You know you've been in school too long...
...when you start considering new and drastic career moves, like opening a Krispy Kreme in Des Moines.
...when you call your mom while watching the playoffs to let her know that you think Lebron needs to learn how to self-soothe.
...if the very thought of going into another classroom and announcing your name, concentration and reason for taking the class makes you want to shove baby carrots up your nose.
...when you think washing your sheets and comforter is an acceptable reason to be late to class.
...if you dream of someday hanging things on your walls with something other than Blu-tack.
...if those things you dream of hanging on your walls are not posters or Chinese restaurant menus.
...when it seems perfectly acceptable to spend $50 on shoes rather than buying the $75 textbook for the class you're currently attending.
...if you have to stop yourself from scratching someone's eyes out when they say, "Well, six months isn't that long..."
...if the idea of the world ending in October pisses you off because that's before you graduate.
Showing posts with label Grad school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grad school. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Hey, it's okay Tuesdays
Hey, it's okay...
...if you have to stay in Boone for another semester to finish grad school. (Wait, is it really okay?)
...if you were only recently introduced to the sci-fi series Firefly, and you absolutely loved it.
...if you are actually getting sick of eating eggs, bacon, steak, sausage and/or chicken for every single meal.
...to hold back tears when the gentleman at the coffee shop tells you he ran out of chai.
...to believe that every single person in the Financial Aid department at App State is really a robot.
...to believe that no one in the Financial Aid department at App State is capable of properly pronouncing "FAFSA."
...to go to Target with the intent of buying 2 or 3 nice tops for Spring/Summer and instead spend $100.75 on, well, other things.
...if you had absolutely no idea that wiper blades were supposed to be changed every six months. Or even every year, for that matter.
...to be all but peeing yourself with anticipation because the love of your life just returned from Finland after a year and a half of being a super sassy Mormon missionary.
...if you've had your Netflix rental for over a month and are still telling yourself that you will definitely watch it this week. Probably.
...to have no clue if you'll ever have children, but to still want that paint that allows you to draw on the walls.
...if you appear to be primarily attractive to Hispanic and/or 50+ men. (Not sure what that's about.)
...to judge the hell out of your neighbors who have the cutest puppy in the world, and yet seem completely disinterested in it.
...to walk through Pier One singing just a little too loudly to Donna Summer's "Last Dance", use their bathroom and then not buy anything.
...if you have to stay in Boone for another semester to finish grad school. (Wait, is it really okay?)
...if you were only recently introduced to the sci-fi series Firefly, and you absolutely loved it.
...if you are actually getting sick of eating eggs, bacon, steak, sausage and/or chicken for every single meal.
...to hold back tears when the gentleman at the coffee shop tells you he ran out of chai.
...to believe that every single person in the Financial Aid department at App State is really a robot.
...to believe that no one in the Financial Aid department at App State is capable of properly pronouncing "FAFSA."
...to go to Target with the intent of buying 2 or 3 nice tops for Spring/Summer and instead spend $100.75 on, well, other things.
...if you had absolutely no idea that wiper blades were supposed to be changed every six months. Or even every year, for that matter.
...to be all but peeing yourself with anticipation because the love of your life just returned from Finland after a year and a half of being a super sassy Mormon missionary.
...if you've had your Netflix rental for over a month and are still telling yourself that you will definitely watch it this week. Probably.
...to have no clue if you'll ever have children, but to still want that paint that allows you to draw on the walls.
...if you appear to be primarily attractive to Hispanic and/or 50+ men. (Not sure what that's about.)
...to judge the hell out of your neighbors who have the cutest puppy in the world, and yet seem completely disinterested in it.
...to walk through Pier One singing just a little too loudly to Donna Summer's "Last Dance", use their bathroom and then not buy anything.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Conversations with Consuela
I spend most of my time here in Boone with one particular friend.
In this blog, I refer to her as Consuela. Not because I want to protect her identity, but because I think that name is fun to say, especially with a southern accent. Perhaps that's the influence of my preference for Designing Women reruns in the late '90s.
As it happens, Consuela and I spend a lot of time in her car. She goes to Wal-Mart a lot, and I often accompany her because when I'm forced to go by myself (because Wal-Mart is the only game in town), I try to shank people.
When in her car, Consuela and I have many intellectual conversations. Due to my general laziness and her ability to be distracted by a shiny thing, they often sound something (if not exactly) like this:
Sara: ...so, that's what I think we should do. What do you think?
Consuela: What? Say all that again. I forgot to listen.
Sara: You're a child.
Consuela: You are.
Sara: Why is there a rotten banana in your backseat?
Consuela: It was gonna be my snack.
Sara: When?
Consuela: I don't know, shut up.
Sara: You shut up.
Consuela: Stop judging me. Where do you want to eat?
Sara: Not Mexican. I had a really upsetting dream about tortilla chips.
Consuela: What is wrong with you?
Sara: I don't know. Chinese?
Consuela: Ugh, that sounds terrible. Chick-Fil-A?
Sara: Yup. Wow, that was harder than it should've been.
Consuela: What were you talking about?
Sara: I don't care.
I promise you, we're both a lot better at listening to clients than we are at listening to each other.
In this blog, I refer to her as Consuela. Not because I want to protect her identity, but because I think that name is fun to say, especially with a southern accent. Perhaps that's the influence of my preference for Designing Women reruns in the late '90s.
As it happens, Consuela and I spend a lot of time in her car. She goes to Wal-Mart a lot, and I often accompany her because when I'm forced to go by myself (because Wal-Mart is the only game in town), I try to shank people.
When in her car, Consuela and I have many intellectual conversations. Due to my general laziness and her ability to be distracted by a shiny thing, they often sound something (if not exactly) like this:
Sara: ...so, that's what I think we should do. What do you think?
Consuela: What? Say all that again. I forgot to listen.
Sara: You're a child.
Consuela: You are.
Sara: Why is there a rotten banana in your backseat?
Consuela: It was gonna be my snack.
Sara: When?
Consuela: I don't know, shut up.
Sara: You shut up.
Consuela: Stop judging me. Where do you want to eat?
Sara: Not Mexican. I had a really upsetting dream about tortilla chips.
Consuela: What is wrong with you?
Sara: I don't know. Chinese?
Consuela: Ugh, that sounds terrible. Chick-Fil-A?
Sara: Yup. Wow, that was harder than it should've been.
Consuela: What were you talking about?
Sara: I don't care.
I promise you, we're both a lot better at listening to clients than we are at listening to each other.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
It's impossible to get rid of crabs
I may or may not have a midterm paper due tomorrow at 9am.
