Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
A Day in the Life
I left a few cliff-hangers on here a few days ago. One was about the general fuck-up-edness of things right now - lack of money, being sued for bills I've yet to pay, my folks' drama (cheating, lying, stealing, et al.), my plans to Move Da Eff On, et al. - and the other about things with my BGF (Best Guy Friend).
Thing is, I've come to this place in my life where I feel no need to be stressed about all this. Life is gonna happen whether or not I participate in it, whether or not my contributions to the actions around me are purely speculative and spectator in subject, whether or not I have panic attacks about the general shittyness of things. Sure, my day-to-day is fit for consumer consumption via Reality TV and/or telenovelas - but that shouldn't change the way I regard it.
All this time, I've been urgently willing a 180-turn. I've been plotting get-done schemes for all the drama I'm up against. I've been turning these problems into the defining parts of my personality. But I came to the conclusion that they're all things that I go through; that doesn't mean they have power over my person or personality. I decide what I'm about.
So I'm more proactive about things. I'm tackling the problems that are within my power: lack of satisfaction when it comes to my living arrangement, money issues, health concerns, the need to be more cultured, the desire to be more creative, et al. I'm running at least three miles every day at the track. I'm eating healthier (abstaining from meat and drinking a gallon of water every day). I'm applying to jobs while enjoying the hell out of my current work. I'm cleaning up my house and not feeling crappy if/when there's ANOTHER pile of laundry/dishes/chores to be done. And I'm becoming a little Susie Homemaker. My repertoire in recipes has increased exponentially. I'm sewing and designing clothes. I'm drawing and painting again.
Fuck all of the negativity. I've accepted that my family's problems are NOT my problems. By not allowing each member of my family to claim responsibility for their actions/inability to act, I was showing a lack of respect for their autonomy and decision-making skills; I was hindering their ability to live out their lives the way they deem fit. I was impressing my own notions of justice onto every situation.
But my mom isn't me and my dad isn't me and my brother sure as hell isn't me. They're gonna make their own decisions whether or not I agree with them, and the only thing I can do is offer advice when I can, be a shoulder for them to cry on, and allow them to pick themselves up every time they fall. Like a mother that breastfeeds well into their child's school years, I had to realize that I acted the way I did For Me, and not For Them. I needed to feel needed. I needed my self-worth and life observations validated by voicing them and attempting to have them followed as Law. I needed an excuse to stay a while longer in the comfort of the reality I've known for so long.
None of that is the case now.
I trust my instincts enough to walk into an awkward situation and know that I will arrive at its end unscathed. Nothing surprises me, but everything delights me. And Hope, that ever-elusive visage of tomorrow, has been internalized like a sacred amulet. The best I can do is the best I can do - and that simple realization is how my potential will not be wasted.
Thing is, I've come to this place in my life where I feel no need to be stressed about all this. Life is gonna happen whether or not I participate in it, whether or not my contributions to the actions around me are purely speculative and spectator in subject, whether or not I have panic attacks about the general shittyness of things. Sure, my day-to-day is fit for consumer consumption via Reality TV and/or telenovelas - but that shouldn't change the way I regard it.
All this time, I've been urgently willing a 180-turn. I've been plotting get-done schemes for all the drama I'm up against. I've been turning these problems into the defining parts of my personality. But I came to the conclusion that they're all things that I go through; that doesn't mean they have power over my person or personality. I decide what I'm about.
So I'm more proactive about things. I'm tackling the problems that are within my power: lack of satisfaction when it comes to my living arrangement, money issues, health concerns, the need to be more cultured, the desire to be more creative, et al. I'm running at least three miles every day at the track. I'm eating healthier (abstaining from meat and drinking a gallon of water every day). I'm applying to jobs while enjoying the hell out of my current work. I'm cleaning up my house and not feeling crappy if/when there's ANOTHER pile of laundry/dishes/chores to be done. And I'm becoming a little Susie Homemaker. My repertoire in recipes has increased exponentially. I'm sewing and designing clothes. I'm drawing and painting again.
Fuck all of the negativity. I've accepted that my family's problems are NOT my problems. By not allowing each member of my family to claim responsibility for their actions/inability to act, I was showing a lack of respect for their autonomy and decision-making skills; I was hindering their ability to live out their lives the way they deem fit. I was impressing my own notions of justice onto every situation.
But my mom isn't me and my dad isn't me and my brother sure as hell isn't me. They're gonna make their own decisions whether or not I agree with them, and the only thing I can do is offer advice when I can, be a shoulder for them to cry on, and allow them to pick themselves up every time they fall. Like a mother that breastfeeds well into their child's school years, I had to realize that I acted the way I did For Me, and not For Them. I needed to feel needed. I needed my self-worth and life observations validated by voicing them and attempting to have them followed as Law. I needed an excuse to stay a while longer in the comfort of the reality I've known for so long.
None of that is the case now.
I trust my instincts enough to walk into an awkward situation and know that I will arrive at its end unscathed. Nothing surprises me, but everything delights me. And Hope, that ever-elusive visage of tomorrow, has been internalized like a sacred amulet. The best I can do is the best I can do - and that simple realization is how my potential will not be wasted.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Dare I Say It?
I was hanging out with Past Tense last night and I couldn't find the right words to explain how I feel. Everything that came to mind seemed utterly cliche: an unerring sense of inner strength, the confidence to move mountains and shatter dominant mores, the peace of mind to Act as oppose to React. I've hit my stride and I'm able to do Everything without fear. I am ashamed of nothing. I do not need to analyze the hell out of everything; I do it, but only out of respect for my writing. Everything is within reach. And for the first time I know without a doubt that this isn't transitory; it's permanent. This feeling that I can do no wrong is Permanent.
Wow. It feels so good to put that out there.
This, my friends, is happiness. It's not the shallow and temporary happiness of a girl who clings onto unstable theories and other peoples' attitudes. It's not the contentment of passing through a phase just to get to another phase. It's not the mania caused by getting myself out of a deep depression. It's a feeling of joy that is stirred by the smallest of details: a conversation on the train with a stranger, the pride that wells in my chest when going to work, the realization that I am not perfect but my attempts at perfection are perfect.
We walked through the streets, Past Tense and I, in a comfortable almost-silence that felt as warm, heavy, and cozy as a favorite overstuffed blanket. The words passing our lips were not the inquisitory ones of other nights, but small morsels of our realities which made little allusion to our late-night think-a-thons: men we were dating, friends, bric-a-brac actions that form the outlines of our day-to-day lives.
Not much had changed on the outside since we'd seen each other last. There were still problems with which to contend: bills, friends, family issues, the issue of finding a soulmate, et al. But progress had been made, and both of us were too mired in our progress to be able to speak on the ins and outs of it. Speaking on your progress while it's happening is like putting the live sports reel on pause to interject a voiceover: sure it helps to put everything in perspective, but there's a halting of the live feed. The main object of the scene - the Progress - seems deterred, deferred, distracted all because you want to convey its parts. The overwhelming sentiment seems real: if you were truly cognizant of what was going on, you wouldn't need the play-by-play. Why not just let it be?
Luckily, Past Tense and I are well versed in this Truth, so we let the live feed continue to grow, and we exhalted in the quiet and relatively relaxing here-and-now.
But "happiness"? The ability to say, "I'm happy"? It seems like part of a fairy tale. We go through our lives striving for something that seems out of reach - this "happiness" we speak so much of - and very rarely do we assess our lives to be Happy. Content? Sure. Complascent? Often, yes. But not Happy. Happy is a tall order. Happy is taken to mean the whole kit and caboodle: job, family, friends, extracurricular activities, health, education, culture - you get the idea. It seems unlikely that one would achieve it all.
But what if all that isn't what makes us happy? What if the assumption that we need "it all" to be happy is incorrect? Or, what if we stumble onto a patch of life as slippery as ice which takes us, sliding, onto a pure and perfect path of happiness, and all of a sudden all of the "necessities of happiness" are ours?
That second one - that's where I'm at. It makes me think: What if we really do need the whole kit and caboodle, but the clincher is that we must be ready and willing to lose it all at any moment? Wouldn't that be a mind fuck? If you could only be perfectly happy if you were sure that you'd be perfectly fine unhappy?
The search for happiness brings to mind a philosophical quandry that had been posed a year ago in class: If you haven't experienced something, how do you know if you've found it? I think I'm going to spend the day thinking about this, while sewing/designing clothes, teaching class, applying to jobs, writing contest entries and poetry, and getting ready to go to the 40/40 club...
With any luck, I'll have a TGL article - my first in almost five months - for you to read by tomorrow.
Wow. It feels so good to put that out there.
This, my friends, is happiness. It's not the shallow and temporary happiness of a girl who clings onto unstable theories and other peoples' attitudes. It's not the contentment of passing through a phase just to get to another phase. It's not the mania caused by getting myself out of a deep depression. It's a feeling of joy that is stirred by the smallest of details: a conversation on the train with a stranger, the pride that wells in my chest when going to work, the realization that I am not perfect but my attempts at perfection are perfect.
We walked through the streets, Past Tense and I, in a comfortable almost-silence that felt as warm, heavy, and cozy as a favorite overstuffed blanket. The words passing our lips were not the inquisitory ones of other nights, but small morsels of our realities which made little allusion to our late-night think-a-thons: men we were dating, friends, bric-a-brac actions that form the outlines of our day-to-day lives.
Not much had changed on the outside since we'd seen each other last. There were still problems with which to contend: bills, friends, family issues, the issue of finding a soulmate, et al. But progress had been made, and both of us were too mired in our progress to be able to speak on the ins and outs of it. Speaking on your progress while it's happening is like putting the live sports reel on pause to interject a voiceover: sure it helps to put everything in perspective, but there's a halting of the live feed. The main object of the scene - the Progress - seems deterred, deferred, distracted all because you want to convey its parts. The overwhelming sentiment seems real: if you were truly cognizant of what was going on, you wouldn't need the play-by-play. Why not just let it be?
Luckily, Past Tense and I are well versed in this Truth, so we let the live feed continue to grow, and we exhalted in the quiet and relatively relaxing here-and-now.
But "happiness"? The ability to say, "I'm happy"? It seems like part of a fairy tale. We go through our lives striving for something that seems out of reach - this "happiness" we speak so much of - and very rarely do we assess our lives to be Happy. Content? Sure. Complascent? Often, yes. But not Happy. Happy is a tall order. Happy is taken to mean the whole kit and caboodle: job, family, friends, extracurricular activities, health, education, culture - you get the idea. It seems unlikely that one would achieve it all.
But what if all that isn't what makes us happy? What if the assumption that we need "it all" to be happy is incorrect? Or, what if we stumble onto a patch of life as slippery as ice which takes us, sliding, onto a pure and perfect path of happiness, and all of a sudden all of the "necessities of happiness" are ours?
That second one - that's where I'm at. It makes me think: What if we really do need the whole kit and caboodle, but the clincher is that we must be ready and willing to lose it all at any moment? Wouldn't that be a mind fuck? If you could only be perfectly happy if you were sure that you'd be perfectly fine unhappy?
The search for happiness brings to mind a philosophical quandry that had been posed a year ago in class: If you haven't experienced something, how do you know if you've found it? I think I'm going to spend the day thinking about this, while sewing/designing clothes, teaching class, applying to jobs, writing contest entries and poetry, and getting ready to go to the 40/40 club...
With any luck, I'll have a TGL article - my first in almost five months - for you to read by tomorrow.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Holy Shite, Batman
I can't sleep and I can't do anything productive. My mind keeps wandering to the three hour conversation I just had with BGF (Best Guy Friend, Big Greek Friend---whatevs).
Fuuuuuuuck.
Either I'm making a mountain out of a molehill, or only outrageous situations can come of this (and certainly a blog post or twelve). Past Tense, I know you're grinning.
More on this at a later time...
Fuuuuuuuck.
Either I'm making a mountain out of a molehill, or only outrageous situations can come of this (and certainly a blog post or twelve). Past Tense, I know you're grinning.
More on this at a later time...
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Around The Way
Randy Rudolf walked past my house as I was sitting on my stoop. It had been a long afternoon and the hazy sun fell across my pale face in sharp angles. I'd fallen asleep at a little past four in the morning, had gotten up two hours later, and kept on falling prey to periods of productivity before succumbing once again to slumber. Each burst of activity punctuated the subsequent power nap like italicized exclamation points: Another doze!
I was getting really tired of the twitch surrounding my right eye. The frustration welling in my chest burned like I ate some bad sushi. And man, if you had seen the pile of bills collecting on my dresser, you'd understand.
On the plus side, though, I was looking good. Hard times brought out my hard eyes, my high cheek bones, my try-your-luck-strut. I'd perfected the hoodrat glare of seasoned sexual experience, and could shoot a salty stare farther than you can spit. Maybe that's why Randy Rudolf smiled at me as he walked home. He knew that look on my face, knew what I was capable of when I glared at guys like I had game for miles, knew that a perverse mania swept my psyche every time my eyes shone like pearls.
"You know you can get a ticket for that," Randy Rudolf said as he motioned to the beer bottle in my hand. He pecked me on the cheek - a greeting and acknowledgment of our shared history.
I took another swig of my Heineken and laughed. "At this point, I couldn't care less," I said with a shrug.
We lowered our stares and directed our attention to the street, where a blue and white was rolling. Cops were patrolling our block a lot, and even though I was no longer involved in the hijinx of the neighborhood low-lifes, I couldn't help but fall back into my old self. No matter how law-abiding I am, I will never trust police.
Randy Rudolf swept his gaze back at me after the blue and white had drifted from sight. He seemed to be thinking over my last words, sizing up my answer; I simultaneously searched it for truth.
It's been a long time since I ran numbers around my way, whistled high to announce the arrival of squadron cars, fucked with the dudes in the corner house. - (To my credit, I hadn't allowed myself to stoop to the level of ho or trick; I'd fuck with the dudes, but I laughed at the idea of fucking them.) - Now, years after I'd snuck out of my parents' house to partake in tasteless talk about taboos, it all feels surreal.
