5 very embarassing things

Once again, I open my innermost secrets to all of you. Okay, so they're not life changing, scarring, or ruining, and you probably couldn't blackmail me with them, but they're pretty bad. Somehow though, sharing them makes me a little more self aware and happy. I guess in a way I am proud of the terrible things I love/do. Which sounds a lot more insinuating than I mean it to be. Whatever. Just read on. I hate introductions.

1) I have cried during a lot of Ugly Betty episodes

Fact. A sad, but true, fact. Maybe it's because I seem to watch them all during some pivotal turning point in my life, snuggled up in bed at 1am. Circumstances have a lot to do with emotions. But really, if I am alone and it's quiet, I probably will cry at something in an episode. They just know how to tug on your heartstrings! Betty misses her dad's birthday because of work, and he at it he has a heart attack, and she IGNORES HER SISTER'S CALLS as their father is rushed to the hospital. Then Elliott Smith starts playing as the montage of sad faces begins. Oh god, here it goes. And her old flame Henry is back for the 17th time and it's all "ooh emotions I thought I'd forgotten" etc etc. And they kiss it's messy, and "I miss you", and "No we can't!" It goes on and on until I can barely contain myself.

2) I enjoy Enya's music

And what are you going to do about it? I practically grew up on Enya (along with a lot of Beatles, Simon & Garfunkel, and classical msuic), so she is imbedded in my brain whether I like it or not (especially the "Sail away!" part of one of her songs). Luckily, I do like it. When I am stressed out, too tired to move, or just feeling depressed, a good round of "Watermark" or "A Day Without Rain" really puts me in a good place. It's soothing, it's quiet, and her voice is very beautiful. Hate all you want; bitch has got TALENT. Now inventing her own language, that's a whole 'nother Enya I'd rather not go into...

3) Some of my favorite books are the "Shopaholic" series

I started reading the first one after going "Junky Book Shopping" with my mom for our summer road trip to Palm Springs. When you're sitting by a pool in 110 degree weather, the last thing you want to do is think too hard over a huge volume of Descartes' theorems on space and time. Anyway, I picked this one out. The description hooked me: "Becky has a fabulous flat in London's trendiest neighborhood, a troupe of glamorous socialite friends, and a closet brimming with the season's must-haves. The only trouble is that she can't actually afford it–not any of it." Oh hell yes. Independent girl facing life issues in a big city. That's intriguing. I bought it, read it, and suddenly...I needed more. I read the entire series and even bought the new one when it came out. I found myself actually growing attached to Becky, her friends, her life...what can I say? She's adorable. And I like having something easy to read now and then; we can't all be the next scholar of French philosophers! Although I do love me some Voltaire and Rousseau...

4) When it comes to Rupert Grint, it's like I'm 13 all over again

Not even joking. I think some of my friends are starting to get a little ashamed of going to see the Harry Potter movies with me because I fawn over him like a teenage girl. And there is a very deep buried part of me that still believes we would be great together; if we met, and bychance got to spend some time together, I swear to god it would go very well. And I am a sucker for that red hair. Who isn't? Look at him! Even his onscreen character, Ron Weasley, is appealing to me. But I guess it's time to snap back to reality. I have to approach things from a serious standpoint. Which means I should start using that scientifically proven correct six degrees of seperation test to see how I can meet him...

5) I used to run about 5 or 6 fansites
And believe me, they were all for very embarrassing, stupid things. One was for Ron Weasley, another for Pippin from Lord of the Rings, and a third for Joel Madden from Good Charlotte. I swear to God, if you laugh, I will haunt you. I am opening up my soul to you by telling you these things. I loved making websites and would use basically any excuse to make one. Fansites seemed perfect! I put up loads of useless information that didn't do anything to advance humanity or create a better world at all! Their birthdays, favorite colors, and pets. I created galleries of images just of them! What better way to fill up the internet than with pictures of a little Hobbit and wizard boy? I can't think of any. Unless it's for pictures of a tattooed pop punk band lead singer with a whiney voice. Oh god, kill me.

