Ode to Melissa Ramsey

You know that cliche really popular girl? You know the one that people make really big deals about and makes a point to take pictures with them on all occasions? Or the ones that can wear a neon anything and it be cool but if anyone else were to attempt it...it would be sad?

Then you know Melissa Ramsey.

Or so I thought.

Camp Ozark 2009.

I came to this camp not really sure what I was doing except be a servant to kids. What I actually did was go to this crazy camp with crazy kids and a whole lot of Texans. They all wore bows, neon anything, jorts, and chacos. They actually seemed to like Miley, Taylor, and Beiber. They all seemed to know each other, and they all seemed to have access to a secret stash of Surge or something. My mind was blown faster than you can riflery badge.

Then, they had ring leaders and the main one was this legend called Melissa Ramsey. Oh, did you see that girl driving the mule with the bow? That's Melissa Ramsey. MELISSA MELISSA! Over here. Yeah...Melissa did devo with us last night. Y'all I just had the most awesome convo with Melissa. I was a camper with Melissa. Oh, that's my best friend and past counselor Melissa.

Out of jealousy, I wanted to chant OVER-RATED!!! (clap, clap..clap clap clap)

But in all honesty, I wanted to be like hey, how are you? what's up? how's it going? what about that mish mash? I remember once talking to her on the picnic table about the tv show the office and being like...Marianna why do you have to be so weird? (hand on forehead)

I continued to disregard the hype. Summer ended. Ozark was great but probs would not be returning. I thought all was well.

Fall 2009

Come fall, the "recruitment process" began. Whaddya know but Melissa Ramsey was coming to Oxford? Instantly, I was like, oh she will probably be so busy, but I will go to the Ozark reunion dinner, pretend I wasn't me (oh hey melissa, wait we met? yeah no didnt think so. no, that wasnt me that failed ropes. um did I wear glasses at orientation? of course not, are you kidding me? crazy hair? you must be mistaken!) [<---rehearsed script in head]

I met her once again fully expecting to make polite convo, help her hand out some flyers, and maybe do some recruiting.

What I did not expect was to find the most amazing, selfless, hilarious, listener, role-model, friend, big sister of a girl.

Melissa Ramsey was not hype. Was not legend. But was real.

And I do mean real. Geniune. The whole shebang.

The only crazy cultish Texan ...was me (minus the Texan. She is totally a Texan but went to Vandy. 5 points to her for acknowledging SEC as superior)

I was skittish towards the broad because I was not sure I was good enough for her or cool enough.

I am still neither of those things but I am pretty sure very few in this world are because she is SIMPLY that amazing. She CAN drive a mule, take pictures, wear bows, do devos, have amazing life changing convos BECAUSE she possesses one of the most endearing, empathizing, and easygoing hearts of anyone I know.

She passes advice, not judgment. She gives laughter, not self-doubt. She gives hugs, not half-hearted back pats.

She can sport a bow and Louis Vuitton bag. She can wear simple Burt's Bee lipstick or glitter...anything.

She can talk to a college (weird) senior and make her feel like the most important person...while simultaneously helping throw one of her 24957 bachelorette parties.

Melissa Ramsey deserves every bit of hype, cult following, and facebook photo tag.

Marianna Breland barely deserves her friendship.

I can call her any day any hour and even though I have not seen her in two years, I think of her as one of many best friends. Quality of phone visits...not quantity of ...real life visits...right?

The fact that she has embraced me despite a) Texas is not on my birth certificate b) I am not a Chi Omega c)I am a Rebel, not a commdoore d) only own a sequin headband..and that's it e) all of the above. It's kinda amazing. But then again, so is she.

These reasons mentioned above are why she is in hundreds of weddings and have hundreds of friends.

On top of all this, it's her birthday. Tah-day. And I thought what better way to say happy birthday than with a blog post all about her, especially since I post on here so much!

So Mel on the morning of your bee-day, pretend we are eating Bottetree granola and sipping coffee. Carter is there as well.

The photos...well that's just to show you what an amazing friend she is and the fact that our only photo tagged together is a Camp Ozark advertisement. Yeah, she's that cool. And our friendship is that long distance. I'm in the blue shirt. I am not getting any more specific due to my hanus appearance (thanks for making it microscopic Ozark graphic designer. seriously) The sad thing is...Melissa is not even in this picture. But it's what we shared at least in the photo..not facetime. but memories.

So here's to that really popular cliche' girl.

Because cliche' things are cliche' for a reason..or should I say cliche' people are cliche' for a reason.

They are just that amazing.

And that you are, my dear Mel.

Wannabe Townie

Ahem, well hello there. The sabbatical is over.

I'm back.