(For my nocturnal friends, yes, 9:00 in the morning is just as disgusting as you've heard.)
It's entirely possible that I have nothing more written than a title page.
(Title pages are for nerds and squares.)
It might be true that I am using this blog post as a means of distracting myself from starting/completing the aforementioned paper.
(Calm down. It's only 20% of my grade.)
What is also likely is that I am planning on taking a much needed break at 11pm to watch Chelsea Lately.
(You guys, I'm not a machine.)
One might be under the impression that I am hesitant to commit to anything one way or the other.
(Speaking of waffling, I could really go for some flapjacks. Too early for flapjacks?)
It would not be out of the question to assume I've gone a little nutburgers and as I'm considering grabbing all the blankets and pillows in the house and making a fort in front of the TV.
(Is there a relation between chemical imbalances and the innate need to burrow?)
Maybe I feel ready to write my paper.
(My brother and I are currently discussing the pros and cons of red peppers.)
I just wrote a sentence fragment. Perhaps this is the start of something!
(I'm for 'em!)
Spell Check and I are potentially going to get into a fight because she has decided "predesignated" is not a word.
(She's a stupid bitch.)
10:50pm already? Probably time for a study break.
(I'm tired. I should probably be in bed by midnight if I want to be worth anything tomorrow.)
Because I sense the distress you're feeling for me as you read this, I want to leave you with something uplifting, courtesy of the ever watchful pop culture eyeballs of the Blonde Blogette.
(For my nocturnal friends, yes, 9:00 in the morning is just as disgusting as you've heard.)
It's entirely possible that I have nothing more written than a title page.
(Title pages are for nerds and squares.)
It might be true that I am using this blog post as a means of distracting myself from starting/completing the aforementioned paper.
(Calm down. It's only 20% of my grade.)
What is also likely is that I am planning on taking a much needed break at 11pm to watch Chelsea Lately.
(You guys, I'm not a machine.)
One might be under the impression that I am hesitant to commit to anything one way or the other.
(Speaking of waffling, I could really go for some flapjacks. Too early for flapjacks?)
It would not be out of the question to assume I've gone a little nutburgers and as I'm considering grabbing all the blankets and pillows in the house and making a fort in front of the TV.
(Is there a relation between chemical imbalances and the innate need to burrow?)
Maybe I feel ready to write my paper.
(My brother and I are currently discussing the pros and cons of red peppers.)
I just wrote a sentence fragment. Perhaps this is the start of something!
(I'm for 'em!)
Spell Check and I are potentially going to get into a fight because she has decided "predesignated" is not a word.
(She's a stupid bitch.)
10:50pm already? Probably time for a study break.
(I'm tired. I should probably be in bed by midnight if I want to be worth anything tomorrow.)
Because I sense the distress you're feeling for me as you read this, I want to leave you with something uplifting, courtesy of the ever watchful pop culture eyeballs of the Blonde Blogette.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Have I mentioned I don't share well?
I'm a grad student.
The majority of my friends in the immediate area are grad students as well.
And whenever two or more grad students gather together, there had damn well better be pizza.
The last few times this has happened, however, I have noticed an upsetting pattern among my friends.
Let me give you a scenario.
Last Thursday, in celebration of the upcoming Autumnal Equinox (there might've been a football game going on, too), my friend Consuela had people over to her house for festivities and, of course, pizza. It fell to me, as her second in command, to organize the food.
The basic idea was that most people weren't picky and would eat some variation of pepperoni, sausage or cheese. Now, this is perfect because I am picky. One of my favorite types of pizza is pineapple. This tends to be a polarizing topping for most people, which is fine. If you hate it, more for me.
I established that there were at least three other people down for pineapple, so I figured we could order two just to be safe.
The pizza came, the pizza went and eventually the evening died down and most people had left. As I was helping clean up, it was my intention to take the pineapple leftovers home with me as our hosts wanted nothing to do with it.
Imagine my surprise and disgust when I started scouring the pizza boxes and learned of an overwhelming surplus of sausage, cheese and pepperoni, but ALL of my beloved pineapple pizza had been hoovered.
This is not the first time this has happened. On another occasion, we had people specially request a veggie pizza. Those same veggie eaters (not vegetarians, mind you) had their greasy paws all over my Hawaiian, leaving substantial leftovers of their foul, mushroom and pepper infested concoction that I WILL NOT EAT.
Some of you might be saying, "What does it matter? You grab some pepperoni, you grab some cheese and yeah, maybe a slice of pineapple. Everyone gets what they need. It's not a big deal."
Wrong, you pizza communists.
Specialty pizzas are special for a reason. They are delicious and I like to eat delicious things, therefore they are special, damn it!
To me, it's about the same if I'm sitting in a restaurant with my food in front of me, and someone at the table reaches over my plate to snag a french fry while absently asking, "You gonna eat that?"
Yes, I'm going to eat that.
I am always going to eat that.
So, the next time you're about to go rogue on someone else's pizza, picture my scary Muppet face staring up at you (I'm short), judging you.
Now, put down the pizza.
The majority of my friends in the immediate area are grad students as well.
And whenever two or more grad students gather together, there had damn well better be pizza.
The last few times this has happened, however, I have noticed an upsetting pattern among my friends.
Let me give you a scenario.
Last Thursday, in celebration of the upcoming Autumnal Equinox (there might've been a football game going on, too), my friend Consuela had people over to her house for festivities and, of course, pizza. It fell to me, as her second in command, to organize the food.
The basic idea was that most people weren't picky and would eat some variation of pepperoni, sausage or cheese. Now, this is perfect because I am picky. One of my favorite types of pizza is pineapple. This tends to be a polarizing topping for most people, which is fine. If you hate it, more for me.
I established that there were at least three other people down for pineapple, so I figured we could order two just to be safe.
The pizza came, the pizza went and eventually the evening died down and most people had left. As I was helping clean up, it was my intention to take the pineapple leftovers home with me as our hosts wanted nothing to do with it.
Imagine my surprise and disgust when I started scouring the pizza boxes and learned of an overwhelming surplus of sausage, cheese and pepperoni, but ALL of my beloved pineapple pizza had been hoovered.
This is not the first time this has happened. On another occasion, we had people specially request a veggie pizza. Those same veggie eaters (not vegetarians, mind you) had their greasy paws all over my Hawaiian, leaving substantial leftovers of their foul, mushroom and pepper infested concoction that I WILL NOT EAT.
Some of you might be saying, "What does it matter? You grab some pepperoni, you grab some cheese and yeah, maybe a slice of pineapple. Everyone gets what they need. It's not a big deal."
Wrong, you pizza communists.
