A Self-Indulgent Open Letter

I am the first to admit that I am horribly indecisive, even regarding inane things like where to eat for dinner or what outfit to wear. When it comes to anything with a little more heft, it gets exponentially harder. Questions like; Where I am going or What should I be doing? are almost impossible for me to answer. As much as I like to plan things, my impatience gets the better of me. I hate making plans, because plans are too far away. When people say they are spontaneous, I know they are speaking metaphorically. No one really seems that spontaneous to me, it seems almost impossible. Spontaneity means thinking of something and the very next moment actually doing it. I feel like I am more spontaneous (read:impulsive) than most people I come across. Once I decide to do something, which is no easy feat for me, I actually do it, or try my damnedest. I am nothing if not tenacious. I don't think people see me that way though. I think my family and friends think I give up far too easily, and that I have a defeatist attitude most of the time. I think it's just cynicism disguised as defeatism. When I want something, I try to do everything I can think of to get it. It doesn't always work out, but I won't let anyone say I didn't try. Once I decide on something, I have to see it to fruition, in a almost manic fashion. I can't really relax until it is completed. But the relaxation doesn't last long, then it is on to the next goal. I think I do enjoy the thrill of the hunt, but sometimes, you really do have to eat. I realize that I get on these hare-brained tangents and won't relent until it reaches a breaking point at some place in the spectrum. Sometimes, you just want to speed, and even if you want to slow down, something stops you, something won't let you hit the brake. Sometimes I think I never really turned 19, that I am perpetually stuck in my 18-year old mentality forever, which isn't so bad, if you can find someone else like you. I have what I am calling a Pietra Pan complex, a Peter Pan complex for girls tinged with sexual undertones. I keep trying to let others make the decisions for me, I can see that now, what others may call laid-back or agreeable I have decoded as indecision and cowardice. I had the best thought yesterday, while driving around, which I often do to clear my head. What if I just picked up and left? Not for that long, just a little while. I don't really have any obligations that would prevent me from going, just the cage I put myself in. I really just want to drive to San Francisco, just literally throw some stuff in a bag and start driving. I am adamant in this next statement; if someone were with me in the car right at that moment and agreed to go, I swear I would have gone. It felt so good to have that impulsive thought and not have any nagging feelings to fend off. I seem to be doing too much thinking as it is, and it hasn't served my purposes yet. I felt a freedom in my soul that I haven't felt in forever. Just the thought of it was exhilarating. I miss aimlessness and arbitration, just doing things because they felt right at that exact moment. I know I am getting closer to rediscovering myself as my wanderlust grows. If I had any nerve at all, I would just do it, instead of sitting here writing about it. People would think I am even crazier than they once imagined, but then again, no one has ever accused me of being boring. Just the thought of my parents faces makes me want to do it. As they silently shake their head in exasperation, exchanging knowing looks, leaving my husband to have to explain why I leaped off the deep end. It definitely makes me smile, I like toying with that idea.

Drug of Choice

As the cognitive dissonance runs rampant in my brain, I am forced to acknowledge the crossroads I have brought myself to. I have always been a person pushed to extremes, either rigid, puritanical and practically hermetic, or completely impulsive and uninhibited, with no regard for consequences. I can never quite get a handle on the things I want from my life. I am horribly indecisive, even at trivial things, yet so sure of myself and my convictions, bordering on obstinate. I know I am too often times in my head, and not really experiencing the things that are actually going on right in front of me. Very few people are able to draw me into the moment, as I can't seem to do it myself. There are a few times in my life where I genuinely rebelled, against, at the time, oppressive forces, for a teenager, anyway. But now, it just seems silly to rebel at 27, against what exactly? All of my choices since that time have been solely my own, no one to scapegoat my guilt onto, like before. That leaves me in a bit of an existential crisis. Where am I am going, what am I am going to do, what is going to make me happy? Sometimes, I wonder if anything will ever make me happy for more than a brief period. Maybe life isn't supposed to have an everlasting happiness. Life is just an amalgamation of all the little tastes of happiness, just so one doesn't get too complacent. As Denis Leary says "the chocolate chip cookies" of life. At first glance, a giant, warm chocolate chip cookie looks so inviting and satisfying. The aroma is intoxicating and leads you right to it, you take the first bite, and can't believe how delicious it is, and maybe for a minute you are content. As you continue eating the cookie, each bite more filling than the last, your stomach begins to distend and all of the exhilaration of eating the cookie drains away. You start to feel nauseous towards the end and you really never want to see a cookie again. I feel like that is how I react to every situation in my life. But then again, I think complacency is much worse. With complacency comes resentment and eventually hate. Complacency creates such an environment that you can never really get out of it. It only compounds exponentially. When complacency hits me, I feel like I am suspended in some sort of viscose jelly, I have the ability to move, but it just takes so much effort that I don't even bother. I don't want to live like that anymore. But the alternative for me has always been running wild and never slowing down long enough to think about what I am doing. Is there any compromise for me? It hasn't been the case thus far.

