Three Quick Anecdotes for Today

Good luck: Twice in the last week, I've been given good luck by kitties!!! They say it's tremendous luck to find a cat's whisker and I've never ever found one before (seen other people find them, though.). Last Saturday Ein gave me a whisker when I was over at Alex's and last night I found one of Rupert's in the bed! I've never had so much kitty luck before, I feel really... um, lucky? I'm kind of leery though. Are the kitties saying, "Here's some luck... You're gonna need it!!!"

Compact Train: I was late to class again this morning (as usual) and I almost made myself later stopping to gawk underneath the train bridge. There was the strangest little contraption chugging by on the tracks, a little mini-train not much taller than a person. It was only one car long and quite square, with a little "caboose" tugging along behind it (like a trailer behind a car). There were two guys driving it along, sitting and looking out the rather large windows. I wonder what the hell it was?

Serendipity: Remember when I told you about Dale the winemaker in Belize? No, you probably weren't reading that. Anyway, most of the people we met from the US while in Belize were from the Pacific Northwest. Particularly ironic was the the fellow in the room next to us on our tiny island was from Portland. His name was Dale and he was there with a girlfriend for Christmas and New Years. I think we were there for the exact same length of time. Dale told us he made wine and sold it in Oregon under the Ken Wright label. Mostly Pinot Noirs for about $40 a bottle. He was pleased to know I'd lived near Sundance, he apparently knows the chaps over there really well. Anywho, the point is that when I went into work today Duncan was wearing a Ken Wright Cellars shirt and I though the label sounded familiar so I asked him if he knew a Dale and he said, "yeah, I worked with him!" I laughed. It's a small, small, world. Everyone got a kick out of that story.

And in closing, a random thought: I've discovered that it's both exceedingly hard to whistle techno songs and you sound really stupid trying to do it. Why won't they get out of my head?

Cuteweirdness
Today someone opened the door for me as I was leaving the EMU down by the buzz. I was on my way home coming out of the EMU with the intent to go stalk Alex (who had already gone home much earlier after a failed attempt to stalk me). I wasn't really paying attention to where I was going and almost opened the door on this guy who was coming in as I was going out. It was an unneccesary and comical gesture, really, because he didn't realize that the door was automatic. He was really quite small and a little disheveled, his backpack slung off one shoulder, listening to headphones he looked sort of distanced and maybe as though he had a slight mental handicap but not enough to make anyone pity him. I walked through the door and smiled. Said something very sweet and corteous (almost strangely so) as I walked through and I relplied, "thank you!"

He exclaimed (almost too enthusiastically) "Have a GREAT night!" as I walked by and then said something indestinguishable but obviously stumblingly chivalrous and sappy. I looked back to grin at him and thats when I realized he was trying to close the door behind him as he went into the EMU.

Uh, well, of course it was an automatic door and those doors stay open against pretty strong hydraulics until they're meant to close. So this little guy is trying to close the door behind him and just kind of hauling on it. And he just sort of looks at me embarrasedly and says "it's stuck!" and continues to pull on it for a second... at which point and I try not to laugh and say "well, it's a handicapped access door, they stick open."

And then the moment was over and I walked away, left with a sad but unbearably cute image of this befuddled stranger trying to close the door he'd just opened for me.

Paolo and Francesca
the road to hell is paved with good intentions

Is this poetic justice?
Sometimes I hate beeing a Seeker.
Damn my cursed Cassandra complex.
And still my aspirations remain, despite my best intentions to escape them.
Sigh.

Why there are no good men left
My grandmother (Oma) has this nasty habit of sending my highly ironic articles about my lifestyle. The articles are supposed to be a warning: they're all about "don't go dating in the long term," "don't live with your partner," "don't have sex before marriage," "let God show you your man," and so on. The irony is that... well... I've pretty much nixxed all of those and I'm not sure she knows. You see, I live across the country from my grandmother and while she's well-meaning, she's a bit exuberant, so we tend not to tell her things she doesn't need to know. Like the fact that I'm not Christian, I'm not hetero, I'm living in sin with my long-term partner and ... sex.... well, I'm not a virgin, to say the least. I don't know what she thinks but I suspect she may know more than she lets on. Or maybe she doesn't, she may just be wary that I'm a liberal and at risk of making ""bad life choices.""

The article was a review of The most recent article I received from her was forwarded from my mother. It was a book review of Barbara DaFoe Whitehead's book Why there are no Good Men Left. This post was originally written as a misguided rant about the intentions of Ms. DaFoe Whitehead who, in fact, I don't really disagree with after all. I THOUGHT she was blaming the self-centered initiatives of liberal, well-educated, career-minded women for their marriageless misery. Really, the review I have is just a pedestal for the reviewer to bitch about her own opinions... it's not really a book review at ALL. (It's strange though, b/c it's from the wall street journal... unfortunately, I can't find it online.) The REVIEWER makes the marriage problem out to be the women's faults. In fact, DaFoe Whitehead is simply stating a problem: there are plenty of thirty-some single women who are looking for love and not finding it. There ARE plenty of smart women who are fenagled into live-in relationships with men who have no intention of marrying them. It probably IS difficult for someone who has devoted so much of their life to building a solid paradigm and figuring out what they want to realize they they're lonely. And yes, I do worry that I'll end up pining for something I've lost when I reach 30 and discover that I've pushed away all my mates or that they've moved on to greener pastures.

I say my rant was misguided because I directed it at the author, who in fact means well but writes with a cheesy close-up self-help tone and perhaps patronizes women a bit (not nearly as bad as those bitches who wrote The Rules). I misunderstood her intent, and after reading an excerpt from the book and an interview, I think I get the gist a little better. I assumed she meant to be patronizing, to blame feminism and self-interest on unhappiness, but she didn't. She seems to support the women, just not the way they go about finding mates: namely internet hook-ups, speed dating and live-in relationships. That's not to say I don't necessarily disagree... it's just that I'm concerned with her philosophy. You see, I've already "fallen victim" to two of her dating no-nos. And I don't see anything wrong with it.

So perhaps I could rant about her book. But I'd rather rant about myself and about my grandmother's intent in sending me the article.

Obviously, I'm not looking for marriage. Most college women these days aren't. Believe it or not, this is a COMPLETE change from forty years ago. Scary, huh? Obviously, I'm someone who is attempting to find out what I want from life, romance included. I think it's pretty apparent that I'm afraid of ending up alone... but more than that I'm terrified of finding myself cornered into a relationship that I can't escape.

I guess what I have a problem with is Ms. Dafoe Whitehead's contention that, perhaps, these women should have husbands. After all, they want them. And they SHOULD be happy. But I don't think it's a problem of too few "good men." As any well-meaning male can tell you, there's certainly a lack of "good women" out there, too. (right, my fair feathered single male friends?) The problem seems to be that everyone who's on the playing field NOW has gotten off of it ten years from now and is involved in their own failing marriages, leaving the independent-minded people looking for leftovers and other soul-searchers like themselves. That is to say, society is punishing the indecisive for making the right decision. Confused? Here's some background:

FACT: Most people get married. Yup.

FACT: Most marriages fail. (That's over 50%)

STATISTIC: These "independent women" are more likely to stay single and support themselves for longer

STATISTIC: They're also more likely to look for what they want.

STATISTIC: They're also more likely to stay married when they get married.

PROBLEM: most people are already married by the time they're looking.

PROBLEM: most people get divorced.

SOLUTION: If more people WAIT to get married and LISTEN to what they want, fewer marriages will end in divorce and fewer thirty-something professionals will get shafted by the thinning population.

It's really sad that there are so many divorces. Really sad. I think divorce is a violent emotional, financial and legal affair that should be avoided at all costs. That's not to say I think one should settle for a bad marriage over divorce. Rather, I think one should avoid getting married until one knows their partner well enough to consider what might provoke divorce. People are always jumping the gun: on marriage, on kids, on their career, on everything. If they could just SLOW DOWN a bit, maybe life would last longer. No heart attacks. No high cholesterol. No divorces.

I think women SHOULD have high standards. But should women look for marriage? In a country where the divorce rate exceeds 50 percent, I beg to differ. Some people blame this on live-in relationships, other on dating standards, others on falling morals. Me, I blame common sense. Just because the divorce rate was LOWER in the 1950s doesn't mean couples (spec women) were happier, it just means it wasn't socially acceptable for them to go in search of the things that they, themselves, wanted in a relationship if it wasn't what they HAD.

Yeah, I realize accidents happen. Despite best intentions, there are always unplanned pregnancies and failed marriages. Despite the best eye, there's always the chance of ending up with Mr. or Mrs. Douche of the Century. I just wish people would THINK. It's not that modern women are too choosy or that men have gotten any less eligible, it's that people don't THINK before they ACT. At least the lonely people are thinking. At least the women waiting for Mr. Right are waiting. (Now, on the other hand, if they're pandering for marriage like Ms. Whitehead seems to be saying, they all need to figure out how many divorces they want to go through before they start testing out potential bachelors.)