I am not the same girl who wore puffy princess dresses in elementary school. Nor am I the wide-eyed and wild-limbed pre-adolescent who, suffering from insomnia, took it upon herself to wander the streets at night. I am not the girl who, at the age of fifteen, got stabbed in the leg with a steak knife and bandaged the cut by herself. I am not the girl who, at the age of sixteen, moved to Virginia with her brother and attended class with the attorney general's son. I'm sure as hell not the same girl who moved in with a suit at the age of seventeen, and thought I could handle it because he wasn't my first love, my first fuck, my first live-in relationship.
I am not the same person who deemed it excusable to print my close friend's sex life in a blog, under the guise of art. I am not the same person who cut ties with her childhood best friends because she didn't know how to continue being someone's best friend. I am not the same person who smoked up daily, got drunk daily, snuck into bars, fucked voraciously, loved shallowly, befriended anonymously, partied haphazardly, nearly fucked up everything because of Daddy Issues, Mommy Issues, abuse, fear, quarterlife crisis, pressure, hubris, stupidity, just to feel what it's like to hit rock bottom.
I am not that person.
So when Randy Rudolf stared at me with those dark glittering eyes of his, while flipping in his head my words - "At this point, I couldn't care less" - and sizing me up, I didn't know how I was feeling. In the context of the other Marias - the unsure ones, the inexperienced ones, the less intelligent ones, the luckier ones, the rough-and-tumble ones, the scholarly ones, the jaded ones, et al. - I knew how to size up who I was. The contexts had been used before, in classic stories, beloved movies, old time songs. I knew the roles, knew the stereotypes, cast myself in each shadow before learning how to shine.
But at that very moment, with a remnant of my past staring me in the face, I realized that I was something, someone entirely different from anything I'd ever imagined or come across.
Somehow, in between all of the introverted introspectiveness and wild extroverted perversities, I'd come into my own skin. I didn't know yet what that skin was made of, which parts of which Marias had remained, but I knew that I was more or less fully formed, and I really couldn't care less what life had to throw at me. I was gonna be okay.
Randy Rudolf smiled at me, and at once his face was kind, mischievous, and fatherly. "You did good, kid," he said.
Other Marias would've beamed, but I earnesly nodded my head in agreement. "I know," I said as I put down my beer and picked up my journal and a pen. "Man, do I know..."
I was getting really tired of the twitch surrounding my right eye. The frustration welling in my chest burned like I ate some bad sushi. And man, if you had seen the pile of bills collecting on my dresser, you'd understand.
On the plus side, though, I was looking good. Hard times brought out my hard eyes, my high cheek bones, my try-your-luck-strut. I'd perfected the hoodrat glare of seasoned sexual experience, and could shoot a salty stare farther than you can spit. Maybe that's why Randy Rudolf smiled at me as he walked home. He knew that look on my face, knew what I was capable of when I glared at guys like I had game for miles, knew that a perverse mania swept my psyche every time my eyes shone like pearls.
"You know you can get a ticket for that," Randy Rudolf said as he motioned to the beer bottle in my hand. He pecked me on the cheek - a greeting and acknowledgment of our shared history.
I took another swig of my Heineken and laughed. "At this point, I couldn't care less," I said with a shrug.
We lowered our stares and directed our attention to the street, where a blue and white was rolling. Cops were patrolling our block a lot, and even though I was no longer involved in the hijinx of the neighborhood low-lifes, I couldn't help but fall back into my old self. No matter how law-abiding I am, I will never trust police.
Randy Rudolf swept his gaze back at me after the blue and white had drifted from sight. He seemed to be thinking over my last words, sizing up my answer; I simultaneously searched it for truth.
It's been a long time since I ran numbers around my way, whistled high to announce the arrival of squadron cars, fucked with the dudes in the corner house. - (To my credit, I hadn't allowed myself to stoop to the level of ho or trick; I'd fuck with the dudes, but I laughed at the idea of fucking them.) - Now, years after I'd snuck out of my parents' house to partake in tasteless talk about taboos, it all feels surreal.
I am not the same girl who wore puffy princess dresses in elementary school. Nor am I the wide-eyed and wild-limbed pre-adolescent who, suffering from insomnia, took it upon herself to wander the streets at night. I am not the girl who, at the age of fifteen, got stabbed in the leg with a steak knife and bandaged the cut by herself. I am not the girl who, at the age of sixteen, moved to Virginia with her brother and attended class with the attorney general's son. I'm sure as hell not the same girl who moved in with a suit at the age of seventeen, and thought I could handle it because he wasn't my first love, my first fuck, my first live-in relationship.
I am not the same person who deemed it excusable to print my close friend's sex life in a blog, under the guise of art. I am not the same person who cut ties with her childhood best friends because she didn't know how to continue being someone's best friend. I am not the same person who smoked up daily, got drunk daily, snuck into bars, fucked voraciously, loved shallowly, befriended anonymously, partied haphazardly, nearly fucked up everything because of Daddy Issues, Mommy Issues, abuse, fear, quarterlife crisis, pressure, hubris, stupidity, just to feel what it's like to hit rock bottom.
I am not that person.
So when Randy Rudolf stared at me with those dark glittering eyes of his, while flipping in his head my words - "At this point, I couldn't care less" - and sizing me up, I didn't know how I was feeling. In the context of the other Marias - the unsure ones, the inexperienced ones, the less intelligent ones, the luckier ones, the rough-and-tumble ones, the scholarly ones, the jaded ones, et al. - I knew how to size up who I was. The contexts had been used before, in classic stories, beloved movies, old time songs. I knew the roles, knew the stereotypes, cast myself in each shadow before learning how to shine.
But at that very moment, with a remnant of my past staring me in the face, I realized that I was something, someone entirely different from anything I'd ever imagined or come across.
Somehow, in between all of the introverted introspectiveness and wild extroverted perversities, I'd come into my own skin. I didn't know yet what that skin was made of, which parts of which Marias had remained, but I knew that I was more or less fully formed, and I really couldn't care less what life had to throw at me. I was gonna be okay.
Randy Rudolf smiled at me, and at once his face was kind, mischievous, and fatherly. "You did good, kid," he said.
Other Marias would've beamed, but I earnesly nodded my head in agreement. "I know," I said as I put down my beer and picked up my journal and a pen. "Man, do I know..."
Monday, February 18, 2008
You-Hate-Us? Dry-Hump-Us! Hi-At-Us
I recently got an email from Soul Patch, a friend of mine who lives in Virginia. Soul Patch is one of those people who I love dearly, but to whom I concede that sans 'net, our relationship wouldn't last past my driving past his state's line.
SP wanted to know why I haven't been blogging, why all he's been reading has been my vocabulary upgrade, and why he didn't get an update on Valentine's Day. I just replied unfeelingly that I've been on hiatus, that he should take his library card out for a spin, and that he has three baby's mamas to worry about so he doesn't have to worry about my love life. Such is the bond between folks who've seen each other naked and sweaty: words aren't minced and feelings aren't spared. God forbid one of us should think we have a connection that's more than platonic.
I didn't have the cajones to say flat-out to SP that I've been licking my wounds. Doing so would require humility, and humility is something that I'm short on when dealing with a man who's seen my goodies at every angle - even though said sexcapades were seven years ago.
So here's the dealio, for those who swear they're my BFF but depend on my blog to find out the nitty gritty: My first job's cut back my hours, my second job is a temp gig (which lasts only till the end of the month), and my bills are backed up like a toilet after Thanksgiving dinner. I inked a "limited time engagement" deal with a phone sex management co, and did it for two nights; it pays well, and by "well" I mean that my family doesn't have to go hungry for the next month and a half, and I can pay for gas and metrocards.
I need to find work, and in the meantime I want to enter a few writing contests that I've been eyeing. The crapped out part about that? Both writing contests require me to write about dating and love - and I'm short on inspiration when it comes to both. Valentine's Day was sad, pathetic and disappointing; I've decided to take some time out from dating.
Back on the lack-of-money tip: I found out that I'm getting sued for not having paid off my med bills from a couple years ago, which makes me go, "REALLY?! I got cancer, paid off half of the bills, and obviously don't make enough to pay off the rest of the bills SO YOU SUE ME?! WTF is that supposed to do?! Get your money sooner??? Cuz, OBVIOUSLY, if I had cash, you'd be paid." And maaannnn... If I could, I'd throw myself a pity party.
Unfortunately, I'm too grown to be so pathetic.
More on all of this soon. I've gotta clean my house.
SP wanted to know why I haven't been blogging, why all he's been reading has been my vocabulary upgrade, and why he didn't get an update on Valentine's Day. I just replied unfeelingly that I've been on hiatus, that he should take his library card out for a spin, and that he has three baby's mamas to worry about so he doesn't have to worry about my love life. Such is the bond between folks who've seen each other naked and sweaty: words aren't minced and feelings aren't spared. God forbid one of us should think we have a connection that's more than platonic.
I didn't have the cajones to say flat-out to SP that I've been licking my wounds. Doing so would require humility, and humility is something that I'm short on when dealing with a man who's seen my goodies at every angle - even though said sexcapades were seven years ago.
So here's the dealio, for those who swear they're my BFF but depend on my blog to find out the nitty gritty: My first job's cut back my hours, my second job is a temp gig (which lasts only till the end of the month), and my bills are backed up like a toilet after Thanksgiving dinner. I inked a "limited time engagement" deal with a phone sex management co, and did it for two nights; it pays well, and by "well" I mean that my family doesn't have to go hungry for the next month and a half, and I can pay for gas and metrocards.
I need to find work, and in the meantime I want to enter a few writing contests that I've been eyeing. The crapped out part about that? Both writing contests require me to write about dating and love - and I'm short on inspiration when it comes to both. Valentine's Day was sad, pathetic and disappointing; I've decided to take some time out from dating.
Back on the lack-of-money tip: I found out that I'm getting sued for not having paid off my med bills from a couple years ago, which makes me go, "REALLY?! I got cancer, paid off half of the bills, and obviously don't make enough to pay off the rest of the bills SO YOU SUE ME?! WTF is that supposed to do?! Get your money sooner??? Cuz, OBVIOUSLY, if I had cash, you'd be paid." And maaannnn... If I could, I'd throw myself a pity party.
Unfortunately, I'm too grown to be so pathetic.
More on all of this soon. I've gotta clean my house.
Randomosity
Were you the one who called me at 2 a.m. from a private line, then left a 4+ minute message of heavy breathing on my voicemail?
If so, I find you sexy. Call me sometime. Let's hook this up. Ya know what I mean. A little heavy breathing. Some light touching. You already have my phone number, you probably have my address, my work email, my social security number. I mean, THIS IS THE AGE OF PERSONAL INVASION, am I right? Where we air our personal shit out in blogs, on internet networking sites, out in the street as we're talking on our cell phones. THAT IS WHY YOU FIGURE IT'S OKAY TO CALL ME AT 2 A.M. AND CREEP ME THE F*CK OUT BY LEAVING A 4+ MINUTE MESSAGE OF HEAVY BREATHING (AND DID I HEAR A MOTHERF*CKING PORN PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND?!). RIGHT?!
Word. That's what I thought.
If so, I find you sexy. Call me sometime. Let's hook this up. Ya know what I mean. A little heavy breathing. Some light touching. You already have my phone number, you probably have my address, my work email, my social security number. I mean, THIS IS THE AGE OF PERSONAL INVASION, am I right? Where we air our personal shit out in blogs, on internet networking sites, out in the street as we're talking on our cell phones. THAT IS WHY YOU FIGURE IT'S OKAY TO CALL ME AT 2 A.M. AND CREEP ME THE F*CK OUT BY LEAVING A 4+ MINUTE MESSAGE OF HEAVY BREATHING (AND DID I HEAR A MOTHERF*CKING PORN PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND?!). RIGHT?!
Word. That's what I thought.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Dear Slug
On some real tip, this dude's answers were NiCe! Peep the asterisks.
From http://www.avclub.com/content/home
When The A.V. Club thinks about Valentines' Day, we naturally think about relationships, passion, and Sean "Slug" Daley, MC of hip-hop duo Atmosphere, who has written some of the most pointed love-and-sex rhymes we know of. So we enlisted him to answer some questions in honor of the holiday, figuring that he'd be willing to get deep with our readers. (He is, after all, the guy who told us at length about his theories on alien life.) The call for questions was overwhelming, with multiple marriage proposals tucked within actual cries for help. (Names have been omitted to protect the innocent and guilty.) Slug decided to answer 14 questions in honor of February 14. He also decided that whether or not you have love problems, you should know he's got a new Rhymesayers record, When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold, coming out on April 22. His album Strictly Leakage is also available for free download at rhymesayers.com/atmosphere.
Every couple of years, some girl I'm dating will just spontaneously burst into tears after sex. I've talked to guy friends of mine, and they've had it happen, too. What the hell is the deal? Just some female thing I'm not getting? Or do I have an effect on women that reduces them to tears?
Slug: Crying is a common defense mechanism for the women who sleep with you. Don't get neurotic about it, though. They are not defending themselves from you. They are defending themselves from themselves and their overwhelming desire to burst into laughter.
I am 18 years young and pretty shy. There is this male in one of my classes and I can't keep my mind off him… I don't even know his name, so what are some good ways for him to notice me without looking like I'm trying too hard?
Slug: Who are you afraid of looking like you are trying too hard in front of? I'm going to assume that the male in question is a) not your professor, and b) near the same age as you. If these are both true, relax. I usually try not to generalize, but most male prey your age do not analyze the hunter's technique the same way that you might. He will be too busy wrapping his head around the fact that you were proactive to question whether you appear desperate. Go for it. Now.
I made the mistake of taking my boyfriend to go see Juno with me. Ever since, he's been terrified of getting me pregnant, to the point where he damn near refuses to sleep with me. Help a girl out.
Slug: Relax. It will subside. In the meantime, catch up on The Wire.
I am a 28-year-old woman who has had the pleasure of having one partner for the experimental period of my life, and he and I explored all the doors of intimacy. My now-fiancé lacks the forbidden fun that I am craving. I am the one who had the cuffs, the rope, the toys, and the knowledge, and if I bring these things out during our private time, he acts scared and intimidated. I have tried to break him out of his shell and get him to explore with me, but he just likes to do the same thing over and over again. How do I get him to open up to me and be comfortable enough?
