breaking up is hard to do

I woke up this morning and came to the sad realization that I would be waking up in Charleston (as a student/transfer-South Carolinian/Charlestonian) for the last time.  I graduated yesterday, and while that fills me with pride in my accomplishments and excitement about starting the next chapter of my life, it has also plagued me with sadness and nostalgia.

I have said goodbye to a lot of people I love and "see you later" to the ones who can never be rid of me,  but I am still grievously sad (as anyone within 40 feet of me can attest - I have cried a lot this week).  Why am I so sad though? This is the beginning of something new, even though it means the end of something beloved.   And then I realized why I am so weepy:

I am breaking up with Charleston.

I took this picture at Freshman Orientation, Summer 2008 :)

I once joked on Facebook that I was "in a relationship with the city of Charleston" and "it's complicated."  Complicated because so many people are in the same relationship, I think. Or because in the summer it gets really hot and smells like garbage and/or fish. Sometimes it's hard to love that. But I did.

In the summer I would joke that I was "in a long-distance relationship with the city of Charleston."   I would start to have dreams about just walking the streets, I missed it so much.  And then a month would go by and it would be time to move back. And I would roll down the windows as we drove into the city and say "it smells like beach" and smile.  And I would unpack and take a walk around the city, wishing on several occasions that it were possible to give the city a BIG I-missed-you hug.  (I had to settle for a lamppost. There was gum on it...)

I haven't experienced very many break-ups, and they have never been too devastating, and I think that's because I have never truly been in love.  Until I moved to Charleston.

I know it's a break-up (and that's why I am so inconsolably sad) because:

• Every song is about us.   (me and Charleston, that is.)  Driving home from my parents' hotel room the other night, I heard two songs on the radio and I wanted to cry.  These are songs that I have heard millions of times before and on the surface have nothing to do with graduating or leaving or anything really. They were:
• Hold on Loosely - 38 Special   "usually it's too late when you/ realize what you had/ so hold on loosely/and don't let go...etc."
• Mr. Jones - Counting Crows  "when everybody loves you/ you can never be lonely"
• thank goodness I didn't hear the Cheers theme or James Taylor or "How Far We've Come" or something otherwise reminisce-y.  Looking at these lyrics now, it seems really stupid, but the other night these songs were about meeee.  And that's how I know it's a break-up. Because I am acting crazy.
• When people say "you can still come visit!"  what I hear is "we can still be friends...."  Visiting is such a hollow mockery of our relationship it makes me sad to think about it. I will always belong here, but I won't belong to Charleston the same way ever again.
• I know that this is "for the best" but I don't care. We will both go on to grow and flourish. But I am allowed to be sad about something wonderful ending. So damn it, I will be sad. 

So goodbye, Charleston.

It sucks to leave you.  I will always have a HUGE place in my heart for you and for the College and all the wonderful people I met as a happy consequence of moving here four years ago.  I will miss you. I will miss the Farmer's Market and praline samples and Charleston Christmas traditions and nuns and church bells and crooked streets and lampposts covered in gum and old houses and boarded-up fireplaces and seagulls and the Cooper River Bridge and horse-drawn carriages and alleyways and the Battery and bicycles and the best cupcakes I will ever eat. I will probably never stop dreaming about walking these streets with the people I love.
Stay beautiful, Charleston.  I will be back to visit (we can still be friends).

I've cried a lot about leaving here, but this morning when I looked out my window I knew it was never a one-sided relationship:  Charleston was crying too.

today on the internet...

I just came back from practice for my graduation from the College.  Cray-zay.   And now that I have the time (which I should be using to do laundry, pack my stuff, and...I don't know...learn French) I am going to regale you with commentary on ridiculous things I found on the internet today.  

I checked the weather this morning (hoping it would rain again so I didn't have to sit on the stage in the blazing sun) and noticed that Weather.com has made some updates.  Again!  I feel like they do a redesign every other week.  Those people are on the ball.   Anyway. Today I noticed a new feature:

That's right. It says "Alert me when it rains."  A useful feature for...cave dwellers? People without windows? Maybe, but chances are that if you aren't already outside or can't see outside, you won't be going outside soon. And if you did, you would probably be able to tell when you got there. I'd hope.

 It doesn't say "alert me when there is a hurricane" or "alert me when there is a deadly waterspout hell-bent on making it inland and headed straight for my house" or "alert me when ash falls out of the sky after a Super Volcano-type situation cuz then I will probably need more than a poncho." It says "alert me when it rains." I am curious to know how many people use this application and why.  But that's for another day.  

OH! Weather.com also lets you know about weather-related "trending" topics from Twitter users in the area.   And surprise! Today's trending topics are "rain," "raining," and "sunny."  Fascinating.  Potentially useful/interesting if the topics are "blood rain" "locusts" or "aliens??"  But for now... it's a bit redundant.

