February 24, 2011

One Bad Turn

When in doubt, post lolcats.

We often ask ourselves, or at least I often ask myself, why bad things happen all at once. It feels like one bad turn deserves another and if they were somewhat more spaced out they wouldn't all feel like so much bad. If they didn't happen all at once they would be more manageable, would seem more like unpleasant blips, and wouldn't leave us (or is it just me?) sinking in quicksand.

Not that I'm sinking in quicksand.

But maybe it's not that the bad things happen all together so much as we (goddammit, I) just notice the unpleasant blips in a more significant way when life leaves us feeling run down. Maybe it's all unpleasant little blips and the only reason we notice them is because of our reaction to them. And sure, some really are bad things. I've said several times– much more than I intended– how much it sucked (and continues sucking) to be dumped by my dad. But I can't help but wonder if that's affected the way I reacted to others. The months I spent discovering my dad's increasingly deeper level of alienation were also months I spent entirely uncertain about my relationships with guys, including one I fell for but was cruelly (at least in my head) made aware things wouldn't progress, and one who wanted to be with me who I ended up rejecting (somewhat cruelly). Did my pain over my dad cause me to cling even tighter to the one who was there before I was disowned, making the eventual non-break-up sting even more? Would I have been as upset had the whole father fiasco never happened?

Who knows. It's utterly impossible to look at the situation with an objective eye.

As the matter stands now, I started the new year with the best intentions of doing what's best for me. So far I've made a ton of accomplishments and it's only February. I'm proud of myself. This year holds immense promise, promise so tangible I'm just waiting for what's certain to come. Yet, as I've said before, waiting kills. I ended up rekindling things with the one I'd rejected, which has been an additional bright spot in the last couple of months, though it doesn't help that we see each other somewhat rarely. Between that, being publicly ignored by my dad at my cousin's wedding, and getting drunk "I miss you" texts at 3am, it definitely feels like unpleasant blips happen all at once.

Maybe I'm looking for something to blame for my confusion or am just getting carried away with the self psychology. The good news is March is right around the corner and I'm very excited about it. In March I celebrate some special birthdays, my favorite Irish holiday and, most exciting of all, my half marathon. Running has been my most constant source of happiness this year and I'm thrilled with how far I've come and how far I imagine I can go. Those thoughts make me happy.

February 22, 2011

Somehow This Is Legal

This is how I feel.

So there's this law firm that is reserving their special place in hell early. They're buying up images that have gone viral and then tracking down and suing not just those who use those images (in blogs or personal websites) without written permission but the people who are commenting on them.

Somehow this is legal.

My hope is that the Internet, now that it knows about this, will act as a super hero, will take these guys down, and make this very obvious trap illegal. But that might not happen, since there's this loop hole that financially benefits the government. This isn't what America is all about, guys. I could very, very easily get sued (and possibly settle) for thousands of dollars for posting a picture on this blog without written consent of the owner of that image (assuming the owner is Righthaven), even though I'm not gaining anything financially from the blog or the image. Blogger's refusal to "monetize" my site could give me a leg to stand on in court, but ultimately still isn't doing me much good. And they can apparently do this without first contacting the hoster, blogger, individual and asking them to remove the image. They can just serve you out of the blue. Fucking assholes.

I think this Farker summed it up pretty well:
Jesus, now I desperately want to find places that will let me post the goatse pic, and tubgirl and lemonparty, and all the rest of the rogue's gallery. Then when they sue me, I insist that it goes to court so that they can plead with the jury to give them royalties because they own those pictures and want to protect their interest in them. I wanna blow up the pic of goatse man to wall-sized and introduce it as an exhibit, then make their experts stand next to it while they testify that AssholeLawyers.com owns this fine image, and they deserve payment any time someone posts it. Then when I lose they can get in line behind about twenty credit card companies and Sallie Mae for their big fat wad of negative equity that is my current estate.

This, and I really want them to sue 4chan. Really really really want them to. The word "epic" would be dwarfed into invisibility by the epic nature of the attack that would follow. –dahmers love zombie

TOE HAIRS! God, I'm weird.

Just to be safe, I might just start posting pictures of my cat, even if the post has nothing to do with cats. *Sigh*

February 21, 2011

Pretend War

And this was attached to an article on NPR censorship. HA!

