I’ve been meaning to update here about how insanely busy everything has gotten since I’ve returned to my college life 8 (or is it 9 now?) days ago and I apologize profusely for making this first return-to-Champaign post about men and about that last semester in Costa Rica, but after a momentary freak-out this is a story that simply must be told.

And so here it goes.

Girl (AKA me) goes to bar in Costa Rica with friends to drink and hang out. My oh my, on Tuesday nights they play old school American music! This discovery leads to Girl and friends to constantly pepper the Tuesday night DJ for song requests, mostly of the Bon Jovi sort. Girl also notices DJ is pretty cute, although not perfectly built and clearly over the age limit for her, currently set at 28.

Eventually Girl notices DJ thinks she’s pretty cute too and sure enough flirtations occur. Girl is impressed that DJ remembers her name even after weeks of Girl’s noshow at the bar on Tuesday nights. Girl is also charmed by DJ’s attempts at speaking in English. One night after a long noshow period, Girl finds out DJ has been moved from open area to underneath stairs.

Girl goes to stairs to talk to DJ and since they are now safely confined within an enclosed space he makes a move and asks for un beso. Girl is pleased and welcomes the beso with glee. Also, who wouldn’t love to say that they once drunkenly hooked up with a DJ in the DJ booth in a foreign country?

Next time Girl goes to bar on Tuesday night, she returns to DJ’s area-underneath-the-stairs. This time he is accompanied by a friend, and he quickly kicks him out. More making out (and more, heheh) ensues but sadly Girl has to pause the action before it got any further due to dumb biological feminine reasons. They part ways for the night.

(A little bit of drama had also ensued that night, due to the fact that a friend of another boy Girl was seeing [yes I know, Girl is a ho] witnessed a little bit of this hooking up through a small window. Yikes.)

Girl comes home to find DJ has requested her as a friend on Facebook. Which leads to Girl discovering THAT THIS DJ IS MARRIED. ANOTHER FREAKING MARRIED MAN FOR GIRL (how sad is this??).

Well, poof! There goes any hope for Girl and DJ (in Girl’s eyes, at least — DJ obviously does not give two shits about marital status). But of course, confirmation is needed. And this is where the story gets a little hazy, because Girl got insanely drunk during her last weeks in Costa Rica. I will skip the subsequent encounters and fast-forward to tonight.

Girl comes home from work at school and is surfing Facebook, as usual. Out of curiosity she checks DJ’s in order to continue her investigation into this supposed marriage. Coincidentally, DJ chats Girl about a few minutes after she clicks out of his FB. (BTW, does he have an app or something that shows Girl had just been snooping around his page? Girl’s a little perturbed by this.) And what does DJ have to say to Girl, after way more than a month of silence and Girl refusing to even say good-bye on her last night in CR?

(In Spanish, of course) (Translation’s a little bit rough, BTW) “SORRY FOR NOT TELLING YOU I WAS MARRIED, BUT I LIKE YOU A LOT A LOT A LOT…AND I WOULD LOVE TO GO BACK TO SEEING YOU…?”

oqweiruaslkdfajsd;flkajsd;flkwperoiu

Girl’s reaction to come later, when she’s had some sleep and done her 2-page paper and gone to class and all that good stuff…

I used to be such a winter person. Not that it was my absolute favorite season, because I loved them all equally, but because it could be just as fun as summer. I loved playing in the snow with my brothers (and roommates, as it came to be in college), bundling up in pretty layers for the cold and looking at all the pretty holiday lights, especially in the city.

All bundled up and ready! (…Not on the inside)

And now, because I never got to transition properly into this Midwestern winter since I didn’t get to experience autumn this year, I am utterly, bitterly and miserably cold. To the point where I can barely do anything but sit on my couch and shiver in annoyance. Too cold to even bundle up and warm my car to drive to the library or Barnes or the mall or my usual favorite haunts.

It’s funny how 4 months of tropical weather erased my 20 years of winter fondness.

I go back to school early Sunday morning. Trying to pack is a bit of a bitch. I don’t know how I managed to pack a whole semester of my life into two suitcases for Costa Rica; I’ve already got a box, duffel bag, one giant container and 3/5 of my suitcase packed. I feel slightly guilty for having so many possessions when I know that it’s possible I can live off so few. But then again, I won’t be having a wonderful host mom to do my laundry every week back in Chambana.

By the way, has everyone heard about the whole shifting of zodiac signs thing? Everyone seems to be up in arms about it on Facebook. I am now no longer a Virgo, I am now a Leo. Huh.

