third wheel/hooters with kilts

As potentially previously mentioned, I take an environmental biology class, and I've been sort of pondering how to shorten it while still showcasing the fact that its ENVIRONMENTAL biology,not just regular biology, guys. I'm environmentally conscientious. And then I thought of EnviroBio! Which I will inevitably mispronounce as Enviobio so that it rhymes better.

Anyway.

The first day of class I was really hankerin' to make some friends, since I (still) have none. Hahaha. So I was sort of judging by appearance all the people showing up outside the classroom and make snap decisions about who I wanted to try to interact with. And when the bell rang I snagged a sea next to the only vaguely interesting person in the classroom, and almost like, killed three people trying to get to the seat in time. The person I seated myself near is a sort of sardonic, chronically bored/unhappy looking guy who, upon second onceover really likes metal and wears this really ugly piece of jewelry featuring a large, rhinestoned running man. Or something. But he seemed sort of smart, so I made conversation, and then he ended up just being... chronically bored and unhappy. The other two people at my table were another bored/unhappy asian american girl who promptly dropped the class, and an older woman who also dropped. So it was just me and this guy, and then his girlfriend showed up and joined the class too, and I realized that I actually wanted to be sitting on the other side of the room with two late-twenties single moms and an evangelical hipster/future wildlife ecologist who seemed more interesting.

Sadly, my lab partners have long been established. So here is how it goes, over at table 5:

Me: -notes notes notes- Occasional overly enthusiastic babble/slightly too verbose response to teachers question

Them: Whisper whisper cuddle cuddle kiss kiss enigmatic secret looks whisper kiss whisper.

Which is really pretty cute, since I've always appreciated people who obviously really like each other... I just think it's really sweet and adorable, I've never really minded PDA...

But then we do a lab. And it's like this:

Me: ...So... suggestion about the lab

Him: Duh.

Her: I am friendly!

Me: Awkward attempt at joke/socialization!

Her: ...haha... haaa... um...

Him: Ok, we're done.

Her and Him: Whisper whisper kiss cuddle whisper kiss.

Me: I'll just... head back over to my side of the table... mk... heh.

Ok, so, now for part two of this particular blog entry: Hooters With Kilts.

I'm looking for a job right now... so I've just sort of been biking around the ridiculous number of retail complexes that seem to make up all non-residential areas of Phoenix Suburbs, applying for jobs. So far I've applied to:

-Micheals Crafts (where they asked me to check Strongly Agree, Agree, Neutral, Disagree, and Strongly Disagree on questions such as "Authority should always be obeyed" and "I never let my personal life affect my performance at work")

-Trader Joes

-Wholesome Family Diner

-Ethnic Family Diner

-And Party Supplies & Discount Card. Or something.

I've also been told "We're not hiring" by at least ten other businesses.

So today I walked into a harmless looking restaurant, looking all fresh-faced after an appointment at aforementioned Wholesome Family Diner and asked if they were hiring. And then I noticed what I was looking at:

So... there's that. I was like... oh! Well then! And then I sat down and filled out an application for any position (snigger) available. I actually really hope I get the job, if only because it looks much more interesting than working at a discount party supply store, and I'm guessing the tips are better. On the other hand, I occasionally teeter on the brink of hating men as it is, and I really don't want to be that person. Nonetheless, I definitely flipped off an SUV for honking at me this afternoon, and tend to get very righteously indignant over things like shaving my legs. Which is totally justified! I shouldn't be expected to shave my legs! ...So maybe me and this job aren't great matches for each other? I'm also the girl, though, who is fully intending to audition for America's Next Top Petite Model next time it rolls around, because I think living in that house would be the most surreal experience possible.

So... you know. I mean... I want to work at the Tilted Kilt. If nothing else (emotional growth, life experience yadda yadda yadda), think of the BLOGGING POSSIBILITIES!

