I see Lu's been here in my absence, and it makes me a little sad that I have to read our shared blog to catch up on some of the details of her life.
So I've not posted since April, which is fitting considering that's when the year took a sharp turn downhill... well, that's not exactly true, June has been the culmination so far, but things are looking up. I think Lu and I can agree that 2009 started off as one of the worst years, but has immense potential for turnaround.
As Lu's ambitions turn more towards grad school, mine have by necessity been deferred another year. While accepted into my own prestigious programs, I did not receive funding. This would not normally be a problem, I would simply get more loans and go back to school in the fall.
But then I lost my job. There were some personal reasons for this unexpected occurrence, but I've come to the conclusion it was less about me and more about a number of situations going on at the clinic-- within one month all of the employees had either quit or were fired, with only one new hire. I had just gotten certified on performing ultrasounds when I was fired, so the rather pathetic "cause of termination" they gave me said less about me, and more about them.
I'm trying not to be bitter, because it remains the best job I've had to date, and I still feel very strongly about it. I still love the work I did, and would like to do again.
In the immediate aftermath of my firing, I do what many seem to do when faced with the impossible to comprehend-- I fled back to my parents. The timing happened to coincide with a trip to San Antonio to see one of my sisters for the last time before she re-deploys to Iraq, so on the whole I cannot complain about being given the opportunity to see her one last time for well over a year. Had I kept my job, I would not have been granted that chance, and she is the sister I look up to the most.
A fourteen-hour solitary drive also allows for a lot of thinking, and spending that time in motion, ruminating, helps you to let go of a lot of things. The depression and shock that set in Fired Tuesday were gone by Long-Drive Thursday night, San Antonio was wonderful, and I got to re-evaluate my options. I had been planning on leaving this town in mid-July (I'd given notice already when I was fired), but now I felt like I was being forced out. And while I may run away short term, I do not take well to being told what to do in such an abrupt fashion.
I had such high expectations for this year, so to have the first half be so thoroughly rubbish was disheartening. But I realized while driving that humans are essentially a rootless, mobile type of creature. So because I had no claims on my time but a rain-checked date, I detoured to New Orleans and remembered something long forgotten-- I am young. I am flexible. And there is no better time than now to move to one of my favorite cities.
Every other option had become stifling-- I have too many bills and memories in this town to be fully happy here again. I cannot run home to my parents, though it would eliminate a number of bills. I cannot couch surf at friends' homes until I get my proverbial shit together. I could not bear the thought of going into so much more debt for grad school, when my original intention was to incur no more debt. So I'm going to defer my enrollment for a year, and this September I'll be moving to the Big Easy, getting an apartment with some dear friends from whom I have been absent for far too long.
I feel like my grammar here is fractured, but at least you've received an Eli update. Also I have the excuse of lortabs-- I had never taken pain medication before, but I injured myself pretty painfully in a roller derby accident night before last, and the kind doctor at the urgent care center had me disinfected and bandaged properly, and dismissed with a prescription to take the 7.5-8/10 pain down to a relatively mild 4. This experience has made me re-calibrate my pain scale-- I generally have a pretty high tolerance, and while I did not cry at any point during or after my attempt to absorb asphalt through my, well, ass, I did hit a pretty solid 9 when a friend attempted to clean it.
The pain was enough to make me uncertain as to whether or not I was actually sexually assaulted by said friend, or if the incident was a fabrication of my pain-riddled struggling-to-awaken mind. But if I think too much about that right now I'll be wracked with nausea, which is to be avoided.
There will be more posting soon, because I have much to discuss: public assistance, the short-term job search, BDSM, and more. I'll get on that as soon as I get more sleep and am less high-as-a-kite. The pain is still too much to actually remain sleeping, unfortunately, as I am one of those women who cannot sleep on her stomach.
Showing posts with label eli. Show all posts
Showing posts with label eli. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
In response to Lu
My clinic is in one of the states that requires doctors to ask two questions at the ultrasound: "Do you want to see the ultrasound?" and "Would you like to know if it's twins?"
Only once have I seen this change a mind, but the woman with twins last week (who already had three children and a laid-off husband at home to support) wept in the recovery room. Did it change her mind? No. Did it make it harder for her? Absolutely. It is not only a kind of emotional blackmail, the requirements force women to make their choice, over and over again, even after they've decided. And each time, whatever their reasons, it makes it harder.
