Almost Midnight and I'm Hungry, so No Cool Title for This One K bye

Today a woman asked i’m sincerity how a Trans Woman, who had been attracted to girl a before they came out and went through hormone therapy would feel about women afterwards. So I began to explain how gender and sexuality are two separate parts of a human, the way gender is expressed does not change who you love, and a few other cool knowledge tidbits to fill in the gaps of her understanding.

The woman had a few "ah-ha!" moments and was really trying to unlearn the patriarchal myths that we all know and love to cry about. I was really loving it, and marveling and the genuine acceptance of others despite not understanding them exactly.

While the woman was asking me what seemed to be the beginning of a really thought provoking question. We were speculating probably ignorantly, as two cisgender people can only do, about many experiences a trans person may go through. How it would feel to have sex with a penis when you don’t feel like a man? Would it be uncomfortable emotionally/mentally speaking? Maybe some people don’t care? Maybe some people do and that’s part of why they get surgery? We were flexing our empathetic muscles and genuinely considering all these things that Trans people may or may not contend with. (Again, ignorant speculation in attempt to understand deeper, I don’t know the answers to any of these things).

She began to ask me if I knew anything about a question she had regarding sex between two non-cisgender heteronormative humans. Then a grown man interrupted her mid-sentence. He had been part of our conversation minutes before. Once our talk turned toward the complexities of sexuality and gender, he fell silent. I had basically forgotten he existed. But after he interrupted her, he was impossible to ignore. In reference to nothing in particular he bursts out, “All I know is that is not normal!”

He did not interrupt angrily, but with that overwhelmed dismissal of a student in Calc 4 lecture, who really has no room in their brain for any more math and kinda implodes. His bug-eyed, disoriented look actually made him look pitiful. I felt that the inner reaches of his being were begging to be freed from the shackles of heteronormative constructs about gender and sexuality. I can neither confirm nor deny whether that intuition was correct. But I can tell you about my experience in navigating the conversation that followed.

“What is not normal?” I inquired.

He huffs, flustered by the lack of vocabulary to state his meaning without being a total turd munching jerk. “That! When you got two people trying to have sex..” Each incomplete phrase he spoke tonally rose, becoming a question before he gave up on the words then tried some different ones.

“I mean it’s just nature for sex to be to reproduce...that’s just how it is…when you don’t have that.. I mean hey you be whoever you want, but that just is not normal...”

Both the man and woman looked at me warily.Neither of them know me well enough to have been sure of how I would respond. But they do know me just enough to know that I would definitely say something about that. .

"Well what is normal?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

Not a word. He his eyes darted left and right, trying to find the answer on the celery green walls behind me. I couldn’t help feeling like I was explaining to my 4 year old cousin why it is mean to snatch his little brother’s toy away from him. He stated with exasperation, arms flinging into the air, as he gestured to us three "This!! This is normal! “

I stared at him almost expressionless. A lot of thoughts and feelings came to me at once. Firstly my babysitter’s sense was tingling, so I braced for the  impending temper tantrum. If I reacted emotionally, then this conversation will go sour very quickly. Secondly, I have to see these people all the so I gotta take care of this nonsense even though I'm kinda freaked out.

Also in that one instant I was confused, then offended, then sad, then hungry, and finally resolute. That is a lot of feelings to manage at once, let me tell ya!

Oh BTW it is pertinent to know at this point that I am queer as a quacking dog. I know a lot of the world doesn’t know that about me. (Like literally not even my parents. Hi mom if you're reading this, we really need bread. I used the last piece for toast this morning. Hey Fred. Um... so I heard you fart in the bathroom this morning. I had to pee, but I didn’t go to the bathroom for like a half hour, despite knowing that it was an illogical aversion. It didn’t smell. The spirit of the fart lingered though, like a flatulent ghost scaring me into ignoring my screaming bladder while I sipped my coffee.)

