Harder to breathe

"Joy Yee Noodle."

"Hi - delivery please?"

"Okay. What you want?"

"Um. 1 shrimp spring rolls, 1 Korean beef over rice.."

"Okay. That'll be $10.51."

"Wait! And 1 hot and sour soup."

"Small or large?"

"Small--no. Large. Yes. Large."

"Okay. That'll be --"

"Oh! and 1 raspberry freeze with tapioca."

"What?"

"Raspberry freeze with tapioca."

"...is that all?"

"Um. Yeah."

"Okay. Let me repeat the order back to you. 1 Vietnamese spring roll. 1 Korean beef over rice. 1 raspberry freeze with tapioca. and 1 large hot and sour soup."

"Yes."

"You want all of that?"

"...yes?"

I half-expected him to ask if it was all for me. Which it was. But you know. After you go a whole day without eating (okay, that's a lie - I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when I woke up, but you get the idea) you get mighty hungry after you come home from class at 9pm!

The Chinese food came 30 minutes later. And was gone 15 minutes after that.

But the ensuing stomachache has been raging hard for the past 2 hours.

There's a lesson here. It's just too hard to type out while I'm curled up in the fetal position.

Goodbye alice in wonderland

Three weeks.

In three weeks, I'll be graduating from college.

Three weeks.

Graduating.

I've been waiting for this moment for so long. Studying for tests and writing endless papers were all punctuated by one desire. Must. Get. Out. I was restless, itching to escape. My friends felt it too. We took full advantage of free weekends (and trust me, there weren't many) to not only catch up on sleep, but go window shopping on Michigan Avenue, watch that highly-anticipated movie that was panned by the critics, take random road trips to neighboring states - anything that got us out of our college-town bubble. Merely a week into each quarter, along with the side-by-side weather report comparisons for Miami and Chicago, countdowns would commence.

30 more days of class 'til spring break!

4 more weeks of school 'til FREEDOM!

2 midterms down, 1 more to go!

All of these countdowns were accompanied by exuberant smiley faces as vacations and time away from the dreaded libraries approached.

This quarter started off like every other. People in denial that our spring breaks were now behind us. Incredulous that instead of April showers, we got snow. And the countdowns quickly made an appearance. These countdowns had plenty of exclamation marks, because now, it was merely 8 weeks between us and graduation. Four tests between us and endless vacation (well - until our parents kicked us out of the house and made us get real jobs). One paper between us and the rest of our lives.

We were excited. We could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

But now that there are only three weeks left - three weeks! - those smiley faces next to our numbers have slowly changed to uncertain ones.

We can finally see the endgame. But that endgame comes with so much uncertainty. At the end of the tunnel, where do our lives lead? Away from each other? Intertwined still? Regardless, it's something new - and the new is always a little frightening.

I'll admit it right now. I'm scared to death. Sure, I have a plan. I know what I should be doing for the next ten years. But I'm still scared. After all, plans do change. And up until now, I haven't really had to face reality. Being at Northwestern has been great. I have these amazing friends who've created this safe and comfortable haven for me. With them, I am completely myself. And now that graduation is upon us, I'm realizing that I'm going to be a fish out of water soon. Walking the tightrope without a net. No one to rely on. I'm not ready to let go of these people. Call me clingy. Call me needy. Whatever. These people are good people. To think in a few months I'm going to have to start all over again. It boggles my mind. How exactly, am I supposed to find new friends when I've gotten so close and so comfortable with these?

I'm not the person I was four years ago. Four years ago, I was so excited to leave home and start college. The newness of everything was exciting. Boyfriends. Dating. The Midwest. My first roommate. Cafeteria food.

Four years later, I should be feeling the same way. Med school. Fiances. Weddings. My first apartment. My first job. But, instead of feeling excited, I'm a little scared of the unknown. And more than a little nostalgic about everything I'm going to be leaving behind. Just yesterday, I was eating dinner with my suitemates and I realized - next year, it's going to be me and the TV. Instead of conversations going through individual daily highs and lows, it'll be the newest CW dramedy keeping me company.

