Slave to Technology

I haven't given up on blogging about vacation. I just have the worst job ever and a boss that will only let me take off for swine flu if I have a fever. Apparently hacking cough and swollen throat aren't good enough and should be combatted not with rest and relaxation but rather with 12 hour days spent babysitting little children while simultaneously ridding the world of bedbugs. I PROMISE I will finish the vacation blog within the week. PROMISE. (This promise might end up on liesitoldtoday.blogspot.com pretty soon)

I want to deviate from the vacation to to discuss my addiction to technology. I was startled to discover this addiction as I'm not exactly a "techie". I can't even figure out how to change the ring tone on my cell phone. Only recently did I discover how to change the welcome message so that it no longer read "Caroline is Awesome!". Apparently at some point I was a victim to her pranks. I'm pretty sure I've set her phone language to Portuguese before so I probably deserved it. Unfortunately despite the fact that you all think I'm incredibly witty, I couldn't think of anything to replace it so now when I turn my phone on it reads "Hello!". I think I'm going to go back to "Caroline is Awesome!" at least that always made me chuckle. 

In addition, I loved that Bryn Mawr was so technologically unfriendly. I loved that room draw was not done online but rather in a giant room with a giant whiteboard. I loved that instead of registering for classes online we waited in line and bitched about how our deans took forever. Despite what I told my professors I don't absorb more when I read my readings off of the computer instead of printing them out. I need to have that hard, paper copy in front of me for everything. The idea of the "Kindle" freaks me out. I love newspapers, magazines and trashy prep school novels. None of which can be recreated in electronic form.

Despite my inability to operate any form of technology, I'm lost without it. Yesterday I came home for the first time in ages. As I was packing up my laundry I stopped to consider whether or not I needed to bring home my computer or iPod. As I would be home for roughly 12 hours, 8 of which I would hopefully be asleep for, I decided that it was not worth the trouble. The minute I got home, however, I was greeted with "Farrah Faucett's dead, Michael Jackson's dead, Aunt Dot is dying, Babunia fell and I can't get a hold of Nana". After establishing who Aunt Dot was (a beloved aunt of a family friend) I immediately began to crave my MacBook, currently sitting alone and unloved in my dorm room. I needed to get on the internet immediately. I needed to sit on OhNoTheyDidnt for hours reading each and every comment regarding this pop culture apocalypse. It scared me how my first thought was "I can't believe I left my computer at work!" 

There is a computer in my mom's office, but that wasn't good enough. That computer is separated from the house, one must remove themselves and enter a "work zone" in order to use that computer. I have become so accustomed to having a computer in my life that I needed to be able to follow this story all well maintaining what I thought was normal social behavior. Clearly trying to have a conversation with your parents while starring blankly at a computer screen is not normal behavior however that didn't occur to me in this time of need. 

Perhaps even more complexing is that I didn't even stop to consider the television. Have we reached a point where my generation feels that the television is outdated? If we miss our shows, no problem, we can watch them online. We don't have to wait until 6 o clock to hear the news, we can check it out online. Who needs HBO when you have Hulu and Netflix WatchInstantly. I could have easily moved my family and our cocktail hour downstairs and stared at the television and no one would have thought any less of me. But even the television wasn't fast enough to relay my information to me. It couldn't provide that snarky feedback that I love so much from commenters on online gossip stories. I wanted to e-mail friends and get their response. E-mail Tara before Cindy broke the story for her. Read the completely untrue rumors that the television would never cover. 

The internet has given us this false sense that we can become part of the story no matter where we are. One does not need a journalism degree to become a journalist. Everyone is given the chance to give an opinion on the internet and I'm one of the suckers who wants to hear everyones opinion. I can spend hours reading about conspiracy theories or Hollywood scandals. The fact of the matter is that Michael Jackson's death was very cut and dry. He had a heart attack, he died. Five years ago there would have been a tribute to him on MTV, a running of the Jackson 5 movie on VH-1 and a couple of news stories. In this day of blogging and commenting, no one accepts that the King of Pop simply died. No one in Hollywood simply dies. CLEARLY the mafia put a hit on him because of his involvement in the midwestern corn trade! Even now that it's coming out that his doctor was sort of sketchy...well duh! He was Michael Jackson! Did we expect anything more? Frankly I always assumed he would go in some type of circus-related catastrophe. 

