It seems like I only ever come on this blog when bad things happen. One day that might change. For now, you know what they say: bad news travels faster than good.
By now I'm sure that all of you, if not most of you, have heard about the atrocities committed on the hallowed grounds of Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, SC. For those of you who have not: at a Wednesday night Bible study, a white man walked into this historic church, sat among the members for an hour, said, "I'm here to kill Black people," and opened fire. Nine people are dead. A 5 year old child played dead to survive.
For nine people to die in such a way on any given day hurts me. For nine people to be murdered in the house of God does something a little worse. As a Christian and an AME, I am saddened. As a South Carolinian and general human being, I am incensed. As a Black woman, I am tired.
You read right. I'm tired. I'm tried of the shooting and the violence, I'm tired of "All lives matter!" turning into a telling silence, and most of all I am tired of the shock and surprise. "If we can't go to church and be safe," I hear the people sighing, "where can we go?"
It makes me curious. When have we ever been safe in our worship? The answer is never. We were not safe gathered in the fields of master's plantation, or in the meeting houses of antebellum America where the sparks of the Klan fanned to flame, or at the tent revivals of the '40s and '50s. Three little girls were not safe in Birmingham, Alabama in 1963, yet today in 2015 you begin to feel the danger? No sooner than white men forced us to convert did they start using the church to do us harm, but only now are you afraid?
The city of Greenville conspires to turn my historic church into a parking lot for a baseball stadium. Thursday afternoon during a community prayer vigil on our grounds we received a bomb threat. Tell me, when am I supposed to feel safe?
Long before we could not wear hoodies, or live in "good" neighborhoods, swim in pools, or play on the playground, we could not go to church. I wrote these words sitting on a pew Thursday night (Choir Anniversary practice, you know), and every few words I put down my pen to check the doors.
Were I to play 6 Degrees of Separation (or Kevin Bacon, if you must) with any of the 9 victims of the Charleston shooting, I would reach them in 3 steps. Three of them I can reach in 2.
And what of the conversation that no one, no news station, seems to want to have? Who will talk about how this shooter, this terrorist believes himself to be right because America has taught him as much--America that has sanctioned 400 years of ethnic cleansing and upheld this violent, poisonous culture of white supremacy. Thursday, the confederate flag flew at half-mast in our capital, and they have the nerve to say that it was in honor of Emanuel. The irony is a smack in my face and a pat on his back.
Charleston is bleeding, and I am tired. I am tired, and I have nowhere to rest.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Monday, December 8, 2014
The Clemson CRIPmas Party: a response from a Pro-Black Girl alum.
In case you don’t watch CNN or FOX News, my dear old alma mater is in trouble, its students accused of throwing racially insensitive holiday parties. No, I'm not talking about the Blackface Party Fiasco of 2007. I’m talking about CRIPmas 2014, otherwise known as Clemson’s second major (reported) racial incident in less than 10 years. Sigma Alpha Epsilon, an SAE fraternity, threw their annual “CRIPmas Party”, where frat members and sundry sororities get together in their best Gangsta Themed clothes, sing along to Biggie Smalls albums, and play beer pong. Or, you know, whatever it is that they do at those types of frat parties. I never went to any because you don’t always have to bite the donut to know that it’s sweet.
Or, in this case, you don’t have to go to the party to know that you really don’t belong there. I'm not a party girl in general, but racist frat functions definitely aren't my cup of tea. These good ol’ Clemson kids certainly seem to like them though. After all, it’s an annual CRIPmas Party. And then there was the aforementioned Blackface Party Fiasco of 2007. And all those lovely Yik Yak posts about the Die-In protests last week. You know which ones I’m talking about. “Stay safe, blacks are attacking whites nation wide.” Whites a minority?! Haha. We’ll always been the superiority.” “Clemson used to be a plantation with slaves. Atleast be happy we gave u freedom[.]”
Nothing will show the character of an entire geographical region like anonymous social mobile apps, amirite? Thanks, Yik Yak!!
And what does Jim Clements, Clemson’s newish president, do in the face of this ignorance and poor grammar/syntax? He writes a little letter and puts it on the school website, wherein he basically says, “Guys, this is bad, okay? But y’all need to calm down about Ferguson. And Eric Garner. Let’s not get violent here.” I would say I’m disappointed, but I knew that blame-shift was coming. ...nah, I’m still disappointed. He started out so well! And begging your pardon, Jimbo, but disenfranchised white boys upset that they couldn't play ultimate frisbee on Bowman because of die-in protesters drew first blood with, “Damnet do I have to put a sheet on and go scare the people in front of Tillman away[?]” That sounds like violence to me. Did y'all know that intimidation is a crime punishable by up to 30 days in prison under the South Carolina Code of Law? Because it is!
I’m going to be real with y’all, if that’s alright. Is anyone really surprised that this happened? Because I’m not. Clemson has been wiggling its way out of messy hate crime allegations for a long, long time. They’re old pros at this by now. Same shtick, different day. Tomato. To-mah-tah. To-mah-to?
“Now Lyssa,” you may be saying, “dressing up and having a party is not a hate crime. You might be offended, but it’s not a hate crime,” to which I say, isn’t it? This CRIPmas Party is basically a form of Black minstrelsy. You know what Black minstrelsy is? It’s a type of “performance art” used by white people to mock and otherwise demean Black people and Black culture. The most common form of this is what we know as blackface, and I think that mostly* everyone agrees that that’s bad. It’s psychologically damaging, promotes negative stereotypes of the Black community, and bolsters beliefs of white superiority. In short, Black minstrelsy is a racialized form of violence, and do you know what racially based violence is? That’s right, my friend. That’s a hate crime.
“Lyssa,” you may now be saying, “no one was actually in blackface!” To this I say, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you were thinking of white people every time you heard the word Crip/Blood/Folk. My mistake. Do carry on with your day.”
Sip on that tea for a minute. Or, if you need something stronger, keep reading.
I’ll be fair. It’s not just the SAE, IFC, and NPC men and women running around campus with their TuPac t-shirts and fake butts in miniskirts and brown face paint, though they’re the best hands down at getting caught. Bravo, Sigma Alpha Epsilon, Alpha Phi, and all other Greek-lettered individuals who actually participated in this disgusting display on being a disgrace to all of us Greeks and on being so spectacularly mediocre. But this is not your burden alone. I had plenty of self-proclaimed liberal, GDI white friends in college who voted for Obama in 2008 and were also low-key racist and full of microaggressions. My homeboy that “wasn’t attracted to Black girls” (a problematic statement in and of itself, but we won't talk about that today) had an undeniable crush on one of my few Black girl friends that he denied every chance he got. Another guy I knew didn’t see a problem at all with The Blackface Party Fiasco of 2007, because, you know, “people dress up as rich old white guys all the time.” He was on student council. I used to see my friend’s parents, Clemson alums themselves, on campus at sporting events I attended with him; they were very nice, but later my friend would chuckle as he told me how his dad had asked him, “You’re not dating That Black Girl, are you?” after I left. I knew 2 guys who made jokes about Black people being on tv because it was MLK Day. One told me I was “being too sensitive” when I called him on it the next day (a staple retort learned in Racism 101), yet still thought he was better than his sister who thought that “only a fully white person should be president.” An RA from another floor once talked to my RA and some others about a white girl she knew that went by “Gel” instead of Angelica. “Are you sure she wasn’t Black?” because that’s an easy thing to mix up, and then, “Shh! A Black girl lives right there!” They were standing outside my door. There was also the staff who never went forward when I reported being called “the dark one” and other racist names by my friends’ RA who couldn’t seem to decide if he hated my Black guts or wanted to notch his belt with me, and then just decided to multitask. My friends thought he was funny. One friend who met my family later only seemed to remember how, “It’s so funny how all of you say ‘Mmmhmmm chil'!’" And those are just the ones I care to make examples of right now. There are plenty more.
You want names? Come talk to me. I’ll give them to you. I keep my receipts.
Like I said. This isn't just a Greek Life problem. It is fundamentally a Clemson University problem because these people were RAs, student council members, student organization leaders, and athletes. This whole “One Clemson” family thing is a lie. There is Black Clemson, and White Clemson, and Sri Lankan Clemson, and Korean Clemson; White Greek Clemson, Black Greek Clemson, Service Frat Clemson, and a lot of other Clemsons, plus a few brave souls who dare cross the lines outside of class. Let us not forgot that Clemson doesn’t have the greatest history with race relations in general, no matter how hard they push Harvey Gantt in our faces. Talk to your elders from the area and see what they tell you. Read a book. Google it. Remember: Clemson was founded on plantation land by a plantation owner’s son-in-law who was so influenced by Benjamin Tillman--a US Senator that did some cool stuff for agriculture, I guess, but who was directly responsible for a lot of white supremacist legislature and a vocal proponent of Lynch Laws and Jim Crow--that he made him a chairman of the (then) college and named the clock tower after him. You know the clock tower. It's that pretty red brick building you see on all the commercials and postcards and paintings.
Do you see what I’m saying? Respect for Black students isn’t in Clemson’s culture. It wasn’t there from the very beginning, and many of the non-Black students that the school attracts act accordingly. This bigotry was put in between the brick and mortar of Tillman Hall itself. It is a vicious cycle of hate and iniquity that dies with every graduation ceremony and is reborn with each incoming freshman class. Jim Clements thinks that Clemson is “better than this,” but is it? Is it really? Because this seems to keep happening, and it’s not those same kids from 2007 that are making it so.
Here's some more realness for you. I’m both a pro-Black girl and pro-Black girl. This does not mean that I am anti-non-Black, anti-white, anti-Black man, etc. It means, in the words of Malcolm X, that I am Black first. My sympathies are Black, my allegiances are Black, my whole objectives are Black. I’ve been a pro-Black girl so hard and for so long that in high school when I asked for college recommendations my French teacher wrote that I was “dedicated to disproving stereotypes.” I’m so staunchly pro-Black that when I studied abroad one of my professors approached me about helping him teach a two-part seminar on Black History in the United States (and I did). It is because I am a pro-Black girl that I cannot like Clemson University, much less love it. How dare I love a place that hates me, and still claim to love myself? The short answer is that I can’t. The long answer is this:
I do not want to sing your football chants, I do not want to rub your rock, I do not want to go to your alumni parties (will there be blackface there too?), I do not want to wear orange on Fridays. It makes me physically ill to set foot in that godforsaken hill country where the Blue Ridge yawns “I’m racist!” Let me be plain: I hate that place as much as I love myself and my people. It’s not a safe, healthy, or good environment for our Black and brown children to enter into, and honestly I mistrust any Black or brown person that likes the orange and purple too much. That means I give a lot of side-eye at a lot of people I love. I give it to some of my former classmates, to my friends, my sorors, my old professors, my uncles, to anyone with a paw print or orange flags flying on their car. I pity their babies with their big purple bows and little orange overalls and their cheerleader outfits at tailgates. My Black children, who will be Black to this country regardless as to whether or not their other parent is Black, white, Thai, Montenegrin, or Indigenous Australian, will not be Clemson alums, so help me God. I will not take them on walks around Bowman Field, or to 55 Exchange for ice cream; they will not come with me to homecoming because I will not be going. Not when it is my job to protect them. Not if I don’t want them to look back on their college years like I do: with bitterness and hate and regret.
Some time this week, I am finding out who to call to get my name off of the alumni donation solicitations list and I’m calling them. I’ll even ask them nicely to take me off. I only ever throw that stuff in the trash anyway.
If Clemson doesn’t want to respect or value my Black personhood, they sure as hell don’t deserve my Black money.
