Let it be known that my newest (bad?) habit is chain-chewing gum. Much like a chain smoker, I move through a pack a day… or one of the mongo-tubs every 3 days. Oops.
gum… or crack?
I blame increased stress and a strong distaste for gum that loses its flavor. My coworker just came over to ask for a piece (because she knew I had the giant tub) and when I shamefully admitted that it was already gone, I got a very long, wary side-eye from her.
Happy Thursday!
Posted in Emily D.
by Joceline
Ah, the creeper. Girls slap that title on guys who are trying too hard, seem too desperate, or otherwise just weird us out, and we waste no time in skewering him to our friends. “He just gives me a vibe.” “He asked me to dinner for tomorrow.“ “He has creepy facial hair.” “He showed up at Trinity by himself after texting me, and tried to dance with me when HELLO, ladies’ night!”
Things that will land a guy on the creeper list:
- Over-texting
- Explicit texting too early or unencouraged
- Touching on the small of the back/too much physical contact in general
- Too many compliments/comments about our physical appearance (compliments are nice, but if he calls us beautiful repeatedly, he’s trying really hard)
- Making it too clear he’s stalked us on facebook beyond the trivial stuff that shows up on his news feed (we all do it but for the love of God don’t talk about it!)
- Staring
- Always asking/showing up to where you are
Talking to too many ladies at once might earn you a creeper title, unless you’re a baller like Randy here.
But honestly, the most important thing that determines whether a guy is in Camp Maybe or Camp Creepy: how attractive he is.
Yes, I know. We’re not that shallow! But maybe, sometimes, we are. Think about it. A lot of the guys we’ve labeled as creepers are just hitting on us because we’re out, they’re out, we’re all flirting, and maybe they’re awkward and think you can’t go wrong with telling a girl she’s pretty! But now, think of that last guy you called creepy, but imagine if he were really hot and you had a crush on him. Now, let’s put on the rose-colored glasses of “this guy is really hot” and take a look at that list again:
- Over-texting He’s so interested in how my day was!
- Explicit texting Oh heyyyy, glad someone took it there!
- Touching on the small of the back What a charmer!
- Too many compliments Compliments!
- The facebook stalking Good thing he went through all of my pictures too, or else it would make me a weirdo.
- Staring Ooh, eye contact!
- Showing up to where you are Yes, he’s here, now to casually ignore him until he comes and talks to me.
There’s even a Google+ ad about this–this chick initially thinks the poor guy is a creeper but they end up getting married! Be careful who you label, you might have to hurt his feelings later.
See? A lot of the time when I call a guy a creep, it actually means I’m not attracted to him. Which is fine, but I’ll call it what it really is–being shallow. And everyone’s allowed to not be attracted to someone. But don’t label a poor guy who likes you as a creeper when you just don’t like him back. Calling someone a “creeper” should mean that he makes you feel uncomfortable or unsafe, and should be a warning to your friends that this guy might be looking to take advantage of you or them. Actually being creepy means doing things like:
- Keeping the drinks coming, even when he hasn’t asked if we want another one or if we still have one in our hand
- Touching/talking/texting/anything when we make it clear we don’t want him to
- And as a grad student, explicitly going out to pick up “undergrad chicks”. A twenty-year-old and a twenty-eight-year-old can find love across the bar of the Virginian, but going out with the goal of hitting on exclusively younger girls is, well, creepy.
And guys, there is a female counterpart to this. Girls call you creepy because we do have to be concerned that people might be out there to take advantage of us. But you know what you do? Call us Batshit Crazy. And that’s a post for another day…
One of my favorite college professors just shared this online and it was too good not to post on the blog. Ironically, when I was around 14 one of my least favorite high school English teachers *did* encourage me to read Rand and enter a $500 essay contest. I didn’t win. I’m sure my less-than-positive response to objectivism and “rational egoism” was off-putting to the judges. What – did they think that every teenager would drink the kool-aid and sell out in the name of their own self interest and ambition? Oh wait…I guess they would assume that, wouldn’t they? =)
by Emily A.
As my blogging cohorts and most of my friends from high school/Oberlin celebrated their second graduversary, I celebrated my first (silly year off…). Some of my best buddies just chucked their caps and gowns to prepare for *gasp* the real world.
