Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Lions and Lambs


In like a lion, out like a lamb.

Hello, April showers.

Please bring me a cap and gown.

Oh, and a diploma.

Do We Love Lucy?

Have you ever watched I Love Lucy?

I mean really watched it?

I always said it was one of my very favorite shows. When Saturday morning on TV Land rolled around, I was always there to catch the morning marathon. It was a a nice cure to my slight hangovers and made me laugh. I could always count on Lucy and Ethel and their latest schemes to perk me up. What's not to love, right?


Last night I decided that I needed to start unwinding a bit before going to bed, instead of just putting down the books and closing out the Word documents and shutting my eyes immediately. So I thought, Why not take advantage of that first season of I Love Lucy that's been sitting on the TV shelf since Christmas? I liked the idea of watching 23 minutes of Lucy before having to think about the next day of classes and work all over again. I popped in the first disc and settled into bed.

Sounds good, right?


I couldn't believe what I was watching. I found myself literally gasping aloud at the episode. Was this the same show that nursed my hangovers? Was this the same Lucy that I had loved?

No, my friends, it wasn't.

Have you ever seen the episode "The Quiz Show?" Absolutely outrageous. Let me give you a little synopsis:

Lucy gets in trouble with her overbearing father (I mean, husband) because she didn't balance her "household accounts" correctly. When Ricky finds out (which Lucy fears) he tells her that he's going to withhold her "allowance" until she can settle the accounts. Seeing as how she has no way of doing this, she and Ethel go on the Freddie Filmore radio show in the hopes of winning the $1000 prize. His show is called "Females Are Fabulous, based on the theory that any woman is willing to make an idiot out of herself in order to win a prize" (Yes, that's a direct quote). Lucy is introduced as Mrs. Ricky Ricardo (apparently she's not worthy of her own name) and has to put on a raincoat and hat to be sprayed with water every time she mentions anything about water or the ocean or the sea.

Okay, the rest isn't really important--she ends up having to introduce a stranger to Ricky as her first husband and make him believe it for four hours before she can be given the prize money. Chaos ensues, Lucy-style.

But I couldn't even get past that first ten minutes. Was that really what life was like in the 1950s? Wives being forced to work in the home and be given allowances from their husbands that risk being withheld if they deviate from what their husbands deem appropriate? Radio shows that make fools out of women to prove that they're idiots? Hold on, let me just go puke on my shoes.

And the episodes go on. In "Be a Pal," Lucy thinks Ricky is losing interest in her, so she finds a book on how to make herself more desirable to rekindle the flame. In "The Diet," Ricky says he'll only let Lucy appear on his show if she loses enough weight to fit into a size 12. In "Lucy Writes a Play," Lucy writes a play she wants to be aired on Ricky's show casting Ricky as the lead, only to have him refuse it.

This is the show America loves? The show was even produced in part by Lucille Ball. Apparently, this was good stuff to her.

I guess we've come a long way. I guess TV shows aren't quite this sexist nowadays. But still--was this really the norm of the time? I'm baffled.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

AmeriCorps, Hear Me Roar!

That's right, AmeriCorps. Bring it on.

My interview skills are almost exhausted. I have had four interviews in three days, and three more before I can take a breath. TRY AND STOP ME!

The essays and short answers and resume and letters of recommendation weren't enough. The subsequent second applications weren't enough. The first phone interview wasn't enough, either. How many people am I going to have to go through?! I'm not an interviewing machine, you know.

But, PHEW! After tomorrow at 6pm I can finally relax for a quick minute. When does the madness end, I ask you?!

And to top it all off, I can't wrench myself away from my computer lately. BLOGSBLOGSBLOGS! I'm addicted. My TV hasn't been on in days. I haven't cracked a book all week. Blooooooooogs.....

Do you read any other blogs? (Besides this fabulous one, of course) I told Rachel I'd recommend some to her, so she'll have to read this first to get to them :)

My Absolute Favorite: Whoorl

Others I've Been Perusing:
Les Cadeux
Sizzle Says

I also can waste a quadrillion hours just looking at the Blogs of Note on my Blogger homepage (read: get a blog yourself and you can read them, too. PLEASE I need to waste more time blogging!)

So, then, in a nutshell, clearly: GET A BLOG!

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Why, God, Why??!?!

This place is sucking the life out of me.

Now, we all know I've never been the orientation-leading, tour-guiding, gushy-about-how-great-this-place-is kind of UConner, but there are few select qualities that endear me to this school (okay, number one, that they gave me some money to come here back in the days of 2005, which they subsequently reeled away from me, faster and faster, as the years continued, leaving me penniless and loan-inundated as a senior in 2009).

