The Fundamental Things Apply

I've recently taken to a new catchphrase. This catchphrase being a simple, harmless, two word affair:
"I die."

For some reason I say it all the time-when things are too cute, too funny, to heart-wrenching, anything in excess garners the use of the most excessive state of living (or lack thereof).

I suppose what I mean to say is that my body can't physically take just how cute/awesome/sad/horrible/great/perfect the thing I'm talking about is and I die.

Apparently, Rachel Zoe uses this catchphrase also. But, I digress...

In the same vein, I've taken to falling completely flat on the ground. I've done this three times in my life so far and thus the magic spell of three has been fulfilled and it's become an affectation which has become a habit.

The Three Events in which I fell flat on the floor, By Uzma

1. Someone was showing everyone a really ugly picture of me so I fell on the floor and wailed
2. Someone stole my beloved "Make Love not Horcruxes" shirt from the dryer and I crumpled into a heap on the laundry room floor and wailed
3. This morning, I poured myself a heaping bowl of fruity pebbles, which are NOT available at school, and then there was NO MORE MILK, someone put an empty carton back in the fridge! So I crumpled into a pile on the kitchen floor and, you betcha, I wailed. 

For some reason this excess of theatrics is funny to me, even though I don't laugh whilst taking part, I know that I do these things for other people's laughs. Anything for a cheap laugh=story of my life. 

I die.

On another note, it's so wonderful how something as simple as lighting a fire in the fireplace makes everything a million times better. Maybe it's the familiar glow of the flames, the warmth, the smell, the crackling, or even all of your senses being entertained at once by that old, conflagrant, friend. The connotations associated with the open fire are so deliciously wholesome and homey and friendly and just giggly and cookies. 

A fire is cookies. 

Factor in the delicious cinnamon smells wafting from the kitchen, the bustling hub-bub of family, the hoy ploy and hullaballoo, and is there anything better than the holidays?

The absolute absence of school worries, the not knowing what day it is, the ridiculous amounts of time spent asleep or partially asleep...the big delicious beds that you won't die if you roll out of, the general happiness that emanates from everyone and everything: it's the magic of the holidays! 

All of the specials on the television, timeless, that have been airing since you were a child... I mean I never realized just how short these specials are. The animated version of The Grinch is only THIRTY MINUTES LONG. When I was a kid, it felt like hours. That just goes to show how much we grow up, and how much time really means to us as we grow older. My attention has the capacity to spend hours and hours on the internet doing literally nothing at all, but when I was four, I couldn't sit still for thirty minutes unless the television was airing bright colors and cartoons. Where's that little Uzma gone now? Where is the little girl who couldn't sit still for a minute? Who could run around for hours and never get tired? Where is the little girl who dreaded going to bed and always begged to stay up for five more minutes? What happened to waking up before everyone and sneaking down to watch cartoons and run around? I used to find joy in the smallest, silliest things, and right now as I watch my little cousins running around with toys that hardly do anything entertaining, yet they are still having the times of their lives, I wonder at what point exactly did I evolve into this grown up? 

When I was younger, I abhorred the monotonous tones of Jim Lehrer as he came on everyday after Arthur; I hated everyone who wouldn't play with me. I used to be so angry when my parents would be too busy to play with me, but I would get over it in less than five seconds when something else caught my attention. 

I'm one of those adults now, I just realized. It breaks my heart. I've grown up. My cousin just asked me to play with him and I said "Maybe later." 

I remember when I would hear those words and huff away with indignant childishness off to play by myself...

I'm an adult. 

When did that happen? I suppose around those hazy midnight hours last year as I turned 18, I legally became an adult, but when did I let myself lose the kid in me? When did I stop caring about playing? When did I start caring about things that don't matter like money and time and what other people think of me? 

I want it back. I want to be able to find hours of entertainment from something other than the internet, something like a lifeless, plain, little doll that doesn't do anything unless I imagine her to. 

There it is. That's what I've been missing. 

Imagination. 

