The Queen of Nearth Returns

I will turn 22 in 9 days. Not to mention I will be finished with school forever in a few short months. When did adulthood get here? It came too quickly, and let me tell you the trip was awkward and scary.

From when I was born to about the age of seven, I lived a fancy, girly life filled with glitter, gaudy jewelry, and carelessness. I bet I was the most remarkable embryo to ever exist. When the sperm and egg that created me came together, there was probably an explosion of hot pink and sequins. The other sperm/eggs were just happy to be near me. I was God's gift to man kind. I would flirt with waiters, not to get free drinks or because I didn't have enough money for a tip like I do now. No, no. I was three years old. I flirted with waiters because I could. The world was my stage, any and all passers-by were my audience. Show time was always. Performances included monologues from my favorite Disney movies and some originals, song & dance numbers, and were not limited to family gatherings. People eating food at restaurants, people waiting in line to get groceries, the crowds at little league games, and people walking around the mall were just a few of the thousands of lucky people subjected to my entertainment. (I say "subjected" because, really no one ever asked for my entertainment. It was almost like performance-rape, if you will. But it didn't matter. People got on board.) I knew I looked beautiful in that Princess Jasmine pajama set, and it would be unfair to deprive the rest of the world from the pleasure of observing my beauty, so I wore it everywhere. I was Elizabeth Ann Genz, the self titled "Queen of Nearth" (whatever that was), and I could do anything.

I think that mentality disappeared around age 7 when our family moved to California. That's when I began to notice that not everyone liked Elizabeth Genz, the Queen of Nearth as much as I did. I don't know if that's the age where I began to care about what other people thought of me, or if up until that point I'd never been bullied. Either way, I was generally not welcomed. Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but the Queen does not respond well to anything unkind. I think the entire second grade experience ruined everything that made me awesome before that. The Queen of Nearth, the glitter and gaudy jewelry, my ideas along with my self esteem and any sense of confidence was put into a sad little shame-box that I chose to hide away forever. (Figuratively, obviously. My 6-year-old alter ego is not actually in a box labeled "shame" up in one of my closets.) 

Caring about what people think of you comes with a set of rules. The rules grow as you get older. These are the rules that I learned throughout K-12

-Be hot.

-Dress similar to the group of 6 or 7 otherwise average girls that are for whatever reason ranked as 'Popular' at your school. 

-Wear make-up.

-Have a boyfriend.

-If your thoughts are weird, keep them to yourself.

-Have long hair.

-Be skinny.

-Smell like the entire Bath & Body Works line at all times.

-Never say anything stupid. Any participation in class should be what most would consider "cool."

-Be graceful. 

-Don't associate with people of a lower social rank than yourself. 

-Know your place. You will never get a popular guy, and expressing interest in one is pretty much social suicide.

-Being the New Girl automatically makes you a loser. Unless you adhere to all of the above, or if you're from somewhere considered "cool." (Apparently Indiana is not considered cool. Also, previously living in California does not cancel out the dorkiness of being born in Kentucky to most St. Louisans.)

College is somewhat similar:

-Be hot.

-Dress similar to models in magazines. Or just dress up period.

-Be skinny.

-Have big boobs.

-Find the balance between being slutty and being prude.

-Have a boyfriend that eventually turns into a fiance.

-Have a snazzy/impressive internship.

-Somehow be able to afford cute clothes AND adequately feed yourself. 

It is easy to see how I have fallen waaaaaay short of the expectations. Suddenly becoming aware of the fact that not everyone will love me all that time ago really messed up my brain. I don't think for myself. I don't really care about myself at all. If no one else cares about me, then why should I? That's where I've been mentally for the past 14 years. 

But lately I've been thinking that it's all really stupid. You know? Like, in college who really cares if you wear sweats everyday. I thought about it long and hard. And you know what I realized? I don't care about any of that when it comes to my opinion of other people. I'm not interested in the slightest what pieces of cloth you decide will cover your naked body on a daily basis. I don't care about other people's relationships. You're skinny? Good for you, girl! I could care less. And I decided that since I don't care if other people follow "the rules," then I don't care if I follow them. 