That being said, I don't agree with what Ms. Dafoe Whitehead has to say about cohabitation. Her theory is that men like living together because it means that they can have a committed relationship without real commitment (read: marriage). Well, so what? What does "marriage" really mean anyway except a tax break? I'm living with my boyfriend and I have no mind for marriage. Yes, I'm only twenty (why should I?) and yes, I may someday. But I'm not in this live-in with the mind for marriage as a "next logical" (read: forced) step. I just wish that the author would have considered that only men seem to be able to be empowered in relationships and that only women want to get married. I always feel like I'm the only woman out there in the world who doesn't want to be tied down and that this makes me somehow evil. I have good intentions, I'm certainly not her 'conniving' male figure. I love my boyfriend very much! And HE'S certainly not her conniving male figure. But WE live together.

But she does seem to say one thing about cohabitation that I certainly think I agree with:

I do end up with a kind of caution about it. It often begins in a casual way, but very often one or the other [expects] that this is a start down the road toward a permanent commitment - only to discover that that might not be what the other person had in mind.

I do think there at least has to be a discussion ... about what it means and what your hopes might be. I did hear from so many women that they had a different expectation than their boyfriend and that was a shock to them.

I absolutely agree. I mean hell, sometimes I even wonder about my own intentions. You can never reduce a relationship to some simple, self-help "he said she said."

Still, I just get so sick of hearing all this marriage crap from my grandmother and these marriage-minded talking heads she mails me. I'd rather NOT be married and NOT play the field. I'm so INSULTED that she wants me to escape my current live-in (if she even knows about it, she may just have an uncanny sense of suspicion) and date around. Do I WANT to date around? If I did, I would! Someday, I may! But I really LOVE Justin and I WANT to be with him (surprise of all surprises!). I'm not "jumping the gun" here. I'm not wasting my life, as she seems to want me to believe. I haven't lost sight of my options. I simply think I'm doing what's best for myself.

Hell, it seems to me (right now) that there's no shortage of "good men" out there. I know several more than a handful, of whom I would consider lovely potential lovers, life partners, and mates. I'm blessed to think that at the age of twenty I've made good friends with a soulmate.

I'm an independent woman. I've got an education. I'm looking for adventure. I'm "career-minded" (read: not looking to pop out the babies). I have a live-in boyfriend.

I just wanna say FUCK YOU to whatever it is that's pissing me off even though I wonder if it's really that I'm scared to end up 30, finally looking, and alone. Am I taking my options for granted?

Still, I ain't gonna be nobody's bitch. Oma may have picked a decent author this time (except that the opinion of the reviewed she sent me was "NEVER live together!!!") but overall, she's way off the mark. I'm not going to be some good little Christian mommy. Period. I'm not going to be her version of a housewife. I'm certainly not going to stay a virgin til I get married (I threw that out the window when I was seventeen). So, Oma, go look for someone else to pop out babies... one of my sisters, maybe? I have bigger things on my mind.

on crack.
Yeah, I like how when you go to lay down and take a nice nap all of the sudden you're dreaming and your brain can be all like "ohmigod weeeeee!!!" and throwing all this black carnal chaos all around and you're all like "aaaah! stop!" and it just sort of giggles insanely and keeps going. Yeah, I really like that. My dreams are on crack.

I wish my dreams were actually dreamlike. I suppose this one was, it had a lot of abstraction, arms and legs and blood in the tangled blackness... but I wish I had dreams that were dreamlike in a soothing way, like driving through the mist or watching the hills unfold from the morning fog as I come over the river in the morning. I wish I had dreams blanketed in silence, instead of dreams wherin my subconscious screams blatant obscenities into my face. Sigh.

In other news, Justin showed me the most amusing Easter Egg ever in the LoTR extended edition DVD today. I won't tell you what it is but if you own it, go see it. It's in scene selection for chapters 24-27. Scroll down to the "council of elrond" scene and take it down one further. It'll actually go all the way past the last scene to the "new scene" annotation at the bottom. Select it. Watch. Laugh your ass off. It's pure blasphemy.

Independent Woman
WOOOOOOOOHOOOOOO!!!!! Weekend by myself at the house. Doing stuff independently feels really good sometimes, as does having solitary space. How refreshing to be alone. (but not lonely)

The give and the take
I saw both Bowling for Columbine and more Erotic Tales tonight. An interesting combo, since one (the latter) gave me hope for the world and the other makes me resent my nationality with a loathing beyond recognition. BFC was amazing, I have to say that much. It made me re-recognize just how apparent "fear culture" is in America. How even the most aware of us can't escape it. Someday I look forward to the opportunity to leave America, as much as I love it, and to go someplace less fearful and closeted (say, Canada?).

For now I'm content to finish my education and take part in the coming storm. So much absurd intensity has occured in our national politics over the last two years that it's almost impossible to believe it because it's so surreal. I am, without a doubt, completely overwhelmed by the impossibility of it all. And completely aghast.

But all things fall into place as they're meant to be. For the first time in forever, I'm not running from it or running towards it, I'm letting it move me. And suddenly it makes sense that fate would, of course, play out as it should.

I'm happier and more balanced than I have been in three years and I'm fucking petrified of losing it all. I don't know what to do with myself.

What do you do when everything is suddenly (almost too suddenly, so much that it smacked into you one day) perfectly aligned... when everything is within the realm of possibility? I plan on sitting back to enjoy it and marvel at the precarious balance of things. Eyes wide open, I want to move deliberately and gratefully with the knowledge that, at any moment, that balance could change.

No fear.
(this is, in part, a response to an elaboration on the previous post)
I've heard that to be truly free, you must live a life without fear. And I know, very personally, how paralyzing fear can be. I've sat for hours, days, weeks, months in indecision because I didn't have the strength to move forward. But I believe that there's more than one type of fear. There is the emotional fear that freezes you and steals away your strength. There is the metaphysical fear that causes you to stop for a moment before you jump and that fills you with elation as you fall through it. There is the fear that threatens you in the distance and causes you to embrace, unbearably and with great joy, everything around you. I think this fear can enlighten.

I am really, really scared right now. But it's not something that's gripping me and squeezing me to death. It's a fear that lurks in the corners and mirrors my every action back at me. This fear has made me take into account all the things I have to love and all the things I hold for granted. It's made me acknowledge my inner dreams and accept my stupid, meddling side. It's made me ALIVE. It's made me free.

If there's anything to inspire passion and emotional freedom, it's fear of having your way of life and the ones you love taken away from you. I've learned in many ways over the last three years that being threatened is an extremely enlightening experience.

I don't feel so good every day. I don't wake up every morning glad for the sunrise. But it does wash over me at least once a day now, that feeling of completeness. I also think that this yoga class that I'm in now is amazingly beneficial to maintaining my spiritual side. It's a phenomenal experience... I've never felt such joy as I have by just accepting the sancitity of life in this class.

There's nothing like weather like this to bring out the Seeker, said my teacher, It's times like these that make you embrace the sun in your life. When it's sunny all the time, it's hard to remember that there's something to be embraced.

I almost wept but I was grinning like a fool. I want to maintain this practice. I want to spend a few moments every day just bursting at the seams for all the things that are happening inside me. I want to constantly be reminded of what I value. I want to be too concerned with embracing what I love to remember the guilt and uncertainty that weigh me down. I don't want to be afriad to live ambitiously, I want to be afraid of what I'll lose if I don't.

I'm finding myself here, in this moment of fierce freedom. I'm finding myself with the promise of things lost. I'm finding that I'm not afriad to be afriad.

I don't want to go to war. I don't. I think it's the worst thing that could happen to this volatile world right now.

But this fear is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

(*** I want one of these***)

army men
I was coming to class this morning, on time for once, when I stopped on the steps outside Chapman hall. On the marble railing to the stairs was a cluster of army men, some standing plainly, others pushed into macabre combat, some with dismemebered limbs. To each was attached a small banner reading "securityrations.com." I took one.

An interesting website, a good philosophy, great "marketing." Certainly made my morning. But it also made me think about our impending combat situation. Next week, in all probability, we will find out if we go to war. Monday we recieve more input on the weapons inspection in Iraq. Tuesday is the W's State of the Union address. The Federal Reserve board meets wednesday. Obviously, OBVIOUSLY, there's an agenda here. We all know that by now. This isn't purely about terrorism. It isn't purely about oil. It isn't *even* about Bin laden. And it isn't only about some whack-job dictator. The US wants to assert its role as a global policeman. We want to put OURSELVES into the middle east.

My question is, does it really make sense to incite violence with someone suspected of housing weapons of mass destruction? How about two someones at opposite ends of the world? How about pissing off your alies who think that these "protective measures" are a baaaaad idea. We are so, royally fucked. Come September, I might be glad for the chance to be in Japan... oh, wait, except that Kim Il Jong II has his nuclear missiles trained on major Japanese cities. Shit.

Welcome to a new era. I wanna go home.

New Music
I think it's time to cycle out the old cd player and invest in an MP3 player. Hmm. So far the best (by far) for the money is, obviously, the iPod. It's the cadillac of MP3 players. A 5 gig player would be... um... MORE than enough. But... 10 gigs would be so nice.

I think I'll get one. But uff.... they're so expensive. AND I'd need a firewire card. Fudge. Will never have enough money. I suppose it's time to post my paypal account and beg. If lazy dumbasses can get people on the internet to pay off their credit card debt and buy them breast implants, I'm sure I can get some help with mp3s....