Specialty pizzas are special for a reason. They are delicious and I like to eat delicious things, therefore they are special, damn it!
To me, it's about the same if I'm sitting in a restaurant with my food in front of me, and someone at the table reaches over my plate to snag a french fry while absently asking, "You gonna eat that?"
Yes, I'm going to eat that.
I am always going to eat that.
So, the next time you're about to go rogue on someone else's pizza, picture my scary Muppet face staring up at you (I'm short), judging you.
Now, put down the pizza.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Compromising my values for grad school
It's official.
It's old-fish-hill.
It's Danielle Fishel!
North Carolina officially owns my ass.
Just this very morning, I received a fancy looking letter from the president of the Tarheels. He told me that I had better start learning to love grits, hate turn signals and to knock "pop" right out of my vocabulary when referring to a frosty, carbonated beverage.
I have to say, I feel a little guilty for turning my back on Indiana for tuition purposes. I mean, most people are not knocking down the door to the Hoosier doublewide, begging for residency. And I think that's unfortunate as many Midwesterners are terribly pleasant and are willing to stare at you intently for several uncomfortable minutes just to figure out whether or not they know you.
Not every state will do that for you.
But now I belong to North Carolina.
And as a taxpaying resident of North Carolina, I would like to voice my first complaint.
If Krispy Kreme was started in this state, why the hell is the closest one an hour away?
Billy Graham is going to pissed when I tell him.
It's old-fish-hill.
It's Danielle Fishel!
North Carolina officially owns my ass.
Just this very morning, I received a fancy looking letter from the president of the Tarheels. He told me that I had better start learning to love grits, hate turn signals and to knock "pop" right out of my vocabulary when referring to a frosty, carbonated beverage.
I have to say, I feel a little guilty for turning my back on Indiana for tuition purposes. I mean, most people are not knocking down the door to the Hoosier doublewide, begging for residency. And I think that's unfortunate as many Midwesterners are terribly pleasant and are willing to stare at you intently for several uncomfortable minutes just to figure out whether or not they know you.
Not every state will do that for you.
But now I belong to North Carolina.
And as a taxpaying resident of North Carolina, I would like to voice my first complaint.
If Krispy Kreme was started in this state, why the hell is the closest one an hour away?
Billy Graham is going to pissed when I tell him.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
What, like it's hard?
Sounds like a dirty word, doesn't it?
That's because it is.
I have been putting mine off with the expertise of a seasoned veteran of the American higher education system.
Now, if you're familiar with the process required to achieve government funded financial aid for learning purposes, you are aware of what it takes to fill out this blessed piece of paperwork.
If you are unfamiliar, I'd like to help you. Here are my steps for successfully completing your next FAFSA:
- Wait until the deadline has passed by at least a week.
- Start this process in the morning. This provides you with a greater chance of ruining your entire day.
- Don't even think about sitting down to the computer unless you have your tax returns, driver's license, 3 credit card statements, a fresh urine sample and a box of Munchkins within arm's reach.
- Start swearing profusely. You're going to do it eventually so you may as well do it right.
- Enter your name.
- SAVE!
- Wipe the sweat off your brow and press on.
- Enter 17 more pages of personal information you've only told your priest or your cat.
- SAVE!
- It helps to call your dad several times throughout the process to announce, "This is hard!"
- Finish up my submitting the form and praying to the gods of FAFSA that they'll still process the paperwork despite your tardiness.
- Congratulate yourself on a job well done!
Now, don't get comfortable, because assuming your FAFSA goes through without a hitch (and it won't), next you get to deal with a nameless, faceless corporation who will insist you sign over your first born and a bag of Fritos in exchange for money to attend school.
This can come in many forms, but if you're super lucky, you'll get to deal with one of the most hateful, degrading organizations in the history of evil: Sallie Mae.
The only tips I have for you regarding that bitch would be to call a Sallie Mae customer service rep, forget that this person has feelings and do your best to make them cry.
Good luck!
Saturday, April 24, 2010
What's my motivation?
Let's be honest.
The term paper is an outdated custom enforced by our higher education system to check up on all the fancy book-learnin' we're soaking up by counting how many multi-syllabic words we use. Nobody likes writing them and nobody likes reading them. So, why perpetuate this ridiculous tradition?
Plus, I use big words all the time, like "dumbassedness", "craptitude" and "mother-lovin'-piece-of-"
Well, you get the point.
Deadlines be damned!
For those of you who are getting in on this mess for the first time (welcome, by the way!), I am a graduate student in a marriage and family therapy program and I'm not what you would call... academic.
Many would refer to me as lazy, but I challenge this label.
Would a lazy person have the energy to go out to dinner, eat a meal that should technically feed 3, follow up with dessert and then go home to watch The Goblet of Fire from beginning to end?
Just take a moment to ponder how much exertion that would require. You're tired just thinking about it, aren't you?
In order to crank out the 20 pages I need to call this assignment complete, I took very proactive steps. I moved my computer to the kitchen table so I couldn't be distracted by the television. I got all my books and spread them out in front of me. I even got two different beverages (coffee and water) so I would have no need to get up and dither around getting a drink.
None of it makes a damn bit of difference if I'm checking my e-mail, listening to my Pandora station I labeled as "Crap I Pretend Not To Like" and blogging. All of which I am doing right now.
When I first sat down to my computer, there was a five minute period where I did, in fact, have a word document up and I had every intention of writing something truly profound. This is what my brain came up with:
Wow. 3:30pm already?
Must be time for a break!
The term paper is an outdated custom enforced by our higher education system to check up on all the fancy book-learnin' we're soaking up by counting how many multi-syllabic words we use. Nobody likes writing them and nobody likes reading them. So, why perpetuate this ridiculous tradition?
Plus, I use big words all the time, like "dumbassedness", "craptitude" and "mother-lovin'-piece-of-"
Well, you get the point.
Deadlines be damned!
For those of you who are getting in on this mess for the first time (welcome, by the way!), I am a graduate student in a marriage and family therapy program and I'm not what you would call... academic.
Many would refer to me as lazy, but I challenge this label.
Would a lazy person have the energy to go out to dinner, eat a meal that should technically feed 3, follow up with dessert and then go home to watch The Goblet of Fire from beginning to end?
Just take a moment to ponder how much exertion that would require. You're tired just thinking about it, aren't you?
In order to crank out the 20 pages I need to call this assignment complete, I took very proactive steps. I moved my computer to the kitchen table so I couldn't be distracted by the television. I got all my books and spread them out in front of me. I even got two different beverages (coffee and water) so I would have no need to get up and dither around getting a drink.
