the airing of the grievances, part 2.
Charlie
Lately, my tolerance level for people's dumb crap has fallen waaaay down.

I have been in this rut where I compulsively compare my own problems to the problems of those around me, and try to decide whose got worse things happening. 9 times out of 10, it's me. And when I come to that realization, I actually have trouble empathizing and helping out that person.

And it's making me unable to socialize.

It's not just close friends, though. Strangers will talk near me and will come within inches of a good old bitching out. You think you got problems?!? Try my problems!!! you know the drill.

Today I'm sitting at lunch, eating my pho and doing Chinese homework, and this couple sits next to me. The boy has a faux-hawk and a frat sweatshirt on, the girl's in ballet flats, jeans, and a lace shirt. They start talking about how the girl is going to visit her parents who live in Boston this weekend.

"Yeah, I don't have a new car. It's used. My parents don't have much money." She says.
"You're kidding." Her boyfriend stares at her. "You live in Boston, and you drive a Jaguar. You're rich."
"No." She assures him. "See, my mom is like a hairdresser? In Cambridge? So like she makes a lot of like money off of like the rich people there. But like our rent is expensive, that's why like I have my dad's old Jag." Like.

They continue talking, but I want to smack a ho. I hate when people bitch about problems that AREN'T REAL. You know what's real? Working 20+ hours a week to pay bills and for books and some food expenses, and then maintaining a full class schedule. How about people who DON'T attend college? You know what else is real? Forget getting Daddy's old Jag, how about paying for your own car even partially? How about having an ill or deceased parent? Not having a job? Not having a car? Living in Haiti?

I'm so sick of spoiled fucking people and persons of weak character.

...I'm done for today.
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fuckin a
Charlie
Ya'll, I am getting my ass kicked this semester.

It's week 2, and already I'm in full-on panic mode.

Aside from my personal problems, here is this semester so far:

My course-load is overwhelming me. I'm in a theory class and am already lost, but it's not even that I am lost and know I need help, I was totally oblivious of the fact that I'm dead in the water until this morning. I thought I was doing well. I'm taking elementary Chinese, and I pretty much suck at all language learning. But UMass doesn't offer Greek, and I didn't get into the Amherst College section, so whatever. I haven't even started reading for my honors greek tragedy class, so fuck that. The only class I have a reasonable grasp on is my World War II history class, and it's only for a minor, but at least I can actually work okay in there. My Junior Year Writing is abysmal. I'm doing okay in Civil Liberties too, I guess, but we haven't done anything significant. So whatever.

I requested two days a week of work and was assigned three, which doesn't seem like much, but they have been in a row and have been long shifts. Homework doesn't get done when I work, and work physically exhausts me and mentally frusturates me. So I'm burnt out on that. I skipped a shift last night, which I rarely ever do because three missed shifts equals termination. But seriously, nobody would cover me and I have been in full-on panic for three days. I'm not about to go walk around in the cold for 7 and a half hours.

And the debate tournament apporaches, and I get the nagging sensation that I'M NOT READY FOR IT. I have three hours of practice for it this weekend, damn.

Oh, don't forget that little thing called Law School looming. Applications, LSATs, and internships are on their way here.

Fuck everything this week.

The only thing I can think to do is to try and keep managing this stuff, I guess. I am THIS CLOSE to quitting my job or dropping classes. I plan on spending this weekend playing some serious catch-up. I don't know what's happening with me or why, but I want to fix it.
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the airing of the grievances part 1
Charlie
Here's some bullshit that's been bothering me for the past couple days:

A few days ago, I had something stolen from me. My mom had bought me these ridiculously awesome glittens (you know, those fingerless gloves with a flap to cover the top, disguising them as mittens? Glittens are the lovechild of gloves and mittens) because I have gotten frostbite at my job before. They were thick and well made, and I liked them because they were convenient for work and school.

They were stolen by a janitor, for god knows what reason. The good news is that I do have them back now, but for awhile I was pretty heartbroken.

