Why College Kids Love Getting Mail

Greetings and Happy Valentine’s Day, squadlings!

By now, I have adjusted pretty well to life in my dorm: I know which showers are slightly less disgusting and have better water pressure than others, I know exactly how long it takes me to get to my classes (4 minutes, thank you), and I know that college kids freakin’ love getting mail. 

When we would get mail at home, it was usually some type of bill, a letter from school saying your tuition is due, or something stupid from a rip-off honor society you’ve been asked to join (yes, I’m in one). Getting mail here is actually interesting.

Usually, I watch my friends walk away with pizza coupons or things we’ve all ordered off Amazon that we KNOW we can’t afford, but sometimes, it’s cards, care packages, or even letters from other friends.


We moved. Some of us, a long way. We left behind the life we grew up with and started over in a new place. Getting mail shows us that people didn’t forget about us. troy-community-emotions

So far, in the mail, I’ve gotten a shitload of useless crap I ordered from Amazon and eBay, laptop stickers, new sheets curtesy of my mom, a Pillow Pet keychain that holds ID cards (which is actually very convenient, 10/10 would recommend), and two cards from my aunt.

The real thrill is getting package slips, but of course, that’s only happened with crap I’ve ordered from Amazon and eBay (I got a laptop case from eBay because my dumb ass dropped my laptop from my lofted bed, cracked my old case, and dented my laptop. Good times). 

So, the moral of the story for my family and friends reading this is SEND ME THINGS.

Good day, squadlings.

Why I Keep Going Home

Greetings, squadlings!

By now, I am in my third week of my first semester at my new college. I don’t mind it; the work load isn’t as terrible as I expected, and I’ve made quite a few friends here. That being said, I’ve already gone home once, and I’m going home again on Friday (today is Wednesday).

You may be wondering, based on past posts explaining why I needed to get out of my hometown, why I keep going home. Let me preface this by saying my hometown is not the reason why I keep going home.

Growing up, I was never away from home. I had such bad separation anxiety that I wouldn’t even go to sleepovers. Summer camp was never even brought up-we all just knew it would never happen. Because of this, you’re probably wondering why I chose a university three hours from home.

My father was raised in the town I go to school in. I wanted to go to a new place, but also someplace I was familiar with. Having spent time here as a kid, I’m familiar with the town itself, so it was a new, yet not totally new adventure for me.

But that’s beside the point.


I keep going home for a number of reasons; I love my friends here, but I need to get away sometimes. It’s nothing against them, it’s just me.

I have two dogs back home. My doggos are my sons, and I worship them. I go home because I miss them.

I also have six brothers and sisters back home. One of them goes to college an hour from home, and we’re both going home this weekend. It’s nice to have them to go back to.

And then comes my parents. I’ve always been very close to my mom. I talk to her MORE than once a day. This move has probably been harder on her than it has been on me. I have new people to distract me from not being at home, she has one less person at home. My dad has reason to come up north to see me, being that his mom lives here, but it’s still nice to go home and see him, too.

I miss my family, that’s why.

It has nothing to do with my hometown, or the fact that I hate my new school, or anything like that. I like my new school. I just miss my family and I want to go see them. Being cramped in a dorm sucks. It’s nice to have my own house, where I can shower without wearing shoes or chase my dog around.

So, with that being said, I’m off to pack to head home this weekend.

See you soon, squadlings.

10 Things I’ve Learned By Living In a Dorm

What I do instead of Music homework: blog.

Greetings, squadlings!

As you all know, I’ve officially transferred out of my community college and into a four-year university! Huzzah!

I like it here! It’s a beautiful campus, I’ve made friends with loads of people in my building, and my classes all seem ok (apart from my two hour lab every Tuesday, CRIES). 

