my bs for so long!)
Weirdly, the actual act of writing it was not the hard part. It was the stress leading up to it and the anxiety of "Aaahh, what do I even write!?" I'm not one of those awesome people that has it all figured out. I used to be, but I wrecked so many of those plans, that I've just decided to stop making them.
I'm posting what I wrote, because I actually am really pleased with it. I sound like I know what I'm talking about, I think! (Key word being "sound"... hope my dean & advisors buy it!)
My motivations for pursuing a double major might not be as fleshed out as others’ detailed career ambitions, but I still believe that this path will help me achieve what I eventually want out of my life – even if I haven’t fully solidified what that is. I enjoy classes in both disciplines for very different reasons, and I can’t imagine my college career continuing without a strong presence of either of them. English classes have always consistently been among my favorites, for as long as I can remember. If anything, college has made me realize the depth of the study and what advantages there are to pursuing it. I am often asked, when I declare my intent to have English as one of my majors, “But what will you do with that?” Quite simply, being able to write well, clearly express ideas and analyze material critically are crucial components to success in any field. No matter how much brilliance an individual possesses in a certain area, the coherence of the expression of the material is vital in any field. Even someone working alone in a lab must be able to produce a clear, concise account that explains the data he or she has produced and what it actually means, why it is significant. While English has always come more naturally to me than other subjects, and probably has an effect on my affinity for it, I believe that I am still far from any mastery of the subject as a whole – there is so much that I still want to improve on, and I believe that majoring in the subject will bring my closer to satisfaction with my own skill set. Although I am still unsure what I might use it for, I am confident that the skills I acquire in this major will carry over into every aspect of any later career I choose – and probably also other areas of my life.
Psychology, on the other hand, is something that I have always been attracted to, but did not have a chance to fully pursue until college. It does not come as naturally to me as English, but that is part of its appeal – I like the chance to think differently from the humanities mindset that I am used to, and that comes more naturally to me. Sciences in general have never come easily to me, despite my avid interest in them, so Psychology, as a social science, seems to be a good compromise. Although I see English helping me on a broader level, my narrower ambitions (at least for now) lie more within the realm of Psychology. To be honest, people fascinate me. I have always been interested in how they work, what motivates them, why things sometimes go wrong on something deeper than a physical level. What motivates me most about the study of human beings is the opportunity it gives to potentially help them. For a while, I had dreams of going to medical school, and while I have changed courses for a number of different reasons, my underlying desire to help heal people remains the same; my ambitions have not really changed, rather, the way I plan to go about achieving them has. I believe that an undergraduate degree in Psychology, and plans for a graduate degree soon after, will lead me to that. Although I am just getting started in this field, my classes in it excite me, and the idea of spending another two years focused on this material is truly an exciting prospect.
Double majoring is also more feasible (in a practical sense) for me because of two factors: 1) I am not going abroad junior year, and 2) only English has a required thesis. These two things are important, for they are often the major roadblocks standing in the way of a double major. I have planned it out with my advisors, and have a solid plan to complete both degrees in the remaining two years – the semester that I will spend here instead of elsewhere is crucial to getting all of the required credits in each subject in. As for a thesis, although writing two theses has been done, it is not advisable for everyone and I feel that the required English thesis will be enough to keep me occupied during my last year here. This is not to say that Psychology will be short-changed in my attention – I will still be taking the senior seminar, as well as potentially pursuing research opportunities, possibly during the summer, so as to be able to split my attention between both subjects in a way that will allow me to give both my best work.
Yeeeeah, I hope this is good. Especially since it has been so long in coming. I really need to stop being such a paperwork delinquent...
Friday, April 23, 2010
my car accident
When I was 17, my uncle got me a car for Christmas. It's actually kind of a funny story, because he neglected to tell my parents that he did it, until the week before:
"Oh, yeah, do you want to see your daughter's car?"
"Wait, WHAT!?"
Eric is hilarious, because he's really brilliant, but really absent minded and distracted sometimes. He's basically the most adorable man, ever. We started getting really close when I was 15 and his wife committed suicide. He always loved me, I know - but we started spending a lot more time together, and I think he started to see me as old enough to really talk to.
Anyway, (to go back to the topic at hand) I loved that car. It was a 2000 Ford Focus, 2-door hatch back, dark blue. I was SO SURPRISED. Like, literally, I lost power of speech and simply stared at the keys that were in the box he gave me to unwrap. He took me outside, and there it was - with the token, red ribbon on top. As spoiled as I felt, for getting a car as a gift, it was actually really necessary. I didn't go to school in my town, because my town didn't have a high school. My parents drove me to and from school every day, because there was no way to walk there. I was pretty involved in high school, and all of my friends, of course, lived in the town we went to school in - so as I got older, I ended up having to drive myself (and everyone else, as I was one of the first with a license and a car) around all the time. I really liked that I could use it to drive to my volunteer job at the pediatric facility (a live-in medical facility for medically fragile children) every Friday - and go afterward sometimes to meet up with Eric for dinner.
I have to now admit, I wasn't the best driver. I didn't think so, at the time, of course, but I now know this to be true. I got careless, I got cocky. I mean, I was an 18/19 year old - nothing was going to happen to me, right? I often drove too fast, was distracted while I drove, occasionally talked on my cell phone... ate while I drove. (I kind of got to be a pro at that last one, since I often didn't have time to eat lunch during normal-person hours during my job in the summers.)
Actually, the day I totaled the car, I wasn't doing anything stupid. My music wasn't too loud, I wasn't on the phone, I was paying attention - I was getting gas on the way home from work. My last day for the summer. The gas station was right near an intersection, and I needed to make a left turn (and cross an additional left-turn lane) to be heading in the direction I wanted. The light was red and the person stopped in front of the gas station held up to make space for me to pull out. I started to pull out, looked left and right, glanced at the light and saw that it had just turned green, and thought to myself "I need to make this turn quickly, because that light is short and people are going to want to make the turn." And then there was a minivan, practically in my front seat.
The rest of it is kind of a blur. I got out of the car, shaking. A woman across the street at the Rite Aid saw the whole thing and called the police for us. The other driver hit his head on the steering wheel. I started crying, because the thought of having done something to hurt another person was so horrific. I called my dad to come take me home, the man called his wife. The woman from the Rite Aid said something nice to me, like "It's ok. Accidents just happen sometimes." I got a $54 ticked for making an inappropriate left turn. (I strongly suspect that the police officer could have hit me with a lot of ancillary charges if he had wanted to. I sometimes wonder why that was. Did he feel badly for me? Usually, they hit young drivers who make mistakes hard, to teach them a lesson so that they'll really understand. Did he think that the accident was at least not 100% my fault?)
The accident itself was my fault, but I have a suspicion that the other driver was speeding, because of the force of the impact - I was only going a few miles an hour, having just started to move from a stop. Even if he hadn't been, the accident still would have happened - although our cars might not have been totaled. This doesn't make it any better, though, because I still think about it every day. I go through the "What ifs:" What if I hadn't agreed to work that extra week, when my boss begged me? What if I'd taken the other route home from work, when I'd thought about it? What if I'd thought "I have enough gas to get home, I'll get some tomorrow?" What if there hadn't been cars lined up along my side of the road that prevented me from seeing the man coming? What if I'd been less impatient, realized that I shouldn't make such an inconvenient left turn and gone a different way instead? What if...
This happened at the end of August, right before I went back to school for this year. I felt so awful about the whole thing, I basically didn't leave my room for an entire week. The guilt was tearing me up. Even as I write this, some of it comes back - dulled with time and distance, but not to the point that I'm ok with it at all. Luckily, I found out that the man in the other car is ok. He went to the hospital to get checked out, because with any kind of head injury, you can never be too careful. I still feel awful when I think of him, and the accident that I caused and the pain, inconvenience and frustration I must have caused him. It's a small consolation, at least, that there wasn't any permanent damage.
The only positive thing about all of this, is that I actually am a good driver now. Like I said, I didn't realize that I wasn't before until all of this happened, but now I've learned to think more about the potential far-reaching consequences of my actions. I drive the speed-limit, I don't make hasty decisions, and I'm careful not to be impatient, like I was that night when I made that left turn.
I miss my car a lot, not just because it was so convenient to have, but because it was a gift from Eric, and that made it one of the most special things I could own. I could tell that he purchased it carefully, looking for a good starter car for me, something that I could like, and it makes me sad not to see it every morning when I look outside.
In some ways, I do feel like I deserved this - I screwed up, I have to pay the consequences. My parents they could get me another car, but financially, it's just not feasible right now, and I'm ok with that. I broke it, I should replace it. I'm working a lot this summer, and hopefully I can pay for my own car and insurance (which I have caused to drastically go up) at some point within the next year.
"Oh, yeah, do you want to see your daughter's car?"
"Wait, WHAT!?"
