The end is near.
This time next week, I will be finished with the undergrad part of my life.
But I have one promise to keep when it is all said and done.
I promised my co-workers that I would burn my "hideous" pink bag. They have despised it the moment they noticed it was past season and I refused to put it away, use it for the beach, etc.
But I am ok with this, though it has served its purpose (with or without dignity).
You see, I have decided when I grow up and go to grad school, I will roll around one of those book bags with wheels on it. I will be so very adult (I think we can all agree, I was never so very chic anyway).
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
The MisAdventures of a Fearless Fruitfly
"And this is my little sister," he said, his hand at the small of my back, urging me forward to meet the coordinater of the night's event, an owner of a local couture shoe boutique.
It was Take-Over and this was my immersion into the world of, well, a special kind of social networking. Michael, of course, was lying about our relationship. And after a few of our little outings, seeing the same people repeatedly, the truth was discovered.
"Oh. You're just another fag hag," his new boyfriend said snidely upon our introduction.
He was WASPy, tall, blond and had a mouth full of lasered-white teeth. I referred to him as Mr. Ed (a nickname that simultaneously offended and entertained my friend Micheal). I thought his remark was rather rude considering that A) this was the first time I had met him B) Michael was the one who invited me, I was not the desperate tag-along I seemed to be and C) the word hag is repulsive (hag I am not). My astonishment was apparent, so Michael's other friends suggested a much more female-friendly term...and that is how I earned my title as fruitfly.
I took my title seriously, putting on my heels and attending events, helping with dinner parties, wearing many playful dresses--all while sipping at a various assortment of martinis.
At one Take-Over, I amused my Gay by dancing with a middle-aged lesbian, at her request (or rather when she pulled me onto the dance floor, Michael laughing at me the whole time). I did whatever I could to amuse him.
I had been bored and nosey and decided to go through his closest while he was getting ready. It was one of the dresses he and a group of guys bought for PRIDE in ATL the year past (the same year these middle-to-late-aged men decided to randomly join the parade line, referring to themselves as Sisters of the Rainbow). They each had a various color of the same strapless, cotton floral sundress. Michael's dress was fuchsia, but I chose Marc's (his live-in boyfriend) blue version. It went better with the orange peep-toes I had worn that day to work.
He laughed and agreed it would be fun, so I shaved my legs in his bathtub and tucked in the straps to my (non-strapless) bra and we headed to the Pink House. Needless to say, we were the hit of the night and I was happy to have been of assistance.
It was Take-Over and this was my immersion into the world of, well, a special kind of social networking. Michael, of course, was lying about our relationship. And after a few of our little outings, seeing the same people repeatedly, the truth was discovered.
"Oh. You're just another fag hag," his new boyfriend said snidely upon our introduction.
He was WASPy, tall, blond and had a mouth full of lasered-white teeth. I referred to him as Mr. Ed (a nickname that simultaneously offended and entertained my friend Micheal). I thought his remark was rather rude considering that A) this was the first time I had met him B) Michael was the one who invited me, I was not the desperate tag-along I seemed to be and C) the word hag is repulsive (hag I am not). My astonishment was apparent, so Michael's other friends suggested a much more female-friendly term...and that is how I earned my title as fruitfly.
I took my title seriously, putting on my heels and attending events, helping with dinner parties, wearing many playful dresses--all while sipping at a various assortment of martinis.
At one Take-Over, I amused my Gay by dancing with a middle-aged lesbian, at her request (or rather when she pulled me onto the dance floor, Michael laughing at me the whole time). I did whatever I could to amuse him.
***
"Hey, Michael," I shouted across the hall. "Can I wear this dress?"I had been bored and nosey and decided to go through his closest while he was getting ready. It was one of the dresses he and a group of guys bought for PRIDE in ATL the year past (the same year these middle-to-late-aged men decided to randomly join the parade line, referring to themselves as Sisters of the Rainbow). They each had a various color of the same strapless, cotton floral sundress. Michael's dress was fuchsia, but I chose Marc's (his live-in boyfriend) blue version. It went better with the orange peep-toes I had worn that day to work.
He laughed and agreed it would be fun, so I shaved my legs in his bathtub and tucked in the straps to my (non-strapless) bra and we headed to the Pink House. Needless to say, we were the hit of the night and I was happy to have been of assistance.
***
We have not been out together in a while...since last spring. With school and work...and his new long-distance lover, we have not made the time. Anyway, I am twenty pounds too heavy now to be an accessory and fifty pounds too little to be a true groupie (really, you should see these women). So until the I make the necessary adjustments, I will not be Out.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
I quit.
Not really. I am being dramatic.
