Don't Call it a Comeback.

Wow. I just realized that I started a blog a long ass time ago and never finished it. Although I'm not really sure anyone reads this blog, but I write for me and not really anyone else. Christmas sucked and that sort of made my whole winter break suck as well. That, along with the fact that I did not work on my tutorial at all over break combined to make this winter probably the worst I can remember. Although I made a pre New Year's resolution to shave more. I think, on the whole, I am much too hairy. Of course, I shave my armpits, but legs and pussy do not get nearly enough attention. This has always been a point of contention with me because I do not feel like I have to live up to any sort of image of what a woman should be or what a woman should look like, which I think also plays a role in my weight and overall image. And as a result of my stance on the issue of women and our looks in society, I have always had an issue with pubic hair. Personally, I don't mind it. It's natural and serves a purpose by keeping out harmful bacteria. I don't like the fact that women feel the need to go bald because of some picture in a magazine or because they feel that is what is attractive to all men. And personally, I don't like going bald. It makes me feel about 10 years old. And 1998 was not a good year for me. Usually, I trim once in a while. Though I am in favor of pubic hair, I do believe maintenance is a good idea. Actually, I feel this is the way to go for guys too. Because as much as I believe pubic hair is a good thing, it's not something I want to be pulling out of my teeth. So I do believe in some landscaping. However, I was in London this past semester and just didn't really get around to it. It wasn't necessarily anything I planned to do. I just didn't do it. And the longer I went without doing it, the bigger the task seemed so out of pure laziness I decided to wait. And I waited. For 3 months I waited. On August 26th I went to the lady doctor for a pap smear. And being the great little patient that I am, I trimmed very closely for the occassion, although ironically didn't shave my legs which were probably going on about 3 weeks at that point. Anywho, I went from August 26th until around New Years. I don't know the exact date, but one day I just got fed up. With another period coming and time on my hands, I decided it was the best course of action. But shaving is not always easy. I am notoriously bad about DIY hair cutting of any kind and I reference the time I shaved off half my eyebrow freshman year. But it had to be done and since I don't want to pay money for someone to rip off my pubic hair with hot wax, I thought why not do it myself. But I always have questions. Firstly, after three months of course the hair was too long for just a quick swipe with the razor. And I always have problems with....let's say logistics. How much do I cut? How close should the trim be? And how far do I go down? Just to the taint or do I go for the whole shebang and risk literally ripping myself a new one? So to help myself out, I got some hardware. A beard trimmer. A while ago on Jezebel.com one of the posters posted about pubic hair and she mentioned she used a beard trimmer and that it worked quite well. This was perfect for me, I thought, it was easy and would basically do all the work for me. What I didn't count on was how many razors there are on the market for men and I also didn't take into account how expensive they are. I doubt even MacGyver himself would buy a razor for $100.00 which is completely ridiculous. In my opinion, if I am spending $100.00 on a razor, the little razor fairy better be waiting to pop out and shave my pussy for me. Anywho, I got one for around $18. It had six attachments, though I really only needed two of them, although I may hold on to the nose and ear hair trimmer until after menopause (just in case). Actually, there were two different attachments specifically for trimming shorter and longer beards, which for some reason, everytime I saw them, reminded me of my mother's brother Jerry who has a beard and bears a striking resemblence to the popular Western version of Jesus. And for some reason picturing both my uncle and Jesus while shaving my vagina made me feel slightly uncomfortable. But it worked. Really well. And I was very pleased with the outcome. But the mystery of pubic hair still baffles me. I mean, one day it just shows up and you're stuck with it forever. Society's view of pubic hair also baffles me. I was just reading a quote from Jenny McCarthy yesterday and she said she only reads Playboy Magazine to find out how women are grooming themselves nowadays. So is the bald look a passing fad? Will we one day go back to where women wear what has been coined the "fur bikini?" Are the variations in pubic hair maintenance the result of women striving to be attractive and desirable to men or are they the result of women owning both their bodies and their sexualities and making decisions about their most intimate lady parts accordingly? In my opinion a grad student in Women's Studies should be writing a thesis about this right now. Pubic hair is different for everyone, but for right now I'll just keep trimming, when I get around to it.

In other news, tough stuff lately. It's been an adjustment coming back from London to the U.S. The adjustment hasn't really been cultural, but more personal. I feel as though I have changed over the past 4 months. I feel like I have grown more responsible and more independent, which may have made it more difficult to go back to my parents house and start working at my summer job again. Lots of fights with my parents, lots of bringing up things that happened in the past happening at my house this winter. Which isn't really anything new, I just hoped that once I had left the country for a few months, maybe things would be better. I'm not saying some of it isn't my fault, but it's still tough to deal with sometimes. I was sick for about a week after getting back from London and wasn't able to go back to Dominican to exchange Christmas presents and although I sent them through the mail and received my presents when I got back to school, it still wasn't the same. When I think about London, I do miss things. I miss going out of my flat and being somewhere. I miss seeing some of the most beautiful sights in the world, places that people I know only dream of seeing. Going to France and Holland was amazing. Seeing the beaches at Normandy, Jim Morrison's grave, and the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam were three things I had always wanted to do and I am so grateful that I was able to see them. Being in London during an election year was such a unique experience, I only wish I had gone to the political rally in Grosvenor Square on eleciton day (I could have seen Josh Hartnett, fug as he is) and living in a new place, seeing myself grow and change is one of the most amazing experiences. But one of the things I always think of when I think about living in London and going on my vacation with Mackenzie is the American cemetery at Normandy. Almost 10,000 graves is a lot and obviously as a U.S. History major, I was moved by the sacrifice of so many. But that wasn't what moved me the most. When I walked among the graves I saw so many young men who were my age or younger. Guys that never had a chance to do all the things I get to do everyday. Guys who never had a chance to see all the things I get to see everyday. And when I think about that, I get sad. Because I think of all the time I have wasted in my life. Times when I decided to stay in instead of going out. Times when I decided to go out instead of staying in. The times I spent hurting people. The times I spent being hurt by others. The times I laughed and shouldn't have. The times I should've laughed and didn't. Things I have said, but shouldn't have. Things I should've said, but didn't. People always like to say "no regrets." But I have regrets upon regrets, especially concerning the past few months. I regret the time I spent in London being angry and hurt. I regret that I let people get to me and make some days very hard for me when I should have been out having the time of my life. I regret that I don't have a friendship that I valued greatly, maybe more so than I ever showed. I regret that I made mistakes in dealing with people, let my anger and emotion overcome reason more often than it should. I regret that I am not able to open up to people and explain my feelings to them because sometimes it is too painful. I regret that I constanstly seek approval and that seems to be my downfall. And I regret that I am back at Dominican with this amazing experience behind me, and feel the loneliest I have ever felt. These past few days I have been trying to come to terms with things that happened in London, both good and bad. And maybe that's what I have to do. Maybe I have to reflect on the good and the bad, take the highs with the lows and let it go. I think that in every experience that is so bewildering and awe-inspiring, in an experience like London, there will be good and bad, progress and regress, courage and fear. But when you put it all together, you get the base of who you are. When I look back on London and I take the excitement, fear, happiness, hurt, the new friends, and the lost friends together, I get myself now. I just can't decide whether or not I like myself now. Regardless of what happened over the past few months and what continues to happen now, I still have to have faith in myself. Though it's hard sometimes, and has been very hard since coming back to Dominican and I do wish so much for things to be different, I still have to keep having faith in myself.

The Morning After

Ugh. That sort of sums up how I feel right now, both emotionally and physically. Thanksgiving was yesterday and even though we are in London where food is always a little runnier and a little less flavorful than food in the U.S., we had a pretty awesome Thanksgiving feast if I do say so myself. Thanksgiving porn below:

So Thanksgiving was pretty cool. About a month ago I was lucky enough to find an American food store in Amsterdam where I found my french fried onion rings and last week Jenna and I found an American food store in Hampstead where we found stuffing, OceanSpray cranberry sauce in a can (!) and lots of other awesome things to make an awesome Thanksgiving. Here's a pic of me in action.

But Thanksgiving was also sort of sad too. Thanksgiving and other holidays are always a really big deal for my family because I have such a big extended family so it was sort of sad that I wasn't able to spend it with them, although I am not sure I would have traded Thanksgiving in London for Thanksgiving anywhere. Thanksgiving also marks the end of my time here and I can't believe that I will be leaving in less than a week. I almost don't know how I feel about it. I am definitely ready to move out of my flat and get out of the negative vibes that are currently forcing me to be holed up in my room, but I don't necessarily want to leave London. I am excited to get out of this flat and not have negative people in the program affect my life. I am excited to go back to Dominican and start classes and go to El Salvador in the spring. And I am excited to see Sarah and go to Chipotle and see the play she's been working so hard on in December. And I am excited to get back into a normal routine. But I am not necessarily excited to leave. It's a strange emotion that I can't really explain.

I have learned so much while I was here. And not just about British history, life, and culture. I really feel as though I have learned a lot about myself. And even though that wasn't always easy, I think it was ultimately a good thing. I feel like I know who I am now, which is a good thing. Even though some people who were in my life let me down and even though people I considered friends turned out to be very different people than who I thought they were, everything was still a learning experience and I really found out that I do not need anyone else. I can do things on my own and I do not need reassurance from anyone or anything. In a way I think that knowing you can be alone is liberating, especially when the people you relied on for support turn out to be kind of sucky at respecting and caring about you as a person. I still have people that I care about and I still have people I don't care about. I still have people I would consider friends and I still have people I wouldn't consider friends. And that's ok. That's normal. It's what everyone has. But the most important thing is that I still have myself and although I'm far from perfect and sometimes I can be a bitch and sometimes people have problems with what I say or do, I'm still ok with myself. And I think it's nice, for once, after trying to change myself for others or trying to hide my true feelings from friends, that I can say this is it. Take it or leave it. It's empowering in a way.

