one year later

Okay folks, it's sharing time. There's something I haven't mentioned yet that I've been meaning to discuss for a while. You see, long, long ago (last year), in a land far, far away (quite close actually), I was living in a house with 59 other women. (And no, I do not mean a brothel, you weirdos...)

I am, in fact... a sorority girl.

Yep, you heard me. I drank from coozies, I sported pearls, I bought god knows how many T-shirts to support god knows how many philanthropic causes, and I wore headbands. Lots and lots of headbands.

Perhaps this doesn't surprise some of you. I certainly have my tendencies (ie. wearing Nike running shorts to the grocery store and pearl studs from time to time), but here's what you must know. I go most days with little to no makeup on. I wait until the nail polish on my toes chips away so badly that some kind friend actually mentions something to me and THEN I decide it's time for a pedicure (what? they can get expensive.) I don't own anything Lilly Pulitzer (truth be told I actually just googled it to see if it was spelled with one L or two) and I've never actually purchased a spray tan. (Okay, one time I tried that Neutrogena stuff but it just made me sticky and I started to smell weird. I don't recommend it.) Anyway, you get the picture. If you saw me on the street, you might think I could almost pass for a normal, non-greek part of society. But alas, you'd be wrong. 

So judge me if you will, and let the many stereotypes that are currently flooding your brain run rampant (or feel free to find new ones by following this account on Twitter, it makes me chuckle), because the truth is... it was awesome. Sororities may get a bad wrap sometimes, but at least for me, it was one of the best decisions I made coming into college. I met amazing people, got to make incredible memories that I'll carry with me all my life, and it really made my college experience a full and meaningful one.

When I graduated, I left school with a group of about eight girls that made up my closest pledge sisters. You can identify them in this graduation pic to my right. (What? The carefully coordinated orange and blue ensembles were a coincidence, I swear.) I think there's just something about the people you bond with in college. They're with you in your bad decisions (aka that fourth tequila shot) and your momentous victories (landing a killer internship in NYC.) I did so much growing in those four years and these girls saw it all. After college ended, we pretty much all scattered about the East Coast pursuing our various careers, but vowed to get back together at least once a year for a reunion trip. Even if we were terrible at keeping in touch, this would be our time to reconnect.

And that trip, hallelujah, was this past weekend in Amelia Island. Which is incredibly hard to believe considering I remember when it felt like a lifetime away. When I moved to North Carolina and started my first job not knowing a single soul, all I wanted was to fast-forward life one whole year and be with my best friends again - the people that knew me best. But I couldn't. So I figured it out on my own. And over the past year I've changed a lot. I mean, A LOT.

What I honestly didn't expect was all the anxiety I felt coming into our trip because of those changes. Of course I kept up with everyone throughout the year, but I guess I started feeling insecure about the person I had grown to be. What if that person was so different from the college me that I would no longer fit in with my best friends? (It sounds crazy, but again, these are the girly thoughts that plague my mind.) I kept thinking most of the choices I made aren't exactly the easiest to relate to. I'm the only one living with my boyfriend (in sin of course, sorry Mom) and the only one that has already moved on to my second job. Jason's job requires him to have an internet TV show and get paid to wear t-shirts (yeah, super relatable), and as far as they know, my job requires me to Facebook all day. I never really go out any more and have hung up my heels in favor of lazy Friday nights with some sushi and a movie. And then there's this blog of course, something that is undoubtedly a little odd to them - writing down my whole life for the internet to see, criticize, enjoy, comment on, share, etc.

So yeah, I was scared. Not to mention sarcasm is pretty much the language of our friend group, so I was heading in with the expectation of fielding at least a snarky comment or two. What I realized is that I didn't give my friends enough credit, and quite frankly, I was pretty silly (nice word for dumb) to think that I was the only one that had changed. As we chatted on the beach and drank wine in our PJ's (soooo sorority, btw), it became clear that each of us, having had time away from the group, had evolved into our very distinct selves and found our identities outside of the group. That was my favorite part of the weekend - seeing who everyone had grown to be just one year later. 

I think growing up is about whittling away the layers of uncertainty and getting down to the heart of who you are. I'd like to believe that with each passing year I will become more and more "myself." Now I realize that journey will never really be complete, but that's not the point. All I know is I'm looking forward to the journey.

