This morning, one of my professors told me that I was going to have to stop being late to their class. I asked if they had marked me absent again, and they said they had, to which I responded that I was actually there.
I can't really tell you how much this bothers me, mostly because I never miss anything of substance in class. I was about 8 minutes late this morning, and we didn't even begin to discuss anything of importance until probably quarter after. It was immensely frustrating - I'm just a naturally late person and I accept that, but I am not absent in mind or in person.
If you're going to count me absent, give me the option of leaving.
I am also unhappy because the windchill is 24 degrees, and I'm expected to power walk in it. I already have a cold, and it's difficult to sing, and my hearing is NEXT WEEK, and I haven't heard back from my cellist.
I think the world is probably against me today.
I also think that later, I am going to get my work done and watch a movie.
Gahhhhhhhhhh.
Labels for this post: discouraged, cold, sniffly
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Watch
For some reason, I can't stand being watched or scrutinized. I suppose the only difference there is that scrutiny implies judgment. I don't really care, because it still bothers me. Maybe I'm just crazy.
Nah.
I've discovered that I'm an okay cook, but I'm a pretty baller baker. It could be that I'm just not that good at improvising, so baking is ideal. Either way, I really enjoy it. Thanks to my wonderful boyfriend, I now have a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and I read through recipes pretty often. The next thing I want to cook is an artichoke, and the next thing I want to bake is a strawberry tart, which requires a pastry crust and a spring-form pan. It'll be the first time I've attempted to make a pastry crust, but I can always call my mom. She knows, man.
I'm not going to cook my way through that cookbook like Julie Powell. I admire her writing, for sure, and I can't wait to try some recipes, but I am absolutely certain that I would utterly lose any patience I possess trying to clean the food processor or something.
However.
I am seriously considering taking a few culinary arts classes, and I have a vague lifetime goal of owning a small shop selling local products/bakery. Seriously. If you don't believe me, you should try my apple crisp.
Labels for this post: Julie Powell, watch, bake
Thursday, January 21, 2010
HBO
In my house, "HBO" isn't an acronym for Home Box Office; instead, it stands for Honey Bunches of Oats.
With almonds.
Regardless, I've been lucky enough to watch some of HBO's 'Californication', which is not actually about the Red Hot Chili Peppers. They might do enough drugs on the show to qualify, though. Basically, the main character is a sex addict living in LA and hopelessly attached to his baby mama, who continually refuses him. It's a pretty typical story, of course, so it hits home in all the right places. It's brilliantly written. It made me think about toxic people.
When I speak to my friends about relationships, they usually have had one relationship where the other person didn't treat them very well at all, and yet they stuck around. Of course it's a bad decision. No, you shouldn't expect it to go anywhere - even if they promise you it will - but when it comes down to it, are you going to listen to yourself?
Nope. When you're in love with someone, that's it. Even if they constantly pick fights with you, break you down, and barely touch you. They will tell you they love you more than anything, and you will believe it. Them. Whatever.
I know that I never want to go there again, yet something in me stirs when I review that relationship. It's like all the best prose I have gushes from my fingers and sits there, naked and without apology. It's not patient or kind.
It is completely wasted - utterly useless. That doesn't matter, as it's good practice. I'm not angry, I just don't care.
Labels for this post: a, little, different
With almonds.
Regardless, I've been lucky enough to watch some of HBO's 'Californication', which is not actually about the Red Hot Chili Peppers. They might do enough drugs on the show to qualify, though. Basically, the main character is a sex addict living in LA and hopelessly attached to his baby mama, who continually refuses him. It's a pretty typical story, of course, so it hits home in all the right places. It's brilliantly written. It made me think about toxic people.
When I speak to my friends about relationships, they usually have had one relationship where the other person didn't treat them very well at all, and yet they stuck around. Of course it's a bad decision. No, you shouldn't expect it to go anywhere - even if they promise you it will - but when it comes down to it, are you going to listen to yourself?
Nope. When you're in love with someone, that's it. Even if they constantly pick fights with you, break you down, and barely touch you. They will tell you they love you more than anything, and you will believe it. Them. Whatever.
I know that I never want to go there again, yet something in me stirs when I review that relationship. It's like all the best prose I have gushes from my fingers and sits there, naked and without apology. It's not patient or kind.
It is completely wasted - utterly useless. That doesn't matter, as it's good practice. I'm not angry, I just don't care.
Labels for this post: a, little, different
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Heavy cream
Ever since I was able to eat solid food, my mother has been a zealous disciple of healthy eating habits. As a result, most of the things I don't like to eat are unhealthy and usually fried, and I gravitate toward healthier choices naturally. In most ways, I am grateful for this. I love vegetables, and I like to eat things that make me feel great. Except pizza. I love pizza, and we only eat it about three or four times a year. Mmmm.
However, right now I'm experiencing a distinct lack of gratefulness, because I seem to have convinced myself that it is possible to make delicious, perfectly peaked whipped cream without using heavy whipping cream. I'm trying to make it with 2% milk and it just won't whip it. Where is Devo when you need them? Seriously.
