Welcome to my journal. Feel free to comment.



This journal used to be called The Theory of Everything.

Bad thing about losing weight: My fucking clothes don't fit right anymore!
Good thing about losing weight: Excuse to go shopping!

I am really sick of my friend. I've recently found out that he's racist on top of his other shortcomings. I think it's best if we stop being friends, because I really don't get much of anything out of the friendship anyhow. He's a psychic vampire to me; all he does is suck and suck out of me, and I rarely get much in return.

The only problem is, I'm living underneath his parents house. I don't think he or they would want to kick me out or anything, but it would still be awkward, and they might eventually decide that they don't want me around anyhow. We rarely see/talk to one another at this point anyhow, so maybe it just has to stay that way until I can move out.

Someone was giving away a free refrigerator on craigslist, and my friend came with me to pick it up at a trailer park. While we were looking for the correct trailer, he kept bitching about how he would never live in a trailer park, and calling random people who were walking by trailer trash! I am so sick of his spoiled bullshit! It made me very angry to think of all the young people who don't have a decent place to live because their parents don't have much, contrasted with this arrogant asshole who doesn't even understand enough to appreciate what his parents have given him. I tried to explain to him that he would have lived in a trailer if that was the home his parents had provided, but, of course, he didn't want to hear it. I'm also sick of him never listening to me, come to think of it.

While we were at the trailer park, I realized that owning a trailer could be perfect for me, since I don't like the idea of being tied down to one place by an expensive piece of land, and houses are way overpriced 'round these parts anyhow. Of course, I would be scared to death to drive it around during any other time besides the dead of night.

I am very upset right now because I have yet another case of bacterial vaginosis. I don't know why it keeps coming back. I'm waiting on a referral to a gynecologist, but my local clinic is usually swamped, so I'm sure that will take longer than necessary. This whole recurring BV thing is cramping my style. Monica and I have a visit planned tomorrow, and I would kind of like to go back to having sex, y'know? My health is also very important to me. Few things make me feel shittier than a malfunctioning body because my body is a sort of treasure to me (sounds corny, I know). I hope that I won't have to go back to washing with anti-bacterial soap every day.

I started playing with a new community band on Tuesday. They sound good, much better than the last one I was in. I made a fool of myself on the first day by picking up my case while it was open and dropping my instrument and a bunch of mouthpieces on the floor with a nice loud clanging sound. There was a lot of noise from people warming up, so I guess not many people noticed, though.

I've given up my obsession with learning multiple foreign languages. Although I suspected this before, I've come to realize that the obsession was a way to mend my dissatisfaction with my life; now that I'm mostly satisfied, the obsession has departed (mostly).

I haven't been posting in my journal much because my life is too badass to put it on pause long enough to type. This free rent situation is, hands down, the best thing that has ever happened to me. It did wonders for my peace of mind, allowed me to live near my family and get to know my nephew (who is on letter B now!), and afforded me the financial latitude to hold out for a job I actually have some interest in. I was hired as an online tutor, and it's a pretty sweet gig; ridiculously flexible, decent money, but still challenging.

I visited Thom last Friday. It was a long drive (well, almost all distances are "long drives" for me), and my little migraine problem returned. We took a walk out by a nearby lake, and being out in the sun didn't help. It was just a little difficult to enjoy my self because I could constantly feel the full-blown migraine on the horizon, but Thom did and said some things that calmed me down, and I was alright. We ate out, then returned to her house to find ourselves alone. We couldn't do much because I had (and currently have again, motherfuck!) BV, but Thom's (sick fuck of a) Mom has apparently hidden her toys, so we couldn't have done what she really wanted to anyways. It amazes me how I rarely even think about Monica; I'm having so much fun with my studies and my plans that I'm not a needy wreck.

I received a job announcement through my old CS dept. email list, and sent in a resume and cover letter. It was for desktop support, which isn't really my thing, but the badass part is that the gig is at Lawrence Berkeley National Lab. I just about fainted when I received an email from them on Friday asking for a phone call so they could ask me more questions about my resume and availability. I called late in the afternoon and no one answered, so I'll be bubbling with anticipation for the rest of the weekend. That's ok, it gives me time to prepare.

I've looked over the standard phone interview questions, and borrowed my friends Mac (Mac support is part of the job, and most of my experience is with PCs) to get some learning going on that score. The job is temporary, but this will still be an amazing opportunity for me; just having someone at that lab know my fucking name puts me one step closer to working in the lab myself. Last week while I was trying to slow my heartbeat after receiving the lab's email, I was sitting there just awed at my crazy luck for being born, not just in the U.S., but in one of the most happening states in the Union, economy-wise. The streets really are paved with gold here. If my parents had not moved to California, I could have been born in lame ass Texas (my dad's home state), or shitty Alabama (my mom's)!

Anyways, I have a lot of plans in the works. I gave up on my website as a source of revenue, because web design was really starting to bore me, and I don't gain enough mental stimulation from learning the ever-increasing array of web technologies that would make my site compelling and competitive. Now, I'm planning on taking a couple hundred dollars out of each paycheck and investing. I don't know anything about investing at this point, but maybe Microsoft (especially now that Windows 7 is out), Apple, Walmart?

Also, fuck grad school, what a waste of time and money! I can spend a tiny fraction of that on some textbooks. I've found some great resources to start out with on the various national lab websites, and my student physics society membership gets me access to some good online journals. I plan to learn what I can about plasma physics on my own, cold-call the appropriate scientist at either the Livermore or Berkeley lab, wow her with my knowledge, offer to work for peanuts doing just about anything even remotely physics-related as part of her lab team (and here, all the "peripheral" skills I'm working on, such as programming, LaTeX, technical writing, and various scientific applications, come into play), and edge my foot in the door that way. This is part of the reason I'm so stoked about the possibility of getting the student assistant position, even though it's in the CS dept.: crazy networking opportunities.

Last night, I dreamt about Thom. Holy shit, did I dream about her. I'm pissed that I cannot remember the details. She, Lauren and I had a threesome. I don't know where the fuck Lauren came from in the dream. I woke up totally stoked, but I was so out of it that I couldn't remember what had happened. Then, I fell back to sleep and dreamt that Lauren's ex-girlfriend (whom Lauren lives, or used to live with) had heard a message on their answering machine that I left asking Lauren for a threesome. She was pissed that I only wanted Lauren for sex, and she called me and asked me to meet her on top of the apartment complex to talk about it. Somehow, we lived in the same apartment complex in the dream. It was weird. I finally agreed and was soon on the roof in the cool night air, being chewed out about how she actually loved Lauren and I didn't.

I finally have gas in my car, so I'm going to visit Thom on Thursday. It's kind of going to suck because we're not allowed to touch one another. Thom makes it worse by teasing me with strap-on references when I call her. Goddammit.

Still waiting to hear about my background check for the tutoring job.

I've been working on my website. Web design is a bit harder than I'd thought. I'm learning to use Dreamweaver, and I'll probably be using Fireworks at least once, for my site logo. I need to finish it soon, or at least get it up and running, because right now I'm just blowing through five bucks a month for hosting for a dead site. It should be up and running (albeit short on content) as soon as I figure out how to make the homepage layout the right size in Firefox and Internet Explorer.