I think that this blog has been pretty negative the past couple months which is strange because I really don't feel like my time here has been completely negative. Of course there were negative points, but overall I think my time here has been pretty awesome. So I think I should turn over a new leaf. I am no longer going to let assbag people bother me. And if I do, I definitely won't blog about it. Although how fucked up is it that I made a Thanksgiving dinner for some sucky suckface who I do not even like and refuse to associate with? Ok that's it. Last blogging point about assbag people. There it is.

God Save The Queen

Do you see what I see?

Oh yeah....

Exhalation, Exaltation

Wow. That word pretty much sums up the last 21 months of what was the longest presidential campaign in U.S. history. Wow. It's tough for me to write this blog because it's hard for me to put into words what I am feeling. Usually this is not the case. And usually I can actually state my feelings better with the written word. But this is going to be tough. I voted for the first time in the primaries in February and I voted for Barack Obama. The first time I saw Obama was in 2004. I was actually on vacation at the time and I was in a hotel watching the news with my parents. When I saw him take the stage at the Democratic National Convention and heard him speak with such intelligence and grace. I knew. I knew he was going to do something great. And I was right. I was almost 16 at the time and I had a lot of growing up to do, I still have a lot of growing up to do. But I knew then and I know now what I want my future to be, what type of world in which I want to live. And I think Barack Obama can lead our country into a great future and change the world in the process.

I'm in London right now and the presidential race has been a hot topic since I got here in August and probably long before then because the affairs of the U.S. are global and effect everyone worldwide. Today I saw a headline in a London newspaper that was essentially asking if Obama's win would open the door for a black Prime Minister. The actions of Americans, the act of voting a African-American man president has become an historic event for the entire world. Also apparently France hates the U.S. just a little less now. Which is nice...I guess. But that is really unimportant to me right now. Because as much as I care about how U.S. politics affect other countries and as much as I care about how other countries view the U.S. yesterday was not about them. It was about us. It was about the United States of America choosing the leader that will work the hardest for our country and for the first time in 8 years will heal our nation.

I know that Barack Obama being an African-American is important not only for our country, but for the world. And I, as a white woman born in 1988, also realize that I will never fully understand the struggle for civil rights for which many have fought so hard and sometimes died. But I do not see Barack Obama as the first African American president. I do not see him as black or white. Because his race has nothing to do with his intelligence, his grace, his wit, or his character. Of course, I can see that he is African-American and of course I can understand how that fact would affect his life. But to me Barack Obama is not just a black man. He is a good man. And his race has nothing to do with the fact that I think he will be an outstanding leader.

For once I'm not going to get political. I am not going to hash it out between Barack Obama and John McCain because it doesn't really matter right now. Because right now, for the first time in 4 years, I believe in something again. And for the first time in 4 years I am not afraid of the future. For the first time in 4 years, I have hope.

Bring it on.

Oh God Save Me From Your Followers.

It is with me everywhere I go. Walking down a crowded street or sitting alone at home. When I feel pain. And when I feel pleasure. It is a sense, an inkling, a untested basis of knowledge. No doubt exists that my body is an awesome thing. A thing that no one can deny. It is obvious I am a woman to everyone. I have breasts. A vagina. And all the necessary parts to be considered one of the female gender. I know my body inside and out. I can tell differences in smells, textures, pain, and pleasure. I instinctively know when something is wrong, when I am about to become ill or when a balance in my body somehow becomes unbalanced. I know my emotions and I know my bodies biological functions better than anyone, male or female. I know that my body is powerful. I feel its power when I menstruate and feel my body readying itself for another timeless biological cycle that I share with all women. And I feel its power when I press down on my breasts and feel the mammary glands beneath the surface reminding me of my body’s dual function of pleasure and biological practicality. I feel its power when I look in the mirror and notice changes in my body, when I see the surface of my skin change, and when I change my body’s appearance through shaving, plucking, or putting on makeup. I know that my body is powerful. And I also know this power can be used for me or against me. I know that my body is something I must protect. I have been through 8th grade and I have read Cosmo girl and I know how to label the parts and I know what their functions are, but I also know instinctively that they are mine. This is my body. I have lived in it for 20 years and I know everything about it. Everything. Surely, this body belongs to no one but me. Surely, I have the ultimate say in what happens in my body, to my body, for my body.

But this is a lie I must tell myself. Because now there are people, women fighting against me and against all women. They are fighting to make women’s bodies no longer their own. They are creating even more factions within the feminist movement and confusing young women as to what being a feminist really means. Equal rights for women. Treating women human beings, treating them the same way men are treated. Nothing more. But a woman’s body is the most important thing. You can take away a woman’s right to vote, work, own property, get married to whomever she wants, all of which has been done before and is still being done today. But when you take away her body. When you take away something that she knows so well, something that is one with her soul and the universe. You take away everything.

Abortion is a moral issue. It is a moral issue because it is immoral to deny basic human rights to any woman. The right to control your own reproductive system belongs to every woman regardless of race, economic status, or religious views. It is immoral to deny women these rights. The supreme violation of the basic right to have control over one’s body still exists today. Rape still exists today. Sexual slavery still exists today. Domestic violence still exists today. And sadly, the issue of whether or not women should have reproductive rights still exists today. We, as a people who claim our “democracy” for all to hear, can not allow this systematic “raping” of women’s rights by politicians. Women have their dignity stripped everyday. By working for less than men in the workplace. By not receiving the same benefits as men under their current health insurance plan. And by being continually discriminated against in other forms throughout the world. We can not let this last vestige of hope fall from us. We can not allow the right to have a say about what happens in our own bodies to be taken away from us. We can not allow this dignity to be shredded by the pseudo-Christian, pro-family base under which so many claim to be operating. Abortion is a moral issue. It is a moral issue because to deny women reproductive rights would be to deny them their rights as human beings. That is immoral. The right to have an abortion or gain access to information about other reproductive rights is not about "killing" babies. It is about giving women choices. It is about avenging the women who were forced to have children before they were ready. It is about avenging the women who lay screaming in agony on kitchen tables while they had their uterus punctured by a butter knife or a crochet hook during a "back alley" abortion. It is about avenging those women who were sterilized because of race or mental ability. It is about supporting the women today who feel alone or feel they have no say about their own bodies. It is not about fetuses. It is not about protecting the sancitity of human life. It is about human rights.

It does not matter if you agree or disagree with abortion because personal feelings are personal feelings. They do not reflect society or how it should operate under any sort of government. What a minister tells you from the pulpit on Sundays is personal opinion. Reading the Bible or any other religious or sacred text and using that as a basis for your life, is personal opinion. What you believe in, what you say, what you think, how you feel, and what you do is all personal opinion. Everyone has a right to that. But no one. NO ONE. No, not even God-fearing Christian women in pantsuits have the right to tell me or anyone that their beliefs should be forced upon me or any other woman.

The United States is a country of many. Not just WASPS. And not just any other group so easily categorized. When people begin to think they can operate our government, our country, and our lives according to a belief system that, in reality, not many share and is contested hotly among the factions of Christianity, people are alienated. Unfortunately in this country those who are alienated, women and minorities, are those who need their basic rights the most. To me it is so clear, that it is hard to put into words.

Our country can not be run under a theocracy. God can not be used as an excuse to elect someone over another (just as race and sex have no place in the current political commentary). The right wing party has hijacked God and made religion to be a rally cry. But God does not support right or left wing candidates. And religion is a belief system that has no place in political rallies.It is devastating to me that God, my God, the Spirit I used to turn to in times of anguish and thanksgiving, the Spirit which I used to praise and humbly ask for help, has become a campaign tool. The spirit of God, the life of Jesus, a prophet to not only Christians but also Muslims, have been used and abused by these zealots who seek only to abuse their status or membership of a religion or denomination in order to further their own greed, power, and corruption. Their gall amazes me. The ease with which they speak of family, God, religion, and Christianity alongside ugly words like war and socialist while continuing to allow their supporters, and indeed members of their own party, to perpetuate racism and sexism not only reflect badly on their character, but makes me wonder if they were every buying into the “Jesus saves” crap at all. It has been said that actions speak louder than words. It is a trite phrase, but true. Do not let talk blind you from the actions of these people. Do not let your own beliefs determine what you believe is right for everyone. Do not turn religion into a marketing tool by allowing these sick examples of Christians to profit off of others fears and beliefs. Do not turn your back on millions who will suffer under this so called Democratic form or theocracy. It must be stopped.