None of it makes a damn bit of difference if I'm checking my e-mail, listening to my Pandora station I labeled as "Crap I Pretend Not To Like" and blogging. All of which I am doing right now.
When I first sat down to my computer, there was a five minute period where I did, in fact, have a word document up and I had every intention of writing something truly profound. This is what my brain came up with:
- Did I buy grapes yesterday?
- There's nothing quite like a really good highlighter.
- I have nice feet.
- Maybe I should get a fish.
- I have a lot of one dollar bills.
- I wonder if people think I'm a stripper when I pay with them.
- I hope so.
- Hummus.
Wow. 3:30pm already?
Must be time for a break!
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Back up, pervs
I think I need to clarify what I did last weekend, for many of you appeared confused.
Or just way too excited.
I am in a grad program to become a marriage and family therapist. North Carolina had their state-wide conference and the subject matter just happened to be sex therapy.
This means sexual health, people.
Now, take a minute to grieve your loss of what you thought I was doing.
Go ahead. I'll grab a Pop-Tart.
We cool?
Swell.
Anyway, the conference was absolutely brilliant. I got to wear heals and scarves (which equals wicked hot, by the way), I had unlimited coffee at my disposal and I was served cake. Twice.
I got to visit the local SuperTarget and pay my respects.
Unfortunately, at that point I was so unbelievably uncomfortable due to the sheer quantity of food I had consumed that I could only wander the aisles in wonder for about 20 minutes before I needed to curl up in the fetal position next to a toilet and do yoga breathing.
It was most excellent.
On another note, I will be leaving for Hong Kong in approximately 32 hours.
I'll have a couple of scheduled posts, but I won't be back to play with you all for well over a week.
Don't judge me.
So, you may find yourself thinking, "Damn it, Sara! Where are you?"
Allow me to refer you to some gorgeous pictures I located using the world wide interweb:
Or just way too excited.
I am in a grad program to become a marriage and family therapist. North Carolina had their state-wide conference and the subject matter just happened to be sex therapy.
This means sexual health, people.
Now, take a minute to grieve your loss of what you thought I was doing.
Go ahead. I'll grab a Pop-Tart.
We cool?
Swell.
Anyway, the conference was absolutely brilliant. I got to wear heals and scarves (which equals wicked hot, by the way), I had unlimited coffee at my disposal and I was served cake. Twice.
I got to visit the local SuperTarget and pay my respects.
Unfortunately, at that point I was so unbelievably uncomfortable due to the sheer quantity of food I had consumed that I could only wander the aisles in wonder for about 20 minutes before I needed to curl up in the fetal position next to a toilet and do yoga breathing.
It was most excellent.
On another note, I will be leaving for Hong Kong in approximately 32 hours.
I'll have a couple of scheduled posts, but I won't be back to play with you all for well over a week.
Don't judge me.
So, you may find yourself thinking, "Damn it, Sara! Where are you?"
Allow me to refer you to some gorgeous pictures I located using the world wide interweb:
That, my friends, is one of my great weaknesss.
Food on a stick.
I'll be double-fisting octopus balls as I peruse the streets of Kowloon with Sonya.
You heard me.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
How Sara writes a paper
My train of thought tends to go in circles, especially when I'm avoiding something.
I have a short paper due tomorrow morning. On top of that, I have two Power Point presentations to create for my professor/boss. Also due tomorrow.
Have I mentioned that I think Power Point blows llama pellets?
Anyway, this is an example of what my brain does when I am "working":
I should really write this paper.
Did I eat lunch?
Where is my pen?
Not that pen. The other pen.
Okay, title page...
I swear I didn't eat lunch.
Thank God this thing is double-spaced.
I hate being left-handed.
Turn the TV off, Sara.
Oh right, I had a salad.
Why is my thumb so cold?
Introductions are bullshit...
Maybe school will be canceled tomorrow.
Salad is hardly lunch.
Man vs. Food is such a good show.
Seriously, why is my thumb so cold?
I should have a burrito.
Oh right, start my paper.
I have an odd crush on Adam Richman.
I wonder if he's married.
Didn't I just pee like ten minutes ago?
Don't kid yourself. We'll have school tomorrow.
Son of a bitch, I can't move my arms!
I would be so much more productive without the Travel Channel.
Yoga and snow shoveling is a deadly combination.
Crank it out, Sara. Just buckle down and write!
I have a bladder the side of a grape.
Maybe a snack would help.
Wow, Adam's eyelashes look like Snufflupagus's.
If I had worked from the time I started, I'd be done.
What should I have for dinner tonight?
My bangs are out of control.
If Taylor Swift cleans up at the Grammy's, I will throw down.
Sonya's online! I'll talk to her!
Two sentences. So far, so good.
I had salad for lunch, so I could have fried lard for dinner and it'd even out.
I think I could happily live in Brooklyn with Adam.
Good God, I still haven't peed, have I?
I wonder what Gloria Estefan is up to...
Why is there a Pop-Tart in my purse?
My paper is supposed to be at least 3 pages.
I currently have 2 pages and I am drawing a blank for the last one.
Oh, and Adam Richman? Don't be frightened. I just think with your sense of humor, your love of food and your ridiculously long eyelashes that we could probably be in love.
That's all.
But more importantly, why is that Pop-Tart in my purse and not in my mouth?
I have a short paper due tomorrow morning. On top of that, I have two Power Point presentations to create for my professor/boss. Also due tomorrow.
Have I mentioned that I think Power Point blows llama pellets?
Anyway, this is an example of what my brain does when I am "working":
I should really write this paper.
Did I eat lunch?
Where is my pen?
Not that pen. The other pen.
Okay, title page...
I swear I didn't eat lunch.
Thank God this thing is double-spaced.
I hate being left-handed.
Turn the TV off, Sara.
Oh right, I had a salad.
Why is my thumb so cold?
Introductions are bullshit...
Maybe school will be canceled tomorrow.
Salad is hardly lunch.
Man vs. Food is such a good show.
Seriously, why is my thumb so cold?
I should have a burrito.
Oh right, start my paper.
I have an odd crush on Adam Richman.
I wonder if he's married.
Didn't I just pee like ten minutes ago?
Don't kid yourself. We'll have school tomorrow.
Son of a bitch, I can't move my arms!
I would be so much more productive without the Travel Channel.
Yoga and snow shoveling is a deadly combination.
Crank it out, Sara. Just buckle down and write!
I have a bladder the side of a grape.
Maybe a snack would help.
Wow, Adam's eyelashes look like Snufflupagus's.
If I had worked from the time I started, I'd be done.
What should I have for dinner tonight?