Slug: Comfortable enough for what? Maybe it's not your knowledge that he is intimidated by, but rather where you obtained it. Try some things that are new to both of you. My best half has been to Mexico, I have not. So when we plan our next vacation together, I would prefer to go somewhere neither of us have been, rather than experiencing Mexico with her as my tour guide. I'm not wrong for that (maybe a little stubborn), but I prefer the idea of a shared adventure more than I like the idea of trying to track down some restaurant that she remembers from when she was a teenager. Now if she absolutely must go to Mexico, and I'm still not into it, I'm secure with the idea of her going with her homegirls, while I stay at home and rap. Figure out an adventure that fits both of your tastes. If that doesn't work, figure out how much you need the adventure. If you can't live without it, do what is best for you. But never, ever, guilt or manipulate someone into doing something they don't wanna do. After reviewing your question, I think maybe I wanna go to Mexico.
What warnings do you have about marriage besides the fact that there will be arguments, and you'll likely hate one another after living together for a year? I am a 21-year-old single mom who is constantly being proposed to, and I wonder what it would be like if one of these guys could actually wrangle me into commitment. I have had long-term relationships, but I have never lived with a man I had been in a relationship with. What are the ills that could scare me off from marriage for good?
Slug: Constantly being proposed to? By who? Co-workers? Neighbors? The guy at the local food co-op juice bar? Are these long-term friends that you've known for a while? Or just random guys? Forget focusing on the warning signs. Focus more on the bond you share with the person who is proposing. Due to the way your question is worded, I feel like your parents may have left you with a twisted outlook on "happily-ever-after." Join the fucking club, and only marry for love. Anything else won't work. Besides, your child will benefit more from learning what happy looks like alone, rather than what misery looks like embraced.
What is your advice to a couple in which one person is sober, and the other is addicted to crystal meth?
Slug: Personally, I don't believe in the risk. The addict needs to get well. The addict also needs to examine how he/she could ruin the lives of the people he/she loves. The addict won't do either of these things if the addict can take advantage of the love and nurture of his/her lover. My advice is to wean off of each other. Send the addict to treatment. And once the addict learns to establish a love for self, the addict may actually end up mentally and emotionally available enough to love another person correctly. Or not. Either way, throwing away one life trumps throwing away two. I don't believe in the risk.
I need a good pickup line, something that will sweep a girl off her feet and into my bed. Give me some sort of dope line, please!
Slug: Try this one. Next time you're at Daiquiri Joe's tossing a few back with your Billy Bro-ceans, walk right up to that long-legged makeup kit and tell her, "I'm the type of guy that thinks it's hilarious to write into an advice column asking for good pickup lines." Dog, she will think you are the cat's pajamas.
I'm a 27-year-old female and I'd been with this guy for about a month and the sex was okay, but I didn't really feel he had much passion for it. He was a mechanical dick, at best. That is, until I let him cross the velvet rope and enter my virginal back door during one of our encounters, and his inner gay was released. He likes the backdoor action A LOT. Giving, receiving, butt plugs, dildos, tossing, he's all about it. He can't even get off now unless HIS ass is being stimulated or penetrated with something. He even talks dirty in a different and somewhat feminine tone when I'm dominating his ass. I've hinted and teased that if he were any more flaming, he'd spontaneously combust. He laughs it off, but doesn't deny. Would you guess him gay? Would you marry me?
Slug: I'm not entirely sure, but I think you are asking me if your boyfriend is gay. Is that the question here? Maybe you should ask him. I really have no answer for you. I don't think people's metaphysics are defined by who or what they have sex with. But I do think you and him should link up with the couple from question number four. And no, I will not marry you. Buy my new album.
The woman at the root of my grief shouldn't be as tricky as this. It's almost transparent that she no longer has feelings for me, but this doesn't impede her ability to call me (sober, no less) and say that she loves me. Her words never seem to match her actions, and I'm constantly fighting between my urge to stay away and my urge to try and get her back. How do you get past it all?
***Slug: Drama is a helluva drug. We get addicted to it. When we are in a dysfunctional relationship that lasts long enough, we will still crave the dysfunction after the relationship has ended. We will still carry out some of those dysfunctional actions with that ex. It's our way of still feeling important to that person. A string to hold onto. The Vali-Dating Game.
My advice to you (and her, for that matter) is to stop taking the calls. Self-intervention does work. Do not go to the bars she frequents. Do not hang out at mutual friends' homes if you know she may come around. Ignore her away. The more progressive the dramatic advances become, the bigger step back you take, until you are both far enough away from each other that you can stop acting like the people that you know you are not. You are both bigger and deffer than what you've become for each other. Growth time. And then go get the word "codependent" tattooed somewhere on your upper torso in a place that only can be viewed by the next person who sees you naked.***
What, in your opinion, is the biggest difference between men and women?
Slug: The "wo." Sorry. Had to. I'm an idiot, mostly.
I'm a shy small-town girl, and I need some advice. I've been single for the past two years, because it seems like every guy that comes along just wants a piece of my ass. How do I get the fellas to look beyond the exterior? I'm no hoochie, nor am I a skank. I just happen to have a body that appeals to guys. Can you help me out?
Slug: Honestly, change your preferences. You yourself are attracted to a certain body type. Some tattoos, maybe. Dark hair. Tall. Change your preferences. Start noticing a different type of boy, and that different type of boy will start noticing you. Eventually, the type of guy that you are complaining about won't be so obvious in your life, because they will get tired of you not giving back the attention. Go directly to the independent record store (vinyl stock is a must), and start flirting with that employee shaped like Grimace from the McDonald's commercials. He doesn't have an awesome sleeve tattoo. But he isn't embarrassed about his dandruff, he knows way too much about cool music from Alice Cooper to Zhigge, and he has studied enough Internet porn to teach classes at junior college. If your "shy small town" does not have an independent record store, move to the big city.
Why is it that girls can't resist a cocky asshole?
***Slug: I'm going to assume that you are not a cocky asshole. And that you are frustrated with how the cocky asshole always walks away with the girl you desire. Relax. You don't really want her yet. You are best off without her for now. Give it five years. Everyone is amused by bells and whistles at first. Those neon lights distract us, like moths. But eventually, we realize that there is nothing else there. And that's when your worth will translate. The real question is, once everyone realizes how awesomazing you are, will you have your face buried too far up a stripper's butt to notice? Good luck.***
Do you believe that everyone has one specific person or "soulmate" that they are supposed to be with?
Slug: No. But I did murder the tooth fairy once (by accident). It's a long story, and I've told it before. Go Google it.
What's the best way to celebrate Valentine's Day when you're single and you're secretly jealous of people in relationships? Should I get blind-drunk and forget what day it is? Or should I go to the strip club? Or both?
Slug: Hell, why not both? And when you are there, blind-drunk, make sure you preemptively used a Sharpie to write this on your hand: GET USED TO THIS, YOU SCHMUCK. Ha. I've never even said the word schmuck, much less typed it. I'm all about new experiences.
I love you all as if you were my own. —S
From http://www.avclub.com/content/home
When The A.V. Club thinks about Valentines' Day, we naturally think about relationships, passion, and Sean "Slug" Daley, MC of hip-hop duo Atmosphere, who has written some of the most pointed love-and-sex rhymes we know of. So we enlisted him to answer some questions in honor of the holiday, figuring that he'd be willing to get deep with our readers. (He is, after all, the guy who told us at length about his theories on alien life.) The call for questions was overwhelming, with multiple marriage proposals tucked within actual cries for help. (Names have been omitted to protect the innocent and guilty.) Slug decided to answer 14 questions in honor of February 14. He also decided that whether or not you have love problems, you should know he's got a new Rhymesayers record, When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold, coming out on April 22. His album Strictly Leakage is also available for free download at rhymesayers.com/atmosphere.
Every couple of years, some girl I'm dating will just spontaneously burst into tears after sex. I've talked to guy friends of mine, and they've had it happen, too. What the hell is the deal? Just some female thing I'm not getting? Or do I have an effect on women that reduces them to tears?
Slug: Crying is a common defense mechanism for the women who sleep with you. Don't get neurotic about it, though. They are not defending themselves from you. They are defending themselves from themselves and their overwhelming desire to burst into laughter.
I am 18 years young and pretty shy. There is this male in one of my classes and I can't keep my mind off him… I don't even know his name, so what are some good ways for him to notice me without looking like I'm trying too hard?
Slug: Who are you afraid of looking like you are trying too hard in front of? I'm going to assume that the male in question is a) not your professor, and b) near the same age as you. If these are both true, relax. I usually try not to generalize, but most male prey your age do not analyze the hunter's technique the same way that you might. He will be too busy wrapping his head around the fact that you were proactive to question whether you appear desperate. Go for it. Now.
I made the mistake of taking my boyfriend to go see Juno with me. Ever since, he's been terrified of getting me pregnant, to the point where he damn near refuses to sleep with me. Help a girl out.
Slug: Relax. It will subside. In the meantime, catch up on The Wire.
I am a 28-year-old woman who has had the pleasure of having one partner for the experimental period of my life, and he and I explored all the doors of intimacy. My now-fiancé lacks the forbidden fun that I am craving. I am the one who had the cuffs, the rope, the toys, and the knowledge, and if I bring these things out during our private time, he acts scared and intimidated. I have tried to break him out of his shell and get him to explore with me, but he just likes to do the same thing over and over again. How do I get him to open up to me and be comfortable enough?
Slug: Comfortable enough for what? Maybe it's not your knowledge that he is intimidated by, but rather where you obtained it. Try some things that are new to both of you. My best half has been to Mexico, I have not. So when we plan our next vacation together, I would prefer to go somewhere neither of us have been, rather than experiencing Mexico with her as my tour guide. I'm not wrong for that (maybe a little stubborn), but I prefer the idea of a shared adventure more than I like the idea of trying to track down some restaurant that she remembers from when she was a teenager. Now if she absolutely must go to Mexico, and I'm still not into it, I'm secure with the idea of her going with her homegirls, while I stay at home and rap. Figure out an adventure that fits both of your tastes. If that doesn't work, figure out how much you need the adventure. If you can't live without it, do what is best for you. But never, ever, guilt or manipulate someone into doing something they don't wanna do. After reviewing your question, I think maybe I wanna go to Mexico.
What warnings do you have about marriage besides the fact that there will be arguments, and you'll likely hate one another after living together for a year? I am a 21-year-old single mom who is constantly being proposed to, and I wonder what it would be like if one of these guys could actually wrangle me into commitment. I have had long-term relationships, but I have never lived with a man I had been in a relationship with. What are the ills that could scare me off from marriage for good?
Slug: Constantly being proposed to? By who? Co-workers? Neighbors? The guy at the local food co-op juice bar? Are these long-term friends that you've known for a while? Or just random guys? Forget focusing on the warning signs. Focus more on the bond you share with the person who is proposing. Due to the way your question is worded, I feel like your parents may have left you with a twisted outlook on "happily-ever-after." Join the fucking club, and only marry for love. Anything else won't work. Besides, your child will benefit more from learning what happy looks like alone, rather than what misery looks like embraced.
What is your advice to a couple in which one person is sober, and the other is addicted to crystal meth?
Slug: Personally, I don't believe in the risk. The addict needs to get well. The addict also needs to examine how he/she could ruin the lives of the people he/she loves. The addict won't do either of these things if the addict can take advantage of the love and nurture of his/her lover. My advice is to wean off of each other. Send the addict to treatment. And once the addict learns to establish a love for self, the addict may actually end up mentally and emotionally available enough to love another person correctly. Or not. Either way, throwing away one life trumps throwing away two. I don't believe in the risk.
I need a good pickup line, something that will sweep a girl off her feet and into my bed. Give me some sort of dope line, please!
Slug: Try this one. Next time you're at Daiquiri Joe's tossing a few back with your Billy Bro-ceans, walk right up to that long-legged makeup kit and tell her, "I'm the type of guy that thinks it's hilarious to write into an advice column asking for good pickup lines." Dog, she will think you are the cat's pajamas.
I'm a 27-year-old female and I'd been with this guy for about a month and the sex was okay, but I didn't really feel he had much passion for it. He was a mechanical dick, at best. That is, until I let him cross the velvet rope and enter my virginal back door during one of our encounters, and his inner gay was released. He likes the backdoor action A LOT. Giving, receiving, butt plugs, dildos, tossing, he's all about it. He can't even get off now unless HIS ass is being stimulated or penetrated with something. He even talks dirty in a different and somewhat feminine tone when I'm dominating his ass. I've hinted and teased that if he were any more flaming, he'd spontaneously combust. He laughs it off, but doesn't deny. Would you guess him gay? Would you marry me?
Slug: I'm not entirely sure, but I think you are asking me if your boyfriend is gay. Is that the question here? Maybe you should ask him. I really have no answer for you. I don't think people's metaphysics are defined by who or what they have sex with. But I do think you and him should link up with the couple from question number four. And no, I will not marry you. Buy my new album.
The woman at the root of my grief shouldn't be as tricky as this. It's almost transparent that she no longer has feelings for me, but this doesn't impede her ability to call me (sober, no less) and say that she loves me. Her words never seem to match her actions, and I'm constantly fighting between my urge to stay away and my urge to try and get her back. How do you get past it all?
***Slug: Drama is a helluva drug. We get addicted to it. When we are in a dysfunctional relationship that lasts long enough, we will still crave the dysfunction after the relationship has ended. We will still carry out some of those dysfunctional actions with that ex. It's our way of still feeling important to that person. A string to hold onto. The Vali-Dating Game.
My advice to you (and her, for that matter) is to stop taking the calls. Self-intervention does work. Do not go to the bars she frequents. Do not hang out at mutual friends' homes if you know she may come around. Ignore her away. The more progressive the dramatic advances become, the bigger step back you take, until you are both far enough away from each other that you can stop acting like the people that you know you are not. You are both bigger and deffer than what you've become for each other. Growth time. And then go get the word "codependent" tattooed somewhere on your upper torso in a place that only can be viewed by the next person who sees you naked.***
What, in your opinion, is the biggest difference between men and women?
Slug: The "wo." Sorry. Had to. I'm an idiot, mostly.
