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Politics Suck.

I hate politics.

I don’t say that because it confuses me or because it’s too hard to keep up with. (Although, not gonna lie, I do have issues with both of those things.)

The real issue is that I full-heartedly believe that politicians are complete scumbags.  They say whatever the hell they believe is going to get them elected and then proceed to do entirely different things based not on what they believe needs to be done, but on what they think they need to do to stay in office.

Debates and campaign promises are all fine and  dandy until you realize that there’s no guarantee that the candidates will uphold those commitments once they’re instated.  So I go from listening to them and trying to decide who’s got the best goals and beliefs to psychoanalyzing them and trying to figure out who’s the most likely to actually do what they’ve promised.  I go very quickly from supporting someone who seems to want what I want to supporting the guy who’s saying unpopular things that no one wants to hear, because his motivations are probably (hopefully) purer.

It’s just such bullshit.

My biggest issue is that I don’t even know how to rectify the situation.  It’s so ingrained in politics that I can’t imagine politics without it.  There are a lot of changes I’d like to make to the system to make it less corrupt, but I don’t really think any of  those things would really fully fix the problem.  Not that anyone would make the changes I’d like to see.

I would love campaigns to be extremely limited.  Basically, each candidate would get a chart to fill out with how they feel about each issue and how they think it should be handled.  Then they have an extra space at the bottom for any extra platforms.  That’s it.  No commercials, no billboards that make you want to vote for someone because his eyes are twinkly or her smile’s extra white.  Charisma isn’t the winner here – heart-felt belief is.

I mean, of course that doesn’t guarantee they’ll actually go through with what they put down.  My issue is that people get sucked in by likable personalities.  This also means that whoever has the resources is more likely to get voted for because people feel more comfortable voting for you when they’re more familiar with you.

I would keep debates.  Debates are vital.  I just wish people would say what they mean.

Another thing I would do away with is reelection.  That way, when a President was in office he wouldn’t be so concerned with staying popular so he could get reelected.  I was talking about Obama’s stance (or lack thereof) on gay rights with Jack and Jack said that he thought Obama would work towards legalizing gay marriage when (and if…but probably just when) he gets reelected because he’s worried that if he pushes it people won’t vote for him.

I have such a serious issue with that.  Mainly, what’s more important here: you getting to be president for four more years or the rights of thousands and thousands of people?  Ego check, it’s the latter.  Because what if he doesn’t get reelected?  Not one single one of the Republican candidates would support gay marriage, so that’s another 4 years at the very least before the issue is even considered in a favorable light again.  Not only that, but you are supposed to bettering the country, not stalling four years before actually doing something.

I’m also mad at Obama because one of his campaign promises was to close Guantanamo Bay.  Guess what’s still not closed?

However mad I am at Obama, however, I still think he’s better than any of the Republican candidates.

Sadly, that wasn’t even close to a full summary of my issues with politics.

In sum, politics can suck it.

The end.

Excuse my Profanity, But…

My bus was supposed to be here an hour ago.  Guess what’s still not here?

So, I”m sitting in the cold in, excuse me, FUCKING VERMONT, waiting for something that is evidently not coming.  The next bus is at 12:20 tomorrow.  As in, seven hours from now.

I’m not even old enough to get a fucking hotel room so I can go to sleep in a place where I’m not afraid that the lady who won’t leave me alone is going to rob me or rape me or something.  Because some idiot decided that while an 18 year old can buy a house, get married, go to war, etc., etc., an 18 year old cannot get a fucking hotel room.  Or drink, but that’s beside the point.

For the record, I’m not even 18 – I’m 19, so only 2 years off from being able to get a bed to sleep on when stranded in a state I’ve never been to.

I can’t call customer service until 8 am – not even 7, because they’re in the central time zone so their 7 is my 8.  I don’t even know for sure they’ll let me take a different bus since I bought a ticket for a specific one.

So, basically, fuck greyhound.

Why Be a Swan When You Could Be a Duck?

So, this post wasn’t going to be about serious things.  I just wanted to post some pictures, and decided to put up these two bird pictures I took on a walk with my friend two years ago.

I’ve always loved this picture of the duck.  He’s so pretty.  And the swan looks pretty majestic here, too.

But while the swan looks dignified, it also looks dirty.

That’s one thing that’s always struck me about the fixation with swans.  Swans are seen as these wonderfully graceful, lovely beings.  I mean, look at The Swan Princess, Swan Lake, the Black Swan, etc, etc.  But they’re kind of nasty, in reality.

