Did you ever have a project consume most of your life? Like weeks and weeks at a time and taking up all your life and energy. Let’s compare this to drinking. You start with one drink—or an idea. Then the cute bartender who mixes strong drinks gives you a drink for free. By then, you are starting to get tipsy (or, in this case, intoxicated with the idea). Well, you have already had a few drinks, why not commit to getting drunk?
The next thing you know, you are drunk on the idea, your brother is picking you up at the bar in the middle of the night and you’ve deemed twelve people as your new best friend. Well, now the idea is out of control and it is bigger than you are. You have to commit to it.
When the project or idea is over, you are hung over. You can’t get out of bed. You have no energy. You don’t want to socialize. You just want to sleep. Whether it is a summer job at a Nazi death camp or a book or a film or a museum display, any project can suck the life out of a person. The only way to cope with it is to relax for a week, take two aspirin, and call your friends in the morning.
Earlier this year, I questioned why people stay in relationships, even if the relationship is needy or abusive. Until recently, I couldn’t comprehend why people would be in a relationship that probably isn’t good for them. Now, I have discovered the answer.
First, I need to discuss one of my favorite authors, Richard Yates. Yates’ novels are unique in that they take traditional American dream, like having a job or having a family, and warps it into a dystopic reality. Then, I realized that the main goal of American society, the ultimate sign of success, is to have a spouse and a family. What is a spouse’s origin? The boyfriend/ girlfriend stage.
Whether it is by flashing an engagement ring, publishing it on Facebook, or unknowingly slipping the word “boyfriend” in every other sentence, people, particularly women, like to announce to the world that they are taken.
It doesn’t stop there. The coupled women are always trying to set up their single friends. However, what most coupleds don’t know is that there are two kinds of singles—people who are single by choice and people who are single not by choice.
Now, it isn’t like the singles by choice don’t want to have the same bragging rights as the coupled. There are just a lot of pros to being single like checking out guys at the beach, not having to share every detail of your life with someone or not having to do something someone else wants to do because of the famous compromise. This all sounds very selfish. Then again, isn’t forcing your single friends to listen to how great your boyfriend is even thought he sounds like a douche, really selfish as well?
Let’s discuss hotel rooms. In the beginning of the week, I was thinking how I adore hotels. I wish I could bottle up whatever smell hotel hallways have and make my bedroom smell like that all the time. It smells like a combination of freshly vacuumed carpets, hope and chlorine. Plus, staying in a hotel is like living in the mansion you never had: there’s a pool, a maid, a soft bed, no dogs crushing your legs or bladder and people who will serve you a meal at a phone call.
However, actually staying at a hotel this past week, I remembered all too quickly why my family and I all have separate bedrooms. First of all, there must have been a yeti gene that skipped me, because someone is always setting the air conditioning to what could only be 32°. I say that because my iced green tea from Starbucks next to me isn’t frozen yet, but is perfectly cold, despite being purchased 12 hours ago. And in spite of me being the only one freezing, somehow I’m the always the closet to the air conditioner. After freezing to death for years when I was younger on our annual trips to Ocean City, I finally started to bring thick socks, a long sleeved shirt, a thick sweatshirt and pajama pants to bed but even then I was getting icicles.
The second thing is that you learn things about your family you don’t want to know. And I’m not talking about your brother’s morning “blood circulation” problem. I mean like your mom snores like a ship coming into harbor. Your brother wakes up every few hours screaming like a Vietnam vet when he’s sick. When your dad has been drinking, he and your mom compete in the Olympics of snoring. Your other brother has to fall asleep to the T.V. turned up to just the point where the neighbors won’t complain, but so you can’t fall asleep until he shuts it off. And then there is the neurotic sister who wakes up in the middle of the night, turns on a light and starts reading or writing.
Then, there is the fact that I’m the freak of my family and need to read before bed while everyone else is watching Adult Swim. And just saying, it is hard to read Hemingway while Robot Chicken is blasting.
Finally, think abut the logistics of hotels. They are designed to fit the most amount of people in as little space as possible and lock them up in a small room. Where else does that happen? Prison, zoos and mental hospitals. Oh, and college dorm rooms but at least them, you get your own sheets.
So, next time you’re on a family vacation, don’t forget your parka, the Breathe Right strips and industrial strength ear plugs. Otherwise, you will probably be reading this at 3 A.M. if you can concentrate over Family Guy.
Let’s talk about sizes. There are many sizes a lady has to memorize in order to have her outfit perfectly fitted to her body. Shirt size, pant size, shoe size, bra size, underwear size, ring size, dress size. It is all a mess of numbers.
Then, to add to it all, there are the names of certain sizes. Sure, being labeled as “small” or “medium” sounds nice; it makes you feel better about yourself. I am small, I am medium. Then, with ladies with curves, you are considered “large” or “extra large.” I don’t want to be known as large. I am not large or extra large, I have curves and am probably a D cup. Why isn’t there a size called “curvy” or “non-stick figure”? Elephants are large. SUVs are large. Skyscrapers are large. Women are not large. Why do you think none of us usually admit we are bigger than a medium? Because we don’t want to be labeled as large.
And then there are common misconceptions of pants and dresses, ranging from sizes 00-22. Working in retail, I learned that men’s pants are measured by the inches around their waist. Thus, a man with a 36 inch waste will wear a 36 sized pant. However, women have 00 and 12.What does 00 mean anyway? That you have a less than 0 waist line? Or 12? I am a size 13 and I know my waist isn’t 13 inches around. The common misconception is that any size 12 or up means that a woman is fat or unhealthy. I don’t consider myself either. I work out, I try to stay in shape and my job consists of running around for about 8 hours.
The numbers don’t add up. Shirt size, pant size, shoe size, bra size, underwear size, ring size, dress size. I feel as though, with this particular subject, it is best to ignore numbers. It has worked well with me avoiding math so far.
