Thanks for stopping by my blog. I hope you stay a while, and find something that tickles your fancy. Feel free to contact me via email, Twitter, and/or comments.
Five Things I Have Learned With My Roommates
- The apartment upstairs babysits the cast of Toddlers and Tiaras. We’re pretty sure. There always seems to be a combination of running, chair moving, and high heel walking upstairs. Toddlers and Tiaras is the only conclusion.
- Seatbelts are important. And reminding each other to wear seatbelts is important.
- No matter how much you dislike that girl who lives in your building, when she knocks on your door at 12:30 AM - scared, drunk, and alone - you invite her in. Let her sit down and have some water. Write down her number and text her once she’s left telling her to come back if she needs anything at all.
- Mashed potatoes are the number one comfort food.
- Your roommates are the most important people in your life right now. And you look out for them above all else. Whether it’s by tucking them into bed after they’ve taken an Ambien, setting out a plate of Oreo’s for them when they’re sad, mouthing off someone who you have a crush on because they were being a jerk to one of your roommates, going to the store with them to buy concealer to cover up their hickey, laying in bed with the lights off when you’re both not ready to face the world, or sending them a thoughtful long text that end with “I love you. I’m always here for you. Aka: best friend.” They need you and you need them. You need them a lot.
I'm going to go shower now.
- Adriana
It was a Sunday.
The night before, two of my roommates and I had stayed up late hanging out.
When we woke up the next morning the three of us were lethargic and ready for a lazy Sunday.
Which is precisely what we did.
Around 5:00, I got hungry.
Aubree was asleep, so I texted her, Facebook-ed her, and came into her room several times to get her to wake up.
I wanted to get food.
Chelacie was Skyping with her family, so I wrote a note on our "Announcements" white board, and held it up to her.
"We're gonna go get food. Wanna come?"
She nodded her head at me as she continued to talk to her family.
Around 6:30, I got impatient.
I went into Aubree's room and turned on her lights.
"Allllllllright, time to get up. I'm going to die of hunger."
Aubree sat up with her eyes half open. She ran her hands through her hair, sighed, and got out of bed.
I walked to the living room, where Chelacie was.
She was saying goodbye to her family, via webcam.
"Good timing, Aubree's finally awake." I commented as she closed her laptop.
Chelacie walked into our room, to get dressed and asked "Where are we going?"
"Not sure," I said, "Wherever. I'm just super hungry."
Chelacie thought about it for a moment.
"What aboooouuuuut...... Red Robins? Their fries are so good."
We all agreed.
Red Robins it was.
Aubree turned to me.
"Can you drive?"
"Sure."
~~~
Dinner was delicious.
We made sure to box our bottomless stake fries with fry sauce, and Aubree boxed her left over mac & cheese.
We walked out to my car full and happy.
We laughed about the little kid at the table next to us who had a huge head,
Chelacie and Aubree fought over shotgun,
I announced we needed to get gas, or we wouldn't make it home.
We began to drive.
As we made our way down University Avenue, Aubree mentioned that one of her friends was getting his tattoo tonight.
She said that she always promised she'd be there, and that we should stop by.
The tattoo place was near where we were contemplating getting ice cream, so I obliged.
Besides, I enjoyed the guys who were going to be there and wanted to see them.
We drove up the on ramp to the freeway.
Aubree mentioned how it felt incredibly late.
"What time is it?" I asked.
"Like 8:00" someone replied.
"Holy eff? Why does it feel like it's midnight? The sun is going down way too early."
Then it happened.
Utah County is famous for its atrocious traffic and construction.
As we almost entered the freeway, the road curved.
Orange cones where everywhere.
The road looked like it might have split, and the amount of cones confused me.
I couldn't see where to curve with the road.
So I went straight.
We drove between two barrels, and onto the construction site.
It was loose gravel and dirt, and we began to swerve.
I tried to get back onto the actual road.
The way the construction was set up, there was a drop off where the road and dirt met up.
Almost like a ledge.
A very sharp, very jagged ledge.
We ran into it, and onto the road for a moment.
The ledge did something strange to my tire (I'm not entirely sure what) and we began to fishtail.
