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SEEKING
Travel companion for road trip/moving assistance from San Diego, CA to Dallas, TX leaving July 28th. Making one stop in Albuquerque, NM the night and day of July 29th, arriving in Dallas July 30th. Share half the driving time, gas is taken care of. You are responsible for your own food. In Dallas help unload and arrange large items including those picked up from furniture stores in the area. No return trip. Contact Lorn for more info

almost famous

Went to Borders tonight and dove into a collection of Adrienne Rich's poetry and prose. Using my guest blogger status at Feministe I present to you my gift of poetry.

At the end there is a little something I wrote. Maybe you can guess who it's about.
Here's one I just wrote, heavily inspired by Ms Rich.

the moon is in her navy sky
the stars flank her as she rises
the palm trees sway and try to hide her
as she flirts shamelessly with the breezes
more and more i find i must
locate said moon in the night
to anchor myself, to feel the joy
cast melancholy from my inner depths
she smiles and comforts me
great goddess of the dark
tides of women and mysterious oceans
are hers to keep from men
gazing on that brilliant sphere i feel-
and fear-the world too great for me
will swallow me up if i cannot find
luna in her castle studded with the heavens
to wrap me up and dry my weeping eyes
and put laughter in my spirit.

I find I can't help but write poetry these days. It's all floating around in my head and there's no one to blame but Nick and Hans. I'd like to see more of both their poetry as well.

Who knows if it's any good or not, but dammit, I like to write it. New stuff usually appears at my livejournal first, if here at all.

just randomly posting, bored

Current favorite Futurama quote I am desperate to use in conversation:
Hermes: Baby needs a new pair of shoes!
Zoidberg: Forget your spoiled baby, I need those shoes!

Things I got in the mail whilst in Texas:

-Ani tickets. *gush* They are sitting on my record player, winking at me seductively. At the concert I am going to buy the biggest fucking poster I can find for my wall in Plano. Big fucking Ani poster. Ginormous. (I've never written that word out before, it looks weird)

-My fun new purse and tshirts. One of them does not fit, oh well. Back it goes.

-A check for $600 from the Ramona Unified School District, my thanks for putting up with the freshman for an academic year and forcing them to become better brass players.

Still waiting in the mail for:
-9 mixed CDs

Obligatory home decoration/Target rant:
My mom and I got on a decorating kick today, and went through her collection of posters and prints. I found some neet stuff for my future walls: a menu for the Ghiradhelli Chocolate Factory, several small Mary Engelbright prints, a Del Mar Fair advertisement from 1990, an ornate recipe for cheese fondue. Katie and I went out for coffee and then went over to Target to look at their furniture. The orgasmic WaterPik shower head is only $20, and in August it shall be mine. Goddess, I love Target- especially that I always seem to find a desirable CD there for only $10. Tonight it is the self-titled Phantom Planet album. Also, a rainbow belt that is reminiscent of a belt I had as a young'un, $10. I could in entirety furnish a home and entertain myself for ages at Target, and in fact that is just what I may do in Texas.

Procrastination of the week:
As I mentioned earlier, I have been invited to guest blog at Feministe, and it was my intention to do a Susan McClary style analysis of Fanny Mendelssohn's Piano Trio. However, both audio and visual of the piece are proving difficult to find (not a surprise in the stodgily patriarchal art music world). Therefore I'm working on a look at Tara and women in Buddhism.

Weird physical annoyance:
My skin is very sensitive and sore on my right side/lower back. Please please don't let me have some sort of organ ailment that requires health coverage. Please.

People I miss/am thinking about a lot right now:
Jerry, Abby, Davis (I have a present for you), Ryan, Nick, Hans, Megan, Dan B.

jet lag!

Okay, not really. For some reason though, this trip exhausted me. I think the month or so of constant swim lessons, lifeguarding, and otherwise intense mental activity (related to making decisions about my future) caught up with me on the plane to Dallas, and thus I spent most of the time I wasn't interviewing or getting lost sleeping.

So, I'm moving in two months. To Plano- I may have mentioned the apartment I was going to look at, well, it's awesome, it's cheap, and it's got a creek and preserve running behind the property. I'm in love. Perhaps it's not the most perfect place I could find- the community is a little older, the upstairs shower is a stall, and there's only washer/dryer hookup (although I think that's standard of all of these condo-esque places), the pool is tiny and curvy not suited to lap swimming, etc. But then, every place has its downsides.

As per Dallas and the area itself, I'm not a big fan. The creek behind this apartment was the deal breaker for me- I've got to have some sort of nature to escape to from the flat suburbs of the surrounding area. It has its pretty places, fields and clumps of trees, but I can tell I'll be drinking in all the nature I can handle in San Diego until then. The cut of a mountain against the sky, the shape of hills and valleys, the cliffs and beaches of the ocean- all of these are things I must learn to do without. I did it in Wisconsin, of course, but I'm insanely in love with Wisconsin and its farmland and subtle hills and lakes and forests. Insanely.

However, I am doing this for money. See, I'll be making more than I know what to do with. More money in the first month than I've EVER had in my bank account. As much as I hate to be that way- well I can't help it. We need money in this society like it or not, and if I want to change paths and forge a different life then I should be confident I can finance it. Three years or so in Texas, then we'll see. Perhaps grad school. Perhaps the east coast and activism. Perhaps I'll get extraordinarily good at trombone and win the Rhythm and Brass audition (I'm projecting). Sigh.

Though, I am excited. This apartment is awesome, I get to share it with Chris, I get to meet new people and be out truly on my own and make my own decisions again. I plan on seeing Jason as often as possible, and making trips to NOLA and Albuquerque and other places whenever possible. During the summer (see, I get summers off!) I can go visit Bethany in Germany. There's still living to be done, and now that everything's settled I'm anxious to be doing it. Two months! It will seem to go by slow, but it'll be fast like ripping off a bandaid and soon enough it'll be Ani's concert on July 27th and the next day I'll be headed out with my stuff packed into every nook of my car. Just like a run-on sentence, it'll be.

Between now and then I still need to have a summer fling, visit Jennii in LA, send Adam off to Boston, think about Jerry getting settled in New York and write lots more poetry. It'll be a busy summer.

i forgot to tell you

I was doing my best to set aside my stereotypes of Texas until I'd actually been to the place, but the first two people I saw outside of the airport were a man with a killer mullet and a girl yelling, "Hey, y'all! Y'all over hea-re!"

Just so.

hey everybody, i'm big tex

A quick update- Thanks to Chris for hooking me up with his friends in the area so that I could stay for free. Dollar fucked up my rental car reservation, and then informed me that they were entirely out of cars. I went around to all the other places and found one (E-Z) that was just as cheap as Dollar, and only charged $10/day for my under 25 year old ass, so in all, it ended up being a better deal. I have a Kia. It's nice, you know, CD player, etc. I can't complain.