Anyway, three things occurred to me in that one instant.
1. I could've destroyed this man's argument if I was like, "HA! Not straight. Got you, I win! You have to accept people for who they are from now until you die."
2. I was not in a safe, supportive place to come out
3. The fact that people have to come out is bullshit and dumb and shouldn't be a big deal

I have had many conversations like this, in which someone says something hurtful about gender or sexuality. Sometimes it’s been jerks being rude on purpose. Sometimes acquaintances who don’t know I’m not straight. Sometimes it’s people very close to me, who don’t realize what they’ve said and would feel terrible if they knew how much it hurt. The point is, in that one instant, my brain gave me involuntary recap of 20 years in which I’d been alienated & saddened & scared & angered by similar conversations.

Now it is not to say all of my experiences regarding gender & sexuality discussions have been bad. In fact I’ve been privileged with friends, family & a community (both in Ferndale and WMU) that for the most part all make me feel supported and loved no matter who I love or how I identify. But in moments like this, my brain is in survival mode. My identity is locked and loaded on the tip of my tongue. I try to speak the words, but my brain is numb and the syllables taste like gunpowder. Every inch of me wants to spit it out, but anyone around me could be hiding sparks behind their teeth. And then what? It’s a choice between being invisible and to beckoning live ammunition into my lap.

That is a habitual poet’s way of saying that coming out to people is terrifying. Especially when you’ve been hurt doing it before.

Okay back to the conversation. Sorry about all the digressions, 20 years of repressed inner dialogue really can sneak up on you sometimes! So let’s review and get back to the story.

The man said, “Normal is when Sex = man + woman = baby.” Then gestured to himself, the other woman, and me, deeming us as representative of his version of “normal.”

Then I had many feelings about it at once:

I was confused (who are you pointing at--oohhh...oh. right you think I’m straight lololol)

...then I was offended (do I look straight to you? Uch. I so perfect the subtle nuance of “undeterminable sexuality” while still making everyone hope I’m only playing for their team. You are just not refined enough to see it. Plus you have a goatee, so really you have no credibility and should just chill silently over there away from me.)

...then I was sad (what if I really don’t pull off that nuance all the time...imagine how many cute girls and people were deterred from asking me out because they assumed I was straight…)

...then I was hungry (omg I haven’t eaten in 2 hours, that’s why I’m doubting myself! I totally pull off the nuance. It’s just snack time, so I’m feeling low.)

and finally I was resolute. (okay...I know, I know... this dude just happened to be born into a privileged life, where he never had to question his gender or sexuality. Just because the patriarchy is strong with this one does not mean he is a bad person. His life path has just never led him to anyone who helped expand his understanding of the world. That’s fine. I’m just kindly gonna drop a knowledge bomb on him. You’re welcome in advance, sir.)

So the man continued to fumble for back up to his claim,  "A man and a woman! You know that's just how it is!! You and me and...all of us are normal. That’s how it is! I mean I know people can feel whatever crazy things in here and act different and what not...” he was gesturing to his forehead with jazz fingers to illustrate “crazy things.”

I could practically hear his patriarchy-soaked noggin, sloshing frantically in his skull. I thought I may have discovered a rare condition where the brain is sent into spastic fits, possibly the brain itself is having a fight or flight response to fear of the unknown i.e. the gay agenda & feminist lesbian witchcraft!

Before I could fully drift off into fantasies of Neil DeGrasse Tyson presenting me with the Scientist of the Year award for my miraculous discovery, the man said something I that triggered a deep hurt in me.

“But you know, when it comes down to it, anything like all that is not really gonna be like sex. We weren’t born to do it any other way, because sex is for men and women to reproduce. It’s evolution! Anything else it's...it's not normal.”

I proceeded in the conversation as the love of my life and hero, Daenerys Targaryen, would have done. (See: every chapter of GoT where Daenerys tricks army commanders, lords, mercenaries, etc. into doing what she wants by starting a proposition with the phrase, "I am but a young girl and know little of the ways of war...but give me all your soldiers/money/land...k thanks bye"). Channeling my inner dragon, I spoke with the determination to set others free as well as the humility & good sense to know when to play dumb in order to inflate the egos of insecure men so as to contribute to the greater good AKA to fight for the rights of anyone who is not cisgender and heterosexual by changing minds one at a time.

