MOOP!

Sometimes I want to be someone I'm deeply and irrevocably not.

Popular. Non-geeky. Made-up and shaven. Normal. Monoamorous, vanilla and *straight*.

Why? Damned if I know. Maybe it's easier. Maybe it's just human curiosity. Or maybe, deep inside me, I carry a little bit of this residual shame that's leaked into me from years and years and *years* of American pop-culture conditioning.

My entire life has raised me to believe that:
Being unpopular is something to be ashamed of.
Being geeky is something to be ashamed of.
Not wearing make up is something to be ashamed of.
Not shaving my legs is definitely something to be ashamed of.
Being weird is something to be ashamed of.
Loving multiple people is something to be ashamed of.
Liking to be bitten or tied up is something to be ashamed of.

...Being bisexual is something that, maybe just for a month, it's okay to be proud of.

Maybe in July, when it's back to being straightfolk appreciation year, I can return to being ashamed of the fact that I like to kiss girls. Right now though? The president --the very government of this fucking country, WHATEVER that means-- has given me permission to be proud of who I am.

Did I need that permission? No, of course not. The first word of this post is "sometimes", after all, not always.

But the next time that little bit of insecurity in the back of my mind, that makes me worry about what people will think, what people will say, what people will do if I dare allude to my bisexual nature? That secret shame, that makes me pick my battles, let me shut up in high school (and yes, even college) when I heard my identity used as a slur? That tiny bastard of doubt, that keeps me from being able to fully accept who I am.

I can tell it to shut the fuck up. The world is changing. Ten years from now, I will still have that residual shame from all my deviances.

And sometimes, I will wish that I was

Popular
Non-geeky
Made up and shaven
Normal
Vanilla
Monoamorous

...and just as bisexual as I've always been.

~Sor
MOOP!

This entry is definitely just to spite @tekym, (Known also as macaroniandtuna) who was complaining about my not posting here as often.

Of course, that being said, I don't actually have that much to say right now. I find myself broken in that, unlike most people¹ on ADHD meds, who complain about them killing their creativity, when I've taken my Concerta, I'm actually significantly better able to get writing and the whatnot done.

So, since this can't possibly be writing, it must be babbling. YAY BABBLING!

***

My Facebook, which I actually hate, has now been organized a bit better. It has this "groups" thing, which would be a terrible idea, except now I don't have to sift through eighty pounds of crap to find the three posts by people I actually like and am quite good friends with. I am okay with this. Soyeah. New Facebook = alright by Sor.

***

I have been meeting new people with an alarming regularity this past few months, all of whom seem quite happy to chat with me either via IM or e-mails.

(As just an aside, *man* do I love having real conversations via e-mail. I don't know how to file them, or where to put them, or anything useful like that, but conversation! It's *all* kinds of brilliant. Oh, and fair warning, I'm rubbish at responding. Ask Tho or Har or The Katters if you need confirmation.)

Foster and Jesse I picked up at NEFFA. (Well, Jesse at NEFFA and at contra the next week.) Alex I snagged from SCD. And just last night, I managed to charm my way into the e-mail of a boy I met via Omegle --we've been chatting all day. It's really quite astonishingly boggling.

***

I love the computer age. AKS and Frosh and I are busy hanging out --which is to say AKS is in the rolly chair in the playroom, Frosh is on the couch, and I'm on the floor between them. All three of us on our laptops.

We're dorks. It's chill.

***

OH! I know my good news of the day: I totally have a job still. Bossman² said he'd get me on the calendar for next week. I love my boss so much.

***

All for now.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: I actually have no idea how much of the population who is on ADHD meds complains about this. My sister certainly did. Please do not get into a boring flame war in my comments.

2: Different from Sexy Boss Man. And very different from Pillowlips.

So, for teacherclass, we just watched "A Private Universe" which is basically being all "Oh hey, people don't know simple scientific facts like why there are seasons".

This led me to wonder about what other basic knowledge there is that people don't necessarily have. Certainly, it ties in with my basic pop culture thing --while I myself am *woefully* uneducated, there are still things that I will find jawdroppingly shocking if you admit you're not familiar with them. (Like what do you mean someone born, in America, fifteen years after it came out has never read Where the Wild Things Are. HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN!?)

I try very hard to not have any resounding pop culture biases, but I recognize that there is a list in the back of my mind of things I expect people in my circles to be familiar with. If not Flying Circus, every geek ever should probably have seen Holy Grail --even if you hate it, you now get roughly 1200% more references.

Or more importantly, The Princess Bride. I mean, I know I'm biased, what having acted in it, but how do you survive as a geek in this country without having seen The Princess Bride? Hell, while it's an amazing read, I don't even demand you read it, just...not having seen it? Dear lords.

