bouncy OB/GYNs on a plane

Among the list of the many irrational fears I harbor (including getting killed by a serial murderer, thanks a lot CSI), flying is somewhere in the top half.

I was never afraid of it when I was little. As long as I had some Jolly Ranchers to help with the change in ear pressure, I was a happy camper. I loved to sit in the window seat and stare out the window – I thought it was marvelous that we were so high above the clouds.

Nowadays I think it's basically insane. To be sealed up in a large metal craft and hurtle through the air at a very fast speed tens of thousands of feet in the air? No thank you ma'am. I think it's because there is some part of my mind that simply cannot fathom how a giant metal box doesn't just fall out of the air. Yeah, yeah, I know its got physics and aerodynamics and all that in play, but this is an irrational fear, remember?

Regardless, I get pretty anxious, which I have learned to combat two ways. 1) Drinking (the preferred method), or 2) Keeping my mind firmly planted on something else so I don't freak myself out.

Flying home from Jackson last weekend, I had homework to do on the plane/once I got home, so option #1 was out. Instead Brian helped distract me by playing Mad Libs. Last year on an all-day train from England to Scotland we fought boredom by writing and playing our own Mad Libs. Trust me, they so much better than the ones you buy.

See for yourself. This one, a touching wedding story, was written by me with words provided by Brian:

And here we have an expose about where Penny goes after we're asleep, written by Brian and words provided by me:

"underage" and engaged

Being 22 and engaged in Boston kind of feels like being 16 and engaged in the south. A lot of people here seem to think I'm crazy and young and crazy young to be getting married. Sure, I know a few married folks and one engaged folk in my BU program, but they are all either a few years older or from Texas.

On the other hand, there is this:

Out of the seven things on our fridge, four (FOUR!) are save-the-dates for weddings this upcoming summer alone and one is a thank-you note from a wedding we attended on New Year's Day. Plus, last summer Brian and I attended no less than three weddings in four weeks. Every single one of these nine couples are people we know from Millsaps, all who hail from below the Mason-Dixon line. The brides and grooms are all between the ages of 20-26 and the weddings are scattered across Florida, Mississippi, Tennessee and Louisiana.

Welcome to the south, y'all.

Marriage, and the age people get married, is a huge cultural difference between the south (and other parts of the country, like the midwest) and the north. And obviously there's no hard and fast rules here, but there are definitely geographic trends. In big cities here up north, it's completely normal for people to date ten years or more before deciding to tie the knot. A thirty-five year old woman is by no means an old maid like she might feel in the south. Everyone up here is so busy working on their careers (and paying sky-high rent) that getting married often gets put on the back burner for a while. 

Whereas southern people loooove to get hitched. Or at least feel that it is more important to do earlier in life. There is more of a family focus in the south, more of a traditional (although some probably say old-fashioned or backward) family structure and lifestyle. Senior year at a college in the south is like proposal-palooza. One year, a sorority at my school had over half the girls in its graduating class either engaged or married. 

Of course, both of these trends lend themselves to stereotypes – the frigid Yankee workaholic vs. the Southern sorority girl who came to get her MRS degree. 

As someone who has lived in both worlds (plus partially grew up in Utah*, a world of its own when it comes to family structure and marriage), I find myself appreciating aspects of both. I would never have thought I would be engaged at 22 years old, but now I can't imagine it any other way. It should be all about the right person and the right time – not rushing to marry simply because you've been together the allotted amount of time (southern people!)** and not staying unmarried because you feel too young and/or just want to make a bunch of money (northern people!). Sometimes I do feel young to be doing this, but usually it feels just right. 

When we are married, Brian and I will have been together over five years (and known each other almost six). We will have survived a year of long distance and a couple years of living together. We have a cat! We share all our financial responsibilities. Marriage will just be a little bow on the life we are already living. 

A shiny little bow with diamonds, of course. 

* I'm not Mormon. EVERYONE asks that when they find out I'm from Utah. Literally. Everyone. 
** I'm definitely not saying any of the aforementioned weddings are doing that, but I've seen it happen. And probably had it wondered about me up here in the north. 

life imitating art...

imitating life?

 -->

I told y'all I was going to buy those capsacs. 

a weekend at Mother Millsaps

It's funny what lends itself to a good blog post. We just got back from one of the best (albeit shortest, in Brian's case - thanks a lot, airlines) weekends in a long time. I laughed so hard I nearly peed. I did possibly irreparable damage to my body in the form of a Cool Al's cheeseburger, Julep chicken, OEC fried rice, two Cabot free happy hours and more. In fact, I am literally scarred from the amount of fun I had this weekend.*

But trying to blog it up is nearly impossible. There's too many things that, while hilarious in real life, don't translate well to reading off the screen. Or they only make sense to such a small group of people it would just sound weird to put it out there to the rest of the blogosphere (like that list of foodstuffs in the paragraph above that anyone not familiar with Jackson probably stopped reading after). Blogging about extremely fun, personal things is weirdly self-indulgent. Actually I think all blogging is pretty self-indulgent, but writing about something fun is even more so. It's enjoyable to the writer, but perhaps not so much to the reader.