Growing up is the replacement of the magic of imagination with the harsh, coldness of reality. Grown ups need reality because it's reassurring,  it exists, it's palpable. It's real. It's there. 

But a kid? A child doesn't need anything. A child is fine, a child is not afraid. Children are free. They don't need reality to fall back on, they don't need reality for support. They are fine with not knowing what comes next, the future, the unknown. They are happy to live in the present. To exist in the moment, to stay simple and happy from day to day.

Sigh. 

I want that kid back. I have to go play with my cousin now, it's the least I can do. 

The nagging in my mind won't stop for a while, though, I'm sure.

When did I grow up? 

When did I become one of them? 

It happens to everyone. 

It's like when you sit outside and watch the sunset, waiting for that single moment during which the sun dips below the horizon and the light is doused by the inky blueblack of the night sky.

And you watch and watch

and wait,

not daring to blink lest you miss that moment...

And all of a sudden, and you don't quite know how, the stars are blinking against a velvety indigo blanket of sky and the sun has gone away until tomorrow...and you've missed the moment.

And maybe, just maybe, 

it's not a moment at all. 

OMG FEELINGS

I'm tired of college. 

It's boring.

I hate exams.

Ok, enough angst. That ish stays in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

I have two difficult exams on Tuesday. 

Art History and Political Science.

I CAN DO IT.

Then sweet freedom for a whole month and new classes! Old friends from home and then new ones in the spring.

College is great, but it's almost like...

Is this it?

I don't think it gets better, I mean this isn't bad, but I feel it has plateaued. It's classes. It's tests. It's funzies. 

It's not super exciting....It's just...college.

It is what it is.

I'm being such an angsty little baby.

Listening to angsty music.

Being ill. 

Needing to study but not. 

Everyone is leaving slowly. This place is emptying out. 

I have  a hacking cough. 

Nasty, phlegmless, hacking grossness. 

I sound like an old man. 

Sigh. 

C'est la vie. 

I NEED TO GET UP AND DO SOMETHING AND NOT BE A LAZY BUM.

I am feeling like...constricted, and frustrated and I don't know why really. It's just one of those days. When you're just in a funk, you know, and something is wrong but nothing you can really see. Maybe it's the weather,  and the winter blues rears its ugly head. Maybe it's the blues.

No.

Wait.

I know what it is. 

I have the mean reds. 

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds? 

Paul: The mean reds, you mean like the blues? 

Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling? 

Paul: Sure. 

Holly Golightly: Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that'd make me feel like Tiffany's, then - then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name...

I just feel like I want something and I don't know what it is and that's frustrating. You know? 

These are the things I know I want: 

-To finish my exams and get good grades on the last two hard ones.

-To go home.

-To not worry about my exams.

-To get things done and over with. 

I want to be able to not care. I want to be done. I'm so ready to be done right now. 

I need a cup of tea. That is what I need. I need a cup of tea and I need to fold my laundry and I need to pack and I need to clean my room and I need to hunker down and study because if I don't, I know I'll regret it. 

I need to get over this god awful plague I'm suffering from. And I need to go home and see my family because I miss them and I need to eat real food and read a good book and I need to not have these mean reds. 

I hate wasting my time not being happy.

I'm just so irritated right now and it's so silly.

Tea time.

                                           

I have never felt so broken: Eulogy for a shirt.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to say our goodbyes...

On this day, December 2010...a Tuesday...

It was the last time I laid eyes on my beloved "Make Love Not Horcruxes" T-shirt....

A gorgeous black shirt with white print...simple, elegant, and with an even more powerful message.

I remember when I first received my shirt. It was a gift from a friend, handmade, with iron ons. It was the best thing I have ever gotten. And to think someone would steal it from me, from a Brumby dryer. My heart breaks to think of someone else inside my shirt. My soul is tearing as I speak. I think I'm actually making horcruxes from grief!  To the thief, can I just say...try for some remorse.

 (AVADA KEDAVRA.)

This loss has shaken me quite literally to my core. I am a broken individual at the moment, drowning in the knowledge that I will never, ever see my precious shirt again. 

