Everything Clever Comes From Reddit

 

I was having a conversation with some friends not long ago and we were discussing stories we'd heard about and articles we'd read (news, politics, economics, all very informed stuff). After several minutes, and once I realized that everything I had to contribute to the conversation was something I had read on Reddit, I remembered my friends probably also had found their information from Reddit. 

So when my turn came to contribute again, I said that I read on Reddit an article about whatever it was that we'd been talking about. One of my friends nodded and said that's where he'd seen it too. I figured we all knew we spend time on Reddit and most, if not all, of our intelligent conversation was coming from things we'd seen on the site, so we might as well just admit it. 

Which was kinda cool, in a way. Here we are, young professionals having a beer and talking about things that are going on in the world right now, all because we spend an hour or two (fine, fine, 6) browsing this one website. We're informed in politics, we have an educated opinion about the economy, we're aware of our environment and we care about events across the world. 

The other day I saw a picture of an engagement ring some guy had posted, asking for luck as he flew to another country to meet his girlfriend to propose. Some people had commented that he better hope she doesn't see it and the surprise is ruined, while others were offering suggestions on how he should actually propose, since he hadn't figured that part out yet. He said he figured she wouldn't see it, since she'd already been traveling for a week with friends and wouldn't have had the time to browse enough Reddit to see it (it wasn't on the front page, so it would have been unlikely she'd go through pages and pages to discover it), and that if she found out his brilliant or clever or romantic proposal came from some idea on Reddit she'd be OK with it because she already knew anything clever or interesting came from Reddit. And that's when I realized it's the same with me.

Kind of impressive to think that one website can have so much influence. Because I browse Reddit for at least a few minutes every day (some days much more) and subscribe to "subreddits" that I'm interested in, I'm up to date on things I care about. In fact, a lot of the articles I read on the site show up on Facebook and in the Huffington Post a day or two later. (Aside: I can usually tell which of my Facebook friends are Redditors based on the articles they post.) We're becoming a generation who is not only interested in what's going on outside of our immediate lives, but we have an opinion and sometimes we even care enough to do something about it. It's fantastic. 

Fuck yeah!

I really hope that this experience is turning us into activists who decide to not sit by and let bad things happen.... maybe that's just the idealism talking in me but it'd be nice to think that all of this information being spread around to all parts of the world has to have an impact on something. Right?

The First Year

Getting distracted making dinner.

Today marks a full year since deciding to date one of my great friends and it's easily one of the best decisions I've ever made. But while we've been dating a year, our relationship started more than two years ago when we met. I remember telling someone once, slightly more than a year ago, about our friendship and how I didn't think it would come to be considering how it started, and then saying how very glad I was that it did.

Right off the bat this was the person I texted more than anyone else. We had immediately established a mutual love of food and burritos (and what he was eating, normally way past normal bedtimes) became a frequent topic of conversation. Part of this was fueled by my late night job which required me to eat dinner around 11pm, which was right around the time he'd be grabbing a burrito or carne asada fries. After I left that job I remember laying in bed once just before midnight and checked my phone: no text from my friend. And no texts the whole day or day before that, either. Suddenly that felt weird, even though we didn't necessarily text daily. I must have just gotten used to that communication.

A few months before we started dating I was fed up and frustrated... I had been off and on seeing someone I felt meh about and was ready for someone I'd feel more for. My mind kept going back to my friend, making me ask myself why we weren't dating. I couldn't explain it but something just wasn't there, and by then he'd become too good a friend to risk a short term fling (I really liked him and I didn't exactly have a good track record of staying in touch, much less staying friends, with people I dated). But I caught myself thinking about him more than I should if we were just friends, and way more than I should if I was sort-of-seeing someone else. This was someone who was ready to be there for me, someone who talked me to sleep when my psycho housemate had some sort of night terror, who picked me up to take me to get my car at a mechanic, who made me leap out of my bar stool at a restaurant when I saw him so I could go say hi, who felt comfortable asking me about the brief time we pseudo-dated to assess a strange rejection, who introduced me to great little restaurants, who took me to the zoo for our friendship zooversary, who took me on a day date to a theatre matinee... why, again, weren't we dating?

And then all of a sudden, through a strange turn of events I still don't fully understand, we were. And it was the easiest, least awkward, and most exciting time. When my phone buzzed from a text it was already likely going to be from him, but now my heart was doing little skips hoping it was him. I hadn't had that in... a long time.

