Pride and Prejudice...and potatoes.

Hello, kind souls.

I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves. I just finished the fastest spring break in history, and am quite bitter that it has come to a close, so this post might give off an aura of frazzlement (the best word I have yet invented), due to either my intense desire to spend my last moments of freedom as fruitfully as I possibly can, or the fact that the other two documents I have open right now are an unfinished persuasive speech on flossing and a minute fraction of a lab report.

But I digress.

First and foremost, I owe you a post on the Bachelor, which is still yet to be completed, as I still have yet to process everything that went DOWN with Sean (actually, I was morally convicted two episodes into the season and announced to my roommates that I was above it and that it negatively impacted society to a far too drastic extent, and then watched more of it later anyway), but more on that some other time. I’m going to write it after I watch the final proposal and the episode where Tierra fakes hypothermia. Those seem crucial. You can thank Audrey Nissly for keeping me interested, and also, you should probably follow her on Pinterest, because she is the pinner of the century.

Tonight I cooked scalloped potatoes, which was nothing less than a struggle, and if you’re coming to my house tomorrow you had better flipping eat some out of sheer gratitude and appreciation for my fabulous cooking. And if you find part of a butter wrapper in them, my bad. Right now I’m eating toast, because the only thing I ever see when I open the refrigerator now is organic strawberry preserves, and tea, because I’m better than you. Just kidding! Oh look, a transition. Tea: England.

Ahem.

You probably [don’t] know this, but I’ve tried about six times (give or take a couple) to try to read the book Pride and Prejudice, and I have failed miserably, which I do partially attribute to the fact that my attention span for books has left more than several hanging in the darkness. But given the vast number of my attempts, I refuse to take the whole of the blame. As of today, I have gotten through almost half of it (yay), which is farther than ever before, and I’m enjoying it, which is a handy little bonus.

I’m always that person who says things like, “Oh, I never watch the movie unless I’ve read the book,” because I like being an intellectual brat. But more than that, I don’t just say it, I do it. This summer, I read the Hobbit so that I could go to the midnight premiere. I’ve never watched a Lord of the Rings movie all the way through, because I haven’t finished (started) them. I also never watched a Harry Potter movie without having read the book…except that one time I think I watched Chamber of Secrets because my dad was watching it and I didn’t know I was allowed to read them. Again with the digression.

This book is not the same way, and it sucks to say that, but I don’t think I could actually be at chapter 30 if I hadn’t watched the movie (the short one, with Kiera Knightley, not the four-hour BBC one that all you other intellectual brats brag about watching). And even now, I’m plowing slowly, but the dialogue is more meaningful, and at least I know there’s a happy ending, so I am motivated.

I’m usually not the fastest reader, because I can’t skip anything (except Up from Slavery, but I pretty much skipped the whole book, OOPS). I spend a lot of time taking things in and trying to catch all the little baby nuances that are crawling around in the paragraphs. For this reason, I often miss the big picture. I am of the opinion that the reason the movie helped was that it gave me a lattice that I could build all the flowery language on, in order to provide surety that there was actually deeper meaning behind all the British jibber jabber. Truthfully, each sentence is a maze, and I’m not taking in so much of it because I’m so caught off guard by how much better people used to be at talking.

Going off of that, I don’t think I adequately grasped the character development that was necessary the first few times through the book, because I was trying so hard to understand what the heck everyone was saying. My most explicit example is Mrs. Bennet, who, at the most, I only identified as moderately eccentric. Then I watched the movie, and now, as I read, I am more aware of her ridiculousness, and now better understand just how much of a TOTAL PSYCHO she is, and that has made things so much clearer.

Also, Mr. Collins? What the flip? Who is this guy?

Actually, let me start over.

Who is anyone in this book? Because I’m going to be completely honest, it sounds like my high school. To the t. Just replace marriage with winter freaking formal and we’re there. Maybe this is just girls, because some of these chicks are fifteen and sixteen, so it makes some sense. But you would think that people with such a sophisticated vocabulary would have their crap together.

So…uninformed character analyses! Go!

(As of right now, it is my greatest dream that someday my AP English teacher finds this and doesn’t think it a disgrace to literature, but the odds of that are low and currently plummeting even farther.)

Elizabeth is supposed to be the one everyone relates to, right? I’ll be honest, I kind of feel like half her, half Jane, because Liz has a little more chutzpah than I would be comfortable giving myself credit for, and Jane gets pushed around by people because she’s too trusting and unsuspecting, and…yeah, anyway. Me. But Elizabeth has more character development than really anyone, so I’ll assume that she was intended to parallel with most women.

Jane…as I said, is chill. The protagonist can’t be perfect, so they set up a foil for them that is essentially perfect, but still brings out the protagonist’s superiorities. That’s Jane. I think. Eh. I still like her. And Google Spellcheck is trying to tell me that superioriites and Spellcheck are not words. What is this.

