Previously on Heroes

I think i'm starting to despise my key card. In fact, this may be the truest emotion i have felt here yet, and i don't mean to downplay the rest of my feelings thus far. I have in fact felt famished, stuffed, pissed off, happy, and lonely since i've arived, but this animosity blows the rest out of the water. Every time my card happens to be forgotten in my room or elsewhere, i notice that it isn't MY absent mindedness that left my card somewhere, but some hurtful alterior motive of the electrical strip. Now that i have finally trained myself to carry it with me, i am overcome with a surge of energy, and feel that the card is physically being repelled from my body, but bound in the protective container that is my pocket. I see very little use for the device. One might suggest it could serve as a way to get into the building, but i have noticed that if you look pathetic enough, which isn't a challenge for me as a freshman, someone will open the door. And then there's the "but what about bathrooms" argument, which can be easily shot down with the use of the unisex facilities that can be found in every hall on every floor.
I've noticed that anytime i need to go back to my dorm room, i am consistently overcome with the need to use the restroom. It may have to do with gravity as i walk up my one flight of steps, or maybe a psychological unconcious hope that i'll run into someone i know in the hall, but either way, nature is nature and a girl's gotta go. Today the urge presented itself once again, and as i waddled in the direction of the toilet, that pesky little card made it's bold i-hate-you statement once again. Enough was enough, and i worked my way towards the handle of the unisex enterance. But wait. What's the etiquette for dropping a deuce? Should i spare the other 50% of the population my possible smell and just inflict the women of Prescott 2nd? Or could i sneek in and out unnoticed, and blame it one an evil male? Before my decision could be made by key card had somehow lifted my hand and i had turned the nob without knowing. I was in, and there was no turning back. Luckily, i had not been the first to encounter this problem, which i realized as soon as the door swung open and i was thrown back by a waft of a stench from before. This is not a unisex bathroom, as the sign would lead you to believe, but a place made for a poo.
Today, something inside of me flipped. Yesterday i didn't yet feel that i was at home. Last night i slept horribly, and this morning i had anticipated a wave of cynicism and excessive eating. In fact, that's what may have made me more settled. I spent a solid portion of today in my bed watching Heroes and glaring at the people outside from my second story window. Eventually i forced myself to get out, and saw what it was like to be those fancy-pantsed i-go-outside types. After some free food and company, i came back to the courtyard and read what could have easily been my diary published by a 32 year old gay man. He, and i, unwaveringly decided that living is highlighted by the unwanted moments in time. The best thing to do is to take them in, and write about them.

Fit damnit

Oh hey readers. Welcome to the mind of Rachel 2.0 - Collegiate edition. So far i've been pretty behind on logging my many thoughts into the semi-permanent capsul that is the internet since i've gotten here, but i'm hoping with time the 2.0 version will be like Sims Superstar or something equally epic. Maybe i'm overestimating the my popularity. Either way, when i look back on these postings on some rainy, or most likely blizzardy; seeing as i'm now a michigander; day, i'll be able to see the difference in what i write. Recapping the college experience so far may go a little something like this. Marni, move-in, Marni and company, dining, Marni, shopping, Marni, greenwood... i think you can see a pattern. What's the word i'm looking for? ohh, co-dependent. Actually things here are great, but i'm still lacking that vital comfort that camp and/or portland brought. I miss those hours i can spend alone, and knowing that i can always call certain people for something to do, no matter what it is, or when it would be happening. I miss bitching and moaning, because no one likes a complainer right off the bat (though if this whole "be yourself" motto is actually all its cracked up to be, maybe i should show the people i meet the real me, rough cynical edges and all). I miss being sick of knowing where i'm going and having to explore the untapped areas of the city, i miss needing a smoke because some people are just too much to handle, i miss superbad-esk searches for alcohol becuase it's just too easy to get drunk here, i miss every little crappy, frustrating, mediocre, sedated, difficult, dirty part of my life back home that i hadn't quite parted with because i didn't realize that they'd be missed. I'm not miserable at all, i just want to be able to be. The other night i lay in my bed trying to control the ridiculous amount of information filtering through my limbic system and couldn't find comfort. That session of constant tossing and turning felt like a description of my feelings at that moment to the T. I wasn't unhappy that i couldn't sleep, but that just wasn't what i expected to be doing for so long. I became so desperate that (i'm shocked that i'm about to admit to this horribly trite and dull action) i actually tried to count sheep. Sheep for fucks sake. I got to about 24 when i realized what a giant moron i was, and gave up trying to force it. After another 3 hours my body's better sense took over and i finally passed out. I just don't want to force it.

