Like I’m sure many of you, I’ve been following the Notre Dame fire on and off all day. There’s no denying it’s a tragedy. What I find arguably even more tragic, though, is people’s responses to it. Continue reading “You know, it can be both…”
I’ve been feeling down and out and discouraged lately, hence the lack of posts. I have half-finished drafts and a list of ideas and notebook pages filled with snippets scattered everywhere, but I haven’t had the motivation to finish anything. I just don’t care. What’s the point of screaming my opinions into the void? All it does is add negativity to the world, because no one reads the positive posts. And when I see the people who are crazy popular in the blogosphere, I want nothing to do with them because all they do is post inane drivel. Continue reading “Life Update, I Guess”
If you’re going to rant about something or explain to people how to do something, make sure you’re correct. Even if you’re mostly correct and have a really good point, that one little thing you don’t have right will shoot a hole in your argument so big you’ll never be able to come back from it—especially if you’re ranting on social media, where you have the time and ability to check yourself.
As someone who is never up on trends, I recently saw the app called Sararah and wondered what it was. It is, according to all the research I’ve done, an app that allows people to anonymously send messages, in the name of constructive criticism. Because that always ends well. Continue reading “What’s the Big Deal with Sarahah?”
O is for
HOw dumb are you, really?
DO you actually believe what you say? I don’t know which answer is better.
POlitics makes me want to throw punches. Continue reading “Octopus Politics”
I recently read an article on the Internet that made me quite irritated. Shocker, right? But I always like to figure out why I’m mad about something, and, after mulling this article over and ranting in my head for about an hour, I decided to rant on here instead. Continue reading “On Feminism, Bigotry, and Heineken”
K is for Kristen.
(Is that too obvious? That seems to obvious.)
I was recently accused (for the twelfth time) of not talking about myself enough. I tried to argue that everything you say is really “about” you, in that everything is a reflection of you: what you think about a person/place/thing and how you express those thoughts shows some aspect of your personality, character, and thought process. He wasn’t having any of it. Which is dumb, because I totally talk about myself plenty. I think.
Either way, I wanted to write but didn’t want to research anything, and, as many an icebreaker game has taught me, there aren’t any good adjectives that start with K (here’s looking at you, Kooky Katie, Krazy Kristen, and Kind Karen), so here’s a list of some random stuff that could probably mostly be qualified as “about me.”
I hate icebreaker games. They’re inane and awkward.
My favorite kinds of movies are ones in which an underdog gets ahead through hard work and perseverance (e.g. Morning Glory, Never Back Down, Dirty Dancing). Bonus points if there’s a happy ending and/or the protagonist won’t put up with any drama.
I hate having all my toenails the same color.
Expensive art makes me lose faith in life and the rationality of humankind.
If my life were a romantic comedy, I’d probably be throwing Milk Duds at the screen right now. (That actually happened once. To a friend. Obviously. This one’s for you, Matty Flamhaff, you eternal heartbreaker.)
Asiago cheese bagels are my favorite food, especially when paired with a really good iced coffee.
I really hate talking about myself. I get about thirty seconds in and start to wonder why would anyone care? I’m not really that special. I don’t have anything to say if I’m not explaining something or providing some new, interesting revelation. Is this too much? This is dumb. And irrelevant. And then I take the time to convince myself otherwise and then thirty seconds later I repeat the process. It’s like one step forward and eight steps back. Blogging is supposed to help get me over this. Without turning me into some self-absorbed, self-obsessed dweeb.
I love 80s music. And 80s movies. Probably more than is socially acceptable.
There are exactly two people that I trust completely and don’t feel at all anxious around.
I believe that thrift shopping is a lifestyle and, if done right, a good lifestyle. You don’t have to pay a lot for clothes or art or coffee mugs. But, there are some things that definitely shouldn’t come from thrift stores if at all possible: underwear, bedding, stuffed animals, bath products, etc. You should always have a full and presentable set of dishes. You should always have a fuzzy blanket that’s only ever been yours. And you should treat yourself occasionally, because you can.
