The Vine: August 17, 2004
Dear Sars,
I live in a dorm with several other women, most of whom I don’t know. We are in a desert area that is experiencing an added drought, so water is extra-scarce. As a result of this situation, many of the women don’t flush the toilet after every time they use it. I don’t have much of a problem with this in general; I grew up in a drought so I know what it’s like and I’m glad there are water-conscious people around.
My problem is that they leave it for hours. I keep the oddest hours in the dorm, so when I come home and find both toilets full of pee at 3 AM, I know the pee has most likely been sitting there for at least four hours. I’d like to ask the girls to flush after 11, but I’m worried that they’ll be offended or embarrassed if I directly confront them. Also, I only really know two of them, and there are a few rooms whose owners I still don’t know. Our RA is male, so I think it would probably be worse to try and go through him.
The only other thing I can think of is to put up a sign asking them to flush, but I loathe signs in the bathroom with a fiery passion. What do you think I should do? If you think a sign is appropriate, how can I word it so I don’t come off sounding like a condescending jackass?
I’m sorry my life isn’t interesting enough that I could ask you an awkward-love-quadrangle question, but I’m working on it.
Thanks for your help,
Never Thought Hippie Chicks Could Piss Me Off This Much
Dear Let It Mellow,
Do y’all ever have dorm or floor meetings? If so, bring it up at the next one and open the floor to suggestions; say you’re glad people are environmentally conscious, but maybe there’s a way to do that and also keep the bathroom from reeking, and see what compromise you can work out.
Signs in the bathroom…eh. Nobody likes those, which is why they never work, except to start note fights. If you can’t talk to people in person, just flush all the standing water when you get in at night, and maybe light a stick of incense in there.
Dear Sars,
I have a small problem that, while somewhat helped by Razor-Phobic’s letter, still seems different and perhaps even worthy of your ever-helpful attentions. I have hair, thick, coarse, dark hair, in places where others do not. Believe me, I have looked. Hair on forearms, knuckles, backs of hands, toes, surrounding my nipples, and of course the stereotypical Italian moustache, which isn’t as bad as it could be, thankfully.
I consulted my doctor on whether this was odd, and was told no, I’m not turning into a man. However, it leaves me with social problems. Though I am one to slack off on the shaving of the legs in winter, when they are rarely seen, I still find that visible body hair bothers me somewhat, particularly when it’s me and my over-analyzing self. So, I am left with a decision: to shave, or not to shave?
But it gets worse. Yes, I could shave, and get rid of the pesky hairs for awhile, but then I will be forced to shave almost every night. Because not only am I cursed with dark hair, but it also grows back quickly. After shaving at night, I wake up and find a five o’clock shadow under my arms. It bothers me when I see other women who have clean armpits, when mine have this dastardly shade of grey on them! And I don’t know which is worse, having a guy see you have dark hairs surrounding your nipples, or brushing against them and feeling the stubble!
I am at the end of my tether, and I need advice. Should I shave and just force myself into a near daily ritual and deal with the stubble? Or is there another way?
Hairy and Hopeless
Dear H&H,
First off, whatever you decide to do about the hair, embrace it. Yeah, so you’re hairy. Some guys dig that. If you decide to be less hairy, officially, some guys dig that too. As long as you’re at home with whatever hair level you decide to go with, that’s the key.
But I take it you want to depilate, so I’d suggest waxing, especially for your arms, legs, and pits. It’s a smoother result, it lasts a lot longer than shaving, and if you do it enough times, the hair sometimes starts to thin out after a while. Your mileage with that will vary, of course, but try it.
“But I can’t afford to wax it up all over the place!” Ohhhh, but you can. Two words: Beauty school. Find one in your area and let the students learn on you (note: Do not try this with your brows. Trrrrrust me. Worst call of my facial-depilating career). It’ll cost less than half what you’d pay at the local salon. Or you can get a home kit, but it’s usually better to have another person deal with it.
If money is no object, you can look into laser treatments or electrolysis, which will rid you of the hairs permanently but which take a while and cost beaucoup bucks. Otherwise, for your limbs and underarms, I’d say wax. Your face…well, whatever you do, don’t bleach it, because it looks really obvious in a not-good way. Waxing is okay, but problematic because you have to wait for the growth to come back in a ways before you wax again, which…defeats the purpose, so you might want to start an electrolysis fund for that area.
More sensitive areas…your call. The idea of waxing my nipples…yow. But you could also try plucking, if the growth isn’t too dense to make that a huge undertaking, and that area is also one where you might want to invest in the electrolysis treatments, just so you don’t have to deal with it anymore. And of course you can wax your bikini line, too, but for most of the year, a run-of-the-mill beard trimmer from Target will probably do you right in that area.
But again, whichever way you go, remember, most people aren’t nearly as sensitive to your hair as you are; it’s the way you are, so try not to obsess about it.
