Zella Kate's Nearly Fool-Proof Guide To A Pleasant, Embarrassment-Free Graduation

Greetings, gentle readers! I graduated with my A.A. yesterday, so I decided to blog about my experience. I have only been to two graduations--my high school graduation, which was technically not really a high school graduation because I was homeschooled and have a GED not an actual high school diploma, and then this college graduation, so I am not really an expert on graduations, but I hope this post is a help to those of you who will be graduating this year (and a dose of amusement for all of you.). Without further ceremony--get the hideous pun?--I give you my list of ten things to remember:

Clothing (I am the world's worst person to give fashion advice, so I am just being practical here):

1. Don't wear lots of layers or very heavy clothes: If you remember nothing else, remember this: You will, in addition to whatever you have on, be in a gown and a somewhat ridiculous hat (more on the cap later). You will probably be waiting for almost an hour in a hot room/hallway in said get-up while you are given instructions and lined up like cattle. You will have to sit in said get-up for an extended period of time while someone rambles on at your commencement and while the degrees are passed out, which is another hour or so. Let's just say you will get overheated quickly and will want to die. Yesterday, I wore a dress and jacket under my gown, which is really dumb because I am very heat sensitive and have had two heat strokes before. After about twenty minutes, I felt like a turkey on Thanksgiving morning--roasted. I would chalk this up to my heat sensitivity, but everyone else next to me was complaining that they were overheated, too. Wear something light. But whatever you do, do not wear shorts. Silly people like myself will see you in a gown with what looks like absolutely nothing underneath and automatically assume you are not fully dressed, which childish people like myself find hilarious. *giggles*

2. Realize that you will be negotiating stairs, in all likelihood, and a stage: If you wear five inch high heels all the time, you should be fine if you wear them at your graduation. But if you're like me and have had traumatizing experiences with high heels--mine involved tumbling over in a parking lot; I have one word for you: Owwwwwwww!--I suggest picking something you can easily walk in. You're going to feel self-conscious when you're walking up, anyway. No point in making it worse by wearing unwieldy stilts if you're not used to them. (I suppose you men can ignore this one. Lucky!)

3. Have someone else check and adjust your cap: You will just screw it up each time you touch it. And it will never feel straight. I kept thinking mine was crooked when it was fine. Whenever it was straight, it felt crooked. My friend Stephanie kept telling me to just not look at it or touch it because I was making it worse. But it felt crooked! And, please, dear God, make sure the cap's on right. (One guy next to me had his on backwards. We all thought it was funny and couldn't figure out why. Someone finally told him. He was like, "Well, I wondered why it was so uncomfortable." o_O)

Before/At The Ceremony:

4. Make sure anyone you invite knows how to get there and has precise directions: Hehe I told some friends who were coming to turn off at the Exxon Station, which is next to the school. "You can't miss it!", I told them. Well, while my family and I were driving to the graduation, my grandma asked me if I told my friends how to get there. "Of course. I told them to turn off at the Exxon Station." "Um, that's not an Exxon Station, Zella." "Yes, it is." "No, it's a Kum and Go." "Oh." Grandma was right. It was a Kum and Go Station. I have driven by it everyday for almost two years and didn't know that. *heads desk* Fortunately, my friends found their way by ignoring my directions and following street signs.

5. Watch the person ahead of you to see where you're supposed to walk and what you're supposed to do: If you have anything bigger than a medium-sized graduation, things will quickly turn into an assembly-line procedure. Everyone just falls into line like automaton drones. It's much easier on you if you go with the flow and tromp after the person ahead of you. What's this? You may be the first one? Change your last name.

6. Clap after the obligatory music and speeches and introductions even if you are feeling grouchy and could not care less. It's just common courtesy. Everyone will clap for you though they probably do not know you. But do not clap for every graduate when they get their degree unless there are only three of you. Your hands will start to sting very quickly. (I lasted through the first row before I decided that my hands needed preservation.)

7. When you're on stage, pause briefly so your family can photograph you but don't hold up the line. Otherwise, your older brother, who is manning the camera, will yell at you later for not stopping. I didn't see him waving at me. Well, I did, but I thought it was a happy, congratulatory wave, so I waved back as I sprinted back to my seat. For the last time: I am sorry!

