June, June, June

It's June! Well really, it's been June for a long time, but now's as good a time as any to remark on it, isn't it? There's no time like the present!
So, I'm out of school now, and despite having nearly died during my math final, I still managed to maintain a decent GPA, so I'm not crying the tears of misery that I thought I would be. Well, not for that reason, anyway. Actually, at the moment, I'm not crying any tears except happy ones, because the Supreme Court made a very important ruling today, and ALL people can get married in ANY state! And I can't tell you how excited that makes me. Of course, I can't say anything about it, because my dad will swoop in and yell at me for three hours, but the joy is there, and it's palpable. So good job, you five judges, and boo to you Alito. Today's a good day for justice!
Speaking of justice, let me tell you now about my great love for Les Misérables. Note that I haven't read the book (yet), but I've cut my teeth on the musical, and I daresay I love it as much as Enjolras loves France (well okay, that's not possible). Everything about it is so amazing! Well, no. Not everything. Romantic authors have never been good at characterization, especially of women, so the characters are more archetypes than anything else. But they're my children, and I love them dearly. I love them so dearly, in fact, that I've entangled myself with the fan community, and have stooped to writing fan-fiction, because there isn't enough on AO3 to satisfy my longing for happiness for mes pauvres enfants, and I spend long hours poring over the fan-art section on Tumblr. Why do I love it so? I couldn't say. Is it the fact that I'm a sucker for stories about friendship and found families? Perhaps. Is it because I adore politics and social issues and agree with Thomas Jefferson that sometimes the tree of liberty must be watered with the blood of revolution? Maybe. Is it because anyone who's every played Enjolras is handsome in the extreme? Well, yes, but that's beside the point. In short, I don't know exactly why this franchise calls to me so! All I know is that it does, and that when Patria calls, I can't help but answer.
Vive le France!
Next quarter, I wanted to take a sociolinguistics class for one of my upper-divs, with the idea that perhaps I'd spent too long in my ivory tower, and I should come down to see how the language that I so love to analyze really works in the real world. But I was too late, and the class filled up before I could register in my second pass. What a pity! Or maybe it's a sign from the universe that I should do what I'm best at, and leave the touchy-feely stuff to those who are better able to touch and feel. In any case, I've elected to take one of my psych upper divs instead, and this isn't a tragedy, because I didn't take one last quarter, and I want to get into it. I'm not sure yet which one it will be, but hopefully it will be an interesting one, and will involve some cool cocktail-party facts about the brain. You know, I find the brain so interesting. I did once consider a minor in neuroscience (but I dropped the idea, because absolutely nothing overlapped with linguistics, and I'd have too take too many extra courses), and I joined a neuroscience club with Irene for next year. (It looks pretty hardcore, though) My dad has a new fascination with the frontal lobe, so I've taken this opportunity to try and educate my siblings about the architecture of the brain. Unfortunately, they don't really care, but if I sing the brain songs that I wrote enough, maybe it will all sink in anyway. I mean, it's our brain! It drives us! It contains the bits of us that make us human! It's so amazing, and I'm fascinated by it. (Also a little tripped out, but mostly fascinated)
Now I regret to tell you that it is somewhat late, and I still haven't embarked upon my nightly ritual of drinking a soothing cup of tea and watching a calming fighting anime, which wouldn't be a problem, only we have church tomorrow, so I will leave you now. Goodnight!

May song

Here's my May entry!
Because I'm a nerd, I wanted to have an entry for each month in the year, and I made sure it happened thus far. So I'm going to update this entry now to tell you all what my May was like. I will provide a bullet-pointed list:
•23 units of STEM
•Hella studying
•Lots of late nights
•Lots of coffee
•Why won't boys stop hitting on me?
•Five men vying for my attention at once, please no
•p h o n o l o g y
•wow my TAs are kinda cute that's good bc I go to office hours like every day
•Parlez-vous français
•Lu Valle has such sweet caramel lattes and it's too much
•Why can't I write a C++ program to make boys go away?
•I love my friends
•My new roommate is a sweetheart, but her boyfriend is no
•I have how many papers due in HOW many days now?
•Pigeonhole principle
And that's basically it! It was a really good quarter overall, just highly stressful. And that's that!

