Hot Potato

Back when my hopes of being taller than 5'5 were great and girls were still around my size and not as aggressive, my dream was to play for the Duke Blue Devils' Basketball team. I decided to rule out the facts that I was as timid as they get and was afraid of hurting myself, even at the prime age of14. I also hate conflict. But I figured, hey, I can grow out of that. It's fine. I'm only 14.

Now I'm 5'3. 19 (almost 20). I still hate conflict and aggression. I'm not as timid, but I'll avoid confrontation at all costs. Also, people kind of intimidate me. I was always slightly bitter that I was never tall or aggressive enough to continue playing basketball and ultimately play at such an advanced level (at least high school).

Why is this relevant?
Glad you asked because this post is not meant for me to give you some random tidbits about my life.

Yesterday, I went to a women's basketball game at my University with my group of friends. I sat there remembering these weird facts about my life as these athletic girls played right in front of my eyes.
They were incredibly strong, could literally hurdle over me and not break a sweat. The could lap me dozens of times and then ask for another round. Like wow.

So that was my first give away that I was never cut out to be a college basketball player.

Number two, came to me when I was lost in thought as I watched them pass the ball from player to player, moving the defense and the ball around, waiting for an open play. It reminded me of hot potato.

I hated hot potato as a child. Hated it.

We would sit in our kindergarten circle, passing a semi-circular object around to radio music or, if my teacher was extra motivated, a CD that helped us learn something. (It was kindergarten and my memory of this age isn't exactly reliable.) And when that music stopped on someone else, I was relieved. I hated (still do) the spotlight. I don't like attention directed towards me. And then when that dreaded moment came, and the music stopped on me, my blood boiled, my palms got sweaty and these teeny tiny little knots formed in the pit of my stomach as all eyes turned to me and I had to stand up and sit out of the circle. It was like an exile.

My problem was: I never wanted all eyes to focus on me and I wanted to win. I always want to win. I have this intrinsic need to always be the winner. It's irrational because I hate attention and you can't ALWAYS win at every little thing that you try.

So now, almost 6 years later, I have realized that God was watching out for me. I could have never succeeded at basketball on such a competitive and advanced level.  And because of my intrinsic need to win or be really really good at whatever I do, I would've have a meltdown— because I would have been terrible at basketball compared to those girls I saw yesterday.

So Thank You God for looking out for me in the long run. It's amazing how everything that happens has a reason and purpose behind it.

SOP:
Bennie and the Jets by Elton John

Macy Out.

Happier Than a Pigeon with a French Fry

Remember when I wrote three posts just about Harry Potter and how bad I wanted to visit? (So bad that I even compared it to my Forks/Twilight obsession?)
Well, fret not fellow Harry Potter Nerds, because I will not be ranting about how I would sell my left kidney on the black market to visit the magical place of The Wizarding World of Harry Potter (further identified as WWHP) at the Universal Parks.

BECAUSE THIS PAST DECEMBER MY PESTERING WORKED AND I MADE IT TO HARRY POTTER WORLD! 

And let me just begin by saying that it was probably the best day of my life. The whole three days that we explored WWHP, I had this ridiculous smile on my face and probably stopped talking aloud (my head was loud enough with my inner monologue) as I just soaked in the sights around me and the fact that I had finally made it. I decided I'd post a pic of me because I look happier than a pigeon with a French fry in literally every. single. picture. that I took.

             (see? I can't even keep a smile off of my face as I take my first sip of butterbeer ever.)

My mother wouldn't let me wear the Gryffindor dress robe so I could fit in with all the other wizards at Hogwarts and just head to class after my discovery of the magic in WWHP. It was probably best because I would've been the butt of every joke of every member of my extended family who clearly do not understand the magic of Harry Potter or my unadulterated obsession with it.

The butterbeer is incredible. The buildings are astounding and lifelike. The stores and props are... wow adjectives cannot begin to describe. They even played the instrumental music from the movies in both of the Harry Potter sections and there I am telling my sister which part of the certain movie that this certain song plays in the background. I forced my mom to take pictures of me in front of basically every landmark on the two parks. Sometimes my sister was pushed into the shot because my mom felt I was taking too many pictures of myself.

I tried so badly to convince my parents to buy me a wand— like the legit ones where the wand picks you at Olivander's and your hair shoots in different directions and there's a white light surrounding you and then the HP theme song starts playing in the background and then Olivander proceeds to tell you that the sister wand to yours is that of He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named (I may have just described Harry's experience in The Sorcerer's Stone, but mine would have been exactly like that, I'm sure of it.)— but Mom said that I was a little old to be carrying around a "wooden stick that has zero magical capabilities." I conceded because I'd gotten her to take the family to Florida just to quiet my verbal obsession with HP.