Whereas ducks are never seen as being anything special, but look at this one.  Look how pretty he is!  I love the bright green of his head and neck.  I feel like everyone is so fascinated by swans, which, let’s face it, are pretty much albino geese that make less noise (and everyone hates geese), while the real beauty is usually overlooked.

I think part of that might just be that you see ducks more than you see swans.  But I don’t think you should take that for granted and see something as more beautiful because it’s more rare.

It’s like rare gems.  The rarer it is, the more valuable…but that doesn’t mean it’s prettier.  People always assume there’s a correlation there and there simply isn’t.

Intrusions

This month was clearly going way too well to me, because as I was traipsing around on cloud nine with the prospects of the State Fair, the Arctic Monkeys concert, my trip to Montreal, etc., something (read: someone) had to bring this happy delusion crashing down to Earth.

That someone is named Denise.

Okay, I realize that opening was melodramatic, but that does not change the fact that I am not pleased.  I’m not going to let this tarnish October’s awesomeness, but I am going to bitch about it to make myself feel better.

So, I think I’ve mentioned that I have a single room.  I didn’t try for a single room or anything, I just got seriously lucky and ended up with a single corner room (as far as I can tell the biggest room available on campus).  I have two suitemates, whom I adore, and it’s really nice just having three of us to a bathroom.

Today, I was walking home from the gym and my neighbor Ty, who was reading in the study lounge by our rooms, stopped me and told me that this girl Denise was having issues with her roommate and wanted to live with me.

Obviously, I’m not thrilled with the idea of sacrificing half my room, but I’m not completely opposed to the idea of having a roommate so I agree to talk to her.  He says he’ll text her and tell her she can come by later tonight.

I go into my room (with Jack, by the way), and my suitemate Laurie busts in and yells “WE HAVE A PROBLEM!” sounding very upset.  She proceeds to tell me that a girl she really dislikes, named Denise, is trying to move in with me and we can’t let this happen.  Considering Laurie is one of the sweetest, most innocent girls you will ever meet, I did not take this lightly.

Laurie continues, telling me that Denise is on CoGo (community government) with Laurie’s twin sister Tara and is apparently completely insufferable.  She’s very stubborn and strict on rules.

Immediately, I realize that not only is this a problem because of her personality, but if she’s as bad as Tara has told Laurie, there’s slim to no chance that she’d be okay with Mumble, my (totally illegal) hamster, meaning I’d have to move him in to Jack’s apartment.

So, I go to Ty, still in the lounge, and ask if he’s texted her yet.  He tells me no, so I inform him that she can’t room with me because she’s on CoGo and I have Mumble, so he shouldn’t bring her over.  He said he’d tell her that my suitemates didn’t want a fourth person there.

Thinking it was handled, imagine my surprise when around ten o’clock I heard a knock on my door and opened it to see a remorseful looking Ty alongside who I presumed (correctly) to be Denise.  Surprised, I glared at Ty, and Denise started to explain the situation, telling me that her roommate was a complete slob and that she absolutely could not live with her anymore.  She said that she was checking out her options to see if she might want to live with me.

Highly uncomfortable and reluctant, and yet not wanting to be a bitch, I told her that I really liked having a single room and didn’t really want a roommate, nothing personal.  However, she plowed on, standing there until I decided the best strategy was to invite her into my conveniently messy room.  I told them to hold on a second, darted inside to make sure Jack was hiding Mumble, and let them in.

She looked around and I straight up told her “as you can see, I’m pretty messy too.”  And she insists that she can deal with untidiness, just not things being actually dirty and gross.  Her roommate allegedly dropped a full coffee mug, spilling it and breaking it, and left it there for three days.  My issue here is: are you really that stubborn that you can leave something that bad for THREE DAYS because you’re not the one responsible for cleaning it up?  She shouldn’t have had to clean it, but if that had happened to me I wouldn’t have been able to stand leaving it there!

Denise tells me that there’s only one other girl in the community with a single room and she can’t leave the community since she’s on CoGo.  I have since discovered the former assertion to be a lie, which pisses me off even more.  Anyway, so the other girl with the single is a senior who really doesn’t want a roommate either who lives in the other dorm (there are two in this community).

Denise also explains to me that, since she and her roommate can’t agree on who gets to stay in the room, they both have to move out, meaning this senior and I are getting them as roommates, like it or not.  I asked her what would happen to their room, and she informed me that it would be vacant. VACANT.

