Thursday: Liz and Laura (I went to the Seryn concert with her in December) and I went to a Turkish party. There's a community of about 20 Turkish women in Dallas who hang out regularly, and Liz and Laura have become their friends. We went to one of the women's apartments, and had a super fantastically delicious meal, followed by chai in those hourglass Turkish tea glasses. So good. So Turkish. We talked about faith, education, and homesickness. I want to go back to Turkey.
Friday: Liz and I went to a movie theater at 6:30, an hour before we wanted to see The Bourne Legacy. It was sold out, so we bought tickets for the 10:30 showing. When we returned at 9:30, we were sorted into different waiting lines, so I listened to a couple on surely their first date, talking over each other, the girl giggling awkwardly and the guy loudly insisting that How I Met Your Mother is the "best freaking show on TV, no question!" Finally we watched the movie eating our traditional popcorn with M&Ms and Reese's Pieces. After midnight, we pranced to her car, fawning over Jeremy Renner's odd attractiveness and waxing philosophical about an action movie.
Saturday: We joined Liz's church at 8:00 for a service project at a nearby middle school. We worked with some of her home group members, moving one teacher's furniture from a downstairs classroom to one upstairs. I met some nice people, especially after lunch when there were just four of us who stuck it out to...sit in the room waiting for the teacher to return, only to leave an hour later because we couldn't think of anything else to do.
That night we dressed as flappers and went to Laura's (and two other people's) Great Gatsby themed birthday party. I worried that Liz and I had overdressed until we walked up the stoop and saw three guys wearing suspenders and drawn-on mustaches. Even their dog was wearing a bowtie. It was maybe the best thing ever--jazz music played, a silent movie ran in the background, girls wielded fake cigarettes, Laura tried a New England accent, and even the mixed drinks were popular in the 1920s. People mingled for the first couple hours, and I was struck that this was kind of my first adult party. People were dressed up, drinking but not getting drunk, making contacts and sharing stories. Then we played Fishbowl, and I completely fell in love with this group of people.
Sunday: I went to church with Laura in the morning, and it might be early to make broad declarations of commitment, but I'm nothing if not passionate. I love her church! It's small, and there are people of all ages. They sing hymns with a band, laypeople share personal stories during the service, and during Communion, they offer both wine and grape juice so no one is offended. There was a guest preacher, but he was hilarious and completely devoted to Jesus. The whole service was very much focused on, how can we as a church be better at loving God and loving people? Which is kind of the point of church, imo. After service, Laura introduced me to people, and others just came up to chat with us. It was so familial-feeling, and I am totally pumped to go back in two weeks.
That night Liz and Jessica and I watched the Closing Ceremonies of the Olympics. During the flashbacks to the greatest moments, we got stressed all over again, and fell around cheering for things we'd already seen. When the actual ceremony again, Jessica said, "This is the weirdest thing I've ever seen," and I said, "I love it!" and Liz said, "You've been really invested in Great Britain this whole time," and I said, "I have mixed feelings about our independence."
Amy joined us when she got back to Austin, and we ended the night making fun of poor dumb Ryan Lochte. When I went to bed, I realized, yup. This is home. And I love it.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Friday, August 3, 2012
Turning Around
I just reread Angry Conversations with God by Susan E. Isaacs. It is one of my always favorite books because Isaacs hilariously and meaningfully captures both the messiness and the beauty of Christianity. I needed that reminder. I feel like her sometimes, too rebellious for church, too tame for the world. I'm so displeased with how the church at large interacts with the secular world. I'm confused about God and his role in creating goodness and watching evil seep its way in.
Isaacs told me that was okay. She reminded me that "I can run toward you or away from you, but I cannot make you disappear. You're written on the palm of my hand too." She told me that God grieves with me, that sometimes the mediocre help we get in life is all God can give us because its all his people are allowing him to give.
I finally had a good talk with God. I told him how much I missed Peoria and the comfort I had there. And I knew he was sad too. He didn't regret bringing me to Dallas, and I know that I will come to love this place and feel purpose here too. But God isn't a dictator. He knows I need to grieve, and what's more, he sat beside me and grieved with me. I love that so much. I love my God who feels with me, who wants so much for me, but will let me be sad for the things that are gone.
