Why Dating Your Boss is a Terrible Idea that Ends in Ice Cream

“My boss* is handsome, responsible, smells good, is my age, and we should probably date!!”

Ok, while that clearly sounds like a great idea that would definitely not cause any problems in any area of your life ever, it’s not. I’d rather not say that I fell into this handsome trap of a situation, but I did. (Ok, I didn’t “fall” into it as much as I stared longingly into its eyes…) Along the same bad idea vein as dating your boss is writing a public blog post about dating your boss, but I will be sure to at least make one good decision and post it after one of us is no longer working with/under/over the other.

EDIT: Ok, the proper amount of time has passed, jobs have changed, and he is still wonderfully handsome (whew!)

There are many reasons to not date your boss other than that tiny “against company policy” thing. I will outline six such problems now:

1.       It has to be a secret. Secrets are horrible and I believe they put holes in your brain and increase the likelihood of embarrassing sleep drool. This secret won’t be a total secret because if things are going well others will notice that stupid twinkle in your eyes and then confront you about the stupid twinkle, in which case you will have to deny it. You deny it in a few ways: Laugh, try not to blush, tell the other person they're dumb, and then make confusing sounds asking random questions in hopes of diverting the conversation:    

“PPPpfffttt,wha? Why would? Naaaahhhh, I mean he’s dumb, kinda. Thhhppppfffttt, *sigh*, *yawn* Hey did you just fart? My mom’s calling me; gotta go!”

They’ll be totally confused and werided out, probably offended, but not convinced. Another logical reaction would be to fly off the handle over the “rumors”:

 “What the hell! This is insane!! I do not have time for you people to be spreading rumors about me!! THIS IS SERIOUS I COULD LOSE MY JOB! I HAVE BILLS AND I RUN A SHELTER FOR ABANDONED BLIND ENDANGERED OWLS AND I NEED THIS JOB OR ALL THE OWLS WILL DIE!! YOU…YOU… OWL KILLERS!”

2.       Conversations will either center around work, or be nonexistent. If you work together all the time your stories will always be the other person’s stories too. So you can go on a date and dinner will sound like this:

 “Hey remember when Betty did that thing?”
 “Yeah.”
 “That was funny.”
 “Yep.”
"More hummus?"

Or you will order food and have nothing else to say because you spent every moment of everyday together doing the same things and you will be suuuper uninteresting to the other person. Or you could always talk about the schedule.

Yeah.

 That’s fun.

 The schedule.

3.       Your boss will not want your advice on how to be a better boss. In fact, he/she will hate that. A lot. Explaining to him/her how they could’ve handled that one situation better is a terriblehorrible idea. Even if your suggestions are really good (and they always are), they’re not.

4.       You will accidently slip into comfy mode:

 “Excuse me, respected employee that I have a completely professional relationship with in every way, could you hand me the calculator?”

and at some point you will inevitably say,

“Here you go my snug-a-saur.”

You will then both freeze as if your co-workers are T-Rexes who will move on if you just stay still long enough.

5.       If you are in a relationship with your boss I hope it is a temporary job that is of relatively low importance to at least one of you. In fact, it should be a job that isn’t even worth putting on a resume. For me, my job was a part time hostess position while I was in graduate school. I needed money and a flexible schedule. This was not my career path, and I wasn’t staying long. It is much worse and more detrimental to your life, in my opinion, if you decide to have a relationship with your CEO in a career where you have a 401k . Those types of jobs are serious about their policies and you will both be terminated. It might even be labeled a scandal. Scandals are only interesting if they do not involve you in any way. Especially in any sexual way that will inevitably involve a video camera or recorded conversations. It is a scandal after all and no one can resist wanting to see you and the CEO doing it by the fax machine while you scream, “I’ll run the numbers; I’ll run the NUMBERS!”

