Friday house cleaning

Bruise watch: Day 7: Purples, yellows, hints of green. It's not so much the bruise that's worrying me at the moment but it's the fact that I'm still in pain when I walk on it. But there's no way I'm about to go to the Wellness Center for it, so it's going to have to wait until I get back to Colorado.

The days are passing quickly. I spent a good portion of yesterday cleaning. It's a slow process and I don't feel as though I accomplished a lot. I've been lounging today; I think I'm still trying to catch up from the weekend and the settling in of that horrid sleep schedule. But there will be cleaning today and then there will be game night with some friends. 

We have an open house tomorrow morning, so Carlos and I are going for a drive. (I will have to hide his litter box somewhere...) I don't want anyone to know I have a cat this late in the game, although I'm sure that he's been spotted hanging out in the windows. 

The people below us on levels one and two have moved out. It's weird; I always used to talk to the family on the first floor. The dad was always going to work at weird hours and once he almost gave me a bike when mine had a flat tire. The mom was always trying to wrangle the two kids. One once told me to "have fun at college." It was adorable. 

I've been cancelled on three times for babysitting this week. Once from a woman whose child had developed hand, foot and mouth or something for Wednesday day. And then I filled Wednesday night, but her book club was cancelled and so was I. And my regular Thursday afternoon cancelled as well. It's always nice to not have to work, of course, but at the same time, I've been looking forward to that income. It's going to be a really rough couple of months financially and any extra cash helps. 

(I'm going to put out a nannying post once I get back to Denver....hopefully someone will pick me up for six weeks post or even some random evenings.)

I still hate Kobe Bryant. I don't want him to be compared to Michael Jordan; it's frustrating. He's not a good human being. I have this conversation at least ten times a year, and I think this year I'm going to learn all of his stats so I can throw down with people and fight them about his supposed greatness.

The weather in Chicago is insane right now. It was hot today, then it turned cloudy, and now the sky has opened up as is unleashing torrents of rain on the city. Carlos hates thunderstorms. At the first sign of distant thunder, he was under the couch. As the storm grew closer, I looked down to see how he wa doing. He was gone.
I always know where to find him when I can't see him in one of his normal haunts.
I crawled down and looked under my bed. There in the darkness, next to boxes from my bed frame and assorted items, I saw two yellow eyes. He doesn't come out once he's under there. He'll sit there until the storm has passed. I love him.
I met someone else's cat last night, and I will say that it is nothing like mine. It was small and skinny and very cat-like. It seemed fragile and dumb. I was so happy to get home to see Carlos, who is thick and smart and has intelligent eyes and a pensive gaze.
We're going in for vaccinations on Thursday. (At my vet they're half-priced on Thursday and I have a $10 coupon.) He's going to be upset. He hates that. 

Wade Williams

I met Wade Williams at Dairy Queen. It was many years ago. We became friends after I called the number he wrote on a receipt.  His friends had dared him to do it. And so he had.
We've been friends for years. I haven't seen him since high school.
Wow, has it really been that long? We talk here and there.
We are the two most opposite people on the planet. He went to Colorado Christian University. Granted I did go a Catholic high school and a Catholic college, but we are religious people on very different planes. I'm spiritual (and consider myself to be in that typical post-adolescent transient philosophical stage) and he is religious. Deeply so. In ways I'll never comprehend.
But tonight, he paid me a high compliment.
It made my night and reinforced to me that friends come in all forms.

Wade

well im gonna go, 630 breakfast comes early, im so glad i got to chat with you, you are so cool, you know that right? i have not met too many people who are have the zest for life, wit and intelligence you do

Bruise Watch: Day 5

Attractive, yeah?

Another wild weekend.

(The ankle: see below. I promise my feet aren't normally this unattractive...not that feet should be attractive, but...)

The last time I went to sleep was for an hour, this morning. Before that, it was Sunday night.

Somehow trivia stretched into a visit to Mullens, our favorite Wrigleyville bar, which stretched into darts and then I met some Irish (Madeline was like, "It does not surprise me at all that you just came back in and said, 'I met some Irish, let's go.'"), which stretched into a joining of groups and then the late night bars. By then, it was past four, and the sunrise was calling to us. We climbed the lighthouse, pulling out fencing to crawl under before attempting to scale the ladder leading to the top. We were unsuccessful, and so we waited patiently, dangling our feet over the edge as though we could touch the water. We couldn't.
The sunrise never came, but the light did.
And so we drove to Midway.
And then I came home. And then closed my eyes. And then I opened them, dashing off to babysit in the suburbs. It was a long day.
I dared not sleep while the kids were napping, for fear I'd fall into a deep, necessary sleep. And so I watched "Twilight," that teenaged vampire movie.
And then I took the wrong highway because I was nearly a zombie at that point. Two hours later, I arrived home.
Only to leave again to do more trivia.
Third place tonight.
The trivia announcer tells me he always enjoys our wrong answers. They're always hilarious, he tells me. I smile.

The thirteen pounds of furry black animal has been renamed Carlos. I love him. I've been making my absences up to him with Fancy Feast (which is fancier than you'd think), and so he's got this roundness about him that I find entirely too endearing. He's in love with plastic bags. Not to eat, but to sit on. Currently, he's lounging on a Target bag.
He went for his first car ride the other day without his carrier. He hates getting in; I'm assuming he thinks we're going to the vet, because that's where we're always going and they hurt him so much every time. But once he was in, he laid calmly and napped. Until I got out and then he gave me these fearful yellow eyes and I kissed the glass and told him he'd live.
Not surprisingly, he did.

The swelling on my ankle is not going down. I am in considerable pain, but not enough to hinder mobility (sort of...) This injury is the result of a soccer game with friends and then a bunch of Chicagoans in the park on Saturday. A kid wearing glittering cleats (thus his new name, Glitter Cleats) kicked me, right before being yelled at to take it easy on the girl. That upset me, obviously, and it didn't bother me until I looked down and saw the emerging mass that had become my ankle.
That night Maddie, Patrick and I joined Harrison for a comedy show downtown and then went to a bbq being held by one of his friends. I seriously enjoy conversation. It was odd; I knew no one there, but I decided to make the best of it. It was enjoyable.

I'm rambling.
I'm going to start posting my pros/cons lists for Chicago/Denver.
Chicago Pro: Humidity makes my hair curl gorgeously.
Con: Humidity makes all of my cereal stale.

Matisse and a Picture Post

I'm prefacing this post by saying that it's about 85 degrees in my apartment right now. My brain is being slowly over-cooked. Also, the bugs have taken this warm weather as an opportunity to crawl around. I don't mind them, but I do.
Maddie and I are switching back and forth between "Say Yes to the Dress" and "SportsCenter." That very much sums up our lives.

Today I joined my friends Greg and Carolyn at the Art Institute downtown. The city was hot and muggy, but full of energy because this morning was the Blackhawks' Stanley Cup celebration parade. The streets were full of people dressed in bright red, hot but happy. We spent a pleasant afternoon perusing parts of the museum; we saw an exhibit featuring many Chicago artists trained at the Art Institute (SAIC). Then we went and saw the Matisse exhibit. I generally stay away from modern art, so I don't know a whole lot about it, but having Greg as a tour guide added to my experience.
I'm in the middle of attempting to upload my photos of Matisse (only one, since photography was prohibited and I had to sneak it) and also of my one true love, the Impressionists.
                                      
                                                                   Below, Lake Michigan.

If you quint, you can see me! I'm wearing a blue Oxford and brown shorts in the bottom right, below! 

