Better Late than Never

I've been doing a lot of traveling lately, and as a seasoned traveler, I usually have a pretty good sense of how much time I need at the airport. Last week, I had to travel to Sacramento for a work convening.

I booked my flight through our company travel agent, on Alaskan Airlines. Since I knew Alaskan was part of Delta, and I wanted to move my seat closer to the front of the plane, I logged on to Delta to change my seat. Here's where I came upon my first twinge of anxiety: once I selected my new seat, Delta gave me an error - "We are unable to process your request, please try again later." I refreshed my reservation page and noticed that now I had no assigned seat for my flight out. Crap. I opened my original reservation page (through our company travel app) which still showed the original assigned seat. I decided to wait a few days and check again.

My flight was not departing until 8:50PM, so while at work I took some time to check-in online (since I wasn't checking any luggage). First, I tried at Delta, with no luck. Then, I tried using the Alaskan Airline confirmation number on the AA site, also with no luck. My immediate thought was that I had no assigned seat and that's why I couldn't check in. A metaphorical bead of sweat appeared on my forehead. The only thing I could do was wait until I got to the airport and check-in with an agent there.

If only they were as approachable as this.

I was carpooling with a co-worker who was also taking an AA flight, but one that was departing 10 minutes later than mine and through a different terminal. We had initially decided to leave for the airport at 7:30 but he suggested that we leave a little earlier - 7:15. Thank god we did.

We parked and boarded the LAX shuttle, and when asked which airline I was on, I looked at my itinerary.

"Uh...Alaskan...as American...as American Eagle. Terminal 4?"

She dropped me off at the terminal, one I've never been to before, since I usually took Delta flights which were out of Terminal 5. Once I entered the terminal, I found the American Eagle kiosks and proceeded to check-in. The first attempt resulted in a "Reservation not found" message and the second attempt produced an error which was printed out as a receipt to take to an agent. Oh boy.

The ticketing terminal itself was pretty deserted, except for a line of kiosks next to me that were surrounded by international travelers with overwhelming amounts of luggage. There were only two agents available for questions, one of which seemed free. I made my way over and waited for her to make eye contact before I handed her my receipt. Unfortunately, this never happened. It seemed as though she was deliberately ignoring the obvious "I NEED HELP" anxiety plastered all over my face. She kept leaving to chat with staff and then returning to her computer to continuously type away. Maybe I was being paranoid and she was busy, but either way, after 15 minutes of waiting I figured it couldn't hurt to try to check-in again (from a different kiosk). This time, it worked! I looked over at the kiosks where I initially tried, which now displayed signs stating that these computers were down for maintenance.

By the time I made my way up to the security line, it was around 8:15. The line was not moving, and I couldn't see the front since the line was a straight shot down a corridor which turned to the right. I asked a TSA officer how long the line would take, in which he replied about 15 minutes. My flight was scheduled to start boarding at 8:20, so even though I felt more anxiety creeping up on me, I rationalized that getting to the gate 10 minutes past boarding shouldn't be an issue, especially since that would still give me 20 minutes before the plane took off. I texted my coworker about my unfortunate circumstances to which he responded, "Fuck. Am I going to be holding down the fort? I'm already at my gate."

This would not have been a problem if the line only took 15 minutes. After over 20 minutes in line, I finally got to the ID checking agent. As casually as possible, to disguise my concern, I asked her if I'd be okay making the flight.

Agent: "What time is it at?"
Me: "8:50"
Agent: "Oh, if it's boarding at 8:50 you've got plenty of time. Boarding usually starts 40 minutes before take-off."
Me: "No, the plane has already started boarding, the flight leaves at 8:50."

She paused.

"You'll be fine."

I was finally through security and surrounded by gates. Yay! I followed the signs for the range of gate numbers my gate was in. However, as I speed walked through the terminal, and as the gate ranges on the signs became more concentrated, I realized that my gate suddenly dropped out of the range.

WTF Gate 44?

The next set of directional banners included a new sign, which made my stomach drop.

"Shuttle to Gates 44A - 44H"

My gate was 44H. Crrrrrrrrrrap.

This information would have been helpful.

I picked up my pace and followed the signs down an escalator, through a long corridor and to a set of sliding doors leading outside where a shuttle was parked. I flashed my ticket and jumped on to the shuttle, ready for it to immediately begin moving at lightning speed and get me to my gate. Of course I was not granted this unspoken request. There appeared to be some confusion as to whether or not an elderly man was on the correct shuttle, so the driver (slowly) helped the man off the bus to talk with an available agent. The bus driver waited until she received confirmation from the agent, which took about 5 minutes. By the time we started to move, it was 8:40. Remember, my flight was departing at 8:50.

