Misogynists and a Dry Month

I have not had a decent drink in awhile. I ran out of rum awhile ago, and have been sort of mooching beer off other people... but I don't even like beer. I was something with tequila, rum, even whisky damn it. Vodka ain't gonna do (always makes me sick), and jager is just plain gross. So, I'm just waiting for my next chance to get one of my of-age friends to bring me back to booze town. Shit's expensive around here, though.

I've been talking to this guy when he comes to social gather's at my friend Sean's apartment. He seemed cool enough at first. A little cocky, but interested in things. Then he started talking about gender relations, and my respect for him fell away, like someone cut down too many trees and erosion happened.

So, it started off innocently enough. He made a claim that women use sex to get what they want. I didn't exactly disagree. I made the point that some women use sex as a tool, and that, in the past, it was an effective way to get someone to support her. I'm talking like, when women weren't really in the workforce, and back in the stone age. Of course, many women use this today (gold diggers, yeah?), but definitely not a majority of women. I cited a girl I knew who is actually sort of a sociopath (nice girl otherwise), who uses sex as a tool to get what she wants, which is usually drugs. I by no means said a majority of women do this. I thought we were on the same page about this, but a few weeks later, this guy comes back into town, and starts talking about it again, saying this is how 95% of women are.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. What?

Of course, I argue my point, using people I know (and myself) as examples. I have never used sex to get what I want. I have never withheld sex as a punishment. I mean, I certainly don't want to have sex while I'm angry, but neither does my boyfriend. I know a lot of girls who don't use sex to get into a relationship. A very good friend of mine is happily single, but has no-strings-attached sex with another good friend of mine. They like each other, but neither is ready for a relationship. What are they both getting out of this? Just sex.

This guy comes back at me, saying that women should only serve to please men, and that they don't deserve sexual satisfaction, nor should they really want it. He thinks the whole idea of gender should be black and white (men are masculine, women are feminine), and that we each have our places.

So... what's wrong with trading places? Shouldn't that be up to the individuals? I don't want kids. I don't want to stay at home and play house. I find nothing wrong with women wanting that, but it's not for me. I was raised in a house where my mother worked, and my father raised the kids. And I was raised to be a feminist, through-and-through. This isn't about burning bras, or women being better than men, because they aren't. This is about women and men having equal chances to do what they want to do with their lives, whatever that may be. This is about educators and parents being taught to treat children equally, and help young girls develop problem-solving skills, rather than treating them like delicate little flowers. This is about girls and boys being treated equally when it comes to discipline. This is about people not saying that there are certain things boys do and certain things girls do, because it's all social.

I know this guy was just trying to get under my skin (obviously he did, since I'm writing about this). After awhile, I just stopped replying to what he was saying, because he was so off base. My boyfriend says he was probably just trying to get some sort of female interaction, and I'm starting to agree with him. This guy makes my skin crawl, and if he tries to engage me in another one of these conversations, I'm going to either slug him, or tell him politely "I'm really bored of this subject, because I already know how both of us feel, and honestly, I don't respect your views, and don't care to hear them anymore."

... it probably won't be that polite...

All in all, it makes me appreciate that I have a boyfriend who supports me in my career, doesn't want kids (thank god), and is always willing, nay, eager to go down on me.* I am so sick of this sexist air about this place. Even some of the guys I thought were pretty cool for awhile now have been showing signs that make me happy I'm not looking for a boyfriend around here. I think I'd probably give up on that and date a chick. I mean, the guys back home were sometimes assholes, (and I certainly knew a few that had less than stellar ideas about relationships), but none of them were so outright sexist, and I knew they all respected me. They've seen me wield a gun; they know not to fuck with me. Ha.

In other news, I've become effectively nocturnal, which doesn't bode well for me during class. I really need to get my shit together so I don't fail everything. Bleh.

Anyway, signing off. I just needed to vent.

*You'd be surprised how many people around here openly discuss how gross it is to go down on a girl. It really makes me sad.

