It's not just a movie, it's Sarah's life. Actually I'll call it 6 Christmases....
Christmas 2008: I was fired. Oh excuse me, terminated. Terminated is such a worse word than fired, because it makes one think of being killed. It's like "Congrats Sarah, you are being executed. Holla. Do you prefer the noose, the chair or the firing squad? Or our all popular concrete shoes alternative?" Just say I'm fired. Then it sounds like I've been put in a kiln and I'm a lovely vase. Or I'm a s'more and roasted over a fire. Nom nom.
So this is the jist- Stupid dean (I say stupid because my parents read this blog and my word for him is a word they don't think I know), never gave me proper instruction on his teaching assistantship that he had for me. I was, apparently, supposed to get him published but didn't know my exact duties as I am not an advertising executive nor a publicist. So after months of asking what to do and receiving no answer, I asked to be reassigned. After not receiving an answer about that, I kept writing and writing and asking what my new duties were, either with him or with my reassigned boss. Heard nothing. Until tonight. 9 f*cking days before Christmas, saying that I had not completed my duties and was being terminated. Uhhhh what duties, Einstein. I asked you a million times to give me an assignment. Either way, I got a good case of which I am sure I am 98% in the right. I'm seeing the human resources people on Friday, so we'll see. The only thing I'm scared about is my tuition remission disappearing.... Oh and the whole thing about not having any money and being homeless.... ugh.
Christmas 2007: My now ex-boyfriend (aka Scalini), in so many words set me up for a crime he committed and I was arrested on December 18, 2007. Wow that was like almost a year ago. He is a lawyer himself and ex-step brother for the DA. So I was carted off, spent $7000 on a lawyer and held in what they call "The Tombs" in lower Manhattan. Holy crap. The Tombs. And it is exactly that. The prison guards not only treat you like crap, but I was kicked, pushed and spat on in a holding cell with 20 other women, most of which were strung out on some narcotic and with no working bathroom. We weren't fed and despite the promise that I'd be out of there within 12 hours it was more like 24. So I went to arraignment and yadda yadda I got out on my own recognizance because the judge realized it was such a BS case. So then I had to spend the next day sending back all his stupid holiday presents before escaping to North Dakota for R&R.
Christmas 2006: I had a job I loved at a place called Seedco and I was really good at my job. But unfortunately they downsized and I was laid off on December 22nd. Merry f-in Christmas Sarah. And sure my Mom and sister came to the city for the holiday, but I was so stressed out I could barely enjoy it, because I couldn't afford it!
Christmas 2005: My first Christmas in NYC. I didn't know anyone and was completely lonely and couldn't see my parents as they'd just moved. Luckily I saw my sisters but it just wasn't the ideal situation. I want Christmas with my whole family again, sisters, nephews, etc and going away somewhere warm!
Christmas 2004: I was in the UK, and despite a kind friend inviting me to spend it with her and her family in East Grinstead outside of London, I always kinda felt that I was imposing. It killed me that I didn't have Christmas with my family that year, especially since it would've been the last Christmas in my old house in Collingswood.
Christmas 2003: The best Christmas I can remember. We went to Baja Principe, Mexico and had a glorious time! Tanya and Lisa got engaged, I spent most of my time with 3 non-English speaking Italian guys and it was just a beautiful, relaxing vacation, especially because I hated my job and had the most horrific flu 3 weeks before.
Now several people have told me that to be around Sarah means to know what the word "drama" means. Well I can't really argue with that. But despite all this drama, I think I've done quite well with what I've been dealt. And sure, people create their own drama sometimes, but it's not just because some people try to look for drama. Sometimes it's just because we don't know what to do and make the wrong decisions. Because things map out because of bad choices. My glorious dad made a lovely statement earlier: "You've pursued things higher and higher. And sometimes the higher you go, the rougher the road gets". Thanks Dad :) I think that's quite true. Just because we're supposed to be older and wiser doesn't mean our decisions get wiser. It just means we can offer stupid advice to people 5 years younger than us regarding parents and friends and boyfriends. But we can make the same wrong choices at the age of 15 and the age of 55. And I guarantee you, I will be.
But hell, it creates interesting blogs right? You can all thank me later. After you include cheques in your Christmas cards.... xx
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Escape
Don't worry lambs, I'm not losing it. (I know what you're thinking... "silly sarah, you've lost it already!"..) This is not a bad pessimistic post. It's one of those weird good pessimistic posts.... yes...
So while perusing one of my favoritest websites, Neatorama.com, I came across a posting about Tristan da Cunha. And I want to live there. This place sounds absolutely glorious.
Now I'm sure we have all, at one time (or many times) or another, thought about just picking up and leaving. Just packing all our things, or perhaps nothing at all and just getting out. Maybe telling no one, maybe telling everyone. Maybe leaving to continue our certain profession or dream or maybe leaving to start something completely new. Or maybe leaving and just seeing where the world, the tides and the winds will take us.
So Tristan da Cunha is a little island in the south Atlantic and inhabited by only 270 people. What would I do there? How would I even get there? They only get mail once a year when some random British liner passes by and there's only 1 telephone on the island. My mother would not be happy about that... There's no airport so I'm guessing I'd have to stow away on said British mail ship to get there... What would I do? I don't know.. perhaps become a fisherman. I've seen The Perfect Storm, Jaws and Castaway, I'm sure it can't be that difficult... Perhaps I could be the mayor or the sheriff. Small town like that, I bet it's like Mayberry and I've had my fair share of Andy Griffith Show viewings. Maybe just marry some random local? Well considering there's only 270 people on the island I'm sure there's some inbreeding and stuff goin on so that might not be so hott. .... icky.
So maybe that island is out. What else is there? I'd love to pack up and go to Norway. Travel around, rely on the kindness of strangers and a harmonica. Except the fact that travel in Europe is expensive, while Norweigans are some of the nicest people I've met, no one trusts Americans anymore and I don't own nor have the ability to play a harmonica.
I'd love to backpack around Thailand. Sleep in the mountains of Nepal. Explore the jungles of Cambodia and climb the Pyramids of Egypt. And then I realize that I hate bugs, camping, the heat and manual labor. Still, I'd like at least the option to do these things. I think about escaping to Antartica, to Washington state, to Northestern Canada... To Belgium and Australia, to Chile and to the Netherlands. To do what? I have no idea. Just to get out. Just to be somewhere else.
So what does this all mean? I don't know. A psychologist might say that I am feeling trapped in my current situation and I honestly can't argue with that. I'm trapped at Rutgers until I get a better offer, I'm trapped in New York until I can get the money and opportunity to move, etc etc etc.
I don't even want to analyze it because it just depresses me. Ok... so I lied, this is a bad pessimistic post. Bugger.
I mean it's not like everything is in the crapper. Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, blah blah blah. I've got the end of the swine semester, a nice holiday, a trip to North Dakota and other crap to look forwards to. Right? Sure.
Now you all know that I love TS Eliot. His poems are some of the most insipiring and inquiring that I've ever encountered. Please read them sometime when you get the chance.
"So I ask of you now, am I really that bad?
I ask of you now, was I not worth it at all?
I ask this of you now because I really don't know
I ask this of you now because I can't read your mind.
I can't read your face,
I can't read your eyes and I can't hear your voice.
I ask this of you now because I really must know
I ask this of you now because I need to be told.
I can handle the truth and I can handle the lies.
But I do know the difference and I'll take both with a smile.
I ask this of you now because all I will ask of you,
Is to leave me with a smile."
That's not Eliot, that's me.
comments welcome.
x
So while perusing one of my favoritest websites, Neatorama.com, I came across a posting about Tristan da Cunha. And I want to live there. This place sounds absolutely glorious.
Now I'm sure we have all, at one time (or many times) or another, thought about just picking up and leaving. Just packing all our things, or perhaps nothing at all and just getting out. Maybe telling no one, maybe telling everyone. Maybe leaving to continue our certain profession or dream or maybe leaving to start something completely new. Or maybe leaving and just seeing where the world, the tides and the winds will take us.
So Tristan da Cunha is a little island in the south Atlantic and inhabited by only 270 people. What would I do there? How would I even get there? They only get mail once a year when some random British liner passes by and there's only 1 telephone on the island. My mother would not be happy about that... There's no airport so I'm guessing I'd have to stow away on said British mail ship to get there... What would I do? I don't know.. perhaps become a fisherman. I've seen The Perfect Storm, Jaws and Castaway, I'm sure it can't be that difficult... Perhaps I could be the mayor or the sheriff. Small town like that, I bet it's like Mayberry and I've had my fair share of Andy Griffith Show viewings. Maybe just marry some random local? Well considering there's only 270 people on the island I'm sure there's some inbreeding and stuff goin on so that might not be so hott. .... icky.
So maybe that island is out. What else is there? I'd love to pack up and go to Norway. Travel around, rely on the kindness of strangers and a harmonica. Except the fact that travel in Europe is expensive, while Norweigans are some of the nicest people I've met, no one trusts Americans anymore and I don't own nor have the ability to play a harmonica.
I'd love to backpack around Thailand. Sleep in the mountains of Nepal. Explore the jungles of Cambodia and climb the Pyramids of Egypt. And then I realize that I hate bugs, camping, the heat and manual labor. Still, I'd like at least the option to do these things. I think about escaping to Antartica, to Washington state, to Northestern Canada... To Belgium and Australia, to Chile and to the Netherlands. To do what? I have no idea. Just to get out. Just to be somewhere else.
So what does this all mean? I don't know. A psychologist might say that I am feeling trapped in my current situation and I honestly can't argue with that. I'm trapped at Rutgers until I get a better offer, I'm trapped in New York until I can get the money and opportunity to move, etc etc etc.
I don't even want to analyze it because it just depresses me. Ok... so I lied, this is a bad pessimistic post. Bugger.
I mean it's not like everything is in the crapper. Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, blah blah blah. I've got the end of the swine semester, a nice holiday, a trip to North Dakota and other crap to look forwards to. Right? Sure.
Now you all know that I love TS Eliot. His poems are some of the most insipiring and inquiring that I've ever encountered. Please read them sometime when you get the chance.
"So I ask of you now, am I really that bad?
I ask of you now, was I not worth it at all?
I ask this of you now because I really don't know
I ask this of you now because I can't read your mind.
I can't read your face,
I can't read your eyes and I can't hear your voice.
I ask this of you now because I really must know
I ask this of you now because I need to be told.
I can handle the truth and I can handle the lies.
But I do know the difference and I'll take both with a smile.
I ask this of you now because all I will ask of you,
Is to leave me with a smile."
That's not Eliot, that's me.
comments welcome.
x
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Insomnia
Insomnia really sucks. What really sucks even more is that every one has not 2, not 3, but like 25 cents into what causes/extends/cures/solves/prevents it. It’s like with the hiccups. People recommend everything from peanut butter, olive oil, hanging upside down, holding your breath, etc. For my chronic insomnia recently, people have recommended:
1) Chamomile tea
2) Hot baths
3) Smelly candles
4) Dimming lights
5) Soft music
While all of that sounds like the recipe for a really hot date, none of it works in New York City. Here I have clanging heat pipes, sirens, screaming babies, stomping upstairs neighbors and an array of just random noises that I can’t place without driving myself crazy so I just try to ignore them. As a solution I have a white noise machine, a fan and industrial-strength earplugs. (think the kind the airline workers wear on the runway) Although none of that works when the kid next door slams his crib into the wall behind my bed and, thus, my poor skull.
My initial solution to the kiddy problem was to call 311 (NYC services), 911 (the definition of idiocy) and ACS (the people supposedly helping children in the city). However they either didn’t respond or responded 5 hours later and rang my doorbell which either kept me up or woke me up and was a complete backlash to my entire sleep problem. And it wasn’t so much the noise of these stupid neighbors that kept me up, but the fact that they were being inconsiderate. Hey looks like my parents passed something on to me..
So I did the NyQuil cure, the sleeping pill cure, the stay up an extra day and pass out from sheer exhaustion cure.. nothing worked... So now I’m doing the doctor cure. Cross your fingers for some good drugs for Sarah... But while sources for a cure are numerous, I’m wondering what exactly is causing my insomnia so I can prevent it from coming back.
So while searching verified and dignified sources (Wikipedia), I found that the common causes for insomnia are:
1) Psychoactive drugs or stimulants: Don’t do it. That stuff is nasty, seriously. I’m enough of a hypochondriac and far too high-strung without having to worry about seeing pink elephants ice skating.
2) Medications/herbs/caffeine/cocaine: ok.. why are these linked? I had a steak the other day that had basil in it. Isn’t that an herb? And while my mother would hate to know this... I do, once in awhile, have a lot of ... caffeine. I love coffee. Wow...
3) Ephedrine/Amphetamines/methylpenidate/MDMA/methanphetamine and modafinil: the fact that my Microsoft Word targeted all of those words for spell check probably proves that I have no idea what they are.
4) Hormone shifts: uhhh... I’m a female, aren’t I supposed to have these like 3 times an hour? (According to Cosmo and every male in history). Oh this also includes menopause. Oh boy I wish, that’d be awesome. Hey whatever, I’m not having kids...
5) Life problems: my goodness I need to go into further clarification for these
a) Fear: uhh fear of what? I have fear of lots of things: heights, spiders, life problems, being fired, being hired, standing up in a large crowd of people who are sitting, etc
b) Stress: Do you think I’m stressed? If you’re reading this I think you’ve answered my question
c) Emotional or mental tension: ok I think these are two different things. Emotional tension to me is exciting. It’s experiencing conflicting emotions and having to work through things. I like that. Mental tension is different. It’s facing reality and that to me is horribly frightening.
d) Work Problems: Ok I have these too. I hate my boss. My father told me to never use the word hate, so I will get out my thesaurus: I loathe, detest and abhor my boss. He just doesn’t treat anyone with any respect and treats people like they’re stupid. You see, when I make a mistake (and trust me, I make a lot of them), I’m more than willing to admit to it and make up for it. But if you’re going to call me stupid, don’t do so to my face. Do it after I leave your office. Yeah thanks... Jerk.
e) Financial Stress: oh yeah I have this too. I’m poor. And it’s the holidays. And I have to buy presents. That I cannot afford. I’m tempted to change my religion just for the month of December....
f) Unsatisfactory sex life: my mother reads my blog so I’m simply going to say.... what is sex? I don’t understand...
6) Mental disorders: such as bipolar disorder, clinical depression, general anxiety disorder, post traumatic stress disorder, schizophrenia, or obsessive compulsive disorder........... Yeah I think I got them all. Depends on the day.
7) Disturbances of the circadian rhythm such as shift work and jet lag: I only wish I had jet lag... I’d love to go somewhere 5 hours away... specifically London... Shift work? I think that’s what being a student is...
8) Estrogen: oh I get it. Wikipedia thinks I have insomnia because I’m a woman. Oh that’s nice. I guess I should go eat some chocolate and watch some Kevin Costner movie right now.
9) Brain lesions or traumatic brain injury: Does being a teenager count as having a brain injury? The years from 13-18 were quite traumatic, let me tell you.
10) A rare genetic condition can cause a prion-based, permanent and eventually fatal form of insomnia called fatal familial insomnia: Oh cool I can blame this all on my family? Awesome.. Let’s do that.
11) Parasomnia, including nightmares, sleepwalking or moving in response to events in my dreams: well I definitely have nightmares and I have been known to talk and kick in my sleep, but I’m not sure if it’s in response to a dream. Unlike Brian who I swear is running a marathon in his sleep sometimes. Whatever, I just kick him back
So I guess in the end I’ll never know what causes it. I went to my doctor and got some nice drugs, so we’ll see if those help. My only hope is that I can get through the end of this semester, still enjoy the holidays and do all of that with a smile on my face, or at least the ability to put a smile on someone else’s.
1) Chamomile tea
2) Hot baths
3) Smelly candles
4) Dimming lights
5) Soft music
While all of that sounds like the recipe for a really hot date, none of it works in New York City. Here I have clanging heat pipes, sirens, screaming babies, stomping upstairs neighbors and an array of just random noises that I can’t place without driving myself crazy so I just try to ignore them. As a solution I have a white noise machine, a fan and industrial-strength earplugs. (think the kind the airline workers wear on the runway) Although none of that works when the kid next door slams his crib into the wall behind my bed and, thus, my poor skull.
My initial solution to the kiddy problem was to call 311 (NYC services), 911 (the definition of idiocy) and ACS (the people supposedly helping children in the city). However they either didn’t respond or responded 5 hours later and rang my doorbell which either kept me up or woke me up and was a complete backlash to my entire sleep problem. And it wasn’t so much the noise of these stupid neighbors that kept me up, but the fact that they were being inconsiderate. Hey looks like my parents passed something on to me..
So I did the NyQuil cure, the sleeping pill cure, the stay up an extra day and pass out from sheer exhaustion cure.. nothing worked... So now I’m doing the doctor cure. Cross your fingers for some good drugs for Sarah... But while sources for a cure are numerous, I’m wondering what exactly is causing my insomnia so I can prevent it from coming back.
So while searching verified and dignified sources (Wikipedia), I found that the common causes for insomnia are:
1) Psychoactive drugs or stimulants: Don’t do it. That stuff is nasty, seriously. I’m enough of a hypochondriac and far too high-strung without having to worry about seeing pink elephants ice skating.
2) Medications/herbs/caffeine/cocaine: ok.. why are these linked? I had a steak the other day that had basil in it. Isn’t that an herb? And while my mother would hate to know this... I do, once in awhile, have a lot of ... caffeine. I love coffee. Wow...
3) Ephedrine/Amphetamines/methylpenidate/MDMA/methanphetamine and modafinil: the fact that my Microsoft Word targeted all of those words for spell check probably proves that I have no idea what they are.
4) Hormone shifts: uhhh... I’m a female, aren’t I supposed to have these like 3 times an hour? (According to Cosmo and every male in history). Oh this also includes menopause. Oh boy I wish, that’d be awesome. Hey whatever, I’m not having kids...
5) Life problems: my goodness I need to go into further clarification for these
a) Fear: uhh fear of what? I have fear of lots of things: heights, spiders, life problems, being fired, being hired, standing up in a large crowd of people who are sitting, etc
b) Stress: Do you think I’m stressed? If you’re reading this I think you’ve answered my question
c) Emotional or mental tension: ok I think these are two different things. Emotional tension to me is exciting. It’s experiencing conflicting emotions and having to work through things. I like that. Mental tension is different. It’s facing reality and that to me is horribly frightening.
d) Work Problems: Ok I have these too. I hate my boss. My father told me to never use the word hate, so I will get out my thesaurus: I loathe, detest and abhor my boss. He just doesn’t treat anyone with any respect and treats people like they’re stupid. You see, when I make a mistake (and trust me, I make a lot of them), I’m more than willing to admit to it and make up for it. But if you’re going to call me stupid, don’t do so to my face. Do it after I leave your office. Yeah thanks... Jerk.
e) Financial Stress: oh yeah I have this too. I’m poor. And it’s the holidays. And I have to buy presents. That I cannot afford. I’m tempted to change my religion just for the month of December....
f) Unsatisfactory sex life: my mother reads my blog so I’m simply going to say.... what is sex? I don’t understand...
6) Mental disorders: such as bipolar disorder, clinical depression, general anxiety disorder, post traumatic stress disorder, schizophrenia, or obsessive compulsive disorder........... Yeah I think I got them all. Depends on the day.