It turned out that year of being friends, and growing into good friends, was what made me fall in love with him without even realizing it. All we did was acknowledge it. And because of that, I've been lucky enough to have spent the last year with someone who:

*Pulls me closer in the middle of the night, without realizing what he's doing

*Dances with me in the grocery store (rather, dances next to me while I stand there looking awkward)

*Tells me I'm weird. And silly.

*Turns on Friends and laughs hysterically at all the same parts

*Brings me a cupcake from our favorite dessert place, just because I was having a bad day (and flowers just because)

*Sends me romantic text messages randomly, even ones that just have a heart

*Wanted to collaborate on a blog about food

*Looks at me in a way I've never been looked at before

*Is not afraid to be honest or direct with me

*Will eat anything I make, even banana bread

*Noticeably talks with me openly about our differences or disagreements

*Makes me feel like a real partner, an equal

Now this is a better representation of us.

When I wrote about having a boyfriend a week after we made things official I had said that I'd never felt this way about someone, that there hasn't been a person I've been this crazy for. Ever. A year later that's still true. I still, 12 months later, get that in-love feeling. I look at him when he's just sitting there, or playing with his dog, or editing photos, or (my favorite) out cold asleep, and get this wonderful surge of love. 

I get a similar feeling from his dog. From night one Argo has slept next to me (that might have far more to do with me being new than with me being me, but it still feels nice), sandwiching me in between him and my boyfriend, and as time has gone on he's seemed to get more attached and more comfortable with me. When the boyfriend is in the other room, Argo will come and hang out with me on the couch, and he's relaxed enough now to fall asleep on the couch spread out up against me or let me bury my toes in his warm fur. Through training and conditioning, partially due to my efforts but mostly due to the efforts of my boyfriend who immediately wanted us to have a deep connection, the dog now listens to my commands (mostly) and has developed an interesting level of respect for me that's entirely different from the respect he gives his dad. I'm still the fun one, but when I have to lay down the law he listens. And I can't help but think, when all three of us are cuddled on the couch, what a great little family we make. Now, to get the cat on board...

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. 

Louder Than Words

People are really good at telling others how they are. I've been hearing a lot of it lately, and the more I hear it the more I believe it's not true. When I was in high school and all the girls were wearing shirts that said ridiculous things like "Mrs. Timberlake," or "Caliente" it was blindingly obvious that the people buying and wearing them were anything but. I'm well into my 20s now and not only am I hearing it more, but I'm hearing it from people who are older than me and should know better. But they're still wrong.

When I started at my current job the office manager would talk about how her husband makes 6 figures and only works because she gets fulfillment out of making a company grow, something she's done in the past. But certain things make me think maybe she really does need the work: working 10+ hours a day in a highly stressful environment for little money, wearing clothes with holes in them or clothes that don't quite fit, bad spending habits in the past, and her mother-in-law lives with them in their apartment in a shady neighborhood. Granted, some of these things I do too (hell, my apartment has bars on the windows), but I'm not claiming that I don't absolutely need to work, and all of these things make me question whether that's really true for her.

I've also heard "friends" go on about how important friendship is, how much they value others, how they want others to value their friendship, too. Proclamations like these aren't true but I get the feeling that the people saying them likely want them to be true, at least for the time being. A couple years back I was friends with a coworker who said these things all the time and I fully believed it. Then I left that job and realized he was using me for a ride to work and a couch to sleep on. When I started hearing those same proclamations some months back from a different friend I was skeptical. Turns out I had a right to be. Certain people have different ideas of what friendship is, and when your ideas on your respective roles in that friendship differ it's hard to maintain a relationship. Fortunately for me it was good to get out of that first friendship and not too hard to let the second one slip by.

We judge others all the time, but I think our worst and least accurate judges are ourselves. We're so quick to tell others what we're like instead of letting others find out for themselves. And why don't we actually live up to what we say we are? Show your friends, coworkers and acquaintances what you're really like with actions, not with empty words.

Old Friendships

So here I am, above palm trees, so straight and tall. You are smaller getting smaller but I still see you.

One of the most hurtful feelings a person can go through is realizing you're just not as close friends with someone as you thought. Last night I was discussing this with someone I consider my best and closest friend and how we've both found ourselves in situations like that. Then today on Reddit someone posts an open question to AskReddit asking what the most dickish way in which a friend showed you're not as close as you thought. If you're feeling sad about having lost friends this will break your heart.

Naturally I started thinking about the friends I left behind and the friends who left me behind. Just as naturally, the one I'm mourning now was much, much more than a friend. When I decided to cross the line from friend to more I knew I could potentially lose him, or at least the relationship we used to have. We swore and promised and proclaimed no matter what we'd always be friends, and through our many disappointments we would express hurt but always end with more declarations of friendship. Except that now it's becoming clear that we're not, in fact, friends anymore.

