MegaZord for Hire

I'm currently at the Claremont Hotel Bar, drinking scotch and getting a little more work done for the day.

As much as I wish I actually lived this Mad Men-esque lifestyle (sans womanizing and false identity), I'm actually here because I dropped off my friends at a career fair. Yes, my budding little college buddies are in "real person" training, working on their ass kissing networking skills.


I find it a little ironic. I did literally nothing to prepare for real life, but I was handed a job that I should be waaaay more grateful for. I sit and complain about waking up early and having to use my brain for 10 hours a day, but do you remember how crazy it was to even imagine having a job someday? All the career fairs and workshops and resume building. It was like you needed to figure out your entire life the day after graduation.

I was looking through my computer for a work file, but I came across an article I wrote when I applied to write for the Daily Cal.

I didn't get the job, which was a God-send because having a responsibility in college would really cut into my "do abso-fuckin-lutely nothing" time. For those of you who know me, you'll notice there are a couple white lies here and there.

A couple takeaways after I read this:

• I can't write for shit anymore
• I repeat a lot of crap in this blog
• You aren't what you do. Who you are, truly are, depends on what you do with what you're given. We aren't guaranteed our dream job right away, but the only way to get closer is to take advantage of every opportunity thrown our way. Everything happens for a reason - make sure that reason is a good one.

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Perfectly Boring

Yesterday, while my roommate and I were enjoying a lavish and nutritious dinner of Spaghetti-o’s and beer, she paused between bites and asked, “Am I boring?”

How the hell do you answer that?

Better yet, how do you answer that without sounding fake? Now my roommate is anything but boring. Works a full time job with 17 units and still manages a good human to textbook contact ratio. She’s incredibly passionate about what she does and no two days are alike because she goes into each day wanting something new.

So, here’s the dilemma. How do you convince someone they’re awesome without shamelessly singing their praises? For some reason, we’ve all gotten into the habit of finding more truth in criticism than praise. I tried enumerating the many things I admired about her and what she does, but it was going to take more than “I don’t fall into a coma when you speak,” to convince her.

So, as a last resort, I asked, “Well, what’s your definition of boring?” A few moments of silence and she replied, “I don’t know. Something that isn’t interesting, I guess.” I decided to play asshole’s advocate and asked what she thought “being interesting” meant. A couple more annoying generic questions produced a satisfying definition: to be boring means to not want anything for yourself.  

Now, there’s a difference between wanting something and wanting something for yourself. You can want to go to Cal, you can want to go to grad school, you can want world domination. But why do you want it and who do you want it for? If it’s to impress people, save your time. These days people are impressed by cat videos and planking. What will happen when you finally get what you want? Will you come to a stand still or will it present new opportunities to grow?

From freshman year of high school or even before, we start getting lectured and “taught” how to build a good résumé. We must be (of course) “well-rounded.” Oh, that keyword we all know and love. Résumés, college apps, what have you, are supposed to show how smart and, well, interesting we are.

At a young age, we’re taught/convinced/fooled into thinking that one needs X amount of volunteer hours, be president of 4 clubs, cure cancer, and compose 2 (perhaps 3) symphonies to even be on our way to a decent résumé. In high school, I, too, fell victim to this myth and signed up for debate, dance team, Amnesty International, and band. I volunteered at a nursing home and a soup kitchen, and played three varsity sports while maintaining a respectable GPA.

Six college rejection letters later, I found myself signing up for community college classes wondering where I went wrong. I did what I was told. I hit every category, rounded every edge of my being as well as possible.

I just had to sit down with my older sister and my application and asked her to pinpoint exactly where I went wrong. I was the ideal candidate. I had it all, right? She mulled it over, set it down and simply said that I had given her a grocery list when I should have given her a menu.

With a little consideration, my sister’s unusual and cryptic criticism made me realize that my I gave her a list of things that I’ve done, a checklist of skills I have but haven’t synthesized into something I could offer a university. You don’t feed someone ingredients; you give them well-prepared dish that reveals the chef’s familiarity with each ingredient, which ones work well together, and how to accentuate only the best flavors.

I could play an instrument, but did I love music? I won races, but was I an athlete? I had some mean jazz hands, but was I a dancer? I was too busy being Mrs. Potato Head, interchanging pieces in the appropriate holes to make it look “right” when I should have been the MegaZord from Power Rangers, joining my strengths and my best attributes into a powerful, unstoppable force of good.

Don’t lie. That metaphor landed.

Obsessing over being the ideal student or being “perfect” is an insane waste of time because perfection is an instant, not a state of being. If perfection were a destination, we would eventually come to a stop. Seeing it as a moment in time keeps us moving, keeps us working toward the next time everything in our world just clicks and we find a new opportunity to grow.

Perfection is that moment when you find that one incorrect decimal place and come out with the right answer. Perfection is when you declare your major. Perfection is when you know what you want, not necessarily how to get it.

Einstein said, “Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.”

You aren’t your résumé. It’s a piece of paper that can be tossed out, thrown away, outdated. Your ideals and perception of perfection should evolve with you because you won’t ever reach perfection. You meet it. When you do, cherish it, embrace it, remember it, because in an instant, it’ll pass, ready for the next game of hide and seek. 