The common phrase “sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me” is supposed to inspire confidence. I like to believe that this is, pardon my French, a load of crap. If someone throws sticks and stones at you, the wounds will heal but being insulted can stick in the back of your mind for the rest of your life.
Two examples of common phrases that are worse than sticks and stones are “That’s retarded” and “That is so gay.”
I will start with “That is so gay.” “Gay” in this case is supposed to be synonymous with “stupid.” One, homosexuals do not walk around saying “That is so straight,” because it would offend people. So how do you think homosexuals feel when “that is so gay” is used? I know, it is used so often to the point that no one really recognizes what he or she is saying, but it is still offensive. What is wrong with the world stupid? If you mean stupid, say stupid.
And then there is the darling phrase: “That is retarded.” I will give you a scenario for this one. At my place of employment, we were a little hectic in getting ready for the season, which started last week. So, this boy I know had to write the menu for the concession stand by himself. He doesn’t have the best handwriting, but at least he tried. He was told to find someone else to rewrite the sign and he did. Even though the sign has been changed for over a week, his boss decided to still harp on the subject and told the boy that he, and this is a direct quote, “writes like a retard.” Now, the thing that his boss doesn’t know is that the boy has a learning disability that he doesn’t promote about himself, where he has trouble with motor skills, which includes handwriting. The boy didn’t tell his boss the truth and he isn’t one to start trouble, but you can sure as hell believe that his family is very offended. Do not use the word “retard.” You don’t know what people have or what they have gone through. You don’t know who that word would offend. There is not a certain look that a person with special needs has. And even if there was, why would you insult someone like that for having a different way of learning that doesn’t fit the mainstream?
The moral of the story is think before you talk. Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words are something that hurt even more.
The connotation associated with censorship is that it is a bad thing. Opinions also vary on the idea of censorship—some people are for it and others are not. There is one form of censorship that seems to work well with life and that is self censoring our thoughts. We don’t say everything we think in order to spare the feelings of others, to abstain from hurting our own feelings or just to be polite. However, at certain ages, we lose our censors at the expense of others.
I will tell you a story. I have just recently started a job as a waitress to the place I have worked the past 2 summers. I pretty much knew the clientele was of the retired age and older. Sometimes these people are very courteous and other times they love to complain, especially on rainy days. As I was trying to be as nice as possible for a good tip, this couple just blurted out, “The food was better last year.” They said it so nonchalantly, like, “How’s the weather outside?” or “Can I have another drink?” that I was taken aback. I was wondering if they even noticed their bluntness. They seemed fine with what they said, like nothing was wrong with it. I could tell there was not a single ounce of remorse for what they said, thus no censor.
The same can be said of children. If you ever spend time with small children under the age of 7, they don’t keep their mouths shut. There is screaming, yelling and pointing out the blatantly obvious. There is no censor for a child, but as the child grows older, he or she realizes that saying what is in his or her head isn’t right.
Here comes the question of the week. Is it right? Should we suppress our true feelings in order to be polite? Or should we be wise like the elderly or pure like children and just say what we think?
I hate stereotypes. The only place they belong is in literature for secondary characters. If you don’t know what that means, google it. But, ladies, there is one certain stereotype that we must accept is true—luggage.
The stereotype is that women always pack heavily when going on vacation.
Now, before every trip, we make this promise to ourselves to pack lightly, especially if the trip is short. But then we start to pack a tiny bag or suit case and keep thinking, but I will need the second sundress if the weather is nice or one pair of shoes just isn’t enough. Next thing you know, there is a giant suitcase filled with half your wardrobe, including winter clothes even though it is summer.
This process may be flawed, but it seems to work. In the beginning, there is a small bag to start. And sometimes the small bag is all you need. If you need a bigger bag, don’t hesitate. Usually I find, if you think you need to pack something and you don’t, you usually end up needing it at some point during your trip.
It is just a fact of life that women pack a lot. The stereotype is that not all women pack a lot. But over-packing isn’t always a bad thing. You know if you go with a man and his one duffle bag, he always forgets everything. So, technically you are packing for two.
It is a tradition that women pack heavily. And you don’t mess with tradition.
Our lives are filled with decisions. Each decision alters our lives in some way. If it is going left on the fork in the road instead of right, going to the bank today instead of tomorrow, stopping to fill up the tank later instead of now, fate has been altered. And so has the fate of others.
For a wide known example, I will pick on Representative Anthony Weiner and, well, his wiener. If you have been living not only under a rock but 60 feet underground as well, the man cheated on his pregnant wife with Facebook and Twitter cyber-sex. This seems like something that would only affect Representative Weiner and his wife, but it does not.
What about the women he cheated with? Won’t they be embarrassed that their intimate conversations are now published on the web and print media?
What about the Weiners’ future child? How will he or she feel about his/her father not being around over a few lewd pictures?
What about the people who supported Weiner? Do they feel like idiots for supporting a dishonorable man? Or are they even surprised?
What about the journalist who had to skip his or her child’s concert or football game in order to cover this breaking news.
What the Facebook and Twitter users? Will the standards on this websites be changed so that a scandal like this couldn’t happen again? Changes of the rules of Facebook and Twitter would affect everyone who uses the social networks.
One decision from one man sparked a slew of reactions from multiple people. It only takes one domino pushed to make them all fall down. Then the effect keeps growing hitting multiple people as it spirals downhill and out of control. So next time you are about to make a decision, stop and think—who’s life am I about to alter?
When you are eight, you count down the days to them. When you are twenty, you can’t wait till them. When you are thirty-nine, you celebrate the same one three or four times. That’s right, I am talking about birthdays. The day that everyone gathers around to celebrate the moment you came out of your mother and remind you how many years ago that was.
