Nerd Girl Inc: Be Selfish

(a selfish indulgence: homemade mac n' cheese)

Today, I did a lot of learning.
Before you get snarky (that's what college is for, Jordan), hear me out.
So far, my college experience has been all about me. A somewhat selfish time to explore all the possibilities that I didn't get in high school. I exploited the opportunity to take classes that were interesting, took advantage of my location to take in great shows and do amazing things, and participated in all those classic campus experiences that one must have in their youth. But now, I think that the glitz has passed away a little bit. I'm a working stiff, like most other people, and I was starting to let the big plans get muddled up in the more immediate ones. "When am I going to get my next paycheck?" became more important than "What am I going to do after college?"
As you probably know by now, I am a notorious planner. I had the broad strokes of my life laid out before I could really understand the work involved to get there. So now, after all those years of planning, I'm living it. The New York City life where the tedium and the spectacular have combined.

What does this have to do with learning? Well, today I got to play with the big dreamer in me in two arenas:
1. I attended a Careers in Psychology panel that opened my eyes to grad school - both what I should be doing to get there and what I should do when I get out.
2. And then I did a workshop on safer sex with a floor of freshmen and their RA, which taught me as much about myself as it taught them about alternative birth control methods.

All this year and parts of last, I have been attending and giving workshops that involve everything from bookbinding to discussions of healthy eating, and they have slowly brought me to the realization that I like helping people and explaining things. That I know more than I give myself credit for. And, most importantly, that I need to keep playing with the bigger dream of becoming a counselor and helping people in minority communities.
I encourage everyone to look at their big plans, no matter what they are, and breathe into them some life. Go to a workshop or find a program. Be selfish for a change.

Read more Nerd Girl Inc. posts and check out the related series, Caught My Eye.

Poetry Rising

So, I didn't post here for a few days partially out of lack of time and partially out of lack of inspiration. I think I'm going to cool my dogged daily determination for posts and just try to get it all out when I need to. I am going to do probably a mondo-post [or a few mondo-posts] concerning these Memoirian Highlights: Group IV Night, Abby's Birthday, and the Bellevue Tennis Match (definitely not in that order) but tonight I wanted to reattach myself to something that I well and truly love. Poetry.
I have not been able to write poetry for a really long time and, as spring break approaches, I really want to get back to it! I am speaking at graduation and hoping to do Interlake Live with a poem of some sort - to earn me some sweet street cred and all that (haha). But seriously, slams would flow out of me during the summer, and now I just have this regulatory check on my brain at every minute. "That's not good," "You'll never get anywhere with that," "Who the hell wants to read that crap? It's so whiny!"
So I guess I just have to kick myself in the proverbial buttock and just push out a poem for the sake of it coming into being - maybe after that it'll get easier. Here it goes.
***
After much deliberation (though I did write a poem), I will not write it here because of personal attachment to its inception. My inner editor says it's not ready for public eyes...
Vive la poesie! Vive le mois de la poesie, aussi - d'avril!

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Poetry that was actually written is also available for your perusal.

Memoirian Highlights: Part Two

So, we're back. Perhaps this should be an episodic program, actually - like a television broadcast or the Picture Dictionary. Whenever it fits fancy, the Memoirian Highlights will flock over The Cowation like a plague of long-winded draft reading material. Who knows?
Anyway, back to the action. Samedi, Saturday, le deuxieme jour.

