Who Let the Dogs Out?

I have never grooved so much as I did last night. The occasion? Dr Dog at the Masquerade. what. a. show.

The evening kicked off with Cotton Jones, a very entertaining opening band. With lyrics like, "we are all chickens in the dark", "home is where you stop a minute and clean your teeth", and "I heard it in the toilet bowl, you're calling out my name", you know they're going to be good. The lead wore a straw cowboy hat with about 2 extra inches in the crown. They also had a trombonist/tubaist. Seriously, y'all, good stuff.

From the first note of Dr Dog's set, the entire crowd was pulsing, throbbing, thrumming in a universal rhythm. There was just an inescapable energy that filled the room and swept all of us up with it. Talk about fun. It was a groovefest; quite probably a top five concert experience for this girl.

In other news, I just finished reading Eat, Shoots, and Leaves, a book all about proper punctuation, and I have to say that it was amazing. Lynne Truss keeps things conversational and interesting, while remaining informative. Go read it, enlighten yo'self, and punctuate. It frightens me how something I've always felt to be so important is becoming more and more obsolete. (For anyone who went back to check my punctuation to call me out for reading a punctuation book and still making mistakes - kudos.)

A New Project

Alright, nerds, I've gone and done it. I signed up for National Novel Writing Month. Yeeps. If you're not familiar with it/not too great at deduction, NaNoWriMo (yes, they call it that) is a full month devoted to writing a novel. November, to be exact. Anyone can do it, everyone should.

But Molly, you're a nuclear engineering major. Do you even know the first thing about writing a novel? Heck no. I'm freakin' out, man.

But Molly, you're a nuclear engineering major. Do you even have time to write a novel? Surprisingly, I have a lot of free time this semester. Yes, writing will probably cut into my Vlogbrother watching time, but I think participating in NaNoWriMo will protect my nerdfighter status.

But Molly, why? I guess I just like to do challenges and start projects. Yeah, it seems to be in vogue right now to challenge oneself by training and completing half marathons, but heck if you'll ever see me doing that. I get my kicks in a nerdier fashion. Sometimes it works out (Project 365 - wut wut!!!) and sometimes it's an admitted failure (eating "paleo" for maybe 9 days...), but if you're never brave enough to embark on new harebrained schemes, you'll never have weird things to write about on your blog.

So basically everyone should pester me during the entire month of November and ask how my novel is coming along so that I'll be too embarrassed to give up. Everyone should also sign up and write their own novels because writing makes you smarter. Besides, even if you're thinking "I can't do that. I can't write worth guano!" - your novel can never be worse than The Bean Trees. There's really no excuse.

And, yes, I have started watching 30 Rock, hence frequently referring to everyone as nerds, a la Liz Lemon.

My Room

"Woah! I'm surrounded by Star Wars! This is awesome! An Arrested Development poster!? This is awesome!"

Well, y'all, I'm officially the coolest kid on the block. Because that was an actual exclamation of an actual person upon entering my actual room. He's not the been the only one to remark on the amount of 7th grade boy paraphernalia scattered around, either. Of course, with Halloween just around the bend there were some extra costumes and masks lying around, but they just supplemented the permanent Han Solo, Princess Leia, and TIE fighter action figures, Episode V coffee mug, and Star Wars sheets revealed by my unmade bed.

We roomies have a saying that surfaces quite often 'round The Asylum: any act of quirkiness can and will be called out as "crankin' up the nerd dial - buhdoop buhdoop buhdoop!" Let's just say my nerd dial requires infinite settings. And, yeah, I am kind of bragging about that and about my choice of room decor, but this is my blog so I get to brag about whatever I want. thug lyfe. I also carried things around at Target today and didn't take them back to their proper sections when I decided I didn't want them. ultra thug lyfe. And I totally balled at midfielder during Dynamo's first intramural soccer game, which we totally lost, but not too badly. And I ate at Tin Drum for both lunch and dinner. So, yeah, that "coolest kid on the block" thing was not a drill.

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!!!!!!

Round Six

"Wait...you're taking quantum mechanics for funzies?"
"No, I needed to fill some hours and it might or might not count as an elective."
"So...you're taking quantum mechanics for funzies?"
"Ohhh my gosh, I think I am."