6.       Your relationship with your boss might prove beneficial for you on the job, but if it doesn’t you may be in for a worse time than you bargained for. If your boss/significant is set on not treating you any different than anyone else at work that may unfortunately morph into treating you worse than anyone else at work. This is, of course, because of the paranoia that someone may think you’re getting special treatment. If you want special treatment keep it in the flirting stage. If you’re flirting there’s nothing to hide, so no paranoia. He/she will treat you special and have no qualms about doing so because it’s just a crush with nothing to tell. The moment you slip past that he/she may need to prove there’s nothing going on, because there is, and therefore your coworkers will say “Wow, he/she’s really mean to you” “He/she yells at you the most” “What’s his/her problem with you?” And that, my friends, hurts because you know he/she isn’t like that. Right? They’re not. Not really anyway. Wait, why does he/she hate me the most. All I do is try to help…. And THAT is where you will drive you and significant insane. You will fight and yell when there would be no reason to fight or yell if you didn't work together.

So, there you go, you should just quit now. Thankfully for me I happen to be worth putting up with and so is he.

ADDITIONAL EDIT: We now work in two completely different fields with completely different hours and most of our time is now snuggle / feed each other ice cream time. Yes. Hooray for snuggle time. Snuggle time with kittens and pugs…and ice cream. So much ice cream.

*NOT the same boss as the one in “A Post Post About the Boss Boss.” Not. Even. Close.

Angry Adjuncts and Cat Collections

What you will overhear in a community college adjunct office: 

"Yeah, well you know they didn't read"

"How did they even get in to college?"

"Students should be shot if they don't know about [insert something that is important to you that "everyone" should know]

"Oh, I have a neat collection of cat earrings!"

These are some the remarks overheard in the adjunct office as I sit at my desk and prepare for my next class. The complaints range from the usual, they didn't do the reading, they didn't hand in their work, and they didn't staple their paper, to more scathing comments about how stupid students are and how unbelievable it is that they are even here. I understand all of these frustrations, and it may be because I am new (this is only my third semester professin') but I find the negativity unbearable.

No, students do not own staplers. No, they do not remember to look at the syllabus. No, they do not know how to properly write an email. And yes, they will probably address you as, "yo, uh..." but that does not mean that they don't deserve to be here. In fact it means they need to be here. We aren't here to simply teach them about our favorite subject (although, for me, that's a huge plus) we are here to teach them about life, about themselves, and about interacting in a formal setting. Now, I am speaking specifically of freshmen. Upper class students, those little fuckers have no excuse. Alright, I'm half kidding about the little fuckers part, but freshmen are a special breed of college student. They are discovering they are adults. They have no idea how to be an adult, but they have misconstrued assumptions about "the real world" (whatever that is) and their role in it. Are they irresponsible 13th graders or are they grown-ups who are held accountable for their actions which have real consequences and ramifications in the world they are constantly reminded isn't "real" yet?

I'm confused myself about life and my role in it. I'm still not sure I've crossed the threshold into the land of the "real." What do I want to be when I grow up? These questions plague me, and granted, I'm not that old so it makes sense, but my students who are varying ages and at varying stages in life are even more dumbfounded by what is expected of them. Some of these students are parents and have been since they were teenagers, some of them are middle-aged and resentful of a person 15 years their junior giving them deadlines and assignments, but they are also resentful of their younger selves who didn't do it the first time around. Other students are freshly 18 and itching to enter the college life that Hollywood has so ostentatiously displayed for them in all its party-fluid-swapping glory.

I think the biggest problem between professor and student is the separation of us and them. Now, this is in the forefront of my mind because I just used David Sedaris' essay, "Us and Them," in class, and it emphasized a few thoughts that have been pokin' at me, pokin' at me* for weeks. Power is an unseen tool in the classroom. The prof has it, the students don't, or at least that's the assumption. Every now and then students challenge your unseen and assumed power to varying degrees and with varying results. A prof's power is displayed in the clothes they wear, what they prefer to be called (everyone knows the cool profs go by their first name), their classroom demeanor, and many other rhetorical strategies we both unconsciously and consciously use. I use them very consciously and opt for the in between of cool in my preference of "Professor P," it's not as formal as a full last name and it's not as casual as my first name (I can hear your scoffing laughter, Brian). I'm not willing to go full first name. Once you go full first name you can't go back. Of course, age plays into this as well. If you're clearly 20+ years older than your students you can have them call you anything and there is still the guise of age to allow you to command respect / power. I do not have that yet, for better or worse, in the hallway I could be one of them for all they know. But once I am in front of them and introduce myself erected are the walls of power. (Note: do not use the word erected in a freshmen class). I have found that profs who continuously reinforce those walls do themselves a disservice. As a prof you know what students are like. As varied and wonderful as each individual is in your class they are still a very homogeneous group from year to year, and you know what to expect. Pack a goddamn stapler in your bag and shut your mouth! Yes, they should staple it, but the argument, "what will they do when a boss asks them for a report and they hand it to them unstapled!?" is absurd. They will walk to a desk and staple it. What office doesn't have a stapler? Is this really the battle you want to fight with each assignment? Is this really what bothers you about our students? Do you know if they're registered to vote? Do you know if they have two alcoholic parents they care for each night and that they barely could type the minimum 3 pages anyway? I know. I'm always looking for the reason when I should just expect the result, but some reasons are so valid that they should at least be considered. Some community college students are in your classroom against great odds, and who knows if they will be there next semester, but I thank god they're there right now.