A couple of months ago, I finally figured out how to tongue correctly (after spending over ten years doing it incorrectly), so I'm having to learn it from scratch, and god, what a fucking pain. Breaking a thirteen year habit sucked, but I have given it up faster than I thought I'd be able to. I still sound like shit right now, but I have to ignore that and continue to play. I need that motivation I had back when I was a teenager, when I was overjoyed to play, even though I sounded like trash.

Once I got back into playing clarinet, my progression was rapid. I'm one level below the stiffest reeds that are made, and I can't even buy reeds at regular music stores anymore. I've gone just about as far as I can go reed-wise; it's basically time to move up to a professional mouthpiece, which is going to fucking bankrupt me. What an expensive hobby being a musician is.

I finally got rid of the mice in my place. Either I finally got all the holes plugged up, or the crackers dipped in bleach did them in. I felt bad about murdering the poor little bastards; all they wanted was to make a living, just like me and everyone else, but I consoled my conscience with the rationalization that they were putting my health in danger (by leaving dropping in my fucking bed, for chrissakes), just as I was putting theirs in danger by leaving poisoned crackers about.

I think I gained back the 5 lbs. I lost. Lame :( I'm trying to get a steady income so that I can get settled and think about an exercise routine. I think that has been the plan for years, though. This is life. I'll probably never be "settled," whatever that even means. The fact of the matter is that I greatly prefer being home diddling with new software than out sweating on the asphalt outside.

That brings me to another thing I've realized lately; I'd be happier, and outside a lot more if I lived somewhere where nature wasn't whipped and stripped down to fake patches of lawn and lonely bunches of wimpy trees. One of my (millions and millions) of goals in life is to live somewhere like that, some place that is a bit more natural than these depressing, sterile towns I've inhabited my whole life. It's been like spending my whole life in a mental institution: too clean, too controlled, and being on the inside makes me crazier than I'd be if I were free.

I'm going to go back to learning LaTeX.

I told Thom that I wouldn't be coming to visit her until I had found a job, because the gas money would really take a chunk out of my dwindling bank account. I've been going through the application process with an online tutoring outfit for over two weeks now, and I'm still waiting on the results of my background check, so still no job. We haven't been talking on the phone much because I really dislike talking on the phone, and my reception has been crap anyhow.

Shortly after Thom got out of the hospital, she apologized for what she'd done. I sort of brushed it off and told her not to worry about it because I knew that she should be concentrating on her personal issues more than our nascent relationship and/or my inconvenience. I've finally come to truly appreciate that apology, because I miss her like hell, mainly because I'm dying for lack of sex. We'd only had sex twice before all of this happened, and the way I'd only had a taste of her before it was all snatched away is positively tragic. There is so much we haven't even tried yet! It is especially harsh on me considering that Thom is only the second person (ok, maybe the third) that I've ever really been crazy about (Shane was the first). Where the fuck am I going to find another Thom?

Being with Thom has worked wonders on me. My sex drive has skyrocketed, I have all of these rosy thoughts of love and tenderness and killer sex in my mind, and most of that jaded bitterness I had about dating evaporated because I actually found someone that I was looking for. I don't even watch porn anymore because Thom put a million and one reality-based fantasies in my head that are a hundred times more stimulating, and I have a million and one more based on what I wanted to try with her. The euphoria lasted a while, but now that the harsh wall of untended lust has hit me like a cold, winter ocean wave, my supply is beginning to dwindle. Next will come the chilly, face-stinging rain of a constant absence of physical affection. Then the blinding, unremitting winds of isolation, of butch-hunger.

We are not officially "dating" anymore. At first, this was just a command from Thom's Nazi of a mother as a condition of taking Thom in to live with her. Now, we agree that it's best. I don't know why the fuck I'm going to drive 50 miles to see a "friend," but we have agreed to take two steps back and concentrate more on that getting-to-know-you phase that we bulldozed over once I moved here and seduced her (an act which I do not regret in the least).

In the meantime, I'm looking for another date. I emailed Thom today and let her know. I don't know how she'll take it. I certainly don't want to, but I can't take this being alone crap anymore, especially after having my appetite tickled with 6 weeks of pre-suicidal Thom goodness. All things considered, I'm not sure that Thom and I have much of a chance anyhow. She wants to move back to Oregon.

Considering the degree to which the acceptance of heterosexism, self-mutilation and self-hatred have infiltrated the lesbian community, I've long figured that it was just a matter of time before I ended up on a date, pursuing, or being pursued by one of the pathetic specimens who are the objects of that acceptance. This became a reality a couple of days ago, when Thom revealed that she has issues with her breasts, has contemplated (oh, I shudder at the phrase) top surgery, partially in response to the pressure she experiences from societal expectations of womanhood, and that her interest in women "sounds" to her like the way a "guy" would feel.

WOW. I don't think I can even begin to adequately express the disgust and frustration I felt. It isn't just her, though, it's this whole trend, this whole culture of thinking that the urge and decision to slice of normal, healthy body parts is totally unproblematic, a "personal choice," just because one wants it. When are people going to wake the fuck up and consider the fact that our desires are often shaped by the society we live in? There's this obscuring fog of, "we'd rather avoid hurting people's feelings than questioning even extreme and unusual decisions," this sanctity and untouchability implicitly afforded to anything anyone wraps in the magic cloak of "identity" that just makes it all even more difficult to combat.

Like a good little sheep postmodern queer, Thom had ready appropriate portions of the trans script to repeat to me: That people she knows/has known who've had the surgery are happy. Good for them, but that doesn't prove a whole lot, as people have been convincing themselves to be "happy" under bullshit conditions for centuries. It's a great coping mechanism: psych 101. When being "happy" involves shelling out thousands for bodily mutilation and health endangerment, when the person in question displays unambiguous signs of being too fucking weak-minded to resist the violently unremitting heterosexism in which their society is saturated (this is what I fear Thom suffers from, and it turns my stomach), when that person suggests radically altering themselves as a solution to what is clearly society's problems, then we should be questioning the legitimacy of that "happiness."

Because she has PCOS, Thom has her own, special issues with heterosexism. Her elevated testosterone levels mean that she cannot bear children (at least not at this point in her life) and that she has more thick, dark body hair than most women. She feels that she is even less of a woman in society's eyes, and that has clearly fucked with her head above and beyond what one may expect of the average top surgery candidate. Somehow, she got it into her head that maybe those elevated hormone levels are a sign that she was "meant" to be a guy, despite the fact that it is clearly a result of PCOS! She said some other nutty stuff that I'm not going to try to unravel here; I can't even remember it all, such a tangled mess of nonsense it was. The one thing she said that really had me fuming was when she gave me this really detailed, rather beautiful (albeit somewhat crude) discussion of how much she likes to have sex with women, only to ruin it by concluding that those feelings seemed like the feelings of a guy to her. To me, it sounded like pure, undiluted lesbianism, BUT, OF COURSE, EVERYBODY SAYS DYKES ARE WRONG, SO LIKING WOMEN = BEING A MAN.

