Living Alone

 I saw this article some time ago in the New York Time: One is the Quirkiest Number. Apparently this is what I have to look forward to next year.

http://cdn.freshome.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/apartment_bar.jpg

I guess as a college student this entire article seems strange to me. I mean, many of us students live on our own. But this seems to emphasize, especially for other older adults, that those who don't live with another person are strange weirdos who talk to inanimate objects (wait, you mean the "normal" population of American don't to this? I think everyone I know has yelled at their computer at least once; maybe they should rethink this). I get the feeling this article is saturated with the idea that those who live alone are destined to become odd, reclusive hermits that will never get married and have two hundred cats. You know the stereotype.

You can guess how I feel about this.

(Also, I don't know who's apartment looks like that photo, but let me express my extreme jealousy. I live in a brownstone; I can't quite fathom how apartment units like the above exist (or how anyone can afford them.))

And yet, New York Times ran this other contradictory article as well: Living Alone Means Being Social. Basically, the author states that living alone actually leads to more social interaction.

Two articles, published in the same paper in the same month, saying different things. Not completely contradictory things (I mean, the author of the first never says that the quirky live-aloners are exactly hermits). But there's definitely a different portrayal of the two. The first living alone sound freeing if perilous; the second makes it sound European and chic.

Here's the deal: people live alone. It's not going to be the same experience for everyone; you can't just come out and say "all people who live alone are like blah." Because I know basic psychology and that's crap. Probably, this is just my beef with journalists trying to clearly state how things are in culture when nothing is quite clear. And I'm still pissed that they think living alone will cause me to eat peanut butter completely naked in my kitchen; for all you know, I already do that (hahaha, I don't). Point is, saying that because more people are now recently living alone doesn't mean "the human species is discovering a new way to live;" it might be a little early to call the card on that trend (considering the study of suburbia and urban life is a rather recent phenomenon in itself). But maybe there is something to it (from a cultural standpoint, I say yes).

Doesn't mean I'm going to start eating peanut butter from the jar while completely naked in the kitchen though (and in retrospect, that seems like an extremely precise idea; perhaps the journalist was trying to tell us something :P).

Google is intent on turning me into a creep, or: Ooh boy... this is worse than I thought...

Apparently if you Google "Benedict Cumberbatch about future wife" this blog is a possible result (thank you, Stats info on Blogger, for showing me search results that led to my blog and thus leading to this awkward realization).

I'm not exactly sure how to feel about this... Confused? Slightly flattered? Disturbed? (Oh yeah, definitely disturbed). And yet...

http://northphoenixagent.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/shocked-face-of-little-girl.jpg

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Yeah... that pretty much sums it up. Except for Brad Pitt's bloody nose; actually, the bloody nose is possibly accurate (considering I feel like punching myself in the face. How did I let my fangirling come to this? How? HOW? I'M NOT EVEN THAT MUCH OF A FANGIRL! THE POST IT LINKS TO IS HARDLY EVEN RELEVANT! I HAVE GOT TO STOP EXPRESSING MY INTENSE EMOTIONS THROUGH THE POWER OF CAPS LOCKS!)

I apologize for the weirdness. It's a Tuesday; what can I say?

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Only in Minnesota

http://www.inquisitr.com/wp-content/2012/02/Zamboni-Machine1.jpg

I saw this article some time ago on Star Tribune and I felt the urge to share it because... well, this sort of thing probably wouldn't happen in other parts of the United States:

Apple Valley Zamboni driver tested at 0.32 alcohol level

Oh, Minnesota... just oh.

Punk'd

It's not even April Fools and already I think [Львица] and I have already encountered our first practical joke of the season.

I had just come back to the apartment on Tuesday after class to make lunch and to finish up a paper I had to write when someone knocked on the door. I opened it find our tenant from 304 (who we've not exactly had the easiest time with) looking very upset. She then proceeded to explain to me that she had been gone over spring break and, after she'd returned, noticed that these pod-like things that she thought might be insects had appeared on the walls of her kitchen-dining room area. I decided to to take a look.

I had never seen anything like it in my life. Now, to frame this properly, it's been very warm in Minnesota, very very warm for March and I thought it very likely that something odd could have occurred given the sudden warm spell and that some creature could have found its way out of the walls. Upon examining them in the kitchen, which 304 had sealed off, afraid that some insects would escape and get all over her apartment, the only thing I could compare them to in my mind were prune-like growths sticking horizontally off of the wall. It seemed one was attached to a nail but I didn't think much of it at the time. I told 304 I'd Google search it and I'd get back to her.

