Fitting In

Sometimes we don't fit in. Movies and TV shows go out of their way trying to relate to audiences who didn't fit in during middle school or high school, and everyone has at least one period or instance of not quite fitting in somewhere or with some group. I was lucky to be pretty enough (and unassuming) to not get teased or picked on, at least not to my face (and if there was teasing going on behind my back I never got wise to it) and I was also lucky enough to find a very tight knit group of people that accepted me completely. High school was actually very pleasant for me. 

But sometimes we don't fit in with that one group of people we should always feel like we belong with - our families. That's when it gets rough.

Sometimes our families make us feel weird, unusual, or wrong for no reason. And not in horrible awful ways, but subtle ways. A little remark that lets you know you're the only one who believes in something, or that your clothes aren't quite right, or that you're into the wrong kinds of activities. And when we don't feel like we belong with our families we seek out anyone else who will accept us, or at least who will make us feel like we aren't the complete weirdos our families make us think we are.

I got lucky, again, that I found someone who doesn't make me feel like a complete weirdo. Actually, that's not exactly true… I found someone who really likes my weirdness, and participates in it with me. Someone who doesn't believe in the little things I sometimes hear from my family, who even likes the things my family doesn't seem to like about me. Having someone with the same values as I have makes me feel like I'm not totally alone, and it makes dealing with those snide little remarks a little bit easier. Knowing that I can create my own family how I want and that I'm far enough away from those related to me that I don't have to see them and hear their comments about my lifestyle, my beliefs, or my interests very often. 

Feeling Like A Child

Childhood relics at your parent's house can set a person back.

There's an article in Cosmo magazine (I know, I know, but my littlest sister pointed it out [who is their demographic, after all] and it wasn't awful) offering advice for those with emotional distress when home for the holidays. It was targeted at the young adults who are newly into their adult lives: out of college, in big kid jobs with big kid responsibilities and lives, who suddenly feel like children as soon as they're back in their teenage rooms and being chauffeured in the back seat of mom and dad's car. 

This article was pointed out to us because it's my sister's way of telling us that she feels like we treat her like a child, and not like the young adult with responsibilities that she is. She's never been one to openly discuss her feelings, so just showing us an article in a magazine is an invitation to talk about it. 

So we talked about it. Not with her, of course, because we're a normal dysfunctional family. Amongst ourselves, though, yes. We discussed what she might be feeling, what she might want us to do, what we might be doing that is causing her to feel like we see her as a child. And we pointed a lot of fingers. OK, I did a lot of the finger pointing.

I haven't felt like a child when visiting back home in a few years. But I did feel like that when I was my sister's age. And I do feel like that at my boyfriend's parents' house. Not because they treat me like a kid, or treat him like a kid, not at all. In fact they treat us both like adults. And not because of the way they talk to either of us. But I do feel like a kid when we have to sleep in different rooms. 

To be perfectly fair, I fully understand that this is a their-house-their-rules type of situation and I would never, ever say a word (hope they don't find this); and it's not like we're married or engaged or even living together (though I seriously hope one of those things would cause the room situation to change). But my boyfriend, their son, is 30. We're in a serious enough relationship that we're taking each other to our respective families for the holidays. And I'm pretty sure they're both aware we spend the majority of our nights together. But I sleep in the room next to the master and he sleeps in a room on the other side of the house. And I feel like I'm 17 who needs to be stopped from doing naughty things with her boyfriend rather than an adult in a totally normal adult relationship.

The Cosmo article also touched on dealing with family opinions and beliefs that may be different from yours, giving changes in religious and political beliefs as an example. Having to sleep in a different room is conforming to a belief that I don't share. While this is a more extreme example from the annoying-but-harmless dinner table discussions about who voted for who the magazine was hinting at, the feeling is there. You don't want to say anything and start something (especially in my family...), but the article pointed out that if you don't speak up your family won't learn who you are as a new young adult. This is easily my sister's largest issue: blame it on the divorce, but both of my sisters are massive people pleasers who will do anything to avoid a fight and anything to make everyone else happy. This  means repressing a lot of their own feelings and emotions, which is also not healthy. 

If the holidays make you stressed out (and I think most people feel some stress during this time), do what you can for yourself. Take a step back, distance yourself if you have to, and remember that you can't control how other people react or feel. I was reminded that these situations are a two way street, and that each person has to give a little to get somewhere. Myself included.

Being A Feminist In A Relationship

The other day on Pinterest (because I'm a woman in my late twenties) I saw a quote that said "You're the type of guy I'd make a sandwich for." As a born feminist, it spoke to me. The boyfriend and I were discussing a very religious wedding he'd recently worked, where the priest told the bride that she needed to submit to her husband, and joked to the groom that a happy wife means a happy life. We both thought that was a ridiculous thing to say to two people about to commit their lives together: why not just politely advise the couple to do what they can to make each other happy?