Samedi
So, the night was Tolo night, but the day was spend-time-on-J day. In a much more energy-filled morning wake, I threw on a summery outfit that prayed for warmth but received only cold and traipsed out of the house on a hunt for shoes and a dress. I had a very specific idea in mind: army green dress that goes off the shoulder and has ruffled ruching at the neck and sleeve seams because of the elastic. Obviously, I didn't get that.
What I did get was a running around time to myself, searching from high to low for that one perfect dress and finding a really cute bag and a pair of the best shoes ever (coral pumps - garish and flashy and completely like me) I had left at 9am and went through all the places I knew to look, so by the time it drew near to 12 noon, I was burned out and searching for a sit down place.
Lucky enough for me, when I stopped off at Redmond Town Center, a new tea place had opened up in place of our cookie haven. My heart was torn, but I was excited to see somewhere I could buy loose leaf tea that didn't include hoity-toity employees in downtown Bellevue. I opened the door to the Green Grind and wafted their casual scent.
The store was clean, green, and very earthy. They had their teas up in canisters on the wall, all different colors and loose leaf. I had originally thought it was a coffeehouse but, though they did serve that as well, it became increasingly evident that they were mainly focused around tea. A smooth talking salesman waited on customers with a skilled knowledge of his product; he spoke about yerba mate with a South American man who had entered on his lunch break to marvel at the fact that, yes, you can get that stuff here. And damn good too. I tested the waters with an Indian chai, which cemented my love for the place. A cute college-looking guy served me and seemed to be trying his best to avert his nerdy image as compared to the manager. It didn't work too well, but his bashful charm drew me in and, as I left, I was smiling at how much of an embarassment I had made of myself. I really am very awkward with strangers.
My first response as I stepped out of the place was to call Da and tell him that I had found the loose leaf tea haven (huzzah!) and that we could buy some the next day. It solved the problem of my conversion to a loose leaf tea addict, and I was glad. But, just as I finished the tiny cup of chai, I realized that it was nearing 11:55am and that I needed to head out to Victor's for a meet with the theater girls to "work on theater stuff."
When I arrived there, I was semi-starving (making room for what I knew was going to be a big Applebee's dinner that night) but also had no cash, so I sat and began working on my TPPP. Always fashionably late, Maayan and Sofia showed up at 12:20pm as I was typing furiously to figure out my new project. Once they were there, the laptop closed and we headed outside to the porch to talk about our lives. Maayan paid for a lunch and I got the veggie soup off of it so that I wouldn't die, then we shared cookies and eased ever-so-quickly away from theater. It was a nice time, actually, and instead of going our separate ways, Sofia came along with me to meet up with Bree and go dress shopping.
We left an hour too early and headed over to Factoria, where I explored the dresses at TJ Maxx and Target - finally finding one at the second store. Sofia's approval and a pair of skin tone (for a white person) tights cemented me on the choice, and I bought it straight away. We met Bree and Andi at Nordstrom Rack just a bit later, and they each bought a pair of shoes (albeit from different stores, Nordstrom Rack and DSW). After what I thought was the shortest shopping trip ever, we decided to part and then head over to Bree's aunt's house (I was informed that she was a hairdresser and that she would be cool with doing our hair, which is always a plus). But, as we got to the parking lot, I realized: we had lost the car.
Or rather, we had lost ourselves in the parking lot. Sofia was laughing all out as we finally found it - I felt rather stupid, but got over it quickly. It's always great to be flailing around in the cold, pressing the button on your keys until you realize - oh, that's my car right there.
I took her home and then drove to Bree's (after a confusing traffic stop at Interlake, then Maayan's, then her house because neither of us knew where she lived) and we got our hair put up. Bree's aunt Megan was extremely nice; with a mousy smile, she chatted with us about boys and Vietnam and all that passed as she tied our hair with rubber bands and bobby pins. I was a little embarassed to have to leave early - Quinn was already waiting at my house and I'm glad I called him to make sure he didn't go up to the door when I wasn't there.
I sprang in, grabbed the tickets, and then jumped in his car to drive to Applebees. We chatted amicably on the way down the hill (as I marveled at the fact that Quinn could even drive) and then I realized - I should call Grant to tell him when we're meeting.
With the apologetic kick-down-dog mentality I always purport (and need to get rid of), I told him we were meeting in 20 minutes at the Applebees not in Factoria. Needless to say, he wasn't happy.
But we all were fine in the end because, since there were so many of us, the table took at least 25 minutes to secure. Quinn and I waited. I goggled at the fact that he had never been there before, then frantically texted Da about his name and phone number (the fact that I hadn't told them it was a male friend picking me up probably explains that...) until the waitress and our other party members clustered together to meet at a table in the back.
Grant arrived shortly thereafter, legitimizing the very very large amount of confusion about what "semi-formal" means. The sophomores were in a parade of tennis shoes and jeans mixed with casual dresses (Abby's wouldn't zip up, so I give her credit for wearin the tank underneath) while our men were in a range from boring (Chris's basic button down shirt and jeans) to extremely formal (Grant's black suit and red tie) to just plain awesome (Quinn's kilt and the brown shirt we bought for him). The girls followed in a similar line - mine was probably the least formal while Andi's was the most. Quinn and I both were a little off, so once we had finished our meals, we made a last run back to the houses for boots and deodorant. Thankfully, Da had gone to a movie so he didn't have to come inside.
Then it was off to the dance. It appeared that very few people had shown up. Sophomores and freshmen and the occassional senior, but the dance floor was mostly empty. After a few wayward techno songs, we slow danced once and then took my complicated pick-up-the-girls picture before splitting to Meydenbauer Beach. Our band of cars departed from the Interlake parking lot in a wave of male driving; the night was young.
The air was young and frigid when we pulled to a stop, and I borrowed Quinn's way oversized coat (at least on me) as we tripped over our own feet and galloped like horses down to the water's edge. We scrambled to take off our shoes as we went on the dock, watching strange lights come up and down from the island across the way, telling stories of zombie lust and making plans to hijack a boat. None of these got very far.
When we were pretty much lifeless and freezing, we decided to head back up to the cars and find somewhere else to chill. Andi's house was conveniently open, so we headed over there where her dog tried to go up Quinn's kilt many a time. By then, it was nearing midnight and past, so we were all a little tired and the car rides made me feel boring because of my lack of conversational lethargy. Andi's house was warm and didn't contribute to my staying awake.
Finally, after looking at embarassing pictures of younger people that might have been us, we decided to head to Wendy's in our band of cars and pick up Frosties for the road. Quinn ordered while I didn't, deciding ice cream was not the best choice right before bed. He dropped me off and I felt strange, laughing to myself about thinking that I could drop him off even as he was driving. We were both a bit listless, but I still, quite clumsily, asked him whether he would like to go on a "real date" sometime, and he replied, "sure."

