Goodbye Summer '08

So Summer '08 is officially over.  It was kind of a weird feeling this summer because we all knew that this was the end of a lot of things and the start of even more new things.  It was terrifying and exciting all at once.  Following with tradition, we ended the summer at our booth at Vintage, and it was as amazing as ever.  But for me, this summer made me realize so many things.

I'm done with school.  It sucks, but I need to accept it and move on.  I realized that I can't rely on the safety net of class and work study and LehChew anymore, I can only rely on myself and my safety net of EP Ladies.  And trust me, that alone is a really sturdy safety net.  I'm really lucky.  But still, we're all going to move on and in the next couple of years we'll be moving all over the country, maybe even the world, and we'll be starting careers and getting married and having babies.  But as Jil and I were talking tonight, we both agreed that we were scared of ever having to work at keeping up our friendships.  The thing is though, I really don't think we'll ever have to.  Certain people in our group have come and gone but there is always the core of us that will never be torn apart.  Even if someday we go a year without talking, I know I can call Claudia or Jil of Carol and they will always be there.  Always.

So here are the things I have learned this summer.  I have learned that even though I tell people I don't want a boyfriend, I really do.  But I want the RIGHT boyfriend.  I want to be with someone who loves me the way I deserved to be loved and someone who I love the way THEY deserved to be loved.  Knowing me, the latter is more important and infinitely more challenging.  I want to not settle for anything less than I know I want or deserve- in anything.  I want a job that I will rock, I want a place of my own that I can feel at home in, I want to be surrounded by people that make me feel lucky to know them.

I know I talk about it a lot, but this is such a transition time for me and it's really scary.  They don't teach you this stuff in school and they don't have "A Talk" that your parents sit you down and discuss with you.  In a time like this, no matter who is around you, you are truly on your own.  It's scary but it's real and you have to find what works for you and what will make you happy.  Because in the end, as selfish as it may seem, you need to do what's right for you and in some ways only care about yourself in order to set a life out for you that is satisfying and rewarding.  I have gotten so much inspiration and life lessons from the people that I have loved and been friends with since we were in first grade, chosen to carry the sign in first grade for Mrs. Maybaum's class in the Halloween parade.  So here's what I'm going to do.  I'm going to start posting, bit by bit, The Sprinkles Story.  I'm going to let you in on the people and events that have made me, us, who we are today.  

Even though it went by intensely fast, this summer let me in on things that I know I deserve.  I went on one of the best vacations of my life with a group of people from the 'Berg that are amazing and funny and beautiful.  I got my heart stepped on once again while simultaneously slowly letting in someone that can either save me or break me.  I opened myself up to new possibilities by meeting people on my own without the backbone of friends.  I went out and got a job that I knew I wouldn't love but I also knew could teach me a whole mess of things.  I became closer to people that have only semi been in my life for, well, my whole life.  Specifically my sister.  At times I regret not getting close to her all these years but the timing just wasn't right.  But now, I can honestly say that not only is she my blood, she's my friend.  Someone that I can call at 4 in the morning and cry to or jump up and down ecstatically with.  My whole life I wanted a sister that was more than just someone who happened to share the same father as me and now I have it.  I have a piece of me that was missing for 22 years.

So now it's on to the next step.  I really have no clue what it is but I know what I WANT it to be and I am going to do whatever I can to make it happen.

Independence is the name of the game folks.  A cheering section would be greatly appreciated.  With signs.  And pom-poms.  And hot dogs and beer.  Feel free to tailgate.

The Experiment: Better To Have Loved And Lost Than Never To Have Loved At All

20 Days

So I'm kind of doing this thing that involves me temporarily quitting something that I've spent the majority of the past five years depending on.  By stopping this certain action, I'm hoping to get a few things out of it, two of which being respect for myself and respect from another person ("person" to be determined).  I've tried stopping this before but it never worked out, in fact, I don't think there is one thing like this that I have ever followed through with.  So I decided to give myself an incentive, a rewards system.  Every 20 days that I steer clear of this certain thing, I will both buy myself a present and forgive myself for one thing that I have done or thought in the past that I regret.  Well, today is my first 20 days.  I have no money so the present will have to wait, but I DO have something that I am ready to forgive myself for:

I forgive myself for beating myself up over the fact that I loved him for so long after he stopped loving me.

I Mean, I COULD Date You...Or I Could Go Mack It Out With That Asshole Over There.