‘What happens when your booze stops coming out of kegs, and starts getting real…’
I look on College oh-so-fondly, but the thought that my days of academia are supposed to be “the best years of my life” (ugh, why do people say that?!?!) just makes me sad and sweaty. Yes, I learned a lot about friendships and habits and what I believe defines me/my self-worth/my passions, etc., but those lessons and those relationships are things I can continue to carry with me after the Pomp and Circumstance. But the other stuff? My peak? All-nighters and sleep deprivation and bad boozing and horrible time management and minimal self-care and more one-night stands than I care to divulge? Yeah? Emily dear, you can do better.
And I have, wee! I love that I can simultaneously be grateful for my extended undergrad career, and at the same time be so happy that it ended how and when it did, because honestly, the ‘real world’ (another saying that drives me batshit but we’ll go with it for now) is so much better.
I am no expert on post-graduate life, but I am an expert on my post graduate life. And my post-graduate life – especially considering how shitty other generations/the economy/dissatisfied graduated friends told me it would and should be – is incredible. I love my life, so I like to think that means I got some stuff right, at least for me and the life I love to live. So now, my unsolicited advice for people who want to love stuff the way I love stuff (which is awesomely, for the record).
say whatever you want…
1. Live below your means. I’ve been sucky at this the last few months, and hospital bills are an excellent reminder to lock it up. Un-plannable shit can and will happen, and life doesn’t offer a dining plan. And for the love of god, if you have a paycheck, save some of it.
1a. Groupon. You still need treats. Just discount ones.
2. Fear is a good thing. Don’t ignore it because it’s confusing and big; obviously it wants to tell you something , so befriend it, listen to it, ask it lots of questions, and don’t let it take the front seat. It’s another perspective, and it’s important to have the conversation with yourself (aww) to figure out what it has to say.
3. Death to “should!” Dammit I hate ‘shoulds!” Acting on anything/everything based on what it “should…” is going to get you nowhere except shitsville, with a total inability to trust your own desires and ideas. My big ‘should’ in school was to move to NY or LA and pursue theater, because it was what I studied. People had faith in my ability to do it successfully, and I did too, and I love acting, and I spent four years and a whole bunch of my parents’ money learning about it (thank you, Mom and Dad) so it seemed like what I should do. Except I didn’t want to, so I didn’t, and there has literally not been a single day I wish I were doing that instead. How the hell else is anyone ever going to learn what they actually enjoy and feel about things as an individual if they’re constantly basing their decisions on others’ shoulds? They’re not. That’s the point.
4. It might look different than you expected, which is totally fine. See number 3.
5. ‘yes’ and ‘no’ are the best words ever. Boundaries are easy in College; there’s a rule and a consequence for pretty much anything, so learning to do things on your own terms never becomes terribly necessary. But my oh my, it is so necessary. Get cozy with these two words.
6. Ask for help. I hate this one. But I also don’t hate this one because it’s important and it gets me to places I want to be. You are not incompetent for being un-able to live 35 lives at once. Please remind me of this occasionally.
7. talk to your friends!!! I have gone months without speaking to people I never imagined going a few days without contacting. It’s weird. I think we all get that it’s an adjustment to learn, and we’re all trying to learn it, but make the effort. Skype is a beautiful thing.
8. Take care of yourself. Nobody else can do it for you. By all means though, let them try, because that’s good too.
9. Take care of other people too. Hint: the number one best way to accomplish this, is with #8.
10. Get a dog. Or a really finnicky cat. Or something a step up from a houseplant that will die if you don’t care for it unconditionally. Graduating for the sake of getting married and popping out babies was never really my goal, and I have an excellent four-legged reminder to feel no reason to rush into that ever for any reason.
10a. Love things unconditionally. It’s cool if it’s a houseplant, just learn how to do it.
11. Don’t feel self-conscious about writing lists about why you’re such a genius about life even after only so much experience with it. NOBODY ELSE IS GOING TO BECOME AN EXPERT ON YOUR LIFE FOR YOU. Let condescending Wonka have his laugh and carry on.
12. Be nice. To yourself, to your friends, to your parents, to your family, to strangers, to people with different opinions than yours, to your barista, to your neighbors, to the guy mumbling on the bus. It’s good ju-ju, and it just feels better.
