Beijing Turkey Day

Hiiiilo again! My mac is finally fixed and im back on the interwebz. To kick off my next spurt of bloggings I decided to write a little on my vacay to China for Turkey Day. They don't let you post on blogger sooo I wrote it and saved it for the day my mac re-entered my life. Here it is! wahoo

No Youtube, Netflix, Facebook, Google, or Pandora. A place where politics is hush-hush for fear of
getting Tienamen Square silenced. A place where you can only drive on days that your license plate
allows and an extra child costs you 20,000 clams.

I knew China was a world away from the U.S. but I think because this time, instead of Shanghai (the
cultural city), we’re in Beijing (the commie political capital) things are much stricter. For instance, I’m
writing in Word right now because Blogspot is off limits too (Why would you even buy internet if you
can only go to websites like YayForCommunism.BeeBeeBoopImARobot.com)

We started the trip in Detroit and I was lucky I made it cuz seats were realll tight. Tom was flying the
plane and before setting off we went to the Delta briefing room so he could chart the flight. Apparently
we’d be flying right ovah the North Pole (#SantaSTOP—just kiddin. Dat bitch is prolly waay busy right now).

Anyways, we finished that pilot mumbo jumbo and headed to tha plane. I was greeted at the gate
by a sassy little Asian woman, Cindy, who, after handing me my ticket, piped up with “Now you get me coffee” At the time, I didn’t know if this was a serious request or a “I joke, I joke, get on da plane Kido!” comment sooo I just awk-laughed and  lanked down the runway.(Later,  I would come to find out Cindy was 100 percent serious and that I should now travel through Detroit with caution because she worked all the time and had a history of holdin grudges )

I hurried on the plane, looking over my shoulder constantly aware that Cindy The Grudge-Holder could jump me any second, and was greeted by flight attendants who could not possibly have been born on earth. Don’t get me wrong, they were some of the nicest women I’ve ever met (Ya want a cookie? Here’s a glass a champagne, don’t tell your father. Etc) but they had so much plastic surgery that I could never tell if they were happy, angry, confused, or all three. Needless to say, tone of voice was a big player in understanding these alien-like stewardesses.

I plopped down in my seat and BAM. Out cold. Slept for 10 hours straight and when I woke up Alien #1 was offering me chocolate cream-puffs with…wait for ittt…A CHEESE PLATE! It.dont.get.bettah.
#hatamia

Put my gloves on, threw on the ski jacket, and tightened my Navajo hoodie, gearing up for the Beijing
cold. We got on the crew bus and after weaving and bobbing through cars, bikes, and a few Asian roller bladers we arrived at the hotel. All I can say is L.E.G.I.T. They did stuff like hold doors for you and say “Hello sir, how is your day?” like I was some fancy-pantsed businessman. We got into the room (8076) and craaasshed.

We woke up bright and early and set off to the Great Wall with our tour guide Mark (Doubtful that was
his real name but he could be Mark if he wanted. I kinda wanted to make up a new identity for myself
like Carlos or Herman but I was in a group with Tom and his fellow pilots and I doubted
they’d yes-and me...errybody knows new identities are no fun without some fellow yes-anders)

Speaking of the fellow pilots, here seems a good spot to let you know what I was dealing with. Glen, a
Will Ferrell look-alike, disliked Forest Gump and Disney World and liked being pessimistic. But
somehow he made pessimism hilarious and I liked keeping him around for a good chuckle.

Dave was a Star Wars Emperor look-alike (with the wrinkle-face). Dave liked telling pearls apart by rubbing them together (If they made a scratchy noise they were legit!).

Ray, the last of the pilot amigos was Glen’s drinking buddy and liked talking about his divorce/new
online dating conquests and had a couple good jokes up his sleeve. (That’s a French car. They run well,
but they can’t fight at all) #knee-slapper #frytheFrench.

Back to the Wall.
We trekked through an hour and half of sheep herders and small Mulan-like villages (I kept singing that
“You’ll bring honor to your family too” song)  to finally reach the Mutiyanu section of the wall, equipped with a Ski Lift Up and a smooth Tobogan ride down. We took the ski lift up while TourGuide Mark stayed at the car doing god knows what. The wall was so crazy. We got up there and on one side you could see a monstrous snowcapped mountain range and on the other the Chinese villages we had passed.

Hollywood and Disney must really have a hold on me because I couldn’t stop thinking about the epic
Mulan snow firework battle and scenes from Lord of the Rings. On every peak and mountain ledge in the distance you could see another tower of the wall. I counted eight but I knew there were countless more behind every twist and turn of the mountain range.

ALSO, snagged a little chunk of the wall. currently in my coat pockeett!

 After walking some of the wall we took the toboggan ride down to meet up with Mark. It was a rush until I got caught behind Slowy-McSlowerson. She was some nervous German girl who was pumping the brakes at every turn but I wasn’t too mad cuz she was really shaken up about the whole ride.

Mark took us to a waay local eatery where I got Kung Pao chicken. Mark’s beverage of choice? Hot
water.Yuck. Tom tried to get him to talk about the Revolution but he just kept saying “NO politics please” They’ll black bag ya for even talking about it. Communism. Yuck.

We said goodbye to Mark and went to the Pearl Market (knockoff city) and got some cool shiiaat. Dr.
Dre’s, mittens, bowties etc. It got to be so exhausting though. They pull you this way and tug you that
way to sell.sell.sell. We later ate at the Brown Door and drank some local TsingTao beer and Ray went
on and on about his divorce. I didn’t mind though. I liked listening to all these old farts.

