a uniquely formatted update.

I don't know how to explain this, so...just go with it. Evidently updating people of my doings and beings and seeings is not my forte, and this is really only going to prove that.
Have a nice day!

--

So, Lydia, how's it going?

Where do you want me to start?

Basically wherever the heck you feel like.
Well...I'm in Michigan, taking some classes on ecology, learning about native birds and mammals and herpetofauna (reptiles and amphibians) and I guess really just a lot of animals and local ecological systems, like lakes and streams and bogs and stuff.

That was an awesome place to start.

I realize that.

How are these classes you speak of?

I mean...they're quite compounded. I have midterms next week and I've only been here for twelve days.

And how are these bogs you speak of?

They have some chill plants and turtles and whatever.

Turtles are sick.

Turtles are sick. 

So resisting the urge to devote the rest of this conversation to turtles, how are you coping with the rapid fire learning environment?

I'm currently eating all of the chocolate caramel balls out of the "trail mix" (who puts chocolate caramel balls in trail mix?) my mom gave me before I left. I'm also having an intermittent phone call with my mom, and I'm avoiding all contact with other members of humanity, because, as of this moment, humanity is the worst.

Ah. Are you hormonal?

I don't appreciate the implication that it's only justifiable for me to feel strong emotion when I'm undergoing some sort of chemical imbalance.

So...

Maybe.

Has it been an overall positive experience?

Yes.

How positive?

Super duper positive.

Are you sassing me?

Are you questioning my honesty?

...

...

How are the people there? Probably all chill and laid back because they're basically all hippies, right?

I mean, everyone in existence is at least a little crazy.

You're a little crazy.

Evidently.

How are the restroom situations?

...fine...? Hot water's all I can ask for...and no guilt about prolonging the drought, because there is no drought here.

What a thought. Who is your roommate?

I have five...Helen, my bunkmate, and Beth, Erin, Lauren, and Emily.

How is your bunk?

Its proximity to the ceiling is genuinely alarming, and my sheets don't fit, and I only 
brought one blanket.

You sound bitter.

It's casual.

How is the food?

The food is good.

how is...the social atmosphere?

Intellectual, I guess? a lot of smart people all having the same discussions with well-informed opinions, so it can get to you. you have to come up with ideas fast.

I see. Why are you having so much trouble capitalizing words?

I dropped a pine needle in my keyboard.

I feel like I should be more surprised than I actually am.

I mean...yeah.

Do you do fun things?

We take classes on how to cry more efficiently.

Ha ha.

sometimes we kayak. Lab is pretty fun for both classes. we drink lots of hot chocolate.

You know you have another Shift key on the keyboard, right?

Oh hey.

Are you lonely?

...what?

Are you lonely?

Where did...huh?

Answer the question. Are you lonely?

Considering the fact that I know no one here very well and am navigating a predominantly temporarily established and intellectually based social dynamic, I would consider moderate loneliness an appropriate response.

You whine so verbosely.

Thank you.

Are you worried that people will judge you for how much you miss your boyfriend?

...

Haven't you guys been dating for a year?

Almost?

When?

Monday...

Ouch.

Mmmmmhmm.

You know you could, like, stop studying abroad.

But what fun would that be.

You clearly sound like you're having oodles of fun.

I am having oodles of fun.

That was so convincing!

Yeah, well, maybe you just caught me on a bad night.

And what are the odds of that?

Maybe pretty high.

Is that so?

Yeah. Maybe my frustration breeds creativity.

What does that have to do with anything?


fin.

Michigan-bound and sleep-deprived.

The phrase “Gate subject to change” is one that can elicit a host of different reactions when it is spoken or heard or disclosed by a receipt printed off of a boarding pass in an airport. Usually frustration and panic are among those more common. Today, my reaction is more accepting and relaxed, because when the gate in question has yet to ascertain an identity in the first place, then it had better freaking be subject to change.

Hi! It’s four in the morning, and I’m in Minnesota. This is unusual, but in Minnesota, it’s six in the morning, so it’s slightly more commonplace; the real oddity is how voraciously I am consuming these raisins. Either way, I’ve had one hour of sleep, so none of this should matter. I am, truthfully, a sight for sore eyes, because sore eyes in an airport deserve a laugh, and that is what I am bound to be drawing out of people. I considered counting the number of colors that adorn me, but my sore eyes have decided against it; chai tea lattes can only wake you up so much. Minnesota is my only stop (albeit a 7 hour one) on my way to Michigan, where I will be for the next five weeks studying animal ecology and aquatic biology by Lake Michigan (aptly named, if you prefer your visitors to have none but the obvious expectations—a lake, in Michigan). If you want to know why, just accept the fact that you may never know, because I refuse to explain it, on no grounds other than the usual: I do what I want.

