The Game of Life

My roommates and I were sitting in our living room talking the other day about board games. Of course, Life came up. Everyone loves that game and it seems at some point, everyone has cheated. At least when Holly and I played together and the time would come for Holly to pick the card that was going to be her job, I would make it obvious which card held her favorite job (or maybe her least favorite depending on how ornery I was feeling). Life was one of those games where it was just fun to play whether or not you won and were able to retire to the Presidential Estates. It's a very strange feeling becoming a "real" person who is actually supposed to contribute to society. While I've known this was coming all along, it's still really weird the first time you see one of your close friends in a wedding dress.
I know exactly what job I want and my opponent has made it very obvious what I have to do to get it (my opponent is very ornery and really likes bribes apparently). This med school application is a pain in the rear so I have created my own job. I am going to go to France and study the S.O.S. Medecin system where doctors still make house calls at night for minor ailments such as fevers and see if it could reduce congestion in the in America. It's brilliant! But I'm having a hard time finding someone who will pay me. Any takers? I'm cheap- just food, housing a plane ticket to Paris. No? Ah, it was worth a shot.

Hail to Old KU

I try to avoid these sappy ones, but I cannot help it this time. Grandma loves to tell the story about when my mom first had Holly, and Grandma, Morgan, and I went to visit them in the hospital. When we had to go, I threw a complete tantrum. Grandma, being the good grandma she is, took us to McDonald's to calm me down. All the way into McDonald's, I kept up my tantrum.

Twelve years ago, my family drove up to Lawrence to watch Debbie walk down the hill. As I was sitting in Memorial Stadium I decided that some day I would walk down that hill too. The problem was I tried to change my mind. My senior year of high school I could not decide which college to attend. Unfortunately, I had already decided years and years before and forgotten. When I decided on KU, it was a relief. Now KU is truly home.

There is a moment for everyone after they move up to Lawrence to start studying at KU, when they figure out what KU actually means. Mine came my freshman year when I was (of course) running. It was around 7 am during the first week of school when life was still a crazy blur. On Daisy Hill, a road runs down through campus between Ellsworth Hall and Hashinger Hall. When the sun rises, the top of that road gives the most breathtaking view of campus. On that morning when I first ran on campus, I knew that KU as home. Earlier this year, recruitment took me back to Daisy Hill on several early mornings and again, when I drove down that road, I knew that KU was home. Every moment in between those moments, I knew KU was home. There have been wins against K-State and MU at Allen Fieldhouse along with one (but only one) devastating loss, camping before games at 6 am, sorority formals and costume parties, sledding at midnight in 2 degree weather, snow days, hot days where the only thing to do is lie in the Chi Omega fountain, all-nighters with my friends studying for finals, marathons of movies and TV shows, long runs, trips around the world, a half marathon, an Orange Bowl, and of course, the National Championship (which still stands as the craziest night of my life!). All of these moments have meant the world to me. I'm sure I would have done just fine at any other university, but I would not have thrived the way I have at KU. I cannot say it enough: the best decision I have ever made was picking KU. I love KU and everything it has given me. My only hope is for everyone to have a time in their lives where they are as happy as I have been the past 4 years. I know I have not loved every single second of it (staying up until the wee hours of the morning finishing a paper isn't all that much fun!), but I would never give it up. Not for anything.

Back to the McDonald's story. The reason Grandma loves the story so much is because not only did I cry going into McDonald's, but I also cried when she said we had to leave. For the 20 odd minutes we were there, I was perfectly happy. It was just the coming and going that caused me to bawl hysterically. My mom will attest to the fact that the summer before I started KU, I had several wonderfully hysterical tantrums about the smallest things pertaining to KU: I wasn't on the correct floor of my residence hall, or I wasn't enrolled in the right classes. When it got down to it, I just didn't know if I was ready to leave home and go to KU. And now, I don't want to leave. It's McDonald's all over again: I went kicking and screaming into KU and I sure as heck am going to cry now that I'm leaving. I cannot say it enough, KU is home. ROCK CHALK