come on snake eyes

Summer has been like a cheap, ongoing board-game. Process of elimination helped me put my finger on the exact fun-filled game that i'm thinking of, but just for shits and giggles, lets recap the decision-making process. First i thought that maybe, despite the cliche, my life could be LIFE. But right off the bat with the whole "get a real job, house, husband, and children" i realized that LIFE was not so liveable. At that point, in my morning cynacism, i moved onto Sorry, thinking that maybe its apologetic nature would suit summers mistakes. Turns out not apologizing is more fitting for me than admitting i am wrong. It's one of my best qualities you know. Clue seemed too riveting, Candyland seemed too delicious, and i'm far too passive aggressive to dominate anything, so RISK was out of the question. Desperately scrambling, i went through any and all other rainy-day games that i could: Rummikub - more fitting for my grandma. Trivial Pursuit - i'm not well-rounded enough. Dominos - too communist. Backgamman - what the fuck? Eventually after some deliberation, it hit me. My summer was Monopoly. It was perfect. Monopoly, as far as i'm concerned, is the definitive, be-all and end-all of board-games. It has everything you need, both luck and strategy. It's competetive nature brings out the true colors of its participants, always leaving the strongest link on top, and only ends with frustration and/or a whole lot of tears. Plus, as Dane Cook so eloquently describes, this is anyone 4 hours into a game of monopoly. "fuck this game! it's 4 in the morning grandma, YOU WIN! plus where'd you get those pink 50s you cheating whore". Welcome to summer 08. Unfortunately i think i've hit the "go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars" moment in my estivation. Throughout the game so far i have been fairly strategic, choosing my moves as precisely as possible. So far my game has been played with very little slip-ups. The occasional bad card from the treasure chest has cost me temporary set backs, but it's always been compensated for through my rail-road profits or boardwalk turn-ins. It all happened so suddenly. One bad roll of the dice, completely in the hands of fate, and i'm in the dog-house. I don't have the cash for enough bail, and while the justice system gives me one low-probability attempt at scoring freedom, my competitors are racking up all the primo property. Ok, my hyperbole has been spread as thin as it can be by now, and i'm just grasping for straws. What i'm really talking about is that i usually know exactly what to do, but here i feel like it's out of my hands. I know you read this, and may not appreciate my poorly constucted analogy, because it's not fitting at all, but i want you know know that i don't know what i'm supposed to do from here. When you care about someone, you take what they give you, even if it's complete shit. I'm sorry if that's what i've been dishing. Honestly, i'll miss you like crazy.

Merman pop, merMAN!