So, deciding this girl is a bitch (which she really was being, even if I’m not conveying that well here.  She acted very entitled to my room, basically told me it sucks for me if I wanted to keep my room to myself, and, to make matters worse, she didn’t even bother to introduce herself to me when she came to inform me that she might be moving in. Rude.), I decided to be more upfront with her.  However, my “more upfront” is still rather tactful, as I really don’t have it in me to be completely mean unless the other person is just being completely offensive and it’s uncalled for.  Usually still not then.

I asked her why she and her roommate didn’t flip a coin or play rock, paper, scissors to keep the room, as there’s no sense in them both moving out, leaving a vacant room and inconveniencing two other people when it really only needs to be one.  Especially since it’s the two of them with the problem, not me or the other girl with the single room.

She looked at me like I was crazy, probably because stubbornness hates hearing sense (I will admit that I know this from experience), and says that her roommate wouldn’t consent to do that.  So I tell her, “you’re going to have to move out of your room either way, then, right?  Either you both move out, or you just give in and let her have the room.  You don’t get to stay regardless, and what do you accomplish by leaving that room empty and making your roommate move out as well?  I had roommate issues last year.  It got to the point where I didn’t like going back to my room, and this year, even though my suite was supposed to all stay together, I left.  I didn’t like doing it – my suitemates were two of my best friends last year, and I hated leaving them, but I cut my losses and did what I had to do.  Sometimes you just have to do it.”

Again she looks at me like I’m crazy.  Like letting anyone win any little victory over you, even if it really doesn’t affect you, as in her case where she’s moving out either way (unless her roommate agrees to flip for it), is completely dishonorable or something.

So, basically, it’s already obvious we’re not going to get along and she’s still insisting that either she or her roommate WILL be moving in with me within the next week or two.  I’m setting up a meeting with my suitemates and the person in charge of all this, because it’s not just me.  I won’t have to deal with this girl next semester – I’ll be in the UK.  My suitemates, however, will.  And Denise has already been inexplicably rude to Laurie, and Laurie really does not want her here.

Our theory is that she’s lying about having to come here because she knows she’ll have this huge room to herself next semester.  She told Ty when they left that she liked me better than the other girl.  Which doesn’t make sense, because I really wasn’t nice to her.   I mean, on purpose.  She’d stop talking and so I would turn around and start watching TV to make her feel uncomfortable.   Evidently it didn’t work.  Either that or the other girl is better at being a bitch than I am.

P.S.

So, on my way out of the dining hall, I walked by the waffle station just to make sure the lady wasn’t lying about the syrup – and ‘lo and behold! There was a FULL THING OF SYRUP.  So upset.

 

And, on a completely unrelated note:

Fact.

And, another picture:

This guy walking in front of me one day was wearing shorts with really silly pockets so, naturally, I took a sneaky picture of his ass.  Don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same thing.

It’s the Little Things

Currently I’m at the dining hall.  When I got here,  I decided I wanted a waffle.  Once I had made this decision, I got really, really excited about this waffle, and I went over and started making one.  So while it’s cooking, I look over and realize the syrup thing is empty, so when an employee walks by, I point this out.  She says, “no more syrup after 11:00, sorry baby” and walks away.  I look at my waffle, back at the syrup, and at my watch.  It’s 10:55.

Not knowing what to do, I finish making my waffle and open the waffle maker to see, I’m not even kidding here, the most beautiful waffle I’ve ever made in my life.  It didn’t even stick to the waffle iron.  Seeing another guy starting to make a waffle, I say to him, dejected, “don’t bother, there’s no syrup and they won’t put any more out.  I don’t even know what to do with this now.”

I had considered putting ice cream on my waffle and making a dessert out of it until I realized that  they don’t turn on the ice cream machines until 11:00 and it takes them about 20 minutes to warm up.  So this guy says he’ll take my waffle if I don’t want it, so I sadly (though glad not to waste it) hand over my perfect, beautiful waffle.

I just don’t understand.  They leave out the waffle irons all day.  I’ve made waffles for dinner several times.  I guess people just went crazy on the syrup this morning.  But, if you’re going to let students make waffles all day, why not provide them with syrup all day?  Wouldn’t that make sense?

So, instead I’m eating Lucky Charms, which, though magically delicious, are just not the same.

While eating my Lucky Charms, this guy who looked really familiar walked up to me and said, “_____, right?” (insert my real name there).

“…yeah…” I said hesitantly.

“Oh!” He said.  “We met at the party on Friday, remember?

“Yeah!” … mysterious man does not provide name, as he should as I didn’t immediately recognize him, so I awkwardly say “What was your name again?”

“Sur-osh.”

At this point I remember meeting this guy.  He told me his name, I said, “Oh, I have a friend named Suresh!” And he corrected me, saying “Sur-osh,” so I figured I’d misheard him.  So, showing I remember I respond:

“Right, I remember because it sounded like my friend Suresh.”