I posed a question to a friend of mine as to why they would have been stolen, while allowing myself to be pissed off at the entire situation. His Answer? "Maybe they just see you as another rich white kid? You know, and like they can't afford mittens or whatever, and figure that if you're in college that mommy and daddy must be paying and that you can afford cold weather gear?" That's the running theory right now I guess, mostly because it makes me sympathize with the thief. But it does make me mentally uneasy.

Discrimination works in mysterious ways. Because I appear to be light skinned and go to college, ipso-facto I MUST have money. I've never fit a mold personally. I'm much "too angry" to be a proper girl (for my full feelings on why girls aren't allowed to be angry, see a later rant) and I am paying for my education with private loans in my name. People discriminate for god knows what reasons, I'm sure we could name billions, but I don't like the way I am supposed to be viewed or am actually percieved. I'm not rich, and as we're about to find out, may not actually be "white".

I posed this problem to my co-worker/acquaintance Bev (for future reference, Bev is Haitian). I told her all about the glittens and how angry to idea of being percieved as a rich white bitch made me feel.

"Hold up....you're white?!" Bev asked me, looking a little shocked.

I lifted up my work hat brim so she could see my face. For those who don't know me personally and can't see the photo on my page, here's my breakdown appearance wise: Dark hair with auburn undertones, dark brown eyes to the point where people have asked if they're black, stubby nose, and a skin color that ranges from an olive-y kind of tone in winter to tan/olive brown in summertime. "Yeah...I always thought I was white." That was all I could really come up with to say.

"Are you sure?" Bev obviously didn't believe me.

"I'm like...Greek?" I'm half greek, and the other half is some bastardized mix of Irish, French, and Ruthanian (small Ukranian nomadic tribe, possibly gypsies, who herd sheep or something in Western Europe).

"Nah, girl...you ain't white." Bev said, satisfied.

I have no idea what she meant by this, but here's what I think:

So lately I've been all hot and bothered thinking about racial constructs, what it means to be defined by "white", etc etc. I don't like the idea of defining myself, so I'll leave my personal color as "unknown". Growing up in suburban New Hampshire, I never actually considered how people percieved me, because my neighborhood was primarily if not completely composed of WASPs. I went to school and played with "white" kids. According to most government surveys, I qualify as "Caucasian, non-hispanic". But what does that even mean to me?

To summarize: I don't want to/don't feel that I have to identify with an ethnic group. I don't feel "white" in the sense in which many people use it. A few people I've spoken to think that Bev was paying me a compliment, in that she was identifying with me being part of the "non-white" sphere.

If I figure this out anytime soon, I'll post again on race, although discriminatory practices are ancient (if you don't believe me, look up the roots of the word "barbarian" and the ancient greek term "barbaroi") and nobody seems to have solved any major problems, so I seriously doubt I'll get far. Just something I've been musing on, felt the need to share.

If you want to get yourselves all hot and bothered about racism or discrimination, feel free. Even if it gets you riled up or you hate me for how I feel, at least you're thinking about it. I did that much.
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my father taught me this, part 1.
Charlie
When I was a kid, my Dad would tell me this story:

There was once a little girl, and she was very pretty. Two little boys both wanted to be her boyfriend. One of them was rich, and the other one didn't have a lot of money.

Christmas was coming, and the little girl wanted a tea party set, complete with teacups, saucers, and a teapot. Both of the boys resolved to buy her a tea set in order to win her heart.

The rich boy went home and got some money for presents. He went out and bought a beautiful tea set, with all of the little cups and the teapot painted with pink flowers. He was sure that the girl would love his present the best, and that he would become her boyfriend for sure.

The poor boy couldn't just go home and get money, because his parents didn't have any. So he went and got a job. He didn't make much because he was so young, but he did make a little bit. Enough to buy the little girl one chipped teacup. No saucers, no teapot. He was nervous about giving it to the girl, as the rich boy's gift was sure to be that much better than his.