I have never been to Minnesota, so I am perfectly happy being here. From the sky, it looks like a mint-chocolate cookie with freezer burn: it is very green and brown, with a lot of lakes (it is “the Land of a Thousand Lakes,” so this discovery is not surprising…except it was for me, because I was under the impression that the Land of a Thousand Lakes was Michigan, OOPS) and at the moment, a lot of fog. It also has a fabulous airport, with nice little desks where wanderers can blog out their feelings (as contemporary wanderers are so prone to do) and free unlimited 45 minute sessions of wifi as long as you keep taking their survey. I’m sure there are a lot of business people with more important things to do at this desk, but that is something I have decided not to care about. Besides, the view is nice from this window, if you like planes and a refreshed sense of adventure every time you see one.

So...thus far today I have slept briefly, conversed casually with the lady next to me on the plane, accidentally ordered two breakfast sandwiches instead of one, ate two breakfast sandwiches gratefully, and texted my mom and my boyfriend (the classic combo). I will probably text Nicole when she is awake, but as I stated earlier, it is 4…almost 5 in the morning, in both my brain and California.

I left last night in a frazzle, which always happens whenever I go anywhere, so that’s fine. I planned everything for this trip myself, and am covering all of it myself, and I am going by myself. It's a landmark. Also, I can’t stand that in between stage where you feel pulled in every direction, like you should be preparing to go and maximizing your time with friends and soaking in the moments with your family at your brother’s graduation and panicking over the fact that your school billed you for the wrong study abroad program or the fact that the flight that you thought you had booked never really existed. All of that, all in the gumbo of despair. I handled it poorly—naturally I cried a lot and called myself stupid—but new insight: self-deprecation can easily result from stress, which is reason to doubt its validity. Even newer insight: it gets basically nothing done. What does get things done is writing down your confirmation number before you go to print your boarding passes at the airport. Again, oops.

I don’t have a lot more to say. I’ve cried a lot this weekend, mostly from frustration, but that’s to be expected. I shivered the whole way off the plane because that’s just what I do when I change temperatures. I feel kind of dizzy, but I don’t think my level of caffeine intake has been, like, responsible, so...for the third time, oops. I also probably have to go to the bathroom. I probably will take my socks off, because I need to learn how to adjust the straps on these Chacos before I let them slowly saw my big toes off, and why not now, as I have...six hours, to learn how to do anything in the universe.

Summary: I look like a fool, and I’m in Minnesota. And I’m alive. And for what the cliché is worth, “I’m going on an adventure!”

An indirect ode to moms, maybe.

You know, there are so many blogs in the world now, and for the most part, none of them actually matter. If you are reading this, I would like to congratulate you personally on your participation in this useless cultural phenomenon.

I'm not going to address the fact that I have published nothing on here in the last four months; if at some point I become vulnerable enough to address it, then we can let it happen, but for now...hello, how's it going, this is going to be a little rusty.
Also I just read it through and it's pretty lame.
Whatever.

Today is Thursday*. Exactly a week ago, I finished the school year, the one where I went to South Africa for one semester and then came back and stumbled about, disoriented, looking for meaning and depth and stability and sufficiently filling sources of nutrition for another. I also watched several of my lovely friends graduate, which has not mentally registered as a statement of, "Hey, I'm actually not coming back this year," yet, so that's all to come. I have a job, doing research again, but for now, termite behavior is a thing of the past, and let me tell you...what a stint of life experience that was. Also, I think I learned more about termite behavior when the flying termites (or ants...who cares) of South Africa decided it was mating season and made a mass break for all open windows.
And they say you learn things when you go abroad.
Anyway, right now I'm studying this flower or something, maybe some trees. It's a work in progress, or whatever. From what I can gather, ecologists do what they want, which, incidentally, is exactly what I do. So that works out nicely.

Today* I did not have work, for reasons that were explained to me yesterday, but are still unbeknownst to me. This is where our story begins.

I woke up this morning at 9:45, incredibly frazzled due to a dream that indirectly involved Disney putting out a movie that gave a new back story to Tangled by having her spawn from some form of bear-like turtle that emitted photons that were mistaken for flying lanterns. In retrospect, that actually does not sound that bad, as I love bears and turtles, and I guess photons are okay (and I hope I never have stronger feelings for photons than I do now), but (awkward) I find a lot of security in how strongly I identify with Rapunzel...? Is that weird? That's pretty weird. Especially considering that I don't have a crazy mother who has banished me to a woodland skyscraper, or magic hair that glows when I sing, but I will say there is a comparative list, which makes me the worst (or the best) person to watch Tangled with, and for now, we'll leave it at that.
ANYWAY. I woke up (that's all that the above paragraph intended to convey), and I checked my email, where I found a blurb concerning wedding details (SEE I AM NORMAL; PEOPLE ASK ME TO DO THINGS) (not get married; I am not engaged...this is how rumors get started) that included a bridesmaid dress with the instructions: 
"Order this!" (phrased more gracefully)
Until this very moment*, when I was struck with a thought of genius, this posed a problem, but I just* fixed it, so no one can be stressed out about this story. The solution this morning* looked more like going to the mall, so this is where our story really begins.