Or, in this case, you don’t have to go to the party to know that you really don’t belong there. I'm not a party girl in general, but racist frat functions definitely aren't my cup of tea. These good ol’ Clemson kids certainly seem to like them though. After all, it’s an annual CRIPmas Party. And then there was the aforementioned Blackface Party Fiasco of 2007. And all those lovely Yik Yak posts about the Die-In protests last week. You know which ones I’m talking about. “Stay safe, blacks are attacking whites nation wide.” Whites a minority?! Haha. We’ll always been the superiority.” “Clemson used to be a plantation with slaves. Atleast be happy we gave u freedom[.]”
Nothing will show the character of an entire geographical region like anonymous social mobile apps, amirite? Thanks, Yik Yak!!
And what does Jim Clements, Clemson’s newish president, do in the face of this ignorance and poor grammar/syntax? He writes a little letter and puts it on the school website, wherein he basically says, “Guys, this is bad, okay? But y’all need to calm down about Ferguson. And Eric Garner. Let’s not get violent here.” I would say I’m disappointed, but I knew that blame-shift was coming. ...nah, I’m still disappointed. He started out so well! And begging your pardon, Jimbo, but disenfranchised white boys upset that they couldn't play ultimate frisbee on Bowman because of die-in protesters drew first blood with, “Damnet do I have to put a sheet on and go scare the people in front of Tillman away[?]” That sounds like violence to me. Did y'all know that intimidation is a crime punishable by up to 30 days in prison under the South Carolina Code of Law? Because it is!
I’m going to be real with y’all, if that’s alright. Is anyone really surprised that this happened? Because I’m not. Clemson has been wiggling its way out of messy hate crime allegations for a long, long time. They’re old pros at this by now. Same shtick, different day. Tomato. To-mah-tah. To-mah-to?
“Now Lyssa,” you may be saying, “dressing up and having a party is not a hate crime. You might be offended, but it’s not a hate crime,” to which I say, isn’t it? This CRIPmas Party is basically a form of Black minstrelsy. You know what Black minstrelsy is? It’s a type of “performance art” used by white people to mock and otherwise demean Black people and Black culture. The most common form of this is what we know as blackface, and I think that mostly* everyone agrees that that’s bad. It’s psychologically damaging, promotes negative stereotypes of the Black community, and bolsters beliefs of white superiority. In short, Black minstrelsy is a racialized form of violence, and do you know what racially based violence is? That’s right, my friend. That’s a hate crime.
“Lyssa,” you may now be saying, “no one was actually in blackface!” To this I say, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you were thinking of white people every time you heard the word Crip/Blood/Folk. My mistake. Do carry on with your day.”
Sip on that tea for a minute. Or, if you need something stronger, keep reading.
I’ll be fair. It’s not just the SAE, IFC, and NPC men and women running around campus with their TuPac t-shirts and fake butts in miniskirts and brown face paint, though they’re the best hands down at getting caught. Bravo, Sigma Alpha Epsilon, Alpha Phi, and all other Greek-lettered individuals who actually participated in this disgusting display on being a disgrace to all of us Greeks and on being so spectacularly mediocre. But this is not your burden alone. I had plenty of self-proclaimed liberal, GDI white friends in college who voted for Obama in 2008 and were also low-key racist and full of microaggressions. My homeboy that “wasn’t attracted to Black girls” (a problematic statement in and of itself, but we won't talk about that today) had an undeniable crush on one of my few Black girl friends that he denied every chance he got. Another guy I knew didn’t see a problem at all with The Blackface Party Fiasco of 2007, because, you know, “people dress up as rich old white guys all the time.” He was on student council. I used to see my friend’s parents, Clemson alums themselves, on campus at sporting events I attended with him; they were very nice, but later my friend would chuckle as he told me how his dad had asked him, “You’re not dating That Black Girl, are you?” after I left. I knew 2 guys who made jokes about Black people being on tv because it was MLK Day. One told me I was “being too sensitive” when I called him on it the next day (a staple retort learned in Racism 101), yet still thought he was better than his sister who thought that “only a fully white person should be president.” An RA from another floor once talked to my RA and some others about a white girl she knew that went by “Gel” instead of Angelica. “Are you sure she wasn’t Black?” because that’s an easy thing to mix up, and then, “Shh! A Black girl lives right there!” They were standing outside my door. There was also the staff who never went forward when I reported being called “the dark one” and other racist names by my friends’ RA who couldn’t seem to decide if he hated my Black guts or wanted to notch his belt with me, and then just decided to multitask. My friends thought he was funny. One friend who met my family later only seemed to remember how, “It’s so funny how all of you say ‘Mmmhmmm chil'!’" And those are just the ones I care to make examples of right now. There are plenty more.
You want names? Come talk to me. I’ll give them to you. I keep my receipts.
Like I said. This isn't just a Greek Life problem. It is fundamentally a Clemson University problem because these people were RAs, student council members, student organization leaders, and athletes. This whole “One Clemson” family thing is a lie. There is Black Clemson, and White Clemson, and Sri Lankan Clemson, and Korean Clemson; White Greek Clemson, Black Greek Clemson, Service Frat Clemson, and a lot of other Clemsons, plus a few brave souls who dare cross the lines outside of class. Let us not forgot that Clemson doesn’t have the greatest history with race relations in general, no matter how hard they push Harvey Gantt in our faces. Talk to your elders from the area and see what they tell you. Read a book. Google it. Remember: Clemson was founded on plantation land by a plantation owner’s son-in-law who was so influenced by Benjamin Tillman--a US Senator that did some cool stuff for agriculture, I guess, but who was directly responsible for a lot of white supremacist legislature and a vocal proponent of Lynch Laws and Jim Crow--that he made him a chairman of the (then) college and named the clock tower after him. You know the clock tower. It's that pretty red brick building you see on all the commercials and postcards and paintings.
Do you see what I’m saying? Respect for Black students isn’t in Clemson’s culture. It wasn’t there from the very beginning, and many of the non-Black students that the school attracts act accordingly. This bigotry was put in between the brick and mortar of Tillman Hall itself. It is a vicious cycle of hate and iniquity that dies with every graduation ceremony and is reborn with each incoming freshman class. Jim Clements thinks that Clemson is “better than this,” but is it? Is it really? Because this seems to keep happening, and it’s not those same kids from 2007 that are making it so.
Here's some more realness for you. I’m both a pro-Black girl and pro-Black girl. This does not mean that I am anti-non-Black, anti-white, anti-Black man, etc. It means, in the words of Malcolm X, that I am Black first. My sympathies are Black, my allegiances are Black, my whole objectives are Black. I’ve been a pro-Black girl so hard and for so long that in high school when I asked for college recommendations my French teacher wrote that I was “dedicated to disproving stereotypes.” I’m so staunchly pro-Black that when I studied abroad one of my professors approached me about helping him teach a two-part seminar on Black History in the United States (and I did). It is because I am a pro-Black girl that I cannot like Clemson University, much less love it. How dare I love a place that hates me, and still claim to love myself? The short answer is that I can’t. The long answer is this:
I do not want to sing your football chants, I do not want to rub your rock, I do not want to go to your alumni parties (will there be blackface there too?), I do not want to wear orange on Fridays. It makes me physically ill to set foot in that godforsaken hill country where the Blue Ridge yawns “I’m racist!” Let me be plain: I hate that place as much as I love myself and my people. It’s not a safe, healthy, or good environment for our Black and brown children to enter into, and honestly I mistrust any Black or brown person that likes the orange and purple too much. That means I give a lot of side-eye at a lot of people I love. I give it to some of my former classmates, to my friends, my sorors, my old professors, my uncles, to anyone with a paw print or orange flags flying on their car. I pity their babies with their big purple bows and little orange overalls and their cheerleader outfits at tailgates. My Black children, who will be Black to this country regardless as to whether or not their other parent is Black, white, Thai, Montenegrin, or Indigenous Australian, will not be Clemson alums, so help me God. I will not take them on walks around Bowman Field, or to 55 Exchange for ice cream; they will not come with me to homecoming because I will not be going. Not when it is my job to protect them. Not if I don’t want them to look back on their college years like I do: with bitterness and hate and regret.
Some time this week, I am finding out who to call to get my name off of the alumni donation solicitations list and I’m calling them. I’ll even ask them nicely to take me off. I only ever throw that stuff in the trash anyway.
If Clemson doesn’t want to respect or value my Black personhood, they sure as hell don’t deserve my Black money.
Monday, March 10, 2014
The Clemson Experience
Clemson is all about this thing called “The Clemson Experience.” To the university, that means that every student is the happy, football loving 20-something that gets interviewed for polls in the Princeton Review. They wear orange every Friday, turn up every Thursday, and show up drunk on camera on game day. I am not that 20-something. And this is my Clemson experience.
In class the other week, one of my classmates went off on a rant about poor service he received at a bank where he wasn’t an account holder. Someone had written him a check, he had gone to their bank to cash it, and the teller had the audacity to tell him that the bank’s policy required a $5 fee on transactions like his. In his own words, “it got ugly in that lobby.” Part of his tirade? “I know you don’t want these Hispanics,” he spat the word like venom, “from [a plant nearby] coming in here cashing their paychecks, but this check was drawn on this bank!” He called the bank manager and the regional manager. Apparently being a non-Latino white male means you don’t have to pay to get your checks cashed at banks where you have no account. He laughed like he was proud of himself for being so clever.
As this happened, my professor, seeing that I was offended, offered me an apologetic smile and a nervous laugh. Racists, you know? They’re just so cheeky. What can you do?
When I was freshman, I dealt with a lot of harassment. Racially insensitive jokes. Predatory sexual advances. General disrespect. I reported my friends’ RA for these things. The university never did a thing about it.
When I was a sophomore, I was talking with friends about that MLK Day Black-Face Party from 2007, the year before we matriculated. One of them was lying with his head in my lap and said, “I don’t see what the big deal is about [the party]." When I reminded him that white students painted themselves Black and stuffed padding in their skirts he said, "It’s just a party.” I left the apartment. I don’t think I ever spoke to him again. It’s a shame, really: he was smart, and handsome, and had a beautiful voice. If he hadn’t had such terrible views on my culture as costume, he’d have made an excellent trophy husband.
I had a roommate once that treated me like a maid. Left her food on our table for days, and her clothes strewn all over the floor because I had nothing better to do than pick up after her. I remember asking her once, “How long are you going to leave that basket there? It’s in the way of the closet.” She glared at me and said, “Why?” Once, she came home from a frisbee game and left grass and mud in the bathtub. We had been friends before. She moved out at the end of the year without saying goodbye, and never spoke to me again.
When I was a junior, talking to friends about the way Belgium pushes its immigrant population into slums on the fringes of Brussels, one of them said, “Lyssa, you just need to go find Blackville.” I stood there, stunned into murderous silence. Realizing what she had said, she turned red and apologized. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you!” Hadn't she? Was that meant as a compliment to Matongé, the Brussels neighborhood populated by African immigrants? “Well you did,” I snapped. I’ve never forgiven her.
When I was a senior, I was talking to a professor about the reasons why I didn’t like Clemson. I began with the story about my friends’ RA, and when I mentioned that the university failed to investigate my complaint, this man--a man with a wife, a mother, with daughters--said, “Okay, but that can’t be it.” I hope the things that were said to me are never said to his little girls. Babies, this is the sympathy you will get from your father.
Last year, my marketing professor used the Confederate flag as an example of a “confused positioning error.” You know, because history is so confusing.
These are my memories of college. There are more like these. There are more like these than there are of anything happy or good.
