Dear Reader,

I really don’t know a lot anything about hypnotism separate from the time when a hypnotist came to Miami for our back-to-school event my freshman year–and I wasn’t even in the audience for his show. I just heard that everyone was blown away because of the way he hypnotised these people.

But for some reason, my brain has decided to really speculate the effects of hypnosis and really think of it as this power that could be used for good. And sometimes when my brain is overflowing with thoughts, my go-to instinct is to open a word document or a note page (or twitter) to catch some of them.

These thoughts could not be condensed into 140 characters, however, so here we are.

I really just want to get these thoughts out and, like, talk to someone about this, you know? I guess this is where another person would come in, but it’s 3AM and no one has reached out to my tweet so I assume they are all asleep (Or not in the mood to amuse me).

Which brings us to the present, where I am communicating these ideas to you.

cat-cat-transparent-psychedelic-acid-lsd-dmt-trippy-cat_200sAlright, first of all, can I please just be hypnotised so that every time I hear the word “kazoo” or something I go and do all of my homework? And then like every night I can have my roommate or someone be like, “Sammy, kazoo,” and my face will go blank as I fall into this trance and sit down at my desk to complete my work. And then in an hour or two, she can be like, “Sammy, tapioca,” and I’ll come to and my assignments will be completed.

Of course, this can prove tricky if the person hypnotised can’t remember what happened while they were under, but all I’m saying is what’s the use in having a person start acting like a chicken every time a word is said when instead you could be like, “hey guess what, every time someone says peanut butter pudding, you’re gonna make your bed” or “you’re gonna clean your room” or “you’re gonna call your mother” (that last one would be hilarious).

But then this brings me to the questioning of how words are chosen–or do hypnotists even leave their participants with this quiet life change? Or do they reverse it before they get off the stage? Because if not, do these people have to disclaim that they did this thing once before freshman year and now they have this strange trigger word? Or would they even know??

Can you imagine if you were on a date with someone and they were like, “hey, I just want to be upfront with you. You can’t say *passes paper with a word written on it* (side question: can they say the word themselves?) around me because I will immediately jump up and start doing “Gangnam style” until you say rowboat.”

What if that were the norm? Hahahaha can you imagine??

And yeah, so how do they choose the words? Because, sure, I don’t think I’ve heard the word “kazoo” said aloud in quite a while, but the possibility is still out there, you know?

Anyway, I don’t know where I’m going with this. I just have a lot of unanswered questions but I don’t want to actually start Googling them because I have work I can be doing and I’m afraid I would spend far too much time doing research if I start going down that slippery slope.

I just really want to be hypnotised to run a few miles when someone says “trenchcoat lingerie” (I feel like that one’s safe) because running is one of those things that could benefit my body so much if my brain would just get out of the way–as are many things in life, I feel.

Man, did I just have a philosophical breakthrough?

Let this be a lesson to everyone that you should always encourage and amuse your “pass the blunt” thoughts.





Dear Reader,

My friend and I were texting back and forth today freaking out over Hamilton because our mutual friend/co-worker just sent us a link to watch the entire musical.

She said, “I am indebted to Elise for eternity!”

And I responded, “Honestly, who knew working at King would make my life so much better??”

It might seem small to use Hamilton as an example (although it’s really not because I honestly think this musical has changed me), but I think about this kind of thing all the time.  

Think about all the decisions you’ve made in your life that have led you to this exact moment right now.

It may seem petty because I’m currently sitting in my dorm room with the lights off listening to Miley, but do you ever just think about everything you have, and everything you did that indadvertedly brought you here?

I think about this a lot when I think about the people I have in my life. I mean, just look at everyone I’ve met at college–they all had to decide on Miami. They might have gotten rejected from different schools or maybe weren’t offered as much money other places or maybe this has been their dream school for years. There are so many factors that brought them to this school, but even that didn’t guarantee in us meeting.

For Ciara and Becca, they had to decide to rush. They went through the same two-week process that ultimately led them to choose Phi Mu. And then it just so happened that our heart sisters were friends and brought us to the same pre-game in which we all bonded over the thought of ghost-hunting at Peabody. From that initial click they’ve become the two closest sisters I have.

