You're drunk and acting tough.

I'm a quitter. By Natalie Dee.

I quit blogging. and more importantly - I quit grad school.

It was really more of a damage control thing than anything else... But I can get into that later.

the important thing - is that I am now a scientist for a Fortune 500 company making consumer products - which is where I always wanted to end up - and i have arrived.

My life is infinitely better than it was in graduate school. I am amazed at this - at the fact that your environment can influence you that much. I had always been of the mindset that who I am internally has more influence on me than my surroundings... but I guess I can see that both matter to some extent.

I also have a new belief in Luck. In graduate school I was unlucky and unsuccessful. I also think that the professors that I worked for are dumb. Now, I find myself in a new situation, still working out new technology, but I am already wildly successful. It has got to be luck that I have ended up here - and that the senior scientist that I am working with is smart. Smarter than most of the professors I knew in graduate school.

And although I have been away from blogging on the internet, I have still been on the internet.

This video by Alain De Botton (scroll to the end of the post) resonated with me.

Leaving my program with out a Ph.D. was hard for my identity. So much of who I was- was wrapped up in getting a PhD and staying in graduate school at all costs.

It was easy for me to physically leave - because I have this gift of seeing the truth of situations - and I knew I was being forced out.

And the most important thing I learned in graduate school is that a Ph.D. doesn't mean anything. Lazy idiots can have them, hard working idiots can have them, etc. It doesn't even distinguish if you can think or not.

My manager said to me about me "she acts like she has a PhD" meaning I can think, and come up with new technologies, and design experiments, etc. I just don't have the stamp.

(And for the record, yes I did leave with a Masters, but it is still quitting in my eyes.)

Hello again, blogging world.

Self Portrait with Corn

I used to have a drawing blog which I have since deserted. One of my husband's friends commented that he checks my old drawing blog every day in hopes of me making a new drawing. That is a bit sad- but it explains where all of my traffic comes from...

Anyway- that comment inspired me to draw tonight. And here it is: Self Portrait with Corn. Obviously I am the orange lady. Do you like that groovy hair flip I have going on? This weekend I saw a black woman with short hair flip it up to one side. A-symmetrical they call it. No, in real life my hair doesn't actually look like that.

And then you see my students-represented by the blue piranhas sucking the life-blood out of me and carelessly spilling it on my clothes-and face-and hair. Damn students! Stop sending me a million emails and complaining about 2 point deductions! I have research to do! (And lives to save.)

To my right you see The Corn, and between us: wedding bells. This is supposed to be representative of the fact that my new boss "Alice" just got engaged. Well- he asked her- I bet on valentines day- and they got the ring later. A beautiful diamond ring. And since he asked her on VDay- he is depicted as corn. And since diamonds are impossible to do justice to in the 2D form in which my art lives-- we have the bells.

What these two things really represent I think is the fact that I am looking forward to having lunch with my new boss "Alice" tomorrow at the semesterly "Take-A-Prof to Lunch" event that my university holds. I have asked around-but little is known about Alice- or her Fiance. They both have tattoos. It is interesting to me that such a superficial observation is all that my lab mates have gleaned about them. But this will all change tomorrow at lunch when I discover the life of my new boss, my favorite professor.

Professional Follower

In the comments of the last post Novella asked if my sister could get professional help.

I need to explain more of the story.
In this post, Sister = S.

The root of the problem is not that my sister is too skinny, but rather that she is a Follower. We are all followers to some extent, but she is a Follower in the most extreme of ways. She Follows to the point of becoming brainwashed. She is 27, and so far I can count 3 wash cycles each of which last years.

The first wash started in High School. S was popular. The popular group was her group. You have to be somewhat brainwashed to be popular in high school. I guess I haven't read much about this topic because it is one of the more socially acceptable ways to not think. Someone once said that religion isn't the opium of the people, fashion is. In high school she told me that I shouldn't let my date drive me home if he was drunk. That was good of her to tell me, and one of the signs that her mind wasn't totally mush.

When popular high school girls go to college they do one thing: Join Sororities. And that is what S did. Until she quit a year later to join what I call "the sorority church."

The second wash setting is: Fundamentalist Non-denominational Christian. The Sorority Church was on the edge of our college campus, and provided for all of a Follower's needs. You aren't Saved unless you specifically ask Jesus into your heart. The only requirement for a good husband was that he has asked Jesus into his heart. You don't have to worry about discussing things like financial plans, children, or relationship needs before you get married because hell, whenever things that like arise you can pray about it, and Jesus will tell you what to do. You know that eating disorder you had in High School? Just "give it to god" and it will go away.

S married a Christian guy from the Sorority Church. They moved many miles away after college to a place where her Husband has a job and where she can go to graduate school to get her masters in counseling.

