Giving Back

My friend's cousin is practically a saint and has lived in India for several years doing service and medical work. Recently, her and her husband adopted a baby, Adam, who had been abandoned and left for dead. He has several disfigurements and needs several serious and invasive surgeries in order for him to able to lead a normal life. A team of surgeons from UNC has assembled to provide Adam with these surgeries, but they need to raise over a $100,000 in donations in order to complete the surgeries. So, please give anything that you can in order to help out this deserving family, and please, spread the word!

http://www.babyadamsjourney.com/

To donate, please make checks payable to:

The Baby Adam Fund

The Medical Foundation of North Carolina

880 MLK Jr Blvd CB#7565

Chapel Hill, NC 27514-2600

Everything In Its Right Place

For me, there’s no better feeling in the world than knowing that your life is exactly where you want it to be. Finally, at the age of nineteen, I have reached that point in my life. Maybe that means than I’m an actual adult now? Probably not. For the past six years, I’ve known that I want to be an advertising major, but until now, that goal had never been a tangible reality within my reach. Now, everything that I’ve worked towards has paid off, and the haze of my future is beginning to sharpen.

I guess I’m pretty lucky in the sense that I’ve always known what I want to do. I have friends who still wander aimlessly from one potential major to another, and as someone who is an avid planner and lover of organization, that just wouldn’t fly. I’ve always loved to create, but I never really knew where a love of fonts and aesthetics would take me in life. Then, in eighth grade, I was watching Desperate Housewives, and my future all made sense. No, I wasn’t considering a career in neighborhood scandals and love affairs. In the fateful episode that I happened to catch, the blonde one (Lynette?) was trying to get back into the advertising business. While my mom sat next to me watching Lynette try to prove her relevance during a job interview, she had no idea that in my mind, my entire future was taking shape. It’s funny- for my entire life I had seen commercials on TV, billboards on the side of the road, and advertisements inside magazines, yet I had never actually considered who made these advertisements and how they got in front of me. It finally all made sense, and I can’t imagine a career better tailored to my personality. Last year in my intro to advertising class, with every guest speaker who came to visit, I found myself getting more and more excited about the industry I would one day (hopefully) be a part of.

At the beginning of this year, I applied to get into the Grady College of Journalism and Mass Communications at UGA. Before applying, I attended an information session. The lady who was conducting the session rambled on about the requirements, the application process, the various majors within Grady, etc. Then, she talked about how competitive it was to become an advertising major, and she encouraged us to have at least two backups in the event that we weren’t accepted into the program. Backups? For the past six years I had thought of nothing but advertising. Upon hearing these words, my friend, Lindsay, drew a hangman and his noose, and while it may seem a bit dramatic, at that point in time, it seemed like the only viable option. And if we’re being honest, the noose sounds like a more appealing option than being an interpretive dance major-my backup plan, naturally.

After I sent in my application and wrote my statement of interest, the waiting began. I wasn’t too worried about getting in, but then again, UGA hasn’t always been a fan of accepting me and making my life easy (AKA The Great Waitlisted Debacle of 2010). It didn’t help the situation that when people asked me which Grady majors I had listed as my alternatives to advertising, I honestly couldn’t remember which majors I had chosen. Oh, no big deal, it’s only my whole entire future that I can’t even remember. Fortunately, after two months of waiting, I received an email with the subject line: “ACCEPTED TO ADVERTISING.” There was the initial moment of, “Thank you, Jesus!” Then came the tweeting and the happy dancing and the forwarding of the email to the people who care and then some more happy dancing. In all of the ensuing excitement, I almost forgot to accept my acceptance…

Now that I finally have a significant part of my life in order, I find that other parts of my life are falling into place. I’m surrounded by the best friends a girl could ask for. I’ve finally accepted the fact that no matter how many years (six) I study the French language, I’m NEVER going to be fluent, and that’s okay. My longtime dream to study abroad is finally becoming a reality. All in all, it's shaping up to be a beautiful life.

And to my random readers in Latvia, Russia, and other countries around the world (four out of seven continents!), I'm not really sure how you found my blog, but thanks for reading!