Having transferred midyear, I moved into a dorm. I live on an all girls floor, so it’s not too bad. That being said, here’s ten things I’ve learned in my first week in a dorm:

1. Teenage girls shed more hair than Sheepdogs.

Like, YIKES. There is hair everywhere. On the sinks, on the shower walls, in the laundry room, it’s endless. Seriously, we’re animals. tumblr_oexthvhejl1smgq1ro1_500

2. Go to the lobby/lounge. Just do it.

If you transfer midyear like I did, you’re not gonna meet anyone by just leaving your door open. Sorry, I tried. So, one day I went on down to the lobby of my building, and BOOM. I met literally every single friend I have here in my lobby. JUST GO.lobby-snacks

3. The beds are not as bad as everyone says they are.

Having a Twin XL is not some awful thing. Just get a mattress pad (I recommend a 1.5in memory foam one) and you’ll be fine. The space is fine. You’re just one person (and, if you’re like me, a million stuffed animals).


4. That being said, there are pros and cons to lofted beds. 

My bed is now six feet tall. I am not used to that. I have stopped hitting my head on the ceiling as often as I used to, but if you’re new to college and you have a lofted bed, beware…and watch your head. Also, making/putting sheets on the bed is about to get a whole lot harder. Climbing into bed is a struggle. Getting up to pee becomes a daily battle. However, once you’re in bed, you have all that space to yourself. No one on the floor can see if you pull out the teddy bear you were too embarrassed to bring to college (or, if you’re like me, you have all your stuffed animals lined up on your bed). It rules. Just don’t sit up too fast.


5. Privacy? Lol, what’s that?

Guess what? Your bathroom is a public bathroom now. You’re getting ready in front of your entire hall/wing. You wanna get dressed in your room? Betcha ten bucks your roommate is in there. You’re screwed. 5ilizuu

6. The showers are just as gross as everyone says they are.

Dear GOD, get shower shoes. GET THEM. Those showers are awful. Trust me, your toes will slip out of the shoes eventually and then you just have to sit back and wait for the infection to slowly kill you, because you know it will.


7. Get all the storage supplies you can.

Bins, those plastic drawer things, baskets, you name it, you need it. Seriously. Dorms are small, and you need places to put all your crap.


8. You will miss your pets, family, friends, etc. more than you think you will.

I’m only three hours from home, and I miss everything WAY more than I thought I would. I moved here a week ago today, and I’m already going home on Friday because I miss my dogs too much. Prepare yourself.


9. Living on campus has pros and cons. 

Being able to leave for class two minutes before it starts is great. Dining hall food is not.


10. Bring food. Lots and lots of food.

The dining hall is far, and the food is meh. Bring your own food. BRING IT. 6358385238963247871464835004_emma20stone20food

Overall, dorms are not as terrible as people say they are. I’m off to bed, pray I don’t hit my head on the ceiling.

Wish me luck, squadlings!

And So It Begins…

Greetings, squadlings!

I’ve officially moved into my dorm at my university! My roommate doesn’t arrive until Saturday, so I’ve got the place to myself for a couple more nights.

I’ve taken the move easier than I thought I would. I miss my family and my dogs, but I would say it’s ok here.

I’ve come to realize that I took a lot of things for granted at home. For example, I’ve never hit my head on a pipe while making my bed. I’ve never had to stand on a desk just to get in my bed. I’ve never had to take the fastest shower of my life because I was so disgusted at how nasty the shower itself is. I’ve never had to walk up an endless hill just to get food (my university is famous for its hill). 

I miss my dogs. I’ve cried once since getting here, and that was after Facetiming my mom and seeing my dog. To be honest, though, it was the beeping noise that my fridge made in the background that made me cry. I don’t miss my hometown by any means, personally I was never that much of a fan, but my dogs and my family are back there.

The fact that I’m alone probably isn’t helping. Once my roommate arrives and I get distracted with school and having a friend here, I feel like I’ll get more used to it.

