The Transformation

Dear Readers, 

It is hard to write about my daily life without talking about my weight loss journey. I have been purposefully trying to keep this topic light or completely unmentioned because I'm not really here to toot my own horn. I'm here to share bizarre stories. I will try to keep these stories to a minimum, however, I thought this week I'd share my progress to date with you.

I should start by saying, like a lot of people, I hadn't really noticed how out of control my weight had gotten. And some of my resistance to getting healthy was pure stubbornness. "Oh, you think I could lose weight? Haha! I can gain weight!" Because that's healthy. 

I had also spent a very long time trying to convince myself that I was legitimately happy with the way I looked. And generally, I was. Because I never saw myself. So I must look awesome, right? Yeah. That's how the world works. 

I have tried diets many times over the course of my life, which seems like a radical statement to make for someone who is only 22. So, maybe I shouldn't say "many" but rather, "a handful" that sounds better. Most of them, in my mind, were unsustainable, though. I never focused on being healthy. I just wanted to lose some weight and keep eating what I have always been eating. I don't care what those weight loss commercials tell you, that is nearly impossible. 

Every time in the past couple of years that I saw a picture of myself I was completely deviated. How in the world did people let me ruin their pictures by being a large sphere in them. 

Sphere isn't even right, because at least that would be impressive. I was more like a large potato. 

Rough sketch of the accused.

If you didn't laugh at that poorly drawn potato I don't think we can be friends. 

I have been slowly working on making healthier choices for a few months now. That has resulted in a completely made up 1000 pound loss. I literally do not exist any more. 

Seriously, though, I have managed to drop 30 lbs since the middle of January. 

The problem with that is, I don't really notice it. Sure, my jackets fit better. But to me, my face still looks like a lumpy potato. I will say, though, the other day I caught my reflection in the mirror and realized I could see my sternoclidomastoid, which (don't judge me) I always think is sort of attractive. 

Via Wikipedia

 So, that was sort of a cool sign. I didn't really think about it though, until this week when my sister made a comment about how she saw a real change to my face. I wasn't sure I believed it. So, for myself (and now for you) I have put together comparison pictures. 

The before picture on the left is from around Christmas of this year, the one on the right was a week ago. 

And here's a better picture of a potato in the wild, along with a slightly smaller potato! The left is from Fourth of July this last year and the one on the right is again from about a week ago. 

I said at the beginning of this that I don't want to toot my own horn. But, holy crap my sister was right. 

I still have a long way to go. And let me tell you, keeping the motivation up is no easy task. I would love to just eat pizza all the time. But when I look at the past potato to the current potato, how can I quit? 

Thoughts

Dear Readers, 

The hardest part of my Graveyard Shift schedule is my days off. I'm up by midnight or 1 am. Normal people aren't awake then. I have no one to share thoughts with. Even when I'm at work, I don't really have anyone to talk to. I have to sit silently in my sleep deprived comedy  hilarity. 

Rather than save up these thoughts in order to text them to friends at a more normal time (7 am is normal, right?) I have decided to collect them here for the next week. 

You're welcome in advance. 

Saturday, April 12th. Approx 6AM.

I worked today. And as I was reaching into the very back of a shelf I was reminded of this particular scene from Flash Gordon:

For a split second a real a paralyzing fear washed over me as I prepared to be stung by that freaky slug/scorpion hybrid. When nothing happened (obviously, because those things don't live in stores, they live in the woods. Keep up.) I was instantly relieved. And then realized, in the kingdom of Arboria I would be recognized as a man. My journey to adulthood is complete. 

Monday, April 14th. 1 AM.

I am insanely amused that the chocolate and feminine hygiene products consistently come in on the same pallet. 

Tuesday, April 15th. 4 AM.

No, I do not have the time to invest in watching a full length movie. That would be ridiculous. Do you understand that a whole movie takes up at least an hour and a half of my time? I have much better things I could be doing than enjoying a well crafted piece of film.

Now please excuse me while I marathon Bob's Burgers. 

Wednesday, April 16th. 7 AM. 

While doing returns today, I noticed a lot of similar items. It was if someone had done all of their shopping and then just decided, "Nah, forget it. I'm tired of shopping. I think I'll just leave."

