Won't you be my neighbor?
a eulogy
Mr. Rogers is dead.

There will be no more sweaters, no more soothing songs, no more trolley. At seventy-four, he was taken by stomach cancer. (Does everyone these days die of some form of cancer?) I feel a little shocked. He was a cultural icon.

As a kid, I didn't really watch his show-- I made fun of it. We compared Mr. Rogers to Barney the Dinosaur and used the act of watching his show as an insult. And I always felt horrible for it. Who CAN'T love Mr. Rogers? He was such a kind, gentle, sympathetic man who never offered anything but the best advice to children.

Granted, by the time he retired from his show in 2000, Mr. Rogers was more than a little dated. His soft, slow kiddie-speak had been replaced by a hipper, speedier, more graphics-intensive "tough love" approach. His puppet shows were a bit creepy. We made jokes about him being our neighbor. But that doesn't make me any less sad that he's dead.

Good-by Mr. Rogers. I hope it's a beautiful day in your neighborhood.

Hump Day
Ah Wednesday, somehow you have assuaded my fears.

Today was a good day, despite portends: on the way to school I saw a single raven harassing a single seagull out of a pack of many. I wonder what that was all about.

I sold two ads for the Oregon Voice... one went to that kickass new knick-knack store, Big Monkey Cards and Gifts. They totally r0xx0r. The other went to the UO Bookstore, a repeat customer and more of a charity case than anything. Like they NEED to advertise. At least I'm getting some of my book money back... or something.

I went to an advising appointment with professor Rosenberg, my HC advisor. This meeting was the first of the advising sessions I'll need in the coming weeks... I still need to meet with the J-School and Japanese Department about the changes in my course of study because of time abroad. I found out today that I've completed all of my Honors College requirements with the exception of a Multicultural Credit and Langage Course I'll be taking next term. Oh, and that blasted thesis. Still have to think of something to write there. Well, either the Montana Magazine internship this summer or living in Japan for a year should give me something to write about.

So I have, after next term, only three or four j-school classes left for a magazine major. That should be doable (With yummy electives) in the year I have left here. I also think it highly probable that after spending a year in Japan I'll finish a Japanese major during my senior year. Yay for being an overachiever.

My Waseda program applicants' meeting calmed me down significantly about Japan. The director is much nicer to talk to than the woman who interviewed me. She seemed to make everything scary. Either I'll be going or I won't. It'll be the full year or nothing and I'll leave that decision to scholarships rather than my own cowardice. I still would much rather be a man in Japan than a woman. I think I'll offend people by not responding well to oppression. Oh well, I am a liberal, feminist (and according to Annie, hell-bound) American. I also tower about a foot and a half above most Japanese men and women. I make no excuses for my actions!!!

Today on the way home (no bridge meeting, alas) I looked out over the river and saw the Canada geese land near the island. There were two white geese among the others.

Fastening!
OK girls, here's one for you.

I was in the gym today, absentmindedly dressing when I discovered that I fasten by bra differently than every other female in the world. Correct me if I'm wrong but it seems that the majority of women clasp their bra first and then put their hands into the arm straps. Sometimes they clasp it in back, sometimes in the front (yeah, funny enough, some women still need to look). Sometimes they do it low down around their stomachs, sometimes around their ribs. I've watched girls do this for weeks and months and years now and never thought that I do it differently. I've always put my hands in the arm straps and reached behind my back to fasten it. Seems like an easy, one-step process and everything's already "in place." Anyone who does it the other way know why so many people clasp it first? Maybe it's a "size" thing and I'm just too small to understand (alas). Anyway, I can't figure it out but it amuses me greatly. Let's shed some insight on a mystery, shall we? Even you, guys... how do your ladies do it?

Burnout
I can't seem to wake up on the right side of the bed. I can't seem to wake up at all. I'm so tired, so bloody tired all the time, and I don't know what to do. I've woken up to sunny days the last few mornings and just thought "ugh, kill me," and wanted to roll over into the dark cave of my blankets.

I don't feel like I'm on an emotional rampage. I don't feel like I'm falling into the black hole. I don't FEEL much of anything. That thankful tidbit is probably the side-effect of my wonderfully stabilizing birth control. I'm a stupid zombie... I'm just damn tired and hopeless. I have no energy to deal with anything and the problem is that I have a lot to deal with. I can feel myself unravelling as I try to figure out where I'm going and what I need to do. I'm like a fraying rope that's been grasped at both ends and unwound to the middle. That little clinging piece at the centre is what's left of me, pulled taut to the four winds with decisions weighing on my mind.

There are people I know right now who are probably, definitely more seriously depressed than I am. That makes me want to discredit whatever little funk I'm going through and tell myself to shut up and get over it. I'm not stressfully overburdened; I'm not suicidal; I'm not clinging to a last hope... I just don't want to face the day. I wake up and there's nothing to look forward to. I can't connect with the people I love, I can't make myself smile about an uncertain summer, I can't enjoy the sun. I don't feel like doing anything little and fun, much less anything social. The thought of projects or expectations makes me ill. I just want to sit and stare vacantly and wait for some revelation to come.

I slept like hell last night. Otherwise I probably wouldn't be writing this. Justin decided to go out for iHOP with Murray this morning and got up to go fifteen minutes earlier than I planned to wake up. Expecting that little change in my sleeping routine was enough to make me delerious all night and wake up at 7:30 this morning with no chance of getting back to sleep. What's wrong with me? I'm full of guilt and anxiety and I have no patience to face it. When I try to talk about what's on my mind, I just fall deeper into it. I'd rather just let the world judge me and have done with it.

I'm glad Justin's talking to Murray, I know Murray needs it. I did feel a bit left out, but I know that Murray probably wants one-on-one, not 'couples' time. I'm just jealous that Justin will go talk to Murray. Oh well, my isolation is my own fault; I just want to be comforted, too.

A lonely Tuesday, but I'll be OK.

Muddy Waters
Ugh, jeez. I have no idea what I want to write. I hate feeling like I have to play catch-up in my own life. There's a lot to say but I'm not sure if any of it matters. I think I have to stop and try and remember why I started writing this journal. I can tell myself was for my own sake... but that's a lie. I started this journal as a shout-out because I needed to be heard by someone and this was the only way to do it. Now, I don't really need to shout anymore, I don't need the ulterior motive of this journal. I can vent to listening ears without the delay of writing.

There really is something invaluable about a blog, though, besides the audience. It gives me a chance to experiment with prose. This chronicle has really kept me sane when I've needed a venting ground or a place to store ideas (my brain doesn't work too well for that). So, don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, I'm just recouping.

Why? Well, allow me to explain. I came back from Christmas vacation in a state of manic euphoria. As these things go, it didn't last very long. In the aftermath, I'm more down than up, especially with the impending decision about study abroad. If you remember, I was raving a while back about applying for a year in Waseda. Well, I did it. And, paperwork be damned, I'm following the application process all the way through even if I decide not to go. A year is a long time and will change me in ways I can't imagine. There's no way I WON'T come back but when I do, I'll be different. I've been dissecting my motives for wanting to take the trip. First there's the experience of being abroad. As a writer and a seeker, travel is insanely important to me. I have a terminal wanderlust and this is the first experience I've ever had to really indulge it. I also value the experience for the language and cultural learning opportunities. But everyone says that. I want to escape and look at where I am from the outside, both physically (from another location) and metaphysically (outside of my current socio-emotional sphere). In a way, I'm running away. I have to ask myself-- am I fleeing or re-evaluating? It depends on context. There's really only one thing that makes me want to run away and it's this all-encompasing, preoccupying, energy-sapping triangular relationship that I'm a part of. Like I said, I really should talk about it... but it takes so much energy for me to phrase it in a linear context outside my own mind that I'm not even sure I'll get around to it. When it comes down to it, I'm confused and scared. I don't want to be trapped and divided... I don't want to hurt anyone I love.... I don't want to have to remember how hard it is for me to forgive myself.

