I’ve been majorly sucking at this whole blogging thing lately. Sorry, between 3 days of no electricity and some major life shifts, it has not been a priority. What has been a priority is my rapidly approaching move to Chicago! The blackout helped motivate my packing, because what else are you supposed to do with no power except go through 22 years of accumulated crap?
Anyone who has stepped into my house knows members of my family are kinda hoarders. Not the scary ones on TV that make mazes out of old magazines and own closets full of unworn clothes, but we definitely hold on too to many useless items. For a long time this was never an issue, I have plenty of drawers and a walk-in closet to hide my ples of keepsakes. But this will not be the case in my new apartment. It is an adorable two-bedroom place on Lake Michigan. There is a living room, dinning room and a mouse-sized kitchen (which currently actually houses a mouse). My bedroom is fairly large and I have a slightly smaller walk-in closet, but regardless, this move is not just a change in locations but marks the beginning of my “real life.” This new life has no room for childhood nostalgia.
But where do you begin? How to you priorities what memories are kept and which are thrown into the trash? I started with a few dozen issues of Cosmo, anyone who has read one know they are filled with the same thing month after month, only phrased differently: “75 way to please you man,” “how to turn him on in under two minutes,” “what he really wants you to do in bed.” They are ridiculous, entertaining, but unnecessary and they all went into the bag. They were followed by years worth of old notebooks. I thought I would look back at them one day when I needed a refresher in Algebra or to review my Periodic Table. Yeah, right.
Another music post has been long overdue. I think it’s because I still have to figure out why all of my music didn’t transfer from my PC to my Mac, so I’m stuck with the tired playlists on my iPod from the end of the school year, and therefore have been musically uninspired. However, that has changed (still need to figure out the computer thing) because of an artist I discovered on Vh1′s “Artist You Oughta Know” series.
My music taste is fairly eclectic. I like the crap they play of the radio that is so catchy you want to stab a stake into you head just so the latest Britney Spear’s song will stop playing on repeat. I get nostalgic over my favorite 90s boy band and wish I was older in the ’80s so I could have rocked out in my leg-warmers without it being retro. I am familiar with show tunes from almost every musical to grace Broadway. I run to hip hop or marsh-ups and lift to Linkin Park. The quality I really appreciate in my music is talented voices.
Fun fact: Chicago has one of the largest population of Mexican immigrants in the United States.
I live on the border of a town with the one of the densest Mexican-American population. My middle school was about one-third hispanic and two-thirds caucasian. We matriculated into a high school that was one-quarter hispanic and three-quarters caucasian. Then I went to a college that was about at white as you can get.
I like living on the border of such a diverse community because it lets cultures blend. One of my closest friends growing up there let me into her life as the daughter of Mexican immigrants. I went to her quinceanera and spent a lot of time with her family that could not have been more different from my own.I learned how to dance the Cumbia and more importantly, I developed a fine palate for Mexican food (dear Lehigh people, La Lupita is not authentic Mexican cuisine).
Two months, that is that amount of time I gave myself to be a sad, mopey useless person. Two month to find a job, or hang up my hat and return to lifeguarding. Two months to get a life. Guess what? I did it!
Today I took the train down to Chicago. In my bag I had the book I need to finish by next friday for the book club I just joined, but I didn’t touch it. Instead I sat there refreshing my Twitter feed and thinking of answeres to imaginary questions in my head. I’ve taken this train ride many times, and can almost recite by heart every spot on the hour-long ride downtown. So when the announcer called the stop before Chicago, the jitters in my stomach spread to my entire body.
We arrive at the trains last stop. I was already waiting at the doors, smoothing the wrinkles in my white skirt and pulling down my black top. They open and I am one of the firsts to exit, my heels clink on pavement and I speed through the station. Everyone is moving too slow, the businessmen pouring from the trains, the woman afraid of the revolving doors and the chatting tourists. Nothing was going to slow me down.
July was supposed to bring new beginnings. It would mark the start my fabulous internship at Men’s Health, while my younger sister moved into her apartment in Chicago and began culinary school. Things don’t always work out the way we plan…
I was inspired by Ashley Scoria’s post about celebrating Father’s Day without a father. We all have out skeletons in the closet. We would be boring and bland without the scars that define us, without the obstacles that carve the path to who we are today. I share the following part of my life with hesitation. It is something few know about me, for one reason: There is nothing worse than the look of pity on someone’s face. Disappointment, anger, pride etc. are useful emotions because they are productive. People can learn from mistakes and be motivated by triumphs. Pity, on the other hand, is a waste of sad, misunderstood glances. The Lehigh University Blog Tribe has become a special community. During the 90 posts in 90 days challenge we depend on each other’s stories, wait for a Tweets about new posts, and miss each other when we disappear.
The reason this picture adorns the top of my blog as well hangs above my bed is because of my sister Brittany Rose
So #LUBlogTribe, this is my skeleton.