I swear I don't do drugs

2011-06-04T18:18:00.004-07:00

–How are you today?

The middle-aged cashier at Fry's grocery store looks at me with one and-a-half eyes and gives me an awkward smile full of about 75% of her original teeth. Her left eyelid seems to have been frozen in time half-way through a wink sometime back in the mid-80s. Her leathery skin seems to suggest that, since that unfortunate incident with a time machine (or perhaps a vengeful, spell-casting optometrist/warlock?), she's spent the rest of her life chain smoking while glaring directly into the sun with -15 SPF sunblock. Now you're probably thinking that SPF can't go into the negatives, but that's because you haven't seen this woman's face.

I, on the other hand, WAS looking into her face, and my feelings were evenly split between compassion and uneasiness about her mental stability. It wouldn't take long for her to settle my emotional conundrum. I answered her:

—Not bad! How are you?

—Good.

Alright! Uneasiness settled. She starts entering the produce code to ring up my anaheim peppers and then mutters, almost inaudibly, in the creepiest way imaginable:

—Better than I was just a little bit ago.

Her one and-a-half eyes spin towards me and then lock onto me in a suddenly urgent quest to confirm three things: 1) whether or not I heard her, 2) whether or not I knew what she was talking about, and 3) whether or not I was aware that she had gone off her meds, and if so, was I gonna tell the boss?

Unsure what to do and frankly more creeped out than I'd been since seeing Mike Huckabee play the guitar on his show with Ted Nugent, I fumbled around with my wallet to begin the payment process prematurely. By the time she rang all my items up, the amount on the screen read $33.64. She put her hand on the counter and said:

—$66.64.

Rather than confront her about her mathematical Tourrette's (or perhaps dyslexia?), I decided to just trust what the payment screen was telling me, swipe my card, and get the hell out of there without giving her any ammunition for further conversation. After all, maybe 66 looks like 33 when you only have one-and-half eyes.

This is just the most recent in a whole slew of similar experiences in my now 2-year history of going to the Fry's supermarket on McDowell in Scottsdale, but I hope it gives you some idea as to why entering this particular store is like entering an alternate universe, re-living a scene from "Idiocracy," or attending a Nascar event. I've tried going on different days and at different times, but the level of creepiness has always remained consistent. I honestly believe that up to 60% of the staff and 50% of the clientele are no strangers to police reports. I realize every society has its dark underbelly, but why do they all buy groceries at the supermarket that's closest to my house?

2009-08-27T22:05:00.014-07:00

Am I becoming my father?

I know this is a very strange question coming from someone who has never had a father, but I do remember a few things about my biological father: one of them being a penchant for being confrontational and belligerent with total strangers in public venues. Almost as a reflex. When going out in public, some people put on a nice hat or fancy gloves... wait--why do I think I live prior to 1960?

Rephrasing, when going out in public, some people put on their sunglasses. Or perfume or cologne. My dad always put on his fightin' pants, which kept him ready at literally a second's notice to react combatively to any number of public encounters. Always super classy, my dad.

So getting out of class tonight, I waited on the bench at my usual bus stop waiting for my usual bus to come by at its usual time.

Sure enough, Valley Metro's Route 66 turned the corner on to College Ave. As usual, I stand up to let it know I need to get on. The bus driver continues as if he hasn't seen me, so I stick out my arm at a 90-degree angle, Mexico style, to hail the bus. Still no reaction from the geriatric bus driver, which quickly pushes me to my last resort: yelling. Begrudgingly, the bus stops and waits for me to catch up to it. The embittered golden-age bus driver then refuses to open the doors until I get RIGHT up to them. As I'm scanning my pass, he yells at me--in that abrupt style that is unique to public transport discourse in the greater New York area--that if I would've been at the actual bus stop, he would've seen me. Since I'm fluent in New Yorker, I jumped right in and fended off the ridiculous accusation: "That's where I WAS!" That's where I'd ALWAYS stood up! I'd NEVER had a problem getting a bus to stop before, and I've been taking that route for months. MONTHS!

*Throws hands up as if complaining about the sudden increase in the price of shmear at the 72nd Street bagel shop he's been going to every Friday morning for years. YEARS! I'm veklempt! The whole world's gone mashuganuh!*

So anyway, the argument goes on a bit more, then Grandpa Metro goes back to inattentively driving whilst daydreaming about Betty Grable...

...and I go sit in the back and listen to my iPod, contemplating what has just happened. When suddenly confronted with ridiculous or false accusations or any kind of dispute with a random, unknown person, my initial reflex is almost ALWAYS to play the peacemaker. Just like my mom, I'll lower my eyes to avoid adding flames to the fire, accept whatever trivial bullshit is being flung my way, and just seek to end the situation as quietly as possible and avoid a confrontation. It's not worth dealing with the negative vibes, man!

Grandpa Metro was clearly a little off and well past retirement, so when we got to my stop, I was sure to say "Thank you, sir," to which he responded appreciatively. There: I've got my Kathy St.George hippy zen back. Namasté. As I'm crossing the street to get home, an oncoming car--who didn't need to slow down for me but for some reason just felt REALLY put off that he had to see a pedestrian anywhere near the front of his car--flashed his lights, rolled down his window and said, "Damn jaywalker!" To which I INSTANTLY shouted back: "¡TU PUTA MADRE!" Without even thinking about it. So much for ending my night in zen-like bliss.

Having just screamed "¡Tu puta madre!" as a knee-jerk reaction to a total stranger in the street, I'm pretty sure that, like it or not, I have some of my biological father's blood in my veins. And not even when I'm drunk.

2009-08-09T14:49:00.010-07:00

Have you noticed how it's been 9 months since my last blog? Remember how my parents suddenly transferred me to a private, all-girls school to finish my senior year? An all-girls boarding school with no internet access, and therefore, no blogging? Well the truth is that the boarding school was a monastery, and I was gone for 9 months because, well, I got pregnant, and mom and dad didn't want the townspeople to see me that way. They didn't want our family's reputation to be forever tarnished, since apparently, the family reputation and my personal honor are based entirely on whether or not my hymen is intact.

Well guess what? I'm 18 now, and I'm keeping my baby!

Oh, that's right. I need to keep reminding myself that, when the question of whether or not I'm a free-thinking 18-year-old girl who refuses to play by the rules arises, the answer is no. At the time, however, it seemed like the best explanation for my 9-month absence from the blog. Most of you know about the drama that has kept me busy since my last entry (let's be sure to blame this entirely on my life's drama and not at all on my laziness, my procrastination, or my crippling meth habit):

*Semester-end crunch, Fall 2008
*Holidays, Winter 2008
*Took too many classes, Spring 2009
*Moved TWICE during the same semester, Spring 2009 (thanks, surprise foreclosure!)
*Taught class I've never taught before, Spring 2009
*Out of the country most of Summer 2009
*Shoelaces became irreparably frayed, Summer 2009

As you can see, it has been QUITE hectic. I don't even know where to begin, so I won't. Instead, I'll focus on what a lovely person that Meryl Streep seems to be.

Never mind that she's the most talented and skilled actress in modern history. I've seen her as a guest on SEVERAL talk shows now, so I feel like I've REALLY gotten to know the real Meryl, and she is LOVELY. I just want to hang out with her all day, every day. I'm pretty sure I'd never need a break from her; I'd just be forever blissful at her side. Her aura of peace and harmony would permeate my existence to the point that I would completely forget about war, injustice, vericose veins, and the fact that some people actually consider Fox News to be a valid news source instead of a never-ending dramatized opinion column/letter to the editor.

Incidentally, having noticed that in 2008 my blog became increasingly political, I have decided to start a second blog that is dedicated to politics as they affect me. If you're interested, you can read all about it on my new political blog! I'm starting it off with last year's marriage equality post but will be adding to it soon, hopefully. Unless my shoelaces become irreparably frayed again, that is. In that case, I don't know what the hell I'll do.

In any case, that should keep my personal blog light and occasionally (and mediocrely) entertaining. I won't be posting any pictures of my baby since he looks a LOT like his father: a man who will only publicly reveal his identity if and when he feels it is prudent. His name may or may not rhyme with Shmark-Shpaul Shgosselaar. So far he hasn't paid a dime of child support, but I still love him. You hear that Shmark-Shpaul? You can come back home to me and it won't be awkward. I promise.

2008-11-20T12:27:00.014-07:00

RECONCILING MORMONISM WITH PROP 8

Alright, my friends. You knew this was coming: I couldn't let Prop 8 come and go without talking about it. I've been through a lot of emotions since it narrowly passed earlier this month, but I think I've gotten to a point where I can post a healthy essay on the subject. A (Mormon) childhood friend with whom I've had little-to-no contact as an adult has been going back and forth with me in an e-mail debate over Prop 8 (which she actively supports). She revealed to me that she felt qualified to speak on the matter because she herself questioned her sexuality at one point before getting married to a man. The following is an excerpt from my last e-mail, which begins with a quote from her last message:

"You are so incredibly intelligent, understanding, talented, and really gifted. Your sexual orientation doesn't change that one iota in my eyes."

Thank you for the compliments.

"But ultimately, do you really think that you will discover lasting joy in the life to come by pursuing this lifestyle?"

What lifestyle would you be referring to? Without sounding too accusatory, it sounds very much like you're tapping into that tired, intellectually bankrupt cliché that claims there is a heterosexual lifestyle (perceived as long-term commitment/marriage/family-centered) and a homosexual lifestyle (perceived as short-term/promiscuous/anti-family). My response to this claim is always: what do you know about my lifestyle? I have to laugh out loud every time I hear homosexuality referred to as "that lifestyle," because it is absolutely absurd to insinuate that sexual orientation is what defines a person's lifestyle.

I have plenty of straight friends who are at the bars every weekend looking for new, exciting sexual encounters. They are promiscuous and then some. They are not interested (at least at this point in their lives) in settling down, committing to one person, getting married, or having kids. Since you and I haven't been close enough to know about each other's "lifestyles" since we were in high school, let me tell you a little bit about my lifestyle. I haven't had sex in nearly two years, and that was when I was in a relationship. I am looking (and have been looking for many, many years now) for a long-term relationship: long-term happiness. I'm not interested in short-term happiness/fulfillment.

What I'm trying to do here is make you aware of the subtleties of epistemic violence against entire groups of people: referring to homosexuality as "this lifestyle" when you know nothing at all about my lifestyle. Sexual orientation is not a lifestyle. I've seen plenty of straight friends and family sleep around, do drugs, drink and drive, produce offspring in and out of wedlock, and traumatize that offspring in outrageously selfish attempts at short-term fulfillment. I am morally opposed to their lifestyle. Would it be fair or logical for me to refer to that as "the straight lifestyle?" That would be laughably absurd. Individuals determine their lifestyle--their sexual orientation has nothing to do with it.

“Aren't Heavenly Father's laws in place to guide us and protect us? Don't you think that we will be better off by obeying them than by seeking our own way around them? [. . .] You know my upbringing. You know me. I am no moral giant, but I do think that there is a plan in place and that we will be happiest if we stick to it.”

You do realize I’m not Mormon, right? I can appreciate your personal faith, but when you try to impose your doctrine on me, it comes across as disregard for my own personal/moral beliefs. I have no right to tell you you’re wrong, because the Baptists will tell you you’re wrong, and the Muslims will tell them they’re wrong, and the Jews will tell them they’re wrong, and the atheists will tell them they’re all wrong … it’s just one vicious, counterproductive circle.