I've been thinking it's time to go back to Vintage-Elizabeth, the Elizabeth that makes her own rules. The Elizabeth that sings to strangers because she wants them to witness her God-given talent. The Elizabeth that looks fabulous even in her pajamas. The Elizabeth that requires sparkle to be incorporated into some part of her everyday life. That girl was ballin. So, Vintage-me + the me that understands humility = even better me. 

I owe it to that fancy little girl, who so many years ago had her sparkly world crushed by some irrelevant 7-year-olds who thought she was weird. 

(On an immature side-note: screw the previously mentioned people.)

This One Time At Drama Camp....

You ever notice how things that were a huge deal in high school are the least of your worries nowadays? Yeah, I'd kill for my biggest problem to be that I don't have a boyfriend. That's still a problem... just a more minor problem. Although, thankfully now that I'm in my twenties, I finally have a sense of self, a healthy perspective on life, and, you know, all that other shit. I spent about an hour today looking at old pictures of myself on facebook from my teen years. Maybe one day I can look back on those times fondly, but for now it's just depressing.  

Oh gawd, remember when I was friends with her? What a bitch...... I was so skinny then.... If I find one more picture of me making the duck-lip face, I swear...... I remember thinking that outfit was so cute, what an idiot......DUCK LIPS? AGAIN?? How did I have friends?? ...... oh yeah, that girl! I wonder why we never talk anymore.... maybe it's because I'm a freak who wore orange-sherbet colored leggings and had perma-duck-lips..... 

 To the left, you will notice I've put together a set of duck-lip photos for your amusements and my embarrassment.

I think looking over all my younger years, my fondest memories were at theatre camp. Specifically YATA. I went to multiple theatre camps every summer since I could speak basically. Theatre camps are an experience unlike any other.


Summer camp gives kids a unique opportunity to be the person they desire to be. They can't do this at school, because everyone already knows them and has formed opinions accordingly. But at summer camp, you don't know anyone. You can reinvent yourself.

 I walked into YATA (Young Adult Theatre Academy) the summer of 2006 before my Junior year of high school, finally able to separate myself from the geeky weirdo I was back at home. The camp was in my grandmama's hometown, Owensboro, KY, so I didn't know anyone. The freedom was intoxicating.

If I'm being honest, a group of theatre kids is the best group there is. Everyone's a weirdo in his or her own way. Everyone constantly talks over each other. Seriously. No one ever shuts up. Ever. It's a wonder anything ever gets accomplished.

seriously, someone should've
slapped me.

One thing that made YATA different than any other theatre camps I attended is that the campers were divided into different concentrations. There were the dancers, the actors, and the techies. In each sect developed a set of stereotypes widely believed to be true amongst the campers, just like the different cliques in high school.

The actors were the loud and obnoxious campers. Most had inflated egos, and all thought they were going to be famous. They craved attention. Seriously, you'd think that no one hugged them when they were babies. They were the campers who overwhelmed the instructors to the point of insanity because they never stopped talking. Imagine a room full of 25 caffeinated kids with ADHD. The girls were notoriously slutty, and this was probably due to the fact that none of us could dance AND our group included the highest percentage of guys who were straight. This group was home to yours truly (as if that was a surprise to anyone). I made friends with a straight guy who's name will remain anonymous because I developed a crush on him that later destroyed our friendship. Yayyyyyy not knowing how to deal with rejection during adolescence!!!

The dancers were the bitchy anorexics. Or at least that's how I justified  how much I ate in comparison to any of them. They were also the "hot" campers (female), and the "who are you kidding, you are so gay" campers (male). Dancers [supposedly] SUCKED at everything other than dancing, which made the rest of us feel a little better about not being the hot ones. While the groups hardly intermingled, I did become quite close with a dancer, Alice. (for the record, she didn't suck at everything else. Also she was not bitchy or anorexic) She stayed with me at my grandmama's for those two weeks. We befriended another guy, who I think ended up in the dance group, Ben. He was unusual to the dance group because he was straight, and he had no dance experience. He chose the dance group mainly so he could watch hot girls stretch.





