my life as a socialite...very lite on the social

It's 9:00 on Friday night and I'm sitting on the couch with a bowl of mac and cheese that I can't taste thanks to a week-long cold, surrounded by tissues, my laptop weighing on my stomach, and a 10 page research paper weighing on my conscience. Instead of starting said paper and mulling over the implications texting has had on teens' social skills in APA format, I've opted to mull about topics closer to my own life...like how does Carrie Bradshaw afford that apartment on the Upper East Side and how does Samantha not have every STD in the book? This relates to my life because I will be living in NYC in 2 months and I must take note of how little sex I'll be having in the city, but what it might look like if I could afford Manolo Blahniks. Let's not skirt around the elephant pooping in the room. My life is less than glamorous. I'm in sweats eating an overload of carbs debating with myself the sexual health and footwear of fictional characters.
Often on Facebook on a Monday afternoon, you can see the photo reels of the previous weekend affairs featuring girls wearing dresses that highlight and flatter their vaginas more than any other body part, and guys oggling said girls...er parts. Call me old fashioned, but I like to keep the privates private. However to document this night in photos might be just as embarrassing. I'm freshly showered with full make up on, Kardashian style, but it somehow doesn't make up for my sheer lack of polish and friends currently. In the end, I am at least considering being studious while all others on campus are preparing to go out partying. This is the fasting of fun for the benefit of education...or thoughts of education. I am like a monk during Ramadan. Am I mixing religions? Is my consumption of cheesy pasta from the microwave while talking about Ramadan disrespectful? I hope not. The point is, I like to think of myself as staying home on a weekend night as a symbol of my life as a beacon for higher education. Now I gotta go because the Soup is on and I've got to catch up on what I've missed in reality tv this week.

With Easter rapidly approaching I started thinking about Easter baskets today. And then I started thinking about dyeing eggs....and as a side note I thought a little bit about how I only ever eat the chocolate bunny's ears and then give up before I lose a tooth. When I was little we used to have Easter egg hunts at my grandparents' house with all the little cousins. Every year at least one child spilled their basket of eggs all over the driveway, sending nickels and chocolates everywhere. Yes...nickels...we're a very monetarily motivated family at a young age. Anyway, it got me thinking of how what a pain in the ass it is to have to go around picking up all those damn nickels and how the chocolates never quite taste the same after they've hit asphalt. Why do we give these little kids baskets in which to put some fragile, cheap plastic eggs full of tasty treats and financial opportunity?? These children are unstable, wabbly little humans barely able to keep their balance, and then we add weight to one side and over they fall.

I hate cliche sayings. I mean what the hell does "a bird in hand is worth 2 in the bush" even mean? Is that a dirty reference? Are we talking about badminton? Just say what you're actually thinking!!! But the whole "don't put all your eggs into one basket" adage kinda came together for me today while pondering all this Easter insanity. Is it really all that different? Aren't we just as wobbly in our daily lives trying to make the right decisions, plagued with insecurities and fears and holding onto our basket trying not to fall. One day we meet someone and start filling up our basket with them...adding in the commitment egg, the trust egg, the warm fuzzies egg, the promises eggs, ....and one day the basket finally gets too heavy and we fall, except this time it's not just your chocolates that were ruined. So what are we supposed to do? Where are we supposed to put our eggs if not in our basket? I don't have that kind of cleavage. And when do you know if that person's going to be there to catch you when your balance is lost? Following this old saying has made me a fearful and cautious individual. Don't give me your eggs, I have a hard enough time standing on my own. But has any of that fear slowed my little cousins on Easter Sunday? never. They collect what is salvageable from the ground and carry on, because it's Easter and an overgrown rabbit has just left a small miracle of hidden colors in the backyard.

Maybe putting all your eggs in one basket isn't such a bad thing. Maybe we're just participating in a game that no one wins or loses, but one that always has the potential for a fun surprise.