SUBWAYI’m seated in 14A of Delta 6205 en route to Madison, Wisconsin accompanying my mom on a work trip. If you had told me at the beginning of 2013 that my great, big summer vacation was a fully accommodated trip to America’s Dairyland, I wouldn’t believe you. Now, 30,000 feet in the air, I still can’t believe it, but everything is going to be okay. I am going to start a blog. It is going to be my magnum opus– the thing that will define my 20’s and all its mistakes. It will gain the vaguest amount of popularity, which will eventually be compiled into a New York Times Bestseller. Laptop sitting on the tray in front of me, earphones blasting Beyonce, and Delta-brand cookies consumed, I have nothing to write about.

This is my chance to be “one of those writers” whose only time to write and relax is on the plane; however this is being made extremely difficult by the mother-daughter duo sitting in 13A and 13B. From what I can identify through the small gap in front of me, it is typical mother-daughter bondage. The heavily eye-lined daughter decides to skip the complementary drinks and/or pretzels, salted peanuts, or cookies, which only means she is probably in high school and there will be one more package of cookies for me when the stewardess comes back. I will never pass up the opportunity for free food, even when it is only two ounces of canned orange juice. Out of her giant canvas bag, the mother has just pulled out what looks like an information packet from…University of Wisconsin. Of course! Her daughter is attending Freshman Orientation at University of Wisconsin.

For my Freshman Orientation, I simply took a 30-minute drive from my parents’ house to the college. Proudly and fully clothed in J. Crew, Orientation was my chance to be the gregarious and seemingly intelligent woman I think I am. I participated in all the group ice-breakers. I stood in a circle with all the freshmen who I shared a birth month with. The moderator told us to walk to the other side of the circle if the following conditions he yelled into the microphone applied to us. “Your favorite color is blue!” My favorite color is yellow. I stand still. “You live in Brooklyn!” I walk to the other side of the circle and shake hands with other people who cross my path. “You pee in the shower!” Everyone nervously laughs. I admittedly walked across. Because in college, I am going to be this outwardly open person. Ten minutes later, I meet up with two girls I went to highschool with. The coolest of the three of us says, “Oh my God. You totally didn’t walk when the guy asked who pees in the shower, right? That was so gross!” I denied, “Ugh, of course not!” Thus repeating my highschool life as a liar. Thanks, guy. Was that ice breaker really supposed to make all of our college fears disappear?

I shouldn’t admit to urinating in the shower, especially in my blog. Civilized people don’t like that, particularly the New York Times Bestselling people. My parents are reading this. I need to start using big words like pedantic or esoteric. I should probably look up their definitions first before I start sounding affectatious (if that’s even a word). The passenger behind me just pulled down their tray table. I turn around and it’s a mother and son. She’s wearing skinny jeans with her legs up on her seat, while her son bops his head to his black Beats by Dre headphones. Is he younger than me? The mother gets up to use the bathroom and notices the mother sitting in front of me reading University of Wisconsin materials. Her Beats by Dre’d son is also heading to Freshman Orientation. They share a nervous laughter and a unison “Oh my God!” So he is younger than I am. Both mothers begin chatting. “This better be worth it, right?,” says Skinny Jeans Mom. “It better be. It’s $50,000 a year. And she even wants me to get her the new MacBook,” Skeptical Mom points to Eye-Liner Daughter.

I got accepted into a $60,000+ University, which has recently garnered a spot on the List of Most Expensive Universities in the United States. I ended up going to a college where I received a full scholarship and the only money I spend is on overpriced CLIF bars (White Chocolate Macadamia, of course). My parents and I did the college tour thing. Being the outrageously outspoken person he is, my Dad took full advantage of every student tour guide. Interrogating them beyond wit’s end with questions fit for a Congressional Hearing. “You’re a Senior, so you probably have a secure job now, right?” “You’re telling me that a student picks my daughter’s roommate?” “Can I speak with the Dean, please?” In retrospect, I would still be highly embarrassed. And if a high school student’s parent were to ask me the same questions my Dad did, I would have jumped ship, aborted, and declared Def Con 1 on my university.

I need to focus! Concentrating on work seems so impossible when there are adorable, nervous college freshmen sitting in front of and behind me. Three years ago, when I was a college freshman, I thought I would be cool enough so that I wouldn’t have to start a blog, publishing angry words and feelings into cyberspace. Three years later, looking at a couple of teens who think they are too cool for each other, heading to live somewhere that is a three-hour flight away from their parents. These hopeful teens may read this blog or need my help one day…

“Make sure your seat and folding trays are in the full upright position as we prepare for landing.”

Wait! I have not written anything worthy of the New York Times Bestseller List yet! Back at the beginning, with a blank page. My bets are that the girl in 13A and the boy in 15B are definitely going to hook up. Meanwhile, the pathetic one in 14A attempts to write a blog that is probably not going to happen. I could use more cookies from the stewardess.



3 thoughts on “HOW TO (SORT OF) START A BLOG

  1. Pingback: WHERE I WENT: MIDSUMMER IN MADISON | Your Friend, Jess

Tell me what you think!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s