Oregon Trail

I have a tendency to get a head of myself. I exaggerate. I like to make bold statements that usually hold little to no likelihood of ever transpiring. Take for example, sophomore year when I told all of my friends after the first day of class that I had met my future husband during Spanish.

I think the conversation went something like this.

While standing in line at Kyoto for happy hour sushi, all discussing our first days.

Friends: (the obligatory)So Caroline, how were your classes?
Me: Well, not bad...except that I MET MY HUSBAND IN SPANISH!!!! He held the door for me, THEN sat next to me in class, AND laughed at all of my sarcastic quips about the ridiculousy of the spanish language.
Friends: ....

Spoiler alert: I'm not married, and as it turns out, I have over active gut instincts.

I HATE to admit it, but I'm secretly still like that. Not proclaiming every man I meet to be my husband, rather, thinking I have enough life experience to predict HUGELY important life events way ahead of their time. I digress...

I'll admit that I would like to live in world where things are that simple. I remember, BELIEVING that when I met the person I would love more than I love pineapple pizza, I'd KNOW it was right. There wouldn't be a question. Everything would fit. No complications. No heart break.

Flash forward 5 years. Naive childlike view of the complex infrastructure of <3luv<3 = dunzo. In order to calm the intense cognitive dissonance that resulted from my silly fantasies and my actual reality, I threw in the proverbial towel. What kind of ninny ACTUALLY believed that even the purest of loves could exist without difficulty? This ninny.

BUT WAIT. After spending the better part of 2 evenings reading a blog re-telling the story of how a woman met her husband, I hate to admit that I am hook, line and sinker back in favor of the idea of simple, perfect love. I know I am grossing everyone out, but you have GOT to read this story. It's about a woman who graduated from USC (total LA city girl) moved home, met a cowboy in a bar...he called her FOUR months later, they go out, FALL IN LOVE AFTER 10 DAYS, and are married and live on a ranch in Oklahoma. What you'll realize after reading this story is what it's missing. It's completely absent of games, manipulation, and any other type of plague so common in relationships today. He says what he feels. He is straightforward. He doesn't make things complicated.

The point is, I'm back. I've retired my once pessimistic, cynical outlook and replaced it with one full of rainbows and butterflies. Anybody who wants to tell me how childish I am can suck it. I'm not from Oregon, and I won't settle..unless it's on a farm with a cowboy.

http://thepioneerwoman.com/blog/category/black_heelstractor_wheels/the_night_i_met_marlboro_man/

I'm crazy. See Below for PROOF

So. I'm behind. My life is happening and for some reason I'm struggling to write about it. I may or may not have convinced myself in the last week that blogging is lame and makes me less of a human. I'm not sure exactly how that happened because I'm not one of those overly critical, high self-monitors who lives in constant fear that my life doesn't mirror the picturesque lifestyle of my friends, nor do I make certain that every single part of my existence coincides with the norm. To put it bluntly, and possibly ruin every claim I've spouted about this blog not being utilized as a medium to promote narcissism..I kind of think everything I do is great. For example, I'm listening to Miley Cyrus' 'Party in the USA' on repeat so I can memorize all of the lyrics, watching Reba on TV (it's muted..I just like seeing her feisty expressions every now and again), weighing the level of ostentation the pink color I chose for my fingernails suggests, and having absolutely no cognitive dissonance about the fact that I'm a 21 year old behaving like a pre-Joel Madden, Hillary Duff.

I guess what I'm saying is it's out of character for me to even consider that writing in a blog makes me a weirdo..because even though it does, I wouldn't care. However, the truth of the diminishing level of my usual oozing, self-confidence, remains. I think it has a lot to do with what I've been wanting to write about recently..myself..shudder.. I refuse to treat this blawg like a desperate cry for attention, not dissimilar to a facebook status crafted solely to incite curiosity and subsequently, the label 'pathetic loser'. HOWEVER, writing is cathartic, and recently all I've wanted to do is be analytical and write sweet nothings about my existence..not to incite curiosity or find myself guilty of TMI, rather, just because that's where this writer's block as taken me.

In an ideal world, my blogs would be centered around hilarity and truth, and I want to acknowledge that I'm not doing that. I'm talking about things I'd probably deny to half of the people that may or may not read this. BUT.. it is, as all good things are, my prerogative. It's the way the cookie crumbles, the cake I'll have and eat too, the bed I've made and try to sleep in. ahahaaha. In the words of Miley: I'm Nodding my head like, 'yeah!' Moving my hips like, 'yeah!' You're welcome.

