Ways in which my experience in Ann Arbor (thus far) is different than my experience in Boston (thus far)

1. In Ann Arbor, people drink freely in their front yards. This results in impromptu block parties that thrive even through thunderstorms and torrential downpours. Police cruisers drive by but do not stop. In Boston, you would be beaten down and cuffed immediately for such antics.
   
2. At said block parties, students wander from house to house making new friends. Everyone is cordial and welcoming. Parties in Boston are usually closed unless you're a friend of a friend. People charge even their friends for beer and strangers are scoffed at. Unless you're at a frat (in which case strangers and some friends are charged, all are welcomed through the back door and everyone drinks merrily until BUPD shows up to send everyone home.)
   
3. It is a rite of passage to make sure University of Michigan kids visiting for orientation drink heavily. Bright eyed students with lanyards around their necks wander the streets met by cheers from the older kids. In Boston, students visiting for orientation have curfew and lock down. They may not wander the streets. They are seen as a nuisance.
   
4. Many of the houses on this street are home to straight guys. Nice straight guys, who have manners and morals. (Most of them.) I thought it was a joke when I first arrived. But apparently this is normal here.
5. Beer pong and flip cup aren't the only drinking games students indulge in. When combined, the two create an exciting game that may become dangerously competitive if you play with my new roommates.
6. You will never be asked for backup ID in Ann Arbor. In fact, some places won't even card if they recognize you.

So basically, students in Ann Arbor can relax and enjoy the inevitable drinking shenanigans that college students worldwide experience, whereas students in Boston usually fear arrest, police brutality or creepy Mexicans trying to grind on them.

Incest is NOT ok.

Let's talk about incest for a minute.

Netflix sent me The Other Boleyn Girl. The movie was pretty entertaining. Natalie Portman's performance salvaged that of Scarlett Johansson's annoying face. [Scarlett is so overrated. Her co-stars always carry her. The Island. Match Point. Ghost World. Please.]

Back to the point. Incest. Ok. There came a point about 3/4 the way through the movie when Natalie asked her brother to bang her so that the king didn't kill her for not popping out a son. It's a long story. The point is, she wanted to do it with her brother.

I can overlook a lot in life and in entertainment. And her brother was hot. But I have brothers. Two. And Natalie Portman really messed with my head tonight. There is no situation in which the concept of incest may be mentioned without further thought. Not even a movie set in the 1500s with men in skirts dancing around like fairies.



















(Jim Sturgess. It's okay. He's not my brother.)





From the movie: To get ahead in this world, you need more than fair looks and a kind heart.
Thanks Boleyn family. I'll keep that in mind.

Stop looking at me.

I found this while perusing one of my new favorite blogs, . . .I Hate So Much. Noelle and I used to play for hours. Literally. Making up our own questions. That would make you cry. Like, "would you rather have no limbs or three heads?"
Yea. I'm a little rusty. Let's just answer this one...

Would you rather…

be followed around by cameras and have ALL aspects of your life broadcast for the world to see

or

be in solitary confinement

for one year.

My initial reaction was to choose the cameras. I mean if they're following me around for my whole life I'd eventually get used to it. And I doubt anyone would watch. Maybe my dad. But then I was thinking of everything I do with my life. And I'd rather not broadcast it for the world. I mean people don't need to know every detail. People shouldn't know every detail. People don't need to see me taking a leak or picking my nose. I mean really. Plus I could probably entertain myself for a year of solitary confinement. Although I think I'd get bored after a couple months.

This is why the games Noelle and I play last for hours.

Final answer? Solitary confinement. I don't like commitments. I don't want people to watch me for the rest of my life. I get creeped out when people look at me for too long. Although if both of the prompts spanned one year I choose the cameras. I think it would be good character building.

Someone help me?

Just another packratting Tuesday...

You got it. Time to share those memorable texts I just couldn't let go of...


May 6 Drew: Call me when you get out of your final. Shots? (During my last final of junior year.)

May 7 Maria: Steve, I missed my train.
Steve: Maria are you kidding me? I told you to go 10 minutes early.
Maria: Haha just kidding. I'm on my way.
Steve: Haha I fucking hate you. I was gonna kill you.

May 9 Christina: R u bringing me back a man?

May 13 Noelle: Feels like August Rush down here at Park Street haha.