Last year, for obvious reasons, I was ecstatic for my birthday to come along. Mostly because most of my friends had already hit the big 21 and I was still annoyingly 20. As of recently though, birthdays aren’t as fun as they used to be. It seems, as we get older, birthdays just become reminders of one step closer to death.
If you haven’t caught on, I feel old at the age of 22. But why should I? With my genes, that probably isn’t even a quarter of my lifetime. It is not like I have a shorten life in front of me. I am just starting; after all, college just ended three weeks ago.
I can trace the insecurities about age though. Society sets standards for certain ages. At ten, we should get more responsibilities. At thirteen, we should be in the middle of puberty. At sixteen, we need to have a license. At eighteen, we are adults. At twenty one, we should start drinking. By forty, we should be married with children. By sixty five, we should retire. Every age is planned for us, deciphered for us about what stage of life we should be in.
But I say we should take on the stages we are prepared for, even if this deems us as immature or too mature. If everyone is unique, then every age is unique. No one can tell you that you are old. Only you can deem that yourself. You can be a young 85 or an old 25. It all depends on you.
So, if you didn’t know, you all died a week ago. I know, barely different from being alive, right?
If you are like me, you knew the world wasn’t really going to end, but at least thought it would be a good party theme. Or, if you’re my mom, a good reason to drink.
The prediction, made by Family Radio owner, horrible mathematician and Hugh Hefner impersonator, Harold Camping, stated that at 6 p.m. on May 21st, the world would be thrown into earthquakes that would open the graves of the dead. Not to mention, Evil Jesus would come back down to Earth to judge people. This isn’t like judge a beer pong competition or white t-shirt competition. This is whether you should go to heaven or hell, kind of an important topic. And the sad part is that people were actually seriously depressed, needing counseling because May 22nd arrived.
The world ending brought some cheerful thoughts from my recent college grad friends—no paying off giant loans, no more headaches searching for a job. But, again, they weren’t taking this serious.
If you remember, the world has another expiration date—December 21, 2012, determined by the Mayan calendar, who truthfully probably just got tired of counting. Wouldn’t you? I mean, that they even got all the way to 2012 is impressive.
Now, here is my point, besides that people are crazy. The world is going to end one day. This is true. But you can’t go on living like it is going to end today. Predicting the end of the world isn’t something people should be wasting their time on. Live each and every day like it is important, no matter what. That doesn’t mean you have to go out and spend ridiculous amounts of money or go on vacation with your family because you know you won’t have to pay the bill since there is no future. What is your excuse? To quote one of my favorite musicals, Rent, no day but today.
Now that graduation is over, there is something harder to face. No, I am not talking about searching for a job, even though that is pretty hard. I am referring to cleaning your room.
Once upon a time, your room fit your personality. And that time was in high school. And sure, you have occasionally cleaned up over the summer. But the fact is that your room has barely changed since senior year of high school and now you are trying to move in all your dorm room stuff into a high school student’s room.
I have already made a trip to Goodwill with all the stuff that needs to go (mostly shirts, as my roommates know, I have a ton of shirts) and I need to schedule another one. Not to mention it has almost been a week since I graduated and my room is still a mess.
I am ready to call Hoarders Buried Alive, Extreme Homemaker or What Not to Wear for someone else to clean out my mess of a closet. Or at least have Romeo pick out all the things he doesn’t eat, I can keep.
The hardest thing is the real message behind unpacking and that is growing up. All those things you kept as a child/ teenager don’t hold the same importance anymore. It is a sad thing, but again a happy thing. You are growing up, already sneaking peaks of furniture at Pottery Barn or, my favorite, Target.
Then there is the thought that how much stuff could possibly fit in my bedroom? I believe closets are like Mary Poppins’ bag—bottomless.
My advice to all those people in the same situation is to keep plugging away. At some point, your room will look the way you want it. Then you will probably move out and have to start it all over again. Or, if you’re like me, and your little brother is graduating in two weeks and the party is at your house, you better listen to your mom when she says it NEEDS to be done by then.
I am graduating tomorrow. Yes, as in 24 hours from now. However, I am not the only one in my family who is part of the class of 2011. My youngest brother, Kevin, is graduating in two weeks. Here is some advice I have for Kevin and the other class of 2011ers going in to college.
Forget high school, college is the best four years of your life
Yes, you get to sleep in until your first class, which may not even be until 2 pm
Don’t worry about not having any friends at first because everyone is very friendly the first couple of days because they are in the same situation
You probably won’t get along with your first roommate. It’s okay. It is hard to get along with someone while you are both undergoing a new experience
Your dorm will be the size of a closet freshman year, no matter where you go. It will get bigger each year.
Learn how to do laundry before you go off to school
Fine Arts classes does not guarantee it will be fun
Ditto creative writing
Try to get a job during your freshman year. It helps you make new friends and the extra money doesn’t hurt
If you do get a job, do not over-work yourself. There’s a reason most jobs in college only allow you to work 20 hours a week.
The library is the only place you will find silence and, even then, it is a 50/50 chance.
Try to participate in every opportunity that comes your way. No regrets.
If you insist on drinking, always bring a buddy.
Wear flip flops in the shower. You will figure out why.
Just because the university/ college hands out a list of what to bring to your first dorm room doesn’t mean you bring it all.
Take pictures of everything
Make sure you have fun because you’ll be paying off this four year bill for a very long time.
Going to class ups your grade. Not lying. So don’t skip immense amount of classes.
You get out of college what you put in. If you don’t read or never go to class, you’re never going to learn anything. And, let’s face it, you are paying a lot for school so you might as well learn something.
The syllabus should come with a disclaimer that says “will only partially stick to this schedule.”
Pay attention to the building names or you’ll be dreadfully lost.
People can tell you’re a freshman when you wear your lanyard containing your keys and ID around your neck.
Start a quote book.