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Thanks for reading.

Ang

Always time to talk about love :)

Love. We're gonna talk about love.

A little while back, someone very important to me decided to leave a short but unforgettable comment on my Facebook.

My friend, Brian, is one of those guys you can't help but squeeze to death every time you see him. He's an incredible musician, quite the engineer, and an exceptional beer pong player (unless he's playing me). Best of all, Brian is just one of those people who I could talk to forever.

My favorite part about these conversations is that Brian often gets confusing. Whether he's leading me through something he learned in physics or explaining some random fact that he happened to find on the internet, I sometimes get lost, but Brian will never give up on me or the conversation. He will explain it til I understand it.

I love Brian because he makes me think.

He actually makes me to think whether I want to or not. I can't tell you how many conversations I've navigated in a drunken haze, but I absolutely love it because I always learn something new. I learn something new about the world or about the way I think about the world.

This Facebook post was no exception. He wrote:

Sometimes, I wish the 'like' function on Facebook could be applied to people. Because sometimes I don't just 'like' Angie Picardo's link, or her video, or her picture, or her post. I 'like' the whole package, and it pains me that this cannot properly be expressed with a single click on everyone's favorite social networking hellhole.

However, when I really start delving into this dilemma, I realize that the 'like' button could never even begin to compliment you on the same order of magnitude that I intend my compliment to reach. Thus, it would be demeaning to this entire relationship for me to use it (supposing this were even an option). It would be an insult. Even still, I want the option.

Anyway, this has been fun. Your usual style and grace (more specifically, my need to express my appreciation for it) has provided a sufficiently long distraction from my study of mass inflation instability, which I will now return to.

Love,
Anonymous

Now, most people would give an "Aw, gee thanks" or a "you're so sweet."

That's not how we do shit roun' hurr. Brian doesn't just compliment or gush. He could very well leave a simple "yer prettyyyy" on my wall. As accurate as that statement would be, it wouldn't be his style.

Nope. Brian made me think. I thought about and engaged with his comment because that's what it deserves. That's what he deserves. My response:

Dear Anonymous,

Unfortunately, I will have to disagree. Facebook may only allow for a single aspect to be “liked” at a time, but that is the very nature of love that many overlook. 

If we were given a button with which we could “like” an entire individual, we may only do it once. After that, the only option is to “dislike.” To me, that is a very black and white option in a very gray world. To like (or love) a person all at once, in their entirety, is impossible only because we are constantly changing. We could find something we don’t like or could find something new that makes us like them even more. Then what? We find a SUPER “like” button?

No. Facebook got it just right because love is based on the collage of stolen moments, those seconds in time when you feel connected to that person, when the only reason you’d ever let go is because of the hope that you’ll get to come back and feel your heart catch fire all over again. When you like their status, their link, their picture, you like them in that present moment. 

And all we have is the present. 

When I click to like Brian Grubbs’s profile picture or his status about Reggie eating his joint; when I see the smile of content defeat when I make the last cup in one-on-one; when he hugs me so tight that after we let go I can feel all the blood rush through my heart—that is when I am able to love him. 

I am able to love him, fully love him, when I can do it over and over again.

So, Anonymous, don’t chastise Facebook for not allowing us to “like” an entire being with a single click. That’s too easy. Love is difficult, it’s dynamic, it’s painful, it’s beautiful. It’s love that makes us want to delve deeper into a person in order to find yet another reason to love them. It’s the opportunity to individually “like” aspects of a person’s profile that make us scour our newsfeed and explore their page just for the chance to click and “like” love yet another part of them. Love is what keeps us coming back for more.

Sincerely yours,

Angeli M. Picardo

When I say I love someone, it's not just because they're nice, or smart, or because--as Colbie Callait put it-- they "make me tingle in a silly place."


I believe that someone you love, truly love, is a person who makes you feel; a person who moves you, challenges you, makes you more than you were ten seconds ago. I reserve my love for people who remind me that I have a mind, body and soul that are absolutely extraordinary.

No, Bri Guy and I are not romantically in love, but we share a connection that I think even married couples are missing. I love Brian because he makes me feel. Whether it's with big, hold-you-til-you-choke hugs or by making me think so hard my brain melts, Brian reminds me that I am here, I am alive, and I've got a lot of exploring to do.

If I've ever told you that I love you, it's because you have made me notice, understand, and love something about myself. If I've ever told you that I love you, you have somehow moved me in a way that no one else has and probably ever will. Thank you :)

Hang on to the people who make you feel, who make you want more. They're the ones who'll somehow keep you grounded but help you fly to higher heights than you've ever imagined.

So, here's to love, ya'll. Cheers.

Gradu-8.

I just stepped out of my very last college class. Perhaps even the last class I ever take.

For the last 18 years of my life, I’ve been a student. I learned how to read and write, how to do simple and (way too) complicated math. I learned how to navigate a library, suck up to a teacher; I learned how to pass a test, how to fail one and bounce back. I learned how to buy books for cheap and be okay with selling them back for scraps. I learned how to sleep in class without getting caught, and how to text without looking like I’m fondling and smiling at my crotch.

