Go figure. I knew it would be tough. I just never thought I'd have to be asking questions such as, "What edition of this work am I reading? What biases has the editor imposed upon this text? What the hell is hegemony?"
Yeah, that's what I get to muddle over. Ph.D. does real things, apparently.
Sorry this is sparse. I have homework. Yay!
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Facebook is Becoming Pinterest and It Has to Fucking Stop
Yesterday, I once again felt that weird, mildly disgusting visceral combined reaction. You know the one I'm talking about. You know what it feels like to sort of vomit up a "Congratulations" to friends and acquaintances as they cross a "milestone" in their lives. You know that while you're forcefully gushing about the centerpieces or the crib, there is a wicked little voice in the back of your skull whispering, "You're not fucking good enough. You're a piece of shit. You're 21 and you're not married or having kids. Go home and kill yourself." At the same time as you feel slightly, OK a lot, sorry for yourself, you get the other reaction, that phenomenon of "I'm supposed to be really happy for you but I can't completely devote my entire amount of happiness to you because you're hurting my pride." After that, then you feel a crushing guilt at being a bad friend and you drink an entire bottle of wine and watch Doctor Who because you not-so-secretly beg to be punished for your ineptitude.
A married couple of unequivocal beauty and love welcomed their first child into the world. Facebook and Twitter exploded with joy, well wishes, "What a beautiful baby!"-ies, and wonderment at the miracle of life. And yes, it is wonderful that these two people who love each other are starting to build a family. I get it. That's something we're all apparently supposed to do. Grow up, get jobs, get married, have babies, yell, pretend to love your in-laws, and then die.
People of the world, both men and women, please listen up: FUCKING STOP IT WITH THE BABIES, THE RINGS, THE "I'M MARRYING MY BEST FRIEND'S," THE FRILLS, THE CAKES, AND ALL THE OTHER PASTEL SHIT. It's become a rather revolting sensation. Honestly, sometimes I feel like we as a culture have gone back to the 50's, where the only thing to be proud of was if you were in your early twenties, met your spouse in college, dropped out of college, got married, hired a maid, and then popped out three kids within three-to-five years. I am really curious as to what the hell happened to being on your own, traveling, experiencing new things, and actually enjoying your young adult life, while your skin is still taught, your dick still works, and your tits are still perky, before introducing pastels into your decor (by the way, pastels are also colors that need to die).
If you want to blow up my newsfeed with your frilly shit, that's your prerogative. I could ignore it, but then I'd basically have less than 12 people to really talk to, because the very few of us have actually gotten over ourselves to tolerate someone else's nonsense. Being a semi-independent twenty-something has become something of a taboo. It's as if there's a snotty woman somewhere in an urban area, say L.A., proclaiming, "You're nothing special if you haven't married and divorced by age 26." Sure, I happen to be in a relationship of sorts. I don't know if I love the guy, nor if he loves me, but I'd like to figure that out without allowing Facebook the chance to weigh in on that. You know, being able to handle my relationship problems with the person in which I share that relationship, as opposed to blasting it all over cyberspace.
My greatest accomplishment to this day is actually somehow securing a 1-in-18 spot in this year's Masters of Arts in English Literature Program at George Mason University. Not to brag or anything, but it was tough to make it there. Really tough. I'd like to consider not killing myself an accomplishment, along with being comfortable with my body, surviving a gigantic cyst on my ovary, accepting the fact that I probably will never be able to even be a mother, graduating college, and meeting a man who doesn't seem to mind being two states away from me. However, there isn't a Hallmark aisle for any of that. There isn't a celebration for, "Hey, you can't have kids, which means you can almost definitely hike in Sri Lanka if you so choose!"
This has been a very disorganized rant and bitchfest. I know this. Just please give the world a break. While you're off creating unnecessary spawn in a very overpopulated world, my boyfriend is uncovering the secrets of the universe and I am deciphering the human condition. Where's my MA shower?
