{ESC} BOOK NINE: DIRTY RUSH

Dear Reader,

I’ll admit it: I love this book. Let me tell you why.

According to Rebecca Martinson, this book “fucking tells is like it fucking is.” Unfamiliar with that name? She’s also known as the “deranged sorority girl.” The one who wrote an email to her entire chapter, threatening to “cunt punt” them for being boring and undesirable to frat boys. You can find a hilarious reading of this letter by Michael Shannon here.

So I was scared that a girl who seems to care so much about such pointless, judgmental things claims that this is a book that actually tells the real truth on sorority life. But, it kind of does.

Now, I’ve only been with my sorority for a semester, and I’ll admit that I didn’t relate to about half of what this “Taylor Bell” experienced, but that’s not saying that it doesn’t happen. I’ve talked to girls in other sororities who have group messages that are dedicated to getting adderall and cocaine. And hazing is still a very prevalent thing in greek life, even though I’m fortunate enough to truthfully tell you all that I was in no way hazed.

But this book actually did have some good morals, and the ending was great. I love that the main character, Taylor, was so nonjudgmental, and even most of the other characters stayed that way, too. Plus, the friendships she made were true and even the clichéd theme of sisterhood was portrayed really well.

So yeah, it’s kind of weird that this book was as refreshing to me as it was, and yeah there are certain aspects of it that I didn’t so much enjoy (like how everything was “crystal cute”), but it was a quick read, and a book that I’ll definitely lend to my friends. And then ask for it back so I can read it again.

Sincerely,

Sammy

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IF WE WERE HAVING COFFEE [5/29/2015]

Dear Reader,

If we were having coffee, you would be my best friend. Because you would know that all I need right now is a caramel frappuccino and maybe a muffin. And you would know to take me to a coffee shop no closer than 30 minutes from my house because I need to get out of this place. And you would absolutely know to steer me to the most comfortable, cushioned chairs by the window because we would be there for a while. Because I really need to vent.

If we were having coffee, I’d first tell you about when I went to Target today. How, on an impulse, I leaped from my bed and ran after my mother as she called “goodbye,” just to make her take me with her. And how I wasn’t going to buy anything, but then realized how much I actually do need (Target does that to you), and how I spent almost $100. But I’d tell you how my card kept declining, so my mother ended up paying–after I promised that I’d pay her back.

I’d tell you about how I got into the car and opened up my Huntington app, only to realize that I didn’t have close to $1,000 on it like I had thought. Instead, I was down to less than $70. I’d tell you how my heart sank as I slowly pieced together that these latest purchases were not made by me. I’d tell you how we drove to the nearest Huntington, my mind racing, thinking of this anonymous thief who just dropped $450 of my money at Urban Outfitters. I’d tell you how I sat, motionless, on the other side of the desk, as the Huntington manager calculated that this person had spent over $700 in the two days they had my information.

I’d assure you that everything’s okay now. That, somehow, I’ll be reimbursed for this money because I filled out the forms for fraud. And even though I don’t know how this person got my information or who they are or how to prevent this in the future, it’s okay.

Then I’d have to change the subject because I can’t talk about this anymore.

So we’d talk about you and your summer and how things have been going on your end. And if you’re anything like my other friends, you’d tell me all about your travels and you’d show me your instagram account, full of pictures of you moving from one exotic location to the next. You’d tell me about your adventures and I’d absent-mindedly sip my drink until the last drop, listening intently to all of your fascinating stories. I’d probably laugh and say that the craziest thing about my summer so far is the failure of a party that Sean and I threw. Then I’d shake my head because I don’t really want to talk about that either.

If we were having coffee, I’d stretch my legs out onto the coffee table (don’t mind that I haven’t shaved in a while), and talk about how excited I am for the future–because that’s really the only good thing I’ve got going for me right now. That’s really the only thing I love to talk about–because it can be anything, and it can be wonderful. And my life right now is just boring, and everything I do feels like a waste of time.

But I’d tell you about my dreams. And how I hope right now that I’ll save up enough money to buy myself a nice video camera for Christmas and document the year of 2016. Sarah’s graduation and my summer in Luxembourg and who knows where else that year will take me.

I would tell you all of this if we were having coffee, and I hope that once I was done blabbing on, you would make me get in the car and drive out to some place really cool that I’ve never been before, and force me to actually have one of these adventures that I always plan but never execute.

And then before we part ways, you would pick a date for the next time we can get coffee together. And you’d tell me I’d better have a better story than that lame one about the time when my parents caught us in the aftermath of a party.

