Posted by M on Jun 14, 2010 in
My Current Life
When I was in sixth grade, I was asked if I was a senior in high school. When I was a senior in high school and told someone I was “graduating in May,” they asked me what University I’d soon be an alumni of. Now that I am legitamately a senior in college, I have a new, interesting problem: I keep getting mistaken for a high school student. This is an interesting twist of evnts, becauseI’ve never had an issue looking my age. Whether it be because I’ve moved to a location where people are analyzing my bone structure for the first time, or I’ve been traveling a lot, to places where cracked out 21 year olds typically look to be in their 40s, I’m having a huge increase in the amount of people failing to identify me as a 20-something.
This typically happens in three general situations:
1. Age Requirement: I was on an airplane coming home from Peru and thanks to my Mother’s obsessive seat-picking complex, was seated in a delightful Exit Aisle seat. My little brother, with his quarter inch beard, sat next to me. Little Brother. He’s younger, okay? I’m the older one. The flight attendant spots us and quietly walks over and taps me on the shoulder. “Um, honey? I don’t mean to offend you, but there’s an age requirement to sit in these seats. Are you over 15?” I must have looked shocked because she quickly recovered with a, “I’m just checking because you look so young. It’s a good thing, really!” I nodded, and politely mumured that I was 21. She didn’t even talk a glance at Jacob, who was quietly holding back his little giggle. I don’t mind looking younger (I guess I can wait on buying that wrinkle recovery formula Cosmo says to start using when you hit 20 to be proactive), but 15? I don’t even look like I can buy lotto tickets or porn yet?
2. New Introductions: My most recent example of this was at a yummy breakfast place in Chicago. My super awesome and happy boyfriend, his family, and I went to brunch to satisfy my intense obession with pancakes–my mom likes to track airplane tickets, I like pancakes. Weirdness is genetic. Also genetic is our extremely small bladder size, so after a 1/8 cup of coffee, I found myself in line for the bathroom. A gentleman was in front of me and as our wait was a little long, he struck up a conversation:
“So, what brings you to Chicago?” I don’t usually enjoy talking to strangers in line, especially with a bathroom so close and if I’m in line for a bathroom, usually making sure I don’t pee my pants takes high priority over being chatted up by random men, but I was in an especially good mood since I knew I’d be snagging some of Boyfriend’s Bluebery pancakes any second. So, I decided to do this man a great favor and participate in his small talk. “Just visiting.”
“Oh, really?” he replied. “Where are you from orginally?”
“Minnesota by way of Michigan,” I answered gracefully. “I live in Minneapolis now.”
“Oh that’s great. So, are you doing an college visits while you’re here?” I stalled at this, and mulled it over in my brain. College visits? I think I wrapped up that rodeo in 2007, big guy.
“Um, er, uh, no. I’m actually a senior–in College.”
“REALLY?” he was quite enthusiastic about this discovery. “You’re a senior? Wow. I thought you were in high school. You look so young! I mean, that’s a good thing. You’ll look young your whole life. Think of the money you’ll save on make up.”
Yes, random bathroom age guesser. I get through the day by considering my massive savings on Revlon Eye Liner because of how youthful I look. How did you know?
3. The bouncer at the Bar: I guess, in the issue of full disclosure with my faithful readership, I should admitt that I look extremely young in my ID picture. In fact, my best friend/sister/possible distant cousin from the Cherokee Indian tribe, informed me once that I look older in my 16 year old driver’s license picture than my 21. I’m sporting a headband and a cardigan and my hair is pretty long, so I can see how she came to that conclusion.
So, I show up the bar with just my ID. I rarely take my credit card with me because I don’t want to spend money on alcohol at a bar when for the price of one shot, I could buy a pint of Burnette’s at the grocery store and call it a weekend. So, I’m a little bit blurry eyed already and as I hand my ID to the big, burly man who is the bar’s version of Peter at the Pearly Gates, he looks at it critically. The more legitimate the bar, the longer his stare. In East Lansing, it’s often been handed to the second bouncer, the back up ID checker, who usually verifies it, stamps my hand, and in I go.
Unless, of course, the bouncer just isn’t sure. Then the questions start. What’s your full name? What’s your address? What’s your astrological sign? And then, Do you have a credit card or another form of ID so we can verify this?
Insert long sigh. I hand over my student ID since I’m sans credit card (thanks Cliff, for making me a thrifty missy) and finally, I’m let in. It’s quite the process. I usually have to buy the cheapest shot on the menu juts to recover from such an ordeal.
After this recent weekend in Chicago with Bathroom Age Guesser, I started wondering if maybe I did have a bit of a baby face. I’ve never actually put much thought into it, which is an anomoly in itself because I’m a complete over-analyzer of everything and anything. So, what vibe am I giving off that makes me seem like a minor?