"Find out just what people will quietly submit to, and you have found out the exact measure of injustice and wrong which will be imposed on them, and these will continue till they are resisted with either words or blows. The limits of tyrants are prescribed by the endurance of those whom they oppress." -- Frederick Douglass

On The Road

Wow....where to begin. First of all I am at a library in Amsterdam and it is sort of hard to type because the keyboard is a little different and  I am using a mac which is always kind of funky for a PC girl like myself. So I have been traveling for... 7 days now and it's been pretty fun.  Missing our train to Amstersm was a lowpoint, but we were able to get onto a later one without problems. Ok...Paris sucks ass. I have never felt more depressed than I did in Paris. If I wasn't almost getting scammed by gypsies I was fending off unwelcome (extremely unwelcome) advances from sleazy men who spoke little English and probably wanted to kill me. If I wasn't hearing homeless women begging for money on the street,  I was seeing homeless people so deep into their addictions that one man sat all day in his wheelchair in front of a grocery store drinking half pint after half pint of vodka. If I wasn't fearing for my life in my hotel, which ironically was named Hotel Perfect, I was walking past pimps on the world's biggest road full of sex shops, strip clubs, peep shows, and God knows what else. Needless to say I was glad to get out of there. City of Lights, my ass. And it looked so much nicer when Whitney and Lauren went there on The Hills.  Caen was cool. We were able to take a 5 hour tour of the landing beaches at Normandy. Because the beaches cover 60 miles, we weren't able to see them all, but we were able to see Juno (British) and Omaha (U.S.) and the U.S.  cemetery. Omaha was the bloodiest beach and we were able to walk down on the beach so I got some sand. It was also raining for a little bit before we got there so when we got on the beach there was a beautiful full rainbow over the Channel. Even though it was at high tide (the Allies landed at low tide) it was an amazing experience and one of those things I wanted to do before I died. Which is ironic considering the beach was the last thing that some young men saw. The cemetery was awe-inspiring and seeing almost 10,000 graves is so much more captivating and emotional than any book or movie about World War II can ever be. Though we could only stay at the cemetery for about 45 minutes I was able to see the chapel, and the memorial as well as walk among the graves. As I was walking I read each name I saw to myself so that those men (and boys) could be remembered by someone, even if just for a moment. It was a humbling experience to see the names of soldiers who died at 20 (my age) or younger and it made me more appreciative of the things I have in my life, especially because the things I have now, those guys never got to experience. Microwaves, computers, the Internet. I have so many things they would not have even imagined and I do things they will never get to do. All these men and women who served and died really wanted to see was the war come to an end so they could go home. I hope that someday that happens. I hope that someday the ideals that they fought and died for will come back to the U.S. Just the thought of it all is completely staggering. 

I found a Newsweek in Caen and was reading all the political crap. It makes me so tired sometimes. I just want to shake some people and say WAKE UP. Look around you, look at the world. People are talking about this election in London, Paris, everywhere. And now I am beginning to hope. My asbentee ballot is in the mail marked with Obama's name. The polls say Obama is ahead. They are posters of Obama in the London underground stations. I had hope before when George Bush was re-elected. But this is a different kind of hope. It's the hope of desperation. The hope that is so broken that the only way to verbalize it is to say "God, don't let it happen again." With less than two weeks left, I am still hoping. 

Well it's getting late and I am getting hungry. I have no money so I should probably find an ATM. I will blog later about specific events on this little vaca later. Tomorrow we have a sort of full day buying sex toys and weed so I'll blog again when I get back. Mackenzie and I have also been video blogging during our trip so those will be posted when I get home (London) as well. I would say goodbye in Dutch, but I don't know how to pronounce adlaaowersgyurtz.

Ashley and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Actually the title of the book is Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. An excellent book if I do say so myself and I do empathize with little Alexander. However, unlike Alexander, who wants to move to Australia, I am already thousands of miles from home. So I will have to come up with a better solution to my bad day. Actually, today isn't a bad day really. It's a revelation day. I have had a couple of these days in my life. Days when things really become clear and I can see things for what they really are. But today it was tough, because revelations aren't always happy. So today was not a happy revelation.

I hate stupid phrases. Like the ones that Daisy puts under the foil on their cartons of sour cream, but today I'm all for sappy phrases and I keep repeating this one in my head that I probably heard at some graduation or wedding or God knows what: "the only people you need in your life are the ones who need you in theirs." For some reason this is just ringing so true to me today.

I've said before that I do not have good friends, and that is pretty much true. I don't know if I just don't let people in or I have some personality flaw that completely turns people off, but I really do not have many good friends. Most of the people I associate with are friends and little more than aquaintances. Though I may share things with them, the things I say to them, conversations we have, I could pretty much have with anyone. No one really knows my past, besides my mom and my dad and some things about my past I can't speak of except to my mother. Some things I can't speak of except to myself. Sometimes I feel angry that I let my past affect me so much, but what has happened in my life has made me who I am today so I can't ignore my past. But sometimes it's just too painful to confront and it gets to be a heavy burden. My mother once asked me if there was any way I would ever be able to forgive my father and her for things that happened in my childhood. I said no. In some ways I feel like I shouldn't be allowed to be so upset about what happened when I was a kid. I had food, clothes, and shelter which is a lot more than what some children have. But I am entitled to feel. I used to allow people to make me feel bad for feeling the way I wanted to, but I don't allow that anymore. Anyway, when I was in therapy I looked at my actions and tried to determine why I did the things I do and discovered a lot of my personality traits, nuances, etc., etc. are based on previous experience. So I guess in a sense, if you don't know my past, you don't know me. But recently I've been trying to break out of this cycle of the past affecting my present to much. Physically, I can. Physically, I will never let myself be dependent on alcohol, I will never stay in a marriage where one partner only takes and another only gives, I will not associate myself with people who drink to excess just for the sake of drinking, I will not give up my dreams for anyone or anything. But it's tough to break this cycle mentally. I'm trying though.

That being said, I would say that I have one good friend, who knows just about everything about me and although unfortunately I only speak with her about once every one or two months and see here even less, our friendship is strong enough to survive us going to school 5 hours apart. And I love her for that. But just because I don't have good friends, that doesn't mean I don't value the friendships I do have, because my friends are important to me, they keep me sane and assure me that I am not alone even when I feel the most lonely. I always thought that the reason I didn't have friends was because I wasn't social enough or like I said before, I just put off bad vibes. But maybe that is just who I am. Maybe the saying is true. Maybe enough people just don't need me in their lives.

I have this need for approval sometimes. It's not necessarily any tangible approval either. I just want to know that someone, somewhere is getting what I am saying or doing. Most of the time I get that from my friends, people who (for the most part) are on the same page as me. But I also have a fear of not meeting that approval. A fear that nobody, nowhere will get what I am saying or doing. I think that is why I hide a lot of my feelings from people. Why I don't tell my friends what I am truly thinking or feeling. Some of my friends just don't really care how I am feeling, which is ok. Not everyone has the same type of personality as me and not everyone has the ability to care about others' feelings more so than their own. It sucks sometimes, but I deal with it, or at least try to. I get afraid that if I tell people how I am feeling I will be called "immature" or "highschoolish," which is how one friend referred to me. But I can't worry about that anymore. I can't not be the way I am because someone thinks I should be another way. I tried that. It doesn't work.

I had to write this super ridiculous statement, to be submitted to my International Studies director, about living in London and what I have learned. It was mostly cheese whiz and I made it as sappy as I could, but I did tell the truth about one thing. London has changed me as a person. I am more independent. And not independent in the sense that I am paying rent, buying a car, etc. Because I am not doing those things (although I did buy my own toilet paper for the first time). Living here has made me more independent in that I do not need people who do not need me. I do not need people who don't care, take enough time, or do any of those things that makes someone worthy of being in my life. I can't wait around for people. I can't wait around for anything. I have to do what I have to do when I have to do it. I don't have to go to grad school at Dominican because I am too afraid to go somewhere on my own. I don't have to move to Peoria after graduation because I feel I would be out of my comfort zone anywhere else. I don't have to do anything simply because I have fear or because I do not think I will be able to make it. If I spend my whole life looking down, making sure I don't trip and fall on my face I will never be able to look up and see what's around me. I can't be scared to take chances anymore. And I can't fear change as something that will radically alter my life. I have to be who I am or else I'm nothing.

But this revelation comes with big responsibilites. It means that I have to make changes in my life, make decisions that might be hard to make. I have to re-think where I want to go to grad school, where I want to live, where I want to...everything. If I am no longer letting things hold me back, my life looks a lot different. And the people in it may change too. It's hard to realize that people in my life may not necessarily want to be there. That maybe they just got pulled in for one reason or another and now I won't let go of them. It's a tough realization, but this weekend has made that more clear, I think. Though this day hasn't been great, really the past two days haven't been great, I think in the long run it's just one of those things....I'm not sure what I'm going to do next, where my next move will be. But in some ways that only adds to the chaotic beauty of it all. I'm not worried about who I am or who I will be. That will work itself out.

But if I'm still eating Top Ramen when I'm 35. Then we've got problems.

God Bless America

This picture is exciting for three reasons: 1. French's Mustard 2. Michelob Ultra 3. French's Mustard and Michelob Ultra together. But before I can explain how this blessed event occurred, I must go back to the beginning.

I don't like one of my flatmates. She happens to be my roommate and I have to put up with her slobby, unkempt side of the room as well as listen to her talk about all the sex she has with strangers. She also comes home drunk, eats my cold leftover pasta out of the dish, puts it back in the refrigerator and doesn't tell me (I received pasta information from another flatmate). She is loud. Wastes enegery by never turning off lights. Turns up the television blaringly loud. Screams into her cell phone. Doesn't shower when she comes home from bars and makes our room smell like booze and cigarettes. Never keeps up with her homework and then bitches about not having enough time to get it done. Constantly talks about boys, their peens, and other relevant body parts. Complains about her body quite often. Calls other women "fucking bitches" with alarming frequency. And shows an all around lack of respect or concern for other human beings. That being said, I mostly completely ignore her ramblings and do my best to stay away from her at all costs. I also can't masturbate as often as I want because I now have a roommate, which obvs is hard for chronic masturbator like myself. But because I share a room with her it is hard to get up, get ready and not have to answer the inevitable question of "what are you doing today?" But for the past two days I have been lucky and been able to spend some days without her.

Which leads me to mustard, sort of. I have a love affair with mustard. And its tangy vinegary taste has been sadly lacking from my palate this past month in London and though I have searched high and low, mustard has yet to be found in London. Of course, London has some mustard. London has french mustard, which looks like baby poo and tastes like syrup. And they also have English mustard which was so hot, I wept while eating it. All I want is mustard. Wonderful yellowy mustardy sauce which is great on just about everything. And today I got it.

I went to Greenwich today to get some contacts, which included going to the Royal Observatory where I was able to "see" the Prime Meridian. It was really exciting...

