Stuffy Stuffs

So I'm having this issue where a number of my Ricklings read this blog. This means that I can't really write about them without it feeling, to me at least, somewhat gossipy. Thus, all I really have to write about are things that don't involve them, but I have a feeling that Olive would strangle me if I started giving explicit details of my romantic life (erm, not that I get involved in anything that could be termed explicit), I am left with my to-do lists.

From Friday:

• Finish section 1A of 18.02 (did not complete)
• Eat breakfast (done)
• Compile list of 10 Cambridge eateries (did not complete)
• Start account at MITCFU (did do)
• Bike to TJs and buy groceries (did not do, as wallet was lost between dorm and grocery store)
• Obtain a "learn to cook" book (done)
• Eat (healthy) lunch (done, but only kind of healthy)
• Print and fill out Moody's form (done)
• Research 1st scientist on energy list (not done)
• Authorize Dad as payer for college (done)
• Cook dinner (did not due, as wallet was missing and could not buy ingredients)

For today:

• Interview (great success)
• Respond to email (i.e. accept job offer---will do shortly)
• Send sweet text to boy (done)
• Police report (done---the MIT police are soooo nice)
• Clean room (lolz)
• Make graffiti nametag
• Look into license replacement
• Login to MIT Police website and report lost item

Yay, things to do!

Worrisome Items

I leave for RSI tomorrow, so I've been packing furiously. So far, I have filled and sealed three bags, packaged my desktop up in the box that came with it (I can't handle not being able to check my email first thing in the morning), and hauled out my sleeping bag and laundry bin.

I filled my silver rolling bag first. This is a silly bag to bring somewhere that doesn't involve airports, but I'm flying off on a family vacation right after RSI so I need to have it with me. In this bag, I have:

• 16 t-shirts
• 11 tank tops
• 5 skirts
• 2 flannel shirts
• 8 pairs of socks
• 3 sweaters
• 9 pairs of underwear

This makes up a considerable portion of my wardrobe.

I then packed the red duffle bag, which contains:

• 1 pair of socks
• 5 pairs of shorts
• 2 cargo capris
• 6 dresses
• 1 pair of leggings
• 1 pair of capri-length sweats
• 6 shirts
• 1 swimsuit
• 6 pairs of shoes
• 1 raincoat
• 2 lightweight jackets
• 7 sweaters/sweatshirts
• 1 pair of flannel PJ pants that I probably won't wear
• 1 pair of jeans
• 1 belt
• 4 bags of various types
• 1 bathrobe
• 1 bath mat
• 2 bath towels
• 1 face towel

Yeah, the red duffle is really, really big.

Next, I packed the aqua duffle, which is smaller and holds only:

• Many hose and tights
• Wrinkled white blouse
• 3 sets of sheets
• 5 bras
• All remaining swimsuits (I wouldn't bring this many, but I'm going to hawaii afterwards and I'll want them then)
• Purple cami
• "This is what a feminist looks like" t-shirt
• Assorted mismatched socks
• Leggings
• Black hoody
• Lightweight PJ pants
• 5 PJ shirts, including RSI shirts

I'm now working my way through the purple duffle, which so far contains:

• Soft blanket
• Blankey <3
• Throw blanket
• Computer power strip
• Feminine hygiene products (lol)
• Paperclip High frisbee
• Umbrellas (2, both small)
• TI-89
• 2 regular bras
• 2 sport bras
• 2 formal shirts, both currently dirty

It should be noted that I don't advocate bringing this much stuff. It's just that I have a double to myself, so a ton of space to store it, and I'm hoping to leave it up in Boston so I can just bring it all to school in the fall. Also, I was the heaviest packer last year by a longshot---I think I might still be bringing the most stuff, despite the fact that I am bringing neither my keyboard nor my guitar. But whatever---I love my clothes.

On a more troublesome note, however, I've discovered that I'm missing approximately a laundry (need to stop trying to spell that as laundrey...) load worth of clothing. I've been writing down everything I can't find, so here's that list, just to be thorough.

• Purple northface tee (tree)
• New Ann Taylor tanks
• New Ann Taylor cargos
• Bleached blue cargos
• Knee-length dark cargos
• MIT shorts
• full-length black sweats
• Baggy dark purple "Dream" Gap shirt
• flipflops
• strappy Clarks
• MIT sweatshirt
• bleachy blue sweatshirt
• bed roll
• fan
• D.E. Shaw shirt

I find this disturbing. There goes the garage door---hopefully it's Mom coming back to help me search.

