All Marissa, All the Time.

Current Music:	Pure and Easy (The Who)
Time:	10:49 pm
Current Mood:	exhausted

Scene: Flame's apartment, both of us attempting to sleep

Cat: (from outside the bedroom) Mraaaow? Mraaaaooooowwww!!
Me: Oh, I can't stand it. (gets up, lets the cat in)
Cat: (pads over to the nightstand and starts batting my necklace around)
Me: HEY!
Flame: No! Bad cat! (rescues necklace)
Cat: (starts batting around other small items)
Me: AUGH. If we keep him outside, he yowls and keeps me up. If we let him in, he makes noise and keeps me up. I can't win!
Flame: Here. (takes extra pillow, claps it over my exposed ear)
Cat: (jumps down to the bed, climbs atop my ear-pillow, settles down)
Flame: (while laughing hysterically) You really can't win!

-----------------------

I dropped the boy off at the airport this morning; he's off to spend Thanksgiving with his nuclear family. His flight was pretty early -- I had to wake up at 5:15!!! If that isn't love, seriously, WHAT IS??

Meanwhile, our Thanksgiving outlook is fairly dismal. My cousin Phil and his family (including Miss Sadie) haven't come to Thanksgiving (or nearly any family function) since 2005, much to the profound disappointment of all concerned. His sister, my cousin Heidi, was thinking about coming with her family, but in the end, declined the invite. My uncle Dennis and his family have always come, but decided against it this year for whatever reason. My irrepressible grandfather died this summer (which still makes me cry if I think too hard about it).

That leaves my nuclear family, my aunt (and her boyfriend), and my newly widowed grandmother. If this sounds like perhaps not the most slaphappy group of people, you would be correct. I was invited to go with Flame to his festivities, and I was very tempted, but I suspect my family's whole thing would be even more pathetic in my absence.

The boy and I are splitting Christmas, though. We haven't quite worked it out, but we'll be going to upstate New York and Philadelphia and quite possibly going mad during the eleven-hundred-hour car trip between them.

comments: plant a seed

November 17th, 2009

Current Music:	Maybe This Time (Glee Cast)
Time:	10:47 pm
Current Mood:	aggravated

So I was diagnosed as diabetic a little over a year ago, but I didn't get around to taking an "intro to diabeetus" class until this month, when it was offered at my workplace. Today was my third of three classes. I got some good info, and I'm glad I took the class.

That being said . . . the more I try to focus on this disease, the more aggravated I get. When I was first diagnosed, I worked really hard on adjusting my diet, but as the year wore on, I slipped, and my blood sugar numbers got wonkier and wonkier. Now I'm trying to reel myself back in, but honestly, I resent the fuck out of needing to.

It's like . . . all us humans got issued cars. We've each got a car that takes us everywhere. At then at some point you take your car into the mechanic and they tell you, "Ohhh, you got a fuel intake problem. Real big problem." Let's imagine the dialogue further, shall we?

Me: Well, what can you do?
Mechanic: Not a whole heckuva lot. But you can change the way you drive.
Me: Oh, okay, what do I have to do?
Mechanic: Well, what you want to do is, never put in more than one gallon of gas at a time.
Me: . . . What??
Mechanic: Your car needs gasoline to run, but it can't actually handle having gas in the tank. So you need to put in a gallon, drive twenty miles, put in another gallon, drive another twenty miles, and so on and so forth.
Me: That's insane. What if I drive some place without a gas station? Or what if I'm in a hurry? Besides, I don't want to have to count gallons. I just want to fill the tank and not worry about it.
Mechanic: Nope, can't do that. Also, I should mention, no matter how careful you are about stopping every twenty miles for a fill-up, and only putting in a gallon, the fuel intake system will probably fail horribly, causing a series of accidents that will blind you or make you lose your extremities. And then after a while you'll have a fatal crash.
Me: Excuse me??? JUST FIX THE FUCKING CAR!!
Mechanic: I DON'T KNOW HOW. Now be grateful for my advice and get out of here!

Look, I get that tons and tons of people have it way worse than me. I really do get that. I have health insurance that pays for my supplies (though the copay is relatively high). I have enough money to buy fresh fruits and veggies, and individually packaged snack foods that are "one gallon of gas." I'm pressed for time, but not nearly as much as lots of other people.

But just because I'm not at the bottom of the heap doesn't mean it doesn't suck 'round here. When I was diagnosed, I was, to the casual observer, a perfectly healthy 24-year-old woman. A little zaftig, but not rotund. No family history. (My grandmother, who is eighty-six, is only just now being told by her doctor that she should be watching her blood sugar. This is the woman who once told me that this ice cream was "not rich enough.") So I had no context for this ridiculous, out-of-the-blue one-two punch: You're a Type II diabetic. And your body makes the antibodies that turn people into Type I diabetics. Those will probably destroy your pancreas eventually. When? Oh, we have no idea. But here's a free glucometer for your trouble!!

