Stuff and Things on My Brain

1. I am so over fair-weather friends. Suffice it to say, my feelings have been hurt a few times this week/year by people who choose to only be my friend when I'm doing well, but who will literally pretend I don't exist when I'm not.

People, hear me. It's better to just not be friends with someone than to only be that kind of friend. I can deal with someone not liking me/not wanting to be my friend, but the feeling of hurt and betrayal that comes with having a fair-weather friend is absolutely horrid.

Please, please, please take that into consideration in your day-to-day life. Thanks.

2. Here are some songs I really like these days, for your listening pleasure.

Don't You Worry Child cover by Madilyn Bailey

Keep Your Eyes Open by NEEDTOBREATHE

How to Be a Heartbreaker by Marina and the Diamonds

Landslide by Fleetwood Mac

Bluebird by Sara Bareilles

3. I have decided to take a semester off school for reasons. I am so blessed to have a family that supports me in this decision! So yes, when school wraps up at the end of April, I will be returning home. And staying there for eight months. Whaaaat?!

Goals for my time "off" include geting my license, geting a job, and getting appropriate amounts of sleep most nights. Also hanging out with some amazing friends that I've missed like crazy, and possibly going running everyday...?

4. I'm allergic to Utah. The weather was amazing today, but so are the magnitude of the allergy symptoms I'm having. To be fair, I'm a little bit allergic to Pennsylvania, but not nearly as allergic as I am to Utah. Time to break out the Zyrtec...

5. My hair is long now. Not long long, but longer than it's been in two years. Wanna see a picture?

Boom. Super long. I can get 70% of it into a ponytail, so that's exciting. I'm trying to get used to having it down, though, because when I used to have it long long, it was always in a bun, like so:

(Apparently, 16-year-old me knew I would need a bun-pic for my future blog.)

Anyway, hope you survived your Wednesday. I did. Just barely.

x,

   g

Thoughts from the Airport

I have been traveling since 7:30 am. Two time zones later, I'm stuck in an airport because a flight to Charleston took up residence in my gate and refused to leave. I guess they over-booked the flight so much that they need to move four people to a flight that leaves at 11:30 tonight from a different airport. Trouble is none of the highly compliant passengers headed to Charleston were willing to budge on their flight time. The (really not) adorable couple across from me were complaining about it for at least a half hour. The girl even called her mom to check if it was okay if they got in late. Based on the half of the conversation I heard, her mom was fine with it. But no, they didn't take one for they team, they stayed to complain.

Then the airline gave up and (somehow) got a bigger plane. What? That's a thing? They moved all the awful Charlestonians to another gate. It was fun to watch them run when they were informed that their plane was leaving immediately. Revenge is sweet.

Except it isn't. They had caused such a delay that the airport had no choice but to skip my flight altogether and send in the plane scheduled for the next slot and change my gate.

Ugh.

So now I'm sitting in an airport, waiting for my flight to come at least two hours late. I know I'm complaining. Oh, well.

Being stuck in an airport for prolonged periods of time can be pretty interesting. I got to listen to a pilot hit on a super-skinny chick who works for a non-profit, which was pretty much the most stereotypical chick-flick senario I can imagine.

The horribly un-adorable couple going to Charleston talked a lot about how much the world sucks for them in particular while downing Five Guys burgers. How can you be sad about the world while eating Five Guys?

An adorable older couple talked to a young mother and gave her baby Cheerios. The gentleman gave up his seat so the mother could sit down, saying, "Here, you need this more than I do." I'm glad there are still people like that in the world.

Two middle-aged business men compared web browsers and joked about the end of the world. The one guy was excited to see his mother "before the world explodes." Cute.

I watched two strangers become friends, talking about books, and the news, and how hilarious daily life was. It struck me as kind of magical that two people who will never see each other again could become so close so quickly.

