Wednesday.

This is what happens when no one wants to employ you.


I don't do a lot. Mostly I sit around and then decide it's naptime. This blog actually might be the most productive thing I'm up to these days.
BUT.
ON WEDNESDAY...


...I WASHED MY CAR.
Half of you just gave the screen a questioning look.
The other half gave it a very firm, confident look, and kept reading.
(I hate the word firm.)


I know car washing is lame, but regardless of its attractiveness, it's highly necessary. And I'm not going to write a blog about napping. The reasoning behind it started way back when in all the early car making days, when Henry Ford realized, "Dang, I'm going to have to clean this thing, aren't I." This happened in 1903, which I know because I moved to California in 2003, and before I moved here I stayed at my grandma's, and since the only way to hold us rambunctious grandchildren down was to make us watch TV, I saw the Ford company's 100th Anniversary Savings Event ad during every commercial break for two weeks. But MY car washing all started last semester (not the one that just passed, the one before it), which is probably the last time I washed my car anyway. And I realize that that's kind of really disgusting, but it really does make the experience that much more satisfying in the end.


That and my dad made me because some bird pooped on it about a thousand times.


The adventure started with a lot of senseless rummaging through the garage to find the supplies, out of which I procured...a bucket. I decided (was commanded) to walk to Albertson's, where I purchased car-washing soap, because lo and behold, Dad threw the old stuff out. I also got green tea, again. I have a problem. All the sponges they sold there were DUMB so I had to go home and rummage some more for the rags. But then I was done. Soap, rags, and a bucket.
Two hours.


I moseyed (did you know that's how you spell moseyed?) out into the driveway to begin the process, then walked back into the house and into the backyard and all the way around the side of the house to turn on the freaking hose. I returned to fill the bucket with the soapy cleansing goodness.


Now comes the moral of the story.


Regardless of how helpless you are when you are washing your vehicle, or how tired you are of holding up the fort yourself, or how much he claims he's trustworthy, you


never


EVER


let your brother be in charge of the hose.


After you are thoroughly soaked, you have to soak the car as well. And you can't let the car dry before you put the soapy ish on it, because it leaves water spots, and you can't let the soapy stuff dry, because it leaves soap spots, and you can't rinse it without being prepared for drying it yourself, because it leaves more water spots. And you have to allow for twenty minutes while baby brother decides which hose setting he wants to use. It's a complicated process, especially when you've used all the rags to wash the car. I chose to demote the Tweety Bird bath towel to non human duties, and there was much grieving.
Oh well. Rinse, wash, rinse, dry.

Whenever I clean, I suddenly have these weird spurts of compulsive germaphobia (newsflash: that's not a word, and neither is germaphobe) that make my job intensely more difficult because I add so many more steps to the process, but also make it way more fun because the crazy part of my brain decides that I suddenly enjoy housework. Carwork. I can't explain it; all I know is that one second, my car was perfectly clean as it was, and the next I was Windexing (that also is not a word, but it should be) the crap out of it. Including the seats and dashboard (and the proof of insurance...woops), which may have not been the original intent of the product. Get over it. And I realized two things:


1.I have been driving everyone I love around in a biohazardmobile (that is a word) for over a year.
2. (nerd problem) If I were to swab the steering wheel of my car and create an agar plate of the collected bacteria, not only would it create a thriving little colony of bacteria, the colony would probably decide to secede from its homeland and bring forth a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all germs are created equal.
And then everyone would die.
3. I lied. Three things. I'm still not sure who drew the heart on the windshield on the passenger side. I think it was Matt or Jeremiah. Someone also drew an arrow through it and wrote "Mom," but that was almost definitely Jeremiah. Either way. If you did, you should tell me, unless you don't want to, and then you shouldn't tell me. The end.