The Techies were the outliers: the ugly and untalented. The misfits of the theatrical world. They long to be charismatic like the actors, or graceful like the dancers, but they aren't, so the best they can do is run the lights or make costumes. They are the little people, put on earth to serve performers. It's pitiful, really. -- What? That's not true? Not even close? That's just what the arrogant actors think? Oh. Oops? I actually did become friends with a techie, Lily, who was anything but untalented. She also stayed at my grandmama's for the two weeks. She was in the techie group because she was actually very good at all of those aspects. She was cool. The rest however, looked like trolls. (Kidding!)

It took all of 3 hours for these divisions to take place and solidify, and by the end of the first day the gossip had already started (all most likely birthed by those in the acting group, naturally). "So-and-so totally likes this boy, and helloooo, that is so not going to happen." "So-and-so was definitely flirting with that-girl, which is funny, because I heard that he has a girlfriend back home." "She wants that guy? I hope she likes being a beard." Around day 3, a guy who went to camp the year before, but didn't that year because he was in a "real" play came to visit, and all the girls thought he was "sooooooo hott!!! <3 :P"(myself included, until I realized what a dick he is.) What would really make me happy is if this guy ends up being gay. Or fat. And bald. And most importantly, having to go back to school because his acting career is a dead-end.

Duck lips, peace sign AND sunglasses inside? I look
so cool.

Okay, one thing I've always wondered, and maybe someone can clear this up for me: In acting sessions, we did so many activities that had seemingly nothing to do with acting. Like, meditation, or writing down our observations about our surroundings, journaling. This is my hypothesis: I don't believe that any of that was actually meant to help develop some set of skills. I think that the instructors told us some BS about how it will help us, used some fancy word like "focus" or "internalize," and really the only purpose was so we'd all shut up for 20 minutes. I think Miss Connie made us lay down and "meditate" when her ass was tired of standing up. Which now that I think of it is actually not a bad idea.

I went back to this camp two more times after that first summer, and even though the camp changed and I made new friends, the atmosphere stayed the same. Nothing really topped that first summer though. It was the most fun I'd had in my whole 16 years. Something that I find really interesting is looking at how many of us actually continued on to do theatre in college. I'm hopefully going to see some fellow campers I've stayed in touch with when I go to Owensboro next week. I haven't talked to a lot of my close friends from YATA '06 in years, but it's okay. As corny and stupid as it sounds, we'll always have that summer.

Feel Free to Rub Your Boogers All Over Me, Little Darlin'

I've been going through some emotional times as of recently. By emotional times, I mean days in which I will cry for seemingly no reason.

There was the day where I cried while watching the heart wrenching programming on Food Network. (Yes, it was Paula's Best Dishes. Yes, I do realize how strange that is. She  worked so hard to get to where she's at today! She came from nothing! You know what - I can't talk about this, I'm getting choked up) I texted Anna & Taylor (friends from high school) in the moment, because I know that no matter what crazy things I say to them they'll always be my friends. I may not be free from judgement, but I know they won't stop talking to me. I know too many incriminating stories about them. I cried several other times that day over little things.

Then there was Monday. Monday morning, around 7:03 the emotional downward spiral started in motion, full speed ahead into Crazyville. 7:00 - registered for classes for my second semester of senior year. 7:02 - completed registration. 7:03 - realized that I just registered for classes for the very last time, and that I am graduating on May 5th, 2012, exactly 170 days from now. I cried. All day.

So needless to say, I've been thinking about how not ready I am to be a real adult (cut off from everything except my mother and step dad's health insurance, which I hope they don't take away until I get my own or until I'm too old to still be considered a dependent). I'm really not ready. Today I told Nina, or Kristin (roommates), I can't remember which one, about how easy life would be if I was a baby. I wished I was a baby so I could just sit around all day doing nothing and soiling myself.

