Turbogasm 3000

i'd like to comment on the guy's column in the new cosmo/glamour. (can't remember which, as they are the same mag. i think it's cosmo, the dude's column name might be jake?) anyway, it's all about how women have gotten too damn casual about their vibrators. one boyfriend found his girl's new toy (horrors!) under a pillow. it includes instruction on vibe buying (from a guy's point of view): don't buy anything too huge or lifelike, as it hurts our feelings. if it's the only way you can get off, we won't like it. we will be willing to play with it, though "it might make us feel like it's Man vs. Machine" (yup, it really says that, i'd forgotten how poorly written this crap was). also, let us have gadget-free sex for awhile, then introduce the vibe when we get bored and move into our "silk scarves and ice cubes" phase of the sexual relationship.

ex-fucking-cuse me? any man who tells me when, how, where, and whether i can use my vibrator, or has the audacity to tell me what kind of toy i should get, will promptly receive swift, life-ending kicks to the groin. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SHIT? you're scared we'll be able to get off without you? guess what, asshole - we already CAN and DO get off without you, whether or not we own toys. and if you're so scared that your *sexual prowess* is what's keeping your woman in the relationship, you deserve to be alone. DID THEY COMPLETELY MISS THE POINT OF VIBRATORS? a vibrator is NOT about you!!!!! it's the most male-centered, misogynist piece of crap i've read in a good, long while. i don't particularly like this new emphasis on sex toys as something couples do together. yeah, it's nice and all, but the primary point of vibrators is to please women. women have gone without pleasure for a very, very long time and to have it co-opted by men and coupledom is pretty lameass. what the fuck IS that shit?

still, i will be chuckling over the image for awhile: some 20something, following his girlfriend around, whining, "see? jake says i should satisfy you because i'm a Big Strong Man. now won't you please throw away the Turbogasm 3000?"

i fixed it!

don't worry, yall, i've survived my own melodrama. again. i emerged relatively unscathed.

i told brigid due to how busy i am this semester i can't be her co-chair. yep, i broke up with the feminists. no one saw this coming. it's the right thing to do.

on a brighter note: you know you are a brand whore when you walk in to a store and realize you are wearing their brand head-to-toe. and you're not even thinking about spending YOUR money in the store because your normally clueless relatives gave you not one, but TWO gift certificates to this store for christmas. mmmmmm gap.

and reading elizabeth bishop makes me feel real dumb because, um, i don't like her very much. her tactic is NATURE nature NATURE imagery imagery observation *THE MYSTERY OF THE UNIVERSE*. she just observes and observes and then smacks you with "isn't it amazing to be alive?" and while yes, elizabeth, it IS nice to be alive, i've read too many hallmark cards to like you. her poetry is like prose, and i HATE that. i'm not a prose writer because i get bored in the time it takes to move my character from the couch to the kitchen to the glass of milk pouring to the table to crying for no reason. i'd rather just talk about what happened last night that is making her cry now, not walk her about the house. ugh.

when i need to write many many words (ie, writing out the crap, as it's technically termed), i use this and my journal. or i type and then delete a lot. grr.

but did i SAY any of this in group conference? why no, no i did not. i sat silent. when did i get so silent all the time?

AUGH

nights like tonight have me wondering if i'm in a communications bubble, because i can't seem to get ahold of anyone.

everyone important to me disappears right when i need them. so here i am again, writing in crisis because i have no other recourse. that's a bit melodramatic. still.

slc feminists will be known as the great trainwreck-cluster fuck disaster of my sophomore year.

the name brigid black fills me with nothing but resentment, an emotion more powerful (but followed quickly by) a seething anger and loathing feeling.

and pain. i'm actually really very sad about this. in the way that one is sad when the mean kids come kick down your sandcastle at the beach. sad like that.

want to hear a secret about me? i've only been in positions of leadership twice in my life. both times were spectacular failures. i'm, like, a failure at being an aries - we're natural born leaders, you know. except me. the only place i lead is straight down, kids. better to remain an advisor, advice columnist, and general counselor. it is i who directs other people to take courses of action - i do not take them myself.

the real secret about me is i'm scared. i'm scared to death of other people. in general. i do not trust them. it is ridiculous, and i know this. there are many things i comprehend in my head that have nothing to do with the dictates of my heart (look at my choice of love[r]s if you need more proof). i'm terrified of failure, of looking stupid, of exposing myself to ridicule. ya know what that makes you, if you're a poet? a real shitty one. one of the requirements of any art is a certain willingness to suck, and i haven't found mine yet. that's why art is terrifying and exhilarating - the emotional risk-taking involved. i am still playing it safe. i write funny poems, or poems that don't matter and aren't about anything. because i can, because i'm still skillful with words, because people like wit. it's easy for me, it's sexy for everyone else. flashy.

so. me, as the leader of the feminists, without any help or encouragement, plus a co-chair that would've made a banana sloth look productive, paired with a rival feminista group on campus peopled by more experienced kids, equals one spectacular dose of horrid.

it's so craptacular, in fact, i might be impressed. if i weren't so upset. and everything else in my life was going so swimmingly. motherfuckinggoddamnit.

