When the year was new, I made a promise to myself that I would write 50,000+ words on this site and finally write the musical that I’ve talked about doing for years. It is now almost halfway through March and the last post I made on this blog was last summer. I didn’t even write something about me graduating college in a nine-year span? What about getting into graduate school? Leaving Alabama? Insulating an entire shed without getting particle glass in my testicles?! It’s not like I have the most interesting life in the world but I could have talked about something in the last seven or eight months. Better late than never though right? He says this and then he never writes another post until ten years from now celebrating the birth of his first child, who’s really just an inner city kid he adopted. Why did I randomly change points of view for just one sentence? These are all questions I do not have the answers to but I shall blame on the fact that I haven’t written anything that wasn’t related to school for months now. As I’ve said countless times throughout this site’s history, I have a vague idea of what I might want to say before I type the first letter and then as soon as I do all that planning goes out the window and I just plop down the first thing that escapes my brain and I make sure to never return and actually edit it. Which is why I have things like this long-as-hell run on sentence that I could have easily improved upon.

Maybe I’ll include more pointless paragraph breaks for no other reason than readability. I already ignore normal things like indents and correct punctuation, but some spacing could prove beneficial. Except then I think that Jack Kerouac wrote his magnum opus in one long typewritten scroll. Except then after that, I think about how I read that and had to give up halfway through because I couldn’t stand how it was formatted any longer. Plus, I’m not regarded as a great writer in a literary generation…for now.

The bad part about taking a break in the writing process, and no, I’m done talking about my months-long hiatus, I’m speaking about the five-minute break I just took. Okay. Well shit. Even more important to comment on than that five-minute break is that immediately after writing that sentence I added on an extra 200 words and then I hit undo because I screwed something up and it deleted everything and it wouldn’t let me redo. Was anyone going to give a shit about my anecdote about how I feel self-conscious about how I’m noticing the length of my fingernails while I type this? No, that’s not the point. What is the point? The point is that I was speaking of how I may not have an idea about what I’m writing half the time, but I enjoy the experience of just putting it all on the page regardless. What I do not enjoy is writing about that and then having to repeat myself except nobody knows I repeated myself because nobody will notice what I wrote that is now disappeared forever. Do I blame my fingernails for it? You betcha I do. Also, no, I am not going to the University of Minnesota for graduate school but I did watch Fargo at one point over the time period since the last blog post so maybe I’ve picked up a Minnesotan dialect.

I could have very easily said this was the first of 50, not the first of 52. Originally I was planning to write one post a week for the entire year. Then that didn’t happen and then I thought about how when DC Comics rebooted their universe they named all the new comics “The New 52.” So I was taking that for inspiration while at the same time realizing I do not read comic books, nor do I even watch the DC superhero films so why am I doing an homage to something that matters so little to me. Then I reminded myself that I do not change a title once I choose it (and though that may not be true), I do not remember all my blog rules so it’s a new rule for this next year. And during this hiatus, I did give away a lot of action figures and was given a gift certificate to a comic book store so if I shoehorn in the occasional reference it’s for their sake. I also can not believe that I spelled occasional right without having to use a spell check. Haha, you’re right, I’m a prankster! I actually spelled the word wrong two times in a row and spell check didn’t pick up on it so now I look like a total idiot but since I can’t go back and delete that sentence I have to make my shame public.

As I’ve said countless times in this post and prior, I do enjoy just typing out words and seeing what happens. However, I can also understand that stream of consciousness blabbering without any semblance of a plot is not the most entertaining things for people who aren’t the one streaming. Seeing as how I’m actually going to try to be committed to somehow getting 51 more of these out before the years ends, I will try to at least have a topic, a theme, at the very least an idea of what I want to say. Yes, it’ll probably be derailed within the first 100 words and I’ll end up somewhere out of left field, but I’m going to try to make these a bit more coherent. I just didn’t want to exclusively wait for big events to be the catalyst for a new blog post. I originally started this as a way to detail my time abroad, and I did that, and I did a lot of that, but it also evolved into just a glimpse into my own head, my own thoughts and feelings, kind of like a public talk therapy session for the world. I want to continue that. I would always feel better just laying it all on the table, exposing myself (in a non-criminal, not indecent exposure kinda way) and I’ve missed that. I never know who reads these things, I can’t imagine many do, but whatever desperate fans have been clamoring for more, Hank has heard your beck and call. Now I just went to third person point of view? I’ve used first, second, and the third person all in the span of a thousand something words. That is not how one is supposed to write. I’m rusty. Hopefully, there’s a little bit of improvement in the coming installments. So it goes.

Sometimes this blog can be a hard thing to write. And other times, I’m taking a shower and it starts writing itself and I just think, “When can I write this down before I forget it?” Or other times, I know I want to write something, I know my mind is bubbling over with thoughts, and yet I just don’t know how to properly formulate them into words. This blog, written about no one in particular, not a specific Spanish girl who stayed with me for the last thirty something days, is making me feel like that third thing I just said. I wrote a blog a few weeks ago about my relationship with a certain Spanish friend, where I was Lucy and she was Ricky and one of her criticisms about it was that it was too bland. Initially, I didn’t understand what she could be talking about, how she would dare to critique my work, and then I begrudgingly accepted what she was saying as true. The whole reason I created this blog was to initially give insight on my journeys across the world, and then later to just give insight into my mind and thoughts that maybe people could never realize. I would say for the most part that I’ve stayed true to those ideals, that I’ve written strictly from my perspective without worry of what other’s may feel and for that reason I’ve never censored my thoughts. Except I did in the last thing I wrote. If you read it, I just mentioned lots of confusion, not understanding what was going on in my head, etc. etc. While that was true, a lot of the reason I write this blog in the first place is to help decipher the own things going on in my head. Which is what I intended to do with that post and instead I restrained myself when I thought I would say something that makes things awkward. But why did I even do that? Because if anyone knows me, awkward is part of my game anyway. It’s not like I go from smooth, charming, and charismatic to awkward just because of one thing I wrote. I should say this because it’s not like anybody knows this, but since writing what I just wrote and me writing this same sentence has been around three hours. Why such a delay in between? Because of as much as I harped on about how I would make sure to be completely truthful, completely honest, it’s still scary. But then I just have to think about what a friend told me, and this is totally not the friend about who this entire post is about, not at all, who said “Just be honest and write what you feel because no one is going to remember it two days from now anyway, except you.” And she’s right, I’m not writing this for the masses, I’m writing this for myself, and maybe for a person who could totally be any Spanish person throughout history. So with that said, let me start on my ode.

