I take issue with this cell phone feature that gives the caller "hold" music chosen by the owner as opposed to a ring. I might be less opposed to it if the music chosen wasn't so horrific.
At my job, I make dozens of calls per day to high school graduates. How many times do I need to hear "Smack That" a day? I guess if parents caught on to this fad, I'd be stuck with James Taylor and Van Morrison.
For the record, I have nothing against Van Morrison. I just got really tired of him in high school. He was at every dance, and teachers played his CDs during every "work" period in the classroom.
Brown-eyed girl can kiss my brown eye. That's right, I said it! Come and get me, Computer class teacher from junior year!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Young lady.
Well, it's that time again: Time for me to survey the room and realize that nothing is mine... REALLY mine. That's because I'm still dependent. People gave me things when I moved here--nice things, used things, things I didn't get to choose, things I accepted either out of actual need or out of politeness--none of them mine.
I bought my own mp3 player. That's mine. I bought the bottle of Strawberry Melon Fuze with job money. The empty CC's coffee house cup still in my car once held a latte that was bought with the same money. Little things here and there are mine, and they're mostly entertainment. I own books, comic books, DVDs, and an instrument. Everything else is given (mine, but in a different way) or borrowed.
It must sound like I believe that you are what you own. That's really not the case. I don't want an elaborate life with lots of nice things. I just want to be able to stand in the middle of my living room and think "I earned this..." and not by being a good, hard-working daughter whose parents saw fit to give her a break while she earned her degree. I don't want to depend on someone financially anymore. As terrible as it feels to say, I want to have different primary reasons for helping my folks with chores when I visit. Of course I love them and they deserve a little help. But my first thought it always still "they pay my bills, I can't say no." When I'm free, I'll still want to be the good helpful daughter... even moreso. Because I'll be free because of them.
That said, I know I'm never going to be an island, as much as I pretend to be sometimes. Success is almost never gained alone. If I ever have an ego big enough to think the victory of graduation is only mine, I hope that Australian guy from Jurassic Park puts me out of my misery while murmuring,"clever girl."
I still call people older than me "the adults" as opposed to me... a kid, I guess. People in the UK insisted I stop using "Mr." or "Ms." I was old enough to call anyone by their first name. I'd earned it as an adult. Man, that felt good. And coming home, it was a hard habit to break. I started thinking of myself as a young woman instead of "young lady!" I guess that's a start.
I bought my own mp3 player. That's mine. I bought the bottle of Strawberry Melon Fuze with job money. The empty CC's coffee house cup still in my car once held a latte that was bought with the same money. Little things here and there are mine, and they're mostly entertainment. I own books, comic books, DVDs, and an instrument. Everything else is given (mine, but in a different way) or borrowed.
It must sound like I believe that you are what you own. That's really not the case. I don't want an elaborate life with lots of nice things. I just want to be able to stand in the middle of my living room and think "I earned this..." and not by being a good, hard-working daughter whose parents saw fit to give her a break while she earned her degree. I don't want to depend on someone financially anymore. As terrible as it feels to say, I want to have different primary reasons for helping my folks with chores when I visit. Of course I love them and they deserve a little help. But my first thought it always still "they pay my bills, I can't say no." When I'm free, I'll still want to be the good helpful daughter... even moreso. Because I'll be free because of them.
That said, I know I'm never going to be an island, as much as I pretend to be sometimes. Success is almost never gained alone. If I ever have an ego big enough to think the victory of graduation is only mine, I hope that Australian guy from Jurassic Park puts me out of my misery while murmuring,"clever girl."
I still call people older than me "the adults" as opposed to me... a kid, I guess. People in the UK insisted I stop using "Mr." or "Ms." I was old enough to call anyone by their first name. I'd earned it as an adult. Man, that felt good. And coming home, it was a hard habit to break. I started thinking of myself as a young woman instead of "young lady!" I guess that's a start.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Phone-y
My new job is interesting. I deal with even more university parents than I used to. Most of them are pretty even and sane, but today I was nearly drowned by a wave of overbearing craziness.