Anyway, this last weekend gave me some insight into the direction my motivations are taking me. I need to make a change. I need to tear down the walls and face this head-on. It's the only way I'll be able to decide to leave in clear conscience.

So that's what's keeping me silent: I'm really muddled by the contradictory fears and desires evolving inside the sphere of my relationship within the context of me leaving for a year. It's a big, big thing. I'm scheming and I hate it. The only way out is to have those god-awful conversations that make me sick and leave me shaking for hours. I've been depressed on and off lately, mostly because I either feel misunderstood or (when I am understood) like the bad buy. I feel like I'm going through a breakup with my SELF.

But I've also been extremely busy with classwork and other things. Friday evening Justin and I left for RingCon and didn't get back till 6:30 yesterday when we promptly left again to hear Maya Angelou speak on campus. Friday night was depressing as hell. After a huge nap in the car Justin and I had one of THOSE talks where we basically came to terms with the fact that we may not be together after this summer. Though this may be for the good of both of us, there's nothing that makes me feel ill like facing an impending catastrophe. Thankfully, he was loving and accomodating and forgiving even while fearing the worst.

When we got to the Con, I was surprised what a small space it was held in. The hotel was barely large enough to house the vendors and staff, much less the visitors. Justin and I were splitting a room with two of the other Knights at a Best Western down the road. The Con was technically over for the night but we wandered around and greeted familiar faces, all the while feeling that we were out of place because we were still dressed as "mundanes." We went back to the hotel and to bed early even though the show the next morning wasn't till 10.

I had lucid dreams. It's this damn book on dreaming that Alex gave to me. I'm pleased I'm dreaming lucidly again and so easily, but it makes me fear my subconscious even more.

Saturday was... long. The Con was extremely small and extremely noisy. It wasn't in a convention center or hall, the way cons often are, but set up so that events were held in small conference rooms and Vendors sold right out of their hotel rooms. Too many people in a miniscule space. I had a headache almost immediately. All things said and done, the knights performed wonderfully and listening to Brad Dourif (wormtongue) was definitely interesting.

But. When the show was done, the drinking started. It was 3PM.

I don't have much to complain about; the evening was fabulous but in an utterly overwhelming way. Some of the Knights have some SERIOUS emotional walls that come down when they drink and I was exposed to a lot of drama in a rather uncomfortable way. After dinner, I had to decide whether I wanted to call it a night and stay sober because I was a bit low, tired, and depressed, or if I wanted to chance- for the third weekend in a row- that heavy drinking and revelry would carry me through a late night.

We went down to the bar.

No, I'm not 21 and I didn't *intend* to order anything. But before I knew it, people were buying me drinks left and right. And why should they card me? I look at least 24... So I had a white russian, and then a mai tai, and a "screaming orgasm" and some rumplemintz, and another mai tai... and... shit. Well, I was drunk beyond drunk and no one believed me becaues I can still form complete sentences. But I met some amazing people and had an INCREDIBLE time at the dance across the hall. There was live fiddle music in one of the conference rooms with a small dance floor. Justin and I crammed through the drunken throngs and into the centre of everything and just let go. I felt myself move freely in a way that I'd only dreamed about.

The dance ended at 1AM and things slowed down as people tried to sober up. We didn't get back to the hotel until 4 AM and woke the next morning at 9:30 to get ready for checkout. It was a long and intense night in a way that I don't think I can write about here right now. I'm still recovering.

Yes, I did get Brad's autograph. And he's a very nice man, if a really CREEPY looking. In fact, I got two autographed photos and may auction one on ebay. If anyone's REALLY interested, let me know here and we can talk : )

Yesterday almost killed me. After four and a half hours of sleep with that much alcohol in my blood, my body shut down on the ride home. I recouped after some sleep but it was difficult to motivate myself to make enough food to sustain me through the evening.

At 7:30 Justin and I heard Maya Angelou speak-- if any of you out there at the UO didn't go, shame on you-- she was absolutely amazing. If I remember, I'm going to buy her autobiographies so we can read them. I can't believe how little I know about her.

Anyway, that's the BASIC summary of the weekend. I'll get into more detail as it becomes apparent through my clouded brain. Today I'm still walking through a haze, despite the great weather. When I woke up this morning, I couldn't bring myself to go to class... I tried getting out of bed and was utterly crippled by a bout of depression. So I apologize for this sorry excuse of an entry... Some Mondays you just can't get it going.

RingCon
Well, I'm off to the Lord of the Rings Convention in Gig Harbor, Wa for the weekend. The Knights are performing today, tomorrow, and Sunday. I'm sure it will be a geektastic experience! There's even a special, guest appearance by the guy who plays Grima Wormtongue. Did you know he was the voice of Chucky? UGH, creepy guy. I also may be getting commissioned by the Emerald to freelance some photos while I'm there; one of their reporters interviewed Justin for the upcoming Pulse insert. Ah, the cherished reputation of the extremely geeky.

Yes, I'm dressing as an elf ranger... that is, leather bodice, tights, knee-high leather boots, etc etc... it's a multi-purpose outfit but the special addition this time is the cloak that I just completed with the help of Alex. Hopefully one of the knights will lend me some of their pointy ears to complete the outfit. : )

I know I haven't been writing much, but it isn't for lack of anything to say. I'm completely overwhelmed most of the time, both by thought and by activity. Unfortunately for me and for this blog, physical obligation takes priority over mental reflection so I'm shafting my introspective side a bit.

Eh, well, it happens sometimes. I'll get back into the spin of things sooner or later. Or maybe I won't, with all the shit that's going down. Maybe I'm on my way to someplace else. Anyway, best wishes for a good weekend. Mata till Monday.

prophecy
Instead of writing the "cry for help" that I thought I was going to write today, I sat down and had some honest conversations. I pushed the envelope a few times. I almost broke the rules. I did break the rules. But sometimes that's what it takes to get anywhere. I feel more settled now than I have in a few weeks.

Boy is it quiet in here after last week.... hum.

dark
I lost sight of the forest.

Everyone is changing
there's noone left that's real
to make up your own ending
and let me know just how you feel

There's oceans in between us
but that's not very far

Puddle of Mudd- Blurry

Eep
Google has boughten blogger. Shit, dude, I knew I should have gone Pro.

Oh, yeah, and people who I don't know have taken to watching my butt on my webcam and sending me pictures of it. That's almost as weird as the email I got LAST WEEK from a Register Guard reporter who saw my picture in the Math Department staff directory and emailed me just to say I was hot. It's not even a good picture, either!

Ok, and speaking of which-- Who was at my party that was looking at the certain photographs on my boyfriends computer? No, I don't mean the pr0n CDs, I was there for that. I mean the pictures. I just... heard... rumors. And I don't know whether to believe them because I wasn't sober. I'd find it amusing to know who has compromised my integrity. I mean... further ... I mean... yeah.

