Family Dynamics

Yesterday my sister asked me for help on her algebra homework; she needed help finding the y-intercept.  In response, I told her that finding the y-intercept was easy and that if she paid attention in class instead of talking all the time she would know how to find it herself. Yeah, I know, I sounded just like my mother. Maybe it’s because I haven’t taken an actual math class since my junior year of high school (I don’t count statistics as actual math, sorry), but, to be honest, I have no clue how to find the y-intercept . I just vaguely remember it being extremely simple back in 8th grade when I had to do it all the time.   Because I regretfully have this thing called a conscience, I told Carrie I was sorry for pulling a “mom” and that I would try my best to help her, to which I received “nevermind, I don’t want your help.”  I’m not going to lie, I’m glad she said that, because I didn’t really want to re-learn algebra.

A few days ago, my dad bought a new lawn-mower and was telling me all about it over lunch.  Though I didn’t really care whatsoever about how large the wheel base was, I continued smiling and nodding while listening intently.  Somehow the conversation got around to how different my sister and I are in general.  See, my sister has this idea that my father likes me more than her just because we spend a lot of time together.  My dad, though he acts all tough and jokes with Carrie about it, secretly worries about the reasons behind her feeling this way.  So, he asked me about it and I told him that it’s probably a mix of him not knowing how to talk to a 13-year-old socialite, and her not willing to talk about whatever it is that interests him.

“I mean, Dad, do you really think I care about the lawn mower?” I asked.

I proceeded to jokingly explain to him, that Carrie hasn’t learned how to feign interest in things that he’s talking about, so she often feels a disconnect.  He said he understood…and then proceeded to tell me more about his lawn mower. 

It’s funny how familys function, especially mine.  At the risk of being cheesy, I’d say my family is a lot like those one might see on a modern sitcom, just minus all the lovey-dovey, making-up in thirty minutes time part.  We argue, we joke, we do/say stupid things and then act like we meant to do/say them all along to make a point, it’s really quite comical.  My grandparents do everything in their power to embarass me and my sister in public just because they can. My dad often acts like the tough jokester who doesn’t care, but secretly has a big heart.  My sister’s the teenage socialite, who is mortified by my parents more often than not.  And then there’s my mom who holds us all together in the end.  Oh wait, and there’s me…I guess I’m the nerd who has big ideals but often does really stupid things despite being somewhat intelligent…I’m not sure how to classify myself exactly, but I fit in there somewhere.

Viewing the World as a Passenger.

First off, I had a great time in South Carolina (minus the sunburn which is now beginning to peel and is therefore grossing me out as we speak) and enjoyed one last run through Fredericksburg before I offically began my summer hiatus. 

That being said, I was utterly exhausted yesterday.  However, because it was mother’s day, I once again had to do a bit of traveling in order to see Cirque du Soliel (please tell me I spelled that right) with my mom.  The show was amazing, as was to be expected, and it was awesome to spend some time with family, despite almost falling asleep during intermission. But I think the best part about the entire day was the mere fact that I didn’t have to do any driving. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love to drive, but it was nice to have a bit of a break this weekend.  Ever since I’ve had my liscense I’ve been the chaffeur of sorts for my family and friends.  So, while I’ve travelled a lot of miles, I don’t get to see much scenery.  

Yesterday afternoon, as we were making our way home from the show via interstate 81, I admired the beautiful green mountain sides for the first time in years.  Yes, I travel that same strecth of road over and over again all year going to school, but as the driver I’m so concentrated on the road that I can’t really appreciate the world around me. Ok, more like I’m too busy being angry at someone in front of me for going under the speed limit in the left lane, but whatever.  Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I actually enjoyed being the passenger this weekend.  Also, I should probably not plan two crazy trips for the same week in the future just so I can maintain some sort of conciousness when I return.

SPF 55

I can only think of one way to describe my current predicament: this morning I left my friend Calya’s apartment as a girl and returned a blonde-haired lobster sans the claws. I’ve only spent one day in South Carolina and have received the most painful and awkward sunburn of my life.  I’m not kidding, just sitting here typing this is hurts.  My back and shoulders are completely fired aside from the white “x” made by the criss-crossing straps of my top. The backs of my thighs are also a very red shade of pink and sitting down has become and interesting ordeal.  I even have weird red blotches on the tops of my feet.  In fact, the only parts of my body not protected by clothing that survived the UV rays were my arms and face, which are a nice tan color, and my lower legs, which are still as white as ever.

So you read this and you think “didn’t the fool put on sunscreen?”  Yes, yes I did.  Spf 55 sunscreen to be exact.  And what good did it do me?  Let’s just say I’d hate to see what I would have looked like had I not applied the so-called SPF 55.  I learned my lesson: always re-apply, even if you still look like a ghost.

The best part about this experience is that Cayla has the exact same awkward burn.  Ok, so maybe that’s not the best part.  But there’s nothing that strengthens the bonds of a friendship like baking under the same sun and then crying every time you move afterward.