I'm a shy small-town girl, and I need some advice. I've been single for the past two years, because it seems like every guy that comes along just wants a piece of my ass. How do I get the fellas to look beyond the exterior? I'm no hoochie, nor am I a skank. I just happen to have a body that appeals to guys. Can you help me out?
Slug: Honestly, change your preferences. You yourself are attracted to a certain body type. Some tattoos, maybe. Dark hair. Tall. Change your preferences. Start noticing a different type of boy, and that different type of boy will start noticing you. Eventually, the type of guy that you are complaining about won't be so obvious in your life, because they will get tired of you not giving back the attention. Go directly to the independent record store (vinyl stock is a must), and start flirting with that employee shaped like Grimace from the McDonald's commercials. He doesn't have an awesome sleeve tattoo. But he isn't embarrassed about his dandruff, he knows way too much about cool music from Alice Cooper to Zhigge, and he has studied enough Internet porn to teach classes at junior college. If your "shy small town" does not have an independent record store, move to the big city.
Why is it that girls can't resist a cocky asshole?
***Slug: I'm going to assume that you are not a cocky asshole. And that you are frustrated with how the cocky asshole always walks away with the girl you desire. Relax. You don't really want her yet. You are best off without her for now. Give it five years. Everyone is amused by bells and whistles at first. Those neon lights distract us, like moths. But eventually, we realize that there is nothing else there. And that's when your worth will translate. The real question is, once everyone realizes how awesomazing you are, will you have your face buried too far up a stripper's butt to notice? Good luck.***
Do you believe that everyone has one specific person or "soulmate" that they are supposed to be with?
Slug: No. But I did murder the tooth fairy once (by accident). It's a long story, and I've told it before. Go Google it.
What's the best way to celebrate Valentine's Day when you're single and you're secretly jealous of people in relationships? Should I get blind-drunk and forget what day it is? Or should I go to the strip club? Or both?
Slug: Hell, why not both? And when you are there, blind-drunk, make sure you preemptively used a Sharpie to write this on your hand: GET USED TO THIS, YOU SCHMUCK. Ha. I've never even said the word schmuck, much less typed it. I'm all about new experiences.
I love you all as if you were my own. —S
Friday, February 15, 2008
Vocab Lesson #1
1) in·sid·i·ous (ĭn-sĭd'ē-əs)
adj.
- Working or spreading harmfully in a subtle or stealthy manner: insidious rumors; an insidious disease.
- Intended to entrap; treacherous: insidious misinformation.
- Beguiling but harmful; alluring: insidious pleasures.
[From Latin īnsidiōsus, from īnsidiae, ambush, from īnsidēre, to sit upon, lie in wait for : in-, in, on; see in–2 + sedēre, to sit.]
insidiously in·sid'i·ous·ly adv.
insidiousness in·sid'i·ous·ness n.
2) a·nath·e·ma (ə-năth'ə-mə)
n., pl. -mas.
- A formal ecclesiastical ban, curse, or excommunication.
- A vehement denunciation; a curse: “the sound of a witch's anathemas in some unknown tongue” (Nathaniel Hawthorne).
- One that is cursed or damned.
- One that is greatly reviled, loathed, or shunned: “Essentialism—a belief in natural, immutable sex differences—is anathema to postmodernists, for whom sexuality itself, along with gender, is a ‘social construct’” (Wendy Kaminer).
[Late Latin anathema, doomed offering, accursed thing, from Greek, from anatithenai, anathe-, to dedicate : ana-, ana- + tithenai, to put.]
3) pros·e·ly·tize (prŏs'ə-lĭ-tīz')
v., -tized, -tiz·ing, -tiz·es.
v.intr.
- To induce someone to convert to one's own religious faith.
- To induce someone to join one's own political party or to espouse one's doctrine.
v.tr.
- To convert (a person) from one belief, doctrine, cause, or faith to another.
proselytization pros'e·ly·ti·za'tion (-tĭ-zā'shən) n.
proselytizer pros'e·ly·tiz'er n.
4) cur·mudg·eon (kər-mŭj'ən)
n.
- An ill-tempered person full of resentment and stubborn notions.
[Origin unknown.]
curmudgeonly cur·mudg'eon·ly adj.
curmudgeonry cur·mudg'eon·ry n.
5) fri·sée (frĭ-zā')
n.
- See endive (sense 1).
[French, from feminine past participle of friser, to curl. See frizz1.]
6) en·dive (ĕn'dīv', ŏn'dēv')
n.
- An Indian plant (Cichorium endivia) cultivated for its crown of crisp succulent leaves used in salads. Also called frisée.
- Escarole.
- A variety of the common chicory Cichorium intybus cultivated to produce a narrow, pointed, blanched cluster of leaves used in salads. Also called Belgian endive, witloof.
[Middle English, from Old French, from Medieval Latin endivia, from Medieval Greek entubia, pl. diminutive of Greek entubon, perhaps from Egyptian tybi, January (because the plant grows in this month).]
7) in·veigh (ĭn-vā')
intr.v., -veighed, -veigh·ing, -veighs.
- To give vent to angry disapproval; protest vehemently.
[Latin invehī, to attack with words, inveigh against, passive of invehere, to carry in : in-, in; see in–2 + vehere, to carry.]
inveigher in·veigh'er n.
8) Lee Siegel - journalist/writer who was suspended by The New Republic for using a fake online persona in order to trash critics of hisblog and to praise himself.
9) anti-intellectualism - The attitude that "too much learning can be a dangerous thing." (Definition from Susan Jacoby, author of “The Age of American Unreason.”)
10) anti-rationalism - The idea that there is no such thing as evidence or fact, just opinion. (Definition from Susan Jacoby, author of “The Age of American Unreason.”)
11) Arthur Schopenhauer (February 22, 1788 – September 21, 1860) was a German philosopher best known for his work The World as Will and Representation. Schopenhauer responded to and expanded upon Immanuel Kant's philosophy concerning the way in which we experience the world.
adj.
- Working or spreading harmfully in a subtle or stealthy manner: insidious rumors; an insidious disease.
- Intended to entrap; treacherous: insidious misinformation.
- Beguiling but harmful; alluring: insidious pleasures.
[From Latin īnsidiōsus, from īnsidiae, ambush, from īnsidēre, to sit upon, lie in wait for : in-, in, on; see in–2 + sedēre, to sit.]
insidiously in·sid'i·ous·ly adv.
insidiousness in·sid'i·ous·ness n.
2) a·nath·e·ma (ə-năth'ə-mə)
n., pl. -mas.
- A formal ecclesiastical ban, curse, or excommunication.
- A vehement denunciation; a curse: “the sound of a witch's anathemas in some unknown tongue” (Nathaniel Hawthorne).
- One that is cursed or damned.
- One that is greatly reviled, loathed, or shunned: “Essentialism—a belief in natural, immutable sex differences—is anathema to postmodernists, for whom sexuality itself, along with gender, is a ‘social construct’” (Wendy Kaminer).
[Late Latin anathema, doomed offering, accursed thing, from Greek, from anatithenai, anathe-, to dedicate : ana-, ana- + tithenai, to put.]
3) pros·e·ly·tize (prŏs'ə-lĭ-tīz')
v., -tized, -tiz·ing, -tiz·es.
v.intr.
- To induce someone to convert to one's own religious faith.
- To induce someone to join one's own political party or to espouse one's doctrine.
v.tr.
- To convert (a person) from one belief, doctrine, cause, or faith to another.
proselytization pros'e·ly·ti·za'tion (-tĭ-zā'shən) n.
proselytizer pros'e·ly·tiz'er n.
4) cur·mudg·eon (kər-mŭj'ən)
n.
- An ill-tempered person full of resentment and stubborn notions.
[Origin unknown.]
curmudgeonly cur·mudg'eon·ly adj.
curmudgeonry cur·mudg'eon·ry n.
5) fri·sée (frĭ-zā')
n.
- See endive (sense 1).
[French, from feminine past participle of friser, to curl. See frizz1.]
6) en·dive (ĕn'dīv', ŏn'dēv')
n.
- An Indian plant (Cichorium endivia) cultivated for its crown of crisp succulent leaves used in salads. Also called frisée.
- Escarole.
- A variety of the common chicory Cichorium intybus cultivated to produce a narrow, pointed, blanched cluster of leaves used in salads. Also called Belgian endive, witloof.
[Middle English, from Old French, from Medieval Latin endivia, from Medieval Greek entubia, pl. diminutive of Greek entubon, perhaps from Egyptian tybi, January (because the plant grows in this month).]
7) in·veigh (ĭn-vā')
intr.v., -veighed, -veigh·ing, -veighs.
- To give vent to angry disapproval; protest vehemently.
[Latin invehī, to attack with words, inveigh against, passive of invehere, to carry in : in-, in; see in–2 + vehere, to carry.]
inveigher in·veigh'er n.
8) Lee Siegel - journalist/writer who was suspended by The New Republic for using a fake online persona in order to trash critics of hisblog and to praise himself.
9) anti-intellectualism - The attitude that "too much learning can be a dangerous thing." (Definition from Susan Jacoby, author of “The Age of American Unreason.”)
10) anti-rationalism - The idea that there is no such thing as evidence or fact, just opinion. (Definition from Susan Jacoby, author of “The Age of American Unreason.”)
11) Arthur Schopenhauer (February 22, 1788 – September 21, 1860) was a German philosopher best known for his work The World as Will and Representation. Schopenhauer responded to and expanded upon Immanuel Kant's philosophy concerning the way in which we experience the world.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Answer Me
1) What's the difference between getting work done on your face (botox, nose job, etc.) and putting on makeup every day? Does one have more "integrity" than the other?
2) Since getting back on the singles scene, I've been seriously thinking about internet dating. I've never met in person anyone I've met on the internet, so it would definitely be different for me. Do you think internet dating is weird? Creepy? Dangerous? Same as "regular" dating?
(P.S. I don't have the regular "I wanna meet someone special" motivation for this. Message me for details.)
3) What are your criteria for determining a "best friend"? Is it someone you've known for a long time? Someone who has your back and is down for anything? Someone who "gets" you and who you "get" almost 100% of the time? None of these? All of these?
2) Since getting back on the singles scene, I've been seriously thinking about internet dating. I've never met in person anyone I've met on the internet, so it would definitely be different for me. Do you think internet dating is weird? Creepy? Dangerous? Same as "regular" dating?
(P.S. I don't have the regular "I wanna meet someone special" motivation for this. Message me for details.)
3) What are your criteria for determining a "best friend"? Is it someone you've known for a long time? Someone who has your back and is down for anything? Someone who "gets" you and who you "get" almost 100% of the time? None of these? All of these?
Perspectives
In the wee morning hours of Sunday, February 3rd, I got matching tattoos with Dallas, Ariane & Yvonne (DAY). We were all getting variations of a four-star motif.
My thoughts: I feel like I'm constantly chasing shooting stars, hoping that my idealistic values lead me somewhere good.
Ariane's thoughts: The places everyone chose to get their tat is symbolic of their relationship to the group. Dallas got it near her stomach, and she's the maternal one of the group. (READ: The only mom.) Maria got it on her foot because we keep her grounded.
My thoughts: I feel like I'm constantly chasing shooting stars, hoping that my idealistic values lead me somewhere good.
Ariane's thoughts: The places everyone chose to get their tat is symbolic of their relationship to the group. Dallas got it near her stomach, and she's the maternal one of the group. (READ: The only mom.) Maria got it on her foot because we keep her grounded.
*****
There was a really funny conversation Abie and I had the other day, but I can't remember what it's about at this moment. I'll ask if he remembers then post it.
*****
On my leaving the country in September:
"I obviously haven't taken enough time to fully weigh out my options."
VS.
"My personality = Living by the seat of my pants."
VS.
"I'm falling back on my usual M.O. and haven't learned anything from my mistakes."
*****
On leaving my folks to fend for themselves physically and financially:
"It was a necessary action that should've been done sooner - even if it would've been more painful to all those involved."
"It was a necessary action that happened when I was ready to make it happen, and everyone's better for the relatively painless way in which it happened."
"By leaving my folks to fend for themselves, I'm buying into 'American' standards and values and dismissing my parents' culture. I was just using my Asian-ness as an excuse to play the martyr."
Moving On Up
At Mom's request, I moved the heavy dining room table. There was an immediate criamp in my upper abdomen: I'd fucked up.
My body's not like it used to be. I can still crank out a hundred sit-ups with no problems, but I really need to start exercising more frequently - and by "exercising" I don't just mean "fucking." Running/jogging, weight lifting, yoga, boxing. I miss all of that. Yves and I are supposed to start taking salsa classes next month, and I'm excited about that since I'd really like to learn some moves. Also, I want to start taking hip hop dance classes again because they put me in an awesome mood - but it all depends on my budget. I've got too many bills to pay and so little income that it might as well be called "outcome"; the second the money comes in, it goes out to pay bills.
Mom and Dad cleaned up the house this past weekend so it's actually clean. I'm reading, writing, taking care of business. I've been hanging out with friends and talking to them more frequently and realizing that I do know like-minded folks who are wonderful and sincere and have similar values to my own. All of this, plus my ascension into the datingsphere, puts me in a great mindset. Life is good.
My body's not like it used to be. I can still crank out a hundred sit-ups with no problems, but I really need to start exercising more frequently - and by "exercising" I don't just mean "fucking." Running/jogging, weight lifting, yoga, boxing. I miss all of that. Yves and I are supposed to start taking salsa classes next month, and I'm excited about that since I'd really like to learn some moves. Also, I want to start taking hip hop dance classes again because they put me in an awesome mood - but it all depends on my budget. I've got too many bills to pay and so little income that it might as well be called "outcome"; the second the money comes in, it goes out to pay bills.
Mom and Dad cleaned up the house this past weekend so it's actually clean. I'm reading, writing, taking care of business. I've been hanging out with friends and talking to them more frequently and realizing that I do know like-minded folks who are wonderful and sincere and have similar values to my own. All of this, plus my ascension into the datingsphere, puts me in a great mindset. Life is good.
Someday soon...
I'll think back on this period of my life, shrug my shoulders, and smile broadly. "That was real living," I'll laugh. "Real life happened right then and there."