Shallow Breathing of a Lazy Girl

So, there's still this bit of bone stuck in between my cheek and gum in a little hole in the back of my mouth, and it's poking me with tiny, sharp bits. So, I'm going to the dentist tomorrow rather than on Thursday (Did I ever say I was going to the dentist? Well, I am. I went to the doctor, and she told me to go to the dentist school down the road to get all the excess bone removed. Enough of parenthesis.) This might be the grossest, weirdest health problem I've ever had. Bartholin's gland cyst? Painful, but not bony or in my mouth. Brown recluse bite? Necrosis is kinda gross, but it was on my leg, and blood poisoning was kinda cool to look at.* Sinus infections? Annoying, but spitting out bloody mucus is much less gross than spitting out bloody pus. Blech. Also, I'm pretty sure that my gums are suffering because of all of this.

Either way, I'm just going to be glad when all of this is taken care of, and I only have to worry about my mouth healing and not stabbing me with itself. It means missing at least one of my classes tomorrow, but I emailed them, and hopefully they'll understand.

I still have this cold. It's not as back, but it is in my chest. Chest cold. Anyway, I think I'll stop smoking for a day or so, so it can clear up. Also so I don't irritate the grossness that is my mouth.

I also have a couple of weird dry patches of skin by my armpits. I don't even want to go into what that might mean. I'll just lotion them up.

I watched an interesting documentary today. It was about being a train-hopping hobo. All in all, I couldn't do it, the main reason being that I couldn't bring my cat--or at least, it would be cruel to. She would not be happy with me in the least. But it looked like sort of scary fun, which is the kind of fun I like... because if it's not scary, it's not really all that fun. Woo! Adrenaline!

I'm sort of wired right now, and I'm not sure when/if I'll get any sleep. I hope I do, but at the same time, I have to be up fairly early to beat the people to the dentist. I think I'll be bumped pretty close to the front of the line, but you know how walk-in clinics are. (Who is 'you'?) I'll see which way the night takes me. Maybe I'll just have a nap before I go, and then sleep in the afternoon for a bit. Or I'll not sleep, and go to sleep extra early tomorrow night (tonight?) so I can be ready for class bright and early on Thursday. Or something. Oh, like anyone cares.

Also, a really good web comic: Lackadaisy Cats. Google it. It's got fantastic art, a good group of characters, and the setting is really cool. It's St. Louis, MO, in the 1920s, with anthropomorphic cats rather than people (although this is really not so important to the story as it is to the art). Very well-done, and the lovely lady to draws/writes it has a good sense of humor.

Either way, I'm just rambling now.

You know what this blog needs? More pictures. So, here, I'll leave you this gem:

That is my cat, Ginger, and me, pretending to me asleep. The plug in the background goes to the ridiculous litter box my dad got me. It flushes itself every twelve hours... always at eight... and it does it for about forty minutes. But my cat is cute.

*I just noticed that 'kinda' is not ever underlined in red, meaning my computer/internet recognizes it as a word... but not Bartholin. Or lackadaisy.

Colds, infections and stranger's parties.

So, I don't remember whether I mentioned this, but I got my wisdom teeth out in August, and I've been having some issues in one of the sites. First it just wouldn't heal. Then I got an infection (swollen jaw, yellowish discharge, the whole shebang), for which I took amoxicillin (the doctor told me it was penicillin, but in looking it up, there is a difference in how they are synthesized), which I had an allergic reaction to. I took it for a few days, realized the fever was caused by an allergy, so I stopped. The infection went away for about a week, then came back weakly. So I've been using hydrogen peroxide, spraying it on the site, and then washing my mouth thoroughly. Well, turns out there were some shards of tooth or bone fragment in the gum around the area. I removed two pieces last night, and the site seems a lot better, but I'm afraid that there is more there. Why do I always have to be in the minority of patients that have complications or weird non-life-threatening but inconvenient health problems? At least none of this is going to kill me... hopefully.