I tried to control the car.
We drove back onto the construction site, and the sharp drop off threw our car out of control.
We fishtailed to the point where we were spinning. We spun to the point where we were sliding. We slid to the point where we flipped.
It was slow and quiet as my little white Chevy Cavalier turned on its left side and landed on the hood.
I don't even remember thinking anything as it happened.
I just remember thinking
"Oh my gosh. This is happening."
The car finally stopped.
Everything sped up.
Chelacie was already reaching over and opening her door asking if everyone was okay.
Aubree was looking around making sure everyone was still in tact.
I was hanging upside down by my seatbelt.
Aubree told me to hold myself up, as she unbuckled me.
My arms shakily came out in front of me and made sure my weight didn't fall on the car.
Chelacie had exited the car at this point.
Aubree told me we had to go out the back door.
She crawled in front of me, towards the back.
As I was crawling I realized "Holy shit. We're on the roof. We're crawling on the roof."
We got out, and all asked each other if everyone was fine.
I looked back at my car.
It was completely upside down.
"Oh my fucking hell...."
I turned around to Aubree and Chelacie.
"I'm so sorry," was the only thing I could think of saying.
We hugged as we all began to cry.
I continued to apologize profusely as cars began to stop and run over to us.
"Is everyone okay?" they'd always ask.
We were all fine.
How were we all fine?
We just flipped the car.
Aubree and Chelacie weren't wearing their seat belts.
This thought sank in.
They weren't wearing their seat belts...
I began to cry and apologize more.
Within minutes, the cop came and whisked me to his car to fill out paper work.
I saw Chelacie and Aubree blowing warm air into their cold hands as they called people.
I couldn't believe what had just happened.
It didn't feel real.
It didn't feel like it actually happened.
I walked out to my car. The windshield was a touch away from exploding on our faces.
The driver side window had completely folded and shattered.
Everything in my car was thrown around and on the ceiling.
I crawled through my car and gathered things I needed immediately.
I was shaking.
We were all shaking.
And we were safe.
No one had a single injury.
Not a scratch or a bruise.
(We would find this not to be true by the next morning.)
But at the time...
We were fine.
And it was amazing.
And it was terrifying.
It was terrifying to think of what could have happened.
How much worse it could have been.
When it was already so bad.
I didn't want to think about it.
It's now Tuesday.
We are all sore, and have found a number of cuts and bruises and bumps we didn't know we had.
I still feel emotionally strange and hate to think of the responsibility I had in the situation.
My hands shake at the thought of it.
But we're all safe.
And we're all here.
And I know without a doubt that the fact that we're all okay is more than just a coincidence.
It was the scariest thing I have ever experienced in my life.
But it was an experience that I think was necessary.
For what reason, I'm not sure yet.
But it's comforting to know that as major the accident seemed, we're safe and alive to prevent something worse from happening in the future.
And for that I'm grateful.
I'm scared. But I'm grateful.
- Adriana
Once upon a time I was in a not-a-relationship-but-we-were-mostly-together-it's-complicated-okay. This relationship recently ended. Like most girls do, I have been doing a lot of reflecting. (Do guys do this too? The male mind is something I do not/will not ever understand.) Tonight, as I woke up from a 4 hour nap at 3:00 AM - this is what my sleep schedule has been reduced to - I was for some reason reminded of a conversation I had with this person, early on in our relationship. The conversation was about butterflies.
I don't remember how the conversation came up between he and I. But we ended up discussing the differences between butterflies and stomach flips. He argued that stomach flips were more powerful than butterflies: "They're kinda just like... BAM. I just made your stomach do crazy things," he said, "Butterflies are more subtle, aka not as powerful. Stomach flips are better." I argued that butterflies were more powerful than stomach flips: "My stomach could flip if I ran into my nasty seventh grade teacher at the grocery store. That's not powerful, that's just gut wrenching. Butterflies mean way more."