I could feel my heart pounding in my head while we began to trek over the tarmac TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE AIRPORT. At this point I had almost resigned to the fact that I would probably miss my flight, but a tiny glimmer of hope was still trying to convince me otherwise. Despite me telepathically willing the driver to hurry the hell up, we casually made our way towards the gate, stopping every minute or so at signs cautioning to "watch for oncoming planes."

Looks like I'm not the only one.

We finally reached our destination - a small isolated building in the middle of the tarmac. I rushed off the shuttle to the entrance, where an irritated agent questioned, "Sacramento?" I nodded as she pointed in the direction of the gate. As I approached the gate, the agent manning the desk began to yell at me for keeping the plane waiting and being late. I apologized profusely, handed her my ticket, and ran onto the ramp to the plane's entrance. As quickly as I could manage, I stuffed my roller bag into the first empty bin I could find and planted myself in my seat, trying to attract as little attention as possible. I looked at my phone one last time: 8:51. I texted my coworker that I made it and took a deep breath. The rest of the flight was wonderfully uneventful.

The Return of the Three-Legged Elephant and Nosey Head

After my brother and I had taken some furniture for our respective apartments, my mom realized that the value and quantity of items in our storage POD did not justify the amount of money she paid for it each month. The tenants who are currently renting our house agreed to let us store the remaining items from the POD in part of the garage so that my mom could get rid of the storage and save some money.

Today, I met my mom and brother at the house to go through the remaining boxes in the POD before we moved everything into the garage. My mom told me that there were a few boxes of mine that I had to either take with me back to my apartment, throw out or, if there was room, to leave in the garage. Since I don't have much room at my place to store things that I will probably never "need," I was hoping there'd be some left over room in the garage.

I arrived to the house before my mom and brother and started rummaging through the POD. I pulled out all the boxes that were mine and set them out in a row to start investigating their contents. I was pleasantly surprised to see that there were only 4 boxes, which meant a better chance of getting some prime garage space.

I thanked my past self for labeling the contents of each box:

Box 1: purses, teddy bears, art supplies
Box 2: yearbooks, books, misc
Box 3: beanie babies, old clothes
Box 4: graduation gowns, and my ren fair costume (lol)

While I wouldn't say that I'm a "pack rat," I find it really difficult to part with sentimental objects, and my definition of "sentimental" is very loose. Do I really need to keep a box full of beanie babies? HELL YES! Maybe one day they'll be collectibles! Or what if I want my future kids to play with them? Old report cards? I HAVE to keep them, they're legal documents! Kind of. A bag full of mostly broken sea shells? I can put them in a glass bowl for decoration!

I ended up condensing 4 boxes into 3 and storing them in the garage, while leaving with the fourth box filled with items that I wanted to take with me, which included:

- My old photography portfolio and negatives
- The Professional Correspondence Kit - a friend got this for my birthday a few years back since I'm so anally organized
- A few purses
- My glass animals
- My purple Gameboy Color, which miraculously turned on

Really intense game.

The best thing I took back with me is something that has disappeared and resurfaced several times over the course of it's existence. Now that I have it, I decided to scan it into my computer to ensure that it will forever be documented. Most of my close friend have seen it, or have at least heard about it, but now I'm putting it out on the interweb for the world to see (or, you know, for just the few people who read my blog).

It looks so innocent.

I feel really confident in assuming that most people had to write in journals and create drawings and stories and whatnot when they were in elementary school. When I lived in Russia, these were also activities that were expected of us as 7 year olds. It wasn't until years later (I was maybe 14?) that I reread my journal and immediately wondered why my mother was never contacted by my teacher about the disturbing stories contained in it.

I'm not saying ALL the stories I wrote were super unsettling; most had story lines indicative of a seven-year-old author.

The stories started out innocently enough:

Makes so much sense.

Then got a little stranger:

Extradited his ass.

These last 2 stories should have raised red flags for my teacher, but instead of a call home, I received spelling corrections and a check mark (good stories Natasha!). I first present to you, The Three-Legged Elephant:

Just a simple case of mistaken limb identity.

And Nosey Head:

The picture on the second page is my favorite.

...I'd like to chalk it up to watching too many horror movies as a kid.

Today, I'm 23

Today, I’m 23. I’m usually not one for reminiscing on time passed since last birthdays, but I'm gonna make an exception.

A year ago tomorrow, I received my last graduate school rejection letter, this one from UCLA. I wasn’t surprised since I didn’t even get into what I thought was my safety school, but was understandably disappointed. Four months, one appeal and countless persistent phone calls later, I found out I was granted admission to UCLA while on board a yacht off the Galapagos Islands.

