I wrote five different versions of this post.
Instead I turned my phone off.
Sorry.
20.3.11
19.3.11
Naw'lins
Spring is always an extremely awaited time by many a college student. For me, it was an opportunity to see my long-distance boyfriend after a slew of bad fights and general moodiness on both our parts. It was a horrible two weeks before the trip as the "will I-won't I?" fight kept going on not only in my head but a secondary player in those fights mentioned before.
The airplane trip was long and I wasn't very excited until that second leg. As we begun the longest (to me) descent in history, I started feeling jitters. Jitters of excitement and also of fear. Would anything really change?
In fact, nothing seemed to change except that we seemed to be more aware of each other the first few minutes. Which, quite honestly, is not something I mind at all. After the awkward, "I'm here!!", "You ARE," we piled into his friend's car and proceeded the 30m drive back to his campus.
I always find it funny how my mind seems like a soap opera sometimes. It likes to overanalyze, overcomplicate and over-think. That's why, most times, I ignored it. Like when he unlocked his shiny new iPhone and I spied a text message from his ex (a girl we nicknamed something very mean). So while my brain was freaking out, I rolled my eyes and smiled. I have a hard time letting go to things that hurt me -but I'm learning.
We got to campus, seemingly familiar yet so alien at the same time. After a while, amidst idle chat and some smiling and touching (just to make sure we were really there), he told me about the text message. My brain felt really bad. Her grandmother had died. I chastised my hypothalamus* (Psych test on Monday, might as well exercise my knowledge) and answered the text message with condolences. I know what it's like to lose a grandparent and it is horrible -no matter who the person is. She answered back something like, "I know... the funeral was last [insert date that was a long time before she actually texted]." My boyfriend and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes at what seemed like yet another one of her ploys to talk to him/get me angry/get a rise out of people.
Yeah, she's one of those people.
I shrugged and smiled, she'll probably never grow out of whatever it is that makes her that way. But I can be the better person. And I was tired of everything having to do with her. It always seemed like a general buzz kill (you might agree).
Onward to the next day. Walked through the beautiful sculpture garden and the museum. The days after that were too much of a blur.The nights were long, the mornings were short and the afternoons were spent in the company of someone I missed too much regularly.
We were always out. Doing things, seeing, living. It all passed by me in colorful flashes of light. Cafe du Monde, the Zoo, Audubon Park, the Quarter, galleries, antiques. The city...
New Orleans is, honestly, a very magical place. It's a perfect mix of everything. Of family, of students, of both old and new, of history. He is in love with this city; I, as a turist, am too. There seems to always be something to see, something new to discover and delve yourself into.
I was a week late for Mardi Gras but I could still see the evidence in the trees. Beads bleeding from the branches in colorful batches all along St. Charles lined the streetcar lines. The expansive mansions decked out in the colors that I've come to associate with this city: yellow, green, purple. In the Quarter, that's all I'd see. Beads, masks, feathers hanging from the balconies above my head.
On Burbon, the party never seemed to stop. Jazz bands greet tourists (as does a very expensive hot dog vendor!). Drunk people (students, middle and late-aged and even some high schoolers) stumble by, beads and hand-grenades galore. The music vibrating off everything. It made me dizzy with anticipation.
There's a reason why it's been called, "The City that Care Forgot." It's easy to forget yourself here. It's an interesting paradise. Beautiful and jaded. Somehow you feel like you don't want to leave -but you do. It's a contradiction.
Every time I go back, I'll see something new. The city changes yet it stays the same. A constant adventure. We'll see what the next one brings.
Now, back to reality. Exams, cold, countryside.
It'll be summer before I know it.
Always,
Gabs
*The Hypothalamus: The hypothalamus plays a variety of roles in the control of emotions. It is believed to be involved in the emotions of rage and pleasure, but it also plays a part in sexuality, hunger and combativeness.
The airplane trip was long and I wasn't very excited until that second leg. As we begun the longest (to me) descent in history, I started feeling jitters. Jitters of excitement and also of fear. Would anything really change?
