My first result gave me Sophie Marceau and someone I’d never heard of as my only female look-a-likes, so I decided to try a different and softer picture.

3 comments

In less than 14 hours, I have to go to the Disability office, or DSS, at UAH and apply for Disability Support Services. This is intensely scary for me, seeing as how this is the first time I’ve asked for help in college related to my problems AND the last time I brought up that I had said problems, I was booted from the program I was in. I seriously hope I can get my accommodations and not get left as someone who can’t get a degree. What am I requesting? Open book testing and access to elevators. Why? Because of the severity of my problems and the medications they put me on to control them, my memory is virtually shot at times. I can remember things if I have a good trigger to remember them. I mean, when you trigger a memory with me, I can usually get it in vivid detail, but if I’m expected to give you verbatim answers (which some teachers require, which has led to me getting bad grades in the past), my mind goes for a break and will not return. The access to elevators is the thing I’m least worried about because UAH is known for that level of handicapped accessibility. A&M is not, so I figure it will be good to have it on record that I need that level of help getting to my classes. I had to fight for that right in high school, and it was not pleasant.

I also have to go for my Gardasil shot tomorrow. That should be fun. It’s such a “fun” shot with the pain and achiness. I really look forward to it. If you can’t tell, that was sarcasm. I know sometimes you can’t read the personality behind the words. It shouldn’t be too bad, unless they give me the shot in the same spot I had my flu shot today. That might cause some hassles.

I’m scheduled for 10 hours of driving lessons next week. Bleh. I hate the thought of being behind the wheel. Is it safe to let me drive? I don’t know. I mean, I’m “responsible”, but I don’t know if I’ll be good at it. I also can’t guarantee that my drug combination will go with driving.

Ah, and the last thing I’m scheduled for in the next week is an appointment with the Honors program director at UAH. I was invited to be an Honor Student there. That should be pretty awesome. I’ve already looked at the schedule for Honors classes for next semester and the H 399 class is Tolerance in an Age of Persecution. That should be cool to learn about. I’m assuming that it’s about things like witch trials and the Inquisition. I’ve always been interested in those subjects, but I’ve never actually been taught much about them. I’ve pretty much had to teach myself those things. You know, it’ll be cool to be in Honors program at UAH because that’s such a difficult school that being in that program means that you’re pretty darn smart. (My words, not theirs.)

You know how I took 3 and a half years of stuff at A&M, I’ll likely only get credit for 3 of the classes from that time period. I may not get any Spanish credit, but that’s okay because my new FL of interest is German. I took the placement test for it, and shockingly (again, sarcasm) I got a 0 on it. That means I have to start the Intro class in the Fall. I think my dad was a little disappointed. It’s been a long time since he’s taught me anything in German, and no one ever taught me how to read it. I was able to read the passages from the stuff that was on the test, but not the questions. It’s kind of difficult to answer a test properly when you can’t read the question, even if you might otherwise know the answer.

My mom and I went to Wal-Mart to shop for groceries. We went to a cashier that we sometimes go to and things were going fine, until she started talking about me to my mom. She asked her questions about me, like if I was in college. I replied, not feeling quite right that she was talking around me, and told her I was trying to get back into school. She then asked me if I had a job. I said, “No.” I didn’t want to get into the whole “I’m disabled ’cause my brain is funky” thing, so I just left it short and sweet. Her response? “It must be nice to have mom and dad taking care of you.” Excuse me? I was biting my tongue as she continued to talk to my mom, asking her if she worked. My mom told her that like me she was disabled. I was trying to regain my train of thought, and how to best tell her off when my mom basically stepped in and kept me from going off on this woman for insinuating that I’m basically a leech.

She doesn’t know this, but for the past year, until my dad’s disability kicked in, I was taking care of my parents. They live with me. (I own the house.) I bought them their food. I also cooked for them. How does any of that imply that I’m being taken care of? Yeah, they paid for electricity, gas, and drove me places, but that doesn’t mean that they were taking care of me. So, while I’m taking a break from paying some of the bills, my parents are taking care of that aspect of my life, but that does not mean that they are taking care of me. I still have the house and I still cook. Those things didn’t automatically go away the moment my dad got his first disability check.

Of course, once my mom told her we got disability, she probably thought that we were all leeches. People tend to do that. I don’t quite understand why. The disability program is there for people who can’t work, not for people who won’t. And some people are eventually able to start working. I hope to be one of them.