On the one hand, this realization has been helping me finally begin, for real, the forgetting. I think in the last 6 months I got everything out of my system, including telling him I do, actually, want him to move here. I didn't lay everything on the line, but I got close enough, and... nothing. My mourning now is centered around the realization that not only won't he move, but he's completely content. Strangely, this I'm OK with. This means I can stop hoping or wondering or thinking what if and open my eyes to the rest of the world. Knowing things won't change, while a little heartbreaking, is at least somewhat of an answer to my always questioning mind. It's something concrete to mourn.

But on the other hand, I recognize that I don't want to forget. If I've lost the friendship entirely it's OK.The time we spent together as much more than friends was worth losing the friendship, as fucked up as that might sound. That time meant a lot to me, and it isn't something I want to forget.

Of course I hope the time will come back someday when we can be friends again. I hope by then I'll have gotten over my hopes and imagined jealousies and will be able to accept him as a friend, and I hope he'll do the same for me. I hope that the closeness we once had won't be forgotten forever, and I hope he doesn't become one of those friends that vanishes forever.

Unlike the thread on Reddit, neither of us did anything hurtful enough to cause a lost friendship, so maybe our story won't end up like the stories I read. I guess at this point only time will tell.

Love=Anxiety

No anxiety here!

Every so often I'll get this knotted feeling in the pit of my stomach. Sometimes it's because I'm super anxious about something, but sometimes it's because I'm in love with life. When I recognized that it's the same exact feeling, just with very different associations attached to it, I started wondering what makes it one and not the other. I'll get that feeling and attribute it to being in love with my city after a few days of being annoyed with my position in life; these times it's an unexpected but very welcome respite in what can be a dreary week.

Spurring this lovely respite was running my first 5K with my favorite lady in the Race for Autism. We were in Balboa Park, my favorite part of San Diego, in the foggy early morning with thousands of other supporters and fellow runners. Despite starting things off seeing a nasty fender bender over a not-so-desirable parking space, and then having to run my bag back to the car (we didn't realize how far away we'd parked until then) 10 minutes before it started because there was no bag check (which, honestly, how do you not have a bag check?), we were really happy to be part of everything. Because of the whole bag thing we started the run 5 minutes late and had to make our way through hordes of walkers with dogs and strollers, but it made us feel like champs to pass that many people throughout the course. When we finished we were given water and fruit and walked around the rows of booths providing a wide variety of professional resources for parents of those with autism, ranging from medical research to after-school enrichment. Then we trekked through lovely Banker's Hill back to the car and made a delicious breakfast before heading off for shopping. Rounding out the day with sushi with friends and going home still drunk made me a happy camper.

That happiness rubbed off on today and, though all I did was work, I felt in love with life. It was overcast and sprinkling raindrops, good songs were on the radio and I got excited for my plans next week. Again, I was asked why I don't move back to my hometown. These last couple of weeks have made it even more impossible for me to imagine leaving my wonderful city in order to move back there. I may not always live in San Diego, but if I leave it'll be for another amazing city I haven't lived in yet (Seattle's been sounding awesome lately). There's so much to love here: the vastly different neighborhoods, the food, the beautiful weather, Balboa Park, the nightlife, the people watching, the beaches, the friendliness of others and the abundance of running trails and dog parks.

But I still wonder... what makes that knotted feeling in the pit of my stomach feel like love? Or anxiety? Just like there's plenty to love, there's plenty to be anxious about, namely that I've now been job searching, heavily, for three months with no relief, that the job I do have is getting ridiculously out of control in the mismanagement, and that my poor computer– despite constantly outperforming no matter how much I abuse it– is definitely on the fritz.

Still, today that feeling was unmistakably one of love.

Reddit

There are 2 methods of asking others, in real life, if they're Redditors:

1: Act completely serious and somewhat inquisitive, as if you're about to impart basic yet valuable information. "Do you go on Reddit?"

2: Weigh weather or not asking will make you seem like a complete nerd, decide it's worth it, and ask, "Do you go on Reddit?"

There are 3 responses, and 3 reactions.

Response 1: "Yes! I love Reddit! OMG today did you see the picture of the parrotlet hiding in the hoodie? So funny!"

Reaction 1: You both now share something special that you didn't know you shared.

Response 2: "Um, well, I know what it is but I don't go there."

Reaction 2: They think you're kind of weird (if they didn't already) and you now have to either explain why Reddit is awesome (which never really works) or drop the subject entirely.

Response 3: "What's that?"