I was straightforward with her: I don't fuck around with people who hate themselves. I don't date the weak-minded. Thom straight out asked me if what I was saying meant that I would never date a transgender "man," and, sadly (but perhaps not surprisingly, as the queer community expects more and more that everyone accept and even embrace everyone's identity, no matter how harmful, unrealistic, or demented) seemed rather surprised when I answered her with an immediate and unwavering "no."

I am being gentle with Thom because she has other (legitimate) psychological issues she needs to work on that might be screwing with her mind (and are hopefully the cause of all of this stupid crap, as opposed to her actually being stupid), and because I don't want to lose her; I know that it'll be hard as hell to find another special someone like her. She is pushing me hard, though. First, she drops the Catholic bomb on me, now this. I should probably just let go. We have fifty miles between us, now that she's moved in with her mom; she needs some therapy before she's datable again; she's already started in with the nonsensical Christoan mumbo-jumbo that drives me insane. It doesn't look good for us.

The good news: I'm negative for herpes.

I had received notice that my application for county medical insurance had been approved, so, today, I went to my local clinic for a blood test. When the doctor found out that it was for herpes, she told the nurse that she wanted to do a physical exam. I had to undress from the waist down, and the nurse left some sort of jelly on a nearby table. A million years later, the doctor came in and noted that I looked very down. I hate pelvic exams because they hurt like a bitch; even the small speculums are horrible for me. I told her that I was worried about what she was going to do with the jelly. She assured me that she wasn't going to do anything with it, that it was there because the nurse hadn't told her whether or not I was "a boy or a girl," despite the fact that she knew my name, which is absolutely not a name any U.S. parent would give to a male child. She was standing less than three feet away from me, she could hear my voice, and yet she still didn't realize that I was a woman. Unbelievable! Despite the undoubtedly hilarious episode that would have ensued had she not been disabused of this misidentification until after she had looked under the cover that hid my lower half, I informed her that I was, indeed, a woman, at which point she apologized (and complimented me on my haircut, lol).

More and more these days, I'm getting tired of being mistaken for a guy. It didn't bother me so much in the past, but I've come to realize how important visibility is for women who do not conform to grooming, dress, and behavioral mandates of mainstream U.S. society. If more people recognize more of us more often, maybe I won't get sirred so often, maybe people won't be so shocked that I'm not a man (or a boy, but that's a slightly different story), maybe more young women will feel more positive about being themselves and rejecting the oppressive physical standards our misogynistic society attempts to brainwash us with, maybe it will be easier to find fitting clothing in my preferred style, maybe no more women will suffer through moments of fear when certain women walk into the women's room: there are many positive things that can come from this increased visibility.

I am the perfect person to write this guide because I find it relatively easy to identify butch women (although not all such women are butch). On the other hand, this guide isn't easy to write because I do these things more or less instinctively, and with a lot more finesse than I know how to convey in words.

1. Look at the cheeks. Even clean-shaven men have the tell-tale signs of a five-o-clock shadow, or at least relatively rough skin where

they have shaved. Women's faces are generally smoother.

2. Listen to the voice (I've never really had to do this, but it should be a dead giveaway in many cases). Don't be so clueless that you automatically assume that a non-normatively dressed/groomed/behaving woman is actually a boy just because you can't wrap your mind around a soft/delicate/high-pitched voice coming from a suit, especially if you encounter the person in situations that scream

"adult," such as driving a car or patronizing a bank.

3. Look at the skin. Women's skin is more likely to appear supple and hairless (even if body hair is present). Men's skin is more likely

to appear rough, ashy, and hairy.

4. Look at at the shape of the limbs. Smooth, curved surfaces vs. rough-hewn shapes knotted with muscle.

5. Of course, there's always curves to look for in the hips, chest, ass, and thigh areas, but clothing can obscure these features.

6. Look at the feet and hands in proportion to the rest of the body.

Mainstream society being all but obsessed with sex-based differences, it's a wonder that more people don't recognize these simple biological realities. What might be the greater challenge is to convince others, especially breeders, to wake up, stop wallowing in their comfortable little hegemony, and actually acknowledge that we exist as people (not as curiosities or head cases to be dismissed), and to thereby realize that there is a problem with their traditional-gender-role-based assumptions, and, dare I hope, gender roles and their attendant assumptions in general.

Thom thought that we should've waited to have sex. I didn't think that was a bad idea, but I pushed her anyways. She gave in, quite willingly. I don't do latex or any of that shit. I need to taste flesh.

And now, I might have herpes. Haha.

I had begun to get weirded out after not hearing from Thom for days. I worried that she was hurt, upset after her family gathering (since she's not very fond of most of her family), or that her phone was broken and that she had no other way to contact me. I'd thought about sneaking up to her house and sticking a note in her mailbox, but I had not wanted to seem too stalkerish. Yesterday, I was really upset. It was her day off and I had expected to spend it with her. I jumped every time my phone rang. Finally, around 8 pm, she called.

She was very calm as she told me that she was in the hospital, and had just awakened two days before from a week-long coma after injecting herself in the stomach with some sort of animal tranquilizer or something she stole from her job during a drunken suicide attempt. She hadn't called because she hadn't had her cell phone's address book with her.

I was able to spend her day off with her after all. Actually, it wasn't really a "day off" because she'd been fired for stealing a highly controlled substance. I went to the hospital to visit her. She had just gotten her cell phone back, probably when her roommate had come to visit that day, and so she spent a lot of time calling every one she knew to let them know what had happened. She was so calm about it; she had a little script that she repeated for each person she called, whether a machine answered or not. I was surprised at how many people were in her fucking phone.

She said some things that set off alarms in my head. Apparently, she is a Catholic. She'd never mentioned it before, but, while talking on the phone to someone, she mentioned that she was going to go back to speaking to god. I was sitting there thinking, where the fuck did that come from? Although the alcohol had certainly played a part, she also has what I consider a pretty damn good reason to be suicidal, and she said to me, "that's why I'm a lesbian." It didn't seem the right time to go into it, but wtf? She isn't really a lesbian? Although she didn't give me all the details, she's certainly going to need some work. They had nurses sitting in her room 24/7, whenever she didn't have a visitor in the room, because they were afraid she was going to try and off herself again, although I know that she's happy to have failed, because she told me. The injection or the coma or something made it difficult for her to walk without a walker. Because of all of this, I was surprised when she called me today around 12:30 and told me that she was being discharged.

I showed up to give Thom a ride, but when I called again, she said that she had not been completely discharged, so I went up to her room to wait. A nurse came and pulled me aside shortly after I arrived. The anti-suicide sitter had called in sick and she wanted me to stay with Thom for a couple of hours, until the new sitter arrived. She even brought me a free hospital lunch. I forgot that I'm a vegetarian now and gobbled it because I hadn't eaten enough before leaving the house, which has been happening a lot lately since most of my food is in my friend's house and I hate going in there a million times a day to get stuff.

I wanted to be with Thom, but she wouldn't talk much, and she spent a lot of the time on the phone, so the visit was rather unpleasant. The night before, she had been happy to see me because she'd needed to know that people gave a damn about her, which had been part of the reason for the whole suicide thing. She even asked me about the l-word, but I said that I didn't know her well enough to use it, although, at the time, I'd wished that I could say it. She hadn't spoken much last night either, but at least she'd acknowledged my existence.