A couple hours later, I found myself in the Bethlehem Center's Childcare facility, volunteering for a class. I was assigned to help out with Ms Lavern, Miss Tonya, and Miss TC(teecee? I don't know how it's spelled, but it's pronouced tee-see)'s classes: the toddlers. It didn't take long for me to retract the statement about wishing I was a baby.

The thing I've noticed about being a toddler is how they are constantly living in panic-mode. There's always something going on. If Abby isn't following you around trying to take your toy away, McKenzie is following you around looking for an opportunity to bite your face. Why specifically your face is anyone's guess. She's a weirdo. And then Jacob comes out of nowhere and punches you! He has to sit in timeout because of it, but still. What the hell is his problem?

Everything is new to a toddler. Everything. They learn something new every 30 seconds. And it's big stuff too! Not just colors and numbers. Things like sharing, respecting elders, and that no one will talk to you if you smear poop on yourself, all essential life lessons.

I sat on the ground and one little girl sat on top of me and looked at my face for a while. That's another thing about toddlers that I find interesting - they never know a stranger. I was there for maybe two minutes and 4 kids had grabbed books and brought them to me to read. After smudging my glasses with her fingers and shouting jibberish at me, the little girl became fascinated with my, ahem, "anatomy." Somehow, she managed to get a peek down my shirt. (Lucky her, right? Too far?) I grabbed her hand and told her that was "my business" and put her back on the floor. She pulled on her own shirt collar and looked down to compare. I stood up and she scrambled behind me. Apparently the voices inside her developing perverted mind were telling her to stick her hands in my back pockets. If she wasn't still in diapers, I could've sued for sexual assault. However inappropriate it was, still, she was learning. I ran into a class mate volunteering with the older children. He asked who I was working with, and I told him, "toddlers."
    "Oooh..." he said, wincing as if he'd just seen someone get kicked in the stomach. "How's that going?"
    "Alright," I said. "One girl actually blew her nose onto my jacket. But it's all good. It's been a while since I've been covered in someone else's snot." Hey, at least it was a baby and not some homeless guy  shooting me with nostril lava. Either one wouldn't know any better, I guess.

I realized that the toddlers and I have a lot in common. They are in the beginning stages of what I'm just about finished with: education. Now, I know they say you never stop learning blah blah blah. But once I get that degree I am done with formal schooling. I will have an official document stating that I know some stuff. I'll be a lot like the toddlers upon entering the real world: constantly overwhelmed from the never ending parade of new experiences, and still laughing at potty-humor. Toddlers do it everyday, I can do it for sure. I mean, yeah, toddlers don't have to pay rent, but I don't have to smell someone else's poopy diaper all day. That is until I have kids.

Crap. More panic. And I had just calmed myself down.

The Artist of Wheeler

          "Have art in your heart..." that's the belief of Wheeler's maintenance worker Tam Mai, who for the past year has been pouring his soul into his artwork, and has remained the Humanities building's best kept secret.

These are original paintings from 2011,
hanging in the Dean of the College of Arts &
Science's office

                  I first heard his name while walking around the building with a friend, Nina Smith, who used to work in the dean’s office. “He’s the nicest guy. He always waved and was happy to see me.” She explained to me that he creates wooden portraits of different faculty members in the building and gives them as gifts. Tara Fager, the assistant to the dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, informed me that he does more than just woodwork. “He painted those on the wall.” She motioned to two paintings on the wall of the office side by side, the one on the right a painting of Hitch, and on the left a painting of Wheeler. 

                  All I had to do was ask Tam to tell me about the two paintings on the wall, and talked to me for over an hour. “I knew that painting was my dream when I was 12 years old.” A quiet man with kind eyes, he found our extreme language barrier amusing. No trouble. He had his Vietnamese to English dictionary on hand if we hit any major roadblocks.

