A very bad thing. I went shopping. And I bought the store.
You see, I put myself on a STRICT clothing budget last June. $100 a month. And I've been sticking to it. (Excuse me, I stuck to it.) You may say, "Hey, that's not strict at all! That's pretty reasonable."
No it's not. I'm DYING here, people! That is a stifling, dream-crushing, soul-consuming meager $100 a month budget. I can barely buy the essential make-up in that budget! And my roots look atrocious. (I guess I should elaborate and say that my $100 budget wasn't just for clothes--it was for making yourself beautiful.) And if the proof of the number of dates I've been on lately means anything, my $100 budget just isn't cutting it.
So you know what I did? I blew it. Absolutely blew it. I blew it the same way an extreme dieter who has eaten only 200 calories a day for 3 weeks goes to The Cheesecake Factory and orders the Orange Chicken dinner dish with the triple layer chocolate cake for dessert.....and eats the whole thing. That pretty much sums up the damage I did today.
But to my credit, I did save over $380 dollars today! You see, I'm a sale shopper. They get me every time. But all of this is for work...so it's basically a lifetime investment anyways. And if I have cute clothes for work, then I'll want to work more and probably end up making more money than I spent today anyway. And I deserve it, damnit! I've been working so hard this year. SO HARD. I am taking 12 hours at SMU, on the rowing team (practice 20 hours a week getting up at 4:50 AM every day) and I also work about 16 hours a week at 2 jobs. I DESERVED THIS!!!
I told two of my friends what I did today...by spreading out everything on my bed and sending them a picture. I got back, "Thata girl!" and "You need help." Can you guess which one buys Prada?
Anyway, I gave all of my excuses (see above) to Friend-who-does-not-buy-Prada and she responded, "Whatever you need to tell yourself..."
Ugh, no support I tell you! If she had come with me when I had asked her, then she could have stopped me. But no, she had to go and fall asleep on her couch. Good Lord, where are your friends when you need them to steal your credit card from you?! I can tell you: Las Vegas, Houston, Florida, Wisconsin and asleep on her couch (it's currently Fall Break).
Soooooooo I basically blew through my budget for the next few months...we'll see how long this holds up. I'll call for back-up if I need it.
Showing posts with label SMU. Show all posts
Showing posts with label SMU. Show all posts
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
The time I got hit by a car and lived to tell the tale...
This occurred last night.
First, I must preface this story by saying I did this to myself. Usually all of my mis-haps occur because of some idiotic situation I put MYSELF in. Ehhh whatever - at least I keep things interesting.
So I rode my bike to a friend's house last night for a house-warming party. I had just finished a grueling practice and was exhausted, but I wanted to go anyway. I get there, have a great time, and then it's time to leave.
I walk out with a few friends and they're like, "You rode your bike here?!" Let me also say that everyone at this party was over the age of 25 and a few years out of college. Therefore, they only ride bikes when they are stationary at the gym and have lost all touch with the concept that people actually enjoy riding bikes rather than driving their car and spending money on gas.
Anyway, I'm like, "Uhh yeah, so?"
"Well, that's just stupid. You can get a BUI."
"What's a BUI??"
"Biking Under the Influence." (HAHAAHA)
"I only drank water here."
"But still. It's dangerous."
"I ride on the sidewalk."
"Well, do you have a helmet?"
"No."
"Lights?"
"No."
"A bell?"
"What?? No."
"Haley! Please tell me you at least have brakes on your bike!"
"Do you think I'm stupid?! OF COURSE I have brakes!"
"That bike looks unsafe. How old is it anyway?"
"Well, it was my grandmothers so I think it was made in the mid 1950s."
"You. Are. Joking. Me."
My friend Matt walks over.
"Here, Haley, I found this for you in the garage."
*Holds up a hideous neon green vest with reflectors on it*
"What the hell is that?! I'm not wearing that!"
"How are people going to see you? You are going to get hit!"
"I'm not going to get hit. I already told you I ride on the sidewalk and no cars ride on the sidewalk. If they do, they are going to be in some trouble, not me. Besides, I'm wearing a hot pink shirt - it's good enough."
"Haley, that's not hot pink. That's a faded baby pink and it basically looks white in the dark."
"Same thing."
*all sigh in exasperation*
"I feel like we should follow you home in our car."
"Don't be silly! I'll be fine. I do this all the time."
"This just doesn't seem safe to me."
"Don't you talk to me about safety, missy! If your sister only knew some of the things you did."
"If you tell her, I'll kill you."
"I won't tell her. Just let me ride in peace."
"Ugh fine, but text us when you get home."
"Will do."
So I'm riding home and it's a really nice ride. People out at bars are giving me funny looks like they've never seen a bike before. Seriously, people.
So I'm about to cross a street and I totally have the right-of-way. I'm watching the cars to make sure they see me and I see them and they aren't going to run this red light and hit me. I have a feeling in my gut about this one car and my gut is telling me just to wait a little but then all of a sudden my feet start peddaling.
Then the car starts to go! I'm right in front of the car and he doesn't see me! So I put my foot out in front of the car to keep him from hitting my bike and then he finally sees me but not in time. Contact is made.
I'm knocked off my bike but I don't fall over. You can thank my stabilization exercises from rowing workouts for that. The man rolls down his window starts apologizing immensely and is about to get out of his car when I convince him I'm fine. I cross the crosswalk walking my bike and I try to get back on but the seat is all twisted. DAMNIT! I spend a few minutes trying to sit on my all twisted up seat and resolve that it's just too uncomfortable and I'll have to walk my bike the remaining mile home. I take a few steps and I'm like, "This is ridiculous. I'm not walking all the way home." So I take a few minutes, fix my bike, and then it's ride-able again. I go home and go to bed and check the status of myself and my bike.
No blood, no bruises, and the bike is fine. Ok, all good. Time for bed. I was tired!
The End.
First, I must preface this story by saying I did this to myself. Usually all of my mis-haps occur because of some idiotic situation I put MYSELF in. Ehhh whatever - at least I keep things interesting.
So I rode my bike to a friend's house last night for a house-warming party. I had just finished a grueling practice and was exhausted, but I wanted to go anyway. I get there, have a great time, and then it's time to leave.
I walk out with a few friends and they're like, "You rode your bike here?!" Let me also say that everyone at this party was over the age of 25 and a few years out of college. Therefore, they only ride bikes when they are stationary at the gym and have lost all touch with the concept that people actually enjoy riding bikes rather than driving their car and spending money on gas.
Anyway, I'm like, "Uhh yeah, so?"
"Well, that's just stupid. You can get a BUI."
"What's a BUI??"
"Biking Under the Influence." (HAHAAHA)
"I only drank water here."
"But still. It's dangerous."
"I ride on the sidewalk."
"Well, do you have a helmet?"
"No."
"Lights?"
"No."
"A bell?"
"What?? No."
"Haley! Please tell me you at least have brakes on your bike!"
"Do you think I'm stupid?! OF COURSE I have brakes!"
"That bike looks unsafe. How old is it anyway?"
"Well, it was my grandmothers so I think it was made in the mid 1950s."
"You. Are. Joking. Me."
My friend Matt walks over.
"Here, Haley, I found this for you in the garage."
*Holds up a hideous neon green vest with reflectors on it*
"What the hell is that?! I'm not wearing that!"
"How are people going to see you? You are going to get hit!"
"I'm not going to get hit. I already told you I ride on the sidewalk and no cars ride on the sidewalk. If they do, they are going to be in some trouble, not me. Besides, I'm wearing a hot pink shirt - it's good enough."
"Haley, that's not hot pink. That's a faded baby pink and it basically looks white in the dark."
"Same thing."
*all sigh in exasperation*
"I feel like we should follow you home in our car."
"Don't be silly! I'll be fine. I do this all the time."
"This just doesn't seem safe to me."
"Don't you talk to me about safety, missy! If your sister only knew some of the things you did."
"If you tell her, I'll kill you."
"I won't tell her. Just let me ride in peace."
"Ugh fine, but text us when you get home."
"Will do."
So I'm riding home and it's a really nice ride. People out at bars are giving me funny looks like they've never seen a bike before. Seriously, people.
So I'm about to cross a street and I totally have the right-of-way. I'm watching the cars to make sure they see me and I see them and they aren't going to run this red light and hit me. I have a feeling in my gut about this one car and my gut is telling me just to wait a little but then all of a sudden my feet start peddaling.
Then the car starts to go! I'm right in front of the car and he doesn't see me! So I put my foot out in front of the car to keep him from hitting my bike and then he finally sees me but not in time. Contact is made.
I'm knocked off my bike but I don't fall over. You can thank my stabilization exercises from rowing workouts for that. The man rolls down his window starts apologizing immensely and is about to get out of his car when I convince him I'm fine. I cross the crosswalk walking my bike and I try to get back on but the seat is all twisted. DAMNIT! I spend a few minutes trying to sit on my all twisted up seat and resolve that it's just too uncomfortable and I'll have to walk my bike the remaining mile home. I take a few steps and I'm like, "This is ridiculous. I'm not walking all the way home." So I take a few minutes, fix my bike, and then it's ride-able again. I go home and go to bed and check the status of myself and my bike.
No blood, no bruises, and the bike is fine. Ok, all good. Time for bed. I was tired!
The End.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Interpret What You Will
It's a gift, really. Bullshitting, that is. That's my gift.
Well, I suppose not so much "bullshitting," but more so "making shit up off the top of your head that makes absolutely no sense at all....and yet, people still buy it." You see, I am actually really terrible at lying. Basically ask me a question and you will get the answer. Truth: this was not so helpful in high school when my mom would ask me about certain things....
I had two options: lie to her face and have her know that I was lying OR tell her the truth. So I always had to tell her the truth.
ANYWAY, back to tonight.
I don't know what came over me. I really can't tell you. When the guy at the bar asked what I did, I really really was about to say, "Well, I'm a student at SMU," but somehow it came out as, "I'm an interpretive dancer."
HE: "Really! You're an interpretive dancer?! I've never met one of those before!"
