Confessions of a Self-Depreciating Fangirl, Part 2

As I was saying, something happened the other day. I became suddenly aware - and obsessed - with a new celebrity.

In case you haven't noticed by his sudden appearance/mention on this blog, it's Benedict Cumberbatch.

Yes, poor Benedict Cumberbatch, poor, poor Benedict Cumberbatch, who has girls declaring themselves to be his future wife because he, unlike so many celebrities fangirls pine over, IS UNMARRIED.

Not that it stops fangirls from obsessing over married celebrities but, you know, the potentiality of this situation not ending tears is slightly less from the fangirl perspective. Here's how it reads to them:

He's not married! He's so talented! He's so handsome - and those cheekbones! And that voice!* If I could meet him - it'd be perfect!

*They always mention his cheekbones. And his voice. Yes, I did bring up his voice before - he sounds like he could be related to Alan Rickman and it's fucking brilliant. But the repetition of the cheekbones thing... yes, he has a very nice facial structure. But talking about slicing tomatoes with his cheekbones... too far, girls. Way too far... 

I had some variation of this thought the other day (minus the cheekbone bit). Part of it ended up in my Sherlock post, as you might have noticed. Which was nothing abnormal - I talk about celebrities. A LOT (and dammit, he DOES have a fabulous name). But I found myself realizing I'd latched on to this fangirl idea of getting married to a celeb. And I freaked.

Okay, a brief history of me as a tween. I began my earliest fangirling when The Lord of the Rings movies came out (Aragorn all the way, baby). And I went pretty hardcore when Gerard Butler played Erik in The Phantom of the Opera. However, I was fourteen, and had absolutely no interest in dating anyone, no matter how wonderful and famous they were. Because I was fourteen and really yet unaware about life in general. Point is, I was not like other teenage girls who were buying shirts that said, "Mrs. Pitt" and "Mrs. Affleck" from Claire's and convinced that somehow, despite the thousands of girls who were wearing those shirts, they were all going to end up married to said celebrities. Even at the age of fourteen, I thought this was baloney.

So somehow, between the ages of fourteen and twenty-one, I've regressed immensely, to a prior state I was never actually at (well, there was a sort of similar instance where for a few days I thought I might actually get an acceptance letter to Hogwarts, but that didn't last too long for me. I wasn't feeling too secure about my studious nature at the time).

Here's probably how it happened: I'm on Tumblr, ensconced amongst all these photos of celebrities, and suddenly I start seeing all these posts about peeps being fanatic about their favorite celebrities. It starts to look normal to me, and I find myself slipping in and doing the same thing. I found who Benedict Cumberbatch was in part BECAUSE OF Tumblr. But here's where it went different, where it didn't morph into a previous favorite actor obsession: the first thing that really caught my attention wasn't just a photo; it was a quote from some article where Cumberbatch - according to a Tumblr user quoting the article ("I saw it on the internet, it's definitely true.") - said that his biggest regret was not having kids by the age of 32.

Whomp. Just like that I was suddenly, emotionally attached to a man I've never met. This is not unusual - this has happened a bajillion times. What WAS different was how I reacted to it, that I didn't just care that he was attractive and intelligent and talented; no, I also cared about his emotional well-being on a level I can honestly say I've never reached before for a person I've never met, never seen in person, never in lived in the same country as. That was warning sign number 1.

Warning sign number 2 was spending more time on Tumblr than on anything else - even my fictional writing. Not because I talk to people on there (I really don't; I don't get how that works with just an ask box and a bunch of photos). No, it was because I wanted to see all of these new photos of my new favorite actor and share in the experience of people knowing who he is. And slowly, I realized I was getting jealous of the other people out there who I once sympathized with; where once I felt we bonded, I suddenly felt jealous of; as if they were trying to prove themselves a better fan than me. Big old warning sign number 3.

And then yesterday, I was on Tumblr and I saw this gif set I'd seen before: Cumberbatch dancing to "Thriller" at a party. Only there were a bunch of comments talking about how it had been stolen from a Facebook profile and that it was not meant to be shown to the public. Tumblr people were asking for it to be deleted and not reblogged and to address whoever had originally posted it it. But it was too late. I was incredibly creeped out.

I began wondering... How may of these other photos out there are NOT supposed to be released to the Internet? And not just for Cumberbatch - for Michael Fassbender, David Tennant, etc. etc. etc. What do these guys actually think of their fans? I mean, I want to be a famous writer - how would I feel if people posted this sort of stuff about me? (Freaked. Totally freaked. I'd appreciate it at first but then once I started seeing stuff about me everywhere, I'd totally flip out.) So why would we treat actors any different than we'd treat ourselves?

Because we idolize them. Honestly, if I met one of the actors I've mentioned, I have no idea how I'd react. I can't truly imagine it. Well, I mean I do imagine it but it's not authentic. In my mind, I'm all cool and collected. In reality, I'd probably be having a fit and pass out or just be too nervous to even say anything.

So there's this conundrum here - the want to treat actors like you would anyone else (because, after all, that's probably what they want and if you want hang out with an actor, you don't want to be the crazy one who's built a shrine out of printer paper and teacups in your room), but also the need to respect them, to express your admiration (which then gets totally carried away here). And you get stuck in fangirling.

So why do we do this to ourselves? Well, fangirling is easier than some other options. Let me explain:

1) As I've mentioned before, it's less riskier than actually getting involved in relationships. Here, the only person who can break your heart is reality - and even that can be eluded for an extended period of time.You keep telling yourself that anything is possible and that you could totally wind up marrying someone famous someday. And you keep those voices in your head telling you you're just being silly silent a while longer.

2) It's easier to let it go than fight it, especially if you're in school. I mean, I sat through 30 plus minutes today in a lecture, discussing the flaws in an experiment. 70% of the things students said were confounds WEREN'T and we spent forever discussing why so. Unfortunately for me, I get this stuff within the first five minutes. And for some inexplicable reason, even as a junior, college is boring for me. So I spend the rest of class bored out of my mind and daydreaming, wishing for an escape. It's no wonder that I want to be swept off my feet by some dashing actor.

3) In relation to the first point, there's this predominate feeling that a lot of these fangirls don't have boyfriends and can't get boyfriends, for whatever reasons. Boys ignore them, they get "friend zoned," they just have bad luck... you get the idea. You know my story. So, it's like this decision that since they can't get a normal guy, they might as well reach for the stars and dream of something impossible.

This all sounds rather sad and disturbing and disheartening, I know. I'm sure all fangirls aren't this way, but the more time I spend on Tumblr, the more I see girls like this. It makes me realize that this part of myself - this repression of obsessing with actors, inability to get a normal boyfriend, dreaming of perfection - isn't as abnormal as I'd thought. But now this powerful, potent release is no longer comforting. It's terrifying. I'm no longer alone, but I still feel the urge to run away from myself. I hate myself for acting this way. But I just feel more insecure, more trapped by my own life - trapped by school, trapped by circumstances, trapped by things I have to do but don't want to - and I'm back to wanting to escape as I was before.