After seeing the National Maritime Museum (snoozeville) and going to another art gallery we went to the Greenwich Market where I got Ethiopian cuisine from a street vendor and Habiscus juice (!). Then, after seeing the Old Royal Naval College and going down the the banks of the nasty smelly Thames, we (Jenna, Mackenzie, our adopted flatmate for the weekend Bethany, and I) went to back to the Greenwich Market, found some awesome vintage clothing stalls, talked to a vendor about Sarah Palin and Barack Obama, and went to a candy store where I spent about $8 on gummi sugary things and turkish delights. After all that you would have thought we would be pooped. But we weren't. Not by a long shot.

It all started on the Tube when Jenna, Mackenzie, and I were talking about burritos and Jenna and mine's shared love of Chipotle came up and as we were speaking of the hot and spicy goodness of a delicious burrito from the motherland we obvs had a craving for mexican. So we decided to go. The next day we were to make our attack. I found it hard to concentrate. All I wanted was that burrito and I bemoaned my need with several "burritos! uhhhh...burritos..." throughout the day. Until we came home and found the burrito place to be closed. At 2:30 in the afternoon.

So we planned an attack from another angle and tonight we made our move. After our fun in Greewich was over we took the Tube to Canary Wharf. Where we found it. Chili's. American grill food at Great Britain prices. Nothing could have made this moment better. But then I saw it. I could see it's bright yellow bottle twinkling in the distance. My heart skipped a beat. I pointed and exclaimed "Mustard!" as though I was a sailor at sea, the first one to spot land after a long and dangerous journey. And as I was lost in my euphoric state over the unexpected find of these golden treasure, I looked at the menu and saw that they served Michelob Ultra. My favorite beer in the U.S. I was overcome with emotion and immediately knew that I must have both. So I did. And it was delicious. And though I paid nearly $22 for my meal, it was worth it because everyone needs a little taste of home. The day was nearly perfect. Until we left the restaurant. We missed the bathrooms and almost lost Mackenzie as she attempted to climb up a down going escalator to get to use, but eventually we all made it back to the tube station. After going our separate ways (Mackenzie and I home and Jenna and Bethany to a movie) Mackenzie and I transferred at Moorgate and got onto the Circle Line. Only something wasn't right. And it took us a total of 4 stops to realize we were going the opposite direction on the line. Now, this would not necessarily be so problematic if the circle line going in the diretion in which we needed to go to get home wasn't delayed 20 minutes. And of course while waiting 20 minutes for the correct train we saw a man with a Puss in Boots hat (complete with the feather), a man with a rather large tongue ring licking his girlfriend's face, and a variety of other characters that combined to make our journey one mugging short of horrific. However, I can not really complain. Because I have been to the promised land. A land of bright red neon signs. A land where hot fajitas are brought to patrons tables still sizzling in their pans. And a land where mustard and michelob never leave eachother's side.

Thank you, Steve Perry. Thank you.

So I was listening to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" and I'm pretty sure I had a life changing moment. People are always asking me what I want to do, what am I going to do, how am I going to make a living...blah blah blah. And I always tell them that I am going to go to grad school in social work. But that isn't really an answer, it's just something I tell people to get them to shut up. Because the truth is, I don't know what I want to do. I have no motherfucking idea of what I am going to do, how I am going to do, and with whom or what I am going to do it. Jesus, my foot is falling asleep, I don't even know if I am going to be in the same bodily position in 5 minutes. And people expect me to know what I want to do for the rest of my life. Until I die. See the thing is, there are too many things. Too many things I want to do. I want to be a lawyer and work on civil rights cases. I want to be a social worker and work in the inner city developing communities or work as an adoption counselor helping kids find families who deserve them. I want to work for the state department, maybe work in a U.S. embassy or consulate somewhere. I want to work for the CIA condensing and typing massive intelligence reports. I want to live on a hippie commune and not eat refined sugar for a year. But here's the conundrum. In all of those statements I said that I wanted to "be" this and "be" that. But I already am somebody and something. Should not who I am reflect my choice of career? So who the fuck am I? I guess the question really is: to be or not to be? But fuck Shakespeare for a sec and honestly ask yourself if it is realistic for a 20 year old to know what he or she wants to do? There are so many opportunities and possibilites that it's completely overwhelming. I guess being in London and having so much to do in so little time coupled with the fact that I will be graduating in a year and half (!) has made me totally paranoid about my future. I've tried lots of things to remedy this problem. I have prayed, made a pro and con list, talked to my parents, talked to my friends, cried. But nothing seems to work and I really don't think Jesus cares where I go to grad school. So I am stuck. What do I do. Do I Robert Frost that shit or do I conform and just do what people expect of me? Go get certified as a teacher and spend the rest of my life helping third graders make pilgrim hats out of construction paper? Or teach smart ass junior high kids about the branches of government? I keep telling myself that Pocahontas went down the winding river and it took her on the right path (you know except for her dad trying to kill her boyfriend and then her dying at 21) and Elle Woods went to law school and she only had a degree in fashion. But these examples aren't comforting anymore. I have to grow up and decide for myself what I want to do. So I was listening to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" and I had a life changing moment. A revelation if you will. I realized there are no revelations. You do what you do and if you're wrong then suck it up and keep going. I can't waste my time waiting around for my parents, friends, or advisor to tell me what I should do. I have to go this one alone. It's not going to be easy, but I believe in God or something like her. Some Power of the Universe pulling the strings and tripping you up when you need it. I just need to open myself to the Power. Let it guide me where I should go. I can't waste time on regrets and the "what ifs" if I really want to change where my life is going. I'm sure Steve Perry has been right about many things in his life and although his belief that mullets are attractive was not one of those things, I think he spoke to my heart tonight. I can't stop believin' and you know what, I do have to hold on to that feeling. So thank you Steve Perry. Thank you for showing me the light. Although now. I kind of want to join the Red Sox too

What's the Story Morning Glory? How I almost saw Liam Gallagher jogging and other stories

So last blog was a little odd and revealed way more information that I intended, but I'm leaving it up anyway. So there. Ok so it's 1:15 a.m. My roommate is off doing whatever, or more likely whoever. And I have a shit load of stuff to do tomorrow, but I am determined to stay up and watch the Vice Presidential debates, which according to CNN.com, should be live streaming at 8 p.m. so by all accounts I should have a good 45 minute wait. I know I am screwing myself because of all the contacts I have to go to tomorrow, but fo shiz I can't wait to see Palin fall on her face. And if that actually happens while she's walking up to the podium I will piss my pants laughing. Actually I was reading an opinion piece in The Times today that was saying middle America would like Palin because she is at their level as far as political knowledge goes whereas Joe Biden is obvs way above the average American in terms of political know how and people are put off by that. I don't know if that's true, but for some reason I still think Sarah Palin is a complete moron and the fact that she calls herself a feminist because she believes in equal rights for women and she shoots animals and eats them is beyond insane. Oh and can I just dispute her feminism for a sec. Obviously feminism takes on different forms and right now there are debates concerning first and second wave feminism, but feminism is not just believing in equal rights for women, it is the fundamental belief that women are on the same basic human level as men and should be treated as such. Yet Palin believes women should not have the choice whether or not to have a baby. Men have that choice. Men leave single mothers everyday. But women should not be able to decide for themselves whether or not they should carry a fetus INSIDE THEIR OWN WOMB for nine months. No, that should be left up to the states. Wow. Sarah Palin. You're feminist views are so progressive. Being pro-life isn't against womens' rights. Wanting the government to take on your own personal decision based on your own personal faith in God, a diety not everyone subscribes to, and in doing so denying women fundamental reproductive rights is against womens' rights and dangerous for everyone. Anywho enough about that massive pile of idiocy. This blog isn't meant to be about her. This blog is supposed to be about how I almost saw Liam Gallagher. Jogging. Believe me, it's true. Just ask the paparazzo.

It was super cold today and my nose was running, that really has nothing to do with anything just an FYI, and the group and I were taking a walking tour of Hampstead. Along the way we sort of saw Dame Judi Dench's London home, we saw Russell Crowe's house, and other houses where other famous (mostly dead) people lived. So we are travelling along and as we are turning into the street where D.H. Lawrence used to live (obvs he's dead) we all see a guy with a big camera, you know the ones that can see Paris Hilton's cooch from miles away. And our tour guide asked him if we were blocking his way and he says," No, you just missed Liam Gallagher." WHAT!? We were shocked and excited and pissed all at the same time. Apparently he was on his morning jog. According to the paparazzo, who was a total creepster, he jogs every morning about that time for about half an hour. Unfortunately, our tour guide said we could not stay to see him come round again. Boo. I'm sure Liam (I think this almost encounter qualifies us to be on a first name basis) would have loved to see his many fans.

Ok some men in suits are telling people in the audience for the debate to turn off their cell phones and telling them when to clap. Oooohh this is so exciting. Back to business for a bit.

I have been in London for a month already. Two months left. I really am getting sad about leaving, but for reals it's stupid to worry about leaving and not enjoy the time that I have left so I am going to shut the fuck up about that. So these are the things I am excited about. I am super stoked about my trip with Mackenzie, obviously excited to see the beaches at Normandy and where Anne Frank wrote her diary among the many other things to do in France, Amsterdam, and Brussels. Although I am not exactly sure what there is to do in Brussels so scratch that. Fuck Brussels. I am also excited about going to Liverpool for a couple days with Carter to see everything Beatles. And I also want to go to Limerick (go Frank McCourt!), but am not keen on traveling by myself so we'll see how it works out. And these are the things I am bummed about. I am kind of bummed that my roommate is such a slutty slut bag, I mean a lovely young woman who has made different life choices than I have, and feels the need to share the gory details. I am bummed that I am no longer associating with an obnoxious ass who is on the trip with me and it makes group outings uncomfortable. I am also bummed that we have so many contacts due in such a little amount of time. And I'm bummed that I don't really have any good friends. It seems like everyone I know is little more than an aquaintance. But all in all the goods outweigh the bads and I'm having a pretty good time.

