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Marenka
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Name: Jessica
Country: United States
State: Oregon
Birthday: 2/18/1985
Gender: Female
Interests: Everything related, however tangentially, to the Czech Republic. Coming up with scenarios in my head in which I get to meet Václav Havel and/or Christopher Guest. Spanish and Latin-American studies and literature, religion/spirituality, unexplained phenomena and cryptozoology, movies/cinema, bike-riding, and current events. Oh, and the Amazing Race. And Survivor. Go Sandra!
Expertise: The Onion. Seriously.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Nonprofit
Message: message me
Member Since:
1/22/2004
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| Random update just to encourage all of you to check out my new site! I'm posting there pretty regularly. So read it!  | | |
| Please check out my new blog. I like Xanga, but I mostly got into just because that's what Chris, Ryan, and Jessica H. were using, and I think in some ways I need more than what it has to offer. I want to be able to title my posts, and I don't like that people have to register to be able to leave comments. I've been getting more hits lately because of some comments I've left in other places, Google, and the Oregon blogsite, and I want to open up my journal to other people.
At least in the beginning, I'll probably post a message here when I update my new blog, just so that you remember to check it  I'll still leave comments on other people's xangas (since I'm still registered, of course), and I'll still be a member of the LC blogring. I hope you all will come check me out at http://www.marenkaj.blogspot.com! | | |
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And now for something completely different.
Last Saturday I was coming back from an interview in the library when a first-year student who lives down the hall grabbed me by the elbow. "You have to dress up tonight!" she announced brightly. This particular girl is very smart, enthusiastic and friendly: the quintessential extrovert, although she definitely has a quieter side. She was wearing a red tank top and a dressy black skirt. Clay had organized about forty of us from the dorm to go see Hero downtown, and it appeared that she was trying to get everyone to dress up.
"Ohhhh," I sighed. "I'll dress up when we go out dancing, I promise."
"Just go put on a skirt! Get out of your jeans."
"These aren't jeans, they're cords. And besides, I haven't shaved my legs in awhile."
"So wear a long skirt."
"I don't have any long skirts." This was a bit of a lie. I could have told her seriously, of course, "No. I don't want to dress up," and she would have listened to me. But she was insistent in a smiling way that made it hard to say no. She's one of my better friends among the freshmen, and I didn't want to put her off. Chalk it up to my being a passive-aggresive wimp.
"Well, I'll lend you one."
"I really don't think it would fit me." This girl is very thin. I am not.
"No, it's my mum's! The waist is really big. I mean, no offense." She wasn't being snide. I think she honestly realized only after she said it that that comment could have beeen interpreted as an insult, but I wasn't offended, since a size 4 would be huge on her. "Don't you think my mum's black skirt would fit Jessica?" She asked her roommate, who had just walked up and told me to dress up. As her roommate assured me that it would fit perfectly, the girl ran to her room to get the skirt.
Well, it didn't fit. Not even close. It was maybe a size 8, 10 at most. As I tugged it back down, I watched my emotions closely and carefully. It was as though I were an observer to my own psyche, willing the person I watched to not get upset. Time was, I would have been mortified that the skirt with the "very big waist" didn't fit. I would have been so embarrased and ashamed that I wouldn't have been able to look either of those girls in the eyes. But as I handed it back to the girl's roommate, I felt nothing. Nothing but a strange sense of calm. "Couldn't get it over my hips," I shrugged to her roommate. "I'll just wear black pants and dressy shoes, I guess." No big deal. At least in that moment--those few seconds as I tried on that skirt in my closet--my self-worth did not depend on a skirt with a not-very-big waist.
I wonder what's changed.
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| ¡¡Feliz día de independencia, México!!
In case anyone doesn't know, because it's a common misconception, Cinco de Mayo is NOT Mexican Independence Day. El Cinco de Mayo commemorates the Mexican victory at the Battle of Puebla, against the invading French forces. In the mid-19th century, Mexico, under el Presidente Benito Juárez (who is one of the top national heroes), defaulted on their foreign loans. England, France, and Spain threatened to invade, but only France actually carried the invasion out; supposedly, they lost every battle against the Mexicans. Nevertheless, Maximillion Napoleon was installed as the second emperor of Mexico (the first was el General Iturbide, who gave the country its name) and ruled for a few years before Juárez came back out of hiding in the northern states and had him executed.
Independence Day is el 16 de septiembre, obviously, and commemorates a rebellion led by the mestizo (mixed Indian and Spanish) priest Miguel Hidalgo in 1810 against the creoles (the Mexican-born Spanish). Mexico did not achieve independence from Spain until 1821, I think, but the 16th is celebrated as the official start of the independence movement.
Hurray for HIST 347: History of Modern Mexico!
Also, I've reached a conclusion: When it comes to certain things, I am a bit of a lightweight. One margarita with Gente Latina Unida (the Latin-American club) and I'm having trouble typing. At least I know my limits. | | |
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Exciting news: I was accepted in the Pamplin Society!
I've never heard of these crazy skill-testing questions, but then again, I've also never lived outside of the United States. Have any of you Canadians in the readership had experience with these things?
The following is not a spoiler.
Last night on The Amazing Race, while the teams were in Manila they each had to decorate a gypnee, these huge bus-type trucks that people use for public transportation. (They reminded me a little of Mexican horigas, if that helps you picture them. I'm making up the spellings on both the gypnee and the horiga, by the way.) I had never heard of these before, of course, but I was watching with Melissa, whose family is from the Philippines, and she was all, "Oh, gypnees! Those are so cool!"
Just as the teams were finishing the task, Alex walked into the lounge, took one look at the TV, and asked--no, announced--"WHAT the HELL are they doing to that gypnee?!"
I'm not exaggerating (well...not much) when I say that that moment, right then, encapsulated everything that I love about living in the International Dorm. See, I love that I -- I who grew up in the same small town in the same house for 18 years, less than two mile from where I was born -- can sit in the lounge and watch a reality TV show with such travelled, international people. People who have already lived in more countries than I ever will. People who speak three or four languages fluently. People who are pursuing internships with the ambassador of Camaroon, for crissakes, or who spent their junior year abroad in countries I dream of visiting, or who experienced the SARS outbreak in Beijing first-hand, or who get all nostalgic when they see the Singapore or Hong Kong or Dubai airports on the show. Listening to Alex, in Portland from France by way of the Phillipines, and Melissa, a Californian Filippina, discussing the merits of various forms of transportation in Manila just made my day. | | |
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