He looks at me funny and says, “…it’s the same name.”

….what?  No.  No, it’s not.  Maybe you spell it the same…but if it’s the same name you wouldn’t have corrected me when I said what is apparently your name as well….so confused.  There’s a girl in my building named Alyssa who pronounces her name “uh-lee-suh” instead of “uh-li-suh” and I don’t think that’s the same name.  It’s like the two different pronunciations of “read.” They may be spelled the same, but one is past  tense and one is present, and they don’t convey the same meaning.

I just don’t understand people today.

Cutting the Umbilical Cord

I really should be going to bed around now.  Every single day, I tell myself “I’m going to go to bed early tonight. I have no reason to stay up late and I’m exhausted.”  And then everyday, I stay up late for no reason whatsoever.  Tonight is no exception.

So, something that bothers me: parents that refuse to cut the umbilical cord.

Figuratively, of course.

My best friend since sixth grade (we’ll call her Gracie) has super strict parents.  They have very traditionally southern values and impose them with a vengeance.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  Gracie’s parents are extremely nice people, and I like them very much.  I just get soo incredibly frustrated with them.

Gracie is twenty years old (fun fact: she is exactly six months older than me – her birthday is my half birthday).  Now, you’d think by the time your child is no longer a teenager you’d let them take a little responsibility for their own life, right?  Well, if you’re Gracie’s parents, wrong.

My parents started giving me freedom in high school – the summer before junior year they actually left me at home by myself for five days while they drove (fourteen hours) to New York to see my Grandpa.  (Side note: then again, my mother apparently doesn’t trust my sister as much…my parents were supposed to go to Las Vegas this weekend and leave my sister, who will be eighteen next month, home alone for like three or four days.  My mom got on the plane and subsequently freaked out, got off the plane, and went home.  I can see the freak-out between her and my Dad in my mind and it’s not pretty).

ANYWAY, although my Mom enforced an early curfew for most of high school (“I can’t sleep unless I know you’re home safe!”), when I came back for Christmas break last year she realized that she couldn’t really control me anymore.  I’m not wild or anything, I’m just very independent and strong-willed and my Mom, as a occasionally-rational human being, recognized that she’d drive me away if she tried to hold me back.  So since then, my life’s been pretty much rule-free.  Occasionally I run things by my parents when I feel like it’s something big, and (unless they’re paying for it), my parents usually respond by asking why I’m asking for permission.

Gracie’s parents, on the other hand, seem to think that she is completely incapable of making any decisions.  If she tells them she’s going to go somewhere, they say, “excuse me, are you asking or telling me that?” and then don’t let her go because she didn’t ask properly.  She has a job, pays for gas money…I don’t see why she can’t drive a few hours somewhere if she wants.  It’s not like she’s using their money or cars for it.

The most recent issue, however, is Gracie’s tattoo.  Now, I’m not a fan of tattoos – in fact, I kind of really hate them.  However, I admit that I’m in the minority there.  Gracie recently got a tattoo.  It’s on her upper abs and is a phrase in Spanish from a song she sang with her high school chorus and a heart.  It’s pretty tasteful, and, as tattoos go, not bad.  I mean, no one will see it unless they’re at the beach or she takes her shirt off for other reasons, so it’s not like it’ll influence her ability to get a job or anything.  Initially, she didn’t tell her parents and planned on keeping it a secret forever.  I told her this was stupid – they’ll find out and get even more mad.  Not that they’re entitled to, but that won’t stop them.

So, Gracie told her parents.  She showed her mother, who, get this, BURST INTO TEARS AND TOLD HER THAT THIS MUST MEAN SHE DIDN’T LOVE OR RESPECT HER MOTHER ANYMORE. …..

….

what?

I really don’t see the connection between getting a tattoo and your relationship to your parents.  Her dad told her it was disrespectful to them and to them raising her and to her own body.  It’s not like she tattooed “FUCK MY PARENTS” on her ass or something.

Not only is their rationale unreasonable, but it’s just plain selfish.  This was something she did for herself – something meaningful to her, and her parents make it about them?

It’s times like these that I’m really grateful for my parents.  If I came home with a tattoo, I think the worst they would do would be to tell me I’m stupid or that they don’t like it.  I won’t ever have to deal with that situation, but it’s nice to know that, compared to other people’s parents, mine are somewhat reasonable.

I mean, when my mom’s not wasting hundreds of dollars on plane tickets by hopping off last minute because of her separation anxiety… but whatever.