And as much as daydreaming can be fun and wonderful, it can also be dangerous. You've got a good picture of why. My friend [X] once said that most of her life is lived in her head, which I found profoundly sad. Not having actual actions, just dreaming out what you want to do rather than actually being able to do it. While the importance of imagination is great, its power can go too far.

Perhaps my want for action is what made this situation different. I had the sudden urge to meet Mister Cumberbatch. Okay, obviously fan girls want to meet all of their favorite celebrities. I want to meet John Barrowman, but more out of a "wow, we'd be great friends; I feel like I already know him" vein. This current case is markedly different. This is more like, "Hey, I know nothing about him, but I feel like I understand him better than anyone else." Which is totally weird. And probably what 80% of other fan girls feel. So tough shit for me.

However, also in combination with this is the whole issue with photos and videos being released that aren't supposed to be, in which I feel the desire to prove that not all fans are not so incredibly creepy. Which is impossible to do while feeling like a creep. So of course I found myself trying to not be creepy, to try to be a fan without being totally mental about it - an elegant, mature adult who just happens to fancy an actor. While all the time, in the back of my mind, I'm trying to figure out how I could get to London and "stumble across" Cumberbatch during the Olympics or something as equally absurd (because, you know, out of 7 million people there plus however many millions will attend the Olympics, I'm going to be able to find ANYONE). It's a like a constant battle, trying to not feel like a tween about this (it's interesting that all the imagery about fangirling comes from young girls. But that's a topic for another time). And now all this self-reflection, and reflecting upon reflection, is a bit much. I've just got a whole lot of words on a page and no clear idea of where to go from here. All I know is that I want to be recognized for who I am, not a mindless, faceless fanatic. So I'm limiting my time on Tumblr, reminding myself that actors or people to (unlike what Max Bialystok might say in The Producers), and that I am young and naive and very good at being both things and that I might as well accept that I'm going to do stupid stuff. But the least I can do is limit the embarrassment I cause for myself and for others. Because these actors I adore so much deserve better than... whatever this attempt at explanation and apologizing this is. Sorry, great thespians, and, while I won't pretend that you're reading this, I extend an apologia for this league of fangirls. And an extra expression of regret to the fine Mr. Cumberbatch as the unknowing example in this RIDICULOUSLY LONG post (many apologies, dear sir... you've been dragged into the realm of cultural theorizing.). And since this really is an on-going tale and I've no idea how to close this, I'm just going to stop... right... here.

Confessions of a Self-Depreciating Fangirl

I am in denial that this semester is happening. Really. I just remembered today that I have an essay due in my Comedy class (which sounds like a lot more fun than it actually is) next Thursday. And I have a test on Monday in Research Methods. And I have to find research articles for my Research Methods paper. And I have to accept myself that I'm back in school and that, yes, once again, I have found myself swamped with work and sick and living half of my life in mental fantasies that will never, ever happen - this week's includes John Barrowman singing Cole Porter and Benedict Cumberbatch reading great English literature to me while I curl up all warm and cozy on the couch, sneezing (elegantly and lady-like, as if such sort of sneezing was possible) and drinking Earl Grey tea. Like I said, totally impossible. The best I can do is hole up in Espresso Royale between classes and drink Spanish Lattes and read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Charlotte Bronte and try not to panic over having absolutely no control over this semester. And life in general.

I mean, where the hell is this year going? It just started and already we're in the first full week of February! I'm sitting here, with a watch around my neck, and time's all just ticking by me. It's kind of unnerving.

Oh, and I think I got Mo, [Львица]'s cat, sick. I know that diseases aren't supposed to transfer from human to cat, but Mo slept on my bed last night and it was fantastic and comforting, but now she's sneezing. I just feel like everything I'm trying to do to make things easier for myself backfires.

Like writing this blog. I should totally be doing some homework, or essay writing, or research planning, or internship hunting. But I just can't make myself care about those things right now. I need to stop working for a few minutes, to breathe and relax and tell myself I'm not going to break down (and all in the back of my head, I'm thinking about all the stuff we're talking about in my classes, about how the Industrial Revolution has made us all machine-like and it's freaking me out). I go on Tumblr to chill out and see fun pix of my favorite shows and movies, but instead I just get visually attacked by totally beautiful European men - okay, okay British and a couple Irish men, you win, [Львица] - (Barrowman, Cumberbatch, David Tennant, Ewan McGregor, Michael Fassbender, Colin Firth, Martin Freeman, James McAvoy, the list continues and seems to grow everyday...) and I feel stalker-ish and, well, for lack of a better word, weird.

Let me set this up for you: I have this absurd desire to be famous. Wow, okay, who doesn't, right? Actually, I never used to care about that sort of thing (well, maybe I did, but I'd convinced myself otherwise). Then something happened - A) I realized that 75% of the people I knew in high school didn't know who I was,* B) I wasn't going to be able to me a music teacher and change lives in a small, sweet way like Mr. Holland, and C) If I couldn't do what I originally planned, then dammit I might was well go big and become the next big American writer. Or some shit like that. And people were finally going to appreciate me and care and it didn't matter that most of my teachers couldn't remember my name and I never got asked to Homecoming or Prom and that one little asshole in my AP Psych class insinuated that I'd never get married. No, none of that would matter when I could roll up to our high school reunion as a fucking millionaire and a best-selling author. And that the fact that they never thought I was cool was an utterly moot point. This is not original. I know. But it's how I've felt since graduation, and it's how I still feel now.

* I'll never forget the time [Broadway Baby] was trying to convince me that people liked me and he asked this guy named Sam who was walking by, "Hey, Sam, do you like [La Maga]?" To which he replied, "Who's [La Maga]?" I'm pretty sure this was a common reaction for most people. Even in my graduating class (which had around 400 people, mind you. My school had 2000 students, so maybe I should stop whining and be glad anyone knew me at all).

So I have an obsession with fame. How American. In turn, I have an obsession with famous people (which I have discussed multitudes of times and will continue to discuss, because I'm a CSCL major and that's what we do. And I just have a lot of feelings). I also have an unfortunate trend of thinking that actors who happen to play my favorite characters or characters I grow to love, who are very handsome/charming/dashing, and say something that I happen to agree with are suddenly the EXACT MAN I AM LOOKING FOR IN MY LIFE. I am not alone in this happening - I see it all across Tumblr. Which is a great sort of, "Hey, look, I'm not alone!" tool - which is nice for the first few weeks. But then you - okay, I - started to get creeped out. Because it's just SO MUCH FANGIRLING.

I can understand a little bit. Okay, John Barrowman is one gorgeous man - I have stated that far too much on this blog. In fact, I had a page in which to try to focus some of the fangirling so as not to make a bunch of nonsense posts. But then I looked at it today and thought it was creepy. So sadly, it is no more. You're welcome, John Barrowman. Not that you read this. Unless you do...

See? See what I did there? FANGIRLS THINK THIS ALL THE TIME. They think that their favorite celebrity is secretly reading their blogs. They think that for some reason, Mr. Famous Talented Handsome Celebrity will swoop down from his very busy, hectic life into their very dull, mundane ones and sweep them off their feet to some exquisite life full of roses and awards shows and awesomeness. I am not making fun of fangirls out of spite. Because I find myself wishing for these same things.

