The Hitchhiker’s Hail

In the last seven¬†years, I’ve had eight nine¬†different addresses (I almost forgot England). Those seven years have seen me moving out of my parent’s house for the first time, living in six different dorm rooms, moving¬†to England, moving back to the States,¬†getting my first real apartment, and then moving to grad school. I consider myself to be decent at moving, good at packing, and great at upacking.¬†I have moved into and out of my parents’ house so many times that I’m not sure I’ll ever feel like I’ve permanently left.

When I first traveled from Cleveland, Ohio to Washington, DC for college, my dad had a pick-up truck and we used every square inch of the truck bed despite the fact that I was moving into a shared dorm room. I’d like to say I’ve really learned to pare down my belongings, but in reality all I’ve done is leave more and more items¬†behind.

My proudest move is probably the first one I made completely alone, when I got on a plane to England to study abroad for a semester. Against all odds, I packed my life into one suitcase and travelled across the Atlantic. My plan had been to fly into Gatwick and take a train¬†to Brighton, but that was ruined pretty immediately. A broken plane and Amazing Race-style sprint through O’Hare later, I ended up flying into Heathrow, taking a bus to Gatwick (panicked that I would not be able to figure out how to get to Brighton without my carefully laid out plan or a cell phone), and then taking the train to Brighton. Look, in the end I managed, but that’s not the¬†point. My point, I guess, is that it was the first time I’d really had to navigate traveling¬†alone.

I moved again last month, and the move was probably more daunting than my first trans-Atlantic flight, customs, and finding my dorm room at the University of Sussex. The one thing that made this move seem do-able, however, was that my dad was my co-pilot. We packed up my Honda Element as full as we could (leaving behind, among other things: all of my furniture, 95% of my books and DVDs, and my favorite pair of earrings) and hit the road.

For five days we drove cross-country so that I could move to Los Angeles.

I never wanted to live in LA. Despite my deep, abiding love for television and the quiet, burning part of myself that wanted to work on television¬†shows, I never really considered making the move. LA has sunshine, and earthquakes, and it’s in the Pacific Time Zone. All of those things are anathema to me. But as I finished an undergraduate degree that I didn’t really know how to use, and worked in my first adult job, and went to grad school, the thought of working in television never left. It became louder and louder until I couldn’t ignore that, out of everything, that’s what I wanted the most. More than living in the same apartment building as my friends, and being in the same time-zone as my parents, I knew I wouldn’t be satisfied until I gave it a chance.

So my parents, my wonderful, supportive parents helped me pack up the car and my dad drove across the country with me. We took our time, stopping so that we could play in Arches National Park and visit the Grand Canyon. I think both of us had been a little apprehensive about spending so much time alone with one another, no buffer of any kind between us, but it only brought us closer. We shared beers at breweries in the mid-west, and had a pillow fight in Arizona. We took pictures and watched shitty movies in the hotel room, and forced each other to eat salads. At the end of the trip, he even agreed that my choice of superpower (which he’d mocked mercilessly months ago) to¬†be able to stop shedding was pretty worthwhile after all.

There were parts of the trip that were trying, sure. Like trying not to hit that elk as we left the Grand Canyon. Or the moment that I almost ran out of gas in the middle of Kansas because I was too absorbed by an episode of Keepin’ It 1600. Our musical choices are at odds, so striking the compromise of his jazz in the morning, my alt. rock in the afternoon was necessary early on. After so long in the car, our backs and knees hurt, we were probably always at least a little bit dehydrated, but we made it.

I wouldn’t give it up for anything. In fact, I want more road trips. A few summers ago my mom and I packed up and drove around Michigan for a few days, which had been a great bonding experience, despite the near-constant rain. This move was stressful, but certainly less than I had anticipated, because I had my dad by my side. I hope that next year my brother comes to visit and we can go on a trip of our own, maybe to Yosemite.

I hope my future is filled with road trips. I want them with my friends, hours of fighting over music and putting up with each other’s podcasts. I want nights camped out on the roof of my car looking at the stars with my loved ones as I try not to cry from the beauty of the moment. I want to get lost in a foreign country and not care for the awe of the landscape. I think spending hours alone in a car, while risky, is ultimately good for relationships.

The post script of this post, if anything, is that I live in LA now. But what was really important was the journey.