It's becoming more and more difficult to believe the Westboro Baptist Church really is (or believe they are) an organization dedicated to God, and not just the biggest and meanest trolls in America. On the one hand, they're all members of the same inbred Kansas family so who knows what their collective IQ is and what they're brainwashed to believe, and if they really are the extreme extremists they present themselves as they could very well fully believe everything they preach. But on the other hand, they're so extreme extremists that it's absurd; there's absolutely no connection whatsoever between the Bible and the things they shout from the media rooftops. And I don't know which I hope they are: if they're retarded fundamentalists it's scary that one family can cause so much pain and suffering to other families and believe God will reward them for it, but if they're just trolling for funzies that would make them so very, very bad it's hard to believe.

The whole reason I'm starting to think the WBC might just be an evil troll is their most recent ploy for attention. A letter was posted at AnonNews.org addressed to the WBC essentially saying the collective people (anonymous) are sick and tired of the WBC hiding their atrocious actions behind free speech and it's time the WBC put an end to everything this year or else face being hacked into oblivion. Naturally the WBC posted a response letter saying "bring it" and citing a bunch of random Bible verses. And now God hates fags and lousy hackers.

And here's the kicker: both letters were written by Westboro Baptist Church to incite a war with the sole goal of being in headlines for a few weeks (and possibly sue potential hackers for money, but I have no idea how all that hacking stuff works). So Anonymous (the real deal this time) issued a statement saying nice try, "don't call us, we'll call you." Which is kind of too bad, because I was really looking forward to the WBC being hacked into oblivion. But I guess it's good, because Anonymous comes out better in the end. They've shown that the WBC is a lying sack of AWing shit and are going to ignore them and tackle some more important issues. Like how half the world is protesting their governments right now and millions are being killed.

Having just learned of Anonymous and its purpose, I'm proud that it exists. Go Internet underdogs! But at the same time I'm disappointed that it has to exist. Between WikiLeaks and the ongoing cover-up fiasco and large financial institutions deliberately falsifying information to embarrass rivals for financial gain (see here) it's embarrassing for Americans that the giant corporations that run our country are acting like 5th graders. Aren't we better than this?

February 20, 2011

Sense Of Accomplishment

Today I woke up and ran 11 miles.

Fuck yeah


That is all.

February 17, 2011



This is a strange text conversation I had today with someone I thought I was related to (took out names, kept his mistakes):

Not My Cousin: Hello there.. I got a new phone and I only have you as a number.. Who is this?

Me: Your favorite cousin Lindsay :)

NMC: Do you know who I am?

Me: It came up as (my cousin) so I guess (my cousin)...

NMC: ..Nope.. This is (not your cousin)

Me: Then how'd you get my number?

NMC: You texted me some time ago.. And I didn't know who it was.. Do you know someone named (not your cousin)?

Me: No but I just got this number 8 months ago. You might've known whoever had it before me. Weird that you have my cousin's number...

NMC: Hmm well I'm sorry haha.. And someone call me 2 days ago.. Cussing me out.. And saying I was someone named (your cousin).. So look out for that guy.. He sounds like a psycho

(Much later)
Me: Ok so do you know me? You sent me a friend request on Facebook. (The request was from two days ago.)

NMC: I send a request.. Cus I have you name and number in my phone.. And I wanted to know who you where haha

Something's missing in this whole ordeal. Someone, who is in my phone as my cousin, is texting me asking who I am, but then says he knows my name and is trying to friend me on Facebook. The only thing I can think of that doesn't end in complete and total coincidence is I included my cousin in the mass texts I sent out when I got my new number, only my cousin no longer had the phone number I knew. This guy with my cousin's old phone number then must have hung onto my new phone number despite not knowing who I am, and (from what I remember) never asked. Then for some reason apparently decided however many months later to find out more about me through texting some story about a new number, which can't be true if it still comes up in my phone, and Facebook.

Either that or this guy got my cousin's old number and he knows whoever had my new number before me. But that's pretty coincidental.

February 16, 2011

'Till Death

Mmmmm.... cake.

My cousin got married last weekend. Usually I'm pretty cynical about people wanting to admit they found the love of their lives and then wanting to commit to that person so much that they get married, especially at 20-something, but I was so excited for my cousin and so happy to be there on her wedding day. I'd met her fiance several times while they were dating and there was just something good about him. Watching how he interacted with her and her family members, how he talked about playing with her high energy dog, how he very lovingly got her in her pajamas and into bed after a party and was happy to do it made me grin from ear to ear watching them walk down the aisle together. Not to mention, they've dated for a few years now, already own a home together and are both in their late 20s, so statistically speaking they're doing everything right. And they made a beautiful couple.

