From under eight blankets…

Ohhh hi. Nice to see you all after an unexpected little three week hiatus. I’d apologize, but I think anyone who knows me at all is quite familiar with my annual “it’s January and I feel like being a recluse” gig. If you don’t know me, hey, fun fact! I like hibernating in the winter.

Me, when I have to get up in the morning.

Me, when I have to get up in the morning.

Well if I haven’t been blogging during this period of hibernation, what have I been doing? Oh I’m so glad you asked.

  1. Having double-header indie movie nights. FrankSleepwalk With Me, and Your Sister’s Sister – all on Netflix, you are welcome.
  2. Eating shortbread cookies.
  3. Wearing this amazing denim jacket I bought secondhand practically every day and hoping no one notices…
  4. Reading about 1960’s Cuba and feeling more invested in a class than I have in quite some time (all the while adoring my professor, who is nothing short of spectacular).
  5. Shopping at Trader Joe’s and liking it 😦
  6. Attempting to marathon Jane the Virgin, even if it means I have to buy episodes on Amazon. In addition to faaar exceeding any expectations I have for a show on the CW, Jane the Virgin has Justin Baldoni’s face, which makes me want to cry. CRY, YOU GUYS.
  7. Listening to “Heirloom” by Sufjan Stevens and old Rattle and Hum-era U2 b-sides. I say this in the least pretentious/annoying way possible.
  8. Catching stunning sunrises on southbound buses. (this only happened once, but is worth mentioning)
  9. Actually cooking myself breakfast pretty much every morning.
  10. Thinking. Underthinking. Overthinking. Overbudgeting time. Underbudgeting iced mocha expenditures.

And that, my friends, is just about the extent of it. Perhaps I’ll keep up blog appearances from here on out. Perhaps I will continue to be a hermit. “That’s why people love me: I’m unpredictable,” she said sarcastically.

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Dear Santa Clause

I just had a moment. One where I picked up on something I should have gotten a very long time ago.

My sister and I, growing up, were firm believers in Santa – not abnormal for the culture in which I have been brought up. We made him cookies, we looked for reindeer tracks in the driveway on Christmas morning, and, naturally, wrote him the occasional letter/demanding wishlist. The only problem in all of this was that I was perpetually unclear on the spelling of Santa’s name.

I had seen “Santa Claus” in a lot of places, so it was always a strong contender. “Santa Klaus” had popped up as well, although somewhat less frequently. But what really messed me up was a slight variant of the first option – “Santa Clause.” I figured this was just a fancier way of addressing the jolly old man, maybe something invented by the posh people in England. So for the vast majority of my life, even after the figurative death of Mr. Kringle, I regarded “Santa Clause” as a perfectly valid spelling that everyone used. Tim Allen… you bastard.

Just thirty minutes ago, I was scrolling through Buzzfeed (as I do) and happened upon the poster for the 90’s Christmas classic. Let’s just revisit this for a second:

santa

Huh… how odd that they would make the “e” crooked and a different color than the rest of the text. That is no way to treat such a lovely and versatile letter of the alphabet. Oh wait.

It is understandable that this cruel play on words eluded me for the first 10 or 11 years of my life – that’s fine. But I am 20, guys. Two decades. Please tell me I’m not the only one who is just now realizing that this is actually a very cleverly named movie.

Everything makes sense now, but this sudden burst of clarity is somewhat dampened by my well-earned embarrassment. Happy holidays, everyone.

PS: “Santa Clause” still looks right to me. I NEED HELP

PPS: I didn’t figure out why toothpicks are called toothpicks until I was 16 years old

The coffee conformist

photo (29)

Despite being a) an inhabitant of the Pacific Northwest, b) a college student / generally sleep-deprived person, and c) the daughter of a triple tall americano addict, I never really got into the whole coffee thing. Up until I graduated high school, I would order lemonade at Starbucks, and for another two years after I never strayed from iced, unsweetened green tea. I had not consumed a drink with coffee in it until roughly six months ago. Tall, iced, non-fat mocha. I was annoyed with the sheer number of words I had to rattle off in order to get said drink, but I remember enjoying the unfamiliar rush of caffeine, describing it as “fun” to anyone who would listen to my chatter.

The next day, I repeated the process. This time, however, I felt like I was experiencing the physical symptoms of a panic attack, having so much energy coursing through my body with practically no outlet (sitting in lecture doesn’t require much exertion). I decided, at this point, that I was not going to pay five dollars a day for something that made me feel like my brain was out-growing my head. And then a week later multiple passersby witnessed me exiting Starbucks with a tall, iced, non-fat, decaf mocha in hand.

Due to the suburban lack of cozy, indie coffeehouses and my own laziness in the area of drink-making, the coffee thing did not present much of a problem while I was living at home over the summer. Upon my return to the city, though, it became quite the opposite – a coffee shop about a block away from campus lured me in with the free wifi and enormous peanut butter cookies, and who was I to ignore my forgotten flame, the mocha? In an effort to seem more chill and less high-maintenance, I dropped the “iced” and “decaf,” even though I have never been a hot drink person and I know quite well by now what caffeine does to my… wellness. The power of conformity, guys, I’m telling you.

