R.I.P itskindofabigdeal.

I went to a private Catholic high school with an average class size of 25, so my English classes over the years really, really bonded and meshed well. My senior AP English class, especially, had been narrowed down to a select 15 and we already knew each other inside and out, so it was no sweat editing each other's papers. However, coming here and really getting to know our UW class and everyone's individual writing styles and topic tastes and opinions - it was really rewarding for me. I actually feel like I got more out of this class than that English class my senior year (you heard all the horror stories about my hunchback nun teacher). I love college, and I love GW. But I think it’s common for classes at any large college to be a little impersonal. It’s hard to make a connection with your classmates or teachers without chasing people down and forcing them to make time, give time, or put time in to a ‘semester’s worth of friendship’ that many people find a little unnecessary. Time is a scarce commodity ‘round these parts. And with our class, everyone was more than willing to spare an hour or two for each other.

Besides our class having great dynamics, bonding really well, and feeling excited to go to class every Monday and Thursday (it’s true!) I really loved having CJS as a professor. I think we were all a little in awe of her because it was the first time we ever had a professor we really enjoyed and admired. Unfortunately, despite the mile-high tuition, a professor you actually want to talk to is another rare commodity here. With CJS, I finally felt like I was getting what I paid for at this university. I can’t rave about her enough. I remember sitting on the vern shuttle just a few days ago and our entire class was on it just praising her and discussing a way we could possibly find (stalk) her on facebook so that we could be friends. I remember even saying, “I want to be friends with my professor… does that make me nerdy?” But I was assured that I wasn’t because everyone felt the exact same way. I’m sorry this is so rambly and gushy but hey, I’m being honest. It’s my last entry in this blog anyway. And my roommate (who God loves very much, she wanted me to say) is distracting me by playing my favorite favorite favorite band, Third Eye Blind, very loudly on her iMac. Oh, and by the way. I haven’t mentioned this yet but.

I met Third Eye Blind.

I did. It’s true. On Tuesday. It was so magical. I’d post pictures but I don’t want any on here. If you want to see the visual proof, I will send it to you. I was front row and center and fkhgkhgir, it was just so amazing. Anyway. Back to the class wrap up. Overall, this was not only my favorite class this semester but I am pretty sure it is going to remain my favorite class all throughout my years at GW. I chose this class because I loved the topic – I mean, it had the words ‘blog’ and ‘Ashlee Simpson’ in the course description so how could I not love it? I enjoyed everything we read (though I admit I could have done without Angela Shelton) and wow – I can’t believe we talked to Stephanie Klein online! I loved that we got that opportunity just because we were in this class. Professor, thank you so, so much for giving us a great semester and for being so cool. Add me on facebook! I feel like I got so much out of this class, and I really wish I could take another class with you again – teach a WID! And thank you so much for the fun bubbles and attendance prizes. My roommate and I blew bubbles into our fan, completely content and amused with ourselves/our lives and it makes me wish we had invested in bubbles sooner. Especially the ones you gave me, since they smell like oranges and what not. But, seriously. Can we eat them?

a day in the pub with some of my favorite people.

Oh, symposium! What is there to say about it except that I think it went fabulously! I was a little apprenhensive about it being disorganized because for awhile our class was a little indecisive about what we wanted our presentation to be like. But at the end, I think everything came together. Most of us were really well-prepared and well-versed about our topics - and were excited to talk about them! I think because it was such a beautiful day, there weren't as many people as some of the other presentations might have gotten - I think I remember a friend of mine in another class saying that Friday's sessions all had pretty good turn outs. But Friday had not been as sunny and beautiful as our Saturday! However, the people that did come to our session were really nice and really, really polite. They asked questions but were never rude or condescending. They were genuinely intent on trying to learn more about our research. I had one lady professor come up to me and ask some really great questions, which helped me to expand my topic even further to her. We even discussed how universal blogging had become, and it seemed like I had really convinced her of my argument. Her last question was "So are you a blogger?" - to which I answered, "Yes! Of course!" and laughing, she said she was too! It made me feel really good that I had chosen a topic that people could relate to.

