|
Dainty_Dame
|
read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: Jacqueleen
Country: United States
State: California
Birthday: 12/11/1982
Gender: Female
Interests: Writing; collecting quotes, useless tidbits of trivia and nostalgic information; photography; musical theatre; anything artsy; hanging out; thinking way too much; singing whatever song happens to be stuck in my head at the moment as loud as I can in my car; dancing at a club or a party now and then; being silly; laughing; smiling; observing; ...whatever suits the moment.
Expertise: Being me...
Occupation: Student
Message: message me
Member Since:
7/7/2003
|
|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
|
Destiny Does Not Equal Dad
At some point in every twenty-something’s life, we reach those dreaded
moments where we stop and reflect in a dumbstruck panic, thinking, “Oh
my God, I sound just like my mother/father.”
There are some areas that I’ve just given up on fighting. For
instance, I will always have a bit of my mother’s obsessive
perfectionism that drives me to do and redo a task until no one
remembers, or cares, what the heck we were trying to accomplish in the
first place.
But there are other areas in which I’m just not willing to give
in. I refuse, for example, to allow my obsessive nature to drive
me to the point that I unplug the computer every night out of paranoia
over hacker type intruders invading and conquering my...whatever it is
that my mother thinks is valuable enough to want to take from her
computer.
But I recently--despite the disquieting thought in the back of my head
whispering, “This is so something your father would do”--purchased a
book entitled Conquering Your Quarterlife Crisis.
I’ve always been a person with clear goals and I’ve always walked with
a driven step along a clear path. But lately, I’m reconsidering
everything that I thought I wanted to do with my life. Mainly
I’ve been questioning the motives behind certain goals and trying to
figure out what I want to be “happy.” And more specifically, what
does “happy” mean later in life anyway?
In the words of 32-year-old Captain Alexander Snowden spoken reflecting
on his just-out-of-college years, “All of a sudden, I felt like a
freshman again. But this time, I wasn’t in college. I was a
freshman in life.”
Great so, I spent another four years in school to feel like a first
year... yet again. ::sigh:: How many initiation rituals are
there in modern society anyway? And more importantly, is there a
warning list of them anywhere that I might read?
I always thought that I would jump right into the corporate world of
marketing right out of school. But now I’m questioning the long
hours and putting off other things that now seem more important to
me. Like time with my current, and hopefully, my future
family. And, the still present if slightly optimistic desire to
do something good with my life. And, my strong connection with
kids....and well maybe teaching.
I think I’m finally determining that it isn’t enough for me to just
find a job that will make work fun. I want a job that will make
life fun. I want time to travel. I don’t want my children
to be raised by some stranger. And I don’t want to work long
hours for some company just to make a ton of money I’ve no time to
spend.
For the first time ever I’m wandering aimlessly. I got a
full-time position on campus that will at least give me a bit of time
to think... And in the meantime, this book is actually proving quite
helpful.
At the moment I’m taking another serious look into getting my teaching
credential, something that would put me pondering precisely what Daddy
was pondering at my age. Well, I guess there’s no point in
fighting inheriting just the good parts. | | |
| The Joy of A Good "Bad Decision"
Well, I guess I’ll start with the stereotypical “haven’t been here in a
while.” Perhaps it was the writing class, being overwhelmed with
interviews, the excitement of upcoming graduation, or the new boyfriend
that zapped my need for a Xanga outlet. In any event, the
current circumstances…or lack there of…have left a bit of vacuum that a
little blog time might fill quite nicely.
You see my friends, if any of you are still out there that is,
after twenty-two-and-a-half years of doing the perfectly predictable
“right thing” I finally made the most wonderfully wonderful “bad
decision”…and I’m now living with the consequences.
With the final quarter at UCD trickling to an end and numerous
“promising” job prospects surfacing in the Bay, I decided to tack a few
thousand more dollars onto my already abundant student debt, and to
squander most of my small graduation gift earnings by studying art in
Spain for the summer. This my friends, was wonderful “bad
decision” number one.