The next day we headed to Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. It was impressive but nothing like the wall. Chairman Mao had his picture on the front of the Forbidden City. #ImaBigDeal and I found out 24 emperors lived there until the People’s Revolution! Coooolio. I got to craving a Cheeseburger so to the Golden Arches we rode. Mcdonalds, home sweet home. I gobbled one, or two and we went back to the hotel. We walked down a bunch of side roads and it was cool to see all the locals in their little shops advertising a big bottle of beer (about a 40) for 75cents. Yes PUhleeese.
4am rolled around and it was time to roollll out. We kissed Beijing goodbye and boarded the plane to
Detroit, then San Fran for turkey day.

I’m sitting here now and just watched a movie called The Beginners. The main character’s dad comes out as gay at 75 years old and I’m not gonna ruin it but it has
a lot to do with this quote that’s in it.
“What is real? Does it hurt? Sometimes. Does it happen all at once? It takes a long time. Generally by
the time you are real most of your hair has fallen off, your eyes have dropped off, and you get loose in
the joints. But these things don’t matter at all because you are REAL. You cant be ugly except to people who don’t understand”

Love.it. time to sleep. Bona Nott

Fings Crossed for a Sickly Mac!

Woe is my poor computadora! My little Mac is reall sick due to the download of the new Jay-Z/Kanye album. Curses upon the rapping brilliance that brought down my link to everything technology! It's been 3 days and I'm counting down the hours til he gets revived, whether that be by the peeps at PeachMac or a Craigslist tech man named Steve I looked up. (Steve seems kinda shady though so I'm still shopping around for who to trust with nursing my comp back to life).

For now I am forced to use library computers and that means no watching Boardwalk Empire and small blog posts when I catch a spare moment.

Fings crossed for the littlest Mac to get better. More to come when I'm not technologically handicapped!

The Thirstiest LateNight Burrito Muncher

Went to Milledgeville for a weekend filled with nifty costumes and weird dance moves! 

Visited Nicky and we went to a Neewollah (Halloween) party. Kermit and Ms. Piggy were our choices of attire and, let me tell you, we were a SENSATIONNN. People stopped us on the streets with comments like "Nice choice!" or "You rock it sister". The best were the people that just gave us thumbs up though. It was a silent gesture that said "I would be friends with you because of your costume choice".

We started at an underground bar called "Chops" and I got to see tons of old friends. Reunited and it felt so good. Although I was happy to see some old faces, there was one instance of a girl with reall glossy eye lashes who saw me, stormed over to me, and wrapped me in her lanky embrace. Who was this full-bodied lash queen?  To me, it is still a mystery. After her sloppy attempt at a hug she just kind of wandered off without even a word. One of the thumbs-up street friends we had met earlier? Most likely.

We then went to some other place that had stairs to a balcony that overlooked the whole bar. We were talking and schmoozing with an occasional dance move here and there and my friend Gist dared me to go dance across the balcony. I was feeling the crowd so I went for it. I lanked an impromptu dance across the balcony and for a dramatic finish bound down the stairs with my hands waving in the wind. However, I was so focused on production value that I lost my footing and pulled and Atlanta Grape Lady falling down a couple stairs. Ohh ohh ohh oh ehhh aahh ooh. I twisted my ankle, but I recovered soon enough to not let on that there had been a flaw in the performance.

Later that night I went for some Barberritos. Burritos in my belly? Yes Puhleez. It was my turn to order and the man asked "Beans or Rice?" I am fairly (100percent) certain I said," No beans!"but to my dismay he plopped em right on anyways. Eh, I could live with a few beans. I just wanted food, and fast! As I got to the end at the cash register the girl asked if I would be having a beverage. First of all, beverage is pretentious. Just say drink or soda or something. This is a late night burrito joint for the love of god. Anyways, I replied I'd just like a cup for water and I pointed at the unmarked cups behind the counter. The woman, little mrs. attitude, sasstastically replied "Those cups are only for beer. We only have bottles of water." Uhh whaaat? I was not taking THIS nonsense after the beans incident. So, I went over to the soda fountain and pressed the water button. As it was running down the drain, never to be drunken by any thirsty patron, I asked, "What's this for then?" (I know I was being rude but I had had it). Then the line that really turned me sour: "Those are for daytime customers only" OH NO SHE DID NOT. Like I am not granted the same drinking privileges as daytime eaters. Raadiculous. Absurd. No no. Not Having it.

I was fed up but I was more into the idea of getting fed so I just ate my burrito in bitterness but the next time I'm in Milledgeville if I happen to eat at Barberittos again, I'm gonna give Aleisha, the sassiest employee in all late night eateries, a real piece of my mind. Sidenote: Beans were a nice surprise and the burrito was filling and delicious! 

LunaFish and the Bush Pig

Haven't posted for the past two days cuz I've been reallll sick with strep throat. Ickk. Yes andings all about rolling with life's punches though so even though I sit here sweating bullets from my fever, I have the strength to sit up. translation: I have energy to write.

In recent news, went to orientation for Advertising (got into my major hollaaa) and we walk into the auditorium to meet our advisor. We sit down and this broad-shouldered, hardass in a blue business-woman's jumpsuit yells something to the equivalent of, "I am as serious as my jumpsuit is tight. Fear me." She kept yelling and trying to scare people (I don't know why. I was just so confused.) Sooo at the end, when she asked for any other questions, I raised my hand and inquired: "Why is your email listed as lunafish@uga?" She looked a little thrown off guard but then gave a totally cop-out answer. "Because I wanted to be different" NOT AN ANSWER. the mystery of this lunafish character has begun. Ima get to the bottom of this. Also, I now dubbed this jumpsuit wearer LunaFish because she's scaly on the outside but I bet on the inside she's got a tender spot. Maybe something similar to a good seared ahi tuna or tilapia. Once, we get her to shed those scales, I'm sure like Lil Salsa Bean, she won't be that bad.