Reaction 3: You now have to either explain what Reddit is (which isn't easy) and why it is awesome (which, again, never really works) and then explain why it ties into what you were talking about, or drop the subject entirely.

You always hope for Response/Reaction 1.

Not long ago I was hanging out with my lady and our friend used Method 1 to broach the Reddit subject. I gave Response/Reaction 1 and my lady was somewhere between Response/Reaction 1 and 2. She wasn't a Redditor but knew lots about it since I talked about it all the time. Now she's a Redditor too! (To be fair, all three of us are more lurkers.)

Tonight I broached the Reddit subject using Method 2. I was slightly nervous I would get Response/Reaction 3, and then be a total nerd (and not the cool kind) as I tried miserably to explain the very weird amalgamation of news and cartoons and science and pictures and inside jokes that is Reddit. Luckily, I got somewhere between 1 and 2: he is a Redditor but seemed thrown off by my asking.

When I learn someone is a Redditor I like them that much more. When my friend asked if we were Redditors I nearly jumped in the air with excitement. Someone automatically gets approval points for mentioning Reddit, and someone I don't know well I'll want to know better. I feel like there are others out there, everywhere, who do what I do, like the world is much smaller than it seems.

Thanks, Redditors.

Positive Thinking

I can go here any time I want.

I've got it pretty good.

It's very difficult to live in such a beautiful part of the world and not appreciate life. Going to the beach and seeing the bright sun setting over waves and dogs in January, having Balboa Park so close to my spacious apartment, living in the center of urban San Diego, living in a city others dream of visiting one day, having such an intimate knowledge of the things to do every day makes me feel very alive.

I really don't have a whole lot to complain about. (Not that that ever stops me.) Sure, I could use a job that provides full-time work, regular working hours, and a decent wage. But I do like my job, so it's not all bad. Plus, I can feel the next opportunity almost as if it were tangible. It's right there. Any day I'm going to get a phone call and I'll rock the interview. Every day that passes just means it's getting closer to that day.

But in the mean time, there's plenty to keep my spirits up about life outside employment.

1. San Diego is awesome. I've been asked why I don't leave and move closer to my family but I couldn't imagine leaving my city for my hometown. I'll leave someday, I know that. But for something better. For San Francisco, New York, London, Seattle, Zurich, or even Granada.

2. My friends are the best. I have so much support from them and their faith in me is the best form of encouragement. It's great to know that on any (albeit rare) night I'm off and have nothing to do a quick phone call can change everything. I've also been wearing a bracelet a student gave me to remind myself that I have a positive effect on others. I feel like Jim Carrey in The Mask: "You love me, you really love me!" God, I would stop breathing from laughing so hard at that movie.

3. I got ZOONOOZ in the mail. I've been getting annoyed at the previous tenant not forwarding her mail, but getting that magazine with a giant picture of my favorite crane on the cover made me super excited. It's the little things.

I want a dress modeled after this bird.

4. My high school boyfriend joined Facebook. His profile picture is super punk/emo, with long hair in front of his face, black clothes, insecure smirk and sarcastic comments on all photos, and 2 albums of him posing with his punk girlfriend (the one who apparently cheated on her boyfriend, his best friend, with him), making hard core hand gestures. I know it's been, like 7 years, but damn. I dated that. But it does make me feel pretty good about myself.

5. There has been some good new music out lately. One of San Diego's radio stations, FM 94.9, plays a good amount of underground and new music that hasn't hit the mainstream yet, and most of it is pretty amazing and ends up hitting the mainstream. It's also a good feeling to listen to a song, think how much I like it, and then realize it's by an artist I already liked.

6. Finally, training for this half marathon feels incredible. Every week I run further than I've ever run in my life, every week I'm breaking my own record, every week I'm doing more than I thought was possible with my body. I wasn't ever really a runner, but would sort of jog around just to get some exercise on occasion. Having this goal (and for a cause I'm all for) forces me to not quit, blisters be damned. Facing every week knowing I have to run 7 or 8 or 9 miles (up to 11 next month) is daunting, and then on top of that after every peak I have to keep building up to and passing that mark in preparation for the next peak. But then I do, and I feel amazing. My legs are looking good, and if I have to have big thighs at least they'll be muscular. 13 miles still sounds really hard, but I'll be wearing this epic (orange!!!) shirt with the marathon logo, will be running alongside 3,000 others and will get a participation medal at the end, which will encourage me to just not stop. And maybe after I've done this half marathon a full marathon won't feel so impossible.

Plus, little fuzzface here has been extra loving lately.