Another thing that caught my attention (potentially more stimulating than weather.com updates) was this article about the new cover for Time Magazine. It's about the mother breastfeeding her almost-four-year-old son. Here's the picture:

Oh my! Controversy! That child is wearing army pants!

 

OK, setting aside anything implied by the actual Time article or the headline ("Are you mom enough?" really? Time Magazine, why you always gotta be startin' sumthin?), the article about the article was pretty inflammatory and stupid.  The url for the Gawker article is "http://gawker.com/5909256/mom-puts-boob-in-giant-preschool-sons-mouth-on-cover-of-time?tag=moms." GIANT preschool son's mouth? I don't know all of his parentage, but I doubt he is even half-Giant. Does he look like a child of Hagrid? No.

The final questions are designed to get commenters into a frenzy.  The first two are valid:

• How does this cover make you feel? 
• Will it haunt [the child's] future? 

but of course, even these questions elicit the most heinous internet responses:

"Wish I was that Kid so I can have my mouth on those sweet jugs : )"    classy.

"Not being breast feed had NOT ONE negative effect on me and I'm closer to my parents than some of my peers. My first cousin breastfeeds her children until they're almost two years old and they're allergic to almost everything under sun!"  to which someone responded: "maybe if you had been breast fed you would understand the concept of sample sizes"    hahaha touche.

 And then people just started getting sarcastic..."Breastfed toddlers are also Giant Pussy Crybaby Whiners. See Science publication Vol456. The correct feeding method is Mountain Dew in a bottle with Kool ashes flicked on the head."

And this gem:

 "First of all he is four and his brother is five, and they both breastfeed. That is way beyond the point of normalcy, whether you agree with that or not ("normal" is relative, but that is a fair point, this is not average behavior). And I only took 4 classes in psych in college (please, please don't brag about this. By starting your sentence this way I have already stopped listening to you) but I am quite sure (you are the expert opinion here) that the kid will develop a different bond with people than most. It is likely that he will be much more needy for companionship (not true - several studies show similar levels of attachment to peers as well as fewer problems weaning off of transition objects like teddy bears and security blankets) since for 4 more years he had to attach himself to his mother for nutrition (what? pretty sure he ate other food - otherwise he would not be the "Giant" you claim he is) while all other kids were learning to eat by themselves. I'm not saying it's a certainty, but it is a likelihood that could prove a major problem later on in life."

I am not going to take a side on this.  I am not going to use anecdotal evidence and say "I know people who breastfed past the age of four and they turned out pretty OK fine" because that is the kind of reasoning these commenters use and it is completely ineffective.  What I will say is this: people on the internet are stupid. I do realize the irony of writing all this on the internet, yes.  But just remember that opinions are opinions and facts are facts. And please don't pretend to be an expert and then admit to not being one in the same sentence.

 

Also, just FYI, I have never before seen the word "tits" used this many times in a comment section about a Time Magazine article. ever.

I have been pretty stressed out lately, and noticing a few indicators of anxiety neuroses.

anxiety:  "an unpleasant emotional state for which the cause is either not readily identified or perceived to be uncontrollable or unavoidable"   

yay.

I started to ask questions: When did these start? Why am I so sensitive? Why do I feel like I am stressed or anxious all. the. time? 
How come some people can calm down and not me? (apparently, only 18% of Americans. SO 82% of Americans are anxiety free most of the time! no fair!)
and
Why do I only ever use the left-hand "Shift" key?

That last one has been bugging me for a while now, actually.

Anyway, I started looking back on my life and noticing flare-ups of stress, but a general anxiety blanket over most of my thoughts starting around high school.  So naturally I thought it must have started around there. Something about the universally traumatic experience of post-pubertal development within a public high school plus braces plus orchestra minus cool equals inevitable generalized anxiety problems. 

BUT, as I pointed out earlier, not everyone has these chronic problems. Clearly.

And then, remembered for a completely different reason, a fully formed memory floated into my head:..... (bubbly dream sequence harp playing)...

I was walking behind my church, leaving after some post-Mass event or other, and I was worriedly asking my mother what I would have to know to make my First Communion.  I remember that it was warm and sunny outside, with fluffed pine straw in the landscaping to the right of me and the carpool lane on my left. I remember seeing everything from my much smaller 7-year-old height and the hum of the generator behind the old gymnasium. 
And I remember someone telling me "...you're going to be quizzed on all the priest's homilies. I hope you were paying attention..." 
and all of this, the carpool lane, the generator, the pine straw swirling around me as anxiety scooped me into it's dizzying arms.
 ...I haven't been paying attention, I worried, I'm not going to get it. I'll never get it. I'll be old and wrinkly and no one will give me the Eucharist...

Something in his voice (and the laughter that followed the statement) told me he was kidding, but I couldn't undo the worry. And I didn't - not until I finally did make my First Communion a few agonizing months later (during which I spent every Sunday willing my attention to the priest at his pulpit and begging my brain to remember it). 

And so the pattern goes.