I have a feeling it’s a combo. The first is that it’s hard in general to guess a girl’s age. A 12 year old can look 25 and a 25 year old, if she’s short and thin, can look 15. I have long, long hair that hangs halfway down my back, a standard look for the pre-teen crowd. I don’t wear a lot (if any, usually) make up because I like the way I look without it (unless I’m at work, then I paint that stuff on. Nobody looks good under florescent lighting). I’m a skinny thing, thanks to my super metabolism (Grandma Flood/England, I thank you so much for that). And also genetically speaking, my mother doesn’t look anywhere her age, so perhaps this fate was destined. Neither does my father. I’ve had friends ask if my Dad was my brother and I even had a guy once say that I was perfect wife material because I’d probably always look young, “just like your mom.”
Still, at 21 and a mere 8 classes short of graduation, I’d really like to start looking like I can watch an R-rated movie without parental supervision. Which means I’ll probably have to cut my hair at some point (maybe short enough that I don’t look like the Duggar’s forgotten child) and maybe I’ll start wearing an MSU alumni shirt around so people get the message. And I’ll put wrinkle protector in my bathroom. Just so you know, it looks like I need it.
Posted by M on Jun 13, 2010 in
Savvy Travels
As a new employee at The Company, I’m often asked what I do for fun.
While the legitimate answer is, I skype with my boyfriend, snack on high calorie chocolate bits, and learn to fist pump while watching Jersey Shore with the Roommate, that is not actually the answer these people are looking for. No, they want a grown up, big girl hobby.
The only answer I have for them is ” I love reading and I run.”
“oh, you’re a runner.” I usually nod, but truthfully, inside I feel like a fraud.
To me, a runner has a six pack of abc and wakes up at 5 am to do an eight mile loop before work. A runner has muscular legs (not bony ones) and never gets winded. A runner actually enjoys energy bars and does not want to bulimia them up after taking one bite. A runner doesn’t get injured, a runner doesn’t touch the elliptical, a runner lives and breathes, well, running.
I, on the other hand, huff and puff my way through training. My legs are more bone than muscle, my feet have so many blisters, I have no choice but to wear flip flops to work tomorrow. I spend most of my run wishing it was over and daydreaming about what food I’m going to eat. I’ve run 5ks and trained for half marathons, but I have never gone running before 7:30 am. Ever. Sleep is much to precious for me. And frankly, when I see someone
running at 4 am, all I can think is, “what is wrong with you!?”
I got into running/jogging/trotting/fast skipping when I was a kid. I don’t actually remember my first jog, but I do rememeber sitting in my stroller while my mom pounded down a dirt road in my hometown. I was rewarded cheese crackers for sitting in my stroller so quietly. I know I took my first jog solo before I moved when I was in fourth grade, and I started jogging spardoically in middle school. By tenth grade, I was on the cross country team and by the time I graduated, I had a routine that without, I feel awkward and out of sorts. When I’m sad, angry, or lonely, I run. When my parents dropped me off for college, I put on my running shoes and those shoes were the first things I grabbed when I learned my classmate died. I ran three 8 minute miles on a treadmill the day my high school boyfriend and I concluded we weren’t going to make it, and I was on the treadmill when my college boyfriend texted me for the first time (and later, on the same treadmill when he asked me for a date–I nearly fell off in my moment of glee).
My first morning in Minnesota, I woke up at 8 and my mom and I jogged. Minneapolis has an amazing (and one has to think a little useless in a City that’s frozen for 8 months of out of the year) trail of running and biking paths. I realized, jogging by the river (seriously, they should save their money and put in heated, underground jogging tunnels), that I’d be fine for the summer. If the company sucked and my roommate sucked and my boyfriend never visited, well, at least all of these winding, curvy trails would keep me busy
.
In most families, I would be a weirdo, the black sheep. And while I would argue that in my family I am indeed a black sheep, exercise is actually something my parents and I have in common. On springbreak this year, my dad and I were trapped inside a tiny condo as it rained outside. Both of us expressed immediate relief when my mom invited us to drive an hour to the hotel she had a business conferance at, just to use the gym. Cliff and I drove to the work out room twice in three days. And we, the two thriftiest people you’ll ever meet, even happily paid the toll road fee (well, Cliff complained. But that was to be expected.)
My life is scheduled around my running time. If I have a late night run planned, I stop eating at a certain, cancel all plans with friend, DVR the Disney channel, and go at it. If I’m running early, I have to go to bed earlier, eat a bigger dinner, and make sure to set an alarm that wakes me (and everyone else in my immediate vicinity) up bright and early. I plan my class schedule, my work schedule, and even my TV schedule around running. I even only eat certain foods on certain days because running on a tummy of Indian food is just one experience I don’t need to repeat.
