046

So, on Thanksgiving everyone says they are thankful for the same things: friends, family, loved ones, opportunities for the future, etc.  While I am thankful for these things, I want to take the time to express the not-so-deeply-rooted things I am thankful for this year.

I am thankful for CollegeHumor, Joan Rivers' snarky remarks, McDonalds french fries, feather boas, The Graham Norton Show, Starbucks mochas, Channing Tatum's abs, William Shakespeare's works, every song covered by Glee, Youtube, Qwerty keyboards, Girl Scout cookies (especially Samoas), peach incense, free wine at religious ceremonies, oversized sweatshirts, bathing suits on sale in November, the Tardis, online shopping, Mario (but not Luigi), Tucky Williams' smile, Ravenclaw house, Justin Bieber's haircut, zebra-print, do-it-yourself tye-dye, gingers, the middle finger, dimples of Venus, Postsecret Sundays, Monday night Football, chocolate-covered pretzels, peacock feathers, skinny jeans, anything said by Albus Dumbeldore, cookie dough, perfectly placed mistletoe, carnival rides, pink plaid rainboots, sparklers, rollercoasters with double helices, Alan Rickman's voice, composition notebooks, and Google.

045

It astounds me how tired I become sometimes, just by being in bed.  I woke up this morning at six, and after a quick trip to the bathroom, I got back in bed.  I wasn't tired at all, so I browsed my Facebook News Feed from my phone for fifteen minutes or so, liking the things that I missed after going to bed around 11:30.  Once I reached my status that I put up before bed (about my mother's delicious cookies), I closed the app and decided to go back to sleep.  I fell back to sleep easily and didn't wake up again til 11:42, at which time the other half of my bed was taken up by lap-dog wannabe.

I got up then, recognizing that twelve hours was more than enough sleep for the normal functioning adult.  I ate an unhealthy breakfast--or rather brunch--and watched mindless television for an hour.  I came back upstairs and sat at my computer.  Then, I thought to myself, 'Self, you have a netbook.  Why don't you just sit in bed and use the internet from there?'  I couldn't really come up with a suitable argument against myself, so I pulled out my husband pillow, who had been named a year ago but was now nameless due to my inability to remember, and burrowed under my comforter and fleece blanket.  After looking for jobs--in which I discovered that NCIS actually exists and that it is impossible to get a government job without experience--I felt my eyelids begin to sag.  With my lower half heated by blankets and a warm netbook, I was beginning to feel tired once more.  Why does this happen?  Why, when I get ample sleep each night, do I find myself tired?  Is it because I have nothing to do?  Because I'm sure I can find a number of things to get done.

It's times like these that I wonder how I made it by in college with four hours of sleep after writing a five-page essay on The Tempest and a ten-page paper on Much Ado About Nothing, because I didn't bother to work on the former until the last minute.  Then, of course, I have to ask myself, 'How on earth did I pass Shakespeare's Comedies anyway?'

044

Tonight I'm feeling sort of dry when it comes to inspiration.  A lot of things are bouncing around in my head, but it's just sort of hard to grab a hold of one when they're whizzing by so quickly.  So, I did a bunch of Googling to find a blog prompt.  When I was unsuccessful, I decided that I'm in a list-making mood.  So, here are five lists of three:

Three Celebrity Crushes
1. Michelle Rodriguez
2. Kellan Lutz
3. Mark Salling

Three Favorite Book Characters
1. Luna Lovegood (of the Harry Potter series)
2. Wanda (of Stephenie Meyer's The Host)
3. Vivian (of Annette Curtis Klause's Blood and Chocolate)

Three Favorite Things to Wear
1. Spandex shorts
2. Camisole tank tops
3. Pearls

Three Things I Want in a Relationship
1. Honesty
2. Immaturity at appropriate times
3. Cuddling

Three Things I'd Do If I Weren't So Afraid
1. Bungee-jump
2. Fool around in a library
3. Sleep on my roof under the stars

043

At the time, you don't realize the moments you're going to wish you could remember perfectly.  It's not like a TV show, where the next three seasons of life are scripted perfectly and filed away for good measure.  No, life comes at you fast, and events occur that you never would have expected two months ago, or even two years ago.  Two years ago, I didn't know it yet, but I was falling in love.  Two years ago, I didn't know it yet, but in a few hours I would be lying in my best friend's bed, agreeing to date a girl I would in two weeks time fall in love with.

I wasn't smart enough to think that maybe I should write down what I was feeling and what was happening--write about how my world was spinning at a hundred miles an hour, and I was doing everything in my power just to keep my balance.  I wish I had written it all down.  I wish I could have been prepared for this day, when I sit in my bed with my laptop in front of me, unable to open a Word Document because I know that I'll never remember everything perfectly.  So, now I'll put off writing things down again, and soon the memories will fade even more, because I'll tell myself I'm still not ready to write down that story.

Sooner or later I'll write that story with twisted facts and figures.  Sooner or later I'll have to see her again and tell her that I want it published, but it's all about her.  Sooner or later she'll read it and tell me that I got this and that wrong.  Sooner or later, with if's and maybe's, I'll do the things that my heart says I need to.  But for now I'll just bottle it up and save it for later.

