My Addiction

It’s official. I have an addiction problem. I just can’t help myself. It’s so easy to get. It makes me feel better when I’m in a bad mood. When I don’t want to do school work, I turn to it. Most of all, I enjoy sharing it with my friends. Yes . . . Sex and the City is my form of crack.

The show is so smart! Not only did it challenge what can be shown on television with its sexual content, but also it’s so witty! The dialogue is written so well and the audience really gets a feel for whom the characters are. Before you know it, you’re hooked. A strong attachment to the girls and their relationships with each other and with men quickly develops. Suddenly you find yourself feeling for them and relating to them. The character development that occurs throughout the six seasons is sensational and by the end they are completely different women: older and wiser. Other than all the expensive shoes and extravagant outings, it’s so real! Who hasn’t wondered where prince charming is, been skeptical of men, yearned for great sex, and fallen for a man just like Big?

I realize this sounds a little crazy. It’s just a television show, these women aren’t real! But they are real. I have several Charlottes, Mirandas, Samanthas and Carries in my life. I’ve always been envious of the friendship the women on the show share. It wasn’t until a couple of years ago that I really began to appreciate the friendships I have with women. They are so special, empathetic, and tender. My girlfriends have become a part of my soul. The few that come to mind may not even know they have this special place in my heart, but their role in my life is precious.

I will continue to watch seasons one through six of Sex and the City over and over and over again (and will be attending the guest appearance of Candace Bushnell here at USC next week!). I will laugh and I will cry every time. It serves as my therapy and, because of its deeper meaning, enlivens my day . . . my heart . . . my soul.

The Best Costume Ever

John, Will, and John Michael a.k.a. the 1900 boys

I was told I did a fantastic impersonation of Will. And I definitely chose the right outfit for the job.


Last night was our graduate programs first Halloween costume party of the weekend. Hosted by the 1900 boys (that’s their address) and fabulously decorated by the wonderful SPA social committee (of which I am a proud member), the party was filled with wonderful costumes: zorro, the three blind mice, Dolly Parton, and even a shacker from South Tower. The hit costume of the night however was one that two girlfriends and I had been planning for a month. We went as the 1900 boys.

These three guys are good friends of ours and have distinctive personality traits and looks. Rachel, Stef, and I each picked a guy to impersonate. After weeks of brainstorming and anticipation, the day of the party finally arrived. Yesterday afternoon we sneakily ransacked their house for articles of clothing we could use as our costumes. We dressed, danced, and behaved like them the entire night. I’ve never had so much fun with a costume. The guys just about died when we walked in the door wearing their clothes (I now know why guys carry so much around in their pockets: there’s so much room!). The costumes were a huge success! I love Halloween!

Where's All the Romance?

“There is a time of year in New York when, even before the first leaf falls, you can feel the seasons click. The air is crisp, the summer is gone, and for the first night in a long time, you need a blanket on your bed. It brings up other needs as well . . .” ~Sex and the City.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about romance. It seems to be hidden . . . or missing. Unless watching movies or television, romance is a mysterious occurrence. What happened to romance? Dancing to “Moon River,” breakfast in bed, a flower on your pillow, a long goodbye at the airport. Maybe “what happened” is the wrong question, because I believe it’s out there. But where is it?

I think romance is hidden because people are afraid of it. Romantic gestures from women make them look obsessed and desperate. Men seem turned off by bold actions from women, hence women are afraid to do them. Afraid to tell men we’re interested, afraid to lean closer to seal the kiss, and afraid to say anything remotely sappy.

Romantic gestures from men make them look soft and vulnerable. Men don’t want to admit their feelings. Heaven forbid they should have loving feelings for one special woman and actually express them.

Yet I think men might actually have a better grasp on romance than women. It just takes them longer to understand it. Younger men have more fear and often think romance requires a large (a.k.a expensive) kind of gesture. Older men (and by old, I actually mean as young as 26ish) understand romance better. They aren’t afraid of it anymore and realize what romance means.

Yet, while taking all this time to figure it out, have women turned cynical? If a 26 year old woman receives a romantic gesture from a 26 year old man, will she furrow her eyebrows and wonder “what’s gotten into him?” The answer is probably yes if she’s known this man for a long time and was always wondering why he couldn’t get a clue. Now all of sudden he has feelings?

Sometimes I find myself becoming cynical and I scream “Wait! It’s too early! You’re too young to become cynical and give up on romance!” I won’t give up. It’s out there. I’ve seen it. I’ve even felt it. One day I’ll find it again and it will be better than ever.

Return to the Lone Star State

I went to TX this past weekend for TCU’s homecoming. We had fall break at USC and I figured this would be the only homecoming where I’m guaranteed to see a lot of people I know. I can’t tell you how much I miss good Mexican food and good Margaritas……and the people.

My time here at USC has been phenomenal and I have met some great people that I know I will be friends with for a long time. I have learned about koozies and graposas, attended a trucker hat party (where my friend dressed me up like I was his Barbie, hence the photo below), experienced SEC football, laughed at John Michael Pantlik’s dancing, worn sunglasses at night, and learned that the best way to avoid drama is to go home early and only confide in those you trust.