Brand name drugs
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naked painted chicks
Just got back from South Park and more Erotic Tales. Ended up hitting the Bijou with Ryan/Tara and Sara/Brad. When we got there there were two cop cars out front and we soon saw why. Four cops were schmoozing with/ citing two naked, painted girls (presumably with indecent exposure) and being very good humored about it. The girls were very enthused at the crowd coming in for the movie, too. Apparently they were "pulled over" during their evening perambular while biking/ skateboarding down 13th st. I guess they're glad it's a warm night. Huzzah for tasteful smut and real life!

You want me to do WHAT?
(BUMP)
"Hey," said the guy as he walked by the Oregon Voice office, "You wanna come spend time with us at the pro-life table?"
"What!?" I asked, my mouth stuffed full of sandwich.
He repeated himself.
"Uhhh, sorry, I have to go to class." It was the first thing that came to mind and also true, but I wondered why I didn't assert myself. Maybe I was planning subterfuge and if I hadn't had to class I would have infiltrated their ranks.
"OK," he said, turning away, "Are you pro-life, anyway?"
"Um." I said, "No, I'm pro-choice. It probably wouldn't be a good idea."
As he walked back to the campus republican office, I heard, "Oh well, nobody's perfect."

Yeah buddy, not everyone's an idiot either.
I would never, never in my LIFE get an abortion except in the most extreme circumstances. I would NEVER consider aborting a child if I could not do it within the first month of pregnancy (Read: with the pill). I would be able to go through with a clinic visit. I couldn't live with myself afterwards. With the penchant I have for reocurring dreams and the connection I have to life energy, I would have nightmares for the rest of my life. If this was enough, I'd say I was "pro-life."

But I can't say for sure; I haven't been there. All things considered, I believe my life should ultimately be own. There are times when I feel it is inappropriate to sacrifice one's freedom for a child. There are situations too painful to bear the memory. There should always be a CHOICE in every matter. No one should FORCE a woman to do anything. God knows we have enough assholes out there doing it anyway.

So, you stupid fuck, I am PRO LIFE. I'm just PRO CHOICE about it. Because a woman's right to choose is a SACRED RIGHT and no one should take that away from her. Because people always have, always will, used methods of convenience to rid themselves of unwanted pregnancies. If you take away safe, legalized clinics, they'll go to the black market, they'll take the dark herbs, they'll risk their lives to save their lives. This problem is centuries old and by legalizing safe termination we're closer to a solution than ever. Think about it.

And as he left, a woman went with him. Shame on her. Shame on all women who are against the right to choose. Value life, worship it, be in awe. Or don't; that's your prerogative. Pick your opinion and treasure it: I have. But leave the choice to the rest.

Dear Mr. President, I appreciate that National Sanctity of Human Life Day was Sunday. That's a beautiful sentiment there, sir, but fuck your double standard and hidden agenda bullshit. Happy anniversary, Roe vs. Wade.

Sophistry
I have an HC Colloqium this term with prof. Henry Alley. I've heard only good things about Alley and what a wonderful professor he is. Why, then, do I find him to be an arrogant prick and not likeable at all? Elitist professors should not teach FICTION writing when they don't realize that it's subjective.

The mirror
I'm standing before a mirror in a steamy room and clearing the fog from my reflection with the palm of my hand. I move over and over the surface but for every inch I uncover, the one before it clouds again. I move closer and closer, peering through the haze into the semblance beyond until the condensation thickens into beads and runs down the mirror. The image of self is finally clear. But it's not who I expected.

Balance for me it a bit like being caught in a tug-of-war. It's never, or rarely, gentle and close-to-center. It's far out to the edges, stretching me thin. It's bliss and agony. It's prohibition and admonition. Self acceptance and self-loathing. I tell myself I should because I edserve to and then feel guilty for taking too much and sharing nothing in return. When the rules change, that doesn't mean it's ok to break them.

Big Thoughts
Ah, beejus. I slept awfully last night. It might have been my apprehension. It might have been that damn movie. It might have been that after a weekend of staying up until 3:30 AM repeatedly, 1:30 was just too early a bedtime. In any case, I didn't SLEEP (just hallucinated) until about 4:30. Then I had crack dreams. About high school of all things. My life feels like high school. Strangely, this is not a bad thing. It is not a maturity thing. It is a change thing. Things are changing.

I've been having BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG thoughts. Oh yes, how I have. Big, scary, life changing thoughts. Big thoughts that when you think them you're like, "Whoa, did I just think that? Why would I think something like that? Do I realize what the hell thinking this will do to my life?" Yes, those kind of thoughts. The thoughts that are lines in movies and don't really happen to you.

So... either I'm crazy or I'm lying to myself. It wouldn't really be anything new except now I'm actually THINKING these thoughts and they're not just there, somewhere in the back of my head.

A constant pattern of change. A spiral. A circle. An orb revolving and turning within the sphere of a thousand interconnected lines. The cyclical balance. Prophecy. Synchronicity.

I'm listening to these big thoughts. And that's why turned in today an application to spend a year abroad. That's why I have to go away. Because, invariably, these thoughts will screw things up. And going away is the only way for me to, as they say, get them in order. Sort them out. Prioritize.

I'm removing myself from the situation. It's a bit like Bilbo's disappearing act at his hundredy-eleventh birthday.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the beginning of the end. It has been a pleasure. I bid you, not quite suddenly (call it foreshadowing), adieu.

Photos from Belize
I'm sure none of you really cared for or read my Belize chronicles and I did really put them there for the sake of my own memory. But I think that there might be some interest in photos so I pulled all the good ones off the digital camera and shrunk them down. Here's a sort of photo history of my trip. I won't go to the trouble of linking them to the diary or even really chronicling them by day. I'll just group the pics by some sort of semi-random characterization. Whee! (All the links lead to different pictures)

The Hotel
-- This is the place we stayed. I took a number of pictures of it from outside and on the balcony, so you can easily see what we saw when we got up every morning.
-- Here are three pictures of the hotel from the dive boat as we were coming back into the Island: (Pic One, Pic Two, Pic Three) The second story windows facing the water were the windows to Tim's room. Justin and I had the next room over which, unfortunately, didn't have a view of the sunset but it actually got dark pretty early so we were usually up and about when it happened. Ah la. -- These are three pics of the beach from our balcony. (Pic One, Pic Two, Pic Three)
-- These are two pics of the balcony itself-- don't ask me why. (Pic One, Pic Two)
-- This is the beach from down below.
-- The Hotel was right on the water and had lovely chairs and tiki lights for watching the sunset.
-- There was even a freaking hammock!!
-- A stormy looking beach.
-- A real iguana!!

The Island
-- Hmm... some random pictures of Caye Caulker itself so you can get an idea of how small it was.
-- Three pictures of the island from the airplane. (Pic One, Pic Two, Pic Three)
-- The island from the water. (Pic One, Pic Two, Pic Three)
-- Pictures of the wild part of the island on the other side of "the split." (the island was split in half by a hurricane) (Pic One, Pic Two)
-- The sign for Happy Lobster, the stupidest restaurant ever.
-- Rasta Pasta and One Love Jewelry.
-- A shack. Actually, it's a house. Most of the houses looked like this. Considering the weather, they're probably quite cozy.
-- An old, abandoned hotel near the split, which was never finished.
-- Three pictures of main street, the ONE STREET in town with shops on it. We walked down it every day. Multiple times. (Pic One, Pic Two, Pic Three)
-- The liquor store near our hotel and its notorious mural. (Pic One, Pic Two, Pic Three)
-- Go Slow.
-- The sign for Habaneros, one of the few good restaurants on the island.
-- Oh, and this cracks me up... I saw this guy's house on the way off the island the last day we were there. A jamaican zealot? (Pic One, Pic Two, Pic Three)
-- The sign for the ice cream place we ate at every day. What is Craboo??
-- Another random house.
-- The one-room airport.

Lamanai Ruins
-- These pictures are from the trip to the Mayan ruins of Lamanai that we made to the mainland.
-- This is Gustavo, our guide.
-- Belize city... cramped, small, and dirty.
-- Arriving to the dock at Lamanai.
-- A random bird showing off its plumage. (I wish I had a picture of the giant iguana)
-- An ibis on the river trip. (Pic One, Pic Two)
-- A menonite village on the river.
-- The stela replica and temple.
-- A relief of a big head on a mayan temple. Looks like it's about to sneeze. (Pic One, Pic Two)
-- The frumpy tourists hiding underneath a tarp on the way back up the river. This is what they looked like up close. God, they were obnoxious.
-- The high temple.
-- Two jaguar reliefs on the first mayan temple we were allowed to climb. (Pic One, Pic Two, Pic Three)
-- Me swinging through the jungle on some vines. Seriously. It r0xx0red.
-- Close-ups of two of the temples. (Pic One, Pic Two)
-- A temple through the trees.
-- The back of a temple. Seriously, you couldn't tell it was there where it hadn't been excavated.
-- The harbor in belize city. Look at all the little boats! (Pic One, Pic Two)
-- The "Pup Again" Billboard on the way back to belize city.