Zee Prom

The actual prom was strange. That's the best word I can think of for it. It's funny, because by the next morning I was, shall we say, very comfortable with Peter (I mean that literal sense, not in the hanky-panky sense), but at the start of things I really wasn't.

The party bus was bizarre. We weren't allowed to drink anything, even water, while we were on it. It fortunately not a model that included a stripper pole, but terrible music was blasted, and it was so loud we could hardly talk at all, and the liqueur cabinet (which I think was actually just full of empty bottles and what looked very similar to the jugs of bleach we have at lab) kept swinging open, so Peter and I spent half of our time yelling at the cabinet door and the other half attempting to kick it shut. For some reason, this was considered fun. He also did that terribly awkward "Here I am yawning and oh, look, now my arm is around you!" thing. I leaned into him reflexively when he did, even while half of my brain was asking the other half why I was encouraging him when I'd already decided that he was boring (answer: I was cold. Also, it only just occurred to me that this was why he would not stop asking me if I was cold, despite my vehement denials. Would have been a better excuse than an awkward yawn. I feel somewhat pathetic for not realizing this sooner).

The eating bit was fine. The gang of however many of us there are got a table together, and we made cheerful conversation about things like someone's---it was Cammie or Kathrya---propensity for spilling drinks. Then music started, and there was dancing, and that was the point at which I got really uncomfortable.

I'm still not totally clear on why I felt so out of it. I think part of it was the sheer number of people around me, all of them darkened, and large, and just too much---I've never been good with crowds. And then there was Peter, who kept wanting to touch me---not anywhere inappropriate, mind, just my hands, and then my waist, but he's so much taller than me that all I could see was his chest, and his face was completely obscured, so I just kept swaying with the music, even as I wanted to shrink into nothingness and retract my sweaty palms and run off to somewhere, anywhere, just not right there right then. I danced because I didn't know what else to do, but it felt perfunctory even to me, this half motion, but he was moving less and I couldn't figure out why he kept resisting my attempts to stop (the touching, I know now. And now that I'm more comfortable with touching him I'd quite happily go back and run the whole thing again, but right then I was miserable). It's funny, because I understand what those sexual assault videos were saying, even as I recognize that I wasn't in a bad situation at all; even when I wanted to leave, even when all I wanted in the world was to be gone, I stayed there and I danced his dance, because he was big and it was dark and there were so many people and I didn't know how to explain that I desperately wanted to leave in a way that didn't make it sound like I desperately wanted to leave him, because I didn't. I like him, and I could remember that I didn't want him to think that I didn't want to be there, but it felt like I couldn't remember why.

I'm not sure this makes any sense at all. It's everywhere-writing, the stuff I got halfway decent at last year, but I'm not sure it works here. I just remember the everywhere emotion.

I still don't understand, though, why I got so scared. No, that's not right---I know why I got scared. I just can't for the life of me understand why I suddenly stopped.

I fell asleep on Peter during the ride home. He gave he his jacket so I wouldn't freeze, and Vincent was sitting across from me, who I hadn't seen since his strange visit to math team just to say goodbye to me. There were couples everywhere, and his girlfriend kept touching him and he kept looking at me, so I closed my eyes. I vaguely recall Peter tucking me into him and sliding closer, because he was warm, and then next thing I can remember was the bus arriving at Cammie's house and then getting annoyed with Yuma for photographing my sleep.

The actual prom was very, very strange.

The Before (Kind of)

The experience of prom was substantially more fun than I thought it would be. Granted, I thought it was just going to be a giant puddle of awkward (which, notably, it stopped being---well, to the extent that Mr. Tall and Awkward is capable of being not awkward). The picture taking was fine, and I can't remember talking to my date's mother at all. I talked to my mother, and she threatened me with certain doom if I didn't go and pay some attention to said date (I had slipped out to watch her to Ginny's makeup), and I was perfectly civil and we were not altogether pathetic on the whole.

That paragraph makes no sense. I can tell that it makes no sense, but I am uncertain as to how to resolve the problem.

My dress was, I think, shorter than I'd previously realized. Everyone else looked gorgeous. I still think Cammie looked like a Grecian goddess of awesomeness.

I'm having trouble remembering little details and conversations. I can clearly remember Yuma bringing onion rings and mozzarella sticks for Ginny. I'm thinking that the gap between pre-prom and the time I got some solid sleep is long enough that I can't remember preprom.

