Autumn Magic

I keep thinking that it just can't last. This excitement, this roller coaster ride that has been my life for the last few months. I've lived in a house with six other girls, I've gotten a Little in my sorority, I've been a peer mentor, I've fallen in love. I'm moving out of my house and back into a dorm tomorrow, hoping to combat health issues (and sheer lack of free time). I've been taking photos left, right, and center (but using my camera phone waaay too much--I really need to stop being afraid to take my Canon out of my house), trying to capture the beauty that is my campus in the fall.

And I keep telling myself that I'm out of the honeymoon phase...I must be by now, right? I keep thinking, okay, so I still sleep in the hoodie that I so arfully acquired from her room. Okay, so I still can't shut up about her when I call home. And oh my gosh, I have good reason to not shut up--she's amazing.  She's good, and pure-hearted, and compassionate and kind and absolutely wonderful. She is one of those special people who loves everyone for precisely who they are, flaws and all. (Imagine Miss Honey from Matilda. Then make her even nicer. For once, no, I'm not exaggerating.) I tell my parents this, I tell my friends back home...

And then I realize, okay, maybe I'm still a little dazzled by her.

Here's the thing. I have been in love before. It's actually happened. Twice, to be specific. And both times ended in total disaster. To say that I got hurt would be an understatement. Not that I blame either of the people who hurt me--trust me, I made my share of mistakes too. But when you've been hurt, especially in the manner that I was (death by friendzone in both cases--but one of them was friends-with-benefits-zone, which added a nice dose of Total Freaking Confusion on top of the pain), you tend to start thinking along the lines of, "Well, that's that. I'm going to end up crazy Cat Lady now. No one wants me. No one's ever going to be in love with me. I'm just the Girl Next Door and not a very pretty one at that." And that was how I thought of myself...until she came along.

I don't know how to describe it. Is it even possible to describe love without resorting to cliches anymore? Has everything already been said? Well, in any event, I'll try. All I can say is that she pushes me farther than I've ever pushed myself. Those horror movies I mentioned earlier? Yeah, she was the one who convinced me that I could watch them. Those pants I bought in September? She was the one who convinced me to buy them, and she was also the one who convinced me that it wasn't necessary to wear skirts and makeup every day to, stupid as this sounds, "prove my femininity." (I'll probably talk about that in a later post.)

But it goes beyond that. She doesn't just boost my confidence. She provides a safety net. And that is far more than anyone I've ever been with before has ever done for me.

Story time:

At the end of September, we went to Six Flags with a couple of friends of ours. I was psyched--I'd never been before, and I'd been told that it was awesome. The first part of the day went without a hitch. We had a mini-road trip, stopped at a mall in her hometown, I got to meet her mother. We belted out pop songs and cuddled in the backseat of the car all the way there. The sun was up, I was with three of my favorite people, including the woman I knew I was falling for, and hard--nothing could possibly go wrong, right?

One little catch: It was the first weekend of Fright Fest, the annual Six Flags Halloween celebration. During the day, it was mostly kid-friendly entertainment. But from dusk to close, costumed characters, and by characters I mean zombies, werewolves, clowns, and other monsters, walked around the park with the sole purpose of scaring people. I'm terrified of most Halloween monsters, as Ella knew all too well from my recent meltdown in a Halloween shop, and some of these people were really out to scare the park-goers...but I didn't know that yet.

At first everything was fine. We wandered the park, went on a couple of rides. I wasn't too freaked about costumes...yet...because I didn't realize, if someone after dark was in costume, odds were very, very good that they were hired actors, out to scare people. We had a couple of scares with a mini-zombie invasion (K was on cloud nine; she was wearing a t-shirt that read "Zombie Response Team" and she had a great time chasing the zombie actors) and a weird flying-monkey thing that kind of accidentally snuck up on me (I think the poor guy was as scared as I was when I all but screamed in his face), but I was fairly okay. I didn't exactly enjoy the presence of the creepers, but I could deal with them.

In fact, I managed to do something that I was later extremely proud of myself for doing: I saw a "creepy clown" who just so happened to be wearing awesome boots. Now, I don't even like normal clowns--creepers? Forget it. But I loved this guy's boots, and I just had to say something. So I told my friends, "Give me one sec," walked up to the clown, and told him (with my knees knocking the entire time), "I just wanted to say, I love your boots!" half-expecting him to get in my face and "spook" me. He didn't--he was totally cool. I wish I'd gotten a picture with this guy, because he was awesome. Not "cure my fear of clowns forever" kind of awesome, by any stretch--but he was cool enough to ease my choking fear of the "Fright Fest Creeper Team."