I spent a good amount of the last 18 years learning to be a student.

At the end of my last class, my teacher said his thank you’s and good luck’s, then it all of a sudden hit me. Up until this point I hadn’t really thought about the future or what happens next, but when the campanile rang at the end of class, all I wanted to do was raise my hand and ask, “Well, wait. Now what?”

What do I do with everything I’ve learned in the past 18 years, 18 weeks, 18 minutes? I had all this knowledge and I had no freakin’ idea what to do with it.

I had no idea, but I didn’t think it was all a waste of time. No way in hell.

One of my teachers constantly quoted William James throughout the semester, saying, “Life is in the transitions as much as in the terms connected.” We don't just hop from one phase to the next, measuring our success when we feel we've reached the end and are ready to summarize.

Among many other things, I am a student. It's not a way to define yourself; it is more so a state of mind.

Yeah, man. A state of mind, and stuff. 

I feel that it’s when people are too connected to the idea of being a college student that they find themselves vowing to do anything to stay an extra year, dying to have just one more day.  

What I have come to understand is that I am not a student. I am a person who has made a vow to learn, to grow, and to make myself better every day. Nowhere in my contract does it say that this ends when I step out of the classroom. If anything, all I’ve done is step into an even bigger classroom, one where every single person is both a teacher and a classmate.  

At Cal, everything I’ve learned has been and forever will be useful to me for the rest of my life, and, if I play my cards right, for generations after me. As we all know, everything can be a lesson. And, of course, I’m gonna give you a top 3. What’s an Angie blog post without a little countdown? 

3. What’s one of the worst feelings EVER? Answer: Having to poop at school.

I don’t even like pooping at people’s houses. I would rather punch myself in the face 6 times than poop anywhere but my house.

So, God decided to punish me a few times this semester and make me need to poop at school. I could either walk approximately 15 miles (aka maybe ¾ of a mile) home or brave the public bathroom and make it a group effort. What did I do? I met myself half way and found pretty much the only single stall bathroom on campus (*cough* moffitt library right by FSM).

Lesson: You’re gonna have to make compromises. There’s no point in wasting your time and effort just to make something convenient for you. There are going to be things (like pooping) that need to be done whether you like it or not. But that doesn’t mean completely sacrificing yourself for the cause. There is always a way to make a situation at least a little better, a little easier. It’s all about give and take. Get the job done, but never lose yourself in the process.

2. I almost didn’t graduate because I decided to be a lazy ass and take the fewest amount of units possible. I tried to spin it like I was going to make more time to blah blah blah blah blahhhh, but really, I was just lazy.

Long story short, I dropped this class and that but then realized (after the add/drop deadline, of course) that I was 1 unit short of the limit needed to graduate. Less than a unit actually—0.2 units.

When I realized what I had done, my initial reaction:

The second:

I AM A FUCKING ASSHOLE. I AM THE STUPIDEST PERSON TO EVER WALK THIS PLANET AND SO IS EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THE REGENTS FOR GRANTING ME EVEN A SINGLE DOLLAR OF SCHOLARSHIP MONEY. ANGELI PICARDO, YOU PIECE OF SHIT MORON, GO DIE IN A WHALE’S ANUS.

 

I was upset.

But after I got a little bit of emotion out of my system, I started on my quest for 1-unit classes. Oh yeah, because to hell with taking a two, three, or, god forbid, FOUR unit class.

Learn your lesson, Ang.

A few days of searching and no luck. Thankfully, I’m a whiny bitch and my friend Marie heard me complaining and told me to join her organic gardening class. It was 1 unit, once a week. Easy.

Organic gardening. At that moment, I remembered totally shitting on this course last year thinking that it was some hippie bullshit I’d never be a part of. Too bad it was the only thing keeping me from going a couple thousand dollars into debt just for one god forsaken unit.

Lesson: An oldie but goodie—never take anything for granted. You never know who or what will be the difference between passing and failing, life and death. I am a firm believer in that everything happens for a reason. Every event, every person, every emotion that somehow makes it into your life is there for a reason. Never overlook something or someone as insignificant because the second you do, it could turn out to be your only lifeline.

1. At the beginning of the year, I applied to write for The Daily Californian, Cal’s school newspaper. I applied to be a columnist because I thought it would be cool to see my words published, but wanted to write something a little more light-hearted and enjoyable. I sent in my samples, a few ideas for future articles. I even got invited for an interview. But—you guessed it—I didn’t get the job.

I was so sad. Why wouldn’t they take me? Was I not good enough? Did my breath smell during the interview? I was so sad, and it wasn’t until I picked up the next day’s Daily Cal and read the column that I got pissed. I read through it and was furious because all I could think was, “I am a WAAAAY better writer. I could write this shit in my sleep for God’s sake. Those morons. They freakin’ missed out.”

And at that moment, I fell in love with my writing again. I fell in love with my writing and since then, my writing was mine again. Papers were easier to write because I wrote in my own voice. I didn’t write for my teacher. I wrote what I thought was right, and something as simple as believing what you’re saying could mean the difference between a good and a great paper.

