What Do We Mean by "That Kind of Girl/Guy"?

So I just impulse bought a guitar, corn dogs, and these black tights that are supposed to change a woman's life. (Because apparently, tights can do that.)

Except so far, the corn dogs are doing most of the life changing. I feel some sorta way about this.

Mostly GREAT. But also wondering if I should call my parents to check on my missing sanity. (What are parents for, right?)

My mom would probably ask how many cups of coffee I've had today. And I'd be inclined to say 2+2=not enough coffee! Because MATH. We're winning today, really.

I should confess that this week has been a rollercoaster of sorts--full of ups, downs, and the HOLY SH*T moment that comes right before the inevitably huuuuuuge drop. Believe me when I say that the real-life re-enactment of this rollercoaster ride is as funny as it sounds.

This post comes from a place of accidentally awesome conversations (which are incidentally the best kind.) These are the sort of talks that leave you wanting to jump up and down, saying ,"YES, YOU GET ME!!!" In a caps-lock-intentional sort of way, of course.

Same mind, same kind. Life gets messy. We're rolling with the punches like it's NBD.

The past few weeks have been filled with long walks where time ain't no thang. With misfit life talks and pumpkin bread. With crazy concerts like dance party what? With Shakespeare term papers. And of course, with more pizza eaten standing in front of an open fridge than should be admitted to.

You can ask if I'm "that kind of girl." (The cold pizza kind). But I think you know the answer to that.

Ask me if I'm mad about it. Spoiler alert: I'm not.

Okay okay, before you roll your eyes at me, let's rewind.

It's a clutch sort of curiosity when you realize how often someone says, "I'm not, 'that kind of girl' or 'that kind of guy.' It's a quirky phrase loaded with a charged 'uh huh' somewhere in there.

A stealthy Google search (amen!) will quickly reveal that Lena Dunham beat me to the punch line on this one. But seeing as she's charging $28.99 on Amazon for the answer, I'm offering my completely unqualified and unscientific opinion for *free! (shipping & handling not included*) It's a steal, on the DL.

"I'm not that kind of girl" or "I'm not that kind of guy" slips its way into conversation with a sort of nonchalant subtlety. It's rarely the main topic of conversation, but it appears most often as a way to imply what or who we are or are not.

How do I know? I've done it myself. And in the past 7 days, I've heard someone utter this phrase at least once each day. This isn't a philosophical study or a scientific hypothesis so much as it is a simple observation. As eager as we are to define ourselves in a certain way, we're also equally eager to enumerate what we are not.

Because heaven forbid that someone in the world define us as that sort of person. With all sorts of identifying tags from which to pick and choose, we begin to find ourselves straddling some imaginary line.

We don't want to be too mainstream. But heaven forbid that we're too hipster either. We don't want to be the girl/guy who doesn't care. But we don't want to be the one who cares too much either. We don't want to be basic bitches/bros. But whoa whoa don't get too ratchet on me either.

This isn't unnatural; the grey area is our safety net. It protects us from what may otherwise seem to be an unsavory title. And truth be told, it may be as instinctual as a defense mechanism.

Knee jerk response, like hello. That's a tricky bugger.

I get it. After who knows how many years of living, we--and those we know--have a very specific idea of who and what is allowed within the confines of "cool."

But in hastily declaring that we're "not that kind of girl/guy," I wonder what we lose out on. In doing so, we're never the person who is awkward or embarrassing or sick or irrational or annoyed for no reason. We're not the person who let the dance floor get the best of us or who Facebook-stalked a person of interest. We're not the one who double texted or who mispronounced that obvious word. We're not the one who made something out of nothing.

And we're definitely not the one standing in front of the fridge, eating more pizza than should be admitted to.

Because that would make us that kind of person. And really, is there so much harm in that?

This is A Weekend Story

We're not even going to pretend that this weekend was functional. Then again, we're redefining normal and not even a little mad about it. Just sayin'.