So then, we went to ride one of the roller coasters, and we put our stuff in these lockers under the coaster. When we came back after the ride to collect our stuff from the lockers, a trio of zombie girls walked by, one of whom was wearing bright-pink zebra-print jeggings--the kind you get at Hot Topic. Feeling confident after my encounter with the clown, I called out to her as she passed, "I love your pants!"

Biggest. Mistake. Ever.

The girl got right up in my face, creepy makeup and all, and growled, "What did you say to me?" Did I mention her makeup was really fucking scary? Because it was--it didn't even look like makeup; it looked like a legit zombie mask from a great Halloween store. It was realistic. And she was maybe three inches from my face, so I got a great close-up view.

Forget it--my already-shaky composure shattered into pieces. I burst into tears and fled to the safety of Ella's arms. Fortunately for me, Ella was right behind me. Heart pounding, tears streaming down my face and smearing my makeup onto my glasses, entire body shaking, I buried my face in my girlfriend's chest. Her arms closed around me. She didn't yell at the zombie girl, much to her credit--God knows if our places were reversed, I probably would have told off that chick to within an inch of her life (ha--life; zombie--get it?)--but she also did not provoke her. She did not egg her on. She did not fan the flames. She just held me, let me cry, let me know without saying a word that I had nothing to fear as long as she was there.

The zombie girl, however, did not back down. Even though my fear was practically broadcast to the entire fucking park, she kept it up. "What. Did. You. Say?!?" she demanded, her voice rising with each syllable.

"Stop," I begged her, my face still buried in Ella's chest. "Just please, stop."

"Then leave," the girl growled, and it stung far deeper than she probably intended it to.

Leave.

That, I was convinced in that moment, was exactly what I should do. I had no business being at this park, with these people. K and Bouncy were totally down with the costumed creeps--K even willingly interacted with them--and Ella was barely affected by them at all. It was just me. I was the lone coward in our group of otherwise-brave people. I was the only one who was enough of a scaredy-cat to be driven to tears by a girl who I knew full well was not a real zombie.

For a few moments I was torn between fleeing in terror and clinging to Ella the remainder of my life. Then K and Bouncy came to the rescue with the "Nom Nom" song (don't ask...just google), and Ella continued her comforting hair-stroking and tear-drying until I was calm enough to walk through the park again. But the doubts lingered. I snuck an occasional look at K as we walked through the park--she was totally cool, totally calm. Zombies? Pfft, what zombies? Bouncy was only afraid of the roller coasters, which I could understand, being the girl who refused to even consider going on roller coasters until I was in tenth grade. Ella was my shield, protecting me from any creeper who decided to go after the giant red target I'd painted on myself by hiding my face in her shoulder as we walked. I was the only one who was scared.

It wasn't until we were eating dinner that I managed to confess to Ella how badly I wanted to go home. In fact, if I'd been with my parents, I probably would have gone home by that point. My mom would probably not have any reservations about taking me to the car the minute the Zombie Encounter had reached its conclusion. (I also don't doubt she would have given that girl a piece of her mind...she certainly wouldn't have been as calm about it as Ella was.) But I was with friends, and I couldn't just leave now. I had to face up.

Now keep in mind, I had apologized to her about ten times per incident at this point, minus the clown compliment incident because that was the only one where I contrived to maintain any modicum of dignity. And every time she replied, "It's okay, it's okay." But it wasn't until Johnny Rocket's, when I finally admitted that I felt like I didn't even deserve to be at the park, that she completed that sentence and said what I desperately needed to hear: "It's okay to be afraid."

Think about that for a minute. All that it took to give me the courage to walk out of the restaurant (one of the few creeper-free places at the park) and face the underpaid actors was that one little moment, where she told me something my parents have been telling me since I was old enough to say "I'm scared."

I could go on and on here about this incident proving my theory that information that you already know takes on a whole new meaning when it comes out of your significant other's mouth...but I don't have to. This speaks for itself.

My first boyfriend, had he been at that park with me, would probably have made a jest out of my fear. I don't doubt that he would've exploited it, waved his arms and pointed at me, shouting "She's here!" to the creepers, or told me to turn around when one was right behind me--all in good fun, of course, because THAT would justify it all. The first boy I fell in love with, assuming a miracle occured and I managed to get him to the park at all, wouldn't have deliberately frightened me, but he wouldn't have protected me, either--at any rate, he wouldn't have let me hold onto him the way Ella let me hold onto her. And the last man I loved would have gotten fed up with me after the first two scares, he wouldn't have had any sympathy left by the time the zombie girl scared me to tears.

