How to: Bruise your body and your pride simultaneously

If you don't want to walk down the street with me after reading this, I'll understand.

I have an entirely unsatisfactory sense of coordination. I walk into things embarrassingly often and I got lost the first time I drove from my home to the shopping mall (it's directly down the highway). Also, I may or may not have fallen down a flight of stairs yesterday. And by that, I mean that my rear is now acquainted with about 75% of the steps in my two-floor dorm room. It hurt a bit, but I quickly stood up, dusted off my bruised ego and fled the room like it was laughing at me.

Today, everything has changed, and I've acquired 4 quadrants of pain. The first is my right ankle, the one that I sprained to the size of a melon in high school. The one that left me on crutches for a month. Fabulous. I suppose going on the eliptical a few hours after the incident didn't help much. It also probably didn't help that I essentially fell down a different flight of stairs last week, twisting this same ankle... I don't do well with stairs, alright?

The second is my hand/wrist area, which I didn't realize I had even hit until typing on a keyboard started to hurt. Oh, this is my right hand. Like, the one I use to write, carry things, etc.

The third is in that hiney-to-upper leg connector area. It's sporting a lovely discoloration and since it's on the connector, it hurts to both sit and walk. I have enough padding down there to keep me safe from general harm, but it was a lot of stairs.

And the fourth is my arm, which apparently took the brunt of the fall. I lost a bit of skin in the process and was left with a raised area that hurt like a fiery brand, but I've always thought that battle wounds were kind of bad-ass. If anyone asks, I'll probably just say that I fought an angry badger or something. He put up a solid fight, but I beasted him.

Scrape badger claw mark on my elbow.

It's all puffy in real life.

The principle reason behind me taking the short way down the stairs was that the flip flops I was wearing are about 5 years old, meaning that any semblance of traction they once would have had is completely gone. Actually, wearing them kind of feels like walking around on a freshly waxed floor at all times. Other places I've almost died while wearing these sandals include in my bedroom, in the bathroom, in the hall, and various other locations with a tiled or wooden floor. Could it be time for me to invest in a new pair of flip flops? I do think so. But I love this pair because they're sturdy and comfortable to wear for an entire day of walking. Based on that criteria, I want a pair of Birkenstocks, Rainbows, or Reefs, but I'll walk around barefoot before I spend so much money on sandals.

I'll also point out that the stairs are wooden and there is no handrail. Try to pull that crap in a senior center and tell me someone doesn't get sued.

Life in Cambridge: Part 3

I am a summer survivor. Still with no computer of my own, I've learned how to survive in Cambridge even though I'm under age 21. Granted, this includes a lot of reading, even more napping, and quite a bit of wandering around Harvard Square, but I've learned some important lessons.

1. Heat waves suck. One-hundred degree weather with 50+% humidity rather feels like you're living in the Everglades/drowning in your own sweat. Solutions:

1. Talcom powder. Lots of it. I know I'm not 6 months old, but I am suffering. Don't judge me.
2. Soak a shirt, lay it on bare skin, and point a fan directly at it. Homemade air conditioner! Granted, you might end up with a shredded immune system, but it's totally worth it.
3. Borrow a movie and watch it in Lamont. Libraries are air conditioned and contain feature films that you do not have to pay for. I'm watching Mean Girls as I type. I am so fetch.

2. I'm way too attached to the internet. And with my laptop in the technological ICU, I've been suffering. I don't even have a phone with internet. Or a radio. So many grievances upon my tattered soul. Solutions:

1. Libraries - air conditioned and free computers.
2. Science Center - air conditioned, free computers, and fewer high schoolers freaking about their summer school classes.
3. Read a book/take a walk. Not at the same time. 

3. People in Cambridge skeeve me out. Like the homeless guy who told me my dress was "adorable" the other day, or the grunge kid who keeps three city rats as pets in a hamster cage.

Or this guy. You work out. Congrats. Is that even a shirt?

Solutions:

1. No walking alone after dark. There are real city rats on the street after dark.
2. Look no one in the eye. You never know who'll try to put a hex on you.
3. Walk with a purpose. If you don't, you might get roped into taking some old man's Bible quiz.

Rainy Day Disaster

One might think that having lived in the northeast for my entire life, I would understand the weather patterns by now. But apparently I don't, which is why yesterday, I assumed that a sunny, clear sky would be ensure a day of nice weather. Thus, I left my dorm to head for Harvard Square with the intention of spending the day sitting on the grass and reading a book. And for an hour or two, I did just that, not even minding when a few clouds started to roll in.