Also it may seem trivial, but I’m a human being and I want to be accepted & validated by society in some respects. So when people dismiss sex between people who are not cisgender men & women as being something less-than, it makes me feel as though I have to prove my full humanity. To prove that I can connect to someone I love just like anyone else.It's as if I have to defend the honor of a potential future girlfriend. ( Oh hey, future girlfriend! I’m not sure you even exist, but if you’re reading this, yes I am so loyal and caring that I am preemptively ensuring you are respected. You deserve nothing less. HMU anytime ;)

"I get how it seems different," I continued, trying to empathize with him. "Because we are taught that there is only two ways to be, it's something different. Being born a man or a woman and feeling like you are seen the way you feel. I definitely get it, it’s hard to unlearn..."

He insisted, “Well it is different. You know, people are born like they are so they can reproduce. It’s just what we are evolved to do!”

“I mean yeah, but is it possible that people have evolved beyond that? Like more than just living to reproduce?” I asked, oh-so-innocently.

He didn’t have an answer. But the woman chimed in again, “Yeah, I think we’ve evolved, but it’s still what we are born to do. We have to do it to keep our species alive.”

“But what if we’ve evolved beyond just surviving as a species?” I proposed, then let the moment settle in for them. Silence.

I smiled, for some reason their doubt made me feel empowered. Maybe it was the idea that I have the privilege to see the world in a higher definition, with more brilliant complexities than people stuck in the cyclical though of sex = man + woman = baby. As mellow as can be I said,”I’d like to think we’ve evolved to the point where life can be about more than reproducing. We don’t have to live just to survive anymore.”

He kinda shrugged and replied, “Well we do more... but I don’t know it's…” then he fell into undecipherable mumbling, while slowly looked down and shook his head.

I waited until his gaze met mine, then stated, “Humans do things all the time that are not to reproduce.” I  strategically paused for effect, making careful use of my ¾ of a degree in Communication by peaking his anticipatory attention.
I broke the brief silence, “Do you go to work to reproduce?”

“No..”
“Do you listen to music to reproduce?”

“Wha-- no that’s not why--”
“Do you play sports to reproduce? Do you eat to reproduce?”

“No, what’s your point?”
“I’m just saying that there is more to life than sex & reproduction. We have evolved beyond on that and life can be about so much more. People are just a lot more different & complex than we are taught to think they are.”
“Well, I’ll give you that they are different…” he said as he shuffled his papers on on desk and tried to look busy.

I took the hint and got out of his hair. I am really proud of myself for keeping a level head during all this. For not reacting from the hurt I felt, but from an empathetic view. Even though it was scary, I took advantage of a teaching moment. That is not something I have always had the composure to do when this stuff comes up, but I’m learning. So yes I am taking a moment to brag. But only because I've had this conversation dozens of times that end up with me trying to make someone feel like an asshole or looking & feeling like an asshole myself. Yay to growing as a human!

Anyway I like to think that even if nothing I’ve said stuck with him, I’ve exposed him to some new ideas. So maybe every time he hears talk of accepting unfamilar gender and sexuality identities, that he could be a little less confused & afraid. Maybe down the line he even understands and empathizes. Maybe he dies thinking sex = man + woman = baby. Whatever. I did what I could.

Plus that woman is totally on board and learned like 17 things. I swear a light bulb literally flashed over her head every 1.5 minutes during that conversation, it was awesome.

And just for your peace of mind, let me bring this thing full circle for you. This whole conversation started from a discussion about Caitlyn Jenner. I think she has done an amazing thing, by adding a voice and opening dialogue about gender and sexuality. Like many before her, including Laverne Cox & Jazz Jennings, she has taken a risk in coming out, but ultimately made space for others to do the same. The freedom and vulnerability in that go hand-in-hand: you are no longer isolated by your secret inner world, but the real world will react.

When you come out, you give the world the power to talk about you, to try to label & define you or write you off as crazy or weird. (So you’re welcome for the power). But the cool part is that you are bound to spark a conversations. Not all will be supportive conversations. Some will be hateful. Many will just be awkward, cooperative unlearning about the way the world works. Either way, people are learning and others feel less alone.

