Grad School Blues

I've got one month til the majority of my grad school applications are due. I am frustrated. Surely, my chronic procrastination hasn't helped things but, shoot ... everyone I know with an interest in academia is an admitted procrastinator. Some of us are nerds with low-esteem, some of us just fear rejection so we put things off. Some of us creative types can't be contained by time constraints.

I have yet to finish my personal essay(s), which I think will somewhat dictate my recs. Speaking of recommendations, that whole process is screwed up. Unless you apply to graduate school while still in undergrad, I feel like getting a professor on board to recommend you will just amount to an uphill battle. People tell you all the time that you're supposed to participate in class, go to office hours, make sure you have a relationship with your professors. I think I did reasonable of job of setting this up WHILE I was in college. I suck at maintaining relations with my close friends when I'm not around them constantly so, of course, I have not maintained relations with my professors. I wish that I had decided to attend grad school two years ago so, I wouldn't received e-mail replies along the lines of: I knew that you were a good student in my class two/three years ago but, I haven't got a close relationship with you now. Bah.

Advice???????????????????

Year-end reflections

So folks, 2009 is drawing to a close. 2010 is hovering over the horizon, and with it, a whole new decade. I don't know why I didn't realize that a decade was coming to a close with 2010 upcoming but, for some reason, I needed a friend of mine to point this out to me.

Highlights of the new Millennium decade - the '00s:

Graduation from high school
Graduation from college
Reached legal adulthood
Blossoming of great friendships
Learned to drive
Bought my first car
Awesome internship
City living
First job
Supported myself
Introduction to alcohol, and subsequent legal ability to imbibe
Traveled to a land afar (India), a land nearby (Canada) and to states I had never been to
Improved dancing ability
Learned how to dress myself properly (even if I can't afford to do this)
Experimentations
Discovered my writing talent
The birth of Bitch, please

Pretty much everything of interest happened to me after age 13.

As this new decade dawns, I am glad to be alive. I am excited for all the accomplishments that I have yet to undertake.

About two weeks ago, I encountered a life-threatening situation. I was in a car accident (I don't know if that's the correct term here) where miraculously, everything went OK. En route to the Milwaukee airport departing for YouthBuild training in Vegas with a car full of dudes, the SUV I was riding in hit a patch of black ice. Apparently, we were almost struck by another vehicle that decided to pass us at we careened out of our lane. And we very nearly hit a signpost as our skilled driver maneuvered us off the highway and into a ditch. We went down a steep decline and our car spun around, once again miraculously, to face the road.

I had my eyes closed the whole time, somewhat in a state of denial and also praying to any higher power that would listen (I'm not kidding this was my mantra: Jesus, Shiva, Rama, Krishna, Buddha, Allah, Zeus, Jehovah ... really, anyone.) When I opened my eyes, we were all unscathed. The car was a little worse for the wear but, no real damage was done. The guys were able to get the car back on the highway. Though we missed our flight and had to chill in the airport for a good 10 hours (our airlines only flew out twice a day), we still made it to Vegas, alive and well!

I'm not a religious person. I have been struggled with spirituality and faith and all these sorts of issues in the past. I was raised Hindu. Orthodox Hindu with a liberal twist, if that is such a thing. This means my family is super-religious. But I was allowed to eat meat growing up (not beef of course) and I wasn't banned from any sorts of activities that strict people might disallow. I have yet to tell what impact this moment had on me spiritually. That is for the future to reveal.

What I know is this. I am young and as I am in my early 20s, I think it is OK to just want to have fun as long as I respect myself, my family and others around me.

The Bitch is Back ... Again.

The Bitch is me. I know; I am terrible for not updating my blog more frequently. What kind of writer am I?!!

From now on, I'm not going to be all overly ambitious and promise to update daily. I will shoot for weekly and by aiming low, I'm hoping I'll actually be able to meet and surpass my goal.

Yesterday, I attended a book signing by Rockfordian author Kimberla Lawson Roby. While I couldn't hear most of her talk, she did advise some aspiring writer in the crowd that the conscientious writer should compose at least a paragraph a day. Sounds simple but, I wonder how many creative spirits (who are working other jobs in the meanwhile) get around to it. Probably the ones who make something of themselves. I need to learn to be more dedicated to my craft. Lawson knows what she's talking about. Though local, she's a prolific author; when her next book is released this winter, it'll be her third book released in a year. I don't know if my output level will ever be that high but, it's something to strive for.

