notageek

That NOT ON A DIET thing. That’s great when I don’t have to fit into a wedding dress in June. So, for next quarter and the remainder of this one, I am on the most salad-heavy version of Atkins I have ever personally witnessed.

I had miso soup for breakfast. I cooked ground beef for the first time ever for dinner. I tossed out the last of my miserable loaf of bread and bought a bunch of leaf lettuce. This is the end of sale Easter candy, M&Ms of boredom, and, at least for a while, grilled-cheese sandwich dinners. So, uh, am I betraying my feminist ideals? I dunno, that depends which feminists and which ideals, and whether they include buying a completely different wedding dress or buying into some feminine ideal. But I am thinking of this as a) quit eating sugar crap and b) eat salad instead of bread. Neither of which is really a bad idea, macronutrient-ly speaking, and that is why my eight nectarines (which were on sale) and five pounds of grapes (also on sale) are in the freezer, waiting for me to consume them in reasonable portions in two weeks.

Until then, I have a new and awesome excuse to be cranky–one which garners me instant sympathies from every woman in my class.

I know I have an unidentifiably-ethnic look about me, like I’m not white, not quite, but you can’t tell what–which is partly why I was comfortable in my ethnicity in Spain, in Argentina, in California, even though I was not a member of the dominant ethnic groups there, because nobody really bothered to ask.

I know that, ok? I know you cannot tell what my ethnic background is, because unlike my brother I do not have the epicanthic folds plus the superstraight black hair plus the big honking germanic nose. I know you are curious, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

But, you know, if you just sit back and watch a little, you will probably hear me talk about my sprawling Midwestern family, and my uptight, pathologically sensible Chinese relatives. You could probably put two and two together, if you just waited around a while for the data (and the twos) to come in. And while it’s slightly irritating to me that so many people seem to think that knowing my ethnic background is something they have a right to know, as if it will or should change the way we interact, what’s worse is the way they inquire.

Look–Halloween costumes exempt, there are very few instances where it is polite to ask someone, “What are you?” If you want to know about my ethnic background, just ask. “Hey, I was wondering what your ethnic background is.” “Where is your family from?” You can even, g-d forbid, ask “Where are you from?”–but you shouldn’t be surprised if I answer “Oh, I was born at Children’s.”

For fuck’s sake, you can ask. Don’t get all angsty about your white man’s politeness burden, ok? You can ask. It’s a little irritating, but you can ask. Just, for fuck’s sake, don’t be a dick about it.

You get three menstrual cycles per quarter. Ready, set: bleed.

Oh, but first have your pre-menstrual slump. Or was that your midtermal slump? Never mind, it’s the same thing, this quarter. I’m having trouble coming to terms with the never-ending bullshit. Not that this quarter is nothing but bullshit, but since last quarter was full of chewy academics, I thought I had permanently escaped the hyperglycemic bullshit nougat.

Excuse me while I wash my hands of the stench-mingled mixed metaphors.

Of course, I’m always making the mistake of thinking I’ve Finally Escaped the Bullshit–previous demarcations that have gone on to break my heart include: going to high school, starting undergraduate work, dropping out of school, going back to school to do my upper-division work, working at a pharmacy, and now taking classes in my second term of pharmacy school. At this point, I’m really starting to believe that the only ways to really and finally escape the majority of the motherfucking bullshit are to find an existing independent pharmacist who swears and rolls her eyes a lot and is planning to retire, or to start up my own pharmacy.

That starting-my-own-pharmacy thing, it’s looking better all the time. I can quash my fear of business practice and pharmacy marketing. I can’t sock away my reflexive cringing-from-bullshit.

Trust me, I’ve tried to drink the Kool-aid. Couldn’t choke it down.