So peace out HP Nerds and my hope for you in the New Year, is that you get to experience WWHP and enjoy it as much as I did!

SOP: O Children- Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
[Do you know where that song is from?]

Self-Proclaimed People Pleaser

I am a self-proclaimed people pleaser.

I have this need to get things perfect all the time. The perfect reaction, the perfect transcript, the perfect image, the perfect thoughts that shape the perfect character. It's a control complex I have: I need to be in control in every way I can to feel secure and assured. 

It has nothing to do with my parents or their expectations for me— they have always only wanted my happiness.  

I don't know why I have this desire to keep up the steady, constant image for everyone else to overlook. But the idea of losing that control freaks me out. 

"Don't set yourself on fire to keep others warm." 

I read this quote on tumblr at least five times in the past two days and it's stuck to me like super glue and gorilla glue mated together (that might be incest in a consumer view— but what I'm picturing is a really cool gorilla shaped glue tube wearing a mask and a cape as he seals up any loose ends). I'm sorry to the creator of this genius combination of words that is now attached to my brain; I couldn't find the original poster and the quote lacked any accreditation. Props to whoever put this together to create such pearls of wisdom.

Anywho, this is my quote for 2015. I felt that last year, I spent half of my mental capacity on worrying what other people thought of me and how to improve friendships that, in retrospect, were slowly losing fuel to spark its embers and ignite into a beneficial friendship for both parties. I want to surround myself with people who genuinely care about me and my life. I have those people now, but it took me a while to figure out that they were there and they are with me for the long(er) run. This will be one of my focuses for the upcoming year. 

[Very small—but well deserved— shoutout to my bffs who really care for me and put up with my nerdy, obsessive brain.]

So. If you're struggling along with me with a control complex/unnecessary people pleasing, you might as well join me and get this quote tattooed across your forehead (just kidding, that'd be weird). But I feel like I need to get this permanently engraved on me just to remind myself not to put other's wellbeing before my own and then cause my own self- destruction.

Okay. Now I'm just being dramatic, but you get the gist of it.

Thanks for reading!

{This idea just came to me and we'll try it out: maybe I'll add a song of the post (SOP hehe) where a song that randomly comes to mind I add to the end of the post. If you don't wanna listen to it, eh, oh well.}
 Another Day Gone- Parmalee

Cheers to 2015

Hello, reader!
I'm not exactly consistent with my posts or even with checking this blog— at least, I haven't been in the past. However, I'm trying to change that for the new year. (Eeep! It's already 2015!)

2014 was a year of lessons (aren't they all): I learned that communication is a huge foundation for friendships, somethings long time friends of the past stay in the past and that's okay. I learned about 18th century British society and the Congo genocide—thanks lit classes (but some seriously shit). I learned about myself. I learned about others and society and history. I learned that life is full of temporary people. I learned that you shouldn't give a shit about what people think of your interests and hobbies. Do what you love.

For 2015, my list of "to-do's" are slightly different. For starters, I have found a Reading Challenge from pop sugar  (I attached the list if you're interested in joining me and the rest of my neighborhood with this challenge) and I'll be updating you with my challenge accomplishments on this website. I tweaked the version of the list to fit my personality better and I went a little crazy in color coordinating my notebook with my list.
And here's my version:

If you have any suggestions or recommendations for me to read for my challenge, let me know! (I basically live for book recs.) (I've already checked on off the list: banned book= The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. It was a great read; dark but oh my gosh the literary techniques are in-cred-ible!)

I don't just want to expand my reading, but for 2015, I want to become a better version of me.
So here's my New Year's Goal list:

• finish the reading challenge
• read at least 90 books
• judge other people and myself less
• run a half marathon
• plan to attend a writing conference
• write more frequently

Thanks for reading!

Macy

People Help the People

I’m watching the Grammy Awards right now and Taylor Swift just performed her song All Too Well (to be honest, I’ve listened to that song 160+ times on my iTunes and it’s easily my favorite song so a little biased here) but the song is about a horrible breakup that she went through and that she is still very emotional about. During a rap performance Taylor was dancing and having fun! Dancing a little off-beat, but from one white-girl to another white-girl, staying on beat isn’t as easy for us when it comes to dancing. Personally, I’m a little insecure about dancing in public because I’m terrible at it, so props to her for not caring about her not-so-on-point dancing.

My roommate was on Twitter and the things people said about her and her television appearances for the Grammy’s were startling. People telling her that her white-girl moves did not need to be on network television or that this wasn’t a Metallica concert and her “head banging” during her performance was too much for an awards ceremony. Random Twitter accounts were telling her not to jam out to a live performance because she can’t dance to it. (Granted, she’s not the most graceful dancer, but if she wants to dance, by golly, she should dance!)