1. Evil thoughts.
2. Needless worry
3. Needless worry
4. must calm down.  CALM DOWN.
5. Oh no!! [insert worry here] is about to happen...
6. Oh, what? [insert worry here] already happened? And everything's fine? Oh. Phew.
7. repeat. ad nauseum.

 Moral of the story: Claire has been like this for a while.

I don't know if you can tell, but I'm about to graduate from college. 
 

There might be ghosts.

After my first week living in this historic house I wrote a post about how it's haunted, citing mainly the fact that we have a medicine cabinet and none of our lights really work.  I have settled in to the house since then.  I am no longer weary of the tiny door to the attic at the foot of my bed nor the demon stove, which only seems to attack Marca.

I did, however, have a hard time sleeping a few nights ago because I dreamt that there were two children jostling me awake every hour or so to tell me something important.
They might be ghosts.

sometimes, they don't even know they're ghosts.

BUT if they are dream-children, this (according to DreamDictionary) means I am repressing my inner child, because I was mad that they were trying to wake me up.  It could also mean that I need to wake up to my full potential, or something. You know. If you believe in that sort of thing.
(Dream interpretation, that is. Not ghost children.)

It is also possible that they are trying to tell me something. Like "stop eating tomatoes" or "you're going to start having problems with indigestion...oooOooOOoo"  - which is entirely possible because I woke up with chest pain the next morning and was told it might be esophageal spasms. 

Anyway, I named that post "Ghost Adventures: Charleston"  because it was about ghosts, adventures, and being back in Charleston.  But recently that post (and my blog, as a result) got a bit more attention when GHOST ADVENTURES CAME TO CHARLESTON.

just a few honest guys in Ed Hardy t-shirts lookin to tell a story

Yep, they came here, stayed over night in a "haunted" jail a few blocks away from campus (that is now a school for textile arts and historic preservation) and caused a general ruckus.  But unfortunately, I confused a few people with the title of that post, which of course was the second item when you Google searched "ghost adventures Charleston" or "ghost adventures in Charleston" etc.


ALSO, even though I had a HUGE paper due the next day, I knew I couldn't be in the same city with these guys and not try to see them.  I didn't want to tell my grandchildren the story about how I almost met Zak Bagans, but decided it would be more prudent to spend my adventuring time in the library. So I went.

staging a boo hag hanging at the jail. gotta love twit pics.

And there was nothing to see.
A few other fans meandering around the building, a mild greenish glow from a room upstairs, and dashed hopes.  But at least we tried. At least we ventured.  And I got the paper done, don't worry.

Though I am still a bit upset I didn't make a weird noise that could later be analyzed in slow motion and captioned to say "Die Zac" or "Go home" or "Boo hag's gonna get ya."


Tune in for the Charleston episode on Travel Channel on December 16th!

procrastiknitting, meet procrastiblogging.

Things that I am thinking about right now:

1. I don't want to be writing this paper.  

Prompt: If you'd been put in charge of raising you, what would you do the same and what would you do differently? What "risk factors" do you think you could have avoided? 

Seriously. "Tell me how your parents messed you up. Be explicit. Also, be explicit enough to fill 2-3 pages single spaced."
I told my mom about having to write this and all she said to me was "Don't let me read it. I don't want to read it."  Relax, Mom. I'm trying to figure out a way to write this paper but not write this paper.



      2.  ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT IS COMING BACK!!  

I feel like shouting it from the rooftops! Which I could probably do because we have access to the fire escape.
 
      3.  I would rather be using this time to finish knitting my sweater.

I only have the sleeves left to do. Well, and 8" of the right side...but if I play my cards right, I could be finishing that to.night. If I ever write this damn paper.

This is what it's going to look like. (pictures to prove my skill later)

OK, no more procrastiknitting or procrastiblogging.  Time to settle into this awful paper.

Good night.

Ghost Adventures: Charleston, SC

Back in Charleston for my last year of college. It's bittersweet.  I love being back here, but it's a bit like visiting a dying relative:  I know my time is short with Charleston so I am trying to make the most of it. Every rain storm, every sunset, every "what is that smell?" hits me in a certain place in my heart.
But I can't be sad. Because it is Charleston after all, and being here just makes me overcome with happiness.

This year, I am living in a historic house. (or is it "an historic house?" I never understood that)  It feels like living in an apartment, even though it is owned by the College and we live on dorm furniture.  It also feels a bit like living in a haunted house.

Evidence our house may be "haunted"

1. Our bathroom is a prime murdering location:
• The light comes on in sharp flickers, as if the last time it was used was to light a meat locker or an abandoned warehouse.
• We have a medicine cabinet.  Which is just begging ghosts/zombies/murderers to pop up behind you when you're putting your toothbrush away.
2. The demon fire that heats our stove top MELTED a tea pot. Melted it. Melted a seasoned tea pot meant to withstand hot stoves. It didn't melt all last year OR the day before on the same stove on the same burner. Only conclusion: demon fire.
3. At the foot of my bed there is a crawl space. To the attic. Just one tiny latch standing between me and whatever decides to come out of there. Nuff said.
4. The floor is squeaky. Which is, you know. Annoying.

