Tag Archives: college life

Eat Your Heart Out, June Cleaver

(Sometimes little afternoons just write themselves into brightly-colored pleasing blog posts. This is one of those afternoons, and of course, it’s a SHAMELESS PHOTO POST!)

Honestly, in life, I think all it really takes is a little commitment to character and a smidge of red lipstick to make everything grand. So, when my lovely girlfriends and I decided to devote an afternoon to making pies, we couldn’t leave any details to make the event perfect out.

1950s Housewife attire? Check.

Vinyl records and sweet tea in fancy glasses? Check.

Apple cinnamon, key lime, cherry and pecan? Check.

Baking in heels? A nearly-almost check.

One delicious day? Most definite check.

(this is Taylor, diva and apple-slicer extraordinaire!)

(please note the heart. AW!)

(this is Kate, aka the greatest pie-making-teacher evs! she worked in a bakery, so these pies are legendary already.)

Serious question, internet–is there anything greater and more loving on this earth than pie? I could ramble on about how much a good crust is a gift from God or how on a perfect pie, each bite is like giving your mouth a warm just-what-I-needed-hug, but I’ll suffice it to say that if you don’t love pie, you’ve been doing it wrong.

Mourn the loss of a great tv show by watching Pushing Daisies and crave a slice of heaven.

Call up your grandmother and ask for a great recipe.

Or you know, if you play your cards right, time travel on back to 1955 and these fabulous housewives will make you one! Just, please…don’t call us desperate.

Sometimes You Gotta Break Things

I don’t know about your Valentine’s Day, internet, but mine consisted of watching the greatest love story of all time and throwing things.

It’s not that I’m against love, but watching gory revengeful movies and getting out all your feelings on one of the dumbest holidays ever is healthy. I’m an expert who needs no entanglements or silly boyfriends or head-over-heels-crushes to stay happy. Or you know, I might just be a cynic of love who is scared to admit that she still is a hopeless romantic who loves musicals under that tough skin and constant making-fun-of-relationships-facade.

Too much?

Anyway, overshared insecurities aside, one thing that’s truly true- I’m a visual learner.

As much as words can comfort me and I can bask in them, roll them around on my tongue and rewind television shows just to hear the rhythm in the way certain sentences sound, if I really want to drive a point home, I have to see it with my baby blues. I want to open my eyes wide and get to know the colors and shapes and textures and how the light hits something just so.

Luckily, I got to learn this particular way last night, when my friends and I had ourselves a little “Break” party. This tradition is one that I heard from a friend back when I lived at home, and implemented as much as I could throughout high school and you know what? It still works wonders.

It’s simple, really. We drove to Goodwill and collected a handful of cheap plates (as seen in above graphic); all of different colors but all those that looked extra china-y. We then brought the plates back and attacked them with sharpies, writing out everything that we wanted to see break into a million little pieces. Fears, bad dreams, regrets, doubts, experiences that hurt, and since it was Valentine’s Day, I’d reckon to say that most our plates had failed relationships, lost loves and the names of soul-crushing boys and heart-stealing girls that we wish we’d never run into in the first place written all over them. We kept our plates to ourselves, mulling over them until we were all ready. We trekked out to the railroad tracks behind our apartment, and huddled together, we said goodbye to our precious regret-stained dishes. One by one, we said goodbye to pain and failures and secrets and feelings that left us worse off. Standing across from each other, we addressed our plates individually, and, as if in slow motion from our very own Tarantino movie scene, then smashed them into the tracks, watching it all break away and cheering with each broken dish at the realization that, surely, it was all just words on a plate anyway.

Pretty sure I had the best Valentine’s Day of my life last night.

Call it dramatic, call it childish, but I can honestly say that I left a few things on that railroad track that I won’t be needing anymore. Maybe plates need to break so that we don’t have to.

Snow Is A Big Deal

It’s been a little while, and though it may seem like a cop-out, I’m going to tell you why I haven’t written in a while. Brace yourself, internet. You ready?

I didn’t update recently because…

IT. SNOWED.

IT SNOWED!!! IN CENTRAL TEXAS!!

It snowed (in case you didn’t hear) and we lost internet and a small piece of our minds, probably, but it was wonderful!

Tangent: in relationships of every kind, I’m always afraid I’m going to come on too strong. I’m afraid I’m going to send too many picture messages and make too many big deals out of everything. I’m nervous that I’m going to scare off anyone new in my life with my excitement levels and my wanting-togetherness-to-happen-instantly-and-never-end. But that’s why I like when things actually ARE a big deal! Snow is a big deal! Sure, people get it all the time elsewhere but we’re in Texas. But when snow happens here, classes are cancelled, no one knows how to drive and so everyone gets trapped inside, which in my case means one big sleepover with my best friends in a blanket fort.

And here’s the thing– every last ounce of excitement can be used up on this snowday because it rarely happens. It’s worth the jumping up and down and yelling and being overly excited! So, the solution to feeling like I come on too strong is just to make every single day a once-in-a-lifetime (or at least once-in-a-semester) ordeal. As of now, I’m working on it.