So that was the end of the Spring Fling Tolo night. Randomness, excitement, flair, and the absolute boredom that comes from being a teenager in the suburbs at night. Well, at least it sprouted some interesting conversations!
On a side note, the picture above I found in my camera after perhaps the longest time ever [shows you how much I use my little one...] from Bumbershoot. I can't believe that my nails were that long! Anyway, I just thought it was really cool and, well, reflective so enjoy!

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Memoirian Highlights: Part One

I think I am going to do a monstro-post after I finish with my theater presentation outline - hold on a second.
Back! Alright, so I was debating all day whether I should post an omnibus post about the weekend or if I should split it up into specific days [I know, why do I think about these things that much? Probably because I'm a crazy person] and finally decided that I can suffer through writing a longer post as long as I split it into sections. So... here it goes!

*DISCLAIMER* After a conviction of the heart on Friday, I have decided to write personal narratives in a style I call "Memoirian" because it combines my metaphoric-physical perception of self with the true events [a.k.a. my fictitious life and my real one intersect - sweet!]

Vendredi
I woke with a stutter. My lips pursed together and I let out a long wheeze - like the slow death of an old car. I rolled over once, buried my nose into the red pillow before tossing off the sheets. I woke up too early, I thought, though, truly, my issue was going to bed too late. After a week of WASLing, I had grown accustomed to 9am wakeup calls and elaborate mango smoothie breakfasts.
As I stumbled into a simple dress and tanktop, pressing a comb haphazardly through frizzy hair, my stomach howled for morning food, which today meant a buttered English muffin. I groaned.
After riding into the back parking lot, circling hawk-like for an exclusive space near the tennis courts, I grudgingly put my hand on the parking brake and stepped into the school. Catcalls and curses in the hallway over waking up at this godforsaken hour passed by and, all of a sudden, it was 7:30am and we were herded into the cafeteria for a special project.
"Welcome to Group IV!" called Sheriff O'Byrne, once Principal Principal now morphed into a solidly built cowboy with a megaphone. Interlake's day of forensic crime scene investigation was about to be underway. As we huddled with friends, muttering about our misfortune, the Sheriff rounded us up and separated us into hesitant groups.
I found myself sitting at Table 3 of Group IV, waiting with a surly expression as other layabouts congealed around me. I was not pleased - though I suppose it beat going to English class. We were then given our case (armed robbery of the accountant) and were shuttled off to prescribed classrooms.
The remainder of the day was a blur of mindless activity; from H.Q. Thompson's, we fingerprinted suspects, used bullet trajectory to recreate the scene, and took an extended lunch break (at which we went to buy cupcakes for Ms. Dossett and other burned out children). Just like true lawmen, by the end of the day we were ready to crash and I took refuge in Madame's just in time to catch the conclusion of Moliere.
Though it wasn't a poor day, it was extremely dull. I was charged up to go to tennis practice (after mistakenly missing it the day before - eck) but then "LA PLUIE DES DIEUX!" came crashing down. Hail feathered our courts in a blanket of white quickly swept away by rain - I stood outside and laughed, pseudo-searching for the coach while truly just watching the macho baseball guys jump away in fright of the falling stones.
Needless to say, practice was canceled.
So, I went instead to chill at Kita's for about an hour and a half, talking as we do, and then gracefully left to my own home in preparedness for the evening. I was ecstatic to be going to see Vikram Chandra at My Avatar (the final leg of the Hugo House Literary Series this year) but, as in previous literary series, I was blown away by the entirety of the show.
