First World Problems

So I have a lot to blog about, but HERE'S THE THING. I haven't because right now, I am trying to:

1. move schools (we're moving tomorrow for the last 3 weeks so my school can get central air conditioning)

2. get engagement pictures taken (check!)

3. get a job for next year (which involves scheduling interviews, writing emails to principals, calling on other contacts for help in getting a job, finding substitutes so I can go to interviews during the school day, etc.)

4. unpack all my stuff at my summer apartment (not trying too hard to do that one, I'll be honest)

5. pack all my stuff at school

6. plan a wedding (oh, mine)

7. figure out where I'm living next year (actually this is Stephen's job but sometimes when I'm stressed about a few things then I start looking for other things to stress about too)

8. get a dress to get married in (finally done with that one)

9. plan my summer

10. plan my fall

11. save money (and the only way I can think of to do that is to just not eat....)

Blablabla boring. All I'm saying is, I'm excited for the day when I can do the following with some degree of consistency without it turning into a freaking panty-tangling process and event:

- sleep

- make and eat dinner (yesterday's dinner was a string cheese and today's was half an apple because it just takes SO MUCH EFFORT to make food and my milk just expired so cereal is no longer an option)

- brush my teeth

- go running (I know. Who am I?? I don’t even know, but I actually really like going running now and I think about it and want to do it and I try to plan it in, and then I get home and the sun sets and the world gets dark and I get scared of getting raped, so I end up just turning on the music video for “Good Feeling” by Flo Rida and running in place in my room while that plays, and friends, that is not even the same thing as running outside, let me tell ya.)

- lay out (if the sun could set at 9:30, I'd be happy. I mean, really happy. I could get home from school at 7 and lay out until the sun set. But no, it sets at 7:10.

- see my friends. I miss them really bad. And I'm turning into a bad friend, like, I know I am. It's depressing that the only time I can ever see them is Monday nights for the Bachelorette. Speaking of which...

- watch the Bachelorette. I usually am so painstakingly devoted to this show, and I take notes and I know the men by name, and I look forward to it every week. And I just can't invest in it this season. It's way too much effort. And it's such a dumb thing and such a first-world problem, but it's my blog and I'll first-world-problem it up if I want to.

Every Friend Yodels

Last week, I had the opportunity to be an EFY (Especially For Youth) counselor in Ohio. Don't ask me how I got this assignment. I know I'm from Maryland. I'm not really sure how it happened.

But since this was the job I was offered, I said okay and made plans to travel with my dad and brother, both of whom I love, and Lerone, who I do not love, to Cincinnati. Undeterred and only slightly discouraged by a series of dumb unfortunate events, in which

Lerone died 

and I cried 

and my dad sighed

and Joseph shut-eyed

and I turned into Dr. Suess,

I finally made it to Xavier University. 

^ this beautiful place!

This girl (below) gave me a nice hug and a summary of orientation. 

She's a peach. We were roommates once upon a time. Then she introduced me to my co-counselor, Dalin, and gave us time to plan and get acquainted. He said, "So tell me about yourself."

I hemmed and hawed for a little bit and then said, "I'm really good at interpreting dreams. I love dreams. Sometimes I have psychic dreams."

Disclaimer: I was really tired. I had woken up at 4 in the morning. For some reason, that seemed like it would be relevant / interesting / impressive. I just forgot that that's not the best way to introduce yourself, because you sound a little crazy. 

Dalin raised his eyebrows politely. "That's pretty cool...." he said. I think he was thinking of how possible it would be to get a new co-counselor. 

Finally I was allowed to go to bed. Ten hours after my head hit the pillow, the children arrived. 

(For those of you who don't know, EFY stands for Especially For Youth and is a week-long program for 14-18 yr old girls and boys where they go and learn about the church and make friends and play games and go to dances and have a grand old time. Everyone is put into groups of about 20-30, called companies, and assigned to a boy counselor and girl counselor, who are co-counselors with each other.)

I introduced myself to my girls. They were adorable. I loved them immediately. 

Other than that, Monday was pretty uneventful: We went outside to meet the boys. There were 12 girls and 8 boys, which is not the awesomest ratio, but is still awesomer than the group with 22 girls and 10 boys. Dalin walked around on his hands and offered my skills as a dream interpreter. We forced the reluctant youth to stand boy-girl-boy-girl. We played some games. We set some goals. We ate some dinner. We went to sleep. 

Tuesday was a classy day. As in, we had classes. It was also a little awkward when:

- I realized that I should have gone to EFY as a youth. Anddd at the same time I realized that I may have been the one getting in trouble for having my shorts too short. 

- I got syrup in my hair. And my co-counselor sweetly pointed out that this was the 2nd day in a row that I got something in my hair. 

- I accidentally referenced The Bachelorette and immediately felt like the worst EFY counselor. 

- Another counselor asked if my co and I were going to get married. 

- A boy pushed one of my girls against the wall, ran away, ran back, barked at her, and then ran away again. What??

- Dalin and I taught dance etiquette to our company and there was a riot when he told them how high on the back their hand should be. 

- One of the counselors saw a couple dancing really close, and he went up and danced by them and then slowly parted them and shimmied in-between them and said, "Leave room for Jesus!" and the girl looked at him like she wanted to kill him. And then later, all the counselors laughed about it. 

