Monthly Archives: September 2012

I shouldn’t place too much stock into pseudoscience…

But I do. What can I say? It’s my guilty pleasure and it tells me what I want to hear. Of course, it takes more than just birth dates to figure out whether two people really are compatible with one another, so why do I put so much stock into it?

My sisters used to do this extensively, I’m sure. I’ve never asked them about it though. Ever the late bloomer and the middle child to boot, that’s me in a nutshell, really. They’ve both already blossomed and been plucked, so to speak, and I’m just here, barely figuring out that, if I wanted to, I could probably blossom and be picked off as well, even be the one to do the picking, something that I can only hope to fathom. Do I want to? Not particularly. Besides, any possible candidates for gardeners (just to continue this slightly embarrassing metaphor) or flowers are either somewhat repulsive, impossibly beautiful, taken, taking, annuals, perennials, or something entirely different, and that’s before considering the range of experiences among them all. I don’t consider the question much during my waking hours, willing it far, far away from me; it really can be a bother when I have nothing else to occupy myself with though, far more than I’m willing to admit. So the solution is, as ever, to get busy. Just not like that.

But, yes, pseudoscience. Horoscopes. Celestial compatibility and the belief that stars can somehow dictate someone’s temperament. The things that say that, because I was born on a certain day and month and year, I should be this, that, and very, very this-other-thing. I, of all people, should know better than to evaluate my life choices just because I happen to be a Virgo or because I was born in the Year of the Sheep (or Ram; it depends on your font of so-called wisdom) if only because I have been drilled extensively in the scientific method of analysis. After all, with enough repetition, one can become the embodiment of their major of study, even me. I’ve managed to keep my rather sunny disposition, though I’ve gained a rather large dose of skepticism and the need to extensively label things in tiny, plastic tubes. So why does the need to check my horoscope for the day still persist?

Again, it’s generic enough that I can see what I want to see. My friend (who more than dabbles in psychology) explains this as some kind of well documented Effect, which makes sense. I’m not the only gullible sheep following their sun sign on Twitter, I’m sure. But why? When I look into what someone born under Virgo is supposed to be, I find that it fits me perfectly. And then, out of curiosity, I look up attributes for people born under completely different stars and think to myself “Just how sure am I that I’m a Virgo? This describes me too! How weird!” But it’s not weird at all; it shouldn’t come as a surprise, either. These are very blanket statements, after all, designed to attempt to contain all of the diversity of humanity into several key phrases.

What shouldn’t be weird too is the fact that some men don’t look like “conventional” men. It was a few weeks earlier, a Thursday, when I was in the middle of my shift. A friend of mine came in; I greeted them, they put up a flyer, hugged me, and then left, obviously in a rush to put up the rest of their flyers. One of my co-workers on her lunch break was sitting there, taking in the scene while munching on her salad, when she said, “Is she your friend? That’s so cute!” What made it even worse was the fact that she said it in Spanish, which is a heavily gendered language. I corrected her (in Spanish, because why the hell not?), but I stated that “she” was actually a “he”, as I don’t think that Spanish really has a gender-neutral anything. Maybe it does, but I wouldn’t know. I’m versed in Mexican colloquialisms, as I’ve never needed the finer points of Spanish grammar in order to get my point across growing up.

Of course, my friend balked at my statement. She shook her head slowly, unable to harmonize the fact with what she had seen unfold before her. Maybe it would’ve helped if my friend had bound their chest that day or if my fellow employee had never seen them before their transition began. Whatever the case, it took a few more resolute “Trust me, they are indeed male”s from me until my friend sighed, lamented a supposed “waste” of beauty, and then turned her attentions back to her salad. Is it really that difficult to reconcile that there can be males and females that are well outside convention? Was I not in front of her, evidence of one of the many permutations of something that exists outside the binary?

Even earlier than that, I had been chatting with another friend of mine. Somehow, we’d gone from exchanging greetings to considering dressing in drag; don’t ask me how we made that leap from “Good morning!” to “What would I wear if I had to go to a drag show?” because that’s not really important. What is important is that they said something that has continued to reverberate in my mind, something that kind of disappoints me as I figured that they would’ve been able to comprehend my slight plight, given their own knowledge of gender and society.

