Why I Refuse to Be Your Facebook Friend.

Dear Random Person Adding Me On Facebook,

I don't know you. 

Sure, you may go to the same high school I just graduated from. Sure, you might even know who I am. Not hard, because I graduated with only 167 other people. You might know what classes I took, when I ate lunch, and even who I sat with. I may even know who you are. 

But that doesn't mean you can "friend" me. 

You might be friends with my brother. You could be friends with my cousins. Hell, you might even be friends ith that random guy I went to theater camp with the summer before freshman year. 

But that doesn't mean you can "friend" me.

If you have never spoken to me, and more likely than not never will, do not click that button that says "Add to Friends." 

Sometimes I feel like that button should say "Add to Collection." I hate people who add lots and lots of people who they have no intention of actually meeting just so they have a multi-digit friends list. 

To wrap up this little note, I must inform you that I am trigger happy. And that "Ignore Friend Request" button is my trigger. So, don't get all depressed. The only reason I ignored your request was because I have no clue who the hell you are. And I think it's slightly very creepy that you add people just for the sake of having more "friends" with whom you will never actually interact. 

So, I suggest you log out, shut down your computer, and go play outside. Make some real friends. The end. 

Cordially, Me.

I Think I'm Slowly Going Mad.

So you know I moved into my dorm last week, right? And that I share my bathroom with to other girls? yeah? Good. Well, in a week of college, here's what I've learned:

1. One of my suitemates will, every night, without fail, wash her clothes in the shower, AT MIDNIGHT. 

2. The other will watch anime shows. All the time. even at three in the morning. 

3.Sociologists are a cynical bunch.

4. People are weird.

5. If you are an eighteen year old girl who is about to become a college sophomore by the semester change, everyone will look at you in amazement. 

6. The main exports of Oklahoma are lunkhead football guys and tornadoes. 

7. If you are religious, you will accept an edict from a "higher power" and go about your merry way. If you are a Sociology major, you will stand there, shaking your fist at the heavens going "Yeah? Where's your proof, bub?"

If you haven't noticed by now, my Sociology professor is slightly insane. I like him.

My Arabic teacher adores me, because I can somewhat understand him. Go team.

My Music in Film professor is my academic adviser. So he got me out of Calculus for the semester, and therefore I like him too. 

I'm the youngest in my classes, again. I feel like I'm in high school all over again. But the people are taller. Except me. I'm still short. (Prancer, don't start. I will show up outside your dorm and beat you.)

I think I'm gonna get homesick soon. I'm not going home for Thanksgiving because it's too far of a drive (20 hours) and too expensive to justify flying out for only three days. It makes me a little sad. 

By the way, in case anyone cares, I'm a Psychology and Criminology double major. 'Cause I'm a dork.

Heart, me.

I'm a Dork.

So when I was in high school, up until senior year, I was the youngest in all of my classes, because I have a tendency to burn through credits like wildfire. I feel like in I'm in high school all over again. I'm the youngest in most of my classes. It's really awkward. I don't know anyone. Boo.

I have to go now. Music in Film awaits.

Heart, me.

Shameless Self Promotion

So, if you don't know, which you probably don't, unless you're Prancer and stalking me (jk lol I don't mind the attention, dear), I'm into photography. Not like the point-and-shoot garden variety. I mean, sure, there's bound to be a plain snap somewhere in there. But it's a damn neat botanical-garden-tended-to-by-an-army-of-gardeners garden variety. So, check me out. I'm cool.

Here's the website, yes, it's Flickr. Run by our good friend Yahoo. Which is in turn run by our good friend Google. But anyway, enjoy.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/vrishalikanvinde/

I have a pretty intense camera. It's cute. A Nikon D3000 I believe.

Heart, me.

Unloaded? Yep. Unpacked? Sorta. Organized? Not Really.

So I finally moved into my dorm room today. I don't have a roommate, so I have some extra space, although I still feel like a cat in a hamster cage. I'm actually really exhausted. It took a good six trips to the car and back to unload all my stuff, and I still have to put stuff away before I can even think about bed. So I'm gonna stop writing for tonight. I'll tell you all about my adventures later, when I'm actually functioning.

Heart, me.

Tomorrow Morning Will Start to Suck...Now.

I'm leaving for college tomorrow morning. I haven't been away from home [by myself] for more than a few days before. The only thing close to sleep-away camp I've ever done was band camp.

I'm scared.

More importantly, my grandmother has started crying. Two weeks ago. I can't stand it when she cries. She's this itty bitty little Indian woman, with a death grip when  it comes to hugs. And I'm the youngest of all my cousins, except my brother but he doesn't count, and I'm the only one going away to college.

I'm getting so overwhelmed with all this.

I think I'll be fine once I get to school and have time to chill. It's just all this anticipation of leaving, and these emotions running rampant that's getting to me. I cried all the way from my dad's house to my mom's house ten minutes ago.

I have to go think for a while. I'll try finishing this post before I leave tomorrow, but if not, I'll see you from Norman!

Heart, me.

Flying By the Seat of Our Pants: The Class of 2010.

