Bucket Lists and Random Thoughts

I have a lot of pictures to post.

BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT I'M GOING TO DO!!!!

So this picture challenge is kind of difficult for me, because some of the prompts are really... well, interesting, to use a placeholder. Like, one of them is "A picture of your biggest insecurity." Right. Like I'm actually going to put a picture of my biggest insecurity (read: everything about me) on Facebook. My grandma checks my Facebook, people, and the last thing I need is my grandma to try to talk to me about my feelings.

But some of the prompts are difficult to find a picture for because I've never honestly thought about it. Like, one of the days told me to post a picture of someone who inspires me. Uhh... Jesus? I don't know; the people who I consider "inspirational" are people I actually know, people I interact with, people that I'm afraid might find it a little stalker-ish if I plastered a picture of their face on my wall with the tag line "INSPIRATIONAL PERSON." But that's probably me over-thinking things. To get back to the point, I've never really stopped to think who inspires me, or where I most want to travel, or what has influenced me the most recently (and what kind of a prompt is that anyway?)

The one that gave me the most trouble recently was this: "A picture of something you want to do before you die." Essentially, take something off your bucket list and post a picture of it. Only I don't have a bucket list. I've never actually put deliberate thought into the things I want to make sure I accomplish before I die. Which is really silly, if you think about it, because it's important to set goals. I'm the kind of person who doesn't really set goals. I never make New Year's resolutions, except for easy ones that I can't help but keep (This year I'm going to carry out cellular respiration! Yay for accomplishment!)

However, I think Bucket Lists are really important. If Bucket Lists weren't important, would there be a movie all about them starring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson?

I didn't think so.

So without much thought or consideration (because I'm not going to push it, folks), here's My Bucket List in no particular order:

-Write a story and COMPLETE IT
-Meet Tim Omundson
-Land a lead role in a musical or play at a real theatre (as in, not school)
-Record a CD
-Travel around Europe
-Dye my hair blue
-Solve a Rubik's Cube by myself
-Talk to a stranger in an airport
-Ride in an NYC taxi
-Get married
-Be a foster for shelter animals
-Learn to cook without using recipes
-Learn to drive a manual transmission automobile
-Go to Hawaii and Alaska

That's all I can think of at the moment.

And now for the Random Thoughts.

Tonight I went for a walk at about 9 PM around my neighborhood. Initially, I went outside to build a snowman in my front yard. But the top five inches or so of snow are all powder, and the packing snow is too solid to do much with. So now there's a sad mound of snow in my front yard. Anyway, once it became clear that my snowman was not in the cards tonight, I decided to wander for a bit. I walked three blocks up my street until I came to the busy arterial, then turned around and walked a block down the other side of the street. Then I went three blocks to my left, then turned and walked two blocks to the street that runs along the side of my house. From there, I walked three blocks home. It took me twenty minutes, which isn't bad for the pace I was going and the fact that at times I was ploughing through a couple of feet of snow with my shins (don't you people know that you can get sued by the post office if you don't shovel your walk and the mailman trips or slips?).

It's been a while since I've walked someplace by myself. When I'm home, if I want to get away I usually get in the car and drive. Usually this leaves me feeling frustrated, because I rarely if ever actually go anyplace, so I feel guilty for wasting gas and irritated because my wander itch is still very much in my system. And at school I don't feel safe walking around by myself at night, because college campuses are full of weirdos and party schools even moreso. But I know my neighborhood. I've lived here my entire life. I know to stay in well-lit areas and I know to take my phone with me if I'm out by myself. It's home, so I'm not worried.

The landscape reminded me of why I love winter so much. Everything was covered with a thick, clean blanket of snow. Even the roads were white, not gray and slushy like they get after they've been driven on a couple of times. I completely understand the phrase "Pure as the driven snow;" there's this feeling of innocence and serenity I get when I'm out in the snow. Every bad thing washes away for just a moment, and I'm left with pure and simple life. Of course, that doesn't last very long, because my mind tends to wander when I walk and I often end up talking to myself about stupid things that I shouldn't be worried about, but for a moment the snow makes me feel pure, like a child.