Television Tuesdays: Broad City

Overview

Broad City is about two 20-something women living in New York City and their ride-or-die friendship. For these two, nothing is normal, everything is absurdist. It’s still recognizable as real life, just a little more – funnier, riskier, rowdier, and probably more intoxicated.

Hey Ladies

Abbi Abrams and Ilana Wexler are just two best friends trying to have a good time. While amazingly compatible friends, they’re very different people.

Abbi is a little older, a little wiser, and a lot more uptight. Abbi’s her own worst enemy. She’s an aspiring artist whose short-term goal is to be promoted from janitor to trainer at the gym where she works.

Ilana is a little younger, a little wilder, and a lot more crude. The only time she’s going to work is to pick up her paycheck or a convenient place for a mid-day nap.

The best thing about Abbi and Ilana is that they are the most important person in each other’s lives. They will do anything for the other and it’s so rare to see a female friendship as the central thesis of a show that this feels like a blessing. The show not only portrays their friendship, it¬†celebrates it. Sure, they talk about dudes and dicks and relationships, but they always end up together.

Get Some

It’s difficult, at times, to talk about how truly progressive and amazing this show is for women, especially when it comes to sexuality. It’s difficult for a couple reasons, one because my mom reads this blog and there’s still a line of propriety that I’m not sure I’m comfortable crossing in talking about sex on the internet; and two, this show is so prolific, that it’s actually hard to narrow it down. Which, really, is why I love it.

Abbi and Ilana have sex. They have a lot of sex. They have good sex, and bad sex, and weird sex. They hit on guys. They get excited when they’re called “hot”. They call their vaginas “pussies” or any other number of slang words. They have kinks, and they’re not ashamed. They try things. They experiment. They are fluid in their sexuality and it’s not a big deal. They don’t make a point to label themselves or pigeon-hole each other. They date and hook-up, they have one-night stands, and they celebrate being single. They’re just two broads, having a good time living in New York City.

I don’t hate my job…

but I don’t love¬†it. This week marks the 3-month anniversary of me being hired, and the end of my probationary period. The end of the probationary period really just means that I can start accruing paid time off at an entry-level rate. And so, with these 90 days of experience behind me, I’ve been thinking a lot about this job and what I want for my future.

It’s weird to think that this is the point I’ve been working towards all my life.¬†Entering the work-force – the one comprised of adults, those working full-time that have to commute and dress in business casual clothes instead of a uniform, those that aren’t simply filling the seasonal employment void – was the first thing I wasn’t prepared for, even though life up to this point was on on-ramp for success. Merging proved to be the difficulty, as it always has been for me. Am I going fast enough? Too fast? What if I cut someone off? What if I fuck up and wreck? I worried about everything that could go wrong, had contingency plans for contingency plans, but I never really stopped to think about what life would be like when everything went right.

Getting a college education was the first step. Years of indoctrination in public schools had prepared me for the classes; I knew I could handle the homework. Making new friends terrified me, but living with people I had already vetted via Facebook helped. I could handle living in a new city because I was ready to leave my hometown. The thought of only seeing my parents on a sporadic basis was difficult, but it’s not like we couldn’t call each other, and email, and videochat. And when it came time to graduate, well, I’d seen friends do it; I braced myself for how difficult it could be to find a roommate, to find an apartment, to be able to afford an apartment, to find jobs to apply for whose descriptions didn’t sound completely awful and like something I might like to spend my life doing. Everybody told me about the importance of internships and a good resume, GPA and references.

But no one really told me about the shift from the academic life to the ‘real world’. Graduating and getting a job didn’t suddenly change my perspective on life, the universe, and everything. My life isn’t that different – I have the same friends, I drink the same alcohol, I go to the same places, I can only make the same dozen basic dishes.

I always knew that waking up five days a week at 7am was going to be a bit of a problem. I’ll own that I still hit snooze four times before rolling out of bed 10 minutes before I need to leave for work. (I shower, pick out my outfit, and pack my lunch the night before.) I still struggle to go to bed before midnight. But I make it work.

The thing I wasn’t prepared for wasn’t finding the balance of business and casual to get ‘business casual’. It wasn’t the commute, or using a Windows computer, or drinking coffee regularly.

The thing I wasn’t prepared for is how mundane my day can be. The rote tasks, the vaguely uncomfortable swivel chair, the lack of natural light – I never knew how much I liked natural light until I was put in a walled-off office space, with my dual-monitors and fluorescent lights as my only sources of illumination.

