Drama is a fact of life

'Tis the truth: I have trouble with all things relating to family/ies. Namely, in family circles, especially close-knit ones, I feel a fish out of water. I get confused about who I am, who I am supposed to be. I feel sub par, frazzled, desperate to fit in. It's silly and exhausting, really.

Family holidays, therefore, are hard for me. It is a non-stop full-weekend energy blast in an attempt to be someone I think/want to be for everyone, and a reminder of utter dysfunction on my side of familial things. To which I also give much of my energy in order to keep relations as peaceful as can be. As you can see, family affairs are draining draining feats.

With J's family, where we spend most of the American holidays, things are interesting. He is the baby of the family, the youngest of essentially 4. His mom clearly still views and treats him as such, and it is a strange dynamic to enter into. What is the role of the wife of the baby of the family? And how do you play it? Clearly, being the wife of any man whose mother is still alive is a difficult undertaking... Inevitably, you end up competing for attention, whether literally or inadvertently. I guess I am still learning to fit myself into this particular group dynamic, but let me tell you, this learning ain't easy.

Then comes the part of the holiday where I remember and reflect upon the mess that is my side of the family. And get sick to my stomach. And then drink lots of wine. I think about how much effort I put forth to sustain a humane relationship with my mom, and how she makes it ever-so hard. I mean, it's the same ol' story, and yet I never get immune to it. Her conditional love, manipulation, and emotional rejection never get old. This also made uneasy by the fact that I have very few close friends in the area. Or very few close friends I talk to anymore.

On that happy and uplifting note: Yay, Holiday Cheer! Hope you remembered to be thankful that Native Americans saved the Brits' asses once upon a time, and also for whatever other things you may be thankful for. Like maybe that time your cat didn't piss all over the bathroom mat?

Guest speaker

Hi everyone! Erin here from the state that i am in. I’m blogging here today instead of at my usual digs as part of the Twenty-something bloggers blog swap. Hopefully, you find this post so scintillating that you’ll hop right over to my blog and add me to your reader.

Most likely, that will not be the case because I’ve really been struggling with what to write this post about. Unfortunately, what I’ve settled on is a post about my ex-boyfriend’s bathroom habits.

I apologize in advance.

So, there was this guy I dated in college. We were pretty serious, but I should have taken the warning signs that he was a nut and gotten out a lot sooner. You see, he had some interesting bathroom habits. They weren’t that obvious when we first started dating, but the more serious things got the more I noticed.

In particular, he had some peculiar bathroom habits surrounding the #2. I first came to notice these habits on a trip to the grocery store. It went something like this:

Boyfriend: I’ll be right back. I’ve gotta use the bathroom.

Me: OK.

5 minutes go by. Strange. Men are usually fast.

15 minutes go by. Maybe it was the Mexican food we had for dinner.

30 minutes go by. Should I go check on him?

45 minutes later he comes out. I’m fuming.

Me: Ummm, what the hell were you doing in there?

BF: Going to the bathroom.

Me: For 45 minutes? What took so long?

BF: Well, I had to poop.

Me: For 45 minutes?

BF: Well, I did have some trouble with my shoe.

Me: Your shoe?

BF: Yeah, I had trouble getting it back on.

Me: Why on earth would you take your shoe off?

BF: So I could take my pants off.

Me: Excuse me?

BF: I have to take my pants off to poop. Pants are too restrictive in the bathroom.

Me: Oh.

Yeah, I know. I really should have left him right then and there.

So, that’s my story! Hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to stop by my blog any time!

[A p.s. from Daria: You can also check out my swap post over on Erin's site.]

Please excuse me while I continue to dwell

Because America can haz change:



Except California, to which I say:





As have others who are Letting Freedom Ring here and here. And you should too.

and a Fuck You, too, California.

"Today Americans have grudgingly taken a giant leap forward," [NBC Nightly News anchor] continued. "And all it took was severe economic downturn, a bloody and unjust war, terrorist attacks on lower Manhattan, nearly 2,000 deaths in New Orleans, and more than three centuries of frequently violent racial turmoil."

I was anxious all day yesterday. I could barely sit still in class, and couldn't wait to get out and race to the polls. This was my second time voting in this country, after the primaries, and all my suppressed anger and feelings of powerlessness from the last 8 years had to be unleashed. I just simply couldn't stand on the sidelines anymore. The field had to be stormed.

Energized by the enthusiasm of young Berkeleyans voting around me, I pressured J to go out for some good ol' American food that night. As we walked in the warm hopeful night to a nearby pub, I reminisced about the previous two elections that I had witnessed in the US.

There was a highly distinct and memorable moment, the first time around, when I found myself in a room with other high school kids from the school's Christian club, all exalting G-Dub. I had only been a naive European immigrant until then, cradled in the safely Democratic haven of Ann Arbor. I did not believe what I was hearing, which was different from anything I had heard from my people up to that point. I sat there in that room with my jaw dropped, for the first time making the stereotyped connection between Christian and Republican.

The second time, I lived in France and cried all Wednesday after election. Cried, literally. It was hard coming back that year.

Now, J and I joined the passionate crowds at the bar, and held our breaths as we watched blue sweep across the country on the tv screen. With each state electoral win, people went wild. And as the West Coast polls closed and presented the winner, the whole bar, the whole city, the whole Bay Area erupted in an ecstatic emotional uproar. It felt a little like New Year's (the cheering, the hugs, the champagne), but it felt good to be part of the movement. To be part of a great change for this country and quite possibly the world. All night, we heard cars honking and people partying. And yes, it was a good night for celebration.

However.

Later that night, as I stayed (involuntarily) awake until 4am, incessantly checking local ballot results, I felt as if I had been swept into some mad nightmarish dance. One step forward, two steps back. Twirl, and dip. It seemed impossible that after all this commotion about progress and equality, California could pass a ban on gay marriage. All this talk about looking beyond our differences, and here we are denying citizens their fundamental rights.

After a few hours of sleep, the gloom and hurt from this still overshadowed the general excitement of the election. Which is too bad, because I really wanted to join others in feeling like the important and positive components of history that we were. But how could I, when now the families of my friends have been broken. When now my professors have to turn to their kids and explain to them why their two dads have to settle for a deceptive second-class civil union. Sorry, everyone, there will not be a marriage. You may go home now, but thanks for the thought.




I took off my wedding ring for now. I haven't decided how long I'll keep this up, but it just feels wrong to parade this blatant symbol of heterosexual privilege. The emptiness on my finger is a noticeable reminder of the bitter-sweet taste of this time.

HELLSFUCKINYEA

Ella Bianca is Proud of You, America!

feminist thought of the moment

I've decided to stop shaving. Legs, armpits, and everything. I was never religious about it before, but now, this is more of a statement. I am still doing my own research into the validity of proclaiming this practice as oppressive, but until I find overwhelming evidence otherwise, I maintain that it is. To me, it's about choice, or the lack of choice that women have in this matter. Which is why this is different from the argument that men also shave, or that, women still participate in other beautifying actions like doing make-up and nails. But, from my experience, no one will stare at a bearded man or a woman with unpainted nails like they will at this circumstance. And in reality, I have not met a single woman who enjoys shaving. Who says, Huh. I have a few moments to spare... I know! Why don't I go in the bathroom and scrape my skin with a sharp razor blade! We all do it as a dreaded duty to some fabricated, and frankly sexist, standard. I feel that the choice is taken away from us, and this is just my little experiment to try and get that choice back.

existential thought of the moment

I always try to pick good music to listen to while going through the Bay tunnel on the BART. That way, if the long-awaited earthquake happens at that time, I can go listening to Queen or Radiohead or U2.