Thursday, April 17th. Time Unknown.

Netflix. A Haiku.

Do not stop playing.
Why must you judge me so?
I am still watching.

Thank you.

Friday, April 18th. Early. 

Saturday, April 19th. 3:45 AM.

This girl walked in front of my car on my way to work today. First of all, who in their right mind is out walking around at 3:30 am? Don't you people need sleep? Seriously. Second, she was trying to communicate:

via Finding Nemo

Anyway, when she was in front of my car she said something, her lips moved, and she did a stroke-y beard hand movement. Now, this girl did not have a beard, and as far as I know neither do I. I have no idea what she was trying to say. If any of you know this secret code, please fill me in. 

Still Saturday, 4:30 PM.

My roommate and I took it upon ourselves to learn about Portland's Shanghi Tunnels. Even more exciting I learned about Joseph Kelly, one of the best Crimpers of his time. Among his achievements, he managed to sell 14 dead men to a ships captain for 50 dollars each. Amazing. That's not a funny story, but it's true and amazing. Take the time to learn more:  Joseph Kelly

That's what I have for you this week, a collection of strange thoughts that I have when no one is around. You are all more informed on my life. 

You're welcome. 

The Walk

Or

How I Lost My Ability to be Cool

Dear Readers, 

I've been wracking my brain all week in order to bring you something. Not that interesting things haven't happened to me, just that I'm not sure which one I want to write for you. So, rather than tell you something from this past week/month, I thought you'd like to take a trip back in time with me. 

gif via http://gifsoup.com/view/4921242/time-vortex.html
clip via Doctor Who

We are in California circa 2002(-ish). Wait...This isn't far back enough.

via http://gifsoup.com/view/3062546/clock-going-backwards.html

It's 1993:

via: My Mom

That's way too far back...This time travel thing is hard. Last try.

Gif via http://wifflegif.com/gifs/253889-back-to-the-future-delorean-gif
Clip via Back To The Future

We are in Lincoln City, Oregon. 2000(-ish). Perfect. 

I am in elementary school. I'm actually sort of cool. I have friends of all sorts. I'm not sure if I'm legitimately cool, but I do fit in with the cool kids, life is good for a fourth grader. 

And then we move to California. I won't give you the boring details. I will leave it as: I was no longer cool, because unlike classwork social standing doesn't transfer. Fifth grade was an interesting experience. We ended up in a neighborhood that (at least to my fifth grader mind) was sort of well to do. 

Now, my family isn't poor by any means, but I'd not consider us "well to do" more...Middleish, sometimes lower/middle. I've always felt some kinship to Harry from Caddyshack II:

"Well, at home we happen to be upper/lower. But, when I'm away at school I like to pretend that I'm lower/middle. But, what I aspire to become is middle/middle."

So, I'm trying to compete with kids that are either lower/upper or middle/upper. It's a real struggle. But I'm almost there. I'm so close to being cool I can taste it. Sixth grade is going to be my year. 

Aside: It is important for you to also know that during this time my Dad ran a shoe store that I helped at a lot. I spent any allowance I made helping out on shoes (because why not?).

One of my most favorite pairs of shoes I had looked like this:

via http://miz-mooz.com/

These are wedges, that are also tennis shoes. Mine did not look exactly like this, but, pretty close. 

They were so cute. I felt awesome in them. Naturally, I decided to wear them to school my first week. Gotta make that good impression on those middle school kids. 

Bonus, we lived close enough to the school for me to walk with a friend. I was going to be so cool, not getting dropped off. 

So my good friend at the time and I are walking, behind us I can hear older girls chatting away. I'm looking pretty fly all dressed up in my tennis shoe heels. 

Rockin' it. 

And then it happens. 

My world ends. 

The apocalypse. 

Ragnarok.

The ground opened and I was swallowed whole.  

Oh, wait. No. That's just what I wish had happened. 

What really happened is my unsteady-in-heels self tripped on the uneven sidewalk, biting the dust in front of these (obviously cool) older girls. 

Realistically, I'm not sure if they were laughing at me, so much as laughing because they were preteen girls (and as someone who was one I can vouch that sometimes they just giggle for the sake of giggling). It didn't matter, though. My life was over. 