Lesson: Fail. Fail because to fail means to find clarity. Even just a little, even for just a second. That could make all the difference. You find ways that don’t work and often learn to appreciate positive aspects that you wouldn’t have paid attention to otherwise. Failing forces you to take a step back and re-assess the situation at hand so your second try is definitely better than the last.

In two weeks, I will be a University of California graduate only because I failed so hard in the past. When we fail, we can either lie down and feel sorry for ourselves or we can try again and do better than the last time with our new found knowledge.

Well, to me, the harder you fall the higher you’ll bounce back.

You can fail—it is only when you give up that you become a failure. No failure is too great to overcome. No obstacle too big. No problem to difficult to fix. Even though the outcome may not be what you expected, it could (and often does) turn out to be far better than you had ever dreamed.

It’s safe to say that I learned a lot in my time as a student. I didn’t learn everything, but I learned a whole lot more than what was on any of the hundreds of syllabi I got over the years.

Man. That’s a lotta trees.

So, to my buddies who are still toughing it out, still out there in the trenches of Wheeler, Pimintel, Doe, or any of the other educational battlefields out there, enjoy your time. It’s not about the grades. If you spend your time with your nose buried in a book, all the important shit is going to pass right by you.

Go out. Get hammered. Rage and study just as hard. Get shit done, but the only way you’ll get through it is if you remember that you’re doing this for you and only you.

The future will work itself out if you focus on being the best you can be right now.

E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle.

“And then we emerged to see the stars again…”

You may go through hell, but if you give it everything, you’ll come out on the other side unscathed and all the wiser.

You’re alright. Everthing’s gonna be alright.

Just because my time is no longer measured in semesters doesn’t mean the clock struck 12 and I’m ridin’ dirty in a pumpkin and my fantasy’s over.

I don’t see graduation as a next step—just a change of terrain. From kindergarten to Cal, I’ve been training for almost everything that could be thrown my way. Whether rocky roads or smooth sidewalks, I plan to hit the ground running.

My next goal: don’t eat shit.

It has been mother fuckin’ real, Cal. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

GO BEARS.

"A season, a reason, a lifetime"

One of my favorite (YouTube) musicians does something called “One Take Sessions.” Just one take. No re-do’s. Just one shot.

I’m doing a little spring cleaning in my brain before finals. Here’s a post I’m writing in a single draft. A long time coming, but just one take. This is partially due to time constraint (PROCRASTINATION), but mostly because I want it to be candid. 

Will it make any sense? Who cares? The right people will understand every word.

Four years ago, I was 19 years old.

Four years ago, I studied abroad.

Four years ago, I was lost, but then realized that I knew the way all along.

If you’ve read this blog before, you know how important study abroad was for me. It was my first year of college and I wasn’t where I wanted to be. 

The difference between being 23 and 19? I now know (and, more importantly, understand) that I am the only thing standing in my way.

I let myself be sad and feel sorry for myself the first 8 or so weeks of community college, but then I decided to make a change. I did something for myself. It had nothing to do with my major, had nothing to do with a career path.

It was just something I wanted for me. The first thing I wanted just for me.

Whenever I mention study abroad, people think about the stereotypical American student who wants nothing more than to get hammered and not feel guilty because what happens abroad, stays abroad (unless Facebook has anything to say about it). But that’s not the case! This was no ordinary trip.

Yes, there was alcohol. Yes, there was dancing. Yes, there was kebap. But most importantly, there was love. Genuine, whole-hearted, unconditional love.

We were there for each other in every sense of the phrase. Whether someone needed a shoulder to lean on when drunkenly stumbling home from Twice or Space Electronica, or if they just needed a really, really great, squeeze-you-so-hard-you-can’t-breathe hug after a rough day, we were always there for one another.

Before the trip, we were strangers. After, we are family.

Every person you meet does something to change you. Some people will change our lives forever, but that doesn’t mean you won’t ever say your goodbyes. Some people come into your life unexpectedly, but they could turn out to be just what you needed to finally start to become everything that you truly are and have always wanted to be.  

“Every person is a new door to a different world.”

We all see the world around us. We see that grass is green, the sky is blue, dogs bark, cats meow. But it is only through these incredible people in our lives that we truly feel and understand the world around us.  

Before certain people enter our lives, some things are seemingly insignificant.

Starfish. Feathers. Trees.

Some things won’t have meaning until someone helps you finally see them for the first time. These people help you on the path to creating a world of your own. A world that you’d be happy and proud to live in.

To my Firenze family—you made me see the sky. Some showed me how to truly feel the summer sun on my skin. Some made me see the stars dance for the first time. Some showed me that the sky isn’t a reminder of what I cannot reach; it’s a reminder that when I stop trying to simply reach the top, I’ll be able to enjoy the ride and see that I’m free to soar, to live in a world filled with an infinite amount of possibilities.

When I studied abroad, I literally had the best sleep of my life. I slept on a couch right next to our living room windows, and even though I slept like this every night,

I fell asleep knowing that if I were lucky enough to wake up in the morning, I’d open my eyes to everything I wanted.