They weren't beetle lava, they weren't chrysalis, they weren't spider egg sacs or fungi or anything that Google could even identify. Other than prunes. I told [Львица] about it and, later that evening when 304 wasn't there, we returned to examine them ourselves with a more perceptive eye. Gingerly, [Львица] pried one off the wall, a plastic bag over her hand, and we found it was also on a nail. We removed eight of these things, all of them on nails, and took them in a bag into our apartment.

The "pods" on the wall, as taken by [Львица]

My hand holding up a small key to compare size to the "pod"

We began really seriously wondering if the "pods" were large raisins or some kind of prune. It's what they looked like most and some were even kind of greenish, like dried raisins sometimes are. So, after I failed to find any way of scientifically testing them in our kitchen, we sliced one open, looked at it, sniffed it, and decided that it must be a raisin (or some unknown alien life form; highly unlikely at this point). Knowing 304 has a friend in the building, we wondered if it was a practical joke (as 304 told me she is dreadfully terrified of insects. And that she'd asked her friend from apartment 2 i for our phone numbers (as she'd lost her phone earlier in the semester and apparently didn't have either building manager's number re-added) but her friend had never gotten back to her).

What do I think? I'm not detective (as much as I wish I was) but I presume that 2 did this as a practical joke and 304 really flipped out and got us involved. But we haven't heard back from 304. Guess we'll just have to wait and see if those "pods" reappear.

Seriously, people. This was half of my Tuesday. I have the weirdest job in the world.

First Class

To end my adventures in Florida, somehow, inexplicably, I ended up in first class on the first leg of my life. It was a dream come true.

http://travelbestway.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/02/air-travel.jpg

Here's how it went down: after getting up at four in the morning (eastern time) to catch our flights, I said goodbye to [Львица] as we were in separate parts of the massive Orlando Airport and made my way through security line, where I was taken aside, had my bag rustled through and my hat complemented on by the nicest TSA agent I have ever met (seriously, he told me to put my sandals on because the floor was a bit cold. SIR, I SALUTE YOU). I then took the wrong tram to the wrong terminal but quickly realized my mistake and easily got on the right one. I then went to the wrong gate, which was directly across from the one I was supposed to be at, moved over, and watched CNN talk about Kate Middleton giving out shamrocks for Saint Patrick's Day and then decided Kate Middleton is amazing. Not long after this, a woman working at the gate called my name and I went up to the desk. She asked me if it would be okay if they changed my seat and I said sure. She offered me a seat near an emergency exit and I said it would be fine. Then she printed out a new boarding pass and said something along the lines of, "You'll really like this one."

I sat back down, looked at it and realized it said "priority boarding." Seat 3D - FIRST CLASS. HOW THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN?! I couldn't decide if it had something to do withe my delay on the way to Orlando (getting stuck in Boston for three hours), or it was because of some seating issue and I was traveling alone and easy to move, or if it was just pure luck. Regardless, Delta - kudos. You have regained my trust. I got food and real glassware and real silverware and a hot towel and leg room and I WANT TO FLY THIS WAY ALL OF THE TIME.

Not gonna happen. But I can dream. Life tile made - and I didn't even expect it :D

Of Surf and Sunburn

I am back from Florida, slightly sunburned, slightly sick (caught a cold while there or while in the airport; yay), and already longing to go back to the ocean. OH MY GOD WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME IT'S JUST AS ROMANTICALLY SPECTACULAR AS I'D ALWAYS DREAMED?! If you can't tell, I am very happy to have finally been IN the ocean. Not seeing it in the lagoon in Venice; not touching the North Sea in St. Andrews, Scotland. But being TOTALLY SUBMERGED in salty, powerful waves in the Atlantic. If you live in Florida, and don't go to the beach, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?

Oh, wait, that's [uber gay]. Sorry about that, mate. (Really, when he went with us to the beach while he was there, it was only the third time he'd done for something that didn't involve gathering meteorological data).

Other than frolicking on the beach, collecting shells and having the most relaxing vacation of my life, I learned four very interesting things about the Sunshine State:

1) There are lizards everywhere. Seriously. They are more abundant than pigeons in Venice. These little geckos skitter across the concrete aimlessly and reside in every palm grove (and every time they rustle in the foliage, I was certain that a velociraptor was going to tear through the trees - because I've never seen forests like what Florida has except in Jurassic Park. Thus the fear of dinosaurs).

2) Sand gets fucking everywhere. Enough said.