Every semester I hit the wall. I become a crazy person who works, goes to school and hangs out in the library any time it is open. And I prefer USC Lancaster library to our Everett. The study rooms are always available and it smells like new carpet and it is right down the road.
I have hit that wall...and I am sure next week will be the beginning of my library addiction and everything else that follows. Paper due Thu, Tue, Tue, Thu, Wed. I still haven't begun the Core paper that was due two weeks ago. I am so uninspired...Core just makes me feel angry, guilty and helpless and it's a waste of my time. But that is a different blog.
Every semester I hit the wall. I become a crazy person who works, goes to school and hangs out in the library any time it is open. And I prefer USC Lancaster library to our Everett. The study rooms are always available and it smells like new carpet and it is right down the road.
I have hit that wall...and I am sure next week will be the beginning of my library addiction and everything else that follows. Paper due Thu, Tue, Tue, Thu, Wed. I still haven't begun the Core paper that was due two weeks ago. I am so uninspired...Core just makes me feel angry, guilty and helpless and it's a waste of my time. But that is a different blog.
Second Essay
I haven't actually changed anything yet. But I have marked the papers up and noted where I want to make changes. I will move a segment and add a few more things...but I have to do the research. I'll do it tomorrow (that's been my motto).
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Don't Be a Player Hater
How do you break it to your classically trained teacher that you no longer want to learn another version of "Air"?
What you really want to learn to play on your pedal harp is Nirvana's "Come As You Are".
The openning bass lines would be amazing.
I got up the nerve to ask her earlier this semester if I could play my wire strings like an upright bass (without giving away my intent of knowing).
"You mean like this?" she replied as she grabbed at the strings, plucking out a jazzy number.
Yes, like that. I nodded with a gleam in my eye.
When I grow up, I want to play Kurt Cobain over any classical composer. I already have my drummer lined up.
Does this make me any less of a musician?
Check this out: I'm not a Metallica fan, but these harpists are...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xppNIBGzxYs&feature=channel_page
What you really want to learn to play on your pedal harp is Nirvana's "Come As You Are".
The openning bass lines would be amazing.
I got up the nerve to ask her earlier this semester if I could play my wire strings like an upright bass (without giving away my intent of knowing).
"You mean like this?" she replied as she grabbed at the strings, plucking out a jazzy number.
Yes, like that. I nodded with a gleam in my eye.
When I grow up, I want to play Kurt Cobain over any classical composer. I already have my drummer lined up.
Does this make me any less of a musician?
Check this out: I'm not a Metallica fan, but these harpists are...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xppNIBGzxYs&feature=channel_page
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Trivial Refute
Some people (i.e. Klosterman) believe it is absurd (even, shall we say, trivial) when people say, "such and such changed my life"...dramatic emphasis here, SJP style (this involves simultaneously clutching your hands to your chest and bending your knees, while drawing out every vowel sound in your declaration, then winding down to a whimpering grand finale. For an example of this, please refer to any episode of Sex and the City).
Well, here is my triviality (in addition to my obsession with fetching the mail everyday, religiously shutting off unnecessary lights, checking to make sure doors are locked, and avoiding any hint of scary movies, including the trailers on tv)...
Sofia Coppola changed my life.
I had rented Lost in Translation and watched it alone in my living room. I remember the scene well. It was really only one scene.
After Charlotte visits the Buddhist temple and returns to her hotel room. She dials her friend and tries to relate her feelings (or lack of feelings, in this case), she wants to feels validated (or simply heard), but her friend is distracted on the other end of the line (completely detached and missing the urgency) and must go. Charlotte is alone (and suddenly brutally aware of this).
It was probably a collision of watching the right emotionally-charged film at a very unstable time in my life. But I firmly believe a film literally altered the course of my life.
Of course, I am likely blowing this out of proportion...but that's the point of this exercise, right? (whimper whimper).
Well, here is my triviality (in addition to my obsession with fetching the mail everyday, religiously shutting off unnecessary lights, checking to make sure doors are locked, and avoiding any hint of scary movies, including the trailers on tv)...
Sofia Coppola changed my life.
I had rented Lost in Translation and watched it alone in my living room. I remember the scene well. It was really only one scene.
After Charlotte visits the Buddhist temple and returns to her hotel room. She dials her friend and tries to relate her feelings (or lack of feelings, in this case), she wants to feels validated (or simply heard), but her friend is distracted on the other end of the line (completely detached and missing the urgency) and must go. Charlotte is alone (and suddenly brutally aware of this).
It was probably a collision of watching the right emotionally-charged film at a very unstable time in my life. But I firmly believe a film literally altered the course of my life.
Of course, I am likely blowing this out of proportion...but that's the point of this exercise, right? (whimper whimper).
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