Thumb Shrinkers

I can't shake this image: every decision/scenario/crossroad that I've come across this year is a monster with a ginormous thumb. And as each "oh, yeah, I need to start thinking about             !" realization comes upon me, a new monster walks up with his huge thumb and presses it down on top of my head. So I'm surrounded by monsters and they're all squishing me with their giant thumbs, one on top of the other until I can't move.

I'm guilty of daydreaming grand, sweeping masterpieces of good fortune that rescue me from the humdrums of growing up - I'm guilty of assuming only big amazing things can counteract big stressful things. In truth, it's the little things that make all the difference. It's reliving memories of a fun weekend. It's receiving a Big Tex t-shirt in the mail. It's taking that 20 minute nap in the sunshine. It's knowing you have a ballin Halloween costume to look forward to. It's calling your mom and having "but it's just weird" comprise 75% of your dialogue, and that be ok. It's getting text messages from friends both across the campus and across the country. It's reading corny jokes online. It's doodling in the margins. It's finally installing Photoshop on your new-ish computer. It's finding new projects. It's spending time with yourself. These are what alleviate the discomfort of finding research, class schedules, boyfriends, jobs, motivation, good grades, study skills, exercise routines, healthy habits, et cetera. These are the thumb shrinkers.

Does this make you want to vomit?

Perusing some common grammar mistakes this morning, (like any normal human being, right?), I realized the frequency that I've told people I induce nausea. I am highly embarrassed that it's taken this long for me to realize my mistake. Henceforth, here's to always being nauseated and never being nauseous! errrm...

And now I'm freaking out that I might have misused "that" where a "which" should be. GrAmMaRpArAnOiA!!!!!!

I'm baaaaaack

Recent events have left me with a few more pearls to string on my necklace of awkward moments. (It's rather a long necklace.)

Picture this: outdoor restaurant seating, a double single date, delicious tacos, lively conversation, a waiter with a water pitcher, the contents of an entire glass of water being thrown across the table into my lap and down my legs. I'm not even sure how this happened. All I know is that I ended up with water all over me, and the waiter just kept standing around and apologizing and asking if I was ok. I said some napkins would be nice and he finally went inside and brought me means to dry off. At least NOTHING ELSE in the area got wet AT ALL. whyyyy me.

Now picture this: I am, to a fault, oblivious to my surroundings as I walk around campus. I just can't help thinking all these awesome thoughts while walking. Since pedestrians are expected on a college campus, this usually isn't a problem and I take on crosswalks without looking left, right, and left again. Today, as I walked across the street in my own little land, I noticed a trolley not stopping. So we both hit the brakes and I made a good minute or longer of eye contact with the driver before continuing to walk across the street. This doesn't sound too bad, except for the fact that it wasn't just eye contact. It was I-just-returned-from-a-place-far-far-in-my-mind-and-am-not-sure-what's-going-on, stink-eye, eye contact. My apologies, ma'am.

No More Toshiba

Chances are, if you've ever spoken with me, you've heard me complain about my computer. Not that it was particularly awful or anything, I just liked to complain about it. Well, after about six months of an increasingly more frequent blinking white screen, the display on the ittle Toshiba has finally tuckered out. For a few weeks or so I used a television as an external monitor, which was kind of awesome but slightly impractical. Now I have a killer ultrabook. Watch out, world. There's only one problem: in my back to school packing haste I failed to install Photoshop on the new machine. Needless to say, Imma need that before schoolwork starts picking up and I have things to procrastinate for. (procrastinate from? procrastinate on?) The good thing about this is that I still get to be in adventure mode for the time being, because if the blag says it, it's got to be true.

I have had a few back to school adventures, like unpacking! and rearranging furniture! and hanging posters! and shopping at IKEA!

And for your reading pleasure, here are some articles that have intrigued me recently:
eReaders
Postcards (I wish I had read this before going to France.)

a mess.