       Looking back, I wish I had spent more time in it. You never do realize just how much you love something until you no longer have it.The gentle 100% American Apparel cotton softness on my skin, the perfect not too box-y, not too tight fit, the way it made me discover lifelong friends...I wish I had taken at least a single picture wearing it. Unfortunately, and probably, fatefully, there are no photographs of me in my beloved precious shirt. No one will ever know that it existed, and one day, like all things that are lost, I may forget about it completely.  And maybe one day I'll remember it, like a flash of a thought, of something that once was, but is no longer, and it'll pass too quickly to matter, like the words that you can never quite find on the tip of your tongue...and just like that it'll stop existing. Because no one will ever remember that it existed. And life will barrel on like a runaway train...but as long as I can, I will always try and remember the good times I had in this shirt. Goodbye, Women's XS. May you rest in piece. 

Goodbye, Uzma's shirt,

Though I never wore you enough, 

....

And it seems to me you lived  your life like a candle in the wind...

Never knowing who to cling to, when the rain set in...

And I would have liked to wear you...

But I was just a kid...

You were kidnapped from me, 

I loved you more so much more

 than anyone else ever did...

4 AM, I pontificate

I thought it would be fun to see what came out of me after I spent all day doing nothing but writing my freaking paper. I researched for like 49894 hours then I wrote for like 2 hours. I busted out 14 pages in 2 hours I know you want to be me but you can't so stop trying. There is and only ever will be one me. oh my god I'm so tired ok i give up on conventions and grammar and stuff because really it's four am and you should not care about that stuff anyway my head hurts and i need to take a shower but its so far and i should take one in the morning to wake up....but i wont....but i should is it better to wake up and be awake from a shower and lose sleep? or should i sleep more and not shower? because then i would be awake from getting more sleep except im already not getting enough, so uh. what is going onnnnnnnnn nothingmkaes sense im hearing voices or something my head hurts im too tired to walk to my room. im sleeping in suzannes room except i can sleep witout miss ladybug she is my microfiber pillow pet i got her for 19.99 at kroger using my bulldawg bucks because it is the way to p ay at uga. except i mainly use my bulldawg bucks and then i put it on my student account because im like yeah mom jmust pay it its a fee and she does adn its like free money. sometimes i dont like my mom but ilike everyone in my family a lot more now that im in college my stomac feels like a dragon is eating it its this weird not painful not hungry
well kind og hungry feeling like the stomach acid is destorying it from within like that at this point im tyuping with my eyes closed because im half asleep and also my head hurts so sorry byt it's time to gooo i love you kiss kiss hug hug bye byeeee

More work that I'm not doing. Oh, whattup BLOG.

The SLC is unbelievably depressing. Like no joke.
It is completely silent except for the sound of shuffling papers and pittery pattery keys, which a sound I normally like but not when they are being Imperius cursed into writing 12 pages about voter freaking turnout.
My last class with my beloved art history professor is tomorrow so I have to look smokin' hot, sit in the front, and say something really profound, impressive, and fall in love worthy. That is my goal.
I'm in love with him because he's attractive, but also he has a husky, crunchy, manly voice and he's unbelievably passionate about what he teaches.
And if there's one thing I love, it's people who love stuff. I love hearing people talk about what they love. I love the glow and the excitement and the trying to talk fast and say more and stumbling over words in happiness and the smiles that won't go away and I LOVE IT. I love him. It's not a superficial passion either. He IS an artist.
One day in class he became so overwhelmed with what he was teaching that he had to stop and breathe and finally just said that "Art makes life worth living." and dismissed class.
I love him.

Guess what? I have to pee.
But I can't. I'm too lazy.

UGH WHY IS LIFE SO CRUEL.

Haha just kidding.

Yesterday morning, on the bus to class, this really hot guy sat by me. And this is significant because there were other empty seats, even doubly empty seats, but he chose to sit by me...so you know, it was game time.
But this kid was like overwhelmingly attractive. Black haired, blue eyed, tan skinned, strong jawboned, sleeves rolled up, scruffy chinned, strong forearmed type of attractive. And he smiled at me too.