There was an event for transfer students tonight, a little get-together for new members of the residence halls. Though it was up the hill, I made the trek to a random dorm I’ve never been in and played Uno with some random girls. Most of them were exchange students; two girls from Scotland, one from England, another from Africa and one from China. There was one girl who had also transferred from a community college from Michigan. I got her phone number, and currently we’re texting about how awful dorm showers are.

I’ve been calling my mom more than I thought I would. I’ve Facetimed her a few times, mainly because I’m just sitting in my dorm and literally no one has moved back in for the new semester yet. The only person (besides those I met at the transfer party) I’ve talked to since I got here is my Resident Assistant.

I couldn’t go without a dog for more than 24 hours. I have my stuffed animals that look like my dogs, but I had to get the real thing. Ok, not the REAL real thing. I bought a planter at Shopko that’s shaped like a dog. I’ve named him Sparky, and he’s sitting on top of my storage bins. As lame as this sounds, it’s actually kind of comforting to “come home” to a “dog”.

Honestly, I’m pretty fricken bored being here by myself. I hope some people will start arriving for semester soon.

Wish me luck, squadlings!

And Here We Are Again…

Greetings, squadlings.

Let me get right to the point: I’m only 19, so I’d be lying if I said I know a lot of people who have died. There’s both of my grandfathers, my uncle, some great aunts/uncles I barely knew, a high school teacher…But recently, I’ve been hit with a triple death whammy.

There was my studio director, whom I blogged about a while back. That one still stings. I find myself thinking about her quite often.

There was my neighbor, and I admit, I barely knew him. I guess him dying around the same time as my studio director (and having his funeral on the same day) is why I find him on my mind from time to time. I know his grandchildren well; I’ve gone to school with all of them and worked with his grandson.

That, however, is beside the point today.

Let me tell you about a man named John, or, as I knew him, JP.

JP worked with my mom at one of her former jobs. What he did, I have no idea. I don’t even know what my mom did. They met in 1991, I was born in 1997.

Long after JP retired and my mother moved onto another job, JP stayed in her life. He was a nice guy; a classic, tall old man who wore sweaters pretty much every time I saw him. Over the past few years, I had been joining my mother on her outings with JP, be it going out to breakfast or grocery shopping or just hanging out with him, I started tagging along when I was about fourteen. JP had no wife or children, so my mom would hang out with him.

JP was funny. He had this charisma about him that you don’t see in a lot of people nowadays. For example, one time when we were out to breakfast, JP looked at the food I had on my plate, looked up at me, and said “You eat like a linebacker.” Now, granted, most people would be offended by that. I thought it was hilarious. You can’t help but laugh when a 90-something year old man tells you that you eat like a linebacker. Frankly, I took it as a compliment.

Over the past few years, JP’s health had been slipping. He couldn’t hear well anymore, and he was forgetful. One time, my mother and I went to the senior apartments where JP lived to go to breakfast with him, and he was still in bed-he had forgotten we were coming and slept in. I would ask him how old he was, and he wouldn’t know. I would ask what year he was born, he wouldn’t remember. He would think his long-deceased sisters and parents had moved away and were avoiding him: “They moved up north. That’s where they put ya when ya get old.” 

I guess you get the gist that JP died.

We hadn’t seen him for a while; things have been pretty crazy these past few months. My mom mentioned him a few times, but we never really had the time to set up a breakfast date with him again.

Tonight, my mom called me on her way home from work, and mentioned she hadn’t seen JP in a while. I knew his health was deteriorating rapidly, and he was old (92 years, to be exact). I don’t know what possessed me to say “Maybe he died.” 

My mom was silent for a minute. JP didn’t have his own house anymore-he had sold it a few years back and moved into one of those senior living apartment things. Since we weren’t family members, if something happened to him, we wouldn’t be alerted of it. Then, my mom said, “Google it.” 

With my mom still on the phone, I typed JP’s full name into Google, along with the city we live in to narrow the search.

Boom, obituary. 