However, even though our house may be haunted, it hasn't killed us yet (knock on wood)!




Alright, now I must get to work like a good college student. I must confess that I wrote this first to get my writing brain loosened up so that I could write my first paper of the semester (assigned the first day of classes and due the third day of classes! yay. shouldn't I be taking ice skating instead? clearly I'm doing this wrong)

NYC

30 Rock is filmed in Brooklyn. Sad face.

I just got back from New York!  For the first time in my whole life. Until this weekend, all I knew about New York came from movies and TV.  And in the case of a few of those (like How I Met Your Mother, Friends, Will & Grace, and Seinfeld) they aren't even filmed in New York. Or even on the East Coast.
So all I knew came from

• Jungle 2 Jungle
• Home Alone 2
• Big
• Kate and Leopold
• Someone Like You
• You've Got Mail
• Hitch
• ...I don't need to list these. Just think of pretty much every movie ever made. Except the ones by John Hughes.

Overall, this did not give me a very good idea of what the city is actually like and gave me a weird set of expectations going into this trip.  Mostly that the city of New York exists to be filmed: with wet streets to reflect lights at night and the streets perpetually bustling around a single person as he or she walks slowly, obliviously through them with a look that betrays the fact that their thoughts are far, far away.  Thinking about him. Or her. Or how to keep their superhero costume from bunching under their day clothes.

But surprise(to me)! New York is a real place. That exists. It exists when the cameras aren't there. It exists when the Glee kids aren't dancing around all over the place and the Gossip Girls aren't...gossiping.  So if I learned anything from this trip it's that New York is real and real people really live there.

There are lots of opportunities to take pictures of people taking pictures.

I also learned all those apartments in shows like Friends don't exist. Unless you have a trust fund. Or you're in Brooklyn.


My goals for this trip:

Eat real New York Pizza.

check.

Eat a real New York bagel. 
- Russ and Daughters - check.


Find Bret and Jemaine's apartment.

check.

See a famous person.
- BAM! Saw Brian Williams walking around NBC Studios wearing hipster glasses. - check.

Overall, a COMPLETELY successful trip that surpassed all my expectations and thoroughly exhausted me.

THANKS MALLORY!

uber tuber

I don't have much time to say anything. I have too much to pack and I have been uber busy studying for finals and saying goodbye "see ya later" to all my friends at school. Once I get settled back home, I will do a real post. I am sure ten minutes at my house will be enough for a two-parter.

But I saw this again, and it made me smile. Share with me!

courtesy xkcd

Also, if Celtic Woman is my go-to perfect study music, the Space Jam soundtrack is the perfect packing music. And Disney songs. And 80s/90s pop.

Mob mentality

It's pretty clear I am avoiding writing a paper. Technically, I am avoiding researching for a research paper. Which is dumb because that may be the easiest part. This is my third research paper in three weeks, and I have a rhythm down. I just don't feel like being in the rhythm right now. So I am listening to Alexi Murdoch and Brother and Freelance Whales and allowing myself to get distracted.

Now a little story.

I came back from my extra long meeting (planning next year for CSA) and sat down to my computer, resigning myself to actually do work. If I get down the research on paper, take a few pages of notes, and do the bibliography, all I have to do is write 7-9 pages tomorrow! Cake. 

I checked my email and this was the only new message:
(that's not sad, it means I am on top of things. For now.)

(Important: This is not exaggerated, but copied straight from my inbox.)

Sender: Lauren R*****

Subject: REMINDER: Meeting today

Hey Guys!

This is just a reminder about our meeting today at 5pm at Stern Center Gardens. Look forward to seeing you there!   -Lauren

Um. What.

• I have no idea who this girl is. Luckily, she has a really distinctive name like Lauren, so I can narrow it down to 500 girls at this school. And 5 or 6 dudes.
• I have NO IDEA what club or organization this is for, and she doesn't bother to say.
• I had Mass at 5, so I couldn't go anyway.

Then I started to think what if this wasn't my fault? What if this is a brilliant ploy to create an "accidental" flash mob?

Picture it: This email goes out to everyone on campus. It's bland enough to apply to anyone, any group, any meeting. In the rush of exams, group projects and final papers, everyone is forgetting things and shirking responsibilities. A student receives this email and thinks "oh no! I forgot. I can't tell what this is for, but I should head over to see what it's about just in case."
When hundreds of people think the same way, you have droves of semi-curious anxious students wandering around Stern Center with a look that asks "did I leave my keys over here?" and BAM. You've got yourself a flash mob of unintentional flash-mobbers.

Or is it flash-mobsters?



EDIT: It was not a flash mob, it was for some honor society thing. If I had bothered to search my inbox for her name I would have found that out. But congrats to my friend Aaron on being president!

we have popcorn at home

My online movie services are harrassing me. So I did something about it. That's right! I stood up to the bullies.