So there it is. Good times. Almost time for live debate. Some lady just introduced the moderator. I want to live blog the debate, but I also want to put it full screen on my computer. What to do. I'll figure something out. Goodnight Liam, wherever you are.

Ugh...people and stuff.

This blog isn't really going to be wittyor about anything in particular because I'm in a weird mood. I just got back from my study tour on Monday, which was pretty fun and included York, Edinburgh, Glasgow, and the Lake District. Edinburgh was fun: I found an internet cafe and tried haggis and the Lake District was beautiful, but now it's back to the grind in London. I didn't do anything today, it was nice to be home with no people. I called my mom and just puttered around laundering and picking up shit that people leave all over, which of course no one noticed I did. I have a feeling my pet peeve about clutter and dishes in the sink will lead people to take advantage of me, but it was geting to be between me doing it and it not getting done. But whatevs, it's not really that big of a deal. I should have done contacts today, but I'm thinking I'll go out Sunday, which is usually my free day and hit some museums, because I haven't seen enough of those already. I am going to be happy when I get to be in my own room at Dominican. I think roommates need to mesh well and I have already had roommate that I didn't mesh with at all and it pretty much sucked. So seeing this situation evolve into the same type of relationship makes me kind of pissed. But some things aren't my scene. Bars aren't my scene. One night stands aren't my scene. Bringing guys I just met back home to my flat and hooking up with me after he orginially went home with one of my friends isn't my scene. I think London is making me more independent. But I think people mistake independence for anti-social behavior. I don't like to be alone all the time, I like to be around people and I like to have friends, even though I have few friends and no true close friends, I still like to be around people. But I think the independence I am gaining here is good for me. Finding my way on my own is good for me. Being comfortable being on my own is good for me. I have been wondering lately whether or not I should be concerned with the way my personality is panning out. This summer I was very anti-social and the one social occassion I did venture into turned sour after I realized I have nothing in common with most of the peope with whom I went to high school, and in my opinion, they are so informed it borders on stupidity. But high school is over. I am an adult, both politically and hopefully emotionally, so I should act like an adult. The concept of adulthood is difficult for me to grasp because many the people my age who revel in the rites of passage into true adulthood (21st birthday etc.) are some of the most loathsome people I know. Speaking of drinking, since I have been in London, the act of drinking to excess has become even more unappealing to me. Maybe it's because of my childhood and the problem my dad had with alcoholism during that time, but right now I find drinking to excess one of the most unattrative things anyone could ever do, and it seems like in this city I can not get away from it. And it seems to get less funny the more time I spend here. Almost stepping in vomit on the sidewalk once was funny. Not so much the second, third, fourth, and fifth times. But this is something that I have to deal with. The "typical" 21-year-old drinks a lot and I guess I just have to get used to it, especially in this city. Back to the meshing. It's hard for me to not mesh with people because I feel like I am pretty easy-going and easy to get along with, but I am finding out (and have been told by people) that that is not the case, that maybe it's just me. Maybe I come across as something that put people off. Maybe I'm too opiniated or loud or unattractive. But what can I do? I am who I am because that's what my experiences have made me become. It's hard to explain to people, it's hard for me to say some thing out loud. I'm so sorry for being who I am, what a terrible thing to be.

I'm sorry I'm cheap. I grew up blue-collar middle class, living pay check to pay check. College is expensive, so is grad school and I have students loans I will eventually have to pay off. I learned to be cheap.

I'm sorry I do not want to go out and get drunk. There was at time when I thought that was a cool thing to do, but I grew up with an alcoholic father, believing his drinking was the result of some sort of character flaw of mine. I will always have a bad relationship with alcohol. And I will always fear too much of it. I learned not to drink too much. And I learned to not trust people use alcohol irresponsibly.

I'm sorry I'm loud. I like laughing and I like being heard when it's appropriate. If you don't like that tell me to shut up or go away.

I'm sorry I am blunt. I don't believe many things are taboo and I don't mind having intelligent conversations about things that make other people feel uncomfortable. There were a lot of secrets in my house when I was growing up and it was hard for me to deal with those when they came to light. I learned to be blunt.

I'm sorry that I do things my own way. If I don't fit into any sort of category then it is through no fault of my own. I used to be obsessed with what people thought of me. Now I have grown and couldn't really give a shit.

I'm sorry I'm a woman with strong views on women's issues. I'm sorry you feel threatened by that. I can debate maturely or I can argue immaturely. Either way I believe in my convictions and I will do whatever it takes to make them heard. If you do not want to discuss something with me because you are afraid that I will start "ranting," then you are a coward.

I'm sorry I'm a 20-year-old virgin and you find that puzzling. I don't need to explain anything to you about my sex life. It's not your business.

I'm sorry I wear jeans and t-shirts and don't buy shoulderbags. My life must be completely lacking. Forgive me for interrupting your bubble of high class style with my utter lack of fashion sense. Fashion is not an interest of mine. And I'm cheap. I might as well be dead.

I'm sorry I grew up in a small town and do not know as much as the almighty ones who grew up in the suburbs or the city. I must be totally missing out and the fact that I pronounce "milk" differently from you must mean that I grew up in the middle of nowhere.

I'm sorry I do not have as much money as you do. Sometimes, that's just the way things pan out. I wish I had more money, but what's point in hoping for something you will never get.

I'm sorry you can't relate to me because I am so different from you. Nothing you do or say will change the fact that we are different. But who's the norm. You or me?

I can't make people like me if they don't. And I can't change myself and pretend to be something else to make people like me. This isn't 6th grade. And I don't want to be concerned with whether or not people know who I really am or "get" me. Because I'm not changing either way.

So far London has been good even though one of the girls left the program earlier this week. I don't know why, but it's sad, whatever the reason, that she can't stay and have this awesome experience. I don't miss much about home, even though people keep telling me that I will have this horrible homesickness. I miss some T.V. and I miss some food, but that candy is a lot better here so that's good. On a happier note, Kings of Leon have a new album Only By The Night which is brilliant and which I happen to be listening to right now. Unfortunately, I can't sync my i-pod with my laptop so I can only listen to the record on here, but it's still pretty amazing. Right now I amd debating on whether or not I should post this blog because I usually don't get this personal. I know I write a lot of personal things on here, but I rarely talk about my childhood and the situation with my dad, mainly because I am literally unable to speak of it and have difficulty even typing it. Although I know very very few people read this, I still find it hard to put myself out that. Maybe I do hide myself from people after all.

There's No Crying in Politics

I was reading an editorial in the Sunday Times in which a California-born U.S. citizen, raised and still living in London, wrote of what a ridiculous choice Sarah Palin is for the Vice President of the U.S. and I couldn't help but cry. In the past four years, since George Bush was re-elected, I have cried a lot over U.S. politics and the state of the U.S. I cried angry tears when I found out that George Bush had been re-elected and I, at 16 years old, could do nothing about it. And I cried sad tears when I realized that young men and women my age were being sent to Iraq and some would not come home. I cried frustrated tears when I heard young republicans speak of the need for Roe V. Wade to be overturned. I cried tears of disbelief when I heard that some Republicans were circulating pins displaying the phrase "if Obama wins, can we still call the White House white?" And I cried happy tears when I learned Barack Obama secured the Democratic presidential nomination.

I could list grievances I have with the current Bush regime and I could list potential grievances I will have with a McCain regime. But those have already been said before by too many people. For me, politics is more than facts and figures, it's more than electoral votes and campaign slogans. Because, for me, the fundamental views on society and economy and minority issues expressed within politics are so deeply ingrained in my psyhce, in my soul, that I can not separate politics from my life. Many of the things about my personality that affect my politics have been taught to me. I am not racist because my parents raised me to believe that skin color or ethnic background has nothing to do with a person's moral and intellectual character. This is why I am opposed to racism in any form and my politics reflect this. I am not homophobic because my parents raised me to believe that sexuality is not a choice and no one should be disrepsected for an inherent characteristic. And although I do not necessarily believe that sexuality is something we are born with, this is why I am opposed to homophobia and the denial of basic civil rights to gays and lesbians and my politics reflect this. I come from immigrants. My parents taught me that everyone deserves a fair shot and to always help someone out when they are down. This is why I support amnesty for illegal aliens and support more legal immigration to the United States and my politics reflect this. I come from a farming family. My parents have taught me that the soil has not only grown food, but also my family's way of life. This is why I support farmers and blue-collar workers and my politics reflect this. I grew up middle-class, living pay check to pay check. My parents raised me to believe that people must work hard to get what they deserve. And they taught me that sometimes people who work the hardest, don't get anything in return. This is why I support labor unions and am against the privatization of healthcare and my politics reflect this. I am a member of a military family. My parents taught me that war is something to be avoided at all costs. This is why I am against the war in Iraq and my politics reflect this. As a young woman the power of my body is awe inspiring. I can sustain life within me and my parents raised me to believe that this is an important aspect of my life and the decisions I make as a woman. This is why I am vehemently pro-choice and my politics reflect this. My politics are more than who I mark on a ballot. It is who I am. It is where I grew up. It is my personality and I can not, will not, apologize for that. To anyone. Ever.

This isn't a Democrat vs. Republican issue, not really. But it has been made that way through the political machine that is the United States. And so I choose a side. One that reflects my way of life and therefore my politics. I am reborn a Democrat. Before this was just a label. Not to me. It is who I am. But I used to be neutral when it comes to relationships with others who had opposite viewpoints concerning my politics. But my politics are no longer abstract. My politics are me.

