NeatFreak

I am a strange dichotomy. Or, to quote someone pretentious and with a beard: "I am vast, I contain multitudes." (Walt Whitman, if you didn't know.) That is to say, I think I am two people.
I know what you're thinking, and I promise I'm not going all crazy-Sibyll-I-need-meds-now! girl. Or girls... It's just that I am one way when at school, and another way entirely when at home. Is this normal? Let's discuss!

For example, the cleaning situation. When at school, I have the cleanest room in the house. No really, it's always a show room and everyone tells me how clean it is. Let's ignore, for a moment, how third grade proud I am of this fact, and focus on the fact that at home, which is where I am right now, my room is an absolute mess.

I have a pile of clothes, clean yet unfolded, that are precariously close to the floor. A Rubbermaid container full of stuff, still not unpacked. A stack of books that is knee-high, sitting next to my bed (I always read multiple books at once) and within easy reach. And, the worse sin of all, an unmade bed. And I'm not even kidding. If you lived in the sorority house with me, you will be aghast right now. I know, it's not like I'm living in dirt, but the clutter doesn't seem to bother me, while at school, this would be enough to send me into a Fabreze frenzy.

Speaking of which, have you ever been in a Fabreze frenzy? Either whipped into or otherwise, this kind of frenzy is all kinds of fun! LP and I were just discussing how much we like to clean, and I have to say, I enjoy Fabrezing above all other things. It just makes you feel cleaner and better smelling, not to mention allergen reduced, if that's the kind of thing you go for. As we can tell, it's the kind of thing I go for, wheezy and allergic to everything as I am. Even if the Fabreze does nothing of the sort, I feel less allergic and I sleep better.

Fabrezing, however, is only seconds ahead of one other product in the We Like To Clean 5K because of it's powers in the allergy department. If Swiffer should ever also reduce allergies, Fabreze will have to bow out gracefully, because I do love all things Swiffer. The wet jet, the dry mop, the handheld Swiffer duster - the possibilities are endless! My only regret is that my flat next year has carpet in the bathrooms, thus limiting my potential Swifferable surfaces.

So, in conclusion, I'm not really sure why I am not compulsively cleaning right now. A psychologist would probably say that, because it is summer vacay, I am so relaxed I don't feel the need the have control over everything in my life, thus, my OCD tendencies have also gone on vacay, perhaps to Tahiti. I might just say that working several hours each day as a corporate retail whore makes me too tired to do anything, let alone clean with my usual compulsive gusto.

However, the most important question to be asked after all of this is still begging to be answered: Do you think Walt Whitman Swiffered?

An entry that is mostly all-caps because I'm THAT MAD!

It was an outrage.

There is no other word for it. The anger that I felt was so intense I almost threw something. I've never yelled at an employee before, but last night took the Oreo Blizzard ice-cream cake, if you will.

Post-Baccalaureate we went to Dairy Queen because, like a good sibling I sat through a ceremony where my brother got all the attention, thus I needed to be positively rewarded for good behavior. It was just like when I got a Cabbage Patch doll for being quiet during G's baptism, or when I got a puppy for agreeing to have my wisdom teeth out. What can I say, my parents strike a mean bargain.

Anyway, my mom got a sundae and I ordered a vanilla cone dipped in rainbow sprinkles. Emphasis on the dipped in. So, the DQ people make my mom's sundae, looks normal. They then hand me a plain Vanilla cone, and a CUP with one spoonful of sprinkles in it. If you know me at all, you would know that I am serious about my sprinkles. I have been known to just eat them straight out of the shaker, because I am THAT serious about sprinkles.

In defense of my right to sprinkles, something had to be said. Here is the conversation that transpired:

Me: "Um, actually I wanted the sprinkles ON the cone, thanks."
DQ: "Well, we're not supposed to do it that way because it wastes sprinkles."
Me: "But I'm the customer, and I want them ON the cone."
DQ: "We can't."
Me: "But I ordered a SPRINKLE cone. Not a PLAIN cone with sprinkles ON THE SIDE!"
Me: Insert nasty and penetrating glare here.
Other DQ person: "Oh I'll DO it."
Me: "Thanks, have a nice evening!"

Meanwhile, as this was taking place, my mom was standing to the side making nasty and penetrating glares at ME, cursing herself that she had raised a child so assertive that she would yell at Dairy Queen workers over something as small as sprinkles.

I guess my mom doesn't know how serious I am about sprinkles. Also, I didn't know how serious my mom was about the discipline - I don't get to play with my Cabbage Patch doll for a whole week now.

Dining Hall chicken is as real as it's gettin'

Last night was my little brother's Baccalaureate ceremony, which is like the more sentimental, slightly funny, with a touch of religion ceremony, as opposed to Graduation, which is tonight. More on my emotional suffering later.