In the past year, I graduated college, had my heart broken, got into grad school, traveled to South America, left the best job I’ve ever had and moved to Los Angeles.

Damn.

In the past year, I've stood at the metaphorical fork in the road, anxiously waiting for a reason to choose one path over the other. Soon after my excitement of being admitted to UCLA passed, a feeling of trepidation came over me. As exciting as this new chapter was going to be, I found myself caught between resisting change and embracing it. Leaving the home and work and friends and LIFE I knew to venture into this unknown new life was daunting, but ultimately necessary.

In the past year, I've learned a lot about myself, the kind of person I am and the kind of person I want to be. I've realized that it takes losing something you desperately wanted to discover how far you’re willing to push yourself to get it. I've realized that lying to yourself about how you feel about someone isn't fair to either one of you. I've also realized that it’s damn near to impossible to have a social life when you’re in grad school.

So today, I’m 23, and looking forward to everything this next year has to offer.

Now What?

I realize I've been neglecting my blog for some time now, and according to my Google Analytics account, people have actually been consistently stopping by (I know, weird right?) so I thought I might indulge the few readers I've got (hi mom!) and give an update:

I graduated from college about a month and a half ago. It feels really strange to say I've graduated, let alone over six weeks ago. Honestly, besides not attending classes everyday or studying for tests, it doesn't feel much different - I feel like I'm on an extended vacation in which I work everyday (not too sure what kind of vacations I've been on).

In the last couple of months, I've come realize that not everything I plan for is going to happen. Since I can remember, my future plans have always followed a natural progression - elementary school, middle school, high school, college; I've always known my next step. For the first time in my life, I can't tell you where I'll be in a year. Or half a year. Or even in a few months. I'm playing the waiting game.

And to be honest, it's a little scary.

And to be even more honest, it's a little exhilarating.

Yes, my future is up in the air right now, and waiting for a decision on my grad school admissions appeal is daunting, but at this moment, there's nothing I can do to expedite the process. Maybe I'll find out today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe a week or month from now (but hopefully not that long).

Maybe I'll go to grad school in the fall. Maybe I'll have to reapply next year. No matter what the decision is, I have a really good feeling that everything's going to work itself out. Why worry about something you ultimately have little control over? I've decided to live in the now. And the now is pretty damn good.

What If?

It seems like a lot of people I know have been asking an unusual amount of "what if" questions lately.

Which got me to thinking.

The way I see it, there are two types of "what if" questions: the kind that spark our curiosity and lead us to discover things we never thought possible. The kind of "what if" questions that Thomas Edison and Steve Jobs asked. The kind that make us think outside the box.

And then there's the other kind.

The kind that cause us to doubt our decisions and self-sabotage. Unfortunately, this is the type of "what if" question I've been hearing a lot these days.

"What if my relationship doesn't last?"
"What if I don't get into my top choice?"
"What if I can't do it?"

I'd be lying if I said I've never hesitated before making a decision, much less an important one. I mean, that's normal. I might even go so far as to say it's RECOMMENDED. The problem arises when we let our uncertainty overpower us because of our fear of failure. After all, if you never jump you'll never fall, right?

But what's the fun in that?

The worst that could happen is, yeah, turns out you weren't meant to be with someone, or you don't get into the school of your choice or you don't succeed. Sometimes things don't happen the way we want them to. But, on the bright side, you can say you TRIED. You put yourself out on a limb, knowing full well that it might break, and that's something to be proud of. Congrats to you! And hopefully even if it does break, it won't stop you from trying again. And again. And again.

Journey once told me "don't stop believing." I think they might have been on to something.

Reminiscent Pubescent Posts

The last classes I will ever take as an undergrad began this week, which just seems completely ridiculous to me, since I feel like it was just yesterday when I moved in and did the freshman dash to unfamiliar buildings on campus. It seems that when you're nearing towards the end of anything, you tend to look back on how it started. Thinking about the beginning of undergrad led me to think about the end of high school, which in turn caused me to think about the beginning of high school, bringing me to the topic of this post...

Back in the days of early high school, online journals were just starting to get popular (Livejournal, Xanga, etc). I recently looked up my old Xanga and found quite a few posts that made me shake my head at my younger, awkward, naive self, and I've decided to share a few memorable ones:

Sunday, June 13, 2004

We went to my house and waited untill dark to go out on the blvd and creep people out. How you ask? We wore all black with our hair in a hat, and wore sunglasses-with flashing lights on them. It was soooo creepy but fun!

Monday, July 12, 2004

I got kicked out of an elvis riot!!! Ya there was this HUGE stage and tons of people were crowded around it and everyone was getting kinda roudy. Well obviously too roudy because a bunch of security guys came and started pushing people out!! Well I wasn't gonna give up, so I kept trying to get closer to the stage, but then some stupid security guard stepped infront of me and a bunch of people and pushed us out!!! The nerve of some people!! Trying to ruin people's fun....anyway that was fun still.....