Phonology is killing me

I have a midterm tomorrow, and I'm legitimately worried about it. The worst part? It's in a linguistics class! Phonology is messing me up. I've never had this much trouble with anything linguistics-related before. Could my problem be that I don't like it as much? Don't get me wrong, it's pretty cool, and I do think about a lot of phonological things now and then, but it's not my calling, and I know that for an absolute certainty. I would read my semantics book for fun, even though our professor was so good that we didn't strictly have to, because I love semantics so much, and it was completely fascinating (not to mention well written). But my phonology book, professional though it is, doesn't have the same kind of draw, and I think that's fairly indicative of where my preferences lie. So maybe it's my own fault for not being interested enough. But no, I don't think so. I've done extremely well in classes that I wasn't interested in. Well, okay, that's a tricky thing to say, because I don't think there's been a class ever that I haven't liked at least some. Even my 9th grade biology class had some interesting bits, and life sciences are so not my thing. Learning is learning no matter what, and I'm just happy to take anything I can (oh, except PE class; that's the one exception). There have been classes that I've liked less than phonology (anthropology comes to mind), and I was fine there. And honestly, I think phonetics was a little less interesting than this class, and I did okay in there. I mean yeah, I ended up with an A- in there, but in the grand scheme of things, that's not too bad (and part of it was because I forgot to turn in half of my preliminary report). So I just don't know what I do. And I feel bad, because both the TA and the professor are so good! I feel like I'm letting them down. I want to be better, I really do, and I try, but something just doesn't seem to be clicking. I understand conceptually what everything means, but when I go to do the problem, I hit a wall. Do you know, on the last homework, I could only figure out one phonological rule, and I worked on it for about three hours! I feel so incompetent, and it's so terrible. I'm not supposed to be incompetent at linguistics! Yeah, of course I have struggles, I'm not perfect, and sometimes I'm frustrated or need help or mess up on things. But in the end, I love it, and I'm good at it, and it's my rightful passion. Until now. Why is it that I can't even do these simple problem sets? How am I worse than everyone else in the class? Are they floundering too, or are they all part of some exclusive club of future phonologists who know exactly how to apply rules and order them so they work? I'm really very distressed about this. The persnickety perfectionist part of me says that I should change my major to anthropology, or drop out of school to become a trophy wife, since I obviously can't succeed at anything once the going gets tough. But the stubborn punk-ass part of me wants to keep going and bulldoze my way through the wall until I get it. And then of course the nerd side just wants to learn, no matter what the consequences are (my nerd side is very impractical and myopic). So I'm probably going to keep going. What else is there to do? But oh, I'm so scared! I feel sick, and I'm putting off studying for tomorrow, because I can't concentrate. What can I do? I want to do well, but I don't know how. It's no good having a powerful brain if you can't use it, now is it? I have to do something about this. Of course I'll study and go to office hours tomorrow, but beyond that? Where can I go from here? I need help.

Yes all men

He really just said that I "seem very passive and nonchalant" and he "really likes that quality about me." The more I think about it, the more I want to punch someone. Why are all men like this? "Oouuh not all men!" Yeah fine whatever, can you point me towards this magical island of men where everyone is a decent human being please and thanks. How long am I going to be expected to conform to the wishes of everyone around me? My family's tried it for years; my friends- all genders- have tried it; anyone interested in me romantically has wanted to change at least something about me- when do I get to be a person for a change? You know, I suspected from the start that this guy had a Lolita complex. Let's be real- he's 25 years old, with a steady job and a real adult lifestyle. I'm a college sophomore, and I look like I'm 12. Do you see the problem? 5 years isn't much of a difference at all if both people are at the same stage in life, but the thing is, we're not. And I think he knows that, and wants to take advantage of my supposed naïveté to fulfill whatever perverted fantasies he's harboring. I mean, come on. There are more people with creepy and objectifying Asian fetishes than there are neckbeards in the comment sections of Reddit. In the past few years, who hasn't tried to hit on me with dubious yellow-fever pickup lines? It's clear that Scum Goose wants nothing more than a docile, submissive geisha sex kitten to manipulate, and I appear to fit the bill as well as anyone else. I've seen this coming for awhile, but in my mind, this last correspondence just clinches it. But if he thinks I'm going to put up with being used and objectified in this way, he's wrong. Bye Scum Goose, have fun being scummy. Don't be a predator to anyone else. I'm outtie.