Okay, I'll cover the regular prom later....yup. Lab today was fun. I got made fun of for skipping out before happy hour last week. Good stuff.

The Afternoon After

There are more posts---one about how I've only just realized that I'm leaving, at least one about prom---but I'm exhausted, so, for now, all you get is a transcription of the latest weird dream. This one occurred during my accidental three hour nap. Corrections to my atrociously written post-wakeup writing in italics.

I was at a hotel with Nyx, Cammie, and others (actually, I believe it was our prom group + Genie + Peter's mother and brother (who was named Reggie and does not, to my knowledge, actually exist)). I do not (written in journal as "donot") remember all of the mechanics of things. I know the three of us had been up to no good (I think there was swimming involved) and were covered in slimy blue stuff. Cammie was in the shower. The hotel was fancy. Nyx, who was in the midst of lecturing me about my need to be more spontaneous, declared that she was going skinny dipping.

"Where?" I asked, but she had already climbed out the window.

I stripped off and ran after her, clad only in Peter's tux jacket (which was long enough to make me perfectly decent, somehow) and carrying an orange towel. I rushed after Nyx, and she continued to iterate all of my flaws and all of the changes I should be making.

The road we were walking down turned into my street, and the hotel transformed into my house. We went in the direction of the culdesac. I saw Brian and asked where Nyx had went, but he didn't seem to know.  I rushed on. When I was nearing the end of the street, Peter showed up in front of me.

"You are not going to do this." Coincidentally, at that moment a police helicopter swooped over us. "See, it's illegal!" he finished, though we both knew that he didn't think the copter was at all related to me.

"No," I said. "I need to be more spontaneous, I need to be more spontaneous."

He tried to get me to put on more clothes, but I just kept saying no. He slid his arm over my shoulders and walked me around the neighbor's garden party, continuing to repeat that he wouldn't let me. We both ate food. I think he had me convinced. Then my mother woke me up.

Fantabulosity

Today started with getting to sleep in, so it really seemed good from the beginning. Unfortunately, my beloved youngest sister got into a screaming fight with my mom at the time my alarm would have gone off anyways, so my attempts at rest were thwarted.

On the plus side, I then spent many hours lolling about the house and being generally unproductive (and by unproductive, I mean "covered two more mini-units of vector review," obviously). Then I drove all the way to somewhat-far-off-town, successfully using the car's built-in GPS to locate the photography studio. It was easily identified by the nerdy looking kid wearing khakis and a blue shirt, just as ordered.

I derived a surprising amount of enjoyment from the photo-taking. I realize that the people there are supposed to go on and on about how beautiful the photograph-ee looks, but that doesn't mean that a mountain of compliments isn't fun. Posing with Rodney was probably more fun on the whole, though. We got lumped together after the photographer+assistants asked if we knew each other---not if we liked each other, mind you, just if we knew each other. This meant that as they posed us in various relations to each other, we got to make jokes at their expense, which more or just meant calling them crazy and then laughing a lot (you'd laugh to, if you were uncomfortable). There are also some photos of us making James Bond poses that I'd love to get ahold of at some point in the future.

Also, I met this cute guy from Tennessee who rides Tennessee walking horses (or something like that) professionally and wants to be a large animal vet when he grows up. I kind of really wanted to attempt to set him up with Kathrya, but then I found out that he is only a junior. Well, that and I remembered that Kathrya has a boyfriend, but these are minor details.

Later this evening, I went to movie night. It was a painful decision between settling down with a new way of thinking about projection vectors and going to watch A Fish Named Wanda, but I think I made the right decision. The movie was hilarious. Also, I got to meet Timothy, at long last. He is every bit as adorably nerdy as expected. I already want to be his friend, and he totally fits right into the group, which is lovely on the whole. He and Julie are colossally cute (I actually said to Yuma "they're like you and Ginny. It's adorable!", so I'm now officially on record on finding Yuma and Ginny cute rather than nauseating).

The evening ended with eight of us sitting hunched over in the back of Josh's car, eating ice cream out of the carton and discussing internet browsers in great detail. It was amazing. Nerdiness to the point of perfection.

The best terrible pun I can remember (I love puns so, so much) was Josh saying that Julie was covered in mud and therefore "so dirty." So much pun. So much wonderful.

Nyx also said, at one point, "this is so much more fun than getting drunk."

"Agreed," I replied.

"I really wouldn't know," said Brian.

It was then realized that none of us actually knew, but we nonetheless agreed that this sort of activity is in every way superior.

I love my friends.