Going abroad!

Follow me at http://callieinedinburgh.blogspot.com/

:D

I've been really scared lately.

Mostly: I'm scared of things that straight up don't exist.

Ghosts. Zombies. Serial killers. Pazuzu. Samara. That woman from the Grudge.

I know it's just projecting my fear. I'm scared of a lot of things. A lot of real, tangible things.

I'm scared that the boyfriend will lose interest in me. I'm scared of being homesick in Scotland. I'm scared that I'll lose all my friends. I'm scared that my brother will absolutely flounder without his parents or his sister.

I'm scared that I might go to Australia this summer, and will have to repeat the process ALL OVER AGAIN. I know I should be pumped about that. I'm SUPER PUMPED it's even a possibility. I could be an intern for one of Sydney's most famous lawyers. HOW GOOD would that look on my resume?

But I just don't want to lose what I have. I love what I have.

I hope I'll still have it.

Things I Have to Do Before My Ferrin Adventooore:

1) Pack

2) Get a Suitcase

3) Pack again

4) See people

5) Take pictures of said people

6) See the boyfriend for the last time for a while

I have to see..18 people before I go. At least. I know I'm going to have an adventure, and I'm never going to forget this experience, but it just sucks that I'm not going to be there this semester. I'm actually sad, yet so freaking pumped at the same time.

I know there will be skype and letters and other things, but it's still a little scary. I guess I'm just having pre-departure anxiety.

Yikes.

The summer's ending. When the patoot did that happen?

Now, Scotland is more than just a dream. I have to think about packing. I have to think about my classes. I have to put my most sociable face forward and make as many friends and have as many scottish experiences as I can. I need to take pictures of sheep, and tag them as members of the Ninth Street Hooligans. I need to send postcards.

I know I'm probably not going to do half the things I think I'm going to do, but I want to try.

I've also had a new lease on life. I know. Revelations.

Whenever someone cuts in front of me in a lane, I get angry. But then, instinctively, I say "it's alright, Land Rover. I forgive you."

I find myself looking at people and events through a different set of eyes. I don't hold onto bitterness as tightly as I used to. I think all the prophets have been having an effect on me (yes, religious studies again, but I'm serious. I'm reading the bible again.). Mostly Paul, and yes, Jesus. I'm not going to be born-again. Let me say that. I'm not suddenly going to think that Christ is Lord above all others and by following Him my soul would be saved, and start going to church. I respect others who believe that and do that. I just don't. That's not who I am.

I see the beauty of Jesus's words, and the heartwarming messages of Corinthians. I see the fierceness of Kali and the magnificence of Shiva. I can see why some people see Moroni as the one who led the way to the golden plates, and why some people believe Allah revealed the Koran to Muhammad.

BASICALLY

I've accepted the messages of religion (love thy neighbor, build a community, be charitable towards others). Being a major in this field has opened me up to differing ideologies, and also has led me to see the inherent drives that all people have. The big questions are answered in different, beautiful ways.

And I've been cleaning.

What's up with that.

I've been thinking a lot about my twenties, and how I imagined them as a pre-teen. As a twelve year old on the brink of puberty, you start to think ahead to when that awful, awful period will be over--and look forward to adulthood. It's like when you're six, you look at the eighth graders, and you wonder how you'll ever get that big.

When I was thirteen, I saw me at a college back east, with my long braids all pinned up, my hair darkening on its own, reading books while the snow swirled outside. I didn't think I'd be in Claremont, of all places. My cousin went there. I would go on her coast. I would major in pre-law and go to a top tier law school. I'd find a sensitive boy with glasses who liked books and cartoons.

Boy aside, I'm radically different than all these ideas. I'm in sunny Scripps, I have a somewhat-bob and dye the sweet baby krishna out of it, am majoring in religious studies, and have legit no idea where I'm going in my life.

That may sound negative, but it's not.

I didn't think I'd live the life I live.

have the (wonderful, giving, saintly) friends I have.

have experienced beautiful experiences.

be majoring in RELIGIOUS STUDIES.

BE GOING TO EDINBURGH.

You never estimate where you'll be in ten years. You can't. A lot can happen in a month, let alone a decade.

I have never decided to seize years so I don't forget them: photographing, scrapbooking, documenting. I've decided now.

