BEDD #7: IKEA

Although I've seen (500) Days of Summer more times than I can count, and although I enjoy shopping for funky home furnishing as much as the next aesthetically-interested teen, I had never set foot in an IKEA... UNTIL TODAY! *Triumphant Mario Sound*

Just in case you're unaware of the shiny, well-organized joy that is this home furnishing retailer, let me break it down for you: Basically, Sweden undercover colonized America by building these blue and yellow fortresses in all our major cities. These places run for blocks and blocks, and almost never have only one floor. They display these beautifully decorated home setups for aisles and aisles, providing goods for infant bedrooms to home offices to Mars. I mean, they have entire rooms just full of rolly, spinny chairs that you can roll and spin in and no one judges you for it. Seriously. I rolled down and aisle, and the employees didn't react. AND THE NUMBER OF BEDS I WAS ALLOWED TO SHAMELESSLY FLING MYSELF ON! Don't even get me started on those fluffy, down-stuffed pieces of heaven. I'm pretty sure one of them was a crib that was clearly intended for toddler twins. It didn't stop me. I curled up in that thing like I belonged. 

The Abby Twins modeling in IKEA My friend Abby and I (yes we have matching names and we also have matching haircuts and we dress the same sometimes see left!~ ) ran around the store and planned out our glamourous apartment when we inevitably move in together. We picked out cool loft beds and entertainment centers, made room for multiple coffee makers, and even found a tiny table and chairs set for our cats to enjoy dinner on. In a fit of improv hilarity, she sat down at one of the office displays, consulted her iProp™computer, and informed me that Yale had reviewed my application, and despite my lacking ACT score, had decided to "full ride yo' ass!"

I haven't touched on the best part: THE FOOD COURT. See, this wasn't just a Let's-go-to-Ikea-and-look-at-pretty-things outing. My friend Abby is what I like to call a SUPER SWEDE. Her mother's cultural background is very Swedish... and so is her Father's. She is so super super Swedish, and I don't think there's a bigger time of year for Swedes than Christmas. For those unfamiliar with Swedish culture, maybe this traditionally Christmas-associated image will conjure up some associations? (If you were raised on the American Girl books like I was, you probably get where I'm going with this at least a little.) From what I understand, there's something with a Saint Lucia and she brings Christmas joy and light to all Swedish families by singing a lot and wearing candles in her hair. My friend Abby was THE SAINT LUCIA for all Chicagoland last year, but she sings in an all-Swedish choir year-round. She's got killer pipes, so I've always kinda wanted to see her sing in an entirely different language. IKEA, forever proud of its Swedish wonderment, hosts the choir around Christmas time. And LET ME TELL YOU. Watching little children dressed all in white with halos of sparkly stuff is enough to give anyone a little dose of holiday spirit. Throw in that the boys wear these totally comical cone hats with stars on them, and one special little boy who dresses in all red with his ears sticking out of a stocking cap to make him look thoroughly elvish, and even I became a little high on Christmas Cheer. And then. AND THEN. The most magical words in American vernacular mixed with the title of "Traditional Swedish Christmas Meal," rung like church bells in my ears:

"ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFET"

Little Swedish angels sang glorious praises on high as IKEA employees piled vats of potatoes, trays of smoked salmon, and bowls of glorious Swedish meatballs on a long buffet table, all ready for my plate. It was completely acceptable (in fact, I felt awkward not conforming to my fellow buffet-eaters) to take a tray with two plates and just load them up for yourself. The suspiciously baby bump-esque bulge in my dress in the photo above is nothing of the reproductive nature. I JUST REALLY LOVE GOOD FOOD. And when it available and delicious  I do not intend on denying myself these sweet pleasure life has to offer! I swore multiple times during the night that I was going to move to Sweden and become morbidly obsese, and by the end of the evening, even though I had been sipping what I was told was non-alcoholic Glogg, I raised my glass high into the air and told the leaders of the Nordic Choir group, "GOD BLESS SWEDEN!" 

I drank the Lingonberry kool-aid, and I totally want to be Swedish now. That, or I just really appreciate this culture's unabashed Christmas cheer.

