Cyn's Quarterlife

Small Town Charm

2009-08-12T07:49:00.001-07:00

I live in a small town. I have to do small town things, like attending the local art and crafts fair. I was very excited to attend the arts and crafts fair. So excited that I did all the chores the day before - though there was still some stuff to do - dishwasher and laundry.

I got up early the morning of the fair and headed into town. The main street is about fifteen minutes from my apartment. On the way I ran into a lady that was in the leasing office the morning Boyfriend and I signed the lease. We chatted a bit and it did make the walk a bit better.

So. The fair. I should point out that I have never attended a dry art festival. In fact, the only reason I've ever attended a festival is for the wine. The festival was more of a people watching event for me. There were a ton of booths there that I enjoyed but mostly watching my new community was far more entertaining.

My town has an interesting composite of people. For the most part, it's a mix of families with children and newlywed couples. Even more interesting is the fashion sense.

There was a woman wearing a pair of socks with open-toed chunky heels. But. It. Gets. Better. These were no ordinary pair of socks. No, my friends, these were pink socks with FRINGE. Yes. FRINGE. When I was a child I used to have the cute white socks with fold down lace. She had fold down FRINGE. It was absolutely ridiculous! I was on the phone with a friend and she asked me to take a picture. Unfortunately there was an older gentleman standing near me listening to me. While I'm okay with him hearing me pass judgement on this woman's fashion sense, I was not okay with taking a picture with him watching.

I found the graveyard of 80's and 90's dresses that should have been burned. What's worse is that people were actually buying them. These dresses were of horrible taste, colors and styles. I really couldn't get over the peaches the yellows and the electric blues. Ick!

I get that it's hot and humid in NJ. What I don't get is that people use this as an excuse to dress sloppily. I know I'm no fashionista, but I do try my best to make sure my clothes fit and match. Seeing women who are overweight wearing tight, white, short-shorts where I can see their underwear is not appealing. And yes, I have my own muffin tops, but I have actually seen full blown muffins come out of what some of these people consider bottoms.

That's all for now!

xoxo,
Cyn

It's Thursday. I thought I'd write.

2009-08-06T16:04:00.000-07:00

Banks are a bit like medical office waiting rooms. There is a horrible color scheme. There are fake plants everywhere. And why is that? Why do people feel that fake plants are a great substitute? They aren't. And the really bad watercolor paintings? As you can tell, I was at the bank this morning. Oh! And one last thing! The lighting. I would expect a bank to actually have some bright lighting, but no. Really bad florescent lights. I could hardly see Boyfriend sitting next to me.

I hate when the sprinklers go off during the rain. This happened two days ago. There were severe thunderstorm warnings. There had been all week. But the pool across the street still had their sprinklers going. Which is weird. It's actually been pretty wet here, so I'm not sure why there's need for sprinklers... But there is.

So, as you probably know, I got a full ride to graduate school. I know. Even I was surprised. And, okay. So, we live in the 21st century and yet i still have to take a piece of card stock to the bursar's office to show that I have full tuition remission. I'm not sure where the breakdown is in the electronic world that it doesn't actually just say that I have tuition remission. It's very strange to me. Oh! And, on top of that full ride, I have a gradate assistantship. For this year, it's going to take the form in a teaching assistant. I'm pretty excited. I get to help shape the minds of our youth. Ha ha. I just keep thinking back to all the TAs that I had. I was pretty close to several of them. And yet, I don't recognize any of them in myself. I always that my TAs were much older and wiser than me. I've talked to a few of them since getting into grad school and I'm learning that they weren't that much older and wiser than I am today. Instead, they did what I plan to do - they faked it till they could make it. I'm hoping that'll all just come to me on day one. And, in the meantime, I'm going to need to pretty up my FB profile. That or make it more private. Can't have any of my students seeing it. Ha ha.

I "paid" my tuition today. And my "pay", I mean that I took the card stock piece of paper to the bursar's office and handed it to them. Yah. One semester at my school is over $8000. I did some quick math and that's over $80,000 for my graduate school education. Thankfully I have my fellowship.

My parents got Boyfriend and me a food dehydrator as a house warming gift. Aside from my PUR water purifier, this is my favorite kitchen appliance. It gets both Boyfriend and me to eat more fruit. Eventually we'll get around to making beef jerky. But it's fun to see what type of fruit rolls we can make. So far I refuse to make vegetable rolls. Eww.

I have yet to ask my "readers" to ask me questions. I'm just not that comfortable with blogging. I do, however, appreciate all my newest readers.

Boyfriend and I went on a date yesterday. It was weird. We started to talk about the first time we ever drank alcohol. I started to recall all of these absolutely ridiculous stories. Why did one of my siblings think it was a good idea to bribe me with wine coolers to babysit? Why did my friends and I think it was a good idea to drink Jack Daniels? To this day, I can not drink whisky.

I love that people keep telling me to get out and explore. I've spent a lot of my life doing things. Working. Going to school. Exploring. Hanging with friends. Learning. For the first time in my life I want to do nothing. Yes. I get bored. Yes. I have social anxiety and sometimes this worsens by me not leaving the house. But for the first time ever (verified by my parents) I don't have any real responsibilities. I don't have deadlines. I don't have to worry about working or going to school. I'm loving it.

Boyfriend makes fun of me because I always watch iCarly and other "kiddy" shows. But honestly, I'm still a child. And the humor is not lost on me. So I actually called Comcast the other day to go one step up on our cable so I could have the Disney Channel. I mean, really, I want to be able to watch the Wizards of Waverly Place movie in a few weeks. Plus, I can always put it on Disney and be entertained. Plus, Boyfriend got more history/miltary channels.

That's it for now!

xoxo,
Cyn

Saturday Night Musings

2009-08-01T18:01:00.001-07:00

I've been doing a great deal of reading over the past few days. I've been reading other people's blogs in hoping to expand my fan-blog-base and because I need some perspective on my life. But I've started to realize a few things.

We always think our friends are funny. Just like we think they are the prettiest, most interesting people on earth. What's interesting is that to us they are funny and interesting. Sadly, we are not always funny and interesting to other people. So, while I've read tons of blogs the last few days, I've only subscribed to a few. And this brings me to the point that expanding my readership is going to be a bit harder than anticipated. I'm just not as funny as I thought!