And – I say this quite mournfully – now the non-fat mocha has pretty much become a part of my daily life. It seems as if each one I get has less chocolate and more coffee (particularly the one I’m drinking right now, which I accidentally ordered as a double-shot… when the barista asks, just say yes to avoid any potential awkwardness), and by this time next week I very well may be drinking my coffee black. The funny thing is that I feel like this has just happened to me. Like it has been out of my control. It’s, like, 8:30 in the morning, and I’m in this coffee shop full of books, Ella Fitzgerald’s voice reverberating off the walls, and I don’t want to be that pansy who orders an iced tea. You know? Chunky cardigan, hipster glasses, laptop open to WordPress, steaming mug of coffee; it just makes sense.

I didn’t want this to happen. But I suppose I just have to live with it now. Sorry, body. Sorry, wallet. Sorry, baristas who have to deal with me on a daily basis. Actually though.


On a separate note, my recommended songs of the week:

And now I know everything, part II.

Gwageous.

Gwageous.

Instead of whipping out my thesaurus app and delivering an extremely riveting opening paragraph, I am going to spare you and cut right to the chase today. But I wouldn’t recommend getting used to it.

In September, I started my freshman year of college – unsurprisingly, it was well-documented on this very blog. Just last week, I finished. I also promised a follow-up to the total outpouring of wisdom and brilliance that took place during my first week on campus. As would obviously be expected, I am a girl who keeps her promises. And with that, readers, I present to you the following bits of important knowledge acquired by yours truly over the course of the year:

  • That is probably not a breakfast burrito someone accidentally chucked into the laundry machine with their towels. Nope. It’s very likely vomit.
  • If you eat all carbs, you feel like all carbs.
  • Sometimes there are going to be cute boys who have jobs at places that require you to spend money on food. Like, you have to buy a NutriGrain bar in order to make two-second eye contact. All I can say is this: get ready to totally deplete your dining account.
  • Some shoes are suitable for walking on bricks in the rain. TOMS are certainly not included.
  • Christmas lights seriously make everything better.
  • Real breakfast food is a luxury; do not take it for granted.
  • Certain people never really learned how to do anything right, and they are the ones who set the fire alarm off at one in the morning.
  • Fire alarms no longer sound like fire alarms. They sound like air raid sirens, and they will scare the living daylights out of you.
  • I mumble in my sleep. Thought you should know.
  • Only about one in three assigned textbooks is actually necessary.
  • Jaywalking is reserved exclusively for cool people. If you don’t fit into that category, you’re probably going to have a very close encounter with a bus.
  • Effort to look nice + rain = UNCONTROLLABLE ANGER
  • Nicknames for people you don’t know but see all the time are not only necessary, but also inevitable.
  • Sit and read in all the beautiful places it is possible to do so.
  • Don’t even try that delicious-looking peanut butter cookie dipped in chocolate. Your life will be more bearable never knowing its glory.
  • Taking 8:30 classes should, frankly, be considered a form of self-harm.
  • Some people don’t hold doors. Deck ’em in the face.
  • Some people do hold doors. Kiss ’em on the face.
  • Cereal = breakfast, snack, and dessert.
  • Want proof of the innate human fear of interaction with strangers? Step into an elevator.
  • Other college students don’t enjoy the saccharine bounciness of ABBA as much as I do.
  • Even the most tedious cleaning jobs can be better than writing that ungodly 8-page paper.
  • Nothing beats topic overlap in different classes. Nothing.
  • Just get over yourself and sing in the shower. Give the neighbors a free concert.

With all of that said, I bid you adieu, mes petits choux (think that’ll stick? probably not). Have an amazing week!

That sentimental Thanksgiving post.

I think we’re all thankful for this.

It’s mid-November. Know what that means? Thousands of young men are sporting pathetically wispy “beards,” pretty much all novelists (published and otherwise) are now perpetually irritable and scatterbrained, and it’s time for me to stop my compulsive complaining about everything.

Really, I should be considered a terrible person. I complain about the most trivial things- retainers, water pressure, salad dressing, my empty mailbox. I’m pretty sure my incessant whining makes people want to throw up sometimes. So, seeing as tomorrow is Thanksgiving, I am going to be one of those people and list off the many things I am thankful for.

I’m thankful for thick socks and down comforters, and books that make me feel like they were written about my life. I’m thankful for trains, because they’re cool, and airplanes and speedboats. I am thankful for chocolate chip cookies, iced green tea, and Leonardo DiCaprio’s face, and I am very thankful for coats with hoods.

I’m thankful for friends: friends I see almost everyday, and friends I see every five years. I’m thankful for friends with infectious laughs and friends who can simply sit and chat for hours; friends who hate the same things I do, and friends who send me funny memes every once in awhile. Mostly, I’m thankful for the friends I can turn to even when we haven’t talked in what seems like forever.

I’m thankful for my family, aka the most wonderfully genuine and kindhearted people in the entire world. I’m thankful for my parents, who clearly did a fabulous job of raising me, and I’m thankful for my grandma, who was always willing to play with my cousins and me (and is the sole reason I am addicted to junk food). I’m thankful for my sister and all of her weirdness- my life would be so painfully boring without her. I’m thankful for my aunts and uncles and cousins, all of whom are hilarious and lovely, all at the same time.

I am thankful for Netflix and Gossip Girl, for finally providing me with a guilty pleasure. I’m extremely thankful for words and the people who have taught them to me, and for banjos, guitars, and pianos. I’m thankful for daisies, old pictures, accents, Christmas lights, Doc Martens, and sweet romantic comedies like Love Actually. I’m thankful for JK Rowling and an incredible boyfriend, and he should really be honored that I put him in the same sentence as JK Rowling.

Most of all, I am thankful for opportunities like this to take a break from my complaining- I’d encourage you to do the same.