I’d open my eyes to the azure, Florentine sky.

I miei amici, my Firenze loves, by falling in love with you, I was able to fall in love with me.

A very wise man, Mr. Danny Gamboa, told us that you meet people for a season, a reason, or a lifetime.

I love and miss all of you so much. You are all with me for a lifetime. “For this to never end.”

Four years ago, I was 19 years old.

Four years ago, I studied abroad.

Four years ago, I began to see the world in color.

Thank you.

Because of you, I see the trees.

Some Like It Hot

I was naked around more than one person this weekend.

I wasn't in Tijuana, so rule out donkey shows. I'm still alive, so I wasn't a part of the Bodies Exhibit. No, I just did some good ol' fashioned skinny-dipping.

I drove down to San Jose for a friend's surprise birthday party--a long drive but I'd go a million miles JuSs cUz I LuV dOiN' h00drAt ShYt wiT mAh freNdZ. So, after several "long time no see"s and a very successful surprise (this is, like, the fourth time we've surprised her; we're a little concerned whether or not she’s actually aware that people are constantly keeping secrets from her), the party began with a bang.

And by bang I mean tequila.

We took a few shots, drank some beers, played some pong (since we're all adults), took a few more shots, and a few more...

So, fast forward maybe 45 minutes into the party, and Angie is feeling rather toasty.

Facebook Update: Angie Picardo and Jose Cuervo are in a relationship, and it's complicated.

The party was slowing down a little at that point. People were having mellow, drunken conversations, the munchies were making their rounds. So, I stepped into my office (went to the bathroom) so I could collect my thoughts (pee for 6 minutes straight), and I thought to myself, "Hey, you. You're pretty drunk. I don’t think you’re done being drunk yet. Let's go swimming."

Now, I'm not one to toot my own horn, but when I set my mind to something, I make sure it gets done. If I say I'm gonna leave my homework to the last minute, god dammit, that shit's getting done with only seconds to spare.

I'm ambitious.

So, I stepped out of the bathroom and stood next to the pool, fully clothed. In my mind I had imagined an epic Anchor Man-like moment in which the music screeched in time for my grand speech and perfect cannon ball. Instead, I was barely standing, only able to drunkenly grunt, "Hey Taylor! Happy birthday!" I then jumped into the pool, getting high enough to plunge me to the bottom of the pool.

You know those moments in movies where everything goes in slow mo, and a moment that actually lasts 4 seconds somehow leaves time for 5 minutes of thought? If not, you've never watched television and have no connection to the outside world. Go watch a movie and you'll get it, you freaking shut-in. Go find friends, you lonely, sad human being.

:)

Well, when I was under water, a few thoughts crossed my mind:

1. My shoes are on.

2. I think I forgot how to swim

3. I’m really, really obnoxious.

I, personally, think I am a really obnoxious person. I’m loud, drunk (perpetually), inappropriate, and far more “bro” than I’m willing to admit. I’ve actually made a conscious effort to restrain myself and keep quiet in social situations.

I have a little work to do. P.S. What up, left boob?

Most nights after drinking or just being out with people, I usually regret something I said or did just because when I think back, I was just straight up irritating. But today I stumbled upon something on…StumbleUpon.

It was an explanation of the “Gift Theory.” Ken Page, a New York based psychotherapist, starts by describing our “core gifts,” or the qualities we possess that best help us find love. He relates it to romantic love, but I think it fits for all different kinds of love, romantic or platonic.

He says that we may decide that we’re too quiet, too aggressive, too loud, etc., but actually those are the qualities that we should pay most attention to; these are often the qualities that make up our core gifts.

He describes the model for his theory as a target with a bullseye and concentric rings that surround the center. At the center are our core gifts, our most intense and authentic qualities. You’d think that tapping into these qualities as soon as we discover them would make sense, but since these are our most powerful and concentrated qualities, that isn’t such a great idea. I liked the way Page described it:

[Our core gifts] get us in trouble again and again. We become most defensive or most naïve around them. They challenge us and the people we care about. They ask more of us than we want to give. And we can feel devastated when we feel them betrayed or rejected.

Since our core is so intense, we protect ourselves by moving further away from the center, out into the larger rings of the target. The further away we get, the safer we feel, the less trouble we cause for ourselves. But this safety comes at a price. We begin to forget who we are and lose touch with our authentic selves.

Think about it like making s’mores by a campfire. In order to make that glorious, ooey-gooey sandwich of goodness absolutely perfect, the marshmallow needs to be on point. If you shove that bad boy right into the middle of the fire, you’ll have a flaming meteor of carcinogens. Definitely not the business.

If you don’t get close enough, you have a cold marshmallow that won’t melt the chocolate and will make you hate all of mankind when you bite into cold layers of graham cracker, marshmallow and chocolate, not a s’more.

Instead you need to find that happy medium where your marshmallow can get enough heat to gently melt it all the way to the core while maintaining a slightly burnt, tropical-vacation-golden-brown exterior.

