Girl-isms

Okay, gentlemen. I know girls seem like another race to you. (Hell, we are.) And I know half the things we say don't make any sense. But I like to think that I fit in somewhere between 'female friend' and 'bro'. So I'm gonna help you out a little bit and translate a few girl-isms into language that I'm fairly sure guys can understand.

Oh, by the way, SEXISM ALERT. (FYI, I do consider men and women equal, but regardless of your views on the subject you have to admit that we think differently.) BROAD GENERALIZATIONS AHEAD. Yes, there are exceptions. But whatever.

1) She says: "How does this look?" (In reference to a piece of clothing.)
Alternate phrasing: "Does this make me look fat?" or "Which dress do you like better?"

What she wants to hear: "You look great in anything!" or "It looks awesome!"

In other words, she's fishing for compliments here. Very rarely will a girl actually ask a guy's advice for fashion help (unless he's gay or metrosexual.) If you are straight, and a girl asks you this, REGARDLESS OF WHETHER YOU ARE DATING OR NOT, she's looking to be complimented.

What you should say/do: Point wordlessly at the closest other girl. If she questions it, say, "Ask her" or "I don't know" or "I'm the wrong person to ask." UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU ACTUALLY GIVE A STRAIGHT ANSWER. You have been warned.

2) You are at a dance or other social function. She asks: "Why aren't you dancing?"
Alternate phrasing: "You look lonely," "Everyone's over here," or "Come join us!"

What she means: "Ask me to dance, dammit" or "Quit being antisocial". Girls (in general) are all about the social scene and if you're her date, you're probably expected to do more than just sit and eat and avoid crowds (even though you really want to. Trust me, I know.) If she resorts to a question that you suspect might be a dreaded TRICK question, it's a clue that she's unhappy, not just concerned about YOUR social-ness. It's more likely that she wants attention.

What you should say/do: In 95% of these situations, I would say give in. You're not going to win this one. Ask her to dance, or go socialize with her friends. Even if she pretends like she doesn't want to dance, she probably still does and is just waiting for you to ask her anyway. YES, every once in a while you'll run into that girl who thinks social functions are just as dumb as you do, and she'd rather go ride escalators or set the fake scenery on fire. But it's fairly safe to assume she's not one of those girls.

3) She says: "I missed you yesterday."
Alternate phrasing: "I feel like I never see you," or "It's been a while."

(Side note: this applies to girlfriends only and not girl-friends/female friends.)

What she means: "I feel like I am not getting to spend enough time with you and I feel excluded/ignored/unloved in this relationship."

Sometimes, the girlfriend who pulls this card is the freakazoidal-clingy type. But I see a lot of guys use the word 'clingy' too often in situations where it doesn't apply.

Here's a rule-of-thumb. A girl who wants to see you more often is NOT clingy, she just genuinely likes/loves you. This type of girl will usually phrase her concerns like "I miss you" or "I feel like I never see you."

A girl DESERVING of the title clingy will sound much more passive-aggressive about it. Instead of "I miss you," she might bring up people that she thinks you hang out with more than her. She will get snippy about you hanging out with other girls, even if you don't flirt with them. Sometimes she will even get jealous of your bromance. This type of girl is the one you want to be careful about.

What you should say/do: If you honestly can't tell which type of girl you're dealing with, ask another girl. NOT YOUR GUY-FRIENDS, NOT YOUR BROMANCE. ASK A GIRL. Heck, ask me. Once you're sure you've got Genuine and not Clingy, make an effort to see her more. If you can't see her, at least text her. When you're busy, TELL her that, and explain that it doesn't mean you don't like her or want to spend time with her. Then make sure you actually do what you've said you'd do. Don't back out on dates, and don't make up conflicts. Be honest.

If you've got Clingy and not Genuine, well, God be with you. Maybe I'll do a 'How Not to Break Up With Your Girlfriend/Boyfriend' post some other time.

4) She says: "Oh, (insert other friend's name here) is coming too?"
Alternate phrasing: "I didn't know you invited him" or "I thought it would just be the two of us."