Today, she was restless. She wanted out, but there was some sort of mix up: the psych dept. released her, but the medical dept. wanted them to re-evaluate her, to send down a psychiatrist, not the psychologist they kept sending. Her dad arrived and called me her "friend." I gave him the evil eye, but held my tongue. Then her mom arrived and dragged dad off to talk alone, then the psychologist was back yet again, and I left the room so that they could speak. In the end, the psych dept. changed their minds. Thom's mom came out to the waiting room and told me that Thom was too upset to speak to me, and that she'd sent her to let me know that she wouldn't be leaving any time soon, and that I could go. I finally felt shitty at that point. It was very anti-climatic after Thom had called me in such high spirits, thinking she'd be leaving soon. I left.

The things Thom had told me about why she'd wanted to die the night before had been gradually beginning to wear on me, and I just kind of lost it a little when I was back home and my friend's aunt stopped by. It's utterly inhumane, and there's nothing I can do for her. She's probably going to need therapy for quite a while.

I was sitting at his kitchen table peeling the ends off of my bread, and I guess my hello (she always makes a huge deal about greetings, even expecting me, a complete stranger, to kiss her on the cheek hello), wasn't joyous enough, because she asked me what was wrong, put a hand on my shoulder, and made this ridiculous sad face at me. I picked up my plate and walked out the back door, ignoring her calls, because I have a rule that no one sees me cry. I totally broke that with my therapists, but they don't count, they're shrinks. I'm not sure why I was so upset all of a sudden, but I don't like it very much when people show concern. I prefer to be left alone.

I started walking through the neighborhood, and, after I'd finished eating, soon tired of holding the plate and fork, so I hid them in somebody's bushes and headed towards the nearest main street. It was so easy to walk up those hills. Being upset is great for exercise motivation. On the way, I found a package that had been dropped quite a few blocks from it's destination, so I picked it up and headed towards the street printed on it. It was some medicine.

A guy answered the door, and, when he found out that I'd brought the package such a long ways, decided to give me a dollar for my efforts. Clearly, he thought I was a child. I headed back for the plate, but found it covered in ants, and there was even a slug on the bottom, so I headed back home, and found my friend in the driveway. I apologized for losing the plate. He said his aunt had come looking for me to apologize. I went into my studio to hide from her.

This afternoon, I suddenly became depressed and tired, perhaps as a result of low blood sugar (I really shouldn't have eaten two slices of bread with my peanut butter and preserves), although it didn't feel the way my sugar crashes normally do. I took a short nap and awakened, still feeling down, and so I decided to take my bicycle to the library nearby to cheer myself up. The library is my favorite place to be, and it's been a long time since I've indulged in recreational reading that wasn't from a computer screen.

Anne Rice isn't putting out any more Vampire Chronicles (I read that she lost her mind/found Catholicism), so I had to search for something that looked promising. I picked up a book by Stephen King, Hearts in Atlantis. The back cover summary said something about the sixties, and I quickly put it down. I'm tired of hearing about the goddamned sixties, tired of hearing about free love and the "good ole' days" (which were actually only good if you were straight, white, and male) and whatever other crap people reminisce about. It's not all annoying, I just can't relate. The time was so remote, and there is something, a feeling or an understanding that goes with eras, and if one doesn't feel it or understand it, the magic just doesn't happen. It hit me, suddenly, that there were people in this world who felt that. Something that I would never know, couldn't ever know, and then, even that era pales in comparison to two or three hundred years ago. I won't go any further, history upsets me. Too much of history is painful to think about for a woman, an atheist, a lesbian, an African American.

I picked up more books and read summaries about characters with whitebread names. I hate whitebread names, they're everywhere. There's never any fucking Juan's or Nguyen's in novels. No one ever says that the characters are white, but anyone with half a brain knows that they're white; 99% of the time a novel or play or movie is conceived, the creator is picturing white people while thinking of the characters. They don't have to specify, it's understood, because white characters are the default, just like white people are default humans in this country, and if there's ever any doubt, wait until the book is adapted for a movie, or flip it over and look at the characters on the cover, or, better yet, look for any token non-white characters you can find; chances are, their ethnicity will be mentioned. Their physical features will be exoticized, their accents prostituted for comic relief, their "alien" cultures used to prop up whole plots.

This is why I find it more and more difficult to enjoy movies. I've already got to deal with the fact that most movies are targeted to low intelligence and completely lack creativity, but the stark, unrealistic homogeneity just becomes more blatant to me with every passing day. Sometimes I wonder, does this shit actually possess a shred of realism for anyone out there? Maybe some people in North Dakota or somewhere, people who never see any brown-skinned people, maybe this stuff looks kind of real to them?

I'm supposed to be working on something...my thesis, my music, something must be accomplished, but it's difficult for me to concentrate because I feel very unsettled. Part of that probably has to do with the fact that I still have boxes of unpacked crap lying around. I cleaned some more of the dirt off of the floor yesterday, and it made me feel a little better, a little more at home. I'm also slowly beginning to become a little wound up about the whole unemployment thing.

I have barely been eating any meat during the past month or so, and what I've read about vegetarianism has come true - I barely sweat, I no longer need to wear deodorant or anti-perspirant. I discovered this by accident. I forgot to put on deodorant a few days ago, and, when evening rolled around, I realized that I smelled fine and had not shed a drop of sweat the whole day. I love this. I've always disliked putting on deodorant/anti-perspirant because it feels so unnatural and so uncomfortable to roll stuff onto my underarms. I don't want to go back to the way I used to eat. My blood sugar has been ok, so it seems that I was overdoing it with all the boiled chicken. All those times I tried to tweak my diet with shitty results, and this time I do it unwittingly, and succeed. I'm constantly craving fresh vegetables these days, but they are so expensive. Protein makes me sicker by the day.

I was finally able to sneak a nap in today, and I feel much better. I think that I will be able to get some decent sleep tonight.

I went to visit my nephew again today. It makes me sick, the environment the poor child has to live in. My siblings are not good influences on him. On the bright side, his mom took me seriously when I suggested that we begin teaching him the alphabet. He's going to be working on the letter A for the next month or so. I've been able to get him to watch a little while I write it, and I repeat it to him ad nauseaum. He almost made the vowel sound tonight. Babies are the perfect pupils, coming prepackaged as they do with such inclination to imitate. It's unfortunate that so few people take advantage of their children's educational possibilities in early life.

The construction on my place is finally "finished," and I moved in three or four days ago. As is usual with a new place, I have not been able to sleep; this has been exacerbated by the fact that I have found a variety of dangerous-looking spiders crawling about the place, and am terrorized by the thought of one of them landing on my face at night.