And you end up with situations like this, where all of our mandatory bullshit just frustrates people and makes the experience worse. There are so many hoops we have to jump through, and make our patients jump through. It makes me sick sometimes.
Then again, sometimes I appreciate portions of it-- and this is the part that I don't know that anyone but providers will understand.
As much as I love my job, and its mission, and the feeling that I'm helping women... sometimes I resent them. I know that a lot of the attitude I have to deal with comes from the fact they're dealing with the social stigma-- women are made to feel shitty about their choice, and they take it out on me. I understand that, but sometimes it pisses me off. And while I never lose professionalism in interactions, I know that my co-workers and I sometimes are... less than kind when we finish scheduling appointments for particular women, such as those who "don't like *that* word". It's just that, despite the stigma, we still need people to face the choice they're making.
In some way, that's what all the rigamarole does-- it makes women face their decision. I hate that it's made out to be such a huge decision, and I don't think any shame should be attached to it, but one of the things we're required to do in those mandatory counseling sessions is judge potential coping issues. And not being able to say the word "abortion" is one of those signs.
Alright, I'm going to close this here. I'm not necessarily sure I've said all I needed to, or as well as I could have, but it's what I needed to say.
Only once have I seen this change a mind, but the woman with twins last week (who already had three children and a laid-off husband at home to support) wept in the recovery room. Did it change her mind? No. Did it make it harder for her? Absolutely. It is not only a kind of emotional blackmail, the requirements force women to make their choice, over and over again, even after they've decided. And each time, whatever their reasons, it makes it harder.
And you end up with situations like this, where all of our mandatory bullshit just frustrates people and makes the experience worse. There are so many hoops we have to jump through, and make our patients jump through. It makes me sick sometimes.
Then again, sometimes I appreciate portions of it-- and this is the part that I don't know that anyone but providers will understand.
As much as I love my job, and its mission, and the feeling that I'm helping women... sometimes I resent them. I know that a lot of the attitude I have to deal with comes from the fact they're dealing with the social stigma-- women are made to feel shitty about their choice, and they take it out on me. I understand that, but sometimes it pisses me off. And while I never lose professionalism in interactions, I know that my co-workers and I sometimes are... less than kind when we finish scheduling appointments for particular women, such as those who "don't like *that* word". It's just that, despite the stigma, we still need people to face the choice they're making.
In some way, that's what all the rigamarole does-- it makes women face their decision. I hate that it's made out to be such a huge decision, and I don't think any shame should be attached to it, but one of the things we're required to do in those mandatory counseling sessions is judge potential coping issues. And not being able to say the word "abortion" is one of those signs.
Alright, I'm going to close this here. I'm not necessarily sure I've said all I needed to, or as well as I could have, but it's what I needed to say.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
...Then I shoulda put a gag on it.
I just feel like quickly relating the story told to me by my boss, because the song is currently on the radio here at work:
She went out to dinner last night, and afterwards she went to the register to pay. The couple in front of her was recently engaged, with the young woman gushing about her ring. She then proceeded to start waving her bejeweled hand in the Beyonce fashion. That was bad.
Worse was when her fiance joined her, and they both were waving and singing the song.
I'm sorry, but that image makes me feel ill. Blargh.
She went out to dinner last night, and afterwards she went to the register to pay. The couple in front of her was recently engaged, with the young woman gushing about her ring. She then proceeded to start waving her bejeweled hand in the Beyonce fashion. That was bad.
Worse was when her fiance joined her, and they both were waving and singing the song.
I'm sorry, but that image makes me feel ill. Blargh.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Just poking my head in...
Figured I'd say a quick hello, as I've not been around for a little while. That grad school stuff has been catching up to me, and a slew of mandatory-social events (I thought those were supposed to end after college?) have hit all at once.
I guess there is one story I'd like to relate, that's been pestering me for a few days now.
I make no secret of the fact that I work for an abortion provider-- I am proud of all the work I do, which includes basic medical services as well as abortion services. I help treat women from all economic backgrounds, races, ages, even genders. That's right, we had a man come in a few days ago for his annual Pap smear. But that's not my story.