In fact, all former significant others aside, I can't think of too many friends who wouldn't have been annoyed with me by that point. Because really, who goes to something called "Fright Fest" not expecting (and anticipating) something scary?

But Ella maintained the patience of a saint the entire evening. She rode the carousel with me twice, let me hide my face in her side as we navigated the creeper-filled park, warned me when someone frightening was in my proximity, danced with me in the nearly-empty club at the end of the night. She shielded me the entire time. She let me shut my eyes as we navigated Zombie Bridge on our way out. To her, my fear was not a mark of shame. It was just another piece of me that she had to accept if she wanted to be with me. To her, my fear of anything costumed was just another thing that made me me, just like my loud laugh, my distaste for tomatoes, or my obsession with A Clockwork Orange. She saw nothing wrong with it.

She told me it was okay to be scared.

I couldn't pinpoint it at the time. But later on I realized: for the first three weeks or so of our relationship, I thought I was falling for her but wasn't quite sure. I knew I had a serious crush, knew I was definitely attracted to her, knew I felt safe with her, knew I admired her--but was I really in love with her? Our night at Six Flags answered that question a thousand times over.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

So, there you have it. The movies always make it out to be so dramatic. It's always some big gesture, like hanging off a ferris wheel or stopping an airplane, that makes someone realize they're in love. But for me, it was five simple words and a protective embrace. The whole experience with the zombie lasted maybe five minutes. The conversation in Johnny Rocket's, maybe ten. There was no slow buildup, no dramatic score, no rolling credits, no stunts, none of that. Just the woman I now know I love, telling me that no matter what, she'll always be there for me.

This is definitely my favorite picture of us--it's the night of the Six Flags date, just after our group split up. Our friends went to zombieland; Ella, knowing there was no way in hell I would go to any place called "zombieland," was kind enough to come ride the carousel with me. The gi-normous smile on my face pretty much says it all...there was nobody I would've preferred to have with me that night.

If my girlfriend were majorly camera-shy, we'd have a problem. As it is, she definitely understands my incessant need for more photographs. (And yet I still think I don't have nearly enough pictures of her.)

She wrote this on the board in the computer lab during an intense editing session one afternoon. Guess who says this all the time? Ella does! As a direct result, guess who also says it all the time? If you guessed Avery, ding ding ding, we have a winner!

It took so many tries for me to capture her smile while I photographed her writing on the board...but it was well worth it when I did. (And yes, she did look that happy the entire time.)

Guess who likes to steal my phone and take pictures when I leave it unattended? ;)

That bloody costume took FOREVER to make--and I ended up not even wearing it on Halloween! This was taken at an InterVarsity Christian Fellowship (Ella and I met through IV) party the weekend BEFORE Halloween.

I'd been wanting to dye my hair purple forever...and the weekend we went to see Hairspray, I finally had the chance. These pictures were taken by Ella's housemate moments before the show began.


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And now for some photos of the campus and the wildness I've been living with. Most of these are from sorority events--the girl holding the duck is my Little, who we've taken to calling Peeta (because, no joke, that is exactly who she reminds me of). The dark-haired girl with the glasses is my Big, Haymitch (long story...let's just say our family LOVES Hunger Games...hence the flame letters, inspired by the Girl on Fire).

The Gamma Sigma Sigma Member-In-Training class of fall 2012--the Alpha Betas--during their induction ceremony.

The Waiting Game

"Wait." "Stop and think about this." "Sleep on it." "Think it over." "Give it time."

Why do we say these phrases so often? Why do we place so much emphasis on waiting for everything? "Wait to travel until you've finished college." "Wait to have sex until you're married." "Wait until college." "Wait until high school." "Wait for permission." "Wait until you're eighteen." "Wait until you've grown up." If you know you want something, why would you wait? Why let societal rules made up by someone else dictate your happiness?

I've always had a bit of a thing for breaking "waiting rules." Maybe it started with my mother. You're supposed to wait until your kid is in kindergarten to teach them to read. She started the minute I could talk. You're supposed to wait until your kid starts school to give them "the talk." She did it as soon as I started asking questions. You're supposed to start thinking about college in high school. My mom and I started discussing colleges when I was twelve. The message in all of this was clear: Go at your pace. Do things when you feel ready, not when someone dictates you should be ready.

It didn't end when I stopped being homeschooled. I left home at sixteen to go to a boarding school in the middle of nowhere. Many of my friends in college had never lived away from home prior to coming here. You're not supposed to go abroad or go on study tours as a freshman; it's generally somewhat discouraged. I went to Italy on a study tour with mostly juniors and seniors--the only other freshman there brought her father. My mother encouraged this whole-heartedly. It was, in fact, her idea for me to go to Italy on the photo tour, and I will forever be grateful for this suggestion.