Interviewed/talked with the dudes at Sachse (pronounced similar to Sexy, hee), a BRAND spanking new school with brand spanking new horns, etc, very nice place. They're going to hook me up with some middle school students as well as their high schoolers. I talked with Mike Brown, who is familiar with teaching in the area- the biggest and most exciting thing he told me is that I can write just about anything I buy off on my taxes. That means I can buy Sibelius (and if I join TMEA, it's 200 bucks less), a laptop, cds, music, etc...woo. Basically I employ myself and make my decisions about how to report to the IRS.

Tomorrow, two schools (Plano and Poteet- coolest name ever), and I'm going to go look at this amazing apartment I found with loft and huge kitchen. Squee. It's beautiful. 2 bed 2 bath, patio, etc, 915/mo. Damn. No state tax here, either. And gas is under 2 bucks! Dallas, I'm soooooo into you.

I'll have to do some sightseeing as well. I got a little lost on my way to Sexy Sachse, and saw a lot of cows. It's pretty so far...different than both San Diego and Wisconsin.

In other news, I'm extremely flattered that Ms Lauren at Feministe invited me to guest blog for her. I'm working on a post regarding Fanny Mendelssohn's Piano Trio and the feminist sonata form. Keep an eye on her blog for my cameo.

That's all for now!

face to face with...?

I just had quite an intense morning. I'm working at HCW, doing the usual office things (reading halfheartedly, wandering out to the playground to take occasional naps, shattering Chris' Snake II high score on my cell phone) when one of the Board of Directors comes in (HCW is a community club, run by the home owner's association) to do whatever it is that she does with the homes and the people that reside in them.

Apparently, she and Dana (boss) have quite the relationship going. I listened to them argue in circles and not listen to each other whatsoever for at least three hours, at which point they were still in the same little arguing box, not having made any productive ground. They started to talk about the problems here with the pool, and kids not following rules that is backed up by the fact that many parents expect lifeguards to serve also as babysitters.

BOD lady suggests to Dana that he should not hire female lifeguards for the summer.

I've been blocking out most of the conversation for quite some time now but I have feminist radar, you know, that's always on with a little red light that blips calmly when all is well and goes berserk when I hear discrimination. I keep my feminist radar in excellent condition, spit and polish every morning, regular service trips...

Now, honestly, I think the sort of blatant sexism of the sort BOD lady is projecting is rare and/or contained to small segments of the greater population, so the things she said didn't make me angry in the sense that sexism is rampant and raging in our communities and affecting the status of my employment. Rather, it was personally insulting.

Her reasoning: Girls have trouble being tough with kids and enforcing rules. Come to think of it- this is all she said, with no backup example or anecdotal 'proof'. She told one story about watching a lifeguard discipline a kid and subsequently get bitched out by the kid's parent, after which I was fully expecting her to launch into a flood of tears and quit passionately on the deck of the pool, leaving to mother a hoard of beautiful cherubic children and scrub her husband's feet...but no such ending materialized. Just a sort of basic assumption that it would be for both the club's and the female lifeguard's own good that she not work here as kids are out of control and ill-behaved.

To her credit, she did not know that I am a lifeguard.

However, I am a lifeguard. I have worked in numerous settings: rec pools, lap pools, lake beaches, athletic club pools, and camp pools; I have never made a save but you could reasonably credit that to the efficient manner in which I enforce rules and regulations. I can swim fast; I have no qualms kicking kids out of a pool if they disregard my authority (in fact, it is a pleasurable activity).

The look on my face must have been priceless, because Dana laughed when I stood up fast from my chair and affixed BOD lady with my patented death stare.

Don't argue societal conceptions of gender with a feminist lifeguard. We are mean and we have whistles.

At any rate, I may have impressed upon her in my diatribe the importance of chucking that particular assumption out the window (and cheers to Dana for his example that our weakest lifeguard is a man- and a bodybuilder), but our argument was likely just as circuitous as the earlier ones.

Also, she seems like a pushy and opinionated lady. I doubt that she is projecting her own inability to govern the actions of children onto us, so from wence comes this attitude that women are weak and incapable of discipline? She might be pulling a Phyllis Schfaly on me (Phyllis is a darling right wing shill dedicated to sending women back into the home with their kids, yet last I checked did most of her own work outside of the home).

Interesting to me in this whole experience is the very nature of such a comment seeming so out of place these days. Such a hiring policy as she would see fit to enable is naturally illegal and discriminatory, and in a profession such as lifeguarding rendered outdated. Lifeguarding has been one of the more gender integrated jobs I've worked (okay, it's really the only job I've worked) and, as in real life, inability to do your job properly is an individual fault and not the result of the placement of your gonads.

I guess that would make me optimistic that I don't run into this more often (although I'm still peeved), and that most people would immediately disagree with BOD lady.

Hm, I can't decide...am I optimistic, peeved, or just generally amused?

Or maybe this is one of the reasons to be a feminist. So you can reduce your opponents to a quivering lump of poorly argued jelly.

declaration

I intend to have a summer fling.

My conditions are ripe for romance (or lust as the case may be):

I am (kinda) newly single (kinda, if you count that Jerry and I parted ways several months past and I have finally been able to move on emotionally just recently).

I have a job which provides me with the necessary golden tan to attract members of whatever sex.

I am moving at the end of July, so there is neither time nor pretense to develop a deep and lasting intimate relationship.

I have a twofer coupon to Magic Mountain and the income to blow on just-barely-above-sleazy hotels in the greater Los Angeles area.

There's nothing that appeals to me more right now than the prospect of hot birthday sex.

I'm ready for anything. Seriously. Bring it on.

a fool and her money...

I bought some fun feminist-y stuff today, from a store called Strange Monster. It appeals to my inner Lydia.

Even though I desperately need jeans, dress clothes, and shoes, I bought t-shirts. Check 'em out! This is my favorite:


I did get something I needed, though, a new purse/bag:


je les adore.

pictures! huzzah!

Blogger is now offering Photoblogging, via Hello. The three posts below are from the March, obviously.

Woohoo! I *heart* new Blogger.

Ani on the big screen, plus cool effects.  

The crowd at the rally. 1.15 million people, dammit! 

Marisa and I at the March. I particularly enjoy the Washington Monument protruding from Marisa's head.  

the fda is doing some fucked up shit these days

The US government said it would ban homosexuals from making anonymous donations to sperm banks, in the name of preventing transmittable disease.

Obviously, there is a need to be concerned about the spread of HIV, but, as the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force points out, "The FDA guidelines are unscientific. There is a 72 hour test which would provide information as to whether a person was HIV positive..."

72 hours, and that's it. Instead of turning away viable, healthy donors, the FDA could be actually performing tests that do not discrimate against one segment of the population.

It seems to me the government is afraid of that dreaded "gay gene" that would unleash the horrors of homosexuality upon unsuspecting Americans. Mercy me, wouldn't that just rain on the right-wing parade.

Latent in this action is the hypocrisy of saying one is concerned with the spread of a deadly STI but at the same time spreading misinformation about condoms and denying proper sexual education about transmission and prevention.

