My cousin got married this weekend. A truly beautiful, emotional ceremony, followed by a gorgeous reception at the Biltmore Hotel in Providence. I've spent a relaxing weekend at the family homestead, complete with naps in my twin sized bed and having to walk the dog who only wants to poop when there's a car coming. I wanted to do a little recap of what I've been up to, and I thought that it would be appropriate to mimic Glamour magazine's "Hey, it's ok!" articles.
so: hey, it's ok to:
-not shower for three or four days
-wear your brother's clothing because it's comfortable
-wear your running spandex when you have no intention of going running
-watch 'say yes to the dress' obsessively, then watch 'house hunters', all while researching wedding venues and your area's real estate listings, even if you are not remotely in a relationship
-be a little freaked out when the family from California on 'house hunters international' wants to move to Egypt
-not shave your legs
-quit going to the gym during finals week(s), even if you're not really studying
-take a little break from blogging
-really, shamelessly love some mommy blogs, even if you're years away from being a mother
-surf the craigslist personals for laughs
-get super discouraged over trying to bake cookies only to have them come out flat and hard as rocks (and subsequently worry over whether or not you'll be the domestic goddess your mother is and sister, though four years younger, surely will be)
-want to see 'prince of persia' only for jake gyllenhaal's rocking bod
-wonder how on God's green earth the SATC girls can still be at it...aren't they like 50?
-get mad at your dog when he eats that hundreth pair of your underwear (gross)
Monday, May 10, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Needs
Things Tinuh and I need:
real men.jobs.
snacks (preferrably a wendy's that delivers)
money for: wardrobes (as ours are exhausted)
a place to live.
A.C. (we're melting in this mid-may heat...global warming...)
puppies.
basically anything to snugs with.
time to: blog, exercise, etc.
jobs.
We're super cute and pretty smart too. You won't be sorry if you make our dreams come true!
Sunday, May 2, 2010
on being poor
Well that was quite the hiatus. I apologize. Academia, for perhaps the last time in my life, has been making my life nearly unlivable. But, on the same token, it is all so bittersweet. The "real world" will be more difficult than college--right? Alas, this weekend marked the last spring weekend at school ever. Tear. Today my whole body hurts. I magically came down with a cold overnight...though it is quite possible it is simply allergies. I'm going to hope for the allergies, because if I'm actually sick that will be so not fun.
What's on my mind today? Being poor. I am broke. Broke as a joke. Over Easter I looked at my checking account and actually burst out laughing because I had $43. Yup. I thought I was ok and requested a check from my savings until the other day I realized that check also dwindled and I don't have much left in my savings. On Wednesday there was a reception held in the ballroom for graduating seniors and alums. Appetizers, open bar. My friends and I were so there! Upon trying to get ready I realized that I did not a. have appropriate dress pants, or b. have shoes besides my sperrys and my junky Caro St. heels I bought at Payless specifically to wear to off-campus parties (No, Caro St. is not a brand. It's the colloquial name for the off-campus neighborhood surrounding HC). Also, most of the jewelry I own is from Target because I tend to lose nice jewelry...my parents learned early on. THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS.
Walking up to the networking event, I cringed with every step I took because the metal posts of my high heels are poking out of the bottom, making a lovely squeaky, metal-on-pavement sound. I reflected upon my wardrobe and realized the full extent of my poverty. My jeans have holes in the crotch (which I have patched, I'm not trying to look homeless), the treads of all of my footwear (sperrys, sandals, you name it) are worn smooth, all of my unmentionables are actually falling apart, and I save all of my laundry to do at home because I don't want to spend the money to wash it at school.
And yet, I have no trouble going to the liquor store. Time to reevaluate.
What's on my mind today? Being poor. I am broke. Broke as a joke. Over Easter I looked at my checking account and actually burst out laughing because I had $43. Yup. I thought I was ok and requested a check from my savings until the other day I realized that check also dwindled and I don't have much left in my savings. On Wednesday there was a reception held in the ballroom for graduating seniors and alums. Appetizers, open bar. My friends and I were so there! Upon trying to get ready I realized that I did not a. have appropriate dress pants, or b. have shoes besides my sperrys and my junky Caro St. heels I bought at Payless specifically to wear to off-campus parties (No, Caro St. is not a brand. It's the colloquial name for the off-campus neighborhood surrounding HC). Also, most of the jewelry I own is from Target because I tend to lose nice jewelry...my parents learned early on. THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS.
