I Salute You

Recently I heard that the "official" war in Afghanistan is wrapping up. Over the years, various people and organizations have asked what my stance on the war is. I always say the same thing:

"I support the soldiers, not the cause."

Because I do. I will ALWAYS support the men and women who go and fight, no matter how meaningless or misguided the war is. I support them because without them this sovereign soil we make such a big deal over wouldn't exist. This place, this country - confused, brutal, compassionate and shallow - wouldn't be if not for the soldiers who gives their minds, hearts, and lives for it.

I believe war is morally wrong, just like eating the last cookie and not telling anyone or the slaughter of animals is. However, don't you dare label me and put me in a neat little bracket like "Liberal" or "Conservative." I also believe in the death penalty, with reservations. I believe in free will, and choice (even as I hate making choices). I don't believe humanity will ever free itself from war and genocide and selfishness. We are put together this way so that we have something to transcend.

During the Vietnam war soldiers were brutalized in the field for doing the dirty work of corrupt and frightened politicians, then they returned home - to this US of A we're all so proud of - and were brutalized again by the people who should have honored them. I am afraid of violence; I know I'm not capable of protecting myself if someone wanted to harm me. But I am more afraid of betrayal, and the psychological violence that goes on every day, without cessation, and has since mankind came down out of the trees. There are pithier terms for it, of course: my favorite colloquialism is "head-f***." The psychological scars of war are the biggest head-f*** of all.

So here then is something to remind you of the men who are called monsters. They are misunderstood, misrepresented, but merely men, after all. Merely men, doing a job the rest of us can't or won't. Think about them next time you whine about your first-world problems. Aren't you lucky there are people out there standing between you and whatever big scary things the other humans on this planet are thinking, or plotting, or dreaming?

Soldiers, I salute you. Welcome home.

 

And here is something to listen to that always makes me cry: 

Heaven was Needing a Hero
Hero
Just a Dream

This is WolfGrrl.

EMS

Exhaustion Meets Stress. It should be a musical. Or a horror show. Or a diagnosable condition.
Geez.

I'm too tired for this.
I will post again when exams are finished and I've moved back home and slept for a year. Maybe in 2012.

WolfGrrl

Potluck Friendship

The sign of a good friend is not, as they are finishing their last lap of a two-mile run, to stand on the sidelines and yell "Run Forest, run!" at the top of your lungs. Besides amusing everyone within hearing range and making a total fool of yourself, you also annoy the crap out of your friend by doing this.

It was pretty fun though.

My therapist is always telling me to list good things about myself, and then she gets mad at me when "friend" isn't on there. Honestly, (as the above example should illustrate) I'm not all that sure I'm a good friend.

Oh sure, I listen when someone's having a bad day and I try to understand what they need from me to feel better. I worry about my friends and I laugh with them (and when they're being stupid, at them). I am fierce in their defense and forgive them anything, but I don't see these things as being particularly special. Maybe this has to do with my terror of being a burden: in my life, I want nothing so much as to make those around me happy (obviously I don't care about making neo-Nazi plagiarists happy).

Despite all this however, I seem to have little trouble making friends. Sometimes it takes me a while and sometimes I meet people and we just click. Who can say what governs the mysterious alchemy of friendship? It's like the food in the dining hall: sometimes it's fulgy as all-get-out, and sometimes you strike pure culinary gold. (Only without the food part, obviously.)

Right. I think it's fair to say that my brain has checked out for the day. Off to fight with my computer over James Bond. I want to watch Daniel Craig shoot people, and the computer apparently has parental tendencies and thinks Bond films are bad for me. Either that, or it's a radical feminist disguised as technology.

Oh Lord...
WolfGrrl

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice -
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do -
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Mary Oliver

Re: The Plague of Plagiarism

I am too tired and stressed to write anything original and cute right now; an old post will have to do. Sorry, faithful readers, for my lack of attention to you in the past few weeks. A whole crap-load of stuff has recently fallen on my head, with the end result being I don't really have the time or energy to devote to superfluous things. (Looking at YouTube videos of babies and cute dogs is preventative medicine, thank you very much. It doesn't require the use of my brain.) You know things are bad when I, who believe that unless I am dead or in the hospital I must be in class, considered skipping in favor of a nap.

I am appalled by my own irresponsibility. I have failed myself, even though I went, because that makes two classes today in which I have almost fallen asleep. But whatever; digressions are the product of a sleep-deprived (see the last post) and deranged mind. Instead have a little rant from a few months ago, dealing with one of my favorite soapbox topics of all time: Plagiarism.

Grrrr.
Yes, that's the sound I'm making right now on my computer in the library (sorry to my fellow students, but let's face it, some days you just gotta growl). The reason for the growling and the glaring? Well, if you're not like me and actually do keep up with current events you'll remember that there's been a recent upswing in college campaigns against plagiarism. And for good reason: it sucks to be plagiarized.

Now, thankfully I've never (to my knowledge) been plagiarized, but I have friends who have and everyone is familiar with the idiots scrambling to read off their neighbors' tests or "borrow" their papers. Folks, let's take a minute and think about the consequences of such actions, and I'm not just talking about what the college will do to you if you're caught. Captain Jack had it right when he said that "The deepest circle of Hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers." Substitute "plagiarists" for "mutineers" and you've got a statement that's scary as crap...or should be to all you smug-faced tight-asses who bought your papers over the internet rather than wrote them like all the rest of us. It's people like you who make the world difficult for people like me, and on behalf of suspected plagiarists everywhere I'm letting you know that YOU SUCK.

These days there are so many plagiarists running around that even honest writing comes under suspicion when there's the slightest discrepancy between the quality of the author and the quality of the work. Now, because of my sterling reputation, obvious affinity with language, and the line of people twenty miles long willing to testify that I actually did write that paper, I've never received more than The Glance from a professor. But there are some people who lose scholarships or job interviews or even their careers because they don't have that stockpile of trust to balance the doubts of the Powers That Be. The reason being, of course, those faceless hordes who steal others' work but aren't smart enough to avoid getting caught. I think that people who plagiarize and get themselves busted are a greater menace than the ones who get away. Obviously, it's good to catch and punish such criminals, but on the other hand it gives the Powers That Be a precedent for scrutinizing all future comers with brutal - and not always unbiased - intensity.

Grrrr.