This is the time when I make it out in the world, sink or swim. This is the last hurrah of individual-hood if you choose to get married and/or have kids. These are the last years one gets to be completely selfish. Soon, people will depend on you as a role model and depend on you for livelihood. You can bet your sweet patoot I'm going to do memorable things.

Now to sleep, in the summer, in my young adulthood, where I don't have to get up until 2:30 PM.

HAIR TIME

I am getting my hair keratined.

That means no more curls for a while. Some of the population that know me might be saying "Don't do that, Calibug! I like your curls! They're you! I wish I could have curly hair!" I know. I respect that.

I'm sick of it.

I'm sick of the frizz. I'm sick of my hair being the only thing people notice about me, and I'm sick of all the maintenance. While there is some novelty to being known as "the girl with the curls", it is not my only trait. I also have blue eyes. I'm also very pale. And--I'm also a human being with a personality and sentience.

When you say "I wish I had curly hair," you don't mean curly like me. You mean able to do curly for one night, then have it be straight again. You mean Taylor Swift, hair-commercial curls.

HAIR MAINTENANCE FOR THE CALIBUG

1) Take shower

2) Comb hair out in shower. Painful process, especially if you slept on it.

3) Put conditioner in hair 2 or 3 times

4) Comb said conditioner through hair.

5) After rinsing, DON'T TOWEL DRY IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

6) Oil application time! Just make sure that little strand on the right doesn't come apa--oh god oh god maybe you can comb it back.

7) Leave in conditioner

8) Frizz Ease

9) Be sure not to rest your head on anything, or scratch your head, or brush a curl away from your face.

This method works--but only until you have to put it back because your hair is attacking your eyes. And even then, wisps fall out and sproing up at awkward angles, so good luck nailing a job interview.

HOW I IMAGINE IT FOR STRAIGHT HAIRED PEOPLE

1) Wash.

2) Dry.

3) Brush.

4) PROFIT!

To be curly haired in this world is strange. It's a dominant gene, and yet almost nobody has it. If it's too messy, if it's out of control, the person is looked at like some kind of hobo or crazy person.

The most important point of this post:

My trich incidents are back. And in larger numbers.

I find myself pulling out my hair at the root because it's curly. It feels mangy all the time. If I don't pick at my head, I'll pick at my face, and if I don't pick at my face, I'll pick at my thigh area. I'll let you fill in all the details. I feel if I get rid of the flyaways, I'll be sane again. The flyaways don't go away. I have curly hair.

Keratin treatment is not permanent, it only lasts a long time. It'll give me something t look forward to in Edinburgh, because baby Jesus knows I don't want wet hair every day in the arctic circle.

Maybe I'll miss it. Maybe I won't. This is just a step in my life.

Srsly Srs

Prop 8 was overturned!

Whatever your feelings are on the subject, it was ruled as unconstitutional, and it is my humble opinion that it was fundamentally discriminatory against homosexual couples.

My religious studies brain is stewing on all the so-called Christians who hate gays, think there's something wrong with them, think they're going to hell, etcetc. Even though I can seethe like the rest of them, I will not give into anger.

I am not particularly religious, but this quote stays with me.

"I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which spitefully use you, and persecute you." - Jesus Christ. Book of Matthew...some numbers.

I get the feeling, if Jesus existed in the modern era, he'd be a cool dude who I could call and get froyo with.Or boba. I love me some boba.

Then he'd heal some lepers and restore sight to blind people, because he's just that cool.

As you might know, I am not updating regularly. There is a reason for this.

I was in Tahoe for a few days with the Barely Legal Coed. I usually hate Tahoe--there is usually nothing to do there, and it always ends with a scratchy-kicky fight with my brother about who put the floaty where.

Basically--nobody likes Tahoe in my family. We're products of both our nerdy nature, and our unwillingness to camp. When we go to Tahoe, we usually spend all our time reading indoors--the same stuff we could do at home. This trip was different. I was with my boyfriend and his family, I wasn't expected to be the life of the trip (as I usually am), and there wasn't that weird tension between my mother and her sister. There are issues in our family, issues I won't go into right now.