I’m not trying to steal a spotlight from Trans people or change the world or anything. I just never want to feel like I did today again, like I have to hide a piece of me. So what up world, here I am. Talk about it. But not to me. I mean if we are tight it’s whatevs. But if you are gonna be weird please rethink your life choices. Like if someone texts or fb messages me like, “congratulations!!!” or like “I ALWAYS knew it!” or like  “why didn’t you tell me??” I will just feel so weird.

Like what can I say back to that you know? “Yes I am myself? Thank you for engaging me in social contact for which there is no social script. I will whimper silently to my screen now as I decide what to say to you and/or how long I should feel guilty about ignoring you.”

Let’s avoid that. k thx u rawk. don’t ever change. h.a.g.s.

P.S. If you wanna sign up for the feminist lesbian witchcraft weekly newsletter let me know.

last week I learned the secret of the universe

    So my friend took me along to a pool party at work friend’s apartment last week. She introduced me to the few people she knew, and they were all really welcoming. There was a group of about 6 of us in the hot tub talking and joking.

    One girl, Jamie, brought up that she’d been looking for new shorts, but everywhere was so expensive. I excitedly told her, “Oh my god! There’s totally a sale at Urban right now. My friend, whose favorite position with her current boyfriend is reverse cowgirl, was there yesterday, and she said everything is like 75% off.”

     Jamie looked around, confused. With bug eyes and pursed lips, she asked, “…What? Position as in sex…position?”

    Unfazed, I replied, “Oh? Jamie? Yeah I don’t really get it, because that just doesn’t feel awesome for me. But she’s still really cool. Like if you met her you wouldn’t even know she loved reverse cowgirl.”

      Still perplexed, Jamie rephrased the question hanging on her furrowed brow, “Well like I don’t have anything against…that…but what did you mention it for?”

    I scoffed, “Uh because we are characters in an alternate universe, where everyone’s sexual preferences are used as qualifiers for a person. Like…our purpose is to show why it’s so strange when people in our creator’s world do the same thing, mentioning their ‘gay friend’ in a story where their sexual life is completely irrelevant.”

    Jamie was so on board The Knowledge Train after my excellent, scholarly explanation. She added with bubbly enthusiasm, “Oh! I get it! So, like, we are revealing how an exception is made for non-heterosexual or cis-gendered people on this specific set of social norms, which reveals an ‘othering’ of people in the lgbtq community that occurs in every day discourse.”

    “Exactly! We are basically demonstrating how being compelled to define someone by their sexual preference or gender identity can perpetuate the harmful alienation of individuals. On a macro scale, these types of scenarios are often times the reason that people are afraid to come out as non-heterosexual or make a transition that will make their physical appearance align with their true identity.” I cheerily added. 

A rousing chorus of, "Ohhhhh, ahhhh, ohhhhhh," from everyone in the hot tub slowly drifted into euphonious harmony of understanding and acceptance. 

[Cue double rainbow shooting across background]
[Cue piano music setting tempo with catchy tune]
[The entire party gathers behind me for a musical dance number we all magically know the words to]

[swaying and clapping to the tune of  High School Musical's "All in This Together"]

“Its juuust fucking caaah-mon deeee-sense-eeey
to re-spect pee-pole 

and not fear their diiiii-fferences

“Pleaeese fucking use caaah-mon deeee-sense-eeey.
If you don't, you're a jerk
on the wrong side of hiii-story"

[camera zoom slowly out and up to the heavens]

[Music fades out as last couplet repeats ten times]

         "Please fucking, please fucking, please fucking stop being an arse
           Please fucking, please fucking, please fucking stop being an arse."

[Fade to white]

[Aaaaaand complete fourth wall break. Enter writer using first person point of view]

Hi random people who ended up on this segment of the internet. This is just my little way of releasing some pent up saltiness about the heaps of non-inclusive language I have heard over the past couple weeks.

Do you want to be an arse? If not, join me! Spread the message throughout the lands! Tell people when they classify their friends, family members, and acquaintances unnecessarily, it is plain assholery. Do it kindly though, this could be a first time learning moment. Maybe no one has ever told them they were being a complete turd nugget. Explain the effects of their words and forgive them for the assholery they unwittingly displayed.

