Tag Archives: dancing

151 posts and the girls’ night out

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oh em geee… this is my 152nd post. Yeah. What up.

K, moving right along. This weekend I had a girls’ night with my academic mum, who rocks my world every time I see her, another Bobby who is ab fab (this stands for Absolutely Fabulous, in case you are abbreviation-deficit like I am), and my going-out soulmate, because we can say ridiculous things to each other and understand that they are ridiculous things to say.

A couple of evening highlights:

1) the man who is golfing the Old Course today and bought us a pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea at The Rule. #hellohangover (except I’m not actually hungover because I drink a lot of water and there were a lot of us, but if you just drank a whole pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea by yourself you would definitely be hungover, just so you know).

2) The Rule, because it was playing all the best 80s/90s music. Though I really don’t understand why all bars don’t play Skee Lo all the time.

3) the girl on the balcony part of The Rule who didn’t realize we could all see up her skirt. Fortunately she was wearing nylons, but honestly, I wanted to say something. My g-o soulmate and mum did not think this was advisable.

4) dancing at the Vic, minus the incredibly bad DJ. I don’t understand techno being intermixed into every song.

5) my polka-dot trousers.

the incredible sad lowlight:

my cute black jacket from H&M disappeared from out of the huge pile of our stuff at the Vic. I do not understand how. Even separating it from the pile would have required digging around and choosing not to bother with wallets or real coats. So that’s sad. But maybe the universe will return it to me. Sometimes that happens.

Other random information: Right now I am listening to the Maccabees and it is nice. Except for the fact that I have a sore throat, which is not nice.

Dear Saturday-Sunday, thank you for letting me go to bed early and wake up late. You are so nice.

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The No-Post Streak (Urgh) and Versatile Blogging Award

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Right in the middle of my longest no-post streak in quite a long time, I was nominated for a super cool blogging award by my blogging buddy and real-life acquaintance Miq over at Three Descriptors. Click on that link and check out her awesome blog. Do it. For realsies. Get your click on. K great thanks.

In any case, here’s the DL on the Versatile Blogger Award. It looks like this:

THE RULES:

  1. Thank the award-givers and link back to them in your acceptance post.
  2. Share seven (7) FACTS about yourself.
  3. Award 15-20 other bloggers the versatility award.
  4. Contact your nominees so they know you nominated them.

SEVEN FACTS:

A) I dance wildly and sing loudly in order to get pumped up for writing/going out/eating breakfast and sometimes to avoid going to the bathroom.

B) If I were a fruit, I would not be a lime.

C) Today I won a race. Like, ran and was the first person across the finish line. It was incredible. (3.8 miles in 28.09 minutes — not really that fast but winning is winning).

D) I have a group of male friends who have inducted me into their “wolf pack,” and I have not yet told them that it would be unacceptable to do group roofies as a funny surprise (reference point, see: The Hangover). Maybe this is due notification.

E) It is officially true, as of tonight, that I have written three slam poems.

F) People should vacuum their rooms at least once per week.

G) Sticky toffee pudding is the most incredible Scottish dessert. Dessert is spelled with two s’s because you should want two desserts, not two deserts, because deserts are hot and sandy and cacti are hard. But still, you can steal water from a cactus, just not the really small kind that grow on Horny Toad Hill, aptly named by my cousins and me because of the plethora of horny toads to be found there. Wikipedia, though, says they’re actually called horned lizards, which really puts a damper on the rhythm of our hill’s name. On a more interesting note, Wikipedia also claims that ‘horned lizards’ are morphologically similar to the Australian thorny devil. That would be morphology as in biology as opposed to linguistics, which would be the identification, analysis and description of a language’s linguistic units. Duh.

NOM-ER-NATIONS:

(Quill and Doug — Miq already named you, but you would have been on my list otherwise)

A. Ishaq’s Blog

A Penchant for Penning

Bees Poetry

Bridgesareforburning

Carlos at Respuestodelatabla

Columbibueno

Elmo Writes

Louise at Blog Posts of J.A. Prufrock

Letters from the (Someday) Editor

Mollie Player at How to Get Happy

Pissant Partisan at Werdpressed

Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge

Request

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Ask the world to repeat itself once—
      maybe twice…
            if you’re really interested,
            if you really want to dance,
            if you really want to drive in the dark,
                        in the black,

Then ask the world to repeat itself
      and listen very carefully;
            it will tell you why to dance,
            it will tell you how to drive in the dark,
                        in the black,

So ask the world to repeat itself
            when you are very much afraid,
            when you cannot find your favorite shoes and
            when your eyes feel glazed over, droopy,

And the world will repeat itself because you asked so nicely
            it will read you its poetry,
            it will show you the secrets of the glory of the morning,
                        the quite of the night, or
                        smack-dab in the middle of the afternoon,
            it will remind you of five-cent kisses,
                        daisies waving in the breeze,
                        your best friend;
                        kissing your hand before he swings into the river.