So, during all of this reading, I've run across a few really depressing blogs. Sadly, I could not read past the first one or two blogs. My life has been depressing enough. I'm looking for humor out there. Not depression.

Little Bunny Foo-Foo and Peter Cottontail really do exist. One lives outside my apartment in the "quad". That's Little Bunny Foo Foo. She eats whatever bread and other bits residents leave out for her. Peter Cottontail lives across the street by the river. He has a whole family with him. It was the first time I've really seen bunnies out in the wild. It was weird.

I learned the difference between a badger and a beaver today. I suspect the animals down at the river are actually badgers. Smaller tails. Playing on land. Not searching for wood. Also, why has evolution led beavers to have teeth that will grow into their flesh and bone if they don't eat wood? How is that evolutionarily sound? Which reminds me...

The worst evolutionary body part on humans, aside from knees and backs, is the mouth. Think about it. Humans evolved into sedentary, carbohydrate eating, subsistent beings. Lots of things have changed about us. Especially in terms of dealing with climates. But our mouths? We still get cavities fairly regularly because of the carbohydrates we eat. We carry an enormous amount of bacteria in them. Teeth don't typically grow in straight. And many of us still have to have our wisdom teeth pulled. I mean, really, not evolutionarily sound. In fact, quite the opposite. Yes. Our jaws have gotten smaller and no, we no longer have that awful muscle going from our jaws to the tops of our skulls. (Not really the mouth, but you know, the jaw.)

That's all I've got for now. Yes. This is how I'm spending my Saturday night. I'm damn proud of myself. I already went for a walk around the lake.

xoxo,
Cyn

My new place and my new kitties

2009-07-30T17:07:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone.

Here are some photos of the new place and the kitties!

Snowball - she loves the windowsills.

Midnight and Snowball. Not biologically related but definitely siblings.

My living room. Love the "remodel" look?

My office. Jacob's so kind to let me have my own!

My books! I love my books. I actually need more shelves.

xoxo,

Cyn

New Jersey - The Garden State

2009-07-24T17:33:00.001-07:00

Things that differ greatly:

People in NJ don't apologize. For anything. Went to Target. The Target employees didn't even move. And the carts! The carts are purely plastic, which is awesome, but you can't easily fit two in an aisle. Who makes that?

Driving in NJ is like driving in another country, but at least in Australia, you can read the signage. Apparently in NJ you need to naturally know where you are going. You can't just follow the signs. Making a left turn or u-turn is next to impossible. In fact, they have signs that say "All turns from right lane." Who does that? And, you actually need to be able to see far to be able to read the signs and be prepared to turn as soon as you see the sign. So, needless to say, what should've been a 20 minute drive home from Target turned into an hour and half drive.

Also, on the east coast they have these things called "turnpikes". I asked Jacob's Uncle Stu what a turnpike is. Here's his answer: "You asked why it's called a turnpike?.......Access to toll roads was originally controlled through the use of a pike, a weapon similar to a spear or halbard with a sharp metal point at the end. You paid the toll and the toll taker would turn the pike to allow you on to the road. Since those days toll roads often are called turnpikes to identify the fact that you must pay to use it. It is nicer than saying toll road, which is another term you will find in use." So, when you are on the east coast be careful of the turnpikes!

People are right. Moving is the hardest trial a couple will go through. Even harder? Learning to drive in another state. I mean, really. And, unfortunately for everyone, there are a lot of one-way streets.

Another weird thing about driving in NJ (can you tell we've done a lot of this?) - the gas stations! People actually come out to pump the gas for you. I quickly called my dad to find out if I was supposed to tip these guys. Plus, I'm not such a fan of other people pumping my gas. I mean, really. It's one of the few things I know how to do for my car. Take that away from me and I'm just a girl.

I'm going to get really skinny and start having to take showers on a more regular basis. Why? Humidity! You can spend half your day dealing with the heat in a dry way. In a way that you are used to. Then, about 3 pm, the humidity kicks in. And you're dripping. So you think, I'll go shower, but unfortunately showering is only going to work while you're in the shower. As soon as you get out, you're going to be just as wet as you were in the shower.

I'm extremely happy that I purchased a PUR water filter for the tap. It's so much easier than having a Brita filter. Anytime I want water, it's just turn and on it goes. I love it.

What did people do before IKEA? I mean, really? Jacob and I trotted off to IKEA to take a look around and found everything we needed

I love that "Google" has become a common word in everyday language. In more and more recent movies you hear "Google it" or "are you googling that?" This makes me happy because I intend to one day marry Google. It is the greatest company known to man.

Lastly, people in NJ are similar to the stereotypes. But the weirdest part? I came from California. People in California are all skinny and absolutely gorgeous. Here, not so much. It's just such a different world.

xoxo,
Cyn

Having a boyfriend while living with your grandpa

2009-04-19T18:45:00.001-07:00

Falling in love while living with my grandpa is not something I planned on. Sure, I have dated a few guys, but nothing too serious. In fact, it was something I think I unconsciously tried to not fall in love. But I have and having a boyfriend while living with my grandpa has proven to have a few challenges.

I’ve been dating my boyfriend for a few months now. We have been working through the hurdles that have come with it. He lives in San Francisco in a studio with my now ex-co-worker and I live with my grandpa. A quick 40-minute BART ride. Not too hard. Hanging out after work, staying at friend’s houses, housesitting, babysitting and cashing in hotel vouchers I have been gifted over the years, we have made it work. In face, we often joke that the strength of our relationship is often because we live farther apart and are unable to spend every moment together.

From day one, my grandpa has always been sketchy about my dating life. Previous boyfriends have never received the warmest welcome. I know my grandpa cares and loves me dearly and, for the most part, this has never directly affected me. My dad has warned me that my grandpa can be over protective and whatnot. (On the plus side, my parents have always liked and been accepting of my boyfriends.) After living with my grandpa for over two years collectively I am also aware that he can be a bit controlling. Most of the time I am able to laugh it off through amusement and remind myself that he is getting old. Recently, however, I have had to take ever ounce of amusement that I have and use every moment of laughter to survive.