I love my blog(s). I love when people comment. I am a sucker for praise and the internet allows me to get praise from people that I might not see everyday. There is no hidden agenda to this blog, it is a completely self-absorbed outlet for me, by me and starring me. I wonder what would have been my outlet some 5-10 years ago. How would I have shared my thoughts and ramblings while receiving the feedback that I so crave. Some think that blogging has allowed more people to break into writing because there is a better opportunity to be seen. I wonder if it's hindered it as people are now lazy and waiting to be seen. 

Say I was born 10 years earlier and went through this writing phase around 1999 rather than 2009. The internet was around but rather than a blog I probably would have had a geocities page (black with the flashing star background of course) that I would put some funny pictures on and maybe a blink-182 song would play in the background. I would also not even consider putting my writing on there. Would I be more motivated to send freelance stuff in to magazines and competitions? Would I spend more time on my writing, editing it and working on my actual sense of humor rather than taking the easy way out of spending an half hour or so typing whatever the hell I want to into a little box then posting it? Would I perhaps learn how to properly use the English language? Would I learn how to spell? 

The internet has not made getting into the communications world any easier. I have a blog but I'm by no means a journalist and anyone that thinks having a blog makes them a journalist should be punched in the face. If you are getting benefits from a legit company to blog then you can make a case for yourself but remember, most "freelance bloggers" gets paid the same amount as freelance can collectors. And at least freelance can collectors are helping the environment. 

 I don't know how to end this entry without becoming a giant hypocrite. Am I going to stop blogging? Hell no! I said before, I love this blog. Am I going to stop reading every comment on every story on ONTD? Hell no! Those are some funny people! The internet age has dumbed down my generation, I'll be the first to admit it. We crave instant satisfaction, waiting more than an hour to get information about a breaking news story is a catastrophe in itself and (luckily for me) it's become socially acceptable to have no idea how to spell anything right. But it's entertaining. No, Crazy Bob in the Basement isn't a respectable journalist but I'd much rather believe his suspicions about the death of Abraham Lincoln than I would my 6th grade social studies textbook. 

That being said, last night was an eye opener for me. This morning I accidentally left my phone at home and enjoyed not having it on me at all times today. Sure, I was still able to be contacted via landline and walkie-talkie, but it was a small step towards recovery. I just hope I caught this in time and don't have to enroll in any 12 step programs. I don't have time for those in my 12 hour workdays.

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Also an edition of "What I Said, What I Wish I Said: Work Edition"

Me: Hi, I'd like to order a speaker system for one of our groups

Unnamed Media Service Guy: UGHHHHHHH! *sigh* Why?

Me: Um, for a dance...

Media Service Guy: What kind of dance?

Me: Um...social? Girl-Boy? High School?

What I Wish I Said

Me: Hi, I'd like to order a speaker system for one of our groups

Media Services: UGHHHHH! *sigh* Why?

Me: To make you miserable. Also to have a dance

Media Services: What kind of dance

Me: Erotic. For one night only the Carl Fields Center of Equality and Understanding will be getting freaky.

Censored

In regards to the post that used to be here...

OMP: Yea.....that's not something you should put on your blog.

Busy week at work. I'll finish the vacation story soon.

My Part II tease was a lie, this entry contains no Al. BFV Part II

Where we last let off we had colonized the library and were dangerously close to being kicked out for squatting. After waking up the four of us pulled ourselves together and classily crossed the great hall to the front desk to see if our room was ready. Here we all made the same "hey! We found a great room with four beds and a lot of books, can we stay there" joke. As we all laughed at our family joke a la Brady Bunch style the front desk clerk just stood in silence. He did not take kindly to our shenanigans. Caroline, OMP and I each took a step back and waited for Mom to work her magic and get us an upgrade. Last time we were here she managed to get us upped from a small room in the new wing to a GIANT room in the tower (mega classy room). She achieved minor luck and had us upgraded to a fairly larger room. We took it, when you crash in the library like a bunch of vagabonds you really can't be choosers.