I had told them not two lines before that I considered myself to be genderfluid. It’s more of a practical and personal thing, really; I’ve observed that I don’t consider myself “male” or “female” but something in between, adjusting towards one extreme or another as the situation around me deems fit. Sure, my mode of dress is decidedly masculine and I wouldn’t touch a dress with a ten foot pole, but if I need to be girly, I’m girly and when I need to be manly, I’m manly. It’s just a slight change in degrees, almost infinitesimal, so “genderfluid” is more “on average, I’m somewhere in the middle” just like an electron’s “orbital” translates to “there is a 90% chance that the electron will be at this distance from the nucleus at any given time”.

So, on the heels of virtually announcing that I was fluid, I had asked them “What would I wear if I was going to dress in drag, then?” It was more for shits and giggles; I figured that I could resolve my issues by wearing things that I would not wear in any other situation, which means gussying up in a dress and some high-heeled pumps instead of sporting my usual polo shirt, jeans, and sneaker trifecta. But then they replied something to the tune of “You’re going to have to pick one or the other eventually, y’know.” Again, mildly hurt by their response, though I paid it little mind at the time, as I was just happy with the fact that we were talking, period.

But what gives? Was I not speaking to someone who would at least be familiar with this kind of thing, having questioned themselves and their own place in the world? In that instant, they had managed to channel the spirit of my mother to a substantial degree (made even more so by the fact that they’ve never even met my mom) and give off this closed and narrow perspective of the world. I’m surprised that they didn’t bust out something about Jesus or get out some sort of bible verse. I’m more surprised by the fact that they really weren’t my darling mother, but this was all online and Mom’s hardly acquainted with the internet. It was both surprising and terrifying, to say the least.

Perhaps I should be a bit more careful as to who I confide in or something because, really, they didn’t ask and I just told them out of virtually nowhere, gave them something to mull over in the span of a few minutes. Again, this was from someone that I would’ve been glad to get a response from at all, given that we hadn’t spoken much, if ever, all last year. I’m not too keen on the idea of scaring them off and closing down all ports of communication yet again just as they’re reestablishing themselves. So, less callously-confessing-and-expecting-people-to-automatically-empathize and more feel-them-out-first-you-basic-ninny; that’s the biggest lesson I can get from all of this mess. That, and horoscopes are to be pitched once you get some specifics on whoever you happen to be interested in, which means *gasp* actually getting to know them as a person! Surprise! But not really.

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Coming to you live, with only four hours of sleep…

And with “Bliss” by Muse on repeat because it’s my current “holy-shit-this-song-GETS-me!” song. But, yeah, g’mornin’!

So, yesterday was pretty fun and the best part was that I totally didn’t plan on it going that way at all. My original script: go to work, go visit my BFF and her BF at her place of work, then go back to the Apartment and study for that exam on Wednesday. What actually happened: went to work, but then cut it short because I didn’t feel like dealing with basic bitches; had a heart-to-heart with my BFF and felt really, really good afterwards, so good that I didn’t even notice the hours just fly by; and then stayed awake until 3 a.m. playing tabletop games at a LAN party.

Gotta tell ya, I’m glad I’m a fairly flexible person.

But, yes. Work. Why do people insist on double-bagging? Here’s a secret: it does absolutely nothing. You’re basically getting another bag to soothe your fears, not to actually appreciably reinforce the wimpy, plastic bag. The force exerted on the bag remains the same, if not slightly increases because now all of your stuff is just that much more scrunched together, just to fit inside of another bag. You want to make sure your bags don’t rip? Get a reusable bag that is actually sturdy, dumbass. They’re plenty out there that are not only tough but stylish besides. Bonus: you feel even better because you’re “saving the environment” and you make yourself just that much more likable to people like me who dislike whiny customers that buy nothing but drinks and hold up the damn line. Just saying.