And you know another thing that's stupid? Oscar Season and Valentine's Day - two things that should NOT be this close together. For the sake of the fangirls, it's very, very dangerous. I was wondering if anyone's ever tried to crash the Oscars in order to see their favorite actor (probably yes. I feel like it'd be pretty easy - get a nice dress, tell them you're a Baldwin, you're in). Also, Valentine's Day produces a deep melancholia for most people who are of the single state. Which only doubles the power of the fangirl obsession.

I could very easily let myself continue down this path of constantly blogging photos of celebrities I have crushes on and flipping out over them and being totally obsessive, like a little kid watching a puppy in a shop window (wow, nice self-depreciating imagery there, right? Demeaning actors into puppy-like images. I can't decide if that's truthful or too harsh a way of describing this phenomenon). But the other day, something happened. Maybe it's because I'm tired of feeling stuck between the ages of fifteen and thirty. Maybe it's because my mind is being enlightened because of my On Television class. Maybe it's because my fangirling went to a whole new level.

Regardless, this the longest blog I've written this year. But it's a bit too long. So I'm going to continue this in part two. Readers beware.

Why I Sucked At Being a Teenager

Somewhere, upstairs, God is laughing at me.

He has a right too. My exploits Friday night seem more like the plot of a teen comedy or an SNL skit than ordinary life. But it happened... oh, how it happened.

[mind ninja] decided to host a drinking game party at her house after the success of our holiday party. Originally, we were going to have her house to ourselves (her parents were going to be out of town for a hockey tournament) and she planned on playing a drinking game to Lord of the Rings. Except nothing went as planned.

[mind ninja]'s family didn't leave town - the hockey tournament got cancelled - and in fact, they ended up hosting a pizza dinner for the hockey team, who didn't leave until around 9 pm. [mind ninja] hadn't gotten the alcohol and wanted [foxy lady] or me to get it. But both of our IDs were invalid because we hadn't gotten the chance to update them since our birthdays were only a month and half or so past. Just as well - it's one thing getting alcohol for my own party. It feels wrong to buy it for someone else's. I just didn't feel comfortable doing it - but I didn't want to say that to [mind ninja]. It seemed like betrayal.

Mostly, though, I was peeved at the United States government. Seriously, I bought alcohol in a grocery store in St. Andrews, Scotland. I was able to bring it back in my luggage. But I can't buy one single drink in an American liquor store because I didn't request to have my ID updated three weeks before my birthday (because, apparently, you can do that, which I did not know. Nor does the Minnesota State driving guide book give any such helpful tips). So, American youths about to turn 21 - your ID expires DAY OF your birthday, apparently. You can still buy drinks with it (and confuse bartenders who can do math) but you can't buy anything from a liquor store. Sad day for me, walking into a liquor store for the first time without my parents and leaving empty handed and feeling like I'm about twelve. Fuck you, United States drinking laws - I behaved myself all those years and can count on one hand the number of times I drank under the age limit. And this is how you reward me. Thanks. See if I ever take your laws seriously again. (Just kidding, US Gov't... I have no plans on becoming a criminal or a traitor. Please don't put me on the no-fly list).

[mind ninja] and [Львица] were able to convince [novel killer]'s parents to buy alcohol after our epic fail. We ended up with way too much for the small group we had and somehow managed to sneak it into the house. I felt giddy about it, like a rebel, doing something dangerous (despite the fact that I was drinking legally). It was probably an experience many people my age had five or six years ago, back when they were still in high school. And I was just now experiencing it - as a legal drinker. When most kids were drinking in high school, I was staying at home, reading Jane Eyre, and watching The Daily Show. When they were having their first experiences being drunk, I was going to the movies, staying home with my parents and learning about my dad's experiences as a bartender. And while they drove home drunk in the wee hours of the morning, I was sleeping. I've never have been much of a night owl.

Even the Gleeks have party hard in high school... and they're supposed to be the un-coolest people in school (which reminds, me, I should blog about Glee). Not that I should be comparing my life to fictional TV, but this stung a bit. Apparently, I am so uncool the uncool people think I'm uncool. Think about it...

And now, it's not so much like I'm trying to play catch-up; I don't care about not having those experiences. Not exactly that I don't care but that I just had no desire to do that sort of stuff in high school and that not experiencing it was, well, no terrible loss. It's just that now, now that my friends and I want to have a party with drinks, now that we feel like it's something we're comfortable with, now that we're practically legal or are legal, it feels weird being in these situations. Wondering how the hell sixteen year olds got alcohol when we can't even buy it when we're 21. Trying to fathom how they got a whole case of beer in the house with no one noticing. Wondering how they actually felt like getting drunk because, after all that work, we all only had about one to three drinks apiece.

http://www.cartoonstock.com

Oh, things I missed being a non-stereotypical sort of teenager... I don't regret it, I don't miss not having these experiences. It just leave a whole lot of things to be wondered for me. Also I never got invited to parties... so, yeah. There's that. Personally, I think having these firsts now is incredibly more entertaining for myself. I'm more comfortable with who I am, I'm more ready to try new things. I'm doing it because I want to do it - not because of peer pressure, or to fit in, or anything. And there's that added benefit of comedic tension at out attempts to have these experiences now. Now that we're the anomalies for not doing this years ago.

Really, it's not so much that I sucked at being a teenager. I just sucked at living up to the stereotypes of the American teenager - which is a rebellion in itself, isn't it?

Ooh, we've got a badass over here... :P

The Party

It's been a rough start to the New Year, what with the wisdom teeth removal and all. So by the time our  friends' holiday party rolled around on Wednesday, the one that caused all the trouble before the semester ended, I was kind of worried about it. I mean, any of a number of things could have gone wrong.

Amazingly, nothing did. [Львица] and I decorated our apartment rather majestically, I think, even giving Mo the cat a little pink bow. We cooked for half the day (wondrous Alaskan salmon and halibut, and chicken broccoli alfredo for those peculiar people who don't like fish) and had ample time left to set up ambiance music, rearrange chairs, and mock our friends for not being on time.

Things were perhaps a little hard to ease into at first, with offering drinks and trying to get people to decide whether they were hungry or not (our friends are historically indecisive). But once dinner had been served and drinks refilled and Secret Santa gifts were opened, things began to feel much more comfortable and relaxed to me. I was fortunate enough to have [shortage of perfect breasts] as my Secret Santa, the only other person there, other than [Львица], who could possibly know about or understand my obsession with Torchwood. So I was blown away by and totally grateful for her gift - a downloaded and burned DVD of Friday Night Project hosted by John Barrowman, and a home-knitted pillow (made by [shortage of perfect breasts] herself) with the Torchwood logo on one side and my first initial on the other. It's the best Secret Santa gift I've ever gotten. I wish I knew how to show her how thankful I am, without seeming ridiculous. It's a rather wibbly-wobbly line, that.