We took the elevator up to our room before discovering it was actually on the second floor (although it was called the 12th floor for some unknown reason) and could be easily reached by the nearby staircase. We also noticed the floor was creepily quiet. It was only a few days before Memorial Day, supposedly one of the hotels biggest weekends. We all noticed it, but no one said anything. This castle of gold could not be tarnished in our eyes.

The beds in our room were calling our names and we all settled in for a bit of a nap. After said nap we all set to work making sure we achieved just the right mix of fun and relaxation. OMP practically ran to the indoor swimming pool. This is always incredibly amusing as OMP notoriously hates swimming and water activities, however the indoor pool at The Homestead is his idea of nirvana. Mom told the girls to get our dinner clothes out so that she could iron them (I can't iron, amazingly four years of women's college didn't teach me to iron, what a waste of an education). It was here that I noticed my shoe bag was missing, meaning my only pairs of shoes were a pair of cheap flip flops and nice sneakers. I'm not one to be picky but I had a brand new haircut and a wide variety of dresses that I been saving for this event and I'm ashamed to admit I threw a bit of a hissy fit. I wanted to look cute, polished and rich but all I had was a pair of flip flops from Burlington Coat Factory and Chucks with bumblebees on them. Mom took control of the situation and together we walked out to car to see if we had just forgotten to take it out of the car when we were unloading. 

The cars were all valet parked up by the stables (just keep rereading that sentence) so it was a bit of a hike. When we got there we were shocked to see that our car was practically alone in the parking lot. With no forms of public transportation in the area,  it was clear that we were literally some of the only guests in the whole gigantic hotel. The bag was not there and I began to whine again. Ever clear-minded, Mom convinced me that my flip flops complimented all of outfits perfectly. I switched my tactic to my sneakers, we were going to be going on a nature walk the next day and I didn't want to get my sneakers dirty. I had kept this particular pair clean all semester, a new record for me, and I was rather proud of how clean they were. Mom just shrugged and said "alright we'll buy you some new ones". 

My mom is not cheap, but she's not an extravagant spender either. I was thrown off by the fact that she would just throw down money for a new pair of sneakers at the only (overpriced) store in town simply because I forgot mine at home. But that was part of the beauty of the Homestead, money didn't exist here. Thirsty? Go buy a soda. Hungry? Go pay 10 bucks for a bowl of soup. Need sneakers? Buy them. I think that's part of the reason I love the Homestead so much, because of the mindset that it puts my family in. We don't just save up enough to afford the room at the hotel, we save beyond that when we plan to go so that we can afford the luxury of leaving the credit cards in our room and just charging what we needed to the room. In these recession wracked times, this luxury is more fulfilling than ever.

So Mom and I walked down to the store to buy a new pair of sneakers. We found a pair in my size, tried them on, bam, new sneakers. Mom paid for them and I embarrassingly thanked her. She shrugged and said "I've been trying to buy you a legitimate pair of sneakers for years. Now maybe you won't hurt yourself so much at that job of yours this summer". I thought about it, "Wow!" I exclaimed "Just think of how many fridges I can move in these!". Mom sighed, she really hates my job sometimes. Three weeks later I must say that these shoes are absolutely fantastic and I don't know what I was doing by cheaping out when buying sneakers. A good pair of sneakers feels spectacular!

We stopped by the pool to make sure OMP was still alive. There we found him alone in the pool floating along in pure bliss. I fully expect him to have installed an indoor pool in my sisters room/his "office"/my storage room by the end of the summer. He got out of the pool when he saw us, dried off and told us that he "felt like a millionaire". With OMP became the first to reach the "like-a-millionaire" status we were all grasping for. 