The first time I asked if I could have my boyfriend over to hang out, my grandpa seemed appalled that I would ask such a request. Mind you, I am 26 years old and have had several relationships, a few even warranting introductions to the parents. My grandpa wanted to remind me that my boyfriend should not go into any rooms and should not stay too late. If I remember correctly, we had plans that night and just had a bit of downtime between events.

To date, my boyfriend has made several appearances at the house I share with my grandpa. One occurrence, after a day with the family, where we both fell asleep on the couch and my grandpa, deeming this inexcusable, made loud noises and turned on several lights to show his disapproval. Again, I would like to remind you that we had fallen asleep on the couch, fully clothed, with the television on in the middle of the afternoon. Having my grandpa find this inappropriate irks me to this day and makes me wonder how he was ever able to have a relationship with my now deceased grandmother.

Most recently, a new revelation has been made and a new rule imposed.

When my sister moved out of my grandpa’s house a few months ago, I chose to stay in my bedroom and continue to use the master bathroom. My grandpa, being sensible, agreed that he would not move into the master bedroom until I had moved so as to not make it awkward for me to shower, etc. In retrospect, it may have made more sense and been less of a nightmare had I just moved into the master bedroom. Having full access to the master bedroom, and bathroom, I have always had my friends use this bathroom when they come over. The reason is that my grandpa’s bathroom is not as clean. In fact, it is a cesspool waiting for research and results to come in. My sister used to clean his bathroom. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to keep up with it because it grosses me out to the fifth degree to clean other people’s bathrooms, particularly their toilets.

My grandpa recently started to move things around the house, into the spare rooms, to de-clutter his bedroom. Granted, a whole blog could be written on his inability to share the space to make my life easier in the process of moving, but I digress. The morning after he made all his final arrangements and movements, he informs me, “Boyfriend needs to start using my bathroom.”

In utter shock, I replied, “Umm, okay. I’ll let him know.”

“Yeah. I moved stuff around the house and this way he has no reason to go into any of the bedrooms,” he said.

I nod again, thinking that this is a lame excuse to tell me. He could’ve said the same thing before even moving the stuff. Telling me that him not being allowed to use the bathroom because you have put stuff in there that you don’t want him to see is ridiculous. He has been throughout the entire house. He helped my sister move, has played video games with my sister, helped me move books into my room. But I nod, thinking to myself that I’m leaving in a few months.

When I relay this to Boyfriend, he has a few choice phrases, but laughs as well and goes with it. My mom’s response, however, was the most humorous.

“Boyfriend should just go down to the local Chevron to use the bathroom. At least there it will semi-clean,” was her response. I laughed, as did Boyfriend when I told him.

However, I knew the end would come and I would need to tackle my grandpa’s bathroom if I wanted to keep my current boyfriend. And today, ladies and gentlemen, I did just that.

To Target I went for supplies. Bleach, gloves, sponges, disposable toilet bowl cleaners. The works. Having not spent a lot of time in my grandpa’s bathroom, I wasn’t sure what I was going to need. I did consider buying straight Clorox bleach and soaking the whole bathroom, but I thought that might have been extreme. I was wrong.

I had to wait until my grandpa left the house. The downside to getting older is that your eyesight goes and cleaning is no longer easy for you. I’m not sure if my grandpa was ever a stickler for cleaning. My father is and my sister is. I am to an extent, but mostly when I live by myself or in close corridors. I’m not sure the last time my grandpa’s bathroom had been cleaned. I’m sure if I had cut the soap scum and counted the rings, I probably would’ve been able to ascertain an age.

I started with the sink, dreading the toilet and seeing the ring around the tub, assuming it would be the easiest. My grandpa recently had the sink replaced in his bathroom so it looks new. The problem is that it hasn’t been cared for. The soap scum was thick and the smell was nauseating. I actually had to stop, go get a scarf to put around my nose and resume. It wasn’t even satisfying the way cleaning my bathroom is. I just couldn’t get it clean. I was able to remove the first few layers but getting to the porcelain was not going to happen this round. And, to make matters worse, my grandpa still believes in using bar soap to wash his hands in the sink. I have never been a fan of bar soap, but even less so in sinks. I think it’s just a breeding ground for bacteria. To make matters worse, the soap dish where said hand bar soap lives was a lake of soapy water. The smell was again nauseating. After tackling the sink, with one final bleach spray and quick wipe of a paper towel, I set my sights on the toilet.

Having the foresight of the disgust of the toilet, I had sprayed it down with the bleach before even attempting it. Without going into details, I will simply say that missing is clearly a common occurrence for my grandpa as is back splash. I was thankful, for possibly the first time in my life, to wear glasses and be able to remove them during this cleaning. With a final spray and wipe down I moved on to the tub.

I thought the tub would be the easiest of cleaning. I had never paid much attention to it, but upon inspection, saw not only the ring around the tub of soap scum, but there is lime eating away at the silver knobs and spout. The first attempt at cleaning the tub was extremely unsuccessful. I managed to get, hopefully, the first layer of soap scum off. Next week, I will attempt number two. I can only breath in so many fumes for so long.

Although I only needed to clean the toilet for the use of Boyfriend, I have learned something. One should always pay people to clean their house on a regular basis. Particularly when you have retired.

Xoxo,
Cyn

Hijacked at 7:30 am by my grandpa, still in my pajamas

2009-04-19T16:40:00.000-07:00

It’s Friday morning, 7:30 am, and I drag my sleepy, growth period ridden self out of bed, still clad in pajamas and grab my robe, in hopes for making it on time to work for the first time in a week. (Did I mention the growth period?)

I open my door. I step outside my room, on way to the bathroom to begin my morning routine when out walks my grandpa, also in his nightclothes, and looking as though he’s just been roused from sleep.

“Ahh. Cyndi. Good I caught you,” he started with. Scared the crap out of me too.

“Uh huh,” I mumbled.

“You’re hard to catch, what with running in and directly going into your room and going to sleep and leaving early for work. You must have gotten home early last night before I got home. Did you leave late for work yesterday?” he asked. I must inquire where he gets his morning pep from because in my experience my grandpa is just about the last morning person I know.

“Yep. Overslept,” I replied, with no enthusiasm to match his. In fact, I’m paying more attention to my bladder, which is just about screaming at me to be released.