Personal faith isn’t a topic for public debate, since faith is defined by believing in that which cannot be proven through logic. It is when this faith becomes institutionalized and then politicized, however, that we have a moral obligation to apply some critical thinking skills to the rhetoric that is being presented. Trying to contain this debate within the confines of Mormonism is not likely to create mutual respect or understanding. On the contrary: it only attracts unwanted scrutiny to your belief system and reinforces the widely-perceived stereotype that Mormons are narrow-minded, xenophobic, and dogmatic. Knowing as many Mormons as I do, I know this is not necessarily true (I often hear complaints about narrow-mindedness, xenophobia, and dogmatism from Mormons about other Mormons). There are plenty of Mormons who shudder at the mere mention of three particular letters in succession: BYU. By definition, stereotypes are inaccurate, unfair generalizations.

Interestingly enough, I believe the argument for equality can, in fact, be made from within Mormonism, just as there are Mormons who voted no on Prop 8 and Mormons who are Democrats--not in spite of, but because of their moral beliefs. The following three examples come to mind:

1) Establishing a homogenized master plan for universal happiness and discouraging free agency… I believe that’s referred to as “Satan’s plan” in Mormon pre-existence theology.

2) Article of Faith #11: “We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where, or what they may.” There are churches that believe sexual orientation is not a legitimate basis for moral or legal discrimination. Some of them performed same-sex marriages in California while they were legal and continue to do so in states and countries where they are legal. As a church with a history of being persecuted and marginalized by mainstream Christianity, it seems a bit hypocritical for the Mormon Church to tell these churches they don’t have the legal right to perform and bless marriages “according to the dictates of [their] own conscience.” I think the 11th Article of Faith is a fantastic one. I would invite the Yes-on-8 Mormons to revisit it and contemplate the historical context and spirit in which it was written.

3) The Golden Rule: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” A central principle for any Christian, and decidedly the thesis statement of the Bible.

Since you have stated some your religious beliefs, I will state some of mine in the spirit of the 11th Article of Faith (that is, recognizing that neither of us has the right to speak from an absolute moral high ground). I believe that plurality and difference exist for a divine reason. Human beings come in different shapes, sizes, and colors for a divine reason: so that we can intellectually/spiritually rise above the differences our eyes perceive and connect with each other’s spirits.

Just as skin color falls upon a continuum, so does human sexuality. The majority of professionals in the fields of medicine, academia, and psychology agree that sexuality is not a binary concept. You yourself are a great example of this: you fall somewhere along this continuum that had you questioning/analyzing your sexuality at one point. Apparently, your position on this continuum is somewhere in between 100% gay and 100% straight. This position was moderate enough to where you were able to embrace the part of you that’s attracted to men and commit to a heterosexual marriage and find happiness in that. I think that’s fantastic, and I completely support you. I do not consider your sexuality to be superior or inferior in any way, despite the fact that it is different from mine (just like snowflakes, no two sexualities are completely identical).

Do rainbow flag-toting activists have the right to tell you that, since you were doubtful about your sexuality at one point, you’re obviously gay and that you would be happier if you would stop living in denial and just accept a prescribed gay sexuality? Of course not! Only you can make that call. It’s your happiness. Sexual orientation and happiness are extremely personal, individual matters. They are matters of the heart, and no one can see inside or judge your heart except for you. Can you see where I’m going with this? Can you see the problem with trying to subject me to a prescribed sexuality?

When religious and/or political groups start throwing around rhetoric about sexual orientation, it’s a very sensitive, delicate issue because it goes so much further than what we give the term “sexuality” credit for at face value. When you’re talking about someone’s sexual orientation, you’re talking about their heart: the very core of them--the part of them that seeks love, companionship, and happiness. Surely you can see why I take this extremely personally. When you support discriminatory measures like Prop 8, you’re saying that my heart is somehow flawed and inferior--unworthy of the same legal protections as your heart. You cannot support Prop 8 and truly regard me as an equal.

When it comes to our relationship as friends, other political issues are trivial in comparison, since political stances and beliefs are something that we choose. I did not choose to be gay. When we're talking about me being gay, we're not talking about what I believe in or what I chose. We're talking about who I am. Since you were brave enough to share your story with me, I’d like to share mine with you. As you have alluded to, my position on the continuum of human sexuality has never been as ambiguous or as moderate as yours. I’ve been very strongly attracted to guys from a very young age. At what point is it morally justifiable to marginalize someone because of their sexuality? When I was a sweet, loving, innocent 10-year-old who happened to be attracted to other boys, was I still too young to be legislatively marginalized? Is that attitude cruel when directed to a child, but morally sound when directed to an adult?

Every single birthday cake that came my way between the ages of 10 and 21 meant one thing for me: I got to make a wish. And every time, that wish was to not be gay. When I was 12 and the van carrying my Boy Scout troop to a Phoenix Suns game passed through the tunnel between Globe and Superior, I held my breath and silently wished to not be gay. I didn’t say a single prayer that didn’t involve a desperate plea to my Creator to take these immoral feelings from me and make me “normal” and “worthy.” Despite being an “incredibly intelligent, understanding, talented, and really gifted” person (to use your words), I allowed others to convince me that I was a terrible, immoral person because I could not force myself to be attracted to girls. There were even times when I considered killing myself to end the torment (I know of one Safford-area teenage boy who did just that). Suicide is probably the most “unnatural” act a human being can perform, wouldn’t you agree?

I finally took a moral stance, however, to stop hating myself, because God isn’t hate. God is love. I took a moral stance to be honest (see the 13th Article of Faith: “We believe in being honest”) about who I am. I took a moral stance and decided that I would not force myself into a heterosexual marriage by using deceit to fool some poor girl into marrying me when I could never be in love with her (much less have sex with her--yuck!). Our friend [NAME OMITTED] actually thanked me for being courageous enough to take this moral stance. She knows first-hand what kind of damage can be done when gay people try to force themselves to follow a prescribed path of happiness. Now she’s a single mother with two kids. In retrospect, she really would’ve preferred honesty from her ex-husband rather than obedience to “Heavenly Father’s laws” (to use your words again). How can God command me to be straight but also command me to be honest?

When I finally fell in love for the first time (at the tender age of 23), it was like I had at long last discovered the secret of life. When I fell in love with someone and knew that he loved me back, the experience was indescribable: life-affirming, transformative, spiritual. I finally understood what all those love songs were about. My entire life, I had heard countless songs about love: allegedly the most powerful force humans can experience. Powerful enough to cause immense happiness, immense sorrow, obsession, devotion... a whole range of powerful emotions that up until I was 23, I truly did not understand. It seemed like every singer and song writer was ridiculously obsessed with this thing called love. The whole idea of being in love with someone seemed so illogical to me: so alien. I felt like I was outside humanity looking in. When I met my first boyfriend, I finally understood the elation human beings feel from love. It was a positive, truly spiritual experience. My spirit doesn't have to live in solitude and self-loathing afterall!

You have used “nature” to justify your support of a proposition that adds discrimination to California’s state constitution. I would remind you that homosexual activity does occur within nature (dogs come to mind). But human nature is a little bit more complex, isn’t it? For me personally, I can’t think of anything more unnatural than kissing a woman. Nothing was more natural than kissing my first boyfriend. I believe God and nature are One. A certain portion of every human population finds itself so far along the continuum of human sexuality that they are naturally inclined to find love and companionship with members of the same sex. I believe this is God’s/nature’s way of 1) taking the edge off of exponential procreation, 2) making sure there are enough adults to take care of those unwanted children whose existence is a result of irresponsible heterosexual activity, and 3) encouraging spiritual evolution (just like with racial differences, challenging us to intellectually/spiritually rise above the differences our eyes perceive so that we connect with each other’s spirits).

Those are my spiritual beliefs. You may not agree with them, which is fine. I believe in the 11th Article of Faith, which means that I shouldn’t impose my beliefs on you and vice versa. What a great country we live in: one that allows for plurality, coexistence, and equality. Despite suffering institutionalized marginalization in 19th Century America, Mormons are now free to engage in their own pursuit of happiness “according to the dictates of [their] own conscience” on a level (equal) playing field. Even though being Mormon constitutes making a choice and adopting a set of beliefs, as far as the law is concerned, they are equals. Other religions may (and do) continue to preach that Mormons are immoral, misled enemies of true Christianity. They are entitled to their opinions. As churches, the State has no right to force them to preach equality. As churches, however, they have no right to force the State to adhere to their discriminatory beliefs.

Seeing any parallels here? Despite current institutionalized marginalization, gay people are working towards a level (equal) playing field. The difference? Being gay does not constitute making a choice (other than choosing to be honest about one’s sexual orientation), nor does it constitute adopting any set of beliefs. Gay people are as heterogeneous as any other group when it comes to what they believe spiritually. Other religions may (and do) continue to preach that gay people are immoral, misled enemies of true Christianity. They are entitled to their opinions. As churches, the State has no right to force them to preach equality. As churches, however, they have no right to force the State to adhere to their discriminatory beliefs.

SOME AFTERTHOUGHTS:

Yes-on-8 people have claimed that a marriage and a family are defined as "one man, one woman." I grew up with just the "one woman" part. Do I not come from a real family? Is my family suddenly invalidated? Were there adverse consequences to coming from a single-parent home? Yes. Many of the issues my siblings and I have stem from the fact that my mother--who is amazing and did her very best--was physically/logistically incapable of being there for us as much as we needed (a) parent(s) to be there for us. Would I have been better off in the system or in a foster home? No. Would I have been better off with two mothers? Without a doubt. The Tanner family on Full House had zero women and three men. Are you really going to tell Michelle Tanner that she doesn't come from a real family?

Can you take a look around you at some of the child-producing "one-man-one-woman" unions in any given supermarket and honestly tell me that their family environment is better for children than one I could provide, simply because I'm gay? Even if they're drug-dealing, welfare-collecting, hideous people? It's OK for them to make a family with kids because they're straight, but it's not OK for a socially-responsible PhD candidate to marry a like-minded person and adopt children (who would otherwise be in the system) to form a family simply because we're gay? It's even OK for them to get married while one of them (or both of them) is incarcerated, since they're straight? Really? What kind of message does this kind of institutionalized narrative send to gay kids everywhere?

Money donated to Yes-on-8 was used to propagate the lie that allowing gay marriage to remain legal would force clergy to perform same-sex marriages. Really? Church and State, people. Church and State. Only Mormon weddings are allowed to take place in Mormon temples. Can a Catholic sue the Mormons for not allowing him/her to get married in their temple? No! Churches have always had the right to decide whom they will marry.

There is a video from the “Family Research Council” (viewable at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=puI4pfRB0w0) that erroneously states that, because gay marriage is legal in Massachusetts, primary schools there are now forced to incorporate “gay marriage” literature into their curriculum. Blatantly false. It highlights the case of a Massachusetts family whose son was sent home from kindergarten with a book about two men who fell in love with each other and lived happily ever after (as part of a “diversity packet”). The parents were outraged, and the purpose of this ridiculously sensationalist video was to spread that rage and fear to as many people as possible and somehow connect the legalization of gay marriage in Massachusetts with the stance that particular school board took. This alarmist, dishonest video has everything to do with one isolated quarrel between two parents and their son’s school administration and nothing to do with a legitimate debate about gay marriage.

Having previously enjoyed a position of non-involvement, Yes-on-8 Mormons now find themselves uncomfortably associated with the blatant lies and misrepresentations launched by the religious right, with whom they have formed an unprecedented official alliance to support Prop 8. No-on-8 Mormons have found themselves doubly marginalized by the fierce anti-Mormon reaction that has followed the outcome. To reconcile Mormonism with Prop 8, I propose that those who are fighting against discrimination and bigotry be very careful with their reaction. We can’t fight discrimination with discrimination. Gay people did not appreciate being grouped into one homogenized category and targeted under a microscope. There are some Mormons who feel the same way now that they are under the microscope. The difference, of course, is that their civil rights aren’t at stake (while ours were), but labeling all Mormons as bigots is counterproductive and inaccurate. There are precious moderate voices from within Mormonism who are calling for reason, just as we are. I suggest we find common ground rather than subjecting anyone else to unfair generalizations.