Eric is hilarious, because he's really brilliant, but really absent minded and distracted sometimes. He's basically the most adorable man, ever. We started getting really close when I was 15 and his wife committed suicide. He always loved me, I know - but we started spending a lot more time together, and I think he started to see me as old enough to really talk to.
Anyway, (to go back to the topic at hand) I loved that car. It was a 2000 Ford Focus, 2-door hatch back, dark blue. I was SO SURPRISED. Like, literally, I lost power of speech and simply stared at the keys that were in the box he gave me to unwrap. He took me outside, and there it was - with the token, red ribbon on top. As spoiled as I felt, for getting a car as a gift, it was actually really necessary. I didn't go to school in my town, because my town didn't have a high school. My parents drove me to and from school every day, because there was no way to walk there. I was pretty involved in high school, and all of my friends, of course, lived in the town we went to school in - so as I got older, I ended up having to drive myself (and everyone else, as I was one of the first with a license and a car) around all the time. I really liked that I could use it to drive to my volunteer job at the pediatric facility (a live-in medical facility for medically fragile children) every Friday - and go afterward sometimes to meet up with Eric for dinner.
I have to now admit, I wasn't the best driver. I didn't think so, at the time, of course, but I now know this to be true. I got careless, I got cocky. I mean, I was an 18/19 year old - nothing was going to happen to me, right? I often drove too fast, was distracted while I drove, occasionally talked on my cell phone... ate while I drove. (I kind of got to be a pro at that last one, since I often didn't have time to eat lunch during normal-person hours during my job in the summers.)
Actually, the day I totaled the car, I wasn't doing anything stupid. My music wasn't too loud, I wasn't on the phone, I was paying attention - I was getting gas on the way home from work. My last day for the summer. The gas station was right near an intersection, and I needed to make a left turn (and cross an additional left-turn lane) to be heading in the direction I wanted. The light was red and the person stopped in front of the gas station held up to make space for me to pull out. I started to pull out, looked left and right, glanced at the light and saw that it had just turned green, and thought to myself "I need to make this turn quickly, because that light is short and people are going to want to make the turn." And then there was a minivan, practically in my front seat.
The rest of it is kind of a blur. I got out of the car, shaking. A woman across the street at the Rite Aid saw the whole thing and called the police for us. The other driver hit his head on the steering wheel. I started crying, because the thought of having done something to hurt another person was so horrific. I called my dad to come take me home, the man called his wife. The woman from the Rite Aid said something nice to me, like "It's ok. Accidents just happen sometimes." I got a $54 ticked for making an inappropriate left turn. (I strongly suspect that the police officer could have hit me with a lot of ancillary charges if he had wanted to. I sometimes wonder why that was. Did he feel badly for me? Usually, they hit young drivers who make mistakes hard, to teach them a lesson so that they'll really understand. Did he think that the accident was at least not 100% my fault?)
The accident itself was my fault, but I have a suspicion that the other driver was speeding, because of the force of the impact - I was only going a few miles an hour, having just started to move from a stop. Even if he hadn't been, the accident still would have happened - although our cars might not have been totaled. This doesn't make it any better, though, because I still think about it every day. I go through the "What ifs:" What if I hadn't agreed to work that extra week, when my boss begged me? What if I'd taken the other route home from work, when I'd thought about it? What if I'd thought "I have enough gas to get home, I'll get some tomorrow?" What if there hadn't been cars lined up along my side of the road that prevented me from seeing the man coming? What if I'd been less impatient, realized that I shouldn't make such an inconvenient left turn and gone a different way instead? What if...
This happened at the end of August, right before I went back to school for this year. I felt so awful about the whole thing, I basically didn't leave my room for an entire week. The guilt was tearing me up. Even as I write this, some of it comes back - dulled with time and distance, but not to the point that I'm ok with it at all. Luckily, I found out that the man in the other car is ok. He went to the hospital to get checked out, because with any kind of head injury, you can never be too careful. I still feel awful when I think of him, and the accident that I caused and the pain, inconvenience and frustration I must have caused him. It's a small consolation, at least, that there wasn't any permanent damage.
The only positive thing about all of this, is that I actually am a good driver now. Like I said, I didn't realize that I wasn't before until all of this happened, but now I've learned to think more about the potential far-reaching consequences of my actions. I drive the speed-limit, I don't make hasty decisions, and I'm careful not to be impatient, like I was that night when I made that left turn.
I miss my car a lot, not just because it was so convenient to have, but because it was a gift from Eric, and that made it one of the most special things I could own. I could tell that he purchased it carefully, looking for a good starter car for me, something that I could like, and it makes me sad not to see it every morning when I look outside.
In some ways, I do feel like I deserved this - I screwed up, I have to pay the consequences. My parents they could get me another car, but financially, it's just not feasible right now, and I'm ok with that. I broke it, I should replace it. I'm working a lot this summer, and hopefully I can pay for my own car and insurance (which I have caused to drastically go up) at some point within the next year.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
my Dad
I like how I call my dad - usually for some actual purpose, to ask a question or check on something, etc. - and we end up wasting an hour talking. Well, I mean, it's not wasting, really, because honestly, I love every minute of it.
My dad and I have a pretty special relationship, I think. It's not that I'm not close with my mom - because I really am. Especially moreso now that I've gotten older. But my dad has always kind of been my "buddy." We have nearly identical personalities, so we relate to each other really well. When I was little, we'd be fooling around at the dinner table, being just generally ridiculous and really, incredibly entertaining to ourselves. My mom would just watch us and sigh. Poor woman. Once, at some party they were at, one of his friends came up to her with an incredibly straight face and asked, with concern "So, Ann, how is it going, raising two kids all on your own?" My dad thinks this is hilarious and loves repeating it.
When I younger, we spent a lot of time together. I remember always looking forward to the days he'd pick me up from school/daycare - he'd usually have something "special" planned. These things ranged from a trip to the pool, to a Slurpee from 7-11, to playing cards back at the house. Looking back on it, I guess they weren't, like huge things - but they were always a huge deal to me and I remember always being so excited. To some extent, maybe I was a little spoiled by him, but I don't think that it changed me at all - I truly loved and appreciated all of our time together and anything he did for me.
As I got older, one of the main things we did together was sports. He started coaching my first softball team... and just kind of never stopped coaching, at least until about middle school when he got a new job and didn't have as much time. He really loved coaching, not just because of the time we'd spend together practicing and playing together, but because it basically gave him the opportunity to play dad to a team full of girls. I don't know if my dad is remarkable in any other ways, as much as I love him - but one thing he really has down is the "dad" thing. He could write a book on it. Seriously. (Well, actually, my parents have actually done that... yes, it's called Bringing Up Baby after that movie, yes, it's published, and yes still kind of I'm embarrassed to talk about that chronicle of my first months of life.)
Anyway, softball was really "our thing." I was actually pretty good at it. We'd strategize together after games, debrief of the things we did really well and the things we'd work together on fixing for the next game, discuss the possibilities of playing different people in different positions, etc. When I stopped playing after sophomore year of high school (too much team drama, not enough fun - and I had a job that I would have had to quit to play again, and it wasn't worth it), he was crushed. He tried really hard not to let it get to me, because even though it was my decision, I wasn't happy about not playing and missed it a lot. But he took to watching womens' softball on TV a lot and trying to get me to come in and "watch that girl (... I mean, I'm sorry - she's a young woman... they just seem so young to me...) pitch!" with him.
One of the other things we really bonded over was the shelter. When I was 11 and started volunteering, "parents had to accompany volunteers under 16 years of age." I don't think I understood at the time how much they must have really loved me - because either one of them (more my dad toward the end) would be up 7am, every Sunday, not only to drive me to my destination, but to spend the next 4 hours helping me scrub litter pans and scoop yards. Yeah... Wow. Luckily, by the time I was 12, the Director waived that rule on me, deciding that I was "actually, probably more responsible than most of the adults that come in here..." But even though we weren't working together any more, we still had those 25 minute car rides, up and back, every weekend. (Actually, between that and my transferring schools the next year, I spent quite a lot of time in the car with my parents, all tolled.) My dad and I had some of our best conversations in the car. We'd talk about everything - politics, religion, school, work... really, whatever happened to come up. I looked forward to that time with him. He always gave me really good advice when I needed it, and I loved hearing his opinions on things.