Oh, and for the couple who got married recently and neglected to invite me, remember this: you two would probably have never met had it not been for me. It's OK, though. I'm not mad about missing The Dark Knight Rises, then getting hit on by lesbians on the Metro.
~M
A married couple of unequivocal beauty and love welcomed their first child into the world. Facebook and Twitter exploded with joy, well wishes, "What a beautiful baby!"-ies, and wonderment at the miracle of life. And yes, it is wonderful that these two people who love each other are starting to build a family. I get it. That's something we're all apparently supposed to do. Grow up, get jobs, get married, have babies, yell, pretend to love your in-laws, and then die.
People of the world, both men and women, please listen up: FUCKING STOP IT WITH THE BABIES, THE RINGS, THE "I'M MARRYING MY BEST FRIEND'S," THE FRILLS, THE CAKES, AND ALL THE OTHER PASTEL SHIT. It's become a rather revolting sensation. Honestly, sometimes I feel like we as a culture have gone back to the 50's, where the only thing to be proud of was if you were in your early twenties, met your spouse in college, dropped out of college, got married, hired a maid, and then popped out three kids within three-to-five years. I am really curious as to what the hell happened to being on your own, traveling, experiencing new things, and actually enjoying your young adult life, while your skin is still taught, your dick still works, and your tits are still perky, before introducing pastels into your decor (by the way, pastels are also colors that need to die).
If you want to blow up my newsfeed with your frilly shit, that's your prerogative. I could ignore it, but then I'd basically have less than 12 people to really talk to, because the very few of us have actually gotten over ourselves to tolerate someone else's nonsense. Being a semi-independent twenty-something has become something of a taboo. It's as if there's a snotty woman somewhere in an urban area, say L.A., proclaiming, "You're nothing special if you haven't married and divorced by age 26." Sure, I happen to be in a relationship of sorts. I don't know if I love the guy, nor if he loves me, but I'd like to figure that out without allowing Facebook the chance to weigh in on that. You know, being able to handle my relationship problems with the person in which I share that relationship, as opposed to blasting it all over cyberspace.
My greatest accomplishment to this day is actually somehow securing a 1-in-18 spot in this year's Masters of Arts in English Literature Program at George Mason University. Not to brag or anything, but it was tough to make it there. Really tough. I'd like to consider not killing myself an accomplishment, along with being comfortable with my body, surviving a gigantic cyst on my ovary, accepting the fact that I probably will never be able to even be a mother, graduating college, and meeting a man who doesn't seem to mind being two states away from me. However, there isn't a Hallmark aisle for any of that. There isn't a celebration for, "Hey, you can't have kids, which means you can almost definitely hike in Sri Lanka if you so choose!"
This has been a very disorganized rant and bitchfest. I know this. Just please give the world a break. While you're off creating unnecessary spawn in a very overpopulated world, my boyfriend is uncovering the secrets of the universe and I am deciphering the human condition. Where's my MA shower?
Oh, and for the couple who got married recently and neglected to invite me, remember this: you two would probably have never met had it not been for me. It's OK, though. I'm not mad about missing The Dark Knight Rises, then getting hit on by lesbians on the Metro.
~M
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Weighing In on Some Issues
A lot has happened in the wake of controversy; rarely will I weigh in with my opinion on these kind of issues, but I am a bitchy American female, and I've been told that I have an opinion on everything.