The last step of the super fun filled scrub a dub dub project (which I realize you're probably glad about, because this post...lacked...) was to clean out all the stuff that I and my father and mother and siblings and friends have left in my vehicle over the past...9...? months.
And they were:

• an old ESPN magazine, complete with blatant insult of A-Rod on the cover.
• dead leaves of various shapes and sizes.
• a dead bee (which means that not only was there a bee in my car, it was there long enough to die...so like a few days, unless it got heat stroke, then maybe like five seconds).
• my big little brother's athletic clearance form.
• a note from my mommy.
• the lens that fell out of my sunglasses.
• Lord of the Flies.
• three water bottles, unopened, in case of emergency in desert.
• a sweatshirt, long forgotten, in case of emergency in arctic tundra.
• an umbrella, in case of emergency in rainforest.
• a purse that looks like a trout, in case of emergency white elephanting.
• the ball pump we've been looking for since my senior year of high school.
• a wheat penny from 1919 (probably Henry Ford's), which is worth $1.10; I looked it up.
• double sided tape.
• all manner of useless paperage.
• empty water bottles from past desert expeditions.
• a notebook I was supposed to use for biology.
• plastic bags, conveniently provided in case of mass trash exodus.
• a supes ghetto tarp.
• more empty water bottles.
• an extra windshield wiper...?
• a golf ball, for the beaning of enemies.
• a cardboard model of my car, don't ask.
• flippity flops for the haters of barefootedness.

And, at the very bottom, I found, crumpled underneath all of the other junk I had placed there for so long...

• my dignity.

fin.

Circumstantial pomp.

Yesterday, at EIGHT THIRTY IN THE FREAKING MORNING, I delivered my big little brother to football practice, and after a sitting behind a Chevy Suburban with a Ferrari license plate cover for a while (yeah, you're cool), I pulled into the parking lot and dumped him unceremoniously on the asphalt because I saw, sitting in the parking lot, another fellow older sister who I consider to be particularly exceptional.
Surprise friend in the parking lot at the old high school. We squealed a little. Hug sesh.
Typical.


I ended up staying for the length of practice to keep her from being eaten alive from boredom, like the saint I am. It was by far a more productive morning that I would have had anyway. (i.e., talking [usually] > sleeping) And it was one of the least awkward post-college classmate encounters I've had yet. But the conversation we struck up inspired me to write this post.


I'm really bad at the whole, "Oh hey, how's it going?" ish, because the phrase, "Oh hey, how's it going?" is most people's, including my own, trigger phrase for forgetting the English language. But after reading this (or writing it, if you're me) (that made sense), maybe we can all avoid the 39,857,934,247 awkward silences that exist within these high school graduate conversations, and help us start acting like the mature, intellectual college students that we are.


Debriefing yo' fellow alumni/chit chat with your homecats.


-Phase 1: The Recap Phase-


1. Start off with an evaluation of the university.
Ex: "So was MIT any good?"
This provides you a little time to get your conversational bearings, because not only are you full of opinions concerning all aspects that your school involves, but you've already been asked this question every day since you got home, so by now, you should have an answer. Use this time to think and talk simultaneously. (A word of caution: for some of you, that may prove very difficult.)


2. Question their status in their major.
Ex: "Are you still... [major]?" 
Ask this tentatively; possible flunkage may have occurred and brought disappointment and frustration, and bringing this up can incur a reinstated depression, which has a tendency to make conversations real sucky. If they are still in their major, pretend not to know anything about it and question them intensely about what it is, interjecting "so good" and "how great!" into every sentence you possibly can.
Note: If they still are in their major, and you happen to be in the same one, start comparing classes and trying in subtle ways to convince them that yours was harder and your accomplishments were more significant, even though their GPA was three points higher than yours.


3. Ask them about their roommates.
Ex: "How was your roomate situation?" (I realize most of these questions are pretty self-explanatory and I didn't need this subheading. Oops.)
This alone could take up half an hour of conversation, because one out of every two roommates is weird. (I had two roommates. Let me rephrase that.) One out of every two living situations is uncomfortable. Statistically. Ish. 
My standard reply is: "I loved my roommates; one was a feisty Mexican and the other was my little Tessa! She still doesn't understand why I call her that." (Tessa. The other one makes perfect sense.) In that case, I would have to rely on the other person in order to provide me with weirdness. If you both ended up having weird living sets, don't start dumping your weirdest stories on them. Use a few, but keep a good one in the back of your mind so you can one up them in an emergency effort to get them to shut up.