Well, it's finals week, which invariably means one thing: my life has turned into a week-long comedy of errors. Starting things off strong was a triathlon that surrounded my dorm building out of the blue. This meant waking up to speakers blasting distorted French announcer voices and American disco tunes. In an effort to escape the chaos, take a study break that involved more movement than creating the ideal Game of Thrones watching atmosphere, and stock up on study snacks, I decided to walk to cora. Turns out, my cora route was also part of the race route. Once I realized that my study-dazed, Chacos and bedhead self was tromping alongside countless spandex-clad men, I was already far enough into my route that there was nothing better to do than keep going. So I probably ruined some guy's time by a fraction of a second when I cut across him to get into the parking lot. Sorry. Then it was Sunday and cora was closed, so there's that. I decided not to rejoin the race and took another way back to my building, through all of the roadwork and randos standing around in yellow vests. I didn't see any of them actually do anything, but the vests were enough to make them look official and like they might potentially speak to me in French if I attempted to cross the road near them, so I walked in such a way as to avoid them all...and add a few more blocks to my trip home. Later, on my way to assemble with the emaggers, I passed a French couple on the sidewalk who very audibly discussed the "Americaaiinn" with more than a little disdain. I laughed. Then today I had a conversation without using any distinguishable words (just a lot of  "guuuhhuhh", "eerrrrrrrrrrrgg", and "mmmmmmmmm"s) and managed to simultaneously spill half a Nalgene of water on my legs/feet and tuna juice on my shirt. I don't even like tuna. I've been eating it for the past week because it's so darn convenient. And it's brainfood, right? So maybe I am doing something right. A girl needs all the help she can get.

Oh, yeah, and I've started referring to myself in Jaqen H'ghar-ish. I LOVE FINALS!

On the upside, my stuffs are practically packed and Texas is getting closer.............

It's the Little Things

Here are some that have happened recently:

Seeing a komodo dragon
Sending off a bunch of postcards
Skyping a mom, a dad, and a dog
White nectarines
Trolling Saruman
Having a good experience at the grocery store
Contact from friends
Throwing myself a tea party
Finding the perfect souvenir for someone
Eastern Europe
My Utmost for His Highest
Reading 1/4 of War and Peace
Licorice cookies
Holding hands with an old lady
Disney Princess socks
Creeping on Russia pictures
Feeling His provision

R.I.P.'ed Jeans

There are good days, and there are days when your favorite jeans get stolen out of the dryer.

Here I am, sitting pretty on the false security that I'd built up positive laundry karma after folding some random guy's clothes and never leaving my clothes in the machines any longer than necessary. So imagine my surprise at folding one less pair of pants out of the dryer than I put in. What the heck? I searched that small laundry room high and low, peering in and behind every single machine, and my pants were nowhere to be found. At this point, I can still hardly even believe that they would have been stolen out of the dryer from among all my other clothes, so I go back up to my room. They definitely weren't with me. So I knock on a friend's door with the tidings, "Someone stole my pants". She was just about as befuddled as I was. I went to the laundry room again, to quadruple check in and behind every machine. No pants. So I email the ALOES summer assistant (who I'd already emailed yesterday to say that I'd broken my sink...), but I hear him enter his room across the hall, so I go talk to him. Awkwardly.

"Hey, um, I don't know if you've had a chance to read my email yet, but I just did a load of laundry and I think someone stole a pair of my pants."
"What?"
"Yeah, well, um, I looked everywhere and I can't find these pants so I think someone must have opened the dryer and taken them. I'm sorry. What do I do?"
"That's weird."
"Yeah, I'm not really sure what to do. I'm really sorry. Hguhh."

And if that wasn't enough, he told me to address the whole GTL group. So I got on the handy dandy book of faces and posted a similarly amusing plea for someone to return my pants.

Like I've said, my primary reason for starting this blog was to record stories that clearly could only happen to me. I do believe this falls in that category. And now I guess I will forever be known as that girl who had her pants stolen.

What're you eating under there?

WARNING: this post contains mature content about underwear. kind of.