May 17 Christina: I'm laying out right now! Where are you I wanna oil you up! Haha.

May 18 Drew: I fell out of a hot air balloon is now my favorite bad pick up line. (Story here)

June 2 Mike: Do you want to go cabrewing on Friday? Or do you have to work?

June 4 Noelle: Sounds delightful. Let's both wear nothing.

June 6 Joe: Plop dop?

June 8 Joe: Global warming is ripping through Bham.

June 12 Mom: Oui. De rien. AKA Ja voll. Kein problem.

June 16 Joe: My snot is black from second hand smoke and inhaling dust haha I'm going to die soon.

June 17 Michelle: It just started go buck wild.

June 20 Joe: Mom's a hardass!



John McCain approves this blog post.














..

Have you heard that song Webbie made for me?

Mom: This might be our last Christmas together.
Maria: Pssh. You guys will still buy me flights home after I graduate.
Dad: HAH! I don't think so. You'll be on your own. Can you spell "independent?"
Maria: Please, old man. I spell that every pre-game.




Independent by Webbie
Lyrics (the important ones)


I N D E P E N D E N T Do You Know What That Mean Man [X2]
She Got Her Own House
She Got Her Own Car
Two Jobs Work Hard U A Bad Broad

She'll Buy Her Own I Dont Think She 'll Never Look
In A Man Face Standin Waitin For Him To Take Care Of Her
She'll Rather Go To Work And Pay The Bills On Schedule

A Independent Chick Do U Kno Wat That Mean
She Cook She Clean Never Smell Like Onion Rings

The night I almost killed my dad with my phone charger.

Let me tell you why I need to stop watching scary movies.

Last night I was at home in the basement watching The Last King of Scotland by myself. It ended at about 2 AM. I wanted something to finish downloading before I went to bed so I figured I'd get a snack while I was waiting. I started going upstairs and heard really weird noises. The main floor of our house was dark but I could see the windows were opened and I could hear unidentifiable sounds coming from an unidentifiable room. I couldn't tell if they were coming from upstairs or from the kitchen. I thought it could be Joe sleepwalking and if you try to wake a sleepwalker they could kill you by accident so I didn't want to wake him up. Flashbacks to The Strangers were flowing. I looked around and decided to go downstairs because I'm not a dumb bitch like Liv Tyler and I won't walk into the killer's arms that easily.

I paced the basement wondering if someone had broken into our house. I thought I'd try going up again but I freaked out when I got to the landing and went back to my room. I turned off all the lights in the basement and sat in my room with the door opened. I turned off my computer so I could hear better. All of a sudden I heard loud footsteps. I grabbed my phone and chose my mother's number, prepared to call her if an intruder tried to come get me.

I stood in my doorway trying to hear what was going on. I heard more footsteps. I anxiously searched my room for a possible weapon. In my state of panic, the most dangerous tool seemed to be my phone charger so I shuffled it between my hands trying to decide whether to strangle the perpetrator or stab them with the prongs in the charger. I settled on the latter, holding the charger in one hand and my phone with my finger on the call button in the other. Hearing footsteps approaching the stairwell to the basement I called out, "Joe????"

A booming voice responded.
"Why are you awake? Go to bed!"
Apparently my dad was shutting the windows.
"Maria? Are you ok?" my mom asked in a slurred, groggy voice.
Apparently I'd called her when I heard footsteps by the stairwell.

I have problems.

Sunday.

In line waiting for a cash register.

Me: I'm going to go back to Boston and want to buy a lot of things.
Mom: Mmmm.
Me: I'll have to find myself a sugar daddy.
Mom: I did! You will!

Stories from the dinner table...

(terrorist fist jabs)
Last night dad picked me up from Ann Arbor and brought me home to celebrate his 50th birthday. I enjoyed not cooking dinner and mom, dad, Joe and I had some laughs at the table. After dinner was over, Joe started clearing the table. He came and sat on my lap putting an arm around my neck. Seconds later my knees started rumbling under the oppressive squeal of his farts. He laughed hysterically as I screamed. Mom and dad got up to leave the table. Joe stood and extended both arms saying, "come on! That was good!" as he tried to fist bump the parentals. They did not oblige.