I've been a feminist since before I knew what that word meant, but there are some stereotypically feminine things I really enjoy doing. I love cooking, cooking for others, I care about animals more than most people and love taking care of animals (and plants, though I have greater successes with animals), I enjoy being in an educational position, I'm a neat freak and am constantly cleaning or tidying up. And recently, I've developed an interest in home decorating (rather, discovered that I have a style). While there was a time in my life I thought my future held children and motherhood, I still never wanted to be a stay-at-home-mom, never wanted to be wholly financially dependent on my husband, never desired the traditional housewife role. As I grew up and realized it was never my dream to have children, just me mentally fulfilling the expectation that came along with my gender and dating guys who also made those assumptions, I inched closer towards being a modern feminist.

But I still want to get married, weird as that may sound. I still want to give up my name, have a wedding, be ridiculously in love, and adopt all the pets. I want to make one man feel like the luckiest man alive, and I'll want to make him a sandwich, if only because it would make him happy in that moment*. I would do that because making my spouse happy would be incredibly important to me, just as making me happy would be incredibly important to him. 

This idea - of mutual happiness - at first seemed out of line with traditional feminism; some women refuse to cook, or never bother learning how to be good at it, because it's "anti-feminist." These women might have children but only because they physically have to be the ones to do so  if they want them (we still haven't advanced that far in modern medicine) but will refuse to do anything but the most basic of childcare duties, throwing themselves into their jobs instead. But doing something for the sake of doing it is as bad as not doing something for the sake of not doing it.

In addition to being a feminist, I've also been a cynic pretty much since puberty and my adult years have only solidified those views. After watching marriages fall apart, see couples stay together for the wrong reasons, and see people be so sure they'll end up happily ever after only to see their relationships crumble (always painfully), my cynicism grew. I consoled women who saw their relationships completely fail when they were so sure they wouldn't. I thought maybe I'd marry my high school boyfriend only because he was so sure we were soul mates. I thought I'd probably end up marrying The Ex only because we'd been together so long. It was only after those relationships ended that I realized how wrong I'd been. But I was never so sure. I was never even sure. The very idea of being sure, much less so sure, is terrifying.

I started to realize I didn't really want kids when I was in college. I grew up the oldest of three in a home daycare house. There were always kids around. Always. And I helped. When I came home from school I popped a bag of popcorn and sat at the kitchen table to start my homework, and our regular daycare kid would come and sit with me and share my popcorn. Because I grew up with kids literally always around I knew what to do with them at a very young age. By the time I got old enough to start thinking about my own future I knew what work kids were, and knew that I wasn't very eager to get on that. The people I admired were childless: my uncle, who married in his 50s, never had kids and was able to spoil my sisters and I. The Director of HR at my first post-college job married in her late 30s, got herself snipped, and was able to buy lovely clothes, a sporty car and spend the night in a hotel with her husband, just because. Once I realized I could easily not worry about money, have leisure time, experience a marriage and spoil my nieces and nephews I was hooked.

This idea of modern feminism is sort of a blend of traditional female roles and the super feminist ideals. While we may not want children, we still want to experience the love and acceptance that comes with being married. We watched our parents do all the wrong things with us and each other, make the wrong kind of sacrifices, and we've learned. We'll get married for the right reasons, and if we have kids we'll remember why, and we'll teach them how to be good people. I think we'll see stronger families and relationships because of this.

*Should that man not eat sandwiches very often I would happily make him something else. Preferably something I also want to eat, so we can eat it together.

Meeting The Parents

XKCD. Always relevant.

During our road trip the boyfriend and I stayed a couple of nights in Oakland with his parents. Which meant I got to meet them. I'd actually met his dad once several months ago when he was in San Diego on business, but all that entailed was the three of us having dinner. This time we spent 40 hours with them. I'd met parents before and it was fine because I'm awesome and parents love me, but frankly it never really mattered before, and it was always very early in the relationship. I'd never cared enough to worry because by the time my past relationships were into the serious stage I was already well acquainted with the parents. This time it mattered far before I met either parent. Plus, I couldn't help but wonder if being the white girl that stole her son's heart would matter to my boyfriend's mom...

The boyfriend prepared me a bit by telling me stories and talking about how they interact with each other. And meeting his dad many months ago certainly helped. I was a little nervous because I didn't know if his parents were aware of the seriousness of our relationship and if so if that affected his mom's impression of me. And, as previously mentioned, I already cared (deeply) about this one, so being liked mattered.

Not long after we arrived, his mom showed me to my "residence," as she called it, which was a room that was better appointed than most hotel rooms. She told me, "I'm sure you and [the boyfriend] are close..." I stopped her and said I understood and expected that we would be in separate rooms (she had called my mom "very liberal" for allowing us to share a room at Thanksgiving and Easter, something she got a huge kick out of). My room had a queen size bed with my own full bath, and she placed fresh roses from her garden in a vase on the counter. It was ridiculous. I had to camp after that...

One of the most interesting aspects of the day and a half we were there was his parent's interaction. It's been a while since I've been around still-together-parents (my lady friend's parents being the only ones I know) and watching them with each other, and with their son, was... different. His parents have been together for so long that it seems they've just gotten used to being together, and worrying about their fully grown son must feel... weird. 