A random moment or two might float up through the crawfish-filled memories the weekend that will hit the blog, but in general I'll suffice it to say that a) it was extremely weird returning to a campus that is more my home than anywhere yet I haven't stepped foot on since May, b) I have the best sistah family in the entire universe, THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE OKAY, c) the weather in the South is epically beautiful right now and it was especially cruel to return to a 20 degree day, and d) I love my friendys so much and don't know what I would do without them.

We are all so spread apart now, across so many cities and states and even countries. But no matter the distance or the time, some great things never change.

ANYWAY, if you made it through this self-indulgent post (especially if you don't know me, Millsaps or what in the world I've been talking about), I have a reward for you:

That is ED HARDY BEER.
It exists. And surprisingly doesn't taste as much like Jon Gosselin as you'd think.

please excuse my heinous posture, which is giving me
an awesome physique in this particular shot

*Don't operate a hot straightener while under the influence, kids. 

Erin Go Braugh!

That's "Ireland forever!" in a very (very) Anglicized Irish. Happy St. Patrick's Day, y'all. I miss Ireland (where I studied for a semester of my undergrad) more than ever today. At least I'm in Boston rather than Mississippi this year, where I can celebrate with beef and Guinness stew and green beer!

In the meantime, here are some of my favorite images (just a handful of the hundreds I took) from my time on the Emerald Isle:


If I get really proactive I'll go back and caption them so you know what you are looking at, but for now just look at the pretty!

get un-funky now

I haven't posted much in the past week or so (except for yesterday's blog title crisis). I've been in a funk. A seriously funky funk. And I wasn't sure if I should write about it because a) it seems incredibly selfish and insignificant considering the turmoil so much of the globe is in right now, b) I'm not sure if anyone wants to read a "woe is me" post, and c) it's scary to say – and write – these things out loud.

But I want to write about it. And I want to post it. And who knows, maybe someone can relate.

I've been feeling remarkably insecure lately. Not the typical girly insecurities like feeling not thin or pretty enough – although I have to say I have those moments as well. In general my insecurity comes from school and work.

I've never really been unsuccessful at school. In college I was honored with membership in Phi Beta Kappa. In high school I never got a B. I was valedictorian.

I don't say all this to brag - really, I don't. I never talk about these things. I never tell anyone unless I'm asked directly. I'm only saying them now to give context to how I feel and why I shouldn't feel that way.

I never felt smarter than other people in school. Sure, I realized on some level that I must be, or at least that the teachers thought I was. I did my best in school because I wanted to and I liked learning and because my father would have killed me if I didn't. And my best was always good enough - more than good enough. I wasn't really afraid of failing.

Now I think about it all the time.

I'm not completely sure what the difference is. Maybe its because the stakes seem so much higher in grad school. Maybe partially it's because if I failed in high school or college, well, so did lots of other people. The pressure was off, I suppose.

Not so in grad school.

Everyone else seems older, more experienced, more serious. They have read the New York Times every day for the past five years. They have opinions on what's going on. They are excited to get out there and do it, real reporting, real interviews. They intimidate me.

I, on the other hand, would rather spend my day blogging about Glee or what some starlet wore on the red carpet or Slankets than the revolution in the middle East or the tsunami in Japan. Not because I don't find the revolution interesting or newsworthy or important (and I realize Slankets are the opposite of all those adjectives), but I think because I so desperately want to put off the real world for a little bit longer.

I do love writing. I believe in writing. I love and believe in the power of words. I think you can express things that are hard and complex and scary through writing in a way you can't with speech alone (this post is proof - I have been trying and failing to verbalize these things lately).

And I honestly love my classes this semester. I love talking about current events, learning about online news and social media, analyzing writing, coming up with creative ways to say things... My professors are really inspiring and I feel like I'm learning a lot. It's just when I go out to the real world to actually implement what I've learned that I freeze. It's like have a mental block. I get overwhelmed and stressed and just retreat.

I don't know if this is the career for me. I don't know if I'm wasting my time and money in journalism school. But I also don't know what, if anything, I'd rather be doing. I want to write and I want to be successful and I just can't seem to figure out the path that takes me there.

