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.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, August 26, 2011
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.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
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.
Friday, August 19, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, August 15, 2011
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?
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?
Sunday, August 14, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
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.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
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
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, August 8, 2011
019
Describe your first job.
This is appropriate for a blog after work. My first job was at Preston Country Club for Pets. It sounds very glamorous, but my job was anything but. I worked at a kennel in the woods in the middle of nowhere. When I first started working there I spent a lot of time in the basement (a place called the Toy Room), where all of the small dogs were kept. My job had me cleaning cages constantly. After about a year there, I was trained to actually let the dogs out--a task that someone else had always done--and I learned how to clean the kennels upstairs. That same summer I began working in grooming at the kennel. Grooming is quite possibly the worst place imaginable. The number of times a dog decides to shake water off all over you...
The third and final summer I worked at the kennel, I began working in a place we called "Yorkieland." This was definitely the best part of my job. Two days a week I was designated to take care of about thirty Yorkshire terriers by myself, from eight am to four pm. I'm not being sarcastic when I say it was the best job. I controlled when I took my breaks; no one breathed down my neck or pestered me; and the dogs were relatively quiet when I stopped running around taking care of them. I would gladly still work there today if they would take me back.
The last winter I worked, I was asked to come to the house. I know this sounds really sketchy, but I promise it's not. I went to my boss's (and his wife's) home and washed their Yorkshire terriers. This wasn't necessarily my favorite part of the job, but there was a sense of pride knowing that they both trusted me enough with their dogs.
Sometimes I miss the kennel, especially the pay. However, I also worry that I would have found myself too comfortable there and wouldn't have wanted to leave. Everything happens for a reason; but I sure miss $9/hr.
This is appropriate for a blog after work. My first job was at Preston Country Club for Pets. It sounds very glamorous, but my job was anything but. I worked at a kennel in the woods in the middle of nowhere. When I first started working there I spent a lot of time in the basement (a place called the Toy Room), where all of the small dogs were kept. My job had me cleaning cages constantly. After about a year there, I was trained to actually let the dogs out--a task that someone else had always done--and I learned how to clean the kennels upstairs. That same summer I began working in grooming at the kennel. Grooming is quite possibly the worst place imaginable. The number of times a dog decides to shake water off all over you...
The third and final summer I worked at the kennel, I began working in a place we called "Yorkieland." This was definitely the best part of my job. Two days a week I was designated to take care of about thirty Yorkshire terriers by myself, from eight am to four pm. I'm not being sarcastic when I say it was the best job. I controlled when I took my breaks; no one breathed down my neck or pestered me; and the dogs were relatively quiet when I stopped running around taking care of them. I would gladly still work there today if they would take me back.
The last winter I worked, I was asked to come to the house. I know this sounds really sketchy, but I promise it's not. I went to my boss's (and his wife's) home and washed their Yorkshire terriers. This wasn't necessarily my favorite part of the job, but there was a sense of pride knowing that they both trusted me enough with their dogs.
Sometimes I miss the kennel, especially the pay. However, I also worry that I would have found myself too comfortable there and wouldn't have wanted to leave. Everything happens for a reason; but I sure miss $9/hr.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
018
It's another different entry for tonight. While using StumbleUpon tonight (which I am more or less obsessed with), I came across a writing exercise in which I will be writing thirty letters in the next thirty days. I have provided the link below. I do not intend to share these letters, as I am sure they will be of a very personal nature. However, I did want to share this with you because I will probably reflect on it after I have completed the challenge.
http://stories.mibba.com/read/399036/30-Letters-in-30-Days/
As for a blog this evening, I wanted to address a situation that I shared on Facebook which occurred at work yesterday evening. One of my managers in training (who is female) was approached by a young woman, who handed her a piece of paper. The note requested that if my manager was interested in girls, she should call the young woman, and the number was listed below. Apparently, my manager was very upset by this offer.
I guess I just don't understand what the big issue was in this scenario. I think it would be flattering to know that someone is interested in you, even if you don't necessarily reciprocate the feelings--regardless of gender or sexuality. So, by default, I am forced to assume that it is the assumption that she is attracted to women which truly upset her. To this I offer the following: every day my sexual orientation is assumed. Let's face it; whether we mean to or not, an assumption is made about every person. We see strangers for what is in front of us without bothering to ask a person about him- or herself. When strangers see me, I would assume that they see a heterosexual white female. I am not offended by it; I shrug it off and move on. I don't go out of my way to flaunt my sexual orientation, but I don't hide it either. When I discuss an ex, the assumption is that I dated a boy. If it is important to the conversation that I clarify my sexual orientation, I do; if not, then I let the moment pass.
Basically, what I perceive from my manager's reaction is that the assumption that she is attracted to females is offensive to her. What is it about being perceived as gay that bothers people? Is it that being gay means being less of a human being--less worthy of living? Maybe I don't understand because I'm bisexual, and I don't care what assumptions people make about me, but if you're that concerned with what people think of you, what does that say about what you think of yourself?
http://stories.mibba.com/read/399036/30-Letters-in-30-Days/
As for a blog this evening, I wanted to address a situation that I shared on Facebook which occurred at work yesterday evening. One of my managers in training (who is female) was approached by a young woman, who handed her a piece of paper. The note requested that if my manager was interested in girls, she should call the young woman, and the number was listed below. Apparently, my manager was very upset by this offer.