So my graduating class, the class of 2010, had a tendency to do things last minute. We tend to fly by the seats of our very expensive pants. Yes, that's the sort of school I go to. Apparently, we're a bunch of high maintenance rich kids. 

Okay. Whatever.

But we had fun with it. Our band director, one the strictest, meanest, sweetest, most amazing teachers I ever had, once told us, as were were arriving at the football state qualifying game (told you I was a band geek), "Get off these buses and walk like the snot-nosed rich kids everyone thinks you are!" So it works to our advantage. 

As I was saying, we fly by the seat of our pants. For the band camp (again, I'm a band geek) senior prank, we came up with it as we went along. We brought along a thousand or so phone books, shredded them, and piled them in the underclassmen boys' dorm. We then woke them up at 3 am with percussion equipment. The next night, we found saran wrap. And saran wrapped the non-senior girls' doors. The last morning, after our camp out (we remembered our tents), we found a tiny kid's play tent. We shoved seventeen senior guys into it, and put it on the middle of the field. The rest of us hid in the woods and ambushed the band when they marched down for one last rehearsal. Just to get out of marching down to the field with the rest of the band.

We had a goodbye bonfire a few nights ago. We also flew by the seat of our pants then. One guy sent out a message on Facebook, followed it with a few texts, and we all gathered in the Metroparks a few hours later. And then realized there was nowhere to build a bonfire. So we found the grills, chunked in the firewood, and the boys grilled up some marshmallows. Go team.

I'm honestly going to miss the class. There are some schools where you can't wait to leave for college, and only see your friends on breaks. For us, we all can't wait to get back, so we can hang out again. We're all so incredibly close. Sure, there's cliques. What sort of high school has no cliques? But we intermingle. The jocks are the nerds who are the theater kids who are the band geeks, and so on and so forth. We're such a small school that if everyone didn't do everything, there would only be three people per activity. And the thing we're the saddest about is that we know that we'll never find a group of people as close as this class. 

Dear Class of 2010: I miss you already.

Heart, me.

This Is Gonna Bug Me

You know what's really annoying? When you have a song stuck in your head. Wait, no...Sometimes when you get a song stuck in your head it's a good thing, 'cause you can sit back and listen to the music. But when it's one line, over and over and over, even if it's a really good song, it just gets frustrating. I have a line stuck in my head right now. Could you guess? It's by Boys Like Girls, which is my current favorite band (sorry, Fall Out Boy), and it's from a song called "Hero/Heroine." It's Martin Johnson *drool* singing "I feel like a hero/and you are my heroine," over and over and over. Granted, he's hot and had a great voice, but dammit man, get out of my head! It's a good song too. Really cute. I like "Thunder" too. My favorite line from "Hero/Heroine" is "I keep a sinister smile and a hold of my heart/ you wanna get inside/you better get in line." I think it's because it kind of applies to me. My favorite song lyric by Boys Like Girls right now is from "Contagious," and it goes "You think all my friends are crazy and I know you hate my car." Because the guy I've liked (yes, THAT sort of "liked") since I was maybe twelve is like that. I feel like I could tell him that and he's crinkle up half his face in a goofy grin, shrug, and go "Yeah...."

I don't have a crappy car. It's cute. Sure, it used to not start, and I (my dad) had to buy it a new battery, and lately it was spitting up its coolant, but it's fine now.

I think.

"I feel like a heeerrrroooooooo, and you are my herrrrrrroooooine."

Damn. Still in my head. I think I'm gonna sit under my desk (where the air vent is) and listen to Muse.

Heart, me.

I'm Actually Kinda Sad.....

Me and my friends had a picnic today. One of those "OMG This is the last time we see each other before we go to college" type of affairs. At the end we were all giving each other hugs. It was actually kinda sad. And I don't really cry too often. At least not in public. I mean, I'm not a "tough chick," but I don't like being all emotional when there's people around. I don't think it'll hit me until I get on that damn plane. Hopefully Twin will be able to bring my grandparents to the airport. 

Shit. I think I'm gonna cry.

I'll finish this later, okay? I just wanna go sulk under my desk for a while. I'm not weird, that's just where the air vent is.

Heart, me.

I Can't Sleep.

I think I have insomnia. Do you remember the episode of "House" where they're treating the blogger, and there's a scene where she's updating her blog from the hospital bed, and her friend, who had come to visit, was reading the blog. From the same room. I just thought of that.

But I seriously can't sleep. And I should. I hate taking my sleeping pills though. they make me loopy, and then I end up groggy in the morning. You know what really messes me up? NyQuil. Dude, I get crazy with that. I left Twin seven voicemails talking about crayons and zombies once...

Okay. I give up.

I'll take the damn sleeping pills. Let's see what happens.

Heart, me.

"The Picnic: Adventures with Drugs, Sex, Food, and Facebook."

No, it's not what you think. Get your mind out of the gutter. Yes, even you. Keep it in your pants, love. I'm planning a picnic with my friends before we all head of to college *sobs* and we're planning it mainly on a Facebook thread. The thread has gone in many directions. I've reread it to make a final list of what we'll have and what we'll still need, and burst out laughing for many minutes on end. 