And my super, awesome, spectacular advice that no one will ever give you is…
Don’t get a dog the summer before your senior year, expect your parents to take care of it, and then insist that you aren’t going to miss the crap out of him/her when your gone.
In honor of my newest blog, http://gensisincstory.blogspot.com/, there will not be a posting this week. Instead, go over to http://gensisincstory.blogspot.com/ and read some fabulous fiction about reincarnation. How Long Have You Been Working On That Novel will return next week with a special graduation post. Until then, enjoy two chapters of fiction.
It is nearing the end of the school year and the “World’s Coming to an End” syndrome is going around. There are many ways which people deal with the end nearing. Here are just a few:
The Its 5 o’clock Somewhere Crowd—the people who have totally given up on going to class or doing any work. Most of their days are spent tanning in this lovely weather, drinking beer, hosting barbeques and playing golf. All I have to say, it must be nice to be these kind of people without a care in the world. But you will be screwed when it comes down to the final days of finals.
The Library Group—Yes, I noticed all of you spending hours in the library, hoping it would help. They carry around oversized backpacks with all this year’s books and their laptops. Then, when they finally make it to the library, they on Facebook, AIM and Twitter to announce to the world they are here to work and, subsequently, get stuck in conversations and get little to no work done. My advice would be to leave the technology at home and write out the paper by hand (archaic, I know). At the very least, don’t connect to the internet and I guarantee you’ll get more done.
The Doom Sayers—The people who crowd Academic Services and the Writing Center, because, most likely, they slacked off the majority of the semester and are all now Chicken Littles, proclaiming the sky is falling. Relax. If you look at the amount of work you have as a whole, you will never get anything done. If you tackle thing one by one, then you will be fine.
The Sentimentalists—This usually applies to only seniors or people transferring. They try to capture everything with a sigh, stating over-sugary sweet proclamations like, “This is our last trip to Keene.” When you know, a few months ago, they were saying, “Keene sucks I can’t wait to get out of here.” To these people, take a picture, it lasts longer.
The G-Word Bombers—Also applies to seniors. Those few jittery people who either become depressed when you mention graduation or freak out. To these people, get over it! Seriously. Everything happens for a reason. There is a reason for this new chapter in your lives.
Isn’t it funny when you look back on old school assignments and see what you wanted to be when you grew up? I know, personally, my aspirations included being an elephant, a Spice Girl, a teacher and a writer. Some of these goals lose their thunder after a while, especially when you discover that, as a human, there is no physical way you can grow up to be an elephant. Others stick with us, like, for me, being a writer.
This is a topic I have been thinking about a lot lately with graduation, gulp, three weeks and counting. I wonder how I went from elephant to Spice Girl to teacher to writer to editor. I tell everyone that I want to be an editor because I used to love correcting my mom’s tests, but after seeing the hostile environment that comes along with teaching, I could never do it.
Then, there are always those people who laughed at your dreams. I am guilty of this whole-heartedly. When my little brother told me he one day wanted to be a fry cook like Spongebob, I told him he needed to get his butt to culinary school. Well, karma struck back on that one, because guess what I do three nights a week for $7 an hour? You guessed it. I’m a fry cook.
You have to wonder though, do recessions take away our “when I grow up” dreams? Does money and power standing intervene on achieving our dreams? Do you really think the CEO of ExxonMobil or one of those lovely Wall Street stockbrokers dreamed of being just that when they were kids? I’ll tell you a secret. I don’t think they did.
I have noticed something the last few weeks of school. When you mention a Kindle to an English major, he or she glares at you like you were the one to shoot Bambi’s mother. Not even kidding. So I decided to dedicate this week’s blog to:
Why This English Major Decided to Get A Kindle
Free books— The day I got my Kindle, I downloaded 22 books for $1.95. Why is that? Twenty of them were free. Yes, isn’t that wonderful? Most of the classics are either free or relatively cheap, which will definitely help when you have that B.A. in English and living near poverty level.
Multiple books—I pretty much accepted early on in life that I was going to have back problems like my mom because of all the books I carry around. During school, I am usually reading at least three novels at once, more out of necessity than need. I’ll go to work with one novel then really wish I brought one of the other ones instead. With the Kindle, I can carry around a hundred books and not break my back.
Borders closing—Along with Uno’s and Blockbuster, Borders has joined among the ranks of things I love and died during the recession. The one near my house is closing, thus making the next closest one in a different state. And I refuse to go to the Barnes and Noble. Now, I can download books without getting shipping charges from Amazon.
I hate small print—Yes, I will admit. You all feel the same way. When you read a novel and there is small print, it becomes associated with difficulty, or at least it comes across as really condensed. I like my font the same size as Times New Roman size 12 font at least. It makes it easier to read and thus more enjoyable.
The Kindle is not a death to books, but just makes books more accessible. I promise, owning one won’t kill books, maybe just kill less trees.
There is something about the morning that smells good. Fresh coffee, sizzling bacon, flipped pancakes, the first burst of spring air, still fresh with dew and wonderfulness. Or, if like me, you chose the cereal route for breakfast because it is less expensive and quicker, there is always the morning commute.
I know, you are thinking, you live on a college campus, what commute would that be? Keep in mind, this is New Hampshire and everything is up hill. My school takes pity on seniors, who live the farthest away from campus, and provide a shuttle that takes them up two monsterous hills to the main campus.
Now that we are all caught up, time to discuss the morning commute. Everyone smells really good. Some have probably stepped out of the shower five minutes ago. Some are donning expensive perfumes/colognes like Dolce & Gabana or Calvin Klein. And all these wonderful scents mask the stale leather seats of the tin can shuttle.