I managed to talk to [X] and [novel killer] without any apparent weirdness (but by that time, I'd already several drinks). I assured [X] that I was totally over [No-Mr-Darcy] and she informed me that it was just as well, as he believes that a woman's place is in the kitchen (it, of course, no longer matters, if he really thinks that, but it's just as well things didn't work out because, if it's true, I probably would have beaten him up). I tried tequila - bizarre, not my favorite, but not bad. I felt closer to my friends then than I had in years. I suddenly had high, high hopes that I was going to be able to move on from all of the things that had been bothering me about my friendships, that if we'd been able to hang on this long, that maybe we could forge ahead into the future. That even thought sometimes we have our issues, that they treat me better and understand me more than the rest of the world. There wasn't any peer pressure to drink and I didn't drink too much and I felt comfortably tipsy. All was good.

Perhaps I was seeing the world through rosy-colored lenses (or maybe liquor-tinted ones. I did have two glasses of wine, a Guinness, a shot of tequila, and a Heineken. Far more than I have ever drunk before - and yet I wasn't drunk; have I inherited my father's liver?) Everything seemed beautiful and I had no worries. I felt beautiful, important; nothing hurt.

I wish all nights could be like this one; I know they can't - later in the week would prove this true. But this night - this one night - made me feel better than I had in days. Maybe weeks. It didn't last but it's a positive sign for me - a sign that when I finally get those cruel little voices in my head to shut up, life is good. No negative self-thoughts - that was a New Year's resolution, after all :)

Resolved

http://www.decibelmagazine.com

Well, it's New Year's Eve. And you know what that means: resolutions. Usually for me this means going to a friend's house for a New Year's Party, feeling awkward, hearing everyone talk about how they feel overweight and how their resolutions for next year are to loose weight and find their soul mate, and then feeling like a douche when you make a witty or personal resolution.

You can see why I'd be a little reluctant to make my own. But I'm going to. Because I know what I'm capable of and what I want. And I know what I want to challenge myself to do. It's not going to be anything simple or petty or what I think people want to hear or what my insecurities make me think. It's going to be legit :D So here we go.

1) Work Out: I don't mean loose weight. At all. I don't need to loose weight, goddammit. That said, I would like to feel more fit. I can't help wanting to get rid of my love handles and maybe feeling like I could be a ninja, work for Torchwood, or survive a zombie apocalypse (or at least, you know, run without hurting my pathetically weak ankles). Namely, I want to feel more bad-ass and build some more self-esteem. So gym time it is.

2) No more putdowns directed at myself: There are enough people out there putting me down each day without me needing to do it myself. I don't know where this whole negativism thing started (Catholic school humbleness gone wrong, too many friends who've ditched me, too many friends who have insecurities themselves and reverse it by slamming me) but there's no use for it. There's no reason to blame myself for things THAT WEREN'T MY FAULT. I know what my faults are. And they don't need to be over-analyzed or blamed all the time.

3) Write a goddamn novel: Self-explanatory. I've got two started right now. If I can finish at least one (not totally finish, but get an end and a solid draft) I will be pretty damn proud of myself.

4) Be What I Am: I'm already doing pretty well this but, you know, it doesn't hurt to remind myself to stick with it :)

So Happy New Years, world - I'm gonna sign off and eat some tacos and drink some champagne. See you in 2012!

To Myself, In the Future

Hello Future Me,

I certainly hope that, wherever you are in space in time, that it is not in a little apartment infested by centipedes and mice. Or some place worse. I have decided to write this little post because I feel suddenly struck by a fear of making mistakes that are not worth making - not the good sort. And I would like to try to provide you with a source of some perhaps helpful advice in lieu of the insanity that certainly lies ahead.

First off, I have no idea what you will be doing in general. Hopefully it will not involve being a hobo. Regardless, whatever it is, do it with passion. Don't give in to doing something safe just because you know you can do it. TRY NEW THINGS. The worse that can happen is that you will fail, and we both are plenty familiar with that.

I will never be this cool. But goddamn, I can try.

Of course, I'm going to bring up relationships. If you remember, I'm on the edge between being a full-blown romantic and a nihilistic hermit. So, I'm hoping things are a little more steady on your end. If you're queen of the Ryan Gosling Swagger (à la Crazy Stupid Love), kudos. If things suck, keep a stiff upper lip. Remember what it was like to not understand love, to not even have any experience with it. To wonder why you saw so few relationships work out, why everything seems so simple, until you become part of one. I know I sound down about it all but I'm just showing - you knew more than you thought you did. Don't sweat it; it'll work out. I believe it will.

If by some strike of fate you find yourself in a long-term relationship, don't take it for granted. Just don't. And if by some terrible, incredible miracle you have children, remember not to be too hard on them when they act up. Growing up is tough - it might seem long ago, but I remember it pretty well. It's brilliant and brutal. And whatever your kids do, you probably did once too. Don't blame them too much for their mistakes, economic troubles, mistakes you made. They'll listen... maybe too well.

Wherever you're living, I hope it feels like home. I know when you were younger, you likened yourself to a turtle - adaptable, movable, able to fit in anywhere. Know that I'm glad you had that adaptability but that you shouldn't be afraid to put down roots. No one belongs here more than you.

Fresh off a 21st birthday, I had some crummy feelings in the days shortly before. It got me worried, it got me thinking. I hope you're strong and confident - I hope that I'm establishing that now. I hope you still have a warm fuzzy feeling for sci-fi shows and Broadway plays, and a penchant for shortbread, Earl Grey tea and Nutella. But most of all, I hope you look back at all of this and don't regret a thing.

Another Night at the Saloon

http://www.esquire.com/drinks/cosmopolitan-drink-recipe

Last night was another excursion to the Saloon and was also my first time at a club as a 21 year old. So, because it was a total life tile opportunity, I got a cosmopolitan, which I'd never had before, kindly paid for by [Львица]. It was really quite good. I'd still drink a martini first, but if I was in the mood for something sweet - yeah, definitely would go for a cosmo. It was also two-for-one so I ended up with two cosmos. And then [save the panzer]'s friend - who seems to think he's his boyfriend - [slightly pansexual, mostly annoying] insisted on buying me a drink. And because I don't want to pass up a free drink, especially from a man, especially because [slightly pansexual, mostly annoying] wouldn't take no for an answer, especially because I wanted to try something I'd never had before - an Orgasm (okay, wow, I just wrote that and out of context that sounds REALLY funny. I just meant the drink, guys), I consented (poor word choice. Now I'm just digging a hole... dammit). So I ended up with what were supposed to be two Orgasms. Except that [Львица] is taking bar-tending classes. And she knows what's supposed to be in the drinks. An Orgasm is supposed to contain Bailey's Irish Cream. There was no Bailey's in sight. In fact, it looked more like Sex on the Beach  (I'm thinking I tasted peach schnapps in it... there was hit of something like that in there).

http://jomygoodness.typepad.com/jomygoodness/2009/05/index.html

It did kind of look like that. It was also pretty... sweet. And way too much alcohol for little ole me. So I ditched the drinks, trying not to think too hard about whether [slightly pansexual, mostly annoying] changed the drink orders on purpose or because he was totally smashed, and went to go dance, and had my dance moves critiqued by a man I'd seen there before (the same one who complemented me on my sparkly dress. No fancy dress last night for me - it was too damn cold. So just jeans and a shirt). I think my dancing makes gay men cringe. Awesome.