Ashley and I probably never would’ve met if she hadn’t roomed with Alex first semester, and if Alex hadn’t reached out on Facebook, trying to meet new people. I mean, sure, she lived in the same dorm as Jaden and I, but we really didn’t talk to a lot of people in that dorm. If it weren’t for Alex, Ashley could’ve been just another face I passed on campus that I recognized, but couldn’t quite place from where.

And speaking of Jaden–if she hadn’t moved to Ohio–if she hadn’t moved into our neighborhood and rode our bus–and joined orchestra–and decided on violin the same time Lekha was switching from the bass–well, we might not have ever talked, either. And if the sale on her old house had gone through (which it was so close to doing), we surely would have lost touch and never grown as close as we are now.

There are so many people like that–Andrew who happened to be in my MAC class freshman year and, because of our final project, we decided to follow each other on Twitter and turned out to be friends that way (technology is great, people). Victoria, a senior in Phi Mu who I never would have met if I hadn’t been placed in the back room because I missed some of a workshop because I went and saw Ed Sheeran in Cleveland because my sister and mom bought the ticket as a surprise (if I had known about it, I would’ve told them to choose another concert so I didn’t have to miss Twenty One Pilots).

And even Sarah was a mistake. I joke about this a lot because my mom let it slip a few years back that she couldn’t remember to take her birth control with two kids under the age of 3 running around and–poof–Sarah was made. But I feel like it’s okay that I can make these jokes because Sarah knows how blessed I feel that she is in my life–how she is honestly the greatest gift I have that I never have (and never) will truly deserve.

It’s hard when people ask if you believe in fate, because you like to believe that you’re capable of being an agent of change. But honestly, with stuff like this, I think it’s hard not to believe.

All of these people, plus so many more have come into my life for a reason, think. And there are so many choices that are involved, it’s hard to think otherwise. My life would be completely different if I had chosen to go to another college. Or if my parents had decided to live in another city. Or if my mom didn’t answer the phone that day (I’ll tell you guys the story about how my parents met later).

So yeah, I think I do believe in fate or destiny. I don’t think it’s an excuse to not work hard or that it’s the idea that things will just fall in your lap. I just think there are some parts of your life that are meant to be, like having a sister or meeting your best friend, that can’t possibly be explained otherwise.

Anyway, sorry for the long rant. It’s just sometimes at night I think about how glad I am that I chose Miami and that I decided to work at King when I was a freshman and that I added my journalism major just late enough to only have options of force-adding classes like that MAC one.

And how damn fortunate I am that my mom couldn’t remember her birth control.

Thank God Sean and I were little hellions.





Dear Reader,

I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned this or not, but I’m collecting stuff from this year and turning it into a book. It’s not really for anyone–it’s just a glorified journal, really. In fact, with the posts I’ve been writing so far, I probably won’t want anyone else to read it.

Anyway, I’m organizing the stuff for April because I just realized that it’s almost halfway over, and looking back through it all, it’s been pretty rocky.

And then looking back to last year’s April–well, that was really rocky, too. (I can’t even listen to my April (2015) playlist in order because it automatically causes tears to spring to my eyes)

But maybe April is always hard. Maybe it’s the pressure of final deadlines and the struggle of not being able to combat my laziness/habits that come with ADD. I actually already wrote a post for tonight about how much I hate being a person with ADD, but that turned out to be really self-deprecating and just mean (I didn’t feel like holding back), so I decided not to post it.

Tucked it away for my journal, instead.

And then I looked back at the journal entries I’ve made throughout April and all the other blog posts I haven’t been able to publish because they’re too dark or whatever–and then I went on my Instagram.

I’ve been doing this picture-a-day challenge and everyday, there’s a new picture of me, grinning wide, often with people, looking so happy.

My April looks so happy.

And at times, it has been. I’ve had some good memories this month and I’ve taken pictures with people who mean a lot to me.

But I’ve also cried in class.