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Christine and I are making a movie, "In the Village of Darkness Falls Lays the Ring in the House on Haunted Hill". If you haven't already guessed, it's a horror movie. My brother just got new movie software stuff so we'll see if it will be better than our 1st movie, "International World of Spies" which was actually quite good.

Saturday, August 07, 2004

Yesterday we were about to watch Euro Trip (the unrated version), when Patty saw what was on the main menu and turned it off. I don't really care because Katie said that when her brother went to see it, he told her NEVER to watch it. Hmmmm...

Tuesday, August 31, 2004

So we went to Disneyland on Sunday and it was fun......but something was off. It seemed like everywhere we went, there were goths. Now I'm not against gothic people, but there were at least 200 of em....everywhere I looked they were there. And then when Christine and I were eating lunch, a huge group of them were walking down the street singing, "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me..." well besides that Disneyland was fun

Saturday, September 04, 2004

getting a cell phone soon, I finally convinced my mom that the bus is a dangerous place and that I need a cell phone, so that's cool.

Monday, December 27, 2004

Anywho, so on the way back we gave Killian the 2 pills and he didn't sleep, but he was really...zoned out, he reminded me of a drunk person....swaying around, and when he went to pee he fell over...teeheehee...

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Katie and I were walking down to wait for her dad, and we were going by the gym....and then we saw shadows on the ground and thought, "hey, there's a lot of dust in the sky" and before Katie could say anything, I said, "Oh my god!! Look!!" and it turned out that there was a HUGE swarm of bees above us!  People were screaming and running, and we didn't know which way to run because they were EVERYWHERE!!! So we ducked as low as we could and then ran towards the street, and when we looked back they were almost gone.....No one was hurt...well, WE weren't hurt....it was pretty crazy.....

Saturday, May 28, 2005

There was a crowd of people around the scene, and it turned out that a car crashed into the sidewalk and caught on fire! I didn't get any pictures of the car on fire, but I took some of the firefighters hosing the car off. Selfishly, I was excited to see a burned, dead body, but strangely there was no one in the car.... Another strange part of this whole thing was that the car infront of the burned one was completely undamaged, as was the one behind it. The license plate also said "Mafia" which was also suspicious

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Christine was telling me about this guy she knows that is constantly high, and that I probably wouldn't find anything to talk to him about. Well, he was fun to talk to, considering the fact that he kept saying how his legs felt like Jello.

Monday, August 01, 2005

Well, they kept hitting the birdie over the fence into the road, so I finally took it away from them. When that happened, they started hitting me with their raquets. Well I couldn't stand for that. I took their raquets and put them in the shed. The smaller one came up to me while I was closing it and said, "When you leave, we're gonna go in there and steal all your stuff." After hearing that, I said, "Well if you, I'll see you, and when you're in there, I'll lock you in, and no one will hear you scream."

Saturday, December 24, 2005

P.S. I LOVE CHRISTMAS. I got 13 mood rings. And it's only Christmas Eve. Sweeeeeeeet.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Wow. I just had a swig of Southern Comfort and let-me-tell-you, it's really uh....strong. I took a sip and it burned my throat and made me cough. Gah. Don't try it.

To My Friends and Family

Happy New Year everyone!

As the new year begins, most people reflect on the past year and resolve to improve certain aspects of their lives in the coming year. Some of the most popular new year's resolutions include:

- Spending more time with family
- Exercise more
- Lose weight
- Quit smoking
- Enjoy life more
- Quit drinking
- Get out of debt
- Learn something new
- Help others
- Get organized

(source: http://pittsburgh.about.com/od/holidays/tp/resolutions.htm)

While these are all good resolutions, and I admit to using some of them in previous years, this year I decided to really, REALLY think about one thing that I would like to improve upon, and while I was in the shower, it came to me. It's really a two part resolution, but they are definitely interconnected.

Resolution Part One: Stop Spending Time With the Wrong People

This is a problem I didn't even know I had until a few days ago. I started to realize that I often go out of my way to allocate time for people who are either too busy to make time for me or don't value the time they have with me in the first place. I read somewhere that if someone wants you in their life, they'll make room for you, and you shouldn't have to fight for a spot, which is something I completely agree with. If the people you make an effort to spend time with don't reciprocate, then they probably don't deserve it.

Which brings me to the next part of my resolution.