4. Ask them what classes they're taking next semester.
Ex: [...you can figure this out.]
Something interesting about colleges is that none of them are the same. (Duh.) So when you say you're taking Philosophy, for example, they might be confused, because that's not a required Gen Ed where they are. Or if they say they're taking New Testament Survey, you might be surprised because your school offers that as an upper division elective for Biblical Studies majors, whereas you know that the person you're speaking to is majoring in Early Childhood Studies. You shouldn't let that bother you. You should keep in mind, though, that the more units they're taking, the worse you're going to feel about yourself. Try bringing up the fact that you're taking Organic Chemistry eleven times. That might help.


-Phase 2: The Reminiscent Phase-


5. Use a common factor in your current lives to remind you of a shared memory.
Ex: (for choir geeks) "Remember when we were freaking sopranos?"
This should get you into all of your high school memories pretty smoothly, and by then the conversation is rolling. And no. I was never a soprano. Don't make me hurt you.


6. Obvious segway into discussing memories you shared with other people.
Ex: "One time, when we were looking for prom venues, our adviser told the manager of a restaurant that I was an alcoholic!"


-Phase 3: The Gossip Phase-


7. Discuss those other people's current lives.
Ex: "Let's list all the couples from our class that are still together! Go!"
Every adult I know is going to get on me for this because "gossip is bad." And then they're going to tell every other adult I know that I'm turning into bad seed. So I'll clarify.
You don't have to hate on everyone you graduated with for this to work. See the example? There. Good things. Talk about funny stories you've heard. Ask about people that you know they keep in contact with that you don't. What they've done, who they've met, where they're studying abroad. Cover everyone. And make sure, in the process, after discussing every boy you've ever liked, that you say, "Remember when I liked him? Oh geez...MISTAKE. Oh I'm so embarrassed; what will I ever do with myself. Blah blah blah blah blaahhh..."


8. List all the partiers. (or, if you are one of them, the nonpartiers, though that could get boring.)
Ex: "Fred, Mary, Fernando, Guadalupe..." (it's hard to come up with names my class didn't have.)
I'll get judged. You'll get judged, too. And everyone in your class gets judged. Judge judge judge.
Basically, just judge people.
I probably will get judged for writing this.
...I'm having that problem where judge doesn't look like a real word anymore. Judge. Judge? It looks like "joodgay."
Whatever.


-Phase 4: The Wind-down Phase-
(for your conversation and apparently my brain)


9. Talk smack about each other's colleges.
Ex: "HARVARD SUCKS."
This can be done in very subtle ways, like comparing recordings of your choir, talking about how many of your high school's current graduating class will be attending your college the next year, listing off hot seniors, and discussing sports and the fact that if they played each other, your school would definitely nail their school into the ground like a sledgehammer of athletic excellence. Have fun with it.


-Phase 5: The Grand Finale Phase-


10. Bring up the fact that despite all the promises made to you over the past four years, your high school still doesn't have a gym.


fin.




-Minor blurb for cheesy gratitude-
It is true that this post was inspired because of a conversation I had with a friend, but its immediacy is a different story; first of all, I have literally all day to sit around and do this, and second, on Tuesday, Meaningless Mumblings got to two thousand views (cumulatively, not just in one day), and I didn't know what else to do besides saying
THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU
or write a new post. And this made it seem like I had my emotions a little more under control.
Also, at the time I started writing, I had put way too much Tabasco sauce on my taco and needed a break from eating and breathing.
I love you all and have a marvelous almost weekend!

Hockey yoga.

This one ought to rub everyone the wrong way.


As many of you know, earlier this week, the Los Angeles Kings received the Stanley Cup. For those of you who didn't know this, now you do. For those of you who don't know what the Stanley Cup is, then you shall know that as well: it is the highest award in all of American Hockey (the Winter Olympics would be considered international hockey, and I don't know if people care as much about it). For those of you who don't know what hockey is, tada! Hockey is what happens when you combine golf and boxing, drop it on a soccer field and freeze it.


Now that everyone's up to speed, I shall restate what I said earlier. The national champion of this American (but really Canadian) golf soccer is the team from Los Angeles, California.
Cool, right?


