Pride

So, for the first time I went to Minneapolis's Pride a couple of weekends ago. I have one thing to implore the city of Minneapolis: Why can't you be this warm and welcoming all the time?

http://images.stuffofawesome.com/minneapolis-pride-1309122003-1014.jpg

Really, people were so happy and delighted to be out in the bright summer weather, walking up and down Hennipen and talking to one another when most of the time walking down Hennipen results in people ignoring you or walking into whilst talking on their cell phones. Also, the mayor of Minneapolis rode down the street on a motorcycle. I think this should definitely happen more often. 

http://metromag.com

I was also at the Saloon's block party that evening (after getting terribly sunburned watching Italy win in the quarter finals of soccer/football/calcio on the rooftop of a pub in Minneapolis called the Brit) and was reminded of how short I am after being surrounded by guys all over six feet tall. I also met a guy from Canada who remarked on our voting situation this fall. Come November, Minnesotans are voting as to whether marriage is defined as a union between a man and a woman or not. The "not" refers to supporting gay marriage. So, basically, in order to support GLBT rights, one has to vote "no" which feels very, very bizarre. However, the man from Canada I was talking to found the whole idea of voting on human rights more bizarre. "They kept asking me to fill out these pledge cards," he said, "and I just couldn't understand the idea of voting on human rights. I mean," he turned to me, "that's like voting to allow women to vote."

This just in: Canadians are freaking brilliant.

Overall, it was a marvelous weekend. I also saw the movie Brave, which was fantastic (you can read a review of it on my sister blog, Martin Freeman is not a Hedgehog. Yep, that's actually the name of my blog. Weird, I know).

That Year

It's hard for me to believe that just a year ago, I was in Scotland right now (I include the above song because I heard it in a clothing store in Glasgow. Every time I hear this cover, I think of that city). And now, here I am, sitting on my parent's deck, having weird sensations of déjà vu, drinking a gin and tonic, worrying about things (as always), and watching postings come up on Tumblr about the BAFTAS (because, sadly, they are not live-streamed).

I just can't believe it was a year ago.

I've changed so much since then. I've gained and lost so much since then.

Yet some days it feels like it was just yesterday.

And now I miss it more than ever.

Which is why, shortly before the end of the school year, I decided that when I graduate I'm moving to the UK. Unless something un-forseen happens, I plan on finding a flat in London for next September, a city I haven't been to since I was sixteen and have missed ever since. I miss these places, in all honesty, more than I miss some of my friends. I feel like a stranger in my own hometown and, if song lyrics are to be regarded as philosophy, perhaps that means it's time to leave.

I guess I finally decided to post this today, thought I've been meaning to for weeks, because I've hit some sort of resolution. Some of my friends are no longer my friends. Bad things happen, whether you're here or there. It's your life and you should do what you want. And I want to go to London.

Although, goddammit, New York is trying rather hard to seduce me too. :)

The thing is, in one year I'll be leaving Minneapolis.  I love this amazing, brilliant city, but my heart is being called elsewhere. Somewhere I can easily take a cab, where there are so many opportunities to do things I never dreamed of, where I can have good reason to feel like a somebody and a nobody all at once. Minneapolis will always be my first real home, but I'm the sort of person that has more than one. And while I love New York, I feel my heart drawn across the pond for reasons I can't really describe. I just want to experience, long term, what it feels like to be a foreigner. I want to know what it's like to find oneself in a country you weren't born in. I want to make mistakes and sound funny and dream of improbable things. I want to have one of the largest cities in the world become everyday to me and yet never lose its magic.

I want to do something people didn't expect of me. Because I am more than one person's expectations. Maybe I'll be back in Minneapolis after a year or two, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll settle down in London, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll publish a book before I graduate and settle down in Chelsea and live in a posh little flat with a view of the Thames. Maybe I'll be broke and living in Kelvingrove Park in Glasgow. Who knows?

But let's find out, shall we? :D

Extremely Loud and Too Close

Have you ever had one of those friends you wonder how exactly you end up hanging out with them because you don't really like them and yet you enjoy hanging out with them because they're totally insane?

This is essentially how my acquaintanceship/ friendship with [slightly pansexual, mostly annoying] works. He awkwards me out, he makes an average situation suddenly far more complicated than it needs to be, and you can't walk down the street without him talking to random passerbys. However, he has fantastic stories about drunkenly driving golf carts into ponds and getting multiple DWIs. I'm not saying he's a good, safe person to be around. But he is... interesting.

A few weeks before school got out, I went to an Eric Hutchinson concert at First Avenue with [save the panzer], his brother, another friend, and [slightly pansexual, mostly annoying]. After the phenomenal show, they decided to get food at a nearby Rainbow store. One of the automatic doors wasn't working and [slightly pansexual, mostly annoying] ran into it. He confusedly followed us into through the exit. He then loudly shouted to the store employees whether the store was open, since the entrance doors were locked. They responded that they were in fact open (which was assumable, as we were standing in the store now) and we slowly gathered our food items.

Now, apparently upon entering the store, one of my classmates was at the checkout and I must have looked right at her. I didn't see her, as I was trying not to die of embarrassment. A week or two later, she asked me if I'd been at that Rainbow lately. At first I was confused and realized what she must have been talking about. "Wait, was I with a really loud guy?" I asked. "Yeah," she replied, "he seemed really drunk." "Oh, he wasn't drunk. He hadn't even had anything to drink yet. You should see him when he's drunk," I assured her astonished expression.

And trust me, I have seen him drunk. This guy is the sort who makes vodka and juice concoctions with so much more vodka than juice the ice cubes go glassy and clear. He was pretty wasted on [save the panzer]'s birthday. So much so that he started humping a vace-shaped sculpture on Nicollet Mall. So, sorry, people of Minneapolis, if this man has been responsible for making your average night strange and uncomfortable. I am not responsible - he is a fully grown man who is entirely capable of following his own guidance. And it is a free country. Why he continues to hang out with younger people, I don't know. I actually don't know how old he is; he jokingly told the cab driver on [save the panzer]'s birthday that he was 45. His age and/or birth year are not on Facebook so doing the math to figure it out is no good. Doesn't matter. He could be from the 51st century for all I know.

That would be rather awkward.

Much like this photo.

Yeah, that pretty much says it all. Me laughing and crying at the same time. Accurate.

Stronger

This week has been a busy (and unexpectedly dramatic) week in apartment management. I attended the housing fair (on the correct day this time) and got at least six people to give me their info to schedule a tour. However, [Львица] and I have been trying to find someone to move into our apartment in June so I can move in next door and the girl living there doesn't have to worry about subletting. But it's been hard to find two people who want to sublet so early, so we wondered if it might be easier for Britney, the girl who lives in the apartment I'm planning on moving into next year, to find a short-term subletter.

Except that, suddenly, it's not okay to sublet for less than three months in the building; they look for long-term leasing so they don't have high turnover. Which makes sense... but that was NOT what we were told upon filling out the lease. And that's not what any of the other tenants were told by the previous building manager either. So now we have that tricky little issue.

Our boss and building owner had decided to make an exception in order to let someone lease short-term, but before this [Львица] and I were both certain he alluded to giving me another apartment, not the one I wanted. I was unsure how this would solve any problems, but I'm certain that's what he said on the phone the other night. Not that it matters here; there are some battles I can't win and trying to justify myself and show that I am not in the wrong will solve nothing; it is not the point and it doesn't matter here. Unfortunately for me, I have a long history of hating any situation that makes me feel wronged and blamed when I feel I don't deserve to (something I deeply have in common with the protagonist of Jane Eyre) and it's been hard for me to see this situation clearly. However, this situation came up the other night and our boss took offense and [Львица] had to work herself out of a very awkward situation. Every time I think I've gotten better at communication and I think I'm good at what I'm doing, the stark reality of how much work it takes to attain good communication hits me.

http://www.examiner.com/

But instead of focusing out how far I've got to go, I'd rather commend myself for how far I've come. Yes, I could communicate better with my boss. But this is the first real job I've had, I've never met him or spoken with him face-to-face, and sometimes it's hard to express what [Львица] and I have discussed to our boss with just one of us trying to summarize. And given my history of introversion, slight social anxiety, and loathing of talking on phones (which has all but dissipated this year), I'm pretty goddamn pleased with myself. I have become a stronger person - in words, in actions, in many things. And for that, well, I'm quite happy.

Of course, I still have ways to grow and change (who doesn't?) and I'll harbor regrets about not being afraid to speak up sooner. Maybe it was because of Catholic school, maybe it was just who I was or what I was taught when I was young, but arguing with authority is something I had to learn myself, something I never saw accepted or allowed. If it weren't for [Львица] and, oddly enough, my father's new outspokenness about politics, and the fact that I've allowed myself to get really pissed off about some things, I might have never learned to speak my mind. I regret not doing it more in the past; I'll always wish I had spoken up in my high school Biology class when my teacher said that it was possible for AIDS to be passed through kissing which was SO WRONG, instead of just fuming about it later; I should have stood up and TOLD HIM he was wrong.

But the environment and person I was in high school was far, far different from where I find myself now. In college, there's a sense of freedom that I often take for granted. In college, you can break some of the rules. In high school, rules are the only structure there is to cling to.