A few weeks ago, my friends and I meandered over to the Blockbuster on East Bay and reveled in the glory of three dollar DVDs and close-out candy.  Like almost every other Blockbuster, this store is being liquidated. Is that the right word? I don't care. It's closing and EVERYTHING MUST GO. Including the gumball machine. True story.

So we perused the stacks of discs for what seemed like hours, found a few keepers and proceeded to check out. I got distracted by the discount candy and popcorn (did you know Orville Redenbacher makes "Spicy Nacho" popcorn? I wish I didn't.) and became fixated by the popcorn that comes in its own bucket (just like at the movies!).  The kind I always begged my mom for and never got because "we have popcorn at home." Exactly. Boring popcorn. Popcorn that comes in a bag. How blasé. 

So I bought it. And it was the perfect size to store my new movies in! When I approached the check-out counter, the man working there informed me that if I signed up for a Blockbuster online that I would get some fantastic percentage off my final purchase. And of course I agreed. It was free and would get me extra movies for a month! And that's how I signed up for Blockbuster in addition to my well-used Netflix account and bought three movies and a bucket of popcorn for $6.

End of story? Not quite.

Apparently signing up for this Blockbuster thing was not enough. It wants attention. It wants love. But sadly for Buster, I already have a movie love, and that is Netflix. So Buster got jealous. It seethed as I spent hours enjoying movies and TV online and cursed as I basked in the new excitement of connecting the x-box to this wonderful online service. Eventually Buster grew tired of expecting me to notice how mad it was and started trying to remind me it was there.

Email from: BLOCKBUSTER online: Your queue is low- add new titles. Now. 

Buster was angry. And hurt. I ignored it again.
A movie came in the mail. I forgot about it. Eventually I watched it and sent it back. Another came. I forgot again.

So what did I do? I deleted it for good today, and turned my attention fully to Netflix once again. I feel guilty for treating Blockbuster the way I did, but the truth is it deserved better. And I just don't have the devotion or attention to give.

And Netflix welcomed me back with open arms. It knows what I like:
"British Comedies with Strong Female Leads" or "Emotional Father-Son Comedies" or "Witty Workplace Sitcoms" or "Cerebral British Period Pieces."
It gets me.

And I am happy.

Hipster on the Roof: Tradition- you've probably never heard of it.

I overheard an interesting conversation in my Happiness class today, which is pretty unsurprising because there are some pretty interesting people in that class. Like not-really-my-freshman-roommate-girl, Dizzy Teddy and Brah-ms, the girl with the loudest snacks ever, and MetalSlayer guy, to name a few.

Add to this list Red-headed Hipster Guy and Hipster Girl with Immaculate Make-up. These two always sit together, but from my amazing abilities of eavesdropping I have deduced that they do not know each other from outside of class and are not friends. I assume they just gravitated towards the only other person in the room besides themselves dressed head-to-toe in Urban Outfitters.

This hat is $34

She looks like her make-up is professionally done everyday. At first, it was off-putting. (She wears lipstick! Who wears lipstick anymore? She might as well be wearing pantyhose). But now, I am transfixed by the effort she puts into her appearance. Her boots are perfectly scuffed, her clothes look like she just threw them on- which usually means they took serious thought and money- and  her hair is perfect. Immaculate.

He is equally purposefully-unkempt, with longish red hair sticking out of an ironic "vintage" flat-brimmed baseball cap. He too has scuffed boots and effortless style.

For how outwardly interesting these two are, you would think their conversations are equally stimulating. Alas, it is not so. This is what I heard today:

Girl: So, how was your weekend?
Guy: It was...pretty good, you know. Something actually happened to me that has never happened to me before.
(my interest is piqued)
Girl: Oh, really. Cool.
(she shows a natural curiosity.)
Guy: Yeah. The other night, I was on a rooftop. And...I saw another person on a rooftop...
... Which is weird, because not that many people do that. You know? It wasn't like, some air conditioning repairman. It was another dude sitting on a rooftop, like I was. It was weird.
Girl. Huh. Yeah.

Yup. Welcome to your future, America.

As I was leaving, I walked past him and his group talking about their research project: Marijuana and Happiness. Hm.

tomboy gets her boy

I am in between papers right now and have found myself with a night in the room by myself.  It's rainy outside, it's cozy inside, and I am sitting on my couch doing my homework and watching TV. I never just watch TV. This is great.
Except that the program I most want to watch is on the TV Guide Channel. This is strange to me. TV Guide is not supposed to have real shows and movies. Most days I am annoyed by the slow scrolling of programing information and the ridiculous show playing above it. I curse the small size of the listings and wish for a time when there was only room for weather or small advertisements.

Tonight I am watching Some Kind of Wonderful, which I quite enjoy. Not as much as the other John Hughes movies, but enough that when I saw the movie starting I sat down and made myself a nest to settle into for the next hour and a half.