From that moment on two things happened. 

I have never been good in heels, because I am terrified of tripping. Even though it is a little funny when people trip, so long as they aren't seriously hurt. Tripping is just funny. 

The second is that I've never been cool. I don't know that this was caused by the trip, but I've certainly noticed a trend of uncool since then. I've spiraled down and down into dorky-ness. 

At this point in my life I've accepted that I'll never be cool. And I'm alright with that. 

But that, that trip in front of some cool kids, broke my little 6th grade heart.  

Luckily, I'm now at the point where I could really care less about how cool I was in school. Does this mean I don't look back and cringe at things like (I cringe just typing this) writing extensive Power Rangers Fan Fic? 

Uh, no. 

I cringe. Very hard. 

But that cringe, even that trip in front of the cool kids, made me the person I am. And, in my world, I'm pretty cool.

My Newest Game

Hello Readers, 

So, when I'm at work during the wee hours of the morning, throwing things onto shelves, I need to do something to occupy myself. If not, I might legitimately go crazy. 

I do have my music, which helps. But I can only listen to so much before I start tuning out. 

When I tune out I often crawl into my own head, which is fun for a while. I turn my attention to writing things that I'll forget about by the time I get back to my computer. I have an awful memory.

Or sometimes I'll think of crude texts to my dad. Like:

I think of you whenever I stock Preparation H <3

via http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Drevil_million_dollars.jpg

That was an actual text. We've got a good relationship. 

Anyway, even that only lasts for a while. So I've created a new game, that I hope any of you visiting supermarkets can enjoy to help pass your time. 

Now, when I work, I stock shelves (as I think I've mentioned). Which means I am fairly familiar with the shelves in my section at this point. 

Often, I have a day off between shifts. So there is a full 24 hours of people shopping before I come in and make things look pretty again. 

Now, I'm fully aware that there are hundreds of people in the store during this time, buying things. But some of the things that are completely gone from the shelves are baffling. 

For example: 

There are many brands of protein shakes (duh), that come in many flavors (also, duh). When I walked in the other day there were two different brands that where completely wiped out of their dark chocolate flavor. This is roughly 7 cases (with 5 bottles per case) of different protein shakes all gone. 

Why in the world would someone need 35 bottles of dark chocolate protein shake?

This is my new game. 

Realistically, I know that not a single person came in and grabbed these cases in one trip.

In my mind I like to imagine that there was some sort of dark chocolate emergency, in which someone needed the drinks RIGHT NOW.

Now, this is much more exciting when it's, say, all of the boxes of gauze that have been picked clean. But the chocolate shakes is much funnier. Maybe someone needed to shower in the chocolaty goodness in order to remain young and beautiful. 

This game is my gift to you, Readers, enjoy it.

Public Transport: Part III: The Ugly

Dear Readers,

I feel like I always have a public transportation related story to tell you. From this you might think that I use it all the time, I really don't. I just happen to get on the train at the same time as all of the best people. Honestly, for now this is the only one I have kept back from you. I may have to hop on a bus, though, just to keep up the stories coming. 

I won't.

But I could.

So, here is a story from...Oh gosh about a month and a half ago.

I was coming back from an interview, and rather than walk back to my dorm I decided to treat myself with a ride on the train. And by treat myself, I mean spend $2.50 so that I didn't have to walk. Because I make healthy choices. Every. Day. Alright, also, I was in heels and I'm a wuss when it comes to walking in heels. I have a really hard time with it. Even though they're little baby heels.

In reality, they're about like this. Aw, how cute. Ain't nothin'.

via http://www.amazon.com/Black-Satin-Rhinestone-Pumps-Womens/dp/B00CI9A5KQ

In my head, though, they feel like is. 

via http://wheretoget.it/link/391649

This isn't the story about my inability to walk in tall shoes. I'll write something else about that some other time. For now we're talking about what happened on the train. 

So, there I am, waiting for it to show up. Me and one other person, doing our best to pretend the other doesn't exist, lest we accidentally start a conversation. While I'm waiting, I am also talking to my mom about how awesomely this interview went. Right on, I'm getting this job! 

