Let's Do This Holiday Thing

The way I see it, there are two kinds of people: holiday lovers and holiday haters. We'll call it an inevitable ecosystem.

Holiday lovers are the ones who start freaking out (I mean F.R.E.A.K.I.N.G. out) as soon as humanly possible with holiday anticipation. Think starting right after Thanksgiving. Or Halloween. Or Easter, really.

Holiday haters see the big man in the red suit and are like, "BYE FELICIA!" See also: dislike of Christmas carols, disgruntled single people, fear of overeager mall shoppers, and kids who were forced to eat fruitcake.

Whichever camp of holiday enthusiasm you fall into, denial at this point is futile.This holiday thing is in full swing. We're finally sitting on the doorstep of the Eve. I mean, THE Eve.

Let's be lovers, not haters, and welcome the holiday craziness with open arms. I mean, we might as well go all in. There's no way we're making it out alive--unless it's covered in tinsel, sugar cookies, and the remnants of an injudicious gift wrap explosion (or two...)

There's no way we're avoiding Grandma/Grandpa asking why we're not a) president, b) married, c) rich/famous, or d) all of the above.

The key is to nod and smile. Then, bribery with spiked eggnog. Nothing to lose; everything to gain?

(I think that's what Santa must have said when he applied for the position of Claus.)

To avoid this season getting all up in our grill, can we just call time out?

It's the move! Our fate in Christmas shopping is sealed at this point anyway: it's aaaaaall the giftcards or bust.

So we can step away from the hoards of mall parents, gingerbread houses, and reruns of Elf. Sheer madness can wait.

Gimme the goin' on in your life. It'll be good practice for Grandma/Grandpa and all miscellaneous relatives. Ready or not, here's my winter best in pictures, jingled and janky as per usual:

•  Holiday Gala. It's what happens when hot mess meets the holidays. You want to see organized chaos? Try 800 college kids, cocktail attire, and an open bar. There are no words -- only ridiculous dance moves.

•  The Head & The Heart concert was like a riot of music in the heart. Holy moly holy moly. (Does anyone actually know what "moly" means?)  I'm a sucker for acoustic-y music of any sort. That would explain my impulse guitar buy, now wouldn't it?

•  As a senior in college, it's easy to stick within your group of friends. Old school homies are great. But there's a certain freeing joy in meeting someone new. You see and can be seen as having a past but not defined by it. Birthday dinners and goofy pictures are bonus points.

•  Here's a secret: I've never had a white Christmas. And while snowmen and Rudolph and sleigh rides sound great, I should confess that the beach makes one quick to forget, ha!

•  From my fam bam and friends to yours: Merry _____ !  Whatever _____ may be. Just sayin', I invented the blank space way before Taylor Swift.

Okay , okay. We're about thisssss much ho-ho-ho away from it being the holidays. You can do it! Deep breaths, and just remember....

Nod and smile. Bribery optional.

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'.

The Importance of Dinner

October is a total faceplant. There's really no other way to say it, is there?

See, back in the good 'ole days, this month was just about scouting out the neighbor who gave out the King Size Peanut M&Ms for Halloween.

Now, Fall is like HELLO I'M HERE, and we really have no choice but to open the door. Somehow, pumpkins are ending up in lattes. People are talking about being Nicki Minaj for Halloween. And the weather just went from sweaty to sweater. (I couldn't even begin to tell you what that is in Celsius.)

School/work/life is feeling undeniably fo'real, and we're all sorta pretending that we have our $#!% together. Except if we're being honest, we don't, and it's totally cool.

We're really just trying to make it through Monday/Tuesday, with all our good humor in tack. Autumn, dudes! This shindig is a dinner sort-of-conversation.

That's life on the lately, speaking of which. Last night, I had dinner with 3 strangers, 2 friends, and 1 Georgetown VIP. It was one of the best things I've done in awhile--if for no reason other than that it was out of routine.

Routine is a tricky bugger. My routine includes a mind-blowing amount of peanut butter banana oatmeal, my favorite well-worn boots,  chapstick for dayz, Gmail inbox'in, walks to and from the business school, feedly, iced coffee in mason jars, friends, infinity on a simple gold chain, Todoist, messy ponytails, yoga gone digital, Pandora Film Scores, and a Spotify playlist or two.

