Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Chaotic Class Notes

Here's a new concept: I'm blogging from The World's Quietest Professor's class. No matter how hard I listen, it's not like I'm going to hear him! And while the course is about media and technology, I'm not totally convinced he knows what an iPod is. As long as I keep reading the text, and I look over the online notes, I think I'll be okay. Consider this little stint of rebellion an important vacation for my ever-straining collegiate mind. Or something.

Huh. I just caught a bit of the lecture. He's introducing the class to the idea of Star Trek slash fanfiction. Giggles escape from the few students not listening to headphones under their hoods or playing MASH in the corners of their notebooks. It's sort of cute-- they're laughing because they've never imagined such a geeky thing, and I'm laughing because Remus/Sirius is the only acceptable homoerotic ship. (I'm kidding; I do not read fanfic at all, let alone slash.) (And besides, Harry/Draco is hotter.) (You can decide which of those parentheticals was meant sarcastically.)

I'm getting a little bit slap-happy now. It's three in the afternoon, and my blood sugar is dropping along with my attention span. Not much has happened around these parts since I last updated, so I'm at a loss for blog material. That, and there are people close enough in the row behind me that I'm getting self-conscious about my typing, and am having a hard time keeping on track. I just glanced over my shoulder to confirm that all eyes were on me, but was almost disappointed to find nothing but a girl twirling a sucker stick in her mouth, and a boy pulling the strings of his sweatshirt like Emelio Estevez in The Breakfast Club. Your loss, guys. I'm composing some really worthwhile literature over here. Complete with jokes about the imagined bicuriosity of fictional characters.

Ooh, yikes. The World's Quietest Professor is going on about editing movies now, and while I've only heard about an eighth of his sentences, I suspect he's wrong. See, edit webcam video semi-successfully for three years, and you suddenly get this film-savvier-than-thou attitude. I can't help it. I know virtually nothing about movies, but I still feel like some kind of expert. I don't care how many movies this man's seen, because until he's got a youtube channel, I'll have none of it.

Oh, hello. It's eleven thirty at night now. My blogging ended abruptly when one of the few tidbits of lecture I caught contained the statement, "Everybody started buying VCRs, because everybody wanted to watch pornography at home!" I'm not sure what relevance that had to Chapter 8 of the textbook, either, but my ears certainly perked up. Anyway, after the old man continued to mumble about less sexy things, I zoned out again until class was over, and it only just occurred to me now that I'd left you readers hanging. I apologize. I am back.

Roomie, PJ, Heather, Michal and I gathered in my room tonight to watch Glee together, which turned into a singing fest/chaotic party, as per usual. Heather and I discussed the swing scene in Spring Awakening in enough detail to make Roomie and PJ glance at each other in disgust. Michal told us a variety of tales, including the story of her phone breaking and her computer getting stolen, all within the same week. I tried to funnel my attention to the paper I was writing amidst the chatter, but managed to only write half a paragraph, because rap songs from the early 2000's were playing too loudly for my brain to function coherently. My room may not be the Studying Capital of the World, but it sure is the Hub of Dance Parties... and with that kind of a reputation, I can't really complain.

Anyway, I finished the paper just now, and figured I should pop my head into the Hayleylujah Chorus before falling asleep. I hope you're having a good week, and I hope this entry hasn't forever turned you off from my writing.

Sexy: Sam (isnoggedharry) and Molly (mememolly). Somewhere between my dorm being a hangout and a party location, I received a call from the two of them, and the small bits of conversation I could make out over the banter of my friends in the room served to remind me how lovely and entertaining those girls are.
Unsexy: The giant workload I have assigned by my orientation class for English majors. It's only one credit hour, but I have to sit in a stuffy room for two hours a week and turn in far more reports and projects than in any of my real classes.

Chipotle burritos this year: 31
Bagel Street visits this school year: 4
Subscribers: 20,795

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Monday, September 28, 2009

(Funny) TV Disaster, YouTube Drama

Erin, Roomie and I are on the phone with a man at Toshiba. "We have a TV here, and it has a DVD stuck inside," Erin says, searching the back for a serial numbers or something. "It won't come out, even when we hit the eject button."

"Oh, I see," says the man. "I'm so sorry about that! Go ahead and unplug the device."

From my bed, I shout, "Guys. You need to tell him that there are two movies in there."

"We live in a dorm?" says Erin, as Roomie and I crack up. "And somebody decided it was a good idea to put in another DVD after the first one got stuck."

"Oh. Right," the poor man says, doing a great job at sounding unaffected by our stupidity. He asks us to read him all the complicated product codes and for Roomie's phone number. After we discover them, the man says, "Can I ask what the two movies are?"

Roomie and I look at each other and stifle laughter. I call out whatever generic porn titles I can think of (MILFs R US! Barely Legal Blondes!") and Roomie blushes. "Um, American Pie," she squeaks. "And Elf."

And that, dear readers, is a glimpse into an average afternoon on my floor. We just ended the call and allowed the Toshiba man to return to dealing with other idiots, but we're still smiling. I can't imagine he really needed to know the names of the DVDs in order to help us get them out of the television. He probably asked to enhance his rehashing of the "Wow, people are so dumb" story of the day at the office. Hey, if I can provide entertainment to bored Indian American men around a water cooler, I consider today a success.

Anyway, I wish I could have blogged last night. I had a ton to tell you about the fun that followed the dorm movie party-- how me, Heather, and these two cool guys, Sean and Ben, hung out literally all night long, etc.-- but I never got the chance. I came back to my dorm from my sister's house later than I should have, considering the paper I had to write for the next morning, and my room was filled to the brink with my roommate's friends. I like them, and I never mind their presence, but I had a ton of work to do, needed a shower desperately, and wasn't at all in the mood to see people in my bed or desk chair. Frazzled, I turned to grab my laptop and find somewhere else to do my homework. Where was my computer?

In one of the boys' laps, that's where. A boy whose name I don't even remember was on my computer, with his own laptop sitting right next to it. I stared at him, trying to conceptualize what would make a stranger think it was okay to use my computer when I wasn't even in the room. "Um..." I said, taking it from him.

"Wait!" he yelled as he grabbed my laptop back from me. "I'm in the middle of a really important conversation on facebook." For reasons unknown, because I am naturally passive and incapable of sticking up for myself, I allowed him about three more minutes with my most expensive and personal belonging in his grubby hands. Meanwhile, he used HIS OWN computer to play loud, headachey music, which of course had to be THE WORST KIND OF MUSIC. I'm talking about freaking covers of Oasis songs. And people yelling into practically peaking microphones. And all the while I'm standing in my own room, stressed about the load of work I've bestowed upon myself, wondering what important websites and/or documents a stranger is accessing.

Wow. I wasn't irritated about that anymore until I brought back those emotions. (Talk about method acting!) What I am irritated about, however, is youtube. I wasted some time this afternoon watching my old favorites from 2007, back before everything was monetized, and when the truth about lonelygirl15 was news, and when Boh3m3 mattered. Sure, there wasn't widescreen or HD, and yeah, thewinekone didn't know how to use lights. But all those old videos seemed so genuine. People could mention a brand name without it being product placement, and the use of copyrighted music wasn't a real threat yet because the audiences were as small and intimate as making a movie for a school project. You could count on your fingers the important "youtube celebrities." If a vlogger made a decent video, he or she would be featured, and the entire community would know them in a month's time. I signed up for this website, and while I'm thrilled it's become what it has, and I adore so many artists I would have never known about had Google not taken over, I really miss the old days.

On top of that, it's sick how much cattiness money has caused. Networking is awesome and all, but now it's become less of a fun game and more of a competition to have higher numbers and more feedback than similar people across the globe. It bothers me the amount of revenue everybody is churning nowadays from something that was once a free environment for artists. Honestly, yeah, I've benefitted financially, and I would never want to trade that ability. But I'm not mad about the incredible possibilities presented to us by the site's owners; I'm mad at the individual content creators knocking down the Garden of Eden and building a smokestack factory. There's nothing wrong with receiving revenue for the hard work you put out, but I'm not sure I support those who market videos and products with the sole intention of raking in profit.

Sigh. And to top that off, I'm angry with a handful of specific "youtube people" for various reasons. Some relate to money, as you can probably assume from that rant, but other grudges I'm carrying are for personal reasons. I hate that people I love have to endure criticism from complete strangers regarding their personal lives. I hate the actions of certain people that create a vehicle for this criticism. I hate that I can't just stomp on that person's face, or say hateful things about them, because 1) I'm a more advanced human being than that, and 2) I'm not physically close enough to cause them harm, even though 3) I could probably beat their scrawny ass in a fight.

I'm done now. Sorry to subject you innocent readers to my venting. Besides constantly worrying about Jess (the dog she's had and adored her whole life is sick and running out of time), I've been doing really well, actually. Contrary to how I may sound from all that above bitching, I'm not in an overall bad mood at all. I fell in love with xkcd today, and, of course, I witnessed that funny conversation with the man at Toshiba. Also, I just received a text from Michal stating that she suspects her mother reads my blog? If this is true, I apologize, ma'am, for sounding like such a stereotypical teenager. Your daughter is lovely, though!

Sexy: Old Goodies, like this video.
Unsexy: The fact that record companies are among the all-time most subscribed lists, and the fact that the old favorites like Brookers and TheHill88 are nowhere to be seen on the front pages.

