the loathe of my life

Considering the title to my blog, I feel like it's appropriate to mention things that I loathe, as well as love. With that said, I loathe many things. I loathe mushrooms, I loathe social climbers, I loathe a bad fashion sense. But what I abhor beyond comparison - what I hate with a passion as they say - is my Aunt Jan.

Graduation is tomorrow and as expected, the remaining family that I have will take their seats in the audience. Although I protested, my forceful arguments were weak in nature and I was condemned to the car ride to the airport to pickup half of said family. After listening to her worries of flying, hyperventilation, and not fitting in the seat, Aunt Jan finally made the commitment to come, much to my dismay. I waited impatiently, feeding my annoyance, until my mom decided to go check if the flight was delayed. Suddenly, as if she could read my mother's mind, a voice from behind me as piercing as Karen's on Will and Grace filled my ears. "I'M HERE!" As deep-seated an aversion I have built up to that voice, I may have well built a Great Wall of antipathy to see the upchuck of gold jewelry that hung off her like slobber dripping from a Saint Bernard. Not to mention the clash of the bleach blonde curls that will always take me back to the first words after her new haircut, "Look, now I look like you!" I bit my lip thinking, 'No, just no'. I shuddered as my mom ushered me into an embrace and her lips found the center of my cheek. As her head dipped down to drop her bags, my shoulder instinctively brushed off the residue of her love.

The next 30 minutes in the car were occupied by her never-ending comments, interrupted by my mom's backseat driving, and cut by my silence.

"Well I went to the fresh market and let me tell you... they had some almonds there and you know what, I took some and they were really good. You could get about 8 thin ones and it's only 100 somethin' calories. And you know what, I had to go back and get some more. I just had to go get some more because I know they're healthy for you and they weren't too expensive. So, I decided to go back and get some more."

Oh. My. God.

She continued with Slim Fast bar sloppily in mouth and her lisp as apparent as ever. I know this all sounds awfully mean... of course, I don't loathe her because she's obese. That would just be cruel and juvenile on my part. I loathe her because she's obnoxious, ignorant, and socially inept. But on top of that ... she is obese and continually wastes the money that my mother spends for her to have a trainer. She instead deems it more important to fill her bottomless yearning for tacky rings and useless coins from the home shopping network. 

This conversation continued for at least 10 minutes while she jabbered on about other assorted nuts. When tranquility was finally reached she broke my release of breathe and asked me why I was attending Boston. I didn't bother opening my mouth knowing that I wouldn't get a word in anyway. Sure enough, Aunt Jan chimes in with her bit on the airline fees and all of the money I'm spending by choosing to go to Boston. "I don't know why you didn't choose a closer school." Obviously, I didn't choose the school based on it's prices in the Princeton Review. Obviously, I don't want to make my family spend more money than they have to. But obviously, I'm going to choose the school which gives me the best education and the best atmosphere so I don't end up sitting on my puke green recliner day in and day out in time for my soap operas and TV dinners. Tears bubbled in my eyes as anger mixed with guilt rose in my throat. I glanced in the rear view mirror to make sure I wasn't imagining this and met the eyes of my mother. Aunt Jan adjusted to the side of me and I caught her scent for a split second. 

She smelled of her one story house piled high with unopened magazines, stuffed animals, and a collection of TV guides from the past umpteenth years. I smelt her computer soaking in the shade of a thin layer of dust. I haven't been there in years and still I can smell the one or two workout machines; their only purpose being to take up the minimal space between her television and her beloved refrigerator. She has lived and yet, wastes her time not living at all. She bares the scars of woman who has failed to find happiness by exerting her energy and power. Her barely passing social requisites keep her from noticing my side glances beaming of sarcasm in the direction of the third party. She cannot recognize the meaning of her words just as she cannot recognize her right to forge a new path from the expected.

However, I can't say she hasn't taught me a lot. If no one else, Aunt Jan is the prime example that happiness does not sit quietly by your side throughout life. There are loud moments of hurt when everything else is muted. Happiness is sustained by the choices we make, the people we choose to become close to, and the experiences we learn from.

Graduation is tomorrow and I will walk across the stage and I will place my fingers along that diploma and I will cry and I will be proud. I will make the transition from high school to college and, one can hope, Aunt Jan will make a transition into the polite.

band sneezes

It's the season of the scantily clothed, the bare bosoms, and the peeping toe cleavage. Ahh, sweet summertime. And how can one forget the lovely scent of sweat filling our polluted air, dripping down one's neck, stinging the tongue with salt. Except, herein lies the problem. I have neither seen, smelt, nor tasted any such thing. Instead, my life has been reduced to analyzing the love loop... and believe me, there is such a thing as the love loop. In the middle there is your typical full-fledged lovebirds. Kisses are spewed out like vomit, hands are laced tight by willing fingers, and chairs conform to the shape of two bodies molded together. Further out, the flirty flings play in the undertow. Writhing bodies in secret... strangers in public. And on the outside, barely skimming the edge of the water lies moi, where the miniscule beginnings of a crush make their debut. Where love has no presence and pants fall at the blink of an eye.. (read: sex). I am beginning to find myself enamored by a certain person. Okay, enamored is a strong word. My love is worn and my heart is closed but surely... his zipper is wide open. And if Mr. John Thomas and his two friends don't make an appearance soon.. I'm leaving for Boston early. I kid, I kid. I just really wanted to use the word John Thomas... but seriously. I refuse to spare any more details until further happenings as to avoid a regurgitation of one such Valentine's Day post that I remember writing. Anywho...