And the "one gallon of gas, drive twenty miles" directive never stops. It never stops. However much time I get on this earth (and I hope dearly it's long enough to get done all the things I want to do) depends on my following this insane prescription the whole way through. Women -- especially non-thin women -- already have tons of guilt attached to food. And now days when I just don't feel like counting every single thing going into my mouth have even more than the normal societal guilt attached: I'm blinding myself. I'm cutting off my feet. I'm killing myself. (And blindness scares me way more than the other two. How can I be blind?? I need to be able to see Flame to talk to him . . . .)

All this to say: can we just fucking cure diabeetus already? We've known about it for about 2000 years, give or take a century. Make me a cyborg, or replace my pancreas, or cook up a magic pill, I don't care. Get on this, scientists!! WHAT DO I PAY YOU PEOPLE FOR!?

comments: 2 blooms or plant a seed

November 2nd, 2009

Current Music:	Defying Gravity (Wicked)
Time:	10:09 pm
Current Mood:	discontent

You know, I expect anti-feminism from regular dudes, I really do. But it's funny how betrayed I feel when the dude in question is queer.

For instance: there are two men in my Introduction to Interpreting class, and they're both gay. Last week during class, I was in a small discussion group with one of them (whom I won't name, since the world is small, after all). The discussion was about the ethics of interpreting when controversial issues are on the table. And in the course of conversation, the man in my group mentioned how he'd gone every weekend during college to abortion clinics to protest and/or harass women.

I sat and stared at him. I think my dismay was probably transparent. The response I wanted to give was ringing in my head: Do you know how cold it was the night I went into Boston and handed out little valentines telling people to call their representatives to lobby for same-sex marriage? Do you know how much sleep I lost the nights that the Massachusetts legislature was debating the issue, when we stayed up and called the offices of every representative who made statements in favor of the cause? Do you know how much money I've given to Lambda Legal, the Courage Campaign, the Human Rights Campaign . . . ?

This is not to champion my own work, which is a tiny drop in the activism ocean, but to show that my heart is in the right place. If nothing else, at least I'm not out actively campaigning against gay rights. Jesus. Is it so much to ask that we don't step on each other's necks? Especially when the very basis of homophobia is misogyny? (If that statement catches you off-guard, see this essay for a light introduction. See especially the Dan Savage quote towards the end, which sums everything up very succinctly.) And yes, to be clear, I see harassing women at an abortion clinic as essentially anti-woman. I don't particularly respect the so-called "pro-life" position, but for G-d's sake, if you're going to be "pro-life," at least have the good graces not to terrorize a woman who's walking into a place that is as close to a war zone as some Americans ever get.

I thought of this tonight largely because of a post today on What Tami Said. Hat duly tipped.

comments: 14 blooms or plant a seed

October 13th, 2009

Current Music:	The Obvious Child (Paul Simon)
Time:	10:58 pm
Current Mood:	geeky

So as anyone who reads my journal with any regularity knows, I'm in a rotational program right now, sort of like a medical residency, but there's less scalpels and more C programming.

I changed rotations a little less than a month ago, and the change in my quality of life is pretty amazing. I don't think I realized how bored and unhappy I was in my last rotation till I started this one. All of a sudden, I'm swamped! And not only am I swamped, I'm swamped by projects that are intellectually challenging, that have me running for computer reference manuals or algebra textbooks. There aren't enough hours in the day, whereas before there were altogether too many.

My last rotation had me doing tasks that were neither creative nor really technical. They were sort of rote, sort of boring; once I'd learned how to do them, there was nothing new left to learn. Not to say they weren't important, but it's not enough for me to know that my work has an impact. I also have to be learning and growing and using the brain-bending skills that I've honed. Getting a long, complicated program to work -- that's hard, but rewarding (and so satisfying when it finally runs!) Really understanding something technical -- that's hard, but gaining expertise is intellectually fulfilling. I didn't get to do those things in my last rotation.

I should also mention I didn't get a heck of a lot of guidance in my last rotation. I asked for more mentorship, and unfortunately I didn't receive a lot. So it wasn't a great rotation, for a lot of reasons.

Now I'm in this new rotation that is very technical, where the senior staff members have gone out of their way to take me into their fold and offer me guidance. One of them hooked me up with a woman who does a lot of software work, and I'm working with her part-time. Another gave me a lecture on some things that he's working on and gave me a jumping-off point to continue his research in a slightly different context, and I'm doing that with the rest of my time.