Chipotle burritos this year: 31
Bagel Street visits this school year: 4
Subscribers: 20,757

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Friday, September 25, 2009

Tyra, Bonding, Cardboard

Goodness, I use my free time effectively. Through related video surfing, I've found myself watching an episode of Tyra-- yeah, seriously-- about a fifteen-year-old girl who's engaged and taking fertility drugs she ordered offline, hoping to have a baby with her eighteen-year-old boyfriend. He was her camp counselor, and now he lives with her mother, and the couple has unprotected sex twice a day. People are crazy.

"People are crazy," said the girl watching Tyra on her computer.

Hi! That happened yesterday. I had every intention of blogging in the afternoon, even started, as you can see, but my roommate invited me to go out with her, her best friend Heather, and Katie from Theatre. I agreed, despite the fact that I'd always gotten a vibe from them that they didn't like me very much, because all my school friends decided to go home this weekend. I dressed myself halfheartedly, hoping I'd hit it off with Heather, since she'd mentioned liking Harry Potter, and prayed I didn't somehow make my roommate hate me.

Well, alas. Heather and I did hit off-- seriously hit it off-- and in one night, my roommate and I became actual friends. After we waited for Heather's ditzy roommates as they spent a century changing clothes and teasing their hair, we broke away from them and Katie, Roomie, Heather and I had a dinner of Wendy's fries and Skittles-flavored hookah. Over smokey bubbles, I had a heart-to-heart with Heather, she successfully completed my challenge of naming all the Gryffindors in Harry's year, and we all acted like middle schoolers and took a lot of pictures. In a happy state, we made our way down to the party streets.

For the first time-- and you can quote me on this-- I had a ton of fun at a party in a stranger's yard. We made friends with some boy from Cincinnati, I defended my Creative Writing major to a couple of dumb guys who've never heard the word "vernacular" before, and Roomie and I somehow ended up doing the Hoedown Throwdown together. Later on, once all the fighting frat boys had left, we got to know a handful of guys, with whom we proceeded to scream "Don't Stop Believin'" in a circle. It was sort of disappointing when the party died down, but Roomie and I went home together, giggling and talking. Our dynamic has changed so much in the past couple of hours that I'm currently sitting in the corner of my dorm while Roomie's high school guy friends are in a row on my bed. Are you proud of us? Because I am.

As for today, I woke up at eleven, and before I showered or even brushed my teeth, I made the world's biggest post-breakup mistake and watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Few movies are more beautiful, but I got kind of close to tearing up. The only cure for my film-induced heartache was a long shower and some productivity. Yes, I decided to brave the laundry room for the first time.

I had no idea how heavy half my laundry could be until I nearly toppled over and did broke one of my gorgeous, perfectly manicured nails in an attempt to save my underwear from spewing all over the hallway. Once I made it to the laundromat, though, it got better. I sat next to a cute boy for the two hours our clothes took to wash, but we didn't talk, because I took the time to get some writing done. The light murmuring sound of twenty spin cycles in tandem is really soothing and provides a good environment for concentration. Weird as it may sound, I'm kind of looking forward to my next laundry day. Next time, I'll only try carrying a load that weighs less than I do.

To burn off some energy, I had a Remus Lupins solo dance party in my room while I folded clothes, and was interrupted by the sound of Heather, Katie and my roommate, throwing pebbles at my window to be corny. They waved and came upstairs, when Heather said, indicated my laptop, "All the music on my itunes is wizard rock and showtunes." We hugged. I'm not kidding, guys. Things can be this good.

I was going to be a more active participant in the movie party currently happening in my room, but I was accosted by my RA's on my way back from the bathroom a few hours ago, and they put on these really sad puppy dog eyes and asked me to go with them to a charity event. I couldn't think of a reason to say no, and I didn't want them to have to register as a group at the event with no participants, so I saved them by having them register for a group... with one participant. It was okay, though, because it turned out to be kind of fun. It was for Habitat for Humanity, called Cardboard City, and the objective was to donate money for the homeless and build funny houses out of cardboard and duct tape in a parking lot. My group used giant rug tubes as pillars, and hung a flag from the tallest one. Another group constructed this brilliant castle with multiple rooms, and a trio of guys made a tower tall enough for them to stand in without ducking. I don't exactly understand how this benefits homeless people, but it was an interesting idea. And I got a free t-shirt.

As for now? I'm going to head over to my sister's house to bake cookies for her and her friends. It's good to bond with my peers, but they're watching one of the twenty American Pie sequels, and I don't think semen is funny. But maybe that's just me.

Sexy: Going along with the theme from last time, Cory Monteith from Glee. Sing to me and I'm yours!
Unsexy: How badly I need to buy a belt. I'm wearing really cute teal skinny jeans, and they fit really well, but they sit at the exact pre-ass point where not wearing a belt is dangerous business.

Chipotle burritos this year: 31
Bagel Street visits this school year: 4
Subscribers: 20,705

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Hot Breadsticks

As many hater comments as I endure on a daily basis, I can say this for the internet: it has some medicinal value. My never-ending bad day prevailed from my last blog post all the way up until this afternoon, but somewhere during the process of editing my fiveawesomegirls video, I suddenly perked up. None of that was staged, by the way. I honestly turned on my webcam feelings like vomit, and all it took was some Miley Cyrus and some counting of my blessings for my mood to improve. So, YouTube, I'm willing to put up with being called a "fag" or "dum bich" every now and then if this is how you repay my patience.

Cheerful disposition aside, things aren't too exciting around these parts. I got an A on one of my first big girl college papers. It turns out that the secret is to determine the professor's political bias and religious beliefs, and then pander your heart out. All I had to do was compromise my morals and pretend to be an atheistic ultra-feminist. Eh, I may never be named a martyr, but at least my suck-up skills and knowledge of punctuation will never fail me!

Another thrilling event of note? I had dinner with my sister tonight, and I was ready to exit the line with my happy little crock of spaghetti when I caught accidental eye contact with a really cute guy, who was wearing a stained apron and tending to garlic bread. Like a hound dog, my nose followed the scent of golden-brownness to a back table in the kitchen, where sat a tray of breadsticks. "Are those...?" I started, looking from the breadsticks to Hot Dining Hall Guy and back again.

"Yeah," he said. "You... do you want to wait for them?" I'm going to be honest and add that he responded like he was a little bit flustered, and he was definitely looking at me the same way I was looking at him. "'Cause it'll be a few seconds."

"Obviously," I said. "I mean, breadsticks are awesome!"

Hot Dining Hall Guy laugh-grunted something that suggested that he agreed, and he then wrestled with the tray like delivering my breadstick was the most important task in the world. I was putting on a good show of looking distracted and disinterested, so his determination to feed me was particularly flattering. "Here," he finally said, smiling. And then Hot Dining Hall Guy held out the tray, specifically to me, despite the crowd forming in line. I took the tongs and plucked one from his platter. I felt it, guys. It was a carbohydrate love connection.

To top things off, the breadstick turned out to be a BOSCOE STICK. I don't know how badly your high school cafeterias suck(ed), but for the students of Hell, few things were more exciting than the days we were served these gloriously greasy cheese-filled breadsticks, and I thought I'd never get to savor them again. If it weren't enough that I got hit on by a boy with access to food, I got to chase the experience with fatty goodness.

So despite the fact that a whole lot of aspects of my life currently suck, at least I have a new goal: talk to the cute boy again. And, ya know, eat more cheesy bread.

Sexy: Matthew Morrison! I keep re-watching episodes of Glee on Hulu, and while it's partially to appreciate the hysterical dialogue, it's mostly to drool over the show's leading man. Oh, oh my. He is just too good-looking. It should be illegal.
Unsexy: Having classes on Fridays. My body is itching for the weekend.

Chipotle burritos this year: 31
Bagel Street visits this school year: 4
Subscribers: 20,641

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Monday, September 21, 2009

Upset and Angry

Studying Donne in my English class has programmed my mind to spew out a constant string of unconventional analogies. And this, dear readers, leads me to say this: Blogging is exactly like exercise. It sounds frightening and painful when you haven't done it in a while, requires a few minutes of warming up, feels good in the middle, and feels even better when you're done. However, it's also super hard to get back in the habit once you've taken a few days off. Unlike Donne, I have a suspicion that I've already made this same comparison in an early blog. If I have, pretend I haven't. If I haven't, you can go ahead and think to yourself, Wow, that Hayley is just so brilliant. I know. I know.

Anyway, I'm alive. I didn't write on Friday because I was eating mass amounts of pizza and watching stupid movies with Michal in her dorm. I got back late, opened my laptop with the intention of updating, and was pulled away by that football player from my high school, because his girlfriend was visiting, and she was fed up with watching him play video games all night. So, to remedy the situation, I... entertained his girlfriend in a room, surrounded by boys playing video games all night. Not exactly the party of a lifetime, but it was still probably healthier than writing to strangers, alone, and falling asleep in my clothes.

Jess and Sebastian came down on Saturday. We did things the Jess-and-Hayley way, meaning that we ate more calories than any of our bodies wanted, and laughed a lot. Jess and Erin hit it off, as I knew they would, and the two of them went on a little adventure while Sebastian and I had some boyfriend/girlfriend time. Later, the four of us went to the hookah bar with PJ (the lonelygirl15 guy), where Jess showed all of us up with her amazing smoke rings. With a tiny nicotine buzz and some dancing, skipping and other revelry, we went to a dumb, stereotypical backyard party because my hometown friends wanted the true OU experience. This resulted in Jess and I singing "Best I Ever Had" with Solo cups in hand, and Sebastian and I mostly breaking up.