I'll blog more later about the rest of the week :)

Cookies and Karma

I've heard that when you come back home after an extended absence, no matter what you learned while you were living by yourself, you fall back into the same habits you were in at the time that you first left home.

For example, if you always slept in, and expected your mom to wake you up, you might start doing that again. Even if you had a 6:00 AM custodial job while you were gone. If you used to bicker constantly with your siblings, you might find yourself getting frustrated by everything they do. Etc.

Now, I've never been someone who bickers constantly with my siblings, but I have to admit that I have felt my maturity sliding backwards ever since coming home. Also, I am perfectly capable of feeding myself while at college, but for some reason, when I come home, it is so hard to get up and get myself a snack. I usually just get one of my siblings to do it for me.

Just yesterday, I was working on a school project that was due in a matter of hours. One of my sisters was looking at facebook and tumblr and YouTube, "prepping" herself for the crushing disappointment she had come to associate with job-hunting before she jumped back into the fray of online applications. My tomach rumbled. I made a little plea for some food. Sister refused to help. This cycle repeated itself several times.

......An hour later, I got up and got myself some food.

A few hours after that, Sister and I had both relocated to her room upstairs. By this time, my project was due in 45 minutes. Sister was hanging up clothes. There was a knock on the door. Sister and I both ignored it, hoping the other would get it. The knocker continued knocking insistently.

"Sister??" I asked incredulously, as if my supremely granted right to lounge about at all times somehow took precedence over hers.

"It's probably a salesman anyway," she said.

The knocking was way too quick and little-fisted to be a salesman. She knew it as well as I did.

"Sister! That is obviously not a salesman! Why are you being such a brat!" I stomped out of the room and ran down the stairs, where someone was still knocking. Sister slammed the bedroom door after me.

It was not a salesman who was knocking (thank goodness, since I still hadn't put on my makeup). It was a little boy from across the street who had borrowed a cup of sugar from us earlier to make cookies. Now he stood on our porch, holding a plate of cookies.

"Neighbor!" I greeted him. "Did you make these?" He nodded. He looked a little confused. I think he didn't recognize me, since I'm usually at college, and he was worried he had gotten the wrong house. But then I called him by name and he got even more confused.

"They look great!" I said. He handed me the plate, nodding. I noticed the marshmallows and chunks of Hershey's chocolate on top of the cookies. "Are they s'mores cookies?" I asked. He nodded, eyes wide. "You did a good job," I said, smiling. He nodded. "I can't wait to taste them!"

He nodded. "Okay, well.....see ya later!" I said. He nodded and continued standing there. "Alright thanks!" I said, and backed up a little. He started to turn around so I slowly closed the door and brought the cookies to the kitchen.

"Karmaaaa!" sang a little voice in my head. "I am getting what I deserve," I told myself smugly. "Sister doesn't get a cookie because she was too lazy to answer the door."

I took a cookie and bit into it. I danced around the kitchen a little. "I'm going to finish this here," I decided, "and when Sister asks who was at the door, I'm going to tell her. And she'll have to come downstairs and get her own cookie."

I had barely taken my third bite when my feet started carrying me to the stairs. A better plan was forming. I would take my cookie up there and eat it in front of her. And then I would probably get some crumbs in her bed, and everyone hates crumbs in their bed.

Wouldn't you know it, I tripped on the first step. My cookie landed on the stair, marshmallow-side-up.

"Karmaaaaa!" sang a little voice in my head. "I am getting what I deserve," I thought sadly.

So Sister got a cookie, too. And no one got crumbs in anyone else's bed. And I turned my project in on time. And I'm pretty sure Sister is going to get an awesome amazing job, so it looks like everything works out in the end, all pettiness aside.

I'm in Love.

With Florida.

I am in love with palm trees. I love their rustly palm leaves and their jaggedy trunks. I love that they are everywhere here.

I am in love with the sunshine. I love that it follows me. I love that it tans me. I love that I can feel it on my bare skin in the middle of winter. I love how it dries my hair in just a few minutes.

I am in love with the ocean. I love the stripes of color, the green that fades to blue that suddenly becomes light sandy brown. I love the shells that get tossed around all day by the foamy waves. I love how the salty water tastes.

I am in love with the sand. I love how it is so soft, but so easy to pack. I love how it feels on my feet. I love pushing my hands into the sand and feeling how cool it is where the sun isn't touching it. I love drawing in it. I love doing cartwheels on the sand.

I am in love with my job. I love that I can do hair. I love that I can make people believe that I am magical. I love that I can talk to little girls from everywhere, from Mexico, or Brazil, or France, or the United States. I love that I can feel these little girls' spirits as I talk to them about whatever while I do their makeover. I love that I work with people who are so fun and nice.

I am in love with flipflops. I love the way they slide on my feet without any hassle. I love when I get a flipflop tanline. I love seeing my toes and wiggling them around.

I am in love with motorcycles. I have said it a million times, but I just think they're the hottest thing ever. I love wearing heels and a dress and climbing on the back of a motorcycle. I love holding on tight and shooting down the road. I love putting my hands up and feeling like I'm flying. I love the way the wind pulls on my hair.

I am in love with Cici's Pizza. I love how nice the workers are. I love the macaroni pizza. I love how small the slices are. I love the desserts. I love paying hardly anything for a whole meal. I love not being hungry for a whole day after eating there.

I can't ever leave this place. Why did I think I could be here for 4 months and then leave? I'm so in love with everything about Florida.