This weekend completely surprised me. Before, I guess I felt that I was somehow betraying half of myself by living with one foot on each side of a line - my old self and my new self. Am I the frat-tank-loving, headband-wearing somewhat artsy girl that all my girlfriends knew in college? Or am I the tech-loving, social-media-craving full-on-craftypants girl that loves to blog? My conclusion is that I'm both.

I thought if I couldn't decide on which person I associated myself with, it was somehow like I was lacking individuality. As it turns out, being both of those things IS my individuality. I like chick flicks AND sci-fi movies. I may stalk wedding albums on Facebook (what, act like you don't) but I also post infographics and links to Kickstarter projects too. I have always been proud of myself for being open-minded, but it seems in a twist of irony, by not fitting into one of my predetermined boxes, I actually confused myself. It's not one or the other. It's both. And following this weekend, I got the validation from my friends that I needed to feel like though I may have grown up a bit, we all have, and that's okay.

I'm my own person and whether that is a sorority girl or not doesn't matter. Either way, I have the best friends a girl could ask for and I can't wait until a year from now when I can see my friends, and myself, get that much closer to the people we have always meant to be.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go do a keg stand and volunteer my time to a charity. (Thanks for reading this far - it was a long one!)

pure michigan

Okay I feel terrible. Just terrible. Here I am making all these fancy promises about posting regularly and Michiganese story-telling and whatnot, and yet, nothing. Well before you go jumping on my case, I defend myself by saying I've been really, really... really busy. Points for a super original excuse? No? Okay, it's a lame excuse and I know it. I confess my lack-of-blogging sins and ask for forgiveness. Let's just move on, shall we? Even though we returned from our trip a week and a half ago, tales I promised you and so it's tales you shall have. Which brings us to...

Michigan. 

Puuuuuure Michigan. Okay, just kidding. I only said that because I can't say the word Michigan now without hearing Tim the Toolman Taylor's soothing voice whispering those two majestic words in my ear. (Another win for the evil-doers known as advertisers!) Although, I can tell you first-hand, the state does have a unique tranquil vibe to it. Tim Allen was an excellent voiceover choice. But I digress. 

Now for your sake (and the sake of your attention span) I won't take you through each and every detail of our trip to the fair city of Grand Rapids, Michigan. Just know, delicious meals were eaten (see waffle.) Belly laughs were had (see ridiculous picture of me on a giant tire swing.) Grand Rapids never knew what hit 'em.

The part that does beg to be discussed, however, is one of the few times in my life I have felt like I was living in a movie. You know, one of those moments where you take a step back and go, Is this really my life? I'm far too flawed a human and have not worked nearly enough to deserve this good fortune...  Well that's exactly what I said on Thursday morning when we checked into the JW Marriott Grand Rapids (fan-freaking-tastic hotel by the way), and I learned we would be staying in the Founder's Suite as a part of the hotel's sponsorship with Jason. Now I'm not entirely certain who these "founders" are, but let me assure you, they have exquisite taste.

As we approached the suite, I noticed that the entry had double doors, which gave me a small indication of the type of situation we were about to walk into. However, nothing could have prepared me for how beautiful this place was. It was massive. You could tell every last detail was thought of and no expense was spared. And of course, being the sophisticated woman I am, immediately following the departure of the bellhop, I went running from one end of the suite to the other stopping in every room to do a few loops, just because I could. (Post freak-out I was actually out of breath - not sure if that indicates how big the place was or how out of shape I am.) Also, I may or may not have done a front flip onto the bed. So what if I'm an infant? It was fun! Here are a couple photos of the nicest place I have ever rested my head (again, my poor photography skills don't do it justice. I'm working on it though, I promise.)

It was simply incredible. The suite itself was beautiful of course, but the experience of enjoying it was what made it so memorable. Growing up, my family never had a ton of money and while I had a perfectly happy and wonderful childhood, "luxury" is honestly a completely new concept for me. I'm the girl who whispers to Jason How much does this cost? every time a flight attendant hands me something in First Class. (You think I'm gonna let that lady with a neck scarf pull one over on me? No way.) Anyway, because of this completely foreign concept, I tried to soak up every single moment I could.