Well, that's what I thought. I grew up with hockey because my dad is from New York, and he used to flood his back yard and let it sit overnight in the winter and then play on it the next morning. Now, he is fulfilling his "dad" role well, sitting in the living room and yelling loud enough at referees for our friends on the front lawn to hear him clearly. Middle school was kind of traumatizing. 
Speaking of my daddy, he's on a plane right now, and I CAN TRACK HIM.

THERE HE IS. HIS NOSE IS IN ARIZONA.
I don't think this image is to scale.


Oh. Hockey. Um. Well...okay. I'm happy for the LA Kings, because you don't just float to the Stanley Cup. So...der you go. Snaps for you. You go, Glen Coco.
Now I know that there are a lot of people in New Jersey who are very grumpy, because the Devils (the other team, not actual devils) lost the finals, and now they don't have the Stanley Cup. And I know a lot of people don't like the LA Kings, so they don't care. And I get that too. What I FAIL to understand is all the fans of the other teams who not only don't care, but have some obligation to let everyone know that the Kings suck, and that their team is better, and that the Kings suck, and that their team won the cup first so no one should care, and that the Kings suck.


Okay. I get it. I'm glad you're so proud of your team. And of course they're better than the Kings. Maybe that's why they did so well in the playoffs this year.


...


I just don't get how people can ride their self-esteem on a trophy that someone else is winning and someone else is playing for. This may just be one of those little pieces of life that I will never understand. Maybe because my hockey team is one of the eleven that have never won a hockey championship, I've devised a way of accepting it peacefully and finding enjoyment merely in its existence. I'm a hockey hippie.
So I have an idea. I know several of you could benefit a lot from this, and I really don't want anyone to try to burn down anything like what happened in Vancouver last year, so... 
This is a little post-Stanley-Cup relaxation exercise for all the Kings-haters, because you're all really wound up and stressed and upset. I devised it myself, but I'm pretty sure it will work. (I also will definitely not be held liable.)


Yoga for angry hockey fans.


1. Take a deep breath. Inhale and exhale without yelling (that's key).
2. Find a comfortable couch to sit on, one that is not directly facing the television.
3. Sit up straight. Now lean forward, slowly and carefully, to engage the muscles in your lower back that have atrophied from your week of slouching. I realize that your butt probably has atrophied too, but I'm not licensed to deal with that kind of issue.
4. Sit up straight again (slowly, don't jerk back up like an idiot, you'll throw out your kidneys).
5. Lift your legs up until they are parallel to the floor and at a right angle to your couch. Alternate between legs. Imagine you are on a rink, skating very awkwardly toward a winning goal.
6. With a great sweeping motion (isn't that an awesome phrase), swing your arms from side to side as if you are high sticking everyone on the LA Kings. In the face.
7. Oops, you broke a lamp. Vacuum up the pieces so no one dies. But do it calmly.
8. Slowly and steadily, reach behind you, to stretch and relax your shoulders and to symbolize the fact that all the Stanley Cups your team has ever won are in the past and no one cares anymore. I also forgot to mention you should be breathing deeply this whole time. Lots of deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Pass out from hyperventilation.
9. Close your eyes. As you lift your arms to the sky, imagine yourself throwing your arms up in victory.
10. Now stand slowly, as if lifting the Stanley Cup to salute your screaming fans. Make it triumphant. You deserve this. After all, you won it.
11. Carefully bend over as if you were touching your toes.
12. Oh, look. You dropped the Stanley Cup and everyone hates you.
13. So do I. Have a nice day.

Falalala! Falala...lalaLA! Dum de dum...

Because I know you're all so darn interested in my life (joke), and because I really want to post something but I hate everything I'm writing right now, I compiled something very short that I'm not going to put on Facebook but you should/could still enjoy. 


So say hypothetically, at this very moment (this is key, because today is the first time in a long time that I've felt very happy), I had to make a playlist of 20...heck, let's make it 30 songs and I could only use an artist once (except I can use Jason Mraz twice) and you couldn't judge me...

