A field guide to growing up without growing apart
So I went to Las Vegas for a friend of a friend’s birthday this weekend and if there is only one thing you ever learn from me it’s that you are the ONLY person who can make your expectations a reality. My expectations were low […]
So for those of you new to the blog, every so often I write about my love life, but instead of facing up to all the awkwardness of reality I have been writing it as a periodic romance novel– The Tale of Lady Mareena and […]
So, I’m doing some scary in September. I signed up to take a test I feel I have nearly zero chance of passing. I am taking… The All Souls Exam.
So, All Souls is definitely the most mysterious and probably the most prestigious college in Oxford. It is prestigious because unlike other colleges it has no students, only fellows. All the colleges in Oxford are governed by an elite class known as fellows, generally made up of the teaching faculty in each college. However, everyone admitted to All Souls automatically attains this status, but by ‘everyone’ I mean the select few they choose to admit. They have a few fellowship places for post-graduate PhD holding candidates, but they also accept some graduate students each year. And by some, I mean two.
Now, what do these two special exam fellows win? The honour of being a fellow at this prestigious (and mysterious) of all colleges? For sure! But also funding for the next seven years. Yep, no joke- they will fund any degree(s) you choose to pursue, as well as your living costs for seven years. Plenty of time to finish a PhD, write a book, and take the academic world by storm. Or travel the world if you like. Get a job. Whatever. There’s no catch, you can do anything.
So, how does one earn the honour of being an All Souls fellow? Well, they pass the exam of course! And what, you may ask, is this exam? Well, it takes place over two days and consists of 12 essays. Six of the essays are on ‘specialist’ topics (for me this would be on history), and six are general essays. In both categories you get to pick from a list of numerous potential questions. The general essays can be on anything, and are often rather bizarre. Here are a few sample questions from a test a couple of years back for you to ponder:
‘Could my brain be evil?’
‘Why are some jokes funnier than others? ‘
‘Is it meaningful to speak of a ‘morality of architecture’?
‘Should governments aspire to make their citizens happy?’
‘What’s so bad about envy?’
‘Did death evolve? ‘
The Exam used to be famous for making its taker write an essay on a single word- however, within the last couple of years this is no longer required. But still. It’s a crazy test. In Oxford the All Souls exam has a reputation of being a test for geniuses. Comparatively few people take it because, well, no one thinks they have a shot. (That and the fact that the test is two days long and involves writing 12 essays).
But I am taking it.
Do I think I have a shot? The answer is, not really. I have met a couple of people at Oxford that are so bright, so creative and free thinking- they are the sort of person this test is made for. I could easily count myself out. I mean, why spend two days of your life trying for something you know you will fail?
But, I decided to do it. Why? Because I think everyone is too ready to count themselves out. This challenge has put to test something I believe: the idea that it is more admirable to try and fail, than to be afraid to try. So you know what, I decided to take a chance. No test will scare me away. The likelihood that I will become an All Souls fellow next year, well I wouldn’t bet on it- but at least I will know that I tried.
Come January I’m getting on a plane and crossing the Atlantic. I have no idea where I’ll end up, how long I’ll stay or really why I’m going. I know I have/need/want to go but I’m having trouble explaining WHY to myself and others. In […]
This weekend I was asked THE DREADED QUESTION (What are you doing with your life) and didn’t really come out alive. By now you’d think I’d be good at deflecting this one, making up some sort of flowery answer that is somehow both satisfactory and […]
So, ladies and gentlemen of the internet world, I have a confession to make. I am 23, and I have never been kissed. 
Is this weird? Isn’t that something that is supposed that happen to you when you are sixteen? If not before? Somehow ‘sweet twenty-three and never been kissed’ just doesn’t have the same ring. But well, that is the reality of my lie: more than 23 years on the planet and not a single kiss from a guy.
So, yeah, somehow I gather this is supposed to be a problem. The other day, I mentioned my lack of kissing experience in passing to a friend and her response was ‘oh honey, I’m sorry’–in almost the same tone reserved for expressing sympathy for terminal diseases.
But here’s the thing: I’ve never really had anyone to kiss. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve gone on my share of dates, and feel quite confident that I could of elicited some kissing action out of at least a few of them– but somehow I have never wanted to. It’s always been one of those moments of I’m-just-not-that-into-you. And, maybe I am purist, but I have never had the desire smooch my lips against the face of someone else whom I wasn’t crazy about. It just doesn’t sound appealing, and in instances where it seemed like it was coming, I have always managed to stave it off. Keep your kissing to yourself.