It's been a while since I've seen it, but I am noticing several new things along the way:

• Watts has the coolest car ever. I want it.

• Why were so many girls in the 80s dating preppy assholes and refusing to stand up for themselves when they were referred to as "property?"
• Eric Stoltz looks exactly like Mark Hamil.
• I must really like this movie for other reasons because Keith (Eric Stoltz) is about as hot as Luke Skywalker, but with a higher voice. So...not hot. Just to clarify.
• class differences are tearing us apart!!! they live on the wrong side of the tracks and he has dirty hands!
• his littlest sister went on to be the oldest sister (DJ) on Full House. huh.

so, if you're not doing anything right now, go watch this movie. stand by for possible additions to this list

EDIT: Watts Wisdom:
On whether to face the bullies: "It's better to swallow pride than blood."
On high-maintenance Amanda Jones: Keith- You can't judge a book by its cover.
                                                        Watts- Yeah, but you can see how much it costs.

Dizzy Teddy and Brah-ms

I think it's safe to say that the worst word pair you can hear in a classroom is "group project."

...followed closely by "gas leak" or "cumulative final."

My Happiness class (which is slowly becoming an ironic title) has a group project component. We have to make up our own research question about happiness and design a research study and...

I already don't want to do this. I hope this isn't a reflection on my interest level in the subject! It's probably just a representation of my horrible work ethic. For example, I have a research paper due next Wednesday and I was all gung-ho to start writing/accumulating research and instead I sat down to my computer and started blogging. Blerg.

Anyway, group projects. Every group project is the same.  No matter how many members, it could be two, it could be ten, there will be ONE person whose schedule is days ahead of everyone else. This person makes the others feel lazy, but to appease this member, the others pump out whatever they were supposed to contribute according to the Proactive Person's schedule. How is that fair? It's not. But life isn't fair, as I was reminded constantly as a child.

There is also always AT LEAST one  incompetent slacker who has decided to ride on the coattails of the other group members, who are all really just towed behind the Proactive Person. Incompetent Slacker will finish his/her assignment at the last possible second and rarely be on time/show up to group meetings in the library.

During my last group project, I discovered that I was the slacker for the first time in the history of my education. I felt terrible to be bringing down my group, but then I discovered how liberating it was not having to carry the rest of the group as Ms. Proactive. And now I am spoiled and I don't want to be that person ever again. It's a vicious cycle. Actually, it's more like when you realize that the backpack you have been lugging around all day is 470 pounds and if you carry your books to class one at a time instead of being prepared for everything all the time, you are much more comfortable.
I mean I guess. I haven't taken my books to class since freshman year.

So in Happiness class, we are charged to make groups of four. I look at the three people in my immediate area.

1. Thom (see RLS: MetalSlayer) 
2. Thom's metal friend, who looks like a teddy bear that has been through the dryer one-too-many times. His hair sticks up, fluffy, and there is a slight dizzy look to him as he talks about the freaktacular MetalSlayer album out next month.
3. Brah-guy, named for his propensity to refer to people as "brah," which is slightly acceptable given our proximity to the beach. He has short red hair and clothes that look like he's been wearing them for years, not in a dirty way but in a loose and comfortable way. He's the kind of person who insists on wearing flip flops year-round.

 I really need to stop judging people.

Upon seeing my prospects for my group, I decided to talk to my professor after class and request a random assignment. But then, I thought, what if she assigns me to these dudes anyway? Decisions, decisions. I thought, for sure I will be Proactive Patty for this group. Damn.

As I sat lost in my own worry and ignoring the last few minutes of class, I write my contact info on the sheet of paper Brah-guy has handed me, and I hear Dazed Teddy addressing me from his seat directly behind me.

"Cookies. You want cookies? Cookies?"
Oh, man. This guy is high.
"I mean," he clarifies, "would you like some cookies? I work at a bakery and I took a bunch home today."

It turns out he works at Baked, one of my favorite bakeries in Charleston and just as I am about to say "sure! do you have any Monster cookies? They're my favorite," he says
"Do you want a Monster cookie? And I have chocolate chip. Take a few!"



Maybe this group thing will work out after all.

RLS: MetalSlayer

To the girl in my psych classes:
Why do you insist on taking your shoes off for every class? Are your shoes really that restrictive? Also, do you buy new socks every week? Because yours look immaculate considering the amount of time they spend unshielded from the annually-cleaned floors of the Education Center.

Also, here is another story about my powers of magnetism.

In my happiness class, our professor likes to take time from her lecture to ask us to "check with our neighbor" about things we just learned or were supposed to read.
Example: "So the Stoics were definitely eudaimonists. What in the reading from yesterday confirms this statement? Can you check with your neighbor?"..and then you have to awkwardly turn to the person closest to you and shrug and say "I have no idea. Did you read? Yeah, me neither."