Eep.

Swans & Ducks
{A homage to last night's dream}
You named me by so many metaphors
but still never learned who I am;
I can see the future.

It's all packed into crates and boxes,
the remnants of an aging house.
Locked bureaus left out in the rain,
lamps that won't turn on.

My sisters sorting through mementos,
memories of a twilight grey.
She told me, in the dream, that I would never leave
and I knew she meant I could not be free.

Five years, I said, then we can start again
You held me and I cried
It's easy to love someone when they're going away.

grey

on days like this,
it seems to me,
this is a strange, grey world
we live in....


****************
That midterm was the stupidest test I've ever taken. I can think of one question I'm not SURE I got right. Any others I got wrong were by a bout of my own idiocy or some mismark that I overlooked in the three times I checked the test. It took me 20 minutes of an hour and a half class period.

She's Come Undone
I'm feeling a bit "seasonally affected"-- generally hopeless, impatient, mundane, overwhelmed, crushed, tired, emotional, bland, boring, stupid, cynical and depressed.

I don't think it'll get out of hand. I can still see the damn forest for the trees, I think. I can't remember what I was looking for, though. And I've forgotten what I told myself not to do in December. So scratch all that above and just call me confused.

I need a way out of all of this mess.

Error Message
Our nation appears to be experiencing technical difficulties.

cocktail & karma
I woke up at 9:30 this morning.Yes, 9:30 after going to bed at 4:15 AM. When I finally collapsed this evening against sheer force of will, I felt like a panicked, delerious drug addict when I woke up. I had the shakes.

I didn't drink too much last night. Not enough, at first, even. Then I finally figured out that I needed to have a few more shots to get me to the point where I wouldn't be too paranoid about people not having fun and the neighbors being upset. Everyone showed up around 9:30 or 10, as I thought they would, and most everyone was in some state of formal attire. Two guys even came in tuxxes, and there were many FABULOUS ladies in skirts and dresses.

I felt guilty for not being more social, as I was either busy being hostessy or feeling withdrawn and trying to shake my feeling of doom. Anyway, unless I'm mistaken, that fatalistic feeling was all for nothing. Only two unfortunate events transpired the whole evening. The first was that Sara cut her finger pretty badly before the party and left for the hospital to get stitches after being social for a little while. As they left, she said "we'll be back!" Going to get stitches... I thought, And they'll be back?? But they did come back, to my surprise, and with four stitches. A scar is a good v-day souvenir, I think.

There was another unfortunate incident with an apartment security employee around 1:30 AM (I think? correct me if I'm wrong, could have been later). Alex and I were sitting on the steps outside the apartment talking quietly when she strolled by, peering up into the windows of the apartments. I was pretty drunk but I can fake sober relatively easily, so I took a chance and tried to help her. "Can I help you, miss?" I asked. She told me she was looking for the fourth apartment from the right or something because she had recieved a noise complaint. From her confused demeanor, I could tell that it wasn't apparent that it was our apartment which the noise was issuing from. Frankly, people weren't being that noisy and the only noise coming from an open window was from two people in the front room. Regardless, I felt I should ask her if it was from our gathering and she got a bit persnickety about noise curfew being at 10 and asked me to tell everyone to leave. I was a little upset but I asked her who it was who had issued the complaint and told her that we made sure all the neighbors whose walls were against our apartment had been given our phone numbers to contact us if we were loud. She said it was someone out walking their dog who had called. What? Some midnight insomniac upset because they weren't having fun, too? Sheesh, happy Valentines day, pal. I didn't want to get in trouble with her or the police, since a good number of minors (myself included) were at the party, so I went back in the house, turned off the music, and told everyone she was requesting they vacate. I also told Justin to go out and speak with her because I was upset and too inebriated to try and reason with her without making it obvious we'd been drinking.

He did, and came back five minutes later to tell us once I had closed the windows, the security woman couldn't even tell what the fuss was about. And, she admitted, she wasn't even sure it was our apartment the complaint was issued for... though I'm sure it was. Anyway, she said we didn't have loud music and we weren't being obnoxious, so she said she'd leave and let us know if anyone else mentioned the noise, we would have to vacate. I didn't think it would be a problem, we'd only had the windows open to let the heat out anyway. I think Justin just charmed her into leaving. She probably realized it wasn't some typical college trasher party when he came out in slacks and a tie. I probably just confused her, I was wearing a men's coat over my dress and men's shoes. It probably looked like I didn't have any clothes on.

It seemed like everyone had a really good time-- and they ate all the food! This makes me pleased to no end. I'm really glad my Martha Stewart hostess neurosis didn't go to waste. It often seems like food is neglected at parties and I didn't want the expenses to go to waste. We made out extremely well with donations and alcohol. There are over 30 kinds of liquor in the fridge, in the freezer, and on top of the cabinet. We ended up with a whole lot of JUICE left over, and some random fixings (olives, heavy cream, evaporated milk, pineapples, coconut cream, etc) that we probably can never use up. Thankfully, some of it is unopened. Nobody had bloody mary's so I have a whole thing of V8 all for me. MUAHAHAHA.

With all this excess, I think I may take to having a cocktail with my evening of Wasted Time on the Internet. Maybe it will give my life purpose.

In any case, nothing remarkably extraordinary or memorable happened to make this party as notorious as our others. The last party landed us mention in the Portland Mercury's "top 25" mentioned in their annual sex survey under the response section for "What was the sexiest thing that happened to you this year?" Ok, it wasn't the sexiest thing that happened to ME (but I'd say it rates up there as far as out-of-the-ordinary experiences) and it wasn't the housewarming party, it was my birthday party... but it was definitely worth a mention. This party was special in its own way for being so delightfully yuppie. I think it was a GRAND success-- Martinis, fire in the fireplace, jazz, Hot toddies, some smoking on the porch and a good deal of social schmoozing.

We're already thinking of what to do next term (since we seem to have one with about that frequency). We have two ideas for the next one: a toga party here when it's warmer in late spring or a party at Justin's parent's beachhouse in Rockaway. Votes, anyone?

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

I got up "early" this morning after the postponed Valentines day romp (yesterday was too damn busy to frolic) and picked up Alex and Nate to attend the Peace Rally and march. We were a bit late to the march due to unfortunate events involving stupid busses and sports fans attending a basketball game that got more coverage than the rally. So we had to run to catch up with the march... which wasn't too difficult given how slowly large herds of people move. But we had to Power Walk for Peace with the Feet of Destiny to make sure we got there, and then we infiltrated their ranks.

The rally had some excellent speakers and we were close to the front of the crowd so we had a nice view of the podium (I mean, when it wasn't blocked by a stupid sign). We were even on the 6 o'clock news! There wasn't much civil disobedience except from a small crowd that went off on a second march before the rally was over. The rest of us stuck around and encircled the Federal Building singing "We will overcome" and chanting (weakly). But it was an experience to remember, if just because I know that when I'm older, my life will be defined by times like these. Over 4,000 people (a good chunk of the population of Eugene) turned out for the rally. Seeing all the faces, young and old, gave me extreme hope for the world... but hearing everything the speakers had to say just made me more depressed. I remember being a child and so disconnected from the world. I didn't have to worry. I like being an adult and trying to make a difference but sometimes I wonder if I really matter... I miss not knowing that the world can seem this hurtful and confusing. Where are our jobs, our education, our children, our money all going? Where will this war (I really believe it inevitable) take us? Where is our sense of trust, of intimacy, of privacy, of diversity? Where is love in all this?