Try to avoid this one at all costs. In other words, don't invite your guy friends to a date, even if it's something laid-back like going to a movie or bowling or something like that. When you make plans, be sure to be clear about whether it's a Group Hangout or a Date. Set it in stone from the get-go. That way you don't get in trouble accidentally inviting people to something you thought was a Group Hangout and she thought was a Date.

In the event of a miscommunication (e.g. if she actually says something about it) be honest. Say, "I didn't realize it was a date" or "I didn't know you wanted it to be just you and me." Follow it up with an apology, even if you're not sure if you were in the wrong. It's better to apologize when she doesn't expect it than to not apologize when she does. If you feel comfortable cancelling on whomever you invited, then do it; if not (and I totally understand) then make separate plans for some other time when you can actually have your Date.

Okay. It's now 1:09 AM, and I've run out of girl-isms for now, but I'm sure I'll think of more later, so expect a Girl-isms Part II or something in the (maybe) near future. I hope these help, and if they didn't, well, I hope they at least amused. :) 'Cause that's why I'm here.

Irresponsibility

So it turns out my paper isn't due till midnight tomorrow. Which means I don't feel bad about writing a blog post instead of working on it. Hey, I cranked out three pages tonight. I'd call that progress.

Anyway, I'm in Kansas for a family funeral today, which sucks. (The funeral, not Kansas. Kansas is actually rather nice.) It's cool, though, that I saw family that I don't ordinarily get to see, because we're a huge family and we live all over the world (literally.) Especially since most of my cousins are older than me, which means most of them are married and having ADORABLE children.

(Side note: I love kids. Kids are awesome. I'm going to have five thousand of them. Probably.)

It also means that all the aunts and uncles were comparing the current toddlers to various family members when they were little. There was this big family picture at the memorial service of the last time the whole family was together - which we figured must have been taken 14 or 15 years ago. My cousin Peter is in it, who I don't remember because he died when I was too young to really know him. And my brother is just two or three, sitting on my grandpa's lap with this look of 'I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE AND ALL YOU PEOPLE SUCK.'

It's definitely a nineties photo because my dad is still rocking his full beard, and my mom's shirt had shoulder pads in it (wow) and my Aunt Jodi has some seriously bad glasses going on (you know, the kind that probably double as shop safety glasses.) And there's Joelle, over on the side of the picture in a plaid dress (dress!) and tights, posing like a friggin' supermodel. Yes. Posing. Mom tells me every time the photographer snapped a new picture I struck a different pose. Keep in mind I was maybe five at the time, and already a complete diva.

I can't figure out how to get that picture on here, but here's a similar one I'm sure you'll like:

Elementary school. We'd just done 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.' I was the fairy queen. Yeah.



Wanna guess which one Joelle is? (If you guessed the one with ramrod-straight posture and the flower tiara, you guessed correctly.) Good Lord. I guess I really was born that way. Once a diva, always a diva.

8 Things To Do When You Know You Should Be Sleeping

1) Update your blog that you haven't touched in months. Because, you know, all ten of your followers are hanging on your every last word. Who knows, maybe they even have a psychological addiction to your posts and were suffering extreme withdrawal from your lack of motivation. (Does that make you an enabler? Why am I writing in second person? Who even knows?)

2) Play the same level 20 times in Fire Emblem just to see if there's any possible way to win in less than four turns. Because there's no kill like overkill, and there's no overkill like SUPERMEGAWICKEDAWESOMEOVERKILL.

3) Invent words like SUPERMEGAWICKEDAWESOMEOVERKILL and laugh in your spellcheck's face as it futilely tries to stand against you.

4) Ponder the meaning of the word 'surreptitiously' and why you're the only one that seems to know what it means. Then again, maybe you should just stick to less-than-five-syllable-words. For your own sake.

5) Google the symptoms of caffeine withdrawal. (Incidentally, no, I don't believe I have it.)