The third wash cycle is: Psyco Camp complete with Psyco Drugs. Away from the Sorority Church and the Harem of Followers she was "friends" with, S gets lonely. Lonely in the way that her husband is gone on trips for work 80% of the year, Lonely in the way that the Female Harem is gone, and Lonely in the way that everyone is when they move far away to a new city. But in Psyco Camp where she is being trained, she names her Loneliness: Manic Depression. She sees a doctor who gives her so much medicine (Psyco Drugs) that when she is taking it as prescribed she passes out and hits her head on the bath tub. She goes to the emergency room all the time now that she is in the new city far away. S is always having accidents. She starts smoking cigarettes. With five years now between the present and the Sorority Church she tells me that she maybe was brainwashed (at that time.) Praying looses its magic. She is taking tons of Psyco Drugs. My dad says to me: "I warned my kids about the illegal drugs, but didn't think to warn them about the legal ones." I have the feeling that her starvation is a result of her drowning her unhappiness in Psyco Drugs rather than an eating disorder. My dad says that her brain would work better if she wasn't so skinny.

I am not sure what the answer is.

Is there such a thing as professional help for a Serial Follower?

*Please note that I believe in Psyco Drugs when used properly. However sometimes they are used without really helping the patient. I judge this to be one of those times.*

Mosaic

I found this Mosaic Idea on Adventures of a Bad Ass.
Click over there for the instructions.
Here are my answers:

1. What is your first name? Fermi
2. What is your favorite food? Blueberries
3. What high school did you go to? LHS
4. What is your favorite color? Purple
5. Who is your celebrity crush? Jack Black
6. Favorite drink? Diet Sunkist
7. Dream vacation? beach
8. Favorite dessert? cake
9. What you want to be when you grow up? rich
10. What do you love most in life? dogs
11. One Word to describe you. silly
12. Your flickr name. (I don't have one, but it would be The Fermi Level)

Thank you to the following Flickr people:
1. Baby Buffalo at Fermi Lab, 2. two blueberries, 3. Bristol LHS VOD93K Devon General, 4. what's with the purple bags????, 5. Jack Black as "Nacho Libre", 6. Beverages, 7. Dracula's Castle Panama City Beach, FL, 8. Trial Buttercream Wedding Cake - Mini, 9. triangle to rich, 10. Three Dog Road Trip, 11. Silly Saturday Centerfold, 12. Fig34 (0.1 fermi)

The Adventures of Frog and Toad

"I do what I'm TOAD!!!" Could mean that the driver considers people who do what they're told to be ridiculous and unintelligent like Toads. Or maybe the driver is a retard who truly believes that toad is how to spell told.

Our cars are extensions of ourselves; they are extensions of our identity. I ask myself: What does my car say about me? I drive a 2002 Silver Toyota Camry. It looks normal and common on the outside, but the inside is an absolute mess. (Soda cans, water bottles, Mapquest maps to the bank and the food store.) What does this say about me? I look relatively normal on the outside but the inside of me is messy. I won't alter who I am to make other people feel comfortable. (Wait, there are soda cans in your foot space!? God Forbid!)

I drive a Camry not because I think it is the best car ever, but because my dad was buying me the car and he wouldn't let me get anything smaller (for safety reasons.) If I could drive anything... I might be up for a red and white mini cooper convertible. Do they even make those? Obviously, there are other factors beyond conscious self-expression that go into the car selection process. When you drive a BMW you are saying "I have money." But if you are poor, you drive whatever you can afford.

Similarly, what we put on our cars is a type of self-expression. My car has a license plate holder that says I am an alumni of my university. And then I have a white outline of my university letters on the top of my back windshield. I only put these on my car after I moved out of state. When we moved here, I suddenly missed my school, and I even identified more with it. When I see other people here with stickers or plates from my school it makes me smile. I think: Those are my people!

As far as personalized license plates go, or those bumper stickers that say tons of stuff, have you noticed that those people are the ones who just CANNOT SHUT UP? Obviously, if you can't shut up in real life, you will most likely feel the need to use your car to tell other drivers your very important message that will change their lives.

In other news, I bought a tank of gas today. I got the cheapest they had. It was over four dollars a gallon. The cost of one tank: $66.91, I remember when I could fill up for about 10 or 12 dollars. I hated my life then, but gas was cheaper.

Mouthwash for Lunch

toothpastefordinner.com

Comic from March 21, 2008 if you look in the archives:

This comic brings up two things. Feminism and the government. Lately I have been looking at alot of different blogs and I found some interesting themes:

Feminism (by anyone)
Politics (by anyone)
Teaching k-12 (by teachers)
Academic (nameless professors writing about stuff)
Mom-Blog (by moms about kids/family)
Overweight People

First of all, I don't understand why political blogs are so popular. Sure, the way our nation is run is the one thing that unites all Americans... And Politicians are our Royalty. But in my view, Political stuff is insignificant. Most of it is BS. In the end, what gives your life meaning? Is it the fact that you are a Democrat? or is it the fact that you have a great best friend and a loving partner and family that accepts you for who you are?

