Crazy Du Jour
Late last week, an encounter with a student set the stage--so to speak--with the roller coaster du jour. In short:
Student: "Mrs. Babic. . . "
Me: "Mrs. Babic is in Jarratt, VA."
Student, looking befuddled and sighing while rolling eyes, "Well, Miss Babic . . . "
Me: "Miss Babic is in Fayetteville, NC."
Student, with a huff, "Well, then, who do you think you are?"*
Well . . . I'm your professor. But . . . the point: when I told a later class about this encounter mouths did drop open, but--as with so many times before--"Do you want to get married?" was assaulted my way. Good grief. There are many things I could say, but . . .
My weekend boded with work and more work. Then, somewhere along the way, a neighbor friend died. He played guitar, was a teacher, and was generally nice. More pointedly, he didn't just die. He killed himself. Word is that it connects to him loosing his job. In reality, in a selfish way, all the block talk and questions are just bringing back memories of my brother's suicide. Of course, this does little more than remind me that no matter how well we deal with life's landmines and potholes they are little more than oil slicks. Just when we think the carnage has been quarantined, and the oil was has been cleaned away a droplet emerges sticking to the heel of our shoe making for a slippery walk of trepidation, so that we do not unearth the larger well. Water won't wash away oil, and Dawn dish soap is the industry standard . . . I'm all out at the moment, so I tip-toe away from the unearthing puddle holding my breath and looking back avoiding the melancholy lurking around that corner.
Yet, in a strange connection--or not really--Bitch Magazine's re-posting of the blog discussion about women who don't get married being selfish seems fitting and disturbing in light of recent events. Not the death of my neighbor, but about the attitudes of students and their perceptions of the world we live in. Of course I, and some of my friends, blasted this on our politically charged Facebook walls. The comments ranged from we are now boycotting ABC, to sexism 101, and other tawdries of delight. Though, in light of what I enduredoverhearing yesterday ya have to wonder about the state of life.
Female students were chatting in the hall outside my adjunct office at a local state school. No big deal. Happens. It is usually more amusing than not. Though, this time . . . said students took the conversation to an entirely new level of WTF inducing horror. As they chatted about classes, ate their lunches, and giggled one female centered the discussion--and to my absolute freaking horror--about her angst with Facebook. Well, I think it was Facebook . . . in short, it was a social networking site.
See, here is her dilemma. Some dude she is crushing on accepted her friend request. She squeals with glee, but he is falling short of her expectations. He never responds to her status updates--for which she proudly talked about her status of eating "the best pizza ever"--and she wants to know if he is seeing someone else. Apparently, they run into each other in line for coffee every morning and these five minute conversations have become her form of a relationship precursor. From what I could loudly hear, she's in love with him and him friending her must mean they are meant to be. She thinks their babies will be adorable, she hopes they have his green eyes (or was it blue, I don't really know), and she wants to get married at one of the Long Island estates out east. Perhaps we should look at this a little closer.
She also said that they hadn't been out on a date yet, kissed, shagged, or . . . well anything beyond this illustrious Facebook friending. Um . . . Her reasoning, "We haven't gone out yet because it will be so great that we'll be together forever." I kid you not. I am blind from this conversation, and it gets better. Through the course of these rambles, she has a class with this guy. Beyond that and coffee lines they don't know each other. Even better, she was rambling on about how she doesn't understand when you say you are out of something--like tampons--someone doesn't offer to pick you up some. Ya know, because she would do that for people.
So this is where I have to stop, or my head will literally explode from the insanity. But, apparently we need a new letter to twenty-something girls. Something along the lines of:
Dear 20-something girls:
When a dude friends you on FB, MySpace, or whatever social networking platform you are trolling it does not mean he loves you and wants you to have his babies. It means that either he sees you as part of his friends or amusing enough to add to the periphery. There could also be that he adds you because he is not particular. When he doesn't comment on that "Rad pizza" you ate and offer to pick up tampons when you tell your page you are out it does not mean that he is cheating on you. It really means he filtered your dumb ass, so he probably never saw your TML (as in too much love, like my pun) statuses of the hour.