I: "Yeah yeah, we're not that common, really. It's a rare profession I must say."
HE: "Interesting! So like, what do you do?"
I: "Well....we dance....interpretively."
HE: "Yeah, I think I get that. But what do you mean? Like, how?"
I: "Well, we just listen to the music and try to understand what it's saying and then we move our bodies to try to describe how we are feeling in relation to what the music is saying."
HE: "Wow. That's deep."
I: "Yeah. It really is something."
HE: "So what kind of music do you dance to?"
I: "Anything, really. We try to listen to a lot of different kinds of music to try to expand our dancing abilities."
HE: "So you can dance to alternative-rock?"
I: "Sure, why not?"
HE: "Well I'm in this band that performs and we're trying to get a larger fan base than we have right now. We're looking for something that would make us stand out."
(((OH shit.)))
HE: "Do you think you and your friends would be interested in performing during one of our concerts?"
I: "Sure! Why not? We'd need some practice and exposure to the material beforehand but I think it could work out."
HE: "Cool cool. So, do you need like a certain beat to be able to perform? Do you have requirements for that sort of thing?"
I: "Not really. I mean, it is interpretive so all we really need is music and then we just go with it. It can be fast or slow; we dance to what is going on around us."
HE: "Great! So are you with a particular company?"
I: "Oh...actually, it's kind of a touchy subject. We were with the company here in Dallas but they started working for the money and all of this corporate crap and they weren't doing it for the feeling anymore. We didn't like that and we were getting into all of these arguments so we broke off from them. Yeah, it sucks sometimes not getting paid, but at least I know I'm not a sellout."
HE: "Wow, yeah that's gotta be rough."
I: "Yeah, the exposure in that company was great, but it just didn't feel right, you know? It should always be about the music, not the money right?"
HE: "You're totally right. That makes perfect sense. Good for you."
Then we talked for a little while longer about dancing and blah blah blah until my friends got sick of his friends and dragged me away. As we were walking away, I realized just exactly what I had been talking about for the last 20 minutes and about started peeing my pants.
"Haley!" they yelled, "WHAT is so FUNNY?!"
"I just told that guy about my profession as an interpretive dancer," I managed to say between grasping for air during my hysterical laughter.
They immediately stop walking, look at each other, and say, "I swear....the stuff you come up with. How do you think of this crap? And why do these people believe it?"
"I have no idea. I wish I could tell you."
To be honest, I have no intention of stopping this nonsense. It's too much fun.
Well, I suppose not so much "bullshitting," but more so "making shit up off the top of your head that makes absolutely no sense at all....and yet, people still buy it." You see, I am actually really terrible at lying. Basically ask me a question and you will get the answer. Truth: this was not so helpful in high school when my mom would ask me about certain things....
I had two options: lie to her face and have her know that I was lying OR tell her the truth. So I always had to tell her the truth.
ANYWAY, back to tonight.
I don't know what came over me. I really can't tell you. When the guy at the bar asked what I did, I really really was about to say, "Well, I'm a student at SMU," but somehow it came out as, "I'm an interpretive dancer."
HE: "Really! You're an interpretive dancer?! I've never met one of those before!"
I: "Yeah yeah, we're not that common, really. It's a rare profession I must say."
HE: "Interesting! So like, what do you do?"
I: "Well....we dance....interpretively."
HE: "Yeah, I think I get that. But what do you mean? Like, how?"
I: "Well, we just listen to the music and try to understand what it's saying and then we move our bodies to try to describe how we are feeling in relation to what the music is saying."
HE: "Wow. That's deep."
I: "Yeah. It really is something."
HE: "So what kind of music do you dance to?"
I: "Anything, really. We try to listen to a lot of different kinds of music to try to expand our dancing abilities."
HE: "So you can dance to alternative-rock?"
I: "Sure, why not?"
HE: "Well I'm in this band that performs and we're trying to get a larger fan base than we have right now. We're looking for something that would make us stand out."
(((OH shit.)))
HE: "Do you think you and your friends would be interested in performing during one of our concerts?"
I: "Sure! Why not? We'd need some practice and exposure to the material beforehand but I think it could work out."
HE: "Cool cool. So, do you need like a certain beat to be able to perform? Do you have requirements for that sort of thing?"
I: "Not really. I mean, it is interpretive so all we really need is music and then we just go with it. It can be fast or slow; we dance to what is going on around us."
HE: "Great! So are you with a particular company?"
I: "Oh...actually, it's kind of a touchy subject. We were with the company here in Dallas but they started working for the money and all of this corporate crap and they weren't doing it for the feeling anymore. We didn't like that and we were getting into all of these arguments so we broke off from them. Yeah, it sucks sometimes not getting paid, but at least I know I'm not a sellout."
HE: "Wow, yeah that's gotta be rough."
I: "Yeah, the exposure in that company was great, but it just didn't feel right, you know? It should always be about the music, not the money right?"
HE: "You're totally right. That makes perfect sense. Good for you."
Then we talked for a little while longer about dancing and blah blah blah until my friends got sick of his friends and dragged me away. As we were walking away, I realized just exactly what I had been talking about for the last 20 minutes and about started peeing my pants.
"Haley!" they yelled, "WHAT is so FUNNY?!"
"I just told that guy about my profession as an interpretive dancer," I managed to say between grasping for air during my hysterical laughter.
They immediately stop walking, look at each other, and say, "I swear....the stuff you come up with. How do you think of this crap? And why do these people believe it?"
"I have no idea. I wish I could tell you."
To be honest, I have no intention of stopping this nonsense. It's too much fun.
Monday, November 29, 2010
My professor
thinks I'm a crazy, drunken skank.
But I'm not. I actually don't drink that much....probably about twice a month. My usual means of entertainment entails going out with my friends, remaining completely sober, and watching the night unfold into chaos. Sobriety is underrated. For all of you who think "there's no way I can step into a bar sober because I can't stand drunk people"....well, think again. I'm sure you can. And I'm sure you'd be pleasantly surprised.
Those stories are for another time and place. This one actually IS about my professor.
It's about this morning. The wonderful Monday mornings of college where you reluctantly drag yourself to class if only to swap Friday/Saturday night stories about your crew with one of your "class friends." (We all have them----the people you don't hang out with on the weekend but are basically BFFs with in class so you each only have to do half of the review.....yep.) Well this is exactly what I was doing with one of my "class friends" before my 11 AM Accounting class. We were muttering under our breath, giggling (with a few bursts of laughter), and having a hard time telling the stories all together because they were just that good. I have this huge sneaky grin on my face when all of a sudden my friend goes, "Oh my GOD. Don't look now, but our professor was just watching us." Ok, so when someone goes, "Don't look now," of course you look! So yeah, I looked and he was definitely watching us being all silly in the back row.
As soon as we make eye contact, he starts laughing and turns to the board to start class. I nervously laugh and turn bright red. There's no way he heard, right?! I mean, we are in the back of the class. And he's down in the front....Oh good LORD, I hope he doesn't think I was talking about myself. I comfort myself by thinking, 'Oh, he's been a professor here for many years--I'm sure he's heard worse.' Then I resolve to forget about it and try to understand accounting.
We're doing a problem in class when he tells us to finish it on our own and then discuss our answer with our neighbor. Well of course my friend and I aren't going to discuss anything related to accounting (DUH)--she has a story to finish! So we get all quiet again and pretend that we're talking about amortization until big smiles appear and giggling starts coming out of our mouths. I don't know if you've ever been in an accounting class, but there is absolutely nothing in that class that would make you smile OR laugh....unless you're laughing because the subject is so ridiculous and you can't understand a thing (because I laugh a lot when it comes to that).
It's almost time for us to be finished "discussing" when I look up to the front of class and see my professor watching us...again. The big goofy smile turns to a look of horror because I know he knows what we're talking about. I'm mortified. He begins laughing again--loudly--and catches the attention of the entire front row. "What's so funny, professor?" a few of them ask. "Oh, nothing," he says as he tries to compose himself. My friend can barely contain herself when she starts laughing again and lets out a loud, obnoxious shriek. The entire class turns to look at us, then back to our professor, then back to us. My friend's head is buried in her arms on her desk as she tries to get a hold of herself while I'm a frozen deer in headlights as I meet all the wondering eyes of my classmates. Then they look at each other with intrigue, shrug their shoulders, and turn back to the front of class.
And then I slumped down in my seat and pretended to disappear into the floor. Laughing, my friend mutters, "I guess I'll finish the story after class."
"I think you better."
But I'm not. I actually don't drink that much....probably about twice a month. My usual means of entertainment entails going out with my friends, remaining completely sober, and watching the night unfold into chaos. Sobriety is underrated. For all of you who think "there's no way I can step into a bar sober because I can't stand drunk people"....well, think again. I'm sure you can. And I'm sure you'd be pleasantly surprised.
Those stories are for another time and place. This one actually IS about my professor.
It's about this morning. The wonderful Monday mornings of college where you reluctantly drag yourself to class if only to swap Friday/Saturday night stories about your crew with one of your "class friends." (We all have them----the people you don't hang out with on the weekend but are basically BFFs with in class so you each only have to do half of the review.....yep.) Well this is exactly what I was doing with one of my "class friends" before my 11 AM Accounting class. We were muttering under our breath, giggling (with a few bursts of laughter), and having a hard time telling the stories all together because they were just that good. I have this huge sneaky grin on my face when all of a sudden my friend goes, "Oh my GOD. Don't look now, but our professor was just watching us." Ok, so when someone goes, "Don't look now," of course you look! So yeah, I looked and he was definitely watching us being all silly in the back row.
As soon as we make eye contact, he starts laughing and turns to the board to start class. I nervously laugh and turn bright red. There's no way he heard, right?! I mean, we are in the back of the class. And he's down in the front....Oh good LORD, I hope he doesn't think I was talking about myself. I comfort myself by thinking, 'Oh, he's been a professor here for many years--I'm sure he's heard worse.' Then I resolve to forget about it and try to understand accounting.