For now.

But, have you ever pretended to be a local? That's actually one of my hobbies.

Oxford has been the most complicated town to conquer yet. They range from ultimate hipster to ultimate srastitutes and then just somewhere in the middle.

But, I want to be a townie because I want to claim this beautiful place as my own. I want to look at the St. Peter's pumpkin patch and have memories.

So, while I may not have romped there as a wee toddler, I embarrassingly romped there as a Senior in college. Right beside a family with an infant.

Do as the Romans do right?

Regardless, you cannot deny this fall time beauty.

Happy fall y'all! (tis my favorite season!!!!)

By the way--waving a big camera in the air totes made me look like I lived there. Good thing I am getting some things right.

Mississippi mud pies

Mud. Mud. Mud.

And some more mud.

While all of you were singing Amazing Grace and listening to sermons or enjoying a nice Sunday nap and some fried chicken, I was getting suctioned ankle deep in some intense Black Sea German mud.

And I had a blast.

I hiked for three hours in the mud. And that was the extent of it. There were no landmarks. No incredible views except for the most beautiful blue sky that would put any Pixar movie generated sky to shame.

I got blisters. I got muddy. I got slightly bored.

But most importantly I got closer to the people on this trip. I got to have a lot of time to think about myself and what I want to change and do and become this next year.

The fact that it is almost time to grow up encroaches me with each ticking of a second. With each question of "what do you want to do next year?" And with each facebook post of someone else getting engaged.

There is that Weepies or Indigo girls song about the world spins madly on.

As I took each step/slosh in the mud, I realized geeze freakin louise. We are growing up.

Not to get too cheesy, but stepping in the mud you had to do it painfully and cautiously so as not too fall. Each step you had to calculate in some parts.

I got impatient. I wanted to run.

But I had to walk.

I got extremely muddy and messy.

But I never fell.

In life, we want to run through parts. We just want to go with it. We just want life to come easy.

But life sometimes, like thick Black Sea mud, will just suction you down. You get messy. You get bored.

But, if you plan each step right, you will never fall. Or fail.

It is so hard for me to wrap my head around this. Still.

So why my life is still a mystery, I know if I just take it slow and easy, I won't fall.

Hopefully.

Now, that the sermon is over.....

Sunday we woke up at the crack of dawn, rode a bus for three hours, slept alot, braided hair, and got ready to conquest the mudflats. And that we did.

After dominating the little sucka, we relaxed on the beautiful island and the beach where I discovered the European man thong is not a myth. But real.

The tides came back in and we had to ride a ferry to get back home. During this ferry ride, I started up with my narcolepsy and nodded off and fell asleep....on the rando German next me.

She tapped me and looked at me like she had just found a hair in her soup. Sorry I just hiked for 3 hours lady.

But I really don't blame her for being weirded out. I was a muddy, smelly, foreigner, with a feather headband. I was the ultimate tourist and that's probably why I heard her mutter something something something America under her breath.

Upon arrival back in the 'brueck, we went out to our "spot," a local pub called "Bottled." And we sat at our "table."

That was only our second time going there, but we have eaten at the same table twice now. That's entitlement. Right?

Then, we rested our sleepy lil heads. The German mud was nice, but I am pretty sure that if I ever get a hankering for mud, I will just go whip up some Mississippi mud pies.

Or just go to the Neshoba County Fair.

But for now, I will just do as the Germans do.

Wonder what they would do if I introduced them to "muddin?"

Then, my worlds would collide. 4-wheelers. Baguettes. Mud tires. Coca-cola Light.

It could be a great world.

When photos speak more than words.

Osnabrueckin it

July 6, 2011

A Venezuelan, an Afghani, and a man from Uganda walk into a bar.

There's no punch line.

That's kind of my life right now.

I am in class right now during a break and I have Yumi on my left and Anna from Poland on my right. She just asked me how to prounounce "obese."

That's one word I do know due to the culture of home, sweet,home.

The sunshine is out and the mood is lifted! No more red, blue, and grey.

Yesterday, I had my first class of German and Civic Engagement.

Let's just say the German class was just one big game of German charades. Our professor spoke zero English to us. None. Nein. Instead, she just fully submerged us. And I give her an Oscar for her acting talents! Through extravagant motions and lots of pointing, my class was a teeny tiny bit able to follow her. The poor woman has her doctorate and is having to dance around just to get us to understand how to say book and pen in German. Bless her.

I now know how to ask for your name, introduce myself, and give farewells and greetings. Yes, I know. I can now speak for 5 seconds to the locals.

Yesterday, Monday, we went to dinner at a very authentic German restaurant that also was a brewery. The entire group clinked glasses and enjoyed hearty food of the Deutch. Have I mentioned how much the like potatoes?

