Say Yes To Poisoned Apples

A side note that was omitted from my last post is that I have been on/off very sick and okay for the last two weeks. Today I finally sucked it up and went to the doctor for antibiotics, but I got the one doc at the health center who thinks I'm an insane hypochondriac. I got the meds but she always makes me feel like I'm lying to her. As soon as I start talking to her I start to think I just imagined two weeks of fevers and coughing, or that I didn't REALLY bash my nose last weekend. I don't know how she does this but I'd like to learn.

So anyway, sick. And because I've had a fever there's a severe limit to what I can do, so I've mostly been doing only things I can do while laying down. That includes TV, video games, and the Internet. The weird thing is that these are the only three things I usually do with my time, only normally I do them sitting upright instead of curled up on my bed frowning and squinting because my eyes are all fever sore. But to my great amusement there have been multi-hour marathons of one of my favorite shows recently: Say Yes to the Dress.

If you've never seen it, the premise is simple. It follows the sales people in a high end NYC bridal salon as they attempt to pick the right wedding dress for each client. That's it. Every episode they'll show three to five brides picking out dresses with friends/family gushing over how beautiful they look. Nothing interesting really happens, and there are not real plots. And it is probably the best show on TV right now.

My medical anth prof loves this show. He justifies it like he does all other weird hobbies of his: "It's very anthropological." While he may be stretching a bit in this case, he is right about one thing; it's really interesting to see how different families treat this process. Each one tends to be different, with some doting on their little princesses and some tearing apart every dress like it's directly responsible for the Holocaust. The best part is that all the dresses look the freaking same. Never have I seen so many wildly polarized emotions over a series of almost identical objects. I saw one woman show her sister what I swear was the same damn strapless a-line lace dress over and over for twenty minutes and the sister's range of reactions could have won her an Oscar if this had actually been a movie about the Holocaust and/or high school sports.

So for a week now I've been sitting here coughing and sniffling watching people cry tears of joy/horror at a bunch of nearly identical strapless white gowns. It's amazing. I can't stop watching because I can't figure out what's really going on. What is it about the dress they pick, the one that makes them cry in the store and say "This is the dress!" between sobs, that makes it ANY different from the others? I feel like Jane Goodall trying to decipher gorilla behavior. Though occasionally there's a bride who's like me and doesn't really get the whole dress shopping *thing* and the sales people are always so puzzled and frustrated by them, which is extra funny somehow.

I've heard the word "princess" so many times in the last week, though, that the word has lost all meaning. I'm so tired of hearing it, in fact, that I now have a very specific plan in case I ever do get engaged. I'm going to go to Kleinfelds and tell the sales lady I don't want to look like a princess, I want to look like the evil queen. The reason is because the evil queen actually looks like an adult, for one. Something about grown women excitedly yelling "I look like a princess!" just sounds weird to me, it's like saying "I look like a child! My ideals have not changed since I was four!" Come on, ladies, let's upgrade from Exiled Teenager to Woman Who Runs The God Damn Kingdom. On top of that she's beautiful, too, in a way that lets you wear red lipstick instead of boring nudes. And I'm pretty sure Snow White's skin was supposed to be paler than those dresses anyway, which I guarantee would make her look like a pasty naked mermaid in that generic white strapless number. But if they ask me why I'm going to tell them "Because fuck Snow White, that's why."


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

The Bronchiodilator and the Sea

There is a beach here you may have heard of called Sandys. It's notorious for having massive waves and extremely dangerous currents, so apparently it seemed like the best way to kick off spring break to two of my anth friends. We went and, under the assurances of my strong-swimming friend, I agreed to go out into deep water.

I knew this would only be a bad idea of I ran out of breath by over exerting myself in the water; I'm a good swimmer and there were plenty of body boarders and surfers out that could help someone in case of rip. I used all my fancy asthma meds before I left for the beach and tied down the sides of my suit before getting in the water. With waves like this you go in with your suit too tight and come out with it loose- I've learned this one the hard way. Tie your suit down well.

Anyway, so we go out. And out. And soon the body boarders are starring at us as we swim past them, wondering what the hell we're doing all the way out there. I'm fine until we've been out for about forty minutes, and then I start to have to breathe a little harder. No biggie, I think. I'll go in now before I really need to, just to be safe.

Lesson I have learned: once I have any trouble breathing, it is already too late.

Going back in is the hardest part. I felt fine, though I was progressively struggling for breath, and was keeping on top of the waves. Then I got to the shore break and, unlucky for me, a series of extra tall waves came up on me. The water was now too shallow to ride them so I had to duck under, but at this point I was panting and the deep breath necessary to go under wasn't good enough. I surfaced hastily and got pushed under again. And again. I started to wonder what would happen if I passed out- would anyone notice? I managed to look over the water long enough to see a few fat tourists starring at me from the beach, not understanding what they were seeing. I started to feel foggy and wondered if anyone would be able to help. Then I felt my feet hit the bottom and I pushed up with everything I had, comic staggering out of the water as fast as I could. I only made it to the edge of the water before I dropped down in the sand, panting, covered in the wet sand from the shore break, hair in a giant matt all over my head. I caught my breath and sheepishly trekked down the beach to my towel, thoroughly embarrassed.