It's too much to think about.

The rally ran a bit long and by the time it was done, we were all hungry and really tired so we went out for Pho noodles and hopped back to campus. That new store, Big Monkey Card and Gifts (where the other flower shop used to be on 13th), totally rules. All of you from around here ought to go check it out, it cracks me up. I can't explain what it carries, really, it's too eclectic to classify. You just have to see it. It's right out of downtown Portland.

Oh, and Murray, we decided that you are most definitely a necromancer, though that doesn't say anything against your character. But just tell us when you plan to unleash your legions of undead minions so we can flee, ok?

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

The rain is back. Spring is coming. We're all here. We're all alive. We're all waiting. So when is the shit going to hit the fan?

I did it!
And karma didn't kill me. I didn't get drunk enough to let it. And by some force of sheer will, it's 4 AM and the house it already clean, everyone's gone home (though the last "incident" did get us mentioned in the Portland Mercury), and it's all quiet. Only one threat of a noise violation and we resolved that easily with some pervasive politeness. Ahh fate, I will defy you yet! Here's to a night of fabulous bartending! Thanks, guys, for brining the food and drink and eating and drinking and being MERRY!!! I love you all!!

I'll eat my hat
I guess all I really needed was to feel validated. Because when there were a dozen roses on the kitchen counter this morning, I just cried.

Never mind that I'm oblivious and walked by the bouquet three or four times before I noticed it was there.

Valentines Day has always made me feel lonely even though I haven't been single; not because I myself have ever been for wont of affection, but because I hate that it's rubbed in the face of so many people out there who are struggling and sad. I dislike the trivialization of love... it's WAY more complex than all that shit.

I don't hate Valentines Day, I just hate that people need an excuse to express their affection genuinely. And I hate the merchandise because by "genuinely," I don't mean with a goofy balloon or a satin bear or, god-forbid, a diamond-heart pendant, I mean with words and gestures.

lush
There are sixteen bottles of liquor, one bottle of sake, and five bottles of wine on my kitchen counter. My fridge has eight kinds of juice in it and things that I would never buy (like whole cream and olives) on the shelves. My freezer is stuffed with ice and limeaid. It's time to break out the cocktail glasses ... of which we have far too few... and pour a few shots. I'd mourn the damages but what the hell do I have to complain about?? Money is only money and I'm excited as hell.

listen
These were all over the theatre department today:





In other news, I won't get around to psycholanlyzing my failures because I simply don't have time and today has put me into a foul mood. In other other news, shopping for the party is done and the bill amounts to ... christ, I can't even write it. Kill me, please.

I am the Betrayer
We're going to talk about love triangles later, courtesy of Anna's Weblog (which I rip off far too much), and the lovely (if highly new-agey) article she posted. I'm shocked at the clarity with which the subject addresses my social patterns. This is a good thing. I really though I was the only one who noticed triangular social dynamics. It's about damn time I talked about this.

Foul Play
Oh my sweet Jebus!!! (Let's see how many conservative fanatics I can piss off this time) I opened my lunchbag yesterday to take out my sweet, delicious pb&j sandwich and found *gasp*-- horror of all horrors-- it had committed suicide! AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!! My poor sandwich, it was bleeding from a gaping pen wound!!





Oh well, it still tasted good.

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completing the story
This is a private post.

Breakfast
There's nothing I love more than making breakfast for someone. Curious that I realize this, as I've only really had the opportunity to do this for a little under two years now. Before that, I was living at home or in the dorms without cuisine capabilities. I'm simply immensely satisfied by waking up, reasonably early (say, before lunch is the best option) and putting together a huge omlette or pancakes from scratch. I make breakfast with all the extras; toast, juice, fruit, butter, sausage. And I love to cook breakfast because I don't ever feel tired or worn down making it, I feel pleasantly domestic and free from the stress that's always present at the end of the day.

I've always thought that cooking for someone is really one of the most intimate gifts someone can give, aside from, well, other intimate gifts, and I really love to do it to show my appreciation for my good friends. I think we all ought to get together and make fabulous meals more often. But breakfast, well, it's special. It's starting out the day whole and right and meeting with someone (regardless whether they've just stayed the night or are coming over) right after they've just woken up. It makes me smile.

Mind Trip
Sometime between the hours of 8 and 9 AM this morning, I had a dream in which everything collided, fears and desires, all out in the open. It probably was only ten minutes long. It's funny how something that's nothing more than the firing of electrons can cause me to wake up to a world that has changed.

Crocus
Did you ever have one of those moments, inspired by some silly little thing-- the sun through a tree, the sound of a kickball on pavement, rain in the summertime-- in which everything falls into place?

I was there, just now, outside in the sun between class and work, when my heart crystallized and burst into a thousand shards of shining joy. For a moment, just a moment (because these things, really, are always moments between the past and the future, when everything freezes), I was proud of who I am, proud to be where I am, free of everything but watching and smiling and living.

And, in this moment, I felt an Echo of another time open inside me like a flower. It was the smell of spring, the sadness of winter and the remebrance of love. It freed itself with a noise like the wings of a bird, and left through an open window in my soul.

Wings
There's really nothing more humbling than holding someone's head as they wretch out their guts for the tenth time in a night. Especially when the pain of being there is so personal that empathy cuts to the bone. Especially if you're there sincerly and voluntarily, even if you didn't intend to be.

I had wings.

The evening started out almost hysterically, a frenzy of shopping for the party ($100 in liquor and $70 in party supplies) before dropping Justin off to roleplay and bursting into Alex's house unannounced. I got a good deal of work done on my cloak and...surprise... I can actually sew. The leaf clasp I won on ebay seems to suit the dark wool very well. And god damn, I'm proud of what I've done... it actually looks like a cloak! (I somehow thought I'd be like the Akane of sewing or something, but apparently I don't give myself enough credit.) After a few hours of calming down with repetetive, domestic tasks, I picked up Justin and we went over to Sara and Brad's for Brad's 21er, hence the drunken bullshit post from Saturday night.

I'm amazed how well I can handle alcohol; coming into a party and downing three shots to match pace with everyone else there seemed not to even shock my system. I think, for the most part, we were blessed with an amazing sense of cameraderie, especially when all the girls were piled onto the couch and schmoozing about chick stuff. Again, not something I'm used to but I think I can learn to love it. Scratch that, I do love it and I think I'd like more of it. I even thoroughly enjoyed myself when all the boozed up boys got loud, took off their shirts, and cheered for us to do the same. That was a little reminiscent of a frat party... but I do get a rise out of exhibitionism. Not the same tone as one of OUR naked parties but eh, what the hell.The payoff was sincere joviality... and being piled into a 3 x 10 kitchen with 15 people shirtless, cheering people is a rolicking good time.

But the night wound down (as these things do) and ran the gamut from joy to pain. No, I didn't get sick. I was far from it, but several other people did. When that happens, I'm always glad that I've never had the experience of dealing with it in my house.