As for the rest of the class, I couldn't have been more proud. I know a lot of us have been saying how much we adore the bonding our class has done over the semester, but I haven't felt this close to a class since high school, and it really means a lot to me. So I was really, really proud of how well everyone presented at the symposium. Another thing I'm not sure that you mentioned but that you should know, is that since the turn-out was a little low and we had almost no one walk through towards the end, a lot of us started to leave our stations to walk around and ask each other questions or have one another present to each other. I am pretty sure almost everyone wandered around at least once to ask questions or ask to see other people's powerpoints. This impressed me and made me so proud to be a part of this class. It showed that we are all not only respectful for each other's work, but that we care enough about each other's efforts to want to hear about them. Everyone worked really hard to put their symposium presentations together, so it was nice that our class acknowledged that and wanted to acknowlege each other. I love our class! But more on that in tomorrow's entry.

I also attended your other class's presentation. I admit to being a little intimidated by them - I had heard so much about them from so many people and it was as if I was finally getting the chance to see them up close! They turned out to be actually really lovely. Besides what I shared with CJS in class, they were also very well-prepared and extremely knowledgable in the things they were presenting. You could tell that they all really loved their topics too. Plus, the way they chose to present - a powerpoint, in chronological order -was super creative and really well-organized. They really impressed me. Majority of them got some pretty tough questions too but they all rose to the challenge and answered very eloquently. I was glad to see a couple of them attending our presentation, so that they could see the contrast of topics in the two classes. I hope they enjoyed our presentation as much as I enjoyed theirs.

And most importantly, why didn't we do karaoke? Can Ian send us that playlist? It was so perfect.

chapter one: a pair and a snare.

Wow. After reading the first couple of pages of our assigned reading from Stephanie Klein's Straight Up and Dirty, all I could think was "wow." That and "how can I start writing a book like this?"

Not in the content, mind you. I don't really live a "straight up and dirty" kind of life right now, mind you. But the style. Goodness. She writes in the style that my mind wishes it functioned in. Witty. Blunt. Brilliant. Eloquence in the simplicity of just describing a metrosexual man's closet. The Wasband. I swear, maybe I can be Stephanie in another life. Whoever terms the word "wasband" ranks as an idol in my book. But there's more to her than snarky remarks, that much is clear. The book itself is a riotous adventure, unfolding at a dizzying pace, as if to warn you that if you can't keep up, you weren't meant to read it in the first place. That is how life moves, after all. Dizzying. Catch up or move aside, move along. Stephanie happens to be one of those people who looks life in the face and stands her ground, saying, "That's all you've got?"

It's written like an anthem. It's empowering without being feminist, brutally honest without being (too) rude. It's a blog-follower's dream. Why? Because essentially, it's real. It's a diary. Every friend, alcoholic drink, or occurence actually happened within the hustle and bustle of a city many people live and thrive in right now. It's not a fairy tale. Her story is raw, passionate, chalked with emotion and anger and sadness and disappointment, but scattered with hope. It's an anthem to any woman who has ever been angry or sad or disappointed - toss the fact that she is a divorcee aside. You don't need to have a failed marriage to be able to relate to what she's trying to tell. Who hasn't felt those things before? Finally, in an age where so many modern female writings revolve around the "healing after the pain," there is a story about the "fun during the healing."

It's real life. The beauty of it is that it's not a fairytale. Because, come on, do we really need to hear about how the prince scored a perfect bride at the ball one more time? Not really. Give me the newly single and awkward sex stories anyday. Because it happens. It's real. It's happening to you, to me, to everyone we walk past on the street and everyone we wait with at line in Starbucks. They're the kind of stories that you hear from your girlfriend while you inhale Mediterranean takeout on Thursday nights and wait for Grey's Anatomy. They're the kind of stories that men recall while knocking back (root) beer and complaining about women, or their lack thereof. They're the kind of stories that you would share with your friends. This is life. It's a shitshow, for lack of a better term. Unpredictable, whirring, and a complete pain in the ass. The modern fairytale books publishers try to sell? I'll pass.

