Last Day of School. . .

I never thought I'd say this but I'm actually sad that the semester is over. Damn, it flew by - no wonder I'm aging rapidly (why is that?? When we're 15, time goes by so f'ing s-l-o-w-l-y but when you're in your twenties, 30 comes a knockin' real quick).

Anyway, to bring you all up to speed, this summer I was a step away from enrolling in law school (after building the resume for a couple years at a law firm, doing pre-law and mock trial in college, going through applications and the whole nine). I had a [moral] awakening and panicked. I realized I did not want to be trapped as a lawyer, nor did I want to incur 3 years of law school debt to study a field that was definitely not a fit for me. Long story short, I decided I would return to college for the fall semester and dabble in a few psychology courses. In order to even pursue a career in psych, I would need some more undergrad courses in psych. So technically I'm done with the minor course requirement and now I'm going through the grad school application process.

So just like family always asked you at the end of a school day when you were a kid, "what did you learn?" (back then I'd be like, shoot, I don't remember. Recess was good. Lunch was even better), I ask myself today, "what did I learn?" Well, um...

Everyone is crazy.

Seriously, no joke. I mean, I've only begun to scratch the surface of this clinical psych thing, but I can truly say with confidence that everyone has one form of a disorder or neurological deficit of some sort. I swear! Depression, ADHD, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Narcissicism, Mild Mental Retardation - it's everywhere. Man, I'm just getting started. Don't even tempt me with the DSM IV, I'll go through that thing and find at least two diagnoses for each of my ex-coworkers (you know who you are). I don't think everyone needs to be medicated - don't confuse psychology with psychiatry. But I am a big supporter of psychotherapy. I think everyone can benefit from it somehow. Also, I'm not saying that I'm perfect but we're not talking about my issues. I'm in the driver's seat, baby! This whole psych thing will be fun, dare I say, even a bit dangerous. Will I view the world this way when I'm actually in grad school?

Possibly. But at least I'm not a law student right now. Yikes, imagine the power trip I would have then.

The New Crack Epidemic

What are you supposed to do when you're at the library, focused intently on exam notes, fresh coffee in hand, when you glance to your right and see an ass-crack in perfect view to all the other library nerds around you. The owner of the crack seems to be just as preoccupied as you were only seconds ago, her nose digging into her laptop, yet her ass is hanging out for all of mankind to see. It's not even pretty, folks. Clearly, ugly betty here spends so much time in libraries that she doesn't get much sun to begin with, but her pasty ass is almost blinding to anyone whose unfortunate eyes were to lay upon it. You rub your eyes to make sure you're not hallucinating. You look around to see if there are any other witnesses. Meanwhile a couple of the mature ones pass by, elbow each other and point to the ass-crack and laugh. Another amused soul silently creeps up behind her with his camera phone and snaps a picture. The girls next to me tap their friends to see the spectacle. As a woman, I was especially embarrassed with the reactions of the women around me - where was the sisterhood?! When there is a stray hair stuck to my wool sweater, does my fellow sister not remove it with one sweep of her hand? When my shirt tag is, unbeknownst to me, hanging outside my collar, does my fellow sister not tuck it inside? Where was the support? But, as a human being, I was offended and disgusted: why on earth is this beast wearing jeans that don't fit over her ass? Sure, "low-riders" seem to be the fashion rage of kids these days, but it seemed her sweatshirt barely reached her waistline, even! Was it possible that, when standing upright, she dared to expose her belly rolls AND half her pasty-white ass?? This, my friends, was not just a bit of exposure of the top curvature of the buttocks - which can be sexy and sometimes deliberate, especially when there is a lacy thong involved - but this here was a very visible, dimply and cellulite covered half-moon. Even the most avid ass-men would have shuddered with disgrace. Thank god there was no butt hair - do people that white-skinned even have hair on their bodies?? Or a tattoo of a heart and arrow - oh the horrors!! if there was a dimply tattoo to boot! I noticed more students around me - male and female - giggling and pointing. Does she not hear them?! Does she not feel a cold draft?! Something had to be done. I could not sit by silently while a poor, unaware, misguided young girl was mocked and laughed at - even though she fully deserved it. I had to take a stand. I slowly closed my book, rose from my chair, and walked toward ass-crack girl with a purpose. Then she suddenly jumped from the desk and scurried toward the bathroom. Hmm. . .maybe it was not meant to be. . . I abruptly swung around, grabbed my belongings and moved my studying operation to another quiet room.

Hey, it's not my fault she was just raised that way :).

**Note: the image above is not of the library ass-crack girl. This is purely a visual to guide the story.

First Day of School

So I'm back. Let me tell you, coming back to college as an adult gives you an entirely new perspective. I am here with a purpose. I have more maturity and experience and worldliness under my belt. And I just have this semester to live out this adventure to the fullest. My 9am class is taught by a professor I knew from senior year when I TA'd for her - I lucked out. She's awesome and she already loves me :). The class was full of young, sleepy-eyed, probably ignorant and clueless college kids. And there I was, in the second row, sitting with straight, eager posture, pen to notebook, with a big goofy grin on my face. My eyes swept across the black t-shirt of the punk-rock dude sitting in front me. Blazened in bold red letters, it said "take me to bed with you." Hmm. Good to be back.

After my "Race, Class & Psych" class, I strolled across campus, noticing the subtle changes. More trees, more turtle sculpures, more "M's" strewn across the greenery. Ahh, the pride set back in. Good to be back.

On my way to try to score a volunteer position at the Counseling Center, I glanced at the young faces (and bodies). Pimple-faced, dorky guys in "COLLEGE" t-shirts. The tough, pompous athletes, dragging their feet to the class their coach registered for them. Freshman cautiously walking to their next class, trying to conceal the campus map in their pockets. The girl walking in front of me had 3 inch wedges and 3 inch long shorts on. She kept swinging her arms, pseudo-confidently, letting the bangles on her wrist jingle, and flinging her long, dark hair side-to-side. Aw, so much self-assurance. So much pride in every seductive step she took, certain she has it goin' on. Girlfriend, you have no idea. Luckily, I don't stand out as the old kid back on the block. The girls here look much older than I remember from the old days...and I haven't aged a bit, so I tell myself. Good to be back.

The girl at the computer next to me just shyly asked me where the nearest mailbox is. My eyes lowered to the girly stationary envelope she held in her hand, probably addressed to a love one. Aww, how sweet. (Who writes letters anymore?). Her first day of school (too) and she's writing her boyfriend back home...her sister at another school...or her mother who is anxiously waiting to hear about her experience. I had no idea where the nearest mailbox was. (Who writes letters anymore?). But I directed her to the helpdesk at the front of the library in my sweetest voice. I understand, honey. I feel ya.

Great to be back. . .