His mom interjected her stories with "[the boyfriend]'s father says" about the situation she was describing, like she was annoyed. Which, who knows, after being married that long maybe they are rather annoyed with each other. But there is a very clear level of respect between them, too. Every time the boyfriend's dad would forget a part of the story he was telling (where they'd eaten, who said it, what the occasion was, what day of the week...) he'd ask his wife and no matter what she was doing or if she was in the other room she'd answer in a second. They pay attention to each other, which tells me that even if they're annoyed they probably talk to each other, which has to be a step in the right direction. 

His mom was also very concerned with my diet, and it took some convincing for her to feel comfortable making dishes she thought I wouldn't eat. It is hard telling new people what I do and do not eat, and I've more or less adopted a mantra of eat-what-you're-served when in someone's home, and try to make them feel less guilty when I refuse a meat. She made red beans and rice, putting in ground turkey and hot links (I didn't know what those even were... sausage?), and it was delicious. When we stopped back to pick up the dog she had made ribs, and I asked for the red bean and rice leftovers (I've never had ribs, I think... not really any desire to try).

It was nice finally meeting them (well... her). We've been together for long enough and he's met my family a number of times already, so it was kind of starting to be weird that I hadn't met his mom yet. All in all it was a very pleasant day and a half, though I do have to say I feel a bit more comfortable around his dad (sorry, Boyfriend) having known him a bit more. But that might also have something to do with the distinct feeling I was being judged, and not unrightfully so, seeing as how I am dating her only child and he's clearly very into me... I just never really experienced that before. The impression I got from the parents of ex-boyfriends was more along the lines of them being happy their somewhat troublesome son had got himself a nice girl. But if there was a test this time around I think I did well enough to at least earn being called "a nice girl."

Deconstructing Family

Last night I went to see Deconstruction of a Drag Queen, a play put on by Circle Circle dot dot, a San Diego theatre company owned by my boyfriend's friends. It was an incredibly moving piece that detailed the life of a popular San Diego drag queen, Grace Towers, and her struggling to come to terms with who she was as well as getting her family to accept her lifestyle. Although most people do not have to go through what Grace did, it still resonates because most people have at one point or another disappointed their parents.

The play starred a boy named Michael (or Mike) who grew up in a religious, conservative household with a mother who wanted her only son to be a successful doctor or lawyer or something respectable with a giant income. Unfortunately, ever since Mike was a little kid he was attracted to his older sister's dresses, her make up box, organizing musical skits for town performances with his friends, and dancing, none of which his mother approved of. She called him every horrible name in the book and forced him to ignore who he was for who she wanted him to be. It wasn't until he started at UCSD under a pre-med program (arguably one of the hardest in the country) that he discovered a little bit of freedom, thanks to his new friends. The rest of the play was about him embracing being gay, discovering a passion for drag, and ultimately losing his family because they could not accept his choices. And that last part is what resonates so clearly.

It was easy to feel the audience experience shock, anger, empathy and joy for the characters on stage, especially knowing that the play is based on a real person and her real experiences. More than I expected I found myself getting emotional... although I never had to work to get anyone to accept my lifestyle and was never called those names or anything even remotely similar, I too had to deal with disappointment and feeling not good enough. On stage, Mike makes a phone call to his mother telling her he's switching his major and asks that she still love him; she hangs up on him. Their last conversation ends with his mother telling him he's no longer part of the family because of his choices. It was powerful watching a person, even an actor, go through that. There was a time I was not allowed in a parent's house and have felt like I lost both parents... one of whom has gone out of his way to make me feel unloved, unwanted and unimportant. For what?

Last weekend at Easter I spent a good amount of time in my hometown with my family, and although I do miss them and do wish I could see them more often, I feel like the burden is always on me to make the effort when no one else will, and my feeling that I don't belong in that town is reinforced with every return. Watching this play after spending a lot (= less than 3 days) of time up there reminded me of how different I am, but it also made me realize how perceptions change with time, and how truths get twisted... these are things I can't talk about with the people I should be talking about them with because doing so could severely damage relationships that are often already hanging by a thread. I made the decision that it's not worth bringing up, which means I have to live knowing people believe things that just aren't true about me, and that hurts.

Fortunately, the inspiration for Deconstruction of a Drag Queen, Grace Towers, found her niche and seems happy and well accepted among her surrogate family. We all need a surrogate family sometimes... we can't choose who we're related to and that can make it near impossible to get along with our family members. Hopefully people can keep in mind that it always hurts to feel like you've disappointed a parent just for being who you are, no matter how old you get.

Letting Go of Tradition

An example of a tradition that's gone through a lot of change...

Easily one of the biggest hardships I felt in the aftermath of my parent's divorce was the loss of tradition. They tried to keep it the same, but because we now had two houses to go to for every holiday and birthday the traditions got split up between parents: one did brunch while the other took care of dinner, we still got stockings at Christmas and baskets at Easter and one parent did a birthday dinner while the other maybe did a party the weekend before. It worked for a while, but when we got older and lives got more complicated the traditions started dropping. It was hard on me and I felt like I was the only one who cared. Truth be told I shouldn't have cared because I was too old for most of that anyway, but so much had changed during the previous years that I just wanted the traditions to feel normal.