During finals week, I thought about finals. Almost exclusively. Some might say I obsessed over them. The act of packing up my room was not at all forefront in my mind until Friday at noon. Come that time, though, I was intent on packing up. I thought of everything. Clothes had their suitcases, books had their Sterilites, sheets had their boxes, dishes and cookware had their boxes, too. I even moved all of what I had packed into the living room area of our apartment, arranged by weight and size: heaviest, squarest, and most packable nearest the door. Everything had a place, everything was thought of. Everything, that is, except for underwear and for the clothes and toiletries I would need for the three days spent in Auburn before driving home.

Our extremely awkward, bless her heart, RA came to do the customary room checkout. I paid little to no attention as she did her thing because, like I said, I'd already thought of everything. My staring into space was interrupted when I heard, "oh...ahh...you...ahh...don't forget your...stuff". I turned around and saw she had opened the top drawer of my dresser, where all of my bras were just chillin'. "Whoopsies. Yeah, I'll be needing those." And she didn't make eye contact with me again. I think I made her uncomfortable, and I am truly sorry. I am also truly amused.

When all was moved out of the apartment and into Calpurnia, including the rogue bras, my dad and I set up quarters in a La Quinta for the night. What else to do with time on our hands in the big city than seeing The Avengers and eating popcorn for dinner? So we did. Then, pulling back into the La Quinta at 11:15 at night, I came to the realization that all of my clothes were packed amidst the veritable jigsaw puzzle of boxes in the back of my car. Now, this wouldn't have been such a problem - I'd already been wearing the clothes I had on for two or three days. What's a couple more? - except for the fact that every single pair of underwear I own was packed in the innermost, bottom-most bag. Cue a midnight underwear run to Walmart, where I also picked up some jeggings and a t-shirt. What more could a girl need?

Just like that, two strange underwear occurrences graced my one day. Until now, my underwear has been pretty boring. Now it's got some character. And it's on teh interwebz.

On Being Multilingual

Well, finals have come and gone and I'm pretty sure I have the kummerspeck to show for it.

I've been wanting to use that word all week. I took four years of German in high school, and always appreciated how literal the language is. I tried and failed to continue learning the language at a college level, but I know I'll always attempt to throw out phrases as often as I can. Same with my limited Spanglish. And my virtually-nonexistent-but-there's-still-a-little-there Russian and Italian. And now French, since in t minus nine days I will be on a rather large plane headed for a bus that will take me to Metz. Cue this teeny lifestyle blog becoming a teeny lifestyle blog with some travel thrown in. Invigorating. For those of you who've spent summers/semesters abroad, packing advice would be greatly appreciated! Hit me up. Je m'apelle Molly. (Useful French phrases would be greatly appreciated, as well, since at this point all I'll have in France is a lot of cheese omelets and a lot of French people knowing my name.)

A Week

Without going into details, let's just say I've had my fill of bad mojo this week. HOWEVER - and that's for you, Mrs. Millings, who taught me to never use my but, use my how and my ever - there have also been moments of not bad mojo. For those moments, I am grateful.

Take today, for instance. Seeing as one of my New Year's Resolutions was to figure out what nuclear engineers actually do, I took advantage of ANS touring the Clinac linear accelerator and RSEL that are housed in the basement of the NRE building here on campus. Since I am Georgia Tech ANS Tweet Master *brushes off shoulders* I tweeted a picture of our experiences for the benefit of all. I kid you not, I was retweeted by THE American Nuclear Society. I've never felt so validated in my life. (Dear parents and grandparents, a tweet is a short blib about what one happens to be feeling or doing at that very moment. A retweet is when someone who cares enough to read what you share thinks that your opinion/commentary/terrible pun is worth retelling to everyone who reads what they share. Love, Molly) Plus, I attended a Women in Engineering Awards Banquet tonight - read, capitalized on the opportunity for a rull good free meal - and ended up sitting right next to the Dean of Students. Not that it meant anything other than making me feel important, but still.

Anywho, it's weeks like these when I'm even more happy that I hoard tiny slips of paper and reused flash cards with meaningful transcribed excerpts. Think on this next time you have "a week":

"When many things seem to be going wrong, trust Me. When your life feels increasingly out of control, thank Me. Gradually, you will begin to ascend, recovering your lost ground." -Sarah Young, Jesus Calling, October 3. 