I was wholly unprepared for what this place would be like; there used to be a nice one bedroom apartment here, and my friend did not tell me that his dad was completely remodeling it, something to do with the place not being up to code. Now, it's a studio. The floor is straight up concrete. There's no bathroom door, no kitchen sink or counters, and I can hear whenever anyone walks through the house upstairs or runs water. We're not supposed to run a gas line through here, so the stove was taken out. I found an electric one for free on craigslist, and had it delivered today, but the wiring has to be redone in order for me to plug it in. My friend's family took the refridgerator into their house and do not plan to move it back in. I desperately need a refridgerator; I'm dying for fresh food down here. I have to go into their house to get at the eggs, milk, yogurt, and vegetables I bought, which I'm really uncomfortable doing. I really don't have much of an idea what sort of people my friend's parents are because they speak Spanish 99% of the time, and, not only is my Spanish not that great, but I learned a dialect spoken in Spain, and they speak a South American dialect. I feel kind of embarrassed when I think about inviting M over. Jesus, I need at least a bathroom door so we don't have to listen to one another urinating.

I put up a curtain to simulate a bedroom, a sexy black one to match my black bedclothes. I decided I wanted my decor to be in dark blue and black. Unfortunately, I had to get whatever rugs were on sale, so they don't really match. My bedroom looks rather inviting, at least.

I tested and interviewed for a good job repairing appliances, but didn't follow up when offered a second interview because the hours are too long and too weird and I sort of enjoy having a life. Hell, I have a little money saved up, don't have to pay rent, might as well wait a bit until something that won't make me miserable comes along.

Ever since he's moved back in with his parents, the spoiled princess inside my friend has emerged like she never did before. I guess I had him tamed a little when we lived together, but that came to an end quite quickly. I am so sick of his bitching. His psychotic boyfriend is having issues again and needs time alone, and boy, is it easy to tell when they've been apart for too long. My friend's pervy imagination switches into high gear, and he's latched onto my sex life (!) and makes all kinds of annoying, tasteless remarks to me about it, especially since he's taken with (and clearly jealous of) the bruise that Thom left on my inner thigh. Next time I see his boyfriend on AIM, I'll be sure to let him know that he wants some, too.

I feel kind of lonely down here, not because I don't like living alone (trust me, I was overjoyed to get out of that house), but because the place is so...no homey, I suppose. To make it worse, I won't be able to see Thom this weekend because she has some sort of family get-together to attend. My friend asked me how much I liked her, on a scale of 1 to 10. I couldn't really answer because I still don't know her that well. Thom loves movies, but we waste too much time watching them. Next time I see her, I'm going to ask her to just talk to me more.

I wish Thom was spending the night here. I need a breast exam.

Today, I took my nephew to the park down the street from his apartment. A young girl of about eleven years came over and joined us on the tire swing. She asked me if I was a boy or a girl. I said that I was a girl. She said that she didn't often see girls with such short hair. I said that I liked my hair short. She said the most curious thing for a child, that what I'd said didn't sound like the "spirit" of a woman, that most girls wanted long hair. I said that maybe they wanted long hair because they thought they were supposed to want it.

I am pissed. Last night, my friend called and said that the apartment that I was supposed to move into isn't going to be habitable for another three weeks or so because work on the plumbing has not yet been completed. Until it's done, I'm going to be staying in the main house, in his bedroom. This is fucked on so many levels, I scarcely know where to begin.

I have not overlooked the fact that I'm terribly lucky to be offered my own place, rent free (although I'm planning to start paying rent as soon as I find a job), but I am going to be seriously uncomfortable living with my friend's family, whom I scarcely know. I NEVER feel comfortable living in other people's houses, it's just not possible. Moving into the separate apartment was going to be weird enough by itself, now, this. I'm being put up in my friend's room, which is a claustrophobia-inducing closet with a tiny twin size bed that leans to one side and is set up in such a fashion so as to facilitate light shining directly into one's face upon sunrise. I'm going to have to stop my habit of walking around the house naked or scantily clad, which is going to be a pain since I have such a limited collection of pajamas/lounge wear. I also sleep naked, so I'll have to put something on if I ever wake up in the middle of the night to use the restroom (I had to do this when I lived in the dorms, what a pain. I eventually just stopped because no one ever caught me.) I know that my friend's mom is something of a neat freak, and I have issues keeping the kitchen spotless because I have to cook/eat so many times a day. I'll be packing all of my food into their fridge. I can't even put my furniture where it needs to be, so I'll have to haul it upstairs (the apartment is conveniently located downstairs) to store in the house, then haul it back down when I can move in, without the aid of the dolly I'm going to be renting along with the moving truck, because I'll have returned it.

Worst of all, I have been dreaming about getting all these moving preparations over with, finally being settled in, alone, in my own place, so that I can invite Thom over for some Cuddletime, and that is all shot to hell. It makes me see red just thinking about that. She has a roommate and I don't want to go over to her place at all. I wonder why my friend didn't tell me this until four days before I was supposed to arrive? I hate living with other people so much, I have considered staying in a motel, paying another month's rent to stay where I am, even living in my car or going over to my mom's, where I'd at least be living with family who wouldn't say shit just because I was walking around in my boxer briefs. Where am I going to practice? I have so much stuff that I won't even be able to unpack.

Anyways, good news. About a month ago, I finally found a moisturizer that actually moisturizes my skin, and I haven't been ashy for weeks. The downsides are that it's expensive and leaves me smelling like flowers. It would smell great on someone else, but it's really not me.

I have applied to about six or so jobs, and have not heard back from anyone. I think maybe I'll be joining a recruitment agency. A co-worker has asked me to cover his hours for the past three weeks, so that'll put a little extra money in my pocket.

I have been learning a lot of interesting and inspiring things in Feminist Philosophy, stuff that is too complex for me to take the time to post about it. These things have also led to such a wide array of incredibly involved thoughts that I just don't have the patience to put them all into words. Sometimes, when I'm thinking deeply about something, the ideas come to me so quickly that they are not thought as words, and so putting them into words takes extra effort, especially if the thoughts are not simple (oddly, the simple ones seem to materialize in my consciousness more slowly than the more complex ones).

Something that has been bugging me, which I probably should write about, is the violence and oppression in the world. I know that I'm not special, that many people have and will continue to agonize over the brutality men perpetrate in this world, but I find that it's more at difficult some times than at others to get over the thoughts and get on with my day, my week, my life. In the past, there have been occasions where the depression was so strong, I just felt like committing suicide; the feelings of horror were nearly unbearable. There is another level beyond those sorts of feelings, though, a completely impersonal one. I just can't bear the existence of a problem that cannot be solved, and that's precisely what I see when I contemplate the scale of the world's atrocities. It's a nerd thing. Unsolvable problems lean heavily on my self-destruct button, inspire a kind of disgust that I can scarcely describe. The experience of being forced to read something riddled with grammatical errors, or being within earshot of one of the simplest, most bald-faced of the logical fallacies may approximate it, but it is worse. It's the kind of intellectual agony that can drive a girl to nerd suicide.

Violence and oppression aren't actually unsolvable, though, not in the sense of being without solutions. The problem is that we must rely on humans as a group to implement the solutions, and monsters are not generally inclined to put an end to their own monstrosities, especially after a lifetime of being bred with, raised on monstrous act after monstrous act. I don't know what got me started thinking about this again a day or so ago, kept me paralyzed with thought as I lay in my bed. The world is in a dire state, and I propose a dire solution. It isn't a new idea of mine, but every time it resurfaces, it seems less and less insane. Women band together. We murder every male over the age of thirteen or so. Simple.