JP died on Sunday. It’s Wednesday now. He was 92 years old.

Had my mom not mentioned him on her way home from work, we never would have known. My mom would have tried to call him later next week, and lord knows what would have happened then.

JP’s funeral is on Friday, and I plan on going. JP knew that I’m transferring schools, and I leave in a week from today. I wonder, if he had been of sound mind towards the end, what he would have said to me. I wonder what he would have said when I told him I made the Dean’s List for Fall 2016 at my current college.

I’ll talk to you ASAP, squadlings. Wish me luck.

Rest in Peace, JP. June 17th, 1924-January 8th, 2017


Happy 2017, squadlings!

2017, especially the start of it, is going to bring a lot of changes. Hell, it’s been less than 24 hours, and it already has.

As y’all know (or if you don’t, read about it heremy grandmother sold her house that she has lived in for 50 years. She closed on the house on December 30th, and it officially belongs to a young couple now, named Megan and Mark (I think, I don’t remember). I met them on the closing date, but to be honest, they really didn’t seem too interested in our family or the history of the house. Whatever, that’s their problem.

Our family made our mark on the house before we left; my cousins and I managed to take the bell off the back of the door that my grandfather had placed there to alert him when one of his eight children came home in the middle of the night. Technically, my cousins and I “share custody” of the bell, and my cousins have it now. I guess there’s a weird sense of comfort in knowing that someone in our family has the bell.

We also wrote our names in places around the house (don’t worry, not in noticeable, heavily populated areas). We wrote on the back of a post in the garage and on the wall behind the furnace in the basement. I would post pictures, but they all contain our real names. We basically just signed our names. My brother, cousins, mother, and two aunts all left our mark on the house that left such a big mark on us.

Peace out, 247.


Aside from the closing of the house, as I’m sure you all know, Carrie Fisher died.

I don’t know why I was so upset about her death, honestly. I grew up watching Star Wars with my brother, and it was a big part of my childhood. My mother’s favorite movie is When Harry Met Sally, so I also grew up watching her in that.

RIP, Princess Leia. carrie_fisher_princess_leia_by_dave_daring-d5laxr7

The biggest change 2017 is going to bring is the fact that, in just 17 days, I’m moving.

I’ve -repeatedly- talked about how I’m transferring out of my community college and heading to a university three hours from home, and in just 17 days, that’s where I’m off to.

Honestly, I’m ready to leave my hometown. I thought, as the day approached, I would be feeling more heartsick about leaving, but I’m not. Yeah, I’m gonna miss my dogs, my brothers, my sisters, my few friends who are still here, and my parents, but honestly, I’m ready to go.

I don’t even know if I can say I’m excited to leave. I wouldn’t say excited is the right word. I mean, I’m still going to be going to school, and school sucks. I guess all I can say is I’m ready. 

Wish me luck, squadlings!


Greetings squadlings!

The time has come. I’m officially done with finals, meaning I am officially no longer a student at my community college. The countdown begins to attending a four-year university.


My move in date is January 18th, 2017. 37 days. I have 37 days to put my entire life into boxes and move three hours from home, all on my own, and start my life in a dorm on campus.

I’m still kind of numb about moving, honestly. I’ve seen my dorm room, met my roommate, gone to orientation, quit my job…but the reality of it all hasn’t really sunk in yet. It’s strange. I’m excited, but at the same time, I’m like, “meh.” giphy

I’m sure it’ll all kick in soon. Up until that point, I’ll be scouring the interwebz, looking at things to bring to my new home.


Wish me luck, squadlings!


Saying Goodbye

Happy Thanksgiving, my American squadlings!

Today marks the last family Thanksgiving at my grandmother’s house. She has been in the house for 50 years, and in the past month, she sold it to a young, engaged couple who plan to start their lives together there.

For my entire 19 years of existence, I cannot remember a Christmas Eve that wasn’t spent at that house. My whole family lived for Christmas Eve at that house.

