A Very Lucky Girl

This week has been one of the most invigorating of my life. I've had two interviews, accomplished my schoolwork with time to spare, went on a date, and even found some time to play with my friends. Nothing energizes me like a morning workout. Everyday this week I've been a faithful customer to the Huff before 9 AM, even waking at 7 AM on my 8:30 class days. For those of you that know me, this is truly an accomplishment. I prefer to not wake up early if I can help it, but this semester has changed my view of the wee hours. Having early classes forces me to start my day with productivity, and I feel guiltier about wasting away those idle afternoons after having made such progress before noon. Don't get me wrong, I can still nap like nobody's business, but I'm going to bed earlier (before midnight, usually!) and waking up earlier and I think I'm happier as a result.  Sure, it's difficult to force my feet to hit the dorm floor before 7 AM when it's still d

The other day I was texting one of my friends and mentioned that I was jealous of his life and wished that I was him at that moment (he was taking a nap. one of my favorite things in the world) and he countered with, "...but I like you for being Taylor." 1, 2, 3...d'awwww. And it reminded me of one of my favorite quotes in all the world from 27 Dresses, "Why would you want to be me if you get to be you?"  But I recently got to thinking, who would I want to be, if I wasn't me? Obviously, Jennifer Aniston is high on that list. She is one of my all-time favorite women. I love her in every single movie she stars in, but I have a secret girl crush on her as Rachel in Friends. She possesses this likable quality that I would give anything to have, her ditzy actions overshadowed by her good intentions and easy laugh. And Jen herself isn't too bad, either. I don't know her personally, unfortunately, but from what I've seen of her in the Hollywood world,

I had dinner with myself Tuesday night. And not in a creepy, lonely, I-don't-have-any-friends way. But in a peaceful, unpressured, leisurely carefree way. When I waitress I love seeing some of the people that come in by themselves, with only a book, a newspaper, or an iPad to keep them company. (except for this one lady, Sandy. We had a slight snafu and she always requests to sit somewhere other than my section. I am okay with this, she's a horrible tipper anyway!) They possess exorbitant self confidence to come into a crowded restaurant and find quiet strength within themselves to eat alone. My date with myself went exceptionally well. It's too soon to tell, of course, but I'm definitely thinking a repeat date is in order, maybe even a long term commitment. I sat in the corner of the Caf, nibbling on carrots, Chick Fil A chicken nuggets, and bacon potatoes. Good food, good company. I had my sociology notes open on my table just because I felt strange sitting there

"There was nothing wrong with her face that a pleasant expression wouldn't help."--Good Country People The above quote was written by Flannery O'Conner. I've been submerged in her twisted stories throughout the course of my Critical Reading and Writing class.  It stuck out so much to me that I felt a compulsory need to jot it down. Ms. O'Conner writes a lot about social status and dispositions. So her comment was not out of character, but it has a complete knell of truth. Smiling makes everyone pretty. Smiling creates an illusion of happiness, no matter how much a life is falling apart. I've been trying this new thing where I smile at the people I have to dig deep down and grit my teeth to care about. For a few reasons: One, you don't look good without smiling unless you are going for the sultry look and I am not interested in seducing these people. Two, smiling makes people think that your life is on the perfect side of awesome. You could be having

The #1 depressing thing in my life right now? Oakes (my brother) doesn't follow me (@mymylilADPi) on Twitter. When I first signed up for my wings he followed me and then a few days later informed me that he had revoked that privilege because I was "bad at twitter." Excuse me? Please tell me how that works, ginger.  And so here it is, 8 or 9 months later, and @_Scal still hasn't blessed me with a follow. I think I'm going to ask him for that for my birthday, it's right up his alley: cheap.  I'd consider myself an average tweeter, in terms of quantity (You already know that I don't skimp on the quality coming from my tweets). I never tweet more than 10 times a day, and it's usually somewhere between 3 or 4 snippets of sass. Whereas my timeline is trampled with tidbits of information from the same people, usually about mundane moments OR (this is when I grab my candy du jour and settle in for several minutes of scrolling) crazy drama. It amazes me