I'm stuck in the middle. The middle of what, I'm not quite sure. I'm not ready to leave, but I know I don't really belong here anymore. I can't wait to graduate, and yet, I can't bring myself to say goodbye because I know I'm not ready for that.

I've outgrown something I never realized I would miss and want to hold on to so much.

Chasing cars

It's decided. I want the Grey's Anatomy writers to be there to script every key point of my life. Don't get me wrong. I don't need that affair, or the fiance dying, or the dog getting put to sleep even. And there were some moments where I wanted to throw things at my TV (like when Izzie was being so very unethical, the sex scene, the dog dying unnecessarily, Cristina's inability to be there for her boyfriend). I cringed and watched the show through my fingers during much of the show. It was not my most favorite episode. But then there were those moments that made up for all of it.

Like when Denny proposed to Izzie with that line: "I want to go to bed with you. Wake up with you. And everything else in between with you." Or when McVet told Meredith that he wanted to make plans with her. He has plans, people! Plans! Or that touching touching moment when Alex picked up Izzie in that Prince Charming kind of way, and comforted her. Or when George told Callie that when he says those three little words to her, he wants to mean them, and not just say them for the sake of saying them. Or when Alex gave that amazing medicine-as-a-sports-team analogy.

And for heaven's sake - that ending song was great. If I lay here - if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget about the world?

I shouldn't like this show so much. But I do. Why? Besides the fact that I have two X chromosomes, it's because I can identify with so many of the characters. And because I hope for those kind of friendships. That kind of romance.

Now I'm sure some of you all are wondering why I'm rambling on about a television show and how it's possibly relevant to what I'm trying to say. Well here it is. I love those moments because you realize how much everyone cares for everyone else. Sometimes, I think I need a little bit more validation in my friendships. Anyone can be there for you. The question is, do they want to be there? I guess I measure my friendships by how much someone seeks me out in times of need, in times of whatever. It validates my friendship. It validates me. Because if they're going to seek me out, that means they value when I go to them unasked. It makes me realize that they want to be in my company. They appreciate it. Heck, maybe they even value it. Let's face it - my biggest worry is that I'm going to be that cousin no one wants to invite to the wedding, but everyone feels obligated to because you're The Cousin. I don't want to be that friend.

It's not just the words that I need. It's the actions. The feelings. The caring. Anyone can ask you how you are. And just as easily, anyone can brush off a bad day by merely saying, "I'm okay." A true friend, in my opinion, is going to probe to see if that "okay" is actually code for "really bad - and I need someone to hold me." That's what proves to me that you care about the friendship, about the friend. You make an effort. And it's not just any superficial kind of effort - you can see right through those. It has to be genuine, and let's not lie - it absolutely rubs me the wrong way if you're just going through the motions of being a good friend. And believe you me, I can tell. I've done it too. I'm not proud of it. And I hope to be better. But oh boy, can I recognize it.

Sometimes, a girl needs a really good hug. Or sweet nothings that make her swoon just a little, and wonder if she's living a fairytale. What this girl needs most is someone to want to make plans with her. Plans, people. Plans. Plans make a girl feel wanted.

Love is a marathon

I'm a bad friend.

I try so hard to be a good friend. To be there when someone needs me. To be supportive. To be that somebody you turn to for anything - whether it's a partner in crime, a person to laugh at (and with), the superhero sidekick, a shoulder to cry on, the voice of reason, the friend who helps you out when you're in between a rock and a hard place, whatever. I try.

But I so often fail. I'm realizing that I'm just a superficial friend. I'm great for the laughs, the girl talk, the silly psychoanalyzing of guy speak. Heck, I'm even pretty good at the comfort thing. I'm an amazing fair-weathered friend. I can even be a good friend when the weather is gloomy. It's when there's a torrential downpour that I can't be the good friend.

How am I a bad friend? Let me count the ways.

I have a friend who's made some poor decisions recently. I didn't say anything while she was making these choices, because I wanted to avoid the confrontation and I hoped that she would learn from the experience instead. Which is, in my opinion, the right thing to do. You don't want to be overly opinionated about other people's lives. But what do you do when they tell you that they regret those decisions, but continue making them over and over? Do you have the hard conversation that they don't want to hear and probably won't appreciate? You're supposed to step in and stage an intervention, but I can't.