If I were so inclined I could probably spin this post off onto the topic of trust and relationships, but that's a digression for another day. For now I'll just leave you with a little bit of WolfGrrl Wisdom: supposedly 'Cheaters Never Prosper.' Please. We all know that's a bunch of crap. The saying should state that 'Cheaters Always Prosper...Until Someone Knocks Them on Their Asses.' Let that someone be you; take a stand against plagiarism. When you see the kid beside you sneaking a look at his textbook during the exam, give it a kick on your way to the bathroom. He won't be able to retrieve it without giving the game away. That girl waiting to photocopy her friend's history paper ten minutes before the deadline? Jam the photocopier when it's your turn.

All right, all right, these are all malicious and destructive responses to plagiarism. But hey, a little fantasizing never hurt anyone, right? The MOST EFFECTIVE way of stopping is plagiarism happens to be my personal favorite: Turn to the Evil Person and say, calmly to his/her face "I'm sorry you're too busy to write this paper/lab report/whatever. Perhaps you should take fewer classes next semester, or talk to your parents about transferring to a less academically rigorous school."

The expression on his or her face will, undoubtedly, make your day.
It sure made mine.

Mwahahahaha...no.
WolfGrrl

Sbleep and Other Holiday Things

Yes, sbleep. This is what I call 'sleep' when I'm deprived of it (or feeling ridiculous). Considering that I got two hours of sleep last night and maybe a thirty minute nap this afternoon, I think I'm doing pretty well. 'Tis the holiday season, after all, and today the fam and I ran up to Washington DC for Thanksgiving with the grandparents. I'm always grateful to visit here (even if some things continually throw me, like the amount of food available and my access to exercise), but I am especially thankful this year because for a few weeks in October I was afraid my grandfather wasn't going to make it to the holiday season.

He did, however, and all is (relatively) well here. This means I can devote my break to the two most important aspects of my life: sleep and homework.

I hear the angels sniggering. Or weeping, as the case may be.

While I'm not an insomniac I do sometimes lack the desire or inclination to sleep. This doesn't do me any favors during the school year, unless it's crunch time and I have a ton of stuff to do, and it definitely doesn't help during breaks when one is supposed to catch up on, not lose, sleep. Sbleep. And yet during every break I find myself staying up to insane hours of the early morning doing nothing of any significance, reveling in (and wasting) my precious recovery time from daily life. For me, breaks from school tend towards boredom, family exposure, baking, and excessive amounts of wasted time. Oh yes, I am a champion time-waster (although my boyfriend tops me, poor thing, with his complete inability to focus even when he has five papers due on the same day and hasn't slept for a week).

So, sbleep. It's a wonderful, bizarre thing. Sometimes I sleep and wake up more exhausted than when I went to bed; other times I'm so exuberant I nearly kill myself getting up. It's a crap-chute as to whether or not sleep helps me or hurts me, but one thing remains constant:

I never get enough of it when I'm supposed to.

Zzzzzzz...
WolfGrr1

Edible Insanity

When I am stressed, I bake.
I guess I'm stressed, and while this week has been long and exhausting (and the fact that I no longer seem able to sleep does not help) I don't feel stressed. I've done my homework - most of it I've turned in early! I aced my test, I finished my project. I have to write a paper, but not for another two weeks, and divine intervention has yet to fail me. So, really, what have I got to be stressed about?

Tonight's bizarre baking phenomenon appears to be a chocolate PAC-man cake. It looks like a PAC-man because I ate a slice before I iced it, and now...you get the idea. (Side note: PAC-man isn't an accepted word in spell check. WTH?)

If I had my camera I'd post a picture of the cake; suffice to say, it's one of my better creations. And isn't that always the way it happens? You think you've finally gone off the deep end, or you can't remember a single word of what you just wrote for your final, and then you open the oven, get the paper back, and realize you aced it. It's one of the more incredible ways the world works.

And there's our intelligent, space-agey laundry machine singing its cheerful little "Finished and happy about it!" song.

Ahhh, I love the way fresh towels feel. Makes me want to take a shower, just so I can use the warm, fluffy towel afterwards. But I'm too spaced right now to risk a shower; there was a time when I had to shower in the mornings because I fell asleep if I showered at night. Now, it's all about time. Well, and the fact that my hair gets gross if I don't wash it daily...something my hairdresser yells at me about. Whatever. Maybe her hair can withstand the onslaught of grease, but I feel nasty and my scalp itches when I don't wash my hair. And there's a lovely image for all of you. Sorry; I'm really tired. I'm not coherent. What was I talking about? Oh. Food. Dessert. My baking addiction.

Yes, there is such a thing as Edible Insanity. I make it. Usually with chocolate. I'm getting quite good. And speaking in short, declarative sentences seems to be another hallmark of my wandering wits. Joy. Maybe I should really get some sleep. I have been up for almost...20 hours? That's scary. It can't be true. But yes, I am a freak who, no matter what time she goes to bed, gets up at 6 AM. I make my own life a living hell. I am definitely insane.

Anyway, now that the PAC-man cake is telling me to go. To. Bed. I think I shall.

G'night (and apologies for the weirdness of my sleep-deprived brain)
WolfGrrl

Unique

We want to think that we are unique.
This is what humans prize above all.
Singularity.
Uniqueness.
Having an eating disorder is a sign that an individual feels frightened and marginalized.
I had a difficult time letting go of my eating disorder because I felt it made me unique.
I desperately wanted to be unique because I felt like I wasn't a part of the world.
Nothing about me was "good enough."
For a long time after I began treatment I was mourning the loss of my uniqueness.
But an eating disorder is a common thing.
Many people have one, and it is a disorder because it has universal signs and symptoms.
My eating disorder wasn't unique.
It didn't make me unique.
It made me a part of something.
Realizing that made it easier to let go.
It was easier to let go because I wasn't losing anything.
I am unique.
The disorder - my disorder - is not.

First World Problems

This post is inspired by a conversation on Facebook between my roommate, myself, and several of our friends. Last night she posted this on my wall:

"OMG THE ICEMAKER JUST TURNED ON IN THE KITCHEN AND IT WAS SO SCARY."

Her boyfriend's brother is the one who got us all started with his "first world problems" comment, haha. But it is true. Most of the things I complain about (or am unhappy about) on a daily basis are ridiculous when taken in a global context. For example, since the school year began I've gained ten pounds; this infuriates and depresses me, even though it's mostly muscle gain from my fitness class. This post, while funny and fluffy and exemplary of lighthearted humor between friends, got me thinking. (Fortunately for all of you here, I don't have time to go into a really lengthy discussion, but...)

