camp hamp

I am now a full-time student at Hampshire College, studying Developmental Neuropsychology. I'd go into how I got here and the whole transition and whatnot, but its a long and boring story that culminates in me really liking it here and being happy which is the whole point anyway. More soon, this school is full of hipsters, drunk and naked people, and great blog material.
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Sleep Deprivation

I haven't been sleeping. Something about wanting to sleep through the days I'm stuck in New York, and being awake at night when I don't have a reason to go outside. It's pathetic, really. The waiting game has begun. I have freshmanitis. I have no idea what I'm doing with my life next year. There's nothing I want more than to go to University of Washington, Seattle, this Autumn.

Anyway. Here's an email I wrote to my boyfriend after pulling my 3rd all nighter of this week. There's nothing special about it, I just wanted to put it somewhere I'll be able to find it later. To avoid any confusion, Gus is the mouse that lives in our room and has taken up a temporary residence under my wardrobe. I don't really care as long as he doesn't poop on my stuff. :

"...it took my roommate 40 minutes to make a piece of toast. that shes now eating with a fork.

is this how normal people act on the mainland?

is it a common practice to ONLY walk on the balls of one's feet?

does the average college student go to bed at 9pm?

is it barbaric that i eat toast with my hands?

is it weird that i cant ever sleep because the city is always lit up like a fucking christmas tree?

to all these questions i should hope the answer is no.

because if its not, i want to go home and stay there where it takes me 30 seconds to make a piece of toast.

this city is gross and full of pollution and rude people who think they're better than everyone.

id rather live in a city polluted by priuses and starbucks because at least the rain smells like rain and not like infectious diseases.

greatest city in the world, my ass.

my only confidante is gus, and he is afraid of me.

all he wants is a meadow and some peanut butter.

i wish i could help him."

It's been a while.

I'm now officially a student at Eugene Lang College. I LOVE my psych classes, so at least I got something right. However, I still need more trees, so I just sent in a whole bunch of transfer apps: Vanderbilt, Bowdoin, and Hampshire. I'm still working on Brown and University of Washington and a few supplements, but it'll all be over soon. Then the waiting game begins. The game where I call my mom every day at exactly 7:30 New York Time (2:30 Hawaii time) and ask her to check the mail for me. Here we go again! If there's anyone reading, cross your fingers. I need it.

My tattoo. :D

First of all, if you're looking for a great NYC tattoo shop, go to Red Rocket Tattoo on 36th St. between 5th and 6th. My tattoo was done by Betty Rose, who is very professional, an absolutely incredible tattoo artist, and also a nice person. You can't really tell from my shitty Blackberry photo, but the lines are perfect, and I am so proud to have this piece of art on me forever.

Here's the details: It's on my left wrist. It cost me $80, Red Rocket's minimum. It didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would and I pretty much have no tolerance for pain. On the physical pain scale I'd rank it between getting my gums deep cleaned and middle school. Its like really sharp pinches, and it's worse when they go over your veins and stuff, but its not completely unbearable. I'm not running back to get another one, but that's partly because I'm broke, partly because I don't have anything else meaningful that I want on my body at the moment, and partly because yeah, it did hurt.

My grandmother passed away 1o years ago this summer. Although I only knew her for 8 short years, she was a major part of my life, and to this day I believe she has had more influence on me than anyone else in my family (other than maybe my parents). My grandmother was a teacher, an artist and an all around wonderful person. Only recently did I find out that she suffered from Bipolar disorder, which only reinforced my aspiration to become a clinical psychologist, psychiatrist, or art therapist, and work with people with Asperger's Syndrome and Bipolar Disorder.

I remember very vividly a day when my grandmother came to visit. I couldn't have been more than six years old, and I was not psyched to spend all day in a museum with my mom and grandma. I, of course, whined and fidgeted around the whole time until my grandmother offered to take me to the gift shop. There I found a coloring book by Keith Haring, a New York City graffiti artist. His simplistic cartoon figures reminded me of the Nickelodeon guy who slips on the banana peel (making the "splat" logo). My grandma bought me the coloring book, and continued to mail me things that were related to Keith Haring. This was the first day I was ever remotely interested in art, not as an activity, but as something to be appreciated. Although I have chosen to not pursue a career in art, it is still something I love to do and appreciate, and is a major aspect of my life.

My tattoo is Keith Haring' s "Radiant Baby," which was basically his calling card, or signature in some cases. The version of "Radiant Baby" that I have has wings (obviously), and represents a sort of hybrid of my grandmother and myself; she is the angel, and I am the baby.

23 days.

I miss Maui SO much. I never thought I would. Boy came to visit me for a very strange Thanksgiving in New Jersey. Now its just the FIIINALLL COUNTDOWNNNN!!!

5 final projects, 1 research paper, and I get the beach as a prize!

My school decided to give me a scholarship for getting good grades. An "academic competitiveness grant." Cool beans, can I leave now?

Mothers

Whenever I have 9am classes, I walk by 2 or 3 schools on my way. I always see parents and their children going to school. I wonder what kind of mother I'm going to be. Will I be the one who drags her children to class? Will I be the one who has a nanny do it so I can get my beauty sleep? Will I be the one who lets her kids take mental health days?

I know one thing for sure. I will not be the old haggard divorced one whose husband left because she let herself go. And I also will not raise my children in New York City.

More Transfer Shit

So now that I've finished my NS application, I'm restless again. I'm also going to stop fucking around and say the names of the schools I'm talking about which I may or may not change one I apply to them. NS stands for The New School. I currently attend Parsons School of Design. I applied as a transfer to Eugene Lang College, the liberal arts division of the New School, SUNY Purchase, and Rochester Institute of Technology. I hope to transfer to Amherst College, Bowdoin College, Brown University, Cornell University, Skidmore College, or University of Washington for Fall 2010.

I'm conflicted because unlike the rest of these schools, University of Washington runs on a quarter system. I applied as a freshman and was denied because at the time I sent in my application my GPA was a 2.81 unweighted (when I graduated I believe it was a 3.01 unweighted, maybe 3.2 weighted), which is far below UW's standards, especially for out of state applicants. Because UW runs on the quarter system, I can still apply for Spring quarter which starts in late March. I feel like going to Lang isn't going to tide me over, even for the semester. As of right now, my first choice is Brown University, but who am I kidding? I want to major in cognitive neuroscience but my math and science high school grades (the only ones they have to base anything on, besides classes I've yet to take) were dismal. I feel like going to UW would be an amazing experience, but I'm hesitant to apply for a few reasons:

1. If accepted, I would have to drop all my second semester New School courses, making it a waste of time and money to have taken them.

2. I cannot apply to any of these other schools.

3. Boy would be 2000 miles away.

I guess when all is said and done I should just not apply. Maybe for Fall '10.

I'm so sick of all this transfer bullshit. Why couldn't I have worked harder in high school? Or better yet, why am I up at 3am when I have a class at 9?