Also, skyped with Karrah last night! She's near Brisbane at Port Something-or-Other and she said that the equivalent of a "slut" in Australia is a "Bush Pig" but instead of using it in the negative context they've turned it into something to strive for. To be the wildest, off-the-rocker, most dare-devil of a lank in all the land down under, with accompanying oinking at anything that merits a "Bush Pig" shoutout, of course. Miss her so much and can't wait for her to return so we can "bush pig" around LA for new years.

Hope to get over this sickness fast. Penicillin, here i comeee

A Quarter for Karma

Went to the gym this morning waay early. Typed in my ID number at the turnstile. beep beep boop boop. Access Granted. Groggily stumble down the white-washed corridor to the lockers. Insert my quarter into the locker. Clink clink. Swing my towel over my shoulder. Whoosh. Ready2Go.

As I'm about to enter the weight room, ready for a quick workout so I can get back to snoozing, a distraught girl fumbles to the lockers. She asks if she can use a quarter for the lockers. Being on a one-track mind, Ready2Go, and trained to never give money away I lie: "Sorry only got one!" I walk off and immediately feel a weird sense of guilt. It seemed like second nature for me to keep what was mine and have a "sucks to suck" attitude toward her. My whole workout I think about that girl and, although it wasn't that big of a deal that I didn't part with a quarter, I'm more annoyed that I so easily dismissed someone else's problem when I could of helped so easily.

I started feeling nauseous during the workout (karma at its finest) and called it quits pretty early. As I was walking out, a kid huffed under his breath that he didn't have a quarter. B-I-N-G-O. I thrust a quarter into his hand screaming "A quarter for you, good sir!" Maybe I got a wee bit too aggressive and enthusiastic in my haste to right the wrong(evident by the "A quarter was not worth the spectacle you just made" look he shot me) but, nonetheless, I felt a lot better doing it right the second time.

Yay for getting karma back on yo side.

Wishy-Washy Drizzles

Forgot to write yesterday because of parade shenanigans! Ooops, oh well. Guess I just gotta "yes and" with the punches. It's rainy today, reallll rainy, and I feel kinda like the weather. I need to get out and do something on this overcast Monday soo I'm about to go thrifting with Rosebud and Lucas later. Maybe Ill luck out with a another snazzy Navajo jacket or pair o DrMartens.

The real reason today is a D-R-A-G is because the weather is at an in-between stage. No rain. No snow. No sunshine. It's one of those wishy-washy, bi-polar days of cloudiness, gusts and drizzling. If we had full on rain, the day might still hold potential (puddle-jumpin, popsicle stick racin, raindrop-tongue catchin) but drizzles leave no room for imagination-fueled outside adventures, just suffering under the sporadic weather conditions to reach your next location. Lamesauce. 

Going to limit my sporadic weather suffering after thrifting by going to VisionVid to rent J'ai tué ma mère (I Killed My Mother) by Xavier Dolan, among other random videos that catch my eye (they're a dollaa, hollaaaa). It's that kind of dreary, "wrap me up with some hot cocoa" movie day and, lets be real, any day is a good day for French film. 

Marionette of AntiDuty

As part of a Resident Assistant duty weekend at UGA we're allowed to leave the building on Saturdays either from 7am-Noon or Noon-5pm. Unfortunately, I drew the short end of the straw on this one and was allowed to leave for the morning only. Whattttt-a-drag. I'm usually never up before noon anyways but, forcing myself to "yes and", I decided to get up at 7 in the AM to take full advantage of this measly fate I had chosen...Who knows? Maybe I could even get a cheery tip of the hat from good ole Mr. Sunshine. It'd been a while since I had been awake before him anyways.

So, this morning I suited up for a run. Shoes, bunny ears and burrow through the thicket (I was on one those kids that needed remedial lace tying), shorts, bandana. Being an away game, Athens was a ghost town and I thought it'd be a perfect day to bop around and take in a breathe of the retreating autumn before winter took over.

With Sufjan Stevens at my side, I tip-toed out of the sleeping, dreary dormitory. I stormed down the hill adjacent to my prison cave with food in my sights. Dewy grass blurred to my left and right. Crunch. I hit the gravel then the road, still no souls in sight. As I got into the groove of the run my breath became heavier and my body adjusted to the rhythmic pulsing of the music. Then my favorite part of running happened right about at the crescendo of Promises (I had switched from Sufjan to get a little more WOMP in my stride)  I hit that moment of a run when your mind kinda tunes out everything and your body feels like it's controlled by strings. The music moves you like a marionette. Realllll cathartic. Arm swing, leg swivel, beat, beat, breathe.  Melancholy upbeat acoustic bliss. Weird to try to describe it but it kept me sane for the rest of my duty today.

As I approached the dining hall, the sun gave me a little peeking "how do ya do" from the horizon. I sprinted for my finish and dove into the grass under a sycamore. I laid under the pointy needles of grass, already brittle for winter and gave out a sigh.

Music + NatureRunning= My Antidote to duty..My AntiDUTY.

Prison Cave Adventures

Just settled into the prison cave of Russell for a looong weekend. Got my trusty sidekicks Flaming Hot Cheetos, Kelloggs strawburry Breakfast bars and the Netflix-HBO wonder twins to keep me company.

