Like when I’m in the Village, just standing around, observing things, and people walk by all cussing and shit? Talking about “Fuck this” and “Fuck that” and “Fuck her” and “Fuck him” or [some other comment or even some sexist comment]. Yeah, I can tolerate that. I obviously say ‘fuck’, too. Cause you know why? Because they’re drunk. I get drunk sometimes, too. And drunks often say shit they don’t mean. I know this.

But when I’m walking home, when I’m walking to my fucking FRONT DOOR minding my own shit, and some shirtless, beefcake drunk of an asshole is standing outside shouting, and I’m STILL minding my own business even though it’s one o’clock in the morning and he’s shouting, when this shirtless drunk asshole calls me a “fucking dumb bitch” just for the fuck of it? Yeah, that’s when I get angry.

Because I’m you’re fucking neighbor, asshole. And we’re supposed to be ‘neighborly’.

So, Hi, welcome to the fucking ‘Plex.

So you know what, Patrick? You and your fucking parties on the weekend? They can hum. Because we are having words tomorrow. When we’re sober. And they ain’t gonna be pretty.

You still haven’t addressed your other asshole friend pissing in my fucking Ficus. So that’s coming out, too.

‘Fucking dumb bitch’, indeed.

Holy fuck if we ain’t civilized up in here.

Again, Canadian, I miss you.

The Partner and I spent Friday night with his elder sister, who was visiting from out of town. We had been hanging out on campus, entertaining ourselves with the sight that is Weekend Before Classes Start. Which means: watching and mocking the scantily-clad gals in stilettos trying to get laid mixed with guys acting macho trying to get laid going in-between the four bars closest to campus. It’s always hilarious. This Friday night we were able to get spots next to a great group of folks, whose main aim was critiquing all the drunks as they passed by us.

Rule #1: If you’re out to get drunk, don’t wear fucking stilettos.

Rule #2: Make sure your skirt/dress covers your ass. Your whole ass.

Rule #3: Drink water.

Highlights of the night include seeing three different gals fall while trying to (1) exit a building and (2) get off the curb and into the street and (3) just walk down the sidewalk, and two random guys pissing in bushes, which were in plain sight. Much to my disappointment, there were no pukers, no fist fights, and no one was arrested in front of me.

We ended our night and proceeded to our car. On our way past a fast food joint, we saw a neighbor, Patrick, sitting/slumped on the stairs.

“Hey, Patrick! Thought you were having a party at your place tonight.”

“Oh my god! The Partner! Anne! [stand up, stumble forwards into The Partner] What’s up?! …Where are my friends?!”

A confused conversation ensues, wherein we manage to learn Patrick’s lost the location of the friends he’s supposed to be with and is so drunk he doesn’t care and just wants a ride home.

Yay, neighbors!

We get him to our car, I point out the little garbage bag in case of pukeage, and we drive home. The whole time Patrick’s all drunkard and yelling out of the window at random people.

We arrive home and stumble out of the car to find his lights are all on, the doors are all locked, the windows are locked, he has no keys, and no damn cell phone. By this point he’s belligerent, we’re trying to get him to drink water, and asking him to remember his roommate’s cell number. It becomes a cycle. He finally remembers the cell number.

I call the roommate.

“Hey, Roommate, this is Anne, your neighbor. We found Patrick and he’s really fucking drunk, and without keys, so can you come let him in?”

“Who? Who is this?”

“Your neighbor. Patrick is sick. Can you come home?”

“[garble, background bar noise, background bar noise]”

Hang up. Text message Roommate.

“This is your neighbor. We are with Patrick. He is very drunk and has no keys and doors are locked. Can you come let him in?”

Reply: “Yea be there soon.”

Twenty minutes pass. Patrick has been wandering around the backyard, yelling, sitting, passing out, trying each door, stumbling about. Two people come into the backyard, a gal and guy. Say they last saw him falling onto the floor of a bathroom at a campus bar and passing out, but they weren’t sure what happened to him.

