Brazil, I won't be going.
The end.
.....
...
Oh, did you want to know the story?
After copious amounts of time, money, energy, and time, being denied several times on the visa front, choosing between graduating or not graduating; I choose graduating, but really, it was decided for me.
I really think I lucked out on not going to Brazil. I really think I was simply not meant to go. For whatever reason, Brazil is not were I am supposed to be. It also turns out the director of the org I am interning with is now not going either. She gave me reasons, but I have a feeling the fact I am not going does not factor into it. So, I would have been seriously SOL without here there. She also mentioned as one of her reasons for not going "that it is a high crime area and she did not want to make herself vulnerable..."
Ah.
Excuse me, we were going to be in the same area, so, wouldn't that have made me vulnerable????
Yeah. Not happy with her, but unfortunately I do not have a choice, I need my internship to approved with her, otherwise I am super, super, duper SOL in many ways.
I was not allowed into the class I need this fall, even though the interim advisor said it would be fine for me to audit the class. So, now I need to retake micro this summer. I am very bitter about this. Oh well.
So, I am in home state for the next seven weeks, staying with the 'rents to save money and will be picking up a job and working on my internship, counting down the days until the micro class is over, but yet, not wishing my life away.
I've cycled through the emotions. Been stuck on bitter. Haven't cried. This scares me a bit.
So, that's it. Hope and dreams in one hand, the other hand smashing it to bits.
But, there's a reason for everyth..blah, blah, blah.....
Oh, as a result of all of this, a distant cousin who is working in Mozambique requested my resume.
She works in Mozambique, which means I would be working in Mozambique. So, there you go.
Who knows, right?
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
drama, trauma, and all things cured with age and alcohol
First, I'm not a fan of drama or trauma. Not.at.all.
Monday night was my best girl's birthday. She turned 25, remember when you freaked out over being 25? Ah, memories.
Anyway, we hit the bar at 6:30. Good lord, that's early, but the gang was there, the beers were $1 and the shots kept coming, and no one expected to close the bar. Ah, foolishness.
My goal was to drink as much as I could without throwing-up. (It's good to have goals.) My best gal usually has a two beer limit and a, "no, I don't want to do a shot" mantra. So, she's usually my driver. (It's good when friendships can have a strategy where no one dies.)
So, several rounds of beers, several shots. (Her shot count was 11, my shot count was 8) (Her count on beer was 3, my beer count was well over 10)(But, it was Bud Lite, that's really just foamy water.)
The drama included:
a girl and guy in out class hooking up over the weekend. I've been waiting for this occurrence to happen for about three weeks. I love people watching and observing what others don't/can't see.
He told me nothing happened. She was quite open about what happened.
So, I got the scoop on that little story.
Aforementioned girl and her boyfriend/fiance officially broke-up last week. (I got the scoop on the break-up as well.)
Another girl, who no one really likes yet, she is invited more so as not to be left out than as someone who wants to be included, was confronted about God, religion, heaven, hell, and all things holy and mighty.
She left the bar in tears.
She is a preacher's daughter.
Oh, the turmoil.
There was a long phone call from the bathroom on my phone, but not with me talking on it, aforementioned break-up/hook-up girl was talking her off the proverbial Mount Holiness.
My best girl and her guy broke-up (but, I didn't get that scoop until today) and he professed all of his love and heart to her in a drunken stupor.
She told him to stop it and she was not impressed. (Good girl.)
I was lying through the bottom of my beer mug telling everyone how excited I was about Brazil (Why go into it, ya know?)
St. Pat's one-nighter was there at the bar. (Crap.) Which he (tried to) make me feel bad about not coming over sooner to say hi. At which point I told him I believed his legs worked and he could have walked over to me. He then proceeded to blame me for not calling him. At which point I told him that I didn't realize his phone worked at any other time except 2 a.m. and that one special time at 4:30 a.m. His friend leaned into the conversation, at which time I asked him if I could help him with something, cause he could go away. (Yeah, sometimes it's not good to push me and it's really never a good idea to blame ridiculous things on me.)He left in a huff.
I actually had a good time. (I know. Blame the beer.) (and Jager.) (and so-co and lime) (and the lemon drop) and (the so-co and lime.) (and the Jager) (and two others I cannot remember.) I managed to walk into and walk out of the drama throughout the night. You know, say the compassionate thing, be the friend, go order another beer and take another shot, be the fly in the room that is inadvertently hearing three conversations and watching the world melt-down around me.
Yeah, it was ridiculous, but alcohol will do that.
So will being around people under the age of 25.
Ah, remember those days?
Aren'tchay glad it's no longer you?
Oh, when my guy friend (and current crush, just waiting for the impending and inevitable break-up with his current gal) called the next afternoon at 11:30 a.m. to ask where the drinking was going to be. I said I was still drunk. After a large sandwich to absorb the remaining alcohol from the night before, he and I drank the afternoon away. Ah, semester breaks and life not working out as planned.
P.S. No update on my visa, but there have been some interesting life developments. More later as I know more.
Monday night was my best girl's birthday. She turned 25, remember when you freaked out over being 25? Ah, memories.
Anyway, we hit the bar at 6:30. Good lord, that's early, but the gang was there, the beers were $1 and the shots kept coming, and no one expected to close the bar. Ah, foolishness.
My goal was to drink as much as I could without throwing-up. (It's good to have goals.) My best gal usually has a two beer limit and a, "no, I don't want to do a shot" mantra. So, she's usually my driver. (It's good when friendships can have a strategy where no one dies.)
So, several rounds of beers, several shots. (Her shot count was 11, my shot count was 8) (Her count on beer was 3, my beer count was well over 10)(But, it was Bud Lite, that's really just foamy water.)
The drama included:
a girl and guy in out class hooking up over the weekend. I've been waiting for this occurrence to happen for about three weeks. I love people watching and observing what others don't/can't see.
He told me nothing happened. She was quite open about what happened.
So, I got the scoop on that little story.
Aforementioned girl and her boyfriend/fiance officially broke-up last week. (I got the scoop on the break-up as well.)
Another girl, who no one really likes yet, she is invited more so as not to be left out than as someone who wants to be included, was confronted about God, religion, heaven, hell, and all things holy and mighty.
She left the bar in tears.
She is a preacher's daughter.
Oh, the turmoil.
There was a long phone call from the bathroom on my phone, but not with me talking on it, aforementioned break-up/hook-up girl was talking her off the proverbial Mount Holiness.
My best girl and her guy broke-up (but, I didn't get that scoop until today) and he professed all of his love and heart to her in a drunken stupor.
She told him to stop it and she was not impressed. (Good girl.)
I was lying through the bottom of my beer mug telling everyone how excited I was about Brazil (Why go into it, ya know?)
St. Pat's one-nighter was there at the bar. (Crap.) Which he (tried to) make me feel bad about not coming over sooner to say hi. At which point I told him I believed his legs worked and he could have walked over to me. He then proceeded to blame me for not calling him. At which point I told him that I didn't realize his phone worked at any other time except 2 a.m. and that one special time at 4:30 a.m. His friend leaned into the conversation, at which time I asked him if I could help him with something, cause he could go away. (Yeah, sometimes it's not good to push me and it's really never a good idea to blame ridiculous things on me.)He left in a huff.
I actually had a good time. (I know. Blame the beer.) (and Jager.) (and so-co and lime) (and the lemon drop) and (the so-co and lime.) (and the Jager) (and two others I cannot remember.) I managed to walk into and walk out of the drama throughout the night. You know, say the compassionate thing, be the friend, go order another beer and take another shot, be the fly in the room that is inadvertently hearing three conversations and watching the world melt-down around me.
Yeah, it was ridiculous, but alcohol will do that.
So will being around people under the age of 25.
Ah, remember those days?
Aren'tchay glad it's no longer you?
Oh, when my guy friend (and current crush, just waiting for the impending and inevitable break-up with his current gal) called the next afternoon at 11:30 a.m. to ask where the drinking was going to be. I said I was still drunk. After a large sandwich to absorb the remaining alcohol from the night before, he and I drank the afternoon away. Ah, semester breaks and life not working out as planned.
P.S. No update on my visa, but there have been some interesting life developments. More later as I know more.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
...and it all comes tumbling down
Oy.
Oy.
Oy.
The week I have had.
Friday, yellow fever. The effects were felt instantly. Instantly.
A weekend of aches, pains, and the feeling of a bowling ball hitting me in the head.
Monday, I felt perfectly fine.
I start typing up my internship research while listening to my Portuguese tapes.
lalalalalalalala ...happy, happy.
Knock, knock, knock on my door.
Oh, hello, Mr. Postman. It's my visa info.
It's my visa info which has been denied.
I applied as a tourist, but had to show sufficiant funds, so I included my financial aid letter. Now they want a letter from the school and org and I also had to get a criminal background from my police department. (which is rather boring as there is no bakground in crime.
They are requesting more info, but I don't have time to mail it all in. The latest I can leave to go to the Consulate in Cicago is Thursday. So, I wait to hear if the guy who I am traveling/staying with has been denied (again, as he has already been denied once)...as of Wednesday he has not heard. So, my girlfriend and I take a road trip to the Chicago Consulate.
WOW.
I am sure they deal with all kinds, but wow. Talk about stoic..and mean.
I was denied not once, not twice, but yes, three times.
Four times altogether at this point.
As a tourist, (two no's) as an unpaid intern, and then I asked since I have the tickets and housing if I can just disregard this and go as a tourist. No. No. No. No.
The intern was no'd because the org is a U.S. org, but is not registered in Brazil, therefore, it is not recognized, therefore, absolutely not. "It would be no different than working out of your back yard..."
I was in considerably good spirits considering, still managing to laugh...until about an hour outside of home base. ...or many, many long hours later.
Then the reality of the situation was hitting me: not graduating, all (ALL) the money I have spent, life. Yeah.
I email the org director to explain the situation. I was very professional, nothing nasty at all, but explained how frustrated I was.
Friday I get a nasty email from org director, (She is currently out of the country) that I applied wrong and what this will mean to her and her organization...nothing about what can be done for me.
I choose to ignore that nasty email and did not respond to it.
She later sent another email and apologized.
Anyway, yesterday I called the travel co to see about my plane ticket...cancel $150, change the flight, but can only be changed within Brazil and there are no flights between now and November, they are all booked, and it would be $150 to change the flight. However, he told me to call a visa service and laughed that I went to the Chicago Consulate because they deny everyone and travel companies/visa services do not go there.
So, just FYI.
Called the visa service, they laughed at my foolishness in Chicago. Fine. So, $80 additional non-refundable dollars later, I mailed my visa request to DC and it will be taken to the Embassy. I will know if I was denied by Tues/Wed of next week and will get it back, if approved, by Monday, 26th. I am going home on the 28th, leave June 1.
No pressure.
But wait, there's more.
(C'mon, there always is.)