I am a recovering anorexic. This is also the topic of my anthropology final project this semester, and because of that I've spent a lot of time thinking about and analyzing my involvement with this illness. It's some scary stuff, folks. It's taken me almost three years to be able to read the literature on anorexia, or to face the statistics of which I was nearly a part. I won't go into everything I've learned in the past few years, but suffice to say anorexia is definitely a first world problem. Most people in the world who are starving (and there are 925 million of them) don't do so to look "better." They starve because of famine, war, dictatorial governments, or restricted access to food. It's criminal that in a first world nation like America more than 10 million individuals are deliberately starving themselves. Criminal, and yet for this teacup human, completely, miserably understandable.

Think about some of the things in your life that annoy you beyond bearing. For me, applying for college was a huge irritation. Same with PMS; my boyfriend will deny it (until pressed) but other friends who aren't afraid to badmouth me will tell you I am a total bitch for about a week out of every four. Who else in the world has time to stress over things like finding the BEST dress for your wedding, getting a car when you turn sixteen (I was old at eighteen, thanks very much), or having access to higher education? Our "big" problems sure seem small when seen in a global context.

Now I have to run (class in 20 minutes, sigh), but I thought I'd throw this out there: do you think any of your problems that seem so huge are first world problems? For a lighthearted conversation on Facebook (and there's another FWP right there: addiction to technology) this one sure gave me a brain twist.

Ciao
WolfGrrl

Meet the Parents

Technically this should be a two-part post: his and hers, with matching accessories. I am hoping that today I can take my boyfriend home to "meet the parents" and next week I will meet his when they come up for Thanksgiving. Fingers crossed it all goes well - although I suspect our biggest issue will be, once we've finished meeting everyone, that we turn to each other and go "Thank God you turned out normal!"

My roommate asked the two of us last night (as we were discussing these plans) if we were nervous. To which he and I both replied (almost at the same time): "Nope." I hadn't ever considered this more than a courtesy to my parents; my mother complained a few days ago that I never really told her I was going out with my boyfriend; she said if she wasn't my Facebook friend she wouldn't have known, to which I replied that if she hadn't been my Facebook friend I would have made a greater effort to announce it to the family. Whew. Talk about your crossed wires. Anyway, despite this I guess my progression from romantic interest to actual girlfriend was so...natural, it didn't seem like a big deal to me even though it was.

Being a girlfriend is a wonderful experience, but if I had less of a considerate, fun, and caring boyfriend I don't think it would be half as much fun. Babysitting his Crackberry aside (I am so technologically inept that I spent yesterday turning off the alarm every ten minutes because I didn't know how to disable it), there isn't much I won't do for my boyfriend. I am so comfortable in our relationship that this step seems waaaay smaller than I suppose it is; I've never dated before, and I think everyone is constantly surprised by this since I took to it so...readily. I can't help it: I'm a prodigy.

I can't be nervous when he told me his mother was worried she wouldn't pronounce my name correctly (let's just say I've been Jennifer to Guenevere and leave it at that) and wanted to know if I had a nickname. I don't, but hey, I've always wanted one. I like Ginnie. Gennie. And you all already know I'm not a rabid Harry Potter fan-girl, so my interest in that nickname is completely sane.

In high school Meet the Parents is something everyone does with various stages of trepidation. In college, I get the feeling it isn't such a big deal (unless someone's parents are huge snobs, or serial killers, or you're getting married). We're supposed to be adults now: we choose partners not according to our parents' rules but according to those which they've instilled in us. I think I've done remarkably well; who else has ever told me, upon waking up from a nap, that I look beautiful? Not. A. Single. Soul. So I will Meet the Parents and be sweet and open and honest, and hope that they like me because it's a courtesy I'm willing to extend on behalf of my boyfriend. When it comes right down to it, his opinion is the only one I care about.

Arrivederci!
WolfGrrl

How WolfGrrl Does Math

Ok, posting twice a day is...meh. But this is so hilarious I wanted to post it. And then I promise I will find something constructive to do that doesn't involve spamming my own blog. Promise.

I am a notorious math person. And notorious is used here in a...derogatory sense. I only wish I was this talented. This was posted by a friend of mine on something else; I saw it; much laughter and tears ensued.

We can't all be as cool as this person (and this teacher).

Ciao amici
WolfGrrl

The Bucket List: An Excerpt

This is an excerpt from "100 Things I Want to do Before I Die: In No Particular Order"

That "no particular order" part is VERY important. Because I wrote these as I thought of them; obviously I need a child before I can have a grandchild, and a husband would be nice before having a child...you get the idea. 

1. Drink champagne under the stars.
2. Pet a tiger.
3. Pet a wolf.
4. Thank a soldier.
5. Stand on a mountaintop.
6. Have a son
7. Get married (to someone I love)
8. Dye my hair
9. Sail on a yacht
10. Go to Budapest
11. Make a wedding cake
12. Ride a horse on the beach
13. Go back to New Zealand
14. Meet a movie star
17. Finish my novel
19. Go to Italy
20. Meet the Queen
21. Help someone
22. Paint a picture
23. Have a garden
24. Go to Disneyland/Disneyworld
25. Ride in a gondola
26. Fall in love
27. Open a bakery
28. Adopt a child
29. Adopt an animal
30. Be financially secure and independent
31. Have a grandchild
32. Own a sportscar
33. See a fairy
34. Dance
35. Be loved
36. Learn to ski
37. Go sailing (in a sailboat)
38. Get picked up in a bar
39. Graduate from college
40. See the Earth from space
41. Catch a falling star
42. Have wings
43. Be a model
44. Have my own library
45. Learn to ice skate

Some of them are ridiculous, some of them are funny, and some of them I truly, deeply mean. I made this about a year ago, I believe; it might be a little longer. And it's an odd feeling to realize I've done (or shortly will do) quite a few of these things. I used to have a difficult time imagining a future for myself - any future. But now...the world is full of surprises, odd little twists or unexpected bends in the road. My road goes on, and I'm comfortable enough not to try and circumvent Fate (any longer) and attempt to get a sneak peek at the end.

Signing off -
WolfGrrl

The Awkward French

French kissing is awkward as hell.

As non-sequiturs go, I think that's a good one. But it remains accurate (at least for this novitiate), unless practice does have an impact on overall performance. Regular kissing I've managed to get down with no problems; again, that old adage of "being with the right person makes it easier" holds true. My boyfriend and I progressed naturally (and quickly) from a goodnight hug to a goodnight kiss.

But Frenching...mmph. I don't know. We'll have to give it time. I just feel...awkward.

Does anyone else think that the whole French-as-the-language-of-love thing is a bit outdated? As a French speaker I feel like an idiot trying to be all sexy while calling someone "my little cabbage-head." Um, no. Italian is much smoother to the ears and palatable to the (comprehending) listener, in my opinion. German is definitely not a romantic language, but it can be very sweet. But French...French makes me feel sleazy. And not in a good way.