But lately, it's like this place is The Vortex of All Things Undesirable. Freezing temperatures? Storrs has got 'em. Wind chill making them feel ten degrees lower? Come to Storrs! Vertical hills that make you swear you'll never walk to class again? That's Storrs for ya. Lack of parking that forces you to walk to class every day, thereby revoking your previous oath dejectedly? Welcome to Storrs, Connecticut.

Please, can you really tell me this is not enticing you to hop in your car and drive to this fabulous University of Conecticut as fast as you possibly can?

Yeah. Me neither. I stay away as much as I am able.

This, unfortunately, is not so realistic, seeing as how I live here. Poop. Fortunately, I only have seven sweet weeks left.

Hold the phone, did I just type SEVEN WEEKS?

That's like, less than two months (wow, now I've resorted to typing that tragic word).

Honestly, all I gotta say is "Woohooooooo!"

Oh, and a little bit of, "Crap! Shit! Fuck!" (sorry, Mom).

But this girl is joining the big ranks, no more registering for classes and choosing housing and walking to class. No siree, I'm moving on to bigger and better! I repeat, woohooooooo!

As I sat outside the Residential Life office this morning awaiting my New York Intern Program phone interview (to be continued, folks), I overheard some poor girls pleading with the bitchy ResLife woman about how they messed up picking their apartment on ResLife's absolutely out-to-screw-you-out-of-housing website. I did feel a little sorry for them. I did the same thing last year and had to resort to making $5/minute international calls from South Africa to Connecticut convincing Steph's mom to call ResLife and use her super-assertiveness to make them fix our problem. But then, I didn't care. I'm outta here, suckas! Seven more weeks. . . . .

In the meantime, I'm stuck here in The Vortex. Campus makes me miserable, classes make me miserable, even my very own cute little apartment makes me somewhat miserable (I say "somewhat" because I do indeed like the quiet refuge of my room--I'm quite proud of my oh-so-Ruth decorating skills).

Perhaps this is just a bad week.

Because after all, look how far I got on yesterday's crossword:

SUPER accomplishment. Now I just need to finish one. Call me an old woman if you'd like, but I'm a sucker for the Daily Campus's crosswords. They highlight my day. Especially when I get really far, without even cheating.

On another note, this is where I want to go Saturday morning:

Greater Vernon Holistic Healthfest.

Sounds lovely, no? I'm so going. It's right up my alley. Naturopathy? Yoga? Stress management? Yes, please. I'll be the girl changing her outfit every 20 minutes in order to outsmart the Therapeutic Massage of Manchester masseuses thereby getting more than one free massage. Sweeeeet.

Okay, so now that it's 9:38pm and reruns of The Office come on on TBS in 22 minutes and I still have to bang out a five-page paper for which I have done zero research, I shall leave you. Farewell.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Actually, No

That is not all.

Does this aforementioned roommate also not realize that smoking weed every night is PISSING OFF THE GIRL WHOSE DOOR IS RIGHT NEXT TO HERS, UNDER WHICH ALL HER GROSS POT-SMOKE WAFTS?!?!

C'mon, people.

Let's get real.

7pm or 7am, she just ain't quittin.

For The Love Of A Sanitary Showering Space

Does my roommate really not know how to clean a bathroom? REALLY?

That is all.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Felicitous Findings: Part 10

1. Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby ice cream (minus the whole 20 grams of fat per serving part...)

2.) My newfound love for Diane Lane--especially in Must Love Dogs

3.) Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

4.) The fact that Kelly spouted off the names of the dogs in 101 Dalmations without even an ounce of hesitation (Pongo and Purdy, if you didn't remember)

5.) VERMONT--plain and simple

Ponderings. . . . .

Women have been multitasking for centuries. Are men incapable? Is it really that hard to stare at picture after picture of some random person's Facebook photos from 2006 while answering a simple question posed by an actual physical person standing right next to them?

This whole "F My Life" business--pathetically funny or desperately offensive? Is it really so bad that your dad says you still have baby fat, when there are wars and recessions and suicides and slavery going on?

Last night I heard two gunshots followed by screeching sirens ten minutes later. The doors were double-checked and any sounds heard outside were monitored closely. I thought I lived in Connecticut?

It's the third day of spring. It's 40 degrees outside. Whhhyyyy does God tease us so?

