With both my mother and I out of the country my father is rambling around our reasonably sized suburban home with no one to fend for him. He's recently become quite concerned with our safety. He told me there was some crime in Barcelona and he wanted to know if it was a “safe city”.
Barcelona is not New York in the 1980's. I'm sure there is crime. I live in a nice residential high rise, a ten minute metro ride from the most expensive shopping district in Catalonia. I'm not sure what he thinks is going to happen. My mother and I don't PARTY or snort cocaine. We might get a sunburn, but we have sunblock so I'm not worried.
Apparently, the dog is sleeping on the bed. My bed? His bed? The mother's bed? I don't know. I'm supposing the dog is happy. My father tends to spoil him, which is great for the dog. I'm happy for him and he'll be supremely disappointed when we return and he's not allowed on the furniture anymore.
As I was taking this exam early I made uncomfortable conversation with the professor regarding the weather. It's 33 degrees Celsius in Barcelona and I told him “I'm not wearing any clothes and I'm still sweating.” He did not understand my American humor. My time in Barcelona is coming up and the only thing I haven't accomplished is meeting Shakira.
For someone who is not in a relationship, I've been dealing with a lot of emotional pain, and it's been stressing me the fuck out. Their problems are my problems.
There's only one couple I spend time with and their doing well. I think. They make me want to believe that love is possible and you just have to find the right person. A tall beautiful intelligent girl or a short dumb stumpy boy. Whoever she or he may be. They are out there. Just waiting for someone to write poetry about.
One couple I'm close to both told me their problems and they spent the better part of two weeks crying and not talking to one another. At one point they settled on being “just friends”, but they'd fucked each other one too many times to do that.
Their also planning on moving in together. I told them I thought that was fantastic, because I'm full of shit. I'm disenfranchised with their love. They almost ended it in December. March. And, who knows maybe they'll end up together and become happily divorced.
All I know is that as far as I'm concerned is that their love is dead. And, no matter how “mature” a high schooler may be, you should never date one if your in college. There will always be that power dynamic and it's not healthy and it's not appropriate. And, someone will abuse it even if that was never their intention.
One group of friends I just don’t know how I feel. I want them in my life and I don’t at the same time. I care and I don’t. I’m still low key hurt, but actually really high key. I think it’s part of me not dealing with my emotions very well.
Sacajawea said to me that she doesn’t like spending time with me, because I’m so negative. I guess that wasn’t supposed to hurt my feelings. I only have three, but it hurt all of them. If I was texting this I would have added lol.
You are probably asking what I won. At first it was a box of tissue and a copy of 25. Then, my favorite Prince William manipulated someone into stealing his gift, so he could rob me. I have never felt more violated in my life. It ended all right, though. I ended up a sweater and two scarf hangers richer.
The night was very low key. I lost at all incarnations of Mario. Super Mario Smash Bros. Mario Kart 8. It seemed no matter what I did, I was not destined to be good at these games. And, it's fine. I personally enjoy losing every single time.
I get home. Unlock the door. The dog has a jingle bell collar on. He looks cute and my father for some reason is awake. He asks me where I got the sweater from. I look down at it. Thinking that my tacky Christmas sweater is in the car when I tell him that I got it from Prince William.
I applied to study abroad. Barcelona. It was horrible. I had to write an essay in Spanish explaining why I wanted to study abroad. I took French in high school. I was not prepared. My GED did not prepare me to deal with real life.
Finishing this essay was the biggest hurdle. Sure I had to get two of my professors to write me recommendations, but there are worse things. After all of this I was prepared, I was fucking ready. I was going to Barcelona in the spring.
The week after Thanksgiving, I mail off my birth certificate to the government. At some point my passport will come in. Shiny and beautiful. Ready to be used and I will be here in the United States having emotional breakdowns over macroeconomics.
My GSA president has this bad habit of texting and driving. As well as speeding. At one point I had to borrow his phone to call his boyfriend. I told him, “This is not how I want to die. Driving to a conference. That is not glamorous. This is not a story my grandchildren will pass on to their grandchildren.”
That night we arrived. Blurry eyed. We were staying in the basement of this nice Presbyterian church. They had horrible water. But, there was a pool table, so that made up for it.
After lunch we saw a talk from Janet Mock, which fed from the last group we saw on problems transgender individuals face. Janet Mock is a transrights activist. She's amazing. She's stunning and her hair is gorgeous.
She walked out a jacket slinked around her shoulders, and some good nude pumps on. Her commentary is engaging and incredibly well thought out. One of the things she said that's really stuck with me is “we wouldn't have to talk about oppression if people didn't have to live it.” If you have any interest in know more about trans issues, go watch her interview with Oprah. Read her column. Buy her book. The woman's amazing.
In the most shocking turn of events I went to another party. Two in less then a span of week. It was intense. We were practically in San Francisco. I had on 4 and ½ inch wedges. I wasn't drinking. I put half a shot of vodka in my grape soda. That was about as lit as I was getting.
About midnight we stumbled back to the Presbyterians. Got cookies from Insomnia and smoked another bowl. Passed out asleep and didn't leave until 11:00 the next day.
It was a successful trip. I finally found out what “kush” was. Drank straight pumpkin pie from a smoothie place and learned that Concord isn't a state.
Picture it. It was me and one of my favorite people on campus. She's young. 23, maybe 25. Also not old enough to experience the fax machine. And, we could not figure it out. We struggled. We punched in numbers. We gave up. I ended up going to Kinkos and spending $2.40 to send a one page document. One Page.
The funniest thing is that they thought this was some big surprise. Like they spend so much time together. To the point that it's clear that their not “just friends”. They're the prettiest couple I know and I cry a little inside.
I look good as I always do and this car window rolls down. It's the director of one of my programs and she's like do you want to watch this documentary with us? And, I said (still walking) “Nooooooooo”. She says “are you going to the meeting tomorrow?” and I was like “ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”
It was very uncomfortable experience of disappointment. I also got a certificate saying how fabulous I am. Clearly. I already knew, but now I have written proof. I was also informed that I was “iconic” and that I show our campus “what liberal really means.”
I don't know what that last thing means, but I like the way it sounds.
It's not really my scene. A good night for me is pulling out an Olivia Newton-John vinyl. Watching some Simple Life reruns, maybe write a popping blog article or two. I don't really party.
I've been told by many people that my school has really good parties. Jenny really liked the foam party one of the student organizations hosted. People got really fucked up and Warner went to one of the fraternity glow parties and he said it was amazing.
The list of drugs he's done is extensive. I think the really question is what drugs hasn't he done. In other news the current art project he's working on includes lots of dicks. After all who doesn't like a big dick in the morning. Am I right?
He also smokes. I love the smell of cigarettes, so other then the fact that he's low key going to die young, I think that's sexy. He asked me if I wanted a cigarette just to hold. For a moment I thought I was in The Fault In Our Stars.
First off. My heel breaks on the way over. Parking is horrendous and we have to walk about a mile to get there. We have to walk back to my car to get another pair of shoes. The only ones I have is my ratty work shoes. Joyce says I looked grunge. That's a nice way of putting it.
You know Joyce and I went to a music festival together and that went okay. This however was intense with no real benefit. Although, I did get a lot of pamphlets from the Planned Parenthood booth. I know how to have safe oral sex, anal sex, vaginal sex. I got you covered.
Alternatively, I might move into a nice apartment in some major city and make quick excursions out into the public sphere once in a while instead. School's been a struggle. The most painful part is talking to people. Human contact has just not been going great.
Melodrama puncutated with exclamation points.