7) Disturbances of the circadian rhythm such as shift work and jet lag: I only wish I had jet lag... I’d love to go somewhere 5 hours away... specifically London... Shift work? I think that’s what being a student is...
8) Estrogen: oh I get it. Wikipedia thinks I have insomnia because I’m a woman. Oh that’s nice. I guess I should go eat some chocolate and watch some Kevin Costner movie right now.
9) Brain lesions or traumatic brain injury: Does being a teenager count as having a brain injury? The years from 13-18 were quite traumatic, let me tell you.
10) A rare genetic condition can cause a prion-based, permanent and eventually fatal form of insomnia called fatal familial insomnia: Oh cool I can blame this all on my family? Awesome.. Let’s do that.
11) Parasomnia, including nightmares, sleepwalking or moving in response to events in my dreams: well I definitely have nightmares and I have been known to talk and kick in my sleep, but I’m not sure if it’s in response to a dream. Unlike Brian who I swear is running a marathon in his sleep sometimes. Whatever, I just kick him back
So I guess in the end I’ll never know what causes it. I went to my doctor and got some nice drugs, so we’ll see if those help. My only hope is that I can get through the end of this semester, still enjoy the holidays and do all of that with a smile on my face, or at least the ability to put a smile on someone else’s.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Five, revisited
Five...
That's the number of stages of grief I'm supposed to experience.
1) Denial
2) anger
3) bargaining
4) depression
5) acceptance
Ok let’s start at the beginning. So what ended my relationship? I gotta tell ya, at the core I don’t even know. It seems to be a secret to us all. Maybe we need some cipher or some code in order to let us all in to the big secret.
This is not to say I didn’t screw up. Fine. I did. But is it unforgivable? Especially to someone you love? No. Not whatsoever. So either I wasn’t loved or…. Yeah.. no wait.. that’s it. Gotcha. I fucked up, fine. I admit it. But I really don’t believe it was to the point where it’s not forgivable and forgettable. Not if you truly care about someone and want to make it work. I’ve made and broken promises, yes. I’ve made people walk on eggshells, yes. But not anymore. This is not to say I’m cured or perfect, but I know my mistakes and am vowing not to make them again. Not just for someone else, but for myself.
So let’s go step by step:
1) Denial: I have none. I know what’s what. I’m not saying it doesn’t blow, but I know what the deal is. I’m not saying I’m not sad and wishing it hadn’t happened, but I know what’s going on. I am submissive to my fate, lambs.
2) Anger: I have lots. I’m really fucking bloody angry. Because I am an adult and I consider anyone that I’m in a relationship with to be an adult as well. And to conduct themselves accordingly. And that doesn’t involve not answering a phone or agreeing to have a civilized adult conversation. The last boyfriend I had who refused to answer the phone was when I was fucking 13. Jesus Christ. Yes I’m angry. I hope my mother doesn’t read this because it’ll give her more gray hair than I did when she taught me how to drive.
3) Bargaining: I think this certain one is a bit out of order. To me, bargaining comes first. It’s the whole “please talk to me, oh come on honey” etc etc crap. It’s a pathetic state to be in and completely contradictory to my whole “I’m Sarah, I’m Strong” attitude. It’s like standing at the top of the stairs, tears blurring your eyes, calling out to your parents after they sent you to your room, “can I come down now please?”. It’s making deals “oh I won’t do it again, I swear” etc. That to me came first and I’m done with it. If anyone wanted to bargain with me, they’d have done it already. And additionally I don’t think that break ups/make ups should be about bargains. While relationships are certainly give and take, I don’t think it should be about giving something up just for the sake of the other person, just for the sake of getting them back. You shouldn’t change or sacrifice anything about yourself for another.
4) Depression: Ok this one is also out of order. Depression is the umbrella term for all this shit. Depression happens throughout every one of these steps. And it will continue for a long time even after all these steps have been tapped out.
5) Acceptance: Ok this one is a weird one. It hits people at different times, in different ways or perhaps not at all. I will never accept my so-called fate. If I had, ever, then I’d never be where I was now in life. Acceptance is the wrong word for it all. Do I “accept” that the relationship is over? That’s not even my call. That’s just the fact. I guess a better phrase for it is “coming to terms”.
And there’s a 6th stage of grief I’d like to offer: Hope.
6) Hope: Hope not only in that what was messed up can be fixed, what was ruined can be repaired, but hope that you can move on and be happy and that this isn’t the end of the frigging world even though it feels like that right now.
I just feel that when you find someone that you have so much in common with and passion with, that you’ve not ever had with anyone else, that everything else can fall into line and work. And I really really believe that. Sure you’re going to have hiccups here and there and problems and arguments. Because everyone argues and no one is perfect. Relationships are about compromise and realizing that everything can’t be your way. That the idea in your head of a perfect relationship is not a reality and will not happen, so you might as well realize it. What you can do is accept the picture the way it is. It’s out of focus and everyone has those little red dots in their eyes, but at the root, it’s the two of you in the picture and you’re hugging. The rest doesn’t matter. Love is what matters and love is about accepting other people’s faults and accepting and admitting your own faults. It’s about compromise and bending on some issues while remaining firm on others. It’s about knowing that nothing will turn out like it does in your head or in the movies, but that’s ok just the same. Take it for what it is, accept it for what it is and love it for what it is. You have one chance here and one chance (in my opinion) to find the right person. Not the perfect person, but the right person.
Maybe you’ve already found that person. Maybe you ruined it, maybe you let it go, maybe you never even realized it. If you did those things, try again. Make an attempt. Reach out. You should have no regrets.
So the stages of grief, for me, are different in relationships than in other circumstances. I mean they apply the same stages to people who have a death of a loved one and those who have incurable diseases , etc. Oh come on, none of that is nearly as painful as the end of the relationship. Geez. (I’m being facetious, please don’t call my mom..)
My stages of grief:
1) Bargaining – “C’mon baby, you know it’ll be ok, I swear. Let’s just take a trip into the country and rediscover each other”
2) Anger – “Well fuck you then, you weren’t good enough for me you sadass uptight moron”
3) Despair- “oh great now that I cursed him out he’ll never take me back even if he wants to… oh lord I’m going to be alone forever, what the hell have I done?!?!”
4) Nom-nom- “Food”
5) Boo-hoo- “Crying”
6) Body Check – “I’m going to exercise my ass off, literally. I can’t get a man looking the way I do, I let myself go after dating Mr. Burger/Pizza/Beer drinker…”
7) Sarcasm- “psshh I got asked out by a guy on the subway… oh I’m workin’ it.. I never needed that loser anyway.. I’m a hot piece… oh yeah” (and you look at yourself in your underwear in your mirror, yeah that’s right)
8) Reality-check- “that subway guy was a total pervert, what the hell was I thinking? Of course he wasn’t really interested in me, he just noticed I was vulnerable” (put on your flannel plaid pajamas)
9) Double reality check – “Ok this is the way it is. Now what are you going to do?”
10) Hope- “Even if this is it, it’s ok. Maybe it’ll work out, but at the end of the day, there are more monkeys in the zoo”. (believe me, men are monkeys, not fish)
So what’s the key in relationships? I’ve asked so many people and the one word I get is that friggin dreaded “Communication”. I hate that word. But it’s true. Maybe that’s the one acceptance people need to have. You need to talk about problems and hear the other person’s problems, even if you don’t want to. Don’t roll your eyes, don’t sigh loudly. Hear the other person’s views, even if you think they’re ridiculous. That’s what love is about. Sure if it’s the millionth time and you have yet to calm that person’s fears, then maybe it’s their problem more than yours, but maybe you should at least try to assure people. I know that I am entirely less secure in relationships than 99.9% of the population, which I blame on stupid high school boyfriends and my last relationship. But I also blame it on myself. My trust has been lacking and I have been suspicious and accusatory. And I regret that and I have faced it. I’ve faced it therapeutically and medicinally. Yes I admit it.
So what do I say to the world of relationships? Bring it. Yeah I’m getting’ all ghetto.. But bring it, I’m ready for it. Even if I’ve exhausted all of my previous resources, there are monkeys ready to point and laugh at me and I can’t wait.
Oh god I’ve become an optimist. Please, don’t tell my mother.
That's the number of stages of grief I'm supposed to experience.
1) Denial
2) anger
3) bargaining
4) depression
5) acceptance
Ok let’s start at the beginning. So what ended my relationship? I gotta tell ya, at the core I don’t even know. It seems to be a secret to us all. Maybe we need some cipher or some code in order to let us all in to the big secret.
This is not to say I didn’t screw up. Fine. I did. But is it unforgivable? Especially to someone you love? No. Not whatsoever. So either I wasn’t loved or…. Yeah.. no wait.. that’s it. Gotcha. I fucked up, fine. I admit it. But I really don’t believe it was to the point where it’s not forgivable and forgettable. Not if you truly care about someone and want to make it work. I’ve made and broken promises, yes. I’ve made people walk on eggshells, yes. But not anymore. This is not to say I’m cured or perfect, but I know my mistakes and am vowing not to make them again. Not just for someone else, but for myself.
So let’s go step by step:
1) Denial: I have none. I know what’s what. I’m not saying it doesn’t blow, but I know what the deal is. I’m not saying I’m not sad and wishing it hadn’t happened, but I know what’s going on. I am submissive to my fate, lambs.
2) Anger: I have lots. I’m really fucking bloody angry. Because I am an adult and I consider anyone that I’m in a relationship with to be an adult as well. And to conduct themselves accordingly. And that doesn’t involve not answering a phone or agreeing to have a civilized adult conversation. The last boyfriend I had who refused to answer the phone was when I was fucking 13. Jesus Christ. Yes I’m angry. I hope my mother doesn’t read this because it’ll give her more gray hair than I did when she taught me how to drive.
3) Bargaining: I think this certain one is a bit out of order. To me, bargaining comes first. It’s the whole “please talk to me, oh come on honey” etc etc crap. It’s a pathetic state to be in and completely contradictory to my whole “I’m Sarah, I’m Strong” attitude. It’s like standing at the top of the stairs, tears blurring your eyes, calling out to your parents after they sent you to your room, “can I come down now please?”. It’s making deals “oh I won’t do it again, I swear” etc. That to me came first and I’m done with it. If anyone wanted to bargain with me, they’d have done it already. And additionally I don’t think that break ups/make ups should be about bargains. While relationships are certainly give and take, I don’t think it should be about giving something up just for the sake of the other person, just for the sake of getting them back. You shouldn’t change or sacrifice anything about yourself for another.
4) Depression: Ok this one is also out of order. Depression is the umbrella term for all this shit. Depression happens throughout every one of these steps. And it will continue for a long time even after all these steps have been tapped out.
5) Acceptance: Ok this one is a weird one. It hits people at different times, in different ways or perhaps not at all. I will never accept my so-called fate. If I had, ever, then I’d never be where I was now in life. Acceptance is the wrong word for it all. Do I “accept” that the relationship is over? That’s not even my call. That’s just the fact. I guess a better phrase for it is “coming to terms”.
And there’s a 6th stage of grief I’d like to offer: Hope.
6) Hope: Hope not only in that what was messed up can be fixed, what was ruined can be repaired, but hope that you can move on and be happy and that this isn’t the end of the frigging world even though it feels like that right now.
I just feel that when you find someone that you have so much in common with and passion with, that you’ve not ever had with anyone else, that everything else can fall into line and work. And I really really believe that. Sure you’re going to have hiccups here and there and problems and arguments. Because everyone argues and no one is perfect. Relationships are about compromise and realizing that everything can’t be your way. That the idea in your head of a perfect relationship is not a reality and will not happen, so you might as well realize it. What you can do is accept the picture the way it is. It’s out of focus and everyone has those little red dots in their eyes, but at the root, it’s the two of you in the picture and you’re hugging. The rest doesn’t matter. Love is what matters and love is about accepting other people’s faults and accepting and admitting your own faults. It’s about compromise and bending on some issues while remaining firm on others. It’s about knowing that nothing will turn out like it does in your head or in the movies, but that’s ok just the same. Take it for what it is, accept it for what it is and love it for what it is. You have one chance here and one chance (in my opinion) to find the right person. Not the perfect person, but the right person.
Maybe you’ve already found that person. Maybe you ruined it, maybe you let it go, maybe you never even realized it. If you did those things, try again. Make an attempt. Reach out. You should have no regrets.
So the stages of grief, for me, are different in relationships than in other circumstances. I mean they apply the same stages to people who have a death of a loved one and those who have incurable diseases , etc. Oh come on, none of that is nearly as painful as the end of the relationship. Geez. (I’m being facetious, please don’t call my mom..)
My stages of grief:
1) Bargaining – “C’mon baby, you know it’ll be ok, I swear. Let’s just take a trip into the country and rediscover each other”
2) Anger – “Well fuck you then, you weren’t good enough for me you sadass uptight moron”
3) Despair- “oh great now that I cursed him out he’ll never take me back even if he wants to… oh lord I’m going to be alone forever, what the hell have I done?!?!”
4) Nom-nom- “Food”
5) Boo-hoo- “Crying”
6) Body Check – “I’m going to exercise my ass off, literally. I can’t get a man looking the way I do, I let myself go after dating Mr. Burger/Pizza/Beer drinker…”
7) Sarcasm- “psshh I got asked out by a guy on the subway… oh I’m workin’ it.. I never needed that loser anyway.. I’m a hot piece… oh yeah” (and you look at yourself in your underwear in your mirror, yeah that’s right)
8) Reality-check- “that subway guy was a total pervert, what the hell was I thinking? Of course he wasn’t really interested in me, he just noticed I was vulnerable” (put on your flannel plaid pajamas)
9) Double reality check – “Ok this is the way it is. Now what are you going to do?”
10) Hope- “Even if this is it, it’s ok. Maybe it’ll work out, but at the end of the day, there are more monkeys in the zoo”. (believe me, men are monkeys, not fish)
So what’s the key in relationships? I’ve asked so many people and the one word I get is that friggin dreaded “Communication”. I hate that word. But it’s true. Maybe that’s the one acceptance people need to have. You need to talk about problems and hear the other person’s problems, even if you don’t want to. Don’t roll your eyes, don’t sigh loudly. Hear the other person’s views, even if you think they’re ridiculous. That’s what love is about. Sure if it’s the millionth time and you have yet to calm that person’s fears, then maybe it’s their problem more than yours, but maybe you should at least try to assure people. I know that I am entirely less secure in relationships than 99.9% of the population, which I blame on stupid high school boyfriends and my last relationship. But I also blame it on myself. My trust has been lacking and I have been suspicious and accusatory. And I regret that and I have faced it. I’ve faced it therapeutically and medicinally. Yes I admit it.
So what do I say to the world of relationships? Bring it. Yeah I’m getting’ all ghetto.. But bring it, I’m ready for it. Even if I’ve exhausted all of my previous resources, there are monkeys ready to point and laugh at me and I can’t wait.
Oh god I’ve become an optimist. Please, don’t tell my mother.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Wake Up Call
I’ve blogged before about dreams I’ve had. I’ve had recurring dreams for years- same dialogues, same people, same locations etc. I’ve had more dreams I can count where I wake up and thank God that they didn’t really happen, because they seemed so incredibly real and horrible. And sometimes it takes me a few minutes after I wake up to realize if they really did happen or not.
I’ve never been one for nightmares or incredibly happy dreams; I just have weird ones. Ones with talking garbage disposals and having that cartoon Pluto dog as my pet while living on a tugboat… stuff like that.
I had an incredibly vivid dream last night. I was in my old workplace (the one where I hated my boss) but in my dream he was the Dean of my school and for some reason I was fetching him coffee and doing menial tasks.
While doing such tasks, I kept messing up. I kept forgetting about turning in assignments because I didn’t remember ever receiving them (another recurring dream of mine). I kept making excuses for not being at work/class because I was sick and having an entire room of other professors go “ohh the whole ‘doctor appointment’ ploy”, mocking me. I was handling giant trays of food and giant class cases of expensive knick-knacks and kept dropping everything. I was doing library research and couldn’t find the right books.
Then my dean/boss turned to me and said “You really need to get your life together”. Wow.
When I woke up I was so scared that this dream had actually happened. And even though it didn’t, I can’t tell you how much everything rang true. I do need to get my life together. Now I’m not as bad as some people or as worse off as others. But I’ve made some mistakes and taken a bad road lately. You could call it stress/depression/lack of confidence or a combination of any of these three often helped (aka hurt) by a glass of vino. I fishtailed a bit from things and I am now paying for my mistakes. Which is fine. I don’t like to run from my mistakes or responsibilities.
That dream really freaked me out. But I’m still glad I had it. It rang so true to me, more than any other dream I’ve had in awhile.
Good thing, because in the dream I had on Tuesday I was knocked up.
Phew!
I’ve never been one for nightmares or incredibly happy dreams; I just have weird ones. Ones with talking garbage disposals and having that cartoon Pluto dog as my pet while living on a tugboat… stuff like that.
I had an incredibly vivid dream last night. I was in my old workplace (the one where I hated my boss) but in my dream he was the Dean of my school and for some reason I was fetching him coffee and doing menial tasks.
While doing such tasks, I kept messing up. I kept forgetting about turning in assignments because I didn’t remember ever receiving them (another recurring dream of mine). I kept making excuses for not being at work/class because I was sick and having an entire room of other professors go “ohh the whole ‘doctor appointment’ ploy”, mocking me. I was handling giant trays of food and giant class cases of expensive knick-knacks and kept dropping everything. I was doing library research and couldn’t find the right books.
Then my dean/boss turned to me and said “You really need to get your life together”. Wow.
When I woke up I was so scared that this dream had actually happened. And even though it didn’t, I can’t tell you how much everything rang true. I do need to get my life together. Now I’m not as bad as some people or as worse off as others. But I’ve made some mistakes and taken a bad road lately. You could call it stress/depression/lack of confidence or a combination of any of these three often helped (aka hurt) by a glass of vino. I fishtailed a bit from things and I am now paying for my mistakes. Which is fine. I don’t like to run from my mistakes or responsibilities.
That dream really freaked me out. But I’m still glad I had it. It rang so true to me, more than any other dream I’ve had in awhile.
Good thing, because in the dream I had on Tuesday I was knocked up.
Phew!
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Regrets
No I won’t be rich but I could be fulfilled
I shall have the grasp of a swirl of smoke, of a fleeting dream.
A glance in a mirror, my most constant in life
Of goodbyes and farewells, of passings and mishaps
Of missed times and missed ones
Of questions and pains
Of regrets and heartaches
Of perchances of fate
But hopes of a reason
Of doubts of a truth
But hopes of a chance
Of lost dreams and lost futures
Of the sound of a voice
But the lack of a noise
Things lost before they began
Of the images that circle a mind
But the tarnished one who lay before you
Of damaged goods and scattered dreams
Of imperfections and doubts
Yet simplicity
Of touches of life
Of natures of souls
Of words unspoken
And reveries unknown
Of reserves of nightmares
Tomorrows to be feared
I cannot see the stars from here
Of privilege and majestics
Perhaps I was just forgotten
“Surely you know what I mean”
I doubt I am alone here.
This song sounds so familiar
I am not surprised nor am I shocked
So let us turn away
From pasts and from longing
Melancholy has only reason in verse
Candles do not waver for a lie
Turn away from me
From pain and from struggle
The moon has eclipsed tonight
Of times long gone and times yet to come
A single bud in a vase
Of ease and of beauty
Of a love and a passing
No I shan’t ever be rich
But shall I be of use?