Mary's the awkward bass player in this band of sisters. (pun!) I always forget she’s there, and expect her to sneak in and do things that are useful, but she just sings all the time and acts smart, and I kind of hate her until I realize that’s all I ever do. But if Mary’s the bass player, Kitty is the back-up guitar player, and all she does is play back-up guitar, not even back-up vocals or anything, and I don’t even think she’s crucial to the story except she's probably the only logical reason that Lydia hasn't gotten herself kidnapped.

UGH. LYDIA. WHY DID WE HAVE TO HAVE THE SAME NAME.

I’m trying not to use the word “slut” anymore, so I have nothing left to say on Lydia.

Mr. Collins. Geez.

Here’s what I think about Mr. Collins. Did you ever have that guy friend, who meant well but was super awkward, and always picked the randomest girls to go to dances with, and he’d be like, “Yeah, I think I’m going to ask Sarah (generic name) to winter formal,” and you’d say, “Oh…okay…um, mistake?” This would all happen because he talked to her one time at a football game, and you’d try so incredibly hard to persuade him not to, and then try so incredibly hard to format at least a cute, reasonable presentation of the offer, and then try so incredibly hard to console him when she said no, and then two days later he’d be like, “Hey, we should go together!” and you’d be like, “I’m sorry, what even,” and then you wouldn't communicate for a year aside from his hurt looks in the hallway.

That was seriously spot on. Snaps for myself.

The rest of the small characters are moderately generic…Miss Bingley, awful, Hursts, awful, Lady Catherine, eh. Mr. Bennet is in my top three fave literary father figures EVER, so that's great. Miss de Bourgh sounds like a real party pooper, but it might be because she’s deathly ill or something. Truthfully, I should probably cast judgment after I finish the novel. Or just not cast judgment. Ha. Oops.

I like Bingley (who will henceforth be affectionately referred to as “Bing bing”), even though his sister is a ditz. Bing bing is the foil for Darcy, because Darcy, even though he is the pensive, brooding, macho, prime love interest of the book, can’t be perfect, so Bing bing will be stereotypically perfect, which, in turn, will make Darcy look realistically perfect. Darcy’s character development isn’t quite there yet, but I’ve heard he’s swell. This is only slightly hampered by the effects of the film, so as perfect as Darcy becomes, in my mind, he will always have a ginormous nose. And that is okay.

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As my roommate Nicole said once, so wisely, “That was a lot of words to say basically nothing.” In the course of this posting, I have burned myself on the potato dish, and eaten four pieces of bread with the aforementioned strawberry preserves. I’m sorry there was no stellar life advice included in this Happy Meal. Then again, even when I try, there usually isn’t.

If you’ll excuse me, I have a lab report to write.

Fin.

Caution: opinion(z) included.

I really wanted to start this post off, “Ladies and gentlemen!” but alas, this post is going to be horrifically discriminatory, and the phrase, “Ladies!” is so often connoted with, "...ladies,” which you have to read in a majestically deep man voice to be funny, and I didn’t know how to type that.

So.

…ladies.

I realize I go off on you a lot, which is really too bad, but you seriously need to get a hold of yourselves. Really, I need to get a hold of myself, so we’re all in this together. And once we know who we are, we’re all stars, and we see that. And that will show where we stand, hand in hand, TO MAKE OUR DREAMS COME TRUEEEE OHHHH… EVERYBODY NOW!

That actually summed up my sentiments pretty well, and I didn’t have to be purposefully cheesy. Next point.

You don't have to listen to anything I say. Except this: stop telling yourself you aren't good enough. You are freaking fantastic. You are unique and I know you tell yourself it's a bad thing that people don't understand and obsess over everything about you, but it's so completely a good thing. I promise. Your incongruencies are not inadequacies.

Also, incongruencies is not a word. Yet.

Well, it's too bad that got all mushy, because I'm honestly (no, dishonestly) just going to write out a long list of frustrations and only say one thing that's a little meaningful, maybe. I should probably just go ahead before it gets any worse. This might cut deep. The thought process behind it was this one time my ministry professor talked about how defining our vocabulary was our primary concern, because we so often throw around words we don’t actually mean or understand. This followed that plane of thought.

Happy crying.

Girlcabulary (I know, so creative, right?)

1. Boys: fluctuations in confidence.

So hopefully we’ve established that boys don’t have cooties anymore, but I guess they don’t have feelings either. I don’t understand why it’s fair for them to only matter as long as we’re okay with it. So they like you. So you don’t like them. So freaking what. Stop stringing them along like your plaything where if you push a button nice words come out and you feel good. It's pretty rude.

2. Conversations: periods of extended whining.

Example: this blog post.

3. Awkward: that one time when you didn’t elicit cheering as a response.

I’m going to be real with you: you not being unfathomably sexy every second of the day does not constitute as “awkward.” I was homeschooled. In the boondocks. You don’t even know awkward.