¡Viva Spring Break!

Because I am a maniac, I will proceed to detail my spring break in the reverse order of actual events. It's an enthralling account, so hold on to your hats.

This unorthodox order is mainly because I just got back from a daddy-daughter-double-date to see John Carter from Mars, and I'm still razzed up over that. Talk about cool beans. I mean, I could watch Tim Riggins vacuum hallways, but seeing him violently slaughter hordes of aliens is arguably a heckuva lot more ballin'. Plus, I love knowing that the other daughter probably got the same, pre-movie, "John Carter is the predecessor and influence of all modern day science fiction" talk from her daddy. This is precisely why we love our dads - 'cause they're so smart. At risk of exposing my seventh grade boyhood, this movie is awesome. Even if it was a little far-fetched...

Before that, I ate my heart out at Andy's. For those of y'all not acquainted with popular Tyler establishments, Andy's serves up frozen custard, which I've found to be a fancy way of saying "dang tasty ice cream". Purists may say custard is custard and ice cream is ice cream, but I pride myself in not discriminating when it comes to frozen treats (except, Blizzard > McFlurry >>>>>>>> Sonic Blast). I felt a Thin Mint concrete made with chocolate was a worthy reward after my TWO dentist appointments this morning. TWO. Cute story, as we were sitting on the Andy's sign battling the wind to eat our ice cream, (at four on a Thursday afternoon, mind you), we were mooned from a car on the Loop. Real nice. Before my dentist appointments, my mom and I got pedicures. Mine was lovely until polish was applied to 200% of the surface area of my toes actually taken up by toenails. Regardless of whether or not that statement makes any sense, which it does in my post-John-Carter-from-Mars-high, I've been peeling nail polish off of places it doesn't belong on my toes all day. To sum everything up, I started off the morning by spilling an entire mug of hot tea on my floor. This sounds like a bad thing, until one realizes that I was having breakfast in bed, which is always a good thing, and there was huge, inherent potential for spilling the entire mug of hot tea either in my bed or down my front. The floor is a great alternative.

Last night, I got a three piece lady suit for thirty dollars. Come at me, career fairs. I also attended a Bible study where my presence dropped the average age of attendance by at least 30 years. I did the math twice, just to make sure. Andrea Trent sat in my direct line of vision of The Guy Who Looks Like Kevin Bacon. Vader no! My life is a struggle. (Aside, I'm trying to make the term "Vader no!" commonplace in today's vernacular. Insert it whenever a situation is deserving of an unnecessary, yet emphatic cry of distress.)

This girl did get some much needed Whataburger for dinner and some prime visiting time with good friends, too. The night before, we started Downton Abbey, thawed some birthday cake, and I swung by El Lugar after getting my hairs cut. My big kick-off to spring break week was on Monday night, when I extravagantly purchased books from Barnes and Noble NOT in the Barnes and Noble Classics Collection. It's sort of a rule of mine only to buy classics at Barnes and Noble because, let's face it, they're better and cheaper. But I used the break and my Christmas gift card as an excuse to go a little hog wild. Sunday was driving day, and Saturday night was Avett Brothers concert night. Sister loves her concerts.

So far, that has been my dauntingly exciting spring break. Are you not entertained? I have established at least one thing from my experiences this week: I will make an amazing empty-nester.

From the desk of...

Well, the Housing Department managed to fix our HVAC unit to blow cold air. This is a monumental occasion, seeing as I can finally close my window for more than 8 minutes without being stifled and at risk of asphyxiation. That...was an overreaction. (please read the previous sentence as if you were the Nard-Dog after punching your hand through a wall.) Hyperbole aside, I'm thrilled to be able to close my window. Now I can reset my pictures and knick-knacks without fearing they'll be blown over periodically by gusts of wind. And since I enjoy lists and sharing mundane information, here's a catalog of the flotsam and jetsam littering my desk:

• fancy Kleenex
• flash cards from last semester
• 3 PEZ dispensers - Belle, Pooh, and a BYU football
• a model TIE interceptor
• flashlight
• mug from Steak and Shake
• blank index cards
• way too many writing utensils than practical
• Eat Mor Chikin cow
• teacup from Cafe Intermezzo
• Millard the Hedgehog
• digital Burger King Star Wars watch, in collector's tin
• a Nalgene and a Camelbak
• framed photographs - Halloween circa 1998, atop Judge Baylor, at the HPDHP2 premiere, roomies, with Lord Vader, Mission Week 2011, with my favorite SBDT '10-'11 O
• travel coffee mug in need of a wash*
• empty jar of Smuckers Natural, complete with dirty spoon*
• desk lamp
• Han Solo
• The Fundamentals of Fluid Mechanics
• fingernail clippers
• iTunes giftcard
• handwritten Bible verses - Romans 12:12, Psalm 23:1-4
• TI-nspire, sans batteries

*in my defense, these items are only a day old.

In unrelated news, my grandparents were here last weekend! It was the bomb. And my mom plus my bestie and her mom (and one of my practically-moms) will be here starting tomorrow! I'm planning a dissertational post in which I compare and contrast the particulars of each visit and thence conclude which of the two made the most lasting impression. Jokes. In truth, I'm planning an "oh-my-gracious-I-love-visitors" post in which I detail why my family/friends are the most ballin' people on the planet. Hold on to your hats!

Love Remains

It's the day after Valentine's Day, but I still love everyone and everything just as much.

Some things I loved about yesterday:
These pants. I wore them.
Wagon wheel earrings.
Not being as careful about food intake as usual*.
Cardigans.
Searching Bing images and Etsy with "funny cat valentine" "nerd valentine" "lord of the rings valentine" keywords.
Appointing myself Tweetmaster of Georgia Tech American Nuclear Society.
A compatriot in the effort to bring back "ballin'" to everyday vernacular.
First official Tweet, complete with nuclear Valentine's poem.
$2 Peppermint Mocha.
Annual Valentine's Dinner at Brittain Dining Hall**.
Cupcakes.
Pink socks with red hearts.

Some things I love about today:
Waking up early.
Hairbows.
Migas.
Homemade cookies.
Sunshine.
Cardigans***.
Granny Smith apples.

The pastor at the church I attend here in Atlanta ends every service saying, "Remember! The love in your heart wasn't put there to stay; love isn't love 'til you give it away". And that's what I love about Valentine's Day. I love because I am loved.

*Yes, I watch what I eat. Yes, it is lame. But sister's got to look good if she wants to keep wearing her Summiteer Slim Fits in public. And she does, very much, want to keep wearing her Summiteer Slim Fits in public. They're like heaven in pant form.
**I have an uncalled for obsession with this dining hall. It's not great. It's not even good. I just have a soft spot in my heart for ol' Brit-tain. And I've been wanting to eat there all year. And this was perfect, because last year the Katies Squared and I went on our Valentine's date to the Brittain Valentine's Dinner, too. We're making it an official tradition now that we've done it twice.
***I'm reverting to the phase in my life when I wore cardigans every day and every way. It's ballin' to be back.

Swamped

It's no secret that I love Swamp People. Check it. I am obsessed with this show. Not in a "look how trendy I am by ironically 'liking' this ridiculous show about ridiculous people" kind of way, but in a "would you like to read my 1500 word analysis on why this show is Tops McGee" sort of way. That's right, folks, my English class about the wonders of television was assigned a paper analyzing any one episode of any show on television. Amidst countless essays mindlessly plot summarizing South Park and How I Met Your Mother, there lies one beautifully crafted dissertation on the unbelievable phenomenon that is Swamp People.

I didn't watch the Super Bowl. I turned the TV on in the fourth quarter to watch the Swamp People ad. While wearing my "Aligator [sic] Queen" baseball cap. I'm counting down the hours until the Season 3 premiere on Thursday night. My whole week has been planned around that.

I guess I just wanted to share that I'm not a cutesy fan. And you can take that to the swamp.