This is the way I see department stores: if they're that big, then the thing you're looking for has to be there. If it's not, then...wait? What? No. It is. I don't know what you're saying. Thusly, my trip to Sears found me wandering from the online shopping kiosk to see if it would say that it was there (which it didn't...incidentally, that's not what it's designed to do) to the place where the dresses were, and then back to the kiosk, through the shoe aisle, and then to the dresses again. After about 30 minutes of this, I said to myself, "You know...maybe it isn't here. And maybe that's okay." I really don't think it was, and as I mentioned, the crisis has since been averted, so no one should care. I certainly don't. But I was at the mall, so I continued the conversation, saying, "Self, why don't we just take a stroll?"

I don't have a lot against malls. Really not anything. I just wanted to sound cryptic. The minute issue that arises at my mall is people from my high school who also shop at that mall, and that particular day, as I was just walking aimlessly by myself, I didn't want to propagate the seemingly overwhelming opinion of my ex-classmates that college has made me lame (which does not make sense; I have a nose ring). Occasionally, these should-be-casual interactions can be addressed with a casual wave, maybe a casual "Hi!" if someone is feeling extra friendly (casually), but I usually go by how they're feeling, and the vibe I almost always get is that no one I went to high school with who I haven't interacted with yet is usually very excited to see me, or will even let on that I am visible. Which is thoughtful, I guess, in its own respect.
I'm totally lying. It's way rude. I'm just above caps lock at this point, or else I'd express my thoughts more openly, and with more theoretical loudness.
Either way, it did not end up being an issue.

As is to be expected, after I began my solo stroll, I found myself walking [being lured] into Forever 21, where I stayed for a half a minute having a battle with the earlier addressed
"Self," who was reminding me profusely that I needed nothing inside. "But a shirt! I haven't bought shirts in a long time!"
"GET OUT, POOR PERSON."
(In context, that could have sounded very discriminatory, but I guess it's okay, because I said it to myself. Or my conscience is an insensitive monster.)

From there, I gazed out into the middle of the mall, which is actually something to consider, as my mall has a triangular center section with a Charlotte Russe (where teenage Lydia [because I am now so above her] used to spend her parents' money on "trendy" clothes) on top and a Zumiez on bottom (where my second-most-famous "Lydia Got Hit on by a Store Employee" story is set; only two of those are currently in existence), but on the backside of the top part (sorry if the geography is getting to you, or the parentheses) is a fragrance-y store (is it legal for me to say the name if I'm about to scoff at it? I'll be respectful. You know what I'm referring to), and of course, as it was the Thursday previous to Mothers' Day, I thought, "Well, I am a daughter with a duty, and she is a woman, and darn if we don't like crap that smells good."

...

I find it difficult to purchase things at such stores, because smell is so often the deciding factor, and after about five minutes within the walls of these stores, my sense of smell loses its olfactor (HA). I smelled all the lotions three times before I gave up, and all of them smelled indistinguishable. Or INSANE, like I was being attacked by a field of angry wildflowers. Or like my nose was on fire, but it felt kind of nice. I put one on, because, I mean, free lotion, and I will say that once I left the barrage of floral-fruity-fusion fragrances and smelled my hands, I learned that my decision to abandon that trajectory was a wise one. At the time, my primary reason for giving up was that candles are easier to stick your nose in, so maybe they'd be easier to discern.
I ended up buying two tiny candles for her, one that allegedly smelled like an alcoholic peach, and one that had cake and flowers and a poor attempt at mimicking hipster culture on the label. The label of the second ended up being more impressive than the smell itself, but I suppose that considering what I was up against, things could have been worse.

So I left the mall, etc. etc., it's Mother's Day and our house...still smells like meat, but meat infused with peaches.
Mission accomplished.
Tonight I said to my mother, "Mom, I'm sorry I didn't post anything about you on Facebook today." And of course her response was, "That's okay. I saw a lot of embarrassing pictures and was glad I was not one of them."


In an abrupt, sappy conclusion, I hope that in some exciting, or not exciting, or maybe even casual way, you were able to celebrate the mothers/motherly figures in your life/lives, whether or not you purchased or posted something. I am honored to celebrate the woman who raised me, her contagious interest in other people, her selfless love for her [substantially odd, abrasive, and often ridiculous] family, and her [apparently hereditary] capability to tell it like it is. Also, she is smart and lovely, and so dedicated to her bedtime that she will not see this until tomorrow.
I think all of these are noble qualities.

fin.

*As you can most likely tell, this post was written over the course of Thursday and today. Today, in a surprising deviation from the plot, is not Thursday. Today is Mothers' Day, so for reference, everything after our house smelling like meat happened today. All previous was about Thursday, although I think the hiatus technically happened somewhere in the middle of my purposeless rant about seeing old friends in the mall. This is not necessary information for the story to flow, as you can probably tell that it is not Thursday, and Mothers' Day would have had to happen before this all was published, but for the sake of clarity, here is a little snippet of explanation. Have a nice day.

I'M BACK. Brace yourself.

Family, assorted neighbors, friends, Romans, countrymen, people lending ears, those of you who are wondering whether I'm here to bury Caesar or to praise him:

...hi.

