confused…

May 29, 2008

  I was cruising around the net this morning at work… (shhhhh!) and came across this anger filled “article” on Michelle Malkin’s blog.

 What got to me (after the initial “wha?”) was the endless comment section, where one commenter after another said hateful, ignorant things. 

 While I completely understand people have different opinions than others, and while I completely support the discussion of these opinions and freedom of speech, the one thing I noticed was how the conservative side of this discussion was so all-inclusive, all decisive, and no buts about it correct, and all liberals were deemed to be unpatriotic because they refused to group every single Muslim on earth into the terrorist label.

  (for those of you too lazy to read the article, here is a short summary:  Rachel Ray (annoying “yummo” celebrity chef) recently did a commercial for Dunkin Donuts where she is wearing a scarf.  The scarf looks to some like the traditional muslim scarf (keffiyeh) that is common attire for most people in the muslim world.  The Big Brother propoganda videos (a.k.a. news and media and what not) has convinced a large portion of Americans to see that traditional scarf (or something similar) as a symbol of hate and terrorism and death and fear and everything that America is against.  (if you dont understand the Big Brother reference, go pick yourself up a copy of 1984
 Enough complaints led to Dunkin Donuts to remove the commercial to not imply any terrorist support.   

 Wow. Whether that scarf is the traditional scarf as accused, or whether it is just some paisley design that would be better suited for the likes of Joan Rivers, the comment section is where it got ugly.

  I’d rather not post the words on here, for they do not represent my beliefs.  

 Comparisons to the swastika, the KKK are made.

 Very interesting to hear two sides of political ideology, as my parents are full blooded republicans, and I tend to lean more democratic, though prefer to stay unaffiliated to any “group” due to the volatile nature of politics.  I could picture my dad saying some things like this sadly.  (I’ve heard him say so many things about mexicans, it makes my head spin) (i’ve also heard him talk about Obama and “not likin’ his name”) geesh.

   So my question: does this make me naive?  

  Since I would rather not group every Muslim (or everyone who lives in the middle east) as a terrorist or terrorist supporter, does that make me stupid?

  Expanding from that, does wanting peace make me some silly liberal who doesnt understand that people need to kill others and blow up things to make things better? 

 This confuses me   

Side note: the header picture for this post is off of Michelle’s flickr page.

  I am curious, seeing Michelle, and noticing she looks like she has some asian heritage, or Phillipines (forgive my ignorance) I wonder, if we had some national conflict with an asian or south pacific country and suddenly everyone was against people who even looked slightly of asian decent or maybe liked a certain asian food or something silly like that, would Michelle see this as the same thing?  If terrorists were suddenly from the country her heritage came from, would she have the same views?

  Maybe its the schooling I received, maybe its just innate, but I can’t help but put myself in the place of other people, accused people, people who may have something in common with a guilty party, but who are guilty only by association. 

 silly me.   

yeah, i admit it.

May 19, 2008

I miss weed.

 

I admit, about 4 years ago, I was a serious pot-head.  A college graduate, a waitress, a creative person, and a pot head.

I felt more creative when I was high.  I felt so relaxed and invincible when I was high.  Sure I had some paranoia on occasion, and when I was sad, weed made that sadness even stronger.  But it was great.  Listening and playing music was great.  Reading books and watching movies was great.

I miss it.

 

I do realize however, it was a total crutch and I smoked weed to escape from dealing with things.
Perhaps being such an avid pot-head for so many years in a row has left me with little practice in dealing with emotions and memories.  The last 4 years without weed has been hard.  Many times I find myself wishing to escape to my sanctuary of a couple of tokes and a trippy movie like “A Bug’s Life”  (which by the way, if you smoke weed, you should check that one out- their eyes and skin texture is what got me)…

I felt more alive, and more connected to my spiritual self.

Yoga is helping me with that, though it seems to be much more subtle and harder to achieve than smoking and taking a hike in nature.  But it seems like it’s healthier, and my lungs are happier, and I am much more clear headed when the session is over, unlike the lethargic fuzzy mind after smoking too much pot.

 

Why did I stop, you say?  It was getting to the point where it didnt feel that great to smoke.  I felt burnt out, dead to the world, tired of hiding it, tired of not answering the phone when I was high, or answering the phone and acting all weird and freaked out trying to sound normal, tired of unsure drug tests at work, tired of not really wanting to do anything at all. 