(Spoilers: I did.)

Finally, the train pulls up, I decide that because I'm not going far it won't be too rude of me to continue to talk on the phone. Besides, we're talking about unions, not something weird that people shouldn't be discussing in public.

As I pass through the doors I can already tell this is going to be a fun trip. There are two men, leaning against the wall on either side of the door, blasting aggressive rap through a speaker. Now, I'm not familiar with a lot of rap, so I don't really know the classification. But it was the sort of rap that was all "fuck my bitches" every few words. So, for the sake of this, we're calling it aggressive rap.

Now, I don't mean to offend those of you who listen to rap music. Whatever, that's your choice. I'm sure some of you would scoff at my musical choices. Everyone likes different things, and that's awesome. People should like different things. But, you shouldn't like your different things out loud in public. You don't hear me blasting Wrock music, and I don't want to hear your aggressive rap. 

Apparently, other people didn't either. A father and his young child got onto the train as well. A woman who was far past fed up with this music yelled, "Alright! That's enough of your music! There's a child here now!"

♫♪♫ Fuck this, and my bitches aint shit ♫♪♫*

"Haha, sorry, can't hear you over my music!"

Oh my God, I didn't know that my dad actually spent his time as a disrespectful train rider. (JUST KIDDING DAD, I LOVE YOU!)

My mom is still going on about unions, and I'm trying very hard to pay attention to her, but the yelling just gets louder and more aggressive, as this man and his friend refuse to turn down their offensive music.

I think it's important to note that I was standing just across the train from these men, against the other door. At this particular moment it felt like the train was much smaller than it is. People were getting really angry about this situation (these kids and their damn rap music!)

At one point some unkind racial slurs are thrown out, and this is when the music man goes from just general ass to full blown pissed. 

"Come say that to my face!" and "We'll go right now!"

And all I can think is, "Oh crap, no, don't go right now. We're on the train!"

One passenger (maybe the one who thought it would solve the problem by throwing race into the situation) decides that he will alert the conductor. 

"Yeah?! What's he gonna do?"

I'm dead. In this moment, talking to my mom about unions, I'm sure I'm about to be in the middle of some brawl with weird rap as the background music. 

The train lurched to a stop right at that moment and I spilled out of the doors, resisting the urge to actually run.  

I wish I had a better end to this story. "And then the police rushed in and all was well." Or "The two men then sat down a talked rationally about why they were so angry in that situation, and though they are not friends they went on their way having gained a new perspective."

The reality is I have no idea. Confrontation scares me. 

And, I still don't know much about unions.

* Yeah, obviously I'm not a rapper...

I Just Want to Pretend

Dear Readers, 

As some of you may or may not know (or may or may not have guessed based on this blog) I spend a lot of time in my own head. I like to believe that my imagination is just as strong now as it was when I was a kid. Maybe even more so. 

Some time last year (January 28th, if we're being exact) I dedicated a post to the fact that often in my day-to-day life I see people who remind me of a fictional character, and for a split second I can believe that I'm part of that world.

via http://giphy.com/gifs/ok1tOvpe5yvy8

Yeah, sort of like that, but, you know, with less water and flipping and singing. 

Alright, sometimes with the same amount of singing. 

Spoiler: Totally more singing than that. 

That's not the point. The point is I have an over-active imagination. 

So I wanted to share with you an event that happened recently. I'll start by saying I feed my over-active imagination daily, this is a good practice and I really recommend that everyone let their mind run away with them at some point. 

Now, I know I uploaded a map of the campus last week, but for your convenience I'll do it again:

Via www.pdx.edu

Today's story takes place within that red square. Right there, as you can see, is a small patch of grass. People who live on or around campus who also have dogs often let their pets run around in that area. It's awesome for me because I miss being around dogs like, woah. Can you blame me after working around them for years?

Maybe you can. But you shouldn't. Anyway.

So I was strolling from Parking 3, where my car still was at the time. And I get close to the grassy area when I see a lovely looking older woman and her adorable small dog. I'm 85% sure it's some kind of terrier. It was black and white and in the most adorable little coat. 

So, anyhow, I'm walking and walking and suddenly I hear the quick "clickclickclick" of the dog following behind me. 