If I were to go to my parents tomorrow and say, "I want to go to Sweden to study film, here's the program that I want to do and here's the Swedish-English dictionary I'm taking with me so I'll be able to understand what the hell people are saying," I have no doubt they'd say, "Sounds like you're sure about this, let's do it."

My parents and I don't always see eye-to-eye. I have had multiple conversations with my mother about whether or not I truly want to be a filmmaker. She doesn't always see it; she sees me as more of a writer. (Apparently so do my screenwriting professors, both my current one and my teacher from Interlochen...but that's another story.) We've had multiple arguments about whether or not I have the right disposition, work ethic, sensitivity level, or skill set for the profession I've chosen. (Plenty of people I know think I'm too sensitive for this--and they're probably right, but I've never let that stop me.) We once had a days-long argument because she compared her profession to mine.

But throughout it all, she has never once said to me, "You can't be a filmmaker." She once said, "I think you're more of a writer, but if you really want to be a director there's nothing stopping you. There is no reason for you to not achieve anything you want to achieve."

My parents have bought me sound equipment, endless DVD stock and tapestock, Final Cut software, laptops, and--my favorite of all--the most beautiful, incredible camera I could have asked for. (Yes, Tibby is doing fine; yes, there will be more photography posted soon, I promise.) They paid my tuition for Interlochen and college. My dad paid all my film festival fees. They've attended all of my screenings at Interlochen. When I won an award at college--it wasn't even for filmmaking, mind you--they drove twelve hours to come and watch me accept it. When I wanted to apply for a job at Interlochen for the summer, they helped me with the application.

There was only one time they told me, "Wait." I was fourteen and wanted to go to Interlochen. My mom said, "Wait, I don't think you're ready to go yet." Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't. Maybe waiting hurt me, but I don't think it did. I think I got the same education in two years that I'd have gotten in four years. I think I benefitted greatly by a year in public high school: it taught me the true lack of respect that people have for art and deepened my passion for writing by blessing me with not one, not two, but four teachers who pushed me to grow and develop not only in writing and film, but in all areas of my life. I would not give that up.

But when I wanted to go to the summer camp, they didn't tell me to wait--they encouraged me to go. When I called my parents from a payphone at the camp half-laughing and half-crying and told them, "I have to go to school here," they didn't tell me to wait--they faxed me the forms necessary to complete my application. When I told my dad "I want to apply for higher-level film festivals," he didn't say, "Wait until you make a better film," he gave me the money I needed for fees. When I wanted to go to Italy, they didn't tell me to wait, they practically pushed me out the door and onto the plane. And when I said I found a new talent for photography, they didn't say, "Wait until you take a photography class," they gave me a camera for graduation.

My parents have never made me wait for something they--and I--knew I wanted.

My mother has long had the catchphrase of "How hard can it be?" I can't say that I go through life with this mentality--I worry about difficulty far more than she does--but there are definitely times when I tell myself, "It's not as hard as you think," and just do it. Wait two years to take film analysis and scriptwriting classes that most people take as juniors and seniors? Nope, I'm taking them now--and I continually get praise for my writing and my analyses. I constantly get teased by my teachers for taking so many film classes--but at the same time they encourage me to keep growing and learning not only in class, but also on my own.

I hate being told, "Wait until ____." No. I don't want to wait. I've waited long enough.

One of my favorite blogs is The Road is Home, not only because of the beautiful photography (though that alone was enough to make me fall utterly in love with the blog author, Nirrimi), but because she didn't wait just because it was "what was expected." She went out and did what she knew she wanted--needed--to do. She is my age and is already a successful photographer and mother of a beautiful little girl. Does she take crap for it? Undoubtedly. But she has talent, and she has strength, and I admire her so much for having the guts to go ahead and make her dreams come true without listening to people who told her "It's not right," "You can't," "You're too young."

Raised the way I was, I can't for a second believe that there is any benefit to forcing yourself to hold off on something you know you're ready to do. If you put me on a professional film set tomorrow, I don't doubt for a minute that I could hold my own. If you put a feature script in my hand, gave me a specific budget, and told me, "This is now your movie, make it as you see fit," I don't doubt that I could pull off a finished product. Would it be Oscar-worthy? In all probability it wouldn't be; it would be my first feature film and my first attempt at navigating the film-festival circuit with a full-length feature. But I could make it. I could do it. How hard could it be?

I don't give up. I'll give into wallowing now and then. I'll rant. I'll be furious. I'll be hurt. I'll take a little time to lick my wounds. But I won't give up. Plenty of people can attest to that.

And I won't wait any longer.