My friend and I were once lucky enough to sit in front of this guy who smelled amazing. I wanted to ask what he was wearing so I could get it for my boyfriend at the time. Because, truthfully, if I smelled that everyday, it would be amazing. The guy was soon gone, which depressed me and my nose. I haven't seen him since; he is the illusive good-smelling guy-- like Big Foot with a gift card to Express.
So when you are stuck on the stifled morning commute, or just coming into work, take a sniff. Breathe it in. Smells good, right? And if you do find that delicious smelling perfume or cologne, ask the girl/guy what she/he is wearing. Don't let good-smelling Big Foot escape from you.
I know most of my entries are about weather. But I live in New England, weather is a big part of our lifestyle, as is Dunkin Donuts. Snowing in April is something that is actually commonplace but I must admit, this is not ideal.
In March, the month that comes in like a lion….and truthfully comes out like lion if you look outside your window….it went from snowing to 65° weather to light jacket weather to flip flops to what the fuck. However, I am not one to complain about snow days and here are some options if you feel bored already:
Shake and bake. I usually have the urge to bake things on snow days. Like a last dying wish urge to make brownies. Usually I avoid the baking and go straight towards my world famous bacon mac and cheese, because I know my neighbors will make sure that there is nothing left with it after I am done, which is good because no one wants leftover mac and cheese everywhere.
Have a movie day. My roommate loves Harry Potter and she has been slowly exposing me to her culture. We have watched the first four movies on the lazy weekends of last semester. Today, we watched the fifth and proceeded to make fun of both Cedric Diggory’s death and applying Bostonian accents to random characters (i.e. professa).
Kindle party. I recently got a Kindle from Amazon and joined the Kindle club of Lakeview 25, which consists of me, Katie and Caitlin. Caitlin and Katie had their Kindles out and were reading free books and celebrating having both free books and not having school.
Play outside. It’s snowing and you have all this snow gear, what are you going to do? Yes, even in college, building a snow man is as fun as it was when you were five. We throw snowballs, build snow men and women and make snow angels. Not to mention this one time where one of my friends chased after another during a snow ball fight. It was a hunt to say the least.
You know the people—the ones who update their statuses every hour and their statuses are nothing but complaining. And it is always about minor things like how their lives are ending because they didn’t get a Hershey bar today or someone looked at them funny, probably because that someone was squinting in the sun. Those friends, the ones you like to occasionally hang out with but a lot of the time, you wish they would leave because they definitely overstayed their welcome with whining. Everyone had at least one of these friends. I, in my countless moments on Facebook, have recently discovered a better way to deal with them.
You could see that every one of “those” friends’ statuses as entertainment. Not everyone can get home in the afternoon for soap operas, and even if you did, why would you want at least 3 weeks of episodes dedicated to the drama of Christmas then, all of a sudden, it’s Valentine’s Day. I personally like my Christmas to be over by December 26th, thank you very much. Look at those friends’ statuses as free entertainment that you can access anytime—the real life drama of not getting a Hershey bar. It’s almost like Days of Our Lives moving to Hulu.
When Plan A stops being amusing and/or Plan B fails miserably, there is always my personal favorite, Option C. There is this fabulous setting on Facebook where you can “Hide All” one person’s statuses. (Click the “x” next to the person’s status and it gives the option, in case you were wondering). Option C still allows you to be friends with that friend, but puts a wall up so they cannot overstay his or her welcome. You can occasionally pop over to whiner-land and check their Facebook and see how things are going bur you don’t have to be constantly hear the complaining. It is definitely a wonderful tool. I only wish it could be used in real life sometimes….
The phrase spring break brings to mind different things for different people. There are many ways to spend this beautiful week and here are a few days to do it:
Going Someplace Warm--er-- Although the weather is warming up and the snow is melting, some people go south for the spring--break. I watched last week as people packed up their cars in flip flops and winter jackets (after all, there was still snow on the ground) for warmer weather; to foreign places like Cancun, the Bahamas, Florida. This is the stereotypical view of how college students spend their spring breaks, but do remember not all college students can afford the lavish luxury of Florida.
Becoming Sleeping Beau or Beauty-- This is the natural reaction to a vacation. Sleeping 12+ hours a day, catching up on all that beauty sleep that was deprived during those late nights and all nighters. However, as soon as you get back to school and get back into a routine, things become more tiring and more hectic.
Doing Homework--Worst idea to spend your spring break. Yes, you can get ahead for the next few weeks of school. But, breaks are for resting and relaxing. Why ruin that to get ahead? You will just end up feeling stressed the next week ahead, because you didn't get rest.
Catching Up-- Probably the best way to spend a break. Sleeping, eating, shopping, catching up with people you haven't seen for a long time.
Applying for Jobs-- Graduation is only 2 months away...
Through scientific research, consisting of me creeping on people, I have come to the conclusion—everyone is busy. Anywhere in the world right now, people are busy. That is right, it is spreading. It’s probably oozing through your walls and seeping into your air supply as you are reading this. But please, don’t stop breathing. I don’t want you to pass out before I reach my point.
Now, a plethora of people are busier than others but are busy nonetheless. However, I find that people will have verbal contests to determine who is busier. Person A will say, “I have to work then go to six classes in one day with five midterms.” Person B will reply, “Well, I have to work three jobs today and go to eight classes with nine midterms even though I am only taking five courses.” It gets ridiculous. And if you are thinking right now I don’t that, then you’re a dirty liar. I will admit, I do this A LOT without even noticing it. Even if I know the person on the end probably has as much work as I do. It wasn’t until my friends pointed it out in a not so subtle conversation in a McDonald’s parking lot that I even noticed I was doing it.
In truth, we all have things on in our lives that other people don’t understand. You can’t determine what is going on in other people’s lives nor can you determine if your things are more bountiful and/or more difficult. (Unless you are comparing your life to my parents’ dog, Carlie, who sleeps all day, because you probably are busier than her. If you creep on my Facebook, or at least see my dad’s comments on my wall, then you understand Romeo is also busy tearing down wallpaper and/or opening the zipper on his dog bed and eating the foam inside). In my experience, if you tell someone he or she is not as busy as you or not busy at all, he or she will not react well.