I guess I just don't understand what the big issue was in this scenario. I think it would be flattering to know that someone is interested in you, even if you don't necessarily reciprocate the feelings--regardless of gender or sexuality. So, by default, I am forced to assume that it is the assumption that she is attracted to women which truly upset her. To this I offer the following: every day my sexual orientation is assumed. Let's face it; whether we mean to or not, an assumption is made about every person. We see strangers for what is in front of us without bothering to ask a person about him- or herself. When strangers see me, I would assume that they see a heterosexual white female. I am not offended by it; I shrug it off and move on. I don't go out of my way to flaunt my sexual orientation, but I don't hide it either. When I discuss an ex, the assumption is that I dated a boy. If it is important to the conversation that I clarify my sexual orientation, I do; if not, then I let the moment pass.
Basically, what I perceive from my manager's reaction is that the assumption that she is attracted to females is offensive to her. What is it about being perceived as gay that bothers people? Is it that being gay means being less of a human being--less worthy of living? Maybe I don't understand because I'm bisexual, and I don't care what assumptions people make about me, but if you're that concerned with what people think of you, what does that say about what you think of yourself?
Saturday, August 6, 2011
017
Robert Frost wrote a poem titled The Road Not Taken. Name a road you've always wanted to travel. Where do you hope it takes you, and what might you see on the way?
Recently I actually took a road I've wanted to take for a while. I drive the backroads home from work a lot of the time because they're the roads I've grown up on, so I can speed without worrying about cops and just enjoy the seclusion of my hometown. However, there's a point in the road where it Ten Oaks Road splits to the left onto Tridelphia Mill Road--a road which I don't usually take because it takes a little longer for me to get home. However, on this particular day, I was stuck behind a slow truck towing a trailer behind it, so I figured it was now or never, flipped on my turn signal and zoomed down the road. I knew where it would take me; eventually I would reach a circle in the road which I could take straight or to the right to get home, but there was a sense of adventure as I zigzagged down the unconquered road, over hills, taking sharp swerves around grassy banks.
However, in reference to the original question, recently I have considered taking a drive to Woodbine, where what used to be my grandfather's farm is. I don't know the way very well, but I know it is a route similar to the one my elementary school bus used to take, until I reach one intersection and go the opposite way. My dad and I drove by the farm before, when I was first learning to drive, but I don't remember it well. I love taking relaxing drives, especially taking backroads through the country. I've lived in an area that I consider to be a crossbreed of suburbia and rural my entire life, so the area is just natural for me. One of these days I will actually take the road and just drive until I get lost.
Recently I actually took a road I've wanted to take for a while. I drive the backroads home from work a lot of the time because they're the roads I've grown up on, so I can speed without worrying about cops and just enjoy the seclusion of my hometown. However, there's a point in the road where it Ten Oaks Road splits to the left onto Tridelphia Mill Road--a road which I don't usually take because it takes a little longer for me to get home. However, on this particular day, I was stuck behind a slow truck towing a trailer behind it, so I figured it was now or never, flipped on my turn signal and zoomed down the road. I knew where it would take me; eventually I would reach a circle in the road which I could take straight or to the right to get home, but there was a sense of adventure as I zigzagged down the unconquered road, over hills, taking sharp swerves around grassy banks.
However, in reference to the original question, recently I have considered taking a drive to Woodbine, where what used to be my grandfather's farm is. I don't know the way very well, but I know it is a route similar to the one my elementary school bus used to take, until I reach one intersection and go the opposite way. My dad and I drove by the farm before, when I was first learning to drive, but I don't remember it well. I love taking relaxing drives, especially taking backroads through the country. I've lived in an area that I consider to be a crossbreed of suburbia and rural my entire life, so the area is just natural for me. One of these days I will actually take the road and just drive until I get lost.
Friday, August 5, 2011
016--Book Review Friday
I am going to try something out and see if it really works out or if I am just wasting my time trying to pull this off. As suggested by a friend, every Friday I will attempt a book review to give you all an idea of what I'm reading and where I draw my writing influences from. After all, "they" say that all good writers read.
So, this week I will be reviewing Party by Tom Leveen (a link for which--via Barnes and Noble--can be found at the end of this review). I am very much the type of book-buyer who is drawn to an intriguing cover and a title that gives away nothing about the overall plot, so this was right up my alley. The blurb on the inside flap of Party "for eleven people, the reasons for being there are way more complicated..." and then proceeds to list of seven classic teenage angst-filled reasons for attending an end-of-the-year party. While reading each of the eleven characters' chapters, I found myself referring to the introductory list, finding that each character had multiple reasons for their attendance at the party. I enjoyed the alternating points of view--as I usually do in young adult fiction--but each chapter could have been drawn out more fully in order to develop a connection between the reader and the characters. I can honestly say that while characters are depicted on the cover of the book, there was only one I could identify, and that is only because of his football gear; all around, I found the characters to be a little flat. The novel struggled to catch my interest until about the sixth chapter during an intense verbal and physical altercation. If it weren't for my determination to finish things I start, I would have put this book down after the first chapter, and I would have missed the drama-filled finale that really made the book.