In other news, I got my letter from UAH, letting me know that I have been accepted for admission to the College of Liberal Arts in the Spring of 2009. So now I just have to get funding in order and learn to drive. My dad was quite short with me about the fact that I still haven’t learned to drive. He thinks I do it to inconvenience him. He doesn’t realize that I’ve put off learning to drive because of my horrific fears of dying in a crash. I prefer staying home because of those fears, but I will go to places like school and church, if need be.

I also received packets from several study abroad programs. One is AIFS and another is DIS. I’m seriously considering doing the AIFS program in Salzburg, Austria (Fall) and Prague, Czech Republic (Spring). I know, I keep changing my mind on where to go, but I think this is my final plan. I have looked at the programs in those countries and I think those are the best for me. Besides that, I would get to learn 2 new languages–German and Czech. If you know anything about me, you know I LOVE learning new languages. Of course, if I were to go to Europe, I would also do my traveling across parts of the continent to learn more about that great and wonderful place where most of my ancestors came from. I’ll have weekends free, so I’ve made a list of some of the places I would like to visit while I’m there (* indicates a place that’s on the program for either Salzburg or Prague or both as a field trip): London*, Budapest, various places in Northern Italy, Munich*, Vienna*, Innsbruck*, Berlin, Moravia*, Krakow*, Paris, Cannes, Grenoble, Geneva, and Warsaw. That would be 9 different countries in like 9 months. I think that would be awesome.

3 comments

Different cultures have different myths about redheads. Many think we’re overly fiery tempered. Some think we’re wimps. Some think we’re both. Then, there is the evilness factor. And, of course, people who think we’re all just dying to steal their guys, have sex with them, etc. I guess it’s because we’re relatively rare, but it’s weird for there to be so many stereotypes.

I have heard many of the things on here. And I assume that if I leave the country to study abroad, I may hear more of them, as well as family traditions that people have.

There is one thing that had me wondering:

Researchers at the University of Louisville discovered that, on average, people born with red hair require about 20 percent more anesthesia to obtain satisfactory sedation. University indeed. Anyone who’s ever tried to seduce a redhead knows that.

I wonder if that applies to me with my taking meds to make me sleep, since I have to take more than average to knock me out. I also know they have to give me twice as much of the numbing stuff as a normal person because I don’t get numbed properly.

Oh, and this is a good thing to read for how it feels to be a redhead.

And, there is one thing I didn’t mention in the last post, I hate when people ask me if I’m a real redhead and are talking about all my hair. I have actually had guys ask me that, and I find it rude and intrusive. I don’t think you would walk up to a blonde and start asking her if the hair on her head matched her body hair. The same goes for a brunette. For some odd reason, though, it’s not seen as improper to ask that of a redhead.

Oh, and it bugs me when guys tell me that I would be pretty as a redhead, if I had green eyes instead of blue because to them, “true redheads have green eyes”. As far as I know, it’s mainly a blue eye trait in the people of my family. My maternal grandfather’s mom (who I share a birthday, hair color, and eye color with) had blue eyes, as did my paternal grandmother’s dad.

Another bad thing about red hair is the lack of proper makeup by the discount store brands. Even Deep Auburn mascara isn’t the right shade and it is always made by one of the more expensive discount brands. (It always comes out black. If I wanted black, I would buy black, but black does not look good with my skin, hair, and eyes.)

2 comments

Some people are known as the “token black” in their group or whatever other minority group they happen to be in. I’m often known as the token redhead. Because I’m a token, people only look to me to see the things that are stereotypical of a redhead…not to see the real person that lies beneath the hair.

It’s kind of funny to be associated more with your hair color than your personality. Over the years, I got used to being the one who was associated with having red hair, as it is a rarity in my area to have red hair. I also grew up loathing it. I wanted to be myself and not this girl that everyone expected me to be.

I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be blonde. I didn’t want to be the redhead. To be a redhead meant that for some reason, unknown to me, I had been given this genetic fluke card and been told that I had to look and act a certain way. At least if I was blonde or even brunette, people wouldn’t expect this sense of having to act a certain way. Well, maybe they would expect stupidity from a blonde, but they would be amazed when I would show them that I was actually smart.

I hated that people expected me to have this fiery temper, which, though I did have one, it was actually because of my parents, who were not redheads, and not because I was born with red hair. I hated that people expected me to be evil or wanted me to be dead, which, in case you don’t know, is actually true of some people. (There are people who actually want to exterminate redheads because we’re either evil or don’t fit the norm.) I hated that there were all these expectations that I had to live up to. Stereotypes that, to me, felt unfulfilled because I was desperately trying to prove my uniqueness as a person.