042

Since so many friends have asked what I want for Christmas, I'm going to post a list of things I might like here.  I sort of hate doing this just because I'm afraid I'll end up with like five of one thing, but I'm going to post it just to make life easier.  Just include gift receipts, please!

-Anything relating to my sorority
-Friends with Benefits DVD
-Black Swan DVD
-Wicked Soundtrack
-The Green Lantern DVD
-Red Riding Hood DVD
-Sorority Row DVD
-Chain Reaction by Simone Elkeles
-Burlesque DVD
-Sims 3 Deluxe (and any expansion packs)
-How To Train Your Dragon DVD
-Break the Spell CD (Daughtry)
-The Periodic Table of Storytelling
-Generic phone car charger
-Dead Poets Society DVD
-Any Glee soundtracks except Volume 1 & the Christmas album (I already have them)

041

Today was the first time since before graduation that I left my alma mater to drive home to Maryland without crying.  I know it's stupid and irrational, but after spending four years living somewhere and developing a separate identity from the one you know at your parents' home--an identity in which you have friends instead of just coworkers, and you meet new people instead of greet customers--it's hard to leave.

Probably the most significant revelation of my trip was the reconsideration of applying for grad school.  During my senior year, as graduation approached, I considered graduate school as a means of staying in school to avoid the real world.  Now, after getting a taste of life outside of formal education, I realize that I would like to further my skills as a writer, and maybe even get a jump-start on a novel.  So, this evening--though the night is still young--has marked the beginning of what is sure to be a long search to find universities that offer a Master of Fine Arts programs for Creative Writing.  My choices are undoubtedly more limited because I would like to earn my MFA instead of MA, but I also realize that as my undergraduate major was geared toward the writing end of English, I would be more comfortable in a program that will allow me to so exactly what I've always wanted to do.  I think a Master of Arts would lean to much toward the literary end of the spectrum, which wasn't really my greatest passion, to say the least.

I'm sure I'll have more to talk about after I do more research--and after my mother attempts to talk me out of it for financial reasons.

040

Brainstorm 10 titles to your autobiography or memoir.

1. 12:34

2.  Heart on a Chain

3.  One Time

4.  Tiffany and Daisy

5.  Then the Fire Cools

6.  The Box

7.  Chasing Apologies

8.  5.2.4

9.  Diamonds, Gold, and Silver Hearts

10.  One Chapter

Let me know which one you would be most likely to read in the comments!

039

Around midnight last night I started to feel a cold coming on.  I could feel the scratchy throat and the difficulty to swallow, and I just knew it was coming and there was very little I could do to stop it.  I took some Nyquil before I went to sleep, in hopes that my symptoms would subside, and I would be set for work in the morning.  This morning I woke up around nine.  I don't usually wake up this early (due to my usual late nights), but because I took Nyquil, I was ready to go.  Unfortunately, my throat felt worse than it did last night.  So, after a couple hours of deliberating with Mom, I decided to call out sick.  Luckily I talked to my favorite manager, who was very understanding.  After that, at around 12:45, I made myself a breakfast bowl, a glass of raspberry lemonade, and two Dayquil tablets.  I then proceeded to sleep until five in the afternoon.

Doctors and parents have always told me that sleep will surely cure any sickness.  Sleep and fluids--those are the regimen.  Sleep and fluids haven't done shit for me today.  I had Cream of Mushroom soup for dinner (the only soup I could find in the house); I've been drinking water and juice; I've been sleeping insane hours.  I feel worse than I did this morning.  My post-nasal drip is ridiculous; I'm sneezing more; my head feels clouded...

So, the conclusion I have come to is that sleep and fluids doesn't help a damn thing.  Next time I'm sick I'll go into work and be a raving lunatic to customers and risk being fired, because at least then I will be making money for being sick, instead of spending my day becoming even more sick.

038

Today I listened to a CD.  I usually listen to my iPod, but on the way to work my battery, which typically lasts only three twenty-minute rides to and from work (approximately two hours total), died in the middle of Justin Bieber singing "One Time."  I believe it to be a work of God, trying to smite me for my terrible taste in music.  Putting that aside, on the way home after a surprisingly pleasant eight-hour shift, I shuffled through the stations on my presets--twelve of them ranging from Top 40's to hard rock to hip-hop to country.  On twelve stations there were either consistent commercials or what I would consider to be crappy music.  So, while poking along behind an incredibly idiotic driver trying to merge out of my lane, I peeked up at my CD wallet attached to my visor.

I don't have a lot of CDs in my car: about four mixes I've made for myself, all my Linkin Park, a couple 90s boy bands, all of my Carrie Underwood, and a miscellaneous artist who was giving out free CDs at Baltimore Pride a year ago.  At the front are my mixes, but just before them are three white CDs with the words "Just Listen" written in messy print across the front in permanent marker.  The CDs had gone untouched for over a year.  A Christmas gift from my ex-girlfriend, they were a sort of taboo--the only thing from her that wasn't stuffed in a box in my basement.

Now, it's not like I haven't listened to the songs on these CDs since we broke up a year and a half ago; they're all on my iPod, in various playlists, played whenever I feel like it.  But there's something different about putting in the CD and listening to the compilation she composed.  What the hell, I figured.  Either I'd bawl my eyes out in reliving the past from our first kiss to our last, or I'd enjoy the music because they were actually pretty awesome CDs.  So, I pulled the top one out of the sleeve.  "Just Listen 2" was sucked into my car's CD player.  This was my favorite CD of the three, particularly for Josh Gracin's "Brass Bed," because his voice makes me melt, but also because of Nickelback's "Far Away."