Then turn away
Turn away again
From the burden before you
Of the burden of love
Time will tell; time will tell its story
Shall I tell it to you?
Of disturbances and riots
The gallows may call
My countenance certainly of armor
Triumphant in strength
Of downfalls of truth
Of force and of just
Shall forgiveness be my virtue?
Shall absolution be my end?
Of the forlorn and the forboden
Of whims and of fancies
Of summer evenings and wintry days
Of future yet to be had
But moons eclipse and stars will die
Perhaps it was not worth it
Of a flicker of a dream
But the squander of a sigh.
I shall have the grasp of a swirl of smoke, of a fleeting dream.
A glance in a mirror, my most constant in life
Of goodbyes and farewells, of passings and mishaps
Of missed times and missed ones
Of questions and pains
Of regrets and heartaches
Of perchances of fate
But hopes of a reason
Of doubts of a truth
But hopes of a chance
Of lost dreams and lost futures
Of the sound of a voice
But the lack of a noise
Things lost before they began
Of the images that circle a mind
But the tarnished one who lay before you
Of damaged goods and scattered dreams
Of imperfections and doubts
Yet simplicity
Of touches of life
Of natures of souls
Of words unspoken
And reveries unknown
Of reserves of nightmares
Tomorrows to be feared
I cannot see the stars from here
Of privilege and majestics
Perhaps I was just forgotten
“Surely you know what I mean”
I doubt I am alone here.
This song sounds so familiar
I am not surprised nor am I shocked
So let us turn away
From pasts and from longing
Melancholy has only reason in verse
Candles do not waver for a lie
Turn away from me
From pain and from struggle
The moon has eclipsed tonight
Of times long gone and times yet to come
A single bud in a vase
Of ease and of beauty
Of a love and a passing
No I shan’t ever be rich
But shall I be of use?
Then turn away
Turn away again
From the burden before you
Of the burden of love
Time will tell; time will tell its story
Shall I tell it to you?
Of disturbances and riots
The gallows may call
My countenance certainly of armor
Triumphant in strength
Of downfalls of truth
Of force and of just
Shall forgiveness be my virtue?
Shall absolution be my end?
Of the forlorn and the forboden
Of whims and of fancies
Of summer evenings and wintry days
Of future yet to be had
But moons eclipse and stars will die
Perhaps it was not worth it
Of a flicker of a dream
But the squander of a sigh.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Aetna
Now, I have no gripes about Aetna and it's service. It's provided me with reliable, continuous health care management for years.
But what the hell is "behavioral health"?
I recently got on a new plan due to my newly discovered career as a starving artist. no, starving student. no, starving person... yes that's it..
Upon receipt of my starving person's health care card, I noticed the indication towards:
a) medical
b) pharmacy
c) behavioral health
Ok this just pissed me off. We've all had our struggles yes? Oh you know you have. And you too. And your mom. And her friend. Yes, your mom's friend. Word.
This pissed me off for many reasons. Behavioral Health. The word "Behavior", to me is quite loaded. When I think of behavior, I think of elementary school. I think of the principal's office. I think of being sent up to my room when I was bad. I think of being made to stand in a corner. Not with a dunce cap though. I do that on my on voluntarily now.. It's a hott look.
I think of behavior as a word rooted in childhood and such settings. So for Aetna to tell me that Behavioral Health is something different than regular medical problems leads me to believe that Aetna will cover me for the following:
a) throwing rocks at people
b) sticking my tongue out at strangers
c) acting up in a movie theatre
d) screaming in a restaurant
e) whining how I have to go to the bathroom even though we just left the house
f) complaining that I don't get what I want
g) repeatedly kicking someone's seat/knees/feet on the subway
h) threaten to hold my breath unless I get my way
i) act up because my chicken mcnugget meal came with a power ranger toy instead of a barbie
The fact that all of the above has happened to me within the last month is irrelevant. Let's stick to the topic here people.
But behavioral health.. Are they trying to talk about mental health? That to me is considerably different than one's behavior. Someone can be a brat/pain/idiot/a*hole and still be perfectly sane. Because those things are behavioral incidences. So Aetna will cover me for being a brat and a pain? I should be a goddamn millionaire then...
It's just that it disturbs me that "Behavior" is Aetna's word for mental health. Mental health is a serious issue. One that I've struggled with and either you have or you know someone who has. So it's weird that it's termed that way with a health insurance company.
So what are my recommendations for what they should call it? I dunno.... Kooky Brain? Psycho WalknTalk? GooglyGoog? FailBrain? I can has medicines now? Jebediah Springfield?
Ok I digress....
But it's just weird that it's put in its own little category separate from so-called regular medicine. Who determines what's regular? I certainly feel that mental health issues are far more common than diabetes, thyroid problems and knee pain. While they don't claim the same commercial ad-use as many prostate or cholesterol drugs, mental health drugs are popular and extensive.. quite. Is it that no one wants to address this problem? I would call it an epidemic, but that would be using bad statistics. Epidemics, other than the Black Plague, are a fallacy. Serious. In all terms, epidemics, be they health, social, financial or legal, are all a result of a combination of media, propaganda, hypochondria and just plain sadism in the fact that people like to have things be scary, in turmoil and on-the-brink.
And I digress again...
I just find it strange that what goes on in one's brain is not considered medical. It's a part of the body, yes? And I would consider it a quite important part of the body. So why are problems with it diagnosed as "behavioral". Unless, of course, they are "neurological". But I'd like to know the difference between an organ that can give you a tumor or an aneurism or have a seizure or lead one to hear voices and want to be Judy Garland. Please keep in mind that I have never experienced any of the that. I hate the Wizard of Oz. Those monkeys gave me nightmares for years...
But what the hell is "behavioral health"?
I recently got on a new plan due to my newly discovered career as a starving artist. no, starving student. no, starving person... yes that's it..
Upon receipt of my starving person's health care card, I noticed the indication towards:
a) medical
b) pharmacy
c) behavioral health
Ok this just pissed me off. We've all had our struggles yes? Oh you know you have. And you too. And your mom. And her friend. Yes, your mom's friend. Word.
This pissed me off for many reasons. Behavioral Health. The word "Behavior", to me is quite loaded. When I think of behavior, I think of elementary school. I think of the principal's office. I think of being sent up to my room when I was bad. I think of being made to stand in a corner. Not with a dunce cap though. I do that on my on voluntarily now.. It's a hott look.
I think of behavior as a word rooted in childhood and such settings. So for Aetna to tell me that Behavioral Health is something different than regular medical problems leads me to believe that Aetna will cover me for the following:
a) throwing rocks at people
b) sticking my tongue out at strangers
c) acting up in a movie theatre
d) screaming in a restaurant
e) whining how I have to go to the bathroom even though we just left the house
f) complaining that I don't get what I want
g) repeatedly kicking someone's seat/knees/feet on the subway
h) threaten to hold my breath unless I get my way
i) act up because my chicken mcnugget meal came with a power ranger toy instead of a barbie
The fact that all of the above has happened to me within the last month is irrelevant. Let's stick to the topic here people.
But behavioral health.. Are they trying to talk about mental health? That to me is considerably different than one's behavior. Someone can be a brat/pain/idiot/a*hole and still be perfectly sane. Because those things are behavioral incidences. So Aetna will cover me for being a brat and a pain? I should be a goddamn millionaire then...
It's just that it disturbs me that "Behavior" is Aetna's word for mental health. Mental health is a serious issue. One that I've struggled with and either you have or you know someone who has. So it's weird that it's termed that way with a health insurance company.
So what are my recommendations for what they should call it? I dunno.... Kooky Brain? Psycho WalknTalk? GooglyGoog? FailBrain? I can has medicines now? Jebediah Springfield?
Ok I digress....
But it's just weird that it's put in its own little category separate from so-called regular medicine. Who determines what's regular? I certainly feel that mental health issues are far more common than diabetes, thyroid problems and knee pain. While they don't claim the same commercial ad-use as many prostate or cholesterol drugs, mental health drugs are popular and extensive.. quite. Is it that no one wants to address this problem? I would call it an epidemic, but that would be using bad statistics. Epidemics, other than the Black Plague, are a fallacy. Serious. In all terms, epidemics, be they health, social, financial or legal, are all a result of a combination of media, propaganda, hypochondria and just plain sadism in the fact that people like to have things be scary, in turmoil and on-the-brink.
And I digress again...
I just find it strange that what goes on in one's brain is not considered medical. It's a part of the body, yes? And I would consider it a quite important part of the body. So why are problems with it diagnosed as "behavioral". Unless, of course, they are "neurological". But I'd like to know the difference between an organ that can give you a tumor or an aneurism or have a seizure or lead one to hear voices and want to be Judy Garland. Please keep in mind that I have never experienced any of the that. I hate the Wizard of Oz. Those monkeys gave me nightmares for years...
Thursday, September 11, 2008
The bell… It tolls for thee…
Higher education is a crock.. let me tell you. Not so much in the mission and the idealism of it all, but in the BS, red tape and extreme ridiculousness of everything that you have to endure to simply try to get an education.
Now, I’ve blogged before regarding my triumphs and desperations with the financial aid office (and believe me it’s more the latter than the former). Today marked a whole new era in stupidity, idiocy and incompetence that I have never experienced in my life before.
I’ve seen a lot in my time. Ok calm down, I know I’m only 26. But I’ve seen a lot. I’ve seen guys outside the White House screaming how Reagan and Wilson are the same because they both have 6 letters in their last names, saying how Cuba has some George Washington shrine that’s connected to the freemasons and also that aliens control the Senate. I’ve not disproved any of these by the way… I witnessed 9/11 in DC. Not nearly as bad as NYC, but I saw the Pentagon smoke and if the plane hadn’t crashed in Shanksville, PA, it might have made it to the area of DC that I lived in at the time. I’ve seen extreme poverty, homelessness, hunger, desperation, everything. I’ve seen a lot.
Ok I’m not here to say how I’ve gone through so much etc etc because I know so many people have experienced more trying, excruciating and terrifying times than I. And most likely, experiences that I will never have. And I am more than grateful over the fact that I have been protected from so many tribulations in life.
But today I sobbed. I sobbed like I haven’t in a long time. I didn’t sob out of sorrow, from loss, from disappointment or from ridicule. I sobbed out of anger, which is the worst kind. It’s a vulnerable, out-of-control, helplessness feeling that I absolutely can’t handle.
Ok it wasn’t over any crazy reasons, over any extreme test to my resolve or any threat to my or my family’s well-being. Fine.
I was arguing with the Financial Aid Office at lovely Rutgers University. And it made me cry. It made me regress into that 5 year old who wants her mommy. My mom didn’t answer the phone so I ended up calling my boyfriend, but whatever :)
I’ve written about this previously. I’m perhaps being melodramatic, sure. But as all of you probably know, that’s what makes me--me. I spent 3 hours in line today on the same floor, among 3 offices which were all within 20 feet of one another, yet none knew what the other was doing nor what the answer to my question was.
I’m not asking about tax credits in Euro terms with Vietnam Vet conditions and 3 kids with child support and health insurance matters. I’m simply asking about the fact that I have full tuition reimbursement from my school yet I am getting a Federal loan (because I live in expensive NYC). And since said loan has been literally applied to my account (in writing from both the Feds and the school), I should be issued a refund check (for the amount of the loan minus the remission of tuition). Right? Simple? Not so much.
I spoke to no less than 9 people today who each had a different answer. It absolutely astounds me. I’m really a simple case. Not an international student, no other aid, no nothing. This can’t be the first time this swine office has dealt with my type of situation. But they told me, in so many words today:
1) You cannot get a Federal loan if you have tuition remission
2) Your Federal loan has not come through yet
3) Your Federal loan has come through, but we don’t know why you haven’t been issued a refund check
4) Ok your loan came through but this is our “busy time”
5) Ok our system shows a different amount than the Financial Aid office (this is Student Accounting). I need my supervisor to look into this
6) You might need to get a private loan
7) What was your name? Are you the Greek fine arts major?
I was so tempted to cop to that last question, you have no idea.
This is the least of my problems. Or perhaps the most of my problems? I don’t know anymore. School is kicking my ass at this point. I love it, I absolutely do. But I hate the schizophrenia I experience from thinking that I am all-powerful and I can DO THIS SHIT to thinking “aww man maybe I can borrow money from my parents while I pursue some secondary interest in film production or art history or something because I dunno if I can do this”. And I experience these feelings at least once an hour, at a minimum. Yeah…
My professors are interesting, which is the best I can say about them at this point.
Research Design: Ms. Susie. I’m using funny terms because if my profs ever got wind of my disparaging blog I’m sure I’d be expelled. Or possibly promoted. Not sure yet so I’m playing it safe…
So RD. She’s new. She’s young. I think she’s hot for some of the chicks in my class. Whatever I don’t care. My problem with her is that this is the first time the class has been taught and it’s up to her and I think she thinks she has to prove something, yet at the same time she wants to be cool and hip. I’m sorry, but I’d rather a prof be cool and cool or strict and strict. Don’t act like you’re my BFF and then grade me like I’m doing a post-doc in physics. Geez… Calm down.
Governance and Politics: This prof is out of his mind. These are his words. He has stated how he is highly medicated and quite possibly overmedicated. Nice. He knows a previous instructor of mine from Uni of Bath, which is awesome and he’s offered to sponsor me in getting an MPH as well as concentrating in Urban Health as a concentration but I’m waiting for proof that this man can tie his own shoes as well as possibly complete a simple crossword puzzle before I take his word on anything.
Analytic Methods: I love this class. I’m such a dweeb. It’s introductory statistics, but I love it. The prof is awesome and it’s interesting and actually something I understand despite having elementary math skills, no common sense and limited perception of anything going on around me. Really. What time is it? Is it raining? Am I in Europe? Am I alive? halp…
Intellectual History: Even the prof doesn’t know what this is. He is so disorganized. He didn’t have the right syllabus, nothing was posted on Blackboard (an online teaching assistant database thing) and he didn’t even know his secretary’s email. Oh, the prof is the Dean. That’s some hot shit. Also the fact that he’s my boss and I’m supposed to attempt to get him published in all these journals because my resume clearly states my experience and background in being a literary agent…… yeah… We’ll see….
Within my own program though: upon beginning this whole shebang, I’ve been shocked and awed at the level of hypocrisy, bs-ing and kissing-up that takes place in the postgraduate world. Ok sure, it’s not surprising that there is some, and it’s not surprising that I’ve taken part in my fair share of it.
However my kissing-up is much more preventative rather than self-serving. For instance, I, in the past, have never been mean, rude or condescending to anyone in charge of the following things: my computer, my post office, my bank or plane tickets. Anyone with access to a “delete” button is not someone you want to mess with. Accordingly, having loans and school bills and registration accounts, my kissing-up has had to be divvied out even more. Sure when it comes to the dean there’s a certain amount of smiling and “oh that’s so interesting that you are building bunk beds for your grandkids” that you have to do. But I don’t take it to certain limits. I can’t. People will see right through it and even if I wanted to, I don’t like to lead people on that way.
Oh my but you can’t believe what some people will go through to get a dean, professor, etc on their side. They will offer to buy a $300 book as a favor just so the dean has access to one article; they say that they will stay until 3 a.m. to do editorial work, even if they have kids at home; they smile and flip their hair around and flirt, knowing that the professor who looks like some Tim Burton creature will be at their disposal. It makes me sick! Whatever happened to getting things and achieving things based on our own abilities and aptitudes? I would prefer to fail a test rather than pass because I winked and smiled. My mother would kick my butt if I did that.
The PhD world is a toxic environment, but hypocrisy exists everywhere. It’s like the person who is so sickeningly nice to wait staff, store clerks and goes completely out of his or her way to hold open doors and then act like he did the person a HUGE favor, but then is a complete jerk to his family, friends and/or significant other. It’s like the waitress who is so rude and dismissive but once you get the check she is really sweet and appreciative because she wants a tip.
Speaking of toxicity- more and more I’ve found that life is full of toxic things. Calm down, I’m not being a total pessimist who is going to start painting pictures of sad clowns. All my painted clowns are melancholy, irate or dismayed, but never sad. New York City, I think, kind of brings out the toxicity of situations. The city is so real, so in-your-face and so blunt, you can’t help but notice everything about life- both the good and the bad.
While living here I’ve noticed some very good things, sure. I’ve noticed that New Yorkers are some of the best people you’ll ever meet. Sure you’ll meet a lot of jerks, but it’s the law of averages. For every 10 bad New Yorkers, you’ll meet 5 good ones. However you just meet so many people that sometimes it feels like all you meet are jerks, losers and scam artists. It’s when someone you barely know offers to help you move, gives you a free cab ride or looks the other way when you’re a dollar short- that’s when you realize the good things. Native New Yorkers, possibly from 9/11, have a wonderful sense of brotherhood and helping each other out.
And in the spirit of things- today is 9/11. Tell someone that you love them. Every day.
Now, I’ve blogged before regarding my triumphs and desperations with the financial aid office (and believe me it’s more the latter than the former). Today marked a whole new era in stupidity, idiocy and incompetence that I have never experienced in my life before.
I’ve seen a lot in my time. Ok calm down, I know I’m only 26. But I’ve seen a lot. I’ve seen guys outside the White House screaming how Reagan and Wilson are the same because they both have 6 letters in their last names, saying how Cuba has some George Washington shrine that’s connected to the freemasons and also that aliens control the Senate. I’ve not disproved any of these by the way… I witnessed 9/11 in DC. Not nearly as bad as NYC, but I saw the Pentagon smoke and if the plane hadn’t crashed in Shanksville, PA, it might have made it to the area of DC that I lived in at the time. I’ve seen extreme poverty, homelessness, hunger, desperation, everything. I’ve seen a lot.
Ok I’m not here to say how I’ve gone through so much etc etc because I know so many people have experienced more trying, excruciating and terrifying times than I. And most likely, experiences that I will never have. And I am more than grateful over the fact that I have been protected from so many tribulations in life.
But today I sobbed. I sobbed like I haven’t in a long time. I didn’t sob out of sorrow, from loss, from disappointment or from ridicule. I sobbed out of anger, which is the worst kind. It’s a vulnerable, out-of-control, helplessness feeling that I absolutely can’t handle.
Ok it wasn’t over any crazy reasons, over any extreme test to my resolve or any threat to my or my family’s well-being. Fine.
I was arguing with the Financial Aid Office at lovely Rutgers University. And it made me cry. It made me regress into that 5 year old who wants her mommy. My mom didn’t answer the phone so I ended up calling my boyfriend, but whatever :)
I’ve written about this previously. I’m perhaps being melodramatic, sure. But as all of you probably know, that’s what makes me--me. I spent 3 hours in line today on the same floor, among 3 offices which were all within 20 feet of one another, yet none knew what the other was doing nor what the answer to my question was.
I’m not asking about tax credits in Euro terms with Vietnam Vet conditions and 3 kids with child support and health insurance matters. I’m simply asking about the fact that I have full tuition reimbursement from my school yet I am getting a Federal loan (because I live in expensive NYC). And since said loan has been literally applied to my account (in writing from both the Feds and the school), I should be issued a refund check (for the amount of the loan minus the remission of tuition). Right? Simple? Not so much.