Because I am so wired all the time, with my thoughts always racing a mile a minute, I tend to be anxious, which can sometimes be interpreted as excitement. It's the same processes and neurotransmitters that work for both emotions. To me the absence of anxiety/excitement is depression. I don't know what to do with myself, when my anxiety temporarily recedes. I've grown so accustomed to it, that it is more difficult for me to be without it. I can, for the most part, handle the anxiety and translate it into other activities, but without that energy, I really don't know what to do with myself. I guess that's why the middle of the road has never really been for me. I could never settle for mediocrity in any aspect of my life. That lends itself to my perfectionist attitude that permeates everything I attempt. Once you have experienced the highest highs, it's hard to go back to ordinary, even though what comes with it, inevitably, are the lowest lows. Every time, I always claim it is worth it, though. It seems kind of ridiculous, from the outside, to continually set yourself up for a fall, just to experience that apex for a second, but I still contend that it is worth it. The pain is immense down in the valley, but the summit is so overwhelmingly beautiful. It is a complex and taxing way to live, but every so often I summon up the courage to start climbing again. The alternative is no place for me, indifference is the most horrible emotion in the world. It is so useless, and depressing.

I have always been able to get high on my emotions, I never needed drugs or alcohol. In fact, the dozen or so times I have smoked weed, I never actually got high, and when I drink, my demeanor never really changes. Whatever drugs do to other people, is already permanently turned on in me. But my drug of choice has always and will always be love/lust. As of late, I have compartmentalized love and lust. They absolutely have grown to represent the 2 halves of my personality, my dual nature, the puritanical represented by love, and the uninhibited represented by lust. Needless to say, it only creates problems in my relationship with my husband. I find it very hard to reconcile the 2, so it leaves me without much sexual attraction to him, which kills me inside, and I know kills him. He is an amazing man, and friend, hands down, the best person I have ever met, I admire him more than anyone, and I never want to lose him as a part of my life. I don't want to hurt him, but I feel like he deserves better than me and my neurotic nonsense. He needs someone that can admire him and make love to him with their whole heart. And, honestly, I am not usually this selfish, but lately I have been thinking how I want someone that can connect the 2 halves of my subconscious. I so want it to be him, but I just don't know if it is, anymore. I need that white hot passion to survive, I am addicted. Maybe, once I had it, but as it leaned toward the love side, I pulled away, something I will never forgive myself for. I got scared and ran away, which just isn't how I want to be. Vulnerability is very hard to contend with. I often think of a Mark Twain quote about how when looking back you will regret the things you didn't do, much more than the things you did. I think that is the theme of my existential crisis.

I have been doing a lot of contemplating, and I have come to the realization that I need that electricity, that fire that comes from connecting with someone in that way. Everything else just pales in comparison, to that excited feeling that flutters in your stomach, the little tingle that runs down your back, that spark when they touch your hand. I need someone to reconcile my compartmentalized love and lust. If I can find that person, then maybe I can be happy, even for just a blink of an eye. Maybe monogamy isn't supposed to exist, just a fairy-tale notion perpetuated by millions of unhappy people that want you to join their ranks. Unmarried men are characterized as sleazy playboys with a Peter Pan complex, and unmarried women are cast as unlovable spinsters with nothing to offer the opposite sex. I don't know how long even the best relationships are supposed to last, it's hard to keep the fire going for so long. It's so much work that the fun drains away. Falling in love is the absolute pinnacle of existence, the best feeling ever felt, but falling out of love is so gut-wrenching, especially when there is no big falling out, just an almost imperceptible fading that could only be recognized so far after the fact, like an old photograph of yourself.

I know I want something more than this. After you have had a taste of how amazing it can be, it's hard to want anything less. Maybe this increasingly taxing venture will help me put things into perspective and lead me to the answers I am looking for. I know I want something more than this.

A Faraway Notion

I keep searching the faces in the crowd, but I can never quite come upon you. There is something to be said about effortlessness, simultaneously at ease and exhilarated, the perfect amount of tenderness and depravity. We made it seem so easy, so natural, but yet it only added to the dynamic tension, constantly building up, but never boiling over. I remember the air to be so thick and stifling, it enveloped us, suspending us on an ethereal plane, that we could never know. Is that all there is to hope for, one intense fiery passion that burns so hot and fast, melting everything in its path, leaving nothing but cinder and memory? All that exists now is a cruel tease, where I hang on your every word, like a foolish, mesmerized child. Knowing it so close that I could almost reach out and touch, but it continues to elude my grasp, making me desire it all the more. Though my emotion is crushing and lovely, do I really want to discover what is behind the curtain? Maybe the fantasy is more poignant than reality. My world remains humorless despite my best efforts.