Add to the list the fact that I rant on here to basically no one. No one that I'm aware of anyway. Until next time, keep it real like I just did. The world doesn't need any more lies.

urban outfitters needs to be taken down. now.

Before I say anything else in this piece, let me just start off by saying: I am underweight. Gasp! No! Yes. I am. And it's how I have been my whole life. I naturally have a very thin figure and I don't carry a lot of weight. So I have always looked very skinny. It's led to some awkward comparisons and a few nasty rumors at summer camp, but overall I have always been happy to be like this. I am proud of my body (daily affirmation: check).

In addition to this, I am often asked if I am a model because of my physique (I'm assuming, because it's certainly not because of my face), and even used to be a fit model when I was younger. I almost never have problems buying clothes because everything seems to fall on me pretty perfectly. While this is great, I do feel bad because I know it's those skinny ass jeans and tight shirts that lead to eating disorders and a general feeling of self loathing in America. But they do fit me! Gah! What am I gonna do? I know I am not an average girl, that I am much thinner, and probably look like a bit of a freak some times. They shouldn't be catering to people my size at all! I am the minority! Me! The size 2! Make more size 6 and 8 pants! For God's sake, that's what normal people wear.

Now bear all that incessant rambling in mind as I state the following: I have never worn anything that makes me look or feel fat. Obviously. I am tiny. How could this be possible. Well, reader, yesterday I put on a skirt and it made my thighs look huge.

Yes. My size 2 (or 4 depending on the store) thighs looked huge.

The store? Urban Outfitters. Those motherfuckers.

I'll admit I am a sucker for Urban Outfitter's clothes: they are adorable and trendy. However, because of their monstrous prices, my art student budget, and the general hipster attitude they perpetrate that I kind of try to veer away from, I usually find myself crossing the street to Forever 21 and buying something exactly the same for 30 bucks less. As a result of this, I rarely shop at Urban at all. But yesterday they were having a sale! Half off sale items! So freaking cheap. I had to go in. I found a few things: some skirts, two tops, and a tanktop. And I proceeded into the dressing rooms.

Obviously all the sizes I had picked were smalls. So imagine my utter terror when I put on the frst skirt and I can barely pull it over my underweight butt. What the hell is going on here? I thought in anger. This would never happen at Forever 21! Ashamed and hating myself, I pulled it off, threw it on the ground, lit it on fire, and burned the whole fucking store down.

Nah I'm kidding. I just took it off and kicked it to the side unhappily. But it was a deep passionate kick of hatred! Imagine how my mood decreased when I tried on the next skirt and got the same result. Istarted to convince myself that I had gotten fatter in the butt (oh, college, how I love you) but this is impossible because I am still wearing the same jeans from 11th grade. I started to feel horrible. Not only for myself, but for everyone who shops at this store. I mean, what the living hell?! Here I am, an underweight, tall, skinny, size 2 (or 4), model-body girl and I cannot fit into a size small at Urban Outfitters.

I find this outrageous on so many levels. What do they want girls to do to themselves, starve? Work out till they drop dead? Do the master cleanse once a month? Apparently. I want to take UO down, people. You should have seen how mad I was. I even Tweeted about it and called my friend Karina to yell.

On top of all this crap, I tried on one of the tops in a small and my boobs were showing because they couldn't fill the top. So...now they want us to have extremely small waists but huge boobs? Who runs this company, Playboy Magazine? Womanizers Inc?

Oh yeah, sidenote: they also price all their lomography cameras way too high. You're paying too much for a toy that you can find on Ebay for much less. So much less.

Fuck you, UO.

the process of getting up

Waking up is a very ritualistic process for me. It has several steps and there are patterns I follow each morning. But I'm sure I am not exception to this rule; we all have our little quirks and mannerisms to waking up. Maybe you need a banana on your cereal to really start the day. Or you do 100 push ups. Or maybe you need to blast "One Week" by the Barenaked Ladies and strut around your room with no clothes on. Whatever that special something is, you feel required to stand by it for your day to operate correctly.