And I watched a lot of people be alone. Airports are unique in that they bring a whole lot of people together from all kinds of places very briefly and then fling them all over the world. Some people like to reach out of their worlds and connect with someone else's. Some people like to stay in their bubble, drink their coffee, and read their novel. Neither choice is wrong or better.

I'm more of an observer. I like to find out people's stories from just watching them. Is that super creepy? It probably is.

Anyway, I'm homeward bound after six months away. Wish me luck.

x,
   m

Micaela's Handy Guide to Grieving

I know I've been absent from the blog-o-sphere lately. I've tried to write about ten times, but I haven't been able to force my ideas into something coherent. When I have to force the words, I'm usually not comfortable publishing them on my blog. It's too embarrassing.

I realized that if I don't just write what's on my mind, I'll never get back to blogging, and I really, really like blogging. So forgive me if this isn't my usual sarcastic commentary on human existence.

Pretty much, I have been sad. So incredibly sad that I've had trouble talking, let alone writing.

"But, Micaela, why are you sad?"

You know how some days everything seems to go horribly wrong? You wake up late, can't find your other shoe, staple your finger to your report, stub your toe twice, and before you know it you're in a bathroom stall taking deep breaths and willing yourself not to dissolve into tears.

That, my friends, has pretty much been the last two years of my life. Except instead of stapling myself or stubbing my toe, my parents split up, I had random fainting spells, I moved across the country, and my grandmother is dying. And a lot of other stuff happened that I don't need to talk about. And right now I'm in the proverbial bathroom stall, holding back very literal tears.

I'm in the grieving process right now. About twenty times a day, I have to step back and say, "Be gentle with yourself, Micaela." So I am. I sleep more than usual. I don't worry about my pants size. I've stopped trying to force myself to smile. If someone makes me feel "less than," I just avoid spending time with them. I bought sweaters that are both extremely comfortable and mildly fashionable that I wear almost all the time. You guys, I've even started watching Gossip Girl again, marathon style, on Netflix. It's ridiculously therapeutic to watch TV that requires zero brain function. (And, let's be honest, in my head I'm totally dating Nate Archibald.)

But grief is dangerous. Sadness easily morphs into anger, and anger is impulsive, boundless, and self-destructive. When I get mad, I have to sit down and remind myself that I'm grieving, and that anger is just a crude mask for sadness.

I'm learning to ask for help. A hug does wonders, as does a Jell-O cup, going for walks, listening to hymns, talking to my dad on the phone, singing along to Le Mis, doing laundry, wearing sweatpants...

I guess my point here is that it's okay to be sad if you do it in the right way. And you realize when it's gone too far. And you ask for help. And you remember to put on pants and stuff.

Thanks for your understanding. I've gotten so much good feedback from my blog thus far, and seriously, it means so much when people tell me they read/like/acknowledge The Epitome of Snark. If you have any ideas of things I should blog about, hit me up.

x,
   m

p.s.- My readers are seriously the best. <3

Sorry I'm Not Emma Watson

I've realized that a lot of my blogging has focused on the past, so this is just going to be an update on some thoughts I'm having. Because I know you're all super curious.

"Is the whole shuttle playing a joke on me?"

I live in "on-campus housing," which is funny because I'm actually about a mile from the outskirts of campus, so I take a shuttle to and from campus most days. I'm not gonna lie, I kinda love being off-campus, and I kinda love the shuttle.

It's a pretty classic set up--seats along the wall, bars on the ceiling for standing riders-- and it's almost always crazy full. It literally makes my day when I get an actual, sitting-down seat. Those of you who have seen me try to do anything involving balance (including walking) know that I am not gifted in that area. Standing on the bus is torture in my mind. I cling to the bar so tightly that my hand is usually numb by the time I get off. My whole arm gets tingly. I've fallen on people a few times. It's bad.