And that was thunder. Odd. While half an hour ago the clouds had been white and puffy, they are now dark grey and formidable. Then the raindrops begin, slowly at first, then picking up speed into an all out rain shower. Since clearly-sensible-me had not thought to bring an umbrella on such a beautiful day, I head toward Starbucks to sit out the thunderstorm.

Oh wait. It was such a beautiful day that I left my bedroom windows open... including the large skylight that provides my top-floor room with ample natural light and air flow. And rain. Well, that's fan-fricken-tastic and I'm a 15 minute walk from my room. This is the part where I start to speed walk/awkwardly jog the 0.7 miles from the Square back to the quad. By the time I get back to my room, the rain has turned into a monsoon-style downpour and I'm completely soaked through (although the novel in my purse is dry, thank heavens). My room is even worse than I had expected. Not only is my bed soaked through, but my desk (and laptop) have been thoroughly washed and there is a rather substantial lake in the middle of the floor.
**Note: The laptop thing was kind of an emergency and it took about three hours to dry enough for the touch pad to work properly. I'm proud to announce that I didn't fall into hysterics even once during this time.

This photo is post-lake-cleanup.

I cannot sit on a moist chair.

And I cannot sleep in a moist bed.

In true form for New England weather, no more than twenty minutes after I get the skylight closed, the rain stops and the sun comes out to shine its mocking rays at me. Really? That's unnecessary salt in the wound. I was actually bitterly glad when the rain returned a few hours later.

Things to note:
1. Dripping walls and lamp
2. The beautiful friggin sky

So what have I learned?
1. I hate New England weather.
2. Harvard-issue desk chair pads take a really long time to dry. Like hours, even with a desk fan blowing on the wetness.
3. Never assume that a sunny morning guarantees a sunny day
4. Never ever ever leave the skylight open. Ever.

Midnight and Snowbanks

I am...the black kitten.

I am a master of poor decisions. I thrive on them. Poor decision making is the reason that I'm currently enrolled in 5 classes, participating in too many extracurriculars, and looking to join a new club. Because I can sleep when I'm dead, I'll stay up late at night and wake up early in the morning to get all the work done. I can feel my blood pressure rising, but I'm simply not doing anything about it. When in doubt, I take on another responsibility. It's not a healthy way to live and I'm sure that a crisis is looming on the horizon. Good lord, it's only the second week of classes.

The tiny snow-minions represent the responsibilities
 that are ganging up on me.

So I acted on impulse. Tromping through the snow on my way to class but not getting to play in it has made me ancy, so how could I not have run outside in jeans, a parka, and rainboots at midnight? And how could I not have convinced my best friend that he didn't want to go to bed, but that he wanted to join me instead?

D'awwwwwww

I have learned that:
It's important to climb the really tall snowbanks and slide down their backs.
It's important to run through the snow and watch it puff like smoke around your ankles.
It's important to push your best friend in the snow and drag him down with you when he tries to return the favor.
It's important to keep on playing after your legs have gone numb. This is when you'll have the most fun.
It's important to fall backwards into the snow without being afraid that you'll break your back. You won't. I promise.
It's important to make snow angels and then destroy them while trying to stand up again.
Sometimes, it's important to act like you're five again.

Was it a great decision to run around in the dark and freeze myself a pair of thigh-cicles? Probably not. But I'm sick of being practical and I'm sick of walking past pristine blankets of snow and not leaving my footprints behind.

Ask me to play in the snow. I'll leave my books in a second. Seriously.

Adventures>Homework

Some Post Ski Trip Reflections

If falling means that you’re learning and improving, I’ve become a professional skier over the past week. Seriously, I’ve eaten it so many times that it’s a wonder nothing’s broken (although there’s something funny going on with my ankle). But falling really is how I learn and you know what? I can see my own slight improvements; if it takes a face full of snow to get there, fine. I’ll take it.

Hardcore education

Overall, I’ve pretty much fallen in love with Stowe. It’s probably the largest ski area I’ve ever been to; I mean, how could I not be enamored with its not one but TWO gondolas?! Or is the plural of gondola gondolae? No, I got a red squiggly line under gondolae, so it must be wrong, but I’ll leave it here because we learn from our mistakes right? Right? I digress. Anyway, for the past week, I’ve been blessed with near perfect skiing conditions (I say near because the goddamn snow cannons tend to reduce visibility to approximately nothing). The lodges are beautiful, the lifts are (fairly) quick, and skiing during the week means no lift lines and nearly deserted slopes. The town of Stowe, Vermont is equally perfect. It’s cute, quaint, and all Currier and Ives like. Also, I wouldn’t mind living so close to the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream and Cabot cheese factories. I do love fine dairy products. Stowe (both town and ski resort) gets 1.75 thumbs up from me (if you just tried to do that, you will have realized that it’s a very awkward thumb angle) because it’s awesome. However, a quarter of a point has to be docked because it’s located so damn far both from my home and my school. I can’t day trip it to a resort that’s nearly 4 hours away.