Of course, I dispensed none of this advice to people as they demanded their extra piece of plastic because 1) I have to be courteous; 2) again, they were holding up the entire line as it is, am I really going to take up more time to tell them off?; and 3) these are the people that probably have “The customer is always right!” on a plaque on their wall and expect people like me to bend over backwards to acquiesce. So I cut my shift short by half an hour, just to come back to my normal, pleasant self. It wasn’t that bad, but had any of my friends stopped me right after my shift as I walked back to my place, I would’ve probably had a deep scowl on my face, which would’ve have elicited a “What’s wrong?” from the more compassionate ones.

Still, I suppose it could’ve been worse; it could have been the end of the semester.

So, yeah, after that, I went to what has become my habitual weekend haunt, the Psych Lab. Usually, I just hang out with my bestie and her boyfriend as her shift goes on and on, but on this day, the BF left early. While they’re both mature, responsible adults when it comes to their relationship, my BFF’s family’s view on dating is still very much in the 1900s. They don’t seem to like it when they hang out for extended periods of time alone together, taking great pains to assign chaperones whenever necessary. And I thought my folks were bad; they looks liberal as all hell compared to my bestie’s clan, and they still refuse to acknowledge gay people as people!

We had a nice, stimulating conversation, just taking turns ranting about things that bothered us, our folks and their oddities, the changes that everyone is heir to, and then figuring what fruit we are respectively after I tried out a “people are like fruit and I happen to like fruit” metaphor to explain pansexuality.

I’m an apple, if anyone was curious. Crunchy and, supposedly, adventurous, stubborn, nuturing. Is it true? I’d like it to be and, I dunno, maybe it is.

Anyway, after they had to go home, I was wandering back to my place when a thought struck me: “I want ice cream.” So, despite ice cream not exactly being Paleo-friendly, I figured that it was the kind of day that just required ice cream and that Haagen Daaz’s all natural stuff was the least unprocessed-processed thing, so why not? But as I was walking to the little grocery store on campus, I found one of my friends, remembered that there was a LAN party, and found myself, pint of coffee ice cream in hand, heading into a den full of computers and gentlemen. And one other lady, but she was off doing her own thing, impossibly gigantic headphones on, so she didn’t notice me.

Going somewhere where you only know one person out of twelve and that person just so happens to be out getting food at the moment is kind of scary. I’m sure it would paralyze even the bravest; I know I was just awkwardly sitting there for ten minutes before thinking “Maybe if I don’t move too quickly, I can probably make it out of here with nobody the wiser.” But then I remembered: this was a LAN party, but it just so happens to also contain people who are rather fond of tabletop games. The two demographics seem to have a lot of overlap, at any rate. So, I took a chance and asked if there was anybody, anyone at all, who was playing something not-on-a-computer. Sure enough, I was pointed to the other room.

And thank goodness for that! I’m not one for Starcraft 2 or Counterstrike:Global Offensive; my laptop, as faithful as it has been in its long years of service, is just not properly equipped to handle games like that. But tabletop games? Yes please! I stumbled into the room while three people I’d never met and one person that I knew were trying to seal portals in Arkham Horror. I saw the board, the pieces, and understood none of the rules; perfect.

We ended up playing Small World, Mansions of Madness, and then played a few rounds of Magic: The Gathering by the time I realized that it was almost 3 in the morning. The biggest plot twist: I was far from tired! Usually, I check out around 10, 11 if I have something I need to finish. But 3?? Unheard of! Maybe it was the coffee ice cream. Maybe it was the efforts of trying to kill the witch before we were mauled by the Mi-Gos (spoiler alert: we got mauled by the Mi-Gos). Hell, maybe it was trying to win against people that were may more experienced with a deck that wasn’t mine. Whatever the case, it was fun! They have a LAN party every month and I know this for certain: I’m going back and this time, I’m going to bring my own Magic deck!

So, that was my weekend. How was yours?

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Midweek drabbles, or “At least I don’t need coffee to stay awake much anymore…”

A stern note to self: You’ve got no time to be romancing, quite frankly. You need to be married to your work.

Buzzing in my head
Like so many insects. The
culprit, body spray.