I guess the morale of the story is, my running shoes and I go everywhere together. Well, my jogging shoes. I’m not a runner, but I want to be one when I grow up. If I grow up, that is.
Posted by M on Jun 5, 2010 in
Big Annoucements,
Savvy Travels Greetings, loyal followers.
I write you from the land of 10,000 Lakes: Minneapolis, Minnesota. Exactly one week ago today, my mother, the woman who carried me in her supple uterus for 9 months and 11 days, dropped me off in this fair city and then just left. I would say it’s a little like desertion, but after contacting various police outlets, I’ve learned that when you’re 21, it’s really just “dropping off.”
I look forward to attempting to blog every other day in this journal and updating you on the whims and ways of a girl who has no friends, family, or boyfriend in her immediate five mile radius. As you can imagine, it’s going to get super interesting.
Because this could end up playing out like a bad, bad movie (think as horrible Grizzleyman or Glitter), I’ve decided to list a cast of characters and scenery for you to look foward to getting to know in the next ten weeks that Minneapolis is my home away from home (at MSU) away from home (in DeWitt) away from home (because my cottage is my real home, anyways). Onwards:
Introducing…in no particular order except the order that I think of them:
1. Asian Lovenest: Asian Lovenest is where I reside in Dinkytown, Minneapolis, Minnesota. It’s a highrise apartment building that was built in the 1960s and has had no improvements made to it since. It houses mostly international students, hence why I have informed my neighbors my name is Mercedes Isabella Paulio, a student ambassador to Italy. Well, I would inform my neighbors that if I knew who my neighbors were or had ever seen them. Anyways, Asian Lovenest is a sublease from some Korean UMinn students who left their Asian Invasion furniture just for me and the Rooms to use over the summer. We have a lot of Sushi bowls, chopsticks, 3 rice cookers, and an entire cupboard of food and ingredients we cannot read or pronounce. To solve this problem, we’ ve simply shut the cupboard and don’t intend to open it up again.
2. Rooms: Rooms is a girl I met at an Intern Meet and Greet who lives with me in the Lovenest. We work at the same place, but she works in a different building because she is an engineer and prefers to deal with things that can’t speak and I prefer to deal with people. We’ll see by the end of the summer who has it easier.
3. Hal: Hal is Hal Hagdon, maker of the infamous “Half Marathon Training Schedule” that lots of people on the internet use, mostly because when you google “Half Marathon Training Schedule,” his is the first link that comes up. He’s my fitness instructor for the summer and I half-ass prepare to run the Lansing River Run on September 26. So far, I have done his work outs and upped my caloric intake by 250%, which he doesn’t recommend, but he also does not NOT recommend. I may be the only person you ever meet who gains weight while training for a long distance footrace. I’d be happy to sign autographs at the end of the summer.
4. Bonnie: Bonnie is my GPS system. She gets me from A to B to C and since I’m usually lost, she is key to my survival for the summer. I especially appreciate her soothing voice and when I miss a turn, she doesn’t, like many other GPS systems (ahem, Garmyn), do this passive aggressive “Recalculating” that makes you feel horrible and like a giant failure. She just recalculates. I appreciate that about her. It’s nice to have a voice to ride to work with.
5. The Family: will not be making any appearances in this blog because they all suck and none of them are visiting me. Except Doctor Brother, who is visiting and therefore, I like. I also give exceptions to Traveling Brother, who is in France and therefore, is excused from visitation. Mom is also excused because she dropped me off and may in fact, be picking me up. Therefore, just Cliff sucks. You hear me, Cliff?
6. Boyfriend!: Boyfriend! works in Michigan and as a result, we are 700ish miles and a timezone apart. This is quite tragic, as you can imagine, because we used to live seven houses away from each other. I probably could have picked up his wifi signal if I’d tried hard enough. Now, I’m stuck on Netgear-MN. Ahhh, the turmoils of young adulthood.
7. The Company-I’m not interested in losing my job over a blog that has approximately four readers, but to make it snappy, I work at a company that manufactures things that I don’t understand.
8. Dinkytown: Dinkytown is the part of the U that I live in. It’s kind of like Michigan State had a one night stand with University of Michigan, and out popped Dinkytown. It’s green, but urban, and it has a Potbelly’s and a Subway, so overall, I’m a pretty happy camper.
I suppose that wraps up today’s entry. I look forward to updating you on my extremely interesting and important life as an intern. And if you know anyone who’s interested in marrying me purely because I’m cute and will let me stay home and never lift a finger, hook me up.