But I ended up in the bathroom and quite sober, if just from the bulk of the emotion eminating from the person inside. I'm not a weepy drunk, but I'm not a strong, stoic or giddy, careless drunk, either. I'm just empath enough to recognize a need for consolance when I hear it... and just close enough to my own past to know the kind of wound that need stems from.

It's one thing to empathize... but to try to heal and to explain is another thing entirely, especially if you're speaking from the outside and from the OTHER side.

But I tried to explain and came suddenly face to face with one shard of memory that I'd been avoiding-- having to see what heartbreak really does to someone.

Some things just dont make sense, I said. Sometimes you just have to wait on it. And I didn't think I was immune to that familiar pain but I was still surprised to be crying too. It wasn't a bad cry, or a guilty cry, it was just REAL. I was never blind; I'd just never had to look at it from that angle before. It takes moments like that to make you face those things you push into the shadows and hide in the corners and forget about.

So what do you do when you can't answer the questions and you can only say "wait" and give comfort in empty words about the things people do for their own sake? What do you do when you remember yourself what it was like to be alone in a room full of people and surrounded by friends, when you tried to kill yourself a little more every day because you felt that alone? You bare down and take it and let that blackness flow through and out of you; you gather the little things you find along the way into silver strands and knot them into a silver cord and sling that cord around the edges of the blackness until you can strangle it and tear it apart. You step out and you know:
It doesn't have to make sense; it just is.

And that's all I could say, because I was facing myself and it's hard to be objective when you're facing yourself... even thought I'm on the outside and even though I'm on the other side. I really don't know how to explain myself. But it hurts me, too, because I know I'm lucky and I could be lying when I say it will be OK. Not everyone comes out whole. I know what I've got.

I don't know if I helped much, saying what I did or even using up a week's energy on opening up, but I felt better afterwards even if I was raw. Facing demons. Talking it out. Being honest. I'm glad especially for that conversation afterwards, because I think I'd still be wasted if I hadn't had it.

These wings stay on me still, like a mantle of silver. Under the silver path, my darkest roads are still beneath me.

I went to bed at five in the morning and got up again less than five hours later. So yes, I'm more than a little delerious. I don't expect this to make sense to most anyone unless, maybe, I'm not giving you all enough credit.

Still, it's almost enough to make me hesitant about holding another party this coming weekend. It's an old truth that alcohol makes people crazy (because we're all crazy underneath), and when you put it together with a mixed company and a history of drama, the atmosphere is a fulcrum for change.

Thought and Memory
Early every morning, Odin, the father of all the gods, sat on his throne in a golden hall of Asgard. With his two wolves at his feet, and his two ravens, Thought and Memory, on his shoulders, he surveyed all the nine worlds.

As the sun rose, Odin sent Thought and Memory out across the universe. The ravens visited the nine worlds, questioning the living and the dead. Then they returned at nightfall and whispered in Odin's ear all they had seen and heard.

The ravens circled the sky, often during battle, and returned in the evening to Odin. If only one of the ravens should return, it would usher in a time of apocalypse... the consequences being a society governed by memory without thought, or thought without memory.

The story was meant to represent the concepts of a world defined by the figurative absence of the living, with the past eternally unchanged, or the rule of the present without understanding of what has come before. As for ravens, with only one, there may as well be none.

"Every morning the two ravens Huginn and Muninn, are loosed and fly over Midgard; I always fear that Thought may not wing his way home, but my fear for Memory is greater."

Free Enneagram Test
I got this from Jan's blog. My results were interested (if not terribly in-depth as these free tests tend to be)... as usual, I scored the exact same on two opposing character types that represent the dichotomy between my major personality facets. The overall result was hinged on my answer to one question:

I have tended to be:
-focused and intense
-spontaneous and fun-loving

If I chose the first, I got Type 5:




If I chose the second, I got Type 7:



One is the reflection of myself when I'm stressed, the other a reflection of myself when I'm relaxed.

Liquor
Hmm... this computer is obnoxiously slow with java running, so this may not be as long a drunken blog entry as I desire.... but it IS my first drunken blog entry so I'm still proud. I just want to say, um, HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRAD!!! And... you all can see my boobies.... see? o.0.... yay!!!!
yayayayayayay Gladstone is back!!!! We all love the internet! Everything is happy!!!

OK... um... bye....

I told you I'd quote you...
"Why would I want a one-dollar hooker?" -Alex

I dunno, hon... maybe you've proven your innocence, especially by having no clue about the connotation of the current Oregon Voice cover.

Then again, maybe not.

Smegvay
Guess what? You can now pre-order your very own Segway for only $5,000 on Amazon.com!

Here is a mode of transportation for the truly lazy. It's creator, in the promotional video, admits to creating the segway with a mind to faze out walking and bicycling. Isn't that the most exercise normal people GET? Gosh, though, looks like you have to be under 250 lbs to ride one. Bit of a problem there, hm?

I'm glad for another emission-free mode of transportation. I'd love to try one out myself, just for fun but they're such a GIMMICK. It makes sad to think I'll probably be seeing them on the streets soon.

What is a Segway? A glorified toy; a Gearhead's wet dream! Besides potential medical uses, they're completely superflous. Technology has made us into the ultimate seekers of convenience and will destroy us all.

God Bless the Freaks
... and smite the shock-journalists
Our TV gets one channel with the cable antenna hooked up. Luckily, that channel is ABC, so I got to tune in to the later half of Martin Bashir's documentary about Michael Jackson when I remembered it was being broadcast.

Shock journalism. That's the only way to describe Bashir's broadcast. Admittedly, Michael Jackson is one strange fruit and, by that respect, quite "shocking"... but Martin Bashir is the one who should be ashamed.

I sat down to this broadcast waiting to laugh at Michael for being so strange and for living up to the press sensation that this documentary has already caused in the UK and around the world. I came out of an hour and a half of 20/20 and "Primetime Thursday" rooting for poor, victimized Michael and feeling absolutely nauseated, again, to be associated with the lable of journalist.

What the hell is wrong with people? Is there no such thing as kindness or objectivity any more? It's no surprise that Michael wasn't completely open and honest with Bashir. Michael knows that his lifestyle isn't going to be accepted by the homogeneous public but Bashir's questions were so OBVIOUSLY transparent and biased by his own, more conservative views, that even *I* wouldn't have trusted him... and I have nothing particularly "shameful" to hide!

Yes, Michael Jackson is really weird. There's no way he hasn't had plastic surgery unless he's some sort of space alien (which I'm convinced he is). He obviously has deep-seated issues arising from his early fame and traumatic upbringing. He has Peter Pan complex and has had the money to make it a reality. He's probably just terrified of growing old and pretending to be a child and living like a child and with children is the only way he knows how to cope.

Assume for a moment that there's nothing to say he's hurt anyone. He's been singled out for his bizarre eccentricity and made into a voodoo doll for social dissection by the media circus. It disgusts me what the media is doing to him and people like him. They're picking them apart for being different. Yes, so different that it makes us uncomfortable, and more than a little DAFT... but nonetheless, simply abnormal.