Above, a man whose suit was tremendously horrible. It was part chartreuse and part rust, and when he walked, it seemed to change color in the light. And he has Gene Wilder hair circa the "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" era. Scary.

                                      
                                          

Above, the Art Institute lions wearing hockey helmets.

I've been thus unable to retrieve my pictures from today, so be sure to check back because I'm going to post them tomorrow (or whenever I get them...apparently my 3G isn't so hot right now, or the fact that I'm trying to simultaneously email 25 pictures from my cell phone may have slowed progress). But I want to talk about Matisse a bit, so it might be worth it. 

Au Revoir, Chicago. You've been but a dream.

June 15 until July 1st is going to be a very interesting time for me.
And by interesting, I mean the exact opposite.
It's going to be very lonely, but I'm sure that I won't mind just removing myself from the world and being. Perhaps it shall be me and my beloved city and that damn cat, all alone in our strange apartment or all alone on the train or at the beach or in line at the grocery store.

And I'l hate to see it go, as I slip away for the last time (of course, it's never the last time, but symbolically, it is and that's crushing). I'll cry, just like I'm doing now, and that will be the end of it.

I hadn't thought how to say to goodbye. I still haven't.
I'll stand in the middle of Michigan Ave and look south, toward the river and the buildings and I'll say goodbye.
I'll wander by the lake and look out and pretend it goes on forever.
I'll walk west past Ashland and be surrounded by concrete and chaos and brick and history and I won't forget the ways that I've felt here.
Summer lies to me, though, I must remember. In the winter, I am dreadfully cold.

And then I'll drive down Lake Shore, reminiscent of Ferris Bueller taking his day off, and I'll see the city and my heart will break. The glint of steel and glass in the sun will call to me, reflecting scattered bits of colored light through my windshield and it will be like the shattered bits of my heart, which finally thought she might have arrived.
Ah, Chicago, like a siren. So much to take in. Nearly too much to survive. But just enough to keep the adrenaline alive.

"Their Dangerous Swagger" by Maureen Dowd

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/09/opinion/09dowd.html

From The New York Times:

It was set up like a fantasy football league draft. The height, weight and performance statistics of the draftees were offered to decide who would make the cut and who would emerge as the No. 1 pick.

But the players in this predatory game were not famous N.F.L. stars. They were unwitting girls about to start high school.

A group of soon-to-be freshmen boys at Landon, an elite private grade school and high school for boys in the wealthy Washington suburb of Montgomery County, Md., was drafting local girls.

One team was called “The Southside Slampigs,” and one boy dubbed his team with crude street slang for drug-addicted prostitutes.

The young woman who was the “top pick” was described by one of the boys in a team profile he put up online as “sweet, outgoing, friendly, willing to get down and dirty and [expletive] party. Coming in at 90 pounds, 5’2 and a bra size 34d.” She would be a special asset to the team, he noted, because her mother “is quite the cougar herself.”

Before they got caught last summer, the boys had planned an “opening day party,” complete with T-shirts, where the mission was to invite the drafted girls and, unbeknownst to them, score points by trying to rack up as many sexual encounters with the young women as possible.

“They evidently got points for first, second and third base,” said one outraged father of a drafted girl. “They were going to have parties and tally up the points, and money was going to be exchanged at the end of the season.” He said that the boys would also have earned points for “schmoozing with the parents.”

His daughter, he said, “was very upset about it. She thought these guys were her friends. This is the way we teach boys to treat women, young ladies? You have enough to worry about as a 14- or 15-year-old girl without having to worry about guys who are doing it as sport.”

Another parent was equally appalled: “I think the girls felt like they were getting targeted, that this was some big game. Talk about using people. It doesn’t get much worse than that.”

Landon is where the sons of many prominent members of the community are sent to learn “the code of character,” where “a Landon man” is part of a “true Brotherhood” and is known for his good word, respect and honesty. The school’s Web site boasts about the Landon Civility Code; boys are expected to “work together to eliminate all forms of disrespect” and “respect one another and our surroundings in our decorum, appearance, and interactions.”

The Washington suburban community of private school parents has also been reeling this spring from the tragedy involving former Landon student George Huguely V, a scion of the family that owned the lumber business that helped build the nation’s capital.

Huguely, who was a University of Virginia lacrosse player, was charged in the brutal death of his sometime girlfriend, Yeardley Love, a lacrosse player on the university’s women’s team who also hailed from Maryland.

The lovely young woman’s door was kicked in and her head was smashed over and over into the wall.

The awful crime, chronicled on the cover of People with the headline “Could She Have Been Saved?,” raised haunting questions about why Huguely had not already been reported to authorities, even though other lacrosse players had seen him choke Love at a party and his circle knew that the athlete had attacked a sleeping teammate whom he suspected had kissed Love. Huguely had also been so out-of-control drunk, angry and racially abusive with a policewoman in 2008 that she had to Taser him.

In The Washington Post, the sports columnist Sally Jenkins wrote about the swagger of young male athletes and the culture of silence that protects their thuggish locker-room behavior.

“His teammates and friends, the ones who watched him smash up windows and bottles and heard him rant about Love,” she wrote. “Why didn’t they turn him in? ... Why did they not treat Yeardley Love as their teammate, too?”

Some of the parents of girls drafted for the Landon sex teams think that the punishment for those culpable should have been greater, and the notification to parents should have been more thorough. Was the macho culture of silence in play?

Jean Erstling, Landon’s director of communications, said she was “aware of the incident” but that “student records including disciplinary infractions are confidential.”

She said that “Landon has an extensive ethics and character education program which includes as its key tenets respect and honesty. Civility toward women is definitely part of that education program.”

Time for a curriculum overhaul. Young men everywhere must be taught, beyond platitudes, that young women are not prey.

American Exceptionalism

Still not about teen pregnancy, my apologies. I've managed to convince myself that talking about it will lead me to write about eventually.

However, this article caught my eye this morning. It's from Feministe, and I thought you might enjoy it. It makes me think of those damn chain emails that always irk me so much and then spark posts where I try to say something like what is written below but fail miserably in my attempt.

And thus, written by guest blogger S.E. Smith, is "American Exceptionalism and You."

Enjoy:

Talking with a lovely Canadian the other day, we were discussing a really common problem we encounter on the Internet: The assumption that all readers are from the United States, and thus have a detailed understanding of issues that pertain to the United States and are deeply interested in these issues.

There’s a term, ‘American exceptionalism,’ that is used to describe some of the interesting social and political attitudes that surround the United States. Officially, it has to do with the idea that the United States is somehow exceptional or special, occupies a special position on the global stage by virtue of its accomplishments, deserves a special place in history because it’s just so darn unique. None of these things are true, but they directly contribute to the way the United States engages in foreign policy and interacts with other nations, behaving as the self appointed playground monitor that can do no wrong.

And this plays out in the way that people in the United States interact with the rest of the world as well. There’s a dominance that happens; US English is assumed to be the primary mode of communication, for example. Sites assume that readers can access Hulu videos (only available in the United States, but you already knew that, right?). Or that all readers are up on current political events in the United States. There’s also an implication that everyone from the United States has shared values and life experiences that acts to erase many people.

This very term, ‘American exceptionalism,’ speaks to the special place that the US thinks it occupies. Did you know that there are 36 countries in the Americas? That the Americas span two whole continents and the Caribbean? That US English is not the only language spoken in the Americas? Yet, the United States has coopted this term, ‘American,’ all for itself. Some people have even taken special care to weaponise this term in the immigration debate, demanding that the United States should be closed to people who aren’t ‘American.’