Easter redux

Happy Easter! This is the one pivotal holiday around which Christianity is based, so of course Adventists celebrate it badly, because it happens on Sunday. Try as valiantly as they might, it just doesn't feel quite right to go around greeting each other with a hearty, "He is risen, sort of!" "He is risen indeed! Or, like, He will be tomorrow!" I suppose it is a grand testament to our faith that we know the resurrection will occur, and we're so certain of it that we can celebrate it prematurely, but there really is nothing like a good ol' Lutheran sunrise service. Which, coincidentally, we went to this morning. It was good, so good in fact, that I would have gone even without the promise of communion wine. Unfortunately, it did in fact start at sunrise, so I can't really remember much about the sermon except that the pastor shouted a lot and told a story that would probably be emotionally moving at a later hour of the day. So this was a pretty nice start to the morning, but after that, we all had to hang around the house all day, and let me tell you, I wish I had managed to finagle some of the extra consecrated wine to bring back with me, because living with my family is not something that one would want to do sober. (That's not too shockingly sacrilegious, right?)
In general, I don't think I really like going home on weekends that much. Sure, if I stayed at school, I'd have to deal with stoners, and vomiting partiers, and very possibly drunk Michael trying to hit on me, but is that really any worse than this bleak house in which I now reside? (that was a reference to the Dickens novel, although to be honest, my house really and truly is fairly bleak) We're all working out our Psychological Issues, which is surely very good for us, but it's not at all pleasant. As the frontrunner, I've already been to nary a physician, and even the odd mental hospital, and am further along in the process than everyone else, so it seems to be my job to bring levity to an otherwise hopeless situation. Which isn't easy. It might seem like a simple thing to do– every Romantic heroine in the Western canon seems to have managed it neatly, after all– but with these people, one has to be Very Wary at all times. Dad is antagonizing Talia– better stave that off– now to cheer her up. But oh no, now Dad has gone on to badger Mom, and a tremendous argument is brewing! Gotta get in the way of that– manage it delicately, mediating between two titans is a tricky business– and now to soothe both their ruffled feelings as they depart on separate sides of the proverbial stage. But no, say it's not so! Dad has built himself up to yell at someone, and he won't be appeased until he's done it. Poor Anselm is the target– better rescue him. And now who's calling on Skype to ask for more money to pay his rent? On and on the cycle goes, until the world is blue in the face, but there's no rest for any of us. Ignoring for the moment the fact that even I am sometimes hard-pressed to make jokes about syntax when my chest is humming with anxiety and my brain feels like it's about to wither up and fall out my nose, let me remind you, gentle reader, that this is not the most difficult part of the business. For some reason, everyone has made me a repository for their various secrets– often the ones concerning other family members– and I have to keep them, but I have to also find a way to use them wisely in order to maintain (or dare I say, improve!) everyone's health and happiness. I don't think ambassador work would be anything after this. Is this how normal people live? Really, I don't know what is or isn't normal anymore (except that this isn't). Tonight promises to be more of the same, only there is an added element, because Apo is coming to dinner. Dad doesn't like her, and Mom is extremely defensive of this, and she's extremely hard of hearing, so any jokes I make have to be simple and audible and not too inflammatory, because Dad can start a fight with a toothpick. It's sort of like a puzzle, which I would enjoy in the abstract, only it's our lives and not variables on a paper, and that dampens the effect. I'm gearing myself up for a showdown right now. Oh, and another piece! At this moment, Talia's detestable boyfriend is upstairs, sliming all over our possessions, and no doubt making a complete nuisance of himself. There aren't many people whom I dislike (Tony Abbott and Iggy Azalea being exceptions), but I can say with all certainty that Edward McGrossFace is just about the worst person I've ever met. Not only is he hideously boring, he's quite rude, and highly delusional in that he thinks he has excellent social skills, and touts them frequently. He is also spectacularly thoughtless, and occupies our house for hours and hours at a time because he doesn't want to inconvenience his own parents. That's only the tip of the iceberg, though. His relationship with Talia is textbook abusive, from complete control, to emotionally manipulative remarks, to isolation from friends and family, to flat-out insults and lovely utterances like "You don't deserve me," and on and on. Talia is only a shadow of her former self, and it makes me sick to see this happening to her, but there's nothing I can do. It's her life, and she has to figure it out on her own. But you don't know how hard it is not to interfere! I've always looked out for my siblings (Xander too, even though he's older than I am), and now, in this horrible situation, I'm supposed to leave my poor little sister to fend for herself? I know full well that it isn't my place to interfere, but even now, I want to run upstairs and tell Edward exactly what he should do (and where he should stick it). UGH. Anyway, he might be staying to dinner too, and if he does, all my plans are out the window. How am I supposed to be Lucie Mannette to my mentally ill shoemaker family when Heathcliff is sitting across from me? This is terrible. Oh, I hear his dulcet tones in the hall. Is he leaving? Please tell me he's leaving. Go away, you dick. Yes, finally. Okay, I should probably go help clean up in the kitchen or something. I'm being fairly useless right now, hiding away in the library with my guinea pig like a Franciscan hermit. Happy Easter, then, and may you have a more delightful night than we surely will!