I'm almost 20. My closet looks like the closet of a 14 year old. Well, at least, it did. I remedied that situation this past weekend while I was home for Spring Break. Jean skirts galore. I'm so ashamed. 3 of them. I'm not sure which is worse, the long Amish one or the two mini ones. But to complete the ensemble I found a cropped jean jacket buried in the back. Spandexy jean material. I have spent the entire semester judging the GDI ginger in my English class for wearing a jean jacket nearly every day (I was informed he has upped the standard to Hawaiian shirts now because of the weather change) when I had one hidden in my closet. It would be a double standard, except I have the good sense not to wear it!  I often complain about not being recognized as an adult. The TSA agent at the airport looked at me skeptically when I had the audacity to claim the ability to travel alone, certain that I had forged my license proving otherwise (let's be real here, I would have at

New York City turned me into the Taylor that never sleeps. And the Taylor that never sleeps is not a pleasant person to be around (Megan and Hannah are angels for putting up with me). I probably got a grand total of 12 hours of sleep from Wednesday night to Saturday morning. When we boarded the plane from Newark to O'hare Saturday morning at 6:45 AM I vaguely remember taking off, jabbing that seat-back button as soon as I was allowed to do so, and drifting off until I was jarred awake by our landing in Chicago. It was a much needed nap, since I was getting to that point of dizziness in my lack of sleep and I needed to be a alert to navigate the three hour layover at O'hare. Believe me, I had an unbelievable time. New York is a true treasure. But it's a treasure that comes at a cost of high stress and exertion. Walking all day long (if I hadn't counteracted all that exercise with endless slices of pizza I could likely fit into my old jeans by now--but I'm not worri

***Spoiler Warning: I'm tearing apart this movie. So if you haven't seen it or haven't read the books then please save this for later*** First things first, I read the second two books in 48 hours. Literally devoured those words. Consequently, I was on the edge of my seat for this movie. I knew I shouldn't expect Hollywood to accurately portray the scenes the way I saw them in my mind, but I had high hopes. I saw the premiere in New York City. Quick moment of silence for how bad-a** that is, please. I have never seen such a line in my life. The entire block was wrapped in people. And when I say entire block, I mean ALL four corners. The line was even longer than the line at Shake Shack (I have a horrible first world problem: I now want Shake Shack for every single meal. NYC ruined me.) and that's saying something, I thought I'd never get that promised burger. I clutched Hannah's hand as the movie began, unable to contain my excitement. But as the

I'm allergic to cats. They make me sniff and sneeze and my eyeballs get soggy (mmm...imagery). So I was doubly frustrated when I received these texts from a strange area code in January. Anyone googling Cat Facts would simply realize that someone was playing a joke on me. And I eventually realized that too, but not before accusing nearly everyone I knew of signing me up/sending me these useless tidbits of information. I decided to troll right back, and dog facts was born. After that, I dragged a confession out of my friend Megan.  She started a craze. A Cat Fact craze. She told me her secret to introducing a false number and I immediately started sending Cat Facts to everyone in my contacts. The response was incredible and very diverse. Several people cussed me out (thanks roomie!) while others took my route and sent whale facts or other nonsense in reply.  I would giggle helplessly in geology while my phone vibrated with pleas of "cancel", "stop

Remember that mantra plastered on schoolrooms across the country and chanted in Sunday schools everywhere?  "Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You" Well, lately my golden rule has become a little rusty. Does gold rust? Maybe tarnished is a better term. Either way, it's not dazzling and pure anymore. Instead I've reinvented the rule to suit my terms. I prefer treating people anyway that I like, but still expecting respect in return. That's silly.  The hardest part of the rule is doing unto others when they mistreat me. Every fiber in my being wants to retaliate in a sure way that would hurt them, but that build of bitterness is only detrimental to me, furthering the instigator's cause.  I need to slow down and respond with love, whether it be to a cranky customer at Jamba Juice, the brother hogging the TV when Pretty Little Liars comes on in exactly 3 minutes!, or to the insensitive friend, never dreaming how much their words sting