Effy, Estefania, I mean…any Spanish person reading this, I want you to know that I do really and truly love you. I know this isn’t a big revelation since I’ve said it to your face but I want it to be written down as well. When I wrote Modern Romance two years ago about first meeting you, I was on a romantic high but I didn’t love you. I barely knew you, it would be absurd for me to feel that way. Instead, I wrote beautiful prose about your big brown eyes, your fiery spirit, and other superficial things. Granted, I wasn’t lying about those things, I still am entranced by your beautiful brown eyes, your skin that’s barely browner than mine, your fiery Spanish self that also ignited my own passionate self from time to time. Sure, I think you’re great, you look great, except I can say so much more now that I’ve dug into the depths of your being. For one, I would like to congratulate you. I would like to congratulate you for spending 30+ days with me, and still having a little tinge of sadness that you were actually going home. Yes, I don’t want you to think that I think you’re perfect, that you can do nothing wrong; however, I don’t think it does any good to list off my annoyances in this post. Plus, if there was anything ever truly terrible that I couldn’t stand, I would have mentioned it anyway so I don’t want you to think I was in a constant state of having a grudge against you. Probably didn’t need to include that line at all, since it’s not very relevant to the point of what I’m trying to convey, but I did say I would be completely uncensored and unfiltered so I’m just letting everything out. What I myself didn’t like about my earlier-this-month blog post was that I was dealing with a conflict of feelings, and yet afraid to even let anything out. When I first spent time again with my friend, no matter how unromantic the last year and a half of our friendship had been, I was transported back to how I felt in Ireland all that time ago. A bit understandable, since this was my first time seeing her in person again, but I was also disappointed in myself because putting her in such a specific category is entirely unfair to her. Not that I don’t think she’s great, she would be a great date, a great mate, but holy shit man, she’s just so much more. The problem I have is that I don’t want this come off as a confession of love because it is isn’t. I mean, the love I feel for her is real and strong, but in no way am I making this a romantic declaration. It’s more just a declaration of greatness. I should also mention that when I do remark on how similar she and I are from time to time, it should also mean that I’m directly saying that I’m considering myself great as well. It’s like, I don’t even know if there’s a point in what I’m trying to say now because I’ve tried to convey at least all of this while she is here. It’s not like I had some hidden messages that I was waiting to mention as soon as she left, it’s not like I’m finally getting something off my chest because I won’t have to live with her if she takes it the wrong way. When I tell her, or make jokes about us getting married in ten years after she proposes, it’s not because I’m trying to date her in the present, it’s because I’ve never been in a relationship before where I thought that about a person. From my experience in relationships, I’ve only ever felt a desire to not want to be with them forever. Not saying I was unhappy at the moment, but deep down, I could tell that there wasn’t a future there. When I mention marriage, I just say that specifically because it’s intended as a lifelong bond. Because again, that’s what I told her, I don’t care what the future is between us, I have no friendship or relationship goals, all I know and all I want is to always have her a part of my life. I told her again, I would be happy with a wife, I’d be happy with a sister, I’d be happy with her as a live-in-maid, the role that she plays isn’t what matters to me. She is what matters to me. It is an interesting to me personally to think about though, because people will say “If you think so highly of her, why wouldn’t you have romantic desires for her?” and I feel so pretentious saying that narrowing her down into a specific box just seems like a disservice. It’s true though, I feel like an overwhelming and strong love for her that I can’t just affix to one style of thought. I just truly, and honestly believe that she’s an amazing human, and again, she has flaws, she has faults, she’s not perfect but it’s not like distort her value in my mind. I even know that she thinks highly of herself (for good reason), and she’s an outgoing type who travels around and makes friends like it’s a piece of cake. So she might read all of this and think “Ah, yes, another fan of mine,” and if she does, then I’m completely okay with that. Because she knows me well enough to know that I’m not the type of person that can just go anywhere and make friends, that I’m not the type of person that is genial and outgoing and loves everybody. That I’m a bitter old man trapped in the body of a late 20s boy who finds things to bitch and complain about in every single person and prefers to point out the negativity instead of seeing the good in others. I’m saying this because, at the very least, I hope she knows that it’s hard for me to write all this knowing it’ll be around forever. Though she knows I shared plenty of countless nice things about her, under the influences of alcohol, under the influences of pre-workout, and sometimes under the influence of sobriety; she also knows I’m the same guy that would say he felt like he has to act mean the next day to counteract the kindness he said before. Again, more props to her for putting up with all of this for the past month. I’m already losing my train of thought after realizing this could be my longest blog post and wondering should I try to rein it in? No, I’m not going to try to rein it in. What else is there to say though? Am I glad to have a person that will call me out on the bullshit? Yes, that’s appreciated. These are things I’ve also noticed throughout a month long stay with a person. I’m glad she stayed so long because if we had only those 10 days or so when I first wrote the blog, just because it gave me more time to think. Even though that’s probably a problem for me when it seems a criticism of me could be that I think too much. Because again, I was in a state of confusion, I was in a state of romantic thoughts mixed with an evolution of a friendship, and it was mind boggling to me. I also didn’t like it because I felt like I couldn’t be my true self, I felt like I had to portray a person that could be seen as a desirable person back. I can honestly say that if you spend so much time with a person, hours a day just between the two of you, you will see every facet of someone’s personality and they will not be able to put on a show for that long. You see chinks in the armor, and then you see their true selves come out. We had petty fights over stupid things, arguments over nothing, disagreements that had no point, and yet we still stuck together through it. Probably because she didn’t have anywhere else to go and I wasn’t going to move out of my own place. I say all this not because it’s important, not because it makes sense, and frankly I already don’t remember why I was typing this. This thing has been in the process of being written for hours now and it’s very stop-and-go. I just want everyone, the Spanish that shall not be named, I just want people to know that’s been such a pleasure to have this past month. I want her to know that when I called her like a piece of furniture, I meant it as a beautiful compliment, and I could understand how she didn’t understand that because she was just called a piece of furniture. I want her to know that I’m going to truly miss her and it’s already been weird knowing she’s gone. I want her to know that when I did have all the pain in my chest, and I jokingly/cheesily said it was because it’s like my heart’s been pulled out, that a part of me kind of meant that and I felt like I began to have an inkling of understanding when you hear people die of a broken heart. I want her to know that I will make it a personal goal to be outside of Alabama next year to inspire her to want to come back and visit America. I also want her to know that I’m going to visit Spain to see her because I want to see her, and NOT TO RETURN THE DAMN SPANISH FLAG. I just want her to know that she is an inspiration, that I believe we’re two creative souls and together it’s just nice to be two folks that want to help other achieve their dreams. That I don’t know how possible it’ll be for each of us to achieve all that we want to do, but I can 100% confirm that I’ll be supporting her every step of the way. Because I know she can do it, I know she wants to do it, and I just want to see her achieve all that I know she can be. Maybe there’s still some confusion here, but it’s not about how I feel, I know how I feel, it’s more did I write enough? Did I confide enough? I also just want her to know, for everyone to know, that even because I may have bought her birthday gifts, that I write her these blogs, people think “Wow, Hank, you’re so kind, you’re so sweet, you’re just so nice to her,” that’s not the case. I mean, it’s partially the case. I just want her to know, for everyone to know, that I wouldn’t write any of these things, I wouldn’t support her, I wouldn’t clean her dishes, buy her gifts, if she didn’t deserve every last thing. If she wasn’t the sweetest, kindest, smartest, funny, compassionate, creative, super-de-duper person I know. Even if you’re not going to be hearing her say all these things about me, you’re not going to be reading any blogs, I don’t want people to think that she’s the lucky one here. I am the luckiest just for knowing her, just for being involved in her life, just for having a connection to her. That’s what I want her to know when she’s gone. I’m forever grateful for her existence, I’m forever grateful for her friendship, her ideas, her mind, her everything. She’s done more for me than she’ll ever know, she’s done more for me than I could ever write out in a blog no matter how many words I use. All I want for is thanks is a custom Amy Winehouse jacket, obviously. Or all I really want is just to have her as a constant presence in my life because she makes it better. She makes me better, she makes life better, she makes me want to be better. And I think that’s what you look for in a friend, in a companion, you just want them to make you happy while also helping you realize what you can change to improve. Nobody’s perfect, I’ll never be perfect, she’s not perfect, but together I think we help each other get a few steps further to that. I don’t know man, I don’t know, I’ve already written so gosh darn much. I think I’ve formulated enough of my thoughts into words, I think I’ve done a pretty good job. I can safely say that this is the most words I’ve ever written before. I can also safely say that I could probably write another 2,000 but as I mentioned way earlier, it’s not like most of this is new, this is all stuff I’ve said to a certain, it could be anyone Spanish, Spaniard before. I’m not trying to break new ground here, I’m not trying to unveil new truths, I’m just trying to completely dump words of praise onto her. I hope she knows we’re still going to write a musical together, I hope she knows we’re going to somehow figure a way to inject arts and culture programs into low-income areas while also living in a big city somehow, and I hope she knows that we’ll be getting art together. After spending a month with her in the boring life of Alabama with her and feeling the way I feel about her, I have high hopes for our actual adventures of the future. But at the same time, I have just as many high hopes for more of the long, deep conversations that we could be found having at 3 AM. I’m just excited for my own future, I’m excited for her future, and I’m excited to see what the future holds in store for us two. So it goes.