In preparation for my 90-day evaluation, my coworker mentioned¬†that my boss is considering the possibility¬†that I’ll keep this job and work through library school and work here indefinitely.¬†But I don’t think that’s what I want. This was a position with which I was familiar from my work-study experience and knew I could do well. I expressed interest in the field, knowing full well that in a year or two I’d want to leave to pursue a Master’s degree, potentially in the Library and Info realm. But it was never definite. And the more time I spend here, the more I’m sure that, even if I do end up with an MLIS, I don’t want to work in law again. I’ve seen the reference requests and they don’t pique my interest. To me, they aren’t something I think I would find fulfilling.

 

The other day I was told that my paid time off (PTO) accrual between now and the end of the year would be 6.5 days. The PTO at my office covers vacation, sick, and personal days. And it wasn’t until I realized I’d only have 6.5 days available for my use that I realized how badly I want to go home and visit. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to go home until I figured out that I don’t know when the next time I’ll be able to is. I realized that I have to sacrifice going home for Christmas because, what with the way the calendar worked out this year, Christmas is the only day I get off. Most likely, I will go for longer than a year without seeing most of my extended family.

I realize that I kind of want to quit. Even though I’ve only surrendered a few times in my life I start thinking ‘is this even worth it?’. And I know it is. I know this job I don’t like is paying for that apartment I really do. This job is the thing that’s keeping me surrounded by friends instead of living at home with my parents (where, let’s be honest, I’d be way more miserable than I am now). And really, and I know this – not even deep down, but superficially! – my job isn’t bad. I like it.

I know that this job is a stop-gap. It’s giving me the time to decide what I want to pursue for my Master’s degree and will give me a bit of a financial cushion when I do take that plunge. It’s giving me time to write, paying me a better salary than I expected, getting me out of the apartment five days a week. So I need to suck it up. And I will. It’s just taking some adjustments.

On Visiting Home

A few weeks ago I went home for the first time as an adult – you know, a real person who has graduated from college, signed a lease on an apartment, and holds down a full-time job to which one must commute.¬† It was the first time I traveled back to the Cleveland area that wasn’t just a school break or for a short visit while I spent the summer in DC. It was the first time I took an honest to God vacation from a job. And it was different. Here’s how:

When your dad pulls into the driveway of the house that you’ve spent the last 12 years of your life calling home – the house you went through puberty in, the house in which you introduced your parents to your first boyfriend, the bedroom that, for the first time, you got to decorate as completely your own, with your closet full of Beanie Babies and Molly, your American Girl Doll, and your high school cap and gown – you realize that you don’t necessarily think of it that way anymore, as home. The people you love, your family, still reside there, but somehow it’s not quite the same.

The inside is different, too. Everything feels like it’s been moved three inches to the left. You know that episode of Full House where DJ and Stephanie accidentally put a hole in the wall of Danny’s room and they move the furniture to cover it? I feel like Danny when he gets home and tries to toss his coat on the chair but it falls on the floor instead. That niggling feeling that something’s just not quite right. It’s the handles of the shower and how they turn in the opposite direction of the ones in your new apartment. It’s that all the doorknobs feel smaller; the toilet feels a little lower. The painting you did in 4th grade art that used to hang in the downstairs bathroom has been replaced by a concert poster from a show your dad and brother went to when you were away at school. It’s the free food and the well-stocked fridge with the balanced meals that you’re actually happy are balanced.

It’s the struggle between being so overwhelmingly happy to see your parents again, to know that they’re alive and there – ready to hug you at any time – to needing your space. You suddenly seem to realize – even though, let’s be honest, you’ve seen it coming for years – that your parents’ ideologies aren’t the exact same as yours; you hear comments you don’t remember your parents making before. You grew up thinking your parents were so liberal and super progressive and you’re starting to realize that they aren’t, necessarily. It’s not as though they’re suddenly ultra-conservative, it’s just that the hyper-liberal college you went to has maybe shaped your ideology more than your parents have. There’s the moment in the middle of the golf course where your brother almost makes you cry out of frustration because he doesn’t understand that rape culture is a thing you actually think and care about so he makes dumb comments and insulting jokes and says it’s okay because it’s ‘art’ and ‘comedy’. Slowly but surely, you start to recognize the excuses you’ve been making for him all these years, and somehow you still don’t abruptly stop. You do stop talking about politics with him.