Okay y'all, I'm gonna cha-cha slide outta this blog post. See y'all in a kinder future!

Because for-profit corporations get more respect and consideration in lawmaking than human women do. #YesAllWomen

Luckily I have had insurance through my parents for my whole life. I am one lucky-fucking-privileged duck for never having truly worried about being denied professional healthcare services. Until today that is, when I saw every social media I have access to riddled with concern about the Burwell V. Hobby Lobby case.

The Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS) decided that Hobby Lobby could deny certain healthcare services to it's employees, if they conflicted with the corporation's religious views. Now I sit here terrified about the day I turn 26, because I will have to find my own insurance. 

Do me a favor and read that last sentence over, this time noting the inherent irony. I am AFRAID of choosing a service to INSURE my well-being.

Here is the thing. I am not so much shocked by a corporation making profit-based decisions. Nor am I shocked that some people think their lifestyle and belief system is the only honorable way to exist. I am shocked that our SCOTUS has opened a door for corporations to claim superior rights to the religious freedoms, which were originally designated to men and women with US citizenship as individuals.

I am rattled by the disregard for an employee's own religious beliefs or lack-thereof. Why is a corporation given more empathy than a human? I am disgusted that there is even a debate on whether or not the health of a woman is seen as essential. Why are women affected by this ruling not seen as humans? You fucking tell me, because I sure as shit am stumped on this one. I thought I was a human, but ya know maybe I've been mistaken. At this point, I'd be relieved to find out I was an alien. 

What really gets me the most about this whole thing is the classic trope of a protagonist being let down by their heroes. You know the story, kid grows up dedicating their whole existence to the good they see in someone. Then one day they see their faults and their heart breaks. In this case, I've seen my glorious government display a repulsive disregard for the common people, especially women.

In sixth grade, my hero became the Good 'Ol USA, when we learned the core democratic values of our nation, in Mrs. Combs history class. We got to pick a value we wanted to focus on and did about 3 weeks of studying, art projects, group presentations, and a paper on that core democratic value. 

My value of choice was The Common Good. I feel in love with the people of history linked to this value—Patrick Henry, Abraham Lincoln, and Thurgood Marshall to name a few that still give me Political Science butterflies to this day.

Never had I seen such poetry in a history class before this project. Beautiful proclamations of humanity's propensity to love one another rang through my mind, as I read books and webpages and watched documentaries on so many wonderful people. 

I was overwhelmed with how many people in our past have dedicated their lives to the idea that everyone deserves to feel valued, heard, and safe. And so I fell in love with the youthful spirit of our country. I couldn't get enough of these feats of victory for the Common Good over the selfishness, arrogance, or greed of individuals and/or oppressive factions. 

Yes, I had a giant, nerdy, lady-boner for the government of the USA. Damn did it look fine in outfitted in rulings based of the Common Good. And yes, my cheeks flushed when the wind blew a flag just right, flashing its progressive attitude of acceptance and accommodation. (I'm sorry, this blog is supposed to be PG. I'll get to the heartbreak and skip the R rated passionate parts.)

In all sincerity though, I feel let down. The SCOTUS is a position dedicated to making choices that benefit the Common Good. I do not believe the Burwell V. Hobby Lobby ruling was made with this value in mind. It is a mystery to me how someone can forget to care for others.

The only productive thing for me to do now is work towards change. Hopefully one day my name will be a footnote in some kid's history book. Or maybe an afterthought of a historian, who just complied their synopsis of a 21st century social movement benefiting the common good. At the very least, I hope I never act in a way that makes another person feel the neglect and disappointment I do now.

 

Cashier: Oh Vaseline, is that really good for chapped lips? Me: Yeah, its good for chapped everything! C: *averts eyes* you wanna receipt?

The example in the title of this post is not the most embarrassing occurrence of me drowning in my own words before I know I’ve even said them. Mostly because I don't ever have to see that cashier again, so that makes it a fun anecdote pull out for the future. Unless of course I tell it to someone who follows me on twitter or has read this, then I'll get an attempt at being polite, but always mood crushing, "Oh yeah I saw that. That is funny." I know I'm guilty of it, but saying something is funny is worse than not laughing at all. It feels like when my suitemate calls me "Honey," while clarifying something, its both demeaning and endearing— it reminds me of when I was twelve and my aunt told me I couldn't play scrabble with the grown ups.