Next up we have Academics. I have decided that becoming a professor is essentially becoming a priest of your subject. It is a vocation, something that you devote your life to.

So are there other blog network titles? If so, what are they???

PhD granted by Heaven's Gate University

In Yes Masta, Youse a Good Masta, I compare graduate school to slavery. But of course, there are other opinions. One of them is that graduate school is a cult. The main difference in cult vs. slavery is that when you are in a cult, you buy into what your superiors tell you, but in slavery you know that your situation is filled with injustice. You know your situation sucks.

If you read the article about G-skoo being a cult, you will see that it is about the humanities not science. Maybe the fact that I think graduate school is like slavery is because in science we are trained to question and test all assumptions. If you spend all of your time questioning the physical world, it seems natural to question your current situation. When you do start thinking for yourself you become aware of the injustice.

Still, there are cult-like aspects. Remember Sexy Pablo who is leaving with a masters? He is super paranoid that the rest of us will find out. Jips says: "If someone wants to leave with a masters I think they should. Graduate school sucks." But Jips and I are free-thinkers. The problem (for graduate students) is that the graduate students and professors in our department are OUR WHOLE LIFE. So that "leaving" is a major thing. You drift away from the rest of us if you leave. And you might be looked down upon by people who are unhappy and insecure and sacrificing to be here. The worst thing is that other graduate students might talk about you. The truth is that gossiping is our only source of power.

Remember Shawshank? We don't hang out with him anymore. Jips has judged Honey G to be a better investment of his time, and he is right. Honey G is a better person, closer to our age, and more like Jips and me. But this abrupt abandonment of Shawshank makes me feel slightly awkward. One of the biggest problems with Shawshank is that he totally buys into The Academy. He will give undeserving people A's because he is afraid of what the Department Co-Chair will say to him. He is also totally brainwashed into thinking that our school is the best even though he hasn't been anywhere else. He even went so far as to say bad things about my alma mater. That was too much. So Shawshank is banished. I feel better now that I have blogged about it.

Honey G and his girlfriend came over last night. She had a job interview and they were going to make her an offer today. Anyway, two nights ago Honey G was over and he wanted to come to the tennis courts to play fetch with dog 2. So we went, and things were going fine until Honey G decided to hurdle the tennis court net! Dog 2 is very accustomed to the tennis courts but he has never seen anyone hurdle the net. So when Honey G did it in Dog 2's direction, Dog 2 freaked out! He ran away and whimpered. I think that was the first time I ever heard him whimper.

My latest obsession is baking cakes.
I just thought I would put that out there.

BONUS LINK: Stuff White People Like At The Wedding!

enjoy.

Career Girls! How Exciting!

The top and bottom images of this post are from the same game (see below) What Shall I Be? The Exciting Game of Career Girls.

I initially notice the following:
1) All of the Career Girls are wearing skirts.
2) All of the Career Girls are white.
3) The wording "Career Girls" suggests that working is not the default position of women.
4) The wording "Career Girls" to me suggests child labor. But really what is being depicted are women's career choices, perhaps "Girls" is used to suggest that women are dependent like children.
5) Board Game Designer is not one of the Career Choices for Girls. (Read: Boys in power are promoting the stereotype.)
6) Career Girls can Entertain: Model, Actress, Ballet Dancer.
7) Career Girls can Serve: Airline Waitress, Nurse, Teacher.
8) My generation did not grow up with this game. I thank the feminists.

Goal 1: Relaxation

Sybil Vane is a new contributor at Bitch PhD. Bitch was smart to add her. Sybil is very good and young which I like. Her most recent post is about collectives and feminism and the lack of identification with the feminist movement. I spent the majority of my morning so far reading the comments to the post and visiting the commenter's blogs. I happened upon some blogs by women science professors. Those blogs linked to other blogs by women in science. I really tried to explore the blogs but found them VERY uninteresting. I know I am making the right choice to NOT go into academia.

Now I am inclined to re-evaluate my life strategy at 3 different stages of my life:
(1) Before Oral Exam: Run away from everything unpleasant.
(2) Oral Exam/G-skoo in general: Jump though the hoops and face the problems: act like a tiger.
(3) After passing all qualifiers: Run away! Run away!

Once I accomplish Goal 1: Relaxation, my next major goal will be to meet with my boss and discuss my path to graduation. This will be a 2 to 3 year path but I want to have it mapped out specifically so that I can see my progress. Meeting with my boss is something that will stress me out so I will probably meet with Red-Haired-Ashely for some advice on how to do this. She is at the end of her 4th year and has recently established a wonderful working relationship with her boss via very productive meetings about progress. *vomit* My excellent grip on reality makes it very clear that my boss (in his present and probably eternal state of being) is unable to have wonderful relationships of any sort. This being said, I hope that meeting with my boss will ensure prompt graduation, although my hopes do not extend to the development of any sort of relationship.