I said something terribly blunt on Monday to one of my best friends. He's a dude, for the record. He looked at me, completely surprised that I had said something bordering on rude. "What?" I asked him, making one of my trademark faces, "I'm no fairy princess." And he did that sort of grunt laugh things that boys do when they pretend like they're incapable of laughing out loud. "I know," he said, shaking his head, "But I forget that sometimes." Thank you, Stephanie Klein. Thank you for not sugar-coating your memoirs and conforming to becoming a princess locked away in a tower searching for her perfect prince. Thank you for recognizing that those kind of stories aren't real. They're not life. Bad dates, weird hook-ups, disappointment, and a whole lot of hope. That's life. And until I can score some kind of six-figure publishing deal where I can write a book like this, I'm completely content reading hers.

this made me so incredibly hungry.

Upon reading “Meatless Days,” I not only felt a sincere understanding with what the author, Sara Suleri, was attempting to illustrate, but also a deep connection with events that have happened in my own life. Suleri uses the images of food to retell stories that have shaped her life. Though I would not, personally, use food as a way to recount my own tale, food definitely plays a major role in the background of any individual. As we discussed in class, food is a way that every culture can further define themselves as a unique and separate entity. Food is a way we can identify with our “motherland,” or original home county. In class I told the story of how I had unknowingly eaten food covered in pig’s blood because I had been told it was another kind of chocolate. I also expressed how that was one of the last times my younger sister even thought about eating Filipino food. Our family is from Filipino descent, but on any given day, it would be hard to tell when examining our kitchen. Normally, there would not be any Filipino food in sight. This is partially because my parents no longer have time to cook. But it is mostly due to the fact that my little sister flat out refuses to eat Filipino food. You have to understand my sister. She is 14, much too stylish and mature for her age, and completely spoiled by my parents. She is the baby, after all. She is a vegetarian, and she has been one since she was around five or so – to be honest, I can’t remember the last time she ate meat. However, this does not mean she eats vegetables… because she doesn’t. People who meet her always get a kick out of how she’s a vegetarian who doesn’t eat vegetables. “So what does she eat!?” people ask, half-horrified and half-intrigued. Well. Dairy. And carbs. I kid you not. Dairy and carbs is all she digests. For example, pasta, without the tomato sauce, naturally, and covered in freshly grated cheese. Grilled cheese sandwiches. Eggs and cheese. Bagels. I think you get the picture. She’s an odd eater but a great kid. So adding Filipino food to her ‘banned list’ did not really come as a surprise to us.

Sometimes I demand that my parents make me Filipino food. Usually I tell them that I won’t go home unless they have at least one dish waiting for me that you can’t get at a TGIF or Applebee’s. That usually gets them going, as parents of college students go. I remember for Christmas, my mother wanted to have our clan’s party catered by a nice Italian restaurant a few miles away. But true to her word, there were some Filipino entrees on the side for me too. The surprising thing was that our relatives finished eating those dishes first, even before the delicious fettuccine and the rich chicken parmesan. They had been missing the food as much as I was, and I complained for quite awhile at my loss of what would have been excellent leftovers. I have a Filipino friend – one of my best friends actually – whose mother only cooks Filipino food at home. He’d bring it in for lunch and everyone would crowd around him and ask questions and want to know ingredients and what its American equivalent would be. “Well…. I suppose this dessert would kind of be like… jello?” he would say, trying to explain. We’d laugh because we knew. Kutsinta is nothing like jello. Oh, and he’d brag. He’d brag all the time to me about how his mom would be cooking lumpia (think spring rolls) for dinner and cassava (think flan) for dessert. Yes, I would be jealous. But usually I was satisfied when he’d bring me aluminum-covered plates of his family’s leftovers so I could eat it for lunch that day. Yes, I had gotten that desperate. The best part about having that food with me as my meal was that I loved answering everyone’s questions about it. “Oh! That smells so good!” People would rush over and beg for a bite. Usually, they liked what they tasted too. For some reason, it made me love my friends, my lunch table, and anyone in the room because they weren’t just respecting my culture, but they were trying to learn some of it too.