Resolution Part Two: Start Spending Time With the Right People

Low and behold, this is also a big problem for me, but not one I wasn't already aware of. I'm terrible (like, terribly terrible) at making time for the people in my life that really matter, which is ridiculous. Why wouldn't I make time for people who I genuinely enjoying spending time with, who love and appreciate me and always push me to do things that I'm passionate about? People who pick me up when I'm not feeling my best or stick with me even when I'm being a pain?

These people are the ones who make us feel more alive, and not only accept who we are now but also who we want to be, unconditionally. These are the people who are really deserving of our time, so why is it so hard for us to give it to them?

I think the main reason is because we get so caught up in everything that is happening in our lives that the genuinely important things get lost in the shuffle, which is an unfortunate but often true fact.

With that being said, friends and family, I resolve to make more time for you because you are the ones that really deserve it.

"I value the friend who for me finds time on his calendar, but I cherish the friend who for me does not consult his calendar."

                                                                    - Robert Brault

You Know What Really Grinds My Gears?

Chronic complainers.

Now, I know this may come off as hypocritical, after all, I am about to complain about people who complain, but hear me out.

I believe it's healthy to complain once and a while, and we all know a good vent is definitely necessary sometimes. I'm talking about the people who ALWAYS complain about EVERYTHING.

See, there's really 3 types of people:

The Optimist: sees the glass half full.

The Pessimist: sees the glass half empty.

The Chronic Complainer: sees a glass that is slightly chipped holding water that isn't cold enough, probably because its tap water when I asked for bottled water and wait! There's a smudge the rim too, which means the glass wasn't cleaned properly and now I'll probably end up with some kind of virus and -

STOP. Please, just stop. 

As I'm sure most of you internet savvy readers are aware, there's actually a website (probably more than one) designed specifically for this last type of person:

www.whitewhine.com 

Anyway, I just want you frequent whiners to STOP IT! I know it's difficult, but please keep your moaning and groaning to a minimum - I'm sorry that you had to wait in line for 20 minutes at Starbucks and that your incredibly advanced and expensive smartphone is taking FOREVER to load the internet, but I don't see this as something that should ruin your day. 

You're alive, you're not starving or homeless or whoring yourself out for money (well, at least I hope you aren't) so stop complaining about little things that won't even matter in a day (or hour). Go watch Hoarders or Intervention or one of those other A&E shows that make you feel better about your life and stop complaining. :)

Murder Runs in the Family

So, while researching my family lineage, I found an article detailing the massacre of a mother and children carried out by a psychotic father. It dates back more than 100 years, but I found it fascinating, and the people murdered (and those who survived) are most likely distant relatives of mine (after all, our last name is fairly uncommon). I'd like to think this somewhat explains my fascination with serial killers and the grotesque, but let's face it - this is WAY out there.

The following account of the massacre is from the Portland Gazette of July 14, 1806, and was reprinted across the nation.

HORRID MURDER.
AUGUSTA (KENNEBECK) July 11.
At an early hour on Wednesday morning last, the inhabitants of this town were alarmed with the dreadful information, that Capt. James Purinton, of this place, in cold blood, had murdered his wife, six children, and himself. His oldest son, with a slight wound, escaped, and his second daughter was found desperately wounded, and probably supposed dead by the father.

Between the hours of 2 and 3 a near neighbour, Mr. Dean Wyman, was awakened by the lad who escaped, with an incoherent account of the horrid scene from which he had just fled; he, with a Mr. Ballard, another neighbour, instantly repaired to the fatal spot, and here, after having lighted a candle, a scene was presented which beggars all description. — In the outer room lay prostrate on his face, and weltering in his gore, the perpetrator of the dreadful deed — his throat cut in the most shocking manner, and the bloody razor lying on the table by his side — In an adjoining bed room lay Mrs. Purinton in her bed, her head almost severed from the body; and near her on the floor, a little daughter about ten years old, who probably hearing the cries of her mother, ran to her relief from the apartment in which she slept, and was murdered by her side — In another apartment was found the two oldest and the youngest daughters, the first, aged 19, dreadfully butchered; the second desperately wounded, reclining with her head on the body of the dead infant 18 months old, and in a state of horror and almost total insensibility — In the room with the father, lay in bed with their throats cut, the two youngest sons, the one 8, the other 6 years old — And in another room was found on the hearth, most dreadfully mangled, the second son, aged 12; he had fallen with his trowsers under one arm, with which he had attempted to escape — On the breastwork over the fire-place was the distinct impression of a bloody hand, where the unhappy victim probably supported himself before he fell. The whole house seemed covered with blood, and near the body of the murdered laid the deadly axe.