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Love Me Like I Wanna Be Loved
- Know me before you decide to lavish me with your attention, admiration or adoration. I appreciate the gesture(s) and I'm flattered, but unless you know me - and I mean REALLY KNOW ME - I will believe that your affections are misplaced and/or invalid. Either you want something from me (sex, money, etc.) or you're an asshole who wants to get close to me in order to make my life a living hell (because misery LOVES company) or something of that negative ilke. Good, smart people don't go around "loving" people randomly.
- Don't make conclusions about me. I don't care if we've been in each others' lives for a day or twenty years. Unless you and I are on some real cool level - I'm talkin, I can be myself around you, you can be yourself around me, there's no pretense in our relationship, and we've talked in the past month and half - then you don't know me mayn! Stop acting like you do. Ya know that cutesy frazzled thing I do when I'm telling a story? That's because I'm excited and/or embarassed and/or scared - not because I'm lying! WTF do I have to lie about, anyway?! Do you really think I'm so retarded that I need to lie to make a point? Do you just think that low of me? If we're supposed to be chill, why don't you call me out on my shit if that's what you think is going on? Get your head on straight before you draw conclusions and color me in a bad light. How you gonna say we're homies if you don't even know that I'm a good, honest person?!
- Okay, so we don't agree on everything. I don't expect that it's common for that to happen anyway. But really: give me a reason to call you my fam. Say somthing really intelligent sometimes - something to make me really give you credit. Don't ooh and aah over every latest thing in the stores. Don't be a drone to commercialism. You had a chance to go to a really prestigious school, study under known academic names, make something of yourself - and you decided that you didn't wanna learn anything. You just bowed down to the almighty dollar, the ease of fakery in order to make money, the crutches of enabling friends. I'm not hating on you, but I don't think we have a shred of anything in common besides the purely animalistic and/or biological. Is it really possible to love something - like, really love something - that you can't understand, and don't even really like?
- I watch you make your choices, steal my eyes away from your horrible decisions, offer you support even though I know that you can't really achieve all that you say you want to achieve with your life. I get it. Life's hard. I bitch and moan about that, too. But really: why are you so quick to stick with the same old stuff? How can you constantly make dreams and not do a damn thing about them? Why do you not make something of yourself? What are you so afraid of?
- It takes more than a while to realize the full weight of a person's character, the real depth of their soul, the real meaning of their actions. When you've spent a lifetime evaluating the people nearest and dearest to you and come to the conclusion that they don't know you at all, they don't know how to make you feel loved, they don't know what you're about - and they're incapable/unwanting of taking on the challenge that is You: what are you supposed to do? Are you supposed to just cut them off and chalk it up to time and circumstance? Do you just "move on" without giving them notice, until one day you all turn around and realize that undoubtedly you are strangers?
- I read a lot and I like to drop info during conversations. Could you maybe read a little bit, so that when I talk to you I don't feel like I'm rehashing the same stuff over and over again? Let's talk about childrearing in France, safaris in Kenya, basketweaving in Brazil. Let's teach each other different cultures, different arguments about the theory of Life, different ways to address our parents. Let's work on ourselves and each other so that we can help each other be the best versions of ourselves imaginable. Couldn't we? Shouldn't we?
- Why do you insist on reading so much into things? Why do you insist on manipulating every situation? Why do you feel the need to cultivate your lying skills? Don't you realize that the need to control every outcome is just a sign that your self-esteem is severely impaired? It's one thing to work hard, express yourself thoroughly, diligently do what you have to do: but to play mind games? Power games? Status games? What's the point of all that? What's the point of You?
- Thank goodness you realized upon meeting me that I'm a work-in-progress. It's impossible to limit my transitions from who I am today to who I am tomorrow, and you respect that and you respect me. For that, I will always be grateful.
- You listen to me. I mean REALLY listen to me. You and I think in the same breaths and catch the hinge of worry on the first awkward stutter of a hard consonant. We read the same feelings between the lines of phrases uttered and shoulders shrugged. The same language flows between our pens and papers and our legs and our eyes. When you speak, I hear the ocean calling me to the place where I belong, to the people that I have been, to the successes I have yet to achieve. Everything good and pure is in your sexy strut, in your confidence, in your humble gestures of relaxation.
- I love that you speak in tongues, riddling me with thoughts that have been dropped on you like smart bombs. Awkward silences seem possible on paper, but in person we make meaningful somethings out of substantial understandings. Musings and "mistakes" are not judged, are not heckled, are not predetermined right or wrong, good or bad, or nonsense. We are running in parallel paths, neither of us sure what awaits at the end, both of us thankful for the company and assured of each others' presence. I respect you immensely.
- You take me for me. You see only what's there and how great I can become. You assist me in being the best version of myself possible. You challenge my mind, engage my soul, and adore my body; and I feel likewise about you. The person that you are heightens and emphasizes the person that I am; the contours of our personalities mesh like silk. It's too bad I haven't known you... yet.
- Don't make conclusions about me. I don't care if we've been in each others' lives for a day or twenty years. Unless you and I are on some real cool level - I'm talkin, I can be myself around you, you can be yourself around me, there's no pretense in our relationship, and we've talked in the past month and half - then you don't know me mayn! Stop acting like you do. Ya know that cutesy frazzled thing I do when I'm telling a story? That's because I'm excited and/or embarassed and/or scared - not because I'm lying! WTF do I have to lie about, anyway?! Do you really think I'm so retarded that I need to lie to make a point? Do you just think that low of me? If we're supposed to be chill, why don't you call me out on my shit if that's what you think is going on? Get your head on straight before you draw conclusions and color me in a bad light. How you gonna say we're homies if you don't even know that I'm a good, honest person?!
- Okay, so we don't agree on everything. I don't expect that it's common for that to happen anyway. But really: give me a reason to call you my fam. Say somthing really intelligent sometimes - something to make me really give you credit. Don't ooh and aah over every latest thing in the stores. Don't be a drone to commercialism. You had a chance to go to a really prestigious school, study under known academic names, make something of yourself - and you decided that you didn't wanna learn anything. You just bowed down to the almighty dollar, the ease of fakery in order to make money, the crutches of enabling friends. I'm not hating on you, but I don't think we have a shred of anything in common besides the purely animalistic and/or biological. Is it really possible to love something - like, really love something - that you can't understand, and don't even really like?
- I watch you make your choices, steal my eyes away from your horrible decisions, offer you support even though I know that you can't really achieve all that you say you want to achieve with your life. I get it. Life's hard. I bitch and moan about that, too. But really: why are you so quick to stick with the same old stuff? How can you constantly make dreams and not do a damn thing about them? Why do you not make something of yourself? What are you so afraid of?
- It takes more than a while to realize the full weight of a person's character, the real depth of their soul, the real meaning of their actions. When you've spent a lifetime evaluating the people nearest and dearest to you and come to the conclusion that they don't know you at all, they don't know how to make you feel loved, they don't know what you're about - and they're incapable/unwanting of taking on the challenge that is You: what are you supposed to do? Are you supposed to just cut them off and chalk it up to time and circumstance? Do you just "move on" without giving them notice, until one day you all turn around and realize that undoubtedly you are strangers?
- I read a lot and I like to drop info during conversations. Could you maybe read a little bit, so that when I talk to you I don't feel like I'm rehashing the same stuff over and over again? Let's talk about childrearing in France, safaris in Kenya, basketweaving in Brazil. Let's teach each other different cultures, different arguments about the theory of Life, different ways to address our parents. Let's work on ourselves and each other so that we can help each other be the best versions of ourselves imaginable. Couldn't we? Shouldn't we?
- Why do you insist on reading so much into things? Why do you insist on manipulating every situation? Why do you feel the need to cultivate your lying skills? Don't you realize that the need to control every outcome is just a sign that your self-esteem is severely impaired? It's one thing to work hard, express yourself thoroughly, diligently do what you have to do: but to play mind games? Power games? Status games? What's the point of all that? What's the point of You?
- Thank goodness you realized upon meeting me that I'm a work-in-progress. It's impossible to limit my transitions from who I am today to who I am tomorrow, and you respect that and you respect me. For that, I will always be grateful.
- You listen to me. I mean REALLY listen to me. You and I think in the same breaths and catch the hinge of worry on the first awkward stutter of a hard consonant. We read the same feelings between the lines of phrases uttered and shoulders shrugged. The same language flows between our pens and papers and our legs and our eyes. When you speak, I hear the ocean calling me to the place where I belong, to the people that I have been, to the successes I have yet to achieve. Everything good and pure is in your sexy strut, in your confidence, in your humble gestures of relaxation.
- I love that you speak in tongues, riddling me with thoughts that have been dropped on you like smart bombs. Awkward silences seem possible on paper, but in person we make meaningful somethings out of substantial understandings. Musings and "mistakes" are not judged, are not heckled, are not predetermined right or wrong, good or bad, or nonsense. We are running in parallel paths, neither of us sure what awaits at the end, both of us thankful for the company and assured of each others' presence. I respect you immensely.
- You take me for me. You see only what's there and how great I can become. You assist me in being the best version of myself possible. You challenge my mind, engage my soul, and adore my body; and I feel likewise about you. The person that you are heightens and emphasizes the person that I am; the contours of our personalities mesh like silk. It's too bad I haven't known you... yet.
Sometimes, everything I wanna say comes out in emails...
Message to a friend, sent a few minutes ago:
things are going fabulous on my end, mama. and by "fabulous," I basically mean I'm making a lotta conclusions & decisions & moves that I shoulda made yeeeeaars ago. LOL this has to do with school, with my family, with relationships, with friendships... I'm coming to grips with the reality of things: how they are and how I want them to be aren't sympatico - but that's okay cuz they're in a good enough place to get me where I wanna be. I'm tryna make some "takin over the world" kinda moves, with big money and lots of respect and none of the status (thass just how I do - don't need everyone knowing what kinda big moves I make; I'd rather see how they'd treat me if I were like everyone else). I guess it boils down to the fact that there are people who weigh me down by being themselves, whether intentionally or unintentionally, and I can no longer be the nice person to be like "sure, you hold me back, but I love you and I'll let you continue to bring me down. matter fact, I'll enable you to pull some straight BS on me." I ain't masochistic like that... at least, not anymore.
anywhos, that's me in a nutshell right therr. LOL how are things with school going? you need an extra client any time soon? I'd letcha practice whatever you haven't had a chance to do yet!
XO-M
things are going fabulous on my end, mama. and by "fabulous," I basically mean I'm making a lotta conclusions & decisions & moves that I shoulda made yeeeeaars ago. LOL this has to do with school, with my family, with relationships, with friendships... I'm coming to grips with the reality of things: how they are and how I want them to be aren't sympatico - but that's okay cuz they're in a good enough place to get me where I wanna be. I'm tryna make some "takin over the world" kinda moves, with big money and lots of respect and none of the status (thass just how I do - don't need everyone knowing what kinda big moves I make; I'd rather see how they'd treat me if I were like everyone else). I guess it boils down to the fact that there are people who weigh me down by being themselves, whether intentionally or unintentionally, and I can no longer be the nice person to be like "sure, you hold me back, but I love you and I'll let you continue to bring me down. matter fact, I'll enable you to pull some straight BS on me." I ain't masochistic like that... at least, not anymore.
anywhos, that's me in a nutshell right therr. LOL how are things with school going? you need an extra client any time soon? I'd letcha practice whatever you haven't had a chance to do yet!
XO-M
Saturday, February 9, 2008
I'm the lame one.
*** Actually, no. Correction: Y'all are the lame ones. ***
That's the feeling I get when I'm with my BFFs, and I know it's just a matter of time before it goes away... But I wonder about our conflicting value systems and what it means that they're conflicting. I wonder what it means that our perspectives on things are so dissimilar.
When it comes to day-to-day stuff, we don't have much in common and there are only so many things that I can talk about before I feel like I'm being fake and just going with the conversation. I'm the kind of person who knows the names of all* the celebrities, but not what any of them are up to. I don't follow music or television trends because I'm too busy reading the latest New York Times best seller or one of my philosophy books. When I do follow trends in media, it's under the lens of a reporter or essayist: I'll know what the Soulja Boy is, but only in terms of its effects on pop culture and mainstream culture; I won't know anything about the song or the latest other crap on the Top 40.
A lot of the time, when we're all together, I'm really quiet. I can't find anything to talk about that everyone would be into. I can't let loose and relax because I feel a constant need to stop feeling out of sync with everyone else. When I do feel like part of the group, it's only after drinking a lot. I'm past the days of heavy drinking and my tolerance is low. Pathetic as it is, all I need are an empty stomach and three rounds of gin & juice and I'm good.
But why do I need to drink to relax? Is the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach paranoia or something else? And what do I have to feel paranoid about?
I relax in a different way than my BFFs. I'll talk in ebonics, but I won't throw around the N word. I won't do outlandish things for the hell of it: I have responsibilities and priorities. I'd rather talk about what's really on my mind - important issues - than random BS. I'd rather stay grounded, have maybe one drink to let loose, and be myself. I don't want to be a loose, loud and overly sexual version of myself just to fit the crowd. But fun to them is drinking a lot and doing loud and obnoxious things. And being Me means NOT being like them.
I wish that wasn't the case.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Gratuity Not Included
Gratuitous: adj.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Given without an equivalent or recompense; conferred without valuable consideration; granted without pay, or without claim or merit; not required by justice.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not called for by the circumstances; without reason, cause, or proof; adopted or asserted without any good ground; as, a gratuitous assumption.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
gra·tu·ity
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural gra·tu·ities
Date: 1540
: something given voluntarily or beyond obligation usually for some service; especially : tip
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We've all heard the term "gratuitous sex." Lately, I feel like it's the only kind I've been having - and to be perfectly honest, that's the way I want it. I know that I've been heeing and hawing about leaving the safe and satisfying realm of "making love," but times they are a' changin. The past several years have been full of back-to-back serious relationships, and I've realized that I'm not about to fall in love with anyone, so I might as well stop wasting my time finding someone to make love to.