Greet we then our Mother

I have been missing Europe a lot this fall. It comes in waves- the one year anniversary of when we left for Florence in September (my good friend posted on Facebook this gem of entry: "a year ago today I was leaving for Italy. Today a man threw-up on me at work"- he works with severe Alzheimer patients), when my family visited me (every one of you reminded me!), on Thanksgiving (which is ironic because I was so homesick in Paris on Thanksgiving I became physically sick), and then on the 1 year anniversary of me coming home. I could not figure out why I have been so homesick for Europe this past week. One of the happiest moments of my life was landing in Chicago's airport and sending out a mass text to pretty much everyone I know telling them I was state-side. When I finally finished a hellish week of finals (plus everything else that happened to me last week which is a blog in itself), I picked up Holly and drove the hour-long drive home which is incredibly shorter than the 10 hour flight just to get to Chicago from Paris. When Holly and I watched Love Actually later that evening, it hit me. The introductory scene and the ending scene is a montage of people hugging each other at an airport. That was it. I gave my study abroad friends fair warning that I was going to cry at the airport. Sixteen hours of traveling and all the emotions of coming home and leaving the people who had been my family for three months was more than I could calmly handle. Seeing my mom at the airport was a feeling I had never experience before. I could not have been happier. After claiming my over stuffed bags, I said good-bye to my friends as calmly as I could. One of my best friends looked at me and just said, "Go home, before you cry." I did. Pulling into the driveway last December with a sign all lighted up just for me, I felt home. After living out of a suitcase (literally- there wasn't ever enough room to actually unpack), constantly traveling here and there (which don't get me wrong was amazing!), and fending for yourself in countries where they laughed at Americans for even trying to speak the native language, I felt like a nomad. I was finally home. In this past year, I've forgotten how good that felt. Don't get me wrong; I am a happy person and I still do love coming home. It's just that, coming home last year was the happiest moment of my life. That moment will forever define pure bliss.

Looks She Proudly Down

I know it has been far too long since I have posted and for that I am sorry. I actually wrote one about how excited I was that Holly was going to be a Jayhawk, but it somehow never was posted. Today, however, I would like to vent.

The other day I noticed that I was just not in a good mood and I could not figure out why. So I go through my normal questions (I know, I am like a child, but sometimes I honestly don't know what's wrong!) Is it the weather? No. Am I hungry? No. Is something changing? (I HATE change). Yes. Sadly as it seemed, I realized that I was so cranky because of this whole Big XII business. My mom has told me for years that I just become too passionate about somethings. One of those is the Jayhawks.

For most things that I just become to caught up, it's my own fault. I want to get something done and don't understand why people are not as involved as I am and so I become extremely frustrated. But the whole Jayhawk obsession, I take no responsibility for. This I blame on who else, but my mom. There is this curse that lands upon most children whose parents attended KU where the children fall in love with the Jayhawks. The more and more people I talk to, the more truth there is to this. We are all given Jayhawk t-shirts to wear before we even have the motor skills to dress ourselves. As much as we try to fight it, it's in our blood. Not that this is entirely a bad thing. I mean, how many people can say their team won a National Championship and an Orange Bowl in one year?? That's pretty incredible. KU is a great school too. You have no idea how glad I am that I chose KU over another school that shall never be named because I firmly believe that I have learned more and had a better experience than the friend I had who did go to that other horrible school. (She even showed up to a football game freshman year wearing a KU t-shirt when we were playing her school- flipping fair-weather fan!!!)