I spent the fourth of July with Barely Legal Coed, and it was one of the best times I've had in Tahoe in my twenty years of coming. Of course, I've only spent a few days with his family, so I don't know the intricacies of life, but he was very, very happy I was there. Fast forward a few weeks, and I'm back in Tahoe, having an even better time than I did over the fourth. Except, I was very, very dizzy.

I was so dizzy I collapsed on the couch one day and couldn't get up. I didn't know where the ground was. A trip to the hospital and 500 milligrams of amoxicillin later, it turned out I had an ear infection.

My life--filled with drama.

Fast forward to today, I am at BLC's house, drinking coffee, doing some emergency coding for the 9SH's website, and am going to go to capoeira at 5 PM.

I had a dream last night.

I was at a white tie party at the Palace of the Legion of Honor, but then it turned into an opera house. I wasn’t wearing a dress. But then my third grade best friend Finlay came and said “we need to go back into the matrix.” Then two boys (her brothers? No, they had really curly seventies hair) joined us. And as we were lying down in the red sedan, one of them pulled out a gun. Might have shot Finlay. Then my dad came in his truck and we drove Andrea and Ale back to DP and they said bye. Then Dad was gone, and I tried stopping the truck from sliding downhill and flipping, but then we were attacked by oyster fishermen, but then we were on a raggedy playground. They said “It’s really hard to lose someone.”

And then I woke up.

Dreams are weird.

I said love, love, love, love, love, love, love

I know I'm young. I know I'm stupid.

I know I'm doe-eyed and idealistic right now.

But I have the best boyfriend in the world.

AVATAR SPIRIT

But not really.

Good television shows are hard to find these days. Good live action television shows, not animation, are even harder to find. Yes, this is going to be a "Why I'm a huge dork" post.

Before the premise, before the plot, I look at characters to see if it's going to be a good show. I really, really like ensemble casts. Too often, I find that if a show focuses on one character for too long (I'm looking at you, Glee), it gets stagnant. Boring. We start not to care over those one or two characters drama, and we turn to fanfiction speculation to see what the rest of the cast is doing. That's why I like shows like Avatar, Rome, Ouran High School Host Club (SHUTUP), and even the earlier episodes of Lost. (Disclaimer: I stuck with Lost until the very end. The virtue of the fishbiscuit was enough to keep me a slave to it).

I like character development. I like seeing how they grow and change. I'll use Avatar as an example, because I'm currently watching Book Two again, and that is far and away my favorite season. What I love about Avatar, is even though it started off as just a kid's show, it had some mature-ass themes in it. War, for one. Loss of loved ones. Genocide. Differing belief systems. The capacity for good and evil. Terrorism.

I have several favorite characters, but upon rewatching, I've settled on Toph, Zuko, Sokka, and Iroh as my favorites of all time. Toph would be a pain in the ass if you knew her in real life, but her vulnerability due to her blindness, and her ability to still be the BEST EARTHBENDER IN THE WORLD really makes her lovable. Sokka, I love you, you started as wanting so badly to be a warrior, and then blossomed into a sword-wielding water tribe BAMF, while still retaining your meat and sarcasm. Even while he's infinitely less capable than anyone in his group, he's still protective of his little sister. That part in the episode "The Southern Raiders" where Katara says "You didn't love [dead mom] like me!" was heartbreaking. Kudos on the animators for making such a "I'm really hurt, but trying to hide it" face.

Iroh and Zuko's dynamic has to be one of the better father-son dynamics I've ever seen. While it is easy to make fun of emo!Zuko, remember, he has a scar that takes up half of his face. From his own father. I've never felt such hatred towards an animated character as I feel towards his father. He challenged a defenseless kid, his own son, to a one sided fight. This is where Iroh comes in--he's the best father EVER. He lost his son, Lu Ten, at the first successful siege of Ba Sing Se. After seeing his brother (who, I'm guessing, is like fourteen years younger than he is...) irreparably damage Zuko's face, he volunteered to be with him, exiled, indefinitely. This both served Iroh's duty to his family, and his yearning for a son.

That's why the second season finale is so good. Zuko doesn't see how much Iroh sacrificed, or see how much he loved him until half way through season three. He wanted so badly to re-win his father's approval, even ignoring the fact that Ozai almost killed him and clearly is encouraging his younger sister to be a sociopath. (Azula isn't one of my favorite characters, to tell the truth, she never really develops until the last few episodes, where her crazy becomes tangible). He starts out as an honest to goodness asshole, but then we see his character change.