Sincerely,

Sammy

I’M LOVING BLOGLOVIN’

<a href=”http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/13598767/?claim=hnxdfs7hky2″>Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>

Dear Reader,

During my year or exploration here on WordPress, I’ve come across “bloglovin” many times. But it wasn’t until yesterday that I decided to take a look for myself.

And let me tell you, I should’ve done this a long time ago.

So far, Bloglovin appears to me as a mixture of Pinterest and WordPress. It makes it easier to read from your favorite blogs and keep up with your favorite bloggers, as well as organize your favorites so you can revisit them.

I only joined yesterday, but I was really surprised and flattered to find that my blog was already on it (even though it only had one follower). Still, I’m glad to have found this website and thought I’d share the joy.

Sincerely,

Sammy

{STORYBOOK} LESSON TBD

I really am not that much of a partier, yet some people think that I am. On our last day at Miami, Jaden and I had a meal with two people we only saw very occasionally throughout the school year. They asked me how many days out of the year I’ve been sober, which kind of caught me off guard.

Maybe it’s because I go to a top party school in the US or because I’m in a sorority. Or maybe it’s because on the nights I do go out, I get really social. Because I get really drunk. And that’s just my drunk persona I guess.

But, to be honest, I never so much as tasted alcohol until the July after I graduated. And, even then, I probably only went to 4 parties that summer, and at school I don’t go out more than once a week. I’ve never gone out on a weeknight (besides GBD), and I don’t go out every weekend.

I’m a homebody for many reasons–mostly self-esteem involved–but that’s not the point. The point is that I’m not the kind of person who has more drunk days than sober days at college. And I’m certainly not the kind of person who would throw a party the second that her parents go out of town.

But when Sean came downstairs and said it’d be hilarious if I invited some friends over to party with his friends, I didn’t even hesitate. I just started texting.

Now, this is weirder than it sounds, because Sean and I have never really gotten along. In fact, he just recently told me that his friends know me as “the bitch.” This is in part due to my junior high days, as well as in part due to his exaggerations and the fact that none of them really know me, but I didn’t even give it a second thought. Instead, I just co-hosted a house part that comprised of the weirdest group of people.

We had Sean’s friends and mine, as well as some people I had never seen before, and others that just came and left before I even realized they were there. But it wasn’t a huge party by any means–and I’m fortunate. Nobody got hurt. Nobody called the cops. Nothing major happened.

I locked myself out of my room and lost my phone for most of the night. I found various hats and headbands to try on and I cleaned up someone’s pee. It was just your average party.

And we had all day Sunday to clean up–which we utilized. We swept and vacuumed and mopped and sanitized. We filled three trash bags and I assumed that Sean would be the one to take them to the dumpster. After all, he had been through this before. He’d already done this charade–I was the newbie. But he thought it was my job because we put them on the first floor, which was my responsibility. So we both went to bed figuring that we’d just take care of it the next morning, since our parents weren’t coming home until the afternoon.

Flash-forward to 10:40 the next morning, when my mom is yelling, “we’re home!”

Shit.

I get a text from Sean.

Mom is home. 

Is everything good? 

I’ll take the fall for it

What’s wrong??

Beer cans downstairs

Crap!

I’m just gonna say we were drinking while playing poker last night. 

Tell Sarah so she doesn’t say anything. 

Now, I was really impressed with Sean’s selfless offer, but my mind was still reeling with everything we might have forgotten. Are there beer bottles upstairs? Does the kitchen still smell like beer? Did anyone take out the trash bags??

Nope.

So my parents finally arrive home after waking up at 5AM and driving the 6 hours from Canada, and the first thing they see are three trash bags that reek of alcohol and are filled with bottles.

And then my little sister comes barreling through, unaware of the scene she just walked into, and goes on to confess to everything that happened over the weekend.

Yeah, we couldn’t get to her in time.

But I think in the end, it’s better that they know it all. And I’m glad we can be done with the lying.

So that’s kind of the whole story up to this point. We got the expected disappointed speeches about how disrespectful this was and do we know how much trouble Dad, as a very well-known doctor in this town, could get into? And, of course, how we’re never being left home alone again.

But I feel like the story isn’t finished yet. This was just the beginning of what is supposed to be my last summer at home, and I think we might’ve just altered the dynamic in a way that can’t be repaired. And even though we spent all of yesterday cleaning, our parents have made it known that our punishment has yet to really begin.

