Hit The Floor

Seduction.  In high school, I always imagined that a boy would try to sweep me off my feet.  I didn’t quite think that these strapping young men would take the sentiment so literally until I found myself hoisted above Tom’s shoulders while he attempted to spin me.  Less then five seconds later, this involved me slamming my head on the floor when his hands slipped.  At least beer is good for your hair.

The Unwilling Accomplice

Went out last night with Amanda, which was an experience.  We loitered awkwardly outside the party her in a cute top and jeans and me, for some misguided reason, in a white T-shirt and cutoffs.  I know my way around party attire…  Two guys came up to us, using the excuse of “yeah, we’re in the same class together!  No, we’ve never talked to each other…” while I was prepared to roll my eyes and walk away.   One, Alex may have been his name, leaned forward and in the most awkwardly lascivious way, oozed “I have Smirnoff.  Girls like Smirnoff, right?”  Well with lines like that, who can resist?  I opened my mouth to retort, but was beat by Amanda, who leaned forward and said, “Sounds like a plan.”  Wait, did she just wink at him?  But I don’t want Smirnoff. 

As we followed them back to their room, I relayed this sentiment only to receive a muttered “He’s hot and has alcohol” in return.  Such standards.  After examining the lone grimy shot glass and refusing, I somehow ended up outside this young man’s room while the two of them remained inside.  His blonde roommate, who had started the evening with an “I have mononucleosis” sat next to me, dejected.  “Wingmanning sucks, doesn’t it?” he grunted, looking down at his hands.  “What?”  Was I a wingwoman for accompanying this salacious act?  The affirmative reply led to several ponderings.  First of all, if they both clearly wanted to lick each others’ faces, then why did I have to come too?  I understood being there for the initial conversation, but following them back to his dorm?  As exciting as making small talk about the Backstreet Boys is, I would rather be eating glass.  And second, how long was I supposed to wait outside in the frigid weather?  Until they finished?  Until I received a text message indicating that I could leave? Or was our extremely stealth exit to play ultimate Frisbee my cue to go home?  Was I his roommate’s consolation prize for being kicked out?  Because while I felt bad for the kid, there are some things that a girl just won’t do.  

Potentially unrelated: Did you know that an accomplice is always tried with the person who committed the crime?  Even if the perpetrator killed someone while the accomplice was sitting idly in the car, unaware of and unwilling for such an act to take place, he would be tried for being part of the murder as well.  Just saying.

But...

I’m pretty sure that I’m slightly possibly completely obsessed with the guy on the floor above me who has nothing in common with me.  Right, I may have neglected to mention him.  We can call him Sandwich Boy.  This is because he is in my literature class, and he never has time to eat lunch because his history class is right before it, so I once thought of making a turkey sandwich and wrapping in a napkin to bring him.  I never have the desire to make people food.  This is terrible.

We’ve spoken about three times in the elevator, but he’s got these long-lashed big brown eyes that remind me of Lindt truffles and hazelnuts, and this perfectly pink, almost girlish mouth that’s balanced out by his stern jawline.  Oh god.  You just became a trashy romance writer.  These descriptions are reserved for novels like Stella’s Choice, or The Lady and the Rogue.  Perhaps we can banter and then make wildly passionate love against the hull of his ship.  I don’t actually know what part that is, but it sounds appropriate. 

Wait, No, Just Say No!

You know how I said he would ignore me?  I’m really beginning to wish that he had.  No, he has to be “traditional” and ask me out to dinner.  I was caught off guard, and agreed to sit with him, where I ate in silence while he talked about his parents.  Wait, does this mean that I’ve been on a date?  It was an ambush!  It can’t possibly count.  This whole “new experiences” business does not seem to be going so well.   I tried to bolt, but he decided to walk me back to my dorm, where he insisted on attaching his mouth to my lower lip.  My mouth is sore.  Is that supposed to happen? 

He just texted me asking if I wanted to hang out later.  I’m tired.  And I don’t feel like making conversation.  Or making out.  Maybe I should tell him that I’m not interested.  That seems mean, though.  What’s it going to be?  “Listen up, Grass Boy.  It was fun, but…” But what? 