Onto Goal 1: Relaxation. This is hard for me, but clearly a necessity. To accomplish Relaxation, heh, I plan to blog, (check), lay out by the pool, (to which Jips said: That doesn't sound like Fermi!), and hang out with dogs.

I hung out with dogs a bit this morning. They are in the usual spring shedding process. I was scratching the rump of Dog 2, and hairs flew out into the air. It was so visible in the sunlight I was reminded of the Peanuts character who always had a cloud of dust around him. Was it Linus? I sat on the floor to pet the dogs because Dog 1 is having inflamed back disks again. The vet said we might have to have surgery if it happens again in 3 months, because Dog 1 is so young (5 yrs) and this has already happened twice. So Dog 1 is on steroids which cause him to pee and poop in the house even more than usual. And Dog 2 has been vomiting and farting TONS and TONS so our living/dining/kitchen room now is 90% urine smelling and 10% Dog 2 specialty-fart smelling. I sat on the floor because Dog 1 is not supposed to jump on the furniture with his back being bad, but he still does as often as he likes.

All of this: the dog hair, urine, and farting, compels me to clean the house. But that is in direct opposition to Goal 1: Relaxation. Fuck.

The same guy on the plane (mentioned in the last post) said to me: "You're Type A, aren't you?" I said, "I can see how I could be perceived in that way." While in my mind I thought: Who the hell are you to say I am Type A, you don't even know me, or anything about me! So I told my therapist about the previous conversation and she laughed and said I was Type A Plus. Extreme Type A. Both the therapist's confirmation and the plane guy got me thinking about how my graduate program is essentially a cult of Type A personality. There is a great deal of value-judgment based on how much and how hard you work. There are non-type A's, but these people (example: Chip) focus almost all of their energy on trying to appear to be working all of the time. The sad thing is that I felt the best about myself when I was prepping for my oral exam and at work all of the time. I really felt superior then. Which is fucked up because people who work all the time are not superior, they are just work-a-holics. And why do I care about being superior anyway? I just need to focus on being me.

It is scary how easily I can revert back to my factory settings. I was raised with the question: What did you DO today? which implied that the more accomplished = a better day. I went to alot of therapy in High School to change my focus to balance and peace. And now, I find myself in the position where I am surrounded by a small group of people whose default settings are like my own. And it was SO EASY to slip back into them. It is scary how easy it was.

This week I found myself in tears, because I lost who I was, and I lost who Jips and I were together. I was only my work. I am ready to be a stay-at-home mom TODAY. maybe that thought is inspiring my Goal 2: Meet with my Boss to insure a prompt graduation.

So the path back to Fermi starts through Goal 1: Relaxation. Even if I have to drag myself kicking and screaming to get there.

Biggie Sized Playhouse

3BR/2Ba single family home. Quiet neighborhood. Located in cul-de-sac. Huge fenced yard. Huge master closet. Completely remodelled. Open floor plan. $xxx,xxx. Please contact _______ for more information.

And so the four month long house hunt finally ended... with the perfect house! On February 29th, my boyfriend and I moved into "our first house." We will have 2 roommates for the next couple of years until we get married, but this is it. Our house.

I feel like I'm playing grown-up in a biggie sized playhouse. We wake up together every morning, shower, and drink coffee. I cook dinner at night and do laundry weekly. I shopped for couches, and end tables, and curtains. I bought hammocks for the backyard. I spent my hard earned loan money on a vacuum cleaner. You know you are growing up when you start buying vacuum cleaners.

We have routines and responsibilities, and when I think about it, I start to feel like a real grown-up-- the kind of grown-up I couldn't wait to be when Barbie was fixing dinner for Ken. I'm not quite the adult I dreamed of when the Cabbage Patch kids needed bottles and diaper changes, but that future is not so far away either. Being unmarried and being in school keep me from feeling too much like an adult, but I'm certainly in that transitional phase. I'm finally becoming who I want to be-- as a wife, a mother, a friend, a daughter, a sister, and a physician.

Every day, I come home to this playhouse, and every day I feel more excited about growing up. I love the life that we have together and the prospect of our future. I love playing housewife in this perfect house. OUR perfect house.

However, I also love having fun roommates that are a blast to be around. I love being young and having everything in the world to look forward to. I love being at a point in my life that I'm finally close enough to actually see my career ahead. I love being a mom to my puppies. I love being in a relationship that I don't make excuses for. I love finally feeling some sense of maturity while still having so much youth.

I love this transitional point in my life. I love growing up.

And I LOVE LOVE LOVE my biggie sized playhouse.

A Room of My Own

My kids wrote a descriptive essay describing their bedrooms. It was interesting--after I finished reading them all, I thought about how most teenagers have a little kind of cool haven where they hunker down to live out the droning lonely complicated time that is high school. It's also a place where you shamelessly put all of your identity onto your wall--or the identity you either think you should have or that you want.