A few nights ago, I was at a meeting for my all-women athletic team. One of the girls was recently hired as a Pilates instructor, and invited us all to her first few classes, which were being offered free. I told her I couldn't make it on Thursday, as I leave work late that day. Mind you, it is no secret where I work. She said that there was also a 1pm class on Saturday I could attend.
"Oh, I can't make it, I have abortions all morning."
I said this casually, not going for the twisted-humor laugh I occasionally pull out. And immediately some of the girls started looking at each other, and one of the leaders said, "Yeah, you could have just said you have to work. You didn't have to put it like that, it makes me uncomfortable."
That's right, I could have just said I had to work-- but that's not what came to mind. The simple fact is that I am busy well into the early afternoon every Saturday with abortions. That is not a dirty word. That is a basic outpatient procedure which is, in all honesty, safer than carrying a pregnancy to full term. And in a group of liberated, empowered women, I thought I'd be safe saying that. The woman who voiced her objection is even a lesbian-- maybe she's uncomfortable because she doesn't think she'll ever have to worry about it.
But the fact is, according to the Guttmacher Institute's research at least 50% of American women (even lesbians!) "will experience an unintended pregnancy by age 45, and, at current rates, about one-third will have had an abortion."
That's right. Every third woman you see on the street, statistically, has had or will have an abortion. And the only thing that makes it a shame is your perception of it.
Women who have abortions do so for a number of reasons, and if any one of them is valid, they all are. I counsel with women every day from every walk of life who need our services aborting a pregnancy that they cannot envision keeping. And they are clearly not alone in numbers.
But they are alone because of the stigma of abortion.
I know, definitely, that at least one woman on my team has had an abortion-- a close friend of the "uncomfortable" woman. She knows it too. And statistics say that even if she doesn't feel concerned (though we do have lesbians come in for abortions, either through rape, one-time "mistakes", or even wanted pregnancies that they find they cannot complete), one of the women sitting on either side of her has or will use abortion services.
And I couldn't help but look around the group of women and wonder which among them sat there in silence while the others spoke about their "discomfort" with my simply mentioning my work. Just imagine being them, in this group of strong women where we're encouraged to be ourselves and be tough and most of all to be connected with one another.
How isolating must that feel?
That's why I got into this job. Because I do not want women to feel alone, no matter their backgrounds, no matter their reasons. Finding out you're pregnant changes your life, and everyone deserves support, no matter what choice you make.
I guess there is one story I'd like to relate, that's been pestering me for a few days now.
I make no secret of the fact that I work for an abortion provider-- I am proud of all the work I do, which includes basic medical services as well as abortion services. I help treat women from all economic backgrounds, races, ages, even genders. That's right, we had a man come in a few days ago for his annual Pap smear. But that's not my story.
A few nights ago, I was at a meeting for my all-women athletic team. One of the girls was recently hired as a Pilates instructor, and invited us all to her first few classes, which were being offered free. I told her I couldn't make it on Thursday, as I leave work late that day. Mind you, it is no secret where I work. She said that there was also a 1pm class on Saturday I could attend.
"Oh, I can't make it, I have abortions all morning."
I said this casually, not going for the twisted-humor laugh I occasionally pull out. And immediately some of the girls started looking at each other, and one of the leaders said, "Yeah, you could have just said you have to work. You didn't have to put it like that, it makes me uncomfortable."
That's right, I could have just said I had to work-- but that's not what came to mind. The simple fact is that I am busy well into the early afternoon every Saturday with abortions. That is not a dirty word. That is a basic outpatient procedure which is, in all honesty, safer than carrying a pregnancy to full term. And in a group of liberated, empowered women, I thought I'd be safe saying that. The woman who voiced her objection is even a lesbian-- maybe she's uncomfortable because she doesn't think she'll ever have to worry about it.
But the fact is, according to the Guttmacher Institute's research at least 50% of American women (even lesbians!) "will experience an unintended pregnancy by age 45, and, at current rates, about one-third will have had an abortion."
That's right. Every third woman you see on the street, statistically, has had or will have an abortion. And the only thing that makes it a shame is your perception of it.
Women who have abortions do so for a number of reasons, and if any one of them is valid, they all are. I counsel with women every day from every walk of life who need our services aborting a pregnancy that they cannot envision keeping. And they are clearly not alone in numbers.
But they are alone because of the stigma of abortion.