In the excerpt of “Gifts of Passage,” Santha Rama Rau retold her memory of her Anglo-Indian day school in Zorinabad. Rau’s older sister felt as if they should bring sandwiches to lunch instead of the Pakistani meals they had originally packed. This horrified me. I thought back on my own experiences and the way I had to beg my friends not to eat all of my food. I could not imagine having to live that way. I have grown up in relatively diverse communities. I have lived in New York, New Jersey, Florida, and now in Washington, D.C. And in every place I’ve ever called “home,” I have never once felt persecuted or discriminated against. At least, never in my own home town. School, especially, is supposed to be a place where you feel safe. It is supposed to be a place where you feel secure and comfortable enough to let your defenses down and just focus on your education. It’s supposed to be a place to learn. Reading about how Rau’s older sister was made to sit at the back of the classroom because “Indian children were cheaters” made me angry right down to my core. I fumed, thinking about how upset I would be if it were my own sister who had to endure something like that. I assure you that I would not have been so polite as to just walking out of the classroom. I have a fiery temper and a tongue of steel when I am upset. I’ve been told many times that people don’t think I have a “witch” in me, but I plan on becoming an attorney so trust me, it’s in me. Discrimination and prejudice and hate are three things that I cannot stand for. I do not associate with people who are involved with any or all of the three. Since I would not want any of them affecting me or my family, I, in turn, do not practice them. Our world is still far from becoming a place of equality. It still has quite a ways to go in the journey to respect. There are still many people who have yet to realize the importance of human appreciation – of every single person, life, and soul. Suleri did an excellent job of portraying these problems in her tale. She told them through her own eyes but through wide, young, innocent ones. Eyes that still had hope for the future. I have hope for the future, and I really enjoyed this excerpt.

i resisted typing "dear to whom it may concern."

Our assignment for this week is to respond to some of the recent entries that our tracked bloggers have posted. Although I'd like to respond to the essays that my blogger, http://nomorewastedpaper.wordpress.com/, sent to me last week, that would be impossible. That'd be impossible because due to the excruciatingly back-breaking load of homework that has been plaguing me and majority of my fellow undergraduates, I've been unable to read them. Yes, it has come to this, that pleasure reading takes a backseat to the principles of economics chapters that I "would read tomorrow" and then about 60 tomorrows came and went. Would I rather be reading something else? Naturally. Would I rather be responding to her essays? You bet. Would you like to hear about supply and demand? Not so much. I digress. In any case, NoMoreWastedPaper is still a prime blog to be responding to, and as I've expressed before, I am really, really glad I picked this blog to track. Lately in the going-ons of everyone's favorite letter-writer, she's written to Britney Spears, alluding to the fact that the crazy girl's gone off and shaved her head. I work in a restaurant on campus. Last night, my middle-aged boss went up to me and one of my co-workers and said, "So how about that girl who shaved her head?" To which my co-worker automatically yelled, "ANNIE, THE OTHER WAITRESS, DID WHAT?" My boss said, "No! No! That psycho girl." I'm sure for a second it crossed my co-worker's mind that he meant me, but that is neither here nor there. If my boss, completely lost in 'the times' though lovable in his own "I'll let you go home early if you scrub the counters" kind of way, is referencing Britney Spears in casual conversation... well, there must be some kind of problem here.