Those are all part of the geek set, and I just more or less expect people to know them. Hell, I quoted "Why are you smiling" "Because I know something you do not know --I am not left handed!" last night, and will probably quote something else in the next twenty four hours, just because that's how I roll.

Additionally, I have a personal set of things that I think everyone ought to experience. I don't necessarily expect my friends to have seen Dr. Horrible or The Middleman, but dear lord, admit those gaps in your experience and I will do the best I can to help you fill them. Or holy hell lords, The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. I don't demand anything past the first book, but seriously, if you *haven't* read at least that one? I...I'm afraid I can never look at you in the same way again.¹

((Of course, I lose out on several people's personal sets for not ever being able to get through the second Lord of the Rings book. I'm sorry, I just...can't. I wish I could, but it's really not happening.))

SOYES! What are the overarching things that all geeks need to experience? What are the personal things, that you believe all people in your friends group need to experience?

Oh and bytheway? Before you leave a comment? Take twelve minutes out of your life in order to watch How To Kill A Mockingbird. Yes, yes it is worth it. It is basically what "To Kill a Mockingbird" would have been if Harper Lee had been aware of tvtropes.org's "Rule of Awesome"

~Sor
MOOP!

1: This is totally why Chris and I wouldn't have ever worked out in the long run. He dating KT for a couple years just saved us the inevitable argument and subsequent heartbreak.

Sososo!

Two years ago todayish, it was 2007 and I finally posted my prom report! Yay dancing at prom. <3

One year ago tomorrowish it was 2008, and I was in the midst of going to NEFFA

Today it is 2009, and I am, again, going to NEFFA. No Thursday night contra for me this time, and it looks like no lots of people I really quite like, but regardless, FUCKIN' NEFFA, MATES!

I am pretty excited for this. And, for whatever reason (no, I'm not sure either) I've decided to experiment, and *not* bring Vera. Radio silence for the wins or something.

Soyeah. See you kids Sunday, when I will have no more legs.

~Sor
MOOP!

I don't want to live my life
On one side of an ampersand¹
Even if I went with you
I'm not the girl you think I am
And I don't want to match you
'Cause I'll lose my voice completely

(Ampersand, Amanda Palmer. There's a little bit more to the chorus, but it's not important to the way I interpret the lyrics. Me, interpreting things, it's enough to make a cat laugh.)

To me, ever since the first time I really Heard the lyrics, actually Listened to them, instead of just letting the music wash over me as I am so wont to do, I realized that Amanda was talking about something that terrifies me. On one side of an ampersand? She (I) doesn't want to be part of a pair, oh look, there is AmandaandBrian, KatandAnyone. No. Just please, no.

And my fear terrifies me.

I've been alluding to this, bits and pieces and slipped words. A sentence here and there, nothing anyone would notice, not without being able to see the big picture. And the brilliant part of talking to you and you and you is that no one besides me ever gets to see the big picture.

Call it want of freedom, call it my own asexuality (which was never asexual somuch as aromantic, I realise) call it fear of intimacy, call it all or none of the above, it's still there. I'm beginning to get to an age where I can get into relationships that last forever, last the rest of my life, last until marriage and beyond, and dear gods.

Dear gods, I'm petrified.

This...These feelings, the way I love people now means I don't want to lose them. I've been able to enter every relationship safe in the knowledge that it was going to end. High school relationships don't last, silly, people are too different. Hell, the fact that Blue and I made it almost a full year is inherently boggling, a year long relationship? At fifteen, sixteen? We were freaks.

I don't have that safety anymore. I can't rest easy in the knowledge that it will, eventually, end.

Oh, of course it still will. I don't fool myself, my prediliction for older men² means I tend very towards people who're at enough of a different place from me that eventually we will fragment, and that's okay. I'm alright with losing love (though I never want to lose friendship). But sometimes...I fool myself. Or my mind fools itself. And I realize that I don't want it to end, not ever.

And ye gods, with that realization...I want to run.

I want to run and run and run and hide and be all by myself for a long long while and that's terrible. It's escapism of the worst sort, it's shutting myself off because I just can't accept the idea that maybe it's okay to have someone else there to support you. Because maybe I don't have to go through all of life alone. Because maybe I'm not the only one who can take care of me.

Because maybe being independent is lonely, and maybe being as truly free as I feel I want involves building walls so thick and high that I'll never be able to see the world through them. And I do like the world.

Growing up is scary, but why does it seem so much safer if I could just manage to do it alone.

