A Veritable Smorgasbord

This is so flattering. I know. Where are my boobs?

September means a lot of things, but, here in the great state of Oklahoma, it means the state fair is in our midsts! It's one of the few occasions when Oklahoma's larger individuals crawl from their homes to rent scooters to ride around on while they eat disgusting amounts of food for two weeks (other events may include concerts, festivals, and trips to buffets). Despite my disinterest in rides, games, and spending my money on things that aren't reasonably priced, I really like the fair (mostly because I get to take pictures with various farm animals without being judge too harshly by fellow human beings). This year, I went with my beautiful roommate, Hannah, and we saw some interesting things. Things I probably would never like to see again. Ever. 

Hannah and I both have our fair food quirks. We have designated foods for the state fair and then foods we save for the medieval fair in April. For me, it's all about the corn dogs and funnel cakes. Those two things are things I will basically ONLY eat at the state fair. Get me those things and you pretty much have control over me. I then save my turkey leg and kettle corn needs for the spring. Sure, if I had unlimited funds in my pocket to buy food, I'd probably eat a lot more interesting things like doughnut burgers and "taco in a bag," but until that happens, I'm sticking with the basics.  The real dilemma, though, is that no one wants to eat something questionable and get the shits at the fair. So, I'm literally walking around death valley looking at these vendor booths like:

Me: *sees pizza* Nope

Me: *sees gorgeous dairy-related things* Nope

Me: *sees something greasy and dipped in chocolate* Nope

Me: *sees hot guy eating dairy* Nope 

It's a lot of fun. 

At one point early on in your fair adventures, and I don't really remember what was happening at all when this other thing happened, but we basically almost walked straight into a guy who puked as he was walking towards us. It wasn't even chunky barf. In fact, I think it was just beer. Like, he just spat beer out onto the pavement. But it was in barf form. Needless to say, that was disgusting. 

We also got hit on at the same time by the same guy at a lemonade stand out in the middle of nowhere by the barns for farm animals. He asked if we were sisters and thought I was 17 (that's a new one, I must be aging). If it weren't for his unfortunate dental hygiene, I'm sure he would have hit it off with one of us, but.... ya know. Sorry, buddy.

But I think the highlight of the evening was when we got two helpings of wine slushie samples. We were never completely sure whether there was any alcohol at all in these little samples, but it sure did taste like wine. That's all I got to say about about that. 

Oh, and I dazzled my way into getting 3 dollars off a poster from a couple of Asian guys who thought I was "cute." Actually, the guy asked how much I had (because I didn't have enough to meet their price) and I lied and said I had $7 and he gave it to me. I actually had $9. Oops. 

So, as you can see, I have apparently gotten better looking, older looking, and cheaper since the last time I went to the fair. Yeah, I think that's some good improvements, guys. Hey, bonus is that next time I go to the fair (I mean, if I don't happen to somehow make it to the Tulsa State Fair) I'll be able to reenact that barf scene for myself because legally drinking. Woop!

 

Separation Anxiety

My guess is that at least half of the turmoil I suffer through is caused by separation anxiety. The rest is caused by my own inabilities to be a rational thinker (I'm a very peachy person, guys, trust me). Ironically, those two parts of me kind of like to hold hands quite often. I know what you're thinking: How can someone who is such a little loner be haunted by so many feelings about being apart from another human being? I can't answer that question at all, incidentally. But the thing that most people fail to understand about my case of separation anxiety is that I live in complete fear about 75% of the time.

Being roughly two hours from home (whatever that is, I have multiple homes these days), it's hard. And considering some of the events that have taken place while I have been away from home (and even some things that have occurred while I was home), it can be very scary. And the resulting problem for me is that I am constantly thinking, "Shit, what if that happens again!" or "What if something happens to me and no one is there?"

And I understand that these life events, the things that happened before and the things that will happen in the future are out of my control. There is still that feeling like everything is going to fall to pieces right in the palms of my hands. Sometimes I get the courage to say "Hey, I have these feelings and I wanted you to know because I love you and I'm sorry if it makes you uneasy and I'm sorry if you can't handle it!" But too often it feels like a one-sided conversation.

Me: Please
Me: Please, don't leave me
Me: I need you
Me: I miss you
Me: I love you
Me: Don't break on me 

And that is another thing people don't understand.

Some might consider me clingy or needy or desperate, but that's not the case. I live in fear of being left for dead by the people that take up the most room in my heart. The people that I would jump through hoops for and sacrifice the world for in a blink of an eye if they asked.  It's a living Hell sometimes. 

I don't need for people to understand why I have this anxiety or how I feel when I'm suddenly struck by this immense amount of fear. Most of the time, I don't tell people and it's not something anyone is bound to notice from the outside. And you shouldn't worry about me either. Because you'll see that I'm fine when I'm able to unleash the infinite amounts of love I've been hoarding in my chest since I last saw you. And you'll feel the love. And you'll either give me love back or you won't.

The beauty of separation is that it sometimes makes the heart grow fonder. And the sadness of separation is that sometimes it kills the seeds that you planted long before. But there is always the hope that love will keep it alive.  

Let's keep it alive. 

10 Tips for Incoming College Freshman

Probably. It's college after all.

With my newly engaged "oh-my-god-I'm-going-back-to-school-in-like-3 weeks" panic, it kind of hit me that  I'm not the only person preparing to pack up all the shit I thought I was finished dealing with when I finished unpacking it (finally) just a few weeks ago. I'm sort of a lucky one seeing as I've done this juggling act multiple times now. I mean, does it get any easier each year? No, not really, but I've definitely learned so much from just living and going with the flow of things. 

So, for any readers headed back to college for either the first time or the millionth, I've compiled some tips I think might be helpful in one way or another.

1. As you pack your stuff to move to your residence hall, apartment, or house away from where you normally reside or keep a majority of your things, try to clean your room. The cleaner you leave it when you head out the door, the happier you'll be when you come home for any weekends or major holiday breaks.