Sunday was hard. Leaving Jess the first time was positively miserable three weeks ago, but watching her leave me was unbearable. I now have memories of my best friend in all my school hangouts, and while other people here are awesome, and I love my new life to death, no one else, anywhere, will ever compare to this unbreakable relationship I started before I could write. A genuine liter of tears poured out of me during our goodbye hug, and as I walked away, I had to cup my hand over my mouth so passersby didn't hear my obnoxious choking sobs. It was all different shades of embarrassing and messy and sad as hell. There's nothing melodramatic or exaggerated about my friendship with Jess. She's the single most important person to me, and no amount of consolation will make this amount of separation fully tolerable.

To top it off, Sebastian and I officially broke up right before they left. Before you jump to conclusions, it was for very good reasons, and while we're sad, it was both unavoidable and nobody's fault. I called him this morning, after I had to walk up a huge hill in the rain, immediately after waking up, with a food hangover. Because he's the person I call when I feel like that, and things between us aren't going to change over something so petty. Sigh. It was inevitable, but it just isn't fun.

To top that all off, I'm vicariously pissed for Kristina, whose life is the opposite of fair right now. We've been talking about how excited we are for her to get back home this week, and it only truly hit me tonight that while she's coming back to the ability to call me, she's not actually coming home to me. Why can't the people we love just be close enough to hug? Or throw things with? In fact, why can't the people we need to throw things at be close enough to vandalize their stuff and break their faces?

I'm sorry. I haven't blogged in a few days, because I was worried it would come out like this. My roommate is asleep next to me with her comforter pulled over her head, and I'm pounding angrily on my laptop with the lights on. My mother is being a nagging psycho and texting me every two seconds, demanding that I call her, because my family has the unrealistic expectation that I want to talk to them at all times, and about everything. Ugh. Stop me from punching a wall or something.

Sexy: Nina Jankowicz. She's a great person, so fun to hang out with, and I've been watching her videos nonstop since I woke up today.
Unsexy: Everything else!

Chipotle burritos this year: 31
Bagel Street visits this school year: 4
Subscribers: 20,580

Bye, guys. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Birthday Presents!

I had a fantastic day yesterday! Erin, my roommate, and my friend Katie from Theatre class decorated my room with balloons and banners. I came back from class to find my birthday video from the other awesomegirls, which, in my personal opinion, is the absolute funniest 5AG collab of all time. I laughed out loud innumerable times, setting me on a high that lasted all afternoon and beyond.

My classes dragged on, but I treated myself to an escape from The World's Quietest Professor by taking my laptop. I didn't learn a damn thing about media, but I got to have conversations with Marlena and Leah over Skype, and wrote most of a paper for another class. I think the guy behind me was probably reading over my shoulder, so I sort of regret being so boring. He was looking for adventure, and all I gave him was a Word document and some nerdy poetry analysis.

When my school day was over, I went to my sister's house for dinner. I was greeted by oven-baked s'mores and homemade Mexican food, because Kelly knows me, and she's the freaking greatest. I ate more than I thought I could handle, talked to my parents a bit on the phone, and finished my paper. Nothing was thrilling about it, but it was fun nonetheless. I also received a huge ice cream cake, ordered from my brother, to take back to my dorm. Because, in his words, "Everybody wants to be friends with the kid with the cake."

And indeed! They do! The girls from my floor sat in a circle in the middle of the hallway, brandishing spoons, and we all dug holes and tunnels into the center of the poor thing. Once we were on the verge of puking, we took the cake on a tour of the other floors of our building, offering scoops to eager boys and begging others to take the melting mess off our hands. We left the gloopy platter in front of this one boy's door at the end, because he's creeped on virtually everybody we know. "Thanks for the memories!" we wrote on his dry-erase board. "Love, the girls from the floor below."

The night was topped off by a floor-wide Glee party, and my friend PJ (the one who helped with lonelygirl15) came over to join, bringing a hand-painted watercolor of Elphaba from Wicked for my birthday. I also found presents from Michal and Kayla left on my bed: orange nail polish, yellow nail polish, candy, and other goodies. I got to sleep late, after reading the hundreds of birthday messages I received on facebook, twitter, youtube and this blog. I love each and every one of you! Thank you so much for caring about me!

Today, while less eventful, was still really nice. I was forced into attending a pizza party at a professor's house for one group of the Creative Writing majors, but it ended up being a lot better than I'd imagined. I got a free dinner, and I bonded with a couple of girls from my English class. One of them is even a huge fan of the Potter musical, and she's just great. We were assigned to write up profiles of other members of the class and post them online, and the one she did was really well-written. I seriously want to be friends with her.

Also, I received my birthday packages from my parents tonight! I got a cute raincoat, a big bag of peanut M&Ms that I've already nearly killed, and the world's most gorgeous brown leather Steve Madden boots, just like the ones Hermione wore in the Half-Blood Prince movie! And, better yet, Miley Cyrus owns the same pair. I'm overcome with joy, and can't wait for tomorrow, so I can be Haymileyne.

Sexy: Lauren Fairweather! I had a good phone conversation with her tonight, and every time we talk, I'm reminded by how much I miss her, and what a great person she is. At the same time, I feel like we're exactly the same age, and like she's my big sister. Oh yeah, and she's my favorite musician. But whatever.
Unsexy: "Ooh, I looove Harry Potter," said one girl at tonight's event. "I'm the biggest fan! I've read all the books, and I even went to the latest movie... what was it called? Like, the fifth one? Anyway, I went to see the movie in, like, the first week after it came out."

Chipotle burritos this year: 30
Bagel Street visits this school year: 2
Subscribers: 20,497

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Reflections on Age 18

As of right now, as I begin this blog post, I was born exactly nineteen years, twelve hours, and thirty minutes ago. It's strange how slowly this realization has been sinking in for me. When I was younger, I would jump around town for a full month screaming my new age, alerting the neighbors, asking polietely that everyone drop everything to pay me my much-deserved attention. But slowly, the novelty of having lived another year is wearing off. So much that, as I glanced at my phone this morning, I had to think for a second about why my heart had jumped at the date. September 15th? What happens on September 15th? Oh, right. Nothing. My brain has just been conditioned to begin bursting with anticipation for the 16th.

I wish I could compile some kind of sappy tribute to the previous year of my life, complete with detailed accounts of what made it special, but I just don't think I have it in me tonight. I've been doing a lot of homework, talking to a lot of friends, and scarfing a lot of bagel sandwiches. Such strenuous activity can sap up a girl's energy. Instead, however, I will list eighteen frivolous memories, in no particular order, to remind myself of this age. Not because I've given tonight's blog post a ton of thought, but because I know I would hate myself later if I didn't put forth any effort. And so, dear readers, below is my time capsule of the last year.

1. I opened my first real, adult bank account, to which I deposit my real, adult paychecks. And when I visit the bank, nobody gives me a lollipop or plastic dinosaur. (Not that I wouldn't greedily accept either, should the tellers decide to offer them.)
2. I registered to vote in a presidential election. America's first black president was sworn into office while Jess and I walked down the hallway of our high school, and we paused on our way back to class to stare at the clock and count down, "Five, four, three, two, one. HAPPY PRESIDENT!"
3. I entered a sex shop, and while I cringed and closed my eyes for most of the visit, the entire experience was legal.
4. I purchased cigarettes at a Circle K, breaking the heart of the little old man behind the counter who, upon checking my valid ID, knew he had to sell them to me.
5. I grasped my high school diploma, tweeted all kinds of inapporpriate reactions to my newfound freedom, and called every teacher I passed on my escape by his or her first name.
6. I dyed my hair an unnatural color and sometimes dressed outrageously for the amusement of my friends and the shock factor from my public school.
7. I read William Shakespeare's Hamlet for the first time, and subsequently had my life altogether changed by a play.
8. I kissed four boys, and while giggling, pecked each of the other fiveawesomegirls at midnight on New Year's.
9. I peirced my ears.
10. I reached 20,000 subscribers on my personal YouTube channel where, over the last year, I posted thirty-one videos.
11. I managed to never get arrested, get into a bona fide car accident, or acquire a parking ticket... greatly surpassing the world's expectations.
12. I ate some number significantly larger than twenty-nine Chipotle burritos.
13. I made new friends that are like fountains of joy, and weeded out a few old drains.
14. I did something secret and amazing with my best friend. Something you still can't know about, but is still seriously worth noting.
15. I starred in a musical I actually loved.
16. I moved away from my childhood home to a beautiful college campus, where I'm expected to take care of and look after myself. (When my big sister isn't available, of course.)
17. On September 16, 2008, I was genuinely in love. The relationship ended at an undeterminable point during the months to follow, and it took most of the rest of this year to reach the point where I don't operate under a constant state of pain. I'm glad it happened, though, because on September 16, 2009, I will have relearned how to love myself, independent of another's opinions.
18. Less than a year ago, I began writing a blog. At first, it was just a way to pass the time. Now, it is consistently the most relaxing and meditative part of my day.

Eighteen is my lucky number, and I think I did it justice.