The kids all called this room "theirs" and "the only place I own in the house" even though that's a straight up lie because they're all 14 and jobless. But it's like they need a little safe space to curl up because they're not quite ready to not be a kid and it's like their rooms are outside reality.

It made me think of a few things.

1. When I was a teen, I didn't spend time in my room except to sleep, and I shared it with my sister. I tried putting things up on the walls and on a shelf, but it never looked all that great and it never felt like the stuff reflected my personality very well. I carry these same Feng Shui insecurities into adulthood. Also, I was envious of people with cool rooms--I can remember one friend in middle school just had a shitty little room with a daybed, an old dresser, and two desks, but her room felt like her--a whirlwind of life, busyness, and cool people. And boys. And then there were the people with the artsy rooms. I still envy them. But I do have a nice yellow living room, at least.

2. I'm curious about other couples who live together. What happens when you go from having two rooms to one? My boyfriend and I now share a room that's pretty much a bed, night tables, bookshelf, and a dresser (with paint and pictures). But I have all my clothes in the guest bedroom because I get dressed early in the morning, and he's got his computer and music stuff in this room thing that we call "the office." So we still have our own spaces, in a way. What do other people do?

3. Does this my-room-as-my-little-haven thing go away as we get older? Do we start to deal with life in a way that we don't need to curl up with our band posters and YA series praying that we're not boring but we're not the only ones like us? Maybe homes start becoming more like places to relax than hide or escape.

I still like band posters and YA series, though.

I'd give him...a 5?

I love When Harry Met Sally so much. And this is a fascinating topic.

I think maybe relationships are like a continuum. Like different degrees of closeness to a person. If we're talking about romantic possibilities, then "stranger" would be zero and "spouse" would be ten, in terms of closeness.

So does sex "get in the way?" Well, if you have it with someone, you'd certainly skip a few numbers. If you don't, then your "closeness" to that person can still be somewhere on the continuum.

I think one question is: can we (single people) handle the idea that we're attracted to someone (another single) and still be his/her friend? I think yes, if s/he is worth being friends with and your friendship functions. Then if both parties want to take it up a few notches to a sexual/romantic relationship, then it runs its course there and you either break up or end up staying together. And if one party doesn’t want to take it to a sexual level, then it keeps going at the level that it is. If the “I’m in love with you” partner can’t handle a platonic friendship, then you end up broken up like you would after a failed romantic relationship. (I think friendships have “break ups” pretty often. I’ve had a few with some girls.)

Can we handle knowing that someone is attracted to us and still be friends if we don’t like them “that way”? Yes, if we aren't sending mixed signals. Anyone who is reading more into “friendship” than there is just requires a simple “this is what we are” conversation. (And shame on people who lead a person on to use his affections as an ego boost, on a side note.)

Can we handle the idea that someone we are attracted to doesn't like us back "that way," but we are still friends? If your ego can handle that, then why not be friends?

I guess my thesis is that hetero men and women who are both single CAN be friends with each other. Sure, there are some complications as with any relationship (platonic, romantic, family, etc.), but those complications only extend as far as how much people’s egos are wrapped up in what other people think of them.

If, for instance, you can’t handle the idea that someone would want to be friends with you but not want to sleep with you, then you might be setting yourself up for some difficulties in friendships with the opposite sex, since there are surely to be people in the world who like you but don’t want to get it on with you.

Similarly, if you are friends with someone who appreciates your friendship and ALSO wants to sleep with you even though you don’t want to sleep with him, then somebody’s going to just have to be disappointed in that situation. And then he gets over it, and he can either take your friendship for what it is, or leave it.

On a slightly different but still related topic:

It all comes down to acceptance—acceptance of people how they are right now, at face value, in all of their current behaviors, and acceptance of yourself and your role in your relationships.
And then once you accept the way a relationship is, then you make the choice of whether you want to stay or leave (friendship or sig. other). Since there’s (unfortunately) no such thing as convincing someone to be in love with you, or to be out of love with you, for that matter. And there’s for damn sure no way to make someone be a better person for you to date.

Too many people want to try to fenagle the relationships they are already in instead of taking them or leaving them for what they are--probably because it is really scary and awkward to break up with someone and cut them out of your life. It just is. I've made this very long and drawn-out fenagling mistake myself.

Similarly, some people are scared to start relationships at all because they could potentially lead to a scary and painful break-up or (even scarier to some) a life spent in partnership with only that one person.

But one thing's for sure, "putting yourself out there" will, at some point, lead to an ego bruise of some kind. It's a risk no matter how interested the person is. I think, however, that it is totally worth it, and that life hands out ego bruises all the time that we have to accept and grow from (and simultaneously not allow to crush our entire self-images).