6) Read the Facebook post that you and your friends spent two hours commenting on for a grand total of 272 comments (and counting!)

7) Ignore the fact that your clothes still haven't been put away and probably won't be at all - because the life of a college kid is grand indeed. (When my clothes are all wrinkly this week, hey, at least you know they're clean.)

8) Wonder how complicated it would be to sew (yes, you heard me say that) a pocket into the dress you're wearing because not having your phone on you is really frustrating. Not to mention - your friends and family are all irritated/confused/panicking because you haven't answered any texts in the past two hours.

9) Think about who decided that 'panicking' is spelled with a 'k'. Then realize it looks really silly without the k. Look! PANICING. Weeeeeeird.

10) Pull your hair out over being four episodes behind in The Walking Dead and rage at your friends for posting spoilers on Facebook. (I'm looking at YOU, Nolan. Who I never talk to anyway. In fact, I'm not sure I even know what you look like.)

11) Comb your Facebook friends list and eliminate people who you can't pick out of a crowd.

12) Realize the title of this post is still '8 Things' even though you have 12 right now. Resolve to not care.

13) Spend ten minutes frantically looking for your favorite ring before remembering that you already took it off and it's safely in its box.

14) Spend an additional ten minutes looking for your antibiotic eyedrops because your sty still hurts. Do your best to keep your head from exploding when you find it in your jewelry box, next to the ring you JUST SAW.

15) Try to convince yourself to clean your room. Fail.

16) Fight a losing battle with the foam pad slipping off your mattress.

17) Resolve to just pay the frickin' iTunes money to watch a few episodes of The Walking Dead. Spend the next hour practicing your poker face so your friends don't think you watched it without them.

18) Hope to God your friends aren't reading this blog.

19) Realize that it's been so long since you updated that they probably forgot it exists.

20) Congratulate yourself on finishing an entire musical! (P.S., I'm awesome.)

21) Send your Dungeon Master hateful texts for canceling Dungeons and Dragons tonight and becoming the cause of your boredom.

22) Google symptoms of insomnia.

23) Realize that was kinda stupid, as INSOMNIA is a symptom in and of itself. Uhduh.

24) Run out of things to add to your list.

25) Give up entirely. G'night everyone.

Why I Prefer To Hang Out With Guys

So I'm nannying this summer for a pair of sisters, 12 and 10 years old. And I consider myself a good babysitter/nanny, but I'm really much better at watching boys (because entertaining them takes no more effort than playing video games.) And since they were involved in the musical I was recently in, we've mostly just been at rehearsals until this week.

This week since we had nothing really to do, they planned a whole bunch of adventures for us, which looked pretty awesome from the get-go. Tuesday and Wednesday were a massive movie marathon, including but not limited to the first three Harry Potter movies. Thursday we went to the Children's Museum (yay!) and Friday (today) was movie theater day.

Now, all of these things sounded awesome until they actually happened.

Thursday we went to the Children's Museum as planned, and even though I hadn't been there in like eight years, they still had some stuff I remembered as TOTALLY AWESOME. Like the ScienceWorks exhibit with all the Rube Goldberg machines and the water tables and the bigass jungle gym/ building set. My FAVORITE PART. In which the girls spent (maybe) twenty minutes. -rage- No, the majority of our time was spent in the BARBIE EXHIBIT. Where we did hair. And makeup. And walked in a fashion show. And designed DRESSES.

Gross.

Anyway, I survived that, assuming that today (Friday) would be FRIGGIN AWESOME because we were going to the movies and HARRY POTTER CAME OUT TODAY! w00t! And so the girls looked up movie times and ticket prices and announced that we'd be going to Georgetown Cinemas in Indy to see...

Monte Carlo.

Me: O_o

Yeah. Opening day of HP7Part2. We'd been watching Harry Potter movies ALL WEEK. But nooooooooooo. We had to see a dumb SELENA GOMEZ movie. Which actually turned out to be not that bad. But that's not the point! The point is I HAVEN'T SEEN HARRY POTTER YET, AND IT'S BEEN OUT FOR EIGHTEEN WHOLE HOURS!