What OMP sees in his dreams (note the potted palms)

We met up with Caroline who I can only assume had been at the gym and went down to the Great Hall for tea. 

(Again with the potted palms, I need some of those for my room!)

Pots of tea were brought over and we quickly drained them. Our family can drink tea, we are all huge tea fans. Add the fact that we were tired and caffeine deprived and it becomes clear that another round was needed. Luckily at The Homestead your wish is their command and two more pots were brought over in a jiffy. Revived and relaxed, it was time to continue our day.

OMP headed to the....well we'll say library for the sake of keeping this story going, while the women went to the concierge to see what movies were playing in the theater that night. Nothing good was playing, just some animated film. Oh well. A couple made dinner reservations in front of us and we overheard that the dining room would be open the next night. When our reservations were first made we were told that for some reason the dining hall would only be open on our last night. Mom and Caroline practically tackled the nice young couple out of the way in order to change our reservation for the next night from the tavern to the dining room. 

It turns out in an effort to cut the budget, the hotel was only opening one of their restaurants at night, rather than both. Mom bit the bullet and asked how the hotel was faring in the economy. Without hesitation the concierge replied "Not well". Her frank outlook on the situation shocked us. In an environment where everyone goes out of their way to please you and tell you what your want hear, her honestly was a shocking reminder that we were not Vanderbilts in the gilded, but rather a normal middle class family in the "oops, now what" age as I like to call it (I named it that after my time in Ireland. That seems to be the general feeling over there...oops!). Luckily Caroline had moved on to a rather difficult puzzle in the corner by this point. It's always best to not burst her bubble. 

Despite our shocking reminder of the times we were still pleased that we were able to change our dinner reservations for the next night to the infinitely more classy dining room. It was getting close to dinner time as it was, so we went back upstairs to change. 

As I was changing I looked outside and noticed the most fascinating spectacle, a group of people dressed as Confederate soldiers and southern belles. As if we hadn't already identified ourselves as the hotels only northerners, Caroline and I threw open the window and began pointing and taking pictures

(not classy)

(not classy)

We scampered down to Sam Sneads Tavern, stopping to gawk at the Southern culture show going on (as we walked by they were having a hawking demonstration, complete with live hawk). At Sam Sneads we enjoyed a delightful meal, although we were all excited that we would get to eat in the dining hall the next day. After dinner we crashed in bed. I tried to read my book but only got about two pages in before crashing. The trip was off to a good start and there was so much more to go.

Coming up in Part III: I promise you will meet Al.

Family Vacation: A Multi Part Epic, Part I

There is nothing in the world more fantastic than a Bogucki Family Vacation. Like most things we do, BFVs are delightfully classy. Past vacation spots have included Utica, NY, Altoona, PA, an abandoned town in upstate New York and perpetual family favorite Pittsburgh. Basically the idea of BFVs are if the place was once thriving and is now experiencing a bit of economical depression, than it's the place to go. Unfortunately this means on the rare times that we do go someplace prosperous, we're the kiss of death. Luckily, we don't mind, that might even make it better. 

Four years ago my family found the Homestead Resort in Hot Springs, VA. Caroline had recently been deported from England and she was sad so clearly a family vacation was needed. I was not included on this family vacation, it's a sore subject. Long story short they loved it. It was the perfect mix of class and history that is needed in a BFV. The Homestead is one of the last remaining classy old-money mountain resorts that used to be popular in the early 20th century. Here people wait on you hand and foot, open doors for you, pull out your chair and basically stop only just short of physically moving your feet to allow you to get from place to place. It is elitist and fantastic. For some reason our family likes to imagine that if we were a family in the early 20th century we would be one of these high-class wealthy families who would "summer" places. While our pretty stellar education background would support this theory, we are doomed by our vowel-ending last name and ruddy Irish complexion. Luckily racism has evolved since then and our prep school pedigree makes us acceptable Homestead visitors.

