summer and all.

I am getting two new kittens today and also buying a Schwinn Cruiser bicycle. Life is good.

a mom, a dad, a son, a dog, a white picket fence.

"No, I don't even know your name
It doesn't matter
You're my experimental game
Just human nature
It's not what, good girls do
Not how they should behave
My head gets so confused
Hard to obey"

And there are the lyrics from what seems to be a generation of women's anthem, "I Kissed a Girl." It's interesting because many years ago (oh, let's say, three or four), I probably would have loved the lyrics of this song. On its surface, it speaks to women's liberation from gender constraints and from sexual rigidity. That once would have impressed me. I think most women like the idea that they are fighting against social expectations of their sexuality ("It's not what good girls do," Kate Perry preaches/whines). But, really, are they? This song is simply reinforcing female objectivity. It preaches to the choir of new females who are convinced of their freedom so much so that they cannot see they are simply living by deeply ingrained social rules. Today's woman (at least adolescent and young adult women) truly believe that the women's liberation movement is no longer necessary because they can wear androgynous clothing and make out with girls they don't care about and have promiscuous sex simply because it feels good.

But this is all indoctrination, it always is. Our purchasing of new clothing, our making out with girls, and our sex only benefit the dominant ideology of female subordination. We make out with women for fun because men like it - we may like it too, but men (let me be the first to tell you), like it even more. We have promiscuous sex, become aware of our bodies, simply for the benefit of men. I'm not saying there is anything wrong with becoming aware of your body and your needs and desires. It becomes a problem when women do it because they know it's what their boyfriends want (and, yes, this is exactly what every fucking identical issue of Cosmopolitan magazine makes women believe). That is not awareness. That is a swallowing of media messages that - deep down inside - we can never make ourselves believe until we throw all that trash away and live independently.

For God's sake, can we please sort this out? And please not at the expense of lesbians. Because that's another thing that makes me angry about this song. "You're my experimental game?" Excuse me? What if this woman actually does care about you, actually does want to pursue something with you? No, no, she can't express herself with anything beyond her body because that's not what Kate Perry's "boyfriend" wants to see happening. It's just a disgusting cycle of reinforcing heteronormativity, taking advantage of those of who do not cash in on what straight men prefer.

And as a final addition, I would like to stress that I do not hate men because I think that may be the impression quite a few people get from me (including my father). I fucking love men. But I love me more. We all love ourselves more than anyone else. And I hate to see representations of my body, be they idealized or realistic or real-life examples, being taken advantage of by a hegemonic system of beliefs about sexuality and gender roles (this ideology - in America - is male, white, consumer product-driven and straight. I have not a single doubt about that.) But I will repeat again that I love men, they drive me crazy, and that I couldn't live without them. Even if they do reign supreme on the cultural level, they will always be there on the individual level to worship the women who really matter.

Those women, in turn, will not feel the need to play with other people's emotions in order to vent their sexual frustrations.

out the door.

I took a long lunch with my aunt today, and along with the many important pieces of life advice she offered me, she said:

“More than a mouthful is too much.”

Touché.

photographs and love letters.

Today, I sat by the water in Redwood Shores, blinded by the sun's reflection off the miniature waves. I looked behind me onto a perfectly manicured street, lined with identical houses, a girl passing me on her bicycle, smiling. I thought about my friends spending time in Africa, making changes in the world, dealing with starvation and injustice and murder and political disjunction. I thought of my cousins in Tennessee, roasting in the sticky heat. I thought of Los Angeles, of all the inequality there and all of the racial and class divisions.

How lucky I am that all I do is complain. I sit in the sunlight, in the breezy, dry eighty degrees. I ponder academia, my job, yoga classes, running, sex, books I've been reading, this insanely adorable/funny/sexy/creative/beautifully confusing guy I have been seeing, my best friends here and there. I have everything. I am a lucky bitch. I hate even my own life sometimes it's so picture perfect.

Yesterday afternoon, I walked to Burlingame Avenue with Saleh, who I have realized is one of my closest friends. I love talking to him about everything as we walk down the tree-lined streets. We passed Burlingame's annual Art on the Avenue - all the Cajun food and frozen lemonade and handmade jewelry you could ever want. I turned to Saleh and said "We live in a disgustingly perfect little town. It's not suburbia, it's a fucking village. It's what people dream about. It's what families hope for. It is utopia." He didn't even argue with me like he usually does. He nodded and explained that there couldn't possibly be anything better than this in America. And while this may be true, it's also very easy to rebel from perfection.