"Hi. Zuko here."

He's vulnerable. He has a lisp. He's only ever had one girlfriend (Mai--his sister's bestie), and loves her very sweetly. He pretends he's all tough, but lets his uncle set him up on a date and is in awkward town all through it. He's basically every nice guy I know--and it takes an inspiration fever and a kind, fatherly uncle to make him that way.

Also--the bending. I'll be brief, but having actually done a martial art for a while now, I can see how hard it is. You have to be hella strong to do any kind of bending. You need to have grace, agility, and control. If I could bend anything, it'd be earth. I'm really into strong, blunt movements. Powerstance, FTW. Plus, I'm not very graceful. Ha. Either that, or an Airbender. They can fly.

Basically, Avatar has all the elements of a great show--character development, macro and micro conflict, interpersonal relationships, and kids acting like kids, and adults acting like adults. It was extremely well written, well paced, and had some kickass female characters, without resorting to tokenism.

The movie sucked. I'm not even going to honor it with a review.

Ignorance & etc.

In all of my experience as a Religious Studies Major, I've never had to explain the concept of why religion is a good thing to so many people at once.

Explaining "Why Islam isn't to blame for everything wrong in the world" to a bunch of conservatives (one of whom, I believe, said "Sarah Palin absolutely swept the floor with that Biden fella."), is not an easy task. However, I managed to convince at least one person in the room that Islam is NOT the reason for the world's wars, the oppression of women, or all the religious nutjobs in the world.

Also, terrorism.

The world's largest terrorist group is not the Taliban, but the Tamil Tigers, who existed in Sri Lanka from the 1970's to 2009. The Irish Republican Army is easily the most well known terrorist organization, not to mention the crazy ("Christian"--the scare quotes are there for a reason) fundamentalists who blow up abortion clinics and kill doctors in their own churches.

For a religion that is supposed to be stuck in the dark ages, Islam was very progressive. Women and men could celebrate weddings together, Muslims helped pioneer anatomy, astronomy, mathematics, and science in general. Hell, they were even okay with Christians and Jews doing their thing more than Christians were with other Christians. It wasn't until the 50's, when a weird group of people (led by men like Sayyid Qutb) took what 18th century thinker Mohammad Al Wahab said seriously. Even though this dude was taken as seriously as, say, Glenn Beck, the fringe of people who thought "hey, let's just take these 1400 years of progress down a peg, oh, and treat women like shit" somehow caught on, and that's how the new "backwards Middle East" was established.

I, as a Religious Studies major, didn't find this out until my junior year of high school. This is kind of worrying. If people don't know about what Islam gave the world, people will keep citing it as a plague upon humanity, like my conservative peers, and see nothing wrong with their own religion, which is probably just as problematic.

I agree, Sharia Law and the bizarre code of conduct that allows women to be stoned to death if they show their face are things that have to end. But, guys, don't go blaming what millions upon millions of people believe in, and practice in peace.

Seriously. It's not cool.

"Just face it. I'm hotter than you."

This post will be the inevitable RAGE fest that is a review of Eclipse, but I'm still kind of conflicted as to what I really feel about it.

It...was...okay?

Let me rephrase. All the scenes without our protagonists, Edward and Bella, were kinda good. The opening scene was well shot, built up the proper amount of tension, and, for Twilight, was brilliant. From that opening, I had hope for this movie. As it is with every Twilight movie, I had hoped that the screenwriter had actually changed key elements of the story, making it actually interesting and fun to watch.

She didn't. Tragedy.

The last movie ended with Edward asking Bella to marry him. The next begins with them in a field of flowers (AGAIN), Edward sparkling more than a gay man at Pride, and Bella saying, surprisingly, "No."

Victory for reason! Of course she doesn't want to get married, she's only 18! She hasn't gone to college, gotten a real job, lived by herself, done her own taxes, made out with a stranger, ended up hella crossfaded at a random street corner with scantily dressed people eating a bacon wrapped hot dog, clutching an amulet named Stuart (nicknamed BoBo) reassuringly while humming the soprano part to "Police and the Private" more loudly than she should--

"Change me."