(my dad's a hobo)
So every time we go to a restaurant (or any public place where one could be humiliated) my dad harasses the wait staff. Tonight our waitress was a young girl, often absent from the table.
Dad: I have these two coupons for dinner.
Waitress: You can only use one per table, sorry.
Dad: What if we split the bill?
Waitress: Nope.
Dad: What if I pretend I'm from another table.
Waitress: Nope.
Dad: What if...
Mom: You can just ignore him. He follows us everywhere.
Waitress: Oh so you don't actually know him?
Dad: No they actually followed me here to dinner.
Waitress: Oh so are you like that hobo where the high school kids followed him around and kept having sex with him until he got them pregnant?
Dad: What??? ...No.

The Strangers (SPOILERS!! Get over it or go away.)

Joe told me today he used to think I was invincible when it came to scary movies but that he now knows I'm just a "vagina." I guess this is where I admit I screamed a little during The Strangers. You can tell my threshold for scary stuff has been passed when my eyes start watering. Despite my screaming, my eyes remained dry.

What bothered me about this movie was the circumstances surrounding their stay in the cabin in the woods. Ok. So Liv Tyler and Scott Speedman are at a wedding when he whisks her away and proposes to her. She declines his offer with puppy dog eyes stabbing through his heart. So what does he do? He drives her out into the woods to the ranch-style house he grew up in as a young boy. Rose petals were strategically placed in a bath tub and around candles to set the mood for some victory sexy time. Only there was no victory. So really they shouldn't have been there in the first place. Seriously. The girl just broke his heart and shat on his dreams. Why would anyone want to stay in a romantically decorated house in the woods with someone like that? Ugh. Dumb.

I was also mad we never saw the killers faces. Imagine my surprise when I IMDB'd that shit only to discover Gemma Ward plays the main creeper. Gemma Ward! The little alien looking model! I'd like to say I'm happy to see her branching out but she probably probes, kills and hides dead bodies in her space ship when she's not strutting down a cat walk already. The bad guy is played by Kip Weeks who I don't know. The other girl creeper is Laura Margolis from Dirty Sexy Money.

Ignoring that minor plot discrepancy, Bryan Bertino wrote and directed one pretty creepy movie. The narrator said it was inspired by real events. Wikipedia told me the screenplay was a combination of different elements including:

• A memory from Bryan Bertino's childhood wherein a stranger rang his doorbell at midnight looking for a person who didn't live there. (Apparently Bertino later found out that neighboring houses were being robbed.)
• Charles Manson and his clan. (Reading Helter Skelter and researching Manson and his followers made my eyes water.) The bad guys tortured Liv and Scott by creeping around their house and moving things. Manson's followers would entertain themselves by entering houses while people were sleeping and moving things around. (I wonder if people attributed out-of-place items to strangers and not other family members or bad memory? I mean unless they wrote "hello" and "killer" all over the walls.... I hope I never face this predicament.)
• California murders where three people "were found tied up, stabbed, bludgeoned by a hammer."

So basically the idea was good. And most parts were scary. The music was loud and damning and painfully irritating just as the score of a horror movie should be. The end was fantastic. I anticipate a sequel but will still be furious when one is filmed.

Just another reason I'll never live in the woods and I'll always carry a frying pan around my house if I ever live alone. You can never be too careful these days.

Daria hits the office.

Someone once told me that I sound like Ben Stein's daughter due to my low monotonous voice even whilst delivering crude jokes or evil insults. This has nothing to do with the fact that I've discovered that my eyes poop out by noon which is when my contacts contract a thick frosty coating disabling my vision. Yesterday I brought Visine to work, but it didn't help much. Today I wore my glasses.

I am reverting to my old lazy ways.

Someone get this girl an apron...

A drastic increase in hunger has insisted my culinary repertoire grow since arriving in Ann Arbor. Two weeks ago, I was feasting on ham and cheese sandwiches, a pickle and some Cheez-Its for dinner. Lunch consisted of two Pop-Tarts. Breakfast was a bowl of cereal.

The sandwich component of my day has transformed into turkey and cheese sandwiches warmed in my filing cabinet at work for lunch (accompanied by carrots and an apple.) Breakfast, if consumed, remains a bowl of cereal. Last week, dinner was spaghetti and canned mushroom sauce with a salad drenched in balsamic vinaigrette every night except one. I attempted grilled ham and cheese but failed miserably. I placed buttered bread into a pan on the stove and went deaf from the high pitched sizzle resonating from my dinner. The blackened char coating my wheat bread was indicative of my failure. I sucked it up, picked off the black and ate basically warm ham and cheese.

