Day 5:

High: The pinnacle of my day culminated in the writing of a letter to my father. I wrote him a letter detailing what he’s done for me. or with me, for which I am thankful. It’s important to communicate to those you love why and how they are fundamentally important to your life. One of the lessons Dave Carnegie teaches in his book, How to Make Friends and Influence People, is that what people pine for most of all is to feel important. If you can make someone feel important why shouldn’t you (even if their ego isn’t your responsibility). But, writing such a letter wasn’t so much for my dad as it was for me. It gave me the opportunity to gain perspective and gratitude (which studies show elevate your overall happiness).

Low: Lets just say I hate a dirty kitchen, especially when the countertops are cluttered with food and the knarly ish on the floor sticks to the bottom of your feet. YOU need to learn to clean while you cook.

Learned… I really enjoy cheesy apocalyptic novels.

Grateful for… Jillian Michaels… and YouTube… and baths… trashy apocalyptic novels… wine… and chocolate. Nothing kills the low of your day like a nice endorphin rush inspired by jillian Michaels “motivating” (i.e. screaming) you by remarking on every one of your insecurities (yeah, thanks Jill. I don’t need your help to know I have a pooch and my thighs jiggle), followed by a hot bath, a glass of wine, and, well, you get the idea. 

Day 4:

High: Eating spinakopia with my roommates.

Low: Realizing my high of the day was eating spinakopia with my roommates… Fatass.

Learned: Authors are utterly disappointing most of the time. Like stop trying to be appropriate.

Grateful: I’m grateful for Pinterest. Otherwise, my life would be boring and uninspired because let’s face it life is nasty, brutish, and short.

Day 3:

High: In my art history class today we discussed Judy Chicago’s, The Dinner Party, a configuration of a three-sided table set for 39 (13 on each side) famous women in history. Each of these place settings also illustrated the female genitalia, which holds importance with 1st generation feminists who were concerned with equating women with men on a biological basis.  Chicago’s piece was criticized by both antifeminists and feminists. Antifeminists were insulted by The Dinner Party’s sheer massiveness, a characteristic of prestige and high art (done only by men) making it impossible to ignore (not to mention the ubiquitous vaginas). Feminists criticized Chicago for her portrayal on the basis of biological context because at the time, in the 1970’s, feminism was making a shift in its understanding of women and their roles in society based upon gender as a social construction rather than biology. In this way, Chicago placed herself in the essentialist trap further angering feminists because her powerful piece had undermined said transfer of feminists ideals into the 2nd generation. Anyway, my high of the day was coming up with the possibility that perhaps Chicago was trying to be ironic because men had for so long reduced women by the limitations of their biology and she was in a way throwing that back at them. Sort of like a fuck you.

Low: It started down pouring rain after my last class and so I made the wretched decision to go home instead of going to meditation club, which threw off my whole day. Luckily Emily did go and gave me the rundown: meditation retreat in Crete for a week. I think yes.

Learned: I learned that just because you don’t like someone when its just the two of you doesn’t mean you should write them off. I find this one person in my life currently very surface– does’t have anything important to say about anything– but in a group I really enjoyed this persons presence and I couldn’t imagine not being friends with this person. Even if we are just surface friends. Because that in and of itself does carry meaning. Do you ever think that the more oblivious one is the happier one can be? Perhaps there is something to be learned…

Gratitude: I’m grateful for my professors who truly care about their students and their wellbeing. One of my professors was late to class because she had to yell at the registrar for changing our class because now  students were going to have to walk out in the rain to catch their cold. This is kind of a trivial example but it still means something to me none the less.

Day 2:

High: Emily proposing to me in a game of marry, sex, kill: Seth Rogen, Jimmy Fallon, and Mr. Bean. I was DYING.

Low: Being in a bad mood over nothing for a solid three hours. I just hate being in a bad mood. I know I’m no fun to be around for anyone and no matter how much I try to repress it, I do just that and repress it, resulting in me being a complete sarcastic asshole. “The refrigerator doesn’t work unless you close it.”… “God Karen, you’re so stupid.”… “Where’s the cheese?… It’s in front of you, idiot (It was in my hand).” You get the picture.

Something I learned: I learned how to make these de-li-cious zucchini cakes and flava, which are traditional greek foods. I feasted.

Something I’m Grateful for: I’m grateful for having such patient and kind roommates who obliviously put up with my snarkiness and assholic tendencies.