So yeah, I have tended to be somewhat conflicted about the whole kissing thing: often happy to have avoided it, but then also sometimes embarrassed about the whole ‘never been kissed thing’. But this all changed a few weeks ago.
So, you might remember that I have this friend, Percival? (If not check out my post.) Well, things are still sort of complicated between us, but he came to visit a few weeks ago- technically he was in the UK figuring out his living situation for next year- but yep, a couple days in Oxford were definitely part of the plan. We had a great time while he was here (no kissing… don’t get too excited, if that was where you though this was going you were wrong). We ate, went on walks, and generally just had a nice weekend. But during this idyllic weekend I asked him one of the big questions: what, exactly, was his past relationship history with women? And you know what, he didn’t have one. No girlfriends, no sex, no kissing. He even had me beat: twenty-seven and never been kissed.
But you know, I couldn’t have been happier about Percival’s confession. Although some people might be embarrassed, to me it meant that he was a strong person, who didn’t need to always be with someone else to feel completed, who hadn’t caved to idea that relationships should be your mark of a successful life. He had waited patiently, for the right time and the right person. And really, all of sudden the fact that I had never been kissed didn’t seem like such a bad thing after all. In fact, I was happy about it.
Although, of course, if any kissing happens, I’ll let you know. Does anyone else have any good stories about being kissed- or being not kissed?
I’m on Vacation in California! Hello friendship and happiness! Okay so that isn’t really true. I’m actually sitting in my bedroom the day before I’m supposed to leave for California doing my best to avoid packing until the last possible second. Turns out there is […]
Lately, several people have mentioned to me that I need to ‘get involved’ with different activities, and it has really started to bug me. To give just one example, about a week ago, another graduate student I know was pressuring me to join the organizing […]
My name is Sleeping Booty and I’m a hoarder. Well, sort of. I like to think of myself more as a memory preserver than a junk collector, more like an information database than a maggot infested trash dump. I’m a keeper of records and saver of moments, a reminder of truths and cataloger of thoughts. I like to imagine I’m a historian, that maybe one day when my friends are famous I’ll get to help to write their biographies. But now that the day has come to organize a bit of it, I’ve realized I’m in a bit over my head.
I’ve always had trouble with my memory. For as long as I can remember (which isn’t that long) I’ve had to ask people to remind me about their stories, remind me of mine, forgive me for reintroducing myself and congratulate me for remembering a detail or two. It’s frustrating at times, and I don’t claim to be particularly worse or better than any specific person, I just know that on the spectrum of human memory capabilities I land somewhat lower than I would like.
So, in order to compensate for my less than ideal brain power, I began documenting. It started with journals, continued to pictures and video and took off from there. Now some ten odd years later I’ve amassed hard drives full of data, ranging from ranting word documents to AOL Instant Message transcripts to long winded emails to video diaries to school papers to voice mails to text messages (I’ve typed out every relevant text message I’ve sent or received since 2006). Add Facebook wall posts, wall to wall conversations, personal messages, group messages, thousands of photos and comments from hundreds of relevant friends and you can see how it becomes overwhelming. And that isn’t even counting the hand written journals, letters, notes, cards, brochures, newspapers and ticket stubs I’ve got stashed in shoe boxes around my room.
I work hard to keep it organized, spending hours each week cataloguing photos and cleaning up my document folders. This past month I even consolidated three boxes of magazine clippings into folders that fit into one box and threw out two garbage bags of high school ‘memories.’ But I enjoy going through the piles, every few years I work my way back around to something and reassess what it means to me, remind myself what happened, decide if it’s still worth keeping and maybe start a project to ‘use it up’. This fall I finally started making a t-shirt quilt out of the boatloads of clothing I’d saved from high school and before that I chose 50 out of thousands of photos to have printed in a book.
So last week when I stumbled across some old freshman year documents detailing a certain massive crush I had on a certain fellow, the project wheels started turning. Wouldn’t it feel good to have all of this into one place? Maybe it will be good for me? The thing is going through word documents about a boy I loved isn’t exactly the same as throwing out some old macaroni art projects.
REALLY LONG story short is I crushed hard on my good friend Quyen for two years, we got together the week before I left for the summer and after a slew of dramatic and misinformed decisions we stopped speaking before I got back. Things between us haven’t been great since, and though it’s been almost 4 years I still can’t quite bring myself to let go completely. So when I saw his photo last week and it only felt like I was only being punched in the thigh instead of the gut, I decided it was finally time to work through the whole story. Maybe if I confronted it head on and compiled a finished product that could incorporate all the media into one complete story I’d finally be able to see it clearly, to really, truly, move, the, fuck, on.