Probably my favorite story, that tells you a lot about him is this one: It was on one of these trips, I think, and we were talking about dating. I was almost 14, I think - right around that age where you start dating, you know. And he had always joked about terrorizing any boy that I brought home - buying a shotgun or something and polishing it when he came to pick me up. Or handing him a bullet with his name on it. You know, those outrageous things that dads tell their daughters... and that I've heard some are actually serious about. Anyway, he gets all serious after his usual goofing off and says, "No, but seriously. I want you to know that I'll be happy with whoever you bring home, when that eventually happens. I'll treat him with respect and do my best to make him feel comfortable in our house. I won't embarrass you, I promise." Then, he pauses, and I swear, you could almost see the wheels turning. And he starts again "And I mean, um, also, I really do mean whoever you bring home. You know, if it's a girl or something... um, that's really absolutely ok, too. I just want you to be happy..." It was just really adorable because you could tell that he didn't quite know how to navigate that possibility, but that he really wanted to try. Because it really doesn't matter to him. Whenever we talk about these issues, his standard line is: "I mean, I don't care. Really, this life is hard enough. If you find someone you love, great. It doesn't matter who that person is. People should do what they want." (He's a conservative, by the way.) Of course, as a young teenager, I was super awkward about the topic of dating, let alone dating girls (because being different in anywaywhatsoever is terrifying at that age, of course)... so I didn't fully appreciate it until later on. (And he's true to his word, I should add. When I recently told him that I wasn't sure about my feelings for another woman, he barely blinked, and actually admitted - apparently from the way I've talked about her - "Yeah, I kind of wondered.")
I know it hasn't been easy on him, me being away from home and at school. Especially lately, since he hasn't had a job - and people just aren't hiring, no matter how many times he's sent out his resume. (He worked in real estate, and that market is still shot - so it's really not his fault, which is what I keep telling him.) We've been talking more than usual because he's been helping me with "the rugby calendar"... which you should all eagerly await, as it's coming out REALLY SOON. (I'll save more on that for another time, though.) Also, I love that he gets rugby. He played in college, and I can tell that he's thrilled that I play. He comes up pretty frequently to watch our games, since we don't live that far away and he usually vaguely "has things for me." (Which turn out to be my mother sending random things that I love. Last time, I received childrens' apple juices, ramen fake-chicken soup and pair of ridiculous green rain clogs that a friend and I discovered make FLATULENCE sounds when you wear them without socks. Yes, we are 8-year-old boys. Go ahead, judge us. We had too much fun with them.) Recently, I panicked because I was starting in a game in a position I wasn't familiar with and he drove to an away game in (at least it was in New Jersey) to come watch me play.
Anyway, today we managed to talk for almost an hour (when I really should have been doing work, but whatever - he's more important)... and he's probably coming up this weekend for the game. I'm pleased.
My dad and I have a pretty special relationship, I think. It's not that I'm not close with my mom - because I really am. Especially moreso now that I've gotten older. But my dad has always kind of been my "buddy." We have nearly identical personalities, so we relate to each other really well. When I was little, we'd be fooling around at the dinner table, being just generally ridiculous and really, incredibly entertaining to ourselves. My mom would just watch us and sigh. Poor woman. Once, at some party they were at, one of his friends came up to her with an incredibly straight face and asked, with concern "So, Ann, how is it going, raising two kids all on your own?" My dad thinks this is hilarious and loves repeating it.
When I younger, we spent a lot of time together. I remember always looking forward to the days he'd pick me up from school/daycare - he'd usually have something "special" planned. These things ranged from a trip to the pool, to a Slurpee from 7-11, to playing cards back at the house. Looking back on it, I guess they weren't, like huge things - but they were always a huge deal to me and I remember always being so excited. To some extent, maybe I was a little spoiled by him, but I don't think that it changed me at all - I truly loved and appreciated all of our time together and anything he did for me.
As I got older, one of the main things we did together was sports. He started coaching my first softball team... and just kind of never stopped coaching, at least until about middle school when he got a new job and didn't have as much time. He really loved coaching, not just because of the time we'd spend together practicing and playing together, but because it basically gave him the opportunity to play dad to a team full of girls. I don't know if my dad is remarkable in any other ways, as much as I love him - but one thing he really has down is the "dad" thing. He could write a book on it. Seriously. (Well, actually, my parents have actually done that... yes, it's called Bringing Up Baby after that movie, yes, it's published, and yes still kind of I'm embarrassed to talk about that chronicle of my first months of life.)
Anyway, softball was really "our thing." I was actually pretty good at it. We'd strategize together after games, debrief of the things we did really well and the things we'd work together on fixing for the next game, discuss the possibilities of playing different people in different positions, etc. When I stopped playing after sophomore year of high school (too much team drama, not enough fun - and I had a job that I would have had to quit to play again, and it wasn't worth it), he was crushed. He tried really hard not to let it get to me, because even though it was my decision, I wasn't happy about not playing and missed it a lot. But he took to watching womens' softball on TV a lot and trying to get me to come in and "watch that girl (... I mean, I'm sorry - she's a young woman... they just seem so young to me...) pitch!" with him.
One of the other things we really bonded over was the shelter. When I was 11 and started volunteering, "parents had to accompany volunteers under 16 years of age." I don't think I understood at the time how much they must have really loved me - because either one of them (more my dad toward the end) would be up 7am, every Sunday, not only to drive me to my destination, but to spend the next 4 hours helping me scrub litter pans and scoop yards. Yeah... Wow. Luckily, by the time I was 12, the Director waived that rule on me, deciding that I was "actually, probably more responsible than most of the adults that come in here..." But even though we weren't working together any more, we still had those 25 minute car rides, up and back, every weekend. (Actually, between that and my transferring schools the next year, I spent quite a lot of time in the car with my parents, all tolled.) My dad and I had some of our best conversations in the car. We'd talk about everything - politics, religion, school, work... really, whatever happened to come up. I looked forward to that time with him. He always gave me really good advice when I needed it, and I loved hearing his opinions on things.
Probably my favorite story, that tells you a lot about him is this one: It was on one of these trips, I think, and we were talking about dating. I was almost 14, I think - right around that age where you start dating, you know. And he had always joked about terrorizing any boy that I brought home - buying a shotgun or something and polishing it when he came to pick me up. Or handing him a bullet with his name on it. You know, those outrageous things that dads tell their daughters... and that I've heard some are actually serious about. Anyway, he gets all serious after his usual goofing off and says, "No, but seriously. I want you to know that I'll be happy with whoever you bring home, when that eventually happens. I'll treat him with respect and do my best to make him feel comfortable in our house. I won't embarrass you, I promise." Then, he pauses, and I swear, you could almost see the wheels turning. And he starts again "And I mean, um, also, I really do mean whoever you bring home. You know, if it's a girl or something... um, that's really absolutely ok, too. I just want you to be happy..." It was just really adorable because you could tell that he didn't quite know how to navigate that possibility, but that he really wanted to try. Because it really doesn't matter to him. Whenever we talk about these issues, his standard line is: "I mean, I don't care. Really, this life is hard enough. If you find someone you love, great. It doesn't matter who that person is. People should do what they want." (He's a conservative, by the way.) Of course, as a young teenager, I was super awkward about the topic of dating, let alone dating girls (because being different in anywaywhatsoever is terrifying at that age, of course)... so I didn't fully appreciate it until later on. (And he's true to his word, I should add. When I recently told him that I wasn't sure about my feelings for another woman, he barely blinked, and actually admitted - apparently from the way I've talked about her - "Yeah, I kind of wondered.")
I know it hasn't been easy on him, me being away from home and at school. Especially lately, since he hasn't had a job - and people just aren't hiring, no matter how many times he's sent out his resume. (He worked in real estate, and that market is still shot - so it's really not his fault, which is what I keep telling him.) We've been talking more than usual because he's been helping me with "the rugby calendar"... which you should all eagerly await, as it's coming out REALLY SOON. (I'll save more on that for another time, though.) Also, I love that he gets rugby. He played in college, and I can tell that he's thrilled that I play. He comes up pretty frequently to watch our games, since we don't live that far away and he usually vaguely "has things for me." (Which turn out to be my mother sending random things that I love. Last time, I received childrens' apple juices, ramen fake-chicken soup and pair of ridiculous green rain clogs that a friend and I discovered make FLATULENCE sounds when you wear them without socks. Yes, we are 8-year-old boys. Go ahead, judge us. We had too much fun with them.) Recently, I panicked because I was starting in a game in a position I wasn't familiar with and he drove to an away game in (at least it was in New Jersey) to come watch me play.
Anyway, today we managed to talk for almost an hour (when I really should have been doing work, but whatever - he's more important)... and he's probably coming up this weekend for the game. I'm pleased.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
a t-shirt and a night walk
So, I did something kind of dumb today. It was a small oversight, but I left my shirt at the pitch after practice today. I promise, it's not really that strange. As you all may have noticed, it rained a lot today - not only was it fairly consistently wet from the afternoon on, but the weather seemed to enjoy turning it up... whenever I was outside. Between outside bio lab and rugby, I was soaked through by the end of practice.
Luckily, I brought other clothes to change into after practice, because I had to hit dinner really fast before heading to my weekly TLI (Teaching-Learning Initiative) reflection meeting. In order to not sit around for hours with my soaking shirt, I took it off and put on the long-sleeved polo and light jacket I brought. ...And between getting my cleats off & knocking the mud off them, putting my mouthguard away and hopping into a friend's car for a ride to dinner (to maximize my time to eat before the meeting... and let's face it, I've been feeling a little entitled this year to rides back from practice when they're available, since I already walk back and forth from Brecon every day...), I left my t-shirt at the pitch.
