Busy, Busy, Busy

I love writing.

I love word-vomiting on the internet.

I love researching, talking about and writing about Public Relations work and I can’t wait to get into that field and actively start to work at it, be it corporate, publicity, lobbying…any of it. It’s all exciting. It’s all interactive. It’s a job of endless learning, meeting, growing…and that’s why I’m so excited about it. Working in PR seems like it’ll be a chance to constantly expand and reach out.

As of right now, one of my two roommates continually snaps and lashes out at me for no particular reason, my best friend asked me to help plan her wedding, I’m stuck in too many classes and labs, and I’m working waiting tables almost every night so I can manage to make rent and bills work without running myself dry. I run on about 4 hours of sleep a night to keep my grades where I want them. I think if if you could look into my veins, you’d see coffee and all kinds of teas where there should be blood. Sleep deprivation has made my eyes look like I’m both hungover and stoned almost 24/7 if I don’t remember to put drops in them every morning.

But I wouldn’t trade this for the world. Finally reaching living-situation independence while learning copious amounts of incredibly beneficial information about my future career is thrilling. One of my roommates is my best friend in the world, I have a loving and supportive family who I get to talk to almost every day, and I’ve met a wonderful guy who I’m really enjoying getting to know.

I know the future will get better and pursuing my career will get easier and more fun.

I can’t wait for that to happen.

But right now…doing as much as I can just to live comfortably is taking precedence.

An Excused Absence.

This is my note:

I’ve been working 30 hours a week in addition to my 16 hours (plus a lab) at school.

My one of my best friends has just threatened suicide. 

My other best friend just got engaged. 

I’ve been writing a research paper on the spiritual themes in Tarantino’s “Pulp Fiction“

One roommate and I have been fighting non-stop and have reached a general disagreement on the very basis of the purpose of life itself. 

I’ve become a full-time optimist and a part-time zombie. 
I’m sorry, internet, that I never update this place anymore. 

 

** On that note, if any of you have tips on how to deal with a passive aggressive roommate who believes that life “pushes you down and sucks until you die” and your purpose is to “just try to survive” while those who believe in hope, happiness, and true love are “misguided, unintelligent morons”….please share that advice. I’m in desperate need. 

Public Relations in Real Life

I’m still figuring out exactly what that is. This is what I’ve got so far: 

• Branding
• Marketing
• Crisis Management
• Publicity
• Management
• Keeping everything cool and calm
• Hyping people up
• It’s keeping it classy, being a lady or a gentleman and having everyone else think that’s just the way it is
• It’s designing the media to reflect culture (or is it the other way around?)

Generally….it’s fantastic. It’s being both a professional optimist and a professional realist. It’s knowing exactly who you are and what you’re capable of. It’s getting people to the right place at the right time and having it all seem like happy coincidence. 

I’m looking forward to being a fairy godmother for a living. Who doesn’t want a career where they keep people happy and informed? Yes…I’d like one of those, please.

To Text or Not to Text?

A “guest” (read: customer) at work left me his phone number scribbled on a napkin and that number was inside of a map of America that he drew with Michigan (his home state) taking up about half of the country’s land mass and the path of “adventure” drawn in a straight line from Texas to Michigan.

We share the same birthday, year and all, and were both wearing camo shirts. He works for a company that makes leather. I told him our jobs were connected too because he skins what I serve. He had a nice laugh and a sincere smile and I really don’t see that often.

His name is Tyler and I got a generally good vibe from the guy. He was nice and pretty quiet. His partner, who had already downed 3 tall XXs, was much more talkative. Both of them are on a drive back to Michigan now.

He probably didn’t notice the bajillion clumsy-girl bruises on various parts of my body before he gave me his number. So that’s good.

And now I’m wondering if he does that for all of his waitresses. Is that a common thing? I’ve never felt the least bit inclined to leave my number for anybody.

My job may be stressful and hectic, but holy moly, it is ALWAYS entertaining.

On a slightly heavy note…

I haven’t been writing because I’ve been overwhelmed with school and work.

16 hours at college, not including homework and studying.

30 hours at work and getting home around midnight.

I’m tired.

I’m hungry.

I’ve lost weight and I bleed coffee.

Sunday is my birthday, so I drove home today. I’m staying for the weekend.

My mom and I had a nice talk and I helped her make supper.

When my dad came home, he gave me a huge hug. Then it hit me that I hadn’t hugged anyone (really hugged, not a crappy side-hug) since the last time I saw him a little over a month ago.

And that’s just too long to go without contact like that. That’s ridiculous. That’s insane.

I cried. I cried like I was four years old again and he understood.

He held on.

These are the type of things I get excited about.

Roommate #3: I’m hungry. Anyone want Totino’s Pizza Rolls?

Me: I LOVE TOTINO’S PIZZA ROLLS!

Roommate #1: *laughed laughed laughed* *high fived me*. 

 

Why am I so proud of that? I made a stupid joke and people laughed. Yay.

That has to say something about me. I either am desperate to please or really want attention. I have to make people laugh, I have to make people comfortable and put them in a good mood. I need to be seen as someone fun to be around. 

Whatever the motive may be…at least I get pizza rolls. 

Can we talk about how horrible it is that “Blurred Lines” is so popular?

First off, these are my personal convictions and opinions about this song, video, and human nature/sexuality in general. It’s not meant to criticize anyone who thinks the song is catchy, enjoys the song, or who disagrees with my perspective.

 

1. It’s about human sexuality. THERE SHOULD BE NO BLURRED LINES. It’s a yes or no. No convincing, no confusion, no questioning. Yes or no.