As was Lucille Ball, I am typically considered one of the best comic minds of my generation. Do I have a television show? At the moment, I do not. But c’mon, look at all these comedians getting all their TV shows, it only makes sense that I’d be offered one too, am I right? This is an example of my generational comedic talent when I can craft a sentence like that. Was this blog post supposed to have a point? I’ve already forgotten because I’m been blowing so much smoke up my own ass that I think I’m poisoning myself. Another example of a perfectly crafted comedic sentence of excellence. Let’s not focus on me though. Let’s not focus on me because, for the first time in a long time, I am not alone. I am not alone in the sense that a friend of mine thought it would be a good idea to spend a month of her own young, vibrant life to come to the hub of American racism and spend a month in the “great” state of Alabama. I could probably write an entire blog post wondering why she would ever consider the company of me, and especially the company of me while residing in the state of Alabama to be worth spending a day with, let alone a month, but that isn’t the point in this post. That’s just what I ask myself every single night before I go to sleep.

Wait, I Love Lucy though right? A show I objectively know next to nothing about. Which means I’m obviously and most definitely going to compare my current living situation to it. As aforementioned, I am most definitely Lucy. She’s the star, she’s feminine, she teases Ricky Ricardo about his accent and mispronunciation of the English language, and she has a way of igniting that Spanish fire in her partner. I’m also realizing as I’m wondering what to type for the next line that are things that I’m wondering if I should say or not because they feel weirdly personal to me. Or maybe it’s because they were things I intended at compliments at 2 in the morning, things I considered very deep, mystifying beautiful words that were just met with laughs and strange glances. Wasn’t I just going to write about the first week that we shared together and the experiences that were had that would make for a good story? That makes a lot more sense than trying to dive into my own interpersonal feelings that are meaningless to anyone outside of the realm of me. I will; however, just say that this Spanish chica does have a habit of agreeing with me on thoughts, or even speaking words and phrase that I thought I had coined and were unique to me and uses them like it’s nothing. It’s like she’s read a handbook full of my personality quirks and adopted them as her own when I thought I was setting myself apart from the pack with a lack of conformity. So either she’s much weirder than I thought, or I’m just normal as heck. Or maybe I’m a secret Spanish. Or maybe she and I have rubbed off on one another and crafted some personality amalgamation. All I know is that she pulls it off and rocks it a lot better than I do.