I don't want to overload this post with all the things that have been floating in my head since last I updated, so I'll keep it relatively short. Here's a run-down: I started my new gig at Rockford YouthBuild. So far, it's been rather uneventful. I'm hoping we get our computers soon so I don't get so distracted sitting under the air vent (it is freezing!) dreaming about being warm all day. I have some projects in the works I plan on busting out soon. Also, I took the GRE and though my math score was abysmal (this despite my hardcore month and change of math cramming), I got my writing score last week and it was on the high end. So when I finally figure out where I want to go and what I want to be, I'll have good enough scores to get in.

It's A Bittersweet Symphony

I've probably used that title before. If so, I apologize. It's just that so many things in life are bittersweet.

Yesterday was my last day at work. As those who follow this blog may know, I never had any intention of staying on at the bank. I just couldn't get anything to work out and I figured that after a dryspell summer I would accept the first decent job I was offered and continue looking in my free time.

And the first weekend I was on the job, I got a call from Entertainment fuckin' Weekly. My dream job. Or my dream internship. It was paid, and it was the in for all that I wanted for the future. And I messed up the sample blog entry I was supposed to write for them. I was just so excited. When I think back on it (I refuse to look back on it), I'm embarrassed at the way I rambled on. Point is, I didn't get the gig. I didn't get any of the jobs I applied for in the 11 months I worked at National City.

At first, I fought it a lot. I wanted to show people that my degree was worth something. I was tired of people mocking journalism, asking me how possibly, I could have a Bachelor of Science in a major that seems so illogical.

After a while, I gave in. It was a steady paycheck. Health insurance. New glasses! A car. A credit card. All the things I needed. And I liked my bosses, save for our Friday morning meetings, I enjoyed chatting with them. They thought I was smart, meant to advance in the company... if I stuck around. I cultivated relationships with my coworkers. I grew to think of us a somewhat dysfunctional work family. In the months that followed the break-up of our family, I grew very close to my work sisters. I don't have much of a life in Rockford. I have my group of friends, and I love them but, I hope to keep in touch with my work buddies, so even though I'm not associated with work, we can still be buddies.

Now, I definitely won't miss our customers. Well, a handful maybe, some sweet old ladies and some interesting folks. But I will say one thing, we had a lot of characters. They make for great stories and one day, I hope to compile these tales into my tell-all novel, Behind the Teller Line.

I always imagined that leaving Southgate would be one of the happiest days of my year. And it's true that I was happy. Moving on to bigger and better things. (I hope!) But still, things are a bit uncertain. I feel like I did when I graduated. One chapter closed. Another one not yet written. And that's both exciting and scary at the same time. I haven't yet received my itinerary for training next week. Though I have my training cofirmation, it's strange not to know what exactly I'll be doing.

One thing is certain, it'll be strange not to make the drive down 11th Street tomorrow. I'm so used to being at work that when my home phone rings, I always have to steady myself so I don't accidentally knock out, "National City Southgate, this is Divya, how can I help you?"

I'M BACK!!!!!

Upon reviewing my blog, I've come to realize I haven't updated this thing in months. There have been a couple of reasons for my self-imposed hiatus, most of which, I will admit, are rather self-indulgent.

Issue No. 1 has to do with my job at the bank. I was bored, and I needed a way out. I was having issues with authority. My coworkers and I attempted to launch a workers' revolution but, in many ways, we failed because, well, the little man usually doesn't win in corporate situations.

This may sound dramatic but, I felt myself getting dumber. This was not where I had imagined my life going when I was in my apartment dreaming about the future a little more than a year ago. From the Tribune to customer service representative.

It was getting me down to the point where instead of being proactive and productive, I retreated into my headspace and stayed there for a while, feeling sorry for myself.

This, my friends, is a terribly dangerous road to go down. I'm more annoyed than I can express that I allowed myself to dumb down instead of working on the one thing I have always been good at: writing.
Well, this work funk has been lifted. I found a new job!!!! Saturday is my last day at the bank and as much as I will miss my work buddies, I am more than ready to move on. To move out of the trailer neighborhood. To do something that allows me to actually write, even if it's not the kind of writing I planned to do. Because I've been a terrible friend of late, you are probably wondering, what the hell are you going to be doing Divya? Thanks for letting me know! I do apologize.