Summer is when nothing matters because everyone's drunk off sloppy kisses and high on libido. Laughing becomes hysterical and touches on the shoulder slide to the waist without a second thought. Skirts go up as morals fall down... (one such memory comes to mind but we won't get into that). Although I am perfectly happy being a single flirty female, I wouldn't mind some occasional company. I even pondered for a moment the possibility of seducing a previous boy toy to rid myself of said crush. This is when I realized the heat must have made me delirious. Besides, that would be a bit against my feminist rantings and frankly, I'm not that much in need of some lovin'. 

As far as I'm concerned, a crush might as well be the entrance to a mental institution. It's the torture of whether they know and the questioning of whether there is even something to know. It's wondering if making a move will be a mistake and if it is, is it worth it? It's thinking whether or not  you're good enough. You begin to expect, anticipate, and hope for anything. A graze of the knee, a curve of the lip, even a whisper beside the cheek. An ounce of anything will make your sinking heart feel even a little bit better. My Theory of Knowledge/English teacher described it best when he referred to this feeling  as a "band sneeze". When he was in high school, all of the guys in band class tried to hold this itching desire back but inside they really just wanted it to come (no pun intended). I didn't expect to feel like this. And yet, I lift my head time and time again at the chime of the door after a shitload of Pavlovian conditioning has worked its magic on me. Face after face slips out of my senses just as easily as they slipped in. This door remains a door rather than a portal to some alternate universe where the desperately mundane are drenched in condoms and lingerie. I mumble,

"dance with me!"

but my only reply is the entrance of a woman in a god-awful paisley vest of autumn colors and a creepy man who every now and then makes eye contact with me then goes back to talking to himself. Suddenly, I realize, I'm head first into this love loop of a whirlpool. My vagina was left on the sideline and now I'm only playing with my heart. Someone remind me, how did it get here? How can I so easily fall from lust to like without noticing?

... I'm expecting an eventful summer. I demand an eventful summer. And then... a cloud of white occupying a bald head with streaks of gray lightening. A tan stub sporting a cranberry colored shirt and black shorts. It goes on and on...

Oh lord.

stripping society

I love myself. And not in an arrogant 'I'm the shit' kinda way. But I feel like it's difficult these days for women to like themselves, much less love themselves. In a society where men are told to hide their tears and women are promoted as tokens of success, it's a rarity to find strength and swim against even the simple things like the judgment of someone you may not even like. Or a bad review from someone you may not even know beyond their name on a printed scrap of paper. It's not a secret that our culture can be sexist, women and men alike. And I recognize that I've grown up in an environment where my opinions can come out skewed compared to the mainstream but I'm glad for that. I respect my body, my thoughts, and my soul.

With that said...prom was last weekend.
Body parts were exposed, lap dances were shared (only after multiple shots of tequila), and oh! ass grabbing, pinching, squeezing...I'd keep going but I'm afraid you'd get bored. Of course, I played no role in the aforementioned obscenities... excluding the not-so-stealthy recovery from the assault on my boobs (somehow my dress slipped off my shoulders, no fault of mine). Now you may be thinking I sound quite contradictory: 'Why she was just on the verge of advocating women's rights and now has diverged to a typical day at the playboy mansion.' But let me assure you, this is not the case. There's no doubt that a fine line exists between the sex goddess and the slut but I'd like to think I fall somewhere within the former... ignoring my lack of sexual activity at the moment. I won't deny that I will strut around from time to time, taking notice of the advantageous eye nearby. But I also will not let said advantageous eye have a sneak peak at his private party. One of my friends offered the perspective that for a woman to exhibit her sexuality is only succumbing to what society expects from women. Ironically, he says, by exerting our god given right we have, in turn, fell in our standards. I understand how this makes sense but I also believe that it's an innate feeling to love the recognition of someone else and to exert one's sexuality... to a certain extent... and there's nothing wrong with that. I'm confused whether society expects me to objectify my body as I wrap my legs around a pole or zip my coat up to my eyes. But no matter, I will wear a skimpy outfit and dance around and not be a slut... who knew it was possible. As one of the many caribou junkies says, "That's the reason I believe in God, because only he could make something that beautiful" [referring to the female body]. If only more people could share the same opinion.


So, no, you will not see me with my ass hanging out on the side of a bus. But maybe, if you're lucky, you'll see a man cry.

"she said I think I'll go to Boston"

Two roads diverged in a yellow road, 

And sorry I could not travel both, 

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, 

And having perhaps the better claim, 

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same, 

And both that morning equally

In the leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way, 

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I should be telling this with a sigh 

Somewhere ages and ages hence;

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by, 

And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost