So, last night I was hanging out with a bunch of my friends at my favorite fraternity house. We were celebrating the freshest engagement of the semester, and by freshest I mean the third engagement in my pledge class, excluding my own--which as we all know was called off approximately six months ago. Not that I'm bitter, there were just more important things on my mind.
One of these more important topics was What should I be for Halloween?
Bff Kate said she was going as a white lie. She said you wear all white and attach sticky notes to yourself that each have a white lie written on it, like Nice haircut. OR Cute baby. Some of my top ideas for my own costume included: a leftover (where you wrap yourself in aluminum foil), a straight girl (?), a farmer (not be confused with a lesbian), a crew rower (because I love spandex), a homecoming queen (too pretentious), and, of course, we can't forget about McLarty's idea, "that blonde-headed guy from Fight Club," (w.t.f.?).
So, I went to sleep last night with ideas of Halloween costumes dancing in my head only to awaken this morning with my Halloween identity assigned to me without my consent. I am to be a Germ this Halloween, as I am sick, and in bed with a fever, having no fun, alone.
Alright, well, I'm not having no fun because I am watching Season 4 of the L Word, and I have a damn good excuse to be in bed. But I am alone, so if anyone out there is also having a sad-alone-Halloween-germ-costume-kind-of-night, give me a call and maybe we can play live Scrabulous.
Happy Halloween!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
thoughts on the continuum of myself as bitch
Last year, I posted on a blog for my Intro to Women's Studies class. The post was in reponse to another student's post on the connotation of the word bitch. It went something like this:
"The word bitch may be used in a derogative way by many individuals. The post to which I am responding describes the word bitch as anti-feminist. As it is mainly used by women on women, thus breaking down the bonds of feminist sisterhood. While I acknowledge this argument, I disagree with it. I like to assimilate the word 'bitch' with the word 'dyke.' Though, I'm not a full fledged dyke, when someone calls me a dyke both in a negative way or as a term of acceptance, I feel empowered by it. Many of the greatest lesbian warriors were called dykes, if not for them I couldn't even write this post afterall. Making a dyke feel empowered is often not the goal of the 'dyke caller' and in fact is exactly the opposite of the caller's ambition. When someone calls me a dyke, I am reminded of the great community of strong women that I make love to and to which I identify. It is from this reminder that I usually call back "Breeder!" So, if you look at the word dyke in the context of the lesbian community and then assimilate that to the word bitch and it's role in the feminist community, you have quite some ammunition. If I'm a bitch, so what? But if I'm a woman that's called a bitch, then perhaps I'm a feminist, a mother, sister, lover, dishwasher, telephone maker, etc. and perhaps I'm pissed off about the gender inequality's that these other
terms evoke. But if I own myself as a bitch, then I can better express my
frustration through feminist thought, and thus, bitch evokes my feeling of
feminist community."
Lately, I seem to have lost sight of my role in the communities to which I belong. Becoming self-absorbed, and to some extent, a bitch in normative societal meaning. Last night, I was watching When Harry Met Sally. The thing that I love most about that film, is the education that Sally gives to Harry about women. That woman is fucking awesome, she's like this waterered down version of bitch and by watered down I mean, a softer more appropriate version of bitch. I used to be her to most everyone with whom I came in contact. But as of late, I've been more like Harry and less like Sally. It is difficult become the other side of the spectrum.
My conclusion:
The continuum of bitch is a tricky thing in which to live and breath. Perhaps I need to take some time out to figure this thing out. This thing that I am and this thing that I want to become within the context of this thing that I am becoming.
"The word bitch may be used in a derogative way by many individuals. The post to which I am responding describes the word bitch as anti-feminist. As it is mainly used by women on women, thus breaking down the bonds of feminist sisterhood. While I acknowledge this argument, I disagree with it. I like to assimilate the word 'bitch' with the word 'dyke.' Though, I'm not a full fledged dyke, when someone calls me a dyke both in a negative way or as a term of acceptance, I feel empowered by it. Many of the greatest lesbian warriors were called dykes, if not for them I couldn't even write this post afterall. Making a dyke feel empowered is often not the goal of the 'dyke caller' and in fact is exactly the opposite of the caller's ambition. When someone calls me a dyke, I am reminded of the great community of strong women that I make love to and to which I identify. It is from this reminder that I usually call back "Breeder!" So, if you look at the word dyke in the context of the lesbian community and then assimilate that to the word bitch and it's role in the feminist community, you have quite some ammunition. If I'm a bitch, so what? But if I'm a woman that's called a bitch, then perhaps I'm a feminist, a mother, sister, lover, dishwasher, telephone maker, etc. and perhaps I'm pissed off about the gender inequality's that these other
terms evoke. But if I own myself as a bitch, then I can better express my
frustration through feminist thought, and thus, bitch evokes my feeling of
feminist community."
Lately, I seem to have lost sight of my role in the communities to which I belong. Becoming self-absorbed, and to some extent, a bitch in normative societal meaning. Last night, I was watching When Harry Met Sally. The thing that I love most about that film, is the education that Sally gives to Harry about women. That woman is fucking awesome, she's like this waterered down version of bitch and by watered down I mean, a softer more appropriate version of bitch. I used to be her to most everyone with whom I came in contact. But as of late, I've been more like Harry and less like Sally. It is difficult become the other side of the spectrum.
My conclusion:
The continuum of bitch is a tricky thing in which to live and breath. Perhaps I need to take some time out to figure this thing out. This thing that I am and this thing that I want to become within the context of this thing that I am becoming.
Monday, October 29, 2007
watershed
Last night, bottled up emotional stuff start pouring out of my ears. But seeing how the Internet Gods hate me, I couldn't get online to blog about it.
Then, this morning I had a fit of sudden emotion that ripped me completely out of stagnation. Luckily, I was on my bike so I did a 180 and headed down South Carolina Avenue toward Abbo's Alley.
Abbo's Alley is this wonderfully profound and magical place that reminds me a lot of The Secret Garden.
Upon arrival, I parked my bike, pulled out a cigarette and walked over to the stream that, for no apparent reason, bends around like a question mark. The air was bitter and angry. It was cold out, and my lungs hurt to breath. There were a lot of things that spoke to me. But mainly the clusters of flowers that clung to the edge of the stream even though it's now Autumn, and the leaves settled at the bottom of the stream that swayed with the current were what stuck out the most. There were also some roots growing perpendicular to the flow of the stream. They made continuous ripples below the surface of the water.
"up on the watershed, standing at the fork in the road, you can stand there and agonize til your agony's your heaviest load, when you're learning to face the path at your pace...every choice is what you are"
Then, this morning I had a fit of sudden emotion that ripped me completely out of stagnation. Luckily, I was on my bike so I did a 180 and headed down South Carolina Avenue toward Abbo's Alley.
Abbo's Alley is this wonderfully profound and magical place that reminds me a lot of The Secret Garden.
Upon arrival, I parked my bike, pulled out a cigarette and walked over to the stream that, for no apparent reason, bends around like a question mark. The air was bitter and angry. It was cold out, and my lungs hurt to breath. There were a lot of things that spoke to me. But mainly the clusters of flowers that clung to the edge of the stream even though it's now Autumn, and the leaves settled at the bottom of the stream that swayed with the current were what stuck out the most. There were also some roots growing perpendicular to the flow of the stream. They made continuous ripples below the surface of the water.
"up on the watershed, standing at the fork in the road, you can stand there and agonize til your agony's your heaviest load, when you're learning to face the path at your pace...every choice is what you are"
I want to be the flowers, and for a while I was the leaves. But now, I'm the roots.
I'm at my fork, but I'm not hungry.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
A word, in short
"...businesswoman..I don't think that's a word."
So this afternoon, I was talking to my friend who is a grad student in Charlottesville. We were updating each other on our lives. I used the word stagnate to describe mine. In that I mean, though it stressful and there's a shit ton to do, my emotions about it all are pretty stagnate. She said that "stagnate was too positive a word."
I like to think that I'm really good at describing things and, in general, communicating with people. Sometimes, it takes a few tries, but I always seem to get it right in the end. For me, walking away from a great conversation, is like Christmas or something. I get that warm fuzzy feeling, like I just made a really soulful connection with another person who is floundering around in life, just as I am.
Stagnation should not be the way life is, but sometimes, it just works out that way. I suppose everyone's life could be placed on a continuum of stagnation. Why do I suppose that to be a bad thing? It's not, it's somewhat calm. But it makes me feel like I'm not living or something. Like, I need to get out of this stagnate state.
If people were happy living in states of stagnation, wherein they were to any extent unhappy, there would be no change in the world.
No Civil Rights Movement. No Gay Liberation Movement. No Women's Liberation Movement. No waking up in the morning. No sleeping. No sex.
I don't think I can live in a world like that, but yet I am.
Go on Liz Lemon, be a businesswoman! Damn "the Man."
In short, a word is not always just a word.
So this afternoon, I was talking to my friend who is a grad student in Charlottesville. We were updating each other on our lives. I used the word stagnate to describe mine. In that I mean, though it stressful and there's a shit ton to do, my emotions about it all are pretty stagnate. She said that "stagnate was too positive a word."
I like to think that I'm really good at describing things and, in general, communicating with people. Sometimes, it takes a few tries, but I always seem to get it right in the end. For me, walking away from a great conversation, is like Christmas or something. I get that warm fuzzy feeling, like I just made a really soulful connection with another person who is floundering around in life, just as I am.
Stagnation should not be the way life is, but sometimes, it just works out that way. I suppose everyone's life could be placed on a continuum of stagnation. Why do I suppose that to be a bad thing? It's not, it's somewhat calm. But it makes me feel like I'm not living or something. Like, I need to get out of this stagnate state.
If people were happy living in states of stagnation, wherein they were to any extent unhappy, there would be no change in the world.
No Civil Rights Movement. No Gay Liberation Movement. No Women's Liberation Movement. No waking up in the morning. No sleeping. No sex.
I don't think I can live in a world like that, but yet I am.
Go on Liz Lemon, be a businesswoman! Damn "the Man."
In short, a word is not always just a word.
Her
“What’s the best Sunday you’ve ever had?” She asked, smiling.
“I don’t know?” the other looked off into the distance, taking a drag from her cigarette.
Slouching further into the dirty lawn chair, She mimicked the other, deeply breathing in the sultry smoke that seemed to numb her already anesthetized emotion.
She sat quietly, recalling softly a memory from two years prior. She spoke slowly. "There was this one day," She began, taking another drag, "with my ex," She exhaled. The other listened.
When She was finished describing the delicate arrangement of events, the other smiled.
“I don’t know?” the other looked off into the distance, taking a drag from her cigarette.
Slouching further into the dirty lawn chair, She mimicked the other, deeply breathing in the sultry smoke that seemed to numb her already anesthetized emotion.
She sat quietly, recalling softly a memory from two years prior. She spoke slowly. "There was this one day," She began, taking another drag, "with my ex," She exhaled. The other listened.
When She was finished describing the delicate arrangement of events, the other smiled.
She had lost the ability to smile. More recent memories and feelings of Her filling her mind. She took another drag from her cigarette.
“I wish I could ease the pain,” She said, trying not to think about Her. A tear should have gathered in the corner of her eye, but it didn't.
“Do you miss your ex?” the other asked.
“No,” She replied, snubbing out her cigarette, “I miss Her.”
Friday, October 26, 2007
The Deal
This morning, I rolled out of bed fifteen minutes before my 8 o'clock class. I pulled on some jeans over my pajama long johns and went to brush my teeth. After locating matching socks, quite an accomplishment for the morning, and buttoning my sweater, I placed my smudgy glasses on my unwashed face. Katy and I scrambled to the staircase, the minutes chasing us out of the building.
You see? my friends, foes, muffins and turtles. This is what happens when you are in the middle of comprehensive examinations. All that used to be of the utmost importance, like acne prevention and clean underwear consciousness, all fall to the wayside.
Stats:
Papers written: 4 1/2
Papers to be written: 1 1/2
Sleep: minimal
Food: sufficient, at the moment
Caffeine intake: high
Nicotine intake: high
Nicotine reserves: declining
Socks: matching and clean
Bra: n/a
Energy: high
Irritability: high
Self-esteem: moderate
Emotional state: secondary
Countdown: 6.5 hours
Additionally, I would like to add that random voicemails about procrastination with lovely lounge music in the background are welcome. I will be requiring more nutrients at some point, so if someone has some Ramen they're not eating, feel free to drop it by. Do not be frightened by the "by appointment" signage. Also, BFF, if you could pick me up some cigarettes, that'd be great, and if not, that's ok. This is due to the fact that you provided me with much needed you-being-a-drunken-human-exclamation-point-entertainment last night, when I needed it most.
You see? my friends, foes, muffins and turtles. This is what happens when you are in the middle of comprehensive examinations. All that used to be of the utmost importance, like acne prevention and clean underwear consciousness, all fall to the wayside.
Stats:
Papers written: 4 1/2
Papers to be written: 1 1/2
Sleep: minimal
Food: sufficient, at the moment
Caffeine intake: high
Nicotine intake: high
Nicotine reserves: declining
Socks: matching and clean
Bra: n/a
Energy: high
Irritability: high
Self-esteem: moderate
Emotional state: secondary
Countdown: 6.5 hours
Additionally, I would like to add that random voicemails about procrastination with lovely lounge music in the background are welcome. I will be requiring more nutrients at some point, so if someone has some Ramen they're not eating, feel free to drop it by. Do not be frightened by the "by appointment" signage. Also, BFF, if you could pick me up some cigarettes, that'd be great, and if not, that's ok. This is due to the fact that you provided me with much needed you-being-a-drunken-human-exclamation-point-entertainment last night, when I needed it most.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
homeys and haters
"I need you right now..." *flings gang hand signal*
The world is a complicated place. You meet a lot of people to whom you can relate and a lot you can't. The latter are the kinds of interactions for which I used to hunt.
Lately, the desire of my heart has been to actively seek out those individuals in my life who dwell not only close to my heart, but who also share similar perspective and understanding.
Who are my doctors of philosophy? and why do I need their advice in the first place? And Amy Ray, will I really be closer to fine if I find these people out?
I don't know about all of that, but my hunch is the more stops I take along the road of life, the more I'll not only learn in general, but the more I'll know about myself. However, my problem seems to be that I have a difficult time leaving each pit stop. I don't know if that's necessarily a problem, but it sure does hurt my soul a lot.
I was driving on a sixty mile stretch of interstate in middle Tennesse this weekend on my way to Atlanta. The mountains were so beautiful. Most of the trees were still green but some of them had begun to change probably a week or so prior to my presence there. The ones that had begun their transition were a golden ambery color. The spotty gold among the ever green wonder of the wilderness through which the interstate tears was philosophical enough to make me cry. Then I just wanted to go to a Michaels for craft supplies and innocent child-like art creativity.
Maybe I'll go to Michael's tomorrow. Perhaps I'll pass some more pretty trees or maybe meet some new pit stops?
The world is a complicated place. You meet a lot of people to whom you can relate and a lot you can't. The latter are the kinds of interactions for which I used to hunt.
Lately, the desire of my heart has been to actively seek out those individuals in my life who dwell not only close to my heart, but who also share similar perspective and understanding.
Who are my doctors of philosophy? and why do I need their advice in the first place? And Amy Ray, will I really be closer to fine if I find these people out?
I don't know about all of that, but my hunch is the more stops I take along the road of life, the more I'll not only learn in general, but the more I'll know about myself. However, my problem seems to be that I have a difficult time leaving each pit stop. I don't know if that's necessarily a problem, but it sure does hurt my soul a lot.
I was driving on a sixty mile stretch of interstate in middle Tennesse this weekend on my way to Atlanta. The mountains were so beautiful. Most of the trees were still green but some of them had begun to change probably a week or so prior to my presence there. The ones that had begun their transition were a golden ambery color. The spotty gold among the ever green wonder of the wilderness through which the interstate tears was philosophical enough to make me cry. Then I just wanted to go to a Michaels for craft supplies and innocent child-like art creativity.
Maybe I'll go to Michael's tomorrow. Perhaps I'll pass some more pretty trees or maybe meet some new pit stops?
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