First of all, when I leave a message on an answering machine for someone's child, it's almost always the parent who calls back. Now a lot of these kids are on their senior trips. But I hear a lot of them in the background, trying to talk over their parents. "Ask them this... ask them that..." while the mother (and for some reason it's always the mother) attempts to translate.
The most heartbreaking and annoying occurrence was a woman who started almost every sentence with "frankly." Frankly, this is a pet peeve of mine. "Frankly, finding any information out is like pulling teeth. Frankly, as long as y'all get that money it seems like we don't matter. I'm calling for my son about his room assignment... frankly I don't trust him to take care of it." Well, thank God. Another man's testicles bite the dust. His destiny is to marry a girl who will thoroughly emasculate him and grant him no power in the relationship.
At least it's a warning of things to come. I'm learning more and more that having children makes you insane. Hopefully I can prepare and learn to be okay with giving my children their independence. To be fair, that boy might have been completely irresponsible, and she, as the one paying the bill, wanted to be absolutely sure. But my GOD, her tone. The way she shut her son up in the background... it was just... well, it was a sad day for boys who hope to one day become men.
First of all, when I leave a message on an answering machine for someone's child, it's almost always the parent who calls back. Now a lot of these kids are on their senior trips. But I hear a lot of them in the background, trying to talk over their parents. "Ask them this... ask them that..." while the mother (and for some reason it's always the mother) attempts to translate.
The most heartbreaking and annoying occurrence was a woman who started almost every sentence with "frankly." Frankly, this is a pet peeve of mine. "Frankly, finding any information out is like pulling teeth. Frankly, as long as y'all get that money it seems like we don't matter. I'm calling for my son about his room assignment... frankly I don't trust him to take care of it." Well, thank God. Another man's testicles bite the dust. His destiny is to marry a girl who will thoroughly emasculate him and grant him no power in the relationship.
At least it's a warning of things to come. I'm learning more and more that having children makes you insane. Hopefully I can prepare and learn to be okay with giving my children their independence. To be fair, that boy might have been completely irresponsible, and she, as the one paying the bill, wanted to be absolutely sure. But my GOD, her tone. The way she shut her son up in the background... it was just... well, it was a sad day for boys who hope to one day become men.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
My Trip to the Salon
The worst part is the beginning. The two ladies in Fantastic Sam's looked bored, but neither one got up to help me. So, after asking about the special of the day, I just said, "So.... 'either one of you free?" A Nicaraguan lady named Aleen chuckled and stood up, took my information, and led me to the chair.
Then comes the best part: The shampoo. I'm not one who enjoys being waited on by strangers, generally. That's the worst part of going out to eat for me. But I love having my hair shampooed. My tip is never based on how good my hair looks, but how good my scalp feels after being massaged. If I'd have had a fin, it would be in Aleen's pocket right now. I had to settle for 3 bucks, which is a good tip for a 13 dollar haircut, I suppose.
Salon chit-chat is hit and miss. The basic questions are "Where are you from?" "How long have you been doing this?" and "Do you think it'll rain/get hotter today?" Some stylists answer the second question in an offended way, as if they're surprised that I'm interested in their profession. And the truth is, I am. I can't cut a straight line (which might be perfect for today's hairstyles). Cutting hair properly is one of those things I will never venture to do, because failure is almost 100% assured.
The wet, split-ended strands at my feet are fun to look at. It's the most unfinal type of finality you'll probably ever see. "Well, it's done," I think, "but it will be back in a month." I guess you could also call that futility, but the smell of coconut and tea tree oil cheers me up too much to use words with a negative connotation.
Blow drying is the part of the experience in which I feel the most guilty. My hair is thick. Horse tail thick. Drying it takes twice the time of other women, but they can't charge extra, because their extra charges are only based on extreme length. That's another reason why I tip, I suppose.
Then comes the time when I might have to act, because even if I don't like a haircut, I can never being myself to say "I don't like it." At a restaurant, a waiter serves you food. He or she did not cook it, so it's not a problem to send it back. I'm not looking the creator in the eye. But the stylist worked hard, or at least did something I could never do on my own. Criticizing their work when it's probably very close to what I asked for seems cruel.