And for my Yes-on-8 Mormon friends, I would like to leave you with a quote from the fantastic PBS documentary Anyone and Everyone, which highlights parents from several different religious and ethnic backgrounds and interviews them to see how they dealt with the news that their child was gay. Sister Lanette Graves, an active Salt Lake City No-on-8 Mormon, says the following:

"We all realize life is short. Life is precious. We need to not let doctrine or dogma divide us. What ought to be most holy of all are the issues of the heart. And as I said befeore, God is love. That is the Great Commandment. They said to Jesus (trying to trick him up), 'What is the Great Commandment?' and his answer was, of course, to love God and to love one another. The Great Commandment is the commandment to love. And so I decided long ago I'm probably gonna make some mistakes in life, and even on this issue, if I'm gonna make a mistake, I'm going to boldly make it on the side of love."

2008-08-08T17:02:00.002-07:00

Although they started almost a day ago thanks to the time difference in Beijing, the Olympics start in roughly one hour. Channel 12 here in Arizona. NBC. 7:30 Eastern, 6:30 Central and Pacific. I just wanted to make sure everyone was aware of that. That's all. Thank you.

2008-08-02T17:43:00.005-07:00

I know I promised to keep the political rhetoric to a minimum, but I just finished writing a small essay for my roommate's little sister (who is a freshman at BYU writing a paper on the questionable constitutionality of an amendment banning gay marriage), and I felt compelled to post it to my blog. Call it personal conscience or self-important civic duty (both of which are valid points). Here it is:

So why do I think marriage between two consenting adults should be a civil right for all citizens, regardless of sexual orientation? It certainly isn't so I can get married. First of all, I'm not even dating anyone right now. Secondly, even if I were, I've seen enough divorce in my family to make me think twice before combining my hard-earned credit score with someone else's. I'm perfectly content finding that special someone, settling down with him, and sharing a committed partnership with him for the rest of our lives. I don't need to be legally tied to him to feel like we're as legitimate a couple as any married heterosexual couple--especially since half of heterosexual marriages end in divorce and I've seen my fair share of miserable marriages.

Simply being heterosexual doesn't magically improve the quality of your relationship or diminish the chances that your marriage will end up being dangerous for society. On the contrary--since heterosexual couples frequently produce offspring (regardless of marital status), they often bring children into this world when they themselves are not ready for the enormous responsibility of parenthood. What could be more dangerous for society than heterosexual couples who continue to procreate at exponential rates without making the sacrifices necessary for proper child-rearing? These neglected children are at higher risk for delinquency, drug use, and teen pregnancy, causing the cycle to repeat itself in growing numbers with each generation.

Many opponents to gay marriage claim they don't hate gay people; they're just protecting the sanctity of marriage. I certainly agree that, conceptually, marriage is a sacred institution in which children are born and families are raised. If that isn't a core value for any human society, then what is? I can't think of a more important responsibility than raising a child. The funny thing is that, no matter what we do, some children turn out to be gay: rich children, poor children, married-couple children, single-parent children, first-and-last children, middle children, Jewish children, Mormon children, white children, black children, etc. Whether their sexual orientation is a result of their DNA or their circumstances is irrelevant. Do these children suddenly stop being important if they find themselves attracted to the same gender? Do responsible parents love their gay children any less, view them as being any less legitimate, or consider them to be dangerous for society simply because of their sexual orientation? That would be cruel and counterintuitive: personal accountability and responsibility are what determine the impact someone has on society.

If a woman takes no personal responsibility for her actions and decides to hand her life over to drug addiction, welfare checks, and multiple pregnancies from multiple fathers, her impact on society will be negative. The fact that she is heterosexual does not make her any more or less of a danger to society. Her poor decisions and lack of personal responsibility are what make her a danger to society. Conversely, the fact that I am homosexual does not make me any more or less of a danger to society. My personal accountability is what determines the effect I have on society (refusing to litter, refusing to drink and drive, volunteering for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, continuing my education, etc.). Consequently, my civil rights as an American citizen (including marriage) should not be affected by my sexual orientation. Allowing her the right to marriage by virtue of her heterosexuality but denying me the same right because of the illogical perception that my homosexuality is somehow more dangerous for society or intrinsically inferior is not only counterintuitive--it's unlawful.

Writing discrimination into the constitution in order to deny civil rights to an entire sector of the American population on the sole basis of their sexual orientation runs counter to the values that we stand for as Americans. We believe in personal accountability and that all men are created equal. If conservative activists want to add wording to legal documents in order to protect the sanctity of marriage, they should take aim at Las Vegas' 24-hour wedding chapels or pursue an amendment prohibiting Britney Spears from pulling any more publicity stunt weddings. Despite widespread efforts to polarize American society into conservatives and liberals (and despite activists' efforts to label people as good or bad based on their sexual orientation), level-headed, constitutionally-minded people know that all Americans should be entitled to the pursuit of happiness. They know that people's eye color, skin color, sexual orientation, or music preference should have nothing to do with their inalienable rights. The true measure of a (wo)man is what s/he does with those rights as an individual.

I could continue with this essay and address the harmful societal effects caused by an institutionalized, national narrative that categorically classifies citizens who happen to be homosexual as inferior (and therefore, unworthy of the basic civil rights so freely granted to Britney Spears). I could talk about epistemic violence, the politics of hatred, and the hypocrisy of being a self-proclaimed conservative while supporting amendments to the constitution that extend into the personal lives of American citizens, but at this point, you probably have more material from me than you initially wanted. :-) I hope this helps! Please let me know if I can help expand on or clarify anything.

2008-07-15T14:57:00.008-07:00

I'm done teaching my night class!!! Now I FINALLY have time for a LOVE LIFE! God, I've missed my LOVE LIFE SO much! I finally have time for romantic dinners and long walks along one of Phoenix's lovely beaches...

...or perhaps a stroll through one of our charming historic districts...

Oh that's right. I live in a soulless city that's saturated with nationalized chains and a half-wit, coked-out, materialistic gay community. Oh well. I probably should work on adopting a more positive attitude about my personal life. Or I could wait 'til after I'm 30. I'm MUCH less likely to be bitter, sarcastic, and lonely after I pass that milestone, I think.

I AM going to New York tomorrow, so that will be a nice change. I'm going with my sister Andrea, who, in case you haven't met her, IS Phoebe from Friends.

She's going to be a surrogate mother for a couple who can't have kids, and the embryo transfer is scheduled at a clinic in Connecticut. I'm going to New Jersey on Saturday to see my friends Mike and Aarti, and as stupid as it sounds, we actually have a layover both ways in Philadelphia. So in the next 2 days, I'll be in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut. I'm not sure what I'll do with myself in so many blue states, but don't worry. I'm sure I'll find SOMETHING to be outraged about.

And Phoenix: if I hear about you having a SINGLE MONSOON STORM without me, I will file divorce papers--I swear to Mel Gibson I will. The billboard around the corner from my house says I can get a divorce for just $200. The monsoon is the ONLY thing keeping this marriage together, and if I find out about so much as a single LIGHTNING BOLT while I'm gone, we're THROUGH! You save that monsoon for ME. It's all we have at this point, you dirty, dirty whore.

If you care about this marriage at all, you'll have a couple of flash floods and a power outage waiting for me when I get back.

2008-06-08T14:20:00.009-07:00

You probably won't hear much from me this month, since I am working 13-hour days Monday through Thursday through the entire month of June. ASU has asked me to teach a night class of SPA 101, so I now do THAT right after working a full day at Walden University. I hate my life this month, but the double income will be FANTASTIC for my savings account as I brace myself for the financial plunge of graduate school.

Hopefully I won't have a creepy old guy directly on top of me throughout grad school. Yeck. Other than the creepy old guy, though, that whole skydiving thing looks pretty damn cool. I think I might do it one day. Or maybe I'll just entertain the notion of skydiving throughout the remainder of my life and then die, putting an end to a skydivingless existence. Probably the latter.

I drove to Thatcher yesterday to spend the day with the family, since everyone else in my immediately family just happened to be at my mom's house and I didn't want to miss out on the chance to see everyone. My 5-year-old nephew Tanner was showing me how high he could count in English (we had already covered Spanish) when he asked me how I old I was. His response was: "Twenty-nine?! You're almost THIRTY!!!" I laughed, then immediately started crying. I gave him a giant bear hug and kept him tightly clutched to me while I had a good cry, occasionally muttering unintelligibly and sporadically shaking/convulsing. He managed to escape my grasp about 20 minutes later when my tears began to dry, and he ran away in terror, screaming something about "Uncle Charlie's mentally unstable and potentially dangerous." 5-year-olds are getting smarter and smarter these days.

It was insane having so many children (ages 7 and under) running around, and I have to admit my immediate reaction was thank God I'm gay and will never have to deal with this full-time, but once I got over the brief culture shock, the chaos was kind of nice. Mom was making bread (as is her ritual, and I got the recipe yesterday and will be trying it out soon), the kids were running around, competing for attention, and the adults (I guess that's us now) attempted snippets of conversation. It was really great. I wish I could be geographically closer to my insane family. Did I just say that? Yes, I think I really did just say that.

My last thought today is that yesterday, Hillary officially bowed out of the race to the White House.

She's an amazing woman who was worked tirelessly for what she feels is best for our country (and I tend to agree with her on most things). In terms of the economy and affairs both foreign and domestic, the Clinton years were great years (especially when compared to the last 7 years of apocalyptic disaster). Whether you agree with her or not, you have to respect her for standing up the way she has after so much mud has been thrown at her over the years. A LOT of the mud thrown at her has not derived from legitimate political/intellectual debate, but rather from reactionary ignorance and good old-fashion He-Man-woman-hating pigheadedness.

A lot of people passionately hate Hillary Clinton, but when asked for a logical, INFORMED, justifiable reason as to why, they are unable to respond.

Having said that, after voting for her in the Democratic primary, I had second thoughts about my vote. Strategically, one good thing about her is that she knows how to play hardball politics. Morally, one bad thing about her is that she knows how to play hardball politics. We all know that, when it comes to political TV ads, taking the moral high ground in the face of a smear campaign is the quickest way to lose an election.

Well--that and using super-secret voting machines that are manufactured by private corporations whose CEOs openly support the opposition's campaign and have even raised funds for it:

Wikipedia: Premier Election Solutions

PS, I encourage you to read up on this particular topic, since being a democracy is kind of important to most Americans, and a democracy can be easily turned into an oppressive oligarchy depending on who's counting and manipulating the votes (just ask Russia). If reading isn't your bag, rent "Hacking Democracy." It's pretty interesting. Of course you can take it with a grain of salt, but it raises some interesting points to ponder.

But anyway. Getting back to Hillary. Her famous 3:00-a.m.-phone-call ad against Obama was something I'd expect out of the Republican playbook. It used post-9/11 fear tactics, playing on basic, Neanderthal human impulse in an attempt to discourage higher, more developed planes of thought and reasoning. "It's a dangerous world out there! Be afraid! We're the only ones who can protect you! Does anything else matter if your children run the risk of being blown up by terrorists? Of course not! We're the only ones strong enough to protect you. Don't forget to be afraid! No--no more thinking! Just fear... yes... excellent. Fearful and patriotic. Quick to react and slow to think. That's how we like 'em. [Insert George W. Bush laugh here]"

I also have to say that, if you're in the national spotlight and you're going to repeat a story over and over again about how you had to duck into a military vehicle right after landing in Sarajevo because there was sniper fire everywhere, MAKE SURE THAT STORY IS TRUE. Ya--between the fear-tactics commercial and the embellished memory from Sarajevo, I became disenchanted with Hillary's campaign. Of course a politician's a politician. Finding a politician who doesn't bend the truth is kind of like going to Olive Garden for lunch, placing your order, then going to the restroom before your waiter comes back, washing your hands, reaching for the paper towels, but instead of paper towels, oh my God--it's a unicorn!