The Ones Who Walk Away From Coherency

On the phone the other night, after reading aloud some of my peers' essay rough drafts, Tildy suggested that I start blogging about what it's like to go to school with people who are so... I don't even know how to say this without sounding bitchy, and it's bitchy whatever I do... people who don't even know how to write an essay worthy of the ninth grade, at least, not where I went to high school. Is that what I get for going to community college? Is this average for the US? Because my literature class is becoming more and more of a joke to me the more and more I see the abilities of my peers.

I almost Hulked out at McDonalds.

I woke up feeling dizzy, the way I always do when I haven't been taking my anti-depressant. The dizziness reminded me to take it, and I popped the pill, confident that the grogginess would go away. I forgot to think about the headache that sometimes comes. Or maybe that's this climate.

I get around the Mesa/Gilbert area by a combination of Bus and Bike. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I bike about a mile each way to and from the bus stop, and then ride route 61 straight to campus. On Tuesday/Thursday, I ride to a different stop, about 1.4 miles away, take the bus for twenty minutes or so, and then cycle another 5.5-6 miles to the other MCC Campus. It's called Red Mountain, and it's really picturesque, rust-colored and aesthetically pleasing. I wish I had all my classes there.

When I ride my bike, the air is so dry against my face that I am perpetually thirsty, and consistently lick my lips to moisten them. This makes them chapped and irritated, but it's a difficult habit to break, and it forms relatively quickly. Today I biked my 5.5-6 miles into 30mph wind. I was crawling, at somewhere between 2-10mph, depending on the intensity of the gust. And I'm not fit. I dance three days a week and bike relatively often, but I'm nowhere near strong enough, or patient enough.

An SUV, a minivan, another unnecessarily large vehicle drives too close to me, too quickly, purposely, it seems, veering into the bike lane to frighten me as I crawl along. This happens every day, but I am making no progress, I am thirsty and my lips are chapped and the wind is blowing into my face harder every moment. I keep stopping to replenish my water bottle.

At the Jamba Juice there are these two adorable girls with ponytails and blue-jeans and glasses playing the Fratelli's a little too loudly, and I wish I was doing what they were doing. The water I relieve is not cold, and I gulp it down too quickly.

I keep having these moments, riding my shwinn cruiser, where the wind drops for a moment and suddenly I feel myself accelerating. I begin to rejoice in the fulfillment of my potential, speedwise, the sudden freedom of being able to move without working so dreadfully hard, and then the wind picks up again. By the time I am close enough to imagine stopping for another refill at the McDonalds less than half-mile from campus, I harbor so much spite toward everything I can think of that I know it must show on my face. My lips are set in a straight line, my tongue dwelling on it's constant thirst, and I know my brows are furrowed beneath my sunglasses; I scowl at the elderly couple pulling out of their gated 50+ community. There is a Taco Bell next door to the McDonalds and I consider going there instead, knowing that, if there is a smell, it won't be as bad. But I'm so angry. I start to imagine all the disgusting people retrieving their breakfast from scrawny McPloyee's, and my wrath grows. I'm going to McDonalds. I'm going to take the water out of their soda fountain and hate them all for being fatasses. I ride my bike into the parking lot and reflect on how I hate everyone who has ever set foot inside one of these buildings, including myself.

I leave my bike unlocked and walk inside without feeling the respite of the air conditioner. At the soda fountain I unwittingly block the way of a slim, youngish businesswoman trying to get at her Iced Tea, and I think how I hate her. I still can't resist returning the polite smile she gives me, with equally polite deference, and I wonder about that reflex--is it a reflex, a courtesy, or, I wonder in my bad mood, am I just weak?

There is a gaggle of old men at a table inside the door, and I think how ignorant they are, how their arteries are going to swell up, how they're going to die. I fill my water, and as I do, my eyes fall on the cooler of McIced Tea and I imagine screaming and flinging it across the room like the Hulk.

I walk out of the McDonalds. I have not said a word. I climb onto my cruiser. I pedal away.