For me, waking up isn't so much what I do, but in what sequence I do it. I start work at the museum at 10am every day, and I set my alarm for 7:45. Not because I want to be up and at 'em at 8:00, but simply because I know it's going to take me some time to wake the hell up. And that it where it all begins...

7:45 A.M.
Alarm goes off. I roll over and turn it off, glance at it to make sure all is well, then snuggle back under my covers.

8:00 A.M.
My internal clock rouses me and I glance at the clock once more just to make sure all is going well. I fall back into a shallow sleep.

8:25 A.M.
I wake up again and this time I start to move around a little bit more to get myself up. I open my eyes slightly more than the two times before and even stretch my arms out. Serious morning stuff. I still get back under the covers though, not ready to face the cold hardwood floor. So cold on my feet, argh...

8:35 A.M.
One last opening of the eyes, and I am pretty much awake. Satisfied that I have spent almost an hour getting out of bed, I sit up, and take a moment to recollect myself so I don't run down the ladder from my loft bed and, in a dizzy fit, hurl all over my floor. Once I am down the ladder, there is no going back. I know it is time for me to face the day ahead of me. I turn on my computer, open the blinds, curse whatever the weather is for that day (foggy, it's too cold; sunny, it's too warm) and start to walk downstairs.

8:45 A.M.
Still in my pajamas (THIS IS CRUCIAL), I get a bowl of granola, a banana, and some unhealthy pastry like breakfast item (nutella on english muffins or cinnamon bread...whatever). I'll also either make tea or coffee, depending on my degree of laziness. Very lazy = coffee (we have a machine that does it all for you) Kinda lazy = probably still coffee. Not lazy, feeling good = tea. The only thing is, I drink decaf coffee, so this adds another degree of WAKE THE FUCK UP ON YOUR OWN to my day, except for the mountain of sugar I pour in, which probably is just enough to get me to work and to my desk.

9:00 A.M.
Back up in my room, I grab an outfit (one I probably thought of the night before; I've been getting into outfits lately). I'll probably convince myself it's not good enough to be seen, that I'm not good enough to be seen, and that I shouldn't even try any more.

9:06 A.M.
I check the train times online, check my email, check my tumblr maybe a little. I run to the bathroom and put on the necessary jewerly for the day. But, basically wishing I were a man half the time, I usually settle for one necklace and some earrings. I brush my teeth and floss as my dentist's voice rings in my head, and finally spray on maybe something to make me smell remotely like the lady I should be by now. Sorry, Mom. I don't even wear makeup, so this rapidly decreases my bathroom preparation time. Awesome.

9:10 A.M.
I check the train times once more and realize I have to get going like, right effing now. I run downstairs and pile an unholy amount of random snacks into my bag. I run back upstairs in a frenzy and turn off my computer, give myself one last look-over in the mirror (usually followed by a "Could be worse" kind of reaction), and pile my iPod, notebook, planner, and wallett into the bag with snacks. Usually, I forget a book to read. Which is annoying cause eating alone is already depressing enough. Eating alone and just staring into space is way worse.

9:15 A.M.
I am out the door and down four or five blocks to the train station by my house. I get on the train slightly sweaty and gross already, and try not to feel like not everyone is staring at me (I always feel this way on trains! I think they're all engrossed with my obvious sweatiness and music that is too loud through my headphones). I ride the train 6 stops, and the whole way I am a vulture for a seat.

9:45 A.M.
I get off the train, walk extremely quickly down the street (THIS ISN'T A CHOICE - I don't know why I can't slow the hell down now and then. I'm a monster). I go in the employee entrance, sign in, race upstairs, and plop down at my desk. It is 10 AM. Fuck yeah.

And here I am.

clean the toilet seat. just clean it.

For this past week and all of next week, I have been/will be working at a museum for their exhibtions department. I've had this job twice before and it's a blast. I love it. I'm currently pursuing a career in working in modern art museums, so any kind of experience and/or knowledge is a plus for me. Plus, the work they give me here is petty yes, but somehow extremely fascinating to me. It would seem my love for all kinds of modern and contemporary art has rendered me totally blind to the intern bitch work. I just love being here, surrounded by art. What more do I want in my young, starving art student life?

