kerfuffle

kerfuffle: a commotion or fuss.

o.m.g. so, today I got a call from my brother-in-law asking if he could "end T's life." Apparently he saw him and "some skanky chick" at Big Judd's in Boise. He almost took a swing at him. There was almost a fight. Ridiculous. T then sent me a slew of texts boasting that he would have won. effing boys.

I'm at a loss as to how to handle this T situation. My whole family and all my friends say to write him off. And I know this, and I've tried this. It hasn't worked. I feel dispensable to him. Disrespected even. This may well be unintentional, but I'm exhausted. Never before have I written not one, but three Dear John letters. Never before has someone seemed so sketchy to me. T's like quick sand, the more effort I make to get out, the more stuck I become. I adore his good qualities, but I think it's time to give up the fight...and maybe let others take a swing instead.

As my brother-in-law said, "it's hard as hell to realize that the person you once respected is shitty." (awww I love my brother-in-law). and as another of my friends said, "never allow someone to be your priority while allowing yourself to be their option."

on a related note, I had a date recently and things seemed very...familiar. I asked where he wanted to go eat, he said Applebees, then he ordered a hamburger. I waited for him to pick me up, and he showed up in a lifted jeep Cherokee. He listens to metal/screamo and plays a shit ton of video games too. holy cow, I'm seeing a pattern.

update: second date wasn't too bad. but man do I need to try and break this pattern. I think next I should date a hokey player...no, or a man with a goatee who owns a motor cycle...or maybe the trick is to just get someone college-educated. I dunno. I have to remind myself constantly that I'm still super young and need to take the next four years for myself anyhow. to think by the age of 26 I will be a Lieutenant+ in the Air Force and have my master's degree. holly cow. I like where I'm headed.

plenary

plenary: complete in every respect; absolute; unqualified, fully attended or constituted by all entitled to be present (as in a session during an academic conference)

oh academia. How bizarre you are.

Gathered in a stale hotel-conference room with distractingly-busy carpet, sit two-few water glasses atop a panel-table focused in front of twenty odd scholars, professors, and students. Bored. They look bored. The people, not the glasses. I ask the panel moderator for another water glass, and he forgot. So, I looked over my notes and fiddle with my earring. Nervous. Mild, but still nervous. Quietly, the audience listens while Xander presents his paper on narrative criticism in the video game Final Fantasy. Then it's my turn. I take in a gulp of air and begin. Why anyone wants to hear me ramble on about depictions of gender in country-western music and how the soldier is used as a terministic screen in understanding/naturalizing hegemonic masculinity is beyond me. But surprisingly, they clap and ask questions. I'm glad Xander was there to further bolster our discussion. We read and edited each others' papers.

So what exactly am I talking about? Well, my friends, in early April I attended the Northwest Communication Association's Annual Conference in coeur d'alene, Id. My rhetorical crit paper was accepted earlier this year and I traveled with a few other LC students and our professor Belinda Stillion-Sutherland to present my paper. We had an awesome mini-van, comfy hotel beds, and plenty of good food (surprisingly northern Idaho has delicious Greek cuisine and egg burgers @ Hudson's Hamburgers). I thanked my professor before, but I simply want to express once more my gratitude for her encouragement. I wish LC had more professor such as her. As bizarre as academia is, attending this conference was a growing experience that I am glad to have under my belt.

pictures from our drive:

tri cities

the lake

dust storm

zenith

zenith: The highest point reached by a celestial or other object; culminating point; summit

why does the last stretch before reaching any zenith seem the most daunting? why does this small climb of my journey seem the most difficult to traverse?

I'm about to finish my undergraduate degree and life seems to be crumbling back toward me, like dirt and rubble rumbling down a steep mountain peak. As my elbow shields my face from the shower of grime, I take one deep and rooted step at a time, remembering all the small steps I have taken to get this far.

But good news keeps me fueled. I received in the mail not one, but four letters of acceptance to graduate programs in Library and Information Science. The first took me by surprise, seeing as I completed the application process earlier this year and...well, let thoughts of the future slip from my mind. I have since decided to accept enrollment at the University of Washington. Their i-school is the fourth best MLIS program in the nation. and I was accepted. no big deal. I will begin taking classes in the online cohort starting late http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifSeptember. An online forum with faculty, staff, and current students helped to solidify my decision. I'm excited for the transition to online learning (good excuse to teach myself HTML this summer). I will be moving to Boise in June and then will await news of OTS. I recently connected with an i-school student who is enlisted (and deployed) with the US Marines and she says that, although tough, being in the military and getting you grad degree simultaneously is doable.


ischool
now just to climb that last little bit of this mountain and begin my descent.

p.s. I think I've already blogged about this (twice). Sorry for the repetition. I usually repeat things when I excited.

Les bois!

les bois: French for the forest, Boise, ID nickname in "the city of trees"

I spent spring break in Boise. It was...strange. The family stuff was normal and a healthy break from my thesis and the dreary Portland rain. We played Playstation Move. My obliques are sore. I'm hooked. I ate dinner at the Olive Garden with my sister Jess. Bread sticks and talking about ozzy osborne make a surprisingly entertaining combination.

But the other stuff was oddd.

I had a date with Gill (my tattoo artist). such a clown, that man is. We ate falafel (for Gill this was exotic. te he.) and we agreed that I will, from now onward, keep my eye out for a morbidly obese cat or a dog that's missing a leg (apparently Gill has a preference for the right front paw to be missing, oddly I don't find this preference weird at all, totally understandable).

Then there was my near-impossible search for an album that I was going to give to Nick (an old Mission of Burma compilation). Sadly, this search ended in me having a semi-frustrated conversation with the sales guy at the Record Exchange and then angrily going to eat a sandwich at the co-op.

Okay so that's all mild.

The real strangeness began later in the week. My stomach started to hurt nearly 24 hours before I was supposed to meet up with T. Probably not a good sign. Things just come unhinged around him. We did the normal stuff, got something to eat, became confused over his indecision, and then made out...three times (note that I pointedly asked if he was seeing anyone at the moment making extra careful sure, but there's still something I can't quite put my finger on about him). It took so long to feel okay and now it's like I am trying to rewind a movie that I only sort of liked in the first place...maybe. I don't know how I feel. I wish T would be decisive once in his life and just straight up tell me what to do. tough luck with that though.

Despite T, this trip has made me realize that I'd like to spend the next couple of years in Boise. There's something unusual about Idaho that I enjoy. so begins the battle to find housing :P

update: found housing, a roommate, and a job. go me!

let's just say...

I am a snapdragon according to this quiz.

Snapdragons have always been my favorite flower. It used to be my duty to dead-head them while working in my step-grandparent's garden. I'd be sent off, armed with a pair of scissors and gardening gloves that hung from my finger tips, extra fabric dangling and dirty, too big-for my small hands. I'd tromp around the garden looking for their long leafy stems. Once found, I'd pinch off the buds and make it look like the heads was eating something far off in the distance; snapping up a bee, or the bright sun. Overheated, I'd kapult back onto the thick grass and inhale the pungent aroma of ripe tomatoes and count the bird seeds as the fell from a nylon stocking hung in the cool, dark shade of the sycamore tree. My work was always rewarded with a sandwich, which I nommmmed down, pretending that I too was a snapping-dragon. nom, nom, nom.

there are days, no matter how far away my childhood may seem, that I miss San Diego with all my being.