I'm grateful to live with Jess. I don't have many people in my life who want to see both the messiness and beauty of Christianity. It's easier to stick to one or the other. But Jess is a lot like me--raging against the failures of the church, willing to honestly discuss doubts and confusions, and to honor those non-churchy feelings. But she is also totally in love with Jesus. She knows the gospel, the sweet offer for every broken and battered person to come find rest, and she triumphs that message when it seems like a lot of the church is preaching something else.
So thanks Susan E. Isaacs and Jess. You've reminded me that God is good.
Isaacs told me that was okay. She reminded me that "I can run toward you or away from you, but I cannot make you disappear. You're written on the palm of my hand too." She told me that God grieves with me, that sometimes the mediocre help we get in life is all God can give us because its all his people are allowing him to give.
I finally had a good talk with God. I told him how much I missed Peoria and the comfort I had there. And I knew he was sad too. He didn't regret bringing me to Dallas, and I know that I will come to love this place and feel purpose here too. But God isn't a dictator. He knows I need to grieve, and what's more, he sat beside me and grieved with me. I love that so much. I love my God who feels with me, who wants so much for me, but will let me be sad for the things that are gone.
I'm grateful to live with Jess. I don't have many people in my life who want to see both the messiness and beauty of Christianity. It's easier to stick to one or the other. But Jess is a lot like me--raging against the failures of the church, willing to honestly discuss doubts and confusions, and to honor those non-churchy feelings. But she is also totally in love with Jesus. She knows the gospel, the sweet offer for every broken and battered person to come find rest, and she triumphs that message when it seems like a lot of the church is preaching something else.
So thanks Susan E. Isaacs and Jess. You've reminded me that God is good.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Olympics
In 2004, I was in Athens during the Olympics, which you'd think would make me an expert, but that's not true. It was amazing to cross paths with the torch three times and to watch an archery event in person, but there wasn't a way to keep up with all the events all the time. We were busy. In 2008, I lived with Jennie and Dusty, and I mostly let them be in charge of the TV.
In 2012, well, I'm obsessed. Ever since the Opening Ceremonies on Friday, Liz and Jess and I have an agreement--we wait until everyone is home, or at least until 8:30, and then we use our handy dandy DVR to start from the beginning of primetime coverage and watch all four hours. Every night.
Amy said Liz and I should be synchronized cheerers, and if that were an event, we would take home the gold, no problem. When a gymnast falls off the pommel horse or someone's face falls when their score comes up, we both groan and tear up (though Liz is definitely the lead crier...she tears up at least ten times a night). When someone ends their routine or pulls off their swimming goggles with a grin and pumps the air, or when an athlete and their coach share a boulder-meets-mountain hug, we grinningly coo and flap our hands at each other.
I'm the obnoxious viewer who, despite a complete lack of sports knowledge, suddenly becomes an expert after watching an event for five minutes. "Ooo, that was a slow kick off the wall, he's really going to have to speed it up to catch Agnel (stupid Agnel)." "15.221? Are you kidding me!? He deserved a 14.879 at the MOST."
Liz is the Michael Phelps fan, and swimming enthusiast by default. She's also, as stated before, the emotional center of our Olympics viewing club. When she gets particularly excited, she leaps from the couch to try out her own gymnastics skills in the living room, and when she goes to the kitchen for a snack, she usually leaps through the doorway, then clutches her hip but sticks the landing.
Jess is the commentator. When Phelps says something stupid like "I'm the first Michael Phelps" she goes off on a tirade about how prideful he is. When he hugs his teammates or graciously accepts defeat, she congratulates whoever told him he needed to tone the arrogance down. All the while, Liz flutters and defends him, and I look on in amusement. Jess is also the commentator because she is best at paying attention. Halfway through a swim race, I'll ask, "Wait, which lane is Missy in?" and she'll know. Or on round 4 of synchronized diving, Liz will say, "Who's ahead, Mexico or Great Britain?" and Jess will know.
Amy watches sometimes, though usually just to comment on which guys are cute (they are nearly all cute, they're Olympians) or how it's weird for people to kiss. She isn't much interested in sports, she says. Which, um. Neither am I. I didn't understand why I am so invested in the Olympics until Jess said, "It's not the sports. It's the athletes."
And it is. Squinch little Missy Franklin. And the whole socially awkward adorable women's gymnastics team. And Danell, the comeback kid. And that gorgeous GB diver who is only just now legal. I love watching people's dreams come true, or bouncing back from disappointment, or graciously accepting defeat. This is the drama of life, played out every night on NBC. I love it.