How come AmeriCorps feels the need to seemingly require one standard application, only to spite its applicants with a pop-up window consisting of a second and sometimes third application that might as well be shouting, "Ha ha, you absurd fools! Try getting into our program now!"

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Like, What's Like, The Point?

My father used to always tease about our use of the word "like."

"Was it 'like, so fun,' or was it 'so fun?'" He claimed that if he charged us a nickel for every time we used the word "like," he'd be a rich man.

And it's probably true.

My roommates and I recently decided we needed to eradicate the dreadfully bothersome and encumbering word from our lexicons. Easier said than done, let me tell you. Do you realize how much I use the word "like?" A whole damn lot.

We would sit in the living room chatting, like we did every night, and consciously try to avoid the word. We literally had to speak as if we were being played in slow motion, pausing every time we started with "li--." It happened a lot more than I thought it would.

And then, I really started noticing other people's use of "like." There are always those girls in class--"I was just going to say, that like, if you really look at like, the third chapter, you can like, really notice the author's like, way of like, using imagery, and like. . ." It looks silly in writing, but this is really how girls talk. Even guys too. I was walking to class the other day listening to the two boys talking behind me, and couldn't believe my ears. When you really listen to it, it sounds like a joke. "Dude, I was like, 'Kid, are you for real?' And he was like, like, 'Yeah dude, no shit.' Like, this kid is like, the man, like--can you like, believe that?"

I feel embarrassed for them.

And yet, when you really listen, you notice who's using it and who isn't. My father certainly didn't. My mother never did, either. And most definitely, professors will never be caught dead using the word "like"--in the classroom, in office hours, anywhere. Nowhere, in a whole hour and fifteen minute class, will a professor let the word "like" slip in. The word is just not there.

So I don't get this. Why is our generation guilty of this linguistic phenomenon while others older than us are not? Who was the first fool to throw in the word "like" to their sentence? When did this begin? Even my 9-year-old sister uses it every other word.

I feel unfortunate that for some reason I've felt the need to use it. No longer will I be a victim of this travesty!

Comments/answers encouraged.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

I'm A Proud Sap

So lately I've been into way-too-cheesy music. Maybe it's because I'm too sentimental, maybe I'm a sucker for cheap songs that are severely lacking in originality, or maybe it's just this month's PMS rearing its ugly head. Either way, I love this song. It's dorky and cheesy and very sentimental. (Not like me, of course.) Read, and then go listen:

Ingrid Michaelson
"You and I"

Don't you worry there, my honey
We might not have any money
But we've got our love to pay the bills
Maybe I think you're cute and funny
Maybe I want to do what bunnies do if you if you know what I mean

Oh let's get rich and buy our parents homes in the south of France
Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance
Let's get rich and build our house on a mountain making everybody look like ants
From way up there, you and I, you and I

Well you might be a bit confused
And you might be a little bit bruised
But baby how we spoon like no one else
So I will help you read those books
If you will soothe my worried looks
And we will put the lonesome on the shelf

Oh let's get rich and buy our parents homes in the south of France
Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance
Let's get rich and build our house on a mountain making everybody look like ants
From way up there, you and I, you and I

Oh let's get rich and buy our parents homes in the south of France
Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance
Let's get rich and build our house on a mountain making everybody look like ants
From way up there, you and I, you and I


Jason Mraz (featuring Colbie Caillat)

Do you hear me?
Talking to you
Across the water
Across the deep blue ocean
Under the open sky
Oh my, baby I'm trying

Boy I hear you in my dreams
I feel your whisper across the sea
I keep you with me in my heart
You make it easier when life gets hard

Lucky I'm in love with my best friend
Lucky to have been where I have been
Lucky to be coming home again

They don't know how long it takes
Waiting for a love like this
Every time we say goodbye
I wish we had one more kiss
I'll wait for you, I promise you I will

Lucky I'm in love with my best friend
Lucky to have been where I have been
Lucky to be coming home again
Lucky we're in love in every way
Lucky to have stayed where we have stayed
Lucky to be coming home someday

And so I'm sailing through the sea
To an island where we'll meet
You'll hear the music fill the air
I'll put a flower in your hair

Though the breezes through the trees
Move so pretty, you're all I see
As the world keeps spinning round
You hold me right here right now

Lucky I'm in love with my best friend
Lucky to have been where I have been
Lucky to be coming home again
Lucky we're in love in every way
Lucky to have stayed where we have stayed
Lucky to be coming home someday

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Birthday in Boston

So this past weekend I was in Boston with a few good friends and took a few good pictures. I just have to share:

Boy doing crossword.