So here's what I'm going to be doing. I'm going to be a resource developer for Youthbuild, which operates under the umbrella non-profit Comprehensive Community Solutions here in Rockford. What I'm going to be doing there is procuring funds. Writing grants, networking, generally scrounging up money. And also writing marketing materials. I'm excited. Youthbuild is a pretty cool national program that takes kids who didn't graduate from high school and teaches them a vocational skill (in this case, construction - they build houses) and prepares them to earn their GED. I will be paid through an AmeriCorps stipend. So I guess I have come full circle in terms of my idealism. Though it wasn't my intention, I responded to the call to service. My former boss said (and this is jokingly, he is a Republican but, good-natured) that AmeriCorps is like Obama's version of Hitler's Youth. I guess you could say though one is for good and one was for evil, they were both organizations motivated by young people who felt empowered by a public official. On top of the pay, I will receive a grant which will either pay back much of my student loans or will go toward grad school.

Grad school. There, I said it. I miss school. I wanna go back. I don't care what I study. OK, I do. I don't want to journ again because I already had exceptional teachers and the best education I could have asked for with that. I'm thinking there are some awesome media programs in NYC I'd like to explore. There are in truth so many things I'd like to do, I would love to study cinema, or various topics in sociology/anthropology such as sex and gender in Indian culture, and fashion, and second generation patterns, and minority consumption of media. But I don't have the patience to teach people so, I will just get a Master's and hopefully score a writing gig that will one day get me to my goal of writer/blogger/columnist/media commentator/world dominator. :)

So that's the other thing that's taken up my time. Studying for the GRE, which I will be attempting in September. Wish me luck!

Now that I'm back on here, I'm here to stay. I've got a lot of stuff to say and I hope you want to here it. Life updates, crazy liberal rants, media analysis, you can find it all here. And also, I will do my best to keep bitch, please fresh. I really want to see that site grow and I think you will enjoy reading it. My place in life is as a writer, so from now one I am just going to own up to it and write as much as I possibly can.

Shopping Misadventures and Other Fiascos

In honor of Kelly's impending wedding, I've been dress hunting. A few months ago, as I made plans to attend Kelitos' nuptials, I imagined my self slimming down, toning up, donning a fabulous gown, and just all-around looking hot.

In these two months, I got around to accomplishing none of these goals. I did not get a gym membership, as I had planned to do. Hence, no slimming or toning. With the perfect dress/hair/accessory combo, I feel like the looking hot part will be easy.

Only problem is, dress shopping is a pain in the ass. I've been scouring the Net and window-shopping since Jan. Originally, I was on the lookout for a smoking red dress but, now I'm down for anything that fits me well and is well made. I went out to the burbs but was repelled by the $200+ price tags. In Rockford, all I've found at the department stores are mother-of-the-bride gowns and prom dresses. I know it is that time of the year but being surrounded by scrawny 18-year-olds in dressing room is not amusing.

Saturday after work I trekked over to some wedding shops. Seeing as we lack boutiques in this area, I thought that was my best bet. Well, the Wedding Shop was worthless. All their "special occasion" dresses are crammed into one small basement room. The people who worked there were largely unhelpful and the dresses were just not right. Maybe if I wanted to be in a pageant...

I journeyed across town to David's Bridal, which was just a fiasco. The dresses there are not categorized in a useful way. It's logical, I suppose, to organize dresses by style and color. But this makes finding your size a rather large undertaking. I found a clearance dress and a sale dress (that I really had to dig for) that were cocktail-y (that's the other thing, I want a knee-length dress, not a bridesmaid dress). The first one was atrocious. The unexpected-find sale dress was surprisingly lovely. It was bronze, which is a color that can be blah but, with well with my skin tone. Unfortunately, the dress was a lil bit too small. And being that it was on clearance, the zipper got stuck halfway up and with the fraying, refused to budge.

So they had to cut me out! And the saleswoman kept insisting that it was a very common problem. That it was probably because the item was on sale. She insisted so many times that it was not me but the dress. I started to get a complex about it. I mean, the dress was too small. Clearly, I know I'm not fat. But I felt like she was judging me as when of those big girls who tries to squeeze into clothes that are obviously too small. Stupidly, I had not shaved. Anywhere. My legs and underarms were hairy. And I had to walk across the sales floor. Past the bride-to-bes and prom queens. I know they were all wondering who had let the gorilla into the dressing area. The opening in the dress was too small, seeing as I have an actual butt and she underestimated that. So I had to completely rip the dress off of me. I didn't even feel bad. Serves em right for being so snooty. The only good thing that came out of David's was me finding out what size I wear.