A few minutes later, my first friend came staggering toasted the towels, still dripping, covered in sand, and panting. "Did you see me almost die?" I asked. "Did you see ME almost die??" She replied.

A few minutes after that my other friend, covered in sand, still dripping, came running over, panting. "Did you see me almost die??" She asked. We traded stories and I mentioned how the first two of us has slowly dragged ourselves down the beach, embarrassed. My third friend shook her head. "As soon as I could put my feet down I just ran the hell out of there and didn't stop till I got here. It prolly looked like the ocean just vomited me up."

I think they were not as serious as I was about the true impending nature of my demise by drowning, but I didn't really want to emphasize how much I suck so I downplayed it significantly. I did learn several things, though, among them being the fact that I do not want to be the only idiot in the world to die of asthma duress brought on by overly ambitious outdoor sports. The other lesson is that holy shit drowning might be the worst way to die ever.

I told them how I wondered if anyone would notice I'd passed out and she laughed. "I just thought, 'well, this is it. I had a good run.'"

Nine More Weeks of Winter

In nine weeks I will graduate and I will NEVER HAVE TO DO THIS SHIT EVER AGAIN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE* and I cannot even tell you how excited I am. I was really excited about working full time because I've always preferred working all day to being in school all day but now I really don't want to do anything. I want to have some time off to do NOTHING for a while because I am burned the hell out. But I don't get to do that at all, actually, and odds are I'll end up with a job that doesn't have vacation time. So there's that.

Also, I think you can very easily absorb my feelings about everything by reading Pictures for Sad Children from the beginning. You don't have to read all of it to understand, but the first 100 or so comics pretty much sum me up right now. I used to think A Softer World was the saddest thing I'd ever read but Pictures for Sad Children definitely takes that cake. Stay in school, children, what else are you going to do?

In other news, I am seriously beginning to think Hawaiian tsunamis are fake bullshit things made up by Menehune Water Co to make people buy their entire stock all at once. How else could a wave slap the shit out of every island between Malaysia and California and nothing happens here? Fucking magic, that's how. That or this whole state is its own goddam Truman Show and they use tsunamis and weird racism to keep us from enjoying the island too much.


*Unless I go to grad school, and if I ever need to go to grad school I might as well just go up on a mountain and die because I can't imagine wasting any more of my precious finite life on this crap.

I Want This Day To Last Forever

Over the last four days I have:

-Applied for graduation
-Been approved for graduation in absentia
-Bought my cap & gown
-Registered for commencement
-Applied for a field school in Costa Rica
-Given a presentation on the early 90's cholera epidemic in Venezuela
-Written a paper
-Aced a Japanese test

Today I got accepted to the field school. Then I got a call from HR at a company I had applied to a month ago. They'd filled the position already but said they would keep my resume on file, which I normally assume is bull but here they were calling me said they needed someone and I seemed right. Unfortunately they needed someone full time NOW and I can't do that plus be in school and working at my internship, so I had to decline. But they did say they would keep my stuff on file for another six months. Uh, wow?

The icing on this day is that when I got home I got a call from work telling me not to come in because my boss was out sick.



God I love everything about this week so far. Let's see how long it can keep up this way, shall we? I have a paper due tonight, then midterms tomorrow and on Friday. I am optimistic.

The Story No One Wants to Hear

A little over three weeks ago I started dieting and going to the gym again. Now I've spent a lot of my life working out, but I've never been on a diet before. I've never felt like I needed it because, despite the fact that I've been steadily gaining weight for the last few years, I was crazy skinny before so I was just coming into normal size. The problem was that I was not used to that. I've spent my whole life thus far having size 00 jeans fall off me in the fitting room. There are a couple of brands that made a 0 or 00 that fit me, so I've only ever owned maybe four pairs of jeans at any given time-- and you can forget about any other kinds of pants.

So when those smallest-of-the-small-size pants started to be too small for me, I didn't even realize what was happening for a long time. I've outgrown things, yes, but never in my life have I ever been too heavy to wear something. I was so used to being tiny that once I was no longer tiny I didn't even notice. It wasn't until my skinny jeans couldn't get over my hips at all that it hit me: I was getting chubby.

An interlude here to say that all the people who just rolled their eyes or got offended because that's still a small size and I don't understand what it's like to be REALLY big, I should shut up and be grateful, etc: Go play in the street.

Anyway, the moment I realized this was when I came home one day and peeled myself out of my previously relaxed-fitting bootcut jeans into a much more comfortable pair of sweatpants. That's when it dawned on me-- "These are FAT PANTS. Holy crap I have fat pants. I have to wear fat pants."

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that not being a size 0 makes you fat. But when all your pants give you muffin top such that you stopped wearing fitted shirts to hide it and the only thing that fits right is your sweatpants? Those are fat pants. And on someone who's barely five feet tall with a short stubby little torso, a size 2-4 is starting to look chubby. Yeah the size is small, but so is the rest of me. Proportionally it doesn't look small at all.