“Are you busy? Do you have a minute? I need to ask your opinion on something,” my grandpa asks. Again, with an eagerness that can only be described as a child’s first day for kindergarten.

Knowing that what would follow would only prove to be a lengthy discussion on something that I could care less about for at least twenty minutes, I lean against the hallway closet in hopes of falling back asleep while looking awake and as though I’m paying attention. I replied, “Sure. I have a minute. What’s up?” Wishing that I had not uttered the words I had just said. Wishing I was still in my bedroom in my bed, sleeping and enjoying my sleep.

My grandpa goes on some monologue about my three year old niece’s birthday party that was going to be the next day. Did I know about it? Would I be attending? Did I need him to pick something up for her on my behalf? Did I know if my sister was going or if she knew? All questions answered with polite grunts. Finally, the conversation gets to the point.

“I got Gabi something from Target. I don’t know if she’ll like it. Do you think the gift receipt is okay or should I give her the actual receipt? I paid cash, so if she didn’t like it, she could get anything she wanted with the cash. Target’s gift receipt policy is that she will either need to exchange it or get a gift card for Target. What do you think I should give her?”

Now, I should stop right now and remind everyone that my grandpa likes to ask questions expecting certain responses. When you don’t give him the response he’s looking for, he gets upset with you for not agreeing with him. I have learned quite a few tactics for this through my meditation classes, and most of them have really helped. Body of glass helped particularly this morning.

“I think the gift receipt is fine. It’s Target and I’m sure she can find something there. Besides, they have everything,” I replied. Target is the place where everyone shops. In particular, my brother and sister-in-law love Target. I doubt very seriously they won’t be able to find something for a three year old there.

“But what if Gabi really wants something at Toys R Us? She’s going to be stuck getting something from Target? Didn’t you hear about the return policy?” my grandpa replied with venom. I can tell this is going to be one of those conversations where I can’t win if I agree or disagree.

“Well, then give her both? That way she’ll be covered,” I replied, thinking that if I give him the answer that allows him to do either, he has to cut this conversation short. Besides, we’ve already spent a bit of time on this conversation and the conversation regarding where Office Depot has moved. As though I constantly spend time at office supply stores. I don’t, in case you’re wondering.

“I’m always cautious about getting the kids presents. The garage sale last year makes me really skeptical about getting presents for people. I saw all of these birthday and Christmas presents being sold for nickels on the dollar,” my grandpa replies.

I nod. In reality I think my grandpa has not taken into consideration that most children’s toys are recycled within six months of purchase because of how quickly children grow out of toys. Also, I think people in general tend to “clean house” on a fairly regular basis. Hence the garage sale.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

“I think the gift receipt is sufficient. Personally, I think it will be fine,” I replied, now irritated. I mean, honestly, it’s not even 8 am and he’s ambushing me with conversations that are not just pointless but also causing me to be even later for work.

“But you’re not agreeing with me,” my grandpa said, clearly beginning to get angry because I’m not giving him the answer I want.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t agree with you. I think that the gift receipt is fine. I don’t think the original receipt is necessary.”

“Well, you’re no use to me,” my grandpa replied.

I chuckle to myself. I mean, really? You have hijacked me first thing in the morning while I am going to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. Two things I have been waiting all morning to do. Plus I need to get to work before mid-day.

“Umm, I’m sorry?” I replied.

“No, no. I was just hoping you’d agree with me. That’s all. I’ll let you get ready for work,” my grandpa said. It’s music to my ears.

As I walk to my bathroom, I hear him mumbling to himself about receipts.

Coming out of the bathroom, I prepare myself for more bombardment of questions, but luckily I make it to the point of getting breakfast before he begins again.

“I hate wrapping presents that aren’t square. I really shop for box like items to make it easy to wrap. Do you think putting it into this box will make it look too big?” he asked, while showing me a box that could easily fit my niece into.

“Nope, Grandpa, I think that’ll be okay.”

He doesn’t seem convinced. I continue to finish up my morning.

I leave for work without much more conversation, running about 20 minutes late.

So, what happened? Well, my mom printed out the return policy for Target just in case my brother and sister-in-law can’t take the items to Target, assuming my niece does not actually want them, and ask what the return policy is. Incidentally, my mom forgot the policy at the house, though she really did print them off. My grandpa gave my niece both the gift receipts and the regular receipt. No idea if my niece actually liked the presents. In fact, I don’t even know if my grandpa noticed when she unwrapped the presents. He seemed more preoccupied with letting my sister-in-law know that there was a receipt.

My sister and I have joked that my grandpa sometimes will ask questions to just get an opinion from you regardless if you agree with him. Sometimes I think he’s just trying to make conversation and is lonely. Regardless, it’s often frustrating for me because his timing just isn’t good. When I just wake up or am trying to go to bed. In fact, if you would like to have a sit down conversation with me, let me know ahead of time, and I will happily sit down for a cup of tea and chat, but expecting me to just be ready to chat anytime I walk through the door is hard. But, really, its just another day with my grandpa.

Xoxo,
Cyn

Irrational Irritations

2009-02-27T13:19:00.000-08:00

VPL - Visible Panty Lines - Ladies, they make thongs, they make seamless underwear, or go commando.

White bras with white shirts - Hi. Have you heard of a nude bra? Especially if you have gotten a boob job. I don't want to see just what kind of VS bra you bought. Unless we are at a lingerie party, I don't really need to see the bra.

Faded black jeans - I have problems with black jeans to begin with. But faded ones? Wow.

People who, while on BART, don't make space for other people. If there is a space next to you but you have deemed it worthy only for your suitcase/ purse/ bag, I will politely ask you to move said object so that I may sit down. I'm not trying to be a bitch. I actually think you're a bitch for putting your shit there in the first place when the train is full. Oh and all those people who feel that they are "entitled" to a seat. You aren't entitled to shit in my book if you aren't pregnant, elderly or handicapped. Just because you are older than me doesn't mean I should stand.

Passing off the blame and responsibility. My grandfather (yes, the toilet flushing one) always told me to blame someone else if I could. I think he was joking, but every time someone asks me to do something that is clearly their responsibility, I am taken a back. Yes. I will house-sit, dog-sit, baby-sit for you. I will even clean up after myself, the animals and the children. I will not clean your entire house top to bottom. This wasn't in my job description. Luckily, I have weeded out everyone who expected this of me.