The funny thing is, in a world where huge numbers of children are sexually assaulted, and rape victims stoned to death, some would find that particularly brutal. Haha. Women will probably never band together on a large enough scale to get this done in even a single city, though. Hell, some of us haven't even consciously admitted to ourselves that whether or not there are dangly bits between a person's legs is a better predictor of violent inclinations than culture, history of abuse, and psychological profile all put together.

It certainly is brutal. People would take it personally, wouldn't want to hurt their sons, their husbands, because the men they know "aren't like that." It's true, innocents would die, but how many? How many are upstanding, and how many would turn to brutality if the opportunity ever presented itself, if society broke down, and fear of the law went with it? How many are truly non-violent non-misogynists, and how many are merely sheep, products of liberal societies that compel a certain level of civility, that encourage the values of sexual equality? I suppose one could also ask, how many are truly monsters, and how many are simply products of monstrous societies? The answer to the latter is, nearly all of us, yet the answer to the former is, less than half of us, with the vast majority coming from the male half.

I've created a thought experiment for the not my Nigel's: "Civilization" has collapsed, perhaps as a result of a natural disaster. You have a daughter, a young girl, perhaps ten years of age or so, on the cusp of adolescence. She and Nigel are the only survivor's on an island. There is plenty of food, water, etc. for the both of them to survive, and no particularly dangerous animals on the island. There are no rescue ships on the way, no one else around. Are you worried about her succumbing to violence? Now, when I think of my roommate, I wouldn't be worried at all. When I think of my own brother, though, I'm not so sure. That's the lens through which I view my brutal plan for world peace. In the larger scheme, the huge cut in, if not the complete cessation of, rape, molestation, murder, war, torture, and slavery, their lives are worth nothing, not even my sweet, harmless friend.

It wouldn't be so difficult. Men come home to women every day. If mom slips something in dinner while her son is home from college, if the missus takes a knife to her husband's throat while he sleeps, all over the world, that would rid us of so many. The main problem would be the (segregated) military. If the mess hall workers "spice up" lunch, and the female servicemembers band together in a covert sniping operation, they would be doing us all a huge favor.

Only in my dreams.

To the list of oils I have tried (and failed) to use as moisturizers, I can now add castor oil and canola oil, as well as a castor/olive oil mixture, and a canola/olive oil mixture. For a while, I gave in and went back to baby oil, but not even that works anymore. Oh, how I miss having soft skin! There has to be some natural substance in this world that can do as good a job as petrolatum. It is undoubtedly something I can't afford, though.

The following ranking system is based on how white with ashiness my skin was after using the product:

I would rate aloe vera gel (REAL aloe vera gel, not the shit that's mixed with alcohol) as the worst; my skin felt dry almost immediately after rubbing it in. Surprisingly, a lavender oil mix ranks the next worst, followed by a soybean/vitamin E oil blend, and the canola oil, which is maybe tied with jojoba oil. I was shocked when the sticky, highly viscous castor oil left me ashy in a matter of a couple of hours, although it has worked wonders on my hair, especially when used in tandem with shea butter. I daren't try shea butter on my skin; I don't want to find out that it works, only to be tormented by the fact that I would never be able to afford to use it regularly. The vitamin E/cocoa butter/some other stuff I can't remember mix still reigns supreme, with olive oil coming in second, warding off the dreaded white skin for up to twelve hours.

I'd recently switched from bar soap to NutriBiotic Non-Soap Skin Cleanser in an attempt to avoid the drying effects of soap. It was a pain in the ass to use because it did not foam very much, and I was terrified of using too much, as it goes for nearly forty or fifty bucks per gallon. This cleanser left my skin softer than any soap I'd ever used. I must have been distracted on my last trip to Whole Foods, because only after several weeks of use did I notice SODIUM LAURETH SULFATE, listed as the second ingredient on the bottle.

After a brief return to bar soap, I'm now using Dr. Bronner's. I was unfortunate enough to choose Tea Tree Oil version, which smells like some sort of engine fluid. I seriously considered heading back to the store for the fragrance free version, but, at nearly nine bucks a pop, the good Dr.'s products are not to be trifled with. Otherwise, it works fine, lathers amazingly well for a bottle full of oil, but comes in a bottle that contains many freaky, cultish sayings on the label. Every ingredient on the label is recognizable.

J/A/S/O/N's Sea Kelp Shampoo cleans well, is only somewhat drying, leaves my hair with a nice texture, and smells interesting. It doesn't lather as easily as some other shampoos, but I like the light lather. Amid the oils and fruit extracts listed on the label are a few shady looking ingredients that I've yet to look into.

Kiss My Face Active Enzyme deodorant is the first aluminum-free deodorant I've ever used that actually works. It's mercifully fragrance free and includes interesting ingredients such as baking soda, clay, and cornstarch. Unfortunately, there are also several unpronounceable hexaWTFglycopropyl type ingredients listed, so, more research for me on that score.

DenTek (100% biodegradable) Natural Floss Picks lack the floss coating of DenTek (plastic) Silk Floss Picks, and will probably end up languishing in my medicine cabinet, unused. Keeping plastic out of the landfills is not worth the pain and suffering of slicing my gums every night in the process of trying to force a rough piece of floss in between my teeth thirteen times (my two lower wisdom teeth are gone). I was critical of the flossers in the store, but the misleading "Advanced with Fluoride Coating" on the label swayed me.

My Lunapads are still holding up strong two or three years after I purchased them. No complaints.

I have also recently purchased a set of Jade and Pearl Menstrual Sea Sponges from GladRags.com. As the owner of a rather small and unfortunately rarely used vagina, I generally avoid any sort of internal products, but I didn't want to miss any of my swimming lessons because of my period. I paid about $12.50 (with tax) for two sponges and a nifty little storage bag. As directed, I wet one of the sponges, squeezed it into a manageable shape, and attempted to plug the crimson river. It didn't fit, so I followed the directions and cut off some of the material around the edges. Still, I couldn't get the damned thing in. I kept cutting and cutting it, constantly worried that I was destroying the special shape which the directions urged me to preserve for maximum absorption. With the thing chopped down to the size of two erasers, I realized that the reason it was so uncomfortable was not the size, but the scratchy material it was made out of.

I decided to wait a couple of days, so that the heavier flow might ease the way. That didn't help at all. Finally, several days later, I was able to work the thing in with little trouble; I have no idea why or how. Still, I'm pretty sure that I'll never attempt to use these sponges again, as I can really do without my vaginal walls being exfoliated.

Mysteriously, my car refuses to start up. It's parked at school, so I'm going to have to shell out a fortune to get it towed to the repair shop. The part that enrages me is that, after it wouldn't start twice in the space of a couple of days, I took it to the shop after I finally started it up. They couldn't find anything wrong with it, and it started up fine while I was there.

Getting to class and work isn't too bad, as I live near the bus line and ride free with my school ID, but I haven't been getting to the pool; I haven't been exercising, and I feel like a tub of lard. Now that my swimming course is over, I don't have access to the nearby pool, and the next closest pool is at least two miles away. Not too big of a deal, but riding there and back every day, or at least several times a week, plus taking the bus to and from class and work will start to add up in terms of time (the bus takes fucking forever to get anywhere). I'm already having trouble spending a sufficient amount of time studying. It's been difficult for me to concentrate lately. I've realized that I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life. The only way I will escape that is through random chance; to me, this is the same as having no chance.