In other major events, [Львица] got hit on by a Russian man. I realized that alcohol makes me care less about sucking at dancing. We all tried not to get forever embarrassed by [slightly pansexual, mostly annoying]. Yet another great night out :D

Also, I would just like to say that LMAO's "Sexy and I Know It" is the best dance song ever. Just because of reasons. It's ridiculous. And fabulous.

21

It's happened... I'm officially 21 years old. It's incredible. Actually, yesterday was just incredible in general. Here's the basic run-down of my big, fat twenty-first birthday:

Around eleven o'clock, I started getting ready for my parents to come pick me up. I got a phone call from [X], with [the artist] yelling in the background, both wishing me a happy day. It was a slightly awkward conversation because I got the feeling [X] didn't quite know what to say, but I didn't care - I was glad she called. Then I realized it was snowing - oh, joy of joys! - and my hopes and dreams and prayers for snow on my birthday were answered. Except that I think maybe I'd been hoping a little too much... we got quite a bit more snow than I was expecting. But win - total win!

Due to the sudden onslaught of snow, my parents were a little later than expected, but no matter. We headed over to Brit's Pub, where I had two Strongbows, talked way too much about Scotland, and ate Scotch eggs. Then we ambled over to The Local, had Irish coffee and fish and chips (and got carded - for the first and last time of the day. I was rather shocked. Only one out of three waitresses thought I looked younger than 21? I was surprised. "Are you telling me that I could have tried this long ago and not gotten carded?" I asked my dad. "Probably," he replied. "I can tell by body language - waitresses always treat you like you're older." I must admit this was a bit anti-climatic. Oh well.) Then we crossed the street to The Newsroom, which used to have really good food, but now it was just kind of mediocre. My crab mac and cheese was far too salty. And I made myself content with water because my mom ordered a margarita, didn't even like how it was mixed and discovered it was $11. Shit.

So, to make up for that blip, we went to O'Donnovans, another Irish pub, had another Irish coffee and got free samples of this cake-flavored vodka by Three Olives. Now, flavored vodka always kind of sounded gross to me. BUT THIS WAS FANTASTIC. Mixed with pineapple juice and amaretto, it made this drink that tasted like pineapple upside-down cake. It was really brilliant. So my dad ordered a drink called coffee cake, that included the flavored vodka, Bailey's Irish cream, and coffee (and whipped cream. Absolutely has to have whipped cream). The bartender accidentally made a shot as well, so we got two drinks for the price of one and shared them. My dad then told the girls doing the promoting that it was my birthday, so I got my picture taken with them and a free tiara, which I then proceeded to wear until we left the bar, when I decided that I was tired and a total light-weight and it was time to go home. So home I went to discover what present my parents had bought me (a gift set of two shot glasses and Jameson Irish whiskey - for the win :D ) and to watch SNL (and a brilliant performance by Florence + The Machine) with [Львица].

Sadly I had a stomach ache for most of the night and a better part of this morning (too much food, too much alcohol, too much sweet stuff, too much fun) but other than that it was absolutely perfect. It was the best birthday ever. And it's made me feel that things are only going to get better from here. Thanks to everyone for their warm birthday wishes and gifts - the kindness and generosity I saw made me all warm and fuzzy and felt so loved. I have the best friends and family in the world :)

Progress

So this was my least favorite U2 song until I heard it live, in the middle of the pouring rain at the TCF Bank Stadium this summer. And then, suddenly, it hit me how great this song is. Probably because it summed up exactly how I was feeling. And U2 is just fucking incredible live.

I've spent a good part of the last few months stuck in a moment. I didn't even realize how stuck I was until I started getting shaken loose from it. For some wonderful but unknown reason, I started getting out of my blue funk (baking cookies helped. I should remember that that's a great new therapy for me). And then Wednesday night, the news I'd been expecting for months finally appeared - [No-Mr-Darcy] is in a relationship, back together with his ex-girlfriend. Thank God. I don't even care that I was kind of a rebound girl. I'm just glad that poor girl gets a second chance. And that my chance is totally nullified. Finally I can move on. So, I went from U2 to something more like this...

"Let it go, this too shall pass" - thank you, OK Go, for those simple but sage words of wisdom. Finally I can do just that.

And now, I'm more at this point (I swear, I have a song for everything. I could just make my life into an entire musical out of pop songs, show tunes, and classic rock):

Yes, I feel "Violet." Let's call this progress :)

Sunday Morning

This morning, [Львица]'s cat woke me up by jumping on my back and meowing in my ear. No better way to wake up than by cat alarm. It was the best I'd felt in weeks, probably because I had a very cathartic lunch at Serum's with my parents (which has the best wings and the best fried chicken sandwich I've ever eaten in MY LIFE), even though I was tearing up at music, commercials and the news Saturday night (stupid PMS symptoms. Who thought crying over everything was a good thing to add in hormones?) Also, the leak in our bathroom ceiling was not active, which was good since I'm terrified the plaster is going to explode and water is going to go everywhere.

I went to get a load of laundry together and realized that I was short over a dollar's worth of quarters. So, I went out to get coffee and dental floss (yes, I know, great combination) so that I could end up with enough change to run the machines. I walked down to the Purple Onion in the fresh fall air and, because I am terrible at making up my mind, I ordered the first think I saw on the menu when the barista asked for my order. I ended up with a caffè Americano, which is just espresso and hot water. I am still wired from the amount of caffeine in my bloodstream. Then it was off to CVS to get the floss and back home.

Because I was nearly hyper-ventilating from the coffee, I decided to burn of my energy and do something outrageous and clean our bathroom.

Here's the deal - our apartment was not clean when we moved in. But because we'd spent so much time cleaning all the other 22 units for the new tenants, we didn't even bother with ours. Clearly the people who lived here had not cleaned much before they moved out, but then again, it probably wasn't clean when they moved in either. That's basically how it was for all of these units though. Anyway, I got ambitious and decided to clean - plus I couldn't stand the fact that there was an old scrap of toilet paper glued to the floor by dirt and dust that had been there since for God knows how long. Yeah, something needed done.

I'd cleaned the sink the night before because there was paint in it from when we got our shower repainted. First thing I decided to tackle was the toilet. IT WAS DISGUSTING. There was a brownish-black ring of... something... around the top. It took me at least 10 minutes of scrubbing and still not all of it came off. At least it looks better. And less disease-spreading.

Next I decided to scrub the floors. Because there were areas where you could see the gunk caked across the tiles. I did my best. It's not 100% clean, but it's liveable. I also think I was the first person to clean under the radiator since 1986. I felt like Cinderella, using a sponge and scrubbing at the tiles. No fairy godmother for me, but oh well - at least [Львица] and I won't have to worry about getting dirt on our feet the moment we get out of the show now.

A disgusting start to the day, but it make me feel pretty hardcore. I mean, really - how many college students would choose to do that sort of cleaning? Not that our tenants are going to have much of a choice. [Львица] and I plan on super cleaning our apartment and insisting that all other units look like this when they move out. Because somebody's gotta stop this cycle of never cleaning the apartments. It might as well be us. The building manager overlords have spoken.