3) One cannot buy alcohol while in the presence of under-aged people in a Walmart in Melbourne, FL (because they immediately assume that you are buying it for them, even when they say they are not going to drink it and that the ARE under-aged and are not trying to buy it illegally). I found this the hard way and then went on a diatribe about the stupidity of liquor laws in the United States and vowed to move to Britain in the parking lot of said Walmart (but you know, it's not really a trip to Walmart if I don't have a bitchfest in the parking lot afterwards). This is like the third time I've had trouble buying alcohol legally in my own country; what's with this?

4) Florida is fucking weird. Seriously, if the strange animals and plants and jellyfish suicides (we saw tiny dead jellies on the beach. It was unsettling) weren't enough, Florida people are... different. They are insane drivers. They have an accent that sounds like a blend of surfer and Southern. And they're... well, they're kind of racist. When students openly complain about the "stupid Saudis" that are terrible drivers that knock down light poles... well, I can tell I'm not in Minnesota anymore. Guess I take for granted that racism isn't as blatant up north. Florida is a totally different world.

[Львица] and me at the beach

But I finally saw the sea! I swam in it! I drank mead at an Irish restaurant! Great success and finally a college spring break trip. Brilliant. Life tiles made :D

Spring Breaking

http://www.eatmedaily.com/2009/02/saturday-night-live-im-on-a-boat-digital-short-video-snl/

I cannot believe it is finally Spring Break. I meant to write a post about my spring break plans (because I actually have some, for the first time ever) but I didn't get around to it until now. Considering I leave tomorrow, better late than never.

I am, somehow, going to Florida. Yes, Florida. My friend [uber gay] goes to school down there and, because I had frequent flyer miles left over (because, although I was supposed to have used them to fly to Scotland over the summer, I couldn't and thus still have had them lingering around) I'm able to fly to Florida mostly for free.

Probably why I didn't bring this up sooner is that I can't quite comprehend that I'm actually going. I mean, most people I know are, for once, not going anywhere on break. And I am. And I'm going somewhere tropical. Yes, I'll be staying in Melbourne, not Miami. And no, I don't think I'll be having crazy nights clubbing and drinking myself senseless (or will I?! No, seriously, I won't. I drink one beer and it's like I just ate a whole loaf of bread. I'm not much for wild drinking).

However, in honor of my trip, I would like to highlight a song for which I have deemed is the theme for the trip. So here it is:

Exactly. SPRING BREAK 2012!!!! WOOOOOT!!!

And just in case you think I truly am descending into a Bacchanalian revelry, I'd like to remind you who this blogger is. And that I've packed Frankenstein, Sherlock Holmes, a John Barrowman autobiography, and The Hobbit to read on the beach. The typical college student, I am not (or at least the stereotypical).

That's right, boys, I'm a Feminist...

So, with this whole current issue involving Rush Limbaugh, feminism has been on my mind a lot this week. And lo and behold if it didn't come an important issue in both my classes and my life...

We watched Mad Men in my television class (weirdly, right after I'd had a dream the day before about meeting Jon Hamm, one of the main actors from the show, at some sort of celebrity event. Why the hell I was there, I haven't a clue. Why I dreamed about an actor who's show I'd never seen until the next day I also can't explain) and our viewing about some ads used during the airing of Mad Men on AMC led to some discussion of feminism. It got kind of awkward because one guy in my class didn't see an ad as misogynist when many other kids did (just because the misogyny isn't blatant doesn't mean it's any better; in fact I would argue that's the general state of sexism today). Regardless, I had this lingering in the back of my mind and vexing me slightly as I went off to meet up with a girl from two of my classes to study for our midterms.  While in the midst of trying to explain what ethnomusicology was, one of her guy friends dropped by the study lounge where we were. Aside from being distracted from studying, the girl just stopped talking and ignored anything I said about the term at this point. The guy left and we tried to resume studying, during which she said, "Wow, I'm really distracted now." We started going over stuff and then she mentioned, "He's like one of my best friends. And I was embarrassed to sound so nerdy in front of him."

Ahem. Okay, lemme get this straight - you invite me over to study. You really are confused about this stuff. I'm trying to explain it to you, but you don't want to look "nerdy" in front of a friend? You're in the middle of a study session; you're supposed to be studying. It's not being nerdy, it's being a student!

Ignoring the fact that if she didn't want to look nerdy, I must look like a humongous nerd to her (don't care, won't care - am a nerd, will always be a nerd), I wondered exactly what her relationship is with this guy. I can think of only one reason a girl would not want to look "nerdy"/smart in front of a guy - and that's because she likes him. Because, for some explicable reason, many guys in my generation don't like smart girls.