And should you think that I’ve been caught
Give me no pity; I need it not.

Black streaks ‘neath my eyes,
Eyeshadow on, chapstick lips,
Fighting my own war.

(inspired by Fight Club)
I am Arlen’s throbbing vein.
I pound away when trouble’s afoot,
When something’s happening,
When someone’s stressing her out.
I pound and pound as irritation grows,
Hopefully visibly beneath the skin,
Though the only one that hears me roar is she.
I am Arlen’s throbbing vein.
(Mm…not my best. Free verse feels like cheating a bit.)

She was humming. I couldn’t hear it but we were close enough that I could feel it. She clung to me a bit like a lizard hanging onto their favorite rock, basking in the sunlight. She didn’t want to fuck, not really. But she still wanted me all the same, our limbs entwining in a comfortable mess.

(Haiku to a Potential Lover 1)
“I really like you.”
I said this once; change it to:
“I hope you’re alright.”

She kissed me almost chastely on the cheek, despite her fingers running impishly along my back. She seemed to appraise me as she hugged me, her head against my chest, her hands now gliding along my shoulders.

Mondays make me drowsy.
Tuesdays make me wait.
Wednesdays, I’m happy.
Thursdays are to celebrate.
Friday comes, I’m cozy.
Saturday, for work and play.
And Sunday? What about it?
To me, it’s just a day.

Damned glare on the floor
Scorches through my eyelids; I
can’t fall asleep. Thanks?

Biology’s sexy; look at DNA.
There’s a pair between T and A.

Focus!
My mind may run away from here
(The thought of your lips on mine lingers)
Lest I bring myself back to the moment–
Focus! Back to liquids and solids;
I wonder what phase you find yourself
When (and if) your thoughts turn to me–
Nope! Can’t let you do that, dammit!
Focus! It can never be!
Were I to try, I’d surely fail,
So I’ll smile and say, “I’ll be here, okay?”
And I hope that that’s enough for me to
Focus.

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Well, I guess it could be worse…

So, it’s been a bit of a rough week. There was that exam from last Friday coming back to bite me in the ass, the safety quiz in lab that I passed-but-not-really-because-a-B+-does-fuck-all-for-these-people, and then there was a disaster just waiting to happen in one the organizations that I’m a part of. So, without further ado, I’m just going to dig into this heapin’ helping of stuff. A fair warning: there will be bitching and LOTS of it.

So…Biophysical. A course that I needed an override to get into. A class that I swore that I wouldn’t complain about and, y’know what? I’m not complaining. This here is owning up to the fact that my exam accurately and relentlessly reflected the fact that I haven’t been studying for that class. Or at least not studying properly. The difference is clear, at any rate.

Maybe I’m doing something wrong, but it always seems to take at least one piss poor grade to get my ass in gear. I’m sure that’s not what the overachievers do; there were a few As and Bs in that spread after all. But what do they do? Read ahead, probably, or just be generally proactive. I’m not very good at being proactive. Or, to put it more accurately, I’ve never gotten into the habit of being proactive. I tend to react, sometimes violently, sometimes slowly, but always doing something in response to something. Tell me to move and I’ll move. Recommend something and I’ll go off and find it. Give me the grade I deserve for focusing on the math and just running off of my rusty knowledge of general chemistry and I’ll ramp up the studying for next time. I work when there’s some kind of feedback, consequences be damned.

I know I can do well. I have done well so far, somehow kept my GPA above a 3.0 all these years. But I’m no stranger to a failed midterm. You should’ve seen me my freshman year, though. Anything below a C used to freak me the fuck out! But I had to learn something, a lesson that I’m sure many before me have had to realize themselves: I am not the most intelligent person I know. And I’ve slowly come to realize that I don’t want to be. What use is having nothing but theoretical knowledge with no experience? So, if not the most brilliant mind, then I’ll aim for being adaptable, dependable, a bit of a dabbler in all things instead of just focused on one little thing. Yes, this class is important; I need to pass in order to get my degree, for fucks’ sake. But I know where my time went and it clearly didn’t go into studying.