Oh right, a huge week happened too that I could probably discuss and let people into my interesting life. Hmm, let’s just give a quick rundown. Effy dropped her phone in a toilet and she lost all connection to her Spanish life. I dropped my wallet on the ground at a restaurant and had it thrown away because my fashion choices are trash. I did get the wallet back at least after an old bald man dug around in the garbage for me. There were lots of long car drives due to picking my friend up from Atlanta, then decided two days later to drive to Panama City Beach and spend a couple of days there. Uh, the city of Ponce De Leon is haunted and no one should ever go there. It’s where Effy damaged her phone and where I hit a deer while driving on the way back. Oh right, I also hit a deer, a baby deer while driving back from Panama City. Nothing more traumatic for a person than a sweet, international girl pointing out a baby deer on the side of the road and calling it Bambi and then having it immediately proceed to sprint and jump into the middle of the road where the driver has no time to stop and drives straight through it. Looking back at what I’d done (while screaming Jesus!) in the reWhiar view mirror is something I wish I hadn’t done. I mean, sure, I imagine plenty of things have happened and I know they have because we discuss them every night and how hectic the first week has been and all of that. It’s just as I’m writing this now, it’s harder to convey all of that because I think it’s getting better. Effy has a phone, she’s connected to the world again. I’ve convinced myself that that was a suicidal deer with a death wish due to all of the guilt it had from murdering a separate deer family and that I did the world a favor. It’s just so many things have happened, so much drama has occurred, but tonight I can just think that everything is going well, that we’re finally settling down, it’s all smooth sailing. Honestly, though, that’s really what it all comes down to. I’m just so glad and happy that my friend has come here and decided to have this stay of vacation with me. I won’t get cheesy with the details, but it’s just nice to have such a dear, close friend and just hang out and enjoy one another. It’s a girl I’d only met for a few days over two years ago and somehow, even living in two different continents and vastly different time zones, we’ve managed to speak almost every day, we’ve managed to be there for one another, and we’ve managed to truly grow and appreciate one another. I’ve changed, she’s changed, things have happened, life has happened, and throughout it all, we’re still in each other’s lives and I think we’re both better off because of that. I don’t mean to write a sappy emotional thing, I’m just grateful to have her in my life. Even though I’ve been more argumentative in this last week than the last year, even though I have to wear pants around the house more often, and man, it’s hard to even think of actual complaints without making them inside jokes that no one would understand. All I’m saying is that I’m very glad to have someone around that agrees that all girls in the city of Tuscaloosa look like they’re wearing clothes that are pajamas no matter what the social circumstance, and someone that’s reminded me that Alabama is no cultural hub and I may owe it to myself to find somewhere that fits my own sensibilities more. I don’t want to ramble on and on about my own feelings because for one, no wants to hear that, and for two, it’s much more interesting and entertaining to label me as a deer murderer. The moral of the story is that the new Spider-Man was really great and don’t forget to eat your vegetables. So it goes.

As I mentioned in the previous post, I like to consider myself a scientist. I like to consider myself a scientist because after I’ve gathered more information in my studies I’ve learned that I make a shitty scientist. I wasn’t sure if I would ever write a follow up to the brilliant, critically acclaimed first post but I decided to take a risk and try to ingratiate myself in with the animals I was studying. Which surprisingly was easier than I expected because when you combine a suave, almost James Bond-like charm combined with a physical appearance that ensures they’ll never look at you as more than their weird brother, they’re surprisingly open. To be fair, I’m doing a slow burn process of becoming one of them. I say this because they’re yet to invite me to their large parties that probably incorporate cannons that shoot foam, and I’m yet to experience the sheer exhilaration of watching women get hit on in by bars by men much more attractive than I am that I am sure are much dumber than me as well. Obviously, I do not much about the fabled sorority girl social life if those are the two acts that comprise the majority of their free time, while on the other hand, I would not be surprised if I was correct.

That isn’t the point though. None of that is the point! Didn’t I start to talk about myself as a poor scientist and not explain the why? You’re right I did do that. I might be a little distracted by the angelic voice of Taylor Swift currently playing now that she’s back on Spotify. I’m sorry Taylor but you gotta be paused. Okay, it’s over. It actually isn’t over. She’s still playing. Seriously, it’s done now. The big revelation that threw everything for a loop was finding out a girl wasn’t a sorority girl. This information was monumental in and of itself but then you’re going to tell me she revealed another girl wasn’t a sorority girl?! She did. That left me with more questions than answers, except I figured that if I asked all the questions it wouldn’t give me a point in rambling on and on about this on this blog. For one, it really complicates my theory that sorority girls are given an injection of a futuristic pharmaceutical that somehow tricks the body into accepting every fried chicken sandwich as kale. One girl specifically said she’d never eaten a vegetable in her life! Of course, that’s hyperbole, yet it still doesn’t change the sentiment. I can eat a salad every day for a month and my body will still resemble Frosty the Snowman come to life. This isn’t about me though, I’m a silent observer, nothing more. This is about the sheer fact that nothing makes sense to me at all anymore. This is about how people can come all the way from New Jersey and somehow morph into the sorority girl aesthetic without even having been in a sorority at all. I have not stepped into a high school in quite some time, but I do remember that fashion seemed to have some sort of importance. Though I’m typically impeccably dressed and an icon for the male community, I’m not here to lecture on what looks good or not. I’m pretty sure last time I said these girls could be attractive no matter what they wore, and that isn’t the point either. What I’m trying to understand is what causes the change in the girl? It could be something as simple as just wanting to conform, to not wanting to stand out in a sea of familiarity. It could have something to do with not wanting to do much in the morning and just throwing on some clothes and going. Granted, one can say that and then think that high school started earlier than even the earliest of college classes. However, then one could argue that since you’re under the house of your parents you might want to dress a little better in order to impress them. Again, I’m just spitballing here. For my entire life, I’ve essentially worn a tuxedo every single day. I wake up hours before class. I take showers, I apply all the essential oils, I iron, I apply countless products to my hair, I rub off old skin cells, and I look like a younger George Clooney when I’m done. Then I wake up from my dream and put on a pair of shorts that I created from cutting pants in half. Again, this isn’t about me. This is how about how a girl can relocate to the South from the North and morph completely into the sorority stereotype without ever having been in a sorority and throwing all my research in disarray. It’s true that I haven’t worn the short Nike running shorts because I don’t have the slender, lithe body of Michael Cera in Juno but can they really be that comfortable? I know it was said that one would get honey, nectar, and ambrosia when joining the gods but if you ask a female at the University of the Alabama, then I wouldn’t be surprised if they say you’re bequeathed short shorts, oversized t-shirts, and chacos. Could all these questions be easily answered if I actually asked any of this to my focus of study? Sure it could. As I said though, as soon as I give away my position, then my research is ruined. I’ve turned down the countless invites to spend time with this population in the real world, specifically so I could keep researching in a controlled manner. Am I possibly confusing the countless offers with one meager offer that happened only in a dream? That’s not the point, because how many times do I have to say this isn’t about me dammit!

