*This is part of a series in which I share posts from the Xanga I kept from November 2004 – May 2009. (Senior in high school – senior in college.)


Tuesday, March 21, 2006

I had an unfortunate encounter yesterday with an undercooked hot dog. It was just one of those meals where nothing was going right, you know? The hot dog was cold, I was much too liberal with the ketchup, and the bun was cut unevenly in such a way that it refused to hold the wiener, let alone all the ketchup. After a while I looked down at the hot dog, my napkins, myself, my life, and just gave up. It looked a lot like my food and I had engaged in a bloody massacre and the hot dog had been victorious.

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^An awesome illustration that my friend Alona later created for me

“There’s ketchup on your boob,” Ina informed me. “And it’s too bad,” she proceeded to explain, “Because that’s a really cute shirt, and if the ketchup were anywhere else you could just put water on it and let it dry, but instead you have to change shirts completely, because if you put water there it will look like you’ve been breast-feeding.” Thanks, Ina.

Yesterday in lecture the professor asked a question and pointed and called on “the girl in the black Northface jacket.” I half-expected every girl in the class to all respond to the question in unison, and was a little disappointed when this didn’t happen.

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^My drawing of all college girls circa 2006

In a paper I wrote for my social work class, I made reference to “a girl who lives on my floor.” My teacher circled the word “girl,” wrote the word “woman,” and told me to watch the sexist language.

So, I’m watching it.


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