Bittersweet: That's right, an enitre blog post devoted to ramblings about Bob Seger

Recently, Bob Seger announced he was going back on tour, of course hitting his hometown crowd. My first instincts were to immediately nab tickets using any means necessary, punching, stealing, whatever deplorable form of human behavior it took. But upon further contemplation, I wondered if I shouldn't go at all. Would it ruin some imaginary, far-away image I've held in my head for so long? An image of long brunette hair swaying to the beat, dark full beard and youthful aura. Not a graying old man with a paunch and glasses. It is one of the pitfalls of liking music 40 years too late, you never get to experience it in its prime. It is sad to see an aging musician that you know once was great. On the Grammy's a few weeks ago, Mick Jagger performed and it was a little painful. It was Mick Jagger, so it was still cool, but you could tell his voice wasn't what it was once was, cracking and panting. Now it didn't really shatter any illusions I'd had about the Rolling Stones, because I never had any illusions to shatter. (And The Stones have been a mainstay on the concert circuit and never far from the public eye.) But Bob Seger on the other hand, is an entirely different matter. I've had an unrequited love affair with Seger's music since I was 6 and would play "Old Time Rock and Roll" on 45 in my basement. I've since expanded my Seger collection to something a little more substantial, but it was a good place to start. I just wonder if seeing him, in person would somehow muddy the deeply personal experiences I've already had with and to his music.

My mother was a suburban hippie in her day and I guess that must have been embedded in my faded, embroidered genes somewhere. We would listen to classic rock stations in the car on the way to anywhere and she would sing and bop along to the music. It just seeped in to my subconscious. It became a defining part of me, my love of music. It is something I have a deep interest in, not just a casual fan; an ardent fanatic. I love music for it's incredible ability to make you feel. I can be brought to tears or laugh hysterically and every emotion in between. It can instantly change your mood or it can suit the mood you are in already. Music, hands down, has to be mankind's crowning achievement. It is so powerful and can reach so many. You realize that there are other people out there going through what you are going through, and you don't have to feel so singular. You can identify with them and take a little comfort in that.

Bob Seger came into the forefront of my musical repertoire during my angst ridden teenage years, where I inevitably rebelled. Seger's music is filled with themes about escaping, just getting the hell out, hitting the road, feeling free. Things, I think a lot of people could relate to, but in my case it was very specific. My parents weren't around a lot because they worked long and odd hours to provide for my brother and I, so we were left with my paternal grandmother, who as succinctly as I can put this, wasn't a very nice person. I was mentally and emotionally abused by her. (Of course at the time I didn't know the terminology, I just knew she was awful, but how awful, manipulative, and calculating, I wouldn't find out until much later. I feel the need to note, I am glossing over a lot of pain here.) My parents didn't really know half of what went on and a lot of times she would put on a big act in front of them anyway, so it didn't really matter. So by the time I got old enough to know I didn't have to take that shit anymore, I was ready to rebel. In what way, I had no idea, but music was a good escape. I had these desperate fantasies where I would get in the car and just start driving, driving to anywhere, anywhere that wasn't home. Seger's music was the perfect soundtrack to that idea; songs like "Roll Me Away" or "Hollywood Nights." It was the closest I could get to actually leaving. And so my love of Bob Seger's music grew greater still.

As I was getting to be a legal adult in age, so I felt I was getting to be an adult emotionally as well. I was 18, knew everything and couldn't be told what to do for a minute. It was my second rebellious spurt (one of many, I've found) and I wasn't going to squander it. I filled it with new experiences and thrill-seeking behaviors, the likes of which, I fear, will never be rivaled. I came of age that summer, to put it delicately. And once again, Bob Seger's music led the soundtrack of my life; "Turn the Page", "You'll Accompany Me," and especially "Night Moves." I remember the night moves too.
"We were just young and restless and bored/Living by the sword/And we'd steal away every chance we could/To the backroom, the alley, the trusty woods/I used her she used me/But neither one cared/We were getting our share."
This particular lyric pretty much sums it up for me. It's beautifully poetic in it's simplicity. It captures an exact moment in my life so perfectly that I don't think I could ever have improved upon it.