Bella wants to be changed into a vampire so she'll be with Edward forever and ever until the apocalypse.

She's not going to marry him until she can become a vampire too. When asked why, she doesn't say, she just nuzzles up to that uncomfortable marble chest of his on which she rests her chin. Upon watching, I realized what this movie was truly about.

It's really all about sex.

Bella wants it so badly from Edward that she's willing to sacrifice everything she is, everything she knows, and everyone she loves to get it. Edward refuses to have sex with Bella because he was really lusting after Jasper all along and vampires can't get it up that requires bloodflow

it's a "modern phenomenon", and he's afraid about her "virtue" (more on that later). Jacob is thinking about it ALL THE TIME, as evidenced by the hilariously awkward tent scene, and says he's perfect for her, because, really, he wants to get in her pants. For the love of pie, both Bella and Jacob are only eighteen and seventeen, and what else are you thinking about at that age?

Disclaimer: not everyone thinks about sex all the time. It might just be me.

Of course, the rest of the movie passes by creepily with the obvious Edward clinginess and, yes, abuse, even more unsettling than in the book. Jacob forces himself on Bella, saying, again, "YOU LOVE ME AND YOU KNOW IT." Bella is only an automaton, depending on the men in her life to make all the decisions for her. I'm not sure why this is appealing to thousands of girls who love these books, but for some reason, it's just the bees knees. She wants to please people, doing what other people tell her to do. There is a certain security in that, but it's nothing to aspire to.

I long for the days of Harry Potter. Women in those books, while flawed, were real. Hermione was a dork with frizzy hair and big front teeth, but brilliant. Tonks came from a family who hated her, but still married the man she loved and had a happy life, albeit a short one. Minerva McGonagall was a grade A BAMF. They are all different, but they are all smart, confident women.

In Twilight, you have three or four options if you're privileged enough to be a woman in this series. The vapid fashion addict (Alice), the bitch with baby rabies (Rosalie), the bitch who longs after an unattainable male (Lea), or the person who stays with their abuser because "he didn't mean it" (Bella, Emily). While this could be attributed to SMeyer's piss poor writing, it's a dangerous example for women to emulate.

And speaking of women's rights, since when is Edward's era romantic? For all the talk of old-school romance, chaperoned walks, and stealing kisses every now and then, he forgets to mention that women were seen as property. They couldn't vote, couldn't work, couldn't walk where they wanted, hell, some couldn't even speak without getting male permission.

The one point of the movie that I actually liked, besides the action scenes (which were not bad), was the relationship between Jasper and Alice. There was sone genuine tenderness between those two actors, and you could tell that they were very much in love. Edward and Bella looked just as uncomfortable as when they first met in the biology lab. The best part? It only took one scene.

Also, Taylor Lautner. He just tries so hard.

My life is amazing.

A History of

I'm very inspired by Trope Girl's post, so I'm going to talk about how I'm going to make friends in Scotland. Hopefully, this will aid some people into making a complete idiot out of bolstering themselves for confidence and lasting FRIENDSHIPS (it pains me to write that word).

STEP 1

INTRODUCE YOURSELF

When I was in freshman year, I was a complete spinny top of chaos and self-esteem issues and wanting social acceptance. However, having the dram background I did, I could ACT like I was confident! ACTING!



I was a precocious little child, with my big bushy blonde hair and my pink dress and shoes. I was quite the social butterfly. I made friends with my dorm-mates pretty easily. I lived in freshman hall of my dorm, and social acquaintances were easy to make. It was my luck that people who liked ATLA, and other, related things were in my dorm. Instant buddies!

Yes, we are all dorks here. And we are not ashamed.

Fast forward two years, and I have a whole bunch of friends. One is the nephew of my mom's bestie from elementary school, one is his girlfriend, people from my classes, others are in the Hooligans, one is from SF, and others I do illegal things with.

I'm a changed person now, and while my hair isn't as legendary, and I don't wear that pink dress much anymore, I have a plan.

Be confident. Don't fangirl too much over the accents. I'm a kickass motherfucker, and people want to know me.

Yee.

I can't believe I'm going to New York on Tuesday.

With the Barely Legal Coed.

And we're going to see Perfect Pitch, and party it up.