I spoke to no less than 9 people today who each had a different answer. It absolutely astounds me. I’m really a simple case. Not an international student, no other aid, no nothing. This can’t be the first time this swine office has dealt with my type of situation. But they told me, in so many words today:
1) You cannot get a Federal loan if you have tuition remission
2) Your Federal loan has not come through yet
3) Your Federal loan has come through, but we don’t know why you haven’t been issued a refund check
4) Ok your loan came through but this is our “busy time”
5) Ok our system shows a different amount than the Financial Aid office (this is Student Accounting). I need my supervisor to look into this
6) You might need to get a private loan
7) What was your name? Are you the Greek fine arts major?
I was so tempted to cop to that last question, you have no idea.
This is the least of my problems. Or perhaps the most of my problems? I don’t know anymore. School is kicking my ass at this point. I love it, I absolutely do. But I hate the schizophrenia I experience from thinking that I am all-powerful and I can DO THIS SHIT to thinking “aww man maybe I can borrow money from my parents while I pursue some secondary interest in film production or art history or something because I dunno if I can do this”. And I experience these feelings at least once an hour, at a minimum. Yeah…
My professors are interesting, which is the best I can say about them at this point.
Research Design: Ms. Susie. I’m using funny terms because if my profs ever got wind of my disparaging blog I’m sure I’d be expelled. Or possibly promoted. Not sure yet so I’m playing it safe…
So RD. She’s new. She’s young. I think she’s hot for some of the chicks in my class. Whatever I don’t care. My problem with her is that this is the first time the class has been taught and it’s up to her and I think she thinks she has to prove something, yet at the same time she wants to be cool and hip. I’m sorry, but I’d rather a prof be cool and cool or strict and strict. Don’t act like you’re my BFF and then grade me like I’m doing a post-doc in physics. Geez… Calm down.
Governance and Politics: This prof is out of his mind. These are his words. He has stated how he is highly medicated and quite possibly overmedicated. Nice. He knows a previous instructor of mine from Uni of Bath, which is awesome and he’s offered to sponsor me in getting an MPH as well as concentrating in Urban Health as a concentration but I’m waiting for proof that this man can tie his own shoes as well as possibly complete a simple crossword puzzle before I take his word on anything.
Analytic Methods: I love this class. I’m such a dweeb. It’s introductory statistics, but I love it. The prof is awesome and it’s interesting and actually something I understand despite having elementary math skills, no common sense and limited perception of anything going on around me. Really. What time is it? Is it raining? Am I in Europe? Am I alive? halp…
Intellectual History: Even the prof doesn’t know what this is. He is so disorganized. He didn’t have the right syllabus, nothing was posted on Blackboard (an online teaching assistant database thing) and he didn’t even know his secretary’s email. Oh, the prof is the Dean. That’s some hot shit. Also the fact that he’s my boss and I’m supposed to attempt to get him published in all these journals because my resume clearly states my experience and background in being a literary agent…… yeah… We’ll see….
Within my own program though: upon beginning this whole shebang, I’ve been shocked and awed at the level of hypocrisy, bs-ing and kissing-up that takes place in the postgraduate world. Ok sure, it’s not surprising that there is some, and it’s not surprising that I’ve taken part in my fair share of it.
However my kissing-up is much more preventative rather than self-serving. For instance, I, in the past, have never been mean, rude or condescending to anyone in charge of the following things: my computer, my post office, my bank or plane tickets. Anyone with access to a “delete” button is not someone you want to mess with. Accordingly, having loans and school bills and registration accounts, my kissing-up has had to be divvied out even more. Sure when it comes to the dean there’s a certain amount of smiling and “oh that’s so interesting that you are building bunk beds for your grandkids” that you have to do. But I don’t take it to certain limits. I can’t. People will see right through it and even if I wanted to, I don’t like to lead people on that way.
Oh my but you can’t believe what some people will go through to get a dean, professor, etc on their side. They will offer to buy a $300 book as a favor just so the dean has access to one article; they say that they will stay until 3 a.m. to do editorial work, even if they have kids at home; they smile and flip their hair around and flirt, knowing that the professor who looks like some Tim Burton creature will be at their disposal. It makes me sick! Whatever happened to getting things and achieving things based on our own abilities and aptitudes? I would prefer to fail a test rather than pass because I winked and smiled. My mother would kick my butt if I did that.
The PhD world is a toxic environment, but hypocrisy exists everywhere. It’s like the person who is so sickeningly nice to wait staff, store clerks and goes completely out of his or her way to hold open doors and then act like he did the person a HUGE favor, but then is a complete jerk to his family, friends and/or significant other. It’s like the waitress who is so rude and dismissive but once you get the check she is really sweet and appreciative because she wants a tip.
Speaking of toxicity- more and more I’ve found that life is full of toxic things. Calm down, I’m not being a total pessimist who is going to start painting pictures of sad clowns. All my painted clowns are melancholy, irate or dismayed, but never sad. New York City, I think, kind of brings out the toxicity of situations. The city is so real, so in-your-face and so blunt, you can’t help but notice everything about life- both the good and the bad.
While living here I’ve noticed some very good things, sure. I’ve noticed that New Yorkers are some of the best people you’ll ever meet. Sure you’ll meet a lot of jerks, but it’s the law of averages. For every 10 bad New Yorkers, you’ll meet 5 good ones. However you just meet so many people that sometimes it feels like all you meet are jerks, losers and scam artists. It’s when someone you barely know offers to help you move, gives you a free cab ride or looks the other way when you’re a dollar short- that’s when you realize the good things. Native New Yorkers, possibly from 9/11, have a wonderful sense of brotherhood and helping each other out.
And in the spirit of things- today is 9/11. Tell someone that you love them. Every day.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
I am so sick...
of reading about young children dying from abuse in NYC. And usually this is like 2 or 3 weeks AFTER Child Services pays a visit to the home and declares everything a-ok. And yet when the child dies the reports state that they had multiple bruises and injuries dating back months and the homes are usually in a completely unliveable state.
Ok so I don't like kids. Fine. Good. I decided when I was about 5 that parenthood wasn't my bag. But it breaks my heart when I see stories in the NY papers about 2 , 3 , 4 year olds who have been taken from their parents by DCS (Dept of Child Services) multiple times and yet returned anyway and then 2 weeks later they are dead. And usually it's the mother or the mother's live-in boyfriend committing such atrocities.
Who the hell are these people? Ok fine, so you're jealous that your girlfriend's kids come before you. Get over it or don't date someone with kids. But don't think that beating the crap out of them and/or killing them will win you any points. It'll win you a jail cell and it rightly should.
I got my own jealousy issues. Everyone does. But when you cross the line at hurting someone- you got a problem. I just don't understand how these people should be able to be parents. They're all younger than me, with 5 or 6 kids and multiple DCS citations. One story I read about yesterday, the woman had had her kids taken away and then returned after going to anger management. I think if you have to go to anger management - for ANY issue, you should not be in charge of raising another human being. If you don't want kids- don't have sex. If you want to have sex, use birth control. In NYC there are dozens and dozens of organizations where you can receive free pills, condoms, etc. Anything. There is no excuse.
I know that the city's civil services are overworked and underpaid. Absolutely. But can you please tell me how you can go into a home, see a child and say everything is fine and then in the next 3 weeks they state that the child is recovering from month-old broken arms, lives in a roach-ridden apartment and hasn't eaten well in 3 months? Can you please explain that to me?
It disgusts me. I know I wouldn't be a good parent. I don't have patience. But I'd be a much better parent than these losers. I'd love to hear comments.
www.cbsnews.com/stories/2006/01/13/earlyshow/main1206722.shtml
http://www.nydailynews.com/news/ny_crime/2008/08/20/2008-08-20_autopsy_on_2yearold_queens_boy_reveals_h.html
Ok so I don't like kids. Fine. Good. I decided when I was about 5 that parenthood wasn't my bag. But it breaks my heart when I see stories in the NY papers about 2 , 3 , 4 year olds who have been taken from their parents by DCS (Dept of Child Services) multiple times and yet returned anyway and then 2 weeks later they are dead. And usually it's the mother or the mother's live-in boyfriend committing such atrocities.
Who the hell are these people? Ok fine, so you're jealous that your girlfriend's kids come before you. Get over it or don't date someone with kids. But don't think that beating the crap out of them and/or killing them will win you any points. It'll win you a jail cell and it rightly should.
I got my own jealousy issues. Everyone does. But when you cross the line at hurting someone- you got a problem. I just don't understand how these people should be able to be parents. They're all younger than me, with 5 or 6 kids and multiple DCS citations. One story I read about yesterday, the woman had had her kids taken away and then returned after going to anger management. I think if you have to go to anger management - for ANY issue, you should not be in charge of raising another human being. If you don't want kids- don't have sex. If you want to have sex, use birth control. In NYC there are dozens and dozens of organizations where you can receive free pills, condoms, etc. Anything. There is no excuse.
I know that the city's civil services are overworked and underpaid. Absolutely. But can you please tell me how you can go into a home, see a child and say everything is fine and then in the next 3 weeks they state that the child is recovering from month-old broken arms, lives in a roach-ridden apartment and hasn't eaten well in 3 months? Can you please explain that to me?
It disgusts me. I know I wouldn't be a good parent. I don't have patience. But I'd be a much better parent than these losers. I'd love to hear comments.
www.cbsnews.com/stories/2006/01/13/earlyshow/main1206722.shtml
http://www.nydailynews.com/news/ny_crime/2008/08/20/2008-08-20_autopsy_on_2yearold_queens_boy_reveals_h.html
You know things are bad when...
.. when I have the Rutgers Financial Aid office phone number memorized and my fingers accidentally dial it when I'm trying to call someone else.
Everytime I call these geniuses I get a different answer.
My question is not rhetorical. My question is not philosophical. My question does not require a degree in astrophysics, mechanical engineering or biochemistry. My question does not even require a degree.
My question is simple. It does not delve into the mysteries of the universe, the complexities of life nor the ambiguities of religion.
My question will not require you to scour the great libraries of Alexandria, pour over the writings of Confucius or consult the great thinkers of the world's best universities.
My question will not lead you to question your faith, doubt your self-worth or struggle with your values. It will not cause you pain or grief or anguish.
My question is simple: Where is my fucking money and when am I going to get it.
One would think that being called the Financial Aid office would lead us charlatans to consult you in matters of, oh, say, financial aid. And one could reasonably believe that the office of said title would have answers to questions of the same topic. Perhaps I give too much credit and put too much faith into the Financial Aid office. Perhaps it's just a clever name, a metaphor will you.
Perhaps using such a name for an office is a test to my resolve, my intelligence and my sanity. Perhaps they feel that if I can't figure out financial aid on my own, then perhaps I should not be attending their fine university. I think this is quite possibly the case.
Ok-- but have YOU ever tried to figure out financial aid? It's IMPOSSIBLE. I'm relatively intelligent. I have an IQ of 155 and could be a member of MENSA but I don't feel like paying the membership fees. I have degrees from competitive institutions and have held many jobs that I was absolutely incapable of understanding or performing my tasks correctly. (see, my intelligence was in faking things enough to get the job... get it?) I can understand the writings of Dumas, concepts of Buddhism and the teachings of Nietzsche. Hell I can spell Nietzsche. While I might lack the common sense to turn my monitor screen on and then complain to our IT guy that the computer's broken, I can tie my own shoes and I say "let's go" in 4 different languages.
There are many questions in this world that can offer different answers each and every time you ask them:
- what time is it
-how are you
-how many times did McCain say the wrong thing today
-what's the score for the ballgame
But questions about financial aid should not have different answers each and everytime, especially not answers as vast as:
-we don't know
-the student accounting office controls that
-student accounting has nothing to do with accounting
-you are not in our system
-when you register you will get your money
-you are registered but you will not be receiving any money
-we don't handle federal aid questions at this office
Yeah. Those are the answers that I have received in the past 3 DAYS to my very same question. You would think that a simple student asking a simple question about financal aid would be a regular question heard around campus, especially a month before classes start. And you would think that a Financial Aid office would know the answer. I am not asking them about taxes or loan repayment or anything. I am asking where my money is. They can even tell me my money is under a rock. I'd be fine with that answer. Because it is at least an answer to my question. Ok I'd be fucked still, but at least a location has been stated and I can then start my scavenger hunt amongst the rocks of Rutgers University, Newark Campus. I wouldn't mind, it sounds fun. Perhaps I can use that as one of my core courses instead of elementary statistics. Hey, searching under rocks involves probabilities too..
Everytime I call these geniuses I get a different answer.
My question is not rhetorical. My question is not philosophical. My question does not require a degree in astrophysics, mechanical engineering or biochemistry. My question does not even require a degree.
My question is simple. It does not delve into the mysteries of the universe, the complexities of life nor the ambiguities of religion.
My question will not require you to scour the great libraries of Alexandria, pour over the writings of Confucius or consult the great thinkers of the world's best universities.
My question will not lead you to question your faith, doubt your self-worth or struggle with your values. It will not cause you pain or grief or anguish.
My question is simple: Where is my fucking money and when am I going to get it.
One would think that being called the Financial Aid office would lead us charlatans to consult you in matters of, oh, say, financial aid. And one could reasonably believe that the office of said title would have answers to questions of the same topic. Perhaps I give too much credit and put too much faith into the Financial Aid office. Perhaps it's just a clever name, a metaphor will you.
Perhaps using such a name for an office is a test to my resolve, my intelligence and my sanity. Perhaps they feel that if I can't figure out financial aid on my own, then perhaps I should not be attending their fine university. I think this is quite possibly the case.
Ok-- but have YOU ever tried to figure out financial aid? It's IMPOSSIBLE. I'm relatively intelligent. I have an IQ of 155 and could be a member of MENSA but I don't feel like paying the membership fees. I have degrees from competitive institutions and have held many jobs that I was absolutely incapable of understanding or performing my tasks correctly. (see, my intelligence was in faking things enough to get the job... get it?) I can understand the writings of Dumas, concepts of Buddhism and the teachings of Nietzsche. Hell I can spell Nietzsche. While I might lack the common sense to turn my monitor screen on and then complain to our IT guy that the computer's broken, I can tie my own shoes and I say "let's go" in 4 different languages.
There are many questions in this world that can offer different answers each and every time you ask them:
- what time is it
-how are you
-how many times did McCain say the wrong thing today
-what's the score for the ballgame
But questions about financial aid should not have different answers each and everytime, especially not answers as vast as:
-we don't know
-the student accounting office controls that
-student accounting has nothing to do with accounting
-you are not in our system
-when you register you will get your money
-you are registered but you will not be receiving any money
-we don't handle federal aid questions at this office
Yeah. Those are the answers that I have received in the past 3 DAYS to my very same question. You would think that a simple student asking a simple question about financal aid would be a regular question heard around campus, especially a month before classes start. And you would think that a Financial Aid office would know the answer. I am not asking them about taxes or loan repayment or anything. I am asking where my money is. They can even tell me my money is under a rock. I'd be fine with that answer. Because it is at least an answer to my question. Ok I'd be fucked still, but at least a location has been stated and I can then start my scavenger hunt amongst the rocks of Rutgers University, Newark Campus. I wouldn't mind, it sounds fun. Perhaps I can use that as one of my core courses instead of elementary statistics. Hey, searching under rocks involves probabilities too..
Five..
That's the number of stages of grief I'm supposed to experience.
1) denial
2) anger
3) bargaining
4) depression
5) acceptance
Do I even buy this? I don't know. So far I've experience most of these ad nauseum for the past 3 days. Most of it was depression and bargaining. Futile attempts. A bit of denial mixed in for good measure. But no acceptance and no anger.
Relationships are complicated shit. There's no nicer way to put it. You put together two people from two different backgrounds and two different mindsets and expect them to get along swimmingly. It doesn't work that way. Having things in common doesn't mean that you are meant to get along or meant to be together. But it can also mean exactly that at the same time. Having things in common is essential, but it means nothing if you have different ways of interaction, fighting or reasoning. No one is perfect and we all make mistakes. I've made mine. And I accept all responsibility for said mistakes.
Relationships are a pain in the ass. Dating is a pain in the ass. You're praying for someone to accept you for who you are and changing yourself to conform to their ideals. No relationship is without this, I don't think. No relationship involves two people meant to be together who don't have to adapt one way or another in order to be with each other. No change, to me, means accepting contentment and just being plain lazy. I've never been that way.
I'm not perfect and I've NEVER claimed that I was. I have my own problems and my own issues. And issues that present themselves only in relationships. It's so hypocritial though. In some situations I am praying for someone to love me for who I am... but in others I am accepting yet hating someone for not loving me for who I am. Sometimes I say in my head "please, I'm not so bad" and other times I say "fuck you, you're not good enough for me". For different people, they get different thoughts. I've had fucked-up boyfriends and heroes. I've had people save me from myself and those who drive me to want to be anyone but myself. I've had salvations and I've had curses. I've been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the right place at the wrong time. I've made choices too late and exploited chances too early.
The stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depressing, acceptance are a crock, if you ask me. They all either come at the same time, different times, not at all, in different waves or in different order. I'm not in denial. I bargain because I'm afraid and because I am sorry for my mistakes. I bargain because I want to make amends. I'm depressed because all this shit fucking sucks. I don't accept. And I won't. Acceptance means defeat. And I am not defeated and I never will be.
What they don't say about the stages of grief is the strength, resolve and maturity you receive from it all. From all this, how much it blows, I realize how much stronger I am than I realized. I can compose myself as an adult for once and I mature and grow into a person who has learned an important lesson.
While I hope that this isn't the end, I am ready to be ok with it. Not accept it. But resign to it.
You have one life, but you can live so many times in one life. Grief is a curse and gift at the same time. Nothing is forever. Guns N Roses will tell you that. I'm not going to spout some "it takes time", "lean on your friends", "there's more fish in the sea" crap. Fuck that. None of that helps. Your friends mean well but they all say the same stupid shit when stuff like this happens. Or they just offer to go out and get you drunk. And that doesn't help anything. There are more fish in the sea, but during grief, all those fish have salmonella or something in your book. All you are thinking about is going back and redoing the things you did wrong. And then you get the whole "things happen for a reason" and "it was all meant to be". No. Nothing happens for a reason and nothing is meant to be. Things happen from human beings' actions and words. Meant to be is BS in my book. If this were all predestined then why wouldn't the person doing this "life party planning" spare 99% of the population the grief and despair they experience? Nothing is meant to be. Everything is what it is.
But I am not of the crowd that thinks that none of it matters. It does. We should all want to be happy and make someone happy. And we will all fuck up royally in getting to that state.
Live and learn? What doesn't kill you makes you stronger? I don't know.
I'll leave, I suppose with one quote which has always rung true for me and the only one that has every given me REAL motivation and consolation:
"Simply the thing I am. Shall make me live". - Shakespeare, All's Well That Ends Well.
1) denial
2) anger
3) bargaining
4) depression
5) acceptance
Do I even buy this? I don't know. So far I've experience most of these ad nauseum for the past 3 days. Most of it was depression and bargaining. Futile attempts. A bit of denial mixed in for good measure. But no acceptance and no anger.
Relationships are complicated shit. There's no nicer way to put it. You put together two people from two different backgrounds and two different mindsets and expect them to get along swimmingly. It doesn't work that way. Having things in common doesn't mean that you are meant to get along or meant to be together. But it can also mean exactly that at the same time. Having things in common is essential, but it means nothing if you have different ways of interaction, fighting or reasoning. No one is perfect and we all make mistakes. I've made mine. And I accept all responsibility for said mistakes.
Relationships are a pain in the ass. Dating is a pain in the ass. You're praying for someone to accept you for who you are and changing yourself to conform to their ideals. No relationship is without this, I don't think. No relationship involves two people meant to be together who don't have to adapt one way or another in order to be with each other. No change, to me, means accepting contentment and just being plain lazy. I've never been that way.