For me, I set the rules and boundaries and that's it. It's due when it's due or it loses points. I make other allowances as I see fit. Email it to me, sure. Unstapled, I got it. Come to me the week before and need an extension, I'll think about it. And this is not because I want to be some Michele Pfeiffer-esque teacher. It's really because I'm a selfish bitch. It makes it easier on me to make it easier on them. I do not have power struggles in my classes (yet), and the few times I have they have been extinguished within the first few weeks. Students love it when you are you. Not when you're some false pretense of a professor that either of you have seen in movies or in your own college classes. The profs I've learned the most from have always been the most real. You see their frustration because their life is real outside the classroom too, and they know yours is as well. It's not too difficult to relate to students. As they told me a few weeks ago, "You swear and you talk normal to us," "You care about what we have to say," "You know our names!" and my favorite, "You mad tatted, too."

I'm not saying break your own personal standards of decorum and go all salty-sailor on them, but I could not believe that in some classes profs do not know their students' names. These are not Big 10 universities. These are medium sized at best, and perhaps my view is skewed because the English department is a stickler on keeping class size capped, but at least make an effort. And for fuuuucks sake, stop complaining in the adjunct office about trivial matters you could correct in a class or two. If your students don't email you in a respectful and appropriate manner, show them how. I was shown when I was in college and I now show every class I have. I rarely get an email that doesn't have a "Dear Professor P, " and  a "Thanks, Your lovely student." Now, I can't control much of what's in between, from "I like you hair" to "So, wait...what are we supposed to do?" But at least it's a step in the right direction.

The easier it is on them the easier it is on you. Don't chase them. You really want to show them how to be adults, show them this is the real world. Their choices have consequences that just are. You aren't mad, and you're not bothered. The consequences are what they are. They didn't turn in an assignment? Oh, that's too bad they chose to get a zero. They don't come to class, that's too bad they chose to fail after so many absences. From my novice-like perspective, it really is that easy. It causes you less stress. No scathing lectures on their lack of responsibility, no need to embarrass them, no need to get all hot and bothered by my desk in the office while I'm trying to grade, read, write, or browse reddit in my down time. You know what to expect from students and if you give a little, so will they...or at least some of them will. In the meantime, please, tell me more about your cat earring collection. Oh, sweaters too, you don't say...

*Mallory gets the reference but in case you don't. Enjoy. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulM4E08J8Lo
*Also, I don't know why this post looks different from all the rest.

No One Was Aborted in the Making of This Blog

I’d rather not make my abortion views explicit, but I’m about to. Have you seen this? http://www.untilabortionends.com/en-us/default.aspx. Thanks to #Tosh.0 I just witnessed the dumbest, most self-centered, pointless act of…of…non-action(?) I have ever seen. I suppose it is following in the footsteps of Lent, but these people are “sacrificing” until abortion ends. Let me tell you if abortion ever ends, by end they mean become illegal, it will not be because you gave up Diet Coke. If abortion was illegal it still wouldn’t end. It was illegal once, but it did not get flushed out of existence like its infant counterparts.