In 2012, well, I'm obsessed. Ever since the Opening Ceremonies on Friday, Liz and Jess and I have an agreement--we wait until everyone is home, or at least until 8:30, and then we use our handy dandy DVR to start from the beginning of primetime coverage and watch all four hours. Every night.
Amy said Liz and I should be synchronized cheerers, and if that were an event, we would take home the gold, no problem. When a gymnast falls off the pommel horse or someone's face falls when their score comes up, we both groan and tear up (though Liz is definitely the lead crier...she tears up at least ten times a night). When someone ends their routine or pulls off their swimming goggles with a grin and pumps the air, or when an athlete and their coach share a boulder-meets-mountain hug, we grinningly coo and flap our hands at each other.
I'm the obnoxious viewer who, despite a complete lack of sports knowledge, suddenly becomes an expert after watching an event for five minutes. "Ooo, that was a slow kick off the wall, he's really going to have to speed it up to catch Agnel (stupid Agnel)." "15.221? Are you kidding me!? He deserved a 14.879 at the MOST."
Liz is the Michael Phelps fan, and swimming enthusiast by default. She's also, as stated before, the emotional center of our Olympics viewing club. When she gets particularly excited, she leaps from the couch to try out her own gymnastics skills in the living room, and when she goes to the kitchen for a snack, she usually leaps through the doorway, then clutches her hip but sticks the landing.
Jess is the commentator. When Phelps says something stupid like "I'm the first Michael Phelps" she goes off on a tirade about how prideful he is. When he hugs his teammates or graciously accepts defeat, she congratulates whoever told him he needed to tone the arrogance down. All the while, Liz flutters and defends him, and I look on in amusement. Jess is also the commentator because she is best at paying attention. Halfway through a swim race, I'll ask, "Wait, which lane is Missy in?" and she'll know. Or on round 4 of synchronized diving, Liz will say, "Who's ahead, Mexico or Great Britain?" and Jess will know.
Amy watches sometimes, though usually just to comment on which guys are cute (they are nearly all cute, they're Olympians) or how it's weird for people to kiss. She isn't much interested in sports, she says. Which, um. Neither am I. I didn't understand why I am so invested in the Olympics until Jess said, "It's not the sports. It's the athletes."
And it is. Squinch little Missy Franklin. And the whole socially awkward adorable women's gymnastics team. And Danell, the comeback kid. And that gorgeous GB diver who is only just now legal. I love watching people's dreams come true, or bouncing back from disappointment, or graciously accepting defeat. This is the drama of life, played out every night on NBC. I love it.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
An Unintentional Nap
I read a book while eating lunch, but I finished eating before I got to the end of a chapter. I carried my book into the living room and settled onto the couch with it. I noticed I was nearing the 100th page thought that would make a nice goal before getting out of the house. The air conditioning kicked on. Ignored the cool breeze until I noticed a blanket thrust on top of the couch. I pulled it over my legs.
I was on page 92 when I thought it might be nice to read from a lying down position. My head hit the pillow and I thought, "Ah, that's nice. Crap. Danger ahead!" I read with eyes wide, furiously denying my upper body the comfort of my blanket. It didn't last. I lied, "This doesn't mean anything," and pulled the fleece comfortably under my chin. Page 98.
I set my book aside, promising myself I would only close my eyes for ten minutes or maybe less. Two hours later, I woke up and finished the last two pages.
I was on page 92 when I thought it might be nice to read from a lying down position. My head hit the pillow and I thought, "Ah, that's nice. Crap. Danger ahead!" I read with eyes wide, furiously denying my upper body the comfort of my blanket. It didn't last. I lied, "This doesn't mean anything," and pulled the fleece comfortably under my chin. Page 98.
I set my book aside, promising myself I would only close my eyes for ten minutes or maybe less. Two hours later, I woke up and finished the last two pages.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Dallas Blessings
Okay, loving God. I fear God more than I love Him. I have become a paranoid worrier over the last couple years. I think God wants to make a martyr out of me. I'm terrified of rape, muggings, violence, and murder. I'm scared God is going to let something really awful happen to me so that I'll glorify Him or something in the aftermath. I don't want to be an example! I want to live a happy life. And every time God moves me out of my comfort zone, such as to a new city, I worry that this is Him preparing me for something massively horrible in my future.
So the idea that God wants only good things for me? I just don't believe it. And it is incredibly difficult to love God when I'm constantly scared that He's setting me up for horror.