I admire the French mindset when it comes to love, even if I don't always understand it. I believe that many French women are incredibly self-actualized, but French men I haven't found to be particularly nice, and far too slick. Plus there's the whole Christian Louboutin thing which continues to drive me nuts every time I think about it: how can anyone consider Barbie (yes, the anorexic children's toy) fat?! Only a creepy, insane, French shoe-designer. Italian men are sleazy too but they at least back up their smack with some gestures.

But back to the subject of French kissing. I won't say I hate it, because it was nice. And my boyfriend is a complete sweetheart, so when I told him "I feel awkward" his immediate response was "No, you don't."

We're already slightly awkward as a couple; since I'm a teacup human, my head comes to the middle of his chest. This means I have to perch on something for a proper kiss. Thus far we've discovered that a lofted bed, two stairs, or being picked up works the best. All of which are, in their own cute ways, awkward positions. I couldn't really give a damn; I can't help it, and he definitely doesn't seem to mind. We're still in the honeymoon phase where everything is happy and rosy-colored.

So I don't really care about the awkward French. But I will have to practice my Frenching. Hmmm...

A demain
WolfGrrl

For a Noble Cause

My sleep deprivation, I mean. It's for a noble cause.
Yeah, so last night I had about three hours of sleep because I was too happy and wired to sleep. My boyfriend and I made if official (!!!) but then he had to go because it was 10:45 and I have to get up at 6:30 for my 8 AM class. Bleh. So I was happy-happy-over-the-moon-happy and then super-wound up and not able to sleep. But it was for a noble cause.

Some things feel right. I used to worry that if I ever had a relationship it would be stressful and a lot of work; ha. Old worries, I sneer in your general direction. This is...wonderful. We talk, and talk, and then I look at the time and realize I'm late for class. We cuddle (and I love cuddling almost as much as hugs) and I look at the clock and see that, whoops, it's 11 PM and I'll need some sleep before trying to learn Deutsch tomorrow.

Thank God I ate something for dinner; I'd had a large lunch and wasn't feeling the evening meal, but I can't imagine trying to function on the remains of sugar-lunch and not much else until this morning. I'd have been one cracked-out-sleep-deprived happy person. Which is always a pleasant sight.

So I know what my readership is asking: have I got a picture, or a song, or some random piece of what my anthropology professor calls "expressive culture" to share my happiness with the rest of the world? Well, I hadn't planned on it, but I'm sure I can find something. Hold on a 'sec.

...
...
...

Haha. Have a taste of my favorite book, movie, and couple all rolled into one. If I don't think about the singer I also really enjoy the song; and props to the Youtube author for putting the two together so well. Definitely not a combo I would have thought of!

Have a Little P&P

...and a beautiful day,
WolfGrrl

The Boomerang Effect

It is said laughter is the simplest and most effective cure of all. For me, a smile is. If you see someone without a smile, give them one of yours. Smiles take so little effort to manufacture (we all know it takes more muscle action to frown) and yet they're so incredibly powerful. I believe in laughter and I believe in smiles. They show me, every day, how blessed I am to feel. The ability to find that place where laughter dwells is something I don't ever want to lose, no matter what else becomes of me.

I am small and the world is big: big enough to flatten me, if I let it. But the world is also indifferent; humans cannot calculate probability very well, so all our claims about the world "being out to get us" are fallacies. The world doesn't care if we pass our exam, get a traffic ticket, or kiss that one special person for the first time. The world is indifferent to us; thus, we smile to show others we are not indifferent.

Sometimes we all need a little bit of healing: a bad day, a break-up, a fight, a low test score - there are many downers in our days, but there are as many ways to regain our equilibrium as there are stars in the sky. Infinity can be found in a friend. Favors given - or offered - without conditions; an open pair of arms to hold us safe from all the things we fear; a shoulder to cry on; a hand to hold. A smile to share.

We can't all change the world in dramatic ways, but we all know how to destroy someone's world in what is an equally dramatic fashion. We take others down each and every day, sometimes without thinking. For you to win, another person has to lose.

So remember that: what goes around comes around, like a boomerang. Don't get hit with the boomerang; share a smile. You may not be able to stop world hunger in a day or cure cancer (or the common cold, which is more irritating and only life-threatening when combined with PMS), but you can lift someone else out of their misery for a fleeting, flashing moment. Smile. It makes you feel better too.

And here's one from me:
WolfGrrl

The Happiness Factor

I’ve discovered the definition of happiness.

Happiness is being transported out of yourself, out of ordinary life. It doesn’t mean you’re removed from the ordinary world, but that you transcend it. You are on a plane of existence where it’s OK to be silly, or tearful, or bubbling over with laughter. Effervescence is OK when you’re happy.

It’s the magic of drinking starlight and the warmth of drinking sunlight. A golden froth that burns low inside you, humming in every part of your being until you have to jump, or smile, to look ahead because you can’t and don’t want to keep it inside yourself. You’re lighter; so light you can float, or dance, or fly. Happiness is electrifying because it intensifies all that is wondrous and gently releases all that is painful or upsetting.

We are truly blessed that we can be happy, and those who cannot recognize happiness are truly cursed. It is the world’s most simple healer, a balm to anything and everything. Happiness connects us; it’s something inside of us that says “Yes, I’m here. Yes, I am. Yes. Thank you.”

There’s truth in those cliched adages you hear as you go through life: Standing on top of the world; Jumping for joy. I have stood on top of the world; I have jumped for joy (though I never imagined it was possible). I have been so happy I’ve jettisoned all dignity and spun in circles until I fell over just because the sun was shining, because I was with my friends, because I was.

Those of us who radiate happiness have the power to summon it in others. I read a saying once on the inside of a public bathroom stall that said, “If you see someone without a smile, give them one of yours.”

Happiness and fulfillment aren’t the same, but they can walk hand in hand like siblings. For me, the distinction between happiness and fulfillment is one of people: when I’m happy, there’s always a person involved. My crush smiled at me, my friend hugged me for no reason I could think of, a baby waved and laughed when he saw me, or my favorite TV characters got together. I am fulfilled when I complete something; when I can stand back and say that I’m satisfied, or when others are satisfied. I am fulfilled when I can make a positive change in my surroundings, but I am happy when I can make a positive change in a person around me. So you see how happiness and fulfillment are complements, and how often we feel both, together, to the point where we begin to think them inseparable.