Trying to register for one of my required classes for the fall, can't. I audited micro (the required course) this spring. Spoke with the head of econ and the professor who teaches the class before finals. Prof asked if I took the tests. Yes (lie) if you were graded what would you be getting? B (lie)
I don't lie, but I felt cornered, off guard, and was just telling them what I thought they wanted to hear. Bad, bad idea. He asked me to give him permission to contact my professor to verify the above. Sure.(Why the hell did I agree to that?)
Tried to register again yesterday, nope. Emailed professor, nasty email later wondering if I was "that lady in the hallway who did not fulfill my end of the bargain...but he was not sure if I was or not. I need to see him."
So, continue the lie and be denied. Lie and say, not me, didn't take the tests, can't meet cause I am trying to leave the country and am not sure I will be in town...?
Which one should I choose?
See, cause here's the thing, without that class, I won't graduate. I will not stick around for another year for one class, which is only offered in the fall and finish comps in 2010. No way.
So, blogger friends it has not been a good week.
Yesterday I was ready to chuck it all. But, yet still positive. Go, figure.
Yesterday I also started to get mad.
No tears, yet. (Key word. Something tells me it will be ugly when they do decide to flow.)
The org girl is telling me not to give up. She has other options if Brazil does not work out for my internship. Haiti, maybe. Or I can stay here and do my internship...without a director, yeah, that might pose problems.
And lots, and lots of time, energy, and money lost.
Do I want to go to Brazil for the entire summer to learn and experience another cultural, of course.
Do I want to volunteer for the girl, not really. There have been so many problems and issues beyond just the visa. The guy I am to room with has no desire to help her, he is still going to Brazil because that's what he was planning to do, but wants nothing to do with the org.
anyway...so. Yeah.
I am ready to quit school, sell everything, travel where I can, and get a job and re-enter the real world again.
Any idas?
Oy.
Oy.
The week I have had.
Friday, yellow fever. The effects were felt instantly. Instantly.
A weekend of aches, pains, and the feeling of a bowling ball hitting me in the head.
Monday, I felt perfectly fine.
I start typing up my internship research while listening to my Portuguese tapes.
lalalalalalalala ...happy, happy.
Knock, knock, knock on my door.
Oh, hello, Mr. Postman. It's my visa info.
It's my visa info which has been denied.
I applied as a tourist, but had to show sufficiant funds, so I included my financial aid letter. Now they want a letter from the school and org and I also had to get a criminal background from my police department. (which is rather boring as there is no bakground in crime.
They are requesting more info, but I don't have time to mail it all in. The latest I can leave to go to the Consulate in Cicago is Thursday. So, I wait to hear if the guy who I am traveling/staying with has been denied (again, as he has already been denied once)...as of Wednesday he has not heard. So, my girlfriend and I take a road trip to the Chicago Consulate.
WOW.
I am sure they deal with all kinds, but wow. Talk about stoic..and mean.
I was denied not once, not twice, but yes, three times.
Four times altogether at this point.
As a tourist, (two no's) as an unpaid intern, and then I asked since I have the tickets and housing if I can just disregard this and go as a tourist. No. No. No. No.
The intern was no'd because the org is a U.S. org, but is not registered in Brazil, therefore, it is not recognized, therefore, absolutely not. "It would be no different than working out of your back yard..."
I was in considerably good spirits considering, still managing to laugh...until about an hour outside of home base. ...or many, many long hours later.
Then the reality of the situation was hitting me: not graduating, all (ALL) the money I have spent, life. Yeah.
I email the org director to explain the situation. I was very professional, nothing nasty at all, but explained how frustrated I was.
Friday I get a nasty email from org director, (She is currently out of the country) that I applied wrong and what this will mean to her and her organization...nothing about what can be done for me.
I choose to ignore that nasty email and did not respond to it.
She later sent another email and apologized.
Anyway, yesterday I called the travel co to see about my plane ticket...cancel $150, change the flight, but can only be changed within Brazil and there are no flights between now and November, they are all booked, and it would be $150 to change the flight. However, he told me to call a visa service and laughed that I went to the Chicago Consulate because they deny everyone and travel companies/visa services do not go there.
So, just FYI.
Called the visa service, they laughed at my foolishness in Chicago. Fine. So, $80 additional non-refundable dollars later, I mailed my visa request to DC and it will be taken to the Embassy. I will know if I was denied by Tues/Wed of next week and will get it back, if approved, by Monday, 26th. I am going home on the 28th, leave June 1.
No pressure.
But wait, there's more.
(C'mon, there always is.)
Trying to register for one of my required classes for the fall, can't. I audited micro (the required course) this spring. Spoke with the head of econ and the professor who teaches the class before finals. Prof asked if I took the tests. Yes (lie) if you were graded what would you be getting? B (lie)
I don't lie, but I felt cornered, off guard, and was just telling them what I thought they wanted to hear. Bad, bad idea. He asked me to give him permission to contact my professor to verify the above. Sure.(Why the hell did I agree to that?)
Tried to register again yesterday, nope. Emailed professor, nasty email later wondering if I was "that lady in the hallway who did not fulfill my end of the bargain...but he was not sure if I was or not. I need to see him."
So, continue the lie and be denied. Lie and say, not me, didn't take the tests, can't meet cause I am trying to leave the country and am not sure I will be in town...?
Which one should I choose?
See, cause here's the thing, without that class, I won't graduate. I will not stick around for another year for one class, which is only offered in the fall and finish comps in 2010. No way.
So, blogger friends it has not been a good week.
Yesterday I was ready to chuck it all. But, yet still positive. Go, figure.
Yesterday I also started to get mad.
No tears, yet. (Key word. Something tells me it will be ugly when they do decide to flow.)
The org girl is telling me not to give up. She has other options if Brazil does not work out for my internship. Haiti, maybe. Or I can stay here and do my internship...without a director, yeah, that might pose problems.
And lots, and lots of time, energy, and money lost.
Do I want to go to Brazil for the entire summer to learn and experience another cultural, of course.
Do I want to volunteer for the girl, not really. There have been so many problems and issues beyond just the visa. The guy I am to room with has no desire to help her, he is still going to Brazil because that's what he was planning to do, but wants nothing to do with the org.
anyway...so. Yeah.
I am ready to quit school, sell everything, travel where I can, and get a job and re-enter the real world again.
Any idas?
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Inner dork (but not really. But kindof, maybe)
Okay, so I know it's the most famous of days known as Inner Dork, but I have bigger things to speak of, okay, not really. It's more that I'm tired and I'm still on the computer and I want to write and speak of things other than Eleanor Roosevelt and Human Rights.
So, I cannot believe that tomorrow is my last day of school and the end of my first year of grad school. How the hell did that happen? Well, let me tell you. It happened after lots of papers, a few tears, many laughs and inside jokes with friends, much growth and insight, and even more fermented beverages.
I leave for Brazil in 25 days. (I think) Actually, I don't know how many days. I am tired and I do not have a calculator, take today and minus it to June 1st...that's when I leave.
Friday I get my vaccines for yellow fever and Hep A and Hep B. I plan to sleep the weekend away. But, if there should be reports of a naked woman screaming that she has lost her invisible plane, well, that would be a story about me.
However, as I am getting my vaccines early in the a.m. on Friday and tomorrow (or today) is the last day of classes I am on a strict two beer one shot limit. (I know. It DOES suck to be me) Why? Cause one of the 911-side effects is vomiting...I want to know it is the vaccine and not the beer which is causing the toilet bow-down. Nothing like calling the am-bu-lance only to be told I am hung-over, ya know?
The drunk dials from my St. Pat's one nighter seem to have stopped. (I have now cursed myself and I am sure the calls will now recommence.) (Or there will be a run-in.) (Damn me and my whorish ways.) (But not really at all.)
I plan to make it to at least one baseball game before I leave. A guy-friend and I had a crazy-stupid plan to make a roadtrip to KC and back in time for my final, sans any sleep, but alas, it did not pan out. (He was called into work) Poop stain.
After weeks of typing and cramming non-stop, I will turn in one paper in the early morning, finish the paper that is due tomorrow night (today) in the early a.m., practice for my presentation on said night paper, and then start working on my internship projects.
Along with cramming to learn Portuguese, hoping my visa is approved cause I just mailed it yesterday..no fault of my own, I just received the last of my documents yesterday...packing, planning, getting, crossing-off all things for Brazil, school for the fall, begging for some last minute money for the trip....and...craploads more, but really, do you care?
Stressed, who me? Naw. I'm sleeping like a colicky baby.
Okay, fine.....
Did you know that a group of mice is called a mischief?
That a mouse can squeeze through a whole as small as a pencil led?
and that one female mouse can result in 16,000 offspring in her lifetime? (her kids, their kids, ect...)
Shew...inner dork and all things useless and trivial has been saved!
Thanks, History Channel.
So, I cannot believe that tomorrow is my last day of school and the end of my first year of grad school. How the hell did that happen? Well, let me tell you. It happened after lots of papers, a few tears, many laughs and inside jokes with friends, much growth and insight, and even more fermented beverages.
I leave for Brazil in 25 days. (I think) Actually, I don't know how many days. I am tired and I do not have a calculator, take today and minus it to June 1st...that's when I leave.
Friday I get my vaccines for yellow fever and Hep A and Hep B. I plan to sleep the weekend away. But, if there should be reports of a naked woman screaming that she has lost her invisible plane, well, that would be a story about me.
However, as I am getting my vaccines early in the a.m. on Friday and tomorrow (or today) is the last day of classes I am on a strict two beer one shot limit. (I know. It DOES suck to be me) Why? Cause one of the 911-side effects is vomiting...I want to know it is the vaccine and not the beer which is causing the toilet bow-down. Nothing like calling the am-bu-lance only to be told I am hung-over, ya know?
The drunk dials from my St. Pat's one nighter seem to have stopped. (I have now cursed myself and I am sure the calls will now recommence.) (Or there will be a run-in.) (Damn me and my whorish ways.) (But not really at all.)
I plan to make it to at least one baseball game before I leave. A guy-friend and I had a crazy-stupid plan to make a roadtrip to KC and back in time for my final, sans any sleep, but alas, it did not pan out. (He was called into work) Poop stain.
After weeks of typing and cramming non-stop, I will turn in one paper in the early morning, finish the paper that is due tomorrow night (today) in the early a.m., practice for my presentation on said night paper, and then start working on my internship projects.
Along with cramming to learn Portuguese, hoping my visa is approved cause I just mailed it yesterday..no fault of my own, I just received the last of my documents yesterday...packing, planning, getting, crossing-off all things for Brazil, school for the fall, begging for some last minute money for the trip....and...craploads more, but really, do you care?
Stressed, who me? Naw. I'm sleeping like a colicky baby.
Okay, fine.....
Did you know that a group of mice is called a mischief?
That a mouse can squeeze through a whole as small as a pencil led?
and that one female mouse can result in 16,000 offspring in her lifetime? (her kids, their kids, ect...)
Shew...inner dork and all things useless and trivial has been saved!