Then a few years later, I found myself not necessarily rebellious, but lost. I'd somehow managed to lose sight of myself, who I was at my very core, that person who was once so sure of herself, so confident, was no where to be seen. I was just sort of floating along, with no real purpose or direction. I needed something to connect me to my former self. That's when I found "Stranger in Town." I think Seger's most accomplished and undervalued album. He had a few hits on it of course, one of which was none other than "Old Time Rock and Roll", but it was the ones I'd never heard before that were so much more intriguing. They weren't just novel, they were masterful, exciting and full of energy. "Feel Like a Number" is not just an up-tempo dance tune, it's wholly relatable to anyone whoever felt like just another face in the crowd, no one important, just background, and wanted to bust out of their little world. "Brave Strangers" is another B-side that deserves recognition. It is very reminiscent of "Night Moves" but doesn't have the emotional attachment needed for me to elevate a song from great to part of me. Maybe some day it will. I don't mind staying hungry though. There is something fantastic about insatiability, it can really motivate. Though this album didn't have the emotionality I so fervently seek in my music it did help me get back on track to rediscovering myself. It took a while, years even, but I feel like I am getting most of myself back. It is an ongoing challenge. I don't feel as unrecognizable as before.

Listening to his music still has an effect on me. I find myself smiling, or remembering, sometimes I realize my cheek is wet and stained with tears. It makes me elated and devastated, and more often than not, all at the same time. The great thing about these songs is no matter what changes take place all around me, they are still going to be those same lyrics, those same notes; they remain a constant in chaos. There is a drawback to being so emotionally involved with any particular music. I tend to only listen to it when I want to feel those feelings and remember those times, which isn't that often. But when I do, I know those songs are there, ready and waiting for me to feel them. Again.

"They are often about people who are trying to find their way through a world that has proven more complex, challenging and perhaps even dangerous than they could have imagined. Innocence drains away, and what's left is a combination of knowledge, experience and an aching nostalgia for something that has been lost along the way and must be recovered. His characters cross a line, frequently without realizing it, like a car passing over an invisible borderline at night. By the time they figure out that they are no longer in the world they knew, that world is simply a receding image in the rear-view mirror. Getting back to it isn't always easy. Sometimes it's not possible." - Excerpt from a review of Bob Seger's music on his official website.
I cannot emphasize enough how this exactly describes the breadth of Bob Seger's work and the hard to finger emotion that comes along with it.

Kissing and Telling: A Comical Jaunt Down the Road of Boyfriends Past

I like to temper my political rantings with something a little more frivolous, so I thought I would take a look at my dating record with some of the weirdest, cheesiest (literally for one ungraceful fellow) and neurotic bastards to ever walk the streets. I can't say that I have dated a ton of guys, but the majority of them have been freakish at best. The worst (best) ones never having a second date, but left me with plenty of comedic material to choke a large farm animal (which a couple of them were.) The odd part is, I don't find very many people attractive, it's a curious problem to have. I tend to like a guy with some unique or pronounced physical feature. It could be anything really, like crazy hair or a very prominent eyebrow ridge, like a neanderthal (I really like this and have no idea why. It must be a holdover from my ancestral past.) Other than that, it all lies in the personality aspects. Attraction for me is 99% mental, which I think is hard for some to grasp. Any 2 people can hump like animals in the zoo instinctively, but it's that mental connection that sets humans apart. The elusive "mind fuck" is a lot harder to achieve, than a quick orgasm (probably faked on the woman's part) in the stall of a nightclub bathroom. One thing I can proudly proclaim is that I have never used men to validate my existence or some wavering self-esteem issue. Anyone I chose to spend my time with, intimately, merited it on some level.

