replaced by every day

I hate how I get upset ridiculously easily when it comes to some things -- like talking to professors. Last week I talked to the professor that I have that horrible group project for. You need to talk to me if you're having problems with a group member not showing up to meetings, he had said during class, and so my group went to his office after class and expressed our opinions about [S], who always misses meetings.

After the rest of my group had left, though, I stayed after to talk to him about one of my quiz grades, and after we had finished, he asked me, without any prompting on my part, about whether I was having problems with any of the other members of my group besides [S]. I said truthfully that I thought the rest of my group was fine, and that I was confident that we could complete the project even without [S]'s help. He looked at me a little skeptically, I think, and said that if I had any further problems that I should let him know. It's obvious that you're a good student, and your assignments thus far have been exemplary, he said, and you don't just contribute to class discussions, you always have something meaningful to say, and, he continued, I just don't want to see your grade suffer. You know?

And at that point my voice started to quaver, because how could I tell him no, I didn't know, because even if I do tell you my feelings about my group, what exactly can you do? I still have to do this project as a group regardless, right? So I don't see how you can change that. I wanted to tell him that the real problem was him assigning this stupid group project in the first place, that if he really didn't want the slackers messing up other group members' grades, he shouldn't have made this project count for 40% of our grade in the first place. I wanted to tell him I was frustrated by the fact that it's really hard to be an effective coordinator when the rest of your group members aren't helping out by taking some initiative, too. But I couldn't say these things without sounding like I just wanted the easy way out, so instead I bit my lip, croaked out answers to the rest of his questions and left before I started really falling apart.

I headed to the library afterward to check my email and do some other things. When I went to the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, saw my flushed cheeks and my slightly damp eyes, and I couldn't help but shed a few tears at how pathetic I looked.

I really don't know why I get so upset. It's one of those irrational, stupid stupid stupid things that just happens whenever I talk seriously with a professor, and it's one of the reasons why I can count the number of times I've gone to a professor's office hours in the last three years I've been at Tech on one hand. I wish it I weren't like that -- because the shame and embarrassment that comes from getting visibly upset in front of a professor is almost as bad as the getting upset itself.

Posted by Jennifer at 08:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Even though I didn't officially turn 21 until sometime around 1 a.m. on Friday morning, this weekend, starting Thursday night, felt like one long, subdued celebration of my birthday. And when I say subdued, I just mean that I didn't get trashed -- in fact, I didn't have any alcohol until late Saturday night, and even then it was more for the sake of being able to say that I had had something alcoholic on my birthday than anything else, just a couple of glasses of orange juice mixed with a few shots of vodka that I drank slowly through multiple episodes of Southpark and a fun game of Scrabble.

I purposely didn't remind my friends I was turning 21, partly because I have never made a big deal out of my birthday, and partly because I was too lazy/busy to call up all my friends (in Alpharetta or elsewhere) to try and organize some kind of party. As a result, I didn't get many presents. The inventory:

• a tennis racket
• two books -- Introducing Wine: A Complete Guide for the Modern Wine Drinker and Drinkology: The Art and Science of the Cocktail (both of which contain more information than I will ever need)
• a $10 B&N gift certificate
• a cup of frozen lemonade
• dinner at Steak and Shake
• $130 worth of new clothes and shoes

which doesn't sound too bad, until I tell you that the first two items on that list were from Alan (who as the boyfriend is expected to remember my birthday without any reminders), and the last item is what I bought for myself when I went shopping Saturday afternoon.

So subtract those three things, and that list may seem a little sad -- but it doesn't include so many other intangible things, like

all the IMs and emails I received from friends wishing me happy birthday!,

the two separate phone calls from my sister and my mother Friday night wishing me the same, (and also, I suspect, checking up on me to see whether I was out getting drunk),

how playing tennis with Alan (well, I suppose you can't really call it "playing"; it was more like him hitting balls at me and me trying to return them with some amount of grace) Friday morning before class was much more fun than I expected,

how many of the above gifts were totally unexpected, like the gift certificate and the frozen lemonade, which Scott presented to me with a plastic spoon and a "happy birthday" after I got to 4000 lecture -- 10 minutes late, out of breath, and a little sweaty from walking in the hot hot sun,

and, and, and --

and I feel like that still doesn't even begin to cover it, like I can't properly explain why my Friday was so good despite the fact that I didn't do anything more exciting than going to see a movie (Fahrenheit 9/11 -- which I had seen before) and getting food afterward.