Thanks, History Channel.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Q and A (with more Q than A)
Q:Why is cornbread so delicious?
A:Because it is made from the tears of Native Americans.
Q: How do you know when you're bleeding internally?
A: Because you're screaming externally.
Q: Why do we need three different versions of Law and Order?
And CSI?
Q: Why is it called a plum when it has all its juice, but a prune when it has been sucked dry?
Q: How strong are college student's bladders?
A: Very. Between the pop, energy drinks, coffee, and copious amounts of beer and other fermented beverages; their bladders are like giant steal balloons.
Q: Why do some plants come back every year, yet others do not and how come there are not a whole bunch of dead flora and fauna?
Q: Why are bagels so delicious?
A: Because it comes with cream cheese as an added bonus.
Q: Why does courage come with alcohol and the ability to pick-up and dial the phone at 2 a.m.?
A: I don't freakin know, but if I am drunk dialed one more time by a certain individual it will not be pretty. 4:13 a.m. on Friday/Saturday was the latest. I had been out drinking for several hours, I was not happy about being woken up. I let him know it.
But, I digress.
Q: Why are all 20 page papers due during the same week?
A: Because it's called finals week, stupid-head.
And
A: To see if I can get them all finished. It's all part of the test called life.
A:Because it is made from the tears of Native Americans.
Q: How do you know when you're bleeding internally?
A: Because you're screaming externally.
Q: Why do we need three different versions of Law and Order?
And CSI?
Q: Why is it called a plum when it has all its juice, but a prune when it has been sucked dry?
Q: How strong are college student's bladders?
A: Very. Between the pop, energy drinks, coffee, and copious amounts of beer and other fermented beverages; their bladders are like giant steal balloons.
Q: Why do some plants come back every year, yet others do not and how come there are not a whole bunch of dead flora and fauna?
Q: Why are bagels so delicious?
A: Because it comes with cream cheese as an added bonus.
Q: Why does courage come with alcohol and the ability to pick-up and dial the phone at 2 a.m.?
A: I don't freakin know, but if I am drunk dialed one more time by a certain individual it will not be pretty. 4:13 a.m. on Friday/Saturday was the latest. I had been out drinking for several hours, I was not happy about being woken up. I let him know it.
But, I digress.
Q: Why are all 20 page papers due during the same week?
A: Because it's called finals week, stupid-head.
And
A: To see if I can get them all finished. It's all part of the test called life.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
I am aware
Tonight I wanted to stay after class and go to the library to work on my papers. The library closes at midnight, I planned to stay until they asked me leave.
As I was leaving class the sky was filled with lightning and I turned to my girlfriend and asked what time the tunnel closed, the tunnel is the underground hallway that connects the buildings on campus, she thought it closed at 10, it was currently about 9:30.
Frustrated, I went to buy a sandwich and weighed the pros and cons of walking to the library, walking across campus in the dark, during a thunderstorm, with an extremely heavy backpack strapped to me, all in order to study late.
Angry, frustrated, tired, and stressed, I realized I was not willing to make myself a walking target. I realized I was too aware.
Aware of the dangers of being a female walking by herself, in the dark, during finals, with the words "moving target" written across me.
My major, my focus, my passion, the statistics, my past; I had made myself too aware.
I realized that men do not understand when they are simply walking in the opposite direction down the same sidewalk, that I am sizing them up, taking notes, and determining if they are a threat.
I like men who are tall, broad shoulder, and heavy-set because I feel more protected, safer with them, yet, at the same time, a person of that description can be overpowering and a threat.
I have three locks and a peep-hole on my door, but when I moved in there were only two and a solid wood frame.
I became aware that my friends make fun of me for having all the locks yet, they never even think to lock their doors at night.
I realized that if I hear a noise in the middle of the night, I will roll over in bed so that I am facing my bedroom door and I will watch to see if there are any shadows.
I became aware that I know how to get in my car in one fluid motion and lock the door behind.
I always walk with a purpose; car key pointed, phone at the ready, head held high.
I realized I pass strangers and look them in the eye.
I realized that when I see females walking across campus or a parking lot on their cell phone completely oblivious to their surroundings I become angry with them.
I admitted to myself that if I feel I am getting too much unwanted attention I binge eat to gain weight to try and make myself less attractive.
I admitted to myself that when I do gain weight and I am not getting the attention, I don't always like it.
I choose my apartments strategically. Always on the top floor always a corner apartment always in some place that I deem safe. That way it is harder to break-in to my place.
Tonight, after moving my car in the pitch-black parking lot, I realized I also park my car with a purpose.
I am always aware if some place is well lit.
Currently my parking lot is not.
I realized I worry about things, think about things, take in things that my girlfriends and guyfriends would never take into account.
I know they make fun of me at times if I say something, I know they have the luxury of ignorance and I do not.
I realized all of this tonight because I wanted to stay at the library and study until midnight so I could sleep in tomorrow, instead I rationalized that it was not safe to do, and so I came home and I became very angry, then I became sad.
Sad because I realized I am a statistic of many.
Sad because there will be more statistics made.
Sad because in the time it took to compose this, there have been thousands of statistics.
Sad because some will not be counted and because some will not be believed.
Sad that I have had to be made aware and sad that men have no idea how they are sometimes seen.
Sad for what I've admitted, sad for the things I have left out, forgotten, or not realized.
Angry that my past dictates my future and my present.
Angry that the word rape still illicits shame, pity, self-loathing, ignorance, blame, behaviors, thoughts, powerlessness.
Sad and angry for all of it.
As I was leaving class the sky was filled with lightning and I turned to my girlfriend and asked what time the tunnel closed, the tunnel is the underground hallway that connects the buildings on campus, she thought it closed at 10, it was currently about 9:30.
Frustrated, I went to buy a sandwich and weighed the pros and cons of walking to the library, walking across campus in the dark, during a thunderstorm, with an extremely heavy backpack strapped to me, all in order to study late.
Angry, frustrated, tired, and stressed, I realized I was not willing to make myself a walking target. I realized I was too aware.
Aware of the dangers of being a female walking by herself, in the dark, during finals, with the words "moving target" written across me.
My major, my focus, my passion, the statistics, my past; I had made myself too aware.
I realized that men do not understand when they are simply walking in the opposite direction down the same sidewalk, that I am sizing them up, taking notes, and determining if they are a threat.
I like men who are tall, broad shoulder, and heavy-set because I feel more protected, safer with them, yet, at the same time, a person of that description can be overpowering and a threat.
I have three locks and a peep-hole on my door, but when I moved in there were only two and a solid wood frame.
I became aware that my friends make fun of me for having all the locks yet, they never even think to lock their doors at night.
I realized that if I hear a noise in the middle of the night, I will roll over in bed so that I am facing my bedroom door and I will watch to see if there are any shadows.
I became aware that I know how to get in my car in one fluid motion and lock the door behind.
I always walk with a purpose; car key pointed, phone at the ready, head held high.
I realized I pass strangers and look them in the eye.
I realized that when I see females walking across campus or a parking lot on their cell phone completely oblivious to their surroundings I become angry with them.
I admitted to myself that if I feel I am getting too much unwanted attention I binge eat to gain weight to try and make myself less attractive.
I admitted to myself that when I do gain weight and I am not getting the attention, I don't always like it.
I choose my apartments strategically. Always on the top floor always a corner apartment always in some place that I deem safe. That way it is harder to break-in to my place.
Tonight, after moving my car in the pitch-black parking lot, I realized I also park my car with a purpose.
I am always aware if some place is well lit.
Currently my parking lot is not.
I realized I worry about things, think about things, take in things that my girlfriends and guyfriends would never take into account.
I know they make fun of me at times if I say something, I know they have the luxury of ignorance and I do not.
I realized all of this tonight because I wanted to stay at the library and study until midnight so I could sleep in tomorrow, instead I rationalized that it was not safe to do, and so I came home and I became very angry, then I became sad.
Sad because I realized I am a statistic of many.
Sad because there will be more statistics made.
Sad because in the time it took to compose this, there have been thousands of statistics.
Sad because some will not be counted and because some will not be believed.
Sad that I have had to be made aware and sad that men have no idea how they are sometimes seen.
Sad for what I've admitted, sad for the things I have left out, forgotten, or not realized.
Angry that my past dictates my future and my present.
Angry that the word rape still illicits shame, pity, self-loathing, ignorance, blame, behaviors, thoughts, powerlessness.
Sad and angry for all of it.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
inner dork: all things random about, me!
Not only is today Inner Dork, it's also my birthday, I know! How lucky am I? Huh? How? Oh, so, very, that's how.
Today I am 34. I can't believe it either. I am still so shiney and fabulous I just can't stand it.
So, in honor of inner dork and in honor of me, today will be all things random and having to do with, well, me.
I was born at 2:30 a.m. (I started out as a night owl and I have remained a night owl)
I was very sick as an infant. I spent many months in and out of the hospital. At one point, due to rheumatic fever, I believe, they did not think I would be able to see, walk, or talk. (Hmm, stupid white men in lab coats, what do they know, I showed them.)
I will take a brownie, just plain, no need to interfere with the chocolate, over sugar any day.
I don't really care for sweets. Or pop. Or anything sugary.
I will take a bagel over a brownie.
I believe cheese makes everything better and there can never be too much of it on anything.
I am currently reading "Where the Domino Fell" about the Vietnam war beginning in the 1800's to 1995. Interesting, but hard to follow. I need to have it read by 6pm tonight. I am on page 69. There are 286 pages.
I watched "Into the Wild" more than two weeks ago and I cannot get it out of my head. I tried to post about it, but it was all jumbled. (As opposed to what it normally is.)
I haven't been kissed since March 18th. (sad.)
I have a three day birthday bash planned for myself. Out tonight with several friends, party at my place on Friday, getting gussied-up on Saturday and my best gal and I are hitting the martini bar.
Since getting very sick after drinking several vodka cranberries, I can no longer even take a sip of my former favorite cocktail. I am on a hunt for a new beverage. I will take suggestions.
Jager is my favorite shot.
"The Great Gatsby" made me fall in love with literature.
"The Things They Carried" is one of my favorite books.
I have to fall asleep on my stomach. More precise: on my left side, on my stomach, right hand over my stomach,left arm under the pillow, left leg bent. (I know, I'm weird.) (I've woken up with a perfect hand-print on my stomach many, many times.) (And a few on my ass, but that's another story.)
I've been accepted to six colleges. Four state colleges, plus the Art Institute in Atlanta, GA and The Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY.
I have attended three colleges.
My favorite color is royal purple.
My middle name starts with "L"
If I suddenly came into enough money to pay off all of my student loans and credit cards, I would sell all of my belongings and travel the world.
So, actually, only about $100,000. (Enough to pay off my debt, and then some to live and travel on.)
I would love to be able to make enough money through writing, painting, and photography to be able to support myself.
I am constantly amazed by what can happen within a year.
Or for that matter a day.
Or an hour.