I'd first like to address the fiasco of Chick-fil-A supporting anti-gay groups. Honestly, why is everyone surprised that a company based out of Atlanta, Georgia, doesn't support homosexuality? The franchise maintains its Christian values by closing on Sundays; coincidentally, that's pretty much the only time I actively crave the taste of that sammich. The current CEO of the franchise is a devout Southern Baptist, and we all know how tolerant those people are of "alternative lifestyles." No, it's not really shocking or groundbreaking that a franchise from the South doesn't support the gay lifestyle. Don't eat the soggy sammich if it kills your soul, but also don't just sit and bitch about it. Trust me, Southern people are annoyingly stubborn and no matter how many people actually complain about Chick-fil-A, the company will not change. Not really. The First Amendment, as well as the capitalist nature of the country, allows a business operator to conduct business and religion as s/he sees fit. Instead of placing the blame on the sammiches, just focus energy on the politicians themselves. Put pressure on those bastards (looking at you, Santorum) to finally come to grips with reality and accept that straight people can coexist comfortably with gay people as equal human beings. Will I eat there ever again? No, but that's mainly because I am trying to eat better and fight the sedentary lifestyle. And I also believe that love should be the basis on marriage, not your sexuality.
Sally Ride passed the way yesterday at age 61, after battling pancreatic cancer for less than two years. I wrote a biography of her in elementary school because she was a seriously cool woman. She was the first American female astronaut, OK? That's incredible. She's a heroine and amazing and I bet she was a weird, dorky little kid with big dreams of the stars. She just did her own thing and explored outer space, starting in 1983. Not only was she the first female astronaut, she was also, and still remains, the youngest American to enter outer space. However, she is a heroine for yet another reason: in her obituary, she publicly. The phrase is succinct and to the point: "She is survived by Tam O’Shaughnessy, her partner of 27 years." That's just beautiful. Sally Ride, badass to the end.
Finally, the NCAA President announced the Penn State football program provisions this past Monday at 9 AM. We all know what they are:
I must say that I'm very pleased that the current students have the option to transfer without penalty, because if not, it would severely hurt their chances of being recruited to the NFL and all that mess. They deserve a chance. It's not like these students were touching little boys.
We should have gone medieval on Sandusky. Period. Paterno is already dead, so that takes care of that, but Sandusky should be publicly punished. Corporally. His wife was disgraceful: how could she not know and defend her husband in the wake of 48 accounts of abuse? The people involved need to be severely punished, and I think that the $60 million should come from all of their liquidated assets.
Now, that was very emotional. I'll go drink more coffee and stare at this picture of a husky puppy.
I'd first like to address the fiasco of Chick-fil-A supporting anti-gay groups. Honestly, why is everyone surprised that a company based out of Atlanta, Georgia, doesn't support homosexuality? The franchise maintains its Christian values by closing on Sundays; coincidentally, that's pretty much the only time I actively crave the taste of that sammich. The current CEO of the franchise is a devout Southern Baptist, and we all know how tolerant those people are of "alternative lifestyles." No, it's not really shocking or groundbreaking that a franchise from the South doesn't support the gay lifestyle. Don't eat the soggy sammich if it kills your soul, but also don't just sit and bitch about it. Trust me, Southern people are annoyingly stubborn and no matter how many people actually complain about Chick-fil-A, the company will not change. Not really. The First Amendment, as well as the capitalist nature of the country, allows a business operator to conduct business and religion as s/he sees fit. Instead of placing the blame on the sammiches, just focus energy on the politicians themselves. Put pressure on those bastards (looking at you, Santorum) to finally come to grips with reality and accept that straight people can coexist comfortably with gay people as equal human beings. Will I eat there ever again? No, but that's mainly because I am trying to eat better and fight the sedentary lifestyle. And I also believe that love should be the basis on marriage, not your sexuality.
Sally Ride passed the way yesterday at age 61, after battling pancreatic cancer for less than two years. I wrote a biography of her in elementary school because she was a seriously cool woman. She was the first American female astronaut, OK? That's incredible. She's a heroine and amazing and I bet she was a weird, dorky little kid with big dreams of the stars. She just did her own thing and explored outer space, starting in 1983. Not only was she the first female astronaut, she was also, and still remains, the youngest American to enter outer space. However, she is a heroine for yet another reason: in her obituary, she publicly. The phrase is succinct and to the point: "She is survived by Tam O’Shaughnessy, her partner of 27 years." That's just beautiful. Sally Ride, badass to the end.