The people in these stories have names and I remember all of them, though I doubt any of them think of me anymore. I let them stay anonymous today because their names are not the point. The point is that while there have been a few bright spots in my educational experience, I look back on my college years and see a dark, dark cloud of otherness, loneliness, and not belonging. I see six years in a place whose culture was not my own, whose values were not my own--a place full of people who couldn’t understand why I didn’t feel grateful to just be there in the first place and who clearly didn't think I should be there at all (except, of course, as the maid).
This is not the experience Clemson will tell you that its students have, but I know I’m not alone. How can I be? I am not so special.
This is not the experience Clemson thinks it is capable of, but it is mine.
In class the other week, one of my classmates went off on a rant about poor service he received at a bank where he wasn’t an account holder. Someone had written him a check, he had gone to their bank to cash it, and the teller had the audacity to tell him that the bank’s policy required a $5 fee on transactions like his. In his own words, “it got ugly in that lobby.” Part of his tirade? “I know you don’t want these Hispanics,” he spat the word like venom, “from [a plant nearby] coming in here cashing their paychecks, but this check was drawn on this bank!” He called the bank manager and the regional manager. Apparently being a non-Latino white male means you don’t have to pay to get your checks cashed at banks where you have no account. He laughed like he was proud of himself for being so clever.
As this happened, my professor, seeing that I was offended, offered me an apologetic smile and a nervous laugh. Racists, you know? They’re just so cheeky. What can you do?
When I was freshman, I dealt with a lot of harassment. Racially insensitive jokes. Predatory sexual advances. General disrespect. I reported my friends’ RA for these things. The university never did a thing about it.
When I was a sophomore, I was talking with friends about that MLK Day Black-Face Party from 2007, the year before we matriculated. One of them was lying with his head in my lap and said, “I don’t see what the big deal is about [the party]." When I reminded him that white students painted themselves Black and stuffed padding in their skirts he said, "It’s just a party.” I left the apartment. I don’t think I ever spoke to him again. It’s a shame, really: he was smart, and handsome, and had a beautiful voice. If he hadn’t had such terrible views on my culture as costume, he’d have made an excellent trophy husband.
I had a roommate once that treated me like a maid. Left her food on our table for days, and her clothes strewn all over the floor because I had nothing better to do than pick up after her. I remember asking her once, “How long are you going to leave that basket there? It’s in the way of the closet.” She glared at me and said, “Why?” Once, she came home from a frisbee game and left grass and mud in the bathtub. We had been friends before. She moved out at the end of the year without saying goodbye, and never spoke to me again.
When I was a junior, talking to friends about the way Belgium pushes its immigrant population into slums on the fringes of Brussels, one of them said, “Lyssa, you just need to go find Blackville.” I stood there, stunned into murderous silence. Realizing what she had said, she turned red and apologized. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you!” Hadn't she? Was that meant as a compliment to Matongé, the Brussels neighborhood populated by African immigrants? “Well you did,” I snapped. I’ve never forgiven her.
When I was a senior, I was talking to a professor about the reasons why I didn’t like Clemson. I began with the story about my friends’ RA, and when I mentioned that the university failed to investigate my complaint, this man--a man with a wife, a mother, with daughters--said, “Okay, but that can’t be it.” I hope the things that were said to me are never said to his little girls. Babies, this is the sympathy you will get from your father.
Last year, my marketing professor used the Confederate flag as an example of a “confused positioning error.” You know, because history is so confusing.
These are my memories of college. There are more like these. There are more like these than there are of anything happy or good.
The people in these stories have names and I remember all of them, though I doubt any of them think of me anymore. I let them stay anonymous today because their names are not the point. The point is that while there have been a few bright spots in my educational experience, I look back on my college years and see a dark, dark cloud of otherness, loneliness, and not belonging. I see six years in a place whose culture was not my own, whose values were not my own--a place full of people who couldn’t understand why I didn’t feel grateful to just be there in the first place and who clearly didn't think I should be there at all (except, of course, as the maid).
This is not the experience Clemson will tell you that its students have, but I know I’m not alone. How can I be? I am not so special.
This is not the experience Clemson thinks it is capable of, but it is mine.
Friday, February 14, 2014
The Valentine's Edition
It's Valentine's Day, y'all. Some of you have had Valentine's Day all week because you've been snowed in and were boo'd up at the house. Good for you. I hope you're happy.
(Ignore the implied bitterness there; it was a joke.)
Happy Valentine's Day! I sincerely hope that those of you who were trapped in the house with your significant other all week are not now so sick of them that you're thinking about returning those chocolates, or whatever it is that the Boo'd Up buy each other on V-Day. I am not boo'd up, nor have I ever been, so I have no idea.
(That wasn't bitterness per se; more like the deep breath before the plunge)
This year, I'm single on Valentine's Day. For that matter, I'm single every Valentine's Day. No one make comments about how sad that is. I honestly don't care. At the same time, there comes a point in a girl's life where she has to wonder if it's normal that she'll be 25 in 8 months and has never crushed on anyone less famous than Joseph Gordon-Levitt (seriously guys he is so cute). It's easy to buy into the unmarriable/unlovable Black woman trope when it's been a quiet understanding from the last few guys you might have been into that you weren't what they were expected to bring home to Mama. Y'all know what I mean. It's easy to feel like you're doing something wrong in your life when you're the last single cousin and your relatives tell you every chance they get, "I can't wait for you to get a man; you'll feel so much better."
But that's not me! Not today it's not! Y'all post all the cute "Look what bae got me" pictures on Instagram that you want. I'm going to get myself a new book to read now that the roads are clear, I'm going to pick up something cute for my mom, and I'm going to flex my culinary chops in my really great but underused kitchen. I have 3 words for y'all: Turtle. Brownie. Pies. That's right. Be jealous. Again I say happy Valentine's Day. And since literary humor is fun....
(Ignore the implied bitterness there; it was a joke.)
Happy Valentine's Day! I sincerely hope that those of you who were trapped in the house with your significant other all week are not now so sick of them that you're thinking about returning those chocolates, or whatever it is that the Boo'd Up buy each other on V-Day. I am not boo'd up, nor have I ever been, so I have no idea.
(That wasn't bitterness per se; more like the deep breath before the plunge)
This year, I'm single on Valentine's Day. For that matter, I'm single every Valentine's Day. No one make comments about how sad that is. I honestly don't care. At the same time, there comes a point in a girl's life where she has to wonder if it's normal that she'll be 25 in 8 months and has never crushed on anyone less famous than Joseph Gordon-Levitt (seriously guys he is so cute). It's easy to buy into the unmarriable/unlovable Black woman trope when it's been a quiet understanding from the last few guys you might have been into that you weren't what they were expected to bring home to Mama. Y'all know what I mean. It's easy to feel like you're doing something wrong in your life when you're the last single cousin and your relatives tell you every chance they get, "I can't wait for you to get a man; you'll feel so much better."
But that's not me! Not today it's not! Y'all post all the cute "Look what bae got me" pictures on Instagram that you want. I'm going to get myself a new book to read now that the roads are clear, I'm going to pick up something cute for my mom, and I'm going to flex my culinary chops in my really great but underused kitchen. I have 3 words for y'all: Turtle. Brownie. Pies. That's right. Be jealous. Again I say happy Valentine's Day. And since literary humor is fun....
Sunday, February 9, 2014
The Problem with Apathy
Two weeks ago, I applied for graduation and it didn’t feel anything like I remembered.
There was no sudden lightheartedness at the weight of college being lifted off my shoulders, no urge to cut cartwheels all over the house, no overwhelming joy. It didn’t feel like anything at all. It was like I was one of those women on Say Yes to the Dress that expects a big, teary-eyed AHA moment when they find the perfect gown, and then they get to Kleinfeld’s and nothing happens.
I remember exactly what it felt like in undergrad when it sank in that I was finally graduating. I had spent the 24 hours previous running all over hill and country trying to get a last-minute class substitution (because it’s never as easy as your adviser says it is), and was up all night rewriting an old paper leftover from engineering to make sure that class got substituted. I’m pretty sure I cried for 9 straight hours because there was a serious chance my request was going to get denied. I remember that the sun was shining that day and the sky was blue. It felt like cold relief.
Nothing like that happened this time. I just hit submit, closed my laptop, and watched Duck Dynasty for the next 4 hours. (I can see y’all judging me, and I’m telling you right now I don’t care)
My lack of reaction was disappointing.
I have fought Clemson tooth and nail for six long years. I hate the place. You guys know that. And all of that hate needs to manifest itself somehow, because it can’t stay bottled up inside of me. Most often it appears as snark and anger, both fueled by too much caffeine since I'm not much for drinking. It never wells up and dissolves into 4 hours of Duck Dynasty on my couch. I didn’t think too much about it at the time, but some time last week I had a horrifying thought.
Is apathy what happens when you stop caring and start settling?
There was no sudden lightheartedness at the weight of college being lifted off my shoulders, no urge to cut cartwheels all over the house, no overwhelming joy. It didn’t feel like anything at all. It was like I was one of those women on Say Yes to the Dress that expects a big, teary-eyed AHA moment when they find the perfect gown, and then they get to Kleinfeld’s and nothing happens.
I remember exactly what it felt like in undergrad when it sank in that I was finally graduating. I had spent the 24 hours previous running all over hill and country trying to get a last-minute class substitution (because it’s never as easy as your adviser says it is), and was up all night rewriting an old paper leftover from engineering to make sure that class got substituted. I’m pretty sure I cried for 9 straight hours because there was a serious chance my request was going to get denied. I remember that the sun was shining that day and the sky was blue. It felt like cold relief.
Nothing like that happened this time. I just hit submit, closed my laptop, and watched Duck Dynasty for the next 4 hours. (I can see y’all judging me, and I’m telling you right now I don’t care)
My lack of reaction was disappointing.
I have fought Clemson tooth and nail for six long years. I hate the place. You guys know that. And all of that hate needs to manifest itself somehow, because it can’t stay bottled up inside of me. Most often it appears as snark and anger, both fueled by too much caffeine since I'm not much for drinking. It never wells up and dissolves into 4 hours of Duck Dynasty on my couch. I didn’t think too much about it at the time, but some time last week I had a horrifying thought.
Is apathy what happens when you stop caring and start settling?
Friday, November 8, 2013
The Easy Let-Down
Earlier on this week I thought to myself, “I have no idea what to write about.” I was drawing a blank. Nothing exciting, infuriating, or otherwise important had happened, I was fresh out of rants, and I was feeling, well, boring. Then I walked into work this morning, and as I was being laid off I thought to myself, “Well there’s a blog post for you,” and here we are.
This morning, I got laid off.
I’m not upset about it. I’m pretty sure the ones letting me go felt worse about it than I did. That’s not to say that I didn’t like my job--I’ve said over and over how much I surprised myself by liking it as much as I did. It just means that I’m practical. And I saw it coming.
Honestly, I’m glad it was me because I’m a 24 year old kid without any responsibilities. I live at home with my mom. I don’t have a mortgage, or rent. I paid for my car in cash, so no note there. My student loans haven’t kicked in because I’m still a student. The only bill I really have is $160 in car insurance every month. And tithes. Can’t forget that 10%. I don’t have credit card debt. I don’t have a spouse to support. I don’t have kids (thank God). I don’t have any of that. Let it be me who goes home today without a job.
So here I find myself suddenly with a lot more free time. A lot more free time. And I’m kind of at a loss for what to do with it. I have so many personal projects that I’ve let fall by the wayside just because I haven’t had the time to work on them. I was learning to sew. I was learning Spanish. I was learning Mandarin. I was running several blogs outside of this one. I was practicing my MBA-ness on a family business. I was reading roughly 2 extracurricular books a week. I was doing my eyebrows on a regular basis (excuse you that is WERK). And now I have time to do all of that again. That’s my plan, and I’m sticking to it.