Hmmmmmmmmmmmm, okay, that's all the randomness I can handle on myself.
So, tell me something random about you.
Today I am 34. I can't believe it either. I am still so shiney and fabulous I just can't stand it.
So, in honor of inner dork and in honor of me, today will be all things random and having to do with, well, me.
I was born at 2:30 a.m. (I started out as a night owl and I have remained a night owl)
I was very sick as an infant. I spent many months in and out of the hospital. At one point, due to rheumatic fever, I believe, they did not think I would be able to see, walk, or talk. (Hmm, stupid white men in lab coats, what do they know, I showed them.)
I will take a brownie, just plain, no need to interfere with the chocolate, over sugar any day.
I don't really care for sweets. Or pop. Or anything sugary.
I will take a bagel over a brownie.
I believe cheese makes everything better and there can never be too much of it on anything.
I am currently reading "Where the Domino Fell" about the Vietnam war beginning in the 1800's to 1995. Interesting, but hard to follow. I need to have it read by 6pm tonight. I am on page 69. There are 286 pages.
I watched "Into the Wild" more than two weeks ago and I cannot get it out of my head. I tried to post about it, but it was all jumbled. (As opposed to what it normally is.)
I haven't been kissed since March 18th. (sad.)
I have a three day birthday bash planned for myself. Out tonight with several friends, party at my place on Friday, getting gussied-up on Saturday and my best gal and I are hitting the martini bar.
Since getting very sick after drinking several vodka cranberries, I can no longer even take a sip of my former favorite cocktail. I am on a hunt for a new beverage. I will take suggestions.
Jager is my favorite shot.
"The Great Gatsby" made me fall in love with literature.
"The Things They Carried" is one of my favorite books.
I have to fall asleep on my stomach. More precise: on my left side, on my stomach, right hand over my stomach,left arm under the pillow, left leg bent. (I know, I'm weird.) (I've woken up with a perfect hand-print on my stomach many, many times.) (And a few on my ass, but that's another story.)
I've been accepted to six colleges. Four state colleges, plus the Art Institute in Atlanta, GA and The Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, NY.
I have attended three colleges.
My favorite color is royal purple.
My middle name starts with "L"
If I suddenly came into enough money to pay off all of my student loans and credit cards, I would sell all of my belongings and travel the world.
So, actually, only about $100,000. (Enough to pay off my debt, and then some to live and travel on.)
I would love to be able to make enough money through writing, painting, and photography to be able to support myself.
I am constantly amazed by what can happen within a year.
Or for that matter a day.
Or an hour.
Hmmmmmmmmmmmm, okay, that's all the randomness I can handle on myself.
So, tell me something random about you.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
it truly is the root of all evil
I am normally a tigger. Happy, see the bright side of life, bounce back and get on with it.
However, in the last few weeks I've been angry. Angry about money and all it entails. I haven't been angry about money, I've been angry at money. Now, does money care that I am angry with it? Doubtful. After all, it's not human, it has no soul, no emotions, no gut. Therefore, it's heartless.
Yep. I am angry at money. I hate it. I hate money.
Of course there's a reason.
Here's why.
No job this semester because I choose to focus on school and getting my GPA up. (You know, so as not to get kicked out) I've lived off loans and have been resourceful in terms of selling things on half.com to make some extra money.
This leads into Brazil. I've had to come up with my funds for the summer. Financial aid covered most of it, but not all of it. That's okay because I have been resourceful and it wouldn't be that much that I would have to come up with.
Taxes. After working six+ jobs in the past year, doing my taxes took all day, but I actually got a refund back from the fed, but owed state a nice chunk of change. Excellent. The funds from fed will pay state and that would leave me just over $600 for Brazil. Excellent.
Car. Of course since I paid my car off this past fall it has started to fall apart. New brakes, pads, routers (no idea how to spell that, I'm a girl, I know I look good in my car, that's about it.) $251.00.
Fine. Pissy about that, but fine.
Then I am driving along one day about a month later and I cannot get my car above 45mph and since I was in a 65mph zone, that was a bit scary. Oh look, smoke seems to be billowing from underneath my car. Is my car on fire?!?!?!? That can't be good.
$408.12 later, the piston on my brakes had locked up. I was essentially driving with my brakes on. They assured me it was not their fault...even though they had just replaced my brakes. Fine.
There went my tax return.
There went my funds for Brazil.
Time to look for a job. There is nothing out there for me since I can only work for about two months.
Fine.
A few weeks ago I received a letter from my alternative student loan company. Due to the economy they are going to change my rate from the COF to the LIBOR rate. No need to look anything up: the COF rate will go to, you have got to be sucking my ass, high. And the LIBOR is the London rate, which is apparently doing better than the USofA rate, but still isn't great and will be variable every three months.
Wow. Awesomeness.
Which awesomely suck-ass-bad rate should I choose? I juggled my tits, hoped for the best, and took the LIBOR rate.
Doctor bills. I do not have insurance. I haven't had insurance for over five years. I've learned to only go to the doctor if I am bleeding internally and screaming externally, which means I never go to the doctor except for my yearly gyn exam. March is my time for my exam.
$110.
Even if I had the student insurance it wouldn't be covered. Yeah. Since I am in the Public Policy major, I will be trying to do something about that, that's crap. STD testing isn't covered either. Hmmm, college campus+random sex+ experimental sex+ holy crap, I'm getting laid sex+ stupid college kids= a peetry dish of STD activity, yet it isn't covered. Yeah. I will be trying to change that as well.
Lab bill for my pap $90+ $110 for my yearly exam.
Fuckin' awesome.
Apartment leases and high rent rates.
A girlfriend and I were looking to move in with each other. Loved the first place we looked. Unfortunately, I didn't think about a deposit until we were standing in the driveway and the landlord was handing us the app. My half $325. Might as well be $325,000.
My friend offered to loan me my half and then I could just pay her when my lease is up. I couldn't do it. Borrowing and lending of the evil greenbacks, I learned long ago to just say no.
That, plus my lease is up July 31, I will be in Brazil until August 2nd. That and some autonomy issues that I thought I had gotten over, but, um, no. No, I haven't.
So.
I will be paying $20 more for my crappy apartment, which I hate, come August. Absolutely no idea why the rent went up.
Things for Brazil. I am super-uber excited to be going. Truly. A dream. My life's mission.
But, (oh, you knew there would be a but) for every step I take forward and cross off my list, there are 12.5 steps back and 8 more things to add to my list. I am not enjoying the process. One thing that is proving to be a nightmare: getting a visa and (okay, two things) trying to find housing. Good lord.
So. I leave in about 6 weeks and I am still desperately short on funds.
I am partaking in a fundraiser on Friday, please, oh, please let it be successful. I am selling some of my paintings and some of my jewelry (both that I made) (and I guess I should say, I hope to sell. Although, the other way has a more positive spin, so, I will stick with that one.) along with a donation box (or a tip jar, which one?) asking for donations.
I sent an email out to family and friends asking for funds; I got several who said they would send me money, but so far only two actually have. Awesome! Thanks family and friends.
And, of course there is more, but really, do you care?
So, right now I hate money. Hate it. I hate not having it. I hate worry about it. I hate stressing about it. I hate counting pennies and worrying and justifying and stressing over things I cannot control, which involve money. I hate that we have to have money to "survive." I hate that there are haves and have nots. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.
I want the barter system back. Or to go back to salt being the king of monetary value. Although, I live in the Midwest, not a lot of salt, so I would still be poor.
How about ethanol? Okay, well, I have a boycott on ethanol.
Beads. yYeah, beads. After all, that's how we got Manhattan. Yep. Beads.
However, in the last few weeks I've been angry. Angry about money and all it entails. I haven't been angry about money, I've been angry at money. Now, does money care that I am angry with it? Doubtful. After all, it's not human, it has no soul, no emotions, no gut. Therefore, it's heartless.
Yep. I am angry at money. I hate it. I hate money.
Of course there's a reason.
Here's why.
No job this semester because I choose to focus on school and getting my GPA up. (You know, so as not to get kicked out) I've lived off loans and have been resourceful in terms of selling things on half.com to make some extra money.
This leads into Brazil. I've had to come up with my funds for the summer. Financial aid covered most of it, but not all of it. That's okay because I have been resourceful and it wouldn't be that much that I would have to come up with.
Taxes. After working six+ jobs in the past year, doing my taxes took all day, but I actually got a refund back from the fed, but owed state a nice chunk of change. Excellent. The funds from fed will pay state and that would leave me just over $600 for Brazil. Excellent.
Car. Of course since I paid my car off this past fall it has started to fall apart. New brakes, pads, routers (no idea how to spell that, I'm a girl, I know I look good in my car, that's about it.) $251.00.
Fine. Pissy about that, but fine.
Then I am driving along one day about a month later and I cannot get my car above 45mph and since I was in a 65mph zone, that was a bit scary. Oh look, smoke seems to be billowing from underneath my car. Is my car on fire?!?!?!? That can't be good.
$408.12 later, the piston on my brakes had locked up. I was essentially driving with my brakes on. They assured me it was not their fault...even though they had just replaced my brakes. Fine.
There went my tax return.
There went my funds for Brazil.
Time to look for a job. There is nothing out there for me since I can only work for about two months.
Fine.
A few weeks ago I received a letter from my alternative student loan company. Due to the economy they are going to change my rate from the COF to the LIBOR rate. No need to look anything up: the COF rate will go to, you have got to be sucking my ass, high. And the LIBOR is the London rate, which is apparently doing better than the USofA rate, but still isn't great and will be variable every three months.
Wow. Awesomeness.
Which awesomely suck-ass-bad rate should I choose? I juggled my tits, hoped for the best, and took the LIBOR rate.
Doctor bills. I do not have insurance. I haven't had insurance for over five years. I've learned to only go to the doctor if I am bleeding internally and screaming externally, which means I never go to the doctor except for my yearly gyn exam. March is my time for my exam.
$110.
Even if I had the student insurance it wouldn't be covered. Yeah. Since I am in the Public Policy major, I will be trying to do something about that, that's crap. STD testing isn't covered either. Hmmm, college campus+random sex+ experimental sex+ holy crap, I'm getting laid sex+ stupid college kids= a peetry dish of STD activity, yet it isn't covered. Yeah. I will be trying to change that as well.
Lab bill for my pap $90+ $110 for my yearly exam.
Fuckin' awesome.
Apartment leases and high rent rates.
A girlfriend and I were looking to move in with each other. Loved the first place we looked. Unfortunately, I didn't think about a deposit until we were standing in the driveway and the landlord was handing us the app. My half $325. Might as well be $325,000.
My friend offered to loan me my half and then I could just pay her when my lease is up. I couldn't do it. Borrowing and lending of the evil greenbacks, I learned long ago to just say no.
That, plus my lease is up July 31, I will be in Brazil until August 2nd. That and some autonomy issues that I thought I had gotten over, but, um, no. No, I haven't.
So.
