East of Elon

Check out the East of Elon brewing co-op, Mark and Ian's new venture into home brewing.

http://eastofelon.blogspot.com/

the mono.

Yet again, blogging has been foiled by life's little quirks. This time the quirk came in the form of mononucleosis.

Yeah. That's right. At 23, I was afflicted with the disease usually reserved for hormone-crazed 16 year olds.

It's been a rough five weeks. It started with some scariness -- namely involving the doctor's being completely baffled by some impressively active lymph nodes in my groin. A week off work for doctor's visits. A six-hour stint at Suburban Hospital, which included a massive amount of blood drawn, and a CT scan. And ta-da! I have mono.

Really, I'd much rather have mono than any of the alternatives that come with swollen lymph nodes. But still. I'd much rather be healthy, too.

Now, five weeks later, I've almost fully recovered. Still waiting for my liver to cool it and catch up with the rest of my body. And until then, I'm teatotaling it, and minimizing any especially active activities (how's that for redundancy?).

Anyone who's read my blog before knows that I typically like to find a lesson, or five, in the things that I encounter and experience. So here are my lessons, in convenient list form, in no particular order:

01. When you get sick, and you don't know what's wrong, people worry about you. It's an incredibly wonderful feeling to know that there are people who truly care about your well-being and what happens to. I'm not talking about doctors and surgeons, I'm talking about friends and family. I'm so amazingly lucky to have parents close by, and fabulous friends and a boyfriend on-call who would check in daily for updates.

02. Health insurance is a god send. This experience has opened my eyes to just how essential it is to be able to just hand over your card, pay your co-pay and get the care you need. Thankfully, my experience ended in mono, but had it not, I would be even more thankful for health insurance. I cannot imagine life without it, and I'm really glad our government is working toward making it available to everyone. Politics aside, no one should have to worry about getting the care they need.

03. Mono sucks. It's a terrible, rotten, miserable virus. It knocked me on my ass. And it was absolutely amazing to me how little energy I had.

04. Puzzles are awesome. My friend sent me a care package full of "sick activities". A puzzle, coloring book, crayons, play dough. Yeah. I have great friends.

05. Knowing your limits is essential. I've never thought I had a problem listening to my body and knowing my limits. I've always been pretty in tune. But having mono has made me that much more aware.

06. Being healthy is a god send. I have so much respect and admiration for people who grapple with illness their whole lives. It sucks. And I'm sorry. I know I just had mono, but I feel that much more lucky that in a few weeks, I'll be back to normal and feel better. I wish everyone had that luxury.

OK, so I think that's it. I'm sure there are other things that I've learned/realized, but I can't think of them now. Other than the mono, things are going pretty well. Wednesday Night Dinners have continued, and now include another friend who is dead-set on blogging about it. So I'll post about that as soon as it happens.

I know I've fallen off this blogging wagon, and I'm struggling to get back on. So if you're still reading, thanks. And if not, I don't blame you.

b

cooking up friendship

How do you solve the problem of lives that never seem to intersect? Dinner.

She still lives in Bethesda, but works Downtown at Children's Hospital. I work in Silver Spring but live downtown. She goes to Baltimore on the weekends to visit her boyfriend of three (almost four, right?) years who is still at UMBC. And I, well, I'm generally everywhere on the weekends.

We realized one afternoon in the summer before I moved that unless we came up with a standing date in the middle of the week, we'd never see each other.

Enter: Wednesday Night Dinner.

We meet at my place (it's on her way home) and cook ourselves a fabulous meal (sometimes, we've only had one disaster), complete with wine, beer or a stiffer drink if the work week's calling for it. And we talk as we cook. It's girl time. It's cheap. And it's wonderful.

About two months into it we instated the 1-new thing rule. We must cook one new thing every meal. It can be something we've had before, it can even be an old family recipe, but we cannot have ever made it ourselves. So now, about 7 months later, we're really becoming chefs. We even grilled for the first time last week. A huge accomplishment for someone who's only ever watched her dad grill (me) and someone who grew up a vegetarian (her). They say you should do one thing a day that scares you, well, we do one thing a week. And it's not scary because we have each other.

A quick list of successes:

• Shrimp curry
• Fattoush salad, kafta and tzatziki sauce with home-made pita chips
• Lettuce wraps P.F. Chang-style
• Pad Thai
• Roasted asparagus with creamy mustard chicken with grapes
• Chicken with balsamic glaze
• Shrimp scampi

Four hands, two brains and my tiny kitchen make for wonderful Wednesday nights. A welcome respite at the middle of the week to help us over the hump and into the downhill of the rest of the week. The best part is that it's become a routine, which has even started to include a jasmine tea "ceremony" as we watch last week's episode of "30 Rock" or "The Office."