My friends and I were watching VH1 Best Week Ever the other day (actually we watch it almost every day because we are in college and our lives mean nothing more than watching TV) and they were interviewing the woman who is selling Britney Spears' hair. Yes. Selling it. FOR ONE MILLION DOLLARS. I felt like Dr. Evil saying that. Except I'm not. A cool mil to hang Brit's hair on your mantlepiece, or something. The thing is, whatever you do with it is either sad or just plain creepy. Plus, the lady was saying she couldn't even tell which pieces were extensions and which ones were real - and she was a hairdresser! So sad. Oh, but wait. In addition to the hair, natural and not, you get a lighter Brit left behind, the razor, AND her empty can of red bull. Clearly I know what I need for Christmas. I wonder if, when I become rich and famous, I can pawn off my empty Starbucks cups for a couple thou or so each. Because I go through a lot of those, and you know, I could use the spare cash. You know, this might sound mean but I'm kind of glad that Britney didn't completely lose her marbles while she was in her prime. Look at it this way. Do you remember her in her heyday? Hey, back then, even I would be smashing piggy banks to get some of her hair. She was fantastic. But imagine if she'd cracked back then - the consequences would be devastating. Because back then, she was a role model. Tons of kids, hell, even adults, considered her an idol. She was the first true American Idol (though Kelly is my girl for life, okay). The last thing we'd all need is for thirteen-year-old girls everywhere to start shaving their heads. I mean that has to be bad for the environment. Let's think of Al Gore here. What would Al do? My roommate (hi Laura) says, "What would we do if everyone started shaving their heads?!" And I just replied, "Well, I'd start having nightmares more frequently. And I don't like having nightmares." She's laughing and sort of shaking her head at me. She does this a lot.

Wow. I really did not mean to blog about Britney Spears' hair, or lack thereof, for two whole paragraphs. I feel like such a waste considering I normally blog about really heavy stuff but you know what? These things really must be said! And plus, I'm responding to NoMoreWastedPaper and that was the assignment, after all. Okay, onto more important things that actually have significance in the real world. The last thing that I must, must, must mention is that February 22nd was my blogger's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I am tempted to send her an e-card but it will inevitably be marked spam and I don't want her to mentally stamp me with a terrorist level 5 warning or anything. So let me just use this post as a venue to say, I hope you had the most marvelous of birthdays. We were e-mailing about her being 25 and though I joke that it's a quarter of a century (scary, innit?) it is HARDLY old at all. In fact, I can't wait to be 25. I'm 19 right now, and turning 19 was one of those 'milestone' birthdays because it's your last year of being a teenager yap yap yap blah blah. Here's the thing. I don't feel that much older. Aging is this slow, gradual progression, and it's suited me just fine. As much as I have PMSy days when I wish can revert back to my 6-year-old self, what good will that do? Times have changed, literally, and I like the life I live right now. And even moreso, I can't wait for the life that I have yet to live. The opportunities and possibilities that hopefully await me make me want to rush through life just to find out what happens next. But you know what? There's no need to rush. I'm enjoying my last year of teenagedom thus far and when I turn two decades, well, maybe I'll stop watching Disney Channel on weekends. Well, maybe not. So happy birthday again and remember that you are still young on the limitless journey of life. Enjoy it. I'd insert some kind of cute quote about acting your shoe size and not your age but I think you've probably heard enough of those by now. So I'll just leave you with this. You will never be too old for Disney Channel.

because the address "katgotyourtongue" was taken.

On January 13, 1988, I was born with the name Katherine Ann, but I went through phases about what I wanted to be called. I was Katherine growing up until about the fourth grade when I insisted upon being called Katie. But that got old after two years and I forced the name Kate until about eighth or ninth grade when I realized I was exactly what my family had been calling me all along, which was Kat. So Kat it became and I’ve been Kat ever since. Looking back on my so-called phases now, I lose myself in thought about how it could relate to my past shifting personalities in a quest to find ‘who I really was.’ But then I realize that this is another silly instance of ‘who I am’ – who is someone who overanalyzes and often digresses from points. The point is that my name is Kat and if you call me by my full name, I will assume that I am in either in deep trouble or that you don’t know me - and hopefully after this, you will.