With our powers combined we can defeat the mountain of dirty laundry suffocating my room, the carpet dust bunnies inhabiting my floor (what I get for purchasing a rug from a sketchman at five points), and Lil Salsa Bean's gift of many Spanish essays to complete.

Also, just talked to Nayjay about taking Sunday morning for me so I can go to the parade and I think its a GO if the GR doesn't mind. Best.News.Ever.

A Laugh-Cry Rainbow

 T-minus 30min until the weekend from hell begins. Oye. Thursday.Friday.Saturday.Sunday...and wait forrrrr ittt. Tuesday, as well, for DUTY!  Really bummed that I couldn't get someone to cover because its Pride in Atlanta this weekend and I woulda ruully liked to go.

The reason I wanted to go so bad this year is because last year was my first year at Pride and it was way different than anticipated.

 Here's why:
I woke up Sunday morning last year feeling like a sleep-deprived, GROGmonster because the day before had been a huge gameday. STRIKE 1.
 I dragged myself out of bed and slumped down the hallway to my friend Natalia's room who was gonna drive (back in the day when i had no wheeelz) She was still sleeping. I waited. 30 more minutes turned into an hour turned into two hours. STRIKE 2.
 We finally were on our way decked out in a vast array of ROY, G, and BIB to good old Atlanta. We were famished from our early morning paint/rainbow deck-out frenzy so naturally we stopped at the finest fried chicken establishment the world has ever seen, Zaxbys, to fuel our festive spirits. Of course, we stop to eat in Backwardsville, USA, chock full of overall enthusiasts and Confederate hailing progressives. We walk in in full rainbow attire and get stares, snickers, points, laughs, and finally, comments. STRIKE 3.

The tension of the group from leaving late, the GROGmonster syndrome, and the bigotry assault of the fine citizens of Winder, GA finally caught up with Natalia, Allie Gupta Keller, and I and by the time we get back to the car we were all bawling. Just straightup crying. Looking back on it, I can't even remember crying for any particular reason. i don't think the "strikes" had even registered with my GROGbrain. The only thing that could register with my body was--cry. The three of us looked at each other, sobbing there in Natalia's little Honda and started hysterically laughing at the same time.

We got to Pride rulll emotionally drained but still bounced around the parade to see all the characters (Dykes on Bikes etc.) Left kinda early. weird day to say the least but at least I can check laugh-crying off the bucket list.

I dont mind not going too bad though. Other cities are bound to have em too and what a good excuse to jetset on another lanky excursion

Blizzard Bonanza

Today was a day full of ice cream gorging and tortilla-humus munchin. Rosebud, Trey and I decided to hit up DQ and Trey went with the Pumpkin Pie Blizzard. Now usually I'm not one to judge on blizzard choices but pumpkin pie flavor? Grosssss. I, of course, went with cookie dough explosion. Obviously the better option, omnomnom.

Hanging out over at Hannahs right now studying for the lamest quiz tomorrow: RA class. ergh. Hannah is a bon giorni gorni ninita and got a carrot-raisin salad at Chic-Fil-A tonight. Lamesauce. 

Recently I feel like I've been talking about food a whole lot. (Already that tired of crumbly omelets and weird pork casserole delights of Bolton dining hall? Furrrshure)

Wilbur the Wonder Car

Today it came to my attention that someone by the riiiiidiculous name of Alexander Georgacopoulos inquired if my sister, Allison, would be interested in trading cars with him. Although I sensed that there was a joking nature to his facebook proposition, it's always better to be safe than sorry. So, I posted back, "Don't you even begin to Allison Moyer, Wilbur is a family heirloom". (Wilbur being the vehicle, nay family member, in question). This asserted my desire for neither of these youngsters to engage in vehicle swappage without directly confronting Mr. Georamagapoopagoopdeedoop for trying to acquire such an important Moyer landmark. 


It's not that my sister/family can't do what they wish with Wilbur (it's not like I actually purchased the old stallion) but I can't see him go. I just can't. We've been through too much and I like the feeling too much of seeing him parked out on our driveway(newer cars booted him from the garage) with his broken 1990-styled bumper and futuristic, automatic seatbelts that never really caught on. 


He was the car I was driven home in the hospital in as a mere babe.


He was the car my sister and I would be driven around for hours in as toddlers in an attempt to get us to fall asleep. (P.S. Never worked. That horrible lullaby cassette would start playing and we would scream our heads off in those booster torture seats until my mother surrendered)


He was the car with the roof that my sister and I angrily poked with our Disney umbrellas until there were a million hole marks (Tom was not a happy camper)


He was the car with the armrests that my sister and I would stand on to stick our munchkin heads out the sunroof to scream "I'm the king of the world" as we drove down our street.

He was the car that me, a 15 year old, pizza-faced, brace-wearer learned how to drive/get speeding tickets in.


Basically, Wilbur has been there throughout Moyer history, before Sir Charles(dog), before Tofu the Wonder Cat. He's been there and he still has a long road ahead with us. PLUS: who would I take to LA with me on my roadtrip this summer if he got traded? My Scion cube? not.a.chance.

Baby Cows ONLY

Worked out today with Anna Banana and got some choco milk afterwards because people keep telling me that chocolate + dairy=post-workout miracle drank. Sipping on that foam-n-bubbly, chocolatey concoction made me start thinking about a discussion the Moyer family once had.