But I don't want to stay in that fear. Perfect love casts out fear, and I'd really like to 1) trust that God loves me perfectly, and 2) try to love God perfectly. As near as I can tell, one way to do that is to list all the good things God has done for me. I started this list with things like Rory, but since I had to give up Rory to follow God, that only made me more bitter. My new list consists entirely of things that are in Dallas.
1) Liz. After two years apart, we are immediate friends with no awkwardness or getting-to-know-you slowness. We just jumped right into life together. We love so many of the same things, and we get passionately invested in Olympic swimming relays, superhero movies, and our embarrassing lives. Being friends with Liz means laughing a lot, which is always a great thing.
2) Jess. My second roommate is a little snarky and a little crazy. She jams out to her music and tries to force its awesomeness down your throat. She values people's honesty and isn't afraid to call people out on their bullshit. I said that because she respects people who cuss, because it shows they are not trying to filter themselves. She is basically a grown-up me, and I'm so grateful for the opportunity to bask in her DTS wisdom and her life-after-DTS wisdom.
3) Paisley. My third roommate is rarely home, but her dog is. Paisley is crazier than I prefer, and can make the most obnoxious noises. But after she's calmed down, she's very sweet. Right now she is curled up under my desk. I love having a pet in the house. She makes things seem more homey. And even when she's shrilly barking a greeting, it's nice to be greeted.
4) Writing. I hate not having a job that I'm good at or a church family that takes up half my week nights. I have a lot of free time when my housemates are all working. But it has given me an opportunity to write! I've been seriously working on a project, and my goal is to have it finished by this week. This week! I've never finished a writing project. Not once, ever. And I know if I didn't have this free month, I wouldn't have done this one either.
5) Exercise. Along with the writing, I've been able to exercise during my long days at home. I'm horribly out of shape, but even 20 minutes of yoga makes me feel good, way deep inside where apparently my muscles are.
6) Jamba Juice and Chick-fil-a. It is marvelous living in a city where two of my favorite destination restaurants are within 20 minutes of home.
7) Living on my own. I'm grateful my parents let me live at home, but it is so fantastic to be on my own. I don't even know what the difference is, but I love it.
8) The Olympics. First, watching the Olympics all day and all night is a great way to bond with my housemates. Second, I just love the Olympics. I'm not much into sports, but for some reason I adore the biggest sporting event in the world. I love the athlete's stories. I love the intense battles for gold. I love the peaceful patriotism of cheering for USA. I love the global unity inherent in nations sending their citizens to run races and play games with the rest of the world, no matter what the political feelings between countries might be. I even love the stupid commercials that make my heart swell and maybe sometimes cause me to tear up a little. The Olympics is humanity at its best. I love it.
So the idea that God wants only good things for me? I just don't believe it. And it is incredibly difficult to love God when I'm constantly scared that He's setting me up for horror.
But I don't want to stay in that fear. Perfect love casts out fear, and I'd really like to 1) trust that God loves me perfectly, and 2) try to love God perfectly. As near as I can tell, one way to do that is to list all the good things God has done for me. I started this list with things like Rory, but since I had to give up Rory to follow God, that only made me more bitter. My new list consists entirely of things that are in Dallas.
1) Liz. After two years apart, we are immediate friends with no awkwardness or getting-to-know-you slowness. We just jumped right into life together. We love so many of the same things, and we get passionately invested in Olympic swimming relays, superhero movies, and our embarrassing lives. Being friends with Liz means laughing a lot, which is always a great thing.
2) Jess. My second roommate is a little snarky and a little crazy. She jams out to her music and tries to force its awesomeness down your throat. She values people's honesty and isn't afraid to call people out on their bullshit. I said that because she respects people who cuss, because it shows they are not trying to filter themselves. She is basically a grown-up me, and I'm so grateful for the opportunity to bask in her DTS wisdom and her life-after-DTS wisdom.
3) Paisley. My third roommate is rarely home, but her dog is. Paisley is crazier than I prefer, and can make the most obnoxious noises. But after she's calmed down, she's very sweet. Right now she is curled up under my desk. I love having a pet in the house. She makes things seem more homey. And even when she's shrilly barking a greeting, it's nice to be greeted.
4) Writing. I hate not having a job that I'm good at or a church family that takes up half my week nights. I have a lot of free time when my housemates are all working. But it has given me an opportunity to write! I've been seriously working on a project, and my goal is to have it finished by this week. This week! I've never finished a writing project. Not once, ever. And I know if I didn't have this free month, I wouldn't have done this one either.