Is this not a perfect snow-globe scene?

Another non-sequitor: I want to say right now that I am BEYOND impressed with the age of some of the skiers I see out on the mountain. I hope that when I’m 70 years old, I’ll be as spry as the fantastically fit grandmothers and grandfathers who play around in the moguls and frequent black diamond slopes when they’re not teaching their grandkids how to ski. I want to be that kind of old person. The kind who lives in the mountains, skis all winter, hikes all summer, and eats trail mix ALL YEAR ROUND. I swear, I’m going to be such a cool old person. I digress again.  I got excited thinking about elder-me.

Omnomnomnom

WANT.

Speaking about the future, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I absolutely MUST take a trip out west to ski America’s real mountains rather than New England’s large hills. I’ve never travelled west of New York before, but now I’m determined to make it out to Colorado for a ski trip. This is my goal for next winter. Anyone want to come with?

I really do love gondolas.

Who am I?

I have no future. It's pretty much settled. 


In a panic that I absolutely MUST do something productive with my summer, I began scouring the internet for internships last night. At some point in my world wide wanderings (at some unreasonable hour of night) I stumbled across this site and readily made myself a profile. Then I noticed a quiz! A "what's your best internship?" quiz! I love quizzes and couldn't wait for the internet to tell me exactly what I'm going to do when I grow up. The internet is basically omniscient and omnipotent anyway, so it couldn't possibly lead me astray, right? Right?

NOT FOR ME

I began the quiz, thinking my responses seemed to target me as a pretty creative, literary, humanities-type person. I figured that it would tell me to be a teacher, because I've heard that a million times before. I was expecting kindergarten teacher, I was expecting lawer, I was expecting library sciences. I was not expecting what I received. According to the future-savvy internet, I enjoy:

• Higher education
• Research
• Medicine
• Science
• Computer industries
• Engineering/design fields

Higher education, check. But that's about where it ends. I'm really rather baffled as to what buttons I clicked that would indicate I'm a science person. Strange... But there's more. According to these results, I would apparently enjoy internships in:

• Computer software design/development
• Venture capital
• Legal mediation
• Financial analysis
• Economics
• Music
• Intellectual property
• Web site design
• Investigation
• Strategic planning
• Pharmacy
• Network integration

Something is not right here.

FALSE. Seriously, all of this. I like good paper, nice pens, and musty books. I write stories, not lines of computer code. I must have received someone else's future results, but these certainly not pertain to me. I like creative ideas and allusions and literary form. I like spending hours debating morality, politics, and literary analysis. 

Pharmacy? Where on earth does that fit in? I am not a science major and I am not pre-med. For everyone's sake, let's give that internship to someone who's a bit better versed in biology and chemistry than I am.

Finances? I could hold a fairly well versed conversation about world trade, economics and currencies, but that's because I read the newspaper everyday, not because I play the stock market like a businessman. 

Overall response to this internship quiz: Either I have no future ahead of me or I really really don't come across as a humanities person. Either way, I need to get it together. Okay, it's GO-TIME. Time to get some sort of focus and stop misleading the intertubes so that they can help me get all rich and famous and YEAH actually make something out of my life. 

Oh, but that's right. I'm only a sophomore. A confused student with a hazy, hazy future ahead of me.

MOTHER OF PEARL, I need to get it together.

Wal*Mart: It's always a show

It really gives the world a certain sparkle.

Wal*Mart: A Play in Two Acts

Disclaimer: This is a real account of the 20 or so minutes that I spent in a check out line this afternoon. I almost changed to a faster moving register, but I stayed where I was because once the show started, I couldn't stop watching. The dialog below is written exactly as it was spoken because honestly, the original is too good to edit. In short, a cashier needed something to be checked by a manager in order to finish a woman's transaction. The manager took his sweet time to get the message and come on over. The two women in line in front of me are having absolutely none of this and decided to make a massive scene. In Act Two, I discuss Act One with the equally amused cashier. In the following dialog, capital letters indicate yelling.