Welps, I just spent my entire day crafting a new layout for this blog. And you know what, it feels good. Like I legit got something done today. It sort of commemorates this new phase in my life, the post-study abroad me. And even though I’ll probably be drowning in sadness just gazing upon this lone palm tree I encountered in Puerto Viejo de Talamanca, hey at least now I can go and try on all the goods I bought at the Victoria’s Secret semi-annual today while waiting to pick up my brother.

(An FYI: This blog entry’s title is my rough English translation of the new theme’s name, “Qué Vida La Mía,” which in turn was named after the song by Mexican pop/rock band Reik. Just in case, ya know, you were wondering.)

“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.” — Nelson Mandela

Amazing. I’ve finally figured out what’s wrong with me.

Funnily enough, I came across that quote while reading through the “Welcome Back” guide the study abroad office sent me. And I guess you could say it’s about time I accepted that I’ve definitely changed in so many ways since my time abroad in Costa Rica. And it’s also about time I’ve accepted the fact that that chapter of my life is over and it’s time to move on.

Bye bye!

Before, I was dead set on spending the rest of my life in Chicago. After graduation, I would find a job in the city and live in a swanky apartment with either my cousin or other friends. Now, I’m not so sure anymore where “home” will be in the future. I liked my simpler life in Costa Rica. I could care less about finding that perfect 9-5 job downtown now. Obviously, nothing about Chicago has changed (much) — it’s my own demeanor that has.

People are always telling you to live it up while you can and to enjoy the moment, but why is it people never talk about what happens after the “moment”? I lived my summer to the fullest last year and I only ended up being depressed when it ended and I had to pack up for Costa Rica. Then in Costa Rica I had the time of my life and now it’s over and I’m depressed — again. I know I made promises to make my last and only senior year semester the best ever, but do I really want to do that now? Can I really make it through a third straight adrenaline rush of life and then only end up feeling deflated again when it’s over? I’m ready for college to end so I can start finding some semblance of stability in my life. I need to start that process of letting college go now before it gets any worse.

On a less somber note, I’ve started working on a scrapbook for my semester abroad. Sort of. I uploaded 240 pictures to my Wal-Mart photo account and I’m waiting for a friend to send more to me. But seriously…240 pictures. With shipping and handling, that’s about $32. And then on top of that I’m gonna have to buy a book to put it all in and then supplies and fun stuff to make it with! I’ve already filtered through my uploads 2 times to cut down the amount; looks like I’m going to have to do it a few more times!

Even further proof that I’m trying my darndest to move on is the ambitious plans I’m making for this domain. After over a year of this city skyline, I want to make a new one. Considering I haven’t done any real HTML since I made this layout then (heh), I’m a bit nervous about the time I’m going to have to invest for this. And I want to get the ball rolling on my sports blog. I tried starting one last summer, but then I kind of left it alone for awhile. I’ve been mainly debating about whether to design a theme for it or to just use a premade (which I really dislike doing…I like all my sites to be my own designs), so we’ll see.

Last night, 21-year-old Raissa made her debut in the hip, cool urban American bar scene. It was, in all seriousness, the thing I’d been waiting for in the two weeks since I’ve been home. Me, loose in the streets of Chicago, armed with a small bottle of booze and ready to get crazy. Because it’s hard to detox and be a merry old maid when you’ve just spent, quite literally, a whole year underage partying and then going nuts in Central American countries.

At the last bar we were at, The Leg Room, Single Me danced and talked with several men. One male, whose face I don’t think I ever actually saw since my back was to him the whole time we were dancing, happened to be Mexican and we exchanged a few quips in Spanish. Then when he asked for my number and I hesitated, he said in dismay, “Never mind, that means no,” and abruptly left my side.

Another man said he was in the Navy and had actually been talking to one of my guy friends before approaching me. I hate to sound superficial, but even my ‘liquor’ goggles (since I hadn’t drunk any beer last night, LOLz) were not quite working when I talked to him, because the whole time I kept thinking about how uninterested I was. And I’m not entirely sure, but I think he was the one who essentially asked me what I did “for work.”

Seriously, what is it with Americans and their incessant need to know people’s jobs and salaries? And why do adult, non-college American guys do that? In Costa Rica I had met two guys from California and another from Ohio who brought up jobs immediately in the conversation. Why?? I’M NOT VERY IMPRESSED.

Lastly, there was the Hispanic-looking Indian boy. He was decently cute but not my favorite dance partner. Too hands-y, and he wasn’t cute enough to warrant it (again, I hate to sound superficial). But of course, the Drunk and Single Me decided to give him the digits. The real ones, too. We’d been texting back and forth today, which I was totally fine, until he said, “We should hang out if that is cool with you. Me and you dance well together lol.”

Um, excuse me? You do not dance well at all!! There’s not even a remote possibility of us dancing well together because you sucked at it!

American boys — I’ll never understand them.