I kind of dig physics. This semester, my course load has finally been whittled down to where I'm mainly taking classes that I want and no longer trudging through basics - wut wut. That means I'm taking radiation detection/detection lab, a special topics class on reactor materials, quantum mechanics, heat transfer, and circuits lab. So far, I've been to everything but the labs. Here are my impressions:

Radiation Detection: my professor is disappointingly normal. He's just a very normal guy.
Reactor Materials: return of the Deo! This class is taught by the same professor I had for radiation physics last semester. He wears clothes that are, on average, 3x too big, usually unmatched, and always disheveled. He has also been known to sport the jean jacket on occasion. (Last year I tried to start a betting pool on what he'd be wearing each day, but it didn't catch on. So I just betted myself in my head.)
Quantum Mechanics: this class is full of physics majors. As in, I was one of four girls and the average hair length was still shoulder-length. Mhmm. The professor is from somewhere foreign and slightly resembles a mermaid from Harry Potter, but only in the face. His grading policy for homework included, "You need an answer. It doesn't need to be the right answer, but you need an answer."
Heat Transfer: imagine the most monotone British voice imaginable. Then imagine that voice talking about conduction, convection, and radiation. We were assigned watching water boil and making a cup of tea for homework. I'm not quite sure how serious that was, but I sure did it.
In general: this is the first semester that I am not that girl walking around almost in tears on the first day. Represent! I still have yet to start a semester without hearing about the double slit experiment in at least one class. I gave someone directions to a building, and they were the right directions. My killer ultrabook is the envy of everyone who sees it.

Non-classwise, the first of the semester has included lots of Target/Walmart runs, dance parties, Tangled watching, tea drinking, staying up way too late, bulletin board pinning, Hamlet re-reading, embroidering, and wishing that this wealth of free time could last all semester.

Friday Five

Five Literary Characters That I Think I Could Actually Be Friends With.
Let's be honest, there are some characters that I'd definitely love to be friends with that probably wouldn't give me the time of day. There are also some characters that I would hate to be friends with. There are also characters like Aslan that don't need to be mentioned because WHO DOESN'T WANT TO BE FRIENDS WITH ASLAN?

*this was hard. there are lots of characters that I really want to be friends with. these are in no particular order. also, it's weird trying to defend why you would want to be friends with someone...

5. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Pride and Prejudice. Sort of bad at making first impressions, mildly socially inept, but a great friend once made? Sounds strikingly like the Picnic Club. Really, though, Mr. Darcy is probably the Pride and Prejudice character that I feel I relate to most. Please appreciate this major breakthrough on my part, since every girl in the world wants to be Elizabeth Bennet (or at least they should) and it takes a lot to accept that one might not exactly be Lizzy material.

4. Dagny Taggart, Atlas Shrugged. Dagny takes care of business. I feel like she would be the friend that I would automatically lock eyes with when group work was announced because I would know that she'd leave me alone to do my part and that I could trust her to do her part. Then we would finish the project before everyone else and use the extra time to talk about stuff and solve the world's problems. In pencil skirts. Very stylishly without being stylish.

3. Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter. I feel like this would be one of those opposite enough to be entertaining but alike enough to work out friendships. Ginny seems to be braver and brassier than I am, especially in the later books, but she's smart and collected about it. As much as I'd love to be friends with book Hermione, she would get on my nerves. And book Harry is too busy being angsty and killing Voldemort and whatnot to make and retain many new friends. Ginny, though, we would click.

2. Rosie Cotton, The Lord of the Rings. Rosie Cotton is the hobbit that Sam ends up marrying at the end of the adventure. Despite dreams of being a graceful warrior elf or a crazy awesome Nazgul slayer woman, I think my disposition is rather more suited towards being a hobbit. Rosie and I could dance with ribbons in our hair, eat second breakfasts, and drink tea while our husband hobbits tilled the yard and tended the garden.

1. Scout Finch, To Kill a Mockingbird. Let's face it, I was a prime candidate for bossing around. You could call it "easygoing" or "reserved" or "a sweet child", but it all boils down to being really good at having people tell you what to do. I was that girl, and Scout would be a perfect boss. We would be friends because we're both smart, but I would be decidedly less interesting and Scout would convince me take part in antics that I would never do on my own.