This week I've moved on to chicken nuggets and a salad with red wine vinaigrette. I will alternate with spaghetti and perhaps another shot at grilled cheese. I no longer worry that kitchen appliances are plotting to attack me. I get angry when my food disobeys me but I will be dominating these mischievous edibles in no time.

Recovered: Misread Artifacts Another Realm

June 13th behind dozing eyes:

Green moon. Kill yourself.
...
The house rock bullshit.
...
Nothing because my contacts are fuzzy.
...

Give blood. Play rugby.

I'm back from my weekend getaway to Elkhart, Indiana. Thankfully, weren't there for sight seeing. We spent most of our time on the rugby battle field screaming at high school boys that look like they moonlight as lumberjacks. Or would that be daylight? Can you chop wood at night? Whatever.

Some of these kids were bigger than any college guys I've seen. I guess this is what they look like before their submission to beer and laziness surpasses their health and determination. Where were these guys when I was in high school?

(Checking the bitterness at the door to continue this post.)

Joe's team played three games. They started off a little shaky. Some of the parents questioned their sobriety the evening before seeing as the team stayed in the same hotel which is basically a breeding ground for bad behavior. They pulled it together the second game, annihilating the team by scoring 40-something points enabling their first shut-out.

Today. Wow. Today was intense. The boys approached the field under a blanket of black clouds. They hoped for rain which would mean mud which would mean really cool dirt smeared all over their faces making them look infinitely more manly. The parents whimpered, Michael leading prayers to the rain gods begging them to hold off until the match ended.

No such luck. An ominous voice in the distance relayed an urgent message forcing everyone off the fields. Frantically, players grabbed jerseys, bags and game faces before locating their loved ones, throwing them over both shoulders and sprinting to the car.

After half an hour of hiding from the storm, Joe and a few of his pals tired of this cowardly behavior, exited their cars and let out a deep howl calling the rest of their team to join them under the black clouds. Time to finish this tournament.

The boys warmed up and joined the referee on the pitch. The Michigan team is a select team made of talented players from different schools and districts that came together like the French, British and Ottomans during the Crimean War. Michigan started the match and quickly made Iowa their bitch as the storm had done to the parents.

Iowa didn't stand a chance. Michigan scored try after try. Sometime in the second half, Iowa started getting cranky and playing dirty. They slipped arms around our boys necks and metal cleats in their faces. The ref, clearly sight-impaired and lacking intelligence, failed to call most of these illegalities.

That's when it started. One of our players went down during a play. Joe called to the ref and the coaches because the kid wasn't standing up. From the sidelines, we stood on our toes wondering if the player was unconscious. Another player sprinted off the pitch toward the sidelines seemingly dazed. We looked over to see blood gushing from his face. Some barbarian with poor sportsmanship punched him square in the eye. Mom started freaking out and screaming for a medic but all attention was still on Passed-out-kid. Like Florence Nightengale, mom sprung into action and hustled around the field to the medic table. I stood on the sidelines wondering what the hell was going on when an ambulance pulled into the left parking lot to pick up an injured kid from another team. Two minutes later, a fire truck pulled into the right parking lot and three medics sprinted onto another field. Mother Nightengale ignored the perplexed teams and parents, ignored the lines on the grass and sprinted across the pitch bobbing and weaving through a mass of lumberjacks. She slid on her knees for two feet landing in front of Busted-face-boy where she cleaned the blood dripping from his face. The rest of the team watched and quietly planned their revenge on the opposing side.

In the end, Passed-out-kid stood up but may have sustained a minor concussion after being rammed in the head while he was standing 90 degrees to the ground. Busted-face-boy needed several stitches. Mother Nightengale proceeded to help the weak and wounded for years to come. And dad waited on the sideline with his Hawaiian straw hat ready to catch any balls gone astray.

Conversation #3

Mom and dad get into bed and under the covers.

Mom: It's freezing in here. (wiggles over to dad.)
Dad: What is are those, ice cubes? It's like a block of ice down there!
Mom: I just wanted you to know I'm cold!
Dad: I don't need to know that! What are those, popsicles? Get those things away from me!