I rate this book a 6 out of 10. The final chapters of the book made up for the rest of it, but not enough to receive a truly satisfactory rating from me.
If I have not completely turned you off from Party, here is a link to where you can purchase it:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/party-tom-leveen/1100292412?ean=9780375864360&itm=1&usri=leveen
Let me know what you think of my book review, if you'd like to see more of this, etc.
So, this week I will be reviewing Party by Tom Leveen (a link for which--via Barnes and Noble--can be found at the end of this review). I am very much the type of book-buyer who is drawn to an intriguing cover and a title that gives away nothing about the overall plot, so this was right up my alley. The blurb on the inside flap of Party "for eleven people, the reasons for being there are way more complicated..." and then proceeds to list of seven classic teenage angst-filled reasons for attending an end-of-the-year party. While reading each of the eleven characters' chapters, I found myself referring to the introductory list, finding that each character had multiple reasons for their attendance at the party. I enjoyed the alternating points of view--as I usually do in young adult fiction--but each chapter could have been drawn out more fully in order to develop a connection between the reader and the characters. I can honestly say that while characters are depicted on the cover of the book, there was only one I could identify, and that is only because of his football gear; all around, I found the characters to be a little flat. The novel struggled to catch my interest until about the sixth chapter during an intense verbal and physical altercation. If it weren't for my determination to finish things I start, I would have put this book down after the first chapter, and I would have missed the drama-filled finale that really made the book.
I rate this book a 6 out of 10. The final chapters of the book made up for the rest of it, but not enough to receive a truly satisfactory rating from me.
If I have not completely turned you off from Party, here is a link to where you can purchase it:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/party-tom-leveen/1100292412?ean=9780375864360&itm=1&usri=leveen
Let me know what you think of my book review, if you'd like to see more of this, etc.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
015
Quote the nicest thing anyone has ever said about you.
Alright, so I tried to think of something that someone has said about me besides, "You're beautiful" or something cliche like that, and I couldn't really think of anything inspiring to write about. However, last night I let my friend read a nonfiction piece I was proud to say I had written, and what she said has special meaning to me: "I think this is the summary of the book that's going to make you famous."
It may not seem like much. Congrats, Emily, you wrote a summary. But to me that means a great deal. Nonfiction is hard to write; it's full of raw emotion--emotion only you can understand--and when someone connects with that emotion through your words, it's an incredible feeling. Her comment really sparked my interest; I never would have thought that my nonfiction could take me anywhere outside of the classroom. Now I am intrigued to see where it will take me.
S/N: I'm trying something different tomorrow (and possibly every Friday, depending on how it goes), so stay tuned (for the five or so people who actually read this).
Alright, so I tried to think of something that someone has said about me besides, "You're beautiful" or something cliche like that, and I couldn't really think of anything inspiring to write about. However, last night I let my friend read a nonfiction piece I was proud to say I had written, and what she said has special meaning to me: "I think this is the summary of the book that's going to make you famous."
It may not seem like much. Congrats, Emily, you wrote a summary. But to me that means a great deal. Nonfiction is hard to write; it's full of raw emotion--emotion only you can understand--and when someone connects with that emotion through your words, it's an incredible feeling. Her comment really sparked my interest; I never would have thought that my nonfiction could take me anywhere outside of the classroom. Now I am intrigued to see where it will take me.
S/N: I'm trying something different tomorrow (and possibly every Friday, depending on how it goes), so stay tuned (for the five or so people who actually read this).
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
014
Name one thing in your life you hope you never have to see or encounter.
This one is really easy for me: watching someone die. I have a very difficult time dealing with loss, and I think seeing someone die would make me lose that sense of mystery and the idea that someone is finally at peace. It's difficult for me to explain.
When I was thirteen, my aunt died, and I remember my dad saying to me that "she's in a better place." People always seem to say that when people die; and people, when they're grieving, always buy into it. I think if I saw someone die, I would never be able to believe that. How could they possibly be in a better place when their body is right there in front of you and their soul is gone? I don't think I could recover from that feeling of loss.
This one is really easy for me: watching someone die. I have a very difficult time dealing with loss, and I think seeing someone die would make me lose that sense of mystery and the idea that someone is finally at peace. It's difficult for me to explain.
When I was thirteen, my aunt died, and I remember my dad saying to me that "she's in a better place." People always seem to say that when people die; and people, when they're grieving, always buy into it. I think if I saw someone die, I would never be able to believe that. How could they possibly be in a better place when their body is right there in front of you and their soul is gone? I don't think I could recover from that feeling of loss.
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