But I'm getting better in my old age. And honestly I don't know what to attribute that to... am I really maturing? Do I just not care anymore? Has there been so much change that I've given up? A combination? Maybe. But I think it has a lot more to do with my relationships with my family members than anything. For a while I was working a tourist job and it was easy enough to stay in San Diego and work, allowing my coworkers to spend time with their families and earning some extra money I was desperate for... and I did feel a little like it might just be easier on everyone if I just didn't go for the holidays, which were always stressful enough on their own, and I couldn't seem to keep my mouth shut around certain people or situations. Now that everyone's a little bit older and has gone through their own personal ordeals they're letting me be myself as much as I'm letting them do the same and we're all getting through the holidays a bit easier. And at least we still have the same food traditions: Easter just wouldn't be the same without the lamb cake or buttercreams, just like we can't have Christmas without fudge and start every holiday with "holiday food" (most people call it eggs benedict). 

I have, however, noticed that it's been a lot easier for me the last year or so because I really like who my sister is dating and my other sister and mom haven't had anyone serious enough to make a big deal of. And since Thanksgiving I've had someone I'm excited to bring home, someone they seem to actually love, someone that makes me visibly happy. And I don't really know why but it makes me more excited for holidays because I'm bringing someone who's so accepted by my family. It's exciting in a way I haven't felt towards the holidays in over a decade. It's always wonderful to spend time with them, but knowing that they not only accept but like and welcome someone who's so important to me makes me the happiest of campers around the holidays. 

Now, if only I could get the cat to get along with the dogs...

Three Years of Blogging

I started this blog 3 years ago today (under a different name for a few days, until I settled on this) as a way to keep me focused and sharp during what would become a 3 month period of unemployment. There's certainly been a lot that's happened and changed in three years:


Got 2 jobs at the Wild Animal Park
Broke up with my long term boyfriend
Seriously doubted my faith
Collected unemployment insurance
Moved out of my wonderful studio
Changed my phone number
Lived with a friend
Lived with a crazy person
Had an amazing summer
Started running, seriously
Reevaluated my meat eating habits
Dated a friend, then ended the friendship
Used my Class B license for a job
Made a bunch of international friends
Had a shitty year
Said goodbye to a dog
Read a bunch of books
Remembered why I love living in San Diego
Was more or less dumped in favor of cocaine
Was more or less disowned by my father
Found a great roommate and a great apartment
Learned to love North Park
Got a writing job
Rediscovered my real passion
Celebrated 2 cousin's weddings
Ran 3 half marathons in 2 states
Made real friendships
Lost fake friendships
Fell deeply in love with a real friend
Traveled to San Francisco and Las Vegas
Sold a car
Bought a car
Started a new blog


This year has been amazing so far and the vast majority of last year was, too. I fully intend on enjoying the rest of it as much as I possibly can. Imagining what the next three years might hold is pretty exciting, too, especially (and this is where I get to be a girl) when I think about the amazing times in store with my boyfriend at my side. There's one thing that will always be certain in my life, in the next 3 years an beyond, and that is that I will always be writing. 

Abstinence>Birth Control

 Because if you aren't careful, one of these could be yours.

Abortion, birth control and how people have sex is, for whatever reason, big news in the Land of the Free, and the upcoming election (still 8 whole months away) will likely center heavily on these intertwined topics. And because women's issues are very near and dear to my heart and most certainly my body, I'm quite passionate and opinionated about them.


I've been having a difficult time trying to understand the purpose behind these ridiculous debates, and perhaps because I'm a woman, perhaps because I'm young, perhaps because I tend to think these types of things do not need to be legislated, I doubt I ever will. The most recent comment on the issue of birth control, who should be having sex and how consenting adults should go about having children comes from a Republican WOMAN, who said if married couples don't want to get pregnant they should not have sex. Married couples. Shouldn't have sex.


Unless they want kids.


According to Ms. Blankenbeker (I assume she's married because Republicans are all about the family, and I so want to know what her husband thinks about all this), abstinence is an affordable form of birth control that is available to everyone, regardless of insurance. She also reminds us that condoms are available over the counter to anyone, with or without insurance. So, condoms and not having sex are the only ways to prevent pregnancy, according to this woman. Married couples who love each other but who aren't ready for or don't want more kids better hope their condoms don't break...

Seriously.

I was always under the impression that the only right sex is the sex between a married man and his female wife. Unmarried sex is bad, as is homosexual sex, and any negative consequences that result from bad sex is the fault of the people involved. But a married man and married woman together having sex is now off the table unless they explicitly want to procreate? Now sex between man and wife is only for making babies? The Bible doesn't even advocate that. Who is this crazy woman?


Also, what about married couples who do not want to have kids? I have no intention of having kids at any point in my life, but I do hope that I'll be married at some point in my life, presumably while I'm still physically capable of conceiving. Does this mean I am not to have sex with my husband unless I change my mind about having kids? Relying on condoms isn't realistic for me because I'm allergic (or maybe just sensitive) to latex, and it can be very painful to use them.