1. "In Christ Alone”; Owl City

2. "Hey Mama"; Mat Kearney

3. "Fix You"; Coldplay

4. "I Won't Give Up"; Jason Mraz

5. "Firefly"; Jimmy Needham

6. "Soldier"; Gavin Degraw

7. "Death in His Grave"; John Mark McMillan

8. "Shine"; Paul Stephens

9. "Barton Hollow"; The Civil Wars

10. "Oh My My"; Act As If

11. "Somebody Like You"; Keith Urban

12. "Big Yellow Taxi"; Counting Crows

13. "Helicopter"; Branches

14. "Rye Whiskey"; Punch Brothers

15. "Crazy Girl"; Eli Young Band

16. "Haven’t Met You Yet”; Michael Bublé

17. "The Cave"; Mumford and Sons

18. "Ours"; Taylor Swift

19. "Wordplay"; Jason Mraz

20. “Houdini”; Foster the People

21. "Cough Syrup"; Young the Giant

22. "Spaceman"; The Killers

23. "She’s Got You High”; Mumm-Ra

24. “Good Life”; OneRepublic

25. “Love, Save the Empty”; Erin McCarley

26. “Awakening”; Switchfoot

27. “The Song”; Sara Lindsay

28. “Two is Better than One”; Boys Like Girls

29. “Lucky One”; Allison Krauss and Union Station

30. “Something that I Want”; Grace Potter 


I know my roommates are happy that Mat Kearney is on this list.

Also, because I can... many of you have yet to discover grooveshark.com. It is full of greatness and you can find all of these songs and a lifetime more. (probably a literal lifetime, too.) For freezies. It's basically a homemade Pandora without the ads.


Have a nice week and hopefully I can get something up soon...!

And in other news... I'm home!

Here's a lame story.
I'm reading a book about dating (it's not actually about dating; it's really about God but presented somewhat sneakily, which is nice because I've come to realize God is way cooler than dating and most boys) and the chapter I just finished talked a lot about how the way you treat your family is the way you'll treat your future spouse. I've been hit a lot this year with the crucial nature of preserving bonds with your relatives over whatever distances may hinder them, and the fact that how no matter how much they bother you in high school, you'll end up realizing sometime or other that you really do kind of love them. I'm also feeling oddly philosophical (can you tell?), and I'm in one of those moods where the crap that should just stay in my journal often ends up on the internet.
And today, I realized that as much as I love them, my family is full of weirdos.
This is what came of it all.


Nifty Little Sayings About Family That Would Be Quotable If They Weren't Stupid.


Family is stalking yourself on Facebook and realizing that you are becoming your mother.


Family is looking through photo albums and wishing your siblings were still babies.


Family is upholding no traditions except the one that specifies that your little brother can't get a cell phone before you did.


Family is hitting up Panera Bread to see your dad while the rest of your friends hit up Hollywood and see Brad Pitt.


Family is bringing your grandma cheese because she broke her knee and can't walk for six weeks.


Family is breaking traffic laws to get to each other's school programs on time.


Family is playing Apples to Apples every Thanksgiving and waiting for someone to put down Helen Keller. (Watch everyone get upset about this one.)


Family is spending your evening at a roller hockey game and watching giant high schoolers strangle your brother.


Family is someone who says they love your dog and actually cleans up after it.


Family is hating all of your Christmas pictures and not understanding why your mom doesn't.


Family is getting to brag about how your brother made varsity football AND soccer.


Family is not questioning your dad when he tells you he wrote half the books in his office.


Family is the people who will beat up the zebra at the petting zoo when it won't let go of your hand.


Family is not slapping your little brother when he names your ponytail "the weasel."

Family is ordering six books on Amazon and realizing that you are becoming your father.

Family is the best excuse for getting out of lame parties.


Family is 80% of your missed calls.


And finally, the sentimental ending...

Family is what God gave you because he knew swimming would be boring without someone behind you humming the theme song from Jaws.


This really is just my family. As you can see, we're really great.
Thanks all of you for reading, annnnnnd... That's it!




It's not. I had a weird burst of creativity. Below are some mini biographies about my loved ones. But they're optional.
It's all optional.
Have a beautiful week.




Mini Biographies (with appropriate mini font).