The Diary of Anne Frank

Journaling is a complicated hobby.

On the one hand, my rampant, and questionably odd, obsession with tangibly written things makes journaling quite rewarding. Call me geriatric, but I love flipping through old notebooks scrawled with illegible Texas history notes and reading 5th grade notes written with gel pens about how Callie Henthorn needs to wear a bra.

I don't delete text messages that I think are particularly funny and to this day re-read the "Dobie is on fire." text, circa 2007, from my RA in San Jacinto and laugh out loud. ..I don't generally think arson is humorous, but it was really unexpected and the circumstances surrounding it are silly. ANYWAY.. needless to say, an obsession with the written word is a two-way street. Similar to the way I like to read things that have been written, I also like to be the one who writes tangible items. I keep old to-do lists and LOVE writing e-mails. I don't mind sending thank you notes and refuse to take my computer to class because handwritten class notes are a lost art. [..that last example was a shameless mind-trick to try and convince myself that owning a 14 lb. computer really isn't the most annoying and impractical part of my existence]

MOVING ON..I also have a tendency to journal. It's narcissistic and totally self-involved, but I do it. It helps me think. It lets me vent. It permits me to demonstrate poor grammar without fear of correction. I don't do it to make everlasting memories about the time I tripped down the steps in front of the tower while eating powdered donuts and smashed one of them into my denim shorts giving me a powdery, white, sugar ass. If anything, that's why I don't journal. I HATE feeling stupid when I re-read something I previously scribbled about. I HATE reliving moments that shouldn't ever have to be relived. But I do it. I do it, and I hate very minute of it.

This is a little off topic, but my current biggest fear is stagnance. Living life in freeze frames. Not changing thoughts, experiences and the like in lieu of remaining completely resolute in current thoughts, experiences and beliefs. I would be living a nightmare if I was the exact same person my whole life. SO.. reading things from years ago and finding myself feeling oddly similar to the words that I wrote is terrifying. I refuse to believe that I am the same person I was my freshman year of college. It's absurd to even entertain the idea..but when you have it in writing, it get's complicated. ERGO: Journaling is a complicated hobby. I kind of don't have a cute, simple, comforting thought to end this post with. Most of the time I can brush off my ridiculous exaggerations and forget about them. I may or may not choose to dwell on this. ..But I also might go watch Kathy Griffin my life on the D-list, eat kettle-corn, listen to Cher, write about it, and go to sleep. Call me a fireman, but I'm going with the latter.

Lauren Conrad is my homegirl

Not to assume that anyone reads, let alone REMEMBERS, what I blabber about..but recall that renewed perspective I was bragging about last week? Dunzo. The past few days my life has been like a bad episode of The Hills. Horrible analogy.. every episode of The Hills is bad. I'll try a different approach, the events of the past few days have been like a Dominos pizza delivered without cheese.. tolerable, but so completely absurd you don't know whether to laugh out of the insanity, or scream out of disgust, because there is an establishment that is still allowed to exist after crafting a cheeseless pizza.

You following? I thought so. The point is, I think perspective is jinxable. I'm really writing to warn EVERYONE. If you think you've got it, don't tell anyone, because before you know it you'll be eating cheese-less pizza and watching reruns of Laguna Beach because company policy doesn't allow Blockbuster to rent The Hills to drug-dependent drag rats.

In other news, this is mostly just for show. I'm having a super great time living with two of my best friends and swimming and drinking $1 beer. Life isn't worth it if you can't sometimes compare it to The Hills, right? Right.

avril+legally blonde = unstoppable

Hi friends.

It's probably presumptuous to use a word like friends as it's doubtful that everyone reading this is in fact someone I associate regularly with. I should say Hi peeps. It's more encompassing.

Time for a confession:

I sincerely enjoy it every single time I hear Avril Lavigne's 'Complicated' playing on the radio. I turn that shit up and I belt it out. It isn't pretty. Maybe it stems from my crazy, private-school, 8th grade teen angst years, but listening to Avril, a misunderstood, punk-rock, free-spirit, rebel, really brings me back.