Then again, I'm long past the point where I'm surprised at anything the Bush administration and cronies do that is hypocritical or just outright stupid. Tonight would be a good night to start reciting that mantra...

for shame blogger, for shame!

Haloscan comments are back. I'm sorry to those of you who could not comment due to the stupidity of Blogger comments being "members only." You can make it open to anyone, apparently, but I missed Haloscan. I was lonely without you all. Please comment. :)

just a few things i want to do when I get to Dallas

1. Take a self-defense class. I've been itching to find one for a while now, but haven't had the money. I was hoping that Frogs would offer one (being as I can go to any of their classes for free as an employee), but unfortunately they don't. They do, however, have three different yoga classes and a pilates workout, which I will be attending next time around.

Self-defense in whatever form, I think, is important. I like to be on top of my game, physically and mentally, and to have control of a situation when I feel threatened or in danger. I can buff up in other ways (like Nick and I doing medicine ball routines at the pool), but I'd like to learn how to bring a man down, so to speak.

An interesting side note: I get bored with regular old exercise. So today, after doing a few sets of weight lifting with my mom's two five pounders (wow, that sounds bad), I decided to test my reflexes. Lying on the floor, I would throw one of the weights up in the air and roll to the side just in time to dodge it. So I wouldn't cheat, I made myself wait a split second after I threw it (see, I knew it was coming so it's easy enough to start your roll as you throw it). Hey, I'm pretty good. Next stop, James Bond school.

2. Find mandolin lessons. I've got my mandolin out right now (that also sounds bad), but all I can do is play the same five-ten songs over and over with my atrocious technique (skipping all the ones with chords). I'd like to do more, and learn well enough to improvise and play bluegrass with others.

3. Buy my own webdomain and spiff everything up.

4. Get Photoshop and make my own weblog banner.

5. Build a computer free of all Microsoft products I can avoid (Is Photoshop MS? This should be number 3. Oh well).

6. Brush up my french.

7. Volunteer at Planned Parenthood (in Texas especially they seem to be under vicious attack).

8. Learn how to arrange music, and fiddle around with composition. This requires a few more computer additions including Finale (or Sibelius...which do you prefer?), Cakewalk, etc.

9. Improve time management skills so that I can attempt to do at least three of the above items in addition to practicing, teaching, and sleeping.

public service announcement

Please go to Margaret Cho's blog and watch the March video she has on the left side of the screen. It had me alternating between tears (goddess, what a beautiful day that was...the memories flooding back) and hysterics (Wanda Sykes! "Look at all this color going to waste!" hehehe) and happiness (well, duh).

The last segment is Ani playing live, which I recorded a snippet of for you here. There's a part in the video with her, Howard Dean, and Margaret that I just love. Hearing her live performance again gets me all reved up to get to July 27th all the more quickly.

I can't believe that was nearly a month ago. The memories are fresh, and poignant, and I'm so proud I was a part of this. The power of a crowd that magnitude, with that much hope and energy and direction-- it leaves me breathless.

dallas update

I'm flying to DFW next Wednesday, staying through Friday, to do interviews and choose my schools for the fall.

I'm so bloody excited!

I keep thinking about it, about having a steady job and income (steady is all that I really need, not glorious mountains of money), about having a kick-ass roommate in Chris, about finally being free financially of my parents for real.

It's exhilarating!

So far, I have three interviews set up, and hopefully more; I know there's one other band director left to contact me for sure.

And I'm glad I get to visit the area, because I have some serious misconceptions and stereotypes about Texas that need to be either proved or realigned.

This post isn't terribly in depth, but then again, I'm not feeling much more that excitement. I also get the feeling that everyone in the blogosphere is on summer vacation, or close to it. Y'all have been awfully quiet lately...

bush as a meditation device



Avalokitisvara

Via The Republic of T, an article that emphasizes a few of the things I've been thinking about lately in regards to Buddhism and the current state of politics.

Is Bush the Anti-Buddha?

How does a student of the Dharma deal with the rising temptation to wish ill will on the perpetrators of such shocking and detestable undertakings? To the specter of four more years of Bush, what is an appropriate Buddhist response?

Bush's administration has administered quite a number of negative deeds on both America and the world, in the name of compassion. So much of what I hear on the news each day makes me angry and vengeful- but to act on that is to go against the principles of Buddhism I practice. You must do no harm, you must see every being as worthy of your love and enlightenment. And toward some who give you trouble, who test your patience, you must exhibit infinite compassion. Thus, I can see Bush as a challenge to my bodhimind, put in the path to challenge my resolve. It is easy to feel violent when thinking of the atrocities committed, but instead I must think of the best way to express my compassion.

If Bush continues the path he has chosen, his karma will overcome him for numerous lives into the future. Thus, it is in his best interest, and it is in the interest of conscience-minded Americans whose taxdollars colludes us in any US action, to send him home in 2005:

George W. Bush is unfortunately no Angulimala or Milarepa who were able to overcome, to awaken to the unskillfulness of their actions and repent the loss of life they caused. In fact, Bush may be the closest we can come to an anti-Buddha: a global poster-boy for profound ignorance. We can use him in our visualizations. We can breath in his confusion and breath out to him our clarity. We can also get out on the campaign trail for candidates who more closely represent that first precept: Do no harm. Sit and breathe contemplating this and see if you feel called to volunteer on voter-registration drives.

Mindful that the real source of American power does not come from its superior war machine but from its constitution, its leadership in the global community, its democracy and its history of respect for human rights, George Bush has seriously weakened America. For this he deserves no praise, only reproach. But my practice has helped me prevent any grim imaginings in his regard. When I'm stricken with unskillful thoughts about the President, I immediately focus on the words of the Buddha: "Hatred can never put an end to hatred, love alone can. This is the unalterable law."

Now my visualizations are of bearing witness to a panoply of devas and gods, the Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara, and countless rows of Buddha's and Bodhisattvas throughout space and time sitting in the clouds and celebrating Bush's retirement from the Oval Office and his safe return to Crawford, Texas.

Then I close with two healing mantras in rapid succession: "May all beings be happy and free from suffering -even Bush" "May all beings be happy -and freed from Bush."

Indeed.

"Oh King, do not kill
For all that lives cherishes life.
If you wish to live long yourself, respect life
And do not even think of killing."
-Chapter of the Truthful One

happy marriage equality day!

Congratulations!



I wish I could be in Massachusetts today, because I can feel the good vibes and the happiness all the way over here in California.


More photos

[zoidberg]finally, i look as pretty as i feel![/zoidberg]

Back to mundane concerns for now.

I finally found a hairdresser who understands. Most of the time, you go in for your standard short pixie cut, and Ms/Mr Barbie Bouffant gives you what I like to call the thirty-something Aunt Trixie look, with the longish mullet-back and the absence of sideburns. You have to beg for texture, and convince her/him to go shorter (funny, they have no qualms about taking too much off when your hair is longer). Style is out of the question; you'll get a little gel or something, and then loads of hairspray (I detest hairspray), but you'll have to go home and survey the damage in your own mirror, after several showers, if you want to know what your haircut actually looks like.