Watching a wedding like that makes you wonder how love could ever go bad. It was so beautiful, so honest, they seem so right for each other... No one gets into a marriage thinking, "this is good for a first one." When we say "till death do us part" we mean it. We really, truly do. But it doesn't turn out that way.

This, unfortunately, I know too well. I went to this wedding knowing my dad would be there with his girlfriend, knowing much of my family supports his decision to have no relationship with me. For 4 hours, and though he sat at the next table over, I got not so much as a glance. Which I guess was a good thing, because if he had come over for a hug or small talk I might not have held it together, and I couldn't be doing that at a wedding. But the evening ended with me doing my best to hold back tears as I asked myself and others what I did to make my own dad choose to not have anything to do with me.

Later I found out that while discussing the rift one relative (I wish I knew who) said to another that there are two sides to every story. Which means there's an alternative story out there. Which makes me wonder what type of alternative story this is if it makes people support my dad's decision to cut his kid out of his life? What is he saying I did or said that was so bad that others think he did the right thing? Did I commit some unforgivable sin? Maybe I'm looking at it all wrong: maybe the alternative story is that I was the one who cut him out of my life. Maybe it's the same story with the roles reversed.

But then I thought even if that were the case wouldn't a loving father still attempt communication? Wouldn't a loving father who mourns the loss of his daughter, at the very least, send a text on her birthday? If I were to die tomorrow would he not come to my funeral, not place flowers on my grave and not miss me a little bit?

I don't have answers to those questions. I don't know if he sees at all how much he hurt me. In order to get by I have to assume he has no idea, because if he knew I would have so much hate in my heart that it would weigh me down. All I know is my dad told me he never wanted me, and his blatant dismissal of me seems to indicate he really meant that.

So what happened? What made him, a man who says he never wanted to get married or have kids, propose to his girlfriend and then go on to have 3 kids? He must at some point have changed his mind. He must have wanted those things even if only for a brief period. He must have once had some semblance of the happiness I saw in my cousin last weekend. It's too bad love dies like this. I hope my cousin will never know what that's like– I hope her beautiful wedding is an indication of the beautiful life she'll continue building with her husband and the happiness we all saw on their faces lasts 'till death parts them, and I hope that's many decades from now.

February 14, 2011

The Behbeh

It would be pretty difficult for any guy to beat the Valentine's present I got from my first boyfriend back in high school. No diamond, no flower, not even a $90 box of chocolates could top what I got then: a rat.

The behbeh having a bath.

Not just any rat, though. This little guy was about as purebred as a rat can be and the sweetest rodent ever. And it also represented how well my boyfriend knew me: I'm not a real big romantic and though I'd have appreciated any gesture he made on Valentine's Day I just wasn't going to be as into traditional gifts. I don't remember anything else about that night other than sitting with a baby rat asleep on my belly.

That little rat, who I named Tuxedo for his classy markings, grew into my best friend. For a while he was even my only friend. He was a fat little sucker and would fall asleep all sprawled out on his hammock with his toes sticking off the edge. It was adorable. When I moved to San Diego of course he came with. He was the one I could talk to, the one who hung out while I did my homework, the one I had dinner with every night and the one who got so excited to see me when I came home that he'd run up to greet me. This happened because one night I forgot to put him back in his cage; he hadn't gotten into any trouble so I started leaving the cage door down regularly. Eventually he had free roam of the whole room all the time, but he'd fall asleep on my lap while I was doing homework.

I shared my food with him, giving him an olive or noodle or letting him lick up the last of my yogurt, I carried him around the apartment in my sweatshirt, I took him on car rides and trips back home and even to school a couple of times. Once or twice he got a cold and he'd lap up his medicine from my hand. He was my buddy.

Tux went nuts for yogurt and lapped it up like a dog.

Rats live about 2 years, but at 2 years Tux was still spry as ever. He must have had a stroke or something around that time, though, because he started losing function in his lower half and eventually could only move around by dragging his dwindling weight with his hands. He also started going bald and deaf, but nothing seemed to dampen his spirits. Sometimes I'd have to go looking for him because he'd have fallen asleep and didn't hear me come home, but when he saw me he would still get excited and do his best to come out from his sleeping space. He was always happy and seeing him happy made me happier than anything.

