Shaken, Not Stirred. One L, or Two?

James Bond had the right idea when it came to dealing with bartenders. Tell them exactly what you want, straight-up, so that the poor guy doesn't have to wonder if you want your martini shaken or stirred. Although I'm sure the subsequent phenomenon of people ordering martinis in bars like James Bond is annoying. I can imagine this scene in my mind where someone orders a martini "Shaken, not stirred" and then looks at the bartender like they're expecting to get a laugh out of a joke that's been told at least a hundred times before.

I know that feel.

Incidentally, I've had to adopt a similar strategy when telling people how to spell my name. My name is not complicated or particularly hard to spell. But thanks to a very specific potential presidential candidate whose husband was elected into office around the time I was born, it became complicated.

I'm talking, of course, about Hillary Clinton. Hillary Clinton, you'll notice, spells her name with two L's. I spell my name with one. Nevermind the spelling difference, nevermind that I was born shortly before the Clintons moved into the White House; people still asked my parents if I was named after her (and in the extremely conservative state I live in, they always asked it somewhat snidely).

As I grew up, I got more political jokes where my name is concerned than I care to admit; and, like those poor barkeeps dealing with the geniuses who make the "shaken-not-stirred" joke, I have heard almost every joke that you can think of, and I'll still smile weakly at them when they're made. Not because they're particularly funny, but because everyone who makes those jokes probably genuinely thinks that they're the first ones to make them.

It's a Yes. Nice effort, guys smile.

I feel like I should add a disclaimer, here: I don't think it's a bad thing to be named after Hillary Clinton. I actually like her.  I just happen not to be named after her. My parents merely liked and agreed on the name--although, when I started to be old enough to have opinions (read: toddler) I certainly didn't. It was nothing personal or political; I simply wanted to be named after something that sparkled or bloomed. Like Ruby, or Lilac, or Sapphire.

Yeah, I know. I was a very girly girl.

Hilary's still not my favorite name, and it certainly wouldn't have been the one that I chose for myself if I had been old enough to have a say, but I've gotten used to it. I especially have gotten used to people misspelling it. All. The. Time. If I had a nickel for every misspelling, I would certainly have a lot of money in nickels. Maybe not enough to pay for a year of my alma mater's college tuition, but enough for a used car. It happens at least weekly.

I've gotten used to just saying "Hilary-with-one-L" whenever I have to give out my name to important people like doctors or cute guys when I'm giving them my number. If I'm ordering from Starbucks or what have you, I obviously let it slide. I'm not that uptight that I can't take it if someone I don't know and is making coffee for me misspells my name.

On the other hand, part of me thinks that it really shouldn't be this complicated. I mean, why is two L's the default spelling for my name? Just because someone in the public eye happened to spell it that way doesn't (shouldn't) mean that's the default. And the thing is, my name isn't that elaborate or ambiguous-sounding phonetically. There are at least eight different ways to spell most names (especially girls' names) that phonetically all amount to the same thing. Not that creativity in name-spelling should go away, it's just, boy, do I get tired of the "One-L please" speech. As I'm sure the Katharines who have to give the "Katharine with an A" speech. And the girl named Jennie who has to give the "Jennie with an ie" speech. You get the idea.

I don't mean to get irritated about people misspelling my name. And generally I don't, unless you know me or interact with me on social media. Because it's kind of spelled out right there in all its single-L-ed glory for you to look at. If you spell my name with two L's on Facebook, then I know you're not really paying attention. I'll probably get over it, but I'll always be watching how you spell my name in future, and I'll probably give you a high-five if you suddenly spell it right without me having to tell you you're spelling it wrong. If you spell it right the first time, bam. Immediate respect.

I mean, it's my name. I like it when people get it right. As, I'm sure, does everyone. All my peeps with atypical name spellings, REPRESENT! What's the weirdest way someone has ever spelled your name?

Now, if you'll excuse me, MI6 needs me. And by me, I mean Hilary. Not Hillary. Or this guy:

Oh, the difference that adding an extra L can make.

Quirks. I have them.

In high school I became aware of a trend that was gripping my classmates. I'm not referring to skinny jeans, barrel-curled hair, or hipsters (though this was back in 2008, before hipsters. BH? Was there ever such a time?).

I'm referring, of course, to the reusable water bottle trend.

More than meets the eye...

Drinking water is not exactly something new. Water is kind of important. Plants need it. Humans need it. Blah blah blah. And the concept of staying hydrated has been on the radar for probably ever, because the six eight-ounce glasses of water that I'm supposed to have been drinking daily have been following me around like the world's lamest, wettest ghosts ever since I found out I was supposed to be drinking them.

Needless to say, I've amassed a lot of eight-ounce cup-shaped harbingers . I'm really, really bad at drinking water. Really bad at it. I drink a couple swallows if I get really thirsty, but as for drinking water just for the sake of it because I'm supposed to? I fail.

Enter the reusable water bottle. I almost feel like I must have seen water bottles as an accessory in high school. And, because I wanted to be accepted by all the regular, consistent-water-drinking cool kids, I bought one and stored it in my backpack. I think I used it maybe six times, during dance classes, before I lost it. And that was when I stopped caring about reusable water bottles.

Well, that's not entirely true.

College is like a breeding ground for reusable water bottles. It's a breeding ground for a lot of other things, too; but EVERYONE IN COLLEGE HAS A REUSABLE BOTTLE. At least, everyone at MY alma mater did. People carried water around in different containers like it was going out of style--everything from all-purpose plastic to designer to metal to "I just bought this from the student union and I'm reusing it before I recycle it" to glass jars to leftover orange juice cartons to mugs that had had coffee or tea in them and--and--

I think you get the picture.

