Liquid Gold

Back home, my mom used to make me fresh squeezed orange juice in the morning before I left for school.  There were quite a few times when I didn’t finish it, either because I was rushed or I didn’t want to. 

Now, I look back on my high school self and wonder, what in the world was I thinking?

At school it’s rare to get truly fresh food.  Sure, the fruit is supposed to be “fresh” but a lot of the time it’s mediocre and probably pretty cheap. 

Except for the oranges. 

If you have the patience to peel one of those things it’s pretty delicious. 

Do I have the patience?

No. 

If I eat an orange it’s because Will took the time to peel one and I simply stole a couple slices.

I can’t believe it took me so long (more than a school year) to remember how often I used to have fresh squeezed orange juice at home.  And I suddenly had the most brilliant idea I’ve had in a long time.

Buy a juice maker!

The exact juice maker I bought...
I love it.

When it arrived in the mail a couple days later I couldn’t wait to try it, and I had a stock of oranges in my room since I grabbed a couple every time I ate in Gwinn.  After I unpacked the juicer and cleaned it, I grabbed my roommate’s knife and began slicing oranges in half, then pushing the individual halves down on the squeezer to extract the juice.

The juicer happens to make a terrible grinding noise when the top part turns to remove the juice, and when Taylor walked into the room she asked, “Is your printer choking??”  Dwight, my printer, has been known to chew up paper before and it actually makes a pretty similar sound.

I just laughed and showed her the juicer, and after I had squeezed 6 or 7 I was able to pour a glass for her and myself.  I’ll admit that I paraded my juice around a bit and showed other people, but I also promised to make them some as well. 

A couple days later I texted my friend Sarah, who was in Gwinn, and asked if she would grab me a couple oranges and have the other girls with her grab some as well.  When they walked into my room, oranges in hand, they asked, “What are you going to use all of these for?”

“To make fresh squeezed orange juice!” I told them. 

“Oh.  We thought you were going to give them to the boys so that they could throw them off the balcony.”

Their assumption is understandable.  The boys occasionally do things like that, especially because they are called the Orange Men, so it’s rather fitting.  Never will I give the boys oranges to throw off the balcony when I can turn them into juice. 

The $18 I spent on the juice maker is possibly some of the best money I’ve ever spent.  Every day I try to grab a couple oranges when I’m in Gwinn.  One day I managed to sneak out 8 in my backpack, which I will never do again because carrying all that weight up Ashton hill was a lot harder than I expected. 

The point is, as long as I’ve got fruit, I’ll have fresh juice.

My brother referred to it as “liquid gold”, which I would agree is very true.  

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I Don't Always Clean My Room, but when I do...

I possibly just experienced the least productive day of my life.  Everything this morning was scheduled out perfectly and I was going to be right on track, but it all changed when I got a phone call during class.  After I got out of class I listened to the message on my phone, then called the lady back.  “Sure,” I said.  “Moving the interview to Friday at the same time will work just fine for me.” 

Changing the interview time for a job downtown meant I had three more hours of time to spare, so I kicked off my boots, climbed up onto my bunk bed, and snuggled under my cover while I watched an episode of Hart of Dixie.  (Let me tell you, watching the pilot episode of that TV show on Netflix is going to be the death of me, because now I’m outright addicted no matter how bad the acting may be.) 

Before I knew it, it was lunchtime, so I unwound myself from my cocoon and scrambled off my bed to grab some left over spaghetti out of the fridge.  People tell me it’s terribly unhealthy to warm up food in Tupperware containers since they’re plastic, but I do it anyway.  After my food had been nuked for a solid 2 minutes I climbed back into bed and watched another episode of my show.  As soon as that one finished I knew I had to start studying but, like any normal procrastinating college student, I had to check FB first. 

Which meant that I saw a post on my floor wall from one of the girls reminding the rest of us that the floor had to be decorated for Ashton Haunted Ball, which was occurring in 5 hours.  Other floors had started decorating a couple days ago. 

Let me tell you how much time we had invested into decorating.

None. 

So I took it upon myself, instead of studying, to walk down the hallway and pick up a wad of cotton “spider web-making” material to help aid in the decorating process.  For a solid hour I worked on my own, stringing spider web around the elevator and throughout the hallway.  Then a couple other girls joined me in the decorating process and I got sucked even further into it.  I couldn’t just leave after I had already done so much. 

Around 4pm I called it quits and went back to my room to study and get ready to go to dinner with my dad. 

I ended up cleaning my room instead.  Ironically, my roommate posted this photo on my wall right as I was in the middle of the cleaning process and it couldn’t have been more correct.

*sigh* I was wasting time away and I knew it. 

Needless to say, I didn’t study.  When my dad showed up (flowers in hand!) I took him through my hall, introducing him to various people and then I walked him to the guy’s side to show them that they had decorated for Halloween… with a Christmas theme.  They even had a TV, playing a never-ending clip of a crackling fireplace.  The last time I saw one of those was in a nursing home.