I just heard every single one of you groan at the word Nickelback, but the song was very significant to our relationship, so just let it go.

I didn't cry a single teardrop on the way home.  In fact, apart from moronic drivers, it was a great drive.  But all of these lovey-dovey songs got me to thinking about my past relationships and the possibility of future ones.

People always talk about love at first sight; every Nicholas Sparks book is triggered by a love at first sight moment; Romeo and Juliet is a love at first sight story.  Love at first sight is the ultimate test of true love.  Wasn't love at first sight?  It wasn't real love then.

This is my "Fuck You" to the love at first sight notion.  Have I experienced love at first sight?  No.  Have I experienced attraction at first sight?  Yes.  I was attracted to my first boyfriend from the first look on what would become our college campus--in a classroom in Schewel.  Then, again, with my first girlfriend, when she friended me on Facebook on a whim and we began talking.  However, those are my shortest relationships, and also ones in which I was the least emotionally invested.

The relationships that mattered more were ones in which the attraction wasn't there at first.  I first met my second boyfriend at a young age.  We're talking when I was in diapers.  He wasn't.  He was in elementary school when I was born, probably about third or fourth grade.  Before you get your panties in a twist about my pedophilia; I was eighteen, and with him I thought I experienced love.  It was the closest to love I had ever felt at the time anyway.  I obviously didn't have that initial attraction to him--not for a long time, in fact.  It took us eighteen years for us to find that chemistry.

My last relationship was by far the most interesting turn of events.  I hated my second girlfriend before we dated.  At the time she was dating one of my friends, and not treating her very well.  My friend now admits that the chemistry wasn't quite as right as she thought at the time.  However, up until the moment we first kissed, we were fighting.  Hell, even after we kissed we fought all the time.  That's a story for another day--like when I write my memoir.  The fact is, I hated her for how she was treating my friend, but I fell so deeply in love with her.  Deep enough that I feared listening to those mixed CDs might tear me apart.

So, this love at first sight business just isn't for me, and maybe that's a good thing.  How would you like to look at someone and realize, I'm in love with you, and then come to find out that person's a douchebag?  Better to get to know them first and find out you really could come to love those douchebag qualities.

037

I should be doing a book review, because it is in fact Friday; but quite frankly I don't feel like it.  And--let's face it--this is Amurrica, so I can do what I want.  I've been doing a lot of writing lately--not here, obviously, but on paper--and I just sort of need to reflect on what it's like to start writing a novel.

Though it's only a young adult, escapist fiction work--something one of my college professors would refer to as "crap"--I've spent so much time in the planning stages.  First, you start with a rough idea, like an explanation of the plot in a sentence.  That sentence turns into a series of lists: lists of characters, lists of conversations, lists of characteristics of your characters, lists of quotes, lists of lists that you still need to make, etc.  The planning stages are the purest form of Hell on Earth.  You sketch drawings of your characters on a plane flying home from vacation, knowing that it's completely unnecessary because you're not an artist and your potential novel won't have pictures.  You have a folder full of sheets of loose-leaf paper--the kind you used in high school that came in bulk--filled with notes scribbled in the margins describing the idiosyncrasies of a single character and their importance in the grand scheme of the story.  You begin to write aspects of your character that won't even matter to the story, like their favorite song (his is "In This Diary" by the Ataris), even though it's doubtful it will be featured in the novel.  You write it down because even though you haven't started writing the novel, your character is already telling you who he is.

Finally, you start to write long paragraphs.  Starting is the hardest part.  Do I start mid-scene?  Do I start with dialogue?  Do I describe my character right away?  How do I do that by showing instead of telling?  Sometimes you just have to write a word--any word--and see where it takes you.  Don't choose a word like "Watermelon;" it'll take you nowhere unless you're in BFE.  Once you've got a good rhythm going, you can't put down your pen.  People will talk to you, and their words will hang in the air around you, never penetrating your consciousness.  You'll really piss people off, but it won't matter.  Who needs friends?  You have characters!

After several days of writing--or hours, or minutes sometimes--you'll hit a brick wall.  The train of thought has run out of coal, or perhaps there are sheep on the tracks.  And I know what you're thinking--just run over them!  But you can't just run over sheep.  Their intestines get caught in the tracks, and there's nothing worse than wasted haggis.  So, you wait.  You can see what's next, just a few chapters or pages away, but you've got to find a way around these sheep.  You could back up--fuck that; do you see all the writing you just did?  You're back to the "write any word" struggle.  If you just write some word that can convince these sheep that it's time to get off your track and move to green pastures...  You'll find that word, and you're moving again.  This will happen over and over again, and every time it's another stupid animal you just can't get around. 

I love writing with all of my heart; it's the reason I'm alive.  But these animals are going to be the end of me.