Now, please go to your next class and get out of my office hallway. Giving yourself a new profile pic, from a "better angle" isn't going to get him to date you. Shag you maybe...not date.
Sincerely,
X
Yet--the larger concern for me is that between the comments from students concerned in a creepy, 1950ish, sorority girl kind of way (as a friend stated) that I'm not married and have no kids and this encounter--what is happening to today's youth? This young girl's tangent about male friending on FB is extreme, but it is not the first time I've encountered this mentality. Last fall, in a Women's Studies class, my students were dismayed and confused that I don't see my life as a ticking time-bomb for marriage. They also said that friending on FB can imply someone likes you because then they can find out about you first, there was more to that conversation. In short, they expect partners to spend a lot of time reading their statuses . . giving a whole new meaning to A) getting to know you and B) being with someone. Yes, when someone I'm "talking to, dating, or something of other with" is on my FB the two people that get the privy on my relationships before they crash and burn are warned to be wary of what they FB post. They never violate my complex code of privacy anyhow. But I sure as shit don't think a dude friending means we are bound for love. Shit. If that is true, I have one over-active dating life, and I'm a whole lot slutty and engaging in behavior with people's husbands and co-workers . . . leading to all levels of inappropriate. Clearly, I would say, I lean on the side of sanity and caution. Though, according to the damned blog post from Bitch I must be selfish because I'm still flying solo.
I'm flying solo because finding someone who can stand me for longer than five nano-seconds--okay, to be fair twenty-nano seconds--is far and few between. Also, my life is what it is. If things happen they happen. I am long past the stage of chasing after people and attempting to make someone notice me. My life is a sad country song on many levels, but there are elements I can prevent from the duplication of Country's Top 40. None-the-less, I can't help but wonder how this proliferation of sexist ideals, and the continual misconceptions of friending, connects more to a growing trend to need too much or from what another friend nailed on the head. Girls today grew up with songs like "Put a Ring on It" instead of "I Am A Woman."
Sometimes I shake my head. It is all I can do.
*Mrs. Babic is my mother. Miss Babic is my sister. Of course, last fall a particularly ballsy kid said "You're a Ms. because of your age." I'm still pulling my mouth off of the floor.
Student: "Mrs. Babic. . . "
Me: "Mrs. Babic is in Jarratt, VA."
Student, looking befuddled and sighing while rolling eyes, "Well, Miss Babic . . . "
Me: "Miss Babic is in Fayetteville, NC."
Student, with a huff, "Well, then, who do you think you are?"*
Well . . . I'm your professor. But . . . the point: when I told a later class about this encounter mouths did drop open, but--as with so many times before--"Do you want to get married?" was assaulted my way. Good grief. There are many things I could say, but . . .
My weekend boded with work and more work. Then, somewhere along the way, a neighbor friend died. He played guitar, was a teacher, and was generally nice. More pointedly, he didn't just die. He killed himself. Word is that it connects to him loosing his job. In reality, in a selfish way, all the block talk and questions are just bringing back memories of my brother's suicide. Of course, this does little more than remind me that no matter how well we deal with life's landmines and potholes they are little more than oil slicks. Just when we think the carnage has been quarantined, and the oil was has been cleaned away a droplet emerges sticking to the heel of our shoe making for a slippery walk of trepidation, so that we do not unearth the larger well. Water won't wash away oil, and Dawn dish soap is the industry standard . . . I'm all out at the moment, so I tip-toe away from the unearthing puddle holding my breath and looking back avoiding the melancholy lurking around that corner.
Yet, in a strange connection--or not really--Bitch Magazine's re-posting of the blog discussion about women who don't get married being selfish seems fitting and disturbing in light of recent events. Not the death of my neighbor, but about the attitudes of students and their perceptions of the world we live in. Of course I, and some of my friends, blasted this on our politically charged Facebook walls. The comments ranged from we are now boycotting ABC, to sexism 101, and other tawdries of delight. Though, in light of what I endured
Female students were chatting in the hall outside my adjunct office at a local state school. No big deal. Happens. It is usually more amusing than not. Though, this time . . . said students took the conversation to an entirely new level of WTF inducing horror. As they chatted about classes, ate their lunches, and giggled one female centered the discussion--and to my absolute freaking horror--about her angst with Facebook. Well, I think it was Facebook . . . in short, it was a social networking site.