The next year I was invited on the BFV when they decided to return to this land of milk and honey. I packed up my dresses and skirts and prepared to live the lifestyle that I believed I had been deprived of for so long. The days that followed were incredible. At dinner in the dining room every night I would enjoy filet mignon while men in tuxedos and women in clothes that cost more than my car danced to a classy band. The days were spent swimming in the indoor pool that looked like something out of Daddy Warbucks house or lounging with a book in the library amongst potted palms (I am of the belief that potted palms are the ultimate in class). It was like being on the Titanic without the unfortunate sinking episode. This was clearly the Bogucki Family heaven that we had been missing for so long. We returned home from vacation and immediately began saving for our next visit.

As you may have heard, I recently graduated from college. My summer boss began asking how soon I would be able to work and I realized that I would need to get out of town for at least a week following graduation if I wanted any hope of a vacation this summer. Mom began making suggestions, including such exotic places as Bermuda, a cross country trip out west and family favorite Pittsburgh. I met each one of these with excitement although secretly waiting for the news that we had saved up enough to return to the Homestead. OMP and Caroline each said that they were going to have to pass on this BFV as they were busy with...whatever it is that they do with their lives. With only Mom and I attending this vacation, it was determined that yes, a trip to the Homestead would be doable. A room was booked and excitement began to build. OMP got wind that we were going to the Homestead and suddenly end of the year chaos at Princeton disappeared and he was completely free. Caroline heard Homestead and suddenly her busy schedule of baking brownies and playing flip-cup was freed up and she hopped on board as well. I was pumped, it was going to be an honest to goodness BFV.

Longest introduction to a story ever. 

At 5 in the morning two days after graduation I was dragged out of bed and directed towards the car. OMP began to load the car and I began to supervise. Clearly I was terrible at my job as I didn't notice that he forgot my shoe bag (not as classy as it sounds, it was a GS tote bag with some shoes in it). We'll come back to this. We set off into the early morning, slowly chipping away at the 7 hour drive ahead of us. The ride to the resort is one of the best parts. We are a very Northern centric family. There is no mistaking that. We RARELY go south of the Mason-Dixon line, which is strange considering it's creepily close by. Caroline's move to DC has forced us to cross that mysterious line far more times than I would like. Our ride through rural Virginia is as exotic to us as Europe. We pass through Kelsey's new town and I realize that yes, a lot of cows do live there, she is not lying to us. We twist our way through small towns, stop at a gas station with a surprisingly lovely bathroom before eventually making it the top of the mountain. Here we stop to enjoy the serenity before descending down the mountain to nirvana. 

We pass by the Jefferson Baths (we'll get to those later) and twist our way into Hot Springs where the Homestead rises up before us, calling us to the lifestyle that we wish we had become accustomed to.

(Note: Picture definitely not taken by me)

Unfortunately our room wasn't ready and as we had been up since 5 in the morning we were quite tired. We gave the front desk our number and colonized the library. Within 5 minutes we had all passed out on lounge chairs (amongst the potted palms). At one point the gardener came by and started watering the palms, I think she almost watered Mom as well. Our vacation wasn't off to a classy start......

Coming up in part II: Al the Nature Guide and the shocking realization that even dreams aren't recession proof.

Lock It Down, Folks

6/4/09-Please note edit

Well, I can now cross going on lockdown off of my to-do list. 

That's right, after being protected from the world of public school during high school I had the joy of going on lockdown today at work when reports of a gunman on campus surfaced. Our first hint that something was wrong came when my friend Lucy called asking if we knew what was happening on campus as all of the P-Safe cars were out in full force. We did not, so we suggested that she return to the office as they would probably just get in the way of her picking up signs. 

Right after I hung up the phone, Andrew came into the room staring at his cell phone. "Um....apparently there's a gunman on campus". After years of hearing about Columbine, Virginia Tech, etc, I've always wondered what I would do in this situation. I'm a panicker by nature. I panic at the littlest sign of trouble. I imagined if I ever heard about the slight possibility of a person with a gun within a block of me I would immediately lock all of the doors, dive under the nearest table and start saying the rosary. That was not my reaction, nor anyone else in the office's reaction. We calmly shut the doors as a precaution and stayed away from the windows, but generally we just went about our work as per usual. Due to sure curiosity we kept checking the news reports but nothing was showing up. We called those who might worry about us, answered the phone every time it rang with the same automated message and waited. 