I will be paying $20 more for my crappy apartment, which I hate, come August. Absolutely no idea why the rent went up.
Things for Brazil. I am super-uber excited to be going. Truly. A dream. My life's mission.
But, (oh, you knew there would be a but) for every step I take forward and cross off my list, there are 12.5 steps back and 8 more things to add to my list. I am not enjoying the process. One thing that is proving to be a nightmare: getting a visa and (okay, two things) trying to find housing. Good lord.
So. I leave in about 6 weeks and I am still desperately short on funds.
I am partaking in a fundraiser on Friday, please, oh, please let it be successful. I am selling some of my paintings and some of my jewelry (both that I made) (and I guess I should say, I hope to sell. Although, the other way has a more positive spin, so, I will stick with that one.) along with a donation box (or a tip jar, which one?) asking for donations.
I sent an email out to family and friends asking for funds; I got several who said they would send me money, but so far only two actually have. Awesome! Thanks family and friends.
And, of course there is more, but really, do you care?
So, right now I hate money. Hate it. I hate not having it. I hate worry about it. I hate stressing about it. I hate counting pennies and worrying and justifying and stressing over things I cannot control, which involve money. I hate that we have to have money to "survive." I hate that there are haves and have nots. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.
I want the barter system back. Or to go back to salt being the king of monetary value. Although, I live in the Midwest, not a lot of salt, so I would still be poor.
How about ethanol? Okay, well, I have a boycott on ethanol.
Beads. yYeah, beads. After all, that's how we got Manhattan. Yep. Beads.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
issues
Issues. We've all got 'em. Whether it be in terms of relationships, food, water, germs, heights; people have issues. Some people have a few months worth and some people have a few years worth of issues, but still, we all have our things.
I've been pretty open about mine, but just a recap: relationships and in terms of walls, guards, expressing my emotions openly and making myself vulnerable. I'm not good at expressing my emotions about love, like, and affection. I'm not good at letting my guard down and it takes a lot to penetrate my walls.
Okay. So, no need to go into all of that. Nope, this is about how I thought I had gotten through some of my issues and how well, I really haven't been as successful as I thought.
So, there was Math Teacher (please note the past tense.) He was a good guy. I had a ridiculously good time with him. There were three really entertaining dates with great conversation and plenty of laughs. Those are all gold stars in my book. With Math Teacher I decided it was time to be vulnerable, time to let some of my guard down, be all shiny and new with this dating experience.
I let him pick me up from my apartment on the second date. (Although Mr. London picked me up from my apartment on our second date, I DO NOT let men know where I live. That's a no-no.) On our third date I invited him over to my apartment for a pre-date hang-out (absolute no-no) and we eneded up hanging out in my apartment nsetead of going out on the date I had planned. I was open about my like-ness for him. We talked about things that I normally reserve for....well, for when I really get to know someone.
And where did that get me? Well, let me tell you. End of third date: cuddling on the big ugly comfy couch, kissing, telling each other how much were digging each other and a spontaneous "You're very guarded. I haven't figured out why, yet, but you are." I felt like I had been punched in the chest, but I answer with, "Yes, I am. But if you stick around maybe you'll find out why." Pause "..and I'm a lot better than I used to be" this gets a response of, laugh, and not a happy laugh, it was a 'you've got to be kidding me' laugh followed by "you're better than you used to be? Yeah, good luck with that."
Um, ouch.
After a response like that I knew it was over and that it wasn't going to go anywhere. Yet again, he was another man who had put me a box of his making and didn't take the time to really get to know me. Oh well.
I tried so hard to break down some of my barriers and well, maybe that was the problem, I was trying. However, more importantly, maybe with a response like his, he wasn't worth letting my guard down for.
However, that brings me to another of my issues: sabotage.
St. Pat's Day. Out with friends from late afternoon until the bar closed. I ran into a guy I met over Christmas and due to phone tag, it didn't evolve into anything or go anywhere.
St. Pats with lots of green beer and the night it going to lead somewhere.
Cue to an hour or so later and it's me over at his place, sex, him spooning me like I was a life-preserver and me wanting to desperately leave. Not because I was afraid, but because that's what I do. It was just sex, a one-night thing, no need to hang around and swap pleasantries in the morning.
However, it was the middle of the early morning, dark, no idea where I was to be able to find my way out in the dark.
Poop stain.
So. There I lay, in his bed, wrapped up in legs and arms that aren't mine, and wanting to leave. I finally decide to try and catch a few hours of sleep.
I think I caught a few half hours of sleep and later in the week I caught a cold.
Finally with the dawn of the early morning sun, I found my clothes, said goodbye, and made my way out of the bed and into my car.
The point of this story: I haven't done that, random sex, or felt that way in a few years. I thought those feelings, that needlessness, was out of my system. I thought I had gotten to a point in my life where sex meant something. Nope. Still something I am working on and I cannot tell you how much that bothers me.
I'm still a work in progress and well, I guess at least I know that.
I've been pretty open about mine, but just a recap: relationships and in terms of walls, guards, expressing my emotions openly and making myself vulnerable. I'm not good at expressing my emotions about love, like, and affection. I'm not good at letting my guard down and it takes a lot to penetrate my walls.
Okay. So, no need to go into all of that. Nope, this is about how I thought I had gotten through some of my issues and how well, I really haven't been as successful as I thought.
So, there was Math Teacher (please note the past tense.) He was a good guy. I had a ridiculously good time with him. There were three really entertaining dates with great conversation and plenty of laughs. Those are all gold stars in my book. With Math Teacher I decided it was time to be vulnerable, time to let some of my guard down, be all shiny and new with this dating experience.
I let him pick me up from my apartment on the second date. (Although Mr. London picked me up from my apartment on our second date, I DO NOT let men know where I live. That's a no-no.) On our third date I invited him over to my apartment for a pre-date hang-out (absolute no-no) and we eneded up hanging out in my apartment nsetead of going out on the date I had planned. I was open about my like-ness for him. We talked about things that I normally reserve for....well, for when I really get to know someone.
And where did that get me? Well, let me tell you. End of third date: cuddling on the big ugly comfy couch, kissing, telling each other how much were digging each other and a spontaneous "You're very guarded. I haven't figured out why, yet, but you are." I felt like I had been punched in the chest, but I answer with, "Yes, I am. But if you stick around maybe you'll find out why." Pause "..and I'm a lot better than I used to be" this gets a response of, laugh, and not a happy laugh, it was a 'you've got to be kidding me' laugh followed by "you're better than you used to be? Yeah, good luck with that."
Um, ouch.
After a response like that I knew it was over and that it wasn't going to go anywhere. Yet again, he was another man who had put me a box of his making and didn't take the time to really get to know me. Oh well.
I tried so hard to break down some of my barriers and well, maybe that was the problem, I was trying. However, more importantly, maybe with a response like his, he wasn't worth letting my guard down for.
However, that brings me to another of my issues: sabotage.
St. Pat's Day. Out with friends from late afternoon until the bar closed. I ran into a guy I met over Christmas and due to phone tag, it didn't evolve into anything or go anywhere.
St. Pats with lots of green beer and the night it going to lead somewhere.
Cue to an hour or so later and it's me over at his place, sex, him spooning me like I was a life-preserver and me wanting to desperately leave. Not because I was afraid, but because that's what I do. It was just sex, a one-night thing, no need to hang around and swap pleasantries in the morning.
However, it was the middle of the early morning, dark, no idea where I was to be able to find my way out in the dark.
Poop stain.
So. There I lay, in his bed, wrapped up in legs and arms that aren't mine, and wanting to leave. I finally decide to try and catch a few hours of sleep.
I think I caught a few half hours of sleep and later in the week I caught a cold.
Finally with the dawn of the early morning sun, I found my clothes, said goodbye, and made my way out of the bed and into my car.
The point of this story: I haven't done that, random sex, or felt that way in a few years. I thought those feelings, that needlessness, was out of my system. I thought I had gotten to a point in my life where sex meant something. Nope. Still something I am working on and I cannot tell you how much that bothers me.
I'm still a work in progress and well, I guess at least I know that.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
inner dork: the merkin
Again, my most humble dorking apologies that the dorkness has been missing from this blog. I will try to better. I will try, no promises beyond that.
Okay, the merkin:
Did you know, The merkin is a pubic wig. It was orginally worn by prostitutes who had to shave their pubes due to lice or to disguise the fact that they were suffering from syphilis. The term dates back to approximately 1450.
I know! A pube wig, yet another fashionable accessory.
Okay, the merkin:
Did you know, The merkin is a pubic wig. It was orginally worn by prostitutes who had to shave their pubes due to lice or to disguise the fact that they were suffering from syphilis. The term dates back to approximately 1450.
I know! A pube wig, yet another fashionable accessory.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
life is getting in the way of life
ya, know?
I mean, I haven't been this social since, well, since my early 20's (eeck!) But, then there is that whole, I have to type it out and tell you about it. I want to tell you, but then there is that life-thing. My, life-thing, that keeps happening. That, life-thing where I keep saying I won't go out, that I will only drink water, that I won't be out for more than an hour or so, that I still have my Spring Break cold, but, c'mon, my name isn't PG for nothing, you know?
Why, just last week I was all snuggled on my couch, counting the minutes down until it would be an "acceptable" bedtime hour, face washed, contacts out and glasses on, PJ's stepped into, mindless drivel on the Stupid Box, coughing up a Sickville storm. Then, my friends called. And, well, there might be a problem when I make my way out to the bar, without make-up, on a Tuesday, at 10pm...and close the bar down, when mere minutes previously to be called, I was wanting bed.
So. You see, I have stories. Funny stories, sad stories, witty stories, love stories, and cry-myself-to-sleep stories, but....I also have stories about papers and presentations and exams. Sadly, those "stories" have been winning. I know, I know, I don't like it either. But, what can I say, I need to actually be able to find a job once I finish this here Master's degree, you know? I mean, I have bills.
So. Be patient. I'm not dead, just a grad student. I'll be back, I'll be around and the stories will still abound. I promise. I swear. I mean, it's PG, here.
I mean, I haven't been this social since, well, since my early 20's (eeck!) But, then there is that whole, I have to type it out and tell you about it. I want to tell you, but then there is that life-thing. My, life-thing, that keeps happening. That, life-thing where I keep saying I won't go out, that I will only drink water, that I won't be out for more than an hour or so, that I still have my Spring Break cold, but, c'mon, my name isn't PG for nothing, you know?
Why, just last week I was all snuggled on my couch, counting the minutes down until it would be an "acceptable" bedtime hour, face washed, contacts out and glasses on, PJ's stepped into, mindless drivel on the Stupid Box, coughing up a Sickville storm. Then, my friends called. And, well, there might be a problem when I make my way out to the bar, without make-up, on a Tuesday, at 10pm...and close the bar down, when mere minutes previously to be called, I was wanting bed.