I expect the worst of people but hope for the best.
My perfect date would be a day at an amusement park, specifically one on a beach, like Cedar Point or Coney Island. There’s just something about the lights and the excitement and the sunshine and the smell, that lovely mix of sunscreen, sweat, fried food, and fish. I love it.
I always strive to be happy.
It’s my last week of college. I’ve finished all undergrad classes and I only have three finals separating me from the all-encompassing void that is life after graduation. They say college is supposed to be the best years of your life. Don’t ask me who “they” are; I don’t actually know. But I really hope they’re not right. Because while I did some fun things in college, I hope I haven’t peaked.
I’m assuming I haven’t for the sake of hope and sanity, and, in that case, I’m not really sure what the point of college was. Sure, I’ve become a better writer, but I could have done that with any concentrated practice, and I’m not sure these four years were worth the piecrust promise of a well-paying job. I didn’t go to parties, I barely made friends… So, what what was the point? Learning, I hear the small voice in the back of my head say, the same one that told me writing a thesis was a good idea and that the one thing I said to that one guy four years ago was really dumb and he probably still remembers it. But, as usual, small voice, I think you have a point, even though I don’t want you to. So, what have I learned in college?
With the cram ‘n spam method of studying (cram the night before/ morning of, then pour every piece of irrelevant information you can remember into the essay test), you don’t retain a lot of information. So I remember random facts.
- Lord Byron kept a bunch of pets, among which were a crocodile and a goat with a broken leg. He also bought the Greek revolution. Seriously.
- Shakespeare was played in a movie by the same guy who plays Lestrade on BBC’s Sherlock.
- Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was a marketing ploy.
- Shakespeare’s plays are mostly dick jokes. Much Ado About Nothing is innuendo.
- There’s an erotic retelling of Wuthering Heights. There’s also a children’s book version. About weather.
- It takes approximately three minutes to read two pages of double-spaced, 12 point text. There are about 300 words per each double-spaced, 12 point page.
- William Carlos Williams turned a refrigerator note into a poem and got famous for it.
- There’s a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde musical. There is also a Wuthering Heights musical. More than one.
- Celeste Ng spent six years on Everything I Never Told You.
- Dr. Seuss hated children. Shel Silverstein wrote “A Boy Named Sue” as well as a song called “F*** it.”
- Wassailing started as a bunch of drunk children breaking into houses and demanding food and money. Fa la la la la.
And that’s just the things I learned in classes. That doesn’t account for the random facts remembered because I heard them from people. I have a friend taking comparative anatomy and physiology, so I know a lot more than I wanted to, such as the anatomy of a cat testicle and the fact that humans have the potential to develop extra nipples on their thighs. I also learned that Michael from The Princess Diaries is the younger brother of Jason Schwartzman and is the frontman of a fairly successful band.
But I could regale you with random facts for a very long time. It’s one of my favorite pastimes. But I think I learned some solid life lessons in college as well.
I’ve learned that I can write a novel. More generally, I learned that I am more stubborn than I thought I was and that I can do anything I set my mind to, even if I end up wanting to tear my hair out. I also learned that I have good friends who will keep me from tearing my hair out.
I’ve learned that you can buy Long Island iced teas in a can. For under two dollars. They taste about as good as you think they would, but after about the fourth sip, you stop noticing. I’ve also learned what your basic cocktails have in them and even how to make some of them. I can now tell the difference between beers and can order without looking like a newbie. I’ve come to realize, though, that no one really knows everything about alcoholic drinks.
I’ve learned that getting a job is all about who you know.
I’ve learned that paint on asphalt in the rain has a bad reaction with Old Navy flip-flops, as proven many times over almost doing the splits in front of countless moderately attractive men.
I’ve learned that when two or more people planning weddings get together, they will talk about weddings. Then they will talk about their significant others, then living arrangements and lingerie and future plans. They will then talk about weddings again.