 We were going around the table during the "Good and Bad" portion of the night,  (Tell 1 thing good that happened and 1 bad from the day) Allie and I were suffering through it, waiting for the soonest opportunity to bolt for the computer, lest the other sibling get to Sims first, when my father exclaimed that his "good" was that we now had moved from 2% milk to skim.

 Now, usually I was relatively unresponsive during these Good/Bad exercises because the point was to generate conversation. I was a middle-schooler and conversation with the family was the last thing on my mind but on this instance, I piped up because what.a.ridiculous."good". Changing of the milks was not  legitimate and I was not gonna let Tom slide like that so I said, in a little passive-aggressive rebellion of my own, "We should drink WHOLE milk."

Now, this was at a time when I was willing to contradict anything my father said and this was no exception. He questioned if I had ever even drank whole milk. "Uhh Cheyeah, It's creamy and delicious" I lied. Of course we continued buying skim milk and Tom led on like he believed that I actually LIKED whole milk, not falling for my attempt to bring him into another pointless argument.

If I had been my dad, I would have bought a gallon of whole milk and challenged this lanky little rebel to drink to his heart's content. BUT, that's one thing I appreciate now that my parents did when we were kids. They let us, these sassy munchkins feel like we had power (when really we had none) because sooner or later we'd realize on our own that whole milk is rull rull gross. They let us realize through experience that whole milk is thick, chunky and should be exclusively for baby cows.

Meatloving Crisis

Went to THE GRIT for some finger-licking, too-tasty-too-handle brunch this morning. When we first got there I was informed that The Grit was a vegetarian establishment. Say Whaaaat? That's right, no sliced ham, no turkey burgers, no sausage patties, NO BACON. 

Before raising too much of a ruckus, as any fellow meatlover would do, I looked the menu over. Scanning for something delectable. Nada. Then, I looked up on their hipsteresque chalkboard and saw the specials. Halllelujah, the pepper, goat cheese SpEcIaL omelet saved the day. Oh lord. Instant favorite. Mmmm turns out veggielovers can make a mean brunch too!

Just got a ring from Marmalade and Liza Minnelli (my fraaands Meredith and Liza) and we're going to North Campus to play board games outside. Only the classics: Chutes and Ladders, Candyland etc. Why, you may ask? No se. But when the opportunity to hang out with these Theta babes arises I jump on it rullll fast cuz I never see them!

Later, going to help Lucas paint his huge canvas today. I think we're going to tie it up between two trees in a field (location TBA) because iz way too big to paint indoors. I also might bring a little canvas to paint the Citizen Cope album cover.

Perfect sunny Athens day for canvas splatta-painting and taking a walk down "board-game memory lane"

Bee Busy

Went to the game today for kickoff then left right after. Too hot. Sor Boring.

Listening to some more Yelle right now to help me rally for the night. I can't get enough of French music and film right now. There's something about the language that's better than anything I've ever heard before. Yeah I love speaking Espanol and its practical but Francias just trumps it and I can't tell why. If I could have any accent it would definitely be French mmm.

 I was supposed to go to a study abroad meeting last night at 8:30pm but their office closes at 5? So I need to call them if I'm going to schedule the Cannes Film Festival and Buenos Aires for a year #GonnaBeBroke

Looking forward to next week when I'll have more time to write/read Tina's masterpiece/paint Citizen Cope's album art

College is exhausting. Byeeee

Horse-lovin Temptress

The blonde, horse-lovin temptress is in Athens! a.k.a. Corinne Palmer. She just arrived for a night of mayhem and im ecstatic, to say the least. Getting ready to go out right now and she just convinced me to go to GA-FL for Halloween and offered her Queen-sized bed for all of my sleeping needs. Definitely gonna wear the baby-gma costume to that affair.

Mississippi State v UGA game tomorrow wooot wooot. Only been to one game this semester so kinda pumped. Maybe we'll be able to scalp a tick for Corinne tomorrow. fings crossed.

Bout to head out so ima bounce.
Classic City---Watch outt.

Salsa Rambles

About to go watch a Spanish movie at the Georgia Museum of Art for Lil Salsa Bean's class!

Recently, it's been pretty entertaining to watch her teach class. She has such a "lust for life", quirky, story-telling teaching style that I never want to miss out on.(Perf Attendance hollaaa). If I'm half as lively when I'm her age, I'll be lucky fasho.

Today, she talked to herself (and anyone who could keep up) for 30 minutes about random Athens ongoings, Obama, recipes for gespacho, and one time when she kissed a man who was not her husband(awkward?) In her mile-a-minute ramblings she constantly switched between Spanish and English. I couldn't believe how fast she could transition from one to the other, and back again. Made me so excited for Buenos Aires next year! (My study abroad meeting is tomorrow w0oot wooot)

Also,  I know the way I keep portraying her makes her sound waaay loca but she's not. (Ok, maybe a wee bit) but she's so GUIA(cool en espanol) Can't wait to see her with her little husband. Mannnn, Spanish people are the best (especially Barcelonians).

Apple Tidbit Annoyances

To be honest, I have been in quite the little funk recently (RA duty calling me at 4 in da AM, Lil Salsa Bean giving me 'tude, my phone being a text message blackhole, and just an overall feeling of blah for still living in the dorms)

So, today, feeling down in the dumps and listening to the New Pornographes Challengers album on my way to class, I looked in my mailbox and discovered Tina Fey's humor-bound masterpiece. However, because I wasn't feeling too hot I tossed it in my backpack for later. Big mistake, huge. On a usual day, anything Tina Fey would have been top priority, trumping all things from social interaction to sleep. What I SHOULD have done is found a comfy chair, locked the door, and dove in.