For a split second, I seriously considered celibacy. I thought about self-respect and the daunting task of putting myself out in the dating world again. I thought about my self-image and the effort to make a relationship successful. And then I realized I was putting too much thought into it. Dating doesn't have to be a stepping stone to anything serious, and sex can be fun without overcomplicating my life. Why make dating and sex such loaded issues? Why not dive into life and see what I come up with?
So that's what I've been doing the past couple of weeks, and lo and behold, I came up with something unexpected: I enjoy dating women.
To be frank, I've had sex with women before. It was during my teenage phase of discovery, when homosexuality was the hot topic and being gay automatically made you that much closer to cool. All of the girls I slept with during this time were aggressors, and though I found all of them extremely attractive, I was only attracted to a handful of them. I figured sex with a woman was a contemporary New York City girl's rite of passage just like going to Planned Parenthood or having an abortion. (Place tongue in cheek here.) It was taboo and considered sinful, but ultimately not worth much thought. I had youth on my side; fucking up was part of the package, just like olives are part of a Greek salad. If you decide you only wanted feta cheese... Well, you get the idea. Nothing is permanent and all that. The point is, though I've had sex with women before, I've never dated one. Until now. And I'm dating two women. Talk about jumping to the head of the class!
So now it's a week till Valentine's Day, Rob claims to have planned an extravagant date for us, and the two women I'm seeing, Pammy and Sweetie* (she asked that I try not to blog about her), are turning out to be amazing people. In fact, all three of them are turning out to be wonderful in different ways, and each of them have broached the subject of our relationship with impending concern: Are we anywhere close to monogamy?
The truth is, No. I'm nowhere close to being monogamous with ANYONE. I don't enjoy the thrill of the chase as much as I did when I was younger, but I definitely like getting to the "comfortable" but still "tingly" stage of a relationship, when no one has to tiptoe around information and everyone can relax around each other. I'm learning that with women, this stage happens earlier in the relationship, and I'm realizing that this is where I'm most comfortable: when we haven't been together so long that we can anticipate what each other is going to say, but we haven't been together for so short a period that our conversations and actions are awkward. This is bliss.
I realized that I treat Rob, Pammy, and Sweetie all differently when it comes to telling them that exclusivity is out of the question - and they all react differently. I tell Rob (who is three years older than me and hustles to make money) CONSTANTLY that I want to see other people and that I'm only seeing him because, 1) Yes, I love him, and 2) I love what he does to my body (most of the time); he works around the clock to pay as many of my bills as he can. I tell Pammy (who is four years older than me and a CPA for the government) that I enjoy our time together but that I haven't put any thought into whether or not she and/or lesbian relationships are merely a detour in my life; she awkwardly brushes off my straight-forwardness and becomes detached in a way that hints she might really like me. I hint to Sweetie (who is my age and has a mid-salary corporate job) that I'm seeing other people, and she laughs at me, we have a two second conversation about whether I'm playing or not (I always say, "Wish I was, but I'm a rolling stone" - a reference to Bob Dylan) and then we resume whatever we're doing. Each of the people I'm seeing are attractive smart, successful, funny... okay, some more than others, but yeah: they're all good catches. And generous! I hardly have to pick up a tab or make a grand gesture, although I do so all the time out of pride and because I'm not a complete bitch.
But what can they see in me? Why would anyone want to attach themselves to someone who so blatantly and constantly reenforces the fact that we're going nowhere as a couple, while they're looking for something more permanent?
One thing's for certain: Karma's a bitch. When I start looking to settle down, I bet there'll be tumbleweeds blowing in my dating itinerary.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Given without an equivalent or recompense; conferred without valuable consideration; granted without pay, or without claim or merit; not required by justice.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not called for by the circumstances; without reason, cause, or proof; adopted or asserted without any good ground; as, a gratuitous assumption.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
gra·tu·ity
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural gra·tu·ities
Date: 1540
: something given voluntarily or beyond obligation usually for some service; especially : tip
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We've all heard the term "gratuitous sex." Lately, I feel like it's the only kind I've been having - and to be perfectly honest, that's the way I want it. I know that I've been heeing and hawing about leaving the safe and satisfying realm of "making love," but times they are a' changin. The past several years have been full of back-to-back serious relationships, and I've realized that I'm not about to fall in love with anyone, so I might as well stop wasting my time finding someone to make love to.
For a split second, I seriously considered celibacy. I thought about self-respect and the daunting task of putting myself out in the dating world again. I thought about my self-image and the effort to make a relationship successful. And then I realized I was putting too much thought into it. Dating doesn't have to be a stepping stone to anything serious, and sex can be fun without overcomplicating my life. Why make dating and sex such loaded issues? Why not dive into life and see what I come up with?
So that's what I've been doing the past couple of weeks, and lo and behold, I came up with something unexpected: I enjoy dating women.
To be frank, I've had sex with women before. It was during my teenage phase of discovery, when homosexuality was the hot topic and being gay automatically made you that much closer to cool. All of the girls I slept with during this time were aggressors, and though I found all of them extremely attractive, I was only attracted to a handful of them. I figured sex with a woman was a contemporary New York City girl's rite of passage just like going to Planned Parenthood or having an abortion. (Place tongue in cheek here.) It was taboo and considered sinful, but ultimately not worth much thought. I had youth on my side; fucking up was part of the package, just like olives are part of a Greek salad. If you decide you only wanted feta cheese... Well, you get the idea. Nothing is permanent and all that. The point is, though I've had sex with women before, I've never dated one. Until now. And I'm dating two women. Talk about jumping to the head of the class!
So now it's a week till Valentine's Day, Rob claims to have planned an extravagant date for us, and the two women I'm seeing, Pammy and Sweetie* (she asked that I try not to blog about her), are turning out to be amazing people. In fact, all three of them are turning out to be wonderful in different ways, and each of them have broached the subject of our relationship with impending concern: Are we anywhere close to monogamy?
The truth is, No. I'm nowhere close to being monogamous with ANYONE. I don't enjoy the thrill of the chase as much as I did when I was younger, but I definitely like getting to the "comfortable" but still "tingly" stage of a relationship, when no one has to tiptoe around information and everyone can relax around each other. I'm learning that with women, this stage happens earlier in the relationship, and I'm realizing that this is where I'm most comfortable: when we haven't been together so long that we can anticipate what each other is going to say, but we haven't been together for so short a period that our conversations and actions are awkward. This is bliss.
I realized that I treat Rob, Pammy, and Sweetie all differently when it comes to telling them that exclusivity is out of the question - and they all react differently. I tell Rob (who is three years older than me and hustles to make money) CONSTANTLY that I want to see other people and that I'm only seeing him because, 1) Yes, I love him, and 2) I love what he does to my body (most of the time); he works around the clock to pay as many of my bills as he can. I tell Pammy (who is four years older than me and a CPA for the government) that I enjoy our time together but that I haven't put any thought into whether or not she and/or lesbian relationships are merely a detour in my life; she awkwardly brushes off my straight-forwardness and becomes detached in a way that hints she might really like me. I hint to Sweetie (who is my age and has a mid-salary corporate job) that I'm seeing other people, and she laughs at me, we have a two second conversation about whether I'm playing or not (I always say, "Wish I was, but I'm a rolling stone" - a reference to Bob Dylan) and then we resume whatever we're doing. Each of the people I'm seeing are attractive smart, successful, funny... okay, some more than others, but yeah: they're all good catches. And generous! I hardly have to pick up a tab or make a grand gesture, although I do so all the time out of pride and because I'm not a complete bitch.
But what can they see in me? Why would anyone want to attach themselves to someone who so blatantly and constantly reenforces the fact that we're going nowhere as a couple, while they're looking for something more permanent?
One thing's for certain: Karma's a bitch. When I start looking to settle down, I bet there'll be tumbleweeds blowing in my dating itinerary.
To Go or Not to Go: That Is No Longer the Question
It's three in the a.m. and I can't sleep. I'm supposed to be going to the Philippines in seven weeks. The plan was to live there for two or three years, teach English while there, and earn a physician's assistant degree. With money issues abounding in the Rubio household, I can't afford to stay on-track with my writing plans (I wanted to leave NYC in order to pursue an MFA and/or PhD in fiction asap). But there's no money to be made by following my dreams, so instead I chose to follow my parental instincts and haul ass to bail my folks' asses from poverty. At this point, I'm used to putting my goals on the backburner to appease my engrained standards of the "greatest good."
The plan was going well - or so I thought. I attempted to do all the research - student visas, school search, financial research - on my own, but my folks insisted that I let them handle everything - and then they lied to me. Said straight to my face that there was a school near our Philippines house where I could get my bachelor's in physician's assistance. Said it would only take me two or three years and that it was accredited in the States. Said it was cheap and easy. Then I come to find out that there is no such school; they've only found nursing programs near our Philippines house. Physician's assistant programs might not even exist in the Philippines.
Now let me say this for you non-Flips. Nursing is cool. You save lives. You learn very useful information about the human body. You earn a good wage. But every other Filipino is a nurse; it's the default occupation for those who still haven't come to grips with what they wanna do with their lives. And even though I respect the career and I understand that some Filipinos actually want to become nurses, I never want to so easily fit into a stereotype. Becoming a Filipino nurse is like being a Korean grocer or a Chinese dry cleaner: although each position fulfills a necessary and viable role in the community, it's played out. My sense of unique individuality will not allow me to slip into starched white scrubs.
Kicking and screaming the whole way through, I decided that for the good of the family, I'd knock out the two years in nursing school. I got accepted into a program, my parents were thrilled at the low cost of tuition, and I shouldered on. In two years, I'd be making at least $80,000, I told myself. Not only that, but I'd do it by being useful. I'd be saving lives. I'd be fulfilling a necessary, respected and important role in the community. I thought of my large extended network of family in the Philippines and became even more set on the idea of leaving: I've never known what it's like to be a part of a close-knit clan, and seeing Rob's functional and large family made me long for that experience. The few times that I've visited the Philippines since hitting puberty, I'd bonded with my family and made unbelievable memories; I couldn't wait to do more of the same.
Then there was the issue of teaching English. One of my uncles had won a councilmanship and had mentioned an orphanage within his district. The locl government was in charge of finding caretakers and teachers for the children, and he asked if I'd be interested. The role would allow me to mold young minds, show off my passion and skill with the English language, and build up my resume. I jumped at the chance. I'm always seeking ways to fulfill my maternal instincts, and this felt right.
There were other "bonuses" to leaving the States. For one thing, I could start fresh. An overwhelming feeling was flooding the core of my bones: I wanted to erase all of my emotional and financial plights. I wanted to physically distance myself as much as possible from my parents, whose drama constantly weigh me down. I wanted to experience new cultures, to travel, to lose myself in the differences of the East. Japan, Malaysia, Singapore: these are all countries that are a stone's throw away from the Philippines, and I told myself that I'd take advantage of the low price of airfare and visit these places. I wanted to "find myself," and I felt that the only way of doing so would be to go where no one really knew me.
Of course, none of that's quite true. Starting fresh has very little to do with physical distance and a lot to do with emotional preparation. I can physically and emotionally distance myself from my folks while staying in New York City. I can experience new cultures when I'm in a better financial situation to do so (I'm incredibly broke right now). And lastly, and most importantly: I found myself these past few weeks. The old addage is right: you find what you most need when you're not looking for it.
So now I've landed an amazing job teaching with a non-profit organization. My bills are getting paid through promotions gigs. I've started writing, drawing, sewing, exercising, eating healthier - I feel like I'm fulfilling every New Year's resolution anyone could possibly have. And I feel so close to being complete. I feel so incredibly good.
I decided this past week that I'm definitely going to stick around for at least another year. There's a feeling in the pit of my stomach that says I have to see through the stuff I'm doing now: I have to continue teaching these amazing, bright, wonderful students. I have topay off all of my bills, save up cash and feel capable of taking care of myself. Most of all, I have to feel like I'm entitled to the amazing things that are out there in the world, and the only way to feel that way is to "repent" for all the mistakes I've made along the way. I have to leave my folks' house better than ever and let them know I'm here for them when they need me, but that I've stopped catering to their needs. I have to fulfill as much of my promise to be a writer as possible. I have to be satisfied with my academic education in the States before I travel elsewhere - if only so that I can truly compare and contrast the experiences. I must do all this If I don't, I'll always feel like a fraction of a person.
It's taken me a long time to realize that my parents are never going to learn to take care of themselves if I always bail them out of tough jams. I've always figured that because I know better than them, it's my duty to take matters into my own hands when they haven't the ability to do so for themselves. I've felt guilty about making them fend for themselves. I've sabotaged my own success and happiness so that I wouldn't have the opportunity to leave them.
But there came a point when I realized that the only way to safely ween myself from my family is to become filthy rich; in this ironic and paradoxical manner, their dependence and my enabling character do not lead to immediate stress. My guilt would cease because of the knowledge that I'm providing them with everything they could possibly want. Their vices - retail therapy gone very bad, gambling, narcissism, pride - would be fed by my money. Everything would be handled without disappearng.
And that's exactly the problem. I've been trying so hard to accomodate my mom and dad that I didn't want to listen to anyone who told me I had to take care of myself. My identity was wrapped up in their care, and my contemporary/feminist/rebellious personality would not let me admit this fact. All of the problems that had shaped my personality up until that point had been caused directly or indirectly by issues inflicted on me by my parents, and I was afraid of making a new personality for myself. Sure, my problems drove me crazy, but they were mine. They were understandable excuses for my many neuroses. They were comfortable and worn-in like a favorite T-shirt. They were easy.
This afternoon, between applying to jobs, emailing professors, cleaning up my room, "window shopping" online, and running errands, I thought of the amazing things I wanted to do in the Philippines: all of the traveling, the bonding, the teaching, the learning. I realized that it was no use in leaving the country as the person I am. I've got too many unresolved issues to take care of and I wouldn't be able to fully lose myself in every wonderful experience. There would always be a part of me that is ashamed for leaving so abruptly, for not making good on all of the opportunities I've had, for allowing someone other than Me to decide my fate.
I love my family and I always will, with every fiber of my being and every iota of my soul. I will do everything I can to make them happy, but there's a mirrored line which draws the distinction between what I will do for them and what I won't. I love my family and I always will, with every fiber of my being and every iota of my soul - that's why I can't let their needs overshadow my own anymore. I don't ever want to resent them.