But still. So now it's down to Obama and McCain. Both have their pros and cons. I'm obviously voting for Obama, but there used to be a few things about McCain that I respected. He's had to suppress those things and replace them with extremely conservative rhetoric in order to pander to the right far enough to win the Republican nomination, but hopefully he'll remember part of what he used to stand for if he's elected president, and HOPEFULLY he'll choose a moderate (and not a Bible-thumping sociopath like Mike Huckabee) as a running mate, since that running mate would probably end up as president at one point or another considering Grandpa McCain's age.

That's honestly what scares me about a McCain victory. I can live with McCain as president. After 8 years under the most damaging, incompetent, embarrassing f**ktard this side of the Pecos (or any side, for that matter), even another Republican like McCain in the White House won't seem as bad. It can only get better from here, right? Besides, the Democratic majority in Congress is projected to expand this year. And in the wake of the disastrous Bush years, the pendulum is swinging towards major change--especially with young voters, for the majority of whom a candidate's racial background is of no major concern.

Wow--how did this become a political blog? I promise to keep my political commentary down to 1 or 2 postings per year (this obviously being one of them). In the meantime, let's focus on what really matters: yesterday's injury to one of the Hamm twins. This throws an unsettling wrench into the US Men's Gymnastics Team's strategy going into the 2008 Olympic Games in Beijing.

2008-05-29T20:42:00.016-07:00

No matter which group you belong to, there are always extremists within your group that cause you some degree of distress, whether it's a raised eyebrow or outright embarrassment. Most modern-day Catholics roll their eyes when hardliners continue to shun meat on Fridays or insist that babies who die before baptism will unfortunately not make it to heaven (although I will have to side with the hardliners on this one--unbaptized babies are TOTALLY sinful).

Many Mormons I know get embarrassed when a fellow Mormon starts using internal phrases in the outside world (referring to "non-members" in mixed company, for example, or defending polygamy as the true and ultimate Law of Zion).

Most reasonable Republicans are embarrassed on a daily basis by some of the ridiculous things said on Fox News.

Could there possibly be a sleezier, more bigoted f***tard on television? For those who haven't seen Bill O'Reilly at his finest, I encourage you to check out this footage from his younger years. It's hilarious:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zIcx_rxTstc

But I digress. What I'm getting at is that one of my embarrassing moments occurred today as I was driving through my neighborhood. For those of you who don't know, I live in the Melrose neighborhood of central Phoenix, which is largely gay. The place is saturated with Hillary for President signs and rainbow flags. Now, if you're going to hang a rainbow flag outside your home or business, that's one thing. Sure, it's freaking GAY, and I'd never do it, but whatever (PS, who picked a rainbow flag as a symbol of gay pride? It's hideous! How are you supposed to match ANYTHING with that?). Stand proud, my fellow gays. There's a rabid, hateful, vocal group of Americans out there who would love to get the green light to carry out a holocaust against gay people, so if you feel like you need to combat that narrative by being vocally and visually proud to be gay, I certainly can understand that.

Some may see gay pride parades as counterproductive (and yes, I will admit it can be difficult to make the argument that most gay people are normal people engaged in the pursuit of happiness just like everyone else when the gays being captured by the news cameras are the ones vogue-ing down Central Avenue in wigs and 4-inch heels), but queer culture has always been an interesting subculture / counterculture in the traditionally puritanical context of American sociology, so I won't categorically reject gay pride parades as a waste of time. I've always appreciated uniqueness and a point of view that shakes things up. HOWEVER, I have to say you've gone too far when you combine the rainbow flag with the American flag:

That's just offensive. I've travelled enough of the world to know that America is NOT everything we're told it is as schoolkids. America isn't always right (in fact, we've been wrong a LOT lately). America is nowhere near being among the healthiest or best educated or most progressive countries in the world. The American flag has, in some contexts, been understandably interpreted as a symbol of imperialism and greed. Despite all this, I do consider it to be sacred. Our flag was particularly sacred during World War II, and since my grandparents fought under this flag, it is sacred to me. There are plenty of great things that make me happy and proud to be an American, and I don't think our flag is something to f**k with. So don't f**k with it, gays! That goes for you too, NRA! We all unite under this flag. Don't use it to divide us.

I will say it's OK to use the American flag for artistic expression, and of course one great thing about our country is freedom of speech, but using it in art to inspire thought is different from using it politically to inspire divisiveness. But then again, it's easy to interpret art along political lines, so how do you definitively separate the two? That's another debate, I guess. What I wish to debate tonight is that the gay pride American flag is tacky, inappropriate, and counterproductive.

Wonder Woman: you have my permission to continue using the flag as you see fit. You are a true American hero and I salute you.

PS Did you know that Linda Carter is a half-Mexican girl from Globe, AZ? How cool is that?

2008-05-17T18:05:00.020-07:00

I got back from Puerto Rico exactly a week ago. It was amazing. I now understand why they call it the Isle of Enchantment. Not because it was beautiful or anything, but rather because, right after I stepped off the plane, I was kidnapped by a herd of witch doctors who, through their spells and hypnotic incantations, literally enchanted me into signing a contract with the Puerto Rico Ministry of Tourism. I am now legally obligated to serve as a walking billboard for them for the next 28 years. I'm also pretty sure they harvested one of my eggs. I'm not even sure how that's possible, but I'm pretty sure that it happened.

Our flight there was pretty AWESOME. Monday evening, I gave my ASU students their final exam and headed straight for the airport to catch the 10:20 red-eye to Newark. We got into Newark. Upon arriving in San Juan at 11:00 the next morning, we rented a car. Keep in mind that, since I'm 6'3", I don't sleep so well on planes. Planes aren't made for real people (and by real people, I mean people over 6 feet tall).

Let me just say at this point that I manned up and drove the entire time we were in Puerto Rico. As a child, I may or may not have thought that Jem and the Holograms was the coolest show ever. I may or not have been in every choir and every theatre group possible. I may or may not have worked out my own balance beam routines on a 4" slab of concrete in our front yard. All of that was undone last week by me MANNING UP and taking the wheel in Puerto Rico, which is notorious for its crazy traffic. I could be straight now if I wanted to, but since who I am attracted to is quite obviously a simple choice, I simply chose to be gay still. JUST to spite 90% of society. Take THAT, society!

So after fighting through San Juan's crazy traffic, we got outside the city and it started POURING RAIN. Almost as if it were a tropical rainforest or something. We started hydroplaning, then the SUV in front of us started hydroplaning and slammed into the median, then spun across the highway off to the shoulder. After nearly hitting the SUV, I pulled off to the extremely narrow shoulder, and to avoid getting killed by oncoming traffic, used all my acrobatics training and cat-like agility to shimmy into the back seat and exit the car on the passenger side to make sure everyone in the SUV was OK. There was just one man in the vehicle, and boy was he COUNTRY. He was missing a few teeth, but he had a cell phone to call for help, and he was physically unharmed (the teeth had been missing long before the accident).

After making sure he was OK, I headed back to our rental car, soaking wet. As I walked alongside the lush, green, tropical vegetation, I paused for a moment to enjoy the fact that there was so much WATER and LIFE everywhere. The guy behind me was still in shock from his brush with death, but I didn't have time to think about that. I was too intoxicated by the mere presence of so much LIFE. Thanks to all the intense humidity, I don't think my hair has ever looked worse, but I LOVED it. I'll say it again: being from Arizona is totally gay.

That is our famous rental car (a Nissan Sentra... just like in "Heroes!" ... OK, not JUST like, but it's a rental, and it's a Nissan) and Christina, my traveling companion with whom I instantly got to be friends because she is FABULOUS. It was so funny going everywhere in Puerto Rico as a dynamic duo, since she speaks very little Spanish, and then there's me: the super tall, super pale guy who speaks Spanish like a Mexican. It was pretty funny to see people's reactions. ESPECIALLY after we broke it to them that I'm really a woman.

On one of our road trips, we stopped at this little roadside trailer for lunch. As you can imagine, the food was GREAT. Those little places ALWAYS have the best food, no matter where you're traveling. Americans who go to McDonald's and Pizza Hut when they're in other countries need to be pistol whipped and dipped into a vat of boiling hot french fry oil.

The view from my hotel room in Carolina was absolutely amazing. This balcony is where I finished grading my students' final exams:

This is the old San Juan. Absolutely gorgeous:

And just when we LEAST expected it, the hippies brought the party to the old San Juan:

That is the coolest, mellowest M&M I've EVER seen in my LIFE. I don't know how they managed to paint an M&M's eyes to make it look unmistakably stoned, but score one for the hippies. Way to GO! That M&M looks like he's about to contemplate the philosophical irony of eating himself to satisfy his own munchies. GOD I love hippies!

Here's a fountain right next to the ocean, for those inescapably hot days when you feel like getting wet but just can't bring yourself to hike those extra 40 yards to the beach:

And this is the view from El Morro: the fortress built by the Spanish to defend the port of San Juan from those damned English pirates:

Now I know that being a pirate is HUGELY irresponsible, but when I read news stories on the BBC about modern-day pirates capturing vessels off the coast of Somalia, a little part of me laughs with utter delight--no matter HOW many innocent passengers were held hostage. Modern-day pirates continue to commit atrocities, but I just can't help but giggle every time I hear about it. There's something not right with that.

Anyway, back to Puerto Rico. As we were walking back to our hotel in San Juan after dinner, we came across a hotel with a rather peculiar name:

My Mexicans in the house will get a kick out of that. And yes--that is the shocker. And last but not least, we have the coolest picture of them all:

There are Condom Worlds ALL OVER Puerto Rico. And Wendy's. Those Puerto Ricans love their protection and their Frostees. So ya--that was Puerto Rico (and no, I didn't get laid, so stop asking!). You people should know by now that Barbara Bush has a more exciting sex life than I do!

Yes, she actually said that (3/18/03 on ABC's "Good Morning America"). Wow.

2008-05-04T15:11:00.019-07:00

I got back from Mexico exactly a week ago, and my flight for Puerto Rico leaves tomorrow night. Don't worry--you don't need to punch me in the face for saying that. I just punched myself in the face for saying that.

First of all, Mexico was amazing. La Universidad del Valle de México is pretty much the nicest campus I've ever visited (at least their Querétaro Campus was). I wish my classroom at Arizona State had half the technology they do at UVM:

Some of the students there even had iPhones. I had never even SEEN an iPhone before! I actually managed to lose my cell phone while in Querétaro, which is pretty awesome. There's nothing like losing your cell phone in a foreign country to remind you of what a freaking idiot you are for not having anyone's phone number memorized anymore (and not creating a backup list of names and numbers).

Our first evening in Querétaro, we had a cocktail reception on the patio of the hotel while UVM students serenaded us. The music was perfect, the weather was perfect; it was one of those rare moments in life when all negative energy melts away and you're perfectly content with everything. You know. One of those moments when you manage to forget that you live with an extremely pale, Heineken-slurping land monster.

I had a similar moment in Puerto Peñasco, Mexico about ten years ago, as I watched the sun set over the Gulf of California. Mexico seems to be REALLY good at those moments. Well done, Mexico. Well done.