Tam grew up in Tuy Hoa, a small farming city in the South Central region of the communist country Vietnam. During the early part of the 20th century until the 1950's, France ruled Vietnam, which is where most Vietnamese artwork gets it's influences. Throughout this period, any artistic influence happened in the larger cities, Tuy Hoa not included. After telling me about it, he directed me to a big globe on Wheeler’s first floor and showed me where his city is.

Vietnam By The Numbers:
-128,065 sq. mi.
-Nominal GDP: US$103.124 billion (compared to
$14.58 trillion in the US)
-Population: 85.8 million (as of 2009)
-54 ethnic minority groups
-90.3% Literacy rate (as of 2008) 

“I went to see my sister in Ho Chi Minh.” He ran his finger down from the point at Tuy Hoa to the big bold letters that read Ho Chi Minh (the largest city in Vietnam). “She was having a baby. My brother in law took me to an art school for a lesson. After the lesson, the teacher asked me for money. I didn’t have any.” Tam’s family grew up very poor, so unfortunately his first lesson would be his last.

“I started painting again last year.” He said in between that last art lesson and when he began painting again, he went 35 years without painting, or drawing. 35 years without art, without his dream. He’s learned while working here at Belmont, “Anything is possible… Love what you do.”
Brittany Clifford, a senior in Belmont's Art program, was very impressed by Tam's work. As she examined one of his paintings, she laughed, "This looks better than some of the pieces done by art students here." Brittany has an unusual eye for good art pieces. Her mother works for an artist in Chattanooga, so Brittany has been surrounded by art her whole life. "The skills and everything, that can be taught. You can't learn to love it. It isn't a hobby, it's a passion."

Taking advantage of the art school on campus, Tam has picked up on different techniques and applied them to his work. “Here, I’ll show you.” He pulled out his cell phone and showed me about a dozen different projects he’s completed in the last year, including a large model of mountains surrounded by Bonsai trees he built in his garden. A lot of his painting have a similar motif; the include something representing both him and his wife and their two sons.

One of Tam’s sons is actually a recent graduate of Belmont’s Pharmacy school, which is what brought him here in the first place. “He’s studying in Memphis now.” 

Tam says he decided to paint Wheeler & Hitch
because Humanities and Science are the most
important things people study

A faculty member walked by while Tam giving me a cell phone slide show of his work, and thanked him for a painting he did. “You should really have an art show! I bet you’d make some money!” He just laughed. He explained to me once she left that he does not accept money as a payment for his art. “If they want to, they can buy me a canvas,” he jokes. Seeing the joy people get from his art is payment enough. Brittany, however, thinks this attitude is fantastic. "In a way, that's what art is about. Not money, not business. It's about making people feel things, you know?"

His advice to young artists? “Practice, practice, practice! That’s what I tell my sons. Love what you do, and practice.” One day he hopes to be a teacher as well as an artist. He says that once his English improves, he would like to volunteer to teach children about art.

The passion this man has for art is inspiring. Anytime someone has that kind of passion for anything, it’s wonderful. It was a message I needed to hear, to love what I do and success will show itself. 

How To Repel A Man Without Even Trying: Advice From a Professional

After a lot of soul searching, I finally found what it is I'm good at: repelling the opposite sex. What can I say? It's a gift. I realize now that perhaps my talents could be used for the greater good of woman kind.

Unfortunately, being a man-repeller is not something that can be taught. Much like singing or playing guitar, it's something you're born with. But with 21 years experience under my belt and my outrageous success in the business of man-repelling, I feel as though I can give some pointers to lead my more fortunate ladies in the right direction.

Now some of you may wonder, why would one ever want to repel a potential sexual partner? That seems cray-cray. Ladies, how many times have you been hit on by some guy you aren't attracted to and he just won't quit? I wouldn't actually know seeing as I'm hardly ever preyed upon, but I've heard it's pretty bad. Maybe your hotness is so intense that it blinds him to any obvious social cues. Again, I don't know. I never intentionally repel men. It just comes naturally.

So here's a couple things that have worked for me and some other ideas from my fellow man repellers. Feel free to give them a go.

