go ahead--judge a book by its cover

Today I was sitting outside in the sunshine on a bench waiting for my class to start. I wanted to look carefree and slightly apathetic about school so I sat indian style and took my shoes off and ate some raisins and almonds. I was wearing a new plaid shirt and my electric blue skinny jeans and an oversized scarf in hopes of making the outfit look more casual. I recently read a post on twitter that if you want to disappear in a sea of white people, wear plaid. Consequently today, within the first 10 minutes of stepping on campus I noticed at least 5 other girls wearing plaid. I was slightly upset at this because I felt as though I was conforming when, truly, I've been wearing plaid for ages. Heck, I wore flannel diapers, I'm from the freakin' mountains. Needless to say, I was slightly self-conscious today because I felt too trendy. In my desire to not look like everyone else, I just end up dressing like all those other people who don't want to conform either--who are a group in themselves. I'm just waiting for someone to tell me, yes, it's okay to do what someone else does...what did you just say??!

As I was sitting there, legs crossed, moleskine appropriately placed on my lap because I'm trying to look introspective (which I ironically am, to a fault most of the time) a dark haired, checkered shirt bearded man comes and sits a few feet away from me on the same bench. I immediately noticed his shoes, because I have a shoe fetish and because we all know shoes tell a lot about someone. They were white and tan with elaborate latches that crossed over the top. I had never really seen anything like them. Hipster Red Flag 1. He was wearing a gingham shirt with dark wash jeans. It seemed as though he was eating his lunch that came out of a plastic grocery bag but I'm not sure. I was most intrigued by the way he was sitting though. He was leaning back on his hand but his body was turned a completely opposite direction, it just didn't seem natural. None the less, he was facing me. As I was packing up my things to leave, I suddenly felt this conviction to speak to him welling up inside of me. What was I going to say? What do I have to say to someone that I have only looked at and never spoken to? As my mind was scrambling to think of something quick in order to satisfy this conviction, I glanced at him maybe hoping for some kind of que and there it was--not only a full beard, but a full beard with a curly ended mustache. Oh yes, like those ones that everyone draws on their fingers and holds above their mouth, like those ones that they are putting on drinking glasses at Urban Outfitters, like those ones that only someone in Europe should have. You know what I'm talking about. So I cooly said "Nice mustache" and he slowly looked up from his sunglasses and replied, slightly flattered, "thanks." I hopped up from the bench nonchalantly, as though I hadn't at all processed every single minute detail about his appearance, and walked passed him towards my class.

I giggled to myself after this encounter because 1. that stache was ridiculous and 2. because I always try to fool people into thinking that I'm more confident than I actually am. It's true, we will never know if this man was from Europe and was just dressing like his french brothers or perhaps that he genuinely was striving to achieve a unique look. Either way, he caught my attention. I can't say I'm proud of my natural tendency to want to label who is hip and who is not but I do it nonetheless. Yes, I like to think I have a unique, fresh sense of style but at the same time, I can't be too unique that people are confused. The funny thing about this whole obsession with playing the "who is really a hipster?" game is that shouldn't there only be one hipster in the world if his sole motive is to not conform to anyone? In their sweet attempts to be stand-alone, hipsters are actually very easy to spot because they all look the same. I do not mean to ridicule the hipster culture, I mean to be their close friend, a bosom buddy who wants to remind them that it's okay to look like other people. It's actually good. Shouldn't we dress like the kind of person we would ideally be attracted to? I have approached someone strictly based on their appearance and it couldn't have been more successful. Appearance is there to help us know if we can relate to someone else, and many times it's very helpful. By no means should we always assume a stranger is a certain way by their clothes, but we can learn a lot from them. And that is OKAY.

Sleep Deprivation+Caffeine+Weak Immune System+Lack of Blood

Lately I've had trouble using words.

Lately I've had trouble focusing.

Lately I've been off my rocker.

What proof do I have to support this theory? Evidence.

They're called personal testimonies.