We got into downtown Seattle and went to the Town Hall; once I got inside, the columns and church-like windows, the pews covered in teal upholstery, and the semi-circular amphitheatrical feel got my pen moving as people migrated to their seats. First came The Maldives, a pretty awesome folk band that was the source of jokes all throughout the night (from the director at Hugo House, commenting on numbers [8], their instruments [banjos and harmonicas], and their beards [5/8 of them had beards!]) As they calmed down the audience, the Hugo House director pranced up on stage and joyfully opened for the winner of the Youth New Works contest - a senior at Roosevelt who was more than a little nervous. As she read her work, I considered my own writing dream and the trials and failures that would come with it. Though the smear of jealousy painted my face for a second (ok, maybe a minute) it passed as I eased into her story and thought of how many great writers are coming into being.
The next thing I noticed: patterns. The winner of the New Works contest for adults, a bubbly woman with an acting frame of mind and stock-straight posture, was wearing a patterned dress that matched the jacquard (maybe?) print of the carpeting. The director at Hugo House was also wearing a patterned outfit - complete with stockings that looked more Urban Outfitters than Armani Exchange. I appreciated the color and life as each of the winners completed their stories (both about growing up, both wildly different in every way) and the Maldives were asked back to the stage to intro for the next amazing personality - Christa Bell.
I didn't know what I was getting into when I first came to the show. I really didn't. Maybe it's because, in the back of my mind, literary readings still connotate to coffee shops and dive bars where people snap instead of applaud and everyone is smoking. No! Christa Bell, a beautiful black feminist poet, taught us heartily about Sheism that night, taking her new scripture continuing on CoochieMagik and playing with the audience. She experimented with singing, vaginal hand gestures, and coochieomancy (the art of asking a question and then opening up a woman's legs to - surprise! - know the answer). I wish I could say I was that confidant on stage - but I honestly can't.
As she left the stage to applause and scattered standing ovations, in between wondering about what the older couple in front of me had thought (they hadn't responded at all throughout the entire thing) and trying to jot down mental notes about technique for my graduation speech, the Hugo House director announced that "she felt sorry for the guy who had to follow that!" And here, coming out on stage, was Vikram Chandra.
I had not seen him clean-shaven or with glasses before, nor had I envisioned him as a portly man. But he was all of these things, and he was still brilliant. I believe that some writers are also performers and others are less so - Vikram is of the latter category. But his prose sang, a draft worthy of my praise (and Da's hard-earned cash, as I bought another of his novels outside at intermission). I closed my eyes part of the way through to envision the glittering red trapeze artist falling to her death. That moment was when I felt my dream as a writer legitimized. It was inspirational.
Vikram segued into the intermission, retreated into the audience with a kind smile, and I began to jot down more notes. That was when I decided to work in Memoirian style - I didn't have to be literal all the time. Memoirs could be flashy and fun and whatever I wanted (plus, I much consider this style more like reality; we combine countless portions of fiction into our daily lives anyway). I briefly looked up from the page I was scribbling, which consisted of the conversation of two women behind me talking about language barriers and general oddballities, and there were The Maldives, gracing the stage with their gangly limbs. They introduced Cheap Wine and Poetry (which I might go to this week!) and then sashayed into playing two more songs before the final reader stepped out on stage: Jennifer Finney Boylan.
A transgendered man who became a woman, Jennifer from James, read a portion of memoir about her life in two worlds. She had apparently known Vikram Chandra at Johns Hopkins in grad school and read about him in her story (and made me smile at the strange synergy between my bringing a Hopkins bag with me from the shoe cage and their stories) as well as a porcupine in an engine and a convention of ventriloquists. She also played electric harp and the piano, sang a song that she hadn't ever performed for an audience, and generally lit up the stage with wonder. I was just so in awe of all the guests that night, I came home exclaiming that things were awesome and ready to start writing for miles and miles of paper.
Unfortunately, I fell asleep.