This is the most conflicted I've been in a long long time. And it might be too serious and too personal. I feel kind of weird putting it all out there. But there it is.

mixed metaphors

So call me a nerd, but I'm obsessing over the name of my blog. I know I JUST changed it, but it still doesn't feel right. Brian is the scientist around here. I'm more of a book person. So while I like how the title lends some cohesiveness and I DO feel like I am continually experimenting with adulthood, I also feel like I'm mixing my metaphors here and I would feel more at home on a blog called the Library or something... except that isn't a very good name for a blog. For a bar, perhaps, but not a blog. The whole reason I started this blog was to have an outlet to write creatively (almost) every day. So again, writing not science.

Am I just being crazy and neurotic? Does anyone that reads this even care what it's called? Would changing it again be more trouble than it's worth? IS THERE SOMETHING BETTER FOR ME OUT THERE?!?

odds and ends: movin on up

Welcome, friendys, to a new weekly semi-regular installment on ye olde blog intended to justify my random web surfing introduce cool internet thingz to my readers.

This week's post is brought to you by the movie Up. Mainly because I found the first two and then it just seemed neat to do a theme... I maintain the right to revoke the themes and just post random shit at any time.

But Up seems like a great place to start. Disney/Pixar movies are all pieces of art, but Up literally makes me sob every time. In a good way. Just hearing the music I kind of well up a little. That old man! He's so in love!! All I want in life is to have something as real as that. And yes, I know I'm talking about a cartoon.

ANYWAY, onwards. This is super cool. It's all over the internet, so you might have seen it, but the Nat Geo Channel (a staple in any home Brian resides in) is starting a new series called "How Hard Can it Be?" and they just made a house fly through the air, Up style. Amazing. I love how those weather balloons look all together. However, I want to know how they landed the thing!

And, since I'm on a wedding binge, here is a wedding who used the movie as their inspiration. Scroll down to check out the cake, it's the best part!

Etsy always provides a plethora of AWESOMENESS. Like these cupcake toppers! This random painting! And this Adventure Book! Ugh how cute would the Adventure Book be for a wedding guestbook or photo book? Cute enough to punch something, that's what.

The internet is so cool, you guys.

adventures with kittens: the dark side

Ninety percent of the time I couldn't love Penny more. She is inarguably the cutest, furriest, sweetest, funniest and most playful tiny thing around.

But the other ten percent of the time, she does things like this.

She ate through THE ENTIRE STRAP. And I can't even find the piece that's missing. Utter destruction.

That bitch.

...Okay, so I can only stay mad at her for approximately eight minutes. But for those minutes, she better NOT show her face around me.

of cleaning and comas

I've always been messy. No matter how hard I tried growing up, my room was looked like an explosion of toys, shoes, homework, clothes and what I called "projects." Twenty years later, not much has changed. Well, the toys are different. (Not like that! Get your mind out of the gutter.) Anyway, I try, I really do. But somehow the clothes don't quite make it back in the closet and the papers get stacked up on the desk and before I know it, there is shit everywhere and I don't know what happened.

It has been especially difficult in our wee Boston apartment because, besides the bedroom closet (which is overflowing with thingz), there isn't any storage space. We've had to get really creative with putting stuff out of sight but eventually there was only so much we could do. Combine that with the facts that there's no air conditioning system in our building (i.e. no air flow up in here, i.e. dust gathers like crazy) and that Penny gets a sick joy out of rubbing her long luxurious fur on EVERY SINGLE SURFACE IN THE HOUSE, well, we found ourselves living in an apartment laden with piles of stuff everywhere, all covered in dust bunnies and cat hair. Oh, and did I mention we don't have a dishwasher? Cool.

Anyway, this is a super longwinded way of explaining why I am awake and blogging at 1:00 a.m. (and on a school night!!! Whatttttt???) See, Brian and I decided to tackle the house today. Five sets of dishes washed, four loads of laundry done and folded, an entire bathroom scrubbed and reorganized with a brand new cabinet thingamajig, seven pictures hung on the walls, countless clothes picked up and hung up, two trips to the dumpster and one giant, heavy duty air purification filter machine set up and running later and it seriously feels like we are living in a whole new apartment.

Then we decided to reward our hard work with beer, spinach artichoke dip and beef & Guinness stew (aka the comfort food of kings) at the pub down the road.

Then we came back to the house and promptly fell into an epic food coma at 8:30 p.m.

Except then we woke up after two hours and couldn't fall back asleep. So now Brian is studying and Penny is sleeping on more stuff she shouldn't be and I am blogging.

Seriously you guys, we live the craziest life. The party never stops around here. Twenty-somethings shutting it DOWN, twenty-four/seven. It should be illegal how young and crazy and out of control we are.