Assuming that everyone is from the United States doesn’t just erase the identities, interests, and concerns of people who are not from the United States. It also makes it fundamentally challenging for people to engage with content on US-centric sites. The assumptions that they will know about things slung about quite casually with no context or background get really frustrating; who wants to Wikipedia their way through a blog post to understand what in the hell is going on? Not I, that is for sure.

And I note that when people who are not from the United States write, they often do so with a global audience in mind. They explain things as they go along. They provide context and information so that people can understand what they are reading. They add insight and commentary. They do not assume that readers will understand the ins and outs of their political systems or will know the titles of laws by heart or will understand coded references to historical events. As a reader in the United States, I still sometimes feel a little bit lost, in part because of the ignorance cultivated by the way I engage with media, but at least I am not completely at sea.

When I go to the front page of overseas newspapers, often it’s US news that dominates the headlines. The 2008 election was covered in exhaustive detail in publications all over the world. Yet, Britain recently had an election, and it received barely any coverage here in the United States. Many US readers couldn’t tell you what a ‘coalition government’ is, let alone why it matters. Australia has an election coming up this year, but you probably wouldn’t know that if you read the news in the US exclusively.

US newspapers report news in the context of ‘how this pertains to the interests of people in the United States.’ Foreign newspapers don’t do this. They assume that readers might actually want to know about things that are going on in the world, even if they do not directly related to events going on at home.

There’s an othering that happens here too. When I read news stories about things that happen in other countries, it’s all about the Other. Over There. Those People. And The Horrible Things They Do. No matter that the same horrible things happen here in the United States, no matter that the United States might actually have some culpability in those horrible things, some involvement in a history of colonialism and exploitation.

That othering crosses over to interactions online as well, with people regarding nations outside the United States as abstract, exotic places. A certain amount of patronising seems to develop. Even on sites that supposedly have an international bent, the assumption is that everyone is from the United States, as though people from other regions of the world can’t access the site, or are perfectly happy to remain on the margins, to allow other people to write about their nations and their experiences. Sometimes it seems like everything must be filtered through the US lens.

Considering what happened the last time someone at Feministe tried to point out that the United States is not the centre of the world, I’m sure this will be tragic to hear, but, folks? The United States is not the centre of the world. And the widespread insistence on centreing experiences and concerns that are primarily relevant to people in the United States, and to referring to these things as ‘American,’ effectively ignoring the existence of the 35 other countries in the Americas, is really a significant barrier to conversation, not just here, but on many sites across the Internet.

South Africa: Preliminary Information

I'm sidetracking off of teen pregnancy, although I'm coming back to it after I post info about South Africa.

WE'RE GOING TO SOUTH AFRICA!

Coinciding with this wonderful news, The Economist has been so kind as to publish a special report about South Africa (just for me, of course. It has very little to do with the upcoming World Cup being held there later this month).

However, I'm going to link you to it, because hopefully this will be the start of a very wonderful journey for all of us. (I'm contemplating starting another blog to focus solely on my experience because I'm hoping to do some actual analysis and writing while I'm there....but we can get to that later.)
Click on the words below for links to the individual stories.

The price of freedom

Jobless growth

Still everything to play for

Colour me South African

When the whistle blows (not part of the special report published this week)

The great scourges

Don't get ill

Last in class

Your friendly monolith

Hold your nose

"Money can't buy you class" and other assorted random things

Two posts in a day, be sure to scroll down for pictures of the Mustache Bash bar crawl from Saturday.

I've been getting back into fiction lately. I went to the local library (where I'm not yet banned and don't owe them large sums of money. Going to miss that small freedom once I get back to Denver) and got some books last week. Ah, the oppressive stacks of the cramped space reminded me of my youth, when I was quite a bit smaller and not as tall. I made an effort to look at the titles near the floor, but it was impossible to do. But I ended up picking out four hardcover books. Hardcover to remind myself what literature really is. The crinkle of that plastic wrap is a magical, comforting sound to my over-auto-tune-subjected ears. Two murder mysteries (um, because that is what I do best), a book by John Connelly called The Gates, and then Clinton Kelly's fabulous etiquette book. Thus far, I've consumed The Gates and the fabulous book about being fabulous, which I enjoyed, but was thoroughly relieved I'd not spent any actual money on it. I enjoyed The Gates immensely. It was light-hearted, even though it was about Hell.

But it's been making me realize that I should be writing. Seriously. I need to up the English levels on my blog. I need to stop writing such melodramatic trash so that you're convinced you're not following some sort of soap opera. Instead, I shall focus on social issues that I care about and whatever else I can drum up. Hence the teen pregnancy allusion in the last post. I will get to it. And when I do, you will come away astounded. (Not by teen pregnancy, hopefully. There's really not much about it that might astound.) But I'm going to be a real (and by real, I mean completely amateur, un-official, writing from my apartment) journalist about this and do some research. You know, get the real facts before I spout off about stuff that no one really needs  to know.

I finally took the cover off of my laptop because I'm convinced it's scratching my laptop more than it would be scratched had it remained uncovered. I'm in the market for a new case as of tomorrow, so perhaps a stop off at the Apple store is in order. I'd also like to check out the iPad, in case we do end up going to South Africa.

Um, did I mention the applications and deposits have been submitted? WE ARE GOING TO SOUTH AFRICA (most likely)! I couldn't be more thrilled. I'm terrified, obviously, as I am about to embark on a mission deep into the unknown, however, I think that when it's all said and done, my life will have been irrevocably changed. For the better, hopefully. Unless I'm not. But we can deal with that at some later point. But The Economist seems to be on my side. My mailbox today was full of a fourteen-page special report on South Africa, which I will read on the train tomorrow and report back on. I enjoy their coverage. I am keeping my subscription to their magazine, partially because I think the British spellings are cute.

Also, it's not "for all intensive purposes." It's "for all intents and purposes." I feel like an idiot. I want to issue an open apology to anyone I may have grammatically offended over the years. Just so you know.

The title of this post is in reference to a song, if it can be called that, sung by an over-privileged woman from New York (she's on the Real Housewives, a show I can't get enough of). It's a horrible mess of song but it's hilarious and catchy but not in a good way. Catchy in that it'll be stuck in your head all day and you'll be wishing for anything else. Even a Rickroll would be nice about now.
And on that note: a really bad song sung by a really annoying woman

I've realized that one of the things I love about my cat is the way he sighs. It's so adorable. One thing I wildly disapprove of is his need to go bolting out the front door when I open it. Lame. Chasing him down the stairs seems to be his favorite game.

Post-bar crawl

The bar crawl benefitting the Chicago Children's Hospital was a wild success. Madeline and I drew on mustaches with liquid eyeliner. Hers was small and possibly French and mine was a wild handlebar-curved-sort-of-ordeal.

We had a great time. Our friend Patrick brought his friend Duane and we went around to the bars. It was crowded, and we were glad that we'd been able to bring side beers with us. It definitely softened the financial blow and allowed us to add a little bit more, uh, refreshment to our afternoon. We made it through about half the ones on the list before we were sidetracked by a group of Irish/other people we met. And that's where things got interesting.
Maddie walked off to go the bathroom and I didn't see her for the rest of the night. She was on her way to get a cheeseburger when she decided to head home. (I heard from her, though, don't think I'd ever let her just walk away unattended.) I stayed with the boys and we stayed with our new friends, abandoning the bar crawl for pitchers at a bar next to Wrigley, or "the cubs stadium," as the Irish tweeted from my phone.
Somehow, we ended up on the train and then a bus and then the South Side on our way to a party,  which was not a great plan in that I was not as patient as I could have been, so we ended up heading back up north. I came out of yesterday with a twelve-pack of Bud Light that some guy bought and then left, so I feel like it was a success.
Today was understandably a very relaxed day. I lounged. I made sun tea. I ate strawberries. I drank Vitamin Water. I snuggled the cat.
Tonight, Maddie and I are ordering Chinese food and watching the MTV movie awards because a comedian that we love, Aziz Ansari, is hosting.
Expect a post about teen pregnancy at some point soon. (Obviously not my own teen pregnancy....but teen pregnancy in general.)

