Fighting for Rights is Never a Thing of the Past

Check it--

http://www.lemondrop.com/2009/08/26/for-abused-women-over-here-and-over-there-is-much-the-same/

Moving to the Arctic . . .

Sun showers . . . please come back.

"Ah, summer--what power you have to make us suffer and like it."_ Russell Baker

The heat is like a very tall person (to your small body) standing too close to you (who needs personal space?) on a train or bus during rush hour, with the air conditioning only a dream.

Hangin' at Home

- I kind of want to eat the flowers . . . maybe I should go get some dinner . . .-

~*~

I think I lost my mind a little bit today.

After this "heat wave" came into effect with still no implementation of the beloved air conditioner (being loved somewhere in the corner of a closet), and the ghetto fan that doesn't work and only takes on the appearance and noise of a functioning one (the only kind that seem to exist in my house), I became disgusted with myself and everything around me. So, my solution?

Dust everything.

EVERYthing.

It starts with me organizing my book shelf by actually putting the many books I have lying around my room in the shelf. Yeah, definitely one of my more innovative ideas. And it ended in me dusting every surface and reachable (and sometimes the not-so-easily-reachable) crevice in my room--including the stacks of accumulated newspapers. I swept my damn floor five times because dust loves me so much.

Even sweatier than before (read: loss of sanity and logic), I eagerly welcomed a cool shower and clean (dustless) clothes.

And my friends, who came for a quick visit. The kind of spontaneous no-real-aim-to-see-each other-other-than-being-friends-and-it-being-too-hot-to-doing-anything visit that I love summer for. Pigging out on grapes, apples, cookies, juice, and sweet tea, Ms U, Ms. R and I basically wasted our time. But it was special because it was wasted together (cue Gilmore Girls-esque music).

I learned many a thing today.

1) Dusting should be done as a regular thing and not when the danger of suffocation by dust overload is a possibility.

2) Beat ghetto useless, energy consuming fans to death--it's very therapeutic.

3) Invest in an AC.

4) Ms. R is scary as hell when hyper and in the vicinity of cookies . . . yup, be warned.

Thanks guys for bearing with the heat monster that is my house/room and chilling today :D

Outgrowing the need for Kleenex

Some pics from the impromptu beach trip with Ms. R, T, and U -

Behold the sex that is my beach hair . . . yup, I didn't think so either.

Fuck you Baywatch, and your lies!

Here's T, keeping us safe and defending our territory from the villainous, food-mongering seagulls.

Thanks, Tre.

-On the ride back-

~*~

Having That 1 Guy's "Oranges" on repeat is probably bad for my sanity, but it sounds SO good.

. . . Just like crack sounds reeally good to a crackhead . . .



Whatever. Who could resist lyrics like:


"Sweeter now, but it was sour last night//eyes full of citrus'cause we got into a fruit fight//sweet like candy, with your tongue to the ground. . . "


-and-


"It's never over 'till the fat fruit gets squeezed (XD!!)//we like to lick it but it stung on the lips//get out the glasses and we'll squeeze 'till it stings//so could you hold another urge back like this"

I never thought that lyrics could be so explicit about fruit, let alone oranges--huh . . . maybe I was just too narrow minded to see their appeal in this certain light . . .

Well, moving on to things non-fruitlove oriented, I had a moment of what I assume is a very 'girl moment', a phrase that I have accumulated much disdain for. This moment involved being pushed to the brink of tears by frustration-anger-disappointment-etc-blah-blah all wrapped into one, but keeping it very much contained--either to prevent being openly vulnerable while still in the situation with the option of expressing it in private later or simply not at all. So yes, my teenage years taught me to recognize my emotional limit and to basically keep my emotions in check enough to sift through them at a later time--as long as I get a chance to be alone. But what sucks is when that private moment doesn't come . . . bc sometimes life is a betch like that. Having no detox period in between, I cracked like a fucking dropped egg by one look from my friend, which blew even more bc we were in a public place.

AWESOME.

I wonder what one is supposed to do in that moment--as the one breaking apart and the one watching it happen. Pshh, what I really wonder is it possible to avoid that moment all together, but I highly doubt it is. Oh, well. I guess I'll have to try to be emotionally healthy and address my emotions instead of ignoring them. Childhood was so nice . . .

Anyway, it made me think that if I really believe that crying is not a weakness, given the situation of course, why do I treat it as much when I'm the one tearing up? Especially if other people witness it.

Yes, I got myself out of the original situation with a stone cold resolve that was not one bit faked, so hell yes that's a brownie point for me. But needing that pause to assess the build-up of emotions--and the lack there of resulting in a public display of emotion--pissed me off. And underneath that annoyed anger was disappointment.

I guess control is one of the issues at hand: not being able to let it go or keep it contained enough to express it waaay later (when I'd be alone). Which ties in the embarrassment or shame (okay so I wouldn't go as far as shame bc betch so what if I had a kleenex moment) for losing that control.

I don't know--I felt like a hypocrite for judging myself so harshly, while telling others that it was okay to share the tears and the situation attached to them.

Am I wrong in thinking that the frustration-anger-disappointment-etc-etc-blah-blah combo is expressible in other ways, without crying. Is it plausible to believe that I would outgrow the need for tears (exclusive of extremes like illness or death)?

I wonder if guys have to deal with this introspective-philosophizing crap? If not . . . major penis envy -_-