Not that college is anywhere near perfect. [Львица]'s English class this semester has exemplified over and over again how easy it is for someone to take away the ability of expression (even when they think they are actually opening doors wider when in actuality they are slamming them shut). But I'm infinitely grateful for those who have allowed and encouraged me to speak out; the only thing I have too keep fighting for is the belief that I have the right to do so and that I deserve it. It's not always an easy feat; but I'm working on it. :)

A Brief Summary of Current Mundanities

http://www.ewhoknow.com

I was checking my email today when I came across a message from Delta airlines which addressed me as Ms. I'd forgotten I'd chosen that article so I'm sitting at my laptop, a small part of my brain wondering for about two seconds, "Who the hell is Ms. Musto?"

It's been one of those days. I woke up yesterday with my jaw aching like mad and by yesterday afternoon I noticed my left cheek was swollen. When I woke up this morning with my gums now swollen, I knew I needed to go to the dentist ASAP. Turns out I had an infection. Which the dentist remedied by sticking some hook-like instrument into my gum to ease the pressure (and release blood and pus while he was at it). All without any sort of numbing or pain reliever, mind you.

I also appear to be catching a cold. Which seems to be the new norm for the beginning of each semester. Maybe I'm just allergic to course work. :P

In more exciting news, I watched the Superbowl, was not impressed with the ads, and decided Madonna is pretty much fantastic. I will now be listening to "Like A Prayer" on repeat for the next month and no one can stop me.

Oh, and I wrote a letter to Michele Bachmann. Which I hope she'll respond to.

And I realized today that I have my first test of the semester next Monday, in Research Methods, and I have that weird feeling like I fell asleep on a car trip and I've suddenly woken up and I now have no idea what part of the United States I'm in.

I also sprained my ankle last Monday trying to take up running at the gym. After all the years I spent loathing running and now I love it and I actually want to do it and I get backtalk from my pathetically weak ankles. *le sigh.*

So there you go... a random summary of nothing, mainly because I've been rather inconsistent in my blogging so far (curse you, spring semester! This is exactly what happened last year!). But I have been blogging for over a year - yay! I haven't given up on this! I'm still writing! And it hasn't totally lapsed into a fan-girl blog. That means I still have the chance of being taken seriously.

Hehehehe...yeah right. The girl who, within the span of two weeks was confused as being young enough to be in high school by one person AND old enough to have a child old enough to be in high school by another, is not feeling very likely to be taken seriously today. So for now, I'm going to curl up on the couch, wallow in pity, and watch Sherlock. Tomorrow I will "act my age." Whatever that means.

In Pursuit of Altruism

http://www.savagechickens.com/images/chickenaltruism.jpg

Last Friday, I was standing at the bus stop outside of the campus McDonalds, waiting for the 465 that goes to the southern suburbs, as I was planning on spending the evening with my parents. I'm standing out there in the rain, thinking about something I'd just volunteered myself to do. My professor for my "On Television" class wanted people to sign up as a peer note taker which, I assumed at first, would be a sort of log for people who missed class or just something to share on the class website. After the sign-up form passed through the first one and a half rows, no one had signed it. I decided I would because I take way too many notes and I figured it'd be a good way to help me study for this course. So I wrote down my name and at the end of class I had to go up and talk to the professor about it. I found out I was the ONLY PERSON in a class of thirty that had signed up for this. And it wasn't just taking notes for class, no - I had volunteered myself through University Disability Services to share my notes with a middle-aged man that had just signed up to take the class who seemed to have some sort of learning disability. I suddenly felt like an altruistic badass.

So I'm standing there at the bus stop, thinking about this and wondering why the heck no one else volunteered to be a note taker (OMG, you'd have to take notes in class - you're SUPPOSED to do that anyway). I have a theory that U kids are actually rather blase about life by the time they become upper classmen (not that I'm exactly the spirit squad about my undergraduate education) and that they don't want to have to do anything more than they have to, especially when you have to take five classes, work two jobs and somehow get time to sleep in order to graduate in four years and not run up debt on your credit card. Anyway, I'm standing there in this weird sort of drizzle we really shouldn't be having in January, and this guy comes up to me. He's really tall, African American, wearing this wool sort of coat. He makes a sound and holds out this card on which is hand written, "I am deaf and can read lips. God bless." He flips the card over which I read quickly. I don't catch most of it; I see that something happened to him when he woke up that morning and that he needs money for food and shelter. For whatever reason, I do not doubt him. He makes another sounds, a sort of grunt mixed with a whimper, and flips the card over again, pointing to the information about lip reading and "God Bless." My brain hurries to process what to do. As I reach for my wallet, I try to discern how much money is in there. I quickly recall there is a one dollar bill and a twenty. Without thinking too much farther, I open up the wallet, pull out the twenty and tell him, "I can give you this."

He looks at the bill and his eyes go wide in shock. He opens his arms, hugs me, and walks off. And I feel amazing. Not good about myself, not altruistic. I'm not even thinking about myself. I find that, in this strange little moment in the pause before the five o'clock rush hour, in a strange bit of winter rain, the world is beautiful.