Anne Frank

Just finished reading (re-reading?) Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl. Anne Frank had to be the most intelligent 14-year old girl in the world. She was insanely smart for her age, well wise beyond her years, and so articulate and able to easily express the most basic feelings that people have struggled their whole lives to express. It's a huge shame on our species that she had to die at the hands of an evil, racist authority.

Anne was in hiding in a warehouse with her family and 4 others for over 2 years during World War II. During that time they did not leave the warehouse, did not breathe fresh air, came close to starvation, came close to discovery multiple times, and had restrictions on when they could run water, use the toilet and even get up and move around. Their lives depended on extreme secrecy and security measures. Annes only solace throughout this whole ordeal was her dependency on the privacy of her diary. She wrote about quarrels between the tenants, being chastised by her parents, her longing for her friends, her lack of anyone to confide in (except her diary, which she named "Kitty"), the goings on in the world, being terrorized by air raids, the pains their friends took to bring them food, their near starvation... all before age 14, young Anne experienced and documented a life none of us can imagine. And she took it all in stride: every so often when she became depressed, Anne would bring herself back out of it by remembering how lucky she was to be in hiding when her friends suffered unimaginable fates in the outside. Starving, alone and terrified for 2 years, Anne pulled her own chin up, even when the adults couldn't do so.

In her diary she wrote about her dreams for the future, after the war. She saw the life of her mother and knew that was not for her. She wanted

"to have something besides a husband and children to devote myself to... to be useful or bring enjoyment to all people, even those I’ve never met. I want to go on living even after my death!"

Oh, Anne. You have no idea.

Unsurprisingly enough, this part of her book resonated with me. I've looooong known that the housewife life is so not for me. Granted, I'm glad my mom did it, and I don't think less of women my age who want to do it, I just couldn't do it or even imagine doing it. Anne had considered having her diary published and wanted to become a journalist. She also laughed at herself, wondering who would ever read the dumb whinings of a teenage girl. In the mid 1940s, Anne started to struggle with the notion of doing things differently. It was expected that a good Jewish girl would marry and have children, but Anne wanted more. Things aren't so different now.

Sixty-plus years later, women are still expected to marry and have children. It's more acceptable to also have a career (or hobby or part-time job or volunteer) but the question of getting married and having children is ever present. Telling a curious asker that you have a husband and child(ren) doesn't require further discussion. Telling a curious asker that you have a cool job prompts questions of who you're dating and if you want to have his kids. Having a job is not an acceptable answer unless you also are at least engaged.

What is it about the older generations that want us to bear our own children and become a family so badly? Why is it not OK to skip that step in life? We are not animals in the sense that we bear young every year in order to ensure the survival of our species, and since it's such a HUGE deal to raise even one kid in this world why is it not acceptable to opt out?

Answer: They sacrificed happiness and freedom for the good of the younger generations and now it's our turn to do the same. People who marry young are, for the most part, viewed as more mature and responsible than those who marry late. We equate marriage with maturity and the later you do it the less responsible and more selfish you are. I suppose it could be said that marriage can force a couple to become more mature and responsible, and that having kids forces people to make decisions for the best of the child rather than what sounds fun, but is that really the path we want most people to take? Force someone, in the midst of learning to handle life, to become something completely different? This will only force people to suppress certain feelings until something happens (like divorce or the kids growing up) to make those feelings resurface. And now we have rampant 40- and 50-somethings back on the dating scene trying to just be happy. Maybe if they'd had the opportunity to do what made them happy in their 20s they'd have made better life decisions and wouldn't need to deal with the sudden resurfacing of emotions not dealt with in decades.

A New York Times article ponders the state of the twenty-somethings. Because we obviously have a problem if we're not graduating, finding a life-long job and partner, marrying and popping out kids ASAP. The article is very long winded and goes into the psychology of 20-somethings (including brain development and cultural expectations) but it also spends a few pages discussing if "emerging adulthood" should be the newest recognized developmental stage in life, which I'm not really interested in. Do we really need to recognize it as a stage? Can't we just settle with a continuous cycle of the older generation criticizing the younger generation for being different?

My mom has been unhappy with her job (and state of being, really) for the better part of a decade. She tried taking classes at community college but couldn't finish a whole semester. Her job offers stability, health insurance and a flexible schedule. She tells me she made sacrifices in order to obtain those things, for the kids, and suggests that maybe it's time I do the same. But why should I? I have no need to make those kinds of sacrifices. Sure, it'd be nice to have health insurance, but I'm young and in good health, so it's not something I'm willing to sacrifice happiness at work for. I'm 24 and living on my own, supporting myself fully, and am not looking forward to marriage or children. This is the time to deal with the issues my parent's generation ignored for the sake of starting a family, and dammit I'm gonna take my sweet ass time.