Sex and the City 2: A Defense

I was reading a post on Feministe.com about Sex and the City 2 and I got upset.
The original article can be found here: http://www.feministe.us/blog/archives/2010/06/01/defending-sex-and-the-city-sort-of-not-really/
If you choose to read it, peruse the comments as well. They're bound to ignite some sort of fiery reaction in your blood, no matter your views on sexism, racism, ageism, and so on.
I take issue with a lot of the criticism of the show and of the sexism that the post suggests the show propagates. Yes, Sex and the City was popular when our economy was booming and when excess was the norm; the idea of keeping up with Jones's really meant overspending and under-saving. Of course, that's all come crashing down. But has it really? And if so, does that make Sex and the City irrelevant?
While the middle class and other socioeconomic underprivileged persons are arguably unable to spend, and of course revenue is down, has the recession trickled up to reach those wealthy who everyone was actually trying to emulate?
For some, yes. But for others, arguably most, no. We're not re-aligning our mindsets toward redistribution of wealth or reallocation of government resources for some better purposes. We're just biding our time until we're  better employed and we can start spending all over again. Spending with the hopes of upward social mobility.
While the writer and the commenters (when not veering off to discuss the state of Muslim women in the world) believe that the women of Sex and the City care only for their clothes, shoes, men and money, I'm arguing that they too face very real-world problems, even in their carefully scripted, fairytale Manhattan lives. Emphasis on scripted, fairytale lives.
Carrie has long been a renter, and at some point (I'd like to say season 4) is forced to make the decision to either buy or relocate. She has no money, no savings; there's not a hint of financial responsibility surrounding her character because the audience is well aware that Carrie is happy to spend her paychecks on fashion. She spends time considering what to do and it's revealed that she's spent the better part of $40,000 on shoes. That's enough for a down payment. In the end, of course, it all comes to a resolution and the shoes are safe.
While a small incident in the show's 6-year run, the money crises that Carrie suffers from shows that while perhaps Sex and City is merely a fairytale, it is also grounded in some sort of reality. While not all of us can afford to walk around in Louboutins (oh, and I wish that we could), we all face issues regarding our own use of money at some point.
Another issue, which I'm finding to be more and more common in my own life, is the issue of lending money to friends. There's a row over that at some point as well, with rich Charlotte hesitant to lend money to one of the girls. Of course, I once sided with whichever of the women asked for the money, but now I understand much better to never mix friendship and money.
These examples show that while Sex and the City may very well be at its core a frivolous look at unrealistic women with expensive tastes, it's also a show that understands that no woman, not even the best-dressed or most educated can escape certain problems. There are also bouts with sexually transmitted infections, cancer, raising children, etc.
It's a show. I don't want to spend my time watching my own life problems played up on the screen. I want to suspend reality and pretend that I too have the weight of the world upon my shoulders when I must choose which of my designer outfits to wear to the newest club opening. That's the world viewers want to see.
The sprinkling of reality was just to taste.
Also, the article quotes another article which talks about the refreshing moment when Charlotte and Miranda discuss that their motherhood and how sometimes you do need a break from the children. It anachronistically refers to 1971 as first-wave feminism, but it would have actually been more like second-wave at that time. I enjoyed watching the women struggle as mothers. Miranda struggled a lot in the series after the birth of her child. She was unprepared to be a mother and encountered a steep learning curve. She has to fight to keep her friendships, she has to fight to learn how to raise her son. She turns to Magda, her cleaning lady, for help. Charlotte struggles with conception, turning finally to adoption. She is happiest with her non-traditional family and is forced to give up her perfectionist ideals in order to embrace motherhood.
And then there's the religion problem. I've been avoiding it. I don't want to talk about it. But I'm going to address it from my own point of view. I'm prefacing this like that because I believe that everyone gets tangled in their opinions and then everyone gets called a racist and we've got problems stemming from our own inability to define anything or to thoroughly understand the topics at hand.
Before this segment begins, we're going to have to discuss the lens from which the audience is viewing the movie. Mostly white, American, probably Christian (I'm basing this off of what I know my blog readership to be. I am in no way negating the experiences of any other person, however, I can only draw on the experiences of a white, middle-class, raised-Catholic person, because that it what I am.) And that's where the problems are.
As white, middle-class viewers, we come to the movie with certain preconceived notions. We need to be aware of our own limitations before we can thoroughly critique the limitations of any certain work.
I see where the writer wanted to talk about Muslim women. I see how he wanted to draw parallels between the girls from New York and the secret women's book club in Abu Dhabi. I see how he wanted to show the similar spirits of both sets of women. I see this. But he failed miserably.
The Muslim women in the movie are poorly placed. They get very little screen time and are shown as caricatures of a collision between two cultures: Muslim women who desperately seek to become Americanized. I have a hard time believing that this is the case. Our own American lens, however, makes it seem as though "they" (any othered subset) would want to welcome our own Western culture.
One woman has decorated her outfit with color around the sleeves. Another eats french fries under her veil. At one point, the Muslim book club sheds their outer garb to reveal the spring collection of Louis Vuitton.
This attempt at subversive independence is poorly placed in the film. The author opens a door where there never should have been one, or if some opening, a window, intending to merely peek inside at the issue of religion, but instead fails to walk through this now gaping hole that is the issue of religion and culture, leaving the audience unfulfilled and angry. This wasn't supposed to be a racist movie. But it was.
The Middle East is probably the worst setting the author could have chosen, and I'd be interested to see why he chose it. Now? Of all times?
To quote the New York Times article linked at the bottom, "The gravest of these sins in my unscientific survey are behavioral: the women act like ugly Americans and debase every aspect of Muslim culture they come in contact with. Also: they’re women. And middle aged. Girlish. Have had bad work done. Or maybe not enough."
The characters, specifically Miranda, are aware of the disrespect that they (mostly Samantha) are showing to the predominantly Muslim culture that is surrounding them. They talk about it. The author attempts to parallel the wearing of the veils with the silencing of women while simultaneously showing Carrie as having tape over her mouth in a book review. The hastily reached conclusion? He's afraid of her because she's a women, not because her book may not have been the most insightful. His attempt to silence her comes from the fact that he's a man.
The NYTimes shows the bind that women find themselves in. To age gracefully? Not allowed. To embrace plastic surgery? Not allowed. To age? Not allowed. To be immature? Not allowed. To be women? Not allowed.
Hello first wave feminism.
Aren't we past that?
But we aren't and that plays into why I'm still going to defend this movie. I'm not defending racism. I'm defending a film. I do agree that there were things that could have (should have) been done very differently.

I'm sure the author meant for his commentary on Islam as well as the rights of women to be taken much as his comments on gay marriage went over, which was well. But his carefully crafted gay marriage scene was a celebration of all the sparkle of the gay community. It showed Big's heterosexual fear and attempts to push this from merely a wedding to a "gay wedding," which is actually was. There were swans. There was an all-male choir. Why is no one up in arms about that? Why is no one called John Preston homophobic? Because he shares their views and slight discomfort, but outward acceptance and appreciation of the community.