I was born in New York, New York, and like to tell people that it’s the reason I chose to attend college in a city. I’ve always romanticized and idolized city life – from the busyness, to the noise, to the rhythm of the sidewalk trotters always on their way to point B from point A, and most likely hurrying to the beat of the music on their iPods. Ironically enough, I didn’t spend any time growing up in a city. I moved constantly during my early childhood – from suburbs in New York to New Jersey to Florida and back to New Jersey. Eventually, the last move was from collegiate Princeton to small town Flemington, New Jersey, and that’s where I like to call home and even miss every once in awhile. The one constant from all the moving, however, was schooling. I went to a Catholic school my whole life, including pre-school. I was raised as a traditional Roman Catholic under my devoutly religious parents who pushed me to be the same. The Catholic Church was the first way I got involved in community service when I started singing in the children’s choir back in third grade. I’m convinced that I had a much more beautiful voice back then – richer and higher and with a more accurate pitch – and I was often given solos and asked to cantor masses, though many thought it was unusual as I was so young. Caught up in the dizzying pace of the success of my singing, I dropped out of ballet and piano classes in order to focus on choir. I like to tell people that I could have been brilliant with a piano, as I have “pianist’s fingers” but I suppose the world will never know. I continued singing in high school but fell out of love with music. I was too wrapped up in everything else.

I discovered student council when I was in fourth grade and became almost obsessed with it from that year onward. I can proudly say that I was elected into student council every year from fourth to eleventh grade, and even attended and later taught at a student council overnight summer camp. I eventually became a part of that organization, the Association of Catholic Student Councils (East Coast Sector), and served as a member of their executive board for one year. I realized that I loved public speaking, elections, campaigns, and teaching children how to love it as much as I did. Perhaps that’s why it was so simple to choose Political Science as my major, when coming to college. Nevertheless, I spent every year of high school being wildly involved with the student body. Throughout the span of those four years, I served as Homecoming Chairperson, Spirit Captain, Junior Prom Chairperson, a Peer Mediator, a Youth Retreat Leader, and Class President. Throughout everything, however, my favorite position was as Yearbook and Video Yearbook Co-Editor my senior year, which derailed some of my senior slacking behavior. I realized while working on the Yearbook that my strength of reaching out to people could be applied in several different ways – not just in student council. It was my decision not to accept a position on the student council executive board my senior year in a quest to try new things – a decision I still take pride in and even wrote my admissions essay about.

Yet, every position and activity involved hard work, which is something I know very well. I graduated high school with honors and our school’s esteemed Sister Maria Virginia Award for Achievement and Service and was also a member of National Honor Society. I currently attend the George Washington University and am majoring in Political Science, with a possible minor in Criminal Justice. I hope to attend law school and become an attorney, a profession I’ve been infatuated with since attending the National Student Leadership Conference on Law and Advocacy in D.C. back in 2004. So far, I have modest work experience. I’ve worked at a Tommy Hilfiger retail store for three years, interned for an attorney two summers ago, and most recently, mentored with the Higher Achievement program in D.C. as well as interning for my Congressman, Mike Ferguson (R-NJ, though I am a liberal Democrat and it killed me every time I went into the office), and working at the RH Bistro. My first job was as an ice cream scooper at the tender age of just fifteen on the Princeton University campus. The memories of that job are bittersweet since during that time, I went through a phase of thinking I was lactose-intolerant and never ate a single scoop of ice cream. It wasn’t until I had come to my senses about a year later after leaving the job that I realized that I, like most normal people, could eat and loved ice cream. I often go through phases. Thankfully, none of the others have ever been that extreme.

The people who have seen me through these phases are the people I care about and love the most. I have incredible friends back home who I still rely on as a support system and source of companionship though we have all moved on to different places. But most of all, I am very close with my family. At home, I live with my mother and father and little sister, Kimberly, with whom I am extremely close. When I was in eighth grade, my sister wrote about me for a third grade essay on her own personal hero. To this day, it still reminds me of why I work hard in the first place and also acts as another outlet to tease her about. Currently, as I write this, I am talking to my sister on Instant Messenger about the Disney Channel and American Idol. I admit to her that I miss her. However, life in D.C. has been nothing but fun and I wouldn’t take back any of the experiences I’ve had, people I’ve met, or things I’ve learned. I look forward to every morning waking up to the city and every night going to bed to the noise of F Street. I’m optimistic about my future and about the opportunities that I hope will be available to me. Most importantly, I hope that in the end, when I look back on my life and on the things I did or the decisions I made, I can say I made them freely and independently – and that I made my family proud. I want to be able to say that I made something out of life and didn’t just deal with what life dealt me. And I want to be able to say that through it all, I was just Kat. Just me, through and through.