I'm not perfect and I've NEVER claimed that I was. I have my own problems and my own issues. And issues that present themselves only in relationships. It's so hypocritial though. In some situations I am praying for someone to love me for who I am... but in others I am accepting yet hating someone for not loving me for who I am. Sometimes I say in my head "please, I'm not so bad" and other times I say "fuck you, you're not good enough for me". For different people, they get different thoughts. I've had fucked-up boyfriends and heroes. I've had people save me from myself and those who drive me to want to be anyone but myself. I've had salvations and I've had curses. I've been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the right place at the wrong time. I've made choices too late and exploited chances too early.
The stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depressing, acceptance are a crock, if you ask me. They all either come at the same time, different times, not at all, in different waves or in different order. I'm not in denial. I bargain because I'm afraid and because I am sorry for my mistakes. I bargain because I want to make amends. I'm depressed because all this shit fucking sucks. I don't accept. And I won't. Acceptance means defeat. And I am not defeated and I never will be.
What they don't say about the stages of grief is the strength, resolve and maturity you receive from it all. From all this, how much it blows, I realize how much stronger I am than I realized. I can compose myself as an adult for once and I mature and grow into a person who has learned an important lesson.
While I hope that this isn't the end, I am ready to be ok with it. Not accept it. But resign to it.
You have one life, but you can live so many times in one life. Grief is a curse and gift at the same time. Nothing is forever. Guns N Roses will tell you that. I'm not going to spout some "it takes time", "lean on your friends", "there's more fish in the sea" crap. Fuck that. None of that helps. Your friends mean well but they all say the same stupid shit when stuff like this happens. Or they just offer to go out and get you drunk. And that doesn't help anything. There are more fish in the sea, but during grief, all those fish have salmonella or something in your book. All you are thinking about is going back and redoing the things you did wrong. And then you get the whole "things happen for a reason" and "it was all meant to be". No. Nothing happens for a reason and nothing is meant to be. Things happen from human beings' actions and words. Meant to be is BS in my book. If this were all predestined then why wouldn't the person doing this "life party planning" spare 99% of the population the grief and despair they experience? Nothing is meant to be. Everything is what it is.
But I am not of the crowd that thinks that none of it matters. It does. We should all want to be happy and make someone happy. And we will all fuck up royally in getting to that state.
Live and learn? What doesn't kill you makes you stronger? I don't know.
I'll leave, I suppose with one quote which has always rung true for me and the only one that has every given me REAL motivation and consolation:
"Simply the thing I am. Shall make me live". - Shakespeare, All's Well That Ends Well.
Queens.... christ
Well now I've done it. I've moved to Queens.
I promised myself when I made the choice to move to NYC that I would never, ever join the outer boroughs. It wasn't snobbery or pretentiousness, it was that I'd been here twice in my life, the last time when I was 14. New York scared the hell out of me, even back then and even Manhattan. I'd heard nothing but horror stories; murder in the Bronx, emohipster idealism in Brooklyn, Greek restaurants and terrorist links in Queens and landfills in Staten Island. I never had any desire, inkling, tickle, whatever, to live here. I only moved here because it was the first (and only) job offer I had after moving back from the UK and I needed to move asap. And the only person I knew who knew anything about the city was my sister, who was working with NYU at the time. Granted she commuted from Jersey everyday, but her advice was to absolutely not live above 96th street or in any place other than Manhattan.
However, upon realizing that I was working for a non profit and not an investment bank, making enough to technically qualify for public housing, food stamps and free child care, and didn't have a trust fund, I realized that establishing residence below 96th street was only possible in my situation when it would consist of cardboard boxes and a shopping cart.
If you know anything about NYC, you know that housing here is not only the most expensive in the nation (closely rivaled by San Francisco) but is also, (and this is my own ranking) the most god awful difficult place to find, maintain, like or at least tolerate the housing. It's ridiculous. Ok so you have these Tribeca studio apartments the size of a dorm room that are going for $4000 a month. No joke. I saw one apartment in the Village that was 12x6 with a kitchenette and a shared bathroom that went for $1695 a month. Holy god. I'd rather rely on the random rain shower to cleanse myself than share a bathroom with people who live in the Village. Damn hippies. Especially at the age of 23 (which I was when I moved here). I worked damn hard to get here, I'm not going to live like I'm still with my parents or in college. It was hard enough for me to get a roommate- my first ever, unless you count Blue Light Special for 6 months in college. (ask me about him if you're curious)
I recently read an article in the NY Times about students moving here right out of college who think they'll have a Friends or Sex and the City-type apartment. Ok, to everyone who doesn't live in NYC-- No one looks, acts, works, plays or lives like any of the people in those shows. Women don't march down Bleecker street in stilettos and furs on their way to a charity gala after hopping around sports bars and meeting lots of guys. Sure you might see someone on Bleecker wearing stilettos and furs, but it's more likely to be a transvestite. Far more interesting in my book. People do not work at a coffee shop and have a cute 2 bedroom apartment. Not unless their parents are paying for it (which so many do and it's pathetic). And landlords do not let you paint your walls purple. So these students come here making an average of $36,000 and expect to live in a cute one bedroom with exposed brick walls in the Village. Sure, if you want to spend $3000 a month. (minimum) And landlords here expect you to make 40-50x the monthly rent. Am I making $120,000? No. Therefore I had to get creative… (creative meaning quickly realistic, drastically disappointed with a dash of lowered standards mixed in for good measure.)
Getting an apartment here is an excruciating experience. You laugh, you cry, you laugh, you cry some more… in the end you just find yourself laughing at lot because you've turned into an insane mess and you'll either laugh or dress up in a clown suit and take a rifle up to the top of the Empire State building. I highly recommend the former. Too many tourists at the ESB, it's a mess and no self-described New Yorker actually goes there. But seriously, it's a bloodsport to rent an apartment here. The amount of paperwork you have to have is ridiculous. I need less paperwork to apply for a $40,000 student loan than I do to rent an apartment. Crazy. You have to have every single paper containing every single amount of money you have. I'm talking bank statements, credit reports, W2s, employer's letters, pay stubs etc. I'm surprised they don't expect you to hire someone to come into your house and count the coins in your couch and issue a report on how much you have in there. What fun that job would be. Counting coins. It'd be like Rain Man- The Real Estate Years.
So when I moved here I chose Washington Heights, up at the northern edge of Manhattan and a lovely place consisting of a mix of Orthodox Jews, yuppies and Dominicans. After a year and a half there I made the move south to Harlem, which, needless to say, put me in a minority situation for the first time ever. I loved Harlem though. I never got shot, offered drugs, harassed or bothered, despite the stereotypes. The difference between Harlem and Washington Heights was huge though. In WaHi, you can go to a shop and purchase –no joke-- tires, hair braiding, a broom, malt liquor and a VCR while also cashing a check. Harlem was less diverse… There you can only get Caribbean food while getting your hair braided. However, in Harlem there is such a place as United Fried Chicken where you can get: chicken, burgers, fries, seafood, steak, pizza and ice cream. Wow. All in one little take-out food shop. I had the chicken there once. Didn't feel well for about 4 days.
So upon my tour of Queens, I witnessed the array of culinary delights on Hillside Avenue – the outer borough's version of 42nd street. What we have here is a mix of Filipino, Pakistani and Guyanese cuisine. Quite interesting. I don't even know what Guyanese cuisine would be- but I do know that the supermarket bearing the same geographical reference contained 15 different types of lettuce and about 8 different types of mustard, but no salad dressing, bread, milk or cheese. Is this normal? Is anyone Guyanese? Do they dip the lettuce in the mustard? Is it like chips and dip? Or do you put the mustard in between lettuce leaves like a quesadilla? I'm confused. They did have a United Chicken place, but I don't think they serve pizza. Dear god, what have I done. Where have I moved to?!?!
Queens isn't bad though. As long as you're close to the subway. It's very ethnically diverse and you can buy carpet by the foot at the dollar store. That rocks. In Harlem you can get flip flops at the dollar store though. Those literally account for half my shoe supply. Oh shut up, it isn't skanky. They're flip flops, I'm not spending more than $5 for something like those. I lose half of them under the beds of strange men. Calm down, I'm kidding. Not all of them are strange.
So what am I? I'm no longer a Manhattanite. Am I a Queensanite? That sounds like Cuisinart. That makes me want to blend something. Or I could just call myself a New Yorker. But I don't like the sound of that either. I'll stick to being a Jersey girl. Hey once you got the stank you never go back, right?
I need to hit the supermarket though. I have no cooking gas and no microwave, so looks like I'm going basic for awhile. Probably better for me anyway! Ha, my mom told me to get a crock pot. WTF is a crock pot. I know what a crack pot is. I know what a crock is. I know what pot is. I know who Betty Crocker is. Is it connected? Is this some sort of cake mix… with pot? AH HA! My mom was telling me to make hash brownies! Tsk tsk mom, that ain't cool. I'm telling dad. And I don't live in Harlem anymore, pot'll be harder to score.
I promised myself when I made the choice to move to NYC that I would never, ever join the outer boroughs. It wasn't snobbery or pretentiousness, it was that I'd been here twice in my life, the last time when I was 14. New York scared the hell out of me, even back then and even Manhattan. I'd heard nothing but horror stories; murder in the Bronx, emohipster idealism in Brooklyn, Greek restaurants and terrorist links in Queens and landfills in Staten Island. I never had any desire, inkling, tickle, whatever, to live here. I only moved here because it was the first (and only) job offer I had after moving back from the UK and I needed to move asap. And the only person I knew who knew anything about the city was my sister, who was working with NYU at the time. Granted she commuted from Jersey everyday, but her advice was to absolutely not live above 96th street or in any place other than Manhattan.
However, upon realizing that I was working for a non profit and not an investment bank, making enough to technically qualify for public housing, food stamps and free child care, and didn't have a trust fund, I realized that establishing residence below 96th street was only possible in my situation when it would consist of cardboard boxes and a shopping cart.
If you know anything about NYC, you know that housing here is not only the most expensive in the nation (closely rivaled by San Francisco) but is also, (and this is my own ranking) the most god awful difficult place to find, maintain, like or at least tolerate the housing. It's ridiculous. Ok so you have these Tribeca studio apartments the size of a dorm room that are going for $4000 a month. No joke. I saw one apartment in the Village that was 12x6 with a kitchenette and a shared bathroom that went for $1695 a month. Holy god. I'd rather rely on the random rain shower to cleanse myself than share a bathroom with people who live in the Village. Damn hippies. Especially at the age of 23 (which I was when I moved here). I worked damn hard to get here, I'm not going to live like I'm still with my parents or in college. It was hard enough for me to get a roommate- my first ever, unless you count Blue Light Special for 6 months in college. (ask me about him if you're curious)
I recently read an article in the NY Times about students moving here right out of college who think they'll have a Friends or Sex and the City-type apartment. Ok, to everyone who doesn't live in NYC-- No one looks, acts, works, plays or lives like any of the people in those shows. Women don't march down Bleecker street in stilettos and furs on their way to a charity gala after hopping around sports bars and meeting lots of guys. Sure you might see someone on Bleecker wearing stilettos and furs, but it's more likely to be a transvestite. Far more interesting in my book. People do not work at a coffee shop and have a cute 2 bedroom apartment. Not unless their parents are paying for it (which so many do and it's pathetic). And landlords do not let you paint your walls purple. So these students come here making an average of $36,000 and expect to live in a cute one bedroom with exposed brick walls in the Village. Sure, if you want to spend $3000 a month. (minimum) And landlords here expect you to make 40-50x the monthly rent. Am I making $120,000? No. Therefore I had to get creative… (creative meaning quickly realistic, drastically disappointed with a dash of lowered standards mixed in for good measure.)
Getting an apartment here is an excruciating experience. You laugh, you cry, you laugh, you cry some more… in the end you just find yourself laughing at lot because you've turned into an insane mess and you'll either laugh or dress up in a clown suit and take a rifle up to the top of the Empire State building. I highly recommend the former. Too many tourists at the ESB, it's a mess and no self-described New Yorker actually goes there. But seriously, it's a bloodsport to rent an apartment here. The amount of paperwork you have to have is ridiculous. I need less paperwork to apply for a $40,000 student loan than I do to rent an apartment. Crazy. You have to have every single paper containing every single amount of money you have. I'm talking bank statements, credit reports, W2s, employer's letters, pay stubs etc. I'm surprised they don't expect you to hire someone to come into your house and count the coins in your couch and issue a report on how much you have in there. What fun that job would be. Counting coins. It'd be like Rain Man- The Real Estate Years.
So when I moved here I chose Washington Heights, up at the northern edge of Manhattan and a lovely place consisting of a mix of Orthodox Jews, yuppies and Dominicans. After a year and a half there I made the move south to Harlem, which, needless to say, put me in a minority situation for the first time ever. I loved Harlem though. I never got shot, offered drugs, harassed or bothered, despite the stereotypes. The difference between Harlem and Washington Heights was huge though. In WaHi, you can go to a shop and purchase –no joke-- tires, hair braiding, a broom, malt liquor and a VCR while also cashing a check. Harlem was less diverse… There you can only get Caribbean food while getting your hair braided. However, in Harlem there is such a place as United Fried Chicken where you can get: chicken, burgers, fries, seafood, steak, pizza and ice cream. Wow. All in one little take-out food shop. I had the chicken there once. Didn't feel well for about 4 days.
So upon my tour of Queens, I witnessed the array of culinary delights on Hillside Avenue – the outer borough's version of 42nd street. What we have here is a mix of Filipino, Pakistani and Guyanese cuisine. Quite interesting. I don't even know what Guyanese cuisine would be- but I do know that the supermarket bearing the same geographical reference contained 15 different types of lettuce and about 8 different types of mustard, but no salad dressing, bread, milk or cheese. Is this normal? Is anyone Guyanese? Do they dip the lettuce in the mustard? Is it like chips and dip? Or do you put the mustard in between lettuce leaves like a quesadilla? I'm confused. They did have a United Chicken place, but I don't think they serve pizza. Dear god, what have I done. Where have I moved to?!?!
Queens isn't bad though. As long as you're close to the subway. It's very ethnically diverse and you can buy carpet by the foot at the dollar store. That rocks. In Harlem you can get flip flops at the dollar store though. Those literally account for half my shoe supply. Oh shut up, it isn't skanky. They're flip flops, I'm not spending more than $5 for something like those. I lose half of them under the beds of strange men. Calm down, I'm kidding. Not all of them are strange.
So what am I? I'm no longer a Manhattanite. Am I a Queensanite? That sounds like Cuisinart. That makes me want to blend something. Or I could just call myself a New Yorker. But I don't like the sound of that either. I'll stick to being a Jersey girl. Hey once you got the stank you never go back, right?
I need to hit the supermarket though. I have no cooking gas and no microwave, so looks like I'm going basic for awhile. Probably better for me anyway! Ha, my mom told me to get a crock pot. WTF is a crock pot. I know what a crack pot is. I know what a crock is. I know what pot is. I know who Betty Crocker is. Is it connected? Is this some sort of cake mix… with pot? AH HA! My mom was telling me to make hash brownies! Tsk tsk mom, that ain't cool. I'm telling dad. And I don't live in Harlem anymore, pot'll be harder to score.
April 10
So it’s my birthday next Thursday and I was musing about birthdays and their meanings, both to the birthday boy/girl and to other people. People are supposed to celebrate your birthday because they are glad you had a birth. But why do we celebrate our own birthdays? For the same reason, obviously, but also I think we should recognize WHY we’re glad we had a birth and cast some appreciate on the things that make life good, despite how bad it can be or seem sometimes. Some people only give thanks on Thanksgiving, but I think our birthdays should definitely be days of reflection on the goodness of life and all that’s in it.
So without further adieu, here is:
Sarah’s Fantastic Stupendous 26th Birthday List of Things I am Grateful For
1) The required number one entry- my family and friends
2) Coffee. And it is a close second, let me tell you
3) Myspace
4) Wine
5) 24 hour delis
6) 24 hour anything
7) Postsecret.com for making me feel good that I’m not the only one who feels those ways sometimes
8) The fact that I can send stuff from my computer to the copier to print so I actually have to get up to get it and pass by my boss’s office so I look busy
9) Mojitos
10) Neatorama.com
11) T.S. Eliot
12) AMNY (when reading Eliot is too daunting in the morning)
13) People who appreciate my loud laugh
14) People who don’t appreciate it but don’t shush me
15) The Opera
16) Free wireless internet (although I think it gave me a virus)
17) When my co-workers slack off and/or mess up and I look good. (this isn’t mean- you know you do it, too)
18) Guys who give me their seat on the subway. I don’t need it, but it’s so nice to know that chivalry isn’t dead.
19) The fact that my parents taught me to give my seat up to people who need it and not to be selfish
20) That I’ve made it on my own since the age of 21 without ever balancing a check book and my credit card has never been declined.
21) People who give you the benefit of the doubt even when you don’t deserve it
22) People who give you the benefit of the doubt when you DO deserve it
23) Nice cab drivers
24) Hygienic cab drivers
25) Oral contraceptives (this is not related to 24)
26) When my boss calls me into his office and doesn’t fire me. (I hate the "come to my office, please" call- don’t you?)
27) People who understand when it’s time to end a conversation/phone call/handshake/joke
28) People who remember what you’ve told them. Ok little things get forgotten but when I’ve told you at least 10 times that I live in Harlem and you still for some reason ask me all the time how Williamsburg is, it bugs me (it’s in a whole other borough!)
29) People who remember birthdays
30) People who enquire about my family, even if they’ve never met them
31) Strawberry (both the store and the fruit)
32) Esprit (although I can’t afford to shop there anymore)
33) The fact that I have a guy who, when I ask "what have you done for me lately?" could honestly say "Bloody hell, Sarah, I’m still here, aren’t I?", but doesn’t. J
34) Bruce Willis movies
35) Birds (ok that’s a bit sappy, but I like the sound of birds)
36) NYC Transit. (people complain, but it’s still better, faster and cheaper than driving…)
37) Mp3 players
38) Diet Mountain Dew
39) British Air
40) The little tea sandwiches and free wine they serve you on BA
41) Northwest Air (the only airline that flies to ND)
42) The fact that even though you have to pay for it, they do have alcohol on Northwest
43) The fact that I can count to 10 in Spanish because of Sesame Street and I think I’m really cool because of that fact
44) Walt Disney
45) Mr. Phone II
46) Second chances
47) Third chances
48) Daffodils
49) My red coat
50) The fact that I don’t want kids and that’s ok. And don’t tell me it’s my duty as a human, I didn’t sign any contract when I was conceived.
51) Guys who can fix my computer
52) Guys who can fix anything (men look sexy when they fix stuff)
53) Compliments
54) Mozart
55) Britain
56) Fireplaces
57) My grandparents
58) People whose smiles make me smile
59) North Dakota (it’s really not that bad. It’s great for completely relaxing and decompressing, especially when you live in NYC)
60) Darryl and George and Darryl’s brother Leroy who drove me up to Washington Heights in a prison bus to get my stuff out of crazy roommate’s house
61) Tourists who ask me directions because I like being able to show them that New Yorkers can be nice
62) Good things that come out of really shitty situations (and no I’m not talking about lessons learned/experience, I’m talking about actual good things)
63) Mae West quotes
64) Britpop
65) The fact that despite all odds, I’ve gotten into 3 good colleges. Don’t ask me how the hell I’ve done that..