Other than that, it was great.       Ha…

 

Just needed to vent, I think my day job would be so interesting if I were high.

 

hug o’ war

May 13, 2008

the skinny

May 1, 2008

I’ve always been self concious about my body- since high school.

Before that, I was always stick thin and riding my bike for hours a day in the summers, playing softball with my dad and kickball with the dog.  Then puberty made me metabolize a bit differently and I filled out a bit.  Now I’ve always been lean and thin (family traits) and for the last 10-15 years I’ve had a BMI around 19-22. (more 22 now).

I realize some people would kill for this BMI and it doesnt come easy to most, but I find it hard to appreciate my body and love it for it’s shape and tall slenderness.  I still feel fat. I hate the cellulite dimples on my butt and thighs, I hate how my belly sides squish over the top of my freshly washed jeans.  I feel fat.

Why?

In college I took a sociology of women class, and most of the class we focused on the media and how it shapes our self images of us as we grow up.  Unconsciously. 

It has become more apparent to me as I have grown older.  But I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I’m supposed to look like these girls, who undoubtedly look sickly thin and malnourished. 

 

It’s quite sad really.

 

 

 

need?

April 24, 2008

So I heard back yesterday from “jo” at samaritans.org and it got me thinking (forgive me if I go WAY off on tangents…)

Definately was good to write all the stuff that was bothering me in an email and send it off to some stranger who is halfway across the world.  It was a bit releasing, like writing in this blog, but even more so.

The weird part was the response/questions I received back.  They seems a bit robotic at first.  Like the stereotypical  psychologist response: “and how does that make you feel”

Not having gone to therapy sessions, I guess I was just not used to this turn around and come back on me.  What did I expect?  I guess part of me expected the person to say that everything was going to be okay, that the best thing for me is to stick with what I am doing, go to my yoga classes, be thankful for what I have, yadda yadda yadda…

But I guess not.  So I wrote back, trying to answer the questions they came back with, and trying to be honest with myself.  One issue that came up:

My mother
(cue dramatic music here)

In writing to “Jo” I realized that I don’t have the support of my mom.  She loves me, yes. She wants me to succeed, but I think because she never took chances in life, (and I have, unsuccessfully at times) she doesn’t think that doing things outside the box will turn out ok.  Like my freelance work- HUGE for me to be out there like this- super insecure about myself and my work, and well, my last 2 clients hate me!  One won’t even return my emails.  This is not a good boost to my confidence, and makes that little mom voice in my head say, “you should settle down as a secretary at a large secure company and start a long career”

um… no. Even if the idea of being a secretary didn’t make me want to find sharp objects and hurl them in the air over my head, things don’t work like that, like the way they did in the 50’s, where you find a job, work hard, maybe become manager, work at that same company with yearly raises, bonuses until your 65, then retire with a fat pension and take the motorhome around the country for a few years until you end up on your recliner complaining about the nonsense Judge Wapner has to put up with.

Things just don’t work like that, and well, even if they did, I don’t think I would make it at a job like that til 65.  I would snap, and someone would get hurt.

So exposing myself and risking loosing my pride/sanity/hopes/whatlittleconfidanceididhave for doing some freelance work was so risky for me, and terrified me, and I haven’t gone forward with my self promotion stuff/business cards yet because these last two clients (who where undecided in what they wanted and big pains in the arse) are freaking me out.

 What if I can’t do this?

Am I going to burst out crying in frustration and be all pissed off everytime I work on a project?

Am I going to go to bed sobbing every night because I can’t do what people want me to do for their project?  Is this going to ruin my relationship with my BF?

AARGH

so, to get back onto the subject of samaritans.org, they did respond to my response, and are asking some provocative questions that are very useful in untangling the webs in my brain.  One question that has been rattling around in my head since I read it is ” do you really need your mom’s support for this”

wow.  I feel like I don’t have her support, and always felt like I wanted it, but do I really need it?
I need to think about that one for a bit.  (do I need it to succeed?  do I reaaaally need it?)

 

I suggest, even if you aren’t suicidal (which I don’t think I really am, but could picture myself being in the future…) if you just need some anonymous outsider comments that could help you figure things out, give them a try, email is so much easier than calling (at least for me)

Heck, you could even email me (or leave a comment) and we could share our woes and support each other…

 

(did that seem like a pathetic attempt to find friendship?)