From the surviving daughter we have no account of this transaction; her dangerous situation prevents any communication, and but faint hopes are entertained for her recovery — From the son, aged 17, we learn the following — That he was awaked by the piercing cries of his mother, and involuntarily shrieking himself, he leapt from his bed and ran towards the door of his apartment; he was met by his father with an axe in his hand (the moon shone bright) who struck him, but being so near each other, the axe passed over his shoulder and one corner of it entered his back, making a slight wound; his father then struck at him once or twice and missed him; at this moment his younger brother, who slept in the same bed with him, jumped from it, and attempted to get out at the door; to prevent this the father attacked him which gave the eldest an opportunity to escape.

During this dreadful conflict, not a word was uttered. From the appearance of the wounds generally, it seems to been the design of Purinton to dissever the heads from the bodies, excepting the two youngest, whose throats it is supposed were cut with a razor. The oldest daughter and second son had several wounds, the probable consequence of their resistance.

We have no evidence to lead us satisfactorily to the motives for this barborous and unnatural deed. Capt. Purinton was 46 years of age, and had lately removed from Bowdoinham to this town — an independent farmer, with a handsome estate, of steady, correct, and industrious habits, and of a good character and fair reputation, and strongly attached to his family. He had been heard lately to say, that he felt much distressed at the unpromising appearance of his farm; that he should be destitute of bread for his family, and hay for his cattle, and dreaded the consequences. The Sunday before his death, it is said, he wrote to his brother and informed him that on the reception of the letter he should be dead, and requesting him to take charge of his family. In the letter was a death's head marked out, and it was sealed with black. — It was found on Monday by his wife, and gave her the greatest alarm and uneasiness. This her husband perceiving, and learning the cause, he attempted to console her by assurances that he had no intention of committing suicide, but that he had a presentiment of his approaching death. Capt. Purinton was a warm believer in the doctrine of universal salvation, though it is not said of him, that he was a bigoted maniac or a religious enthusiast — his whole conduct the day preceding, and during the last and bloody scene of his life, seems marked with the utmost coolness and deliberation. Towards the close of that day he ground the fatal axe, and when the family retired to bed he was left reading the bible. The jury of inquest have brought him in guilty of wilful murder on his wife and six children, and that as a felon he did kill and murder himself — We do not recollect, that the annals of Massachusetts can furnish a transaction so distressing.

The ways of Providence are dark and mysterious! yet God is just! and man, weak man, must tremble and adore!

After the Coroner's Inquest had executed its office, the selectmen took charge of the dead. Their remains in eight coffins were conveyed to the Meeting-house.

Mrs. Purinton and her children were placed in the body of the house; Capt. Purinton in the porch.

Their funeral took place yesterday afternoon, attended by an immense concourse of people.

The public services at the Meeting-house were solemn and pertinent — commenced by a Funeral Anthem — Prayer by the Rev. Mr. Stone — Sermon by the Rev. Mr. Taylor — a Prayer by the Rev. Mr. Merritt.
The bodies of Mrs. Purinton and her children were interred in the common burying ground; Capt. Purinton in the highway adjoining the same, and the bloody axe and razor buried with him.

They were attended to their graves by a numerous and respectable procession, which was arranged by John Davis, Reuel Williams, and H. W. Fuller, esq'rs. appointed and acting as marshals on the occasion.

The procession moved over the bridge and through the principal streets, to the place of interment in the order following order. Senior Marshal — The Coroner and Inquest — Rev. Mr. Haskel, Rev. Mr. Stone — The Corpse of Mrs. Purinton and her six children, according to their ages, supported by bearers attended by pall-holders, followed by the surviving son — Other relations — Selectmen — Clergy — Sheriff of the county — Judges of Courts — Military officers — Magistrates — Citizens. — Marshals — A cart bearing the body of captain Purinton, closed the procession.

The church service was performed at the grave over the body of Mrs. Purinton and children, by the Rev. Mr. Haskel, in a very solemn and impressive manner. The procession then returned to the meeting-house, where the solemnities of the day were closed by another and an appropriate prayer by the Rev. Mr. Gillet.

Back in the Day

Lately, I've been reminiscing about my childhood and how much unsupervised freedom I had outside the house. I would argue that most people my age would agree that "back in our early years," we were allowed to roam the neighborhood and streets without our parents neurotically breathing down our necks. Generations before us had even more independence and leniency from their caregivers. 

With statistics like this at our disposal, how can we NOT worry?

After quite a bit of musing, I realized that we will never live in a world like that again. When I (eventually) become a parent, I know that I would be extremely apprehensive to let my kid frolic around without supervision, and the thought of this depresses me. 

According to the Gallup Poll, Americans perceive increased crime compared to previous years, even though crime statistics have proven an overall decrease in crime rates in the last decades (not a substantial decrease, but enough to merit a mention). So why, with crime on the decline, are parents becoming more and more overprotective of their children?

I've got a theory.