66) Screen doors
67) Butterflies
68) Beer
69) Hotdogs
70) Treadmills
71) George Carlin
72) People who recognize the fact that just because you have a different opinion, it doesn’t make anyone right or wrong, just different.
73) Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman
74) People who actually help you when you drop something/trip/get hit by a bus
75) Sushi
76) When neither of my bosses are here
77) When they’re both here but they leave me alone
78) DC
79) TurboTax
And finally-(I’ll stop at 80..)
80) Yankee games
So even if it isn’t your birthday, what are YOU grateful for? Take the time to think of 10 things. If any of them include people- tell them. It’ll make their day. And if it includes me, then you’re more awesome than I thought. xo
So without further adieu, here is:
Sarah’s Fantastic Stupendous 26th Birthday List of Things I am Grateful For
1) The required number one entry- my family and friends
2) Coffee. And it is a close second, let me tell you
3) Myspace
4) Wine
5) 24 hour delis
6) 24 hour anything
7) Postsecret.com for making me feel good that I’m not the only one who feels those ways sometimes
8) The fact that I can send stuff from my computer to the copier to print so I actually have to get up to get it and pass by my boss’s office so I look busy
9) Mojitos
10) Neatorama.com
11) T.S. Eliot
12) AMNY (when reading Eliot is too daunting in the morning)
13) People who appreciate my loud laugh
14) People who don’t appreciate it but don’t shush me
15) The Opera
16) Free wireless internet (although I think it gave me a virus)
17) When my co-workers slack off and/or mess up and I look good. (this isn’t mean- you know you do it, too)
18) Guys who give me their seat on the subway. I don’t need it, but it’s so nice to know that chivalry isn’t dead.
19) The fact that my parents taught me to give my seat up to people who need it and not to be selfish
20) That I’ve made it on my own since the age of 21 without ever balancing a check book and my credit card has never been declined.
21) People who give you the benefit of the doubt even when you don’t deserve it
22) People who give you the benefit of the doubt when you DO deserve it
23) Nice cab drivers
24) Hygienic cab drivers
25) Oral contraceptives (this is not related to 24)
26) When my boss calls me into his office and doesn’t fire me. (I hate the "come to my office, please" call- don’t you?)
27) People who understand when it’s time to end a conversation/phone call/handshake/joke
28) People who remember what you’ve told them. Ok little things get forgotten but when I’ve told you at least 10 times that I live in Harlem and you still for some reason ask me all the time how Williamsburg is, it bugs me (it’s in a whole other borough!)
29) People who remember birthdays
30) People who enquire about my family, even if they’ve never met them
31) Strawberry (both the store and the fruit)
32) Esprit (although I can’t afford to shop there anymore)
33) The fact that I have a guy who, when I ask "what have you done for me lately?" could honestly say "Bloody hell, Sarah, I’m still here, aren’t I?", but doesn’t. J
34) Bruce Willis movies
35) Birds (ok that’s a bit sappy, but I like the sound of birds)
36) NYC Transit. (people complain, but it’s still better, faster and cheaper than driving…)
37) Mp3 players
38) Diet Mountain Dew
39) British Air
40) The little tea sandwiches and free wine they serve you on BA
41) Northwest Air (the only airline that flies to ND)
42) The fact that even though you have to pay for it, they do have alcohol on Northwest
43) The fact that I can count to 10 in Spanish because of Sesame Street and I think I’m really cool because of that fact
44) Walt Disney
45) Mr. Phone II
46) Second chances
47) Third chances
48) Daffodils
49) My red coat
50) The fact that I don’t want kids and that’s ok. And don’t tell me it’s my duty as a human, I didn’t sign any contract when I was conceived.
51) Guys who can fix my computer
52) Guys who can fix anything (men look sexy when they fix stuff)
53) Compliments
54) Mozart
55) Britain
56) Fireplaces
57) My grandparents
58) People whose smiles make me smile
59) North Dakota (it’s really not that bad. It’s great for completely relaxing and decompressing, especially when you live in NYC)
60) Darryl and George and Darryl’s brother Leroy who drove me up to Washington Heights in a prison bus to get my stuff out of crazy roommate’s house
61) Tourists who ask me directions because I like being able to show them that New Yorkers can be nice
62) Good things that come out of really shitty situations (and no I’m not talking about lessons learned/experience, I’m talking about actual good things)
63) Mae West quotes
64) Britpop
65) The fact that despite all odds, I’ve gotten into 3 good colleges. Don’t ask me how the hell I’ve done that..
66) Screen doors
67) Butterflies
68) Beer
69) Hotdogs
70) Treadmills
71) George Carlin
72) People who recognize the fact that just because you have a different opinion, it doesn’t make anyone right or wrong, just different.
73) Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman
74) People who actually help you when you drop something/trip/get hit by a bus
75) Sushi
76) When neither of my bosses are here
77) When they’re both here but they leave me alone
78) DC
79) TurboTax
And finally-(I’ll stop at 80..)
80) Yankee games
So even if it isn’t your birthday, what are YOU grateful for? Take the time to think of 10 things. If any of them include people- tell them. It’ll make their day. And if it includes me, then you’re more awesome than I thought. xo
Crunk N Junk
Oh hai readers. My blog has gotten, officially, 300 hits. Fantastic! Should start my own magazine. Will call it Jerseynomics.So I'm really starting to detest my job. I didn't realize the extreme political culture within the non-profit, non-governmental and, um, non-political organization that I'm apparently working for. It's such an inbred totalitarian dictatorship of who knows whom and, thus, who gets away with what.
So it turns out that F is related to J who is related to A who is related to D who is best buds with B and they all go to the same church and their kids all go to the same schools. Hell they talk about separation of church and state- what about separation of church and workplace??So it's all a clusterfuck of religion, PTA and some bizarre link to Panama. I love it- it's so 1960s...So F despises me because she barged into my office once and I had my headphones in and didn't take them out. I turned the music off when she came in, so it wasn't like I was blasting my Marilyn Manson or Bach or whatever I was listening to that day. But she got all offended and went to the CEO about it. Nice. And then she barged into my office again last week, demanding that I sign something. Now, dears, I don't just sign stuff without reading it first. Why? Because I'm familiar with the works of Goethe. Faust, anyone? So the fact that I paused to read it apparently set this woman off and she went and complained about me.
Now, I understand women, which is why I'm not friends with any of them. Women sometimes just target someone to be a bitch to, and do so ad nauseum. I know I do it and I know you do it too, don't lie. So apparently I am F's target here. I have my own targets- but I have reasons at least. Like the dummy who was lifting weights in the gym and decided to change exercises without seeing who was around him and slammed me in the arm with a 25 pound weight as I was walking by. Not hot. So he is my target. I don't actively seek out opportunities to make this person miserable however, I just glare at him every once in awhile, to remind him that he is stupid. He's one of those guys that checks out his abs in the mirror at the gym and dances to his own iPod music.Yeah...
So anyway, I was called into the COO's office because F complained about me. My COO said the following: "It has come to my attention that on many occasions, you don't seem to know how to talk to people. Now I know that you are shy and don't normally interact with people, so perhaps your communication skills are sub-par".
What the FUCK? Ok that entire paragraph just pissed me off.
Let's take this step-by-step:
1) "It has come to my attention that on many occasions".. -- what many occasions? The only problems I've been aware of were the headphones incident and signing my soul to the devil. Wouldn't those qualify as only a couple, or, if you want to be trivial, a 'few' occasions? I would hardly call them 'many'.
2) "You don't seem to know how to talk to people".. -- I know how to talk to people. It's not hard. You open your mouth and sounds come out and you form those sounds in to words, right? I think so... Let me consult the dictionary on what it is to 'talk'... ok I'm right. Yes, I do know how to talk. And thus, I know how to talk to people, as I rarely talk to inanimate objects (other than my computer) and only once in awhile do I talk to myself.
3) "Now I know that you are shy".. -- What? Do you even know me? I've had my time to be shy- it was called middle school. I think anyone who knows me, or hell, anyone who doesn't know me and just hears me, realizes that I'm not shy. Just because I don't go drinking with my co-workers doesn't mean I'm shy. It means I don't like my co-workers.
4) "And don't normally interact with people" .. -- Um my entire job is interacting with people. You can't really handle money without dealing with people who give it to you. I don't interact with my co-workers though, other than my finance department which consists of 4 people. Why? Because I don't like my co-workers.
5) "So perhaps your communication skills are sub-par".. -- perhaps yes.. However I consider myself to be quite articulate and more than able to get across the point I'm trying to make. That's called communication, right? In fact, however, communication can be any number of things. It can be hand motions, like flipping somone off or using sign language. It can be a wink or a glare or an eye roll. It can be a smirk or sticking your tongue out at someone, etc. So who is my boss to be telling me I don't know how to communicate? I can flip people off like it's nobody's business. My conclusion to the aforementioned events is that F is just a sad ass bitch who has targeted me because she's a lonely miserable person.
For those of you who aren't sure about my referencing of Faust, the story is as follows:Goethe wrote, in 1808, the story of Faust. The character was based either on Johann Faust or on a character in Cenodoxus- a work by Jakob Bidermann. The quick summary of the story is that the devil bets god that he can make Faust (a good guy) go bad. The devil would do anything Faust wanted up here and Faust would serve the devil once he went to hell. Sounds like a shitty deal, I don't know why he took it... The real Faust was a magician and alchemist. Hmm doesn't that kinda sound like he was a pickpocket and a drug dealer? Does to me.. Now he doesn't seem to have made any pacts with the devil, so it seems that Goethe only used his name and his demeanor rather than writing about a specific incident. Faust in real life wasn't a nice guy though; he tricked a chaplain into shaving with arsenic so his face peeled off. It's so Hieronymus Bosch. I love it.
So Faust signed his soul away. This was not something I would do, hence my feeling it was necessary to read the document before signing it. It's not beligerence, it's being responsible. Now I'm not the most responsible person I know. I lose pretty much everything and I don't balance a checkbook. I just know if the check is going to clear or not. (although sometimes this requires praying). I work with money but I don't know how to really deal with it or invest. I don't have multiple portfolios of stuff and I don't play the stock market. I don't even play the lottery (well except for this big powerball one that was a couple weeks ago). I have no idea what a hedge fund or a junk bond is. Well, I kinda do. I know a hedge fund is something you only get into if you know you're going to get a payout and a junk bond is probably the opposite?
Let's look it up. I have a book called Barron's Dictionary of Finance and Investment Terms. It was on sale and I bought it as my "look smart in the subway" books. We all have them. I see some of the dumbest losers on the subway carrying calculus books and reading Dr. Zhivago. You know they don't understand a word of that. It's all about impressing people. My book recently was Third World Economics. I understood a good amount of it though. ..well, the title at least.
Ok, a hedge fund is: ahh shit there's like a 4 page definition. Well you can take a long or short position, which refers to the amount of time you have the fund. They take large risks but have potentially large payouts. Ok I'm not reading anymore.
A junk bond is: a bond with a bad credit rating. Wait, bonds have credit ratings? Do they apply for mortgages or something? Can they go to that FreeCreditReport.com and get their credit score? How can they do that though? They don't have fingers, how do they type? I'm confused. Oh and they're also called 'Fallen Angels'. I love it; it's so Guns n Roses.
My co-workers aren't all that bad in general though. I guess. Polish-girl-who-steals-my-intern has been getting on my nerves less. She still steals my intern though. She always carries around a bottle of Canada Dry ginger ale. You know what? I doubt there's ginger ale in it... No one likes ginger ale that much. She's probably carrying crunk juice or something up in there. Nice.
So it turns out that F is related to J who is related to A who is related to D who is best buds with B and they all go to the same church and their kids all go to the same schools. Hell they talk about separation of church and state- what about separation of church and workplace??So it's all a clusterfuck of religion, PTA and some bizarre link to Panama. I love it- it's so 1960s...So F despises me because she barged into my office once and I had my headphones in and didn't take them out. I turned the music off when she came in, so it wasn't like I was blasting my Marilyn Manson or Bach or whatever I was listening to that day. But she got all offended and went to the CEO about it. Nice. And then she barged into my office again last week, demanding that I sign something. Now, dears, I don't just sign stuff without reading it first. Why? Because I'm familiar with the works of Goethe. Faust, anyone? So the fact that I paused to read it apparently set this woman off and she went and complained about me.
Now, I understand women, which is why I'm not friends with any of them. Women sometimes just target someone to be a bitch to, and do so ad nauseum. I know I do it and I know you do it too, don't lie. So apparently I am F's target here. I have my own targets- but I have reasons at least. Like the dummy who was lifting weights in the gym and decided to change exercises without seeing who was around him and slammed me in the arm with a 25 pound weight as I was walking by. Not hot. So he is my target. I don't actively seek out opportunities to make this person miserable however, I just glare at him every once in awhile, to remind him that he is stupid. He's one of those guys that checks out his abs in the mirror at the gym and dances to his own iPod music.Yeah...
So anyway, I was called into the COO's office because F complained about me. My COO said the following: "It has come to my attention that on many occasions, you don't seem to know how to talk to people. Now I know that you are shy and don't normally interact with people, so perhaps your communication skills are sub-par".
What the FUCK? Ok that entire paragraph just pissed me off.
Let's take this step-by-step:
1) "It has come to my attention that on many occasions".. -- what many occasions? The only problems I've been aware of were the headphones incident and signing my soul to the devil. Wouldn't those qualify as only a couple, or, if you want to be trivial, a 'few' occasions? I would hardly call them 'many'.
2) "You don't seem to know how to talk to people".. -- I know how to talk to people. It's not hard. You open your mouth and sounds come out and you form those sounds in to words, right? I think so... Let me consult the dictionary on what it is to 'talk'... ok I'm right. Yes, I do know how to talk. And thus, I know how to talk to people, as I rarely talk to inanimate objects (other than my computer) and only once in awhile do I talk to myself.
3) "Now I know that you are shy".. -- What? Do you even know me? I've had my time to be shy- it was called middle school. I think anyone who knows me, or hell, anyone who doesn't know me and just hears me, realizes that I'm not shy. Just because I don't go drinking with my co-workers doesn't mean I'm shy. It means I don't like my co-workers.
4) "And don't normally interact with people" .. -- Um my entire job is interacting with people. You can't really handle money without dealing with people who give it to you. I don't interact with my co-workers though, other than my finance department which consists of 4 people. Why? Because I don't like my co-workers.
5) "So perhaps your communication skills are sub-par".. -- perhaps yes.. However I consider myself to be quite articulate and more than able to get across the point I'm trying to make. That's called communication, right? In fact, however, communication can be any number of things. It can be hand motions, like flipping somone off or using sign language. It can be a wink or a glare or an eye roll. It can be a smirk or sticking your tongue out at someone, etc. So who is my boss to be telling me I don't know how to communicate? I can flip people off like it's nobody's business. My conclusion to the aforementioned events is that F is just a sad ass bitch who has targeted me because she's a lonely miserable person.
For those of you who aren't sure about my referencing of Faust, the story is as follows:Goethe wrote, in 1808, the story of Faust. The character was based either on Johann Faust or on a character in Cenodoxus- a work by Jakob Bidermann. The quick summary of the story is that the devil bets god that he can make Faust (a good guy) go bad. The devil would do anything Faust wanted up here and Faust would serve the devil once he went to hell. Sounds like a shitty deal, I don't know why he took it... The real Faust was a magician and alchemist. Hmm doesn't that kinda sound like he was a pickpocket and a drug dealer? Does to me.. Now he doesn't seem to have made any pacts with the devil, so it seems that Goethe only used his name and his demeanor rather than writing about a specific incident. Faust in real life wasn't a nice guy though; he tricked a chaplain into shaving with arsenic so his face peeled off. It's so Hieronymus Bosch. I love it.
So Faust signed his soul away. This was not something I would do, hence my feeling it was necessary to read the document before signing it. It's not beligerence, it's being responsible. Now I'm not the most responsible person I know. I lose pretty much everything and I don't balance a checkbook. I just know if the check is going to clear or not. (although sometimes this requires praying). I work with money but I don't know how to really deal with it or invest. I don't have multiple portfolios of stuff and I don't play the stock market. I don't even play the lottery (well except for this big powerball one that was a couple weeks ago). I have no idea what a hedge fund or a junk bond is. Well, I kinda do. I know a hedge fund is something you only get into if you know you're going to get a payout and a junk bond is probably the opposite?
Let's look it up. I have a book called Barron's Dictionary of Finance and Investment Terms. It was on sale and I bought it as my "look smart in the subway" books. We all have them. I see some of the dumbest losers on the subway carrying calculus books and reading Dr. Zhivago. You know they don't understand a word of that. It's all about impressing people. My book recently was Third World Economics. I understood a good amount of it though. ..well, the title at least.
Ok, a hedge fund is: ahh shit there's like a 4 page definition. Well you can take a long or short position, which refers to the amount of time you have the fund. They take large risks but have potentially large payouts. Ok I'm not reading anymore.
A junk bond is: a bond with a bad credit rating. Wait, bonds have credit ratings? Do they apply for mortgages or something? Can they go to that FreeCreditReport.com and get their credit score? How can they do that though? They don't have fingers, how do they type? I'm confused. Oh and they're also called 'Fallen Angels'. I love it; it's so Guns n Roses.
My co-workers aren't all that bad in general though. I guess. Polish-girl-who-steals-my-intern has been getting on my nerves less. She still steals my intern though. She always carries around a bottle of Canada Dry ginger ale. You know what? I doubt there's ginger ale in it... No one likes ginger ale that much. She's probably carrying crunk juice or something up in there. Nice.
Living under power lines
So I got waitlisted by CUNY.
Waitlisting is like academia's version of telling you that since you don't know the maitre-d, and since you didn't make a reservation, they'll scrutinize the way you dress and the amount of money they *think* you have before seating you. Of course with schools it's all about if your parents are alumni, if you knew from birth that you wanted to go to THAT school for THAT program and if you fit into the quotas they're governmentally required to be aiming for and they don't think they have to shell out tons of money to support you. Naturally with restaurants it's a lot easier. Just go to Forever 21, get a shirt that looks expensive and slap on some Cinderella Club jewelry (praying it doesn't break mid-meal, because it will eventually anyway) and hope they think you're hot shit. I wish schools had bouncers. I met one once, at Marquee. His name was Verse. I really don't know if that was his birth name or his bouncer name, but I wouldn't have been surprised if it was both. But he liked me and he let me and my sister in without paying the cover charge. Yay. We stayed 10 minutes. What a stupid place. Didn't even see Lindsay Blohan or anything.
Georgetown also waitlisted me, for college. Snobs. Luckily GW professors, along with the students, were people who didn't get into G-town, either professionally or academically and were therefore thankfully far more liberal concerning a missed class or a missed half semester....
It kinda bums me out though. I mean, it's not like I'm vying for a spot in campus housing- this is not undergrad. It's a friggin PhD and I'm willing to friggin pay for it. You'd think they'd want to accept everyone they could- especially as my credentials are nothing to sneeze at, in my opinion. And it's CUNY for god's sake, not Harvard. Fuck. Not that'd I'd be caught dead in Boston ever again. Anyone who's not heard about Blue Light Special and his wonderful mother can ask me now...
Ahh but anyway...
My apartment seems to be where electronic things go to die. I'm not kidding. I've actually looked outside to see if there are strange power lines around or some Independence Day-type space ships hovering overhead. I've had my iPod, DVD player and most of my computer go completely kaboom this week.