4. Social justice: being nice to people who are ostracized collectively.

I’m all for protecting people who have been served an injustice by culture. Just keep in mind, a lot of those people include all of those friends of yours who are, how do I say this… a lot to handle. As in, hanging out with them isn’t a chill night at the movies, it’s probably playing therapist. Or maybe their interactions have confused some of your friends with a lower “awkward” tolerance, and you don’t want everyone to know how close you actually are to them. Or, probably, they’ve been set up for a great joke right now, maybe at their expense, but hey, they aren’t here, and it’s not like it isn’t true…

I mean, thanks for playing, but just because they don’t have a show on TLC doesn’t mean they don’t deserve your respect either.

5. Ex-boyfriend: not actually proof of anything.

You know what phrase I’ve heard a lot? “Well at least you’ve had a boyfriend.” Do you know what phrase I said a lot in high school? “Well at least you’ve had a boyfriend.” Do you know what phrase literally makes no sense at all?

Hint: it’s a pattern. Figure it out.

Taylor Swift has like eleven thousand ex-boyfriends. She also has like eleven thousand million billion dollars because she wrote songs about them.

These are really the only positive results that have ever come out of a breakup.

6. Let’s get coffee: you’ll never get coffee.
Awk.

7. Eating: something to be embarrassed about.

WOMEN. STOP FREAKING OUT EVERY TIME YOU EAT. MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS IT IS FOOD. IT IS FOR YOUR BODY’S CONSUMPTION.

So you like chocolate. Eat chocolate.

Don’t announce to the planet you ate chocolate and are so embarrassed you did so. Obviously they understand. It’s flipping delicious.

8. Thin: better than being fat.

9. Fat: worse than being thin.

Do you even know what fat is? Or thin? Do you even know what healthy weight is? The only person who is allowed to tell you you’re “fat” (or thin) is your doctor, and he does that to help your heart, not your appeal. Beauty is not a mold you have to fit into, and if you don’t, then rough life. Don’t even freaking go there. First everyone liked curvy women, then Twiggy-like women, then white women, then ethnically diverse women, then oh look, the cultural norm shifted, because that’s never happened before. There is something pretty darn attractive about you someone just hasn’t brought up yet. Wait it out.

10. Feminism: women have the right to be terrible people.

Before any of you pee your pants with indignation, let me explain. I don’t have issues with women’s rights. I think women are just as capable as men, and that it is wrong to be treated differently. What I’m tired of is feminism that involves yelling at men who offer their seats to you in the bus or bashing all of the opposite gender because they are incompetent (unless it comes to having babies, then bash away) or tyrannical or promoting the oversexualizing of women. I’m not saying they all aren’t, because some of them definitely are. But you play along with it. I don’t care if men want you to look like a Victoria’s Secret Model every morning, noon, and evening; you’re the one who’s walking around basically naked.

Feminism is not when the prince shows up and looks bravely up at a lava-surrounded castle’s tower and cries out, “Princess, let me save you from the fire-breathing dragon and your stifling isolation!” shouting over the roar of said fire-breathing dragon—who happens to be gnawing at her window and breathing fire, as usual—brandishing his sword and his newly purchased bridge-building kit, and looking all studly and capable, only to hear her call out, “No thanks, I got it, and I’m insulted that you think I’m not capable enough to manage my own affairs!” and then she is swallowed, and the prince is like, “What?”

Feminism is when the prince shows up and looks bravely up at the castle tower and yells, “Princess, let me…wait, what?” and notices suddenly the body of a once-fire-breathing dragon spanning the moat of lava, and the princess brandishing her fists of steel, saying, “Thanks for the sentiment, but I figured it out,” and the prince is all, “Cool, wanna make out?” and the princess says, “No thanks, I have standards.”

But that’s just my opinion.

11. Flirt: why someone else is a slut, but it doesn’t apply to you.

Why is everyone opposed to flirting? It’s great. Oh, that annoying girl is doing it, and she’s totally coming on to him, and SHUT THE FRONT DOOR SHE TOUCHED HIS ARM, oh my gosh, what a whore.

COOL IT. Yeah, flirting is annoying, but it’s part of life, and I don’t really think you can control it. If you can, and that works for you, then…well, fine. I mean, I can control my flirting, but it involves me staring at the floor and not being responsive to certain individuals.

“Hi, Lydia, how’s it going?”

“…….” *runs away*

That’s how I get men.

Don’t not flirt because other girls will judge you. As we’ve already established, we’re all horrible people. You can totally flirt and be classy, and you honestly probably will end up having to do just that someday. And if a boy doesn’t realize you like him, and you want him to realize you like him and that maybe he should like you, you probably should laugh at his jokes and tell him he has nice hair.

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Well, sorry that was long. And offensive. And probably all wrong. Just remember: everyone matters. 
Including a lot of other people who happen to not be you.

And you.

fin.