So I'm busy and happy and learning new things. I knew things were really different when, at some point last week, I thought to myself, "Ohmigosh! I used to be happy to go to work! And this is what it felt like!"

comments: 1 bloom or plant a seed

October 10th, 2009

Current Music:	I'm Free (The Who)
Time:	12:55 am
Current Mood:	exhausted

I'm so exhausted, I can barely think straight, let alone write something coherent. The problem is, I have something to say but don't know how to put it. Without being unbearably schmaltzy, anyway.

When I've got this "something to say" feeling, even though my body wanted bedtime two hours ago, there's no rest for the weary. My brain knows I've finally got a little bit of spare time, for a change, and it wants this out so it can dwell on other things.

This was actually a pretty packed week. Mom met Flame; I had duh-rama at work regarding my supervisors and performance evaluations; also at work, I got an avalanche of assignments that leaves me wondering how I'm supposed to accomplish any one thing when five things are flying at my face. I had a lot to say about all these one-liners, but my visceral reactions have been tempered by the days in between, and I don't have those entries in me, at least not now.

No, instead I'm here to wax rhapsodic again, in a way that I think I would find highly irritating were I reading it in someone else's journal. You're welcome.

In this relationship with Flame, I'm starting to understand things I never truly understood before. Like, I got wanting to live with someone because it's more convenient and economical, or because the relationship has reached a certain "level", or because you think it's good practice for marriage -- but I don't think my understanding went a whole lot deeper than that. I'm starting to get how you need that person as a sounding board; how just holding each other can ease the worst mood; how you take care of each other; how you spur each other on to do things you've been putting off because you were too scared or lazy. And this multifaceted need for one another makes it more or less necessary that you occupy the same space.

When I was a little, little kid, my mom got sample psychology textbooks in the mail constantly; all the publishers wanted her to choose their books for her tiny undergrad classes. I read most of the books that arrived, at least the ones I could get my hands on before she got rid of them. I remember seeing a diagram of the Triangular Theory of Love and understanding all the elements and promising myself I'd make it to the middle of the triangle, with all three elements in place.

Who, when they get to the middle, doesn't feel like they're on wholly new ground? And who's dumb enough to think they really are? I'll deride myself with ridiculous quotes ("I UNDERSTAND THAT YOUR LOVE IS A LOVE THAT HAS NEVER BEEN LOVED BEFORE!"), knowing full well the story that "two people met and they fell in love and they were happy" has probably been played out literally billions of times before.

On the other hand, when you love someone, you think that they're a special snowflake whose every asymmetry is adorable. And so of course I think Flame is brilliant and hilarious and spectacularly good-natured and patient and gentle and silly and honest and just altogether wonderful, and so OF COURSE he's special, so OUR LOVE IS A LOVE THAT HAS -- ahem. I'm just realistic enough not to finish that sentence.

So I'm left with the impulse to tell everyone about my Love That Has Never Been Loved Before, and the rational notion that this is silly. There is a part of me, and it is not a small part, that wants to take everyone I see by the collar and say, "There's this boy, and I love him, and I'm going to live with him, and then we're gonna get married and live in a house with at least one cat and at most two kids!!!" Mostly I get, though, how grown-ups are supposed to just deal with their feelings and relationships, and keep it all bottled up except to their close family or therapists. So I've kept collar-shaking to a minimum.

But this is a personal journal, and at the end of the day I tend to err on the side of oversharing. So, there, I've shared. Now I can go to bed. The whole time I've been writing this, I've been fighting to keep one eyelid open at a time. I think my brain's hemispheres have been sleeping in shifts, like a duck's.

comments: 3 blooms or plant a seed

October 1st, 2009

Current Music:	See You in My Nightmares (Kanye West)
Time:	11:02 pm
Current Mood:	silly

Flame and Mom meet next Tuesday. The boy and I were discussing it . . . .

Flame:: now...if your mother disapproves...do we elope?
me:: LOL
Yes -- wait, no!!
Instead you should leave town, and I should get a potion from the friar that makes it appear as if I'm dead -- BUT I'M REALLY NOT!
me:: So I'll send Bri along to you with a message that I'm actually alive
Flame:: so...
me:: Gosh, I hope nothing goes wrong with that plan.
Flame:: mmm...
so should I bring my sword, just in case?
me:: Well, yes, obviously.
I mean, who knows who you might run into in the cemetery?
Flame:: and somehow, Bri misses me because she hadn't a good look at my mug?
me:: Oh gosh, do you think that's a possibility??
Flame:: good chances
me:: Uh-oh.

comments: 2 blooms or plant a seed

September 15th, 2009

Current Music:	Don't Stop Believin' (Glee Cast)
Time:	10:54 pm
Current Mood:	giggly