Choosy Moms Choose Jiff; Cheap College Kids Choose Generic

It’s hard to believe that tomorrow marks the two week anniversary of when we moved into our apartment. It seems like we’ve lived here forever, and the long, uneventful days of Summer 2011 are a distant memory. I sometimes find myself longing for my 9 x 13 box in Brumby, and in all honesty, if I could live in the freshman dorms again, I would do so in an instant. However, apartment living is better than anything I could have ever imagined. The independence and freedom that I was betrothed with last year, pale in comparison to the independence that I have now. For the first time in my life, I kind of feel like I’m living in the real world (but then I step outside and see the chalk drawings on our balcony and I remember that I’m just a nineteen year old girl).

Move in day was not without its mishaps and memorable moments. It’s never a promising sign when you can’t unlock the door to your own bedroom. It’s also not very promising when your kitchen contains three colanders, two tea kettles, and absolutely no can openers. Fortunately, my friends/neighbors were wise enough to bring some of the kitchen essentials that we forgot (Molly even has a mallet…). Then, after our parents left and we were left to our desires, we decided to partake in the most grown up/domesticated task we could thing of: grocery shopping. After our adventure at Kroger (it really was an adventure), I now fully understand why local Athenians despise the university population. I have never seen a grocery store as crowded as this Kroger was, and I have never received so many injuries from unwieldy carts (some people really should go through training before being allowed to push a cart). Then, in addition to the Mario Cart race that was Kroger on that fateful day, the majority of shoppers (including myself) spent hours mulling over the endless options and mentally calculating the difference between store brand and the brands we’ve grown up on.  Sorry, Campbell’s, you’ve always been my preferred soup brand, but I just can’t afford the extra 29 cents. Maybe we can resume our love affair in a few years?  

Surprisingly, what happens at the grocery store, doesn’t stay at the grocery store.  Sunday night, I went out to eat downtown with some friends at The Globe. While waiting for our food to arrive, the conversation took a turn into mom territory; we discussed Krogering. It was a moment that took my breath away. There we were, young and spry nineteen year olds, talking about coupons, cooking, and our preferred grocery stores. Then, almost simultaneously, we all realized what we were talking about and quickly changed the subject back to familiar territory and began to gripe about our classes.  

These past two weeks have reminded me why I love college so much. The friends that I have been reunited with are amazing people, and it’s hard to imagine that just a year ago they were strangers. The adventures that I have had these past two weeks have provided me with enough story telling material for a couple of years. And the memories that I’m making will last me a lifetime. So, here’s to the rest of what will, hopefully, be the best year yet!

Around the World in Eighty Years

So, today is a pretty big day. Not because I saw the premiere of the final installment of the Harry Potter series at midnight last not (I have way too many emotions about this to even begin). And not because I’m babysitting for two adorable British children tonight who like to use words like “rubbish” and “lovely.” Today is important because my grandmother is celebrating the big eight oh today. In eighty years, my grandmother has done so many wonderful and inspiring things, and in the past nineteen years, she has helped to make me the person I am today (the good parts of who I am).

Ten years ago today, my grandmother and I had just arrived in Paris and were strolling the streets of Montmartre. This was the first international vacation that she took me on, and it forever changed my life and who I am. I love travelling and discovering new places, and this first trip solidified my love for adventure and the world around me. Because of her, I will forever be spending the majority of my income on plane tickets, gondola rides, and escargot (and shoes, of course). I am so blessed to have such a loving and truly selfless person as my grandmother, and I will never be able to thank her enough for the adventures she has taken me on.

So, Gammy, today I would like to celebrate the beautiful and vivacious person that you are, and here’s to many more birthdays and adventures together. I love you :]

Nineteen Years and Counting

Turning nineteen is like turning eleven. After all the hype and hoopla about the previous year’s birthday (double digits are a pretty big deal), reaching the next year is about as exciting as reading five chapters of my advertising textbook (which I know firsthand from the all-nighter I pulled last night is not fun at all) . For the past four years, I’ve been reaching milestones, and I didn’t even have to do anything but age to achieve them. My fifteenth birthday meant I could legally drive with a licensed driver over the age of twenty-one, as long as we were back before midnight, of course. Sixteen brought with it driving freedom, and it just sounds mature and exciting. A less exciting, but still monumental, year later, my seventeenth birthday granted me free reign at the movie theater. Even though I’ve never been carded, it’s nice to know that I can legally watch soft-core porn and listen to as many explicatives as I see fit. Finally, my eighteenth birthday signaled a whole new chapter of my life: I was officially an adult, but I had the luxury of having –teen attached to the end of my age. Tattoo parlors can deny me no more, and if I’m feeling lucky, I can squander the $4.53 that make up my checking account on some Mega Millions. So, with no new freedoms bestowed to me this year, I’ve decided to celebrate this year for what it means in the grand scheme of things, because next year, it’s a big deal.

