Sunday, August 28, 2011

That post where I used the word "menstruated."

I don't need to say that I am the only daughter in my family, because the two people who read my blog already know that. So they could probably guess that the idea of moving away from two younger brothers into a space with three other girls made me pretty apprehensive. Based on past girls' camp experiences, I was sure it would take less than a week before the estrogen wafting from our rooms would drive me to some kind of breakdown.

But guess what? It's been over a week, and I am getting along beautifully with my wonderful roommates. There hasn't been lick of tension, and I happen to know two of us have already menstruated. It is different, though. Among my observations:

-There is hair EVERYWHERE. Looong hair. On the rug. On the bathroom counter. Everywhere. And not brown hair, like I'm used to. Blonde hair. Between my toes after I stand on the bathmat. Too graphic? Let's move on.

-The trashcans fill up very quickly. The reason I think this is different than with boys is because a disturbingly high percentage of boy trash does not make it to the trashcan.

-The toilet paper disappears even faster than the trashcans fill up. It took me a good amount of contemplation in the bathroom before I realized why me and one other girl go through a roll so much faster than me and two boys. Duh.

-When a girl says, "My room stinks," what she means is, "My room doesn't smell like perfume."

-Girls do this weird thing where they go in their rooms and are quiet for extended amounts of time. No one yells, no one wrestles. It's like a freaking zen garden up in here. It would be eerie if it wasn't so sheerly amazing.

-Everyone is willing to admit they have feelings. They just say it without any shame: "I want my mom," "I'm freaking out," "I cried today." And when they cry, they don't mind if you notice. It's bizarre.

There is more, but I need to snag the bathroom before someone else does. Girls take twice as long in the bathroom. It's probably because we wash our hands. Then I'll probably check on my roommates and make sure they're not dead, because I'm still not convinced it should be this quiet right before bedtime. I love my life.


"Female jealousy is an evolutionary fact, Lemon. If you try to breed it out of them, you wind up with a lesbian with hip dysplasia." --Jack

Saturday, August 27, 2011

You are tiny, like an Asian.

Sometimes what makes your day special is the quantity of quirky encounters you had that day. Sometimes, it is just the quality of one or two small, silly things that happened. But once in a while, we are blessed with both quality and quantity of truly bizarre events in a 24-hour period. Like yesterday, for me.

(Also, I am not a fan of the long blog. But I couldn't really help it on this one. I'm sorry.)

Before I start, though, you must know how many Asians there are up here on campus. I am not being a racist. There are just so, so many. Most of them are exchange students here for a few months, being sponsored by their government to learn skills at American universities. They come from Thailand, Taiwan, China, Japan, Korea. They are all very sweet and cute. And so numerous. It is not an uncommon occurrence for me to get on a mostly empty shuttle that will immediately fill with exchange student after exchange student, leaving me the only white person there. It's just such a bizarre feeling after four years of living in northern Utah. Anyway.

Yesterday, at a shuttle stop, a very nice Asian guy came over to ask me a question about the shuttle system. I helped him out and told him to just follow me because I was headed to the same place. We started talking a little, and then, out of the blue...

Jeffrey: Why are your eyes a weird color?
Me: Um. I don't know. (pause) Because my mom's eyes are blue and my dad's are brown?
Jeffrey: I see. That's weird.

He was very nice. He was from Taiwan. He's headed back in a week to study international business.

A few hours later I decided to take the bus to Smith's for some groceries, and another very sweet Asian student sat next to me. She looked like she was sixteen. I introduced myself, and she immediately said...

Ann: You are tiny, like an Asian!
Me: I know.
Ann: How old are you?
Me: I'm eighteen.
Ann: Oh, really? I would have guessed 25! It's so hard to tell with Americans!
Me: How old are you?
Ann: You guess my age.
Me: Jeez. 21?
Ann: (Giggles) I am 28! I am ten years older than you!

She was also adorable. She's from Thailand and is studying English until December. We exchanged numbers so I could help her practice her English.

I got off the bus a couple blocks later, and waited at a crosswalk. I clicked the little walk button like a law-abiding citizen does, but as I waited, an old lady on the other side of the street just started crossing. JUST STARTED CROSSING. SIX LANES OF TRAFFIC. AND TRAX TRACKS. WHILE THE TRAFFIC HAD A GREEN LIGHT. I watched in terror and awe as she stopped between each lane to let a car go and then go for it herself. She must have seen me staring, because when she made it to my side, she bestowed upon me these words of wisdom:

"Someday when you're older, you'll have the balls to do that, too."

I can only hope, old lady. I can only hope.

Then, I saw a man in a long, black cape.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, until my roommate (who I love very, very much) came home tipsy from a frat party...

Me: I need to find Lucy.
Unnamed roommate: Lucy?? (hysterical laughter)

And with that, I went to bed.



Two quotes for tonight:

"A drinking contest? What am I, twelve and at my boyfriend's frat party?" --Jenna

"She said she was seventeen, but then she said her last boyfriend was Asian and that crap doesn't start til college." --Dennis Duffy

Sunday, August 21, 2011

This is college.