But can you imagine a Broadway musical with a title like "The Picnic: Adventures with Drugs, Sex, Food, and Facebook."? It would be great. It would basically be random imaginings of me and my friend...let's use Ginny as her code name. Because she's a redhead and used to be obsessed with Harry Potter. But Ginny and I would be sitting there, narrating this whole thing. It would be like multiple flashbacks, but not really because it would be hypothetical scenarios. Like sneaking out on a ninja mission to kidnap a friend of ours (let's call her Elf. Because  she's obsessed with World of Warcraft and things like that.) with a large pillowcase and laughing gas. 

We're not on drugs, I promise. 

There would be many musical numbers, of course, because we're all band geeks and theater freaks. The lone male (we think) would have a series of dance solos. Because he's a dancer. Let's call him......Prancer. Like the reindeer. 'Cause he spikes his hair so it sticks up. Like antlers. Don't make me explain myself, we'll all get confused. He's actually a fantastic dancer. And not gay. I know, he's almost a mythical creature. A theater guy who's a great dancer who isn't gay. But he would deal with all of the choreography. 

Oh, it's raining. 

I guess the picnic will be inside. I guess I have to haul my butt to Ginny's house early to move furniture. That should be interesting. We'll have to distract her grandmother with a daytime soap or something so she doesn't get squished. 

Well, I have to go hide from a thunderstorm now. I really don't like those. So I'm gonna wrap myself in the quilt my grandma made me and peer worryingly out the window. 

Heart, me.

I'm Just In A Writing Sort Of Mood.

So I just feel like writing right now. I don't know what I'm gonna write. I'll figure that out another time. I refuse to use this as a public diary. I'm not the diary sort. I'll tell you about the more interesting bits of my life, though. Shall I introduce my friends? I'll give them sneaky code names, so they flip out trying to figure out who's who. 'Cause I'm twisted like that.

First, there's my best friend. Let's call her.....Twin. Because even though she's taller and blonde, and I'm short and dark haired, we often get confused. Don't ask how. But yeah, we really are twins. In the whole we-can-finish-each-others'-sentences-and-communicate-with-looks sorta way. I went and saw "Despicable Me" with her today. It was great. We've decided that she's Edith, and I'm Agnes. I guess the only thing I can say about Twin is that she is my twin. And I don't know what I'd do without her. Sure, she gets on my nerves sometimes. Everyone does, as one point or another. She will never answer a text within five hours or her phone unless I call her twelve times, but I love her.

I'm bored now. I'll introduce the rest of my crazies another time.

Heart, me.

Proof That the GPS is Trying to Kill Me.

So last night, well, yesterday afternoon, I went to visit my cousin and his wife. So I start out okay, with my cute little GPS taking me along the highway to his place. And I go to shift lanes, to get from one highway to another.

There's my first problem. It seems that every time a guy driving a minivan encounters a girl driving a red sports car, he finds that he has something to prove. And this guy was no different. He was next to me, in the lane I needed to get in. Every time I sped up to pass him, he sped up too. Every time I slowed down to get behind him, he slowed down too. After doing this for a minute or two, I got bored. So I decided "Hey. I'm an annoying teenage girl in an annoying red car." And hit the gas. And left Mr. Minivan behind. So I got to my cousin's just fine.

On the way home, the darling GPS decided it didn't want to go on the highway. Instead, it took me deep into downtown Cleveland. At night. And then, into the most sketchtasticly shady neighborhood as I tried finding my way back to Suburbia. It flat out refused to take me to the freeway. So I puttered along in my twelve year old sports car, in a very frightening place, alone, at night. Shrinking into my very little self. I sing when I'm nervous, and I was pretty much belting out Boys Like Girls' entire "Love Drunk" album.

At one point, this guy was crossing the street, jaywalking, duh, 'cause he's that gangsta, and he waves to his buddy on the other side of the street. What happens next? Oh, his pants met the ground. Got very personal with the ground, if you ask me. He was wearing orange and red plaid boxers, if you're interested.

But I made it home okay. It took me a while, and I'm slightly scarred from the experience, but I made it. And then I went to a bonfire. Which was made in a grill. It was fun though.

Heart, me.

Well Hello!

Oh, hi!

So, how are you? I hope you're okay. Because if you're not, why are you reading a blog instead of making yourself better? But if the blog makes you feel better, by all means, keep reading. 

I'm a little bit "out there," in the best sense of the phrase. I like writing, but not your basic English class "This is the book I read and this is what happened" sort of nonsense. I mean, I did that. I just came out of two years of AP English, and might I gloat for a moment, but I got two fives on those suckers. So I'm good at writing. I hate math though. Math is my mortal enemy. 

Wait, what was I saying? Oh, right. I'm weird. But I'm fun. Sort of. Until I get crabby. Which is what happens when the meds wear off. I have a brother. He drives me mad. And a couple of friends. They drive me mad too. There's boys in my life, all annoying, frustrating, overbearing, or taken. So this should be interesting. Welcome. 

Heart, me.