I may complain that time is slipping away, but let’s be honest: I know damn well where it’s going. It tends to go to friends, to meetings, to research. Sometimes, it goes to things that I don’t want to do but I do them anyway because I told someone I’d be there. I go out of my way to meet with someone just to be there for them if they need me, which seems like a waste of time but I’d rather make myself available than not be at all, if only to show that I care about them and their well-being. It goes towards the Internet, it goes towards grocery shopping, and it even goes towards just sitting there, contemplating the world and my place in it. I might be spreading myself too thin when it comes to extra-curricular involvement, but that just means I need to grow a spine and say “No.” Always a problem with me, not being able to say no to people.

Again, it’s not the end of the world. Yes, I failed my first midterm, but I wasn’t the only one. There was enough of us that we changed the damn grading system, so there’s that. Am I satisfied? Hell no! All I can do is be more diligent and prepare for the next not by fussing over the calculus but by focusing on the concepts. The math was hardly difficult anyway, it’s just that I got cocky and figured that whatever I had learned several semesters ago was still fresh in my mind. So, my bad.

Now, to tell the professor that. Why do one-on-one meetings always make me anxious? It’s not that I can’t own up to my mistakes, it’s just that I don’t like seeing someone disappointed in me. There is very little that I don’t want to see more than disappointment. It doesn’t help that I claimed that my lifetime goal was to win a Nobel Prize, too. But, I’ve gotta do it. There’s no excuses for that either.

The safety quiz…well, it was open book. They gave us the manual with all of the answers anyway. And I did pretty well; got an 88%. It’s just that the cutoff was 90%. Or was it 95%? Either way, not good enough. Again, no excuses; just gotta highlight the crap out of the book. Really, a 100% was doable, but it was the first day of lab and I just remember wanting to get the hell out of there and back to my apartment for some me time, so I skimmed the text and just went from there. I have to re-take it, which is fine. I’ll do it. And, really, it’s not a big deal.

But then there’s that possibly implosive situation…

Let me paint you a picture: there are members and then there are officers. Usually, there’s a bit of a divide, a clear indicator that the latter are somehow different from the former, if only in terms of what they can do. Members participate in whatever officers dictate and that’s usually the way of things. I don’t like that very much, so I’m usually the first to suggest to my fellow members of the executive board to bridge that divide, to stop sitting as a cluster and integrate themselves into the member base during general body meetings. I just feel that it looks bad if all of the officers happen to be sitting in one area and, moreover, it helps keep things reasonably loud if there are people who can keep others’ volume down spread around. Why work harder when you can work smarter, right?

So, yeah. The way we work, an “officer” is actually a “member that has an extra meeting per week on the weekends”. And that’s just fine for us, given that our club is casual as hell. But then there are those members… Don’t get me wrong; they’re not horrible, horrible people. They just seem to have this idea that our club is their High School Club, the Redux. We are open to suggestions, we thrive on them. But try to use what we do to somehow relive your glory days, and you are asking for a beatdown. Verbally, of course.

I don’t know. It just irritates me. The others seem to be irritated too, at least, so it’s not just me being a bitch. All we can do about it is attempt to keep the person in check and focused on what we’ve got planned for the semester. If they can add to it, great. If they’ve got ideas that need a little reworking to fit into our finite (and slowly decreasing) budget, that’s okay. But to come out of nowhere with “Let’s go to San Fransisco!” and, what’s more, have no follow-through to get us there or just plain ignore the restrictions we are forced to work under as an organization affiliated with the university? No! It doesn’t work that way! Come back with a better, more realistic proposal.

I’m just bitching now, aren’t I? Again, the ideas are there and that’s what we want. But they have to be somehow feasible, y’know what I mean? If there was a way to ship the entire club to Japan, I’d work towards it vigorously. But for things like going to San Fransisco just to see a show? There’s the logistics involved if everyone’s interested, and what happens if there is no interest? The way this person keeps suggesting things, I’d think that they want to use the club’s purse to fund their excursions, like we’re their sugar daddy or something.