This is how 75% of my conversations have gone for the last three days:

Hi, so what's your name? Nice to meet you. I'm Maggie.
(Oh! That's my dog's name!)
I know. I'm from Centerville.
(Where's Centerville?)
That's just north of Bountiful. You know Bountiful?
(No.)
Never mind. Where are you from? What are you majoring in? I'm doing elementary ed.
(Wow! That takes more patience than I have! Ha ha ha!)
Ha. Ha. That's what everyone says.

On Friday night, the school hosted a dance party outside for everyone who had just moved in. My roommate and her friend and I were hanging around, and one very cute, very, very nice boy came over to introduce himself, which of course lead to...

Hi, so what's your name? Nice to meet you. I'm Maggie.
(Oh! That's my dog's name!)
I know. I'm from Centerville.
(Where's Centerville?)
That's just north of Bountiful. You know Bountiful?
(No.)
Never mind. Where are you from? What are you majoring in? I'm doing elementary ed.
(Wow! That takes more patience than I have! Ha ha ha!)
Ha. Ha. That's what everyone says.

Then his very cute, very nice friend joined us.

Hi, so what's your name? Nice to meet you. I'm Maggie.
(Oh! That's my dog's name!)
I know. I'm from Centerville.
(Where's Centerville?)
That's just north of Bountiful. You know Bountiful?
(No.)
Never mind. Where are you from? What are you majoring in? I'm doing elementary ed.
(Wow! That takes more patience than I have! Ha ha ha!)
Ha. Ha. That's what everyone says.

Then another.

Hi, so what's your name? Nice to meet you. I'm Maggie.
(Oh! That's my dog's name!)
I know. I'm from Centerville.
(Where's Centerville?)
That's just north of Bountiful. You know Bountiful?
(No.)
Never mind. Where are you from? What are you majoring in? I'm doing elementary ed.
(Wow! That takes more patience than I have! Ha ha ha!)
Ha. Ha. That's what everyone says.

It felt so college-y, flirting with guys at a dance party. So we all went off and danced. They were very, very fun as well as nice and cute. Things were going swimmingly. I showed off a couple Irish stepdancing moves, which always gets the guys. In fact, said moves probably inspired the next conversation:

Cory: Do you guys drink?
Kate: (Who thought he asked if she needed a drink. Of water.) Yes!
Me: No.
Cory: Do you smoke weed?
Me: No.
Cory: That's okay. You're a great dancer.
Me: Thank you.

So there you have it. Somewhere between that and getting invited to a toga party and going to my first singles ward and eating on my bed and having several public transit misadventures, it has finally hit me that I am a college student. A very hip, self-assured college student.

Oh, wait, that was the girl I sat next to on the bus. I am the terrified college student who accidentally took the bus to Sugarhouse when she meant to go to the Smith's four blocks away. But whatever. It'll be great, right? Right?


"How's this for grown up? Last night, I put milk in my Apple Jacks." --Frank



Monday, August 1, 2011

"Normal"

I am not marriage-crazed, really. I could happily wait 5-6 years before tying any kind of knot.
But that doesn't mean I'm not planning already.


My mom says she was so stressed planning her wedding that she didn't have time to enjoy it, so I like to think that by already knowing my wedding colors, the gist of my decorations, where my dress is coming from, and what the bridesmaids will wear, I am avoiding a few premature gray hairs. Right? A day doesn't generally go by when I don't skim weddinggawker.com for ideas, and save a couple pictures in my folder titled “Wedding” on my desktop.

But then today I imagined myself in this situation:

Sitting with my laptop open in some class, a cute guy sits down next to me. We introduce ourselves and hit it off. Just before I open up a word document, he catches a glimpse of a folder entitled “Wedding.” This could mean I am engaged, or worse --insane. He pretends to see a friend come in, excuses himself, and flees.

I panicked. Quickly, I created a new folder entitled “Normal” and moved the “Wedding” folder into it. Brilliant. Now let's re-imagine this situation:

Sitting with my laptop open in some class, a cute guys sits down next to me. We introduce ourselves and hit it off. Just before I open up a word document, he catches a glimpse of a folder entitled “Normal.” Perfect, he thinks. She's normal. He asks me on a date and a month later, we are married. Our wedding colors are all shades of white and the bridesmaids have matching clutches. The reception is at an art museum and each table has a centerpiece of paper flowers in jars. The cake has golden raspberries on top of it and there are lots of garlands made out of paper doilies.


That's more like it.


"See, this is exactly the kind of thing that happens when there's no order, no planning. Hitler and Martha Stewart would have hated that wedding." --Liz Lemon

I think I got something to say to you.

Get it? Like from the Rod Stewart song? (Confession: I've never heard that song before. I had to look up the lyrics.)
(Actually, Brother Hassan used to sing it to me in seminary.
Me: I don't feel comfortable when you sing that song to me; it's about his adulterous lover.
Bro. Hassan: Don't say "adulterous lover" in my classroom.)
Seeing as my last journal entry ever was way over a year ago and terrible, I'm hoping having a blog will help me record some life. Mainly I'll probably be following other people's blogs, though, and quoting 30 Rock. So no one get your hopes up.



"Every year my Aunt Alice sends me a wool sweater for Christmas. We get it Aunt Alice, you're a sheep." --Kenneth