I Am a Failure at Surprises

One of my old professors was giving a poetry reading, and obviously I wanted to go.  She hadn't seen me in a while, so I decided I should try to surprise her. 
The problem with me trying to surprise someone is that it often gets ruined. 
I decided to go that afternoon to a study room to do some reading and writing.  I frequent this particular study room, and it's usually pretty quiet on weekday afternoons.  At most, I've seen one person in there at this time of day, and even then, it's usually someone who just looks in and then walks away. 
I went in and, for about an hour, worked.  And then Chelsea walked in. 

I hadn't seen Chelsea in a long time either.  I was trying to remember the last conversation I had with her.  I vaguely remembered talking to her about four years ago about a book series we both liked.  I remembered this conversation because I didn't really know a lot of people who read this series; my best friend had introduced me to them years previous to that, and I had only spoken about the series with a man in a library once who read The Dresden Files, which I was also familiar with and was similar.  I think during that conversation Chelsea also mentioned that she was really good at interviewing for jobs and that's why she was always employed.  At the time this had impressed me because I had always felt like my interviewing skills were terrible.  (I am happy to report now that I've learned better interviewing techniques and that I think I've even impressed some people.)
But Chelsea didn't really acknowledge me.  She just sat down and read something.  Oh, I thought.  She must not remember me. 
Not that she really should remember me.  We were really friends of friends and I mean, I'm sure there have been more important people out there. 
We sat in silence for another half hour, I continuing with my work.  Then she looked up at me. 

"Have you ever read Foucault?" she asked. 
I had, but it had been a long time ago.  And because I had found him frustratingly difficult in English, I had looked up a passage in the original French.  It had been easier to understand, but that was all I remembered. 
Chelsea talked to me about some of Foucault's ideas.  She mentioned being in a particular class, which Kristina was also in.  (And had mentioned I should come to just to see what it was like.) 
Chelsea, as a fellow feminist, was not so sure she liked the ideas of Foucault.  He said some problematic things about women. 
"I always interpreted Foucault to be saying simply what is and not how things should be.  I don't think his statements are meant to be interpreted as him endorsing that view, just observing it." 
She nodded her head, looking far away.  "That sounds like something Foucault would say."
I smiled.  Now that was a compliment.  Alex had liked Foucault.  It was one of the things we had talked about in the interview.  Alex had said how beautiful she found his writing. 
I suddenly realized that I had a question for Chelsea.  "Are you one of the people from that feminist organization that recently formed?"
"I'm not really part of it.  That's Bianca." 
That surprised me.  Bianca and I had been in a class together last year.  She had been relatively quiet.  Despite this, it had been obvious to me she was thoughtful and way cooler than I am (though, I would argue pretty much everyone is cooler than me.) 
I made a mental note, if I ran into Bianca anytime soon, that I should tell her how much I had admired her work.  Erin had told me all about it. 
"Are you going to the poetry reading tonight?"  So Chelsea must have known more about me than I anticipated, because she remembered that I worked with that professor. 
"I am, but she doesn't know I'm coming, so don't tell anyone I'm here.  It's a surprise." 
Seeing Chelsea was really nice, but I had to go over to Nate's to get some stuff and to have dinner, so I said goodbye and left.  I was turning the corner on the stairway, thinking merrily of how much I liked Chelsea and how I was going to get to see people tonight at this reading, when I was startled to see Stephanie, three steps down from me, staring up at me.  Her eyes went wide.
And this wasn't just Stephanie my friend.  She was also Stephanie, the assistant to this professor. 
She hadn't seen me in a long time either. 
Oh shit, I thought. 
"Don't tell her I'm here!" I said, slightly loud.  "I don't want her to know I'm coming tonight!  I'm trying to surprise her!"
See what I mean about surprises?  Hours before the surprise, I manage to run into two people who actually could blow it.  This was especially annoying considering how long I'd been planning this. 
Stephanie sort of laughed at me and was happy to see me.  She gave me this great big hug that made me feel great.  (Oh, to have a thousand friend hugs that I could store in a chest somewhere.)  She wanted to hear what I was up to, and we talked briefly before both of us had to be elsewhere. 
I went over to Nate's.  It had been his birthday recently, and he had all sorts of coupons for free food.  That night, he was taking me out for pizza. 