-pants-

Anyway. I digress. Don't forget to be awesome. :)

Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead.

In light of certain VERY recent events, I don't feel bad about ending my study session in favor of a blog post.

The official announcement that Osama bin Laden is dead was made only an hour ago and already people are drinking to his death. And while usually I would be uncomfortable speaking ill of the dead, I'll make an exception this once.

I mean, yeah, we're about a decade late getting to it, but hey, the job got done.

Think about it. This is the Hitler of our generation. There's been US conflict in the Middle East since before I was born. So much of my life, and the rest of my generation's lives, have been affected by al Qaeda and bin Laden and the Gulf War and its aftermath. The First Gulf War was too early for me to remember, but I can still remember 9/11 clear as day.

I remember sitting in Mrs. Snyder's fifth-grade class and not knowing a single thing about al Qaeda or any of that. I didn't even know what the World Trade Center was. I know that our principal had sent out an email to all the teachers telling them that under no circumstances were they to turn on the news - but Mrs. Snyder did anyway, because she told us we'd want to remember this day. "This will be the history of your generation," she told us.

The towers had already fallen, but CNN was replaying the footage over and over and over. I couldn't hear what the anchors were saying over the chatter in my classroom. I probably wouldn't have understood it anyway. The boys kept laughing about it, saying things like "Burn, baby, burn!" and "Big tower fall down go boom!" but I just sat there and wanted to cry. I may not have understood terrorism, or why any of it happened, but I did know that so many people had died - and were still dying - and would keep on dying, because let's face it - there is evil in this world, and there always will be.

My mom had been in Kansas that week. I don't remember why. I think that was when my grandma was really sick. I got home and Dad was on the phone with her, assuring her that everything was alright - because all she had to keep her updated was the radio, and there were a whole bunch of false reports hitting the air. I remember we talked for a long time when she got home. I think we prayed a lot, too.

People kept throwing around words like 'War on Terror' and 'Osama bin Laden' and I didn't understand. I knew it meant war, and I didn't like that, for sure. I still don't. I think war is a terrible thing, and that human beings killing and maiming and torturing other human beings is the greatest tragedy that could ever be. But I do think that sometimes, it's necessary.

Today, (or yesterday, since it's now past midnight), on May 1st, 2011, Osama bin Laden was finally killed. One small justice. But I know it's far from over. He died exactly as he wanted to, after all - a martyr. Someone will take up his cause, and more people will die - and maybe that's just human nature, even if it is horrible. As long as people answer violence with more violence, war will never end. But today, one man's evil was brought to an end.

It's a start.

Wasps. AGAIN.

Ordinarily I'm a girl who hates winter. I don't like the cold; I don't like playing in the snow; I don't even like sledding, which has most of my friends baffled. I just hate it. I hate things feeling all cold and wet and dead, and I hate not seeing the sun for weeks on end. But most of all I just hate being cold.

So naturally, once spring hits I go into this sun-induced state of euphoria. My friends accuse me of being part cat because all I want to do is find a nice patch of sun and sprawl in it. And for about a week of spring, that's all I do.

Until the wasps come out.

(If you haven't read my post Vespula Flavopilosa, now would be an excellent time.)

I'm apiphobic. I won't deny it. Teeth-gnashingly, hair-pullingly TERRIFIED of anything that stings. There are only two reactions if I see a wasp: either every joint in my body freezes up in petrified shock, or my limbs start inexplicably flailing and I cry like a baby. For serious. It's bad.

This is the reason I don't get a whole lot of sun and remain ivory-skinned despite my Hispanic heritage. The second I see a bee/wasp/hornet/spawnofSatan I run back inside. Because usually, inside is safe.

(key word: usually.)

Except when your dorm doesn't turn the air conditioning on and you live on the fourth floor where all the heat collects and you can't even breathe without propping open the window and the door and running five thousand fans. It's unbearable up there. But the window being open means that bugs can get in.