2. “I know you want it.” NO YOU DON’T. Unless the person in question has given you specific permission, you CANNOT act upon them in any way, especially sexually. And don’t you dare try to convince them otherwise, you skeezy, skeezy man.

3. There are constant references to animalistic tendencies, “bitches” and domestication in both the song and video. Humans aren’t primitive beings intended to be owned or domesticated or dominated (unless you want to be, no judgement).

4. And THE VIDEO, SWEET JESUS. Why are only the men wearing clothes? Why are naked women shown in submissive roles that subject them not only to the men’s bodies and desires, but also to a wide audience as nothing more than props and objects to be desired and consumed sexually? That’s savagery at it’s worst, a regression of the human perspective on equality.

Shame on you, Robin Thicke, for allowing and going along with such a glorious method for communication with the world to be used for objectification, dehumanization, and the promotion of pop culture that supports rape culture and shaming by claiming the “good girls” are more desirable than others AND claiming that virginal women clearly desire sex, especially from someone looking to exploit their sexuality.

When did we lose sight of sexuality being something wonderful, something sacred, something beautiful in the face of a blossoming relationship, something that comes innately that promotes the well-being, the VERY being of the human race? Now it’s just full of hashtags, weird props, and indiscretion.

A Celebratory Dinner

To celebrate my first (and very successful) shift as a waitress in a casual steakhouse in the cute little town next door, I sat with my darling roommates, watched half of an episode of The Mentalist, and the entirety of Clue, and ate…that.

Our 3rd roommate moved in and the toilet blew up.

The phone went off at 8 a.m. letting me know #3 was on her way. Along with her entire family. They’re a lovely bunch, moving her in happened in a snap, and the company was more than welcome. The first Saturday night in our apartment consisted of watching The Awakening on Netflix (much better than we anticipated) and praying for a thunderstorm that dissipated at the last moment.

But the next morning was when the real fun began.

I was jolted awake by #3 (with whom I share a room and adjoining bathroom) yelling “Kayleigh!!” So I stumbled out of my bed and into the bathroom where the toilet, already a shifty old thing, had overflowed. And I don’t mean it was a little too full of water.

Water gushed out of the rim. We were standing in half an inch of water that had already begun flooding our floor and water was STILL bubbling up. So, half dressed, we watched the old piping unclog (future note: don’t use too much paper!), reset the tank’s stopper, and mopped up our bathroom. Then…SURPRISE.

It’s raining downstairs in the living room.

We quickly laid down towels, then called our landlady ten times to no answer and a full voice mailbox. Thankfully, under closer analysis, the ceiling was in no danger of falling and wasn’t soggy. The water had only dampened the adhesive and thin set mud holding the sheet-rock slabs together, making a line in our ceiling that the water then dripped through.

We spent the next twenty minutes holding a hairdryer up to the crack in the ceiling to dry the tape and get started on closing that crack up.

#3 was convinced that disaster followed her and she’d be causing an onslaught of disaster in the apartment.

I convinced her it was a coincidence and what we really needed was some french toast and tea. And I was right.

Pools and Chupacabras

At exactly 11p.m., my roommate asked me to join her for a swim. 

Now, the apartment complex pool isn’t exactly what you’d call ideal for a late night dip, but it wasn’t all bad. The subsurface lighting set the water in a pretty blue/green glow that automatically created a safer-feeling space in the courtyard shared by three buildings. The pool entrance gate faced the front door the complex. No other lights were on in surrounding apartments. 

Naturally, I agreed to join her. 

We changed out of our clothes and sprinted downstairs (I lost half a toenail on that pesky last step, edged with metal). The water was a bit chilly for my taste, but it suited the evening air just fine. 

Then she told me her story. 

One night, when driving home down a long dirt road in east Texas, she saw two dark figures in the lane ahead. Dogs, she assumed. She slowed her car and flicked on the brights. The animal in the road rose up and began to slump away with a strange, lopsided stride. Injured. It was black and white, like a sort of canine, but it lacked any snout and she couldn’t see its eyes, even centered in the glare of her headlights. 

Unable to discern what exactly it was, goosebumps pimpled her arms. A panic rose in her stomach. Jumpy and flustered, ready to be home and out of the abnormality of it all, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. 

Suddenly, a second creature began to cross the road in front of her. It had the exact same build as the first animal, and oddly, the same gait. The creatures had shorter legs in front than in back and walked slowly. Neither seemed to notice her vehicle. The two continued on their way, picking up pace gradually, then scampering into the darkened side of the road. 

She sped off around them, contemplating turning around for a second look, then quickly deciding against it. 

Naturally, we agreed that she must have seen chupacabras. We shared a shudder in the pool over her story, both a little disturbed by her retelling. Then, right on cue, Chubs the Community Cat ran out from behind a tree, meowing and sprinting for us. The poor fluff ball. Starved for attention.

And if that weren’t enough, as soon as we adjusted to the cat’s presence, it stared off into the distance. A large man appeared out of nowhere, standing by the gate. We stared right back. 

Finally, he called out. “Y’all got any I.D.s?” 

We pointed at our apartment. He nodded back and said “Okay, I don’t really care. Just have ’em next time, ladies.” 

On that too-startling note, we clamored out of the pool and ran back upstairs to our home. 

 

Not so eventful after all. But hey, who doesn’t enjoy a good shake-up in the dark?

 

Have any of you had any creepy run-ins with strange creatures at night? And no, I don’t mean your drunken ex. 

Feel free to leave your story in the comments or email collegeinreallife@gmail.com and I’ll put your story up here.