Yes, there are times when we are too much, when we push things too far. But a burnt marshmallow doesn’t mean we put out the fire. We adjust and learn from our burns, our wounds, our insecurities.

Our greatest strengths lie both in our joys and in our deepest anxieties. We need to be willing to explore ourselves and find those qualities that make us who we are because once we find them, we can begin to apply them to our daily lives and give our loved ones only the best, most authentic versions of ourselves.

You think you’re too quiet? You’re probably incredibly perceptive. Think you care too much? You’re likely to be one person who cares enough. Think you’re too loud? Maybe you are just the catalyst to get people out of their shells and make life the party it should be.

When I swam up to the surface of that pool, I expected to see everyone still in their seats, frowning at the drunk girl who went too far. Instead, I broke the surface and opened my eyes to a pool full of people splashing around, smiling, laughing…taking off their clothes…

One of my friends swam over (half to talk, half to save me since my booze brain didn’t understand how to swim) and said, “Thanks for jumping in. That’s exactly what we all needed.”

Don’t be so quick to fix yourself; maybe you just don’t realize exactly how to use your gifts. Blame it on my Berkeley brain, but I don’t think you should ever throw away any part of yourself. Just recycle and reuse :)

So, be open to yourself, be open to explore. If you end up naked in a pool, eating a s’more, you’re probably on the right track.

Thanks for reading!

Why I Write Everyday

HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA.

Wait. Hold on.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA.

Ok, I'm almost--

HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA.

Okay. I'm composed.

Today, I looked at my old MySpace. All I can say is...

HHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAA.

Honestly, guys. What the HELL was that all about? Remember the days when everyone was a computer programmer all of a sudden and knew how to pimp their page, custom backgrounds and theme music galore? It was saaoooo cool to LyKe ToTaLLy x-PrEsS UrSeLf ThrU Ur PaGe.

Ugh. I can't even read that. I feel like I just had a stroke.

I think seeing my MySpace was particularly hilarious because the last time I did anything to it was when I was a senior in high school. Now, let me tell you, 18 year old Angie was a special kind of Angie.

This is what I looked like:



Pretty much the same. I don't really chew gum anymore.

But MySpace has more to offer than that. I browsed through old comments and they make NO sense.

Example:

"I'm glad you remembered my birthday. Yes, I did come to school today. I also semi enjoyed the note you left on my back window. It made me want to be a real magician."

I just can't make that shit up.

But even beyond the ridiculous teenage conversations about magicians and that epic night when we had, like, a beer, I absolutely LOVED reading my "about me" section. I was immediately sucked back in time--as awkward and "misunderstood" as ever.



Oh, teenage angst. I was such an asshole. Thinking about me as a teenager makes me want to give birth to a 25 year old so I can skip all those years of misdirected anger and...bodily changes.

Gross.

I love what I wrote about myself because you can tell how confused I was when writing it. I was confused but honest.

"About Me:

Id like to say Im simple but Im not. I might be one of the most complicated people you meet but i think thats what makes me so intriguing. i love music but dont like to dance. i think like an athlete but act like a noob. i value friendship and my family above anything except the big man, G-O-D. i learn from my mistakes but months after its happened. i love electronic stuff. im a really big nerd. i read scientific american. i like knowing random facts. i like to think im a bad ass, but im not. i give myself too much time to think. im emotional. i like to talk but i like listening better. i hate talking on the phone. i live to text. my little brother is one of my best friends and im not ashamed to admit it. im always willing to fix a problem. i feel naked without my cell phone. my favorite color is tiffany blue. i like to pick up the check. i want to join the peace corps. i believe that the only reason we die is because otherwise, people wouldnt value life or take it seriously. i want to be like my sister. i crave attention. ive made 'people watching' a professional sport. i love to sit on my deck and listen to jack johnson under the stars. i have parties but i dont drink very often. i tend to judge people but im working on it. im loud when i first meet you, then i mellow out when we become friends. i have a "parent face". im more spiritual than religious. my favorite food is potatoes. i have stress induced insomnia. awkwardness is my worst enemy. i cant live without my friends and i hope everyday, they think the same thing."

Conceited yet insecure. Intimate but superficial. Incorrect punctuation. Punctuation is for conformists.

And so fucking accurate.

I clearly don't understand a thing about myself. I have a pile of puzzle pieces, but I don't know what it's supposed to look like. It was a jumbled mess that my baby brain just couldn't figure out.

This is why I write EVERYDAY.

I recently had a conversation with my roommate about measuring how far we've come in the past couple of years. Pictures and awards can only say so much. Nothing beats reading your own writing.

Yeah, they say a picture is worth a thousand words, but when you have a line like "I'd like to say I'm simple, but I'm not," I'll take quality over quantity any day.

Who I am today, right now, is what I was looking for when I wrote those words. When I try to look back and figure out how far I've come, I try not to think about what I've accomplished or where I've succeeded--I look at how much I've come to understand myself.

Every moment in our lives, success and failure included, helps us to get to know ourselves that much better and bring us that much closer to truly understanding what we have to offer the world. How we react when faced with a challenge speaks more to our character than if we won or lost.