I've realized as I get older that when you're not seeing your friends every day at school, maintaining friendships, particularly really close, meaningful friendships, becomes harder and harder. It takes effort and time, and in our case, it takes lots of olive oil.

She and I are thinking about starting a blog about our dinners ... complete with recipes and photos and stories ... so stay tuned!

gratitude

In the vein of http://1000awesomethings.com/ and Mama Cass's Gushing with Gratitude, here are the 10 things I'm thankful for this week. I encourage everyone to participate in the practice of saying thank you (it doesn't really matter to whom you say it -- just projecting it is a good thing), because I've realized that even when you feel like you're living in a land of suck, there are always things, no matter how small (and some of mine are small), that make the world a better place.

Without further ado, my 10 good things of the week:

10. I just turned on the TV to my favorite part of Caddyshack. I changed the channel and landed on my favorite episode of Friends. Changed the channel again to find my favorite scene of Top Gun.

09. There is a beautiful tree outside the window of my cube at work. It's been steadily changing colors, from green to gold, to orange, and now it's a rich burgandy. Tomorrow I fully expect the leaves to begin to disappear -- but it's been absolutely gorgeous while it's lasted. Seeing it makes my day brighter, more colorful.

08. Because I haven't been to the grocery store in about two-three weeks, I've been forced to be really creative about what I cook in the past week. And the results have been generally tastey. I'm proud of my ingenuity and impressed by my cooking skills.

07. I'm finally, finally, going to send my friend a care package. I'm thankful for finally finding motivation to just send it!

06. I figured out an awesome Halloween costume that is the right blend of creative, funny, clever and scary (with a bit more modification).

05. I got one of those coupon inserts from the paper in my mailbox yesterday, upon looking through it, about 1/2 of the coupons were for things that I need to buy in the next few days/weeks. I've estimated that I'll probably save more than $15 simply because I got some junk mail that I took the time to look at before I tossed it in the recycle bin.

04. I made it safely to and from Elon this weekend. The car survived and so did I.

03. I had lunch with my 91-year-old Grandma.

02. My yoga instructor's topic of guided mediation made me recognize a need to refocus, realign and rebuild. Her message: Surrendering to what is, is not the same as giving up, rather it's a realization and acceptance of a situation with the intent to move forward toward the better; and finding the courage and strength to surrender is an incredible and powerful ability.

01. I'm convinced I have the best friends in the world.

into the bin

I moved this past Saturday. Unlike all the moves I've done before, to and from college, this move was particularly special. I moved into my own place. A place that I pay for with my own money, without help from anyone else. This is a big deal for a number of reasons. For me, it means insurmountable increases in independence that had be lost since moving home after graduation. It means learning about unclogging toilets, hammering nails, painting walls and calling Pepco when our power is out. And it means that never again in my life is my parents' home "my home." I will, in all likelihood, never again live with my parents for longer than a week.

And that, in so many ways, is incredibly bittersweet.

I could go into all the sappiness about how I feel about being left to my own accord with rent payments and such, but that's not really what this post is about. What it's about is all the stuff that I found when I started packing up the bedroom I've occupied since I was 8 years old.

We moved to the house we live in now the summer after I was in fourth grade. I think this is significant because I feel like the age of 8 is sort of when, developmentally, you start to have things that are significant to you on a new level. Sure when you're little you have your pacifier, or your special blankie, or pilly if you're my cousin Melanie, but I think after about fourth grade, you start to have things that you collect that are significant because of things that happened to you.

Now, I'm not a scrap-booker. I never have been, and I sort of never want to be. But I do save things. Most of them end up on bulletin boards or in boxes. My anti-scrapbooking mentality has nothing to do with any lack of creativity, it has more to do with a lack of time and a desire to allow the objects and things that I save to speak for themselves. I've always felt like I was a photo/memory minimalist. Let it stand for itself. No frills, lace or goofy catch-phrases needed.

Now, let me clarify. I am, by no means, a hoarder, a pack-rat or anything else along those lines. Things that I save are things that would normally go into a scrapbook, like a Charlie card from a visit to Boston. A button from a march in DC. A drawing a friend gave me in seventh grade. Random things that hold value and importance to me.