In fact, nothing seemed to change except that we seemed to be more aware of each other the first few minutes. Which, quite honestly, is not something I mind at all. After the awkward, "I'm here!!", "You ARE," we piled into his friend's car and proceeded the 30m drive back to his campus.
I always find it funny how my mind seems like a soap opera sometimes. It likes to overanalyze, overcomplicate and over-think. That's why, most times, I ignored it. Like when he unlocked his shiny new iPhone and I spied a text message from his ex (a girl we nicknamed something very mean). So while my brain was freaking out, I rolled my eyes and smiled. I have a hard time letting go to things that hurt me -but I'm learning.
We got to campus, seemingly familiar yet so alien at the same time. After a while, amidst idle chat and some smiling and touching (just to make sure we were really there), he told me about the text message. My brain felt really bad. Her grandmother had died. I chastised my hypothalamus* (Psych test on Monday, might as well exercise my knowledge) and answered the text message with condolences. I know what it's like to lose a grandparent and it is horrible -no matter who the person is. She answered back something like, "I know... the funeral was last [insert date that was a long time before she actually texted]." My boyfriend and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes at what seemed like yet another one of her ploys to talk to him/get me angry/get a rise out of people.
Yeah, she's one of those people.
I shrugged and smiled, she'll probably never grow out of whatever it is that makes her that way. But I can be the better person. And I was tired of everything having to do with her. It always seemed like a general buzz kill (you might agree).
Onward to the next day. Walked through the beautiful sculpture garden and the museum. The days after that were too much of a blur.The nights were long, the mornings were short and the afternoons were spent in the company of someone I missed too much regularly.
We were always out. Doing things, seeing, living. It all passed by me in colorful flashes of light. Cafe du Monde, the Zoo, Audubon Park, the Quarter, galleries, antiques. The city...
New Orleans is, honestly, a very magical place. It's a perfect mix of everything. Of family, of students, of both old and new, of history. He is in love with this city; I, as a turist, am too. There seems to always be something to see, something new to discover and delve yourself into.
I was a week late for Mardi Gras but I could still see the evidence in the trees. Beads bleeding from the branches in colorful batches all along St. Charles lined the streetcar lines. The expansive mansions decked out in the colors that I've come to associate with this city: yellow, green, purple. In the Quarter, that's all I'd see. Beads, masks, feathers hanging from the balconies above my head.
On Burbon, the party never seemed to stop. Jazz bands greet tourists (as does a very expensive hot dog vendor!). Drunk people (students, middle and late-aged and even some high schoolers) stumble by, beads and hand-grenades galore. The music vibrating off everything. It made me dizzy with anticipation.
There's a reason why it's been called, "The City that Care Forgot." It's easy to forget yourself here. It's an interesting paradise. Beautiful and jaded. Somehow you feel like you don't want to leave -but you do. It's a contradiction.
Every time I go back, I'll see something new. The city changes yet it stays the same. A constant adventure. We'll see what the next one brings.
Now, back to reality. Exams, cold, countryside.
It'll be summer before I know it.
Always,
Gabs
*The Hypothalamus: The hypothalamus plays a variety of roles in the control of emotions. It is believed to be involved in the emotions of rage and pleasure, but it also plays a part in sexuality, hunger and combativeness.
23.12.10
I'm home!
Also, it's almost Christmas! Christmas is my favorite holiday of the year mostly because of my two younger brothers. Every year they wake me up at an insane hour (usually five or six am), jump on me and drag me out of bed. "Santa was here! Santa was here!" The eldest of the two would lean over the rails of the stairs and gawk at the presents under the tree. When we were all assembled, they would run out, the excitement in their eyes, and start ripping at the paper on their respective presents. Blue and Red has been the wrapping paper of choice for as long as I can remember and even the youngest, who has cerebral palsy, is used to this system of present separation.
Around ten they would be exhausted but still cradling the "favorite" amongst that year's haul. They'd play with these toys for weeks! But because they're almost eight, this magic is slowly waning. A day ago I had to make the eldest write a letter to Santa because he hadn't even written one. Both my boyfriend and I guilted him into it. "Santa doesn't give presents to kids who don't send letters!" one of us said. "Yeah, I sent mine by email weeks ago." Unwilling at first, he finally asked with some trepidation, "Is it gonna get there on time...?"I smiled and assured him I'd send it priority mail.