Okay. So when I look at the person I am -- the kind of things I care about, the activities I put my efforts into, my aspirations (however uncertain), how I treat my friends and family -- I am really very satisfied with myself. I think I'm a pretty cool person, you know? Intelligent, kind, and most importantly, unsuperficial. I don't need people to tell me that. But it still feels really good when they do.

So at the risk of sounding trite, I'll just say that the best part of my weekend was just being constantly reminded that I have a lot of friends who care about me, who think my friendship is worthwhile enough to go a little bit out of their way to make me feel special. And really: I am so, so thankful for that.

Posted by Jennifer at 07:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The kids in DDL had their practical final today, and on the front page of their exam where they sign the honor code and whatnot, there was also a space where they could evaluate their TAs. There were two questions about the UTAs (that's what I am):

Which UTA was most helpful?
Which UTA was most knowledgeable?

Towards the end of the lab period, when about 2/3 of the kids had turned in their exams and they were sitting in a stack on the TA desk, I went over and flipped through them, just because I was curious to see what the students had written. None of them had listen my name for either of those questions. Which, I guess, doesn't really bother me; I'll be the first to admit that even though I was a very friendly TA, I was definitely not always very knowledgable. I could make excuses and say that it's harder to TA in summer because the way the TA schedule works out is such that I am not there for every single lab they do, so there's somewhat of a continuity problem; or I could also say that I took DDL all the way back in Fall 2003 so I've forgotten quite a bit -- but you know, when it comes down to it, some people are just better at DDL than I am. And I am okay with that. Nabil, the other guy that TAs with me, is one of those people, and you could tell because most of the students in my section had written his name for both of those questions. I don't begrudge him for that, either, because he's just a really nice guy, and he's not cocky or arrogant about his knowledge, either, which is the best kind of TA you can be.

But there was one test paper that caught my eye: this one kid had written some TA's name for one of the questions (I forget now whether it was the helpful one or the knowledgeable one), and then he had scratched it out and written, "not Jennifer." Which TA was the most helpful? NOT me. I admit that when I saw that, I was a bit taken aback, and definitely more than a little hurt. I mean, what a jerk thing to do, right? He could have used that space to compliment a good TA the way everyone else did, but instead he used it to diss me. I mean, he must have really disliked me to have thought about writing that, and what really baffles me is that I can't think of anything I did to merit such a strong dislike. I mean, if there was something I couldn't help a student with, I always got someone else to give a better explanation, at least.

Anyway, I got over it pretty quickly, and even was able to laugh about it to myself, later, because, you know? I figure it's not worth it to be hurt by something so clearly not-nice as that.

Posted by Jennifer at 09:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

jleepig: ahhh i'm procrastinating
Taehwan82: me tooooooo
jleepig: i'm surfing the internet and reading stories
jleepig: what about you
Taehwan82: i'm surfing
jleepig: heh
jleepig: and i really want some ice cream
jleepig: maybe i'll make a run to kroger and get some
Taehwan82: i had some about an hr ago
jleepig: awesome
jleepig: yes. i think that's what i'm going to do
Taehwan82: yep
Taehwan82: chocolate
Taehwan82: mmmm
jleepig: ooh
jleepig: okay. ice cream
Taehwan82: ok, have fun

By midnight on Sunday, I had been working on my ten-page research paper on digital camera technology for approximately eight hours. In between writing paragraphs about pixel fill factor and fixed pattern noise, I had been IMming Scott (who was also writing his paper) every couple hours for distraction and support. But by then, I needed a real break.