However, I did not realize that not all Jayhawks are quite as passionate about KU as my family. This shocking realization came when I was having "Thanksgiving" dinner (we actually had it on Wednesday instead of Thursday) in France leading me to my little story of the day:

So we all went to Joe Allen's restaurant in Paris to satisfy our Thanksgiving craving and it truly did it's job. Not only was the food excellent but it was nice to share it with a group of people that became your family for 3 months. We gabbed about a variety of things including, unfortunately, how foie gras is made (Thanks Jerry for ruining my appetizer). One of the topics that we spent a bit of time on was how I became the admission's Baby Jay. At one point Nan (one of my professors) asked me if my family liked KU. "Of course! Well, my mom went to KU and if my dad wanted to marry mom he had to convert into a Jayhawk fan." They were surprised to hear that it was my mom since everyone else had said their dads were the big KU fans. "Oh yes, I am pretty much my mom when it comes to being a Jayhawk fan. One year for her Birthday I made a t-shirt that said 'Don't talk to me, the Jayhawks are on.'" This lead to some quizzical faces. "Well, my mom was great about helping us with whatever we need: school projects, getting toys out and other stuff. But we were told again and again not to bother her when she was watching the Jayhawks on T.V." Everyone looked stunned. Like I had been abused as a child or something. "It really was only during games- don't worry she was a great mom!" I started to feel awkward. Then my friend Ashley finally spoke up, "No, no! We don't doubt that! It's just... it all just makes so much more sense now." Everyone nodded their head in agreement. I really never stood a chance- it was in my blood and a Jayhawk fan I would and will always be.

Reared Against the Dome of Heaven

Yes, that line is in a verse of our Alma Mater! I know there are people who think that is ridiculous but you know if something is in a song it is a FACT. He he!
Well, this morning I had another early wake-up call. Only this one was from my big "sister"/"mom" (we are still in transition of switching the terms, each pledge class gets a little better at using "sister") in the house. At 5:15 a.m. I was taken from my cozy bed and to an unknown destination. Luckily for me, however, I was not told that I had to dress up in clothes from the 1980s, wear two different shoes, or wear our wonderful red robes that we are given as gift from our big "sister"/"mom" freshman year. Some of my friends apparently were so for once in my life I got to be the normal one (yay!). We were driven to Kelly's scholarship hall!! I was quite excited when we arrived but then I remembered that stupid Kelly was in stupid Spain so I could not go wake her up at stupid 5:30 a.m. (Kelly- you would have LOVED that I'm sure). Waitkins was not our final stop. After more people arrived, we were lined up 1 by 1 and taken outside to prance all around campus. We played red rover which I had just gone on a rant to one of my 6'4" tall friends about why I don't like the game. Bigger people just don't understand. Thankfully the other team found another short girl they could attack. We sang songs, rolled down a hill, and then were finally taken to our last stop. This is what I found out: I'm in I believe to be a traditionally secret honor society and that's it. I have no idea what it even does! My point in all this is, I would LOVE LOVE LOVE to be the driver that had to stop at 6 a.m. because we were walking across the street, single file, with one hand on the person in front of each of us.

P.S. I'm in the library right now procrastinating studying for the MCAT test (1 week and 1 day-AHHHHHHH!) and the people next to me are not speaking English. I can only understand one word that they have said is the f-word. I'm glad they have learned some English in their American experience.

P.P.S. This is what I worked on at work for a while! I scanned pictures and even help set up the exhibit.
http://www.news.ku.edu/2010/february/8/librarywwi.shtml

Of the Busy Town

It's quite an odd time in Lawrence right now. There are no more home basketball games and while that gives me more time to study, it's kind of odd and disturbing to not be camping. I promised I would explain how camping so here's what I tell people when I give tours:

1. Lottery- this is the worst part about camping. The morning after a home game you have to be at Allen Field House BEFORE 6 a.m. Someone from your group signs your group up on a list. Then at 6 a.m., this jerk who is never going to graduate starts calling of the group names from the list. Once your group is called all of the people in your group line up and for every 5 people, 1 person gets to pull a poker chip out of a box with a number on it. That number dictates where you are in line to camp and to enter Allen Field House on game day.
2. Camping- I may complain about the Athletics Dept., but they do let us actually camp inside unlike other schools. On the weekdays, we camp from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m. unless there is another event at the Field House (then we are kicked out) or if there is an away game that everyone wants to watch (then we suspend it). On the weekends camping is from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m. One person from your team must be camping at all times.
   