But where to start this egregious gravy train of depravity? There were so many deliciously bad dates and crazy guys. Let's start with the line cook from one of the shitty restaurants I worked at. We'll call him "Sh-rian." We were work friends for a quite a while before we ever went out. He had a girlfriend (who hated me) I had a boyfriend and so on. They eventually broke up the same time my boyfriend and I took a break, so he finally asked me out. At work, he was seemingly normal, but Rule Number 1 of the restaurant biz, nobody that works there is normal. This proved undeniably true as time went on. It wasn't bad at first, he was funny, nice, and could hold a conversation, but he couldn't kiss for anything, something I was willing, but shouldn't have overlooked. It's too good an indicator of compatibility. He was going to college full-time, so he wasn't going to stay a lowly line cook forever. But that all changed the night we decided to play a seemingly innocent game of Trivial Pursuit in his parents basement. Being my usual charming self, I engaged in a little pre-game trash talk about how I was going to kick his ass at this game, which he quickly refuted with a resounding and zealous "Yeah right," with an apparent air of smugness that would later come back to disgrace him. (Now at this point, I feel I must interject something, as I said he was going to college whilst working as a line cook, with all of the other line cooks having that as their main profession. So I think he thought a little highly of himself, thinking he was better than every else at the restaurant. He also was one of those guys that because he got straight B's in high school thought he was smarter than every one else too. He had big fish in a little pond syndrome. Complete pseudo-intellectual.) Anyway, I proceeded to kick his ass as promised and he was clearly emasculated and just plain pissed. I have never been one to let someone win, it's just not in my nature. I do have an animalistic competitive streak that's hard to quell. Anyway, he pretty much begged for a rematch, to which I could not refuse, it was too pitiful or something. So we played again, and again I started winning. At this point I made a conscious, albeit, ridiculous decision to throw the game. I was going to start answering the questions incorrectly, but somehow what I thought were incorrect guesses turned out to be the right answers and I widened the gap even more. The board game stars were just aligned against him from the jump. It became very tense and uncomfortable. I just wanted to stop, but he wouldn't relent. So I just won as fast as I could, so we could do something else. After it seemed like he was just as relieved as I, but ahh, no. For the next 3 nights in a row he made me play Trivial Pursuit with him. And I kid you not, I beat him every single time, even when I was trying to throw the game. Finally, mercifully, he wanted to play something else. He challenged me to a game of pool, which I knew I sucked at. I really am bad, there's no denying that, and I was playing badly. He was winning the entire time and his whole demeanor changed. Smiling, laughing, practically giddy and wholly cavalier. But then, when he only had 2 balls left, the 5 ball and that self-righteous little asshole the 8 ball. He missed the 5 shot and accidentally sunk the 8 ball instead, making me the incredulous winner by default. Well, that was pretty much it for me and "Sh-rian." He broke it off soon after. I knew it was coming, that couldn't be good for such an insecure guy's ego. At least I get to say that someone once broke up with me over losing (repeatedly) at Trivial Pursuit (an apropos title for our relationship.) But it is the, I'm sure, lovely ladies that followed that I feel bad for because Trivial Pursuit wasn't the only thing he was bad at.

Moving right along, let's take a look at someone I am only going to call "The Virgin." Yes, that's right. He was 28 and honestly, very good looking. He looked like an asexual Jim Morrison. But God, was this kid messed up. He lived in his mom's basement for starter's, smoked a lot of weed, which at one point when I said I couldn't be his girlfriend, he said he would give it up for me. (That is romantic. Fuck.) He had the emotional capacity of a rutabaga, and maybe that's even giving him too much credit. He was addicted to video games and had a weekly standing appointment to play D & D. But I mean really when you live in your mom's basement and have a part-time job folding girl's jeans on the night shift at Holister Co. because your vacuous stares would scare customers away, what else could you possibly be into? I should have known better, when I met him at Macomb "Mall," where he pretended to work at American Eagle just to talk to me. He once left me this crazy voicemail, where he used a computerized voice changer to pretend he was the St. Clair Shores Public Library message service telling me I was going to be in big trouble if I didn't return my severely overdue library book. What the fuck? (For the record, I have never been to the SCP Library.) Whenever we would even get slightly amorous, even when he initiated it, he would end up recoiling in terror. Yeah, needless to say, that didn't last too long. Oh, and he wore a lot of scarves.