We talk about “being who you are” and not caring about what other people think about you, but that’s impossible with the hate that we get when we “be ourselves.” Taylor Swift was just being herself and acting like she has no care in the world.

Why do people have to be so hateful?

I get that it’s an insecurity thing with some people. Jealousy maybe. I don’t know. 

Why is it “cool” for people to be mean to other people? Why isn’t it “cool” to be nice or kind to other people? 

Humanitarian questions that probably rattle everyone’s minds—not just mine.

Like: Why are people evil? Aren’t people inherently good? What changes that? Why isn’t there some kind of alliance between humans against things like poverty, illness and disease or natural disasters? What provokes people to be so evil towards other people? What sparked the beginning of the evil chain?

It might be because of my philosophy class, or I’m thinking too much about the characters in Les Miserables, but here I am asking all these idealistic questions that have a small chance of ever being answered.

Cool or Not Cool

Why do guys think that it’s not cool to show a girl that they’re interested in them just by flat out saying it?

I don’t know if this is just a personal thing (or because I’m perpetually single), but most of us girls like to be hit on or told that the guy had a great time (in person please) and would love to see us again. It makes us feel like we are actually doing something right: dressing cute, working out, did our makeup correctly, held an interesting conversation, were ourselves with a stranger, finally mastered the not-so-mean-looking default face, or something else entirely that doesn’t come easily for us.

Now, that does not mean that guys should be demeaning our worth in any way or form or cat-calling at you because that is NOT okay. 

Like leaning into a girl to try and talk to her in a loud room: cool.

Resting your arm on her back and then slowly moving it lower: not cool.

Saying something like “Want to grab lunch or dinner this week? I want to see you again.”: do it.

Texting her something like “My friend’s throwing a party, wanna come?”: meh. Not every girl is going to want to be your party hookup or someone you text last minute. While hooking up may be fun for a short period of time, it sucks thinking that we are the last resort.

It may just be the writer in me and my own imagination creating these ideas that rarely happen in real life, but I just want to know why guys think that it’s not manly for them to show interest in a girl they seem to like?

It’s weird to think how older generations went about the dating scene completely different from what we are used to. 

New Year New... Me?

This blog started out as a component of my Expository Writing class last semester that focused on Jane Austen. We had to write for a more causal audience on a topic that we covered in a formal paper during the semester. My topic was on Harry Potter and all the crazed fans— myself included— that traveled to all the magical places that the fictional world of Harry Potter touched (if you didn’t read my huge whopping number of three other posts). Once I didn’t need it any longer for that class, I considered taking my blog down. I considered getting rid of an outlet for my rambling thoughts.

I really did. 

Because of questions like: What would I write? What could possibly be interesting enough for other people (as few as they might be) to take time out of their busy schedule (because human beings are busy creatures) to read some ramblings of a typical, nerdy girl? Would anyone ever read it if it wasn’t part of their grade? Who really cares about what I have to say?

I was balancing on the fence between taking it down and keeping it up, swaying towards the side of taking it down. 

Until I sat down in the small red desk ready for my second day of the Autobiographical Writing class I had signed up for without really knowing what I should expect in that class and learned that blogs are a type of journal—a way for me to share my thoughts as a catalog for my life. As we went around the room introducing ourselves and talking about ourselves (something I’m not very good at), other people started talking about how they blogged in their spare time and my professor (an awesome lady by the way) said something along the lines of “Most of you already have a background in Autobiographical Writing because blogging is like a technological way to journal and share your own story.” (I’m writing based on memory and this was a couple days ago, so excuse me if my words aren’t exactly correct.)

So here I am writing these very very interesting words to my wonderful—but very bare—blog instead of writing an essay for my American Literature class or reading my Botany textbook. 

I’m also at the Dallas airport (where I’ve spent more time in than the airport from my hometown this school year) and the Beatles’ song “Martha My Dear” just came on the PA system. And it took every ounce of the will power in me not to—gently, and very nicely because it’s my closest companion—throw my laptop on the floor and just bust out singing (singing, screaming same idea). I’m pretty sure if that actually happened the man across from me might join along because it looks like he’s singing along in his head as he taps his foot, all completely in sync with the lovely music coming from the heavens. 

Never mind, I don’t think he’ll join me. He looks like a ACDC fan; not so much John, Paul, George and Ringo.

But then again, who am I to judge.

Just your average day in the life of a procrastinating college student. Who is also a little board, sitting in an airport, bobbing along to the airport music.