Tonight I walked and talked through my scarf, reminiscing and waxing philosophical amongst the snow drifts. I had to stop myself from dropping and making snow angels in strangers' yards; I promised myself that I could make one once I got home (I did, and now my boots and scarf and hat are dripping quietly onto a towel in the living room).

I always psych myself out when I go for walks or go places by myself: today's the day, I think, that I will meet someone and both of our lives will be changed. Today I will see someone I know that I haven't seen in a long time. Today a stranger will offer to give me a ride and it will end up that they give me a million dollars/fall in love with me/give me my dream job. Obviously, this never happens. Sometimes I'm incredibly disappointed that my trip to the grocery store wasn't my date with destiny. Tonight was good, though. I didn't meet anyone, I didn't see anyone I knew, I didn't get picked up by the government and recruited as a spy. I did talk myself through something that has been bugging me lately, all while getting hit in the face by tiny ice crystals.

Then, when I got back to my front yard, I dropped and made a snow angel. My soaking-wet jeans are now in an irresponsible pile on the floor, while I sit in my sweatpants, covered in cat hair and drinking egg nog.

Go for a walk in the snow sometime.

Days 8 through 14

This post is going to just be about the pictures and not at all about my life right now.

Day 8- A picture that makes you laugh.

My friend Allison used to send creepy texts to people that didn't have her number saved, and when they asked who it was she would send them this picture.

Day 9- A picture of the person who has gotten you through the most.

That's my mom.

Day 10- A picture of the person you do the most messed-up things with.

Slazno. Funny thing; this picture was taken at Starbucks, as we were discussing many strange and marvelously disturbing things. He stole my phone and set this as his contact ID.

Day 11- A picture of something you hate.

Black licorice. Black licorice makes me want to vomit. It is awful. I will be eating jelly beans and I'll not be paying attention and I'll pop one in my mouth and it's the dreaded black licorice jelly bean, and I'll get sad because somewhere, some small child has just died. That's what black licorice tastes like to me.

Day 12- A picture of something you love.

That is a picture of my house and my front yard covered in snow. I love all of the things pictured: the yard, the house, and the snow. Especially the snow. To me, snow is romantic and clean.

Day 13- A picture of your favorite band or artist.

Michael Bublé is a gorgeous man with a gorgeous voice AND a sense of humor. So... while I love a lot of different bands and artists a lot, and while I listen to other music more than I listen to Michael Bublé, the truth is that if I had to listen to one artist only for the rest of my life, I would choose him. Also, this picture is hilarious.

Day 14- A picture of someone you could never imagine your life without.

This is an old picture, and it's an awful picture of me, but it's my favorite picture of two of the people I can't imagine my life without. My friend Andrea, and Mr. Lewis. Andrea and I have been friends since kindergarten, and she's the kind of friend that I can go months without seeing and just pick right back up again where we left off. Lewis taught me from seventh grade until my senior year. We've also worked together at various theatres around town and at my high school after I graduated. He's been someone I can look up to, someone I can learn from, and someone I can just have fun with for years now.

Today is day fifteen, but I haven't come up with a good picture for the topic yet. Life is busy and strange and going non-stop, as it is wont to do around this time of year. I have learned many things already just from coming home, but none more important than this: nobody actually remembers how to drive in snow from year to year, even the people that say they do. Just fake it and don't kill anyone. Happy Christmas.

Days 5, 6, and 7, and Why Coming Home is Hard

Day 05 - A picture of your favorite memory.

Day 06 - A picture of a person you'd love to trade places with for a day.

Day 07 - A picture of your most treasured item.

And now to expound.


My favorite memory (that I have photo documentation of) is the memory of the road trip I took with three friends after our senior year. It was a graduation present from my grandparents, who own a timeshare in Seaside, Oregon (and just about everywhere else it seems). We got four days at Seaside to kick-start the summer after graduation and before college. This was the first big multi-day road trip I'd ever taken, and it was with three girls that I've known for most of my life (we went to school together from kindergarten through high school). It was incredible because, while we had some general plans for our stay (for example, when to check in, when to check out, and somewhere in there we should probably go out on the beach huh?), we kept the trip really loose and impulsive. We made side trips whenever we felt like it and got lost on the way there; we took the long way home and drove on some of the worst-maintained and most beautiful highways all up the coast (and got lost for a minute between Yakima and Ellensburg), and we all had a blast the entire time. As I get older and go more places on my own and with other people, I see more and more how rare it is that people just take it easy and treat every misstep as a new adventure.