I tried to join a bunch of lesbian forums these past few weeks, and found myself almost completely incapable of participating in any of the discussions. Maybe if I destroy a few billion brain cells I'll be able to think up something to say about what Ellen wore on TV last night or some random stranger's relationship drama. I started some of my own topics, but, of course, they couldn't begin to measure up to such comment-magnets as "Post What You Did Yesterday!"

Back when the car still worked a couple of weeks ago, I considered giving in and joining some type of lesbian's club, but I couldn't find anything even remotely interesting. I found some "social" clubs (read: sit around and talk about nothing with strangers) on meetup.com, nothing that actually involved a coherent activity. You know what, fuck meetup.com anyhow. Most of the groups I've looked into joining there (lesbian-oriented or not) seem to be almost entirely composed of 30-40 something white people, and several of them are geared to "working professionals" (classism, anyone?) despite the fact that the group itself has nothing to do with work, networking, or anything like that. I checked out the events calender at the LGBTLOLWTF community centers in SF and in my town. It never ceases to amaze me, how much time our community centers devote to AIDS testing and AA meetings. There was no lesbian meetup anything there. My center is working on a new hotline for bullied children (relevance?), but no women's group.

Here on the homefront, I'm not sure if one of my tutees is flirting with me or what. I don't think I've ever seen anyone laugh so much or smile constantly while working on trigonometry. Today as I was sitting next to her, she "accidentally" touched my leg with her foot. Twice.

After the end of this month, I'll move into my friend's basement; away from all the job opportunities, away from perhaps the largest lesbian community in the world, away from universities and malls and into a retirement community of stagnation and poverty. On the bright side, I will be eligible for county health insurance. Being an able-bodied adult with a moderate array of marketable skills, I used to feel guilty about leeching off of government benefits, but I don't fucking care anymore. The entire government is incredibly fucked up and corrupt anyhow, and our society discourages people from becoming skilled, getting work, and giving back, when it isn't outright preventing these things, that is.

Today at work, I was thinking that, since I'll be moving back near my old community college, maybe I should just enroll in one class so that I can work there tutoring again. This is the end product of our society; an adult with shattered hopes, a skilled and educated individual daydreaming about settling for a minimum wage job in exchange for job security. I remember, back in the halcyon days of my youth

Oh, nevermind.

I've noticed that, the happier I am, the less I feel the need to update this journal. Still, I want it to look back at someday.

Last Sunday, the pool was closed, so I decided to get my daily exercise by taking my bike to the trail around the nearby lake. I thought there was only one path around the lake, and I was determined to follow it, as I had never been to the other side of the lake. After riding around for about an hour, I ended up somewhere other than the other side of the lake, so I had to backtrack. I then found a bike trail, and, though I was a bit tired, decided to follow it. There was a sign up with a map, but I ignored it. I wanted to be surprised by the trail ahead.

Maybe a mile or two down this trail, a bit exhausted after climbing hill after hill, I began to realize that this route was a lot more demanding than the main trail. I came upon another map, and decided to take a look. I discovered that the trail I was on was over twelve miles long. I knew that I would be foolish to continue, because I had already spent so much energy, but I was so damned determined to get to that magical place, the other side of the lake. Also, I could scarcely imagine going back the way I'd come, so formidable were the hills. I hoped that the path would even out soon. Most importantly, however, I tend to think of myself as Superwoman, capable of pretty much anything, and so, tired or not, with no food on me, I kept riding. Knowing that I had another couple of hours in the three hour window I have between meals before I begin falling apart, I dared myself to make it.

I won't say that this was a mistake; I will say that I spent another five hours scrambling through the woods surrounding the lake. I began to worry a little when I could no longer see the water, realizing how far out the trail was taking me. I soon developed a headache. It was around noon, hot, the sun directly over head. The trail was a mess of rocks and loose dirt. Walking my bike up hill after hill, I was sure the next one would be the last, but there was always another. I no longer had enough energy to bike uphill, so it was taking me forever to get anywhere. I kept going. People passed by and asked me if I was ok. I said yes, of course. I began to need breaks more and more often. I passed an enclosure filled with grazing goats, and down by a road, where I considered leaving the trail, but I didn't know how to get back to my car from there. Anyways, I was determined to finish.

At some point, I was somewhere deep in the woods, with no one around. The bike trail branched off. I didn't know where this new trail led, but, it appeared to snake along back towards the lake (the direction in which I was convinced my salvation lay); before me on the main trail loomed yet another hill. I took the branch. I will definitely say that this decision was a mistake. This trail was rockier and soon changed directions, and continued to change directions as I followed it, so that I soon had no idea where I was in relation to the lake. I was thrilled that I could coast downhill along it, but soon found myself facing yet another series of hills. The condition of the path made it clear that few people walked it, and I became just a little worried for my safety.

I spent most of my time having no idea where I was going, walking my bike along this trail, and another trail to follow, with no idea how to get back to the main trail, let alone the lake entrance where my car was parked. By this time, I'd realized that there were around six, maybe seven different trails, and I'd paid no attention to which way any of them would take me as I'd studied the map. I had my cell phone in my pocket, and considered calling for help. I didn't know if it would work or not, but I was way beyond the point of needing to eat. I thought about the horrible symptoms of prolonged low blood sugar I had read about, including coma. My headache was getting worse, but, surprisingly, not as bad as I'd expected it to be. I kept going. Eventually, I came out at the other end of the park. A lady resting on a bench showed me a map and directed me to bike down the road (downhill, yes!), where I found the campsite entrance. I told one of the booth attendants that I was lost. He showed me a map, which indicated that I was about two miles from my destination. I considered telling him that I was practically dying and in need of food, and asking for a ride to my car, especially when the attendant asked if I was all right, but decided against it. I knew that it would be a major pain in the ass for them to have to baby some moron who had gotten in over her head on a bike outing. I still had plenty of water, so I kept going.

Initially, I was thrilled that the trail was finally heading downhill, but soon found this stretch to be far more treacherous than all the previous ground I'd covered; the dirt was looser, quite sand-like in places even, there were more rocks, and the hills were so steep that I was obliged to walk the bike yet again to avoid loosing traction and sliding headlong into one of the trees that lined the path. After twenty minutes of fighting gravity thus, I reached the base and, having spent so many hours of my little bike ride in complete isolation, was nearly in shock to see other people on the trail again. I asked a couple of hikers coming my way if they'd come from the marine entrance, and their affirmation was music to my ears. I crossed a bridge and struggled to carry my bike up some stairs, prompting yet another rest period, during which I found an unopened energy bar sitting on a rock. Alas, it was vanilla flavor. I mounted again, happy to be back on pavement, and, soon, the lake emerged! Completely exhausted, however, I was scarcely able to enjoy it; my weak and unsteady peddling obliged me to keep my eyes on the path ahead, lest I drive myself off the cliff. Although it was finally beginning to cool off, the cool water, shimmering in the sun, taunted me.

