I Quit!

There is only one way to appropriately express my enthusiasm.

When Anticipation Strikes

I am actually starting to comprehend that Europe is a reality. And I would like to board the plane right now.

Usually I have a hard time thinking about the trip without worrying that (a.) E-Bear is still without official guardian for Month 2, (b.) I will have a nervous breakdown and recreate the events from my last "visit" to Europe and (c.) being on my own won't be all it's cracked up to be or (d.) being alone WILL be all it's cracked up to be.

Today though, I am just fucking excited.

Scary Admission

It's an odd day when I see my high school friends on Facebook and wonder if I am missing out.

I just saw the page of my high school idol (one of the many.) My mom would never let me hang out with her because she was "trouble" but I absolutely adored her. She was wild, romantic, spontaneous, beautiful, skinny, had two sets of parents. She had a beautiful older sister, and could speak in a somewhat educated manner about things like smoking and sex.

I'm not sure what she did those first years outside of high school but now she lives in Folsom, has all the same friends from town, and is part of the 2-3 kids club. Like a lot of the other girls I knew growing up, her pictures and status updates are filled with afternoon naps, swimming, yoga pants, 10am walks, outings with other mommies, trips to Costco, dates with much loved husbands, etc. If photos tell the story, she spends her days in jeans and cute sundresses, her friends are life-long, and she really seems to enjoy family, her mother, and the few drunk party nights she has.

Sometimes I think it would be much simpler to live that way, as opposed to being me. My constant need for newness, complexity, competition, and status make it difficult to be happy with family-land. But it's a rare day that I don't feel restless. She seems so calm and complete. It makes me wonder if there is really something to the whole 'husband and babies' thing.

Of course the flip side is that once you go down that road, there is no going back. And maybe she just looks like she's having a blast because those are the pictures on Facebook. No one ever advertises the boredom, apathy, and stagnancy of it all. I just wish I knew - does she ever look at my profile and wish she could be back on her own?

Why is Moving On So Hard?

A cliche image for a cliche lament. How does one deal with moving on, heading down that lonely open road?

I happened to read this blog post yesterday, and it eloquently expressed how I am feeling about life (today) perfectly. Like this author, I love change, I constantly talk about change, I go bat-shit insane when life is too boring, but I hate when I am forced to change before I am ready. Particularly when it comes to relationships.

Right now, I am pretty mad about some injustice done to me, so it's easier to think about leaving places and people behind, but I hate to think that my departure will be just as timely and meaningless to them as I pretend it is to me. That they'll all be better off when I leave for my new gig.

The shitty thing about moving on is this - you have to accept that the other person (or group of people) will ultimately move on too.

Bad-ass of the Week

Why I am Sick of Television

For me, the last recent opportunity for political outrage was the Obama/McCain election. I became addicted to Keith Olbermann - whose indignant rants were always mollifying - I fought with friends and acquaintances on Facebook, and I truly believed that if McCain and Palin won the election, America as I knew it would be destroyed.

All that emotion -patriotism, fear, and outrage were absolutely exhausting, and I temporarily swore off politics in November of 2008.

Then came the health care debate.

This time around, I have refused to get up-in-arms about any of the issues - I definitely wanted health care reform, but was not concerned that the world would end if it failed. I am excited to see it passed, and to see Obama sign it into law, but my excitement has been somewhat dampened by the hyperbole and hysteria of the other side.


The public is always susceptible to media messaging, and it's been disheartening to hear people with a LOT of influence (Limbaugh and Beck are the two that stand out in this case) using their influence to incite. I know that this happens on both sides, but the level of extreme and hateful things being said by the Right seems unprecedented to me. Encouraging people to do anything in their power to destroy and "crush" the Left. Saying irrational things like "Progressiveness is a Cancer that must be destroyed" - or - "these socialists must be wiped out" - or - "This is the end of prosperity in America forever." Comparing Obama to Hitler (when it seems to me that calling a group of people "a cancer" is closer to Hitler-talk than anything Obama has ever said.)

It's talk that gets people off the actual issues, encourages radicalism and violence, and whips America into a frenzy. Using words like "socialism" "communism" and "fascism" in this debate to describe what really comes down to extra regulations on insurance companies, is such a divisive and at best, unhelpful way for people who supposedly "love America" to behave. It gets us away from working toward common goals (even if our methods of achieving those goals differ) and puts us in this "us or them" mindset where nothing can ever be accomplished.

And they say I'm dangerous for the future of the country.

On Ulysses

I love this poem. You should too.

Not only that, but you should get your ass into gear, and go see the world. I mean, things turned out great for Ulysses in spite of the Lotus Eaters, Calypso, Hades, and the lot, they can turn out great for you too!

Sections of Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson

"I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name;

For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.

I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

Let My Boobies Go

In DBo's family, the tendency is to be super thin with a moderate rack. I mean, that's cool with me, I'm not one to hate on the fortune of others. I'm not particularly thin myself - I mean, I work at it, I'm fit, but I would say I am more of the "boobs-and-ass" variety than the "twig" variety. And that's generally cool with me too.

What bothers me, is that because I am curvy and they are not, I have been consistently held to a higher standard of prudish dressing than the women in DBo's family.

Whenever I wear something that is remotely cleavage-y, or a teensy bit shorter than normal, I get the same death stare I’d expect to receive if I walked in wearing stripper heels and a strap-on.

On the other hand, DBo’s sister is constantly prancing around in teeny rolled-down shorts (like she’s 13 and trying to impress a boy in PE class) spaghetti-strapped midriffs that seem to say ‘Yeah I’m slutty, who cares?” and dresses from Forever 21 that look more like slips than something one would reasonably leave the house in.

Yet somehow, this is all passable, because she’s a twig. And yes, she looks good in her outfits, but there is no way in hell I would get away with some of the shit she wears. (Proof: I have been pulled aside at family parties for wearing a v-neck.)

I decided to try and get around this issue this weekend at my engagement party, where I chose a somewhat tight/boob-a-licious Band-Aid dress.

In reality, it's the opposite of scandalous, but it shows a bit of tit. So in the eyes of the fam, it might as well be a thong.

I was super excited to wear this dress out, and spent the week before the party tanning, working out, and getting the necessary waxes. However, when I showed up on Saturday night, I saw DBo's sister in a conservative flowy dress, and his mom was in an age-appropriate skirt. Of course, I started feeling insanely self-conscious. And of course, as expected I got the surprised look from his mom that says, “You’re really wearing that!”

Long story short, I spent the first hour of the party pulling the hemline down and the neckline up, and it wasn’t until I had a couple of Flaming Dr Peppers that I began to feel like myself, and stopped giving a shit. I ended up getting quite a few compliments, a few that I didn’t hear about until after the party, and, I suppose that all-in-all it was a good outfit choice for a party that’s all about me.

What’s amazing to me though, is just how much the judgment of thin girls can turn me into an insecure wall-flower. The first hour, I was ashamed to be in pictures, I couldn't make eye contact, and I didn't feel like talking to anyone. It makes me sad that I try so hard to please people who don’t seem to understand that there are only a few years where you can wear crazy red dresses and not be called a “Cougar” or a “Home-wrecker” or a flat out "Slut" and that you need to take advantage of them.

I mostly hate the fact that I apparently need to have a minimalist body type to be able to wear what I want around my future family. Unless I develop an allergic reaction to food or boobs in the near future, this is a problem I don't see going away . . . . and I have no clue how to A. shut them up, or B. make myself stop caring. Fuck'n sucks.

An Unfortunate Symptom of Maturity

There are days when I wish I was "more mature," and had a better understanding of "it all," and there are days when I don't.

Today is the latter.

Today is one of those days when I realize that gaining perspective and wisdom is like leaving Plato's cave - once you've grasped certain truths, it's impossible to go back to the naivety you so enjoyed before. (I've also decided that seeing naivety for what it is is a big indication that you no longer possess it.)

You age with or without gaining wisdom, so I still think "wise" is the way to go, but I think it would be easier to go through life learning nothing, so you can retain the high hopes, bold courage, and open-mindedness of childhood.

Not to mention, the more you figure shit out, the more annoyed you get by everyone who hasn't.

I think about all the drunk evenings riding back on Cal train from San Francisco, not caring who saw me or if I even had a seat. Or walking down the street on a summer's day San Luis Obispo, requiring nothing but a friend and a hidden pipe to have the best day ever. Or befriending everyone I met, accepting the motives of everyone as pure.

Sometimes I even miss the times that made for the worst experiences but the best stories. Or the times when I was surprised by the way a situation turned out, for better or worse. With age, things become less volatile, and better overall, but as they say, the sweet isn't as sweet without the sour.

I find myself living now-a-days with the stifling lens of experience. I know what I like, I know what annoys me, and I generally know what warning signs to look for in any given situation, what triggers drama, what missteps could turn around and bite me, etc. With this clear sense of how situations might pan out, I have a hard time understanding or excusing people for their ignorance about "obvious" things. And I have a hard time just letting things ride, because I can see a mistake or a misstep as it's beginning to happen.

This is making planning for Europe a little bit harder than anticipated, because I know what can go wrong so I'm going a little bit crazy ensuring that it doesn't, wanting to plan things down to the last, carefully organized detail. Wanting to prove that I can "do this trip right" and without making the sorts of crazy mistakes that are probably part of most nomadic journeys across multiple countries.

It leads me to wonder, is this why so many people become "set in their ways?" Because they've done things differently or let things go in the past to their detriment? Stayed up too late and suffered at work, neglected to be on time and missed their ride, failed to pay attention and ended up in the wrong part of town, trusted the wrong person and gotten their shit stolen? Can we blame them for knowing what works, and sticking to the script? Should we look at this as stagnant rigidity, or as an awareness of outcomes?

And am I playing devil's advocate right now for everything that's wrong in the world, or have I stumbled upon an inconvenient and unsettling truth?

I Think This All The Time

Bad Things I Do That Cause Me No Guilt Pt. 5

I wear jeans when it's NOT Casual Friday. *Gasp!*

This is something I REALLY don't feel bad about. I work in Silicon Valley. I don't talk to customers. I spend most of my time on a computer.

Most importantly, does this look like the cube of someone in a suit? I don't think so.

Open Letter to an Ex

You’re probably surprised to be getting a letter from me. So, let me start by saying - I feel like there was never be a good time to write/send this, or any logical reason why it would be worth it to do so. However, sending this letter has been on my mind from time to time over the last year or so, and some things have happened in my life recently that made me realize ‘it’s now or never.’ So, here goes.

First of all, I wanted to say that I feel like such a moron every time I picture our last interaction in my mind (what I remember of it anyway.) I don’t want to imagine what sort of impression that left on you, that I had become just another crazy drunk girl. I guess I was for a couple of years, so, there’s that. But, I would hate it if you thought that was the forever me. I think at the time I was just still angry about all the ups and downs and impossibilities of knowing you, and, a daily diet of booze makes anyone a little bit emotional.So, sorry for that. I hope you understand where I was coming from.

I also wanted to say that I think it’s sad that our paths have diverged so completely and possibly irrevocably, but I understand why they did, and to be honest, I don’t think I would change it if I could. But I think it makes everything that transpired weigh a little more tragically in my head. That is one of those problems that has no solution, unfortunately.

Most importantly, I want you to know that when I look back on our whole fiasco/saga, I am painfully aware that it’s both the most impactful experience I’ve had in my life up till now as well as the experience I least understand, had the least amount of control over, and feel the least settled about. Perhaps one is a function of the other, but either way, I don’t like the distantly sad, confused, unsettled feeling I have whenever a song, dream, movie, reference, etc, brings something from that time to the front of my mind. What to do about any of that, I have no idea.

It’s really interesting to me now-a-days to think about how different I am from the days when you knew me. I think I’m a lot better, which I suppose is an unexpected benefit of maturity.

I remember you saying once that you thought I made all my decisions with my heart, and now I don’t think that many of my friends would say that about me. I sort of wish I had had the opportunity for you to know me as an adult because I think I finally started coming out the other end of the most difficult years of my life, and I am embarrassed frankly, that the last impression I made on someone who was so important to me at one time, was such a disaster.