So the true moral may be clearer in hindsight, but I still decided to ask my siblings what they think the lesson here is. My brother says he’ll never trust me with any ounce of responsibility ever again. My sister says she’ll never ever lie to our parents ever again. And I think it could be a lot of things. Maybe I should be more respectful, or more careful. Maybe I should just think things all the way through from now on.

But I certainly know I’ll never throw a party at this house ever again. Because it’s just not worth it.

INTRODUCTION TO THE STORYBOOK

Dear Reader,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m going to get back around to the weekly pictures but for a while it was just kind of a chore, so I stopped. One, because I want to spend my time doing something I enjoy and something I’ll look forward to. And two, because I’m really bad at completing my chores.

But I have an update. I mean, it has been a while since I last wrote. I’m done with school now, and I’ll never be a freshman again. Things are changing and some have already changed.

But I have an idea. I’ve been realizing more and more how awful my memory is, which is a really sad realization. I feel like sometimes my memory is very selective, too. I think I just block things out. Just an example: I hated my brother all throughout our teens. But when I think about this, it’s sometimes hard to remember why, exactly. I’ll think, well he was mean to me, but then I can’t think of anything he ever did, specifically.

And then I’ll read my journal. I’ve kept a journal since the sixth grade, but when I was in high school I only wrote in it a few times and it was always after something happened. A lot of this had to do with Sean. So I’ll read about some of the things he would say to me, or stories about some of the fights we’ve had, and it’ll all come rushing back. Memories that I just blocked out because they were embarrassing or hurtful or just painful to relive.

Anyway, these memories aren’t exactly the ones I wish to recall, but there are some stories that I forget about completely until something random reminds me of them. And some of those stories are worth remembering, and worth sharing.

I’ve been watching a lot of How I Met Your Mother recently, which is how I got the idea to create a storybook. I want to start documenting the momentous occasions of my early adult years. I want to have stories I can tell my children.

Because every good story has a moral, right? A lesson that needs to be learned, sometimes the hard way. There’s definitely a moral of the story I’m going to share tomorrow…

But even more, having a storybook will encourage me to fill it. It will encourage me to stop being a homebody and actually go out. It will encourage me to believe every night can be legendary.

So I have a hard copy of this, but I’m also going share some of these stories here, because why not? I’ve been neglecting WordPress lately, and I’d like to get back at it. And what better way to get back at it than with a story?

Sincerely,

Sammy

I DID A THING

Dear Reader,

Over the weekend my dear sister came to visit me at Miami and helped me with my final project for a video productions class that I’m taking. I didn’t think I would be, but I’m actually pretty pleased with the final product, so I thought I might as well share it.

And who knows, maybe there will be more to come. I can only get better, right?

Sincerely,

Sammy

TAKE ME TO THE ISLANDS

“Instead of wondering when your next vacation is, maybe you should set up a life you don’t need to escape from.” – Seth Godin

I think this is very good advice–advice that I am, unfortunately, not following at the moment. I feel like all I think about every day is escaping. I spend my classes staring out windows, wondering what it’d be like to be on a beach right now with no obligations. I spend my afternoons napping away the remaining sunlight because in my dreams, life is better.

But I’m young, right? I’m 18 years old. I don’t have any real connections keeping me where I am. I don’t have a boyfriend or a family of my own yet. I don’t have a day job that’s directly helping me towards my career. I don’t have anything that’s really rooting me to this spot in Ohio, yet I feel so stuck.

I read this article today: “Why I Gave Up a $95,000 Job to Move to an Island and Scoop Ice Cream.” And it sounds like exactly what I want to do.

I want to take a gap year. I want to travel the world, or even settle in a place like this and just live with the bare minimum. I want to walk around barefoot and read on the beach and have limited internet access. I want to live on an island full of strangers and end up meeting every single one of them and learning their stories. I want to write and create and live an adventure.

But I’m stuck in Ohio. I have housing contracts signed until the end of Spring 2017. I have a perfectly laid out plan of every class I need to take until the end of my time here at Miami. I have obligations and expectations to uphold. I can’t just leave.

But there’s a voice in the back of my head–a voice that’s rising up from a spot right behind my heart–and it’s saying, “but you can.”

And it makes some really good points. Do it now. Do it while you’re young! You know how to make money. You can learn how to live on nothing. You can learn and adapt to anything. Just get the courage to do it. If you don’t do it now, you never will. You’ll get your degree and then immediately turn around and get a job at some high school somewhere and you’ll be locked into yet another contract that dictates the next few short years of your life.

And then what? I’ll wake up one day at the age of 40 and realize it’s too late? Realize I got too comfortable too quickly?

I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to be stuck on this path anymore.

I want to leave.