Dear Sarah,
I am nineteen years old and wholly without prospects. Right about two years ago, my life started falling apart. Due to a history of sexual abuse (from a friend’s family) and emotional abuse (from my alcoholic parents), I was always a weird, depressed kid, but I was able to put a brave face on it, laugh it off, pull in the grades, etc. Over the summer between junior and senior year of high school, however, I developed an eating disorder that almost led to a heart attack (ephedra is nasty shit), went into therapy, and turned into a human train wreck. I couldn’t get myself out of bed in the morning, I skipped class half the time, I was miserable.
Luckily (sort of), I was smart and miserable, and so I got into a good college and come August of that next year I ended my therapy and trundled off to upstate New York. I quickly discovered that I loathed engineering and furthermore loathed the whole prison-like total institution aspect of a closed campus college, got depressed again, some more, got pneumonia, ditched and went home. My parents were emotionally abusive about that as well (not, like, locking me in the closet or anything, but getting in my face and screaming at me for being a worthless piece of shit who blah blah blah selfish blah blah ungrateful blah blah you’re-a-bad-person-cakes), so about two months after I got home, as soon as I was rested up and marginally out of the depression again, I moved down to Boston with one of my best friends and enrolled in the Harvard Extension program (community night college, but with “Harvard” in the title). It was at night, it was in a real city, it was two blocks from a twenty-four-hour grocery store, I was in heaven.
Unfortunately, I still hadn’t solved any of my problems with basically being a huge loser, and even though I loved my classes and loved what I was doing, I started skipping, not turning in assignments, and basically acting like a moron. Established pattern. My parents decided to cut me off financially for no reason (whimsy and caprice have always played a large part in their parenting), and to cut off their emotional support simultaneously (what little of it there was at this time; they’re not bad people, they really were trying, but then they just…weren’t trying anymore. Whimsically). I was eighteen, I was flunking out of school, the cost of living in Boston was at its peak (this was in winter, when $130 utility bills were the norm), and since I had managed to pick up carpal tunnel syndrome sometime during all this, my list of marketable skills went from one (typing) to zero (nada). I got into prostitution. Briefly, but long enough to alleviate the financial crisis and feel even more like shit about myself than I already did.
Fast forward a couple months, my parents are sort of helping out with the bills again, I’m doing therapy again, I still can’t find a legit job but at least I’m not whoring myself anymore. And I just feel so pathetic. All of my friends are going into their sophomore years in a month or two, and I’m still getting nowhere and doing nothing. I don’t want to enroll in classes just to flunk out again and screw up my academic record even more. I’m sick of relying on my parents for anything, since with the money comes the emotional abuse, but I can’t seem to support myself here in Boston on my own, and I certainly couldn’t afford all that therapy on my own. And on top of all that, okay, I’ve been in therapy for two years now, and I don’t feel a bit better — in fact, over the past two years, my life has gotten worse and worse. And I’m frustrated! My therapist swears we’re making progress but I don’t see it. I don’t want to rely on my parents’ intermittent largesse anymore. I don’t want to be a complete washout. Yeah, suck has happened in my life, but suck has happened in everybody’s life — why can’t I just get over it and show up to fucking class like everybody else? I’m smart, I’m creative, I’m cool, there’s no reason why I should be such a complete failure at EVERYTHING.
I see that I have three options. I can join the military (no, really) and see if the school of hard knocks beats some sense into me (I would suck at the military and hate it, but hey, I suck at regular life and hate that, too). I can move down to Alabama, where I have a couple friends who will board me until I get my feet underneath me, and where the cost of living is so much lower that I’d probably be able to support myself, far far away from my parents’ messed-up influence. Or I can stay here, and keep slogging through the therapy, which is what my parents and my therapist and a lot of my friends suggest, but…ugh. I mean, it just seems like that’s not WORKING.
So my question is this: What should I do, Sars? Where should I go? How do I de-loser myself? I’m getting sick of asking myself what the hell is wrong with me, since I don’t know and navel-gazing for two hours a week on the couch only brings me to a deeper and more complete understanding of what a complete waste of tissue I’ve turned into. I’m not as insecure and self-loathing as this all makes me sound — I’m just frustrated, and I want to do something more meaningful with my life than blow a couple dicks, ride my parents’ coattails, and ten years from now check into a mental institution.
Thanks for your time, and for any comments you may have —
The Human Cyst
Dear Cystina,
Hmm. Well, do you have anything you want to do with your life? Not that “anything but this” isn’t compelling, but in a perfect world, what would you do? How would you live? Where? Doing what?
Because I think you don’t dream anymore, and I think dreaming would help you. “But it’s not realistic for me to –” Yeah, I know, but that’s why we call them “dreams.” “But what about the –” I know, I know, I’m getting to that stuff, but dreams…dreams mean hope. If you have hope, you’re good. It sounds like you do have hope, that you do want and expect things to get better; you just don’t know how to get to “better,” but that’s okay. You know “better” is waiting for you somewhere, and that’s half the battle here.
