This is an article I had written for the Miami Hurricane. I was told it was to be displayed, but it never was... alas. Perhaps it was too blasphemous, but that's okay because I have no tact.
Dear Chief Executive Officer Shalala(lalalala):
First of all, congratulations on running the upstanding facility we know as the University of Miami. I have to give you props for what you’ve accomplished in your tenure thus far. Your ambition in raising millions of dollars for this institution is commendable. And while I appreciate the lovely campus and gorgeous weather, allow me to take this opportunity to suggest to you an alternate campus beautification plan: Steroids.
Before you jump to conclusions, let me explain my position. I like muscles. I like having them and I like looking at them. While the students at UM are certainly a good looking bunch, they’re not quite my type as in my eyes there is more aesthetic appeal to magazines like “Oxygen” and “Muscular Development,” as opposed to “Cosmo” or “Maxim.” For me to find a person attractive, male or female, one needs to at least mimic the appearance of hitting the weights a minimum of 4 days a week.
This is why I am suggesting to you an improvement in the student body (pun intended) by use of steroids. I mean, at the cost of over $1,200/credit at the graduate level the least you could do is include steroids in the tuition. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Issues with legality don’t worry me much as everyone is required to have medical insurance. As far as I know, steroid use monitored by a physician appears to be lawful.
At this point in my life I’m sick of taking out thousands of dollars in loans to pay for my education only to find myself surrounded by people I don’t find attractive. For example, I’m currently paying off debt I incurred for my undergraduate degree from the University of Pennsylvania, a notoriously ugly school – a fact I was willing to let slide for the superior education.
However, when I took the plunge (no pun intended) to pursue my graduate career here at UM I thought things would be different. I understood the expense, but was willing to take out more loans in order to be surrounded by the beautiful model type as opposed to the intellectual brainiac type. Unfortunately, reality fell just short of my expectations and I’m looking at another hefty loan also complete with a lack of visual stimulation.
But you can change all that! You can give me my money’s worth by including steroids in the price of tuition. I’m willing to sacrifice the health of my peers in order to be surrounded by muscles at all times. Heck, I’ll even jump on the steroid bandwagon! Though I’m not about being altruistic, I suppose I can make an exception for what I believe to be a worthy cause.
Hopefully, you can take time off from raising billions of dollars for who-knows-what to help distract me from the fact that the cost of tuition will continue to increase, along with the cost of living and the decreased availability of higher paying jobs. As each day passes, the prospect of paying off my debt becomes evermore distant, along with my aspirations to one day own my own home. Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Alicia Montalvo
Friday, April 27, 2007
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
The handbag analogy
I'm really tired because I ran a couple miles on an empty stomach at 6:30 AM and this may not be coherent, but try to stay with me on this one.
The perfect handbag:an outfit::The perfect man:a woman
Does that make sense? I don't speak from experience as I don't wear "outfits" per se, but I would assume this is how it would work for other people.
Let me explain this. There's nothing like finding the perfect handbag to go with your outfit. The perfect handbag does many things; it complements without overpowering, it accentuates the positives, it helps one feel confident... But it's fuckin impossible to find!
You can approach the search for the perfect handbag with expectations that may not result in the most desireable match, thus leaving you with possibly a really nice bag, but not one that suits the outfit. Perhaps you find a great bag, but it's not on sale leaving you to ponder the implications of poor timing. Maybe countdown to the event is drawing too near and you have to scramble for any bag that will remotely work, and so you find youself settling. Along the line somewhere, maybe you realize your last 15 purchases were all the same style just different colors...
This is the same way relationships work. Sometimes we date people who don't suit us. Sometimes the timing is off. Sometimes we settle. Sometimes we repeat a pattern.
Sometimes, if you're patient enough, the right handbag ends up on clearance at some obscure store just when you were about to give up all hope of looking absolutely fabulous.
The perfect handbag:an outfit::The perfect man:a woman
Does that make sense? I don't speak from experience as I don't wear "outfits" per se, but I would assume this is how it would work for other people.
Let me explain this. There's nothing like finding the perfect handbag to go with your outfit. The perfect handbag does many things; it complements without overpowering, it accentuates the positives, it helps one feel confident... But it's fuckin impossible to find!