My bangs are out of control.
If Taylor Swift cleans up at the Grammy's, I will throw down.
Sonya's online! I'll talk to her!
Two sentences. So far, so good.
I had salad for lunch, so I could have fried lard for dinner and it'd even out.
I think I could happily live in Brooklyn with Adam.
Good God, I still haven't peed, have I?
I wonder what Gloria Estefan is up to...
Why is there a Pop-Tart in my purse?
My paper is supposed to be at least 3 pages.
I currently have 2 pages and I am drawing a blank for the last one.
Oh, and Adam Richman? Don't be frightened. I just think with your sense of humor, your love of food and your ridiculously long eyelashes that we could probably be in love.
That's all.
But more importantly, why is that Pop-Tart in my purse and not in my mouth?
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Biscuits and chivalry
There are days when school sucks giant tuna fish.
I often have to remind myself that I was the one who decided going back to school was such a brilliant idea, because I will walk around muttering, "Whose idea was this?!"
For those of you who are new to this mess, I am the laziest excuse for a student currently enrolled in a graduate program.
Occasionally when I meet someone new and explain that I'm studying to be a therapist, I get a very impressed reaction.
This makes me feel like a phony, so I do my best to assure them that it's really not a big deal. It's kind of like when a stranger compliments me on my scarf or purse. I have to make sure they know that I got it at Target. On sale. With a coupon. Last season.
Not sure what that's about.
My favorite part of school, as many of you know, is dreaming about where I will go when I'm free from the beautiful but claustrophobic mountains of North Carolina.
While I talk a lot of smack about NC, there are some things that I have realized the South does better than anyone else:
Biscuits and chivalry.
These are two things I know I will miss something fierce when I leave this place.
Now, you may be from New England and are protesting, "I make wicked good biscuits from scratch!" Look, I have no doubt that you do, but I would bet your recipe was smuggled out of Georgia or Alabama centuries ago. Just make peace with it.
I mean, you don't see the South going around laying claim to polenta or deep dish pizza, now do you?
Regarding the latter, chivalry is something I appreciate so much down here. I get ma'amed all the time, and I LOVE IT.
The other thing that just gets me all sorts of giddy is their ability to open doors.
Nothing puts a smile on my face like a 70 year old man opening and holding the door and then winking at me as I walk by. I'm not saying Northern men aren't capable of opening doors, but in my experience, they're a lot less consistent about it. And it is definitely not their pleasure.
(I've gone on a tangent about this before, so you know I feel strongly about it.)
So, while I know I'll go into a bit of withdrawal when I lose both of those things, I already have something ready to jump in and fill the void...
Someday in the near future, I will look up into the tired eyes of my surly waitress and say, "I'd like an iced tea, please," and she will reply, "Okay."
I will not specify that it is to be unsweetened and she will not ask, because there will be an understanding. That iced tea is to be good and bitter.
Just the way the North intended.
I often have to remind myself that I was the one who decided going back to school was such a brilliant idea, because I will walk around muttering, "Whose idea was this?!"
For those of you who are new to this mess, I am the laziest excuse for a student currently enrolled in a graduate program.
Occasionally when I meet someone new and explain that I'm studying to be a therapist, I get a very impressed reaction.
This makes me feel like a phony, so I do my best to assure them that it's really not a big deal. It's kind of like when a stranger compliments me on my scarf or purse. I have to make sure they know that I got it at Target. On sale. With a coupon. Last season.
Not sure what that's about.
My favorite part of school, as many of you know, is dreaming about where I will go when I'm free from the beautiful but claustrophobic mountains of North Carolina.
While I talk a lot of smack about NC, there are some things that I have realized the South does better than anyone else:
Biscuits and chivalry.
These are two things I know I will miss something fierce when I leave this place.
Now, you may be from New England and are protesting, "I make wicked good biscuits from scratch!" Look, I have no doubt that you do, but I would bet your recipe was smuggled out of Georgia or Alabama centuries ago. Just make peace with it.
I mean, you don't see the South going around laying claim to polenta or deep dish pizza, now do you?
Regarding the latter, chivalry is something I appreciate so much down here. I get ma'amed all the time, and I LOVE IT.
The other thing that just gets me all sorts of giddy is their ability to open doors.
Nothing puts a smile on my face like a 70 year old man opening and holding the door and then winking at me as I walk by. I'm not saying Northern men aren't capable of opening doors, but in my experience, they're a lot less consistent about it. And it is definitely not their pleasure.
(I've gone on a tangent about this before, so you know I feel strongly about it.)
So, while I know I'll go into a bit of withdrawal when I lose both of those things, I already have something ready to jump in and fill the void...
Someday in the near future, I will look up into the tired eyes of my surly waitress and say, "I'd like an iced tea, please," and she will reply, "Okay."
I will not specify that it is to be unsweetened and she will not ask, because there will be an understanding. That iced tea is to be good and bitter.
Just the way the North intended.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
I phoned this one in
These are pictures I've taken since I've been here but for which I haven't had use.
(Why I take pictures of some of these things, I don't know.)
(Why I take pictures of some of these things, I don't know.)
The microwave and I got into a fight.
Do you see these stairs? App State is trying to kill me.
I think this is self-explanatory.
Egg McMuffin, my ass. I have a final tomorrow morning.
Guess what I'm not doing.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Oof, that's expensive.
So, it's entirely possible that I still haven't written my research paper.
Some of you may remember that it was mildly due last Thursday.
Unfortunately, my professor said he would accept it later.
Come on, George!
Why on earth would you say that to me?? If you give me extra time, whether or not I need it, I WILL TAKE IT.
Just some of the many important things I have been doing other than my paper:
That's right. This moi.
Some of you may remember that it was mildly due last Thursday.
Unfortunately, my professor said he would accept it later.
Come on, George!
Why on earth would you say that to me?? If you give me extra time, whether or not I need it, I WILL TAKE IT.
Just some of the many important things I have been doing other than my paper:
- Sleeping as late as the neighbors' damn dogs will let me
- Deciding where to live in 2 years
- Contemplating my navel
- Cleaning the house
- Playing credit card Monopoly
- Cursing the restaurants that serve potato chips instead of french fries
- Flossing
- Eating sub-par Chinese food
- Wondering why the hell it's 70 degrees outside
- Locating a pet-friendly house for next year
- Figuring out why the frick I ate that nasty Chinese food
- Reading blogs
- Watching two outstanding Tom Hanks movies (Turner & Hooch, Splash)
- Dancing around the kitchen to In the Heights
- Making lunch
- Deciding if Pickles or JuJuBe is a better name for a Rottweiler
That's right. This moi.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Not now, arctic puffin!