0. Vicky Austin, A Ring of Endless Light. Sorry, I had to include one more. Ahem, "Vicky shares a similar personality to Madeleine L'Engle. Both share a passion for literature and poetry, and use writing to express their ideas as well as their emotions. In addition, both struggle with the problem of evil, but ultimately believe in the existence of a loving God" (Wikipedia). Plus she can talk to dolphins. I think it would work out quite well.

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

Winter is Coming

In middle school, I read like a boy. All the book needed was a dragon on the cover or eight more books in the series or multiple subtitles in swirly fonts and I would read it. That is, until one fateful day of eighth grade when my love of fantasy novels was tainted forever. 

After finishing some lame powerpoint assignment about hurricanes that included the use of hyperlinks - woah, dang - in Ms. Parker's class, I got my agenda signed specifically to go to the library for the next book in the Shannara series by Terry Brooks. (I kid you not, this is what Wikipedia says about the series: "...chronicles the adventures of brothers Shea and Flick Ohmsford in their quest to retrieve the Sword of Shannara to defeat the Warlock Lord who threatens the Four Lands". You'd best believe I ate this fantasy gold up.) As is wont with series of this nature, there were about fifty bajillion different side stories and parallel tellings and prequels and sequels. I had no idea which book came next. Naive eighth grader as I was, and still believing that every single librarian knew every single thing about every single book, I decided to ask the Librarian With the Missing Finger for help. She took a glance at the shelf/series I inquired about, and disdainfully tossed her head away saying, "Oh, I don't read those books." I know for a fact that my face flushed bright red as I shoved books back on the shelf in Dewey Decimal order as quickly as possible, jetting out of the door without anything to take home. Those books were not good books. Those books were not adult books. To ever be taken as seriously about books as a librarian, I could never read those books again. And I never did. Barring the last two books of the Inheritance Cycle, I have steered clear of dragons and knights and magical creatures ever since.

Fast forward six years and imagine my elation at the realization that THEY MAKE FANTASY BOOKS FOR ADULTS. You know how I know they're for adults? The TV series is on HBO! That's adult-y! Yes, folks, I am slightly obsessed with the A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones series. It's good to be back in the fantasy world again. And it's even better to be in the middle of the series while I'm in Europe, crawling around castles and the like. Plus, the show is conveniently at my fingertips thanks to the file sharing provided by my French dorm. Thank heavens for the mass amount of time spent on trains this summer, where it is socially acceptable to read for hours on end without talking to anyone, and for the nights free from responsibility, where I can cozy up in bed with a mug of tea and watch back-to-back episodes.

So take that, Librarian With the Missing Finger. Maybe you should give those books a chance, or at least try not to dissuade middle schoolers from reading them. Anything and everything that gets kids excited about reading is worthy literature.

I should be doing homework.

My Def Bods professor's name is Bhasker Paliwal. May I present, Bossk-er Paliwal.

If only my grade depended on daydreaming...

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.

What Happened in Vegas

Um, so, I went to Vegas. Party on, Wayne! The American Nuclear Society Student Conference was held at UNLV this year. Yes, I went to Vegas for a nuclear convention. Nerd alert.

Apparently, you can find a measure of the radioactivity of the soil in a set radius by testing the honey that comes from the bees gathering pollen from plants in that radius. And Westinghouse has really big cranes. And pinches are cool. And that's just a sampling of what I retained, y'all.

I made a buddy from Idaho National Lab. Not that I called a half-day and left the seminar early or anything, but I did happen to be at In-and-Out Burger instead of in an afternoon technical session on Saturday. (I've heard so much about the place, I just had to try it out. Consensus? Good! but not Whataburger good...just sayin'.) As I stepped back from the counter to wait for my order, a man in a suit, who presumably noticed my extra fine $30 lady suit and official name badge, asked where I was from, if I was enjoying the conference, etc. After my initial concern at being caught skipping, I relaxed and struck up a conversation. Then a table opened up and he invited Katie and me to join him. So he told us all about Idaho and interning at INL and hiking and snow drifts and research. Pretty snazzy, especially for a chance meeting. Then I kept running into him off and on throughout the remainder of the conference, and we exchanged pleasantries and everyone was super impressed that I had a friend from Idaho. Well, they should have been, at least.

Like any good Tweetmaster, I covered that conference up and down. I tweeted puns. I tweeted pictures. I utilized the heck out of the official hashtag. I should have won an award.

