Drench yourself in words unspoken

I'm sorry I threw rocks at you when I was a kid. I don't even remember I did it, much less why. But you can really stop bringing it up now. I wasn't a perfect child. And you weren't either.

Stop thinking that everyone is out to get you. So your most-hated enemy of all time was coincidentally at the same restaurant as you. Your friends didn't deliberately make sure she was there just to annoy you.

Stop being such a princess. Go get your own milk. Or books. Or gas. Just because someone loves you doesn't mean you can use them.

Fine. You're the pretty one in the family. But I'll always be the tallest. So there.

It's called sun. You should get some.

I didn't try to steal your boyfriend. And no, I wasn't in love with him. No matter what you think. But fine. I'll admit I was jealous of you. Because you stole my best friend. And I hated that he agreed to stop studying with me, so that you'd be happier. So much for white flags and truces. I still hate you.

You shouldn't have stood me up. That was too much embarrassment for a seventh grader to handle. I hope you end up driving a garbage truck. And I wish I didn't listen to my naive friends and forgive you. You didn't deserve it. I don't even think you actually were sorry. You were too excited to be dating an eighth grader.

I feel so comfortable around you. And I'd rather spend time with you than anyone else in the world.

Stop talking to your boyfriend in that really fake high-pitched voice of yours. It's not cute. At all. It's just super nasally.

Sometimes I wonder if you're just using me to get over her.

I feel the most unpretty when you call me up for a drunk hookup. And I hate that I pick up. Because even though you dole out great kisses, you're still a douchebag.

I lied and told you that she was the blabbermouth, because I didn't realize it was a secret. And I'm afraid to tell you the truth, because I'm pretty sure you'll hate me.

Screw Moulin Rouge and their "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" tag line. I wish I hadn't let you convince me that I was the best thing in your life and that you would never hurt me. It would have been so much easier getting over you. It would be so much easier.

I told you to cut your hair because you looked dirty and greasy with the long locks, even though I know you were trying to go for the whole emo look. Turns out you looked better with the longer hair.

I'm not shy. At all. I don't say anything around you because I'm afraid I'll sound stupid.

When you explain something to me, I nod my head and pretend that I understand, when really, I have no idea. You kinda suck as a teacher.

I hate that I still care about you, even though you might think that my silence means that I'll forever hold a grudge. I care enough to hope that you've stopped smoking. Seriously. Twiggy to Black Lung on two (and I know you still read this), just stop.

You intimidate the hell out of me. Because I don't understand how one person can be as perfect as you are. Seriously.

You're not supposed to use your med student as your own personal gopher. Thanks for letting me shadow you and all that, but really, I'm supposed to be learning and practicing my exam skills, not getting coffee for you and your nurses. With my own money.

I think I'm a horrible person for even writing this out.

Natural's not in it

I'm not a big fan of public displays of affection.

Well, that's a little bit of a lie. I like hiding in a friend's shoulder during scary movies, toss around endearments too easily, and I always get butterflies when that special someone holds my hand. I even think it's cute when a guy picks up a girl and swing her around when she runs up to him for that oh-my-god-I-haven't-seen-you-in-forever hug.

Those are cute displays of affection. Friendly displays.

What's not so cute?

Watching someone stuff his tongue down his girlfriend's ear, as she squirms and giggles in his lap, running her hand through his almost-all-gone hair. While I'm trying to eat. And study. Right outside of our lecture hall. Along with at least twenty other people, who are just as shocked and appalled as I am.

Seriously.

How can anyone think that that is appropriate?

Michelle tip #832047: A couch in a lobby filled with students at lunchtime, and floor-to-ceiling windows, is NEVER a good place to get busy.

I know. Words of wisdom. Words to live by.

Now if this were a one-time thing, I would still be grossed out, but I'd probably forget it about it within the hour.

Too bad it was one of those things where everyday for two weeks, at exactly twelve noon, the boy and the girl would meet at that exact same couch, and do as Marvin Gaye sang, and get it on.