Frankly, I commend Michael's childish sentiments. That doesn't mean *I* think a forty year old man should be sleeping in the same room or the same bed with someone else's (or their own) children... but if the children are being in no way harmed and have an honest friendship with another human they can identify with (as strange as that may be), I don't really see anything WRONG with it. In fact, Michael seems to think of sex as more of a punishment than anything else. So why don't we just leave sex out of the equation and believe what he says: that he just REALLY likes kids and DOESN'T molest them. So what? It's embarrasing that we live in a society that teaches children to be ashamed of and fear everything about their childhood that they have to love. It's embarrasing that adults can't show affection for children. It's embarrasing that as a consequence, generations are so distanced from each other and can in no way relate. Don't you think that maybe, if parents felt and acted the same way this "strange" man does with their children, the world would be a happier place. Don't we need more friends and rolemodels for children? Isn't that what we're asking for? We're asking for all this in an environment where teachers are no longer allowed to touch or reassure their students and parents are so far from understanding the minds of their children that they can't do anything but be ashamed. Maybe if parents pretended to take the time to BE children for a moment each day, their kids wouldn't take guns to school and blow the brains out of their classmates. Maybe we should all stop trying to be so FUCKING ADULT and realize that just because we're twenty or forty doesn't mean we can't be all those other ages we have inside, too.

Obviously Michael's called his fortress "Neverland" for a reason. Obviously he recognizes he has a fixation with being around children and acting like a child. Strange, yes. Interesting, yes. Deadly? No. I thought I might scream when Bashir, struggling up a tree behind Michael (who has just proclaimed his undying love for climing trees), asked if Michael thinks it's inappropriate to behave this way. If anyone ever stops me mid-treeclimb when I'm in my forties and asks me aren't I being a little juvenile, I think I'll just kick my sneakers down on their head, howl like a baboon, and laugh. Questions like that only prove the world is a sad place for anyone with an unusual dream.

I suppose I find this ageism particularly aggrivating because I'm friends with a number of men who've dealt with accusations along a similar front, both in age and gender issues. Saying someone should be more "adult" or more "masculine" isn't a way to get them to be a more functional person, it's a way to get them to conform to your standard of what "right," "good," and "normal" are.

For a time, there was a picture of Justin and his dad on display in the window of a photographer's shop in Helena, Montana. The photographer had chosen a particular image to display wherein a young Justin (7 or 8) was sitting with Tim and both of them (it was a torso shot) had the appearance of being nude. If anything, it was tasteful body photography (and I'm sure they were clothed elsewhere, as if it really matters). Needless to say, it was requested that the photograph be removed from display because it was offensive to someone who couldn't keep their mind out of the gutter.

What does this say about the people who censure perfectly innocent behavior because it makes them think dark, nasty, sexual thoughts? Probably that THEY'RE the perverts and the ones who end up hurting each other in their frustration and fear. Um... I mean, just LOOK at the ENTIRE Catholic Church! I'm so sick of everyone being so fucking narrowminded. I'm tired of bigotry and victimization and closetation of all of our fears and desires. All of you are freaks, and there's nothing WRONG with that... you're just afraid to admit it!!!!

And rightly so, I agree, after watching this broadcast. I'm simply disgusted by this journalist's trashy, biased portrayal of a very happily, innocently, freakish man. A journalist could make Michael look any way you wanted... albeit, he wouldn't be any less WEIRD for it... but Bashir's documentary had a very obviously ominous angle to it. Bashir is not someone who went into this contract "open-minded and objective" as he'd claim to be. He is someone who went in with opinions he only attempted to further seed in the rest of his viewers with very pointed, leading questions. I wanted to smack Bashir. So MJ is a freak! So what?? Ask him something interesting about himself, act like you've been listening to what he's been saying!! Don't just beat the dead horse of media sensationalism one more time and focus on the same fifty million questions that have already been asked and that Michael knows he'll be crushed for answering IN ANY WAY.

And talk about pounding it into our heads, what was the deal with Bashir asking Michael the same question four or five times. "Are you SURE you haven't had plastic surgery?" "You REALLY don't think it's inappropriate for a grown man to have sleepovers with children?" Bashir, you KNOW he answered the question the first time! You just want to pound it into our heads that YOU think he's LYING and that YOU think he's WEIRD. There's a different between expressing an opinion and forcing it down our throats. How about stepping beyond what YOU think for a minute and asking him what HE thinks?

In part, I'm really pissed off because this reminded me a lot of a BBC broadcast I recently watched while doing research for my "furries" piece in the next issue of the OV. The female reporter finds herself in a potentially awkward situation with some really exuberant "furs" and before you know it, the piece has turned from an informative broadcast about an alternative lifestyle to someone's idea of an opinion piece, complete with voiceovers and ominous music.

I don't blame anyone for feeling awkward and uncomfortable stepping out of their social boundaries-- after all, they are deeply ingrained-- but everyone should at least recognize that these are their OWN boundaries and that they perhaps DO NOT EXIST for other, equally functional, non-dangerous, happy, caring human beings. I don't think people should have to be comfortable with things that make them feel weird... simply mature enough to remain tolerant of behavior that isn't harming anyone.

At least the reporter in the furry piece is nice about her discomfort and acknowledges to her subjects that she doesn't really understand... but Bashir was just an inconsiderate ASS and took no shame in expressing how his own "acceptable" views overshadowed Michael's. It makes me so mad watching these "journalistic" chronicles and listening to the reporters slip in phrases like "I began to feel highly uncomfortable when...", "by far the most disturbing part of our interview..." and "this whole thing had taken an ominous turn..." For god's sake, let your viewers figure that out for themselves!! Let them draw their own opinions! Let your subject speak about what they like and dislike about their lifestyle and other people's opinions rather than guiding your audience's emotions with your baited questions. Isn't that the point????

Sick, stupid, journalists. Shame on you Bashir, you're a god-awful disgrace to the conscientious, objective reporter. You're not worth the trust that man put in you. Your reporting skills are foul-mouthed, pointedly misleading, and victimizing. Your "documentary" was a mockery of investigative reporting that wanted only to be sensationalist and cruel. You're a sheep, Bashir. And you just made a hell of a lot of money. When you go back home to count it and wonder why your life feels so empty and you feel so dirty and betrayed, I hope you ask yourself when the last time you climbed a tree was or when you last identified with a child. Maybe you'll find out there isn't so much harm in it after all.

That being said, (yes, I feel better) I personally have no desire to surround myself with flocks of eight-year-olds, or sleep anywhere near them. But if someone else wants to have a pig pile and all consenting parties are happy-- meaning no one's being paid off, molested, or having anything but a rather socially unacceptable slumber party-- I say have a ball! This world needs more freaks. And gosh, I think I just ought to become more freaky.

To all of you I know out there who aren't afraid of your taboos, or who are learning more and more to accept them, hats off. I'm seriously proud of you. May you forever embrace what makes you happy: whether it be fetish, fixation or simply freakish fun. I hope you join me in this big, fat, FUCK YOU to Martin Bashir and the other narrow-minded, pompous, money-grubbing shock-journalists out there. Someday they'll choke on their conformity and die alone and unfulfilled. Hell, I might die alone and unfulfilled... but at least I'll have had fun along the way.

[NOTE: I would just like to amend this, before I get my ass kicked, to say that everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion. If you think Jackson is a child-rapist pornographer, cool... I simply don't believe that the media should be broadcasting their opinions into everyone's sheeplike brains like that.]