Brianna:: I have a giant finn crush
me:: OMG HE IS HOTTT
Brianna:: let's be honest here
I KNOW
and i'm not a creeper because he's actually a lot older than high school!
me:: OH GOOD
I was about to say, am I a total lech?!?!
How old is he??
Brianna:: http://us.imdb.com/name/nm1719342/
1982, baby
older than you
me:: SWEEEEEET
Brianna:: I KNOW
HOOOTTTT
me:: Wow, he looks young, too.
Brianna:: yeah
me:: And he can totally act the part
Brianna:: i imagine they put some makeup on him too
me:: And he is SO HOT
Brianna:: oooh girl
yes he is
i split my time between him and the teacher
me:: Meh, the teacher is too corn-fed middle-America for me
Brianna:: i think finn is cuter personally
me:: Finn's got that dark hair and indeterminately ethnic thing going on
Also, Finn's hotness is really bolstered by his VOICE
*melts*
Brianna:: UM YES
AGREED.
i can't fight this feelin anymore
me:: Dude, if he smiled at me like he smiles at Rachel during "Don't Stop Believing," I would sing with him FOREVER
I WOULD NOT STOP FOR FOOD AND WATER
Seriously, "Some will win/Some will lose/Some were born to sing the blues"
DO YOU SEE HIS SMILE?!?!
Brianna:: *swoon*

In summary: watch Glee.

comments: 1 bloom or plant a seed

September 14th, 2009

Current Music:	The Most Beautiful Girl (In the Room) (Flight of the Conchords)
Time:	10:44 pm
Current Mood:	exhausted

On the phone today,

daedreambelievr complained that I haven't been updating here that much. She's right about the frequency, and perhaps also right to complain. And since this journal is also for my own benefit, I ought to do better.

There are a lot of factors in play here. First of all, the "quick hits" I used to do go on Twitter or Facebook. (My Twitter is public; I won't post a link here, but if you know my email address you can find it.) They're better media for those.

Second, my time is at a premium these days. I've got class three nights a week (ASL 4 on Mondays and Wednesdays; Intro to Interpreting every Thursday), not to mention homework; a lot of the rest of my time goes towards attempting to have a life with Flame. He's got class twice a week, too, and a standing friend-date, and Go tournaments, and the rest of the stuff that makes life the unpredictable scheduling nightmare that it is. I go a little nuts if I don't see him twice a week or so, so that's a good bit of time.

Third, I don't feel like I had the same audience as I did maybe three years ago. Many of my comments these days come from people I've never met in real life. Nothing against you guys, it's just that the original intent here was for me to keep faraway friends abreast of developments in my life. Now everyone's time is at a premium, and it's a small group of faithfuls who tend to read and comment. (Of course, there are always the lurkers. I suspect they constitute a larger group than I realize.)

So no promises about update frequencies. I won't go dark, but I'm not dead if I don't post for a week.

comments: 5 blooms or plant a seed

September 2nd, 2009

Current Music:	First Train Home (Imogen Heap)
Time:	11:36 pm
Current Mood:	confused

So this evening, almost as soon as Flame's parents touched down at BWI, I was sitting down to dinner with him and them for a "meet the girl whose toothbrush you're going to be running into in your son's bathroom" session.

They were perfectly kind and lovely to me, but I left the restaurant quite confused about how they felt about my existence. This is because instead of treating me to an interrogation, they simply had a normal conversation with me.

Here is a minimal list of questions my mom will ask Flame in the first hour of meeting him. These are merely the ones I know will be asked. I cannot possibly predict all the questions she'll come in swinging with.

So where are you from?

And your parents still live up there?

And what do they do?

Where did you go to school?

And what did you major in?

Did you enjoy it there?

And how did you come to live down here?

What are you working on?

Are you enjoying your work?

How do your parents feel about you living down here?

And I hear your brother lives all the way out in Colorado!! (Ed: Yes, that's a question.)

How often do you get to see him?

You must miss him!! (Ed: Also a question.)

What does he do?

And is he married?

Any children?

All of this will be interspersed, of course, with charming, hilarious, and totally embarrassing stories from my childhood. ("I used to call her Thunder Thighs!" ". . . And then she told me she'd be safe because she'd push her sister in front of her!" "You know her teachers had to come up with spelling words just for her!")

In the second hour, having become intimate with all the basic details of his life, Mom will start in with her profound curiosity about how deaf people navigate the world. She's already asked me how he learned to read. I relayed what he explained to me, and she was not satisfied with the answer. At the first opportunity, she's going to go all Explaining Psychologist on us and talk about language acquisition and nature versus nurture and honestly it might sound like I'm dreading it but really it's gonna be AWESOME because Mom's at her best when she's pestering us and ours.