I am pretty sure somewhere, on some street corner, they sell potato ice cream. Because everything in this sweet little town is potatoes! Potato pasta, soup, entrees, side, etc.. etc….How the Germans stay so fit and skinny, I do not know. Because they have pastries for breakfast and potatoes for every other meal and snack…schooo….clearly Dr. Atkins is not really hero here. Note to future tourist: Don’t mention Hasselhoff. It will be followed by an eye rolling and “Americarins” muttered under the breath. (And yes, I know I misspelled it, but that’s how they prenounce it. I am not losing the American way that fast I promise).

After that, we went to quite possibly the weirdest bar I have ever been to. It had neon, glowing toilets for seats and then they had them for tables with glass over them. Headless barbies were tied to a rotator to act like a ceiling fan. And fur covered the walls. Naked manequins were posted up everywhere too.

Do you feel this vibe I am giving you?

It was freakier than any Friday Lindsay Lohan has ever experienced.

But, one cool thing about it was that they had phones on the tables, like old fashioned ones that have the swirly thing to dial the numbes. You used the phones to dial the bartender and to tell him what you wanted.

We actually had a good time despite the décor.

Next stop was a blues bar that tried to fashion itself after dear old home. I felt very comfortable and clapped to the music. The Germans looked at me as if I had just done a handstand with a monkey on my back. They. Are. So. Stoic.

But they really got into the music…you could tell by their head nodding. Which my experience so far with the locals is that that is a lot of emotion. The band actually sang in English which was a pleasant change. We could sing along and just have a great time. It felt good to do that on the 4^th of July while of all of you were playing Alan Jackson, Reba, and every other country star who had an America song sensation.

But probably the most American thing that we did was to stop for McDonalds on the way home.

And let me just say this---German McDonalds DO NOT play around with McFlurrys.

They can be stoic and eat potatoes all they want to if they can keep putting whatever toppings and sauces they put on my ice cream. It was GUT!

After that, my fourth of July was done. And yours was for the most part just happening. My midnight is your 5:00 p.m.

As you were firing up your grill and gathering your fireworks, this little patriot hit the sack. She missed America, but was loving the world.

Red, White, and Grey.

They always say the third day after surgery is the hardest one during recovery.

Studying in Germany is not surgery, but today has been the hardest.

Imagine a day in November in Mississippi. Everything is gray. Everyone is somber. There is a cold wind that embraces you with such ferocity that you squint your eyes and turn your back to it.

Now imagine, that you are wearing a thin cardigan, jeans, and toms.

That was my life today. Plus, no store being open and no internet and no phone. And you cannot get your internet in your room to work.

To prepare for this trip, I asked the others what every aspect for Osnabruck was like. The weather, the people, the food, etc.. etc…

They were so helpful and I highly appreciate. However, apparently, what they had last year, was a heat wave. Also, the weather is very bipolar in Germany according to the locals.

I can handle bipolar weather. I am from the ‘sippi. What I cannot handle is the fact that I only packed for haawwt weather.

Needless to say, TOURIST and IDIOT is printed on my head when Germans see me. It could be worse though. The boys are wearing shorts. I have not seen shorts since the Memphis airport (there was one dude in Amsterdam with them, but they were more like manpris. Two totally separate things.)

Other than that, today was old-fashioned relaxation. And by old-fashioned I mean, I slept a lot and conversed with people a lot.

I would have to say that is my favorite thing so far. I sit around and shoot the breeze with Yumi from South Africa. His real name is something crazy. It has clucks in it! It sounds like this: Ki-cluck with your tongue from the roof of your mouth to the bottom of your mouth-ah-mo. His nickname is Yums/ Yumi after his ridiculous middle name.

I have done several activities with foreign students through Ole miss and Hoby. I have socialized with a lot of different people.

But I think, due to the hideous weather, the lack of any distractions, and I do mean any, all we can do is sit around or walk around and talk. And talk. And tell stories.

His life in South Africa is completely unreal yet so familiar to ours at the same time. He is also hilarious and knows so much about America. He is a huge Dwayne Wade and LeBron James fan. He knows all about College Football. And he stayed up til 3:00 just to watch the super bowl.

My South Africa knowledge? World Cup, Nelson Mandela, Charlize Theron, that movie where Morgan Freeman played Mandela, and Oprah’s school for girls. And then just random stuff that the Ole Miss students taught me. He goes to Nelson Mandela University actually and knows all about Ole Miss as well since our schools are partners.

Pretty much I have the American syndrome. Stickin to mah own business.

I feel..ignorant.