If you don’t get the concept of my words getting away from me, please try and reread the previous paragraph and email me if you still have questions.

Okay, now that everyone is on the same page, metaphorically in understanding and literally on this webpage, let's get down to some humorously self-deprecating stories!

Sidenote: it just occurred to me that if the demand for writing puns and situational humor wasn't limited to newspaper comics and lines for dorky characters on sitcoms, I'd be raking in the cash.

There’s a super cute ROTC guy who lives across the hall from me. Once I was taking out the garbage and recyclables, holding one bin on my left hip with two bags of garbage on top, balanced gracefully against my face, with another recycle bin tucked under my right armpit. I didn't know cute ROTC boy was behind me at first, but he watched me use my foot to close the door and then struggle to lock the door behind me. Being a classy gentleman, he asked if I wanted help. Naturally I declined, because I’m constantly try prove I'm not as helpless as I look.

Thirty seconds of struggle later, I get my door locked.  When I get to the elevator I have to tame a mortified wail, because cute ROTC boy has been holding the elevator for me while I wobbled down the hall for six years. In the elevator, one of my bins slip, but I make an spastically agile recovery. We make eye contact and both know that something must be said, because I am small girl in an elevator smothered under a bunch of trash, and it’s as unignorable as a small girl in an elevator smothered under a bunch of trash. 

Cute ROTC boy says, "That's a lot of trash." I say, “Yeah its not really, I mean it is, but like I’ve taken out way more than this before, not all the time but you know like sometimes when I just forget to take it out or something, but its really no that much…” He laughs and nods, apparently speechless. I look away, staring down intently at my they-dont-smell-so-they-cant-be-that-dirty sweatpants in hopes that if I stare hard enough he will forget I exist.

Another great run-in with cute ROTC boy, was also in the elevator. I was not sporting large amounts of garbage this time. Actually I did my make-up that day, had a cute outfit and I was wearing my favorite Steve Madden boots. With my confidence boosted an inch higher at my heel, I felt brave enough to redeem myself. I initiated some successful small talk without anything going awry. Then after frigid, small talk we started talking about how elevators are always awkward and it broke the ice.

But that didn’t last long, because my success was filling my super cute boots with toxic amounts of confidence. We stepped out of the elevator together and I started telling him a story about getting blocked by three really fat girls, who were walking really slowly in the hall and were just far too fat for me to pass them. Lovely, no?

Realizing how not okay that was, I became hyper aware of the situation, but I was unable to stop myself. The seams of my boots burst at the weight of my cockiness, and I fell through the ice into the paralyzing cold. I was frozen outside my door when I reached the end of my rude, fat girl blockade story.

It would have been normal to talk for a minute or two more outside our doors, but since I was drowning in my story, every word I tried turned to gurgles and I freaked. I whipped around, fumbled for my keys and said in one breath, "Uh okay well see you later!" I didn't even give him time to say anything or look back to see his reaction. I haven't seen him since. I suspect he looks out his peephole to make sure I'm not there before leaving his room.

What’s that? You want one more story? Okay, but then you have to go to bed and I’m not singing you a lullaby after.

I had an interview for an RA position a couple weekends ago. The day consisted of all us applicants being grouped off and given various teambuilding exercises, while hall directors and current RA's watched and took notes on us. Sounds weird and scary, but I’ve been training for group tasks my whole life. The family I was born into is the muggle-equivalent of the Weasley’s. Learning to negotiate, take turns, and work with people even when they are really annoying or have awful ideas are all skills I learned to survive. I left feeling really cocky and sure I nailed it.

The next day was the personal interview. The pressure to fill pauses with whatever pours out of my mouth was as great as the pressure in the Bathypalegic Zone of the ocean. So that those of you who missed the Monster Squid special on Discovery Channel don't have to google it, that’s the uber deep, pitch-black ocean layer where they got awesome footage of a Giant Squid. To add to the immense pressure of a normal interview, we all had to go through three, fifteen-minute interview sessions, each in front of a "panel" of four interviewers. 