So, inevitably, I had to go to Best Buy. I literally had to prep myself for this whole experience. I hate Best Buy. I really do. And my time there proved my point even further. It always rains when I go there. Saturday afternoon was no exception. It was a light drizzle, fine, but it hardened all the snow and made it wet and slippery and it was just gross. Fine. I go and I'm looking at the mp3 players. Since my computer is on the fritz and I have no idea when it's going to be functioning again, I am not going to try another iPod. I don't approve of the whole Microsoft monopoly on portable music, nor am I bright enough to figure out the ways around copyrights. Calm down, I'm not going for a PhD in anything science related. (proven even further as we speak, as I am literally airing out my cdrom drive, thinking that will make my NetFlix play.)
So I'm there and standing and standing and I refuse to seek people out. I'm there for YOUR commission, Mr. I-have-a-technology-degree-from-Touro-but-I-don't-understand-what-ambition-is. Your mom will be mad if you don't put in your share for the groceries and dog chow this week, Todd, so you'd better come and try to help me. Ahh ok here you are. Oh! Your name is not Todd, it's Dane. Oh I wish I could beat you up. fool. And of course you wait on the pretty girl first. Ok fine, Sarah has to wait... and wait... and wait...
I ask you, Dane, will this Sony mp3 (cheaper than iPod) play my iTunes? Yes? Sweet. Let's buy it. I've been here for half an hour. I'll buy anything at this point. And I get home and it doesn't play my iTunes. Not without me going through hoops and whistles and working with something called AACP. Sounds like a deaf people's organization. I'm confused.
Ok fine I'll rebuy the iTunes I bought. Whatever, I don't care. I at least did my taxes right and got a good hefty check from the government.
This doesn't fix my DVD problem. My computer of 3 years doesn't want to play DVDs anymore. I wonder what computer years are. I think dog years are 7:1. I think computer years are like 300:1. My computer is now 90 years old. Piece of crap. I'm putting you in a goddamn home. And not one of those nice ones with qualified trained nurses that turn you ever hour- you're getting the Philippine immigrants and canned prunes. Damn piece of crap sucking me dry. I'm not paying to have you upgraded or to have your many viruses washed out. Fuck it.
Please don't send this to my parents, they'd be so shocked. The home out where they live is actually quite nice, should they ever need to take residence...
I need a new computer too, for my overpriced overeducation. Overeducation is overpriced, yes, but I don't think overrated. Duane told me earlier that he's done learning, because he knows everything he needs to know. So of course I go all Marcel Proust on him and stated by simply saying that, that showed him how ignorant he really was. Then he told me to shut up and get out of his face or I wouldn't get my share of the $15 we won when we pooled for the Mega Millions. I love my friends.
Ew, there was this guy at the gym though who looked like the transvestite from Silence of the Lambs. He kept looking at me weird. I kept feeling like I should put on some lotion lest he turn the hose on me..... (see the movie if you don't get the reference).
At least Moses Stick man is gone. This buttfuck carries around this big Moses parting the Red Sea-type stick, stays an hour and a half on the cardio machines, refusing to acknowledge the half hour rule, doesn't get off the machine when you ask him to, has these margarine yellow teeth, talks with a lisp and is, must be, without a doubt, in my opinion, legally retarded. Of course people refer to him as the Colonel because he was in the armed forces. Fuck that shit. I ain't gonna kiss your ass because you know how to sign up for enlistment in your school's cafeteria in high school. Get into the Navy Academy I might pay attention to you. Those uniforms are hott anyway.
Abe Lincoln man hasn't been around for awhile. This completely confuses me. I hate facial hair. It's gross. Maybe on some guys it looks ok, but on 90% of them, no. So this one guy, perfectly nice, perfectly fine looking started going for this Abe Lincoln look and has now taken it to this Grizzly Adams thing. I told him I didn't like it. He didn't care. He was like "who are you?". Ahh, but I know his name now. So I told him, just for fun, that if he was going to go for it anyway, why not shave half of it off and have a half beard? .... He doesn't talk to me anymore now. But personally I thought that was a perfectly reasonable proposition.
Anyway, so I only have one other New York school option, otherwise looks like I'm moving to Philly! We'll see. I have until early May to see where everything goes.. Wish me luck....
Waitlisting is like academia's version of telling you that since you don't know the maitre-d, and since you didn't make a reservation, they'll scrutinize the way you dress and the amount of money they *think* you have before seating you. Of course with schools it's all about if your parents are alumni, if you knew from birth that you wanted to go to THAT school for THAT program and if you fit into the quotas they're governmentally required to be aiming for and they don't think they have to shell out tons of money to support you. Naturally with restaurants it's a lot easier. Just go to Forever 21, get a shirt that looks expensive and slap on some Cinderella Club jewelry (praying it doesn't break mid-meal, because it will eventually anyway) and hope they think you're hot shit. I wish schools had bouncers. I met one once, at Marquee. His name was Verse. I really don't know if that was his birth name or his bouncer name, but I wouldn't have been surprised if it was both. But he liked me and he let me and my sister in without paying the cover charge. Yay. We stayed 10 minutes. What a stupid place. Didn't even see Lindsay Blohan or anything.
Georgetown also waitlisted me, for college. Snobs. Luckily GW professors, along with the students, were people who didn't get into G-town, either professionally or academically and were therefore thankfully far more liberal concerning a missed class or a missed half semester....
It kinda bums me out though. I mean, it's not like I'm vying for a spot in campus housing- this is not undergrad. It's a friggin PhD and I'm willing to friggin pay for it. You'd think they'd want to accept everyone they could- especially as my credentials are nothing to sneeze at, in my opinion. And it's CUNY for god's sake, not Harvard. Fuck. Not that'd I'd be caught dead in Boston ever again. Anyone who's not heard about Blue Light Special and his wonderful mother can ask me now...
Ahh but anyway...
My apartment seems to be where electronic things go to die. I'm not kidding. I've actually looked outside to see if there are strange power lines around or some Independence Day-type space ships hovering overhead. I've had my iPod, DVD player and most of my computer go completely kaboom this week.
So, inevitably, I had to go to Best Buy. I literally had to prep myself for this whole experience. I hate Best Buy. I really do. And my time there proved my point even further. It always rains when I go there. Saturday afternoon was no exception. It was a light drizzle, fine, but it hardened all the snow and made it wet and slippery and it was just gross. Fine. I go and I'm looking at the mp3 players. Since my computer is on the fritz and I have no idea when it's going to be functioning again, I am not going to try another iPod. I don't approve of the whole Microsoft monopoly on portable music, nor am I bright enough to figure out the ways around copyrights. Calm down, I'm not going for a PhD in anything science related. (proven even further as we speak, as I am literally airing out my cdrom drive, thinking that will make my NetFlix play.)
So I'm there and standing and standing and I refuse to seek people out. I'm there for YOUR commission, Mr. I-have-a-technology-degree-from-Touro-but-I-don't-understand-what-ambition-is. Your mom will be mad if you don't put in your share for the groceries and dog chow this week, Todd, so you'd better come and try to help me. Ahh ok here you are. Oh! Your name is not Todd, it's Dane. Oh I wish I could beat you up. fool. And of course you wait on the pretty girl first. Ok fine, Sarah has to wait... and wait... and wait...
I ask you, Dane, will this Sony mp3 (cheaper than iPod) play my iTunes? Yes? Sweet. Let's buy it. I've been here for half an hour. I'll buy anything at this point. And I get home and it doesn't play my iTunes. Not without me going through hoops and whistles and working with something called AACP. Sounds like a deaf people's organization. I'm confused.
Ok fine I'll rebuy the iTunes I bought. Whatever, I don't care. I at least did my taxes right and got a good hefty check from the government.
This doesn't fix my DVD problem. My computer of 3 years doesn't want to play DVDs anymore. I wonder what computer years are. I think dog years are 7:1. I think computer years are like 300:1. My computer is now 90 years old. Piece of crap. I'm putting you in a goddamn home. And not one of those nice ones with qualified trained nurses that turn you ever hour- you're getting the Philippine immigrants and canned prunes. Damn piece of crap sucking me dry. I'm not paying to have you upgraded or to have your many viruses washed out. Fuck it.
Please don't send this to my parents, they'd be so shocked. The home out where they live is actually quite nice, should they ever need to take residence...
I need a new computer too, for my overpriced overeducation. Overeducation is overpriced, yes, but I don't think overrated. Duane told me earlier that he's done learning, because he knows everything he needs to know. So of course I go all Marcel Proust on him and stated by simply saying that, that showed him how ignorant he really was. Then he told me to shut up and get out of his face or I wouldn't get my share of the $15 we won when we pooled for the Mega Millions. I love my friends.
Ew, there was this guy at the gym though who looked like the transvestite from Silence of the Lambs. He kept looking at me weird. I kept feeling like I should put on some lotion lest he turn the hose on me..... (see the movie if you don't get the reference).
At least Moses Stick man is gone. This buttfuck carries around this big Moses parting the Red Sea-type stick, stays an hour and a half on the cardio machines, refusing to acknowledge the half hour rule, doesn't get off the machine when you ask him to, has these margarine yellow teeth, talks with a lisp and is, must be, without a doubt, in my opinion, legally retarded. Of course people refer to him as the Colonel because he was in the armed forces. Fuck that shit. I ain't gonna kiss your ass because you know how to sign up for enlistment in your school's cafeteria in high school. Get into the Navy Academy I might pay attention to you. Those uniforms are hott anyway.
Abe Lincoln man hasn't been around for awhile. This completely confuses me. I hate facial hair. It's gross. Maybe on some guys it looks ok, but on 90% of them, no. So this one guy, perfectly nice, perfectly fine looking started going for this Abe Lincoln look and has now taken it to this Grizzly Adams thing. I told him I didn't like it. He didn't care. He was like "who are you?". Ahh, but I know his name now. So I told him, just for fun, that if he was going to go for it anyway, why not shave half of it off and have a half beard? .... He doesn't talk to me anymore now. But personally I thought that was a perfectly reasonable proposition.
Anyway, so I only have one other New York school option, otherwise looks like I'm moving to Philly! We'll see. I have until early May to see where everything goes.. Wish me luck....
Parlement of Foules
So today is Valentines Day. Or as my co-worker from Panama pronounces it, Balentimes Day. Love the accent :)
At the gym yesterday, I witnessed various musings from various meatheads about the holiday. Some just spouted on and on about how it's a Hallmark holiday and stupid. Without even asking, one can tell that these men are either a) single or b) with someone and miserable AND in either case, c) have had to go out of their way at least once in their life on Valentine's Day and either were told that they screwed up or didn't get any.
Some people didn't even know the holiday was tomorrow. Some knew and said that they'd been with someone long enough to where they didn't do anything anymore. I personally find that sad. Why should the romance die just because you're together for awhile? Some were happy because they knew they were going to get lucky, some of them for the first time in months. Again, sad.
Some asked me for ideas. I have never celebrated this holiday before. Last year, I was "on a break" when the dreaded day approached, so it wasn't even acknowledged. So I was the last person these people should have been asking advice from. Not that that stopped me from giving it...
I'm a non-traditional person. I don't think you should give flowers and chocolates. I don't think you should have some dorky violinist at an Italian restaurant come up and play 'That's Amore'. I friggin hate that song and now I have it in my head. Crap. I don't think you should give a fuzzy wuzzy bear holding a heart that says "I Wuv U". I don't think you should go to CVS and pick up some oversized Hallmark card that talks about your destiny and your soul and how this person and you are meant to be, always and forever xoxo. My advice to all these forelorn and unfortunate men was to actually put some thought into it and do something original. Fine, going out to dinner is cool, but I think that's where the cliche-ness should end. I recommended a helicopter ride to one guy, who refused because he has sensitive ears. The holiday is not about you, my pet. It's about her. Geez. Not that I think that's the way it should be. At work, already today, every non-single woman has been asked "Oh why hasn't your boyfriend/husband/baby daddy/pimp gotten you flowers?". Well, what about the guys? Not that I'd send flowers to a guy, but I think it's stupid that people assume the holiday is only for women. Equality is the way to be.
That, however, doesn't reign true in gift giving. I love the hypocrisy of it all. It's perfectly ok to get a guy an electric shaver, but if you buy a women anything with an extension cord you'll find yourself in the doghouse. There are similarities though- don't buy eachother clothes, underwear of any sorts and don't give gift certificates. And the WORST is those sadass coupons "Good for one back rub". Oh please. I, for one, refuse any gift for any holiday that is featured in a store display. I never wanted a bike for Christmas, chocolates for Valentine's, clothes for my birthday, candy for Easter, a flag for Flag Day or sweets for Halloween. I don't eat turkey at Thanksgiving and for Arbor Day I go around kicking trees. Don't even get me started on July 4th.. If I am ever presented with candy canes, candy hearts, candy necklaces or those nasty marshmallow Peeps, I go to the roof of tall buildings and throw them at people. And some of those candy canes can cause some friggin damage, let me tell you. If you really want to get me something consumable, buy me coffee. But not a coffee maker because then I'll rip your arm off.
My complete dismissal of this holiday didn't just come from my perpetual singledom during the month of February. Growing up my parents never really celebrated it. My dad thought he could get away with getting my mom a joint birthday/Valentine's gift. It didn't work. Sometimes he forgot and then would run out and grab some stupid mushy card, sign his name and present it to her with a box of those nasty Russell Stover chocolates. Yeah those were fun nights for all. The only time he ever went all out was when my mom decided that she wanted an engagement ring. No, I'm not a bastard child. My parents were married when they had me, but they were dirt poor when they got engaged so my mom never got a ring. So hints were dropped starting in October. And dropped. And dropped. My dad just didn't get it. It was cute. My mom would leave Zales catalogs earmarked out on the counter. She'd comment very loudly about other people's jewelry and how gorgeous it was. When one of those Diamonds are Forever commercials came on, she'd force herself to cry and talk about how sweet love is when you have an expensive carbonized piece of coal weighing down your hand. (ok so I'm exaggerating a ta.. ) My dad just didn't get it. I was finally pulled into the mess in late January of that year when I was told to sit the poor man down, open a catalog, point to a ring and say "Buy this for mother.".... He didn't get it. I had to literally take my bewildered father by the hand, drive him to Macy's and pick out the ring with him. Then he turned cheapskate and decided that he'd go down half a carat in order to save. No, dad. No. But it was his wallet and his decision, and ultimately his sanity. My mom totally knew though and she ended up taking the ring back and having the diamond upgraded. I remember when she received it, squealing in delight, even though she totally knew she was getting it. What's the fun in that? Ha and now she barely even wears it. Nice.
I don't, however, think it's a Hallmark holiday. I think I'm part of a minority in that sense, but I don't think card companies have the ability to create a holiday. I definitely think they have the potential to exploit it, but I think the nitty-gritty of the holiday is pure and I think that should be celebrated. (I'm not becoming some optimistic schmuck though, don't worry lambs). I would rather celebrate it doing something that both people loved doing rather than going out and buying everything pink and red you can get your paws on. I think you can have just as good of a holiday without spending a dime. Take a walk in the park, watch a silly movie, do something physical and down and dirty together... yeahhhh... like gardening or cleaning out the basement. nazty.
Forbes magazine wrote that the average person spends $123 on Valentine's gifts. That doesn't include dinner or copious amounts of alcohol. I find that ridiculous. I think the only time a gift of such expense should be bought for February 14th is if you are proposing to someone or buying something for me. So yes I think it's a real shame that Hallmark capitalized on the whole thing, because if you look at the roots, you realize how nice it can actually be....
Let's look at the origins of the holiday. It has been celebrated since the times of Chaucer as a day of romantic love. And that was back when it was all Medieval and stuff. That was real love. Pillaging and forced marriages. That was the good stuff. Grab me by the hair and take me to the friar. Hott. Some scholars believe that it actually pertains to Greek/Roman fertility festivals, but I don't know about that.. Especially as during their festivities, they would actually whip women in the face, drawing blood because it was supposed to boost fertility. I fucking love it. That's some hot shit. But I don't see how that translates to a holiday about love. Since when does fertility have to do with love? If you ask me, fertility has to do with either the desire to trip over Tonka trucks in the middle of the night while doing a 2am feeding or too many drinks and a lack of self control. Then again, love seems to have everything to do with that too sometimes...
Chaucer wrote the Parlement of Foules in 1382 which was the first ever written mention of Valentine's Day. St. Valentine himself was apparently a guy who was hated by Emporer Claudius II because he was a Christian and because he was performing marriages for soldiers, thinking that married men made better warriors. Not sure if was because single men were homesick for their gals and not paying attention in catapult class or if married men were just frustrated and angry. I agree with that- most married guys I know are miserable buggers. Not sure what the parameters around it were back then, but nowadays that's probably because wives make these poor men move to the suburbs, have 2.83 kids, buy a Ford Windstar and coach t-ball. Hell that'd make me wanna fight. Now there's gym punching bags and kickboxing classes, but I guess back then there was just the Holy Roman Empire and world conquest to take out your aggressions with. And who wouldn't rather be killing Germanic tribes with your compatriots and kinsmen than listen to your wives complain about the Dark Ages version of the PTA? Bros before hos..... So anyway, St. Valentine was thrown in jail and before his execution, he healed the daughter of his jailer, as she was blind and he had fallen in love with her. It was a wonderful expression of love and unselfishness.
After that, the story was spread around Europe by Bede, although the holiday seemed to be only celebrated by courtly nobility rather than the masses. It was even mentioned by Shakespeare in Hamlet. It continued in a rather unassuming and quiet manner for awhile, with only the British sending small cards to acknowledge the day. This was until around the 1840s when the day was exploited in the US by one Esther Howland who decided to get rich quick by selling cards. The profit-making abilities of the 45th day of the year became clear. And then it just snowballed. The holiday became about outdoing your neighbor and getting better stuff than your coworker, because god knows, the more that is $pent, the more someone cares. Rubbish! People like that need to go to rehab. Maybe I'll start a rehab center for this day.. I'll call it Sarah's VD clinic. I think it has a nice ring to it.
At the gym yesterday, I witnessed various musings from various meatheads about the holiday. Some just spouted on and on about how it's a Hallmark holiday and stupid. Without even asking, one can tell that these men are either a) single or b) with someone and miserable AND in either case, c) have had to go out of their way at least once in their life on Valentine's Day and either were told that they screwed up or didn't get any.
Some people didn't even know the holiday was tomorrow. Some knew and said that they'd been with someone long enough to where they didn't do anything anymore. I personally find that sad. Why should the romance die just because you're together for awhile? Some were happy because they knew they were going to get lucky, some of them for the first time in months. Again, sad.
Some asked me for ideas. I have never celebrated this holiday before. Last year, I was "on a break" when the dreaded day approached, so it wasn't even acknowledged. So I was the last person these people should have been asking advice from. Not that that stopped me from giving it...
I'm a non-traditional person. I don't think you should give flowers and chocolates. I don't think you should have some dorky violinist at an Italian restaurant come up and play 'That's Amore'. I friggin hate that song and now I have it in my head. Crap. I don't think you should give a fuzzy wuzzy bear holding a heart that says "I Wuv U". I don't think you should go to CVS and pick up some oversized Hallmark card that talks about your destiny and your soul and how this person and you are meant to be, always and forever xoxo. My advice to all these forelorn and unfortunate men was to actually put some thought into it and do something original. Fine, going out to dinner is cool, but I think that's where the cliche-ness should end. I recommended a helicopter ride to one guy, who refused because he has sensitive ears. The holiday is not about you, my pet. It's about her. Geez. Not that I think that's the way it should be. At work, already today, every non-single woman has been asked "Oh why hasn't your boyfriend/husband/baby daddy/pimp gotten you flowers?". Well, what about the guys? Not that I'd send flowers to a guy, but I think it's stupid that people assume the holiday is only for women. Equality is the way to be.