A week later and I’m almost in over my head. It’s been emotionally draining, but not in a negative way; it’s like that burn you feel while exercising (or exorcising…) – you know the toxicants are leaving your system. And it’s been eye-opening; moments that I forgot had happened were waiting for me only a few levels away from the folders in my computer that I use every day; it’s nice to be reminded of the beauty life can hold. But it’s also been terrifying, because I’ve been reminded of the hurtful things I’ve done, the ignorant mistakes I’ve made and the humiliation I let myself think I deserved.
Everything has gone mostly well so far though, so as difficult as it is to revisit, I’m glad I am; I know I’ll be the better for it. But what I don’t know is how on earth I’m going to actually accomplish a final manifesto. So far I’ve only semi-organized half of it into a timeline-like word document that spans 400+ pages. It’s going to take me another solid week to fold the rest of the information in and who knows how long after that to read through all of it and write out our story in an eloquent and enlightened letter that I may or may not be considering sending his way. This is a big project, one I’m not sure my present day self can survive undertaking. But for the sake of my future I’m going to try, because I know once it’s done I’ll finally be able to let it go.
p.s. Any organizational (or personal? ) advice would be greatly appreciated.
When fellow 20something David asked if we’d contribute our stories to his blog, 20somethings in 2013, of course we obliged. How AWESOME is it that we can all connect like this?! We’re all so different and yet all exactly the freakin’ same. I love it. Maybe […]
As you know if you follow our blog at least a little bit, I go to graduate school— why, because I post about it all the time, that’s why. Well, as a matter of course, many of my friends (excepting three of naughty princesses, obviously!) […]
Naughty Princesses Assemble! We’ve been at this whole blogging thing for a few months now (so far so good??) and I figured it was time you folks learned a bit more about the four of us and why we go by the pseudonyms we do! And while our royal appointments that fateful November night really had much more to do with hair color than anything, now 5 years later these naughty identities have become a greater part of us than we ever could have predicted.
So for our March Condition of the Month I’ve asked my fellow princesses to give you fine folk some insight into our characters and what being a naughty princess means. But before we dive in I want to clarify one quick thing.
If you ever watch commercials anymore (I know they’re SO out) you’ve seen the new I am a Princess ad that is working its booty off to rehabilitate the Disney Princess image. We all know that in recent years the term princess has taken on some… negative connotations… and they’re not unjustified. People say they teach an impossible ideal of beauty, a sexist view of waiting to be saved by a man and a one-dimensional aspect of personality. But, like the ad says, these classics teach much more than finding a one true love and as you will see below, it’s about what you take from the character, not what the character takes from you. And while I’m sure Disney’s motive is more financial than inspirational, I still can’t help but be glad to see princesses coming back in favor, long may we reign.
Cinderslut:
Top 5 reasons I identify with my princess
Aside from the obvious similarities between Cinderslut and Cinderella, namely that we’re blonde and blue is definitely our color, I also find her to be something of a kindred spirit. Both of us were never part of the popular crowd and were ostracized somewhat by our peers (evil stepsisters). But, we got through it by going with the flow and doing our best at whatever we could, even if it was just mopping the floors. But the thing I like best about Cinderella is that she always could recognize and appreciate internal beauty. She knew she wasn’t as high up and privileged as her stepsisters, but she didn’t want to be them, not truly. She saw them for what they were: ugly on the inside. Instead of dwelling on what she couldn’t have, she surrounded herself with friends who were good-hearted and cared about her, and that’s what I have always tried to do. Even if some of the perks of the step-sisters’ lifestyle would have made me jealous, I’d prefer my true friends any day.
But my namesake and I are not identical. The biggest difference I see is that Cinderella is just flat-out good. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, whereas I have at least half a ribcage full. She never struck back at her oppressors, and she was consistently self-sacrificing. But I, on the other hand, would have ripped Drizella’s ugly face off if she tried to keep me from that ball. So, you know, different strokes for different folks. I mean, that’s why I’m Cinderslut, not Cinderella. I have a bit of a dark side.