The First First

Had my first kiss.  Oh God.  Not the good kind, but the oh God, why do I start talking to boys that I’m not terribly interested in so they get the wrong signals and Mother of All that is Holy, I really hope that I don’t get mononucleosis.  I never thought that this might be a concern until I came to this school.  The concept of “hooking up” is rather lost on me, but I’m pretty sure that it means that you make out with a guy, then see him the next day and have him ignore you.  This is probably for the best, since it was terribly awkward.  Do you remember when you were a good little child?  I almost miss those days.  But at least that milestone is out of the way?  I suppose that having your first kiss lying on the ground under the stars is meant to be romantic.  I can’t get the grass stains out of my jeans and I still have dirt in my hair.  I’m also pretty sure that I’m allergic to the weeds that we were on, since my arms have broken out in hives.  Romantic indeed.  My God.  All I can think of is “sucking mechanism” right now.  Whatever, I’m sure he’ll never talk to me again.

Just Say Yes

I decided to stop leading such a depressive life and try to make friends.  It’s working surprisingly well, actually.  Mainly because I’ve discovered alcohol.  And no, I have not become some sort of closet drinker.  But after being known as the “designated walker” for going out to parties with my friends but never drinking anything, I have come to understand the power of the red cup.  It’s wondrous, really.  I have something to do with my hands, I appear more “mellow” (mainly because others believe that there is a chance of intoxication) and for once in my life, I’m giving in to peer pressure.  It feels delicious.

Philosophy

“You’re like Hobbes’s state of nature.  Nasty, brutish, and short.”

-Edward

Socialization

I’ve started making a concerted effort to talk to others.  So far this has included me mumbling at the sweet librarian who walks by the table where I study, awkwardly conversing with other students while I attempt to run away, and having long conversations with my laptop, who has become an excellent companion.  I can totally do this whole college thing.

Blame in on the Alcohol

I hate meeting people when they’re drunk.  Here I am, all orange soda happy, and they start every conversation with “I’m not going to remember this in the morning, but…” I remember everything.  And I still have a good time.  It wasn’t that I was never going to drink in college, but after seeing others, I just really don’t want to now.

But Actually, School

Classes:

Honors Philosophy Seminar

Introduction to American Politics

The American Novelist

Calculus II

School: 1000 Lila: 2

(The two are solely based on the fact that we got cookies in math class today)

Oh Right, School

Dear Senior Year,

How could you lure me into such a false sense of security?  Sure, I applied to colleges.  I believe it was 20, to be exact.  Supplements, personal statements, letters of recommendations, all of that was quite brutal in conjunction with 4 AP classes, the ACT, and all of those extracurricular activities.  You did not, however, prepare me for 300 pages of reading a week and papers due at an alarmingly constant rate.  My life has become so tragic so quickly.  And she was so young.

Best,

Lila

Changes

Everyone here seems so thrilled to meet everyone else, but I’m perpetually tempted to retreat to my room.  In high school, it was popular, nay, dictated, that you never appear too excited about anything.  My droll cynicism fit in far better than it does here, where every topic must be approached with exuberance.  “You’ve been to Italy?  I’ve been to Italy!” “I worked on this BLANK and it was such an amazing experience!” I’m not used to waxing on about my accomplishments, and I’m suddenly thrust into a world where every activity must be shared with equal enthusiasm.  No, I don’t eat organic vegetables.  And I’ve never met a senator.  I suddenly feel rather small.   

The Roommate (Pt. 1)

You know those stories where roommates leave socks on the door to tell their bunkmates not to come home for the night?  That sock is now a text message and that bunkmate is me.  I don’t know anyone here, but apparently Liza has decided to be the Welcome Wagon for a special young man.  So here I am, ranting all of this on my BlackBerry because of my overwhelming compulsion to write how much I hate my new roommate.  It’s a new school year but the lounge already smells like beer and feet.  And the sofa has clearly welcomed both into its enormous cushions.  I love college.

I made a new friend, I think.  I was trying to sleep in the common area (not aided by the fact that the lights have motion detectors and flicker on whenever someone walks down the hallway or I shift even slightly) when a fellow new student took pity on me.  His name is Neal, and his roommate was apparently gone for the night as well.  Looks like the start of some Amos-cest right there.  Slept on their brand new futon and was accused of “walk of shaming” back to my floor this morning.  I don’t even know what that means.  This place is confusing.

Day One

I moved into my dorm today!  Amos Hall.  Rather, I tried to move into my dorm today while my mother kept on taking my bedding and clothes and arranging them herself while my father moved my desk around and found an Ethernet cable and I stood there, helplessly.  I actually like to organize. 