Finally, the NCAA President announced the Penn State football program provisions this past Monday at 9 AM. We all know what they are:
- A $60 million fine that must go to charities supporting child protection
- A four-year Bowl ban
- A five-year probation period
- A reduction of scholarships from 25 to 15 over the next four years
- All victories from 1998-2011 have been vacated.
I must say that I'm very pleased that the current students have the option to transfer without penalty, because if not, it would severely hurt their chances of being recruited to the NFL and all that mess. They deserve a chance. It's not like these students were touching little boys.
We should have gone medieval on Sandusky. Period. Paterno is already dead, so that takes care of that, but Sandusky should be publicly punished. Corporally. His wife was disgraceful: how could she not know and defend her husband in the wake of 48 accounts of abuse? The people involved need to be severely punished, and I think that the $60 million should come from all of their liquidated assets.
Now, that was very emotional. I'll go drink more coffee and stare at this picture of a husky puppy.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Twenty Questions Men Have About "Fifty Shades of Grey"
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Sunday, July 8, 2012
It's 2:21 AM
and I was just roused by a text from a person that I legitimately cannot stand.
That has to be a punishment from at least the secondary Circle of Hell. I was nodding off, blissfully ignorant of all around me, PhD's voice still clear from our conversation, la de DA, when this number glares at my screen with a less than pleasant text message.
This situation is a rather messy one, far too complicated to explain, and instead of dealing with it, I choose to bury it. I know, it's so healthy. My mother suggested to me, long ago, to cut out negative people from my life and this particular individual is equivalent to my personal cancer; when s/he decided to cuss me out when my grandfather had just died, I'd had enough and never spoke to him/her again. This also led me to delete his/her phone number from my cell phone.
How did I know that the text message in question came from this particular person? Tone, context, and a healthy dose of accusatory language, consistent of this "adult."
To be judicious, I'd been less than pleasant to him/her before. I acknowledge that and have actually worked up the courage to put my Big Girl Panties on and actually apologize to this person. I really do want to tell them that I am truly remorseful for being unfairly awful to them before and that I am happy that s/he is able to make their SO happy. I actually, like a real idiot, crafted a brief apology letter to this person.
This individual and I have not spoken to each other for a year, and s/he decides to break that unwritten contract by unearthing the past. I don't know why, nor do I particularly care. Well, I guess I do care, considering I just wrote this in response to the event. I'd greatly appreciate being able to properly move on and get a decent night's sleep, though. In this one instance, I'd like to think that ignorance really is bliss.
What's important for me is to focus my attention on the future. Overall, today was a good day. I did laundry, went to an excellent cookout, and saw Magic Mike. My internship is going well enough and I have been getting along amicably with my colleagues. I start graduate school classes relatively soon. My boyfriend, and yes it's unsettling to say that, visited me for Independence Day. PhD wants to whisk me away for a romantic beach trip, which is surprising, as well as a few other things he has in mind; it's so insanely sexy for a man to take charge and be spontaneous, especially since I get dragged down into monotony so quickly.
This person is in the past, where they shall remain to enjoy their life. I shall blissfully exist cancer-free.
That has to be a punishment from at least the secondary Circle of Hell. I was nodding off, blissfully ignorant of all around me, PhD's voice still clear from our conversation, la de DA, when this number glares at my screen with a less than pleasant text message.
This situation is a rather messy one, far too complicated to explain, and instead of dealing with it, I choose to bury it. I know, it's so healthy. My mother suggested to me, long ago, to cut out negative people from my life and this particular individual is equivalent to my personal cancer; when s/he decided to cuss me out when my grandfather had just died, I'd had enough and never spoke to him/her again. This also led me to delete his/her phone number from my cell phone.
How did I know that the text message in question came from this particular person? Tone, context, and a healthy dose of accusatory language, consistent of this "adult."