Classes

Registration has made me its mistress this go around, but it all worked out. Sort of. I finally got into the only pesky fluids class that would fit my schedule (HUZZAH!), and I finally got into an English class. Because if I didn't sign up for English the Institute would have put a hold on my registration. Bullies. Here's the rundown: my thermodynamics class is taught by an Italian woman. She's pretty awesome and tall. My fluids class, that I stressed over and submitted multiple overrides for before getting into, is taught by a Russian man. He's skinny and tucks button downs into jeans. My English class is called "Understanding Television". We were instructed to write summaries beginning, "Our assigned reading was ___, and it was about ___". My circuits class is taught by a doctoral student. He has a full beard, a beer belly, and a huge tattoo on the back of his head. My NRE professor speaks at about 4 decibels*. We started an Occupy Row Three operation, but he came in with a microphone and temporary disbanding of the movement ensued.

In other news, nothing really cool has happened to me, except.......muh birfday is tomorrow! Which means today is my very last day of 365. Weird, huh? Reflections to follow.

*a normal conversation takes place at about 40-60 decibels. A jet engine is 110 decibels. A vuvuzela is 120 decibels.

Some Day-to-Day

If it had to be my last week in Texas, you had better believe I was going to make it count, starting with New Year's celebrations hot and fresh off of a ski trip. Celebrations that included charades, spontaneous shuffling, fire building, s'mores, leaping over open flame, never ever have I ever, a fair share of laughter, and one wicked hat. On New Year's day, you bet your boots I ate a heaping serving of black-eyed peas for good luck. Then, the jam packed week began.

Monday Gunday. Most people, when you express a longing to shoot guns, give a quick titter before briskly walking away and giving you odd glances across the room. Other people, like my grandpa, take a moment to think, then say, "Well, we'll need some guns. Give me a week." Then the next time you go to their house they have multiple firearms spread out in the guest bedroom. Then they pick you up and take you out to some property where you can shoot off multiple rounds of ammunition at targets that look like squirrels. True story. I shot a .22 rifle, a .22 pistol, a .357 magnum, a .38 special, and a 20 gauge. Variety is the spice of life, my friends. Plus, nothing says grandparent-grandchild bonding time quite like bullseyes and sporting clays.

Tuesday Two-Stepping. Not that it has anything to do with two-stepping, but on Tuesday I found my absolute, hands down, favorite pair of socks, which have been MIA for the past six months or so. They are fleece and irreplaceable. They were hiding, and I was afraid I had lost them forever. Very afraid. But the world is set right and I have my fleece socks again, so everyone can stop worrying. In the evening, though, my dad did transform the living room into a dance floor, put on the George Strait, and dusted off his figurative boogie shoes in order to teach me how to two-step. He also threw in some waltz and polka lessons pro bono.

Wednesday Unbirthday Party. Wednesday was not my birthday. But we did have a birthday party. Before the birthday party, though, I learned how to pwn Settlers of Catan. And I singlehandedly brought back the usage of pwn. My unbirthday party was at Jucy's, because I like my burgers done Jucy's style. I also like how their styrofoam cups are conducive to jabbing your entire thumb through while trying to put on the lids, which then sends Diet Dr. Pepper streaming down your front. Not that that has ever happened. Thank goodness the only people I invited to my unbirthday were related to me. They had to claim me, Diet Dr. Pepper stained socks and all.

Thursday Day Trip. The Picnic Club saddled up in Calpurnia and headed to Dallas to see Hugo. We were approached on our way into the theater by a guy who had lost his wallet, still managed to have a $50 gift card to the movie theater, needed to get to Fort Worth, so wanted to sell the card for $35 cash. Needless to say, we were all highly confused. It was one of those situations where you know you're supposed to say no, but you don't know why. So we said no. Then we said yes, verified the card did indeed have $50 on it (actually, $49), then saved $14. Holler! After the movie, we headed to the world's largest honky tonk in order to catch Wendell's line dancing lesson. We learned the mockingbird, which is, in fact, a real song, not just a scene from Dumb and Dumber. We put everyone else on the floor to shame with our linedancing and pretzeling and I-learned-this-on-YouTubing.