036-- Book Review Friday

A few weeks ago--meaning this review should have been posted long ago--I read Pretend You Love Me (originally titled Far From Xanadu) by Julie Anne Peters.  I preface this review by saying that Peters is one of my absolute favorite writers.  Three of the four books of hers that I own are LGBT-oriented--this book being one of them--and I must say that this one did not disappoint.  I enjoyed reading a novel of a lesbian in a small town where she was just accepted as that, because when you think of small towns and gay culture, the standard stereotype is a bunch of redneck, Bible-hugging, closed-minded individuals who are ready to run the homos out of town.  This book wasn't anything like that.  What I think I liked most was that the fact that Mike (whose birth name is Mary Elizabeth) doesn't flaunt that she's a lesbian, and you sort of forget about that fact and are more focused on the crush she has without really considering gender a part of the problem, just that Xanadu only sees her as a friend.

In the beginning, I, like the characters in the novel, was enamored by Xanadu.  She's the city girl who moves to the middle of nowhere with this intense backstory of drugs and death.  But while Mike falls deeper and deeper in love with Xanadu, my feelings for her followed that of Jamie (Mike's gay male counterpart), whose fascination with Xanadu reaches a peak and then peters out into a deep loathing.  Xanadu truly takes Mike and readers on a wild ride.  It was difficult to put the book down, so most of the time I didn't. 

I highly recommend this book to anyone who enjoys LGBT fiction.  I also recommend this to anyone who enjoys Young Adult fiction.  I give this novel an 8 out of 10.  You can acquire this book at this link.

035

It's hard to go back to school after graduation.  Even after two post-graduation visits to the city of my alma mater, this trip still had its ups and downs.  A lot of things change once you've been away from people for a lengthy amount of time.  This can be a good thing or a bad thing.

On a Walmart excursion, I ran into the chapter president of my sorority, who at least seemed very happy to see me and welcomed me with a hug.  I admit that I was not one of the easiest sorority women to deal with during my final year as a collegiate.  In fact, I'd even go as far as to say that I was hard-skinned and difficult to get along with.  I am surprised I still have friends within my sorority because of the way I treated people, and for that I will always be sorry.  If I regretted a single thing in my life, that might be it.  I know I don't deserve the friends I have, but I'm so thankful for them.  I'm also thankful that some people have found a place in their hearts to forgive me for the things I put them through.

On the bad end of change, I have to admit that there's something bittersweet about being on the outside looking in at recruitment.  While I know that I'm still a member of my sorority, as an alumna, it's not the same.  There is a sort of disconnectedness to watching collegiates welcome new sisters--especially admitting to myself that I will never know these new women like the women I call sisters will.  Only fellow alumnae can understand how that feels.  I was taught to trust my sisters' judgment when it comes to voting on new members, and I do trust them, with all my heart; but there will always be that part of me that wonders what it was that made my sisters vote yes on these women--what did they see?

From here, I had more to say--much more to say.  However, no words can really sum up how I feel without elaborate backstory and placing unnecessary blame on both myself and others.  So, for now, that is all.  I'm hoping this may help prepare my sisters--and perhaps women of other sororities--to prepare for life outside the collegiate world, because it is definitely a difficult transition.

034

I usually don't double post like KEE, but sometimes things just happen.

Tonight I went to the Orioles game with my dad.  It was sort of a last minute decision since my mom couldn't go and they have season tickets, so we headed out.  As a backhistory, I should explain that my relationship with my father is more or less non-existent.  From the age of eleven, until I turned eighteen, our conversations could be summed up to volleyball, goal-setting, and grades.  When I started college, I passed up the opportunity to play volleyball in order to focus on my studies and, admittedly, free myself from the pressure put upon me by my father.  So, then, our conversations were focused on how the volleyball team at school was doing, goals, and football.  Since then, we talk about football, and occasionally he gets on my back about finding a job.

On the way to the game today, it was a relatively normal conversation.  The Redskins won last night, so there was a cause for celebration.  Likewise, the Cowboys lost to the Jets.  In response to his surprise that the Cowboys lost, after leading by fourteen; I agreed that I was happy that the Cowboys lost but not so thrilled about the Jets winning.  Once upon a time, I would have been happy about this, but now the Jets hold no significance in my life.  My father--not so astute--asked why I don't like the Jets.  I responded very shortly that it was because of my ex.  As I said, my father and I don't talk about things outside of sports and the future.  Needless to say, interpersonal relationships fall outside of the realm of normalcy, most especially regarding my ex-girlfriend.  The words that came out of my father's mouth were so simple and yet so meaningful: "Oh, she like them?"

In the four years since I have come out to my parents as bisexual, this is the first time I have heard him acknowledge my attraction to women or any relationship that I have had with a woman--at least in front of me.  Even when I had my then-girlfriend visit a year and a half ago, he barely said more than two words to her.  My mother has always been the supportive one.  She has always accepted my sexuality for as long as I can remember, saying that it's only a small piece of who I am--so insignificant to the big picture.  While my dad isn't waving around a rainbow flag or attending PFLAG meetings, it just means a lot to know that he's not pretending that part of me doesn't exist, because that's how I usually feel when he says, "Emily, that boy over there's kind of cute," or "Oh, you have a date with a boy?"

I don't expect anyone to say, "What do you think of that girl?"  I don't need someone to ask me these things, but I don't like pretending to be straight.  Even if I date a man--hell, even if I marry a man--I will still be a bisexual woman.  I will not go back into the closet.

033--Book Review Monday

I haven't done a book review in about three weeks, and now I've finished two books.  I'll share one with you and save the other for this Friday (hopefully--if I'm not too busy).