Funny how on the eve of my country’s Independence day, I feel so patriotic (due to me being out of the country for the first time and getting to see how the other side lives) and so …thirsty for something else? A broader horizon?

All I know is, I am so eager to learn about other languages and cultures more so now that ever before.

I am giddy to learn German.

I cannot wait to go to school tomorrow.

And that my friends is a first.

Things I did today:

-walked to Uno Pizzeria where they spoke 0% English. I did sign language. Pointed to my cheese pizza. Walked away with ham and pineapple. It happens. BY THE WAY-German Diet Coke is so much better than American. It is called Coca Cola light and tastes like a not so sweet Coke.

-finally figured out the bus system.

-ate one of the only restaurants open. Got some great pasta. The waitress loved us because the boys tipped. They do not know do that in Germany and you should have seen the look on her face.

-lots and lots of talks.

-lots and lots of sleep.

-lots and lots of dreaming about when I can check my email, post on this here lil blogger, and realizing how dependent I am on technology.

.

Amsterdam I am.

As I write this, I am riding on a train looking out on the beautiful Dutch...grafitti. Colorful, at least.

I am sure the countryside will begin soon.

Well, this whole trip started with what I was dreading most. A 14 hour plane ride. The good news: I am terrible at math and the plane ride was only 8 hours.

The bad news: 8 hours was long enough. They didn’t even play movies until hour 4.

But it is so funny how small of a world it is. John Montgomery sat by two girls from Ole Miss on a plane going to Amsterdam with tons of other people. The ladies in front of us—Mississippi. I was very proud of my Mississippi gentleman. They all helped the senior ladies with their luggage on the carts. Apparently, it was some group that takes senior citizens around. What a trip that will be. They all were wearing fanny packs around their necks?

Speaking of fanny packs, Father Breland tried to get me to wear one. He said he could “arrange me a fanny pack”. This only solidifies my beliefs that my father is in a fanny pack mob. Arranges, Allen? Oh parents and their suggestions.

We arrived in the aiport dreading the customs and the passport line. We were expecting to fill out paperwork and being searched. In my imagination, I saw myself being put in an interrogation room and them yelling at me. WHY OSNABRUCK MISSY???

Uh. They only said have a nice trip . Stamped me. And off I went. Customs, I just walked through.

Not nearly as terrible as any of us thought.

Then came the fun part. Understanding Dutch signs. This is what they looked like.

Rykytlkennekt.

Next, was the part I was really worried about. After researching hotel rooms for 3 days, I was responsible for getting the room and the quality of them. The website said 1 double bed and 2 twin beds. With three boys, this was critical. Otherwise, we were about to get real cozy. Real fast.

The Best Western Amsterdam Airport did not disappoint. Were we cramped ? A little. And the twin beds were pushed together. I tried my best to push them apart.

Cooties are a serious illness.

Next we went back to the airport thanks to our free aiport shuttle (5 points for me) and we did the most frustrating thing of our trip yet.

We got lost in the airport train station. Like I said with signs that say this: ekljouetznkn. It is a little hard to know where you are going.

After going to three different platforms, we got on the right train. However, no one checked our tickets and there was nothing when we got off. We basically could have just jumped on one without going through the hassle of paying for tickets and then going on a train. But oh well. We can die knowing we did the right thing.

From the train station, we arrived in the heart of Amsterdam at Centraal Station. I nominated that we do a canal bus tour. This is a taxi/gondola that rides through the canals and has tourist destinations. Since we did not arrive in the ‘dam until 2:00, I thought it would be smart to buy a 24 hour pass. So that we could ride at night.

That was my thought process. Turns out the boat has nighttime excursions and you cannot ride it at night. So, we paid for a trip for Saturday. The boys were not happy and I got demoted to the role of “voice or reason.”

Regardless, we bought that one, the most expensive one of course, and we hopped on and enjoyed the most beautiful way to see Amsterdam.

I am now a photography freak. However, I was rivaled by an aggressive Asian threesome who literally would shove me out of the way to get their shots. Then, they would stand in the way of my shots.

At first, I just smiled and got out of the way. And then, as the ride continued, I got frustrated. So I started to not move out of the way. I am now in 2083508 of their shots. I know I will either be on their mantle or in their holiday greeting cards. I consider it a victory. And they just kept holding up peace signs.

From the bus/gondola, we moved on the Van Gogh museum. We were really starting to feel the jet lag. In hindsight, a museum is not really a rousing time to get your energy going. At the museum, we looked like we had just run a marathon or gone to a funeral. We were not pleasant.

Also, I am going to help spearhead a letter for Amsterdam that will go something like this.