He tried to argue that stomach flips were more powerful, I think, because he asked me if he had ever given me butterflies. I told him no, but he had made my stomach flip before. It was an ego thing, probably - him refusing to believe butterflies meant more. His argument lied solely on the fact that butterflies were subtle. I told him that they were not subtle, but that they were progressive. It was a gradual thing that happened in our bodies when another human being woke something up inside us. This made him pause. So I continued. "If someone gives you butterflies, it's because they've evoked some sort of feeling from you. They've stirred up some emotion inside you that makes your stomach flutter. Anyone and anything can make your stomach flip. Stomach flips are a fleeting thing. But butterflies? Those sit inside you, I think."
He conceded. I won.
I'm almost positive it was the very next day that he gave me butterflies for the first time.
These are the things he and I used to talk about. Our early conversations were wonderful. There was always a new topic; we'd argue, but in a healthy and insightful way. He taught me so many things. About himself, about the world, about myself. And also a lot about cooking. Thinking back on the first half of our relationship, I don’t think I could be more delighted. It was a wonderful time where I was getting to know a beautiful human being.
I thought about the conversations we had just prior to our break up. This is what they consisted of: fights, school, fights, how-are-u’s, and kissing.
I physically cannot remember the last time he gave me butterflies.
I am seeing now that at some point in our relationship, something shifted. We fell into a routine that was suffocating the both of us. Routine is not something that anyone should be subjected to. I understand that there are "honeymoon" phases and such, and that when those wear off, you're left to deal with real emotions. But this is not what I'm talking about. I honestly believe that two people can have such a connection that they are always enlightened in a relationship, even in the smallest of ways. Everyone deserves that.
He enlightened me. But I think eventually he and I forgot how to do that for each other. The situation became complicated, and frustrating, and messy. We were more concerned about external things and hardships, that we forgot the way we communicated at the beginning of our relationship. We couldn’t remember how to get back to that place.
I still care about him more than I've cared about anyone in a very long time. He influenced my life in a way no other person could. He gave me butterflies.
He hasn't given me butterflies in a while, but he evoked something inside me. And butterflies? Those sit inside you, I think. And they sit there for a long time.
You, dear reader, deserve butterflies. Don't let anyone convince you that stomach flips will suffice. The emotion that comes with butterflies is something that you are capable of receiving and giving. And it is an experience that you are entitled to.
And hey, maybe if you're really lucky, you'll even find that person who gives you birds.
But that's another topic for another time.
- Adriana
My brother and I sang lots of songs last night.
I don't know why we did this.
But we did.
And it distracted me for about an hour and a half.
But now we're not doing that and I'm alone and I don't have anything to distract me anymore.
I need distractions.
So I'm blogging.
#iamnotasinger
#myvoicecracks
#butilikeit
#i'mwearingaMorningBenderstshirtbejealoussuckit
I have six blog posts drafted up, at current.
I have 5 other ideas written down, but not yet actualized.
I have half an essay,
Two drafted tweets,
And one-third of a list in my day planner
All written up.
Never finished.
I have not been able to write lately.
I’m not sure why. There has been a major writer’s block in my brain. I want to write things, but as soon as I sit down to do so, the words don’t come out. I can’t think of the proper way to verbalize them. So I get half way through, then read what I have thus far, then realize I’m not writing well because I don’t have a particular inspiration to write, and then I give up.
I’m not sure why.
But I am sure it’s frustrating.
So
Today I woke up
(After actually having gone to my math class)
Turned on my classical playlist
And told myself to write about not being able to write.
Perhaps writing it out will help me through the writer’s block.
So far it’s not working.
I can feel myself slowly disliking what I’m writing and what I’ve written so far.
In two minutes I’m going to pause, review, then exit.
Chopin, you’re not helping.
This writer’s block is a bad thing, you see.
For at least three reasons.
Reason one:
I have a paper for English that was due last week that I have yet to finish and turn in. I talked to my professor about it, and he was cool with it, but I need to finish it soon so I am not a bad student.
Reason two:
The longer I put off writing the things I want to write, the more I forget about why I want to write them.
Looking back at my list of blog ideas, I can’t remember why I thought at least two of them would be interesting. And then I try to think of what I would write regarding those things, and I draw blanks. There is no story there. There is not enough story there. What was I thinking?