That was my afternoon. Want more futility? No matter how good a haircut looks, I have it up in a ponytail within the first half hour of leaving the salon. And people wonder why I never bother to pay more than 20 bucks.
I think I'll go eat the leftover scallops in my fridge.
Then comes the best part: The shampoo. I'm not one who enjoys being waited on by strangers, generally. That's the worst part of going out to eat for me. But I love having my hair shampooed. My tip is never based on how good my hair looks, but how good my scalp feels after being massaged. If I'd have had a fin, it would be in Aleen's pocket right now. I had to settle for 3 bucks, which is a good tip for a 13 dollar haircut, I suppose.
Salon chit-chat is hit and miss. The basic questions are "Where are you from?" "How long have you been doing this?" and "Do you think it'll rain/get hotter today?" Some stylists answer the second question in an offended way, as if they're surprised that I'm interested in their profession. And the truth is, I am. I can't cut a straight line (which might be perfect for today's hairstyles). Cutting hair properly is one of those things I will never venture to do, because failure is almost 100% assured.
The wet, split-ended strands at my feet are fun to look at. It's the most unfinal type of finality you'll probably ever see. "Well, it's done," I think, "but it will be back in a month." I guess you could also call that futility, but the smell of coconut and tea tree oil cheers me up too much to use words with a negative connotation.
Blow drying is the part of the experience in which I feel the most guilty. My hair is thick. Horse tail thick. Drying it takes twice the time of other women, but they can't charge extra, because their extra charges are only based on extreme length. That's another reason why I tip, I suppose.
Then comes the time when I might have to act, because even if I don't like a haircut, I can never being myself to say "I don't like it." At a restaurant, a waiter serves you food. He or she did not cook it, so it's not a problem to send it back. I'm not looking the creator in the eye. But the stylist worked hard, or at least did something I could never do on my own. Criticizing their work when it's probably very close to what I asked for seems cruel.
That was my afternoon. Want more futility? No matter how good a haircut looks, I have it up in a ponytail within the first half hour of leaving the salon. And people wonder why I never bother to pay more than 20 bucks.
I think I'll go eat the leftover scallops in my fridge.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Safety
I hope that everyone has someone in his or her life who is inspiring--not a hero they don't know or will never meet, but a person you know.
I watched my brother at a small bar almost a week ago. It's encouraging to watch him. Music isn't always the most lucrative career, and God knows he'll probably have a job besides that. But what if he didn't? Watching his face as he played with his friends makes me believe that, no matter what, he's going to be okay. Maybe that just shows how much I know about the world. But watching my brother play makes me want to write and practice my ukulele.
I got through my first entire song this week.
I watched my brother at a small bar almost a week ago. It's encouraging to watch him. Music isn't always the most lucrative career, and God knows he'll probably have a job besides that. But what if he didn't? Watching his face as he played with his friends makes me believe that, no matter what, he's going to be okay. Maybe that just shows how much I know about the world. But watching my brother play makes me want to write and practice my ukulele.
I got through my first entire song this week.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Rug
I console myself in different ways when I'm sad. The best crying place is the living room of my parents' house. There's this great old rug in there with unusual patterns and beautiful colors. We used to have a different one. I hated to see the first one go, but the newer one serves the same purpose. When my eyes are full of tears, the meaningless shapes start to look like things. It's distracting in a good way. The images of laughing snakes, volcanoes, Buddhas, and vases full of unusual flowers remind me of the last time I cried in this room. "Everything turned out okay that last time, and it will again," the characters seem to say. And so far, it has been okay again every single time.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Things that happened today, 5/5/09
That's the best title I could come up with. It's been an interesting day.
1: I had this odd dream. There are almost always Venetian-inspired cities in my dreams--communities built on or around bodies of water and canals. In this one, there was a river that seperated two cities--one made of leathery tents and one of caves. On the tent side were these people with dark brown skin, shaved heads, and white linen clothing. On the other side were Inuit-looking people in loincloths.