Slur of Speech and Shameful Story Sharing

Many of you know that one of my favorite pastimes is to merge two words of compatible syllable count together. Normally, I am consciously aware of when I am putting two words together. For example...pencil : outlet = penlet : outcil. Although, recently I've been unconsciously doing this. This unplanned marriage of two words come out of my mouth before I am able to stop them. It's like I am an overly protective parent whose daughter elopes without my approval of the spouse or permission to wed. Also, I have struggled simply to pronounce words in general. Thankfully, many times I am able to turn the failures of my tongue into witty, sarcastic comments. Such as, "I want to become a better musiciiains [musician], but maybe I should learn how to say the word first."

I have always enjoyed telling stories (who doesn't?) but recently it has been an extremely difficult to complete that task. I take the opportunity to tell stories when I am completely sure I have at least one set of ears but I've come to realize that I don't even deserve an audience. Why be so hard on myself you might ask? Because it shouldn't take fifteen minutes to say that I had a salad for lunch. For some unknown reason my mouth feels obligated to enlighten everyone on the most minute, unrelated details. I really am turning into my mother. Foolishly I assumed I would only inherit her most favorable characteristics. Love you Mummsie.

Directional Disorientation

Our elevators in my residence hall are not the most reliable but me being the optimist that I am frequently forget that sometimes they don't work. One day I pressed the button to go up and "ding" the doors popped open and I hopped right in. On this particular day I was in my own little bubble and as the doors closed behind me I proceeded to sing a song because I was just taking the ride by myself and plus, I like how voices sound in small enclosed spaces, you can hear yourself better. I might have been singing for 30 seconds or two minutes for that matter until I could see in the sliver between the two elevator doors an outline of a person. At this moment I realized that I had not moved at all from one floor to another. The doors popped open and one of the maintenance ladies said "I don't think it's working honey." So, pretending like I had known this all along, I nonchalantly stepped out of the elevator and took the stairs.

I live on the 4th floor and one day I was visiting a friend on the 6th floor. When I was taking the stairs to leave to go back to my room, I went up the stairs instead of down. Why? I. don't. know.

A friend was visiting one day and I had to let them in through the front doors of the residence hall. We took the stairs to go up. I am fully aware of the fact that I live on the fourth floor but this day, I was adamant about living on the third floor. There were three ques that I didn't pick up on telling me I was on the third floor. 1. I had trouble getting the door open to the floor. 2. There was a calendar on the wall that I didn't recognize, therefore I commented and said "hmmm. That must be new." 3. Finally the hint that threw me a curve ball. When I looked in the window to the suite that I thought was mine, there was a poster of a half naked woman on someone's door that I had definitely never seen before. By this point, I was not only embarrassed for not being able to find my own room but scarred for seeing a picture that could have been very easily prevented.

Baring Blood

I have a very low tolerance for caffeine. My unlimited meal plan does a good job of reminding me of this. There is no reason to say no to coffee when it's already paid for, right? Wrong. Ha. Too late, the caffeine was already in my system and I was pumped to give some blood. As I was waiting for my turn to go behind the little blue cubicle to answer "very personal" questions I was sitting there between two guys. One on my right was older, maybe in his fifties and the one on my left was about my age. After I had taken notice to these fellows I began to sift through questions in my head that would give me a reason to talk to them. I made more success with the older guy because he had glasses, which in my mind meant he was an expert in some area that I probably was ignorant of. I was mostly right because he had been a professor for at least thirty years in one of the agriculture departments. Good for him. After he left, I was stuck with the young guy but the only thing I could think to talk to him about was his cool shoes. I've been known many a time to comment on shoes. I haven't had the best of luck with that habit though so I decided to sit this one out. Caffeine made me more confident but not that confident. The male nurse who asked me questions behind the blue walls seemed somewhat unhappy. He had a foreign accent so maybe that could be connected with his lack of showing emotion. I began to try and think of ways to get him to smile or connect with me but my attempts failed unfortunately. When he was about to prick my finger I said "this is my least favorite part!" Nothin'. I think our humors didn't match because his attempt at a joke was as pathetic as mine. He asked me multiple times whether I was male or a female until I realized he was jerking my chain. He then laughed, apparently his joke was lightyears funnier than mine. Later a female nurse came to finish up the blue cubicle questionnaire. She was older and had very sharp features, small frame but she was definitely tough. While she was typing on the computer I was moving around, bobbing my leg and she asked "How you doing? You nervous?" I was surprised she asked because I thought I was acting completely calm but maybe not. Next she took me over to the chair where I would lay down to give blood. What's funny about his woman is that she scared me but at the same time made me feel very secure and safe. I felt like I was happy to have her on my side, instead of her being the enemy. Tough shell but you know she really cares about you. So since I'm really frustrated with how long it is taking me to type this post I'm just gonna wrap it up as quickly and briefly as I can.....Basically I was leaning back in the chair while my body was all hyped on caffeine and I had all this energy deep down inside me that just wanted to burst out! It was the weirdest feeling ever because I needed to relax because there was kind of a needle in my arm trying to get some of my blood which is kind of necessary to live....I remember just bobbing my head and humming and tapping and jolting but only being limited to small movements because my chair might fall over if I had done what I really felt like doing....aka performing some kind of musical number. Unfortunately the only thing I had to release all my pint up energy was the little hand thing that I kept rolling around a million times a minute. I was surprised no one came over and asked me for a drink or if I was doing okay, like this was normal, I was actually slightly offended they didn't take notice....anyways. It felt funny. I might try that combination again....just for kicks and giggles.