But that's a double-edged sword. And sometimes I wonder if we can become too caught up in our comfortable routines of who we see, what we do, and where we go. Suddenly, the daily becomes the weekly becomes the monthly. Routine is comfy! I don't know about you, but comfy reigns supreme in my world...right up there next to chocolate-covered pretzels.

As I walked home last night, I began to consider the importance of dinner. Homegirl say what?

Dinner, as it occurred to me last night, is a really big effin deal. You're totally raising an eyebrow, but roll with the punches. Let's jump in!

Breakfast is laid-back; lunch is casual; and coffee is lovely. For each though, we're busy keeping it funky fresh. We got a whole day to do!

There's something inherently charming about the onset of nightfall. The security blanket of night allows us to be a little bolder in our actions and words. With an evening curtain of darkness, we find a certain cozy comfort that nudges us to loosen the tie of 9-5 life and the straight-laced obligations of being human.

That's not to say all dinners are formal, lengthy, or even the same.

Sunday suppers feel familial. And the word "supper" mainly just sounds old-fashioned--like Momma would be proud of our lingo. Sunday is the high five between tradition and straight chillin'. There's couches and really good-bad TV shows and ignoring our total case of the impending Mondays.

Wednesdays are somewhere between Grilled Cheese-ville and "Just tryna make it." Quick and dirty. Eaten amidst the disarray of a week. Mismatched dishware is the perfect match for this crazy hump day situation.

Friday dinners are my favorite. They're all over the dang place. But always with the people I most want to see after a long week. Fridays are when I make the effort to see you and when I hope you make the same effort too.

It's when you're willing to treat yo'self because surviving an entire week just doesn't get enough credit. Fridays are for friends. For bottomless wine, bad chinese food, great pizza, solid beer, unbounded conversation, and the kind of homeskillets that will endure all of the above.

Here's the truth: these musings are wacky with a whole lot of whatttttttt?! It's just a penny for our midweek thoughts and the gentle incentive to reconsider an evening meal.

So consider this your open invitation to dinner. It's my way of saying, "Hey, you're great!" Because that's the truth. Let's get out of our dang routines, and go back to the basics of good food + good company.

This dinner is mainly casual and mostly just an excuse for whatever strikes our fancy. Maybe we'll straight chill over Chipotle. Maybe we'll linger past the plate and into life talk territory. Maybe we'll figure out how not to completely faceplant through October.

Orrrrrr maybe we'll trade secrets about which neighbor is giving out the King Size Peanut M&Ms?

HOLLA. Yes, let's hope it's that one.

The Art of Real Talk

Can we talk about real talk? I'm fairly sure that I've mentioned these two words at least 3.7 million times. It's my first language, after all! But a quick rundown helps us all figure out what's up.

At it's core, Real talk (n.)  is the art of straight up communication. It's a fast departure from linguistic eloquence, guarded pretenses, and even/often politeness too. It falls somewhere at the crossroads between forthright honesty x uninhibited authenticity.  Friends are a necessity of this situation. Because duh.

All this to say that real talk is clutch but ironically rare. Our day-to-day words are forever in masquerade. They ensure that we aren't too blunt, too clueless, too politically incorrect, too judged, too "basic," too in danger of hurting others' feelings, too frivolous, too awwwwwwwkwaaaard.

It's nothing short of A WHOLE LOT to consider, no? Real talk is our respite from it all. It's our dance-like-nobody's-watching form of conversation!

Side note: Donuts are a prerequisite of this discussion. That's just life on the real....because Sunday // because September. 

So let's do this dance! I've been thinking about illusions lately. What you see vs. what you get.

The above photos of my desk, friends, and food are an honest illusion. It's my admission to you that behind every pretty picture is a pajama-clad HOT MESS. (That's me!) Perspective, please--here's what's hanging out in my thoughts:

1. Social media is a poignant example. We've put ourselves on constant camera, on mic, on tape. Oy vey, dude! Selective portrayal has become a really unreal phenomenon.  These thoughts of a millenial (not me) on social media bubbled up from my bookmarks, see: A 20-something's Take on Social Media. 
2. Beauty intrigues me. And I still haven't quite figured out whether to consider makeup a help or hindrance to that. This Ted Talk by a makeup artist adds a few thoughts to the equation. Because we're in the business of real talk: I honestly do wonder if a wild streak of vanity is responsible for my curiosity.
3. Let's breakdown the why of FUCK YES. A good chuckle and an even better thought piece. It's a superb argument for why the grey area isn't really so illusory. Relationships happen to be the topic, but I'd argue that it applies to this whole dang shabang we call life.
4. I've taken precisely 2 ballet classes in my life. And dear god, it may've been the definition of comedy. But the NYC Ballet Company surprised me with this intersection of tragedy and art. Illusion of 9/11 rebirth in the best way. Not just for the dance-inclined. Give 'er a watch (or two)!
5. Vanity Fair's announcement of The New Establishment 2014 felt funky. Or I didn't know how to feel about it? Two realizations: the list is reeeeeeeal heavy on tech and reeeeeeeal light on women.
6. Joy, whose corner of the Internet I absolutely love, reposted "Eating: A Manifesto." Hey ladies & gents! It's important. Really, really important. Skinny is a weighty subject and an even weightier illusion. But the truth is, guilty doesn't look good on anybody. Let it go; let it flow.

In other news, I haven't even touched my homework. But well...I'm afraid that the future will have to wait. I've been too busy dancing like the 2:27pm still-pajama-clad crazy fool that I currently am. Whoa nelly. This confession is upfront, unapologetic, and just a tad awkkkkwarrrrd.

Best of all though, it's the art of straight up communication--real talk in its finest form. :)

love & other hugs,

l

The State of September

Can we admit that we're totally doggie paddling through September? I can't find a #2 pencil to save my life. Chipotle is turning into a food group. Oops-I-did-it-again 3am bedtimes are, well, oops. And then there's this maniac muffin bender.

I mean, if honesty is the best policy, let's just throw it aaaallllll out there. Really, I'm not above it.

This is the State of September. Reporting live from Senioritis-ville, USA.

I hope this pops over to greet you on a mellow Wednesday. If you're reading this, consider us friends. Because we can! If you're reading this, I hope you give a holler. That you tell me what's up and give me the lowdown.

I might call you after this, or you might send a message using what many'a Mom/Dad keep calling "that texting thing." They might send it in ALL CAPS or with 10 pictures of Uncle Hank's new goldfish or with their signature at the end "-Mom / -Dad." Just in case you forgot it was them.

Okay, so we may all be doggie paddling. Mom/Dad included.

Embrace this hot mess of a mid-week night's dream. Tell me about yours.

Here's mine:

• A year ago I was in France. And now, I’m officially a French minor. Which may or may not be translated as a sign to future people-who-care that I speak “croissant” fluently. It's a fact, but I still Can't Believe It's Not Butter.

• Nomad is fast becoming my middle name. I’ve moved back and forth 14 times in the past 3 years. Exploring is my nirvana! But being in a constant state of on-the-go makes permanence of place feel elusive. Everywhere is new and exciting but never truly yours. After 7 years, I finally made a room my own.

It’s not so much defined by place as it is by the essentials – the salt and pepper of my life. Ya know what’s a mind-bender? Figuring out what your personality would look like if boiled down to a design. Mine is minimalist, green and verdant. Vaguely reminiscent of the borderline between Earth and ocean. Like the outdoors...but indoors.

• You know by now that the Farmers' Market is my happy place. Yo, wanna know a secret? Food-loving as I may be, it's not the food that gets me. It's the universal language behind it. Do you see those smiles on other people’s faces? That’s why I’m smiling.

• My voice straight PEACED out this weekend. Losing my voice is aggravating and infuriating and inefficient...but oddly welcome.

Real talk: Losing your voice may very well be the universe’s clue to shut up and listen. Because that's how the cookie crumbles. Life is lived and played both silly and reckless. Jumping into traditions and throwing in a come-to-Jesus every now and then for good measure.

• I’m hit by a craving of real intellectual engagement. That's not a snub to Georgetown, as this article might suggest. It's just me...doing me. I’m considering learning Spanish via Duolingo. And maybe a crash course in coding via Code Academy too. Heyo!

• Songs? Song for Zula (Phosphorescent) and this end-of-summer mixtape

•  I'm reading Me Before You. (Kindle is a gamechanger!) The book reminds me of this. Because scary as death appears, it reminds us how to live.

Wednesday just got 10 feet deeper. Just keep swimming?

I'll be the girl rightttttt over thereeee. You know --- the one doggie paddling right there with you.

love & other hugs, l