But on the occasions that I'm seated, I experience another phenomenon more strange than my inability to balance. With few exceptions, people don't sit next to me. They would rather stand and have their arm yanked off when the shuttle goes over speed bumps than place their behinds on a seat adjacent to me. Today, for example, two guys opted to stand rather than taking the seats by me. Do I smell bad? Is there something going on that I don't know about? Am I scary? And yeah, there have been brave souls who take the seats next to me, but those seats are always the last two open. You guys, I don't even know what to make of that. I would rather sit by the scariest, most intimidating person at BYU every time I ride the shuttle than stand. I'd rather sit next to pretty much anyone than stand. This may be a result of my balance issues, but I'm pretty sure most people prefer sitting to standing.

Times like that make me think, "Jeeze, sorry I'm not Emma Watson."

"Why can't I just be Emma Watson?"

I love Emma Watson, and even though I try to avoid obsessing over celebrities, I'm a little bit obsessed with her. She's gorgeous, talented, funny, and smart as heck... and let's be real, she's British. Every outfit she wears, haircut she gets, thing she says, and movie she makes send me into a kind of reflection on my life. I mean, she's so... cool. She was in Harry Potter. She's totally nice. People sit next to her when she rides the shuttle.*

I think she kinda represents who younger-me thought I would be by my age, and right now the only thing that I've achieved is having Emma's haircut. So that's something, at least.

"Holy crud, does Fuze juice actually have milk in it?!"

Yes, it really does. Time to take some Lact-Aid.

Anyway, hope y'all had a good week! Happy weekend. :)

x,
  m

*I could not confirm that Emma rides a shuttle, but if she did, people would totally sit by her.

You're Doing It Wrong: Flirting

Okay, it's the moment you've all been waiting for... I'm going to talk about my love life. Let me preface this by saying two things: 1. I won't talk about anything that actually matters (so stop being so nosey) and 2. About 60% of the time, I'm still convinced I look like this:

So I'm always a little surprised when I get any male attention. (On a related note, the shoes in this picture are the famous shoes I wore when I fell down the hill durring that fateful first high school gym class.)

Anyways, flirting. I can think of about a million things I would love for a guy to do in an attempt to win my affections (flowers, chocolate, flowers, serenading me, dancing with me under the fading sunset... also flowers. Let it be noted that I like flowers.) but I think in my months here at college, I've run into several flirting methods that, to be frank, freaked me the heck out. And so, without further ado, I present to you Micaela's List of Things You Should Never Do to Get a Girl to Like You.

1. Ask her complex, Duct-tape-related questions at three-minute intervals. Okay, that sounds very specific, but seriously. If you start a conversation with someone, especially if you're on the bus and can't walk away, make sure you consistently... ya know... talk. If she has time to get out her iPod, listen to most of a Neon Trees song, and text her father an oddly detailed description of her lunch, you're doing it wrong. And when you do decide to grace her with the sound of your voice again, for the love of all that's holy, make sure it's something more engaging than a monologue about how many times you've broken your left bike pedal in the last six months. And if you have to talk about that, laugh when she makes a joke about only pedaling with one foot, because she knows it wasn't funny, but seriously, dude, you're being so awkward. And if you absolutely cannot do that, do not follow with a question about how she feels about BYU Duct-tape. She knows it exists, she just doesn't think it's worth talking about, but it's okay because you'll give her another three minutes to think of a totally unfunny tape joke so you can look at her like she's an idiot. 

2. Offer to build a shrine to her in your closet*. Yeah, that happened. It was followed by the sentence, "I'll make it out of chocolate bars, then light candles around it so I can watch it melt." Strangely enough, the ladies don't really go for that. I know, right?! Women...

3. Shove a package of raw hamburger in her face and tell her it's hers if she eats it all raw*. Chocolate bar might be a good substitute for hamburger, but that's just my opinion. Also, consider the fact that you're walking around with raw hamburger. Contemplate your life. Ask yourself, "Am I trying to die young?" and if the answer is yes, hit me up and I can get you a great shrink. 