But, uh, if y’all come across a job you think a BA-toting polyglot and future MBA would be a good fit for.... Let me know.
This morning, I got laid off.
I’m not upset about it. I’m pretty sure the ones letting me go felt worse about it than I did. That’s not to say that I didn’t like my job--I’ve said over and over how much I surprised myself by liking it as much as I did. It just means that I’m practical. And I saw it coming.
Honestly, I’m glad it was me because I’m a 24 year old kid without any responsibilities. I live at home with my mom. I don’t have a mortgage, or rent. I paid for my car in cash, so no note there. My student loans haven’t kicked in because I’m still a student. The only bill I really have is $160 in car insurance every month. And tithes. Can’t forget that 10%. I don’t have credit card debt. I don’t have a spouse to support. I don’t have kids (thank God). I don’t have any of that. Let it be me who goes home today without a job.
So here I find myself suddenly with a lot more free time. A lot more free time. And I’m kind of at a loss for what to do with it. I have so many personal projects that I’ve let fall by the wayside just because I haven’t had the time to work on them. I was learning to sew. I was learning Spanish. I was learning Mandarin. I was running several blogs outside of this one. I was practicing my MBA-ness on a family business. I was reading roughly 2 extracurricular books a week. I was doing my eyebrows on a regular basis (excuse you that is WERK). And now I have time to do all of that again. That’s my plan, and I’m sticking to it.
But, uh, if y’all come across a job you think a BA-toting polyglot and future MBA would be a good fit for.... Let me know.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Surgery, Stress, and Other Words That Start With S (but mostly surgery)
Last week was tough, y’all.
I got a call from my mom on Monday saying, “Don’t freak out but I’m taking myself to the emergency room,” which, of course, made me freak out. On Wednesday, I had a doctor’s visit and got told I need surgery on my face. On Thursday, I had an accounting test. Have y’all heard me talk about the last accounting test? It was only 6 questions, and I only got around to answering 4 of them. Well, 4.5. Whatever. It was awful. That’s all that matters. See why I had a rough week?
Some of you are probably going, “Lyssa shut up about accounting; what do you mean surgery what’s wrong with your face?” Glad you asked. I went to the ENT last month to see what the heck is up with my sinuses and the ENT sent me to get xrays. Apparently, those xrays show that I have a mass of bone growing into my sinus cavity. If you hadn’t guessed it, that mass of bone isn’t supposed to be there so I have to get it taken out. In the words of my doctor, at least it’s growing up and not out so I don’t have any weird lumps or protrusions. At the same time they take out the bone, they’re also going to correct my deviated septum. My uncle, who’s a dentist, says that this is very normal and not harmful and happens to a lot of people and there’s nothing to be nervous about.
Unfortunately he told me this AFTER I had already had a nervous breakdown in the doctor’s office. I should have NEVER asked cute doctor to explain to me what the surgery entailed. That was horrible.
To be fair to myself, I managed to hold off on the nervous breakdown until I got out of the doctor’s office (but barely). No sobbing in front of the cute doctor, please. But when I say “breakdown” I mean “broke ALL the way down.” It was embarrassing. But seriously, how else was I supposed to react to, “Oh you have a bone chunk-callous-thing in your face that we’re gonna have to cut out; see you next month!” THERE IS SOMETHING GROWING IN MY FACE. I FEEL LIKE I’M IN A SCI-FI MOVIE AND AN ALIEN’S GONNA POP OUT AND SMITE THE EARTH. THIS IS NOT OKAY.
Pretty sure cute doctor knew I was about to freak out, too. I got a very sympathetic pat on the back as I left.
I also may end up with braces after this because my other uncle had this same issue as a kid and he had to get braces. I am not pleased. People already think I’m still in high school. This will not help. But braces or not, I will be out of commission for about a week in December. I actually need to go ahead and call to schedule it, and schedule a consult with the oral surgeon too. Scheduling. That starts with s.
Oh, and if you’re wondering, I got a B on that accounting exam. Success!! That’s another word that starts with s. So does Sleepy Hollow!
Tell me I’m not the only here who watches Sleepy Hollow. It’s on Fox’s Demand channel, so after I got home from the ENT on Wednesday I just kind of fell on the couch and turned it on to make myself stop freaking out. I watched 3 episodes in a row and I’m really impressed with the story building and Nicole Beharie’s acting. Orlando Jones is in it and I love him (he’s from Mauldin!), and John Cho, and I just read an article that Amandla Sandberg is going to be in upcoming episodes as Orlando Jones’s daughter and there are just so many good people in it! I’m excited, okay? I need a new show to replace OUAT and True Blood since those were really the only things I ever turned the TV on for and both have gone to pot.
Also this is super late, but thank you to everyone who wished me happy birthday! A mes amis belges/français, merci d’avoir me souhaité un bon annif!
I got a call from my mom on Monday saying, “Don’t freak out but I’m taking myself to the emergency room,” which, of course, made me freak out. On Wednesday, I had a doctor’s visit and got told I need surgery on my face. On Thursday, I had an accounting test. Have y’all heard me talk about the last accounting test? It was only 6 questions, and I only got around to answering 4 of them. Well, 4.5. Whatever. It was awful. That’s all that matters. See why I had a rough week?
Some of you are probably going, “Lyssa shut up about accounting; what do you mean surgery what’s wrong with your face?” Glad you asked. I went to the ENT last month to see what the heck is up with my sinuses and the ENT sent me to get xrays. Apparently, those xrays show that I have a mass of bone growing into my sinus cavity. If you hadn’t guessed it, that mass of bone isn’t supposed to be there so I have to get it taken out. In the words of my doctor, at least it’s growing up and not out so I don’t have any weird lumps or protrusions. At the same time they take out the bone, they’re also going to correct my deviated septum. My uncle, who’s a dentist, says that this is very normal and not harmful and happens to a lot of people and there’s nothing to be nervous about.
Unfortunately he told me this AFTER I had already had a nervous breakdown in the doctor’s office. I should have NEVER asked cute doctor to explain to me what the surgery entailed. That was horrible.
To be fair to myself, I managed to hold off on the nervous breakdown until I got out of the doctor’s office (but barely). No sobbing in front of the cute doctor, please. But when I say “breakdown” I mean “broke ALL the way down.” It was embarrassing. But seriously, how else was I supposed to react to, “Oh you have a bone chunk-callous-thing in your face that we’re gonna have to cut out; see you next month!” THERE IS SOMETHING GROWING IN MY FACE. I FEEL LIKE I’M IN A SCI-FI MOVIE AND AN ALIEN’S GONNA POP OUT AND SMITE THE EARTH. THIS IS NOT OKAY.
Pretty sure cute doctor knew I was about to freak out, too. I got a very sympathetic pat on the back as I left.
I also may end up with braces after this because my other uncle had this same issue as a kid and he had to get braces. I am not pleased. People already think I’m still in high school. This will not help. But braces or not, I will be out of commission for about a week in December. I actually need to go ahead and call to schedule it, and schedule a consult with the oral surgeon too. Scheduling. That starts with s.
Oh, and if you’re wondering, I got a B on that accounting exam. Success!! That’s another word that starts with s. So does Sleepy Hollow!
Tell me I’m not the only here who watches Sleepy Hollow. It’s on Fox’s Demand channel, so after I got home from the ENT on Wednesday I just kind of fell on the couch and turned it on to make myself stop freaking out. I watched 3 episodes in a row and I’m really impressed with the story building and Nicole Beharie’s acting. Orlando Jones is in it and I love him (he’s from Mauldin!), and John Cho, and I just read an article that Amandla Sandberg is going to be in upcoming episodes as Orlando Jones’s daughter and there are just so many good people in it! I’m excited, okay? I need a new show to replace OUAT and True Blood since those were really the only things I ever turned the TV on for and both have gone to pot.
Also this is super late, but thank you to everyone who wished me happy birthday! A mes amis belges/français, merci d’avoir me souhaité un bon annif!
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Happy birthday to me!
As a lot of y’all probably know, my birthday was Sunday! I love birthdays; they’re pretty much the one day out of the year where you can do pretty much whatever you want. They’re also the one day out of the year where you’re pretty much guaranteed to find out who’s got you on their mind. As usual, I was surprised by some of the people who told me happy birthday. I was also surprised by some of the people who didn’t.
Certain relatives of mine are in BIG trouble. You know who you are.
I know some of you guys actually called me and got met with my voicemail. I saw that you called. I just can’t call you. My phone got stolen the day before my birthday (sucks, right?), so I’m currently using a spare phone that I keep in my closet for such emergencies as this. It’s the original Motorola Droid, if that doesn’t tell you how old it is, and half the touch screen doesn’t work so 95% of the time I can’t unlock the dang thing and 95% of the time I can’t answer incoming calls. It’s hard on the yard, man. It’s hard.
What did I do for my birthday, you ask? Well Friday I hung out with my friends (i.e., “we ate pizza and watched movies and baked secret smores”), Saturday I did a little shopping, and Sunday I had dinner with some of my relatives at Outback. Wanna know what I did before my birthday?
I bought myself a car! That’s right, folks: I know longer have to bum rides off of people, or get dropped off anywhere, or have to wait on someone to come pick me up when I go places! No one is happier about this than me. Except for my mom. And probably my friends who have been ferrying me around since we got our licenses. Shout out to Jordan and Mollie. Y’all are troopers, man.
This is my car! It’s a 2002 Kia Sportage and people keep telling me that it “fits me,” which is good, I suppose, considering I’ll be driving it even after I get that much coveted 3-series BMW. Or an Audi. Audis are nice. I’ve decided that my car is a girl, and now she needs a name. I name EVERYTHING. If anyone has suggestions, let me know. Seriously. I can’t think of one, and I’m about 5 seconds from calling her Elvendork. I don’t want to call her Elvendork, even if it is unisex. (someone please understand that reference or I will lose faith in humanity)
So now I’m 24, and even though 24 isn’t considered a milestone birthday I’m going to say it is because for the first time in my relatively new adult life I actually feel like an adult. I don’t know what happened, but on Sunday at midnight it kind of hit me in the face that I’m really not a kid anymore (or a stupid teenager). I have 1.5 college degrees and certifications from fancy foreign offices. I have a passport (with stamps in it!). I have insurance. I have bills. I have loans. I have credit (good credit, too). I have a job (so what if it’s only part time). I haven’t asked my mom for pocket money in MONTHS. I’m in the market for a savings account. I spend more time on LinkedIn than I do on Facebook. I hate going to the mall on weekends because there are so many freaking teenagers and none of them have any home training (people who had kids in the 90s/early 2000s, I HATE YOU). I paid for my car in full. I pay taxes. I pay tags.
Can we talk about that tags thing for a second? Do y’all know I paid $200+ for my license plate? Isn’t that labor subsidized through the prison system? (srsly, isn’t that where tags come from??) WHAT DO YOU NEED $200 FOR, SOUTH CAROLINA?? CAN SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHERE THAT MONEY GOES BECAUSE IT FOR DANG SURE ISN’T FOR EDUCATION.
The point is, after years of thinking how awesome it must be to be a grown up, I finally find myself with one foot firmly planted in adulthood. Is it awesome? I don’t know; I’m not all the way there yet. Is it scary? Not really. It’s a lot like college, only no one drinks on Thursdays anymore and you have to pay for your football tickets. Am I alright with that? Yes. Yes I am.
But being alright with it didn’t stop me from going, “...nope!” once I realized it and starting a 3-hour marathon game of The Sims 3.
Don’t look at me like you’ve never played The Sims for 3+ hours. You’re a friend of mine. Of course you have.
Certain relatives of mine are in BIG trouble. You know who you are.