3. To ensure that each group always has a person there, people will sporadically call "roll." Everyone there goes and huddles by a sheet that has the list of groups on it, and the jerk that called roll yells of each name on the list. If your team gets called and there is no one there to answer "here" then your crossed off the list. It's pretty much every person's goal in life the knock off a team in front of them to get a better seat.

That said, I waited through the longest lottery of my entire life for the K-State Game- over 100 teams were there. It wasn't until 7 a.m. (remember it starts at 6 a.m.) that our group at 50 was called. My team lined up and they counted us off. I should mention, I hate being the person that pulls the chip. I always pull the worst number! Well, a girl holding the box of poker chips is counting us off and she points at me and tells me to pull. I wanted to turn around and let the next guy do it, but there wasn't enough time. I grabbed two and dropped one back in the box, hand it to the guy in charge and walk off. I hear him drop it and say "one hundred... no wait, eight." What??? Did I just draw eight????? We went over and asked and the guy said "Yeah, your number 8 in line!" Out of 100 teams we were going to be the eighth group inside Allen Field House for the K-State game. Emphasis on were. Three days later I get a text message saying that we were bumped at 6 a.m. because someone missed roll call and are now 114. I was not happy. I still made it into the game, and had a lot of fun, but still, that would have been a fun game to have good seats!

The Distant Humming

It's 5:14 in the morning and my phone is ringing. At first I thought it was my alarm waking me up to go lottery for seats at Allen Field House (I'll explain that process in a later blog). I answered. It was my friend who lives upstairs. Half awake, I couldn't really understand her and all I could make out was "...we're wigging out....can you come up?" I made sure she was in her room and stumbled out of bed, up the stairs, and into her room. "Frances, is that you?" I responded and opened the sliding door to the bedroom. She and her two roommates were wide awake. One was sitting up and staring at the window- I would have been scared if I was actually awake. "What's wrong?" I asked. "We thought someone was in the room, either that or the window is making noise." It was most definitely the window. The three of them were absolutely terrified that someone was lurking on the other side of the sliding door and instead of opening it, they were absolutely frozen in fear. I ended up talking to them for 45 minutes until they had truly calmed down. It wasn't until after I woke up the next morning that I realized how truly ridiculous the whole event was. First off, with how many people live in this house, someone is always awake. If someone was in their room, it would probably have been a girl borrowing something. Secondly, why would someone wait to open the sliding door? Thirdly and finally, why would you call your smallest friend to protect you??? I know I am kind of crabby before I've had some cereal and coffee, but really?

It reminded me of the absolutely insane night I had in France when we were living in dorms with other Americans. The weekend before we left I was spending the night in my friend's room. We ate at a French Tex-Mex restaurant (we were curious) and I had some tuna salad that was NOT sitting well so I was already having problems sleeping. Then at 2:30 a.m. a very loud argument woke the both of us up. "Give me my #@$#@$ keys!! Come on Lauren give me my keys!!" "No Lindsey! They're mine!" After 15 minutes I went out into the hallway and asked them to quite down. Lindsey was the only one in the hall and responded with a blank stare. I went back inside and heard her stomp away. About 20 minutes later, it happened again. Lindsey left (I only know their names because they were yelling so loudly). She came back again up the stairs. This time crying saying how stupid the whole thing was. Lauren didn't let her in. Twenty minutes later I woke up to what I could only assume was a brick being thrown against the wall next to us. (We figured out the next morning it was Lindsey kicking the elevator.) This went on until we had to wake up at 6:15 to catch a train! Stupid Americans!!

The moral: There is no reason to wake me up no matter what country I am living in.