I was swimming in the lake for some reason (I always get into this kind of trouble in my subconscious), and one of the tent people pulled me out of the water. He started lashing me with this cat-of-nine-tails and telling me that my kind wasn't allowed here. Then he threw me back in the water. The Inuit-looking people shot darts at me as I swam away.
Finally, I reached what I guess was my destination: an enormous ship that housed every person I've ever known. We were all traveling down this river together. There was a theatre, a kitchen, enough private bedrooms for everyone, and even a little shuttle boat you could hop onto if you wanted to go to land for some reason. My favorite part was a hologram beach you could sunbathe on. The lamp that must have posed as the true sun felt very warm and pleasant after swimming a long way. When my fellow passengers found out what had happened to me, they decided to teach the attackers a lesson.
That's where the dream gets fuzzy. I don't know if we ever exacted revenge at all. To be honest, it wouldn't have accomplished anything, anyway. They just seemed to be really territorial folk who didn't want any strangers around. I woke up feeling scared. The pain of being whipped had felt very real. I feel guilty. Am I prejudiced against dark-skinned and Inuit people? Why did I dream about that?
2: As I was walking to work, I passed the lake that's on LSU campus. A guy was in the dirty water (close to the Highland sidewalk, where people dump everything) fishing out a chair. He said he had promised someone he would. His clothes and wallet were on the cement. I didn't say anything to him or his friends except, "this will make for an interesting memeory."
3. I received notice that my ukulele shipped. After 6 months of thinking about it, I finally just bought one to play around with. It was a hassle to purchase online, though. My bank had put a hold on my debit card for something that flagged their fraud alert. They didn't even notify me about it, either. So they'll be sending a new card soon. Mom paid for it for me through paypal. I owe her 40$, and now I don't have to wait for them to get the money order and THEN ship it. Estimated shipping time is 3 days. I hope it gets here by Friday.
1: I had this odd dream. There are almost always Venetian-inspired cities in my dreams--communities built on or around bodies of water and canals. In this one, there was a river that seperated two cities--one made of leathery tents and one of caves. On the tent side were these people with dark brown skin, shaved heads, and white linen clothing. On the other side were Inuit-looking people in loincloths.
I was swimming in the lake for some reason (I always get into this kind of trouble in my subconscious), and one of the tent people pulled me out of the water. He started lashing me with this cat-of-nine-tails and telling me that my kind wasn't allowed here. Then he threw me back in the water. The Inuit-looking people shot darts at me as I swam away.
Finally, I reached what I guess was my destination: an enormous ship that housed every person I've ever known. We were all traveling down this river together. There was a theatre, a kitchen, enough private bedrooms for everyone, and even a little shuttle boat you could hop onto if you wanted to go to land for some reason. My favorite part was a hologram beach you could sunbathe on. The lamp that must have posed as the true sun felt very warm and pleasant after swimming a long way. When my fellow passengers found out what had happened to me, they decided to teach the attackers a lesson.
That's where the dream gets fuzzy. I don't know if we ever exacted revenge at all. To be honest, it wouldn't have accomplished anything, anyway. They just seemed to be really territorial folk who didn't want any strangers around. I woke up feeling scared. The pain of being whipped had felt very real. I feel guilty. Am I prejudiced against dark-skinned and Inuit people? Why did I dream about that?
2: As I was walking to work, I passed the lake that's on LSU campus. A guy was in the dirty water (close to the Highland sidewalk, where people dump everything) fishing out a chair. He said he had promised someone he would. His clothes and wallet were on the cement. I didn't say anything to him or his friends except, "this will make for an interesting memeory."
3. I received notice that my ukulele shipped. After 6 months of thinking about it, I finally just bought one to play around with. It was a hassle to purchase online, though. My bank had put a hold on my debit card for something that flagged their fraud alert. They didn't even notify me about it, either. So they'll be sending a new card soon. Mom paid for it for me through paypal. I owe her 40$, and now I don't have to wait for them to get the money order and THEN ship it. Estimated shipping time is 3 days. I hope it gets here by Friday.
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