Each morning I woke up with the sun pouring into the room through the huge bedroom windows. I would groggily roll over and the first glimpse of each day was this expansive view looking out over the entire downtown. For a few minutes (okay fine, a half hour) I would just lay in bed with the huge, fluffy, marshmallow of a comforter enveloping me. (Fun fact about me: I adore the sound of a crisp, cotton comforter shuffling against itself. If you haven't heard it, it's impossible to describe but hopefully someone out there knows what I'm talking about. It's a bit weird I guess, but the sound is one of life's simple pleasures to me.)

Also, it must be mentioned, as further proof of the fact that I'm dating a 13-year-old trapped in a 29-year-old's body, my mature, accomplished businessman of a boyfriend ordered a root beer float from room service on Thursday. (Reason #241 that I love him.) Seeing the hotel staff deliver it to such an expensive room on a wooden tray with a spoon so carefully presented was pretty hilarious. (Needless to say we ordered one every single day thereafter.) If a hand-delivered root beer float doesn't say luxury, I don't know what does.

At night I got to curl up on the cozy couch in the office and watch TV (and by watch I mean fall asleep to) while Jason worked at the desk. The glow of the lights from the city peeked through the window sheers and created such a wonderful warm light in the room. Just the ambiance you'd expect in a place called the Fouuuuundah's Suite (please read with hoity a toity self-imposed accent, because that's certainly how I wrote it.) I drank the delicious red wine that the general manager left for us at a completely unacceptable hour of the afternoon because, hey, it was vacation. Best of all, in a display of pure and unabashed girliness, I drew a huge bubble bath in the gargantuan tub and soaked while I watched the Meg Ryan chick flick "French Kiss" from the mounted flatscreen in the bathroom (playing on the Oprah Winfrey Network no less. Talk about quintessential girl activity.) Every second was absolutely heavenly. (Side note: Can we talk about how weird Meg Ryan's walk is? And where has she been for the past ten years? Weird.)

Now I would hope that the people close to me know that extravagance like this is not what's important to me. In fact, if I never have another chance to stay in a place like that again, it's fine by me because I don't think that's what leads to a full life. Still, I have to admit it was nice to have a peek at what true luxury is, and it was a great memory to share with my big-kid of a boyfriend. These are things I never imagined I would be able do when I was growing up. I'm so incredibly grateful for the experiences I've had thanks to Jason and the business he's created. I can't help but feel a little unworthy sometimes, but I can only hope that someday I find something I'm so passionate about that my hard work produces some incredible experiences of its own. Payback is gonna be awesome.

where clumsy comes in

First order of business, I survived the air travel to and from Michigan. (I know, you were worried.) In spite of some turbulence/lightning on the trip home, I also refrained from passing out, which I'm quite proud of. I plan to get a post up soon regaling you of my many Michigan travel tales, but I had to get this out there first... 

I consider it a day worth mentioning when I can say I managed to execute three flawless #clumsycarol moves in a matter of hours. Yep, if flailing was a sport, I pretty much pulled off a turkey today. 

Prepare to be dazzled...

Episode 1. Dinner at Bento would have been lovely had it not proved to be too difficult for me to maneuver without making a mess. About halfway through our meal, as I was reaching for my California Roll (way on the other side of my Bento Box), I accidentally painted my forearm with the spicy mayo atop my Special Mexican Roll. (Darn you, motor skills!) Hey, at least I wasn't wearing long sleeves or a jacket AND I was able to catch it as it happened instead of walking around obliviously for hours after. That's still a win in my book. 

Episode 2. After driving home from the movie tonight, I pulled into our driveway, grabbed my work backpack (black one-pocket Jansport, thanks for asking), and proceeded to ram my body into my horn as I exited the Corolla which let out a long, ridiculously loud honk. (If you follow my tweets, you know this has happened before. Possibly a few times before.) Given the fact that the mean age in our neighborhood is 62, I very well could have caused someone a heart attack. Not good. 

