Where does the good go?

During my outdoor jog this afternoon, I noticed that dandelions had emerged pretty much everywhere.

In Fifth grade, we had to write a report and draw a picture of a flower of our choosing to celebrate Spring and decorate the hallway. We all wrote down the flower that we wanted to write about, and after the teacher collected them, he called me over to his desk. He chuckled and said, “Laura, why on earth did you pick a dandelion? That’s not even a flower! It’s a pest. I just spent $60 to get rid of them from my lawn.”

I defended the dandelion-as-flower position and he caved. I went on to write what I now deem to be my first piece of social constructionist writing. While the other children wrote about how “pretty” and “good-smelling” roses and tulips and daisies are, I deconstructed the competing discourses of dandelion as flower vs. dandelion as weed and pointed out that even though people spend money on chemicals to kill it, the dandelion remains a most unruly and persistent presence. I also like dandelions because they really are the flowers of childhood. No adult ever got mad at you for picking a bunch of dandelions, popping off their heads, smushing them on the pavement to make gold streaks, or blowing the seeds into the wind after they turn white and fluffy.

To this day, dandelions are still my flowers of choice. When I see them, I get that feeling of pleasure that comes from having inside knowledge or defending the less popular position. It’s the part of me that empathizes with being dismissed and unappreciated, the part that makes me root for the underdog and take in the 3-legged cat.

And personally, I suppose, I relate to the concept of feeling like both flower and weed at the same time. I want to be a good person; sometimes, I fear that I am not. I don’t know exactly what it takes to be more good or more bad, in life, in the way you treat people. I know that there have been times when I have been a real asshole. There have been too many times when I have only thought of myself. And I always feel bad about those times. Friends say that I am too hard on myself and that I’m not a bad person at all, especially since I think about it so much. But I still wonder if caring and trying and intentions and guilty consciences are enough to be a good person. Or, if like the dandelion, I will never be wholly good or bad, but instead defined either as an unwanted flower or a pretty weed.

The Post-It Revolution

Sometimes I get quirky ideas in my head. Sometimes I say that I am going to make outlandish changes to my life. For example, I said that I was going to wear at least one item of black clothing every day of my senior year of college. But I did not. I vowed to give up sugar for one month, and I didn’t last a day. I have even flirted with the idea of only referring to myself in the 3rd person for 24 hours.

And recently, I brought up the idea of doing relational communication solely via post it notes. I thought it was a funny idea especially after I gave a guy my number on a post-it note while he was sleeping. That whole episode of lameness coupled with watching the classic SATC episode in which Berger breaks up with Carrie on a post-it (“I’m sorry. I can’t – Don’t hate me”) made me realize that post-its are really an effective and hilarious means of communication. So I thought I was onto something and told everyone about it. Then, last weekend, I actually had a guy follow through with my post-it policy and left me a post-it note on my apartment door. I’ve gotta say I do fully appreciate the humor and awesomeness of that gesture. So, that is two consecutive weekends, two different guys, and two relational usages of the post-it. The plan is (somehow)working!

But now, my world has just been ROCKED by coolness. Check this out: you can actually get post-its for your desk top! Ahhhhhhhhh!!! There have been so many times during an AIM conversation or while searching for academic articles that I have just needed to jot down a name or some little piece of information. Sometimes, I open a Microsoft word file, but I’ve always thought, “I wish I had an electronic post-it for this information!” And now I do!

I am living in a world of post-it bounty. This is the best thing ever!

If you want to join my world of sticky tiny paper communication – both real and virtual, here’s the link:

http://www.vnunet.com/computeractive/downloads/2140183/post-software-notes

My Visual DNA

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The Caretaker

I received a package in the mail from my mother today. Ever since I left her nurturing and clean nest for college, she has sent these care packages. I think she saw a segment on the Today show about how to be a good mother when your child goes away to college and since then, I have gotten cardboard boxes full of goodies in the mail. At first, she put a lot of thought into these: thoughtful, supportive notes, homebaked sweets, my favorite gossip magazines, a 20 dollar bill. But that was five years ago. She still sends the boxes, but its contents are now a little less involved.For instance, my care package today consisted of 5 boxes of cereal and a toothbrush.

I don’t know why that cracks me up so much, but I think it is hilarious. I know exactly what happened. My mom found a 5 for $10 special on cereal – and thought of me. But the toothbrush? Totally random.

Although I must say, I am extremely OCD about brushing my teeth. I brush frequently and really wear out the brushes, so I can always use new ones.