Luckily it was a day I was looking good! (rare)

So I didn't know what to do, so I decided to drink my lemonade because I don't know for some reason I thought that would attract him? I'm stupid.
Anyway, he dropped his pen (on purpose I think) on my side and said in his velvety voice "Oh, can you pick that up?" and I said:

Yeah!

But I didn't, because I had lemonade on my mouth that I forgot to swallow and it spilled out like Cho and Harry in the fourth movie, and it dribbled out of my mouth, down my chin, down my shirt....

WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF?

I'm never getting married on account of I have zero game.

So I got off at the next stop and went my merry way.

OH. BY THE WAY.

Get Low came on in the shower while I was showering, AGAIN, and this sense of foreboding stole over me like the chill you feel when a Dementor is near, and do you know what happens?
THE FIRE ALARM GOES OFF.
HATE my life.
Stood outside in the freezing cold during a rainy day in the daylight in my towel wrap with shampoo in my hair and half shaven legs.

It sucks to be me.

Today I tried to air quote with my on mittens and it didn't work.

Sigh.

My best "that's what she said" or It's your belt that's supposed to buckle, not your chair

Since I can’t write a research paper about Marina Warner’s use of Romanticism to empower the unheard voices of women in Shakespeare’s The Tempest (still awake? that makes one of us…) I have decided to write here instead. 

I love Thanksgiving. I love the buzzing, bustling, flustered, red faced cooks clucking in the kitchen, knocking elbows and spilling and basting and stirring and dicing. I love the masses of cousins and babies and toddlers tumbling around the backyard, tripping over each other to get to “base” before the seeker tags them. I love the yelling and hugging and reuniting and the permanent smiles that everyone seems to have plastered onto their faces, whether they know it or not because they’re so completely happy. I love the noise, and the Macy’s Day Parade in the background, I love the sounds of everyone catching up and telling stories, desperately trying to get every detail in because it’s so good to have someone listen for once. I love family. I love how big my family is.

I love pie. My God, I love pie. I want to live in a pie. I want to die eating a pie. If I am ever excecuted, I want to be baked into a pie. PIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. 

I’m sweating pie. Cranberry Apple. My aunt decided to pull a “Brangelina” and call it “Crapple Pie” but thank goodness I was there to advise her against it. 

I love the feeling of being so so so full and warm and tired and how delicious it is to finally crawl between the sheets and fall into the best sleep of your life. 

And waking up to a billion people that do nothing but love you. 

Thanksgiving is such the best. 

Got yelled at for eating the crunchy French Onion crust off the top of the Green Bean Casserole. Got yelled at for eating a hole out of the pumpkin pie and filling the hole with whipped cream. I’m four, whatever. Now you have more fridge space. Ingrates. 

This dumb baby wanted me to pick him up while I was eating pie. I tried to toss him some of the crust to make him go away but it just kind of bounced off. I hope no one saw me. I think that would be awful to witness if the viewer wasn’t aware of just how much I love crapple pie. 

Some of my nerdier cousins wanted to watch Star Wars: A New Hope and I got my BEST THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID. EVER. Two in one night. My first one I had used before, but none of these people were there. 

Young Sarah was drinking gatorade and said ‘Is it in you?’ reading the label. TTWS#1

However, during Star Wars, which I wasn’t watching, I overheard parts and one was “You came in that thing? You’re braver than I thought.”

TTWS. HAHAHA. I’m still laughing. Oh my.

They say when you’re fluent in a language, you dream in it. I think I’m fluent in Harry Potter. No complaints here. If I can’t live it, I can dream it. Sigh. 

I would most definitely be a Slytherin. Sad to say, or a Ravenclaw. 