Episode 3. Approximately twelve seconds later, I walked into the garage in my foam Old Navy flip-flops (an excellent decision in footwear given the two-inch-deep puddle of water that practically covered the entire city today), and immediately my right foot took off sliding. (FYI: Wet flops + sealed concrete = bad news bears.) As my right foot ran away from my body, you can imagine how caught off guard my left leg must've been. It clearly decided the best course of action was to collapse underneath me, sending my left knee straight for the ground. Um, ouch. Yeah, pretty sure that will be leaving a bruise. 

Now let's all just take a moment to appreciate those three events in succession. I mean, I'll be the first to admit I have my clumsy moments but today's display was pretty incredible. I can't make this stuff up, people. 

As I picked myself up from my half-kneel and walked toward the door to the kitchen, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I opened the door and there Jason was, looking at first like What took you so long? and then soon thereafter like Oh god, are those tears? My knee was still in pain but when I managed to shove out a few words (words that made absolutely no sense in the order I put them in... fell... garage... knee... flip-flop...) I was so embarrassed/frustrated/amused by my clumsiness that I started laughing and sort of crying at the same time. 

Now ladies, if you really want to mess up a guy's world, might I suggest the ole' laugh n' cry combo. It's like the most hilariously mean mix of emotions you can throw at a guy because they have NO IDEA how to react. Oh god, they are tears. Wait... did I hear a laugh? Is she laughing? Oh crap, do I make a joke? I should make a joke. Or maybe I should hug her. But what if that makes her cry harder?? But she's laughing, so... yeah, I'll tell a joke.  Poor thing. Just hilarious. 

So here I am, finally in bed, no tears and no more throbbing knee. Even though times like these make me giggle in retrospect, there are definitely moments where I desperately wish I could be graceful and poised (and not fear for my life when I encounter a sealed concrete floor), but let's be honest, that would make for a far less interesting blog. Clumsy is simply one of the cards I was dealt in life and that's fine with me. At the very least I hope I can entertain a few people with it. Good night, and here's to hoping tomorrow goes a little more smoothly than today. 

are we there yet?

I hate flying. I really do. But you know what I like? Writing. So writing while flying I guess kind of evens things out. Yes, I'm feeling quite neutral at the moment. And neutral is certainly better than anxious.

Now before you go throwing your statistics at me about how my chances of dying in a plane crash are minuscule compared to a car accident or freak camel-riding accident (any Real Housewives of New York fans in the house?), don't bother. I'm not afraid of flying because I think I'm going to die (seriously, you all are morbid...) I more or less just hate the feeling of flying. I'm very sensitive to changes in pressure so my stomach feels like it's doing flips when we change altitudes (aka right now, EEP!) Plus when I'm up here I think too much about how planes really shouldn't work and something made of metal this heavy shouldn't be able to just float in midair. With 50 people on it. You planes and your black magic. Not to mention accessing the internet to write this post right now. I mean, how is that even possible? (ps. What is the internet anyway? Oh no, it's started...I'm thinking too much again...)

Anyway, as I'm sitting on this plane I can't help but be taken back to the many, many Friday evenings I spent on planes headed from North Carolina to Jacksonville. I was working up there while Jason (and my family) was in Jax and we were doing the long distance thing. I remember how I hated rushing out of the office to skidaddle to the airport and how I despised eating (and paying for) overpriced airport food and how bored I was during the ridiculously long layovers. But I also remember how happy it made me when I finally got to see Jason. Even though I knew it would only be for a day and a half each time, that was what "dating" was to us for a long time. I'm so thankful I had that time to live life out on my own if even just for a short while, but I'm more thankful that life is different for us now. I believe that life is as happy and full as the people that are around you, and I now get to surround myself with the people that mean the most to me. Even now, as I count the seconds until I'm on the ground again, I step back and realize how truly lucky I am.

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Okay, I have a sidenote. (What? Like you weren't expecting it?) Can we talk about whoever decided airport bathrooms should be just like normal bathrooms. Like really designers? We haven't come up with a better solution than stalls that are standard sized with doors that open IN? Yeah okay TSA, if you don't want me to leave my luggage unattended, how about you make it so I can fit my suitcase in a bathroom stall. I'd prefer not to look like I'm performing some sort of magic trick as I stuff myself into a small box. Hell, I don't know, chain my luggage to a wall when I walk in the bathroom. Don't care. Just an alternative to what we currently got going on because it aint working. That is all. Onward to Michigan!