It’s not that I’m not invested in my thesis. I’m writing about two of my favorite things: women and food. (Food & Feminism, hello?) It’s just that I’m burnt out and tired and this is the home stretch.
Food & Feminism
I walk into my Tuesday 8 a.m., unsure of what to expect. “Rhetoric I,” the class is called. An intense name for a freshman BIC course, but then again, I’m not even really sure what the BIC is. My classmates and I avoid eye contact with one another, but when our eyes do happen to meet we are sizing each other up, wondering how smart the other is.
My dad told me bringing my dog to college would be a huge mistake. But despite my father’s warnings that my GPA would drop, I brought Bachelor anyway. (That’s my dog’s name, Bachelor. I want to be clear that I did not bring a single-and-ready-to-mingle man with me to Baylor.)
I wake up shivering, toes literally (and I meant literally) frozen. I check the weather app on my phone. Forty-three degrees. Yesterday was 65.
After years of hiding in the closet with my old-school hip hop and Bon Iver, I’m finally coming out. I hereby announce — without shame and without regard for the friends who might turn against me — that am a Taylor Swift fan. Go ahead, you obscure-indie-listeners and rap-music-devotees, say what you want. Call me a “Swiftie,” even, because that’s exactly what I am.
Last week I wrote about men behaving misogynistic toward women. This week I’m looking in the mirror to observe ways in which women are cruel to one another.
Acts of misogyny — no matter how subtle or small — should not be tolerated or condoned. The term “boys will be boys,” which has often been used to excuse seemingly harmless misogynistic behavior, must no longer be a part of our vernacular. Men, for your own wellbeing, I’ve compiled a list of things NOT to do in order to avoid being a petty misogynist.
I’ve got a lot of scary stuff on my mind lately, and it actually has nothing to do with Halloween.
I have big news to share with everyone today: I am in love.
Test, papers, and projects — oh my! It’s that time of the semester where I look like a post-apocalyptic zombie and have zero tolerance for ANY sort of malarkey whatsoever.