The United States, whether we like it or not, is a Christian nation. We can't wrap our minds around other cultures, let alone other religions. We're afraid of things we don't understand. We want to crusade against anything "other," anything different. We can't fathom why certain things are the way they are and we get upset about the rights of other women in other places. But we still have a lot to work for as women in the United States.
We're not free. Critics of Sex and the City come down on it for not having enough diversity, not having this, that, etc. Creation and maintenance of  the family is the focus of many women in our culture. Little girls grow up dreaming about their wedding day. Carrie makes it to that point in the first movie but eventually marries in a small ceremony at City Hall.  Sex and the City has the balls to show Carrie and her husband addressing the fact that they have no children and don't plan to. The movie doesn't cop out with Carrie getting pregnant. She's setting her own terms for her marriage and her life.
The idea of housework and child-rearing not being considered work is something that women deal with on a daily basis. The "third shift" is the housework, something that many women who work full time still  have to do once they get home because of antiquated notions about feminine roles. Miranda quits her job as a lawyer in the film but hates being a full-time stay at home mom. Being a full-time mother just isn't her thing and she regrets leaving her job. She finds another job where she is appreciated yet still able to make it to her son's school events. She is defined by her career. Charlotte, however, is a full-time mother and she is fulfilled and exhilarated by her job (most of the time). She derives meaning from her work in the maintenance of the family, but part of her conclusion in the film was that she, too, needs time to herself away from the children.
There's oppression right around the corner. Muslim women nothing. American women nothing. No single piece, no single article, no single film, book, or scrap of media is going to speak for all women of any culture, religion, race, etc. Oppression comes in all forms, religious and otherwise.
You cannot encapsulate the struggles of women or any culture into a two hour movie about girl power and friendship. The author tried and failed miserably. I'm forgiving Sex and the City its grave mistake of being set in Abu Dhabi. That was a dumb plot device that never should have been constructed. It set off a chain of hatred that someone should have seen coming.
I loved the movie. It wasn't about materialism (there were no grand shopping sprees, no ridiculous spending); it was about love and marriage and life and choices. And in the end, female friendship wins and everyone is allowed to be in the sort of relationship of their choosing. That, my friends, is exactly what I paid to see.

Here's another little piece that I enjoyed:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/23/magazine/23lives-t.html?scp=3&sq=sex%20and%20the%20city%20extra&st=cse

or another:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/06/movies/06dargis.html?hp

Lake Shore Drive, as always

Lake Shore drive at four thirty in the morning is dark, starting the slow progression toward daylight. As I drove, the fog rolled in and there was me, seeing very little ahead of me, and the fog, closing in around me, and the lights, leading the way home.
There was no sleep last night and I chased the moment and left, easing toward the center of the city and then home again. I parked, the fog lifting as I drew away from the lake. I walked home, down a tired, quiet block, the sky lightening above me and the moon still bright. I love the way the wrought iron gates of my building look in that grayish pre-dawn light. The black is somehow made more black by the gray light, and the green of the new summer foliage is greener and darker and more beautiful. The cobwebs hang between the iron bars and flutter slightly in the wind.
As the day progressed, the fog burned away and the sun came out, heating the earth. It's sunny out now; I'm sure people are at the beach loving the sunlight. I'm at home, tired.
Perhaps tomorrow will be my day to get things done?

I'll miss this place.

Memorial Day Weekend: Rest

Oh the beach! What a lovely beautiful expansive stretch of land.
Laying on a towel in the sun, eyes closed, listening to music or the waves or the kids: that is bliss.
Blue sky, blue water, pale beach, my brilliantly white skin glistening (so much sunscreen!), the sounds, the books. I smeared the ink in the textbook with my oily fingers, then proceeded to also smear an article in Esquire, then proceeded to cover myself in sand.
I'm one hundred percent alright with that.
I'm one hundred percent more relaxed. The gorgeous man laying behind us helped a bit.
I'm hoping to get a little bit of color this summer. I'm against tanning, but I'm not against a healthy glow. I love the way freckles dot my nose. I'm using SPF 55 anti-aging sunblock for my face and a little less to my body. (By a little less, I mean a lot...I'm building a base here.)
Happiness. Bliss.
I could spend days near the ocean, near big lakes, near rushing rivers, and be perfectly happy.

Then I came home and made chicken salad.
My god, I think I make pretty good chicken salad considering I sort of just make it up as I go. (I think I pretty much know what goes in it....chicken, celery, grapes, (light) mayo, spices, lemon juice, etc.) But it's chilling in the freezer right now (faster), and then I'm going to eat it. Madeline has never had chicken salad. I'm shocked.

We're going to go out to celebrate the surprise birthday party of one of my friends tonight, so that should be interesting.

I'm against commercials that play on your worst fears, like that On-Star commercial about not being able to call for help. Lame. Fear tactics are a bad way to sell a product. Maybe.
We'll know more as I continue marketing, but that's just a thought.

Blog Block Post #1

I've been having blog block lately. I have thoughts and then lose them.

We saw Sex and the City 2 tonight. I'm a longtime fan of the series and while not wildly excited to see the movie, I was interested. And so we saw it. It's adorable; the two and a half hours pass quickly. I found myself enjoying the storyline and although I have qualms about the racial undertones of the movie, I was willing to forgive them in order to suspend my disbelief and live in Carrie's fairytale world for awhile.
I didn't like the constant referring to the women's ordeals; I thought it wasn't addressed properly or thoroughly enough. I can see where the writer may have tried to bring it up, touch on it, without being racist, but I feel as though his intentions went awry somewhere along the line.
The movie was lovely. SatC always puts me in thought bubbles or sets of strange emotions, but tonight, it settled me. I love Charlotte's wardrobe; the look is timeless and beautiful.


I keep sitting down and waiting for thoughts to spill out like they have in the past, and it's just not happening.

I spent the past couple of days helping Maddie move out of her house. We drove down to Champaign so that she could store some of her things and then we looked at apartments. She found one that she liked while we were there, so that was lucky.
I've got about a month left in Chicago. And then after that, July shall be spent in odd transit, being held between two places and really living in neither. August will come quickly enough and then the future. Hopefully Mike's passport stuff can happen ASAP and then we can go to South Africa; if not, I shall be going it alone. I desperately need to do something. I need to find myself all over again. I need to regain my inner strength and develop some desperately needed self-confidence. After that, I shall return and begin building the life I'd very much like to lead.
blah blah blah, I'm just typing.

The Hawks won the hockey game tonight.

Hopefully I'll make it to the beach tomorrow and do some much needed relaxation and fiction reading.

Lost (not pertaining to any sort of mystical island, however)

I often wonder if Virginia Woolf and I would have gotten along splendidly.
Then I thank G/god that I never knew her.

I am remarkable at existing, I've discovered. In the times when I have very little to hope for (besides everything the future brings), the times that I find myself alone, I also find myself content, to a certain extent. And whenever I feel overwhelmed by the solitude, I think of that semester spent in Denver, the semester when I was very nearly alone (you're never quite alone, but you know what I mean). I was satisfied. I took long bike rides. I happen to enjoy long bike rides. My leg muscles enjoyed them as well.
And then I think about calling some of my friends. Friends exhaust me. I hate the upkeep, I really do. And thus, I'm terrified that I will spend the rest of my life alone.
I'm a horrible decision maker, if you haven't noticed.