When our parents and their parents before them were kids, accessibility to news and media was limited. They didn't have smart phones with the internet at their fingertips or cable television with multiple news outlets reporting national headlines 24/7. People hitchhiked with strangers without a second thought; nowadays, you wouldn't think twice about getting in a car with a random person - they could kidnap you, drug you, abuse you or even KILL you! Ah! 

Our connection to media has made us painfully aware of all the horrors of the world and monsters that roam the streets just looking for unsuspecting victims. These horrors and monsters have always been here, but in the last few decades they have made headlines and convinced us that it's not safe out there. Boo.

The news and media have made us more paranoid, and perhaps rightfully so, but are Americans overly suspicious? Has the media taken away our chances of ever allowing our children to walk the streets alone without fear of some god-awful thing happening to them?

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

I've always had two tried-and-true methods to get myself through hard times - listening to music and writing. So, not surprisingly, I turned to writing about the termination of my most recent romance, or, in Facebook lingo, I went from being "in a relationship" to "single."

Ouch, right?

I've gone through my share of break ups, some good, some not so good. My big break up happened during the summer before I started college. I knew it was my big break up because of how it made me feel - completely crushed. I spent 2 weeks afterwards locked in my room with seasons 1-4 of Desperate Housewives; walking and breathing barely felt possible, let alone the effort of trying to function like a normal human being.

This pain eventually subsided and I returned to being me again (yay!).

Fast forward three years. After taking another chance with my high school sweetheart, the break up train came around yet again. This time, however, it was different. Even though it hurt to see the relationship dissolve, I knew it was for the best. I knew he wasn't right for me. As much as I wanted him to be The One (or something close to it), there had always been evidence that he wasn't. I knew the sooner that I accepted this, the better off I'd be. Still, I resisted. I thought he brought something to my life that was otherwise missing. I thought he held the key to me and who I ultimately was. In breaking up with him, I thought I was no longer special.

I was wrong.

Somewhere amidst all the self-pity and moping, I realized that he didn't hold the key to what made me great. Even with my puffy eyes and broken heart, I was still pretty magnificent. I just had some healing to do and some stuff to figure out - like why I thought I needed him to make me feel whole and happy.

The truth of the matter is, I ultimately chose me over a relationship that wasn't working anymore. Because of this break up, we both now have time to honestly look at ourselves and decide what kind of people we really want to be (and be with). We both have a chance to learn from past mistakes and make sure not to repeat them in our next relationships.

While our relationship wasn't perfect (and let's face it, most aren't), I have no regrets or feelings of loss; our time together taught me a lot about myself, love and relationships, and has given me valuable lessons for my future endeavors. So while the pain is still fresh and my wounds will take a while to heal, I know I made the right choice for me.

The Test of Willpower

Last week, while browsing Netflix for something informative to watch, I came upon a documentary called Fat, Sick & Nearly Dead. In a nutshell, it illustrates the health benefits of juicing through the journey of an over-weight man who has decided to do a 60-day juice fast to kick-start his new healthy life.

After watching this film, I was inspired to see what a juice regimen could do for me. Now, I definitely wasn't going to drink only fruit and vegetable juice for SIXTY days, but I decided I'd try it out for 5. So I bought a inexpensive juicer, made a trip to Trader Joe's for some fruits and veggies, and began my fast on Monday.

ALL of this goes into ONE 8oz cup of juice

Although the machine is a bit of a pain to clean, it is actually fun preparing the fruits and slicing the vegetables and ultimately feeding them through the chute. Also, I LOVE the color of the juice and pulp, so bright and vibrant!

The first day was great, I felt healthy, refreshed and motivated that I could easily keep going through Friday.

Heh.

Yesterday was the hardest day. You start to miss salty, crunchy, chewy foods and the temptation to cheat is almost irresistible - especially when your coworker (who sits directly across from you) brings in a giant box of danishes and pastries. Ahhhh. But, I have willpower. Woo!

Today, the same coworker brought pastries again, along with a variety of muffins and donuts. YUM. My my is salivating as I type. The only thing keeping me from leaping up and sinking my teeth into the flaky frosted goodness of "vacation" breakfast is my colorful glass of juice....One more day....

I must say, I've enjoyed the energy I've gotten through doing this (although you're sluggish and tired for the 2nd and 3rd days) and I would definitely consider doing it again. It's a great test of willpower. If you're up for it, I challenge you to give it a try - 5 days, just juice.....GO!

For more information on juicing and the documentary, visit http://www.fatsickandnearlydead.com/

Thoughts After the New GRE

After 4 full weeks of intensive studying, I took the revised GRE yesterday. The 4 hours went by quickly, and by the end I was thankful that I was done.