So. You see, I have stories. Funny stories, sad stories, witty stories, love stories, and cry-myself-to-sleep stories, but....I also have stories about papers and presentations and exams. Sadly, those "stories" have been winning. I know, I know, I don't like it either. But, what can I say, I need to actually be able to find a job once I finish this here Master's degree, you know? I mean, I have bills.
So. Be patient. I'm not dead, just a grad student. I'll be back, I'll be around and the stories will still abound. I promise. I swear. I mean, it's PG, here.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
smidge past mid-term, half past done
Goodness, when you type your life out in updates, it sure goes by quickly. Well, actually, it goes by quickly anyway, but it waxes more poetic to say it the other way.
I've made it past mid-term, past spring break, and there are only a few (short, yet, long) weeks left of my first year, second semester of grad school. Whoo-whee and
gol-lee, I cannot believe it either.
I like the bullet-points, don't you? I mean, it's nice, neat, tidy, you know what the topic is, what it will cover and it just simply goes so much smoother for my quick wit, charm, and sarcasm to fill in the bullet-point blanks that way. So, bullet-points, it is.
Social organizer: I should be in PR. I can get people to organize, rally-around, give time, and themselves to causes and to things. Sure, some of these things have to do with causes such as breast cancer and the food bank, and some of these things have to do with St. Patrick Day celebrations, but still, the point is I can gather the group and give to causes. Those causes may be in the fight to save boobs and those causes may be in, how to damage your liver with green beer. Still, the motivation and power to persuade is there. (Note to self: think about running for some sort of office and use my powers for good.) (Done.)
Sewing horizontal line: Hmm, my stitch and bitch has sort of fallen away, so my horizontal line has become a dot. This does not bode well for the art projects, nor for the quilt that I have been working on for eight years.
Quantitative Research: a.k.a stats: Somehow I am pulling an "A" No, trust me, I am just as surprised as you, probably more so. However, the grade and the class is not the point of this bullet. No, the point of this bullet is about the professor, Ramona. Poor, Ramona. First, her name is Ramona. Poor, girl. Let me tell you about her back-story. Once again, her name is Ramona. I'm guessing she was picked on, a lot, as a child and more than likely spent her lunch hours with her nose in a book. Absolutely nothing wrong with having your nose in a book, just as long as a person pulls it out of the book every now and again to look at, take in, and enjoy some of the world around them. I'm gonna guess Ramona did not do this. Not a lot of social skills. Sure, she thinks she has social skills, she also thinks she has a keen sense of humor, she would be wrong on both counts. Oh, oh, so very wrong. Ramona, thinks she is funny, no, she's just mean. Mean, sense of humor, mean wit. Again, I think this goes back to her childhood, lack of social skills, and eighty-five too many boys knocking the book out of her hand during recess in the fifth grade. (All of life can be traced back to fifth grade. True story.) Ramona's voice also has the sweet, sweet sound of cat nails on a chalk board mixed into the worst possible electric guitar feedback you've ever heard in your entire life. Yep. Not painful at all. We just nonchalantly wipe the blood from our ears as she is being witty and calling us all idiots. Yep, not afraid to ask questions in her class. Mixed in with her voice, her humor, and her teaching style is also the debate over whether or not she is wearing a bra. If she is wearing a bra, it has clearly lost the battle. The bra has given up and the boobs are merely resting on her stomach at this point. I know. I know. I shouldn't make fun, it's not nice, but it gets me through class, and I am managing to get an "A". So, do not critique my mean mocking style, just accept it and move on to the next bullet-point.
Spring break: Already over and gone. I have no idea how it happened either. Somewhere between going out on Thursday, Friday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, it just flew by. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday I was sick. It is a mystery.
Shade-o-riffic tree: We've made peace. The tree won. Because I decided to let it win. Moving on.
Dating: There was someone who had potential.(Math Teacher) (Notice the past-tense) Then, then, he said a fateful sentence, "you're very guarded." (Knock the wind out of me, ricochet my brain around my skull, dust self off, pick self up, cue evil music.) Da, dun, daaaaa! Kiss of death. For him, not me. Pay attention. Sure, I know I'm guarded, but here I thought I hid it so well with my boundless sense of humor, wit, talent, sarcasm, and ability to actively listen and pay attention. Damn it. Those charms, my magic lasso, and invisible plane had worked so well for me over the past decade or so. Now I have to find a new dating superpower. Crap.
Classes: See bullet-point on Ramona, otherwise, they are going okay. In one class, which is supposed to start at 11:00 and finish at 12:15, the professor shows up around 11:07, talks about something completely not relevant to class for about 15 more minutes, rambles about the topic of discussion, kinda, sorta, but not really for about 25 minutes, talks about the discussion topic for about 13 minutes, let's us out of class 15 minutes early. Yeah, I feel I am getting my tuition dollars worth.
GPA: Unless something goes horribly wrong, and well, it is me we are talking about, I should receive as close to a 4.0 without actually receiving a 4.0 and without going over a 4.0 this semester. This is substantially better than last semester, but we don't like to talk about that.
Brazil: I leave in 10 weeks. I leave in 10 weeks!!!!!!!!! I leave in 10 weeks (!!!!) Crap, I leave in 10 weeks. Yep, say that every hour or so and you pretty much have my brain and my sleeping pattern summed up. Slowly, slowly it is all coming together. I am planning on purchasing my ticket this week (the round trip plane ticket costs as much as my entire trip to Budapest. Not quite sure how that math works out, but whatever.) and from there it is getting my visa, apartment there, and everything (EVERYTHING) else together. I am nervous, excited, scared, excited, nervous, and scared, and scared, excited, and nervous.
Portuguese: "Quero uma cerveja." translation: "I would like a beer." Ta dah!(Thanks, Limpy) An American girl in Brazil success story. Hey, if it can work here, I think it should work there. No? Fine. I'm working on it, okay,? Maybe not working on it enough, but I'm working on it. I have ten more weeks to put it off, err, I mean, commit it all to memory, receive a gold star, and charm the locals.
Yellow fever vaccine: That will be part of the next bullet-point list. Something tells me there may be a story about that little live vaccine. That something would be, Hello! Have you met me? It says, "may cause illness." Something tells me there won't be any "may" about it. It's a live vaccine of yellow fever being shot into my body for god's sake! Parents, friends, neighbors will all be put on alert to feed me ice chips and to make sure I don't go running naked around the greater Small State U community screaming, "I lost my invisible plane! I lost my invisible plane!"
So, tell me all about yourself.
I've made it past mid-term, past spring break, and there are only a few (short, yet, long) weeks left of my first year, second semester of grad school. Whoo-whee and
gol-lee, I cannot believe it either.
I like the bullet-points, don't you? I mean, it's nice, neat, tidy, you know what the topic is, what it will cover and it just simply goes so much smoother for my quick wit, charm, and sarcasm to fill in the bullet-point blanks that way. So, bullet-points, it is.
Social organizer: I should be in PR. I can get people to organize, rally-around, give time, and themselves to causes and to things. Sure, some of these things have to do with causes such as breast cancer and the food bank, and some of these things have to do with St. Patrick Day celebrations, but still, the point is I can gather the group and give to causes. Those causes may be in the fight to save boobs and those causes may be in, how to damage your liver with green beer. Still, the motivation and power to persuade is there. (Note to self: think about running for some sort of office and use my powers for good.) (Done.)
Sewing horizontal line: Hmm, my stitch and bitch has sort of fallen away, so my horizontal line has become a dot. This does not bode well for the art projects, nor for the quilt that I have been working on for eight years.
Quantitative Research: a.k.a stats: Somehow I am pulling an "A" No, trust me, I am just as surprised as you, probably more so. However, the grade and the class is not the point of this bullet. No, the point of this bullet is about the professor, Ramona. Poor, Ramona. First, her name is Ramona. Poor, girl. Let me tell you about her back-story. Once again, her name is Ramona. I'm guessing she was picked on, a lot, as a child and more than likely spent her lunch hours with her nose in a book. Absolutely nothing wrong with having your nose in a book, just as long as a person pulls it out of the book every now and again to look at, take in, and enjoy some of the world around them. I'm gonna guess Ramona did not do this. Not a lot of social skills. Sure, she thinks she has social skills, she also thinks she has a keen sense of humor, she would be wrong on both counts. Oh, oh, so very wrong. Ramona, thinks she is funny, no, she's just mean. Mean, sense of humor, mean wit. Again, I think this goes back to her childhood, lack of social skills, and eighty-five too many boys knocking the book out of her hand during recess in the fifth grade. (All of life can be traced back to fifth grade. True story.) Ramona's voice also has the sweet, sweet sound of cat nails on a chalk board mixed into the worst possible electric guitar feedback you've ever heard in your entire life. Yep. Not painful at all. We just nonchalantly wipe the blood from our ears as she is being witty and calling us all idiots. Yep, not afraid to ask questions in her class. Mixed in with her voice, her humor, and her teaching style is also the debate over whether or not she is wearing a bra. If she is wearing a bra, it has clearly lost the battle. The bra has given up and the boobs are merely resting on her stomach at this point. I know. I know. I shouldn't make fun, it's not nice, but it gets me through class, and I am managing to get an "A". So, do not critique my mean mocking style, just accept it and move on to the next bullet-point.
Spring break: Already over and gone. I have no idea how it happened either. Somewhere between going out on Thursday, Friday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, it just flew by. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday I was sick. It is a mystery.
Shade-o-riffic tree: We've made peace. The tree won. Because I decided to let it win. Moving on.
Dating: There was someone who had potential.(Math Teacher) (Notice the past-tense) Then, then, he said a fateful sentence, "you're very guarded." (Knock the wind out of me, ricochet my brain around my skull, dust self off, pick self up, cue evil music.) Da, dun, daaaaa! Kiss of death. For him, not me. Pay attention. Sure, I know I'm guarded, but here I thought I hid it so well with my boundless sense of humor, wit, talent, sarcasm, and ability to actively listen and pay attention. Damn it. Those charms, my magic lasso, and invisible plane had worked so well for me over the past decade or so. Now I have to find a new dating superpower. Crap.
Classes: See bullet-point on Ramona, otherwise, they are going okay. In one class, which is supposed to start at 11:00 and finish at 12:15, the professor shows up around 11:07, talks about something completely not relevant to class for about 15 more minutes, rambles about the topic of discussion, kinda, sorta, but not really for about 25 minutes, talks about the discussion topic for about 13 minutes, let's us out of class 15 minutes early. Yeah, I feel I am getting my tuition dollars worth.
GPA: Unless something goes horribly wrong, and well, it is me we are talking about, I should receive as close to a 4.0 without actually receiving a 4.0 and without going over a 4.0 this semester. This is substantially better than last semester, but we don't like to talk about that.