So, Anne, your thoughts are just as relevant and resonating in women, at least this woman, today as they were in the forties. I'm just glad the privacy of your diary allowed for the kind of frank opinion that is absent in most other books. And, of course, I'm excited to see you live on decades and decades after your death, untimely as it was.

God Hates Comics

Apparently.

At least, that's what the Westboro Baptist Church would have you believe. They came all the way to my city (which, don't know if you know, happens to be America's Finest) to hold up signs that said, "God hates fags."

Follow the logic? Me either.

Ignore for a moment that anything the WBC does makes the opposite of sense. Focus instead on them only sending 2 protesters who, in order to get their point across, each held up like 4 signs. Focus also on the genius of my community and the nerd community in holding up counter protest signs, like "God loves gay robin" (who I met at sushi last week), "Is this thing on?", "Superman died for people's sins," and "Kill all humans." That last one was from Bender.

The WBC hides their activities behind freedom of speech and freedom of religion. However, many of the things they do is pure and simple terrorism (protesting fallen soldier's funerals, for example). It baffles me that they get away with it right here on our own land. At what point do freedom of speech and freedom of religion stop being rights and start being an infringement on other people's rights? When does it become terrorism? The WBC has long since crossed that border, and in my opinion they need to be taken down. I only wish I had been there to see them; I'd have sent my own message with water balloons.

On the other hand, I guess it does kind of make sense. The WBC is full of zombies, and so is Comic Con. Ba-dum-pah!

Speaking of which, I headed downtown last night for some people watching and was not disappointed. Along with several zombies, I saw pirates, Super Woman, Cat Woman, some sort of Frankenstein-esque woman, a guy walking around with a Yoda doll, Sailor Moon, plain old dominatrixes, and a female Avatar (my phone camera sucks so I couldn't get a picture, but she wore a bikini top, thong and high heels and was covered in blue and purple paint). Plus, my friend decided to get in on the action by holding 3 straws and being Wolverine. I rocked my longcat shirt and it was totally recognized.

I love San Diego.

Death Of A Friend

Rest in peace.

Death is unfair, painful and scary. It doesn't matter if it's just a little sparrow or squirrel or a friend or family member. Death sucks.

A friend of mine learned a classmate from high school died recently, and he didn't expect it to affect him as significantly as it did. Another friend accidently killed a squirrel while driving, and, again, he didn't expect it to affect him as significantly as it did. An owl ambassador died, deeply affecting many of my friends and former coworkers. That owl's death also affected me more than I thought: though I didn't know him I had met him; he was the last animal ambassador I saw before I left the Park.

Then today was my first day volunteering for Project Wildlife. While feeding my last cage of baby birds one just wasn't interested in eating. I notified a manager, handed over the tiny guy, and she said she had to euthanize him. He and his cagemates had conjunctivitis, which is pink eye in humans but in birds is a virus that might never go away. Acute cases are euthanized. A minute later another bird started sneezing so again I called over the manager. He wasn't even opening his eyes, so she took him away too. Then she saw the eyes of the other 2 birds in the cage and made the decision to euthanize them all. I'd just been feeding them for 5 minutes and was already attached enough to be sad at their deaths. I knew it was for the best- no reason to prolong suffering and waste our resources on animals that won't survive anyway, and keeping them alive was putting nearby cages at risk. But I was still sad for their tiny lives. It made me think how much we are affected by loss of life- if these little song birds made me sad, how sad are my friends who lost their owl, and how sad to know you killed another animal, and how sad to lose a person.

Maybe we're all selfish and want whoever died to remain in our lives to fulfill whatever role is now empty. Or maybe we know we await the same end and being reminded is just too scary. Or maybe we think it's unfair that the deceased didn't get to live longer. Whatever psychology you choose, death is not easy to handle.

One Week

It's like my life: it makes no sense.

Well that week came out of nowhere.

Last Wednesday my job was to take about 30 foreign students to this western "club" for $2 drinks and line dancing. The place was packed, despite the $8 cover and line dancing. One coworker had been with the students dancing and was going to be taken home early, so he comes over to my van, thinking I'm the one driving him home, starts to push me off my seat and says, "Don't worry, I'll drive." I turn around and he realizes I'm not who he thought I was and starts apologizing like crazy. Then, "Ok, well give me a hug, cause I'm drunk." They leave in the other van and I head to Del Taco to pee. On my way out some foreign looking boys are on their way in, and I can't tell if they're my students or not, so I smile. Turns out they aren't, but I've already smiled and made eye contact so one comes over and ends up kissing my cheek.

