28 March 2009

I knew it

"Better to have loved and lost/Than never to have loved at all," is a line from a poem so overused it has transcended itself to phrase-status, which automatically lends itself to Cliche. That being said, for as long as I can remember knowing that phrase (I first remember reading it somewhere when I was 7) I have thought it was absolutely, completely false.
A million people have told me the phrase is true and a million more will continue to tell me. Most people tell me this along with the guarantee that "someday" I will learn. And I realize I am young with less life experience than people who believe in that saying. But I still maintain my original standpoint that to have loved and lost will always be completely worse than never loving at all. After Robert, after Professor Fucker, after Conor, after etc etc etc, I feel that my belief only gets stronger and stronger. So there.

25 March 2009


Some people like sand. Most people don't notice when the ground is particularly sandy or grainy for whatever reason. Most people don't have much of an opinion on sand at all because why should they?
When I was a baby/toddler/kid I would vomit instantly if I touched sand or salt or anything similar, be it with hands or feet. Over time I've learned to control the insta-vomit, but I still have to avoid it. I've been to the beach. Besides the heat and salt water and overall boredom that I feel comes with a beach trip, there is the sand. Usually if I walk on sand now, I can sort of prep myself mentally and gingerly walk and just feel extremely sick. Being older I'm never really in a situation where I have to be on a beach. Although now, of course, I'm in enrolled in the required (for writing, mind you) course of 3D Design, which includes a mandatory field trip to Tybee Island to participate in SCAD's Sand Arts Festival. How does one explain to a teacher that they can't go on a mandatory beach field trip because if they touch sand they throw up? Or should I say, how does one explain this without sounding like a lying jackass?
Today a terrible thing happened. My Nonfiction III class was moved to Wallin Hall. I've had one class there before during the winter of freshman year. When it was cold. When I didn't wear sandals. As it is now springtime I wore sandals today, really cute ones, too. I got to Wallin Hall, expecting class as usual. But when I stepped out of the car, my foot sunk.
I don't know what makes me sicker in these situations: the sand or the dread that comes along with knowing vomit is imminent - not only imminent, but imminent when you're already a minute late for class and will inevitably be made later. I tried to walk as carefully as I could through the parking lot, which suddenly looked fucking huge, but naturally I still got sand in my shoes. The wave of sickness and the nearly uncontrollable need to kick my feet came over me and by the time I walked into class (last one in), red-faced and with a sour throat all I could say was, "The parking lot is full of sand." Luckily my professor was already in the know about my situation and though everyone laughed, I put my stuff down as fast as possible and ran (on my tiptoes so as not to clank down the hall) to the bathroom and just threw up. And throwing up is terrible; the watering of the eyes, the clenching of your abdomen. I felt sick all of the rest of class and could barely pay attention, though we luckily watched a movie. Of course my professor still called on me for something and I was so focused on keeping my stomach settled and trying to keep the feeling of graininess out of my head that I couldn't answer his question with anything besides "I'm trying not to throw up."
I hate throwing up, but there are certain situations that are better than others. When I'm hungover or have food poisoning, I at least feel productive by throwing up. But because of sand? Sand? It's just stupid and useless, a really good way to ruin my class period and the rest of my day.

19 March 2009


Coleman, Goblin Manor, High Life, and hot dogs

Jon bought me a beautiful headdress in Istanbul

Coleman and Charlie cuddle time!

River Street on St. Patrick's Day

Giving Charlie a belly rub

10 March 2009

reasons charlie = me

Over the past few weeks I have discovered that Charlie is basically me, in the form of a male cat.

- Charlie is always ready for sleep. I have long thought my mutant power was the ability sleep at any time in any location and I think Charlie shares this power. I know this seems like average cat behavior but here's an example to illustrate what I'm talking about: yesterday a fly was in my room. Charlie saw it. He was laying on my bed and when the fly flew by him he lifted his paw to swat at it. He missed (the fly was about a yard above him) and fell back. He fell asleep like this within a minute, on his back, one paw extended.
- Charlie likes to cuddle and hold hands. It's almost impossible for me to lay down in my bed without Charlie coming up to snuggle down next to me. He usually ends up sleeping next to me, facing me, head on my pillow, with at least one paw extended out and on me. Also, if I have an open palm, he'll put his little paw into it.
- Charlie is security-conscious. If I leave during the day, when I come back he's on my chair. But if I leave at night, he's always under the bed when I come back. When I walk into my room, he meows from under the bed. If I don't answer him, he stays there but if I do, he comes out.
- Charlie might have OCD. I take medication for my OCD so that I am not constantly shaving my legs but I still have symptoms that come up. Charlie's food is in a dual container, with food on one side and water on the other. Instead of doing that, though, I just put food in both sides and put his water in a separate bowl. Charlie will not start eating the food out of the right side until every piece of food is eaten from the left side. I watch him do this again and again and even tested it by putting a couple of pieces of food in the empty left side. He saw them, stopped eating from the right side, ate the pieces on the left, and then continued on the right.
- Charlie does not have a keen sense of space and distance. Anyone who has seen me park knows that I am not great in judging distance and space. This is evidenced by me parking within inches of the car in front of me, with about 10 feet between my car and the car behind me. I am also bad at judging when it's appropriate to cross the street (in a car or on foot) because I can never quite seem to tell how far away a car is. Charlie seems to be unable to tell where the bed ends and the floor begins. He has fallen off of the bed twice (that I know of) and I nightly have to catch him from rolling off. This always happens in his attempt to get comfortable, which involves rolling over and over again.
- Charlie likes Animal Collective. I play a lot of music in my room that Charlie does not respond to whatsoever. The one artist he does respond to, though, is Animal Collective. The first time he did this I thought it was a fluke. I played a live version of Brother Sport and each time Avey Tare whooped, Charlie sort of squeaked/meowed/whooped back. I played it again and he did it again. When I play Animal Collective or Panda Bear he almost always makes a noise back at the song. So far his favorites seem to be Brother Sport and Bros. Maybe he identifies with brotherly songs?

