The Adventures of Sally the Slut and Bam Bam

Warning! This post is rated PG-13 for brutal honesty and loud moaning!

So I haven't mentioned Sally the Slut yet. And I should, considering the important role she plays in my life. Sally the Slut is the girl a neighbor of mine, the aforementioned Bam Bam, has recently begun having obnoxiously loud sex with. I could be nice and say that they are in a committed relationship, but we are talking about Sally the Slut. All they do is have sex. And I have my doubts that he is the only one she is currently boinking.

So I was not the first to christen Sally with her moniker. Apparently she was picked out and marked for what she was within the first days of her being on campus. Not only has she been around the block a few times, she has apparently become known far and wide as the campus bicycle; everyone has had a ride, and now it's Bam Bam's turn.

Oh, by the way. She's a freshman. He is a senior. Which makes all of this that much more unpalatable.

Now I have the unfortunate luck to live in the general vicinity of these two. She has, much to the resentment of everyone who lives in this house, practically moved in. No one likes her. Especially the ones who have to hear the two of them go at it. The first time she spent the night I was woken out of a dead sleep convinced that there was an earthquake. But then I heard the moaning. Screaming, actually. And she's… a talker. She says… things… and at that volume you can't help but listen.

And then there is Bam Bam, who, of course, lives up to his name. I am lulled to sleep by very rhythmic, earnest thumping on a nearly nightly basis. He's very focused. So focused, in fact, that he doesn't seem to realize that he's beginning to rival Sally the Slut with the screaming. So I like to mess with him. Just when he gets into a rhythm I jump on my bed sporadically to throw him off beat. It works.

And things get worse. Somewhere along the line, Sally the Slut picked up at least a few unsavory diseases. So when Bam Bam suddenly came down with mono, everyone looked to her. And guess what? She had it too. So much for monogamy. Share and share alike, I guess. Spread the love. And now I have to listen to them have sex and take breaks to hack up a lung. Lovely.

Don't get me wrong. I don't look in people's bedroom windows, and I don't want people looking into mine. But when you are that… exuberant… what do you expect?

So after an impromptu meeting of the "Shut up Sally the Slut, and move your bed off the wall Bam Bam" society, several neighbors and concerned citizens have offered the following solutions to our little problem:

1. Hang a roll of duct tape on the door with a post-it note that reads "Put over both of your mouths, then have sex."
   
2. Start a collection to buy a used ball gag on eBay, then nail it to Bam Bam's door. This should be self-explanatory.
   
3. Get a muzzle and matching dog tag engraved with "obey local leash laws and muzzle your bitch" (my person favorite).
   
4. Add saltpeter to everything they eat and drink.
   

I welcome any suggestions you may have. Feel free to add your own solutions, the wilder the better.

At this point, all bets are off.

Want more? Come and get it!

This is not my first foray into the blogging world. In fact, I kept a blog for several months as part of a gender and pop culture class a while ago. I hated it at the time (technologically savvy I am not). But after a few posts… I was hooked. Looking back, I think the class was a rewarding experience; you never realize how much pop culture messed with your mind until you really sit down and think about it. Scary stuff.

So… like intellectual critiques on the genderization of children? Think Barbie is a misogynist puppet used to destroy self esteem? Wonder why models and celebrities can be so screwed up and still be so popular?

Then come and get your fill of thoughtful social commentary at "Barbie bashing and other varsity sports!"

http://genderandpopculture.blogspot.com/

All you need is love…

Nothing has changed. No new news about the graduate programs, no idea what I am going to do. I don't know what school I'll go to, where I'll live or what my next step is. I feel numbed. I am totally crushed. This is nothing like I imagined. I never thought I'd be so conflicted and confused; I was hoping it'll all just magically work out wonderfully and that would be the end of it.

If there's anything I hate, it's not having a plan.

So, because I can't deal with all of this right now, I have been spending my time doing… well, nothing really. I haven't been doing anything. I had a few days off from my internship (thank God for state holidays) and I have spent the time napping, watching TV and snacking. I probably now official classify as a vegetable, mostly likely a potato of the couch variety. But I only feel marginally guilty. I am sure I should be doing something productive, but I like naps so much better. And I have a wicked cold, so I really do need some rest.

But I did manage to rouse myself out of bed for Valentine's Day. Ok, so Super Boy prodded me along. He's much more romantic than I am; if I had my way, anyone who celebrated Valentine's Day would be boiled in their own champagne and buried with a long stem rose through their heart. But not Super Boy. He takes things seriously. A dozen and a half roses. Dinner at PF Chang's. A very sweet card. And, my personal favorite, an owl shaped bath mitt covered in hearts.

Bizarre? Yes. Perfect? You bet.

You see, I may not be a big fan of the whole Valentine's Day thing, but I needed it. In the middle of this grad school debacle I needed to be reminded that there are more important things in my life. And for someone who gets very wrapped up and consumed by things that can't be control, the reminder is a good thing.

What more do I really need? I've got Super Boy.

The Good, the Bad, and the Confusing

I hardly know where to begin. Just when I had resigned myself to playing the waiting game as grad schools considered my applications, everything has sped up to a frenetic pace. Suddenly so many things have changed that I hardly know whether to be ecstatic or devastated.