I’m probably the most pissed because I’m the treasurer and I know all too well the hoops we have to leap through in order to get whatever our student body deems “appropriate”. It doesn’t help that I’m always finding myself making a case for things that sound frivolous. “What exactly are the funds going towards?” “A festival, with traditional food and games. Y’know, to educate everyone further in Japanese culture and stuff.” If it sounds trite, that’s because it is, unfortunately. Not to worry; I’m far more eloquent when it comes time to make my case to the Board.

But how is this “implosive”? Well…it just so happens that we’re dealing with someone who wields quite a bit of social capital already. You know those people, who talk to seemingly everyone and have their lips near their ears? It doesn’t help that they’re your average “pretty” type of person, either, as their appeals are just that much more effective. But they’ve got appeal and they know everyone, which can spell trouble if they just so happen to get miffed, say something to the tune of “Well, I didn’t want to be involved anyway”, and just draw people away from our slowly growing club.

That’s the plight of smaller organizations that aren’t bound to one another by letters or rituals: your members are only as permanent as they want to be and there’s not much you can do. So, you work to foster that feeling of family, of togetherness, just to have enough manpower and creativity to get something going. It sucks. It’s even suckier when you have a rogue element like that to attempt to contain without completely setting them off. Just how does one diffuse that situation?

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Midweek drabbles, or “this was going to be sexy, but then it got sad…”

“Tea?”

“I’d love some, thanks.” Jane softly set down a cup beside me. I murmured my thanks again, trying to focus on my papers. I had printed them out in the lab in the hurry, trying to get back home to Jane. She seemed alright now, but I was still replaying what she’d said that morning.

“Jesse?” I looked up. Jane was curled up in her armchair, a book in her lap and tucked under a quilt. She still seemed a bit nervous. “Is something wrong?”

Well, there’s no point in lying. Jane is many things, but a fool is not one of them. She always seemed to have a way to tell when I was lying, so I learned early on that it was useless to lie to my wife. I sighed, not really sure of what to do here.

Here’s the thing: Jane wants to get pregnant. After all this time together, all of our plans, those evenings we shared, she wanted a child. A child! It had been the one thing I was dreading.

She cocked her head, still looking at me.

I think her mother had finally gotten to her. Jane didn’t use to want to have kids, not when we first met. We were young and free, both freshmen in college. We were comrades, we were friends, we experimented together. Our relationship just fit into place; we were close enough that it was a natural next step to commit ourselves to one another.

Jane’s mother flipped, to put it mildly. She couldn’t seem to look beyond my body, beyond my breasts and my vagina, and see the man I was. The man I wanted to be. Nevertheless, as soon as we both graduated, Jane and I ran off together, her mother’s blessing be damned. We left the city for an even bigger city and lost ourselves in it, just us two. I went through my transition, Jane supporting me through everything, all of the bullshit I had to go through, all of the hoops I had to jump, just to reconcile who I was and how I felt with the legal system. “No, it’s not a choice.” “Yes, this is really how I feel inside.” Over and over again… I don’t think I would’ve made it through without Jane by my side, comforting me.

But now… I can’t help but feel as though I’ve forgotten about her. Years have passed since my triumph; I have a Ph.D and a license that’s finally correct. I work for a company that could very well have the answers to humanity’s problems, for the right price anyway. I live in a nice yet modest neighborhood; I drive a nice yet modest car; I live a nice yet modest life. But what about Jane? Do I even know the love of my life anymore?

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I feel more like a seesaw than a person, really…

So, we’re already going to start the fourth week of school. I’m not sure how I feel about that, to be completely honest. On the one hand, I’m rather pleased with how this year has been progressing so far. I’ve already got my classes down, my schedule down pat (but not too much, because I want to have time to hang out with friends should I need it), and I’ve gotten most, if not all, of the usual resocializing with friends that I may or may not have neglected over the summer over and done with. It’s not that I don’t like to be social. Ask around; some people may claim that I’m actually too social and that I don’t focus on my academics, which is true depending on what your definition of “social” is exactly. But there are the friends that you are almost desperately trying to reconnect with and then there are the friends (more like “acquaintances”, really) who you just want to say “Hi” to and nothing else. But how to tell them?