Speaking of me being neurotic, I have recently noticed that I have been becoming extremely emotionally unsettled by the mere sight of certain strangers. I am certainly not psychic, at least not about important things. About once a month, I will have a déjà vu experience based on a dream, but it is always centered around mundane things, like I will have dreamed of what someone says in class two nights before. And my gut feelings never really amount to anything. Oprah has guests on her show that say that they had a really bad feeling about getting on a plane, so they didn’t and the plane ultimately crashed. I have had similar bad feelings and premonitions about flying, but I flew anyway and it didn’t crash. So I don’t really trust these feelings. I just think that I have a heightened emotional reaction to people and vibes more often than most people do.

For example, there is this small boy who is probably about 4 years old who lives in my apartment complex. Since the weather has become warmer in recent weeks, I often see him riding his bike around my parking lot and by the laundry room. Now, I have no idea why, but this child freaks the hell out of me. Honestly, he is spooky. The strangest thing is that he is not a weird looking kid. Frankly, he seems adorable. But there is something unsettling, something eerie and deathlike about him riding his bike. The bike is too small. He is too small. I feel like he should not be there riding his bike in circles like that. I saw him fall on the bike one time when I was taking out the garbage, and I didn’t know what to do. While I was feeling like he was going to die, he picked himself up and went back to riding. I do not think that this is the symptom of some overly maternalistic, nurturing aspect of my personality. He really just freaks me out. He is basically death incarnate as far as I’m concerned.

Maybe I should face my fears and talk to him someday. Maybe compliment him on his bike. I love that I spend my time getting freaked out by and trying to build up the courage to talk to a 4 year old. All of which leads me to the sad truth that even though I really want to adopt a Thai baby, I would not make a good mother. I mean, I would never even think to FedEx 104 ounces of cereal and a toothbrush.

Beauty and the Geek

In the interest of being more adventurous and seeking new experiences, my fabulous single friend, “Lily,” and I decided to try grad student speed dating.

As dating anthropologists, we arrived a few minutes early in order to check out the type of people who attend this type of event. And it seemed to be women. Clusters of women, women in groups of 3, women en masse.

As we checked out our “competition,” Lily pointed out that we were, by far, the most attractive people there. By far.

I agreed, but could not shake the awkward Junior High feeling of forced mixed-gender contact. So, like any good 13 year olds, we pumped each other up, laughed it off, and reasserted our greatness despite this strange situation. We also had to think of a way to frame this episode to acquaintances that we would see later in the evening. Not willing to admit that we had sunk to speed dating, we decided to instead say that we were volunteering.

Volunteering for needy men, to be precise.

After composing ourselves, we signed in and got our name tags and numbers. By this time, more men had arrived. There was very little mingling. Women chatted in chairs lining the walls while the men were in groups around the couch. Apparently, gender segregation is still comforting even a decade out of early adolescence.

It was just as they opened the first bottles of wine that token Creepy Guy approaches Lily and me. He was at speed dating last time and came back for more- even though he had no matches last time. He blamed it on his strategy, not the fact that he was rockin the weird vibe.

The director of speed dating gave his introductory speech which I will try to recreate to the best of my ability: “Welcome to speed dating. Drink wine. Have fun. And drink wine. If you like someone write their number down on your card, and if they also put your number down, we will contact each of you with the other’s email. Be selective. Don’t write down every number, only people you would actually want to date. We aren’t here to give you an email list of everyone in attendance. And there is only one rule. Do not give out your last name. This is to prevent stalking. It’s a problem in speed dating. They find out your last name and they will track you down. But have fun! And since you only have two minutes, let me give you some pointers about what are good and bad questions to ask. Don’t ask how many brothers and sisters they have. You can find that out later. Instead, ask things that might be important to your future relationship. Like, you could ask: Do you like movies? Because I could not imagine being with someone who does not like movies! Or, if you need to be with someone rich, maybe you could ask, what kind of car do you drive?”

With that Dating for Dummies tutorial and our wine-filled paper cups in hand, Lily and I found a table together and we were ready to do some rapid rejections. We figured that we were going to dominate the evening. Not only were we humbly and objectively the best looking gals there, we have great personalities. Even one of the girls called out from her table, “You guys look cute!” Keep in mind that we did spot a girl wearing white high tops and an ankle length skirt that even your grandma would be accused of being a prude for wearing.