Scuba diving
-- This is the dive boat that we went out on. These pictures were taken the first day we dove. It was not a pretty day.
-- On the last day, it was much nicer. You can get a better feel for the activity of the boat when everyone's not clinging to the side and vomiting.
-- This is how clear the water was.
-- Justin and I getting ready to dive.
-- Justin prepping his tank.
-- Justin and tim on the bow of the boat.
-- Me in the water.
-- Justin and I happy to FINALLY be having a nice day to dive. (Pic One, Pic Two, Pic Three)
-- Tim on the bow with one of our divemasters.
-- Me in my wetsuit with braids.

The Bar
-- Adrian, the bartender.
-- The bar from the outside.
-- Inside the bar.
-- Allllll the liquor. W00t.
-- The iguana from the bar that Justin wanted desperately to take home. He took fifty pictures of the damn thing, I swear.

Random people we met and glamor shots
-- Paula braiding my hair. Click here for the other pictures of my braids.
-- All three of us at breakfast on the last day.
-- Chester, the innkeeper's cat.
-- Justin, fearing coconuts!!!
-- Dale, our neighbor and a winemaker from Portland, Oregon.
-- Francisco from San Francisco. God was he weird but he played a mean harmonica.
-- I drew ahappyface on Justin's back with sunscreen. Kawaii!
-- Me on the beach.
-- Noah, this kid I met at the last breakfast. (He is SO cute.)<
-- Noah posing. (Pic One, Pic Two)
-- Pelicans!!!

Coming Home
Belize, Days 11-12

Day Eleven- 1/1/03 [The New Year]
7 AM Somehow I wake up early and I'm not tired. It's overcast again. Not a good day to go to the Blue Hole after all, at least. I feel a little emotionally hung over after the guilt of being so distant last night. I had troubled dreams of a future life in which Justin and I have three children (2 boys, eight and ten eyars old and a girl of fourteen mos.) and live an empty, affluent life. I'm insecure. I lay awake until Justin responds to me and eventually we talk about dreams, comfort each other, and fall back asleep. After that, I have a few weirdly erotic dreams with the same futuristic theme but somehow they seem more trite. It's still a while before I shake my discomfort.
10:30 AM We crawl out of bed a second time. I feel strangely delerious. We should have gotten out of bed earlier... now we'll have a hell of a time finding breakfast. If anything WAS open, it's closed now. We get stuck at the Happy Lobster, the crappiest restaurant around. EVERYONE on the island is there, as it IS the only place open. The one waitress is an absolute bitch and warns us coldly that we won't get our food for a long time. We don't doubt her but what choice do we have?
12:10 PM Oh yes, we should have gotten up earlier. I'm hungry as hell now and Tim tells us that he's going snorkeling at 12:45 with or without us. At 12:20 the waitress comes but with the wrong order and she takes it away. Don't temp me, I'll KILL you!! It's my low blood sugar speaking.
12:30 PM The food finally arrives. We've been waiting an hour and a half or more. The order is, of course, wrong, but we eat it anyway, and quickly. We leave short change on the table and run out to get our gear. I forget the camera in the restaurant.
12:45 PM Thankfully the camera was still at the restaurant. We get to Carlos' snorkel tours just in time... err... well... we're not really sure why we were worried being that everything here runs on "island" time and he leaves 20 minutes late. The water is calm and there are spotty clouds. A front lies low on the horizon. We leave the island for the reef and I see three flying fish on the way there.
1:30 PM This place is called "Shark-ray alley," I can see why. As soon as Carlos parks the boat there are five nurse sharks and as many southern sting rays underneath us. Justin and I wear our wetsuits even though the water is warm. We get in and touch the sting rays as a guide brings them up for us. They don't look nearly as majestic (and are a lot smaller than) the spotted eagle rays we saw before. They're kind of gnarly and scratched up from too many close calls with divers and boats. We see a ton of fish on this snorkeling trip. It's nice to finally hear what they're called. One large barracuda. At the end, Carlos and his assistant gather the sharks and rays with food and we touch them. The sharks feel like sandpaper, the rays are smooth and slimy. Frankly, I feel dirty upsetting the ecosystem like this (the rays either eat or breed... if they're being fed like this, they're not breeding) but I'm gleeful just being close to sea creatures.
2:30 Hol-chan marine reserve is stop 2. This is where we dove on the second day, a familiar site. Not much to see, really, and my mask keeps bugging me. I almost regret wearing the wetsuit as it makes free-diving much more difficult.
3:30 PM The front is moving in. We make one more stop on the way back to the island at a shallow reef. We see tons of moray eels here: golden-tailed, spotted, and one great big gray one. I find a small, empty conch shell that I take back to the boat with the intent of taking home. The guides let me keep it when they see that it is empty... but after a few minutes of being in open air, a crab emerges from the shell. I throw it back.
4:30 PM Home again to shower. We decide to eat at the Rainbow for last supper.
6 PM On the way to the Rainbow I buy a large conch shell from a street vendor we've passed many times. It's only $10US.. certainly costs more than it took him to find it but I sure haven't been able to FIND a shell this nice. It's worth buying it just because the man offers to sell me Ganja after I buy the shell. No thanks, I say, we're leaving tomorrow so tonight's not the night. But I get enough at home. He laughs.
7 PM At the Rainbow I order conch. I guess I'm feeling adventurous. Tim tries to get another "baileys colada" and fails. The bar here isn't classy enough to know to leave out the pineapple or strawberry syrup. Euugh. I notice that now that I've been here a week, my pace has slowed to the island crawl. It no longer bothers me that it takes 2 hours to get the food. I'm certainly shrugging off things more easily than I did when I got here. I feel laid back and tan. The conch is decent, if underseasoned.
8:30 PM We come back to the hotel for our last night at the bar. We rack up the bill as a farewell to Adrian. He's intent on getting us plastered. I don't really object. He starts us off with mixers, a "Passionate Iguana" for me and a colada for Justin. To our amusement, there's a rather unhappy fellow outside in the bushes sleeping off his drunkness. At least he won't be likely to get hit by a golf cart or run anyone over in the two minutes it'll take him to get home. We do shots. Lemon drops and buttery nipples. Adrian plays my Dave Matthews CD. It's lovely. We meet a strange gentleman named Francisco from San Francisco and he plays the harmonica to the CD while I sing. I sip a tequila sunrise and do karaoke to "Lie in our graves." Last call is 9:30.
10 PM We chat with Dale on the balcony before bed, sprawled out on the railing. We hope the world hasn't gone to war with Iraq while we're away. We certainly wouldn't have found out while we were here. Everyone is going home. Vacation is over... sadness ensues. We decide to pack in the morning and stumble, drunk, into bed. The geckos are quiet tonight.

Day Twelve- 1/2/03 [The Final Day]
7 AM We hear Dale and Barbara leave before we get up. Time to pack. I put my things together and Justin reluctantly leaves bed. It's easy to re-pack, just a matter of finding everything and shoving it into suitcases. Justin is almost out of money. I'll have $100 left in travelers checks... enough for sushi and groceries when we get back.
8 AM B-fast at Cindy's. Excellent egg and bagel. Meet a lovely 3 year old named Noah. Take pictures with him and give him a coaster that was in my purse. He proceeds to beat it up rather adoringly.
9 AM Buy the family souvenirs. Enough for $20 departure tax and $50 plane ticket (as well as $100 surplus) left. I sunbathe in a bikini as long as possible and soak up the last sun I'll see for six months.
11:30 AM Tim and I take out a sea kayak for 20 minutes to look at the island from the outside. I really want to go swimming but there isn't enough time to shower. Sigh. When we come back there is a big iguana sitting on the dock to see us off. We change and depart via golf-cart to the airport. Things here are all smiles, even goodbyes. Come back someday, they say.
1:20 PM Our flight is on time. We have plenty of buffer between connections today but are, or course, still leery. On the way from the island to the mainland, the small plane is so full that I get to sit in the copilot's seat. What a cool experience!
2:00 PM Crash at airport restaurant for two hours. Meet Dale and Barb there. The airport was fogged in this morning so they've been moved up to our flight. We browse the gift shops and buy yet MORE hot sauce and shot glasses. We then discover the joys of DUTY FREE LIQUOR. A Litre of Absolut Citron is EIGHT BUCKS and a litre of Bacardi Limon is SIX FIFTY. We buy the citron and later regret not getting the limon. What were we thinking?
5 PM Flight to Dallas on time and uneventful except for STUPID screaming child across the aisle from us. Kill her please. I read the book The Red Thread. It's escape fiction and stupidly sentimental but helps me zone out.
8 PM Customs is a piece of cake. They REALLY don't give a shit. I could have declared a slave-child and gotten away with it. In fact, I just realize that I got through TWO airport security screenings AND customs with a WEAPON in my backpack (a small leatherman). oops. We eat dinner at TGIFridays. Hooray for american food! But, god dammit, I can no longer order cocktails. NOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Our waitress is on super-overdrive, evilly hyper. SO AMERICAN. I don't know whether to slap her or hug her.
10 PM God, it's still another four and a half hours to seattle. Time to set the clocks back. UGH. At least there's a nice girl next to me. I talk to her and realize suddenly that I'm no longer talking like a Belizian with that strange, lilting anunciation. I guess it's good to be home.