My intended profession as a marriage and family therapist is a relatively new one. The need for such services, however, is growing and that is encouraging to me.
What is not encouraging, and in fact makes me want to get straight up biblical with an Oreo McFlurry, is the fact that the licensing laws are different in every single pissing state.
Most people would say, "Big deal. So get licensed in another state," to which I would respond with a gracious invitation to get bent.
The reason this is bothering me is that I feel like I need to figure out where I'm going to live/practice pretty darn soon.
I've decided to create a spreadsheet (you heard me) to try and keep the requirements straight.
For example, in some states, you need 1,500 hours of supervision and 2,000 hours of direct client contact. In others, you only need 500 hours of supervision and 200 hours of client contact. In one state, you need 3,000 hours of supervision, 1,500 hours of client contact, to sacrifice your first-born to the sun god Ra and to only eat pine nuts on the 3rd Wednesday of every other month while watching Wings reruns (and I'll let you guess which state).
And even then, it just ain't that straight-forward.
So, my plan is to choose the states I think I'm most likely to make my permanent home after graduation and weigh their pros and cons.
Here goes (and please don't be offended if I don't mention your state because there are some I prefer to loathe from a distance):
Illinois (Chicago or a suburb of)
Or, if you would like to steer me away from a previously mentioned state/city, shout it out. I love me some strong opinions, especially those founded on food or television.
*States with large bugs/lizards need not apply
What is not encouraging, and in fact makes me want to get straight up biblical with an Oreo McFlurry, is the fact that the licensing laws are different in every single pissing state.
Most people would say, "Big deal. So get licensed in another state," to which I would respond with a gracious invitation to get bent.
The reason this is bothering me is that I feel like I need to figure out where I'm going to live/practice pretty darn soon.
I've decided to create a spreadsheet (you heard me) to try and keep the requirements straight.
For example, in some states, you need 1,500 hours of supervision and 2,000 hours of direct client contact. In others, you only need 500 hours of supervision and 200 hours of client contact. In one state, you need 3,000 hours of supervision, 1,500 hours of client contact, to sacrifice your first-born to the sun god Ra and to only eat pine nuts on the 3rd Wednesday of every other month while watching Wings reruns (and I'll let you guess which state).
And even then, it just ain't that straight-forward.
So, my plan is to choose the states I think I'm most likely to make my permanent home after graduation and weigh their pros and cons.
Here goes (and please don't be offended if I don't mention your state because there are some I prefer to loathe from a distance):
Illinois (Chicago or a suburb of)
- Closer to my family - P
- Closer to my baseball team - P
- I have many good friends in the Chicago area - P
- I hate their weather like a WalMart that only sells mayonnaise and Funyuns - C
- Whole mess of music/arts/cultural events - P
- No Chick-Fil-A that I know of
- Live closer to an airport - P
- Live further from fresh seafood - C
- Lived here most of my life - P/C
- Closer to my family - P
- Harder to be successful in a small town and that's most of Indiana - C
- Back in the land of show choir and marching band! - P
- I already know where the Chick-Fil-As are - P
- Unless I've grossly misinterpreted the law, it appears to be less complicated to get licensed here - P
- I have a lot of friends in NYC - P
- Butt-load of music/arts/cultural opportunities nearby - P
- Pretty damn expensive to live in the city - C
- The taxes are lower in Scarsdale, according to Ross from Friends - P
- Well, I'm already here, so... - P
- Good friends live in Winston - P
- I hear nice things about Asheville? - P
- While I like NC, I can't say I see myself living here long-term - C
- Interested in the Pacific NW - P
- Surrounded by nature - P/C
- Crunchier, more granola environment that I enjoy - P
- I will most likely be the chunkiest person there - C
- Rains a whole damn lot - P/C
- I saw this episode of No Reservations when Anthony Bourdain visited this awesome looking doughnut shop in Portland, and I really want to go there! - P
- Looks pretty good in Sleepless In Seattle
Or, if you would like to steer me away from a previously mentioned state/city, shout it out. I love me some strong opinions, especially those founded on food or television.
*States with large bugs/lizards need not apply
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Werewolf Bar Mitzvah, spooky, scary!
I don't really dress up for Halloween anymore.
In fact, I can't remember the last time I went all out with a costume.
I remember dressing up as a cheerleader one year (go figure), trick-or-treating for all of ten minutes and then doing a face plant on someone's driveway and skinning my knee. I think I was six. Well, I hope I was six.
I'm sure I did dress up after that but I don't have any vivid memories of really enjoying it.
Apparently that's going to change this year.
When you're in school, it's really hard to avoid it. Somehow I managed to escape it all four years of undergrad, but I'm no longer being let off the hook.
And so, the costume search commences.
Here are the suggestions I've received thus far:
-Garden Ho
-Static cling
-Dino from The Flintstones
-Librarian
-Carrot
While those are all... valid suggestions, I'm respectfully declining.
So, this is your task:
I need a Halloween costume.
Here are the requirements:
-Inexpensive
-Easy to put together/make
-No bare midriffs
-No cliches (e.g. nurse, angel, dry cleaning)
*Tip - Sluttier suggestions, though not my first preference, will still be considered depending on just how darn slutty they truly be. If it's trampy yet original, it may still have a fighting chance.
Onward, costume soldiers!
In fact, I can't remember the last time I went all out with a costume.
I remember dressing up as a cheerleader one year (go figure), trick-or-treating for all of ten minutes and then doing a face plant on someone's driveway and skinning my knee. I think I was six. Well, I hope I was six.
I'm sure I did dress up after that but I don't have any vivid memories of really enjoying it.
Apparently that's going to change this year.
When you're in school, it's really hard to avoid it. Somehow I managed to escape it all four years of undergrad, but I'm no longer being let off the hook.
And so, the costume search commences.
Here are the suggestions I've received thus far:
-Garden Ho
-Static cling
-Dino from The Flintstones
-Librarian
-Carrot
While those are all... valid suggestions, I'm respectfully declining.
So, this is your task:
I need a Halloween costume.
Here are the requirements:
-Inexpensive
-Easy to put together/make
-No bare midriffs
-No cliches (e.g. nurse, angel, dry cleaning)
*Tip - Sluttier suggestions, though not my first preference, will still be considered depending on just how darn slutty they truly be. If it's trampy yet original, it may still have a fighting chance.
Onward, costume soldiers!
Friday, October 16, 2009
October: Years in Review
This time last year, I was living in the Netherlands as an au pair and hating my life.
The year before, I was in Denver, getting a certificate to teach English abroad and planning a move to Poland (never happened).