Dear New York,

We would like to have Starry Night by Van Gogh back. You see, tourists come and pay a lot of money expecting to see Starry Night. It angers Americans to tell them, they could have stayed in their homeland to see their favorite Van Gogh painting. First class is acceptable to send it back. We knew you would understand.

Sincerely,

Amsterdam.

From above, you can see we were all dumbfounded to know that Starry Night was not there. Emphasis on dumb. Probably should have done our research.

We had our first “bier” on this side of the Atlantic. I heard it was cheaper than water but didn’t believe it until I saw it.

It’s true.

A water is 3 euros. My bier? 2.40 euros. And when they serve you, they served you water in a cup no bigger than a cup from the dentist’s office. Life is constantly an adjustment but I love it!

After that, we accidentally happened upon the red light district. That was an experience. I tried not to react so as not to me look super-American and because clasping hands over eyes and squinting through them may seem a tad elementary.

In Amsterdam, it does not get dark until 11:00 at night which we were not expecting. Although we arrived in the city at 2:00, it felt like a whole day due to the fact that we ate up the sunshine and explored for miles. My legs have not been this sore since cheer camp back in high school.

The gentleman got angry with me because I made them miss our bus because I was too busy taking pictures. The magic was all around me and I could not stop snapping pics. I am not the favorite tripmate. But I am not apologetic. I tried to comfort them with the fact that hey, we are only here once.

It somehow didn’t work. Cursewords and hand ruffling through hair ensued.

We ended the night grabbing dinner at a quaint little pub and trying a new bier that I have never heard before. I cannot even spell it but the waitress said it was Heineken’s mortal enemy.

We came home to our suite and passed out. This morning we did the most European thing possible for breakfast. We ate a croissant and got a coffee at this lovely little café a la golden arches.

We ate at McDonalds.

But it was lovely. It is 400x better than the American McDonalds.

After that we went back to the black hole aka the train station and now here we are. On a cozy little car on the way to Osnabruck.

Since writing this, we experienced excitement. The German police came on and kicked these two men in our car off because they did not have their passports. When asked what country they were from, they replied Afghanistan. Actually, we don’t speak German, so we don’t know the question. Just understood Afghanistan.

Just a day in the life.

The Story before the story.

Identity and heritage. Oh, how I have pined for those two. Growing up, I envied anyone with the last name that sounded one bit ethnic. I envied those who said, “Oh my Dad is half Italian. My grandparents migrated here from their orange groves.” Or, “Oh, tales from the motherland.” Or worse, those girls with beautiful olive skin that made me the dairy non-fat creamer to their coffee. Or people who can say, “My drinking problem? That’s the Irish in me.” And then precedes to tell a story about his great uncle that once wrestled in a pub after a fellow lad looked at his lassie the wrong way.

Granted, I made those particular situations up. BUT THEY DO HAPPEN. Just not those particular stories. But you all know the type of people I am talking about.

This desire for heritage has blown up into a desire to visit Italy, Greece, Ireland, Spain or any European country and for me to go into a town and be greeted by men with hats and pipes and women with aprons and smile lines. I imagined myself lean and dressed in black in France. Eating a baguette and wondering if my relatives ate at this very same bistro!

Or perhaps in Spain, dancing, with a rose in my hair, moving unnaturally good to the music for an American, and the locals smiling and saying, Aye Aye! Her ancestors were the famous flamenco dancers.

Or in Greece, baking side by side with a long lost cousin making a family recipe for food that is too local and too delicious for any American-Greek restaurant to replicate.

Thus, I always knew my first trip to Europe would be meaningful and the stuff that books and movies are made of. I knew it would be a trip of self-discovery , culture, and a new habit that would allow me to say, “Sorry, I picked that up in Europe.”

I wanted my first to Europe to special. I wanted to hold off until I knew where my roots where so that I can go visit the mother-land/home-land. So, I applied to go to South Africa for the summer. And that was that. Two weeks later I applied for my passport to go to South Africa. Everything seemed settled.

On possibly one of the worst days of my spring semester, I opened an email that read CONGRATS! YOU’VE BEEN SELECTED TO GO TO---GERMANY!!

Uh…pretty sure I did not make that my first choice…and pretty sure that is in Europe.

Germany-land of the beer (gross), bad history , and a wall. Those were the three conversation points that immediately popped into my head about that land whose flag was gold, red, and black.

Then, I saw the list of students I would be going with . Three boys. Awesome. Three sets of raging hormones, mischief, and no “asking of directions” for 25 days.

But that was me still bitter about not going to South Africa and losing my Euro-trip virginity.

Me, Now? Well, that’ s a different story.

Until about 24 hours ago, I was heritage-less. I had lots of dreams and theories. But ultimately, I had no clue what I was.