Walking up to the networking event, I cringed with every step I took because the metal posts of my high heels are poking out of the bottom, making a lovely squeaky, metal-on-pavement sound. I reflected upon my wardrobe and realized the full extent of my poverty. My jeans have holes in the crotch (which I have patched, I'm not trying to look homeless), the treads of all of my footwear (sperrys, sandals, you name it) are worn smooth, all of my unmentionables are actually falling apart, and I save all of my laundry to do at home because I don't want to spend the money to wash it at school.
And yet, I have no trouble going to the liquor store. Time to reevaluate.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Ben Folds
Well my academic life has swallowed me whole. But if anyone out there is still reading my blog, listen to Jesusland, sung by Ben Folds. His voice is syrupy and full of lament. A surprisingly sweet treat of sadness. Truly a thing of beauty. That is all for today. Utter some prayers I make it through next tuesday...
Friday, April 23, 2010
email etiquette
In the age of ever-better technology, manners seem to have fallen by the wayside. E-mail is a somewhat tragic form of communication, a butchering of the English language and a butchering of correspondence etiquette. I’m not usually one to criticize manners or etiquette, but I have received e-mails in my four years of college (when e-mail has been the most important means of relaying information to the student body) that have been incredibly rude, and I know I’m not the only one. Instead of a well thought out, polite example of correspondence, the e-mail is a quick thought typed into a box, reflecting every thought, judgment, and attitude of the writer. This can make a note from a busy, irritated person come off unnecessarily cruel, and while that is not always the intention, this makes the intended reader feel infringed upon, small, and angry.
But what, do you ask, constitutes a rude e-mail? In my humble opinion, if you have something potentially rude to say to someone, it should be said to their face. So, with this in mind, we’ll take a leaf out of our parents’ notebook. Remember when you were a teenager, and your parents told you that if you felt the need to lie about where you were, you probably shouldn’t have been there in the first place? Well, if you write an email that you think might be too uncomfortable to say to someone’s face, it is probably too rude.
I’m not the perfect e-mail sender; sometimes I don’t capitalize everything, my letter-etiquette is not perfect. This is something I, and many of us, need to change. An e-mail to a professor or potential boss should take the form of formal correspondence. And everyone, professors and potential bosses included, should take a moment to re-read their e-mail before hitting the send button, take a deep breath if they’re a little heated, and see if they might be able to phrase their words in a kinder manner. The e-mail seems to be the perfect way to avoid any human contact and conversation, a veil behind which we hide. Perhaps if we really think about what we want to impart upon each other, remember that words are real and can be damaging if used in the wrong context, maybe not only our e-mails will be more respectful, but our overall interactions.
But what, do you ask, constitutes a rude e-mail? In my humble opinion, if you have something potentially rude to say to someone, it should be said to their face. So, with this in mind, we’ll take a leaf out of our parents’ notebook. Remember when you were a teenager, and your parents told you that if you felt the need to lie about where you were, you probably shouldn’t have been there in the first place? Well, if you write an email that you think might be too uncomfortable to say to someone’s face, it is probably too rude.
I’m not the perfect e-mail sender; sometimes I don’t capitalize everything, my letter-etiquette is not perfect. This is something I, and many of us, need to change. An e-mail to a professor or potential boss should take the form of formal correspondence. And everyone, professors and potential bosses included, should take a moment to re-read their e-mail before hitting the send button, take a deep breath if they’re a little heated, and see if they might be able to phrase their words in a kinder manner. The e-mail seems to be the perfect way to avoid any human contact and conversation, a veil behind which we hide. Perhaps if we really think about what we want to impart upon each other, remember that words are real and can be damaging if used in the wrong context, maybe not only our e-mails will be more respectful, but our overall interactions.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
5 Songs
1. Brand New - Play Crack the Sky
2. Van Morrison - Caravan
3. Alexi Murdoch - Orange Sky
4. Frou-Frou - Breathe In
5. Ray LaMontagne - Winter Birds
2. Van Morrison - Caravan
3. Alexi Murdoch - Orange Sky
4. Frou-Frou - Breathe In
5. Ray LaMontagne - Winter Birds
Monday, April 19, 2010
All the single ladies: the fear that Bridget Jones and Sex and the City have given us
The other day I was surfing the internet (probably while I was procrastinating, let's be real here) and I came across this op-ed from and online women's publication The Lemon Drop aptly titled "Are Bridget Jones and Liz Lemon Making Us Afraid to Die Alone?" Eff. Of course, like a car wreck or seeing old people at a nude beach, I couldn't look away. Basically, the article chronicled single women's fear of being alone. Seemingly, this is only a problem for women; you never hear about men being alone and miserable in their thirties, but more on that lovely double standard later. At the end of the article was a wonderful, pour salt in the wounds, face-it-you'll-be-alone-forever poll that asked: 'What do you think of Liz-Lemon syndrome?' In case any of you don't know, Liz Lemon is Tina Fey's character from 30-Rock. She scheduled a root canal on Valentine's Day because she didn't want to be conscious. Yeah. The options for answering were:
1. I admit it--I'm scared of being single in my thirties
2. being single in your 30s is normal and doesn't mean you binge eat and can't get laid