We're doing a problem in class when he tells us to finish it on our own and then discuss our answer with our neighbor. Well of course my friend and I aren't going to discuss anything related to accounting (DUH)--she has a story to finish! So we get all quiet again and pretend that we're talking about amortization until big smiles appear and giggling starts coming out of our mouths. I don't know if you've ever been in an accounting class, but there is absolutely nothing in that class that would make you smile OR laugh....unless you're laughing because the subject is so ridiculous and you can't understand a thing (because I laugh a lot when it comes to that).
It's almost time for us to be finished "discussing" when I look up to the front of class and see my professor watching us...again. The big goofy smile turns to a look of horror because I know he knows what we're talking about. I'm mortified. He begins laughing again--loudly--and catches the attention of the entire front row. "What's so funny, professor?" a few of them ask. "Oh, nothing," he says as he tries to compose himself. My friend can barely contain herself when she starts laughing again and lets out a loud, obnoxious shriek. The entire class turns to look at us, then back to our professor, then back to us. My friend's head is buried in her arms on her desk as she tries to get a hold of herself while I'm a frozen deer in headlights as I meet all the wondering eyes of my classmates. Then they look at each other with intrigue, shrug their shoulders, and turn back to the front of class.
And then I slumped down in my seat and pretended to disappear into the floor. Laughing, my friend mutters, "I guess I'll finish the story after class."
"I think you better."
Monday, November 15, 2010
I Died.
Kind of. Almost. Basically.
As much as I joke, this was actually really scary.
It was last Friday. We had a 6,000 meter ergometer test. This is one of the most difficult things I do in my life. This is a test where you push your body to its ultimate limit of exhaustion.....and then beyond that. Literally. You'll see. An ergometer is a rowing machine. I'm sure you've seen it in the gym. Maybe you've even hopped on it and pulled on the handle for a few minutes. But there is no possible way that you have EVER experienced the pain of an erg test. We do these multiple times a year. Stressful and painful, I always feel completely shitty and totally awesome at the same time whenever I finish. I think it has something to do with how crazy I am and the fact that I love pain in my muscles and body. Huh.
Anyway, I prepared myself all week by eating extremely healthy and getting a lot of sleep. I drank tons of water and even counted my fat, protein, and carbohydrate gram intake for a few days. (Crazy, yes.) I made sure I ate enough. But nothing could prepare me for what was going to happen during this erg test.
I started off strong. I was pounding out each stroke. I was so fit. I was flying. I was doing better than I had anticipated. Around the 3,000 meter mark, I started feeling sick to my stomach. Only half-way through and I felt like I was going to vom. It wasn't nausea caused by food; rather, it was the lactic acid that had built up in my legs and had finally made its way to my stomach. This is where you hit your anarobic threshold and your body needs to stop doing what it's doing. "Great," I thought. "Only half-way done and my body is already telling me that it has had enough and I need to stop immediately." But I couldn't stop. I was in the middle of a test. And there was no way I was quitting, even if my body was telling me that it was getting sick.
I'm coming up to the last 500 meters when all of a sudden I get tunnel vision. I can barely see anything in front of me. Yet, somehow, I still keep going as fast as I possibly can. "I'm almost finished with this MOFO test and there is NO WAY that I'm quitting. Even if I can't see." A few of my teammates are cheering behind me to sprint as fast as I can in order to get the best possible time. I'm doing everything in my power to stay conscious and finish the test.
I don't remember the last 200 meters (roughly one minute). I don't remember finishing. I know I didn't pass out, but I don't remember if I fell to the ground, stood up, or what. One of my teammates was there and helped me get off the erg (I only remember this because she was still with me about 20 minutes later and told me). I was so hot. I couldn't stand to be inside, but I couldn't walk either. She helped me walk outside where I immediately began vomiting and fell to the ground. I lost control of my entire body and couldn't talk, couldn't see, and (this is kind of embarrassing) began going to the bathroom. I completely lost control of my entire body as a result of this test. They had to pour water all over me to try to get my body temperature to decrease. But I was still so hot. And couldn't move.
And my heart rate was still at 190. This is 190 beats per minute. AKA, this is your heart rate when you are running/erging/whatever at your absolute hardest. But I had stopped doing any cardio 10 minutes ago. My heart rate should have slowed back to normal within 2 minutes of stopping. Something was very wrong.
I was still vomiting. I was still on the ground. Two of my teammates were looking at me like they had seen a ghost. They had. "Haley, you're so pale. You're as white as a sheet! You need some help. We need to go to the training room immediately." But I still couldn't walk. I could barely keep my eyes open. My teammate had to walk me to the training room, taking 10 minutes for a 2 minute walk.
We are about 100 meters away from the door when my entire arm begins to go numb. I had remained calm and didn't really feel like anything was wrong (weird, I know) until I couldn't feel a part of my body. I immediately begin freaking out. My teammate gets even more concerned. She runs to open the door and I slowly saunter through. We make it down the stairs and I'm on the verge of tears. I don't know what's going on. But I feel so sick. And I'm so hot that I can barely stand it. We finally make it downstairs and I lay down on the ground. I don't have enough energy to remain standing. I was so hot, but I wasn't sweating. My body was on fire. My teammate runs to get more water and begins pouring water all over me in the hallway. My trainer finally comes out to see what's going on and coaxes me into the training room and gets me to lay down and drink some water and Gatorade. I immediately begin throwing it up. My body can't handle anything at this point. She talks to me and helps me relax and gives me some medicine and electrolytes to rehydrate my body and get my blood sugar back to normal. I can finally down some Gatorade.
"Did you eat enough today? Did you sleep enough last night? What have you been doing all week? Did you do anything different before this erg test than other previous ones?"
I did everything normally, if not better than before other erg tests. I don't know why this happened.
The only thing I can think of is that I pushed my body completely and utterly outside of its comfort zone. And past its acceptable point of exhaustion.
Finally, (this is so weird and shows just how crazy I am) but as soon as I was feeling better and was leaving the training room (like an hour after the test), I thought, "Wow, I kind of want to do that again." Not the whole vomiting and "can't-remember-what-happened-to-me" thing, but the whole "pushing-myself-harder-than-I-ever-have-before" thing. You see, my dream is to be a marathon runner. So now, knowing that I ultimately crave this kind of pain and fatigue in my muscles and body, I know that I can and will achieve this dream.
Everything I went through this afternoon was worth it. Not only did I get my season personal record, but I got my all-time personal record!!! I'm so happy!! So welcome. Welcome to the world of college athletics where you put your body through hell just to achieve a certain number. And you do it willingly and happily. Over and over again.
A few weeks ago when I was talking to our assistant coach about running, she said, "Pain: you either hate it and learn push through it or you learn to love it."
And I think I've learned to love it.
As much as I joke, this was actually really scary.
It was last Friday. We had a 6,000 meter ergometer test. This is one of the most difficult things I do in my life. This is a test where you push your body to its ultimate limit of exhaustion.....and then beyond that. Literally. You'll see. An ergometer is a rowing machine. I'm sure you've seen it in the gym. Maybe you've even hopped on it and pulled on the handle for a few minutes. But there is no possible way that you have EVER experienced the pain of an erg test. We do these multiple times a year. Stressful and painful, I always feel completely shitty and totally awesome at the same time whenever I finish. I think it has something to do with how crazy I am and the fact that I love pain in my muscles and body. Huh.
Anyway, I prepared myself all week by eating extremely healthy and getting a lot of sleep. I drank tons of water and even counted my fat, protein, and carbohydrate gram intake for a few days. (Crazy, yes.) I made sure I ate enough. But nothing could prepare me for what was going to happen during this erg test.
I started off strong. I was pounding out each stroke. I was so fit. I was flying. I was doing better than I had anticipated. Around the 3,000 meter mark, I started feeling sick to my stomach. Only half-way through and I felt like I was going to vom. It wasn't nausea caused by food; rather, it was the lactic acid that had built up in my legs and had finally made its way to my stomach. This is where you hit your anarobic threshold and your body needs to stop doing what it's doing. "Great," I thought. "Only half-way done and my body is already telling me that it has had enough and I need to stop immediately." But I couldn't stop. I was in the middle of a test. And there was no way I was quitting, even if my body was telling me that it was getting sick.
I'm coming up to the last 500 meters when all of a sudden I get tunnel vision. I can barely see anything in front of me. Yet, somehow, I still keep going as fast as I possibly can. "I'm almost finished with this MOFO test and there is NO WAY that I'm quitting. Even if I can't see." A few of my teammates are cheering behind me to sprint as fast as I can in order to get the best possible time. I'm doing everything in my power to stay conscious and finish the test.
I don't remember the last 200 meters (roughly one minute). I don't remember finishing. I know I didn't pass out, but I don't remember if I fell to the ground, stood up, or what. One of my teammates was there and helped me get off the erg (I only remember this because she was still with me about 20 minutes later and told me). I was so hot. I couldn't stand to be inside, but I couldn't walk either. She helped me walk outside where I immediately began vomiting and fell to the ground. I lost control of my entire body and couldn't talk, couldn't see, and (this is kind of embarrassing) began going to the bathroom. I completely lost control of my entire body as a result of this test. They had to pour water all over me to try to get my body temperature to decrease. But I was still so hot. And couldn't move.
And my heart rate was still at 190. This is 190 beats per minute. AKA, this is your heart rate when you are running/erging/whatever at your absolute hardest. But I had stopped doing any cardio 10 minutes ago. My heart rate should have slowed back to normal within 2 minutes of stopping. Something was very wrong.
I was still vomiting. I was still on the ground. Two of my teammates were looking at me like they had seen a ghost. They had. "Haley, you're so pale. You're as white as a sheet! You need some help. We need to go to the training room immediately." But I still couldn't walk. I could barely keep my eyes open. My teammate had to walk me to the training room, taking 10 minutes for a 2 minute walk.