I think once I get to Denver, it might be time to trade the mountain bike in for a road bike or one that is a combination of the two. Oh just get a better mountain bike and then actually go riding down mountains with it. People here judge the mountain bike when they see it.

I didn't get down to fight my parking ticket today, so I'm going to do it before I babysit tomorrow. \

I found out that they're officially official today.

Commentary on the population of my marketing class: tons of kids with curly hair, for some reason.
The professor is nearly seventy five years old but I have a feeling I'm going to like him even though the class looks as though it's going to be an endless exercise in patience and utter boredom. I stayed after class on Monday to talk to him about the economy because I'm the only sort-of-super-senior in the class and he was interested about my job prospects. So that's a good start.
He drones on and on, but I feel as though he's got a lot to say. So I'm listening.
Bad start, however: new edition of the book. $150. Great. The library doesn't have it, so I shelled out the money for it. But on the bright side, I'll either make probably half of it back selling it at the end of the semester or I'll be able to keep it to use it for grad school.
I need to find a math tutor in Denver for August on the off chance I take the GMAT before I depart for S. Africa. I'd like to start the application process and then hopefully start school during the fall semester of 2011. But who knows? I don't know where I want to go, but I'm assuming I'd like to stay in Denver. The University of Colorado at Denver program is looking better and better everyday. Cheap, as far as grad school goes.

Strange life

This is a mid-post edit to say that I've started writing like Hemingway in that I like to link sentences together with "and" and then just ramble. So sorry. Please think of it as an homage to a great writer (debatable) and don't think I'm someone who's taken very little time to write lately.
However:
I walked again today, choosing a route that would take me down the main streets that head north to south to the immediate west of the lake. It's strange to know that you're so close to one of the largest bodies of water in the world and yet you can't see it, can't feel it, don't really know it's there. If it weren't for all of the apartment building advertising lakeside living, you'd never know you were int he vicinity of a lake.
The city was hot today. It smelled like trash and water and people and hot concrete and exhaust and laundry and cooking food and everything I love.
I walked and there was chaos erupting around me and I went through it and away.
Elderly people ran across the sidewalk out of shadows to flag down a bus that didn't stop, driving past them up the road.
An old man holding a big cigarette of some sort walked past me at an intersection, obviously annoyed by my presence in his walking lane. He wore the white Reeboks so popular in his generation and those headphones that aren't attached to anything, but instead must be a radio of some sort. He smoked, he walked, he passed me and then I passed him, wading through the crowd of smoke and then I was gone and he was behind.
I walked and I walked and the sun shone down on me and the city moved around me and I moved in it. (This is where the above mid-post edit came into being.)
I've been alone lately and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I think I like it, but I'm not motivated, so I think I'm still just absorbing the alone time. I'm like that. Sometimes the decompression takes me a lot longer than I think it will. Sometimes I just need to do nothing (this includes not cleaning) to right myself in the world. Today I made some chicken salad with cranberries and apples and then did some dishes. I looked into applying at a temp agency in Chicago and then promptly got scared. Not quite the productive day I was hoping to have, but one I can live with.
I'm going to ask Madeline tonight how the process works to hopefully alleviate some of my fear. It's the fear. I just need to get over it. I need to get a nice business outfit, go on a few interviews, and find an office job doing ANYTHING. And then I'll feel comfortable and be more confident with my work ability.
Dairy Queen was a great job but it was also wildly detrimental to my professional development. I never had to interview, Todd hired me on the spot right after I turned in my application. The "interview" he gave me was basically asking me where I went to school and when I could start. I will never forget how terrified I was my first day on the job but I also got really comfortable really quick. My assimilation into the job was complete. Five years later, I still sort of worked there and now I"m finding myself without a lot of interview experience.
I often return to the interview I had my sophomore year of college at a place called Kim's Cupcakes in downtown Chicago. I didn't get the job. I often wonder what I did wrong, and I'm sure it was many things. But if I couldn't even get that job (selling over-priced cupcakes to rich people), how am I ever going to be able to get a legitimate professional position?
People always ask me what kind of job I want. I have no idea. I don't know job titles. I don't know positions that I qualify for. I don't know this or that or anything. And then I get scared. And the fear prevents me from taking a deep breath and realizing I'm just as qualified as anybody for anything. (not really, but you know what I mean, hopefully)
Tomorrow, I'm gathering up all of my gumption and marching down to the City of Chicago offices and demanding that they release me from the bonds of my ticket. I've been negligent and they've been assholes, and while that won't be my principal argument, it will weigh heavily on my mind as I shove my registration in their faces and make them read the plain English stamped on the back. "30 day grace period" will echo through the room and the heavy sound of justice being handed down will ring throughout the room, shocking everyone there. I'll walk out triumphantly, wearing a smile of patience and the city employees will remain behind, shaking their heads apologetically, as though my inconvenience was of their creation.
In reality, it won't be like that.
It will involve me practicing deep breathing techniques. It will involve me trying not to yell. It will involve dissolution of the ticket, though, no matter how hard I have to work for it.

While I was home, the neighbor drove by while I was vacuuming Simon and asked me what I was doing [with my life]. As has become my custom, I lifted my shoulders in the universal, "I have no clue" gesture and responded that I was taking some time off. "Not going to law school?" he asked. I keep forgetting that I spent a good portion of my life with the intentions of being a lawyer. (And by good portion I mean like a decade and a half...I'm flashing back to my third grade Halloween costume right now...Mom's graduation robes and a gavel) "I have too much of a soul for that," I said. He laughed and then agreed with me.
Wealthy is as wealthy does, and I might be too nice for all of that.
But part of me wants to take the LSAT and see how I do, just for kicks. Maybe I will. It'll be practice for the GMAT.

Also, Mike and I have decided South Africa. And for Mom, who will be wildly worried the entire time we're there, I read an ad about Verizon now having service over there. So we can hook up our cell phones. Yes!! (not about the cell phones)
Yes!
Yes!
I'm going to South Africa!

After the heat of the day had passed, I grabbed my iPod and left the apartment. I walked down past the campus, past the entrance to Lake Shore Drive and then onto the lake path. I walked and I walked and I walked and then I turned and went back up Broadway. I passed the bank that used to belong to the family of a Senate candidate. I passed the pub that only has three things on its menu. I passed all the windows, all the people and I realized I was in love. 

The city is beautiful. 

Sunburned, of course. Spray sunscreen is not a great idea in the Windy City.

It's hot here tonight. Cat and I are settled in the living room, fans on and windows hoping, hoping for the air to cool down soon. Too hot to think.

Watching "Hoarders" on A&E. I always say, "I might need this someday," and Maddie teases me about becoming a hoarder, however, I believe that I do understand that there is a place for everything. It's sad to hear the answers that these people have, and it's sad to see their families reacting. This man is collecting beer when he doesn't even drink. He's got a garage full of beer, a house full of matchbooks and other baseball memorabilia.

Too hot to think.

Remind me to post about fate, death and then the living again. But before I forget, I need to tell you how wonderful it was today to lay on the beach, in the sun, listening to the waves and the birds and the children. Happiness is sunshine and a warm summer day.

Going to apply at some temp agencies this week just to see if I can get some extra work (and therefore money) during the next month. I start school tomorrow. One class.

away we go....


expect a post tomorrow afternoon, my apologies for not posting anything sooner.

Mixed Emotions: Muddled Time

It was a much faster journey than I'd expected. Around one in the morning mountain standard time, driving through eastern Colorado, the rain hit. I had already debated pulling over; I was starting to get tired and uncomfortable. The lightning pushed me over the edge, though, and I pulled over to sleep.
Two hours late, I was back on the road. I pulled on our street at 3:55 Denver time.