5) Exercise. Along with the writing, I've been able to exercise during my long days at home. I'm horribly out of shape, but even 20 minutes of yoga makes me feel good, way deep inside where apparently my muscles are.
6) Jamba Juice and Chick-fil-a. It is marvelous living in a city where two of my favorite destination restaurants are within 20 minutes of home.
7) Living on my own. I'm grateful my parents let me live at home, but it is so fantastic to be on my own. I don't even know what the difference is, but I love it.
8) The Olympics. First, watching the Olympics all day and all night is a great way to bond with my housemates. Second, I just love the Olympics. I'm not much into sports, but for some reason I adore the biggest sporting event in the world. I love the athlete's stories. I love the intense battles for gold. I love the peaceful patriotism of cheering for USA. I love the global unity inherent in nations sending their citizens to run races and play games with the rest of the world, no matter what the political feelings between countries might be. I even love the stupid commercials that make my heart swell and maybe sometimes cause me to tear up a little. The Olympics is humanity at its best. I love it.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Omission
I've been side-eyeing God for a while, that is old news. Church makes me think better thoughts, that is also old news. But I'll share what I thought about yesterday anyway.
Stephanie bought me The Valley of Visions for my birthday, and it's a fantastic book of prayer poetry written by Puritans. I get totally into the author's desire, and then he gets really self-hating. Like, this dude is really in touch with his sin, and he absolutely loathes it. I just don't get that. For one thing, I'm very prideful. I focus on the good things I do rather than the bad things. For another thing, I just don't believe that any of the bad things I do are all that bad. You can tell me until you turn blue that any one little sin is enough to cut off my relationship with God, and I'll believe you. But it's hard for me to really hate my occasional lustful thoughts or insults.
Yesterday I thought about sins of omission. The pastor I listened to said that our sole purpose in life is to make much of God. Our identity is bound up in God, and all we have to do is talk about Him. The pastor never at all went into rules or sins or anything. It was all about glorifying the God who created and saved us.
I don't do that. If I'm in a safe place, and if the conversation turns that way, then sure. I'll talk about God. But does my love for Him burst out of me the way I compulsively discuss Doctor Who or my latest books or a feminist study? No.
When I think about my sins as all the times I could have mentioned God but didn't, well, they start to weigh a little heavy. When I think of all the times I could have encouraged someone but didn't want to seem forward, I sinned. When I let someone talk about their problems, and I don't mention God's peace and kindness, or offer to pray for them, or actually follow up and pray for them, I'm sinning.
I may not DO a lot of awful things. But I sure do MISS a lot of opportunities to do something good. And I think those are the things God is most concerned about. We are known to be his disciples because we love, not because we don't cuss. I want to be a do-er, not a don't-er.
There's another problem with making much of God. For our love of Him to spill out, we have to love Him. A lot. And I've already mentioned that I'm having trouble trusting, and therefore loving, God. So I'm going to address that tomorrow.
Stephanie bought me The Valley of Visions for my birthday, and it's a fantastic book of prayer poetry written by Puritans. I get totally into the author's desire, and then he gets really self-hating. Like, this dude is really in touch with his sin, and he absolutely loathes it. I just don't get that. For one thing, I'm very prideful. I focus on the good things I do rather than the bad things. For another thing, I just don't believe that any of the bad things I do are all that bad. You can tell me until you turn blue that any one little sin is enough to cut off my relationship with God, and I'll believe you. But it's hard for me to really hate my occasional lustful thoughts or insults.
Yesterday I thought about sins of omission. The pastor I listened to said that our sole purpose in life is to make much of God. Our identity is bound up in God, and all we have to do is talk about Him. The pastor never at all went into rules or sins or anything. It was all about glorifying the God who created and saved us.
I don't do that. If I'm in a safe place, and if the conversation turns that way, then sure. I'll talk about God. But does my love for Him burst out of me the way I compulsively discuss Doctor Who or my latest books or a feminist study? No.
When I think about my sins as all the times I could have mentioned God but didn't, well, they start to weigh a little heavy. When I think of all the times I could have encouraged someone but didn't want to seem forward, I sinned. When I let someone talk about their problems, and I don't mention God's peace and kindness, or offer to pray for them, or actually follow up and pray for them, I'm sinning.