There's a Doctor Who quote from my favorite Christmas special, "A Christmas Carol," where Kazran says, "On every world, wherever people are, in the deepest part of the winter, at the exact mid-point, everybody stops and turns and hugs. As if to say, "Well done. Well done, everyone! We're halfway out of the dark." He later turns this into a rant about how he hates Christmas, but when peace is restored and everyone is happy at the end, the Doctor smiles to himself and repeats, "Yeah. Halfway out of the dark." And every part of me can't help but smile. That's exactly how I feel about this whole Christmas season. It's so dark, inside and out, and it's just about when I can't handle the stresses of life anymore. So I go out of my way to spend time with the best of friends, eat, drink, and be merry. And that's what I did tonight, and it was utterly wonderful :)

Days left of BEDD: 24

Now Playing: Ed Sheeran forever because asd;lfkjas

Number of Beds I've flung myself onto today: Approximately 8.

Number of Swedish Meatballs in my belly: 11? I stopped counting.

Number of Steps I have to take to move my lazy bones from my couch to my actual bed before I go to sleep: 17

People who are probably going to post this and fall asleep on the couch: Me.

BEDD #6: Quality Friendship Time

I started writing a thoughtful, maybe even ~controversial~ post earlier this evening, but abandoned it in favor of catching up with a friend. It'll probably reappear over the weekend.
FOR NOW:

Ten least-sucky things about winter:

1. Dark Chocolate+Peppermint= The best flavor combination OF ALL TIME. For some reason, typically associated with winter. Sobeit. It's awesome.
2. Sweaters. Sweatshirts. Sweatertights.
3. Boots.
4. Sleeping.
5. Starting lists and then abandoning them halfway.

BEDD #5 Chckn Wngz

I will write today's blogpost before I'm really tired.

I will write today's blogpost before I'm really tired.

I will write today's blogpost before I'm really tired.

I will--

Yeah, I'm already in bed and exhausted.

I could sit here, staring at the screen for awhile, and come up with a half-decent blog post idea.

But I really want to catch up on New Girl. Zooey Deschanel's existence makes my life a little more worth it.

Instead, I shall leave you with this:
Recently, I began eating meat again after a 4ish month hiatus. My mother was convinced it was making me depressed blah blah blah. Today, I went to the greatest little chain restaurant for chicken wings for the first time in a long time. I. love. chicken. wings.
But as a concept, how friggen weird are chicken wings? It's not really great meat, as far as parts on a chicken go, and the bones are awkwardly placed on both drum sticks and those splitter-thingies-that-I-don't-know-if-there's-a-proper-name-for. No matter how well prepared they are, there's a ton of gristle. Plus, boneless wings are basically just chicken nuggets and therefore, sacrilege.
And the way the wings comes off the chicken as a whole isn't the way we serve them. We divide the wing into two arbitrary parts, cook them, and slather them in flavored sauces. Then we eat those saucy, stringy pieces of meat in public, laughing as red slathers all over our faces and skin gets caught in our teeth.
Next to sushi, it's probably one of my all-time favorite foods. Yuuuuuuuuum.

BEDD #4 Sing me to sleep (This post makes no sense)

I haven't been sleeping.

This isn't a recent development. I haven't been sleeping since before I can remember. I didn't manage to stay in bed for a respectable amount until the age of eight. Every night, I would have to get a glass of water, read a book, or climb in bed with my parents some time around two or three AM. This aversion to a good night's sleep was supposed to be cured when I got my tonsils brutally ripped out by medical professionals and my breathing was "fixed." (This is a flagrant lie. When I do manage to doze off for a few hours, I snore like a tractor.)

Even after the semi-traumatic surgery, I'm still plagued by vivid nightmares, frequent waking up (I don't think I've ever sleepwalked, but I've definitely sleep-texted), and generally sleeping like a ferret. That is, my blankets/pillows always end up on the ground or balled up at the end of my bed. I may not be conscious of this night-thrashing, but my limbs are plenty aware of the lack of rest they've been getting.

Lately, with the combination of winter darkness blah feeling and overwhelming future-stress-turned-to-near-panic, I've been utterly exhausted and unable to sleep. Once I finally doze off, I wake up every two hours or so. Anxiety's been stupid and breath-stealing out of control, and apparently limiting my caffeine intake helps make the scary mental cycling more manageable. Problem is, not only am I the furthest human type from a morning person imaginable, coffee is my lifeblood. I love my coffee, don't mess with that shit. I love it so much it makes me swear.

Limiting my intake to one to two cups in the morning seemed to staving off soul-crushing panic attacks, but this morning my coffee was ill-brewed and gross tasting. I'm a coffee addict and super picky about my brews, which is nooot a good combination of things to be. I missed my morning coffee, and resisted the urge to refresh later in the afternoon for the sake of a good night's sleep.

