Where the fuck, Morringhan?

I started this blog without much of an idea of what I wanted it to be.

You can probably tell how much attention I pay to it by the cookie-cutter layout and the amount of time that goes by between each post.

What I'd love for this to become is a travel blog. This is where this blog is headed, everybody strap in.

I'm not traveling much at the moment but I have a ton of planed trips, and I'm going to start sharing some of them, beginning by the preparation process, which is just as much fun as the trip itself.

So come with me... and you'll be... reading all about how I train for the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, how I penny pinch to get myself to Thailand, or scavenge booking sites like an underground creature looking for food, on the hunt for cheap flights and cheaper accomodation.

I hope you enjoy the trip.

Best,
M.

Mela

A couple of days ago one of my best friends posted this little gem on her Facebook.

I did repost it and was indeed surprised by the things people remember about me. A few of them I don't remember myself, but all the same was a fun read.

She on the other hand wasn't too happy with the memory I choose.

So here it is Marshmela:

I am Cool
A memoir of our friendship.

I remember when you first met me, which is a feat in it of itself for not only were you sorely unaware of all the awesome that had just walked into your life in the shape of yours truly, but was actively against all the greatness I insisted on thrusting upon you. You hated me for having a similar sounding name, and being excited about it. You hated me for being excited that I attended the school you were begrudgingly transferring to, and majored in your subject of choice. (It might also have had something to do with the fact that I crashed your birthday party, but I'm going with the excitement.)

You hated me because of my excitement! Yet, I somehow still managed to drag you onto roofs and woods and boring parties. This is a test of my power, fear me.

You hated my school more than me, so you found solace in a person oh so similar to yourself, but were previously uncertain of, and that's when you succumbed to me. Admit it, the day you saw me sitting in the sun waiting for classes and you asked me what I was listening to and I told you it was Brazilian Music; you thought I was cool. Which I was.

It was cool of me to listen to your radio show even though I wasn't a fan of the music you played, it was cool of me to coax you into just giving me tickets for a concert that nobody ended up calling for anyways.

I was cool when I'd find dogs more interesting than our hosts at certain parties, I was cool with my funny accent and hairy legs. I was even cool in a car accident in the snow, and demonstrated my cucumber-like qualities when your sister was throwing tantrums.

I was cool about you abandoning me on my way to DC, Buenos Aires and God knows where else. I was the epitome of cool when I flew all the way to Colorado to buy you beer when you weren't old enough (and do other things there as well.)

I was particularly cool when I laughed like Voldemort for about 6 months in 2011.

I was cool when I actually listened to you and started calling myself a feminist, when I gave dubstep a chance, when I joined Tumblr, when I learned by doing and stopped being so judgmental.

I was cool enough to lend you my feety pajamas, my Uggs, my apartment, my food, my friends...

But the cherry on top of my cool sundae is how I joked about writing you an essay with "something much better" and went ahead not only to write said essay, but also make it all about me. All the while trusting you to understand the power of my personality enough to catch my meaning, even if others won't.

And there you have it, Mela, the thing I remember the most about you is that you have one cool friend.

M.