Brazil: I leave in 10 weeks. I leave in 10 weeks!!!!!!!!! I leave in 10 weeks (!!!!) Crap, I leave in 10 weeks. Yep, say that every hour or so and you pretty much have my brain and my sleeping pattern summed up. Slowly, slowly it is all coming together. I am planning on purchasing my ticket this week (the round trip plane ticket costs as much as my entire trip to Budapest. Not quite sure how that math works out, but whatever.) and from there it is getting my visa, apartment there, and everything (EVERYTHING) else together. I am nervous, excited, scared, excited, nervous, and scared, and scared, excited, and nervous.
Portuguese: "Quero uma cerveja." translation: "I would like a beer." Ta dah!(Thanks, Limpy) An American girl in Brazil success story. Hey, if it can work here, I think it should work there. No? Fine. I'm working on it, okay,? Maybe not working on it enough, but I'm working on it. I have ten more weeks to put it off, err, I mean, commit it all to memory, receive a gold star, and charm the locals.
Yellow fever vaccine: That will be part of the next bullet-point list. Something tells me there may be a story about that little live vaccine. That something would be, Hello! Have you met me? It says, "may cause illness." Something tells me there won't be any "may" about it. It's a live vaccine of yellow fever being shot into my body for god's sake! Parents, friends, neighbors will all be put on alert to feed me ice chips and to make sure I don't go running naked around the greater Small State U community screaming, "I lost my invisible plane! I lost my invisible plane!"
So, tell me all about yourself.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
a drunk man's words, are a sober man's thoughts
If only the random phone calls and text messages I receive at 2a.m. had the same courage to be made at 2p.m.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
the power of one
After deleting three different titles to this post, I decided to just write it out here.
The power to both pick-up the phone when it rings and the power to dial the phone. I know, not Earth shattering things, but when you've dated and been hurt (crushed) as much as I have, well, those can be kinda big deals.
As the phone dialer, it takes courage to punch the numbers. As the receiver of the call, it takes courage to not screen and actually pick-up the phone. Again, not changing the world here, but possibly changing the world of one.
Yep. If you haven't already figured it out, I've started dating someone. Still pretty new. (about three weeks) (and if history has taught me anything, admit I am dating someone on the blog and dating someone will end, so.)(but I hope that curse can be broken.) Still new enough that I am trying to not revert back to old habits of sabotage. Not doing so well on that front, as Monday (ala, St. Pat's) I went home with a guy I met that night, after flirting with my guy friends all night, and while dating the formerly mentioned man. Not proud of that moment, but it happened and I didn't do anything morally wrong, maybe just stupid, but not wrong. Issues, who has issues? Get your issues, here!
Last night the dating man, we shall call him, Math Teacher, and I just told each other that we liked each other and that this is a pressure free situation. (Cue sappy music.)
Math Teacher also knocked me on my ass last night (no slap, just a knock) when he told me I am "very guarded...he hasn't figured out why yet, but I am." Ah, yep. Amazing how one sentence can knock the wind from me. I told him I had been hurt a lot and there is time for him to figure it out if he is patient. So. We shall see. (cue, music)(again.)
So, anyway, this week it's about the power of being able to pick-up the phone, maybe make a drunk dial or two, ask someone out, tell them that I like them (sad, but that's kinda a big deal for me. I know, sad.) and to have the courage to not be the cat-lady. Cause, it is a short line between being a happy-go-lucky single gal to being the woman who is bitter and owns at least three cats. Let's just be honest about that. It's about having the courage to not become the cat-lady.
The power to both pick-up the phone when it rings and the power to dial the phone. I know, not Earth shattering things, but when you've dated and been hurt (crushed) as much as I have, well, those can be kinda big deals.
As the phone dialer, it takes courage to punch the numbers. As the receiver of the call, it takes courage to not screen and actually pick-up the phone. Again, not changing the world here, but possibly changing the world of one.
Yep. If you haven't already figured it out, I've started dating someone. Still pretty new. (about three weeks) (and if history has taught me anything, admit I am dating someone on the blog and dating someone will end, so.)(but I hope that curse can be broken.) Still new enough that I am trying to not revert back to old habits of sabotage. Not doing so well on that front, as Monday (ala, St. Pat's) I went home with a guy I met that night, after flirting with my guy friends all night, and while dating the formerly mentioned man. Not proud of that moment, but it happened and I didn't do anything morally wrong, maybe just stupid, but not wrong. Issues, who has issues? Get your issues, here!
Last night the dating man, we shall call him, Math Teacher, and I just told each other that we liked each other and that this is a pressure free situation. (Cue sappy music.)
Math Teacher also knocked me on my ass last night (no slap, just a knock) when he told me I am "very guarded...he hasn't figured out why yet, but I am." Ah, yep. Amazing how one sentence can knock the wind from me. I told him I had been hurt a lot and there is time for him to figure it out if he is patient. So. We shall see. (cue, music)(again.)
So, anyway, this week it's about the power of being able to pick-up the phone, maybe make a drunk dial or two, ask someone out, tell them that I like them (sad, but that's kinda a big deal for me. I know, sad.) and to have the courage to not be the cat-lady. Cause, it is a short line between being a happy-go-lucky single gal to being the woman who is bitter and owns at least three cats. Let's just be honest about that. It's about having the courage to not become the cat-lady.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
overheard and said
Overheard: Me in bathroom stall number 1 overhearing girls in stalls 2 and 3
Girl 2: Those guys are really hot. (pause) I wish I would have worn better underwear.
Girl 3: (pause) Ah, I'm wearing Hanes Her Way.
Me trying not to laugh at the girls while looking down at my Victoria Secret. Lesson: Always be prepared.
Said: conversation between myself and a guy I've gone out with a couple times.
Him: "So, what are you doing tonight?"
Me: "A girlfriend and I are supposed to be going out tonight." (I went out Monday, Thursday, and Saturday.)
Slight pause. "Do you go out a lot?"
Slight pause from me "Um, well, that's kind of subjective."
(I mean, I don't think I go out a lot. ya know?)
Overheard: Walking across campus, guy behind me on his cell phone, I assume talking to a friend.
Him: "When are my student loans due?"
Assume the other person says, six months from the day you graduate.
"Yeah, that scares the shit out of me. I cannot even tell you how much."
Me thinking and nodding knowingly, yeah, you and me both, buddy. You and me both.
Said: Last night at the bar when I attempted to leave at an ungodly early hour.
A round table of guy friends. "Holy hell! PG! You are not leaving! Where do you think you're going? Sit your ass down!"
"Okay, I'll stay, but I refuse to have any more fun."
My best guy friend to the waitress "Get this girl a round of shots."
"Oh, okay. If I must."
Said: Best guy friend to me.
"PG, If I pay you $50 will you punch me out with your right breast?"
"Hell, for you, I'll do it for two easy payments and one difficult payment of
$49.99."
Overheard and said:
Said: by my date upon realizing I knew, and love a band he used to do security for. As a matter fact, it was the first bar band I ever saw. "Wow, you just elevated yourself to a whole new level."
Me: "Yes!"
Overheard: by the radio DJ in the room, "Well, that sounds promising."
My thoughts, "Yes, yes it does."
Said: to my table-full of guy and girlfriends:
(My building shares a hot water heater and my water will mysteriously, and without warning turn from a nice, wake-me-up-in-the-morning-temperature to scalding-melt-my- flesh-off and I have a hand-held shower head.) "So, the other morning, while in the shower, the water turned to scalding and I just about burnt my clit off..."
(Yeah, It was worth the reaction at the table.)
Girl 2: Those guys are really hot. (pause) I wish I would have worn better underwear.
Girl 3: (pause) Ah, I'm wearing Hanes Her Way.
Me trying not to laugh at the girls while looking down at my Victoria Secret. Lesson: Always be prepared.
Said: conversation between myself and a guy I've gone out with a couple times.
Him: "So, what are you doing tonight?"
Me: "A girlfriend and I are supposed to be going out tonight." (I went out Monday, Thursday, and Saturday.)
Slight pause. "Do you go out a lot?"
Slight pause from me "Um, well, that's kind of subjective."
(I mean, I don't think I go out a lot. ya know?)
Overheard: Walking across campus, guy behind me on his cell phone, I assume talking to a friend.
Him: "When are my student loans due?"
Assume the other person says, six months from the day you graduate.
"Yeah, that scares the shit out of me. I cannot even tell you how much."
Me thinking and nodding knowingly, yeah, you and me both, buddy. You and me both.
Said: Last night at the bar when I attempted to leave at an ungodly early hour.
A round table of guy friends. "Holy hell! PG! You are not leaving! Where do you think you're going? Sit your ass down!"
"Okay, I'll stay, but I refuse to have any more fun."
My best guy friend to the waitress "Get this girl a round of shots."
"Oh, okay. If I must."
Said: Best guy friend to me.
"PG, If I pay you $50 will you punch me out with your right breast?"
"Hell, for you, I'll do it for two easy payments and one difficult payment of
$49.99."
Overheard and said:
Said: by my date upon realizing I knew, and love a band he used to do security for. As a matter fact, it was the first bar band I ever saw. "Wow, you just elevated yourself to a whole new level."
Me: "Yes!"
Overheard: by the radio DJ in the room, "Well, that sounds promising."
My thoughts, "Yes, yes it does."
Said: to my table-full of guy and girlfriends:
(My building shares a hot water heater and my water will mysteriously, and without warning turn from a nice, wake-me-up-in-the-morning-temperature to scalding-melt-my- flesh-off and I have a hand-held shower head.) "So, the other morning, while in the shower, the water turned to scalding and I just about burnt my clit off..."
(Yeah, It was worth the reaction at the table.)
Thursday, March 13, 2008
inner dork: randomness
I know, bad PG. No inner dorking, no outter dorkings, no dorkings at all, so bad, so wrong. Bad blog slacking PG.
So, without further ado, here is your inner dorking:
Did you know....
In 1956 the Physical Culture and Sports Commission of communist China recognized the sport of hand-grenade throwing.
During a hundred-meter race, a top sprinter makes contact with the ground only about forty times.
The only sport that takes place on a triangular race-course is sailing.
(I had no idea ponds and lakes came in triangle.)
Eosophobia is a fear of dawn.
(I think I suffer from this disorder.)
A duffle bag got its name because the thick wool originally used to make the bags came from the Belgium town of Duffle.
The difference between a nook and a cranny is that the nook is a corner and the cranny is a crack.
(So, boys, always make sure to cover all the nooks and crannys. Just sayin')
In native Greek, Utopia means "not a place" or "nowhere."
Women's hearts beat faster than men's.
Men get hiccups more often than women do.
Women blink twice as often as men do.
(It was recently pointed out to me, that when I am thinking about something I "blink hard" or, to phrase it better, I close my eyes for a long second. Hmm, I don't think I cleared that up at all.)
A cubic mile of seawater contains, on average, more than $117 million worth of gold and $11 million worth of silver.
(Let's go diving!)
Winters were colder a thousand years ago. In 1063, the River Thames froze for fourteen weeks.
(Yeah, well, I think this winter classifies as "colder". Good Lord, but I am glad spring is almost here.)
The average lifespan of a slug is eighteen months.