I would love to trade places with Betty White, just for a day. Betty White is amazing. She is almost frigging ninety years old and she's one of the funniest actresses around. She's a household name, and she has been for quite some time. Basically, Betty White can get away with anything. To have that power, even for just one day...


My most treasured "item" is Percy. I know that pets are not "items," they are living creatures and deserve to be treated as more than just possessions. But I do technically own him (don't tell him that), and out of everything I own he is the only thing I would unthinkingly risk my life to save if the house was burning down. 


Which brings me to an interesting segue. Right now, my most treasured item is prowling around my bedroom, sniffing things and trying to decide whether to stay mad at me or not. This is because I am home for Christmas vacation. I get to be home for an entire month. I've been counting down to this day since the second week of school. I was so excited to get home, it was unreal.


And now I'm here.


I'm honestly happy to be home, don't get me wrong. It's just that... It's really, really hard to put as much distance between yourself and your family as I did for as long of a period of time as I did and then come back. Life goes on at home when I'm not here, and my life goes on whether I'm home with my family or fourteen hundred miles away and on my own. It's stupid to expect everything to be exactly the same as it was when I left it, but that's still what I expected in the back of my mind. And the incongruity is affecting me.


People change. I know people change. I watched as some key people in my life started to change even before I'd left. Did I expect them to go back to how they used to be? No, of course not. It makes sense that they would continue to change along the same pattern, and if we were growing apart then, well, it would make sense that we're even more distant now.


But it still hurts. And I'm not sure what to do. I'm happy to be home, but sometimes I wish home was different.

Day 4: How many clever nicknames can Amanda come up with?

Day four is "A picture of your night."

Tonight I went out with some friends (and some strangers) and had sushi. I was going to take pictures while I was there, but the turnout was such that I didn't really feel like it was one of those nights that you would really want pictures from.

Here's what I mean: there were four people there that I consider my friends. I think if it had been the five of us, we would have had a total blast and I would have been kicking myself for only having the camera on my phone, or (more likely) for forgetting that I had even that camera. However, in addition to the five of us there was one guy that I'd met before (let's call him Douchenozzle) who, upon meeting me, decided that I was not someone worth getting to know. Which I would have totally been fine with if it weren't for the fact that he talks crap about me to my friends, and doesn't realize (or maybe doesn't care) that they tell me what he says about me.

Douchenozzle brought a friend, I shall call him Bro. Bro was someone I hadn't met before, and initially he struck me as an ok guy. Then a little later on he started acting like Douchenozzle, and I was a little thrown off because he'd been nice to me up until that point. And then he turned it all around again and was generally nice by the end of the night.

Then Swarm showed up. Swarm was a collective, consisting of a guy named Chris (he seemed pretty nice), an androgynous fellow with female features and a male name hanging loosely on the arm of Trenchcoat, who sat next to Drama Llama and Chad. Chad was not this man's real name. He was another nice-enough guy, but he brought his girlfriend (Drama Llama) who looked angry the entire night and did her best to make everyone there uncomfortable (except for Chad, who remained oblivious to any tension until she stormed off to the bathroom). Swarm spent most of the night being insulted by Douchenozzle and Bro without quite realizing that they were actually being insulted. My friends and I tried to converse and have a good time, but it was pretty clear that we felt a little (make that incredibly) out-of-place. One of my friends, the party planner, tried her best to keep everyone having fun the entire night, but Drama Llama's exit made things a little strained.

All things considered, it was an ok night. Swarm was nice, minus Drama Llama. The sushi was great. Our waiter was really freaking cute, and considering it was his first night bar tending (all of the big groups get put in the back room, next to the bar) he did an incredible job waiting on us. But it wasn't exactly an event that I would have wanted to turn into a photo album.