And I can't be neutral anymore. I can't stand so strongly for something and be o.k with those who completely oppose my views. Because the fact is, I blame them. I blame every person who voted for George Bush in 2004 for the state of the U.S. today. The men and women who have died in Iraq, the Iraqi civilians, those poor innocent children who have died on the streets. All of their blood is on the hands of those who marked that fateful box in 2004. I can not accept this. I can not associate with those who do not believe in the fundamental things that I believe in. I can not be friends, date, have any sort of relationship with anyone who is so against what I feel so deeply in my soul is right. It is impossible. It's not mean. It's not direspectful. It's something I have to do. I have to do it for me. And I have to do it for all those who have been hurt by what our country has done under the Bush regime. I can not stand for something or someone who has supported so much violence and terror in the name of "freedom." It's unethical. It's hypocrisy. It's disgusting.

I do not know if I would call myself a Christian as I believe that Jesus of Nazareth can be a number of things to a number of people. And I can not say for certain that I believe in one omnipresent God. But I do believe that each person has the basic capability to be good. To make wise decisions. To treat others with respect. To love. To hate. And to see through a facade of lies, hypocrisy, revenge, sexism, racism, and greed that so permeates the current political situation in the U.S. Jerry Rubin once said that "politics is how you live your live, not whom you support or whom you vote for." Though I believe this to be true, I still believe that whom you support or whom you vote for reflects how you live your life.

I am only one person. And I am young. And I could go to protests and I could go to local meetings of other like-minded Democrats who share my views. And I could send letters to my congressmen about issues I am concerned about. And I could stand on the corner and pass out leaflets, tell everyone I know about my views. Or I could cry. And I could pray. Cry out in anguish and hope to whatever God or force of Nature that will listen, that I will not return to a country, my country that I want to desperately to succeed, under the tyranny of the Right.

Ok. I Had A Pint. Can I Get Back to the Museum Now: A bitching blog

Ok. First of all. I went to see a ballet of Dorian Gray and it was amazing. Gay sex in general is cool, but gay ballet sex...way awesome. After the ballet I went with my flatmates and another girl on the trip to a pub and we each had a pint (expect Mackenzie). Since I'm a total lame American who doesn't really drink, I ended up having an original Budweiser, that comes from the Czech Republic. Not...wherever the fuck they make Budweiser in the U.S. I went after my roommate in my flat had been sort of pestering me to go out with her for a while so I thought I should be a little social and go have a drink. To be honest with you. It wasn't that exciting. I have drunk beer before. I know that I just turned 20 and I'm not legal in the U.S. and that the drinking age in the U.K. is 18 so I am legal here. But that doesn't mean I all of the sudden have this deep urge to go out to pubs or clubs or whatevs. That's just not my scene. I'm kind of sick of everyone saying that I or Mackenzie should go out and have fun in pubs or clubs just because we are in London.

Guess what! There are bars in the U.S.

Guess what! They sell Guiness right in the heart of Illinois.

Guess what! In Chicago they don't have the museum of London, boat tours on the River Thames, old Roman walls to see, the tower of London, the Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, the University of London, the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Royal Observeratory, Kensal Green Cemetery, Trafalgar Square, Hyde Park, Dickens' House, the London Aquarium, Albert Hall, Cabinet war rooms, the Florence Nightingale Museum, and the National Gallery and a ton of other places completely unique to London and Great Britain as a whole.

Oh and do you want to know how much that pint cost me. Over £3. Yes, that's right almost $6. I'm not saying that's a horrible deal, considering there was no cover charge. But I am saying that £3 can also help me get into museums, go on walking tours, go on the Tower of London experience, take another double decker bus tour, EAT for Christ's sake. I'm not going to feel bad about going out for a drink, having one pint, and coming home. Because I shouldn't feel bad about doing that.

I know I am 20. I know I'm young. But that doesn't mean I have to fall into some categorical stereotype that involves drinking or going out and hooking up with random people just because I am in a new city. If anything, that should discourage me from taking part in potentially risky or dangerous situations such as drinking too much and walking home after dark. I might sound like a prude or I might sound totally lame, but that's ok with me. When I go home to Henry IL (pop. 2600) I won't remember not going to a pub and getting wasted. I will remember not going to a museum or seeing a statue or just sitting in the park for the afternoon. I only have three months here and it's going to go by fast. I'm not judging people for going out and having fun, if that is their idea of fun. It's just not for me right now. I'm not saying I won't ever go out. I'm just saying... My friends in the U.S. were telling me I should go out and have a good time, meaning going to pubs and drinking. But I have fun in a lot of different ways besides that. I don't want to sound like a D.A.R.E. officer or some PSA, but seriously crack is whack.

London is such an amazing city for history. Not only because of all the museums, etc. but because history is all around. It's different from the U.S. in that the visible history goes back to the Roman times and the different stages of development can be seen through architecture, language, literature and so much more.

But the United States has a rich history too. And the United States has a HUGE impact on the world that can not be ignored. I don't understand it. It seems like there are so many undergrads studying humanities yet the people coming up the ranks of secondary education are so ignorant about the basic social sciences and humanities. I don't know if it is the result of lack of resources, good teachers, or just a lack of interest. But, as a U.S. History/American studies major, it's unsettling.

When we were taking a walking tour of London today, I heard some people behind me talking about U.S. History. They were basically saying that U.S. history sucks because we don't have all of the "cool" historical things that Great Britain, and really, the rest of the world has to offer. They were also saying that history was "boring" in the United States. I'm assuming because our nation is less than 250 years old. Obviously, it made me sad to hear citizens of the U.S. say things about our country, but it also offended me as a U.S. history major. I did not say anything to them then, but I wish that I would have asked them specifically what they thought was boring about U.S. history. It is because the U.S. does not have Roman artifacts lying throughout U.S. cities? It is because we don't have all the written records of history that Great Britian has to offer, therefore making it harder to piece together an idea of life in another time? I really could not understand it. Yes, I know the U.S. is young. But it's not fair to judge the United States history with that of another country that has been inhabited for thousands of years. A comparison just can not be made.

Though a comparison can not be made, it is a fact that the United States has a rich cultural history before Europeans even set foot on the continent. Only recently has Native American studies become a valid and respected academic field. And perhaps, if it weren't for the U.S. government's systematic, deliberate, and often times violent destruction of Native American life, we would know more about these awesome tribal people. Though it does set us back that the Native American people left no written records and it majorly sucks that their cultural traditions and ways of life were nearly wiped out by missionaries and other kinds of cultural terrorists, the Native American tribes and federations still hold infinite possiblities for further culture studies into the origins of the United States as they not only built socities around certain spiritual and societal beliefs, but they also used the landscape of an unblemished North America as well as the bountiful resources the earth provided for them to create working harmonious societies that people have been trying to replicate for years.

But beyond the Native Americans, the United States has contributed so much to the world. I'm not going to turn this into a history lesson, but especially within the last century, the United Staets has proved to be a driving force behind many economic and political happenings on an international scale as well as building up a capitalist society. And whether or not you agree with U.S. politics or capitalism, the U.S. is an impressive country, not matter what its age in years.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that, as far as history goes the United States should not have to compete with any country and lose for not being old enough, or interesting enough, or historical enough. Every place, every country has something to offer. London is new and exciting and all we can really do at this point is to compare it to our reference point which is the United States. But it is very disheartening to hear that young Americans feel like our country's history is worthless because it does not touch them on the same scale that another country's history does. History doesn't just come to you, sometimes you have to go looking for it. You could be in London for years and never see a museum or see an ancient Roman wall or do anything of that sort. Just like people can live their entire lives in the United States and never know it's rich history. It's all in perspective. I was disappointed to hear people say disparaging things about the U.S., especially as Americans representing our country overseas. But if I got heated over every ignorant comment I heard by an American, Sarah Palin would probably make me explode.

The Tube, T.V. and gynecological issues...

I always like to start off my blogs with a little bit of sunshine. But there isn't really any sunshine in London right now, so I'll have to begin with this sort of yeastyish infection that I may be developing. I have only had one yeast infection in my life and it wasn't even that bad, it just went away with the cream, and I didn't have to use those horrible "vaginal suppositories." Seriously if I could make a list of phrases that I would never want to hear or see on a cardboard box again, it would be that one. Anywho, I am not completely sure what's up, but I am hoping that it will go away on its own. Personally, I'm blaming it on dehydration. So I'm drinking lots of water and peeing more often which is good. I just really don't want to go to a British doctor. The thought of a suave handsome young British gentlemen telling me to scoot down, put my feet in the stirrups, and saying "just let your legs fall open, love" is too horrifying to contemplate any longer than I already have.

I'm not particularly religious because I believe I have spent too much time on that tripe already in my short life. But I do believe in forces of nature working for or against people. Today I was one of those people. Mackenzie and I did our best to ditch the group after we toured Westminster Abbey and were going to take the tube back to our flat and maybe go to a Quaker meeting (for a contact and for Mackenzie's personal journey of faith or whatever). But it was not to be. We did not know what train to get on so we waited for a while and left on the disrict line which would have connected to the circle line which we needed to get on. Unfortunately, the circle line was suspended between a large number of stops so we were forced to get on another line Hammersmith, unfortunately that was closed to. So after a few aboveground walking stints, some false starts, and some totally indiscreet map viewing we found our way to the metropolitan line which eventually took us to our stop. Actually, whilst typing this, it does not seem like such an big undertaking, but for someone who has been in London for 4 days, it was quite an experience. Everyone is telling me I will have to adjust and that I will eventually "ride the rollercoaster" of emotion that comes with moving and adjusting to a different country. Right now I miss two things: can openers and television. It seems that with everything I have done the hardest, by far, has been to open a can of Irish stew. Unfortunately, the can opener in our flat (albeit one that we were provided with) does not work though we have all tried to use it in various and creative ways. And so far the only inkling of homesickness I have felt in this journey has been when I could not open that FUCKING STUPID CAN OF IRISH STEW. And I guess I was also a little angry at the fact that I could not open the can. For a second, maybe I thought "the Irish can keep their fecking stew, I'm going back to Chicago to get a real can opener." But I'm still here and the Irish stew is still in the can. This could be a result or faulty kitchen utensil or it could be the result of my total incompetence in the realm of cooking. But I prefer to see it as God, or maybe Pamela Anderson, telling me to not eat mutton.