Reason three:
I really enjoy writing.
And this small funk that I am in is throwing off my chi.
I am not inspired.
And it’s frustrating me.
And google isn’t working.
And I need to water my cactus.
And I want to clean my room.
And I have class in 20 minutes.
And I am not dressed in proper out-in-public clothing yet.
Okay. Okay okay okay okay okay.
I am going to:
Get dressed.
Go to class.
Have lunch with my sister.
Talk to her about this.
Come home.
Clean my room.
Finish my essay.
Because after doing all these things, particularly cleaning my room, I will feel de-cluttered and un-funked, and I will be able to write.
And I will listen to Yo-Yo Ma playing Prelude from Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1, and I will be inspired.
Perhaps not by the song, even, but I will feel rejuvenated to write.
Right?
Yes?
No?
I hope so.
I have to go.
- Adriana
This morning was better.
I woke up to a flood of light pouring into the half-circle shaped window that adorns the top of our regular, rectangular window.
A well lit room,
In a surprisingly comfortable bed,
After a decent night's sleep.
Anything a girl could ask for, yeah?
I lied in bed for a brief moment.
Annoyed.
Why was it so bright? It was only nine o clock. It's too early for it to be this bright.
Why was it so hot? Why did the A/C shut off? I can't get out of my covers, because I would just feel so exposed in front of my roommate.
Why was I awake? I've only been asleep for a few hours, surely I have a couple more in me.
I lied in bed for a brief moment.
Unsure of what to do with myself.
It was as if I forgot how to go about with my life. My day.
I forgot how to get out of bed, and go to the bathroom, and brush my teeth, and fix my hair.
I forgot how to wake up and just know what I was going to do with my day.
I sat up.
Now what?
Am I hungry? Should I eat breakfast? Should I shower? Should I get dressed and leave? But then where do I go? What do I do?
I lied back down. Unsure. Unsure of everything.
I called my sister.
It was a brief conversation. Nothing too extreme. Nothing too important.
But talking to her,
Hearing the familiar elevator noise as she descended to the first level of her work,
Hearing her scold the children in the background,
Hearing Stella laugh into the phone,
I felt connected.
So I said goodbye, hung up, got out of bed, walked to the kitchen, toasted a bagel thin, smeared it with natural peanut butter, poured myself a glass of water, and went back to my room.
Then I turned on my iPod speakers, and proceeded to play music as I ate and tidied up my room.
And when I started rifling through my new closet, trying to decide what to wear on a day that I had no plans, Scythian Empire by Andrew Bird came on.
And something sort of hit me.
Andrew Bird was playing,
As I got dressed in my own apartment,
In my well-lit shared room,
With a surprisingly comfortable bed,
After a decent nights sleep.
And I felt good.
And I think about what to do today. And all the possibilities.
I think about walking to the campus,
And walking around, trying to get a feel for the next nine months of school,
And I think about driving around trying to get to know the town.
And I think about coming back to my apartment in a couple of hours and making lunch for myself.
Getting out a pan,
And chopping up up spinach,
And melting cheese onto my eggs,
And I feel good.
And I think about how easy it will be to drive home for the Death Cab for Cutie concert tonight.
And how easy it will be come back to Orem.
I think about how easy it is to go back and forth between a place I know and a place I will know.
And I'm comforted.
I'm not gone.
I haven't left.
And neither have you.
You,
The universal comfort that I need,
Are in Salt Lake.
And Salt Lake
Is right around the point of the mountain.
And on the weather settings on my phone,
And the concert tickets on my wall.
Salt Lake is here.
And even though not everyone I need is in Salt Lake.
Even though they'll be scattered all over the place.
Logan, Virginia, New York.
I'm not far from the things I know.
50 miles, 100 miles, a thousand miles away.
It doesn't matter where I am, I don't think.
And I think I know that now.
And it was all because of Andrew Bird.
And the flood of light that's pouring into the half-circle window that adorns the top of our regular, rectangular window.
- Adriana
It is 3:19 AM,
I am sitting on a couch that is not mine,
In a living room that is not mine,
Attempting to avoid sleeping in a bed that is not mine.