We had ambitious plans for the weekend, like a modern day Kim Possible--minus the cargo pants and with the addition of an iPhone.

We had plans like getting loads of work done, calling Mom/Dad/siblings, doing aaaall the laundry, and oh, saving the world while we're at it. Then life came on in and...well, happened.

Somehow, all  of our plans turned into too much Halloween candy, pumpkin beer, a really *ahem* creative Halloween costume...and oh, saving that pizza in the fridge. You feel me?

But really! Someone please explain to me who thought it was a good idea to lump Halloween, the start of November, and Daylight Savings into 72 hours.

Are these bonkers crazy weekends supposed to be a sprint or a marathon? It feels like both.  And c'mon now, what kind of bargain is that?

Making it to Sunday feels like the finish line of this crazy weekend--it's like the end of running laps in gym class.

By that, I really mean we're the kid in gym class who is hauling butt with a flushed scarlet face and with a panting breath that says, "is-it-almost-lunchtime?"

You know what I mean: THAT kind of weekend. The kind where uncommon shenanigans seem to be a common theme. The kind when the playlist we're listening to is entitled "literal mess," and nobody is messing with that sort of accuracy.

The kind of weekend when last night feels like a wayyyyyy long time ago. (Probably because we spent 99% of our time (and dignity) making janky a reality.) Oops? Not oops.

We'll call it a happy accident. The saving grace of our marathon-sprint weekend is this Sunday-to-Monday move. Because dangit, we're kicking off the week right! This is when I take five for pancakes and check-in with friends, family, and myself to take stock.

For me, it's the methodology of asking, "What's the happs?" But mostly, it's my über casual way of showing I care. It's my way to get the lowdown on your life in exchange for sharing mine. So please do say hello :)

Here's the happs of this week/end:

• HALLOWEEN: Our house was Earth, Wind & Fire (+Water) for Halloween. And all I really have to say is "Do you remember?"...Because I do, and I'm still laughing because it's all straight up ridiculous. Let's leave it at that.

• College students x career. To the seniors out there, this is all the feels. Last week, I had a long talk with someone about why we as students choose high-paying jobs at the expense of our true interests.  Truth be told, it was one of the most refreshing conversations I've had in a long while.  Though I don't agree with all his points, Ezra Klein lends much-needed perspective to the subject in his article "Ivy League's Failure is Wall Street's Gain." Give it a go!

• Caffeine x personality. The psychology of extroversion, introversion and caffeine. This is kooky stuff! I've never outright called myself an extrovert, but I do find that I work best when extra-caffeinated. There is perhaps nothing in the world that makes me happier than coffee and conversation.

• On meditation: It's easy for me to hold on to thoughts, but it's hard to let 'em go! I'm trying out Calm to dabble in meditation. It's with the best intentions to tune out and turn in.

•Game-changing women. Because the pressure of "Doing It All" is just a whole lot of WHOA. A Georgetown grad and president of Barnard, Debora Spar spoke at Georgetown last week (introduced by President Degioia, below). She illuminated much of what it means to be a woman in leadership and how that translates to our generation. In the above interview, she speaks of Wonder Woman, perfectionism, and legacy. It's a good read for the ladies & the gents.

• Satire x Georgetown. This is the most accurate (and hilarious) description of Georgetown's campus that I've ever read. Kudos to my friend, T, for his sharp-as-ever satire.

• In the realm of music: I'm loving Movement's  "Us" - it's a soft and thumping beat with ethereal vocals.  This version of Villagers' "Nothing Arrived" is folk-y and acoustic, like a tribute to the warmth felt amidst Autumn's chill.

That's all for now friends! Here's to bidding Halloween goodbye, to seeing a Shakespeare play, and to endless coffee conversation. Here's to more dignity and less janky costumes, to casual dinners, to Earth, Wind, & Fire....and to pretending that next weekend will be more functional.

(Or not.)

Just sayin'.