I've dosed off at least three times this evening, but it's 9:15 now, which is close enough to a normal time for me to give up this horrid task of staying just awake enough to be conscious  but not awake enough to be productive or interesting. I avoided all my homework, churned out a whiny blogpost, good night.

BEDD #3: Confessions of a Soon-To-Be-Theatre-Major

I'm extremely tired and on edge today, so a quick and terrifying anecdote from my school day will hopefully suffice.

During my study halls, as I've mentioned on this blog before, I often surf the internet when I have nothing better to do. My school hasn't blocked tumblr or blogger yet, and while I can see the motivation to blocking tumblr, I think blogging is a much more academic exploit than most of the internet. I mean, I'm writing. That's a schooly thing, right?
Anyway, it's never crossed my mind that I could get in trouble for posting or editing this blog during my free time. In fact, I've thought about telling a few of my teachers about my blogging escapades because I'm rather proud of the results thus far (and I already know some of them watch my videos occasionally... haha). So imagine my shock when my school's server decided to reject my username/password combo completely out of the blue. After a study hall packed with actual academic work for once, my computer locked me out just in time to print the assignment I desperately needed for a class later in the day.
My heart may have actually stopped. I had committed one tiny student sin during my 45 minutes of honest work... I visited Sparknotes.com.
I KNOW! To my defense: Sparknotes actually has some pretty neat blogging content for nerds (although that's totally not what I was looking for), it's usually blocked on my school's internet (my visit was to test the boundaries, that's all!), and... and... well, my real confession: I HATE READING SCRIPTS.
A few days ago, I mentioned the school assignment looming over me was reading the first act of Henrik Ibsen's A Doll's House. It's a Norwegian play from the late 1800s(?) that's actually pretty fantastic. But I'd forgotten that I was supposed to read act two over the weekend, and while I could have tried to quickly read it, I just... I hate. reading. scripts.
I don't know where this fervent dislike for script-reading came from, but I blame ol' Will Shakespeare. Back in the day, I didn't really get what the big deal about him was. Like most middle schoolers, I didn't understand why we were forced to read the strange "old english" plays about lovers and fairies. Unlike most middle schoolers, I understood that people I looked up to and longed to emulate were totally crazy about the balding old guy with a funny collar, so I desperately wanted to like everything Bard-related. But sitting down with a copy of Taming of the Shrew or As You Like It left twelve-year-old me frustrated and confused. If they're comedies, why aren't they funny?! Everything changed when my eighth grade teacher taught us Midsummer Night's Dream. Each student was assigned a part, and we read the whole play like a table read. My theatre kid heart rejoiced. Even the untrained voices of my peers breathed bits of life into the script. Things became clear. I read Helena and everything seemed right.
AND THEN we got to take a school bus downtown to watch the Chicago Shakespeare Company perform. Within moments, I got my "Shakespeare ears" and all the jokes made sense. The language was no longer elevated and esoteric, it was plain, rhythmic, and so so so beautiful.
Everything clicked.
Shakespeare was hard to understand BECAUSE IT WAS WRITTEN TO BE PERFORMED, NOT READ.
Thus began my fervent dislike of reading scripts on my own. (And began my love affair with Midsummer's Night Dream. Still my all-time favorite play.)
BUT how am I ever going to be an actress, much less a theatre major?!?! I don't really know. I wonder about this quite a bit. I'm hoping that my brain will get smarterer and slowly become more adept at visualizing performances and blocking from the bare bones of a script. If push comes to shove, I'll make friends sit and table-read any script I have to get my way through.
Unfortunately, as a high school procrastinator, today I needed a quick fix. So Sparknotes it had to be. (I've convinced myself if I read the summary only, and not the analysis ((freeing up my mind to draw conclusions independently)) I'm not a terrible person.)
It was the last website I visited before logging off and attempting to log on to a different computer to print an assignment for a different class. It was a difference of perhaps five minutes, the time it takes me to walk from one classroom to another, and it might as well have been a new layer of hell. I was panicky. I'd been found out. I'd tripped an invisible alarm system that would block me from internet usage for the rest of my high school career. I was going to have to answer for my Sparknote-ing, or worse blogger-ing, ways. Creative lies sprung to my head immediately: It was research for my next editorial in the school newspaper. I work for Sparknotes.com as a guest blogger. I fell asleep on the keyboard and the url typed itself in.
I nearly ran to the Technical Coordinator's office. Breathlessly, I explained my dire situation with as little detail as possible. The computer says my account is locked out WHY WHY WHY ;alskdfja;sdlkfa
As you might guess, the Technical Coordinator at my school is generally a man of very few words. But he can be rather strict.
He didn't question me for a minute. He said my blockage was most likey due to a password issue. He changed it for me then and there. No more panic. Problem solved.
a;sdlfkjasd;flkjads;lfad
I am too tired to even begin to tell you how stupid I felt.