Then there was the absolute worst/funniest date, maybe in the history of dates. This guy; let's call him "Sh-ominic" was a bouncer at restaurant who liked to suck on moist, limp stogies. He was completely bald with a shitty black goatee that really rounded out his dented melon-like head. I am pretty sure he had man-boobs and slightly smelled. Now, you may be asking yourself, why would a fine, upstanding gal, like myself, go out with such an obvious, cretinous douche bag? Long story short, my boyfriend had just broken up with me which left me really depressed and I would pretty much do anything to repress that literal aching in my chest for any extended period of time. So I reluctantly agreed to go on a date with this ape-man (which I feel kind of bad saying because I really like apes.) He told me to dress up because we were going to some fancy restaurant, that I can't quite recall now. Anyway, right before I was going to leave to meet him there, he tells me that he couldn't pick up his check for some odd reason and if it was all right if we went to some place more low-key (low-key=cheap.) Honestly, I didn't even care in the first place where we went, or even if he showed up at that point, so I said sure, wherever is fine, but I didn't have time to change so off to Applebee's I went, terribly overdressed. But he didn't have to worry because his idea of dressing up was baggy carpenter jeans and an ill-fitting sheer baby blue polo (that I would hear all about later) stretched over his beer gut. The evening was off to an auspicious start. At first it wasn't so incredibly horrendous, I can hold a conversation with just about anyone, but as the night wore on, and more and more light beer got drained down his gullet, he kept interrupting the conversation to check some arbitrary sports score on the bar T.V. or to let out some sort of primal grunt when a player missed a basket. In between grunts and "Hold on a second's" he did manage to reveal that he likes to smoke opium laced joints and coach peewee football. Simultaneously? Perhaps. Then at one point when he was eating his hot ham and liquid cheese sandwich or heart attack between bread, he squished his sandwich just so, that the stream of molten cheese shot out onto his very classy polo shirt. He flew off the handle, cursing himself repeatedly for being so clumsy and such a slob. He was desperately trying to get the stain out for what seemed like hours, continually getting more irate. "I got this shirt at Structure, this was a really expensive shirt. [$29.95?] I can't believe I did this. This is so embarrassing. God, I'm an idiot. I really like this shirt..." and so on. I wanted to leave so badly. Finally, after I scarfed my Honey-Glazed Chicken as fast as I could possibly swallow, we left. We got out to the parking lot, where he then asked me if I have ever ridden in a Jeep Wrangler before. And I was so impressed. A Jeep Wrangler, oh fuck, a car with plastic windows, that is exciting. You are one fine hunk of man, with your cheese stain, Jeep Wrangler and troglodyte mentality. But the ride in the Jeep would prove to be the most rewarding part of the evening. We started to talk inevitably about past relationships where I said "I guess I am confused about relationships at this point. I don't know what I want anymore," or something to that affect. Then came the part that made the entire disaster of night worthwhile. He, in all earnest, asked me the following question; "So do you think you might be a lesbian?" Under normal circumstances I would have tried not laugh, but it was too hilarious and I lost all control, I just laughed viscerally right in his face. Yet he seemed completely unfazed by this. In my head I was thinking, "After tonight, I just may be heading in that direction." After that, I asked him to take me back to my car and I ran out of the Jeep Wrangler so fast without so much as a handshake. But on the bright side, at least the sandwich got off. Needless to say, I never took his calls again, but a few months later, my friend and I were out and saw him working the door at the restaurant he bounced at. I intentionally crossed the street to avoid him, but alas, he spotted me. Later that night I received a string of phone calls from him, which went on throughout the weekend. Finally on Sunday night, I answered the phone, after like the 15th call. All he says is "Bitch" in this hardly audible voice and then hangs up. I laughed for like an hour. I didn't think this guy could get any funnier, and yet he showed me up again.

There have been a few others, not quite as insanely ridiculous as "Sh-ominic," but still noteworthy. There was "Sh-max" who was an all right guy, forgiving the fully acoustic serenade of Led Zeppelin's "Over the Hills and Far Away" he intently sang to me, but when we started making out in his room, he said he had to tell me something. Oh no, no good can come of this. He then drops this little gem, "I just wanted to let you know that my 'size' might not be as big as you are used to." What the fuck?!? Who says that? How would he know anyway? I pretended to be nauseous, (maybe I wasn't pretending) just so I could get the fuck out of there. Then there was "Mark McGrath." I don't remember his real name, but he looked just like the lead singer of the shitty band Sugar Ray. When I found out his favorite movie was "How High" after quite possibly the longest belch I have ever witnessed, I knew it could never be. I distinctly recall driving somewhere when a creepy, scraggly guy in the molester van next to me held up a home-made sign, that he obviously uses often, that said "I like your tits." At least he was succinct. Or the valet parking attendant that just stepped out of an 80's cop drama with his full blond beard and gold-hoop earring who asked me where he knew me from. I had never seen him before, but he kept persisting until he finally exclaimed: "I know where I know you from. Don't you work at Stiletto's?" With so many fucking weirdos out there, it still amazes me that I ever found any normal ones. This handful of head cases were just the tip of the psycho iceberg, but they were definitely the most horribly memorable. At least I can still have a few laughs at their expense. So here's to you neurotic ex-boyfriends.

The Anatomy of Oppression

I have been thinking a lot lately about Proposition 8 in California, mainly because it has been splashed all over the headlines, but also because there have been many documentary films on the subject playing on Demand. It has become a hot-button issue, particularly because you would think a progressive, democratic-voting state like California, home to what many consider a LGBT flagship city to be a little more empathetic to the plight of gay marriage (or at least not care enough to vote against it.) It seems strange, but sort of expected that "marriage advocacy groups" from other states would even care what California does with their laws and their people, but it seems that they had gotten their point across. Now with the possibility of overturning the law for good looming ahead, things could get even stickier. I can't see the groups that advocated Prop 8 in the first place just giving in. And if the thousands of abhorrent comments after the Yahoo! News articles on the subject are any indicator, it's going to be a long road to forge.