Fast-forward to after class, weary, with a now amplified case of the blues due to an added workload. In need of food, I dragged my body to the nearest dining hall, BLOWtron, and proceeded to indulge in the greasiest of foods. In between one of my cheeseburger chomps, I caught a glimpse of the portrait of Tina Fey with hairy-man arms on the cover of "Bossypants". I had been looking for a pick-me-up all day and it finally dawned on me that she might have some potential.  I picked it up and before even opening the book was rolling with laughter. The synopsis and praise for the book on the outside cover, alone, were enough to make me hysterical. I digested the first chapter, then the next, and before I knew it a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Tina had done it again.

Feeling better already (Laughter really is the best medicine) I grabbed an apple and bounded down the stairs to meet my friend Anna Banana for coffee. Nom'ing on that Granny Smith delight, I accidentally bit off more than I could chew and got some apple skin wedged in my pearly whites. Rats! Now I would have pesky apple bits in my mouth all day. I was getting frustrated with each failed attempt to dislodge the apple bits with my tongue but then I realized something. I LOVE APPLES. And even though, from time to time, there'll be some bad bites, some apple tidbits that stick around, I still get to enjoy the great bites. The melt in your mouth ones that are enjoyed without interruption and that happen more often than not.

With this optimistic view in my sights, I trotted off to coffee, ignoring any annoyances that would try to get in the way of me and my apple.

GQ Munchkin

Like I said before, persuasion was the name of the game for me as a kid. However, there were some instances persuasion just wouldn't cut it. For these special situations I would adopt a Carpe Omnia (Seize Everything), "my way or the highway" attitude with my parents. But could they have really known any better than to submit to my every wish? After all, I was the first-born.

Apparently, the first-born is a big deal. THAT baby is the one that gets a bunch of randommm shit from wide-eyed, Catholic grandparents who are ever so hopeful that more are on the way. THAT baby doesn't know it yet but they're about to be the one who is scrubbed, gorged, tickled, pampered, poked and experimented on by self-conscious, sleep-deprived first timers.

In my house, I was no exception and one thing my mom went bonkers for was dressing me up. Vests, trendy miniature hairstyles, and corduroys were among the many things my mother tried out on me and I went along with it like the drooling, powerless mooky that I was.

One day, the miniature version of me caught on and realized what was happening: I had become my mother's accessory. A baby dressed just perfectly to compliment every outfit. I eventually glanced at myself in the mirror and saw, for the first time, what my mother saw: A portable, GQ munchkin. That day I determined one thing: the baby fashion madness had to end. Realizing what I had become was the hard part. Everything else, from that point forward, was easy as pie. I simply put on my munchkin sweatpants that my mother had so conveniently placed in the back of my closet and waited. When Kelly came in with Baby Gap bags, I knew what I had to do. I held onto my sweatpants for dear life. When Kelly tried to dress me while still incorporating the sweatpants I wriggled free. I never saw another Baby Gap bag and ceased wearing all clothing with buttons, snaps, zippers, and ties. Elastic and velcro became my staples and I was happy as a clam.

For some reason, my sister was plighted by the same dress-the-baby-up fever of my mother. However,  my sister was subject to many more outfits sported on many more outings than I had been. The reason my mother turned up the heat this time around?  Maybe because my sister was the first girl. More likely, was the fact that I had established that there was no longer any hope for me to be categorized as a "trendy baby" and my sister was the last hope, the final frontier.

In any case, my sister soon caught on, as I had years before, only this time her reaction was to wear a hand-me-down dress from our cousin Dana for two weeks straight. She slept in it, played in it, and, to my knowledge, even bathed in it.

How my parents dealt with the most stubborn monkeys east of the Mississippi still boggles me. I can only hope any future monkeys to come won't follow in our footsteps.

A Longing to Be Spoiled Rotten

Looking back on my childhood years at 2820 Chapman Way, there is one thing of which I can be certain: My sister and I had a knack for persuasion.

While most of the early 90s blur into Super Smash Bro'ing, trampoline bounding, sunny days, for some reason, the ploys of persuasion cooked up by Allison and I remain vivid in my memory.

Before my baby sister was even capable of consuming solid foods, let alone developing and executing a successful siege strategy on the minds, hearts, and pocketbooks of my parents, I planted a tiny seed of persuasion in her little baby head. It was a typical day in suburbia and the sister and I were laying on the "oh-so-90s" linoleum kitchen floor. It was too Georgia-hot to play outside so I offered that we play with my new Pokemon cards while absorbing what little coolness we could from that sticky, kitchen surface.

During this time, I was on a huge Pokemon binge. (cards, gameboy games, tv shows, THE WORKS) Later on, I would even attempt to convince my father to buy me a special edition Charizard for 40 dollars. Obviously, a petition to spend 40 dollars on a piece of cardboard was squashed instantly by Tom. (I'm good, but not THAT good.)

Anyways, I didn't even really know the rules of Pokemon card battling so I thought to myself..Bingo! I can make the rules up as I go along. #winning. Sooo, I came up with some crazy, I'm-not-even-following my-own-rules system and in the end convinced my sister that 1. my Pikachu had rocked her Squirtle's shit, 2. that she had lost at a legitimate Pokemon battle, and 3. that I was the champion of Pokemoning.

You could tell by the expression on my little sister's face that she was peeved about losing a game of trickery where rules could form anytime, about anything. But it was more than that. Something in the way her youthful brow wrinkled in astonishment said, "I want in on how to be tricky", " "I want the formula to #winning"

From that day forward, I took her under my wing as my apprentice in persuasion, my cohort in charisma. And together we waged war against the "we don't want to spoil you" psyches of our parents. Don't spoil us?? We were determined to be spoiled rotten, it was just a matter of PERSUASION.

