I would just like to say that for everyone who has not met me, or had a conversation with me that was longer than an hour, you sorely have the wrong impression.
I went to my coworker's place. She and I always make plans and they always fall through, and since I'd never been I thought the polite thing to do - as I usually do when I go somewhere I've never been, or you know a party - I brought a case of Yuengling and because I had passed Krispy Kreme on the way I brought a dozen donuts.
I may not be the PBR-metal/hardcore-bike gang-lover that Richmond seems to be full of, and I may in fact be a complete bitch, goddamnit, I care about these fucking people that don't give a fucking shit about me.
(That last line may have been too honest, and I may regret it later.)
A certain guy last night based his opinion of me complete on the fact that I hate PBR (and most cheap beer) and listening to hard-core anything (that's not to say that I don't appreciate it, it's just not my preference). Later in the evening after I had danced, mostly by myself - Richmond dances less than DC, I managed to find myself in a conversation with this guy and a couple of others about the difference between being a nice person and a good person.
They all strive to be "nice guys" and I find the word almost repulsive. Nice is what you say about someone when you don't have anything better (or worse) to say about them. I find that nice people are boring, followers, people-pleasers, etc. Awful, right?
These boys believe that everyone should be nice. All the time. This is my beef with Richmond. It's the fact that I am incapable of sitting back, shooting the shit while getting oblitereated.
Good people do things without talking about them. I suppose they're humble, and while I'm not humble at all, I think that I don't go out of my way to talk about "good deeds." You all know or have known someone that has done something "good" and talked about it too much.
One thing led to another and we were onto first impressions and why they matter. I think they're everything, and well these guys disagree. (Is it apparent that we are complete opposites?) So then, why did I bring the beer and donuts? Am I nice, or good? I thought I was being polite, a topic that they had never heard of. And apparently it was pretentious. I just can't win, but then again, this conversation was in a group and didn't last more than twenty minutes. And when it was all over, they got free heart-shaped-sprinkled donuts. Sometimes I'm just too nice.
For those of you that aren't aware, I'm applying for several internships - State Department, NPR, Slate, DC City Paper, and of course, The Washington Post. I finished my application for the State Department back in December, and have been working on the NPR application for the past few days.
I feel like I should have done all these things before, but none of the jobs I've had (all three of them) have required a cover letter and/or resume. And it's not that writing these things is difficult, but tedious. I have no idea what a cover letter is supposed to look like, how long it's supposed to be, or what it's supposed to say - except that it's supposed to make you look good and you're supposed to flatter the reader a little bit. Mine was about five hundred words and included the sentence "Eww...You want to have sex?" I promise it made sense in the context.
I sent to a bunch of people (Christina, Mr. Brann - I'm talking to you) who did not reply. Luckily Mrs. Hailey and my dad had plenty of time to lend an open ear. And despite it being relatively casual, it was me. And so were the writing samples. I used a BYT review, an article I wrote for Ink about stripping and the blog I wrote after my car accident. When I faxed everything, it came to thirteen pages.
The next deadline is Slate, and I'll probably send the exact same things. I've thought and emailed about being an official intern for BYT, but the editrix has not gotten back to me about it. And it's not paid, though I wouldn't get paid at City Paper either, and I'm not sure about Slate. And assuming that they all want me (unlikely) I would obviously choose the one that paid the most, unless I get the one at the Post, in which case money is not an object. I think I would (and probably will eventually) sell my soul to Leonard Downie. It's really a shame he's not at the Post anymore, but whatever, I'm awesome, and if I can snag an interview with any of these publications I will have it in the bag. TADA!
The past few days have been spent crying and eating chocolate pastries. Pathetic, but delicious.