The problem about my lack of editing which even includes not reading back what I wrote just ten minutes ago is I forget what I already said and I’m hesitant that I might repeat myself again. Let’s just clear the basics again just to make sure I hit all the points. I am horrible at analyzing what makes or doesn’t make a sorority girl, but to my credit it’s hard to differentiate when everyone wears the same outfits. I wonder if the outfit metamorphasis is a gradual process though. For instance, in the majority of my Social Work classes, I am one of two guys at most. I completely understand dressing for comfort and not feeling the need to “impress” someone due to your attire. What about when someone starts college though and they’re taking the required classes with assorted genders and sexualities. Do people dress up because they want to entice a potential mate? Are people you might find drunkenly at a bar worth the extra effort you put in fashion-wise compared to someone you might come across at a grocery store? The thing is me commenting on this is something that I can not do in any light at all without making myself look bad and I understand that. I’m not here to say what a woman should or shouldn’t wear and how she presents herself is entirely up to her and no one else, especially not the mind of a man. I’m just curious in the line of thinking is all, or I’m honestly probably more curious because I have a very little change in my attire regardless of the circumstance which just speaks to my inability to be dapper. But can we still get back to how these girls are guzzling down sodas and doing beer funnels and rocking bikinis a month later? I just want to know their gosh darn secrets! To find all these answers and more, I will continue doing my research into this population of women. I can’t call them sorority girls because most likely I’ll be wrong on that account, so women it is. I just hope they don’t get any ideas and try to incorporate me into their lives as their quirky best friend and have me around at every instance because they’ll start to realize I live alone and have lots of free time and am very open to doing anything, anytime, anywhere, and anyday. Ha, that’s a good line. That’s why I made sure to include it at the very end so no one will actually get that far and read my cries for help. So it goes.

I like to think of myself as a scientist. I like to think of myself as a scientist because no one else has ever called me a scientist so if I don’t think it, then no one else will. I know that some of my colleagues have gone into jungles and intermingled with species, or that one guy who studied grizzly bears and was ultimately killed and eaten by them. I, however, am studying the most intelligent animal, the human female. Not your average female though, a specific population of females, the sorority girl. Throughout my time since I’ve returned to Alabama, but especially in these last six months, I’ve procured extensive amounts of data from all my days spent observing. One might say me being silent and “loner-esque” in the classroom could be because I’m shy, awkward, anxious, or another might say I perfected the persona due to me being too cool for school. I’d like to say, a scientist has to stay focused. Granted, I really had no reason to comment on any of this because surely there have been observations made from a GDI regarding the Greek life, but again, the summer is long and I have no more blogs to write for the school newspaper that might’ve possibly been ready by absolutely no one, so it’s my time to shine. Like the sun. In the summer. Since it’s always so hot.

We all have our predispositions about sorority girls. Mine seems to be unchanged from the song Valley Girl by Frank Zappa with his daughter, Moon even though that song has nothing to do with sorority girls but maybe since it has girls in the title I can’t differentiate. Please, no one listen to that song and then compare it to the sorority girl experience because there’s no basis that they resemble one another at all, and I probably shouldn’t have included those sentences. A sorority girl is very easy to spot in the wild. I’ve not infiltrated the ranks far enough to know if this is mandatory, but every single one of them looks the exact same. It always is strange to me to remember what girls dressed like while in high school while then evolving into the same outfit every single day while in college. I don’t even know if I’ve seen many pairs of Nike running shorts in stores, and yet at the same time, every single girl will own a pair. Are they comfortable? I hope so since I’ve tried to buy some online and then worried that me showing off 80% of my thighs might not be appreciated and I ultimately shied away. Oh, and the oversized t-shirts! How could one forget those? Running shorts and oversized t-shirts, it’s the only fashion I’ve ever seen a sorority girl wear. During the day that is. At night, it’s like Cinderella turning into a princess. I’m not saying the girls aren’t already princesses or beautiful like Cinderella at the ball during the day. I’m more saying, they turn from one specific matching outfit to dresses, and fashionable outfits, and makeup, and into whole different women. I think it’s actually strange for me, that I see these ladies so much in their “I don’t have to impress anyone” attire (to be fair, I’m quoting someone, not making my own judgement) and then I see them gussied up and I’m like wow, but you were just as attractive before, you don’t need to do all this work. Though again, who am I to judge however someone wants to dress? I can only judge the homeless for their fashion choices because I feel that’s the most similar to my own personal style and usually when I judge them I take hints from how to improve my own apparel selection.

I can harp on about their fashion and all that later. What I need to focus on is what inspired me to write this in the first place and that is the sorority girl diet. Though they may be wearing these large t-shirts reminding themselves of their exclusively rich and white social gatherings, you can tell that these girls are still thin. I should also add I’m not trying to slander sororities, heck, they raise a lot of money for charities, they seem to promote academia as a priority, and they would most likely not condone someone being punched in the face repeatedly at a party because someone said to a guy, “I heard you sucked a dick.” (Yes, that did happen at frat party that I was at for some weird, unknown reason.) Also, yes, all the sorority girls I’ve seen or interacted with have been very inclusive and especially in the Social Work program, very pro civil rights issues that the Greek system may get a bad rap for. I almost regret that sentence I wrote but for one, I don’t edit anything, and for two, I did watch a guy get attacked just for the possibility he had a gay experience. Anyways…THE SORORITY GIRL DIET. Just yesterday, I was watching as girls around me were complaining about how hungry they were. I understood their pain, during last semester there were times where I didn’t eat in an hour break between my three-hour classes and I was just plain miserable. Thus, during a break, I quietly joined a group of three girls questing to find a vending machine after finding out the fast food was closed. Though they ultimately gave up their quest, I continued on, mainly because I had nothing else to do, and also because I wanted to be a hero. Or I really just wanted a bottle of water because I feel it’s very hard to properly hydrate through a water fountain. As I am the hero of my own life story, I did find the vending machines, I vanquished the threats, I alerted the women, and I got my gosh dang water. This isn’t about me though, I’m just the silent observing doing this all for research. The story is about what happened afterward after the girls came back with their assorted sweet and savory treats. As I watched two girls eat Doritos and drink regular soda, while stashing away candy in their backpack, I overheard a girl excitedly saying how she’d now be able to go out four nights in a row during the summer semester. Let me be straightforward and say that I am in no ways a hater, I’m very supportive of going out on the town night in and night out. I also love Doritos and that sweet, sweet flavor of a Reese’s Cup. Guzzling down an ice cold Dr. Pepper right afterward? Sign me up honey. My only issue is that I don’t understand. I just simply do not understand! I’ve eaten like five salads in the last four days, maybe even six and I look like the Pillsbury dough boy come to life on a good day. I remember at one point in the last few months, I heard a girl talk about trying to do the elliptical three times a week. This same girl was eating Skittles or some candy every single day as well. I’m here chugging bottles of water left and right, and watching my belly jiggle like a water bed. Did they make a pact with the devil? Do they perform some weird satanic rituals to be able to eat as much junk food as they want while also keeping a body that can fit into a multitude of single digit dress sizes for an entire school year?