During vacation--which I know was almost a month ago--I read The Ex-Debutante, by Linda Francis Lee.  This was one of those books that I bought on a whim because it was marked down and had a pretty cover.  Legitimately, that was the reasoning.  The only way to describe this book is the novel equivalent of Sweet Home Alabama gone romance novel.  While there is a rather intimate scene between our main character, Carlisle, and her college sweetheart, Jack; I wouldn't rank it quite as explicit as some romance novels, but the passion is certainly there.  Carlisle, a once-debutante-now-lawyer, must return home to Willow Creek, Texas to settle her mother's fifth divorce, leaving her fiance in Boston.  Apart from spending her time in the courtroom, opposing Jack Blair in both feelings and legalities; Carlisle must also acquire eight graduating girls, polish them up, and present them as young women at Willow Creek's Annual Debutante Ball.

While this novel was very similar to the storyline of Sweet Home Alabama--new life in the city, old life in country, lying to one's fiance, falling for an old flame, etc--it was very different from the books I usually read, and I enjoyed it much more than I thought I would. 

I would give this book an 8 out of 10--highly recommended.  If you would like to buy this book, here is a link, via Barnes and Noble--because I'm afraid it will go out of business like Borders--http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/ex-debutante-linda-francis-lee/1100356776?ean=9780312354985&itm=4&usri=linda%2bfrancis%2blee.

Happy Reading!

032

Make a list of five ways you've changed in the last five years. 

1. I have lost a significant amount of weight.  When I was in high school, I weighed about 135, and now I'm anywhere between 115 and 120, which makes me very happy.  Not only do I look slimmer, but I find myself more confident in my own skin.

2. I am more comfortable being alone.  While I don't like sitting alone in my house or anything like that, I like being unattached.  I used to feel like I couldn't be happy if I wasn't in a relationship, and now I'm really happy with my freedom.

3. I am more outspoken.  This comes mostly from working retail, in which I am told to "Smile and say hi" to every customer.

4. I am definitely more of a cynic.  I think my cynicism is part of the reason I am so much happier being single.  Or maybe I'm just more realistic; life can't always end happily ever after.

5. Finally, I'm definitely less innocent than I was as a senior in high school.  I was very much reserved and a do-gooder in high school.  College allowed me to get outside my comfort zone, and since then I have toned down my behavior considerably, but I'm obviously more mature all around.

031

10 Ways a Workplace and a Sorority are Alike

1. You join for one reason and stay for the people.
    In a sorority, you rush for any variety of reasons--to make friends, too add to your resume, to gain leadership opportunities, etc--and you apply for a job for money.  In the end, even if you don't like the amount of work it takes to exist in either situation, you will remain where you are because of the people who make it worth it.

2. You put more into in than you think you get out of it.
    At work, you are constantly busting your ass (at least in your eyes), and that minimum wage paycheck feels like someone is laughing at your misfortune; but in time, that money adds up.  In a sorority, you go to countless meetings, do endless hours of community service, and push your way through weeks of recruitment; and it seems like there's no silver lining.  Bid Day is the silver lining, when you find new women who will become your sisters.

3. If someone is removed from the situation, no one talks about it--just whispers.
    In a sorority, when someone's membership is terminated--whether it is by their own choice or circumstances beyond their control--it is not something that is spoken about, except in hushed whispers between curious members.  At work, when someone is fired, a manager doesn't tell a soul, but everyone notices when the individual stops showing up, and that's when the rumors start.

4. If you've been away for a long time, you're welcomed back with open arms.
    At work, if you go on vacation, the day you come back everyone will be happy to see you, even if you left on bad terms.  After graduation, if you visit your chapter, your sorority sisters will embrace you, and all past drama will be swept under the rug.

5. People have romantic relationships with one another, but they are kept a secret.
    Therefore, everyone knows and whispers about it.

6. There are people you don't always get along with, but you always remain civil because that's what is best for the group as a whole.
    In a sorority, you are sisters--no matter what.  At work, you can't escape them, so you might as well put up with them.

7. If you don't like authority and rules, this is not for you.
    At work, you can get away with breaking some rules, like having your cell phone on you; but you can't get away with the big stuff, like stealing.  In a sorority, you can get away with breaking some rules, like wearing stitched letters with ripped jeans; but you can't get away with the big stuff, like talking to a rushee during formal recruitment outside of events.

8. Each store/chapter is different but upholds the same policies and procedures.
    In a sorority, each chapter has different local traditions but believes the same principles.  At work, each store has different arrangements of departments and clothing but offer the same sales.

9. You are constantly convincing an outsider of something.
    At work, you are trying to convince a customer that they really need your credit card to fulfill their shopping needs.  In a sorority, you are convincing a rushee to pledge to your sorority.

10. When things get to be too much, you want out; but you know you'd regret it if you did.
      At work, if you quit you know you'll have no money.  In a sorority, you know if you terminated your membership, you'd wake up everyday thinking you're a part of something that you never could be again.