That's where I am coming from. All of that perfection and all I want is a little complexity. Because beneath the pristine shine of the lacquer-painted village in which I live, I want there to be so much more. Maybe that's not necessary. Maybe all I need is everything I already have. But maybe I am simply scared, as I whispered to Tyler as I fell asleep Friday night, to have what I want. He doesn't seem to understand that having him, having a good job, living in a place so devoid of flaws would be too overwhelming for me. Where is the meaning in an existence with no dramatic set of events, no build-up, no peak, no intricate and beautiful denouement?

and in the morning.

Pretend I posted this yesterday at 4 PM when Blogger was having an outage that prohibited me from venting my emotional problems:

I am leaving work in a few minutes, but I wanted a chance to update before I become swept up in the weekend.

I am so confused about everything going on in my love life. I am getting all of these mixed signals from eighteen different angles, and I am sick of it. Just sick of it. So I am in this place, trying to decide: Do I keep playing the game? Or do I just surrender and walk away? I don't have the energy to put energy into this, and I am too mature and no longer inexperienced enough to just take someone's shit because they're going through something and not communicating with me about it. It was nice when I only had to think about myself. Lonely, a bit empty, but nice and liberating. Now it's Friday afternoon and I have the gym to look forward to.I would say I only have myself to blame, but I really think it has more to do with the type of men I am attracted to. It's their fault. Not mine. And, with that, I sign out for the weekend. Hopefully I will have some better news upon my return. Don't get your hopes up though. There seems to be some sort of fuku cast on me.

everything is nothing at all.

No. I don’t know what I am doing. I need time to myself, need to be alone. Why do I somehow always get myself into shit like this? It’s an endless, heartless cycle. I so do not need this right now. Woke up feeling off, couldn’t get out of bed. I stumbled to the kitchen, found a note. Just make it all go away. Where has my own life gone? I need to call my friends and go to cafes and be myself. Just myself. For no one else. Even if that means I will die alone. This is a lot like being addicted to drugs or alcohol or anything else. At the end of it all, I am alone and empty and lost. Yes.

who would have known.

One day I woke up and you were there next to me as the sun it hid behind the morning clouds and you, you kissed my forehead and walked away. Many nights, I go to sleep and think of this, how impermanent and fleeting it will all be in three, two, one. When the lights fade in the underground. When I rest against the shoulders that I met so many years ago and suddenly they become so thin they disappear. I walked down Powell and I saw the way they looked at me. And you, you with your lips and your cheekbones, you with a smile I squeeze your hand. There are times when I get so dizzy I forget to eat and sleep and think. I take one turn of my head and my mind goes completely blank, like in the car that night as the road faded from liquor stores to bars to cop cars to fast food restaurant chains. If you let it slip, does it still mean something? Did you let it slip because this will never, can never, we can't ever let this, mean anything at all? I throw away a lot in my life, treat men like they are disposable, and I am sorry. It's third-wave feminism and self-absorption and being too afraid to feel safe in a world that tells me be pretty, be young, be full of life, be spontaneous, make good decisions, kiss him kiss him kiss him underneath the water, shivering, until your teeth chattering becomes a smile painted on both your slick, smooth, chlorine-drenched lips. If I make mistakes, please forgive me. Please let it go when the day is old and the night rains and peels away the layers of years and makes us young again. I walk down the street. I think of you and all of those before. I wonder this time, maybe, ironically, sadistically: Because I know I can never have your heart, because I know that your feelings will be lost somewhere on the misty streets and in the fog that clears away behind tall, shiny building frames, and because your heart will be left here to ripen and then decay slowly, peacefully, beautifully - does that mean I can finally give away my own?

a brand new bouqet of flowers.

I only have three more weeks left of my work until I get to spend a month reading for my thesis and going to Tennessee.

Finally, I am really enjoying my summer. The freedom has finally become liberating instead of suffocating. I feel healthy and relaxed... for once. I am happy and I am smiling and just thinking of certain stolen seconds, of certain glances, of certain nights in cold cities, makes my heart beat wildly.

I discovered today that I love aloe juice.

I also discovered today that I am about to get my heart broken terribly. That's never really happened to me before. But that's okay because I am only living in the here and now.

oh why hello there.

I think I'm going to name my new kittens Butternut and Gomez. Pretty sure we're getting ragdolls, which are ridiculously ridiculously cute and playful.

all of the imperfections.

I fell asleep in the middle of the night, my breath slightly audible on the pillow, my stomach growling, my voice reduced to a whisper.

I woke up smiling.