The following is an update on the lack of updates, of sorts. It will be as poorly-worded and confusing as that last sentence, and inasmuch as I have every doubt that anything of consequence will be spoken, I have equal amounts of confidence that it will likely contain as much awkwardness as the opener.
More simply put, get out while you can.

I suppose this post could serve as a form of apology for the fact that I failed to bless any one of your existences with Lydia's monthly snarkletter, so to speak. Not that I owe you guys anything; heck, in the timelessly inspirational words of Lesley Gore: "It's my [blog], and I'll [write] if I want to." 
But in more deep and sentimentally meaningful terms (here it comes), I'm probably going to talk about a whole bunch of crud about why I haven't been feeling like writing and why this lackage of postage has occurred.
Not that I owe it to you at all.
But maybe I do owe you an explanation.

FIRSTLY, as most of you know, I was in South Africa for the semester. (WHAT!?) If you didn't, well, I probably don't know you, and better you find out now than before, when the information could have served toward stalking me more effectively. I mostly just chilled and did school, although I did several things that made me feel very nauseous, including, but not limited to, jumping off a very tall bridge attached to a stretchy rope against my parents teary-eyed wishes, obtaining a nose piercing through a fairly unorthodox methodology (yes, my nose. Yes, I AM cool. How dare you assume otherwise), riding a poorly ventilated ferry to visit Nelson Mandela's jail cell, climbing one of the "new 7 wonders of the natural world" (by my count there are now 21 wonders...I have my doubts on the new levels of inclusiveness this club is now displaying), a.k.a., Cape Town's Table Mountain (the nausea part of this was instilled by the sandwiches I ate beforehand, which is why I no longer believe in mayonnaise), AND, of COURSE, with marine biologist hopes in full rapture and fullness—full fullness? Nevermind—searching for the terror of the ocean, a.k.a., not exactly so terrifying, a.k.a., actually kind of adorable, a.k.a., just with largeness and scary teeth, a.k.a., the great white shark. Which I saw, in all its not-so-gory glory and misjudged majesty, swimming through my barf as it sank to the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.
I'm sure the presumable hundred dollars I spent on soft serve vanilla ice cream throughout the trip contributed to the questionable digestive state. Although, seeing as the entirety of the latter half of the trip was taken in a bus that smelled like moth balls, all of Africa could have made me nauseous and I would never have known the difference!

Can you smell the bitterness? It smells like napthalene. And vomit.

Okay, facts: I'm bitter because every time I've driven anywhere since I've gotten back, I've gotten motion sickness like I haven't had since the fourth grade. I'm bitter because I'm enduring reverse culture shock in all its forthright ugliness. I'm bitter because the STUPID housing office put me a hundred thousand miles from the science building, which is where I'm actually going to be living next semester (actually it is exactly one mile; pardon my gross exaggeration, but walking that twice a day is still TOO MUCH) #biologymajorproblems #geneticsfordayzanddayz #stereotypemenow. I'm bitter because the vast majority of everyone I care about lives at least an hour away, if not fourteen days away (although by now we know my guessing skills are a little off), and I hate driving because yesterday on my way home from someone's house the world decided to swallow up every on ramp ever created and I had to call my dad crying because I didn't want to sleep in the parking lot of Walmart. And FINALLY, I am bitter upon bitter because for some reason, whether it be genuine gentility, thoughtful interest in my goings on, or morbid, torturous tendencies, everyone keeps wanting me to talk to them about how the freaking trip went.

Here's my preface question: what if it sucked? What if I came back from "my big adventure" and people ran up to you asking things like, "WOW, HOW WAS IT? WAS IT FUN!? I AM SO IRRATIONALLY EXCITED FOR YOU TO TELL ME ABOUT IT ALL," and you said, "I wish I had been in a coma for the entire time I was there." What would people say? Would they label you as ungrateful? Probably. Would they doubt your sincerity? It's highly possible. Would they wrinkle their noses and stalk off in disgust? That would be picturesque. What also is picturesque is that I made that exact face as I wrote that sentence...and now I'm laughing. HA. I am so funny.
You would be so judged. No one would ever want you to go anywhere again. They'd just say, "Wow, I hope you never go to Australia, because I love Australia, and I don't want it to smell like your throw-up."

That isn't how I feel at all. I just wanted to make that point.

Usually my answer is along the lines of this this:
"South Africa is beautiful. The countryside is unreal and the culture is cool and blended and exciting and the history is fascinating and the people are awesome. The boats made me lose everything I had eaten beforehand, but that's okay. I'm happy to be home but I'm happy I went."

This is more ore less true, but it feels like a lie every time I say it. Usually I just end up saying it was really cool, because ultimately, that's what they all want to hear.

Now I'm going to pretend you actually are interested in why I don't like talking about it. And I'm going to talk about it.
It's in thirds, if that makes it easier to follow.

