13 ((ways of looking at a blackbird))

On Saturday, I didn't just buy a new fluffy pet. I became 13 again.

It's now Monday and I still can't help but smile when thinking about the past weekend. I think many twenty-somethings take life too seriously, and you might be thinking, Really? What about the ones that drink themselves into a stupor every weekend? What about the non-intellects sitting in classrooms, doodling on their essays and worksheets? Those people don't take life too seriously.

Well. I could agree with you and make this whole blog super agreeable, but I think I'll beg to differ this time. I'm going to argue that no, those people may not be super intellectual, but I don't think they are being childish, either. What kind of child drinks herself into a stupor on the weekends?

I was 13 again on Saturday and it was a nice change. When I was actually 13, I hated it. I hated being at that weird age; it was the age of puberty and hormones and heartbreaking crushes and pigtails. It was the age of pining and always being right and realizing that maybe my mom can't help me with all of my problems.

It was an age of transition. It was an age of ups and downs and plenty of semi-friendships and semi-boyfriends.

That's not the 13 I'm talking about, though. No, on Saturday night, the girls and I broke out the hemp and beads. We sat on my bedroom floor, giggling over 80's and 90's music videos on YouTube, trying and failing to make bracelets and necklaces for each other. Mary dyed her hair a dark red over my sink while I scooped large quantities of ice cream into bowls. I doused the ice cream with sprinkles and M&M's and Shell. It was a little slice of Heaven.

The boys across from us were having a party and the bass of their music thumped our floor. And I didn't want to be any one of those drunken college students. I was content with the coloring books that Mary had brought over, and I was content with the hemp and Vanilla Ice on the laptop.

I was 13, and for once in my life, I missed being that young and naive. I missed that awful, awkward age of braces and half-hearted arguments and notes that were passed in the shape of a football.

And so it goes.

Saturday's Whim.

I walked into the pet store today with very few intentions...

And I walked back out with a 10-gallon tank, paper bedding, a spin wheel, a water-sucking contraption, a small pink hut house, a cute polka dot food bowl, some seed-nut assortment of feed, and a puffball of a dwarf hamster.

I named her Erma.

My spontaneous, brilliant, decision-making skills never cease to amuse, or amaze, me.

...Michelle is going to kill me.

...

They say that college is supposed to help you find yourself, find your voice.

But.

What if you end up losing yourself in the process?

lisztomania

...is the one with the windows open in November, trying (and failing), but trying nonetheless to serenade the wind with the delicate notes of music. This is badly butchered by the hands of one who does not know the tune.

...is currently seeking and not currently finding.

...is not here right now, or tomorrow, or ever so please leave a message after the obnoxiously long beeeeeeeeeep.

.....is out buying cookies and cream truffles with a boy who has just been cheated on.

...is throwing her hands up in frustrated delight.

...is a bunch of xoxoxos waiting to happen.

Black and Gold

I found myself sitting in the Presque Isle Art Gallery (and coffee shop) this afternoon, a mug in one hand, my chin in the other, listening to a friend talk about his upcoming thesis. The black clouds swirled angry in the sky, and we were catching up under the heat of a sea-glass lamp.

Time is a funny thing. And the future is, too. When you consider them (both time and the future), you really have no control over what happens. Sure, you can make some things happen, but what about the spontaneity that is so unique and beautiful to each life? What about the fun in letting every moment run its course? Why drain every day of its natural What Ifs?

So, around this time last year, I was sitting on the hill by OBS, watching the stars, holding his hand. We had a thing, whatever that thing might have been, and then it was over.
And here we sit, almost a year later (a year full of not-really-talking-and-being-kind-of-awkward-around-each other), laughing over paninis and Chai in a coffeehouse. I never would have guessed it would be this way, not after a full year of semi-awkwardness.

It's weird. But it gives me faith in people, I think. It gives me hope that our futures are still precious, and who's to say what will happen? Who's to say who will leave your life and who will come sauntering into it? Who's to say who will come back and stick around for a while?

I think that's the fun of it, of everything. Sometimes it's enough to just take life as it is instead of trying to make things happen.

Sometimes, you just need to chill out and wait. Relish in the possibilities.

Jell-O can never be Crème Brûlée.

So tired of the ucky love stuff.

::A Halloween Melodrama::

Bob and I had finally, finally confirmed our plans for the Halloween weekend: We were going to spend Saturday getting our fill of adrenaline rushes on the Cedar Point coasters, and then listen to the amazing, melodious voice of Ingrid Michaelson and her band members in Cleveland at night, where we would proceed to meet up with Michelle and Maya.

The trip started off with rain bubbles popping on the windshield of the Beast. It was gloomy, cold, and the kind of day best spent in bed with a novel. But we were on a mission. So, not even seven minutes into highway time, my van starts to rumble. I look over at Bob to see if he has noticed. He hasn't. I stare down at my gas gauge into the troublesome orange square that indicates LOW FUEL. My car rumbles again and this time Bob glances over.

Three minutes later, we found ourselves pulled over on the side of the highway not even three exits away from Behrend. Bob and I laugh, saying this would happen, and he offers to walk to the nearest gas station, which is maybe a ten minute walk from the van. After offering to come with him a million and one times, I found myself sitting in my van, listening to the rain and the tinktinktink of my four way flashers.

Twenty minutes, and three phone conversations later, I see Bob (the Hero) sauntering along the exit, his cheeks flushed with the cold and trudge of carrying gasoline uphill. I could have called AAA, but honestly, who thinks of that in such a situation? I had forgot I was even a member.

I held the mucky stick into my gas gauge as Bob tried, and kind of failed, at getting all of the gasoline into the tank. Mostly it ended up all over us and the back left tire of my van.

We drove off with laughable expectations, but goofy grins adorned our faces because who knew what would come next? We had the whole day waiting, waiting.

About 1.5 hours later, we decided to stop for lunch before reaching the park. Neither of us had 8 dollars to pay for a lone hamburger. Geez. So, after walking into the restaurant, we sat down, took off our jackets, and the fire alarm proceeded to go off. We stared at each other for what must have been five minutes, and then burst out laughing. We laughed and laughed, and ordered a million plates of food for cheap, and laughed some more. This was too absurd.

We eventually arrived at Cedar Point at 2:30 (the original plan was supposed to be around noonish), and giddily ran to our first coaster: Top Thrill Dragster. After waiting in line for about twenty-minutes, the ride broke down and we laughed again. If I would have gotten a ticket for speeding, that would have been the cherry, but I didn't, (thank goodness), and so we shook our heads and moved on to Millenium Force. We ended up doing all the coasters our hearts could have handled, and eventually got on the Dragster (which took my breath away, literally) last. After a solid five hours of line-waitin', coaster-hoppin' glory, we raced back to the van and I sped down the interstate to make sure not to miss Ingrid Michaelson.

The concert was mind-blowingly amazing, to say the least. Aside from the fact that I could not see much, and the ballroom was packed body-to-costumed body, I had an absolute blast. Michelle, Maya and I sang along and made complete fools out of ourselves. I bought two of her CD's and a poster that I would have loved to be signed, but she was not having any of the crowd. She and her band really put on a show, though, and no doubt will I be a returning fan to future concerts.

We stopped at Sheetz after the show because Bob and I hadn't eaten since lunch earlier in the day, and I was starving. And after the much-needed Sheetz run, we made our way back (blaring my new Ingrid CD's) to campus.

I walked back through the trash-ridden, pumpkin-smashed' Quad at 2 in the morning with sticky hair and glazed eyes, but I was genuinely happy. It was, for sure, one memorable Halloween.