Well today I was lucky enough to get Missy, a grrl with the cutest haircut I've ever seen (and she said she did it herself!), which I covet. She's not too shabby looking herself...in fact, rrrowr. Anyway, we went through the whole description of what I'd like done, what shorter, etc., and she gets it. Immediately. To do the things I want to do with my hair, spikey hip bed-head nonsense and all, she tells me how she will make it so I don't have to spend hours styling (not that I would do that anyhow). Yes. Go Missy, go! And that whole neckline fiasco from last time, I don't even have to break a sweat. Missy's on it. We got the texture, we got the razor cut, we got the funky style.

Tart me up and get me liquored, if I ain't ready for the bars.

shh, i'm digesting

Finished:

Let me tell you a story. This afternoon, I took a nap as I was exhausted. Having been suckered into taking the opening shift at Frog's Club this morning, I had been up since 6 am, lifeguarding and teaching swimming lessons sucking all my remaining energy.

While I was sleeping, I had a dream. Not a silly dream, like my last couple, or a crazy dream like they usually are, but a metaphorical, social commentary kind of dream that pretty much sums up everything I've been cogitating on the past week or so I've been reading Mr Jensen's book.

In my dream, I was in my real-life position of swim instructor, and I was talking to a group of parents interested in signing their children up for swimming lessons. After explaining to them what I would be teaching, my various techniques, how long the lessons would be and how much they would cost, I told them they had a choice. They could either enter their children in my class, teaching them how to swim at the expense of the environment (chemicals from the pool killing animals and vegetation, and the pavement laid down to build it having exterminated a rare kind of bird) and at the cost of lives for children in third world countries (their bathing suits, the swim equipment, and the various other materials around the pool deck having been made by sweatshop workers in South America); or, they could not enroll their children, and run the risk that one day, they might drown.

Is that really a choice?

Obviously, I took a lot of out Mr Jensen's book. It's affected me profoundly, and I'm not sure how I can go back to living normally and casually, like so many of us do, in this world that's built on the backs of the less fortunate (and the brown, and the black, and the environment). Who made this computer? Is she still alive? I enjoy my Futurama DVDs greatly, but is it only because I've been fortunate enough to have a strong education in science that allows me to get most of the jokes? I made an extremely sarcastic comment today, my mom having dragged me into Walmart with her causing my eternal bitterness. She wanted to buy gelatin tablets, because it supposedly strengthens your nails and makes them shiny. She showed me, saying, "I think it's made a difference already" to which I responded, "That's great, the cows you killed are glad your nails look nice."

She was hurt, and astounded, but she still bought the capsules.

I can never chronicle precisely how much of what I do, eat, wear, etc, is affecting those who are exploited in other countries. I can't stop using electricity, although who knows what havoc is being wreaked on the environment (someone knows, sure, but I don't, and that's the point). I like scoring a cheap shirt or pair of jeans at the GAP, but at whose expense?

The point is, we don't have choices. Sure, we can decide whether to watch Friends or Fraser (although you'll likely be disappointed in both), eat Domino's or Pizza Hut (again, you'll likely be disappointed in both), you can get gas at Shell or BP (but, Shell's intimidating people in Nigeria while here at home trying to pull the wool over our eyes with their cleaner fuel campaign, and British Petroluem struck a deal with China to drill in Tibet through extremely fragile ecosystems and nomadic pathways). You have lots of "choices" but none of them are truly any different from the next.

Even if I want to eat organically, I have to take my car to Henry's. If I want to keep in shape, I have to douse myself in a pool filled with chemicals- chlorine being one of them- either that, or I have to pay to go (again by car) to a "preserved" area, set aside and maintained so that I can convince myself I'm communing with nature.

Who mined the metals that made my trombone? How many trees did it take to make my library collection? What is the indigenous name for the place I live in? What kind of plants used to be here, and how many that are now don't belong?

So, where do I look? How do I stop this madness, or at least take steps to correct it? Choose my battles? Become a hermit?

How do you guarantee you have real, palpable choices in this world? What kinds of decisions do you make to live freely? Can you take all the anger and frustration and sadness and roll it up and make it effective? Let me know. Otherwise, I'm thinkin' we're doomed.

bah!

I'm awfully lonely.

I should know better than to do any of the following things:

-Look at my blog archives
-Peruse photo albums
-Attempt to call old friends
-Think

Looking back on this year it seems to me like it was a complete and utter waste of time. I know there are those of you out there getting all geared up to comment with "No, nothing is ever a waste of time, think about the stuff you did that was fun, educational, or profitable..." Before you do, understand that when things are a complete waste of time for me, it all boils down to one thing:

I don't have enough time with friends.

What's the point in reading lots of books if you don't have anyone to share it with? What's the point of money if you can't go out and buy drinks for people? What's the point of fun if most of it was had watching entertaining TV programming or spent reading humorous blogs on the internet?

Okay, I won't be so utterly pessimistic. Here are some of the things that stood out from the academic year 2003-2004:

-Youngblood at Winston's
-Googaloo rehearsals
-Madison in October
-Bela Fleck
-Jerry's visit
-Audition Tour 2004
-Having time to cook
-Conversations with Natalie
-Hillcrest 101

At work Wednesday I had a short conversation with Linda, the director of the swim lessons program, about my plans for the fall and if she wants me to continue teaching all the way until I move. She's a great lady; she was so excited for me and promised to give me her son's contact information. He's a tuba player in Houston, apparently. Anyway, she said one thing that stuck out in my mind, meant as a reason for me to consider joining the Masters swim program (which I am, anyway). Basically it was framed around "well, I know you might not make many friends around here so..." I think it might have been part compliment, part slur on the other employees. I'm not sure. But she's right to one extent; these are all extremely nice people I work with but the combination of our busy teaching schedules and our disparate ages makes it hard to becoming chummy. Nick is fun, but he's so young and it's more like a Strelow friendship (ah, Madison references). Dana is great- but we have different worlds I think.

But whatever. What's my point in mourning this year if it's almost over, anyhow? I've made my decision to kickstart a career, and I'm making plans to implement it (although I'd better get started planning a trip to do interviews, STAT). I should be excited and that excitement should be enough to get me to August, right? The truth is, I go between lots of emotions about Texas, most of them positive (a few of them include anxious, shit-my-pants-scared, and apathetic), but I'm having a hard time looking forward and closing the door on the past. I get this feeling of vertigo when I think about my memories, of college, when I look at my pictures and remember the stories behind them. It's like I can look at the pictures and see the people and then in an instant also see where they are now, and where they are going, and how it gets farther and farther apart from me, from the direction I'm going. Jerry's the most obvious example. Bethany and Emily are another. Not only are they on with their own lives apart from mine, they're leaving each other as well.