I know what you're thinking - "you gave a man who may not actually be homeless, a man who could just spend that money on alcohol, a man you know nothing about twenty whole dollars?" Yep, I did.
And honestly - I have no idea what he was going to use the money for. There's no way I could possibly know. But I don't usually give out money like that - and never that much. For once, just once, it felt right. And I didn't care about the loss of twenty dollars. It didn't feel like a loss at all.

I was thinking about this on the bus ride to the suburbs, wondering about all of this. Why the man came up to me, why I gave him the money, why he chose that bus stop in the first place. There were a lot of people standing about, and yet I didn't see him going up to anyone else. Of course, I wasn't really paying attention, I was staring off into space like I so often do. There was a lot of luck/chance/coincidences/fate - what have you - going on there.

Later that night, I was thinking about it more. How in my social psych class we talked about the issue of whether altruism really exists, because even doing something like this can make you feel good about yourself and maybe you just give money to feel good. I disagree with this. I didn't necessarily feel good about myself afterwards (actually I wished I could have done more for him and I worried about whether he was going to be wandering around the freezing cold streets all night). I just felt good about the world. It's part of why I didn't think too much about why he needed the money. I doubt people, all of humanity, every second of every day. Once, just once, I wanted to trust and believe someone. Just once. And that's what I did.

And yes, it's possible that I did it for some sort of long term gain. The "God Bless" part had a surprising effect on my decision making.  I mean, once the man pointed to that part of his card, I had already made up my mind to give him the money. So maybe God wanted me to do it, maybe I did it to please God, but considering my track record with doing things for religious reasons, I kind of doubt it. Maybe I did it for karma, or to pay it forward. But if I was really doing it for my benefit, don't you think I want an instant reward? That's probably not gonna happen. Point is - I'm pretty damn sure I didn't do it for me.

So there you go - I believe in altruism. And here's some philosophizing for your Sunday morning. You're welcome :)

To Myself, In the Future

Hello Future Me,

I certainly hope that, wherever you are in space in time, that it is not in a little apartment infested by centipedes and mice. Or some place worse. I have decided to write this little post because I feel suddenly struck by a fear of making mistakes that are not worth making - not the good sort. And I would like to try to provide you with a source of some perhaps helpful advice in lieu of the insanity that certainly lies ahead.

First off, I have no idea what you will be doing in general. Hopefully it will not involve being a hobo. Regardless, whatever it is, do it with passion. Don't give in to doing something safe just because you know you can do it. TRY NEW THINGS. The worse that can happen is that you will fail, and we both are plenty familiar with that.

I will never be this cool. But goddamn, I can try.

Of course, I'm going to bring up relationships. If you remember, I'm on the edge between being a full-blown romantic and a nihilistic hermit. So, I'm hoping things are a little more steady on your end. If you're queen of the Ryan Gosling Swagger (à la Crazy Stupid Love), kudos. If things suck, keep a stiff upper lip. Remember what it was like to not understand love, to not even have any experience with it. To wonder why you saw so few relationships work out, why everything seems so simple, until you become part of one. I know I sound down about it all but I'm just showing - you knew more than you thought you did. Don't sweat it; it'll work out. I believe it will.

If by some strike of fate you find yourself in a long-term relationship, don't take it for granted. Just don't. And if by some terrible, incredible miracle you have children, remember not to be too hard on them when they act up. Growing up is tough - it might seem long ago, but I remember it pretty well. It's brilliant and brutal. And whatever your kids do, you probably did once too. Don't blame them too much for their mistakes, economic troubles, mistakes you made. They'll listen... maybe too well.

Wherever you're living, I hope it feels like home. I know when you were younger, you likened yourself to a turtle - adaptable, movable, able to fit in anywhere. Know that I'm glad you had that adaptability but that you shouldn't be afraid to put down roots. No one belongs here more than you.

Fresh off a 21st birthday, I had some crummy feelings in the days shortly before. It got me worried, it got me thinking. I hope you're strong and confident - I hope that I'm establishing that now. I hope you still have a warm fuzzy feeling for sci-fi shows and Broadway plays, and a penchant for shortbread, Earl Grey tea and Nutella. But most of all, I hope you look back at all of this and don't regret a thing.

Sunday Morning

This morning, [Львица]'s cat woke me up by jumping on my back and meowing in my ear. No better way to wake up than by cat alarm. It was the best I'd felt in weeks, probably because I had a very cathartic lunch at Serum's with my parents (which has the best wings and the best fried chicken sandwich I've ever eaten in MY LIFE), even though I was tearing up at music, commercials and the news Saturday night (stupid PMS symptoms. Who thought crying over everything was a good thing to add in hormones?) Also, the leak in our bathroom ceiling was not active, which was good since I'm terrified the plaster is going to explode and water is going to go everywhere.

I went to get a load of laundry together and realized that I was short over a dollar's worth of quarters. So, I went out to get coffee and dental floss (yes, I know, great combination) so that I could end up with enough change to run the machines. I walked down to the Purple Onion in the fresh fall air and, because I am terrible at making up my mind, I ordered the first think I saw on the menu when the barista asked for my order. I ended up with a caffè Americano, which is just espresso and hot water. I am still wired from the amount of caffeine in my bloodstream. Then it was off to CVS to get the floss and back home.

Because I was nearly hyper-ventilating from the coffee, I decided to burn of my energy and do something outrageous and clean our bathroom.

Here's the deal - our apartment was not clean when we moved in. But because we'd spent so much time cleaning all the other 22 units for the new tenants, we didn't even bother with ours. Clearly the people who lived here had not cleaned much before they moved out, but then again, it probably wasn't clean when they moved in either. That's basically how it was for all of these units though. Anyway, I got ambitious and decided to clean - plus I couldn't stand the fact that there was an old scrap of toilet paper glued to the floor by dirt and dust that had been there since for God knows how long. Yeah, something needed done.

I'd cleaned the sink the night before because there was paint in it from when we got our shower repainted. First thing I decided to tackle was the toilet. IT WAS DISGUSTING. There was a brownish-black ring of... something... around the top. It took me at least 10 minutes of scrubbing and still not all of it came off. At least it looks better. And less disease-spreading.

Next I decided to scrub the floors. Because there were areas where you could see the gunk caked across the tiles. I did my best. It's not 100% clean, but it's liveable. I also think I was the first person to clean under the radiator since 1986. I felt like Cinderella, using a sponge and scrubbing at the tiles. No fairy godmother for me, but oh well - at least [Львица] and I won't have to worry about getting dirt on our feet the moment we get out of the show now.

A disgusting start to the day, but it make me feel pretty hardcore. I mean, really - how many college students would choose to do that sort of cleaning? Not that our tenants are going to have much of a choice. [Львица] and I plan on super cleaning our apartment and insisting that all other units look like this when they move out. Because somebody's gotta stop this cycle of never cleaning the apartments. It might as well be us. The building manager overlords have spoken.

Flu-ish Delusions

Here's how you know when you're sick - your dreams start taking on strange topics like this:

1) I dreamed that Michele Bachman was talking on the Greta Van Susteren show on Fox News and said that how Hilary Clinton and Michelle Obama were talking in some clip was like "sodomy, like illicit sexual activity" and then there was this huge controversy that she was calling Clinton and Michelle Obama lesbians. I woke up in a cold sweat, laughing and coughing at the sheer ridiculousness of this dream.

2) I dreamed I was walking downtown trying to meet up with [Львица] who was at the same restaurant as [X] and a bunch of people from the Scotland trip. It was late at night and I was walking with my parents, I think, and we were in some part of Minneapolis that doesn't exist but I thought I knew. There was some restaurant we passed by that I'd always wanted to go to but we realized it was on fire and that there were a bunch of cop cars and fire trucks out there and a bunch of people gawking at it. Then I realized that the buildings next to it were also on fire. I got worried and decided we should get out of there so my parents and I scampered away. We were some distance away when we noticed the fire getting bigger and suddenly this huge explosion occurred. We got thrown to the ground but got up quickly. We could see that all three buildings - which were like twenty stories each - were totally gone. We started sprinting away and I found the restaurant where [Львица] was at to share with her my action movie-like experience.

Well, at least my fever is mostly gone. That should mean "normal" dreams tonight. Not that any of the dreams I have are normal.

Good point, passive-aggressive cartoon. Good point.

Buzzword

I realize that I've been using the term "cultural studies" a shit-ton here (it is one of my majors, after all) but have never properly described it. THAT HAS TOTALLY BEEN ON PURPOSE. I've been scared to even take an attempt at defining it. And here's why.

Cultural Studies is a field of study that evolved sometime after the Industrial Revolution. Some place its birth at the University of Birmingham in the U.K. (remember when I said my interests come full circle? This is the sort of shit I mean. It's the bloody Brits again! :D) Others place it more with Marx. Others go all the way back to Georg Fredrick Hegel. Get to know Hegel's name very well - you may never have heard of him, but he basically created the way we think about history.

Point is, it had a lot to do with the French Revolution, the change in commerce following industrialization and the development of metropolitan life. It's pretty Marxist, so my conservative upbringing is often under my own scrutiny in this class (not to say I am or am not Marxist... my actually political opinions are WAY too complicated to bring up right now). It's also undefinable - really every theorist kind of has his or her own personal take on what makes up culture and what doesn't. Simmel sees culture as turning something that was natural into something labeled by humans, and thus not natural, a sort of process, if you will. There's a lot of stuff about process. Raymond Williams, on the other hand, gives an even vaguer idea of culture, again about process, but this from a historical perspective, as how the idea of culture has changed over time to become what it means now.