You can approach the search for the perfect handbag with expectations that may not result in the most desireable match, thus leaving you with possibly a really nice bag, but not one that suits the outfit. Perhaps you find a great bag, but it's not on sale leaving you to ponder the implications of poor timing. Maybe countdown to the event is drawing too near and you have to scramble for any bag that will remotely work, and so you find youself settling. Along the line somewhere, maybe you realize your last 15 purchases were all the same style just different colors...
This is the same way relationships work. Sometimes we date people who don't suit us. Sometimes the timing is off. Sometimes we settle. Sometimes we repeat a pattern.
Sometimes, if you're patient enough, the right handbag ends up on clearance at some obscure store just when you were about to give up all hope of looking absolutely fabulous.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
"Woman of the Modern Era" defined
Who is she, this "Woman of the Modern Era?" She is strong, intelligent, independent, ambitious, career-oriented, goal-driven... characteristically, this woman is "The Man." S/he is me.
I recently relocated from New Jersey to Miami to Fort Lauderdale. I finally have a place of my own and my parents were in town this weekend helping me pimp my apartment. My mother, who has been married to my father for nearly 35 years, and I were in a TJ Maxx Home Goods store shopping for hodge-podge when she said, "I feel like you're getting married." To which I replied, "Hopefully, one day! Maybe some guy will be able to put up with me eventually."
This led to the dreaded conversation; the conversation every single yet hopeful young woman never wants to have. The conversation that makes her eyes well with tears and her brain scream, "OH NO SHE DI'ENT!"
My mother said, "Alicia, it's okay if you don't get married. A lot of women don't get married these days. I mean, look at my friends in Puerto Rico..."
I was freaking out a little bit inside. "Umm, well, two of your unmarried friends are a lesbian couple and your other unmarried friend is the most miserable person on Earth."
"Yeah, that's true."
What the hell was going on?!?!?! What's a girl to think when even her own mother is preparing her for the worst. My mind began jumping to conclusions uncontrollably. Did my mother maybe think I was gay? Had the stigma of the bodybuilding lifestyle infiltrated her pea brain? Did that fact that I had only the day before mentioned to her how proud my father was to, "have such a strapping young man for a daughter" plant a seed?!
As if I'm not disheartened enough with my dating situation, I don't really need my mother to come sweeping in to "save the day" by letting me know it's okay that I may have lots of money and a very successful career, but will be lonely and miserable. Though I have been preparing myself subconsciously for a life of cats, I wasn't mentally prepared to be hearing that poop spew out of that woman's mouth.
Maybe her comments are the kick in the pants I'll need to truly be able to open up to a man. I'm afraid of being vulnerable and getting hurt, but I think I'm more afraid of ending up like my mother's miserable friend. And though I love cats, I don't want to be destined for them. I don't want to play this internal game of tug-of-war anymore. I am a Woman of the Modern Era and I think I might be ready to break down this emotional barrier between me and all the king's men.
I recently relocated from New Jersey to Miami to Fort Lauderdale. I finally have a place of my own and my parents were in town this weekend helping me pimp my apartment. My mother, who has been married to my father for nearly 35 years, and I were in a TJ Maxx Home Goods store shopping for hodge-podge when she said, "I feel like you're getting married." To which I replied, "Hopefully, one day! Maybe some guy will be able to put up with me eventually."
This led to the dreaded conversation; the conversation every single yet hopeful young woman never wants to have. The conversation that makes her eyes well with tears and her brain scream, "OH NO SHE DI'ENT!"
My mother said, "Alicia, it's okay if you don't get married. A lot of women don't get married these days. I mean, look at my friends in Puerto Rico..."
I was freaking out a little bit inside. "Umm, well, two of your unmarried friends are a lesbian couple and your other unmarried friend is the most miserable person on Earth."
"Yeah, that's true."
What the hell was going on?!?!?! What's a girl to think when even her own mother is preparing her for the worst. My mind began jumping to conclusions uncontrollably. Did my mother maybe think I was gay? Had the stigma of the bodybuilding lifestyle infiltrated her pea brain? Did that fact that I had only the day before mentioned to her how proud my father was to, "have such a strapping young man for a daughter" plant a seed?!
As if I'm not disheartened enough with my dating situation, I don't really need my mother to come sweeping in to "save the day" by letting me know it's okay that I may have lots of money and a very successful career, but will be lonely and miserable. Though I have been preparing myself subconsciously for a life of cats, I wasn't mentally prepared to be hearing that poop spew out of that woman's mouth.