Friday Farewells. Lunch at Stanleys, boot shopping (and eventually buying), unbelievably amazing Christmas gift exchanging, letters to missionaries writing, ZOTZ eating, wondering why I can't just be packed in your suitcase for Spain. And now, to cap it all off, packing. By the way, ZOTZ are super gross.

2012

Seeing as yesterday was the first day of a new year, and every blogger worth his spit has an obligatory new year post, here's mine.

I'll start by saying that I have never, for as long as I can remember, kept a New Year's resolution. This is probably because every resolution I've ever made has been something along the lines of eating less, exercising more, and sister loves to eat a little too much for that to be a reality. So, this year, when asked my resolutions, I kept it simple and attainable. I want to start wearing perfume more. I want to write more letters. I want to do more cool stuff.

These surface level resolutions are great and all, but when I'm tired I get real introspective and late last night I decided that I absolutely must write out serious life goals for the new year. Grabbing a Moleskine and a G2, I set down, prepped for writing, and froze. I had no goals. The only thing running through my mind was the chorus of a Luminate song. A chorus that says, "Here's to new beginnings, here's to breaking free. Let's chase a new horizon, chase who we're meant to be". Suddenly, I knew exactly how I was to compose these things I wanted, which were not so superficial as resolutions but also not so intense as life goals.

New Beginnings: This year, I'm going Mulligans on Jesus Calling, giving it a new start. I also hope to begin new and meaningful relationships, and open up to new opportunities that might arise. I also started a fresh journal.
Breaking Free: I've found myself in destructive cycles as of late, and I'm hoping to break free of that. I also want to break free of aspects in certain relationships that drag me down, plus unnecessary pressures, stresses, and anxieties.
A New Horizon: This one I took as "future goals", for lack of a better term. Step one would be to make a resume. And to find out what nuclear engineers actually do...
Who I'm Meant to Be: Ending high school, I knew exactly who I was. I think I lost a little of that my first year in college. So, for 2012, I'm striving to be me; a child of the King, a Proverbs 31 woman, a goober, a reader, a spontaneous dancer, an opera singer (in the car), an experimenter, a Walmart clothes wearer, a shoe collector, an adventurer, a proponent of the Oxford Comma, and whatever else strikes my fancy on any given day.

Not profound by any means, but that's exactly what I think makes this structure fit. Resolutions are way too mainstream for me, anyways. Here's to 2012!

Happenings

This week:

Return of the King was on TNT.
I made a smore.
I had a good phone call.
I received letters from some of my favorite people.
A random fellow chose to spill his heart to me for an unbiased opinion and advice on his breakup.*
I played soccer in the rain.
I've discovered apple tea.
I'm less than a week away from being home sweet home.

It's the small things.

*I was eating lunch and reading a book. He sat down and asked to talk. She's one lucky girl. I hope they make it work. Then we talked about books. I'll probably never see him again.

Laundry Day

Basically, the purpose of this blog is to relate day to day occurrences that would and could only happen to me. Clearly Molly. Except, my middle name is Claire and I am a clever cat, hence the title Clairely Molly. Maybe I'm wrong, though. Maybe this kind of stuff happens to so many other people every day. I don't know. I do know that the adventure I had this morning is one of the best embodiments of "Clairely Molly" that I've had in a while.