I guess I am not sure why public opinion is so unfavorable to the thought of gay marriage. Four other states have already passed it without too much fanfare. The fact that Prop 8 did pass in California (even though it should have easily been defeated) leads me to believe there was some other driving force behind the bill. In the movie "8: The Mormon Proposition" it reports that the LDS Church spent around 22 million dollars to get Prop 8 passed in California, mostly from donations from their parishioners. 22 million dollars. Let that sink in a little. Over the course of just under a year, they managed to raise 22 million dollars, all in the name of disenfranchisement. This wasn't 22 million dollars to build a new school, feed starving peoples of third world countries, start community outreach programs for at risk youths, or money to build a homeless shelter, this was purely money to take a fundamental constitutional right away from tens of thousands of people. To me, that's sick. 22 million dollars that could have went to helping the impoverished went to preventing the happiness of those whom they've never even met. To be honest, I think Jesus would have been disappointed.

Besides the money issue, there is that whole "hate" thing. By now allowing gay marriage in all 50 states, not just California it breeds a hatred and contempt for the LGBT community. It implies that that "Yes we put up with your sinful ways because this is America and we have all that freedom crap, blah, blah, blah, but we, deep down, don't agree with what you're doing and think there should be limits to your excess." To me that's the nicest message it sends, I think to others who already want to see being gay as "wrong" or a "blasphemous choice" then I think it tells that it is okay to hate this entire group of people because they are different and that difference may just rub off on you! Sometimes when I am feeling low about the state of affairs in the U.S., I like to think about one of Freud's defense mechanisms. A little gem called Reaction Formation. "In psychoanalytic theory, reaction formation is a defensive process in which anxiety-producing or unacceptable emotions and impulses are mastered by exaggeration (hypertrophy) of the directly opposing tendency." So basically when someone, has a subconscious emotional response to a stimuli that the person (due to religion or upbringing) or society may deem unacceptable, they tend to go overboard in thinking the exact opposite. For example, if a person, let's say a right wing Republican, often speaks out against a certain cause, again and again, lets say gay marriage, some, let's say one with half a brain, might say that he is using reaction formation as a defense mechanism to cover-up his latent homosexual tendencies, let's say Senator Larry Craig. I thought it was just me who seemed to notice the disproportionate number of closeted gay Republicans in the U.S. congress until they finally made a documentary on it; "Outrage." The stupid part is, I don't think people would care as much if they were just honest from jump street. It's the lying and the hypocrisy that makes me angry. Who cares if they are LGBT, if they do a good job as our representative? It's the same with gays in the military. Why do I care what someone, who is doing an extremely dangerous job to protect all of us whiny Americans back home, (that I would personally never even consider) does in their free time? I don't care if they like to corn hole endangered species in their spare time, as long as that means I don't have to go and fight. (Besides the whole, it's okay to kill civilians as part of my job, but having sex with a man, now that's disgusting!)

Another interesting point I would like to offer is the minority groups that are against gay marriage. I find this incredibly hard to swallow. African Americans, Native Americans, Mexicans, immigrants, and women were all disenfranchised at one point or another in our American history and still are to varying degrees today. Even though we have made important (albeit seemingly obvious) strides to correct these oppressive forces, like Emancipation, Suffrage, Women's Liberation and the Civil Rights Movement, it seems like we are going 2 steps back sometimes. It's like none of the monumental occasions ever even happened; ancient history. We should feel some brother/sisterhood with the LGBT movement, for without people like them that stood up for our rights not so long ago, I would not have the right to vote and would still have to take orders from my husband in order to be a "good little wife." African American marriages weren't recognized by the U.S. at one time too, slaves didn't need to marry, they were commodities like cattle or tobacco. But deep down we knew this repugnant view wasn't right, there is no way any human being should be treated like this, so unforgivably mistreated. At another high point in American history, interracial marriage wasn't allowed. We look back on that now and see how ridiculous that was. So I find it hard to see why any minority group wouldn't side with allowing gay marriage. They have been there, stood in that exact same spot before them, but yet why can't they see? Are they honestly that naive to think that somehow their struggle doesn't parallel their own? Are the too steeped in blind faith and literal interpretations of select parts of the Bible? Are they just being duped by the age-old white male power structure that even after all these years still seems to rule the country? Or is it something more visceral? Some sort of subconscious need to oppress another group, as they have been oppressed. An involuntary need to feel like they are on the inside looking out now, a twisted Stockholm Syndrome, where the oppressed emulates the oppressor. It is unnerving to me to think that old stodgy white males still have a certain power over us, they control the largest corporations, the banks, the government, not that much seems to have changed. Every now and again they throw us a little scrap to keep us just complacent enough not to up rise.

