"Do you need any help? I don't want you to hurt yourself"

Oh yeah... 

I'll try my hardest not to turn this into a rant man. 

While others might say that the only woman in the weight room is a Lone Ranger; I think she's the strongest one in the room[besides the fact that she's not apart of the 1000lbs club like some of the other men]. I do believe that the weight room at Troy High is one of the most gendered places in my every day student environment. 

I'm a student athlete in the spring; I run track for our team at school, [go colts right?] so I spend time in the weight room quite frequently, or after tutoring I just might go visit some of the guys in there just to say hello. 

Don't get me wrong, this isn't one of those "ohmygod girls are never in there" type thing, they are, just not at the same time boys are, or if they are, there is only a few of them, and the rest of them are either too intimidated, or scared to go in. 

And I get it.

All the sweaty jocks bench pressing and squatting more than both of the 100lb females that are stuck in the door way, is pretty scary at times. Or that they're all grunting and wheezing and cheering each other on, and you don't want to be the odd one out at the squat bar, just squatting the 45-pound bar. 

We all have to start somewhere. 

Like I didn't just put all 200lbs on my bar at the start. 

I would've died.

The weight room is pretty male-dominated, but I love the fact that girls go in there too. In the weight room we all share a common goal, and that's building our strength. Whether it be squatting, benching, curling, or just running on the treadmill, we leave after each session stronger than we were before we came in. Male or female, the weight room should be a place where the fear or intimidation of being a girl shouldn't matter.

 Gon' in there and build those muscles!

                                        

Is it Really That Funny?

I would have to agree with Alain de Botton on his opinion stating that the "chief aim of humorists is not merely to entertain, but to convey with impunity messages that might be dangerous or impossible to state directly", purely because, not all humor is satirical, or comes at the expense of another. 

I believe that a humorist, is nonetheless but a comedian, seeing that they both aim to entertain. 

Here is where I agree:

        A lot of humor in our lives does come at the expense of others, and the example that immediately comes to mind is the classic cartoon, Tom and Jerry. The show Tom and Jerry was a kids television show in the early 1940s. It was harmless laughing and entertainment for those that didn't realize what some of the segments of the show were actually referring to. 

I mean, how was a six-year old kid supposed to know that blackface was offensive to black people, or that blackface was meant to mock black people at the time? Not that it is ironic, but of course it was seen as comedic during the time, especially since America wasn't really in favor of Blacks... So instead they mock them. But it's just supposed to be funny that all of them get splashed with black sludge, and their facial expressions reveal just how displeased they are, that they are Black. 

Or how about how we never see Mammy Two Shoe's face, she's always cleaning, and just so happens to be dressed like a maid? 

In this case, a humorists aim was not just to entertain, but to "convey with impunity" (Botton). Of course there was no consequence, due to the fact that it was "just a joke". 

Society allows humorist and comedians to say things just because it's for entertainment purposes, but it completely excludes the fact that comedy can be hurtful and offensive. 

Growing up (A Satire)

"Literally and truly" (Question 2), when you grow up, it's gonna suck; you're going to want the things you can't have, and want to know the things you're not ready for; and when you're upset because your mother tells you you're not ready for the 82nd time in a row, it won't click until the 83rd. Going to school will either become easier or harder; tons of school work will pile up to the ceiling, and the amount of books stacked up on the floor will become taller, until maybe the second semester to where you can return half of them. 
And that's only part of it.
See, as you continue to grow, and morph into adulthood, the things you weren't ready to hear, are heard everyday, and interpreted in a new way. The excruciating idea of a desk job doesn't sound so bad anymore, because the college degrees that were accumulated on the journey to adulthood would've scored just about any job, and  money becomes way more of a reigning figure. It'll begin to dictate how much fun someone can have, or the type of life you can have. "The wiseacres will [probably]" (Question 2) tell you how to be you, and make growing even harder than it already is, like it wasn't already a sitting in traffic type of experience. 

A Trophy Father's Trophy Son

The love my father expressed to me was explicit but never really penetrated the layer of hurt I had built after my parents divorce. My parents are super mushy-gushy, but I never actually let myself receive the love that was equally reciprocated by both of my extremely loving parents. 

For starters, my father. 

I loved my Dad. That was my best friend, and I was his little girl. But his little girl had gotten her heart broken after her two favorite people decided they couldn't live together anymore. 

It was great after that, he'd pick my sister and I up every other weekend to visit, color with us, let me paint boxes, and even bought me Hannah Montana everything on my eighth birthday; man I loved Hannah Montana. But as time went on, I saw him less, he called less, and his little girl had grown out and grown up. 

"That was the way I had felt for a number of years during my [childhood]" (Manning 144). Time would fly and our relationship simply felt materialistic. Asking me if I'd needed anything when it came to school, or my life at home, but truthfully I just needed him. That was the way he showed his love for me. 

[at the time]. 

As a child, Our trips to Blockbuster, and through the passageway (the backstreet to his apartment... a short cut), they meant so much to me and I felt loved, even when he told me he loved him. Eggo waffles and the time we spent on the couch were the most memorable.  

More time passed, and the heart that broke healed. I loved my dad, and I knew he loved me. It's just that rough patches are rough for a reason... 

He even flew all the way back from living in California to be with his family. Our relationship was better. Could even say it felt new.