Well, that’s not going to happen this year.

Tonight, we spent our final family holiday in the big, white house, that somehow, everyone in our family -having been raised in the house or not- could call home. My grandmother has to be out of the house by December 30th, which means Christmas Eve isn’t going to happen there this year…Or ever again.

It’s going to be very strange come Christmas Eve when we’re not rushing off to Grandma’s house for our traditional Christmas Eve celebration. Frankly, I don’t even know where –or IF– it will be held this year.

So, to the young couple moving into that big, old house, I leave you with this:

Treat it well. That house was more than just a house to us, it was a home. It was where my aunt Sarah knocked over the Christmas tree, twice. It was where my cousins and I would stand on the half-wraparound porch on Christmas Eve when we were younger, trying to catch a glimpse of Santa’s sleigh off in the distance (spoiler alert: we never did). It was where THAT Christmas Eve happened, and if my family is reading this, they’ll know what I’m talking about.

The bell on the back of the front door chimes with a familiar ding ding ding whenever someone enters. I’m assuming you will remove the bell when the time comes for you to move into the house. That’s fine, but you should know the story behind it: my grandparents had eight children, seven of whom were girls. My grandfather placed the bell on the back of the door so he would know exactly when his children came home at night. Over the years, the bell became a part of that house. We became so used to hearing that sound that it doesn’t even phase us anymore; in all honesty, I sometimes forget the bell is even there.

For fifty years, every member of my family, new and old, have walked the halls of that house. A part of us will always be in that house. If you see families driving by, gazing up at your house with a smile on their faces, don’t be alarmed: it’s us. We just want to take a look at the part of us that we’re leaving to you.

We are leaving it to you. It will always be a part of us, but it’s time to move on. Take care of it, love it as we did, as we always will.

To the future owners of that big, old, white house, I wish you nothing but the best. I hope that house ends up just as much a part of you as it is of us. I’m sure our paths will cross again some day, but until that day comes, look out for it for me, ok?

Applied and Accepted. Cue Loud Screaming

It’s happening, folks.

A week ago, I applied to transfer out of my community college into a four-year university.

Last night, I got accepted to said four-year university for Spring 2017.

Excuse me while I just…giphy


Yes, it’s true; I’m officially transferring out of my community college to a four-year university, three hours from home.


Believe me, I’m super excited. This is what my goal always was; to get out of my hometown and go to a university. But, naturally, with that excitement comes…well…this:


As of now, seeing as I don’t leave home until January, it hasn’t really hit me that I’m going to actually be transferring schools. But in the back of my mind, I know it’s there. I know I’m going to be leaving my six brothers and sisters, my dogs, my parents, my home. 

And to that, I say: “Well, that sucks.”

Having dealt with anxiety for most of my life, I knew this day was going to come sooner rather than later after I graduated high school. I knew that I couldn’t stay at my mom’s house for the rest of my life.

So yeah, I’d be lying if I said I’m not terrified to leave home. I’d also be lying if I said I’m not excited.

This is something, as hard as it’s going to be, that I need to do. I’m not going to sit around and go to community college forever. And hey, being a Spring semester transfer, if I really can’t handle it, it’s only four months. If it’s so terrible, I can always come home.

But honestly, I really don’t think I will.

Wish me luck, squadlings!

Wow…So it’s been a while…


The past month has been insane. For one, I got my license, having failed my test twice and being 19 years old…yeehaw…

And about 17 days later, I got into a car accident. Oops.

A few bruised ribs and a $100 fine, no one was severely injured. No big deal. Except I’m broke and have to pay for the insurance, but hey, that’s life.

I’m taking FIVE classes this semester, AKA kill me, so life is crazy. I don’t remember the last time I slept.

I’m sorry for this super short, really lame post. When something exciting happens, I’ll inform you. Until then, please bear with me. I haven’t forgotten about y’all.

Until we meet again, squadlings.