$%!# My Teachers Say

You just can't resist good Stolen Dialogue...especially at a college where so many of your teachers have a natural gift for cracking up their students.

I don't do stolen dialogue at the end of every single post like I did on my old blog. I just don't do it. It's not something that works with the format of this blog. But there are so many amazing quotes that I just can't help but write them down. I hope you enjoy my brief return to the wonderful world of stolen dialogue...

THE IN-CLASS EDITION!

*cue dramatic music*

[Note: not every one of these is directly from a teacher. But all of them happened in class or were related to that class. Just a heads up for full disclosure.]

From Gender & Religion class:

"Are our only choices Snooki or the Burqa?"

Teacher: I'm sorry, I started talking about Snooki and I lost my head.
Student: Happens to all of us.

(discussing pagan/Wiccan gods)
Teacher: And what about the women with horns?
Student 1: Freud would probably say it's penis envy.
Student 2: Yeah, he always says that.
Student 1: According to him, we spend our entire lives worrying because we don't have a penis.
Teacher: And now we have two!
(Class cracks up)
Teacher: Well, I'm thinking of dildos.
(Class erupts)

"Let's say...like, in a movie, if a man and woman have a one-night stand, the next day the woman gets up and what's she wearing? HIS t-shirt, or HIS dress shirt, and he's like, 'Ooh, you look so sexy in my white button-down.' But what if she's still lying in bed, and he comes in like, 'Look at me in your little black cocktail dress.' She'd be like, 'WHAT?!'"

Teacher: You have to stand up for yourself, say "Give me my twinkie back, yo!"
Student: Where did YOU go to elementary school?

"You don't want to be thought of as the gall bladder in room 223."
"I disagree with your question."

"'Hey, you got religion in my gender!' 'Hey, you got gender in my religion!' What happens when you mix these two together? You get the Pope in Prada shoes."


From Film Analysis/Intro to Cinema

“It was like Freaky Friday, but with 50% more bears.”

"What’s the most unoriginal thing you’ve seen lately?”
“Transformers 3!”
“Oh…yeah, I saw Transformers 2, it was stupid enough.”

"I don't think most people would figure out, in real life, that they're being replaced by robots, it's pretty fantastic."

"If someone started repeating that over and over at a party, I don't think 'Robot' would be the first thing to come to mind."

"Just leave the damn turtles be!"

"It's sort of thinly-veiled political posturing...done by an alien."

“I come away from something like Arachnophobia saying, ‘What the hell does that mean?’ It feels like it was made by a committee.”

“I look at Piranha 3-D and think…not to be crude…but okay, ‘tits and ass and killer fish,’ that’s what I get out of it.”


From Gender, Literature, Culture

"If it's laundry day, I don't get up and go, 'Oh! It's LAUNDRY DAY--time to put on my best lingerie!' There are occasions where I put on my best lingerie, but let me tell you, laundry day is not one of them!"

"I'm probably not a great candidate for the priesthood...what with not being male...or Catholic..."

"I'm not sure where the Catholic church stands on trannies."

"Another fun day of talking about men kissing men and sex tips from the early 20th century!"

"If I was going to impress somebody, I would not rely on my knowledge of Snooki to make that impression."

"You are having sex with the rainbow, apparently, but that does not make you a good guy."

"Catalogues use words like 'fuschia' and 'cobalt,' which according to my husband, are not words that men know."

"If you buy one bra from Victoria's Secret, they will send you a catalogue a week for the rest of your life. Who needs that many bras? Last I checked, they were not disposable!"

"I have attained forty-five years of age and have never sacrificed a sheep."

(after reading a passage about boy scouts masturbating)
"If this isn't the biggest WTF moment of your semester so far, you've had some very strange classes."

"Thoughts on this?"
"CONSTIPATION?!?"

"If you whack off, it will not hurt the military."

"It's not like I'm going to break down why constipation is a bad thing."

"Thoughts on that? Or do you think I'm full of crap...?"

"He's like a British redneck!"


From Buddhism 101

"You'd have to get onto the highway and drive like a bat out of hell to make it to Sunday School...of course, that's not really the most appropriate visual, but..."
"You've got so many Buddhas, you have to have some way of organizing them all."

"He came to China and told him he was all fucked up for doing things that way."

"There's gotta be only one car in the state of Maryland with a solar-powered prayer wheel on the dashboard!"

"Once you've got the celestial Buddha stuff down, you can just go wild."

"Oh, you're not going to like this one...well, the girls aren't going to like it...and the guys really shouldn't like it either..."

"Any questions? If you don't ask questions we're going to start the second Turning the Wheel of the Law...okay, you guys asked for it."