4. Dress up in a silver MorphSuit and give her prolonged hugs. If you're not familiar with MorphSuits, they look like this:

But the guy was wearing an orange jersey over it. Regardless of the jersey, it made me think of this: 

(Yeah, I'm terrified of the Slender Man. If you don't know who that is, congratulations, you've never had your pants scared off. I'd tell you to go download and play Slender, but I can't wish that kind of terror on anyone...)

Hugging random strangers is weird enough when you can see their face, but when you add in the fact that this guy a. looked like Slender Man and b. was not actually wearing any pants, you can imagine how creepy things can get. 

If you're concerned she isn't adequately impressed, try hugging her for a really long time. Like, exceed the hug time limit by about 20 seconds. While smelling her hair. Nuzzling her face. Making her a little concerned that she's actually gone crazy. She'll totally want to date you after she recovers from the mental scaring you've caused her.

...Okay, it was hilarious. Seriously one of the best things I've seen at BYU. And the guy smelled awesome and hugged like a champ (Dude, if you're reading this, we should totally cuddle sometime. You don't even need to talk to me, just show up smelling good and willing to hug me.) and seemed to have the same twisted sense of humor I have (Okay, I'm calling it, we're soul mates.), but it was creepy nonetheless. (Seriously, call me sometime?)

Life is weird...

x, 

   m

*Yes, it was the same guy. In all honesty, it was hilarious, and I'm 34.5% sure he was totally kidding... But it was horribly awkward. Nice guy, though. Mad respect for being so gutsy, bro. 

Sweatpants, or Homesick

Though I've been out West since the beginning of June, I'll readily admit to still having a little culture shock. I mean, I'm from Penn State, one of the biggest party schools in the US. I remember having trouble sleeping because the geniuses at the frat house a few blocks away decided to play Guitar Hero at 3am, totally drunk, over what I can only imagine was the biggest freaking speaker system know to man. That is not the kind of thing you run into at BYU. It just isn't.

But, seriously, the lack of alcohol doesn't really effect me much because never drank anyway. It's the small things that are still getting me. No caffeine sold on campus, hugging everyone you ever see (ever), the way the BYU Police guard the grass like it's the last grass on Earth... and no one wears sweatpants. No one. Ever. 

At Penn State, it's considered a good day if you decide to put on real clothes (ie not pajamas) and brush your hair on the same day. Gray is an acceptable color. Ponytails are the norm. Sometimes, people even leave the house without make-up. Heck, I knew people that had "regular" sweatpants and "dress-up" sweatpants. Uggs are considered an all-purpose shoe. Eastern Casual, as I think of it, values comfort to style at about a 3:1 ratio. 

Western Casual is a whole 'nother ball game. Jeans are the sweatpants of the West. If I leave my apartment wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and Sperry's (a pretty typical school outfit back at home), I will usually feel like a slob by the time I get to the bus stop. Jeans are acceptable, but they're more acceptable if they're day-glo green or leopard print, or, better yet, aren't jeans at all, but skirts! T-shirts are okay, assuming they've been layered half-to-death with cardigans and camisoles. I don't know how people get dressed in the morning! I can only imagine that they're getting up hours before I am, huddled around closets and drawers, inventing new and elaborate outfits, and twisting their (almost exclusively) long hair into complicated braids. And don't even get me started on the lengths some of the boys go to in order to look "vintage" or something.

Tell me that doesn't sound exhausting. I'm proud of myself when I blow-dry my hair. I've been know to dance around the kitchen on such days. 

Am I trying to be critical? Not in the least. People out West tend to look classy, put-together, and intelligent. I admire their dedication, I really do. If I weren't so dedicated to sleep, I'd probably be one of them. I'd wear pink pants and look perpetually pleasant, but sometimes, I miss sweatpants and wearing Uggs in any weather. I miss the color gray (both in clothing and in the weather), I miss ponytails, and not feeling obligated to hug people.

I'm homesick today. You can find me in my room, wearing Uggs and sweats, telling myself That's What She Said jokes. 

x,

   m