So this past week, as I was packing up, I started uncovering the stuff. The bits and pieces of my life that I'd saved for who knows what reason. The cool thing is that most of the stuff, I could tell you right away where it came from.

But then came the hard part: I had to get rid of it. It couldn't come with me to my little apartment, and at some point, my mom would want "my room" back to use for something else. It'll all have to go eventually.

I had to physically throw away the odds and ends, trinkets and stubs, of my childhood and adolescence. And the weirdest part of it all was that for the most part, I was OK with it. There were some things I kept, just because they were very, very significant. But most things ended up in the trash bin with the old pair of flip flops, the broken picture frame and the other refuse that had been collecting dust in my room since the 1990s.

I'm sure there are somethings I'll never be OK with tossing, and I think that's normal.

we get up

When I was in London, the girls I lived with and I began taking what we called "bridge jumping photos." The premise was fairly simple, any time we would cross a bridge, we would take a photo of the group jumping. Everyone's body had to be airborne and we had to yell "1, 2, 3, jump!" because let's be honest, it's pretty funny (in a morbid sort of way) to hear a group of girls yelling "jump" while on a bridge.

The album that resulted from this little activity spans nearly a dozen different countries. Each of us had vowed to take a jumping picture any time we crossed a new bridge.

Until I stumbled randomly upon a blog, "Jump. Because.", I hadn't thought about these photos in a very long time. Run by a few people in Richmond, Va., the blog asks for submissions of jumping photos and then asks the photo's creator to finish the sentence, "I jump because ..."

As I scrolled through, I became more and more nostalgic for the jumping I've recorded over the years with my friends, and I wanted to share a few with you. We're going to share a few with that blog, but I figured I'd include a bunch here also.

Why do I jump? There are so many reasons that I can't even begin to explain, but the biggest: I jump because I can.

(I'll add more as I find them...)





















Olivia and I in Prague, CZ

Olivia and I on Millenium Bridge, London, UK

Mandy and I on a bridge near the Vatican, Italy

we are all trees

So the concert was absolutely amazing. The cause is so inspiring, the musicians are so talented, the company was good, and the venue completely perfect for an acoustic set. The video below is what was played at the beginning of the concert. It features Zimbabwe Prime Minister Morgan Tsvangirai as he discusses the plight of his country and the importance of giving back to the global community by offering your support to causes locally. As Isabella Cannon, the incredible Elon benefactor would say, "Think globally, act locally."



Below is just one of many awesome moments. Still waiting for them to come out with a CD or DVD. This was pulled from YouTube and it isn't quite the whole song, but it's one of my favorites, and it was PHENOMENAL. To top it off, I was only about 10 rows behind the person filming and on the other side of the theater. There are a bunch more videos of this concert on YouTube -- check 'em out!

life in a nutshell

This week, I've ...

01. graduated from college.
02. moved back to Maryland, unpacked my life and squeezed it into too small of a space.
03. had many a meal with good friends who've gone unseen for far too long.
04. applied to a bunch of jobs.
05. seen "Kung Fu Panda," "Vicky Cristina Barcelona," the season finale of "Grey's Anatomy," and too many hours of TV.
06. mailed a few items that needed to be returned to their rightful owners after accidentally moving back to Maryland with me.
07. gone sailing.
08. had my first Dark and Stormy of the summer.
09. realized that my cat snores.
10. realized that my brother is now 14 and HUGE.
11. realized that I'm ready to start my life and be an adult.
12. realized that number 11 is impossible without a job.
13. realized that without my family and my friends I would be in a panicked state of hysteria constantly, rather than only occasionally.
14. started to understand that making decisions is only possible if there are choices to decide among.
15. come to really love lists.

Art Collections website

After nearly a year's worth of work, the Elon Art Collections website is finally up and running.

A little background on the project: As many of you know, I love art. As an art minor, I was required to take an art history class, and I fell in love -- a little too late. I wasn't able to double major or minor in art history, but I was able to take a few more classes. One of those classes led me to this project. A friend of mine in the class, Alaina Pineda, who is a brilliant art historian, has spent most of her Elon career working with the problematic Elon Art Collections. Like most people on campus, I'd never heard of it. It contains more than 650 works in seven different collections. It's under funded and under appreciated, but it has many gems and I realized that I might have the means to help it out.

My senior sem project (basically like a senior thesis) was born: I would make a website for the Elon Art Collections that would not only explain and explore the collections, but attempt to obviate their use as a teaching tool and a developmental priority. What that means in plain English -- Why it's important that we pay attention to it.