And, like so much extra baggage, the anger falls away and loses significance--it was in jest. All of it. The wind has died. I cross the street at, my speedometer says, 25 km/h, unencumbered, free. The air rushing at my face, this time from my own momentum as I cut through it, feels cool on my damp forehead.

The wind picks up again.

Today one year ago?

Today one year ago was my second or third day in Kathmandu. By then I was probably calming down a little, panicking less, and slowly falling in love with the children who climbed into my lap and braided my hair and drew pictures with me and for me. I put them up on my bedroom walls, and they flapped in the breeze created by the door opening and closing. We didn't have any real scotch tape, so we wasted medical tape by using it to decorate the playroom and the childrens bedroom. I used it to put up my photos from home, as well as the pictures the children drew for me. The other volunteers chastised the kids for wasting the tape, and I felt torn between my responsibility to do the same and my desire to just let them play and be kids.

This year today is quite different. It feels like Thanksgiving in my house today because it's Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year. There is a turkey and filo-dough Moroccan dish called Bastilla cooking, and filling the house with cinnamon. Last night we lit candles, sang and drank wine, dipped apples in honey to herald a good and sweet new year.

Last year in Kathmandu I bought apples and sliced them up, brought them into our tiny fenced-in courtyard for the children to snack on while they finished homework. I explained the ritual and the symbolism to them, but mostly we just really enjoyed our apples and honey.

Theoretically, my life is changing the tiniest bit, for the better. I'm finally starting to make friends here, slowly, and in increments, but I'm finding it difficult to muster up any actually excitement over Jon, the ex-jailbird, ex-drug addict wannabe-writer I met, who inserts vocab words into sentences that start with "Shiiit man" and end in "dog" or "homie". He's a character if I've ever one, and we've begun reading Nabokov's Lolita together, and I should be so excited but I just am not. I can't think of what I'd rather be doing with my life, but I know I don't especially want to be here. There's a pretty overwhelming sense of depression that comes with that realization. On the other hand, I just realized I've skipped my Celexa again for the past several days.

I had my first voice lesson with a new teacher. I had to find her house in a terrifying cul de sac, and it was a huge mcmansion. Her hair was big and bleached and she wore pink lipstick. She is the farthest thing possible from my ex-Shiksa, Jew-centric, hippie, bunny-rabbit-loving, nurturing Southern mama-type of a voice teacher back in Minneapolis. In the lesson I sang horribly, nervous and intimidated by a new, terrifying audience. I'll feel better about this too--It's a step outside my comfort zone, and a totally necessary one.

In the meantime, I'm trying to find a job.

Bad teeth?

My three best girlfriends and I have this ongoing video message thread in Facebook, where we sort of... report on our days and carry on conversations via video. The conversation of the last few days has turned to abortion rights, and our ability to respect the opinions of people whose stances differ from out. On the U of M campus, there have been some recent public comparisons of abortion to genocide. Tildy made me laugh for like twelve hours with the following comment, transcribed from a video:

"So you should just get an abortion. Just have lots of abortions. Lots of abortions. All the time. Um, you guys. And me. No. But yeah. Lots of abortions. Thats what I want. Genocide of everyone. It's not genocide! Because, abortions, what, is it, are babies like, an ethnic group?"

In lit class today there were no more wierd not-true morning-after-pill-related falsehoods. We did talk about religion. We were assigned Shirley Jackson's The Lottery, which, if you haven't read it, is a short story about a small town in America participating in ritual sacrifice. The discussion turned to civilization, and what constitutes a 'civilized' society. My class always seems to turn to the bible... I swear we discuss the story of Abraham at least once a week. This time it was because someone (me, actually), had suggested that circumcision, which is a religious rite in Judaism and Islam, might be considered uncivilized or brutal by some. In fact, it is considered cruel by lots of people... there's a whole anti-circumcision movement.