********************************************

These Are The Days
I never know how to describe it when my life is wrapped in bliss. I always have so many more words for depression. Happiness is so much easier to accept. Depression, in its negativity, is something we have to dissect to understand. Happiness we take for granted. But no, not this time. I'm savoring this. I don't know what it is but I feel so full, like I've finally accepted what's been plaguing me and I'm moving forward toward it. I don't feel guilty or ashamed, only afriad. But you can't fear the inevitable too much because it's going to happen anyway.

I figured out what the Echo is. It's not really a Chrysalis, but it could end in one. It's another period of Limbo, like the sepia summer before I moved from Michgan. It's the inevitability of change. It's my whole past stretched out before me, being able to see every moment of time and wonder at just how perfectly and wonderously it was formed. It's having utter hope for the future and fearing the worst so much that nothing positive escapes your grasp in the present. It's not being afraid to play the board a little bit, to finally face up, to let go a little, to love with abandon, to admit things to yourself. It's floating in freefall, fearing the bottom but loving every terrible and wonderful moment of descent. I'm so afraid, I'm so fucking afraid. The last time I went through stasis, I came out all torn and spend two years in deep depression. But the terror of those two years was mostly induced by an insane lonliness and the blackness of the place that is Bellevue. I'll come back if I go this time. I'll come back and I trust the maturity and love of the friends I have now. I'll come back because this place is Home in some way, and my heart belong here for a few more years. I just need to go away to find out where inside me it belongs. There are always so many questions. And I have it so good right now, but it can never last.

Yesterday I got two stickers while I was at Sundance market, some of those little hippie stickers. One reads "SIMPLIFY," the other, "my friends kick ass." I look at them from my computer and I think happy thoughts. Little bubbles rise to the surface of my mind, all the things I've done to bring me here and how I never want to leave. The song on my playlist is These are the Days by the 10,000 maniacs:


These are days you'll remember.
Never before and never since, I promise, will the whole world be warm as this.
And as you feel it, you'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky.
It's true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.
These are days you'll remember.
When May is rushing over you with desire to be part of the miracles you see in every hour.
You'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky.
It's true that you are touched by something that will grow and bloom in you.
These are days.
These are the days you might fill with laughter until you break.
These days you might feel a shaft of light make its way across your face.
And when you do you'll know how it was meant to be.
See the signs and know their meaning.
It's true, you'll know how it was meant to be.
Hear the signs and know they're speaking to you, to you.

I was up until 3:30 in the morning last night just talking. It's been a while since I've done that, especially online. And it was a conversation that pretty much spanned the depth and breadth of my range of emotions but came out at a higher point than I would have expected. These days, I never cease to be amazed at the power of human will and human emotion. We don't know where we're going but somehow we'll get there, those of us who go together.

I think I might drown in joy depite my fear and despite my lonliness. Sometimes everything is just too beautiful for words.

Whitechocolatespaceegg
This Liz Phair CD is my new favorite thing. It's been almost a year since Cat gave me this album and I finally started listening to it. Truth be told, I really like some of the songs and the rest I hate. But the ones I like make up for it:

And it goes around in circles
One night is lovely, the next is brutal
And you and me are in way over our heads with this one
It's hard to admit it
But you hold me and I can't feel you
We hurt but we smile

PARTY ANNOUNCEMENT
Snub Valentines Day!
We can all pretty much agree that Valentines Day sucks. Frankly, I'm of the mind that Valentines Day sucks all-around; it's just a capitalist plot to sell us sentimental, saccharine bullshit in the form of tacky heart-shaped confections. Yes, it can be lame even for people who are not single. It's lame because it's the stupidest holiday ever. I hate Valentines Day.

But I'm getting off track.

V-day is on a Friday. We all know what that means, yes? Yes? Mmm? A... party? But I'm not talking about some lame-o techno-blaring spin-the-bottle singles kegger. I'm talking about a tastefully communist anti V-day party. Without stupid frat boys. Without Pabst and Miller Lite.

We're building up a home bar. Today we went shopping and got... thirteen mixed drink glasses of various varieties, a cuisinart (for crushed ice beverages), a cocktail shaker/ strainer, bottle stoppers, shot pouring nozzles, drink measurers, a pitcher and... well, I already own thirty shotglasses, three wine glasses, four highballs and some plastic cups. We've got the basics.

So. Howzabout this? A about a cocktail party: a tip your hats and snub the mindless masses party.

Here's the premise. We'll stock the liquor cupboard with the basics: citrus vodka, plain vodka, dark tequila (for shots), light rum, light tequila (for mixers), all the things to ensure some drinks. We'll have the ice, the orange juice, the sprite, the limeaid, the cream, the lime juice, the olives, the everything of assembly. But we want to be able to make a few out of the ole' New York Bartending guide. So. I'll suggest that everyone bring a bottle of something extra, the non-basic stuff. We're not looking for anything expensive, just additions that'll allow for some fab concoctions. Here's the list of potentials in descending order of the coolness of drinks we can make with them:


-baileys (for mudslides, white russians, milkshakes, etc)
-kahlua
-blue couracao (W00T. Blue Hawaiians...)
-dark rum (the cap'n, etc, for mixers)
-buttershots (butterscotch shnapps for "buttery nipples," to die for)
-triple sec
-grenadine
-amaretto
-more cheap rum or tequila (for frozen drinks)
-add'l limeaid, coconut milk, pineapple juice, etc
-vermouth (martinis?)
-flavored schnapps (peppermint, peach, etc)
-gin
-scotch
-bourbon
-brandy
-sherry
-sake
-add'l flavored vodka
-tonic water
-b33r (we don't buy this because we don't drink it)

I know, this is a transparent attempt for us to stock our liquor cabinet. You gotta start somewhere, right? *innocent eyes* If you think it's a good idea, RSVP. If you know what kind of liquor/ supplies you want to bring, let us know so everyone doesn't bring peach schnapps. (And if you have a million dollars and you want to contribute, I'll only pretend to complain.) We've got a while to coordinate on this.

If I know you, you're invited. Lord knows as usual there will be "entertainment" a-plenty in exchange for drinks. This time of year we can have fires in the fireplace, hot tubs in the cold, and other seasonal enjoyments (like what? I don't know...) And anyway, I think I just read about the coolest party game ever, Eat poop, you cat! (Thanks to Tara!!!) So. Howsabout another party? It's been a few months since our last one.

erotic tales
WOW. Good sex. Why else wouldn't I get up till 12:30 in the afternoon?

Oh, and you might want to check this out, especially if you're in Eugene. The Cultural Forum is presenting Erotic Tales through the Bijou. They run until the 30th, are only $3 per student, and pretty damn worth it.

reality tv
Wow. I just did something that went so completely, putridly against my moral existence. And I think I might go back again, just for kicks.

Well. What's that they say.... when life throws you a bone, grab it? I was walking out of the rec center when Kasey, one of my Gym Guys, stops me to chat. He says he's on his way to a psych experiment but he's all excited because he just got callbacks for some movie audition they're doing. Movie audition? I'm like, holy shit, where? In the EMU, he says, it's for a "Spring Break" movie. My heart sinks. Not another one of those. Fuck. Oh, but WAIT, it gets BETTER. This movie is a REALITY movie by the producers of The Bachelor. They'er sending college students to Cancun (surprise.) for Spring Break and filming them. Wait. This is exciting? Ok, whatever.

Anyway, if you know me, you'll know I'm far too curious for my own good. And I'm an experience junkie. So. Since I now know about this entirely by happenstance, I decide to go see if I'm interesting enough. That Karma? I didn't really get very far, all things considered. When I got to where they were doing the audition, I found out that they were only looking for groups of friends (2-8 peopel). Me, being solo, they weren't interested in.

I left but with the knowledge that they'll be there until 6 or 7 PM tonight. And I've also got the knowledge that none of my friends will want to go back and make humiliate themselves with me. BECAUSE NO ONE BUT ME IS ADVENTUROUS ENOUGH TO WANT TO DO STUPID, FUN, HUMILATING THINGS!!! Lame. Ok, so even if I did get together one of my two groups of friends to go to the audition, let's face it, we're not "NORMAL" by any standards but we certainly aren't what they want: abnormal enough to be outwardly different or normal enough to entertain viewers with copious drinking and slutty, immature behavior. And that's it in a nutshell. We're far too mature. We'd be the only people there actually behaving like adults and doing fun things while everyone else poked each others' eyes out with cocktail umbrellas.

For a moment I thought, sadistically, how amusing it would be to get Alex and Justin to go with me. At least we have a story to tell and we wouldn't just be like "uhhh, yeah, we're an assorted group of geeky people who like each other and are generally kinky and open-minded." (Wait. Come to think of it, that doesn't sound that bad!) But. Fat chance either Alex or Justin would stoop so low as to pander (even for entertainment value and not for real) to the reality television network.

Let me keep things straight: I loathe reality TV. It fascinates me but I find it morally repugnant. So standing up there thinking about going in there and bullshitting with their interviewer was a serious lapse in my ethical code. On the other hand, I'm a complete heat seeker for attention. I want my fucking fifteen minutes of fame. And someday I'm gonna have it, even if I do it making a total fool of myself.