I tried dyeing my hair in 10th grade, but I only managed a deeper shade of red. This only got me slapped by one friend who insisted that I had just done something completely horrible by defiling my hair. I also tried temporary pink and purple streaks to show that I was an individual. Though this was loved by my female friends, it was seen as something horrible by my male friends. I dyed my hair again in college. This time I chose dark brown. For once, I finally looked like and felt like a member of my own family. As the color gradually faded and ended up light auburn again, I felt like I was back to being the queen of unfulfilled expectations.

I don’t dare complain to my friends about the difficulty of being the redhead. It would not appease them to know that I felt ashamed of my hair because of their expectations. It would not be helpful for them to know that I felt completely left out because of my hair. They would just look at me and wonder how this girl who was “blessed” (their words, not mine) with red hair could be so far from thankful that she was given this “gift” and chose to hate it, instead of be grateful for it.

I’m not as much of a self-loathing redhead as I once was. I now like having red hair. I still hate being the only redhead in a group, though. I still find it funny when my mom and I go to places like Wal-Mart and find other redheads that my mom automatically has to go crazy over how beautiful the hair is, while I feel this unique connection with the redhead in question because I know of the difficulties of being the redhead. I know what it’s like to be in their position, and I have to wonder if they hate it as much as I did.

2 comments

Just when I thought my mom wasn’t paying any attention to the money I’ve been spending, she halfway confronts me last night. She asked me if I had a spending problem. Well, of course I do. I’ve spent almost all the money I have on stuff this month. I did almost the same thing last month. Of course, in her eyes, none of the stuff was necessary. I guess I didn’t need the new earrings, but they were pretty. I guess I didn’t need the books and cds and movies, but they were entertainment, which is necessary for a more normalized life. I guess I didn’t need the clothes…oh wait, I needed those. So, it is somewhat necessary.

She asked me if I needed help. Of course I need help, but I’m not going to get it. Not because I don’t want the help, but because when you go to the Mental Health Center, you only get help when they deem it is time for you to receive it, or once a month. Now, with a person going into one of their worst times of the year, you might think that that person might need counseling more often, but since they’re a public facility, they can’t handle giving one on one attention when a person needs it. And since being impulsive doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll do something deadly, in their eyes, I don’t get the help I need until I’ve blown all my money.

Do you know what I was told the other night? That I’m an easy read. Basically, you can always tell what’s going on with me because I express myself so well. I don’t think that’s true. The only person who is perceptive enough to get me most of the time is my mom, and that’s because we share a brain. My dad probably comes in second, but that’s because he has training with my mom. If you actually want to know what I’m thinking, you have to ask me. Even then, you’re not guaranteed that I’ll give you the full-on answer. And even if I did, it isn’t guaranteed that you were listening well enough to figure out what I’m feeling. So basically, I don’t think I’m as easy to figure out as he thought I was.

I need to take the movies back to Hollywood Video, but my mom is asleep, and my father is watching football. At times like these, I need a license. Of course, I also need to go to Wal-Mart to get a battery pack thing for my camera, and I would like to get a copy of the key to the house for my keychain. I can’t do those things without someone there to pay for them.

I need to fill out the scholarship application for the schizophrenia-spectrum scholarship. It would cover my educational costs for next year, assuming I don’t go to Europe. I have other scholarships I’m looking at for the possibility of going to Europe.

1 comment

Okay, I’ve been on Facebook today, and I have received the same video several times from my friends. I think it’s a lovely video, and I’ve received it before. There’s only one problem with the video, it’s not true. The video tells of an Atheist professor who drops a piece of chalk and God prevents it from shattering to prove to him that God exists. Lovely message, but it didn’t happen. If it had, then this wouldn’t exist. The legend has existed for a very long time, has gone from being in different schools, and with different things that didn’t break.

Before anyone goes and says that I’m being all anti-religious about this, I’m not. I’m just pro-truth. I’m tired of seeing something that is telling us something that isn’t true and being called a true story. It’s not right for us to believe lies just to prove our faith. We shouldn’t have to prove our faith by sending a video like that around. It’s one thing to express yourself, but the video practically says if you don’t prove that you believe in God, that you’re not being a good Christian. That’s not true. I don’t think we gain or lose points with God for not sharing a video.

So basically, if you’re going to send the video around, please do not send it to me anymore, and please attach a disclaimer that it’s not really true, that it’s just a lovely story with a good message.

*steps off soap box*