These comments were made at a hearing designed to urge Obama to drop the requirement that insurance plans offer birth control, which makes me believe they're inflammatory and actually designed to encourage Obama to stick to his guns. Could she be saying such ridiculous things, things which Republicans don't agree with and the American public doesn't agree with, to ruin her party? A Republican in Democrat's clothing, perhaps? I doubt it, but I don't think this notion should be ignored.


At the same hearing, another Republican woman claimed that birth control pills lead to prostate cancer. Funny thing, though, is women don't have prostates and men don't take birth control pills (yet). So hooooooow would a medication cause a disease/side effect in someone who isn't taking it? It's not second hand smoke: men don't get second hand estrogen when their partners take hormonal birth control. This woman, a Ms. Notter (again, wonder what the hubby thinks), says she was referring to high levels of estrogen in the environment, which is actually true. Men, however, are not affected by it. Frogs, fish and other wildlife can be, but still not on a common or regular basis. So I'm not sure where she's getting her information. 


I've always felt fortunate to have been born at the time I was, rather than even just 20 years earlier when women were less able to live freely or openly. I'm glad that I can be 26 and unmarried and not be an outcast, that I can skip having kids without it being weird (it's still a little weird, but enough women are opting out now), that I don't have to live under my parents, that going to college wasn't to meet an eligible man who would make enough money to support me. But when my government starts deciding whether or not my access to birth control is valid, or having an opinion about my sexual activities, that's when I wish I was born later. I know, I have to believe, that when my generation is older and our kids generation starts learning about these fucking ridiculous legislative attempts and ask what we were thinking we'll have to shrug and say we tried, but people were still bigoted and sexist and puritanist back then, but at least now the country is a better place for all of its citizens, young and old, gay and straight, male and female. 

Illegal Abortion

I get to use this image again!

For whatever reason, whether or not women should be allowed to get an abortion is a political issue, and some people believe there is absolutely no reason abortion should be legal, even in cases of rape (fortunately, even the craziest people think an abortion can sneak by when the pregnancy will kill the mother, but if not that would be condemning a woman to death).

But all this got me wondering: what would I do if I were raped tonight and forced by law to carry a resulting pregnancy to term? For the sake of depression, and because the thing that started this was a presidential hopeful suggesting women view babies conceived through a rape as a "gift from God," which you surely wouldn't return, I'll include raising a baby bestowed upon me by the gift of rape.

Emotions:

First, going through a rape (something I fortunately have never experienced and hopefully never will) is one of the most traumatizing things a person can experience. Some statistics say between 15-20% of the population have been raped, but I'd be willing to bet it's more than that because men who are raped almost never report it and women who are raped are often too afraid, too traumatized or don't believe it's rape because the criminal was someone they knew. Even still, at least 15% of the population has been traumatized by rape. First off, if this were to ever happen to me I'd be at the police station and hospital to report it and have any evidence collected to catch the son of a bitch. But I would be devastated. I would replay it in my mind again and again, trying to come up with something I did wrong, some way I could have prevented it or stopped him. It would depress me intensely, most likely affecting my sleep, my day to day activities, and most certainly my relationship. As much as I can say now I wish I were stronger than that, sex would be entirely different after a rape, and there's no way that wouldn't be an issue. And if the rape resulted in a pregnancy and I was forced to carry it?

Money:

I currently make about enough to pay rent, utilities, car payments, car insurance, cell phone, food and gas with just enough left over to put aside for taxes in April and car insurance in July. Other than what I'm currently saving, which is already ear marked, I have no savings. I would have to keep my current job, even though it does not provide any benefits whatsoever, because no company would hire a woman about to need medical leave in 9 months. This would mean that any time I needed to go to the doctor or felt too sick to work would be unpaid, and my eventual maternity leave would be 1-3 months of no income. Plus, I would likely lose my job during the leave (they would have to replace me) and finding a job that paid decently or maybe even one that provided benefits would be next to impossible as a brand new, single mother who will need flexibility to care for her baby.

In addition, I have no health insurance so all those required doctor's visits would be debt under my name. Of course, I would have to have health insurance for myself and my baby once it's born, but I couldn't exactly go get pre-natal insurance after I got pregnant, now could I? My credit limit is $5k, which isn't anywhere near enough to have a healthy baby in a hospital. Actually having the baby would cripple me, and if there were any complications whatsoever I would never recover from the debt. Diapers, a car seat, baby clothes, and whatever else you buy for a baby (even Target maternity clothes are expensive) would be beyond my current budget, which would change to zero once I became unemployed.

I could cash out my stock, but it would only be a temporary fix and only enough to cover basic doctors visits or maybe the time I would be unemployed, if I somehow found a job soon enough. Plus, cashing out would affect me at tax time, so the benefit would be further diminished.

(Should I decide to give the baby up for adoption and happen to actually find a couple willing to adopt my rape baby, they would most likely pay for my medical bills and giving birth. However, they would probably not pay for sick days when I was puking or at the doctor or for maternity clothes. And they definitely would not pay for a gym membership so I could work on getting my body back and try going back to my normal life.)