At least I'll have had some fun!! NER!!

sunshine doggie
Another amazingly beautiful day. I just left Japanese class and someone had their dog tied up outside while they were somewhere in the building (doing what? going to class?). I don't know what they were thinking but I'd never leave a pet roped to a bike rack by itself on this campus. I don't trust people that much.

What th' devil?
I noticed before I went to bed last night that my counter was slightly below 13,000. Today (right now) it reads 13,171. What. The. *&$%? I've had one hundred ninety-five individual hits today. My average isn't much higher than usual, so it means this is a new occurence. *I* sure haven't been spamming my blog. I didn't even have time to get online today before I put in the "flashback" entry around 5 PM. Besides, I usually only add about four or five hits to the daily. But. 195? Jeebus.

It must be in some way related to me mentioning Kitana Baker's boobies (<--- new keywords) in my "boobies" entry. She's apparently a hot topic right now. (Gee, could it be the fake breasts? I wonder.)

Yes, yes it is.... I'm the number two hit on google for KITANA BAKER MILLER LITE. Does this make me proud? Nah. Scared? Yes. Will I now post naked pictures of my titties? You better believe it! I mean, uhh, no. Nothing of the sort. Forget I said anything.

Well, um. Hi, everyone. I don't talk about the female anatomy or vibrators every day but I hope you stick around.

slippery when wet
Why the fuck didn't someone tell this to my mom when I was sixteen and she confronted me about the vibrator she found when "cleaning my room"? She didn't even get the drift when I went out and bought another one and she "accidentally" found that one, too. (It was under my MATTRESS for fark's sake, WHO LOOKS THERE ACCIDENTALLY???) After years of anguish over the twisted mind of her eldest daughter she finally gave up and pretended for a while that I didn't exist. Now she realizes I'm an adult and even shares some lewd humor with me.

I'll bet she kept those vibrators for herself. Skank.

Where was Savage Love when I needed him?

Flashback
There's a certain distinct feeling to mornings spend sleeping in and slacking off. This morning, I took Ryan's advice and skipped my Japanese lab to sleep a few extra hours before coming in to campus. It was magnificent... much better, in a way, that getting up late on the weekend.

I've been floating about in the cocoon of cottonheadedness that comes with having a cold. But this particular cold is special. It seems to have an Echo attached to it. What is an Echo? An Echo is an emotion, a feeling, a taste, a smell, and essence of something that attaches itself to a particular moment so that it becomes similar to all moments before in which the Echo was present. These are often "old" or strong feelings that signify an important time period, memory, or moment. Usually an Echo is important. Sometimes they signify the breaking of a Chrysalis or a tremendous epiphany. More often, they just preclude some realization. I'm not sure if this is an important Echo or not. As far as Echoes go, it only causes me a slight amount of discomfort. And I didn't really have a hard time associating it with where it came from.

This Echo is the Echo of another cold, during another winter. Perhaps the Echo of every winter cold I've ever had. But more than that, it is an Echo of tiredness and the feeling of waking up with sleep still in the bones. It brings back images of the winter of my Freshman year in high school, walking through the dimly lit halls to Biology class. After class I'd meet Lesley in the hall with a cry of Kiyone-oneesama! and we'd hold hands the way best friends do before they're taunted about their sexuality. This Echo brings back mornings in my old house in Michigan when I'd get up for high school in the dark and everything was butt-ass cold. This Echo brings back the few mornings I spent with Justin in his apartment on Capitol hill in Seattle, when we still conspiritorally spent weekends together without telling my parents. There's something about the light in those memories that comes to me now.

I think this is an Echo of settling in. When I wake up and putter around the apartment now, it's more than a temporary house, it's a home. I'm comfortable in my routine. I wonder, too, if the Echo is trying to tell me something else, something that I'm not seeing. Or maybe it's just a comfort in times of turmoil.

God, how much I love college. I love stupidly wild mood swings. I love being passionately in love with everything and hating it oh-so-much. I love having too much and too little to do, shouldering responsibility and blowing it off. I love experimentation and openness. I love sticking to my goddam guns. I love sex and I hate sex. I love and I hate myself. I want it all and I just want silence. I worship this orgiastic life. I have so much HOPE for it and so much FEAR that it will crush me. I am in AWE of existence. I am petrified with ecstasy. Even when I hang my head and weep in lonliness, it's with the greatest appreciation for that sorrow.

I do get a bit tired of the circles. I wake up every morning in the grey light and want to stay in bed. I'm so filled with love and wonder and so heavy with sleep. I look over at my partner and see how beautiful he is. I love every little thing about him. I love my house. I love my cat. I have so much hope for the day. I get up, I go. The middle of the day is a limbo between obligation and voluntary activity. By the end of the day, obligation and routine have won over and are crushing me, crush me, until late in the evening when I just lose my mind and it all goes to shit. After dark, after I've spent nine hours in front of the computer, I'm just tired of all the bullshit. I'm tired of being lonely and ignored. I'm tired of selling out and busywork. I'm tired of hiding things. I just fucking hate it all. I want to be alone. I want to tear it all down. By the time I go to bed, I'm loathe to be touched. When I wake up, it's all gone again and the circle repeats.

Sigh.

Oh well. I guess I like it all in some way.

God, today was so classic. What a beautiful day. It was sunny and crisp and I kept running into people all over campus. I know so many people now... it makes it hard to get things done. I've got two major circles of friends; one from work and the other from the honors college. Usually only about two degrees separate anyone from either group of people. And then I know about a billion random people on the side who usually are friends with some other of my friends and coincidentally or consequently know me.

I walked into the Buzz today and I was struck by how much my life feels like Saved By the Bell. There's that overcurrent of friendship, amity, and innocence with an undercurrent of a twisted history and drama. I can't walk into this coffee shop and NOT know someone there (that's what made me think of Saved by the Bell). I can't walk across campus and not meet at least three people on the way. As much as I'm grateful for this and love the company, it does make it difficult to get things done. It also makes the world feel so much more (comfortably?) small. When I came here I knew NO ONE (except Alex). I thought I'd end up either singly isolated or part of a group of friends (like in high school) that kept itself separate from the others. I never imagined I'd be a part of circles so large, interlinked, and expanding that everyone I know is separated by only a few degrees. It never ceases to amaze me.

I don't know if I'll be able to convince myself to leave here. I'd love to go abroad and learn about myself and the world (not to mention, learn the damn language I'm struggling with)... but I love it here so much. I don't want anything to change when I leave.