This is not a simple thing to study.

Friday Night Paint Fight

A NOTE TO [Львица]: Sorry that there's random shit in here I didn't tell you about as to why I was uncomfortable. It didn't hit me until I was thinking it out. I'm not trying to cover up stuff, I just didn't realize that THAT'S why something was bugging me.

Anyway, continuing for on for the rest of you...

So [Львица], [The Question] and I went to a "paint party" called Dayglo at a joint called Epic on Friday night. I really had no idea what to expect - I must confess, other than a little trip to the Gay 90s on an empty Thursday night last year, I've never been clubbing. At all.

I'd say this event totally made up for it. I spent half of Friday  trying to figure out what to wear. The dress code was supposed to be white shirt, all white if possible, but blue jeans were okay. It's incredible how little white I have in my wardrobe - I actually had to borrow a shirt from [Львица] as all of mine were dress shirts and thus not paintable. The club wasn't strict about the rule but everyone was mostly in white. This was to allow for the full affect of the paint to take hold. See, what happens is everyone gathers on the dance floor and the DJ plays music and, after like an hour and a half of being in the club, you get paint squirted at you, in this weird meshing of several different art forms. It's pretty cool and it was a major life tile experience. Except for one, little tiny problem...

See how dedicated I am? Blogging while still covered in paint :D

Okay, two. Or three. I'm such a schmuck, making something as epic as this sounds grounded in my reality. But you want my take? Here it is. I like dancing - I'm not the best at it, but I do like it. However, I'm not a fan of how in clubs, you never have room to move without being on the edges and then it's just awkward. This was that to the extreme. At the beginning it was totally fine, we had lots of room. Then, as more people came in and pushed forward, we were slowly being squeezed in a vice-like fashion to the front. I escaped to the back for some fresh air, ran into [The Question] and regrouped with [Львица] Then it was back to the dance floor for the same process - more vice-like squeezing, this time with some guy trying to dance with me, which I was cool with at first. DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NEVER ACTUALLY DANCED WITH A GUY BEFORE. Unless you would count the uber gay guy who attacked me at a Halloween dance last year. And that was more dancing around each other.  I guess I should mention that little fact since I didn't realize it until just now. Well, another life experience made. And what follows is definitely an experience.

This guy starts dancing with me and I'm fine with it until all of the sudden he leans forwards, sniffs my hair or something, then licks the back of my neck. I realize now that, even if he'd been someone I knew, even if I'd know what he looked like, even if I HAD wanted him to do that, I probably still would have been freaked out. I just don't like people touching my neck - unless I really, REALLY trust them. God knows why; I tend to forget until people touch me my neck without asking and then I flip out (like a friend of mine from high school, [uber gay] used to pretend to strangle me - don't ask - and one day I just tweaked out). Great little imbedded phobia there. So, needless to say, having a random stranger repeatedly lick my neck was not cool. I started to push his hands away and then he grabbed on - hard - and tried to do the same thing again. So then I shoved his hands away and tried to flee, positioning myself near [Львица] and [The Question]. That worked at least. Until another guy came along later and aggressively tried to dance with me, but by this time I was sick of people touching me and I moved away. I realize that this is partly due to the fact that  "Aunt Flo is visiting" and any touching below the waist is totally unwanted. And I had a really unsettling dream the night before to put that sort of thing in a bad light (I won't make you suffer the details; it was creepy, moving on). But also, there is a difference between putting your hands on my waist and putting your hands on that area where my legs meet my torso (whatever the anatomical word might be). Yeah. So, my feeling that men are pig right now is not totally without reason (obviously not true, but I'm worn a bit thin, so bear with me).

Then the REALLY intense mosh pit began, where I fell and got pulled up by my some very kind girls, got my face squished between two bros' shoulder blades (dude, there were a lot of bros there. There were so many bros that they had to dance with each other, I swear) and lost an earring (the second one in a week. Damn it!) Then I got the weight of at least two quarterbacks forced on me as people swayed backwards and forwards in this... well, mob, basically. A big, sweaty, music-obsessed mob. A big sweaty mob that carried a man dressed as an alien in a plastic ball across the crowd (that was pretty incredible; the ball went right over my head). Then I got splattered with paint - which was SWEET - the wet, gluey-kindergardeny smell of the paint sweeping across my face in bold neon pinks and blues as music thundered in my ears and people cheered. Then I fell over and got crushed by people which was NOT SWEET as I had to scream at them until they got up off of me. But I did get the proud honor of walking through downtown Minneapolis with paint smeared across my face, watching the cops slug a guy who was harassing them, studying the long lines of people filing into clubs and seeing [Львица] get mistaken for Kate Winslet (by a possibly drunk man, but nonetheless, an easy mistake to be made :D). Go to paint parties - people will mistake you as someone famous. It can happen.