 

 

 

crrraaaash

April 23, 2008

 

 

I was just thinking about the comment I made earlier regarding driving through the intersection and feeling ok with the idea of someone plowing into my car a high speeds.

 

I just realized I have a strange fascination with thoughts of deadly car collisions, and have so for years.  

 

As a kid, I would lay in bed at night imagining being in a crashed car, being rescued by the jaws of life, some strong fireman, and flashing lights of emergency vehicles…

 

One  time specifically I must have been quite distraught, driving to or from the house of a man I was dating (might I expose the fact I was 21 and he was 39).  I remember imagining what it would be like to drive into the concrete barrier at top speed, or off the freeway where it drops, unfenced, down a steep ravine.

Every time I go on a trip, especially with the BF in the car, I get a slight panic attack at the idea of a car coming into our lane and wiping us out.  In fact, last night driving to the store I was struck by that same panic when a car put his blinker in the lane next to me.  

I remember being in 4 car accidents. Two as a child in our minivan, both not mom’s fault, and two later in life…

The first one was a hit and run; some guy decided to go straight in an inside turn lane, and us turning in the outside turn lane proved to be in the way. slam! my mom had a sore neck and shoulder for a while, and I got to talk to the policeman, though I was only 4 or 5 and somewhat unaware of what really happened.

The second one was a full on rear ending, the guy was going at least 40, and we were dead stopped, waiting for cars to pass in order to turn down our street.  The guy said “i didn’t see you” (hello? minivan?  not so mini)  my mom’s glasses ended up in the trunk, she had neck pain for a while again, and I got to talk to a policeman once again (must have been 7 or 8 by then)  My mom still avoids turning at that part of the road.

#3 was less than a month after I got my drivers license.  boy was I sad after that.  I made a left hand turn in front of oncoming traffic, and was t-boned. It was technically my fault, though I have some great excuses. #1: the roads were slick from rain  #2: the t-boner was going at least 35 in a 25 zone  #4: some pedestrian jumped into the driveway I was aiming for, so I had to stop my car in order not to run him over (then look to my right and say “shit!” and brace for impact)

and the most recent, the fourth was quite a while ago, let’s see… I was 22 and ex-fiance (another story) was driving us down the freeway Southbound to a concert (one of our first dates).  Traffic was a little heavy, but not bad, good flow.  Northbound there was suddenly at least 50 motorcycles, loud, weaving, one guy was doing a wheelie (on the freeway!!!), of course this caught the attention of the easily amused ex-fiance (another story) and he failed to look ahead of him.  I was looking ahead and, in slow motion, mouthing/reaching for the steering wheel/trying to yell “loookooooooout!” brrrraaaaaaaake”
and we rear-ended some poor soccer mom with her two tots in the back. She and the tots were ok, but ex-fiance’s expensive eddie baur edition jeep cherokee (another story) was not.

 

 

Nothing since (looking around for wood to knock on) but it freaks me out to be on the freeways still-

though i suppress that fear….

like everything else….

 

 

Y’know, in the beginning of this campaign. Having the two main democratic heavyweight contenders be such history-making phenomenons, I was excited.  I liked Hillary Clinton, because, not knowing much about her except for the fact she was a strong woman, a senator, a wife of a playa, etc, she was an amazing acheivement to get this far- taking me back to the days when I was a child:

“and what would you like to be when you grow up?”

“I want to be president”

“ha ha ha. Silly girl, your brother could be President, but I am afraid you can’t.  You’re a girl”

“thats the only reason?”

“yes”

 

“whaaaaaaaaaaa!”

 

Not that I would be a great leader of this country, for I am much to scandalous and introverted. 

 

And I liked Barack Obama, because, well, what’s not to like about the guy, though I was cautious due to never having a trustworthy politician in my lifetime.  Ever listen to his speeches?  This is the stuff history is made of.  This is the good hearted president OF the people, for the people.  Blows me away.  (unless, of course it’s all a scam)

 

And no offense to my republican parents, or any other republicans out there, but ever since I could read and understand simple ideas of ethics and morals, the republican party was not for me.  Not to say that democrats are moral ethic beings, but they tend to at least take into consideration the lives of those not living in Bel Air Mansions and getting botoxed till their foreheads fall off.

 

So it was either Hillary, or Obama.  Funny how it’s  not Clinton and Obama, or Hillary and Barack…

 

And so I payed attention to the race, watched the debates, read news everyday, listened to commentary on the radio.  