I know some of you guys actually called me and got met with my voicemail. I saw that you called. I just can’t call you. My phone got stolen the day before my birthday (sucks, right?), so I’m currently using a spare phone that I keep in my closet for such emergencies as this. It’s the original Motorola Droid, if that doesn’t tell you how old it is, and half the touch screen doesn’t work so 95% of the time I can’t unlock the dang thing and 95% of the time I can’t answer incoming calls. It’s hard on the yard, man. It’s hard.
What did I do for my birthday, you ask? Well Friday I hung out with my friends (i.e., “we ate pizza and watched movies and baked secret smores”), Saturday I did a little shopping, and Sunday I had dinner with some of my relatives at Outback. Wanna know what I did before my birthday?
I bought myself a car! That’s right, folks: I know longer have to bum rides off of people, or get dropped off anywhere, or have to wait on someone to come pick me up when I go places! No one is happier about this than me. Except for my mom. And probably my friends who have been ferrying me around since we got our licenses. Shout out to Jordan and Mollie. Y’all are troopers, man.
This is my car! It’s a 2002 Kia Sportage and people keep telling me that it “fits me,” which is good, I suppose, considering I’ll be driving it even after I get that much coveted 3-series BMW. Or an Audi. Audis are nice. I’ve decided that my car is a girl, and now she needs a name. I name EVERYTHING. If anyone has suggestions, let me know. Seriously. I can’t think of one, and I’m about 5 seconds from calling her Elvendork. I don’t want to call her Elvendork, even if it is unisex. (someone please understand that reference or I will lose faith in humanity)So now I’m 24, and even though 24 isn’t considered a milestone birthday I’m going to say it is because for the first time in my relatively new adult life I actually feel like an adult. I don’t know what happened, but on Sunday at midnight it kind of hit me in the face that I’m really not a kid anymore (or a stupid teenager). I have 1.5 college degrees and certifications from fancy foreign offices. I have a passport (with stamps in it!). I have insurance. I have bills. I have loans. I have credit (good credit, too). I have a job (so what if it’s only part time). I haven’t asked my mom for pocket money in MONTHS. I’m in the market for a savings account. I spend more time on LinkedIn than I do on Facebook. I hate going to the mall on weekends because there are so many freaking teenagers and none of them have any home training (people who had kids in the 90s/early 2000s, I HATE YOU). I paid for my car in full. I pay taxes. I pay tags.
Can we talk about that tags thing for a second? Do y’all know I paid $200+ for my license plate? Isn’t that labor subsidized through the prison system? (srsly, isn’t that where tags come from??) WHAT DO YOU NEED $200 FOR, SOUTH CAROLINA?? CAN SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHERE THAT MONEY GOES BECAUSE IT FOR DANG SURE ISN’T FOR EDUCATION.
The point is, after years of thinking how awesome it must be to be a grown up, I finally find myself with one foot firmly planted in adulthood. Is it awesome? I don’t know; I’m not all the way there yet. Is it scary? Not really. It’s a lot like college, only no one drinks on Thursdays anymore and you have to pay for your football tickets. Am I alright with that? Yes. Yes I am.
But being alright with it didn’t stop me from going, “...nope!” once I realized it and starting a 3-hour marathon game of The Sims 3.
Don’t look at me like you’ve never played The Sims for 3+ hours. You’re a friend of mine. Of course you have.
Monday, September 16, 2013
I'm back, y'all!
I feel like I start a lot of blog posts with some variation of, "Long time no post." I'm not going to do that today. I'm not even going to apologize and promise to do better because let's be honest: we all know that that is a lie.
Grad school is back in full force! Classes have been in session for roughly a month right about now, and I only have classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That sounds awesome, but it's not because I also have 2 online classes and a lot of work to get done at all times. The group work is thankfully being kept to a minimum this semester, and 2 out of 3 of my professors have mostly discussion based classes. I don't think I've ever had discussion based classes that weren't upper level language courses. Color me surprised.
This semester, I'm taking the following:
MBA 854: Managerial Accounting
MBA 870: Strategic Management
MBA 888: Internship
MBA 899: Creativity (this is not a joke)
MKT 861: Marketing Research
That's 15 credit hours, which doesn't sound like a lot considering I did 21 all during undergrad, but considering it's the maximum amount the grad school allows.... I'm stretched pretty thin. I dropped one class and replaced it with 899 because it was just going to be way too much work. Only one course requires constant group work, which is great, and I like all of my professors, which is a pleasant change from last year and undergrad. I even tried to hate one of them and couldn't. I hate it when that happens.
I'm still working part time, and will be for the foreseeable future. I'm also debating whether or not I should buy myself a car--let me tell you, that is hands down the most stressful thing in my life right now. I can't decide whether I want to go ahead and spend the money or wait until I have an actual job to take the plunge, I'm vehemently mistrustful of used cars and used car dealers, and we're not even going to talk about Craigslist. Let's not even go there.
I'm also sick. Because the seasons are changing. My face swelled up a bit at work Friday, and I lost my voice after walking from Joy of Tokyo to the car, and from the car to the front door of the office after lunch. One day, I will remember to call and make an appointment with the ENT. Until that day comes, I will suffer.
So that's where I am. I'm really busy, constantly feeling like I'm forgetting to do something, and unable to properly breathe. I do, however, want to add more things to my plate. I want to take up Mandarin again, or German. I want to keep going with Spanish. I want to start working on my book again. I want to start posting here more.
We'll start with the easiest thing: posting here more. What I want to do is start writing posts ahead of time so that I have them in reserve, and all I have to do when it comes time to make a post is hit "publish." Consider this my recommitment to The BBB, since y'all have missed my wit and whatnots during this long absence :]
Coming up soon:
* Quarter-life crises
* The Job Hunt
* The University of Alabama sorority recruitment scandal
* How do I adult??
and much, much more!
Grad school is back in full force! Classes have been in session for roughly a month right about now, and I only have classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That sounds awesome, but it's not because I also have 2 online classes and a lot of work to get done at all times. The group work is thankfully being kept to a minimum this semester, and 2 out of 3 of my professors have mostly discussion based classes. I don't think I've ever had discussion based classes that weren't upper level language courses. Color me surprised.
This semester, I'm taking the following:
MBA 854: Managerial Accounting
MBA 870: Strategic Management
MBA 888: Internship
MBA 899: Creativity (this is not a joke)
MKT 861: Marketing Research
That's 15 credit hours, which doesn't sound like a lot considering I did 21 all during undergrad, but considering it's the maximum amount the grad school allows.... I'm stretched pretty thin. I dropped one class and replaced it with 899 because it was just going to be way too much work. Only one course requires constant group work, which is great, and I like all of my professors, which is a pleasant change from last year and undergrad. I even tried to hate one of them and couldn't. I hate it when that happens.
I'm still working part time, and will be for the foreseeable future. I'm also debating whether or not I should buy myself a car--let me tell you, that is hands down the most stressful thing in my life right now. I can't decide whether I want to go ahead and spend the money or wait until I have an actual job to take the plunge, I'm vehemently mistrustful of used cars and used car dealers, and we're not even going to talk about Craigslist. Let's not even go there.
I'm also sick. Because the seasons are changing. My face swelled up a bit at work Friday, and I lost my voice after walking from Joy of Tokyo to the car, and from the car to the front door of the office after lunch. One day, I will remember to call and make an appointment with the ENT. Until that day comes, I will suffer.
So that's where I am. I'm really busy, constantly feeling like I'm forgetting to do something, and unable to properly breathe. I do, however, want to add more things to my plate. I want to take up Mandarin again, or German. I want to keep going with Spanish. I want to start working on my book again. I want to start posting here more.
We'll start with the easiest thing: posting here more. What I want to do is start writing posts ahead of time so that I have them in reserve, and all I have to do when it comes time to make a post is hit "publish." Consider this my recommitment to The BBB, since y'all have missed my wit and whatnots during this long absence :]
Coming up soon:
* Quarter-life crises
* The Job Hunt
* The University of Alabama sorority recruitment scandal
* How do I adult??
and much, much more!
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Diets, Novels, and Economics: A Really Random, Really Rambly Update
I bet you guys are wondering what the heck I've been doing in the 2 months between the last thing I posted and the Trayvon Martin post, haven't you? Well you're in luck, because I'm going to tell you!
First and foremost I finished my first semester of grad school. I was going to write something bittersweet about it, but I didn't have anything bittersweet to say. I did manage to maintain my 3.0, so I'm not kicked out. When final grades came in I literally fell on the floor and rolled around screaming. Ask Jordan. She knows. There may have even been tears.
Then I got a job! I'm working at a nonprofit small business lender as a part-time business finance intern. I've been told several times that my job sounds really boring, and if I was someone else I'd think so too, but I'm surprising myself by liking it! The office is small and the people are friendly and I'm only an awkward turtle 47% of the time.
My mom has put the whole house on a diet because she wants to stop eating Swiss Rolls so much. There's a little more to it than that, but that's what I mostly took away from her reasoning. I can no longer have bread. I've been hungry for a week, and I hate everything. EVERYTHING.
I'm also taking a summer class, which I have never done in my life. Because I grew up in the US education system, I equate summer school with failure. I'm having problems here, people. Some serious mental blocks are being torn down. I'm powering through it though, and it looks like I might get out of Managerial Economics with a decent grade. Shout out to the homie Kevin for putting together an impromptu lesson on derivatives for me! Having math major friends comes in handy.
I'm going through another quarter-life crisis, but more on that another day. In the meantime, please be cognizant of the fact that during July of 2013, I wrote a novel.
Okay, I wrote 1/3 of a novel. But still. I pounded out 50,000 words in 30 days. Any of y'all ever done that before? It was torture, but the kind that hurts-so-good. I fully plan to finish it, and do a lot of editing, and maybe one day I'll try and get it published. We'll see.
First and foremost I finished my first semester of grad school. I was going to write something bittersweet about it, but I didn't have anything bittersweet to say. I did manage to maintain my 3.0, so I'm not kicked out. When final grades came in I literally fell on the floor and rolled around screaming. Ask Jordan. She knows. There may have even been tears.
Then I got a job! I'm working at a nonprofit small business lender as a part-time business finance intern. I've been told several times that my job sounds really boring, and if I was someone else I'd think so too, but I'm surprising myself by liking it! The office is small and the people are friendly and I'm only an awkward turtle 47% of the time.
My mom has put the whole house on a diet because she wants to stop eating Swiss Rolls so much. There's a little more to it than that, but that's what I mostly took away from her reasoning. I can no longer have bread. I've been hungry for a week, and I hate everything. EVERYTHING.
I'm also taking a summer class, which I have never done in my life. Because I grew up in the US education system, I equate summer school with failure. I'm having problems here, people. Some serious mental blocks are being torn down. I'm powering through it though, and it looks like I might get out of Managerial Economics with a decent grade. Shout out to the homie Kevin for putting together an impromptu lesson on derivatives for me! Having math major friends comes in handy.
I'm going through another quarter-life crisis, but more on that another day. In the meantime, please be cognizant of the fact that during July of 2013, I wrote a novel.
Okay, I wrote 1/3 of a novel. But still. I pounded out 50,000 words in 30 days. Any of y'all ever done that before? It was torture, but the kind that hurts-so-good. I fully plan to finish it, and do a lot of editing, and maybe one day I'll try and get it published. We'll see.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
All I'm Ever Going to Say about Trayvon Martin
Hey y'all. Long time no post. I'm slack. I'm know. I'm sorry.
By now, y'all know the verdict of the George Zimmerman trial. If you live under a rock and don't know (trust me, it happens; I've actually had to explain the entire scenario to actual Americans who had no idea what the trial was), the jury acquitted him. He's free to go home and terrorize the rest of his neighbors, nbd.
