Guilty Pleasure

I am an introvert. I have expressed this truth many times on the page, as well as aloud. I like being alone. I like having time dedicated to nobody or nothing but myself. It is rejuvenating and immensely relaxing. So, what do I do in my holy solitude? What makes this hermit experience so thrilling that I need to indulge? Well, there are a number of things I enjoy like reading, writing, taking a nap, watching a movie and going for long walks through the forest, but my favorite pastime is also my guilty pleasure. This of course, is nothing sexual. In fact, many of you may consider this pleasure anti-climatic and extremely lame, but I don't care. What I love to do, more than anything in the world, is to drink wine and sing along to my favorite musicals on tape.

It is true. I am a closet theater freak. Yet,  I am embarrassed by this past time. I hide my soundtracks and original cast recordings where no living soul can find them. I watch the video recordings in solitude. The only moments I burst out in song are in times when I know I am completely alone. My shame for this relatively uncool pastime among my age group has heightened to new levels. No longer do I borrow tapes from the Library for fear of what the librarians think of me when I set Sweeney Todd on the counter. At the local video rental, I ignore my desire to pull Annie Get Your Gun off the shelf and rent some romantic comedy instead.

At 22 years old, I have reverted back to my days as a pre-adolescen, questioning everything about my world. Why am I so insecure about a hobby I enjoy? Why am I ashamed of enjoying the theatrical and musical arts? Why am I so concerned about what other people may perceive as cool, or uncool? It is rather pathetic. Yet, here I am doing it anyway.

In the end, I suppose everyone has there own guilty pleasure. Everyone has something they enjoy that may be surprising or lame. And if you love something, love boldly. It is probably more refreshing than doing it in secret. And on that note, I am going to go sing Broadway's greatest hits loudly in the shower. I hope the neighbors hear.

Struggle

Sometimes the things I want so desperately to write about I cannot. It is not because I have difficulty formulating the words or expressing thought. That part comes easily. I do, however, struggle with the content. Recently, I find myself wanting to record things closely entangled in my life. Though these experiences make excellent stories, I hesitate to share these events for fear of putting myself or others at risk. Words are immortal. You can wipe away their physical presence, but their meaning lives forever. It is a constant struggle deciding when to hold back, and when to let go.

Stomping Grounds

Last weekend, I loaded my Saturn with a few CD's, a water bottle, a mitt-full of cash and hit the road toward my old stomping grounds in Western Michigan. Driving along interstate 80, I sang along to my mix tapes and embraced the landscapes around me: the leaves on the mighty maples transforming into brilliant shades of auburn and gold, the Kalamazoo River blue as the sky above, and the familiar worn billboard advertising Russ' fine dining.

For the last three years, this sleepy Dutch suburb was my home. I have fond memories dancing in its cobblestone streets, exploring the infamous pine grove, and wandering around Centennial Park entranced by its twinkling Christmas light display. But, as I stepped onto the grounds of my former campus, I couldn't reconnect to these memories. I felt like a stranger, an outsider. I felt extremely out-dated. For only graduating a short time ago, my return to campus made me feel like an old alumni returning for my 30th college reunion. I did not recognize a single soul parading around the school grounds. It was in this moment I realized my college years of youth and beauty were over.

Feeling utterly depressed about my age and membership in the working world, I met my fellow graduates at a local bagel shop for a quick lunch. Surrounded by friends, food, and good conversation, I regained feelings of warmth and love. I found my home once again. There is an old saying that, "home is where the heart is" and I now fully understand this proverb. While the physical structure or landscape of a home contributes to an overall feeling of inclusion and safety, it is the people with whom the house is filled that really makes the structure a home.

Though I am still saddened by the fact that I am growing up and progressing through the chapters of life, I am comforted by the relationships I have with friends throughout the globe and the memories shared on 12th Street.

Sign of the Bull

The other day my mother and I spent some quality time together unloading the dishwasher. In the midst of sorting silverware and stacking dinner plates, she interjected our work. "You are such a Taurus!" she said, "Stubborn as a bull!"