Thursday I found out one of the students has blood cancer and might not live more than a couple of months. He just got here, was planning on staying at least a year, and is here with his sister, who he doesn't plan to tell. My response? "Are you messing with me?" But then I realize he isn't even looking me in the eyes. And I feel like an ass. He shows me his leg and his veins are black. Fucking scary. After that I meet up with a friend for sushi and wait outside with Quail Man and Robin. (No joke. Wish I'd gotten a picture.) After that my coworker gets off early and wants me to meet him at one of my favorite bars, which I discover is a 3 minute walk from my apartment. Somehow we end up talking with his friends about AIDS and herpes for like 20 minutes and they leave saying, "Always wear a condom." Good advice.

Porkchop couldn't make it.

Friday afternoon (when I finally wake up) I go for a run. Across the street from my apartment there's a coffee shop and food mart, and on my way back I see a double decker bus sitting outside with a ton of Asians. Some of them were taking Asian glamor shots with their coffees and here I am running by all sweaty and gross. That night, I was rear ended by a taxi while I had students in the van. I pull over and the taxi stays where he is, blocking the lane. There isn't much damage, but my bumper is very bent. The taxi driver looks at it and says, "Oh, that was there before. I didn't do that." Since I was 100% not at fault, as I was stopped at a light, I tell him he's in no position to tell me what damage was and was not there before he hit me. He refuses to give me his information and suggests I call the cops. So I write down his plate number and call. While I'm giving the dispatcher what information I can, another cop drives by and tells the taxi to get out of the middle of the road. He pulls to the side, then comes over and says, "So you want my information or not?" WTF, dude. Finally he gives me his information (no idea why he made me call the cops...) and I can take the students home. Later that night we leave downtown at 130 AM when my boss calls me to come back for people left behind. They aren't even at the pick up place, so I have to go out of my way to get them. Grrr.

Saturday is Pride, but I have to work during the day so I miss the parade. I go to Baja Betty's with my lady while we wait for the boys to show up, but they end up going to another place, so we walk to meet them. And it is a sausage fest! There is only a small handful of chicks at this place, and we're there with straight guys. Obviously I have a great time. We get some drinks, meet some vibrant and fun looking gay guys and dance. My friends are grabbed and hit on, my lady is motorboated and I end up with half my drink on the floor. Then my Scottish friend tells me he wants to take me on a "proper American date." How can I say no to that? (I tell him to ask me when he's not drunk, so I get a text at 3am saying he's not drunk anymore; I've long since passed out.)

Sunday I'm called in early (and by early I mean 1130) and get a little bit of overtime. I was having a great day: the sun was out, I took kids to the beach, I was not hungover, and I felt fancy in a skirt. After work I have dinner with my lady, then go home to shower and wait for shift #2 to start. At 130 AM I'm back on campus waiting for a busload of students to show up. They finally do around 230, and I load 8 Taiwanese students and their luggage into my van to take them to their house families. First one I drop off I can't pronounce the name, so I show it to the girl who thinks it's her house and she says yes, that's her. When the woman answers the door she says she was expecting a boy. Since the girl confirmed that was her name there was nothing I could do and we assumed there was some error that could be figured out in the morning. Then I get to house #3 on my list and realize there's a boy in the very back who says his name is the first name I called. Well fuck. So I knock on the door and am told the students are expected to share a room, so since we can't have a boy and girl sharing a room I tell them there was a mistake and I'll bring them the other girl. So I continue with my drop offs and around 4am get back to the first house, do the switch, and drop off my van at 430. I'm home at 5, so I watch some TV and 45 minutes later get back out of bed.

Monday I'm at my lady's house at 630 AM with breakfast and lunch all packed. I've promised to go in to her class on her last day to see all her autistic preschoolers and help out. She buys me coffee, but I start to slow waaaaaay down at 9 AM. Luckily, they got an hour of swim time and that perked me up for the rest of the day. The kids were cute (except for the screaming ones) and I thoroughly enjoyed watching Miss K sing "I am a pizza" and "We love peanut butter." When the day is done I go home to nap. My alarm goes off at 530 PM and I have no idea what's going on. I don't recognize my alarm, don't understand why the street outside my window is so busy (thinking it's 530 AM), don't know where I am or what I'm supposed to be doing. I have a vague feeling I'm late for work, but don't know where or why... Finally I come to and understand what's going on. And an hour later I'm back on campus. My boss had asked me to extend my shift until 2 AM and I tell him I did not sleep the night before, but if I have to I will. There's some big party in Mission Beach that all the students were supposed to go to, but it turns out no one did. I start thinking I'll be off early. But when we get back to campus there's a group of 20 Italians who were told about a party and want to go, and we have to take them. But when we get to Mission Beach the party is over. We drop them off to go get drunk somewhere else and do the last of our pickups. We finally get out of there around 1 AM and my coworker and I stay on the phone to keep each other awake while we drive, talking mostly about this giant tarantula we saw. One of the best feelings in the whole world is getting into your bed when you're that exhausted. I slept hard.