inga would be so proud

need more evidence that knitting is cool?

http://www.wombsonwashington.org/

a knitter on the punk knitters community of livejournal remarked, with this new court and the way things are going, i may as well give my reproductive organs to the Supreme Court. turns out there already existed a pattern for knitting a uterus - yep, that's right, and i'd seen the pattern before she mentioned it, actually. so she said, hey, why don't i just knit a uterus! why don't a bunch of us knit uteruses and fling them on the steps of the Court in protest!!

bam, instant consciousness-raising. this is probably totally what inga muscio had in mind while writing cunt.

so now the protest is being planned by members of the D.C. stitch'n'bitch. they're applying for a D.C. protest permit and everything. how fucking awesome is that?

antici..................PATION

i thought i didn't have anything to say. i am wrong. here is what i'll be doing this semester:

• classes: Constitutional Law, Spanish, and Poetry. i now have to do conference work for all of them. that right thur is harder. damnit.
• Right to Write: teaching writing in prison. i can barely write myself, now i'm teaching it to other people. i'm gonna have to do lesson plans. i am my mother.
• Introductory ASL class: because i am just that cool. i'm gonna be tri-lingual!
• P.E. classes: bowling & fencing. told ya i'm cool.
• jobs: office assistant, tour guide. i love to file, oh yes i do, i love the alphabet, and CEEB codes, too!

i have to figure out my plans for Spring Break and summer. everyone's all, this summer get an internship! and i'm all, where do i find one, bitches? if you have any insight, lemme know.

oh, and mucho, mucho Study Abroad applications

i am so screwed.

the femme mystique

ya know what? i think i may just change my gender identity. because i don't feel "female" most of the time; i associate that label with being the object of the straight white male gaze. and very few straight white males have ever impressed me with their gaze; a few have harmed me.

femme makes sense to me. it feels right. even when i'm wearing jeans and a teeshirt, i never feel masculine, only rarely do i feel butch. unequivocally female is how i feel and how i've always felt, it's all i know how to be. female is in my blood and my body, and i just can't explain it. i know i am female in the way that i know i'm an aries, a human, a good writer. it's exhibited by the way that i act. put me next to someone else, someone more butch than me, women who shall remain nameless (yall know who they are - plenty of butch[er] women around in my life), put us in the same teeshirt and jeans, and i will move differently than her. when i'm playing up my femme-ness, i'm focusing you on how female i am, and usually how sexual. there are parts of my body i'll make you notice. i'll walk a certain way.

but most of this is not traditionally "female" or "feminine" - i still know how to walk like i own a room and feel no shame in brazenly asserting myself. that, to me, is where the femme comes in. femmes are all that is right and good with femininity, flipped - instead of existing for the male, you exist for yourself. this is key - femme, for me, is not about flipping femininity simply so i can look attractive to women. femme is for me. i feel attractive and attracted to myself when i'm femme. even when i'm dressed down, adding a sway to my hips or a blush to my cheeks makes me feel better. paradoxically, if i put on a button-down, or a polo, or a baseball tee, it often calls MORE attention to me. i remember wearing baseball tee, jeans, and sneakers in high school - those were some of my most cute-acting, high-pitched-voice-squealing, boy-attracting feminine days. i'm femme with boys AND girls, another distinction. femme travels, whereas "female" feels all straight-jacket-y. the femme code of ethics applies no matter the genitalia of who i want to play with.

another damn thing: a friend of mine, who is about half my size, a tiny wisp of a girl, once said she didn't feel secure in her body. i realized you could tell this, if you watched her. and i gratefully realized that i DO feel secure in my body. on a very fundamental level, your body is where you live. it is our most intimate home. and so many people expend so much effort hating theirs. it's like hating your living room but refusing to paint it. either spruce up the place, or love it anyway, because either way you have to live there. one thing i have never felt is not safe, not assured, by my body. my body is solid. it's right where it belongs. it's fundamentally a safe place for me to live. i like the way it takes up space, i like the way it moves, i like the weight of it against my bones, proving to me that i am real, that i am here.

on the eve of DOOM

i have nothing to do today. all i want to do is sit and write blog entries. okay then!

i had a dream sarah was on her deathbed. now i realize i was rebuiling an episode of ER in dream form.

it is still freezing in my room. it's snowing on and off, very pretty, but still unfortunately BALLS ASS COLD, which is a technical term.

i hate condoleezza rice. hate her. how did she become SUCH a sellout? she is, arguably, one of the most powerful women of color in america (except oprah. oprah trumps all. oprah for president! if she wins, everyone gets a puppy! or a makeover!), so why does she have to be such an ass? i can't even hate her coherently, so strong is my feeling. she lies, and lies about lying.

colin powell just makes me sad. he had such potential. why, colin? you had such integrity before you signed on with this craptastic cluster fuck of an administration.

on a more personal note, my rule for today was "no shower til you sweat." showers feel so much better when you earn them, no?

why.