I’ve also stayed awake all night, worrying about all the stuff I need to do,

all the while, not being able to gain the momentum to get it done.

I’ve questioned just about everything I’ve done this semester

and I’m pretty sure I’ve done just about everything wrong.

So here I am, writing this in the library. It’s past midnight so the weekend is over. The week I’m dreading has technically begun, and it’s that time of year where I need this semester to be over just as much as I need more time.

I know I’ll get through it, though. I know May will come and soon I’ll be home with my sister and April will just be a memory I can forget.

But until then, I’ll just keep smiling in my selfies and save my thoughts for my journal.





It’s easy when you fall for a stranger. A cute guy in your Monday/Friday class. The barista at your local coffee shop. Even a guy online.

Because you can perceive them however you want, and you can romanticize a relationship out of thin air.

You know it’s ridiculous. You know you don’t actually like this person. You just like how he looks. You like something he said one time. You like the way he chooses to present himself, in those fleeting moments.

And maybe you pick up pieces here and there, clues to who he might be at his core, but this person is still not a real guy to you. Not one with potential for anything. Just one you think about when you’re bored and heading to the only setting you’ve ever seen him in.

Someone you can harmlessly enter into a daydream, because you don’t even recognize his facial features well enough to picture him vividly. You don’t know him well enough to presume how he would act, so you can make it up for him. 

He’s just a model–a starter character that you can take any way you want.

Don’t ever get to know this guy.

Don’t talk to him in line or ask him questions about his day or who he is. Don’t engage at all, because there are only two things that can come from it.

First, he can burst your bubble. And if you let your mind run wild (which is always a dangerous thing to do), this will almost always be inevitable. Because no one can compare to the man you’ve come up with who is the perfect combination of Jim Halpert, Jonathan Groff, and Chris Pratt.

Or, he can prove to you that he’s real.

Because if you start having conversations with him, if you start asking him questions, you’ll learn more about him. You’ll learn about what he’s like. You’ll learn about all you have in common. You’ll see real potential,

and then you’ll realize that none of this–of what you’ve been doing–is real.

Because a baby crush is one thing. A faceless body in a daydream is one thing, but an accepted Facebook request is another.

It’s fun to be the dreamer until you run into the reality of the one-sided relationship you’ve accidentally gotten yourself into.

So keep this man a stranger.

But if he somehow manages to turn himself into something more, just imagine him in a voting booth, checking the box for Donald Trump.

Turn him into a deal-breaker before your imagination refuses to let him go.



Dear Reader,

Yesterday I watched three movies–all pretty different, all wonderful in their own right. And so now, I feel the need to share them with you all.

Here you go:



Have you guys heard the hype about Zootopia? Because oh my god this is not just a movie for kids. It is filled with social commentary regarding gender and racial discrimination and the dangers we will face if we let our ignorance and preconceived notions dictate our perception of the world, and our fellow humans who inhibit it.

It’s also a great story that’s really funny, too. Kids are going to love it, but I love it because it’s helping educate our younger generation by inserting these important life lessons in a feel-good kid’s story.


I have been waiting a year to see this movie but it’s finally on Netflix!!! The Hunting Ground is a documentary about sexual assault on campus and all I can say is thank goodness I watched it when I was home alone because I was gasping, sighing, crying, and shout-whispering “what??” SO many times throughout the film.

Some notable parts: when the statistics come up on screen, one by one, showing the difference between the numbers of reported sexual assaults and expulsions on campuses like Harvard, Dartmouth, Stanford, etc.

For example, at the University of Virginia, between 1998 and 2013, there had been 205 reported sexual assaults and zero expulsions… for sexual assaults, that is. There were 183 expulsions for cheating and other honor board violations.


There was another part where a voiceover came on and said, “What to expect if you are accused of a sexual assault.” It then lists different punishments that actually happened at schools around the nation to people who were found guilty.

IU suspended someone over summer vacation, Yale suspended someone for a day, and good old University of Toledo (which is about twenty minutes from my house and where a lot of my friends go) fined someone $25.

Oh, and there’s a brilliant quote from a young man that says, “those are the two facts: the woman said no, and you had sex. Then are you a rapist automatically because of that?”