And for a brief second, I was Sophie being followed by Heen. 

via http://through3dcoloredglasses.tumblr.com/post/20851459838/heen-appreciation-post

For those of you who don't know, that's a clip from Howl's Moving Castle. For those of you who haven't seen it, I 100% recommend it.

I was content to be Sophie, especially in this scene, as she's an old woman and has a hard time with the stairs. I'm not an old woman, but this was after my graveyard shift, so I felt a bit old...

Anyway, Sophie is amazing. And that was all good. Until I realized that the (probably) lovely old woman behind me would then be the Witch of the Waste

via http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Characters/HowlsMovingCastle

And that's not an identity I'd wish on anyone. 

So, I let that go. But I want to say Thank You, to the woman and her dog, for letting me imagine after a long day of work that, just for a second, that I was Sophie.

Apologies and News

Dear Readers,

First off, let me just say that I am sorry that I didn't get to fill your hearts and minds with joy by posting something last week. I've been trying very hard to write things up ahead of time, but that week time got away from me.

I started a new job (yay!) working the graveyard shift (eeeew) throwing freight (yay!...wait...yeah, yay!).

So, basically, I'm trying to learn how to exist while waking up for work at 11 pm, then getting back to my room at 9 am and not getting out of class until 4 pm. It's a struggle. Mostly because I really love surfing the internet more than I like sleeping. But then I wake up and realize that I really do love sleeping and I should have slept more. It's a viscous cycle.

"But why don't you just nap?" I hear people like my sister Danica and my roommate Ashley asking.

I just can't. I mean, I can nap, I'm physically capable of it. But I have the worst luck with naps. I can snooze for 20 mins, then ruin my entire night of sleep because suddenly I'm not tired. I'm just not a good napper.

I envy those of you who are, and I hope you enjoy your 5 o'clock naps. I, on the other hand, will simply get off work and stay up until it's a reasonable time for me to go to bed for the night. 

All of this leads up to a story. 

It's the story of my first attempt at a graveyard shift. Instead of going in at midnight the first night they asked me to be there by 4 am. 

Awesome, you're saying, 4 am is plenty of time to sleep. 

And I would agree with you. Except that I couldn't sleep.

I was in bed by...6? Probably 6. And I tossed and turned until 2 when my alarm went off. Knowing that the drive to my new job is only five minutes I nodded and decided that I could just relax and wake up in my bed for a few more minutes. 

A few minutes turned magically into 3:30.
Now, those of you who don't know, I like to be early. I was always told "If you're not early you're late." Somehow this translated into a need to be extremely  early all the time to everything. And I'm not talking five minutes. I'm talking thirty or more. It's a problem.

So, imagine me, waking up with thirty minutes to get to work. I nearly died on the spot. I threw my clothes on, grabbed my purse and rushed out of the room...silently, because my roommate was sleeping (as normal people do at three thirty in the morning). 

At this time my car was parked across campus, for money reasons.

Via: www.pdx.edu
I've outlined the parking structure and my building in red, adding the route I jogged...also in red.

I quite literally jog, yes, JOG across campus to get to my car.

I don't jog, people. I hardly saunter. I don't care how much healthier I am now, I'm a crappy jogger. But darn it, i was not going to be late on my first day.

I got half way to y car before I realized that my name tag was still on my desk lamp.

I had a grave decision to make. Risk being late or risk breaking dress code. I wasn't sure which was worse. 

I decided to risk being late.

I got into my car and sped (carefully, because a ticket would make me even more late) back to my dorm where I parked illegally, sped back up to the eleventh floor, snagged my name tag, silently, and ran back out of the room. 

All in all I was still roughly 15 minutes early. 

Snow Globes and Hearts Made of Cheese

Dear Readers,

Rather than trying to split two small things up I thought I'd combine them. And, because they'd both be much later than they actually happened I decided to just squish them together like some sort of story casserole. 

Part I: Snow Globes

At one point or another I expect that you've all seen a snow globe. They're amazing, especially when they're also a music box. For those of you poor souls who haven't had the pleasure of seeing one I've found an accurate representation for you:

via http://www.monikadesignoldala.eoldal.hu/cikkek/hogomb.html

How amazing is that? Now, in a real snow globe the snow doesn't fall indefinitely, you have to shake it up for the snow to fall. 