So. What did I get tonight from Flame's parents? Um.

So, you two met at work?

Where did you go to college?

THE END. Unbelievable! I was braced for a mandatory narrative, and I just got normal conversation!

I think the reason it really discomfits me is that Mom's interrogations, aside from being ordeals of the highest order, broadcast that she is interested in the interrogatee. She will give Flame the third degree because he's terrifically important in my life. She NEEDS to know EVERYTHING about him, STAT, because DAMMIT THIS IS HER DAUGHTER WE'RE TALKING ABOUT.

So, yeah, the questions are annoying, but you can peek under the hood and see, oh, this means she recognizes the person is important to me.

With polite, normal conversation, how am I supposed to tell if his parents think I'm worth knowing?? If my life doesn't get a proper vivisection at the dinner table, how can I tell if they disapprove of it?? I DON'T UNDERSTAND YOUR COURTEOUS AND CULTURALLY SANCTIONED WAYS.

Well. Flame texted me to let me know that his parents like me, at least. I'll see them a couple more times while they're in town, so maybe the third degree is upcoming, but I really feel like I'm off the hook. So, so weird.

comments: 7 blooms or plant a seed

August 28th, 2009

Current Music:	Far From Home (The Gabe Dixon Band)
Time:	07:49 am
Current Mood:	calm

Here are my first-day impressions of the Prius:

Like

She handles really well; I can take turns at a pace that used to leave me feeling (in a bad way) the centrifugal force in the Infiniti.

Her suspension is great. There are a number of places I drive regularly that are crappy terrain (e.g. disused railroad tracks), and they used to bump me around quite a bit more in the Infiniti.

She's tiny! It's much easier to squeeze into any given parking space.

She's got steering wheel controls for things like A/C and stereo volume. Much safer than taking my hands off the wheel.

Gadgets and gizmos galore: I can pair my phone with the car via Bluetooth, and dial and talk on my phone through the car's sound system. There's a rear video camera that pops up when I'm in reverse. I get a running MPG tally. There's an AUX jack for my iPod.

Because it's a hybrid, I feel like I can sit in the car with the power on (but of course the engine isn't running) and do whatever I need to do. In the Infiniti, if I needed to spend time in the car (making a phone call or whatever), I'd have to keep the engine running to get the A/C working. With the Prius, that's obviously not an issue.

She's aesthetically gorgeous. Her color is just beautiful, and I like the Prius' body style.

Dislike

Visibility is my number one complaint. It's a hatchback, so that means when you look in the rearview mirror, instead of seeing just clear out the back, you see the frame around the back window/door, and a horizontal bar, which is the place you grasp to open the hatchback. Also, the vertical separator between the front and back windows is right exactly where I want to look when I'm trying to change lanes.

The brakes are a little too responsive. This, I know, is just going to take retraining, but I always felt like the Infiniti had a proportionate response to my braking; the Prius feels like it's overeager to stop.

I was surprised to find, that despite the thousands of dollars' worth of electronics in the car, the seats must be manually adjusted. Really? Bluetooth pairing but no power seats?

I'd prefer it if the emergency brake were at my hand, not my left foot.

Feel free to pile on, those who've driven/owned a Prius!

comments: 11 blooms or plant a seed

August 23rd, 2009

Current Music:	I'm Yours (Jason Mraz)
Time:	11:01 pm
Current Mood:	sleepy

Scenes from a weekend

(sitting on rocking chairs on the porch, late Friday afternoon)
Me: I never realized it, but I bet you don't know some of the names of letters. Like "aitch" for h. Or "double-you."
Flame: "Double-you"??
Me: Yup, "double-you"! 'Cause it looks like two u's.
Flame: Oh, that's what you say when you sing the alphabet song.
Me: Well, yeah, but it's also just how we say w. Like, if someone asked me to spell "weird," I would say, "double-you ee eye are dee."
Flame: I don't believe you.
Me: I swear!!
Flame: Uh-huh. Right.

~~~

(after dinner, Friday night)
Flame: (taps my forehead, i.e., "What's going on in that head of yours?")
Me: S'MORES!
Flame: Really? We just ate dinner . . . yeah, okay, me too. (heads off to make them)

~~~

(eating dinner, Saturday night)
Flame: So how many times before today had you gone kayaking?
Me: Me? Never. This was my first.
Flame: Really?
Me: Yeah, I went whitewater rafting once, and tubing another time, but . . . .
Flame: Canoeing?
Me: I dunno, maybe when I was little, at summer camp.
Flame: Well, you did very well for your first time.
Me: We SANK.
Flame: Oh, whatever, you did well.

~~~

(heading back home, this morning)
Me: (grits teeth)
Flame: What's wrong?
Me: All these red lights!! Seriously, they hired the worst traffic engineers in the world.
Flame: But they're your favorite color! And look, all the brake lights are, too! Just for you.
Me: (tries to keep from smiling; fails)

