a spaghetti machine

And my all-time favorite:

anyway i go in to see paul one week in the summer of 2016, and i’m doing my usual bullshit which consists of me talking shit about myself, and paul is staring at me, and then he cuts me off and says that he’s got a new tool for helping people recognize when they’re using negative language, and gets up and goes over to his desk

and i’m like alright hit me with that sweet sweet self-help article my man, because i’m a linguistic learner and whenever paul’s like here i have a tool for you to use it’s pretty much always an article or a book or something

paul opens a drawer, takes something out, and turns back around. i stare.

i say, paul.

is that a nerf gun.

yeah, says paul.

i say, are you gonna shoot me with a nerf gun in this professional setting.

he happily informs me that that’s really up to me, isn’t it. and sits back down. and gestures, like, go ahead, what were you saying?

and i squint suspiciously and start back up about how i’m having too much anxiety to leave the house to run errands, like it was a miracle to even get here, like i’ve forgone getting groceries for the past week and that’s so stupid, what a stupid issue, i’m an idiot, how could i–

a foam dart hits me in the leg.

i go, hey! because my therapist just shot me in the leg. paul blinks at me placidly and raises an eyebrow. i squint again.

i say, slowly, it’s– not a stupid issue, i’m not stupid, but it’s frustrating me and i don’t want it to be a problem i’m having.

no dart this time. okay. sweet.

so the rest of the hour passes with me intermittently getting nailed with tiny foam darts and then swearing and then fixing my language and, wouldn’t you know it, i start liking myself a little more by the end of the session, which is mildly infuriating because paul can tell and he’s very smug about it 

it may take time but there is someone waiting to hold your hand

My tears

me: hi! so where are you guys from :D

normal people: I am from Russia/Brazil/Italy/Australia/etc :)

european: where are you from

american: i’m italian

european: omg same! da dove vieni?

american: wait what lol i don’t speak mexican i only speak english

and

european: where are you from?

“But Texas is so different from Oregon! People need to know which state I’m from because they’re all so different!” We don’t care. We are going to see you as an American, not as a Texan or a Californian or whatever, just like you’re going to see someone from Bavaria as a German, someone from Normandy as a Frenchman or someone from Piedmont as an Italian, not as a Bavarian, a Norman and a Piedmontese. European countries have regional differences too, even more than US states yet we don’t feel the need to specify that to foreigners when they ask us where we’re from unless they ask us to elaborate.

“But the US is so big! Some of our states are even bigger than your countries!”

Russia is the largest country in the world and undoubtedly more diverse than the US. If you were to ask a Russian where they’re from they would say that they’re from Russia, not Komi or Tuva unless they’re speaking to another Russian or someone they know to be familiar with Russian geography.

It’s just so funny to me. Like one minute I’m designing bioreactors and getting published for heat dissipation in polymers and then I open this godforsaken app to dudes hanging brain who can’t even pronounce “saponification” calling me a slut because I won’t give attention to their limp excuses for existence.