The first big chunk of news came last Monday. I was napping after a really, really long day at my internship when I got this phone call. Now, I usually just turn off my phone and let anyone who wants to talk to me leave a message, but I was with Super Boy at the time, and he has this weird theory about cell phones. When they ring, he answers. Or, in this case, pokes me in the ribs and makes me answer.

And then suddenly there is this graduate coordinator, a real big shot in the criminology community, asking me how I am, if I'm not too busy to talk for a bit, would I have a few minutes to spare. I think I mumbled something. He might be a criminal justice institution, but he woke me up. He'll just have to deal with me half conscious. And as I begin to full understand what is happened, I realize he is saying things like "very excited," "hugely impressed," "teaching assistantship," "Presidential Fellowship," and "full tuition." And, because I am an IDIOT, I interrupt him and say, "Wait… wait… I'm sorry. What was that? I don't… what? You mean I'm in? Seriously?"

I am such a tool.

But yes, not only was I in, I was being offered the world. Tuition, fees, a salary, a shot at a prestigious fellowship. Out of everyone who applied to the school, I was it. I was the one they wanted. I was the homegrown girl, the state born, bred and educated rising star (or so they said, I am still convinced they had the wrong number). The only downside here? There's a clock on the offer. I have until March 13^th. And it's creeping up very quickly.

Now, I applied to four schools. Two are very far away, but my mentor made me apply (they are the two best criminology programs in the nation, so I kind of had to try). The one I just heard from is my back up plan, a safety school that is still one of the top 5 (and the longest established program in the country). But my top choice… it's an Ivy. The only Ivy with a PhD program in criminology. And I want to go there so bad I could cry.

So… now the bad. And the confusing. With the clock ticking on a very attractive offer from my second choice of programs, I needed to ask my first choice what they were thinking. So (with lots of guidance from my mentor) I send an email inquiring as to my current status, if I was in, did they want to meet me, could they give me some kind of clue. Because you see, they don't tell students until March 15^th.

These deadlines are all a game. A test to see how bad you want an offer, how much you really want to go somewhere. I don't play games. Especially head games. So now I am caught in the middle of two schools and I have more questions than answers.

But I didn't get good news from the Ivy. In fact, I don't even know if I got bad news. All I got was a short, nebulous email that really said nothing at all. They said that there were "only two to three applications" they were looking at to see if they "fit available faculty mentoring." What does that even mean? There are only 3 people getting in? Am I one of them? Or are they talking about some kind of assistantship or fellowship? Are they just letting me down easy? I don't know what any of this means, and neither does anyone else I ask.

After waiting so long I suddenly have too much information. How could so much good news be so bad? And what do I do now?

The background story…

So some background information is probably in order. I am a twenty-something criminology major at a pretty selective state school in the mid-Atlantic region (no specifics here, folks). The department of criminology here is… volatile at best. Lots of regime changes, name changes and, I'll admit it, grandfathering in old to make life easier. Apparently I came in just as things began to get straightened out, and I really have thrived here. I have a great mentor, and I have done very well academically (dumb luck mostly). Suddenly I find myself about to graduate and desperately trying to throw together an exit strategy.

Considering I have been spending the majority of the past few months trying to get into PhD programs, I haven't actually searched for jobs. So there is no plan B if plan A falls through. Oops. And, because I am a sucker for punishment, I am also interning at state and federal organization (I'd tell you where, but then I'd have to kill you… no… really). Oh yeah, and I am on the campus EMS squad. And I get sucked into doing all kinds of extra things that are time consuming and make me want to pull my hair out.

So, hi. I'm rozzie bear, a walking ball of over-stressed and overbooked nerves.

But I am lucky in many respects. Firstly, I am pretty darn smart. Not by any real hard work, just good luck and good genes. So the whole grad school thing might be a real possibility. And I have a great family. They're all insane, of course. Family reunions, especially the big holidays, are more like feeding time on the psych ward. But they really are the most loving and supportive (if dysfunctional and gossipy) family around. I may say I'm the lone white sheep in a herd of black ones, but I say it with lots of love… most of the time…

And then there's Super Boy. Super Boy and I met on the first day of college and we have been friends ever since. About two years ago he and I finally got around to dating, and things have never been so good. I know, it sounds disgustingly saccharine. Can't help it though. Even on my worst days (and there are a lot of those) I've got Super Boy to cheer me up, keep me sane and keep me going. Without him I'd probably be even more of a mess than usual.

So there you go. That's me in a nutshell (emphasis on the nut)… So now I just have to figure out what happens next. I probably should do some research… or at least some homework. But no. I'd much rather nap. Oh well. So much for all that drive and ambition.

So about this blogging thing…

I hear it's a kind of catharsis. You know, like you write down all the things that are buzzing around your head and then, by some magical blogging healing powers, you are suddenly cured. I am less then sure about all this, but why not? I figure I need a reason to procrastinate (more than I already do) and why not a blog?

So…about that catharsis… How am I supposed to feel better about moving out, leaving my parents behind, and setting up my life in some nondescript apartment? How am I supposed to juggle a relationship with massive overdoses of homework and research? Who is going to teach me to pay bills? And where am I supposed to get the money to pay them in the first place? I am a college senior without a clue, a plan, and just the barest sense of a prayer. I am figuring it out as I go… and writing it down along the way. I just wish someone had warned me about all this.

When did I suddenly have a life? What is this "responsibility" thing I keep hearing about? Since when am I a grownup?