Now, I've got a large imagination, but I can honestly say that I've never considered what it's like to live inside one of these globes. As you can see from my extremely accurate picture above there is a limited amount of things to do in a snow globe. That snowman is lucky enough to have his house back there. Hopefully that's his house, otherwise life is not gonna be fun for him and whoever lives there.

Then again...He is a snowman...He probably doesn't mind living in the snow...

Alright, forget that whole bit, I don't know enough about snowman living habits to speak accurately on if he needs a house or not. 

The fact that there is a limited number of things to do stands, though. That really was the point I was rambling towards. 

 I can now say with all honesty that I don't have to imagine what it's like living in a snow globe. I know. 

About three weeks ago now Portland (and the surrounding areas) experienced some snow. 

Now, when I say some snow and am referring to Portland I generally mean something like this:

via http://terriblycute.com/depressed-by-a-dusting-of-snow/

Aw, a little bit of snow, how cute. 

Not this time. This time I mean, so much snow that people were skiing down the street, so much snow that for the first time in history the city sent out an emergency alert via text message, urging people to stay inside. 

On the first day this was pretty nice, I live in a place where snow is infrequent, so it was awesome. The second day was nice, I went for a lovely walk in the snow. For the most part the snow was light and fluffy and everything you want snow to be. 

After that there was chaos, the news seemed to only report on the snow. Any time it was on, snow. It was incredible. 

Part II: Hearts Made of Cheese

I know that this post is into March already but I'd be remiss if I didn't discuss Valentine's Day. 

Based on my sarcastic view of the world you might be expecting some sort of "Valentine's Day is only there for people to spend money on chocolates and flowers and cards and pink and red." You'd be wrong. 

I think Valentine's Day is wonderful. Is the candy overpriced? Sure. Are people selling their first born to buy a dozen roses to court the love of their life? Probably. It's still wonderful. This is coming from someone who spent most of her teenage years actively avoiding any sort of romantic movie/literature/shows/songs.

I think love is beautiful. I don't think that this should be the one day a year that people choose to show their love, but if someone needs a kick in the pants in order to make a move, then awesome. 

Now that you know where I stand you're probably gearing up for some sort of, "But I still hate it because I was alone."

Sorry to say you're wrong again. 

I mean...

I was alone, well, not alone alone, my roommate was in the room. Romantically, though, yes. I was alone on Valentine's Day. 

That didn't mean I couldn't enjoy some holiday cheer! My mom sent me an awesome box of awesome stuff, but being mindful of my good eating habits, I only had a couple squares of chocolate. 

How else, then, could I enjoy the holiday?

I had decided early in the day to make a meatloaf, because meatloaf. Now before you get all "BUT YOU JUST SAID YOU WERE EATING HEALTHY! I'VE BEEN BETRAYED!" Take a breath. 

I made an awesome healthy meatloaf with 95% lean beef, tons of veggies and oatmeal in place of bread crumbs. 

I'm sure you've realized that this is not a romantic Valentine's Day meal. 

Don't you worry your little self.

via Myself

I totally classed it up, and rather than a meatloaf, it was dubbed "Meat Cake" (because that's not weird...).

Public Transport: Revisited

Dear Readers,

I know I've talked about using public transport before, and it almost feels like cheating to use it as a post topic again, but there is just so much interesting material!

Portland has an amazing transport system. Now, some of you may have a different opinion having traveled to places that have more amazing transport systems and are thinking, "Pfffft, she has no idea what she's talking about. I'm not reading any more of her lies." This wounds me, down to my core. I would never, never, knowingly lie to you, Readers (unless it was for the sake of a re-he-he-he-ally good story...). So, let me qualify this. As someone who comes from a town with two public buses, Portland's transport system is amazing.

Strange people exist. They are everywhere. At some point in your life you are the strange one. According to my youngest sister I'm frequently the strange one.

This is the story of one of my more recent experiences on public transport:

Now, before you can get on a street car or train or bus you have to wait for it to arrive (this should be obvious, but I do hate to assume) and this is where the most prime experiences come from, at least in my history.