I know, definitely, that at least one woman on my team has had an abortion-- a close friend of the "uncomfortable" woman. She knows it too. And statistics say that even if she doesn't feel concerned (though we do have lesbians come in for abortions, either through rape, one-time "mistakes", or even wanted pregnancies that they find they cannot complete), one of the women sitting on either side of her has or will use abortion services.
And I couldn't help but look around the group of women and wonder which among them sat there in silence while the others spoke about their "discomfort" with my simply mentioning my work. Just imagine being them, in this group of strong women where we're encouraged to be ourselves and be tough and most of all to be connected with one another.
How isolating must that feel?
That's why I got into this job. Because I do not want women to feel alone, no matter their backgrounds, no matter their reasons. Finding out you're pregnant changes your life, and everyone deserves support, no matter what choice you make.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
This Week In Congress
I figured I'd go ahead and post the e-mail itself, actually, so people could see what we're reading/discussing. The links should work.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THESE BILLS?
More than 500 bills have been introduced in the House and more than 200 in the Senate in the 111th Congress. What is on the minds of Members of Congress that they feel need to be addressed? Here are a few examples:
H.R. 15 creates a nationalized system of free health care.
H.R. 414, the Camera Phone Predator Alert Act, requires cameras in cell phones to make an audible sound to alert others (such as in locker rooms) when a picture is taken.
H.R. 346 repeals the automatic payraises Congress receives.
H.R. 390 addresses "college football playoff games" while H.R. 187 says let Cubans play American baseball.
H.R. 227 states that human life begins at fertilization.
H.R. 254 moves voting to the weekend.
H.R. 113 requires anything funded by an earmark to be audited. Perhaps things like H.R. 202, which creates a "Museum of Ideas."
H.R. 116 ends political "robocalls" if you are on the "Do Not Call" Registry, while Senate bill S. 30 wants there to be caller ID honesty.
H.R. 126 would limit citizenship at birth only to those who have at least one parent who is a citizen or legal resident. H.R. 160 would limit Social Security benefits to only legal citizens or residents.
H.R. 155 would ban taxes on unemployment benefits for two years, while H.R. 162 bans taxes on Social Security benefits.
H.R. 87 says "Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is," and invites those who like to pay taxes to voluntarily pay extra taxes. Or how about just a "Fair Tax" as called for in H.R. 25.
H.R. 70 would make it a hate crime to display a noose with the intent to intimidate. And H.R. 40 explores paying reparations to African-Americans.
S. 213 would create an Airline Passenger Bill of Rights.
And Sen. John McCain (R-Ariz.) is back in the swing of things. He's introduced S.151, a bill to protect Indian arts and crafts.
Of course, Lu, I do feel it necessary to point out that Halloween is safe-- nooses are not to be displayed with intent to intimidate. I don't think someone would file a hate crime complaint against a haunted house.
Though I'd love to file one against the Hell Houses... I swear, that is some hate going on there.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Images for Today
I don't have much to say today. I woke up in time to listen to our new President give his first speech in that role, followed by a female Shatner reading poetry and a very old man praying in an AWESOME Seussian style.
So in honor of those things, I present you with this image, courtesy of the BBC:
INAUGURATION SPEECH WORD CLOUD
The second image I stumbled across while catching up with my daily webcomics. I skimmed past it, paused, and returned, wondering if it was a real ad, or a snarky ad for something else entirely. It appears to be legit, but it strikes me as... well, judge for yourself:
And that is all.
So in honor of those things, I present you with this image, courtesy of the BBC:
INAUGURATION SPEECH WORD CLOUD
The second image I stumbled across while catching up with my daily webcomics. I skimmed past it, paused, and returned, wondering if it was a real ad, or a snarky ad for something else entirely. It appears to be legit, but it strikes me as... well, judge for yourself:
And that is all.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Rules, again
For some reason people think my rules make for excellent conversation. Especially since I have some that are more guidelines for myself, than actual rules.
At my local dive tonight, we determined that "rules" was perhaps a bit misleading. More people can relate to the idea of "dealbreakers". For example, if you're talking to a fellow, and things are going well, and then he slips into the conversation, "Oh, yeah, I'm..." or "I have..." And dealbreakers often have more exceptions.