030

I can't write a long entry tonight because I have work in the morning, and it's already nearing midnight, but I've been thinking a lot lately--today in particular.  I drove to get Chinese food this evening; and in order to reach the Hunan House, I have to take Highland road to 216--a series a backroads through down-home country.  It's the type of place where I feel much more comfortable blasting Rascal Flatts--though, today it was Jake Owen's "Barefoot Blue Jeans Night"--than Nicki Minaj.  These roads are the ones that I drive along and reminisce.  I don't drive them often, but when I do they remind me of my childhood.  I know if I take a right onto Brighton Dam, I'd pass by the house of an old friend back in the woods that if you're not paying attention, you'll drive right past.  At the intersection of 108 and Highland, I come across Boarman's, where my mom worked when I was still little.  If I keep driving I'll come up on my neighbor's church, where my pseudo-little sister and I would play in the basement where all of the children's playrooms were located.  If I turn before the cemetery, I would (maybe, if I could actually remember which one it is) find my babysitter's house.  And across from that cemetery is the church where I attended Sunday school growing up and sat every Easter for years, until Girl Scouts and volleyball practice got in the way of God.  It's harsh but true.

Anyone who has read past entries of this blog knows that my relationship with God has been strained, at best.  After a lot of thought, I have decided to reconsider the prospect of attending church.  With the exception of trips to my grandmother's church in Florida occasionally while I've vacationed there, I haven't been to church regularly in maybe twelve years.  A lot has changed in my life since then, but I'm hoping church is about the same as it was then.  I mean, it all comes from an old book, right?  How much could have changed according to history?

While I was considering the thought of going to church, I recalled why I haven't gone to church in the past four and a half years--I'm bisexual.  While The Bible says nothing about bisexuality, there's that whole chunk of Leviticus about lying with a man as with a woman...  Still not sure how that applies to women if it just talks about men, but I understand the ethics we're trying to teach there--no hanky-panky with people who've got what you got.

As I was saying: the reason I haven't gone to church in such a long time, even when coerced by friends and significant others, is rooted in the uncertainty of whether or not I would be accepted as a bisexual woman.  Yes, of course, I could just keep quiet about my sexual orientation while in the confines of holiness, but that's honestly just not how I roll.  Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not ashamed of who I am; at the same time, I'm not looking to make a scene or have a vigorous debate with a heated Christian.  So, I took it upon myself to Google "gay-affirming churches."  I was met with positive results.  I found a list of 166 churches in Maryland; eight of which are located within reasonable Sunday morning driving distance; and one of which is United Methodist, which is the church I was taught growing up.  After looking at the website and investigating the church's mission statement, I'm willing to give it a try.

For more information on gay-affirming churches, or to find a gay-affirming church near you, go to www.gaychurch.org.

029

Hurricane Irene came and went, leaving our backyard an array of leaves and our house regrettably without power.  The local damage was minimal.  Our neighborhood was merely plagued by a storm of leaves--my father cleaned up our yard within twenty-four hours.  As for the surrounding area: the road immediately outside of my neighborhood is still closed, two days later.  We are currently at hour forty-two without electricity; and in an area that depends on well water, this means: no shower, no toilet, and no sink.  Now, I know you're thinking that I smell like a hobo on the side of the highway. 

On day one, I resigned myself to smelliness.  I called out of work due to lack of shower and two closed roads outside my neighborhood.  When my parents went to the Orioles game in the evening, I stayed at home, listening to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, a book on CD.  I worked on a jigsaw puzzle by flashlight, and I cooked steak and eggs on the grill. 

On day two without power, we kindly asked our neighbors if we could use their shower--they have a generator pumping energy through their entire house, including their water heater.  After a quick shower, my father returned home with a *ta-da* generator.  Ours does not have the capacity to juice up our well water, but it's enough to power our refrigerator, two freezers, a television, our outdoor pond filter--after the loss of two fish, it was necessary--my mother's computer, and FioS.  In short, we are working with what my mother would consider the bare minimum.

Personally, I could do without the television; while I love watching mindless, trashy television--and, of course, 1 Girl, 5 Gays--I don't really need television.  I discovered I really don't need internet either.  While I checked Facebook occasionally from my Blackberry, I didn't need to waste hours online--especially on such limited battery.

It's nice to know that when I move out on my own--and need to give up the luxuries I'm used to, like 900 channels--I will be able to manage with less than what I am used to.

028

Ten Things to Do During Hurricane Irene

1.  Write a snail mail letter to a friend.

     Remember those people you used to hang out with before you became consumed with Facebook and Google Plus?  Yeah, try to extend a hand to rekindle the friendship that you undoubtedly screwed up.

2.  Teach yourself to play the piano.

     This, of course, is assuming that you have a piano in your home; but, really, any musical instrument will suffice.  Even if you don't have a musical bone in your body, your family will be thrilled to see you doing something--anything--besides parking your butt in front of the television.

3. Write a novel.

      This is how I intend to spend my evening--by candlelight.

4.  Do a jigsaw puzzle.

       You probably did these growing up, and unless you're like me and have continued to do them over the years, the 100-piece you have in your basement will probably be as difficult now as it was when you were six.

5.  Teach yourself the International Phonetic Alphabet.

        [ɪf ju kæn rid ðɪs titʃ jɔr fæməli]

6.  Read a book.

        If you don't have a book on hand: brave the weather, drive to the nearest bridge over fifty feet, and jump.

7.  Make your best friend a friendship bracelet.

       Chances are your friend will never wear it, but it's the thought that counts, right?

8.  Have sex.

        Let's face it: you were going to have the lights off anyway.