A few weeks in a country where I only clumsily spoke the language and
where I had no support network of friend or boyfriend to which to
cling, proved to be a wonderful opportunity to think and grow.
And traveling Europe after the program with the greatest boyfriend ever
created, proved the perfect dose of relaxation and fun.
I returned home with a self-proclaimed “I can do it all by myself”
badge and—as confidently as possible for a still enormously indecisive
little me—politely declined the opportunity to pursue a fabulous new
life of entry-level, but well paid, grunt work in the Bay Area. This of
course, was the good “bad decision” number two.
And then, just to keep with the pattern, for the great “bad decision”
number three I opted to not stay in the rent-free comforts of my
parent’s Southern California home, and instead I took the last very
little bit of my saving left from my European excursion and moved in
with—or more literally, on top of—my wonderful boyfriend in his small
Davis room.
The good news is I now have my own bit of much needed space in the form
of my own room in West Davis. The bad news is I am still jobless
and basking in the irony of a BA degree making me nearly unemployable
in the college town I call home.
So after frantically completing a double major in four years while
continuously working two jobs though the process, I’ve traded that life
in for sitting endlessly on my bum, twiddling my thumbs for hours on
end while waiting for my boyfriend to return from his part-time summer
job.
But I shouldn’t be all that pessimistic. I do have some possibly
promising job prospects waiting in the wings, and hopefully after a few
more weeks of patience masked as nail-biting anguish, I’ll have a job
to call my own.
Meanwhile, I’m off squander a bit more of my precious savings in an
effort to kill a bit more of my overly abundant free-time by printing
some fabulous black and whites as reminders of all the reasons I made
these wonderfully wonderful bad choices:
-the chance to stay close to an amazingly bright, sensitive, caring, and oh-so-patient boyfriend
-the opportunity to have an adventure and come home knowing I can do it on my own
-the chance to see the sights of Europe
-the endless opportunity to hear “Oh Danny Boy” playing in my head as sung by slightly tipsy Irishmen
-and, the chance to take a time-out and follow the path that leads to
somewhere maybe not “right” in the eyes of everyone else, but oh so
very happy.
| | |
| Crappy yet...Cute
Me with next-to-no make up, hung over, and in desperate need of a hairbrush...with Caleb's snake and Leah 
I think the roommate search may FINALLY
be over. Liga and I found a cool guy named Matt to add to the
apartment next fall.  Hopefully this one sticks.
Each round of searching has it's most memorable candidate. Last
time it was most certainly the crazy ADHD girl...this time it was Mad
Mark.
I met Mark on Thursday afternoon. He'd left a message on my
machine in response to our ad in The Aggie. We talked for a bit
about the apartment and he seemed nice enough, so I told him I'd call
Liga to see when she was free, and then call him back to set up a time
to meet. I hung up and took a nap. (don't mock me...I worked a
night shift on Wednesday and got up super early the next morning)
After I woke up and had started cooking dinner, the phone rang. I
was a bit leery to answer it as I'd just dealt with a quite random call
to my cell a few minutes earlier that went like this:
Me: Hello. (the number was a 707 area code...so I was expecting Matt's voice)
A female on the other end: What state is this!?!?
Me: Excuse me? (what is up with this woman? this is NOT 411)
Her: What state is this!?!?!
Me: Who is this? (what state am I in?...what state is she in?...what
the heck does she want? and why is she calling me? and why is she
yelling at me on my cell phone? I pay for this crap!)
Her: I'm calling this number that was on my phone! What state is this?!?!
Me: Well I don't know why it's on your phone.
Her: What state is this!?!
Me: um...California
Her: This is a CALIFORNIA number?
Me: Yes, inland Southern California...goodbye.
What the heck?  I scrolled through my
dialed calls....no sign of this woman's number anywhere.
Although, her number is only one digit off of Matt's, and when Matt
first left me his cell phone number on my home answering machine it was
a bit hard to make out. I did dial one other number and hang up
on a voice mail that was clearly not his. But that was FOUR days
prior to this "what state is this" phone call...so it took me a moment
after she'd hung up to make the connection. I'm guessing that
must have been this woman though.