Marriage between any 2 human beings is a fundamental right. A popular vote can't take away a fundamental right. I think we should start an initiative that says all people with tattoos are not allowed to marry because they have desecrated the body that God gave them and are no longer worthy of the sacrament of marriage. Once that passes with all the money we throw at it we can start making all kinds of judgemental, arbitrary laws. Prop 8 should have been overturned no matter what, even if the judge is gay, that doesn't mean Prop 8 was ever constitutional. When a Republican appointed by George W. Bush to be Solicitor General says Proposition 8 is unconstitutional, that should make people take notice. Here is a man not letting his emotional feelings about gay marriage, whatever they may be, or his political party's, get in the way of the law. Being gay is not wrong, or sinful, or anything really. It shouldn't define a person, but with so much degradation and hate, it is doing just that. Being gay is not a sickness, a contagious disease, or a choice. Gay people are actually born that way. Many scientific studies have been done on this hypothesis and there have been some conclusive findings. It comes down to the levels of prenatal hormones in the womb during brain development in the fetus. They found statistically significant hormone level differences in those of gay males versus straight males. The AMA, APA and AASW all find that sexual orientation is not a treatable medical condition, it is just an individual variation, just like blue eyes or brown hair. Gay and lesbian sex has been going on for thousands of years. I laugh every time some high-brow asshole says he is going to a symposium. It does occur in the animal kingdom as well. One notable species; the bonobos often have male on male and female on female sex, as well as free for all orgies to pass the time (mainly in captivity.) So it is not unnatural or even a new concept, but gay marriage isn't about sex. It's about love. Why can't 2 people that love each other make an official, state-recognized commitment? Why do they have to settle for those bullshit "civil unions?" Those are just ludicrous. You can't take our word "marriage," but we'll throw you a bone to get you off our backs, here, have a civil union. People sure do have some audacity to go around telling others what they can and can't do, especially those same people who believe in a "smaller government."

Religion has a big part to play in all of this. For as much good as religion, like helping the needy, comforting the weary, or giving some kind of spiritual guidance to reformed inmates, they do equally as much or more detriment to society in the long run. The teachings of Jesus were very good in theory, just like Karl Marx and Communism, but in practice, it loses something in translation. People can too easily convolute and twist the lessons around to fit their own indulgent and often nefarious purposes. Religions tend to harbor archaic and often dangerous attitudes about "outsiders," even though that's exactly the kind of thing that Jesus preached against and was to a certain degree. I tend not to trust huge corporations whose only interest is to bilk money out of me. I sometimes like to think about the people at the top of these huge corporate heaps. Do they actually believe the shit they are peddling or do they just sit in their mahogany lined offices and laugh?
I hope that soon, the LGBT community will enjoy all the rights that are given to all other Americans. And if the politicians up in Washington stopped politicking for just a second, maybe they could follow their moral compass, and do what they know in their hearts and by law is right.

An Overwhelming Love

Sometimes I just can't exactly explain how much I love you. Sometimes these waves just wash over me, not just my mind, but my whole body. I feel this intense emotion, I guess which can only be described as mind-blowing love. There is a literal sensation that sweeps across my entire body, muscles contract, my eyes narrow, my extremities actually tingle and my jaw clenches. It is really strange. I have to wonder if anyone else experiences this. The funny part is, that half the time it is when you aren't even around. I can just listen to a song, maybe one I've never even heard before and my mind just reels. I get this flood of images, emotions, memories, fantasies about our life together, all at once. Things I used to feel, things I still feel, and things I want to experience with you. It's sort of like a climax that was pushed a little too long. It feels amazing, but it hurts a little too. Sometimes it is simply too much. Especially sitting alone somewhere, only with my swirling thoughts to comfort me. For me, who never seems to be at a loss for words, I can always come up with something to say, a way to describe, but it is increasingly difficult to articulate how much exactly I love you. It is so much more than love, it's an admiration, respect, caring, longing, loathing, jealous, pining, devotion, lusting, completely encompassing emotional whirlwind, that this laundry list of words could never accurately describe. It is the kind of love that just makes you want to squeeze someone forever. I don't know why, but when I am feeling this particular way, which always comes on suddenly and unexpectedly, the only thing I can think to do is squeeze you as hard as I can. I have no idea why I equate this fantastically crushing emotional cocktail with squeezing, but for some odd reason, I do. It somehow, in my subconscience, must be transfering all those things I can't articulate to you verbally through a nonsensical physical act. I wonder if you ever feel that way about me, this overwhelming sense of something you just can't quite finger. I thought the mundane quality of our day-to-day lives somehow diminished our sense of intense romantic love, but when this emotional downpour rains over me, it reminds me that our first few months of falling in love, those first few minutes, seconds even, are all still there, emblazoned in my mind and heart forever, waiting to be felt again, whenever my subconscience decides necessary.