There is a third of it that is rapturous and joyful. We had a freaking WATERFALL on our campus. It was sunny every day and then ten seconds later it would thunder and lightning like the apocalypse was upon us. There was a game reserve full of zebra and antelope a literal minute and a half down the road, that we could chill in for free, whenever. We learned Zulu. We ate delicious bread. My friend met a lady who named her baby after him. Most of us got to work at awesome non profit organizations for three weeks, and most of us shed many tears when we left them. And then we moved, and on the way to the new place we got to pet cheetahs, and when we got there we lived five minutes away from the beach. We saw penguins. PENGUINS. There are penguins in Africa. And then, to top off the already insane cupcake with cray cray frosting, one of the most widely influential leaders in the past century (as a general rule, your opinion on him is not welcome on this post and you may debate his life choices on a less classy piece of the internet, thank you), who was from South Africa, died while I was IN South Africa. I literally lived history. All of that doesn't fit in an easy answer, and to describe it doesn't do nearly as much as it did to see it firsthand.

Then there was a second third of it that was honestly really, really rough, and moderately difficult to talk about. The last time I bailed on America (that's a way better way to say you left the country), I was sixteen, and I did not get homesick one bit. Granted, at that point in time, I was in high school, and I hated high school's guts. Now, I am in college, and it is probably one of my favorite things. Also, another one of my favorite things is my boyfriend, and guess where he was not? Africa.
For the sake of fairly accurate disclosure, this time around, I felt lonely and useless and gross, for a good majority of the period, and part of the reason I'm not talking about it as much as is expected is that I'm trying to recover from the blows that my emotional constitution took while I was travelling and "adventuring."
NOT TO MAKE ANYONE DEPRESSED, JUST TRYING TO BE REAL.

The last third of it all is this: it seems like everyone and their relative comes back from their study abroad experience raving. Absolutely raving. Potentially raving mad; that's always a possibility. 
America, I presume, went on just as it normally did. Except apparently the government didn't...awk. But that aside, it was just normal life, ¿verdad? It was another semester at school or months at work or however long just doin' your thang. And that's part of why it's hard to answer the question of "how was Africa": because people expect that the entire time you're there you're breathing in magical adventure dust and frolicking with monkeys. Firstly, monkeys are gross. I would never frolic with a monkey. They eat garbage and poop garbage and throw pooped-out garbage. Actually that might be a stereotype. But nonetheless...no. None of that. The trip was far more mundane than people realize. We had problems with the wifi and toilets that didn't flush and breakfasts whose origins we questioned. We took taxis and avoided being robbed more often than usual and got takeout four times in one week, but would you consider that a thrill ride? Most people would not.
Then again, most people have not tried Nihao Kitchen's fried rice.
Shoot. Dang.
But for some reason, the whole freaking world has this expectation that studying abroad is living in pure exhilaration every minute of the day, like we pulled a Dorothy and went from black and white Kansas to technicolor Oz, and we were all just running around yelling about how cool it was, all the time. I don't know. I've never done drugs, but I did see Across the Universe, which is almost the same, and when people describe study abroad to me, sometimes it kind of sounds like they maybe just sat around and tripped for three months.

On that note...that's it.
I have spent a lot of time feeling like I was failing everyone by leaving the country and not being stoked for every second of it, and I'm really over it. If you ask me, "How is Africa?" or you have asked me this in the past, and I stared at you kind of awkwardly and stuttered a lot and said something really vague, I promise it's nothing personal. I'm just trying to hold back the verbal emesis (emesis = vomit, because I needed another word for it, because apparently I've talked about it five times in this post) that has partially made its way into this downer of a webpage. It will come. Eventually. Right now it's just sitting inside me like a giant onion that's making me cry and causing blockage of feelings and can only be removed by peeling it away a little bit at a time.
Soon it will be better. And I will write more eloquently and beautifully, and we will all be happy, and we will all dance around joyfully in the radiance and ecstasy that life as we know it should be.

...is it just me, or did that last sentence sound like studying abroad?

Bye!

Thanks for being you. (Round 1?)

This idea has been bubbling in my mind for a couple of days and it’s probably the first productive thing I’ve done, ever, other than folding laundry. (SpellCheck epiphany: I didn’t realize basketful was a measurement…how interesting. SpellCheck, however, does not register with Spell Check. Once again, I am thoroughly amazed.) Finally, after a whole lot of lazy, I couldn’t take it anymore. I am a writer, and sometimes, a writer’s just gotta vomit up some words of wisdom. Or just some words.

Without further ado, my words and barf.

Not gonna lie, I tried to spell that further adieu.

I just want you all to know, firstly and foremostly, that I am completely and totally stealing this idea from Sarah, whose lovely blog about her life (and past experiences in the Tenderloin of San Francisco) can be seen here. The reason that I don’t feel bad about this is that if you look back on what smart people have said over the years, really no idea is original. “There is nothing new under the sun.” So this is my twist on that. Really, none of this blog is original, as many of you who are familiar with Dave Barry probably know. (Dave Barry makes fun of things professionally, in a very smart way, and there is a chance that some individuals could consider some things that I have written in the past plagiarism of his style, but we’re going to call it flattery, because that sounds a lot nicer.) However, I do want to give Sarah credit for this, and for those who understand and are interested, hers is way better. It's like I took it and ruined it. So just…yeah no one worry about it.