At any rate...I'd just dealt with this when my house phone rang.
My first inclination was to let the answering machine get it. I
was cooking after all...and I'd had my phone drama for the night
already. But I was afraid it would be another potential roommate,
so I answered it.
Me: Hello.
Guy on the phone: This is Mark.
Me: Oh hi what's up?
Him: Where are you!?!
Me: umm...excuse me? (sheesh, what's with people yelling at me on my phones tonight?)
Him: I'm at the library! Where are you!?! (note: I work with a
Mark...at the library...so I thought for a second that maybe it was him)
Crap am I supposed to be at work...but no this didn't sound like
Mark...and why would Mark be yelling at me? If I missed work Sylvia
would call not him....and I wasn't supposed to meet Mark
anywhere. This must be potential roommate Mark. I thought I
told him I would call him with a meeting time? This must just be
a misunderstanding.
Me: I'm sorry were we supposed to meet somewhere?
Him: Um...Yeah!
Me: I think there must have been some sort of misunderstanding. Didn't I talk to you earlier?
Him: I don't know WHO you talked to earlier but it was NOT me!
Me: Um...are you calling about the apartment?
Him: *silence*....oh...yeah (in suddenly sweet tone) How is that going?
Me: Um..ok
Him: I was scrolling though my phone and I meant to call my Chem partner, Janice.
Me: Oh (Poor Janice, I pity the girl for having to deal with this jerk)
Him: So how are you? I looked at the floor plan on the website, and I picked up an AP application.
Me: (Like that matters now...I really have no interest in living
with anyone who is going to talk to me the way you just did...what's
janice's number...I'll live with her) Actually I'm kinda in the
middle of cooking dinner, so I'd better go.
Him: Ok, I guess I'll just wait to hear back from you then. Sorry about the misunderstanding.
Me: It's ok. (jerk) Bye.
I spoke to Liga about Mad Mark the next day. We both agreed that
it was better not to call him back. And from now on... if I don't
know the number and I'm not expecting the call... there's a very high
likelihood that you will be getting my voice mail.
| | |
| A Moral Dilemma
Does this look like the face of a 12-year-old to you?
Sometimes I look at the "naughty" people of the world in envy. There must be an enormous sense of freedom in really not giving a poop about other people or doing the "right" thing. I wish I could be that self centered from time to time...but I can't. I'm bound by a sense of obligation to myself that other people just can not understand.
My friends mocked me two weeks ago when I found a wallet containing $120. Not only did I not take the money, I looked the guy up in the student directory, called his mommy, and sent him an email (the local numbers are never accurate in that thing.) I met him later that night downtown. He offered me a reward, but I refused. I was always taught to do the right thing because it was the right thing...not to receive anything in return. He really wanted to do something for me though...so I told him he could pay for my ice cream (it was free scoop night at Ben and Jerry's.) Could I have used $120? Of course. Would anyone have known what I did if I had just kept the money? Probably not...but I would have.
Anywho...I bring this up because I found myself in one of those "morality in question" moments again this morning. In my massive sleep deprivation I managed to sleep through Wednesday's midterm. Fortunately it was for my CMN class. I have a guest professor from Sac State...so the class is kinda like high school all over again. This was his response to my email (in which I addressed him as "Professor Chase" and signed "Jacqueleen B_____"):
JB--
I totally understand. Not a problem.
I have left a makeup exam for you in Sproul 108. Please be sure to bring a
SCANTRON, number 2 pencil, and large UCD Blue Book.
all the best,
Coach Chase
This made me giggle. "Coach Chase?" and "JB" (my Dad's nickname in high school)...too perfect.
But wait...he "left" me a test? Hmmm.... "Ok" I thought. So I showed up today promptly at 8:00, pencil, scantron, and bluebook in hand, and encountered a locked room 108. Hmmm. Knock. No response. Slightly louder knock. No response.
Voice from across the hall, "Are you here to make up a test?"
Me,"Yes."