Daddy.
Once upon a time there was a little daddy. This daddy grew up and did all the things that you don't want to send your kids to college for fear of them doing. He has great stories. One day he was being bad, and the next day he was being worse, and the next day Jesus said, "Nope!" and now he's a pastor. Now this daddy is the busiest man in the world. He watches hockey like it's one of the commandments and tells pastor jokes like the one earlier in this sentence. He's smarter than he admits and louder than he realizes and when I called him last week to ask how he was, he told me he got new bookshelves.
Mother.
Mom went to college and met the aforementioned daddy. They got married and someone gave them this round wooden box that says "Bless this house" and I still don't understand why we kept it. She was a national merit finalist and a valedictorian and a salutatorian and a children's book author and a teacher and a principal and a bank teller and currently works in human resources at a university. When she's not working professionally, she fixes everyone's problems and wonders aloud why no one ever takes their shoes out of the front hallway.
Big Little Brother.
Big little brother had the roundest eyes and head of the baby versions of the family. He currently has the poofiest hair. He plays varsity football and soccer, and apparently now roller hockey. Over the past few years, he has become rather adept at cleaning up after and caring for small reptiles. Last summer we were the same height and only two years apart (not that we aren't still two years apart), and we pretended to be twins. It worked. We also went snorkeling and saw some fish while we looked for our other brother's flipper for an hour.
Baby Little Brother.
Despite his inability to keep track of aquatic footwear, baby little brother is quite talented, and may someday be White Magic Johnson. For now, he walks dogs and does algebra. His sense of humor is developing at an alarming rate, and I hope he doesn't start blogging, or else I'll have lost you all. All my friends who have met him have informed me that he's going to be an attractive teenager. I didn't really care and neither should you.
Dog.
Dog has yet to realize that chocolate is bad for her. We adopted her from someone who adopted her from someone who adopted her from someone and wait...maybe not that many. Either way. She can't fetch, but she's great at guilting you out of your dinner, eating biscuits, and as of recently, not peeing on the carpet.
Ramses and Zilly.
Ramses and Zilly are our bearded dragons. Someday they might have babies. 
We also have two snakes named Checkers and...Grumpy? I call him Grumpy. They won't have babies because they're both boys. We also have some fish and plants and maybe another lizard. Their genders are unspecified.


Fin.

Today, therapy > entertainment. Sorry.

Well.
I'm sitting in the 2002 Winter Olympic and Alf Engen Ski Museum Coffee Shop.
It is also probably worth mentioning that I'm in Utah. 
Blogging.
I mean, I still don't know what curling is, so they definitely didn't do a good enough job. But I know who Alf Engen is. And you're about to, once the Wikipedia article in the next tab loads. See? Isn't he cool? I know ALL about him.


This fortnight past, I've been on a trip around the southwestern portion of the United States, singing my heart out with my women's choir and spreading the joy of music to whoever frequents our concerts.
In other words, I've been stuck on a bus with fifty chicks for two weeks.


Bethany mentioned today as we made our way over to this establishment that the influx of girl talk has caused us all to be thinking way too much about weddings and okay really this is completely irrelevant but apparently this coffee shop has never made a vanilla chai tea drink until today. I guess history is just meant to happen here. Regardless. We talked about girl talk (which I guess means we did girl talk, which is ironic in some obscure way) and how it's making us think way more about things like boys and flowers, and then she said something really deep about how flowers bring joy because they are life that can't be captured by words, and I naturally I stopped talking because everything I said after that sounded stupid.


But she's right. About both things, but right now I'm talking about the...talking. Girls and guys together make for good conversation dynamics, because they don't just bring two different perspectives, they bring two different sets of common sense. Girls like to plan their weddings so that they have a good idea of what to do when the big day actually comes. Guys don't because, heck, we're eighteen and why would we be planning it now? We're not getting married until...later. (This is why falling in love is so crucial, because it gives them motivation to do things for your wedding, and that's why grooms don't show up in jeans and work boots unless they're short on cash or immoderately hipster.)
Girls also talk about falling in love a lot. They talk about how many kids they want. What they'll name them. What ethnicity they want to adopt them from. Who they'll have them with. What they want in a husband. What they used to want in a husband. What they'll probably end up with. How they'll get married. When they'll get married. What job he'll have. What car they'll be able to afford. Whether or not they're comfortable driving a mini van. How many kids will fit in a mini van. How many kids they want...
Dizzy yet? You shouldn't be. It's like MASH for bored grownups. Anyway, that all happens, and that's kind of the shorthand...
The really really short shorthand is that girls talk about themselves until their opinions start clashing. Then they talk to someone else about the other person.