My grandfather comes to see me off in Forest and send me well-wishes to Europe. Greg Breland is man full of caution. From bungee jumping to boiling water, he has some tidbit of caution to provide you at all times. He gave my father the biggest spanking that my dad can remember for not looking two ways before crossing the street.

Grandaddy in the midst of hugs and kisses said, Oh I have something for you. Now, I am the only granddaughter and my nickname is Sweet Baby. So I am used to this exchange.

He handed me a manila folder and just said this may interest you since you’re going to Germany.

I was prepared for a frightening book about all the things that could go wrong in Germany without the proper precautionary actions.

Instead, I found my family history.

I’m German.

From Northern Germany to be exact.

So, in one fell swoop, at the ripe old age of 21, I found my roots. And got my dream all at once.

Grandadddy, unbeknownst to him, rocked my world.

God, my ultimate Daddy, just smiled (probably) and reminded me how He could do so much with my failures and disappointments.

And now, I sit on Delta flight something something something, going to see the land of my ancestors, get some college credit, and learn what it would be like to grow up with three brothers.

It is fitting for my life really. Having some fantasy and then living it out, accidentally. And without my timing or my plans at all.

Here I go. Maybe I will run into some Briechlyns. (that’s my German family and where my name originates) And maybe they can teach me how to make the best bratwurst. Or maybe I will find out I inherited a brewery. Or maybe, my rich cousin will loan me his beemer.

Or maybe, I will just enjoy myself. And learn some German along the way.

But I can eat at a pub, and still dream about my uncle helping fight against the Gestapo, and meeting a spy at this very same pub.

Roots cannot stop this imagination.

Dinner Time.

Greetings from the district!

As I sit on my bed thinking of what to write, I instantly want to vent, complain, and relay all of my mishaps and crazy stories. I started this blog to tell everyone of the daily mishaps/odd incidences that only happens to me.

But just like an aroma that starts from a plug-in and fills a room, I do not want to make this blog a place of odor. I don't want to be a home for the negative.

So, despite the fact that I have no air conditioning right now (subtle complaint--I just can't help myself) or that I saw a rat twice tonight at dinner, I had a lovely evening. And really just a lovely time.

Tonight, the power went out at Richard's house ruining our attempt to make/grill/by grill we mean microwave some burgers. Our friend Chris (really Mary Alex's friend, but he is now starting to become ours) invited us to come share in his dinner party. Instead of our veggie burgers, we ate eggplant parmesan, outside in the backyard under twinkly lights, with mason jars filled with wine. It. was.perfect. And unplanned. Avett Brothers was playing in the background. It was like a hipster's paradise. We were just missing a fedora, jorts, and converse combo. (Imagine the photo above but minus like 30 cool points...but it was still perfect!)

Around the table were people from Cali, Philly (both MS and PA) New York, Chicago, the Mid-west, and of course, the one and only M-i-crooked letter-crooked letter-i-crooked letter-i-crooked letter-i-hunchback-hunchback-i.

All of these people have different stories, different personalities. Yet we all dined together. With plastic forks.

I think a table can bring people together faster than it takes water to boil. (which by the way-did you know is really not that long? I burned some water on Monday trying to make some Rigatoni. Then I singed a towel trying to clean up the hot water. reason #26 why I started this blog)

Despite the beautiful monuments, the museums, and the metros--the highlight of my week was sitting around a wooden table with good people and good food.

I would say that that is the Southerner in me. But honestly, I think that is just the human in me and in all of us. The need and want to be fed--both physically and emotionally.

God is good all the time. And all the time God is good. Peace and blessings y'all!

Going to the big apple Friday! Let's hear it for Mississippi in the Park...CENTRAL PARK!!!

Nations's Capital Y'all

I can see the Capitol from my house!-said in your best Sarah Palin voice.

For realz though, the Capitol of the United States of America is 2 minutes from my house.

I cannot wait to enlighten you on the zany adventures of Marianna Breland.

Let me give you a preview:

-when you sign up for a 4 person house with the intern housing place....you really sign up for a house that 13 people live in...9 of which are boys. I have still not ruled out that we are being secretly being filmed for A) Big Brother: Capital Hill edition B) The Real World: DC ...Revisited. My living situation with my trusty pal and roommate Mary Alex Street is unreal.

-over-sized shirts...are over-sized. DC no likey...one of my many roommates asked why my shirt was so big....

-metros are mobile creepy convention sites for creepy men. insert man with a cane and African beads following you here. (true story)

-Everything is expensive. everything. Even the supposed mom and pop grocery store...dont support them! support the "man"! support capitalism! because if not, you end up with a $50 grocery bill....for two measly bags of groceries.