One thing that I have noticed is that I have no sense of time or date. I don't have a watch and I just recently got my cell phone and I suppose I am still a little jet-lagged, but for some reason I can not get a hold of the time and date. I think it's because of television. At home, I watch a lot of T.V. I pencil television into my schedule. I plan my days around my favorite programs. Of course, here the programs are different. Of course they have a lot of American television, too much in some cases, but the basic shows at the basic time that I watch them are not on in Great Britain. And it's totally fucking with my mind. Army Wives wasn't on last night so I have no sense of time after 9 p.m. And what about Intervention or The Hills? If people weren't addicted to crystal meth and Lauren wasn't feuding with Heidi, Monday would just be a blur. And what about the new shows I will miss. The Real World/Road Rules challenges, the new season of E.R.? Am I just supposed to stop caring about them? Leave them behind while I go pursue other interests like, oh I don't know, seeing some of the greatest historical sights in the world? I suppose I have no other choice. Sure, I can watch some shows on-line and really, The Hills isn't rocket science, it's not even reality. But it still makes me think. If I can't get through a week without television show to keep me on track. If I can't make it without feeling that tingly suspense right before a new episode of one of my favorite shows begins. Will I come back to the U.S. a changed person? Will I somehow become more of a person of substance? Or will I just become more of a chronic masturbator. I guess only time and the good Lord will tell.

London Called. It wants its screaming children and inappropriately breastfeeding mothers back.

Well the title of my blog pretty much sums up the 7 hour and 50 minute flight to London, so I'll just skip the gory details. So I'm blogging from my flat in London. I wish I could say that I was out, drinking a pint on my 20th birthday and already creating an all around life of debauchery, but instead two of my flatmates and I are gathered around our small kitchen table (which happens to be in the living room) devouring the somewhat brief episode of free wireless by sitting around doing "work" on our laptops and telling of our scary gynecological episodes. We just finished grocery shopping and stored away all our goods in our respective cabinets. For my part, I did my best to buy the cheapest foods, one of them being a canned Irish stew. Interesting. I don't want to get into the boring details of my trip so far because basically the only places I have gone have been from Heathrow to our neighborhood in London, a pizza place, and a small grocery store. But all in all, there really doesn't seem to be that much difference between London and a typical U.S. city. Students studying abroad and tourists are so common here that people don't even really notice what sort of accent you have and certainly don't care enough to ask random strangers where they are from. Not much seems to be different. Even the television is the same. You can't imagine how disappointed my flatmate, Mackenzie, and I were when we turned on the telly to get a little British progamming and ended up with Ricki Lake and Friends. Although finally we watched some authentic British reporting on BBC News...all about John McCain's VP pick. Tomorrow we have a free day which will be spent exploring the tube and the bus systems. Perhaps new and exciting differences will present themselves then. But for now, London is just the U.S. with an accent.

Longview

It’s always a little unnerving when a Green Day song, one about sitting at home doing nothing and being an all around loser, pretty much sums up your life. But oh well. I have been dealing with an intense and crippling case of laziness the past few weeks. It seems as if I'm not half-assing it at work, I'm at home sapped of all energy to the point where I can't even bother getting out of my pajamas to make a Dairy Queen run. I have been attributing my new found attitude to the fact that I am so stressed, I have ceased to care and that fact that I actually have been working long days lately. But I think I've managed to hit a new low. The other night I was laying in bed watching something (it's all a blur to me now) and I decided since I was bored and in bed and slightly relaxed, the best course of action would be to masturbate. Some people only masturbate, oh I don't know, when they're horny. I do it for entertainment purposes. Welcome to my life. Anywho. It's dark and I have my little lamp on casting a soft glow around the room. I turn slightly to my side, so as not to disturb the cover cacoon keeping me warm, and see that there is a huge pile of books blocking the drawer to my beside table where I keep my vibrator. In order to get my vibrator out of it's little cubby, I would have to climb out of bed, move the 8+ books away from the drawer, fish out the vibrator, close the drawer and rearrange books as not to trip when getting out of bed again. Sure, it might have taken all of 45 seconds. Sure I would have to travel approximately one square foot to accomplish my task. But I couldn't. And as I silently said "fuck it" and turned over to go to sleep, I had a revelation. I was just too lazy to masturbate. I was too lazy. To masturbate. Aside from the fact that I have never been to...anything to masturbate, I was completely shocked. Is this what my life has become? Am I at the tender age of 19 becoming so inept at making good use of my time and being active that I could no longer perform even the simplest and, let's face it, habitual tasks? Needless to say I was surprised at myself. You know, there is this line in the Green Day song "Longview" in which Billie Joe sings "When masturbation's lost its fun/You're fucking lazy." Personally, I never thought I would identify with lyrics from an album entitled Dookie, but I guess there is a first time for everything.

I'm going to get a tad personal...

Ok to start off with, I am totally shocked that John Edwards cheated on his wife. For some reason, I thought that he would be better than that. He and his wife seemed so together and loving, but there are many reasons men and women stray besides being in an unhappy marriage. I was totally bummed about the whole thing. Plus his wife is super awesome. Well I said I was going to get a tad personal but no, I'm not going to post another blog about my vagina. I think two is enough for right now. Although I may do a little update after I get my totally unneccesary but doctor mandated pap smear in the next couple weeks. Ok so as some of you, and by some of you I mean Mackenzie, the only person that reads this blog, know I will be studying abroad in London for the fall semester. I leave in 20 days! And as much as I am freaking out about my paper for El Salvador, finishing my book research for my London tutorial, finishing the last book on my London reading list, and researching for my oral report on York, I am still nervous about not knowing what to expect. And I'm kind of sick of people telling me how different it's going to be in London. Um....DUH. It's in an entirely different country. I know that it's pretty typically American to think that everywhere in the world is just like us, but since I'm not the typical American, it's starting to get on my nerves. Plus, the director of the London program has been really awesome about giving us all info on certain important differences in speech, mannerisms, etc. so I am doing the best to educate myself.

Since I am a complete worry wart and have been since I was a child (seriously, when I was 4 I ended up in the emergency room with a bad stomach ache. Turns out I almost gave myself an ulcer), I have been totally stressing about leaving. Right now, I'm too young to be worried about my safety or anything like that and I'm not so much nervous about actually living in London because it seems like a pretty traveler friendly city, but I am worried about how people will perceive me in London and other places I will be travelling for that matter. I don't want to be perceived as something I am not. Based totally on a political regime that I wasn't even old enough to vote for or against, in the first place.

So for some odd reason, the program director keeps telling us to brush up on the electoral college. Well first of all, I took 8th grade so I know how the electoral college works. And second of all, I honestly don't think random people are going to come up to me and ask me to explain the ins and outs of the "democratic" process in the United States. And if they do, they are making a big mistake, because once I start talking about how shitty America is, I'll never stop. But the fact remains, that Sr. Marci (aforementioned program director) still thought we should be prepared. Which scares me. Well obvs, I am an American History and American Studies double major so I think it's safe to say, I do know more about the U.S. than the average American, but I don't want to have to go around defending who I am to everyone who hears me speak with an American accent.

But before I start my rant, I mean carefully thought out intelligent post, can I just take a minute to discuss the word "American." I fucking hate it. First of all, it basically says nothing. When someone says they are American, they could mean they are from any country within North America, South America, Central America. In fact, some people in South American and Central American countries get offended when people from the United States refer to themselves as "American" like they own the term. So I don't like to refer to myself as American. Yes, I live in North America, but so do Canadians and Mexicans. When I am in London, I would like to refer to myself as something other than American, but I am having difficulty figuring out what to call myself. In Spanish, a new phrase is making its way into usage which I think is totally awesome. In spanish, the United States is translated as "los estados unidos". Therefore a person from the United States is "estadounidense." A Unitedstatesian. How cool is that? I think we definitely need to bring that word into usage in the U.S.

I know The United States sucks balls right now. I know that the Bush administration has most likely been the worst administration in the history of the United States. Personally, I don't believe that George Bush is evil. I know some people do and that some people have compared him to Hilter, etc. But I don't believe that. When greed, complete ignorance, and the hunger for power combine this is what you get. One of the things I think will be most interesting about going to London will be seeing how people from a different part of the world react to the United States, especially during an election year. From the news, I can imagine what people think of the United States. War. A huge national defecit. Unemployment. Foreclosures. Unaffordable healthcare. The threat of civil rights being taken away. Complete lack of respect for other cultures. Spencer and Heidi. The list could go on and on. And honestly, I would agree that all those things on the list do pretty much sum up the United States right now. But it still makes me uneasy to think that people will be judging me personally, someone they don't know, on something my country's government has done. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but I think considering the way in which many people view the United States, my paranoia is not completely invalid.

Yesterday I ordered a tote bag that I decided would be nice to carry crap in around London. Plus I thought it was cute. It says "everybody loves an Obama supporter." For some reason I feel the need to let everyone know I am a Democrat, or at the very least not a supporter of the Bush regime. Yeah, it's cutesy and kind of stupid, but the fear that people will judge me based on the country in which I grew up in makes me want to actively work against the stereotypes about people in the United States. But to be honest with you, I'm not even sure what those stereotypes are. I know the stereotypes that Unitedstatesians have against other Unitedstatesians. But I'm not totally sure what people outside this country think of Americans. When I went to El Salvador, people said they disagreed with our government and its policies (who have totally royally screwed the people of El Salvador), but said they did not have problems with the Unitedstatesians how have attempted to help the Salvadorans during the country's civil war and since the Peace Accords. I have read that people in Britain, find people from the U.S. a little over-friendly and too eager to talk to strangers, which I can totally see, particularly since I have a big mouth. But I haven't heard anything about what they think of the people of the United States. I have read about the Iraq war protests and the protests centering around visits from George Bush etc. But that happens in the United States as well.