And so I was off. My friend the university photographer, Grant Halverson, graciously agreed to take the photos. Anyone who has ever tried to take a picture of a picture knows just how impossible it is. It's because of his work that I think the project turned out so well. And then I began building with Flash.

And nearly five months later, here it is:

http://org.elon.edu/arthistory/artcollection/home.html

Enjoy, show all your friends, and most importantly, if you go to Elon, any time you get to talk to an administrator, ask them about the collection and what they're doing to promote and support it.

friends in action

My girlfriends took me out last night for my birthday. We went to a new restaurant in Elon called 116 Oak, which if you live in the area, is fabulous, affordable and has a great atmosphere. Thanks girls, you are some of the sweetest, most beautiful and intelligent women I know. I love you all very much. A few friends weren't able to make it because of geographical issues, and they were heartily missed. You know who you are.

It's been a crazy year for me, filled with lots of happiness, sadness, changes and constants. The year to come won't be any different, but I feel so lucky to have people who I love, who love me, who I know will be there through it all.



(L to R) Kiersten, Ashley, Kim, Colleen, me, Christen and Lesley. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm short, I was the only one in flats other than Colleen, but she's 5'11" anyway...

I'd like to just say that in watch us below, none of us had consumed more than a glass of wine -- this is just how we roll. Video care of Colleen.

bubbles everywhere.

I'm always surprised by life's little quirks, that most of the time, you get exactly what you need when you really need it.

Today, it came in the form of bubbles.

I was sitting in my room, working on a proposal for a project I'm going to be working on for a design class, when all of a sudden:

"Hey, Bethany?" When something is wrong, it's always a question.

"Hey, Bethany," she said again, "I think we have a problem."

"What kind of problem," my 'mom' voice and instincts starting to kick in.

"There's something wrong with our dishwasher."

"OK, like what sort of something?"

"It's leaking."

I get up and walk out of my room, past the breakfast bar and around the corner into our kitchen where I'm confronted with bubbles. Lots of bubbles. I launch into action. I quickly turn off the dishwasher, which as I stood there for 1/2 a second was churning out more and more suds. And then I open the door.

Bubbles. It was filled with bubbles.

And then, it happened. I laughed. Harder than I've laughed in about a week. You see, my grandfather died on Friday, and laughing has been exactly the opposite of what I've been doing since then. I looked at Colleen, standing, staring at the overflowing meringue that was our kitchen, I just couldn't help myself.

"Hey." When you're embarrassed, it's never a question.

"I'm sorry," I managed to blurt out between chuckles. "I promise you, I'm not laughing at you, just the way it looks, it's ridiculous. Everyone does this once. Did you use the dish detergent or dish soap?"

"Um..."

I reached into the cupboard and compared the bottles. "Did you use this one, or this one?" She pointed to the orange bottle, the dish soap, and it clicked for her.

We spent the next 15 minutes elbow deep in bubbles, laughing as we contorted our bodies so we could reach the back of the dishwasher. Cursing our neighbors who aren't awake at 11 a.m. on Sunday to lend us a mop, which of course, we've never needed in two years until the last three months we live together.

So we mopped and bailed with paper towels, sponges and dish rags, plastic bowls and "I'm 21 Today!" cups until the dishwasher was as empty as it could be. We started it again, putting all the dirty dishes back in, and not 10 minutes later did the problem begin again. We'll need another angle of attack -- Colleen's decided we should just let the bubbles subside and then wipe away the residue. We'll see, right?

My grandpa always said, if you can't laugh at yourself, then something's wrong. Something has been wrong the last few days, and laughter has really been limited. I think it was his way of reminding me that things are OK. That this is what he wanted. It's hard, but laughing helps. Bubbles help.

the saga continues

"Have a seat," they always say, "and let us take a look at what we've got going on here."

They lean the chair back and tell you to open wide. They stick the little mirrored circle in your mouth to take a closer look. They're faces scrunch as they peer into an abyss littered with white stalactites.

"Hmm, OK, well we've got a little problem here."

That's the way it has always seemed to go for me. Genetics blessed me with a pretty rotten set of teeth. They're not actually rotten, just in the wrong places. I've been to orthodontists, dentists and oral surgeons since I was about 11 years old. And it hasn't ended yet.

My tally: Two rounds of braces totaling 5 years, 13 tooth extractions including both front teeth and one adult tooth, and a round of oral surgery to expose a tooth on its side so it could be righted by braces. Two years from now, we'll be able to add two additional extractions, another set of braces and another bout of oral surgery to that list.