See, here is her dilemma. Some dude she is crushing on accepted her friend request. She squeals with glee, but he is falling short of her expectations. He never responds to her status updates--for which she proudly talked about her status of eating "the best pizza ever"--and she wants to know if he is seeing someone else. Apparently, they run into each other in line for coffee every morning and these five minute conversations have become her form of a relationship precursor. From what I could loudly hear, she's in love with him and him friending her must mean they are meant to be. She thinks their babies will be adorable, she hopes they have his green eyes (or was it blue, I don't really know), and she wants to get married at one of the Long Island estates out east. Perhaps we should look at this a little closer.
She also said that they hadn't been out on a date yet, kissed, shagged, or . . . well anything beyond this illustrious Facebook friending. Um . . . Her reasoning, "We haven't gone out yet because it will be so great that we'll be together forever." I kid you not. I am blind from this conversation, and it gets better. Through the course of these rambles, she has a class with this guy. Beyond that and coffee lines they don't know each other. Even better, she was rambling on about how she doesn't understand when you say you are out of something--like tampons--someone doesn't offer to pick you up some. Ya know, because she would do that for people.
So this is where I have to stop, or my head will literally explode from the insanity. But, apparently we need a new letter to twenty-something girls. Something along the lines of:
Dear 20-something girls:
When a dude friends you on FB, MySpace, or whatever social networking platform you are trolling it does not mean he loves you and wants you to have his babies. It means that either he sees you as part of his friends or amusing enough to add to the periphery. There could also be that he adds you because he is not particular. When he doesn't comment on that "Rad pizza" you ate and offer to pick up tampons when you tell your page you are out it does not mean that he is cheating on you. It really means he filtered your dumb ass, so he probably never saw your TML (as in too much love, like my pun) statuses of the hour.
Now, please go to your next class and get out of my office hallway. Giving yourself a new profile pic, from a "better angle" isn't going to get him to date you. Shag you maybe...not date.
Sincerely,
X
Yet--the larger concern for me is that between the comments from students concerned in a creepy, 1950ish, sorority girl kind of way (as a friend stated) that I'm not married and have no kids and this encounter--what is happening to today's youth? This young girl's tangent about male friending on FB is extreme, but it is not the first time I've encountered this mentality. Last fall, in a Women's Studies class, my students were dismayed and confused that I don't see my life as a ticking time-bomb for marriage. They also said that friending on FB can imply someone likes you because then they can find out about you first, there was more to that conversation. In short, they expect partners to spend a lot of time reading their statuses . . giving a whole new meaning to A) getting to know you and B) being with someone. Yes, when someone I'm "talking to, dating, or something of other with" is on my FB the two people that get the privy on my relationships before they crash and burn are warned to be wary of what they FB post. They never violate my complex code of privacy anyhow. But I sure as shit don't think a dude friending means we are bound for love. Shit. If that is true, I have one over-active dating life, and I'm a whole lot slutty and engaging in behavior with people's husbands and co-workers . . . leading to all levels of inappropriate. Clearly, I would say, I lean on the side of sanity and caution. Though, according to the damned blog post from Bitch I must be selfish because I'm still flying solo.
I'm flying solo because finding someone who can stand me for longer than five nano-seconds--okay, to be fair twenty-nano seconds--is far and few between. Also, my life is what it is. If things happen they happen. I am long past the stage of chasing after people and attempting to make someone notice me. My life is a sad country song on many levels, but there are elements I can prevent from the duplication of Country's Top 40. None-the-less, I can't help but wonder how this proliferation of sexist ideals, and the continual misconceptions of friending, connects more to a growing trend to need too much or from what another friend nailed on the head. Girls today grew up with songs like "Put a Ring on It" instead of "I Am A Woman."
Sometimes I shake my head. It is all I can do.
*Mrs. Babic is my mother. Miss Babic is my sister. Of course, last fall a particularly ballsy kid said "You're a Ms. because of your age." I'm still pulling my mouth off of the floor.
Comments
God, that's just creepy.