But yeah, single guys and girls can be friends, I think. If both parties want to take it to a sexual level, then they do, and it moves into a relationship status that either runs its course smoothly or ends in firey tragedy. But if one party doesn't want it to be sexual, then it won't be, and both can be accepting of that and continue to be friends.

Now, fuck buddies, or "friends with benefits"...there's a topic that's more shaky.

what little girls are made of

This entry is in response to Tino’s “Sugar and Spice.”

I’ll start with Power. Currently we live in a white male dominated society. Old white men hold the power in (for example) the Academy: currently they run almost every department. Old white men are usually more sexist than the majority of the population, and I have a general dislike for their lack of emotional enlightenment. If I could get away with never speaking to one of these gentlemen again, I would. But that is not the case. I have to learn to deal with them until that generation dies off. These guys do have the power, but I want nothing to do with them because I have judged them to be underdeveloped. I don’t give a shit if they think I am attractive or not, and I would rather if they kept that opinion to themselves anyway.

Summary: Old white dudes have power. I hate them.

But what about guys in my age group? As a whole, I have been generally unimpressed with them as well. Most of them fail in one or more of these categories: intelligence, self-awareness, balance, kindness, self-discipline, integrity, social skills, compassion, and self-motivation. So what do I think when I see the pretty but otherwise uninteresting blond falling all over some guy? I think: Those are two hormonal kids.

Am I scraping for power from these guys that are less developed than me? Hells No! I have way more power than them to begin with. They might be able to bench press more than me, or run faster, but that doesn’t matter right now. These are not the cave man days where we have to hunt buffalo on foot, and we have to rely on men because they can run fast. These are the times where education will let you get ahead, that and being smart, socially smart, politically smart, etc. I was told yesterday that most men are intimidated by a woman with a PhD. And to that I say: That’s because those guys don’t have their act together.

Do I feel like I am in competition with other women? No. Because if a guy can’t see that I am the most incredibly awesome person in the world, then he does not have his shit together, I guarantee you. It takes an enlightened person to recognize one.

Under “Competition with other women” you will find: fashion rules, how-to-act rules, etc. And I say: Fuck Your Rules. I make my own.

And Tino, I am sorry that you find it difficult to function in female relationships. I don’t know the whole story here, but I bet that those difficult female relationships were with some chicks who didn’t have their shit together.

Catty Chicks = Unenlightened idiots.

And girls that are only friends with guys have other issues all together.

Baggage

As I was rushing out the door this morning to go to work, I picked up my bag and slung it over my shoulder, locked the door to my apartment, and then began my decent down the flights of stairs leading to the ground level of my building. I'm hurrying down the stairs in my cowboy boots as fast as I can without falling and I become increasingly aware that my bag weighs approximately one million tons. I'm thinking to myself, "What in the WORLD is in this thing?" It feels like my bag gave birth to a litter of baby bags overnight and now I'm carrying the whole extended family on my shoulder. Obviously, my bag didn't accumulate all of this weight over the course of one night. It's been a gradual process that started when the handle of my knock-off Miu Miu bag broke and I switched to this tote bag that I got at a Sonic Youth concert in 2001. The bag's been well-used and it shows. It smells weird and has a few holes in the bottom that I like to think of as a handy filter for items too small to be of any significance anyway. Like pennies. We live in a disposable society, right? Anyway, when I get on the train, I open up my bag and started rifling through its contents. Here's a list of what I found:



1 wallet (contains driver's license & social security card (!))
1 copy of Kafka on the Shore
1 harmonica
4 pairs of glasses (1 prescrip, 2 sunglasses, 1 pair cat-eye faux lens)
1 passport
1 guitar slide
1 unopened copy of Xiu Xiu's "Women As Lovers" CD
1 ipod video (no headphones)
1 digital camera (batteries dead)
1 pair of gloves
1 checkbook
1 tube of lipstick + misc. lip glosses/chapsticks
2 tubes of concealer
1 letter from my mom
+ a veritable cornucopia of pharmaceuticals: 1 bottle of Pepto Bismol,
1 bottle Tylenol, 1 empty bottle of Aleve, anti-anxiety pills,
anti-nausea pills, and motion-sickness tablets.

Now, if you add all these variables up you're bound to come to some important conclusion, right? What do these items MEAN. Why do I have them? What do they say about me besides that I'm practically begging to be a victim of identity theft? What's with the harmonica and all the drugs? Let me tell ya, that harmonica comes in pretty handy when I'm waiting on the subway platform and need some spare change. Seriously though, let's focus on this pharmacy that I carry around with me on a daily basis.

I haven't needed half of that medication in FOREVER. Fortunately, I've come a long way in battling my neuroses. At this point, the prescription pill bottles themselves serve as a pretty effect form of anxiety prevention. Just knowing that they're there in case of an emergency freakout is comforting. The bottle of Pepto is the most recent acquisition, and I think it rounds out my collection pretty nicely.