Most of the time on a train or bus or street car people are pretty good at keeping themselves to themselves, it's when they're out in public waiting for the transport to arrive is when they're really very strange. I generally combat this this by listening to music. You don't really have to pay much attention to people when you got headphones on or in the case may be. Every once in a while, as music does, there's a lull or break in the song.

I was listening to music while waiting for the street car, this kept me from noticing the man that approached the shelter. Even though I wasn't paying attention to him it was obvious from my perhipals that the man was having a lengthy conversation with himself. That's all well and good people can have as many conversations with themselves they want, I don't really mind. I also talk to myself, not generally in public (I mean that's a little strange) but who doesn't talk to themselves?

Anyhow this man was clearly talking to himself out loud, in this day and age it's amazingly easy to use mistake talking out loud to yourself for talking out loud on your Bluetooth.

Somehow, by sitting quietly and not bothering him, I had done something to seriously offend this poor man. How do I know this, you may be asking. I know this because as soon as my music was quiet enough I heard, "Oh my God! That is disgusting! Somebody cover her up, she is so fat! How can she be in public like that?"

Generally I would have continued to ignore this, however it was such a rude comment that my curiosity was in overdrive. So doing what any normal person would do, I look around. This was my mistake. 

I was the only other person at the shelter.

via Myself
For reference: This is how I was dressed on the day in question.

At this point some of you are probably pretty offended. And I can't really say that I blame you, but maybe you'll be less offended when you hear that I wasn't. I've always had a pretty good sense of humor about my weight,  it's not like I'm in denial. I'm well aware what I look like. Perhaps if this comment has come a week or so sooner, before I was serious about getting healthy again, I may have been more upset. As it stands I really had to try my hardest not to laugh and pretend that I was only listening to music.

I suppose the point of this is to try and impart some sort of knowledge upon you:

If you're on a journey never let someone bring you down. Your journey is your own and you are the only person you need to answer to, not the strangers at the streetcar shelter.

Group Projects

Dear Readers,

Today I want to talk about something that almost every school attending person (and maybe those of you in the working world) hate to hear: Group Projects!

via http://bestanimations.com/Nature/Storms/Storms.html

Alright, so maybe the lightning was a little dramatic. But I fell that it was necessary in setting the mood.

Group projects.

via http://bestanimations.com/Nature/Storms/Storms.html

(how many more times will that be funny?)

They weren't so bad in elementary school. Most of the time you got to pick your group. From across the class you'd be doing this strange interpretive dance, hand signals, or even Morse code in the direction of your friend, 

via http://adventuretime.wikia.com/wiki/File:EYEBROWS.gif

hoping you were subtle enough not to get caught. 

So, that wasn't so bad, generally. Middle school was a bit rougher, just because, well...Middle School. If you've been there you know what I mean. If you haven't I'll be a little more clear. You're not guaranteed to be in a class with your friends, so you may have to work with gasp strangers. Even worse, about 50% of the time it will be strangers that your teacher assigns you to. One one hand, not being assigned is nice, you can drift around until you run into another socially awkward student who doesn't want to stand up and declare that they have no friends in the class. On the other, you get to be less socially awkward if the teacher just tells you where to go. The group projects are always a bit slap-dash because no one has mastered the skill of taking control without being a jerk. Things don't get done.

High school isn't much different. Everyone's a little older, and if you're lucky you've got friends who carried over from middle school, so you can start sending flares and smoke signals when you want to work with them on a project. But it usually goes like this:

via http://giphy.com/search/sean-astin/2?sort=recent

The worst I have ever encountered, though, has to be the group projects in college. There are so many ways they could go, but let me share with you my most memorable experiences. 

1:

I was the youngest in the group (not uncommon, I'm actually sort of used to it). And my social apprehension told me not to try and make waves, just sit back and let the adults do what they wanted to. 