Life hurts. Happiness is the compensation for – the other side of – that pain. We lose people and things every day: sometimes to Death, sometimes to Time, sometimes to just the ordinary process of living. But happiness pulls us back together like a mooring line, preventing us from drifting so far apart we can find nothing to share. When a smile no longer can gently lift the film of reality from another’s perspective then we’ll know that we’ve gone too far and the human experience has become so microscopic in scale we no longer see each other as a race, as a species.

The sensations of happiness, the invocation of that brightness of spirit and self by something or someone else – is transcendent across borders and nationalities and cultures: all humans, everywhere, that have ever come before and will ever come after, have felt that. We have all drunk the sun-and-starlight potion of joy. And that we have keeps us together when free will, when God or fate or chaos theory contrives to pull us all apart. Haven’t you had that sense, when you’re happy, that you can do anything, be anyone, overcome any impediment before you? I have. Happiness makes men and women mightier than gods, more powerful than any construction of faith or will or science. In happiness, we are invincible. 

WolfGrrl

Am I a Grade-Grubber? How to Tell

Apparently I'm entering the advice business.
We are all (unfortunately) familiar with Grade-Grubbers: those people who, when the professor announces extra-credit for an exam or the TA polls the class on redoing an assignment, snap their hand up faster than Hermione Granger and demand to know the cut-off limit for the extra credit/retest/accumulation of further points. There was a girl in my geology lab, first semester freshman year, who, when the TA offered to let the students who were unhappy with their latest test grade retake the test in his office after class, wanted to know if she could retake even though her grade was 99/100. He looked stupefied that she'd want to, and told her no. These people are the ones I am talking about.

Now, I've sent my share of emails to professors and TAs asking them to re-evaluate an assignment because I feel the grade I received was one I didn't deserve. However, I exercise *common sense* when doing this (as with all relationships of this sort, err on the side of caution when asking for favors and your chances of receiving them when you need them improve drastically). My rule of thumb for making a fuss (or sending a politely worded email of confusion) is to only pick scenarios where I am either aware of a gross discrepancy in grading (I participate directly, every day, and receive a lower grade than someone who never speaks or shows up for class) or scenarios where the principle is significantly more important than the actual grade. I don't make a fuss over something worth ten points, or if my grade will only rise by two points. (Hint: people that do are edging into GG territory.)

So how to do you know if you're a Grade-Grubber? Most people know, but if you're particularly clueless here are a few helpful hints to get you started:

1. The GG constantly checks with classmates to ensure a sufficient margin of "over-achievement" is maintained. (The guy who asks everyone around him what they got on the assignment, then sits back looking smug once they answer.)
2. The GG begins all arguments/dialogues with a variation on "In my paper..." or "The professor really liked it when I said..."
3. The GG makes everything a competition. ("Oh, it only took you ten minutes to shower? I can do it in five if I'm in a rush." "I bet I can finish my paper before you and have ______ edit it for me.")

These are the most obvious warning signs offhand, but as with Identifying the Teacup Human there are many more. Grade-Grubbing is most prevalent in overachieving individuals, or ones who are highly competitive. I, being resentful of comparatives (and also dangerously addicted to them) try to avoid these people. Besides, they're extremely irritating to talk to, and often leave me feeling nauseated and frustrated. If you think you are a Grade-Grubber, I have one further piece of advice: Seek professional help. Immediately.

Oh. And don't come near me.
This is WolfGrrl.

Tragic Flaws

One of the wisest, most powerful statements I've ever heard, and so, honestly true. I listen to this all the time, because it fits me. Completely. I don't know if I wish it didn't, or am grateful that I'm not alone.
Here it is - the wisdom of TV.

Everwood - Tragic Flaw

Until later
WolfGrrl

A (Humorous) List

10 THINGS I CANNOT DO

1. Stand up while laughing. If anyone ever wants to attack me, I have to be sitting down and laughing. Then I'm a goner.
2. That stupid thing where you rub your stomach and pat your head while (this is optional) hopping on one foot. Um, no. Not that coordinated.
3. Drink soda. I get bubbles up my nose, choke and/or sneeze, and spew it all over myself and my surroundings. Not a pretty sight.
4. Eat salad without spilling it all over myself. (See #2)
5. Eat granola without spilling it all over myself. (Also #2)
6. Play any musical instrument with any degree of aptitude. Except, maybe, the kazoo. Or the bongo.
7. Proofs. Oh yeah, if I just tried a little harder...
8. Chemistry. It may not be (all) Greek, but it's Greek to me.
9. Not speak in double entendres. Although I think this reflects more on the dirty minds of my friends than on me.
10. Win an argument with my sister. See #1. And maybe #7. And, oh what the heck, #9 too.

10 THINGS I CAN DO

1. Drive a car. You'd be amazed how many people can't do this [safely]. And I thought New Zealanders had issues...
2. Write a paper. I can write lots of papers, actually. It's a gift.
3. Bake. Eh, not everything, but the nice thing about my friends is that they eat pretty much whatever I bring them. They're like dogs. Or garbage disposals. Only I love them.
4. Talk to children and animals. I'm quite proud of this in fact, though I can't take any real credit since they just find me and attach themselves like leeches. Still, it's rather adorable.
5. Speak four languages. Notice I didn't say I was fluent in four languages. Only that I can speak them. Sort of.
6. Confuse my professors and/or classmates with my philosophical ramblings. Not sure I should be proud of this, but it's so much fun...
7. Avoid jetlag. I think my internal clock migrates. But whatever the reason, I don't usually get jetlagged.
8. Read a book in less than a day (usually three to six hours). This skill has significantly slacked off since college.
9. Organize things. Whether you want me to or not. Mwahahaha.
10. Think of more than 10 things I can't do and less than 10 things I can do. Geez.

This is WolfGrrl.

Relevance

If high school was absolutely irrelevant to my life, college is proving to be the opposite. Every day I'm here I learn something about myself or draw connections between different classes, worlds, or disciplines. Anthropology is the best major for someone of a philosophical, musing nature: it allows for the discovery and analysis of relationships between everything. And (in your face, American education-system structure) all of these connections came from the classes I chose, in the fields I like, not the stupid "General Education requirements" you make me take.

So there. Nyah. (This sound comes with the image of me sneering at the pompous bureaucratic asshat wearing a "Hello-My-Name-Is-American-Education-System" sticker.)

As Michelangelo said "I am still learning." This is so, so painfully true. Every day I learn something, be it helpful, sad, unflattering, or bizarre. Today I found my job description in a book of American horror stories by H. P. Lovecraft, whom I'd never heard of before taking my Popular Genres literature class. Here it is:

"The imaginative writer devotes himself to art in its most essential sense...He is a painter of moods and mind-pictures - a capturer and amplifier of elusive dreams and fancies - a voyager into those unheard-of lands which are glimpsed through the veil of actuality but rarely, and only by the most sensitive..."