Life:

I would be forced to move out of my current apartment and find a studio or 1-bedroom apartment, which is already something I can't afford, much less after at least a month of unemployment and thousands in medical bills. I could probably move back to my hometown and rent out a room in my mom's house, but I would still need a job to pay for rent (which wouldn't be much cheaper than a place in San Diego) and baby stuff (and like I said, I have no savings). Plus, it would involve leaving my friends, my boyfriend and my life in San Diego.

Speaking of boyfriend, that would most likely end. I feel fortunate to be with someone who feels the same as I do about having kids, but unfortunately for this hypothetical situation that's that we don't want them. Even if my boyfriend wanted to be supportive and helpful, I could never ask him to stay when I have a baby that belongs to a rapist, not to him. Being pregnant is enough of a strain when the baby belongs to both people in the relationship, but a rape and a pregnancy together would be too much.

Things I Would Give Up:

All hope of getting my Master's degree (student debt on top of medical debt? Yeah right.), my dream job (taking any job without considering the flexibility, the benefits, the day care), possibly freelancing, traveling, having a horse, spending any time taking care of animals for a living, and having anything else that goes along with the somewhat exotic lifestyle I want.

My whole life would be living so that a baby I never wanted would have a chance at a decent life because, despite it just being the right thing to do if you bring a child into the world, it's against the law to neglect it. I suppose I could just go on welfare. Let all the other taxpayers pay for me and my baby, and just not work. God, this is depressing.

I might also have to let go of what I hope a marriage would be like. Dating wouldn't be for me anymore, it would be to find a husband who would be a good father for my rape baby, who would not have a father. Not to mention, between working and raising a baby I'd never have time to actually date. Meeting a man who already has a child (and probably an ex wife) would most likely be my only option, and then date nights could be movies at home with the kids. Lounging in bed for hours, making brunch and mimosas on Sunday at noon, hanging out writing this blog, spending time on Reddit, and  staying out late at a bar will be things of the past. And forget reading. Well, forget reading anything at my reading level. 

Additional Comments:

Should I ever be raped (which I'm just going to hope never happens... keep my wits about me, stay out of creepy dark alleys...) I really hope the criminal wears a condom. Fortunately as far as pregnancies go I'm already on birth control and have access to Plan B, so the chances of me becoming pregnant are pretty slim. But there's sexually transmitted disease and the trauma to worry about, one of which I will most assuredly have to deal with. The bottom line is rape is something so truly awful and should never happen to anyone, but that's unfortunately not the world we live in. I just hope I'm never forced to bear the consequences of someone else's criminal actions.

Two Thousand Eleven

After the disappointment that was 2010 I decided 2011 was going to be better. It so fucking was.

First, it was a year overwhelmingly full of love. I fell in love with San Diego all over again, discovered a love for running (which I'm working on rekindling as the year closes), and fell ridiculously crazy in love with a wonderful friend who I absolutely cannot wait to spend the next year with. I love my neighborhood, my brat of a cat, my apartment with the bars on the windows, and my new car. I loved seeing my friends move on in adulthood and succeed, paying off the debt I'd carried around since graduation (one of my favorite accomplishments), and seeing my sister get serious with someone who's great for her.

I started off the year by participating in a flash mob. I enjoyed it a ton, even though my roommate got really sick the days leading up to it and wasn't able to do it with me and now that flash mobs are so last year, I can at least say I participated in one. For silliness.

Easily my biggest accomplishment for 2011 was finishing 3 half marathons, 2 5Ks and a 4 mile race for a total of 49.3 racing miles and who knows how many training miles. I bought two new pairs of running shoes, several pairs of dry wicking socks, a running jacket, shorts and an iPod and send a few hundred dollars on entry fees and transportation. I have a small stack of bibs, 3 finisher medals (one of which glows in the dark!), a bunch of safety pins and more technical t-shirts than I know what to do with. It's a good feeling, and when I continue in 2012 I'm gonna try to beat that 2 hour mark.

Probably my second biggest accomplishment for 2011 was not moving. That's right, I had the same address for a full year, something which seriously doesn't happen very often for me. One of my goals for 2012 (a ridiculously easy goal, at that) is to make this address the one I live in the longest in San Diego. I have absolutely no intentions of moving, and unless my roommate decides to buy a place she doesn't either. North Park certainly feels a lot more like home now, and I've learned to appreciate what it offers.

I also was able to find a job in my area, one in which I'm using my degree (and, for the most part, need it) and making a higher rate than I ever have, which, now that there's a car payment, still seems like I'm just getting by. My commute is short, my hours are good, my coworkers are a lot of fun to be around and my boss can be pretty generous when he wants to be. It may not be my dream job, and one goal for 2012 will be to find my dream job, but it's good for right now, and it's helping me learn a lot that's going to help me in the future.

This year was not without it's down moments, however. In a coincidental yet poetic turn of events, the day before my birthday, which just so happened to be a day before the 1 year anniversary of my dad officially cutting me out of his life, I went to his house and gathered the last of my belongings there. It was civil and very quick and I'm glad to have gotten it over with, but it has made the last few months extra full of anger and resentment. Every time I see an older woman with red hair I feel incredible hatred towards these perfect strangers. It's becoming difficult to understand how such hatred can exist in the same place as such incredible love.