So that's my dilemma. I don't know what to expect. I think it would be so fucking rad if I could have open conversations with random people about the U.S., its government policies, Unitedstatesians, etc. But I don't know if I will get the chance if people are going to judge me the minute I open my mouth. And as much as I disagree with so many things going on in this country today and can be harsh in my criticisms, I still feel the need to defend it. For what it once was and what I still think it can be.

Speaking of London, I'll still be blogging from across the pond. I'm not sure if I want to blog totally or just journal old school. I'm still trying to decide. But considering the only person that reads this blog will be in London with me, I am thinking I might do a combination of both. In any case, this will probably the last time I blog before I leave. On a side note, I'm turning 20 on August 29th. I was born at 3:33 p.m. so in U.S. time I will already be in London when I turn the big 2-0. I wish that you could request a cake and make the flight attendants sing to you like they do at Fridays.

Feminine Decorum from AOL Television

No real info here, this just fucking pisses me off. I posted an earlier blog about how AOL.com's health section inadequately covered a could-be serious conversation about women's health and body issues by using the phrase "muffin top" and refusing to even post the word "vagina" using instead the usual 5th grade slang. And of all the magazines, television shows, etc. telling women how to dress, how to act, how to speak, and how to in essence be themselves, the Internet has been the worst culprit. But this is ridiculous. In AOL Television under a post concerning "The Latest TV Gossip," the AOL gods that be had this to say about a recent conversation Whoopi Goldberg had on The View

"According to Perez Hilton, Whoopi Goldberg admitted on 'The View' that she's had "about 50 lovers" in her lifetime. Now we know why she called her company One Ho Productions."

Is that supposed to be funny? This ho ain't laughing.

Wait...did I just agree with Elisabeth Hasselbeck and Sherri Shepard?

Ok so this is sort of old news, but I am watching Dog the Bounty Hunter and you know how that gets the intellectual juices flowing. So Dog, real name Duane Chapman, got his show cancelled after his son leaked a voicemail message to the National Enquirer in which Dog called his son's girlfriend a "nigger." It was somewhat rambling and ironic considering he explicity stating he didn't want the tape leaked, but the bottom line was he used a racial slur to refer to a black woman. Anywho, hullabaloo ensued and after a tearful appearance on Larry King and some ass-kissing to Rev. Al Sharpton Dog is back on A&E. And I like the show. I like that they are white trash and so proud of it. I also love that Dog's wife Beth is a strong woman with HUGE Dolly Parton tits, that you can tell are totes real. But what I find to be really interesting is the fact that the first two new episodes of the program show Dog being overly friendly with black people. I know this isn't really strange, but over the past two seasons I have been watching there really haven't been that many black people on the show. Since Da Kine bail bonds, Dog's business, is based out of Hawaii, the only people of color usually shown are native Hawaiins and Somoans. What is strange is how the show seems to be blatantly trying to "prove" that Dog is not racist. In one episode he actually says to a black woman, whose son he is trying to find, "different color, same heart." I guess it is valid that A&E are actively try to show how tolerant Dog is, but it always seems strange to me when people need to "prove" that they aren't racist. I mean, shouldn't you just not be racist?

Which brings me to The View. Oh yes, The View. I don't really watch The View anymore since Rosie O'Donnell left although I am increasingly becoming aware of how awesome Whoopi Goldberg is (anyone who makes Elisabeth cry is awesome in my book). So a couple weeks back the ladies, including Babwa that day, decided to talk about the N-word. In the course of the conversation Whoopi claimed that black people calling eachother "nigger" or "nigga" was a way of taking back the word and using it for good instead of it's negative connotations and Sherri agreed. Which made Elisabeth fighting mad and eventually made her break down in tears because she believes that word she never be used, ever by anyone because of it's connotations. And to be honest, I agreed with both of them.
This is what Webster's Dictionary says Nigger means:
Function: noun
Etymology: alteration of earlier neger, from Middle French negre, from Spanish or Portuguese negro, from negro black, from Latin niger
Date: 1786
1: usually offensive; see usage paragraph below : a black person
2: usually offensive; see usage paragraph below : a member of any dark-skinned race
3: a member of a socially disadvantaged class of persons "it's time for somebody to lead all of America's niggers…all the people who feel left out of the political process" — Ron Dellums.

So there you go, in any case, it is a word that is considered offensive. But it is a word. I believe in the power of words, I believe words matter a great deal. But in this case, I can see both sides of the issue. As a person who believes words matter and as a person that staunchly defends free speech, I agree that anyone and everyone theoretically should be able to use the word "nigger." It's your right to use it if you want, in what way you want. It's the law. However, as someone who can empathize with those who have been called a "nigger" based solely on their race or have racial slurs hurled at them for any number of reasons and one who has studied, albeit in a limited way, racism in America, I also understand how people can be incredibly offended by its usage in any way by anyone.

I can't remember when I first heard the word. My parents don't use it, but my dad's father did. I don't know if I would necessarily consider by grandfather a "racist" for using the word as it was in common usage when he was growing up, nor do I consider my other grandfather racist when he refers to black people as "negroes." I have bi-racial cousins from many different races, including African American, and I have never once felt that they were different in any way based on the color of their skin. But even though I can't remember when I first heard the word, I can tell you that it offends me.

The word "nigger" offends me because all racial slurs offend me, and I don't really care who says them. I stiill find it offensive. I believe that using words such as racial slurs denote a certain ignorance of those using them and in general, they make me uncomfortable. I don't believe that at this time, racial slurs are being used to develop better race relations in this country. It's just what I believe. But many people find words offensive and I don't believe that others finding words offensive should make them any less important or usable. For example, one of my friends doesn't curse. She just doesn't. She feels that she can express herself without profanity. She just doesn't use those words. And if she told me that my usage of profanity offended her I would try to tone it down when I was speaking with her. We're different people, with different personalities and with different ways of expressing ourselves. And I would like to say it's as simple as that. But I think we all know it isn't.

This is where it becomes a double-edged word because as much as the word "nigger" offends me, I don't necessarily think that should stop others from using them. If someone wants to use words in a certain way, who am I to tell them to stop? But this also has a contradiction, in that if people are using words in a way meant to perpetuate racism or further the ideology of unequal race relations in this country, don't I, as someone whose moral and ethical background forbids this type behavior, have a duty to stand up for what I believe in and stand up for those who are still being discriminated against today? It's a tough question for me, because as much as I believe in freedom of speech and as much as I hate censorship. I can't be right with people using words against others. And the whole subject of race, makes it that much harder.

This is what confuses me.
I can say this: No one, not anyone of any race, should be able to say the word "nigger" because of it's negative connotations. Besides slavery, besides segregation, besides all of that. Bottom line, "nigger" is a slang term and it is a racial slur. Racial slurs aren't nice and I dont' agree with them. Period.
I can also say this: Everyone should be allowed to say the word "nigger" because it is only through common usage that the word will shed its negative connotations and open up a bigger forum for people of all ethnic backgrounds to discuss race relations and perhaps make the negative usage of this world obsolete
Or I can say this: Only black people should be able to say the word "nigger" because they are black and "nigger" is a slang term for black person. They can say the word as a means to take back this bit of language and make it into a positive.

If I say number one, I'm not being fair. I can't tell someone what and what they can not say in their own home. If I say number two, I'm saying that it is ok for people to use the word, even if it means they are using it in a hateful matter. And if I say number three, I am effectively saying that one racial group can "own" a word, which is a little absurd to me. Plus, I am not at all convinced that just because black people are black, they use the words in a positive sense.

So a white person calls someone a "nigger" and black person calls someone a "nigger." They both mean the same thing. They both mean no harm or ill will towards said someone. Yet it is different. It's different because one person is white and one person is black.

Richard Pryor was from Peoria, which is near where I live. He was hilarious and his ability to laugh at himself made him even funnier. But he cursed. And he used racial slurs a lot. But he wasn't selective on the racial slur front. I was once watching a comedy central special early one morning and it was an older Richard Pryor set. He used the word "honky" to refer to a white person. Everyone laughed in the audience, even the white people. While I didn't necessarily think it was uproariously funny, I was a little confused. If white people can laugh at a black person using a racial slur towards them, then why is it not ok for a white person to laugh at a black person using a racial slur towards black people. After all, it is comedy. This is a common occurrence in comedy. Dave Chappelle told Oprah that he walked away from his hugely successful sketch comedy show, The Chappelle Show, after he made a joke using the word "nigger" and a white person in the audience laughed a little too loud. There seems to be a double standard. It is guilt? It's been statistically proven that racism is not just ideological in this country, it's is political and economical. And it's not just about black people. No, in the United States of America, institutionalized racism has effectively shut out Native Americans, African Americans, Hispanic Americans, Asian Americans, and just about every other person you could categorize as "non-white." Do I as a middle-middle class white American feel guilt? Is that the reason I can not speak the dreaded N word aloud? Do somehow I feel that because, statistically, I will have a better life than most people of color, simply because I am white, I need to prove my tolerance and acceptance by specifically avoiding any words that could be misconstrued as racist? I don't know the answer to that.

So this is the conundrum that I never wanted to be in. Am I an Elisabeth. Or am I a Sherri? To be honest, I don't know. But I do know, I would never use the word to refer to a black perosn or any other person for that matter. I do know that if I ever raised children, I would never teach them to use the word in any form. I do know that the word is viewed many different ways by many different people and no one person can have the definitive answer to it's moral and ethical question.