[Thirty seconds elapse.]

Mom: I don’t think I’ll be able to go to the bathroom tonight. I’m going to fall and break my neck.
Dad: I got an idea. Crawl. Then you won’t get hurt.

[Ten seconds elapse.]

Dad: Get those feet away from me! Go sleep with your daughter.

Conversation #2

Dad: (Standing at end of bed. Arms on hips.) Are you sleeping on that side?
Mom: No.
Dad: Then why are you sitting there?
Mom: What's wrong with you?!
Dad: I'm tired and I want to go to bed!
Mom: Talk nice to me!
Dad: ... Please go to your side of the bed, Poopsie.

Conversation #1

I'm in Elkart, Indiana in a hotel room with my parents for the weekend. Nuff said.
.............................

Maria: (In bathroom. Looks at ceiling.) Dad? What's that red thing for? Look! There's a button!
Dad: (Flossing) Turn the button a little.
Maria: (Turns the button. A red light switches on.) WHAT?! What's that for?!
Dad: (Looks in bathroom. Floss lodged between molars.) COOKING FRENCH FRIES! (lets out a stream of short hisses like a balloon slowly deflating.)

For everything else, there's Mastercard.

(FROM HERE)

Who knew?

Tomorrow marks my second Friday and the completion of my second week at my internship. I've grown leaps and bounds already. Here's what happens when you start your first 9-5:

1. You get painfully tired. So tired that sleeping from 7PM until 7AM won't remedy the problem.
2. You get over it and stop hitting the snooze button. It doesn't help anyway.
3. You are excited by simple things like having your own desk.
   
4. Your back starts to hurt after a couple days.
5. You create bizarre new chair exercises to combat pain and entertain yourself in a small area.
6. You find bizarre things on the internet you would have never seen before (like blogs of Evangelical homeschooling mothers who rant for paragraphs about the evils of public schools and capitalism. And the Aptera, a vehicle I will own one day. )
7. You learn about things you had no interest in but now feel smart knowing (like diesel engine and advancements in environmentally friendly vehicles.)
8. You wonder what exactly people do every day at their desks.
9. You lose the ability to communicate. This ability is regained after a solid five minutes of uninterrupted conversation (with another person. Talking to yourself doesn't count.)
10. You count the hours until bed time (and realize why your dad is in bed by 9 every night.)
11. You appreciate your parents' intolerance toward late hours and laziness.
12. You would rather have a meaningful task to complete than sit idly pretending to work or doing nothing. That was so college.
13. You don't know what to do with your free time.
14. You tell yourself you physically can't look at a computer screen another second but you turn on your laptop the second you get home.
    

The Real World! Ann Arbor!

Apparently I'm an abomination to the world of competent grocery shoppers thriving in suburbs and cities nationwide. I should not be allowed to enter any self-serve nourishment establishment unsupervised lest I harm myself or some organized, focused grocery expert.

Mike took me grocery shopping last night and guffawed at everything I placed warily in my cart. I can't help the fact that my mother should host Top Chef, my dad holds a gold medal for Most Effective Shopper in the World and Jose and Maria take good care of me in the dining hall at school. I have no idea what I should buy or make or eat. I usually just eat what's placed in front of me. Which has been very little this past week.

I get it. This is that thing. The one I've been successfully avoiding for quite some time now. I think they call it "The Real World." I've been living MTV's version for quite some time now (this is the story of six college girls... picked to live together...) My version of the Real World has been fun and games. For the most part. A month ago I would have jumped on Noelle and forced her to accompany me to Late Night for some deliciously unhealthy fried food.

Goodbye mozzarella sticks and chicken wings on demand. Hello 40 hour work week and no one to cook for my tired self when I get home.

Your love is like a HEAT WAVE

I'm dying.

It's not work. It's not the roommates. It's not Ann Arbor. It's this damn heat. I'm going to melt in my sleep. I tried to crack a window in my room only to discover the windows don't actually open. I've been festering away between these four walls, just me and my computer which has been my little space heater.

DAD. IF YOU'RE READING THIS. BRING ME A FAN!

Moving on.