Once the actual speed dating commenced, I quickly realized that it was basically like talking to guys in bars….except with guys who have never actually stepped foot in a bar. Clearly, these guys who would be more adept at speed reading than speed dating.

Two minutes does not seem like a long time. But it adds up. And 2 minutes X 35 geeky guys = 70 minutes of feigning interest, fake smiling, and answering the same basic questions repeatedly. At one point, I actually said that I thought that “math is magical and mysterious.” Yes, that is how desperate it was. One guy said that he used to eat dog meat, another found it impressive to bring up the fact that he likes spends his days in front of the computer looking for repeating sentences, and, yes, one person did ask if I liked movies.

After an hour, my face hurt and I was exhausted. And neither of us had written a single number down on our card. By the end of the night, I wrote down three attractive-ish guys and Lily put down 5 (she curved for personality).

We left the event feeling like it was a hilarious flop. Speed dating would be great if there was some way to ensure that everyone in the pool was dateable. Otherwise, it was just a waste of time. So, we proceeded with our evening, thinking that we really had been the most attractive options for the guys, and we were awesome for trying something like that, and basically, we were the most amazing girls ever.

Then, we got the email with our matches the next day. And the two guys who we had collectively agreed were the most attractive ones – and by attractive, I mean in comparison to Ugly and Cousin Fugly – had not picked us!

Outrage! We had all the confidence in the world. We were funny and charming and adorable. We lowered ourselves to go speed dating, and in the end, we got speed dating screwed.

So, in the end, life has an ironic way of giving you the old cream pie in the face. Not only is it an excellent plot device in situation comedy, but in reality, it seems as though whenever someone makes a definitive statement, they will get slammed with the cream pie. It’s kind of like someone telling you, “I know that I can control myself around you” and then three days later, they can’t. (ooooh, creamed!). Or when you tell yourselves, “We are the hottest things here” and you are….but you still don’t get picked (ooooh, pie in the face).

Life, you are one funny little bitch.

More Adventurous

Do we learn from our mistakes? Or do we repeat the same ones over and over, sometimes recognizing it, but sometimes oblivious because they are not mistakes so much as personality flaws.My mother says that when you make a mistake, you will take what you learn and apply it to the next situation which will inevitably be a better situation because of your past growth. In this sequential, incremental way of thinking, we are always improving, always getting closer, and every bad experience moves you forward to a better place.

But I do not think it is that simple to break patterns. I do not think that you can learn your way to a better place in a measured, forward moving way all the time. Instead, you spin your wheels, make a mess, backslide, and realize that you can trade people and change situations, but they will never be right if the fundamental mistakes you are making are because of a Wrong You.

It seems to me that every time, I am in the wrong situation or with the wrong person, it is because I have made poor choices. Different poor choices for the same underlying reasons.

Sometimes, we think that we have learned our lesson because we avoid situations that look the same as past ones where we got burned. But that is only surface level. The real deal is being able to have a lesson that is so powerful and meaningful that it rids you of the negative patterns and poor life choices that come from within.

In the meantime – the frustrating meantime between where you are and where you want to be. What do you do while you are waiting to learn that big lesson or for the little lessons to accumulate to make that big inner change?

Part of me wants to play safer, build the armor of self-protection, create a safety net, and make my mistakes humble and manageable.

But the other part wants to be more daring, build my courage, leap into the unknown, and make my mistakes big and unavoidable.

“And it’s only doubts that we’re counting
On fingers broken long ago
I read with every broken heart
We should become more adventurous”

And I have an IQ of 165

Have you ever been eating a piece of fruit – oh, say- an apple, and not realized that you had eaten the little fruit sticker until it was too late?

It’s little things like this that make me wonder how I, someone who is not only so mentally gifted, but also fairly adept and well-practiced at the eating process, can just accidentally eat a sticker.

Genius.

Speaking of genius IQs, apparently the mean IQ for people receiving their PhDs and MDs is only 125.

And here is a website that lists estimates of the IQs of famous geniuses from the 15th to 19th Century:
http://www.assessmentpsychology.com/301geniuses.htm

You will see that my IQ easily beats Abraham Lincoln and Napoleon Bonaparte. However, Isaac Newton clearly kicks my ass. Apparently, Newton used apples to discover gravity, whereas I use apples to eat paper off of them.

I suppose we are all mental giants in our own way.

The Summer of Laura

Sadly, Spring Break is over. I really enjoyed having the week to catch up on life and work stuff. It was also nice to leave B-town for awhile and check out Louisville for St. Patty’s Day. Good times!