3. I'm not really scared to be single in my 30s AND I love a good joke about getting poundcake on my cat.
Well, shit. I kept replaying in my head that one episode of Sex and the City when Miranda first buys her apartment and calls Carrie in the middle of the night, convinced she was going to choke on some chicken and die alone and be eaten by her beloved cat, Fatty. I was starting to palpitate and instead of answering, I exed out of the article. Then, when I watched Bridget Jones's diary last night, the scene with her drunk in her P.J.s belting out "All By Myself" nearly brought me to tears.
Today I got to thinking about why, at the tender age of 22, I am so so so afraid of being alone. It's been awhile, admittedly, since my last relationship (enough time for many of my other friends, who were single for less time than me, to already have significant others), but why have a heart attack over it? Then I realized that we're conditioned to feel this way. And you know whose fault it is? Those chicks from Sex and the City, Bridget Jones, Liz Lemon, Elaine Bettis (her only foil being George Costanza), and just about every other pathetic single female on both big and small screens. While Sex and the City tries to make its women seem strong and independent, all four have their downfalls. Charlotte is marriage obsessed. Carrie has no money (and really is irresponsible with the little she has). Samantha is a slut. Miranda fears being eaten by her cat. Seeing such beautiful, smart women unmarried and unattached and lamenting it at every turn is enough to give an entire generation of girls the shivers.
For men, it's different. They have the cool dudes of Entourage, where wives and girlfriends are often such pains-in-the-asses, that they're gotten rid of. And don't worry! If you get rid of one, more will follow! Single men in all movies (and, seemingly, in life) never have worries about getting married or being alone. There will always be some young thing naive enough to be duped into a relationship.
Why is single 30-dom such a touchy thing for me? Because I can easily see myself as Bridget Jones; sad, drunk, desperate. Thankfully, I'm as far from 32 as I am from 12. I've got a lot of growing, learning, and time left to do it in.
Should I sign up for match.com yet? Ugh.
1. I admit it--I'm scared of being single in my thirties
2. being single in your 30s is normal and doesn't mean you binge eat and can't get laid
3. I'm not really scared to be single in my 30s AND I love a good joke about getting poundcake on my cat.
Well, shit. I kept replaying in my head that one episode of Sex and the City when Miranda first buys her apartment and calls Carrie in the middle of the night, convinced she was going to choke on some chicken and die alone and be eaten by her beloved cat, Fatty. I was starting to palpitate and instead of answering, I exed out of the article. Then, when I watched Bridget Jones's diary last night, the scene with her drunk in her P.J.s belting out "All By Myself" nearly brought me to tears.
Today I got to thinking about why, at the tender age of 22, I am so so so afraid of being alone. It's been awhile, admittedly, since my last relationship (enough time for many of my other friends, who were single for less time than me, to already have significant others), but why have a heart attack over it? Then I realized that we're conditioned to feel this way. And you know whose fault it is? Those chicks from Sex and the City, Bridget Jones, Liz Lemon, Elaine Bettis (her only foil being George Costanza), and just about every other pathetic single female on both big and small screens. While Sex and the City tries to make its women seem strong and independent, all four have their downfalls. Charlotte is marriage obsessed. Carrie has no money (and really is irresponsible with the little she has). Samantha is a slut. Miranda fears being eaten by her cat. Seeing such beautiful, smart women unmarried and unattached and lamenting it at every turn is enough to give an entire generation of girls the shivers.