I work in an office seperate from the main room of cubicles. I share the office with the Exhibitions Designer (who is kind enough to let some little intern sit by him every day and ogle all the design plans he has laid out for upcoming exhibits). Since I'm in this office seperated from the main throng of desks, I use the public restroom that is available to all the museum patrons.

Now, this is a museum, so it's fancy, right? Yes. It's clean, right? Yes. And it seems like everything is maintained to the utmost perfection, right? Absolutely. This museum is a miracle worker in lighting, presentation, smell, whatever. I love it. However yesterday, I proceeded to the restroom with my normal degree of excitement/involvement ("Okay, going to pee, I've ignored the urge for too long..."). There was one stall open, and yet people were waiting in a line. I asked if I could use it and they shrugged and said sure. So I went in.

And I saw why they had all been avoiding it: there was a sprinkle of pee all alongside the seat.

Okay, first of all, I never understand how this happens in women's restrooms. The only thing I can think of is someone brought their little son in to help pee. But if that's case, you are TOTALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR CLEANING THAT SHIT UP. Furthermore, even if it was a woman, not a little boy, you are STILL RESPONSIBLE FOR CLEANING THAT SHIT UP. And you are also responsible for figuring out what could be wrong with your vagina so that it does that.

And what makes me even more mad is that all these people were avoiding that stall just because there was some pee on the seat. Hell, anyone could clean that up! You grab some toilet paper, wipe it, and then you do your stuff. If you don't clean it, some poor underpaid union worker is going to have to do it anyway. So maybe you should suck it up for once! Why is it so hard?

I can undersatnd the clogged toilets thing. That's a broken toilet. Plus, poo is on a totally different level than pee. But man, if I could show you this one toilet I had to pee in in a Berlin art house...
Oh wait. I can.
Here it is (click that man, click it)

Yeah. Gross. But I did it. I fucking did it.

So, if I can pee into that, I think you can take three minutes to wipe up some pee in a posh metropolitan modern art museum bathroom.

If you'll excuse me, I am an all important intern with duties to attend to. Like cleaning restrooms, apparently.

frequently asked questions/statements about my name that annoy me

Just, as a precursor: if you didn’t know already, my name is India. Why yes, it is quite odd. So yes, it does prompt dumb questions/statements. I don't know why some people seem to get really nervous/stupid around me when they learn my name. Is it really that off putting? There are girls named Jordan and Darcy these days. There are boys named Phoenix, and babies named Apple. It's time to step into the next century! Hell, I was here before all of that crap. So maybe I'm the original.

In any case, my name has always been a great conversation starter. I like to talk about it, I really do. And most of the time, people say some really nice things and have very interesting observations. And I say that without a hint of sarcasm. At dinner parties and social gatherings, everyone seems genuinely interested in my name, which I find flattering and humbling at the same time. There are things you can totally ask me. Where my name comes from is suitable, yes. So is the story behind my name. It's just some times, people can be so oblivious! I get a lot of annoying questions and statements in response to a simple introduction. Here are my least favorites. And yes, they are all taken from real life situations.

1) “Are you named after the country?”
Why…why yes! Yes, I am. My parents love it more than me. Just the other day they were saying "Thank God we could take our only daughter in the whole world and dedicate her to a country we have never been to nor have any ties to at all! You are a shrine, India." "Thanks Mom and Dad! Looks like I am nothing more than a symbol to a people I have nothing to do with."

2) “Oh, are you Indian?”
Was it my white skin and obvious caucasianness that gave it away? Or just that my name is India? Because I hear people have been naming their kids after the place they're from A LOT lately. Like that friend I have named North Carolina. And that guy in my painting class named Ontario. Oh, and you can't forget Ireland! He's a champ! Except I AM KIDDING. Come on, really? Gimme a break.