Rope Swing Kaboomin

Went kayaking today with my hall of freshmen (I'm an RA) and feeling sor sorrr dead and sore right about now.  The river was way shallow. Translation: lots o getting shipwrecked, tryna scoot the rest of the way, and, finally, surrendering to the mighty low-tide of the Middle Oconee River by walking the kayak to deeper, more promising waters.

Also, shallow waters meant NO rope swing :(  a.k.a. no swinging, trapezing, free-falling, or splash kaboomin.

It turned out alright though because we still went on the rope, there was just no rope-to-water action. Instead we swung out, ran on the water, and tumbled back onto dry land. #crouchingtigerhiddendragon. At first, the prospect of swinging on a rope with no icy cold-water destination seemed pointless but once Romik went for it I had to Yes And him and so glad I did.

All-in-all, pretty solid nature immersing, paddle slappin, sketch limo riding (the vehicle to the kayak deployment site) day.

Also, and this is a huge also, Boardwalk Empire Season 2 premiered tonight. My Sundays just got a whole lot saucier.

Tome Time

Restarted Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen today. The first time around I got through the first 100 pages and was like errr nexttttt. It felt like I was being stampeded by an elephant hoard of wordy descriptions but wasn't moving anywhere plot-wise.

Wellllllll this time around I was prepared for Gruen's verbose, dramatic style and, to be honest, I'm kinda diggin it. Looking back now, I don't think the problem for me was that it was too wordy. I think the thing is, is that Gruen, like the circus train Jacob jumps on, takes some time before she picks up speed. At first there were secrets kept from the reader and sequences of nursing home ongoings(exciting!) but now that I'm into the meat of the book, the Gruen Express is chug-a-luggin at full speed. Can't wait for more

Also, just bought Tina Fey's BossyPants, Hunter Thompson's The Rum Diaries, and the oh-so-appropriate tome for any YesAnder, Sara Lewis Holmes' Operation Yes.

#NewBooksOnDeck

Spotting the Brown-Spotted Nanner

 I'm temper-trapped on a Love Lost binge.

Love Love by the Temper Trap is a song, nay an anthem, that's been on repeat on my itunes for an unhealthily long time.
The song itself has the chilling, ghostly instrumentals and high-pitched, androgynous vocals indicative of the Indie-esqe style. However, I think it's the music video, not the song,  that make me revisit Love Lost, in particular, over and over. I replay the song with the video in my head and I get so much more meaning from it than just.the.song.

Lemme break it down----
The song alone is like a green-yellowy banana, I'll eat it and it'll taste good and I'll still get a healthy dose of potassium and vitamin A&B but the song-vid combo is like the yellow-brown-spotted Nanner. It is at its ripest, peak of potential, eat-it-right-this-very-moment, don't-even-need-peanutbutter stage.

Now I've expressed my love for the music video but it's even more than that. I think the reason I've been infatuated by it so much recently is because it's such a rare little gem. It's a prime example of that hard-to-find perfect brown-spotted Nanner version of something. That "feels-oh-so-right" formula that gives you goosebumps allover, whether it's a thing, idea, or person.

And even though it's hard to find those topshelf Nanners, I think looking for them is worth it because once you start paying attention and snatchin em up bushel by bushel you'll eventually hone in on a pretty awesome thing, a version of the world that makes you the most happy. And in the end, isn't that what it's really all about anyways?

Mr. Mustachio and FunnyBone Tickled Enthusiasts

Due to my "you must take this if you want to graduate while you're still in your 20s" class selection last semester, I promised myself I would take at least one class this semester with a little pizazz and a whole lotta pass/fail grading, the Holy Grail of grading scales. (Hallelujah!)

Flash forward to the first week of class, I'm sitting pretty in my new-found DocFilm class that not only comes with Holy Grail grading and pizazz, but the added bonus of a gung-ho professor with a full-bodied, mysterious mustachio. Not everyday does one get the chance to see a mustache of that magnitude, seriously.

The assignment given to us by Mr. Mustachio? Pick something you're passionate about and film a documentary. Beyond psyched.

The classic baby on a grandma

I got to brainstorming and remembered that Gypsy had been talking about a group of people known as "party monsters" in New York who dressed as wildly and eccentrically as possible and get paid to appear at clubs. I'm a costume fiend (baby-on-a-grandma's back, hotdog, etc) so I thought this'd be perfect. Only problem: my filming never got off the ground once I got to the big apple. womp womp womppp. Seriously though, doing work in The City That Never Sleeps? ForgetAboutIt.

So, I regrouped from this lazy-on-my-part speed bump and, a couple days ago, came up with a new focus that, I think, is way more up my alley. Instead, I'm going to highlight an Athens-based group RubberSoul Yoga who specialize in LAUGH yoga. People come together and feed off of each other's spontaneous laughs, giggles, chuckles, ha-has, and ho-hos to gain the health benefits of laughter/to just have a spankin good time!(And this is an assignment??)

 Next week, with camera in hand,  I'm going to my first laugh-a-palooza yoga session to document the experience and interview people on what tickles their funnybones. Maybe, just maybeee, I can even get enough quality footage to put a smile on the well-groomed, bristly face of Mr. Mustachio.

Yes And, But!

Roasted garlic hummus enthusiast, thrift store jungle junkie, and "Rock, paper, scissors solves all problems from Obama healthcare to who gets that last slice of Hawaiian pizza"decision-maker.