Anyway, the whole documentary is beautifully done and horrifying to watch. Because this is our reality. And as someone who is very aware of the amount of sexual assault that happens on our campus, it disgusts me to think how many victims are being shamed and silenced and how some of my classmates might be rapists that are repeatedly getting away with this crime.


After a long day consisting of startling realizations to the terribleness of the reality of our society, I needed a break. So my mom, sister, and I decided to watch The Incredibles and eat our weight in hershey kisses.


I’m sure you’ve all seen this movie, so I won’t review it or anything for you guys, but man this has got to be one of the most under appreciated Pixar films. (Actually I feel like most Pixar films are under appreciated, but anyway.) I mean, the scene with Frozone looking for his supersuit is cinematic gold that will probably never be topped. It’s iconic. And when Edna is talking to Helen about pulling herself together–I mean, that is the kind of best friend we all need/need to be.

But then there’s so much, too, that I don’t think I fully appreciated when I was little! Like when Bob thinks he lost his entire family, and then he doesn’t, and he’s just so happy that literally nothing else matters! And that whole scene where he talks about not being strong enough to lose them again. UGH, TEARS.

I just love the way that Pixar represented the love in this family. Also, seriously, I don’t think there’s another couple that shows their love as publicly–and as often–as the Incredibles do.

Anyway, loved it. So much. Can’t wait for the sequel. I wish 2019 were here already.

(But not really because the future is terrifying)




Dear Reader,

I have not always been the best student. In high school, I made a point not to disclose my dreams of becoming a teacher because I was pretty sure my own teachers would laugh in my face.

I was the kid who constantly under-achieved. Who never turned in homework. Who skipped test days because I was unprepared.

I mean, not all of them. I still excelled in certain classes and I guess I did well enough to get an honors diploma (although I might as well be living proof that getting that sticker on your diploma is not that hard to do and is virtually pointless.)

Anyway, my point that I’m trying to come to is that I’ve gotten better. But we all have relapses, and this morning I skipped my 8am.


Because I was having a great dream when my first alarm went off at 7:20. If I had gotten up then, I would have just enough time to do everything I needed to do–get dressed (and look presentable enough to take my new passport picture after class), brush my teeth, go to King Cafe and get some coffee and maybe even a breakfast sandwich.

Mind you, it takes me FOREVER to get ready in the morning.

But I rolled back over and closed my eyes, wanting to return to my wonderful dream for only a moment.

And you know what I dreamt? I dreamt that I was getting ready.

I went through EVERYTHING that my morning routine consists of and then I walked to–not King–but Starbucks! And I splurged on a carmel latte and breakfast sandwich and it all looked so good and it was so realistic and then they called my name and smiled at me, about to present to me my glorious food–

and my alarm went off.


I was going to be late to class AND I would have to repeat everything I just did (not really, but still) AND I wouldn’t even have time for coffee OR a sandwich.

And then I’d have to sit through 2 hours of linguistics with my mean teacher who loves calling on random people even though none of us anything because she doesn’t teach.

Yeah, no thanks.

So I skipped. And it was a dumb reason, but (although I don’t regret it), it got me thinking about all of the other dumb reasons I’ve skipped class before.

And then I compiled the list and decided to share it with you.



  • my bed was warm (outside of it was cold)
  • overslept
  • talked myself into thinking going would be pointless
  • didn’t do homework
  • forgot I had class
  • had a panic attack
  • forgot to show the night before
  • I didn’t have any clean pants
  • food poisoning (that was fun)
  • crying
  • to study for another class (lol)
  • kept having nose bleeds

(I actually emailed my professor about that last one and she was SUPER understanding, so that was cool)

That’s all I have, and hopefully I don’t add any more reasons to list any time soon. I mean, some of them are actually valid, but others…just…smh.

Anyway, I’m trying to be better.

We’ll just forget about today.



PS. Can we all just take a second to be impressed that “hungover” didn’t make the list? Thank you.


Dear Reader,

Lately I’ve been spending way too much time on the floor of public bathrooms.