We are about 100 meters away from the door when my entire arm begins to go numb. I had remained calm and didn't really feel like anything was wrong (weird, I know) until I couldn't feel a part of my body. I immediately begin freaking out. My teammate gets even more concerned. She runs to open the door and I slowly saunter through. We make it down the stairs and I'm on the verge of tears. I don't know what's going on. But I feel so sick. And I'm so hot that I can barely stand it. We finally make it downstairs and I lay down on the ground. I don't have enough energy to remain standing. I was so hot, but I wasn't sweating. My body was on fire. My teammate runs to get more water and begins pouring water all over me in the hallway. My trainer finally comes out to see what's going on and coaxes me into the training room and gets me to lay down and drink some water and Gatorade. I immediately begin throwing it up. My body can't handle anything at this point. She talks to me and helps me relax and gives me some medicine and electrolytes to rehydrate my body and get my blood sugar back to normal. I can finally down some Gatorade.
"Did you eat enough today? Did you sleep enough last night? What have you been doing all week? Did you do anything different before this erg test than other previous ones?"
I did everything normally, if not better than before other erg tests. I don't know why this happened.
The only thing I can think of is that I pushed my body completely and utterly outside of its comfort zone. And past its acceptable point of exhaustion.
Finally, (this is so weird and shows just how crazy I am) but as soon as I was feeling better and was leaving the training room (like an hour after the test), I thought, "Wow, I kind of want to do that again." Not the whole vomiting and "can't-remember-what-happened-to-me" thing, but the whole "pushing-myself-harder-than-I-ever-have-before" thing. You see, my dream is to be a marathon runner. So now, knowing that I ultimately crave this kind of pain and fatigue in my muscles and body, I know that I can and will achieve this dream.
Everything I went through this afternoon was worth it. Not only did I get my season personal record, but I got my all-time personal record!!! I'm so happy!! So welcome. Welcome to the world of college athletics where you put your body through hell just to achieve a certain number. And you do it willingly and happily. Over and over again.
A few weeks ago when I was talking to our assistant coach about running, she said, "Pain: you either hate it and learn push through it or you learn to love it."
And I think I've learned to love it.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Just Let Go
So amidst my two-a-day practices Monday-Wednesday-Friday, schoolwork, babysitting schedule, internship, board position on SAAC and newly appointed board position on the Athletic Council of SMU Athletics (thank you, thank you), I have decided to take up yoga twice a week. On my only afternoons off. Call me crazy for working out two times a day every day of the week, but I don't really consider yoga a workout. Yes, I'm sweating balls and the instructor is trying to bend me in places that don't bend, but it's relaxing. It's soothing. And I learn a lot about myself in that hour that I devote totally to me. No one else is allowed to creep in and occupy my thoughts.
Everything else I'm involved in concerns someone else. I'm working for my team, for the school, for the parents and kids, for my teachers and grades. But during yoga, I'm working for myself. I stop for that one little hour twice a week and....just....breathe.
I was completely stressed all day today. About my bathroom. About my looming Accounting test and Marketing quiz. About the fact that I'm extremely sleep deprived. About those last ten pounds that I just want to lose already!!! But I made myself go to yoga.
And I'm so glad I did. I went with two of my really good friends and it was good to get to see them in the middle of all this craziness.
We were nearing the end of our practice for the day when the instructor led us to the tree pose. This is the pose where you're supposed to stand on one leg like a flamingo while the foot on your other leg is against your inner thigh and you're balancing all peaceful-like with your arms folded against your heart, your eyes closed, and you're quietly "ohhmmm-ing" while thinking about nature and flowing streams.
Not me.
I'm in the back corner flailing like a pigeon with ADD. I can barely balance with my foot on my inner ankle (a.k.a. right next to the floor) and it somehow makes sense that moving your arms all over the place will help you balance. I know, right?
Anyway, I finally found my balance with my foot on my ankle and was looking at myself in the mirror trying to focus on not falling over. I was trying so incredibly hard. The instructor was doing all this crazy Cirque-de-Solei stuff at the front and I was like, "Is this yoga? Or the prerequisite to an Orgy? Or....both?" when she told us to close our eyes. I was a little incredulous, but blindly followed anyway.
And I was still balancing!
This is when she told us to push past our center of gravity a little bit, find that sweet spot where you feel like you're just-about-to-fall-over, and then just........let........go. "Let go of your muscles and mind and body and let yourself fall. Let yourself come undone. You'll be ok, I promise."
And no matter how many times I told myself that it would be ok to let myself go, no matter how many times I told myself that the worst that could happen was that I fall on my mat and catch myself with my hands, no matter how many times I told myself that no one else is watching because they're too concerned about themselves, I just couldn't let myself fall. I repeated it in my mind: "Just fall. Just let go. Just come undone. It's ok. You have your friends here to help you if anything happens. Just let go. Everyone else is doing it. The instructor said it is ok. Just fall. Just fall. Just lean. A little. Bit. More...."
"Nope, can't do it. Can't let myself fall. Can't let myself go."
I learned a lot about myself today. I learned that I put too much pressure on myself to be perfect all the time. And I get upset and worried when I'm not perfect. But it's a fact of life that I will never ever be perfect. And even though I know this, I can't accept it yet. I know that tomorrow I will be striving for perfection in everything I do. And I'll get upset when I don't reach it. Someday I'll come to terms with this. But for now, at least I've taken a baby step and acknowledged this fact.
So even though I basically got my butt kicked at yoga today and found out that I'll never be perfect, I came home completely relaxed with a huge smile on my face. My body is completely stretched out and my mind is at ease.
And I'll do the best I can in everything I do, knowing that I'll never be perfect. And that's perfectly acceptable.
For you, my dears:
Everything else I'm involved in concerns someone else. I'm working for my team, for the school, for the parents and kids, for my teachers and grades. But during yoga, I'm working for myself. I stop for that one little hour twice a week and....just....breathe.
I was completely stressed all day today. About my bathroom. About my looming Accounting test and Marketing quiz. About the fact that I'm extremely sleep deprived. About those last ten pounds that I just want to lose already!!! But I made myself go to yoga.
And I'm so glad I did. I went with two of my really good friends and it was good to get to see them in the middle of all this craziness.
We were nearing the end of our practice for the day when the instructor led us to the tree pose. This is the pose where you're supposed to stand on one leg like a flamingo while the foot on your other leg is against your inner thigh and you're balancing all peaceful-like with your arms folded against your heart, your eyes closed, and you're quietly "ohhmmm-ing" while thinking about nature and flowing streams.
Not me.
I'm in the back corner flailing like a pigeon with ADD. I can barely balance with my foot on my inner ankle (a.k.a. right next to the floor) and it somehow makes sense that moving your arms all over the place will help you balance. I know, right?
Anyway, I finally found my balance with my foot on my ankle and was looking at myself in the mirror trying to focus on not falling over. I was trying so incredibly hard. The instructor was doing all this crazy Cirque-de-Solei stuff at the front and I was like, "Is this yoga? Or the prerequisite to an Orgy? Or....both?" when she told us to close our eyes. I was a little incredulous, but blindly followed anyway.
And I was still balancing!
This is when she told us to push past our center of gravity a little bit, find that sweet spot where you feel like you're just-about-to-fall-over, and then just........let........go. "Let go of your muscles and mind and body and let yourself fall. Let yourself come undone. You'll be ok, I promise."
And no matter how many times I told myself that it would be ok to let myself go, no matter how many times I told myself that the worst that could happen was that I fall on my mat and catch myself with my hands, no matter how many times I told myself that no one else is watching because they're too concerned about themselves, I just couldn't let myself fall. I repeated it in my mind: "Just fall. Just let go. Just come undone. It's ok. You have your friends here to help you if anything happens. Just let go. Everyone else is doing it. The instructor said it is ok. Just fall. Just fall. Just lean. A little. Bit. More...."
"Nope, can't do it. Can't let myself fall. Can't let myself go."
I learned a lot about myself today. I learned that I put too much pressure on myself to be perfect all the time. And I get upset and worried when I'm not perfect. But it's a fact of life that I will never ever be perfect. And even though I know this, I can't accept it yet. I know that tomorrow I will be striving for perfection in everything I do. And I'll get upset when I don't reach it. Someday I'll come to terms with this. But for now, at least I've taken a baby step and acknowledged this fact.
So even though I basically got my butt kicked at yoga today and found out that I'll never be perfect, I came home completely relaxed with a huge smile on my face. My body is completely stretched out and my mind is at ease.
And I'll do the best I can in everything I do, knowing that I'll never be perfect. And that's perfectly acceptable.
For you, my dears:
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
What a Beautiful Person (Part I)
I owe my current disposition to two people: my father and my old doubles partner, we'll call her Hippie. They are the reason I row and, therefore, the reason I go to SMU. And I love SMU.
Back in the day, I played volleyball. And I was really serious about it. I started when I was 7 years old, played club volleyball when I was in grade school and traveled to different states to compete. I continued playing in high school. I wanted to play volleyball in college. It was at one club volleyball tournament my freshman year of high school when one of my teammates started talking about erging. "What's erging?" She explained that it was a way to get in shape for rowing. "What's rowing?" She gave me a leaflet about rowing and said I should come to a meeting and maybe try it. I was uninterested. My dad made me go; he rowed in college. I was sucked in by them both and I hated it.
I really did not like rowing at all at first. At all. It would be Monday at practice and I would be like, "Ok..uhh...it's Monday and I'm tired already and I don't really want to do this right now." And then Tuesday's afternoon practice would be over and I'd be like, "OK! Only two more practices until the weekend!" Wednesday would proceed in the same manner until I would feel utter relief come Thursday. Every week. Hippie and I were doubles partners in the Spring and Summer of 2005 where we spent a lot of time in the boat together and competed in many regattas (rowing races) including Club Nationals in Indianapolis, Indiana. We did fairly well and I was really proud of us. We were goofy during the whole trip and told each other stuff we promised not to tell others. Like when we were going up to the starting line and she had to go to the bathroom so bad that it hurt and asked me what she should do. I said, "If it will make you go slower if you have to go the whole time, then go to the bathroom right now. I want to win." So she tried to pee in a water bottle and failed. We were laughing hysterically and she made me promise not to tell anyone and I said ok.....until the next practice when I told our whole team.