Ah, Lovecraft. Once again, my sister proves her often spot-on taste in literature by telling he was "good." (It's impossible to be narrow-minded when she's pestering me to watch Doctor Who, read Harry Potter, and discuss Twilight. I have been forced to vacate every uninformed stance I've ever held against popular culture because of her.) I don't read horror. I don't like to be scared because, quite frankly, I can do that all by myself. But Lovecraft is a person I wish I could have known; his meticulous use of language and the joy he takes in writing is similar to my own (see yesterday's post "Linguistical Logistics").

I love to learn, maybe because my imagination is so diverse and expansive. You could put me in isolation and, once I got used to having no internet and no treadmill, I'd be content to while away my hours with my own thoughts and my own worlds. I love to think, and what is learning but stretching your mental muscles? I can't imagine (ha) anything more relevant than that.

Irreverently,
WolfGrrl

Linguistical Logistics

I like words. I mean I really like words. Which is why I'm sad that my language classes are becoming more of a chore and less of the delight they used to be. It also (somewhat belatedly) occurred to me that readers of my blog might get the mistaken impression that I only know Italian. Ha. If my Italian is on par with my German (and that's not saying much) it's only because of my high school French. Yes, I am so accomplished I can whine in four languages. FOUR. Am I fluent? Absolutely not (although I can understand foreign tourists, and some movies without subtitles). My roommate likes to boast that I'm fluent in French (Deux croissants, s'il vous plait monsieur!) and that I'm slowly mastering German and Italian. While I love her for her faith in me, this isn't exactly true. And I doubt taking two languages back-to-back is helping my poor confused brain sort this out.

Scheduling Tip: If you're taking multiple languages at the same time, try to put them on different days of the week, or if that's impossible, then at least separate them by a couple of hours and/or other classes. It absolutely sucks to go straight from German to Italian and be unable to understand simple stock phrases because I think my TA is asking me to conjugate "machen" in the past tense instead of "fare." And you can always tell when I get really confused because I start madly throwing in French words to make it look like I know what I'm doing. Then there's the inevitable awkward pause as my classmates (never at their best at 9 AM anyway) sit there stupefied, trying to parse out what I just said. Stump the teacher can occasionally be fun. Stumping your fellow students on a regular basis isn't; it just makes you the class outcast. 

Language classes aside, I love to play with words. I had my friend Anthony edit my English paper (yes, the one I was supposed to be working on when I put up Monday's post) and one of his comments pretty much typified my word-addiction. He wrote: "I wish I could live in your world where all these words float around." This came after I described J. K. Rowling's best trait as an author as her ability to approach the mundane from a slightly "tip-tilted" direction. Anthony, having read a lot of other things I write, loves to pick on my word choices. Some others he took exception to were amorphous, mores, leonine, and...there were more but I've forgotten them. I like ten-dollar words. And no, I'm not even an English major.

If I were to start waxing poetic about writing and language we'd be here until the world ends (I highly doubt 2012 is it. I mean, I want to at least study abroad and have a boyfriend before I end up a tyrannosaur's dinner or a lump of charcoal). So I'll throw out an image you're all familiar with and let you fill in the blanks yourself. I am the girl who sits in the middle row in class and takes copious, random notes interspersed with doodles while occasionally throwing out mind-bending phrases that either silence, annoy, or confuse my classmates.

I may lack Uhura's talented tongue (Oh God, I am such a nerd, but Chris Pine is hot and J. J. Abrams is awesome) but I always have and always will love words, even if I ignore every grammar rule there is and my spelling continues to be...creative.

A domani
WolfGrrl

Potter for President

Actually that should say "Granger for Gold!" 

Let me preface this post by stating that I am NOT the world's biggest fan of Harry Potter. Yes, I've read them. Some of them I enjoyed (number three will always have a soft spot in my heart, as it was the first one I ever read). I've watched the movies and written papers on the novels. I admire what J. K. Rowling has achieved. But I sincerely hope that I'm not one of those people who quote the Potterverse in everyday life. Ahem. Mother. Sister. 

I'm too young to be like my mother. And since I don't know my sister’s planet of origin, being like her is tough. 

It's course-planning time. Yes, despite being in the middle of midterms I dutifully went off to Academic Advising yesterday afternoon and planned out my schedule for the spring semester. It was no hardship; I always go to the same advisor and she's wonderful. We had a nice chat, discussed how I should not sit for my two language exams within the same four hour exam period, and then I came home to my room and planned out what I needed to take and when. 

Here's where I begin to quote Potter. Or rather, Hermione Granger.

You have to admire her; she knows where she's going in life. But she has magic on her side; most specifically, that bloody Time Turner. I want one. I am emerald with envy that she has one and I don’t. What a perfect solution! I would be so efficient I’d be in the Guinness Book of World Records: Teacup Human Graduates at 20; Teacup Human Becomes CEO of megacorporation; Teacup Human Becomes Benevolent Dictator of World…

Well, OK. The rest of the world is probably glad I don’t have a Time Turner. (Although I might have a career writing for the National Inquirer.) But really now, unless my brain exploded or I accidentally created a paradox I could, with a Time Turner, simultaneously be in the gym, in bed, in class, working in the library, and holding down a job. Whoo-hoo!

Something just occurred to me, and I’m afraid it’s punctured my excitement balloon. Does a Time Turner accelerate one’s life? If you do everything simultaneously, can you really enjoy anything? Can the brain be split into so many different scenarios or is it really a split-personality, multi-tasking-in-3D phenomenon? I have a hard time texting and walking, let alone doing seventeen different things at the same time. And what happens once you’ve done everything? What then?

In my lovely little utopia, Academic Advising would hand out Time Turners to teach us all time-management skills. The good students wouldn’t need them; the mediocre students would try them and become annoyed; and the bad students would slowly be weeded out because their heads exploded from trying to do everything. Or maybe the good and bad students would overlap.

Argh! See how frustrating this is? (And also how much I’m overthinking this process?) I think this goes under the list of things I should be grateful I don’t have to worry about, like cursing people, flying, and telepathy. I’m an ordinary teacup human with an oversized organizational bent. Can you imagine how annoying I’d be if I was full-sized and had a Time Turner?

Yes. Cringe from me. I will organize you to death. And that’s all by myself.