To be judicious, I'd been less than pleasant to him/her before. I acknowledge that and have actually worked up the courage to put my Big Girl Panties on and actually apologize to this person. I really do want to tell them that I am truly remorseful for being unfairly awful to them before and that I am happy that s/he is able to make their SO happy. I actually, like a real idiot, crafted a brief apology letter to this person.
This individual and I have not spoken to each other for a year, and s/he decides to break that unwritten contract by unearthing the past. I don't know why, nor do I particularly care. Well, I guess I do care, considering I just wrote this in response to the event. I'd greatly appreciate being able to properly move on and get a decent night's sleep, though. In this one instance, I'd like to think that ignorance really is bliss.
What's important for me is to focus my attention on the future. Overall, today was a good day. I did laundry, went to an excellent cookout, and saw Magic Mike. My internship is going well enough and I have been getting along amicably with my colleagues. I start graduate school classes relatively soon. My boyfriend, and yes it's unsettling to say that, visited me for Independence Day. PhD wants to whisk me away for a romantic beach trip, which is surprising, as well as a few other things he has in mind; it's so insanely sexy for a man to take charge and be spontaneous, especially since I get dragged down into monotony so quickly.
This person is in the past, where they shall remain to enjoy their life. I shall blissfully exist cancer-free.
Monday, July 2, 2012
What I Want to Be When I Grow Up
I want to be Joan Harris from Mad Men. There. I said it.
Television has given us many strong women over the years but I do believe that Miss Joan Harris is the dream woman, and not just for dudes either (she's played by Christina Hendricks, who is probably the only woman I would go lesbian for).
Honestly, look at this woman! She has one of the best figures on the planet and brings back the hourglass shape in full force, making us curvy girls ridiculously happy.
Not only that, but her character is so expertly written. She starts out as the office manager at Sterling Cooper and does basically everything: charms the pants off all the men, calmly handles crisis situations, gets rid of bitches in the office gracefully, and teaches Peggy how to dress for success in the man's world.
And damn, is this one of the best dressed characters on TV? If you don't watch the show, at least look up some of her ensembles. It is one of my goals in life to model my wardrobe in accordance to her style, though a little more modern than the 1960's.
I just had a bit of a fangirl moment. I've had a lot of those lately, what with the Olympic Trials for USA Swimming, Magic Mike, and rereading the Millennium trilogy.
I'm going to go embrace my curves. PHD is coming to visit tomorrow so hopefully he can embrace my curves, too. NAILED IT!
~M
Television has given us many strong women over the years but I do believe that Miss Joan Harris is the dream woman, and not just for dudes either (she's played by Christina Hendricks, who is probably the only woman I would go lesbian for).
Honestly, look at this woman! She has one of the best figures on the planet and brings back the hourglass shape in full force, making us curvy girls ridiculously happy.
Not only that, but her character is so expertly written. She starts out as the office manager at Sterling Cooper and does basically everything: charms the pants off all the men, calmly handles crisis situations, gets rid of bitches in the office gracefully, and teaches Peggy how to dress for success in the man's world.
And damn, is this one of the best dressed characters on TV? If you don't watch the show, at least look up some of her ensembles. It is one of my goals in life to model my wardrobe in accordance to her style, though a little more modern than the 1960's.
I just had a bit of a fangirl moment. I've had a lot of those lately, what with the Olympic Trials for USA Swimming, Magic Mike, and rereading the Millennium trilogy.
I'm going to go embrace my curves. PHD is coming to visit tomorrow so hopefully he can embrace my curves, too. NAILED IT!
~M
Monday, June 25, 2012
Second Coffee Refuel
Currently, I do believe this beverage could have a Red Bull or two in it, just to ensure that I stay awake long enough to actually make it home tonight. No, I didn't rage last night. In fact, I've become a rather dull, boring, lame adult. I'm Ted Mosby when I aspire to be Robin Scherbatsky.
Right, whatever with that.