Tuesday I force myself awake and go for a run. My foot kept bugging me, like I hadn't loosened up enough before running, and when I get back I notice a giant lump between my heel and second ankle. Weird. I'm not doing things to get random cuts and bruises anymore, so I figure it'll go away just like it came. After work I meet with friends for birthday tacos (and have the tamest taco tuesday experience ever while I get made fun of for wearing a dinosaur shirt) then go see "The Girl Who Played With Fire." I'm amazed how well they do these movies- they stay so close to the books and the actors are so real. Plus, I discovered Paolo Roberto is a real boxer, and he plays himself in the movie. Freaking cool. We'd gotten some frozen yogurt from Pink Berry to sneak into the theatre. Turns out it's ridiculously expensive and not even that good. I end up getting chocolate yogurt all over my hands and all over the inside of my purse (phone, book and chapstick included). Hooray. Way to end one hell of a week. But I discovered that my dinosaur shirt glows in the dark, so that's awesome.

Here's to hoping for a tamer and more restful week.

In Which I Am A Porn Star

You read that right.

This week 3 different friends mentioned they not only read this little blog of mine but actually look forward to new posts. Yay! Then I get a random e-mail from The Ex letting me know of some exposure I've been getting, including Reddit and an Indonesian porn site.

I was wondering how on Earth my blog was associated with porn, seeing how I don't even write about it, so I did some googling. Turns out Lindsay Marie is a platinum blonde porn star, and she posed with some of her Indonesian coworkers.

So, Lindsay Marie is an up and coming porn star. (Also, me, the snarky writer, but I don't turn up when you google my name...) Her biography says, "you could call me the multi-talented model" because she can cook and sew, and walk and chew gum at the same time. She also likes to call herself a nude model, rather than porn star, maybe because I didn't find any videos of her. She was an extra in some short non-porn film some years ago, but her popularity is down 27% on IMDB...

Gotta say, though, she looks pretty good in a pair of jeans. Here you go, boys, and I even included a link to her website so don't say I never did anything for you.

I'm not much for bottle blondes, but she's not too shabby.

Thanks for reading!

Love

It's been a while since I've felt loved. Spending time with my sisters this weekend, then going for a beautiful hike among Torrey Pines with my lady, and then getting dressed all in black with red pumps and seeing my friends in my favorite neighborhood made me feel that I've been missing that lovin' feelin'.

Hanging with my sisters this weekend and just bullshitting around recharged my sense of closeness with them. It would be nice to be closer to them, to be able to see them more than once every couple months... I do miss them.

Hiking along the beach cliffs, among the incredibly endangered and beautiful Torrey Pines, looking out at a calm, overcast ocean restored my sense of closeness with the Earth. I love where I live, that a walk on the beach is a spontaneous possibility in the late afternoon.

Rounding out the night, dressed in all black, red heels, heavy eyeliner, in Hillcrest with 40 or so people all dressed as goths restored my sense of community. Being in Hillcrest makes my heart skip a beat. I really do love that neighborhood, and can't wait to be officially moved back there. I'll be living there in time for Gay Pride Festival, in time for summer and ready to take walks around Balboa Park and to Sushi Deli. I feel alive and happy there, like it's where I belong right now. But being there with a group of former co-workers for our good friend's birthday really made it a special night. Good moods abounded, and everyone was digging the make-up and costumes. I felt welcomed, even though I didn't know many people, and loved, especially when one coworker (who I didn't know liked me very much) slapped my ass and told me I was missed (she may have been tipsy but I'll take it).

I miss that loving feeling I used to get from life. I'm taking small steps to get it back but the meantime is draining me. Hooray for the little things, like meeting a singing dog and gaining his trust long enough for him to snatch a treat from my palm, for making salsa when you forgot to buy some at the store, for kitty sitting on the couch watching Scrubs, for a friend saying he appreciates you, for a sister appreciating your gift, for your dad's girlfriend not showing up to the graduation ceremony or dinner, for Costco cake, for heartfelt talks with your uncle, for photo prints coming in the mail, for a boy telling you he wanted to see you (even if it wasn't 100% true)... This is what keeps me going. Once again, world, keep it up. I need this.