And now, the rest of my night consists of studying for my Anthropology final. I was going to talk a little bit about the conflicting opinions I have of this class, but then I decided that doing so would be counter-productive to actually getting any studying done.

Day 3, and Why I am a Horrible Person

Day 3 is "A picture of the cast from your favorite show."

I just want you to look at this. This is the cast of the best show on television. Psych is a miraculous happy wonderland of hilarity and wit, wrapped up in pineapple wrapping paper and tied with a purple bow. I love this show so much that I wrote an argumentative essay about how it is the best example of a detective show in my English class this past semester, and I was so passionate about the topic that my teacher didn't have anything to say about my first draft and would have accepted it as a final copy. (But I wasn't done nerding out, so I added to it and turned in a final draft.)

There is, I will admit, another reason why I love this show so much. That reason is at the forefront of this picture, and on the left.

Detective Carlton Lassiter, ladies and gentlemen, played by the one and only Timothy Omundson. You may remember him from your childhood as Seamus McTiernen from the made-for-TV Disney Channel Movie, The Luck of the Irish.

Look at that face. LOOK AT IT. I don't even know what to do with myself right now.

Backstory:  when I first started watching Psych, it was due to a phenomenon known as "Psych Night." Psych Night occurred every Thursday evening at my dorm during Spring Quarter last year, in my friend James' room. A small group, mostly girls, crowded into his room and crammed into a line across his bed to watch the best show known to man. And, as girls are wont to do, we quickly started fighting over who had dibs on which character in the series. For quite a while, I was stuck on Gus. But then I saw "From the Earth to Starbucks," episode ten of season one. At the beginning of this episode, Shawn encounters a sad, drunk Lassiter and tries to cheer up the morose detective. He utters the fateful line, "You've got eyes that women want to do cannon balls into." I was like, "Huh, now that you mention it, his eyes are... buuhhhhhhhhhh..."

And the rest is history. Carlton Lassiter is my fictional character old-man crush.

In other news, I am a horrible person. I was supposed to study with a girl from my lab group for our Anthropology final today. She was going to go to the review session yesterday with any questions she had, and then today we were supposed to meet up and go over everything, make flash cards, draw diagrams, and basically do anything she thinks is necessary to make everything easier to study. I was very excited about this, because I figure I need as much experience teaching as possible if I want to be a teacher.

And then she didn't come to the review session yesterday. And then she texted me saying that she didn't want to meet on campus, and could I come over to her apartment instead? She would come pick me up.

Suddenly, I wasn't so excited. See, any place on campus is neutral ground; I don't have to worry too much about proper visitor/host etiquette when I'm meeting up with someone at the library. I just have to remember to bring all of my notes and my laptop. Now, if she had asked to come over to my place, I would have been a little anxious, but it would have been doable. I just super-cleaned my apartment, so no worries there. I only have things like water or hot cocoa or tea to offer, no food, but that would probably have been fine since most people don't ask for a gourmet meal when they're coming over to study (I don't think. I wouldn't know, I've not gone to many study sessions in my life). The only thing that would have been an issue is if my roommate had come home with her boyfriend, because for whatever reason neither of us is very good at interacting with the other.

But this is a girl that I don't know super well, and I have stranger anxiety anyway. I won't tell you how long it took me to even start talking to the people in my lab group, or how long it was before I even learned her name. Suffice it to say, I'm really bad at interacting with strangers. (Which reminds me, yesterday I got into a conversation with a guy who I sometimes ride in the elevator with. He initiated it, and it was a little stilted and awkward, and as soon as I got out of the elevator my knees and hands were shaky, but it was still a conversation.)

I started thinking about the fact that I would be over at her apartment, and am I supposed to take off my shoes? And what if we run out of things to talk about and she wants to hang out? How do I hang out with people? What if I can't explain things in a way that she understands? How do I say "Well this has been great but I need to go home and sit alone in my apartment until I feel like a normal human being again?"