As you may be able to tell from this post and ones previous, I have difficulties dealing with women, particularly in large quantities. Which is why I was so surprised that this tour went as well as it did, because I became so close to so many people and gained respect through understanding the pasts and consequently the behaviors of all of them. And all of them were girls. 
Weird.


Last night, unfortunately, it just became a little too much, and I called a friend in desperate need of a man to talk to, not because the relationship talk made me rabidly interested in one, but because if I didn't hear a voice that wasn't at least two octaves below mine, I would probably faint. It helped, but not enough.


So I wrote this.


I really really like trees. Big, tall green ones. Most trees are like that. I like hamsters and sometimes I go into pet stores to stare at them. I spend too much money when I'm with my friends. I want to be a scuba diver and I hate sharks. Sharks only kill two people a year. My favorite food is strawberries. My favorite subatomic particle is a quark, but electrons are pretty. The kids behind me can spell the F word. I want to drink tea out of a mason jar every day because the Russian person in my Exodus class did and I want to be her. I'm scared of horses, but not cows. I used to hate onions but they really aren't that bad; I'm still working on tomatoes. People that hog the spotlight make my neck hurt. Chai tea is okay. It tastes like pumpkin pie if pumpkin pie was a juice. I go barefoot. I wish I played an obscure sport or the piano. I'm probably going to have a lazy eye because I never wear my glasses. I miss my dog. She pees too much. The other day I called my dad to ask him about a song because I missed hearing him sing. My favorite basketball player is my little brother, and my favorite football player is my other brother, who also plays hockey and soccer. I like being intellectual. I like reading books because they make me feel intellectual.
I also won't post this on Facebook because I don't think it's good enough.
That's all for now. I have a call time to make and I'm tired and I don't know what to say anymore and trying to be funny is exhausting.
Have a lovely day and I'll be home soon.


Much love,
Lydia

I might as well.

Well. Blogger got all fancysauce on us and now I have to adjust.
At least they didn't change anything too important. Like this weird font I always use.


It's been a while, so...hello.
College is still fun.
I made soap in lab today and then tested it on myself and apparently that was legal.
That was an experience.


...yup...


...okay look. It's been a little goofy over here in this city of sketchy tacos, and all my frustration that I like to bottle up into public displays of sarcasm has displayed itself around situations that would be unkind to write about, because they're personal and enough people have already been hurt. And a lot of my friends reading this understand that this past month, especially, has wigged out essentially all of us, and there's been heightened tension and excess swearing and a couple of us even went to therapy.
But I do know that I'm not the only person who's stressed, because next Tuesday is May 1st, and to some of you that means nothing beyond the fact that it is a Tuesday, but for a select few of you, it implies something huge that has the potential and probability to change the course of your whole life. It's a national holiday, unbeknownst to most, called "National Sign Your Life Away to College Day."


It might actually have a real name, but that's not important.


So in light of these poor little seniors and overachieving and most likely obnoxious juniors' predicaments and fears, and because I know exactly how they felt last year when I made my terrifyingly real decision to commit somewhere, the topic of today's post is college and the things about it that are actually important to know.
Keep in mind that the MythBusters haven't even touched this topic, so this is naturally difficult territory to approach.


College: the knock-off MythBusters edition [alternate title: Some tips and stuff].

• Caffeine addictions are scary. So is falling asleep in the middle of a fifteen page paper and waking up an hour before class. Don't lie to yourself.

• Sooner or later, you will have to realize that your money is vanishing. Realize it sooner.

• Procrastination is all the happiness of dating someone and all the despair of being dumped the night before an exegetical paper is due. Don't make that mistake.

• College wifi is from hell, and wireless printers are the devil.

• Change your sheets. Bed bugs are real.

• Buy a lot of those pretzels with the peanut butter in them. You'll thank me later.