2. Don't overpack. I am definitely guilty of having overpacked my freshman year of college. I pretty much thought it was best if I took everything I could possibly need (aka everything I owned). Unless you're unsure of the climate changes in the city or state you're moving to, or are moving so far away from home that you have no other choice, don't take your winter clothes with you when it is still 110 degrees outside. Also, don't take clothes you don't wear. What? You think college is going to suddenly make you want to wear that skirt you bought a year ago that still has the price tags attached? No. If you haven't worn it since New Year's, don't take it. Donate it or sell it. As for books, movies, and other knick-knacks, be conservative,

3. Take advantage of amenities your tuition pays for. Most schools give every student a gym membership with their tuition. My school has tons of locations to play outdoor sports. If you want to avoid becoming sluggish or GASP! gaining the glorious freshman 15, I strongly suggest you go hog wild while you're not paying for these things right out of your own pocket. Also, if your school has a stupid fee for walking on the damn grass, you better walk on that damn grass every single day.

4. Don't pull all-nighters if you don't have to. Personally, I have never in my whole life pulled an academic all-nighter. I love my sleep way too much to even consider it. If you're like me, do your work ahead of time so you're not scrambling the night before to finish a 10 page paper comparing evolution and creationism. You'll thank yourself in the long run.


5. Make a friend in each of your classes. Not only will it make going to class more enjoyable, but you also won't feel like a total outcast if you don't already have friends in that lecture or lab. They are helpful for when you miss a class because you're too hungover or just too lazy. You can easily email or text them asking for missed notes, assignments, or any announcements the professor might have made during that class period. Plus, HELLO! Study buddy! 

6. Join student organizations at the beginning of the semester. Don't be the person who spends all their time in their room playing video games alone or studying. College isn't just about academics. It's also about making friends, making connections, and learning to interact with new people.

7. Orientation weekend is a goldmine! Free everything! Take advantage of any coupons, free shirts or other gear, free food, and learning about what's happening on campus. Also, local businesses might have booths set-up, so walk around and take a peek. Also, and I can't stress this enough, if there is a booth with free safe-sex resources, TAKE THEM ALL. Ain't nobody got time to a raise a baby or nurse an STD/STI. Even if you don't plan on having any kind of sexy times until you're married, take them. They may come in handy at some time for either you or a friend. 


8. You don't have to like your roommate, but you still need to respect them. Think common courtesy. Do unto others as you would have done unto you. Don't be THAT roommate who makes tons of noise while the other sleeps or have unannounced sexy times without a little warning. Maybe make some kind of roommate agreement when you move-in to insure that things won't be a living Hell for both of you.

NOTHING MAKES SENSE ON MY BLOG ANYMORE! 

9. Majors are for schmucks (sometimes). If you don't have any idea what you want to major in or even what you might want to do after college, no sweat. Tons of college students go undecided until the very last possible second. Take your time taking the classes that sound most interesting to you, and then go from there.

10. Make it your own experience. 

So, hopefully some of those tips helped you out. And if not, I don't care. I'm just a junior in college with a blog. What do I know? 

It's About Time, July

Hello, July! Nice to see you again! 

How crazy is it that it is already July? Wasn't it February just yesterday? I'm pretty sure it was... Oh! How time flies when you're busy stuffing your face with Sour Patch Kids, blogging aimlessly about things that people didn't know they wanted to read about, listening to Lana Del Rey on repeat, and losing sleep over things beyond your years! I guess this just means we're this much closer to my 21st birthday extravaganza (aka me getting drunk off half a glass of wine and talking about how my eyes hurt).

Too-da-loo, Arschloch!

With only 6 weeks left of summer, I have decided that it's time to get shit done. I've been sitting on my
butt letting time pass me by like "Adios, Von Trapp Family Singers!" while everyone else seems to be making huge leaps into the great alps of Switzerland to avoid the Nazi troops! I want to take July on with such great vigor that it has no idea what's suddenly ransacked its pantries! I have absolutely no idea what I just said, so I hope someone out there does, by the grace of God. This is what happens when you blog on like no sleep at all. 

Between slaving away at my above minimum wage part-time job and sleeping on Bruce's couch, I've lost track of all that I wanted to accomplish this summer (the stuff I mentioned here). So, I decided to take a ride in my time machine and see how I'm doing on that list.

1. Finish the book I've been reading for the last 2 months (The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, for the curious reader)
2. Dip into my feminine side and do some of those DIY Pinterest craft things (which would require me to actually get a Pinterest account to begin with. Ugh.)
3. Get a job (shut up)
4. Lose 7 pounds / go down a jean size
5. Hit up the library and check out the erotica section and read it in public without an ounce of shame [Oh Past Angela....]
6. Learn to use chopsticks
7. Throw out all the high school stuff I've been hoarding for the last million years
8. Immerse myself in historic Oklahoma culture by doing one of my favorite things: going to museums
9. Find a new song to be stuck on that isn't "Kokomo" by the Beach Boys (♫ Aruba, Jamaica, oooh I wanna take ya..♫)
10. Take it easy

Not so bad, actually! 

As you can see, my expectations are quite low. I'm sure they could be lower, though. 

The funny thing, though, is that I've actually accomplished a lot in the last month and a half that I've been bebopping around this town. You know, things that aren't even on that list above. Things I hadn't even thought about back in mid-May. How strange is it that things happen when you're not waiting for them to happen? 

I think that's just life.

Bras, Penis Flaps, and Pinterest! Oh My!

I've been without a stable Internet connection, so I'm not going to apologize for not blogging in a little while. My lovely readers should just suck it up until I'm back to having some reliability in my life again. Sound good? It better. 

So, I was going to write a post last night at like 1 am, but I guess that didn't happen because it's now much later than that and the only clue I have as to what I was thinking about blogging about is this Post-It that says "Home is where the bra comes off." So, I guess that's something I'll be writing about today. Thanks, Past Angela. 

Bras are miracle workers. Depending on your physical build and the style of bra you prefer to buy, those suckers can make you look too damn hot for the party. But I think every girl will agree that there is a time in the day when all you really want to do is take the contraption off and let the pups breathe a little. For me, that's normally around 10 pm because I have a low-tolerance for holding myself back. So, you know, it can be pretty torturous for me in particular if I'm out and about fully dressed too late into the night. I mean, what if it just fused to my body from wearing it for too long? That'd be the worst, guys! 