Six more weeks of classes and then it is summer! I cannot wait for the warm weather and a less hectic schedule. I have also decided that this will, in fact, be the Summer of Laura.

And to make sure that happens, I have created a list of Rules and Goals for Summer.

1. I am going to run at least 4 times/week.

2. I will read 30 books between May and September – some sociology, but also some literature. I have not read a novel in almost a year and I really miss Tanksley’s classes at Fordham because he forced us to read a really great, classic book every week by the greats – Tolstoy, Pynchon, Hemingway, Flaubert, Woolf, Steinbeck, and so on. I need to read beautiful words after two semesters of dry soc articles.

3. I must go to the beach. The last time I saw the ocean was on my 21st birthday which, horror of horrors, was nearly two years ago.

4. I am going to become more discerning about the type of alcohol I drink and only imbibe in the tastiest of drinks. So, you will be sure to find me sipping only martinis and mojitos by the pool this summer.

5. One full day a week will be dedicated to working on my masters.

6. I want to go to art museums in Chicago.

7. I will go to church/spiritual gatherings.

8. I will be approximately 20% less judgmental.

9. While I truly believe that there is a handsome, highly educated, professional, nurturing and hilarious 28 year old man in Bloomington who will fall madly in love with me, I will be open-minded to other possibilities.

10. Speaking of men, I have decided that I will institute a new Post-It Policy for my dealings with them. Essentially, I am not going to get involved in anything that is so serious or so complicated that I could not explain the entire situation on a Post-It note. Simple and straightforward until September.

11. I am going to learn how to make delicious summer soup. And start watching cooking shows. I will not learn how to clean.

12. I am going to host elaborate picnics in parks for my friends.

To settle or not to settle?

It’s not even a question.

We all know that when it comes to affairs of the heart, do not settle.

So why do we keep reminding each other not to settle? Will we one day just slip up and – oops, who is this one-eyed, greasy, animal-torturer that is my boyfriend? How did that happen?
Oh, I settled.

I love the way people talk about settling. It’s always accompanied with an admonishing tone, a look of exaggerated concern, and usually a high whisper/mouthing when the word “settle” actually comes up. “Yeah, it’s frustrating, but whatever you do, don’t settle“

Are there really that many fabulous people paired with bona fide losers?

There are two types of settling: the type that comes when you are with someone just to be in a relationship. You are compromising the ideal love feelings that you think you should have and pretending that there is more emotional involvement when there is not.

Then, there is the type where you are going out with someone who is of lesser quality than you.

When girls tell me not to settle, they are referring to a Type I relational error – inadequate emotional fire. But when guys tell me not to settle, they definitely seem to be referring to the Type II relational error – dating a loser. And that makes me wonder if your girl friends will support you if you go out with a loser so long as you have butterflies — and if guys know enough about their fellow males to know the full extent of the losers that are out there.

I am constitutionally incapable of a Type I error. If the zsa zsa zsu is not there, I can’t be there either.

As for Type II, I always think of Coco Chanel (or some woman of that caliber) who said, “All women marry beneath themselves. They marry men.”

And so we walk the line: the line between hope and desperation, the line between singledom and settling, the line between the guys who look good on paper and the butterflies with the less-than-perfect guy.

But I think the real reason that people are so adamant about giving the No Settling Sermon is because we know that, as your friends, we can safely tell you to have high standards when you are single in the hopes that you will choose wisely. Because once you start dating someone, we can’t tell you that you settled for a big old loser.

We’ll just tell everyone else about it behind your back.

Badunkadunk

This has been the first week of Biscotti’s Super Spring Shape Up. I am going to tighten, tone, de-flab and be fab by June. My total miles ran have been going up, my carb intake has been going down. Morale is high, laziness is low. My refrigerator is stocked with chicken breasts, egg whites, fruits and veggies.

And I also have found in Jessica Biel what the pro-anorexia websites like to call “Thinspiration” but instead of an anorexic role model, I have chosen someone who has a smokin’ bod with a phenomenal ass. As someone who has done her fair share of butt sculpting exercises in her lifetime, I can honestly say that Jessica Biel must do 1000 squats a day. It is either the deluded self-confidence that I have or the deluded optimism that everyone gets when starting a new regime to make their bodies look fierce, but I have decided that I am going to attain the Jessica Biel look.

Or something within that realm of booty-fabulous.