Our hotel in Querétaro was AMAZING. We stayed at the Misión Querétaro - Juriquilla, which is an 18th Century hacienda converted into a charming hotel/spa/resort with wireless internet in the lobby (just as the Spanish colonialists intended):

The place even has its own karaoke bar, complete with a vast selection of Mexican music. How hard do I love this place? HARD. Another event happening at the hotel was some kind of Olympic qualifying tournament for fencing, so the place was infested with Olympic athletes from all kinds of places, including Brazil. And when the Brazilian fencing team takes time out from their training to relax by the pool, GOOD LORD. Single employees of Walden University and UVM (not to mention one giant homo named Charlie) take notice:

But back to Mexico. It was amazing. Every time I go, I feel like I belong there. I'm always infuriated by how rich the rich are and how poor the poor are (and the fact that the middle class isn't nearly as big as it should be), but I feel so much more at home in Mexico, than say... Dallas, Texas. I feel like the music is mine, and the culture is mine. Maybe cuz it is! Damn Mexicans stole my culture! AND my cell phone!

Walking around the central plaza (by Corregidora), there was so much LIFE on the street. Entire families strolled around, buying ice cream, talking, listening to music. It was magical. What happens on the street here in Phoenix? NOTHING. Homeless people. That's what happens on the streets here. Everyone else is locked up in their isolationist, fear-driven, commercialized, homogenized existence and it's KILLING ME! It's slowly killing me!!!

Anywho...

Querétaro was grand. And then we stayed a night in Mexico City before our flights left the next morning. UVM put us up on in the brand new Eurostar in downtown Mexico City (on Amazonas just off the Paseo de la Reforma), and it was a nice constrast to the 18th Century hacienda we had just stayed in. It's this ultra-modern, minimalist, European-style, high-tech, energy-efficient hotel that knows when you've entered the bathroom and whether your body temperature goes above or below 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit. It can also sense if you're lonely, and automatically sends a prostitute up to your room. Too bad it couldn't sense that I'm not so much into chicks. You need to brush up on the technology, Eurostar, and install a gay chip along with the other 758 censors you put in each of your rooms.

It had the sharpest-image, highest-quality, largest flat screen plasma TV I've ever seen. Why is Mexico always devirginizing me to the latest technological advances?!

Mexico City was as I had expected. Gray, massive, and full of giant lizard canoes:

For dinner, we went to a place that had live mariachis, singers, and dancers, INCLUDING half-naked Aztec dancers, which of course, I LOVED (and I promise, this is the last homoerotic image of this blog):

Who knew the Aztecs wore blue chonies? Ya know, you spend years studying Spanish literature, culture, etc. You write and defend a thesis, get published, start teaching at ASU, etc. Then it takes some random trip all the way to Mexico City before the epiphany actually happens and you realize that the Aztecs wore blue chonies. The journey never ends, folks. There's always something new to be learned.

I love Mexico.

2008-04-20T11:24:00.012-07:00

I should start with Crae Wilson's reunion that took place at EAC nearly a month ago now. It was ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS.

Now I know you heard me complaining about last year's EAC reunion. Had I known then that an EAC theatre reunion was in the works, I would've saved myself the $35 and the heartbreak. And the gas money. And the tequila.

For those of you who attended, I am so glad I got to see you there, and I apologize for not getting to spend much time with you. Most of you went to see Crae and to catch up with the friends you made during your 2 or 3 years at EAC. Or 5 years at EAC. For me and my family, this reunion meant catching up with almost 2 decades of friends, since we've been involved in theatre at EAC every year since I was 11 years old. I saw people who I haven't seen since I was literally a kid--people who were there for all my major milestones: first orgy, first hit of peyote, first honor killing, etc. Man, I LOVED growing up in the theatre! Good times.

What else has happened? Well I flew up to Oregon AGAIN to scope out the situation AGAIN as I tried to make another major life decision AGAIN. The University of Oregon accepted me into their PhD in Romance Languages program, and I was seriously considering going. As you know, I'm dying for a change of scenery, and everyone there was really nice. It was freezing and rainy (go figure, being that Eugene, OR is as far north as Toronto), but I really liked it. Problems: their graduate teaching fellowship only pays $12,300 a year. That's BEFORE they take out $1,000 a year in "matriculation fees." So really, it's $11,300 a year. How the #$%$ am I supposed to pay the bills with that? On top of that, their graduate course offerings are limited in comparison with ASU's.

ASU's teaching fellowship pays $14,565 a year and there are no insult-to-injury matriculation fees. I'm throwing out my new annual salary so that everyone understands just how poor I'm going to be. That way, when you ask if I wanna go out to dinner or to a movie or to Disneyland or WHATEVER, you won't be offended when I spit in your face.

ASU's PhD in Spanish program is ranked #7 nationally, and they have a lot more depth in terms of faculty and course offerings. When looking through ASU's schedule, I see plenty of courses I'd be interested in taking. I cannot say the same for Oregon. Plus, ASU's program allows for an optional minor in French. Sorry, Ducks! The Sun Devils just handed your duck asses to you.

So I'm staying at ASU and staying here with my obese roommate, which will be cheap for me, ESPECIALLY when the light rail starts running this December (it's 5 blocks away and ASU students ride for free). I'm REALLY looking forward to being a grad student again. Not looking forward to the poverty, but I'm willing to sacrifice 2/3 of my current income to be able to SLEEP IN if I want to. No more cubicle! Oh GOD--I can't WAIT!!!

So Friday night we had what Bret named the "Big Gay Brothers Reunion Tour." Bret, Gary, Keith and I went to dinner downtown after work, then we went to Dodge Theatre, where we saw Margaret Cho.

I @#$%ing LOVE Margaret Cho. I left Dodge Theatre with actual abdominal discomfort from laughing so much. I have not had abdominal discomfort since Bret poisoned his food in what he called "a lesson for you to stop eating my food all the goddamn time, St.George." OK, we know that isn't an actual Bret quote, because Bret would never say "lesson." He's morally opposed to "all that readin' and writin'." It ain't right! Where in the Bible does it say that Jesus went to school and got all educated and snobby? No, seriously--tell me where. I'm illiterate. I just use the Bible to justify my own hatred, so having actual references would really help me out.

After Margaret Cho, we dropped Gary off at his house (because he is OLD and LAME) and went to Homme, which is really close to our place. I always liked Homme (because it's original, it has character, and the second floor is more conversation-oriented, which is nice), but now they've started charging a $3 cover. Bret's reaction was "Really?! For this?! A cover?! Really?!" The security guard was not amused by his reaction. I, however, was highly amused, because my inner monologue perfectly matched Bret's outer monologue at that particular moment.

The boys weren't feeling Homme, so we went to the Mothership: Charlie's. Plenty of cute gay boys and alcohol (as always). I'd like to say that I'm completely over cute gay boys and alcohol at this point in my life, but it's still kind of enjoyable every now and then. Being that my pancreas doesn't work properly, I'm traditionally the driver, so Bret very graciously offered to pay for a cab that night so I could get good and sloshed. That was really nice of him--I'm totally due for a turn to get wasted, but even when I was given the opportunity, it didn't sound very appealing to me.

That coupled with the fact that I am SO EXCITED about my new vacuum and hard floor cleaner has me contemplating on this fine afternoon the fact that I am getting very old (and very quickly). My crazy-fast metabolism is slowing down, I don't feel like going out every weekend anymore, and I'm so crazy in love with the Hoover FloorMate, I'm thinking of marrying it. I know what you're thinking: gay marriage is illegal (what with me being as gay as I am, and the Hoover, well... it has amazing suction, which takes practice... I'm just sayin').

The Hoover FloorMate is a TOTAL SLUT, but I can't help myself from falling head-over-loafers in love with him. Plus, he says he's ready to settle down now, and he hasn't left my apartment since I brought him home Friday night. I think this one's a keeper, folks. I don't wanna be like one of those Thatcher kids who gets married after a week-long courtship, but seriously, I just have this gut feeling that the Hoover FloorMate is The One. He's my eternal companion. And he has SUCH a strong testimony.

I think I'll take the Hoover FloorMate with me to the next Democratic debate and ask Hillary and Barack whether they'd be willing to approve legislation to allow me and Hoov to get gay married. If neither one of them answers my question to my satisfaction, that's IT. I'll vote for Ron Paul just to spite them. Few people know that Ron Paul is still in the race, but he totally is. Just FYI.

2008-03-09T18:50:00.009-07:00

So my roommate has been in Germany for the past 10 days trying out new, European ways to be EVEN GAYER...

...and despite the logistical challenge presented by the laws of physics as they relate to body mass and airborn travel, he's flying back home tonight. As the feeling of impending doom sets in with every approaching mile of his connecting flight from Atlanta, it occurred to me to go through a list of things I have enjoyed while he has been gone. You know--count my blessings. I'll list 10 things, since he's been gone for 10 days.

1) No "Girls Next Door." I lived in Utah for a year, and in Scottsdale for three years, so I am pretty much done with polygamy and bleached-blonde party girls who are filthy rich despite all those unfought battles with functional literacy and fourth-grade math.

2) No competition at feeding time. As anyone will tell you, I eat A LOT. When Bret's home and it's feeding time, I normally have to line the walls with bright, shiny things to distract his attention so I can get to the food first. Since he's been gone, eating has been a one-step process: I eat everything. And then I'm done. No strategem necessary.

3) No nastygrams from the U.S. Geological Survey complaining about the "potentially disastrous effect" our living together allegedly has on "the Earth's tectonic plates" and the "geological stability of the Western Hemisphere." We get it. We're really, really, really fat, and we live together. You don't have to be hurtful about it, geologists. I think they tried to mail us a class-action lawsuit or something like that, but it came in a big green envelope, and Bret's favorite flavor is green, so he ate it.

4) No bitches in the living room gettin' it on. Most of the time, they ain't leavin' til six in the mornin', and that gets old after a few years. It was cool when we used to party with Snoop, but Bret ATE Snoop almost a year ago now (he "had the munchies"), so it's really disrespectful to keep having bitches over now that Snoop's gone.

5) No OC weekend marathons.

"We're a bunch of attractive rich white kids from Huntington Beach. We have so many PROBLEMS!" Shut the #$@% up, OC. Go snort some coke with Paris Hilton and leave me the @#%$ alone.

6) No references to "Die Hard" being an "awesome movie."

7) No references to "Troop Beverly Hills" as the "greatest cinematic masterpiece of the latter days... and believe me, they are latter. VERY latter." Nothing like doomsday threats to frighten me into liking "Troop Beverly Hills," Levek.

8) No unreasonable demands to return shirts that were obviously meant to be mine.

9) No "accidentally" stumbling into my bathroom when I'm showering. My body is mine, Levek. You keep your eyes and your hands off. My father may have sold me to you to settle an old debt, but I am still a lady. You remember that.

10) No Bret.

PS, these are my favorite right now:

2007-12-29T18:05:00.001-07:00

I've been cold all day here in Phoenix, so I'm wrapped up in a blanket and sipping a cup of tea, which, as an Arizona native, I find to be a DELIGHTFUL novelty. I know what you're thinking: that's f@%king gay. And you are correct, my dear reader! You are correct. But before you drive me out into the Wyoming wilderness, pistol whip me beyond recognition and then leave me to freeze to death (and then show up to my funeral with hateful signs and banners to let my family know I deserved what I got for being gay... as any good Christian would do), let me remind you that, if you're reading this from Arizona, YOU are most likely a full-fledged homosexual yourself.

Why? Because being from Arizona is totally gay. We don't have seasons, and it gives us a mentality surpassed in gayness only by "High School: The Musical."