I know from personal experience that dealbreakers for me include The Crazy and Mommy Issues. Of course, the latter I have to suss out for myself-- no guy just out and out announces that shit. Both of those also fall into the category of "It's not me, it's you." Dealbreakers that have to do with me are more situational: I won't have drunk sex, I won't have one-night stands. (Both of those, I guess it should be full disclosure, are on an "anymore" basis.) Dealbreakers that are more me, but because of the other person, include "No double-dipping/sloppy seconds", and "No teenagers". Being younger than me is often a dealbreaker, but it's not inviolable-- I just can't do the teenager thing. There are also dealbreakers of type: I would prefer an athletic fellow, so the scrawny boys are out.
So maybe that opens things up-- people have dealbreakers, right? No kids, no drugs, no sluts (that's a genderless term for me), no one currently in a relationship. There are different levels, different flexibilities, but I know I'm not alone in this.
Quick recap. There are, I believe, four types of dealbreakers:
1: "It's not me, it's you", or when the problems are with the partner, and personality-based
a. The Crazy
b. Mommy Issues
2: "It's not you, it's me" part 1, or when it's my issue/situational
a. Drunk sex
b. One-night stands
3. "It's not you, it's me" part 2, which has to do with a personal choice regarding a non-personality issue of the other person
a. Age (too old or young)
b. Sloppy seconds (thou shalt not mack on thy friend's ex)
4: "I'm just not interested", or when that person is just not your type
a. Physical non-attraction
b. Mental non-attraction/connection
In the two middle situations, it's more of a "if circumstances were different, things would be different--maybe another time". They are the two most fluid and breakable types. The first and last, however, tend to be the hopeless situations.
And this revisitation of the issue is what probably pushes my over-analytical mindset into the first category. But dammit, I like quantifying things. You wouldn't think I was a lit major.
At my local dive tonight, we determined that "rules" was perhaps a bit misleading. More people can relate to the idea of "dealbreakers". For example, if you're talking to a fellow, and things are going well, and then he slips into the conversation, "Oh, yeah, I'm..." or "I have..." And dealbreakers often have more exceptions.
I know from personal experience that dealbreakers for me include The Crazy and Mommy Issues. Of course, the latter I have to suss out for myself-- no guy just out and out announces that shit. Both of those also fall into the category of "It's not me, it's you." Dealbreakers that have to do with me are more situational: I won't have drunk sex, I won't have one-night stands. (Both of those, I guess it should be full disclosure, are on an "anymore" basis.) Dealbreakers that are more me, but because of the other person, include "No double-dipping/sloppy seconds", and "No teenagers". Being younger than me is often a dealbreaker, but it's not inviolable-- I just can't do the teenager thing. There are also dealbreakers of type: I would prefer an athletic fellow, so the scrawny boys are out.
So maybe that opens things up-- people have dealbreakers, right? No kids, no drugs, no sluts (that's a genderless term for me), no one currently in a relationship. There are different levels, different flexibilities, but I know I'm not alone in this.
Quick recap. There are, I believe, four types of dealbreakers:
1: "It's not me, it's you", or when the problems are with the partner, and personality-based
a. The Crazy
b. Mommy Issues
2: "It's not you, it's me" part 1, or when it's my issue/situational
a. Drunk sex
b. One-night stands
3. "It's not you, it's me" part 2, which has to do with a personal choice regarding a non-personality issue of the other person
a. Age (too old or young)
b. Sloppy seconds (thou shalt not mack on thy friend's ex)
4: "I'm just not interested", or when that person is just not your type
a. Physical non-attraction
b. Mental non-attraction/connection
In the two middle situations, it's more of a "if circumstances were different, things would be different--maybe another time". They are the two most fluid and breakable types. The first and last, however, tend to be the hopeless situations.
And this revisitation of the issue is what probably pushes my over-analytical mindset into the first category. But dammit, I like quantifying things. You wouldn't think I was a lit major.
body mod: mUndane
Quick note: If sushi was called raw sea kittens, it would be all the more delicious to me. Don't get me wrong, I adore cats. I've been told "crazy cat lady" is in my future. I don't even watch movies with minor cat abuse. Kurt Vonnegut's "Cat's Cradle" nearly broke my heart with the "Meow" incident-- if the narrator had perpetrated it, I would never have forgiven him.