I fought aliens with Kate Winslet. Win!

Now my body is aching, I can feel the parts in my back that got twisted in weird directions and had weight forced upon them that I couldn't support. I still smell the faint scent of paint lingering in my nose. It wasn't an AWESOME party - it needed WAY MORE PAINT. And more space. Then it would have been fricken amazing. I did have fun and it was definitely and experience. I guess going to events like that just makes me feel like a freak, because I'm not really into clubbing, I'm not into huge parties. I'm not that sort of college kid, and I guess some people think I'm not really experiencing college if I don't go and do that shit. Well, I went and did it. But it's just not... ME. I totally support the people who can whip out on the dance floor and tear the place up. It isn't that I don't feel secure enough with my body to dance, it's that I don't feel RIGHT dancing there. It's like my body wasn't built for those sort of moves - I don't have super curves, my arms hate getting involved, I'm super short. I'm just stubbornly old school - I like swing, tango, waltz - ballroom dancing. I swear I got time warped out of the 1940s or something. I also don't know how to deal with guys like those at the club. I want guys to take the lead, but not to force their tongue on the back of my neck. At least I'm strong enough to push them away - but how someone could put up with that if they didn't want it is beyond me. It was DISGUSTING - and the dude totally needed to shave. In short, I guess I don't feel like myself there. Which makes me feel bad. [Львица] really likes clubbing and she doesn't know anyone who she'd feel comfortable going with. But I feel like I don't know anyone who doesn't want to go clubbing. That's the "college" thing to do - where girls meet guys, where you stay up on hip pop culture stuff. And by not going to that, I feel like I'm missing out on so much.

But college isn't the same for everyone. It's can't be. We were just talking about in my psychology class how we overestimate things, like how many of our peers drink or how many people do certain things. I suppose the people who go to clubs are just more talkative about it than the people who maybe go swing dancing or just go for a pint at the bar. Or maybe it just sounds more exciting and so the clubbing people are more apt to share it than the people who just had a night dancing to big band. I don't know. All I know is that I shouldn't feel like a freak for having these opinions, and yet I still kind of do. Alas, my own weirdness confounds me. But there were elements to clubbing that I liked - the feeling of the bass reverberating in the toes of my shoes, the synchronous movements as everyone on the dance floor moved in the same way, the appearance that I had just fought aliens as I walked home with paint smeared across my face. There are parts of it there that I like, but too much of it feels... not accessible or understandable to me. But that's culture - there's parts I'll understand, and parts I won't. And the parts that don't fascinate me in their own way.

Weird-ass Twenty-something

I had a weird conjunction of phone calls made today. It started with a call from Allstate, trying to get me to get auto insurance for my vehicle. First problem: I don't own a car. They said that wasn't an issue though, and that I could use it for whatever other cars I might be driving, using, etc. I said that I just don't drive that much right now but I'd keep it in mind. Which subtly hides the second problem: I don't have a driver's license. 

It isn't exactly from lack of trying, I did take the road test before I started college and failed marvelously. I planned on taking it again this summer, but really didn't spend any time behind the wheel, and so cancelled the test knowing I would just fail it again anyway. I'm not particularly a good drive, I don't particularly care, and I don't particularly LIKE driving. It's okay when I'm driving through the country to [uber gay] or [it's a twins thing]'s houses. But considering I35 goes right through my hometown, I HAVE to know how to drive on the interstate if I want to get anywhere quickly. And I hate the interstate. So, I have procrastinated to the point where it almost doesn't make sense for me to get my license anymore. I live in the city, I can take the bus, I can bike, I can walk. I save gas money and gas in general (more for those douchebaggy Hummer drivers to use instead). I love Mini-Coopers and Smart Cars, but those are the only cars I can picture myself driving. Sort of. And I don't even want one THAT bad. It'd be more for a fun factor than I actually WANT to be driving. I fear I have turned into some weird hipster that just refuses to conform and drive like a normal human being. People judge me for it and it's REALLY awkward to admit. But really, when did society decide that EVERYONE has to drive, hmm? Why do I HAVE to? What about people who can't drive - like the blind or the epileptic? Is it really that big of a deal? (Yes, it probably is, but I'm a cultural studies nerd, so thus I'm skeptical of anything that's supposed to "normal")

I admit, this isn't "normal" for a traditional twenty-something. But neither is buying tickets to the opera- another feat I undertook. I'm going to see Silent Night at the Minnesota Opera in November  on it's opening night. Is that impressive? Actually, yeah, it is - it's a brand new opera and it's opening night will be the WORLD PREMIERE. Considering there's only three new operas premiering this year in the United States, this is kind of a big deal. People from all over the world are flying in to see it. And I'm gonna be there. She who has only seen one opera in her life (Romeo and Juliet and I was so tired by the end of it because it was on a school night in high school that I can't even remember at all enjoying myself). She who knows very little about the structure of opera except for what I've gleaned from taking Italian, too many band classes and The Phantom of the Opera. Actually, I probably know more than I think I do. But something in me years to be part of the opera crowd, to attend some art form that isn't appreciated as much anymore, that only a small elite groups belongs to.