Ok, ok, I know... I was going to make this a monstro-post, but that didn't seem to work out once I got in the groove of Memoirian language. So, there. I have officially changed the name of this post to Part One and will hence commence with Part Two - Samedi [a.k.a. Saturday in French, in case you didn't realize that Vendredi meant Friday in French and that this was the logical next step of a Part Two post]. See you there!

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Writeen

I remember Heathy and I trying to make a website one time... before www.thecowation.com became my personal project and after the JDishia site became a total failure [not entirely because my computer crashed and I lost all its data]. We were avid writers back then, and we tried to create a website for "teens" (though we were pre-teens at the time - aspirational children!) that was about writing and life.
It was a total failure.
It wasn't a terrible plan, it was just like... we didn't know what we were doing. And we didn't know why we were doing it. And so now, when I think about it, I think about what sorts of plans I've had that may have flopped in the past and why. Just in general. Why didn't I ever successfully stow away in the back of Heathy's truck? Why did our relationship peter out after the first NYC trip with Molly? Why couldn't Chels and I actually take over the world?
Some of these things, I realize, were totally unfeasible from the start. But others are more... simple. Understandable. Doable even today, I believe.
So maybe it's time to look back on the past and see whether what I've done and not been able to do has always been contingent with my belief system or my determination or if it was just plain lazy impracticality.
These days, I know that I doggedly pursue things (for the better, I believe) but sometimes that gets overwhelming too. After Speak, I think, I'm going to take a vacation from people and things and realities that I don't like. Take a little island adventure back to JDishia and figure out whether my main character in WWIII is actually a function of Chels and I plotting to take over the world in 4th grade. Who knows? My writer side might even try to resurrect that failed idea of making writing interesting for teens and start something completely new with it.
It's all a matter of time.

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