If that last bit didn't tell you how salty I'm feeling right now, then I'll tell you: I'm feeling really salty right now.
This is all I'm ever going to say on the internet about Trayvon Martin and the George Zimmerman trial:
(Some of y'all might want to close this window, go back to Facebook, and pretend you never clicked this link.)
A kid got shot for looking like he didn't belong in the place where his father lived. And the dude that shot him got acquitted. The prosecution was sorry, if I was the judge I'd have thrown the defense out of my courtroom, and the jury was a guarantee that he would walk. I said it from the beginning.
Y'all want to be real? Alright then. I don't have any faith in 6 people from 2 different but arguably anti-Black cultures to protect a Black child, even if he's already dead. I don't care how many children they have between them. I. Don't. Care.
You mad? Stay mad.
It's good to know that if some wannabe cop douchebro that believes their own hype sees me taking my daily walk and decides I look like I don't belong in my upper middle class neighborhood, they can stalk me, harass me, attack me, and kill me, and someone somewhere is going to dig through my Facebook, find pictures of me flipping the bird or smoking hookah with my kotmates, and send them to the local news as evidence of my inherent thuggishness. It's a real comfort to me to know that no one will ever mention my good grades, academic abilities, regular church attendance, or general goodness on tv, but they will find 5 people who are upset by this blog post and didn't like me in high school/college to say that I was a mean-spirited racist, and to insinuate that whatever I got, I deserved.
That really helps me sleep at night.
And now I have a few instructions.
If you want to say, "Anyone can be an internet activist, Lyssa; why don't you actually do something about it?" get out of my face. I am no one's activist. Y'all ought to know that by now.
If you want to say, "Lyssa that's not fair, I'm [whatever] and my best friend is Black!" unfriend me on Facebook right now. Pointing out your however many friends that you classify collectively as "Others" as evidenced by the fact that you just needed to point out to me that they were Black is not helping you. I've known [whatever] people with Black babies who were still racist. You are dismissed.
If you want to say, "White people die too and [whatever] people get away with it! Not everything's about race!" delete my number out your phone I am not playing with you. If OJ Simpson gets brought up ONE TIME I will not be held accountable for anything that comes out my mouth
And if you even think you might say that George Zimmerman ain't guilty, forget you ever met me. I don't need you in my life.
And that's all I have.
I'll get back to the regular stuff soon because I've actually already started classes again. Shout out to all of y'all in summer session 2! One day this will all be worth it!
By now, y'all know the verdict of the George Zimmerman trial. If you live under a rock and don't know (trust me, it happens; I've actually had to explain the entire scenario to actual Americans who had no idea what the trial was), the jury acquitted him. He's free to go home and terrorize the rest of his neighbors, nbd.
If that last bit didn't tell you how salty I'm feeling right now, then I'll tell you: I'm feeling really salty right now.
This is all I'm ever going to say on the internet about Trayvon Martin and the George Zimmerman trial:
(Some of y'all might want to close this window, go back to Facebook, and pretend you never clicked this link.)
A kid got shot for looking like he didn't belong in the place where his father lived. And the dude that shot him got acquitted. The prosecution was sorry, if I was the judge I'd have thrown the defense out of my courtroom, and the jury was a guarantee that he would walk. I said it from the beginning.
Y'all want to be real? Alright then. I don't have any faith in 6 people from 2 different but arguably anti-Black cultures to protect a Black child, even if he's already dead. I don't care how many children they have between them. I. Don't. Care.
You mad? Stay mad.
It's good to know that if some wannabe cop douchebro that believes their own hype sees me taking my daily walk and decides I look like I don't belong in my upper middle class neighborhood, they can stalk me, harass me, attack me, and kill me, and someone somewhere is going to dig through my Facebook, find pictures of me flipping the bird or smoking hookah with my kotmates, and send them to the local news as evidence of my inherent thuggishness. It's a real comfort to me to know that no one will ever mention my good grades, academic abilities, regular church attendance, or general goodness on tv, but they will find 5 people who are upset by this blog post and didn't like me in high school/college to say that I was a mean-spirited racist, and to insinuate that whatever I got, I deserved.
That really helps me sleep at night.
And now I have a few instructions.
If you want to say, "Anyone can be an internet activist, Lyssa; why don't you actually do something about it?" get out of my face. I am no one's activist. Y'all ought to know that by now.
If you want to say, "Lyssa that's not fair, I'm [whatever] and my best friend is Black!" unfriend me on Facebook right now. Pointing out your however many friends that you classify collectively as "Others" as evidenced by the fact that you just needed to point out to me that they were Black is not helping you. I've known [whatever] people with Black babies who were still racist. You are dismissed.
If you want to say, "White people die too and [whatever] people get away with it! Not everything's about race!" delete my number out your phone I am not playing with you. If OJ Simpson gets brought up ONE TIME I will not be held accountable for anything that comes out my mouth
And if you even think you might say that George Zimmerman ain't guilty, forget you ever met me. I don't need you in my life.
And that's all I have.
I'll get back to the regular stuff soon because I've actually already started classes again. Shout out to all of y'all in summer session 2! One day this will all be worth it!
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
It's over!
Finals Week is FINISHED! Thank goodness; I thought that was never going to be over. Technically it was over with last Friday at 5:30 when I walked out of my last exam, but whatever. We're not being picky. It's the end of Finals Week. Let's just roll with it.
This was a really hard semester for me. I have no idea why it was so difficult, but it was. I've never had to work so hard for maybe a B. Curse you, grad school! I've never actually had to read the textbook before! And oh did I read those textbooks. I read them until I literally went cross-eyed, and then I went to sleep, woke up, and read them some more. Yet after my first exam last Tuesday, I walked out in a daze and called my sister saying, "Tina, I think I'm crying but I'm not sure." She was confused. I was confused. I still don't know how well I did on that exam. Or any of them, actually. All I know is I somehow managed to keep my 3.0 in tact. I don't need to know how I did it, or how well. I just need to know that it's done.
Most importantly, though, I now have nothing to do. And I have no idea what to do with myself. I could take a nap. I could watch TV. I could take a walk. I could make all the recipes I've collected this semester. I could play Sims for like 12 hours. I could read a book. I could work on my novel. The possibilities are endless!
Last Friday, in celebration of The End, my friend Widge came over. We got pizza, and junk food, and watched Disney movies (there are a lot of classics I haven't seen) and pretended not to be 23. It was glorious.
And now I'm looking for internships. According to my mother, I have to take one that's paid. In Greenville, SC, where internships are hard to come by in the first place because beggars are apparently choosers. Good luck to me. If anyone knows somebody that knows somebody that needs an intern, it me up.
Also, someone should take me to see Iron Man 3. Like, as soon as possible.
Introspective post on my first year of grad school coming up soon!
This was a really hard semester for me. I have no idea why it was so difficult, but it was. I've never had to work so hard for maybe a B. Curse you, grad school! I've never actually had to read the textbook before! And oh did I read those textbooks. I read them until I literally went cross-eyed, and then I went to sleep, woke up, and read them some more. Yet after my first exam last Tuesday, I walked out in a daze and called my sister saying, "Tina, I think I'm crying but I'm not sure." She was confused. I was confused. I still don't know how well I did on that exam. Or any of them, actually. All I know is I somehow managed to keep my 3.0 in tact. I don't need to know how I did it, or how well. I just need to know that it's done.
Most importantly, though, I now have nothing to do. And I have no idea what to do with myself. I could take a nap. I could watch TV. I could take a walk. I could make all the recipes I've collected this semester. I could play Sims for like 12 hours. I could read a book. I could work on my novel. The possibilities are endless!
Last Friday, in celebration of The End, my friend Widge came over. We got pizza, and junk food, and watched Disney movies (there are a lot of classics I haven't seen) and pretended not to be 23. It was glorious.
And now I'm looking for internships. According to my mother, I have to take one that's paid. In Greenville, SC, where internships are hard to come by in the first place because beggars are apparently choosers. Good luck to me. If anyone knows somebody that knows somebody that needs an intern, it me up.
Also, someone should take me to see Iron Man 3. Like, as soon as possible.
Introspective post on my first year of grad school coming up soon!
Monday, April 29, 2013
Blocus is upon us!
"Blocus" is what they call finals in Belgium. Yes, I know it's been two years since I left Belgium and UCL; be quiet and let me relive my glory days!
Anyway, it's finals week and that means I look properly a mess.
This has pretty much been all I did today: woke up, got dressed, came downstairs, read my finance book, took notes. By "got dressed" I mean put on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt. I haven't taken my hair down. I'm not going to take my hair down. I should probably pick out some clothes for tomorrow at some point (it's finals, but dress code still applies) but eh. I'll probably just end up doing that in the morning. I should also do some form of self maintenance this week, but that's probably not going to happen at all.
At one point today, I tried to feed myself and only ended up taking food out of the refrigerator, forgetting that I was trying to eat, and going back to the table. I had read another whole chapter of finance before I realized that I was still hungry.
Yeah. It's that crucial.
I both love and hate finals week. I love finals week because it signals the end of the semester and the start of some kind of break. I hate finals week because, well, finals. Tests make me nervous, and goodness will I be glad when this week is over. My last exam is on Thursday, and Friday after my interview I'm going home, and my friend Widge is coming over so we can celebrate the end of the semester by watching Disney movies and pretending we're not 23. It's going to be awesome.
So good luck to all of you who have exams in the immediate/near future! I'm sure you'll do fine. To all my friends who are graduating, congratulations! And to all of my friends who are graduating and have jobs waiting for them.... Congratulations. I hate you.
I'm kidding, of course.
Only I'm not.
Anyway, it's finals week and that means I look properly a mess.
This has pretty much been all I did today: woke up, got dressed, came downstairs, read my finance book, took notes. By "got dressed" I mean put on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt. I haven't taken my hair down. I'm not going to take my hair down. I should probably pick out some clothes for tomorrow at some point (it's finals, but dress code still applies) but eh. I'll probably just end up doing that in the morning. I should also do some form of self maintenance this week, but that's probably not going to happen at all.
At one point today, I tried to feed myself and only ended up taking food out of the refrigerator, forgetting that I was trying to eat, and going back to the table. I had read another whole chapter of finance before I realized that I was still hungry.
Yeah. It's that crucial.
I both love and hate finals week. I love finals week because it signals the end of the semester and the start of some kind of break. I hate finals week because, well, finals. Tests make me nervous, and goodness will I be glad when this week is over. My last exam is on Thursday, and Friday after my interview I'm going home, and my friend Widge is coming over so we can celebrate the end of the semester by watching Disney movies and pretending we're not 23. It's going to be awesome.
So good luck to all of you who have exams in the immediate/near future! I'm sure you'll do fine. To all my friends who are graduating, congratulations! And to all of my friends who are graduating and have jobs waiting for them.... Congratulations. I hate you.
I'm kidding, of course.
Only I'm not.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
I'm slack. I know. I'm sorry.
Long time no see, huh? I know, I know. I'm slack. I haven't written here since... February? And here we are in April. I know, I know. I'm sorry. I'll do better.
Truth is, not much has happened with me since the last time I wrote in. I found out that I'm mildly allergic to seafood but I haven't stopped eating it (I made shrimp Sunday and it was DELICIOUS I have no regrets). I had to drop a class for the first time ever in my entire college career, which was really unfortunate. I lost my voice for 3 days thanks to pollen; nothing new there. I got my friend a birthday card and still haven't sent it. I bought a really cool pair of shoes. I started learning Mandarin Chinese. Life is good.