Sexy: The free ice cream I picked up this afternoon just from smiling and nodding as a ditzy blonde talked to me about the prospect of joining a sorrority. To be honest, I probably won't. The twist cone, however? Totally worth it.
Unsexy: Having to attend classes tomorrow! Doesn't the university realize it'll be my birthday? They can't expect me to listen to the world's quietest professor on my birthday!

Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Bagel Street visits this school year: 2
Subscribers: 20,408

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow, when I'll be a full nineteen years old. <3

Monday, September 14, 2009

Family, Passion, Andromeda & Caesura

It's probably safe to assume that the average college student has to adjust to a life separate from that of his or her family, and that, aside from the occasional phone call or email, that student becomes an independent creature with limited contact with home. Well, let's just say that, in more ways than one, my family is a little bit different.

I finished off a much-needed, therapeutic, I-miss-you-so-much conversation with Kristina this evening over Skype, yawned, and noticed a text from my mother. "I'm going to cancel your phone if you do not return my calls," she said, to my shock, as she usually can't manage to send a text message on the first try without some stray foreign characters or plus signs in the place of spaces. "This is not a joke," she added, for comedic effect. I rolled my eyes, because it's my mom, and when matters "are not a joke," they tend to concern such pressing issues as my need to vacuum something. Nevertheless, I hurdled my way out of my dorm through the pitch black (Roomie has the lovely habit of turning out the lights and going to sleep at hours during which the summer sky isn't even dark) and found an uncomfortable corner of the stairwell to check in and appease my mother's ever-active nerves.

We talked for half an hour about the world's most important problems, from the death of Patrick Swayze (sad) to the scores of various football teams (who cares?) to the air-quote "friendship" that caused me pain this weekend (whatever). Despite the nature of the conversation, it's comforting to hear her voice from time to time, and to catch glimpses of my dad's lame sense of humor in the background, adding sarcastic statements like, "I'm never buying one of Kanye's albums again," when he obviously has little to no understanding of which artist Kanye West is. After a little bit of I love you too, Mom, and a dash of yes, I'll wake up early enough next week to check out one of the churches, I finally made it off of my cold, echoey stair. When I checked to see how long we'd spoken, I saw a text from my oldest sister. "Are u blogging?" it said, with a lowercase "u" like that, because she's on the oldest edge of our generation, where they think typing like that is cool. "I am waiting."

Sigh. Add to all this the two facebook notifications I just acquired from my other sister and my brother, and you've got yourself one family that's entirely too involved. (It's okay, though, because as much as I hate it, I still really love it. For example, the notification from my brother was a comment on my status about tonight's celebrity death. He says, "Nobody puts Swayze six feet under." Because he's just that funny.)

Anyway, besides all that, nothing much has been going on around these parts. Erin and I have been having a lot of dance parties around our floor, sometimes without music. Michal and I were going to hang out this afternoon, but somehow our plans kept getting waylaid, so that just never happened. Instead, I used my time wisely by downing a carton of Half-Baked ice cream, talking to Sebastian, and getting 100% on an online quiz for my Religion class with limited studying, because growing up in a church has finally paid off in a tangible way!

Speaking of classes, English continues to thrill me. Once again, this morning's two hours of studying poems caused my heart to thud outrageously, and I could practically feel the happiness pulsating in my legs. It took probably seventeen years of my life for me to develop a relationship with poetry, but all of a sudden, John Donne is one of my most important literary influences. I sink into his words like biting into a piece of warm blackberry pie, and I'm overcome with passion and the desire to speak figuratively, and to make crappy analogies like comparing reading to pie. During our short break in the middle of class, I found myself subconsciously scribbling all over my notebook. Terrible teenage rip-your-heart-out poems, lines from Donne that mean little out of context but so much inside a piece, words with which I've developed obsessions. I feel so blessed to know what I love. And, goodness, I love the English language.

I love the English language so much that, even though my Theatre professor continues to gain more of my respect as an insightful, entertaining and endearing man as the classes go on, I became a little bit defensive during his lecture today. Our textbook for Theatre-- the half-inch-thick paperback that cost about a dollar per flimsy page-- is really biased towards its subject, and nearly bashes every other artform. It talks about how film was created entirely for making money, how no movie could ever have the integrity or require the skill of a play, how no novel is capable of accomplishing the same goal as a drama. Now, I love theatre, and some of the book's points are totally valid, but nobody talks smack about novels and films without first messing with me. Perhaps I'm taking things too personally, but I don't think that textbook had any right to ask me to fork over a whole paycheck just so it could preach against my passion, especially when that passion is what's bringing in my income!

Also frustrating was, once again, my Media class. Remember last week when I told you about the professor who seemed knowledgeable and well-spoken, but whose tiny voice put me so far on edge I could barely stand to listen? Well, he attempted to redeem himself this afternoon by wrapping a microphone around his aging body, but, even though I sat in the very front row this time, his quiet voice persisted onward, and fought valiantly to stay annoying. I strained my mind to follow his two-hour lecture, bulging my eyes to will them to stay open, but it was all to little avail. I found myself furiously scribbling notes, not on the topic, but to blog about later. "He doesn't put enough air behind his words," I wrote. "The first syllable comes out in a relatively powerful burst, but then the rest simmers away somewhere in the back of his throat. His microphone does nothing but amplify the little whistles that escape every time he pronounces an S!" It didn't help the situation when he later attempted to show us a movie, but couldn't figure out which cords to plug where, and ended up instead filling the hall with a staticy white noise for the final third of the class period. The speakers' hiss served to drown out the professor's few audible words, and I found myself drifting into a sleepy state. Where there should be notes about the influence of radio on wartime suburban America, I filled columns of my notebook practicing the names of my unborn future children. At some point in my daydreaming, I convinced myself that I will have two daughters and name them Andromeda and Caesura. "LOL, that sucks," Jess said, when I told her about the destinies of her theoretical future pseudo-nieces. "What am I supposed to say? That I'm jealous of the attention your kids are going to steal from mine?" Well... maybe.

So, that was, more or less, my day. I'm on a couch in the study lounge right now, between two girls at round tables, sketching human figures from those little angular wooden models. It's pleasant in here, typing away to the combined cadence of their moving pencils and the distant voices down the hall. Somebody's flushing a toilet somewhere, and someone else is watching some sort of sporting event. As for me, though, it's definitely time to hit the sack. I hope those of you readers who are getting used to a new school year are adjusting, those whose lives are continuing normally are finding little excitements, and those of you who are my relatives are pleased that I've taken the time to update my blog.

Sexy: Modern poet Tony Hoagland. While kind of offensive and rated PG-13 or up, I really enjoy his poem called "Adam and Eve," which I discovered today.
Unsexy: Bigoted youtube commenters. I devoted a bit of time today to replying to nasty comments on old disneykid1 videos, giving some irritating people a few lessons in grammar and kindness.

Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Bagel Street visits this school year: 1 (I promise I'll get on this, Kaitlyn! Haha.)
Subscribers: 20,391

Bye, guys! Hopfully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Kanye West is a DOUCHEBAG!

To be honest, I've had a bad couple of days. A friend did something really mean to me this week, and it hurt a lot. To add to it, another "friend" said some awful things to me in response to the situation. A long sequence of nasty events followed me around like a cartoonish raincloud for a while, and I've been feeling rather upset about it all. I went out with Michal and Kayla (the cool, smart girls I smoked a hookah with last week) last night, in an attempt to cheer up both Michal and myself, as something similar but worse has been going on in her life. We got dressed up and marched patent leather heels up the Athenian hills, despite our better judgment. The party was a lot more fun for Michal than it was for me and Kayla, and I spent a good portion of the night in a corner outside, on the phone with Jess, nearly crying. I finally stomped back to my dorm in the middle of the night, feelings like I'd been run over by a tractor, crawled over my roommate's friend who was asleep on my floor, and had a few disturbed hours of sleep.

In the morning, my sister called, and I spent the afternoon with her and her friends, eating Taco Bell and watching Cruel Intentions. I took a much-needed nap. With that and the long shower I took a few hours ago, I'm starting to feel like a person again. Erin is mostly responsible for my regained happiness, though. She gave me my birthday present early-- a gorgeous lime green nail polish, proving that she already understands me after barely a fortnight of friendship-- and we had a dance party to Mika and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Now I'm on the dorm floor of Katie and Kelsey, two girls from my building, and we're watching the Video Music Awards with Erin and my roommate. Because I don't want to get into the details of my sucky weekend, instead I think I'll provide my reactions to the ceremony. If you didn't catch the VMAs, I'm sorry, and this post will probably stop being of any interest to you right about now. If you did watch, please comment with your opinions!