She gets up and unlocks room 108..."Which professor?"
Me, "Chase."
Her, "Ok here you go."
She ushered my down the hall and into conference room filled with CMN majors from various classes, all taking make up exams. I took a deep breath and prepared to utilize my test taking BS skills...I can't even remember when the last time was that I attended my 8 am lecture with "Coach Chase." But usually with a little reading, the inevitable study guide, and just plain common sense...CMN classes are not a big deal.
As I read over the instructions and my choice of "essay" questions (translation of CMN terminology, essay: one short paragraph in response, vague pointless rambling with elevated vocabulary prefered) I wriggled my way out of my sweatshirt and looked up to find a boy of a typical CMN description paying entirely too much attention to my ummm...chest region. I would say boobs...but I really don't have any to speak of. That being the case my first response was to quickly look down in panic. Ack! I know I was in a hurry this moring, did i forget a shirt? no...a bra? no...Is there something on me?...no I'm wearing a typical "nothing specail" outfit. A haltertop...not too low cut...no tummy exposure...jeans...ponytail...your basic mad dash out of the house "midterm morning" ensemble. What the heck is he looking at?
He smiled. Not knowing what else to do, I smiled back and then looked down again at my test. Whatever, that was random...but then again this is nothing compared to some of my very odd encounters...so I forgot about it quickly and went back to my vague pointless rablling...ah shit...I have no idea what this term is...BS...BS...BS...sounds good to me. I sneezed. "Bless you."...he smiles again.
"Thank you."
"Essay" questions over, I quickly settled into the pace of the bubble portion of the test and was moving along quite nicely. Question 26... hmmm... C... turn the page...question 31...ummm ... E...hey, wait a minute! I flipped back a page...26....forward a page...31...grrr
I picked up my test and quietly eased my way out of the conference room...all too aware of the CMN guy's gaze. Maybe he's just zoning.
I walked into the office of the woman down the hall. "There seems to be a page missing from my test," I say.
"A page missing?"
I think that's what I just said. Look lady I'm not a math expert or anything...but I think I can count to 30. Oh wow I'm grouchy...that's what lack of sleep does for me. "Yeah I think so. It goes from number 26 to 30."
"Let me see." I handed her the test which she quickly examined...."25...30...hmmmm" No actually it's 26...but I didn't correct her. "Hmmm," she said again. She rummaged through her files and finds another copy of the test. "Hmm they all seem to be like that." She looked up at me like she did not know what to do.
"So...I guess I'll just leave those ones blank."
"Ah yes...leave them blank and I'll leave a note for your professor." Yeah sure like I'm going to rely on you. I'll send him an email. Sheesh I'm grumpy.
"Thank you." I smiled and walked away.
I reentered the conference room, careful not to make eye contact with the CMN guy, and settled back into my chair across the table.
I was just about to bubble in B for number 71, when the lady from down the hall came in carrying various bags. "I'm really sorry to bother all of you," she said, "But I'm going to have to leave. So please just slide your tests under the door when you are done. Here are your backpacks. Sorry to interrupt." She left and closed the door.
Wow that's incredibly dumb. We so could just cheat right now. Typical of the CMN department though. Oh well...I went on with my test.
The CMN guy was getting figity. He had finished his test a long time ago now. Why was he still here? I hurried along with my test, anxious to get out of there. The girl across from me left. Now it was just me, the CMN guy, and one other meek looking guy way back in the corner...oh and our backpacks.
Ah...the moment of truth.
The CMN guy lasted about two minutes. He stood up from his chair, reached into his forest green backpacked, rummaged through a well warn UCD spiral, and retook his test in open note format.
He looked up at me. I looked down. That was the last time we made eye contact.
I took about ten more minutes to finish my test, and then left, having once again sat soundly in my morality.
What can I say...I'm a good little girl...I'm stuck. I didn't cheat, I didn't keep the money, and I still left my roommate cookies I made despite his being an ass lately. It just wouldn't feel right to do anything differently. I mean I've spent some moments in a bit of a grey area...but for the most part I tend to do the right thing.