All I'm saying is don't be too surprised if I suddenly announce at your quant get-together at 2 am that I'm going to take off my bra. I'm not trying to be sexual or anything just because what kind of mood do you think I'm in if I'm that desperate to take off an item of clothing? That's life and I plan on living mine without anything fused to my chest. 

You're welcome, ladies. 

I was with Bruce the other afternoon and it was really hot out, so, naturally, he was complaining about

how he made a poor choice in wearing jeans (I was sensible and stuff because I'm smart). Then I had an idea of sorts.

Me: If I was in your situation, I'd just use that penis flap on your underwear and air my penis out to keep that area not gross and sweaty. 

Him: *probably some comment about how I called it a penis flap* 

Him: I would so do that. 

It'd just be a great and mighty "Screw you!" to the summer heat! Whip out the schlongs and let them bask in a nice breeze from down yonder like hey-oh!

In other news, I got a Pinterest account. I know, I know! But, guys, it's really not as bad as I thought it was going to be. In fact, I might actually like it more than Tumblr. Yeah, I said it. Plus, I think it has brainwashed me or something because suddenly all I want to do is buy bubble bath and drink alcoholic beverages made with fruit while painting random objects in my room. That girl gene must have just kicked in or something. 

Wait, this is what being a girl is like? 

Excuse Me, My Brain Just Farted

I have hit a dilemma I can't bullshit my way out of. This unforeseen obstacle is a stress-induced writer's block. With less than 4 weeks left of the semester, I know I'm not the only one getting a little steamed from all the heat in the kitchen. I still have tests, papers, financial burdens, and the hive full of busy work still left on my plate before I can even begin thinking about summer vacation. But my stress ruins my life. It causes every single bit of me to go on standby (ie. sleep, weight loss, creativity, and my control to not eat everything in sight) for as long as I have this heaviness weighing down on my shoulders.

For my professional writing class, I have to write a 2000 word short story as the final assignment. While my peers are eager to scribble down plots and characters that would honestly be more appropriate for full-length novels or sagas, I am sitting there with a brain that has a horrible case of flatulence. Nothing is going on upstairs. I have nothing going for this assignment. I've turned to probing my friends, family, and Internet strangers for some kind of idea for this damn assignment, but even that doesn't help. I have tried listening to music, watching movies, reliving episodes of Degrassi before it turned into really ripe shit, and going out and doing things but nothing will unfreeze my brain. WHERE IS THE OVERRIDE BUTTON WHEN I NEED IT?  This is really embarrassing for me.


This doesn't happen to me. I am the queen of bullshit.

I am preparing to have a career that is centered around my ability to make shit up, and it scares me that
my stress might just jeopardize my dream of being cool enough to win a Poe bust like John Green.

Maybe if I just continue to listen to the song previews on the iTunes top 200 list, the creative energy of people who are creative for a living will just start seeping out of my ears and into my computer so that I can get this assignment started.  I mean, if the Jonas Brothers were able to come up with that pile of shit they call a new single, why can't I concoct a plot for this stupid short story? Maybe if I had type 1 diabetes, an Italian wife from New Jersey, and an ego bigger than Texas I'd be able to work some literary magic here. POOOOOOOP! 

I cry, and my tears are literary masterpieces I can't write.

But seriously.

Oh, well. Maybe I just need to take up heroine or whiskey like all the great writers of history to make wonderful stories and slowly kill myself as a bonus result.

Just kidding. Kids, stay away from drugs and alcohol. Eat your veggies. Keep your hands out of your pants.

Release.

[The following is an excerpt from April 1, 2013]

It comes once the sun has risen and the beeping alarm blares once again in my ear. A moment of panic. A moment of mere heartache that thumps and pounds and thrashes inside of my chest at the speed of life. A gust of breath fills my lungs, and I remember why I didn't sleep well and why the gastric acids in my stomach are churning once again. Like every morning since the endless night.

I check my phone. The light blinds me briefly. My eyes adjust. Nothing. 


Am I a skeleton or girl? I cross my toes for luck. Get out of bed.

Please...

I brush my teeth, wash my face in the dark, put on a fresh pair of clothes that don't match or fit correctly because it doesn't matter either way. Like clockwork, I prepare for a day I must face exhausted and dazed and stressed beyond oblivion.  Guzzle 4 glasses full. Put on socks.

Did you put on socks this morning?

Check my email. Spam. Spam. Spam. Worthless school announcements. Spam. Facebook notifications. Spam. Delete my emails. All of them.

Should I eat? Am I hungry? Do I need this? I grab a cereal bar and call it a day with a side of multivitamins. Swig and swallow. Wrong pipe. Ouch. 

Did you remember to eat? 

40 days and 40 nights. A sigh of relief. A sigh of desperation calling for one more night, one more touch, one more heartbeat lullaby singing you softly to sleep. Hush. Hush. Don't wake. Don't stir. Hold me closer, tiny dancer....

The agenda is simple. Class. Eat. Class. Eat. Workout. Shower. Sit in wonder, procrastinating away until the due dates zoom in on the points of panic attacks and sleepless nights and falling eyelashes and bags of Sour Patch Kids on my tongue. And I wonder why I'm no fun. 15 minutes to kill.

Did you have a good yesterday? I wanna know. 

My mind blanks. I wonder about why it happened and why me and why you and why us and why the sun still shines even when you're not smiling. Can't stop thinking. I could have stopped this. I could have cried wolf. I could have saved you. Shame on me. Tsk tsk tsk.

Please...

Log-in. Tightened shoelace lungs. Dust bowl tongue. Goosebumps like rockets.

5 hours. 

Release. 

Oh No I Didn't!

The back of an angel.  (photo by me!)

So, 2 years ago, I was lucky enough to be invited to see Josh Groban in concert with my friend, Emma, and her mom. Dude, I love Josh Groban. He's probably the most "adult" singer that I listen to because I'm normally not into music that doesn't have some curve of angst in it (because it's totally not like I don't already have enough angst as it is). Anyway, when I found out that I was going to be seeing him I was like freaking out and preparing my acceptance speech to the spontaneous marriage proposal he would pull out of his pocket during the concert if our eyes should meet for a brief moment. Yeah, that is how much I love Josh Groban. Then again, who doesn't love Josh Groban? I mean, he totally kicks major ass in everything he does. You could probably say he really knows how to... RAISE things up. (Get it? Like, You Raise Me Up...like the song. Nevermind)

Okay. Back to my story. Damn. I'm ADHD right now.