I’ll be honest: I write a lot but I’m not very eloquent. At least, I don’t feel eloquent. There are times where I can talk my way out of things, but most of the time I seem to trip over my words or say something in such a way that most likely will antagonize people. Maybe it’s because I don’t shy away from using “fuck”, “shit”, and “hell”. It’s in my vernacular, so why not? ‘Sides, I’m an adult. If what I say offends people with thinner skins and easily disturbed sensibilities, then I’ll own up to it and apologize.

But, yeah. I’m messaging someone right now who seems to feel a bit of a disconnect between them and the world around them. I want to say “I’m here for you” because, really, I feel that I am already and that I just need to make it clear to them that I’m available if they want to talk and stuff, but how do I say that without feeling like a hypocrite? After all, this is the same person that I took off of my Friend list because I felt that I needed to remove them in order to get my shit together and get over this insane, all-consuming crush I had. It’s died down now, but with this moment of clarity and closure comes the dread of asking the one thing that would probably undermine my efforts to reconnect with them: “By the way, we’re not ‘Friends’ anymore. Haven’t been for the past nine months, actually. Would you mind sending me a friend request over Facebook?”

I should probably pony up to the fact, send them a request, and open myself up for discussion if they say something like “WTF? Why did you send me a request?? Aren’t we already friends?” I’m probably, most likely, overthinking things again. I tend to do that a lot. In all actuality, it’s probably not a big deal. But I’m still freaking out here, still fretting, still dreading the moment they corner me and begin the accusations or just stop trusting whatever I say because, apparently, I’m a horrible, two-faced person who can’t seem to make up their freaking minds over what they want exactly

And, holy hell, since when did this become LiveJournal?! Goodness me!

Tl;dr: this is pretty freakin’ awkward. I just want them to request me as opposed to the alternative, which would demand more courage than I feel I can muster at the moment. I mean, if they can add some freshman guy they’ve only met over the course of five minutes, then there should be no problem for someone that they’ve known of for, what? Going on four years now?

That just brings up another point: what do I know about them? I mean, really? Aside from having been in the same club all this time and the rare get-together, we don’t really interact. And I suck at dropping hints; it’s either too subtle to detect or not subtle enough. What’s more, this person is an enigma to me. Always has been, pretty much. We didn’t hang out before they went off to study abroad because 1) I felt like too much of a doofus around them, because having a crush on someone will do that, 2) there was no reason for us to hang out unless it was for club business, and 3) we ran (and still run, let’s face facts) in completely different circles, so just approaching outside of club meetings was out of the question. Again, I’m not brave to begin with and, as the person who I wanted to look like an idiot in front of the least, they terrified me. It doesn’t help that I actually told them I liked them “a lot” on the heels of coming out to them as pansexual and then admitting that I am the world’s biggest creeper. Everything just…came out. This was someone (still is someone) that I’d rather not deceive, lest they shun me. Again, I’m scared.

…You know what? I can sit here and ramble, just wavering back and forth, back and forth for awhile yet. But I’ve got homework, I’ve got two friends that are on RuneScape right now, and I’m just gonna do it. Sending a friend request…now. Cross your fingers!

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Filed under The Sunday Post

If you’re anything like me, you probably first heard the word “parkour” and imagined some sort of vastly posh mode of putting your vehicle into a state of immobility whilst you take care of various errands. Like “valet,” but with more pizazz. 

My good friend  and newly minted ZAP Strategist Larz Yerian was thoughtful enough to be concerned about all our safety in the event of zombies. He’s even got the answer to the question of what you do when you’ve got a half-decayed once-human dribbling unmentionable viscera on the pavement and heading your way with a groan.

You use parkour and get your ass out of there.

ZAP Parkour

There is a slumping behind you and some gross gurgling. You run down the street, glad that you’ve improved your endurance over the years. But more creatures appear down the side streets, hemming you in. You backtrack, only to face the original…

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