Location: Wal*Mart - checkout line

Time: 3pm

Cast of Characters:
Me
Cashier
Manager
Woman 1 (40something, overweight, wearing sweatpants, very unwashed hair that's pulled back in a scrunchie)
Woman 2 (also 40something, overweight, wearing leggings with footie handles, poorly striped dyed hair, smells like Dial soap and sweat)

Act one

Woman 1: WE NEED A MANAGAH OR SOMETHIN' OVER HERE. LET'S GO LET'S GO.
Woman 2: LIIIIITLE FASTER PLEASE. I GOT THINGS TO DO. I gotta clean the house and make dinner. I DON'T GOT ALL DAY HERE.
Woman 1: MY DEPENDS CAN ONLY HOLD SO MUCH. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Woman 2: THAT'S IT! HERE WE GO. FINALLY. (To cashier). See, that's all you need. You gotta yell to LET YOUR VOICE BE HEARD. HAHAHAAA
**Both women clap hands for the approaching manager

Manager sorts out the problem in a few seconds and the poor woman who was waiting the assistance clutches her bags, covers her face (which is the color of a tomato at this point) and practically sprints out of the store. Women 1 and 2 complete their transactions (making crude comments and laughing at one another all the while) and saunter out of the store as if other patrons weren't staring at them, gaping

Act two

Cashier: Sorry about the wait.
Me: No problem. That was...entertaining, at least.
Cashier: Yeah... Well, that's Wal*Mart for you.
Me: Tell me about it. Welcome home, right?
Cashier: Are you from around here?
Me: Yeah, this town. But college is in Boston, so coming back is always interesting
**Look of understanding is shared
Cashier: Got it. I can imagine...

Tattoo for my bicep?

I hope this guy gets a raise. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he won't be able to stay behind that register for the rest of his life. He might just go crazy. But he will leave. I could just tell.

On another note, I wish that I had crazy memory and stenographic skills. That way, I could remember and record every ludicrous conversation that I overhear. I think that stenographic memory would trump photographic memory any day.

Rather unfortunately true.

Self-acknowledged scaredy cat

I'm making a poor decision as I write -- I'm currently watching Zodiac. You know, that movie about a psycho killer with a riveting calling card that no one can seem to track down? Oh yeah, I suppose that it is pretty formulaic. But the thing is, I do NOT under any circumstances watch horror movies. I hate being afraid. I don't visit haunted houses, I skip out when my friends go to the latest thrillers, and I don't even particularly like Halloween. I spook like a jittery cat and have the interesting capacity to stay afraid of what I've seen for days after I see it. And for that reason, I have a strict personal no-horror-movie policy. If my parents watch one, I leave the room. I've left a party and read a book for a few hours in order to avoid watching...something particularly gruesome. Yeah, I'll ditch my friends for my own sanity. I'm not kidding about this.

NOT GONNA HAPPEN

The first and last horror movie I've watched straight through was The Ring. I watched it years ago -- in 7th or 8th grade, and it was an awful, horrible, terrible idea. Truth: I slept with my bedroom door open and the hall light on for over a month after watching it. Truth: I had to invent a regimen of things to think about each night before I fell asleep so that my mind wouldn't wander back to scenes from the movie. Truth: If I was more vindictive, I would have sued the film company for psychological damages (and lost the case, because it would have been an emotionally charged and utterly stupid claim). I'm not even putting a picture of the film on here because frankly, I don't want to Google image search it.

Too true.

I am a delicate flower. No one makes their potted plants watch horror movies, and I too have little to no desire to intentionally raise my blood pressure, spike my adrenaline, make myself uncomfortable. Would daisies be as happy and proud if they were afraid? Would daffodils look as shiny and cheery if they didn't smile their flowery smiles? I won't speak for the entire garden, but I'm willing to bet that flowers hate horror movies -- it's just logical.

This is me as a delicate flower.

For the aforementioned reasons, I've been dutifully staring at my laptop rather than the television screen since my father flicked on this movie. Now, I know that I said I normally leave the room when someone watched a horror film, but the living room is the warmest room in the house and my laptop is plugged in here. And as we've seen not so long ago, my laptop is about as delicate as I am, and I hate moving it around. I'm going to try to stick out the rest of this movie (I think I missed the first hour or so), but seeing as how I'm a creature of habit, I'll probably end up hitting the power button and running up to my room within the next quarter of an hour. Am I facing my fears, or writing a recipe for disaster? We'll just have to see if I can fall asleep tonight.

WHY don't I have a night light?

In other Zodiac related news, I'm a libra.