But the worst part is that I KNOW THIS IS POSSIBLE. I KNOW IT. My grandmother is lactose-intolerant and can make wonderful whipped cream which isn't even cream. So there must be a way to do it, and I am most stubbornly putting this delicious frothy milk into the freezer to set. If you want to know the mixture, it's just milk, sugar, a little espresso and dark rum. It's the tastiest destroyer of self-esteem I've ever met.
So help me God, I am going to eat you, tasty cream.
Labels for this post: sweet, frothy, frustration
However, right now I'm experiencing a distinct lack of gratefulness, because I seem to have convinced myself that it is possible to make delicious, perfectly peaked whipped cream without using heavy whipping cream. I'm trying to make it with 2% milk and it just won't whip it. Where is Devo when you need them? Seriously.
But the worst part is that I KNOW THIS IS POSSIBLE. I KNOW IT. My grandmother is lactose-intolerant and can make wonderful whipped cream which isn't even cream. So there must be a way to do it, and I am most stubbornly putting this delicious frothy milk into the freezer to set. If you want to know the mixture, it's just milk, sugar, a little espresso and dark rum. It's the tastiest destroyer of self-esteem I've ever met.
So help me God, I am going to eat you, tasty cream.
Labels for this post: sweet, frothy, frustration
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Ms. New Booty
Happy New Year, everyone. I've been reading some great status updates on Facebook and Blogger about the upcoming year. I really enjoy optimism.
My personal resolution is to purchase my meat and dairy from organic/local farmers. I know it's more expensive, but I really believe it's worth it. It's so much better for your body and for the environment. Speaking of bodies, let's talk about them.
Last spring, I had a rough semester, and in response to it, I either didn't eat, or I ate a piece of cheese. I barely slept, and I walked constantly. It was incredibly unhealthy in most aspects, and I shrank down to a sickly low weight for my body. Now, I'm not advocating that the exercise was bad - in fact, that was the only healthy thing I was doing. The shadows under my eyes looked like tattoos, my boobs swam in my bras, and my legs were stilts. My fingers shrank and I could hardly play the piano. I lost my period for months. And the very worst part of all of it was that I loved it. I could sleep next to a boy in just my underwear and not worry about 'back fat'. I loved being so skinny, the way that clothes hung on me and the absence of love handles. Ironic, that I should lose both love and handles at the same time. Once, I got myself a Shimmy Shake from Sheetz (one of my favorite things) and my body literally would not process it. I think it forgot how, and I felt awful. But I still didn't eat.
I used my appearance as venom. I used it to play upon the insecurities of other people. I would feel so proud that I could pull my skinny jeans out of the dryer and onto my body and still pull them off without unbuttoning them.
It was bad.
I'm sure that a certain friend of ours who frequently comments on the weight of females has said some nasty remarks about my rediscovered curves. Probably something like, "Well, now that Jenni has a boyfriend, she's letting herself go." Haha. Yes. Because I love negative attention, and I was starving myself to get it. Clearly.
The other day, as I was getting dressed, I was looking at a birthmark on my back to make sure it wasn't trying to be funny, and I had a revelation. I love my butt.
Really, I know that society says as a woman that I'm not supposed to like being so curvy, but I was looking at it, and it's so cute! It fits the rest of me, and it has a little "booty mark" to boot. It's like the Marilyn Monroe of butts or something. I'm kidding, but really, I love it, and it makes me love the rest of me too. Maybe not all the time or in all outfits, but all the same, I know where I should be, and it's not skinny.
Labels for this post: love, of, self
My personal resolution is to purchase my meat and dairy from organic/local farmers. I know it's more expensive, but I really believe it's worth it. It's so much better for your body and for the environment. Speaking of bodies, let's talk about them.
Last spring, I had a rough semester, and in response to it, I either didn't eat, or I ate a piece of cheese. I barely slept, and I walked constantly. It was incredibly unhealthy in most aspects, and I shrank down to a sickly low weight for my body. Now, I'm not advocating that the exercise was bad - in fact, that was the only healthy thing I was doing. The shadows under my eyes looked like tattoos, my boobs swam in my bras, and my legs were stilts. My fingers shrank and I could hardly play the piano. I lost my period for months. And the very worst part of all of it was that I loved it. I could sleep next to a boy in just my underwear and not worry about 'back fat'. I loved being so skinny, the way that clothes hung on me and the absence of love handles. Ironic, that I should lose both love and handles at the same time. Once, I got myself a Shimmy Shake from Sheetz (one of my favorite things) and my body literally would not process it. I think it forgot how, and I felt awful. But I still didn't eat.
I used my appearance as venom. I used it to play upon the insecurities of other people. I would feel so proud that I could pull my skinny jeans out of the dryer and onto my body and still pull them off without unbuttoning them.
It was bad.
I'm sure that a certain friend of ours who frequently comments on the weight of females has said some nasty remarks about my rediscovered curves. Probably something like, "Well, now that Jenni has a boyfriend, she's letting herself go." Haha. Yes. Because I love negative attention, and I was starving myself to get it. Clearly.