The first one went really well. One hall director really liked me, which made me feel awesome, because they are the ones who actually hire people from the final pool of applicants. He asked, “As an RA, you would be subjected to “The Fishbowl Effect,” a term we use to describe RA’s being on constant display for their residents. How would you adjust to this change if you were to be hired?”

 I replied, “Well the first thing I would do is probably wear less sweatpants…” to which the director cracked up and announced, “That’s a great answer! I like this girl!” His praise gave me time to devise the second part of my answer into a professional, yet honest reply about being a role model and all that jazz.

The next session started out great too, now that I think about it, this is going to sound remarkably similar to my cute ROTC boy/fat girl story disaster. One of the RA’s interviewing me was a gorgeous, fashionista-type girl with big, curly hair that only hip, black women can pull off (sorry to any of you tried to achieve this look with a perm last century, but you looked absurd so you may as well laugh at yourself because the rest of the world is doing it).

I’ve been obsessing over this type of hair lately for unknown reasons. In fact I’ve been caught gawking in jealously twice at girls on the bus with this awesome kind of hair. Both times I had to pull the evasive maneuver where you look at like three other things to act like you’re just taking in the scenery.

Anyway, I automatically idolize her and want to impress her because of her hair. Then she complements my boots—that darned Steve Madden again, I think his boots are becoming a motif, or my hubris, either way, this will definitely return and be essential part of a joke I make by the end of this post so take note of it. I thank her and my inner girly-girl starts sashaying around in triumph while filing her nails and talking about Project Runaway. Then she secretly accepted me into the Cool Girl Club by complimenting my whole outfit. I told her I borrowed part of it from my roommate and we bonded over the benefit of having friends with good style.

I get through 14 minutes of interview questions, without following my human instinct to repeat my mistakes in a different guise. That is until they asked me about what my experience with diversity has been at WMU and what it brings to the community. My cupeth, or more appropriately, my booteths were runething over with a fine wine made of Cool Girl Club membership card and the morning’s good vibes.

With all inhibitions lost to my well-marinated boots, I answered by telling the honest to Morgan Freeman truth, “As writer I love eavesdropping and just listening to normal people talk and that in the cafs, when I hear people speaking a different language I will sit by them and just listen to them because I like how it sounds.”

Yup. I told her that diversity means to me I can creep on foreign people, while I eat alone at in the caf. The president of the Cool Girl Club told me I was kicked out and asked me to leave my boots at the door. Of course she didn’t say it out loud, but she tossed me a what-the-crap-are-you?-please-drop-out-of-society-entirely glance. That’s the official procedure of Cool Girls Club. I realized too late, that once again my boots were full of too much confidence. I had obliterated the once gently broken ice and fallen into the water again.

I tried to swim back to the top and stick the arms of my jacket to the surface of the ice like I saw someone do on Discovery Channel. I implemented evasive maneuver Lambda: lying until it hurts. I hurriedly tacked on that I introduce myself to the people I creep on. Added another lie that I’ve meet many people from all over who come to WMU and I find it fascinating. Finished by lying “Diversity brings to WMU the chance to connect with people that seem different and find intrinsic commonalities.”

My last ditch attempt to resurface failed. The four uncomfortably tight smiles sealed the waters with a fresh layer of ice. Accepting my fate, I sunk slowly and fashionably down to the Bathypalegic layer, and waited patiently to be devoured by a Giant Squid. It’s really hard to swim when you’re drunk on confidence and wearing such nice boots.

I just want Mr. Feeny to come and tell me how to fix problems in every aspect of my life in a prophetic way. #isthatsomuchtoask

We had Christmas Eve and Post-Christmas Eve parties at my house. Having the people and food I love under my roof for two days is a spectacular blessing, mostly because I don’t even have pick out shoes to go with my outfit. But also because I’m a lucky member of probably 1% of humans in this world who gets to have so much food they almost barf and so much love they want to scream. With my gratefulness for my privilege stated, I will now commence one of the most cherished human past times, relaying frustrations about a mostly wonderful situation. 