Nonetheless, cats are not fish. And I love ridiculous words and phrases, such as "sea kittens". That would make sushi just a bit sexier for me. In fact, I might start saying I'm going out for sea kittens. It's the same as calling my gyno "the pirate doctor" and cracking jokes about my job as an abortionist's assistant. That's just my humor.
What I came here to say, however, has absolutely nothing to do with dietary or bloviatory habits. It has to do with self-mutilation, of the mildest sorts: eyebrows.
Honestly, I started really putting some thought into this as I stared into the mirror, tweezers in hand, wondering if I should just go in for a waxing. I've never had my brows waxed; in fact, I was late to the plucking game and only started after a friend sat me down about four years ago and dove in. Not to say I was bushy-- I thought my natural eyebrows were rather nice. "It'll change the shape of your face," she said, and I let her reign.
And it did. It at least changed the way I looked at my face, and how it was structured. It became second nature, and I even started to get a thrill out of it. I felt feminine, delicate, and as though I was... okay, maybe I didn't put that much thought into it. The funny thing was that I kept doing it, even after I entered into my "know how I really look" phase. The entirety of my college career I didn't dye or style my hair, things that I had done frequently in high school. I'd cut my hair, but never really shape it beyond a layer or two. If I went for a bob, it was a straight bob, if I grew it out, I cut it flat all the way around. And I've never been one to wear make-up.
I wanted look unashamedly like me, at a time and in a place where everyone was trying so damned hard to look like anyone else. I was able to look into a mirror and say, "Yes, I know that girl." And then pick up the tweezers for a stray.
Maybe it's not funny to anyone else that I never even thought about it, but now I'm looking back at pictures of myself from college going, "Did I ever really know that girl?" My hair's a more confident shade now, and I've got some kicking fringe and contacts, and I even wear some eye make-up from time to time now that I'm not hiding behind my glasses.
Because that's the thing, I guess. I've always found that the best place to hide was in plain sight. If I don't keep secrets, no one can blackmail me. If I tell you upfront what I'm about, then you can't have any revelations about me. If I went out looking brazenly like myself, I could at least pretend that no one saw me.
So now I'm trying something new. I promised 23 would be a monumental year, and it's doing just that in ways I wasn't anticipating. So as far as body modification goes, I'll be getting another tattoo or two, and maybe another couple of piercings. I'm going to shave my pits and legs, I might even get a manicure. But my eyebrows? I'm letting those babies go au naturale, just to remember what I look like.
Nonetheless, cats are not fish. And I love ridiculous words and phrases, such as "sea kittens". That would make sushi just a bit sexier for me. In fact, I might start saying I'm going out for sea kittens. It's the same as calling my gyno "the pirate doctor" and cracking jokes about my job as an abortionist's assistant. That's just my humor.
What I came here to say, however, has absolutely nothing to do with dietary or bloviatory habits. It has to do with self-mutilation, of the mildest sorts: eyebrows.
Honestly, I started really putting some thought into this as I stared into the mirror, tweezers in hand, wondering if I should just go in for a waxing. I've never had my brows waxed; in fact, I was late to the plucking game and only started after a friend sat me down about four years ago and dove in. Not to say I was bushy-- I thought my natural eyebrows were rather nice. "It'll change the shape of your face," she said, and I let her reign.
And it did. It at least changed the way I looked at my face, and how it was structured. It became second nature, and I even started to get a thrill out of it. I felt feminine, delicate, and as though I was... okay, maybe I didn't put that much thought into it. The funny thing was that I kept doing it, even after I entered into my "know how I really look" phase. The entirety of my college career I didn't dye or style my hair, things that I had done frequently in high school. I'd cut my hair, but never really shape it beyond a layer or two. If I went for a bob, it was a straight bob, if I grew it out, I cut it flat all the way around. And I've never been one to wear make-up.
I wanted look unashamedly like me, at a time and in a place where everyone was trying so damned hard to look like anyone else. I was able to look into a mirror and say, "Yes, I know that girl." And then pick up the tweezers for a stray.
Maybe it's not funny to anyone else that I never even thought about it, but now I'm looking back at pictures of myself from college going, "Did I ever really know that girl?" My hair's a more confident shade now, and I've got some kicking fringe and contacts, and I even wear some eye make-up from time to time now that I'm not hiding behind my glasses.