~~~

(on the phone with Mom)
Mom: So you had a good time?
Me: Yup!
Mom: And it didn't end the relationship?
Me: MOM. NO.
Mom: Because it would have ended any of mine.

comments: 3 blooms or plant a seed

August 17th, 2009

Current Music:	And the World Turned (The Gabe Dixon Band)
Time:	11:26 pm
Current Mood:	exhausted

I shouldn't be writing this so late and so tired. But

flamingophoenix and I were chatting about het relationships today (following my slightly-on-topic comment on a much more substantive post), and all I could come up with was this:

No one owes you anything. You are entitled to nothing.

Now, that sounds like a harsh jolt of cruelty, but it's actually not. It's the healthy way to look at sexual relationships, especially potential or budding ones. (Because, truth be told, when I get married, I will expect sexual congress -- and isn't that a great phrase? like I'm taking votes on how to do it -- and if it does not occur, barring some great physical problems, there will be counseling or there will be divorce. And that could be construed as entitlement. I would argue that once you have entered into a marriage, or something like it, you are permitted to have expectations of the other person in all sorts of arenas, including sex. That doesn't mean you get sex whenever or however often you like, though. It's still a shared decision, every time. And perhaps that takes the edge off the entitlement. Something to mull over. But back to our regularly scheduled discussion.)

I know a man, hand to G-d, who truly believes that each single woman he meets owes him a date. He has said this point-blank. If he shows interest in a woman, and she declines to meet him for a drink, she is in the wrong.

Now, I realize that's an extreme case. But it's shades of this that fuel the anti-"Nice Guy" fires in feminist communities. In short, the "Nice Guy (TM)" (we always use the TM, for some reason) is the guy who makes friends with women for the sole purpose of finding a romantic partner. (It's a legit reason to make friends. It's not a good solitary reason.) And then when a woman doesn't want to date this guy, she's a cockteasing bitch.

Actually, why do I bother explaining things when xkcd does it for me?

Friendship entitles you to nothing sexually. (I would hope, as a decent human being, it entitles you to getting help when you move, someone to feed your goldfish, or whatever.) Seeing someone you think is cute entitles you to nothing sexually. (Actually, just plain nothing, this time.) Going on a date with someone entitles you to nothing sexually. (Again, I'd hope it entitles you to an email to let you know if there'll be another date, but hey, that's not universally accepted.) Nothing entitles you to anything sexual from someone who is not actively consenting to sex with you at this moment. Bodily autonomy, doncha know.

And, not to put too fine a point on it, but the idea that you are owed something sexual is a big part of rape culture.

This is what happens when I'm exposed to "pick-up artists" and misogyny and news coverage of an event focused on murdering women that people are saying (overtly or not) was caused by women being able to say no to a man. I ramble way past my bedtime.

comments: 7 blooms or plant a seed

August 12th, 2009

Current Music:	Many the Miles (Sara Bareilles)
Time:	11:35 pm
Current Mood:	silly

Okay, I'm not a big Dane Cook fan, but I've been thinking of this bit lately, because of the lines (around 3:10 in the vid):

And at that point you're like, "Why do I have so many fuckin' keys?? I use two, and I have ten keys. In my sleep, did I murder a janitor and steal his keys?"

Why? 'Cause I'm up to eleven keys on my keyring now, and I do feel like I murdered a janitor.

Inventory

House key (1)
Car key (1)
Mailbox key (1)
Cabinet keys, office (3)
My parents' house key (1)
Flame's apartment keys (2)
Computer key (1)
Unidentified but I swear to G-d I think it might be a Brandeis dorm key (1)

I guess I could lose that last one, huh?

comments: 2 blooms or plant a seed

August 3rd, 2009

Current Music:	All Falls Down (Kanye West)
Time:	10:33 pm
Current Mood:	loved

I'm becoming one of those sickeningly content people. I am, as they say, head over heels, and I don't care who knows it! Tra la la!

Seriously, though . . . this relationship is so comfortable. I don't mean "comfortable" as in "that ugly pair of Crocs your coworker won't stop wearing." I mean "comfortable" like . . . a perfect spring day: seventy-two degrees, mostly sunny, everything in bloom, a light breeze coming out of the northwest at five miles an hour.

Boyfriend (who really needs a better pseudonym . . oh, wait, he's got one already that he uses online -- Flame, which works pretty well by Webster's definition #4) is an utter delight. We can and do discuss everything, and agree on most things; what we disagree on doesn't leave a bad taste in my or his mouth. I never worry that he's judging me for the million idiosyncrasies that make me Marissa. (Like that I can't keep secrets. Or that I'm a horrociously picky eater. Or that I still have stuffed animals on my bed.) And we understand each other . . . we did back when we were "just friends," and we still do.