Nit-picking. I am so sick of the nit-picking that is occurring in my life. Everywhere I turn, someone is telling me why something isn't good enough. The world isn't perfect. I'm sure as fuck not perfect, nor do I aspire to be. I am, however, very human. I'm prone to mistakes. I will miss things. Pointing them out will not "help" me next time. It will just make me never want to do that again. For you.

Not knowing whether I can mention something to my boss or higher up that I saw on Facebook. Subsequently, this has actually become quite the conversation starter in my office in the lunch room. Not knowing if it's okay to ask someone about the movie they saw last night that I learned about because of Facebook.

Facebook. I hate it. I love it. I love to hate it. I know everything that is going on in people's lives. I don't think I should know that much about anyone.

Professional contacts who's life stories I know. If I spend more time emailing or talking to you on the phone about personal things then I do work, schedule a drink date with me. I work to get things done. Not to hear about your life story.

People who heart face time. Personally, an email will suffice. In fact, I dread even the phone ringing. I'm not quite sure why. I think because when I'm at work I just want to get stuff done. I like being in my own world, completing projects. Fuck. I would've made an excellent computer nerd.

Radio personalities that reference social networking media. I don't care that you Tweet.

xoxo,
Cyn

Rutger's Personal Statement

2009-02-22T17:13:00.000-08:00

Well... Hopefully most of you know by now that I got into Rutgers University for my PhD in the Childhood Studies Program. Below is my personal statement. A lot of you have asked to read it. I have to say, I must have done something right since it looks as though I'm getting a full ride.

xoxo,
Cyn

When I was eight years old, Saturday morning cartoons were the one thing I looked forward to every week. By seven a.m. I would be in our family living room watching the latest that ABC had to offer. There was one Saturday morning that reverberates through my mind on an almost daily basis. On this particular morning I had woken up earlier than normal and set out to watch my cartoons. Instead of cartoons, I was assaulted with a highly effective “Save the Children” like campaign that was pleading for money for children in Africa. Rather then seeing colorful antics of the Road Runner and Bugs Bunny, children who had not eaten on a regular basis, who didn’t have the luxury of medical attention filled the screen. That morning I learned what neglect looked like and what poverty truly was. That day I told my parents I would change the world.

It has taken me many years to understand what changing the world means to me. Until I was 21 I thought it would be through child and adolescent psychology but a year abroad in Australia and a woman by the name of Dr. Helen Lee changed that. While studying in Australia, I attended a class titled “Childhood and Culture” taught by Dr. Helen Lee. This class was the first to open my eyes to the lack of children in anthropology and learned that children exist in very different contexts from the way that I was raised. It was in Australia that I first became interested in furthering my education in the form of graduate school. Where Psychology was able to explain the levels of development of childhood and adolescence, it neglected to take on the voice of the child that anthropology so naturally lends itself to do to groups of individuals. Specifically, children’s voices and opinions on their own experiences have been neglected in the Anthropological record. Instead, often what is recorded is the opinion and voice of either the adults of the culture or the ethnographers themselves. In true idealistic fashion, I began to research children and childhood through an international lens constantly searching for their voice. What I found was often haunting, disbelieving and alarming. Children throughout the world were not being given the opportunity to be children or experience childhood in the “western” sense. It was little wonder that their voice was missing. Instead, they were being trafficked as sex slaves, used as child soldiers, denied education and married off long before would be acceptable in the United States. Finally I found an outlet to help children. I wanted to give them a voice to share their experiences. More importantly I wanted to understand the cultural construction of childhood.

Recently, there has been a new surge in my inspiration. After reading the book, Sold by Patricia Mccormick, I have been inspired to focus on children sexually trafficked throughout the world. Prior to reading the book, I had minimal background on the international child sex trade from my classes and the news, but had not been able to understand the experience through a child’s point of view. Sold opened my eyes to one small girl’s plight into the sex trade. In particular, my interest has been piqued to research how these children miss out on their childhood and are often forced to become adults far sooner then they would in the “western world”. While there are many organizations in the world who are currently focusing on the sex traffic trade and other area of interest in regards to children – such as child soldiers – I feel that a large part of what appears to be missing is not only giving children a voice from which to express themselves, but also a way to change the current “norms” that allow the sex trade to occur within particular parts and cultures throughout the world.

My previous academic research experience has taught me the importance of accurate, reliable research. At the University of California at Riverside I actively sought out projects and studies that interested me most, which often included the study of children and adolescents. During college, I worked with Dr. Tia Kim on a study examining the link between identity and aggression among a group of ethnically diverse, low-income adolescents. I was involved in collecting and entering data. In addition, I participated in manuscript preparation and had the opportunity to attend the American Psychological Association conference and the Society for Research on Adolescence conference to present the findings of the study. We found through our research that an aggressive personal identity had the strongest relations with aggression, both as a predictor and as an outcome. Although, I found this research interesting, it also taught me that psychological research may not fully capture notions of childhood. This research, coupled with my experiences in Australia and independent study, reminded me that anthropology was the field where I would be most able to help children. Thus, I was drawn towards studying children and childhood through an anthropological lens, since anthropology explores and analyzes people’s feelings, thoughts, concerns, and opinions, whereas psychology merely records the phenomena.

My academic interests and goals in children are twofold. My first academic goal is to study childhood as a cultural construction and how these cultural constructions affect children’s rights. Because children are defenseless, dependent and innocent, their most basic human rights, such as the right to medical attention and the rights over their body, are often denied. I would like to search for themes that occur in the constructions of childhood that either promote or inhibit children’s rights. Primarily I would like to compare rural Southeast Asia to a developed country such as the United States or Australia. It would perhaps be even more significant if there were no underlying themes to childhood and children’s rights. Similar to how Psychology relies on stages of development to explain childhood, Anthropology could have underlying themes in which to understand childhood in regards to children’s rights.

My second academic goal is to study how the effect of cultural constructions of childhood on children’s rights affects the child sex trade. Children who have been forced into the sex trade are often denied many basic rights, most importantly their right to be a child and not a slave. My primary interest is to ascertain children’s thoughts and feelings about the sex trade to gain an understanding on how the sex trade has affected not only their rights but their childhood as well. In particular, I would like to focus on children from Nepal who have been forced into the sex trade or been affected by the sex trade and children from a developed country, who may be unaware that the sex trade occurs.