As i embark on this new journey to independence and discovery and all that sugar-coated goodness that a protected, simulated-reality, college environment provides, i find more and more that i need something as individual as i am becoming to be solely mine. No one elses, but just Rachels, to have and to hold. What a simple task, one might say. Anti-conformity; it can't be that hard. Well, let me tell you friends, there's a reason the phrase is against the grain. Here i am, nearing the end of my summer as a highschooler, and i am spawning up stream. Not only is the current kicking my ass, but my gills are all muddled up by the goo and filth of useless commercial ideas that society has generated. I've been racking my brain for things to add to better my life and self so that i am the most Rachel Sherman that i can be right now, but i can't seem to find salvation in anything. Maybe i need something new, i thought. Self-mutilation? Paint the holy temple that is my body with an inky, impromptu tattoo? Poke another 5 unnecessary holes somewhere in my skin? Raincheck for when i'm not so impulsive. How about through music? Discover a new band or singer, some diamond in the rough, and follow them cross country on all their tours? Fuck that, maybe i'll start a band and tour on my own. Now an important sidenote for all those who aren't in my head is that i actually thought about that last idea. I'm honestly impressed at how long the proposal floated around in my brain before my 4-fold reason of why not to start a band put me back on track. 1) i'm not musically gifted. i don't write songs, sing, and i can dabble poorly on the piano, which no longer is an individual feeling to me, because everyone who is anyone can do a little dabble. 2) i don't know which hard-core drug would suit me best 3) i know nothing about music theory and 4) i haven't left the fucking bathroom in the passing 30 minutes, you think i can tour? After music, i moved on to the following genres. Jewlery? too pricey. Food? too lazy. Clothing? too naked. All my options are dwindling rapidly. Then i approached it from the flipside. Instead of adding something new, maybe i'll take out something old. After purging half of my closet into an overflowing trashbag, i ended up with half the wardrobe, but no real nirvana. It took some serious thinking, and a couple games of tetris to realize that i think i have to find some redemption through literature. Say what? That's right. Literature. I have spent 18 years of my short-lived, unlearned life avoiding my a-e-i-o-u's, and now karma has come to bite me in the ass. I'm not sure if it's a change of wind or heart, but i have found that reading... can be fun. And not only that, wait till you hear this one, it is informative and enlightens you. Who knew? Throughout the summer i've gone through my fair share of David Sedaris novels, and am moving on to equally quirky, satirical writers. No matter how bizzare the stories seem to be, and how far off course they are from anything in my life, i can consistently relate to what is being said, or mostly, how the writing is presented. The more i read, the more i feel like i could write. Oh, it's a definate change in the wind says i. Untill i think further about my tentative career pathway, i'll leave you with the immortal words of Zoolander: who am i?

aaaaand scene.

If i were to express the last couple of days in accordance to my generation, i think i would have to utilize the age old adage, and by adage i mean acronym, WTF? I don't want to delve into anything too thick for me to flounder in, partly because i don't want to slander the holy name of Bnai Brith camp across the internet like i was so eloquently reminded at staff training, and partly because i don't know how to feel. The only thing i can decide on is that i am completely displaced at this point. With one of my best friends gone (and my only male ventilation system may i remind you), my co counselor out, and a recent but lovely good camp friend along with them, i can't seem to get my feet back on the ground. My poor campers (who i have officially fallen in love with in the most appropriate way possible) now are mommy-less (yes, i thought of myself as the father and cam as the mama bird) and have to deal with all the weird shit that i am spitting at them as a defense mechanism. They are eating it up, but a bystander, and any breathing, thinking, post-pubescent being would see that i'm acting like a freak. All the hype from yesterday has calmed down, but i can't stop myself from looking both back and forward when all i should be doing is focusing on the now. I can't stop replaying the countless hours off, the tears, the car cramming outside of KOA, the irrationality, the attempts to clear things up and the unfinished goodbyes in my head. I know that in the end i will always love this place, but right now this is the last place i want to be. It's just so surreal. I mean, the majority of my childhood that i can remember was written or founded here. All my best friendships were initiated or have blossomed in these cabins, at this dining hall, through the poor sewage system, during frigid showers, and on the rough grass of the infamous hill that kicks my ass year after year every time i have to scale it. In summary, this place and these people are my home, so these feelings of contempt make it feel foreign. Maybe i should join the dishwashing staff. Ouch, that was an unnecessary rude BB camp comment. Disregard it please. I'm in desperate need for a sesh of Clueless in my bed and a box of honey bunches of oats. And to stop myself from growing another vagina due to that ridiculously girlish routine i just admitted. In the play of my BB camp summertime life, this is where the music would escalate, i would drop to my knees and scream out the last definitive words that would echo throughout the theater... CAAAAAAMEEERRYYYYNNNN! Curtain drops.
On a brighter note my roomate facebooked me, and so i am officially starting the real college process: stalking the girl i'm about to scare shitless. I wonder if she has a toaster, because i sure do.