why can't i just tell my mother: i think you didn't set any limits. i think i'm failing, flailing, out here on my own. i didn't get any guidance, but unlike my friends with obviously fucked up parents who obviously didn't do their jobs, you fake it. all too well. it took me and em this long to figure out our household was all about us, that we are completely spoiled. it's even brattier to complain about that, but man did you pull the wool over our eyes. because i had no structure, i now don't trust you to support me. way to be strong, mom. way to give up when the parenting gets too hard.

and my sister? i have all the same fears for her that she does. i fear that the structured academic environment she's been in hasn't prepared her to whip her own ass. that she isn't ready. that she hasn't held a "real" job (for very long). that she can't remember to clean up the house before she leaves it, or communicate, or plan. that her sloppiness means something is terribly wrong. i'm scared for her, of course i am. and i did it differently, so i don't even have shared experience to point to. i don't think i have enough self-discipline, so i can't measure if she does. my freshmen year was my longest period of unemployment in two and a half years.

why can't i just ask my best friend the questions that need asking? is she ever happy? does she believe in the power of thought and words? i do. i believe that thoughts and words - the things we tell ourselves - are immensely powerful. but she must not. i've pointed out her language to her, how it is absolute and negative. i should not have a best friend about whom all i do is complain. i remember when we enjoyed each other; right now i feel like i'm in a marriage that's lost its spark. and her intense defensiveness about everything . . . all i can say is, i would be stressed out and miserable and exhausted too, if i were her. if i never saw any options for myself, i'd feel trapped and stressed out in my cage as well. the key is seeing the options. seeing is a choice, and one she refuses to make.

why can't i remember when i'm at slc that i love santa fe? why do i let those hipsters make me feel ashamed of liking my home? note to self: maybe they don't come from a home and a place as nice as yours. feel lucky. maybe they don't (mostly) like their families, maybe they don't have friends where they're from. it's not pathetic to want to come home and try to grab time with tina and jess and gerard when they roll through town. it's not wrong to want to do nothing but take yoga and pilates with jackie and then go to target with mana. coming home to sarah because she is your best friend and you can't take her with you is okay. will i ever break from this place?

ruminations

why are there so many people in my ninth house - cancer - around? why are some cancers leaving and others arriving? what's up with that? (why has the one aries in my life faded into the night? do i not need anyone in my seventh house anymore?)

i just set up my new printer, courtesy of my parents. now all i need is a digital camera.

it feels weird to type now.

were i at school, i'd be much more tapped in to the world, methinks. which is weird. the more TV i watch, the less i know.

i'm not going to ruminate publicly on the recent unpleasantness. you've probably talked to me and already know.

tsunami. the word haunts the world. i don't have words big enough for it and i don't know how not to sound frivolous right now, so i'm not going to try. this is another aspect of what being home does to me.

yay for bobby though. i'd like to talk to him and reconnect. i like him. i'm even willing to forgive the not-calling-when-he-says-he-will sin. and we all know that's a big one.

i need to get out of this country.

my relationship with my sister is borderline toxic. i've tried everything. i even tried being honest and opening up. i was brutally rebuffed. just proves what i've always known to be true: only by being a sarcastic, witty, bitter old man can you get anywhere in this world. a sweetness and light outlook that involves trusting your closest friends and relatives won't get you anything.
i'm truly at my wit's end.

home kinda sucks the life out of me. it makes me dumber. i know less about the world. i don't write. i want to go back to my insular cocoon! at least it's insular in healthier ways.

out of the country. slc does a couple of spring break trips to various places; one goes to nicaragua. great opportunity to practice my spanish, que no?

anyone but thomas can answer this completely rhetorical question: why the fuck is nightline doing a story on football tonight? hello?

say it with me, guys: tsunami. bad weather. bush's re-election. nuclear capability of iran. still mounting casualties in iraq - an actual story about this, and why our current methods are failing, would be real neat. or BUSH'S RESHUFFLING OF HIS CABINET. or ANYTHING that matters more than RETIRING FOOTBALL PLAYERS. oy, i can think of six stories right off the top of my head that are news. and that's what you do, nightline buddies, news. not sports. sports are not news. neither are celebrities. really really. hell, why not do an expose on the travesty that is the foster care/adoption system in this country? or bush's new plan to take away federal loans for college? or some good old fashioned medical marijuana? shit that matters?

here's a real crazy idea: if you can't find anything that's newsworthy within our borders, go outside them. revolutionary, i know. hell, charlie rose had a guy speculating about the iraqi elections, then he talked to the desperate housewives writer, then he talked to a dude about the NYT accountability scandal (remember jayson blair?). i KNOW there is more news out there than this, guys. seriously.

maybe i'm just grouchy because my knitting plans aren't going as i want them to and i'm scared to go or not go to nicaragua.

hey, here's a crazy idea! bush COMPLETELY BOTCHED the opportunity to make america look good by hurling much-needed aid at tsunami victims. he waited too long to comment on it publicly, and the aid we've offered is, in a word, paltry. where the fuck was rove on this one? huh, karl? WTF? many victims come from parts of the islamic world - you know, that place we're not so popular? feeding displaced people and offering them clean water and shelter is a realy quick way to turn public opinion, ya know. DUMBASS. at least it's a news story.