All this also fuels my relationship with Davis, because I get the feeling we're thinking about the same things and fearing the same outcomes. We both left Madison behind, and we're both vaguely unhappy. What will everyone else feel when they leave it? What's in store for them?

Adam's leaving for Boston in a month, to start over. Megan's moving to Albuquerque. Marisa might be engaged soon. Lots of people ARE engaged. Or married already. I need life to slow down, NOW.

And me, I'm going to Texas. I have no idea what to expect. Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed I'd end up there. Texas. In the midst of this growing apart of the people I have loved, I get to reconnect with Chris and possibly Jason, and that makes me happier than words can say.

Oh man, you could totally make a Brat Pack movie out of this post. I call Molly Ringwald.

dreamin'

I had some crazy dreams last night, but in a realistic way (meaning, there were no character shifts, flying monkeys, or blue sheep).

In the first one I was at the Ani concert, only she was doing a roving show, and walking around with her guitar. She stopped by me and we had a conversation, although I don't really remember what it was about. She looked really exhausted, and I wanted to give her a big hug and put her in bed with a bowl of soup.

In the second dream, Jerry wanted us to get married, and I said okay. But after a couple of weeks (in dream speed) I realized that I didn't want to, and when I tried to stop it, I found that everyone but me was making plans for the wedding, and it was going to be a real traditional affair. Not what I wanted. So I went to talk to Jerry about it (who lived, for some reason, with two young Chinese boys in an extremely messy apartment that was mostly staircases with waterfalls pouring down them- okay, that's the crazy part), but he got extremely upset and wouldn't talk to me. He said we were getting married whether I liked it or not! I tried to reason- saying I wanted it to be more like a civil union affair, or a commitment ceremony, and that there was no way in hell I was going to wear three feet of ruffly lace on my ass, but it didn't work. So, I ran off and through myself down the waterfall.

Let that be a lesson to you.

i cannot believe this, i cannot believe this...

Were you in doubt that there is a sexual double standard? That there is an epidemic of sexual assault and abuse on the part of men toward women? That there are some truly scumbag lawyers out there?

Doubt no longer. Warning: This is a very graphic article; do not read the last half if you are emotionally triggered by acts of rape, violence, etc, or if you just don't want to deal with it. I wish I hadn't read it, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. It just kept getting worse and worse until I felt like I would burst inside.

You know, honestly, I can't even begin to be clear, academic or even focused on this issue, I just want to cry and roll into a ball. I kept imagining how that could have been me, any of my friends, my students...because it is.

And really, lately I've been thinking a lot about the wall of ignorance I came up against in one of the topics at the OTJ forum, denouncing feminism, and when I read this I thought, "why do these people want me to be afraid? why do they put down the only thing that's managed to make sense of this hateful world?"

And I what will I do, come Monday, when I go into coach my freshman boys, and look into their eyes and think, "are they capable of this? what are they being taught?"

Who do you trust? How do you live your life? What I wouldn't give to take this girl up into my arms and erase it all away- although, I'm thankful partly that she won't remember it. All she has is her imagination, and the tape, if she could stand to watch it, but what is worse, anyway?

I know he's a lawyer, and he's paid to defend, but I cannot imagine how he can sleep at night. Does he have a daughter? A wife? A mother? Does he detest all of them the way he can so easily pass judgment on a girl he doesn't know, who has visual evidence in her favor? Perhaps it is easy for him, because that's how he feels about women as well. Is he capable of this? What was he taught?

free music!

I'm participating in a fun feminist CD swap, and my CD is all done and ready to procreate. If you're interested in a copy, I have an extra envelope or two with your name on it. The playlist is loosely based around sensuality and sexuality, with chicas like Bjork, Ani, PJ, Billie, and Beth weighing in...and more! Very ecletic and cross-generational. You interested?

joining the new wave of...something or other

Having heard some good things about Mozilla's Firefox browser, I decided to give it a try (why not, eh? it's free to download, my internet connection is ridiculously fast, and i'm always looking for new ways to stick it to the corporate man).

It's pretty dang sweet.

So far, my favorite feature is that you can open new windows in tabs that appear at the top of the window, thus axing the need for lots of browser windows clogging up your navigation bar thingy (whatever you call the dohicky at the bottom of your screen). They also have nifty themes, so currently my buttons are purple. heee!! So far most sites look great, no problems with colors or line-up or anything.

Been thinking idly about building my own computer when I get to Dallas, and attempting to free myself from most Microsoft products. I'm not entirely sure what that will entail, but I've got time to do research anyhow. Included in my research will be web design and more complicated blogging tools that will get me set up in a comfy space of my own.

Off topic but exciting, one of the schools Chris told me to take without second thoughts contacted me for teaching and marching band tech positions (Plano). I so rock.

I am both honored and bashful that the folks at Feministing have linked me, considering I infrequently do political/feministic posts these days.

It makes me happy that I have a picture of blue Tara on my sidebar. Here's what HH the DL (that sounds like a hip-hop name, word) has to say about Tara:

There is a true feminist movement in Buddhism that relates to the goddess Tara. Following her cultivation of bodhicitta, the bodhisattva's motivation, she looked on those striving toward full awakening and she felt that there were two few people who attained Buddhahood as women. So she vowed, "I have developed bodhicitta as a woman. For all of my lifetimes along the path I vow to be born a woman, and in my final lifetime when I attain Buddhahood, then I, too, will be a woman."

EEEEEP!!

So, I check out the Ani D tour page over at Righteous Babe every so often, although it infrequently changes. Listed there is a show in Flagstaff, AZ, that would be feasible for me to drive to if I could find a like minded soul willing to make a roadtrip. So I head on over to Ticketmaster to check out prices, when I find that...she's going to be here. In San Diego. Fuck.

July 27th- and tickets go on sale Friday. They are reasonably inexpensive. I would go by myself and sit swaying in the audience feeling marvelous but I thought it would be nice to invite a friend, so I called Natalie.

I figure, if I have to be in Dallas August 2nd, July 28th is the absolute latest I can leave, which means I'll be there around the 30th. That gives me 2 days to get settled in and figure things out. It's fast, and scary, but I'm trying to think of it like moving away to college and having to get adjusted to things quickly. Besides, if I go too early, I'll run out of money reeeeeal quickly. This means I can stick around here and work until I leave.

It's a perfect goodbye present, given from me to myself, to say adieu to San Diego and prepare to meet the new challenges. Ani! Yay!

Okay, I know I've been super starstruck for weeks and weeks but I promise I'll chill out soon. Maybe.

your random lorn goodness, for monday

It must be something in the water: All three of my private swim lessons today were cancelled due to sickness. At first I thought this was a remarkable coincidence, then I remembered that Lorin and Dana have both been sick since last week, and THEN I started to feel a little scratchy-throat ickiness. Plus headache, plus lack of energy= unhappy Lorn. Popping the echinacea, and the Halls Defense.