Because that's the thing, I guess. I've always found that the best place to hide was in plain sight. If I don't keep secrets, no one can blackmail me. If I tell you upfront what I'm about, then you can't have any revelations about me. If I went out looking brazenly like myself, I could at least pretend that no one saw me.
So now I'm trying something new. I promised 23 would be a monumental year, and it's doing just that in ways I wasn't anticipating. So as far as body modification goes, I'll be getting another tattoo or two, and maybe another couple of piercings. I'm going to shave my pits and legs, I might even get a manicure. But my eyebrows? I'm letting those babies go au naturale, just to remember what I look like.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Oh, right, hello.
I don't know how Lu managed to get three posts up in a single day. Honestly, dear, you don't need to worry about us going gently just yet. You know I'm a terrible procrastinator, but I do eventually get things done.
Now I feel the pressure to decide what current situation best introduces me to the general public, what pressing issues keep me awake at night, what I feel most like sharing or, since this is a blog, over-sharing.
What is foremost in my mind at this minute is academia-- I am currently making my applications to PhD programs in the UK, and becoming more and more excited about it. However, I really think that is a niche issue.
Perhaps I should write what suggests itself in response to Lu's "True Wuv" post.
Dilemma: I want to date, but have absolutely no idea how to go about it.
Lu has it easy, with a boyfriend she practically lives with, and a wonderful how-we-met story, complete with cookies and sundry baked goods. She also lives in a large city, which means a wider gene pool.
I'm living in a moderately-sized town (roughly 100,000 people) in the back hills of the northern South. As a college graduate, I can no longer rely on school to introduce me to similar fellows with coinciding interests. Thus, I am left to the bar scene, and praying that any new female friends have male friends they don't share a sexual history with.
I have been told by friends that my problem can be found in the rules I have, but honestly, I don't find them too cumbersome:
1. Don't fuck the crazy.
2. No mommy issues.
Those two, I've decided, are inviolable. Now, they do seem to eliminate most of the men I come across, but I don't really think that's a bad thing. There are a number of other, minor rules to which I allow exceptions, such as "No double-dipping (i.e., sleeping with friends' previous partners)".
Based on my past experiences, though, I have been developing a third rule which may officially eliminate my chances of having sex ever again:
3. No more drunk sex.
This would eliminate one-night stands, I believe, which have been-- well, not a sustaining source of sex for me, or even a constant one. Just... the most recent.
I fear I am far too analytical to find a relationship here, even on a short-term basis. Which is a shame, because I determined that I would like to take a lover before leaving for grad school.
Alas. So, rules: what is your opinion on having them, and do you have any of your own?
Now I feel the pressure to decide what current situation best introduces me to the general public, what pressing issues keep me awake at night, what I feel most like sharing or, since this is a blog, over-sharing.
What is foremost in my mind at this minute is academia-- I am currently making my applications to PhD programs in the UK, and becoming more and more excited about it. However, I really think that is a niche issue.
Perhaps I should write what suggests itself in response to Lu's "True Wuv" post.
Dilemma: I want to date, but have absolutely no idea how to go about it.
Lu has it easy, with a boyfriend she practically lives with, and a wonderful how-we-met story, complete with cookies and sundry baked goods. She also lives in a large city, which means a wider gene pool.
I'm living in a moderately-sized town (roughly 100,000 people) in the back hills of the northern South. As a college graduate, I can no longer rely on school to introduce me to similar fellows with coinciding interests. Thus, I am left to the bar scene, and praying that any new female friends have male friends they don't share a sexual history with.
I have been told by friends that my problem can be found in the rules I have, but honestly, I don't find them too cumbersome:
1. Don't fuck the crazy.
2. No mommy issues.
Those two, I've decided, are inviolable. Now, they do seem to eliminate most of the men I come across, but I don't really think that's a bad thing. There are a number of other, minor rules to which I allow exceptions, such as "No double-dipping (i.e., sleeping with friends' previous partners)".
Based on my past experiences, though, I have been developing a third rule which may officially eliminate my chances of having sex ever again:
3. No more drunk sex.
This would eliminate one-night stands, I believe, which have been-- well, not a sustaining source of sex for me, or even a constant one. Just... the most recent.
I fear I am far too analytical to find a relationship here, even on a short-term basis. Which is a shame, because I determined that I would like to take a lover before leaving for grad school.
Alas. So, rules: what is your opinion on having them, and do you have any of your own?
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