On another level of introduction, this type of enthusiastic encouragement posting may end up being a thing. It won’t be scheduled. It won’t be formatted. It won’t always be enthralling, as hard as that is to believe. But if it does continue, then, well, what the heck.

Seriously, though, it may only happen once.

No one get excited.

What the crud, Lydia!? WHAT DOES ALL THIS MEAN.

This post is going to be vaguely similar to a letter of appreciation (of sorts) that I am writing publicly for a few very good reasons:

1. Because writing this all as a Facebook post would be too awkwardly long.

2. Because writing this all as a text would give me carpal tunnel. Carpal tenal? Carpal…tunal. UGH.

3. Because writing this all as a message or email or letter is just too dang personal and I want everyone to hear it. And I don’t know her address.

4. Because the person in consideration is fly as pie and people should know about her.

5. Because it’s not really even in letter format and is really just going to be like an announcement of awesome.

ANYWAY.

This introduction will probably be longer than the actual post. What is my freaking problem.

for Jenessa.(pic stolen from her Facebook, for reasons involving my lack of photographic skills and this sweet moose.)

So I have this friend named Jenessa, and as mentioned before, she is pretty fly. I met her in an emergency small group my freshman year of college, emergency meaning I was added to it at the tail end of things to increase its legitimacy, and small meaning there were four of us until one moved back to Arkansas. Which is too bad, because she was really cool and I liked bragging about knowing her, but I guess she looks happy enough in her pictures. Jenessa is a biology major, as am I, which is funny, because until my second small group meaning (she wasn’t there the first time), I had never seen her. Ever. She also commutes and never had any classes with me, so that added to her mysterious aura. Sometime during the first semester of last year, we realized that we were going to have Organic Chemistry and Cell Biology together the semester afterward, and it was a loud and joyous occasion. The semester itself was not as loud or joyous, but does that really matter?

No.

My baby little brother just threw a tater tot at me and now I have friend potato all on my shirt. What the crud. Also I just spelled that as friend potato and am so amused that I’m going to leave it.

One thing I have always appreciated about Jenessa is that she is the undercover bio major. This has in part to do with how sneaky she is. Also, she is sort of short, so the tall people may not always see her. This is a lot of fun, because she is quite good at school. There was a point last year when I asked her how she did on some test or something, and she told me, and it wasn’t surprise as much as the happy realization of, “Hey. Jenessa can get A’s. A’s are good things.* Jenessa is a good thing. This is almost too much of a good thing but I think we’re going to be alright.” This really never impacted our friendship, but I just thought it was interesting.

She also happens to be intelligent.* And it’s because I know that Jenessa puts thought into her decisions and opinions that she is so easy to respect. It’s nice to be able to talk to her about things that I haven’t really thought through and only speculate on, because when I am wrong, it’s easy to understand why, and whenever she agrees with me, I feel so validated I can’t even stand it. So conversationally, she’s pretty much the best, for several reasons, the most important of those reasons being that we both are usually upset about the same things at the exact same time, and when we meet with our small group leader, we just rant about these things for hours, and our leader just kind of laughs at us.

*This isn’t necessary to the story, but I wanted to draw attention to the fact that Jenessa getting good grades and Jenessa being intelligent are separate categories. There are a lot of idiots who do very well in school and a lot of brilliant individuals who failed out of college. Furthermore, too much of the environment that the she and I are in so often (namely, a major that really only has value when tacked onto the end of a graduate degree) place a whole heaping pile of stress onto the grades you get and the academic valor you have. (Is academic valor a phrase? It so should be.) There really is no personal value attached to your grades. It is important to work hard and be dedicated to what you pursue, but if you happen to fail a class, that’s really not something that takes away from your identity. :) I know that I say that a lot, but I meet a lot of people who need to hear it, as well as happen to be one of them.

This last paragraph is really just to sum everything up and say that she is just pretty dang loyal. A lot of people consider that being mean to the same people, which is not actulaly what that means. Jenessa is loyal because the first time we went to coffee I was horribly awkward and had to pee like six times, but we still hung out after that. She listens to me for all the obscene amount of time it takes for me to get over my problems, and she lets me eat all the candy in her house, and she tries to get her cat to like me (even though it is just a very aloof cat), and she sends me pictures of cacti, and she studies with me even though all I do is talk, and she visits me in the research cave. She is just a good friend. And it’s not just me. Literally, right now, you could go on her profile and there is ANOTHER person talking about how kind and supportive she is. Right under the picture of the cookie dough. LOOK. Okay, don’t. Don’t be a creep. But REALLY. She is a gem.

Naturally, the least I could do would be to write a thousand word essay on how cool she is.