Girl helping Boy do crossword.

Girl and Boy giving up on crossword and exploring Boston.

Boston at night.
(Happy Birthday, Joey)

I've been super into photography lately, and just can't help myself.

Babysitting Babies.

Desk in Sepia.

Getting Jonathan's UConn Luck.

Skippy Girl Cousins.

I think I'll get another degree in photography.

Felicitous Findings: Part 9

1.) Tooth pillows (remember those? I can still picture the one my kindergarten teacher made me)

2.) Dark red nail polish

3.) Shop It To Me

4.) A freshly made, clean-sheets bed

5.) Lauren's constant use of the word "alrighty"

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

A Facet of My Growing Age


Phew. Finally. No more studying till 2am, and then again at 6am, no more long mornings sitting in Starbucks, no more group meetings, no more #2 pencils, no more Scantron sheets. Who ever said that was a good measure of my intelligence anyway? I'd much rather write you a 5000 word essay on Sons and Lovers than fill in multiple choice bubbles about social learning theory, anyway.

So now it's spring break. It's too bad I can't write that I'm sitting in a cabana in Cancun slathered in tanning oil wearing a floppy straw hat and a teeny tiny bikini. Who are we kidding? (about the bikini, I mean.) Instead, I glance out at the Starbucks parking lot and see snow and ice and slush and messiness. It was 30 degrees when I woke up this morning.

This was the view I had from Joe's window just a few days ago:

For real. No joke. Spring is in eleven days. Eleven days. It's spring break. It's spring semester. SO WHERE'S SPRING, I ASK YOU?!

In case anyone was wondering, even when there's not midterms, I still have a million things to do. What, you may ask? Plan for my life. You know, what I'll be doing, and where I'll be living, and how much I'll be making when I graduate in 61 DAYS!!@&*%! Here's what I need to do today:

1.) Add to my blog (See? I'm not even procrastinating, I swear.)
2.) Call Jana
3.) Call Kate
4.) Call Rachel
5.) Complete the New York Intern Program application, which I devastatingly realized is completely different from the AmeriCorps application I've been busting my butt to finish (By the way, I'm taking any and all offers of letters of recommendation by March 15th, if anyone's interested.)
6.) Do laundry
7.) Clean bedroom/bathroom/kitchen floor
8.) Buy/write/mail a card
9.) Start on the mounds of homework I have to do by Monday

And I'm going to get it all done. I guess I shouldn't be writing such an extensive blog. But I AM going to be writing more later, because I have these three fabulous blog topics that have been sitting on a computerized Post-It on my desktop for way too long now. More to follow.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

"This will make you happy," says Rachel


Sounds good, right? I'd like candy daily. Heck, I'd like candy hourly.

This website is seriously so great. This is what the world needs. It sends you emails every day of fun stuff to look at (or distract you from studying for midterms, aka what's going on right now). You can tailor it to a certain city or even certain hobbies.

For example, this came today: Rainbow Sightings

Who doesn't want to look at rainbows?! I do. It made me happy :)

Thanks, Rach.

Now let's all get back to work. . .

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

More commercials. . . I really don't watch that much TV, I promise

So in contrast to the Hoover commercial that I loveloveloved, I've seen some that made me positively irate. Well, maybe not irate, but they annoyed me. A lot.

Pepsi Max. Apparently it's this new type of Pepsi that has added caffeine. However, the commercial is geared towards men. Why? Because "men can take anything, except the taste of diet cola." It's "the first diet cola for men." It's not even labeled as diet on the can. God forbid a man should be seen drinking a DIET SODA. What would happen? His manhood would clearly be compromised. Women may not be attracted to them anymore. Their penises might even actually shrink. If men can take anything, as this commercial entails, why can't they take being seen drinking Diet Pepsi? (And what about all the men who don't care and will drink diet soda anyway and are being completely stereotyped in this ad?)

Watch it here, and tell me what you think.

In contrast, there's that commercial for the Oreo 100-Calorie Packs that's supposed to appeal to women. Again, let me just excuse myself for a second while I go throw up. Women frantically screaming and running to a truck of cookies while men look on? Please. Let's just reinforce the idea that women need to diet and count the calories of the cookies they consume so they can keep up with the stereotypical image of an attractive woman in America, why don't we. Men diet too, you know. Women aren't the only sex that are overweight. But of course, they're not supposed to be.

If Nabisco and Pepsi could just be run by intellectuals. . .