WolfGrrl

Trading on Tomorrow

Which is really a fancier way of saying “procrastination.” I fear procrastination and its sibling apathy more than I fear the Big Flu, the imminent (according to some of my crazy friends) Zombie Apocalypse, or being fat.  I don’t know what made me think of this; my brain is working overtime to keep me from doing my English paper I guess. I’m sitting at my computer, Microsoft Word open and ready to go, and listening to music and updating my blog. Yes, I think procrastination is definitely the order of the day. Sigh.

Well, the title comes from what I’m doing (or not doing, as the case may be) and what I’m listening to: my all-time favorite band, Trading Yesterday. They have a new name now, and I think some new members, but I don’t care. I live in the past, in the time when their music was clean and sweet and powerful. They don’t fall into that trap where every song is built around the same six notes or the same chord or whatever; their songs are all unique, all beautiful, though of course I have my favorites. I guess I’m guilty of liking soft, romantic music. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy angrier, louder stuff, especially when I’m running, but when I’m vegetating or procrastinating my tastes run towards country, soft pop (is this a genre? Sounds like a weird kind of candy) classical, and movie soundtracks. Haha – I’m nothing if not predictable.

I’m not sure that I would trade my yesterdays (even the really horrible ones) because I need them. As humans we learn through experience; the world of the theoretical is all well and good, but I can’t build a rocket ship just by reading a blueprint. (If you can, good on you; I’ll make sure they keep your grave tidy and stocked with bouquets.) I need hands-on experience to fully connect with whatever I’m doing; the one exception to this rule is my writing, which isn’t really an exception at all since so much of it comes directly from my personal experience and personal growth. It’s vastly entertaining for me to dump all the things I’ve written onto my floor and arrange them chronologically from middle school to the present. It makes me feel old, true, but accomplished when I see the improvement in my comprehension and articulation of the world. Even if I could, I wouldn’t trade my yesterdays.

I am, however, extremely proficient at trading on my tomorrows. I love to make lists: I have lists of lists junking up my wall, fridge, desk, and planner. Last year I was big into sticky notes; my desk was plastered with them and every time I reached up to pull a book off the shelf ten or so reminders would come fluttering down like pink and yellow leaves. Since then I’ve discovered the desktop equivalent; I’ve had to change the format of my wallpaper so many times to accommodate my sticky notes it’s laughable. I trade my tomorrows away as if they’re infinitely variable and infinitely expansive. This has, occasionally, gotten me into trouble as I overschedule myself and my head explodes. (Metaphorically. I am not Old Faithful.)

I am a worrier (hence the ten thousand sticky notes to ensure I remember everything). I worry and then get mad at myself for worrying. I glorify past events and waste my present (and my potential future) trying to duplicate the good ones and wishing I could go back and re-do the bad ones. This is Bad – yes, with the capital “b.” Even if I’m not willing to trade my yesterdays I still cling to them much too tightly; they creep into my present and keep me from looking ahead. It’s depressing to wake up each morning and have your first thought be “How can I do ____ better than yesterday?” or “How do I fix ____ so that I can get the same result as before?”

Coming out of my depression – jettisoning a little of my anxiety – my senior year of high school helped me at least imagine a future, dispelling the twisted notion that I had no future; something which caused me to be amazed that I was alive to see sixteen, eighteen, first prom, high school graduation. What had all been so vague was now reality. My reality. 

Oh help.

I can see the future a little better now; I know it’s there, if nothing else. I fill it up with my wishes and regrets for yesterday, then get angry and tear them all off the wall. But I can think about it now; the future is concrete for me. I know I will finish college. I know I will (hopefully) go to grad school, maybe get my Ph.D. I know I want to get married to a man I love; to have kids by the time I’m thirty; to be a stay-at-home or part-time mom. I know what I want now, and that is, in its own way, a kind of giant sticky note on the wall of my life.

I underestimate and undervalue myself by clutching at my yesterdays and trading my tomorrows. There’s a poem, a famous one, which goes something like this:

If you love something,

Set it free.

If it was meant to be

It will come back to you.

I don’t love my tomorrows or my yesterdays; love is too narrow for how I feel about them. But I do love myself, and what are we as humans – yes, even teacup humans – if not the cumulative wisdom of our yesterdays and the aspirant hopes of our tomorrows? I think I need to set my yesterdays and tomorrows free, to stop clinging to them and pushing them away, and let them settle around me like the rain of colored sticky notes falling from my shelves.

And here, by the way, is the first Trading Yesterday song I ever heard: 

She is the Sunlight 

Did I bend your brain?

WolfGrrl

Sunday Sunrise

I love sunrises.
I love sunsets too, but (although not recently) I see more sunrises as a rule, especially as the year turns and the sun rises later and later each day. Watching that first light dawn over the edge of the world must be one of the most amazing vistas in the universe; for moments like that I'd think all the rigorous training to be an astronaut would be worth it. I certainly enjoy seeing it from where I stand, on the track or at my window, my feet against the earth but my eyes - and maybe my heart - high, high above.

Sunday sunrises are some of the most beautiful of all, mostly because Sunday is already a peaceful day; no one really schedules events on Sunday (at least in my little world). My mother usually goes to one of her churches; my father has pancakes for breakfast. My sister sleeps until noon and I - when I'm at home I'm the first one up, the first to stand alone and watch the light come back to the world. Something about being alone, being a part of that hushed calm where no one is driving around, only a few souls are out jogging or walking their dogs in the fresh, cool morning, is incredibly stimulating. It's as though the world is simple, clear, and clean. I know a lot of this is cultural construct, and that Sunday mornings aren't physically different from say, Wednesday mornings. But, still...

I'm used to feeling small and powerless; honestly, if I wasn't apathetic I think I'd just be pathetic, but there's something about dawn (and dusk) that takes that sense of isolating distance away from me and says, "No, you are a part of something. Look. Feel." Humans are small compared to the Universe - to the sky and the stars and even our own spinning green-and-blue planet. And I'm small when compared to other humans. But I don't have to be. I can be big too; I can be mighty. Sunrise invigorates me the way sunsets soothe me; I can only describe it as being lifted out of myself and set free to swim off into those banners of color and light and cloud, reaching for worlds I can't see but must be there. Haha, I guess it makes me a little fanciful too; maybe I'm just that way naturally.

Anyway, I have to go write my English paper now (due in a week; horrors!) but I'll leave you with one of my many favorite songs; a sunrise song, if you will.

Good Morning Beautiful

Bella giornata!
WolfGrrl

Free-Falling into Fall

I wish, just once, that I could be completely content with myself. There are times when I almost make it, but there's always that nagging doubt in the back of my mind, the little voice in my ear that whispers insidiously when I look in the mirror. I can't escape myself, and I'm still trying to figure out why I want to.