I mean, whatever - it's only a t-shirt, right? But it's one I actually just got the other weekend at the Keystone tournament - where we took second to Penn and played phenomenally, 15 as 1 -- something we've been struggling with all year. So... I don't know, somehow it already has sentimental value or something. (Plus, it's a navy blue shirt with white writing - for some reason, my favorite combination ever. Oh, and it has a griffin on it, which is apparently the Keystone club's thing. A freaking griffin! Yeah... so, um, it's special.)
So when I realized that something soaking wet and navy blue was missing from my practice bag, I wasn't happy. I was already at dinner, and I had to run to the meeting... so I thought I'd get it afterward, when I finally went back to Brecon.
And then, at the meeting I was basically falling asleep, after running constantly all day (Oh, Wednesdays... how I hate thou), and then I was freezing on the walk back to Brecon and couldn't bear the thought of walking further than I had to before taking a nice hot shower. And then I laid down on my bed, "for 20 minutes, I swear" ... and woke up almost 2 hours later. Yeeeeah, I'm a champ sometimes.
But there was still my shirt - it was the first thing I thought of when I woke up, and I just didn't want to leave it there until Friday. I couldn't say for sure that one of my teammates grabbed it, or that someone else wouldn't between now and then. I've been careless with possessions before and I've tried to learn from those mistakes. So even though it was somehow almost midnight by the time I got it together and decided I was going out, I had to go through with it. I would really not be able to forgive myself for making the same mistake again.
So, to finally get to the other half of the title of this post (incidentally, I'm really sorry that I ramble and that our professor has asked us to read everyone's blogs in their entirety before our presentations next week... I didn't even think of your having to suffer through all of these as I was writing them. If it's any consolation, I promise you can probably skim mine and not miss anything important. Really. Ugh.)... Yeah - the walk. It's midnight. I'm leaving my room... looking a little bizarre, I have to admit, pajama flannel pants and bright yellow rain boots complementing the outfit.
As I walked, I had time to think. It's not often that you're alone in the dark on a college campus - I think I've grown accustomed to being surrounded by people and lights. And as I walked, I realized that I was probably actually doing a dumber thing by being out at that hour than leaving my shirt in the first place. I mean, I had to think kind of hard about it - but I think that might have been actually a little bit dangerous? I mean, who's out there at that hour? (Besides sort-of-sketchy college students retrieving rugby tournament t-shirts, of course.) And I also wasn't quite on campus any more (I mean, the GSSW is right around the corner, mostly - but still), something I didn't even think of until I was staring at the heavily wooded area that surrounds the pitch.
An axe murderer with a chainsaw could have jumped out at that moment, chopped me into little bits and put them in the creek... and who would have known? (Question: if he/she - not being sexist, please, women can be crazed killers too - has a chainsaw and not an axe, is she/he then "a chainsaw murderer? Doesn't have the same ring, somehow...) Clearly this did not happen, as I'm back in my room writing this.
But what disturbs me even more is that even though I came up with some crazy scenarios... I wasn't particularly disturbed by them at the time.
I'm 20 years old. That makes me invincible, right?
Luckily, I brought other clothes to change into after practice, because I had to hit dinner really fast before heading to my weekly TLI (Teaching-Learning Initiative) reflection meeting. In order to not sit around for hours with my soaking shirt, I took it off and put on the long-sleeved polo and light jacket I brought. ...And between getting my cleats off & knocking the mud off them, putting my mouthguard away and hopping into a friend's car for a ride to dinner (to maximize my time to eat before the meeting... and let's face it, I've been feeling a little entitled this year to rides back from practice when they're available, since I already walk back and forth from Brecon every day...), I left my t-shirt at the pitch.
I mean, whatever - it's only a t-shirt, right? But it's one I actually just got the other weekend at the Keystone tournament - where we took second to Penn and played phenomenally, 15 as 1 -- something we've been struggling with all year. So... I don't know, somehow it already has sentimental value or something. (Plus, it's a navy blue shirt with white writing - for some reason, my favorite combination ever. Oh, and it has a griffin on it, which is apparently the Keystone club's thing. A freaking griffin! Yeah... so, um, it's special.)
So when I realized that something soaking wet and navy blue was missing from my practice bag, I wasn't happy. I was already at dinner, and I had to run to the meeting... so I thought I'd get it afterward, when I finally went back to Brecon.
And then, at the meeting I was basically falling asleep, after running constantly all day (Oh, Wednesdays... how I hate thou), and then I was freezing on the walk back to Brecon and couldn't bear the thought of walking further than I had to before taking a nice hot shower. And then I laid down on my bed, "for 20 minutes, I swear" ... and woke up almost 2 hours later. Yeeeeah, I'm a champ sometimes.
But there was still my shirt - it was the first thing I thought of when I woke up, and I just didn't want to leave it there until Friday. I couldn't say for sure that one of my teammates grabbed it, or that someone else wouldn't between now and then. I've been careless with possessions before and I've tried to learn from those mistakes. So even though it was somehow almost midnight by the time I got it together and decided I was going out, I had to go through with it. I would really not be able to forgive myself for making the same mistake again.
So, to finally get to the other half of the title of this post (incidentally, I'm really sorry that I ramble and that our professor has asked us to read everyone's blogs in their entirety before our presentations next week... I didn't even think of your having to suffer through all of these as I was writing them. If it's any consolation, I promise you can probably skim mine and not miss anything important. Really. Ugh.)... Yeah - the walk. It's midnight. I'm leaving my room... looking a little bizarre, I have to admit, pajama flannel pants and bright yellow rain boots complementing the outfit.
As I walked, I had time to think. It's not often that you're alone in the dark on a college campus - I think I've grown accustomed to being surrounded by people and lights. And as I walked, I realized that I was probably actually doing a dumber thing by being out at that hour than leaving my shirt in the first place. I mean, I had to think kind of hard about it - but I think that might have been actually a little bit dangerous? I mean, who's out there at that hour? (Besides sort-of-sketchy college students retrieving rugby tournament t-shirts, of course.) And I also wasn't quite on campus any more (I mean, the GSSW is right around the corner, mostly - but still), something I didn't even think of until I was staring at the heavily wooded area that surrounds the pitch.
An axe murderer with a chainsaw could have jumped out at that moment, chopped me into little bits and put them in the creek... and who would have known? (Question: if he/she - not being sexist, please, women can be crazed killers too - has a chainsaw and not an axe, is she/he then "a chainsaw murderer? Doesn't have the same ring, somehow...) Clearly this did not happen, as I'm back in my room writing this.
But what disturbs me even more is that even though I came up with some crazy scenarios... I wasn't particularly disturbed by them at the time.
I'm 20 years old. That makes me invincible, right?
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
I'm done.
All I can say is, it's a good thing the semester is almost over. I'm just... done. I don't really know how I'm going to get through these last few weeks, but I figure I don't really have much of a choice.
I've been trying to be less introspective and self-centered with the last few posts, but all I can think about lately is how little effort I feel like putting into everything I do. I used to enjoy going to classes, to practice, to meals, to hang out with my friends. Lately, I've just been doing the bare minimum to get by. I go to class, but even if I'm prepared (which I usually am, only by staying up to 2, 3, 4 in the morning - most of that time going to finding the motivation to do the work, not actually the act of working, itself), I don't say much. I'm sure what we're talking about is really interesting - and I used to be excited about all of my classes. For some reason... I just don't care.
If it were only classes, it might not be that big of a deal - I mean, everyone gets burnt out on work from time to time. And it certainly is the time of year for it. But I find myself doing the same thing at things I'm supposed to be enjoying. I go to rugby practice, and even though I know that I like it in theory - it's just such a chore, any more. I "get through it" instead of enjoying it, like I did before. I try to try just as hard, because I know that I want to play - at least, I'm supposed to. But there's something missing.
And my friends... I guess we're all just wrapped up in our own stuff, but I feel like I don't see anyone any more. And when I do, I have to force myself to "show up" to things. I know that I'm supposed to want to go, and I try to get excited... but I just seem to fall short.
I used to be good at faking all of these things - participating in class when I didn't feel like it, seeming to enjoy practice when I don't and having fun with my friends when I'm not. But I've been getting progressively worse at keeping that image up. I think people are starting to see through me. And it's turning me into (or revealing me to be) a person that people don't like to be with that much.
I don't blame them. I'm tired of me, too.
I've been trying to be less introspective and self-centered with the last few posts, but all I can think about lately is how little effort I feel like putting into everything I do. I used to enjoy going to classes, to practice, to meals, to hang out with my friends. Lately, I've just been doing the bare minimum to get by. I go to class, but even if I'm prepared (which I usually am, only by staying up to 2, 3, 4 in the morning - most of that time going to finding the motivation to do the work, not actually the act of working, itself), I don't say much. I'm sure what we're talking about is really interesting - and I used to be excited about all of my classes. For some reason... I just don't care.