In the meantime, I've developed the mother of all colds. Coughing, sore throat, stuffed up sinuses, headache, etc. I've been coughing so much that I pulled my diaphragm, so, that's painful now. I don't want to go to the store to get orange juice, so I've just been taking multi-vitamins and coughing up as much phlegm as humanly possible. I hope this dissipates by the end of the week, and it doesn't end up being pneumonia or something that I have to take antibiotics for.

I feel like a biohazard site.

However, it hasn't all been just me getting sick. My new friend, Tony, came over for last weekend. We wandered around the area, and I was wearing one of those old dress navy hats (the ones that look a bit like old police hats) and some group of black guys outside a bar stopped me, and wanted a few pictures with me. Well, I agreed, because I didn't see any harm in it. The one who was taking the pictures, however, bent down right in front of my with the camera, and at first, I thought the lens was up, so I sort of giggled nervously and put my legs together and pressed a hand against my mini skirt. I honestly thought he was taking an up-skirt shot, but he sort of glared at me after I did that (it's not like I said anything, just made the motion) so I think I offended him. What was I supposed to think, with him crouching below me with the camera? Anyway, they took their pictures, and one of them--the most talkative--asked me some questions.

"I like your style. What would you say you are, goth, hippie...?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I don't really have a name for it."

I kind of hate it when people ask me to label myself. If you want to label me, then go ahead, I couldn't care less. But I'm not going to participate in a process that makes me seem like some sort of culture groupie. I like a lot of subcultures, and so I take from each of them. Folk, hipster, hippie, punk, glam, whatever. I got over that whole label thing in high school. It's a way to both differentiate you from people you "don't like" and find a group of people that share your values. I don't need that. I don't have a problem making friends with people of any culture. It's really a matter of getting mature enough to see that music and clothing taste is usually inconsequential. That's not to say I don't appreciate my friends with similar music tastes a little bit more, but that's an issue of what people play at parties.

After we talked to this group of men for awhile, we left and went looking for a party. We ended up in some tiny little apartment with like, at least fifty other people (there was literally no walking room, much less room to dance), and found out that the keg was kicked. Tony kept looking for it, and I just wanted to leave. I didn't like the atmosphere and I was getting really claustrophobic.

So we came back home, I put on some better clothes (a mini-dress, a little make-up, my leather jacket), and we ended up sitting outside my apartment building, talking to the security guard who has a booth on the corner. We talked to him for about an hour. Very nice guy.

I guess I also went to another party last weekend (before Tony came), where this cute little girl named Christina was hanging off of me the whole night. I think that girls who like kissing girls (or just want to get attention) gravitate towards me because I'm non-threatening and I don't mind a little girl-on-girl action. Also, because I have a boyfriend, it's not like I'm going to get attached. She ended up with one of the guys at the party at the end of the night. I ended up coming home and sleeping off a hang-over. I wish I had my beau.

All in all, I just wish I were well again. I am tired of hacking of globs of green and yellow goo... and not being able to sing. I guess I can still whistle...

*whistle*

Alright. I'm out.

Spoiled

I didn't get my first kiss until I was eighteen. Not kidding; not even a little kiss in the sandbox or a game of spin-the-bottle before that. I guess you could say I was pretty lame.

When I did get my first kiss, it was this chubby Mexican hipster, a year or so younger than me, who I went to a really crappy movie with (August Rush, anyone?). He stuck his equally chubby tongue all the way in my mouth. It was pretty fucking awful. And this after holding my hand until it was sweaty through about half the movie.

But let's get back to the point (there was a point?).

Before that, I was pining for a kiss. Then I went on sort of a kissing spree (games of spin-the-bottle, impromptu three-way make-out sessions with friends, etc.) and never really got the point of kissing. It seemed messy and lacking in the fun that people say it holds.

Then I kissed a boy that I was really in love with. I had had a boyfriend before, and had kissed him, but I never really loved him, and I didn't enjoy it. But this... Kyle... when he kissed me, it was like everything clicked. It's like our mouths were made to be together (although, thinking about that seems a little gross), and I finally understood what the hell people were talking about (although I still think movie kisses look awkward and terrible).