Anyway, for reasons I don't fully understand in retrospect, I decided around Freshman Year that I should try to be more healthy and drink more water. So I took the water bottle I had received from the Freshman Orientation Swag (ugh, orientation) and bought another one, with the idea that I would swap them off in the fridge at home every other day, and get in a healthy amount of water while being somewhat charmingly sporty.

"Charmingly Sporty" are not words I'd use in conjunction to describe myself, ever; so I bet you can see where this is going.

Within two weeks I'd lost one of the water bottles. Within two months, I'm pretty sure I'd lost them both. Somehow I was undeterred and bought another one, and the only reason I didn't lose that was because I would remember about fifty steps later that I'd left it in the union and go back to get it. After the third or fourth instance of this happening, I kind of gave up and started drinking tea from the union instead. It's a lot harder to feel panic over losing a paper cup.

I'm not actually harebrained or spacey. Not generally. I have a very good memory for details about people and sometimes I think that creeps them out, and I have a very good memory where academia is concerned (I think I could still name all the presidents of the US if I tried, thanks Mr. Gardner) but when it comes to water bottles, I shed them like some girls shed hairpins. I'm surprised I didn't have a train of lost water bottles follow me up the aisle at graduation like Jacob Marley's ghostly chain of money boxes.

And it's not like I have anything against the water bottles themselves; it's just I have the hardest time actually wanting to drink water. Which is just such a disgusting first-world problem, I know, I know. I'm aware that there are so many countries that don't have access to fresh drinkable water, and here I am living in the US saying things like, "I don't really like to drink water," but... I kind of don't. Can't put my finger on why. All I know is that when I force myself to drink a lot of it, I feel kind of gross, not great--and if I'm to believe the hype, water is SUPPOSED to make you feel great if you drink the requisite amount. I start to feel all weird after glass #2. Especially if it's lukewarm water. Cold water is a lot easier for me to drink.

Which is really just more proof that I'm a picky spoiled first-world baby, I guess. Sorry, guys.

Am I the only one who has weird issues with water (probably not)? How do you people get your six eight-ounces a day? TEACH ME YOUR WAYS.

Nope. I don't have it all together.

Remember how much I was panicking the night before graduation? You know, less than six months ago?

Yeah. Me too.

Today, at the behest of my dear friend Carlie, I revisited my school's campus to catch a bite of lunch and have a long awesome conversation, and then after that I met up with my friend Megan in the Union to have another long awesome conversation.

Coming up on the Commons (which is an area with fountains and pretty views) I was already starting to feel weird. I've chosen to compare this to feeling how Frodo felt when he returned from the Quest and came back to the Shire; because geeky analogies are the things that I do. It didn't feel like home, anymore, and that was a horribly sad realization. Especially because those four years are kind of surrounded in a glow of the love and support of people that have changed my life. Even with my marriage, college was good. Every corner--even the stupid parking-pass-necessary-parking lots--has some fantastic memories.

Nostalgia and nausea have always sort of gone hand in hand for me, because once I start missing the past, I start feeling kind of ill, because it's gone, gone, gone. There's no going back, to coin a cliche. So I started feeling a little empty and irrelevant, because I in no way shape or form have even begun to figure my life out.

This was only amplified when my friend Megan said in passing: "I've been thinking about when to talk to my advisors about when I should start applying for jobs" and I immediately started kicking my past self as someone who is currently basically unemployed for having had so much stubborn, intense anxiety related to job-searching and--still having it, if I'm being totally honest.

And then as I was walking back to my car, I ran into another friend, Marya, who is (like me) visiting the campus and the people one last time before she goes off to another country to like, work and be cool and stuff. We ended up chatting for a while, which was nice, but one part of the conversation in particular really kind of jangled the kaleidoscope of my brain.

She had met people in Sweden (where she had been working) who had only just started college at the age I am now (23). They all told her, "You've got plenty of time."

As much as I don't want to waste time, sometimes I feel like I have. Being clinically depressed after graduation is probably fairly common, especially among writers/most artists, where you're almost guaranteed to have some sort of mental health quirk if you pursue a career in (gasp) culture instead of STEM (which is culture, but really, guys, the arts are important too; and I'll elaborate on that at a later time), and I'm certainly not immune. I've sort of been rendered immobile, as silly as it sounds; with school ending and friends leaving and not having the same kind of purpose. I'm good at being a student. I'm not so sure I'm quite that good at being a person. I mean, obviously, if I was good at being a person, I would have started looking for jobs before my first semester senior year had ended. I would have not been stubborn or let my anxiety get the better of me. And I certainly wouldn't be feeling invisible.

But what she said got me thinking. Maybe I did the best I could with what I had. I certainly could have done better. There's no denying that. But I also could have done much, much worse. And I'm pretty sure I'll figure out how to at least pretend like I'm an adult fairly soon; therapy should help with that, and also, I'm super tired of being stuck. Granted, the thought of getting un-stuck scares the hell out of me, because I don't know where to start, but I want to.

So no. I don't have it all together. I'm almost twenty three, and I'm still kind of confused about my life. But I'm starting to think that's okay, because all I have to do is hit rock bottom and then I'll write a seven-part book series that ends up being wildly popular.

Wait. no. That's JK Rowling. I've confused myself with JK Rowling.

But, I mean, the future really could hold anything. I'm not ruling it out.