[FURTHER ADDENDUM: I wasn't really angry when I wrote this, despite how it sounds... I was just worked up. I like to hear myself talk. And I'd like to add that I don't particularly admire or respect MJ, just the fact that he's sticking to his guns. I really don't think he's fit to parent, just to run around like a goofball and play with kids if he wants. I'm actually rather afraid for his children... they don't need an attention-starved, emotionally imature father. Yes, children need a friend in a parent but also a rolemodel. I do think Michael's parenting skills are lacking even though I honestly believe he loves his children. There has to be a happy medium somewhere.]

Pour me Another
Any drink requests/ recommendations/ recipes for the party out there?

Right now we're looking for people to bring gin for martinis (and gin/ tonic), Baileys and buttershots for buttery nipples and hot drinks, and kaluah or amaretto for white russians. If anyone brings "red passion," "yellow passion," or "wild passion" flavored Alize cognac (it's pretty cheap), I will love them forever and ever. YUM.

So far we've had volunteers to bring "smurf cock" (blue coracao) and midori (melon liquor) for the fruit beverages.

Tell me whatchu want, we is buying mixers and base alcohol this weekend!

Stalking
You've got to be kidding me. Check out this site. Men (rich, talented, desperate men even) can now pay a company to stalk the "woman of their dreams" for them.

It is, of course, a hoax, and a very clever one. I give the designer props. Apparently he's responsible for some of the other classic hoax sites.

But still, I don't know what to say. I'm appalled beyond belief that there are people out there who are actually willing to cough up that much money to hire someone else to set up a "coincidental" encounter with someone they haven't met, much less spoken to yet. Guh. Weirdos.

Look at me!! Look at me!!
Fifteen THOUSAND hits. I'll bet only a quarter of those were me (lol) and a little over half were mistaken google hits!! So, thanks guys, for the 7,000 times you actually came here. Woooo!

Black Valentines Party
Just in case you'd forgotten...

-----Original Message-----
From: Kat Ortland [mailto:kortland@gladstone.uoregon.edu]
Sent: Wednesday, February 05, 2003 12:01 AM
To: [undisclosed recipients]
Subject: Black Valentines Party

Hi everyone!

You probably know what this email is about already� but I�ll tell you again!

Justin and I are throwing a Cocktail party on Friday, February 14th. Yes, that most beloved of days� the death of dear St. Valentine. But this ain�t a hallmark-card, shmoozy, hearts-and-roses party; it�s a chance to get together, snub the masses, drink froufy cocktails and pretend we�re better than the trivial, commercialist bullshit that�s being shoved down our throats.

We�re hoping to make this a pretty big gathering with lots of friends, some good music, and games galore. I�ve sent out this email to the people closest to me and some of our proxy friends (I also tailored the list to only include the address of one of each pair of s.o.�s to conserve space) but feel free to invite a friend (and, of course, partner) if you�d like to have someone come along.

We�ve gathered a smattering of bar equipment and will be supplying basic liquors and mixers for margaritas, daiquiris, and simple drinks. In an effort to make some crazy concoctions and drink requests from the good ol� New York Bartender�s guide, we�re asking that everyone bring a bottle of their liquor of choice to add to the variety. Yes, I know this is a thinly veiled attempt to help us stock our bar� but you gotta start somewhere, right?

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. It�s always nice to have some extra basics, too.

Here�s a list of some of the liquors we�re looking for to make drinks with (and other misc mixers/ drinks):
-baileys (for mudslides, white russians, milkshakes, etc)
-kahlua
-blue couracao (Blue Hawaiians...mmmm)
-dark rum (the cap'n, etc, for mixers, rum & coke)
-buttershots (butterscotch shnapps for "buttery nipples," to die for)
-triple sec
-grenadine
-amaretto
-MORE cheap rum or tequila (for frozen drinks) � we always run out when Tara�s making margs.
-add'l limeaid, coconut milk, pineapple juice, etc
-vermouth (martinis?)
-whiskey
-flavored schnapps (peppermint, peach, etc)
-gin
-scotch
-bourbon
-brandy
-sherry
-sake
-flavored vodkas
-tonic water
-wine
-b33r (we don't buy it because we don't drink it)
-weird shit we�ve never even heard of!!!

OK, so you don�t HAVE to bring liquor. We won�t tell you to LEAVE if you don�t�But, you know, we�re poor and we want to make this a fabulous evening of mixology. We can�t do it alllll by ourselves. AND we are inviting a lot of people + the liquor stores close damn early. Who wants to run out?

If you have a specific drink idea/ request, RSVP. If you�d rather die than do anything but hide on Valentines Day or have """special""" plans, just give me a heads up, too.

This is a semi-formal affair (read: cocktail dress) if you�d like to make it that. It�s in no way mandatory that you come in a button-up or skirt if you don�t have one or don�t feel like it. But hell, it might be fun to pretend to be swanky, elitist, liberal-arts students! (Aren�t we?)

Soooooo�.

Let�s get together and celebrate love (or a lack thereof), in all its awe and angst, in some way that doesn�t trivialize it into a marketing promotion. We have a lot to love and a lot to fear losing these days. I�ll drink to that.

LOVE LOVE LOVE
XOXOXOXO
Your crazed hostess,
Kat

Selling out?
Hey, at least I'm not ME.


Which OS are You?

actually, my original result was this....



Which OS are You?


But when I changed a few answers I became a Microsoft product. Lessons learned, folks. Lessons learned.

GUILT
I made some mistakes this weekend and I think I'd like to write about them now that I'm not worried about Justin reading it.

Friday night I got to bed really late, around 3:30 AM, and when I slept, I had an awful, traumatic dream about totalling Justin's car and being stuck inside the twisted hull. Before waking up and even in my moments of waking, I was sure it was real and all I could think of was how I was going to have to tell him. Then, as the nature of my dreams are often abstractly prophetic, I reamed his bumper on Luke's car when I went over to Murray's house for breakfast the next morning. God *&$%ing damnit.

I mean, it really wasn't a big deal... all I did was moosh up against Luke's wagon when I was pulling into the driveway. His car and murray's were slightly staggered and I misestimated how far over I was when parking behind murray. But that awful (albeit small) impact and the sinking, stupid, guilt of it was enough to send me regressing into the panic of my dream state. You know what it's like when you have a dream about someone and when you see them it's in a totally different way because of those dream feelings? Well, I basically felt like I'd totalled Justin's car.

Telling everyone I know what a farking moron I am is my coping mechanism. I'll put on my dunce hat for pennance. I know it isn't a BIG thing, his car has small ouches on it from a number of times: when he scraped it on a parking garage, when my MOM dragged it against another car in a parking lot, when some asshat broke a beer bottle on it... but *I've* never damaged a car before and I feel like a total retard. I pretty much figured right afterwards that there was nothing I could do but get over it because, well, it had happened and wasn't going to fix itself.

I contemplated telling him that some dumbass backed into me in the Humble Bagle parking lot so as to displace the blame. But I've never lied to Justin and I don't plan on starting now. But when I went to pick him up in Corvallis last night, it wasn't exactly the most welcoming environment to confess in.

I'd gone over to Alex's around 7 o'clock for game night with him, Nate, Murray and Luke. We had dinner and mucked around with the LoTR board game (got our asses kicked) and Apples to Apples (which, played the RIGHT way, doesn't suck). I left around 10:10 to go home and check the messages. Justin had told me that he and Dave weren't expecting to leave Seattle, at the earliest, by 7 o'clock. So I figured I'd expect a message from Justin around 10 and get up to corvallis by 11. Well, I forgot that Dave drives 80 all the time. I should have had them call me when they were leaving because I would have gotten the message at slightly before seven and known to expect them in Corvallis at ten. As is, I got home at 10:25, went in, listened to the messages, said "SHIT!" and ran out the door.

