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Archive for February, 2010

Today I accidentally referred to my roommates as my family. My slip made me pause for a moment to think about what it actually means to be a family.

I spend most of the year with these people afterall. We have witnessed each others best and worst moments; the absolute pinnacles of happiness and the absolute most heart-wrenching moments of sadness. We make small talk over the dining room table and argue about whose  turn it is to take out the garbage. We act as one another’s mother, sister, best friend, and weird aunt who offers to give you a nickel if you rub out her bunion…

Being a family it seems comes less from genetics than  from the unconditional love you can have for someone, even after you’ve seen them wipe earwax on the wall or pick particles of food from their fingernails or sleep with a giant Robert Pattinson blanket….

As weird as they are (and trust me, they’re weird), I think there are still stranger family dynamics than our own.

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Spiderman from fastcharacters.com

I believe bathroom time should be alone time. Door closed, blinds shut. Recently though I’ve discovered that I am no longer able to be alone in these private tasks. I am being watched. Not by some creeper hanging out around the house. No, I am being watched by a family of white arachnids who have taken residence in my home. I am joined when in the shower, while flossing my teeth, when brushing my hair…. I relocated a few to the great outdoors, by my new eight-legged housemates keep finding their way home.

 I have another option… the one most people I believe would take- crush  the tiny little bodies in a tissue and toss them with the garbage. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I had no problem taking out the colony of ants that decided to declare war on our kitchen counters with a can of Raid, and I didn’t feel too bad while eating my Asian chicken salad wrap tonight, but actually crushing the life out of a little creature seems too much.

So I decided to make a deal with the house crashers. If they don’t touch me, I won’t touch them… So far so good.

Then again, maybe the university has been up to some nuclear experimentation on the spiders and I’ll have Spiderman powers in the morning.

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Ohno on Wheaties Box. From http://www.ohnozone.net

If Apolo Ohno wins gold tonight and ends up on a box of Wheaties, I will eat Wheaties and nothing but Wheaties until he’s off the box. That is my promise to America.

Bring on the scurvy!

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If it is possible to fail at meditation, I’ve done it. As a required by my Let’s Pretend this Public Speaking Course is a Religion Course to Fulfill University Requirements professor, I attempted five days of meditation (okay, I attempted three…). About 2 minutes into each session I’d get so anxious to get back to work that I would just give up and go back to writing my papers, reading my textbooks, or (of course) working on this blog.

There’s something about a college dorm room that doesn’t say “relax and be at peace with the world” so much as it says “AHHHHHHH!!!! DEADLINES!” We are so enwrapped in work that its sometimes harder to take 10 minutes to breathe than to write a 10 page research paper. It’s second semester (which always feels so much shorter than first) and it’s only a few weeks until Spring Break, the time when professors start steamrolling students with papers and projects, just to ensure that they are sufficiently stressed before (or even worse, after) vacation. Maybe we should all just relax, breathe, and find our center.

Anyway, it’s time for me to get back to work…

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Evil Lurks in Room 113


I have never experienced anything like it. I woke up in a cold sweat and panic. I had to turn on the light and settle myself. This was the third time in one night. The terror struck hard and fast and I awoke to realize that my nightmare had followed me back into my room. A periwinkle paisley binder, a black wire-bond notebook, and a mostly dilapidated laptop… the things that were haunting me.

I have never had a class like Business Planning. Others have told me the stories, but I until last night’s panic, I didn’t realize how much the class was affecting me.

This morning I woke up to find my face was breaking out in mean little red eruptions. My eyes have deep purple circle forming, like a kid after amateur boxing night.

Tonight I’ll be moving the notebook and binder to the other room before I go to sleep to try to clear the bad energy out of the room… or maybe I’ll just soak them in holy water…

 

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Toy Story kicks butt. It’s not up for argument or discussion. It proves something that every child knows- toys live and have emotions and love the children who love them. Genius. So the other morning my roommate Stephanie and I decided to borrow it from our school’s library. No dice. We try the public library and it had 4 holds on it. We went onto the school’s interlibrary system and found only 1 available copy at a school… about 41 miles away (which we requested for free delivery to our library, which is why the interlibrary system is still better than Netflix).

It being out at the public library I can understand, but from all the universities? Were all these future college graduates doing theses on the harmful effects of Disney on the delicate minds of children? Perhaps. Were they trying to hold onto the nostalgia of their childhood? Maybe. But I think the real reason is that people never stop being children. We just suppress it as it becomes less socially acceptable. College students are in the purgatory of life, that strange middle ground where they prepare for the “real world” while still depending on their parents and playing with their friends (the games change, the concept doesn’t). Being caught in the in-between forces us to live these double lives, where we go to work or internships or nursing clinicals or student teaching, but come home and play monopoly or watch Disney movies and call our parents to tell them about our day. Living as both adults and children and trying to find the proper balance.

I think we should try to hold onto our childhood for as long as possible (hopefully indefinitely). Not to say we should be immature or not take responsibility seriously, but children can imagine a world where a playground is a tropical rainforest and toys can come to life and literally anything can happen.

Maybe I’m just one of those soon-to-be-college-graduates who is freaking out about the prospect of having to be a “real adult” (whatever that happens to mean). But all I have to say is, “to infinity and beyond!”

 

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The future is now. With Facebook, Twitter, blogs, Flickr, etc, we’ve become our own tabloid press and paparazzi, spewing all the juicy details and drama on the wall of the Web, and waiting for someone to comment. 

Personally, I’m glued. I couldn’t leave now if I wanted to. Not so much for my own spotlight (afterall, my starlight is pretty dim, considering my followers consist solely of roommates and a few others I know)… I can’t leave the social networking scene because I love watching the drama unfold in front of me. Twitter’s a nice glimpse into the lives of others, but nothing beats Facebook drama. I stalk out people’s stories like soap operas. Watching to see who broke up with whom, who’s back in rehab, and who just had her first child before her 21st birthday.

Call me a voyeur or a creep, but you’re reading this post, so maybe you are one too.

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