-business casual is the casual. all the time.

-my cool internship....is actually in a basement.

-made besties with real life Georgetown students. HELLO! BOSS! (and obviously learned their lingo)

-I saw John Kerry. no explanation needed.

-I saw and see my wonderful boyfriend every day. It's kind of the best ever.

more to come and more of my photos...because truth be told I just google imaged that one...

Just some sunshine for this rainy day

I found this lovely lady through one of my friends who epitomizes sunshine. (her name rhymes with schmelissa pamsey)

Look this girl up on Etsy! It´s called the Wheatfield by Katie Daisy. Your day will instantaneously be brightened. And, look at her states. I want a Mississippi one!

Just remember, April showers bring May flowers!

Fountain of Youth

Two weeks before my 21st birthday I wake up to discover a new cowlick that has formed on the right side of my head. Just mere centimeters above my right ear.

Did I drink from the Fountain of Youth by accident?

At my most recent trip to visit the mister in DC, I was stopped and questioned about my ID. She told me there was no way I was 20.

Yet, last December, I tried to pose as 14 for the role of True Grit. Yes, that's right, I auditioned for True Grit. Now let me review you. I was 20 years old. I was a sophomore at a University. But in my stardom filled mind, I thought I could pull it off.

Because let's face it. Lizzy McGuire. Grey's Anatomy. The OC. Anybody really believe they are the ACTUAL age they are portraying?

Umm...no. Gordo? Remember Lizzie's male sidekick? He was 17 when the show started. A 17 year old starring in a show about the trials and tribulations of a middle schooler.

So, I thought I could do it. Well turns out, the lady knew her stuff. Despite my efforts to look like a puberty stricken 14 year old who had a bizarre growth spurt (but let's face it, at 5'3"that's not really a growth spurt) they shot me down faster than you can say Hollywood. Their first statement to me was nothing of a statement but of a exclamation that had a question mark dangling at the end of it....HOW OLD ARE YOU!?

The moral of this story is that A) do not try to convince casting agents that you are in the 12-14 range and B) age is really just a number.

I think it is so funny how each year we are never content with our age. At 4, you cannot wait to be 5 (a whole hand!!!) At 15, all you can think about is will you be kissed by your sweet 16 (~~~LoLz, OmG~~~)? And at 17, you want to be 18 to vote (because you are suddenly so politically involved) and at 20, you just want to be 21.

Funny, because once you inch your way to 21, you turn into (or maybe just me) this character who lives in a dream requiem or a memory. Remember that cheer competition that we all fell in a stampede like fashion? Remember when I cried at Vacation Bible School for not getting the role as head lamb? Am I really almost a Senior? Remember that time...that once...

When does one stop balancing the tightrope of remember when...and can't wait until?

William Faulkner said," The past is never dead. It's not even past."

We live so much in the past that the past is never really...past.

I wish I could be really scholarly right now and explain that to you better. But that's the beauty. It's open-ended.

Regardless of my cowlicks, of my turned down roles ( that girl was freakin nominated for an Oscar!!!) or for the airline personnel who thinks I'm in fact 12 (if only she was working the casting call that fateful December day)....I am going to love my age. And its quirks. And its perks.

So, hair gel anyone? I think I am going to need some this year...and when I am 50.

The reality

This is what I wish I could be doing today. Every last bit of it all the way up to the o so cool headband/scarf mix she's got going on.

Instead....I am Tony.

I used to chant "that's alright, that's okay, you're going to pump my gas someday."

But now gas is totally self-service.

So looks like the joke is on me.

Here's to being a nerd. And to pumping my own gas.

Writer's Block.

I HAVE LITERALLY BEEN WORKING ON THIS ARTICLE FOR A WEEK AND I HAVE NOTHING!!

ZILCH.

NADA.

ZERO.

I know ALL CAPS can be annoying but that's exactly what I am right now. ANNOYED!!

I sorta thought that I would be a natural at this whole magazine writing thing. You know, I have the imigination, the crazy childhood, and the insight to be this crazy soulful writer. A writer that makes my professors be like PUBLIC POLICY?? YOU CRAZAY FOOL! YOU MISSED YOUR CALLING! IT'S WRITING!!

In fact, I wanted, prayed, and dreamed that would happen. That my purpose in life would just fall in my lap. That this beautiful swell of music would play in my heart and mind as I pound the typewriter, eyes racing with the cursor, and flowing with the energy in my huge, vast, wise, mind.

reality.check.

That doesn't happen. Even when you cut on Pandora. Tried that.

Or drink Coca-cola. Tried that.

Or look at photography to inspire you. Tried that.