The plan was going well - or so I thought. I attempted to do all the research - student visas, school search, financial research - on my own, but my folks insisted that I let them handle everything - and then they lied to me. Said straight to my face that there was a school near our Philippines house where I could get my bachelor's in physician's assistance. Said it would only take me two or three years and that it was accredited in the States. Said it was cheap and easy. Then I come to find out that there is no such school; they've only found nursing programs near our Philippines house. Physician's assistant programs might not even exist in the Philippines.
Now let me say this for you non-Flips. Nursing is cool. You save lives. You learn very useful information about the human body. You earn a good wage. But every other Filipino is a nurse; it's the default occupation for those who still haven't come to grips with what they wanna do with their lives. And even though I respect the career and I understand that some Filipinos actually want to become nurses, I never want to so easily fit into a stereotype. Becoming a Filipino nurse is like being a Korean grocer or a Chinese dry cleaner: although each position fulfills a necessary and viable role in the community, it's played out. My sense of unique individuality will not allow me to slip into starched white scrubs.
Kicking and screaming the whole way through, I decided that for the good of the family, I'd knock out the two years in nursing school. I got accepted into a program, my parents were thrilled at the low cost of tuition, and I shouldered on. In two years, I'd be making at least $80,000, I told myself. Not only that, but I'd do it by being useful. I'd be saving lives. I'd be fulfilling a necessary, respected and important role in the community. I thought of my large extended network of family in the Philippines and became even more set on the idea of leaving: I've never known what it's like to be a part of a close-knit clan, and seeing Rob's functional and large family made me long for that experience. The few times that I've visited the Philippines since hitting puberty, I'd bonded with my family and made unbelievable memories; I couldn't wait to do more of the same.
Then there was the issue of teaching English. One of my uncles had won a councilmanship and had mentioned an orphanage within his district. The locl government was in charge of finding caretakers and teachers for the children, and he asked if I'd be interested. The role would allow me to mold young minds, show off my passion and skill with the English language, and build up my resume. I jumped at the chance. I'm always seeking ways to fulfill my maternal instincts, and this felt right.
There were other "bonuses" to leaving the States. For one thing, I could start fresh. An overwhelming feeling was flooding the core of my bones: I wanted to erase all of my emotional and financial plights. I wanted to physically distance myself as much as possible from my parents, whose drama constantly weigh me down. I wanted to experience new cultures, to travel, to lose myself in the differences of the East. Japan, Malaysia, Singapore: these are all countries that are a stone's throw away from the Philippines, and I told myself that I'd take advantage of the low price of airfare and visit these places. I wanted to "find myself," and I felt that the only way of doing so would be to go where no one really knew me.
Of course, none of that's quite true. Starting fresh has very little to do with physical distance and a lot to do with emotional preparation. I can physically and emotionally distance myself from my folks while staying in New York City. I can experience new cultures when I'm in a better financial situation to do so (I'm incredibly broke right now). And lastly, and most importantly: I found myself these past few weeks. The old addage is right: you find what you most need when you're not looking for it.
So now I've landed an amazing job teaching with a non-profit organization. My bills are getting paid through promotions gigs. I've started writing, drawing, sewing, exercising, eating healthier - I feel like I'm fulfilling every New Year's resolution anyone could possibly have. And I feel so close to being complete. I feel so incredibly good.
I decided this past week that I'm definitely going to stick around for at least another year. There's a feeling in the pit of my stomach that says I have to see through the stuff I'm doing now: I have to continue teaching these amazing, bright, wonderful students. I have topay off all of my bills, save up cash and feel capable of taking care of myself. Most of all, I have to feel like I'm entitled to the amazing things that are out there in the world, and the only way to feel that way is to "repent" for all the mistakes I've made along the way. I have to leave my folks' house better than ever and let them know I'm here for them when they need me, but that I've stopped catering to their needs. I have to fulfill as much of my promise to be a writer as possible. I have to be satisfied with my academic education in the States before I travel elsewhere - if only so that I can truly compare and contrast the experiences. I must do all this If I don't, I'll always feel like a fraction of a person.
It's taken me a long time to realize that my parents are never going to learn to take care of themselves if I always bail them out of tough jams. I've always figured that because I know better than them, it's my duty to take matters into my own hands when they haven't the ability to do so for themselves. I've felt guilty about making them fend for themselves. I've sabotaged my own success and happiness so that I wouldn't have the opportunity to leave them.
But there came a point when I realized that the only way to safely ween myself from my family is to become filthy rich; in this ironic and paradoxical manner, their dependence and my enabling character do not lead to immediate stress. My guilt would cease because of the knowledge that I'm providing them with everything they could possibly want. Their vices - retail therapy gone very bad, gambling, narcissism, pride - would be fed by my money. Everything would be handled without disappearng.
And that's exactly the problem. I've been trying so hard to accomodate my mom and dad that I didn't want to listen to anyone who told me I had to take care of myself. My identity was wrapped up in their care, and my contemporary/feminist/rebellious personality would not let me admit this fact. All of the problems that had shaped my personality up until that point had been caused directly or indirectly by issues inflicted on me by my parents, and I was afraid of making a new personality for myself. Sure, my problems drove me crazy, but they were mine. They were understandable excuses for my many neuroses. They were comfortable and worn-in like a favorite T-shirt. They were easy.
This afternoon, between applying to jobs, emailing professors, cleaning up my room, "window shopping" online, and running errands, I thought of the amazing things I wanted to do in the Philippines: all of the traveling, the bonding, the teaching, the learning. I realized that it was no use in leaving the country as the person I am. I've got too many unresolved issues to take care of and I wouldn't be able to fully lose myself in every wonderful experience. There would always be a part of me that is ashamed for leaving so abruptly, for not making good on all of the opportunities I've had, for allowing someone other than Me to decide my fate.
I love my family and I always will, with every fiber of my being and every iota of my soul. I will do everything I can to make them happy, but there's a mirrored line which draws the distinction between what I will do for them and what I won't. I love my family and I always will, with every fiber of my being and every iota of my soul - that's why I can't let their needs overshadow my own anymore. I don't ever want to resent them.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Things I Haven't Quite Gotten Around to Acquiring
NOTE: I keep on crossing stuff off this list.
1) iPod - I've had two: the first one got its wiring all fucked up after my dog decided to pee on it while it was charging; the second one was lost. I seriously have NO CLUE where it went. Last I remember, it was in my car. Next thing I know, it's gone.
Rob's promised to buy me one. First, it was supposed to be my birthday present, then my bon voyage present, then our anniversary present, then my Christmas present. Now it's my Valentine's Day present. I guess I'll cross it off the list when I get it...
2) My Own Place - Lately, I've been having crazy issues with my folks. It's gotten to the point that they just sound plain asinine (LOL, inside joke) about their drama. And don't get me wrong: I'm usually the first person to enable their bad habits. I'll console them and awkwardly remain silent after they've blatantly dismissed my advice. I'll chalk up their actions to ignorance, and therefore find the strength to fix their problems. I'll give them the money to pay their bills, miss class to wipe their tears, put my life on hold to chauffeur them around.
But no more.
Recently I found out that the mortgage on our house hasn't been paid in three months - even though I've been giving money for it. Somewhere between handing my folks the cash and/or check, and needing to actually pay the mortgage, said money disappeared. Repeatedly. The reasons I've been given are cryptic at best and straight-up lies at worst.
That's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the drama in my house, and seriously, I've had it. What's the use of sticking around to help out when no one wants to listen to my advice? I need to find a job and bounce.
3)Contemporary Ghetto/Slang Vernaculary - I swear I used to have this. I swear. You can ask my friends from back in the day. Ask my brother. My ghetto twang was straight hood. My vocabulary reflected my genuine immersion in minority culture.
And then somewhere along the line, I stopped hanging out on the regular with people who parroted the slang back to me, and I lost the familiar street cadence and contemporary vocabulary. My quick wit at street words were lost due to a lack of use. I stopped using the N word - a bomb I used to drop all the time, and that I wish to never drop again.
Recently, I've started hanging out with Dallas, Ariane & Yvonne (DAY) all the time and I've realized how much I miss that fast-talking, crazy ebonics side of me. I think I'll look for her. She's fun.
4)Full and Utter Appreciation for My BFFs - Those of you who have kept up with my blog know that I don't usually have stellar words to use for my close friends. Maybe it's a defense mechanism or simply because I'm a bitch, but I find fault in DAY ALL THE TIME.
If I went through all the reasons behind this, this entry would be the size of War & Peace, so I'll just say this: I am sooooooo very fortunate to have such amazing and wonderful women as best friends. They fuck with me even after I've repeatedly shown my stupid, ignorant, hard-to-please sides, and for that I love them eternally.
5) The Love of High Heels & Other Uncomfortable Fashion Choices - You know those patent leather and/or leather five or six inch stilletto boots - usually black - that street walkers are often seen in? Yeah, that's right: "hooker boots."
Well, I'm certain that I helped usher them into the fashion lexicon. I swear. I was twelve years old and rocking them ALL THE TIME. Don't ask me why no one laughed at me or told me they were inappropriate. I was a shoe whore who rocked whatever showed off my gams best.
When it came to clothes, I was always a diva-in-training, looking fly in whatever I found on sale - even if the pants cut off my circulation or the shirt made it hard for me to breathe.
Those days are over. I'm just way too comfortable in my self to purposely make myself uncomfortable. What's the use? I know I'm fly.
6) Sufficient Academic Education - I want to learn everything. I want to be able to talk about physics, nature, writing, political systems in Iceland, drug epidemics within the nomads of the Sahara, the latest archaeological finds in Peru. Everything. This is probably why I read so much.
But there's something to be said for being in a formal setting, conversing with peers, establishing active communication with people who are the leaders in their field, practicing real-world applications of theories. Those are things that are guided and nurtured by the academic world, and I crave them. I want them. I don't think I'll ever get enough of them.
In the meantime, my rigorous exercises of internet perusal will suffice.
7) A Mature Sense of Duty* - I put an asterisk on this because I feel like I might actually have acquired this in the past couple of weeks. I don't think it's one of those things that someone automatically knows they have. I think you kind of ease into discipline and realize that you have set for yourself a code by which to live.
That's how I am.
I know now without a doubt that I have integrity and real character. I know that I'm a good person with real plans and responsibilities. I know that I want to fulfill something with my life, and that it is my duty to do so...
Hmm... Maybe I should just straight-up cross this one out?
8) The Ability to "Be With Someone Else" - Sunday morning, on the train with Dallas, Ariane and Danielle. Dallas and Danielle are sleeping. Ariane and I are talking about relationships. This is a very common thing for people to speak on, sure. But I see things in very black and white when it comes to being with a person for the long haul, and this always makes me the minority within our foursome. My way of figuring out if someone's "It" for me is as follows: Do I know that I wanna make a life with you? No? MmKBye. Done.
It sounds childish putting it this way, but I honestly believe that there is someone out there who either encompasses what I'm looking for in a mate, or who is so close to it that I can't help but fall for them. I've been with guys who are really close to my ideal, and that just furthers my idea that my romantic notions are worthwhile and accurate.
Ariane and I were talking about her inability to want to settle down with her fiance, and when the conversation turned to me I said simply, "It's no use for me to find The One right now. I'm just not ready." And that's the truth: I still have a lot of work to do on myself, and I know I can't Be With Someone if I don't know how to Be Myself first. There's no rush on this. I'm actually having a lot of fun making/acquiring my sense of self.
9) Realist-Mentality Pessimism - This is another thing that I'm grateful I haven't acquired. I'm the hopeful romantic who will ride the train for two hours to "teach" young minds without getting paid. I'm the chick who will wait for the right person before making plans to settle down. I'm the perceptive idealist who will stand in a train station at two a.m., listening to the guitar player break down song after song after song with a smile on his face then give him my last two dollars because Fuck it, he's got talent and a dream and I appreciate that.
10)A Right/Quick Brain/Tongue - This kind of goes with #4. I noticed lately that I had become so much of a voyeur that I wasn't able to formulate any verbal response in a timely fashion. Sure, words would get articulated into ink when I got home, but at the moment things were happening, I was so immersed in watching it all go down that I didn't get to add to it.
I used to be really quick with statements, and realized that I hurt a lot of feelings by being brash and bold. I took it upon myself to slow down my thinking process in order to disable my mean streak, and now that I have more control over myself and my actions I want to recapture the ability to speak on things in an accurate, observant, and smart way at the moment it occurs.
11) Steady Writing Gigs That Make Me Proud - I used to have them, but most of them were of the sexual variety of writing. Don't get me wrong. That's awesome and I appreciate being given sex toy after sex toy in order to write articles on them. But geez. Talk about lack of diversity?! I want to show off my multi-faceted personality and expertise through steady writing gigs.
12) A Passport Full of Stamps - As proof that I'm a well-seasoned traveler.
13) Intermediate Knowledge of Computers, Electronics, Plumbing & Cars, AKA The Traditional-Contemporary Male Skill Set - I have this burning desire to be self-sufficient. My folks instilled it in me. (Ironic since they're anything but self-sufficient, but whatever.) I want to be able to be a real Jane-of-all-trades, and that includes having expertise in areas that are traditionally designated for men and boys.
When my folks conceive of being self-sufficient, it's in a very introverted, anti-social and selfish kind of way. They would rather not have to communicate with others. They would rather be cut off from the world than have to deal with conflicting opinions.
I'm of another variety of self-sufficient: I want to be able to do everything on my own, but not by myself. I recognize the inherent value of people and cultures and differences. I want to be able to apply my knowledge, assert my intelligence and worth as a human being, and learn all I can from people while doing so.
14)A Sense of Purpose - Last night, on the subway platform, a rush of euphoria came over me. The past four days have been intense. I know what I'm about and what I want to achieve. I just have to make it there. This makes life good even when it's bad.
15) External Hard Drive andMemory Card - Because, damnit, I wanna join the rest of my generation in keeping hard copy evidence of the world that I live in via cultural landmarks of the media and photographic variety.