The world will read to you and remind you of its worries and its feats,
      if only you remember to ask it nicely, to repeat itself.

A Fresher’s Party

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Before I say anything else, I would like the world to know that the lack of pleasant-looking princes at St. Andrews’ this year is really disappointing. Honestly, I don’t know why there aren’t more of them surrounding me as I complain about Scottish food and fail to get enough sleep (I know, Mom, I’m sorry, I just have a compulsion to stay awake — at. all. times.).

My sister is going to be very disappointed if I don’t find a way to have a royal wedding so that she can plan it, and I really hate when she’s disappointed.

I did, however, have my first real go at finding a prince last night, though, when I attended a party thrown in a fresher’s (= first year student’s) dorm where Garrett is living. Yes, I was about five years older than almost every person in the room, but age is not a factor when considering marriageable royalty — is it?

To make the situation less absurd, I brought along two new friends who are in my creative writing program. One of them has ruined all of my Montana fame, by spending the last year living/working/writing on a ranch near Bozeman. Honestly, it’s as if I’m no longer a novelty. (Emily will love this.) The fact that this is his fault may have inspired me to be even more argumentative than usual, and we discussed everything from Montana politics to the Arab-Israeli conflict within the span of about three hours. He was a good sport.

And there was also Richard, who is not from Montana, and therefore ok in my book. He was also a good sport and even showed me how British men dance, explaining that men’s sexuality can be either determined or proclaimed based on the how high in the air they wave their hands and arms. Unfortunately, he is not a prince.

I’m not actually sure the creative writing presence made the situation less absurd, especially because we participated in a game with the freshers in which we had sticky notes placed on our foreheads with the name of one half of a pair on it. We had to discover what we were and then find our other half, at which point we would be tied together.

It was therefore regrettable that I felt pedophiliac being paired with an eighteen-year-old boy for a night trailing through pubs. It was less regrettable because my other half promptly imparted to me that he has a girlfriend and no interest in being tied together.

However, my fellow Montana resident, T-Man, ended up paired with a fresher named Bubaloo (name change? I think so), who didn’t seem to understand that it was just a game and not a life course altering moment of transition. At one point, Bubaloo followed T-Man to the bathroom, where he waited an appropriate distance until T-Man finished and followed him back to our group of elderly postgraduates.

Later, we made a dash back to Garrett’s room for our jackets and bags. We assumed Bubaloo would reintegrate into the crowd of freshers, although we did let him know we were going. He was, in fact, waiting outside the glass doors as we came back out (for some reason, Garrett turned to us and said “can you see him?” as if maybe he were a figment of the imagination).

When the freshers began to leave the hall for a pub crawl, we decided it was time to go our own way and that we actually needed to give Bubaloo kind and clear instructions about what he should do next.

Garrett: Bubaloo, man, I think we’re going to split off to another pub, but we really think you should stick with the folks in your hall so you can get to know some people.

Bubaloo: Oh, I have a lot of fun hanging out with you and your friends.

(Now we’re just assholes.)

T-Man: And we like having you with us! But this is a good night to get to know people you’ll be living with!

Bubaloo: Ok, well maybe I’ll just go home.

(God no.)

All of us, in a chorus: No! Bubaloo, don’t do that. You’ll have fun! Everything is so much fun! Yay! Yay! Don’t go home!

(Seriously, we were like a torrential outpouring of all things positive regarding pubs.)

Bubaloo: But everyone is already paired up.

(Bubaloo was taking the game very seriously.)

Me: I really don’t think that matters — you know, there are at least three other people without partners because of the rest of us.

Garrett: And it’s not a big deal, you just get in there!

(All of us stare like worried parents).

Bubaloo (reluctantly): Ok.

(Sighs of relief. What a disaster.)

I may have learned my lesson about going to fresher parties and participating in get-to-know-you games.