9.  Sleep.

       If you're a college student or recent graduate, you probably don't remember what it's like to go to bed before midnight; but it's never too late to try it out.

10.  Talk to your family.

       Yeah, right.

027

I love flying—the feeling of being completely weightless thousands of feet in the air.  I love staring out the window at the cotton candy clouds, brought back to my childhood days, imagining angels diving between the soft beddings of clouds.  Beyond the clouds I can make out the deep blue haze of the ground below us—the occasional lines of streets and buildings standing out in a pale white, mountains accentuated by a darker blue.  Everything’s blurred; it’s impossible to tell what we’re actually over—what city or body of water.  It’s all just land and sea.  The sky spans on from blue into the stark white of the horizon.

Defined cumulus reminds me of waves breaking on the ocean—the thick, ever-changing sea foam rolling up to the shore, only to retreat back into the blue and be regurgitated onto shore.  Nothing’s permanent on the beach, just like vacation.  A week away from responsibilities and anything comparable to being an adult, and then you’re back to working a part-time job to save up money for November when student loans will plague your bank account.

Even if it means going home—back to Retail Hell—I love flying.  Even the flight itself isn’t too bad with throwback music pulsing through my earbuds from the complimentary XM Radio, iCarly on the laptop next to me, and the occasional kick of the little boy behind me growing restless; it’s not too bad.  My mom peers out her window in front of me at the clouds, sky, and plane wing.  I wonder what she thinks about looking out there.  Is she really seeing what’s outside or reminiscing on our week at the beach; drinking margaritas, reading paperback novels in the sun, letting out a hoot of exhilaration as we speed along on a wooden rollercoaster, or eating ice cream out of a waffle cone at Tyler’s.

There’s something bittersweet about flying home after vacation, and yet the feeling of normalcy returning to my life—the reconnection with the mundane—is something  I’ve come to crave after a long week of the unexpected.

026--Book Review Friday

So, in all of the excitement of vacationing, I almost forgot that today is Friday.  It's time for a book review!

During vacation, while lying on the beach (on a chair, of course; not in the sand), I had the opportunity to read Crazy Beautiful by Lauren Baratz-Logsted, a very Beauty and the Beast-esque novel.  Now, let's get one thing straight: I don't like Beauty and the Beast.  Two of my best friends consider that their favorite Disney movie, while I prefer the more recent Disney films.  However, that is entirely off-track.  As I said, this book follows the lives of a perfectly beautiful teenage girl and the deformed boy she inevitably falls in love with--or at least ends up kissing at the story's close.  In this case, a chemical explosion leaves Lucius without hands, and in their place he has two hooks.  Aurora manages to see past that exterior and recognize the boy within.  I suppose this could also be compared to Edward Scissorhands--though without the intense accidental slashing of Kim.  In fact, we find through the course of the book that Aurora's life isn't as rainbows-and-butterflies as it seems and Lucius's accident has a darker secret lingering beneath the surface.

All around, the novel was compelling and difficult to put down, even though I had a six-year-old niece to attend to throughout the week.  The alternating points of view helped satisfy my need for change and let me see both sides of the developing relationship without giving away too much of their backstory.

I give this book a 9 out of 10.  This novel can be purchased at this link, via Barnes and Noble:  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/crazy-beautiful-lauren-baratz-logsted/1100302065?ean=9780547403106&itm=2&usri=crazy%2bbeautiful.

025

No prompt today.  I am currently on day four of vacation with my parents and niece.  I usually don't have much to gripe about on vacation with my family, apart from my inevitable sunburn, but thanks to my cousins' new tattoos, the big hullabaloo with my father has been about society's obsession with tattoos.  This isn't the first time my father has expressed his concern with tattoos, and I'm sure it will not be the last, but this vacation--especially on the beach, where so much of one's body is exposed--he seems unable to keep his opinions to himself. 

From someone who has a tattoo--yes, I'll admit that at eighteen I was eager to get inked up--it is difficult to not be offended by my father's judgmental remarks.  It is even more difficult to suppress laughter as my grandmother advises me to never get one.  You see, my father and grandmother and probably the only members of my family who do not know about the small four-leaf clover printed on my hip, and the only reason I keep them out of the loop is because of their uneasy reactions to even the slightest smudge of permanent ink. 

Today there was a woman on the beach with tattoos on her legs and arms.  She had large tattoos, but they were tasteful--no naked people or trashy curse words to be seen.  Of course, my father pointed her out, as he had several others yesterday.  Why is a person with an abundance of tattoos considered trashy?  I mean, really, tattoos are expensive, so why would you think that someone with tattoos is beneath you?  They must have some money in the bank.

Besides that, I have to wonder what makes tattoos so offensive to my father.  The fact of the matter is, the way someone looks ultimately plays no real part in his life, especially the physical appearance of someone he doesn't even know. 

Sometimes, especially lately, I wonder what my father and grandmother would say if I told them about my tattoo.  Much like my sexual orientation, I wonder if it would change what they thought of me as a person.  Would I not be the same person I have been for the past four years in which I have had a tattoo, or would I somehow transform to a rebellious hooligan in their eyes just because their knowledge of what my life is has suddenly changed before their eyes?

024

What is your biggest insecurity?

