April 25, 2011


A bridge. Literal image, metaphorical idea. Also one of the coolest bridges.

An interesting part of humanity is that we have the ability to hide our feelings. When an animal is scared he either cowers or fights back, when an animal is pleased or content he is relaxed. A person can appear one thing on the outside and feel the opposite on the inside. The struggles people carry with them on a daily basis can very often be completely hidden from all but those who know them best.

This makes me happy. <3

I started my new job carrying a good amount of anger (completely unrelated to work), and that anger combined with a few very unexpected obstacles caused me to break down on my second day. No one in my office knows of the anger I carried (carry?), but it doesn't matter. I know they carry their struggles, and sometimes those struggles are hidden just beneath the surface. I found out about this when one person's struggles came out; I have no idea what each of them carry within their heads or hearts, just like none of them know what I carry. We, all people, are just trying to get through the day and get to whatever it is that makes us happy. The good thing is I know what makes me happy, I know what I want now and in the future, and I know that I value those things so much I can't be apart from them.

This makes everything seem better.

There's a dream I have of my hopefully not too distant future: to live alone in a beautiful, spunky apartment by Balboa Park, with my kitty, to run in the park every day, to have my debts paid off and to not worry about how I'm going to pay for the things I need, and to do work I can feel good about. This dream hinges on one or two decisions, so my life should have the direction I want in a couple of months. If everything goes according to plan I may have to put off that small dream for a few years, but I know it'll be way worth it, because the big plan will be in the works.

April 22, 2011


Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean the world isn't out to get you.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm just paranoid or if I'm being smart...

There are things I want to write but because I don't know exactly who has access to this site (which is to say I do know who has access to it I just don't know who they share it with...), but that whole thought makes me angry because that's NOT THE POINT OF THIS BLOG! I decided when I began two years ago that I would write what I wanted no matter who was reading, no matter who was going to be upset by what I wrote.

The problem with that is when I started I never in a million years thought I would be in the position I'm currently in with members of my family. There's a level of fear I live with now which is beyond constricting and I don't know what to do with it... If I say things here that get distorted and spread around it could cause serious problems for others. I'm not concerned about myself because I stand behind every word I write and will defend it to anyones face. But others can't do that.

What it all seems to come down to is whether or not I think certain people are intentionally malicious. I always give people the benefit of the doubt, from intimate connections to total strangers. There is always a more innocent explanation for why someone would do or say something harmful than because he or she meant to cause harm. But what if I'm wrong? What if that is the explanation?

I can't believe people are like that, though, so I'll just go on assuming the best until I have irrefutable proof otherwise. I've been let down before, but I'm already cynical, and I don't need to believe the worst. That will destroy me.

April 21, 2011

An Open Letter To Men

Dear Men,

Please shave your goddamn faces. This is an issue that seems to present itself way more often than the cursory I-woke-up-in-a-rush-this-morning-and-didn't-have-time should allow. Why does this happen? Is it the rugged manly-man commercials that make stubble look sexy? Are you lazy? Are you trying to hide some pimple or something? Are you all failing miserably at growing beards? Why do you want to grow a beard anyway? They're not sexy. (You can have Movember; anything for charity.)

Here's the reason a clean shaven face is sexy: our cheeks, our lips, our necks, our shoulder blades, our collar bones, pretty much anything you might want to kiss is naturally hairless. I mean, there are the little tiny fuzzies that create that baby soft smoothness that you'll never have on your cheeks (sorry, but that's the way life is), but otherwise hairless. This means there's no protective barrier against those painfully sharp little spikes you've got growing out of your chin. Try rubbing that on the inside of your arm or something. Doesn't feel good, does it? Imagine a half hour of that. When you're making out with a guy with a 3-day beard your chin gets all raw and red. Which not only isn't attractive, it fucking hurts.

And there's one more, somewhat more subtle reason a clean shaven face is sexy: our other lips appreciate a fresh shave. A lot of guys now like a woman with little to no hair-down-there, and more and more women are going Brazilian (or are at least trimming). We do NOT like those painfully sharp little spikes you've got growing out of your chin on those VERY SENSITIVE AREAS. Talk about killing the mood: I like you, you like me, I'm putting up with your spiky chin because you're funny and you smell nice, until you try to step things up a notch by heading down south and I have to try my damnedest to enjoy it. It might have actually been good, but I'll never know if your face is covered in sandpaper.

Which brings me to another point. Guys, I realize shaving is probably not your favorite part of waking up, and it must suck to have to do it every other day. But when you consider that the only thing you're shaving is your face, while your women are shaving their armpits, arms, legs and vaginas, it's really not so bad. We do it because you don't want to look at hairy armpits, because running your hand up a hairy leg is not a turn on, and because eating out a ball of hair has its downsides.

So, boys of shaving age, if you think there's a chance you'll be making out with a woman later you should shave. If you don't think there's a chance you'll be making out with a woman but you're hoping it'll happen anyway you should shave. If you're not even going on a date or seeing anyone but you've always entertained the idea of making out with someone you just met spontaneously you should shave. If there's absolutely no chance you'll get anywhere near a woman, if you have absolutely no interest in making out, and you have absolutely no desire in creating an opportunity to make out you can skip the shave.