Nessa, they don't make friends like you. Like they couldn't if they tried. Like if they had a friend factory with all the good stuff piled up and they picked through it to find the best of the best of all of the niceness, they wouldn’t get you. They would get some weird teddy bear person who just sits and spews out compliments and hugs everyone, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but you're still way better, probably because you’re really funny when you aren't being as nice as you almost always are and because any of us who have been on Splash Mountain know that talking teddy bears aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. And either way, thanks to our various shared experiences, you will always remind me of pandas, and they're way better than really anything.

Well, that’s...that. This may never happen again, this may happen again many times; I have a lot of cool friends, but before this continues I obviously will need to learn how to condense my ideas on them. Obviously all of them deserve to be appreciated in every way possible.

In the meantime, have a great Sunday, and if anyone needs to borrow any eggs, they really should come to our house, because my mom bought seventy-two this week.

Fin.

Here we go a-vacationing.

Guess where I am.

...
...
...
...

If you guessed North Carolina, you are SO right! If you didn't...well, better luck next time.

IF THERE IS A NEXT TIME.

Okay. I...am here with my grandma, who is on her computer playing a game...oh, nope! She's checking my blog. Awkward. HI GRANDMA. My granddad is also here, somewhere, I think watching the news, but I never know where he is. Like a fox. Not like people usually keep tabs on foxes, but...the stigma. You get it.

The vacation saga is the topic of the post (I mean duh, the title), and I hope that after reading it you don't have negative impressions of my ability to travel or of my family in general. Not that you shouldn't; less than five minutes after we arrived, there was already a blood stain on the refrigerator.

The saga begins on Thursday evening, when I was finishing packing. Thankfully, I have recently obtained a clipboard (!!!), so I was at least motivated as to the list-making. The rest of it didn't flow so well. This is why, at 9:00 at night, I got a text from my friend Matt who is off at camp saying, "Hey! I have a few minutes and we should talk!" and I Skyped him for 45 minutes while I folded two shirts, which is...something.
By the way, if your name is Jeremiah, and I told you I was unavailable to Skype on Thursday, I apologize sincerely, because when you asked, I really thought I wouldn't have any free time that day. I technically didn't, but I did anyway. That didn't make sense. Soon.
Anyway. I went to bed at 11:30 and still wasn't done packing. I tried to wake up at 3:00, and woke up at 4:00. The entirety of the process was far from ideal.

We arrived after a day of flying that honestly did not have to be that long, but it was, because after waking up at 4:00 and flying to Atlanta (where it is tradition to spend obscene amounts of moneys at Popeye's), our flight was delayed from 4:05 to 4:45, to 5:00, to 5:30, to 6:00, to 6:30, to 6:45, to 7:00 (after which point they at least gave us food vouchers), to 7:30, to 8:00, which I think is when we actually left, but I don't remember anymore. I just remember feeling sick and not hungry, but also like I should have been hungry, which is pretty much the worst. And I really wanted a brownie, and I walked all over the flippin' concourse to find one, and it wasn't even that good. Anyway. We got to the final airport after 9:00, I think, after which it took just way too much time (but not too much money, apparently) to rent a car exactly like the one we have at home, and then drive to Grandma and Grandpa's.

On the way there, we played Make it or Break it. You may not know what this is. In short, it is a game where you suggest the presence of a slightly abnormal quality in a potential partner, and the rest of the car decides whether it would be possible for them to overlook it, or whether that would be a "deal breaker." (Get it? Make it or BREAK it? As in break up? Okay.) It's supposed to give you insight into everyone's character, but all I learned is nothing important about Dad and Mom (hello, they're already married), Big Little Brother has high standards, and Baby Little Brother wants to marry a vampire who can talk to dolphins and has glowing red eyes, because "you wouldn't have to buy reflectors for your bike."

The moment we arrived, some toads greeted us, and after that, our beloved grandparents greeted us, and after that, some potato salad and turkey greeted us, only to be devoured, so that was too bad for it.

Consequently, we collapsed.

I woke up Saturday morning and ate a FAT breakfast, which in reality was a fairly normal sized breakfast, it just seemed big. And DELICIOUS. Then we wandered for a bit. Then we ate a fat lunch with this glorious barbecue and hush puppies (deep friend corn bread, for the foreigners), and then we wandered some more, and I read, and then we ate a fat dinner. I just want you all to know that when I say fat, it is so totally the greatest compliment I could ever give a meal, and you need not worry yourselves that I'm judging anyone's eating habits; I just...like...food.

On Sunday we went to church and did all of the above. 

Today I woke up at 11:30.

That really is the extent of the experience. For the sake of interesting details, and because I probably should stop talking about what I ate. I'll just talk about North Carolina for a bit.

First of all, the mosquitoes here are always feeding, and they're as big as a doorknob with a syringe attached to the end, with which they stab you and suck your blood, which they eventually spray everywhere when your grandma swats them for getting into the house. So far I only have one bite, which I take to mean as having undesirable blood. This is too bad, because I was really hoping to lure in a creepy vampire boyfriend in an internal war with himself over wanting to murder and marry me at the same time, but I guess I'll get over it.