You are usually given your raw Verbal and Quantitative scores at the end of the test, but since I took the revised GRE on the first day of its distribution, I was only given a range of my scores on the old scoring scale. However, I was pleased to find out that I scored in the 700-800 range in the Quant section! Yay! Again, this will be translated to the new scoring scale, but I will not find out my final scores until early November. Ugh.

I am just relieved that I will not have to be retaking the GRE and have checked off that important part of my graduate school application. :)

Why Do People Love to be Scared?

As a veteran of horror, I've asked myself this question many a time. I started watching cheesy 90s horror movies in my friend's basement in elementary school, and quickly moved on to classics like Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13th. Even though I was terrified to fall asleep after watching these movies, I kept going back. To this day, I'm still a horror film fanatic even if I know I will most likely be paranoid and scared after. Why do I, and people like me, do this?

According to David Rudd at the University of Utah, people enjoy feeling scared and seek the feeling out because, deep down, they know they are in no real danger.

"People understand the real risk of these activities is marginal, and because of this underlying awareness, they experience excitement rather than actual fear," Rudd explains. Teenagers and adults and more apt to gauge the actual level of threat that scary stimuli pose to them, and therefore, are able to watch scary movies with no real threat, except maybe the psychological threat of a nightmare or two after the exposure. Because of this, people feel safe watching movies like these.

For me, different horror sub-genres elicit different feelings of excitement or fear for me. For example, even though I'm not inclined to watch gory thillers, they affect my psychological/emotional level the least. However, scary movies involving the paranormal or religious topics scare the buhjesus out of me. No matter the specific horror type, I realize that the likelihood of the events I've watched happening to me is marginal, if not impossible (depending on your beliefs of course). Because of my rationality and lust for thrill, just as when I was a kid, no matter how scared I am after watching a movie, the adrenaline rush I feel during the movie is too exciting to give up.

For more on people's fascination with fright, check out this article:

Scientists Take a Stab at Why Horror Film Lust Runs Deep

Grad School and the New GRE

I can't help thinking that before I know it, the summer is going to be over and the time for taking the GRE and sending out graduate school applications will be upon me. As those of you who are taking the GRE this summer know (or should know), the format of the test will be changing beginning August 1st. Turns out, I scheduled myself on the first, so I will be one of many who will be taking the GRE in its new format. Woo! So the big question is - what are the differences between the new and old versions? Well, thanks to an article from redbus2us.com, I've got the answer:

GRE Verbal Section Old vs New Pattern
	New GRE Pattern 2011	Current/Old GRE Pattern
Scores Range	130  —170	200  — 800
Types of Questions	Text completion Questions Sentence Equivalence Questions Reading Comprehension Questions. NO Antonyms NO Analogies	Analogies Antonyms Sentence Completions Reading Comprehension
Sample questions	GRE Verbal New Pattern 2011	GRE Verbal Old/Current Pattern
Score Increments	1 Point increments	10 point increments
Sections	2 Sections	1 section
Question per section	Approximately 20	Exactly 30
Time Allocated	30 Minute Per section, total will be 60 Minutes	30 Minutes
GRE Quantitative Reasoning Section Old vs New Pattern
	New GRE Pattern 2011	Current/Old GRE Pattern
Scores Range	130  —170	200  — 800
Types of Questions	Multiple Choice questions - Select One answer Choice -Select One or more answer choices Numeric Entry questions Quantitative comparison Questions	Quantitative Comparison Problem Solving Data Interpretation
Sample questions	GRE Quant Reasoning 2011	GRE Quant Old/Current Pattern
Score Increments	1 Point increments	10 point increments
Sections	2 Sections	1 section
Question per section	Approximately 20	Exactly 28
Time Allocated	35 Minute Per section, total will be 70  Minutes	45 Minutes
GRE Analytical Writing Section Old vs New Pattern
	New GRE Pattern 2011	Current/Old GRE Pattern
Scores Range	0—6	0—6
Types of Questions	2 Questions	2 Questions
Score Increments	0.5	0.5
Sections	One Section	No Section Concept
Question	2 Questions or Tasks - One Analyze and issue task -One Analyze an Argument Task	2 Questions or Tasks -One Issue task – Choose from two -1 Argument task- No choice.
Sample Questions	Analytical Writing GRE 2011	Analytical Writing GRE Old/Current
Time Allocated	30 Minutes per task Total 60 minutes for two tasks or questions	45 minutes for Issue task 30 minutes for Argument task
An unidentified Unscored section is same in both old or current and the new GRE pattern. This section may be included or may not be, it depends…if included, it will not counted towards part of your score An identified Research section is also the same case, it will be at the end of the test in both new and old/current GRE.

Hope this helps for those of you studying!