I'm not complaining, well, maybe I am a little bit, but I just find it completely insane that some kids never even wear braces and I've dealt with all this. Perhaps orthodontia needs kids like me to keep them in business. For every braceless face, there's the girl with a lifetime subscription.

I'm currently facing another four months of braces at the fabulous age of 22. These orthodontic nightmares will most likely accompany me through my job search and probably into the work place. I'm not exactly vain, sure I wax my eyebrows and I've had my nails done, but I like to look nice, and I think first impressions are really important. I look somewhere between 16 and 18 anyway, add braces and I'm done for.

But it's inevitable. It has to be done. As I was whining to my friend yesterday he told me, take a few days, be pissed off about it and then move on. He's always been good at stuff like that -- for the most part he knows how to let things slide off of him. I don't see him wearing braces at 22, but you know.

So here they come. Ready or not. The self-esteem will probably take a momentary hit, but I'm pretty sure this is just another lesson in endurance. It's about learning to live with what's put in front of me. I've been thinking a lot about fate recently -- chock it up to the fact that I'm graduating, but I actually think about it a lot. Maybe we're meant to endure certain hardships, they help us grow, they help us learn, they shape who we are.

I know, I know. They're just braces. But to me, they're a little more than that. I know it could always be worse. I know that, believe me, I know that. But I can't help but feel a little duped by my gene pool. To me, they're just another notch on a time line of annoyance in a mouth that's always been a problem. The saga continues.

first of the lasts

Since I can remember, the first day of school has always been accompanied with excitement and a little anxiety -- Will my teacher be nice? Will I know people in my class? What if I forget my schedule or get lost?

But this first day of school is particularly jarring: Tomorrow is the last first day of school I will ever have.

I love school, I always have. I'm a good student, call me a priss, a goody-goody, whatever. But I like to learn. I like the process of school, I like the adrenaline you get when you take a test, and then again when it's being handed back by the teacher. I like going home and talking about the things you learned, the things that blow your mind because you could have never imagined that they were true. I like buying school supplies, I love the smell of fresh notebook paper and I think I'm vaguely obsessive when it comes to buying day planners.

But never again. Not unless I go to grad school, which won't be happening any time soon. And not until my children, should I have them, pack up their backpacks and head to school will that first day of class be important again.

I've been trying not to think a lot about the number of lasts that are about to start cascading down on my life. It seems so incredible that I'm here, finally, staring at only four months left in a place I've called home for four years. A place where I've both found and lost any number of things, clothing, friends, love, my sense of self.

I often like to think about the road not taken, about the way things could have ended up but didn't. What if I had gone to Boston University like I so desperately wanted to? What if I had never met Olivia, Mandy, Ryan, Bryan, Colleen, Kiersten and all of the other people I see as so necessary to my life, that I love so deeply. What if I had chosen differently?

One thing is for sure, regardless of where I was, I'd probably still be feeling this same ache, knowing that goodbyes are coming. Lasts are inevitable. But so are beginnings. I've never been good with change -- McKenzie always says we're ducks in a row kind of girls -- we like everything in order. I like to know where I'm going, how I'm going to get there and what it'll look like when I finally arrive. But life's not like that. I don't know where I'm going, I don't know what I'm doing. And it's scary. But I sort of like it.

My professor over this past winter term (my last winter term) told us every so often to buckle our seatbelts, grab the oxygen if needed and prepare for a bumpy ride.

It's going to be a bumpy few months, but I think it's going to be ride of a lifetime.

...Anyone know where I can get an oxygen tank to have on hand?

paper towels

Last night I was reminded of this story, and I just wanted to share:


We roadtripped for 10 days. We drove for more than 3,000 miles, from North Carolina, to Tennessee, Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, South Carolina and back. Ten days in the car, just the two of us. We did a lot of talking, even more singing and we developed a case of kleptomania.

I've always been one to take the soaps and shampoo, pens and lotions from hotel rooms. I would never take towels or things of real value, but for some reason, I've forever felt entitled to the things that they would replace anyway if I hadn't taken them -- might as well put it to good use, I say. Waste not, want not, I say. He made fun of me a little that first morning in the hotel when I stuffed the lotion into my purse.