What about my man, how does he stack up to Cinderella’s fairytale prince? Well, at first I couldn’t really think of any similarities. But then I found one: both are persistent, and it is that persistence that resulted in a happily-ever-after. Cinderella’s prince got a glimpse of his dream girl, and he wouldn’t stop until he had her back. The same thing happened with my husband and me after I broke his heart. He still loved me and wouldn’t give up, and although it took a little more than sliding a slipper onto my foot to bring me back, eventually I did let him put a ring on my finger. At some points before we got back together I considered him a stalker, rather like Cinderella’s prince who literally goes door-to-door until he finds her. But I guess that just proves that there’s a fine line between a stalker situation and a fairy-tale romance. And I’d say Cinderella and I both lucked out on that one and ended up with the prince, not the predator.
Sleeping BootyTop Five Reasons I identify with my princess
As for what I don’t like about Aurora, I obviously don’t love that she waited around so often, waiting to turn 16, waiting to meet her prince, waiting to be saved from the dragon witch. But I can’t really blame her, waiting around is a hard habit to break, and I definitely don’t have it all together all the time. I often feel like I’m waiting for my life to begin.
And as for the future, I’m going to have my fun with Eric. As far as I can remember the other princes are always so fashionable and put together, even the beast is always dressed to the nines. I want to climb cliffs and jump into the ocean and run through the meadow until we’re covered in mud. I love that he takes action to save his friends from danger and is always talking out loud trying to puzzle things out. Eric and I would sail the world with our big slobbery dog, visiting friends and setting off fireworks.
How do I identify with my princess? Well I feel like I sort of already wrote a post on this. But aside from the basic things, like my red hair and the fact that I love mermaids, I would say that I also identify with Ariel’s enthusiasm for life. She has so much energy and zeal! It is inspiring. Although I have down days, like everyone does, I like to think I am a pretty positive person. I love my life—I feel so blessed every day that I get to spend my time doing what I love and what excites me.
How am I not like Ariel? Well, I am definitely not as impulsive as her. Ariel’s impulsiveness gets her into trouble, so I am not sure it is really a quality I need to emulate but sometimes I worry I go too far the opposite direction. I can be too rational, too staid—dare I say it?—perhaps even boring. Sometimes you just need to go for something, and not think twice. Another way I like to hope I am not like Ariel (maybe I am only dreaming here) is that her entire focus seems to be on men. I mean, the minute Eric walked on stage it was like her friends, her family, her life—it was all out the window. I think I am still waiting for my Eric to make this entrance, but I like to think that even now I have things and people in my life that are important, and that I won’t jettison the second some guy wins my heart.
The best prince? Definitely, the beast. I mean he has his flaws- he can’t control his temper after all- but he seems the most human (ha!) of all the princes. I feel like we never really get to know Prince Charming, or the Cinderella’s prince (what was his name?) or Eric. They just feel like place-holders. The beast on the other hand not only has a personality, but he changes and grows over time. Plus, that scene where he has Belle close her eyes and leads her into the library: talk about best Disney scene ever! Not only is the library totally gorgeous, but it shows that he knows her—he has taken the time to see who she is and what makes her happy. None of the other princes in Disney movies ever do that. So yes, the beast is the best. And my happy ending, well, that big, beautiful library sounds pretty tempting… just me, the beast, and pile full of books! Sounds like a happily ever after to me!
Snow Whore
Ok, so I’m going to be honest. I don’t really feel like I identify with Snow White at all. I am happy with my princess name, but it is not because I love Snow White, it’s just because the name is clever. Snow White has always been my least favorite Disney movie, mostly because whoever did the voice of Snow White has one of the most annoying voices in the history of mankind. So when I think of Snow White, all I think of is her high pitched squeaking, and the enormous amount of vibrato she has when singing. Am I watching a Disney movie, or am I at the opera? Come on people! But I generally forgive Disney because that was their first full length movie and they were still figuring things out. Also, even apart from the annoying voice, Snow White is the weakest princess, and I definitely do not want to identify with that. All she does is run away, and then clean house. Instead, I tend to run straight into people, and leave my house with some very healthy clutter.
Now as for my favorite Disney prince, it’s Prince Phillip from Sleeping Beauty all the way. He rides a horse, waltzes in the forest, and kills a dragon. Enough Said. I’ve definitely had many a fantasy of being surprised by my own prince in the forest, swept into his arms, and serenaded as we dance the afternoon away. I even tried to convince my husband to learn to waltz so we could recreate that scene. It would have worked if only he had any rhythm.
Since this is my condition of the month I get to have the final word. Princesses Rule.