Ok, was that over the line? Let me explain myself a bit more. I would not choose to have an abortion. But I do appreciate and respect the fact that I can make that choice. I cannot justify legislating another person’s choice no matter how I personally feel about the issue. See, because it’s not about ME. When it does become about you is when you make a video, post it to the internet, and show everybody how you’re sacrificing for all the unborn children by not using your iPod. I’m sure that while other women are making the intense, life changing decision to have a child vacuumed sucked from the inside out, you crying about how you aren’t going to get to listen to your “PARTY PARTY PAR-TAY” mix is really resonating deep within their souls.

Your sacrifice is truly mind blowing. I can’t imagine how you will continue without Taco Bell. That is the type of loss you can’t really understand unless you’ve experienced it yourself. I mean, thank goodness, you made the choice to end Taco Bell in your life. What will you do now? You must feel so empty without that little chalupa inside you. It’s not like you can just go over and replace it with a Big Mac. A loss like that is inconceivable by those of us who still choose to eat Taco Bell. And how will you cheer yourself up with a good movie? Because after all, you’ve let go of Netflix. You will never stream again. A little red envelope will never again look into your selfless face. You will never again clap with the Clumps, bark with Marley, or Bring it anywhere let alone on!

I have always had a problem with people who act like giving up chocolate for 40 days is in anyway equivalent to real sacrifice for any reason, let alone religious. But, ya know, you choose how to live your life and if you want to show the almighty how serious you are by not eating ice cream then I’m sure your troubles are over. I’m not trying to belittle anyone’s way of life (I just get a little carried away sometimes), but I have a difficult time believing that these individuals are experiencing any type of loss whatsoever.

Ghandi. There’s sacrifice. If you want to give something up that truly means something try food, try giving up all forms of oral communication, try something that would actually impact your life so significantly that you will be forever changed. That is the only way you could come close to understanding the difficulty in making any real decision to have or not have children. Children are life changing, but you giving up M&M’s, sleeping in, pandapies, Bailey’s, alcohol, Reese’s Cups, French fries, beef & pork, or whatever else is not life changing. It is not helping better the world in any way.

If you feel that strongly why don’t you fight to teach kids about safe sex, proper forms of contraceptives, valuing themselves and their bodies so they do not feel the need to turn to sex until they are emotionally mature enough to handle it, teach your sons that it is never never ok to touch a woman (no matter the length of her skirt) if she does not consent with a clear mind, teach your parents that they should talk to you openly and honestly about the consequences and hardships of not only raising a child but overcoming society’s influence to have sex before you’re ready, and teach parents that their children were their choice (not their play things) and their responsibility and that they must support and care for their children despite their mistakes, teach parents to always be there for their children so that a child may come to their mother or father or grandmother no matter the trouble they are in, and with a solid support system and real love maybe there would be less of a need for such permanent decisions like abortion.

But I can see why my suggestions are out of line, offensive, and downright illogical. You’re right, giving up coffee is a much more effective plan of action.

Fashion, Frumping, and a LittleTechnotronic

I’d rather not say that I am a world class fashionista, but I have made great strides since my days of black XL Korn t-shirts and jeans with 52inch pant legs. I’ve even dumped the raccoon inspired eyeliner for a more subtle, less rabid look. I still frequently second guess my wardrobe selections and continually ask, “Does this look weird?” So, the other day I came home to find two of my roommates sitting on the couch. Perfect! They look comfy enough to be trapped in the furniture’s plushy clutches, and therefore cannot escape my “I-got-a-new-sweater-Hooray” fashion show.  I run upstairs, grab the sweater (hooray), run back down the stairs, and “Does this look weird?” before the commercials are over.

“Um, it looks kinda grandma."

"Grandma? Aw, damnit."

"It would look better if what you were wearing under it was hot. That would make it look less grandma.”

“Well, I want it for school.” 

“Oh, it's fine then. You don’t want to be hot for school.”

“No. I always try to frump it down for school.”