And then one Valentine's day he turned 3 years old. And then he turned 3 years and 1 month old. And then he got really sick. Three years is insanely old for rats, even domestic ones who are spoiled rotten their whole lives. I'd spent a week traveling for spring break, without Tux, but when I picked him up to take him back home to San Diego I knew he wasn't going to pull out of it this time. He didn't look happy anymore. He looked like he hurt. And so, hours before the new quarter started, I made the very difficult decision to have him put to sleep, a decision I hope someone will be able to make for me someday, should I need it. The experience was completely awful– the staff at the emergency clinic was rude, they wouldn't let me be there for the injection, and it took forever to take effect. I held my skinny little rat in my lap and saw the life leave his eyes. And then we went home. And then I started the most difficult quarter alone, without my Tuxie.

In the same way I know no cat will ever compare to Milo, no rat will ever compare to Tuxedo. The Behbeh was one of those animals that you're just happy to have known. I wouldn't have made it in San Diego without him.

Happy Valentine's day, behbeh.

February 10, 2011

Sleep, I Love You

Oh my god this is the cutest thing I've ever seen!

Sleep, I love you. And I've missed you! I know we reconnect every day, but it isn't genuine, quality time. It was a hurried fall-into-bed-with-my-eyes-already-half-closed ordeal all week. Until last night. Last night and this morning were amazing. I slipped between the sheets, cuddled my pillow, pulled the blankets up around my face and burrowed in my bed, away from the chilly window. I took my time falling asleep, letting my thoughts slowly drift off, allowing my eyes to droop closed, appreciating the way my body heat warmed my bed. And before I knew it I was asleep. The best part was I was really at rest, ready to rejuvenate my body and mind, excited at the prospect of not waking up to an alarm clock. And boy, when I woke up at 7 and realized I didn't have to get up I went right back to cuddling that pillow for another 2 hours. It was exactly what I needed. So thank you, Sleep. Thank you for being there for me all week when I had no time for you, thank you for welcoming me again with open arms when I needed you the most, and thank you for promising to be there with me every single night, for the rest of my life. I love you, Sleep.

February 5, 2011

The Month Of Love

Ah, February. Are you the reason I got that lovin' feeling when I left my apartment tonight, even though I was just going to work? Yeah, I didn't think so either.

But what caused it? Is all this running influencing my endorphins? Am I excited about making some positive changes? Or am I thinking about the prospect of going back to the job that made me the happiest I've ever been? Or could it just be all the heart decorations in windows, fresh flowers in grocery stores, and an extra lovey kitty?

Chuchumia brightens your day.

It's no wonder I'm such a happy camper the last few days– there's so much to be excited for! My family is coming to visit next weekend, I have Super Bowl Sunday off for like the second time in a decade, I get to sleep in tomorrow as late as I want, I'm happy about my living situation, and my future suddenly seems not so far away. And I'm excited about it, looking forward to it, like my life is a book that I simultaneously want to finish because I can't wait to find out how it ends but also want to go slowly and enjoy the experience because it's such a good one. Plus, I feel super accomplished every week just for running, and got a nice reward today when a shirtless guy ran past me with his two beautiful Weimaraners. Trying to keep up with them was far more motivating than any song on my iPod could be.

Then there's the job prospect. I'm not sure about returning to photo caravans. On the one hand, I loved that job so much and was retardedly happy that summer. But on the other hand, I still have nightmares about flightline and the anxiety makes me really not want to go back. But again on the one hand, maybe I need to remind myself that there are people at the Park who care about the animals and the guests. And maybe it would be good to go back to the place that makes me happy... After all, there's nothing in the world better than seeing giraffes and rhinos every day, or being around people who are as excited about it as I am.

See how happy I was? That was every day.

So we'll see. If I go to grad school and can't find a "real" job this might be a good opportunity. I'd just need to get over that pesky anxiety...

February 4, 2011

Serious Business

Serious cat is serious.

February is the month of love. February is also black history month. But for me, February is serious business.

And what better way to get the point across than with pictures of cats I found on the Internet?

This month my to do list has some important bullet points: peak in my running (2 weeks!), take a terrifying test (5 days...), get my shit together (3 weeks), get through a wedding (1 week), and get a new job (3 weeks). All of these things have to be done this month. The job only has to be found this month for my sanity, but my sanity is a pretty big deal. So for the next few days I'm swearing off the Internet, for the most part (I do have an addiction, after all), and spending my waking non-working non-football-celebrating moments studying and being otherwise productive. Important things are happening. I gotta try my best to not fuck it up.