Mr. Racquetball

So I'm in racquetball and the majority of our class are males. Personally, every time I walk into the seating area by the courts I am extremely intimidated and uncomfortable. Intimidated-because I'm a pitiful, weak little mouse girl compared to the big, burley strong Ratigan men (just picture me curled up in the back corner having racquetballs pounded at my face). Uncomfortable-any situation when I'm outnumbered by the opposite sex scares me to death, most of the time. Like today on the elevator when some boys were just trying to joke with me and be nice I just got all stiff and could only smile as I felt my face getting warmer and warmer. Actually, I think I limited myself to only a few words because I was afraid I would blurt out too many quirky comments that only made sense in my head...leading to embarrassment and later regret. Back to the story...Every class I hope and pray I won't be paired with a guy to play with so I can instead be put with one of the other 4 girls, wishful thinking on my part. Of course I'm always with a boy, of course! Well this time I was with Bill*(name change for poor memory on my part), Bill was beating me pretty bad but I knew it was coming. I just tried to joke with him about it. Oh! And another thing, boys can be so uptight! Everytime I'm put with a boy I try to make him laugh with me about how bad I am but it RARELY works! For instance, I have used these lines multiple times..."Good game. Haha. Not." "I knew you had a really rough last game so I'm gonna take it easy on you" "I'm still losing, right? I just wanted to check." "I think you're getting worse just playing with me." ....Ain't got nothin. So Bill was no different in this situation. He would just stare at me and say the score. I suppose he was thinking, "why is she being so difficult? Let's get the bloody killing over with already..." So we were about half way through the game when Bill sent the ball my way and I hit it and it was legal (it hit the wall) and as the ball made its way back to him so he could return it, he just caught it in his hand (which is not legal). He proceeded to step up to the service box as though it was his point. I was completely aware that he was trying to score off me and decided to call him out on it by playing dumb "Wait, what just happened there?" Bill stared at me blankly like I had just caught him in the act of a crime. He stuttered and stammered over his words "duhdhahduhfuhduahh oh. I guess it's your point" Yeah. I GUESS SO. I might suck at racquetball but I'm not played a fool.

the salt boys

One of the first things all freshman college students must get accustomed to is eating in the dining halls. One night at dinner, I was scoping out the whole cafeteria. Scanning through the tables, looking at what people were eating, looking at who people were eating with, trying to figure out who was how old (which is impossible by the way.)...When my eyes stopped at one table of three boys. These boys were obviously freshman...you'll know why in a minute. One of the guys got up from the table to get seconds or just to find something else that was more satisfying than his fish and chips. The other two left at the table exchanged a few words and immediately began to dump salt from the salt shaker into the absentee's water glass. As soon as they thought they saw him coming back they put down the shaker. Only to realize it wasn't him, they began to dump more salt into the drink. They laughed to themselves quite a bit, getting their giggles out before their "friend" came along so they wouldn't spoil the surprise. So the 3rd guy sat back down...it wasn't until a few minutes later that he was drinking, drinking, drinking, his mouth was still on his cup. Slowly he put the cup down a asked a question "blahblahdeeblahbadee blah??!!" The other two boys burst out in laughter! They were so proud of themselves for accomplishing such an insignificant task! It must have lightened the mood of 1st week awkwardness....I chuckled inside.

the fall : the downsides of concrete

This is already too much fun. There have already been multiple occurrences on campus that I want to blog about. I thought it might be difficult to stumble upon instances that would be interesting enough to create a story around, but "it was very easy!" (As the disney princess says)...So don't thank me for these short stories, thank fate.