One day, when class ended after checking with my neighbor about Kant or Schopenhauer, I exited my aisle and one of the guys that sits behind me (one of my neighbors) blocked my walking path and stuck out his hand. "I'm Tom by the way."  Actually I think it may be spelled with an "h" like some people do. Let me paint you a picture of this guy: he's what the boy's clothes department would call "husky," with dark greasy hair that comes to his shoulders, a curtain covering one eye like the lady-villain from Captain Planet. He is usually wearing the same shirt supporting some demonic-sounding death metal band.  Most days I hear him talking about the latest metal show he went to to a fellow metalhead behind us. ("Did you see MetalSlayer on Thursday??" "Yeah, they were freaktacular, man.")

"I'm Thom by the way."
"Oh, hi. My name's Claire."
"Claire," he confirms.
We shake hands.

 The next week, our professor walks down the aisles and passes out a handout (probably something undecipherable about Nietzsche with lots of examples about pastrami sandwiches). With only three of us in the row, I have to stand up and walk to the girl at the end to get the papers, and then I pass one to Thom, who sits in my row now, if he can manage it. And he says...
"Thanks babe."

I possibly misheard him. Maybe he said "thanks mate" or "thanks gave" or "you should shave." I hope it was one of these options.

Ever since this, I have been weary. But for a week or so, he wasn't in class to avoid giving our big presentation.  I thought he had withdrawn from the class to avoid writing the three page paper and talking for 60 seconds. So imagine my surprise when I see he is still in class after all!
 Today we tackled the questions "What IS happiness?" and "What does happiness REQUIRE?" Check with your neighbor. I did a half turn and saw he was the closest person to me, so I turned to face him and said

"Isn't this what the whole class is supposed to be about?"
He laughs.
"So, what IS happiness?" I ask, "Puppies? Peace of mind?"
"How was your break?"
"Uh." I recover quickly. "Good! Really good. My break was happiness. Great idea."



I just realized that there is no reason to be so freaked out about this. People call other people "babe," right? I just expected it from some slick jerk instead of one of my own (the geeks, nerds and dorks crowd.) I should give Thom a break. Because now everything I hear him say ends that way. "How was your break, babe?" "Maybe happiness can't be defined operationally, babe." It makes me uncomfortable. But that's not exactly fair to him. He probably just said "thanks a nave."

Anyway, here are (the imaginary metal band for the purposes of this study) MetalSlayer's greatest hits, courtesy of Jake:

(not a member of MetalSlayer)

MetalSlayer's Greatest Hits Collection:

1. Death-Face

2. Murder for Breakfast

3. Bloodsoaked Shoelace

4. A Knife Wound a Day (Kept My Parents Away)

5. Human Roadkill

6. Bitch Coffin

7. Recipe for Necrosis

8. A One-Horse Open Slay

9. Bureau Full of Corpses

10. Love is a Self-Amputation

(I would advise people not to google image these song titles. you're welcome.)

when God closes a door, he opens a beach house

It is my final night of spring break, and I am sitting at my computer. But oh, what a great week it has been.

I spent Sunday to Saturday morning at my friend Hannah's beach house on the Isle of Palms. Several things:

1. this was the first year I didn't just go home and veg out on the sofa. Which may have been a mistake because apparently we have a 3D TV now.
2. I was worried that because I wasn't getting a break from the people I see everyday, I would grow to hate them after a day or two of sharing a house with them.
3. The high all week was about 65 degrees. Every time I went out on the beach I had a sweater or a blanket.

don't you want to just dive right in?

BUT it turned out to be really fun.  There were always new people in the house bringing food and games and conversation. I accrued a whole library of new music and made some new friends. And although it sucked to be at the beach and be unable to apricate*, the chill doesn't change the look of the stars at night. 

and here is my latest favorite:




*Balderdash tells me this means "to sunbathe" but my spell check says it is not a word. Dictionary.com confirms it is, indeed, an English word, although the most popular usage was in the 1690s. Go figure.

you can't trust anyone. not even your own memory.

All semester, I have been watching my freshman roommate sit in the front row of my Happiness class.  She sits between another girl I know and her on-again-off-again boyfriend.

Every once in a while, I would see her and remember freshman year: things like the time she made me get her laundry out of the dryer because she didn't want to have to put on a shirt and pause Gilmore Girls (the same episode she had watched three times that day). I would see her hair and remember what her shampoo smelled like and how she used to leave her wet towels on the floor.

And then today, as I was talking to my professor about next year, she waved, said goodbye and pushed her boyfriend (who is in a wheelchair- she doesn't just shove people around willy nilly) out the door. And as she left, I saw that her backpack said "Chelsea" and heard that her voice was not my ex-roommate's voice at all. This was not my roommate. I have never spoken to this girl, let alone slept in the same room with her. This was a stranger who looked, acted and DATED exactly like my freshman roommate.