I may not DO a lot of awful things. But I sure do MISS a lot of opportunities to do something good. And I think those are the things God is most concerned about. We are known to be his disciples because we love, not because we don't cuss. I want to be a do-er, not a don't-er.
There's another problem with making much of God. For our love of Him to spill out, we have to love Him. A lot. And I've already mentioned that I'm having trouble trusting, and therefore loving, God. So I'm going to address that tomorrow.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
This is What I Signed Up For
Liz is the busiest person in Texas. She is always gone when I wake up, and she's never home before 7:30. One time she didn't come home until after midnight. While this has given me opportunities to hang out with Jess, I want to party!
Last night we did just that. There are Studio Movie Grills in Dallas, and we had coupons so that we could see The Amazing Spiderman and get a free drink for just $6! The thing with this movie theater is that you order your drinks and food from your seat, and people serve you as you watch the film. I was a little overwhelmed by this, so I went out on a limb and got...popcorn.
Spiderman really is amazing. I would have been okay with a different kind of origin story, but Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone are so infinitely better than Toby Maguire and Kirsten Dunst that the plot almost doesn't matter. When we left the theater, I told Liz that I love any movie that causes me to make unexpected noises. She said, "I forgot that is one of my favorite things about you! I love when you laugh uncontrollably and then get embarrassed and try to hide it."
The thing is, I assume other people find the same things funny that I do. There's a short clip of Peter sitting upside down on his wall beside his door, and it's so ludicrous and "of course you would try that!" I let out a huge bark of laughter. And no one else made a sound. C'mon, moviegoers. Luckily, most of the time Liz was laughing with me, and we smacked each other whenever Andrew Garfield was especially adorable, which was 98% of the time.
We got home around 10:00, which meant it was time for the Olympic Opening Ceremonies! James Bond and the Queen! JK ROWLING. So much British insanity. They certainly have their own brand of humor. Also, it made me incredibly sad when the agrarian fields were torn up for the Industrial Revolution. It was like I was watching Tolkien's pain in fast forward, and I told the television, "The ents are going to get you for this."
I desperately hoped, even after the ceremony turned sentimental, that the Doctor would light the final torch, but he didn't! Britian, you are supposed to be Who-obsessed! The time-space continuum is now broken. As one website complained this morning, "You had ONE JOB, Britain."
I love the Olympics. I love that I live in a house of Olympics fanatics. Jess and Liz and I sat around watching events all morning. For like, four hours. The next two weeks are going to be extremely unproductive.
Oh, also I paid for my classes and applied to work on campus. YIKES I AM SUDDENLY POOR.
Last night we did just that. There are Studio Movie Grills in Dallas, and we had coupons so that we could see The Amazing Spiderman and get a free drink for just $6! The thing with this movie theater is that you order your drinks and food from your seat, and people serve you as you watch the film. I was a little overwhelmed by this, so I went out on a limb and got...popcorn.
Spiderman really is amazing. I would have been okay with a different kind of origin story, but Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone are so infinitely better than Toby Maguire and Kirsten Dunst that the plot almost doesn't matter. When we left the theater, I told Liz that I love any movie that causes me to make unexpected noises. She said, "I forgot that is one of my favorite things about you! I love when you laugh uncontrollably and then get embarrassed and try to hide it."
The thing is, I assume other people find the same things funny that I do. There's a short clip of Peter sitting upside down on his wall beside his door, and it's so ludicrous and "of course you would try that!" I let out a huge bark of laughter. And no one else made a sound. C'mon, moviegoers. Luckily, most of the time Liz was laughing with me, and we smacked each other whenever Andrew Garfield was especially adorable, which was 98% of the time.
We got home around 10:00, which meant it was time for the Olympic Opening Ceremonies! James Bond and the Queen! JK ROWLING. So much British insanity. They certainly have their own brand of humor. Also, it made me incredibly sad when the agrarian fields were torn up for the Industrial Revolution. It was like I was watching Tolkien's pain in fast forward, and I told the television, "The ents are going to get you for this."
I desperately hoped, even after the ceremony turned sentimental, that the Doctor would light the final torch, but he didn't! Britian, you are supposed to be Who-obsessed! The time-space continuum is now broken. As one website complained this morning, "You had ONE JOB, Britain."
I love the Olympics. I love that I live in a house of Olympics fanatics. Jess and Liz and I sat around watching events all morning. For like, four hours. The next two weeks are going to be extremely unproductive.
Oh, also I paid for my classes and applied to work on campus. YIKES I AM SUDDENLY POOR.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)