There are several obvious challenges with these goals. The first is creating a culturally relevant scale for what cultures deem as childhood. Acts, rituals, rites of passage and age will largely constitute this scale. Ethnographic interviews will also help supplement these scales. The second would be creating a children’s rights scale and find what each culture deems as violating and promoting children’s rights. Another challenge would be accessing and working with children in Nepal, where they are often frightened of outsiders and scared of the consequences of communicating with outsiders. Lastly, the largest struggle would be to create ways to determine children’s thoughts and feelings in regards to childhood and the child sex trade. This could be especially challenging when dealing with developed countries where the child sex trade is not discussed and in countries where there is a language barrier. These obstacles cannot easily be ignored and both methodology and consent from parents would need to be highly prioritized.

My professional goals are also twofold. My first goal is to continue to fight for children’s rights on an international level. I believe that by giving children a voice in which to tell their experiences, the world would begin to understand what it means to be a child in various parts of the world and how culture affects their experiences of childhood. This would require more then just handing a microphone to a child. Instead, it would involve protecting their right to that voice and educating the world, and more importantly its children, on what experiences, challenges and responsibilities an eight year old in Nepal faces versus an eight year old in Australia, whose experience of childhood are bound to be different. There are organizations in the world who help facilitate this already, but many organizations are often wrought in religion, and while they bring much hope and good to cultures throughout the world, through clean water, education, shelter and food, they often change core values of the culture almost to the point where older generations within a culture hardly recognize the newer generations.

My second professional goal is to implement ways to prevent and abolish the child sex trade. While there are many institutes who are currently working towards this purpose, it appears that something large is preventing these groups from being successful. It would appear that a combination of education to both children and parents, quality of living changes and medical attention would work towards the prevention and abolishment of child sex trade.

My pursuit to further my education has led me to explore the doctoral program in Childhood Studies at Rutgers University. Upon speaking with Dr. Dan Cook and learning more about the Childhood Studies program, I feel that this program will fit my wants and needs for academia perfectly. The interdisciplinary feel the program has taken on would allow me to have the growth and fulfillment of looking at my research goals from different perspectives that I would not otherwise find in a traditional anthropology program. More narrowly, I feel that the work of Dr. Myra Bluebond-Langner closely parallels my academic and professional goals. Through email correspondence, I feel that she would make an excellent advisor who would be able to challenge my thinking and perceived notions. More importantly, I feel that Dr. Bluebond-Langner’s perspective on children, childhood and her methodologies bring a fresh tone to the study of children, childhood, childhood studies and anthropology.

By attending a doctoral program, I will be able to expand my knowledge in the fields of childhood studies and anthropology. I will be able to further my studies of children, childhood and children’s experiences. Moreover, I will be able to impact both children’s rights and the anthropological record.

Flushing a Toilet

2009-01-26T20:18:00.000-08:00

Last week I came home late one night, exhausted from a week of work, followed by babysitting and the all out need to just sleep. Below is the events that took place both during and after babysitting.

While babysitting, I get a text message from my sister giving me the heads up that my grandpa needs to show me something in her room. (The babysitter came that night so she didn't know what it was regarding.) I brainstorm on all the possible reasons he would need to show me something in sister's room. One, it's not my room, nor my stuff, and two, why is he in my sister’s room to begin with?

Well...

Wait for it...

It's about the TOILET. Yes, that's right, ladies and gentlemen, my grandfather once again is going to lecture me about the toilet. And I say lecture because growing up I was lucky enough to have parents who only felt the need to tell me things once (assuming I understood it) and moved on. But tonight I learned the true definition of lecture. And before I continue, let me take a quick moment to clarify that this conversation has come up before, that this is something both my sister and I know about and that a simple reminder would have sufficed. In fact, my sister wondered if the following was what he had to "show me".

So, now that you have the background, let me bring you to the setting. I get home from babysitting, tired, exhausted, wanting nothing more then my sleep music, my bed, PJs and my book. I don't even want to be bothered with trying to catch up on email or television. Upon arriving at home, slightly anticipating the bombardment that comes with coming home late, I find out that my grandpa is in the bath.

A sigh of relief comes over me. The day of work has been long, with many meetings, many explanations needed and far too much nitpicking. The evening has been short, with the laughter and tears of children and working to get through the mountain of work emails that could not be attended to while at work. Excited that I may just get out of the "showing", I quickly get ready for bed. Not ten minutes after being in bed, there is a quick knock on the door and the ever present-

"Cyndi, are you home?" It's Grandpa. "Yep. Just getting ready for bed," I reply, ever so sleepy. "Do you have a minute? I need to show you something," the voice on the other side of the door says.

Now, in my experience with living in my current housing situation, "a minute" often equates to a minimum of 15 minutes and a maximum of an hour. Nothing ever takes "just a minute" and everything is "urgent".

"Sure, Grandpa. Give me a few minutes," I reply and then proceed to drag myself out of bed, find my robe and take a moment to breath before I venture off into the world of my grandpa. He prefaces this interaction with, "Now, I'm not trying to make mountains out of mole hills here, this is a big deal." Curious, I follow. What could be such a big deal that at 10 o'clock at night on a Thursday night that I am dragged from my bed? Has there been a break in? Has there been a crack on the wall? Did someone accidently leave a curling iron on or the iron plugged in? (And to put your mind at ease, both my sister and I unplug all hair appliances after turning them off when we are done using them.)

No. No break-ins. No ants. No new cracks on the walls. Nothing is destroyed. No. I have been pulled from my bed to have a lecture on the toilet. Let us take a moment and reflect on the house that I live in. It is approximately 50 years old, and almost everything in it is probably 50 years old, including the toilets. The toilet in the master bedroom is a bit tricky. Sometimes, if you aren't careful, it "runs". Understandably, both my sister and I have been made aware of this and been asked to keep and ear out for it. Now, for some, a simple reminder of "the toilet was running when I woke up this morning. Please be careful. It would be awful if it ran and overflowed." would be sufficient in making the point regarding the bathroom. Instead, the following occurs.