For men, it's different. They have the cool dudes of Entourage, where wives and girlfriends are often such pains-in-the-asses, that they're gotten rid of. And don't worry! If you get rid of one, more will follow! Single men in all movies (and, seemingly, in life) never have worries about getting married or being alone. There will always be some young thing naive enough to be duped into a relationship.
Why is single 30-dom such a touchy thing for me? Because I can easily see myself as Bridget Jones; sad, drunk, desperate. Thankfully, I'm as far from 32 as I am from 12. I've got a lot of growing, learning, and time left to do it in.
Should I sign up for match.com yet? Ugh.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
cranky sundays
Today is just one of those days. Because this is not my personal journal (slash, no one really cares about how I'm feeling, and my blog was not designed for that purpose) I'm just going to muse about what causes crankiness.
I don't really have anything to blog about today, maybe that's making me crabby. I have always feared running out of things to say. I know I came up with something brilliant just yesterday, but it have since flown out of my head. But really, has my creativity dried up after only, what, five months? I'm sure not, and I've learned in my creative writing classes that some months, weeks, days are more productive than others.
But what is special about today? I'm not hormonal, so that wouldn't explain this inexplicable urge to cry (I probably won't it's just an urge). Perhaps I'm emotional over graduating, perhaps I'm really beginning to realize that I'm ready to move on, and that simply scares the shit out of me.
Perhaps just because it's Sunday. When I was a freshman at a college in Vermont (I transferred out before my sophomore year), Sunday was the worst day of the week. It was the day I was most homesick, the day I just wanted a mom cooked meal and a freshly folded pile of mom done laundry. It was always the day my then-boyfriend would leave for home if he was visiting, and the day I spent hungover in bed, cocooned within the four cement walls of my dorm while the world spinned outside. It seems I have moved on from the homesickness, but Sunday still feels like an empty day. I hope, in the future, Sunday can be less about feeling icky and more about embracing the idleness of the end of the week. Maybe I'll take this afternoon and simply lounge, stop thinking about all the homework I have to do and just read, relax. Maybe take a nap. And not think about the delicious roast beef my mom is making for dinner at home tonight.
Side note: I saw that new Miley Cyrus/Nicholas Sparks movie "The Last Song." I learned three things:
1. Miley Cyrus sucks at acting, and the way she holds her mouth pisses me off.
2. Apparently, love doesn't exist unless you're really good looking. If it does, no one wants to see it.
3. I laugh at inappropriate times, like when the girl in front of my was uncontrollably sobbing, and I couldn't stop giggling because the plot was so dumb.
Cool soundtrack though (aside from that TERRIBLE Miley song).
I don't really have anything to blog about today, maybe that's making me crabby. I have always feared running out of things to say. I know I came up with something brilliant just yesterday, but it have since flown out of my head. But really, has my creativity dried up after only, what, five months? I'm sure not, and I've learned in my creative writing classes that some months, weeks, days are more productive than others.
But what is special about today? I'm not hormonal, so that wouldn't explain this inexplicable urge to cry (I probably won't it's just an urge). Perhaps I'm emotional over graduating, perhaps I'm really beginning to realize that I'm ready to move on, and that simply scares the shit out of me.
Perhaps just because it's Sunday. When I was a freshman at a college in Vermont (I transferred out before my sophomore year), Sunday was the worst day of the week. It was the day I was most homesick, the day I just wanted a mom cooked meal and a freshly folded pile of mom done laundry. It was always the day my then-boyfriend would leave for home if he was visiting, and the day I spent hungover in bed, cocooned within the four cement walls of my dorm while the world spinned outside. It seems I have moved on from the homesickness, but Sunday still feels like an empty day. I hope, in the future, Sunday can be less about feeling icky and more about embracing the idleness of the end of the week. Maybe I'll take this afternoon and simply lounge, stop thinking about all the homework I have to do and just read, relax. Maybe take a nap. And not think about the delicious roast beef my mom is making for dinner at home tonight.
Side note: I saw that new Miley Cyrus/Nicholas Sparks movie "The Last Song." I learned three things:
1. Miley Cyrus sucks at acting, and the way she holds her mouth pisses me off.
2. Apparently, love doesn't exist unless you're really good looking. If it does, no one wants to see it.
3. I laugh at inappropriate times, like when the girl in front of my was uncontrollably sobbing, and I couldn't stop giggling because the plot was so dumb.
Cool soundtrack though (aside from that TERRIBLE Miley song).
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