If it were only classes, it might not be that big of a deal - I mean, everyone gets burnt out on work from time to time. And it certainly is the time of year for it. But I find myself doing the same thing at things I'm supposed to be enjoying. I go to rugby practice, and even though I know that I like it in theory - it's just such a chore, any more. I "get through it" instead of enjoying it, like I did before. I try to try just as hard, because I know that I want to play - at least, I'm supposed to. But there's something missing.
And my friends... I guess we're all just wrapped up in our own stuff, but I feel like I don't see anyone any more. And when I do, I have to force myself to "show up" to things. I know that I'm supposed to want to go, and I try to get excited... but I just seem to fall short.
I used to be good at faking all of these things - participating in class when I didn't feel like it, seeming to enjoy practice when I don't and having fun with my friends when I'm not. But I've been getting progressively worse at keeping that image up. I think people are starting to see through me. And it's turning me into (or revealing me to be) a person that people don't like to be with that much.
I don't blame them. I'm tired of me, too.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
The Biggest Loser
I should probably explain that "I'm not a big TV person." I'm even less so "a reality TV person." I mean, life is hard enough - during the rare occasions that I do actually watch television, I'd like to escape reality as much as possible, thanks.
And then, over spring break I found The Biggest Loser. And I rediscovered it this weekend during the time not spent job-searching. (And I'm working at a liquor store this summer... I have no words that will describe this experience, and have been assured by my soon-to-be-boss that I will probably feel the same even after I start work.)
But anyway- The Biggest Loser. Wow.
I know, I know. There are more productive things I could be spending my time doing, and really, reality shows are as low as it gets. But I can't help it - I'm really into this nonsense. I'll admit, it's not something I'm super proud of, or that I'll be looking to put on resumes or anything in the near future. But it is what it is, and I said I'd be honest on here, so I am. I'm going to at least try to explain what it is about this that attracts me... mostly to justify the time I spent watching it to myself.
For one thing, it's about getting people healthy. It's not about one guy/girl picking "Mr./Ms. Right" from a bunch of guys/girls (and I won't even go into how heteronormative all of them are...), it's not about people eating scary things for a chance a lot of money, or doing dumb/dangerous things for the same reasons. It at least has a worthy goal. And while yeah, there is some competition involved, the core of the show is still about getting people (and not just the ones on the show) healthier and losing weight in a correct (and safe) way. They give tips about healthy eating, not just to the contestants, to to any viewer as generally good knowledge to have. And let's face it, even if you don't happen to need to lose a lot of weight, it's good for anyone to know about healthy alternatives.
Also, the people on that show are just SO nice (and inspiring). Some of them are working through serious issues and going through what has got to be an incredibly difficult point in their lives - and they're still so damn nice to each other. They motivate each other, cheer at others' successes and cry (real, legitimate tears) when someone has to leave the show. The trainers are also really great - they aren't playing a game and they really just want the people they are working with to succeed. In general, I feel like this showcases some of America's best, as opposed to many of these shows where people fight and swear at each other - these people are trying to accomplish something difficult and get healthy.
Is it voyeurism, as all of these shows are? Absolutely. Is it sometimes played up for drama and intensity? Definitely. But I think it has at least somewhat of a better underlying motive than a lot of the trash floating out there, and so with that, I will take (and keep) my hope for American pop culture that it sometimes has somethings that are worth getting into.
And then, over spring break I found The Biggest Loser. And I rediscovered it this weekend during the time not spent job-searching. (And I'm working at a liquor store this summer... I have no words that will describe this experience, and have been assured by my soon-to-be-boss that I will probably feel the same even after I start work.)
But anyway- The Biggest Loser. Wow.
I know, I know. There are more productive things I could be spending my time doing, and really, reality shows are as low as it gets. But I can't help it - I'm really into this nonsense. I'll admit, it's not something I'm super proud of, or that I'll be looking to put on resumes or anything in the near future. But it is what it is, and I said I'd be honest on here, so I am. I'm going to at least try to explain what it is about this that attracts me... mostly to justify the time I spent watching it to myself.
For one thing, it's about getting people healthy. It's not about one guy/girl picking "Mr./Ms. Right" from a bunch of guys/girls (and I won't even go into how heteronormative all of them are...), it's not about people eating scary things for a chance a lot of money, or doing dumb/dangerous things for the same reasons. It at least has a worthy goal. And while yeah, there is some competition involved, the core of the show is still about getting people (and not just the ones on the show) healthier and losing weight in a correct (and safe) way. They give tips about healthy eating, not just to the contestants, to to any viewer as generally good knowledge to have. And let's face it, even if you don't happen to need to lose a lot of weight, it's good for anyone to know about healthy alternatives.
Also, the people on that show are just SO nice (and inspiring). Some of them are working through serious issues and going through what has got to be an incredibly difficult point in their lives - and they're still so damn nice to each other. They motivate each other, cheer at others' successes and cry (real, legitimate tears) when someone has to leave the show. The trainers are also really great - they aren't playing a game and they really just want the people they are working with to succeed. In general, I feel like this showcases some of America's best, as opposed to many of these shows where people fight and swear at each other - these people are trying to accomplish something difficult and get healthy.
Is it voyeurism, as all of these shows are? Absolutely. Is it sometimes played up for drama and intensity? Definitely. But I think it has at least somewhat of a better underlying motive than a lot of the trash floating out there, and so with that, I will take (and keep) my hope for American pop culture that it sometimes has somethings that are worth getting into.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Harry Potter and My Family's History with Him
All I want to do right now is ready Harry Potter.
Sometimes, it's just helpful to escape into fantasy. I'm escaping home for the weekend tomorrow, although more for practical reasons - aka, a frantic job search - than for fun. But that isn't enough for me, apparently - what started out as a promising day just sort of... spiraled downward. And I just don't want to deal with reality right now.
Anyway, I just love the entire series. I know, I'm not very original - everyone and their mother (like, literally - my parents are just as into it as I am) loves Harry Potter. But it just seems to contain so much of my childhood, that I truly feel like it's a big part of my life. It probably actually helps that my parents like it too, because it's kind of "our thing." We started reading the first book together (before they were popular) because my mom's friend told her about it, "because you like books so much." (I've mentioned that both of my parents were English majors, haven't I? No. Ok, then. Now you know. It all makes sense now, doesn't it?)
I remember when my interest in Harry first really took off. We had started reading the first few chapters together, and I was interested, but I didn't think it was anything super special. A few days later, I did something stupid (honestly, I have no recollection of what) and got sent to the dreaded "time-out." Sitting in my room, no doubt fuming at the injustice of it all, I came across the book lying next to my bed. My parents had probably left it there after reading it. Having nothing better to do, while in time-out, I picked it up... My mom had to come in and pry me out of time-out when my time was up. So much for that punishment.
The second book had just come out, so my parents eagerly bought that for the household - this time, we all read it alone, too impatient to finish to continue reading aloud. The third was just about to come out - by this time, it had all caught on and everyone was reading it - and we went to the first midnight book unveiling. My mom, the librarian, was really too excited about everyone making such a fuss about a book. Then there was the fourth book, and the fifth, and the sixth. Actually, I do remember a brief "I'm too cool for this" phase around the time the fifth book came out, in which I refused to go to the midnight showing and instead had a sleep over with a friend. ...That lasted all of about 2 days, when I finally got a hold of the book after my dad was done with it, and realized that, no, the book was probably actually too cool for me.
The seventh book came out right before my senior year, right after I had come home from my trip to Germany. I had missed my parents so much on that trip, and it was really exciting that I had the book release with them to look forward to - even if it was the last one. By this time, we had taken to buying multiple copies of the book, because we all wanted to read it at once. (Actually, I should say that "my dad and I both wanted to read at once." Ever the patient one - and sometimes probably "single parent" to us as children - my mom would wait until one of us was done for her turn.)
The three of us still read it out loud on long car journeys - now that we all know what happens, we're a lot more patient with the "reading out loud" thing again. It's like we've come full circle, back to when I was 11 or something. (That's the other thing about Harry that's always been particularly cool to me - I basically grew up with him. We were always within about 6 months of each other when the books came out.)
And here's my favorite Harry Potter thing with my parents: When I got my tonsils out during my junior year of high school, it was overall an incredibly painful, awful experience. I hazily remember lying on my bed that night - I'd been sick going into the surgery, the pain medication dosage was accidentally too low, and I had some kind of reaction to the anesthetic that made my entire body hurt to move. My dad basically took care of me the entire time - I couldn't do much for myself. Between the pain and the drugs, I was pretty out of it. My mom got sick right after the surgery and didn't want to risk getting me sick again with my immune system capacity so lowered. Anyway, my dad came in every four hours exactly (including obscure times, like 5am when we'd both been asleep) to give me the Tylenol/Codeine that was prescribed. He'd say "Want me to entertain you? We're both up anyway..." and read Harry until I was ready to sleep again.