As for the other items, I think that they reveal several things about me. Like that I'm a music lover but I don't have enough time to listen to the music I like. That I never want to be without a means to cover my flaws. That I enjoy silly eye wear, especially if it makes me looks super queer. That I like Murakami just like every other hip commuter. That my mom is awesome and still uses good old-fashioned snail mail as a means of communication. That I like to document my experiences but don't like to purchase batteries...


What's in your bag?

Sugar and Spice - like nutmeg, but not cayenne, right?

I'm intrigued anytime I feel a sense of true support from other ladies. This blog is interesting in that we've come together as a group to share and express, and there is a very non-competitive vibe that is worth noting. Probably since the age of eight when I started to have my first unhealthy relationships with other girls, I've been interested in the question of why we--as a gender--are always in competition with each other and why it's difficult to function in female relationships. And most of us live our lives trying NOT to be called a bitch or a ho (the fact that everyone is so ready to call a girl that is a whole other social problem).

For starters, I have feminist ideals, and I hate gender stereotypes and restrictive ideas about gender roles. I fucking hate the toy store for this: everything separated into girl toys and boy toys. At little toddlers' birthday parties, people get the kids things according to the kid's gender and start saying things like, "Ooh, he's gonna be a big football player when he gets older!" or "She's going to be a ballerina one day!"

Is it really that much of a stretch that a girl might want to play with the tool bench or a basketball? Is it ridiculous to think a little boy might want to take care of a little animal or a baby doll? (Of course then everyone will call him gay for being a nice human being. And what about gay and transgender kids? But I digress.) How will these kids even know what they like if they can't even choose what they're interested in?

The bigger question is: when I have kids, how do I let my kids choose their own passions in such a prescribed setting? And then people give you that look like you're such a weirdo and you're just mad at society "for no reason" and "just face it: little girls like pink, and little boys like guns. They're born that way." I don't buy into that. "Human nature" is such a big, vague, blanket excuse for things that have social explanations.

(note: I have personally worn tutus and pointe shoes and loved it--I am not the least bit against traditional feminine images in themselves. But my dad played baseball with me as a kid, too, and I never would have know I was a strong hitter if he'd assumed I could only be a dancer.)

But I'm getting ahead of myself here. I went to a birthday party for my BF's nephew who was turning one. He pretty much just likes colors. It was hard to find something that wasn't over-the-top hetero-boy. We settled for a fuzzy book about animals and a pound-shapes-into-holes-with-a-hammer game. Last year for his brother, we found a picnic set of fake food and plates and such--who doesn't like fake food?

So without much elegance, back to my orignal point (it will tie-in, I swear): people like to say girls are "naturally" catty, or women can't be friends with other women, or girls have "cat fights" because they just can't help themselves. I read a book once that proposed that the reason these stereotypes exist is because women really do compete heavily with each other and we're pretty threatened by other women because we are in the less-powerful gender category and we're scraping for power from the male group. I like this theory--it makes sense. For example: we compete for guys to think we're the most beautiful. Attention from them means power-by-proxy for us. Or some girls say, "I hate girls--they're so catty," to pretend to be one of the guys so that she may reap they benefits of feeling the power that guys feel.

BUT--the good news is that we can truly band together and have power through support and cooperation, of course. But this is more difficult than it sounds: when some pretty but otherwise uninteresting blond is throwing herself at some guy, would you talk shit about her? Or would you respond with a feeling of care like you wanted to help her lift herself up instead of searching for power in un-empowering ways? Would you be able to see all other females as part of your team and deserving of love and support? That's hard and pretty counter-intuitive for me based on the habits I've formed my whole life.

And as a supplement to my point, I'd like to add that guys have their own issues to work out with their gender role stereotypes (i.e., too much focus on physical strength and the ability to compete and be aggressive). Oh, and I do believe that race and sexual orientation affects gender roles and where you are in the social hierarchy of things. I'd love to hear a gay or non-white female perspective on all of this.

So anyway, this blog=cool ladies.

the ultimate of Un-Cool

The previous posts about Identity intrigued me. I know who I am. I am beautiful, smart, thoughtful, responsible, creative, artistic, peaceful, healthy, and ridiculous. I am a scientist, a wife, a mom to my boys (dogs), a student, and a teacher. I am a friend and a daughter, maybe a sister. I have high standards for literature, music, and all other forms of expression. I have high standards for people, and an overbearing sense of justice. I dislike people that I deem unintelligent or cruel. I am hard to impress and hard to amuse. I only get surprised when my experiment starts working. (It stopped working, by the way.) I wear cool t-shirts. I never wear denim. I am an artist. I believe that kindness is the best thing. I believe that human relationships (all relationships from acquaintances to lovers) are the most important thing. I think for myself. I have my ducks in a row. I think I am the coolest person ever, although in the standards of the media, I am the ultimate of Un-Cool. I am fierce, but I am trying to be balanced. I am not always kind, but I know how to think and I have totally awesome hair. I'm shitty at spelling, I am messy, and I am prone to freaking out. I am not funny to other people, but I make myself giggle.