Unions and Feminism

As a feminist, I am happy to hear that maids are now being issues panic buttons in case something goes wrong while on the job.  Unsurprisingly, it was a union that fought for these rights.
Because of certain friends and family members, I hear complaints about unions all the time, but this right here is an example of what they do: fight for workers.  As sad as the cases that prompted this change are, this has gone on a long time, and feminism and socialism have stepped up to make protection a priority. 

Dreadfully Ever After

I just wanted to post this review of Dreadfully Ever After, which is the new Pride and Prejudice and Zombies sequel. 
I liked certain things about the first book.  I thought there was something really clever about it, and there was some great imagery and writing.  The fault was that the transitions between the new writer and Austen were really abrupt. 
From what the reviewer said, it sounds like that this book wisely doesn't do that. 
I also like that Elizabeth is the hero in this story.  I need more female heroes. 

Embarrassed and Frustrated

Today has been way more frustrating than I planned on it being.
One of the many things that managed to grate on me was about this charity dinner my Mom wanted us to go to.  A girl my sister knows from high school was diagnosed with cancer a few years back, and they occasionally hold events to raise money to take care of her.
I really didn't want to go, but I decided to play nice about it.  The reason I don't want to go was that I really hated my high school.  Not even everyone, but a large portion of people.  I'm really glad that whole part of my life is over.  Despite my Mom always encouraging me to go back and talk to people, I generally don't want to.  There are a few people who I don't talk to anymore that I wouldn't mind running into or hanging out with, and a small group I still text or have fun with, but I'm generally separated from those people.  And glad to be.  I didn't want to go to this dinner because I would inevitably run into a least one person I couldn't stand and would rather not see.
I'm especially sensitive right now because I feel like, despite working so hard in college, I have nothing to show for it.  I have no employment as of right now.  I could make excuses about the economy and about my family situation, but they're just excuses.  And in any case, I'm sick of people's judgment on the subject.
But I was still planning on going.  So, I started picking out my outfit.  I was planning on wearing a nice purple blouse with my black professional pants.  And then I couldn't find the pants.
I searched all over the house.  Nothing.  This is one of the many reasons I hate living here.  I don't want to use the washing machine because my Mom has flooded the house with it no less than six times.  The ones at school are far more reliable and no one would blame me if it exploded.  So my Dad does the laundry and then clothes go missing because, despite labeling my clothes, he puts them elsewhere, in other closets, in the living room, hoarding them in the laudry room, and as I discovered today, storing them in the basement.  I wore those pants about a month ago at the Honors College event for graduates, so I know they have to be somewhere.
I'm increasingly worried that I left them at school.  As I mentioned yesterday, I have only recently started going through certain boxes, but I'm starting to wonder if a box got misplaces.  I am missing part of my beloved music collection (including Outkast's Speakerboxxx/The Love Below), two anthologies of feminist theory I was working on, God's War, and now these pants.  In the rush to get out of Lansing, I can't remember if these items were all in the same box or not, but I'm getting worried. 
If I lost that stuff, I'll be heartbroken.  The pants can be replaced, eventually, though the way my body is, it'll be hard to find a pair of pants that looked that good on me.  But I don't even remember all of the music I had in there (though it was probably around 20 CDs).  Sometimes I have CDs that are rare/signed by artists, and I'll probably never be able to recoup that loss.  And those books were expensive; two of them were around 800 pages. 
So I'm really upset right now.  I decided that I wouldn't go if I couldn't find those pants, because in addition to being judged by the appearance that I haven't done anything in the last five years, I really couldn't stand people looking at me and thinking about how ugly and/or unkempt I am.  I'm further embarrassed and frustrated by my concern for a) my appearance and b) what people think of me.  These people were almost all assholes, if not incredibly dense, so just finding them thinking at all would be impressive. 

Feminism Paper

Have been working on a paper for my English class. I'm still a little under the required page number, but at least I have something, and even having that is a big relief.
I'm writing about two works on Toni Morrison and the gaze. I'm really interested in the later. When I learned about it in a class last year, it captured my thoughts. It's one of the things I'm interested in in literary theory.
There are a couple of pop songs that I think deal implicitly with the gaze, which I'd like to write a short piece about. You know, when I get the time.