So, what I am dealing with is an article that is kicking me in the butt. hard. like black belt hard.

and the fact, that God might not have made the whole "I'm a writer" be the answer to the question that hounds me: WHO IN THE FREAK AM I??

Heavenly Father, I sorta of thought this would be the window. But I think it's a door.

The phrase when God closes a door, He opens a window hounds me. I keep finding doors. I need some windows. A) because it is getting stuffy B) I just really want some answers.

Well, the barge industry might not be a Pulitzer. Or maybe even "A" worthy. But at least, it has given me the reality check that I needed to cash-in.

I know, I know, don't give up. But seriously guys. It's 2:15 in the morning. And I have exactly 2 paragraphs. This is for a magazine. A MAGAZINE! Not a for a TA. Not for a professor. But for a public. (!!!)And a darn good public at that. The whole "I'm so over college thing" doesn't really apply to this because...in a sense..this ain't college. This is life.

And so here I am back at square one. Yet revitalized that at least I can still write on this here blog. Even if it is fragments, run-on sentences, and a contraction or two..or three...or four...

I truly feel like the star in every movie/tv show that is just so angsty about not being able to write. And in a way, I feel like Carrie Bradshaw at the end of the Sex and the City. Ranting to her laptop and making sense out of life.

She just has better shoes than me. That's all.

So xoxo, Carrie Bradshaw-esque (but not really) Breland

PS-Carrie, I totes have your hair. Just sayin'

Romantic Weekend? Eh..What do you consider romantic?

I know it's gooby. But I have one of those relationships that every time I say goodbye to my boyfriend we plan the next trip to see each other. So, since Christmas, we planned a weekend in February to see each other. That's just what you got to do when you live thousands of miles away from each other.

So, like any couple, we planned to see each other valentine's weekend. But then Columns Society got in the way of that. So the next weekend. Of course!

But of course, it's me. Can my life be that simple? No. NO. NO NO!!

Monday:Valentine's.

Tuesday:Elections. I am fine.

Wednesday: Is that fever I feel? Maybe. I will go to the doctor. Oh doctor, I do not have the flu? Okay great. Yes, you can give me two shots. I am going out of town this weekend.

Thursday: I feel okay. It's time to go see Richard.

Friday: Congrats! It's "you got the flu" friday!!! Yippee! BECAUSE IT IS THE ONE TIME YOU CAN GET SICK!

It would have been a terrible weekend but...

Here we had spent all this money (we split the airplane ticket fare) and I was sick the whole time. However, it made me love him in a whole new way. He had no problem letting me know I still had snot on my face. He had no problem feeling my head for fever, fetching more tylenol. He had no problem with just sitting in, scouring hulu for good reruns. He had a gift for me every day in DC but the real gift he never intended on giving was playing my doctor. He is a huge planner and to have me ruin his plans...well he just went along with it.
I hope you all get to meet him and even though my valentines day weekend mainly involved sudafed, tylenol, some kleenex and a whole lot of parks and recreation..it still involved the guy I that I kinda of love. :)
So this is my ode to Richard.

Thanks for having the role of my boyfriend in my sitcom life. I am sorry that it makes you get involved on my terrible comedic timing of a life.

So turns out the flu can be romantic....in the "honey, you've got a bat in the cave" type of way.
He deserves it.

Peace out 2010!!!

Peace out 2010! Wasssup 2011??

It is almost overwhelming to think back on my first semester and tell you everything that has happened.

I tried (and succeeded) with SUPER long distance relationship. (wassup 14 hours away?!)

I lost a major thanks to the liberal arts department. Minor in journalism, anyone?

I finally let go of my GPA and held closer to my friends.

I got the new name of scarimanna. It is one of endearment. I promise...or at least I hope.

I sacrificed a huge goal and lost another.

I learned you can't always get what you want. It was a really hard one to swallow.

I kept a nursery at a church. Diapers have nothing on me now.

I watched relationships form. I saw break-ups unfold.

I saw the Rebels play not so well. Let's hear it for the golf team.

I am still trying to juggle how to accept friend's lifestyles but not be a part of them.

I had a friend come out of the closet. An evening and a conversation I will never forget.

I fell in love with photography and now I eat, sleep, and dream it.

I started keeping a journal of all the books or movie plots I would like to submit. It's got a 100% of never leaving my red moleskin but it makes me feel like a struggling soulful writer...so I keep the habit.

I am still trying to realize God is always present. And that in moments of defeat, He is there. And in moments of victory, He is there.

I am trying to improve prayer life....eesshh...not going so well.

I am sorta trying to decide what to do after May 2012.

But, alas, it is only January 2011. This day ain't over.

So, now, I am going to live it.