And just an image to leave you with: this is a picture I took the other morning of Charlie. His face was about three inches from mine. This is what I wake up to almost every morning.

05 March 2009

things I hate in porn

I love porn. Most people know this about me: friends, acquaintances, classmates, professors. I somehow mention to bring it up whenever I can because it's really a great thing. And a truly great thing about porn is there is something for everyone. A single bit of porn, whether it's a full-length movie, an online video clip, a picture, a story, etc usually tries to incorporate more than one element. Example, why have a naked girl giving a naked guy a blowjob when you can go ahead and have a girl in a schoolgirl uniform giving a blowjob to a guy in a suit? There you've got the original goodness of a blowjob with some teacher-student fantasy thrown in for good measure. And really, a porn film is not that different from a standard film. It's hard to find a movie that is completely without fail strictly one genre: a horror movie without any comedy, a comedy without any poignancy, things like that. So it only makes sense that a porn film incorporates more than one genre, it's just that a genre of porn isn't quite the same as a genre of standard film. No matter the plot (if there is one), your average run-of-the-mill heterosexual porn film will almost always contain: oral, vaginal, and anal sex along with a lesbian scene (if the movie knows what it's doing).
I watch a lot of porn. That and everything else being said, watching a lot of porn comes with stumbling across things I don't like nestled in something larger that I do like. I know these elements aren't just there for the hell of it; they do something for somebody. Just not me.
In no particular order, here are some things I hate coming across when trying to enjoy porn:
- Heel sucking. I really don't mind shoe licking. It's not the greatest thing ever, but it doesn't take me out of the moment. What does take me out of the moment is heel sucking. I understand the phallicness of a stiletto heel seems hard to pass up, but when I see this (almost exclusively in lesbian scenes) it just kind of grosses me out. It's a heel, so you know it's not that sanitary. And it's pointy, which just seems dangerous and much more gag-inducing than a penis. It's just kind of gross.
- Giant fucking (usually plastic) shoes. Having sex with shoes on is not unheard of. In porn it can actually be hot (a cheerleader still wearing sneakers comes to mind). But those are only certain situations. In other situations, most situations, having sex while wearing giant, ugly, painful shoes just does not make sense. Wearing them at all hardly makes any sense, but having sex with them on? That's just stupid and implausible, really.
- The wearer of a strapon moaning in pleasure from the strapon getting sucked. This used to just be really confusing to me. I wasn't sure how a strapon worked and I assumed there must something hidden on the other side that, when there is pressure from the attached dildo being sucked, provides pleasure. And maybe that is true on some level, in that the pressure can be pleasureful for the wearer. But it's not a blowjob. It's a strapon, not a penis. Seeing it get sucked might be hot, and yeah sure maybe you moan a little or whatever because of the hotness. But moaning and thrashing around as if it was actual oral sex instead of oral sex performed on a piece of plastic attached to you? Stupid.
- Holding onto a neck during a blowjob.This is an element that I've seen come up in both straight and gay porn and always bothers me. Granted, I know that a good number of people think it's hot, especially since it's usually accompanied with rough sex. But having personally been on the chokee's end, seeing it just reminds me of how shitty it feels to have a hand around your throat while you're extremely preoccupied with a penis going down said throat already.

That's all I can think of right now. I'm sure I'll think of more some other time, but I've done enough damage for one post.

01 March 2009

this was strange

I was turning the corner in Wal-Mart today and ran my cart into another woman's cart. I do this a lot as I am generally not the most coordinated person, especially when trying to navigate a place devoid of space and time with a giant metal contraption. I said, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" and she said, "That's okay!" As we passed each other she held out a $10 bill and said, "Here you go." I knew I had a ten in my wallet and, though I hadn't opened my purse, assumed it had fallen out. I said, "Oh, thanks, did I drop this?" and she just looked at me and said, "No, but I can tell you are a child of Jesus." This really caught me off guard. I said, "What?" and she just nodded knowingly and said, "God bless," and walked away. I checked the bill for drugs or disease-ridden needles but it appears to be a bona-fide $10 bill. I felt a little guilty at first, since I am most definitely not a "child of Jesus" or blessed by God, but it's not like I ever said I was. I was just doin' my thing, trying to get cat litter for Charlie. It's not going to get me to find God all of the sudden, but at least now I have $20 instead of ten.