So, now what? First of all, do not go back to tricking. Please. It’s physically dangerous, and it’s going to compound your feelings of self-loathing. Don’t do it. Second of all, you need to either change therapists or change your approach to therapy, because the therapy isn’t working, and either it’s because you aren’t a good fit with your therapist, or it’s because you are resisting like a madwoman…and I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you resist because feeling like a loser is something you need on some emotional level, and that you flake because it gives you a feeling of control over your environment, because you’re afraid to try, because you’ve tried in the past and it’s gotten you shit. If I’m right, I don’t blame you a bit for reacting that way; if I’m wrong, well, won’t be the first time today. But either way, you might look at that — why you might act the way you act, why you shy away from the prospect of succeeding.
So, where does that leave you? Well, if you decide to bail on the therapy (or rather on that therapist — I don’t think you should stop going), why not move to Alabama? It’s cheaper, like you said, and a change of scene might help you get focused — but you need something to focus on, which is where the dreaming comes in, but also where to-do lists come in. Formulate a plan, a short-term few-months thing to get you out of your rut and making some money. Make up a budget. Make a whole bunch of lists — things you think you’d like to do, places you think you’d like to go. Pick a few things, and go after them. Think. Plot. Dream. Let yourself do those things.
It’s not easy to pull yourself out of a hole like this, especially when you can’t rely on your family at all, but it’s doable, and the thing to remember is that it isn’t easy for anyone. It’s easi-er for some people, but it’s never easy, and nobody knows what’s going on half the time, and people run into problems and setbacks, and it’s not just you, is my point. Are you having a rough time? Yes. Have you been hard done by? Yes. Does anyone else think you’re half the loser you think you are? Fuck no. You’re doing the best you can, in circumstances not of your own making. You’re fighting to stay in the game. That’s big.
So, in order: 1. Daydream; 2. think of two or three things you can do or changes you can make that will put you on a different track, and do/make them; 3. remember that you’re only nineteen. This is far from over. There’s so much more story left to tell. Don’t count yourself out.
Dear Sars,
This isn’t a cry for help, just an expression of puzzlement on my part; I’m writing you because I’ve gotten the impression that you’re also a New Yorker reader of some frequency.
Here’s the thing: Am I missing something, or is Roz Chast just not funny? Do you have to be a real New Yorker to enjoy her? (I’m definitely not. Boston, DC, and now San Francisco are my homes.)
I usually enjoy the New Yorker‘s cartoons, but never Chast’s. Help?
Rach
Dear Rach,
I don’t think it’s a New York thing; I love Roz Chast, but because she just puts down whatever she’s thinking, usually in random pun form, and it’s sort of daffy, the kind of thing Ernie and I used to do when we tape-recorded our stupid radio plays in our dorm room, like, “What if everyone had broccoli for heads?”
Yeah, no pot smoking going on there. Heh. Anyway, I find her work appealing for that reason, and for all the neurotic screaming her characters do, but I don’t think you’re missing anything if you don’t like it; people have different tastes.
Dear Sars:
I don’t think this is your typical kind of question, but I’m absolutely stumped here and was hoping you could help me out. You see, my father is getting remarried next month. His fiancee has also previously been married. The two of them are decently well-off individuals with a fully-furnished home et cetera and really don’t need anything. Also, my father and I have had a very distant relationship for the better part of the last decade and I don’t know his fiancee very well.
All of this adds up to say that I really have absolutely no idea what kind of a gift would be appropriate for the wedding. I really want to get them something, because they’re being really nice and making sure my sisters and I can attend (they picked the date for the wedding to fit with our schedules, they’re flying us out there, they’re even giving us money so we can get new dresses to wear), plus I want to help repair the aforementioned distant relationship with my father and make it clear to his fiancee that I really do like her and welcome her as my stepmother.
I’ve been stressing about this for quite some time now, and I can’t come up with any ideas. I’ve thought about making them something personal, but I don’t do well with the crafting stuff (unless it’s kindergarten-level, and I think we’re well past the point where my father would appreciate macaroni noodles and construction paper). I’ve had suggestions of things like scuba lessons, but I honestly don’t know if they’d like something like that, since I don’t know what their hobbies are. What does one give for a wedding present for someone you don’t really know who doesn’t need anything but deserves something?
Many thanks,
Eternally Wedding Challenged
Dear EWC,
Do your sisters have better insight into their activities? Would one of them know, and be able to tell you, “Oh, yeah, they’ve gotten really into antiquing,” so maybe you could get them a vintage clock, or a book about antique tours, something like that?
If not, I would get them a gift that they can both enjoy — arrange a dinner for two at a nice restaurant in their area, say, or treat them to a weekend at a B&B in the country. You could go the gift certificate route, but it’s a bit impersonal for a parent, so I’d quiz your sisters and find out if they can give you any ideas — and if they can’t, consider going in with your sisters and getting one mondo gift, like a vacation package, from all of you.
[8/17/04]
Tags: etiquette health and beauty popcult roommates the fam