• Don't be embarrassed when you go home and start crying over how good dinner is.

• You probably only need to do laundry once every two weeks.

• You also really only need to wash your jeans once every...five wears. Not that I do that.

• Realize that no matter how hard you try, your dorm room will still look horrifically cramped.

• Your roommate PROBABLY won't be a psychotic murderer. But it's your decision to trust me.

• Roommates will either be your best friends, your worst enemies, your best friends become worst enemies, your awkward house guests, any range of acquaintanceship, or never there. All of those options are fair game. Be ready for anything.

• Keep your part of your room clean. Your roommate will either love you or not care. It helps to err on the side of safety.

• Fish poop a lot and then they die. Something to keep in mind.

• If your parents aren't sending you care packages...ask them to. Love and free cookies.

• You can't do all your homework in an hour anymore.

• You can't not do your homework and still get A's, either.

• RESPECT your profs. Unlike some of your past high school teachers, they actually do know what they're talking about. Most of them have doctorates, and...they might have written your textbook. It's absolutely terrifying.

• High stress situations can be somewhat alleviated by Youtube videos of laughing babies.

• Learn how to longboard.

• Get a power strip because electricity systems in dorms suck almost as much as having your computer explode spontaneously.

• I know you want to be that kid who pulls all-nighters because it's funny and exciting to do everything last minute. Be the kid who makes everyone feel bad about how behind they are, even if they aren't behind, because you're just so ridiculously ahead. Then they'll pull up their work effort and do better, and then their grades will go up, and then the average GPA will go up, and then your school can become more selective and break the hearts of all the obnoxious freshmen you went to high school with. And that's funny.

• You will write fifteen page papers in college. You will write twenty page papers in college. You will write thirty page papers in college. And you will live.

• ...you actually can write fifteen page papers in one night.

• Once or twice a week, naps are golden gifts from sweet dancing cherubs that float down from the sky with unicorn dust and baby dinosaurs. Every day, they start to become a problem.

• Bring an umbrella.

• Bring rain boots, and expect people from Washington to joke about California's lack of storm drains.

• RateMyProfessor.com is a delightful resource; keep in mind, however, that you must check the spelling of the entry to ensure you can take the reviewer's opinion seriously.

• Eventually you will realize that the ridiculous stuff you're doing with your friends is just as fun as whatever the crazy partiers are doing.

• Just because you're afraid of the freshman fifteen does not give you license to stop eating.

• There may come a point where you must schedule every ten minutes of your life to ensure that everything you need to do gets done. Have no shame.

• There may come a point where you can't get everything done, no matter how absolutely hard you try. Have no shame.

• Parking. Death. They are synonymous.

• Print EVERYTHING on LOW INK. It looks the SAME and it will save your life or $50. Both of those are good things.

• If you have snacks in excess, you will eat them. All of them. In ten minutes. The second you move into your dorm room. Hide them. (I know there's an awkward space here. I tried to fix it and nothing happened.)

• Boys do NOT magically become noble, romantic-comedy-material men when they turn eighteen. The only difference I've been able to notice in "college guys" [high schooler squeals] is that a lot of them have figured out how to grow awkward mustaches. I don't know who started that rumor, but I heartily debunk it.

• ALL the problems of being a teenage girl still apply in college. Acne, drama, hormones, self-esteem problems, and all manner of boy insecurities continue to progress. You just learn sneakier ways to deal with them.

• I know your parents and your grandparents and your uncles and aunts and neighbors all met their spouse while they were in college. Get over it.

• In desperate cases, there will ALWAYS be someone in your hall with chocolate and a copy of 27 Dresses.

• Make friends with the library. It loves you.

• Make friends with people who are smarter than you. They might not love you, but it's okay to be a little selfish.

• You can't get away with not studying for tests anymore.

• This is the weirdest for me: you can actually go over two days without showering.

• Even if you can't shower, you should still wash your face. It fools you into thinking you're clean.

• Post meaningless quotes by obscure famous people to make yourself feel better every once in a while.

I believe that is it. I would love to expand this if you happen to have any questions.

"Man must have just enough faith in himself to have adventures, and just enough doubt in himself to enjoy them." G. K. Chesterton

fin.