The other day, as I was getting dressed, I was looking at a birthmark on my back to make sure it wasn't trying to be funny, and I had a revelation. I love my butt.
Really, I know that society says as a woman that I'm not supposed to like being so curvy, but I was looking at it, and it's so cute! It fits the rest of me, and it has a little "booty mark" to boot. It's like the Marilyn Monroe of butts or something. I'm kidding, but really, I love it, and it makes me love the rest of me too. Maybe not all the time or in all outfits, but all the same, I know where I should be, and it's not skinny.
Labels for this post: love, of, self
Friday, December 18, 2009
80
For some reason that is completely unknown to me, seeing that I have 79 posts on this blog annoys me to little bitty pieces. I'm pretty sure that isn't right anyway, but the cliffhanger just kills me. There really is something unsettling about the number 9. Maybe it's just top-heavy. Aw.
For some reason, I've felt super body-conscious lately. I think it has something to do with the fact that I left all my good jeans at school and now I wear clothes from an era of my life where I tried to be something that I'm just not. Or not yet, anyway.
Hello. My name is Jenni Schweitzer, and I do not have a vested interest in polo shirts, florals, surfer dudes, or Lilly Pulitzer. I just don't know why people pay so much money for something so unoriginal. Hollister, anyone?
I would so much rather wear costume jewelry and candy pink lipstick with menswear. Really. That or something extremely feminine. I like wearing the two looks and not caring about whether or not it's balanced.
That sounds like a Longwood Look article. Does anyone have any thoughts for other articles? Things they want fixed? Please leave a comment here, on Facebook, or on the actual blog. We heart feedback.
Labels for this post: frame, uneven, contradiction
For some reason, I've felt super body-conscious lately. I think it has something to do with the fact that I left all my good jeans at school and now I wear clothes from an era of my life where I tried to be something that I'm just not. Or not yet, anyway.
Hello. My name is Jenni Schweitzer, and I do not have a vested interest in polo shirts, florals, surfer dudes, or Lilly Pulitzer. I just don't know why people pay so much money for something so unoriginal. Hollister, anyone?
I would so much rather wear costume jewelry and candy pink lipstick with menswear. Really. That or something extremely feminine. I like wearing the two looks and not caring about whether or not it's balanced.
That sounds like a Longwood Look article. Does anyone have any thoughts for other articles? Things they want fixed? Please leave a comment here, on Facebook, or on the actual blog. We heart feedback.
Labels for this post: frame, uneven, contradiction
Thursday, December 3, 2009
No-shavember
I know that it's December. I like December very much. But I want to talk a little bit about November, too.
November is a weird month for me. I think it's because I notice that instead of the trees gradually fading, they're becoming the stripped, skeletal supermodels of the winter foliage line. Yes, I can relate most things to clothes. Don't be impressed, because it's actually kinda lame.
Anyway, the most popular thing I heard people discussing in November was not actually Thanksgiving, but a popular movement called "No-shave November", or No-shavember. The idea behind No-shave November is that men will not shave their faces for the entire month, enduring the sympathetic ribbing of their peers due to their mountain mannerisms. All they need are some flannel shirts, which are in style just in time for No-shave November. Hmmm.
Of course this movement is funny, and personally, I like it. I like that we're starting to open up to how humans really look - men have facial hair. It can be a great look.
But.
I want to know how many women participated in No-shave November. I want to hear the comments their friends made to them. Maybe something like, "Gross" or "disgusting" or ironically, "manly". Why must we be so embedded in our cultural expectations as women that we can't allow our bodies to be in their most natural, 'imperfect' states? Or if we do, why does it then become acceptable to call us gross, disgusting, maybe even throw out a derogatory term for homosexual females?
I didn't participate in No-shave November. Maybe I will next year, and maybe you'll think it's gross, but I think this double standard is what is truly disgusting.
Labels for this post: progressive, girls, double-standards
November is a weird month for me. I think it's because I notice that instead of the trees gradually fading, they're becoming the stripped, skeletal supermodels of the winter foliage line. Yes, I can relate most things to clothes. Don't be impressed, because it's actually kinda lame.
Anyway, the most popular thing I heard people discussing in November was not actually Thanksgiving, but a popular movement called "No-shave November", or No-shavember. The idea behind No-shave November is that men will not shave their faces for the entire month, enduring the sympathetic ribbing of their peers due to their mountain mannerisms. All they need are some flannel shirts, which are in style just in time for No-shave November. Hmmm.
Of course this movement is funny, and personally, I like it. I like that we're starting to open up to how humans really look - men have facial hair. It can be a great look.
But.
I want to know how many women participated in No-shave November. I want to hear the comments their friends made to them. Maybe something like, "Gross" or "disgusting" or ironically, "manly". Why must we be so embedded in our cultural expectations as women that we can't allow our bodies to be in their most natural, 'imperfect' states? Or if we do, why does it then become acceptable to call us gross, disgusting, maybe even throw out a derogatory term for homosexual females?
I didn't participate in No-shave November. Maybe I will next year, and maybe you'll think it's gross, but I think this double standard is what is truly disgusting.
Labels for this post: progressive, girls, double-standards
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