Every girl wants to find a nice, sweet, caring guy to be with, right?  They want flowers and kisses on their forehead and their parents to absolutely adore the guy they bring home.  Well, I feel like I missed this day of Relationship School.  After many dates, and many attempts, I have found that I am completely and utterly unable to feel any kind of spark with a nice, clean-cut, "normal" guy.  I am totally that girl who is horrifically turned on by guys who treat me like crap.  Not that I'm saying I would ever put up with a guy who hit me or talked down to me, I'm talking about those guys that lead you on and, let's face it, are totally banging other girls on the side.  And of course, the more tattoos the better.  Piercings I could give or take.  But aesthetically-wise, I'm just not into the whole polo shirt and brown leather belt look.  And I want either a shaved head that I can incessantly rub or long curly hair that I twirl my fingers around.

Now, I realize that this love of douchebags is a habit I should probably break because ultimately, I'm not really trying to end up with a guy who "works" late at the office every night.  But for some reason, I just can't bring myself to get any kind of butterflies around a guy that I know would treat me amazing.  It's like I don't trust them.  Just like for the longest time I didn't trust guys with blonde hair.  Don't ask me why.  They just creeped me out.

So here's my question.

What is it about jerky guys that us girls find so appealing?  Why do we get a rush out of sitting by the phone, feeling absolutely miserable yet drastically hopeful, waiting for you stupid boys to call us?  And when you DO call us, it's most likely to cancel plans last minute.  There must be some kind of hormonal drive that makes us girls go from 0 to 60 every time we're lucky enough to receive a brief moment of attention from you.  When we're with you, all we do is bitch to our friends about how we wish you were nicer, but then when we find someone nicer, all of a sudden they're boring.  It's almost like a non-sexual version of never wanting to actually date the hoe at the frat party that everyone knows puts out after 3 Jack and cokes.

For example, tonight I went on this date (our second) with a really truly nice awesome guy.  But besides the fact that he's just too clean-cut for me, he's just TOO nice.  But THEN I think about how this is all so stereotypical of me because if this guy just had an arm sleeve and a buzz cut, yet still was as nice as he is now, I would probably be totally into him.  And at what age is it time to be like, you know what?  We are far too old to be playing this high school game of will-he-or-won't-he-call.  

I think what I need is a guy who, underneath his business suit, has my name tattooed across his ass.

Well Kids, It's Official.

In 10 or so hours (but whose counting), about 2,200 lucky bastards will start moving all of their Yaffa blocks and mini-fridges and skanky clothes back into the Berg.  Hopefully the freshman and sophomores were smart enough to load up on their class schedules now so they can have an easy breezy senior year, and hopefully the juniors and seniors realize that they have to soak in every damn minute of their last days at college.  I won't miss the classes or finals or papers, but I will miss WOW sticks and bagel bombs and Sandellas (big shock, I immediately think about food).  And skipping class to sit under Victor's Lament (which you have to admit you loved by the end of the 4 years) the second Allentown decided to let in a sliver of sunshine through the rain and snow.  And I'll miss being a freshman and thinking I was so cool because I knew a bunch of people at the Sig Ep parties.  And I'll miss being a senior and going to Woody's even though it is quite possibly the smallest bar in existence and you have to stand perfectly straight with your arms at your side if you want any chance of your beer not getting spilled.  And Woody's pizza...well, it speaks for itself.  Seriously though, how good does that sound right now...ugh, if you only knew.

So basically, to all you current undergrads, take advantage of the thrill that is back to school shopping and GQ and Garden Room chicken nuggets and tripping on those damn uneven bricks that someone thought would be a good idea to cover the floor of the CA with.  Unless that was just me, which is quite possible.  I have big feet.

In case you're looking for the class of '08, we'll all be slumming away at our part-time jobs that pay less than a Berg work study job.  But I'm not bitter.  I'm experienced.  Or something.

Reasons Why This Will Be The Best Year Of My Life

1)  I am going to live life for me and be happy for me, not for anyone else.

2)  I am going to wait for a guy who treats me the way that I know I deserve to be treated...and he treats me this way because he wants to, without any effort.

3)  I am going to saturate myself in the fact that I am surrounded by the most wonderful group of friends anyone could ever ask for.  A group of people that I am so enamored with that even when the world is crumbling down around us, we are there holding each other together.

4)  I am going to throw away any bad feelings towards my family.  I should realize how lucky I am that they are all alive and healthy and even though we don't always get along, I know they love me and will always always always be there for me.  

5)  I am going to listen to my mother when she tells me that something, or someone, is bad for me, because as much as I hate to admit it, she is always right.  Always.  And when she's not, she admits it and apologizes for it, even if it's 7 years later.

6)  I am going to stop worrying that I may have some dimples in my butt, or somedays my jeans may feel a little too tight.  I am going to believe that I am beautiful inside and out.

7)  I am going to be more selfless, and realize that ::gasp:: the world doesn't revolve around me.