So, we get to the BOK Center in Tulsa, and that's when I find out that we have freaking floor seats. Just FYI, in my adult life I have never ever ever had real floor seats to any concert, so this was a huge deal to me. Because everyone knows that most performers will travel through the crowd on the floor at some point during the show and that gives anyone an opportunity to touch the person they've just paid a ridiculous amount of money to see in concert. Then, when we were situated in our seats, suddenly something rather close to me and amazing caught my eye. 

It was a smaller stage. With a piano on it. A Groban-sized piano. 

So, I immediately turned to Emma. 

Me: Girl, what is that over there?

Her: What?

Me: That thing 10 feet away from us right now. 

Her: Oh my gosh.

Me: You don't think he'll be right there, do you?

Her: Oh my gosh. 

Me: *internally dies from the potential closeness of Josh Groban*

Her: Oh my gosh. 

So, then I just sat there totally flipping my shit because Joshua Winslow Groban might be super close to me any moment from then. And then his opening act came out. And that was alright. I don't remember much of that because of the amazing piano stage that was 10 feet to my left. Yes. It was like being at a funeral and having no choice but to think about the rotting corpse in the box in front of you. (Yes, I did just compare a lifeless body to a piano. Deal with it)

And then it happened. He came out. And began the show. On the piano. 10 feet from my body. 

I melted. 

He did his thing and I continued to melt onto the floor beneath me. His smooth vocals, piano-playing that could make miracles happen, and perfectly styled hair were flawless. The whole crowd was silent for lots of the show because we were all mesmerized by this God-like presence before us. I'd never been to a concert where the crowd wasn't 98% screaming teenage girls or drunk neanderthals, so this was a new concept to my mind. I loved it. 

My favorite thing about concerts are the stories that the performer(s) will tell during the show. Josh, thank the high Heavens above, did this at my concert. He talked about how he'd seen that Tulsa was having it's annual Mayfest (which the cute little idiot called May Fair... but I'll let it slide this time) and some other stuff. Then he told a story about how someone had made a tweet about how he wouldn't be caught dead at a Josh Groban concert. 

Unf. (photo by me!)

Now, what happened next can't be explained. 

Me: OH NO HE DI-DN'T!

Josh: *turns in my direction*

Josh: That's right! "Oh no, he di-dn't!"

Instantly, Emma's mom had her hands on my shoulders and she was saying that I'd talked to Josh. 

And I had.

I had spoken to Josh Groban. 

Truthfully, I didn't think he'd hear my yell because I'm just so used to not being heard, but he did. He acknowledged that my vocal cords had produced a sound that his ears understood. It was amazing. 

So, you see, I might just say things spontaneously sometimes, but sometimes that unflattering habit of mine can perform pop-opera miracles of the Josh Groban variety. So, anyone who says I need to keep my mouth shut can suck my big, fat one, okay? Because I know they haven't talked to Josh freaking Groban. 

Stranger in the Mirror

Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I don't recognize the person looking back. I've grown accustomed to seeing the same pudgy, greased, insecure girl in the reflection, but, recently, that image has changed drastically. The problem with altering your physical appearance after years of being in the same state that only changes with age is that there is a point when one day it is almost like nothing has changed at all and the next, you wake up and don't recognize the person in the mirror. It's frightening. Everyone else can see the change happen, but, due to the whole "I am with myself every second of every minute of every hour of every day," it takes time for your to see major changes.

For the last couple of months, I didn't see the difference between being 165 pounds and 145 pounds. I felt like I wasn't changing despite what the devilish numbers on the scale said. That's what the mirror told me, at least. I'd touch my shoulders, my collar bones, my ribcage, my hips, and I could feel bones that I'd never really felt before. It was like I was a little kid at a new and unfamiliar playground and I just wanted to find out what there was to see that I'd not seen previously. I wanted that adrenaline of touching untouched hot metal constructions. It was new and exciting to finally feel like I could figure out what my body was made of because before it was an ugly glob of cold mush that I had to lug around everywhere I went. I didn't understand that there was more to a body than cellulite and fat cells. Because that was all I had ever known.

This morning, I was sitting in my Professional Writing class (totally half-asleep due to the freaking time change), and I was starting to nod off when I looked down at my legs. Suddenly, I realized I had really small thighs. I was struck with this "Holy shit! When did I get these?" feeling. Then, just as fast as the image came, it disappeared. If you don't understand how one moment I can see one thing and the next, see something totally different, I can't explain that to you.

Sometimes, before I get in the shower, I'll look at myself in the mirror, and I'll catch a glimpse of how I am at the present time, and it's shocking. I probably almost cry every single time. Weight loss (and weight gain, depending on your circumstances) can be such an emotional experience for many, and I totally understand why. For better or worse, seeing the old, familiar machine that is your body change is like changing costume or reading from a new script. It's different, and many don't know how to react to such a drastic thing.

I finally feel like I understand (roughly, of course) what women and men with Body dysmorphic disorders see when they look at themselves. They see one thing when everyone tells them that they look like something else. Everyone can tell me that I'm tiny or thinner or that I look amazing, but I don't always see that. Sometimes I look in the mirror, and I see the girl I was almost a year ago. I know that's not the case, but the image is so real, that I understand why so many people believe it. 

I still love myself, though. I love my body. I cherish every bit of it. I love that I have full use of it. I love every scar, every hair, every stretch mark. Sure, I may not be able to witness every single pound shed and muscle grown with my eyes right away, but I have faith that one day, I'll see with clarity.

A body can be a cage sometimes. Yeah, like that Arcade Fire song, guys. But it's your cage. Make it a home, not a prison. 

5 Reasons To Live Another Day

Every once in a while, I need reminders as to why I should want to be alive today and tomorrow and the next day and the day after that and so on. It's been a pretty hectic week for me (shit, it's been a pretty hectic life for me),  and I feel like this would be the perfect time to remind myself of why today is worth living. (Note: I am not suicidal).