I...I guess all I'm trying to say is that my therapist was right (damn her) and I think I'm scared of intimacy. I already knew I was scared of opening up, for reasons I've never been able to grasp. I'm scared of perfection for reasons half rational (as hard as I try to achieve it). I never realized that I was scared of safety.

If I flirt with everyone, smile and flounce, keep myself from never falling in love, then no one can ever care about me, and I'll never care about them. All hearts will be safe, unbroken. If I need to bury my face in a shoulder, I just have to turn to the nearest Toy, held fast in walls spun of quick-witted bullshit, rapidfire excuses for the tears on my face, my Need for arms around me.

And I'm sure that would work much better if I never slipped. Heels are pretty, sure, but I still trip, and tumble heart over head into love. And being in love means I have to care, have to be intimate, have to actually let myself open and be honest --I'm terrible at being honest, not in a way that causes me to lie, but in the actual speach, actually getting myself to the point where I can say the words that I need to sometimes. I'm getting better --I've been getting better for most of the last year, learning how to say I need help, say what's going through my mind.

I think I've been falling in Love. Not just loving people, I'm good at that, used to that. Ever since I first managed to tell Veronica that I loved her (not in any weird way, just as a friend, do you understand?) so very long ago (when such words were not to be spoken) not a day has gone by where the phrase hasn't passed my lips. But being in love? That's a lot harder. A *lot* harder, and it keeps happening, once, twice, thr...

I don't know what I'm going to do about this. At the very least, oh, does it feel good to write. I half whispered earlier, tears carefully hid from my eyes "I don't have a home" but I *do*, I so very do. My home has always been my words, given a blank page and a nudge in the right direction, I can weave myself a safety so strong I can almost feel the phantom arms protecting me.

I suppose what I'm going to do is let myself be open. Force myself from running. Maybe sometime I'll find myself on one side of that ampersand, and maybe I won't mind it so much.

I think it's time to face fears. To figure out why they are, and let myself defeat them. Let myself be serious, for once in my life, because for once in my life, I have found something worth being serious about.

Let myself fall in love. One, two, not quite three times, and see what it's like not being totally alone. Contemplate marriage, a mortgage, and a wall that does not encompass me alone.

We'll see.

&Sor
MOOP!

1: Though, to paraphrase Magus, it would not be terrible to live life on one side of an incubus/succubus. [/obscure Nethack joke]
2: And my beautiful younger woman exception is a whole different sort of case, and one I don't wish to discuss here.

~1400 hours:
Brain: Hey, Kat! Aren't you supposed to register for classes or something today?
Me: OH FUCK ME! FUCK ME WITH A RAKE!!
Brain: *laughs an evil laugh as I start scrambling around to do that*

~1445 hours:
Me: *arrives at advisors office with a guilty smile and a list of classes she might want to take*
Advisor: *is an angel*
Me: *hits register*
LOIS¹: Haha! Not for you bitch, you've got an immunization hold! Go talk to health services!

~1500 hours:
Me: Uh, hi Miss Health Services receptionist. I can't register for classes. Fix?
Receptionist: We have no record of you recieving your Menningitis shot. But if you sign this waiver saying you don't want it, you don't have to get one and we can lift the hold.
Me: Sounds good to me! *begins reading*
Me: Hey...uhm...there's not a chance you guys can shoot me, is there?
Doctor: Sure! Get your butt in here!
Me: Oh! Uhm. Efficiant!
Doctor: *shot*
Receptionist: *e-mails guy to remove hold so I can register*
Me: Ow, deadarm
World: *smiles and sunshine!*

~1530 hours:
Me: *arrives in my room and logs on to LOIS again*
Me: *hits register!*
LOIS: HAHA, BITCH! NO REGISTRATION FOR YOU!
LOIS: 'Cause, you know, you still have that immunization hold.
Me: What?! What, no I don't! I got the shot! My arm hurts! The receptionist e-mailed the guy! Damnitdamnitdamnit!

~1600 hours:
Me: *arrives at the place where the guy is. Finds his office*
Me: Uhm. Can...I register? Please?
Guy: Oh. Sure, why not.
Guy: *lifts hold*
Angelic chorus: *sings*
Me: Thankyousomuch, *runs back to room*

~1610 hours:
Me: *eyes LOIS nervously*
Me: *hits register*
LOIS: Okay!
Me: ...
Me: HALLAFUCKINGLUGHIA!

And that's what my day has been like. I got a shot!

~Sor
MOOP!

ETA 1: LOIS! LOIS is the magical Lesley computer classes and registration and other administrata system. I would know more about it if, during the lecture where they explained it all at orientation, I hadn't been busy drawing a picture of a teenaged Samuel Byck and a baby pterodactyl

So, remember when I did that long rambly posts about nests?