Do you know what I love? The sound of keys. Not the jangly hipster janitor keys. Keyboard keys, typewriter keys. The machine gun barrage click click click incessantly pounding in my ears and nothing else. I love not knowing what I’m typing at all. Not having the slightest idea but the intense feeling of something flowing through inside me and out of my fingers and knowing it means something. It’s like a swelling, like a pressure, it’s like pouring something overflowing into a vat. And then when I’m done and I read it, I know exactly what I need. It feels like breathing. I love that too. 

Another thing I love is watching people sleep. Creepy? Very much. But hear me out, when people sleep they are so unguarded and vulnerable and gentle. They breathe slower and no matter what horrible turmoils they might be facing, for those few hours those troubles fade away. Sleep is so universal and so soft and gentle and quiet. 

I’m creepy. 

Sleepers are cute. 

Pretty sure every candid family picture of me from T’giving 2010 has me eating. 

Pretty sure every posed family picture of me from T’giving 2010 has me eating.

Pretty sure I’m still eating. Right now.

My metabolism is something I am SO thankful for. 

Also J.K. Rowling.

And toothpaste.

And YOU! 

Did you read the incessant ramblings of a silly little procrastinating lady? 

You need something to do more than me.

I suggest you do my paper. 

Love always,
Uzma Chowdhury, esquire.  

Get Low

This happened a while ago, but I have only very recently come to terms with this awful, awful embarassment.
It involves the bathroom and the classic Lil Jon rap known as "Get Low."

I have a horrible 8 AM class on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Therefore I have to shower at 7 AM. It's bad. It's early. It's ungodly.
It's really hard to wake up in the morning. Especially with a horrible lofted bed that you have to climb down. And then trip over things on your floor and try not to wake your roommate and all you want to do is sleep. And it's COLD. The sun isn't even up. Luckily, no one is in the bathrooms so the good shower is free for the taking! It stays hot, has great water pressure, and doesn't spew brown liquid which is always a huge plus, for me anyway. I don't know about you. It even has a cute pink shower curtain!

Anyway, I get to the bathroom (somehow) and I blearily stumble into shower number five, the best one there is, and proceed with my shower in the foulest of morning moods. I'm standing under the stream of water, confused about everything, wondering where my umbrella is, forgetting I am showering, just having a bad morning....
 BUT THEN,
on the radio comes the deliciously familiar dance hit sounds of ba da dum dum dum da da dum da dum dum...THREE SIX NINE....STANDING REAL FINE...and at that moment I know that I will have a beautiful and wonderful day.

So of course it's really early and no one is in the bathroom so I decide to sing along. Really loudly.
Really profanely.
Screaming, quite literally, all of the bad words. I was having the time of my life, man...
TO THE WINDOWWWWWWWWWWWWW!
And I'm singing and dancing and flailing...
TO THE WALLLLLLLLLL!
I'm pretty much screaming
TO THE SWEAT DRIP DOWN MY BALLLLLS!!!!
And leaping around in the shower...
ALL THESE B****S CRAWLLLLL!!!!
And in my furious dancing, I lose my footing....
and in the middle of:
AWWWW SKEET SKEET SKEET MOTHA F*****A!!!!!
I trip.
Out.
Naked.
You'd think it'd be ok because it's so early that no one can see.
It's not ok.
There are three girls in there brushing their teeth.
And they can see....
They can see...EVERYTHING.

So I just....walked back in.
And I waited till they were gone before I got out again.

Shorty crunk, so fresh, so clean...right?

Sigh. My life is a running sitcom.

Endings

At the end of everything, I like to thing that things always end up how they were supposed to end up and everyone is as happy as can be and we all get what we want, even if we didn't know what we wanted to begin with.

Even if it's different from what we thought we wanted. I like to think that things always work out the way they were supposed to and everyone keeps doing what he has to and life keeps going on and it's all just ok, and the light at the end of the tunnel stays bright because that's the only chance anyone has for real happiness, isn't it? The idea that things will get better, so it's ok if they go wrong for a little while? I think this is all called hope. I hope that I am right. I think, really, hope is all you need. It's reassuring. 

You just have to keep calm and carry on and know that things will be ok, eventually, even if they aren't right now.