How to: Increase your blood pressure in an instant

The night started well - I had my usual spot in the dining hall right next the electrical socket. Laptop was plugged in, headphones on, Pandora rocking my world with whale songs and ocean sounds. It was the night before a final exam and I was determined to study until midnight, go to bed, and awake the next morning bright and shiny and ready to go. 

Sometimes, life gets in the way.

And by that, I mean sometimes, you spill en entire cup of Sprite Zero on your laptop's keyboard. And sometimes, the screen goes black and the machine turns off. And sometimes, you suddenly realize that your seven page hand made study guide lies within that very black screen. And sometimes, you turn it upside down and liquid drains out of the POWER BUTTON. And sometimes, you come very close to a panic attack.

Okay, that's an exaggeration. But it was just as terrifying. 

It's a classic case of having the worst timing ever for a disaster. Welcome to my life. I can't seem to go more than a few months without falling into some sort of technological disaster. But the night before my exam? Really? Clearly, this is a punishment. I've been doing something wrong lately, and the universe is telling me, not so subtly, to knock it the hell off. Picture a small, already finals-stressed, now semi-hysterical, sweating girl yelling about the end of the world and frantically pulling an entire tree worth of napkins from the dispenser. Picture chaos, personified.

Mmm yep, I pushed it. 

 Everyone is staring but NO ONE IS HELPING. I have mopped the entire keyboard several times, and allowed the power button to drain until the soda river stopped running. It's not turning on. Oh god, it's not turning on. I am approaching point of hysteria and decide that I must remove the laptop's bottom. Immediately. But my Swiss army knife's (yes, I have one) screwdrivers are too big. Must recruit the help of boys with toolboxes. After trying five more screwdrivers, I come across one that fits. Talk about Cinderella and the glass slipper. Gosh. Approximately 20 screws are removed and the bottom will not detach. It will still not turn on. 

This is me. Picture credit: Edvard Munch

Yes, I am a crazyperson, despite being fully aware that hysteria is not cute. I'm cursing more than a sailor receiving a tattoo on the main deck in the middle of a typhoon. I'm sweating like it's a hundred degrees outside. My eyes probably have the crazed glimmer of a wounded animal in them. I cannot fix this.

After approximately three hours of this behavior, combated by the tolerance, help, and patience of friends, my laptop returned to the world of the living. It's seen the white light and returned. My HP has shunned the technological grim reaper. I want to sing hallelujah and dance a merry dance. Just kidding. I actually just want to pass out because my adrenaline levels have been spiked so high for so long now. 

Lessons learned

1. Laptop areas = covered cup zones. Or a 6+in space between computer and liquid.
2. I have poor crisis coping mechanisms.
3. I have marvelous friends. 

Great big thank you to everyone who experienced my crisis, helped to revive (read: totally fix) my laptop, and told me that contrary to my beliefs, the world was not about to end. This list includes but is not limited to:

Ariel

Brian

Jack

Jordan

Maria

Nolan

Rena

Sean

Steve

Wes

Yes, this list is alphabetized. I do that sometimes.

A Little "Relaxation"

So, I decided to get my life together this year and take a few yoga classes. You know, nothing intense, just once a week, for an hour on Sundays. I've noticed myself becoming a little more stretchy; I can almost palm the floor. It's relaxing. I breathe deeply like a champ.

Pffffft. NOT A CHANCE.

I guess I was getting too confident. Apparently, yoga gets harder. A lot harder.

Today, I wanted a break from academic/reading period/finals mode and found myself really in the mood for some yoga. But it's Wednesday. So I looked on YouTube, where I found what looked to be a great four-part series, amounting to about 30 minutes of activity. Sounds great right? Well, the first 10-15 minutes certainly were -- I felt like a boss who could twist myself into all of the poses. That is, until the instructor started contorting her body into formations that I haven't seen on Sunday afternoons yet (like handstands on the wall and supporting herself sideways with one arm and leg). This is when I started to sweat. Literally. It was beginning to look like I had just run a marathon. Sweating and panting in the middle of my dorm room like a fool... waiting for one of my roommates to walk in and burst into laughter. JUST WHEN did I get so out of shape?! Oh that's right; it must have been sometime in the last month and a half during which I've neglected the gym. In 30

Core cramping. Arms burning. Lungs bursting. Legs wobbling.
This is so sad. I've never gotten winded from stretching before.
It's time to get back on my game. And to accept that my participation in beginner yoga classes in fact does not make me a master of my body.

I'm going to be sore tomorrow morning.