The year before that, I was in my senior year of undergrad at Indiana and trying to convince my parents to let me switch majors from music to religious studies.
Now, I'm in North Carolina, in grad school for marriage and family therapy.
I'm pretty sure that this time next year, I'll be living on a commune in Duluth, hugging raccoons and harvesting the last of my swiss chard so I can sell it at the local farmers' market and have enough money to finish weaving my hemp wedding dress when I get married to my fiance, Wingspan.
It could happen.
The year before, I was in Denver, getting a certificate to teach English abroad and planning a move to Poland (never happened).
The year before that, I was in my senior year of undergrad at Indiana and trying to convince my parents to let me switch majors from music to religious studies.
Now, I'm in North Carolina, in grad school for marriage and family therapy.
I'm pretty sure that this time next year, I'll be living on a commune in Duluth, hugging raccoons and harvesting the last of my swiss chard so I can sell it at the local farmers' market and have enough money to finish weaving my hemp wedding dress when I get married to my fiance, Wingspan.
It could happen.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
So You Think You Can Read
"This book is for sale. Please alphabetize it."In an attempt to get ahead on my reading, I began one of my MFT books entitled Change (why can't I underline stuff on this thing?).
Little did I know that in the first three pages, there would be mathematical equations, metaphors using automotive equipment and made-up words like "metametalanguage".
I'm gonna go talk to some food about this.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Ghost stories for a modern age
Recently, I have had the distinct displeasure of being reacquainted with a particularly hateful shrew.
Many tales of horror surround her in mystery and darkness.
Some say she eats your children in the dead of night. Others claim she can wither crops and kill off livestock with a simple glance.
Worse yet, I've heard tell that she can actually bewitch you into willingly signing over all your money, assets and possessions, and eventually, your soul.
Yes, that's right. I'm talking about...............
.........Sallie. Mae.
This blistering harpie is tricky.
First, you will fill out all the paperwork and do exactly as you are told. You will submit this information, fully confident that there will be no problems as you followed the instructions to the letter and your helpful customer service rep. assured you all was well.
Next, you will receive multiple e-mails accusing you of late fees, incomplete forms or inaccurate information on your FAFSA.
Then, you will call the deceptive she-bat back and a brand new customer service rep. will claim ignorance regarding what the first person told you (and pretty much tell you how stupid you were to believe them) but give you all new details, insisting that this time it's for real.
After a couple weeks, she will lull you into a false sense of security and you will naively assume that no news is good news.
Bullshit.
It turns out, you were in default of payment and were therefore incurring multiple late fees, as well as additional charges for Sallie's pain and suffering.
Finally, you will call back, rip this particularly friendly customer service rep. a new one, throw around phrases like, "Never in my life...!" and "I want to be quite clear when I say...!" All the while, your robot of a CSR will agree with you and obsequiously promise to clear everything up immediately while you continue to threaten them and every member of their immediate family.
I would like to tell you that this is where the story ends, but...
...it's only the beginning!
Mwahahahahahahahahaha!
Many tales of horror surround her in mystery and darkness.
Some say she eats your children in the dead of night. Others claim she can wither crops and kill off livestock with a simple glance.
Worse yet, I've heard tell that she can actually bewitch you into willingly signing over all your money, assets and possessions, and eventually, your soul.
Yes, that's right. I'm talking about...............
.........Sallie. Mae.
This blistering harpie is tricky.
First, you will fill out all the paperwork and do exactly as you are told. You will submit this information, fully confident that there will be no problems as you followed the instructions to the letter and your helpful customer service rep. assured you all was well.
Next, you will receive multiple e-mails accusing you of late fees, incomplete forms or inaccurate information on your FAFSA.
Then, you will call the deceptive she-bat back and a brand new customer service rep. will claim ignorance regarding what the first person told you (and pretty much tell you how stupid you were to believe them) but give you all new details, insisting that this time it's for real.
After a couple weeks, she will lull you into a false sense of security and you will naively assume that no news is good news.
Bullshit.
It turns out, you were in default of payment and were therefore incurring multiple late fees, as well as additional charges for Sallie's pain and suffering.
Finally, you will call back, rip this particularly friendly customer service rep. a new one, throw around phrases like, "Never in my life...!" and "I want to be quite clear when I say...!" All the while, your robot of a CSR will agree with you and obsequiously promise to clear everything up immediately while you continue to threaten them and every member of their immediate family.
I would like to tell you that this is where the story ends, but...
...it's only the beginning!
Mwahahahahahahahahaha!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Suck it, monkeys! I'm going corporate!
Here at my place of business, I have a pet peeve.
Okay, well I have several, but I'm just going to focus on one for the moment.
The "security system" we have at this building consists of a breezeway with a locked door and a phone. Should you come to this door, you have two options:
1) Use the phone and the instructions provided to call me so you may identify yourself and then I will come let you in
2) Ignore the phone and knock really loudly until I hear you and come let you in
While the second one is a little irritating, it's effective and gets the same result.
Now, in the morning, we receive several deliveries from FedEx, UPS, Campus mail and, of course, the USPS. I generally prop the door open for a few hours so they can come in with less of a hassle.
If I forget to prop the door open, the first three will either call me or knock on the door. They've got boxes and packages, so in this case, I find the knocking to be totally understandable.
The USPS, however, will simply leave the tub of mail at the locked door and drive off, without picking up the outgoing mail.
Today, I forgot to prop the door open, but I heard her drop off the tub. So, I ran (and I do mean RAN) from my office and saw her sprinting back to the mail truck, as though she knew I was right behind her. I even yelled, "No, come back!" It didn't matter, for she was already back to the safety of her van.
What took place for the next ten minutes may only be described as a serious hissy fit.
I was throwing things, very forcefully chucking envelopes into their respective cubbies and, of course, talking to myself. The discussion I was having with myself wasn't that quiet mumbling you often see or hear about. Nay, this was a straight up tantrum I was having that probably sounded a little bit like this:
"GOD FORBID she actually pick UP the mail. I mean, who REALLY NEEDS their mail to go out on a REGULAR BASIS? IN FACT, why don't I come to HER and just come GET THE MAIL? THAT WAY, she never has to actually LEAVE the comfort of HER OWN HOME! AND BY ALL MEANS, don't knock or anything, because then I might LET YOU IN and help you, I don't know, DO YOUR JOB!"
Now, you might be thinking, "Sara, is your world so small that you have to get this jacked up over something so stupid and insignificant?"
Yes, yes it is.
My perspective is a little skewed right now as I don't have a lot going on and I'm in somewhat of a waiting period. I've got three months where I'm just hanging out until I head to North Carolina, and I'm not doing much else.