The other brother, much more innocent for a lot of different reasons, is still safe from the daunting reality of parents being Santa. But the other is, I'm sure, on his last Christmas as a "believer." I guess I'll have to watch The Polar Express with him until he can't take it any more. ;D
But for now I feel as if my babies are growing up too fast for me (and trust me, college does not help one bit). I wonder if this is how moms feel when a crucial age is passed. When kids stop believing in things like Santa and the Tooth Fairy. For now, I'll enjoy every moment to the fullest. Every smile and laugh and wonder-filled eyes as they gaze at the things the mystical and jolly old man left them.
Maybe next year it won't be the same. Maybe he'll find the presents stashed in mom's closet. Maybe one of his friends will tell him. Either way, I've reached a conclusion. Growing up is difficult. Watching your brothers or children grow up is worse. However, curiosity will always exist, happiness, wonder and a little innocence. I'll just have to enjoy it in different ways.
Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays/Happy Anythingyoubelievein!
And, as a funny little quip: http://isitchristmas.com/
Song of the moment: "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" -Bright Eyes
Around ten they would be exhausted but still cradling the "favorite" amongst that year's haul. They'd play with these toys for weeks! But because they're almost eight, this magic is slowly waning. A day ago I had to make the eldest write a letter to Santa because he hadn't even written one. Both my boyfriend and I guilted him into it. "Santa doesn't give presents to kids who don't send letters!" one of us said. "Yeah, I sent mine by email weeks ago." Unwilling at first, he finally asked with some trepidation, "Is it gonna get there on time...?"I smiled and assured him I'd send it priority mail.
The other brother, much more innocent for a lot of different reasons, is still safe from the daunting reality of parents being Santa. But the other is, I'm sure, on his last Christmas as a "believer." I guess I'll have to watch The Polar Express with him until he can't take it any more. ;D
But for now I feel as if my babies are growing up too fast for me (and trust me, college does not help one bit). I wonder if this is how moms feel when a crucial age is passed. When kids stop believing in things like Santa and the Tooth Fairy. For now, I'll enjoy every moment to the fullest. Every smile and laugh and wonder-filled eyes as they gaze at the things the mystical and jolly old man left them.
Maybe next year it won't be the same. Maybe he'll find the presents stashed in mom's closet. Maybe one of his friends will tell him. Either way, I've reached a conclusion. Growing up is difficult. Watching your brothers or children grow up is worse. However, curiosity will always exist, happiness, wonder and a little innocence. I'll just have to enjoy it in different ways.
Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays/Happy Anythingyoubelievein!
And, as a funny little quip: http://isitchristmas.com/
Song of the moment: "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" -Bright Eyes
19.12.10
18.12.10
No. Comment. (lol)
"Your blog is looking very pink....and feminist." -my boyfriend
Oh yes, yes it is. ;D
Just for you, babe:
Song of the moment (ironically enough): "My Heart Belongs to Daddy" -Julie London
10.12.10
The Vagina Monologues.
"The Vagina Monologues is made up of a varying number of monologues read by a varying number of women . Every monologue somehow relates to the vagina, be it through sex, love, rape, menstruation, mutilation, masturbation, birth, orgasm, the variety of names for the vagina, or simply as a physical aspect of the body. A recurring theme throughout the piece is the vagina as a tool of female empowerment, and the ultimate embodiment of individuality."
My Vagina Was My Village:
http://www.imow.org/wpp/stories/viewStory?storyId=1114
Ok, this isn't the monologue I'm performing but it's my favorite. There is something so moving about the words and the subject matter and I cannot read it without crying.
I believe it to be a staple when attending and all-women's college that you act in the Vagina Monologues at least once. I am immensely proud to be able to have the opportunity to do so on my first year here. The collection itself is a marvelous testament of what it is to be a woman and all the things that can go both terribly wrong and amazingly right. It's about womankind and universal experiences. If you haven't read them, I highly encourage you to do so. You'll laugh and cry and even get angry.
Plus, it's on Amazon.
Song of the moment: "Cooler Than Me" -Mike Posner
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