You have to chin up, buttercup. 

At the end of the day, you suddenly realize that, really, your life is absolutely perfect and beautiful and you have no regrets, just decisions you have to live with and things you have to change. But that's ok because you can change things. That's why life is great. Because you can do it. Because it's graceful. Because it gives you chances. 

And when it's all said and done, no one grows old or gets hurt or gets sad or heartbroken or angry or selfish because everything that happens transforms you into who you were supposed to be. And that person is happy and alive and whole and immortal. 

I believe in all of these things completely, but that tiny, whiny, nagging someone deep inside me is always telling me I'm wrong and that sometimes you are sad and it lasts forever. 

I'm too young to know about any of this really. So we'll see how this all turns out. 

November is beautiful. It's a beautiful word. No vember. I think maybe 'vember' means all sad things. This is the month of no sad things. I don't do sadness. I love November. 

Tales of my backpack

So I have a pocket in my backpack that is an unzippered pocket where I keep my phone so I can just casually reach over and grab it without looking or whatnot...
Tangent: I'm probably an idiot for keeping my phone and keys and wallet in an unzippered pocket. But I'm probably an idiot for a lot of reasons.

Anyway, so after class one day, I was standing at the bus stop, with Will, who likes Zac Efron a lot, discussing how much more BA Malfoy is than Ron and I was trying to get my phone.

So I reach back behind my backpack to find the opening to the pocket of my phone pocket and dig around and I feel this solid, warm object that really confuses me. I keep feeling it because I'm like, "What is this hard, warm, solid thing?" This goes on for a while before. LIGHTBULB! Maybe I should turn around and look at it...

So I turn around, and of course. It's a boy. Of course. Of course for about forty five seconds I have been stroking a strange man behind me at a bus stop. Of course it's a human being, who at this moment, has this incredulous look on his face.

We make eye contact, of course he asks...

"Uh...What are you doing?"

"Looking for my phone!"

"...In...my...shirt?"

......

I literally have no response. Luckily he goes away.

In retrospect, he let me pet him for quite a while before asking what was up so he's the weirdo. Hmph.

Also, I accidentally carried shorts on my backpack from my dorm room to the dining hall. Somehow they were balanced on my backpack all the way to the dining hall.

Once I entered, I hear "EXCUSE ME, THESE ARE YOURS." And this very attractive young gentleman hands me my shorts. My first reaction, of course, is "WHOA!!! HOW DID YOU GET MY SHORTS WEIRDO?!?!"

That poor boy never stood a chance.

Come to think of it, neither do I.

C'est la vie.

I hate you, backpack.