I teach community college, as you may know, and my classroom is populated with a number of 18(ish) year old boys, so not only was this sweater $6 and I frequently get chilly, but the appropriateness of my clothing is a constant concern. As is the appropriateness of the angle at which I bend, stoop, lean, reach, sneeze, blink, scratch, walk, wear my glasses / hair, how long I face them, how long I face away from them, where I sit, how I sit…. They’re 18 year old boys and nothing is sacred. Despite my obsessive concern for appropriateness they make it very apparent that I will never be at a loss for potential dates should I ever feel the need (I will never) for the company of an 18 year old, nevertheless a student. I am forever reminded that my clothing, appearance, and demeanor are being watched closely. Sometimes much too close. Ew.

And so it was born, Frump It Down. When your outfit is too hot for the event, just frump it down!

When you’re on your way to Aunt Blodwyn’s funeral in a little black dress slit up the thigh, frump it down. Throw on a pair of flats, a sweater or blazer, leave your shoulder length earrings in the drawer and frump it for the fam.

When you’re taking the neighbor's kids to the pool leave those bikini strings tied to the hanger and frump it down. Put on your tankini or a one piece with some mesh shorts, hell slap a tshirt on, you don’t want to be responsible for their 12 year old son popping one in public. You can’t explain that, and you shouldn’t have to. Just frump it.

For your daughter’s baptisim leave the champagne colored, skin tight, asymmetrical dress, that shows even more than the OB/GYN saw, in the closet. Keep those platforms for another day. Frump it with a nice pant suit or an ankle length dress and throw on that very maternal shawl your Nana crocheted. Frump it for your daughter, for the church, and for the employees at the restaurant where you are holding the reception.

There are other ways to frump it. You don’t need a special occasion. Many Americans like to frump it at Walmart or 8am Bio lectures. I have seen frumpers in the grocery strore, the dog park, and the diner. There are countless ways to frump it down. It’s as easy as you think.

Additional frumptacious fashion accessories include:

A dickie
ballet flats and wool socks
cut off sweatpants over knee highs
A snuggie tied around the waist with rope
your boyfriend's sleeveless Billy Idol tshirt
Anything that comes to your chin and reaches your ankle

And, ladies and gentlemen, frump it doesn’t have to refer exclusively to clothing either. You can use it whenever you need to take something down a notch. Over thinking a situation? Just frump it down. Directions on the Ikea bookshelf got you confused? Frump it. Trivial Pursuit a bit tougher than you remember? Try frumping your answer; you’ll get a pie slice in no time. The truth is, sometimes the best course of action is the frumpiest. 

So, next time your teenager tries to leave the house in the latest Minaj or Gaga trend, hand her a dickie and a pullover, and tell her to get back up those stairs and Frump. It. Down!

To remember these tips try singing a little Technotronic parody to the hit “Pump up the Jam.” Here, I’ll start you off and you fill in the rest:

 Frump, frump it down, frump it down

so your boobs ain’t showin’

…

Frump it down a little more

Get your business cas’ goin’

**Yeah, you should probably rock out now. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KyK9YDYyhLY

Because it is Bloody and Because it is My Bridge

I quoted one of my favorite poems earlier today and while I understand not everyone is into poetry, this response came from one of the individuals present, “Even though it makes no sense,” after I mentioned how much I loved the quoted line. I thought to myself, of course it makes sense, and then myself rethought to myself, but why? See, I feel like much of poetry hovers in the gap of Paz’s, “Idea palpable, palabra impalpable,” and while a certain beloved lyric, line, song, painting, makes sense to us we can’t always explain why to ourselves, let alone others. This is where my love of literature, writing, poetry, and self-discovery comes into play, combines, and has a literary ejaculation in my brain. A dorkgasam. I am one of the lucky ones who can have multiple dorkgasams, sometimes one right after the other until I am exhausted and alone with only some crumpled up paper to show for it; my hands sticky with ink because my pen is spent. This particular dorkgasam had me contemplating Stephen Crane and this poem:

In the desert

I saw a creature, naked, bestial,

Who, squatting upon the ground,

Held his heart in his hands,

And ate of it.

I said: "Is it good, friend?"

"It is bitter-bitter," he answered;

"But I like it

Because it is bitter,

And because it is my heart.