And speaking of once-in-a-lifetime,

my lovely and talented roommate, bandmate and best friend Christie (the one in the middle of that little circle-of-lovin’) turned 21 years young yesterday! She is musically grand, infectiously wonderful and delightful in every sense of the word- not to mention a fantastic writer, so stop by her blog and tumblr and wish her the happiest of drinking-legality and belated birthdays!

Eat Play Love

Weekends with wonderful people always inspire me to write.


Yesterday I came home from quite possibly one of the greatest days (as proclaimed by a reliable new best-friendski source that I would link but alas, his tweets are blocked) feeling unusually tired. Normally I have the worst trouble falling asleep and have to resort to sleeping masks or staring up at the ceiling waiting or watching something I know by heart but last night, as soon as my mane hit the pillow, I was out like a lightbulb. Why? Cause all my energy had been spent during PLAYTIME!

I think the world needs more playdates. We could all use a little downtime to run out all our stresses, not marathon-finish-line style, but friendship-spent-being-active style. I forget to play. I forget that I need that interaction, that rediscovered recess, that feeling of, “Hey! Let’s go! Let’s share! Let’s do an activity together that doesn’t take two hours of discussion beforehand!”

Now, don’t get me wrong- I am the farthest thing from althletic, unless yoga counts. I don’t have a competitive bone in my body (until I put on dance shoes, but that’s another post altogether) but if we’re playing, I can jump around and cheer people on who actually care about winning like there’s no tomorrow. I’m hardly sporty but if someone wants to spend a sunny day frolicking sport-like, I can be convinced quite easily to tag along.

So, yesterday, I didn’t sweat like a bodybuilding champ, lift anything particularly heavy or do much besides 1. picnic and 2. dodge the throws of a Frisbee as hurtled through the air by my rockstar friends, but I decided we should all keep this in mind:

Don’t Forget To Play!

(or DFTP)

DFTP, Internet!

Stop reading this on your computer, get outside and DFTP!

Tears

I used to cry often Freshman year. Sometimes for legitimate reasons, but mostly because I let little situations get to me. I would get frustrated with the smallest things, I would feel bouts of loneliness or insecurity and I was crippled by little frequent panic attacks. Mostly when all of these hit, I would just have to throw my hands up in the air and sniffle for a little while because it was all I knew to do.

I don’t write this out to evoke a feeling of sorry or of diversity; in fact, most people I have talked to say that college was a distinctly hard transition for them as well. I’m not ‘special’ for taking a while to adjust. (And yes, I’ll admit that years of theatre and choir probably made me a little more dramatic than most anyway, so tearing up is already well established in my normal repertoire.)

Point being to all of this, at this very moment it’s 3 AM and I’m at the end of my first week of classes back at college for the spring semester and I have to write all this before I forget it or fall asleep, so here goes nothing.

I have grown so immensely in my three years here at Texas State so far, mainly from the fantastic people that surround me and the situations I have been placed into, but I have cried every single night since being back this week. Here’s the thing, though- these particular tears have been from laughing so hard that I have to clutch my side and nearly get a tissue.

I don’t often write when I’m feeling heightened emotions because I’m afraid it will sound terribly depressing or equally-terribly cliche, but I can’t help it because I’m just so soul-jumping-out-of-my-body-happy-joyful to be where I am right now, at this very moment! The friends-become-family I am surrounded by that encourage me and love me because He first loved us, the classes I’m taking that (finally!) interest me, the conversations that I never want to end- it’s all what motivates me to wake up in the morning with jumpy energy and also what keeps me from sleeping, awake at night because I’m like a little kid that wants to keep playing and doesn’t want to miss a single thing. And of course, it’s what makes me cry. But, you know, since I’m already playing the sentimental-cliche card, what the heck, I’m now a firm believer that crying isn’t so bad after all.

Oh and one more thing,

ALL I DO IS DOCTOR WHO.

CAN’T STOP. WON’T STOP.

Transition?

Finals are over, which means a huge sigh of relief,

And then a gasp of panic because I’M A SENIOR NOW.

Deep breath in. People graduate all the time. There are dozens of inspirational photos picturing smiling graduates with diplomas-in-hand, waving a fist in the air out of achievement. That’ll be me in two short semesters, including the fist. Then, I’ll tighten my metaphorical suspenders and take on the world with my nonstop chatter, full resume, and perkiness, like one of those female leads in getting-the-job movies. You know, like Rachel McAdams in Morning Glory.

Okay, maybe minus the bangs.

But still, this can happen, yes?

People get jobs.

And people grow up.

It’s a simple and easy transition, right?

………

CUE UNSURE-ABOUT-SELF-GROWING-UP-ANTHEM

Officially Decembrrrr

Dear Christmas Carnival,

You were wonderful, as usual. Thanks for the cotton candy and sights and sounds. And you know, this coulda been a great holiday roommate picture, but the baby goat distracted me.

COUNTDOWN TO CHRISTMAS: 20 DAYS!