Another couple of miles, and I was back at my car. I disassembled the bike, hauled it into the trunk, and decided to treat myself to Jack In The Box. I couldn't wait to go home, cook and eat. I abandoned my water-only drinking habit and bought a medium iced tea with my meal. Usually, such drinks taste terribly sweet to me, but I was clearly starved for carbohydrates, and it went down easy. My headache had developed into a migraine at this point, so I went home and collapsed into bed.

My baby came home the day before yesterday



Before I went to pick it up, I tried to stop at the barbershop I went to before for a quick haircut. There were only two barbers there (the other times, there was about 5), and neither one of them knew how to cut my hair. One was apparently going to try, as she invited me to her chair. I told her that I wanted her to use a number 2 attachment (or whatever its called) on top, and to fade out my back and sides. She didn't seem to understand the concept of fading. At first I thought it was because English wasn't her first language. The other barber straight up said that she couldn't cut my hair and advised her co-worker not to try if she couldn't do so either. Long story short, I had to leave with my hair looking a mess. The only other (respectable) barbershop in town that I know of charges twice as much for a basic haircut. I could try to time my visits so that I go in when the guy who cut my hair before is there, but the whole ordeal makes me feel so shitty that I don't ever want to show my face there again. I don't think I've ever felt as alienated as I've been feeling when it comes to barbershops. Of course, I'm alienated in lots of other ways, but I don't really care that much about those other ways.

Since I'm going to be leaving school, and my roommate's legal issues are taken care of, he wants to move back home (also my hometown), and his mom has invited me to stay in the apartment under their house, free of rent. There is a stylist there that I used to go to, Jazz, and I feel totally comfortable in her salon, and she knows how to style/cut all hair.

I feel uncomfortable with people giving me things, so I was really loathe to accept my roommate's mom's offer, but, let's face it, I don't have a job lined up, and some rent-free (or low-rent, what I sort of plan to do) months would do me good while I got my act together. Also, my friend really wants me to live nearby. My sister lives right across town, and I will be able to visit her often (which I feel ambivalent about). The town, however, is dull and low-budget with zero job opportunities, and doesn't even have BART access. I prefer living here because I feel like I'm in the "mix" of things in terms of being surrounded by the major cities in the Bay Area, but I guess the money I save on rent can be gas money for visiting this area. Also, I feel somewhat better now that I know there's a Whole Foods nearby. I'd just die without one of those.

I've have been somewhat disappointed in myself lately. I've begun to notice how unlike myself I behave in some circumstances. Sometimes, it's not so terrible, like when I'm at work and I behave uncharacteristically nice, almost deferential, towards my co-workers and the students I tutor. I've thought about this and decided that there are two reasons: I know that I tend to put people off with my facial expressions, silence, and morose attitude, and I don't want them to feel uncomfortable. It's rather bewildering how a small, quiet, (apparently) youthful-looking woman can intimidate people so, so I suppose I just sort of flounder and reach for some semblance of “normality,” which of course I'm quite terrible at. Also, I'm sensitive to the fact that sometimes students are embarrassed about having to seek help, especially from another student, and I try to interact in a non-authoritarian manner to put them at ease. I do annoying things like soften my voice (which probably sounds goofy since my voice is already pretty soft and high-pitched).

I've been improving my ability to think critically on my feet, and so I noticed this today while I was tutoring a particular student for an extended period of time. I realized that the way I was behaving was not me at all, and it angered me a little. The student, however, affirmed that my act was working by telling me that I was "so nice." Lol. Me, nice?

The recognizing my thoughts/feelings in the moment thing also switched on yesterday when I was tutoring a young white male. I realized that I was feeling strangely uncomfortable sitting next to him, to the point where I was just waiting for him to let me know that he didn't have any more questions. I realized that it was because he was a white male, or, more specifically, because I associate white males with...I'm not quite sure how to put it, the mainstream, oppressive, Beaver Cleaver heteropatriarchal wholesomeness that I exist in pretty much complete opposition to. I swear that I've walked up to young male students waiting for a tutor and had them look at my in surprise or shock or something, and of course, it made me feel weird. I don't want the students to be freaked out or uncomfortable. I think that perhaps I'm imagining some of it, or over-imagining it,

goddamnit, my roommate just came in and I lost my train of thought.

Uh, anyways, long story short, I need to be myself more around people. That is my goal for right now.

So, in other news, my copy of Female Masculinity arrived in the mail today. I was kind of irritated that there was writing in it even thought the Amazon seller posted that it had none, and I swear that it smells like sex or dick or something gross and musky in a way that is far too personal. This is the second time I've had a look at it; the first was when I was in Santa Cruz and I skipped reading a bunch of it because it was about books and movies and other crap that seemed irrelevant. A couple of different people mentioned it to me when I made posts about the usage of the descriptor masculinity for women, but it isn't really helpful in that regard because the author writes in the first paragraph that she makes no attempt to define (or re-define) the word. Some of the book is written in that annoying, I dunno, queer theorish ways that uses everday terms in odd ways, like, blah blah blah, people locate masculinity in blah blah representation... Who uses the word locate that way? It's kind of like they give words their own personal meaning, and don't let you know what that meaning is, and it comes off as being overly metaphorical and ornate for what is essentially a social studies text.

Ok, I have some other stuff to say, but my thoughts are becoming scattered, so I'll stop.

I'm down ( one size! )

I wore a sleeveless shirt to Pride last Sunday, and somehow ended up with a sunburn. WTF, I thought the only way people with dark skin could get sunburned was to travel to Mercury or Venus or something. This is the first time in my entire life that I've been sunburned.

Today, after my swimming lesson, one of my classmates swam over to me and began a conversation. Even though she mentioned my job, it took me forever to recognize her. She had been one of my tutees! Like the oblivious moron that I am, I was so focused on trying to swim that I barely even paid attention to what she was saying. She has a certain way of speaking that...I don't know if she was just being nice or...something else, but she kept talking to me, I guess until she became tired of my barely paying attention, then wished me a good Fourth of July and exited the pool. Afterwards, I was mentally slapping myself on the forehead. Maybe she would have liked to come home with me and see my room :) I think I've already gotten myself in good with her with that bootleg copy of a calculus textbook that I burned for her last Winter quarter.

I'm never paying attention when women notice me...actually, I'm never paying attention at all, always off in my own little world. Shortly after my roommate and I arrived at Pride, someone came up and gave me a flyer/card for the Butches of The Bay photoshoot. I said thank you and started to walk off. My roommate promptly became irritated with me because, apparently, the other girl had said I was cute as I was walking off, and I hadn't done anything about it. I hadn't even noticed that there were two people; I'd only seen the one handing out cards. I had heard somebody saying something about "cute," but it had been behind me and hadn't really registered. He urged me to go back and talk to her, but, what the fuck was I going to say? I wasn't going to run like a puppy after anyone who made an offhand comment about my looks. I didn't even know what she looked like.

Long story short, I need to pay more attention to what's going on around me. Only when women are around, though. Fortunately, I get to see my classmate again next Tuesday during class. I guarantee you I'll be all ears/eyes then.

I'm a much stronger swimmer now, but still having issues with sinking. Me in the pool is like a block of fucking plutonium in the pool.

Maybe I'll go to this photoshoot, get myself some free advertising.