So I got my keys and purse, and left. Adrienne had gone to sleep hours earlier, so it felt a little weird to be leaving the apartment when everything else was all dark. But as soon as I stepped out the door, I think I regained some perspective. After being cooped up in my apartment all day, I think I was starting to go a little bit crazy (YOU ARE TERRIBLE AT THIS CONSOLATION STUFF, I had whined at Alan earlier, and he had typed disgustedly, i think that i'm better off not saying anything when you're like this). So it was good to feel the humid night air, hear the crickets, feel my steps on the hard pavement.

When I went to my car, there was a small black kitten sitting by the left front tire. It disappeared under my front hood when I approached, so I said aloud, "Kitty, you need to move from out under my car!" before I got in. But when I backed out from my space, it was still there, the gleam of my headlights reflected in its yellow eyes.

I drove to Kroger with the window down. At the building across the street, there was a police car, lights flashing. A spotlight was shining on a lone man, crumpled on the stairs in front of the building, looking like he was struggling to get up. I stopped once I turned into Kroger and watched the scene for few moments in my rearview mirror, wondering what was happening.

I bought Kroger brand coffee ice cream (on sale for $2.50). At this time of night, there is always only one checkout lane open, and as I stood in the long line, the guy behind me said, "Man, the line's so long." I turned around, and saw that the speaker was a college-aged guy, with his girlfriend.

"Yeah, it's always like this from about 11 at night onward," I volunteered. Then, after a pause, I added, rolling my eyes, "and yet I always end up coming here at this time, anyway."

They laughed. "Yeah, we had a pizza emergency," the girl said, holding up a box of frozen pizza.

"Yep, same here," I said, motioning toward the ice cream in my basket. "I'm writing a paper, so I was like, I need ice cream." They nodded understandingly.

When it was my turn to check out, the girl at the cashier took my keyring to scan my Kroger plus card. "Oh," she smiled, seeing my keychain, "I remember you!" I smiled back. I had recognized her, too, from the last time I'd been to Kroger about a week ago.

When I got back in my car, the police car's lights were still flashing across the street. When I got back to the apartment, though, the black cat was gone, and so was my parking space.

Posted by Jennifer at 01:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The wedding gig I played tonight was the most modest one I had ever been to. 6:30 p.m., at Elizabeth Baptist Church, a little church up in the Cobb county suburbs. After I pulled into the parking lot I had to drive all the way back by the playground in order to find a space. And when I got out, Paul, the guy I do these gigs for, was walking toward me from the other side of the playground's chain-link fence: "Over here, Jennifer! We're playing in the Family Life Center, that corrugated building over there. Just go in the double doors underneath that roof thing."

On the outside the building looked a bit shabby, including the double doors, which were rough with uneven paint -- but when I walked in, the room had been really nicely decorated. Round wooden folding tables, normally used for post-sermon fellowship, had been covered in white tablecloth. In the middle of each table, one white candle sat on a square foot of mirror that had been sprinkled liberally with white and red rose petals and dark red glass stones. Big fabric-covered panels tied with tulle ribbon created a border for the room, alternating between red panels with white ribbon and white panels with red ribbon. In a smaller adjacent room, the catering staff was setting up the food.

And in one corner was a little covered pavilion set up for us, the quartet, with ivy and white Christmas lights twined along the canvas roof and along the poles that held it up. Despite the fact that it wasn't as glamorous as some of the country clubs or hotel ballrooms that I've played receptions at, it was, in a way, endearingly homemade and down-to-earth.

The reception went well, in terms of how we played; we went through a lot of music -- Bach and Mozart and Vivaldi and some selections from Phantom of the Opera (which are always a hit with the audience), and I think the wedding-goers who sat at the tables nearest us did so because they liked listening. Most daytime receptions only last a little more than two hours, Paul had told us when we started, and Deale (our cellist) had joked, especially when there's no alcohol, but this one lasted almost three hours. After the bride and groom had long departed, there were still a few people there, talking and beginning to clear the tables.

"Looks like the family's doing the cleanup," Paul said, "so we'll have to play until they finish." I sighed inwardly, knowing that most of our arms and backs were starting to ache. But soon two young girls (14 and 12? I'm never very good at guessing ages), one dressed in a red bridesmaid dress and the other in a light green floral print, tiptoed up next to where we were playing and, with playful shrieks, started waltzing (I think the piece we were playing was in 4/4 or 2/4, which would have made waltzing difficult, but they seemed to do it just fine). When we finished, they spun apart, giggling breathlessly.