13. Just because something is hard doesn’t mean it’s bad. It just means it’s hard.
Lucky number 13 oughtta cap it off. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to get started on year numero dos.
Oh and hey, see what I did there? How I didn’t post anything for a month? It looks like things have been picking up and getting crazy busy in Camp Emily (see: rule 13), so I’m going to be stepping down in posts for a bit. So for the time being, at least for a few months, consider me a frequent guest-poster…
Posted in Emily A., Uncategorized
Today marks the Two-Year Graduversary (yes, that is a real word and a real celebratory measure/time) of Denise and Joceline and I walking south* down the Lawn at dear ol’ U.Va.
I only wish that you could see Denise’s Dora the Explorer balloon in this. It was so epic.
Only two years until Joce gets to do this all over again! (jealous!)
Life in Labelers with some of our dearest friends (and best mix-CD exchangers)**
And here we are – two years later! Look at us, we’re young adults! Just hopefully not young adults in the sense of Charlize Theron… which Denise and I had the [dis]privilege of viewing together last Saturday night.
I like to think that my ability to shoot bourbon is the only thing I have in common with Char’s character, Mavis (thank GOD I don’t share her name, right?)
compiled by Denise
Sh*t people in D.C. say. I think Emily D. and I would both agree: watching this video is like condensing a week’s worth of happy hour conversations into one clip. Scary.
Sh*t people say to asians. Joceline, during college I’ve probably witnessed about 90% of these things being said to you. In fact, I might’ve said some of these things to you…
Sh*t people say to hapas (like me).
Sh*t vegans say. Since I’m a “young” vegan, I don’t think I’ve reached the level of dedication seen the video below. What about you, Emily A?
…and more
Sh*t Med Students Say. Joceline has dropped many of the big words heard in the video below (at least, I think…). She also blogs about stool. A lot.
Stuff Catholic Girls Say. Just FYI, in the past 24 hours I’ve 1) worn a saints’ bracelet 2) told someone I’d pray for them and 3) used the term “church date” in casual conversation.
Sh*t Portlanders Say. I’ll let Emily A. comment on the accuracy of the following parody.
And of course…something that applies to all of the bloggers. Stuff UVA students/alumni say.
Posted in Denise
Tagged Asian, Catholic, Hapa, Medical Student, Portlander, Vegan, Wahoo
Remember that time I said I had no filter? And that I routinely talk about bowel movements without realizing my conversation partners might not be completely desensitized like I am?
Well, four weeks of Gen Med in the hospital out-awkwarded me. I’m still completely comfortable grossing my friends out at the dinner table, don’t worry. It’s just when I have to peer into the smiling eyes of an adorable 86-year-old lady and ask her what color her poop was that I feel a little weird.
But seriously, it doesn’t stop at “How have your, uh, bowel movements been?” I can’t just cop out with “Normal? They’ve been normal?” No, because someone will inevitably ask, “Normal? What does normal mean for her?”
Well, it means:
How many times a day?
Is it loose or formed?
Can you hold it in, or do you ever…go…on yourself?
Any blood? Is it black and sticky?
Does it smell, um, especially bad? To which one of my patients hilariously snapped, “Bad? Of course it does! It’s shit!”
Surprisingly, I’ve only ever had one person ever say, “I try not to look at it. Why are you asking me these things?” The rest were all willing to discuss it with me.
Oh, that brings me to another thing–there is no good, professional-sounding way to say poop. I like “bowel movements”, but you inevitably get the patients who ask, “What’s that?” Asking how it is “when you go” is too vague, and “going number 2″ is childish. Also, you can use “stool” as a verb, as in “She was up all last night stooling after we gave her 1 quart of Miralax.”
But even more cringe-y than the poo questions is…taking a sexual history. It starts with “So are you sexually active?” and goes on to “With men, women, or both?” and if you really want to spell it out, “Penis to vagina sex? Or other sorts?” Now, I’m not fainthearted. I had guy friends who gave me the charming nickname Peen (it rhymes with Joceline). But asking the aforementioned charming 86-year-old granny about her carnal tendencies is where my courage usually draws the line. At that point, if my attending asks, I’ll just say I forgot to take the history.
I’ll leave you with one of my favorite stories from a mentor. She was taking a history from one of her patients, and asked,
“Are you sexually active?”
To which the patient replied, “No, I usually just lie there.”