OMG, SUMMER

RIGHTEOUS. RIGHTEOUS.

To Do List For Summer of Awesome:

1) Go to the city multiple times to party with Our Glorious Queen and LaVenti

2) Go to New York with the Barely Legal Coed and Yaya

3) Teach Not!Racheland the Clone the ways of college

4) Start an album called "The Frias Siblings: Part I"

5) Get some semblance of a physique

BUREAUCRACY CAN DIE IN A FIRE.

This is where I had to go to declare my major. Stupid study abroad.

I'm procrastinating.

There. I said it. I'm almost done with the rough draft of this paper I'm doing--on being a woman in modern hinduism...mostly because that's ALL I've ever done in that freaking class. I'm basically taking snippets of my past papers and am synthesizing them to make an über paper. I'm probably not going to finish it today. OR AM I?

There is nothing like walking around all day in booty shorts, and not realizing it until three hours later when you catch your reflection in the CP&R window.

The end of the year is quickly approaching. That means that Chowder--our glorious leader of the 9th Street Hooligans--will be graduating, and working for Google. That's right. Google. Lucky bastard. Perfect Pitch said that the group was him and Chowder's baby, that they're watching it grow up, and it's growing up well. Dakota said that we BROUGHT IT. That a cappella on these campuses was becoming stagnant, and we revitalized it. That's motivation to become the best group on campus. The Shades got invited to send in a video to the Sing-Off--or the program that actually proves a cappella exists, and isn't this alien being. They were invited because they're the most established, have several albums, have toured, etc. Personally (this isn't coming from any kind of bias)...I think we could kick their asses.

Perfect Pitch and Chowder really are the mom and dad of this group. And as Perfect Pitch says, "Mommy's going to be upset that Daddy's gone."

I'm going to be upset too. I'm going to miss Chowder, as big an asshole as he was. He was a lovable asshole, though.

SHAKTIIII.

A Very Special Post: also known as TL;DR

I'm going to start out with my celebrity idol.

She's gorgeous, she's confident, she's one of the best actresses out there on one of my favorite shows, and she is not a size 2.

But notice.

She has breasts.

This isn't going to be complaining about my lack of proper boobage (even if I do envy the more...endowed among us), but look at her. She's the definition of humina humina curvy. Some would even venture to guess she's s little overweight (which is NOT true, but compared to every image we see about what health NEEDS to look like, she's a regular chubbette). But she has breasts.

Why is it that acceptably curvy women need to have T&A (the bigger the better), while breastless women have to be thin all over?

This is where I 'fess up.

I have an unhealthy obsession with my weight.

As the "fat kid" in elementary and middle school, I was not directly teased about it. I also read books. I was middle class in a class full of rich kids. I wore glasses. I was somewhat pretentious. I didn't play any sports. I walked funny. I was THE target of ridicule. Lucky for me, I found people who loved and respected me for who I was, and I was able to survive. High school came around, and suddenly nobody cared. I had hit puberty, and for the first time in my life, I was considered thin. But then I hit puberty harder. I was 125 pounds at 5'3. And you know what? I didn't care. I hated when pictures were taken of me, but so did everybody.

When I got into college, I realized that I would be in a coed environment again. Already having an unhealthy obsession with weight, I did my best to lose those last ten pounds, so I would be beautiful. So I would be worthy of attention. If I wasn't thin, the middle school horrors would begin again. Nobody would pay any attention to me because I was a weird, fat nerd who wrote stories and ate by herself in the library. This resulted in losing twelve pounds unhealthily fast, and eventual hospitalization from exhaustion and hypoglycemia.

A year goes by. I start the year. The semester ends. I am heartbroken by the loss of my first boyfriend, but then the Barely Legal Coed comes into my life. He had been in my a cappella group before, but after crying to him about how ugly I must have been for my boyfriend to dump me like last week's handbag, he interrupted me.

"You think you have this mark on you that makes you ugly, but you're not. You are so beautiful. And I...love you."

Five months later, we're still a couple.

But the feelings are coming back. I've been called beautiful, cute, hot, gorgeous, kind, sweet, and people have told me they're glad I'm their friend. I'm creeping back up the weight scale (even though I know what's causing it--my munchies binges, my lack of working out). I see people who are much thinner than I am everywhere on campus, and I feel a pang of self consciousness. I wonder why the Barely Legal Coed stays with me. I wonder why people call me pretty.