1. I still haven't found the song I'd dance to at my wedding. Yes, I am a total sobfest when it comes to talking about me getting married one day (hopefully), and I, sadly, am going to say that the most important element for me for my wedding is the music that I will dance to at the reception. I'm not talking about DJ vs band or if we'll do the traditional chicken dance. There's the first dance as a married couple and then there's the father-daughter dance and I'm sure Julia will have some ridiculous dance routine choreographed for us to dance (or even worse, she'll have us do the choreography from Silver Linings Playbook). It's a constant search for me. Every new artist or album I discover, I'm listening for songs that are potential. But, deep down, I know that song selections can't be made now (when I'm single and have no suitors pounding on my door to get in), but that it could just come naturally when I find the man I want to marry.

I mean, look at that face. 

2. John Green is writing a new book. So, anyone who knows me well knows that I am a huge John Green fan. Like, I'm probably in love with him. Just a little bit. No, but seriously. (John Green, my body is ready). And over the last, I don't know, 6 months, it has become known that he is working on a new book. For me, that's like the best thing ever (even though I know he's going to rip my heart into a million tiny pieces and then bake those pieces into a delicious pizza and then eat the pizza). And I know that this book might not come out for years.  But, if this book is anything like The Fault in Our Stars or Looking for Alaska, this is so worth the wait. Also, book tours. That's another thing that is worth the wait.

3. Chocolate cake. And not just ordinary chocolate cake. I'm talking about the kind of chocolate cake that has the chocolate mousse stuff between the layers with a little with cherry or raspberry filling and chocolate shavings on top with a dollop of whipped cream and a cherry. Yes, I know, that is very specific, but this is a very specific kind of chocolate cake. Shit, I just found out this cake has a name. Black Forest Cake! I'm totally not a "OMG CHOCOLATE!" kind of girl, so the fact that I love this chocolate cake as much as I do is kind of a miracle. Like, if you made me this cake or bought me this cake, I'd probably love you... forever (or just until you make me hate your guts for making me fat).


4. Bad mix-CD's. So, I am notorious for making bad (like very bad) mix-CD's for my friends and for Julia. I think these bastards are amazing when I'm making them, but once I give them to their proper recipients, I realize how truly shitty they are. Like, it's just a bunch of music that only I could possibly like. But I love making them. I love picking out songs that I like and thinking that someone else might be able to relate to the lyrics or dig the awesome bass in an instrumental. I find so much joy in doing it, and I have no idea why. There are still so many CD's I need to make. I won't give up on finally finding a song that someone actually loves to the point they have it playing on repeat. 

5. Fear. Simple as that. It's the fear of missing out on stuff because I can't be there. My sisters' wedding days. Samuel's high school graduation. Traveling to other states and countries. Drunken nights that I'll regret the next day. Concerts and meet&greets. Learning how to use those damn chopsticks. Graduating from college and having that "oh shit" moment when I realize I have no idea what I'm doing. Getting married. Having children of my own. Becoming an aunt. And a crap load of other moments and happenings that I would never get to experience if I were to just give up on living. These are the moments that make life worth it, and what kind of shitty person would I be if I missed out on the good stuff?

Life, living is just totally worth it. Even if it is simple, silly things that keep you moving forward, you still have something to look forward to. I can't run away from everything, so instead I'm going to find something to run towards. 

Crossin' & Creepin'

Well, do they?

So, my best girl friend who isn't Julia, Darian, likes to constantly keep me in-check with the outrageous things that come out of my mouth. She calls it crossing lines. Sometimes I'm just a toe over the line. Other times, I'm crossing so many lines that it's impossible to keep track. It's important to note that I rarely think about what I am going to say before I say it. That just takes up time that I could be talking and the other person could be responding. Plus, it just keeps people wondering what kind of magical stuff is happening up in my noggin all the time. Like, holy shit, what is this girl going to say next because there is no way she can top that? And, you know, I'd rather be an awkward enigma than a walking, talking computer reading from a socially-accepted script like the rest of society.

I live on the 11th floor of my residence hall (do not call it a dorm. I will go all off on your ass if you do), so my elevator rides normally pick up a stranger or two. This is always fun for me because I can either talk to these people and be a normal, social person, or I can shy away in the corner admiring the luscious ringlets of Heaven flowing from their heads in secret. Sadly for me, I normally don't keep many of these admirations or thoughts to myself.

Me: *in elevator alone praying there aren't any pointless stops*
Elevator: *suddenly stops on a random floor*
My thoughts: Shit.
Stranger: *gets on the elevator equipped with tons of swag*
Me: *notices they have great hair/eyes/legs/shoes/etc*
Me: You have really beautiful eyes.
Stranger: Uh, thanks.
Me: *silent for the rest of the ride* 

Every. Single. Day. Of. My. Life

Back home, at a QuikTrip gas station, there is a guy who works at night, and, without fail, every single time I see him working, I always make a comment about his name tag. See, it says his first name and then his last initial, which is an "S." So, I always ask him if the "S" stands for sexy. I don't know why I do this. This guy isn't even that attractive. It's just an uncontrollable urge.

Sometimes I cross lines with my friends. We'll just be talking about something totally normal, and, like the freak of nature that I truly am all the damn time, I suddenly take the topic one step too far and it just becomes this huge awkward silence of disapproval. They'll just be staring at me like, "Angela, why did you just say that? That was totally uncalled for. ugh. You're ruining our lives."I just feel like a nuisance because I can't truly ever censor myself. Or, if I do censor myself, I just censor the completely wrong thing, so I still say something that I probably could have kept to myself. Or, even worse, I'll just stare at people. I like to observe things that seem so normal to everyone else. Like, people in lines at stores or fast food joints. I'll try not to make it too obvious, but, ya know, if they notice that I'm staring, that's cool.

I don't mean to be such a creep sometimes. It just happens. Like, I can't just change that. I'm a socially-challenged writer. How am I ever supposed to fully understand human interaction unless I standby in the shadows being awkward and saying highly inappropriate things to other people? Simply, I can't.

I'm just a psych evaluation waiting to happen. 

Shit-Shaming

So, the other night, I was texting Bruce at like 2 am because that happens sometimes (nothing good happens after 2 am, kids), and I don't really know how, but we started talking about having really good poops by the means of tea and supplements. It was totally chill. Ya know, just two friends talking about brilliant beyond brilliant shits at 2 am. Happens all the time. Well, then I woke up at like almost noon the next day (after I came out of my curly fry coma from the night before) and I went back to check my texts, and I realized that no one just talks about pooping. If they do talk about pooping, it's always in doctor's offices or in secret like shitting is something that everyone should keep a secret. WHAT?