Ruins
Days Nine and Ten in Belize

Day Nine: 12/30/02 [Maya]
6:30 AM Ugh. Too damn early. We have to catch the first ferry to the mainland. The day looks partially clear.
7:15 AM Bagels and cream cheese @ Vespucci's Table. The water is calm and the sun is out. Boat ride to the mainland is full and pleasant. The wind picks up as we get close to the mainland. A bit chilly on the water. Shore reached by 8:45.
8:45 AM We're met by Gustavo, a short Belizian who is our guide. He works with tours through the inn we are staying at. He directs us to a van. First, we pay to use the bathroom at the water taxi station. Granted, it's only a quarter... but what the hell? We're paired with some other tourists who are frankly the most frumpiest couple I�ve ever seen. The woman is pale and waxen, wearing owl-eyed sunglasses and a bucket hat tied over her head with a pink shirt. The man is pinched and small, hunched into a turtleneck like an uptight golfer. They hardly say a word the whole time except occasionally making a nasal sound to imply agreement or disagreement. I immediately dislike them. Looking at them makes me sad for America.
9:30 AM Gustabo drives us through Belize city and out into the marshland beyond. Here, houses sink into the ground if they aren�t built with foundation struts that extend into the bedrock thirty feet below. We pass into the savanna. Gustavo talks about various sociopolitical and cultural aspects of Belize. Due to this morning�s unneeded Drammamine, I feel more than a little stoned and am perfectly happy to gaze out the window in a dopey stupor. We pass a billboard that reads �PUP again�, which I find to be hilarious. (Pup is my nickname for Justin). Eventually, I learn that the currently empowered political party in Belize is the People�s United Party (or PUP). That makes a little more sense. Then again, they have a brand of tires called �kumho� and Nescafe billboards everywhere that have nothing to do with ANYTHING. Strange place. The whole country is like a softdrink ad. Everwhere, people are drinking Pepsi, Coke, or Fanta from glass bottles beneath signs advertising that product. There are men with huge guns guarding the One Barrel Rum factory and several more at a police checkpoint. They wave us through. Belize is a run down country. Poverty stricken but happy. Houses are ramshackle huts adorned in Christmas lights. Some are no more than shacks on sticks. We drive past a Dickies factory where laborers make pants. Gustavo explains that minimum wage here is about $1.50/ HR US for a 48 hour week. No benefits.
10 AM We stop at the New Belize river and get into the river boat. It�s an hour and a half ride to Lamanai ruins, a Mayan city. Our guide�s name is Orlando and he points out crocodiles, turtles, egrets, ibises, herons, lilies, bats, assorted birds, and even an iguana. The river is still and calm and I�m glad I have my binoculars. It�s cool and mostly cloudy.
11:30 AM We arrive at Lamana. A quick look around reveals a gift shop and a museum of some of the larger relics excavated at the site. All seven of us (two more joined at the riverboat station) enter a pavilion for a homecooked lunch of chicken, beans and rice, coleslaw and mashed potatoes. A few resort groups are eating extravagantly presented lunches in the same pavilion. Our food is mouthwateringly good but theirs LOOKS goos. We ogle.
12 PM We hike the ruins. First we stop at the museum for a brief historical overview. A collection of artifacts dating back to 200 BC (!) He explains a curious discovery, three containers with mercury, cinnabar, and iron pyrite beneath a large, circular slab near one of the temples. Another discovery: one piece from the classic period is an urn with the likeness of what appear to be metal screws appliqu�d on the bottom. �Do you think that the ancient Mayans had screws?� asks Orlando. �Nooooo,� we say. �Well, you�re right,� he says, �The mayans didn�t have screws. It was the Spanish who screwed the Mayans.�
12:30 PM There are four temples and a residential with a ball court here. One of the temples (the high temple) is the third largest mayan site in Belize. We can�t climb that one, as it�s closed for excavation, but we do climb the others. Some are decorated with reliefs of Jaguar faces and God heads. It feels really old here. We�re walking on shards of the very pottery that was crafted here over 500 years ago. The rock from which the temples to the dead gods we built is beneath our feet. I pocket a few pieces. I want to be in awe of this place. I want to feel raw, unadulterated wonder. I want to be senseless with the beauty of it. But all I feel is the amusement of a tourist. I don�t belong. It isn�t real. We are in deep jungle. The river winds before us in myriad turns. A hundred species of giant trees (fig, baobob, all spice) line the path. We swing on vines like Tarzan and Jane. We stand atop ancient temples and pretend we are priests and priestesses. From the west, we hear the call of a troop of howler monkeys. From the east, closer, comes an answer. A family of howlers moves into the trees next to us and we sit, perched atop ancient stone, and watch them for twenty minutes.
1:45 PM On the way out, I buy a clay replica of a mayan mask. The star god. It starts to rain. Actually, it was raining before but the canopy was too thick to notice it. The boat ride soaks us a bit. Orlando points out a tarp for us to share but the frumpy tourists take it all to themselves and hide shivering beneath it. We secretly laugh at them. On the way back, we pass another boat that has run out of gas.
3 PM Gustavo takes us back to town and has twenty minutes to spare for a ride through the city. The streets are small and the city is dirty. He promises to mail me a �PUP� bumper sticker. We catch the last boat back in perfect weather. Some cute guys like my �Geek� hat and take a picture. At the last moment, I almost get to know them but Tim hurries us off the boat. I regret not taking the chance.
7 PMDinner again at CocoPlum. Busier this time and sand fleas bite me. The hosts are overburdened cooking many dinners on a four burner stove. We wait a while for food. Oh well. A tasty omelet though!
9 PM An early bed time, diving tomorrow. You know what�s fool crazy of me? I�ve actually started missing the Pacific Northwest. Being here has made me realize what a niche I�ve made for myself in Eugene. It�s a balance that I carry with me everywhere. It is a place to call Home. For that I am extremely grateful. It�s been a pretty good year.

Day Ten: 12/31/02 [New Year�s Eve]
7 AM I wake on my own, early. For once I can clearly see that it�s sunny outside. And it�s calm. Today we dive Sergeant�s Caye and Glover�s Reef. I�m under the impression that they�re nearby.
8 AM We go for breakfast at Sandbox. We each order banana pancakes and split a fruit plate. It�s not yet 8:30 but we�re accosted by a drunk Belizian who rants and raves about everything while guzzling beer. We have way too much food and we don�t want to hurry to leave but this guy�s seriously endeared himself to us and it�s annoying. His gaping mouth is half full of gnarly, rotting teeth and he has beady red eyes. He speaks in some mangled pidgin dialect of which I can only decipher half. He says fookin this and fookin that and I�m pretty sure he hated black people. He keeps intending to smoke but doesn�t light up so I don�t have an excuse to tell him to get lost. We eventually make our escape.
10 AM Still sunny. The boat leaves. It is, in fact, 50 minutes to the dive site. I�m exceedingly glad we didn�t pick the other day to go. It�s a long day with a lunch. There are only minor swells and the sun is shining bright. I watch a silver flying fish soar next to the boat, glistening. I take it as a good omen.
11 AM The first dive is disappointing. I don�t know why, but there�s more particulate in the water today than before. It might be the location. I thought it would be prettier with more sun but there�s not much to look at. JeanPaul and Peter have left. I wish I�d said goodbye� but I guess I have their business card. Our new divemaster goes far too slowly for us so I get cold faster. We do see more crabs and lobster this way. (There certainly are a lot of them) My god damn mask is bothering me. It insists on leaking both when it�s too loose and too tight. Either way it�s excruciatingly bothersome. We surface and the water is so calm that I�m just barely nauseated. Watermelon tastes nice after a mouth of nasty, salty seawater.
12:30 PM We move inside the reef for lunch. I can actually eat this time! After lunch we snorkel along the reef for forty minutes. I still haven�t seen a stupid stingray. The reef here is very colorful. I see a lotta little fishies and some impressively large urchins nesting in the coral.
1:30 PM Dive two is at a site much like the first but with larger canyons. I�m still having trouble with my mask and wish I could get it settled so I can enjoy the dive. I also wish the reef were nicer. Oh well. All discontent is forgotten when we see two MASSIVE spotted eagle rays gliding just over the reef wall. We turn and tail them but they�re faster than us, their huge wings pumping the water with pure muscle. I am in awe. They�re one of the most beautiful things I�ve ever seen. On both these last dives Justin and I consume very little air. Tim surfaces long before us both times and leaves us to putter around sans Divemaster. We can manage our own ascent and take our time. It�s fun, we�re both perfectly matched on air consumption. This is our last dive. Try as I might to find someone to dive with tomorrow (New Year�s Day), no one is going out. I don�t blame them for being closed� who wants to dive after a night of late drinking? Bah. This means no Blue Hole. Goddam. What can you do about it?
3:30 We pay our dues at the dive shop and collect our FREE T-SHIRT. (It�s funny, it says STAFF on the sleve). As usual, we shower and take our time rinsing off our sore bodies. No nap today, I�m getting my hair braided! I amble down the street to the Miramar hotel where a woman (who reminds me of Miss Cleo) sells shells and beads. She�s the smooth-talking extortionist who sold me my dog-smelling shell. Oh well, I want braids! I get half my hair done up in cornrows and leave the back loose. One small braid behind the ear on each side with beads at the end. She tells me that most people find it immensely painful to have small braids put on their scalp and one Finnish girl even fainted on her. Well, whaddaya know, I kind of like it. She calls me Honey and insists on calling Tim my �fader in law� even though she knows Justin and I are just dating.
5:30 PM We go back to the Hotel and eat chips and Salsa at the bar. Justin and I watch the Sun set and talk about how great the salsa is here. (What else is there to talk about? We got the recipe! Ner Ner!) It�s a perfect evening except for the damned sand fleas. Funny enough, we see one lone firefly flitting across the sand. It�s a speedy bugger, too. It blinks under the porch before I can catch it. Our reservations at Habaneros are for 7:30.
7 PM I change into my black strapless gown and put on the black coral (bad ecotourist!) nechlace I got. I�m wearing heels on an island. How tacky. I look good. Fred and Allie (the actor from New York and his fianc�e) are sharing our table at dinner.
7:30 PM Dinner is excellent. Matt is our server again and we delight in ordering drinks from him now that we know he�s a competitive bartender. He makes a mean BAILEYS COLADA. I didn�t even know they HAD those. Dinner for me is stuffed chicken breasts. Justin has tropical snapper and Tim has this lobster with champagne shiitake cream sauce. MMMMMM. Justin and I chat up Fred and Allie for a few hours while Tim just sits and listens. I wonder if he�s amused at the �couplie� things we�re doing. It�s Fred and Allie�s last night.
9:30 PM We wander home. I change clothes (whew). We make the mistake of collapsing on the bed for a moment and realize how dead tired we are after no nap. Fuck. It�s still two hours to midnight on New Year�s eve. What�s wrong with us? Finally we get up and get walking. We wander the island. It�s surprisingly quiet. Some people are at the I & I but most seem to be at a smoky bar called Oceanside or at the seedy Disco. Neither is appealing. We talk to someone down at the far end of the island who tells us that if we come back we should dive the southern reef for HEALTHY reef diving. The reef up here, he says, is damaged beyond repair. Why didn�t anyone tell us?
11:40 PM We find some Belizian drummers but are too tired to boogie. I don�t know where I want to be for the countdown. Some part of me wants to be near the �action� and some part of me wants to be at home. I run back to the hotel for pictures of the dancers and by the time I get back it�s a minute to midnight. It�s simply loud and obnoxious and none of the pictures come out. I want to dance but Justin is grumpy which makes me sullen. Crappy new year�s to you too! NYAAH. Finally we give each other a hug and kiss to ring in the new year. We go back to the hotel (where we probably just should have stayed the whole time) and Adrian serves us glass after glass of champagne. They had sparklers. We should have been here in the hammock with sparklers, I think. I�m mad at myself. I wish I felt more amorous, more friendly. A bad omen for the coming year? I want a picture perfect romantic moment. I fail to capture it. Sigh. We put down our glasses after a toast and head up to bed. The geckos on the porch are making scratchy croaking noises in their throats. Adrian says this means weather is coming in. I go to bed not particularly happy but realizing, with gladness, that I have nothing heavy to resolve this year� emotionally, physically, or spiritually. I�m entering the new year without noticeable burden. This means it has been a good year, no matter what�s happened. I pray the same for the next.