I was worried that going back to Fort Worth would make it hard to return to Columbia, but it didn’t. I was excited to return to my apartment and catch up with my friends here. I just realized that this is the way it is now. In a lot of ways, it sucks. Those friends in TX that I used to spend time with daily are people I will only get to see every couple of months now. But the anticipation of seeing them is exciting also. It’s what you have to look forward to. I also know now not to set expectations so high because you never know what is going to happen. I wish I had had more time with people this past weekend or been brave enough to make a bold gesture with that guy. But there’s always next time...

Crazy Times at Carolina

Who knew that having a trucker hat theme party would be such a success? A week ago everyone was wearing a trucker hat at DD&T’s house. We were thuggin it out to Mike Jones, playing beer pong, and acting crazy. And the week before I laughed so hard at JMP that my ribs hurt the next day. Who knew Knock-Knock could be such a fun place? Good old Columbia. It’s never dull.

Pet Peeves

Recently, I was asked about my pet peeves. At the time I could only think of one, but now that I’ve had some time to think about it (and for some of the pet peeves to happen) I’ve accumulated a list.

First I felt the need to really consider what “pet peeve” means. There are things that creep me out (like being barefoot outdoors or in public places) and bother me (the word “retarded”), but I wouldn’t consider these pet peeves. The American Heritage Dictionary defines a pet peeve as “something about which one frequently complains; a particular personal vexation.” So lately I've been paying extra close attention and anytime something has happened that made me sigh with annoyance, I added it to my mental list of pet peeves.

The list is fairly short, but I’m only going to entertain you with the top two. My number one pet peeve is when I make an effort with someone, but they don’t make an effort with me. When I make an effort to keep in touch with someone, get together socially, write an e-mail, or place a phone call, yet that person does not respond in any way, that drives me crazy. Whether this avoidance is intentional or not doesn’t matter. It will still drive me crazy. For one, it’s just plain lack of common courtesy. Secondly, it gives the impression (whether correct or not) that the person considers themself superior. It only makes it worse when people are oblivious to their rudeness or try to hide their dismissal by saying things like “hi stranger” and “why didn’t you talk to me when I saw you the other day?” I didn’t talk to you because you have not acknowledged my effort!!!! Hello?!?!? There are two people to every relationship! And the funny part is that I think people assume I will continue to try and get in touch with them . . . but I won't. I get so fed up that I eliminate them from my life (yikes! that sounds so drastic) until they make an effort with me. This pet peeve actually leads to other pet peeves such as people who think they are the only ones who are busy . . . but I won’t get into that.

My second pet peeve is people who stand too close to me in lines. Standing close to me in line will not get you to the front faster. It will not make the line move any quicker. All it does is invade my space and cause me to move closer to the person in front of me or stand to the side, slightly outside the line. Back off.

I actually find pet peeves pretty amusing. I recently heard of someone doing an icebreaker where students shared things they disliked instead of things they liked and apparently it stirred up lots of good conversation. When my pet peeves happen, they don’t make me angry. At the most, I roll my eyes or offer up an annoyed sigh, but I usually find myself feeling sorry for the other person because they are so oblivious to their own actions (this leads to slight amusement). But just to be safe, respond to my messages, return my phone calls, make an EFFORT and stand at least a foot away from me in line.

My eye has a sty. Why oh why?

(Don’t worry. This isn’t another rhyming poem.)

Most of the time you can’t even tell there’s anything wrong with my eye. But I most certainly can!!! I wake up in the morning and one eye is swollen half shut. I look like the cartoon hunchback from Notre Dame. It hurts when I blink and laugh hard (I guess because my eyes scrunch up). I’ve been tending to it, trying to make it go away because, frankly, it’s unattractive. I blame this all on the no soap camping trip.

Last night the local newspaper came over to my apartment and took pictures for the food article they interviewed me for. The food was the focus, but they did take a couple of me. At that point, my eye had gone down and wasn’t as noticeable . . . unless I smiled. Then it was very obvious one eye was open wider than the other. This morning it was puffy again and tomorrow night we are all going dancing. I sure hope my eye goes down because I think it might affect my dance moves and that just won’t do.

(By the way: This entry is meant to be funny because of its satirical dramatization (not an example of high maintenance!). This week has been fabulous and the sty has really been an odd form of entertainment for myself and the wonderful people I interact with daily.)

The South* Lesson #5

Don’t go anywhere without a koozie. I’ve never met such koozie obsessed people. When drinking a beer at the house, use a koozie. I had people over to my apartment and they were shocked when they learned I didn’t have a koozie for them to use. I think it actually dampened their drinking experience that evening. One of my friends has a basket full of koozies in his room. He must have at least 50! When we go out to bars, people have koozies in their back pocket. After they order a beer from the bar, they whip out the koozies and use them to snuggle their brusky. And heaven forbid you forget to bring your koozie to the tailgate.

I’ve also never seen so many sunglasses with the loop around your neck. I don’t even know what these are called or if they have a specific name. These sunglasses have a strap on them, so when you take them off they can just hang on your kneck. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen this before, but these sunglasses are everywhere here!

*The South refers to my experiences in South Carolina. I, in no way, am a reliable source for the entire South and am unaware whether or not my experiences are representative of this unique section of our glorious nation.