Why are people so ashamed of a totally natural body function that happens to everyone normally at least once a day? Why is talking about how amazing pooping is frowned upon in today's society? Like, why is it considered potty talk or gross? Sure, it smells.... and it comes out of your stained asscrack, but every single person does it at some time. You do it after you're born, and you'll do it when you die... because science... so, just embrace it. 

Personally, I talk about shit all the time. I encourage my family and friends to also openly talking about what happens behind their bathroom doors. I'm sick and tired of having to keep my bowels a secret. Why should I be ashamed of them? Why should I shame other people who also poop? There is no reason at all. My sister, Julia, and I totally have this amazing bonding where we text each other "estoy poopin" (spanish for "I'm pooping" just fyi) from the bathroom. Sometimes we don't even say that. Sometimes we just send the shitty smiling shit emoticon. It's such a relief to share such an intimate moment with my sister.

Man, I feel you.

It has become the new deep dark secret of every man and woman (but mostly women because apparently women don't fart or poop ever because miracles) in the world. No, you can forget about uh-oh-spaghetti-o pregnancies, Italian mob families, ex-KKK memberships, closet Satan worshipers, and over-the-counter drug problems. Those are nothing compared to the shame that is brought on from the function of the unmentionable colon.

I believe we should not judge each other based on the color and density of our poops. I have a dream that one day men and women of all tongues and colors will speak openly about the conditions of their bowels. Olympic games will be created. Reality TV shows (Yup, The Biggest Pooper and America's Next Top Pooper are all going to be hits). Anthems for a generation. Vampire fiction (oh wait.). It's all going to be beautiful and very shitty.

So, what I'm saying is don't be ashamed of the fact that you poop. Embrace it. Don't clench your cheeks any longer. 

And, yes, I know the Brady Bunch didn't have a single toilet in that house... Don't worry. They were freaks, anyway.

Lesson learned: everybody shits. Deal with it. 

Angela & The Ferocious Bruce

For the last two years, I've pretty much had the most amazing partner-in-crime aka devil's advocate aka very best friend aka Bruce. Needless to say, I have no freaking idea where I'd be without this crazy fothamucka (what? you think I'd actually use that kind of vulgar language on my blog? what kind of girl do you think I am?) in my life. While, like everyone I know, he can make me think he's a total pain in my shrinking ass, there have just been too many awesome adventures and illegal questionable moments over time for me to get rid of him. Plus, he knows way too much. Gotta play it safe, right? 

Look at that posture! What a pro!

One of my favorite Bruce moments (like might possibly be number one, seriously) happened in the summer of 2011. We were hanging out, and he suddenly, for reasons I can't explain (so please don't ask me to!), had this ridiculous need to make pancakes. Holy shit. So, he goes to make these pancakes, and he's putting all of his mighty concentration into making these pancakes. And there I am laughing my pants off at him while he's trying to make the most perfect pancakes this world has ever seen. So, he's slaving away over his yummy meal, when he goes to flip the first pancake. I don't know what was going on his head when he decided to flip said pancake, but I don't think the pancake was prepared to be flipped how it was. It just seemed to fall apart into a big crumbled mess.

So, then he tries again with a second pancake, but, once again, his efforts failed. The second pancake turned out just as screwed up as the first. But, never fear, Bruce took his cooking like the man he is. He devoured that plate of orgasm-worthy pancakes like a real champ. And didn't share or offer any to me. 

Then, of course, there was the time when he forced me to watch a very terrifying movie called Insidious (which I do not recommend to anyone with eyes). Yes, for the record, I was forced against my own will to watch this very scary movie. I protested it the whole time. I probably sounded like a real wimp with all my begging and pleading for him to let us watch something happier... like pretty much anything but this one movie. I'm pretty sure there were actually times when he had me held down with his hands holding my head in the direction of the TV, but please don't quote me there. The entire time, I was on the line of peeing myself and actually dying from fright. And then the end (which I won't spoil for you because that'd be just cruel) came and BAM! I probably peed myself a little. Not even going to lie about that. And he made fun of me because I couldn't take the movie like a pro. Whatever. That movie was no tiptoe through the blasted tulips. I will never watch that movie ever again (ya know, in case you thought I enjoyed it or anything). But at least we added a super cool song to the soundtrack of our friendship, right? (aka Tiptoe Through the Tulips by Tiny Tim)

Yes, I did kick his ass. You can just tell from my face. 

We've been through so many good and bad times together, and I can't imagine having any of our experiences with anyone else. Our friendship isn't just the deformed pancakes or me being forced to participate in things against my own will. It's so much more than that. It's coming home passed my curfew smelling like cigarette smoke. It's walks to QuikTrip to get the donuts they just put out way too late at night. It's ditching Julia to go buy red shoes. It's getting way too drunk and then being hungover for a week. It's watching tortoises go crazy on each other at the zoo for a highly inappropriate amount of time.  It's the exchange of Stephen King novels. It's staying up until 6 am for the other just because that's what friends do. It's so much that I can't possibly fit it all into this one post. 

I think anyone who has a best friend understands that you can't put multiple years of friendship into words. Especially when, at one point or another, neither of you were truly in your right minds to make any smart decisions, let alone remember what you said or did (even if that means the other won't believe that they goosed you on St. Patty's Day while they were under the influence).

I'm just so happy that I get to have you as a part of my life, Bruce. I know that the last couple of months have been brutal (that actually might be downgrading it, so I apologize) for you, but I'm not planning to jump ship anytime soon (or ever, really). You're an amazing person and you care so much about the people in your life, and I couldn't have asked for a better best friend than you. 




So, happy 23rd birthday, Barnacle Puff. Let this year be a year full of laughs and adventure and chances to be the best you can be. You deserve that more than anyone. Love you, sweet pea.

Friendship Lesson Learned: No, that monkey doesn't have two asses, Angela. That's a female. 

Now That You're An Adult In College ...