I'm very disappointed that they took out the fun curvy right turn ramp that took you conveniently from Twin Peaks Rd to Community Rd. It's just your average whitebread right turn lane now, dime a dozen. It made my trip to Henry's all the more fun, and plus, who among us can say that swoopy ramp driving is not the best part of having a license? I can't; I still get excited when I get on the 78 from the 15 and go over the fun roller coaster bridge. When I find a new off/on ramp with that particular je ne sais quoi, that I have not previously enjoyed, I get positively giddy. I'm so weird.

I love that I can buy everything I usually get, plus a handful of impulse buys, at Henry's and still manage to keep the tab under $55. All the fresh, organic veggies you could want, plus bulk cereal, plus the best cranberry juice around, plus super good Colby Jack cheese, plus low fat flour tortillas= very content and well-fed Lorn (for several weeks).

I always seem to be at Henry's at the same time as the "Heart Starts Beating at Eight Weeks" bumperstickered car lady.

Not having swim lessons today meant that I:
-Washed my car (it's going to rain)
-reorganized my room and folded clothes (wow!)
-cleaned my bathroom
-paid my bills
-cashed my tax refund and paycheck
-lounged
-washed sheets and towels
-lounged more
-napped.

91X, stop playing that bloody "Mexican Radio" song. I get it. You broadcast out of Mexico. It's cheaper. That's why you have the Spanish lady in between commercials, and why you play the Mexican national anthem at midnight. Along with, might I add, every other goddamn radio station in San Diego.

Also, you are not the "cutting edge of music" if you are owned by Clear Channel. You're trying hard, I admit, and you're playing some hip stuff, but stop fooling yourself. Take a tip from 94.9; once I heard them play Bjork. And Tori Amos. Although, I have to admit their "It's about the music" commercial gets on my nerves like crazy. Why are all these radio stations so damn proud of themselves?

Pad thai, or mixed veggie stir fry? Such a dilemma.

Wondrous Vulva Puppet - celebrating feminine sexual anatomy

I wish I could stand on a rooftop and shout "VULVA PUPPETS....VULLLLLLLLLLLVVAAAAAA PUPPPPPPPPETTTS!!!!!" at the top of my lungs. Whilst shaking my fists in the air, rolling my eyes about madly and brandishing one of my shoes at people.

From the Wondrous Green Fairy.

teaching

I will admit, I was a little nervous I'd just made the decision to move to Dallas last week, and start up building a private studio. I've never been there, I've never taught privately (unless you count swim lessons), and I feel like I would have to do a lot of work, research, and practicing to get into shape to be the best instructor I can be.

But I have to relax. When I go into my schools to coach I can do some fine teaching, and I see myself getting more adept at communicating new or different ideas each time. I love the short, friendly interaction, me and a handful of students, that going in weekly to coach provides me with, because it's similar to what I liked about Blue Lake. I'm not the full time teacher, so disciplinary issues are not my jurisdiction, and I'm not responsible for grades either. This leaves me off the hook, so to speak, of stress, and allows me to really dig and teach these kids some fun stuff. I can try out educational experiments, teach avant-garde techniques, and play around with different instrument combinations. I've felt throughout this year that I would be stellar at private instruction, because I have more ease one-on-one socially anyhow. Coaching groups was hard at first- but I love it now. I would like to get the same kind of feel for private teaching.

This means I need to start a new regime of self-instruction, including picking up some texts on educational techniques, practicing my basic skills, and seeking out specific trombone knowledge. I'm tempted to rent a euphonium or tuba, and fiddle around on that to get more of a feel for how to teach the instrument.

I talked to Chris on the phone yesterday, and it turns out if I'm hired to help out with marching band, I'll have to be in Texas before August 2nd. This means I'm aiming to be out of San Diego the last week of July, and take three days to get to Dallas (be advised, Megan, this means I will be spending a day with you in Albuquerque ;). I'm thinking about aiming to arrive the same day Chris comes down from Wisconsin, so that he'll have access to a car until he can get one of his own. Once there it'll just be unpacking, organizing, and getting ready for the job, plus hunting around town for an organic grocery store, and some killer veggie restaurants (according to a fact sheet I read on Dallas, it has more restaurants per capita than New York City). I'll also need furniture.

I'm super excited- finally, I get to start planning for my fall adventures instead of sitting around here feeling lost and lonely. Even the technical, boring stuff excites me, like health insurance and car registration issues.

First things first, though, I need to plan a trip to Texas to do my interviews and select my schools. Can I get a wOOt?

sweet zombie jesus!

Blogger got all weird and fancy on me. Three years of the same thing, and this crazy format nearly gave me a heartattack just now.

This is just not something you can do to us Cancers. We like our change slow, deliberate, if at all. It's like coming into my crab shell and moving the furniture around! Eep!

The one thing I'd wish they'd do, is make it so you can view individual posts when you click on the permalink. All the more reason to move on to the bigger and more hands-on weblog tools, I guess.

EDIT: Oh, look at that. They did. I'm playing with the fun new templates but I can't figure out why my profile/links/archives are all down there at the bottom. Help!

EDIT EDIT: I'm a genius! The stuff that is missing from my old page will be up shortly. I need to shower now; I'm stinky and gooey from sunblock lotion.

Anyway, the reason I came to post:

I could stare at this for hours. Take a second to let it load.

Via Eat Your Vegetables.

can you hear the gnashing of my teeth?

Another two things theme, but this time they are not happy.

1. Women and girls have been deemed too stupid to use the morning after pill over the counter.

The Food and Drug Administration told the pill's maker, Barr Pharmaceuticals, that before the drug could be sold without a prescription the company must either find a way to prevent young teenagers from getting it from store shelves or prove, in a new study, that young girls can understand how to use it without the help of a doctor.

Is it just me or is there an inherent contradiction between those two demands? "We don't want teenagers to use it, but if they can prove they're smart enough, then I guess they don't deserve to be pregnant."

[Via Feministing]

2. Well, women are pretty stupid, but that doesn't stop them from being evil and manipulative. Sorry, we're responsible for the abuse of Iraqi prisoners. Oh, and feminists too.

Linda, Linda, Linda:

But one factor that may have contributed -- but which I doubt investigators will want to even consider -- is whether the presence of women in the unit actually encouraged more misbehavior, especially of the sexual nature that the pictures reveal

I missed the part where all men became gentle, caring, prudent, asexual wimps. I really did.

George Neumayr:

The image of that female guard, smoking away as she joins gleefully in the disgraceful melee like one of the guys, is a cultural outgrowth of a feminist culture which encourages female barbarians. GI Janes are kicking around patriarchal Muslims in Iraq? This is [Feminist Majority Foundation president] Eleanor Smeal's vision come to life. Had Thelma and Louise gone off to Iraq -- and sexually humiliated some of Saddam Hussein's soldiers as payback for abuse to Jessica Lynch a few cities back -- the radical feminists could make a sequel.

This sounds a lot like the attitude I ran into in the Is Chivalry Dead?" thread over at the OTJ. (as one poster told me: "Radical feminists, affirmative action zealots, and other such "activists" do not want "equal treatment" they want "superior treatment"" No. I just want shit like this to stop fucking happening.)