It was strange that waiting. I guess subconsciously we all knew that nothing was actually wrong. There were no sirens, so no one had been hurt. The seniors who were moving out hadn't gotten the message that there was a "gunman" on campus and were thus moving around as if nothing was wrong. It was pretty clear that everything was going to be alright. Yet we waited. We didn't go near the doors or windows. We waited. That minor chance, that minor thought in the back of my mind of "what if something enormous has just happened?" The complete lack of news other than vague "gunman" in a non-identified part of campus led to a lot of speculation. Having never gone through anything as dramatic as a campus shooting in my life, I wondered if this eerie calm was actually signaling something terrible. I didn't know, so I waited.

Edit: A call came through that broke the monotony of the University's automated message. "Tara?!?!? Who? Marianna? What sort of excitement am I missing!". Cindy, everyones favorite former director of CES, had taken a break from Joe Biden beach watching to turn on her television only to find that her beloved University was under attack. Cindy provided us with far more information than the automated message/text messages/website combined. She was the first sign that news had spread outside of the confines of campus, luckily the news she had heard was that the gun was fake. 

At 11:30 the media circus started as all of the area news helicopters arrived at once. Within 3 minutes of hearing their chop-chop-chop in the sky we got the all clear to leave our offices if we wanted. Just in time for lunch. I ran outside to count the helicopters. I really like when I can read what channels they're from, so I was excited to see that CBS sent both their New York and Philadelphia teams. Pretty awesome. One of the seniors wandered across the street to ask why there were so many helicopters. Whoops! You really need to work on that notification system, Princeton! 

Eventually it came out that it was just four teens looking for free booze in the dumpsters. They found a fairly realistic looking water gun and were walking around with it. OMP was hoping that it would be a student so that he could kick him out of school or something. He'll be disappointed that it was just a no good townie. I'm hoping it was the townies that have been spray painting our van to look like a NASCAR car every night. A part of me is also hoping this was all an elaborate set up by P-Safe to scare people away from dumpster diving, a Princeton post-commencement tradition. The possibility that I might be arrested for walking away with a toy from a dumpster is a fairly big deterrent. You win this round, P-Safe.

Commencement Wrap-Up: Only 2 Weeks Late

I know I haven't written a real entry in weeks. I'm starting to avoid this blog the way I used to avoid reading the comments at the end of a paper written two hours before it was due. I just keep clicking over it. I have tons to write about but it's almost too overwhelming to think about it so I just avoid it. Meanwhile, fantastic blogable events keep happening but since I'm a stickler for chronology I refuse to write about them until I finally write about the fact that I graduated. 

I don't know why writing about graduation has been so tedious. Right now you're all thinking "clearly you don't want to admit that college is over and that you're now a grown up". Not true, I am fully ok with admitting that college is over. College was hard. Fun, but hard. I am very much alright with the fact that come September I'm not going back. Talk to me in September, and I might sing a different tune, but right now I am A-OK with being home and futureless. 

Maybe it's for the best that I'm not going to write some giant graduation wrap up detailing all the events. It would probably bore you. It certainly bored me at times. Here are the basics of what you'll need to know. On Saturday Philadelphia's Mayor Nutter spoke to the crowd at Convocation. He gave one of the strangest speeches I've even heard, often times it sounded like he had written it down on a napkin on his way to the school, however I enjoyed it. It wasn't forced at all. He just sort of stood up there and shot the s*** to use a foul but very apt phrase. I was certainly amused. After Convocation we had Garden Parties where my friends Amanda and Chandlee put on a fantastic garden party for my family. We were, to my knowledge, the only party with balloon hats. After Garden Parties my family dressed up in really fancy clothes and went out to a really fancy restaurant in Philadelphia. Basically my sister and I treated graduation weekend like a fashion show with numerous dress changes. The food was fantastic and the waiter put a candle in my key lime pie, which is always fantastic. 