One thing I have dreaded about G's graduation is not that he is growing up and leaving home, although there is that, too. No, it's more the fact that I will have to sit through FIVE student speeches, all of which begin with the student looking out into a sea of faces, they can't believe they made it, or how words cannot express what they are feeling right now.

My words can express, and here is what I am expressing to you, dear and innocent 18 year olds:

.The "Real World" doesn't exist in college either, unless you are skipping your morning class and you decide to watch it on MTV because you aren't sufficiently dressed to go out in public.

.Keeping the above in mind, "public" refers to anywhere OFF campus, so feel free to lunch in your pjs five days a week if you feel so inclined.

."Achieving greatness" is, well, great. But achieving the status of being the only person in your hall to have watched the entire "Newlyweds" marathon? Priceless!

.Making a difference in the world is as easy as helping your roommate to throw up IN the toilet, not beside it. Small, but that cleaning lady will love you love you love you in the morning time.

.Bike police are wannabe real policemen, and as long as you out-bike them, you get off scot free!

.Don't underestimate the good stuff that you have going for you at home: Free kleenex and toilet paper, especially. Again, tissues are not something to ponder when you are thinking about the big things in life, but when you have spring allergies and a conspicuously empty box, all of a sudden, the Puffs play a pretty dominant role in your life.

.There is no adult supervision. You can use this for good or evil, but since college has little to no real ramifications for major screw-uppage, I would suggest evil. At least once.

.No matter how much you miss home at first, the homesickness gets better, you make more friends, and you eventually find your niche. And until that point, enjoy the free dorm cable and don't forget to buy extra Kleenex.

EMOtional baggage

After a night out with the girls, talk turned to relationships, as it inevitably does. After scoping out boys, whom I'm sure we scared off with our air of collegiate worldliness and unattainability, and eating ice-cream, we began talking about our relationships, past and present, and I had to wonder: what do we take from our relationships after we're out of them? Tragically, they don't come with a nice parting gift, a "thank you for dating" card or even the shirt that you bought him. No, all you get is to see a picture of him later, wearing the shirt, with his new girlfriend. Baggage claim is right around the corner folks, and I will definitely be getting in line.

We all have baggage. The tough guys try to hide it, the young teenagers try to laugh it off, and the emo kids just put it all out there for everyone to see. Apparently it matches their eyeliner. But what about the people who don't believe in emotional baggage? What if you're in a happy, healthy relationship? When does relationship history, turn into emotional baggage?

I know that I am carrying around some luggage, perhaps the size of a stylish Louie Vuitton carry-on? After a traumatic first kiss (6th grade, on a dare) to my actual, real, enjoyable first kiss (age 16, behind the scenes during musical rehearsal) to my longest relationship that ended with a bewildering finish (did he lie? did he love me to begin with?) I don't think I'm exactly traveling light.

But I also think that we can learn from the lessons we lug around with us. I know now never to kiss on a dare and that the costumes from "Damn Yankees" are quite the turn-on. And, more seriously, I know to be more careful with my heart, to only give it to someone who values me as a person who is real and fallible, and not just as an entity to posess and admire. And I also know that my emotional Louie Vuitton is not nearly as bad as it could be. After all, what's my carry-on compared to the duffel bag and two rolling suitcases that are divorce, plus childen, or even infidelity? Is is just a fact that the older you get, the more your suitcases weigh?

One of my friends said that relationships are history in the making, and they turn into baggage after the break ups. Others of us believe that we carry the baggage from those relationships with us forever. And some of us, the idealists, believe that a good relationship can unpack the baggage from the past and get us ready for a whole new trip to paradise, if only we have the right travel partner.

I may be getting older, and my suitcases may be getting heavier, but there's always the hope that one day, I will get off the plane, and there at the gate will be someone perfect for me, waiting to help me carry them.

Memoirs of a (formerly) angsty teen girl

You could not pay me to go back to high school. I mean it. No amount of money in the world is worth the awkward, angsty, crying nights of those four years. I know that some people claim their high school years were "the best of their life!" but I was praying just to make it through the day. And yet, when I think about high school in the most abstract way, I remember dances and choir concerts and flirting with boys and getting my first car. Why is there a discrepancy between what I actually felt and what I remember feeling?

I have been reading my old journals (my mom told me to clean my room, and in my house, you do what she says!) and the pain and anger that oozes out of those pages is enough to remind me that what I remember feeling is not nearly as cheery as I would like to think. Why do some of us hold on to that anger and let it infect our lives? Why do others of us mold our memories to reflect what we later processed, not what we actually remember feeling?

I remember the anger of not getting the lead in the musical my senior year, the dances where I didn't have a date, my senior prom and having to pick between two dates, the day in choir where nobody would talk to me... and on and on. Putting aside how small and trivial all of these moments are, they were very real to me at the time. And reading my old journals doesn't help either. The obvious pain of that writing only fans the flames of anger that have been lying dormant for a long time.