These are the the titles I wish my "Resume-Building Consultant", Cory, had taken seriously yesterday as we sat in her Ikea-furnished, closet of an office in the Career Center. In addition, I wishfully hoped these thoroughly developed, self-awarded labels would fly at the Career Fair today but, let's all be honest, the business world is not nearly progressive enough for the likes of "Rock, paper, scissor" decision-making. It's far too New Age.

Alas, I went with more professional, albeit phony, descriptions like "Team Builder" and "You Can Always Count on this By-The-Book, Truth Teller". Cory was impressed so I took my leave from her office, making sure to not get up too quickly, lest the Ikea chair beneath me shatter into tiny toothpicks (I swear I'm not this high-brow! To be real, I shop at Ikea for all my furniture and fake-plant needs too)

As I proceeded to pick out my attire for the Career Fair last night in my clothing swampland (Similar to Gypsy's) I noticed my honey badger body start to slow in movement. First my legs, then my arms, to the point where I felt like I was moving in honey.  Could it be ready to sleep already? Hurry, jump in bed quick, it's time! But as I frantically scrambled into my memory-foam futon (I'm fancy, huh?) I realized it was not sleep honey badger was communicating. Rather, it was disinterest. The only reason I was going through with these pain-in-the-ass meetings with Ikea Cory, and picking out fancy clothes from the swampland was to get an internship with a company I didn't really care about. I was just drawn by the fact that they're based in NYC which isn't, my honey badger body let me realize, a good enough reason.

So, although I was trying to "Yes And" with Ikea Cory, the internship process, and my desire to be in the Big Apple, I was ignoring how I felt towards the key point: The actual internship (language translation for business). Don't get me wrong, I love language, but I don't want to make a job out of it. So, thanks to the honey badger,  I didn't waste time applying.

This brought me to an epiphany about the "Yes And" ideology: "Yes But". Yes, I want an internship. Yes, NYC. Yes, experience, travel, garlic roasted hummus. But sometimes when adding your own jazzy spin to an idea you go in a direction that sheds layers of the orignal idea and requires one itsy-bitsy word, the "but". With the "Yes And" ideology culminating in a world of improvisation, evolution, and "on your feet", "anything goes" rapid change, the "Yes But" seems to fit in just right.

My Body, The Honeybadger

Like the majestic, nastyass honey badger who takes what he wants, I've determined that my body sleeps when it wants. Eat turkey, drink warm milk, count sheep. put on a snuggie (Kelly(mom) has zebra print) To some these are words of sleep wisdom. Little tricks that assert your authority over your noncompliant body to which it can only reply "Got me!" However, to the owner of a honey badger body there can be no short-cuttery, only waiting.

Last night, on the cusp of being granted sweet sleep from the honey badger, a chance to recharge my batteries, start anew, and lolligag in dreamland---my all too timely alarm sounded off. Have I mentioned that I'm a big fan of waking up in the morning? You betcho bottom dollar.

I arrived half-dozing, half-dreading my first Spanish essay. A weird feeling, to say the least. Señora Picas (Lil' Salsa bean) hobbled in talking to herself in Spanish either about the weather, eating a hot dog for breakfast (girl after my own heart), or if she remembered to put deodorant on. I'm a Spanish minor? As I struggled to contact any sliver of Hispanic ancestry I might have for inspiration (I have none but a boy can dream, can't he?) I realized that Lil' Salsa Bean had switched her rantings to English. 

She began venting about the talkative French woman outside the door who must have been on cappuccino #6, how this was a busy week for Lil' Salsa Bean and she was so stressed with work as it was/didn't know if she could make it through the week. I shared dislike for this Frenchie's blabbering seeing as I had 10 more minutes to power out 200 Spanish words/contact my Hispanic great grandparents. Soon after this venting, she switched back to her native tongue but for a moment there, me and Lil' Salsa Bean were united against a common enemy. Standing shoulder to shoulder, a hateful, passive-aggressive force to be reckoned with. And for a moment there, I saw a layer of Lil' Salsa Bean I had never seen before. Something soft and human beyond that hard, outer shell. 

Yes Anding Got The Posts Rolling

Improv comedy has 1 golden rule: YES AND, that is, agree with the people/environment of the scene and add a little sumthin sumthin of your own. Perfect Ex: Someone's doing a British accent, do a British accent and comment on the splennnddiid Yorkshire countryside and the taste-tastic scones. BAM, just "yes anded" like a champ.

When I did Improv in high school I went crazy for the optimistic potential of the "yes and" (You're selling imaginary ice cream? Favorite flavor's Choco-choco chip, You're flying a kite? Let's race em down the beach, You've got a poodle named Phoebe? Lemme pet her) The "yes and" was a playground for my imagination that beckoned to try, touch, experience, and experiment.

When I started traveling over the summers with my pilot dad (Tom, as I will be referring to him), even though I wasn't doing Improv, the "yes and" kept creeping back into my mind. I'd find myself eating testicles of bull and sand-duning through the deserts of Dubai, all as a challenge to myself to spontaneously "yes and" wherever possible. To jump as high as I could at every chance. This coming from a kid whose diet consisted of hotdogs, followed by hotdogs, accompanied by a side of hotdogs and whose biggest idea of adventure was getting the next installment of the Sims.

This "yes anding" mentality is how I approach any situation these days. So, as I sat in an Advertising lecture (I'm an Ad Major) about blogging with Miram Kamin a little light went bing! and here I go again. Goal: 30 days writing straight. Leyy-go.