You always want what you can't have, right? In Phoenix, we can't have seasons like the rest of the country does, but around this time of year, our televisions and movie screens are bombarded with national media that associate the magical holiday season with an actual season known as winter, with snow and hot cocoa (or tea for those of us with abnormal pancreases... pancrei... pancreoxen) and icicles and stuff. This notion of "winter" becomes romanticized in our sand-filled, sun-bleached heads, and before we know it, we're DYING for a chance to assimilate ourselves into meteorological hegemony and participate in anything we have been programmed to perceive as Christmasy, up to and including a Woodland Critter Christmas Satan-Worshipping Blood Orgy:

Those of you who have seen that episode of "South Park" are probably laughing right now. Those of you who haven't are probably feeling REALLY creeped out right about now.

But anyway, for me, replicating American meteorological hegemony means blankets and tea. I have one blanket, which I just rescued from a storage bin today. I'll probably keep it around for 2 months, and then when things start heating up above 80 degrees again in February, I'll put it back into storage. I have 5 different boxes of tea in my cupboard. They're from last year or even earlier. What the hell is a Phoenix resident doing with 5 boxes of tea? I haven't even opened 2 of them! It never even OCCURS to me to drink tea except for those 3 times during a 365-day year when I'm home and I'm feeling cold. I guess it's just because I've spent SO much of my life trying to keep from dying of heat exhaustion that, when I actually feel cold, I kinda get off on it. I'm sure if it ever snowed here in Phoenix, I'd pass out from multiple weather-induced orgasms.

I'm sure there are others like me. And I'm sure that, just like I have 5 barely-used boxes of tea taking up space in my cupboard (just in case I need THAT much selection during the 3 days when it's actually cold enough to drink tea), there's some homo in Anchorage, Alaska who has dedicated an entire dresser drawer to his vast collection of bathing suits and suntan oil. So since I'm getting off on this blanket and this cup of tea, it's easy for me to fantasize about the life I would have in Astoria, Oregon. I've already told most of y'all that I was offered the job at the college in Astoria and have turned it down.

I know Brittney. It makes me wanna cry too.

If I had a family (or even a boyfriend), I know I could move up there and be happy. I could afford to spend $3,000 moving up there and teach basic Spanish and French grammar for several years. It's just a big move to make on your own, and when you move on your own, you want it to be somewhere with a social network you can fit into. Small town: not so much (regardless of how liberal it is). Grad school is perfect for that. Let's face it: I'm 28, single, and I'm up to the challenge a PhD presents. I feel good about my decision, despite the fact that right now I'd LOVE to be sipping this tea and looking out at the Columbia River or the Pacific Ocean preparing my syllabi and class presentations for the upcoming term. Oh well.

Did I mention that my roommate Bret is fat? It's disgusting.

2007-12-15T19:32:00.000-07:00

Alright. So I just got back from Oregon last night, and it was BEAUTIFUL, and my interview/presentation went very well. I was in a charming town called Astoria, where the Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean:

...but not without a fight. I was originally scheduled to give a presentation to a screening committee as a candidate for a faculty position at the community college there on Thursday of last week, but it turns out that last week there was a hurricane-force storm that sealed the entire region off from the rest of civilization for most of the week. No power, no phone, and no way out due to mudslides, flooding, and fallen trees and power lines. FEMA has set up camp there, and the place is officially a federal disaster area. Just my luck, right?

So they re-scheduled me for yesterday, and even though the main highway between Portland and Astoria remained closed due to a massive mudslide:

...I was able to find an alternate route into town. I got into town Thursday evening, and checked into my room at the Red Lion Inn Astoria, which had a balcony overlooking the docks:

How cool is that? I walked next door to a BEAUTIFUL restaurant/wine cellar and decided to order the swordfish, since several swordfish were caught that day and they were running a special. I also sampled a couple of clam chowders. The food was AMAZING, and I enjoyed it at a corner table that had a beautiful view of the river:

It was SUCH a refreshing break from Phoenix! The next morning, I continued exploring the town (which is where "Goonies," "Kindergarten Cop," and parts of "Free Willy" were filmed, by the way) and fell in LOVE with it. Ships go by the Columbia every couple of minutes, and I'm fascinated by all the maritime traffic. This is a picture I took when walking down 15th Street:

The closest thing we come to maritime traffic in Phoenix is when Bret gets out the slip-and-slide, poors a keg or two of Bud Light all over it, and then goes sliding down it mouth-first. Even though Bret is rougly the size of an industrial freight ship, it's just not the same.

So, I'm absolutely LOVING the town when I make my way to the college itself to get a good look at it before I go in for my presentation. All the hard work Astoria had gone through to come across as "charming" was undone by this wretched, run-down campus. Amidst so much beauty, this place was BUTT UGLY. It was kind of like seeing Mariah Carey married to Tommy Mottola:

...or finally fulfilling your life-long fantasy with Mark-Paul Gosselaar:

...and then finding out immediately afterwards that he has syphilis.

The photo I took doesn't do its shabiness justice. I would've taken pictures of the inside, but that might have been interpreted as disrespectful by the faculty and staff accomodating me for my presentation:

On the inside, there were cracks and water stains everywhere. I was told the buildings were undergoing mandatory renovations, since the State of Oregon had deemed them "unable to withstand an earthquake." Gulp. In any case, the presentation went very well, the pay is definitely viable, and the teaching load isn't bad at all: 4 courses per term, with the summer off if I want it (otherwise I can teach during the summer and earn extra money). Even though it's about as big as my hometown of Safford, Astoria has a LOT of things going on: culture, art, boats, amazing seafood, a trolley, a Democratic majority, and let us not forget: Goonies.

On the other hand, it's ALWAYS cloudy/rainy/windy in the winter and I don't know anyone there. And then there's the whole debate about sticking to my plan of starting the PhD program at U of Oregon or Arizona State next fall. Oh, by the way, I took the GRE on Thursday before my flight and scored higher than average without doing nearly the amount of studying I should have. I really could've done better had I budgeted my time appropriately, but I just didn't feel like it. I already have a master's degree, so I already feel entitled to admission to a PhD program. I'm such a pompous asshole.

I still have no idea what to do. It's very tempting to go. We'll see.

2007-12-02T17:00:00.001-07:00

Fatherhood and Blood/Alcohol Limits

Jamás lo conocí—
Pues sí y no—
Pero me dejó su nombre
Y su sangre.
Después, me echó al olvido,
Y tenía que haberse dado cuenta
De que también echaba su propia sangre.
Y como sus arterias se quedaron
Sin qué circular, se fue
Llenándose las venas de alcohol
Para poder seguir andando
Entre los vivos.
Vivo, muerto,
Sangre, alcohol,
Padre, hijo…
Pues sí y no.
Unos doscientos pesos
Y ya.

2007-11-29T19:11:00.000-07:00

So tonight is the last night of office hours I have for this semester's SPA 202 class at Arizona State, and I'm going to miss them! Of course no students have come by so far tonight... And only ONE of my 27 students has EVER come to see me during my office hours... Of course that's because I work full-time off-campus during the day, and my office hours are only once a week between 6:30 and 8:30 p.m., when no one wants to come back to campus.

It may also be because, during lecture, whenever I mention my office hours, I lick my lips all creepy-like, and sometimes I inadvertently refer them as "naked office hours." That may also be why no students have come to visit me during my office hours...

So by this time next week, I'll be on a plane back from Portland. I have an interview in Astoria for a faculty position that starts in January. You know what? I'm so sick of thinking and fretting and stewing about this. I'm sick of talking about this, so I'm not going to blog about it. Maybe later. But not today. I'll let you know what happens.

For now, I'd like to talk to you about brussell sprouts. I'm not even sure if I'm spelling them correctly, but I AM sure that they are absolutely delicious.

Brussell sprouts unfortunately were not included among the many vegetables that we ate in my family, so I never even tried a sprout of the brussell persuasion until the tender age of 25. As a kid, I remember hearing in the media or in movies or books that kids hate brussell sprouts, but much like clitorises, I really had no idea what the hell they were.

What IS the plural of clitoris, by the way? I'd look it up in an online dictionary, but I'm at the university right now and don't want my computer to report me to the administration for inappropriate internet activity. I can see them storming through the office door right now, handcuffing me, and forcing me into the elevator. I'd scream, "But I'm gay! I'm really, really, SUPER gay! I don't even LIKE clitorises! Or clitori! Or clitoroxen... how the hell do you pluralize a word like that? How?!!!" And then they'd pepper spray me.

Anyway, the point of the story is that brussell sprouts are surprisingly delicious if you cook them right, and I have several in my fridge that are going to spoil real soon if I don't eat them, like, tonight.

2007-10-31T10:52:00.000-07:00

Ah, one thing I forgot to mention in yesterday's blog (of course I have plenty of time to mention it right now since I'm home sick with strep throat). Last weekend I went to the 1996-1997 Eastern Arizona College class reunion, and if you attended EAC during those years and you are reading this, SCREW YOU!!! I hope a giant gila monster grasps onto your most valued appendage with its deadly, unforgiving jaws!

Take a long, hard look at that gila monster, my friends. I mean former friends. Think about what it means. Think about how cool you were 10 years ago and how lame and uniteresting you are now. I got all excited when they sent me the invitation a few months ago. I paid the $35 fee to be included in the reunion, and it was the biggest waste of money in my financial history. Even a bigger waste than my third car.

I got off work EARLY in order to drive with my sister and niece all the way to the Thatch Snatch for the "ice cream social at Discover Park" (and yes, since I can't have ice cream, I brought my own tequila).

There were like 12 cars parked outside. Scratch that: 12 SUVs/trucks/minivans/suburbans. I managed to wade through the sea of children that were playing outside and entered the building, took a quick look around, and it was full of old white people who I don't even know. First of all, there's no way I can be that old. Secondly, what happened to everyone I knew? I was in the QUARTET that year, for Mel Gibson's sake! That PRACTICALLY made me King of the World at EAC! Now that I think about it, that's probably the gayest thing about me. But ya... didn't recognize a single face. Actually, I did kinda recognize one face, but I didn't really know him enough to go up and say hi.

So I quickly high-tailed it out of Discovery Park and hung out with my family. The next morning, I ditched the "reunion brunch" I had paid for. I did go to Fall Sing, but since Delia Mattice was at the ticket counter, I would've gotten in free regardless of whether I had paid for the reunion or not. I saw one person I knew at the concert, and she still lives in Thatcher, so I can see her whenever I want.

I decided to kiss the rest of my $35 goodbye by ditching that night's football game and driving home to the beautiful, familiar strip malls and palm trees of Phoenix. I'm not sure why I was expecting ANY theatre people to go to a class reunion, but I certainly was exptecting a few choir people to have gone. At least choir people who I KNEW and who were fun. Melanie Solomon--where the hell were you?!!!

No more reunions for me. Ever.

2007-10-30T19:55:00.000-07:00

Alright. It's been 1 year and 3 months since my last blog. What have I been doing all this time? I'm not gonna lie. I've been high. High on black tar heroin.

Also, I've been working two jobs, teaching Spanish part-time at Arizona State. I finally escaped the soul-crushing insurance industry and am now working full-time at Walden University as Academic Advisor. Where is Walden University, you ask? It's in your imagination!

It's an online graduate school, which means instead of having an office where students make appointments to come see me, I sit in a cubicle and type e-mails and answer phones all day. How is this different from insurance, you ask? It just IS. No more questions!

I've actually been offered a faculty position that would start in January at Coastal Carolina University just outside Myrtle Beach, South Carolina:

Oh wait--that's Rio. I'm always getting Rio confused with Myrtle Beach. This is Myrtle Beach:

It's beautiful. I flew out there in June and fell in love with the campus and the faculty.