So, I had that for over a year. I had a patient, giving sexual partner for about a year... and now I'm stuck pining again. I mean, I thought I was horny before the relationship... now that I don't have anyone to bone, I'm going a bit crazy.

Not only did I have the physical things, I had the little gestures, the funny commentary on life, the warm feeling when you fall asleep next to someone and know that they won't turn into a monster in the morning.*

Life goes on, as normal. I'm trying to wake up for class (and failing, usually), and trying to get my homework done (and usually succeeding), and hanging out with people (some obnoxious, some fairly chill), but there is this space in my life that I'm saving. It's like I'm a bird, building a nest, but I can't wait for another supporting branch to grow before I put all my bits of string and pine needles and plant-matter together. So I'm teetering on a lackluster nest, waiting for the branch to grow a bit. My bed, my shower, my kitchen, and my living room feel empty. My cat is begging for my attention, my chameleon is mad because I don't have to time to pick up crickets as often as I should, my bills are asking to be paid, and I just want to sit inside and watch Casablanca, because that's OUR movie, and drink rum and coke, because that's OUR drink.

People tell you to move on, and make a life for yourself when you've moved into a long-distance relationship, but it's not easy. When you're used to relying on someone's humor to get you through the tough times, or their kiss to reassure you that everything will be okay, it's hard to get the satisfaction out of things that you used to be enthusiastic about. New experiences feel cheap, because you have no one to really share it with. And you begin to feel jealous about the stories your significant other tells you about hanging out with your old friends, doing things you all used to do. You understand, and hope, that their lives go on without you, but you're a little broken up that they do, as well, because you just can't seem to get your shit together. What the hell kind of drug are they on that they can just go on living?

Oh yeah... they actually have drugs.

Well, I guess I'll just see how I do in Spanish tomorrow, live through Sociology, get my journalism homework done, and work on studying for the Race Relations test on Friday (which I keep sleeping through, coincidentally).

... it seems easier to watch someone else let the love of their life go in black and white than to commit myself to this dreary life.

*Actually, Kyle is kind of an awful person if you try to wake him up. He always feels bad afterwards, but he says the meanest things when I shake him awake, even if he's asked me to.

Too far away

My boyfriend is depressed... and it's making me depressed.

I mean, I've dealt with depression on my own before. All through middle and most of high school, I suffered from depression--severe boredom, no motivation, etc.--and I know how it feels to think that life is not worth living, because it's too mundane...

And even though I eventually got over it, I don't know how to fix it, especially from far away. If I were with Kyle right now, then I'd be doing my best to show him that I love him and need him, and he'd snap out of it--he always has in the past. But he's not doing so hot right now, and I feel like it's my fault on some level. He has been this way since I moved, pretty much. If I were there, then he would have something to distract him. But because I am not a part of his everyday life, he's focusing on how mundane things can be. And believe me, living here has taught me that, if nothing else.

How am I supposed to help a significant other when I can't touch them, I can't wipe their tears away? He says he just needs a hug, and I feel the same way. Even writing this, I am tearing up, because I can't stand to think of my boy being in pain. It breaks my heart.

I'm trying to live my everyday life like things are fine. I smile at people--even strangers--and I do the work that needs to be done. But at the end of the day--more like at some point in the early morning--when I lay down to sleep, I can't think of anything except how I wish I could help Kyle. He's done so much for me, and I want to protect him. Call it a misplaced maternal instinct, but I do think of it as my responsibility to keep him safe, happy and healthy.

Otherwise, life has been dull. I mean, even this problem is dull in a sense; not because I want to belittle how Kyle feels, but because being bored is exactly what it is. Depression has never meant sadness to me. Yes, it comes with sadness, frustration, and even anger... but the root of it is boredom. Life seems uninteresting... even things that life can offer. Nowhere in the world seems exotic enough. No act seems extreme enough. I think that's why a lot of people choose death when they are depressed; it's the most extreme thing you can do.

When I was younger, I used to cut myself. I don't tell many people this, because honestly, I think it's my own damn business, and those who are candid about this are usually just looking for attention anyway. However, the proof of my angst--if you can call it that--is written all over my thighs. Wearing shorts or skirts still proves problematic. I have to cross my legs a certain way, so people think certain scars are stretch marks, and I cover what is obviously not naturally there.