Poor unfortunate soul (me)

So I have a bit of a situation at the present, and I hope you won't mind my sharing it with you, because really, it does bear explaining in all its absurd glory. You see, my problem with the boys has not abated, although it has changed a bit, and is possibly slightly more preferable now than it was before. Let me explain. Darnay happened to text me while I was at dinner with Eric and the others, and Eric, deciding to be helpful, promptly texted back (on my phone) that I have a boyfriend. I suppose I have to be grateful that he wanted to aid me in my predicament, but I can't say I'm overly delighted with the manner he chose to employ. I didn't want to perpetuate a falsehood, man! It's not right! But, like an arrow that flies from the bow, words that are spoken cannot be taken back, and there is no retracing it now. The one bright spot in all this mess is that Darnay is now leaving me alone, but even that is really not a bright spot, because Irene told me that he really liked me, and is heartbroken now, and really, that makes me feel terrible. Romantic as it might seem to be a heartbreaker, it really isn't the most pleasant position in the world. Do you think Helen was happy in her tower, and was Circe content on her island? (okay actually Circe was probably fine with her circumstances, but my point stands) It's so drastically uncomfortable! And matters are worse than this. Like the hydra, when one man leaves, another immediately rises up to take his place, and this is the case in my poor life. One delightful 25-year-old who is in the employ of the honors office, but apparently not any honors society of the brain, has taken it upon himself to "get to know me," as he calls it, and text me many times a day with rather non-sequitur questions, ranging from the age of my parents to the time that I've been single. Unfortunately, he never asks me about modal auxiliary verbs or generative grammar or anything like that, so I can't hold forth for long enough to keep him at bay. I did try today to talk about Star Trek and Cyrano de Bergerac to see if that would shake him off my tail, but alas, it did not. When someone is a buxom young lady with lissome features and a bright smile, after all, the last thing on most people's minds is whether or not she is talking sense. Now, if I were a pox-ridden Neanderthal with three noses, perhaps someone would actually listen to what I have to say, but as it is, all that occupies their minds is whether or not I have any underwear on. It's a sad life, it is, but at least I can talk about Star Trek without recrimination, so all is not lost.
It does make one wonder, though– is 5 years too much of a difference at my age? If we were in our 30s, there would be no problem, but at this stage of the game, it seems like there is a substantial difference in our levels of experience and knowledge about the world. I am no innocent waif (or at least I'd like to think that I'm not), but I am far from being the mature sophisticate that more advanced age will bring. There's still so much I don't know, and so much that I haven't seen! Is Rochester (that's what I've decided to dub my new suitor, for obvious reasons*) trying to prey upon my naiveté? Or is he really and truly a good (if misguided) person, merely looking for some companionship in this cruel world? I'm tempted to think that it's not that, but I suppose one never knows. Perhaps he will perform a great and honorable deed and sway my heart in his favor forever after. Could it be true love? I rather hope not. I mean, I'd like to think that my true love is someone who can at least recognize allusions to classic literature, and capture my full attention while I talk to them. Is that too much to ask? Maybe. But if so, why then I will stay alone for all time! No settling for me, no sirree bob! I will live my life to the fullest, and whether I spend it in splendid isolation or in contrapuntal harmony, it will be one for which I will not have to make excuses! I must say, that sounded good, didn't it? Maybe I will win that Pulitzer yet. Anyway, I must figure this out, and hopefully I will figure it out soon, because Rochester has already progressed to the level of wishing me, "good morning beautiful" with fifteen emojis, and it won't be long before things have gone altogether too far. But I will figure it out! If I can formulate theories about negative polarity items and their role in questions, I can do this. Let's go! Figuratively speaking, I'm going to go, yes, and literally speaking too, because I got up at 6:15 this morning, and I really should get some sleep. So, goodnight!