There are frogs/toads of various sizes hopping about everywhere, especially in the funky little ravine by the house. This poses a problem, as mosquitoes also like ravines, but sometimes, we decide it's worth it. We found some cute lil' baby frogs/toads, but one died while I was holding it, and I may not catch anything else for the rest of the vacation or my life.

There are also fire ants, which are hard to explain until they're crawling up your leg, but then you really will get it.

Basically, there are open spaces and clean air and the only gray in the sky is thunderclouds. There is peace and quiet and two cars drive past every hour, and the only sound outside are birds and crickets and cicadas (crickets on steroids) and my dad getting back to his roots on Granddad's tractor. All we do is wander and come back in and eat and nap and wander some more and read books and go to church on Sunday, and I swear we haven't laughed this much in months. We might even go to the beach this week.
The Atlantic beach. Of the Atlantic Ocean.

That being said, if I don't come home, don't cry for me.


fin.

Morning ramblings.

Good morning, family.

I currently am seated beneath the shade of a majestic gingko tree, at 7:32 in the morning, when there is no need for shade because it’s the only reasonably temperatured time of the day in this desert, rejoicing in the fact that the school’s wifi has finally recognized that the security they gave me to download is compatible with their policies.

For the sake of literary development, I’ll be supplying your dialogue.

“Lydia, why are you at school? It’s the summer. Get a freaking life already.”

Well, that’s an excellent question, young ones. It turns out, that when one is in possession of a carpool with one’s timely and overachieving mother, one is denied all privileges of waking up and growling at such things that would involve a higher level of function, like walking or opening one’s eyes. I, however, woke up today at 6:00, packed a lunch, dressed myself appropriately, brushed my teeth, spoke incoherent words to my dog, who just gazed at me mournfully, as per the usual, and created tea, and I performed all these tasks sans growling.

You may be interested to know that as it turns out, Irish Breakfast Tea is a bunch of nasty crap in a bag that, when soaked in boiling water for an extended period of time, makes nasty crap water. As would be expected. Based on my observation, however, in which I was the unlucky test subject, I’m starting to wonder if there may also be drugs in the tea bag with the crap, and judging by the looks I got when I left the car to go to work today, my conclusions are not inconceivable. Hence, I was all wound up today, with no room to move, because seatbelts are safe and blahblahblah, and now this is happening.

Moving on to the question that I asked myself earlier, I am at school because I have a job there. So…ha. Also, yes. My mom does work at my school. Don’t laugh; she’s just a needy person, and we all can be like that sometimes.

“Okay, Lydia, that’s nice. I’m so happy for your achievement. What is your job?”

HA. What is my job. You silly little mouse people.

Actually, I don’t know why that was an insulting question. I do research on termite behavior.

“Termites? Really?”

That was an insulting question. Yes. Termites. They’re…adorable…

“So…does this mean you want to be an entymologist?”

Nope!

“Well…gosh Lydia, then what do you want to do?”

How about you’re not allowed to ask me that question, and when I get worked up enough about it, I’ll write a blog post about it. Okay?

“Well, why don’t you introduce another topic you can ramble about?”

Here’s a thought I had this morning: I’m studying abroad next semester in South Africa, and everytime I tell anyone that, the people my age all say, “That’s so sick! I’m so jealous! AHHHHHH *faint*” but all those who are old and gray or my parents seem to be highly disappointed in my decision. “Lydia, you know that’s not safe,” is the big winner in phrase bingo. And I say, “Okay, Mr. African Travel Expert, do you know the crime rate? Do you know the distribution of violence in the cities? Do you know where I’m staying? Because here’s what I know…” and then I spout off all of the stuff the program told me to say around nervous people. None of them seem convinced. At all.

And yeah, I’m sure South Africa isn’t the safest country on the globe, and I know that there’s a whole butt ton of precautions I’m probably supposed to take in order to be completely safe, but yesterday I received an email from the campus safety office, here, in America, where I go to school and live every day, that someone was stabbed

STABBED

not on campus, but nearby

STABBED

but apparently is okay, but

HE WAS STABBED.

What kills me (ooh, bad pun) is that at the end of the email, it said “Suspect description was unavailable because the victim was incoherent at the time.”

WELL YEAH, HE HAD JUST BEEN STABBED.

I’m discussing this with Chris right now, and his thoughts on the subject are, “Well this is an interesting place, that’s for sure.”

And now we’re discussing Lil’ Wayne, and Breaking Bad, and apparently, “…even though I’m a biology major, I would like it.”

?

The essence of this post is threefold: first and foremost, I wanted to warn you about cruddy tea and a local stabbing. Secondly, I needed something constructive to do while I ate my breakfast. Thirdly, and most importantly, I read a blog post (someone else’s, although yes, I do read my own blog) about how good writers utilize good verbs more than they employ good adjectives, and I desired for my writing to be improved upon.

That’s all. I have to go communicate with real people now/go to work/walk across the atrium to the lab and wonder why I don’t have any experiments to do.

“Bye!”

Bye!

"You hang up first!"

No, you!

“Are you confused yet?”

Me too!

…

fin.