Spring Cleaning
Hippie-tastic I have been rightly accused of being; but when mold and mildew threaten my bathroom [climbed from the toliet bowl to rim to seat! ewwww!] I just start dumping good old fashioned Comet everywhere; I let it marinate for about 30 minutes, then I scrub scrub scrub scrub. Then I lock myself and the cats out, turn the fan on, and enjoy the white chemical purity of the bathroom for all of the two days it lasts until hair and toothpaste and soapscum ruin it all over again. Ah, entrophy.
I have to move in 3 weeks; I'll be homeless for about a month, though I have multiple offers of sofas and spare rooms and the like. I think the cats might be exiled to my parents' place; they'd like the vacation and my mum would love it. My father did offer, so he's screwed now.
I did some substantial [prolly about $600 worth] of damange to my right-hand passenger tail lights by some quick and ill-conceived backing up. The thing I hit was barely scratched, me, ruined. I wouldn't fix it but my parents are visiting to help my sis move this weekend and they, they will not like to see the car dinged up. So, hellloooo credit cards and Raintree. I'll wear my shortest skirt and flirt my bill cheaper [as everyone reccomends]. I hate cars, driving, gas prices, the Bush administration, and my own ill-conceived space-cadet driving. For about 11 months I have been good as gold to my baby car. It also has a menacing rattle and threatens not to start when I have under 1/4 tank. *shrug* I just don't care enough, nor do I drive it far enough.
I need to sweep and vacuum and scrub my floor [for the first time in 11 months, amazing how not living equals no messes. I would say that I should not cook and be miserable but I'm not sure that cleanliness is that worth it.] I have to start shoving shit in boxes and dissassembling my life. I'm not excited about this.
I like this post-graduate-no-more-incompletes goodness. I'm going to go ahead and apply for December 2007 graduation, I'll probably take 1 class in the fall in order to wrap up my polisci degree. Being only 3 credit hours short of a degree hurts; I'll only have to do that if I can't talk Martha Franklin into converting my course on Turkey and assorted Azer/Kazahk/etc. countries into some sort of IU credit. She didn't and that's just not fair, for I hauled ass for the course.
I've also coerced the embassy into mailing me [if I mail them express mail envelopes] my CEP [Certificat des Etudes Politiques?] from the IEP, so that the world can have proof that I can survive the French upper-echelon schooling system.
Next is studying for the GRE so that i can apply to the IU masters program I want for next fall; I don't doubt I'll get in, but it never hurts to have insurance. I have some good reccs around, I just need to start soliciting them and schmooozing and etc.
Also among the projects are cashew raw cheese, flax seed crackers, and gluten-free muffins, cookies, cakes, and breads. Wish me luck. Oh yes, and sprouting. Sprouting things. Potting eggplants and morning glories, growing my herb garden and making honey-mead. Brewing mango wine and freezing mashed avocado for guacamole always ready. Generating freezer ice cubes of pesto. And making homemade herbal all natural cosmetics and soaps. Then convincing the big bosses at Persian Market to let me make them and sell them there. Seedlings grown in eggshells in egg cartons with heirloom seeds.
So much work, so little free time, so many projects. I get to open a garden at my new place; I'll put in some late-summer/early fall goodies when I move in. I might get permission to start poking it up early; the landlord is cool and thinks I'm cute; his hypercritical attitude and do-it-yourself mentality remind me kindly off my grandfather and father; we'll get along just fine.
I'm searching for a nice fuck-you for the family; not sure how to do it best. Haven't yet forgive grandfather the tooley for his Christmas dinner commentary [unrefuted by other family members, meaning they thought the same but were too nice to say so] "I think you're wasting your degree." Not what you say to an overworked [60 plus hours a week at three evil jobs] underpaid post-college girl. It thoughtfully crushed my self esteem for months. It still does, fuck him very much.
Then when I told him that I got a $2 an hour [20percent] raise for my French knowledge and that I was using my French fluency at a job he sniped about the fact that I was working three jobs. Grrrrrrr. I pay my bills and don't bug my parents for money for rent or groceries; I think that ought to be enough.
I know they'll all hate this job of mine; I know they'll all think it a waste of my time/degree/intellect. I know that I'm happy and I like my job and my coworkers and my boss. So they can all just go to fucking hell and marinate there. My sister and her husband and I have extensively discussed how disgusted we are with our families' obsession with money and material posession; I know they started out working poor and Pell-granted their way through college and stubborned their way into good jobs, I understand why their brains are wired the way there are.
That doesn't entitle them to scorn me and criticize me and think that THEY know what is best for me, even though they don't know me at all, even though they've never known me, never understood what was happening in my head, for all that I tried and tried for years to tell them. I might just out myself to all of them and let them toss and turn at night and wonder wonder wonder how they screwed up so much that I like girls just as well as I like boys.
Actually, that sounds like a great plan. Hmmmmm. The rejection of the megatheocorporatocracy [swiped from http://blog.iblamethepatriarchy.com/], their worldview, their plan for me married heteronormatively with children, whitepicket fences and health insurance with a 9-5, 5 days a week. Such bloody victorians, their ways have caused me nothing but pain, low self esteem, and misery. No more of that.