So Christmas time came, and both boys went to the girl's house. The rich boy decided to give her his gift first, and sure enough, she loved the beautiful tea set painted with pink flowers. The poor boy got nervous. Should he even give the gift to her? But it was too late to back out now. The little girl opened his small gift, and was ecstatic. She gave the rich boy back his gift and declared that she liked the gift from the other boy much better, even though it was chipped and it wasn't really a complete set.

The rich boy wanted to know why she liked the shitty broken teacup better than his expensive set, and she explained that even a small gift from the poor boy was more special than anything he could have bought her with his parents' money, because the poor boy obviously had to work extremely hard to even afford the little teacup. That he put the energy into the gift and worked hard to get her something special meant so much more than the expensive tea set ever would. Needless to say, the rich boy left in a huff and the poor boy got to be the little girl's girlfriend.

The Moral: The work someone puts into relationships with other people means more than any gift that they can lavish upon them. I know a lot of people that know this, but I know some that really don't or have forgotten. A broken teacup from someone who worked hard to attain the gift and will thus work hard in his relationships with you should always mean more than a full tea set from some bastard who doesn't put effort into his relationships with other people, is probably just trying to get in your pants, and may have dated me at some point.

My father taught me this.
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the merry-hearted girls make the best of old women.
Charlie
I recently did something that I haven't done in years. I shut down.

I powered through the Christmas season and the New Year, and came back to my University on January 2nd. I started to sleep full 8-9 hour nights and to watch movies without doing something in the meantime. I didn't do dishes for a few days. I sniff-tested clothing to avoid the laundry chore. I made boxed mac and cheese and ordered pizzas. I even called out of work one night because I was so comfortable at home that I decided to take a night off. I'm taking a class, and one day I paused for a half hour in my notetaking just to have the luxury of spacing out. I watched netflix online and even fell asleep with the laptop in bed with me once. I made cookies just to eat the dough, and forgot a batch in the oven. Fruit went bad in the crisper. I haven't been studying as hard as I should be.

I shut down. I am a shutter downer.

I've always gotten the "you're lazy" line from my parents, and it's true, for years I was a complete bum. But until my shut down last week, I never realized how un-lazy I had become since leaving home.

I took a four hour nap today (I know, fucking EPIC right??) and felt just gross and groggy afterwards. I came up off my shut down, I showered and did the dishes, the laundry, some groceries. I made a salad instead of mac for dinner. I put in my (overdue) preferences for work next semester, and started outlining my schedule complete with dates when bills are due (I'd....stopped paying a few....whoops).

So I'm back on now, I guess. Maybe I'll take it a little easier next time, try to avoid the need for such an epic period of laziness and frivolity. My problem is that when I turn on, I am balls-to-the-walls working hard, ownin' bitches, taking names.


I wrote that this year was going to be a hell of a new year, because I feel like I'm approaching some new juncture in my life. I'll be damned if I know what it is yet. But I feel an exciting chapter coming. I'm a year and a half (ish) away from finishing my time as an undergrad, looking into law schools and grad schools, working hard. I got the best grades I have gotten since middle school last semester, and I working fucking hard for it. I'm pleased, it's not perfect but I am pleased and that seems to be enough right now. My personal life is okay. It's not perfect either, but it's okay. Same with my family life, one day at a time is good enough. But I can see something exciting cresting on the horizon...I don't know what, but it's coming. That's enough for me, too.

The best I can do at this point is to look forward with resolve and joy and to own my life, in a way.
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it's going to be...
Charlie
...a hell of a New Year :-)
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why food service pays, and other inconsistencies.
Charlie
Can I just tell you that one of the single greatest things to ever happen to my hometown was the day when they opened up an Olive Garden.

I don't really care for Olive Garden in particular. Like almost every human I know, I like the unlimited breadsticks and minestrone, but it's not like Oh shit guys, let's do something awesome! Let's go make trouble at the Olive Garden!

I hadn't seen my best friend J in like three months, and this is what we did tonight to celebrate us both being home from our respective colleges (his is in Germany people, hence the separation).