After my holiday parties and other social interactions since I’ve been home for break, I have at least a zillion and half new rules to follow. Every friend, stranger, and family member knows what will surely make my life ten times more awesome than it is now.

A few of my new rules:

Don’t trust anyone you meet at parties.

Make friends at parties.

Make a lot of guy friends—girls are too much work.

Don’t worry about boys, just focus on your grades.

Work hard because college is expensive.

Don’t work too hard because college is the last time to be a kid.

You have force yourself to go to Frat parties.

Just go to house parties.

Find where you belong.

Go out of your comfort zone.

Clearly following all of these rules is impossible, which leaves me wondering what rules I should follow. I’ve decided that many of these rules are pieces of irrelevant advice (brought to you in part by: Alcoholic Beverages ™ Making people talk out of their asses since the beginning of time and Humans ™ Imposing their personal beliefs on others since they could speak). After my past two visits home, I let people’s voices bounce around in my head and convince me I was doing something wrong. I thought since all these people have already had the experience I’m going through, they must really know what they are talking about.

When I returned to school, I began second guessing a lot of my choices, which I wasn’t used to doing at school. The only person there who tells me I’m doing something wrong is my roommate. And it’s usually about indisputable things like when I plug in the heater, TV, and microwave at the same time its bad because it short-circuits half of the room. Also the only person at school who tells me I’m doing something right is myself. For example: when I’m angry, jogging up and down the stairs in my dorm a few times feels better than punching innocent walls. Wrong and right are very clear in these instances because nobody’s opinion is making me question my intuition.

What I’ve realized during this visit home is that other people’s idea of what will be the best thing for me to do, despite their good intentions, has no relevance to what I should do. One of my cousins forced herself to go to a Frat party and met her first college boyfriend there. That’s cool for her, but I’m not really desperate for one of those at this point in my life because they have cooties and I’m not vaccinated for that. My aunt made a lot of great guy friends in her dorm that became some of her closest friends. That’s cool for her, but most of the guys in my dorm are douche bags. Someone I babysit for had the time of their life in theatre at school. That’s cool for her, but the thought of being on stage makes me gassy. One of my sister’s friends made a bunch of new friends at Smoker’s Island, the picnic table located at the 100-foot distance from all dorms required by law. That’s cool for her, but I tried smoking for a hot second and its too expensive and smelly.

My favorite advice has come from my sister Adele. As far as personal interests and talents go, we couldn’t be more opposite. Her last recreational reading book was “Kendra: Sliding into Home,” the riveting tale of an ex-playboy bunny. One of my three current reads are “America in 1492: The World of the Indian Peoples Before the Arrival of Christopher Columbus.” She’s spectacular at math and she was DECA state finalist. Thinking about math and business presentations make me just as gassy as thinking about being on stage. She gets bored being in the house all day, but its one of my favorite activities. Her advice wasn’t even advice at all, which is why it’s the most reliable. During thanksgiving break, she asked me how many parties I’ve been to. I debated counting the time I went to this kids dorm with about 4 other people for a couple hours and mooched some of their definitely not alcoholic liquids before heading back to my room. I decided to be honest, so I didn’t include that one and told her I really have only been to three. She just smiled, shook her head and said, “You’re such a nerd.” I laughed and said, “Yeah, basically.”

You may be thinking, “Well this doesn’t seem very helpful. Like it’s not even that good of a story. Where are the insightful, wise words that bond you two for life?” Well sadly, we don’t live in a sitcom and nobody I know can show up in my moments of doubt and tell me exactly what I need to hear. But the fact that she accepted my choices as an extension of who I am, instead of telling me what I should do to become who I am going to be, is the best indirect advice in the world. These next few sentences are burdened with the weight of hypocrisy, because I’m going to give you (my faithful and possibly non-existent audience) a piece of advice. Take a few minutes to yourself, close your eyes, flush your mind of all the voices and words of everyone you know, turn off all electronics, keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times, and ask yourself how you feel. After your conversation with yourself is over, if you are satisfied with your answer award yourself 7,000 points and continue making great choices. If you are not satisfied with your answer, give yourself a gold star for being honest with yourself and then go try something else until you are.