In other news, I should be reading my history book. I have to take a 'test' tomorrow, and truthfully, I'm being generous when I say test. The word test usually indicates an evaluation of knowledge has taken place, but at ACC it's different. Tests are a pathetic attempt at reassuring individuals seeking inferior educations that despite all the signs, they really do have expectations to meet, regardless if a new born baby could spit up all over a scantron, turn it in, and receive a B, if for no other reason because baby starts with B. ANYWAYS. I have a test to take, and take the test I will.

Time for another confession: I watch Legally Blonde everysingletime it is on TBS. I think it's both hilarious and unquestionably endearing. The soundtrack is totally jam worthy and I think Luke Wilson is just adorable sometimes. Who cares if the dialogue is less than stimulating and that the 'Bend and Snap' is the most over quoted movie scene in existence?

So I've made my case for both Legally Blonde and Avril Lavigne and needlessly bashed the junior college education system. I'd say I've done my part to better the world for one day. :) Happy Sunday!

night night

It's pitch black. My ceiling fan on the 3rd highest speed. Cell phone alarm clock is checked, and double checked. My mouth guard is in, so yes, read this post with a horrible lisp, because that's how it's being typed. (I'm a grinder, what can I say?) And yet, those elusive ZZZ's I desperately crave seem to be in hiding.

I had one of those weekends that reminded me how blessed I am. No, I didn't win the lottery or find myself mysteriously cured from a terminal disease. I didn't visit African tribes laden with poverty or converse with drag rats and their starving dogs on Guad. '16 and pregnant' wasn't on Lifetime and our Post Secret books remain untouched on the coffee table. So, there's really no reason this little morale boost kicked in. Truth be told, I think I just kind of remembered who I am, where I am and who I have.

Not to sound effusive and mawkish, because, trust me, my cynicism and horribleness are still rampant, but is there anything better than inexplicable renewed perspective?

Nope. There just isn't.

English is my second language. Awkward is my first.

I talk a lot. In doing so I prefer to say things in a round-about manner, I like to meander. Getting to the point without convoluted sentence structure and foregoing needless comma splices is to be expected. Give me a subject and a verb and I'll give you your grandmother's almanac. The following are a list of words and phrases that I have knowingly misused this week, all for the sake of being wordy, and the responses that each have received.

1) Burden of proof

Origin: While I was reading about affirmative action in my government book this week the term 'burden of proof' was used when talking about who's responsibility it was to prove discrimination..blah blah, the point is, 'burden of proof' has a nice ring to it, so I've been trying to find room for it in my daily interactions.

Situation used: In a conversation with my bosses boss at Gregory gym.

Bosses Boss: (Explaining to me why patron's get angry when their ID cards don't work..and how to handle it)"Caroline, nobody likes being told they don't have access to the facility, when in actuality they have paid for it, it's just the computer's error. It puts us in an awkward position and.."
Me: (cutting her off)..Right, right, I completely understand, it's a burden of proof.
Bosses Boss: ..long pause.."Yeah?..but.."..continues on with some convoluted point.

It just slipped out. I found it relevant and insightful. Bosses boss..not so much, she kind of just unabashedly stared at me until I silently recanted by looking down and embarrassed.

2. Learning curve

Origin: Candice was the first person to misuse this phrase while speaking to me on the phone earlier this week. I made a mental note to try my hand at using it as well.

Situation: I was taking a test at the testing center at ACC Rio Grande and waiting on the results of my scantron to be processed.

Test proctor: "Wow, great job and you finished that test fast. I bet all the people in there taking calculus tests hate you."
Me: *Polite laughter.. "Ya..well you know how learning curves are...If I had to take a calculus test I'm sure it would be a negative slope! (insert tone of voice that implies a joke was made, but realizes quickly that said joke is unidentifiable)"
Test proctor: *Hands me my scantron in silence.

Before you X out this page and resort to googling 'jk wedding entrance' for the billionth time, I swear I'm not a complete idiot..all the time. This time, yes.

3. Compartmentalizing

Origin: There is no logical reason I keep saying this word. I just started saying it this week to describe the new theorem I am applying to my daily life, in my own inaccurate way.

Situation: Talking to Candice on the phone about life events

Me: "Listen, all I'm trying to do is compartmentalize. I'm not at fault. Non-compartmentalizers are to blame!"
Candice: "Hahahaha, compartmentalize? Of Course!"
Me: "Okay, I know that doesn't make sense, but thank you for proving your loyalty and not questioning it."

In closing, it takes a while to further your vocabulary and impress others with your graceful speech. I'll learn, until then I'll continue to bear the burden of proof often found within the learning curve for compartmentalization.