(Gosh, but I feel I can complete my day now.)
and last:
Some ribbon worms will eat themselves if they cannot find food.
(And I know some men who wish they could.) (Eat themselves.)
Ta dah! Now, go enjoy your day.
So, without further ado, here is your inner dorking:
Did you know....
In 1956 the Physical Culture and Sports Commission of communist China recognized the sport of hand-grenade throwing.
During a hundred-meter race, a top sprinter makes contact with the ground only about forty times.
The only sport that takes place on a triangular race-course is sailing.
(I had no idea ponds and lakes came in triangle.)
Eosophobia is a fear of dawn.
(I think I suffer from this disorder.)
A duffle bag got its name because the thick wool originally used to make the bags came from the Belgium town of Duffle.
The difference between a nook and a cranny is that the nook is a corner and the cranny is a crack.
(So, boys, always make sure to cover all the nooks and crannys. Just sayin')
In native Greek, Utopia means "not a place" or "nowhere."
Women's hearts beat faster than men's.
Men get hiccups more often than women do.
Women blink twice as often as men do.
(It was recently pointed out to me, that when I am thinking about something I "blink hard" or, to phrase it better, I close my eyes for a long second. Hmm, I don't think I cleared that up at all.)
A cubic mile of seawater contains, on average, more than $117 million worth of gold and $11 million worth of silver.
(Let's go diving!)
Winters were colder a thousand years ago. In 1063, the River Thames froze for fourteen weeks.
(Yeah, well, I think this winter classifies as "colder". Good Lord, but I am glad spring is almost here.)
The average lifespan of a slug is eighteen months.
(Gosh, but I feel I can complete my day now.)
and last:
Some ribbon worms will eat themselves if they cannot find food.
(And I know some men who wish they could.) (Eat themselves.)
Ta dah! Now, go enjoy your day.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Lost the war, concede the battle, win a small victory
The Shade-o-riffic tree is laden with a thick transparent coat of ice and a fresh blanket of snow, the weight of both forces the branches southward.
As I sit on the middle cushion of my big-ugly-comfy couch, blanket wrapped around my knees and feet, holding the over-sized powder blue coffee mug steaming with a freshly poured cup of heavily creamed coffee, I stare. I stare at the branches through my patio doors and will the wind to blow harder. I murmur my secret evil chant to the Global Gods, “blow, wind, blow.” Hoping against all hope that these words will reach up to the snowy, blustery, heavens and the power of my will combined with the powers of my subconscious will make the heavy branches come crashing down to the ground and I will win a small victory against the
Shade-o-riffic tree.
Fall.
Stare longer.
Will the braches to come tumbling down.
See it.
Will it.
Want it.
If I want something bad enough, I need to see it, envision it, isn’t that what all those psycho-babble Oprah-sheep are always espousing? See it, want it, will it.
Wait, am I supposed to write it down? Is “write it down” one of the things they “bah” about?
In my tunnel-vision determination to bring the tree to a shattering cold death, I realize I am missing a crucial step. I place the powder blue coffee mug on a coaster and I search my crappy apartment for a pen and a piece of paper. In my search I wonder if this is how it started for Jack Torrance. How soon did he go crazy after he and his family moved into the Overlook Hotel? How soon? With the vision of “Heeeeere’s, Johnny!” crashing through my door; the crazy one, not Carson, the word “redrum” pours scarlet in my mind. With shock and horror at what I’ve become, a tree hating grad student, I abruptly stop scribbling my missing affirmation on the shredded cover of last semester's environmental public policy book where the crucial words of "wanted dead, not alive," the last step needed to finish my crucifying bullet, falls harmlessly to the floor. I let out a sad, short, disgusted whimper of shame as I shake my head and lower my gaze to the living room carpet where I notice a few lonely speaks of salt and sand combined with several small balls of black sweatshirt fuzz and I realize that in my all consuming one woman staring contest, it has been awhile since I last vacuumed.
I decide that it is time to concede my battle with the Shade-o-riffic tree. It has obviously been here longer than I and it will be here long after I leave, this is victory enough. I raise my coffee mug in a salute and shout, “Live on, you stupid humongous tree! Live on!”
Moments later I dump the corpse of the .5 houseplant into the garbage and change yet another burned-out light bulb in a vain attempt to brighten my perpetually dusk apartment. During the houseplant burial ceremony I vow to kill trees in another more vigorously sinister way; with the printing of research.
As I sit on the middle cushion of my big-ugly-comfy couch, blanket wrapped around my knees and feet, holding the over-sized powder blue coffee mug steaming with a freshly poured cup of heavily creamed coffee, I stare. I stare at the branches through my patio doors and will the wind to blow harder. I murmur my secret evil chant to the Global Gods, “blow, wind, blow.” Hoping against all hope that these words will reach up to the snowy, blustery, heavens and the power of my will combined with the powers of my subconscious will make the heavy branches come crashing down to the ground and I will win a small victory against the
Shade-o-riffic tree.
Fall.
Stare longer.
Will the braches to come tumbling down.
See it.
Will it.
Want it.
If I want something bad enough, I need to see it, envision it, isn’t that what all those psycho-babble Oprah-sheep are always espousing? See it, want it, will it.
Wait, am I supposed to write it down? Is “write it down” one of the things they “bah” about?
In my tunnel-vision determination to bring the tree to a shattering cold death, I realize I am missing a crucial step. I place the powder blue coffee mug on a coaster and I search my crappy apartment for a pen and a piece of paper. In my search I wonder if this is how it started for Jack Torrance. How soon did he go crazy after he and his family moved into the Overlook Hotel? How soon? With the vision of “Heeeeere’s, Johnny!” crashing through my door; the crazy one, not Carson, the word “redrum” pours scarlet in my mind. With shock and horror at what I’ve become, a tree hating grad student, I abruptly stop scribbling my missing affirmation on the shredded cover of last semester's environmental public policy book where the crucial words of "wanted dead, not alive," the last step needed to finish my crucifying bullet, falls harmlessly to the floor. I let out a sad, short, disgusted whimper of shame as I shake my head and lower my gaze to the living room carpet where I notice a few lonely speaks of salt and sand combined with several small balls of black sweatshirt fuzz and I realize that in my all consuming one woman staring contest, it has been awhile since I last vacuumed.
I decide that it is time to concede my battle with the Shade-o-riffic tree. It has obviously been here longer than I and it will be here long after I leave, this is victory enough. I raise my coffee mug in a salute and shout, “Live on, you stupid humongous tree! Live on!”
Moments later I dump the corpse of the .5 houseplant into the garbage and change yet another burned-out light bulb in a vain attempt to brighten my perpetually dusk apartment. During the houseplant burial ceremony I vow to kill trees in another more vigorously sinister way; with the printing of research.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The Power of One: the one woman boycott
I have my causes, the things I care about, the things I'm not willing to put up with, the things I support. Then I have the things I will not support and the causes and things I boycott. It's the power of the one person boycott. (Bows head, outstretches right arm and raises hand into a fist)
I don't have many things I boycott, but I feel strongly about those that I have.
Wal-Mart. Truly, an evil empire. I refer to this evil empire as The Devil Store. I will not shop there; I do not support the evil empire in any way. Horrible, horrible store. Bad on the environment, treats their employees horribly, many of their employees are on welfare to subsudize their income, yet the CEO's of Wal-mart are some of the richest in the world. Boycott has been ongoing for over five years.
Blockbuster. In principle I just do not care for the store. However, several years ago they charged me repeatedly for late fees that I did not owe and claimed, repeatedly, that I did not return movies when I had. So, perhaps not completely justified, because it has more to do with bad training and store policies than anything else, I don't care. Boycott has been ongoing for over seven years.
A local grocery store chain: Has more to do with the fact that the pimple faced kids do not realize that we all have to work, we don't want to, working is not our favorite thing, but we like to have money, and "Hey, how are you?" is a rhetorical question. Boycott is off and on because unfortunately sometimes I do need to shop there, because, unfortunately I like food on Sundays. (My favorite grocery store is closed on Sundays.)
Ethanol gasoline: It's a horrible, horrible, horrible policy. Ethanol sprawl, water run-off, downstream pollution, still uses petroleum; it is not a cheaper fuel. The only reason it is cheaper is because of tax subsidies. Tax breaks for the gas station owners and farmers. It actually costs more and takes more energy to produce one gallon of ethanol than it does to produce one gallon of regular gasoline. Boycott is brand new, about a week. I've thought about it since this past fall, finally my Jiminy Cricket got to me. Do I like paying more at the pump, no. But regular gasoline burns slower, lasts longer; so really, I'm saving money.
PBS: Okay, I do not boycott PBS. I love PBS. But, I did realize, just the other day, that I listen, watch, and throughly enjoy PBS and NPR, but I never give them money to stay on the air. They are public goods and I am a free-rider. I should stop that. The next telethon I've promised myself that I will give a donation. Just seems like the right thing to do.
So, those are a few of mine. Do you all have any one person boycotts?
I don't have many things I boycott, but I feel strongly about those that I have.
Wal-Mart. Truly, an evil empire. I refer to this evil empire as The Devil Store. I will not shop there; I do not support the evil empire in any way. Horrible, horrible store. Bad on the environment, treats their employees horribly, many of their employees are on welfare to subsudize their income, yet the CEO's of Wal-mart are some of the richest in the world. Boycott has been ongoing for over five years.
Blockbuster. In principle I just do not care for the store. However, several years ago they charged me repeatedly for late fees that I did not owe and claimed, repeatedly, that I did not return movies when I had. So, perhaps not completely justified, because it has more to do with bad training and store policies than anything else, I don't care. Boycott has been ongoing for over seven years.
A local grocery store chain: Has more to do with the fact that the pimple faced kids do not realize that we all have to work, we don't want to, working is not our favorite thing, but we like to have money, and "Hey, how are you?" is a rhetorical question. Boycott is off and on because unfortunately sometimes I do need to shop there, because, unfortunately I like food on Sundays. (My favorite grocery store is closed on Sundays.)
Ethanol gasoline: It's a horrible, horrible, horrible policy. Ethanol sprawl, water run-off, downstream pollution, still uses petroleum; it is not a cheaper fuel. The only reason it is cheaper is because of tax subsidies. Tax breaks for the gas station owners and farmers. It actually costs more and takes more energy to produce one gallon of ethanol than it does to produce one gallon of regular gasoline. Boycott is brand new, about a week. I've thought about it since this past fall, finally my Jiminy Cricket got to me. Do I like paying more at the pump, no. But regular gasoline burns slower, lasts longer; so really, I'm saving money.
PBS: Okay, I do not boycott PBS. I love PBS. But, I did realize, just the other day, that I listen, watch, and throughly enjoy PBS and NPR, but I never give them money to stay on the air. They are public goods and I am a free-rider. I should stop that. The next telethon I've promised myself that I will give a donation. Just seems like the right thing to do.
So, those are a few of mine. Do you all have any one person boycotts?
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