And in case feminists and women didn't do enough:

It is Muslims' fault. They took trillions of dollars in oil money, and instead of building a culture dedicated to elevating their people, including women, they have squandered it on agendas and adventures that had the opposite result.

Put your thang down, flip it and reverse it, my oh my doesn't that sound like America.

[Via Feministe]

things are, like, looking up, omigod!

Two things:

I've decided that, even if I get in, I don't want to go to McGill. I've sent them several emails requesting the status of my admission, asked questions of the professor, and left a phone message a two, NONE of which I've gotten answers for. The phone message and the emails to the admissions office do not bug me as much the fact that Prof Box has not responded to any of my queries, or even to my thank you note for the lesson. He's an awesome guy, and it sounds like he has a great studio, but I'm not sure I want to go through another session of schooling second-guessing my professor. If at some point I decide to reapply for graduate school, I'm looking for a professor who's going to be committed to my musical growth and not ignore me. A couple of other factors have led to my decision not to wait for McGill, and I'm still not sure that I'll be accepted.

That said, I went ahead and sent off emails to the various band directors in Texas that Chris provided me information for. Immediately, I got a response from one band director, followed by two others a while later, all positive, all requesting more information from me. One guy was extremely excited I knew Chris, and it seems that his good example has set a positive precedent for me. Thanks Chris! (Thanks also for the email full of exclamation points :)

So, something worked the way I wanted it to, for once. It looks like I'll be going to Dallas in the fall, maybe sooner depending on when Chris is moving and when the jobs here want to let me go. This is a good thing- I'll be immersed in music and trombone playing which means I might feel a little more excited about it. Even if I'm not, I'll have a source of income and a springboard from which to seek out other jobs I might be interested in having, dealing with feminism/activism and such. In the past couple of weeks my teaching experiences have been such that I realized I really enjoy it. Really. I've become invested in the success of my current students and the feedback from the directors has been all positive. Each day teaches me something new, and I'm becoming more adept at translating concepts into actions.

The other thing:

I have received in the mail today, 8 months late (but more than making up for it), my "birthday present" from Jerry.

The Complete Futurama Season Two DVD set. 19 episodes, at least 10 of which I've NEVER seen, replete with the hilarious David Cohen/Matt Groening audio commentary, deleted scenes, and other goodies that I cannot wait to discover this evening. Four discs of Futurama goodness. Lots of Richard Nixon jokes. I'm so set on entertainment value for the next week.

Thanks Jerry!

i shouldn't read my archives.

i miss madison.

the stuff tuesdays are made of

Of course, first of all, HAPPY BIRTHDAY JERRY! Try not to spend this one sleeping naked in the bathroom.

Because Ms Lauren is always raving about Derrick Jensen, I had a copy of The Culture of Make Believe transferred to my library branch. Holy balls is that thing thick! I'm going to have to renew that sucka eight times. First I have to finish Promiscuities.

I taught swim lessons today for the first time in four years. It was rough, not so much that it went badly, but that I'm not used to little little kids and water and trying to keep them from drowning and teaching them to blow bubbles all at the same time. I'm exhausted.

Too lazy to link to it right now, but a user on livejournal is real-life meming by requesting mixed CDs of all women artists, inspired by the March for Women's Lives. I'm tearing through my collection now, trying to come up with a theme (besides the fact that they are chicas). It's proving more difficult than I thought it would, as my tastes are rather eclectic and the women represent that. Do I do a folk/rock CD? A soul/R&B/jazz dealie? Punk/indie? Or just mash them all together and theme it by song or topic?

Speaking of CDs, I'd forgotten how reasonably priced the albums at Circuit City are. I got Fever To Tell (Yeah Yeah Yeahs) for a measely $10 and the Donnas new album, Spend the Night, for $12. Hurray!

Totally braindead from the water and sun and little screaming children. I must tear myself away from this utterly pointless blog now. Now.

SEX!

I'm reading Naomi Wolf's Promiscuities: The Secret Struggle for Womanhood, and have been thinking lately about my own experiences growing up and learning about sexuality and sensuality.

Wolf's book is a look, part memoir, part speculation, at how growing up in the licentious 70s during the sexual revolution in San Francisco shaped her opinions and actions about sexuality. Torn between the dichotomy of virgin and whore that lingers despite the best feminist efforts to kill it off for good, and the freedom of experimentation that enveloped the era, Wolf and her friends grew up in a world of confusion surrounding female desire. It excellently ties in with the more scientific research of Leora Tanenbaum's Slut! Growing Up Female with a Bad Reputation.

While I can't identify with the time or the place that is the setting for Wolf's adolescence, her evocation of the slut/virgin standard reminds me of my own experiences. Lucky for me, California is one of the more progressive states regarding access to sex education and contraceptive information. Thus, brief as it was (I think only two weeks of one semester every year or so were dedicated to sex ed), I got proper and medically correct information about how sex works, how pregnancy works, and how diseases are transmitted. Obviously absent was any knowledge about female pleasure (but then again, male pleasure wasn't covered either, although we got plenty of that knowledge in day-to-day conversation), but at least I wasn't hit over the head with abstinence and religion.

That said, I had the scientific education, but where did I stand emotionally? What did I think of sex? I didn't get abstinence education from school, but I sure as hell got it from my parents. Well, my mom. It was very bottom line: sex is an adult thing, and don't even dare skirting the issue. Dating for me began at 15, although I didn't really date anyone anyway, so that wasn't a big deal. Honestly, I never felt like I could even approach my parents about sex, like, they've said what they expect of me and to even think about bending the rules would be blasphemy. When I got my period for the first time, it seemed to come as a big shock for my mom. For me, it was no big deal and I was glad I finally got it (I was sick of watching those feel-good, pink frilly videos called "Who Am I Now" or "Your Changing Body"). But for my mom, it was a wake-up call that I was vulernable to the unavoidable sexual culture surrounding us.

My youngest memory of sex is this: My best friend, Katie, lived across the street from me until 7th grade when she moved to Tennessee. We had sleepovers almost every weekend, and Katie, being much more advanced in the knowledge of such matters than I, frequently brought up the topic of sex. Either our Barbie and Ken would get passionate in the back of the convertible (despite their lack of genitals, they seemed to enjoy it) while we supplied the soundtrack of grunts and moans, or we'd huddle in our sleeping bags clasping my larger stuffed animals to ourselves pretending to do something we actually knew nothing about. They were always our husbands, and they always initiated it (Fivel was my hubby. Not bad for a mouse ;). I went along with this, but really I had no idea what was going on.

Prudish as I might have been in high school, in reality my mentality just wasn't ready for sex of any kind yet. It was hazy, in the distance, and I knew for certain I didn't want it. My girlfriends and I giggled conspiratorily over George Michael songs and MTV programs, but they were forbidden, and it was exciting.