My dad and I left after a bit and drove to Ballard to find a restaurant I had chosen online, called “The Walrus and the Carpenter”, which is apparently named due to an Alice and Wonderland reference.  When we walked in and discovered it was a 45-minute wait we put our names on the waiting list and walked down the street to eat dessert at “Hot Cakes”. 

Delicious.  Always has been. 

We walked back to the restaurant and a blissful night of eating ensued.  When I eat real food it’s as if my stomach is a bottomless pit and I think I can proudly say I might have eaten just as much, or more, than my dad did.  We made sure we documented every food we tried on Forkly, a wonderful iPhone app that I highly recommend.  (If you want to read about my dad's last visit to Seattle, nearly a year ago, read Eating Happiness.)  

After dinner I got back to my room around 9:30pm since my dad and I first went to Will’s room to say hello.  They talked a lot about sports, no surprises there, and I would occasionally try to interject with something slightly smart and knowledgeable sounding.  Compared to most girls, I know a lot more about sports.  But, when a hearty conversation about terrible team-management is occurring between two guys, it’s hard to get a word in. 

So, eventually I get back to my room.  Did I study?  A little bit.  But a lot of other things happened within the span of three hours that were pretty distracting, and most of them won’t be served justice in a few words so I’ll save myself the trouble of trying to summarize.  After all, it was Halloween and no one wanted to settle in for a normal night. 

Welcome to my college life.  

Returning in Style (or Trying)

Anyone you ask who knows me well could probably tell you I’m a jeans and t-shirt girl.  There’s not much to my fashion beyond that and when I went to SPU for my freshman year (a year ago now) I often felt like a total scrub in comparison to some of the other girls there.  I’ve never been one to really care about what others thought of me fashion wise and I paraded through the year in my jeans and my t-shirts and my sweatshirts and sweatpants.

I even wore a pair of plaid pajama pants to class one morning and then to lunch and I got a ton of compliments from different guys about how cool they were.  I’m pretty sure the girls thought I was out of my mind though and after that I didn’t wear them out in public anymore. 

I didn’t realize how into fashion Seattle is in general and after a certain amount of time I got to the point when I decided I kind of wanted to look really cute some days too.  Sure, I dressed up really nicely if I ever went on a date with Will or out somewhere special with friends, but otherwise I didn’t really bother very much.  At least in my mind I hardly tried. 

When spring in Seattle hit it was as if the clouds were producing sundresses instead of raindrops since they seemed adorn every girl on campus.  The few sundresses I owned had been left at home since I had no idea that 70 degrees in Seattle was basically considered sundress weather, or summer for that matter. 

Let’s just say I finally decided it was time to add some clothing improvements to my closet.  This summer I bought a new pair of boots, some new jeans, new cardigans, scarfs, and lots of different things that could be layered.  I even bought some new dresses!  My mom spent a lot of time shopping with me this morning and she helped me pick new things out.  I had a lot of fun spending some time with her before I head off to school and even she bought a new sweater for the fall. 

I feel like I’m ready to return to Seattle in style.  Sure, I’m going to have a lot of days when I dress like my casual self and forget what the word makeup means but at least I know I’ll have options if I ever feel like looking cute.  (It seems like people hardly recognize me when I really try, which makes me laugh a little.) 

One more day of packing tomorrow and then I’m returning to my college home! 

Time & a Fishbowl

I realize I’ve been a terrible liar.  Every time I say I’m ready to write, I don’t.  I think it’s partially because I’ve put too much pressure on myself to keep my blog going, which has worked negatively and caused me to say pretty much nothing.  And of course life happens and sometimes I’m just not good about leaving time for myself to open a blank word document so that my words can flow.

So, no more promises and no more saying “I will” or “I won’t”.  I’ll write when I can and I have no idea when that will be.    

At the beginning of my freshman year of college, a year ago now, I started my blog.  It’s incredibly hard to believe that everything went that fast.  Looking back it was as if I snapped my fingers and transferred myself to now.  Freshman year was wonderful and full of new learning experiences and a completely new life.  This year I’m going back to something I already know and long for, which makes me almost more excited than before. 

I’m in the same spot again, trying to pack and wrap things up before I leave, but this time most of my things are waiting there for me and I’ll have to pick them up along the way.  I told my mom yesterday that it’s going to be like Christmas because I don’t remember half of what I actually packed in all those boxes.  As I open them I’ll start to rediscover bits and pieces of my college life from last year, and somehow I will reassemble those to help me start this year.

I’m going to be rooming with one of my best friends from my floor this year and we have already talked a little bit about how we are designing our room.  Believe me, it is going to be amazing once we actually move in and organize things, but at the moment we aren’t entirely sure how it is all working out.  I’ve been crafty this summer and I’ve made magazine coasters and wall hangings that will hopefully help add to the aura of our room.  