All these questions and more will be answered over this summer. Is that a promise? No, it is not. Because being a silent observer tends to not get as many answers compared to a skilled interrogator, but I also don’t want to blow my cover seeing as how I’ve seemed to have been accepted into their good graces. Only time will tell if I get more answers to my questions, or if I get more questions that I need to search for answers. Just know, this is just the beginning of an in-depth investigative journalism report that I have been conducting for months. Most likely the next time will revolve more around the sheer facts and not conjecture, and also not as many comments about me being a hero. Stick with me and soon, we’ll all know more about sorority girls than we ever thought possible from an outsider. So it goes.

Yesterday was the one year anniversary of the passing of the Nana Hank. No, I didn’t drink a dirty martini and it wasn’t only because they taste like the ocean and are not very good. I did drink a margarita though because I was at a Mexican restaurant and I figured Nana always would throw down for a fiesta as well. I don’t have that much to say now that I didn’t say a year ago, but I figured I should write something. Especially because in just a couple hours I’ll be going to Panama City Beach, a place I haven’t been since her funeral last year. And it’s going to be weird going there and not seeing her. Because the beach is alright, the ocean is pretty cool, but what I liked most about going there was getting to see her. I enjoyed her constant complaining about just about everything, her comments about her own friends behind their backs, you could know you yourself were in for a maybe insulting comment about yourself if you’d changed since you last saw her. I liked it though. Which maybe makes me seem like a bad person, but I just liked her “I’m old and I don’t give a shit what I say or do attitude.” She made some inappropriate comments, she made some out of touch culturally comments, but in the end she loved me, she loved her family. She loved Alabama football just like her family as well so I guess I have them as my extended family too. There may have been times Nana was mean, or rude, but again, that was just who I knew. She was a wild card, she was unpredictable, and it was always entertaining. Be it cursing at a waiter for serving her Pepsi instead of Coke or telling us she had to move out of somewhere because the people around her were too old and she hated them. She was an opinionated woman that didn’t give no care to what you were thinking half the time, and again, there were times when that wasn’t ideal but it just made her who she was. She was also the same woman that would guilt friends and family if they didn’t drink with her. In some people you might that pushy, you might find it coming on too strong, but I just found it Nana. I enjoyed being her bartender and serving her disgusting drinks of the sea. I enjoyed her going on and on about how she could never understand her liberal (at least 2/3 of us) grandchildren. The main point I wanted to write this though is to just say I miss Nana. At the very least she got to see Alabama win another national championship last year so she had that going for her but things are about more than just football. I had just started back at Alabama last year and I was hoping I’d actually succeed. And now here I am over a year in, actually with plans to finally graduate this December and she won’t be there to see it. Her other grandson that should be graduating in the next year or so and she won’t be there. Even though all her grandchildren are beautiful and sexy geniuses, she’ll never get to see any of us be married, to have children. It sucks, obviously, but she still was a woman in her 90s and lived a full life even if she would have been happier dying even earlier. That was the Nana way though, she told it to you straight, how she truly felt and she didn’t care if you liked it or not. I respected that about her. I’m going to drive to Panama City Beach in a couple of hours, and I’m going to have a fun time there. I need to have a fun time there to make up for the last time being such a somber experience. It’s going to be a change, it’s going to be different, but I know it’s going to be okay. It’s what Nana Hank would want, to just keep on living, to just keep on enjoying life. And to keep on drinking dirty martinis, no matter how I feel about them. This week I’ll have them just because I love you Nana, just don’t expect me to start drinking two a day. So it goes.