The drive was nice; the new iPod is wonderful. Simon got incredible gas mileage, as always. My back starts to hurt about seven hours into a drive, and it doesn't stop. Whether or not I'm tired, I sometimes want to stop and stretch it but I know the only solution is to lay down. So it's a push to get to the destination quickly.

I started out happily enough but sometime after the sun went down, with the nasty clouds on the horizon, ahead of me, around me, above me, I felt my spirits sink. All of a sudden, despair washed over me. Normally I'm very good at figuring out why I'm feeling a certain way, and can pinpoint it to a certain event. But this was either not caused by any singular event or was something further-reaching.

I think it's a combination of my lack of personal accomplishments at this point in my life and the fact that I can't seem to get ahead of it all. I'm lost, wandering aimlessly, with no direction and no ties. Part of me doesn't want to move to Denver, but I've got nowhere else to go. Part of me wonders if I'll be able to get out of this slump eventually. (of course I will....but when?)

I know this is normal. I know that tons of people my age are feeling this. And since I'm one of those people who really feels emotions, I'm feeling them about ten times more than most. I've got aspirations, but I've also got the inability to feel capable. I want to immerse myself in something meaningful, so that I can start fully realizing my potential. I want to feel necessary, to feel strengthened, to feel successful, to feel driven. I'm not driven toward any given point at the moment, but I think this stems from my lack of knowledge of the careers that I am fit for. I'm going to go on that journey, I'm going to go do my business internship and see the world, and when I come back, I can begin living the life I want for myself.

Also, in a shocking twist of letting go, my first act as a better, more whole person is going to be letting go of the hatred that I feel for Emily. I've been living in a state of paranoia, distrust and anger. The theft of my laptop and the subsequent lack of apology and conclusion; the betrayal of me after the break up with Hunter, during which she set him up with his current girlfriend; other things around the house that have always bothered me like the invasion of my personal privacy and the usage of my things. She's leaving, and hopefully I'll be gone by the time she returns and then I'll be able to feel better about the entire situation.
I'm holding onto all of it and she has no idea I'm angry, which is another source of frustration. I would like her to understand how I feel without the drama that will stem from a confrontation. I wish I could explain my feelings without being afraid of her reaction. I don't know that I'll ever get to do that, and so I'm going to let it go. I'm going to accept this as a learning experience. You can't trust anyone; you should never mix money and friendship; not everyone has the same values of respect and responsibility. I'm going to take away a wealth of knowledge, of information, of personal growth.

I'm also ditching the man in my life for something new and different. He's not giving me what I deserve and I'm getting sick of it. I need someone intelligent, driven and thoughtful, but who likes to party. It's a delicate balance, and I'm not sure I'll find that. I need someone who respects me for what I am but who pushes me to do something better. It's going to be awhile, I think. I want someone settled and a bit more mature, but I'm still not quite the woman that that sort of man is going to want.  So...I guess I'll have a good couple of years before I settle down again. But I think I'm starting to mature in that sense, too. I'm starting to crave that stability. Who'd have ever thought? I'll be interested to watch this progress.


As an improper post-script:
I really appreciated everyone coming out to see me graduate. It really meant a lot to me. I'm sorry that I had to leave my own celebratory dinner, but trust me, it was worth it. I love you all dearly and I"m so grateful for my family. I hope you all enjoyed your time in Chicago as much as I enjoyed having you there!

pre-commencement

I'm going to preface this by saying that my thought process was interrupted by the sounds of the street sweeper going by. Of course, he has to navigate around my car. Damn it. I literally had no idea we were engaging in street sweeping today.
Oh, third sweep, it's like rubbing salt in a wound. Do they seriously need to sweep the street three times? It rained for like six hours last night.
Well I guess I know why I'm babysitting tonight.
Fourth sweep. Can you hear it? It's like the sound of bank account grim reaper, wet dollar bills rustling beneath its wiry cloak, driving onward and away.
This is getting ridiculous. Fifth sweep. Stop! The street is fine! I'm not moving my car!

Instead of doing the cleaning I was supposed to do all week, I'm going to think back.
Four years ago, I was all ready to graduate from Mullen. We were so excited; we felt like we owned the world. Nobody had any idea what lay in store for us.
Flash forward to now. We're joyous, as you'd expect, but terrified. No one has a plan, or a job, or anything set for the future. Some are going to grad school. But everything is changing. We're all going home, or somewhere new, across the country.
I've got a tentative plan, but who doesn't?
I've learned a lot in four years, as one might have expected. I've learned a lot about people, and the human condition. I've learned a lot about love. Two serious relationships have taught me what I don't want. One of those left me with a best friend, the other, an angry ex. I've had some friends, gained some friends, lost some friends, met some great people, been entertained, angered, exhilarated. I've found myself, maybe.
I've begun my romance novel and seen it crash to the ground after 20 pages of mess. Perhaps I'll pick it up some day and begin all over again.
I've failed. I've excelled. I've learned how to fend for myself. I've learned about different cultures, different races, and why some people will never know tolerance.
I've learned some English and some other stuff. I've learned I should have tried harder, that I should have been more involved. I've learned a lot. If i could re-do college right now with all I've learned, I'd do it a lot differently.
I've moved back to Denver with the intent of staying there. I've found myself unable to stay and so I came back here. Now I'm worried I won't want to be there anymore. What if I can't get settled? What if I don't re-acclimate well? What if I never make friends? What if I never succeed? At finding a job? At life?
These are juvenile fears, but part of what I'm realizing is that everything you thought you'd be is all a lie and everything you worry about now only magnifies with time. It's not that as an adult you're capable; it's that's you have to pretend you're fine.
We've survived cancer scares, surgeries, kidneys, trouble. I've grown more seriously able to handle situations no one can ever be prepared for.
In this time, I want to travel. Mike and I have been looking at going off to volunteer now for awhile, and last night, a friend of mine offered the same thing. I'm thinking the three of us should go and live and be in a different place, long before we have significant others, jobs, lives, hopes, etc.
The only thing each of us would leave behind is a loved one; between the three of we have three pets: a yellow lab, a black cat and a gray rabbit. Something tells me you're not allowed to bring a cat to Africa, although I'm sure Cat would be over the moon with excitement.
But I want to go. I'm seriously debating it. Why not spend four months (and an ungodly sum of money I don't have) doing something crazy in another place? Two internships. Human rights and business. Two countries. Four months. Sounds wonderful. Sounds like my resume would be a little bigger at the end of that experience. Graduate schools want stuff like that. I want the experience. Why not get it in India? or Ghana? or Nepal? (I just really want to go to Nepal but they don't have either of the internships I'm interested in. Lame. But maybe I'll go anyway, just to meditate.)

See what I just did? That was successful adult thinking. Switch from something to something else. Shift from the past to the future.
We've survived tears (buckets of them) to reach the point where I can leave home without anyone crying. (This started a couple years ago, don't think it was like April when I stopped crying)
We'll survive this, too.

I'm excited to see everyone who's making the journey out to see me. I hope you guys are excited too. In all honesty, though, I'm dreading the ceremony (no rehearsal) but I'm graduating in bejeweled-knock-off-Birkenstocks, so that will be fun. (That was officially a run-on sentence. I have no desire to change it.)

I will tell you that some things haven't changed. I was at a friend's house the other night and out of nowhere, he asked me what was the matter.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I responded. "Why?"
"You stopped talking."
Pause.
"Not that it's a bad thing."
Pause.
"I mean, not like that..." and then there was the hurried explanation that of course he likes it when I talk, etc. etc.
But it made me laugh.