I just initiated myself into the mile high blogosphere. If it exists. If not, I invented it. I'm okay with either scenario. Watching the sun rise from a plane was supposed to be magical. I was anticipating brilliant golds, pinks, and purples rolled out like a red carpet for the approaching sun. Instead it was very anticlimactic. Murky clouds were gradually bathed in a soft light. Pretty, but not breathtaking. Snooooze. Everytime I'm on a plane my dream of being a flight attendant becomes reincarnated. Traveling the world and serving alcoholics cocktails at 6 AM? Sign me up obviously. No, but really. Plus they get the freedom to roam about the cabin. I'm all about that roaming. My butt hurts. Can I just say that these windows are not properly aligned with the seats as to offer the proper view to seat ratio? I'm pretty much smack in the middle of two windows. So if I want to gaze at that gorgeous wing I have to crane my neck grotesquely to the right, effectively str

“The next time that boy pursues you, he better do it like a dying man looking for water in a desert. When it's the right guy, you'll know, because he'll cherish you.”   ―   Karen Kingsbury ,   Leaving Just finished the 3rd book in the Bailey Flanagan series and this is what Bailey's mother says to her when she's heartbroken about a guy that isn't reciprocating her feelings with actions, despite what he claims to feel about her. I think these are some words to live by. When I was younger and got my first cell phone, Paul and Shari set a texting boys ground rule. Basically, don't ever text them first. I followed that to the letter during high school, paranoid that they had a tracker on my texts and were able to decipher who the sender and send-ee was in any particular conversation thread. Now I make that decision myself, but I still find myself erring on the side of silence. I know they have my number, I know they have the capability to type a sentence, wh

I'm not into shallow relationships. I've always been the kind of girl that has two or three close friends at a time. It's exclusive, there are tryouts and everything for this valued position!  I can count on one hand, mayyyybe two, the people that are always there for me. And the people I wouldn't hesitate to help with anything. For this reason I have the hardest time talking to strangers. (Which, in retrospect, was an excellent thing when I was younger. I was never in danger of getting lured by candy to the sketchy van.) But now, I'm going to have to talk to strangers for the rest of my life in order for them to stop being strangers. I envy people that can comfortably waltz up to someone they have never talked to in their life and have an enjoyable conversation. I usually stand by awkwardly in awe, watching these social butterflies work their magic, wondering when I'll emerge from that socially awkward cocoon. (did I stretch that metaphor too far? Long ha

September 2011, when I was feeling really discouraged about school and my pathetic life in general, my friend Nick introduced me to this song . Proud by The Icarus Account. First off, this was a complete music change from my typical Katy Perry and Taylor Swift playlists. And secondly, the chorus completely hit home. "The innocence we had could never last forever And I look at what I learned to play today; Do you think that I'll be famous someday? When you see me now,  I hope I make you proud" Because all I wanted to do was make people proud of me and I felt like I just kept disappointing them. I didn't know how to fix it.  Recently I've heard this refrain in my head, and it's bringing new thoughts that might be impossibly twisted. You tell me. I really struggle with pride. I like to be right, I like to be perfect, I like to have all the answers always. I hate to be wrong, I hate to make mistakes, I hate unknowns.  And pride has al

I have to keep reminding myself that it's not my life. It's not my issues. It's not mine to fix. But there is nothing more frustrating than when your academy award caliber speech of advice is tossed carelessly to the side. I just want to scream until they get it.  "I'VE BEEN WHERE YOU ARE! I KNOW IT DOESN'T WORK. I KNOW YOU WON'T BE HAPPY WITH THAT DECISION! LISTEN TO ME! A 0.34 GPA WON'T GET YOU ANYWHERE IN LIFE!" But yelling typically isn't very effective, and will probably leave me hoarse.  I can't stand it when people don't take responsibility for their actions. I feel like I'm surrounded by a bunch of people like that right now. And it shouldn't be that way. We are in college, this is the time to test your responsibility skills, to hone them to perfection before the real world is unleashed on us.  Because in the real world you won't always have a classmate to remind you when an assignment is due. In the real wor

This week has been a social experiment of sorts for my wardrobe (mainly because I bought new clothes over the weekend and had to let them out in the open and partially because I don't think Nike shorts are allowed in Manhattan. And I'll be there in a week-gotta practice my chic look).  Someone once told me "to dress for the job you want, not the job you have." Well if that's the case I would love to make money while being a total bum, so I have been dead-on in my outfit choices this semester. (Plus-what happens when the job you want is the job you have? Mind blown.) I do understand the concept of dressing up for occasions that require it: interviews, dates, special dinners, celebrations, fratlapping, etc. But when I'm doing what I love to do, reading, blogging, eating, hanging out with friends, or sitting on the couch, I don't think I need to wear the overly sparkly dress with the hooker heels.  I'd much rather rock some Nike shorts and an oversize

