Diary of a Fickle White Woman

For the first two installments of this mind-blowing series, click here and here . Junior year was more tame than sophomore year, and actually pretty lame (as in, it's taken me forever to write this post because I had a hard time recalling anything exciting). But let's face it, my sophomore year was more crazy in one month than probably the other three years combined. ~The year I went back to school 30 pounds lighter and shocked all my friends. Their facial expressions I will NEVER forget. It was priceless. Too bad they'd have looks of horror on their faces now haha. (I make fun of myself a lot, I know I don't look that bad, but come on, you have to have a sense of humor about things and be able to laugh at yourself.) ~The time I lived with one of my favorite people in the world. She's living in London now so I haven't spoken to her much the past year, but she is such a breath of fresh air. ~The year I lived with a nut case and pathological liar (4 of us in the...

And other tales from sophomore year. Ah, sophomore year, how I loved thee. Brace yourself, it was a crazy one. ~I lived with 5 of my very favorite people in the world for a way-too-short semester. ~The year I started my pursuit to a journalism degree. ~I was a little naughty. No, not skankalicious naughty. ~I lived in the greatest apartment complex not only at UD, but in the world. Even if the public style bathroom did flood every time we showered. And I had to wear my adorable wellies to mop up an entire buckets worth of water. I think my roommates may or may not have called me "mom" once or twice that semester. ~The time I face planted on a coffee table and yelled at the pizza delivery man for harassing me to come down to the front desk and pick up my pizza. See question 4 of this post if you are confused. ~The first time I had a concussion (from said face planting into coffee table). ~The time I was roofied. ~The time I had my second concussion from face planting off of a...

AKA-- freshman year of college I've decided to write four posts, one for each year of college, with some of my memories. Mostly because I want to write them down while I still remember them, but also because thinking back on some of the crazy things we did, I laugh. Laugh hard. Freshman Year (in somewhat chronological order): ~I met my very best friend on move in day. She ended up only staying a semester and moving back to Boston, but that hasn't gotten in the way of our friendship at all. *Hi Carebear!* ~I walked in on my roommate having sex twice in the first week of living there. Um, if you'll remember, I went to Catholic schools my entire life. And am saving myself for marriage. Awkward. I believe the first time it happened I said something to the effect of, "Oh shit. This is weird." The second time, "Jesus Ashley, don't you know to put a rubber band on the damn door?? Get a clue." And then I turned around and walked out. Suffice it to say, our r...

I've written before about why I chose to not put my degree to use and become a journalist. I love to write. I mean, y'all have read my blog, I clearly love to write. Often, too much. But that's not the point. When I first changed majors from special education to communications/ journalism, I mostly did it with this big, grand idea of moving to New York City and working for a fashion magazine. And then I realized the fact that I obviously defeated anorexia would be a deal breaker in the fashion industry, so I became slightly realistic. A few years later, my disgust over what American media deems newsworthy in all areas of journalism became my own deal breaker. I could not and would not write for a publication that wasn't interested in solely producing newsworthy material. I would not. But I still scour many fashion magazines/blogs/websites weekly. I have quite the shopping habit, but that's another post for another time. And while fashion magazines seldom cover any t...

As you know, I earned my BA in Journalism last May. You also know that I am not pursuing a career in journalism. It certainly isn't because I don't enjoy writing. I love it. It's such a wonderful way to express ones creativity. However, when it came down to it, I didn't see myself writing for a career. For one, the newspaper industry is dying. It is all going online, and more papers are closing than hiring. Not that I would have ever wanted to work for a newspaper (horrible hours, not a guaranteed job, crummy pay, etc.), but it is a source of print media, nonetheless. And a job would have been a job (especially today). Two: most print media outlets won't even consider hiring someone unless they had solid internship experience. I had none. And not by choice. Journalism internships are hard to find. Unless you want to live in NYC for the summer... but then you have to pay rent and the internship is unpaid. And seeing that I my money tree in the backyard is dead, this ...