Because your breath smells terrible and it's blowing in my face right now

... You should already know how to tame your horrendous assfart morning breath. Please don't make me sit next to you in class or in a car or just be in the same one-mile radius of you if you have a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad smell protruding from your mouth. No, coffee doesn't make your breath smell better. It makes it worse. Like way worse than you can probably imagine. Have you ever tried eating or popping a piece of gum in before heading out into the real world? Brushing your teeth doesn't finish the job. Please, don't kill me this early in the morning. I am a good person (kind of), and do not deserve this kind of torture.

... You should already know how to share communal spaces. Didn't we learn this in like pre-school when we were 4? I'm pretty sure I spent most of my time when I was 4 picking my nose, watching Barney and Friends, and peeing my pants, yet I still managed to grasp that shared spaces are shared... not dominated by your rudeness and inconsiderate nature. Why are you still not understanding that if 4 people are sharing a dorm bathroom, you can't pretend that you own the shower and can just casually leave every single shampoo, conditioner, and razor that you own in it? Are you the spawn of Satan? The same goes for getting your fugly hair out of the drain when you're finished. I ain't no maid. I'm not going to clean that shit up for you because it's disgusting. Don't get mad at me when I move your over-priced salon shampoo because I need to put my stuff there for my 15-minute shower. I paid for that space too.

... You should already know no one is required to like or even tolerate your whiney self. Remember how in elementary school everyone was forced to get along and you had to be nice or you'd get in trouble? You can pretty much forget all of that. Yes, you should respect people because that is common courtesy, but you are not required to be associated with assholes and douchebags and bitches who you don't even like. Thus, if I don't like you or want people to think I like you because I really don't like you, I'm probably going to avoid you at all costs. Please don't take my absence as me playing hard to get or fearing that I might come on as clingy. That's not it. I just don't like you. And you don't have to like me.

... You should already know how to keep your crush on the professor a secret. Yes, I'm talking about you, girl in my religious studies class. We all know you're hot for teacher. Not only does it make him uncomfortable, but it also makes class just a tad bit awkward to sit through. It's like watching animals at the zoo mate. No one really wants to see that, so, please, keep it in your pants, girl. He's married, and you're... you, so I think it's safe if you just keep your creepy affections to yourself. Yes, he's hot. Everyone knows he's good looking in that weird teacher way, but you don't see anyone else flinging themselves at him all through class. Just saying.

... You should already know that the real world isn't a nice place. Yeah, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but it's kind of mostly true. People are mean and sometimes shitty stuff happens to sort of-okay people. You're probably not the only one who is having a bad day or week, so please don't act like it. We're all living in this world with you, so we get it. And, you know, we'd all love to hear you complain or read your 3 am tweet rant from last night, but we really just don't care. If this was the 7th grade and Johnny Bravo had kissed your arch nemesis and your mom forgot to put a pack of Disney Princess Fruit Snacks in your lunch, we'd probably understand and sympathize. But it's not the 7th grade. This is  adulthood. Suck it up. 

The Harsh Truth About College

In high school, everyone and their long lost cousin tells you that college is worth the brutal torture that is high school, that your college years will be some of the best years of your life. I'm still waiting to see what all the fuss about college is to these people. Like, maybe their high school years were the trots, so, naturally, college sucked way less for them? Maybe they were one of the lucky ones who didn't completely lose their sanity (or maybe they did.... and that's why they think college is the bomb dot com) in the hectic mess of college courses, drunken nights, and the horrid freshman 15. Now, I don't think that college necessarily is the worst thing ever (trust me, it isn't), but I feel like there are a lot of things that get overlooked once you're out of the system.

Welcome to the real world. 

Everyone wants to know about what you've got planned for your future or what you're going to do with your useless writing degree. No matter what your major is or if you're still in that awkward "undecided" rut, you probably have some kind of idea of what you might want to do once you've got your degree and are finally free to make all kinds of batshit crazy mistakes with your life. I think people have this idea that whatever you study in college must be something that is going to get you a job that will put you in a higher tax bracket and allow you to send your kids to a snooty private school that might resemble Hogwarts. Why is that? So, naturally, when I tell people I'm a writing major, they automatically tell me that I'm probably not going to make it and should consider a major in business or decide to go pre-law or whatever. It sucks to be unsure of your own life choices, but when other people start poking around, trying to keep you from living.... Well, that takes all the fun out of majoring in something you love. It's like everyone tells you to do what you love but then, when you've decided to take that pretty piece of advice, tell you you're throwing your future away by doing so.  Thus, we all have majors we hate with classes that screw us over every single day and Mom and Dad's reserved nod of approval. 

You're a broke-ass pathetic zombie all the time.  It doesn't matter if you promptly go to bed at a time before midnight and sleep until noon, you're constantly tired. It's the kind of tired that never ends. I think it's called growing up.   Say goodbye to your stain-free pearly whites and hello to a large energy drink that could possibly kill you since you doubled your dose of Adderall a few seconds before guzzling it.  Oh? What's that? You just spent your last five bucks on that energy drink? No one cares! Get a job... oh wait... you can't get a job because your schedule is packed and, let's face it, you're way too damn tired to hold any kind of position anywhere. College is so much fun, ain't it? 

Greek pressure exists. So, maybe you decided not to follow the herd of goats headed to the Greek factory to be slaughtered, and maybe you did... I don't care. I can't tell you how many sorority or fraternity members I have talked to who have let slip that they actually kind of hate the Greek life. There is a limit on the partying, and, when that goes away and the beer goggles come off, you see how much of a mess you've gotten yourself into. Am I really paying this much money to share one bathroom with all of these people? Now, I totally understand why people go Greek, and, for the most part, it's all really beneficial to your future, but when you feel pressured into rushing or pledging Greek because it's "what all the cool kids are doing" and then learn you absolutely hate it, well, you can pretty much say farewell to having a happy college life. And then, of course, there is the disapproving gaze from the campus Plastics towards those who decided they like wearing pants that aren't leggings (because some people don't want to look like they are headed to the gym all day long, thank you very much). Now, tell me that doesn't make you feel like a total recalled Barbie doll. It totally sucks.

Let me know when you figure it out, Belle.