Yesterday I came back from the shower (wrapped in a towel and nothing else) and spotted a wasp chilling on the blinds. Cue freak-out. But hey, I needed to get dressed and ready and go to lunch, so I gritted my teeth and got ready as fast as humanly possible and ran out the door. That was around eleven-ish. Then I didn't go back to my room the WHOLE DAY, thinking Normal (the roomie) would kill it or it would fly out the window or be struck down by an act of God before I got back. And sure enough, when I walked back in at midnight, there was no sign of it. So I slept well.

This morning? It was back. Or maybe one of it's friends. Or maybe (eeeeeek!) it had really been there the whole time and could have crawled on my face or laid eggs (do wasps lay eggs?) in my food or called a whole bunch of its friends and held a poker tournament in my bed and I WOULDN'T EVEN HAVE KNOWN.

So I'm writing this from the library, which is thankfully wasp-free (I hope) and I WILL NOT GO BACK until Normal kills the damn thing or assures me the coast is clear. (Hey, at least she's not phobic too.)

Why The South Is A Different Country!

(The title of this post was going to be 'Ten Reasons,' but somewhere between me planning it and me actually writing it, I forgot a few. Don't judge.)

So this past week was my spring break. A little early in the year for break, if you ask me, considering that it's not even early enough to be warm. (Really, EKU. I mean, I know it falls nicely at midterm, but come on.) And the family and I had been discussing that I was the only one who hadn't been down to Georgia yet, so I decided... why not take break to do it?

So Joelle went down to Georgia, she was lookin' for a soul to steal...

But I digress. While in Georgia (which was sunny and warm and awesome, by the way) I discovered that the South is really its own little country. I mean, really, that whole secession thing would've been totally justified, considering how different things are down there. Not bad-different - I'm not dogging the South - but just different.

And so:

10 Reasons Why The South Is A Different Country!

1) They speak a different language. Seriously. I mean, even forgetting the accent, phrases like 'fixin' to' and 'right quick' and 'purt darn near' are commonplace. Highly amusing. (Not that people up North don't say things like that. We've caught Anne using 'right quick' more than once.)

2) The climate, man, the climate! At one point Mom texts us and it's friggin SNOWING home in Indy - and meanwhile, all the Georgians are putting on winter coats because it's 58 degrees. Oy.

3) Apparently, Southerners don't believe in big cities. I mean yeah, there's Atlanta and stuff, but pick any highway and drive down it for about an hour, and you'll pass somewhere between five and TWENTY tiny little towns. They're adorable.

4) On the subject of towns, I've concluded that Southerners must live in churches and go to church in houses. Really. The ratio of churches to houses is INSANE. Most are Baptist, but we saw our share of Methodist and Seventh-Day Adventist churches too.

5) Street names. We found Dug Down Road, Booger Hollow, Hog Liver Road, and Santa Claus Road (NOT Lane, despite what my father tells you) to name a few.

6) Southerners are an altogether more friendly breed of people than most up here. They're not kidding when they boast about Southern hospitality. Everyone I met was so friendly and welcoming (with the exception of George, a coworker of Dad's that he assures me is ALWAYS grumpy). From our hotel desk worker (who is Wanda Sykes' long lost twin) to the waiters at the tiny little restaurants to Virginia, Dad's awesome secretary - I mean really, a girl could get used to all that attention.

7) ...I forgot what the last four are.

Anyway, now that I've actually seen it for myself, I'm pretty okay with the idea of my family moving to Atlanta. (Not that I don't love my Indy posse.) But really, Georgia was pretty awesome. Despite the fact that I didn't ACTUALLY get any sun and remain as pasty-white as ever. I'm even fixin' to go back. :)

Entertainment

For some reason, Anne seems to find my anger hilarious.

Really. Whenever I start up a rant, she just stares at me and laughs. Take today, for example, as we were walking to our physics class. The stupid weather here in the friggin Ohio Valley couldn't make up its mind as to rather it was going to rain or snow. The result? Gross, heavy snow that didn't stick to the ground, got all over everything, and just generally made my life miserable.