This is a goofy entry. What can I say? I was feeling like I had to write it down or burst.

comments: 1 bloom or plant a seed

July 27th, 2009

Current Music:	Find the River (R.E.M.)
Time:	08:43 pm
Current Mood:	enraged

me:	So, on a completely other topic We have these groups at work
Brianna:	ok
me:	Fairly new Known as "employee resource groups" There are maybe 7 or 8 One for women, one for the disabled, one for Afro-Americans, etc., etc.
Brianna:	ok
me:	To let management know about issues affecting them So guess who's bitching?
Brianna:	WHITE MEN!
me:	DING DING DING DING DING!
Brianna:	LOL what the jang, you guys that is ridiculous
me:	LOL "We're not being represented!!!" Um. Surriously.
Brianna:	LOOK AROUND.
me:	FO SHIZZLE YO
Brianna:	jordan said that once, like "there's no white history month!" and i nearly decked him in the elevator i was like THE WHOLE HISTORY. IS WHITE HISTORY. i'm pretty sure you've never said to yourself, hey, you know, i'd love to be a scientist, too bad there are no straight white male scientists i can use as an example!
me:	What exactly are the special issues facing white men that we think management won't understand?
Brianna:	um... that the coffee machine is broken?
me:	The coffee machine was broken ... BY THE GAYS!!!
Brianna:	rofl "if there were women in the kitchen looking after the coffee machine this wouldn't have happened!"
me:	I mean, seriously, seriously, I was walking down a hallway today at work I'd never been in And they had a huge mural of everyone who'd run the division since, like, 1951 or something And I was absolutely shocked to see that every last one was a white man. I mean, my eyes just about fell out of my head and rolled down the hallway and bounced down the stairs and settled by the doors to the cafeteria.
Brianna:	that's it! white men want more murals dedicated to them!
me:	LMAO Why is it so fucking difficult for people to accept that they have privilege, and that actions taken to mitigate that privilege are not, in fact, slighting them, but instead inching things a teensy bit closer to a world where they don't get a head start just for breathing??
Brianna:	YES IT IS THAT DIFFICULT. jeez marissa, have a little compassion for the white man!
me:	It's like ... everyone wants to believe they got where they are solely because of their own awesomeness.
Brianna:	i certainly did!
me:	That's right! Nobody gave you no leg up!
Brianna:	nope! especially not my private non-sectarian university! or my well-educated parents!
me:	Or your lily-white skin!
Brianna:	especially not that
me:	ESPECIALLY not your lily-white skin.
Brianna:	uh huh. there are people that actually believe that, though as scary as that is
me:	No, I know Apparently my workplace is full of 'em
Brianna:	eew
me:	I mean, seriously, people are like, "So just because I'm a straight, white male without a disability means I don't get to participate??" a) The ERGs are open to everyone b) Shut the fuck up
Brianna:	LOL right, that's like fucking pat buchanan saying that only white males signed the constitution like, i'm sure the slaves and the women were invited, they just had better things to do that day GO FUCK YOURSELF PAT BUCHANAN
me:	Oh, JESUS ROLLERSKATING CHRIST Did you hear all that shit about how white men built this country?!?!?
Brianna:	i heard some of it then i couldn't hear the rest because i was too busy vomiting
me:	And how everyone who died in all our wars were white?!?!?!?!?
Brianna:	yeah even the civil war
me:	YES
Brianna:	like... uhh....
me:	THE MOTHERFUCKING CIVIL WAR
Brianna:	you know, the one about the emancipation of BLACK PEOPLE.
me:	WHOOOO?? WHAAAA???
Brianna:	pat buchanan. what an asswipe.
me:	I'm just getting so tired of the "pity the poor white man" schtick So, so tired
Brianna:	yeah white men can talk to me when they don't make up the large majority of this nation's government
me:	And all positions of power Period And a huge-ass percentage of the management at my employer
Brianna:	and apparently 100 percent of the casualties at the battle of gettysburg
me:	weeps softly
Brianna:	lol
me:	BTW I'm posting this on my LJ
Brianna:	you better! i want the world to know how funny i am when making fun of whitey!

comments: 5 blooms or plant a seed

July 22nd, 2009

Current Music:	Photograph (Diane Birch)
Time:	09:25 pm
Current Mood:	content

Because we're geeks, Boyfriend and I have decided to power cycle and see if the machine runs any better. It's been humming along without a hitch for about a month now, so I figured it was high time to be a little less cagey about the whole thing.