Now you might think that we should have just found another place to study. And passive-aggressive me probably would have. Thank goodness I have friends who weren't about to let two law students, or two business students, or two nothings take over our building. We knew for a fact they weren't med students and we weren't about to let them walk all over our turf, swapping spit.

So my friend Jess went up to them and asked them to stop, since they were visibly distracting people, and making it hard for some of us to eat lunch. The couple was shocked that their love for each other could be construed as gross. They tried to mutter an excuse, but ended up just sputtering.

So Jess walked back to her table and proceeded to continue studying.

Five minutes later, the guy came up to my table, put his hand around Amy, a friend I was eating with, and said condescendingly, "I guess some people can't understand two people in love, but if you really were studying, you'd be focused on your books, and not on me and my girlfriend."

Amy and I sat there. Speechless. Shocked.

Shocked that the guy actually thought he was in the right. If someone had come up to me and complained about anything, I would have turned beet red and immediately left. How could he possibly think that making out in public, on a regular daily basis, was acceptable?! And how dare he mistake Amy and I for Jessica?

Seriously? Dude, not all Asians look alike. And seriously? Please stop trying to make a baby in front of everyone to see. I think the phrase "get a room" was coined just for them.

I just hope I don't see him and his girlfriend at noon tomorrow. At those same couches.

Something to talk about

Talk about awkward.

There's something inherently weird with calling up spring flings and asking for favors. Especially when you've only called them up before to make idle chitchat before the inevitable 'let's hang out' euphemism. And the only favors you've wanted were of the kissable variety.

Hey, don't judge. It was spring quarter. And I was graduating.

And girls just wanna have fun.

Graduation came and went. We both started working, and then I started school. And we never called each other after Senior Formal. Minus a couple drunk online conversations here and there, we started living our own lives. We lost touch. But it wasn't just understandable, it was kind of expected.

Today, I had a slight dilemma.

I needed to get in contact with an undergrad organization who was co-planning an event with the med school. Even after emailing countless times and trying dorm phone numbers, I just couldn't track them down. Then I remembered. That organization? My spring fling was heavily involved with it back in the day.

So I called him up.

Ring ring ring.

Ring ring ring.

And just as I was about to convince myself that he was screening my call, he picked up.

Whoaaa -- hey!!

Strangely, our conversation wasn't awkward at all. There was no resentment, no pregnant pauses, no "yeah, uh, I meant to call, but --" kinda statements. I got exactly what I needed.

Which was the phone number of his ex-girlfriend.

Moral of the story? If you're gonna have a spring fling, have a spring fling with someone with connections. And stay friendly. You never know when he just might come in handy.

I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance.

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake
But it's worth making.

Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance.

I've been sitting out. And I'm so ready to dance again. I'm just afraid I've forgotten how.

Stop this train

I'm apathetic.

Which is just one step up from depressed, and the only reason why I'm not depressed is because I know the 7 signs of depression and I love eating and sleeping way too much to be actually depressed.

Maybe just mildly.

Call it seasonal affect disorder, call it the winter blues, call it whatever you want, but I'm way more unhappy and stressed out than usual. I am not the same person I was over the summer. Which is sad, because I think I was a pretty fun person. Now, my life revolves around studying. Nothing but studying. The only time I'm not studying is when I'm power-walking home from lectures, rushing to get back to studying.

I even dream about studying. And by dreams, I mean I wake up in a cold sweat because I'll be studying in my dream, and I won't know the answer to the random question in my dream, and I freak out. I haven't seen the sun in eons. And I miss it. I live for sunshine and flipflops. I am, afterall, a California girl.

There's no end to this studying. No light to walk towards.

And everyday, I get bombarded with more information that I need to learn and study. And then study some more.

And that's not even taking into account how much reviewing I need to do to keep it all in my head.

I want to be able to tell myself that it'll get better. But I just don't see how it will.

If this ain't a love, why is my ass in motion?

Hold on to your ball of energy. We're going to break it in half and shift it to our sides, so we can share with our neighbors. Are you ready? Go ahead and share. Can you feel the energy running through you?