Sometimes, it's just helpful to escape into fantasy. I'm escaping home for the weekend tomorrow, although more for practical reasons - aka, a frantic job search - than for fun. But that isn't enough for me, apparently - what started out as a promising day just sort of... spiraled downward. And I just don't want to deal with reality right now.
Anyway, I just love the entire series. I know, I'm not very original - everyone and their mother (like, literally - my parents are just as into it as I am) loves Harry Potter. But it just seems to contain so much of my childhood, that I truly feel like it's a big part of my life. It probably actually helps that my parents like it too, because it's kind of "our thing." We started reading the first book together (before they were popular) because my mom's friend told her about it, "because you like books so much." (I've mentioned that both of my parents were English majors, haven't I? No. Ok, then. Now you know. It all makes sense now, doesn't it?)
I remember when my interest in Harry first really took off. We had started reading the first few chapters together, and I was interested, but I didn't think it was anything super special. A few days later, I did something stupid (honestly, I have no recollection of what) and got sent to the dreaded "time-out." Sitting in my room, no doubt fuming at the injustice of it all, I came across the book lying next to my bed. My parents had probably left it there after reading it. Having nothing better to do, while in time-out, I picked it up... My mom had to come in and pry me out of time-out when my time was up. So much for that punishment.
The second book had just come out, so my parents eagerly bought that for the household - this time, we all read it alone, too impatient to finish to continue reading aloud. The third was just about to come out - by this time, it had all caught on and everyone was reading it - and we went to the first midnight book unveiling. My mom, the librarian, was really too excited about everyone making such a fuss about a book. Then there was the fourth book, and the fifth, and the sixth. Actually, I do remember a brief "I'm too cool for this" phase around the time the fifth book came out, in which I refused to go to the midnight showing and instead had a sleep over with a friend. ...That lasted all of about 2 days, when I finally got a hold of the book after my dad was done with it, and realized that, no, the book was probably actually too cool for me.
The seventh book came out right before my senior year, right after I had come home from my trip to Germany. I had missed my parents so much on that trip, and it was really exciting that I had the book release with them to look forward to - even if it was the last one. By this time, we had taken to buying multiple copies of the book, because we all wanted to read it at once. (Actually, I should say that "my dad and I both wanted to read at once." Ever the patient one - and sometimes probably "single parent" to us as children - my mom would wait until one of us was done for her turn.)
The three of us still read it out loud on long car journeys - now that we all know what happens, we're a lot more patient with the "reading out loud" thing again. It's like we've come full circle, back to when I was 11 or something. (That's the other thing about Harry that's always been particularly cool to me - I basically grew up with him. We were always within about 6 months of each other when the books came out.)
And here's my favorite Harry Potter thing with my parents: When I got my tonsils out during my junior year of high school, it was overall an incredibly painful, awful experience. I hazily remember lying on my bed that night - I'd been sick going into the surgery, the pain medication dosage was accidentally too low, and I had some kind of reaction to the anesthetic that made my entire body hurt to move. My dad basically took care of me the entire time - I couldn't do much for myself. Between the pain and the drugs, I was pretty out of it. My mom got sick right after the surgery and didn't want to risk getting me sick again with my immune system capacity so lowered. Anyway, my dad came in every four hours exactly (including obscure times, like 5am when we'd both been asleep) to give me the Tylenol/Codeine that was prescribed. He'd say "Want me to entertain you? We're both up anyway..." and read Harry until I was ready to sleep again.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
want your bad room-ance
Ahahahahaha.
Sorry... I am really too into our dorm draw shirts to be a completely healthy minded person. It just needed to be the title of this entry, ok?
So, as you all (or maybe most of you, I think) know, tonight was room draw for '11 & '12. As a dorm president, I help run this monstrosity and get a free t-shirt. (The aforementioned title was the theme of room draw, because it always has a theme. Need I say more?)
I have found, over this academic year as a dorm president, that there are certain skills required for this task, such as alphabetizing and counting competently that I was not informed of, upon taking office. Seriously, people, anyone who saw me struggling with those cards in the campus center a few weeks ago may indeed have been questioning my abilities to attend this school, let alone be a dorm representative, with a half-vote in SGA. (The other half belongs to my co-president, CS, with whom I generally tend to agree on things, so this has not been a problem.)
Anyway, room draw was actually pretty fun. Minus a minor mishap with trying to bring the white boards on the stage and alternately making snappy comments/getting snapped at, and a terrifying moment in which I messed up THE SACRED HOLY DORM COUNT and wanted to shrink to be this tall as everyone watched me fumbling with my dry-erase marker and trying to recover my dignity (and prove that I can, indeed, count to 30), it went pretty smoothly.
I drew into Denbigh, my first choice dorm, without much trouble, and will be living with most of my friends next year. I'm pretty excited, considering that I graciously took one of the last sophomore singles available last year and didn't really get to make a choice back then. It worked out really well - despite the general abhorrence and fear that I have found on this campus for Brecon, I've quite enjoyed my time here, even if I am ready to move back to "the main part of campus" next year.
I know that Denbigh isn't "the nicest" dorm on campus, but it feels like home to me. It was my freshman-year dorm, and it will always have a special place in my heart, simply because of that. It has pretty nice rooms, a great laundry situation, and is, after all "the rugby dorm" in which all of our Socials take place. My friends are located mostly there and next door Merion (and next-next door Radnor), so I'll be closer to them physically, and hopefully "emotionally," too, next year.
I'm excited. This semester has been a little rocky at times, but nights like this (not just room draw, but hanging out with my friends and blowing off some of my homework) give me hope for a really good next year.
Sorry... I am really too into our dorm draw shirts to be a completely healthy minded person. It just needed to be the title of this entry, ok?
So, as you all (or maybe most of you, I think) know, tonight was room draw for '11 & '12. As a dorm president, I help run this monstrosity and get a free t-shirt. (The aforementioned title was the theme of room draw, because it always has a theme. Need I say more?)
I have found, over this academic year as a dorm president, that there are certain skills required for this task, such as alphabetizing and counting competently that I was not informed of, upon taking office. Seriously, people, anyone who saw me struggling with those cards in the campus center a few weeks ago may indeed have been questioning my abilities to attend this school, let alone be a dorm representative, with a half-vote in SGA. (The other half belongs to my co-president, CS, with whom I generally tend to agree on things, so this has not been a problem.)
Anyway, room draw was actually pretty fun. Minus a minor mishap with trying to bring the white boards on the stage and alternately making snappy comments/getting snapped at, and a terrifying moment in which I messed up THE SACRED HOLY DORM COUNT and wanted to shrink to be this tall as everyone watched me fumbling with my dry-erase marker and trying to recover my dignity (and prove that I can, indeed, count to 30), it went pretty smoothly.
I drew into Denbigh, my first choice dorm, without much trouble, and will be living with most of my friends next year. I'm pretty excited, considering that I graciously took one of the last sophomore singles available last year and didn't really get to make a choice back then. It worked out really well - despite the general abhorrence and fear that I have found on this campus for Brecon, I've quite enjoyed my time here, even if I am ready to move back to "the main part of campus" next year.
I know that Denbigh isn't "the nicest" dorm on campus, but it feels like home to me. It was my freshman-year dorm, and it will always have a special place in my heart, simply because of that. It has pretty nice rooms, a great laundry situation, and is, after all "the rugby dorm" in which all of our Socials take place. My friends are located mostly there and next door Merion (and next-next door Radnor), so I'll be closer to them physically, and hopefully "emotionally," too, next year.
I'm excited. This semester has been a little rocky at times, but nights like this (not just room draw, but hanging out with my friends and blowing off some of my homework) give me hope for a really good next year.
Friday, April 9, 2010
"The Princess and the Frog," retitled "how I always try to see the good in people"
So, to start off, if you read the first version of this post -- I'm really sorry. I actually thought that I deleted it, but technology and I don't always work completely in sync, and this actually did not happen.
Basically, last Friday night I was in the 4th floor common room with BF, attempting to get some homework done before a two-day rugby tournament. ("The tournament?" you ask - a success! "The homework?" Well, not so much...) [Un]fortunately for us, someone else had reserved the room to watch that new Disney movie, The Princess and the Frog.
I was exhausted and nervous and distracted, so of course my attention wandered from the arousing topic of my paper (Caribbean epics, anyone?) to mindless, colorful objects flickering on a screen. I didn't feel so badly, as BF was doing the exact same thing.
As I was "getting nowhere, way too fast" with the aforementioned paper, I decided to try for a blog post - maybe that would stimulate my writing abilities. And so I wrote the post that you may or may not have read that used to be here. Satisfied, I pointed out to BF that I had, kinda, sorta, maybe accomplished something and was going to turn in for the night. Curious (and possibly wanting to prolong her own procrastination), she asked me what I was writing about. And I told her about my "review" of The Princess and the Frog. How I generally liked it, the things I thought Disney had improved as opposed to its regular schtick, etc. "Really?" she said, actually surprised. "But it was so controversial!" Now it was my turn to be surprised. "Really?" I responded. And that's how we got into a conversation about the relative cultural merits of The Princess and the Frog.