I'm going to go move my car. This is getting ridiculous.

smish smash

Moody, for some reason.
Spent the day alone. While I realize that it's going to be my future, I'm still sort of stressed out about it. I'm not really social but I guess I am more social than I think I am.
Tomorrow is going to be my big day of cleaning. Today was my lump around day. Tomorrow: Simon and then the house. Kitchen, bathroom, living room, and oh dear, my room.
On the plus side, Cat is much happier with me. I did some research today and I realized that he looks to me as his alpha cat. I sent Mom a good morning this is a cat picture this morning, but she wasn't really a fan.

I got an A in Social Work! We're waiting on one more grade to come rolling in before we know the final score of college. ha, looking the final push has my GPA hovering around 3.1. That I can live with.


oh, by the way, the next apartment needs a bathtub. I've suffered dearly for four years and I'd prefer not to have to do so any longer. This, perhaps?:

ENDS

At 2 minutes to 9 this morning I was printing my paper.
At 9:00, I was sliding in the door of the classroom.
At 9:35 I was up presenting, telling jokes and being alive.
At 11:24 I am exhausted and very ready for sleep.
At 11:34 I will be on my way to Maddie's house so that her, Carolyn, Anna and I (maybe Katie, unless she's at work) can go get Taco Bell.
Is sleep on the menu today?
Maybe not.


But it doesn't matter: I'M DONE WITH COLLEGE!! (mostly)

FREEDOM!!!

the final countdown (do-doo-do-doo-do-do-do-do) --the song.
Can you tell it's 2am?

less than 9 hours!

4 of my grades are already in and considering how much studying I did this semester (none), I'm pretty impressed:

Spanish  B-
(I got EXACTLY the same grade on the final as I did on the midterm: 86)

Topics in Gender Studies B-

Advanced Reporting B

Statistics  A-

and then I asked my social work teacher on Thursday how I was doing and she said A, so I'm redoing my final paper (just to suck up) so that I have a solid A

and then I'm finishing a paper tonight/tomorrow morning (there is about to be a nap) and then giving a presentation starting at 9am.....for Women's and Gender Studies and I'm totally going to get a B+ or an A- or maybe an A, but maybe not.

All in all, graduating with a 3.1 GPA.
(Not bad, considering)

To save money, I'm dropping my third minor. (boo) and taking only 1 class in the summer (marketing 201) and then living the dream.

Big, wide world, here I come!

Mom told me she was proud of me today.

Herding Cats. You can do it, but it's hard.

It's really hard to walk a cat. 

I put him on his leash, he lays down. I carry him downstairs, he jumps out of my arms and wanders around the courtyard, sniffing bushes, rubbing up on bricks, sticking his head into foliage, you know. 

If you let him get too close to cover, he'll go for it, or he'll try to jump through the bars of the gate and then you're on one side, holding the leash, and he's on the other, and that's sort of a problem too. 

He got his scratching urges out on a tree and then I needed to grab something out of my car, and he freaked out the minute I opened my door. Tried to bolt. Hates cars. 

Wow, the 18 hour ride to Denver is going to be a blast, then, huh? 

Too bad you can't just drug him and ship him. I wonder if there's such a service. 

Well, no matter what happens, it will be an adventure. 

I'm staring down my last morning of relative freedom before the real finals crunch begins. I have a Spanish final tomorrow that of course I haven't started studying for and then a presentation and take home final due Saturday. This is going to be a blast. Not. 

So the final word for wearing my dress at graduation is negative. Can't do it. There's too much poof. Under the gown, it looks as though I'm wearing some sort of underwiry bustle. Think 19th century fashion and you'll understand my problem. 

So I'm going to wear something lame, or nothing at all a la Patch Adams, and then change into my dress post-ceremony. Super diva-ish, but trust me, you wouldn't want to claim me if you saw me walking that stage looking like...well, that. 

Thoughts.

The following post is jumbled thoughts:

I'm not sure if I've let the breath out yet.
I might still be holding it.
I'm nervous.
Lots of things are brewing at the moment, most of them troubling and a few bright and sunny.
There was an email. The storm warning. No response yet, and I'm trembling for fear of what will happen, but I've hunkered down with an escape plan, you know, in case something goes terribly wrong.
Which it will, because life is like that.

I finally get why people always use the storm metaphor to describe their emotions. It's lame, and overdone, but totally applicable and legitimate. I am that storm at the moment. Laughing hysterically about something funny, being excited about life, terrified about money, stressed about my living situation.

I bought a home yoga DVD. Don't judge me. I tried it last night. Basically I sort of just half paid attention to it, and I think I liked it. I'm looking quite forward to an empty apartment for the month of June. Seventeen days, baby, a few of which I will be in Colorado for. We're going to be cleaning out my car today, maybe, getting everything organized to begin the packing. The packing. I'm going to try and bring home as many dishes as possible, in order to make sure that I get everything back. I'm hoping to not have to ship anything.
I keep focusing on that. Mike and I need to buckle down and get an apartment. That will be my Denver plan.

Finals are almost over. I turned in the wrong paper for one of my classes. Literally turned in a draft. She was not pleased. I was mortified. I turned in the right paper but don't expect much of a grade boost.

Have a meeting with an internship advisor at 1pm this afternoon to see about figuring out summer. Pros and cons to the whole job/3rd minor thing....

Job:
-Pros: $
-Cons: is anyone going to hire me when I can only work for a month?

Stay for three classes:
-Pros: Self-fulfillment, three minors,
-Cons: Costs a ton.

So here's what it's looking like it might be: a split between the two of them. No money and no third minor. Take two classes, get a slight GPA boost, babysit extra hours hopefully and then move home.
The money thing is freaking me out. I'm going to get really good at navigating the loans system soon.

Mission for next week, post finals:
-clean
-pack, pack, pack!
-relax
-go to the beach
-babysit if I can
-breathe

Flashback: Fall in Wisconsin

I was digging through the tea box, rummaging for decaf tea, and I grabbed it. Apple Cinnamon. Herbal tea.

Flash.

We were at the Piggy-Wiggly in Krivitz, grocery shopping for the weekend. Eggs, milk, bacon, hot dogs, marshmallows, chocolate bars, the usual. I always need tea to wake up to, or to fall asleep to. I always spend too much time thinking about what flavor, and for some reason, I'd settled on apple cinnamon.
That weekend, the orange countertops, the stove, the cold rooms, fall creeping in on us to settle around us at night, the dogs, the fire, the lake. Drinking tea out of fragile mugs with leaves on them.

Flash.

Dark. To tonight. To the restlessness.
It's been a long time since I felt home somewhere, you know. Even longer than that.
The tea is steeping, cooling, probably too cool now.
But life is like that.

THE Dress

Two months of searching and all of a sudden, there it was: the dress. Zac Posen for Target. 2 in 1.  Convertible. The last one. My size. I look like a man in the pictures, I apologize. Now all I need to do is 2 million push ups. 

Also, two pairs of shoes. Got a huge coupon on them.

Life may be strange, but from my closet, it's beautiful. 

Except I need places to wear it. Expect to be over dressed at every event we ever have. 

Today, someone close to me tried to confront me about something that they knew nothing about. I found my gumption and told her exactly what I thought about the subject. It felt good to get my point across. It felt good to tell someone exactly what I was thinking. 

The weather is cool but the lilacs are blooming and the spring is beautiful. 

Storms ahead, however, just as many as are behind.