Tomorrow's my first Friday at the internship. Not gonna lie... This 8:30 to 5 business was starting to kill me. But then a strange thing happened. I had my first day where I wasn't exhausted by lunch. That was today. This week has been exciting. I've learned quite a bit and enjoyed all of it. (Even the tech meeting everyone attended for the pizza but didn't actually understand a word of. The two guys next to me were very good drawers.) Sitting in my chair staring at a computer screen all day was difficult at first but my back hurts less and I'm finding I get lost in the work more and more.

The Ride, on the other hand. The Ride is Ann Arbor's public transportation. I tried taking it to work today and it was 20 minutes late. I almost started sprinting to work but thankfully the bus came before I gave up. The 30 minute walk isn't that bad anyway...

My roommates are great. They've been really welcoming. They brought me out to both Red Wings games so I was able to relax with a beer, meet new people, watch some hockey and get back in time for bed.

In fact, the whole sleep situation is bizarre... I was so tired the other night I fell asleep at about 7 PM and slept until 6:30 AM waking once to watch Law and Order then falling back asleep. I don't have much energy by the time I get home. Hopefully I'll adjust so I can be social at least one or two nights a week.

Tomorrow's supposed to be in the 90s. I hope the roommates aren't creeped out by nudity and my overwhelming need to periodically cool off in the kitchen sink.

The MTV Movie Awards were pretty dumb as usual, but this has nothing to do with that so keep reading dad...

Check it:

I made it to Ann Arbor without vomiting or passing out. Mom, dad and Joe helped me move in and get settled with groceries, lunch and a reliable route to work. I have a 30 minute hike cross-campus which will double as my daily work out routine. I don't trust public transportation yet so I will use the only thing I can rely on: myself.

Moving right along, I met three of the four roommates and much to my relief they are normal and outgoing. We are similar in many ways including:

1. we are all girls
2. we all live under the same roof
   
3. we will all be seniors in university
4. we all enjoy the occasional beer
5. we all have a tendency to sleep in late

I'm sure good times lay ahead. The weird thing is that the room I'll occupy for the next two months, while wonderfully comfortable and clean, has pictures of it's permanent resident plastered to the walls. Therefore, you must forgive me if I have the occasional identity crisis or out-of-character moment. I am not schizophrenic. I am just confused.

The three hours of sleep fueling me for the day is starting to wear off and leave instead a throbbing headache and eyelids heavier than the 5-ton boulder resting in the base of my stomach. I'm going to turn out the lights, toss and turn as I try to fall asleep, wake up several times because the ulcers I've acquired on the ride over are burning a hole through my stomach and eventually give up and get dressed before hiking to my doom/salvation. Check back later to find which it is.

Twas the night before move-in...

[Tomorrow (slash in roughly five hours) my life will change drastically.]

As could be expected, I can't sleep. My mind is held captive by thoughts of tomorrow's departure from home when I will be ripped from the comfortable uterus of home-cooked meals and clean laundry. I will be hurled, screaming, into a city of strangers and a 9 to 5 job I hope I'm qualified for.

While my family sleeps soundly, I torture myself with the prospect of failure and rejection. What if the girls I live with hate me and focus all their energy on harassing me in hopes of driving me out of the house? What if I do something wrong at work and cause the company to crumble and my life in PR to cease forever, forcing my post-college hopes toward a sturdy box on a decent street in Boston? What if that mosquito I just slaughtered in the bathroom has a family that will pursue their vendetta against me by biting me to death in my sleep?

This always happens. I stay up all night before embarking on some new adventure trying to predict all the things that could go wrong. Usually the things I expect to go wrong don't and the things that do go wrong I never thought could. Like last year when I was a camp counselor for the summer. I thought I was going to lose a kid in Boston landing myself a lovely spot in prison for several years, pending good behavior. Instead, I made a lot of great friends and had problems saying goodbye. I sure wasn't expecting to encounter the least mentally stable person on campus. But I learned a lot and had a fantastic time doing so. And I don't regret any of it, not even the lowest points. In fact, I don't regret anything in my life enough to lose sleep over. So that's comforting.

Come to think of it, I'm ready to move on. I'm ready for the next challenge in my life. Time to conquer another city I'm completely unfamiliar with. Time to embrace another mysterious endeavor that will unfold when I actually start living it.

To tell you the truth, I'm pretty damn excited and barking on the inside.

BRING IT ON, ANN ARBOR!