And the debate can be summed up as such: Yes, it was nice that they had a princess of color and yes, it was interesting to have the film in a different setting (the south) than is usually depicted, and yes, the princess was hard-working and an overall interesting, dynamic character and not one whose sole purpose in life seemed to be finding "Prince Charming." (For the record, it was opening her own restaurant in memory of her father.) She wasn't one of those empty-headed pretties that are too-often on display for children.
BUT: She was also a frog for a majority of the movie - she wasn't depicted as her full self and was, in fact, demeaned by being turned into a lowly, slimy creature. Does this have anything to do with the fact that she was a princess of color? Also, the south was, as things typically are in these types of things, overdone and stereotyped - did that give people the wrong impression, and is that impression more damaging than having it not represented at all? Does "drawing attention" to something stop being worth it at a certain point? And as for Prince Charming, himself - Oh, there was apparently a whole debate about his skin color. At first, he was lighter skinned, and people we all "Oh, so we can't have a black man as a central character in this children's movie?" So apparently, the film was gone through and his color was darkened. And then people were all "Oh, so we can't have an interracial marriage with a black woman and a white man?"
...sometimes, you just can't win.
I mean, it gave me a lot to think about. I "deleted" (although apparently, not-so-much) this post and sighed at BF. "Guess I'm re-writing that one tomorrow." She felt guilty for making me re-evaluate, although she needn't have - discussions like that, as infuriating as they sometimes are, are really the reason I came to this school: to learn how to think critically about things.
Except... I don't always do a very good job of it. I told BF "You know, I always try to see the good in people/things. I thought that Disney was trying to make a progressive step forward with this movie... and was so caught up in seeing that, that I didn't want to see the potential problems." To be honest, they kept cropping up in the back of my mind. But I didn't want to talk about them; I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt and say "Hey, maybe this was a good thing - good can come out of it." She asked me why I was like that, and I had to think about it.
In fact, I still am. Apparently.
I mean, my default setting for people is "like." Not everyone's is - it takes them a while to open up and trust, and while, I don't think I do that too readily in terms of deeper things, I am a very open person on the surface, and try to quell my human instincts to judge someone too quickly, lest I be mistaken and regret it later.
But should I be more judgmental? I mean, being "discerning" is a mark of intelligence - I shouldn't just take things at face value, like I often try to. Isn't the education I'm supposed to be getting (especially as an English major) supposed to be preparing me to think critically, to question things and to speak up against things that "aren't right?"
I'm going to stop before I go off on a tangent about the definition of "right" (which is where this could easily start heading), but I think this is all interesting to keep in mind.
...and to think, I thought this post was going to be a sort of "throwaway" that I snuck in on a Friday night to fill the quota for my grade.
Look at that - it took on a life of it's own and became all interesting. Huh.
Basically, last Friday night I was in the 4th floor common room with BF, attempting to get some homework done before a two-day rugby tournament. ("The tournament?" you ask - a success! "The homework?" Well, not so much...) [Un]fortunately for us, someone else had reserved the room to watch that new Disney movie, The Princess and the Frog.
I was exhausted and nervous and distracted, so of course my attention wandered from the arousing topic of my paper (Caribbean epics, anyone?) to mindless, colorful objects flickering on a screen. I didn't feel so badly, as BF was doing the exact same thing.
As I was "getting nowhere, way too fast" with the aforementioned paper, I decided to try for a blog post - maybe that would stimulate my writing abilities. And so I wrote the post that you may or may not have read that used to be here. Satisfied, I pointed out to BF that I had, kinda, sorta, maybe accomplished something and was going to turn in for the night. Curious (and possibly wanting to prolong her own procrastination), she asked me what I was writing about. And I told her about my "review" of The Princess and the Frog. How I generally liked it, the things I thought Disney had improved as opposed to its regular schtick, etc. "Really?" she said, actually surprised. "But it was so controversial!" Now it was my turn to be surprised. "Really?" I responded. And that's how we got into a conversation about the relative cultural merits of The Princess and the Frog.
And the debate can be summed up as such: Yes, it was nice that they had a princess of color and yes, it was interesting to have the film in a different setting (the south) than is usually depicted, and yes, the princess was hard-working and an overall interesting, dynamic character and not one whose sole purpose in life seemed to be finding "Prince Charming." (For the record, it was opening her own restaurant in memory of her father.) She wasn't one of those empty-headed pretties that are too-often on display for children.
BUT: She was also a frog for a majority of the movie - she wasn't depicted as her full self and was, in fact, demeaned by being turned into a lowly, slimy creature. Does this have anything to do with the fact that she was a princess of color? Also, the south was, as things typically are in these types of things, overdone and stereotyped - did that give people the wrong impression, and is that impression more damaging than having it not represented at all? Does "drawing attention" to something stop being worth it at a certain point? And as for Prince Charming, himself - Oh, there was apparently a whole debate about his skin color. At first, he was lighter skinned, and people we all "Oh, so we can't have a black man as a central character in this children's movie?" So apparently, the film was gone through and his color was darkened. And then people were all "Oh, so we can't have an interracial marriage with a black woman and a white man?"
...sometimes, you just can't win.
I mean, it gave me a lot to think about. I "deleted" (although apparently, not-so-much) this post and sighed at BF. "Guess I'm re-writing that one tomorrow." She felt guilty for making me re-evaluate, although she needn't have - discussions like that, as infuriating as they sometimes are, are really the reason I came to this school: to learn how to think critically about things.
Except... I don't always do a very good job of it. I told BF "You know, I always try to see the good in people/things. I thought that Disney was trying to make a progressive step forward with this movie... and was so caught up in seeing that, that I didn't want to see the potential problems." To be honest, they kept cropping up in the back of my mind. But I didn't want to talk about them; I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt and say "Hey, maybe this was a good thing - good can come out of it." She asked me why I was like that, and I had to think about it.
In fact, I still am. Apparently.
I mean, my default setting for people is "like." Not everyone's is - it takes them a while to open up and trust, and while, I don't think I do that too readily in terms of deeper things, I am a very open person on the surface, and try to quell my human instincts to judge someone too quickly, lest I be mistaken and regret it later.
But should I be more judgmental? I mean, being "discerning" is a mark of intelligence - I shouldn't just take things at face value, like I often try to. Isn't the education I'm supposed to be getting (especially as an English major) supposed to be preparing me to think critically, to question things and to speak up against things that "aren't right?"
I'm going to stop before I go off on a tangent about the definition of "right" (which is where this could easily start heading), but I think this is all interesting to keep in mind.
...and to think, I thought this post was going to be a sort of "throwaway" that I snuck in on a Friday night to fill the quota for my grade.
Look at that - it took on a life of it's own and became all interesting. Huh.
Monday, April 5, 2010
illness-induced ramble
I'm feeling super off today, and I don't really know why. Ok, maybe that's a lie. I'm sick (which always throws me) and I've just been having weird friend issues lately and... I don't know - the usual, probably. Too much to do and not nearly enough time to do it in. (It probably doesn't help my situation that whatever illness I've managed to get kept me asleep for basically the entirety of Sunday. I slept through SGA. Which begins at 7pm. Fail, indeed!)
But I'm just feeling really vulnerable and I don't know why. It might be because I'm just really bad at being sick. I'm supposed to be the one taking care of people, not the one needing to be taken care of! I hate this feeling of "needing" other people. Never mind the fact that I'm always the first person to offer (and then subsequently bring) food or cough drops or whatever my sick friends and acquaintances need. The idea of me having to rely on someone else is utterly abhorrent.
...and yet, all I really want -- all I've really wanted for the past few days is for someone to just offer to do for me the things I usually do for other people. In reality, I know that I'm probably too proud to take them up on it. But I guess it's just the idea of care that I really want?
Sadly, I'm also too proud to articulate any of this to anyone. And, I mean, duh. My friends aren't mind readers. It's not their fault that they can't guess what I want - especially when my behavior usually points to the opposite, especially in this case.
Whatever. I think I'm nearing the "flu" end of whatever this is and moving toward the benign "cold" part of it (yeah, it's one of those), so I'm hoping to be a mostly-functioning human being by tomorrow. (Let's be honest... I went to all of my classes today. I've probably already hit that point physically, if not mentally.)
I just need to suck it up and deal. And to get my head together and stop wanting things I can't have.
But I'm just feeling really vulnerable and I don't know why. It might be because I'm just really bad at being sick. I'm supposed to be the one taking care of people, not the one needing to be taken care of! I hate this feeling of "needing" other people. Never mind the fact that I'm always the first person to offer (and then subsequently bring) food or cough drops or whatever my sick friends and acquaintances need. The idea of me having to rely on someone else is utterly abhorrent.