If you really do want a blood thirsty zombie in front of you who wants to tear out your throat and have it as a light snack, then tell someone he or she is not busy. Or you could be smart and understand someone else’s busy-ness is none of your business.
“My baby will be turning a year old in March, he has beautiful black hair and is such a good boy.” “Isn’t he a dog?”
I will be the first to admit that I am obsessed with my dog. Like, not even in a joking matter, he is my baby. All my pictures on my phone of are him or stained glass pieces I made of him. His name is Romeo Jude Paul, he will be a year old on March 24th, he hates noises like sighing, loves his bffl Carlie who is not too fond of him and he is starting obedience lessons soon. However, as an avid dog lover, I feel there is a fine line between loving your dog and loving your dog too much. Here is a little list I pieced together:
Clothing—I am not taking about sweaters that people sometimes have to whip out when the temperature is in the negatives and they don’t want their dog to freeze to death. I’m talking about full on frilly outfits that they always have on clearance at Petco because not everyone is crazy enough to buy them. Chances are your dog doesn’t want to wear clothes and will try to take them off by rubbing against things. Sometimes he or she succeeds. This should be a sign. Don’t dress your dog!
Letting the Dog Drive—There have been many instances that I have seen someone drive by and there, sitting in the driver’s seat, in the driver’s hand is a dog. This is not necessary. Your dog will be just as if not more comfortable in the back or passenger’s seat. For those of you saying your dog likes to sit in the driver’s seat, so did Romeo when I first got him but my mom and I trained him to sit in the back when we are driving.
Professional Photographs of Your Dog— This is something parents do with children, not dogs and that is the way it should be. Your photographs of your dog are enough. Trust me. They were taken with love, which is truthfully, more than a photographer can capture. Please do not take your dog to Sear’s every year for his or her annual photograph.
Throwing Your Dog a Birthday Party—I will be the first to admit, I make a big deal of my dog’s birthday. By big deal I have my mom say happy birthday to Carlie or Romeo, because I am not home, and may post it on Facebook. I bet there are people out there who have big blowouts for their dogs complete with cake, invitations and party hats. Though I have never witnessed one, I bet they are out there. Your dog does not know what is going on. He or she is not a child and won’t remember ten years from now that you forgot his or her birthday.
I do crazy things for my dogs because I love both Romeo and Carlie. However, there are people who have a little too much love for their dogs. It is okay to tone down the love. I promise, you won’t turn into Michael Vick if you do.
One of my favorite things to do is online window shopping. I adore it. There’s something about looking through thousands of outfits without getting out of your pajamas or your computer chair that seems a million times better than the mall. Another wonderful thing about window shopping is being able to put your items in your “shopping bag,” seeing how much it will all cost you and opting out for the cheapest route by not buying anything.
I am one of those online window shoppers who receives all the e-mails and Facebook messages about what’s on sale, what is new, stuff like that. And lately I have been stalking these e-mails thoroughly because I’m hunting for a graduation dress. Then I saw this little treasure from one of the stores I usually shop: Prairie Romance wear.
When you see something called Prairie Romance wear on your computer in the 21st century, excuse my language, but you sure as hell look into it. I clicked the magic link that brought me to an eye sore of floral, plaid, tans and roses, and some Amish looking hats. I love fashion as much as the next crazed 20-something girl who wakes up at 9am on a Saturday so she can get to the clothes first and faster, but the amount of floral hurt my eyes just glancing at it. I might have to actually wear my glasses now to heal my corneas.
I too went through the I-wear-grandma’s-couch-as-a-dress days back in the early nineties when I didn’t actually dress myself. But these women parading around in floral cocktail dresses, pearls, leather high heels and socks with bows on them actually got paid to do it. What’s even worse it if someone actually bought it.
Granted, most of my knowledge comes from the Little House on the Prairie books, but I am sure women on the prairie never had frilly socks, cocktail dresses or pearls when they were walking miles for clean water, working back-breaking long hours in the garden for like four potatoes, giving birth to ten children or constantly sweeping all that dirt out of their constant dusty log cabins.
What’s next fashion world? Civil war wear for the modern day working woman?
It was that time of year on Monday. V Day. VD Day. Happy Single’s Awareness Day. Whatever you call it, there is no way in avoiding the very secular holiday of Valentine’s Day. Across my travels and observations of the last 21 years, I have discussed there are many different ways in which a person can celebrate Valentine’s Day. Here are a few:
The We-Aren’t-Going-to-Get-Each-Other-Something-But-If-You-Don’t-I’ll-Be-Pissed: Long title, I know. It is long for a reason too, because you can’t capture the magic of the Valentine practice without it. You know the couple. The ones that say they are so secure about their relationship, they don’t need one day out of the year to prove their love for each other. Blah, blah, blah. Then, the 14th comes around and there is no flowers, chocolate, Hallmark card and/or giant stuffed bear and they are pissed at each other for a week until they literally kiss and make up. Trust me, it happens. My advice to you: Talk. There’s nothing more to say. Tell your significant other that you want something—even a hand written card would work. There’s no shame in telling that special someone you like the holiday.
The Flashers: Yep, this sounds dirty, but it really isn’t. I needed the term to empathize my point. Do I have your attention? Good. Flashers are those people who go out and buy/receive a dozen red roses, get that large box of Whitman’s, and get a ridiculously giant sized bear that will probably be a size nuisance in about three weeks. They are the people who show everyone that they are in a relationship. My advice: though I am happy you have found love and are enthusiastic about it, turn it down a little. Just for the rest of us. We live in this world too. Let’s share.