For this project we were summarizing a critical analysis of Jean Rhys' Wide Sargasso Sea (7/10 would recommend). And by summarize I mean really, no opinions of our own, just tell the class how it is. Boom. Done. Easy. So the plan was:

• Read the essay (at home)
• Individually summarize and find thesis (at home)
• Meet, agree on thesis (during the one hour class)
• Split up essay (also during class)
• Write a portion of completed summary (at home)
• Present (I don't feel it needs to be said, but in class)

Sounds fairly simple. Except we couldn't agree on the thesis. Now, as a general rule (for those of us not familiar with essays) the thesis is generally at the end of the intro, so within the first 1-3 paragraphs. And even more easily, it's usually identified by the words, "I will argue" or "This will prove". No, instead we spent the better part of our one hour class trying to decide which of the sentences in the middle of the essay was the thesis. 

Painful. 

When we presented each of us had to speak for only 2-3 minutes. But still, a day before we had to present one of the woman in the group was extremely worried that we wouldn't have enough to say. So we met out of class and worked it out. 

We were over our time, and I still don't think anyone learned anything from the jumbled mess we tried to present to them.

2:

Funnily enough this project was for a similarly themed class taught by the same professor. So, the group project was largely the same, but let me recap:

Summarize critical essay (this time for Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre [10/10 would recommend]). 

Seven people per group. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. 

The thing with this one was that we were given just about a week to pull it all together. Not really a problem because it's not that hard of a project. 

So we meet in class Tuesday. We agree, we will all upload our section of the group summary by roughly noon on Wednesday so that everything can be ready on the Thursday when it's due. 

I'm a flexible person (not physically) so I'm always alright with someone saying, "Hey, I'm trying really hard to finish this but I have school/work/to deliver a baby but I promise I'll have it in a couple of hours." No problem. Thanks for communicating. Glad to be working with you. Name the kid after me. 

What I don't like is just hearing nothing. Wednesday by noon we had all but two sections. One of the women emailed and politely informed us that she'd be getting her section up in a couple hours. Fantastic. 

I heard nothing from the other. 

5 pm: Nothing.

7 pm: Nothing. 

9 pm: Nothing. 

So I send her an email. [Side note: I'm not sure how it happened, but I sort of became the leader of this group. Maybe because I'd done a project of a similar caliber? Who knows.] 

10 pm: Nothing. 

11 pm: Fine, I'll write her section myself, at least we'll have something to hand in on Thursday.

I stay up 'til almost 1 am, nothing. 

So, I think, "Well maybe she's dead/in the hospital/dealing with a tragic life event." That's fine. I'm nice. 

8 am: "Oh, I was working all night and just saw this email, I thought we were turning stuff in next Tuesday. Is the presentation today?"

I had two reactions to this: Initially

via http://www.livememe.com/f3ah38h

All night? Literally? That's amazing and I'm sorry you had to work for so long, really.

Quickly followed by:

via http://www.uludagsozluk.com/k/facepalm/

Yes it's today, why did you think it was next week?

 So, like the nice person I am I email her right away, "Yes it is. You can go ahead and write something up [why did I write this? I can't tell you, but I gave her the option even though we have to present by noon.] Or we can keep what I wrote and you just expand on it for the presentation."

Now, when I write emails to people, especially of this nature, I sort of expect to hear something back, "Thank you so much, you're my savior and I worship the ground you walk on" ... Alright that's a bit much, but even just "Alright, thanks" would have been alright. But I got nothing. 

9 am: Nothing.

10 am: Nothing. 

11 am: Nothing. 

And by nothing I don't just mean no email. I mean there are no changes to the document. Literally no contact from this girl. 

Don't worry, though, at 10 I did get an email from another group member telling us that she was "sick and hurt her back" so she couldn't make it to class. 

Now, I'm not here to question the validity of back injuries or illness. But, I have a little sister. I have three, but this story is about the youngest. When we had to do chores when we were little she would always come up with a reason not to "My arms hurt", "my head hurts," and the most common, "my back hurts". So perhaps you can understand why I'm both irritated and amused by the email from my group member.

Life goes on, however, and I realize that this woman is not my sister and might legitimately have a back injury. 

In the end we ended up presenting Thursday. Despite being a person down and having one of our members being pretty unprepared. 

Did it go well? Yes.

Did we get extra points for going first? Yes. 

Did the professor love it? Also yes. 

Did I want to rip my hair out during the process? 

Yes.