...and yet, all I really want -- all I've really wanted for the past few days is for someone to just offer to do for me the things I usually do for other people. In reality, I know that I'm probably too proud to take them up on it. But I guess it's just the idea of care that I really want?
Sadly, I'm also too proud to articulate any of this to anyone. And, I mean, duh. My friends aren't mind readers. It's not their fault that they can't guess what I want - especially when my behavior usually points to the opposite, especially in this case.
Whatever. I think I'm nearing the "flu" end of whatever this is and moving toward the benign "cold" part of it (yeah, it's one of those), so I'm hoping to be a mostly-functioning human being by tomorrow. (Let's be honest... I went to all of my classes today. I've probably already hit that point physically, if not mentally.)
I just need to suck it up and deal. And to get my head together and stop wanting things I can't have.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Friendships [Pt. 1]
Friendship - it's a tough thing.
When I was younger, I had ~3 "best friends" at any given time. (Clearly I am not monogamous about my "best friendships.") EL, my childhood friend and JB, my next door neighbor were the constants - and the school one changed fairly yearly, depending on who was in classes to pal around with . Not that any of those smaller "best friendships" stopped working out or had major issues, but we just sort of drifted apart due to convenience. It wasn't until I got older that I settled down with NK as my "school" best friend - for real.
Fantastically, none of these have lasted. JB and I have just drifted apart; we're just in completely different places right now, but I have the hope that one day, he and I will come back together, because as much as I feel completely disconnected from him right now, I do still really love him. Sadly, this is not the case for the other two.
EL was my friend, basically from the time I could walk. My mom had enrolled me in Gymboree, and miraculously, I started walking the night before - apparently I wanted a cookie that she was eating across the room. (I should probably mention that it is not entirely my fault that I was so late to walk. We had two cats and two dogs, who flanked me everywhere I went - essentially, they were my example and as I was an expert crawler, I didn't see the need to fix something that wasn't broken.) We used to have epic sleep overs and try to dress alike in the hopes that our parents would be able to tell us apart to take us home from playdates. Later, we became more sophisticated, frequenting the local coffee shop in middle and high school, and being able to spend more time together, since I had just transferred to her school.
NK and I had a shorter span, although it sometimes feels like it was much longer. We started hanging out at the very end of 2nd grade, and things ended for us at the very end of 5th. We, too, had some pretty epic sleepovers, and although we never reached the sophistication of coffee shops that EL and I did, we had started to think we were pretty damn cool by the time we were 11.
These friendships didn't last because EL and NK both hurt me really badly (years apart), repeatedly, and finally I had just had enough and I just stopped talking to them. Perhaps that wasn't the best way of dealing with things, but I just had had it - I was tired of asking for what I needed and trying to make things work. There is only so much work one person can do. I couldn't deal with not being treated as I treated others. In friendships, I tend to be extremely giving. I am sometimes hard to get to know completely, because there is a lot that I feel that I have to hold back, but once I trust you and value us as a friend I am completely loyal and will really show it.
I transferred schools in 8th grade - my town has no high school, so I paid tuition to go to a really good public school nearby. I've noticed a definite pattern to the way I deal with new situations, which actually seems super out of line with the rest of my personality. When I'm in a completely new, unfamiliar environment (in a more permanent sense, as in switching schools or coming to college - not, like, at a party), I do a lot of watching and waiting to jump in and reveal my personality - so that I can gauge just how to act to be the most liked. In 8th grade, it took me about half the year to really warm up and feel like I was starting to have friends. Even with that, J, K and I didn't get close until the beginning of our sophomore year of high school.
Nevertheless, that was a friendship worth waiting for. The two of them started getting close as K and I were getting close (weirdly, I think that J and I are actually the closest right now), but we didn't all really connect until later. It was actually kind of weird, because we were all going out in big groups at that point - you know, invite 8 of your friends to see a movie and have dinner, etc. We thought we were really cool in high school, haha. One time, though, it ended up just being the three of us - probably by accident, since we tried to invite a bunch of people to our weekend activities. We had a fantastic time together - I don't know, we just really connected. We'd been spending more and more time together in school, but it was the first time that I realized how compatible we were for friendship. At the end of the night, as we were walking out, I looked at them and said "We should do the more often..." they enthusiastically agreed, and I added "Like, just the three of us. I really, uh, just like being with you two." More enthusiasm was added, and I think that this might have just been the absolute moment that we became a friend group of three. Throughout the next two years, we hung around together a lot - and we only got closer as time went on. My German teacher started calling us "the dreieck" (the triangle) and because we thought it was hilarious, we sometimes use it to refer to ourselves. I never thought I'd be one of those pretentious assholes that names their friend group... but we don't take it seriously, I promise and also maybe I just have to eat my own words on that one.
I'm going to end this now, because it has already gotten long and I have much more to say. I think we'll leave "College Friendships" for a "Part II."
When I was younger, I had ~3 "best friends" at any given time. (Clearly I am not monogamous about my "best friendships.") EL, my childhood friend and JB, my next door neighbor were the constants - and the school one changed fairly yearly, depending on who was in classes to pal around with . Not that any of those smaller "best friendships" stopped working out or had major issues, but we just sort of drifted apart due to convenience. It wasn't until I got older that I settled down with NK as my "school" best friend - for real.
Fantastically, none of these have lasted. JB and I have just drifted apart; we're just in completely different places right now, but I have the hope that one day, he and I will come back together, because as much as I feel completely disconnected from him right now, I do still really love him. Sadly, this is not the case for the other two.
EL was my friend, basically from the time I could walk. My mom had enrolled me in Gymboree, and miraculously, I started walking the night before - apparently I wanted a cookie that she was eating across the room. (I should probably mention that it is not entirely my fault that I was so late to walk. We had two cats and two dogs, who flanked me everywhere I went - essentially, they were my example and as I was an expert crawler, I didn't see the need to fix something that wasn't broken.) We used to have epic sleep overs and try to dress alike in the hopes that our parents would be able to tell us apart to take us home from playdates. Later, we became more sophisticated, frequenting the local coffee shop in middle and high school, and being able to spend more time together, since I had just transferred to her school.
NK and I had a shorter span, although it sometimes feels like it was much longer. We started hanging out at the very end of 2nd grade, and things ended for us at the very end of 5th. We, too, had some pretty epic sleepovers, and although we never reached the sophistication of coffee shops that EL and I did, we had started to think we were pretty damn cool by the time we were 11.
These friendships didn't last because EL and NK both hurt me really badly (years apart), repeatedly, and finally I had just had enough and I just stopped talking to them. Perhaps that wasn't the best way of dealing with things, but I just had had it - I was tired of asking for what I needed and trying to make things work. There is only so much work one person can do. I couldn't deal with not being treated as I treated others. In friendships, I tend to be extremely giving. I am sometimes hard to get to know completely, because there is a lot that I feel that I have to hold back, but once I trust you and value us as a friend I am completely loyal and will really show it.
I transferred schools in 8th grade - my town has no high school, so I paid tuition to go to a really good public school nearby. I've noticed a definite pattern to the way I deal with new situations, which actually seems super out of line with the rest of my personality. When I'm in a completely new, unfamiliar environment (in a more permanent sense, as in switching schools or coming to college - not, like, at a party), I do a lot of watching and waiting to jump in and reveal my personality - so that I can gauge just how to act to be the most liked. In 8th grade, it took me about half the year to really warm up and feel like I was starting to have friends. Even with that, J, K and I didn't get close until the beginning of our sophomore year of high school.
Nevertheless, that was a friendship worth waiting for. The two of them started getting close as K and I were getting close (weirdly, I think that J and I are actually the closest right now), but we didn't all really connect until later. It was actually kind of weird, because we were all going out in big groups at that point - you know, invite 8 of your friends to see a movie and have dinner, etc. We thought we were really cool in high school, haha. One time, though, it ended up just being the three of us - probably by accident, since we tried to invite a bunch of people to our weekend activities. We had a fantastic time together - I don't know, we just really connected. We'd been spending more and more time together in school, but it was the first time that I realized how compatible we were for friendship. At the end of the night, as we were walking out, I looked at them and said "We should do the more often..." they enthusiastically agreed, and I added "Like, just the three of us. I really, uh, just like being with you two." More enthusiasm was added, and I think that this might have just been the absolute moment that we became a friend group of three. Throughout the next two years, we hung around together a lot - and we only got closer as time went on. My German teacher started calling us "the dreieck" (the triangle) and because we thought it was hilarious, we sometimes use it to refer to ourselves. I never thought I'd be one of those pretentious assholes that names their friend group... but we don't take it seriously, I promise and also maybe I just have to eat my own words on that one.
I'm going to end this now, because it has already gotten long and I have much more to say. I think we'll leave "College Friendships" for a "Part II."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)