But now, it's the end of the semester and my professors have gone crazy. I have 2 case studies and a website due. Two of those things have to be done in groups. One of them is due tomorrow. All of this on top of my regular workload leaves me -324235 minutes in my day to sleep, eat, shower, and do other things that humans generally do. I'm tired, y'all.
And on top of that, exams are in 2 weeks. That's right. Two weeks from Thursday, my first year as a graduate student will be over. Expect a long-ish, introspective post on how it hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be. Except for finding internships. Now that is difficult. I'm actually still working on it. If anybody knows somebody that knows somebody that knows somebody who needs an intern, get at me.
Between case studies and internship hunting, I'm trying to get myself a life. Apparently my mom and her bro-friend find it hilarious that I spend pretty much all of the time outside of class in my house, and I am not secure enough in my youth and sociability to have two 50+ year olds mocking me so I've made a conscious decision to do better. Thus far, I've seen my LS and my neo two weeks in a row which is a record because that hasn't happened since undergrad, and I'm going down to Clemson on Saturday for the Eta Nu neophyte presentation. It's exciting because I get to dress up, wear my Africa teekee, and stroll in tall shoes. I couldn't do that (stroll) last week when we went to Upstate because an unfortunate accident left me with a limp, a very sore ankle, and unable to wear tall shoes. I'm not going to tell y'all what happened.
Andrea, if you're reading this you better not be laughing.
I just looked out of the window and it's going to storm. So much for me walking today! That's something else I've started doing since I don't like actual exercise routines. Gross.
Greenville friends, stay dry. And next time you hear from me, I'll have a something a little more substantial to say.
Truth is, not much has happened with me since the last time I wrote in. I found out that I'm mildly allergic to seafood but I haven't stopped eating it (I made shrimp Sunday and it was DELICIOUS I have no regrets). I had to drop a class for the first time ever in my entire college career, which was really unfortunate. I lost my voice for 3 days thanks to pollen; nothing new there. I got my friend a birthday card and still haven't sent it. I bought a really cool pair of shoes. I started learning Mandarin Chinese. Life is good.
But now, it's the end of the semester and my professors have gone crazy. I have 2 case studies and a website due. Two of those things have to be done in groups. One of them is due tomorrow. All of this on top of my regular workload leaves me -324235 minutes in my day to sleep, eat, shower, and do other things that humans generally do. I'm tired, y'all.
And on top of that, exams are in 2 weeks. That's right. Two weeks from Thursday, my first year as a graduate student will be over. Expect a long-ish, introspective post on how it hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be. Except for finding internships. Now that is difficult. I'm actually still working on it. If anybody knows somebody that knows somebody that knows somebody who needs an intern, get at me.
Between case studies and internship hunting, I'm trying to get myself a life. Apparently my mom and her bro-friend find it hilarious that I spend pretty much all of the time outside of class in my house, and I am not secure enough in my youth and sociability to have two 50+ year olds mocking me so I've made a conscious decision to do better. Thus far, I've seen my LS and my neo two weeks in a row which is a record because that hasn't happened since undergrad, and I'm going down to Clemson on Saturday for the Eta Nu neophyte presentation. It's exciting because I get to dress up, wear my Africa teekee, and stroll in tall shoes. I couldn't do that (stroll) last week when we went to Upstate because an unfortunate accident left me with a limp, a very sore ankle, and unable to wear tall shoes. I'm not going to tell y'all what happened.
Andrea, if you're reading this you better not be laughing.
I just looked out of the window and it's going to storm. So much for me walking today! That's something else I've started doing since I don't like actual exercise routines. Gross.
Greenville friends, stay dry. And next time you hear from me, I'll have a something a little more substantial to say.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Serious Business
Alright, boys and girls, here's an important departure from the usual. Y'all know I'm not the most serious person in the world, but I just had a chat with my law professor and I think this is worth sharing.
Most of you guys know I had a hard time during undergrad. Let me rephrase that: most of y'all know I had multiple hard times in undergrad. It was one thing after another, every semester, every day, every hour. I can only really recall one or two periods of college when I wasn't miserable 75% of the time because of an unexpected death, problems with my advisers, my family going batcrap crazy, my roommate trying to kill me with her pet hair, mold in my apartment; you name it, I dealt with it. But there is one thing--one incident in particular that, so many years later, still really sets me off.
Have you ever been harassed?
I'm not talking, "Johnny asked me out yesterday; as if I'd ever go out with him ew." That isn't harassment. That's slightly annoying, a little bit funny, and really unfortunate if you're Johnny, but it's not harassment. I'm talking "to trouble, torment, or confuse by continual, persistent attacks, questions, etc." Because for a period of time, I was.
I won't go into details. Most of y'all probably already know them. If you don't, shoot me a message and we'll talk. The point is, I filed a complaint and got told, "He's just being immature." I insisted that some higher ups be spoken to, was promised something would happen, and then I never ever heard anything about it again.
And the next year when I returned to campus, one of the first things I saw was that absolutely nothing had been done.
And according to my law professor, whom I spoke with today about the situation and what maybe could have been done since we were discussing anti-harassment laws in class, if something had happened to me I could have sued the university for gross negligence and a boatload of other fancy law terms that I won't bother naming.
I will definitely be mentioning this in the letter I'm writing to President Barker explaining to him why I will never ever ever donate one red cent to Clemson University. EVER. And he'll be damn lucky if in the future I even admit that's where I went to college.
I guess my point is if someone is bothering you, or hurting you, or generally making you uncomfortable, find a way to document it.
And if it doesn't stop, you go get yourself a lawyer.
Most of you guys know I had a hard time during undergrad. Let me rephrase that: most of y'all know I had multiple hard times in undergrad. It was one thing after another, every semester, every day, every hour. I can only really recall one or two periods of college when I wasn't miserable 75% of the time because of an unexpected death, problems with my advisers, my family going batcrap crazy, my roommate trying to kill me with her pet hair, mold in my apartment; you name it, I dealt with it. But there is one thing--one incident in particular that, so many years later, still really sets me off.
Have you ever been harassed?
I'm not talking, "Johnny asked me out yesterday; as if I'd ever go out with him ew." That isn't harassment. That's slightly annoying, a little bit funny, and really unfortunate if you're Johnny, but it's not harassment. I'm talking "to trouble, torment, or confuse by continual, persistent attacks, questions, etc." Because for a period of time, I was.
I won't go into details. Most of y'all probably already know them. If you don't, shoot me a message and we'll talk. The point is, I filed a complaint and got told, "He's just being immature." I insisted that some higher ups be spoken to, was promised something would happen, and then I never ever heard anything about it again.
And the next year when I returned to campus, one of the first things I saw was that absolutely nothing had been done.
And according to my law professor, whom I spoke with today about the situation and what maybe could have been done since we were discussing anti-harassment laws in class, if something had happened to me I could have sued the university for gross negligence and a boatload of other fancy law terms that I won't bother naming.
I will definitely be mentioning this in the letter I'm writing to President Barker explaining to him why I will never ever ever donate one red cent to Clemson University. EVER. And he'll be damn lucky if in the future I even admit that's where I went to college.
I guess my point is if someone is bothering you, or hurting you, or generally making you uncomfortable, find a way to document it.
And if it doesn't stop, you go get yourself a lawyer.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Interview Worries
It's that time of the semester again when I'm running around to every single career fair I can. I know I mentioned the career fair last semester, but this is a different one. I skipped the career fair at Littlejohn this semester because let's face it: they don't really do much good. This is typically what happens (to me) :
"Hi, my name is Alyssa Sullivan. -blah blah blah talk about me blah- I'm looking for positions in -name appropriate metiers for a college educated young woman here-"
"Oh... well, we're really just looking for someone to run our production floor."
I seriously can't tell you the number of times that happened. I've worked in a factory before. It wasn't fun. I have no desire to return, not even if I'd have an air conditioned office this time instead of being on the production floor that's 100+° by 9 AM. No thank you.
And there was that one time when I introduced myself to the guy and he immediately told me to come back when I'd taken an interviewing class. I guess the way I say, "Hello, my name is Alyssa Sullivan," isn't right. Shaking my head. Moving along.
But this isn't the Littlejohn Career Fair. It's the MBA Networking Forum that I would have missed out on if I hadn't gone to see my adviser. I thought it was going to be in the evening so I decided to sit out (doing things in the evening is tricky for me), but when I said that she kind of stared at me and went, "No no no; it's at like 9 in the morning!" She then set diligently about the task of penciling me in wherever she could; wonderful, useful Clemson administrator that she is. Trust me. Those are very hard to come by.
The MBA Networking Forum works like this: you sign up for whichever companies you want to potentially work for, and over the course of the morning you have 10 minute one-on-one interviews with them. Jamie, my adviser, describes it as "speed dating for jobs." And it's on Valentine's Day! How appropriate!
So today I will be running around Greenville looking for interview clothes because I have is really seasonally inappropriate, and when I get home I'll be researching companies, running through sample questions, printing off ten thousand copies of my resume, and making myself look presentable.
Y'all root for me. Throw up a Hail Mary. Cross your fingers. Sacrifice a possum. I have to have an internship in order to graduate (again), and if I could land an actual paying job sometime here soon that would be great too. Student loans don't pay themselves back, and baby needs to buy her textbooks.
"Hi, my name is Alyssa Sullivan. -blah blah blah talk about me blah- I'm looking for positions in -name appropriate metiers for a college educated young woman here-"
"Oh... well, we're really just looking for someone to run our production floor."
I seriously can't tell you the number of times that happened. I've worked in a factory before. It wasn't fun. I have no desire to return, not even if I'd have an air conditioned office this time instead of being on the production floor that's 100+° by 9 AM. No thank you.
And there was that one time when I introduced myself to the guy and he immediately told me to come back when I'd taken an interviewing class. I guess the way I say, "Hello, my name is Alyssa Sullivan," isn't right. Shaking my head. Moving along.
But this isn't the Littlejohn Career Fair. It's the MBA Networking Forum that I would have missed out on if I hadn't gone to see my adviser. I thought it was going to be in the evening so I decided to sit out (doing things in the evening is tricky for me), but when I said that she kind of stared at me and went, "No no no; it's at like 9 in the morning!" She then set diligently about the task of penciling me in wherever she could; wonderful, useful Clemson administrator that she is. Trust me. Those are very hard to come by.
The MBA Networking Forum works like this: you sign up for whichever companies you want to potentially work for, and over the course of the morning you have 10 minute one-on-one interviews with them. Jamie, my adviser, describes it as "speed dating for jobs." And it's on Valentine's Day! How appropriate!
So today I will be running around Greenville looking for interview clothes because I have is really seasonally inappropriate, and when I get home I'll be researching companies, running through sample questions, printing off ten thousand copies of my resume, and making myself look presentable.
Y'all root for me. Throw up a Hail Mary. Cross your fingers. Sacrifice a possum. I have to have an internship in order to graduate (again), and if I could land an actual paying job sometime here soon that would be great too. Student loans don't pay themselves back, and baby needs to buy her textbooks.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Happy Black History Month, y'all!
I love Black History Month. I really do. I love it love it love it. I also love Black folks that say they don't see a reason for Black History Month. While I'm at it, I especially love white people that say things like, "But why isn't there a white history month?!" You wanna know why there's no white history month? Holla at me. Let me educate you.
...that was a little scary, wasn't it? Yikes. Let's lighten things up! Here's a list of my favorite Black historical and contemporary figures: one for every day of the month! If you see some names you don't know, look them up! You might learn something!