I wonder if we’d even get along, if we’d even have similar world views today, or if all the commonalities are really gone. I think they might be.

I guess I don’t really know what sort of response I want from you. I’m not even necessarily looking for one. I just felt like, if I was going to tell you all of this I better just do it, so I could stop contemplating doing it and get on with my life. I got engaged last week, so I am ready to be done with you forever.

I’m sure you’ve been able to analyze everything in your head and draw some conclusion that brought closure to the whole thing, and I say, that must be nice. I just hope you know that17-23 were the most difficult, crazy years of my life, I’m sorry for most of our interactions during that time, and that, maybe in another life there will be a chance to work all the past shit out. That would be awesome.

Anyway, I hope this doesn’t seem too out of the blue. Hope all is well.

Sitting on Faces, Babies, and Doorknobs

So I was reading my best friend's blog and I thought I would look around to see who else is posting to Blogger. I clicked "next blog," and found this.

And this.

And this.

In fact, in over 30 blogs browsed, only 9 were not a personal account of someone's kinky sexual exploration. (And those 9 were almost exclusively about babies, but more on that later.)

The fact that so many people are blogging about sex - and fisting/spanking/donkey sex at that - leads me to think that there must be an awful lot of sexually repressed and unfulfilled people out there.

There's also a lot of people who are into some weeeeird shit.

Sexual fulfillment is so important, but its more than just the frequency with which you fuck. Sometimes it's less about the orgasm, and more about what you get out of it, whether it's an exhibitionist thrill, an intense emotional connection, or a pass from doing the dishes. With all the shit out there that tells you what you want, there is a lot of pressure to stick to the script. But it seems that the people who claim sex is as simple as putting a dick-in-a-box are the ones who come out years later with a fetish for doorknobs, a collection of men's thongs, or whatever this is. So it's probably better to be honest from the beginning about what you want (MUCH easier said than done.)

Side note - does anyone else find it odd that Fox is covering the Tiger Woods debacle as news when there are earthquakes in Haiti to worry about?

In the name of full disclosure, I should admit that I've got sort of a weird relationship with sex myself. Growing up in a religious household with a super overprotective mother, sex was the one thing that was off limits, no matter how broke or horny I got. I knew I would smoke some day, I knew I might try drugs, but I was NOT going to have sex. Ha.

In hindsight, I hope my parents can see that the whole "abstinence thing" never works out well, especially for curious girls with a rebellious side. I mean, I'm no donkey-girl, but I still feel like I have my own shit to sort out in the sex department. I guess when it comes down to it, I'd rather be spilling my secrets to someone I can trust, rather than sharing my shit online. But who am I to judge? They're just looking for a way to fill the hole. That's what she said.

My Dad - The Badass.

The stud on the right is my dad. Circa the late 1970's, he traveled across the United States with his Buddy Pat via motorcycle. This picture is the epitome of freedom, and pretty much sums up everything I want to be.

Here's the Thing . . .

It's been weighing on my mind lately what I should do with my life. Up until a certain time in our lives, we don't control the steering wheel. Yes, we choose our classes in high school, choose friends out of our hometown groups and associations, and have some say regarding the college or vocation we go into, but there is a lot of hand holding (at least for us lucky ones) from teachers, counselors, parents, along the way. Once you graduate college/enter the real world, are financially stable, and have tied up the loose ends from childhood, you take a second to stare down the horizon, and realize that there are no more flashing lights directing you where to go. You have complete freedom to realize your dreams, pursue your goals, fall in love with whomever and whatever you want.

You also have the freedom to do nothing. To be alone. To wander aimlessly. To fail.

One of the biggest realizations I've made so far in life is that freedom is scary. Maybe not for some people, guided by convention and the "shoulds" and "should nots" of life, but for people like me who see a truly blank slate, the only thing keeping you from failure or propelling you to success is you. It's exhilarating to be sure, but it's scary as hell.

I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world, but it's interesting to me that one of the things I crave most is what causes me the most anxiety on a day-to-day basis. If the dark underbelly of freedom and independence is fear, I'll still take it, but sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who gets it, and who is scared to death about which way to go.

More thoughts on this to come.