--Why do they keep showing the same four celebrities? Is nobody there? For example, eh hem, where is Miley?! I mean... I know where she is. But I still held out hope that she'd be there.
--Madonna's sort of making me nervous. I understand why she would want to make those points, and she certainly has the power and audience tonight, but I think she's probably taking it too far. It's nice that she reminded us Michael Jackson was a human, though. I usually compare him more to one of the crazy alien creatures from Cats.
--The host is supposed to be shocking, inappropriate, and funny. Russell Brand has hit on the first two and then some, but I'm not finding any of this amusing. He's off-putting and taking everything too far.
--...Are you serious? Are you serious?! Who let Kanye West on the stage? Taylor Swift is adorable, and while Beyonce is obviously a legend, the "You Belong With Me" video has been watched millions of times because millions of people relate and connect to her. Celebrities are all mentally unstable, and we accept that. In the case of giant turkey statues and space goggles, I embrace and enjoy their craziness. But you can't abuse your power to humiliate a girl my age for something out of her control! Especially something she deserved! Kanye is a douchebag!
--There you go, Taylor. Her performance is cute and energized. What a graceful way to handle it all. She looked straight out of Carrie up there, like she'd just won prom queen and then had pig's blood poured all over her. But instead of killing everybody with her eyes, she's singing well and looking like a rock star. Represent, Taylor.
--I'm all for Lady Gaga. I think she's insane in the best possible way, and definitely talented when it comes to grabbing attention. But I'm not sure I understand this, um, hanging from the ceiling, covered in blood, surrounded by paraplegics? Nice save from the Taylor Swift thing, though. Hopefully people will be talking about Gaga's weird ass collar and leg-on-the-piano stunt long enough to give Taylor a rest.
--Tracy Morgan! He's awesome and deserves the spotlight. It's unfortunate that his moments are being ignored because of the Kanye Disaster's aftermath.
--Oh my. Oh, Gaga. She's wearing a red fishnet over her body. Like blood. Excuse me?
--The group of girls I'm watching with have been arguing about why Megan Fox gets so much attention, when she isn't even that classically pretty. I've decided that it's because she sort of looks like Satan, what with her little slitty eyes, and therefore subconsciously gives off a "forbidden fruit" vibe. What are your thoughts on the matter?
--My friend Katie just checked twitter, and it's down from all the activity. The trending topics are changing at lightning speed, and everyone in the world has an opinion. Now everyone else is on a laptop, and we're all sitting in a circle, reading tweets. Good luck keeping up with those, Justine!
--The New Moon trailer. Does anyone have a spoon? 'Cause I want to gag myself. They're doing a great job advertising, because I personally cannot wait to see Kristen Stewart thrash around in her bed, screaming, out of holey emotional torture. Good Lord.
--"What? What happened?" asks a laughing Diddy after he mentions Kanye to a cacophony of boos. The crowd chants, "Tay-lor! Tay-lor!" I love live TV.
--"Kanye West is the biggest piece of shit on earth," says Pink of twitter. "My heart goes out to Taylor Swift. She is a sweet and talented girl and deserved her moment. She should know we all love her." I already really liked Pink, and now I think I love her.
--Cyndi Lauper? Hahaha! I wonder what percentage of the audience even recognizes her.
--Oh my gosh! I stand by what I just said. Pink is truly impressive. She's doing a freaking trapeze act and looks amazing at it. This performance on its own would be enough to make the VMAs memorable.
--Awwwww. We knew you'd redeem everything, Beyonce. Taylor looks beautiful and I think the situation was handled in the classiest way possible.

Okay, I think that's about enough. I've made it through a sleeve of Ritz crackers, and I have class in the morning, so I'm going to bed. I need a rest!

Sexy: Brushing your teeth in the shower. I know it sounds weird, but all the water creates a really intense foam explosion, and your mouth feels so clean and fantastic!
Unsexy: Kanye West! It sucks, because I actually respect his music. But there he goes, being a psycho. He makes Lady Gaga's prickly straw mane look attractive.

Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Bagel Street visits this school year: 1
Subscribers: 20,372

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Some More on the Ghosts, and Bullets

One thing about college that's less than thrilling is the fact that teachers expect you to read hundreds of pages in two nights. I'm currently sitting cross-legged on my bed, twisted around cords and wires from my laptop and phone, glancing helplessly at the dog-eared third of my Theater textbook I'm supposed to read by tomorrow afternoon. I want to brush the stale taste out of my mouth. I want to snap my fingers and have the pages magically seep into my brain. I want to pee. But, more than anything else, I want to blog quickly.

In bullet form, today I:

--Woke up around ten, spent a few hours lounging around the room with the shade pulled down and the lights turned off, watching videos and eating the perishables out of the minifridge. Painted my nails, took way too long a shower, paid too much for more required school supplies, lazed my way to class.
--Discussed religious misogyny with an actually diverse group: a Buddhist, a Jewish girl, a starch Atheist, an evangelical, a half-ethnic Muslim, and several shades in between.
--Made a fiveawesomegirls video, showing off my dorm.
--Had dinner with Katie, the girl from my floor/theater class.
--Spent way too long talking to Sebastian on Skype and a few seconds doing the same with Jess.
--Discovered old diaries from middle and high school, taking me back on first dates, through embarrassing horror stories, and to some really terrible metaphors.
--Sighed loudly and considered hitting "PUBLISH POST" prematurely just so I can feel like I've accomplished something.

In other news, the ghost stories get creepier. The girls next door couldn't get their door to open from the inside, and my roommate couldn't manage to pull it open into the hallway, either. Another girl from our floor reports showers turning themselves on, which reminds me that the other day, I assumed I'd accidentally hit a shower as I walked by, though I hadn't felt myself knock the handle. And, because we're not nervous enough already, a bunch of us are going to go visit the creepy hospital remains this weekend. *scary music*

Sexy: The fact that, even though it's a lot of reading, I get to do homework for a class about theater.
Unsexy: The fact that my roommate just turned the light off, at ten, despite the fact that I'm obviously doing homework and have to maneuver my way down from the bunk at least twice more.

Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Bagel Street Visits this school year: 1
Subscribers: 20,278

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

GHOSTS! and Classes

Oh, blog. Follow my lead and pull on a hoodie, slip into your leopard-print slippers, and grab your own plate of pizza rolls, because I have so much to tell you.

I'm sure some of you will remember my brief description about why OU is considered one of the most haunted places in the United States. The campus is surrounded by cemeteries, which form a pentagram from an aerial perspective, and the city of Athens at one time housed a large, unethical mental hospital with the nasty habit of torturing and lobotomizing its patients. The hospital was closed, suddenly, one day. Some of its buildings were demolished and university buildings were built upon the land on which they once stood. Other parts of the hospital remain, untouched and unvisited, except by the hundreds of daring and drunk students willing to risk being arrested each year. Since the founding of Ohio University in 1804, students have been reporting creepy goingson and telling ghost stories about supposed supernatural experiences. Some claim certain words will jinx you if uttered in the wrong corner of campus, or that you can hear a bag of marbles being poured on the marble floor late at night in one of the residence halls. The most irksome rumor to me is that past students have committed suicide by jumping off roofs after becoming possessed. It's true that OU has had its fair share of such suicides over the decades, but I think that it probably started with one person, who lent the idea to others, who followed suit to be poetic or something. Either way, I've never made up my mind as to whether or not I believe in ghosts, because I've never had any reason to care. That is, I didn't have a reason to care... until a few days ago.

Roomie and I have gone to sleep early this week, so we've both been in bed with the TV on and lights off for a good length of time each night. One night, after we'd settled down and closed our eyes, a light above our dresser popped on. For a second, we each assumed the other had gotten up without our noticing, but it soon became apparent that anyone capable of reaching the switch was under her covers. We laughed about it together, chalking it up to living in an old building with faulty wiring, and Roomie got off her bottom bunk to turn the light off. I remembered the event the next morning while I got ready for the day, and tried to turn the light on again so I could see in the mirror better. It wouldn't turn on. I dismissed this, once again, because our cinderblock walls and dirty linoleum floors don't exactly add up to living in the lap of luxury.

It was the next night that things got strange. I tried desperately to fall asleep, but found myself flopping agitatedly from side to side and glancing at the clock at frequent half-hour intervals, well into the night. Every time I approached rapid eye movement, I'd bolt upwards to the sound of my phone, on my desk below, ringing. I wanted to strangle whoever found it necessary to keep calling me at all hours, and I knew it had to be a friend, since I have family and emergency numbers use a different ringtone. I couldn't make out the words of the ringtone, playing over and over again, but I knew from the bit of sound that reached me on my bunk-- the sound of a female voice, sing-chanting-- that it was "That's Not My Name." The next morning, after I groggily stumbled down from my bed, I grabbed my cell phone, irritated, to find out who had found it so necessary to reach me at 3:30AM. No missed calls. And the volume was off.

I've never been able to hear music from any surrounding room at any hour of the day, even when I've been silent at my desk, so I ruled that out. Last night, I purposefully left the volume on my phone, risking bothering my roommate, so I could hear if the noise was coming from some other source. As I cuddled into bed, and Roomie did the same below me, the overhead light for our entire room shut off, leaving us in the pitch black. We wrote it off as the lightbulb dying, and flipped the switch a few times to be sure. Nothing changed, so we went to sleep. This morning? It works perfectly fine.

The obviously natural response to something like this is to alert facebook, so last night, I made my status, "OUR ROOM IS HAUNTED!" I received a few curious comments in response, as well as a link from my friend Leah's mom to some sites that detail the reported hauntings of OU. I did a little bit of research after visiting these sites and, of course... (cue the creepy music) in my very building, several other girls have reported hearing women's voices talking, appliances turning themselves on and off, and unusual, unexplained insomnia.

dum Dum DUUUUUM!!!

