I braved a relief society campout this weekend (!). Right before I left to meet the group to carpool, I told my mom I changed my mind and wasn't going to go. I started thinking about awkwardly getting out of my car and walking up to a circle of people already chatting and then trying to think of an organic way to enter the conversation that would charm the crowd into instantly loving me. And I thought about driving an hour with a car full of people asking me questions like, "what kind of jobs are you applying for," and "English? That sounds really interesting--who's your favorite author?" And I thought about having to sleep on the ground in a tent with strangers who likely snore or do weird things in their sleep. And it was going to last for 18 hours straight. But after being reminded by my mom that if I didn't go I would ensure that at the end of the weekend I wouldn't have any friends beyond my parents' property, I went. And it was awkward, and I'm pretty sure that I only slept a total of fourteen and a half minutes, but at least now I know some names and familiar faces, and it was really fun at points, and Oregon is really beautiful. I got no less than three invitations for future activities, and everyone was really nice and down to earth. I'm not sure why I insist on approaching social situations as if I were a fourteen-year-old girl constantly encountering Regina George and Gretchen Wieners. I always think that starting a social life from scratch is hard, but then it always just happens. Right around the thanksgiving episode of my tv-life I'll look back and realize that all of the sudden I've settled into a new routine, and a long scene with sentimental music will play out as me and my friends sit around a Thanksgiving table passing food and laughing hysterically (thank you, Felicity, for teaching me how to be melodramatic).