For a long time, throughout my middle school years, my biggest insecurity was my nose.  On the school bus, there were a couple of boys who used to make fun of me and tell me that I needed liposuction for my nose because it was so big.  Now I look at my nose and don't think it's so bad, but at the time it seemed like the worst insult I could ever receive.  For a long time I struggled with my physical appearance--my nose in particular.  For many years I swore to get a nose job, but now I am very content with my nose.

Now, I don't know if I have a "biggest insecurity."  While I feel a little insecure in a swimsuit and there are certain individuals I do not share my sexual orientation with, I would not qualify either of those as definite insecurities.  Both depend on situational circumstances.  I suppose all in all, my biggest insecurity would reside in my fear of being alone.  For more information, see many of my earlier entries.

023

Have you ever written five pages of something that you really admire—something that has been nagging at your mind for years in the making—only to have it deleted in the blink of an eye?  It takes something like flying for an hour from Atlanta to Sarasota for your computer to go haywire and begin backspacing your entire document.  You tell yourself, “Oh, it’s ok.  It did this early.  I’ll just exit and it will open from where I last saved.”  But it doesn’t.  You restart your computer and open Microsoft Word, and the recovery file shows up, timestamped just seconds before your computer crashed.  You double-click, praying for a miracle, but no words appear.  Thousands of words that you have spent hours planning and typing are erased from existence.  You want to scream and curse and cry all at once because it basically turns out to be a big waste of time, because, really, who wants to read your writing anyway?  It’s a waste of time.  No one makes money from their Bachelor’s in English.  Maybe this is a sign from God that you need to think realistically, that you should have majored in Math and Sciences because those are concrete and unchanging.   

So, now you’re screwed.  And this little girl sitting next to you on the plane has no idea that you feel like a piece of your soul was just robbed from you; because, let’s face it, your writing is a piece of you.  That’s what you started writing, because it’s all you know how to do.

So, you smile at her, because she’s too young to know that life doesn’t always turn out the way you had planned it.  Sometimes the world just fucks you over.

022--Book Review Friday

Today (or rather, so early into the morning that it can hardly be considered Friday), I will be reviewing John Green's Looking for Alaska.  The book won the Michael L. Printz Award for Excellence in Young Adult Literature (and for the record, I just said "literature" as a Brit would).

I know a lot of people who have read this book, including one of my best friends, who have thoroughly enjoyed it; and I will admit that I feel the same way.  I typically struggle reading novels in which the main character is male because I identify more closely with characters of my own gender.  However, I was able to connect with Pudge in the fact that he's generally sort of quiet and all around fairly normal.  A lot of characters in young adult fiction tend to have these deep (or, in some cases, not-so-deep) backstories with interpersonal issues, but Pudge is sort of mundanely average, and I am very much the same way.

I am now realizing it is very difficult to review a book without giving away anything too monumental, but I can say this: from the beginning of the novel, there is a sense of foreboding.  Every chapter begins with the heading of how many days until "it" happens.  This is unfortunately the only way to explain it without giving away the end of the novel.  When "it" finally happens, at the very climax of the novel, all there's left to do is figure out why "it" happened in the first place.  The most interesting part of the novel, I believe, is that once it happened, I expected the whole novel to just sort of come to a close, but it was really just the beginning of the big picture of the entire novel.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that the novel wasn't anything like I expected it to be, and I guess that's what I really loved about it.

I rate this book a 9.8 out of 10.  The only reason I didn't give it a 10 is because I don't give 10's.

If you would like to purchase Looking for Alaska, here is a link:  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/looking-for-alaska-john-green/1100255278?ean=9780142402511&itm=1&usri=looking%2bfor%2balaska

021

Since time is limited today (I have to eat before working til close), I'm going to share a letter I wrote to myself during my time at Allies Institute.  Note: Names (apart from mine) have been omitted.

Dear Emily,
I feel really vulnerable right now.  I just ended up crying over ******* during our activity today.  It didn't start about her, but in the end I could only see her staring into a pair of blue eyes.  Looking at *****, all I could wonder was if she knew what I was feeling.  I wish I could talk to people about it, but I really don't feel like I can.  It still hurts sometimes.  And I really wish it wouldn't.  I guess more than anything I wish I could really feel like someone understands and won't judge me.  Sometimes I feel like that's too much to ask for.  I really hope time does heal all wounds, because I have a lot of wounds to heal.
Love, Emily

A few months after sealing up the letter and giving it away, my letter was given back to me.  Rereading the letter, just a few short months later, I realized how much I had grown and how far I had come since that night at Allies.  Every wish that I had made while writing my letter had come true.  I had become the person I truly wanted to be. 

020

What is the most intimate or personal question you have ever asked someone, or have been asked of you?

I think the most intimate question I've been asked is the blog prompt for today that I was unable to answer.  The prompt asked me to look at a journal entry from a year ago or more; how is your life different?  I was actually really looking forward to answer it because it is very personal, and I knew I would have a lot to say.  Unfortunately, my netbook crashed a few months ago, causing me to lose everything I had saved on there, including my journal entries.  My next best option was to look for the actual journal I had a year ago, which I thought was in a box in my basement.  Apparently I was wrong.  So, as it is, I do not have a journal to reference, which is either a really good thing or a really bad thing.  On one hand, I can't get emotional over how my life has changed, but at the same time, it feels like a very significant part of my life has been erased.