But these are not the memories I think about. I'm wondering when and how the old, bad, painful memories got sanded down and covered with the "oh I loved high school!" varnish? I feel like I'm not being true to myself if I can only remember the good times. It's like saying the embarassing, horrible moments weren't valid and they are best forgotten. When in reality, I believe that the moments when I felt the most alone are the moments when I felt, more resolutely than ever, the conviction to hold steadfastly to myself. Reading those journals last night made me feel like I had betrayed myself somehow, or at least the memory of my old self. I wondered if I had shaken the teenage girl angst for good.

But then I went back to high school today, to visit some old teachers. Just walking down the halls made me nervous. I felt like all the old awkwardness would rub off on me as soon as I walked in. I wish I could go back to myself at that age and know that one day it would be okay. The heartache wouldn't be over, and the drama would still occur, but in clinging to myself during those years, I made it okay to be myself later. I wish my tortured 15-year old soul could have known that.

I also wish I would have known that, even at age 21, going back to high school is not a good idea. Because as soon as I walked through the doors, I was afraid that, at any second, I would be 15 again, wearing overalls and braces, just hoping to make it through the day.

The sexy tollbooth

I'm ashamed of myself, really.

I mean, it's completely normal to go to class and think a guy is cute, or go to the grocery store and make eyes at someone over the oranges (maybe), or even check someone out while at the mall. After all, what is college but an experiment in creative flirtation? But it is not, and I repeat, NOT normal to have a crush on a guy you saw in a tollbooth. And not just AT the tollbooth, like, driving through or hanging around - like, works in the tollbooth, sexy orange vest and all.

Am I getting that desperate? I mean, I'm happy being single for the most part, but now, I've stooped to crushing on people who work in tollbooths? Not that there's anything wrong with working in a tollbooth. Especially not if yer gunna grab some Hot Pockets ter eat while you watch NASCAR when you git home.

And the worst part of it is that I drive on that toll road when I come to and from Ft. Collins, which is a lot, and he only seems to be working on very select occasions. If you're going to take an extra $2.00 every time I drive through, the financial impact should be lessened a little by at least giving me something good to look at.

Perhaps I'm on to something here: ONLY hot men are allowed to work in tollbooths! That way, I'm happy to give up my hard earned money, and they get to sport about in those orange vests, in which they look so sexy.

Gluttony in the worst way

I realized that this blog is sometimes all about what I eat, which I'm cool with, but I don't know if people really want to read about that. But when you eat like I do, it's hard not to want to talk about it because a) it just tasted so good, I want to share, or b) it tasted so good, and it probably shouldn't - is that normal?

An example: yesterday, while at work, I was really busy testing the fax machine and talking to my coworker when we realized that there was ice-cream and toppings in the back freezer. And not just toppings, but toppings, the good stuff, like multi-colored sprinkles, maraschino cherries, caramel sauce and all.

However, I then had realization number two: I already made a date with LP to go to Cold Stone later that night. So clearly, I couldn't eat a whole bowl of ice-cream at work, go shopping and then go to Cold Stone and eat more ice-cream with a clear conscious. I mean, shopping for hot shirts is a little bit of cardio, but not enough for even me to delude myself.

But wait, what's that rule about ice-cream...? Ah yes, I remember now.... If you eat it out of the tub it doesn't count...? Yep, that is definitely the rule. Thank goodness I remembered!

If you scoop up some ice-cream, dip the spoon into the jar of caramel sauce, and then roll it in sprinkles, well, it's pretty much better than sex, amaretto sours and the shoe section at Barney's combined.

Five spoonfulls of better than sexsourshoes later, I felt energized enough to go back to working. Or something.

And yes, I did go to Cold Stone.

That's MS. Carrie Bradshaw, to you

It's official. I am a real writer. I have a real column. In a real newspaper. A real column, in a real newspaper, that is read by more than 12,000 people each day. Wow.

If you are a reader of this blog, then THANK YOU, first of all, for reading. All of the positive feedback I've gotten has been amazing, and knowing that there are people out there who enjoy my writing was actually what led me to apply for the columnist position to begin with. So to my friends, my family members, and the anonymous people that I've never met that have responded to my writing - thank you. I appreciate you.

With this new medium (which is strange, because only in 2006 could a person publish first on the internet, THEN in the newspaper...) I have decided on a new site design. Feedback much appreciated, as I am very new to the whole HTML thing.

If you're interested, my very first column appears in the Rocky Mountain Collegian tomorrow, along with an article I wrote about the SAFER Initiative. It will be my only column for the year, as school is almost out, but I'll be writing weekly in the Fall of 2006. If you're curious, please pick up a copy of the Collegian tomorrow, or follow this link to read it online.

Get Excited!

-Hilary!