It felt as if I had been eighteen forever, and sometimes, I found myself thinking that I was already nineteen. The last few weeks of my eighteenth year included some pretty monumental events. I waited out a tornado with nine hundred other girls and lived to tell the tale. I turned on and watched the news by myself for the first time ever. I became slightly obsessive about the royal wedding and woke up at 4:30 am to watch it. I pulled my first legitimate all-nighter and managed to stay up until 2 am the next night. That same night, I succeeded in filling up my entire Facebook profile with posts all from a twelve hour span. These two events may or may not be related… I got to be the one to tell my parents about the death of Osama Bin Laden, AND I watched the news again. Clearly, I’m growing up.

Nineteen marks the end of my teenage years. In exactly one year, I will no longer be allowed to be “Young and wild and free.” Instead, I’ll be twenty and practically washed up. Granted, my teenage years have not been incredibly eventful, but they have been filled with their share of mistakes and “what was I thinkings?” In exactly one year, any child that I have can no longer be considered the product of a teenage pregnancy. Go me! In exactly one year, any incredibly stupid thing that I do can no longer be justified with the response “she’s just a teenager.” In exactly one year, any relative who uninterestedly asks me how old I am will choke on their sausage ball and say, “Twenty?! You’re twenty?! God, I feel old.” Thanks, now I do too.  

Finally, the moment that I’ve been dreading since August has arrived. In less than 48 hours, I will no longer be a freshman. Last night, I filled both my parent’s Tahoe and my car, Baby Jude, with the contents of my dorm. Now, I’m living in a soulless box.  My closet has one shirt and three pairs of shoes remaining (naturally, my boots are sticking it out until the end). After a lot of blood (yes), sweat (oh yes), and tears (sadly, yes), my bed has been successfully unlofted thanks to a hallwide effort. Saddest of all, without my legions of nametags and constantly scrawled on dry erase board, my door is as bare and nondescript as all of the other doors along my hall. I imagine that this is how it feels to be a prisoner on death row. The end is so close, and I honestly have no idea what’s on the other side; life after freshman years just seems unfathomable. Fortunately, it’s not goodbye forever, and in the grand scheme of things, this journey is just beginning. So, with that optimistic mindset, I’m venturing into summer with reckless abandon.   

It's Not All Roses (Just kidding. It really is.)

The end is getting closer, and it’s becoming more obvious. Just yesterday I received an email detailing the extensive moving out process. I don’t even want to think about hauling all of this stuff that I’ve accumulated over the year back to Dacula, and I especially don’t want to think about the three long months that I’ll be away from Athens and all of my friends. So, in order to help ease the pain of leaving paradise on Earth aka college at UGA, I’m making a “Things I’m Not Going to Miss About Being a Freshman” list:

        + The Brumby Hill
        + The Cookie of the Day (I will miss it, but my thighs will celebrate their
         absence)
        + PAWS (You’re more fickle than Georgia weather in March)
        + Papers. Tests. Reading. Papers. Papers. Papers.
        + My Shower Caddy
        + Not being able to see the back of my closet
        + Not being able to reach the top of my closet
        + Climbing into bed
        + The long walk to the bathroom
        + Fourth Meal
        + Visitation Hours
        + Fire Alarms
        + Having to get out of bed before two on Sunday in order to make it to
         breakfast
        + Getting sick every other week from “you don’t even want to know what 
         grows in the dorms”     –University Health Center doctor
        + Walking to class in hot weather, cold weather, rainy weather, etc.