And now I suppose I'll take questions from the press . . . .

comments: 4 blooms or plant a seed

July 13th, 2009

Current Music:	Closing In (Imogen Heap)
Time:	10:41 pm
Current Mood:	annoyed

I gave blood today, and for the second time in a row, I had a seriously unpleasant experience. Although last time was worse than this one, I experienced in both cases a sort of full-body nausea, that without intervention I'm sure would have led to barfing or passing out. (The Red Cross is amazing at circumventing these possibilities. They tilt back your chair and slap a cold towel on your forehead, then they make you cough. It works wonders.)

Giving blood used to not faze me at all. I could pop in, bleed, and bounce out. I don't know what's changed -- is it the diabeetus? my having lost weight? just getting older? -- but my body is seriously displeased now by my giving blood.

So now I'm left with this dilemma. I believe it's your civic duty to give blood if you can. And I can, certainly. I haven't passed out in many years. I don't believe I'm in any real danger when I get this horrible physical reaction. But it feels so wretched. It's way worse than my handful of run-ins with low blood sugar, and worse too than any infections I've been a party to (that I remember, anyway).

I'm not sure what to do. Giving blood isn't trivial; it's potentially saving three people's lives every time. Does my own discomfort outweigh that? Or is the right way to look at it instead, that my body is sending me a message, and I'd be an idiot to ignore it? Bah.

comments: 10 blooms or plant a seed

July 10th, 2009

Current Music:	Down to Earth (Peter Gabriel)
Time:	10:08 pm
Current Mood:	surprised

chococynic just got engaged -- woo!! -- making hers the third engagement among my friends recently.

daedreambelievr led the pack at the tail end of May;

lefthanded called me about four weeks ago to let me know he and Ava are tying the knot as well.

It's a little insane to me that this is happening. I guess everyone reaches the point in their life where most of their friends are engaged or married, but . . . I don't know, I guess I always figured it wouldn't be now.

How do you even decide to get married?? Daniel and Ava will have been together for seven years this November, so I guess at that point you can safely say you've been through enough and know all each other's ins and outs. But Amanda and Jess have been seeing their respective boys for . . . a year? (Apologies, ladies, if I've bungled the timing.) Not terrifically long, in any case.

I mean, I've been in love, head over heels, the whole nine yards. And I'd be lying if I said I hadn't had girly fantasies of weddings and babies and such. I very much want to be married and have kids. It's the whole . . . getting there part that I have trouble with. At some point you have to make a decision that the person you're with will be the one person who won't bore you and will always love you and will be your partner in crime FOREVER. Forever! That's such an immense decision! Maybe if I believed in reincarnation or the afterlife or something, then a decision that bound me to someone for the rest of my life wouldn't freak me out so badly. But I don't.

Also, I think I always thought that by the time I reached "marriage age," I would be . . . grown up? A better person? Like, that the Marissa who was old enough to be engaged would also be the Marissa who always returned her library books on time, and scheduled her dental appointments six months in advance, and didn't wait till the night before to do her taxes. I guess, in short, I thought I'd be more like Mom. But I'm not! I'm still the same silly, irresponsible girl I've always been! How can I be old enough to get married?!?

Now does everyone understand why this all freaks me the fuck out??

comments: 13 blooms or plant a seed

June 30th, 2009

Current Music:	Magic View (Diane Birch)
Time:	08:13 am
Current Mood:	calm

Barter
by Sara Teasdale
first collected in 1917

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up,
Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like the curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.

comments: plant a seed

June 19th, 2009

Current Music:	Sir Duke (Stevie Wonder)
Time:	09:02 pm
Current Mood:	full

flamingophoenix linked me to a Carolyn Hax piece, and I got to reading some back columns, and I found one about a quasi-dysfunctional older/younger sister relationship. What occurred to me as I was reading it was how

duckslikerain and I couldn't be less like these sisters.

To summarize, the letter is about an older sister who's constantly telling the younger, "Just wait till . . ." whatever, such-and-such, this-and-that. And the younger is understandably fed up.

Maybe it's because I'm a late bloomer, and Bri is more normal; maybe it's just that we respect each other's opinions enormously, but if either of us ever needs to say something that starts with, "I've had this experience that you haven't had, so I have a slightly better perspective" (and frankly, it happens with about equal frequency on either side of our relationship) we always preface that with, "Not to be one of those condescending jerks who's all 'you don't understand,' you know that's not what I mean, I just want to tell you . . . ." And we make sure the other is clear before we start in on the topic.

The short version: we treat each other as equals. Period.

Age dictating who's the giver of advice and who's the recipient -- maybe that's why some people find it hard to get along with a sibling. It had literally never occurred to me before.

comments: 1 bloom or plant a seed

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