What supposedly didn’t make sense was, “Because it is bitter, / And because it is my heart.” This made total sense to me and I had a brief double-you-tee-eff moment. After I got over my internal acronym outburst I realized I was lurking in Paz’s gap. I am always trying to bridge this gap.So, this is what I came up with:

Your heart is, literally and metaphorically, a piece of who you are, what you stand for, and what you have been through. It is a common theme in all forms of art to refer to the heart as a representation of what has been done to you and how you feel. When your heart becomes hardened and bitter it may be difficult to remember what it once was, that it was once yours, that it (you) were not always "this" way, that it (you) once worked properly. But if you accept that it was once yours and that it is now changed, you gain a new power. You have the power to destroy it (eat it) and reintroduce it (consume it) thereby accepting (swallowing) the bitterness, the hardship, the changed piece of yourself as still being a piece of yourself. Don’t deny it or cast it out, it is your heart (your experiences) it is a vital component to who you are, no matter how it (you) has changed. It is like saying, this is who I am, who I have become, this is what has happened to me and this is the result, and although it’s not entirely delicious or beautiful, it can, at least, be good. And if a nude bestial creature can accept that, then I guess I can too.

Now, you may still not be convinced that the line makes sense. You may think that I didn’t bridge the gap at all and I simply threw a bloody organ from one bank to the other and called the blood spatter a bridge. Well, you may be right, but I am content with my bloody bridge… 

Here’s the Catchy Line That Draws You In

The paragraph is forming. Really, though, it’s been forming for quite some time. What I mean by this is more of a watered down, boring version of “the fire,” that was not started by Billy Joel. We may not have started the fire, and it could be called into question how long it has actually been burning (since the world’s been turning seems to be a bit of a hyperbole), but something is happening. 

This something is what I like to call the paragraph. Now, the lengths of paragraphs can vary greatly, and I teach writing for a living, so don’t fight me on that, but it is being written and it is a paragraph. This paragraph is what history books and anthologies use to introduce chapters, units, sections, or whatever you want to call them. They are usually meant to give you all the pertinent information to understand the surrounding social environment of the time period about which you are going to read. For example, an American literature anthology will give you a quick background on the Industrial Revolution, World War I, and immigration in order to introduce you to literature stretching from the Romantic period to the Modern period. They manage to accomplish this in a few, required by the syllabus pages, probably less than 20, and then they do it again when you reach a specific section of the book, or a specific author. Other books do it much more efficiently (we Englishy types can sometimes have a problem with over explanation).

I feel our paragraph taking shape. This idea became most evident as I talked to my students about #OccupyWallStreet and #OccupyPhiladelphia. Living in Philly, the latter event was in our laps in such a way I felt that I could not ignore its happening and continue to talk about MLA formatting while watching their heads bob. So, during class they enjoyed a clip from The Daily Show and they genuinely seemed interested. Although, when I mentioned they were living during a modern day revolution, a sweet girl looked up at me from the first row and asked, “Can we get extra credit for that?” Can you get extra credit for the fact that you just happen to live during a time of financial crisis, citizen discontent, and public demonstration. No. No, you cannot. What you can get is a discussion led by an eccentric professor (their label, not mine) who is trying to figure out what is going on and how to feel about it, and who is looking for your input and feedback to help her do that. 

This intro paragraph our children/grandchildren will read will, I assume, talk about the great debt crisis and financial downfall of 2008. It will mention how America began to tumble from great heights and how the world followed, with the exception of the Arab Spring. I hope that portion of the world, once considered to be the most chaotic, will rise and our grandchildren will not realize the cradle of civilization was ever anything other than a prosperous, rich, cultural center. What I am sure of, though, is that the description of today’s youth, let’s say 25 and under, will be somewhat like that of the “Age of disillusionment” after WWI. The individuals in America who are meant to be at their most idealistic, most dreamy eyed, most optimistic, are afraid, tired, and already sick of the world they live in. They have a “what’s the point” look on their face, and it’s more than a, what’s-the-point-of-writing-to-music-to-discover-our-soul-aren’t-you-too-young-to-be-a- hippie-professor, look. They know they won’t get jobs, or at least the ones they are able to get won’t pay their college loan bills, they won’t be able to get insurance, and they will most likely live with their parents until they're nearly 30 or later (if they’re lucky).