It sucks major Tootsie Pop when you realize you're just a speck of dust on a giant dust bunny under someone's bed. In a lecture hall thats filled with over 400 people just like you, you start to feel like you don't even matter. This professor will never notice me or learn my name because he just doesn't care. It's easy to get caught-up in the system of robotically taking notes and writing papers and barely getting by on exams (because we're not all lucky to have photographic memories or natural test-taking abilities). And, yes, you're lucky if you stand out to a professor or to really anyone who you don't already call a friend or a significant other. Some people wonder why college students get depressed or self-harm or worse.... and, you know, it's because college can make you feel like you're alone and voiceless because everyone is talking at once. There is no order or rule or talking stick to pass around while you sit criss-cross-applesauce on the floor. You either speak boldly or get washed away in the sound.

If you're in college, you may agree or disagree on these things, and, if you're in high school still, don't worry. You're safe for now.

Ready! Aim! Fire!

Credit: http://beatrizmartinvidal.deviantart.com/art/Target-10772463

In my 20 years of life, I've learned two very important things when it comes to friends:
1) Not everyone wants to be your friend and
2) Everyone has that one friend or family member who likes to use you as their own personal punching bag or target in a shooting range. I want to talk about the latter today. I think there is just something about me that gives people the idea that they can whip out their guns and ammo or their arrows and aim them right at me whenever they are in a bad mood or are dealing with something that has absolutely nothing to do with me. And, while I understand that it might just be me being at the wrong place at the wrong time, it pisses me off. 

You know, I'm a very caring person by nature, so I'm always trying to figure out how I can make someone else's day or week better if I am aware that their days might be full of fresh shit, but when the other person decides that I am the one to blame for every damn thing that happens to them, I feel it's only right for me to be a little really insulted and pissed off. Like, I came to your aid to listen or help you work whatever the hell is going on out, and you turn the guns on me? Why? Why the hell does that happen? It's actually kind of funny.... The way it happens, that is.

Them: ... so then my boss got mad at me because I did *blah blah blah* wrong. My day has been a pile of shit!
Me: Man, that sucks. But I'm sure your boss was right to get onto you for that. After all, they are your boss! Maybe you should try harder tomorrow to show them you're not useless.
Them: No, Angela! You know what's useless? You! You're not even listening to me! Why did I even come to you? Why can't you put your emotions aside for once and let me vent? *blah blah blah*
Me: Wait... What? I didn't say -
Them: You're pissing me off! You will never work as hard as me, so don't try to tell me what to do at work! Also, while we're talking about it, you can't have opinions on drugs or love or sex or religion or broadway musicals or shitty emo bands or whether you learn to use chopsticks or good Mexican cuisine! I don't even want to talk to you anymore! Telling you was a horrible mistake!
Me: Uh.
Me: Erm.
Me: Okay.

Like, where does this shit even come from? And it's not just one person who does this to me either! It's almost everyone I have a close relationship with... you know, people I'd expect not to jump on my case like that. It's at school. It's at home. It's people I've only known for a short while. Is it me? Is it them? I really don't even know. But it always leaves me asking: Whose asshole did I uninvitingly penetrate to get that reaction?

I'M NOT GONNA BE A PART OF THIS SYSTEM!

But, of course, like always, I'm the one who ends up apologizing for whatever the hell I supposedly did or didn't say because I'm an adult! (Then again, I'm the one blogging about this... so maybe I'm not an adult?)

Either way, I always know that I'm not an intended target for these people. I'm just there when it's not always the best of times for them.... and things can be messy at those times. And, if anything, I've learned how not to act when I'm upset so I don't cause frustration for anyone I know.

Lesson learned: my friends and family aren't shitty.... just very angry. 

Ain't Nobody Got Time For That!

Where do the days go? Seriously. Every single day of the last week, I have had to ask myself where the time goes. There just simply is not enough time in a day to complete all the tasks I have! Between doing that whole school thing I'm supposed to do according to society, eating, being the most amazing best friend this world has ever seen, and doing homework, I find myself trying desperately to score a moment of peace and quiet with myself. Like, is it possible to actually die from lack of time with yourself? If not, I might just be the first case.

The preccciouuusss time!

While I'm totally pulling a total-girl-move by counting down to when I'm able to go home for a week for spring break, I can't help but realize how much work will be crammed into the next 32 days of my life. There will be midterms (do these even serve a purpose? I mean, c'mon! Save a tree, skip a midterm!), papers to write, assignments to bullshit, boring readings to not read, tons of social events that I will probably avoid, and lots of sleep lost! It's going to be so stressful. My Sour Patch Kid and mozzarella cheese stick intake will probably be at an all-time high! My point is: AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!

Every day, I make a to-do list on a Post-it Note. For the last week or so, I've had "Read 100 pages of The Bell Jar" marked down. This book has been literally sitting right next to me for the last week, and I haven't even touched it. It's not because I haven't found time to read any of it. It's just because I don't even feel like reading it. How hard is it to admit to yourself that you don't feel like doing something you find enjoyable almost all the time except for when you don't feel like it? It's really hard. I can't say exactly why I've felt so distant from my book (probably because I have a feeling this book will ruin my life because Sylvia Plath). One day, though! But until then, it's like this book is just staring at me constantly. Taunting me.

Sounds like a good I'd like not reading..

Me: *looks at book and decides not to read it today*
Book: Angela
Me: *pretends not to hear voice coming from book*
Book: Read me!
Me: No, not today...
Book: DO IT!!
Me: No, I'm above the influence.
Book: Party-pooping stick in the mud!
Me: What?
Book: What?


I know that eventually I will get to reading this book, but, for now, I AIN'T GOT TIME FOR THAT! Remember, I love reading. I probably do more reading for fun than a lot of people my age. Why is that? Hmmm. Probably has to do with alcohol and someone handing out free condoms somewhere. 


What we've learned here is that sometimes it's okay to not do something just because you don't feel like doing it. Now, that's not okay if, say, your cat died and it's rotting corpse is just lying on your bedroom floor because you don't feel like burying it or taking it somewhere to be properly disposed of. I'm just saying. That shit ain't pleasant to smell. (Then again, cats aren't pleasant to smell when they're alive either). Also, it's probably best if you shower and brush your teeth when you don't feel like it. It's just common sense, guys. Don't be disgusting.