Today, I saw the Lego Batman movie. That has nothing to do with the point of this blog, but it’s not like what I most of what I say makes sense regardless. It was a funny film and better than expected and I wholeheartedly recommend it. Let’s just say it was better than La La Land. Which I went in with high expectations and was let down compared to this which I did go in with expectations and they were exceeded. That’s what you want from a film, that’s what you go to movies for. To hope that 90 minutes can be more exciting than a 2 minute trailer. This blog post is also not about the movie about a dog that died over and over and apparently was abused on set. Don’t see that, don’t support that. This blog is because I went to see a movie with a friend, let’s call her Aubrie the ginger, and then we ate lunch afterwords. Did she implore me to get a giant pitcher of margaritas because it was happy hour? No. She didn’t. The story sounds better if we put the blame on her though. So I did that, I had some maracuya (that’s Spanish for passion fruit) and it was delicious. It definitely become a chore by the end but I wasn’t going to let it go to waste and I had to soldier through it. I don’t know if this was Aubrie’s plan and I actually do know what we did next and the pitcher of margarita weren’t related but for the story let’s say they were. She said “Let’s go to the animal shelter and look at all the animals that need our help because we’re in the helping profession and that doesn’t just apply to humans but all of God’s creatures.” She’d recently returned to church if that wasn’t obvious enough. I went to the animal shelter with a heart of blackened, impenetrable steel and within five minutes it was like I’d experienced high temperatures of Kelvin and my heart was melted. You know what humans do? They act irrationally, they kill each other, they hurt one another for their amusement, and they’re total dicks. You know what dogs do? Bring joy and happiness and fun and splendor and turn frowns upside down and give you cuddle buddies. Just because my former dog was a FBI secret agent that plotted my death didn’t mean that he didn’t have his good moments too. No one wore a Cheese-It Box on their head better than that guy did. Is that the point? What is the point? That’s a good point. The point is that if you go to an animal shelter, those animals can see inside your soul. They deem if you’re a good person or not. Obviously, the dog named Hank was too connected to me that he saw that I had some problems and he promptly ignored me. Dogs like Aka though? They saw the goodness inside me. The puppies? Sure, they’re cute but everyone thinks a puppy is cute. Let’s talk about the dog that had been in there since November. I don’t give a crap if you’re four years old, maybe you deserve a home with a guy who’s also in his own little cage to himself. I’m only saying this because I live by myself and that can get lonely and I’ve mentioned that before. Dogs are a man’s best friend! Dogs don’t care if you spend too much time watching Netflix as long as you feed them on time. Dogs don’t care if you don’t wear pants because they don’t wear pants in general! I only mention this because as I walked out today, as I was strolling to the exit, I could see every dog turn to look at me and say “Go on, be an asshole, go back to your lonely life and leave me to suffer here, you dick.” That is what their eyes said and that is what I felt them saying deep in my soul. Were there cute adorable dogs? Of course there were, and yet there are dogs that resemble me. Strong, smart, intelligent, sexy, older, refined gentleman. Or ladies. That said, “Hank, you’re going to go home and you’re going to be like Why didn’t I adopt you because I could improve your life and I wouldn’t bring you down and support bad habits that you’ve grown out of because you’re a responsible person and an excellent student and I want to help you grow.” Again, it’s remarkable how much dogs can speak with so few words that happen to pierce your soul. No, I didn’t come home with 3-5 dogs but I sure thought about it. And I’m still thinking about it, and I imagine I’ll continue to think about it because dammit, Social Workers help everybody! I don’t discriminate if you have paws, only if you bite me in the face and break my laptop. Sorry corgis. So it goes.

P.S. http://www.cw.ua.edu/blog/b-word-from-the-wise You can go there and check out my second blog that I wrote for the student newspaper here at Alabama. “Make the most of your education” is nowhere near the title of “Cranky Old Man” but I don’t have final say in what gets posted. Check it out.

I need to just stop cheering for teams. I cheer for a team and that team loses. I cheer for a team and that team builds up an insurmountable lead and then gets surmounted. I don’t watch nor particularly care about baseball, but I just wanted those darn Cleveland Indians to win. Nope, nope, nope. A 3-1 lead? Choke. I despise the New England Patriots even if they’re the closest thing to the Alabama of the NFL. The Falcons have a 25 point lead? Choke. I think I wrote the first blog around sports right around the time when I started the blog itself and I got to see Oregon fail against Auburn. Or someone lost. Maybe it was when Ohio State beat Alabama. All I know is that I love sports, I love the togetherness and unity it can provide, but sometimes the misery from losses makes you forget about all the good times. Or sometimes when you go to Tampa to watch the National Championship game in person and you have a quarterback who can’t pass the ball and an OC who’s refusing to run the ball at the end of the game that you just feel defeated. Last night I was defeated. I was defeated much more intensely with the loss of Alabama, but defeat is defeat. Oh yeah, it doesn’t help when your NBA team you follow is gosh darn terrible either! All I know is that one day Bill Belichick (yes, I know this is spelled wrong and I do not care) will retire and parity will return to football. The same could be said about once Nick Saban retires with college football. It’s just how about a win for 2017 guys? Let not the Golden State Warriors win a championship because they had one of the biggest babies (obviously Kevin Durant) join their team because he quit on his own team. Let us just have that. Alabama, maybe you can manage to get in the NCAA tournament and get promptly defeated but it would be something. Hey gymnastic girls, why don’t you start being less of a #7 team and work on being the best? Do other sports exist? Let’s go Tiger Woods, win a golf game. Regardless of all this said, I’ll still root for a random NFL team or two next season and I’ll expect Alabama to go far with their top recruiting class and development of Jalen. That’s the thing with sports, they keep hurting you but you can’t stay away. So it goes.

P.S. I started to write a blog for the Crimson White, the University of Alabama’s student newspaper. You can find my blog and all the others at: http://www.cw.ua.edu/blog/. Mine is the one by the guy named Hank, “Words from the Wise.” I’m not sure if it’ll be weekly or every other, just feel free to check it out.

I just want to thank all my countless fans for their love and support. Without you? I would be nothing. I just would be a boy who sometimes writes his thoughts and you read them and eat it up like catnip. Or like a big steak after a long hike through the vast expanses of the world core. In this hypothetical situation, yes, you are not some weird vegan. I just feel it’s time to sell out. I’ve written this for over a year without any payment so I figured now was the time to move onto a new avenue that also did not include money and comes with even more restrictions. What avenue is this you ask? Maybe you say what road are you embarking on? What new highway are you merging onto? What street will you skateboard down in the grand scheme of life? How many possible stupid questions can you ask that are redundant and just are being typed out to figure out how many types of automobile traveling road (crap, I mentioned it twice) metaphors you can think of? This blog isn’t about announcing I might be randomly writing a couple of blogs for the Crimson White on campus but more just a written account of what happened in me going to the informational meeting today. When I say it’ll be a written account I obviously mean that it’ll be an exaggerated take that either paints me in an extremely self deprecating light or I might end up running the paper. We’ll see what happens in the next couple hundred of words. As my limo driver pulled into the parking lot and opened the door for me, I walked out with my stark white tuxedo. I followed the red carpet that had been laid down for me and I greeted the woman who held open the door. I told her that I was Hank Wolf and that someone was expecting me and she told me the room number. Or she told me something and I didn’t comprehend in correctly and I just followed the person in front of me. I followed the guy into a room that was full of women who appeared to have stepped out of the Stepford Wives and upon learning that they were primarily PR majors that fact made a lot more sense. I’m still not entirely sure what that meeting I was sitting in for was for but they were impressed that I was a Social Work major. Impressed that Social Work and the agencies of public relations and advertising could all intertwine. I’ve never been one to sweat bullets, except today I noticed I was the only one who appeared to make a puddle under their folded arms on the table. I looked off into the distance and the entire meeting was sucked into a daydream where I reminisced about a friend and her telling of how her body was like a busted dam when it came to anxiety, or stress, or apparently sunlight in general. My internal temperature seemed to be rising in patterns of tens which seems very unrealistic until I started shooting steam out of my ears because apparently I was boiling. Not with anger, more just the embarrassment of the situation. It didn’t help that we were still in this daydream situation and we had to travel back through the time warp vortex where they all knew something was up. In the end, when someone asked if we had any ideas in regards to something that I wasn’t even sure what was being asked, did I have a chance to bring up that I may potentially be in the wrong place. I was in the wrong place. The manner in which they all simultaneously said “It was nice to meet you” in the exact same cadence did not ease my fears about Stepford Wives 2: Keep Stepping. Still, most likely they did mean it with actual genuine kindness and not the mocking tone I heard in my own head. Then I found my own meeting held a mere five feet away and proceeded to do that whole shindig. The fact that that meeting didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know doesn’t mean anything. That’s not what this post is about. I mainly just wanted to pretend I rode in a limo and owned a stark white tuxedo. What happened after the meeting? Hmm, well I walked back to my car and found myself almost lost inside the parking lot too. Or I looked like a person that was just learning to drive and teaching himself to drive by going through every single square inch of a parking lot. Ah! Someone also said “This guy is real ride or die with Alabama with those tats man.” Neither of those facts really add much to the story but I have problems with writing concise conclusions. Or writing concise in general. Either way, I mainly just wanted to write about this situation and my future selling out to corporate America. Something like that. So it goes.