Why? Probably because they're intimated, or don't want to look stupid, or don't want a girl who's clever enough not to take his bullshit, or don't want to argue with her, or - you get the idea. There are a plethora of possible reasons. And usually I wouldn't be so unkind to the male gender, but I'm rather pissed off about this. I mean, considering this might be one of the main reasons why guys want nothing to do with me, it's kind of an big issue. But, girls, here's what you need to know:

http://weasleycansaveanything.tumblr.com/post/18737413970

There you go. Right there. I can put it no better than that. If a guy doesn't like you for being smart, than he doesn't really like you or respect you. And thus he's not worth your time.

This, of course, makes me a feminist. Because I want to be treated like an equal, not an accessory. If you don't want a smart girl, TS, boys, TS. We don't want a guy dumb enough to say he DOESN'T want a smart girl. Because they're clearly operating from some previous state of being where they don't want a woman who's clever and can speak her mind. And they probably think feminism is something bizarre that only involves bra burning and extreme liberals (they also happen to be the sort of guys who don't understand that lesbians are real, but that's an equally frustrating topic for another time). Wrong, wrong, wrong.

I am a feminist, I am smart, and I will not waste my time dating someone who doesn't respect me for being these things. It's not being picky; it's respecting myself. I don't care if I'm alone for the rest of my life because being this way makes me "undateable" (which has to me a myth; it's totally a myth, right, gentlemen?); I'd rather be alone than be with someone who doesn't like me for me. This doesn't make me a man-hater, or a shrew, or any of that shit. No, all I want is someone to treat me the way I would treat them. I WANT to date a smart man because I want to date someone who is my equal. And that's that. Equality - what a novel thought.

So, girls, stop dumbing yourself down for guys, or anyone, for that matter. And guys - ditto. This whole fear of looking smart or nerdy or whatever is ridiculous. If anything, BE NERDY - as a guy in my Italian class said, "Everyone's a nerd, because everyone's passionate about something." Be passionate, be happy, and be yourself. This has been a PSA announcement from [La Maga].

Stronger

This week has been a busy (and unexpectedly dramatic) week in apartment management. I attended the housing fair (on the correct day this time) and got at least six people to give me their info to schedule a tour. However, [Львица] and I have been trying to find someone to move into our apartment in June so I can move in next door and the girl living there doesn't have to worry about subletting. But it's been hard to find two people who want to sublet so early, so we wondered if it might be easier for Britney, the girl who lives in the apartment I'm planning on moving into next year, to find a short-term subletter.

Except that, suddenly, it's not okay to sublet for less than three months in the building; they look for long-term leasing so they don't have high turnover. Which makes sense... but that was NOT what we were told upon filling out the lease. And that's not what any of the other tenants were told by the previous building manager either. So now we have that tricky little issue.

Our boss and building owner had decided to make an exception in order to let someone lease short-term, but before this [Львица] and I were both certain he alluded to giving me another apartment, not the one I wanted. I was unsure how this would solve any problems, but I'm certain that's what he said on the phone the other night. Not that it matters here; there are some battles I can't win and trying to justify myself and show that I am not in the wrong will solve nothing; it is not the point and it doesn't matter here. Unfortunately for me, I have a long history of hating any situation that makes me feel wronged and blamed when I feel I don't deserve to (something I deeply have in common with the protagonist of Jane Eyre) and it's been hard for me to see this situation clearly. However, this situation came up the other night and our boss took offense and [Львица] had to work herself out of a very awkward situation. Every time I think I've gotten better at communication and I think I'm good at what I'm doing, the stark reality of how much work it takes to attain good communication hits me.

http://www.examiner.com/

But instead of focusing out how far I've got to go, I'd rather commend myself for how far I've come. Yes, I could communicate better with my boss. But this is the first real job I've had, I've never met him or spoken with him face-to-face, and sometimes it's hard to express what [Львица] and I have discussed to our boss with just one of us trying to summarize. And given my history of introversion, slight social anxiety, and loathing of talking on phones (which has all but dissipated this year), I'm pretty goddamn pleased with myself. I have become a stronger person - in words, in actions, in many things. And for that, well, I'm quite happy.

