In this case, I would say, necessary quotations.
In America we have “equal rights” so the Government says although women still get paid a lower salary than males, they still try.
I MISSED IT AGAIN. EVERY FUCKING YEAR. I even ran to my room on the 30th thinking that it was that night, and felt relieved because I still had 24 hours. AND THEN I FORGOT.
Photograph: Kevin Lamarque/Reuters
Snigdha Nandipati wins US National Spelling Bee
The San Diego teenager beat eight finalists to triumph in the National Spelling Bee after studying up to six hours a day - but what was her winning word?
(via huffingtonpost)
I am now a copy editor for West 10th, NYU’s literary magazine!
I didn’t start wearing makeup regularly until I was 18, and before that, save a few “middle school makeovers,” hadn’t worn it at all. I heard that some women couldn’t go a day without it, and this seemed crazy to me. In selfish kid-fashion, I thought, They must be less pretty or something, because I think I look perfectly fine.
Then at some point that’s how I began to feel. My eyes without makeup were small and watery inside my “blob” of a face. That’s a term my boarding school friend came up with and that we both lamented about. We deemed our faces generic and indistinguishable: Our Western European ancestry was successful in wiping them of striking features.
I loved wearing makeup to school because I finally felt “on the same level” as everyone else. But I also hated the inevitable feeling that came when I took it off. My appearance seemed so muted! I hoped no one would see.
When I was 12 and 13, a classmate of mine used to brag about tasting “the natural flavors in fruit” when she went off ALL SUGAR during Lent. I ate Nutty Wafers as I listened to her, regretting nothing. But now, re: makeup, I guess I can see the benefits of “natural beauty.” Or some shit.
As far as the summer goes - they make waterproof mascara, right?
Thanks! :) I’m planning on it. Since summer’s starting, at this point that means harboring more self-control than usual. Neck sweat is gross.
I have a related story: When I was five, my dad saw me lying on my bed and asked what I was doing. I told him I was “thinking about what I’ll be like when I’m 12.” Then, “I’m going to have long hair.” (I did end up having long hair when I was twelve, but not for that reason).
I’ve always liked the idea of having long hair in college as well. And riding a bike. Being a teenager and having long hair and riding a bike. I romanticize that line from The Lovely Bones: From the start, Lindsey’s youth and purpose had caught the police off guard. As more and more of them realized who she was, they gave her a wider berth. Here was this girl, focused, mad, fifteen. Her breasts were like perfect small cups, her legs gangly but curved, her eyes like flint and flower petals.
Using my soon-to-expire 20%-off coupons (and membership discount that really isn’t that high but always tempts me to buy things), I bought these at Barnes and Noble the other day. They’re the first of my “overflow collection,” a stack of books next to the ones on my bookshelves that can’t fit any more.
I was searching for Pulitzers, and came away with two “fanfiction” novels: the rare kind, with talent. March is by Geraldine Brooks (such an author name). I’d heard of it, but had no idea that it was a spin-off of Little Women, which has been one of my favorite books since I was a kid. I also bought Michael Cunningham’s The Hours, which I’d never heard of until this year, when I used Cunningham multiple times in NYU Local “Upcoming Literary Events” articles. I’m so used to writing the sentence “author of The Hours, which was made into a movie starring Meryl Streep and Nicole Kidman…” that it seemed unfair not to buy it. The Hours was Virginia Woolf’s working title for Mrs. Dalloway, and Cunningham uses this and Woolf herself, as a character, in the novel.
And here I thought that the best fanfiction I would ever read was by a Neopets friend who extrapolated on Harry Potter. (Hermione got pregnant, had a miscarriage, then Draco stabbed Pansy Parkinson in the Great Lake with a knife…) Emma’s stuff was actually really, really good. She was three years older than I was, and from England, and ultimately cooler than everyone else I knew. I bet she’s a writer now, but I don’t know her real name.
(Source: paradoxicalsentiments, via monochromaticwinter)
“Gay by May”
Two of my best friends from school surprised me tonight in an ooVoo chat by telling me that they were now girlfriends. I didn’t believe them at first. We joke all the time, and this seemed like one of those moments. And then they kept insisting. And I was shocked and happy and couldn’t stop smiling.
They’re roommates, and also share the same name. It’s a fun part of their friendship, and sometimes a confusing one. Since the beginning of the year, they’ve been super affectionate - holding hands and cuddling a lot - but this made sense, because one of them is like that with everyone. Just naturally giving. (Lots of hugs!) My roommate asked me at least twice last year if my friends were gay, and this was the explanation I gave. I was defensive, telling her that “just because they express love in a physical way” doesn’t necessarily mean they’re gay. I was reminded of an experience I had in middle school when an older girl asked me if my friends - who were walking in front of me, holding hands - were gay. I said forcefully, “No, they’re just best friends.”
It makes me happy that two people who identified as best friends - and still do - are now something more. Admittedly, I used to feel left out sometimes, when they would be cuddling next to me. But now I realize there were things happening I wasn’t aware of. That just proves that I do jump too often to blaming myself, when really situations often have nothing to do with me.
We talked for at least 2 hours. That’s the most fun I’ve had all break, which goes to show a) how much I love them and b) how sucky the last few weeks have been. Going to bed now. Happy, tired, loved, loving.