Sunday was the big show. After brunch with the family, including my 93 year old grandmother who was quite the trooper today, we all packed up my room in an effort to make the post-graduation clean up as quick as possible. Caroline, OMP and Babunia went off to go reserve seats while Mom stayed behind to help me get pretty and to take 30,000 pictures. Upon going outside I realized that it was DAMN COLD. WOW, unexpected. I was definitely not prepared for it to be so cold outside. I lined up with my class and shivered as the wind blew against my legs. This did not bode well. As we marched into the giant tent on the green I was distressed to see that it was not warmer in there than it was outside. I sat down in my seat, saw all of the grad students in front of me and fully realized just how long this ceremony was going to be. 

To give Bryn Mawr credit they didn't mess around. They got straight to the point of handing out the degrees and it moved as fast as a ceremony giving out as many degrees could. This didn't help the fact that Ari and I were sitting right next to the edge of the tent and weren't protected from the cold at all. California Ari was clearly in physical pain, while I was just mildly uncomfortable. 

When it came time for my row to stand I felt some unexpected nerves. I'm not sure why I wasn't expecting to feel nervous, this was a major life moment, but I was thrown off by the pit in my stomach and shakes. I had imagined this moment for years. During every late night paper writing session, during every finals week, there has always been a moment where I've sat back and imagined myself grabbing that diploma. It's always been such a beautiful moment, everytime I've wanted to hand in a paper that was 3 pages when it should have been 10. Every page of a book that I've wanted to just forget and hope that it doesn't come up on the final. Every time I've wanted to quit (and believe me, there were PLENTY of times) the image of that diploma was always so vivid in my mind and I knew that the moment I finally grabbed it would be the most satisfying moment of my life. 

I guess realizing that that moment was only moments away justified the nerves. As I inched my way up towards the podium the pit got stronger and stronger. I started stressing out, oh crap, don't be that girl that pukes on stage. In front of me someone's name was messed up, oh crap, what if they mispronounce my name. Alright, focus. No puking and no stressing out about your name. I got up there and as soon as the professor with the fabulous British accent began to announce my name everything went silent. I know, it sounds cliched but it was like a movie. I didn't hear him announce my name. I didn't hear the applause from the crowd. I didn't even look the president in the eye. I zeroed in on that diploma and I walked across the stage to get it. I looked at President McAuliffe as I took hold of my degree and the volume on life came back just in time to hear her say "Excellent Job, Marianna". I'm ashamed to say I don't think I thanked her but rather just smiled and nodded. For the first time in four years I had that diploma that I had so frequently envisioned in my hands. I could feel it. It was real and it was mine. 

Post graduation was all a blur, pictures were taken, hugs were had, room was packed, party at home was celebrated. In every picture that has gradually appeared on facebook since, however, the biggest, most beautiful smile has been on my face. I didn't want graduation to be such a big deal. People who need commencement ceremonies to feel good about their accomplishments are tools who require praise and ridiculous ceremonies. But it truly was a special moment. Maybe because imagining that moment has been what got me through Bryn Mawr. I so rarely fully accomplish my goals. I'm not the type to fail, but until college I rarely allowed myself to struggle. I struggled at Bryn Mawr, frequently, but for some strange reason I wouldn't allow myself to settle for comfort this time. To settle for C's or mediocracy. I didn't exactly end with a 4.0 (Let's make that clear, by no means did I end with a 4.0 or anything close to a 4.0) but I earned every grade I got. I was the president of a club, a hall advisor and held a bunch of different jobs on campus. I gave architecture tours on parents weekend and served on panels on prospective students weekend. While ending with a sub-4.0 grade, I definitely earned my Bryn Mawr degree. 

To sum it up, while I hate to be a tool......commencement felt pretty damn good.