It’s sweet, the constant “All right Sweetie, the country isn’t that big and we can always fly across if there’s even the slightest problem” interspersed with the usual “Don’t do drugs and work harder, Lila.  You got into college on a technicality.”  Thank you, mother.  If that “technicality” is 99^th percentile test scores, a nearly perfect GPA and obscene amount of extracurricular activities, then yes, yes I did.  She still keeps on asking me why I want to study art after spending so many years talking about being a lawyer.  Oh God. 

 This is new, though.  The only time I was away from my parents was when I went to debate camp at Georgetown for three weeks, and they would visit me every Saturday.  I never went to real camp; I have never spent more than those few weeks without either one of them.  And now, now they’re flying across the country the day after tomorrow after a trip up the coast, and I’m not going to see them ever again.  Or until Thanksgiving, but that’s months away.  

A funny moment, though: They separate the parents from the students for a “Starting College” talk, where they essentially tell each party to stop trying to communicate so often for the first few weeks to adjust.  My father came out with a serious face and said, “Lila, we listened to what the woman had to say, and we’ve decided to ignore her completely.” Can you tell that I’m an only child?

Introductions

I realize that I missed the fundamental "Get to meet you!" part of the blog.  My name is Lila Tanlen.  I enjoy tea, arguing with people, gourmet cheese, and political talk shows.  I dislike long fingernails, change, people who hum in the car (or anywhere, really), and drinking out of Nalgenes.  But, given the lack of real description in that account, I'll give you the letter I had to write my future roommate.  The internet is as much of a stranger to me as she will be, so here goes:

Hi!

My name is Lila Tanlen, and I’m from Bethesda, Maryland.  I’m 17, and my birthday is September 20^th.  I’m an only child, and I live with both of my parents.

I just graduated from (School), which is a small private school a few minutes drive from my house.  At (School), I was on the swim team and the debate team.  I also wrote for the school paper, (Paper),  and worked for the literary magazine.  I hope to continue with these activities, as I really enjoyed them.  I liked high school – sure, I complained about the size and the monotony, but I knew how to do it.  Wake up, school, swim practice, debate practice, the like.  I never went to a high school party.  I never drank.  Never went on a date, never kissed a boy but I’m excited about embarking on a new adventure. 

 I really enjoy hanging out with friends, cooking, and hiking, and laughing so hard that my face hurts.  I’m horribly anxious really looking forward to meeting all of the new people at LAC!  

I don’t really have that many pet peeves.  I suppose that I have a few peculiar pet peeves.  I’m extremely organized, and I become homicidal when people go through my possessions can be little bit compulsive at times.  I go to sleep at around 3 AM and like to wake up as late as possible midnight and like to wake up at around 9.  I suppose that I’m not particular, so long as you keep to your side of the room and I’m fairly flexible.  I’m also pretty low maintenance – I don’t blow dry my hair or have a lot of clothes, and I prefer not to wear too much makeup, so no worries about peculiar grooming habits.

I’m really talkative, and apparently have rage issues and am known to be vicious can be a little bit cynical at times, but I’m really optimistic for the most part.  I like listening to music and reading.  My favorite bands are The Rolling Stones, Simon and Garfunkel, Tool, the Nine Inch Nails, Andrew Bird and Porcupine Tree, among several others.  I guess that you could say that I like a little bit of everything.  My favorite books are No Exit, Candide, Brave New World, and please, please don’t put me with someone like me or I’ll end up rooming with a sociopath The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.  If you have any good recommendations, I’d love to hear them. 

I’m not really sure what I want my major to be, but I’m really interested in American politics. 

I look forward to meeting you in the fall! 

Best,

Lila

You clearly have the version before all the changes were made.  Enjoy.

(Dis)Orientation

Every major novel, movie, or TV pilot starts with a major plot twit.  So here is mine:  College.  Not quite a twist, I realize, since this has been pretty much inevitable for the past 17 and a half years, but a twist for me.  I am attending a school that, for our purposes, we can call LAC.  If you'd like, you can refer to it as LA College or some variation, but if you must know, it stands for Liberal Arts College.  This is one of those safety procedures they tell me about when starting a blog to prevent questionable behavior from others.  But here, I'll give you a few hints: the school is in California (I'm as terrified as you are about this fact), it's ranked in most top 20 lists, and it is, as aforementioned, a liberal arts college.  Better get your magnifying glasses out--now there are only about 40 to choose from.  I'm sitting in my room in Maryland, packing my last suitcase while practically weeping to the Disney Channel.  Who knew that Lizzie McGuire could inspire such emotion?  Screwed.  I am totally screwed for tomorrow's hellish flight and even more hellish orientation.  I hate meeting new people.  (But more on that later).  This should be fun.