Dating Dave was a bit of a wake-up call. Kissing, touching, these were all good things and I had no qualms about them. I didn't dig the whole boob-fondling thing at all- that made me extremely uncomfortable. I was almost more relaxed about the stuff below the belt than what happened to my breasts. Such close contact with a person obviously interested in me both sexually and emotionally had its effect- I began to see sex as something a little clearer, a little more desirable. There was no lack of opportunities; Dave's parents were never home when we were done with school so it was easy enough to fool around and not worry. He was extremely respectful and attentive, and I can't deny our relationship was great fun. I had no worries about compromising my reputation or my relationship by holding back. So, I did want to make that step with Dave on one level, because I knew it would be safe, but I couldn't do it, really. The more I became aware of my own sexuality, the more the world around me started to reveal the double standards and distaste that surrounded women's sexual experience. I was afraid now, of sex with Dave, because I saw what was happening to the girls around me that did go "all the way." I didn't think I could live with myself, or even respect my own decisions, if I agreed to do this. Social conditioning, perhaps, but I didn't know that at the time.

However, I can't reprimand myself for waiting. God knows, we can't start doing that. I'm proud that I couldn't be sweet-talked, or coerced, into doing anything I didn't want. I just wish the atmosphere had been more friendly, more open to my desires for knowledge. Hell, I didn't really know anything about the clitoris until my freshman year roommate, Sarah, got a book called "The G Spot" and I would surrepitously leaf through the pages desperate to learn all this that I'd been denied for so long. Living with Davis was a tremendous bonus, too, what with her Guide and her openness about such matters. Finally, I felt like I could have sex and enjoy it, understanding all the aspects of both society and science that go into our perceptions of it. Perhaps I would have felt the whole issue was easier in high school if I'd known more and been prepared to deal with it.

That being said, I'd like to hear what my generation learned about sex. Whether you went to high school with me or not, how did your perceptions about sexuality affect your adolescence? What were your experiences? Mine are limited, and condemned by the burden of my hazy memory. If you have a blog, write it there, and trackback. Or just leave a comment. C'mon, I know you all want to talk about sex. Baby.

it's bloody hot

Ugh.

It's like walking out onto a parking lot in the desert with the fumes rising up from the blacktop and the wind just making it worse because it's blowing warm air in your face.

That's right. It's blacktop hot.

Looks like tomorrow it'll go back to being spring. Thank goodness- I'm not yet prepared for a southern California summer after four years of adjusting to the humidity and fickle-temperatured Midwest. There ain't thunderstorms out here to cool you off every other week, folks, it's just plain HOT all the time.

Not that I mind it. I love HOT. Love it. Because my birthday's in the dead center of it all, in the middle of beach-season, dark-room-lying around, sweating like crazy over your beer on the backporch weather. And my birthday, as we all know, is a special event.

It's just that...I like spring too, and I'm not ready to give up the flawless 75 degree days feeling fresh and frisky. I'm not ready to be sluggish and languid. Not yet. I've still got to buy summer clothes, shorts and skimpy tops. Flowy hippy skirts. Give me another month, please, San Diego. Just one more month.

boy, do i have a drinking story for you

Jack Black: Class, do you know what a hangover is?
Kid: Yeah, it means you're drunk.
Jack Black: No, it means I was drunk...yesterday.

This one goes down in history as the weirdest, scariest, most hilarious night of drinking I have ever had.

Adam and I drove ourselves down to Hillcrest to do a little binging, starting out at a place called Hamburger Mary's. Two margaritas, one Midori Sour, one Vodka Cran, and an Amaretto Sour later, we were at this sketchy-ass gay bar in which the female population totaled four, myself included. I am so wasted at this point that I don't seem to care that I am ridiculously out of place and continue to dance floppily to whatever 50 Cent song they were playing (the irony of 50 Cent being played in a gay bar was not lost on me, however). Eventually, after downing some poor kid's waterbottle without their knowledge, and perhaps without mine as well, I decide I must go outside to get some air.

Mistake. The line to get in is outrageously long and immediately the bouncer refuses to let me back in, as I am "too drunk, sweetheart." Adam's still in there, and with him his car keys which will unlock my cell phone, wallet, and trip home. I have no cash left. In other words, I am royally screwed. Dejectedly, I sit outside on this planter mumbling nonsense to myself and hoping, praying, demanding that Adam come out immediately to rescue me. However, Adam is dancing with the gay men and is also too drunk to realize that I am missing. My boobs are not important here. I am an invisible woman (for the first time, and annoying, in this case).

I try a few more fruitless attempts at getting back in, and finally the only thing I can think of to do is head back to Adam's truck. My right shoe has created a gigantic and deep blister on the ball of my foot, and at some point, the skin has begun to tear away. So, inbetween trying to act like a)I wasn't shit-faced beyond belief and could walk in a straight line, b) not toss my cookies, and c)figure out where the FUCK I am in bloody Hillcrest, where I have gotten lost EVERY SINGLE TIME I've been there (and that's sober), I'm limping like crazy and in severe pain.

I make it to the truck, and climb in the bed in hopes that Adam will not be long in coming so that we can get our asses in a cab and pass in the comfort of a place with walls. No such luck for me...I spend a fair amount of time alternating between trying to convince the passersby that I belong in this truck and not to have me arrested for vagrancy and launching some sort of diatribe about how fucked-up anti-choice protests are. Eventually I curl up into a fetal position and try not to freeze my ass off. At some point someone gave me a blanket, which at the time was a very nice gesture but in retrospect I wonder how long they'd been watching me.

When I wake up, it's 6:30 am, the sun's coming up, and there's still no sign of Adam. I'd been hoping it was all a dream, but no- I have the blanket, I'm dirty as fuck from lying in the bed of a truck all night, and I'm sure I look like a hobo. I'm relieved that, although I slept outside on a busy street in a big city, I appear to have been left alone. This might be due to the fact that once I got the blanket, I covered myself from head to toe and trying to appear as cargo-like as possible. My bank's nearby- I think to go there and get out some cash for a cab ride. Oh, it's Sunday. The only phone number I know by heart I can call collect is my parents...and I'd like to leave that for the last possible minute.

At 8:30, I see Adam appear around the corner. He spots me and starts running, while I just stand there and shake my head. His story is almost as crazy as mine- after getting kicked out of the club he walked 30 blocks to his boyfriend's house and was lucky enough to be let in by his roomate and sleep in a bed. His wrist is all fucked up- bringing our drinking casualties to 2. Now that I'm safe and warm, and Adam and I have found each other, we're laughing hysterically. I can't believe this all happened to me. I fucking slept in a truck in the middle of Hillcrest! God damn, that's funny.

I feel like crap-ola today. I want to eat all the junk food and big fatty hamburgers I can get my hands on, and then some Snickers. I can't really walk very well, because my blister is the size of China and I can't put any weight on it. My head is pounding.

Have I learned my lesson not to drink so much and wander off in a strange neighborhood?

Yeah, next time I'll take my cell phone with me.

[For more drinking hilarity, amuse yourself here]