I now know how a toilet works in regards to the flusher and the stopper in the tank. Make no mistake. I am 26 years old and lived in a house that had a problematic bathroom. I have stayed at many people's houses that have problematic bathrooms. I have plungered my fair share of toilets and tubs. I know how to stop the flusher in the tank, how to prevent overflowing toilets from occurring and how to deal with one if it happens. However, tonight I learned exactly how the mechanism in the toilet works. I learned this 3 times. When you press the flusher, you should only hold it down for a second. In fact, your finger should be off the flusher before it comes all the way back up. If you hold the flusher down, the stopper in the tank stays open. When this occurs, the water pressure builds up under the stopper and the stopper will not close again until the flusher is pushed again. Holding down the flusher is wrong. This was explained to me twice.

On the third explanation I got a little bit testy and said, "Yes, I understand. The stopper will stay up because of the water pressure." (I may have been horrible at physics, but I understand the basics.) To which I get an equally testy response of, "I'm explaining it several times to make sure you understand. If the toilet runs and is backed up, it could flood the house. Then the carpets would have to be repaired, the floorboards replaced and it could cost $25,000-$35,000." This I understand. That would really suck in regards to a house that is not mine. In fact, that would suck for anyone who was not anticipating a major house remodel. And come to think of it, it could potentially be one of the worst things that could happen to a house. Who wants to come home to a wet carpet and thousands of dollars worth of damage?

So, I smile and say, "I understand. Yeah. That would be bad. I will be sure to make sure the flusher doesn't get held down." Sadly, this is not the end of what is already a long lecture. The conversation continues in regards to my grandpa's need to tell my sister, who will be responsible for telling the babysitter and Devin ("If he flushes the toilet himself." How would I know?) So, just when I think this conversation is over with, and we are leaving the bedroom, he proceeds to go into a fourth explanation showing me in his bathroom. Finally, after what seems like longer than "just a minute", I am free to go back to my bedroom, but not before I get one last reminder to be careful "with the flusher".

I don't tell this story to mock my grandpa, nor do I tell it because I am frustrated and annoyed. No. I tell you this because this brings me a high range of amusement. Growing up, we constantly had problems with the upstairs bathroom toilet. I remember being reminded to be wary of it and to be aware of it. A plunger was always there "just in case" and I believe I was taught by my dad how to plunge the toilet. Maybe not. Maybe I used common sense. I won't lie. By the third explanation I was very much annoyed and "done" that I was dragged out of bed to be taught something that I thought I understood at age 26. And, ironically, I think in the beginning I was told to hold the flusher down until the water had completely left the toilet bowl, but I may have been mixed up. This toilet issue hasn't come up in a long time, so it was definitely due. And if this is the worst interaction this week or month with my grandpa, then I will count my lucky stars. From an outsider’s perspective, I think the entire thing would have been hysterical. Having witnessed it myself and been a part of it, I can laugh (after the fact because at the time it would have been deeply inappropriate at the time.) But mostly I respect the fact that it is his house and his rules. I am lucky enough to be living rent free and if a little toilet talk is what I have to endure, so be it. Now, lets hope that my sister can have the same attitude when she is explained how to flush a toilet.

xoxo,
Cyn

PS And in regards to being taught something 3 times. This is not how I learn. In fact, this is how I learn to ignore what someone is saying. I am very much a one to two time learner. After that, if you are drilling it into my head, I can become resentful and annoyed, which would explain my being testy. Also, if someone feels the need to explain it to me a third time, I assume they would like for me to explain it back to them to make sure I understand. This, in fact, is one of the best teaching mechanisms out there. It's the best way to test a person. But no. Not in my current world, which I find both disturbing and odd.

3 Years Later

2008-10-26T20:12:00.000-07:00

3 years. 1095 days. Doesn't seem like a long time but in other ways it feels like an eternity. Regardless, I have learned a lot in those three years. More than some, less than others. I've learned the people I can always count on and how few there are in my world, but how lucky I am to have those few. I have learned that I am only as strong as I perceive myself to be. I've learned to trust and believe in myself again. I've learned to make goals and plans for myself and have hopes and dreams again, knowing that our hopes and dreams were shattered three years ago.

But none of this means that I have forgotten you or any of the memories that we share together. Some days I sit and wonder what paths our lives would have taken if fate had been different to us. Would we be married by now? Would I already be in grad school?

But instead I continue on my own way, promising myself to stop every once in a while and try to remember to stop to smell the roses. Trying to remember all the words of wisdom you have parted to me. Most recently I was reminded that I just plain expect too much from people. And while this still holds true on even my best day, I'm learning to cut everyone just a little bit of slack.

Things I miss - Disneyland, dinners, Sunday mornings, Nintendo the Mustang, movies, polos, shopping, road trips, Florida, my parent's house graduation, cleaning together, your laugh, geekiness, laughter, planning our future, driving down the coast or up to the mountains on a whim, the way you always made me feel like I was the only one in your universe that truly mattered, Legos, 3D puzz, Brea Tar Pits, museums, double dates, City of Hope.

Anna and I talked about how it was harder this year in ways then has been in the past years. We both admit that a part of that is that others have forgotten. Another part of it is that everyone thinks you should be over things like this by now. But grief is an interesting thing. It doesn't stop just because you ask it to nicely. It doesn't fade into the background because you don't have time to deal with it. It takes on new forms. Most recently that of aggression, anger, and confusion. Sadness comes in from time to time, ebbing and flowing like a slow wave, but is manageable. Knowing that its grief sometimes makes it more bearable, other times I still want to scream.

I will always miss you. I will always wonder. I will always hope.

Work & Bathroom Etiquette

2008-08-19T14:58:00.000-07:00

There is something about the bathrooms at work that continue to gross me out. I have no problem going to the bathroom at BART or at a dive bar. But when it comes to work there are a few things that drive me insane.