8)  I am going to stick with a job even if I don't like it.  I am going to put my all into everything that I do because I know eventually it will pay off.

9)  I am going to get rid of all the toxic people in my life.  As much as I may have loved them or still secretly do, no one is worth the amount of tears they have caused me.

10)  I am going to embrace my mistakes and use them as building stones for this amazing year I have planned for me.

Oh God, He's Wearing....He's Wearing SHPANTS!!!!!

So yesterday was my 22nd birthday, or, as my dad pointed out, "yet another palindrome year".  Me and the ladies, including a special appearance by Bill, went up to Reeds which was well equipped with a ridiculously amazing cover band with a ridiculously amazing singer chick and a ridiculously sexy keyboardist who got Claud and I all hot and bothered when he started grabbing at his belt and singing some baby making music.  

However, as much as I love my girls and gorgeous chocolate keyboardists and bars on my birthday, the highlight of the night, and quite possibly my entire upcoming year as a 22 year old, was seeing real life shpants.

Shpants are exactly what they sound like: a little combo of shorts and pants.  Too long to be shorts, too short to be pants.  When we got to the bar, Jil immediately pointed out a delicious little nugget of a man sitting behind us.  He was just my type; tall, dark hair, facial hair, not too preppy but not too blahhh.  He kind of had a rugged Matt Nathanson thing going on.  We were very excited about our newly discovered Hot Kid, and made sure to blatantly look over at him as often as possible.  That is until we spotted him walking back to his seat from the bathroom.  From the waist up he was all lollipops and rainbows, but then, to our horror, below the equator he was wearing shpants.  Big, flapping in the wind, JEAN shpants.  Jil and I instantly turned toward each other and let out a horrified "OH MY GOD NO!"  I'm pretty sure the guy heard us.  But seriously, he shouldn't have been let out of the house like that.  But at least he wasn't wearing shoodles.  Or a coajack.  Both of which can be explained by you-tubing "Arj & Poopy".  Trust me on this one.

So there it is.  A shpantsy birthday.  I see it as good luck.

Dear Passive-Aggressive Diary, Today I Found Out Boys Really Do Have Cooties

Take THAT Bin Laden!!!!

Thank god for satellite phones, that's all I gotta say.  

:)

What's In A Name? A Steady Income And 401K.

Ok, so as you've probably come to realize, Alexis wants to be a writer.  I really can't imagine doing anything else, and for me, a fun thing to do with my free time is writing a story.  It's my little literary induced sport.  Some people kick around a soccer ball, I kick around adjectives and nouns.  I was driving somewhere with my mom the other day and out of nowhere she turns to me and goes, "I think you should change your name."

Obviously I was quite surprised considering she was the one who GAVE me my name.  But then she followed up with the reasoning that my last name is just a bit too Russian and that some people might have an aversion to buying a book written by someone with such a vodka induced moniker.  I told her I thought this was ridiculous, but then when I mentioned it to my sister she agreed.  The bottom line is that my name is too long and confusing and I guess some people with a giant stick up their ass might be intimidated by my fabulous russian self that could kick said ass any day of the week.  When I was having this conversation with my mom, I said sarcastically, "Well what the hell do you want me to be called, Alexis Elizabeth?" (this being my first and middle name).  Well dear sweet Patti just flipped for this and as she went on ranting and raving it occurred to me for the first time ever that there is a strong possibility that I will never be able to walk into a book store and see a book with my real first and last name on the shelves, just like I've always wanted.

So then when I was continuing this conversation with my sister and brother the other night, my sister told me that Alexis Elizabeth was only good if I were writing some big medical journal.  

"You need a name like Mary Higgins Clark," she told me, "that name alone is the only reason I started reading her books."  

Apparently my sister liked the soft femininity of Mary and the tough masculine sound of Higgins Clark.  All of this started making a lot of sense to me.  After all, what's more creative that coming up with your own name?

So Mike, Lisa, and I started coming up with possible names for me.  There was the idea (although really just a joke, but you'll get the point), of calling myself H.G. Wels (one L, not two), and writing a book called "The Slightly Translucent Man", instead of "The Invisible Man".  The drinks we were consuming at the time made this far more amusing than it is right now I'm sure.