But then we went to the Peabody Hotel in Memphis, just to take a look at the ducks. The hotel is gorgeous, mission style furniture, stained glass, dark wood, marble floors and white flower arrangements. We each went to the bathroom. They're beautiful. Granite countertops, gold fixtures and these glorious luxury paper towels. We each walked out with three. They went promptly into the glove box. Only to be used in emergencies. These things are way too nice for just runny noses and random McDonald's spills. These are our special towels. And so begins our obsession.

Further into our trip, we're in Charleston. We stop to pee in a hotel after a day wandering around what has become one of our favorite cities. We come out of the bathroom, and walk out of the hotel. He takes my hand as we cross the street, walking his fingers up my right arm to my purse. Finding the zipper, he opens the bag and slyly shoves luxury hotel bathroom towels into my purse. "Who are you?" I ask. I've turned him into a towel snatcher.

Our trip ended and we'd filled the glove box with towels. Memorabilia from the multiplicity of nice hotels we'd peed in, but never slept at.

Two months later, we're in Boston saying goodbye. We had walked all day, through the public gardens and the common, lunch in Fanuiel Hall, dinner on Newbury Street and now it was time to pee. We stopped at a hotel a few blocks from Fenway. It was beautiful.

Marble. Dark-stained hardwood. Flower arrangements larger than the wingback chairs in my parents' house. The kind of place with nice paper towels.

I smile to the doorman as we walk by. He knows our purpose, but doesn't hesitate. We're two good looking 20-somethings, harmless and handsome. Holding hands as we walk in. We're blending. We're fitting in. We belong here. Hell, we go to Elon, half of my 9:25 a.m. Media History class has probably stayed here, so who's to say we couldn't be guests?

The bathroom is spectacular as I expected. I pee, walk to the beautiful Corian countertop to wash my hands. And there they are. The lux towels. They're perfect, thick paper towels that are so nice they feel like cloth. They're Peabody towels, but from Boston. I should grab some. No. No. I shouldn't do it. I can't, we've moved passed our spring break kleptomania.

After some mental sommersaults, I walk out of the bathroom empty handed. He takes my hand and we walk back out, fitting in as before, past the doorman and on to the street.

"Did you take the towels?" I asked once we were about half a block down the street.

"What? Of course not," he turns, his smile lighting up as he reaches to the big pocket on his khaki cargo shorts, which now, I notice, is bulging with four paper towels.

all hail the comma!

Today is National Punctuation Day! And being the nerd that I am, I'm excited.

Kiersten met me at work today to hand me a card that had two cut out over-sized quotation marks and read: Happy National Punctuation Day! My friends know me so well.

In honor of National Punctuation Day, here's a clip of Dean Martin and Victor Borge doing a bit about verbalized punctuation. It's cute, it's about punctuation, and you just have to love Dean Martin's face as he's trying to mimic the sounds in the beginning, and then they just dissolve into hysterics as it progresses.

It's a classic. And you can be assured that "Oxford Comma," by Vampire Weekend will be on heavy rotation today.

good.

That's how I feel right now. Basically about everything in my life. I feel good.

It's not really that often that that happens, to any one really. I've never had bad luck, per se, but I'm not particularly charmed or anything either. Right now, things are just pretty good.

I'm happy with my classes and projects. I'm happy with the paper and my job at University Relations. I'm happy with my romantic situation, which isn't ideal, due to a familiar mileage problem, but has potential. I'm happy with my friends. I'm happy with my family. And I'm happy with myself.

I hate to use the word comfortable, because I think that can sometimes suggest stagnancy, but after worrying for weeks about how weird and uncomfortable this year was going to be with out my best friends, I think it's actually OK that they're not here. I miss them terribly. Like, more than I can explain. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't lonely here without them. But I had an incredible night last night with some amazing, fairly new friends.

I'm not really one to make good, close friends easily. I make acquaintances and friends without any trouble -- I can talk to anyone, and I've always been proud of that. But I have a bit of a hard time really letting people in.

Last night, I think one of my "friends" passed into the realm of "really good friend." We spent the evening watching Project Runway (guilty pleasure, leave me alone...) and laughing about the UrbanDictionary.com definitions of fairly dirty sexual positions after her roommate came home from a human sexuality class with a list of colloquialisms. It was a cheerful night filled with mint chocolate cookies, jelly beans and multiple instances of the two of us and her two roommates laughing until tears fell. As I drove home at 11:30, my face hurt from laughing so hard.

I think it's nights like that that we all live for. We all cherish moments where you're truly happy and comfortable, where you simply exist without worry or fear of the future or the past. You just are.

I've had a few moments like that this semester already. I hope they don't stop.