The worst part, in my mind, was the impending car ride. All two of them. Cars are awful when you don't know someone. I wish it were socially acceptable to ride in complete silence, staring out the window the entire time. Car conversation is the most awful thing in the world. What happens if I just don't have anything to contribute to the conversation, so I don't say much, and she thinks I'm an antisocial weirdo or just a total jerk? Then she's going to think that she's learning about hominids from a total jerk, and she won't pay attention to why Homo floresiensis is so cool and such a weird, trippy discovery! And then how will I convey to her the importance of understanding that Neandertal fossils replace anatomically modern human fossils in the Near East at around 70 thousand years ago, only to be later replaced by more anatomically modern humans?

So I took the coward's route and texted her to cancel. I told her something came up and I couldn't help her study today, but that I would email her the notes from the review session along with some study tips.

She was totally cool with it, which makes me suspect that she wouldn't have thought that I was an antisocial freak (except now I am) and studying together would have been pretty painless once I got over the "OMG NEW SITUATION" shock. And to be completely honest, I think she forgot we were planning on studying together today, so I really shouldn't have panicked. And now I am sitting here, listening to Harry Connick Jr. sing "Let It Snow" and feeling like a general idiot.

That is why I am a horrible person.

30 in 30- Days 1 and 2

I'm doing this thing on Facebook where you post thirty pictures in thirty days. Each day calls for a specific picture. I decided I'd post it here too, to sort of jump-start this blog and to provide space to actually give commentary about each picture if I so choose (which I always do. Why just post a picture when I could write a story about it too?)

Day one is "Post a picture of yourself and fifteen facts." I decided to take this literally, and spent about ten minutes coming up with facts with a friend. This was because I think I am hilarious. Also because I love my handwriting and wanted to share it with the world.

Day two is "A picture of you and the person you have been close with for the longest." I chose a picture of me and my cousin from back when we were young. I'm not posting that picture here, because I'm pretty sure she'd appreciate it if I didn't put pictures of her up all over cyberspace.

I chose the picture with my cousin instead of a picture with, say, my mom or either of my brothers because my cousin and I have always had a special bond. We've been more like sisters to each other than just cousins. When I think back on my childhood, most of my vivid memories are of times I spent with her. To me, she is synonymous with "family" and the happiest times of my life. She has been through a lot. She has endured experiences that no one should ever have to go through, and she has come out of it all a stronger person. I look up to her because even in her darkest times, she never quit. I have loved her through the worst that life could throw at her, and I know she would love me through anything as well. That's what I think of when I think of "closeness" with someone: being able to say that, no matter what, you are assured of their love and you actively love them.

I guess this is a blog about poop

I've had this blog for a while now, and it's been sitting alone and empty in cyber space since the day I registered the name. Which is a little strange. I'm the kind of person that loves to talk, to monologue in the silence of my bedroom when no one else is home. I love coming up with scenes and speaking them out loud as they occur to me. My creative style is very much in-the-moment.

But I'm not very good at finishing projects. Whether I'm writing a story or painting a picture or organizing my closet, I tend to get halfway or most of the way through something and then abandon it. I think it's a combination of being lazy, having a short attention span, and not being confident that the end product will be worth anything. I'd rather quit than fail at something.

I also like writing in first person, and I tend to start most of my sentences with "I." This is something that I am trying to correct.

To get to the point: I've decided that I'm not going to sentence this blog to an unfinished existence in internet purgatory. At the same time, I really don't know what I want to do with this thing long-term. I already have a journal where I write the really intimate details of my life (Dear diary, today I took a really long poop), so I really don't see the point of doing that here. Especially since anyone in the world can read what I post on the internet, and it only takes a tiny bit of computer-sleuthing to figure out who any given person is online. 4chan doesn't need to catch wind of my long poops, or my obsession with Detective Lassiter. But I really don't think too many people are interested in my every observation of the minutiae of everyday life; I'm just not that interesting (remember my poop? Do you remember it?)

So here's the question: what shall become of my contribution to the information superhighway? Will I be yet another dime-a-dozen college-age blogger who thinks she's the wittiest person alive?  (Probably.) Will my use of parentheses annoy everyone who stumbles upon my thoughts? (Likely). Will I ever learn to spell "separate" correctly without spell check fixing it for me? (I did this time, but only because I was thinking really hard.)

I guess I'll find out.