Not because I’m an alcoholic or am making too many bad life decisions all in a row (well I might be, but that’s unrelated), but because I have POTS.

This morning I woke up and needed food–and because I keep none in my dorm, I had to leave to buy some. So at 10am, I strolled into the market with crimped, previously straightened, bed-head and mascara smudges on the bags of my eyes. I was wearing my high school soccer sweats paired with a “Future Wine Moms of America” sweatshirt and Bud Lite slippers.

There was probably no doubt in anyone’s minds that I had gone out last night.

(Side note: I didn’t. I went to a fancy dinner as my extremely-accomplished-friend’s plus one and then spent the rest of the night interviewing people for a profile feature. It’s funny how looks how deceive.)

I searched the store to see what I was in the mood for and decided on my go-to: cheese and crackers with a large bottle of water and an awake bar.

Because I am the person I am (or possibly because I broke my mirror this morning and will be receiving seven years of bad luck now), I got stuck behind a girl who was only buying three things: blueberries, drinks, and ice cream cones. But she bought about nine of each.

And the cashier was incompetent probably new. He rang up each ice cream cone, then realized it hadn’t worked, and had to run to the back of the store to get a similar one at the same price to try and ring up.

This isn’t a huge deal. The line wasn’t big and I only waited for about five minutes until it was my turn. But by the time she was gone and he was grabbing for my groceries while apologizing for the wait, I could barely make out the features in his face.

I tried to push on and said, “I only have my banner ID,” while tapping desperately on my phone trying to get my most recent screenshot of the number to open.

“Oh, that’s fine. I’ll get my manager.”

“No, no.” I tried to stop him. “I can tell you how to do it.” Working at King Cafe, I know how all the cash registers on campus work and I have shown many a student employee how to charge my account when I forget (or in this case, lose) my card.

(Side note: This happens at least bi-weekly)

“Oh no, I know how to do it. But my manager has to do it for me,” he tried to assure me.

Wrong again, I thought to myself, but at this point his entire face was splotched out and I couldn’t wait any longer. I was about to pass out.

“Alright, I’m sorry, I’m just going to sit down. I’m seeing stars,” I told him as I stumbled towards the tables and sat on one of the high seats. With my head in my hands, I realized this really wasn’t going to help my situation because the blood in my body wouldn’t return to my head unless I was on the ground.

But I wasn’t about to do that here.

At this point, the manager is at the cashier with the boy and they’re still mostly worried about the banner number dilemma. I kind of heard them like I was underwater but I smiled in my head as I realized that she was scrutinizing him because it’s not like she can just come to his side every time someone doesn’t have their ID–she has far more important things to do.

I got up at this point and said, “do you guys have a bathroom?”

“It’s not very clean, but come with me, girl.”

I followed the manager into the “employees only” section of the store and she pointed me towards the single bathroom in the far back corner.

I  collapsed onto the floor and propped my legs on the sink, waiting for my breathing to slow and the stars to subside.

It really never takes long once I reach this point to calm down and return my body to normal, but as I stared at the fluorescent lights above me, I realized how familiar of a perspective this is for me.

After a few moments, I sat up and chugged some water and realized how gross the tile floor was that I was laying on. But my head still felt funny and I didn’t know if I could make it back to my room without another episode, so I used my sweatshirt as a pillow, and lay down for a few more minutes before returning to buy my groceries and leave.

It was there that I snapped this picture to send to a few friends–not to worry them–just to say, look how great my life’s going right now.

Especially since many of them had already seen this picture from my snap story.


Anyway, so that’s the story of this morning. I really don’t know if I had a reason for writing it, it’s just that sometimes I think, why? Why  now do I have to deal with the fear of passing out in public. Why do I all of a sudden have to explain to strangers that I need to lay down because I haven’t had enough salt today? Why do I have to have a disease that sounds worse when I actually explain it?

I mean, postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome?

Come on.

And, again, I know lots of people have it worse and lots of other people are asking why them for things I can’t even fathom dealing with. But, ugh, why??

Why do I have to be so familiar with public bathrooms?