This is selfish. I know this. There are people heavier than me. There are people who would kill to have my body. But this is my blog. And I'll be as selfish as I please.

What is a beauty standard? Why do I feel awful about myself for not being thin enough, not having a tiny enough nose, hating my hair. Why do I need attention from men? Why do I feel like, if I weighed 103 pounds, I would be happier? Why am I constantly comparing myself to everyone else, as if it's a contest?

It's not a contest. I should just get over myself and deal with it.

It's hard.

Twenty days until I go to New York with the Barely Legal Coed

Eleven days until I go home.

Ten days until my Hinduism Final.

Five days until the final concert of the Hooligans.

One day until this paper is due.

Let's rock it.

AGHH AGGH AGGH

I should be napping. Or working on a research paper. But instead, I blog! How nice.

I've not gotten more than five straight hours of sleep since...last month. And what a time it has been. Parties, lots of parties. Staying up. Making friends. Doing illegal things. Nuzzling with the Barely Legal Coed.

Humans v. Zombies is a game I will cherish forever. Perfect Pitch made it come into being, and it is one of the best things I've done this year.

Naps.

Machine Gun Sheep

I've been wondering what kind of mom I'll be.

I know I'm a college student, and I have the white hot fiery potential of four hundred billion suns, but I also like to think ahead.

Way ahead.

When I was six, I thought of what high school I would go to, how I would wear my hair. When I was in fourth grade, I was already thinking of where I'd live after grad school. I've learned to live in the moment much more, but my old way of thinking just keeps creeping in. I'm a baby, but I won't be a baby for long. Soon, I'll be done with college, done with law school, hopefully a lawyer, and wanting to settle down.

I want my little girl to be named Adelaide. I don't care if it's a city in Australia. It's my grandmother's middle name and it's lovely.

My mom got married when she was in her early thirties. She had me three years later. She was über fertile. I don't think I have that luxury.

I want to have a child while I'm still in my twenties. I have nine and a half years.

A lifetime, and yet so short.

(I WANT TO SEE THE MOVIE BABIES, OKAY)

TWO POSTS IN TWO DAYS. I AM ON FIRE.

An Ode To Bagels: By Callie Bee

oh bagels

how warm you are

fresh out the toaster

your delicate burny bits, with your undercooked inside

ah, yes, that layer of cream cheese

too much cream cheese

way too much

but I care not.

Get in my tummy.

I'm beginning to lose my eyebrows. The little I had.

The barely legal coed says that I have my own special brand of magic--that is, that I see the world in a different way than most people. I notice things others don't. Affections, emphasis, damage. Brokenness. Hopefulness.

I still need to harness it. I can help people.

But first, I need to help myself.

Ten pages, you're going to be written, and you're going to be written HARD.

Sagan was a genius.

I've been watching a bunch of Carl Sagan remixes on youtube.


I might have teared up a little.

It has almost been a year since I last updated.

I always do this to myself.

I say, "Hey, Callie, let's keep a blog. It'll be fun and interesting and people will comment and it'll cure your OCD!". But I never do. I always forget. I never have anything interesting to say.

WELL: GUESS WHAT, WORLD. I AM GOING TO KEEP THIS BLOG FOR AS LONG AS I CAN. IT COULD BE FOR SEVERAL WEEKS OR THE REST OF MY LIFE.

YEE.

Anyway, moving on. I have a series of little cuts all over my body. I don't know how they got there.

I haven't worked out in days. Maybe even a week. Why? Because honestly, I don't feel like it. I've felt like it before, I don't feel like it now. I want a beach body. I do. But really, I like my shape now, and who's to say that an ass is detrimental? Nobody. That's who. My current boyfriend (Ahh, I've had two boyfriends already) doesn't mind my imagined imperfections. He tells me "If I didn't like your body, I wouldn't be having sex with it." A sound argument.

I have twenty six combined pages to write before the end of the year. I have to rant about something for ten pages, as my Religion and Science teacher wrote an example paper that HAS NO QUOTES. Time to go to an alternate plane of existence and think about this stuff.