In the meantime, I think I get bored so I get all worked up over little things to keep me entertained.
Either way, I should take it down a notch and try to remember that there are more important things going on in the world. Even if the mail DOES get picked up, there is still poverty and suffering in the world.
Plus, the USPS can eat my poo.
Okay, well I have several, but I'm just going to focus on one for the moment.
The "security system" we have at this building consists of a breezeway with a locked door and a phone. Should you come to this door, you have two options:
1) Use the phone and the instructions provided to call me so you may identify yourself and then I will come let you in
2) Ignore the phone and knock really loudly until I hear you and come let you in
While the second one is a little irritating, it's effective and gets the same result.
Now, in the morning, we receive several deliveries from FedEx, UPS, Campus mail and, of course, the USPS. I generally prop the door open for a few hours so they can come in with less of a hassle.
If I forget to prop the door open, the first three will either call me or knock on the door. They've got boxes and packages, so in this case, I find the knocking to be totally understandable.
The USPS, however, will simply leave the tub of mail at the locked door and drive off, without picking up the outgoing mail.
Today, I forgot to prop the door open, but I heard her drop off the tub. So, I ran (and I do mean RAN) from my office and saw her sprinting back to the mail truck, as though she knew I was right behind her. I even yelled, "No, come back!" It didn't matter, for she was already back to the safety of her van.
What took place for the next ten minutes may only be described as a serious hissy fit.
I was throwing things, very forcefully chucking envelopes into their respective cubbies and, of course, talking to myself. The discussion I was having with myself wasn't that quiet mumbling you often see or hear about. Nay, this was a straight up tantrum I was having that probably sounded a little bit like this:
"GOD FORBID she actually pick UP the mail. I mean, who REALLY NEEDS their mail to go out on a REGULAR BASIS? IN FACT, why don't I come to HER and just come GET THE MAIL? THAT WAY, she never has to actually LEAVE the comfort of HER OWN HOME! AND BY ALL MEANS, don't knock or anything, because then I might LET YOU IN and help you, I don't know, DO YOUR JOB!"
Now, you might be thinking, "Sara, is your world so small that you have to get this jacked up over something so stupid and insignificant?"
Yes, yes it is.
My perspective is a little skewed right now as I don't have a lot going on and I'm in somewhat of a waiting period. I've got three months where I'm just hanging out until I head to North Carolina, and I'm not doing much else.
In the meantime, I think I get bored so I get all worked up over little things to keep me entertained.
Either way, I should take it down a notch and try to remember that there are more important things going on in the world. Even if the mail DOES get picked up, there is still poverty and suffering in the world.
Plus, the USPS can eat my poo.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Onward, scholastic soldiers!
I can't remember if I've officially announced this or not (and I'm too lazy to check), but I'm going to grad school this Fall.
When I first started telling people of my return to academics, I got one of two very strong reactions.
Reaction A
Man 1: So, what are you up to these days?
Sara: Well, I'm heading to Appalachian State in the Fall to study marriage and family therapy.
Man 1: Wow, that sounds really interesting! Good luck with that!
Reaction B
Woman 1: So, what's next for you?
Sara: Well, I'm heading to Appalachian State in the Fall to study marriage and family therapy.
Woman 1: Oh. That's not music.
Sara: No, but I'll still sing and take lessons. I'm just really excited to, you know, have a job and insurance.
Woman 1: Huh. Well, that's... different.
Mind you, both examples of these reactions generally come from seventy-five year old men and women at my church who probably don't understand what MFT is and think it's some sort of hippie lingo the kids use these days. I don't take it personally.
I have to say, I'm really looking forward to being a student again. I know it won't be exactly like my undergrad, which makes me a little sad. There are some aspects, however, that will probably be pretty similar.
For example, when else in life can you skip showering for days at a time, order Chinese at 2am and nap in the middle of the day without someone being concerned? Should anyone have the audacity to say, "Wow, you look really tired" or "Have you recently taken up meth?", you get to smugly reply, "Don't worry about it. I'm a grad student."
It explains all manner of sins.
I do, of course, have a few reservations. Will I be able to keep up with the course load? Can I meet all the requirements? Will I be forced to interact with the surrounding wilderness?
Yeah, you heard me.
The best and worst thing about Boone, the tiny town in North Carolina that hosts App State, is the vast expanse of mountains, trees, flowers and general nature. Of course, it is absolutely beautiful... and I plan to appreciate that beauty from afar. During my two years, however, I'm sure someone is going to try and make me hike, canoe, camp, etc. God forbid.
If you have any other questions for me, feel free to drop me a comment. Or, I would direct your attention to the video clip below. Whether or not you have questions for me, I beg of you to watch it.
When I first started telling people of my return to academics, I got one of two very strong reactions.
Reaction A
Man 1: So, what are you up to these days?
Sara: Well, I'm heading to Appalachian State in the Fall to study marriage and family therapy.
Man 1: Wow, that sounds really interesting! Good luck with that!
Reaction B
Woman 1: So, what's next for you?
Sara: Well, I'm heading to Appalachian State in the Fall to study marriage and family therapy.
Woman 1: Oh. That's not music.
Sara: No, but I'll still sing and take lessons. I'm just really excited to, you know, have a job and insurance.
Woman 1: Huh. Well, that's... different.
Mind you, both examples of these reactions generally come from seventy-five year old men and women at my church who probably don't understand what MFT is and think it's some sort of hippie lingo the kids use these days. I don't take it personally.
I have to say, I'm really looking forward to being a student again. I know it won't be exactly like my undergrad, which makes me a little sad. There are some aspects, however, that will probably be pretty similar.
For example, when else in life can you skip showering for days at a time, order Chinese at 2am and nap in the middle of the day without someone being concerned? Should anyone have the audacity to say, "Wow, you look really tired" or "Have you recently taken up meth?", you get to smugly reply, "Don't worry about it. I'm a grad student."
It explains all manner of sins.
I do, of course, have a few reservations. Will I be able to keep up with the course load? Can I meet all the requirements? Will I be forced to interact with the surrounding wilderness?
Yeah, you heard me.
The best and worst thing about Boone, the tiny town in North Carolina that hosts App State, is the vast expanse of mountains, trees, flowers and general nature. Of course, it is absolutely beautiful... and I plan to appreciate that beauty from afar. During my two years, however, I'm sure someone is going to try and make me hike, canoe, camp, etc. God forbid.
If you have any other questions for me, feel free to drop me a comment. Or, I would direct your attention to the video clip below. Whether or not you have questions for me, I beg of you to watch it.
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