My thoughts: What the fuck kind of friends are you to see your friend pass out on a bathroom floor and not take him home?

They don’t have the keys, or any cell numbers, and eventually leave.

I message Roommate again. “Patrick is really sick. He’s pissing on the wall. Has no keys. Can you come get him?”

Reply: “What? Whos this?”

“Jesus christ. This is your neighbor. Patrick is fucking drunk as hell, has no keys, can you come let him in?”

“Alright on our way damn.”

Ten minutes later two guys show up, one very drunk, and they wake up Patrick, who has since been passed out in a chair, and they’re all, “Dude, you totally fell down in that bathroom! We didn’t know what happened to you!”

Great friends.

Saturday we get back from breakfast and are outside letting George out to do his thing. Patrick was down with some other neighbors playing cornhole, comes over and is all, “I just want to let you guys know I’m not an alcoholic. It’s just our last bash before classes. I’m not an alcoholic. I’m totally going to make you guys dinner. I’m not an alcoholic. Thanks so much.”

Later in the day, around 5:45, The Partner and I are sitting at the kitchen table eating. There are people outside and it’s going good seeing as how folks have been drinking since 9am. Then some dude says, “I’m going to piss in this plant.”

The Partner and I look at each other. We leap and race each other to the door, as we’re the only folks on our side to have plants outside.

I get there first, throw open the screen door, only to see some skinny drunk dude pissing into my fucking ficus benjamina.

“WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE? YOU DON’T PISS IN MY FUCKING PLANT!”

The guy stuffs himself back into his pants. Looks shocked.

The Partner starts in, “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOUR THINKING?”

I’m all, “YOU DON’T PISS IN MY FUCKING PLANT! There’s a fucking FENCE there, fucking piss on that!”

He’s all, “It’s only water!” and goes to the fence to finish peeing.

I’m all, “It’s only water!? YOU DON’T PISS IN MY FUCKING PLANT! Let me piss on you, asshole, it’s only water!”

Yeah, the fucking students are back.

Jeff, I miss you.

Sociology of Developing Nations

I had this professor my first or second semester at PU and he rocked my socks off with his knowledge. I didn’t need this course to graduate but I wanted to have this professor one last time before I left. It was a full classroom; at the beginning of the semester one gal pleaded with him to let her sit on the floor so that she could enroll. There wasn’t much discussion, though, as the professor would write an “outline” of his lecture on the chalk board and then stand at the front, looking over our heads, throwing the contents of his brain at us.

I have my notes from my first class with him, where I used both sides of the sheets of paper and filled an entire spiral notebook. I took my laptop to class this time around and managed to get most of what he said. We focused on Central and South / Latin America and Africa, from colonial occupation to present (so much as there is a difference between then and now). A lot of what he said was brushed-off by most of my classmates, although he tried to connect it all to their daily lives (i.e., “Where was your shirt made?”).

His lecture format isn’t for everyone, but if you talk with him outside of the classroom, you’ll realize that he has so much information that he wants to pass on to you that you’ll be willing to sit through his 20-minute digressions on why socialized health care is better for everybody.

My only complaint with this course was our graduate teaching assistant, who was more concerned with being cool and hitting on the hot chicks in the class than actually grading our essay exams (“Just write your answers in bullet lists.”). He sucked.

Women and Work

There were 15 weeks in this semester excluding finals week. We only met 9 times.

Our grade consisted of 14 reading reactions (one paragraph summary, one paragraph our opinion on the reading), leading class discussion, and a final paper of five double-spaced pages. We had a course packet and a text, although we only discussed the packet readings. I stopped reading the text after the second week.

Our instructor was a full-out Marxist-Feminist, complete with class lectures on the bourgeoisie/proletariat conflict, how there really is class structure in the U-S-of-A, and how under capitalism labor always loses. She had been active in the labor/union movements of the 1960s and 1970s, worked as a factory laborer and unionized her follow workers, and came to academia in her 40s. Politically, this professor is awesome; pedagogically, not so awesome, but I’ve had her before and knew what to expect.