The eight med students all nodded their heads dutifully. Slowly. Peacefully. Feeling the energy making them bob their heads up and down.

Good. Keep sharing. And then when you want to break the circle, gently, let go.

My hands dropped to my sides immediately. And trust me, there was nothing gentle about it.

I've never been big on sharing personal space. I need my bubble. Invade it and I'll viciously label you as socially awkward. Socially stupid. Socially blind. Seriously. Why are you all up in my face? My space has a three-yard radius. Respect it.

Last Monday we started the humanities component of M1 curriculum. We had a whole series of different classes and seminars to choose from. Art classes. Human rights courses. Art history classes. Sculpture. Studies of male-dominance in the workplace. Now, since my parents have never been able to tell the difference between one of my drawn apples or oranges, and I've never felt the need to burn my bras, I figured those were probably not for me. At least not while I was being graded for it. I'm sure someone somewhere out there appreciates my abstractness. And my conformity. But I digress. While those all sounded grand and possibly eye-opening, I was leaning most heavily toward a creative writing class. Or a storytelling class. I mean, hello! I can swap awkward stories with the best of them.

But then I saw a class for dance therapy. Now, remember this guy I used to spend Tuesday nights with? That super sweet kid I used to visit? He's in a wheelchair for the indeterminate future, and when I would visit him, we'd go to random "therapy events" the hospital would hold to cheer patients up about their now wheelchair-bound lives. Dog therapy - where they brought in a bunch of different dogs and just let the patients play with them. Music therapy - his favorite - where a wedding band would come and let the patients sing campy karaoke songs. I always participated. It made no difference to me if the patients found out I couldn't carry a tune to save my life (even to something as simple as Build Me Up Buttercup).

One night, they had dance therapy. And Elliot and I went down to the 2nd floor, thinking it'd just be another night full of Lawnmovers and Sprinklers and the occasional Shopping Cart.

I was so wrong. We got down there, and the patients were having the best time ever. They were swing dancing (kinda), waltzing (kinda), fox-trotting (kinda). The strangest thing is, the volunteers looked far more awkward than the patients, who were being twirled around by these fabulous Chicago dancers.

Forget dog therapy. Or baking therapy. This was what made Elliot laugh and smile.

So when I saw dance therapy on the seminar list, I put it down as my first choice. Clearly, I was ecstatic when I found out I had gotten into the class.

Except for one tiny thing.

My seminar is nothing like what I expected. I was so positive we would be working with patients. Doing what I saw that one night.

But we don't.

We sit in circles sharing touchy-feely emotions. Talk about how our bodies have betrayed us. The disconnect we feel. Share imaginary energy balls. Create safe environments. All of that in-between intervals of interpretive dance.

I've never felt so out of place in my life. This body? Me? Not a dancer. Not graceful. Sharing warm fuzzies? Seems inappropriate somehow to me. During our first class, we had to come up with a dance that "expressed" us. I shared dorky dance #72 - the Shower. I am so in over my head.

Five more meetings. We'll see if my childhood dreams of being a dancer are realized.

Somehow I doubt it. But stay tuned!

Rumour 'bout a revolution

This year I know better than to make resolutions about going to the gym or not procrastinating. Those are wishes, not resolutions, and since you can't make a cheetah change its spots, and I will always be a lazy bum, there's no real sense in trying to change me. Or maybe that's a lion. Which doesn't have any spots whatsoever. Anyhow, let's get to it.

1. No soda. Same resolution as last year, just because I came so close, but came up short. So this year - I'm gonna make sure I make it through all twelve months. No soda. Hello water.

2. Stop putting my foot in my mouth. In other words, learn to shut the hell up. I'm a huge victim of word vomit. Especially in awkward situations. And all the talking? Doesn't make it any better.

3. Spend more time with family.

4. Stop creating fires. (I might have caused a small electrical fire the other day. Something about the light bulb not fitting the lamp and burning fuses. In any case, I'm letting my roommate put in all light bulbs and preheat ovens from now on.)

That's it. Happy 2007 everyone.