Three Days and Counting

 

This morning I received my wake-up call from my new roommate when 15lbs covered in fur pounced on my face.  My dog neeced to go to the bathroom at 7:15  and couldn’t get out of my room because the door was shut.  It’s times like these I begin to miss my college roommate.  She may snore, but at least she can take herself to the bathroom without letting me know first.  (I love you, M Gavs!)

 I’ve been home on summer break for a whopping three-and-a-half days. So far I’ve filled out six job applications and had my first rejection because I have to return to school in August.  I’ve also managed to watch the entire 4th season of Lost for the second time (granted it is the shortest one).  And I’ve successfully unpacked all my things in the mean time.   It’s official, I’m bored. 

But it’s all good, as long as I don’t have to sit around staring at the wall all summer.  I will make alternative plans before it comes to that.  Currently, I’m debating whether I can force a trip to Columbia, SC between now and friday, when I’ll hopefully be returning to Fredericksburg for the day.  When not trying to figure out how I’m going to pay for these excurisions, I’m still praying for a job and wishing I had something to do.

Ha, wishing I had something to do.  Two weeks ago, I was begging to go home and do nothing.  And here I am, wishing the exact opposite.  Don’t it always seem to go, you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone? (What’s with me and the song lyrics these days?)  I guess that’s just part of being human; you always want what you can’t have, and when you get it, it’s not what you want anymore.  As sad as that is, I’m living proof that it’s true. 

Oh well, what can you do?  I need to rumage my brain for that list of things I’d rather have been doing two weeks ago and then start doing them now.  Yesterday, I went to the bookstore and bought two more books to add to my long list of summer reading.  Sadly, I have yet to pick up the first one… I think I’ll do that now.

Rain, Rain, Rain

I don’t know if anyone remembers the obscure Destiny’s Child song Happy Face; the one that goes “I woke up this morning, the sunshine was shining, I put on my happy face?” Yeah, probably not. Any way, I did not wake up this morning to sunshine and therefore, did not put my happy face. Instead, on the day that all of my things are going to be carried outside, I woke up to rain hitting my window. My things getting soaked does not a happy Lori make! So cranky me rolls out of bed and into the shower, where I contemplate how inconvenient this natural phenomena is for me…funny, right? Like the world is just supposed to halt because something isn’t going to work for me. After this realization, I had another epiphany: as much as I hate being soaked in the rain, rain is actually a good thing. Rain is one of the many ways that God maintains life on earth. It provides the world with water to drink and allows plants to grow, which in turn produces oxygen so we ungrateful humans can breathe. Okay, okay, I realize this is Biology 101, but it’s amazing how often I forget this tiny bit of information.

Now back to the song that no one on the planet remembers. The lyrics continue on to say “I’m living, I’m able, I’m breathing, I’m grateful, to put on my happy face.” As much as it pains me to say that Destiny’s Child is right, the facts are in the lyrics. So, though it is now legit thunder-storming outside my window, I’m still alive and grateful for another day. Besides a little rain never hurt anyone anyway. I’ve decided to put on my happy face.

Last Night as a College Sophomore and What Do I Do…

I realize that all my worldly possessions don’t even take up a quarter of my room after packing, which somehow leads to a midnight  IHop run (who knew mozzarella sticks costed more than pancakes), and then…I start a blog?  I’ve toyed with the idea of starting one of these things for awhile now, and even did for a bit last year.  But I’ve never really been the blogging type.  I guess it’s because I don’t really feel I have anything worth saying on the internet.  That, and I don’t really remember to keep up with posts.  Yet, I feel like having a blog would be right up my alley.

As an English major who happens to specialize in creative writing,  I love to write.  Now, though that may seem like a “captain obvious” sort of statement, it holds merit.  Though I love to write, I don’t do it nearly enough.  I mean, I write a lot of academic papers as a college kid, but I never write just to write.

Today, I took a literary exam from hell that consisted of 7 extensive short answers (though I have no idea why they were called short answers seeing as I had to write at least two blue book pages for each one) and one long essay.  As I was only allotted 2&1/2 hours to finish, it is needless to say that my hand hurt afterward and I felt a little less than satisfied with my performance.  So I’m walking on campus, running through the exam in my head, and I get this thought: “maybe I don’t want to be an English major anymore, maybe I’m not cut out for it.”  Now, I know this is slightly over dramatic considering it was just one bad exam, but this entire year has been about me constantly questioning what my life is about and where it’s heading.  So, I’ve been mulling over this thought since about 2:30 pm and have just now realized that it’s preposterous simply because nothing else really interests me.  I’ve been writing pretty much my whole life, and it’s the only way that I fully express myself.  Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you I don’t typically articulate things very well, I work better on paper.  It just makes sense for me to be an English major then, right?  I just need to remind myself what it is that I love about it.  Which is why I’m here. I’m here to write because I’m sick of academic writing, I just want to express myself.  And what better way than to express yourself, than through a blog…or so I’ve been told.

Not going to lie though, this whole experience is new and I can’t guarantee it will be a regular type of thing.  But I think I’ll give it a shot.

P.S. Some random guy just scared the crap out of me when he walked in to my apartment, stared me down and then exclaimed “OH, wrong room.”  I found it rather humorous.