And outside of your house you realize that you don’t really belong to these people anymore. At least, not in the way you used to. Your life isn’t ruled by the 6×1 mile patch of ground that make up your hometown. You’ve grown. You’ve lived in a big city, you’ve spent a few months abroad, your experiences and perspective aren’t nearly as limited as they were when you lived here full-time.

There aren’t really any contacts in your phone from your hometown that you feel comfortable calling up to hang out. (Because for some reason being back in your hometown makes you act like you’re in high school all over again, when you would call all of your friends to plan to see each other.) Or, if there are one or two you wouldn’t mind seeing again – they’re no longer spending time in your town. You try to process the crippling feeling that the next time you see them might be their wedding or your high school reunion. So instead of calling or texting everyone you used to be friends with, a long time ago (and not wanting to deal with the boy you used to be friends with and had a crush on but know will ignore you), you agree to hang out with your older brother and his friends. You let him goad you into it even though you could be staying home, watching Silver Linings Playbook with your parents. So you get in the car. You climb the stairs to the apartment complex you didn’t know existed until last summer, and play with the friendly dog, and beat your brother’s friend at Injustice and wonder where his wife is while you’re sipping on Diet Pepsi, getting contact high from the bowl they’re passing back and forth, and wondering, ‘when did this become my life?’. And when you’re brother wants to leave and says, ‘come to this party, my friends want to see you’ you shrug and say okay, because you kind of want to see them, too. But when you finally get there it’s nothing like you imagined – it’s not like the parties you’re used to. There’s a girl stumbling drunk between the six other people present. A guy you vaguely know industriously made a bong out of an apple. You abjectly realize you’re not having fun. You take the keys and go home alone, fervently hoping you remember which streets to take because you never did know this are quite as well as you could have.

By the time your dad has finished packing up the car to drive you the seven hours down to the place you’ve started to call home – the place where you surround yourself with friends that you think one day, maybe, you might consider family, to your own space that exists hundreds of miles away from your parent’s house – you realize you didn’t even accomplish anything on your ‘vacation’. A few days of shopping without having to pay for anything; a carload of furniture your parents weren’t using; some home-cooked meals; a lot of hugs and ‘I love you’s said between yourself and your parents. But does it really mean anything? In the four days you were home you never once went somewhere new, aside from that hole-in-the-wall Mexican place. You didn’t do anything special for your mom’s birthday or belated for Father’s Day. In the end, it was a chance to hug your parents, to answer the question of what your brother and his friends do when they hang out, but not much more than not having to get up early and go into the office for a few days.

As the car pulls away from the house, you realize you don’t miss it as much as you thought you might. The talk of turning your bedroom into a guest room stings a little, but you know you’ll always have somewhere to sleep; a place to return to. You feel bad for the clutter you left strewn over your bedroom floor even though you’ve done so nearly every time you’ve visited home. You feel a little worse than usual, though, because you don’t know when the next time you’ll return to might be.

When you arrive at your apartment, everything you felt at home is still there, flopping around inside you. But it’s fuzzier, more distant. You still miss your family, the house, the friends you left behind and grew apart from. Every once in a while you’ll idly think about what you could have done differently when you were growing up in that perfectly suburban town and decide it’s really not worth the energy, because you like where you are now. You’re trying to learn¬† to like who you are and find comfort in friends more often than you turn to your family. It’s a process. It’s strange and sometimes unsettling but at the end of the day when you’re tired and trying not to think anymore, the thought creeps in that maybe the feeling you can’t always identify is pride – you’re proud of yourself for doing what you always swore you’d do: you left. You’re not ‘stuck’, anyway. You have options. Maybe just remind yourself to take a breath and try to remember that every once in a while. You’ll appreciate it.

I Made History… Kind Of?

Last week I admit that I was facing a bit of a conundrum, dear readers. I was all ready to ask¬† for your input. It was the night before President Obama’s 2nd Inaugural and I just couldn’t decide whether or not I should go. For regular visitors, you’ll know that I am a staunch supporter of Obama. And for that alone I wanted to witness his second inauguration. But there are a few things that made the decision difficult.

1) Obama’s actual second Inauguration took place on Sunday the 20th, in a private ceremony. See, the thing is, since the date of Presidential inaugurations changed from mid-March to the 20th of January, swearing-in ceremonies typically don’t happen on Sundays. Therefore, the official ceremony happened on Sunday in the White House, and the President was simply upholding tradition by having a secondary ceremony on Monday. Did I really want to go see a ‘fake’ ceremony?