I’ve learned that while settling for the sake of being in a relationship isn’t the worst thing in the world (if you both have that mindset, anyway), be careful who and what you’re settling for. Someone who won’t hold your hand for newfound religious reasons isn’t worth it. Especially if the two of you have exactly two things in common, no more, no less.
I’ve learned that I’m capable of keeping a plant alive.
I’ve learned that everyone is a person. There is no hierarchy of humanity; everyone isn’t out to judge me and hold me to an impossible standard. There’s no exact formula for communication: no matter what you’re doing, you’re talking to a person, a person with feelings, with likes and dislikes, good days and bad days, self-esteem issues and constantly misspelled words and probably questionable fashion, and a bona fide sense of (often inappropriate) humor. I am as much a worthy member of society as anyone else.
I’ve learned that humility and self-deprecation aren’t the same thing.
I’ve learned that you can’t fix people, and you can’t fix their problems. But you can give them coffee and chocolate and a safe space to vent or cry or sleep. Which helps.
I’ve learned that you’ll never regret putting people before work, but you’ll often regret putting yourself before your work. Sleep is not more important than that ten page paper due tomorrow. Netflix is not more important than that group project. But your friend’s life crisis is more important than both of those. And your professor will most likely understand and be lenient toward the latter.
I’ve learned that you won’t get what you won’t ask for. And if you’re offered something and you say no, it won’t often be followed by “are you sure?” My freshman year I was sitting alone in my room, hungry and single. An attractive guy knocked on my door and offered me a donut and, because it was my knee-jerk reaction, I said, “no, thanks.” He shrugged and left, and I regret that interaction to this day. If I had said yes, at the very least I wouldn’t have been hungry anymore, and at most I could be planning a wedding of my own right now. Ah well.
I’ve learned that attraction is a bitch.
I’ve learned that “Hi, I’m Kristen, I don’t know you,” is a perfectly acceptable way to start getting to know someone. (It actually led to a relationship. Who knew.)
I’ve learned that if you care about a person, that conversation is worth having.
I’ve learned that finding ways to decompress and de-stress is incredibly important. Stress is bad for your body and bad for your mind and, in the long term, bad for your productivity. Yoga is good, as is drawing/painting, and walking, and crocheting, and purposefully watching movies–none of this trying to multi-task homework and entertainment. Multi-tasking important things just hurts your brain and leads to less things getting done.
I’ve learned that needing alone time doesn’t make you a bad person. Extraverts don’t have to understand. But you need to try to explain it anyway.
I’ve learned that coffee is not a substitute for food.
I’ve learned that the world was designed for people much dumber than I am. No one wants me to fail, especially not at ordinary everyday tasks.
I’ve learned that you can’t fight over text. Well, I suppose you can, but it’s the exact opposite of productive.
Most of all, I’ve learned that communication is underrated. For goodness’ sake, don’t be passive aggressive. If you have a problem, address it. If you want something, ask for it. If someone is doing something good, tell them, even if it’s just a great choice of socks. If you want to talk to someone, talk to them. Don’t let fear keep you from saying hello. Don’t let a miscommunication turn into a fight or a ruined relationship.
College is about growing into a person. And I think I’ve learned that it’s acceptable just to be a good one.
G is for GAH.
This word, while not being a commonly recognized Oxford English proper term, is one of my favorites. Don’t get me wrong–I don’t like how it looks, I don’t like that it’s not proper English, I don’t like that it’s overused. But the sentiment it expresses is one I am very, very familiar with. And its expression is unparalleled in any other word. GAH is halfway between a scream and a sigh; it’s the lexical equivalent of running both hands through your hair and trying not to rip it out by the roots. It is, at the moment, my constant state of mind.
GAH nicely either precedes or follows sarcasm–but it should never be used in a sarcastic sentence. (e.g. I love when someone I trust assumes half the things I say are lies. It gives me a feeling of joy exceeded only by said person lumping me in with everything and everyone he hates. GAH.)