Just once I knew what life was for. In Athens, quite suddenly, I understood

"It's hard to stay mad, when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst... And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life... You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday." -American Beauty I felt like that today. Up there, that quote. I wish I had a funny story to tell today, but as it is, all of my funny stories are about boys and I don't want to come off as an eighth grade girl at the moment. Even though I totally am. So this one is serious. Feel free to stop reading, but please don't, because I am showing you how multi-faceted I am. Like Loreal Feria hair color commercials. Anyway, yesterday was just a great day. I woke up and it was chilly outside and I wore jeans and a light sweater. I love fall. I love fall, David says it's because it's nostalgic. He says it's because of Halloween and Thanksgiving and the memories and all that. He says it's the way it smells. He's probably right. I don't know why, and for too many reasons to list, I love fall. I also love David. He is a good dude. It was the first real fall day of Athens yesterday and it was just such a good day, all day long. There was a light, chilly breeze that blew my hair around my face all day. It smelled cold. It smelled fresh. I could take deep breaths and fill my lungs and I could feel the burn of coldness and it was so good. I walked around and did my usual things and... just everything went right that day. My classes were good and I just could not stop smiling. And smiling is so great, because it's so responsive. Everyone smiles back at a smiling person. I'm going to do it more. It does a body good. Anyway, after my classes and everything, I got a delicious smoothie with Rachel and met an old friend who I haven't seen in two years. Serendipity. Rachel had to go to a class, and all of a sudden I was alone with my smoothie on North Campus and I felt that feeling. The feeling from the quote. I was walking and it was quiet because not many people were out. The sun was almost setting but not quite, so it was still light outside but not as bright. It was like someone had draped an auburn sheet of cellophane over the world and the light filtered through the trees and the wind was tickling around the leaves and all you could hear was rustling. Not many people were out, and those who were were reading and enjoying the quietude. It felt like a gray area, an in between time, an almost. I felt like a privately chosen lucky winner who was allowed to experience this quiet time, this almost place. And then, I took a deep breath and I looked at the pretty-ness and the colors and listened to the rustling and I felt so good. Like I was a part of the universe and the universe was a part of me and I was where I belonged, in my purple sweater and my dark wash jeans, sipping my Pink Lady , crunching on the gravel sidewalk, and just breathing. There is a bliss in solitude, seeking upon that inward eye, and then when you are alone and completely in yourself, you realize some things. I've lost it since the moment passed, but I realized something. It calmed me down. I don't know what it was, but I still have it somewhere. Maybe it's just waiting to come out for the right time, for another almost time. I've learned that you shouldn't go after things all crazy-like and desperate. I still believe that you shouldn't be afraid to go after whatever makes you happy because life happens once, but I think I've realized...sometimes the best things just fall into your lap. You don't have to look or try, because they're waiting for you. Maybe it's a person or an opportunity or five dollars on the ground. The best things are surprises, sometimes. Let life happen. Keep calm and carry on. Don't try to solve all of her mysteries, because there is magic in the mystery. The mystery is the magic. You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry... you will someday. Just once I knew what life was for. In Boston, quite suddenly, I understood; walked there along the Charles River, watched the lights copying themselves, all neoned and strobe-hearted, opening their mouths as wide as opera singers; counted the stars, my little campaigners, my scar daisies, and knew that I walked my love on the night green side of it and cried my heart to the eastbound cars and cried my heart to the westbound cars and took my truth across a small humped bridge and hurried my truth, the charm of it, home and hoarded these constants into morning only to find them gone. -Anne Sexton

The one with the boys in the kitchen.

Abby is a girl. Abby lives on my hall. She's the best. Also, she is country southern out the wazoo.
Abby hates ballogy. Not biology, but ballogy. That's how southern she is.
This is a story about Abby and her lady parts.
Interested?
I figured. You dirty, dirty people.

On our hall, we like to try on each other's clothes all the time. Probably the very best part about dorm life, after the bonding and all that ish, is that your wardrobe multiplies enormously. (I look so fly everyday wearing not my clothes and accessories.)

One night, Abby was in my room trying on my clothes.

Abby is about a foot taller than me and she decided to try on a lace mini skirt that I have which is too short on me...so on her it's pretty much not even underwear. It's black lace and it's as skankalicious as all get out, but I usually choose to wear it in a classy fashion. Anyway, so Abby has on this tiny tiny tiny barely there black lace skirt and she pairs it with a lace top that I own which is supposed to be worn over something, but Abby decided to wear it with nothing under. Nothing.
Like OH HEY THERE ABBY'S BOOBS! nothing.
 And she decides this outfit is not complete without her 4-inch black patent leather stripper pumps. It's ok because we're all girls and yadda yadda, and Abby decides to strut around our floor with her best "lady of the night" strut and making passes at us because---as she said, "to prepare for my future, y'all." And it was funny and she was (scarily) good at it.

A key point of interest to note is that Abby is literally almost naked. No.  I lie.
Abby is naked. Worse than naked, she's naked with lace.
 It's fancy naked, like naked with raisins in it.
She walks past the kitchen on our floor to go show her roommate her outfit and then all of a sudden---

SLAM! She's suddenly running back, at like 80 miles per hour, full speed down the hall, covering herself (or trying to), shrieking "THERE'S BOYS IN THE KITCHEN! THERE'S BOYS IN THE KITCHEN."