"Cool" Scooter Girl

In a sea of walking college students on the first day of classes, there she was, the "cool" scooter girl. Riding along, one foot on, one foot off, "cool" scooter girl makes her way through the crowd. With her anklet, hipster shades, untamed hair, and thoughtfully placed book bag buttons, one might think she was creating a movement of people like herself. Not to assume the "cool" scooter girl is conceited, but this is how her persona was perceived by the spectator. You might wonder why I call her "cool" but wonder no longer. As the wheels of her scooter rolled over the the brick walkways, she casually looked around observing the campus scenery and brick buildings. To her surprise and mine, "cool" scooter girl's wheel caught some uneven pavement throwing her off her scooter onto the concrete. Kursplat! This was no intended fall, this was the all or nothing pancake fall. "Cool" scooter girl laid there (unhurt) for a few seconds thinking (I'm sure) to herself "I'm such a dummy and am never riding this damn scooter again." Excuse my language, but this is what I perhaps might think if I was her. I was too far behind no longer "cool" scooter girl to run up to her to check for bruises and broken bones. I was also unsure how comfortable she would feel around strangers after losing her reputation as "cool" scooter girl. So if you were perhaps wondering, I had pretty good first day of classes. Scooter girl on the other hand might have a different answer to that question.

college...makes things interesting.

So I was thinking...wouldn't it be hilarious if on this blog I talked about different people in every entry. And each person would be an encounter I've had either on my hall, in my class, in the gym...I just think it would be entertaining to describe one person in full detail, not negatively but in away where I could try and figure why they do the things they do. So who is it going to be first....

The Gentleman

He dresses like a golfer-red polo, khaki shorts, and rainbow flip flops. If they're not rainbow flip flips, they're brown. His hair is very short and he has small ankles. His feet are also somewhat feminine. His face is very round. He always holds the door for me. As I say "thank you," he responds accordingly every time with "yes 'ma'am." Not once, not twice, but every time. The kicker about the gentleman is his voice. It is extremely low. You don't expect it to come out of his very gentle nature but then, there it is! But who said only big, burley men were allowed low voices? Why can't my small ankled, round faced, gentleman have it to? Oh he can. And he does.

something to ponder

Today I saw Eclipse with Jessica and Jenna. It was pretty good, I'm not a die hard Twilight fan but sure, I'll go see them. I never read the books so I never really know what to look forward to. I've never been much of a reader, even the good stuff, I can put down any book easy. Harry Potter...you name it. All those books Jessica rants and raves over...nope. Sorry I'll never get to them. What is very ironic though is that I will read for an assignment. I am very diligent in that area but for some reason, reading for pleasure is not on my list of hobbies.

Speaking of Kristen Stewart (aka Twilight girl) I was flipping through some of my old magazines and I stumbled upon an article/photo shoot about her. I read it and I'm really glad I did! Before I thought she was just a terrible actress who is just awkward in real life and who has no confidence. The article was great because it talked about how she is just so apathetic towards the paparazzi and the whole fame/hollywood scene! And I totally love that! She is so passionate about acting too that I'm sure she would still act even if she didn't get the publicity. She doesn't see herself differently because she is well known..."I'm going to dress like a normal person." That is so inspiring because we so often think we are being watched by others when we aren't. While we are constantly thinking about ourselves, we often don't even cross the mind of others. Who are we really instead of who have people made us? I wonder who I am sometimes...I have a pretty good theory though-If I was to live on a dessert island by myself for about a month and was able to design my own little house to live in and what kind of music I would want to listen to etc...what would I bring? what would really satisfy?