That, however, doesn't reign true in gift giving. I love the hypocrisy of it all. It's perfectly ok to get a guy an electric shaver, but if you buy a women anything with an extension cord you'll find yourself in the doghouse. There are similarities though- don't buy eachother clothes, underwear of any sorts and don't give gift certificates. And the WORST is those sadass coupons "Good for one back rub". Oh please. I, for one, refuse any gift for any holiday that is featured in a store display. I never wanted a bike for Christmas, chocolates for Valentine's, clothes for my birthday, candy for Easter, a flag for Flag Day or sweets for Halloween. I don't eat turkey at Thanksgiving and for Arbor Day I go around kicking trees. Don't even get me started on July 4th.. If I am ever presented with candy canes, candy hearts, candy necklaces or those nasty marshmallow Peeps, I go to the roof of tall buildings and throw them at people. And some of those candy canes can cause some friggin damage, let me tell you. If you really want to get me something consumable, buy me coffee. But not a coffee maker because then I'll rip your arm off.
My complete dismissal of this holiday didn't just come from my perpetual singledom during the month of February. Growing up my parents never really celebrated it. My dad thought he could get away with getting my mom a joint birthday/Valentine's gift. It didn't work. Sometimes he forgot and then would run out and grab some stupid mushy card, sign his name and present it to her with a box of those nasty Russell Stover chocolates. Yeah those were fun nights for all. The only time he ever went all out was when my mom decided that she wanted an engagement ring. No, I'm not a bastard child. My parents were married when they had me, but they were dirt poor when they got engaged so my mom never got a ring. So hints were dropped starting in October. And dropped. And dropped. My dad just didn't get it. It was cute. My mom would leave Zales catalogs earmarked out on the counter. She'd comment very loudly about other people's jewelry and how gorgeous it was. When one of those Diamonds are Forever commercials came on, she'd force herself to cry and talk about how sweet love is when you have an expensive carbonized piece of coal weighing down your hand. (ok so I'm exaggerating a ta.. ) My dad just didn't get it. I was finally pulled into the mess in late January of that year when I was told to sit the poor man down, open a catalog, point to a ring and say "Buy this for mother.".... He didn't get it. I had to literally take my bewildered father by the hand, drive him to Macy's and pick out the ring with him. Then he turned cheapskate and decided that he'd go down half a carat in order to save. No, dad. No. But it was his wallet and his decision, and ultimately his sanity. My mom totally knew though and she ended up taking the ring back and having the diamond upgraded. I remember when she received it, squealing in delight, even though she totally knew she was getting it. What's the fun in that? Ha and now she barely even wears it. Nice.
I don't, however, think it's a Hallmark holiday. I think I'm part of a minority in that sense, but I don't think card companies have the ability to create a holiday. I definitely think they have the potential to exploit it, but I think the nitty-gritty of the holiday is pure and I think that should be celebrated. (I'm not becoming some optimistic schmuck though, don't worry lambs). I would rather celebrate it doing something that both people loved doing rather than going out and buying everything pink and red you can get your paws on. I think you can have just as good of a holiday without spending a dime. Take a walk in the park, watch a silly movie, do something physical and down and dirty together... yeahhhh... like gardening or cleaning out the basement. nazty.
Forbes magazine wrote that the average person spends $123 on Valentine's gifts. That doesn't include dinner or copious amounts of alcohol. I find that ridiculous. I think the only time a gift of such expense should be bought for February 14th is if you are proposing to someone or buying something for me. So yes I think it's a real shame that Hallmark capitalized on the whole thing, because if you look at the roots, you realize how nice it can actually be....
Let's look at the origins of the holiday. It has been celebrated since the times of Chaucer as a day of romantic love. And that was back when it was all Medieval and stuff. That was real love. Pillaging and forced marriages. That was the good stuff. Grab me by the hair and take me to the friar. Hott. Some scholars believe that it actually pertains to Greek/Roman fertility festivals, but I don't know about that.. Especially as during their festivities, they would actually whip women in the face, drawing blood because it was supposed to boost fertility. I fucking love it. That's some hot shit. But I don't see how that translates to a holiday about love. Since when does fertility have to do with love? If you ask me, fertility has to do with either the desire to trip over Tonka trucks in the middle of the night while doing a 2am feeding or too many drinks and a lack of self control. Then again, love seems to have everything to do with that too sometimes...
Chaucer wrote the Parlement of Foules in 1382 which was the first ever written mention of Valentine's Day. St. Valentine himself was apparently a guy who was hated by Emporer Claudius II because he was a Christian and because he was performing marriages for soldiers, thinking that married men made better warriors. Not sure if was because single men were homesick for their gals and not paying attention in catapult class or if married men were just frustrated and angry. I agree with that- most married guys I know are miserable buggers. Not sure what the parameters around it were back then, but nowadays that's probably because wives make these poor men move to the suburbs, have 2.83 kids, buy a Ford Windstar and coach t-ball. Hell that'd make me wanna fight. Now there's gym punching bags and kickboxing classes, but I guess back then there was just the Holy Roman Empire and world conquest to take out your aggressions with. And who wouldn't rather be killing Germanic tribes with your compatriots and kinsmen than listen to your wives complain about the Dark Ages version of the PTA? Bros before hos..... So anyway, St. Valentine was thrown in jail and before his execution, he healed the daughter of his jailer, as she was blind and he had fallen in love with her. It was a wonderful expression of love and unselfishness.
After that, the story was spread around Europe by Bede, although the holiday seemed to be only celebrated by courtly nobility rather than the masses. It was even mentioned by Shakespeare in Hamlet. It continued in a rather unassuming and quiet manner for awhile, with only the British sending small cards to acknowledge the day. This was until around the 1840s when the day was exploited in the US by one Esther Howland who decided to get rich quick by selling cards. The profit-making abilities of the 45th day of the year became clear. And then it just snowballed. The holiday became about outdoing your neighbor and getting better stuff than your coworker, because god knows, the more that is $pent, the more someone cares. Rubbish! People like that need to go to rehab. Maybe I'll start a rehab center for this day.. I'll call it Sarah's VD clinic. I think it has a nice ring to it.
Crying While FAFSAing
So with Turbo Tax having approved my tax return without saying that I've completely botched it, it's time now for me to fill out my FAFSA. Apparently, you do this even before you know if you've gotten into any schools or what kind of financial package they're going to offer you. I’ve gotten into the school which I considered my long-shot school, so I’m confident the others will follow suit.
Now, I’m the type of person who never reads directions before I attempt something. Hence why I screwed up my PSAT’s. (hmm ok you’re not supposed to put your address where your birthday is supposed to go.. potato tomato…) But since I’m involving my money, the government and my future, maybe I should give it a shot this time.
Wow I’ve never done this before. This is confusing. Halp! Ok they want to know what my family’s income is. What does it matter? My parents don’t support me…. Ok maybe this only applies to undergraduate education. Ok I see gotcha. Now, I’m combining the FAFSA directions with my sister’s instructions into all this. She did all this after she got into Berkeley… Damn this stuff is confusing. My sister makes no sense in her directions. But also, dear sister, you don’t have to pay rent or have any other expenses. Of course her directions didn’t include “fall back on computer savvy whipped boyfriend”, either. I don’t have a Google wanna-be at my employ, but that’s ok. I’m glad I’m doing this on my own. Terrified, but glad.
Ok… what is my financial status. Hmm will type in “Poor”. Not accepted. “Zip”. No.. “Zilch”.. Nope… “Deadbeat”. Ok! Accepted! Good good.. Moving on..
What is my Estimated Family Contribution. Who is my family? Me. Alright. What can I contribute? See box A, where I wrote Deadbeat. Yes, you understand. So since I don’t intend on working during this four year education, I guess my contribution will be nothing…. I refuse to be the barista/student. I’m sure I’d blow my brains out and take with me all of the espresso-drinking, hackeysack-playing, overcaffeinated-suited losers in that coffee house. Mmmm foamed milk and massacre…
Alright my EFC is much way too high. Mr. government, I work for a non-profit. I live in Manhattan. I just paid my lawyer 2 grand because you-know-who is moving ahead with his fucking case. I don’t have any money. You think it’s crazy I haven’t saved a lot? Well you don’t understand the lovely real estate market here. My rent is not $300. It’s more or less half my salary. It’d be one thing if I made the same thing and lived in Kentucky. I live in the city. Consider the purchasing power parity here in Manhattan. And it’s not like I’m off buying $700 Manolo Blahnik shoes like that chick from Sex and the City either. I’m sacrificing buying new knee-saving running shoes so I can see Bach. Also I need a haircut and I don’t want to resort to going to some chopshop like Supercuts.
Ok it’s been an hour and I’m still on paragraph 1 of the directions.. Geez. This is depressing. I feel like crying, but I don’t feel like going to the subway.… --à Explanation, I’ve found that the most interesting and fulfilling crying sessions take place in my fair city’s vast subway system.
And while perusing one of my favorite laugh-at-other-people websites
(www.cryingwhileeating.com), I had an idea of my own. Crying While Subwaying.
As I’ve mentioned before, New York City is full of wackos. Wackos that like to cry. And I, my lambs, am no exception. I remember my first cry fest in the city- I had a job interview at the Peace Corps and accidentally took the A instead of the 1 train and ended up in Brooklyn. And when I finally made it back into the city, I was completely lost in the financial district. And I was absolutely mortified over the fact that I was sobbing on the streets of Manhattan. Until I realized that no one cares. No one pays any more attention to someone crying than they do to a subway preacher or some violin playing hobo. New Yorkers are completely too caught up in their own crap to pay attention to otheres. I even find myself daily ignoring the Greenpeace petition people and the guy with weird hair outside the Union Square subway stop who is trying to sell me some spa package.
But it’s cathartic, in a way, crying in the subway. You’re not at home doing it alone in some tub of Ben and Jerry’s. (ew which I don’t eat anyway). But you’re able to express yourself publicly even if you can’t express it in front of the person you want to. Jasper Johns had his random gray streaks, Dylan Thomas had his musings at Crumley’s bar, and Sarah has her sobfests on the 2 train. Masterpiece.
What’s stressing me out? Well I got an email from you-know-who and a call from my lawyer, within 20 minutes of each other. The email was some sappy shit I didn’t want to hear, complete with an attachment of a picture of a bunny. What the fuck? I like bunnies. But why are you sending me one, when the next phone call I’m going to get is from my lawyer, telling me that I’m fucked, because of you? Is it guilt? Easier ways to deal with your guilt, moron. Fuck. Why don’t you give me back the 7 grand I’ve shelled out for this overpriced attorney? Yeah… thanks..
But I digress, back to my Crying While Subwaying. So I completely lost it on the subway today. I’m on the 2 train after the gym and then suddenly, with the two communications I’d received in the afternoon, things just caught up with me and I lost it. Sobbed. No one paid attention. Good.
Anyway, back to the FAFSA forms. Alright… haha ok here’s one. “Do you or your family have unusual circumstances affecting your finances?” Does being fucking broke count? Fools. Not everyone who wants to go to grad school is riding some trust fund tails. My parents worked damn hard to get where they are. And they’re still struggling, albeit doing what they absolutely love.
Ok let’s take this step by step
Marital status: single
State of legal residence: NY
Did I become a legal resident of this state before Jan 1 2003? No. what does that matter? Discrimination!
Selective service? What bullshit. Half the chicks I know would be better in combat than men.
Ok why are you asking me my mother’s maiden name and her social security number? I think this is a test, just like my taxes were… And why does it matter what they made last year? I have no idea. It’s not my business. Oh haha at the bottom they say this only matters if I’m a dependent. Oh boy I wish, those were good times weren’t they. Need to read instructions better. They now say I should read the FAFSA instruction booklet. Holy crap, this is a 58 page document. Mr. government, I’m not applying for my PhD so I can read stuff. Geez..
Alright this is far to complicated.. I’m home sick today. Not sick really, just fed up. And hungover. Not that I’ve never gone to work hungover before. Not that I’ve never gone to work still drunk before. Not that I’ve ever gone to work and gotten drunk. Not that I’ve never gone to work, gotten smashed during lunch and then gone back to work. During an audit…. I just don’t feel like dealing with my boss today. I have to call my lawyer now too. Crap. I’ll wait though, because the song on the radio us Metallica’s “Unforgiven” and that’s just too fitting.
I will, however, begin to pay attention to the criers on the subway. That’s some good blog fodder right there. My own sobfests no exception. Haha yesterday I was sitting next to some weirdo when I was crying. Man smelled like a goddamn pine tree taxi cab air freshener. So I thought the idea of that was funny, like that scene from Tommy Boy. So here I am crying and laughing at the same time. I probably looked like a sad clown. Whatever, as long as I didn’t look like a mime.
Now, I’m the type of person who never reads directions before I attempt something. Hence why I screwed up my PSAT’s. (hmm ok you’re not supposed to put your address where your birthday is supposed to go.. potato tomato…) But since I’m involving my money, the government and my future, maybe I should give it a shot this time.
Wow I’ve never done this before. This is confusing. Halp! Ok they want to know what my family’s income is. What does it matter? My parents don’t support me…. Ok maybe this only applies to undergraduate education. Ok I see gotcha. Now, I’m combining the FAFSA directions with my sister’s instructions into all this. She did all this after she got into Berkeley… Damn this stuff is confusing. My sister makes no sense in her directions. But also, dear sister, you don’t have to pay rent or have any other expenses. Of course her directions didn’t include “fall back on computer savvy whipped boyfriend”, either. I don’t have a Google wanna-be at my employ, but that’s ok. I’m glad I’m doing this on my own. Terrified, but glad.
Ok… what is my financial status. Hmm will type in “Poor”. Not accepted. “Zip”. No.. “Zilch”.. Nope… “Deadbeat”. Ok! Accepted! Good good.. Moving on..
What is my Estimated Family Contribution. Who is my family? Me. Alright. What can I contribute? See box A, where I wrote Deadbeat. Yes, you understand. So since I don’t intend on working during this four year education, I guess my contribution will be nothing…. I refuse to be the barista/student. I’m sure I’d blow my brains out and take with me all of the espresso-drinking, hackeysack-playing, overcaffeinated-suited losers in that coffee house. Mmmm foamed milk and massacre…
Alright my EFC is much way too high. Mr. government, I work for a non-profit. I live in Manhattan. I just paid my lawyer 2 grand because you-know-who is moving ahead with his fucking case. I don’t have any money. You think it’s crazy I haven’t saved a lot? Well you don’t understand the lovely real estate market here. My rent is not $300. It’s more or less half my salary. It’d be one thing if I made the same thing and lived in Kentucky. I live in the city. Consider the purchasing power parity here in Manhattan. And it’s not like I’m off buying $700 Manolo Blahnik shoes like that chick from Sex and the City either. I’m sacrificing buying new knee-saving running shoes so I can see Bach. Also I need a haircut and I don’t want to resort to going to some chopshop like Supercuts.
Ok it’s been an hour and I’m still on paragraph 1 of the directions.. Geez. This is depressing. I feel like crying, but I don’t feel like going to the subway.… --à Explanation, I’ve found that the most interesting and fulfilling crying sessions take place in my fair city’s vast subway system.
And while perusing one of my favorite laugh-at-other-people websites
(www.cryingwhileeating.com), I had an idea of my own. Crying While Subwaying.
As I’ve mentioned before, New York City is full of wackos. Wackos that like to cry. And I, my lambs, am no exception. I remember my first cry fest in the city- I had a job interview at the Peace Corps and accidentally took the A instead of the 1 train and ended up in Brooklyn. And when I finally made it back into the city, I was completely lost in the financial district. And I was absolutely mortified over the fact that I was sobbing on the streets of Manhattan. Until I realized that no one cares. No one pays any more attention to someone crying than they do to a subway preacher or some violin playing hobo. New Yorkers are completely too caught up in their own crap to pay attention to otheres. I even find myself daily ignoring the Greenpeace petition people and the guy with weird hair outside the Union Square subway stop who is trying to sell me some spa package.
But it’s cathartic, in a way, crying in the subway. You’re not at home doing it alone in some tub of Ben and Jerry’s. (ew which I don’t eat anyway). But you’re able to express yourself publicly even if you can’t express it in front of the person you want to. Jasper Johns had his random gray streaks, Dylan Thomas had his musings at Crumley’s bar, and Sarah has her sobfests on the 2 train. Masterpiece.
What’s stressing me out? Well I got an email from you-know-who and a call from my lawyer, within 20 minutes of each other. The email was some sappy shit I didn’t want to hear, complete with an attachment of a picture of a bunny. What the fuck? I like bunnies. But why are you sending me one, when the next phone call I’m going to get is from my lawyer, telling me that I’m fucked, because of you? Is it guilt? Easier ways to deal with your guilt, moron. Fuck. Why don’t you give me back the 7 grand I’ve shelled out for this overpriced attorney? Yeah… thanks..
But I digress, back to my Crying While Subwaying. So I completely lost it on the subway today. I’m on the 2 train after the gym and then suddenly, with the two communications I’d received in the afternoon, things just caught up with me and I lost it. Sobbed. No one paid attention. Good.
Anyway, back to the FAFSA forms. Alright… haha ok here’s one. “Do you or your family have unusual circumstances affecting your finances?” Does being fucking broke count? Fools. Not everyone who wants to go to grad school is riding some trust fund tails. My parents worked damn hard to get where they are. And they’re still struggling, albeit doing what they absolutely love.
Ok let’s take this step by step
Marital status: single
State of legal residence: NY
Did I become a legal resident of this state before Jan 1 2003? No. what does that matter? Discrimination!
Selective service? What bullshit. Half the chicks I know would be better in combat than men.
Ok why are you asking me my mother’s maiden name and her social security number? I think this is a test, just like my taxes were… And why does it matter what they made last year? I have no idea. It’s not my business. Oh haha at the bottom they say this only matters if I’m a dependent. Oh boy I wish, those were good times weren’t they. Need to read instructions better. They now say I should read the FAFSA instruction booklet. Holy crap, this is a 58 page document. Mr. government, I’m not applying for my PhD so I can read stuff. Geez..
Alright this is far to complicated.. I’m home sick today. Not sick really, just fed up. And hungover. Not that I’ve never gone to work hungover before. Not that I’ve never gone to work still drunk before. Not that I’ve ever gone to work and gotten drunk. Not that I’ve never gone to work, gotten smashed during lunch and then gone back to work. During an audit…. I just don’t feel like dealing with my boss today. I have to call my lawyer now too. Crap. I’ll wait though, because the song on the radio us Metallica’s “Unforgiven” and that’s just too fitting.
I will, however, begin to pay attention to the criers on the subway. That’s some good blog fodder right there. My own sobfests no exception. Haha yesterday I was sitting next to some weirdo when I was crying. Man smelled like a goddamn pine tree taxi cab air freshener. So I thought the idea of that was funny, like that scene from Tommy Boy. So here I am crying and laughing at the same time. I probably looked like a sad clown. Whatever, as long as I didn’t look like a mime.
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