Maybe her comments are the kick in the pants I'll need to truly be able to open up to a man. I'm afraid of being vulnerable and getting hurt, but I think I'm more afraid of ending up like my mother's miserable friend. And though I love cats, I don't want to be destined for them. I don't want to play this internal game of tug-of-war anymore. I am a Woman of the Modern Era and I think I might be ready to break down this emotional barrier between me and all the king's men.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Random = Welcome
I heart life. The thing I heart most about it is the unpredictability. They say that variety is the spice of life, but I disagree. It's definitely spontaneity that keeps my world going 'round. My longing to experience new things coupled with my inability to feel shame of nearly any sort are a perfect combination for the invitation of bizarre and random occurrences. In addition, my irrational need to live without regret also throws a wrench into the equation.
Recently, my best friend, Jessica, has been down about her dating situation. While I'm not too fond of mine either, I feel her situation takes precedence over mine. Not so much because it's more important because Lord knows I'm a selfish mother fucker, but because focusing on her problems creates a diversion from mine. I'm such a good friend.
At any rate, I pointed out that she appears to have fallen into a pattern. Her dating record is a predictable sequence... You know exactly how it starts, what's going to happen in the middle and then exactly how it falls to pieces in the end.
My advice? "Stop acting like a bitch."
We'll be out all drunked up in da club and I'm open to speaking with anyone and it shows on my face, in my demeanor; the whole nine. I have found that when you leave yourself open to new experiences you exponentially increase the probability of something totally random occurring. She, on the other hand, will stand around with a pouty look on her face appearing completely unapproachable. The look is only to be matched by the nastiness that comes pouring out of her mouth when someone undesirable tries to strike up a convo.
As a consequence, I sat her down last night and forced her to watch "The Sweetest Thing." I needed her to visualize what life could be like if you approach situations with a different attitude (i.e. a good one). I'm not one for chick flicks and I'm not one for life imitating art, but I had to make these 2 sacrificial exceptions in the name of friendship and support. I had to take a hit for the team. Thanks to my manipulative nature, my evil plan to make her not a bitch worked and we had the most fun, like, EVER! Wow, what crazy night.
I can't blame her for being so cynical... That's what 3 years of living on South Beach will do to you; the players, the parties, the tourists. We were both stuck in a rut of sorts. She was stuck being a cynical bitch and I was desperately seeking someone to drag into my crazy world, unwitting or otherwise.
Sometimes we need other people to push us out of our comfort zone. I find myself to be more than willing to shove anyone at anytime.
Recently, my best friend, Jessica, has been down about her dating situation. While I'm not too fond of mine either, I feel her situation takes precedence over mine. Not so much because it's more important because Lord knows I'm a selfish mother fucker, but because focusing on her problems creates a diversion from mine. I'm such a good friend.
At any rate, I pointed out that she appears to have fallen into a pattern. Her dating record is a predictable sequence... You know exactly how it starts, what's going to happen in the middle and then exactly how it falls to pieces in the end.
My advice? "Stop acting like a bitch."
We'll be out all drunked up in da club and I'm open to speaking with anyone and it shows on my face, in my demeanor; the whole nine. I have found that when you leave yourself open to new experiences you exponentially increase the probability of something totally random occurring. She, on the other hand, will stand around with a pouty look on her face appearing completely unapproachable. The look is only to be matched by the nastiness that comes pouring out of her mouth when someone undesirable tries to strike up a convo.
As a consequence, I sat her down last night and forced her to watch "The Sweetest Thing." I needed her to visualize what life could be like if you approach situations with a different attitude (i.e. a good one). I'm not one for chick flicks and I'm not one for life imitating art, but I had to make these 2 sacrificial exceptions in the name of friendship and support. I had to take a hit for the team. Thanks to my manipulative nature, my evil plan to make her not a bitch worked and we had the most fun, like, EVER! Wow, what crazy night.
I can't blame her for being so cynical... That's what 3 years of living on South Beach will do to you; the players, the parties, the tourists. We were both stuck in a rut of sorts. She was stuck being a cynical bitch and I was desperately seeking someone to drag into my crazy world, unwitting or otherwise.
Sometimes we need other people to push us out of our comfort zone. I find myself to be more than willing to shove anyone at anytime.
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