2) I’d have to get up at the ass-crack of dawn. I’m a college student, okay? I value my sleep. It is precious to me like little else. Did I really want to be up not at but before 6am on Monday to haul my ass to the National Mall.

2-a) Even if I got myself up and awake before 6am, I still didn’t have an actual ticket to the Inauguration ceremony. The best I could hope for was a prime location in front of a jumbo-tron.

So I guess my dilemma was this: Get up and see the ‘fake’ ceremony just because I could? I mean, I’ll admit that I’m lucky to be living in the nation’s capital. That’s not the question. Rather did I want to bother to get myself up and out of bed to trek the 8 blocks to watch the ceremony on a jumb0-tron or do I watch it from the comfort of my couch? To hike down to the parade route or watch from the window? Go to the Mall for the ceremony AND the parade or do I go for one or another?

I know by now you’re all dying to know so I’ll fess up: I went. I woke up at 6am, layered on an obscene amount of clothing, zipped into my boots and walked. And walked. And walked. And then, just when I was really excited to be done with all the walking, I got to stand around for a few hours. I’m sorry – did I say a few? I meant five hours. In the cold.

And yes, whatever, the ceremony was nice. Yeah, sure, I got to ‘witness history’. And, okay, I admit, I almost cried at three separate points during Obama’s speech. And only 2 people near me needed us to shout for the medic. And I had a good view and our jumbo-tron stopped malfunctioning by the time the ceremony started. But damn did my feet hurt later. Seven hours in boots was not my best idea, I’ll admit. But you know what was a worse idea? The mile walk I made in heels later that night.

Yup, that’s right. Later that night I donned a ball gown and strap myself into high heels and walked a mile to a fancy dinner before cabbing (thankfully) to my university’s Inaugural Ball. The blisters, they were ugly. My feet, they were pained. But dammit I looked pretty and I had a nice time. It was way too crowded, and drinks were way too expensive, and there were too many ballrooms (I kept getting turned around), but it was fun. And I guess now I know what I was missing when I decided not to go to prom.

Progress Report

Well, we’re almost two-thirds done with June. This summer really is flying by. I’m not so sure if the fast-pace is because I’m at school and the hustle and flow of the city makes me feel like everything is going by faster than it really is or what. Either way, I’ve been keeping busy. But don’t worry, not too busy. I’ve got weekly activities that I participate in and a semi-regular work schedule. On Fridays I go straight from work to play ultimate frisbee with my friends. Then we get dinner and hang out at somebody’s house. On Sundays we regroup and play wiffleball down on the Mall before heading back home for True Blood.¬†Speaking of my predilection for pop culture, I’ve been keeping up on my tv watching and movie goings.

Going to the movies has quickly become a nice little treat for myself this summer. First I rounded up the crew to go see¬†Battleship.¬†Kind of weak, plot-wise, but totally worth it since I got to stare at my boyfriends Eric Northman and Tim Riggins for two hours. Then I got home from work one night and went to see the midnight premiere of Prometheus. Not sure if I’d have liked it more or less if I’d seen Alien, but I enjoyed it regardless. I said “ew” a lot, but I still liked it.¬†After that, I’ve started my own little tradition. Since I don’t have to work on Mondays, I go across town and hit up the independent movie theater for a matinee. My first time out was to go see Wes Anderson’s new flick¬†Moonrise Kingdom. I had some reservations once I realized that two twelve year olds were supposed to carry the weight, but they managed beautifully. It was a perfect little summer movie. Then today I went and saw¬†Safety Not Guaranteed.¬†Basically it was a love letter written directly to me. I absolutely adored it. All of the actors were amazing (special shout-out to Aubrey Plaza, who continues to blow me away). It was endearing and hopeful but still managed to capture the craziness and uncertainty and loneliness of life. And setting it on the stormy beaches of Washington didn’t lose it any favor.

I’ve been keeping up with my lists, both book and tv. Since the beginning of the month I’ve finished¬†Brave New World and the fourth book in the¬†Hitchhiker’s Guide “trilogy.” I’ve started on the fifth, but it’s been slow going. I’ve also managed to finish Dance Academy, much to my friends’ glee.¬†Apparently¬†not all of them were as enthused with my live-tweeting as I was. I’ve also finished with¬†Arrested Development and am keenly awaiting the newest season and cinematic adventure. I’m plugging my way through¬†Friday Night Lights, already in the third season.