Afterwards:

8. Realize that your family will photograph you incessantly: For the most part, you should tolerate them. They are happy for you and if you indulge them a little, they will probably get it out of their system and leave you alone. However, it can quickly get out of hand if you're forced to pause and smile every two minutes. If so, you have two options. You could shout at them to stop, but that rarely works and just unnecessarily hurts your family's feelings. The better method is to make lugubrious faces at the camera every time they try to take your picture. They will get the message AND the resulting pics will be pretty darn funny. (I would post some of mine from yesterday, but when I look lugubrious, I look deranged. :P)

9. Get photos of anyone you want pics with ASAP: If you want someone's picture (be it a teacher or a friend), hunt them down and force them to have their picture taken. It doesn't take long for everyone to scatter and never be seen again. (I learned this the hard way--I wanted a picture with one of professors who I have been particularly close to over the past year. I shook hands with him and walked off to find some others I wanted to talk to. By the time I caught up with my family, who had the camera, and went to go look for him, my notoriously shy professor had run away. Drat!)

10. Have fun! Congratulations! You put in a lot of effort and deserve the recognition for all your hard work! *hug* :)

Are you graduating this year? Have you graduated already? Any other tips to add? :)

Ode to Geriatric Cars

I am not sure what it is with me, but I always have car trouble during my finals. Previous semesters have seen me suddenly vehicle-less (Is that a word? I am making it a word if it isn't.) due to everything from flat tires to bad weather.


Don't think that my car is unreliable, for that is not so. My trusty little Honda Accord--which I have named Mr. Moto--has been a faithful friend to me over the past two years. I have commuted to school and work ten hours a week for the past year (and about seven hours a week the year before), so I spend a lot of time in my car. I love my car. We're good friends.


However, my car is fifteen years old and Mr Moto's age is starting to catch up with him. As with any beloved geriatric relative, my car has certain little health problems that must be tolerated. For instance, when I turn the wheel sharply, the car shuts down and must be restarted. When I reverse and turn the wheel too sharply, the car shuts down. When I keep my foot on the brake for longer than about a minute or two, the car shuts down. When I turn the wheel and am going uphill or downhill, the car makes a ghastly knocking sound that I have yet to diagnose. And, for whatever reason, my "Check Engine" light pops up every time I start the car after it has sat for a few hours. As the bookworm in a family of practical, mechanically inclined people, my method of coping with this is to pull over and shut the car off before restarting it and going on my merry way.


No matter what my darling Mr. Moto has pulled on me, he has always started right back up with no problem and transported me safely to my next location. That was not so Tuesday. On that day, which was my last day of regular classes, I stopped by the library I work to ask my boss a question. Afterward, I started my car and backed out into the parking lot. I am not sure if it was the angle or what, but my car shut off and would not start back up. I was stranded in the parking lot with some very angry people glaring at me for blocking the entrance. No matter what I did the car would not stay on for longer than about five seconds. This was a first in our relationship. Moto has always been loyal to me and obeyed my every command.


I finally caved and called my family to come pick me up. Fortunately, my brother and grandpa came to my rescue and my bro--who used to work at an auto parts store--waved at the guy who was parked next to me. Come to find out, said random person was, of all things, a mechanic my brother used to work with. Wonderful saintly mechanic worked on my car for almost an hour, got my car started, and refused payment. (I hereby bestow Walter with a recommendation for canonization.) We were able to get my car home, but Walter warned us not to drive it until we had the problem--some oil filter something or other--taken care of.


That's all fine and good, but I had finals I had to take Thursday and Friday. I had to get to school! My brother, being a relatively good-natured person, offered to let me use his Jeep Cherokee for the time being. Just as every time I loan him my car I explain to him all of Moto's, erm, health problems, I asked for the rundown on his vehicle, which I have never before driven. Our conversation went like this:


Brother: "Well, there's not really anything to tell. Oh, um, well, the air conditioner doesn't work."

Me: "No AC?"

Brother "Roll down the window."

Me: "Okay. That's it, though?"

Brother: "The CD player doesn't work. You just have to use the radio."

Me: "Eeep! But that's it, right?"

Brother: "The 'Low Washer Fluid' stays on, but it's lying. It's full."

Me: "Cool!" I then proceeded to get in the Jeep and start the engine. While doing so, I detected a strange odor. "Um, what is that smell?"

Brother: "Nothing."

Me: "No, seriously, it smells horrible in here. What is that?"

Brother: "You don't want to know. Have a nice day at school." He backed away quickly and waved.

Me: "It smells like . . . like . . . a skunk."

Brother: "Um, yeah, I had an incident a few weeks ago. Do not tell Grandma. Adios."


So . . . I drove to school with my waist length hair billowing above my head like Medusa as I sat through annoying dee jays and even worse commercials in a vehicle that emanated the delightful odor of skunk musk. Whoohoo! I also discovered that driving a Jeep is much different from driving a car--I can whip into small parking spaces and maneuver easily in my nifty Honda. I soon realized driving that Jeep was like trying to steer a dinosaur. A smelly, lumbering dinosaur that lies about the status of its washer fluid and has no AC or CD player.