Even though
All these things
Are now mine.
Tonight I moved into my new apartment.
It’s a lovely apartment,
Close to the campus,
Large kitchen, large living room, friendly roommates.
But also,
Far from everything I know.
Far from a place where I know people, the city, places.
Orem is lovely.
I’ve lived here for only a couple of hours, and I can already tell I will get along with my roommates just fine.
They’re a great bunch.
But I feel so disconnected.
From everything.
This place doesn’t even have internet.
I mean…. really.
Really.
Moving is a good change.
A very positive one.
A very necessary one.
But I think I’m more scared than I thought I would be.
Today as I drove with my sisters on the way to Orem, Ingrid asked me
“What are you going to do all week?”
My immediate answer was, “Well, I’m coming up to Salt Lake on Monday, and for a bit on Wednesday.”
And then she asked “Yes, but what about the rest of the week?”
And I paused. I didn’t know what to say. What was I going to do with the rest of my time?
I’m suddenly on my own, with all this free time, to do whatever it is I want to do.
What do I want to do?
I know no one. I know where nothing is here.
I’m forty five minutes away from home and I’m in a completely different world.
I feel hundreds of miles away from everything.
I’m not homesick, I don’t think.
It’s not that I want to be home under the warm protection of my parents.
It’s not that I want to be sleeping in my wonderful full size bed.
It’s not that I want to be in a place where I know I will have internet in the morning.
It’s not that.
I just want to feel close to people in my life.
I want to have the option to see them as I wish.
I’m friendsick.
Siblingsick.
Yousick.
I’m uncomfortable.
So.
I am listening to the album Two Way Monologue,
Blogging,
Drinking water,
Trying to feel close to something as everything moves farther and farther away.
Trying to feel comfortable.
And just as it starts to work slightly,
I remember that I’m typing this post in a Word document.
Which I have done several times before.
But the difference now is that I’m not home.
Which means I won’t be able to publish this post in the morning when my mother turns on the internet.
Now,
I’m in my new internet-less apartment.
Internet-less whether it be night or day.
And now I have to go hunt down a free Wi-Fi spot.
Just so I can get on the internet to post this.
…
Thank goodness my phone has 3G.
Time to search for a Barnes and Noble in the Orem area.
-Adriana
Edit: WE FOUND WI-FI.
Hallelujah, all.
Hall-e-lujah.
Question:
How much would you spend on a quality backpack that you'd love as if it were your child and you would carry it around everywhere and have lots of adventures with it and love it and love it and never let go?
Seriously, friends.
How much would you pay?
Keeping this question in mind, let's move into the third episode of the viewer favorite:
Today we're all about backpacks.
As some of you know,And as all of you will know after the following sentence,
I am a backpack person.
At the end of junior year,
on Memorial Day in fact,
My sisters and I took a small day trip(per) up to Park City.
As Ingrid looked at snow shoes,
Astrid looked at regular shoes,
And I meandered through the store,
I saw something that would change my life forever.
There, hanging on a hook that was too high for my 5'1 stature to reach, was a salmon-colored Sherpani canvas backpack with a tan trim and lavender detail up the front.
And if that wasn't detailed enough:
I needed it.
I thought of a million reasons to have it.
And so I bought it.
At first, I felt silly switching a regular shoulder bag for a backpack.
I felt childish.
I was chided.
Questioned.
Laughed at.
Alright, I wasn't, but the first time people saw me with the backpack they seemed to cock their head to the side to let the sight sink in.
Eventually, it did.
And eventually I became comfortable with it.
And eventually I loved it.
I carried the backpack everywhere.
It was my bag.
It carried my wallet, my keys, my phone, my iPod, and other oddities.
Throughout my senior year of high school, I bought smaller notebooks and folders to accommodate it.
It was me and my backpack against the world.
My mom will still call me a kangaroo on occasion, commenting the fact that I always have a pack with me.
Either my Sherpani one, or a floral one that my sister bought for me as a graduation present.
Floral with brown straps, I decorated it with a Harry Potter keychain and a plush fox pin, and it became my companion for the summer.
As college approaches, I've only thought of things I will need to buy for my new independent life.