Back in the day, I played volleyball. And I was really serious about it. I started when I was 7 years old, played club volleyball when I was in grade school and traveled to different states to compete. I continued playing in high school. I wanted to play volleyball in college. It was at one club volleyball tournament my freshman year of high school when one of my teammates started talking about erging. "What's erging?" She explained that it was a way to get in shape for rowing. "What's rowing?" She gave me a leaflet about rowing and said I should come to a meeting and maybe try it. I was uninterested. My dad made me go; he rowed in college. I was sucked in by them both and I hated it.
I really did not like rowing at all at first. At all. It would be Monday at practice and I would be like, "Ok..uhh...it's Monday and I'm tired already and I don't really want to do this right now." And then Tuesday's afternoon practice would be over and I'd be like, "OK! Only two more practices until the weekend!" Wednesday would proceed in the same manner until I would feel utter relief come Thursday. Every week. Hippie and I were doubles partners in the Spring and Summer of 2005 where we spent a lot of time in the boat together and competed in many regattas (rowing races) including Club Nationals in Indianapolis, Indiana. We did fairly well and I was really proud of us. We were goofy during the whole trip and told each other stuff we promised not to tell others. Like when we were going up to the starting line and she had to go to the bathroom so bad that it hurt and asked me what she should do. I said, "If it will make you go slower if you have to go the whole time, then go to the bathroom right now. I want to win." So she tried to pee in a water bottle and failed. We were laughing hysterically and she made me promise not to tell anyone and I said ok.....until the next practice when I told our whole team.
We raced together in 2005, 2006, and 2007. Our twosome broke up in the Fall of 2007 (our senior year) when she decided not to row. I was sad, but I rowed anyway. It was not the same without her. Practice wasn't the same, the team's chemistry wasn't the same, and rowing wasn't the same. Rowing was different for me, so I decided not to row in the Spring of 2008.
But she did.
I did other things that spring and it was weird not to be rowing with her. Then we went separate ways when college came; she went to KU, one of the most liberal schools in America, and I went to SMU, the 3rd most conservative school in the U.S. When I would visit my then-boyfriend at KU, I would see her up there, totally in her element. Unfamiliar with her style, I would ask, "What are you wearing?" She would smile and say, "Turnstyles!" (A store similar to that of Goodwill and The Salvation Army.) I was in Uggs and a North Face jacket.
Whenever I talked to a friend at KU over the last two years, I would ask about Hippie. "Well I think she's dating so-and-so, but I'm not sure anymore", "She's really liberal now and likes to party", "Umm I don't know...I think some of her hair is pink but maybe that wasn't her..." Hearing about her always made me smile. And I wanted to pick up the phone, but never did.
On breaks from school, some of our old team members and coaches would get together for breakfast back in KC and I would get to talk to her for a little while. I always loved hearing her thoughts on the world, her political views, how strongly she felt about the current administration, and what she was doing lately, cutting class, dying her hair or otherwise.
While she led a "be free, be happy" lifestyle where even the worst thing that could possibly happen "wasn't that bad", I held a strict schedule that included getting up at 5 AM (most likely when she was getting home for the night), practice, food, class, practice, food, homework, sleep, repeat where getting through the day was the hardest thing of my life. Two people who had once spent hours and hours a week together are now at two very different points in their lives. We went to breakfast the other day and I was really happy I got to see her. Which brings me to my next point....
To be continued. This post is long enough.
But for now, I love you Hippie and I have always admired you from afar. Even though we don't talk all the time, I often think of you and look fondly on our many times in the double. You are the reason I loved rowing so much. And I don't think I've ever told anyone that.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
MY BODY DOESN'T BEND THAT WAY!!!!
Alright, soooo I've recently developed some back issues. What a semester, huh? It's actually not that big of a deal. My back has been a little tweaked on and off for last year and this semester. Lots of girls on my team have back issues so I'm thinking that it's kind of normal....except for the fact that pain really isn't normal...I think our coach just wants us to keep rowing....
It's like child labor except that I'm 20 and in college in the 21st century. I probably shouldn't say that in case anyone at SMU Athletics is reading this. Which I'm sure they're not. They're probably too busy counting the money they're saving from their new policy where Student-Athletes can't drop a course even if their failing. But that's a rant for another day....
So today I had an appointment for A.R.T. It's just this place outside of SMU that our trainer sends us for deep stretching (a.k.a. I don't know what it stands for). And when she told me that people were going to be stretching me out, she was making a HUGE understatement. As soon as I walked in the door they were like, "Woah, what's wrong with you?" "Umm..nothing. I'm just walking??" "Well, uhh, you're really messed up." "Thaaaaanks." They could just tell from the way I was walking that something was wrong with my glutes, hamstrings, and back muscles. This will be fun, I thought. I'll get a good deep stretch and feel completely refreshed. WRONG.
What followed for the next hour was intense, excruciating pain. PAIN. PAIN. PAIN. Two big men were making me curl up into a ball while they dug their hands into my muscles (to hold them still) as they slowly pulled and twisted my legs and arms away from my body. When my trainer said deep stretching, I think she meant that they were going to turn me into a contortionist against mine and my body's will. While they were "stretching me out" I am 100 percent positive that they were attempting to touch the wall 30 feet away from my bed. And I'm really not just trying to be funny when I say that. While they were pulling on my legs I really thought there was a bull's eye on the wall across from my bed and they got a bonus if they hit the big red circle. I looked after they let me get up but they must have taken it down while I was taking inventory of my muscles and ligaments.
Don't even get me started on where they put their hands. I was like, "Is this legal? Should I be concerned?" Talk about every single muscle of my butt got some. I'm pretty sure their orientation went like this: 1) Dig a hand as hard as you can into a muscle in patient's cheek. Go extra hard if she's a girl. 2) Pull the leg gently (optional, of course) away from the body and hold your hand firm in its place to be sure to not let the muscle go anywhere--this is what it's naturally trying to do as you pull the leg away but you need to fight that. 3) Move your hand a few tiny centimeters down from the spot you were just at. Be careful not to move too far or you'll miss something in that cheek and you'll have to start all over again. Then again, feel free to start over. Hey, it's not your body that's feeling the pain. 4) Go to the front side to get the "hip flexers". (Don't even get me started on that area--you don't wanna know.)
I also chose the completely wrong outfit to wear. I wore a t-shirt and gym shorts. That seems perfectly acceptable for stretching, right? WRONG. Every time they moved my leg, my shorts began to creep up and I was worried that, well....I was revealing too much leg.
Note for next time: wear pants. If there even is a next time. I'm standing while I'm writing this because I can't sit on my behind because it's yelling at me. Really loudly, too. Or is that about the chocolate I ate today? I can't tell anymore!!!!
But really, I would like to thank those people. I think. I'm pretty sure my body will feel better tomorrow. Or Friday. In the long run, I think it was worth it. Obviously, or else my trainer wouldn't have sent me there. So thank you, big burly men, for making me very uncomfortable for an hour as you tried to get my body back to normal. Too bad I'm no where close to normal. Guess I'll be seeing a lot more of them from now on. First name basis, here I come.
Oh, and I'm stealing that bull's eye sheet.
It's like child labor except that I'm 20 and in college in the 21st century. I probably shouldn't say that in case anyone at SMU Athletics is reading this. Which I'm sure they're not. They're probably too busy counting the money they're saving from their new policy where Student-Athletes can't drop a course even if their failing. But that's a rant for another day....
So today I had an appointment for A.R.T. It's just this place outside of SMU that our trainer sends us for deep stretching (a.k.a. I don't know what it stands for). And when she told me that people were going to be stretching me out, she was making a HUGE understatement. As soon as I walked in the door they were like, "Woah, what's wrong with you?" "Umm..nothing. I'm just walking??" "Well, uhh, you're really messed up." "Thaaaaanks." They could just tell from the way I was walking that something was wrong with my glutes, hamstrings, and back muscles. This will be fun, I thought. I'll get a good deep stretch and feel completely refreshed. WRONG.
What followed for the next hour was intense, excruciating pain. PAIN. PAIN. PAIN. Two big men were making me curl up into a ball while they dug their hands into my muscles (to hold them still) as they slowly pulled and twisted my legs and arms away from my body. When my trainer said deep stretching, I think she meant that they were going to turn me into a contortionist against mine and my body's will. While they were "stretching me out" I am 100 percent positive that they were attempting to touch the wall 30 feet away from my bed. And I'm really not just trying to be funny when I say that. While they were pulling on my legs I really thought there was a bull's eye on the wall across from my bed and they got a bonus if they hit the big red circle. I looked after they let me get up but they must have taken it down while I was taking inventory of my muscles and ligaments.
Don't even get me started on where they put their hands. I was like, "Is this legal? Should I be concerned?" Talk about every single muscle of my butt got some. I'm pretty sure their orientation went like this: 1) Dig a hand as hard as you can into a muscle in patient's cheek. Go extra hard if she's a girl. 2) Pull the leg gently (optional, of course) away from the body and hold your hand firm in its place to be sure to not let the muscle go anywhere--this is what it's naturally trying to do as you pull the leg away but you need to fight that. 3) Move your hand a few tiny centimeters down from the spot you were just at. Be careful not to move too far or you'll miss something in that cheek and you'll have to start all over again. Then again, feel free to start over. Hey, it's not your body that's feeling the pain. 4) Go to the front side to get the "hip flexers". (Don't even get me started on that area--you don't wanna know.)
I also chose the completely wrong outfit to wear. I wore a t-shirt and gym shorts. That seems perfectly acceptable for stretching, right? WRONG. Every time they moved my leg, my shorts began to creep up and I was worried that, well....I was revealing too much leg.
Note for next time: wear pants. If there even is a next time. I'm standing while I'm writing this because I can't sit on my behind because it's yelling at me. Really loudly, too. Or is that about the chocolate I ate today? I can't tell anymore!!!!
But really, I would like to thank those people. I think. I'm pretty sure my body will feel better tomorrow. Or Friday. In the long run, I think it was worth it. Obviously, or else my trainer wouldn't have sent me there. So thank you, big burly men, for making me very uncomfortable for an hour as you tried to get my body back to normal. Too bad I'm no where close to normal. Guess I'll be seeing a lot more of them from now on. First name basis, here I come.