Please don't brush your teeth at work. I get it. You want clean teeth. But I don't want to see you brushing your teeth, hear you while I try to pee in peace, or smell your toothpaste while I'm trying to wash my hands.
Please don't talk to me once I've gone into the stall. It's just awkward and I get performance anxiety. Furthermore, please don't wait for me once you are done. Just because we came in together doesn't mean we need to leave together. We're not out with friends, on a double date, or at a show. I can walk back to my desk by myself. I'm a big girl. I've learned how to pee on my own. I'm sure I can find the door.
If it needs to be flushed twice, do it. No one else wants to know what you have going on for the day.
Wash your hands! Even if you don't normally do it at home or if no one else is in the bathroom, have the courtesy of doing it when I'm in the bathroom with you.
Please don't talk on your phone. In fact, please don't even take your phone into the bathroom to begin with. Yes. I know a cell phone has more germs on it then the toliet seat, but in reality I don't want to hear you talking or texting. It grosses me out and makes me start wondering how many of my friends call and text me from the bathroom at work. And if you do that, please don't tell me.
If you know someone's got to be in the bathroom for a while, please don't prolong your stay. Again, it's awkward for most people. They are public restrooms and have some respect.

I'm sure I've broken my above rules on more then one occasion, but please have courtesy for the work bathroom.

xoxo,
Cyn

If I Could, I Would

2008-07-28T22:08:00.000-07:00

Jayme gave this to me as an exercise a year ago. Not much has changed from it.

If I Could I Would…

If I could, I would make a contribution to this world. If I could, I would make sure that no child would be subjected to slavery, sexual abuse, abuse of any sort, early marriage, rape, or any sort of bad thing that exists in the world.

If I could, I would move out of the United States, most likely to Australia. There, I would travel as much as possible. Understand the culture from every angle. Enjoy the slowing down of life.

If I could, I would travel to every state in the United States, understanding what makes each one unique in this melting pot we call America. I would understand why at the end of the day each of us truly is an American.

If I could, I would travel to every continent in the world. Again, learning the uniqueness of the world, and how each person contributes to their society.

If I could, I would get my PhD at an Ivy League. I would show the world that one person can make a difference. I would show everyone that what starts as a thought when you're only thirteen can make a difference when you're thirty three. I'd show the world that anyone can overcome any financial difficulty and hardship.

If I could, I would work for the United Nations. I would help set policy for Children's Rights internationally. My ideas would be understood and accepted. Gone are the days where children have no voice.

If I could, I would finish a Full Ironman. Not in record time, but finish and show people that an athlete is more than someone with muscles and a lean body. I'd show the world that an athlete is someone with drive, dedication, and the ability to finish what they have started.

If I could, I would cure all blood cancers, and all cancers in general. I would make sure that no person in the world would have to lose someone to cancer. I would even cure AIDS and every other horrible disease that's out there.

If I could, I would take all the hurt and pain from the world and abolish it to the ends of the earth. I would help people understand their mistakes. They could start putting themselves outside their bodies and understand why they treat some people the way they do.

If I could, I would make every person in this world as honest as a two year old child. Honesty is too often lost in the translations. No longer would people be spared their feelings. Instead, they would learn from other people's honesty.

If I could, I would teach a class to high school students on the importance of college, and another to college students on what the real world is like. From the time we're walking, we're told we can do anything in this world. When we enter the real world, at whatever age that may be, we quickly learn that without money, it's almost impossible to reach the goals you have. And worse yet, without the right people, you have an even harder time overcoming the lack of money.

If I could, I would learn the value of money.

If I could, I would finish every craft I've ever started. Boredom and lack of creativity would not longer hinder me. My scrapbooks would all be complete, including the ones that take us all the way up to my vacations this year.

If I could, I would just run until my legs gave out.

If I could, I would find a new challenge everyday in my life. I would never be bored. I'd always have something to look forward to.

If I could, I would write. I would write all the stories that I've had stored in my head for far too many years. I would no longer care what other people thought of my writing. I would win awards and short stories would show up in every magazine.

If I could, I would just do.

The Post-College class I wish I could teach

2008-07-17T22:25:00.000-07:00

Anna and I have joked over the years that we'd like to teach a post-college class on what to do with your life. Over the past two years, and through two jobs, this idea has become more and more appealing. Most recently, I've decided that there would be a whole lecture about resumes. Below is what would be covered.

Making your resume look like a word doc isn't actually a good thing. It lacks creativity and the ability to think outside the box. Esp when word GIVES you templates. Just type and go, ladies and gents. Type and go.
Please don't list your "hobbies", "communication skills", or "personal strengths". If you can't find a more creative way to tell us these "important' things about you, we probably don't want you working for us anyways.
Qualify your "experience". Is it work experience? Is it volunteer? Did you just decide that your resume looked a little bleak and maybe you should add a bit more?
Symmetry is your friend. Typing everything out so that the page is no longer appealing to the eye means that I'm not going to pass your resume along. No really. You will be cut before I remember your name.
You've graduated college. Go ahead and take more than a page. You can do it. The world won't hate you. But three pages may be a bit excessive. (This is purely based on industry standards. It's different for everyone. NPOs, we dont' mind the second page.)
Lastly, I could care less what jobs or "experiences" you had in high school. Unless you saved the world, cured cancer, or cloned sleep, chances are you have attained more skills elsewhere.
Oh, and most importantly, ATTACH AN F'ING cover letter. You're not 20 anymore. We need to know why you want to work here, what you can bring to the table that your lame ass resume isn't telling me, and what you expect in terms of compensation.

I will continue to keep you posted on the curriculum. Please forward all questions regarding your resume to CyndiMaurer@gmail.com.

xoxo,
Cyn

Being an adult

2008-06-05T21:08:00.000-07:00

About two weeks ago, I started looking through my cell phone and realized that I have unintentionally included everyone's last name. While I scrolled through the list and deleted people who I haven't spoken to in months, or can't even remember why I know them, I also started to notice how my friends don't tend to vary in name. I have 4 Matts, Kristens, 2 Trish's, a few Emilys and Debbies, and a slew of names that are just repeated endlessly. Were our parents so cookie cutter that they couldn't even come up with unique names? And if no unique names, why not unique spelling? I mean, I take pride on spelling my name Cyndi Michielle. Blame the spellings on my parents. Well the Cyndi was more my choice, but the Michielle was all my mom. And yet almost everyone in my phone's name is so similar and one of many, it makes me want to find exceptionally unique names for my kids. But then, will they be made fun of? But the point was that I finally realized I was an adult. It's an odd standard but there is something about needing to know everyone's last name and how to spell it that just screams adulthood to me. So, ladies and gents, it's official. I am an adult.

xoxo,

Cyn