Of course, I still have ways to grow and change (who doesn't?) and I'll harbor regrets about not being afraid to speak up sooner. Maybe it was because of Catholic school, maybe it was just who I was or what I was taught when I was young, but arguing with authority is something I had to learn myself, something I never saw accepted or allowed. If it weren't for [Львица] and, oddly enough, my father's new outspokenness about politics, and the fact that I've allowed myself to get really pissed off about some things, I might have never learned to speak my mind. I regret not doing it more in the past; I'll always wish I had spoken up in my high school Biology class when my teacher said that it was possible for AIDS to be passed through kissing which was SO WRONG, instead of just fuming about it later; I should have stood up and TOLD HIM he was wrong.

But the environment and person I was in high school was far, far different from where I find myself now. In college, there's a sense of freedom that I often take for granted. In college, you can break some of the rules. In high school, rules are the only structure there is to cling to.

Not that college is anywhere near perfect. [Львица]'s English class this semester has exemplified over and over again how easy it is for someone to take away the ability of expression (even when they think they are actually opening doors wider when in actuality they are slamming them shut). But I'm infinitely grateful for those who have allowed and encouraged me to speak out; the only thing I have too keep fighting for is the belief that I have the right to do so and that I deserve it. It's not always an easy feat; but I'm working on it. :)

Work Sucks; I know

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All has been rather quiet on the apartment front. I say this, of course, while rapidly hamming my fist on the closest available wooden surface. [Львица] and I have been doing apartment showings, trying to convince people that our apartment building is awesome and a great location on campus. And no, sir, there are no pests (Mouse? What's a mouse?) and the noise from the interstate isn't bad (ha, it sounds like a fucking Transformer is out there, 24/7), and really, living in the basement apartments is cheaper in the long run (even if if does look a bit like you're taking residence in something from The Shining). So we're fibbing a bit; welcome to corporate America.

[Львица] recently found out she's gotten accepted for a study abroad program in Russia over the summer, for which she should be celebrated and congratulated. However, I will miss her very much, both as a friend and a roommate. And I will miss her saying, when something nuts happens in the apartment, "I don't want to be here when the walls start to bleed." Trust me, [Львица], if the walls start bleeding while you are abroad, you will be the first to know.

Since [Львица] is going abroad, one of our current tenants - and a former high school classmate of ours - is taking up the reins as building manager. However, I've been doing more building related stuff this semester, which is cool because it makes me feel like a bad-ass adult.

Except for today. Today, I thought, was supposed to be the annual housing fair in the student union. I got semi-dressed up, lugged my computer along, got all the rental applications, and prepared to sell the building to the best of my abilities. Now, I'd been having weird dreams that I'd missed the housing fair or I couldn't find it or the usual stupid bullshit one's brain produces when they're planning on an upcoming event. And so when I walked into the student union and saw no one around the Great Hall and walked in there and realized they were setting up for an event with the Black Student Union, I sort of panicked.

I whipped out my computer, cursed the slow wi-fi on campus, and checked the email account we'd set up for the apartment building. And realized my mistake. One email sent by the building owner said that the housing fair was Tuesday, March 1st. March 1st is today, a Thursday. I figured that he must have made a typo. Another email, one that I apparently didn't pay enough attention to said that the housing fair was Tuesday, March 6th. Clearly this must be the case. Because I'm in the Union now and it sure as hell isn't today.

I was furious about this: partly because I wore a dress and dragged a heavy backpack with me across an icy, snow-covered campus for this. Partly because the building owner gave me two different dates for the event. And mostly because I'm just mad at myself for not double checking and being more prepared.

In my defense, I have been writing the hardest research paper I've ever encountered and it's making my loathe being a psych major. And I've had a general ennui about life that only broke the other day when I decided I sort-of, kind-of know what I want to do with my life. And it's sad to admit, but it's goddamn hard to care about this job when I'm making minimum wage, working infrequently, dealing with repair men who either seem incompetent and make me lose faith in humanity or are very kind and supportive but tell me I should get the hell out of Dodge before this building comes down around me.

Not that it's all bad. I've learned a ton while working here. I've gotten a great resume booster and the building owner has agreed to be a reference for me on an internship application that I'm filling out. It's just... hard, hard when you see these brand new luxury apartments being built and watch the glitz and glamor of the Oscars on TV while you're living in an old brownstone with bad plumbing eating pasta and peanut butter (not together... God, that would be terrible). I'm just tired of being a college student. I think that's what it comes down to. Someday, I'll look back at this job and laugh and smile and be so glad I took it. But that day is not today. So I'm going to sit here and starve (since I didn't bring a snack since I thought I'd be working and am too cheap to buy something to eat) and recklessly daydream and try not to give a shit about anything for a few minutes. Because right now, caring hurts.