I have another friend who had her heart broken recently. I was there when it happened and she needed the security of a support group. But that was months ago and she's still overly melodramatic and I can no longer deal with her "mourning period" as she calls it. I want to shake her and have her realize that the guy didn't like her and she needs to get over it. She needs to stop moping around, looking for people to sympathize with her. She's throwing her own little pity party, but no one wants to attend. Does my saying that make me a bad friend or just one who's reached the end of her patience rope? And if I'm really a good friend, shouldn't that rope be neverending? It's gotten to the point where I avoid talking to her, because I no longer know what to say.

Similarly (or conversely, depending on how you look at it), one of my other friends doesn't necessarily seek out my friendship, but I can't help but feel as though I'm his only connection to the outside world. And so I feel obligated to make sure he's doing okay. That he isn't immersing himself in a virtual world that acts as a safety net and allows him to hide from any actual contact and interaction with the real one. That's fine. I don't mind talking to him. But he hides from the real world because he's so bitter and jaded about his friends, about his life, about what he does have, and that's what makes it hard for me to have extended conversations with him. He sees only what he wants to see, and being a stubborn person myself, it's hard for me when people can't even acknowledge my point of view.

And then there's the classic example of holding a grudge. Once a friendship has had that huge argument or fight, there's no fixing it really. Even though I know I should forgive and forget, and I know that I have plenty of blame to share, I just can't get past it really. And that friendship is kinda irreparable, even though we might have been the best of friends to begin with.

Yet, I love my friends. I care about them intensely. If someone were to hurt them, I'd be out for a killing. So why is it that I can't love them unconditionally? Just as there are deal-breakers in relationships, there are little annoyances that get to friendships. The better a friend you are, the better you are at overcoming those pet peeves. But recently, I've hit hills that I can't get over.

Being a good friend is exhausting, and I've hit the point where I don't think I can be that person anymore. I want to be that person so desperately. I can't though. I'm hoping it's just because I need to recharge. But I'm not quite sure how.

And I apologize to those friends who read this and can see themselves in my words. I don't mean to vent or be judgmental. But some of these things have been on my mind, and this is my passive-aggressive way of having that hard talk.

Just walk away

I went out with my two guy friends the other day to see Mission: Impossible 3 (which, by the way, is directed by the uber-fabulous J.J. Abrams who writes and produces my most favorite makes-no-sense TV show, Alias, and thus can do no wrong by me, no matter who's cast in the lead role). Highly anticipated movie, great friends, awesome pre-movie trivia - this was gonna be one amazing let-your-hair-down kinda night. Speaking of letting my hair down, I looked disgusting - since I was pressing the 48-hour shower mark, my hair was overly greasy and I desperately needed to do laundry so I was wearing an outfit that didn't match in one bit - an ill-fitting purple almost-long sleeved shirt over jeans that I grew out of in the 8th grade. Just so you don't think my personal hygiene regime needs re-prioritizing - I was going to take a shower, but I couldn't because the shower system is so screwed up that instead of hot filtered water, you get ice-cold dirty polluted Lake Michigan water which probably would have made you even more dirty. Besides, I figured I was with my two guy friends of four years. They've already seen me at my worst (and as crazy as it might sound, yes, it could be worse). And it was a late-night Thursday viewing. Given how I know only nerds and study-aholics, it seemed highly improbable that any of my other friends would be out and about. Me and my greasy hair and wouldn't-be-caught-dead-in-except-when-you-have-nothing-else-to-wear outfit would be safe from any embarrassing run-ins.

Or so I thought. I should have thought about all the people who I definitely wouldn't want to run in to, and what they might be up to on a Thursday night, because remember this guy? My casual relationship guy? The one I've been trying so hard to avoid? Just as the lights dimmed and the previews started, he walked in with his own posse of male friends.

As I slouched farther down in my chair, they recognized my two guy friends and as they moved into the row right in front of us, turned around to say hello and give my friends the typical male-handshake/hug thing. Luckily, they didn't seem to see me, as I stared intently at the spilled popcorn on the floor, mentally berating myself for allowing myself to go out in public when I wasn't dressed to the nines. Thankfully the movie started.