Family Snapshot

My cousin got married today. Well, I presume he did, because I couldn't actually attend the ceremony.  They changed the date due to getting a location they wanted for cheap right after my parents and I had planned on going (it would have been over fall break for my mom's school so she wouldn't have to take off work). But the sudden, almost last minute change threw us all off and prevented us from making the 11 hour trek down there for an event that would be... well, more than a little awkward.

You see, my cousin - I'll call him [T] - is my age, 20. Actually, I'm nearly 21 and he's five months younger. Last year... or more like a year and a half ago, his girlfriend found out she was pregnant. So at 19 he became a father. They have an adorable little girl but she'll be raised in a strange situation - neither one of them act like parents and, according to my grandmother and aunt, [T]'s girlfriend refuses to learn how to cook and fed the baby formula until she was over a year old. They were planning on getting married next summer but then suddenly they changed their plans when [T]'s girlfriend found out that her sister was getting married too - and she had to get married first. So, in a sudden whirl-wind, they've been planning their wedding since the spring. And today was the big day.

Back Home Again in Indiana

As you might have seen from the previous post, the nighttime has not been so kind to me recently. At least where sleeping is involved. This has been a common event for the past few weeks. Of if not kind, at least rather strange.

I was lying in bed the other night, feeling crappy about school, feeling crappy about my social life, feeling crappy about everything in general, for no good reason. Then out of nowhere, a flashback occurred. (Yes, those generally only happen in movies. But they are happening more and more frequently in my life. What the hell does that mean?)

It was from this summer, in July after I had gotten back from Scotland. I was back on the edge of the lake on the lake property we have in Indiana (it sounds regal and expensive but I can promise you it's not. It belonged to my grandparents; it's not like we have a cabin on the lake... which makes us stand out from many Minnesotans, who do. I think we're actually the only people in the entire state who travel south to stay on the water). I was sitting in a plastic lawn chair, watching my cousins cruise around in their speedboat and enjoying a tasty beverage with my parents. It was a bright, warm, sunny PERFECT day, before the absurd Hoosier humidity set in.

I realize that this very well might have been the happiest moment of my entire summer. Perhaps the entire year so far. It's weird to think in that moment, I was truly, totally happy. I was on a post-Scotland high, the stress of the class being over and the memories of my adventure still potent. It was before the difficult issues with my relatives came up. It was before I realized that [No-Mr-Darcy] was never going to text me. It was before I realized that this year was just going to be another school year. It was still when I had sheer, unadulterated joy and hope.

Not to say I have no joy or hope now. I do; it's just far more muted than it was then. But for some reason, when this memory flashed back through my mind, I felt less numb, less pissed off, just generally HAPPIER. Maybe because it was the last bit of relaxation I got before real stress started setting back in. Stress from going back to school. Stress from friend issues. Stress from my family - not my parents, but my extended family. There was inner peace I had that I just haven't acquired since then. The closest I get is when I remember this day. What the hell is that about?

Not to say I've been totally utterly miserable the last few months - I of course haven't. I have had some fabulous days. Going out and trying new things with [Львица]. Going to Radio K. Meeting up with my parents. Talking to one of my professors from last year about how awesome Scotland is. Writing on this blog. But still, at the end of the day, when I get ready for bed, this lingering, dull ache that appears in my gut. And I just wish I could get it to go away. It's putting me in a blue funk and ruining my positive outlook on things. It's like I feel homesick... but for what, I have no idea. I've never been homesick for Indiana. I don't want to go back there. But I feel like it's representing something in my mind. Or maybe I'm just thinking too hard about this.

Okay, maybe I do miss Indiana a bit. Or maybe this song always makes me tear up with a weird element of Hoosier pride (by the way, this is not Indiana's state song - which is "On the Banks of the Wabash, Far Away." It's mentioned, but "Back Home Again in Indiana" is actually just more popular than the actual state song). But I still think this is a cover for something deeper. Besides, this song made me feel homesick even when I lived in Indiana. 'Tis the nature of the song.

Whatever is bothering me, it's more than [No-Mr-Darcy]. It's more than school. It's more than [X]. It's more than work. I hope it's not just a 20-something's ennui with being single, being strange, and being studious. I've complained about these things until I'm blue in the face. It's something else. Like tonight... out of nowhere, I suddenly had the urge to cry. Well, not out of nowhere - there must be some reason. I just don't know what it is yet.

Maybe it's time I try something else. Maybe it's time to talk about things I've been mostly silent about thus far - Indiana, my family, glimpses of the past. Why not start tomorrow? It seems like a good time. After all, tomorrow a huge family event is occurring. One that just might change everything.

Another Disaster, Another Day

Today, I was hoping to get the bulk of my homework done today so I could relax this weekend. Ha. Right.

Yesterday, we had an issue up in apartment 306 with a toilet that wouldn't stop flushing so our handyman had to run out here and temporarily fix it until he could return today to figure out what the hell was going. But then, this morning, [Львица] called me and said that water was gushing out of 306 and that there was some issue in 206.

For some ungodly reason, water erupted from the walls of 306 when one of the girls in 206 turned on their shower. Their bathroom in 306 filled with water, which then gushed "like a waterfall" down through the doorway of the bathroom doorway of 206.

Sad day. Just... yeah. Sad day.

I hate plumbing. I really do. I've inhereited it from my father. He can deal with any home improvement issue, as long as it doesn't involve complicated electrical wiring or plumbing. Because when it comes to plumbing... well, there's a reason it takes some serious training to know what the hell is going on there. I generally love water - when it's not being routed through pipe systems that seem rather faulty and enjoy ruining a perfectly good Friday morning. Because the plumbing in this building seems to be possessed. And it's sending me into hysterics.

Yep, plumbing issues turn me into Leopold Bloom from The Producers. Who knew?

That being said, I feel like no matter how crazy things are around here, the residents of this building are to be commended. Not only did they choose cheaper housing over the fancy-pants places like the Dinkydome (okay, so maybe they didn't choose, exactly, but there are other places that cost only a little more than here and are... shall we say, more luxurious) they also chose minimalist living (meaning you don't get a lot of perks. No exercise room, no free laundry, no plasma TVs and cable in each unit. And yes, to those of you who didn't know that, some college apartments come with this stuff now).  Probably because minimalist living is a bit cheaper (though really, FloCo just down the street doesn't cost that much more. It's just brand-new and filled up faster than Adele tickets sell out. Okay, okay, not that fast. But you get the idea). Also, our residents are to be commended for their patience. Seriously, water exploding out of the walls? Not something you want to deal with very often. And yet they haven't flipped out on us. Well, not a total meltdown yet. Everyone has been very kind and forgiving so far. Except for you, 303. You know why.

I bring this up to remind myself that I'm doing this for them, the college students who choose a "distinctive" building with "character" and are making the best of it. If they weren't so fabulous, our job would be much, much harder. It's better to deal with just the exploding pipes, rather than exploding pipes and emotions. Knock on wood... I'm probably tempting fate now. Alas.