*It might actually not be obvious, actually, since I have just now realized that Rochester is a place as well as a person. But I was referencing the creepy and dishonest Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre, who is, of course, much older than the heroine. (I hope that doesn't make me Jane though– I don't think too highly of her. I would much rather be Eustacia.)

The un-MEN-tionable

I got a big ol bone to pick, y'all. I'm as fed up as a bear in summer, and I'm so wool-gatherin angry, I could just throw a hissy fit right this very minute!
Ugh.
Now, let me just start off by saying that I'm a very nice person in general, I mean I try my best to give people directions, and I swipe people in at late night, and I even recycle most of the time. So, this leads me to believe that karma is a thing that does not exist in the world, nor does any conception of justice, for how else could such a bright, upstanding citizen like me constantly be getting the short end of the stick in the one walk of life that shouldn't be an issue? In other words, why the flaming flapdoodle do boys keep developing crushes on me? It got real old real fast when it first started happening, and it's even older now. I mean, come on now, fellas, get your collective act together. There are illimitably many pretty lasses in the world, none of whom are me, and they might be a tick more flattered by your amorous intentions than this grumpy old scouser. Give it a try! Or maybe actually don't, because some of y'all are quite irritating, and I wouldn't want to burden any other woman with the nuisance of dealing with all that.
Dear me, you may be saying to yourself, this girl has quite an ego problem! And I don't blame you for that. Read out of context, this post might indeed hint at a bit of megalomania on my part, and it would not be amiss for you to call it out, if it were unsubstantiated by anything but the most empirical evidence. However, you can save yourself the bother of creating a scathing and witty rebuttal of my claim, because that empirical evidence, I do have. Listen to my sad tale and weep, oh children of doubt.
There is a young man in my hall, whom I will not name, but will refer to as Darnay, partially because of his irritatingly bland nature, and partially because it includes the word "darn," and I'll be darned if I go out with him. Anyway! So Darnay is in Irene's physics class, and for this reason, when he sees us together, he will say hi. This is all fine and dandy, I mean I'm not such a misanthrope as to disapprove of a friendly greeting or two, but unfortunately, Darnay did not leave it at that. Oh no, not him. Not only did he ask Irene about me many times, thus betraying one of his many irritating traits of unencouraged persistence, but he actually had the temerity to track me down when I was all by my lonesome, vainly looking for a lounge from which I was eight floors away, and getting my number! Well my dear, you might be saying, isn't it your own fault for giving it to him? Yes, it is true, I did make a mistake there. But I could not have possibly foretold the comedy of errors that would follow!
(Yes I could have; it's happened to me countless times before. But that's neither here nor there.)
So, without further ado, young Darnay began texting me with alarming alacrity. If only all realities of life could be governed by the cold splendor of science! But sadly, though the rate and time of his texting increased to an unreasonable degree, the distance between us failed to grow any bigger. In fact, I feel it closing in in an unpleasantly claustrophobic way. On the very first day he texted me, he asked me to dinner, in no uncertain terms. Make no bones about it, the pugnacious little pustule was asking me on a date. So I suggested breakfast instead, thinking that there was no possible way for him to screw that up. But oh, the folly of man! Not only did he spend the entire uncomfortable period staring deeply into my eyes and behaving like the most embarrassing of bad dates, he also made me late for my class, and gave me bad directions to boot. The only thing I can be grateful for is that no one saw us together. It is no wonder that after this debacle, I wouldn't want to go anywhere with him again, and I thought I made this abundantly obvious. But I hadn't accounted for his cursed tenacity. Not only does he continue to text me unabashedly, he also continues to ask me to things with him, all of which I turn down politely but firmly (despite his many protestations). In fact, not five minutes ago, I turned him down to go to a play tonight (which is unfortunate, because I sort of would like to see it, but there is no way I can now). This is simply a disaster! If only Cute Sean from semantics would pay me half this attention, now, that would be a different layer of the cake entirely. That boy is so charming, let me tell you. He could have dinner with me any day. But I fear our romance is not to be, not only because he is an adorkable nerd who can't tell that I'm flirting with him, but also because he seems to show a sad lack of dedication to the field of semantics, and really, that just puts a damper on matters. But what was I saying? Oh yes. Darnay is stressing me out to the extreme. It's going to give me the gout. How do I get rid of him politely? I fear there is no polite way. Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward! I fear there is no comfort for me.