Packing

Packing for a big trip presents an interesting challenge: how does one put their entire life into, what basically is, a 29″ box? How does one quantify themselves in a 50 lb checked bag? Not only is packing, in this case, challenging in sense that, “Oh shit! I have to pack clothing for two seasons, textbooks for my 15 unit course load, my makeup, hair product and it must all fit into a 29″ box?!?  AS IF?!?,” but it’s also challenging in the sense that it forces you to figure out (in what must be noted as a very short period of time) what’s most important to you. I just hope I still have some hair left by the time I step off the plane in Athens… Otherwise, I might look like that weird kid from the third grade who sits in the far corner of the class eating a cocktail of his own hair and glue, which results in having no friends and an utterly miserable existence in which I develop a sever case of hodophobia in which I have to hospitalized at a psychiatric ward.

But, I am getting ahead of myself. EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE FINE (yoga breath… oooommmm).

So far a collection of white shirts have made the cut as well as my bomber jacket, chucks, a piece of cardboard that reads,”Nudist on Strike…” An ad from a fishing magazine my roommate Chris posted above my bed after splitting a handle of Jack Daniels which resulted in me vomiting on every square inch of our apartment. The words, “YAK ATTACK” have been highlighted proceeded by a long hahaha (Thanks Christopher, this one holds a special place in my heart). And finally a photo of my best friend, Alex and I (AKA Babcock). Yes, her name is Babcock. And, yes, you do have my permission, as her best friend, to continue on with laughter.

I haven’t really talked to Alex in several months. Mostly because I stopped smoking and our friendship mostly revolved around that. But she’s still my best friend and no one can replace her. I can’t count the number of times I’ve called her hysterical because of who knows what and she’s the only person who can get me to see the bright side.

I wouldn’t be the person I am today if it wasn’t for her. She held my hand as I kissed my comfort zone goodbye. And thats when my life began– when I met Alex and left my comfort zone…

I figure that I’d need that photo just in case I got lonely or forgot why I am now living in Athens.

I leave tomorrow and I’ve planned my day to go something like this:

6 a.m. WAKE UP

6:15 a.m. Walk to Marie’s Donuts and buy a dozen donuts

6:30 a.m. Share a cup of coffee with dad (the most delicious cup of coffee ever! He says the secret ingredient is LOVVVEEEEEEE)

6:45 a.m. Eat dozen of Marie’s (you’d understand if you knew Marie)

7:30 a.m. Proceed into food comma

8:00 a.m. Try to overcome food comma by taking Sadie and Sammi to the dog park

9:00 a.m. Finish packing

10:15 a.m. Leave for the airport

10:45 a.m. Check in for flight and check bag

1:45 p.m. Take-off

p.s. On Sunday my dad convinced me to go to confession after 5 years. He did this by telling me, “You know, just in case.” “Incase of what?” “In case your plane is attacked by a terrorist and you die. You don’t want to go to hell. Eternity is a long time.” Needless to say, I was ROFL.

When I Grow Up…

So, when I was 9 years old I remember for the first time discussing with my father my future. The typical questions were asked encompassing the general notion that one day my father would no longer take care of me and I’d have to take care of myself. Little did I know, from that moment on I’d be taking care of myself, my innocence lost.

You see, my parents recently divorced, my mother jailed, and my two younger brothers and I left to cope with the circumstances of a series of unfortunate events.

Ever since I can remember I’ve enjoyed long walks. Not for the refreshment of exercise, but for the opportunity to escape the particulars for which I was victim to and dream of the possibilities that might find me tomorrow. In the famous words of Scarlet O’Hara, “After all, tomorrow is another day.”

I’d roam the streets of Curtis Park (and sometimes even go so far as to make my way Downtown) studying the carefully groomed yards and freshly painted homes of “normal” middle-class families. I studied the way the other side lived, wanting so badly to be on that other side. I’d see a mother call her kids in for dinner or a father teaching his son the technique for throwing a curve ball. The “togetherness” of these families seemed palpable.

So, here I am 9 years old discussing with my father my future plans. I was of course going to go to college and since I loved the homes of my neighbors so much I thought it appropriate to design as an architect similar houses for families just like them. And that’s what I told people up until I was 15 years old and a sophomore in high school when anyone asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Now, at the age of 20 and in my third year of college, when asked that very same question I answer… differently (to say the least). I have since given up the idealism character of my younger self, of the Brady Bunch-esq family unit. Normal is no longer normal (if it exists at all). And here I am about to embark on an adventure unbeknownst to me or anyone else for that matter. Getting to the point of this post (and this blog for that matter) I’m moving to Athens, Greece for six months to study abroad (who knows, maybe I’ll stay and never return to California). Moreover, this blog is about me and growing up and being a “young adult” and being a girl and becoming a woman and all that crap people preach.

So here’s to you and me and being happy!

Cheers and Happy New Year!