Oh, and I'm stealing that bull's eye sheet.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Keep Walkin'
So this weekend was SMU Homecoming and my mom, dad, and brother came down to visit me, hangout, Boulevard, and go to the game. Well I thought they wanted to go to the game, but came to find out that they had no intentions because "Rice has not won yet this season so there's basically no point." After hanging out on the Boulevard for an extra hour and finally deciding to go to the game, I notice we are DOWN 7 to 20 to a team that HASN'T WON A GAME YET THIS SEASON. Only SMU. We finally pulled it together and won, Thank God.
Anyway, my birthday was last Tuesday. I turned 20. I am no longer a teenager. The first thing my roommate Outdoors Woman said to me was, "Congratulations! You will never be a teen pregnancy statistic!" Phew! I was really worried about that! That was the main reason I was excited to turn 20--I really didn't want to add to that problem...
So my mom took me shopping for birthday presents on Friday. Shopping with mom is always fun. She picks things out and I tell her they're "cute". If she puts them back on the rack, then all is good. When she considers buying them I tell her, "Umm I'm not so sure I like it that much." When she actually starts walking towards the cash register and is about to whip out her wallet, I get out in one last hurried breath, "Mom-don't-buy-it--it-reminds-me-of-an-old-lady!!" She has never pursued a purchase after one of those comments--that's always a sure-fire way to stop her dead in her tracks. My mom would NEVER want to look like an old lady. EVER EVER EVER. She's not old. Right?
Mother does like to shop though. I can't complain. I do too. We went to Nordstrom Rack on Friday (it's like a T.J. Maxx with all Nordstrom stuff 50-75% off) and were in there for THREE HOURS. Three. We finally decided to go and pay. I was done for the day. So was she...so she said. We paid and were walking out of the store when she saw some sunglasses. "Keeeep Walkin'," I said. She turned around and laughed because she knew exactly wheat I was getting at.
This continued to happen all weekend. We would be in a store and mom's wandering eye would get distracted by a deal or item or something. I would notice her head start to turn as she slowed her pace and began to contemplate venturing over until I would knowingly say, "Keep Walkin'." She would pretend not to know what I was talking about until I tilted my head to the side and looked sideways out of my eyes to let her know that I knew exactly what was going on in that little brain of hers.
This even happened on the Boulevard yesterday. My parents wanted to go to the Delta Gamma (sorority I am now affiliated with) tent. I initially knew this was not such a good idea. This year, the Boulevard Organizing Committee or whatever decided to get all the Greek students out of the main part of the Boulevard. (I wonder why they would want to do that?) So, they pushed them all up on Dallas Hall Lawn (the north part of the Boulevard). So basically the whole north part of campus is covered by drunk fraternity brothers and sorority sisters listening/dancing to questionable music. Obviously I don't mind it but this is not a place for a mom, dad, 12-year-old brother, and family friend. I showed them the tent (from a great distance away) and suggested we go back to the student athlete tent. As we meandered through the crowd thick with the smell of beer and sweaty Greeks, my family began to slow their pace and look around. I had to say, "Keep Walkin'," before they realized what kind of group I was going to begin affiliating myself with....and refuse to pay for it.
At the end of the weekend, my mom said that if my dad asked, my clothes cost more than they actually did....that way he wouldn't notice the (ahem) few extra things she picked up for herself. Looks like I need new techniques to help my mom with her wandering eye....
Love ya mom!! :)
Anyway, my birthday was last Tuesday. I turned 20. I am no longer a teenager. The first thing my roommate Outdoors Woman said to me was, "Congratulations! You will never be a teen pregnancy statistic!" Phew! I was really worried about that! That was the main reason I was excited to turn 20--I really didn't want to add to that problem...
So my mom took me shopping for birthday presents on Friday. Shopping with mom is always fun. She picks things out and I tell her they're "cute". If she puts them back on the rack, then all is good. When she considers buying them I tell her, "Umm I'm not so sure I like it that much." When she actually starts walking towards the cash register and is about to whip out her wallet, I get out in one last hurried breath, "Mom-don't-buy-it--it-reminds-me-of-an-old-lady!!" She has never pursued a purchase after one of those comments--that's always a sure-fire way to stop her dead in her tracks. My mom would NEVER want to look like an old lady. EVER EVER EVER. She's not old. Right?
Mother does like to shop though. I can't complain. I do too. We went to Nordstrom Rack on Friday (it's like a T.J. Maxx with all Nordstrom stuff 50-75% off) and were in there for THREE HOURS. Three. We finally decided to go and pay. I was done for the day. So was she...so she said. We paid and were walking out of the store when she saw some sunglasses. "Keeeep Walkin'," I said. She turned around and laughed because she knew exactly wheat I was getting at.
This continued to happen all weekend. We would be in a store and mom's wandering eye would get distracted by a deal or item or something. I would notice her head start to turn as she slowed her pace and began to contemplate venturing over until I would knowingly say, "Keep Walkin'." She would pretend not to know what I was talking about until I tilted my head to the side and looked sideways out of my eyes to let her know that I knew exactly what was going on in that little brain of hers.
This even happened on the Boulevard yesterday. My parents wanted to go to the Delta Gamma (sorority I am now affiliated with) tent. I initially knew this was not such a good idea. This year, the Boulevard Organizing Committee or whatever decided to get all the Greek students out of the main part of the Boulevard. (I wonder why they would want to do that?) So, they pushed them all up on Dallas Hall Lawn (the north part of the Boulevard). So basically the whole north part of campus is covered by drunk fraternity brothers and sorority sisters listening/dancing to questionable music. Obviously I don't mind it but this is not a place for a mom, dad, 12-year-old brother, and family friend. I showed them the tent (from a great distance away) and suggested we go back to the student athlete tent. As we meandered through the crowd thick with the smell of beer and sweaty Greeks, my family began to slow their pace and look around. I had to say, "Keep Walkin'," before they realized what kind of group I was going to begin affiliating myself with....and refuse to pay for it.
At the end of the weekend, my mom said that if my dad asked, my clothes cost more than they actually did....that way he wouldn't notice the (ahem) few extra things she picked up for herself. Looks like I need new techniques to help my mom with her wandering eye....
Love ya mom!! :)
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
I may or may not be in a commercial with Michael Irvin
So we had to lift weights on Monday. We do it every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I live off campus so I had to bring clothes to change into after class. I woke up late so I could arrive fashionably late to class, therefore forcing myself to grab the most random outfit of clothes I could find PLUS the unattractive socks that I only wear in the boat in the morning when it's dark out and no one can see how ridiculous my feet look. As if they care. Anyway, so I also grabbed the most unattractive pair of spandex I own. To lift weights in. Plus this shirt that hugs you in ALL the wrong places. Don't you hate that? This pair of spandex, for some reason, has extra threading at the end of the thigh holes so it hugs your thighs extra tight. (I also wear these in the boat in the morning in the dark when no one can see me. Hey, they put off laundry for one extra practice. Don't judge.) Thus, they make my thighs look like upside-down triangles of black. So unattractive. So I'm wearing this ridiculous looking excuse for work-out gear when I walk downstairs to go to the weight room when I see cameras, lights, backgrounds, and people EVERYWHERE. I'm also void of all make-up and, at this point, self-esteem. To top it off, the boy's swimming team is lifting at the same time as us that day and, as you know, all boy's swimming teams have the bods of gods. ALL OF THEM. It's like you have to be beautiful to be on the swimming team in the first place. Who cares if you can swim! As long as you look good and can flex every muscle while you're swimming, then jump on in! They'll teach you to go fast because, with that body, you can pretty much do whatever you want....
Anyway, so we are lifting weights when this very nicely dressed gorgeous man comes walking in and sits down at one of the lifting stations in front of the camera and crew. They are doing a commercial or a public service announcement or something. We get a water-break. Our weights coach obviously wants a good look as much as we do. The football boys keep popping their heads into the room to get a good look as this guy. "Back off," I think, "This is OUR weights time. Maybe your coach should have scheduled yours when a famous person is doing a commercial. Now scram." Bag Lady and I are walking over to get a drink from the water cooler (which just so happens to be RIGHT NEXT TO the station he's sitting at) when she starts drooling. "Pull yourself together! We don't even know who that is!" "I can't help it. He's just so...so...so....sexy. God help me." She almost faints, but makes the most of her water break by drinking no less than 5 cups of water. And drooling most of it out of her mouth. Now that I think about it, that's why she sprinted out of the room and down the hall when our coach dismissed us after weights....
So they start rolling the cameras and that's when Bag Lady and I decide to start walking back to our station. After walking extra slow behind his station so that we might have a chance to look like creepers in the background of this oh-so-classy commercial, I again realize what I look like. So now I'm half-hoping they keep that shot and half-hoping they don't. Either way, that man was goooood-looking. And I'm not afraid to admit it. And I may or may not have been in a commercial with him.
Did I mention he used to play for the Dallas Cowboys, is in the Hall of Fame, and has is own show....
.....and apparently was invovled with some sort of drug possession? I was looking for pictures of him and found this little bit of info:
(Circa 1996)
Police interrupted Irvin's 30th birthday party, finding 10.3 grams of cocaine, marijuana, and two topless dancers. Reportedly, Irvin threatened one of the topless dancers, Rachel Smith. Her boyfriend Johnnie Hernandez -- an officer of the Dallas Police Department -- was arrested after he paid $2960 to a DEA agent in order to have Irvin murdered. Irvin pleaded no contest to cocaine possession in a plea bargain, for which he received four years probation and a $10,000 fine, in addition to eight hundred hours community service.
He also has about 10293981209843 brothers and sisters.
Source:
So......how 'bout them Rangers?
Sunday, September 13, 2009
I'm In A Glass Case of Emotion!!
....or should I say 30 case...
When you mix alcohol with college kids, you know there's bound to be trouble. But it's kind of like separating peanut butter and jelly or jam and bread or mac and cheese: NOT GONNA HAPPEN.