1) iPod - I've had two: the first one got its wiring all fucked up after my dog decided to pee on it while it was charging; the second one was lost. I seriously have NO CLUE where it went. Last I remember, it was in my car. Next thing I know, it's gone.
Rob's promised to buy me one. First, it was supposed to be my birthday present, then my bon voyage present, then our anniversary present, then my Christmas present. Now it's my Valentine's Day present. I guess I'll cross it off the list when I get it...
2) My Own Place - Lately, I've been having crazy issues with my folks. It's gotten to the point that they just sound plain asinine (LOL, inside joke) about their drama. And don't get me wrong: I'm usually the first person to enable their bad habits. I'll console them and awkwardly remain silent after they've blatantly dismissed my advice. I'll chalk up their actions to ignorance, and therefore find the strength to fix their problems. I'll give them the money to pay their bills, miss class to wipe their tears, put my life on hold to chauffeur them around.
But no more.
Recently I found out that the mortgage on our house hasn't been paid in three months - even though I've been giving money for it. Somewhere between handing my folks the cash and/or check, and needing to actually pay the mortgage, said money disappeared. Repeatedly. The reasons I've been given are cryptic at best and straight-up lies at worst.
That's just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the drama in my house, and seriously, I've had it. What's the use of sticking around to help out when no one wants to listen to my advice? I need to find a job and bounce.
3)
And then somewhere along the line, I stopped hanging out on the regular with people who parroted the slang back to me, and I lost the familiar street cadence and contemporary vocabulary. My quick wit at street words were lost due to a lack of use. I stopped using the N word - a bomb I used to drop all the time, and that I wish to never drop again.
Recently, I've started hanging out with Dallas, Ariane & Yvonne (DAY) all the time and I've realized how much I miss that fast-talking, crazy ebonics side of me. I think I'll look for her. She's fun.
4)
If I went through all the reasons behind this, this entry would be the size of War & Peace, so I'll just say this: I am sooooooo very fortunate to have such amazing and wonderful women as best friends. They fuck with me even after I've repeatedly shown my stupid, ignorant, hard-to-please sides, and for that I love them eternally.
5) The Love of High Heels & Other Uncomfortable Fashion Choices - You know those patent leather and/or leather five or six inch stilletto boots - usually black - that street walkers are often seen in? Yeah, that's right: "hooker boots."
Well, I'm certain that I helped usher them into the fashion lexicon. I swear. I was twelve years old and rocking them ALL THE TIME. Don't ask me why no one laughed at me or told me they were inappropriate. I was a shoe whore who rocked whatever showed off my gams best.
When it came to clothes, I was always a diva-in-training, looking fly in whatever I found on sale - even if the pants cut off my circulation or the shirt made it hard for me to breathe.
Those days are over. I'm just way too comfortable in my self to purposely make myself uncomfortable. What's the use? I know I'm fly.
6) Sufficient Academic Education - I want to learn everything. I want to be able to talk about physics, nature, writing, political systems in Iceland, drug epidemics within the nomads of the Sahara, the latest archaeological finds in Peru. Everything. This is probably why I read so much.
But there's something to be said for being in a formal setting, conversing with peers, establishing active communication with people who are the leaders in their field, practicing real-world applications of theories. Those are things that are guided and nurtured by the academic world, and I crave them. I want them. I don't think I'll ever get enough of them.
In the meantime, my rigorous exercises of internet perusal will suffice.
7) A Mature Sense of Duty* - I put an asterisk on this because I feel like I might actually have acquired this in the past couple of weeks. I don't think it's one of those things that someone automatically knows they have. I think you kind of ease into discipline and realize that you have set for yourself a code by which to live.
That's how I am.
I know now without a doubt that I have integrity and real character. I know that I'm a good person with real plans and responsibilities. I know that I want to fulfill something with my life, and that it is my duty to do so...
Hmm... Maybe I should just straight-up cross this one out?
8) The Ability to "Be With Someone Else" - Sunday morning, on the train with Dallas, Ariane and Danielle. Dallas and Danielle are sleeping. Ariane and I are talking about relationships. This is a very common thing for people to speak on, sure. But I see things in very black and white when it comes to being with a person for the long haul, and this always makes me the minority within our foursome. My way of figuring out if someone's "It" for me is as follows: Do I know that I wanna make a life with you? No? MmKBye. Done.
It sounds childish putting it this way, but I honestly believe that there is someone out there who either encompasses what I'm looking for in a mate, or who is so close to it that I can't help but fall for them. I've been with guys who are really close to my ideal, and that just furthers my idea that my romantic notions are worthwhile and accurate.
Ariane and I were talking about her inability to want to settle down with her fiance, and when the conversation turned to me I said simply, "It's no use for me to find The One right now. I'm just not ready." And that's the truth: I still have a lot of work to do on myself, and I know I can't Be With Someone if I don't know how to Be Myself first. There's no rush on this. I'm actually having a lot of fun making/acquiring my sense of self.
9) Realist-Mentality Pessimism - This is another thing that I'm grateful I haven't acquired. I'm the hopeful romantic who will ride the train for two hours to "teach" young minds without getting paid. I'm the chick who will wait for the right person before making plans to settle down. I'm the perceptive idealist who will stand in a train station at two a.m., listening to the guitar player break down song after song after song with a smile on his face then give him my last two dollars because Fuck it, he's got talent and a dream and I appreciate that.
10)
I used to be really quick with statements, and realized that I hurt a lot of feelings by being brash and bold. I took it upon myself to slow down my thinking process in order to disable my mean streak, and now that I have more control over myself and my actions I want to recapture the ability to speak on things in an accurate, observant, and smart way at the moment it occurs.
11) Steady Writing Gigs That Make Me Proud - I used to have them, but most of them were of the sexual variety of writing. Don't get me wrong. That's awesome and I appreciate being given sex toy after sex toy in order to write articles on them. But geez. Talk about lack of diversity?! I want to show off my multi-faceted personality and expertise through steady writing gigs.
12) A Passport Full of Stamps - As proof that I'm a well-seasoned traveler.
13) Intermediate Knowledge of Computers, Electronics, Plumbing & Cars, AKA The Traditional-Contemporary Male Skill Set - I have this burning desire to be self-sufficient. My folks instilled it in me. (Ironic since they're anything but self-sufficient, but whatever.) I want to be able to be a real Jane-of-all-trades, and that includes having expertise in areas that are traditionally designated for men and boys.
When my folks conceive of being self-sufficient, it's in a very introverted, anti-social and selfish kind of way. They would rather not have to communicate with others. They would rather be cut off from the world than have to deal with conflicting opinions.
I'm of another variety of self-sufficient: I want to be able to do everything on my own, but not by myself. I recognize the inherent value of people and cultures and differences. I want to be able to apply my knowledge, assert my intelligence and worth as a human being, and learn all I can from people while doing so.
14)
15) External Hard Drive and
Friday, February 1, 2008
I'm a Living Revision
That last entry was birthed from a prompt that Joe thought up in yesterday's class: "What are your dreams?" I flowed my piece out and the kids were thoroughly impressed by it. I say "kids" even though some of em are in their late teens and early twenties; they're attendees of University Heights High School in the Bronx,an alternative school where everyone - staff, teachers, students, the principal - is known by their first names. Bea (aka BKD) introduced me to this motley crew of awesome young people who spit poetry into the eyes of every adversary - a failing educational system, low economic class, physical and emotional abuse, etc. - that dares stare them down. Fo real, it's straight up The Great Debaters meets Dangerous Minds. These kids have such amazing stories and they tell them well. They're bright. They're driven. They're such good kids. Lots of them are depressed and most of them are ignorant of information that should've been taught through the public education system or their parents - but that's okay because I'm in that same boat, sometimes sad beyond recognition and failed by the systems that were supposed to set me free.
I'm supposed to get paid a hundred bucks her "session," and because the sessions are all less than five hours, it breaks down to more than twenty bucks an hour, which helps to make the two-hour commutes worthwhile. But seriously: I'd go even if I wasn't getting paid.
The sessions are classes in "power writing." We (the staff) impart words of wisdom, treat the students as equals, and generally guide their writing and their presentation of their pieces. We counsel them on life's issues, explain through anectdotes, academics and experience facts and history, and generally have a good time.
I feel like I shouldn't get paid because I'm learning just as much (if not more) than I'm teaching. Still, I'm writing Amy (the cool-as-hell-boss-lady) an email asking if/when I can start getting paid for my services. There's an after-school-special/public-service-announcement/Hallmark-card-made-for-TV-movie feel about working with this non-profit organization. Despite the shoddy reputation of the issues we (un)cover, there is an overwhelming feeling of wholesomeness which pervades the sessions. We all have good energy, and we respect one another and want to challenge each other and ourselves. We seek to better ourselves.
This is in stark contrast to the feeling I get when I hang out with lots of my peers. Their lives are steeped in "adult worries" like making money and fulfilling the status quo - so that they're not trying to better themselves. Their idea of a good time is getting fucked up, partying, and getting laid - which is cool, but gets old. What kind of life is spent without asking questions? Without striving to make your own conclusions? Without actively attempting to learn?
For the first time ever, I'm seriously considering going into teaching. All this despite the desire to make a six-figure income and my decision to move to the Philippines. But I'll speak more on all that later.
I'm supposed to get paid a hundred bucks her "session," and because the sessions are all less than five hours, it breaks down to more than twenty bucks an hour, which helps to make the two-hour commutes worthwhile. But seriously: I'd go even if I wasn't getting paid.
The sessions are classes in "power writing." We (the staff) impart words of wisdom, treat the students as equals, and generally guide their writing and their presentation of their pieces. We counsel them on life's issues, explain through anectdotes, academics and experience facts and history, and generally have a good time.
I feel like I shouldn't get paid because I'm learning just as much (if not more) than I'm teaching. Still, I'm writing Amy (the cool-as-hell-boss-lady) an email asking if/when I can start getting paid for my services. There's an after-school-special/public-service-announcement/Hallmark-card-made-for-TV-movie feel about working with this non-profit organization. Despite the shoddy reputation of the issues we (un)cover, there is an overwhelming feeling of wholesomeness which pervades the sessions. We all have good energy, and we respect one another and want to challenge each other and ourselves. We seek to better ourselves.
This is in stark contrast to the feeling I get when I hang out with lots of my peers. Their lives are steeped in "adult worries" like making money and fulfilling the status quo - so that they're not trying to better themselves. Their idea of a good time is getting fucked up, partying, and getting laid - which is cool, but gets old. What kind of life is spent without asking questions? Without striving to make your own conclusions? Without actively attempting to learn?
For the first time ever, I'm seriously considering going into teaching. All this despite the desire to make a six-figure income and my decision to move to the Philippines. But I'll speak more on all that later.
Why Dream?
Unedited First Draft
My words get caught. They
stutter, sputter, like
empty faucets, my mind
slowed to a drip, drip,
Dream. Scheming to send
improv sensations down
my spine, I think of what I want -
but my mind.
My mind...
My mind does not allow me to hear my heart.
It's caught
controlled
condemned
by Fear and
I'd rather adhere
to the safety of the now
the steady symptoms of systems that have failed me,
The mediocre mundane monstronsity
that is the Maria in the mirror
in front of me: so much doubt
and insecurity - and
Shakespeare said it best:
"To sleep, perchance to dream" -
but it seems insomnia's got me and
Experience has shot me full of
stigmas and skepticism. Negativity
Screams, "Why dream?"
Why reach for the moon - or
even the stars? Why want?
Why desire? Why burn with
hot intent when Time will be
Spent - maybe Wasted? - on
this thing I don't know, I
may never know, I may not even
catch a glimpse of? Why dream?
Why think of opportunities - my
family, finally happy; financial
security; education's availability -
Why dream? Why admit that I'm lacking,
that I am not whole, that I fear being
a hole you squirt your seed into and
that any decision I make might make me
Fade? Why dream?
It seems everything bad is inevitable and
You really need a heart of gold to
Find the worth of chances taken, realities
shaken, emotions stirred - man, why dream?
Why dream?
Why dream?
What I fear is not the dream.
I dream of immortal sanity
brought about by a happy family,
the unlimited potential to
take in and embrace all that I see,
To Be, y'all. To Be. Free.
Free from drama, free from
hostility, free from doubt, free
from insecurity. For real:
My ultimate dream is for my mind to be at ease.
What I fear is admitting that the simple,
happy life is too complicated to achieve.
So why dream, when I risk not reaching my goals?
Why dream? Cuz more than anything else, I fear
not being bold.
My words get caught. They
stutter, sputter, like
empty faucets, my mind
slowed to a drip, drip,
Dream. Scheming to send
improv sensations down
my spine, I think of what I want -
but my mind.
My mind...
My mind does not allow me to hear my heart.
It's caught
controlled
condemned
by Fear and
I'd rather adhere
to the safety of the now
the steady symptoms of systems that have failed me,
The mediocre mundane monstronsity
that is the Maria in the mirror
in front of me: so much doubt
and insecurity - and
Shakespeare said it best:
"To sleep, perchance to dream" -
but it seems insomnia's got me and
Experience has shot me full of
stigmas and skepticism. Negativity
Screams, "Why dream?"
Why reach for the moon - or
even the stars? Why want?
Why desire? Why burn with
hot intent when Time will be
Spent - maybe Wasted? - on
this thing I don't know, I
may never know, I may not even
catch a glimpse of? Why dream?
Why think of opportunities - my
family, finally happy; financial
security; education's availability -
Why dream? Why admit that I'm lacking,
that I am not whole, that I fear being
a hole you squirt your seed into and
that any decision I make might make me
Fade? Why dream?
It seems everything bad is inevitable and
You really need a heart of gold to
Find the worth of chances taken, realities
shaken, emotions stirred - man, why dream?
Why dream?
Why dream?
What I fear is not the dream.
I dream of immortal sanity
brought about by a happy family,
the unlimited potential to
take in and embrace all that I see,
To Be, y'all. To Be. Free.
Free from drama, free from
hostility, free from doubt, free
from insecurity. For real:
My ultimate dream is for my mind to be at ease.
What I fear is admitting that the simple,
happy life is too complicated to achieve.
So why dream, when I risk not reaching my goals?
Why dream? Cuz more than anything else, I fear
not being bold.
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