Last night I got home from work and was naturally very hungry. I thought that I had and Amy's frozen something in my freezer, but I was wrong, so I ordered pizza. Not just any pizza, my favorite pizza. Greek pizza WITHOUT black olives from Bottom's Up. I like black olives, just not on pizza - I have a thing about combining different textures. They told me it would be about thirty minutes and asked if I could meet the driver outside as they were very busy. I agreed, and when he arrived I quickly signed the receipt and went up to my room. Upon opening the pizza I started crying, they had included black olives. This really is nothing to cry about, and I considered picking all the olives off, but... have you ever tried picking olives off anything? It's difficult. So, I pulled myself together and called them back and asked if something could be done. I felt bad about this, but I had had such an awful day, and wanted what I wanted. The manager said he would have another pizza sent over and that it would arrive in about thirty minutes. I suppose I didn't say anything because he asked, "Ma'am, are you there? Is thirty minutes okay?" Yeah. "Are you okay?" I started crying again. I mean it really is ridiculous, right? I tried telling him that I was fine, but he didn't believe me, obviously I wasn't, so he offered to throw in a six pack, which would have been lovely if I didn't live in the dorms, so when I said no, he insisted that something else could be done. So, I got a brownie sundae. Score! The pizza man heard me cry, on the phone. He heard me explain what an awful day I had, and was genuinely interested. It's easy to fall into thinking that people really don't care about others, but then someone like Ricky manages to changes that and show some humanity.
Now, I would appreciate it if someone would explain to me why boys are so awful, always trying to do the practical or logical thing. It seems to me that feelings have never allowed me to do anything practical or logical. Though I have learned that more is accomplished if I keep my mouth shut than go off. And I think that boys in general are fairly lucky that I am not the hitting kind of girl.
Today was not any different than the past couple of days, and this whole "friends" thing is silly. There comes a point where being friends, at least proper friends isn't possible. This becomes particularly difficult if two people are stubborn. I am a feeling person, and even if I don't like my feelings, I deal and they either go away or they don't.
I have been waiting for these ones to go away, they haven't. I'm pissed.
But at least when I'm pissed I can come home to FRESH FLOWERS!
Yesterday when I got back from class, Jessica had left a small bouquet of Spider Chrysanthemums and a note. Have I mentioned that I have the best roommate ever? Because I do. I don't think she realizes how happy that made me yesterday.
And today after an outing that was less than stellar I came in and checked my mailbox and in it was a card from my daddy and a package notice. I went to the housing office to pick up my package. A large, green, ProFlowers box. Inside were a dozen, long stem, red roses, for me.
I seem to have some pretty good friends, they make up for all the boys I know needing man lessons.
Thanks guys, I love you.
The hardest part about coming to college has been living in the dorms. VCU has two campuses and I live on the medical campus, I'm not sure why they have a fresman dorm there, but they do and most people don't like it. I miss having a living room, a kitchen, you know, more than half a 14 x 10 room to put my stuff. I want an entertainment center instead of an old barber's chair and a desk to put a television and stereo. I want a big-girl-bed instead of one that I have to pull out from the wall to lay on. But most of all I just want a place where I am not constantly surrounded by nineteen year-olds. Of course my dorm is better than those on the main campus because it's quieter and there are a lot of transfer students AND a lot of people have moved out to live on the other campus as rooms became available, I'm pretty sure that at least half my floor has moved out. I like that.
As a result of my dislike of the dorms I have taken to checking Craigslist obsessively. The only problem with this is that most of the places that are available now won't be in July or August, but at least I'm getting an idea. My parents bought my sister a house, she got a roommate and they paid rent, but still. It was an adorable house, it would have been perfect for me and my roommate (we are getting a place together next year), but they sold it last year when she got married. Richmond is cheap, you can get a two bedroom apartment for seven hundred dollars here. Jessica (roommate) and I don't want to pay more than five hundred each. When we tell this to people they always look shocked and then say something about that being so expensive. Really? Expensive?
Jessica's sister told us the other day that "part of being in college is having a shitty first apartment." I disagree. I have already done the dorm thing, I am by no means going to live in a "shitty" apartment if I can help it. I want to find the place and stay there until I graduate.
I have also taken to looking at furniture online and am really excited for a big-girl-bed. I am going to get a queen size and I've found three on Overstock.com that I love. I'm going to keep my duvet, it's brown with white polka-dots and Ikea no longer carries the design, but the Armstrongs have it too of Dooce.com. (If I get the time I'll find a picture of it and set up the link, but I really don't feel like it right now.) I like the pattern, it's very gender neutral, and it's not black. Though, I am leaning towards the black bed frame.
My apartment will not be shitty. It will be painted and have framed pictures and fresh flowers and a coffee table, and dishes and a couch and chairs and a DVD/VHS player and rugs and...
