Everyone knows it has been an insane weather but nothing is as crazy as an Indiana spring. Two weeks ago it was 70 on Tuesday and then it snowed the next. Last weekend I went for a glorious spring run through Bryan Park. Today if effin’ snowed again (see bitterness below.)
My professors like to remind me I should be used to this; by this they mean the cold weather. And yes cold weather I can do with grace and aplomb; I’ve got the scarves to prove it. But this glorious high to grey lows, I cannot do. It has weakened my resolve and frustrated my soul. The thing with Wisconsin winters is you know when they start and when they end. It gets cold in October and stays that way with snow on the ground until April. You grit down and power through winter. Then comes summer and life blooms and you repeat the whole lovely pattern again next year.
But this, this Indiana Spring, you never know what to expect; there is no pattern, no logic and no control. And there is nothing I hate more than illogical weather.
Today it snowed. I opened my door to snow and a stuffed mailbox. Inside was a gift card my mom had randomly sent me because well because she’s mama fritz. My mom is kind of horrible sometimes at planned gifts like on birthdays and such. She always tries so hard and wants to get the perfect gift but ends up getting you a knife set when you have to fly back to Chicago or steel working gloves for gardening? But she has always been great at the random impromptu gifts, at the unexpected stuff, that always seems to come just at the right time.
I’m going to start treating nice days in Indiana like random gifts from my mom, totally random, unexpected and a gift. I’m going to try to expect less out of this spring and just try to enjoy the randomness. Given that I’m a bit of a control freak, I may fail miserably but at least by May I’ll be able to say I survived an Indiana spring.
(You can’t really see it but this is my backyard snow globe style.)
I’ve got to admit that all this photoshopping of thigh gaps in advertisements in chaffing me the wrong way. When I was 8 I remember seeing the thigh gap on a billboard and thinking “My thighs touch! What’s wrong with me!” I wrote more about my frustration on the Daily Dot here.
This one touches close to home guys! I was the editor-in-chief for my high schools newspaper “The Buzz.” I remember trying to fight for some quasi-controversial topics and they were always denied. These kids at Fondy High not only had the gumption to write on something as controversial as rape culture but they did so in an incredibly honest and articulate way. (read the full article here.) They should not be being censored but congratulated. Take a few minutes to read their piece and sign the petition to uncensor high school newspapers in Fond du Lac!
I also got a column in the RedEye about the issue! Hopefully this gives the petition some more momentum!
I haven’t done any coding for the past two weeks. Not that there isn’t coding to do. Not that I shouldn’t have been coding. Not that I won’t have a backlog of two weeks of coding to binge on over break. It was just that I couldn’t. I needed a break. I needed to unpixalize sex.
Not that I wasn’t watching porn. I had to sample the 400 LGBT videos from Pornhub for the next phase of the study. In order to sample you have to figure out first how many videos you need to have enough power in your sample. Once you find your magic sample number X, then you need to find the total amount of videos in that category, divide that number by your magic number X to find your sampling nth number and finally sample random video 1,2,3,4, etc on each nth page. I did not explain that well but just trust me; it is all pretty basic math-y and not fun. Not fun at all.
All that translated to about five hours of simultaneously sampling videos while trying to not actually watch the videos. I ended up putting Battlestar Galetica on my little Chromebook, putting on my headphones and pretending that wasn’t an image of a young man wet humping a soccer ball on my Acer.
Let’s just say I had some weird dreams about Starbuck and some kinky cylons. Unfortunately this means I have to do two weeks’ worth of coding over break. Lord help me, I may never be able to watch porn for fun again.
And sometimes I write about sillier things like the difference between dating in small-town, Indiana versus Chicago. Important stuff here people. #not really
Big Obvious Difference No. 2: There are fewer bars. Fewer bars mean fewer options for first dates, which means more chance of running into previous dates when you’re with your new date, which means serious awkwardness. Of course, there are not just fewer bars but also fewer coffee shops, grocery stores and falafel huts–meaning you WILL run into some ex-date at some point every week. The plus side of this is you get used to the awkward; in fact, you embrace it. Your past will show up in your present on Friday night, so you learn to treat your past with a little more kindness and grace.
Read more at http://www.redeyechicago.com/news/ct-red-fritz-dating-20140304,0,5970506.story#RgbAxCvD14AQgsHl.99
P.S. This is what I got when I Googled “dating in Indiana.” Seems about right.
…so you write a piece about sitting with loneliness in Thought Catalog.
“The hardest thing to feel is loneliness. Not just to be alone but to be lonely.
When I say feel, I mean to really feel the loneliness and to know it; to acknowledge loneliness, shake its hand, offer it a glass of cheap Barefoot wine and let it sit with you, to be with you, in you…
I mean to feel loneliness without substituting in past emotions of connection. Without remembering nights on the beach with whisky and old quilts, without scrolling through old texts of happier more emoticon-filled times, without trying to inflate an old emotion to replace the current emotion of lonely.”
Read more here.