It was also not a good year for electronics. My camera battery is 99% dead, and the minute or so that it holds a charge really isn't long enough to take and download even one picture. Also unfortunately, I don't think they make those camera batteries anymore (at 4 years old it might as well be ancient) so it looks like I might have to buy a new one. Lucky for me, however, I have my own personal photographer (ok, he's not my own personal photographer) who is usually willing to take my pictures for me, so buying a camera isn't an immediate need. My computer also took a turn for the worse- a laptop without a working screen isn't good for much. The weird thing is after all the shit I put that machine through it still works perfectly and is way faster than the one I've been borrowing for the last few months, except for the screen. A new MacBook Pro is very, very high on my list of things to buy once I pay taxes. Finally, though this isn't really an electronic, my trusty Hyundai Accent died, forcing me to buy a new car.

Other events this year included two cousin's weddings, a trip to Disneyland, discovering goodies at my farmer's market, the rapture, the return of 90s TV shows, learning to drive stick shift, paragliding, getting my 6th piercing, not cutting my hair (it's super long!), a power outage, and getting more fish. It's been a very full year, and I'm proud to say I achieved the goals I set for myself at the beginning. I'm also happy to be looking forward to 2012, taking steps to accomplish my new goals, and sitting with my boyfriend and a bucket of popcorn as we watch people flip out over the Mayan calendar prediction.

Living Alone

Making it.

Exactly one year ago today I started this blog post after reading a hard-hitting New York Times article about the trials and challenges of being young and living in New York City and trying hard to make it. (The only reason I didn't publish was because I didn't save the link to the article and then couldn't find it again.) The point was supposed to be college graduates will do what it takes to live in the city because doing what they're passionate about matters to them, which is not something our parents and grandparents did. I expected to read stories of aspiring actors and artists working multiple serving jobs, taking any role or gig just because it would get their names out there and that's where you start. What I read was entirely different.

The article opened up with an inside look into some kid living in the center of the city, in a tiny apartment, trying to make it, and was quoted talking about sacrifices he makes in order to live where he does (unsafe neighborhood, run down building, no space to turn around). The kicker? His mom pays his rent.

What. The. Fuck. I'm making it on my own as a college graduate in a shitty economy and my mommy isn't paying my rent. I'm working because I have no choice but to live on my own (when I started this post a year ago I had written "I'm working in a crap job because I have no choice"), but I wouldn't want it any other way anyway. My job choice is important to me, like this kid, and I've left jobs before because I was unhappy, but I have yet to let someone pay for my rent or bills because I just didn't like my job or it wasn't what I went to college for. Clearly: I spent over a year of my college educated life driving a broken van part time for just above minimum wage because it was paying the bills at the time. But you know what? My princess cat wouldn't do so well homeless.

The rest of the people they interviewed were at least paying their rents, but 2 of them had professional jobs and just chose to spend their entire paychecks living in a 8X5 room in a posh neighborhood. That's not "oh it's sooo hard to make it in this economy!" That's making a choice and living with the consequences. Hey, I'd have tons of credit card debt too if I ate at restaurants and went to clubs every night, but I don't. I make choices, and I live with the consequences. Not going out means I don't get into debt. Seems worth it to me.

I'm also reminded that the time is just around the corner for those wonderful Christmas letters we get from people we apparently don't speak with anymore because they think we care about the very mundane aspects of their lives. A couple of years ago (or was it last year? I'm getting old...) one relative sent out her family letter and ended it saying how, like everyone, they're getting by and waiting for the economy to turn around, because life got so much harder with the increased taxes on the wealthy and now they have to pick and choose which charities they donate to.

Such crap.

364 Days

On October 3, 2010 I woke up on a couch after a night of partying in San Francisco with my best friends. I remembered having one of the best nights of my life and certainly the best night of that year, but in the next second I realized my dad never even sent a text saying happy birthday.

On October 1, 2011 I went over to my dad's house to gather the few boxes of old books, photo albums and knicknacks from my childhood because the previous three hundred and sixty four days had made it abundantly clear that he wanted to forget he had any ties to me.

I felt the strong urge to tell my dad what I'd been thinking for the last 364 days. I knew it wouldn't help anything but getting it off my chest to the person who's caused me more grief than anyone else would have made me feel better. Instead I said 4 words:

Me: *knock knock*

Him: Come in.

Me: We're good.

Him: *comes to the door and indicates the garage* Your things are in there.

Me: Thank you.

And in about 6 minutes we packed our things and ourselves into my little car and left. He didn't overtly watch us pack up and go, but I hadn't even started my car before he'd closed the garage door. No goodbye.

On the upside, I remembered just how much elephant things I've accumulated since childhood. My sister tore into a garbage bag with all of my old stuffed animals and tossed them to me: "Elephant, elephant, elephant, bear in an elephant costume, Raggedy Ann..." Some things just never change.

I now have some amazingly embarrassing pictures, some treasured pictures of Milo, my high school cap and diploma, and cards and keepsakes from friends. I'd completely forgotten the vast majority of the things I had there, but we had a great time going through them and laughing and remembering being kids. But some things I just don't have room for, and can't justify keeping in an apartment especially with as often as I move, so I'll be keeping only the things I absolutely can't part with.