• If he approaches you at a club (that is to say he walks up and starts humping your leg. The men in the 18-24 age bracket seem to think this is an acceptable way to initiate a connection. I always thought "Hi my name is so-and-so" would be the most effective method, but apparently not.) You have to really commit to this one in order for it to work. Seem slightly offended and a little afraid, and very self righteous. Look him in the eye and say, "Whoa there. Leave room for Jesus." He'll know automatically to leave you alone, because everyone knows good Christian girls don't put out unless you date for at least a year, and finally lie and say you love them. And afterwards, she'll cry and in between sobs yell out things like "adultereryyyyyyyaahhhh" and "my grandma always said no one will by the cow if you give away the milk for freeeeeeeaaahhhhhh." It's just a big old mess.
• Start talking about how much you love Harry Potter. Not too many guys I've come into contact with find this very interesting. To be clear, it's not the stupid hot-girl-trying-to-look-nerdy-so-people-think-she's-cute thing. None of this "I'm like obsessed with Harry Potter. I know, I'm *such* a nerd, haha!" No. You've got to talk about details. This book changed. Your. Life. Talk about the literary motifs in the books that fascinate you, ask him if thinks Dumbledore could be considered an omnipotent figure in the series, and draw on specific examples paralleling him to God. Get a little teary when talking about Snape's feelings for Harry's mom Lily, and the beautiful melancholy of unrequited love. I did this. It worked for me. Granted, I said all of this to him while wearing a Gryffindor scarf.  
• In the middle of the conversation, look at him meaningfully for a couple seconds and say, "My mother would LOVE you..." 
• Bring up in some way that you're on your period, even if it isn't true, and find any excuse to keep mentioning it until he decides to leave. If he sticks around, use descriptive adjectives like "gushing."
• If he asks what you're doing later, just yawn and say you can't stay out late because you're too tired. Say, "I had to get up really early this morning to get my chin hairs waxed."
• Adopt the phrase "My baby's daddy," and use it in every sentence. Note: most effective with a beer in hand and a cigarette dangling from your mouth.
• Two words: Sloppy. Drunk. Not in the good way. Not in the way that he'll think, "damn she's wasted, I can totally take her home." You have to be past wasted. Plastered. Make up running down your face, your hair a frizzy disaster. You have to be clearly sad or angry. Crying is good, so is stomping around aimlessly and cussing at everyone. Take off your shoes. Don't just take them off - throw them off. At a friend's 21st birthday party I committed a major party foul and ended up being more drunk than she was. More drunk than anyone really. At one point the bathroom attendant lady stopped me, looked me up and down with pity and disgust. "Baby... you a hot mess." When I looked confused, she pointed at the floor and said, "You have toilet paper stuck on both of your heels." This is the level of drunk you want to achieve. If the bathroom attendant feels bad for you, you know no guys will be talking to you.
• If you can projectile vomit on command, I feel that could be very beneficial in a time of need. Nothing says "No I don't want to sleep with you" quite like vomiting on the guy.
• If you've ever seen Jersey Shore, channel Snooki and Deena. Anything that the Meatballs do, do it. Fall down a lot. Dance on the bar until your underwear falls off. Or just don't wear underwear. Do cartwheels in the middle of the dance floor so everyone sees your vag. Ask strangers if they like your boobs.  Like in the video below.

• Really, just admit that you actually watch Jersey Shore. You watch it. You think it's hilarious. Guys don't like that. You'd think my obsession with Harry Potter would cancel out the watching Jersey Shore. I guess it doesn't work that way.

If all else fails, just think What Would Libby Do? I guarantee if it's something I would do the guy will never talk to you again. 

Wow... I started out thinking it was funny, but now I think I'm actually just really sad. Whatever. I'm happy with the person I am, no matter how weird or loser-y I may be. I think guys that don't see the good in you aren't worth your time anyway. 

In other news I think I should make "WWLD?" bracelets. Thoughts?