“Hank, you’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met in my life. But…like…in a good way.” Parting words from Emma, one of the two humans that I shared the majority of my Chicago trip with, laying my head down on their pullout couch. I had a lot of fun in Chicago. I did a lot of things in Chicago. I could probably write individual posts for countless happenings that happened while I was there, or I could dump it all into this one thing and not even focus on the events but more the interpersonal relationships. Because that’s what people care about the most obviously. Who wants to hear about an intoxicatingly beautiful Christmas gala that I helped prepare for by spending countless hours decorating and suffering with stools? Who wants to hear about adventures that Kyle and I had or one girl’s obsession with goldfish? Stories of carnal rage two men possess fighting over a stocking cap while I watch idly eating cantaloupe. Those are good stories, those are good tales. Which means you could’ve gone to Chicago and experienced them yourself. It’s like I’m sorry but if you weren’t cool enough to get invited to the Christmas Gala then why would you think that you’re worthy of hearing about it. So no, this is just a story of one boy’s time spent in the snowy, windy city that is Chicago. Consider this a more earnest independent drama than a thrilling summer blockbuster. We may be making less money at the box office, but we’re aiming for one of those gold statues baby. With that said, a huge thank you needs to be said to Kyle. A person I only got to spend time with 2 measly weeks in Peru would extend his living room to me for eight or nine or however many days. I never thought after he left that I would be visiting him years later, hell, I never thought I’d be seeing him in my own city just a few months prior. Also, a big thank you to Emma as well for allowing a stranger she had never met to stay with her as well because I could understand her being wary about someone that Kyle vouched for. Even though I did manage to squeeze in a movie alone while I was there it had nothing to do with Kyle (other than the fact that he was working and still always able to hang out and do activities) and well it was the fact of which I just described in parentheses. That a working man even took off vacation days while I was there just to spend time with me. It could have possibly been a factor that he had to use them before the year ended or else they’d expire but I like to think he would’ve taken off even sick days for us to bond. I’d like to think that and admittedly I am probably wrong. My main point of this post is just to convey the gratitude of being able to visit, to experience Chicago again, to meet new people, and just always have fun. Now that I’m back at university once more my friend group has downsized quite a bit because I’m an older person not experiencing the rigors of college for the first time and I live off campus so I’m not forced to awkwardly socialize and yes, that can get a little lonely from time to time. That I do have plenty of friends who were at Alabama and are still in the state but they don’t live in the same city anymore and that combined with living alone can lead me to directly repeating my prior line of saying I get lonely from time to time. That when combined with an already over thinking and sometimes assuming the worst kinda mind can make you think that you don’t even know how to socialize with people anymore. Then combining all of that with constant Facebook group chats with strangers where you tell them sometimes dark personal secrets that you have no purview admitting to a stranger, it can make things a bit awkward. I’ll be the first to say I have a polarizing personality and that polarizing personality doesn’t even start to exist until you get past the shy, somewhat socially awkward exterior. My point being that regardless of all I just wrote about myself, Kyle kept introducing me to new faces and friends and at the very least I didn’t come across so horribly that they ignored me completely or only treated me with glowering glares. I said it was my hope that by the end of my stay someone would referred to me not only as Kyle’s friend but their own friend and when that happened I almost shed a tear like a Native American watching someone litter. That may be culturally insensitive and I do think that the Washington Redskins should change their name. Or when Kyle’s boyfriend said, “So Hank, when are you moving to Chicago? I feel you just belong here.” For someone that sometimes sings aloud improvised songs to themselves to make sure they spoke that day, it really was truly appreciated that the circle of people I met in Chicago were so warm (even in the cold!) and accepting of a relative newcomer that most had had little to no interaction with. I never once felt excluded, with the exception of hearing about any other story that didn’t occur in the past few days,  and I just felt like I was one of the gang. Which again, may sound completely normal to people that are used to it and yet to someone who’s main friend group only rolls a few deep back where I go to school, it really was a moving experience. Like I did really think, “Oh I can get along with people. Maybe these people will miss me if I leave. Maybe these people will be excited to hear that I’m coming back.” And I’m not writing this to make myself sound unhappy or anything, I’m writing this to express that I met a lot of faces and every person I met I always thought that this a person I want to spend more time with, this is a person I want to learn more about, this is a person I’m interested in knowing. Which speaks to both Kyle and other’s choices in who they surround themself with and the other part of that both comment is some sentence that I can’t think of at this very moment. The people of Chicago are cool folks, Kyle is a super cool folk, everyone I met I hope that I wasn’t too terrible and if you disliked me then I’m glad you didn’t directly say it to my face because that’s a rude way to treat a person unless they kicked an animal and then you should probably more like punch them in the face with a tire iron but that’s neither here nor there. I’ve missed run on sentences. The point is, I’m glad to have met everyone I did, I hope we can all meet again, and yeah…I just had a really great trip and I’m really glad I made this impromptu trip because I bring back memories. And possibly frostbite. So it goes.