Problems: it's in the South. Yes, it's in a coastal, touristy part of the South where the locals are FORCED to be open-minded for economic reasons, but let's face it folks. There's a reason the South lost the war.

I have a love/hate relationship with the South. It can be very hospitable, but only if you're the right color/religion/etc. It can be very laid back and charming, but it can also be the shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later type of place that tends to prefer shock and awe over intellectual pursuits. These are gross generalizations I am making here, and I'm probably using Dixie-phobia as a cover-up for a deeper anxiety I have about moving so far away from my family and friends in the solitary pursuit of career happiness. Besides, I love fried food and the beach. Myrtle Beach would be great! Here's the thing, though: the pay bites. It has caused an existential conundrum that has caused me to look at whether I'm content with an MA, or whether I should pursue a PhD. With a PhD, I'd get paid a reasonable wage and be able to teach a wider variety of material. The drawback, though, is that I would have to constantly be researching and publishing with a PhD, which would cut into my time with the wife and kids.

Oh, wait.

I'll have PLENTY of time to research and publish! Alright then--PhD it is. If all I'm gonna have in my life is my career, it better be a freaking awesome career. And unlike a certain Olympic track and field star, I promise to NOT use steroids to attain a freaking awesome career.

I CANNOT make the same promise, however, when it comes to black tar heroin.

I'm applying for the PhD program in Spanish Language and Culture at Arizona State and the PhD program in Romance Languages at University of Oregon. Why? Because I speak most of the romance languages, and I freaking love hippies. That's why.

Alright, folks. That's the update on Charlie. Oh, wait--I went to Spain in March, and LOVED IT. On one particular night in Madrid, I managed to unintentionally have coversations with TWO different male prostitutes in TWO different bars! Now THAT is what I call a trip to Spain!

2006-07-16T20:55:00.000-07:00

So I was at Safeway just a couple of days ago, which is ALWAYS an emotional gamble because this developmentally disabled boy works there bagging groceries, and anyone who knows me KNOWS I suffer from this crazy illness that causes me to CRY every time I see a retarded person! Let me be more specific: people who are BORN with Down Syndrome. Not people who acquire it after a few too many DUIs.

Retarded people are childlike in their innocence and sincerity. I just imagine all the crap they get from rude, insensitive people and it makes me BAWL. So every now and then I get this boy in my line who, after bagging my groceries, tells me "have a nice day," and he actually MEANS it, and I can usually control myself until I'm walking out the door all misty-eyed, and then I have to sprint to my car like Jackie Joyner-Kersee before any unsuspecting parking lot pedestrians realize that a grown man is crying in public.

Well. This time, the boy was nowhere in sight. The bagger this time, however, was a very shy, young girl, whose accent and appearance led me to believe she was part of the Somali refugee community (common in my neighborhood, as long-time Charlie blog readers will know). I smiled back at her and said thank you, and she appreciated it more than anyone has appreciated a smile and a thank you in a long, long time. I started thinking about what kind of upbringing she must have had and the life she must have had before coming here. And I also worried about the way people treated her here. Three words: BLEEDING HEART LIBERAL!!!

Angelina Jolie and I are SO the same person. In fact, I think I'll carry out the rest of my pregnancy in Namibia, since she just bought them a bunch of new hospital equipment. Speaking of CRYING like a NAMIBIAN BABY, a couple of weeks ago I saw a Brazilian film on my Netflix called "Central do Brasil" ("Central Station" in the US).

SUCH a painful film to watch. It's a beautiful film if you're strong enough to watch it, but be sure to surround your heart in sturdy packing materials so it doesn't BREAK. The director of this film ripped my heart clean out of my chest, and I came very close to not getting it back. I also went through a quarter box of Kleenex. Literally. This is a record only surpassed by "The Color Purple," during which I used half a box of Kleenex.

Wow! I really wasn't planning this, but the theme of today's blog has turned out to be crying. But it's the Sabbath, so that's OK. It's been so long since my last blog because they implemented a lot of security measures on the internet at my job, so we no longer have access to websites such as Blogspot, MySpace, and Gmail. So blogging is now on my own time, which sucks. I much prefer getting paid to blog.

And the last couple of pictures I've tried to upload for this blog haven't gone through, so I guess that's the Universe's way of telling me to get off the damn computer, finish what's left of my Perrier, and get to bed. I never liked mineral water until Argentina, for some reason, and now I can't live without it. Does that make me one of the pretentious rich kids from those private schools I had to play for high school tennis?

Wow--could I emasculate myself any more tonight? Crying and Perrier. Must... do... something... macho...

There. I killed a deer. And drank its blood.

2006-05-08T15:16:00.000-07:00

Anyone who tells you V8 from a can is the same as V8 from a bottle is a
******FUCKING LIAR!!!!!!!**********

Just for the record, V8 from a can tastes like AAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! I feel SO betrayed!!! I bought a 6-pack of V8 cans, which makes me once, twice, six times a jackass.

2006-05-07T19:19:00.000-07:00

Ya, it's been so long since my last blog, I should blog more often, yadda yadda yadda self deprication. So I survived the cross-country 3-day trek with my sister and three little boys.

The boys behaved surprisingly well, and it wasn't nearly as bad as I had imagined. Oh, one little thing I learned, though. My adorable youngest nephew Gavin...

...is SATAN.

He is an out-of-control monster, and he must be stopped. I'm afraid that, one day, I'll be forced to destroy my own flesh and blood for the good of the world. You're welcome, world.

And let's see... that was a month ago, and plenty of things have happened since, but... I drink a lot, so I really don't remember much.

I went to Thatch Snatch a lot, for my grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary, for Jennifer's awesome performance in "South Pacific," and for her performance in the Spring Sing. I turn 27 on Thursday. I remember dating a 27-year-old when I was 24 and thinking, "Wow. 27's kinda old. It's pretty close to 30." I would love nothing better than to shoot my 24-year-old self.

This weekend I applied for a couple of faculty positions on the east coast. I also spent 2 hours filling out the application at the U.N. How awesome would it be to work at the U.N.? Almost as awesome as working a dead-end job that uses none of your talents or education in a cubicle at a dehumanizing, mediocre, evil, greedy, Republican life insurance company that preys on the ignorance of America's most down-trodden socioeconomic class. That's how awesome it would be.

OK, this blog is keeping from focusing all my attention on "Family Guy," so I'm gonna go now. Peace.

2006-03-21T22:17:00.000-07:00

Wow. It has been a month since my last blog, and a LOT has happened. I helped my sister Andrea move to Germany with her two baby boys on an 11-hour flight, which was AWESOME since the Frankfurt airport only has ONE elevator going from 2nd floor arrivals to 1st floor customs and baggage claim, and we had 9 pieces of luggage, a carriage, 4 carry-on bags, and 2 kids.

After we finally got through everything (which took 90 minutes), Andrea's puta chunti friend who was supposed to pick us up at the airport decided to flake on us, so we ended up renting a station wagon and driving to Andrea's tiny town of Sulzdorf, which is about an hour southeast of Frankfurt on the Autobahn. Well, normally. That particular day, there was insane construction and traffic, so it ended up taking us almost 3 hours to get to her apartment. I'm telling you--this beaner was starving and had to PEE like a syphilitic crack whore with a UTI after a night of heavy drinking.

So we finally get to her 2nd-floor apartment (which is SO cute, by the way)...

... and without having eaten, I haul all 9 pieces of luggage up the stairs while she gets the kids situated. Oh wait--scratch that. All 8 pieces of luggage. There was a piece of luggage that missing. MY piece of luggage. You know--the one with my coat and all my clothes. What a freaking day! Actually, two days! Without sleep! On a plane! Everything was going so AWESOMELY! So I track down Delta's # in Germany, and while internationally roaming, call them on my $ell phone and finally talk to someone named Akhbai in baggage lost and found who has located my bag and is holding it for me! Yay for Turkish immigrants named Akhbai who work for Delta in Germany!

So the rest of the trip I had an AWESOME time hanging out with my sister and nephews and going grocery shopping with them (I totally LOVE going grocery shopping in foreign countries... I'm a nerd). I also went to a US military base for the first time ever, and slept on the couch for no more than 3 hours at a time because one or both of the jetlagged kids was up in the middle of the night.

PS, you HAVE to try Milch Reis before you die. I'm just sayin'.

And can I just say that a US military base in a foreign country is one of the most tragic things I've ever seen in my life. And I've been to Utah. Here you are in Germany, with so many new exciting foods and products and cultural things and bla bla bla, and then here's this enclosed, isolated, self-contained American military base chalked full of all of the worst of American society: a wannabe Wal-Mart type store with all the usual predictable, generic, boring American products (for slightly more than you'd pay in the U.S.) surrounded by Taco Bell and Cinnabun outlets. I freaking wanted to bawl.

But moving on. I flew home through Atlanta, and WOW. What a difference a day makes. I was frisked to the point of date rape in Frankfurt before my flight, but I was treated with courtesy and respect. As soon as I got into Atlanta, I was surrounded by these ghetto-ass airport workers who were rudely screaming orders at us, literally pushing us through lines and making no effort to accomodate the German-speaking travelers on our flight. SO dehumanizing. And depressing. I don't think I was ever meant to be an American. It's tough coming back from a country that is so much more advanced than your own (we're talking public transport, healthcare, recycling, land and energy use, EDUCATION, etc.).

Anyway, before I start applying for membership in the European Union, I'll move on. What else has happened in my life? TRAGEDY. My monthly payments on Percy my Prius were getting to where I was making ZERO financial progress from month to month, so after 13 environment-saving months, I had to trade him in for a cute, charcoal 2002 Volkswagen Beetle, who Bret appropriately named Sampson on his maiden voyage to Anaheim, California.

He came up with Sampson out of nowhere, which gave me chills, since my Grandpa St.George was going to fix up his old Volkswagen Bug for me after I turned 16, but then he got lung cancer and passed away. His dog was named Sampson, so I think the name is perfect. We had a great time in Disneyland with Bret's ADORABLE 4-yr-old niece, but it's pretty safe to say that I'm DONE with Disneyland for the rest of my life. I think I was done the last time I was there, when I was 11. But now I'm for sure done.

So ya. That's my life right now. I'll be going to Florida in a couple weekends to help my little sister drive back to Arizona with her 3 little boys. It's a goddamn good thing I love my sisters (yes Bret--that goddamn was just for you). I need to blog more than once a month. I'm so tired right now from excessive blogging! EXCESSIVE BLOGGING!

2006-02-14T15:09:00.000-07:00

Thursday I'm headed off to Germany with my sister and nephews to help them get re-established in their old apartment, since Josh is FINALLY coming back to their homebase in Germany after a year in Afghanistan (!!!). I bought him some Mexican candy and his favorite tequila, El Jimador. Of course I'm keeping most of the tequila for myself, because that was a big-ass bottle I bought in México and it would be a huge pain to haul it all the way to Deutschland.

Let me just say that I am SO proud of Bret for squashing his mortal fear of our neighbor to the south and randomly suggesting last week that we go to Nogales for the day. Very well done indeed, Ms. Struthers. You deserve three Chocolate Yum-Yum bars for that historic feat. And dare I say... step 3 in becoming truly fabulous?

Bret, Jew Van Hussy, Maday, Ryan, his friend and I went to Nogales or the day and had the best food EVER. I got a screaming deal on tequila and brandy, and Bret smoked his first Cuban cigar ever.

And I am STILL in pursuit of comales because they make excellent gifts for warming tortillas. Unforunately, by the time I remembered to buy some, any store that sold them had already closed for the day... we got into Nogales kinda late.