I walked up and down the Strip. I looked at the lobbies of many famous hotels. I watched the Bellagio fountain show twice. I went to M&M World. I saw The Shins live in an open air rooftop nightclub pool. They were awesome. The opening act was awesome, but not really for the reasons they intended to be. First off, the lead singer wore a quiver. Filled with flutes. He had a quiver of flutes. Every song, he'd whip another one out and start toodle-dooing away. A totally obsolete member of the band was the one who took it the most seriously. He looked like someone's slightly annoying younger brother who they owed a favor so they let him stand behind some equipment and shake a tambourine. But he did so much more than that. He tambourined, maraca-ed, bongo-ed, SPAAAAACETIIIIIIIIMed, danced, you name it. It sprinkled throughout the opening act, then picked up at the end of their set so we had to stand in the cold, rainy, smoky night for a good bit until the rain let up and the Shins came on stage. So. Good. They were just flawless. And super indie trendie.

And now I'm one awesome experience, 100 Peanut M&Ms, 2 Atlanta-to-Las-Vegas-sized doses of cosmic radiation, and one pair of Vegas socks richer.

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. 

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.

Chicken-fil-A

"Got any fun plans this weekend?"
"I'm going to a Leadership Conference!"

Granted, it probably wasn't the expected response, but it was true. Going to a leadership conference was the big highlight of my weekend. And you know what? It was awesome. Mainly because the keynote speaker was Dan T. Cathy, President and CEO of Chick-fil-A. I think we can all agree that Chick-fil-A is the bomb, not only because of the dee-licious chicken, but also because of the service. Mr. Cathy impressed me by his retention of values amidst obvious business smarts, but also by his retention of business smarts amidst values. It frustrates me that most openly religious leaders in secular industries are portrayed as hokey, simple folk - having values translates to easily taken advantage of. Hearing Mr. Cathy speak of his business model was unreal. He inserts morals without seeming like a pushover. He uses those morals expressly to boost profits without seeming like a jerk. It's amazing.

Mr. Cathy brought copies of his dad's book for everyone, and after he spoke a friend suggested we go get our books signed. I introduced myself as being from Tyler, Texas and Mr. Cathy immediately mentioned the Tyler restaurant operators by name, Green Acres Baptist Church, and Broadway Square Mall. He has restaurants all over the nation, in cities far more exciting than Tyler, but he knew. And I think that, more than anything else, was what impressed me about Dan Cathy.

So go Eat Mor Chikin.

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.

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.

My New Friend

This whole semester, I've been fairly regular about getting up and going to the gym most mornings. I barely even know who I am anymore. But, with this new development has come a new friendship. Every morning, as I sleepily ambled back into my building, redfaced and short of breath, I saw the same maintenance man vacuuming the hallway. After about a week of this, being who I am, I started giving him little waves and shout outs each morning. At first, he responding as any black working male might to a pink engineering student female. (With hesitancy, if you haven't ever witnessed that situation before.) Gradually, though, he became more and more responsive and our morning ritual became established.

"Good morning!"

"How you doin'?"

"I'm good! How are you?

"Doin' alright. Take it easy."

And on Fridays, we'd exchange "have a good weekend"s. I looked forward to seeing him each morning, and I could tell he looked forward to seeing me, too.

Well, today I set off once again for the gym, but not at my usual time. I saw him in the lobby, we had our exchange, then I went off. When I returned, his vacuum was still there even though he was nowhere to be seen. I climbed the stairs to the second floor, rounded the corner, and there he was, walking down the hall!

"Hey! What is yo' name?"

"I'm Molly!"

"Well, I'm KC."

"Nice to meet you, KC."

"Yeah, if you ever need anything, you just let me know, alright?"

"I will! Thank you so much!"

Y'all, KC just made my week.

Bookish

My mother scolded me at the mall today when I started looking at a book fair set up in the middle of the walkway instead of shopping for clothes. Her entreaties eventually managed to tear me away from the rows and rows of slightly used books, but I would have been more than content to remain perusing for hours. I did manage to snag dollar copies of The Grapes of Wrath and Paradise Lost before being whisked away to try on countless more party dresses. I feel like things usually work the other way around...

This, my friends, is what we would call characteristic.