My nest really is nothing more complicated than Vera. Everything else is pure gravy --I just have to find a bit of ground to sit on, and, if possible, a place to lean against.

Which is why I'm typing this approximately ten feet from MassAve. *fg* Have I mentioned that I love love love that Porter Exchange is covered by the Lesley wireless system?

'sall for now. Went on a wicked awesome walk today.

~Sor
MOOP!

A/N: This started as a bit of emo prosetry, and turned into a brief conversation between Gabriel and myself. Enjoy, or something.

***

I wish I could just stop wrapping myself in bullshit and just say what I need to to people.

I wish I could open up.

I wish I could cry on your shoulder. I think I need it.

I wish I could hug you right now. I wish you could hug me. I wish I could tell you how badly I need a hug.

I wish I wasn't crying

I wish I didn't feel I had to hide my tears

I wish you weren't distracted by your own shit

I wish I didn't feel so selfish as to say that

I wish I could let myself feel negative emotions

I wish you hadn't pretty much exited my life

I wish things were still like they were at the start

I wish you hadn't ruined me

I wish I didn't see myself somuch as a failure

I wish that it was you I was talking to and not him

I wish I could trust people with my Self

I wish I weren't so fucking insecure, all the fucking time

I wish I could make you understand all of it

I wish I could understand all of it

I wish I could be jealous of her

I wish I wouldn't be jealous of her.

Or her.

(Though as always, I wish she was closer)

And I wish *she* were closer too

I wish I could love myself

Hell, I'll settle for wishing I could see myself as you lot claim to see me.

(I wish I could believe it when you tell me I'm a good person. Or you, or you, or you...)

"I wish I could post this" she said, knowing full well that, as anonymous as it is, she almost immediately was. "Fine." she revised. "I wish I could post this and not have to subsequently deal with mom telling me that all manner of people asked her if I'm alright, ohnoes."

She blinked. "Sometimes I wish I weren't such a terminal optimist. Life is more serious then that, y'know? There's war and death and genocide and hatred and tears and emotion and sadness."

The pseudoangel looked up from his book --Sandman, volume two-- and sighed. "Yes Deus, and there's also butterflies and dinosaurs and backhoes and MST3K and pringles and Shakespeare and legos and short skirts and thrift stores and gaming."

"I really wish you wouldn't call me that." She walked over and sat on the arm of his chair.

"Tell you what. I'll stop calling you Deus, and you stop bottling up who you are." She glared at him, and he smirked. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah." a pause. "Feeling better."

~Sor, BtW
MOOP!

DISCLAIMER:

It's three thirty in the morning or so. I really really should be sleeping, but, for whatever reason (see the first point of the actual entry) I'm not. So...this is basically me with the meandering verbosity that kinda marks my entries turned up to eleven. Be warned.


***


Hey, guess what, TVtropes will ruin your life.

I mean, on the plus side, it gave me things like this ad for sliced bread and This bitchin' essay justifying the idea that Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes is actually The Narrator from Fight Club (Srsly. Go read. WARNING: SPOILS FIGHT CLUB. Which is actually a good movie, so I think you should try to not have it spoiled.)

But then...then there's the negative side.

Penelope and Sylvester are lovers, and her "perils" are actually S&M roleplaying. They are actually both enjoying her inheritance money with their travels. (From the Wild Mass Guessing article on 'The Perils of Penelope Pitstop')

What...the....FUCK?!

I mean, I know that my childhood icon is fetish fuel. Hell, she was fetish fuel for half my barbie games ("Okay, and now the bad guy has tied you up so that he can marry you..." --course, inadvertantly, the so-called 'damsel in distress' would pull out some major asskicking and escape...maybe *fetish* fuel isn't the right word for it, but there was definitely some inspiration there)

But taking the fetish to the extreme and suggesting that the super-evil Hooded Claw could *ever* win the heart (Or, well, body) of such a virtuous and awesome maiden as Ms. Pitstop...I fucking hate rule 34¹. Gyah, stabstab.

Soyeah. Some things just can't be unseen, and that makes me a decidedly unhappy Kat.

Also, I really need to sleep. Ta!

~Sor
MOOP!

1: This is not actually true. Rule 34 is completely hilarious, solong as it's not happening to a very small number of things from my childhood that I view as sacrosanct. Penelope is one of them, apparently². I will not detail the others for fear of one of you linking me horrible horrible stories as some sort of twisted revenge for my schadenfreudic nature.