Anyway, on a less freaky note, I had three new classes today. My first, a literature class required of freshman English majors, didn't sound too promising in its course description, which included phrases like "textual analysis," but I went in with the hopes that it would be bearable. BEARABLE! It turns out that we're going to be studying John Donne to great depth, and we're required to buy his complete works. So, you know, it's only a class on my favorite poet! This morning, we discussed "The Flea," and while I've read it before, going over it in a room full of people who share my knowledge and passion, with a professor who's, for once, significantly smarter than I am, caused my heart to flutter. I truly spent the whole hour beaming, and rushed to eat lunch alone so I could slurp up the supplementary reading. Finally!

I shimmied into Theater, still smiling like I'd won a Jamaican vacation, and was further pleased to find one of the girls from my floor, Katie, in the same class. We had a fun conversation about the merits (me) and absurdities (her) of Spring Awakening, the hilarity of putting on musicals in small high schools like ours both were, and Into the Woods, in which we both had leads as seniors. We were making plans to watch the premier of Glee together when a large, sweaty man entered from the back of the classroom, slinging a stack of papers in the crook of his arm and apologizing for being, what I hadn't even noticed was, twenty minutes late. He hoisted himself onto the counter and asked an unfortunate girl in the front row to maneuver the labyrinth of desks and legs and bags to pass out our syllabi, which consisted of a disorganized, unstapled pile. The professor proceeded to insist that we call him by his first name and ask us to, please, swear as loudly, offensively, and often as we wish. Requirements for the class include attending awesome campus play productions and reading the textbook, which, while disgustingly expensive, is surprisingly entertaining. Another course that I can definitely get used to.

As for Mass Media... we'll see. It meets in a giant lecture hall, but due to some strange scheduling mishap, there are only about thirty of us for a couple hundred seats. I sat myself in the front third of the hall, thinking I was being a good student by reserving a responsible, interactive chair. The professor was this older Flitwick-type character who quietly told us not to move if we didn't feel like it, so we naturally assumed he'd be using the microphone sitting there on his podium, and that I'd still be relatively near the front of the class. Oh, but it didn't work out that way. No, instead, he delivered his two-hour lecture in the world's quietest voice, barely opening his mouth, to the point that I was leaned forward as far as possible and holding my hair out the way from my ears, in hopes that I'd catch every other word. The row behind me followed suit, asking each other for clarification and sulking, whereas those in the back gave up entirely and closed their eyes. When the professor paused for a second, I jumped down a couple of rows, until I was practically in his face, and I still had a hell of a time making out his sentences and not drifting into an afternoon nap. If there's anything I hate more than seeing things done slowly or unnecessarily gently, it's seeing them down quietly. I was crawling out of my skin. If the few words I heard from the man hadn't been so brilliant and well-worded, I would have given up. And at least he was speaking quietly, because had he whispered, I would have yanked out all my hair and outright left. So what did we learn today, kids? When people tell you to sit in the front of lecture classes, LISTEN TO THEM.

I go back to Religion tomorrow, and then have Theater again and my Freshman Seminar on Friday, but then I'll have scoped out all my classes. Michal, Kayla and I just went uptown to get some more of our textbooks, and then Michal and I went to the "artsy" coffee house and played with a box of Trivial Pursuit from 1980. "What bird produces the largest egg?" I asked, reading that the answer was the ostrich. Michal replied matter-of-factly, "Pterodactyl." I slipped the card back into the box, nodded, and said, "Correct." It's as if we put in a combined effort to form pricelessly funny conversations that are strictly for our private pleasure. I like her.

I'm now going to have a few Oreos and dip them into milk until they're soggy and deteriorating, because they're best that way, but my dad always found it gross enough to yell at me for trying. I'm then going to watch Glee with Katie from Theater class and any other available musical fans, brush the cookie from my teeth, and snuggle into bed with some John Donne. Pray no dead mental patients possess my body in my sleep!

Sexy: The atmosphere of cafes, though I don't actually drink coffee or condone the practice of purchasing drinks the price of burritos. The mismatched plush furniture, old lamps, light jazz and company, however, I can totally go for.
Unsexy: Washing dishes in a stationary tub in the bathroom. Guess what I'm off to do?

Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Bagel Street visits this school year: 1
Subscribers: 20,241

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Amish parties

As much as I adore all my new friends, no one has made my transition into college easier than my sister, Kelly, and her roommates, Alex and Morgan. Alex is prettier than everyone else in the world. Actually, according to Kelly, Alex is a stupid ho-ho. Morgan isn't here right now, but if she were, I'm sure she'd be feeding me ridiculous lines and begging me to include her in my blog as well. I'm cuddled on the couch in their cute little apartment, which they've fondly named The Liquor Cabinet, and Alex just fed me chips and queso dip, airplane style. "A perfect landing!" she cheered with my chomp.

Anyway, today was the first day of classes. Tuesdays and Thursdays are the chill days in my schedule, like an island of relaxation surrounded by a sea of chaos, so I was spoiled this morning. My one class, about Gender and Sexuality in Judeo-Christianity, started later in the afternoon, and seems like it'll be a lot of fun. Besides the fact that it's held in this sketchy, beat-up room inside an actual parking garage, with ninety students and uncomfortable chairs with no desks, and besides the fact that I anticipate an enormous amount of homework, today's class was enough to get me excited. Michal's in it, for one. And we watched an incredible documentary about Rumspringa, the Amish tradition in which teenagers are allowed to experience average life, in order to make the choice for themselves whether or not they want to join the Amish church. I thought it was unbiased and well-executed; it didn't make the Amish look like an inescapable, brainwashing cult, but it also showed the negative implications of religious suppression. It's called The Devil's Playground, and I suggest you check it out if you have the chance.

Other than that, today was rather uneventful. In true hayleyghoover fashion, I downed most of a bag of pizza rolls after class, but I don't see that adding to The Freshman Fifteen, since I did that at home twice often. I talked to Sebastian on Skype for a bit while my roommate was out. Ran into PJ on the street. Some of the first-week glamour is wearing off, so that not every corner contains some fantastic new adventure, but I'm still really, really happy. I feel at home, and I'm content here, in a longrun sort of way.

Sexy: Glee! It was advertised before as starting on the sixteenth, but apparently it airs on Fox tomorrow night. I've watched the pilot of this show on Hulu about four times, and I positively can't wait for more Lea Michele and more awesome.
Unsexy: The thirst that accompanies most of a bag of pizza rolls. Aaack! Need! Water!

Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Bagel Street visits this school year: 1
Subscribers: 20,218

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Monday, September 7, 2009

Experiencing the Unexpected

Let's make a list of things most people would consider me very unlikely to do.

--Go willingly to a football game
--Spend lots of time hanging out with people outside my little social group
--Wear a lot of makeup
--Eat reasonable portions at reasonable times
--Hang out with a football player from my high school class
--Smoke a hookah

Now let's make a list of what I've been doing since I last blogged.

--Went willingly to a football game
--Spent lots of time hanging out with people outside my little social group
--Worn a lot of makeup
--Eaten reasonable portions at reasonable times
--Hung out with a football player from my high school class
--Smoked a hookah

The entire campus turned into football mania on Saturday, to an intimidating degree. Hardly a soul was seen not wearing green and white, thousands of teenagers and twenty-somethings all funneled down the street in giggling gaggles, people stood on balconies and shouted at those below. It took me a bit to come around to the idea, so while I was hiding in my room mentally preparing myself, everyone else on my floor left. I ended up calling my sister and standing uncomfortably in the crowded stadium with her friends for half the game, hanging out in their apartment for an hour or two, and then heading back to my dorm. Roomie and I watched The Soup together in our beds and fell asleep early. It turns out that football and I still don't really get along, but I think I deserve serious accolades for trying!

Sunday was significantly more fun than Saturday. I texted this guy who friended me on facebook and asked if he wanted to go to brunch with me, but he didn't see my message until I was already starving and in line. I sat alone at a table for a few minutes, melancholily eating my waffle, until a girl, also alone, asked if she could join me. She ended up being a Journalism major and fellow aspiring novelist. We talked about high school and the unusual names we like, and added each other to our phones.

After eating, I had to attend a meeting for English majors, which was made up of mostly boring and pointless information they could have just emailed us. I did, however, meet a handful of interesting Creative Writing majors. While the advisor jingled her huge dangle earrings and rambled about feelings or whatever it is hyperemotional English professors like to ramble about, I received a text from PJ, the kid from facebook. "My friend Michal is sitting three rows behind you, and she wants to meet you," it said. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to turn around and wave awkwardly to her. This message will self-destruct in 5...4...3...." I accepted the mission, and within the hour, Michal and I were friends.

We went to visit her dorm, which she properly described as looking like Barbie had thrown up. Michal has a tiny little corner, and her roommates (whom PJ later dubbed as The Bunnies) entertain their various male guests at all hours among the hot pink faux fur and pinking sheered ribbons. I instantly sympathized.

On our way to the Playboy Mansion, we'd run into Michal's friend, Kayla, so the three of us grabbed PJ from facebook and hung out in one of the dorm lounges for a long time. For over an hour, we had one of those brilliantly effortless banter sessions, in which we all provided hilarious insights nonchalantly, without laughing. I love intelligent, creative people. It was sort of like being inside an episode of Gilmore Girls, but realistic and less tiring. Once the dining hall opened, we met up with PJ's friend, Ellen, and had an early dinner together. They all live near each other back home and did a ton of theater together, but I didn't feel left out. They're an incredibly engaging group, and they were really nice to me. PJ knew who I was from the internet, because he used to be really involved in the lonelygirl15 community, and Michal's watched 5AG before. I'm so grateful for the internet sometimes!