GAH is a lovely substitute for actual words when you are frustrated beyond the point of being able to think in complete sentences. This can be caused by many things including, but not limited to, the complete and utter stupidity and relational impossibility of the person(s) you are talking to:
when you screw something up beyond repair due to lack of information, lack of foresight, bad 2am decisions, or any number of reasons, or, as is more often the case, when said utter stupidity screws something up and you end up having to try unsuccessfully to fix it:
a silent plea for supernatural intervention as you have reached your wits end and are unable to even comprehend anything beyond trying not to collapse in a frustrated, sobbing, undignified heap due to any number of overwhelming external irritants:
being in an argument that someone else started and realizing that no matter what you do or say, they will stick with the story in their head despite how disassociated from reality it may be, and they will argue as though this is your fault:
when you see the end of the path someone has started all of you on and you try to explain that this really will not end well because of reasons and experiences (a), (b), and (c), but they assure you again and again, with an irritated and condescending tone, that “it’s fine” and “you worry too much” and “goddamnit Kristen, we’ve been over this”:
(bonus points if it turns out you were right):
and finally, when you realize that no matter what you do, you can only succeed as far as the people around you will let you succeed. Personal accomplishment means very little if it’s not validated in the real world, and more often than not, something (someone) will come along sooner or later to screw up every good thing you’ve worked for:
But you drudge on through the banality and frustrations of life and take joy from what you can until someone comes along and screws that up, too. GAH.
Well, the first week of my last semester of college has come and gone, and I’m resigning myself to the fact that my constant state of being for the next four months will be tired, stressed, and surviving. So, with that in mind,
F is for eff it.
As in, “Let’s think the unthinkable, let’s do the undoable. Let us prepare to grapple with the ineffable itself, and see if we may not eff it after all.” (If I were a book, it would be Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency. Or possibly Good Omens. Both wonderful reads. I’m not biased at all.)
As in, keeping up most relationships is more trouble than it’s worth.
As in, conversely, my plan to avoid all but like five people this semester is going terribly. I’ve had plans with different people every single night so far. And dare I say I’ve enjoyed it? I’m exhausted, sure, but I don’t like being alone. Might as well make the most of college. So my plan has changed. Rather than avoid everyone, I’ve resolved not to unduly dislike anyone. It’ll take some work, but I hope it’ll turn out worth it. If people want to be my friend, I might as well be theirs. I’m too tired to hold pointless grudges this semester. For the most part.
As in, I spent all day yesterday at a bridal show with my best friend and seeing that many happy couples made me want to vomit. If you had enough patience, a bridal show would be a great place to pick up chicks. Because all the single bridesmaids are there with their soon-to-be-married friends, surrounded by things meant for couples, and already used to writing their name and phone number on things. It’s pretty much foolproof. If only I could have run into the cute male model from the weirdly upbeat fashion show.
As in, I WANT TO BE DONE WITH MY THESIS.
As in, I’m supposed to have a writing portfolio completed in about three months and I have next to nothing that’s not the novel I’ve been writing since June. And I can’t decide if I care.
As in, a coffee addiction is only detrimental if your heart stops, right?
As in, my priorities this semester are having fun and getting thin, but everything is enough of a priority that they all have to get done. If everything is a priority, is anything? Is it possible for me to stay sane right now? I have my doubts.
As in, it’s much more fun to get organized than it is to do the things you just organized.
As in, caring about things takes too much effort. I’m not a robot, but I want to be. Life would be infinitely easier if I were as task oriented, practical, and emotionless as I pretend to be.
As in, I have no idea what I’m doing after graduation and it’s terrifying and I’m occasionally crippled by panic but I’m not actually worried about it.
As in, eff you.
As in, I don’t actually know how to say eff it and then follow through. Like the character in Dirk Gently’s Holisitic Detective Agency, my life is a constant cycle of this: “That was it. That was really it. She knew that she had told herself that that was it only seconds earlier, but this was now the final real ultimate it.” Until the next time.
As in, I can think the unthinkable. I can do the undoable. I can grapple with the ineffable itself. And we’ll see what comes of that.