We launched into another piece, and soon not only the two girls were dancing, but their father (or older brother?) and his young wife were too, albeit a little more conservatively and gracefully. It was the first time anyone had ever danced at a reception that I've played -- most people don't usually know how to dance to a classical string quartet. As I read the notes of the Romanza from Eine Kleine Nachtmusik I watched the two couples out of the corner of my eye, and it made me smile and forget the ache in my back a little.

Finally, after what felt like forever, all the cups and plates and napkins were cleared away, we played one last piece, and packed up. The few members of the family that were still there thanked us as we went out, and one short motherly woman smiled at us, "Thank you so much for playing while we cleaned up! You made it go ten times faster."

"Well, they were really appreciative," I told Deale as we cut back through the playground to our cars.

"Yeah," he said, "Isn't that a nice feeling?"

Posted by Jennifer at 08:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So this weekend was wonderful, and all I did was go home to see my family. ;)

My sister came home from GHP for the weekend, so I skipped my last class on Friday so I could leave for Alpharetta earlier. I had to clean up and things at my apartment before heading home, but just as I finished dropping off videos at Blockbuster I looked at my cellphone and saw one missed call from Christine. I called home, and she picked up:

Christine: Hello?
Me: Hey!
C: Hey! I'm home!
M: I know! I'm just about to get on the highway. I'll be home soon.
C: Yay!

Anyway, home was good, and it was good to see my sister and my mom and dad all together. Mmm, so here's a sort-of-list of what went on at home:

my mom cooked lots of good food,
I took Christine to violin lessons and got to hear her play (she sounds so good!),
we went shopping (so now I have a lime green shirt from Old Navy and a black skirt from Express... I really need to stop buying nice clothes because I really don't ever have any occasion to wear them),
we played video games on our stupid old NES,
I pulled out the futon in my room so Christine and I could sleep on it together (like when we were little and we shared a room where our twin beds were pushed up against each other, okay, I'm a dork),
I got my hair cut,
my mom buzzed around all weekend pestering everyone about everything, but we were all very good-natured about it,
my dad got to be lazy and sleep all day today,

and it was just good, and when Christine left this morning I finally got to give her her present (a moshi pillow) that I'd been hiding all weekend; I put it in a bag with some tissue paper so she couldn't tell what it was and made her wait until she left to open it. She called the house when she got to Valdosta a couple hours later and said thank you for the pillow, but it was just good to see her face when I came running down the stairs to say goodbye and pushed the present into her hands. Surprises are always awesome, yayyy.

After Christine left, I hung around the house for a while, cleaning up and vacuuming my room and rearranging my bookshelf because I had my textbooks on the very top shelf (I'm smart) and I think it was starting to break from their weight. I left soon after I was done, because I started to get all sneezy and sniffly from the dust, and I still am kind of sniffly now, even though I'm back at my apartment. Wuh. My roommate came in a little while ago and asked what I was doing for the fourth, and when I confessed that I had forgotten about it entirely she sort of laughed at my pathetic-ness and invited me to come with her and Nathan to watch the fireworks at Centennial Olympic Park, but I told her I didn't think I was up for it. Which is true, because my dust allergies have kind of worn me out, but on the other hand I DO want to see fireworks. So maybe I'll be a loner tonight and go drive around on my own to look for fireworks somewhere.

In any case, my weekend was good (and it's not even over yet! hurray for no school tomorrow), and I have all sorts of strange food in the refrigerator from home now, plus good fruit like grapes and papaya (I just made myself a papaya milkshake, mmm, thank goodness Adrienne has a blender).

It does feel good to be back at my apartment, but unlike other times, today I didn't think of being back at my apartment as a relief or escape from home. So I feel like maybe this balance between growing up and not being a stranger to my family isn't so hard to manage after all, and after I finish this entry, I'm thinking I'm going to go have some leftovers for dinner and then turn off the Shostakovich I've been listening to and yes, go find those fireworks.

Happy Fourth. :)

Posted by Jennifer at 04:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)