The Super Secret Anonymous Valentine: We’ve all seen these in movies. The girl/guy who gets flowers delivered or a loving note and wonders—who is this from? Who could have a crush on me? *Insert blush here* Even though that person knows that it is Johnny from chemistry class who has been sneaking you heart-felt glances every so often. My advice: do what you will. If you like this person, go for it. If you don’t, then don’t do anything. The choice is really up to you. Sometimes it is just easier for someone to admit their true feelings when the environment calls for it.
The Cupids: Goes along with the super secret anonymous valentine. The Cupid is the carrier of the cards, the flaunter of the flowers, the teddy bear benefactor. This is the person who surprises that special someone. My advice: Good for you. You keep the spirit of this holiday alive by showing love and risk. It may or may not pay off, but at least you tried and that is what matters most.
The Passers: These are those people who really really really hope that guy/girl will ask them out on such a romantic occasion. We’ve all had that friend with the sick fantasies about a relationship that is probably going to never happen because your friend doesn’t realize he/she has to make the first move. My advice to you: Don’t sit by. He/she does NOT have telekinesis. Use your words.
The Ba-Humbuggers: These are the people are those ones that draw the blinds, stay in their pajamas all day and curse the day the card company ever decided this was a holiday. Most likely, the Humbugger has a pint of Ben and Jerry’s or two. My advice to this people: you do have people who love you, such as friends, parents, pets, who appreciate you and love you and you should repay them back. The world will not end because you don’t have a significant other.
The “Friendly” Fiend: This is the person who gets all those Valentine joys from a multitude of gentlemen/lady callers. The person others call very “lovable” to be nice. My advice: save some men/ladies for the rest of us, please!
Do some calculations and be honest with yourself. I’m sure you will discover which one you are. I’ll let you guess which one I was this Valentine’s Day. I will give you a hint—I got flowers.
Some of you probably read my article from December that expressed my desperation for a snow storm. Fast forward into the future and here I am, walking around snow banks that are taller than me. And the kicker is, we didn’t have to sacrifice anyone to the snow gods—this actually came naturally.
Now a majority of you remembered that last week was Groundhog’s Day. You don’t recall? Well, maybe that is because the groundhog was buried in snow because of that day’s snow storm.
When I was younger, a.k.a. when I was in high school, I used to wish more than anything that the groundhog would not see its shadow. I remember from the show Little Bear that used to be on Nick Jr. that a shadow scared away the groundhog and that no shadow didn’t (probably youtube the video and you won’t forget). So I wished and wished and wished. And every single year the groundhog saw his shadow and went to sleep for another six weeks. Now, I have no objections for sleeping a little later, but WAKE UP, GROUNDHOG! It is time to be out and about, dancing around and making all that snow do away.
I must say, the worst part about this winter/spring situation is that, since I live on the third floor of a house, I wake up in the morning and the sun is shining and the temperature is controlled to a nice 71° inside. I instantly believe it is spring. Then I look outside at the ground and the red fire hydrant across the street is almost completely covered in snow and the bleak trees stand like ugly toothpicks jutting out of the ground. I want warmth! I want color! I want spring! I want fruit every color of the rainbow. I want to drink outside while basking in the natural warmth of the sun. I want the little golden dandelions budding from luscious grass. I want the slackers sitting outside, blaring music and tanning when they are supposed to be in class.
Six more weeks of winter (but probably more) might mean a sacrifice to the spring gods.
During the 36,838,783 snow days we have had lately, my roommates and I have decided to turn to exercise videos for our daily dose of activity. The gym, or “bubble” as many of you know from here it as, is still open during snow days, but it is a 20 minute walk from senior housing on a day with no snow. One of my roommates suggested we use the exercise video her and her mom use at home and, with it being a lazy snow day, we all agreed.
First of all, I need to say that this video is not your mother’s jazzercise video from the late 80’s/early 90’s where a woman who is or looks like Paula Abdul is wearing a one piece, brightly colored spandex leotard. However, the video we used, Walking with Leslie Sansone, did claim to have “hit music,” which it did—from the 1970’s. Basically, the concept of the video is to walk three miles in place and burn a lot of calories.
It began with two of my roommates, Daniela and Katie, and me, walking in the middle of our cramped living room with the curtains drawn. Two more of my roommates, C.C. and Ylianna, walked in to make lunch for themselves, but they also started walking with Leslie.
Then chaos ensued.
For one, the five of us created a new exercise position called “The New Yorker,” where one power walks in place with a cell phone in one hand and a trenta in the other (which A. if you haven’t heard of a trenta, it is the new 31 oz. size from Starbuck’s and B. one of the roommates walking, C.C., is from Brooklyn and has admittedly done “The New Yorker” on occasion).
Secondly, we created new names for the women in the music video. Katie, who owned the video said that her and her mom called the fitness instructor, Leslie, Sarah Celine, because she looks like Celine Dion and sounds like Sarah Palin (which is so true, google the woman if you don’t believe me). So, coming into this, we knew we were walking with Sarah Celine. Even though Sarah Celine mentioned all the names of the walkers with her on many instances, we all assigned names to them anyways. There was a woman who looked like Liza Minnelli, who we named “Liza.” There was a woman named Mary, who Sarah Celine said, and I quote, “Mary and I love tag teaming together,” in reference to letting Mary take control of the exercise for two minutes; thus, she became “Tag Team Mary.” There was a woman named Jo, who Sarah Celine referenced to as “Grandma Jo” and the name stuck. And then there was a 60 year old woman named Carol, who lost 65 pounds, and who Sarah Celine kept making fun of the entire video and we came up with a scenario that Carol would come in with a gun.