It seems that facial hair should be a clear indicator of interest. A clean shaven face would mean the man thought ahead, decided there was at least a 0.001% chance he'd get to make out (or more), and figured you'd appreciate a fresh shave, making him considerate, or at least into you. A day old shave would mean the guy's a little more comfortable with you, or at least not trying super hard to impress you. A 2-3 day old shave would mean he's either not that into you or doesn't give a fuck how making out with sandpaper feels. Or that he's trying to grow a beard. And a full on bearded man should be saying, "Hey, I know I've got a small mammal on my chin, but I sure as fuck know what I'm doing."

So, guys, shave your faces. Every single body part on us thanks you.



April 20, 2011

Writing, Writing


My hours are filled with writing words. My thoughts are all about writing. When I'm struggling to find a new, interesting way to tell prospective clients about garage door springs (they make a cool "sproing!" sound when they break?) I'm thinking about what I'll write at night. I don't necessarily want to spend all of my waking hours in front of a screen thinking about the right words and the perfect order they go in, but when I leave my job in the evening I'm already planning out my own words. Which could mean one of two things: I'm really a writer and can't get sick of it, or I'm doing a lot of self psychology.

I worry that the situation with my dad is doing the damage it usually does to people. Because I feel so rejected by him I feel other rejections so much more. That's so unfair not only to me but to the people in my life. When I first realized what my dad was doing I remember thinking of how it would affect my sisters and I in 6 months, a year, 5 years, 10 years. I wondered what our relationships with men would be like, if we'd be screaming for attention or looking for the wrong kinds. If I were in a committed relationship I'd be happier with it, glad there was a man I could look up to, someone I loved who wasn't a complete jackass. It kind of sucks not being in a relationship and wanting one, and having slight abandonment issues doesn't really help. You would think that being 25, a complete adult by anyone's measures, would make me exempt from those feelings, but apparently not. Hopefully, if I go down the sociology path, this will give me good thesis ideas. If nothing else, maybe I can at least use my experiences for good.

It makes sense for me to be drawn to sociology. Researching, case studies, writing, and probably endless reading seem to be involved. I already have those skills. It would be so exciting to use them for something I'm so interested in.

April 17, 2011


Blogger, why do you sabotage the posts I want most? I spent 45 minutes writing a detailed story and it should have autosaved several times while I was writing, and especially should have saved when I clicked "save now." It's true I wasn't planning on publishing my story now (possibly ever), but I wanted it anyway. I wanted it for personal reasons, in case someday I felt it was time to publish. It was mostly for my own records, for whatever impulse in me decided I needed to write, and I'm deeply hurt that you took matters into your own hands, so far that you not only failed to do a basic function I regularly count on, but you blatantly ignored a very, very basic instruction. Both of those disappointments combined caused me to lose a long piece, one which I poured much emotion into and one which I'm sad and angry to have lost.

I've tried recovering it through my history, but my history is incomplete. I also closed my browser window after incorrectly assuming my story had successfully saved, so anything I could have saved is gone. Blogger, you've left me adless, and now for the second time you've left me without a personal story that I really wanted despite my efforts to keep it. If you're not going to keep the things I save why would I write drafts?

And now I'm just angry. I write things I want and you delete them. But I've been using your service for 2 years and it's free and my readers know this site. I like the layout, it's easy to use and I'm comfortable here. But why that post? Why that article, which I wanted for myself so much?

I'll rewrite it, but not here. Since it's really going to be mine I'll keep it offline, to myself. Blogger, you disappoint me.

April 14, 2011

My Love, My Life

A girl basking in the sunlight: a self portrait.

Last week I had a brief moment of clarity: I'm happy and, besides every day frustrations (and in spite of or perhaps because of the super shitty things that seem to occur more frequently these days), always am. The happiness that enveloped me had little to do with it being my last day at a job I was sick of, little to do with the job I was about to start, and little to do with my general position in time. However, it has everything to do with my position in space. I'm so lucky to live in America's Finest City; I love my city so much, and just knowing that it's so important for me to live here, that I will do whatever it takes to keep a roof over my head on my own, means so much. It means that my heart belongs here. I have a feeling that this is the city I'll always return to, that no matter where life takes me 619 will be my area code, that home will always be SD. San Diego both satisfies me and makes me want more. Like, a lot more. And after I've experienced the best the world has to offer maybe I'll come back, and breathe a sigh of contentment.

That's not to say I don't do that now. Driving around, seeing skies that were filled with both the fluffy white clouds that look almost tangible and make everything seem better and the dark, ominous clouds whose threat of rain excites me like a little girl, running in my beautiful Balboa Park early in the morning with the last few raindrops illuminated by the rising sun, how could I want anything more?

Which brings me to wondering about love. Much to my regret, my mind keeps wandering back to one certain boy. Time has somehow caused me to view him in this glorified way, which makes the ongoing task of stopping those romantic feelings slow going. But I do have one large flaw to hold on to: if he's so content with living so close to where we both grew up, content with never having lived more than an hour away from his parents, and (most importantly) content with remaining that way, then I have to accept that that's just not good enough for me. Which is starting to be OK. I know there will one day be some all-consuming great love like all the songs say... I guess I just miss being in love.