I don't think I'm a bad person (I don't know I'm a good person, either, but I don't feel like a bad one). Many people praise me for being "poised" and "together" but I usually feel that the outward image is a flawed and inaccurate reflection of my inner self. My only comforts are: 1) Everyone else feels like this too; and 2) It can be changed. Everything can be changed. Like the saying goes, Nothing is certain but Death and Taxes.
And I don't even pay taxes.

Today is the first day of October. When I was planning for school in the summer, I always phrased things like this: "Once I'm at school, it'll be different" or "Once college starts back up and I have classes I will/won't..." Well guess what? School started - has been going strong for a while now - and I still have all the same issues and problems I did this summer, and last year, and the year before that. They didn't magically disappear when my public life resumed. Joy. Rapture. (Is the sarcasm coming through? I don't want to be off-putting, but it's so hard to judge intonation in words.)

As a teacup human I'm naturally quite small; this means my center of gravity is lower and I'm more stable. Well, as my profile says I'm not particularly graceful (strike one against stability) and now it seems my emotional stability is a sham as well. This accounts for the title; I feel like I'm free-falling through life, smashing into various people and objects and ideas along the way. Occasionally this process knocks some sense into me or jars something loose in my brain; you'll find these posts sporadically (my "epiphany" posts). But on the whole the process of free-falling isn't very comfortable. Or stable. And I love stability. (Is this a teacup human thing or a human thing? Ideas?)

Several of my friends have complained to me lately that they feel as though they're "wasting their lives" and that they "don't know what they're doing." Well, neither do I. Do any of us? In the past few years I've heard a lot about what it means to be "normal" and that there really isn't any such thing (anthropology helps dispel such illusions, let me tell you). Great. So we're all abnormal? Maybe I should wish for normality instead of world peace next time they interview me for the Miss Universe pageant. I'll bet a world of normal people wouldn't have wars, or genocide, or mass starvation or prostitution.

So what do we do, my friends and I? Are we lost? Tolkien says that "Not all who wander are lost" but that doesn't help much; if we're not lost are we supposed to be wandering? Am I wandering or falling? For the first time in my life I feel strong enough to make plans for the future, and confident enough to hope that somehow I'll fulfill those plans. And yet smaller, more immediate things continually elude me. You're not supposed to chuck all your eggs into one basket, but how am I supposed to carry them all when juggling becomes too risky?

Mmph. 
WolfGrrl

TGI Friday

No, it’s not the restaurant. Today is, at long last, Friday.

Every college student (and possibly every student and/or member of the workforce) looks forward to Fridays. They mark the end of the week, the exciting (or relaxing) beginning to the weekend, and above all, the chance to do something fun.

Today will be a good day, in spite of the multitude of things I have to do. This has been a long, hard week, and I am looking forward to tonight, that gilded Friday night where the only thought on anyone’s mind is: I’m going to have fun because I don’t have to go to school/work tomorrow.

Today will be a good day because I woke up from a dream about Ian Somerhalder. Mmmm. For you teacup human aficionados (although that has nothing to do with Ian), go look up the CW’s The Vampire Diaries and watch it. Right now. Ian is probably the finest man alive, and as Damon the bad-boy brother with a sweet heart, he’s irresistible. At least for me. Dreaming about him put me in such a good mood I didn’t care that I only had thirty minutes to get dressed, eat, and prepare for my first class.

Today will be a good day because I am wearing The Sunshine Dress. Those of you who know me or who have seen me bopping around campus will probably recognize this dress; purchased two years at one of my (then) favorite stores, it is a sweet little sundress with a yellow and white flowered skirt, cinched waist, and an adorable little cream shrug to cover my shoulders. In it I look like an ad for Easter candy and colored eggs. So The Sunshine Dress is my way of spreading my delight to others and bringing a little bit of sunshine to the rest of the world.

But above all today will be a good day because it is Friday. Fridays have some kind of magical power over us; they release us from the drudgery of our lives and give us a few delusional hours of freedom. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who was stressed on a Friday night. In high school sitting through the last-hour class was torture for the teacher and students alike. For those final twenty minutes most of the teachers would give up and let us chatter amongst ourselves. They're glad it's Friday too. In college the rules are a little different, but that same feeling of lightness and exuberant freedom remains.

I, having spent my week running around, intend to spend my Friday evening being all that is peaceful and serene. I will dream of Ian Somerhalder. I will chat with my Italian TA (chi è la persona più bella nel mondo!) And I will wear The Sunshine Dress and be so darn happy I freak out my fellow students (not really. I am more responsible than this).

Ciao cari amici!

WolfGrrl 

Identifying the Teacup Human

Hello hello! My name is WolfGrrl and it is my pleasure to welcome you to the world of a teacup human. What is a teacup human you ask? I'm sure you've seen us: struggling to get things off of shelves in the grocery store, climbing on stools to find books in the library, and glaring at the unwieldy arrangements of merchandise at Target. We are everywhere, though we're often overlooked due to our resemblance to arm-rests, coat-racks, and other inanimate props.

The first time I ever heard the term "teacup human" as applied to me was when I was in high school. My Technical Theatre director had several of us smallish sized people in his class, and he referred to us once, in a fit of affectionate exasperation, as teacup humans. I, naturally, was offended. After all, it's not my fault I'm vertically challenged.

However, as time passed I've come to terms with my status as a miniature human, and with this blog I hope to share my experiences with my comrades across the world and so make life a little bit easier (I hope) for all of us who are smaller-than-average.

First off though is a quickie guide in identifying what makes a teacup human:

1. These are people who disappear in a crowd. And I don't mean in the James Bond super-spy manner of disappearing; I mean when the horde descends on the dining hall at noon the average teacup human is sucked out of sight faster than a keg at a frat party.
2. They are often identifiable by a pair of sunglasses, a hat, or a high ponytail. This being all that can be seen over the clothing racks, crowd, etc.
3. They're the ones taller, lazier people are leaning on. I've had too much experience as my friends' arm-rest, coat-rack, and flying buttress.
4. When working as a Sunday school teacher/camp counselor/anything involving a group of small children, the teacup human will be camouflaged completely. I taught four-year-olds for four years, and when we were all sitting together at Circle Time...well, I've had any number of parents get confused when they try to differentiate the teacher from the students.
5. They are usually being picked up, carried around, or otherwise manhandled by their friends. And also (occasionally) by total strangers. I don't see what's do darn entertaining about a tiny person, but apparently it's a HUGE attraction. Huh.

So there you go: five easy ways of identifying your average teacup human. There are many more signs, but these are a good starting place.

Until next time!
WolfGrrl