Who should be studying for her giant geology midterm tomorrow morning? This girl. Who is pinteresting/facebooking/blogging instead? This girl. (Don't worry Mom, I'll get it together). Quick: pop quiz time! How do you pronounce my last name, Arceneaux? (even blogspot doesn't believe that it's a word...) a. ahh-sin-no b. are-sin-ox c. arson-ee-oh d. are-suh-no e. I try to never say your last name for fear that I'll mispronounce it or spell it wrong. In fact, you are only Taylor A. in my phone. I'm too intimidated. Now for the best part: what do these answers say about you? (I'm like a Cosmo quiz! But without inappropriate questions: BONUS!) If you said A...you are probably Paul. That's how he says my name when he wants to annoy me. Which is all the time.  If you chose B...you are in good company. 97% of people that attempt pronunciation decide this is correct. 97% of people are wrong. If you went with the ever-popular when in doubt pick C.

If you haven't heard by now..there is a Kony Kraze sweeping the world (and no, it's not the coney hot dog). And if you haven't heard then you are living under rock, but it's time to scoot the boulder over, blink a few times at the sky, adjust, and watch this. Kony 2012 Is your pathos vibe shot to pieces? Are you searching for your wallet now? Wait. I want you to take a look at the ethos side of the situation.  Controversy That article has nearly every piece of criticism handily wrapped up into one page. Among the information, what strikes me is the unfortunate use of the money given to Invisible Children. I don't have a problem with the purpose of the organization at all, but when only a bare percentage is being directed towards the causes that they are marketing (which involves spending money that is DONATED) I get irked.  I also disagree with their current mission to "make Kony famous." That's all well and good but I think there is a b

I t's time to get serious. Up til now, I've been only scratching the surface of what I really want to talk about and I'm not going to dance lightly around it anymore. I think y'all are ready for it. The Great Debate. Curly fries versus straight. Mushy fries versus crispy. Popeyes, Wendy's, Freddy's, Arby's. Who wins? Don't worry, I'll guide you through this sodium filled maze with care (***disclaimer: I'm not responsible for your reaction to the food porn that will fill this page***). There is only one logical way to accurately discover a clear winner: eat all of them in one sitting and decide. But since I'm a broke college student and adding up those calories makes me cringe, I'll rely on my memory of these delicacies. So if you are dubious as to the scientific nature of this experiment, buy me some fries and we'll talk about it. (and you can go ahead and quit judging me on my picture arranging...I wasted 20 minutes to get it l

"Don't act like you suddenly have self-respect" A guy said this to me last semester. I'm not proud of my reaction (think words that sound similar to "kung fu" and a choice hand gesture), but I was stunned at the effect his words had on me. I don't respect him, I don't think he has anything of value to ever say, yet this phrase still haunts me if I'm not careful. Unharnessed, it can reverberate in my mind, crowding all sensible thought. I know I have self-respect. I've proven it to myself over and over again, especially in the past few months with the choices I've made. JK (even his initials are a complete joke) inadvertently issued me a challenge.  Oh, you think I lack self-respect? Watch this. Challenge Accepted, A Very Lucky (and self-respecting) Girl.

The whole concept is ridiculously cliche, but I think younger (high school freshman) me needed to read this: Hey Tay, You're 20 at this moment in 2012 (eh fine, 19.75. psh, technicality). But right now, you are 14, about to start high school at St. David's School in Raleigh, North Carolina. Don't be scared, I already did all this. It's totally not a big deal, but I want to provide you with an inside scoop to avoid some drama, heartbreak, and unexpected events. Cherish your freshman year. It will fly by, and you'll be leaving, for good, to the distant land of Beaumont, Texas in the summer. (Learn to spell it before you write your parents a note wishing them luck on the interview in "boemont." They won't let you live it down EVER. People don't ride horses to school, don't embarrass yourself by asking). Don't cry too much, it's time to leave, time to see who else is out there to meet. You'll stay close to the people that matt