Perhaps this is why I get offered the "child's" pass, get carded for R rated movies back home, and had to stand my ground that I was in fact 21 in Tahoe. Maybe it's not my physical appeareance but my being seeminly sweet and innocent that makes me seem 12. Hmmm... | | |
| One More Crazy Week Down...
well...almost
So, Amy got accepted into the Washington Center program... so I get to
hunt for another roommate... again. At least I have Liga to help
me through it this time. This week I had a midterm on
Monday, a paper and a rough draft due Tuesday, another paper and
another midterm on Wednesday, and a final version of a Tuesday's draft
due today. That was the plan anyway. I kinda messed it up
Wednesday morning.  I managed to accomplish every college students worst fear: I SLEPT through a midterm. 
Fortunately for me it all worked out and I get to make the test up
tomorrow morning... *sigh of relief* and now I'm off to study,
study, study... Something from the Aggie I can relate to:
Tuesday May 11, 2004
You can be my roommate today!
By LAMAR HEYSTEK
Pretend I'm a hypnotist. Your eyes dart back and
forth as you follow my pocket watch. Your eyelids feel like lead
weights. You're getting sleepy. Sleepy. Sleepy.
You're now in such a deep sleep that you can barely
move. You see nothing but darkness. You even think that I'm reasonably
good-looking.
Yes, you're becoming delusional.
"Lamar, you're so cool, I just gotta live with you," you moan under hypnosis. "Do you have a free room?"
I thought you'd never ask. Let me tell you a story.
I come through the front door of my apartment after a long day of telling off Safeway shoppers.
"Honey, I'm home!" I yell upstairs to Andrew, also a
Safeway employee. "Don't you just hate it when customers try to return
`buy one get one free' items without a receipt? What cheapskates!"
It's 6 p.m., so I decide to take a rest on the living room couch and watch an hour of "The Golden Girls."
So I go to the living room and prepare to sit down -
only to fall flat on my butt. The couch is missing. That's okay, I
figure, I can watch TV on the floor. Except the TV's gone, too.
Hmm, I wonder, what the hell's going on here? I get
off my butt and go to the kitchen to fix myself a snack. So I go to the
refrigerator and look for the cheese. But I end up looking for the
refrigerator instead.
"Who took my cheese?" I ask aloud. "You can take the couch, you can take the TV, but don't nobody touch my cheese!"
Then I realize the microwave, the kitchen table, and
the Ronco Food Dehydrator are all gone, too. The whole house is empty.
I run upstairs to Andrew's room, only to find a hastily scrawled note.
"Dear Lamar," the note began. "I'm sorry I have to do this to you, but I'm moving out."
I couldn't believe my eyes.
"For the past eight months, I've had to put up with
a lot - your loud Dutch music, your failure of a Davis City Council
campaign, `The Golden Girls.'"
"Simply put, you and I lead vastly different lives. For starters, I have sex, and you don't."
How do you know that, Andrew?
"I know this because I read your column."
Fair enough.
"Furthermore, your rules are completely unreasonable. Why should I have to keep my dirty underwear in my room?"
I'm just trying to prevent the spread of infectious diseases, Andrew, that's all.
"And rent should be due by the end of the month, not the first."
Maybe I have been a bit too strict about the rent.
"I would rather live in the women's restroom at Safeway than be your roommate."
As someone who has lived in the women's restroom at
Safeway, let me tell you that it wasn't a picnic. You can't even shower
in there.
"Lamar," the note ended, "I'm moving to Safeway, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."
Like hell I can. I own the women's restroom. I can
charge you rent there, too. So that's the story. I lost my roommate and
need a new one - ASAP. Sign a lease today and see an immediate increase
in your self-esteem. Trust me, whenever you feel down, you can always
look at me and feel much, much better about your life.
Now that I'm finished with my spiel, I'll snap my fingers.
You can open your eyes now.
Interested in living with LAMAR HEYSTEK? Write to him at lrheystek@ucdavis.edu for a tour of his apartment. You won't be sorry. | | |
|