Needless to say, Justin wasn't happy. I again felt like a total dumbshit, but there was nothing I could do about it. I'm sure he thought all sorts of terrible things had happened to me and that I was somewhere splattered all over the pavement and I'm sure it didn't help to hear that I'd been mucking around with a circle of friends exclusive to him instead of sitting at home pining... but I'd been planning on a late night so I wasn't about to sit at home letting myself get more and more sleepy before hitting the road. So with him stewing in the driver's seat and me wallowing in the passengers, I told him about scraping his car the only way I could think to say it.

"I have something to tell you," I said.

"Yeah?" he said tentatively, turning down the radio, "Something on your mind?"

"Um. You're gonna hate me," I said.

You can bet you guessed where he THOUGHT that was going. I mean, Christ, even *I* know what everyone uses that intro for. But what was I supposed to say? "Thanks for being so generous this weekend and going out of your way to lend me the car, by the way I scraped some paint off."??!?! Right. I thought I'd at least, I dunno, mellow my way in. Or maybe my subconscious just wanted him to jump to "worst case scenario" mode to soften the impact. Anyway, he really didn't care that much about the car but I sure did scare the shit out of him.

I mean, you'd think after being faithful to someone for three years, they'd have enough trust in you not to assume you're cheating on them with your ex the first time you admit to doing something stupid and hurtful. Ouch. For both of us.

Talk about a degenerative evening. I don't think we even so much as kissed each other hello before slumping off to finish our nightly routines and falling into bed. Sometimes it just feels like there's this wall between us that prevents us from saying anything. I don't know if I put it there or if he put it there or if it's just there because we're so different but I hate it so much. Here I'd spent the whole weekend missing him and feeling dreadful and guilty about some stupid thing I did to his car and now even more miserable and alone for an entirely separate reason.

I have to ask myself, Am I doing something wrong? Am I just a terrible person?

For five minutes after we turned off the light, I was immobilized by my frustration, tense and pent up to the point where I thought I'd spend another night sleepless and eyeing the ceiling. But another five minutes after that, enough had been said that I could feel the heaviness behind my eyes taking over. Even though nothing that had been broken, delayed, or misplaced this weekend had been repaired, we knew enough to recognize spite for what it was and let go, forgave, turned toward each other and slept.

I had healing dreams. And when I woke up, it was exactly half an hour after my alarm.

Everything always looks different in the morning, as if somehow the sunrise purifies it, makes it clean and new. I'm always an innocent in the morning now that it's been over a month since I stopped having those Dreams. I can face the day with nothing behind me that isn't the Past. I can build something new in each span of twenty four hours. I can listen to myself clearly in the morning and plan where I'm going independent on what the days before have brought.

So I'm not upset about last night; I'm not feeling remorseful or guilty or incensed. Accidents happen and people say stupid things. But I know I'm doing the best I can and whatever does happen, be it something as little as a scrape in silver paint, it will have happened without an intent of malice. It feels good to clear the air.

Cloaking Device
Thanks to Alex, I've been initiated into the higly elitist ren-faire circle of "People Who Make Their Own Garb." I got some cheap ($9/yd) wool at the fabric outlet and some simple cotton lining ($3/yd) at JoAnn's and have been piecing them together into a half-circle cloak with his help. So far my sewing curse has only slightly affected his machine adversely. I feel so domestic, wahoo!

Proud to be a Pervert
Does anyone else think it's really scary when a dildo has a face? I certainly like MY sex toys without that much personality.

In case you can't tell, I just got back from Rachel's "Tupperware" party and an evening of girl-oriented sexual exploration. Unlike most of my parties, this one ended with everyone's clothes ON. (Much to my chagrin because I'm now sitting at home boyfriendless and absurdly hot and bothered.) It was mad fun even though a number of the friends I invited didn't show up and despite the fact that the crowd was overwhelmingly of a vanilla hetero attitude (though I don't know if anyone but Katie and I noticed this.). I walked away with $35 worth of toys and fun stuff that I probably don't need, being that I already own a version of all the "gear" there. Surprisingly, this super-freakishness only managed to embarrass me once or twice. Other than that I was just the object/ teller of many interesting stories. Tis good to have no shame.

Honestly, I think the best part of the evening was after everyone left and before I went to pick up Justin to drive him up to Corvallis. Four of us girls sat around and had honest-to-god girl talk like I haven't had in YEARS for near forty minutes. Me, talking to FEMALES??? Nahhhhh.... But wow, it felt so unburdening to talk about everything from exes to orgasms without the fear of a testosterone-laden statement creeping in. That sort of lightness stayed with me even driving Justin up to Corvallis on the dark, flooded freeway and I finally said some things to him I've been meaning to admit for a while: things about our uncertainties, our attachments, my need for introspection and how all this relates to me going to Japan. And I also realized that some part of me still thinks it'd be REALLY STUPID to go because I can't afford to abandon the ties that I have after being without such valuable relationships for so long. I think I came to the realization that the most invaluable part of this whole experience, whether I go or not, is right now, when the door is open and the realm of possibility is infinite... when I can be free to address everything important revolving around the decision without actually making it. That freedom is worth more than the $50 application fee by far.

So we talked about some pretty complicated and serious ethical predictions and cleared the air for a bit. And then I turned around and went home for another weekend by myself, playing single socialite with a million and one friends. I'm sad though, because I'm lonely and horny, I love my boyfriend, and we haven't had nearly enough QT in our relationship recently. He keeps getting distracted by his MUD and I by more fulfilling social politics than doing homework and watching him play on the computer. We do things together often enough, but not alone together... we're always with the same friends. I think our mutual social dynamic is starting to wear on us a bit. But, on the other hand, so is my cavorting around by myself till all hours of the night and repeatedly stealing his car. Mwahahaha. I feel dirty.

I wish I didn't have school and work and homework and everything else so I could actually devote my time to having things like girl talk with friends and meaningful cuddle sessions with my devoted lover. I actually have too much good stuff in my life right now! gah!

I couldn't stomach coming back to an empty house right away after I drove back to Eugene so I went over to Katie and Dave's house and bummed around with them for a while. It made me feel less lonely but didn't really do anything to alleviate my hormones as they were both casually leafing through Bondage Fairies when I came over and discussing how to make a Pam costume for Katie. (She and I decided we'd go as Pam and Pfil to the next fetish party, huzzah!!!) Then Dave pulled out just about the coolest friggin comic ever, Small Favors,. Oh my god. If you like girly comics at all, read this. It is the cutest, happiest lesbian smut I've ever seen. It just made me want to jump up and down and be like "GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS!!!! YAAAAAAYYY!!" and then run all over the place being naked and silly. Really, it seemed logical at the time. Emily, if you haven't seen this, I totally think you would love it.

Anyhow, I don't know why I'm sitting up writing this because I really should just watch my smut at go to bed. My twisted mind can only take so much more of tonight before it becomes warped into some permanently twisted context of reality. On the other hand, I don't really think there's any way to prevent that from happening in the long run. And no I won't tell you what I bought at the party... not because it's worse than what you'd guess but because I'm saving it as a surprise. And anything that you guess can't be worse than what I already own.