I am such an elitist. But it's another life tile to have under my belt. And a perfect opportunity to push my culture vulture attitude to the limits. Will I enjoy the opera? We'll have to see; Romeo and Juliet was a bit too... French for me, I guess. I'd really like to see an Italian opera, but that's just probably not going to happen this year. But I am SUPER excited to see this. I loved the movie, so I'm hoping for awesomeness in this staging.

So there you go - pondering on opera and my lack of driving. What a way to start the weekend.

Unfriended

This keeps happening - every once in a while, someone I knew from high school will pop into my mind and I wonder why I haven't seen their statuses on Facebook for a while. Then, awkwardly, I'll realize they've unfriended me. It isn't a big deal, in face I shouldn't even be concerned about it. But it's just... well, strange.

I'm not a particularly outgoing person. Despite how much I jabber away on this blog, I don't actually jabber this much in person. Maybe it's because I don't communicate enough that people decide, "Oh, she never talks to me. Why should I keep her as a friend?" But I'd like to keep in contact with people from high school, even if I didn't know them that well. Take [singer/songwriter/doctor] for example. She and I go to the same university. We had a bunch of classes together in high school. She's friends with my best friend from high school, [Broadway baby]. She's someone I just casually know, but know enough to be Facebook friends with - or so I thought. But yesterday I noticed we're Facebook friends no longer.

This sort of thing tends to get me paranoid. Did I say something to offend them? Am I just too obnoxious? Not obnoxious enough? Not cool enough? Do I just make people want to run in the other direction?

Fuck that shit. I am a perfectly fine person. I don't need to have a bunch of friends on Facebook or have a bunch of people follow me on Twitter to feel liked (though it certainly helps...) I like myself the way I am, even if I have to sing "I Am What I Am" a thousand time a day to make myself believe it. I have the friends I need and the friends I don't can go do their own thing. And if people don't like me for who I am - tough shit. I am sick of feeling inadequate around people who don't care anyway. So go ahead, people from high school, unfriend me. You don't know me now anyway. You don't know what you're missing out on. :D

Yes, this is the truth in my insecurities - it's actually a cover for how much of a narcissist I am. Watch out, world...

A man who wanted to sing in church was wondering if he should inquire...

I must have a flashing sign on my forehead that says, "Talk to me about religion!" I think I've gotten accosted more times on campus in the past few months than any other time in my life. The Mormons approached me last spring, then last week I got asked twice to join a Bible study, the second proposal within seconds of the last.

Then on Tuesday I was approached by two people, who seemed to be about my age, both of Asian heritage. They began talking to me about religion and I had no idea how to get them to stop - talking about religion always makes me a bit uncomfortable, especially in public, especially considering my unorthodox views. But on they went, and suddenly I found they were describing a sect of Christianity that believed that God was represented as both God the Father and God the Mother. That's right, there's a FEMALE version of God. I was suddenly totally intrigued. Curious, and ever the absorber of anything possibly interesting when it comes to culture, I arranged to meet them again on Wednesday.

Except I was majorly disappointed. No feminist teachings. No discourse on how God is both a man and a woman. Instead, we plowed through the end of Revelations and the two missionaries, of sorts, described how the Bible predicted World War II, how a fig tree represents Israel, and how Passover is the only way to receive the "seal of God" and thus truly become one of God's own and thus not be harmed in whatever terrible travesty is coming next. I'm not saying it wasn't interesting - it totally was. Especially as this group is Christian but practices Passover and believes Saturday is the true Sabbath. It was just not what I was expecting. They weren't trying to convert me - exactly. They weren't trying to say I was wrong - exactly. They weren't saying all the Jews were going to hell - exactly. But all the things they didn't say worried me more then the things they did. How did their church get created? How exactly do they worship? Who is their minister/priest/leader of mass in this institution? Why did I have to ask to get the name of their church? It's just a bit strange. And it's beginning to feel like I attract weirdness, like a madness. A bit like this... As Max Bialystock says, "They come here, they all come here. How do they find me?"

Everything is amazing - and nobody is happy

Basically, this guy sums up how I feel about life, technology and so much other shit... except about a hundred times funnier than I can. I could probably say something about how this totally represents constant accumulation without pleasure, but sadly, I'm too exhausted from packing and getting ready to move into my new apartment, so I owe you a cultural commentary. Oh, and remind me of this video the next time I complain about Blogger, my phone or anything else that has to use outer space to work :D