So I decided to do something about it. I calculated my basic metabolic rate, figured out how many calories I needed a day to maintain, and tried to stay around 500 calories beneath that. I made an effort to keep my calories from fat as minimal as possible and to avoid simple carbohydrates more than once a day. I made sure to spread out my food over the day instead of eating two big meals and a snack like I normally do. I already walk about 45-70 minutes a day to get around, so I added going to the gym 2-3 times a week as time permitted. Since my stamina was really low (mostly from my asthma) I started off just on the elliptical and recumbent bike and, when that got easy, I added some weight training. I never spend more than an hour at the gym.

So now, at a little over three weeks of this, I didn't feel any better. I didn't think I looked any different. Until this morning, I wanted to wear long pants but the only clean ones I had were a pair of extremely unforgiving high-waisted American Apparel skinny jeans... A pair that had ceased to fit over my hips months ago. So I tried them and... POW. Fit perfectly.

I want to share my success with people but, like my original frustration with my weight, no one wants to hear it. People will congratulate me and all but generally hearing about it being easy for me makes other people feel bad. I think Ryan North is right on here when he says "dieting is about commiserating" and no one wants to hear someone going "GUYS LOOK WHAT I DID EASILY" especially when no one thought I was chubby in the first place.

Anyway, so the final punctuation on what I'm sure has been a wholly infuriating read for most of you is this: Today I rushed home from dinner with my boyfriend so I could make it to the gym before they closed because I didn't want to skip a day. When I was adding my workout to my log I realized I hadn't really eaten much today. So on my way home I stopped at the store and got a package of little chocolate donuts as a reward, and also to make sure I got enough calories today.



Now you all hate me, thank you, goodnight.

Honolulu AIDS Walk

April 17th is the 20th annual Honolulu AIDS Walk!

This event benefitsThe Life Foundation is a local organization that does amazing things. They're the state's oldest and largest AIDS-related organization and, as such, serve over 75% of the state's people, providing rapid HIV testing, education and prevention programs, and support services for patients of HIV/AIDS. This doesn't just include counseling and medical care, but home care, groceries, and a wide variety of other essential services. They currently serve over 60% of all HIV/AIDS patients in the state including men, women, and children from every income level and ethnic group. They operate an extensive peer-to-peer prevention effort that targets people at the most risk for contracting HIV, offering support and education. They go out of their way to reach people in the community; if you need an HIV test but can't or don't want to go to their office, they will send an inconspicuous employee to meet you anywhere on island for your cheek swab.

I've volunteered for them in the past, and this is really amazing considering that they operate out of one tiny office the size of a small apartment in Honolulu. Now I'm the captain of team Psychic Unity of Anthropology. We're the UH anthropology department's team and, the event being so far in advance, we are woefully short on people and donations.

You can help by spreading the word about the event or donating directly to our team page. I don't receive any compensation for bringing in donations, this money goes directly to Life Foundation programs.

Thank you very much for anything you can give and any efforts to help us reach more people. You are helping us create a safer, healthier Hawaii and for that you have our great appreciation.

Job Applicants Are People, Too

I've spent way more time than I'd like to admit applying for jobs over the last year and a half since I moved here. In that time there have been periods where I was applying to something new every few days for weeks at a time. I can't rightly estimate how many jobs I've applied for, but I can give you the exact number of times I've been rejected: Zero.

That's right, zero rejections! But I'm still unemployed, right? How is this possible? Because I got no responses at all. None that said yes, or no, or hey we got your application. Nothing. And every time I called a place to say "did you get that thing I sent ya" after sending applications by email (maybe it got lost in the internet tubes somewhere?) they were generally dodgy and annoyed that I was wasting their precious phone time. One place I applied to was a wee little business run by one woman, so she can't even use the too-many-applications-to-contact-everyone excuse. In fact no one can, because this is a tiny island and I know that there will never be more than MAYBE two dozen applications for any job opening ever.

So to all potential employers I say: what gives? Don't you understand that we're people, too? We have feelings, for one, and it is very stressful the weeks after applying for a job when you're wondering if you'll get an interview and then you never hear anything at all. It's rude, on top of that, to treat applicants like we should be grateful for any time you ever spend interacting with us. What more, we are customers. We probably want to work for you because we like your company, but if we apply for a job and never ever hear from you, that's gonna turn us off. And if we apply by mail and then you get all huffy when we call to see if you received it? We are not going to like your company anymore. And just like any bad other customer experience, that is really bad for you.

What more, you have no idea how little work it would take to make us happy. This week, after a year and a half of this crap, I emailed an application and the company replied to let me know they were looking at it and that if I didn't hear in four weeks I could assume I had not been selected. They also asked me for additional information and when I supplied it they replied again to thank me for responding promptly.

There, two emails consisting of about three sentences each. And now I love these guys and I won't even be mad if they reject me. I'm even more hopeful that I'll get this position now, and even if I don't I'll gladly keep supporting their organization. By contrast, runs-her-own-business lady lost me completely. I had been really interested in supporting a new business that did a lot of things I liked, but not anymore. This is the most effortless good press you can possibly buy yourself as a company, don't ruin it by treating your applicants like crap.