I am sick and tired of feeling sick and tired

I had all these good intentions of writing about my experiences at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival yesterday, but I had to finish the "Pissed" post I started on Friday. And then after going to the Ren Fest, the chest cold I had started getting erupted into a stuffy-nosed, fever-ridden Sunday morning of blah.

Being sick was so much more fun when I was younger. Then I could stay in bed and watch TV and have my parents bring me chicken noodle soup. Today I had to get up to study for a test I have tomorrow and to make my own chicken noodle soup. Being a responsible adult kind of sucks.

Also, may I mention that Web-MD sucks as a diagnosing tool. I know I probably just have the common cold, but because I live in an apartment ridden with mold, I thought I should probably confer with the closest thing to doctor I could get at 9 am on a Sunday morning - the internet.

I understand that Web MD is not meant to replace a doctor. But when the little symptom finder can't even distinguish my cough and sore throat and slight fever with the symptoms of anthrax poising, I severely doubt it's ability to tell me anything.

So it's time for some serious R&R before classes tomorrow. Because if I still feel like this tomorrow morning - it's going to be one hell of a long day.

Love Bites - But Bites Heal

My "love" horoscope from Friday:   Your emotional concerns are taking precedence right now, Scorpio, and this may impede your progress with love. You are well known for your intensity, but you are not quite fulfilled in terms of balancing that intensity with the day to day grind. Many of your emotional concerns stem from external forces or people, and you need to remember that you can not control the actions of others, no matter how much you would like to. You are best to stop taking things so personally, and understand that sometimes other people's issues are theirs and not yours. You've put a lot of work into your emotional health, so you should not let the issues of others threaten that.  Yeah, thanks for the heads up. Too bad I didn't read it until too late. I decided to break down and ask [X] about what the hell was going on with [No-Mr-Darcy], if he'd ever so much as mentioned me. She said she hadn't really talked to him about anything more than school stuff and, in a nice motion of trust and sincerity, said she wouldn't ask him about me as it would seem like breaking a friend code. That's a nice way of saying that, if he hasn't brought it up, then he doesn't care.
Unless he does and it just hurts too much to mention...
See? See what this is? This is stupid. This is me thinking that [No-Mr-Darcy] thinks like me. Which is stupid. I think like me - I can't assume that anyone else in the universe ever would. But I do. And it always ends up with me taking things too personally. A lot of the emotional shit I've been bouncing around in my head probably deals with this issue and I just need to let it go. Basically, I need to do this: 

 Thank you, Sara Bareilles, for once again saying exactly what I was thinking :)

Friday Night Paint Fight

A NOTE TO [Львица]: Sorry that there's random shit in here I didn't tell you about as to why I was uncomfortable. It didn't hit me until I was thinking it out. I'm not trying to cover up stuff, I just didn't realize that THAT'S why something was bugging me.

Anyway, continuing for on for the rest of you...

So [Львица], [The Question] and I went to a "paint party" called Dayglo at a joint called Epic on Friday night. I really had no idea what to expect - I must confess, other than a little trip to the Gay 90s on an empty Thursday night last year, I've never been clubbing. At all.

I'd say this event totally made up for it. I spent half of Friday  trying to figure out what to wear. The dress code was supposed to be white shirt, all white if possible, but blue jeans were okay. It's incredible how little white I have in my wardrobe - I actually had to borrow a shirt from [Львица] as all of mine were dress shirts and thus not paintable. The club wasn't strict about the rule but everyone was mostly in white. This was to allow for the full affect of the paint to take hold. See, what happens is everyone gathers on the dance floor and the DJ plays music and, after like an hour and a half of being in the club, you get paint squirted at you, in this weird meshing of several different art forms. It's pretty cool and it was a major life tile experience. Except for one, little tiny problem...

See how dedicated I am? Blogging while still covered in paint :D

Okay, two. Or three. I'm such a schmuck, making something as epic as this sounds grounded in my reality. But you want my take? Here it is. I like dancing - I'm not the best at it, but I do like it. However, I'm not a fan of how in clubs, you never have room to move without being on the edges and then it's just awkward. This was that to the extreme. At the beginning it was totally fine, we had lots of room. Then, as more people came in and pushed forward, we were slowly being squeezed in a vice-like fashion to the front. I escaped to the back for some fresh air, ran into [The Question] and regrouped with [Львица] Then it was back to the dance floor for the same process - more vice-like squeezing, this time with some guy trying to dance with me, which I was cool with at first. DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NEVER ACTUALLY DANCED WITH A GUY BEFORE. Unless you would count the uber gay guy who attacked me at a Halloween dance last year. And that was more dancing around each other.  I guess I should mention that little fact since I didn't realize it until just now. Well, another life experience made. And what follows is definitely an experience.

This guy starts dancing with me and I'm fine with it until all of the sudden he leans forwards, sniffs my hair or something, then licks the back of my neck. I realize now that, even if he'd been someone I knew, even if I'd know what he looked like, even if I HAD wanted him to do that, I probably still would have been freaked out. I just don't like people touching my neck - unless I really, REALLY trust them. God knows why; I tend to forget until people touch me my neck without asking and then I flip out (like a friend of mine from high school, [uber gay] used to pretend to strangle me - don't ask - and one day I just tweaked out). Great little imbedded phobia there. So, needless to say, having a random stranger repeatedly lick my neck was not cool. I started to push his hands away and then he grabbed on - hard - and tried to do the same thing again. So then I shoved his hands away and tried to flee, positioning myself near [Львица] and [The Question]. That worked at least. Until another guy came along later and aggressively tried to dance with me, but by this time I was sick of people touching me and I moved away. I realize that this is partly due to the fact that  "Aunt Flo is visiting" and any touching below the waist is totally unwanted. And I had a really unsettling dream the night before to put that sort of thing in a bad light (I won't make you suffer the details; it was creepy, moving on). But also, there is a difference between putting your hands on my waist and putting your hands on that area where my legs meet my torso (whatever the anatomical word might be). Yeah. So, my feeling that men are pig right now is not totally without reason (obviously not true, but I'm worn a bit thin, so bear with me).

Then the REALLY intense mosh pit began, where I fell and got pulled up by my some very kind girls, got my face squished between two bros' shoulder blades (dude, there were a lot of bros there. There were so many bros that they had to dance with each other, I swear) and lost an earring (the second one in a week. Damn it!) Then I got the weight of at least two quarterbacks forced on me as people swayed backwards and forwards in this... well, mob, basically. A big, sweaty, music-obsessed mob. A big sweaty mob that carried a man dressed as an alien in a plastic ball across the crowd (that was pretty incredible; the ball went right over my head). Then I got splattered with paint - which was SWEET - the wet, gluey-kindergardeny smell of the paint sweeping across my face in bold neon pinks and blues as music thundered in my ears and people cheered. Then I fell over and got crushed by people which was NOT SWEET as I had to scream at them until they got up off of me. But I did get the proud honor of walking through downtown Minneapolis with paint smeared across my face, watching the cops slug a guy who was harassing them, studying the long lines of people filing into clubs and seeing [Львица] get mistaken for Kate Winslet (by a possibly drunk man, but nonetheless, an easy mistake to be made :D). Go to paint parties - people will mistake you as someone famous. It can happen.