I should probably go to bed.

spring's all that

In the city, spring is kind of like that really hot chick who was just utterly fugly as a child. I'm talking bad teeth, terrible haircut and maybe she even smelled weird, like stale crayons or something. Then one day, bam. All the boys want to take her to homecoming.

(Why yes, I did try to reference terrible hot teen makeover movie She's All That in my title. Thank you for noticing.)

Here me out: Most people would probably say spring is the prettiest season, what with the green and the flowers and the tiny baby animals everywhere.* However, if you live in an urban climate that gets any reasonable amount of snow, the transition from winter to spring is easily the nastiest, ugliest time of the year. 

actually this doesn't look THAT bad... but just wait

Think about spring turning to summer. Life gets hotter, different plants crop up, everything seems brighter. Or summer to fall: the leaves turn gorgeous colors, the air gets crisper... Even fall to winter is beautiful in a stark way. 

But winter to spring? By this point, with no new snowfall to renew the white blanket, all the snow has turned a gritty, black-flecked (and likely pee-filled) hue of gray. Worse, garbage that has literally been frozen for months is being unearthed for the first time since November as the snow/ice melts. Instead of snowing, it rains, which just creates huge, trash filled puddles in between the slush that still remains. 

if only more people hadn't missed the can in the fall...

So yeah, spring. Girl's got a great personality – even these mid forty-degree days we've been having feel amazing – but she's still stuck firmly in her awkward years. I can't wait for her to lose the braces, finally discover clothes that flatter her (secretly bangin' all these years) body and get a really good haircut. I wonder if Freddie Prinze, Jr. is doing anything right now...


* I'm more of a fall/winter girl myself but I see their point.

alien brides and jungle cats

You know, searching for THE DRESS is hard enough without crazy photoshopped alien models wearing the dresses you are trying to picture yourself in.

This woman is assuredly very thin and statuesque in real life, but her "legs" are over twice as long as her upper half (Which is now her upper third? See my helpful illustration). PEOPLE ARE NOT MADE LIKE THIS.

To prove my point, I have added another model to compare. I used their heads/arms to make them as close to the same size as possible. Please observe:

Alien lady has at least another foot under her! The scariest part is that the "normal" sized model is probably still ridiculously tall and a size zero-two. People aren't even made like her. I JUST WANT TO LOOK AT A DRESS AND KNOW WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE ON A HUMAN HERE PEOPLE.

Just to drive the point into the ground offer another example (one of tons):

However, if there is one practice I am in FULL support of, it's taking your bridals with a wild baby jungle cat.

Hands up if you think Brian will still be willing to marry me if I recreate these pictures with Penny?

Yeah, that's what I thought too.

frattin' is a habit

Brian and I just spent an absurd amount of money on two plane tickets to Jackson, Mississippi and – even though my bank account weeps – I could not be happier. I love Boston and really feel like this is our home now, but Jackson the first home I knew as an adult and it’s the place I met nearly all of my best friends and I haven’t seen it since May and I CAN’T WAIT.

We are heading back in a few weeks for his fraternity's Founder's Day weekend, which means we will spend two days wearing jorts (a delicious feeling that will be after this long and snowy New England winter), drinking beers, eating crawfish and generally reliving college.

this will be in my tummy so soon

Brian’s fraternity has a special place in my heart because during my junior year, they made me one of their sweethearts. It’s a pretty big deal and really very romantic; Brian had to propose it to his brothers and they voted, there was a secret ceremony and I get to wear their jersey with my own number on it. Each fraternity member (they are Lambda Chi Alpha) gets a zeta number when they are initiated, so my number is Brian’s half number: 1246 ½ – cue the awwwwws, ladies.

yeah, none of these people are Brian...
but apparently we never took good pictures together while I was wearing my jersey

They call the ceremony “dropping” which sounds like a) something nasty a bird does on your favorite sweater, or b) the guy is dumping his lady in a horribly blunt manner. This led to several versions of the same conversation, in which I would excitedly say the Brian dropped me and the other person would would try to comfort me for my loss.

Anyway, getting dropped would have been a gigantic honor no matter what, but it happened right after I had received a pretty big rejection – one that I’m not 100% over and probably will always be a little bitter about – and it made me feel special all over again and gave me a place that I always felt at home. So what if that place was a beer-stained fraternity house? It was especially nice to have all my “brothers” to hang out with when Brian graduated and we spent a year doing the long-distance thing. The LXAs always made me feel like I belonged there, even though Brian was a million trillion (or however far New Hampshire is from Mississippi) miles away. They became some of my best friends and I really think of some of the freshmen when I was a senior as the little brothers I never had.

See you soon, brothers!


EDIT: I would like to add that as soon as I published this post, the ad on the "it's now published" page said "Alcohol Abuse Problems?"... It really IS like college!