Now what? Are you thinking: "she has a big head"? I hate that. I hate that statement, that sentiment that we can't be in love with ourselves. Of course I have a big head. I am a scientist. We all do.

This weekend, coincidences happened, and I found myself at a bar. (!!!) Jips (husband) and I were there with Shawshank (friend) and his girlfriend (non-scientist). Now, Shawshank is a scientist, a physicist turned physical chemist. He is as smart as Jips and in the same way: he can throw theory* around and he can make anyone laugh. His girlfriend and I were talking and she said "he has a big head." And I didn't say anything. Because I hate it when people say that. I didn't say: We all have big heads. But it is true. We all do.

On a side note. I am totally inspired by this blog. Everyone posting makes me want to post. Everyone commenting. This is way better than I imagined. To my co-authors: You are incredible!


*quantum theory, string theory, etc.

Identity

I should be studying for a test right now. I always should be doing something that I don’t really want to do.

What is my identity? Well, I’m a student. But, I don’t want to only be defined by that one word. I used to be okay with that but now I’m not.

Most of my life I think I’ve tried to avoid the whole “identity” thing. Like, if I don’t think about it, I don’t have to have one. I’m not really that funny, chatty, pretty, unique, or interesting. I couldn’t figure out what I was. I think I was able to avoid it by not living in the present. Like when I was in high school I thought, “Man, college is going to be so great.” I get to college. It’s okay. Not as good as the media makes it look. And then there was the grad school pressure. What do I do with a science degree if I don’t get in? I don’t want to teach or do research, so I better work my ass off to get in. So, that became my next identity. Not caring about anything else but that.

So, I get in. I fantasized about how great it will be. Everyone there will be just like me, I thought. Real people that are serious. Ummm…not the case at all (for the most part)

So, now I’m screwed. I got depressed, real depressed. I decided that I can’t keep looking forward to the next thing.

What do I do now? Old friendships are fading. I come to realize people that were in my inner circle were just using me because I’m Olive, the girl that is always responsible and serious and can’t find a reason to say no to you. I won’t go there again.

It’s my own fault, I know. I don’t regret going to grad school. I know I’ll really like my career. But, my life has to be more than a career, doesn’t it? The only career I’ve had so far is being a student.

So, now I’ve come to the realization. I’m not really that funny, chatty, pretty, unique, or interesting. That’s okay. One day I will have a career more rewarding than getting good grades and I won’t have to work 24/7. I’ll have a balance. It’s all about the balance and I never had that.

I hoped that made sense. I’m not really good about thinking about stuff to write about or writing for that matter. I just ran with the identity theme.

How do you spell neurosurgeon?

Careers. What are those?

My kids are doing a research paper on a career that they think would fit them. Some of the dumbest said they wanted to be neurosurgeons and some of the smartest wanted to be basketball players and models.

They have no clue, and all I could do was continue to emphasize that they are just looking into a topic that is interesting to them. But it also has to be substantial enough for a paper, so "model" isn't going to exactly fill out three pages, much the way they don't fill out anything else. Like an application for a real job?

It was a lot of "THIS COMPUTER ISN'T LETTING ME IN" and "THIS SURVEY IS TRYING TO PLAY ME." No, hunny. You just didn't type your birthday in right on the profile page. Gotta love the freshman. I do most of the time. But they are some not-listening fools.

I started a short story this weekend. This is a big deal for me because I've been struggling with the being-a-teacher-and-still-being-a-whole-person issue. I haven't been to dancing in six months and I'm intimidated about stepping back in to class all rusty. Even though no one would care but me. It's going to be painful to realize how much catching up my body has to do.

So I try not to talk about short stories when they're not finished because I'll inevitably tell people about what I perceive to be my great ideas, and then they sound cliche out loud, so I lose my excitement and drive of writing them. I'm afraid my grueling school schedule going to suck the steam right out of this one, but I'm still excited about it. It's about a young teacher crossing lines with a student. Not autobiographical or completely creative, but it will be wrought with conflict I tell you! I'm interested also in taking advantage of this period of weird "What is this adult life after college supposed to be like?" And how all of the old insecurities from way back get drudged up and you start comparing yourself to people again and wondering if your present matches up to your past hopes for yourself at this age. It's a cool time of self-discovery (Wrought with conflict). And in a story, if a character is in that state, she'd be doing things that she wouldn't normally do if she had a handle on what kind of person she was and what she would and would not decide in her life. This summer...a teacher and a student walk the line between friends...and something else! Ugh. See what I mean.

For the Tie-In, I'd like to state that In Conclusion, careers are confusing to one's identity.