1. Josephine Baker
2. Thomas-Alexandre Dumas
3. Alexandre Dumas, père
4. The Statue of Liberty
5. Richard Allen
6. Mansa Musa
7. Zora Neale Hurston
8. Emperor Haile Selassie I
9. The Queen of Sheba
10. Saint Benedict the Moor
11. Madam CJ Walker
12. François-Dominique Touissant L'Ouverture
13. Alvin Ailey
14. Stagecoach Mary Fields
15. Nina Mae McKinney
16. King Peggy
17. Queen Nzinga of Ndango and Matamba
18. Lady Sarah Forbes Bonetta Davies
19. Mary Edmonia Lewis
20. Abram Petrovich Gannibal
21. Alexander Pushkin
22. Eartha Kitt
23. Malcolm X
24. MLK jr.
25. Angela Davis
26. Grace Bumbry
27. Jackie Ormes
28. Stokely Carmichael (Kwame Touré)
They're all fascinating folks, really; or objects (Statue of Liberty). Seriously; do y'all think I'd bother making a list of boring people? Go Google them!
...that was a little scary, wasn't it? Yikes. Let's lighten things up! Here's a list of my favorite Black historical and contemporary figures: one for every day of the month! If you see some names you don't know, look them up! You might learn something!
1. Josephine Baker
2. Thomas-Alexandre Dumas
3. Alexandre Dumas, père
4. The Statue of Liberty
5. Richard Allen
6. Mansa Musa
7. Zora Neale Hurston
8. Emperor Haile Selassie I
9. The Queen of Sheba
10. Saint Benedict the Moor
11. Madam CJ Walker
12. François-Dominique Touissant L'Ouverture
13. Alvin Ailey
14. Stagecoach Mary Fields
15. Nina Mae McKinney
16. King Peggy
17. Queen Nzinga of Ndango and Matamba
18. Lady Sarah Forbes Bonetta Davies
19. Mary Edmonia Lewis
20. Abram Petrovich Gannibal
21. Alexander Pushkin
22. Eartha Kitt
23. Malcolm X
24. MLK jr.
25. Angela Davis
26. Grace Bumbry
27. Jackie Ormes
28. Stokely Carmichael (Kwame Touré)
They're all fascinating folks, really; or objects (Statue of Liberty). Seriously; do y'all think I'd bother making a list of boring people? Go Google them!
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Catching up
It's been an intense first few weeks back, man.
This is what my course load looks like this semester:
Monday -- Decision Modeling
Tuesday -- Financial Management (corporate finance)
Wednesday -- Business law, Operations Management
Thursday -- Information Systems
Did I tell y'all that the syllabus for Information Systems is 19 pages long? Or that almost all these classes require group projects? Or that decision modeling is a fancy way of saying "all the Microsoft Excel you never wanted to learn?" Or that business law is only 2 months long?
Seriously, who makes business law an 8 week course? Clemson, do better. I had my first test today on chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, and 7, and that over there is what my cheat sheet looked like. That's just the front. And yes, I wrote that all by hand. And yes, I am still concerned about my grade.
Fortunately none of my classes really seem to be hard. It's a lot of information, but it's not difficult information, and while you could argue that one is just as bad as the other I'm gonna try to look at this glass like it's half full. It would be great if it was actually full, but I take what I can get.
This semester, my goal is get all As. Like I've complained 10,000 times before, all of us MBA students have to maintain a 3.0 or get kicked out of the college, and I'd really like to get mine GPA a little further away from that line. All A's would be awesome. But I will settle for 3 A's and 2 B's. I've already picked out my "okay to get a B in" classes. Finance is one of them. I don't care if it's an 80 as long as it's a B.
Really, I'm just letting you guys know I'm alive. The saucy stuff will return soon.
I am also now officially looking for internships! If y'all know of anywhere looking to hire you should totes let me know about it. And/or put in a good word for me. I like my nepotism like I like all things that could eventually lead to your downfall and/or otherwise get you in trouble: in moderation.
This is what my course load looks like this semester:Monday -- Decision Modeling
Tuesday -- Financial Management (corporate finance)
Wednesday -- Business law, Operations Management
Thursday -- Information Systems
Did I tell y'all that the syllabus for Information Systems is 19 pages long? Or that almost all these classes require group projects? Or that decision modeling is a fancy way of saying "all the Microsoft Excel you never wanted to learn?" Or that business law is only 2 months long?
Seriously, who makes business law an 8 week course? Clemson, do better. I had my first test today on chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, and 7, and that over there is what my cheat sheet looked like. That's just the front. And yes, I wrote that all by hand. And yes, I am still concerned about my grade.
Fortunately none of my classes really seem to be hard. It's a lot of information, but it's not difficult information, and while you could argue that one is just as bad as the other I'm gonna try to look at this glass like it's half full. It would be great if it was actually full, but I take what I can get.
This semester, my goal is get all As. Like I've complained 10,000 times before, all of us MBA students have to maintain a 3.0 or get kicked out of the college, and I'd really like to get mine GPA a little further away from that line. All A's would be awesome. But I will settle for 3 A's and 2 B's. I've already picked out my "okay to get a B in" classes. Finance is one of them. I don't care if it's an 80 as long as it's a B.
Really, I'm just letting you guys know I'm alive. The saucy stuff will return soon.
I am also now officially looking for internships! If y'all know of anywhere looking to hire you should totes let me know about it. And/or put in a good word for me. I like my nepotism like I like all things that could eventually lead to your downfall and/or otherwise get you in trouble: in moderation.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
I was going to go for a less specific title, considering a lot of my friends aren't Christians and some of them celebrate multiple new year holidays, but then I said no. I learned that working at American Eagle as a lady screamed at me for wishing her a happy holiday (how do you get more generic than that?!) because, "Not everyone celebrates!"
She then asked me for gift receipts. Long story short, you can't please anyone, so I'm just gonna please myself.
That was poorly worded. Moving on!
My holiday's been great, thank you for asking, mostly because all of my favorite people came home. My friends came back from California/DC/Virginia/France/everywhere else in the world. My sister and her boyfriend came up from Savannah and my midwest family finally made it back to the southeast from Texas/Colorado. My dad was even around for a few days before the holidays! That never happens! Ah! I even got a few holiday messages from some people I hadn't expected to hear from. It was awesome.
I hope you all have had a great holiday/break season, and didn't do anything I wouldn't do on New Year's. I'm bringing in 2013 with a 3.0 GPA (I'm not getting kicked out of grad school!), marathon Simming, and a deviated septum.
Yes, you read right. I have a slightly deviated septum. No, I do not snort cocaine. Apparently it's pretty common (and natural) for a person's septum to be more to one side without recreational/habitual drug use, but according to my doctor mine is most likely the reason why I can't breathe 90% of the time. Or smell. Or get restful sleep. And that probably has a lot to do with why I snore like a moose. I'm going to an ear/nose/throat specialist sometime soon, and fingers crossed I won't have to have surgery on my septum/tonsils/sinuses/adenoids. Seriously. Cross your fingers.
I'm not really one for new year's resolutions, but this year I'm going to pick up some form of exercise. I say this every year, or at least most of them, but this time I mean it. Yes. And I want to read at least 35 books (already started one). I also saw a really cute thing online about writing down everything good, happy, and otherwise memorable thing that happens to you over the year and keeping it in a jar. At the end of the year, you read them all. I've already started writing things down.
And that's about it! According to a magical crossword I found online the 3 things that are coming to me this year are love, beauty, and experience. Really I had a tie between experience and popularity, but I think experience sounds more grown up. These things are all open to interpretation, so if any of y'all can interpret them let me know because I'm mad confused about it.
Starting next Wednesday I'll be back in class and the MBA battle will continue. One semester down, 2 and a half to go. December 2013, here I come!
She then asked me for gift receipts. Long story short, you can't please anyone, so I'm just gonna please myself.
That was poorly worded. Moving on!
My holiday's been great, thank you for asking, mostly because all of my favorite people came home. My friends came back from California/DC/Virginia/France/everywhere else in the world. My sister and her boyfriend came up from Savannah and my midwest family finally made it back to the southeast from Texas/Colorado. My dad was even around for a few days before the holidays! That never happens! Ah! I even got a few holiday messages from some people I hadn't expected to hear from. It was awesome.
I hope you all have had a great holiday/break season, and didn't do anything I wouldn't do on New Year's. I'm bringing in 2013 with a 3.0 GPA (I'm not getting kicked out of grad school!), marathon Simming, and a deviated septum.
Yes, you read right. I have a slightly deviated septum. No, I do not snort cocaine. Apparently it's pretty common (and natural) for a person's septum to be more to one side without recreational/habitual drug use, but according to my doctor mine is most likely the reason why I can't breathe 90% of the time. Or smell. Or get restful sleep. And that probably has a lot to do with why I snore like a moose. I'm going to an ear/nose/throat specialist sometime soon, and fingers crossed I won't have to have surgery on my septum/tonsils/sinuses/adenoids. Seriously. Cross your fingers.
I'm not really one for new year's resolutions, but this year I'm going to pick up some form of exercise. I say this every year, or at least most of them, but this time I mean it. Yes. And I want to read at least 35 books (already started one). I also saw a really cute thing online about writing down everything good, happy, and otherwise memorable thing that happens to you over the year and keeping it in a jar. At the end of the year, you read them all. I've already started writing things down.
And that's about it! According to a magical crossword I found online the 3 things that are coming to me this year are love, beauty, and experience. Really I had a tie between experience and popularity, but I think experience sounds more grown up. These things are all open to interpretation, so if any of y'all can interpret them let me know because I'm mad confused about it.
Starting next Wednesday I'll be back in class and the MBA battle will continue. One semester down, 2 and a half to go. December 2013, here I come!
Friday, December 14, 2012
The Hobbit, and other feels
Yesterday was my final exam, and I would just like to point out that I NEVER HAVE TO TAKE ANOTHER MARKETING CLASS AGAIN THANK YOU JESUS. I am not playing, y'all. I hate marketing. I really do. It (the exam) wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be except for some tricky wording, I was a little harsh on my group critiques (more on that later, maybe), and now I'm finished.
But y'all know what was also yesterday? THE MIDNIGHT PREMIERE OF THE HOBBIT. I promise you, seeing The Hobbit was the only thing getting me through my Thursday. I went with my friends, Widge and Mo, and when I tell you that Widge and I have been waiting on this movie for 10 years I am not playing. Literally the best way to end exam week is seeing a movie you've been waiting to see for 10 years.
And it was so good! For the most part I was very pleased with the script. The book is like, 75 years old so there's really no such thing as spoiling it but I'll spare y'all a full review. Just know that Elrond is a sassy sassy Elf lord, their weave/wig technicians are the bomb[dot]com, and I have so many Thorin feels I don't even know what to do with them.
For real y'all. Thorin Oakenshield. I have lots of feels for him and his barely contained rage. I mean, I'm not gonna write any bad fanfics like I did in middle school but I'm not mad at anyone who does.
I'm probably going to see it at least two more times over Christmas break. Because I'm dedicated.
But we can we talk about The Lone Ranger movie and how they have Johnny Depp playing Tonto for just a second? Can we? Because that's that stuff I don't like. Y'all mean to tell me you couldn't find one Native American actor to play a Native American? You couldn't? In all of North America you couldn't find not a single, solitary Native American who is also an actor to play a Native American character. And you, Johnny Depp, couldn't have decided as a human being that it's probably not a good idea for you as a white man to paint your face up and speak broken English and, you know, act Indian? I can't with you. I 100% cannot with you right now, or probably ever again.
That has been bothering me since I saw the preview last night. I may or may not have said, "Why is Johnny Depp dressed up like a Native American?" in the theater. Sorry I'm not sorry.
Okay. That was my second. Not gonna lie: this may come back up later. You have been warned.
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