Pots, bedding, avocados.
But I completely forgot about the necessities.
Well, perhaps I didn't forget about them.
I just didn't think the necessities were… necessary.
Which is where our night begins.
I began my research on what backpack I would want.
Do I want another canvas backpack like the ones I’ve been donning?
Perhaps something a bit sturdier, like a rucksack?
Are these practical, due to the heavy lifting I’ll be doing in college?’
Then
I remembered reading about a girl who was a backpack enthusiast.
I looked her up.
This girl
Is awesome.
For several reasons.
She is a very talented artist.
She has mad style.
She is Chris Baio (the bassist for Vampire Weekend)’s sister.
And she introduced me to this bag:
I quickly became obsessed.
This backpack…
This.
Backpack.
Was perfect.
Roomy, sturdy, had plenty of compartments, and had a quirk to it that I absolutely loved.
The problem?
I had no idea what kind of backpack it was.
I searched for hours.
Trying to type keywords into Google.
“Retro backpacks”
“Retro school bags”
“Vintage school backpacks”
“Leather retro backpacks”
Why
Couldn’t
I
Find
This
Bag
?!?!?!!asapgkpeotksh
I stalked Al Baio in every possible way I could, trying to catch her mentioning the name of her bag.
No where.
It was if this backpack didn’t exist.
I looked through the pages of her blog,
10 pages
20 pages
30 pages
40 pages
Looking through picture after picture.
The bag came up several times,
But never was it named.
This bag was an enigma that I couldn’t understand.
A box I couldn’t open.
A club I couldn’t be a member of.
A siren - taunting me with its beauty, but never letting me touch it. Luring me in for the kill.
…
So I loved this bag a lot okay?
I continued to search, getting little hints along the way.
There was a similar version of the backpack distributed by United Colors of Benetton.
They seemed to be incredibly popular in Tokyo.
She said it came with a “raincoat,” which was essentially a large shower cap.
And when she posted a picture of it, the flyer that came with it was in some Asian language.
The only English letters spelling out EVA.
All great hints,
That led me nowhere.
Page 76 out of 77 pages on her blog.
And finally
This picture:
My chest swelled, my breath caught in my throat, I stopped moving for fear that the picture would disappear.
Asics Super Randoseru.
Asics Super Randoseru.
The picture even congratulated me for finally finding its name.
Why thank you, picture.
How kind of you.
After memorizing the picture, I frantically began to Google it to find out more.
Asics Super Randoseru.
Super Randoseru.
And eventually just “randoseru.”
I discovered it is a children’s backpack commonly used in Japan. Parents give their child a randoseru at the beginning of elementary, and they’re to use that backpack for the duration of their childhood education. It’s designed to withstand six years of day-to-day use.
So basically,
It’s awesome.
And also,
Unattainable.
I have no idea where to buy one at a reasonable price.
There are a couple on a sketchy Japanese website,
A few on Amazon,
And a bit more on eBay.
All more expensive than what I would usually spend on a backpack.
But,
I totally think it’s worth it but I might just be love struck that’s totally a possibility shut up.
So,
This is where we complete the circle of life,
Or the life of this post, at least.
And I ask you again:
How much would you spend on a backpack?
A backpack that you would use forever and would absolutely love?
Where do you draw the line?
I am having a very hard time drawing the line with this one.
It’s my money
I’m allowed to do what I want with it right?
Right?
I mean, that’s what adulthood is,
Isn’t it?
Adulthood is all about buying overpriced children’s backpacks.
I think.
I don’t know.
Sigh.
Maybe you should sleep on it, yeah?
Yeah. Go to sleep.
Have pleasant dreams of beautiful randoseru backpacks, my friends.
In the morning I fully expect you to have an answer to my question.
It’s an important one, homezzz.
- Adriana
P.S. Did anyone spot the Beatles easter egg in there? I bet you did, but didn’t understand it was supposed to be a Beatles easter egg until just now.
P.P.S. Lack of sleep does this to me, okay? Don’t judge.
P.P.P.S I love you all.
P.P.P.P.S xoxo, Gossip Girl.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