But you know what? I soon learned that I really like driving that Jeep. Why? I am one of society's shorties, so driving by people and having them look up at me while I passed was a novel experience. It made me feel tall! I saw signs I have never seen before! And driving that Jeep, what with its sturdy design and bulky build, makes me feel like I am riding in a tank. Now I want a helmet, like the one Patton was always photographed in. I think I'd look rather fetching in a helmet. Any of you have a helmet? I'll be leaving for work in about an hour, so just e-send it to me. :D

Have any geriatric car stories to tell? No? How about skunk encounters?

Praise Be! I am a Highly Dorky Nerd Queen!

I always knew that I was a nerd. It's a personality trait that manifested itself early in my life and has stayed with me into adulthood. And I know that many of you, dear online friends, are fellow nerds.

But what is a nerd, some of you may wonder? A nerd, my dear gentle readers, defies description. As to paraphrase Louie Armstrong, if you have to have it described to you, you aren't one. However, the best definition I have found:

"Nerd is a term, often bearing a derogatory connotation or stereotype, that refers to a person who passionately pursues intellectual activities, technical or scientific endeavours, esoteric knowledge, or other obscure interests that are age-inappropriate, rather than engaging in more social or popular activities. Therefore, a nerd is often excluded from physical activity and considered a loner by peers, or will tend to associate with like-minded people."

If you substituted the opening word "nerd" with Zella, you would have a perfect description of myself, except for maybe the bit on technical and scientific endeavors. And what do I consider nerd qualifications?

I take optional finals for fun.

I collect encyclopedias.

I celebrate Sherlock Holmes's birthday and have an extensive argument for why that is in January and not in June.

I am pretty sure that Sherlock is real and alive and well, but nobody else believes me.

I can recite a Coen Brothers' movie quote for every occasion.

I read short stories in school anthologies that are not assigned to me.

I delight in being a non-conformist.

I think that grammar quizzes are fun.

I wrote two 70+ reports on Russian revolutionary thought when I was a high school senior and enjoyed every minute of it.

I like writing research papers.

I have only been invited to three birthday parties in my entire life. (The memories still traumatize me . . .)

I know the difference between inferring and implying and will judge you when you confuse the two.

I have more online friends than I have real life friends.

My real-life friends (with the exception of one normal person) are all strange. Not serial killer strange. But definitely strange.

I don't understand why anyone would hate Shakespeare.

I celebrate his birthday (the assumed date of his birth, anyway).

It distresses me that Kafka led an unhappy life.

I have a somewhat extensive battle plan for nerds to take over the world.

I know the difference between prefrontal and transorbital lobotomies and have performed them both on a skeleton for a live audience and scared my classmates witless in the process. :D

I have gotten into extensive online fights over Jane Eyre, Pink Floyd and Lord of the Flies. (Not together.)

I wear glasses and am nearly legally blind.

I am the queen of Trivial Pursuit and Risk.

I did a book inventory when I was twelve and stopped counting at twelve hundred.

I have only gotten rid of a half dozen books since then and buy about two hundred books a year.

Over thirty of my books are on Russian history.

Another twenty are on grammar/English/linguistics.

I compulsively buy books, just in case I may read them. Case in point: I got a free college chemistry instructor's manual at school Friday, just in case I ever want to read it. (I never will.)

I started reading at the age of two but was considered autistic for not being able to follow directions. (Just because I won't doesn't mean I can't.)

I think it's perfectly normal to talk to myself.

I name all of my possessions after favorite fictional characters.

I correct the grammar on the study guides I get at school.

I use words like "Forsooth" and "Alas" in conversation.

I do not drink coffee, but I own a coffee cup that says "I read a latte."

I cry when fictional characters die in books.

I read dictionaries and encyclopedias.

People always tell me I am a nerd.

I have taken an online nerd test for fun.

And now, because of this last item, I finally have honest-to-goodness proof that I am a nerd, because it is official: I am a Highly Dorky Nerd Queen. *points to nerd graph below*



I was surprised with the results for science, math, and technology, for I consider them nerdy weak points of mine. I am thinking that the fact that I know what computer codes are, without being able to use them, helped me out. The history/literature one I am quite proud of--I mean, those are my majors! I think I should be able to use this when I apply to grad school. The dork one makes me happy. This explains why I always stare at my shoes during face-to-face conversations. ^^

Now tell me, my dear nerd friends, what qualifies you as a nerd? And how did you score? *awaits fellow nerd scores happily* :D

P.S. My fellow grammar geeks will savor this meditation upon the dreaded alot. Enjoy!