In the end, I'm very glad to be done with my dad. It's hurt me more than I cared to admit the last 364 days (well, more than that, but at least before then I thought there was a chance), and I'm ready to not be angry anymore. If he wants to believe we have a relationship, that he's doing everything he can to be a dad, there's nothing I can do. If this were anyone other than my dad people would be telling me to stop trying. It's only because he's my dad that it's acceptable to keep beating a dead horse. But I have too much self respect to allow it beyond the 364 days I've already allowed it, and a father shouldn't ever treat his daughter this way. This isn't me taking a stand so much as giving in to the stand he took October 3, 2010. I have to accept the things I cannot change.

And hey, I'm 26 now and I've got a pretty good life going on. And I'll always have elephants.

Struggles

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.

Paranoia

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.

Writing, Writing

Eh.

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.

13.1

I'm in orange.

Yesterday I ran 13.1 miles– more than I've ever run– in 2 hours and 5 minutes (and 38 seconds, but who's counting?). Today I can barely move.

The event was the San Diego Zoo's Safari Park Inaugural Half Marathon. I raced in a group of 3,500 in order to raise funds to build a new tiger habitat. Though, I wonder how much of our fees actually go to tigers: we got a technical t-shirt (which is the coolest thing ever!), a finisher's medal, fruit, and as much Powerade as we wanted, not to mention paying employees to be there early, equipment to set up water stations, mile markers, a permit to shut down a busy road, winner medals (and the awesome stuffed-animal cheetahs they won), and extra employees to attend to the crowd. We probably raised well over $200k, but I still wonder. Regardless, it was an amazing experience and one I definitely want to do next year.

The biggest pitfall with this run was that it was the same day as daylight saving time. So not only did I have to be up super early, I had to do so on a day I lost an hour of sleep. And, since I'm just this lucky, I woke up in the middle of the night (I'd had a LOT of water right before bed) just in time to see the clock change from 1:59am to 3am. Less than 2 hours later we (my mom came for moral support) were up.

There's only one road leading into the Park and it's only one lane. But there's 2 ways to get to that road, and I knew the one no one else would be taking, which got us into the parking lot in record time (I don't know how 3k+ cars made it on those roads and into the limited parking lot space...). Gear check, potty break, bib on and I was good to go. There was a morning DJ kind of guy with a mic doing his best to get people pumped. There were girls in sequined skirts, groups wearing animal-themed outfits, a guy in a condor costume, and two men in matching zebra and tiger striped leggings, as well as many wearing the orange shirts. The sun started to break, 7am came and we were off.

Somehow the weather was perfect for the run. The sun was out for a while, letting my hands thaw, but after a while the sun retreated behind cloud cover and mist. While the sun was still rising we ran down a road lined with orchards, horse corrals and cow pastures. One house had a large field behind it and a white horse, backlit by the rising sun, ran alongside the fence as cows mooed beyond. It was a beautiful sight and a few people near me took pictures with their phones. The course was a lot hillier than I expected but I told myself to not stop on hills, no matter what. I broke that resolve for a few seconds on the last hill– it looked longer than it was, and because it was steep I gave in halfway up. A man on the sidelines shouted encouragement: "This is the top, you're there." A girl next to me told him he'd better be right and we both picked up running again. He was, we were over the last hill. The medic was stationed at the peak of that hill (which was a point we passed twice), and at the bottom were residents of a neighborhood we invaded cheering us on. One man turned to wave, tripped and fell. He rolled like a hero in a video game, popped right back up, and waved again to the small crowd saying he was alright. His buddies, running alongside him, joked that he'd have to go back up the hill if he needed the medic, and that he should tell others he was saving someone from a lion.

Around mile 10-11 I had to stop for a few more seconds to give some relief to my hip and to adjust my shoe. All together, including walking through the water stations, I stopped running for less than 2 minutes. The last mile seemed much longer than a mile, but when I saw that 13 mile marker I started running fast. I powered through and the last .1 miles was almost sprinting. I saw my time on a giant clock and had a huge grin as I passed the finish line. I knew I'd finish before 2:30, and I secretly wanted to finish before 2:15, but I never guessed I'd finish at 2:05. I accepted my finisher's medal, a bottle of water and Powerade, found my mom (who promptly took my very sweaty picture) and just tried to keep from collapsing. My legs were shaking and there were so many people (over a thousand finished before me) crowding the area that there was no room to walk it off.

Once I regained my composure (and took my zebra stampede photo) I started to feel good. I headed over to see if I could find my former co-workers/fellow runners, and hopped on the one morning caravan that hadn't sold out yet. I finally introduced my mom to the best job ever (she was excited to meet my giraffe and rhino friends) and once the sun came out we started to forget our cold and enjoy the day.

When we were home I took the world's greatest shower, ate a plate-full of pasta and vegetables, and we lay down for a nap. More than 4 hours later we woke up, still exhausted, and I devoured a giant plate of nachos. A day later and I'm still exhausted, and now with very sore legs. But I feel accomplished that I ran a half marathon. This is a race I want to make a tradition, and next time I run I want to beat 2 hours.