While I remain clueless about the actions that caused her outburst, my mother's words provoked a serious curiosity. Is my "stubbornness" attributed to my zodiac sign? Does personality derive from horoscope? After conducting a brief online inquiry, I cannot validate such claims. However, my research did uncover several uncanny similarities between myself and those of a standard Taurean.

Taurus is said to be the sign of practicality and possession. Individuals born under this sign tend to be patient, dedicated, and extremely cautious when dealing with people, life, and money. Though Taureans are cautious, they enjoy power and often dominate over others. They  are also known to be impeccable hosts, are governed by their loving nature, are extremely faithful, and appreciate a steady routine.

Let's break this down. First of all,  I am a very practical being. I am a minimalist. I buy what I need, and nothing more. So, there is at least one commonality in all this zodiac mumbo jumbo. As for patience and dedication, I would agree that I possess these characteristics. After all, I did spend the majority of my summers working as a camp counselor for kindergarten students. Did I have them put their heads on the carpet as part of my behavior management strategy? Occasionally, but only when I lost touch with my patient nature and buckled under stress. While this behavior is not ideal, this reaction is normal for a Taurean. You see, Tarueans are introverts who need space in order to recharge their batteries. If Taureans cannot recharge her batteries, she loses it and blows a gasket .  While I am not always patient, I am a cautious being 99.9% of the time with the categories listed above. I am a slow roller when it comes to relationships, both intimate and friendly. It takes me a good chunk of time to warm up to people and trust them fully. As for life, I am not a risk taker. I tend to play by the rules. Even the thought of putting one pinkie toe out of line raises the hairs on my neck. In those rare moments where I have embraced my inner rebel, I have been caught and reprimanded. And don't even get me started on money. I am one of the most frugal people in the world. Yes, I enjoy lavish things and am I generous giver, but I am mostly a saver. When I do rip out the ol' pocket book I make sure I have coupons, or that the quality is well worth the cost.

When it comes to power, I will admit that I enjoy possessing it. I like to be the one in command especially when it comes to projects. I like having things done my way, because  I know the product will be flawless. I realize this sounds extremely bitchy, but what can I say? It is the truth. On the flip side of the bitch, Taureans, like myself, are impeccable hosts. We are loving individuals and often show that love through service. We go above and beyond our natural limits to make others feel welcome and at home. I always seem to be the party coordinator among my friends. This may be attributed to my desire to be in control, but what can I say? I love a good themed party or a bonfire out back. Without my creative ideas and persistence, I don't believe my friends would do much of anything but sit on the couch. (Sorry guys, but you know this is true).

I could go on and on about the remaining similarities between myself and the bull, or delve deeper into all the differences,but this post is way overdue. In fact, I have been working on it very slowly for a period of three weeks. Ultimately, I am sure that most of you don't give a crap about my chatter about myself. Blogging can be a very selfish sport, as I am beginning to realize. Nevertheless, I thought my astrological research to be a tad interesting and even a little funny. Therefore, I had to share it with all of you. While I cannot say that I fully believe the stars have all the answers, I have to admit that they seem to have a few things in order. Some may say it is coincidence, others may say it is truth, but for now, I say it is merely insight and you should check it out for yourself.

Things Missed

I miss stimulation. Both academic and social. I miss sitting in coffee shops and exchanging life views with its inhabitants. I miss pondering the wonders of the world and discussing philosophy. I miss writing essays and analyzing literature in lecture. I miss adult conversation, drinks on the rocks, and PG 13 movies.

I am stuck in the land of make-believe. Mr. Rogers and Dora the Explorer hold me hostage. Chicken nuggets and cheesy Mac are the only items stashed in cupboards. Hannah Montana blares on the radio 24-7. Barbie marries Ken daily. Ponies talk, Lego men fly. Mario never dies. This land is magical for those who have yet to lose their innocence, but I am imprisoned here. I desperately want out, for my brain is rapidly turing to mush.

I miss stimulation. When does school start?