It took me nearly thirty minutes to compile this list because the negatives are so few and far between, and in all honesty, the negatives aren’t even that bad. Griping about the Brumby Hill and the burnt cinnamon roll induced fire alarms at three in the morning have brought me together with many of my friends, and the freshman experience would not be complete without the inevitable drawbacks of college life.  

Recently, it's come to my attention that I’m an incredibly sentimental and slightly neurotic person. It seems that everything is becoming “a last.” The last time I’ll ever eat “The Pie”. The last time I’ll ever do laundry in the dorm (which in all honesty was back in February. Thanks, Mom!). The last time I’ll ever sleep on three different futons in one weekend. It’s becoming a bit of a problem, especially because I’m using this as an excuse to eat nearly everything in the dining hall. Don’t judge me for eating seven servings of banana pudding. It’s the last time I’ll ever get to eat the meal plan’s perfect blend of bananas, vanilla wafers, and whipped cream. While I’m sad that I’ll never get to stuff myself with banana pudding again, one of the saddest moments will be when I wear my boots downtown for the last time. Back in June, I made a “College Essentials” list and topping the list was cowboy boots. I bought my beloved boots explicitly for college and the many yet to be worn outfits that they would complete. Over the past year, nearly every “going out” dress that I’ve purchased has had to fit one incredibly important credential: Will it go with the boots?

It’s hard to believe that this year has gone by so quickly, and I never would have guessed how emotional the end was going to be. I can only imagine the sadness that’s going to beseech me in three years, but I’m not even going to think about that. So, until then, I’m going to continue living the life of a Georgia Bulldog and making the most of these fleeting days.  And wearing my boots, of course. 

The Freshmen Thirty-Six

In exactly thirty-six days, the futon that I’m currently sitting on will be stuffed into its original IKEA box, surrounded by the contents of my 9 x 13 dorm room. The paper swans that Callie and I so diligently made last summer will be cut from their strings and will no longer look over me as I study late into the night. My growing collection of red and black pom-poms will be removed from the random holes in my bedframe. The countless name tags that my RA has hung on my door throughout the year will be in a folder with the countless other paper souvenirs of this year. In essence, my home for the past year will be no more, and I will return to the Atlanta suburbs for three months of rest and recovery. 

I think I am denial that this year is going to end. My freshman year of college has been the best year of my life by far, and I have trouble believing that anything else can possibly surpass this year. Nothing could have possibly prepared me for this experience. Sure, I’d seen movies, and I’d been subject to my mom’s endless stories about the roller coaster that is college, but this year was better than anything I could have imagined. There were the occasional bouts of homesickness and moments when the stress of it all seemed overwhelming, but the new friendships that I made and the personal growth I experienced more than made up for them. I can honestly say that there is no feeling more satisfying than being thrust into a completely foreign environment and to do more than just survive, but to thrive. After this year, I know that I can survive nearly anything, and I am so thankful to the people who have helped me to thrive in this environment. 

Tonight, after dining at Bolton, Andrea and I walked around the entirety of the UGA campus. Surrounded by the beauty of north campus, I realized that this year is rapidly coming to an end, and the next three years are sure to follow suit. In some ways, it feels like I just got here. Sometimes, it feels like I’ve been trekking up the Brumby Hill for years. It’s hard to imagine that less than a year ago, I was making countless pro/con lists between Alabama and UGA, and I actually had difficulty deciding between the two. Now, it seems as if there is no other school I could possibly go to. Even harder to imagine is that the people who make up my everyday life here were strangers and unknown faces a year ago. I’m happy to say that all of my high school friends remain important people in my life today, but those friendships have changed to fit the people we have become. Some friendships have grown stronger than I ever imagined, and people who were on the fringe of my life in high school have become some of my best friends. Other friendships have suffered their tribulations, but as the year comes to an end, they have all returned to their “former state of glory.”    

So, in thirty-six days, when my boots are crammed into the trunk, my freshman year will be officially over, but the memories and experiences of this year will last forever. My boots are no longer in the pristine condition they once were. They bear the battle scars of downtown Athens, the water marks from the sudden floods that sweep across campus, the sand from spring break that has made its way into the stitching, the fading ash marks from bonfires, and the slow erosion of the soles from countless steps- some in the right direction and some thirty steps in the wrong direction…