And now, I don’t like the strong woman figure.  She annoys me , she lies, she seems desperate and she plays dirty.  In other words, she is a true politician.  Obama has the influence to move young voters out of their political coma.  He has the charm to woo thinking republicans out from their lairs.  He has the common sense to make the rest of Washington freak out because if he does become president, which it keeps looking more and more like he will, he is going to make all those super-rich, super-comfortable, super-funded, super-elitist folks have to change their lifestyles and stop doing the dishonest things that have plagued the upper ranks of government since before my Grandpappy made it through the depresssion and met my Grandmother and got married in Tijuana (I have the photo- they are sitting on a donkey/burro, wearing sombreros and looking ever so slightly touristy under the “we got married in tijuana” banner)

So what do those politicians do?

Dirty stuff. 

Dirty dirty childish stuff.

Oooo he’s muslim cause his name isn’t John or Bob or Fred, and he spent time as a child in a place where they’re not like “us”   (whatever the singular “us” may be)(white maybe?)

Oooo he’s gonna not answer the phone at 3 am because it takes decades of practice to make solid decision making on the issues that matter (like voting for the war)

 

So here’s Obama, deflecting left and right the attacks, negative ads, and weird made up shit. (and all the while, doing it with a down to earth, eloquent manner)

And there’s Hillary, “mis-speaking” about laid back trips to Bosnia, she’s going back and forth on issues she hated back then, but now loves, because it’s popular, and makes her look good.

Attacking others for not denouncing friends who say unpopular things (that were taken way out of context, and when listened to in whole, made me proud to live here) and then casually saying that you cant be held reliable when someone on your campaign says some racist things…

Here, she is throwing back shots in a great publicized presidential matter.  

I think that about sums it up.

 

That’s great.  I know who I will be voting for, unless he too is a fraud, which a part of me is still paranoid of due to scandals, lies, and so much corruption.  And if he is just a grand facade with ill intentions hiding beneath his friendly smile, well shit.  Maybe I should move to Canada.

 

guilt

April 11, 2008

I feel guilty for many things, mostly things I should not feel guilty for.

 

Guilt for breaking up with the past boyfriends.  Guilt for dating them in the first place (my mom can be blamed for some of that, though her concern was warranted due to the difference in age…)

Guilt for looking at internet porn.

Guilt for eating that piece of chocolate.

Guilt for spending all day on the internet instead of working.

Guilt for not doing a $500 value project for a client who only pays $100

Guilt for feeling ugly and awkward.

Guilt for wanting to change things about myself.

Guilt for forgetting my cloth grocery bags, and having to use plastic/paper.

Guilt for buying plastic trash bags and using cloth grocery bags (dilemma).

Guilt for craving meat (did I mention I am veg?)

 

and that brings me to the guilt I already feel for leaving work early

(i’m sick- **cough cough**)

yelling

April 9, 2008

 

I can’t stand when people yell.

Not the “i’m over here!” or “Lookout for that runaway bus headed your way!”

that’s usually ok with me.

 

It’s the angry yelling, the fighting yelling, and the irrational yelling.

It makes me want to crawl into a hole and make it all go away.

 

Now you would think I grew up in a loud, yelling-filled household, with screaming parents, slamming doors and tension in the air.

 

It was quite the opposite, though there must have been tension.  It was quiet, calm and calculative.

Voices were rarely, if ever, raised, and replaced with a stern look, or a disapointed sigh (sighs are another day’s therapy session)

I remember having a yelling fight with an ex boyfriend of mine years ago, I believe it to be the one and only yelling fight of my life.
I don’t think I have recovered from that.  I do remember feeling relief at getting it off my chest, but to no avail, as that happens when you try to talk to a brick wall (a.k.a. bipolar pot head off his medication-remind me to cover that on another day…)

Instead of yelling, or raising my voice, I was taught as a child (for lack of better work… maybe shown by example?) that not saying anything was a safer route.  That way no one’s feelings got hurt, no neighbors would know that the picturesque Better Homes and Gardens house was not the fairy tale it should be.

 

Keep it in, don’t loose control, dont loose your composure.

When you disagree, meekly state your point in a mild, casual manner.

When you point is trampled over, ignored, or seen as silliness, smile and agree with your husband/father/brother/man/boss/boyfriend because he knows best.

 

 

sarcastic, but straight-from-the-fifties serious.