So when I went home that night I started thinking about writing in general, and how most authors always seem to be quirky and eccentric and want to keep to themselves.  To this I say bullshit.  Writers are probably the most narcissistic breed out there.  We put ourselves into every single thing we write; fiction, non-fiction, whatever.  We want people to read it and we want people to ask questions and wonder if this is based on truth, and we want to seem like the most interesting, original, heart-breaking, wonderful person on earth.  Writers are simply actors who don't think they have a face pretty enough to be on camera.  I mean, when's the last time you've opened up to the back flap of the book where the authors always have that little picture of themselves and thought "Shiiiiiiit son, I'd tap that through Thursday."  Not to completely sell myself out as a girl, but you know that episode of Sex & the City where Carrie's shooting her book cover?  I think we should all take a page from that and start doing full on photo shoots for that little back-flap black and white picture.  Lay down on a bearskin rug, pose in a bubble bath, run through a field of daises, jump up and down on a trampoline, whatever.  Let's bring the sex appeal back into stories, shall we?

Dear Perez Hilton, Please Release My Daddy From Your Fabulous Clutches. Thank You. Love, Alexis

My father is on a celebrity gossip kick.  Everywhere I turn, he's there ready to hound me with the latest pop culture grab bag of useless information.  This morning he cornered me in the living room to have an in depth discussion on the Olsen twins.

All Dr. Phil Books Are 80% Off. In Fact, Here's Ten Bucks. Take Them.

There is one thing that every recent post-grad English major knows he or she will have to endure at some point in their life.  It is something that is demeaning and humiliating and goes against every motivated writer cell in their body.  It is on the same page as graduating from the Culinary Institute of America and then becoming the head chef at Denny's.  It is, of course, working at Barnes & Noble.

Now, I for one am a huge fan of Barnes & Noble.  Bookstores make me happy and ever since I was in elementary school all I wanted was to one day walk into this bookstore and see my name on the shelves.  My last boyfriend and I used to go and hang out at the Barnes & Noble near the mall, and we would get coffee and I would read trashy novels while he read metaphorical psychosis type books that made him look super smart and me look super girly.  Those times were hands down my favorite of our whole relationship.

But still, when all you want in life if for your books to be sold at a certain place, it's a little hard to get yourself to work at one; especially one that is running thick with the entire population of your graduating high school class who four years later are equally as clueless about the real world as you are.

Any time I have gone to see a writer talk or gone to some speech about getting published, the first thing they always say is, "If you want to be a writer, work at a book store."  All of us English and writing majors know that this is an inevitability.  It's just that, well, we don't want to.  We don't want to be stocking shelves and dealing with miserable old men who can't find Reagan's autobiography, when we know that we have the potential to be squatting in front of the same run down laptop that chugged along during our four years of college, writing something that would knock the literary world on its ass.  I remember a week or two ago my friend Kristina (what up yang!) who has been in every single writing class with me since day one of freshman year, im'ed me and said, "I just applied to Barnes & Noble AND Borders."  It was tough to hear, but I knew that we would have to break eventually.

My closing statement?  This morning I applied to two different Barnes & Nobles and I wouldn't be surprised if I went out looking for a third one tomorrow.

We're JUST Pretty Enough To Be This Stupid: Vol. 3 (Beach Week '08 Edition)

 "In Atlantic City, every night is Saturday night." -Cailen

"Except for Tye Dye Tuesday.  Then it's just Tuesday." -Alexis

"I HAVE AN IDEA!!!" -Ashley, while in the bathroom

"Oh boys.  Boys and their silly parts." -Amy

"You can't do that to me!" -Cailen

"Why not?" -Craig

"Cause your nipples don't matter!" -Cailen

"I'm full of glee you crazy bitch." -Amy to Ashley

(clapping) "Let's fuck Amy!" -Cailen, while playing fuck the dealer

"I'm gonna pee on all of you." -Amy

"I'm not friends with ugly people, let's face it!" -Ashley

"Where should I put my beans..." -Ashley 

"I've never worn concealer a day in my life." -Ashley

"Well aren't you just too perfect for words.  Get out of my mirror you fuckin douche!" -Amy

"Aw look, two big people attached to each other." -Amy

"You only live once..." -Amy

"You might as well have butt sex." -Alexis

"Um, the prince is taking a very long time to pee." -Amy

(In the 50 degree ocean after seeing a bathing suit on the AC boardwalk the night before with an intensely long crotch)

"I wish I had a long vagina." -Alexis

"No that would be worse.  I wish I had an exceptionally short vagina." -Amy

"I'm drinking high school.  High school in a can." -Ali, drinking a Bud Light

"Amy I can hear it!  Can you hear it?!  The pee?!" -Alexis, peeing on the beach while someone was puking in the bathroom

"You know what?  I'm just so happy and content right now." -Amy

"There's a dead bird.  Are you still happy?" -Ashley

"Hey Ashley, remember when I was happy and you showed me dead things?" -Amy

Once Upon A Time The Princess Woke Up And Realized Things Were All Wrong

There comes a point in everyone's life where you have to figure out what you want to work hard to keep, and what you want to leave behind.  I think I'm at that point.