Two things:

1. You can't trust anyone. Even if you think you used to share a bathroom. Because you probably didn't.
2. Doppelgangers freak me out.

you really got me

Charleston now has a Forever 21 on King St. This bugs me a lot. They put it where there used to be a Saks, and I think the trade significantly influenced the overall feel of downtown shopping. I felt the same way when they put in a Rack Room Shoes where the Banana Republic used to be. It's just... tacky. King St is not cheap tacky, it's rich tacky. Like Tommy Bahama and Lilly Pulitzer.

Now, I don't shop at these places. That's not why it bugs me. I barely shop at all. The most I ever do is gaze into the windows at perfectly dressed mannequins and wish I had more money to throw around. Sometimes I walk in and check the clearance racks while trying to avoid the attention of the people working in the store. And still more frequently, I simply walk past each store and think about which character from Arrested Development the clothes would most suit. GOB. Lindsey. Lucille. George Michael.

When Forever 21 opened they had a free gift card promotion, so it was impossible to get into the first week. But when I finally let myself wander in there (cheap clothes! even if they do tend to fall apart and have a horrible return policy) I was astounded. It is at least THREE times bigger than the one at the mall near my house. There is a section for about five or six different "looks" including what appears to be "Americana," hobo-chic, "nautical," and neon spray paint. They have a men's section and a kids section. They have enough shoes to shoe an army of overlarge centipedes. It is, in a word, overwhelming.

The first time I went was simply a reconnaissance mission. I wandered around for a bit and left. The check out line was at least 50 people long. I wish I were exaggerating.

On Friday my mitten-quotes professor had too many technical difficulties trying to get the projector to work, so he let us out of class early. About 40 minutes early.

I decided to take a walk on this beautiful Friday morning, and found myself down at Forever 21. I puttered around for a bit, looking and touching and trying and pricing. I remembered hearing someone tell me that all these clothes are cheap because they are made by poor little children in cramped sweat shops, and I looked at the items in my hands and thought I can't buy these, that would be awful. Then I remembered what Kala told me after I talked to her about the sweat shop kids (awesome band name? or too evil?): "Maybe if you buy more of the clothes, they can pay the kids more money!"

So on that faulty logic, I left having purchased a new shirt and some cute slip-on shoes.


Later that day, while wearing my new cuteness, I got whistled at by some douchey-looking guys at Andolini's. I didn't know whether to be flattered, creeped out or indignant. It's just something that happens when you put a pizza place next to the school gym/weight room: the guys get hungry after a workout and surge with "I-can-conquer-the-world" endorphins/adrenaline and "Oh-look-at-that-chick" testosterone. It was really funny to hear them try to whistle as I walked past. It came out more like whewpppthhpoooppthh.

Question to the male species: Why do you do this? Do you expect me to hear the whistle, turn around, and say "Oh, that was for me? Thank you. You look cute as well. Let's date. May I sit on your lap while you hang out with your equally repugnant male friends? You sure do know how to get a lady."

I see you, CofC

I see you, girl in front of me at Einstein's.
Someone explain to me the sorority girl paradox that makes every girl in the Greek system look either perfectly put together (like right before the Mallard Ball!) or like a pile of laundry that has become self aware and put on make-up.

Einstein's girl has clearly just finished a run. She is wearing a t-shirt from the mixer last year and bright athletic shorts. This attire alone would not lead me to the conclusion that she had just exercised, because if you pair the shirt and shorts with Uggs, a Lilly Pulitzer tote and a Tervis tumbler full of something brown (usually Diet Coke or iced tea...or bourbon??), you get the cookie cutter sorority girl as she appears in class 5 days a week. What convinced me was the splash of dirt on the back of her calves that meant she probably ran by some puddles or through wet grass. Sometimes I like to be Sherlock Holmes.

So she had obviously been for a run, but she also had a full face of make-up on. And not the slightly smudged well-I-just-didn't-wash-it-off-from-last-night make-up. This was fresh stuff. So she had either a) put on make-up to go for a run (why??) or b) gone for a run, then put on make-up to come to Einstein's, but didn't take the time to shower. She also took off her running shoes and had sandals on instead. (This is more than can be said for her friends. Two of them had on Uggs and one girl did not have any shoes on at all. This ain't the beach, this is an eating establishment!)

After I noticed the make-up, I also noticed that she had at least three HUGE hickeys on her neck. This has nothing to do with the rest of the story. I tried to fit this into my story for her, but I just can't.

So, girl in front of me at Einstein's, you confound me. You embody all the contradictions and stereotypes of the modern sorority sister. Slouchy but not comfortable. Sloppy yet put together. Like there was intention behind your outfit, but it seemed to be "why put on real clothes just to go to class? I save those for the weekends and going out drinking on weekday nights."
I save comfy clothes for weekends and staying in on weekday nights. Maybe this is where my confusion comes from. We're too different. And yet, we both exist here, we both got into this college. We must serve as parts of a continuum. I just don't know exactly where I fit on that line. It must be somewhere between pearls and PBR.