I laughed for way too long. You probably aren't laughing like I did. But it was really funny.

Several boys were scarred (scarred or maybe utterly delighted?) that night. I think there's a Fallout Boy song about it. It's called "Thanks for the Mammaries."

HA.

Don't pretend like that wasn't a good joke and perhaps made this whole entry worth reading.

In other news, I fell backwards down a long flight of stairs and a boy caught me from behind, honey moon style. It was way too romantic for real life so I went for it.

A True Story: 
Uzma: Oh my gosh! Thanks! You saved me! Will you marry me?!?!
Savior: ...No. pats head, and sets Uzma down and goes his merry way.

It's ok. He was wearing a graphic tee anyway. And not the cool, ironic, hipster kind.
I don't need him.

In which I am a major creeper and suffer the consequences, Or "Welcome to college!"

So, I have this class. It's like eight girls and we read Jane Austen. It would be eight girls. In any case, it's my first class of college. Ever. This is a freaking big deal, my friends. 

In any case, the next day, this BOY adds the class. 

And look. I live in an all girls dorm, due to being shafted by university housing. And my first class is an ALL GIRLS class due to boys not especially enjoying British Literature after 1800. And my school has a 60/40 girl to guy ratio. So, I'm like, hey, a boy. IT'S GAME TIME. 

Am I right? 

You would do it, too. Don't front. 

I digress. So, he says his name to the class at large. And of course I do what every red blooded American girl with internet access does. I go home and look him up on Facebook. 

You know, so I can check out what bands he likes and what movies he's seen recently in order to drop a name and pull this scenario:

Next class:

Uzma: Oops, I left my iTunes on! Now, everyone knows I LOOOVE The Smiths. 

Boy: ME TOO!

Uzma: Wow, no way! We have SOOO much in common.

Boy: Let's get married.

Uzma: Deal!

Meanwhile, back in reality, I'm still creeping. Like CREEPING. The kind of creeping you do when you're bored out of your mind and you're listening to music and before you know it, you're on Tagged Picture 298 of 567, Senior Prom, and you're admiring this guy's yellow vest and tie to match his date's yellow dress. Calla lilly corsage, very classy. WAY better than the dumb baby roses. Oh, there's the typical "Oh, Mom, help me pin the boutonnierre picture, I can't do it"  Wait, I digress...again. 

ANYWAY, so I'm just creeping pictures, listening to Ben Folds, creeping away, because NO ONE CAN SEE ME. And, somehow that makes it ok. (Sidenote: What would you do if you knew you'd never get caught? How far would you get it? Ethics, Holla!) Anyway, I'm creeping along and WOW, HE HAS A BLOG. Which, inspired this one, in fact! 

So I'm on his blog, and I'm reading it, it's like SUPER interesting. So I read it, and boy, do I read it hard. Like, wow Christmas 2008 was so interesting hard. Yeah. Don't judge because you know you do it. 

Now it's late, and I'm tired. So I close my laptop and settle in for bed. The next morning is class! 

I walk in and this guy is like "Hey!" and introduces himself. And I reply "Oh, HEY!" and introduce myself. 

In my head I am thinking about how I know everything there is to know about this fellow. 

We exchange some pleasantries and he compliments my laptop and I smugly open it and type in my password. Note that he is looking at my laptop. 

The "Welcome" screen fades away, and up pops....yes. HIS. BLOG. 

The blog of the boy who seemingly just met me. Not only is it his blog, it is scrolled WAY DOWN to a few years ago. Oh. My. God. 

Immediately I close out of the window, however, GUESS WHAT? Right under that is FREAKING  picture 298 of 567, Senior Prom. 

I wanted to die. 

This is how I made it ok: 

 

I put my hands up like I was under arrest and I yell "LOOK, I WAS CREEPING, OK! EVERYONE DOES IT BUT I GOT CAUGHT." 

Luckily, he was a good dude. A chill bro, and did not make it worse and was gracious and now everything is ok and we're bffls. 

But still, FML worthy? 

Totes Mcgotes. 

The end.