Tangenttangenttangent. I met a guy today who wants to be a writer. I don't know what kind yet, b/c he had a class to get to, but we're meeting up later, so... yes. He was interesting, though... he introduced himself as... ah, fuck. I can't remember the term. Someone whose' skull didn't fuse properly in infancy and, as a result, has a slightly larger head than usual. According to this guy, Jon, people are more inclined to approach him with information they wouldn't usually just tell anyone. I haven't disclosed any untoward secrets yet, though.

Another exciting new friend: Ali. Ali is from Iran. He is really attractive, but he doesn't have great teeth. He is taking a class in communications. Like, interpersonal communication. I thought that was really strange and counterintuitive... a class to learn how to relate to people. Anyways, we've decided to renew my efforts to learn Nepali together.

Not sure how I feel about having a blog.

I was telling my dad about all the crazy shit the conservatives say, and how I'm not used to being down here at all, and he told me I should blog about it. In the weeks before I left for Nepal, exactly one year ago tomorrow, people told me the same thing. Instead, I bought a very thick leather-bound notebook and carried it with me everywhere throughout my four months in Kathmandu, through my two weeks in India, and, eventually, to Australia for a month.

This time I haven't traversed any oceans; I moved to Arizona. And I left my huge leather-bound notebook on the bookshelf in my bedroom in South Minneapolis, MN. Blog. I'm apprehensive about having one, because I'm not sure I'll continue writing in one. I had one or two of these, back in middle school, when I cared desperately about sounding creative and intelligent in my one-or-two-paragraph ramblings and, looking back, I just sound retarded. Then again, I didn't use the word 'retarded' back then, so maybe I was onto something.

I guess if I don't write in this blog, I can always delete it. Or leave it to rot in the vast cyber-graveyard of forgotten and abandoned websites. Where my other blogs all rest peacefully.

When I moved to Kathmandu, there were some things to get used to. The language barrier, the way people ate, slept, went to the bathroom, the way they got around, socialized with one another... there was the new currency and particular Nepali-specific mannerisms I learned over time. It was different, but it was so different that it was almost easier to adapt. I had been expecting to adapt.

Some other things I had been expecting:

-I was going to do my thing for a year, and then matriculate at my college of choice, New Mexico's College of Santa Fe.

-I was going to have a 14000 USD renewable scholarship. Effectively paying over half my tuition over four years.

What actually happened is that the recession hit, and my college fell under some financial strain. In February, too late for my to apply anywhere else, they notified me that I had no scholarships because I likely wouldn't be attending their school in the fall.

So I moved to Arizona, instead. My mom lives down here. She used to live in Minneapolis, but then she lost her job, and had to relocate down here in order to take a new one. I moved down here because:

-Once she gets residency, I'll be able to pay less tuition to go to the University of Arizona next fall.

-My horse, Cody, has very advanced and painful arthritis... the weather down here is better for him.

My heart is still sort of set on the College of Santa Fe, but I guess we'll see how that works it. In the meantime, while I wait to have AZ residency, I'm living with my mother and sister at home and taking classes at a local community college.

When I moved to Arizona, I hadn't expected to have to adapt. But there are some things to get used to here as well. There's the climate, in the literal sense. It's September now, and every day is around 96 degrees and sunny, because the sky is much bigger here. There aren't enough clouds to stretch from horizon to horizon. The other climate is figurative. I'm a liberal teenager from Minneapolis. I haven't travelled much inside the US, and, having grown up where I did, I'm realizing now how completely sheltered I was. I know that there are people with opinions that conflict with mine, but I never expected so many of them on one college campus. People I meet keep surprising me by sticking disappointed "...but she was a liberal"'s on the end of their sentences when describing someone they spoke to earlier that day. The young Republicans are a pretty strong presence on campus, and yesterday one of my classmates declared loudly that the morning-after pill kills babies.

I was so shell-shocked. Maybe I shouldn't be? Maybe I should be blogging about it instead.

Furthermore, today I discovered that the cute hipster guy I'd been eyeing in my Environmental Biology class believes in Intelligent Design. No disrespect intended, I mean, believing in a higher power is ok by me... but... seriously?!