We spent a good portion of the evening sitting in a row on the sidewalk of the busiest street with all the restaurants and shops, chatting and playing Peoplewatching Bingo. I was on the lookout for a girl saying something sassy into her cell phone in the hopes that those around would listen to her conversation. Kayla, who was clad in bright blue jeans, was looking for someone else in brightly-colored pants to look at hers. Michal wanted to find a boy with shaggy hair shake his bangs away to smoke a cigarette. I don't remember Ellen and PJ's, but they were equally clever. Anyway, after Michal won Bingo, PJ and Ellen left to meet somebody, and Michal, Kayla, and I decided it was about time for an adventure.

We went to a hookah bar.

If you've never seen a hookah, it's this fascinating kind of tobacco pipe that sort of looks like it's from Aladdin or something. Despite how badass one feels for stepping foot inside a hookah bar, it is, in fact, completely legal, and considerably less harmful than smoking cigarettes. Oh, and it's FUN. I was timid at first, being an innocent little prude, but by the end of the hour, I'd learned to blow smoke rings, exhale it out my nose, and do other tricks. We were given this big plastic tube and a jar of bubble mix, making the event even more fun. We had a blast blowing giant bubbles filled with swirling smoke, and then trying to keep them afloat midair as long as possible. The best part, though, is when the bubbles pop, and smoke explodes in a pretty sphere.

Kayla, one of the most outgoing people I've ever met, somehow became friends with every person in the bar and appointed herself DJ, to much applause from the other guests. She spent most of the time dancing furiously to her blaring iPod, and making me laugh by speaking along, calmly and matter-of-factly, to the lyrics of her bad, screamy music. Meanwhile, Michal and I took pictures of each other letting smoke slip from our open mouths and blowing puffs out the bubble tube. It was so pleasant and relaxed and fun. And NO, Mom, tobacco is not a gateway drug. Just be happy that tobacco's the most rebellious thing I can realistically imagine trying.

We split our separate ways after we finished the hookah, and I headed back to my dorm with the intention of finding Erin or calling my sister. I felt good, though, and it was my last night to go out before classes tomorrow, so I wasn't really ready to turn in. For some strange, inexplicable reason, something possessed me to go knock on the door of this kid, Anthony, from my high school. We had barely talked since our freshman year, and I didn't suspect we had anything in common, but I figured it was worth a try. Anthony was surprisingly happy to see me, and we walked together to this luau-themed mixer down the street. We shouted a conversation over the ridiculous decibels of Lady Gaga and Sean Kingston, watched people play beach volleyball in the dark, and avoided the thrashing crowds of enthusiastic dancers. I texted PJ to see if he was there, in case I needed an escape from a conversation lull, but somehow, as if hell had frozen over, this football player from the opposing social group at my high school and I truly hit it off. We gathered two of Anthony's friends and walked uptown to find something to do.

At the end of the night, I hung out at my sister's house with Anthony, his two friends, a girl from my town's other high school with whom I share a mutual friend, her roommates, Michal and Erin. The most surreal part of the entire surreal experience was when I found out Anthony has seen Rent live and loved it. He played "Seasons of Love" on his iPhone, and I about died from an overload of the unexpected.

Anyway, now it's 8:30 on Monday night, and Roomie's on her bunk below me, watching Family Guy. I spent the day attending pointless meetings, signing up for information about clubs, and spending some more time with Anthony. We had dinner together in one of the dining halls, went to buy textbooks (all his totaled at $100 and could easily fit in my purse; I spent $300 on two flimsy paperbacks and will still need to buy about six more), and shocked each other once again with our similarities. It turns out he knows a ton about Macs and other computer stuff, he's read some books I really love, and I've now lent him Paper Towns. Keep in mind that I DO NOT LEND BOOKS, so this was a monumental moment in our budding friendship. If you'd have told me a year ago that I'd be allowing Hell High School football players to borrow my favorite books and listening to metal music in a tobacco bar, I would have punched you upside yo 'ead.

I simply can't get over how dynamic and fun college is already proving to be. Sure, part of me aches from time to time for my friends at home, but Erin and I just keep getting closer and closer, and I'm adding all kinds of other awesome people to my growing list of friends. I'm quite nervous for tomorrow, even though I only have one class and it starts in the later afternoon, but I'm sure it'll end up fun. In case any readers are about to make a similar life transition, I promise you, it's everything it's cracked up to be!

Sexy: Finishing a blog post! While I have the most legitimate of excuses this time (every chance I get to sit down and write, I'm interrupted by an opportunity to go out and experience something more), I feel so much more at home when I get to let it all out.
Unsexy: The "Freshman Fifteen." I'm determined to not be one of those girls packing on a bundle of weight between summer and Thanksgiving. It's not easy, though, because everywhere I turn, people are tempting me with desserts and grease!

Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Bagel Street visits this school year: 1
Subscribers: 20,186

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Erin, Salad, Frat Parties

Remember yesterday, when I was nervous and didn't know anybody? I have to keep reminding myself that I haven't lived here for a month. I was terrified of college, and on day two, I freakin' own this place.

Practically immediately after I shut my laptop following yesterday's blog, I walked down the hall and ended up in this girl Erin's room. I skimmed the perimeter of her dorm, looking for a conversation starter, and a battered copy of Looking For Alaska started glowing and hovering in midair as a chorus sang. Turns out, one of her best friends watches fiveawesomegirls. Erin has ALL CAPS on her iPod! It took approximately thirty seconds for us to find out that we have the whole world in common, to shoot the Nerdfighter symbol at the same time without planning, and to memorize the names and distinguishing features of the main characters in each other's lives. Erin's really outgoing and extroverted, and she has one of those contagious personalities that turns what would ordinarily be obnoxious into fun. She, a fellow freshman, took me on a tour to the other floors of our building and to another dorm across campus as if she already knows everyone and everything, just by nature. I went from sheepishly saying hi to strangers in the hallway and blushing to having a detailed discussion about Poe with a Creative Writing major I found, in a building I would have never visited without Erin's push.

Erin and I went out for meal plan salads for dinner, and I swear, I have never before had such a delicious salad bar at my disposal. I filled a huge carton to the brink with spinach, lettuce, carrots, peppers, tomatoes, onions, almonds, mozzarella cheese, cottage cheese, oil and vinegar. That thing was about the size of a Thanksgiving turkey, and every single bite tasted like solid ecstasy.

Afterwards, Kelly (my sister, though my roommate shares the same name; I'll call her Roomie) called and invited me over, probably expecting me to still be lonely. I told her I'd come over later with a friend. Erin and I went shopping and talked about everything awesome in the world. My favorite vintage store has this dress that's positively perfect for my Bellatrix Lestrange Halloween costume, as well as a locket that looks as close to my image of the Horcrux as I've ever seen in person. I'm considering buying it for myself for my birthday. Anyway, we went to Kelly's in the evening, where we talked to her friends and I applied more eyeliner than should be legal at my sister's request. The senior girls told us about a party we could go to, and Erin and I shot each other a lot of skeptical glances. Neither of us are much the party type, and the idea of standing in a frat house with a bunch of people I don't know, looking like an awkward freshman, didn't sound appealing. We briefly considered returning to our dorm like noobs to watch a movie or something, but as scary as the frat party sounded, retiring at nine on the first day sounded even more pathetic. Finally, one of Kelly's friends convinced us that she never went out in high school, but the parties she tried her freshman year were some of the most fun she's ever had. She showed us the way, and we went back to our rooms to change.

We showed up on the front porch of some strangers' house, dressed in skinny jeans, flipflops, tops, and way too much makeup, laughing to ourselves and wondering what we were expected to do. Erin grabbed my hand and pushed us through the small crowd, where we found a table of people playing flip cup, which is one of those pointless-- yet somehow exhilarating-- College Drinking Games that I've heard of but never seen up close. After a short conversation with a skinny boy next to us, it soon became apparent that we were nowhere near the only awkward freshmen in attendance. The party was pretty much comprised of a few senior guys with lots of beer dressed in t-shirts and a crowd of eighteen-year-olds trying a little too hard. Everyone I talked to, though, was really nice and funny, and nothing like the creepy predators after-school specials warn you about. And I don't think this is just me being naive, because I've met those stereotypical creepers before. I really got the sense that everyone I met last night was rather genuine.

After Erin and I screamed a bonding conversation over the loud music, we went with a little group of freshmen-- two girls and an amusing boy-- up the street, and considered going to another party with them. I had to go to the bathroom, though, and the other girls we were with appeared to not be our type, so Erin and I went home with the intention of heading out later or just hanging out. We got into pajamas, I scrubbed diligently at my eye makeup for what felt like a century, and it suddenly occurred to us how exhausted our legs already were from scaling OU's crazy hills. Roomie had hung out with some of her friends from her hometown and was already in bed watching TV, so Erin and I parted with the promise of seeing each other the next morning.