3) “Where’s the jewel on your forehead? HAHAHA.”
Hilarious. And racist. Perfect. You people have really reached a new low with this one. What do you want me to do, laugh along with your stereotyping joke? Do I think it's funny that I don't have a jewel on my forehead but I'm named India? No. I don't. I think it makes sense. Why? Reread number 2, above. Some day I'm going to end up just saying something like "It fell off on the bus ride here. Damn it. Gotta order another pack tonight, I'm almost out." and then walk away. Then I'll get someone to describe the expression on the poor sucker's face to me because I don't want to turn around in fear I'll burst out laughing.

4) “Did your parents honeymoon in India?”
Thanks for putting scarring ideas and thoughts into my head. Also, isn't this a cocktail party? What kind of evening conversation starter is that?

5) “OHAI LOLZ, what’s your name again? China? Israel? LOLOLZERSS!!!!11”
I'm going to punch you.

6) “What’s up, Pakistan? Ha. Get it? It’s a country.”
Pakistan can be replaced with just about any country in the world, but believe me: I’ve heard them ALL. Yes, even The Democratic Republic of the Congo. You will not be original or funny or witty. Unless you are an extremely cute boy who is flirting with me, I will not find this charming or hilarious in the slightest. Go ahead. You can try. But I will probably smile bitterly, excuse myself, and then go cry in the bathroom. Plus I don't know what kind of social statement you're trying to make with replacing India with another country anyway...are we going to be talking about political parties? The cast system in Asian countries? Lemme just get out my notes.

7) “You must get this a lot, but…”
Then just don’t. Thanks.

8) “I bet you LOVE Indian food!”
What kind of fucked up logic is that? No. I do not. In fact, I don’t like it all. It's spicy and it burns and that hurts me and all I can eat is naan bread because I have a geographic tongue which makes me very susceptible to spices and citruses of all kinds (true condition - it's here). And now that you've made me feel like a close minded white Canadian-American who doesn't appreciate other cultures' foods, may I go? I'm craving some good old American cheddar cheese on Wonder bread.

That’s all I could come up with on the spot.
Isn’t that enough?
PS I do love my name though. A lot. And I love India. I want to go there so badly…

things that really tick me off #2

It's another installment of "Things That Really Tick Me Off!" What useless object/opinion/horrible Creed-like band will I be bashing this time?

Flat soda

Yes, it's simple and stupid, but this really gets me mad. I can barely contain my anger when I open a bottle to a totally non-satisfying silence. Fuck you, I wanted this so badly to fizz with delight! This rarely happens with cans, which is really nice, and I always thought soda tasted better in cans anyway. But if you go to Bennington College (which I do) you know that we don't sell cans here (cause we're too good for them? too rich? too haughty? Who friggin knows). So I always get the bottle. And a lot of the time, my bottles open silently. Silence = bad.

This also seems to happen in the dining hall a whole lot. I'm already angry enough going to get my soda because they don't have Dr. Pepper, which is, and feel free to take me up on this debate, the best soda there is out there. No doubt. I adore it and think it tastes delicious. It's just a complex palette of flavor, something Coke doesn't do for me (and we're not even going to talk about Pepsi because I hate it's stupid face). But then I get even angrier after getting my Coke because I walk all the way back the table and it's flat And I swear to God it is always flat when I get it from the fountain. Or it was this last term. What's wrong with our soda fountain? How complex a piece of machinery is it to work? Everyone has one. I hear people have even been installing them in their homes (I might have made that up for argument's sake.)

So in the end, it just tastes like syrup water. I do NOT want to be reminded of what I'm drinking, thank you. Yes I know it's just sugar water. So sue me! I love it! I drink it a lot.

Now you all know of my unhealthy eating habits too. Whatever. I can never seem to get over 125 lbs. anyway. But a girl can dream, right? Gotta keep drinking that straight up Coca Cola syrup! Thanks Bennington!

PS Wait, wait...maybe I didn't make up that part about people putting soda fountain's in their homes! Look how easy it is to buy one ebay! And notice they call it a "Home" one! Plus there's this one all pro with logos and everything. Mm tasty. A sub-par yet filling meal was never so easy.