Don’t worry, mom, I’m not spending¬†all of my time with my face glued to the tv, just most of it. I’ve been to a couple National’s games now. And it seems like every other week one of my friends wins a happy hour at the local bar, so we go out for drinks every now and again. If only I can get a trivia team together… And it seems like more often than not everyone ends up lounging on my bed to just hang out and chat or watch a few episodes of¬†West Wing,¬†or Dawson’s Creek.

It’s safe to say I’ll have plenty to keep me occupied for the rest of the month. At the end of the week I’ll be back in Ohio, visiting family and friends. It wouldn’t be summer if I don’t at least swing by BVFAC for a broken pretzel. Alas, it’s only a short reprieve from DC, but my mini-vacation is taking place during the hottest days of the year so far, so I can’t complain. Once there I’ll golf with my dad, possibly take my mom to see Avengers¬†(as a belated birthday treat), and pick up a lot of books at the library to breeze through. The summer may seem to be moving quickly, but I’m doing my best to make the most of the time.

Now, for your enjoyment, an original song from Safety Not Guaranteed. It is clutch:

Hot Humid American Summer

I finished with classes, exams, my school year a month ago. As of May 7th at approximately 1:40pm I became a senior at the George Washington University. Let’s just give that a second to sink in, shall we? A senior. A fourth year student at a university of higher education. I’m so close to graduating I’m already cringing. I’m not ready to leave yet. It took going abroad and coming back to find my place here, school. Don’t make me leave so soon!

Okay, sorry. It’s just freaking me out a bit. I know that I’ve got a whole year left in this great place with these wonderful people, but damn. That’ll just go by in the blink of an eye, won’t it? So, in the meantime, I’m going to work on focusing on the present. I’m pretty terrible at that, if you’ve read any of my posts, like, ever. I tend to plan for months, years in the future, not the now. Oh, well. Instead of prematurely freaking out about graduation and caps and gowns and employment, I’m trying to think of what I’ll be doing this summer to keep me grounded. I’ve made a list, you see.

First off, I’ve just started working on a new story. No, I haven’t finished any of my old ones yet. I know, I know, I’m working on it. (Kind of.) But for the first time, ever, I have an outline, plot, characters, the whole shebang. If you couldn’t tell, I’m kind of proud of myself. I’m going to try and write a thousand words a day. I don’t think I’ll live up to that goal, but I’m going to try.

Next up, I plan on reading a lot this summer. A lot a lot. I’m still working at the law library, so I’ve got tons of time to kill. Here’s my go-to list:

  • Brave New World (I’ve only got about fifty pages left.)
  • Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (All books combined into one nice little Kindle package. I’m a little over half-way through.)
  • The Bell Jar
  • On the Road
  • Is Everyone Hanging out Without Me?
  • One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
  • Jane Eyre
  • Franny & Zooey

I also have a lot of shows to watch. Aside from recapping Newsroom over at Off Color TV¬†I’ve got a lot on my lists.¬†After catching up on the rest of this season’s shows (Once Upon a Time, HIMYM, Hart of Dixie, Castle, 30 Rock and Fringe) I plan on watching these for the first time:

  • Dance Academy. I’ve got about 10 episodes left in ¬†this addictive little Australian show about teenagers at a ballet school.
  • Arrested Development
  • Friday Night Lights
  • Battle Star Galactica
  • Daria
  • Awkward.

Keep in mind I’ll be in the city all summer, so I can also distract myself with free concerts at the Kennedy Center and the Sculpture Garden. The pool is open on the auxiliary campus and is free for students. Almost all of my friends are here for some/all of the summer so I’m sure I’ll have a full schedule. At least I hope so.

Since I don’t post here on the reg (I’m going to try and amend that, no promises), you can follow me on Twitter¬†@MollytheGhost¬†where I am almost always available to talk about TV, my boredom, and other weird stuff. I also got a Tumblr¬†recently, so you can see a ton of reblogged crap over there. (Please follow me? I don’t know how to cultivate tumblr followers, so that would be swell!)

Feel free to leave me with tons of suggestions as to what books/shows/movies I should try out next. I’d love to hear it.