I write everyday to document my fears, my assumptions, my confusion, because the only way I know that I've gotten close to finding myself is by looking at how lost I once was.

I encourage you to write everyday. Doesn't have to be long. Even just a snippet on a napkin. People think journals are for pussies, but I promise you won't regret it. There's more to it than just remembering what you did that day. It's remembering that day through the lens of a younger, sometimes stupider, you.

So, write as often as possible. Share some, keep most for yourself.

Sometimes there are things we can't say. But you can write everything.



Stay classy, luvbugz :)

I need training wheels.

I didn’t think it was possible to fail so many times in a week. Most of the time, we have an off day or two; maybe one thing in particular doesn’t go as planned.

Last week, this was not the case. At the peak of my 7 days of rejection, disappointment, and an inordinate amount of physical pain was the moment I just gave up.

I fell off my bike. I fell off my bike in my driveway before I even started moving.

After waking up to my dad yelling at me on the phone that morning, I got on my bike to ride to school. I figured a nice ride would take my mind off all the negativity of the morning, so I stepped on the right pedal and pushed down for a nice, smooth send off.

Whoops. The chain didn’t catch.

I somehow got pushed between gears and it didn’t catch the chain, sending my foot straight into the ground and toppling my bike (and all of its pointy, metal objects) onto my entire right side.

So, my bike is a little old school and has these thingys called downtube shifters.

You change gears by moving the paddles up and down, but it doesn’t click like most bikes when you change gears. You have to move it gradually and feel when the chain switches into the next gear. Sometimes you skip a gear, sometimes your come up short, and (apparently) you sometimes get stuck in between gears. You simply just don’t know.

So, completely fed up and terrified of getting back on the saddle, I pushed both the gear paddles down all the way just to be in a gear, any gear. I was just afraid of the chain not catching again.

Of course, I send it into the hardest gear, which was GREAT for these Berkeley hills. I figured showing up to class sweating like a prostitute in church was better than getting there covered in my (and probably some helpless victim’s) blood.

I spent the rest of the day laboring on my bike, fighting the toughest gears because I was too chicken to try to change gears again. I just couldn’t take yet another failure, and I just didn’t know if it would catch.

The fear of failure, or simply not knowing what the future holds, is what triggers any obstacle in our lives. Friends, family, work, school, anything. No matter what the conflict, the fear of disappointment turns us against ourselves, making us our own worst enemies.

Since graduation is rapidly approaching, it’s natural for my fellow seniors and I to, you know, FREAK THE FUCK OUT. People keep asking “So, what are your plans?” or “Well, now what?” I’ve even gotten the occasional, “Man, leaving college is gonna suck.”

But, as much as I may try to convince myself that I’ll totally use my beer pong skills in the real world, I need to face the reality that a big step in my life is right around the corner...and I don’t know what the fack I’m doing.

At the end of last year, I tried to reach out and grab anything that looked like it was “good for my future.” I latched onto anything that would give me the stability that I thought I needed to be successful. I looked at internships and volunteer opportunities that I had no connection to but thought would look good on a résumé.

This pathetic attempt at forced clarity was like frantically shoving my bike into gear just to get moving. Just doing whatever I thought was safe or would give me definitive answers just made it so much harder to move forward. My fear of the unknown kept me from building the future I actually wanted for myself.

At the end of that painfully disappointing day, I decided to give up. I sat in my snuggie and watched Mad Men until I fell asleep. I figured I couldn’t fail if I didn’t try to do anything.

Hours later, it wasn’t until the buzz of a text message scared me awake that I managed to peel myself off the couch. It was a text from a friend who wanted to come over and hang out. I met up with her expecting to be a pooper and just talk about my shitty day.

LoLz ^^ Pooper. Shitty. Ha.

But instead, in that very short time, the world was different. We sat in her living room and just laughed. I think we were laughing about frozen fruit or something, but we laughed away all the bullshit that I let rent space in my mind.

Hanging out with a friend, laughing your ass off, doing anything you love is like that perfect shift—when you push the paddle just enough to get that perfect catch where the chain smoothly snaps into place, helping you adjust to the road, and making the ride that much easier. Most of all, it’s times like these that make the ride just plain fun.

Downtube shifters show no mercy. Sometimes the chain slips. Sometimes you get stuck between gears. But sometimes, when you ease into it, when you practice, when you let go of your fear of failing, you get that perfect catch.

We fear our futures for the same reason children (or wussy ass adults) fear the dark. We just don’t know what’s waiting for us.

Cal’s school motto is fiat lux, or “let there be light.” You can spend your time trying to force clarity, doing what you’re told, and doing whatever possible to get out of the dark. But don’t forget that it’s only in the complete darkness that we can fully see the stars.

With that starlight, the universe is ours to traverse, to explore, to discover.

These past couple of weeks, I’ve learned to let go of my fear of failure and the temptation to worry about what I cannot change. At Cal, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting new friends and the privilege of getting closer to old ones. It’s through these relationships that I’ve been able to experience Cal, and life in general, from a number of different perspectives. They’ve helped me realize that there is more than one path to success and no two are alike.