Filet Mignon

This may be a first. I am not sure how to present this report. After all, I experienced one whirlwind of a weekend. With two of my closest friends tying the knot, I am bubbling with excitement, joy, and happiness. However, as a result of my giddiness, my head is not screwed on quite right. In the past 72 hours I have undergone intense beautification and averted several wedding related crisis all in the name of love. I was painted, polished, dried, curled, dressed, perfumed, bedazzled, and plucked in order to fulfill my duties of walking without tripping, smiling, looking good, and holding 10 layers of white fabric so the bride could pee properly. What an adventure.

The wedding was an absolute dream. Two love birds become man and wife, and I ordered steak for dinner. After munching on veggies and different varieties of salad for most of the weekend, I could not contain my excitement for beef. And not just any beef, but filet mignon. Yes, tender, juicy, filet mignon with whipped garlic potatoes and grilled vegetables on the side. my meal might as well be served on a heavenly cloud. In order to prepare for this angelic feast, I consumed hardly anything during the day. A little cup of yogurt, a few bites of fruit, several glasses of water, but nothing of substance. I needed to save room.

After a few toasts of celebratory champagne, I needed a meal more than ever. But being my stubborn self, I only nibbled on my broccoli cheddar soup and caesar salad. I knew my coveted steak would arrive shortly. When my plate was finally placed in front of me, I could have squealed with delight. My steak was perfect. Tender, juicy, melt in your mouth fantastic! I savored my meal, eating slowly, and making it last. In between my bites the celebration continued with pictures and more toasts of wine and champagne. By the time I had eaten a fourth of my meal, it was time to cut the cake.

Anxious to see my friends slice their love dessert, I left my plate and ventured into the lobby. After witnessing a rather clean cake cutting, I stole a frosted cupcake, and returned to my place setting. However, when I arrived, my spot wad clean. There was no trace of my precious filet mignon. The waiters had cleared my plate. By this point in the evening, the beverages were bubbling in my head and causing quite the ache. Saddened by my loss, I scarfed my mediocre cupcake and sulked. I am still rather upset about unfortunate incident. I am not sure if I will ever recover.

Tears

I am not an emotional being. I do not cry. No matter how I squint my eyes or scrunch my face, no tears will fall from my ducts. It isn't that I think crying is silly, because I don't. Rather, I think crying is a very heathly and stress reducing release. While I believe these truths, the dendrites in my brain seem to think otherwise. When faced with an emotional situation, where tears are more than acceptable, my brain simply shuts off along with my access to the waterworks. It is as if the logical part of my brain overpowers the side controlling feeling and deescalates the situation. Emotionally, I know that crying will make me feel better, but logically I understand that it will not solve anything. I suppose this is why my personality type is ISTJ, instead of ISEJ. Thought is stronger than feeling, at least in my biological makeup.

Yesterday, was one of those days I needed to cry, and couldn't muster any tears. while reading through my inbox, I discovered an email from Nancy, a former professor. Her message explained that my dear math professor was in extensive care at a local hospital. After visiting the attached care site for MDY, I learned that she had lost her battle with cancer, and passed earlier that afternoon. The news came as a total shock. I did not know she was ill in the slightest. After all, I saw her a few short months ago. She was her usually happy, spunky, energetic self. How could she be sick? How could she be gone? Nothing seemed to make sense. Nothing seems to make sense now.

MDY was quite the teacher, and even more of a woman. She taught with an enthusiasm that was contagious. Her laugh was one of a kind. She was selfless and always willing to lend a hand to anyone who needed it. MDY had a mother's intuition. She always knew when you weren't your usual self. She made you talk about it. She made you feel better. MDY was also one tough cookie. She biked cross country, practiced yoga, swam laps in the pool. She didn't put up with shit. As a result, you became a better student. She instilled a work ethic in her pupils and we worked hard as not to let her down. Disappointing MDY was never an option. Heaven is lucky to have her.

Though I cannot shed the tears I wish to cry, I will shed my words. MDY, you will be forever missed and loved by all who had the pleasure of knowing you.