Last night was Saturday night and oh what a night! Starts off at my friends' townhouse where we are just hanging out and relaxing until people come and pick us up to take us to another apartment where we, again, just hangout and relax until we go to the actual party around 11 (at another apartment). Why 11 and so late? Because that's the time that people actually start going out and you don't want to get somewhere so early and have no one be there. Duh. The boys watch the game--I think USC?--and the girls play with the dog or take pictures of themselves (guilty). Then, my friend asks me to go to the bathroom with her. Yes, she is a fully enabled human being who is pretty good (most of the time) at dressing and grooming herself, so I immediately knew she wanted to talk about something kinda big and maybe not all that good because A) the bathroom is where you go when you're around alot of people in an unfamiliar place and even though the music is loud it's that big of a deal so you need privacy and B) she asked me and not her twin sister (who was also there). Uhh oh.
So she tells me she likes this guy, we'll call him Jason, who we have been hanging out with recently. Great, I say. Go for it. He's cute, you're cute, what's amiss here? Nothing. WRONG.
So my friend, we'll call her Mary-Kate, starts hanging around him more and they play a drinking game and everything is good. I'm talking to someone else when her sister, we'll call her Ashley, asks me to go to the bathroom. Are you guys trying to make me look like I have a bladder disorder so no guys here will talk to me? So we're coming back down the stairs when Ashley tells me that she likes Jason too. Ohh shit. I say, "Ohh ok. Umm I think you should talk to your sister." "Why?" "I don't know. Have you told her you like him?" "No. Why would that matter?" "Ohh, it wouldn't. I just assumed that you had told her. Before you do anything, you guys should talk." "Oh my God does she like him too?!?" "Uhh......."
Seriously. Out of ALL the guys in the world, ALL the guys at SMU, ALL the guys at the party, they have to like the same one. Superb.
So we come back from the bathroom and go talk to different people. Five minutes later I see, out of the corner of my eye, Mary-Kate and Ashley BOTH talking to Jason, vying for his attention, and he's cornered. Poor guy.
Go to the party. It's fun. I meet people. A guy from Russia and a guy from Germany, among others. Mary-Kate and Ashley are trying to talk to Jason a lot throughout the night as well as other people to not seem desperate...but mostly him. While giving each other the evil eye. So I'm talking to Russia when, all of a sudden, he starts taking jabs at me and making fun of me! What the hell? "It's all in good fun," he assures me. "No, it's not. It's not funny." I turn to leave when he grabs my hand and WON'T. LET. GO. Germany tries to direct my attention by talking about the weather in Germany and the Winter Solstice (WTF?) and Russia reassures me that I DO want to stay and talk to him and listen to him make fun of me some more. Riiiiiight. I give him the death stare as I command him to LET GO OR REGRET IT. So weird. What is it with internationals? Communication barrier. Weird sense of humor. It's not attractive.
So I'm kind of liking this one guy who Mary-Kate knows. I ask her to introduce me and all is good. I tell her that if she talks to him later to bring me up and see what he says. She does. Then, later, I'm talking to Mary-Kate and Jason when this guy, we'll call him Freddy, starts motioning for me to come over. Ok cool, I think. WRONG. He asks if Mary-Kate has said anything about him. What? I'm confused. He likes her. Should he ask her out? he asks. Trying to be a nice person but really wanting to scream, "SHE DOESN'T LIKE YOU AT ALL-I DO!" I politely say, "I don't know. Just go talk to her." Before she's blindsided, I give her a heads up. She's ecstatic! Not. Not knowing what to do and fed up with Russia AND Freddy, I realize that this is not turning out to be my night. I decide to go outside for fresh air and find one of our friends, we'll call him Kruger, outside and sad. Good, I think, a bonding opportunity. We can bond in our sucky nights. I ask him what's wrong and, bet you would never have guessed it, he's basically in love with Ashley and she's not giving him any attention and he doesn't know why. HAHAHAHAAAHA, I think, you couldn't write this stuff! Everyone likes someone else who likes someone else who likes someone else. Fabulous. We bond.
Then Mary-Kate comes out to tell me that we're going to leave. Finally. It's 3 AM but it feels like we've only been there for 20 minutes. It was a fun...scratch that...interesting and life lesson learning night. Then Freddy comes out, gives me the thumbs up, and says he got her number. "Great," I say, trying to be reassuring with my plastered smile. One of our friends drank too much and we have to carry her to the car. In the rain. It's pouring buckets and you can't see ten feet in front of you. The umbrella rips. I'm soaked. And in a white t-shirt. Carrying my friend. So fun. We get back to their apartment and everyone who jammed themselves into the car with us decided that they're ALL going to spend the night. I get my friend upstairs and safely in bed and when I come back down, everyone has claimed their sleeping spots. I get to sleep in a little chair while one of the guys takes over the blow up mattress. Chivalry is definitely dead. I find the floor much more comfortable until I finally resign to going upstairs and sleeping next to my friend on her pillow-top mattress. This is around 4 AM after the guys decided that they wanted Chinese. Yes, there is a Chinese food delivery place that delivers until 4 AM. Who would have known.
Wake up to some really loud noises coming from the middle floor. The twins don't have dogs but it legitimately sounds like there are dogs BARKING in their house. Ten Bull Dogs. I go down to see what the deal is when the sound reverberates off the walls and stuns me still. It like traps me and I cannot think of what to do, where to go, or how to get my body moving. The sound takes over my brain. The guys are ALL snoring. The sound is so loud when they snore, but it bounces off the walls and makes it twice as loud in the second floor until it travels up the stairs to the twins' rooms. I find ear plugs on the kitchen counter and am really surprised that they have such a random thing lying around and put a few in. NOT HELPING. There is no way I can go back to sleep and it's only 8 in the morning. 4 hours of sleep. I go back upstairs to lay in bed for an hour trying, trying, trying to sleep. No luck. The sounds are haunting me.
Ashley finally wakes up and we go over the previous night, laughing hysterically at the ridiculousness and hoping against hope that it never happens again. So until the next Saturday night, this is Ron Burgundy and
Stay Classy. Or just try to get there in the first place.
When you mix alcohol with college kids, you know there's bound to be trouble. But it's kind of like separating peanut butter and jelly or jam and bread or mac and cheese: NOT GONNA HAPPEN.
Last night was Saturday night and oh what a night! Starts off at my friends' townhouse where we are just hanging out and relaxing until people come and pick us up to take us to another apartment where we, again, just hangout and relax until we go to the actual party around 11 (at another apartment). Why 11 and so late? Because that's the time that people actually start going out and you don't want to get somewhere so early and have no one be there. Duh. The boys watch the game--I think USC?--and the girls play with the dog or take pictures of themselves (guilty). Then, my friend asks me to go to the bathroom with her. Yes, she is a fully enabled human being who is pretty good (most of the time) at dressing and grooming herself, so I immediately knew she wanted to talk about something kinda big and maybe not all that good because A) the bathroom is where you go when you're around alot of people in an unfamiliar place and even though the music is loud it's that big of a deal so you need privacy and B) she asked me and not her twin sister (who was also there). Uhh oh.
So she tells me she likes this guy, we'll call him Jason, who we have been hanging out with recently. Great, I say. Go for it. He's cute, you're cute, what's amiss here? Nothing. WRONG.
So my friend, we'll call her Mary-Kate, starts hanging around him more and they play a drinking game and everything is good. I'm talking to someone else when her sister, we'll call her Ashley, asks me to go to the bathroom. Are you guys trying to make me look like I have a bladder disorder so no guys here will talk to me? So we're coming back down the stairs when Ashley tells me that she likes Jason too. Ohh shit. I say, "Ohh ok. Umm I think you should talk to your sister." "Why?" "I don't know. Have you told her you like him?" "No. Why would that matter?" "Ohh, it wouldn't. I just assumed that you had told her. Before you do anything, you guys should talk." "Oh my God does she like him too?!?" "Uhh......."
Seriously. Out of ALL the guys in the world, ALL the guys at SMU, ALL the guys at the party, they have to like the same one. Superb.
So we come back from the bathroom and go talk to different people. Five minutes later I see, out of the corner of my eye, Mary-Kate and Ashley BOTH talking to Jason, vying for his attention, and he's cornered. Poor guy.
Go to the party. It's fun. I meet people. A guy from Russia and a guy from Germany, among others. Mary-Kate and Ashley are trying to talk to Jason a lot throughout the night as well as other people to not seem desperate...but mostly him. While giving each other the evil eye. So I'm talking to Russia when, all of a sudden, he starts taking jabs at me and making fun of me! What the hell? "It's all in good fun," he assures me. "No, it's not. It's not funny." I turn to leave when he grabs my hand and WON'T. LET. GO. Germany tries to direct my attention by talking about the weather in Germany and the Winter Solstice (WTF?) and Russia reassures me that I DO want to stay and talk to him and listen to him make fun of me some more. Riiiiiight. I give him the death stare as I command him to LET GO OR REGRET IT. So weird. What is it with internationals? Communication barrier. Weird sense of humor. It's not attractive.
So I'm kind of liking this one guy who Mary-Kate knows. I ask her to introduce me and all is good. I tell her that if she talks to him later to bring me up and see what he says. She does. Then, later, I'm talking to Mary-Kate and Jason when this guy, we'll call him Freddy, starts motioning for me to come over. Ok cool, I think. WRONG. He asks if Mary-Kate has said anything about him. What? I'm confused. He likes her. Should he ask her out? he asks. Trying to be a nice person but really wanting to scream, "SHE DOESN'T LIKE YOU AT ALL-I DO!" I politely say, "I don't know. Just go talk to her." Before she's blindsided, I give her a heads up. She's ecstatic! Not. Not knowing what to do and fed up with Russia AND Freddy, I realize that this is not turning out to be my night. I decide to go outside for fresh air and find one of our friends, we'll call him Kruger, outside and sad. Good, I think, a bonding opportunity. We can bond in our sucky nights. I ask him what's wrong and, bet you would never have guessed it, he's basically in love with Ashley and she's not giving him any attention and he doesn't know why. HAHAHAHAAAHA, I think, you couldn't write this stuff! Everyone likes someone else who likes someone else who likes someone else. Fabulous. We bond.