I think it is time to make dinner. Quesadillas with homemade corn tortillas, filled with avocado citrus tomato spread and garlic cheddar cheese from England.
I have to move in 3 weeks; I'll be homeless for about a month, though I have multiple offers of sofas and spare rooms and the like. I think the cats might be exiled to my parents' place; they'd like the vacation and my mum would love it. My father did offer, so he's screwed now.
I did some substantial [prolly about $600 worth] of damange to my right-hand passenger tail lights by some quick and ill-conceived backing up. The thing I hit was barely scratched, me, ruined. I wouldn't fix it but my parents are visiting to help my sis move this weekend and they, they will not like to see the car dinged up. So, hellloooo credit cards and Raintree. I'll wear my shortest skirt and flirt my bill cheaper [as everyone reccomends]. I hate cars, driving, gas prices, the Bush administration, and my own ill-conceived space-cadet driving. For about 11 months I have been good as gold to my baby car. It also has a menacing rattle and threatens not to start when I have under 1/4 tank. *shrug* I just don't care enough, nor do I drive it far enough.
I need to sweep and vacuum and scrub my floor [for the first time in 11 months, amazing how not living equals no messes. I would say that I should not cook and be miserable but I'm not sure that cleanliness is that worth it.] I have to start shoving shit in boxes and dissassembling my life. I'm not excited about this.
I like this post-graduate-no-more-incompletes goodness. I'm going to go ahead and apply for December 2007 graduation, I'll probably take 1 class in the fall in order to wrap up my polisci degree. Being only 3 credit hours short of a degree hurts; I'll only have to do that if I can't talk Martha Franklin into converting my course on Turkey and assorted Azer/Kazahk/etc. countries into some sort of IU credit. She didn't and that's just not fair, for I hauled ass for the course.
I've also coerced the embassy into mailing me [if I mail them express mail envelopes] my CEP [Certificat des Etudes Politiques?] from the IEP, so that the world can have proof that I can survive the French upper-echelon schooling system.
Next is studying for the GRE so that i can apply to the IU masters program I want for next fall; I don't doubt I'll get in, but it never hurts to have insurance. I have some good reccs around, I just need to start soliciting them and schmooozing and etc.
Also among the projects are cashew raw cheese, flax seed crackers, and gluten-free muffins, cookies, cakes, and breads. Wish me luck. Oh yes, and sprouting. Sprouting things. Potting eggplants and morning glories, growing my herb garden and making honey-mead. Brewing mango wine and freezing mashed avocado for guacamole always ready. Generating freezer ice cubes of pesto. And making homemade herbal all natural cosmetics and soaps. Then convincing the big bosses at Persian Market to let me make them and sell them there. Seedlings grown in eggshells in egg cartons with heirloom seeds.
So much work, so little free time, so many projects. I get to open a garden at my new place; I'll put in some late-summer/early fall goodies when I move in. I might get permission to start poking it up early; the landlord is cool and thinks I'm cute; his hypercritical attitude and do-it-yourself mentality remind me kindly off my grandfather and father; we'll get along just fine.
I'm searching for a nice fuck-you for the family; not sure how to do it best. Haven't yet forgive grandfather the tooley for his Christmas dinner commentary [unrefuted by other family members, meaning they thought the same but were too nice to say so] "I think you're wasting your degree." Not what you say to an overworked [60 plus hours a week at three evil jobs] underpaid post-college girl. It thoughtfully crushed my self esteem for months. It still does, fuck him very much.
Then when I told him that I got a $2 an hour [20percent] raise for my French knowledge and that I was using my French fluency at a job he sniped about the fact that I was working three jobs. Grrrrrrr. I pay my bills and don't bug my parents for money for rent or groceries; I think that ought to be enough.
I know they'll all hate this job of mine; I know they'll all think it a waste of my time/degree/intellect. I know that I'm happy and I like my job and my coworkers and my boss. So they can all just go to fucking hell and marinate there. My sister and her husband and I have extensively discussed how disgusted we are with our families' obsession with money and material posession; I know they started out working poor and Pell-granted their way through college and stubborned their way into good jobs, I understand why their brains are wired the way there are.
That doesn't entitle them to scorn me and criticize me and think that THEY know what is best for me, even though they don't know me at all, even though they've never known me, never understood what was happening in my head, for all that I tried and tried for years to tell them. I might just out myself to all of them and let them toss and turn at night and wonder wonder wonder how they screwed up so much that I like girls just as well as I like boys.
Actually, that sounds like a great plan. Hmmmmm. The rejection of the megatheocorporatocracy [swiped from http://blog.iblamethepatriarchy.com/], their worldview, their plan for me married heteronormatively with children, whitepicket fences and health insurance with a 9-5, 5 days a week. Such bloody victorians, their ways have caused me nothing but pain, low self esteem, and misery. No more of that.
I think it is time to make dinner. Quesadillas with homemade corn tortillas, filled with avocado citrus tomato spread and garlic cheddar cheese from England.
posted by Kari Stevenson @ 5:42 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home