What I'm reading:  Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides

Snack Time

Yesterday was my last day of class for Genetic Analysis. We had our last lecture, turned in our final research summary papers, gave up our lab notebooks, and began to fill out evaluations when our professor announced that she had brought us snacks as a parting gift. A titter of excitement went around the room as we anticipated what yummy goodies she could have brought us. She brought a bag out from behind her desk and proceeded to take out what looked like something that had become very familiar to us over the course of the semester--what looked suspiciously like a stack of petri dishes.

Guards were up now. Our professor passed them out, and we examined them cautiously. Up close, they were not anymore reassuring

as they were the color of YPD plates (on which we'd been growing yeast all semester).

When asked what it was, our professor replied, "YPD!" When it was discovered that they were jello and asked about the flavor, our professor replied, "YPD!" The smell resembled apple juice but not quite. The taste resembled apple juice--but not quite. They basically tasted exactly like what you would think YPD would taste like.

I don't think anyone was able to eat more than a spoonful of it.

I'm not convinced that she didn't put a little YPD in them.

Uninhibited

Last weekend was Spring Concert, and I had a fabulous time.

Though the music was a little disappointing, the company was good, and I danced in a way that I haven't in a while--completely uninhibited. Due to a mix of the buzz and my hyper mood, I danced and danced and danced like nobody was watching. I danced in every which way, form, and style I wanted. I just danced in the feeling of the moment. And it was great. It was exactly what I needed.

This weekend, I went out not intending to go out. I had a lot of work to do, so I wasn't drinking. I didn't want to stay out late and be tired the next day, but somehow, I ended up bouncing from the Rhythm and Shoes show to Marsh Coffehaus to Plimpton Prom.

Lilly Allen's "Hard Out Here" was playing as we walked in, and I knew:
I wasn't drinking. But I was definitely dancing.

I wondered if I just let it go, just danced the way I felt like dancing--no matter how outrageous or mellow--if I could attain that level of uninhibitedness, the fun, the release that I had felt the weekend before. I gave it a try. I was aware that people were watching but in my mind I looked fabulous, and so I danced and danced and danced like nobody was watching. And, again, it was great.

Disclaimer:  People will think you're drunk. Even if you explain to them that you're completely sober. Even if you do yoga poses in the middle of the dance floor. They will not believe you and will go ahead thinking you're drunk.

。。。

That bout of total release is something I feel has been missing from my life recently. It's a feeling I believe a lot of people forget--the feeling of giving up all cares and letting yourself be yourself--but it's an important feeling to keep with you. I can't quite articulate why, but for me, even the remembrance of it spreads an ease and contentedness throughout me. It was kind of a moment of pure bliss. I wasn't worried about what people were thinking. I wasn't worried about my school work. I wasn't worried about the future. I simply enjoyed the music and the company of my friends and let everything else go.

Maybe it's important to keep memories like this in reserve so that you know you can always reach down and pull those feelings back out again, so that you always remember that feelings like these are possible.

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Side story:  When we returned to the dorm, we found that some people had set up a "laser" maze in the common room (strands of yarn going every which way that you had to avoid touching lest you get "burned"). Raichu and I crawled, climbed, and wriggled our way through the maze. It was a fun end to a fun night.

"I wrote a poem"

"O! Tears of coffee, 
down my cheek. Drink again, wretch!
Woe, procrastination. "

--Nicole McNeil

Dewittious and Pempai

Pictures they drew of each other. Completely accurate. Pretty much photographs.

What I'm reading:  Bel Canto by Ann Patchett

Bloody Stumps

One of the kids today kept taking her shoes off in class, so Ms. Z reprimanded her, "I've already told you three times. You always have to wear your shoes."

Another kid piped up, "But not if there's a fire!"

。。。

This reminded me of something my high school Latin teacher once said. She was always giving us what we called Life Lessons with Weydling. One day, the topic was airport safety. She lectured us and even pulled up the TSA website to read us the traveling safety tips. She was adamant about the importance of wearing sturdy shoes to the airport in case there was an emergency and you had to climb over the seats to get to the plane exit. You'd need the sturdy shoes to step over all the panicking suckers in sandals and heels.

When we didn't take her seriously, she made one final comment:

"Fine. Don't come crying to me when you have to run through the airport on bloody stumps."

。。。

I'd like to emphasize that it's when--not if--when we have to run through the airport on bloody stumps.

What I'm reading:  The Good Women of China:  Hidden Voices by Xinran

"Elicit a few 'wows' today."

I have a pair of underwear with the word "WHOA!" printed on the back. One of my friends thinks they're completely tacky, but I love them. To me the "WHOA!" says "WHOA! Damn, girl. Check out that ass." It's a little boost of self-confidence and self-love that makes me smile every time I put them on.

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Every summer, my friend Fae and I hit the mall and go underwear shopping together, taking advantage of that 7 for $26.50 deal at Aerie. We've been doing it for a couple years now, and it's become a fun tradition for the both of us. The first time, however, was more of me coercing her to come with me than it was a fun girls' day out. She's always been more conservative than I and was reluctant to leave the comfort of her 6-a-pack panties for the wild, unknown world of boyshorts, cheeksters, and thongs.

She had been dating her boyfriend for a year and was just about to set off for college, leaving her very loving but very overprotective parents behind. The time was prime for a new pair of panties.

When we got to Aerie, she still wasn't comfortable with this whole lingerie-new panties-underwear thing.

At some point I had read that your underwear is for yourself. No one really sees it or is even meant to see it. Only you know what it looks like, how it feels, or whether you're wearing it at all. I took this sentiment to heart and felt empowered by it. I wore my cute underwear and felt as if I had a delicious secret that I could keep all for myself or decide to share with others.

I described this feeling to Fae, but she was still skeptical. Nonetheless, she picked out a few pairs, and at the very least, her boyfriend was greatly appreciative. A few months later, Fae admitted to me that she now understood what I had meant.

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It's been a few years. Now, the boyfriend is gone, but the panties remain. She wears them for herself and completely rocks them everyday, feeling like the sexy, beautiful woman she is.

Sunshine on a Rainy Day

Hot Mess

This blog is an amalgamation of tidbits from my daily life. It will most likely not be well-written and most likely will not be organized. It will basically be a hot mess of a blog. It is mostly for me to look back upon to get a glimpse of my thoughts, stories, and experiences at this time, but I hope you are also able to take something of value from it.