If this wasn’t bad enough, we assigned each other characters of the video. Katie became Sarah Celine because she knew the video better than the rest of us. C.C. became Carol, because it is her last name and because Carol had a gun (we tease C.C. that because she is from Brooklyn, she carries a gun). Daniela became Liza, because Liza was the only brunette in the video in a sea of blondes and Daniela was acting like she was a non-conformist. Ylianna became Sarah Celine’s daughter, Maria, because that is her middle name. And I got the reward of being Tag Team Mary, because Katie and I used to share a room last year.
In the end, the exercise video became more interesting because we were doing it as friends, together, and doing crazy stuff. And luckily, to counter the same repetitious cycle of a single video, Katie bought more. I think I can hear those 1970’s hits starting up…time for Sarah Celine!
I read Jane Eyre last semester and a statement that my teacher said has been weighing on my mind lately: In the 18th century, it was better to be married than single, even if the marriage was violent. I have been thinking of this subject a lot lately, especially while watching Sex and the City, and I have come to the conclusion that you could edit that declaration into “In the 21st century, it is better to be in a relationship than single, even if the relationship is violent.”
Ok, the divorce rate now is 50% and people are waiting till their 30s or 40s to get married, which was not even thinkable in Charlotte Brontë’s time. But think about the times we live in where “in an open relationship” and “it’s complicated” are valid choices for a relationship on Facebook and in society. The term “sex buddies” or “f*ck buddies” are common terminologies for society.
With the terms “sex buddies,” “in an open relationship,” and “it’s complicated” being the norm, the definitions that go with them are pretty much self explanatory—it’s a relationship without the committed. As common as the terminology is the repercussions of a non-committed relationship: someone always gets hurt. Someone always feels a connection with the other person and thinks that if he or she stays with the other person, then there will magically be a happily ever after with a relationship. However, deep down inside, that someone knows that the non-committed relationship will end in tragedy.
The question I am presenting today is, if someone knows he or she will be hurt, then why go through it? Is a non-committed relationship really better than being single? It seems to me that people are trying to escape from being alone, even if he or she knows that the relationship can’t end well. Is being single that scary that one is willing to hurt him or herself?
Jane Eyre still applies to today. Being in sex buddies, it’s complicated or in an open relationship with seems like a luxury, but this will only end in Titanic tragedy.
While I was home during winter break, I saw my little brother, Kevin, who is a senior in high school, doing things that made me remember my senior year of high school. I wouldn’t say I was nostalgic for high school, but I was reminded of what I used to do compared to my senior year in college now. And let me tell you, senior year of high school was a trip to Disney World compared to senior year in college. (And I’m not saying this because I actually did go on a trip to Disney World in senior year of high school).
When I was a senior in high school, everyone told you your options for the future. In my high school, everyone went to college. Whether they stayed in college was a different topic that was unspoken of. The SATs were something everyone knew about. The guidance counselor would help you with the application process and it only cost 50¢ to send a transcript. Now, senior year in college, no one tells you about the GREs, the general entrance exam to get into grad school. In fact, no one really tells you about the process of getting into grad school, transcripts cost $10, and, to get a job, you need to go searching for someone to help you.
Also, when I was a senior in high school, there was little or no homework. Thus, I could work and I wouldn’t be overwhelmed. During senior year of college, the idea of “free time” doesn’t really exist. I find myself working till 11pm and waking up at 6am in order to just get my homework done for one class the next day.
Another thing about being a senior in high school that was so great was the fun of it being the last year of high school. There was yearbook, superlatives, prom, semis, getting out of school early and more. There was a lot more things to look forward to and to have fun. In college, you work non-stop until graduation and, as soon as that is over, you need to get a job or get into grad school, because you are on your own afterward.
The immense amount of responsibilities associated with senior year in college is directly linked with getting older. Senior year of high school, I was 17 years old. Senior year of college, I am 21 years old. There are certain things that come with being 21 that you didn’t have to worry about when you were 17. But these responsibilities are just a pre-test for the real world, which is 4 months away. My advice to seniors in high school—enjoy it while you can.
Recently, the love of my life, my puppy Romeo was neutered. And, as a concerned mommy, I googled on how he would feel after the surgery. The back story to this being that I have had fluffy white little girl dogs my entire life and, although I had been old enough to understand their surgeries, I was totally clueless when it comes to male dogs. I went on several websites and they all seemed to say the same things, and so did my vet, so I believed them. And, as I found out when Romeo came home, it was all LIES. Here are some of the misconceptions I discovered:
Your dog will be lethargic, due to the atheistic, after the surgery for a few days.
Let me tell you, I absolutely love Romeo, but I was excited about this news. Every time I turn around, he is in the garbage, peeing, or battling Carlie. I was ecstatic about Romeo maybe taking a little nap. I even set up a little comfortable bed for him where I could keep an eye on him and he could relax. But this, of course, was a lie. As soon as I put Romeo down on the floor at home, he started running around, chasing Carlie and playing with his toys.
Your dog may have a loss of appetite, so make him food that is soft and appealing.
I was planning ahead of time, freaking out that I didn’t have any hamburger, like the website suggested, to feed him. After his surgery, I gave Romeo his normal dinner and he ate it all. The only special circumstances I had to perform for Romeo with food was to put his bowl on a carpet, so he could sit comfortably and eat.
Your dog may be aggressive towards other pets.
This was probably the worst news I heard, because, obviously, we have two dogs in my household. I thought Carlie and Romeo would need to be separated until Romeo healed, which could be anywhere between two days and two weeks. But, of course, this was a lie. Carlie was the one growling and barking at Romeo, because of his “cone of shame.” And Romeo, being the sweetheart as he is, tried to give Carlie kisses.
So, this may not all be lies. Romeo is probably a freak and is immune to all the expectations after his surgery. The morale of this story is though not to always trust what you read on the internet or what your doctor tells you, (as yes, this applies to Webmd because it’s a combination of both and it will always tell you that you are pregnant) because every case is different and you may be that one special freak that is immune.
