"It must be that we build on memories and make them more than they were."

I have a confession to make.  I have had no idea what to do with this blog lately.  

I used to post once a week, at least, but those posts are so trivial when I re-read them now. I ramble about, like, tacos and maybe introduce some people in my life.  I would just kind of collect all of my thoughts over the course of a few days and weave them into a nicely arranged monologue.  Now I have Twitter for that, so in a stupid way, I haven't seemed to collect enough thoughts to put together a blog in a while.  It sounds harsh and staunchly un-intellectual phrased that way, but what am I going to do?  I think I just need to get back into the habit of blogging.  

Lololol. Let's go murder the Bruins next.

Summer would be the time for that, since literally all I have to occupy my time with is supporting the Rangers, answering the phone at China Garden, and occasionally teaching music lessons.  

Due to overwhelming popular demand (when someone cares enough to ask why I haven't blogged, I feel like an Internet celebrity) I'll start blogging again and just make it up as I go along.  To start with, here's a series of amusing and totally insignificant things that have happened in my life as I think of them while looking around my room.



Not all that long ago, my friends and I used to play Hot Potato, but using Delia as the potato.

My fourteen year-old brother's take on politics: "It would've been terrible if we elected Mitt Romney!  Just look at his name--MITT.  That reflects baseball.  He would have erased hockey from existence!"

We've vacationed at Woodloch Pines ten times and we're still excited for the next time we go (eighty-seven days at last count).  Also, I have four gold medals, a silver, and a bronze.  Most importantly, we won gold in the Scavenger Hunt, as everybody ought to know by now.

Before I started keeping a journal on the computer, I filled up six books by hand.  I started keeping my first diary in 1999.  My first entry reads: "Today is the last day of December.  Today is Christmas morning.  We are going to Ant Rooth and Unkle Gorg's house.  We are now going to Ant Angala and Unkle Madyo's house.  We are now going home.  I am now going to bed." I like to think my spelling has gotten better but I guess my narrative style hasn't really changed all that much.

I keep losing interest
and forgetting about it.

I still haven't finished reading the Chronicles of Narnia.

One time, about ten years ago, Deels and I were messing around and throwing the hand towel at each other in the bathroom.  I threw the towel in the open toilet by accident.  We panicked.  I plucked it out, folded the wet parts underneath and pretended it never happened.  Nonni told me that she and her younger sister, Aunt Maria, did the same thing when they were kids!  The only differences were that it was a pillow through an open window into a barrel of water, which I guess is pretty much the 1940's Belgium equivalent of the same story.

Half the fun was dressing like princesses.

I still have all sorts of paraphernalia from Sweet Sixteens.  There are a bunch of leis hanging on my closet door, at least 20 different-colored beaded necklaces hanging on a hook, and a whole section of my sock drawer devoted to Kanye glasses, customized chocolate bar wrappers, and all the other free DJ handouts.

In two years of studying in Boston, I never had to kill a spider.  After being home for a week, I'd already killed two.  It's good to be back.

Delia and I shared a room up until I was turning sixteen.  We had matching bedspreads that went with the light purple walls.  Then we redecorated the Computer Room downstairs and I moved into it early in 2009.  Deels and I each got to repaint our rooms and pick out our own bedspreads.  Without consulting each other, we accidentally painted our separate rooms the same color, turquoise.  

The tickets to all the Broadway shows I've seen are hanging on my bulletin board and their playbills have a special box all to themselves: Beauty and the Beast, Wicked, Hairspray, Legally Blonde, Rent, Chicago, How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, and Cinderella.  In retrospect, they're mostly girly musicals.  So sue me.  (That's a Guys and Dolls joke.  I keep myself so entertained.) Never mind all the school plays and off-Broadway things I've seen/played in.  I don't understand people who can't appreciate a good musical.

I have a flamingo collection.  There are seven flamingoes in my room and I feel negligent for forgetting all of their names over the years.  

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Midnight Premiere
Summer 2011

Sometimes I forget how much I love Harry Potter.  Then I find old Harry Potter-themed bookmarks, stickers, trading card games, a watch, newspaper and magazine clippings, buttons, keychains, pennants, folded-up posters, duplicates of some of those posters, and trivia books when I clean out my desk and drawers.  Then I remember that all the bindings on my hard-cover set of the series are broken from reading them so many times.  Then I remember what a dork I am and all is well in the world.

My name-tag lanyards from when I worked at Chuck E. Cheese's are still hanging on my door knob.  I have no idea why I don't just get rid of them.

Predictably, there's Northeastern debris everywhere.  A coffee mug.  Countless Husky-themed sweatshirts.  The rock with the Northeastern "N" painted on that Andy was so fond of stealing.  Books I acquired over the school year that I can't find room for.  Leftover things from my dorm that we didn't store in the attic.  A box of memorabilia like Symphony tickets and doodles done by friends.  And of course, all the pictures proving it wasn't all just a fantastic dream.  

This room holds all kinds of memories, and I can't wait to see what the memories from this next chapter of my life will be like.