Then Mary-Kate comes out to tell me that we're going to leave. Finally. It's 3 AM but it feels like we've only been there for 20 minutes. It was a fun...scratch that...interesting and life lesson learning night. Then Freddy comes out, gives me the thumbs up, and says he got her number. "Great," I say, trying to be reassuring with my plastered smile. One of our friends drank too much and we have to carry her to the car. In the rain. It's pouring buckets and you can't see ten feet in front of you. The umbrella rips. I'm soaked. And in a white t-shirt. Carrying my friend. So fun. We get back to their apartment and everyone who jammed themselves into the car with us decided that they're ALL going to spend the night. I get my friend upstairs and safely in bed and when I come back down, everyone has claimed their sleeping spots. I get to sleep in a little chair while one of the guys takes over the blow up mattress. Chivalry is definitely dead. I find the floor much more comfortable until I finally resign to going upstairs and sleeping next to my friend on her pillow-top mattress. This is around 4 AM after the guys decided that they wanted Chinese. Yes, there is a Chinese food delivery place that delivers until 4 AM. Who would have known.
Wake up to some really loud noises coming from the middle floor. The twins don't have dogs but it legitimately sounds like there are dogs BARKING in their house. Ten Bull Dogs. I go down to see what the deal is when the sound reverberates off the walls and stuns me still. It like traps me and I cannot think of what to do, where to go, or how to get my body moving. The sound takes over my brain. The guys are ALL snoring. The sound is so loud when they snore, but it bounces off the walls and makes it twice as loud in the second floor until it travels up the stairs to the twins' rooms. I find ear plugs on the kitchen counter and am really surprised that they have such a random thing lying around and put a few in. NOT HELPING. There is no way I can go back to sleep and it's only 8 in the morning. 4 hours of sleep. I go back upstairs to lay in bed for an hour trying, trying, trying to sleep. No luck. The sounds are haunting me.
Ashley finally wakes up and we go over the previous night, laughing hysterically at the ridiculousness and hoping against hope that it never happens again. So until the next Saturday night, this is Ron Burgundy and
Stay Classy. Or just try to get there in the first place.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Ahhhhh!
Ok, so this post is waaay over due and I apologize. I've got so much going on and barely enough time for this right now. So, sorry if this post lacks. I had practice and a ton of homework and just got in town from being out-of-town for the whole weekend. Could have used this extra-long weekend to catch up on necessary stuff....nah. I spent the weekend in Austin, TX with three of my great friends and it was awesome. Well, most of the time.
No, no it had nothing to do with them! Just some friends from back home (Kansas). Or should I say, used-to-be-friend. Have you ever had someone try to ruin something you have on purpose? Have you ever had someone intentionally hurt your feelings? I'm sure everyone who is reading this has because we are all human and, hey, some people out there just suck. They're just mean. There's no way around it. So for you mean people, be a nice person! I know what you're thinking, "I'm not mean." Well, yes you are. Well ok I guess not everyone who is reading this is a mean person but mean people, please just be nice (and you should know who you are because you probably don't have that many friends and if you do, they are probably just your drinking buddies and aren't your real friends anyway and if that's the case then I fear the day you have too much to drink and your "friends" leave you at a bar and you are forced call a cab and your cab driver has a really thick Russian accent and drops you off on the wrong side of town and you are too drunk that you don't know where you are so you decide to sober up and sleep next to a garbage man and tell him he is hogging all the newspaper and you're cold and you're so drunk that you start hallucinating Oscar the Grouch). Yeah, THAT would suck. I've never heard of hallucinating when you're drunk but that just means that you're really, really drunk. Daaaang. Ok so to prevent that from happening, just be a nice person. Otherwise, well, you know. ^^
Anyway, yes, this certain person, on a few occasions, has tried to ruin my friendship with someone else. And they almost succeeded. Luckily, I got up the balls to call this other person and figure it out. Well his/her story was completely different and actually made sense! Go figure! Calling the person who the "rumor" is actually about. Now who would actually do that? Well I'm so smart that I did. So, yes, a "friend" may tell you something about another friend, but don't believe it until you talk to that other person. Best advice EVER. Heed it. It's hard to do, trust me, but if the friendship is worth saving, then the embarrassment you may suffer is definately worth it. So my weekend, while I was having fun and just hanging out, was overshadowed by this nonsense. But I did go sup-ing today! Don't know the actually spelling or whatever but see pictures below. Now that was fun. You've got to try it. I video-ed Baggie and Beautiful Hair Girl (adoptive roommate) doing it so I'll get the video from Baggie's camera tomorrow. Sooooooo funny.
One: On the way back from practice, Outdoors Woman tells us that she was trying to light a candle in her room for 5 minutes. We asked why it took her so long to light a candle. "Well, I lit the match in the kitchen and tried to carry it to light the candle in my room. I did this four times until I finally figured out to just take the matchbox into my room and light the match near the candle."
Two: Walking into my room, I hear Bag Lady watching TV in her room. She asks me if I have seen her remote. Nope, sorry. "Well, is it in the bathroom? Dryer? Kitchen sink?" she asks as she goes to look in these places. I'm a little alarmed at the random places she is considering but then realize that Baggie's TV is always on so I don't doubt that she carries the remote with her everywhere and will probably find it in one of those three places.
Three: Went to the grocery store today. My turn to buy paper towels and toilet paper. Get 8 rolls of toilet paper, which is plenty for Baggie and I, and 6 paper towel rolls (or so I thought). Come home to put everything away and realize I actually got 8 TP rolls and another TWELVE rolls of toilet paper. I kindof want to TP someone's apartment now because I know we aren't going to need that TP anytime soon. It's probably gonna grow mold or something.
Speaking of something going bad: my bananas got smushed on the way home from the store today. Guess that means more banana bread!!!!!!
So I hope everyone had a great weekend and you aren't up as late as I am (with a few hours of homework ahead and 5 A.M. practice). I know what you're thinking. You don't even CARE that I only go to class for 2 hours on Friday; you definately don't want to be me right now. Totally understandable. I can see it now: tomorrow is gonna be a mess.
No, no it had nothing to do with them! Just some friends from back home (Kansas). Or should I say, used-to-be-friend. Have you ever had someone try to ruin something you have on purpose? Have you ever had someone intentionally hurt your feelings? I'm sure everyone who is reading this has because we are all human and, hey, some people out there just suck. They're just mean. There's no way around it. So for you mean people, be a nice person! I know what you're thinking, "I'm not mean." Well, yes you are. Well ok I guess not everyone who is reading this is a mean person but mean people, please just be nice (and you should know who you are because you probably don't have that many friends and if you do, they are probably just your drinking buddies and aren't your real friends anyway and if that's the case then I fear the day you have too much to drink and your "friends" leave you at a bar and you are forced call a cab and your cab driver has a really thick Russian accent and drops you off on the wrong side of town and you are too drunk that you don't know where you are so you decide to sober up and sleep next to a garbage man and tell him he is hogging all the newspaper and you're cold and you're so drunk that you start hallucinating Oscar the Grouch). Yeah, THAT would suck. I've never heard of hallucinating when you're drunk but that just means that you're really, really drunk. Daaaang. Ok so to prevent that from happening, just be a nice person. Otherwise, well, you know. ^^
Anyway, yes, this certain person, on a few occasions, has tried to ruin my friendship with someone else. And they almost succeeded. Luckily, I got up the balls to call this other person and figure it out. Well his/her story was completely different and actually made sense! Go figure! Calling the person who the "rumor" is actually about. Now who would actually do that? Well I'm so smart that I did. So, yes, a "friend" may tell you something about another friend, but don't believe it until you talk to that other person. Best advice EVER. Heed it. It's hard to do, trust me, but if the friendship is worth saving, then the embarrassment you may suffer is definately worth it. So my weekend, while I was having fun and just hanging out, was overshadowed by this nonsense. But I did go sup-ing today! Don't know the actually spelling or whatever but see pictures below. Now that was fun. You've got to try it. I video-ed Baggie and Beautiful Hair Girl (adoptive roommate) doing it so I'll get the video from Baggie's camera tomorrow. Sooooooo funny.
This is exactly what we looked like. Ok, I lied. This is what we looked like.
Ok, I lied again. I'm not that ripped (yet). Pictures will be up tomorrow. But you get the idea.
Now to end your day (and mine) on a good note, I have a few roommate stories:One: On the way back from practice, Outdoors Woman tells us that she was trying to light a candle in her room for 5 minutes. We asked why it took her so long to light a candle. "Well, I lit the match in the kitchen and tried to carry it to light the candle in my room. I did this four times until I finally figured out to just take the matchbox into my room and light the match near the candle."
Two: Walking into my room, I hear Bag Lady watching TV in her room. She asks me if I have seen her remote. Nope, sorry. "Well, is it in the bathroom? Dryer? Kitchen sink?" she asks as she goes to look in these places. I'm a little alarmed at the random places she is considering but then realize that Baggie's TV is always on so I don't doubt that she carries the remote with her everywhere and will probably find it in one of those three places.
Three: Went to the grocery store today. My turn to buy paper towels and toilet paper. Get 8 rolls of toilet paper, which is plenty for Baggie and I, and 6 paper towel rolls (or so I thought). Come home to put everything away and realize I actually got 8 TP rolls and another TWELVE rolls of toilet paper. I kindof want to TP someone's apartment now because I know we aren't going to need that TP anytime soon. It's probably gonna grow mold or something.
Speaking of something going bad: my bananas got smushed on the way home from the store today. Guess that means more banana bread!!!!!!
So I hope everyone had a great weekend and you aren't up as late as I am (with a few hours of homework ahead and 5 A.M. practice). I know what you're thinking. You don't even CARE that I only go to class for 2 hours on Friday; you definately don't want to be me right now. Totally understandable. I can see it now: tomorrow is gonna be a mess.
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