My room at home is once again littered with bags that I’m shoving everything in to.  It seems like I managed to collect a decent amount of things to take back with me to school this year.  For example, I’m taking a fishbowl.  (Most of you are thinking, why take a fishbowl when you can buy one up there?  Well, it just so happens I like this one and that’s exactly what I told my mom when she asked me that question.  She said I’m going to have a problem taking a suitcase of glass up to Seattle, since I’m also taking some mason jars as well… I’m not a hipster but I think they’re cool.) Anyway, I want a fish in my room this year and my future roomie said that’s fine as long as I’m the one cleaning it. 

In all honestly, I’m a little bit scatter brained right now trying to keep track of everything that I need to do… and then I remembered that it’s been almost a year since I started blogging and I thought to myself, why not take some time to write?

There’s always a little bit of time to spare.   

Taking the Back Roads

Today I learned something about myself.

I learned that I love to take the back roads.  I do everything I can to avoid the highway.  I’d rather roam through the countryside in my suburban for an extra hour than blaze through the land and arrive at my destination in a timely fashion.  The highway can be convenient in some situations, but in most it has become tiresome and annoying.

I love driving the long way, through the neighborhoods with the cute old fashioned houses that all have a porch swing, along endless fields of grass, down roads I didn’t know existed.  I love all of that.

I like to take time to looks at things and observe, and the highway moves too quickly for me to get the chance.  All you see is pavement and the fronts and backs of hundreds of cars cutting across lanes or tailing other people.  Not to mention the countless people as of late who have left their blinker on for miles after changing lanes. 

What happened to everyone wanting to move so quickly from place to place?  Everyone has somewhere to go and hardly anyone ventures of the road to take another way.

If I were to plan a road trip it would be a ROAD trip, not a highway trip or a race across the country.  I like stopping to take pictures and sight see.  Sure, I can’t get everywhere without taking the oh-so-big-stretch-of-cement every once in a while but I’ve discovered that I don’t need to take it as much. 

Bring on the cute houses, flower gardens, mailboxes, and picket fences.  Some days I just like to take it slow.  

An Abundance of Sweaters

This entire week I’ve been in process of moving back in.  I’m not anywhere close to being finished, but I am slowly and surely starting to get it done.  I have a lot of things to sort through in my room since my sister redid the room while I was gone and most of my things were put in plastic tubs.  I love how the new room looks, but I have to decide what I want to keep and what I should probably get rid of.

Yesterday I finally had the opportunity to do laundry.  Walking downstairs to the laundry machine and throwing things in without paying quarters was heavenly!  At school quarters were pretty much gold—if I ever found one it went directly into the laundry fund.  By the end of yesterday I had done $5.25 in laundry for free.  To be precise, that would be 3 washes and 3 dries worth of money. 

In the midst of laundry I realized something peculiar.  It seems like a lot of the clothing items I brought back are sweatshirts.  What was I thinking?  It’s been in the 80s and 90s since I got back and all I’ve worn are shorts and tank tops.  I could have gotten away with bringing only 2 or 3 sweatshirts back, but I probably brought closer to 10.  Right next to all my sweatshirts were several pairs of jeans, which I haven’t worn yet either.

Then it hit me.  I’m more used to the weather in Seattle than Colorado.  That just proves I haven’t been home in quite some time, and I’ve now realized how different the weather is between my two states. 

In Seattle it’s all about the layers.  In Colorado you have short sleeve shirts, long sleeve shirts, and sleeveless shirts.  And in the winter you have one giant winter jacket.  Otherwise, forget wearing more than one piece of clothing over the other.  (It was in Seattle that I finally understood what a cardigan was.)

Looks like all my sweatshirts and jackets are going to be hanging out in the closest for a while, which is totally fine with me.      

Ready to be Back

(Written 2 nights ago--finally got a chance to post it!)

When I don’t play the piano for a long time I get an itching sensation in my fingers.  It’s as if I can feel the end of them tingling, telling me that it’s time to touch the ivory keys, telling me it’s time to produce music.

I’ve had that same sensation in my fingers for two months, except this time it’s been in regards to writing.  For two months I have been blogging in my head, but not once did I touch the letters on my computer to actually write.  Now it’s near midnight, I’m in a small town so close to Canada that I don’t receive cell phone service, and I suddenly had the urge to pull out my computer and write. 

This past quarter I wrote countless papers, personal essays, and stories for classes but not once did I write for myself.  I reached a point when it was too hard—it’s not that I did have anything to say, but nothing that I had to say was making it’s way onto paper.  Some of what I had to say I couldn’t share with the whole world either. 

Blogging is like journaling, but what I write needs to be censored.  If I share all of myself with the world I won’t have anything left and I think I needed to keep some of my feelings to myself.  Spring quarter was full of emotional ups and downs for me, like turbulence on an airplane or an earthquake—completely unpredictable.  I couldn’t write about trivial things that are fun to share when so much of me was bursting with heavy emotions that took time for me to sort through. 

Long story short, I’ve made it through that and now I’m here.  Now it is finally summer and I’m once more ready to pick up where I left off.  I’ve missed the color scheme of my blogging page, not even joking. 

I’m ready to be back.

To those of you who have so patiently waited, thank you.

I hope you enjoy reading what I have to say just as much as you did before.