Me: THIS SUCKS.
Anne: It could be worse. It could be raining.
Me: It IS raining!
Anne: No, it's snowing.
Me: No, it's friggin... I don't know, snow-raining! It's SNAINING!
Anne: -cracks up laughing-

Of course, her laughter only makes me rage more at the snow-rain-snain-crap.

Me: It can't even be pretty, fluffy snow that at least gives you something to look at. No, you know what? That cloud up there, he decided, hey, I really want to screw up somebody's day. I know! Let's piss snain all over Richmond! Heck yes! Because heaven forbid I be able to, you know, SEE through this crap. Or feel dry after walking into a building. Or keep my baby dry.

(My baby would be my MacBook.)

Seriously though. Snain. It sucks. Tell your friends.

Why Sharing Is Not Actually A Good Thing

Your parents have lied to you.

Sharing is not good. Sharing is, in fact, very bad and occasionally hazardous to your health. Example: no one wants your cold. Please don't share it. I know you might have been told that good siblings share (unless you're an only child - then who cares, right?) but DON'T DO IT.

That said, if you're going to share something, do it COMPLETELY. The hangout here in Sullivan is Anne and Emily's room. It's a font of sharing joy. Dorm furniture, Emily's chairs, Anne's TV and PS2, my Guitar Hero and other video games. Emily's fridge, my soda and coffee, and Anne's Doritos. They're group property (generally speaking).

Problem: while I may share their space, I don't actually share their key. Therefore, if they're gone and I need something out of their room? Forget it.

Add this to my general laziness and reluctance to move all of my crap out of there and... yeah. Recipe for disaster. Which is why this morning when I went to find shoes... the only pairs I had in my room were flip-flops and open-toe heels. Not exactly useful for walking around in rainy, cold Kentucky weather.

Rather than skip class (although I wanted to - see Mom? I'm a good kid) I headed on over to Anne and Emily's room to see if it was unlocked. Which it wasn't. But it turns out their door doesn't close all the way, and if they didn't pull it all the way shut before locking it, it doesn't actually lock, and you can get it open by just jiggling the handle.

Then I was all 'oh crap, how am I going to lock it back up now?' But it turned out okay because Anne was actually still in the room, albeit asleep. So I ninja'd my way in, stole back my nice warm winter boots, and snuck back out. And I'm pretty sure she didn't notice, because I'm just cool like that.

Anyway, the moral of the story is: be a selfish jerk. Keep your crap to yourself. Sharing is bad. And hey, while we're at it? Santa isn't real. The cake is a lie. And hitting is good. Kthxbai.

Back In The Swing

It's a good thing this blog isn't required to sustain life, because I think a lot of people would be dead, having not had their fix for almost two whole months.

My bad.

Anyway, this weekend is momentous. (Well, maybe not momentous, but just go with it.) It marks my first blog post in two months, the first weekend of the spring 2011 semester... and also my last weekend as a person with spare time.

That's right, as of last Thursday, I'm officially playing a lead in our campus' production of Sweeney Todd. Not THE lead, unfortunately, I did really want to play Mrs. Lovett... but the beggar woman will be awesome, and I realized that it's actually a huge acting part. But our production is in approximately six weeks, and anyone who knows theatre will tell you - that's pretty much NO TIME AT ALL.

Our rehearsals start Monday, and so I'm enjoying my last tidbits of freedom by chowing microwaveable mac'n'cheese, playing Guitar Hero, and watching Emily fail miserably at playing video games. (Side note: white cheddar mac'n'cheese is not as yummy as regular. Just sayin'.)

Also, I actually put up a calendar. Yes. You read that absolutely correctly. An actual calendar, with actual dates of rehearsals on it, because I actually feel like being organized. Please hold your applause. I'm sure I'll get plenty of it opening night.

(I'm not conceited at all.) :D