Texting Grizzly

Here is a recent texting conversation between my friend and I. We met at Girl Scout Camp, so instead of his real name, he's in my phone as Grizzly. Grrrrrrrrr. Deal with it.

Grizzly: So how's college?

Me: I should be studying for finals. Instead: THE INTERNET!!!

Grizzly: Story of my life. How am I supposed to study when I have so much music to keep up on?

Me: I <3 design blogs.

Grizzly: Really? To the point where it's a part time profession or hobby?

Me: Profession. Full time.

Me: Reading them should be my profession. Someone hire me. I'm obsessed.

Upon which Grizzly takes half a century to reply, so I do what I normally do when no one answers: keep talking.

Me: I consider it research. I am studying architecture. Totally counts.

An hour later...


Grizzly: Fair enough. I guess my next logical career choice would be to become a music critic then. I've nailed the pretentious part.

Me (Instantly, because I am a good texter): Haha. Get some hipster clothes and you're ready to go!!

Grizzly: I'm already over the hipster thing. They have taste in music. But my glasses aren't preventing every single person I know with slight knowledge of my musical tastes from branding me as one. It's quite the dilemma.

Me: tell me about it....

Grizzly: Ok. My phone is being a quite irritating and won't download this picture. WTF.

Me: hahah funny. It's a picture of me in my equally hipsterish glasses wearing an expression of empathy.

Grizzly: Wow. Im totally missing out on this. Whatever. Empathy though, I'd love to see what that looks like.


Me: By empathy I mean, I'm crosseyed and sticking my tongue out....

Grizzly: Of course you are.



PS. picture from here.

I Can't Multitask While Walking

So I am bad at multitasking while walking. Mostly because walking is something I find rather challenging. I am simply not a talented walker. I often fall down dramatically and painfully for absolutely no reason. I think I've fractured bones at least four times. I was too lazy to ever get this x-rayed and confirmed, however, so this is simply a hypothesis.

It's not just clumsiness though. I get easily distracted when walking and tend to do stupid things. Like the other day I was walking down the stairs and someone else started walking downstairs too, but a floor above me. I glanced upwards (curiosity did not kill the cat, but it certainly shanked it in the back), and then fell down half a flight of stairs.

I walked cheerfully across the quad on a sunny day recently. I was chewing gum simultaneously. I tripped on grass and ended up with grass stains all over my white dress.

I tried talking to my friend Andrew while at his dining hall once. It happened to be St. Patrick's Day. I slipped on water (let's blame this on water ok?!) and basically shattered my knee caps when I came crashing to the ground.

Anyways, this is all a lead up to this conversation I had walking near Government Center in downtown Boston:

Andrew: These shoes cost $300.

Me: No fucking way! That is ridiculous! I've never spent more than $100 on shoes! WHY WOULD YOU SPEND $300 ON SHOES?!?!??!

Andrew: They're really nice men's shoes!

Me: YOU ARE CLINICALLY INSANE.

Andrew: They're gonna last me 10-15 years! Plus then I'll resole them and have them for another 10 years...

Me: 10 years!? Bah! That is nothing. YOU HAVE BEEN ROBBED.

Andrew: I think of the two of us, you are the crazy one.

Me: I bought this pair of boots in 6th grade for $20 and I still have them. That is significantly less than your 10 year $300 shoes!

Andrew: Yeah, but you don't wear them all the time.

Me: SO?!?! I bought them in 6th grade... how many years ago was that/

Andrew: ...

Me: I'm in like, what 14th? 15th? grade?

Andrew: and?

Me: That's like what 12 years? No... 10, No, wait. 7 years. 7 years! That is almost 10! And they were only $20. YOU HAVE BEEN ROBBED.

Man in Fancy Suit Walking Behind Us:  *hysterical laughter*

Me: No! It's 8 years! That is even better! How could you possibly spend $300 on shoes?!

Man in Fancy Suit Walking Behind Us: *hysterical laughter*

Andrew: *nicer laughter*

Me: SHUT UP! I can't multitask while walking. Math is hard.

Man in Fancy Suit Walking Behind Us: *hysterical laughter* I'm sorry, sorry! *hysterical laughter* *walks past us*

Me: wow...

Andrew: You know you're an idiot when complete strangers on the street make fun of you.

Me: Well, at least I didn't spend $300 on shoes...



This then led to a debate about the number of times men v. women wear a certain pair of shoes. I won. Of course.




xx

Laundry

Classic thought process: "The laundry basket is full. I should probably do laundry then. But do I want to do laundry? No. Definitely not. Do I need to do laundry? Maybe... Think about it, Laurel. Well, I'm out of pants. I should do laundry then. Nah, I really don't wanna do laundry. I don't need pants. Pants are overrated. I'll do laundry next week."

How I Embraced My Non-Existant Indian Heritage

Somedays, everything is fine. You wake up, you look in the mirror, you give yourself that cocky chin nod thing, and say "How you doin'?"

Other days, this does not happen. Some days you look in the mirror and think, "WHAT?! WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?!?! THAT WAS NOT THERE LAST NIGHT!!"

For example, the other night I went to bed relatively early, looking forward to actually sleeping not that fencing season was over.

I looked in the mirror while brushing my teeth. I looked fine. Tired, but fine.

So I went to bed, expecting to wake up the following morning looking equally fine, but with more bedhead and possibly some large under eye circles. 

Unfortunately this was not the case. When I woke up the next morning I stared at the mirror.

Something was not right. In fact, something was definitely very wrong. I looked closer.




There it was just sitting there in the middle of my forehead, taunting me.

What. The. Fuck. Where did you come from?!!!!!!!!!?!??!????????????????

I could tell this disgusting lurker was out to get me. I could tell it purposely came up right in the center of my forehead just to be pure evil. It intended to torture me. I knew I had two choices.

Get MAD:

Or:

Embrace my inner Indian heritage.

I am not Indian, however, and despite how great I look in this sari, I will never be Indian. So I ended up going with the former.


PS. Indian dancers image from here

You Should...

... go to Tufts.