They know that the Boomers and our institutions have failed us despite all talk that we (as a country) have been working to build a better future for our children. We have not, did not, and they know it. Powers that be have been working to build a better future, retirement plan, and bank account for themselves with no regard for the condition it will leave the country in after they retire or die. The youth have seen the leaders of religious institutions, universities, corporations, and the government fail them. Where I once felt there were a select few in power that ruined it for the rest of the country’s administrators, the majority of whom really had the best of intentions, I now believe, as do my students, that no one in power can be trusted (or we are just overly skeptical to the point of biting cynicism). 

I'd rather not say that the loudest call for change is coupled with public urination, defecation, and the idealistic (maybe unrealistic) goal of a leaderless / demandless movement. And despite the volume of this call for change, it is falling on, perhaps, the deafest ears there are. But I just did say it, and I am fearful I believe it. Hope glistens in the eyes of my students, but it is clouded by confusion for a movement they want to believe in more than anything. They see it as their last option, to turn to their peers instead of their fathers, mothers, and grandparents currently in power.

This paragraph, as it is slowly swyped on society’s collective touch screen, will, I hope, be proof read before it’s sent (don’t trust auto-correct). I want my students to be idealistic. To travel. To write. To dream. I want them to believe that the time is now, that they will have time to be cautious later. I do not want them to fear the future. I want them to live and learn about who they are as people before they obsess over where those people will find jobs. I want the paragraph to end with an enlightened turn around, not with distilled disillusion. And, by god, I want the paragraph properly cited in MLA format!

*Some of these ideas were conceived because of and adapted from a lecture given by Junot Diaz. Go, read his work. See him speak. You will be thankful you did.

Diaz, Junot. Writer’s Conference, Montgomery County Community College. Science Center Theater, Montgomery Co. Community College, Blue Bell, PA. 4 Nov. 2011. Keynote address.

Tamponade: This is Not a Post About My Period.

             I think I had a heart attack today. Yes, I know. Overdramatic. But I really thought I was going to die on the streets of Philly. If you know me, you know my heart aches. Yes, it aches in that liberal-hippie-do-gooder-kind-of-way, especially if you’re furry, cute, and abandoned. But, I’m talking serious, hey maybe we should call 911, kind of way. But I do not call 911. Ever. Why? Because I have no health insurance. The thought of the ER bill alone would send me into cardiac explodium. Oh, and as a side note, I just discovered there is something called “cardiac tamponade.”  When life gives you menstrual cramps make tamponade! No, I’m not sorry.

Anyway…

                I am writing about this because I have to express the utter helplessness that I feel when my money is the reason I might have to die in front of the neighborhood children. I hope their parents have insurance, ‘cause they're going to need therapy after witnessing their first dead body at the end of their hopscotch blocks. Money literally controls my emotions and level of anxiety. Is that showing a definite relationship between money and the all-encompassing term that describes an unanxious, comfortable, worry free, light-hearted outlook, i.e. happiness? Yes. Yes, it does, and the Beatles can shut the front door. I would rather deal with my life problems from my second story balcony where I can peruse my paid bills, my car full of gas, my fridge abundant with victuals and libations, while choosing whether or not I’d like to do some sort of entertaining activity.

                But, you may say, don’t you want satisfaction in your career, personal life, and intellectual pursuits? Yes, asshole, I do. But I am achieving that just fine and I’m still broke. What good is my dream job if I get evicted? Who cares about that conference paper, because I’ll never present it with no money to attend said conference. Am I being really whiny, forgetting to look at all the good things I have going for me? Yes, and you can shut the front door too unless you’re going to let me borrow a couple bucks. It’s just not feasible for kids to make it on their own in the same way our parents did. And by kids I mean people out of college and/or grad school who are still struggling. There are a lot of us. More than I think is reasonable. We might be able to stand on one of our own two feet, and hop around a bit if our college debt wasn’t trying to smother us. Is college worth it? Yes. Do I regret grad school? Never. Am I on the have pity on me and buy me a sandwich diet? Pretty much. Sometimes I just need to complain in a semi-public, and mildly cathartic way. I hate money.  Thank God Clank is a dog and not a human child. I'd probably sell him if he was. Or make him get a job selling tamponade.