My classmates — oh my classmates! — consisted of two Feminist/Gender Studies (“women’s studies”) majors (me and another rad-fem, Kelly), a lot of management majors, two military dudes, and one British dude. She met a lot of resistance from the management folks (go figure!) and the one gal who would always say, “Wow! I, like, never thought of it that way! Wow! Like, at my job, we’re, like, paid an equal wage and stuff with, like, the men and stuff. Wow!” Or the one time we were talking about Wal-Mart and the British dude said, “Well, I’ve been researching Wal-Mart, and they’re actually a really great company to work for. They pay their employees really well.” To which I replied, “In what country are you talking about?” He looked at me blankly, “Wal-Mart is only located in the US.” I said, “Dude, you need to check your damn facts a little harder.”

It was a disgruntling and disheartening class for me.

The last day of class, our professor sort-of snapped. Someone made yet another naive comment about “things being so much better now than before” and our professor went on a 30-minute lecture/tirade on how the religious right has been slowly taking over the US government since before the 1980s, our culture has turned into a consumerist playground of individualist corporate-worshiping zombies, and how folks like us need to start paying attention to how capitalism is fucking us. It was quite a show — so much so that one gal got up and left in a huff in the middle of it.

Black Women Rising

In the beginning of the semester, our instructor was late to class almost every week for six weeks, one time being an hour late. One day she didn’t show up at all; it was only after we had sent someone to her office 15 minutes after the start of class that we learned class was cancelled.

The first day she handed us the syllabus, which only went through the second week. The third week class was cancelled and finally, by the fifth week, she gave us a syllabus that went up to spring break. Two weeks after spring break we received the remainder of the class schedule. Organizationally, it was awful and stressful for those of us who needed to know major assignments ahead of time.

While I think we met the course objectives, lacking was any sort of critical examination of culture and society. This course was more of an historical survey of prominent black women in US history. This is well and good, but what about today? What about the structures still in place that are oppressive and repressive (e.g., religion, education, the gender binary)? One of our texts was Patricia Hill Collins’ Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment, so while we examined the key themes of Collins’ work, we didn’t connect it to our everyday lives or seek ways to make change. Perhaps as an introductory course it worked for some of my classmates, but for me it was a rehashing of “here’s how things have been, and here’s how things currently are”.

There also wasn’t a lot of class discussion. Most of the class time was spent looking at PowerPoint slides while the instructor lectured on the readings or attempted to get my classmates to understand the readings. I had expected more.

Music Appreciation

I cannot complain about this course enough to get it out of my system. I downright HATED this course.

We had a corporate textbook that came with a CD-ROM and 2 music CDs that cost over $100 and, if we had an additional $45 laying around, we could buy the 4 extra music CDs because even though the text only came with the first two, it covered music on the extra CDs and we went through all 48 fucking chapters. For the instructor, the corporate text came with pre-written PowerPoint slides for each chapter and of fucking course our instructor used those slides. The lectures were mind-numbing and by the middle of the semester the instructor magically lost the extra CDs and so stopped playing the music tracks in class altogether. He read to us the PP slides. Attendance was more-or-less required, because the instructor gave unannounced “quizzes” which counted toward our final grade. I say “quizzes” because he went over the questions right before he handed out the scantron forms (bubble sheets). I only took two of them and still managed to pass the class, so I ask you: what the fuck’s the point?

The exams were multiple-choice, true/false, and matching with listening sections and covered the most minute details. We were given the exam questions ahead of time, which meant we had to memorize four-to-six chapter’s worth of questions and puke it all up into the right bubble come exam time.

Fuck this course.

Queer Theory

I can say with all certainty this professor has been the most challenging of the semester, possibly of my entire undergraduate career. Not because she was hard to get along with or had insane course requirements, but because it was an upper 400-level course and she knows that means we should be competent enough to know how to handle theory and discourse.