I say this because, although cutting is usually not life-threatening--I never aimed to kill myself, and most cutters don't, either--it is an attempt to feel alive. Depression can make you feel numb. This is exactly why I hate pain-killers, including cocaine. It just makes me feel numb, and that's what I've been running from all my life. And this is exactly what Kyle is describing to me now. It's like all the adrenaline leaked from you, all the endorphins... It's weird how chemical our emotions are when it comes down to it. We can describe it in elaborate words, but it's still just imbalances and rushes.

Don't get me wrong; I love wordplay, especially when dealing with emotion. That's part of what makes us human; art and this idea that we should be happy. What other animal really has that?

I must go now. I'm rambling, and I'm a bit drunk.

Hopefully I will not be rambling at the empty internet soon enough.

Meek Beginnings

So... here I am.

I'm from Missouri. Well, I was born in Oklahoma, but I hardly lived there long enough to call it home. I lived in Springfield, Missouri for most of my life. All of my friends are there, and most of the family that I really care about live there (i.e. my parents, and one brother). It's where I lost virginity, and where I did most of the drugs I've done for the first time. It's where I broke my arm (I was two), where I learned to play violin, and where I went to school.

And so, now I'm wondering this: why the hell did I move?

I mean, don't get me wrong, I've needed to broaden my horizons for a very long time, and moving away for school is probably the best, most stream-line way of doing that. I put it off for long enough. I even did my first two semesters of college in Springfield (good ol' Missouri State), but even going into that, I knew I was going to transfer eventually. So, now I'm here, in Philadelphia, going to Temple University.

And Jesus Fuck Almighty, I forgot how hard it is to make friends. I mean, I should've guessed that I'd be lonely for awhile, and I should've known that it'd feel way too much like most of high school, but I didn't know how much I had come to rely on my social group for things to do on the weekend. Who do I have to dance with? Who plays poker here?

The only lengthy social interaction I've had was with these guys (and one of their girlfriends) two floors above me. They were certainly nice, and I got a free '40 out of it, but we shared little to no interests. They were into industrial; I like Creedence Clearwater Revival and the Scissor Sisters. They wanted to play beer pong; I was about to suggest rummy. I might see them again, though, because I'm tired of only talking to my cat and myself.

But seriously, how do you stay in touch with people in the city? People seem to think I'm approachable (I've gotten several compliments, and several people have made small talk with me) but when they go to leave, I have no way to get in touch with them. I can't live like this. I can very well smoke in my room, with the window open, but I'm going down to the courtyard just to get a chance to talk to someone. Not to mention, the boredom is making me smoke more, which is expensive here (seriously, what's up Pennsylvania? I thought the quakers were supposed to be non-intrusive).

I have a brother in the area, but he's recently divorced, and is busy trying to make it with his new girl, so we haven't really seen each other. Also, he works, so the weekends are his only option. I can't compete with a romantic prospect, nor do I intend to try.

I had a big group of friends back home. We all had at least one party every weekend, at which there was ample booze, and usually some interesting substances. They were good at dancing (mostly), most of them musicians, had great taste in music, and there was something to do 9/10 weekends. We went to the Waffle House and played rummy or poker, went to a house and danced and did molly, had a bonfire and road the four-wheelers, hung out at my boyfriend's and dropped acid, bowled and played pool... the things that normal freaks our age do.

I also have a boyfriend in Missouri. Kyle. He and I have been friends for over seven years now, but just started dating the summer of my freshman year of college. We're doing the long-distance thing, which is hard. Skype helps, but it's not the same as cuddling up next to him, and his computer keeps overheating. He's moving here either after the semester, or next year. I hope it's the former, but we'll see.

So, you can see how I might be a bit lonely.

I'm starting this blog as a means of therapy, I guess. I hope some of the anecdotes will be funny, and I hope anyone who accidentally stumbles across this finds it slightly entertaining before they move on.