Days Left of BEDD: 28
People Who Want to be in BED: Me.
Good night, sweethearts.

BEDD #2: My Complicated Relationship with Spiderman

Pidahhhman pidahhhman does whatever a... yeah.
Yesterday, as I mused at the end of the entry, I ended up renting The Amazing Spiderman instead of Marvel's Avengers. Twas a good choice.
Andrew Garfield's butt= FIVE STARS.
I should elaborate. Yesterday, I hinted that I had a childhood trauma involving spiderman. Basically, when the first Tobey Maguire movie was released, I was eight years old and my dad thought it was a grand idea to take the whole family to the movie theatre. My sister might've liked Spiderman at the time? Or my dad? My memories are quite hazy, beside the very vivid image of singing the Spiderman theme song with my dad in his Volvo driving to the theater. I consider that moment the final bright shining moment of joy in my childhood because after that, everything went to crap.
I don't know what it was about Spiderman, but everything about that movie scared the pants off eight-year-old me. I sat in the darkened room, and though I was perfectly aware that Spiderman, Mary Jane, and the Green Goblin were simply flashing lights on a glorified piece of fabric, they burned themselves into my impressionable mind. I couldn't sleep that night, and many nights after. My dreams were plagued with visions of spiderwebs and red spandex. Even my waking hours were haunted by images of Green Goblin on his for-some-reason-terrifying hover board thingy. Did he have a scary voice too? I think he had a scary voice.
Pre-adolescent me always overreacted to movies; I blame it on my overactive imagination. (Ask my mother about my feelings about Nightmare Before Christmas sometime. Recounting my all-consuming fear of that vhs tape is one of her favorite ways to embarrass me.) I didn't watch "scary" movies-- scary meaning anything except comedies-- until I was well into my teens. The Chucky and Saw movies haunted my nightmares after simply walking past the posters at the movie theater.
I maintain that there was something legitimately terrifying about the Spiderman of 2002. Now, this is a very difficult theory to prove because I've yet refused to rewatch the movie. Or watch any of its sequels. In fact, I had subjected myself to no Spiderman-related media since the Toby Macguire incident of 2002 until last night. I used to even make my sister change the channel when Spidey cartoons came on Saturday mornings. I HATE SPIDERMAN.

Reasons Spiderman is Terrifying to an Eight-Year-Old:

1. Spiders. It's a guy who has the powers of THE MOST TERRIFYING CREATURE ON THE PLANET. I would take a bat, a wolverine, a cat, etc., over a spider any freaking day. Spiders are terrifying, why would you give the protagonist of your story the powers of a creepy crawly?!
2. Green Goblin is the scariest fricken thing ever. I just google-image searched it to double check I was remembering the movie right, and I'm going to have nightmares again. There's a nook in my house that gets realllyyy dark and creepy and night, and I can point to you the exact spot where I would visualize his stupid floating hovering device. He was haunting my house and he was going to kill me.
3. The whole upside-down kissing scene just looks painful when you're eight. In fact, I just looked it up on Youtube and it still looks like potential awkward accidental teeth action.
4. This may be repetitive, but webs. WEBS. He's slinging around the city on these webs that shoot out from his freaking wrist, and jUST LEAVING THEM THERE. The people of New York thank you, Spiderman, because now they can experience that holy-crap-I-just-walked-through-a-spider-web feeling ON A DAILY BASIS. That is the worst fricken feeling in the world ;alkdfjads;lkfjadls and even at age eight I knew how inconsiderate he was being. I understand this doesn't make the movie terrifying, but shhhhhh I'm running out of arguments.
5. There was undoubtedly suspenseful chase scenes in that movie. I couldn't handle my emotions during suspenseful sequences until at least age 14.

Before you call child services retroactively to report my father for taking me to see this film, realize that I was a very, very, very emotional child. And that my father now pays for the television service that allowed me to rent the gloriousness that was The Amazing Spiderman: Andrew Garfield's Fantastic Bottom (that's the full title, right?) last night. It truly was glorious. He is very, very, very good looking, and besides the few really cheesy THIS WAS RELEASED IN 3D camera angles/shots, the film had a nice look to it. The holy-crap-I'm-spiderman sequences were fantastic (subway scene and skateboard montage), and the romance scenes were so full of chemistry and wonderfullness that even my shriveled Grinch heart ached with the oozing adorable. Andrew Garfield genuinely seemed like a teenager and Emma Stone... did her best! She's far too pretty to pass for seventeen unfortunately, but her performance was spot on. Sally Field was also unexpectedly brilliant. 