I actually did NOT fall off my bed, although I awoke to find a pillow on the floor, which I hope didn't disturb my roommate's sleep. My sister has an extension cord I can steal to remedy the issue of charging my phone at night, but it was strange last night to not have my phone near my head. The period in the morning during which I ordinarily read missed text messages and check everything online didn't exist, since it's a bit of a chore to climb up and down from my bunk bed, and Roomie slept much longer than I did, so I didn't want to wake her by shaking the furniture around. I tiptoed to gather my things to take a painful as hell shower. The faucets in our hall are kind of like powerwashers. Water shoots out, nearly perpendicular, like it's trying to saw a hole through the curtain. I didn't wash my hair, but it got soaking wet anyway from overspray. Anytime you stumble into the main stream by losing balance shaving or something, your skin receives this vicious slap. Taking showers here is kind of like having an abusive boyfriend. You come out more bruised and damaged than you went in, but you still crave it and, in the end, have no other option.

Since then, I ate a banana, and Erin and I went shopping some more and drank watery, expensive hot chocolate that I didn't want, but bought to be social. My mouth is still burnt and stale-tasting, even since I've been chugging bottle after bottle of water. I'm going to head over to a dining hall after I finish blogging and, even though Erin is incredible and I'm thrilled beyond belief to have met her, I think I should go alone and try to meet someone new. Most importantly, I'm really, really happy.

Sexy: Voting for Kristina to win a trip to Antarctica. It only takes a minute to register, and she legitimately has a chance of winning. Please, please vote!
Unsexy: The amount of black pencil still stuck to my eyelids despite my desperate efforts to remove it.

Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Bagel Street visits this school year: 1
Subscribers: 2o,098

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Friday, September 4, 2009

Getting Situated

Hello from sunny Athens! My futile attempts to meet other freshmen will have to be put on pause while I simultaneously blog and allow my nails to dry, but as soon as I'm done, I'm going to come out of my reclusive, nerdy shell and turn into a social butterfly. As soon as I shower and, um, change out of last night's clothes.

Oh, are you still there? You can pick your dropped jaw back up, guys, and stop reciting the Lord's Prayer. This Morning's Walk of Shame was only from my big sister's apartment. My roommate didn't move in until today, and the school hasn't yet put the guard rail on my top bunk bed, so skillfully I avoided both loneliness and plummeting to my death by hanging out with cool senior sorority girls. So, in turn, I spent my first night away from home in Kelly's cushiony full-sized bed with a familiar comforter that smells like my house, after eating grilled cheese made by my big sister. Comfortable? Very. Appropriate behavior for the adjustment period? Not at all. I'm working on it.

More than I'm worried for myself, though, I'm worried for my mom. She hasn't had an empty nest since she was practically my age. We had to pry her hands off my stuff once I got situated in my dorm; she wanted desperately to hook up every appliance, hang up my clothes, vacuum something. My dad, after installing plushy wall-to-wall carpeting (showoff!), finally had to tell her it was time to move on. So my parents-- first to arrive and last to leave, just like at church every Sunday-- went on their way, four kids down.

Since then, I've spent the time away from Kelly's apartment organizing my bookshelf (which could totally support twice as many books; biggest regret!), hanging posters (Half-Blood Prince, Wicked, Flight of the Conchords and a Hogwarts plaque), filling my mini fridge with carrots, milk, pizza rolls and other essentials. Eight picture frames are on display along the little windowsill in front of my desk, including a big 8"x10" photo of the fiveawesomegirls. My summer clothes and shoes fit perfectly in my closet, and the fall and winter clothes slide well under the bed. It turns out that most of my worries about space were silly and exaggerated.

I have a few prospects for friends: my roommate, a girl down the hall, a couple people I've talked to on facebook, a guy from my high school. I just have to force myself not to retreat to my comfort zones, like Kelly's friends... or my blog. I love you guys, and you know it, but there's a major college campus full of lonely people my age right outside this here window, and I'm going to go brave it and hope for the best.

Sexy: The delicious bagel place I told you about a couple months ago. I went out for bagel sandwiches with Kelly's best friend, because we're both vegetarians and eat like it's our job. Bagel Street is officially my second-favorite place to eat.
Unsexy: Wearing excessively cute clothes to move heavy boxes. My roomie gained about a million Awesome Points when she arrived in our room in sweats.

Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Bagel Street visits this school year: 1
Subscribers: 20,073

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Packing for REAL

9:00 AM Earlier this summer, when I made a potential list of the books I'd be packing to take to school, it seemed like a manageable amount. I didn't want to pull them off the shelf until the last second, because my eyes twitch and skin crawls when my books aren't in perfect alphabetical and series order, but I leave tomorrow morning, so today is the day. And it, um, appears that eighteen books is a much higher stack in reality than it is in my mind. I'm going to have to close my eyes and return a couple of them to their places in my bedroom. I know it's only until late November, and I know I can get most of these from the library or online, and I know I won't have any time to sit around reading... but I feel like I'm being asked to selectively save only ten of my 200 children from a fire. Right now, my stack is made up of:

--The Bible
--The Complete Works of Shakespeare
--Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and Deathly Hallows
--Robert Masello's brilliant Robert's Rules of Writing
--Cion by Zakes Mda (required reading)
--The Year of Secret Assignments and The Spell Book of Listen Taylor by Jaclyn Moriarty
--The Catcher in the Rye and Franny and Zooey
--"Le Petit Prince"
--John Green's Looking For Alaska, An Abundance of Katherines, and Paper Towns
--Megan McCafferty's Second Helpings and Perfect Fifths
--Pride and Prejudice
--The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson

I was going to use this next paragraph to debate the merits of each book and then decide which to weed out, but you know what? Everything but the anthologies fits in a small tupperware container, I'm bringing a big bookshelf, and eighteen is my lucky number. SCREW IT, THEY'RE ALL COMING.

Less compact than my beloved books are the shoes I wouldn't even wear if I had the option, but society says I need to cover my feet, so I'll have to find a way to pack them. At the present, it appears that the following footwear will be making the journey to OU.

Flats: black, navy, red
Heels: black open-toed, brown maryjanes
Flipflops: teal, red, blue, sparkly navy, green, burgundy, brown, black
Tennies: white, grungy green, black running shoes
Boots: white Sailor Venus boots, orange Ugg(ly/disgusting and I can't believe I compromised my morals for comfort)

The lineup originally included four more pairs of flipflops, khaki blue heels, and white heels, but I couldn't bring myself to pack more shoes than books. As Barbara Novak once said, "What kind of girl do you think I am?"

11:00 AM It's a few hours later now, and while I'm now wearing a dress and makeup instead of pajamas and my own filth, I haven't made a whole lot of progress in the packing department. I've refolded all the clothes I stupidly tried to pack a week ago when I'd still need to wear them, sang the two-hour Rent soundtrack once through, and shoved all the shoes into a laundry basket. It looks like the final count is going to be: a giant hamper full of dresses, skirts and t-shirts, a tupperware container of sweaters and long sleeves, a big duffle bag of underwear/bras/pajamas/workout clothes/tights/hose/socks, a box of pants and shorts, a big shopping bag of food and toiletries, a basket of shoes, a container of books, a bookshelf, a printer, two lamps, a trashbag of bedding and towels. All of this is enough that I worry whether I'll fit in the car or have to be strapped to the roof with jumper cables.

2:00 PM I was sitting here, on the floor next to my bed, imagining myself tied to the top of an SUV, when I realized I was, first, starving, and second, all alone. I ran down the regular order of people I'd like to have lunch with. But. They're already back at school. I suddenly got really depressed-- the kind of depressed that can only be eliminated by filling the voids inside me with with Texmex. Needless to say, I just downed half a Chipotle burrito in minutes flat, and now I'm taking a break from eating to eat a giant mixing bowl full of sliced strawberries. I don't think health food has ever been so unhealthy without deepfrying it.

I already miss my friends, and I saw the core group of them just last night. Lor and I drove out to visit Jess and Sebastian. It turned dark on our way there, so it was freezing on the campus, but both of their roommates were doing homework and we didn't want to disturb them inside. We ended up having snacks and going to sit on a big couch in a mostly empty lounge area to talk. Sebastian was incredibly moody. He keeps having to pay masses of money for art supplies for classes, and he's no happy camper about it. I spent most of the evening skipping around and lifting the corners of his mouth with my fingers in an attempt to knock him out of it, but it was basically to no avail. Jess is combatting the Freshman Fifteen by constantly trekking the six flights of stairs up to her dorm, and even though she's only been there a week, it already looks like she's lost weight. Lauren's fitting in with her marching band (although there's apparently a Clarinet Nazi they kind of want to spork) and has commuting down, so besides some classes being boring and the constant struggle to find parking spaces on her campus, she's doing all right.

And as for me? I'm in purgatory. It's like someone hit the pause button on my life to take a bathroom break, and then went to the mall, the bank and the grocery store, forgetting about me, frozen in time and space. Then I'll leave tomorrow morning, and everything will speed up so quickly that I won't know what's going on. Fantastic.

I think I'm going to stop here and post this, because my blog is partially responsible for my poor sleep lately. I go out, and if I get home early enough, I practically rush to my bed to unload all my thoughts before the clock strikes midnight. Tonight, however, I'm going to savor every spec of my bed. I'm going to stretch out, diagonally, and let my limbs flail every whichway, and I'm going to sleep for eight full hours. I mean it. It's an unbreakable resolution.

Sexy: I've literally been staring at my blinking cursor for a good two minutes straight. I don't know what's sexy, okay?! I'm stressed!
Unsexy: The state of my stomach! I just consumed a day's worth of calories in less time than it takes to watch an sxephil video. Nervous eating FTL.

Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Subscribers: 20,014!

Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow after I'm unpacked. <3