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it's all lies
well, fuck me. I wrote this nice, short, eloquent post about how I currently feel about the creative process and some great story I read. When i was done, my brain was nice and empty. So blogger ate it and now it's gone. It's nowhere in my mind at all. I guess that's that.

HAIR
Justin just unbraided my hair from my cornrows. I look like Cyndi Lauper with a partial afro. Wow. My head feels funny and about half my hair came out when Justin brushed it. I really hope a shower tomorrow cleans me up... it might take a few days.

I'll miss those braids!

I had Justin take pictures while I was having them put in, both at the start and at the finish. This is me w/ braids later that night and on the morning we left.

Here's NOW. From the front. From the top. I don't know what the hell THIS is, but I look like bride of frankenstein. And what's that antenna???

my ice cream, no!
The stupid microwave melted my ice cream instead of the fudge so then I had ice-cream soup and I didn't want to pour it down the drain cos I'd feel guilty wasting it so I drank it and felt bad because I really wanted some nice ice cream with fudge. So I had to decide well, what was worse, no ice cream with fudge and a dissapointing soup or having myself another bowl done right? So I put that damn fudge in a measuring cup by itself mad carved myself out some more vanilla ice cream, cos, dammit, if you're gonna have a hot fudge sundae, you might as well do it right.

she's got huuuuge... tracks of land
my diatribe against breast implants
So yesterday I was looking at Miller Lite's new ad girl, Kitana Baker, through a link from fark. And I made the offhand comment to Justin, "Well, she's a nice looking girl and gosh, she has hips.. but it's too bad her boobs are fake." After a moment of looking at her pictures himself, he turns to me and says, "So why is it that any woman who has big breasts, that they have to be fake?" Implying, distinctly, "Why is it with you that any woman with large breasts has fake breasts?" I was like, "UM... because they do."

You see, boys, ninety nine percent of women in the population that are normal sized (read: size 10-12 ladies) and probably ninety nine point six percent of women who are THIN or SLIM do not have large breasts. In fact, these "large breasts" of which you are thinking are a wet dream fantasy invented by men who are longing for their mother's lactating bosom. At least, that's all I'm at a loss for any other reason. Because, you'll understand, THAT is the only time breasts naturally get that big.

Don't get me wrong, I've known some girls who've been naturally blessed. I've even known a few girls of the more petite size with really large breasts. BUT. The eyes can't be fooled. Natural breasts have several capabilities which fake ones do not. First, real breasts are not always COMPLETELY ROUND. Second, they MOVE when the body moves. THIRD, and most importantly, GRAVITY works on them. Now, I've known some people on whom gravity works less, and of them I am envious... everyone loves perky... but when you can pole dance like Miss Katana and your breasts stay in the same PLACE, they are not real.

This, my dear friends, is why most women will critique other women with large breasts. Because we can usually tell if they are not real. Am I right, girls? Does it not make sense that a woman would be a good judge of breasts? And what really pisses me off is that most women who get implants do so for cosmetic objectification rather than neccesity. There are plenty of good reasons to have breast implants. So that you'll get more play from men is NOT one of them and sadly, I'm sure it's the most widely used. To me, cosmetic implants are the most sick, degrading body modifications. It's taking perfectly healthy (albeit smaller), functional breasts and turning them into a useless toy. These breasts will never feed a child. (amended: they can still "work") These breasts will never FEEL anything again. All purpose and pelasure has been lost to make them visibly different to the eye, to be made "more attractive" or "more desireable." If this isn't objectification, then what is?

And why do men even go for this? When I see a woman with implants, I think of a cow with a plastic udder. Guys, you do realize that your dream woman with those huge, lovely pillows for you to wuzzle your face into gets NOTHING out of you touching them? You do realize that you're fondling SILICONE? YUM. I don't know how this is appealing. It's like licking beachballs.

So you know what? Yeah, I get mad when I see some good looking girl who mutilated her body for the sake of objectification and when I make a comment about some bimbo's boobies, they probably ARE fake. It's really not that hard to tell.

I love Bend
Bend, Oregon has officially proposed to ban smelly people from riding the bus. If only they'd enstate that in Eugene! But then, the poor hippies would have to walk their barefoot, lazy asses to... to... wait, they don't go to work or to school anyway... why the hell are they riding the bus?

The Coming War
Last week, when Murray and I went out for coffee, he reminded me that I should soon consider expressing interest in being a "conscientious objecter" in the coming war.

As far as I know, being an objecter means you may abstain from the draft and therefore not take part in the war. It's not based on religious views, rather on philosophical or moral stance. Truth be told, I don't know that much about the technical aspects of the position, just that it allows opting out of any military-involved activity and that's what I want.

I refuse to take part in a war I don't believe in, or to let my friends and family be taken from me. While I realize that there is an active threat posed (moreso by Korea that Iraq, in my opinion), I don't think that combat is a reasonable option. So we know or suspect these countries of having illegal weapons... what do we want to do, force them to use them? I wonder if provocation is just what Bush is going for. *shakes head* It saddens and confuses me. But whatever the reason and whatever the cause, I refuse to take part in an activity that causes me to indirectly be responsible for the lives of innocent civilians. It seems a silly thing to protest, as every action I make in my daily life (including especially the purchases I make) affects the life and environment of such people but to be able to make one conscious choice not to harm others is enough for me. If war is neccesary, there are people to fight it. Let me not be one of them.

Murray has urged me, and interested friends, to write letters to confidantes and mentors stating our interests to become conscientious objecters. In the case there is a war, we'll have record of our dissent and a dated, copyrighted document with which to state our case. In other words, when the masses flock to flee battle, you'll have a spot in line guaranteed by the evidence that you were considering this beforehand. Think about it. What do you want?

insomnia
What the hell is wrong with me? I'm so unbelievably SICK and I can't SLEEP.

I've been having trouble sleeping ever since we got back from Belize. I thought, at first, that it was jet lag that was causing me to wake up early after going to bed at 1 AM. it wasn't bad at first. It didn't bother me until it started causing me to get sicker from sleep loss. Now combine that with waking up three plus times in the night for no reason (or having to go to the bathroom). Add stupid fever dreams and being way too hot to the mix and I'm a walking wreck.

I don't know what it is but suddenly the bed feels two times too small. I've slept in a twin bed since I was a kid and got used to mattresses that were too short for me and sheets that I got tangled in. Hell, all last year and the year before I shared a twin bed with Justin, even in the dorms. But after we spend a week on a King sized mattress in Belize I feel crammed into our Full bed like a sardine into a can. Maybe it's that the flannel sheets are all sweaty or the down comforter is overkill, but I'm ready to go sleep on the couch. I'm constantly waking up shoehorned against the wall by Justin and shoved up toward the headboard by Rupert. Don't get me wrong, I love cuddling with them both but when Justin, heavy and planklike in the middle of the night, rolls over not in affection but just to take up space, I can't help but grunt and elbow him away. And Rupert, though I pity him for having to sleep in a tangle of moving legs, constantly tries to take up more and more of MY foot space and bites me in offense when I scoot him over. ARGH!!

I feel like Paul D in Toni Morriston's Beloved slowly being moved out of the bed by some inexplicable force.

Last night I slept worse than I have in months. I went to bed before 12:30 to get a full night's rest for today's budget hearings. I was pleasantly tired and drugged up on Robitussin and Sudafed. It may have been that the small glow of the fishes' lamps in the living room was enough to upset my sleep balance, or it may have been the upset of filling out a thousand forms and writing a thousand essays this weekend bothered my subconscious... but I could not fall asleep. I moved my body into a trancelike stupor but my mind kept on talking.

The hours just melted by. I turned over, shifted, turned over, got up, went to the bathroom, turned over, shifted, etc, etc, etc. There was so much noise in my head. 2:30. 3:30. 4:00. Eventually I got up and turned off the fish lamps and opened the window. In a t-shirt and underwear I was sweltering. I must have gotten up to go to the bathroom at least three times. After drinking what? I think I finally fell asleep for an hour around 5:30 in the morning because I had some brief, strange dream about living in a mini-trailer with Justin. Must have been from feeling crammed in bed. I don't know if I even slept for that long...

I've got a full day ahead of me and I'm sick and burnt out. At least I don't feel too narcoleptic. My body rested even though my mind didn't. Great, so I'll be healthy but insane by this evening. I'm sure the budget committee will love that.

I need to do something to fix my bed anxiety. Get some new sheets? Put on lighter blankets? Exile Rupert to the study? Sleep on the couch as a last resort? Maybe I should just take a few shots of vodka before bed and call it good. That always seems to work. At least this wacky sleep has left me with one positive side effect: I've had too little REM sleep to worry about the reoccuring Dreams. But then, I've come to enjoy them in some strange way and I prefer my usual emotional spasticity to this insomnia. Ugh.