I suppose I should at least sort of clarify who PHD is, considering I might be mentioning him more from time to time. We met at a mutual friend's wedding; rather, we met at the reception after-party to play Finish The Drinks. Something about me that night made him want to actually talk to me (imagine: a man making the first move): it could have been that I was shit-housed, wearing a very tight Nyan cat shirt with tight jeans, I was high on female wedding endorphins/desperation, or perhaps a combination of all three. Either way, he just started chatting me up, even though in that moment I probably wasn't in prime chatting up condition.
Look, open bars are about 50% I go to weddings in the first place.
Anyway, so he sent me a friend request on Facebook and we kept in touch through that medium. He studies physics at a university in PA at the Ph.D. level, hence the pseudonym PHD. When I received notification of my acceptance to graduate school, he was among the first to congratulate me. Our conversations following that occasion turned a tad more flirtatious, to the point where he was at my apartment's front door the night after graduation. He stayed for two nights with me and we reached an agreement: we were going to see how the summer went with the distance and such. I had made plans to drive up to PA to visit him but reality got in the way.
See, accepting this internship was a major step up for me from where I was. However, it gave my very little to move out of my apartment in Blacksburg and into my aunt's place in DC. The only days in which this task could be accomplished were the days that I had planned on heading up to visit him. Unfortunately, my trip to the North (yes, PA is north of the Mason-Dixon line. Know your US history) will be put on hold until September, and I feel really terrible about that. I want to visit him, not just because I like him but also because it's fair.
PHD has decided to come down to DC to celebrate Independence Day with me, which is pretty cool. He's also indicated coming down for my 22nd birthday.
I guess I should just come out with it: he asked me to be his girlfriend. Surprisingly, I'm OK with this. I don't mind the distance because both of us are going to be crazy-busy with graduate school classes. Plus, I don't need to talk to him everyday. Perhaps I have reached the level of maturity in order to maintain this sort of thing.
"Love is like a fart. If you have to force it, it's probably shit." I'm going to let this develop organically.
~M
Right, whatever with that.
I suppose I should at least sort of clarify who PHD is, considering I might be mentioning him more from time to time. We met at a mutual friend's wedding; rather, we met at the reception after-party to play Finish The Drinks. Something about me that night made him want to actually talk to me (imagine: a man making the first move): it could have been that I was shit-housed, wearing a very tight Nyan cat shirt with tight jeans, I was high on female wedding endorphins/desperation, or perhaps a combination of all three. Either way, he just started chatting me up, even though in that moment I probably wasn't in prime chatting up condition.
Look, open bars are about 50% I go to weddings in the first place.
Anyway, so he sent me a friend request on Facebook and we kept in touch through that medium. He studies physics at a university in PA at the Ph.D. level, hence the pseudonym PHD. When I received notification of my acceptance to graduate school, he was among the first to congratulate me. Our conversations following that occasion turned a tad more flirtatious, to the point where he was at my apartment's front door the night after graduation. He stayed for two nights with me and we reached an agreement: we were going to see how the summer went with the distance and such. I had made plans to drive up to PA to visit him but reality got in the way.
See, accepting this internship was a major step up for me from where I was. However, it gave my very little to move out of my apartment in Blacksburg and into my aunt's place in DC. The only days in which this task could be accomplished were the days that I had planned on heading up to visit him. Unfortunately, my trip to the North (yes, PA is north of the Mason-Dixon line. Know your US history) will be put on hold until September, and I feel really terrible about that. I want to visit him, not just because I like him but also because it's fair.
PHD has decided to come down to DC to celebrate Independence Day with me, which is pretty cool. He's also indicated coming down for my 22nd birthday.
I guess I should just come out with it: he asked me to be his girlfriend. Surprisingly, I'm OK with this. I don't mind the distance because both of us are going to be crazy-busy with graduate school classes. Plus, I don't need to talk to him everyday. Perhaps I have reached the level of maturity in order to maintain this sort of thing.
"Love is like a fart. If you have to force it, it's probably shit." I'm going to let this develop organically.
~M
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