8 People I Wish Weren't Allowed To Speak. Ever.

As an ESFJ, I love being around people. There are not very many people in this world who I don't like. But there are a few types of people I could do without. Sometimes I think I care too much about people's feelings for my own good. Like, maybe if I didn't care about anything I would be able to tell these people to leave me alone. But unfortunately I can't do that. Because I'm not that person. All I can do is harbor a silent hatred towards them and rant about it on my blog.


#1: The Person Who Starts Talking to You, and Then Won't Let You Leave: You will only see this person at the most inconvenient times possible. When you're 15 minutes late to your 9am class (because in your half asleep state, it made perfect sense to set you alarm at 9:00 exactly), and there she is. She's going forcefully unload all of her problems on you. She's got some really long-boring-ass story about one of her ex boyfriend's band mates who she's now dating that you don't want to hear. The guy you've liked ALL DAMN SEMESTER finally notices you, here comes Sissy-Talks-A-Shitload, ruining your life like it's her frickin job. Or maybe it's that semi-old person at church. You know, the one who always stops you just as your ready to bolt out the door after the service to talk about their hemorroids or a new chicken salad recipe. Don't you have sons and daughters to talk to about that stuff? Or a doctor? This is why when I see these people, I try to hide from them, or pretend I'm on the phone.

#2: The Girl Who is Too Nice To Hate: These bitches are the worst kind of bitches because they aren't actually bitches. They're wonderful people. But you so want to hate them. There are too many reasons why you could hate this girl, but you just can't because she's so darn friendly. She's dating the guy you're in love with, she's prettier than you, her hair is always perfect, and she dresses well, but you can't help but notice that something in her smile makes you feel like you have meaning. It's like she has asked the angels to come down from heaven and bless you personally. Shit is straight up rude.

#3: The Person Who You're Not Sure How You Know:  You know her face, but you don't remember her name, and you honestly have no idea who she is or how/when you met her. What sucks is it seems like she remembers everything about you, which makes you a dick. When she sees you she says your name all excited, like it has a bunch exclamation marks at the end of it. "LIBBY!!!!!!!!" You respond with a greeting that's vaguely personal. "Hey girl! How you doin?" or "Hey you! Long time no see!" or "Wassup homie?" Then she asks you something random, like "is your grandma doing any better?" or "Did you get the job at that yogurt place you wanted?" And you answer "Yeah, you're so sweet for remembering" but you're really thinking how the eff did you know about that?! More small talk ensues, and then she finally leaves and you feel like the most awful person alive. You can't just ask her to remind you how you know each other! That's like a death wish in the world of Female Politics. I honestly don't know what to do! There are only so many ways of addressing a person without using their name. Maybe next time, I'll say something like "Waddup, skank?" and she'll get offended and stop talking to me.

#4: That Boy You Went On a Date With About a Year Ago Who is Now Married: Yup.

#5: That Professor Who Hates You:  So... maybe I didn't try very hard in your class. Or maybe when you asked me why I wasn't trying very hard, I told you that I think being graded on my knowledge of the Old Testament is a joke. And perhaps that rubbed you the wrong way. And for that I suppose I'm sorry. If you could please stop giving me death stares whenever you see me on campus, I would really appreciate it.

#6: The Housing Maintenance Guy Who Has Accidentally Seen You in Your Underwear On Multiple Occasions: Has this happened to anyone else? No? Only me? Awesome.

#7: The Person Who is Inappropriately Affectionate: Now, if I'm being real, yes I am aware that I am probably this person to a lot of people. I don't have a problem with affection. I love affection. I give it out like candy. Some people love it, some people really don't. But I think for the most part, I'm pretty good at gaging when people don't want to be touched, or are not wanting affection. It's hard for me to see any person (even strangers) crying and not give them some form of affection. (Not strangers, obviously. I've learned to contain myself.) I know my limits. For instance, if a person close to me says something stupid, and it's out of character, a polite, joking pat on the back is appropriate I think. Just one though. I'm not going to pat them on the back every time they speak. There is a fine line between being "sweet," and being "that creepy guy who keeps touching me."