Since our tiny laundry room meant to service two not tiny buildings was surprisingly full this morning, the roommate and I walked over to a different building and snuck in to do our laundry there. Vagabonds. The actual laundry doing was uneventful, and after it was all said and done we folded. Nothing strange about that. However, I had to share a folding table with a pile of t-shirts and socks that had been taken out of a dryer and left for gone. I finished folding my clothes, and as I stood there I thought to myself, "wouldn't it be funny if this guy came back to find all of his clothes folded? It could be my random act of kindness for today!" So I start folding. For the first 3/4 of the pile, we were alone, possibly yelling "Blast-off!" when machines got rowdy, possibly thinking of all the clever options on how to tweet/sliver/blog about my adorable random act of kindness, possibly wondering how we ever became roommates with people who yell blast-off and fold random laundry in the laundry room. Then people started to trickle in. As they do, I realize how potentially awkward this situation might get if someone walked in to find me, a stranger, folding their laundry. I fold faster. As I reach the bottom of the pile, I notice that the shirts I'm folding look vaguely familiar, but I just chalk it up to the fact that most Tech guys have a similar fashion sense. Not that it even mattered. I was done folding, I would leave in t minus two minutes, and the guy would never know the identity of his laundry fairy. At that moment, a familiar face walks in the laundry room: a guy I met a while back, realized was in one of my classes, and one in every ten times we see each other we'll wave. One of those. Well, this was that one in ten time, so I waved and we exchanged pleasantries. Then he gave me an odd look. Walked a little ways toward the dryers, looked back at me. "Did you fold all of that?" "Yes, I did." "Oh, um, well, thanks. I guess I left it in here a little too long again." "Oh...yeah..." And I left. Now I will forever be known as that girl who randomly folds other people's laundry. Of course.

Storm the Field

As a seventh grader, I accompanied my family to almost every Robert E. Lee High School football game. The year was 2004, and we just kept on winning. Pretty soon, our treks to games were no longer down Vine to Rose Stadium or even down 20 to Longview. We were in the playoffs and games were in exotic locations, like Waco and Texas Stadium. And then, we played the state championship game. In the Alamodome. And per tradition my family packed up the car, donned our Red Raider gear, invested in body paint, and made the pilgrimage to San Antonio to cheer on our boys. Being a seventh grader, I was one of very few people my age who actually attended playoff games, which translates to: I sat with my parents. This game, though, I was invited to sit with my brother and his friends - all unbelievably cool freshmen. Oh, yeeeah. I could hardly believe my good fortune when I sat down in their mob, looking around and just knowing that every one probably thought I was in high school. Oh, yeeeah. I was eating it up. To make it even better, my brother and his cronies were all shirtless and painted red, spelling "Go Raiders" and beating upended Home Depot buckets as drums. (One of my freshman friends wrote "Go Big Red" in paint on my face. Oh, yeeeah.) I can't tell you much about the actual football, but Lee pulled it out in the end and we took State. It was amazing. The entire section of super cool freshmen around me jumped to their feet and started running down the bleachers, over the barrier, onto the field...and I stayed in the stands. I stood there, like a bump on a log, worried that I would be arrested or lose my purse filled with lip gloss and breath mints if I moved one inch. So I stayed.

I'm not much on regrets. I don't have many, I don't dwell on the few that I do, but this has always been lurking in the back of my mind. Why didn't I storm the field? Worse, will I ever have another chance to?

This past Saturday, Tech played its homecoming game against climpsun. Now, I love my boys, but performance with the pigskin has been a little shaky as of late, and people who know much more about football than I do weren't expecting too much in the way of results. We got to Bobby Dodd real early in order to be nearest to the front of SWARM as possible and watched the pregame clock tick down. If you've ever been to a football game early, you know that the teams warm up. You probably knew that even if you haven't ever been to a football game early. The kickers warm up by practicing extra points. That means footballs kicked rather hard intermittently rocket into the stands. Most of the time, these balls are either caught by zealous fans or land in empty stand space. Sometimes, these balls are casually avoided by large guys standing a row ahead and continue in their trajectory to hit people in the stomach who are sitting down and not paying attention. I've heard that after impact, these people often melt into a pool of laughter and tears before shooting double thumbs up to the rest of the crowd who has been staring and shouting "Are you OK?". Yes. It was me. I was that girl. Of course. That was my excitement before the game. My excitement during the game was that Tech came out of nowhere to play supremely well and WIN! We took Clemson! Starting 4th quarter, the buzz around me began to toss around the idea of storming the field. Would we do it? There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that if even only one other person ran on that field, I would be going, too. For seven years I've lived in mental anguish over storming football fields, and I am happy to say that my mind has finally been put at ease. We took Clemson and the field! I have stormed a field, and you know what? I didn't get arrested or lose my lip gloss.

Clemson is a redneck school, doodah, doodah...