Sunday, I visited Madison. There I tried out the cutest little boutique. The dresses were mainly cocktail, which was perfect. Of course, because these were designer duds, prices were $100 and upwards. I found some gorgeous clearance items, however, that were reasonable. Unfortunately, I got stuck in the last dress I tried on. The zipper went haywire. It had fit me. Perfectly. It was a red strapless with pockets. Pockets! I had it mostly zipped up when all of a sudden, it the zipper tracks split. And I couldn't pull it up or down. The girl who had formerly been so nice turned nasty. She accused me of ruining the dress. How could you put on a dress that was already broken, she asked me. She asked me where I got it from, which I awkwardly had no answer for since my mother had picked it out. She told me I was too big for the dress, which was actually inaccurate. And unlike the girls at David's, she made no motion to help me out of it. Take it off the way you put it on, she said before she stormed off. Impossible because I have hips, thighs, and an arse. Well, I ended up ruining that dress too.

I pulled on the zip til it separated from the dress. I pulled it down to look like the garment was unzipped, hung it on the rehang rack, and dashed before they could realize what happened. Sadly, I had really wanted to purchase another one of their dresses. But I just couldn't deal with the charge for two, or with fighting with the saleslady.

So now I'm back at square one. More awkward dress shopping.

Now I Know I'm an ABCD

(American-Born Confused Desi that is)



Of late, for some reason I've been thinking a lot about interracial dating. Not that I never think about it but, it's been a frequent topic of discussion.

First, my coworker Jon attempted to bait me into a conversation about interracial dating and parental approval. Now you guys know I'm one of those bleeding-heart liberals, who has somewhat of an anything goes attitude in terms of social behavior. I haven't got any problems with it. People who disapprove of interracial dating based purely on skin color irk me. However, I do understand the argument for preserving ethnic ties.

In this convo I was the defender. I was asked whether my father would approve of me dating someone of another background and whether that would influence my behavior. Well of course, my dad and I rarely talk so, we've never even broached that subject. And I really could care less about his opinions. My mom has said she's cool with it, never explicitly to me but more implicitly, as she has voiced her disgust at other people's intolerance. Plus, she always like to point out that there are Latino and White people in her extended family. I don't know if she'd take the same laissez-faire attitude with her own daughter or son.

Honestly, I'm not sure who I see myself ending up with. I don't have much an initial attraction to Indian men. I want to preserve my culture. But most Konkani guys are somehow related to me and that's just not cool. Even that distant relationship - 10th cousin - doesn't appeal to me. I said this to my mom and brother yesterday and they were offended. Actually, they seemed to be more appalled when I told them how I don't really like Indian men. But, it's the truth. It's very rarely that I spot an Indian dude that I think is fine. Maybe 1 out of 10. I mean, I went to a school with a huge population of Indian guys and I don't want to sound judgemental but I'm turned off by the stereotypical things - gold chains, unibrows, extreme hairiness ( a genetic problem I too have), oily hair, the mama's boy spoiled attitude (which seems to be birthright with Indian guys, including those in my family). And I'm certainly not saying that all Indian guys look like this by any means... it's just well, initial attraction. Go ahead, call me shallow.

I'm not saying I find them all to be ugly, visually and personality wise. Quite frankly, we're one of the most populous groups of people out there. Surely there's a couple million guys I'd like to end up with. I would really like to have a brown baby. I know that sounds ridiculous and also potentially racist. But I want to keep the Indian looks alive. I want that child to feel a connection to the Indian subcontinent. Most of my relatives who are married to non-Indian have children who do not appear to be Indian in the least. And that's fine. But I want to pass down my ethnic features. Dark wavy hurr, etc. More Norah Jones, less Ben Kingsley. And I want my kid to have an ethnic identity. More than just symbolically donning Indian duds and eating tandoori chicken, I want them to get my culture. Or just have an awareness, really.

Problem is, all the guys I find myself attracted to usually have a girlfriend. And she's usually White. For instance, this weekend, saw the cutest guy at Wal-Mart. Lo and behold, a seconds later, his girlfriend rounds the corner and gives me that look.

As I said before, I 'm totally cool with interracial couples. But I barely ever see an Indian girl on a White guys arm. It's usually the other way around, the conquest of the White woman. Even in terms of marriages, Indian men in my family married outside their ethnicity but the other way around didn't really pan out. I can think of woman who married a White American, got divorced, and raised kids who seem to be totally oblivious to their roots, save for the fact that their mother is from another country.

What is it with me and these specific Indian guys? I have to wonder what this means about me. Do I just have a thing for unavailable guys? White-washed Indian boys? Why am I so judgemental against my own people? Have I totally absorbed and ingrained the popular notion that Asian men are undesirable?