I fought aliens with Kate Winslet. Win!

Now my body is aching, I can feel the parts in my back that got twisted in weird directions and had weight forced upon them that I couldn't support. I still smell the faint scent of paint lingering in my nose. It wasn't an AWESOME party - it needed WAY MORE PAINT. And more space. Then it would have been fricken amazing. I did have fun and it was definitely and experience. I guess going to events like that just makes me feel like a freak, because I'm not really into clubbing, I'm not into huge parties. I'm not that sort of college kid, and I guess some people think I'm not really experiencing college if I don't go and do that shit. Well, I went and did it. But it's just not... ME. I totally support the people who can whip out on the dance floor and tear the place up. It isn't that I don't feel secure enough with my body to dance, it's that I don't feel RIGHT dancing there. It's like my body wasn't built for those sort of moves - I don't have super curves, my arms hate getting involved, I'm super short. I'm just stubbornly old school - I like swing, tango, waltz - ballroom dancing. I swear I got time warped out of the 1940s or something. I also don't know how to deal with guys like those at the club. I want guys to take the lead, but not to force their tongue on the back of my neck. At least I'm strong enough to push them away - but how someone could put up with that if they didn't want it is beyond me. It was DISGUSTING - and the dude totally needed to shave. In short, I guess I don't feel like myself there. Which makes me feel bad. [Львица] really likes clubbing and she doesn't know anyone who she'd feel comfortable going with. But I feel like I don't know anyone who doesn't want to go clubbing. That's the "college" thing to do - where girls meet guys, where you stay up on hip pop culture stuff. And by not going to that, I feel like I'm missing out on so much.

But college isn't the same for everyone. It's can't be. We were just talking about in my psychology class how we overestimate things, like how many of our peers drink or how many people do certain things. I suppose the people who go to clubs are just more talkative about it than the people who maybe go swing dancing or just go for a pint at the bar. Or maybe it just sounds more exciting and so the clubbing people are more apt to share it than the people who just had a night dancing to big band. I don't know. All I know is that I shouldn't feel like a freak for having these opinions, and yet I still kind of do. Alas, my own weirdness confounds me. But there were elements to clubbing that I liked - the feeling of the bass reverberating in the toes of my shoes, the synchronous movements as everyone on the dance floor moved in the same way, the appearance that I had just fought aliens as I walked home with paint smeared across my face. There are parts of it there that I like, but too much of it feels... not accessible or understandable to me. But that's culture - there's parts I'll understand, and parts I won't. And the parts that don't fascinate me in their own way.

Weird-ass Twenty-something

I had a weird conjunction of phone calls made today. It started with a call from Allstate, trying to get me to get auto insurance for my vehicle. First problem: I don't own a car. They said that wasn't an issue though, and that I could use it for whatever other cars I might be driving, using, etc. I said that I just don't drive that much right now but I'd keep it in mind. Which subtly hides the second problem: I don't have a driver's license. 

It isn't exactly from lack of trying, I did take the road test before I started college and failed marvelously. I planned on taking it again this summer, but really didn't spend any time behind the wheel, and so cancelled the test knowing I would just fail it again anyway. I'm not particularly a good drive, I don't particularly care, and I don't particularly LIKE driving. It's okay when I'm driving through the country to [uber gay] or [it's a twins thing]'s houses. But considering I35 goes right through my hometown, I HAVE to know how to drive on the interstate if I want to get anywhere quickly. And I hate the interstate. So, I have procrastinated to the point where it almost doesn't make sense for me to get my license anymore. I live in the city, I can take the bus, I can bike, I can walk. I save gas money and gas in general (more for those douchebaggy Hummer drivers to use instead). I love Mini-Coopers and Smart Cars, but those are the only cars I can picture myself driving. Sort of. And I don't even want one THAT bad. It'd be more for a fun factor than I actually WANT to be driving. I fear I have turned into some weird hipster that just refuses to conform and drive like a normal human being. People judge me for it and it's REALLY awkward to admit. But really, when did society decide that EVERYONE has to drive, hmm? Why do I HAVE to? What about people who can't drive - like the blind or the epileptic? Is it really that big of a deal? (Yes, it probably is, but I'm a cultural studies nerd, so thus I'm skeptical of anything that's supposed to "normal")

I admit, this isn't "normal" for a traditional twenty-something. But neither is buying tickets to the opera- another feat I undertook. I'm going to see Silent Night at the Minnesota Opera in November  on it's opening night. Is that impressive? Actually, yeah, it is - it's a brand new opera and it's opening night will be the WORLD PREMIERE. Considering there's only three new operas premiering this year in the United States, this is kind of a big deal. People from all over the world are flying in to see it. And I'm gonna be there. She who has only seen one opera in her life (Romeo and Juliet and I was so tired by the end of it because it was on a school night in high school that I can't even remember at all enjoying myself). She who knows very little about the structure of opera except for what I've gleaned from taking Italian, too many band classes and The Phantom of the Opera. Actually, I probably know more than I think I do. But something in me years to be part of the opera crowd, to attend some art form that isn't appreciated as much anymore, that only a small elite groups belongs to.

I am such an elitist. But it's another life tile to have under my belt. And a perfect opportunity to push my culture vulture attitude to the limits. Will I enjoy the opera? We'll have to see; Romeo and Juliet was a bit too... French for me, I guess. I'd really like to see an Italian opera, but that's just probably not going to happen this year. But I am SUPER excited to see this. I loved the movie, so I'm hoping for awesomeness in this staging.

So there you go - pondering on opera and my lack of driving. What a way to start the weekend.

Blame it on the alcohol - but it's still you talking

So this started as another night sitting on the bloggisphere, unable to sleep. Maybe that's because on every street corner in Dinkytown, there's a party and I could here the music from across the street blasting in my windows (or, as I recently learned, it's called something that sounded like demo wave or d-funk... I don't know, it was late at night and the guy I was talking to was really drunk).

Living in a new part of campus has highlighted a completely different lifestyle - partying. Yes, I have been aware of college partying - I go to a Big Ten school, after all. I've just never been one. Being a junior in college and having not been to a big party is, I suppose, a bit odd in my case. But I've never been a party girl, I've never been overtly interested. I've never been invited to one. But [Львица] got invited to a 21st birthday bash for someone she went to Europe with. And, being the most genial of roommates, she invited me along.

There's an element to drinking that reminds me of something we talked about in psychology, about hypnotism of all things. Some people are more open, more receptive to hypnosis. Others aren't. Drinking seems to be in some ways similar to that, playing a great deal off of your mental state. If you want to get hammered, you probably will. If you don't want to get drunk, you won't. OBVIOUSLY how much you drink impacts this, but there's something more than just the amount but also the mindset. Some people can drink three shots and be fine but drink three shots again on a different night at another party and be totally wasted (and this doesn't have anything to do with amount of food eaten and generally physical things). There seems to be a big mental part. Of course, I'm being a total armchair theorist, which my psych professors would HATE but I don't have time to do research right now. Just go with an idea for now and we'll worry about "facts" and "data" at another time.