So when M-V first got an Olive Garden, I was in like 7th grade. people went absolutely fucking APESHIT over the Olive Garden, like three and four hour waits and stuff, and no reservations. People waited fucking FOUR HOURS for like some watered down I-talian and Cosmopolitans, the drink of the 40+ divorcee in heels. It's ridiculous, almost as nutty as when we got our first Starbucks last year, but my adventures there are for another day.

So tonight, I picked up J in a parent's fire-engine red Jeep Cherokee Laredo, and we proceeded to the Olive Garden.

The wait was 40 minutes, it being Saturday night and New Hampshire having sucky restaurants in general. If we hadn't had a gift card, I probably would have suggested that we bounce. But we waited it out. In the interim, my lil Kraut (who happened to be slightly tipsy from a few mudslides this afternoon) decided to people watch and make loud, flamboyant commentary along the lines of, "Jesus Christ, did you see her tits sticking out!? Shiiit, look at all these pregnant bitches" etc, etc. A group of late teens/early twenties folks walks past, looking dumpy and you know...trashy. Decked in sweats with visible roots, and the boyfriend/babydaddy/stroller caddy in (I shit thee not) a NASCAR shirt.

"Who the FUCK let the trailer trash into the Olive Garden!?" Oh shit. Jethro turns, trying to stare down J, who is not only taller but is obviously...gay. He makes eye contact with me. Fuck, do I have to fight this asshole? J won't fight, and I will have to call on my years of competitive boxing. Jethro looks long and hard, decides that the ensuing lawsuit and the hate crime accusations for gay-bashing at the Olive Garden aren't worth it, and pushes his stroller with Jethro Jr. out the door.

J also told the waitress not to get all "Eastern European" on his ass, and watched a man on crutches get served before us, shouting "Jesus! You have to be fucking handicapped to get served here!"

I worked in food service, but only once.

Worst job I ever had: food service. I didn't waitress or do dishes, but my freshman year of college I worked at the university dining commons. I did a job called "Line", where you replace buffet trays and make sure none of the steamed eggs are cracked or that nobody fucking hoards the breakfast sandwiches. At like noon, you put out the hotdogs and burgers, and sign off shift. The job sucked. I had to be up at 6 am every morning to go in early and cut bread and put out the baked goods, I always sweated because of the hot water we used to heat the buffet, I smelled like scrambled eggs, and once in awhile some dipshit lit a toaster on fire. I did this for a semester before decided that drinking every night and sleeping in was more than worth being broke for the next semester. But we tried to make the job fun because, you know, that's the best part of miserable jobs: your coworkers are usually just as miserable, and want to make trouble.

We played egg toss with the broken steamed eggs, and crushed them in our fists while making Hulk noises. We found the giant bread knives in the potroom, and would have katana-battles in the back area. One time, we used a two-foot long pair of spring-loaded tongs to make the "Tot-a-pult", and attached a little dixie cup to the end to place tater tots in and launch them across the dining common. I lifted some bags of bagels for our room, giving my stoney roommate endless pumpernickel-munchie goodness. Some girl once lit the toaster on fire trying to warm a fucking croissant, and we saved it in all it's blackened glory to remind idiots, then watched as the mice in the storage room ate it. We would wink at the little old Korean ladies who made sushi and sometimes catcall at them, making them suspicious. If you clocked in before 5:45 am, the university computer would get all confused and would pay you for an additional hour of work.

My job now is not that much fun, but it smells mildly better and I don't risk getting ketchup all over me or never wanting to eat breakfast again (I'm a cereal girl now, for the most part). I work for the campus Police Department's student security force, and it can sometimes blow, but some nights you see some hilarious shit. Like bitches peeing outside, being drunk idiots, or you see like football players wet themselves. Once in awhile, someone gets robbed or there's a domestic disturbance. Job actually sounds more badass than it is, but some of these stories come later. Point is - food service can pay. Like when you launch tater tots at skanky girls at breakfast, or steal colossal-sized bags of Lucky Charms. Or when you are the hostess at the Olive Garden, and you get to watch someone stand in the middle of the lobby and openly insult everyone. Shit, it almost makes me miss food service. Almost.
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