#8: The Know-It-All Guy: He loves to tell you about all the "cool" things he knows. He wont let you get a word in. If you do manage to contribute to the story with some knowledge, he knows more about it than you do. I get it man. You are super intelligent and well versed on a variety of topics. That being said, no I DON'T want to hear about the process of melting down plastic bottles and all the benefits of recycling. Don't get me wrong, I care about the environment and all that. I understand how important it is to recycle. It's just that we're at a BAR and all I care about right now is trying to figure out the chance of me getting a free drink by flirting with the bartender. If I wanted to become an expert on all the different kinds of soil, or something else equally as dull, I would try to watch something about it on TV or read. And you know what? Sometimes the stuff you talk about is actually really interesting. If it was coming from anyone else, I might like to listen. But it's coming from YOU. And I HATE you. I know you're just talking because you find the sound of your own voice so impressive it practically gets you off. Can you blame me for not wanting to be a part of that?

Twenty-Something: An Open Letter to Russell Stover All Dark Fine Chocolates.

Dear Russell Stover All Dark Fine Chocolates,

Thanks very much for supporting me in my time of need. I knew you'd understand. You always do.

I bought you just about an hour ago, drove around ALL OF FRICKIN CAMPUS trying to find a parking spot, and finally opened you at 12:55am. I have already destroyed half of the box and it has hardly been 10 minutes. I have class at 9am. I should probably be asleep, but you know what I'm doing instead? Eating chocolates, watching Bridget Jones' Diary, and wishing I could chug a bottle of wine (obviously can't due to previously mentioned class at 9am). You may be wondering why I'm doing this, and maybe why I belted/sobbed "Someone Like You" by Adele on the way home (on repeat, naturally). You might also want to know why I was willing to spend $9.69 on something I'm going to digest in a couple of hours when I only had $16 in my account in the first place.

The reason why is because a) another friend of mine from high school is now engaged, ON TOP of me being the maid of honor in my best friend's wedding next fall, which suddenly makes me realize b) how quickly we've all grown up and sends me into a spiral of depression and self loathing because c) I am single and d) am in love with a man who will never feel the same way, and due to this, unfortunately, e) I have recently been battling feeling of loneliness and losing hard (i.e.- trying to get over it and failing miserably, turning to chocolate as my only companion).

See Russell, it's not that I'm not happy for all of the people getting engaged. Well. Saying I'm happy for all of them would be a lie. I'm happy for a select few. And even that happiness is a little shaky. The whole thing stresses me out.

For some reason I always thought that getting married right out of college was what everyone was supposed to do, so I guess that's what makes me feel like my whole life is a failure. At some point in my green (read: naive) teenage years I came up with a plan: To have children by age 25. That gave me all 4 years of college to meet my future husband, for him to propose to me after we graduate, a year to be engaged, a year or so to settle into our marriage, and a year to try for a kid and/or 9 months to actually be pregnant. According to that plan, I am 4 years behind. I really don't know what made me think that if I didn't have my first child by 25 my "biological clock" would run out. If anything, at this rate my uterus is bound to stop working simply because it's given up hope of me ever reproducing. I feel like I walk down the street and potential mates (all males) run in the other direction.

Really though, what makes me feel like even more of a loser is now that I'm actually starting "adulthood," I've come to the conclusion that I want to put off having children for as long as is reasonable. Getting married is no longer something I want to achieve by a certain point, it's just something I hope to achieve at some point. I don't even care about any of that. I like being a selfish twenty-something wayyyy too much to give a damn. And that makes me feel bad, like my 14 year old self would be disappointed. She'd say something about how I've "lost sight of the mission,"or how I'm "going to end up being one of those fat old ladies who wears pastel sweatsuits and breeds dogs to AKC standards as a hobby."

So now I'm in this bizarre limbo where I'm feeling lonely and maybe wanting a boyfriend on one side and really enjoying my independence on the other. I often wonder if I'm the only one going through this.

mmm...roman nougat...

You know Russell, I bet when the right guy comes along, stuff will start to make more sense.

I just wish he'd hurry up and get here.