I look forward to navigating this freakin’ abyss that is my future because I know that I have absolutely incredible people who are helping me along the way, and who make every second that much easier. Cal has taught me so much and given me the tools I need to succeed in the real world, but, most of all, Cal has given me some of the greatest people I think I’ll ever know.

These people—the people who make me live for Sunday nights, who make me feel 18 again, who make me want to be better—are my light. They’re the light I need to find my way to happiness.

So, the SparkNotes for my little rant?

1. Don’t sit there and bitch about how things are scary or difficult. You’ll end up on the couch for 6 hours with nothing but a sweaty snuggie and shame.

2. Embrace the unknown because when nothing is defined, anything is possible.

3. Make sure your friends and family know how thankful you are to have them in your life everyday because without them, you’ll end up in your driveway with a bike on top of you.

That last one might not be completely accurate. You know better than to trust SparkNotes.

Academic Alcoholic

Last night, I went 6-0 in beer pong. If you're in college, you can appreciate how legit that is. If you're not in college, you probably think I'm a douche.

So, after copious amounts of obnoxious celebration, this recent win streak got me thinking. I have ONE YEAR left in this magical wonderland called college, and I feel that I have acquired (mastered *ahem*) a number of useless skills.

Unless the fate of the world and humankind depends on me ending a nuclear war by throwing an object similar to a ping-pong ball into a kill switch that is 8 feet away and strategically shaped like a red cup (yes, it has to be red), I'm afraid my beer pong skills are completely useless.

But although bouncing a quarter into a glass or somehow fitting 2 liters of beer in my stomach won't impress future employers, perhaps I've learned more than a couple bar tricks. I gave it some thought and realized that a lot of these seemingly useless college escapades can and will help me when I venture out into the real world.

Don't agree with me? This is how I see it. Some of it makes sense. Some is just to make me feel better about the fact that I take time to practice drinking games (yes, this actually happens). Either way, I had a damn good time doing it. Sorry I'm not sorry.

Flip Cup: strengthens your ability to work with a team. In this game you are a teammate, coach, and cheerleader. Few other activities really emphasize the importance of patience, teamwork, and the power of motivation. You never want to be the weak link, so you give 110% to the team.

King's Cup: teaches one how to adapt to his or her environment. Keeping track of the Thumb Master or following all of the RIDICULOUS rules people make up (like no pointing or freaking cure cancer before opening your beer or something) forces you to be aware of your environment and to pick up on every nuance while in, uh, particularly difficult circumstances.

Also, when someone pulls a "categories" card, there are only so many breakfast cereals or 18th century Gothic architects the average person can name off the top of their head. You'll need to be able to think quickly on your feet and recall all that information hidden in every nook and cranny in your brain. And you thought it was just a card game. Psh.

Beer Pong: humility. There is a very fine line between cockiness and confidence. You can sink 9 cups in a row, but back to back grenades, a bounce and an island could mean a dramatic end to your near perfect game. Think too much, you choke. Too careless, blow the game. Maintaining your composure when you're up or down in the cup count (or in life) is absolutely imperative.

Outside of drinking games...

Buying alcohol: prioritizing. What's more important? Getting fed or getting faded? Do you buy the 30 rack and skip dinner, or do you invest in a nutritious meal but sacrifice the absolutely hilarious and inevitable debauchery that goes hand in hand with inebriation?

Procrastination: yup. It's a good thing. While in school, procrastination is, well, masochistic. But all those nights of cramming, greeting the sun with a can of Red Bull in hand was not for nothing. In the workplace, deadlines happen. They happen so fast that even taking a bathroom break is seen as procrastinating. Good thing you're used to shitting out 47 pages on the Russian Revolution in less than an hour. Anything after that is a cakewalk.

TELEbears: Learning to accept the things you can't control. Now, TELEbears is the UC Berkeley class registration system, but this concept applies to anyone who has ever had to sign up for classes online. Signing up for classes is always an infuriating, dramatic, and often devastating chore, and being obligated to do it twice a year is two times too many.

Any system that takes seven clicks to sign up for a class but only one to pay tuition is bound to not have it's users' best interest at heart. It breaks down and when it does work, you're only allowed to access it from 4:05 - 4:06 AM on the third Wednesday of every other February, on leap year...or something of that nature.

It's a system that you need but it doesn't need you, and that’s something we have to live with. There will be many times that we'll be dependent on something that makes NO sense, but sitting there and complaining about it won't get the job done. Bitching about how TELEbears froze just in time to put you 8374578743983947th on the wait list isn't going to get you the class. Grin and bear it. Sometimes our pride takes a shot for the greater good. It teaches you to roll with the punches and to be ready for anything.

They always say that the most important lessons are learned outside of the classroom. I feel I've done my fair share of field research. Who knew I'd be drinking and procrastinating my way to success?

Just know that there’s a lesson to be learned in everything. What you learn in the books probably won't stick, but the street smarts you've (hopefully) acquired will be added to your Batman Utility Belt for life.

But for the time being...6-0 BABY!!! SAY SOMETHIN'.

College <3