Several of my classmates proved her wrong. One eventually stopped attending because she felt attacked every time she spoke (not by the professor, but by the rest of us). The six, sometimes seven of us who did speak in class, though, had great conversations and I came away with two great friends. Our reading load was heavy but manageable and for the most part engaging.

I went to the professor’s office hours and met with her over lunch, which can be both a good and bad thing. Good because we can talk about non-class related stuff and bad because it gives her an opportunity to get to know me and let me know what she thinks I’m capable of, which means there was no procrastinating in this class for me.

We had three papers and a final group paper and presentation. On the second paper I apparently wasn’t understanding the question I was to respond to, and she handed back my paper with a “see me after class” note. I met with her several times to hash out my thoughts, each time thinking I had gotten it only to say something not quite along the lines of what she was thinking and had to go back and re-write the damned thing. Even with talking with her I still got a B- on that damn paper. I didn’t have to write the third paper because she decided to let our groups decided to 1) write the third paper and have the final paper worth 30% of our final grade or 2) not write it and have the final paper be 50% of our grade; my group and I decided to take the second option because we’re insane.

When I was thinking about taking this course, I looked up the professor and found a syllabus from a year prior. For that semester, the final paper was an individual assignment and I was all excited about writing my own paper according to my own interests. Then I got to class and found out it would be a group project. I stayed in because it looked like it would prove to be a great class — and it was — but the project was stressful. I was in a group of three and our third person was not committed and rarely came to class. I was worried that she would write anything at all. I’ll just say that it is evident which section of the paper was written by her.

Besides the project, it was a class I looked forward to going to and one in which the professor expected the best from me.

Be ye not half-assed.

History of Love and Marriage

Although I had a bad experience with the Social Psychology of Marriage course, I decided to give this course a try. I’m glad I went for it.

We had a huge reading packet, but it didn’t seem like a lot as we worked through it. Class discussions were highly active and enjoyable (except for that time a gal said, “I don’t think we should question the government,” and spurred a heated debate) and unlike the previous marriage class, we actually were encouraged to question the institution. We looked at marriage and the family from colonial America to the present and examined not only het couples but all the forms relationships take in reality.

We only had two exams and a final paper; easy and sweet.

Media Studies

I had the same instructor for this class as for history of marriage, so it worked out well. The class title is actually “Gender and Multiculturalism”, but the instructor is a film studies (cultural criticism, perhaps) scholar so we examined mass media from a critical perspective. She’s a great instructor/teacher who just finished her doctorate and is moving on to a professorship at another university in the fall.

We had three minor papers and a final paper in which we examined a different cultural artifact (e.g., commercial, print ads, teevee shows) for each. Class discussions were a little sparse, as a lot of my classmates just didn’t give a damn about the influence of media and advertising on their lives. I still enjoyed the class, if only because I was able to research the Internet more.

_________
Not a bad last semester overall, but I’m still glad it’s over.

What is certain is that the History of Love and Marriage class has won the contest for the most monstrous course packet ever.

At $61, it rivals an entire ream of printer paper but only holds roughly 35 readings.

I dropped Survey of Acting in favor of Music Appreciation, which I think will suit me and my insane load much better. I went to the bookstore to pick up the textbook, only to find it was one of those shrink-wrapped deals. The pack contained a smallish textbook and 2 music CDs — for $103. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I said to the bookshelf. I promptly went home and ordered the text and CDs from Amazon and, even with expedited shipping, it only cost a mere $65 and change. Screw you, textbook racketeers.

If you only see me on the weekends, you now know why.

Expand for comparison shots of the monstrous packet.

I have had all but one of my classes so far, and holy shit this is an insane load:

Black Women Rising

This is the class I haven’t had yet; it meets every Wednesday. We have three books and who knows what else or what I’ll have to do.

• Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment by Patricia Hill Collins
• Black Women in White America: A Documentary History by Gerda Lerner
• When and Where I Enter: The Impact of Black Women on Race and Sex in America by Paula Giddings

Gender & Multiculturalism

The professor for this class loves media studies, so we’re looking at gender and multiculturalism as it is influenced by/portrayed in the mass media. I have this professor for the History of Love & Marriage class as well and I’m looking forward to some great discussions.

We have a fatass reader (Gender, Race, and Class in Media by Hines & Humez) and will be doing three “short” papers, an article report, a sources compilation, and a final research paper, in addition to random homework assignments and quizzes. (Quizzes? Really? WTF?) Crazy.

History of Love & Marriage

Again, same professor as above so I’m looking forward to this class, as compared to that other marriage class I took, which sucked horribly.

We’ll be reading The Stepford Wives, Charlotte Temple: A Tale of Truth, and thirty other pieces from a “huge” packet (prof’s words; it’s not in yet). Other work includes a book review, a compilation of sources, a final research paper, quizzes, random homework assignments, plus both a midterm and a final exam. I’m starting to become afraid.

Women & Work

I’ve had this professor before and the topic sounded interesting. Those are my main reasons for taking this class — and I need the credits for the major. We have a large packet of readings and a text (Working Women in America: Split Dreams by Hesse-Biber & Carter). Other than that, I have to write two paragraphs (one summary, one my reaction) for each article in the packet, lead one class discussion, and write one final paper of five to ten pages. I can breathe a little easier.

Interdisciplinary Studies in Sexuality: Scholarship on Lesbian and Gay Issues

Holy shit another seminar.

I know this will be a great class and I’m just freaking out over the load. Really. It’s going to be a great class.

I’ll be writing three “short” papers, leading a class discussion, attending two films and writing response papers afterwards, designing and implementing a group research project, writing the group research paper and presenting it all at the end of the semester. In addition to that fun, we have a reading packet of about 270 pages and five books:

• Queer Theory: An Introduction by Jagose
• Female Desires: Same-sex Relations and Transgender Practices across Cultures by Blackwood and Wieringa (eds.)
• Gay New York: Gender, Urban Culture, and the Making of the Gay Male World, 1890-1940 by Chauncey
• Sapphic Slashers: Sex, Violence, and American Modernity by Duggan
• Trumpet: A Novel by Kay

It’s okay for me to freak out, right?

Sociology of Developing Nations

This will be my easiest, lightest class. I’m taking it because (1) I’m interested in the topic and (2) I wanted to take one more class with this professor. We meet three times a week for lecture and have a medium-sized packet of 258 pages with four essay exams; if I do well on the first three I don’t have to take the last one. I’m really looking forward to this course, mostly for the professor’s analysis of the “evolving world system” of global capitalism and national “development”.

Survey of Acting Music Appreciation

I got screwed on one of my transfer credits and have to take another Liberal Arts requirement to make up for it. My academic advisor recommended Survey of Acting and while I’m really not interested in theater arts, I thought I’d give it a shot. My advisor told me other students had really enjoyed the class and that you learn about stage acting skills and read from plays. I don’t know what you’d get from that tidbit, but I thought that meant we’d all be sitting in a circle reading from scripts and such. I learned today, however, that we would be performing five scenes, four of them with a partner (we’d have to get together outside of class time to rehearse), and would be required to memorize the lines — in addition to the in-class exercises and quizzes and other theater-y stuff.

In a normal semester of twelve to fifteen credit hours, I could totally memorize some plays and meet with people outside of class. This semester? No fucking way. I work with theory, not voice inflection. Tomorrow I’m dropping it and adding Music Appreciation, which will probably be more difficult than it sounds, but I know I won’t have to memorize any lines or remember what it means to be “upstage” or “downstage”.

I’m hoping the semester flies away and by the end of April I’ll be lamenting that I don’t know where it all went. Because the reality is that in fifteen weeks — just 15 weeks! — my ass will be officially edumacated and this craziness will have been worth it.

I hate it when folks vomit in our courtyard. At least it goes well with the shit.