2: Okay, that's not even true. Penelope Pitstop clearly ought to have porn written about her, she got tied up more than *Wonder Woman* for crissakes. But I draw the line at the Hooded Claw, he was a bad guy! This was the sixties, morality was clear cut, she would never willingly fall for the likes of *him*. And I just don't do non-con³...

3: Nono, not Noncon, the annual science fiction convention hosted by Vassar College's NSO⁴. I'd totally do that if I could. Non-con, the shortening of non-consensual fiction. Y'know, rape and stuff. Rape is never cool.

4: NSO = Nonhuman Student Orginization or No Such Organization iirc. Important alums include Magus and Shaenon Garrity⁵ of Narbonic fame. Presumably lots of other people that I know and like as well.

5: Also, have I squee'd about Skin Horse, Shaenon's newest project, yet? She made cobras, battlebots, centipedes, and silverfish fisking *adorable*. Also, main character is an action transvestite⁶. Yay!

6: Unrelatedly, Eddie Izzard appears to be my generations version of Monty Python's Flying Circus. In rehearsal the other day, someone made a reference, and half the cast⁷ launched into a ten minute medley of quotes, with the other half listening in rapt admiration. It would've continued for several minutes longer, had we not been called for make-up.

7: Theatre Quote of the Day:
Terry (LD): Okay Dave, now put your right leg up around her.
Dave⁸: *complies*
Terry: ...Okay, um...actually, don't do that.
-OR-
Any and all references to neon Jesus and being trapped in bars of light.

8: Not to be confused with David, who is a big friendly gay boy who is far too pretty to be believed⁹. And was randomly attempting to grind with me earlier. Prompting me to say that his penis was far too close to me, at, of course, one of those moments when everyone naturally falls silent at once. Head -> desk, repeat.

9: So's his boyfriend, which is just about the clearest example of "hmm, maybe I should declare myself a boy *anyways*" I've had in ages¹⁰.

10: I did mention that this entry was going to meander a bit, yes? Oh good.

I suspect at least part of it is the world's way of apologizing to me for how shitty last night was¹, but today has been Pretty Damn Good.

In English, we got to talk about the Jonestown Massacre which, if not pleasant, is at least fascinating. Maths, we did some serious review, which helped me get unconfused, and politics we had a nice relaxing discussion about electoral districts and Gerrymandering.

Really, interestingly enough, the actual events of today haven't been anything special (with the exception of a perfect moment early this morning), instead, it seems that my outlook has just been phenomenally better than last night. Remember that terminal optimism thing I mentioned? I'm at full optimism at the moment.

Although, also on the list of good things, the torrent I found for the Shock Treatment soundtrack is *finally* doing something, after a month of just sitting there. So yay!

(Relatedly, torrents are dangerous. Ignoring the whole ethical argument² that I still haven't quite figured out, being able to put things onto my harddrive is just inviting me to use up all the rest of my space. Damnit, I intended to use that for the several million pictures I intend to take with my new camera.

***

1: Last night was actually not that bad. Like today, the events and things that happened were neither especially good or bad. However, my outlook was completely borked, and the six hours of rehearsal really didn't help. (I didn't get to see my parents off. :( )

Also on the list of 'not helping' was finishing reading 'Watchman'. First off, yep, go read, it's awesome. Second off, well, uhm. It makes you think. And while thinking is ordinarily awesome, it makes you Think. Or, well, stare at the ceiling for a couple minutes and just completely blank out and try to process it.

Soyeah, trying to go to sleep while my brain is busy trying to process this deep meaningful piece of art really just doesn't work. It leads to conversations like this:

"You okay?"
"No."
"What's wrong?"
"I have just read something astonishing and I can't quite wrap my head all the way around it yet, and I'm having a slight existential crisis at the moment, and I'm being made nervous at the incredible fragility of humans." (Only, of course, I'm not actually that eloquent when speaking, so I think what I actually managed to say was something like "dunno".)

***

2: My goal is to not actually steal music etc from people, because that is bad. However, the rules start bending when it comes to things that one of my parents already own. Because, I mean, I have access to things like 'The Breakfast Club' when I'm at home. Should I suddenly lose my access to it just because I only live at home for four months of the year now?

It's basically the same idea of taking one of my mom's CD's and burning it to Vera. Mom paid for this lovely thing of music, but it's not technically *mine* --should I therefore go buy my own copy if I want it? Probably. Am I going to go buy all the CD's that I want copies of? Not for a long time.

Obviously, downloading movies or music that mom doesn't own is a Bad Thing. I don't do that, it's shitty.

Soyeah, Torrenting is weird ethical dilemma's, and I haven't resolved them quite yet. But that's okay.

~Sor
MOOP!