When the credits started to roll, the guy and his friends got up to leave. Great, I thought, they'll leave now, and me and the boys can slink out afterwards. Only they were waiting outside to talk to my boys about Maggie Q's insanely gorgeous red dress (or rather, the body inside it). So as I walked out of the theater, there he was. We couldn't help but make eye contact, and I deliberately smiled at him, determined that my awkward days are long gone. Yet, instead of behaving maturely and smiling back and engaging in some pointless chitchat with me about the weather, he immediately dropped his eyes to stare at the floor. Muttering something about the bathroom to his friends, he took off.

My guy friends, popular boys that they are, managed to keep talking to these boys that they knew for a good fifteen minutes. Mind you, we were standing right next to the bathroom the whole time, and the guy never came back out. Finally, one of my boys finally recognized the awkwardness that could be, and came over and asked me if I wanted to leave. Nodding appreciatively at him, he yelled out to my other friend that we would be waiting by the car.

As we walked out the door, my friend looked at me, and trying to be comforting, said "Don't worry, you don't look that bad tonight."

During the course of the movie, I had completely forgotten what I looked like. It never fails - whenever I look my worst, I always run into the people I least want to see.

Crash and burn

The other day, I was thinking about how there's been a drought in "sponsored" posts on my blog. Maybe it's because my past beaus are either on another continent (insert they-couldn't-jump-over-hedges-fast-enough-to-get-away-from-me joke here), dating another girl who is so unlike me it's scary, thinking about dating another girl and tell me about it weekly (a clear sign that we must now be friends), or have sworn off girls in pursuit of that elusive PhD.

Anyhow, I've been enjoying my awkward-free days - minus that one incident with the away messages, which I've chalked up to mere coincidence. But wouldn't you know it...just when I think I can abdicate the Queen of Awkward throne, something happens that makes me realize that awkwardness follows my every move.

Last night, I was in Chicago to see my friends and do a little apartment shopping. Time got away from us, and after hugging them goodbye, I had to rush to make it to the bus stop in time. Now, mind you, at 5'9" I'm pretty much a giantess, so I take long strides by default. Once I get going, my power-walk clocks in at around 5mph. As I walked down the avenue, I glanced over to the opposite sidewalk, and noticed a very good-looking guy walking towards me. As he got closer, I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew him from somewhere - and then it hit me. It was him - the tall, dimpled Taiwanese boy. However, I haven't seen him in 3+ years, so I couldn't be positive. And since he seemed to be completely oblivious to my side of the sidewalk, I figured there was no harm in blatantly staring continuously at him as I tried to make out whether or not the mysterious cutie across the street had the requisite dimples.

While I was fixated on the guy across the street, I was paying absolutely no attention to where I was going, and consequently plowed into the guy in front of me, who had stopped for the red light, right at the instant that I noticed that the boy from the other side of the street had started to turn his head (probably to look both ways before crossing the street). Given that I was going at 5mph, I knocked into the guy in front of me with a vengeance, causing the coffee he was holding to jostle and spill all over his hand. Since he had just gotten it from the Starbucks on the corner, he immediately yelped and promptly dropped the cup. Which then splashed onto the ground, causing more people to yelp and jump out of the way.

Obviously, I immediately started freaking out (because that's just what I do), making sure that the guy with the coffee spill was okay. I mean, McDonald's was sued for not warning their customers that the coffee is hot. I just inadvertently spilled steaming hot coffee all over this guy's hand - and given his white coat and how I was in such close proximity to the med school, I was positive that he was probably a world-class surgeon whose livelihood depends on his hands.

Thankfully, he wasn't. And he was okay. After yelling another "sorry!" to his retreating back, I saw an escape route and quickly took it.

I didn't look back. So I have no idea if the guy across the street actually was The Guy or if he saw me, and if he did see me, whether he saw my moment of klutziness.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the answer is no.

So you see, I might be done with the awkward situations, but then I go and take up the Queen of Embarassing crown. Really, could my life be any more of a punchline?