Before I end this blog post, I have to thank all of my commenters and lovely followers! When I mentioned that I didn't think many people would read this blog, I swear I wasn't fishing for compliments. (My friend Abby ((yes we're both named Abby, no she is not imaginary)) was just over and made fun of me to balance out the people being nice to me. Also she insisted I mention her in this post because I wrote the majority of it in her presence. Hi Ro.)A few of you mentioned you're doing BEDD as well, and I did my best to follow most, if not all, of you. If anyone else decided to take up my challenge with me, please comment and I'll follow you~

Days Left of BEDD: 29
College Apps Finished: 4/4!!! I'm done!

College Decisions received: 1/4 Bleh.

"Freaking," "Freakin," or "Fricken" in this post: Too Many

Chicken Nuggets Consumed: Too Many

People Who Really Need To Finish Their Homework and Go To Sleep: Me

People Paranoid About Incorrect Comma Use in This Post: Also Me....

Oh well. GOOD NIGHT!

Finally, BEDD Time

Get it? Like bed time, but it's actually time for BLOG EVERY DAY IN DECEMBERRRRR!!!! *fanfare*
Today's a Saturday which means I made an impressive to-do list this morning and accomplished maybe 10% of it before declaring Saturday as my weekly day of rest and re-watching 30 Rock. I can never decide whether I love or hate Saturdays. Do I adore their late starts, lack of scheduling, and overflow of possibility... Or do I abhor their abundant disappointments?
I predict that this blog will often seem like "the diaries of a lazy perfectionist," (In fact, that would probably be a better blog title... But I couldn't resist the Dumbledore quote.) because that's usually what I usually complain about, plus this acts as a very welcome source of procrastination. But can you even fathom how hard it is to be me? I set extremely high standards for myself, despite the fact that I know I'm faaar too lazy to ever reach them. Strumming aimlessly on my ukulele, stalking my ex-boyfriend's boring Facebook, and re-reading The Great Gatsby for a class assignment due weeks from now is just soooo much more interesting than the chores and homework with actual looming deadlines I'm supposed to be getting done.
Sarcasm and run-on sentences aside, (insert overall point of blogpost made with witticisms and accurate metaphors here).

Welp. I've been staring at this blog post for the majority of the afternoon (translation: I left this tab open while browsing more entertaining parts of the internet), and I'm just going to call it a day. I'm actually satisfied with this half-hearted start of a blogging project because even if I don't manage to create something I'm wild about every single day, I'm seriously enjoying the feeling of my fingers clacking against these keys, music playing, and tea brewing. It's helping me cope with the excessive darkness pressing in my windows, and the oppressive and anxiety-inducing feelings I get from my least favorite season. I told my mom I started a blog, and her response was, "Everyone's blogging these days! I don't think anyone's actually reading anyone else's blog." Thanks to my few kind commenters, I know she's wrong-- there are at least three people reading this! I'm basically an internet sensation!!!
But follower/commenter count aside, my immediate response was: so? Spewing my thoughts into the universe makes me extremely happy, so I'll do it. If no one wants to read it, I don't exactly blame them. Two blog posts and I already feel a bit more satisfied with the hours I waste on the internet. Vlogging enriched my life so much, so I'm excited to take an awkward step backwards and start this adventure. AAaaaand well uhm alright, I'll admit it... blogging is just a matter of typing out my internal monologue and that totally makes me feel like Carrie Bradshaw and the really bland main character whose name I can't remember on MTV's Awkward.

Slices of Pizza today: 5
Now Playing: Is This It The Strokes
Days left of BEDD: 30
Currently: Trying to decide whether to rent Spiderman or The Avengers. I haven't seen either, (I KNOW I KNOW I'M A BAD NERD. But I've never been all that into comic books! I love Batman passionately  but he's the exception. And X-Men growing up... But I fell asleep watching Captain American and Thor, and thought Iron Man was only so-so. Plus, I have a childhood issue with all things Spiderman. You know what? This parenthetical endnote is long enough, all my comic book issues will definitely be tomorrow's topic.) but I'm leaning toward Spiderman. The fact that I have a crush on Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone may end up beating out my burning love for every project Joss Whedon touches. Plus, this way I can stay blissfully ignorant of what the heck the Loki fangirls are going on about...