So being that today is February 14th, I am celebrating Arizona Statehood Day,

as I do every year since I've NEVER HAD A FREAKING VALENTINE FOR VALENTINE'S DAY IN MY LIFE. Well, except for that poor, delusioned girl my sophomore year of college who got me a stuffed animal for Valentine's Day when she should've listened to local rumors and gotten me a gay porn or a bath set. Or a copy of "Bring It On." Something REALLY gay. GAY!!!

Anywho, so Bret, Gary, and Keith and I are all single this splendid Valentine's Day, so normally I would get plastered with them and go see some male strippers. I'm not allowed to drink until Thursday, though... which is close enough to a Tuesday night, right???

Well, if nothing else, I'll definitely be GORGING MY FACE because ever since I had lunch in Nogales, my stomach has been an insatiable black void. I have been eating NON-STOP for over 2 days now, simply in a pacifist attempt to keep my stomach from exploding with rage. At this rate, I'll be as fat as Bret in like, 3 hours. Mmmm, you know what would be really good right now? Eating someone else's Valentine's Day candy. Mmmmmmmm. An entire box of chocolates, meant for someone else, but disappearing into my belly. Yessssssssssssssss.

2006-02-05T21:10:00.000-07:00

What is it about me that causes guys to lose interest after our first date? Typically, I'm able to write off a guy's initial lack of interest because of my appearance.

This whole sudden lack of interest AFTER a first date, however, is a little troubling, since it suggests that my chronic inability to EVER find a freaking boyfriend--EVER, in my rapidly-dwindling younger half of pre-Medicare existence--is the product of some kind of personality flaw.

I can't completely blame my appearance, because obviously they weren't repulsed by the sight of me if they agreed to a first date... unless I'm living in a recycled cinematic cliché from a high school romantic comedy in which half of the dating activity is based on a dare... Oooh, I hadn't thought of that. Am I real or am I a movie?

OK, well, assuming for a moment that I'm real, I have to ask myself, "Am I really so socially awkward that I'm only compatible with an obscure percentage of the general population?" My recent field experiment would seem to negate that hypothesis, since over a month ago, I plunged into a group of 12 random students from ASU on our trip to Argentina, and they all LOVED me. And I loved them! We instantly became friends. I was definitely the most popular person in our group. Oh my God, I was like, totally popular 'n stuff!

So do my social charms short circuit when I get stressed and try to flirt with a guy? Does everything go haywire when I actually like a guy and have something to lose by behaving like a total retard?

Or maybe guys lose interest during the first date when they realize it's not going to end in sex, and that the second date won't necessarily end in sex. Maybe I can't keep guys interested because I'm not a whore.

What do I do? I would order some kind of self-help guide to dating from amazon.com, but the act of ordering the book would single-handedly seal my fate as a hopeless, bitter, miserable spinster.

I'm open to suggestions, folks. I'm not getting any younger.

2006-02-01T13:42:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I received a replacement disc of "Hotel Rwanda" from Netflix. I actually controlled my maniacal obsession long enough to wait for the replacement to arrive in the mail! Are you proud of me? And now I'm $4 richer for not having caved in and gone to Blockbuster to rent it. Yay for ME!

Shame on me, however, for not having paused to ponder the magnitude of the Rwandan genocide of 1994. Of course I was a hormonal high school Freshman at that time, but I never knew that neary one million people were murdered in a Nazi-type, racist campaign to exterminate all the Tutsis in the country. Men, women, and children. Horrific. I highly recommend everyone watch the movie, if you haven't already.

On a slightly lighter note, I was driving home from the Toyota dealership where I had my oil changed on Percy (my Prius),

and at the Biltmore Fashion Park I passed by a sizeable anti-Bush demonstration (in response to the State of the Union address). There were tons of people--young people, old people with signs like "Impeach that son of a Bush!" and "Not MY president!" It was so refreshing to see a political consiousness in Phoenix! So I pulled over and joined them for awhile. It was great! I just felt bad because everyone had a sign except for me. :)

2006-01-27T20:22:00.000-07:00

Son of a BITCH!!! How angry am I?! I'm 40 minutes into "Hotel Rwanda"--which I got from Netflix--and the DVD is scratched and won't play any more of the movie!

I saw just enough of the movie to become OBSESSED with it. I'm completely drawn in right now and I can't finish the damn movie! I am obsessing about what happens to the people in this movie and I can't stop thinking about it! I'm close to just blowing 4 bucks and going to Blockbuster to rent it right now. Am I that crazy? Am I really that insane?

2006-01-26T10:24:00.000-07:00

Yesterday after work I spent a total of nearly 5 hours in my car driving to Mayo Clinic Hospital at the northern edge of Phoenix to pick up my sister,

driving her to her friend's mother's house in Chandler during rush hour, and then driving her to Globe, AZ, which is halfway to Safford.

My mom picked her up in Globe and drove her back to Safford, and I, of course, drove back to Phoenix. All this driving was WORTH IT, because around 8:50 p.m. I went to the Wendy's in Globe to grab dinner. The guy who took my order was an overweight, Native American high school student who also happened to be a FLAMING HOMOSEXUAL.

When I ordered a burger, he put his finger in his mouth and asked if I wanted a combo. That was a definite no. With one limp-wristed swoop of his delicate hand, he took my Visa debit card, turned around, and ran it through the machine on the opposite counter. He then proceeded to lean forward, resting his elbows on the counter, protruding his sizeable ass in my direction. He stayed in this position throughout the entire debit transaction, eyes fixed on the debit machine for all but a brief moment, during which he shot a glance over his shoulder to see if I happened to be looking at his back side. Of course I wasn't. I was reading the menu, trying not to laugh out loud.

After the receipt printed out, he handed it to me along with my card, saying "Here you go, Charles," and smiling at me. I gave him a very quick, very straight "Thanks" and waited for my food. Who loves it? I love it.

2006-01-23T22:17:00.000-07:00

Well I'm back from Argentina and it SUCKS. Sucks to be back at work. Sucks to have everything be expensive again. Sucks to be speaking English. Sucks to eat processed American crap for food. Sucks to deal with Phoenix traffic.

OK, that's a bad attitude for me to have. It's GREAT to take a shower and actually dry off because the humidity level is below 80%. It's GREAT to see South Park again. It's GREAT to not have to load my pockets with change so I have something to give to the little street children who come up to me and beg for coins. And it's great to finally be a hemisphere away from that creepy, staring, ice-cream-cone-licking fat lady at that McDonald's on Avenida Santa Fe in Buenos Aires.

I wonder how many Little Debbie oatmeal cream pies it would take to plunge me into a diabetic coma.

2006-01-15T07:25:00.000-07:00

Translating for an interview for a documentary that went way over its scheduled time.
Many of the shops along Avenida Santa Fe are open, despite it being a Saturday evening!
¿Shopping in Buenos Aires? Yes please.
You can just stop here, Señor Taxidriver.
OUCH! HUNGRY! Must... find... food... now...
Everywhere I see... is closed... for... weekend...
OK fine. I'll freaking go to McDonald's.
I HATE McDonald's.

But alas! An unexpected treasure awaits me!
It's hard to find a fat Argentine.
But I did.
She was sprawled out over a bench
With a vanilla ice cream cone
And proceeded to stare at me
As if the ice cream were her dinner
And I was her dessert.
She was in a skirt
And was NOT sitting like an American Teen Princess!!!
Thankfully her thighs were so big as to block
Any unwanted views into the Jabba Cooch.

You've finished your ice cream, gorda.
Why are you still staring at me?
OK, I have to go. This is getting freaky.
She doesn't even blink.
Sorry, Señor Quarter Pounder with Cheese.
The rest of you will have to go into the McTrash Can.

2006-01-08T14:11:00.000-07:00

I've been in Argentina for a WEEK now, and I LOVE IT!!! Buenos Aires is a very cosmopolitan, theatre-loving city. Three nights ago we went to the Teatro Regina and saw the opening of Gambaro's newest play, "La mala sangre," which was amazing because I've read a couple of Gambaro's works in my undergraduate Spanish literature studies. The only downside was that the theatre was not air-conditioned, and I FREAKING WANTED TO DIE. Besides the 2 1/2-hour long death wish, the play was amazing. :)

Last night we went to a different theatre and saw a Tango musical, which was AMAZING. Also, the theatre was air-conditioned, so it was a very enjoyable night that didn't end until 6:00 this morning. Nightlife here is INSANE. People don't start eating dinner until 11:00 p.m., and bars and clubs don't start hopping until 1:00 a.m. That's an hour before last call in Phoenix! There's no such thing as last call in Argentina.

A couple nights ago we went to a tango bar and had wine and tango lessons for about three hours. It was SO much fun. This all took place at a neighborhood bar that had such a sense of community. All kinds of different people from the neighborhood--amateur performers--got together and put on quite a show. Suddenly, out of nowhere, they gave ME the microphone. Someone told them I could sing. So I sang a Mexican song "Cien años," and they went CRAZY. "OTRA! OTRA!" So I had to sing another one. I got tackled and kissed by all these old people who told me I should stay in Argentina forever and be a professional singer. Ha ha. :) That would be AWESOME.

Anyway, I have surprisingly little time to myself, and it's time for me to go for now. There's a huge summer storm brewing right now. The thunder kept me up a couple of nights ago.

PS, nope. Haven't come close to getting lucky here. The guys are impossibly hot.

2006-01-01T00:37:00.000-07:00

OK. My bags are packed for Argentina, the square sunburn on my face has disappeared, I'm eating Cheerios, and I'm watching one of my favorite episodes of South Park EVAH: The Jennifer Lopez taco-flavored kisses episode. It's almost as awesome as today's Natalie Dee cartoon...

I think I'll go to Argentina tomorrow.

2005-12-29T17:52:00.000-07:00

So my vanity finally caught up to me today in true karmic fashion. I've been religiously going to the tanning salon nearly every day after work for a month, trying to work up a great tan for my two-week stay in Argentina (which begins Sunday), and slowly but surely, I'm starting to look more like Gael García Bernal...

...and less like Gollum.

Tonight was my last tan, and all of my usual beds were occupied, so they shoved me into the only available bed, which I had never used before. I stripped down to my undies and climbed into the bed, resting my head on the strange, square-shaped pillow at the head of the bed (rather than usual plastic head rest).

Isn't this thrilling? I know. It gets better.

So halfway through the 20-minute tanning session, I rotate onto my right side, so as not to leave little tanless spots on my shoulder blades. Tanning session ends, I jump up and put my clothes back on. Only for some reason, the right side of my face feels really, really burny. So I look in the mirror and I notice that there is a substantial red burn on the upper right third of my friggin' face in the perfect, rigid shape of a square. A freaky square pillow that, when laid on, apparently magically absorbs all of the ultraviolet rays from within the bed and projects them onto whatever human skin is in contact with it. I guess it's the tanning salon's way of branding their clientele on their last visit.

So yes. I have half of a perfectly formed red square on the side of my face. Just in time for fashion-conscious, appearance-obsessed Buenos Aires, Argentina (often called the Paris of the Southern Hemisphere). My face has been stamped with bitter and cruel irony. I'm sure that when I meet people in Buenos Aires, the conversation will go something like this:

¿Y vos? ¿Cómo te llamás? ¿Charlie? Encantado. Dios mío--¡tenés cara de planchado!
(And you? What's your name? Charlie? Delighted. Good Lord--you have the face of one who has been ironed!)

Hopefully some lunatic on the street will see the Virgin Mary in the pattern of my faceburn. Pretty soon the press will get involved, and believers will come from hundreds of miles away to pay hommage to La Virgen de las Planchas (Our Lady of the Irons). They'll throw enough money at me to pay off my car, and even though it will be the most internationally televised and humiliating experience of my life, it will all be worth it, because hey--no more car payment.

OK. That's enough for my first blog, I think.