On being a pro...

...blogger, that is.

No, I'm not actually a professional blogger. But I'm currently taking this class in internet journalism that's making me realize what it might be like were I actually getting paid (and therefore had the time) to blog. For this class, we're expected (among a slew of other things and programs and projects) to create and maintain a blog with a team of four people. And we are each expected to post at least three times a week. Yes, I know that means if I were to blog here for credit, I would fail miserably. But that means there are at least two posts a day... I think that's a little insane. Perhaps because I think of blogging as a personal thing and the idea of a blogging team in general is rather foreign to me, but I think two updates A DAY is a little much. It's an awful lot of content. Aside: We're also required to use wordpress, which I must admit does seem more powerful than Blogger, but it's also a hell of a lot more intimidating.

But ironically enough, I think, were I being paid to blog regularly, I certainly could. I've been slacking off particularly here as of late as the semester has picked up, but were my blogging a higher priority, I could pull it off. Maybe then I'd get some fun perks. Like more recognition, or hits, or other awesome things. another aside: does anyone know how I can add a hit counter to this blog?

Like meeting fellow bloggers. Oh, wait! That happened this weekend!

After a cozy five hour bus ride (which I slept through almost all of) to the City, I had the distinct pleasure of being picked up by Roland Hulme. hmm... that sounds a little strange out of context... What I mean is, he met me at the station. I told him I'd be wearing my white peacoat featured in past HNTs, and of course I knew from his blog what he looked like, so we exchanged numbers and set out. There was a little shuffling about as we played the i-think-that's-the-person-i'm-meeting game, but following the eye-to-eye acknowledgement and smile, greeted one another with a hug. Roland took me on a whirlwind tour of his office, a beautiful building in Manhattan, the stuff that young jschool students like myself only dream about, and then it was swiftly off to an Irish pub for some live music.

I should say that I'm not used to being around men who act so gentlemanly. (Yes, I know that's not a word.) Doors were held for me, luggage was carried, drinks were paid for - in short, he spoiled me rotten! I think Roland I got along exceedingly well, and moved past the awkward i-only-sort-of-know-you phase quite quickly. As he acknowledged, it's very strange to technically know so much about someone (he, and all of you, have seen me half-nekkid more than once, that's for sure) and simultaneously know so little (my real name, where I go to school, or even what color my eyes are). But just as I suspected we might, we got along well, quickly acting like old friends. He was indeed charming and fabulously quirky, as I was expecting. He was also, however, warm and welcoming, and I instantly felt comfortable around him - that's something that doesn't happen often for me and so I was all the more appreciative of it.

I do think I rose a few suspicions as to WHY I was at this pub with Roland. Several of his friends and coworkers were there, and while they were quite pleasant (and apparently a few were sad to see me leave), there were a couple who leaned in close and asked me without much subtlety, "So, how DO you two know each other?" I doubt anyone meant anything by it, and I actually thought it was quite funny. Not helped by Roland and my's fumbling around the answer - versions of the truth that attempted to maintain both our privacies - well, we read one another's blogs. What do we blog about? Oh, you know. Just life in general. *cue not-so-discreet subject change*

Overall, it was, without a doubt, the best welcome to the City I've had. I only wish I'd had more time to spend chatting and getting to know one another. Although I have no doubt that will happen in the future. As Roland said, we're no longer just blogosphere friends, we're friends in the realosphere.

We've got a lot of maybes to muddle through...

I just wrote some giant block of text blathering on about all sorts of bullshit that isn't even marginally related to this blog. I need to keep things reined in. So I suppose I'll do a brief update. I'm still almost too excited to function about my trip to the City this weekend. I'm not even going to enumerate my plans, because I don't want to jinx them. So in other sexuality news:

Bear and I seem to be fine. Back to flirting, talking, interacting like we always have. I'm impressed. I wasn't entirely sure that he'd be comfortable/capable of just letting the sex be just that and nothing particularly more. Of course, we talked about it, like grownups. That might have had some influence. He teased me about leaving him this weekend for the City. And really, I should have invited him, but I need this time away from everyone at school, for my own mental health. I'm rather different when I'm away from all these people and the stresses of school. I'm not sure he'd really recognize me. Maybe someday I'll work him up to it.

As of late, both Essin' Em and Roland Hulme have written about cohabitation. Both, more or less (forgive me for the reductive summary) advocating away from the societal tendency to jump into an apartment with a significant other. In general, I agree with that. I've never even come close to living with a significant other. But, on the other hand, I know for a fact that I HATE living alone. Even when my roommates are gone for a weekend and I'm left home alone, I get antsy, bored, and depressed. I can't decide if this makes me codependent, but I think it probably does. I should concede that while I hate being alone, I absolutely have to have my own space. I could never share a one bedroom apartment with a roommate where we had nowhere to have our own private spaces. Actually, that was part of the problem in Spain, and why I tended to stay with friends so often. But what I'm wondering, in light of Em and Roland's articles: Does this need to be around people make me more likely to jump into a cohabitative situation preemptively? I'd like to say no. I'd like to say that I'm a smart girl and I'd give it some serious thought before I'd move into a shared space, certainly with a significant other (or two).

At the same time, my desire to live with someone has meant in the past that I've ended up with some more than shady roommates. Serious criminal activity has been involved, on one ocassion. So I get worried sometimes that I might not have the foresight to see that I'm getting myself in over my head. I don't really have an answer... Perhaps Em or Roland can offer their opinions... How do those of us who admittedly need to live with people avoid ruining our relationships by doing so? I know cohabitiation is of course an individual choice and preference, and must be taken on a case-by-case basis... I suppose more than anything, I'm just offering another viewpoint. Which is different for me, because I often find myself agreeing with these two.


I leave you with my latest favorite song by my still favorite artist. I'm hoping I'll be interviewing him this weekend, also. I have to figure out how to get into his concert, first. His name is Jay Brannan. And if you haven't heard of him yet, you should. Enjoy.

a girl like that

It's been a long weekend.

Today, there was an article on the front page of the LA Times about my cousin who was murdered. It was well-written, though I wish they had quoted more sources, to get an idea about just how many people she touched. But there are some beautiful photos of her. And there are photos of the corner where she was murdered. I hadn't seen those yet. They aren't crime scene photos or anything of the like, but being able to visualize exactly where she was killed... that was harder than I imagined it would be.

Yesterday was the campus memorial for my classmate who committed suicide while we were in Spain together. Again, hard to see photos of her, hear people speak of her, see frat boys in tears and know she isn't there to comfort them. Or any of us.

And the day before that, I fucked my best friend here at school. We'll call him Bear, for a nickname I call him. Usually, that wouldn't be such a big deal, but he and I have a different friendship than many of my others. For one, he wanted to save himself for marriage. He and I hooked up about a year ago - a night of kissing, nudity and some oral sex, but no intercourse - and he got a little weird after that. We joke about it sometimes. Then, while I was in Spain, he had sex with some girl. He knew her from before, but it was a rather spontaneous decision and, to quote him, he "just wanted to get it over with." He called me immediately after. International long-distance, on his cell phone. He didn't know how to process it. He said he didn't really enjoy it, and couldn't see what all the fuss was about. He said he now felt he could actually wait til marriage, and that sex just didn't matter.

Then, on Thursday, he came back to my apartment, as he often does when we go out drinking. (He's an RA and although he's 23, of course doesn't want his residents to see him drunk.) We climbed into my bed, like we usually do. And started kissing. Which is unusual for us. We weren't shit-faced drunk, and actually talked about it, first. And decided we were going to have sex. (Apparently, in his mind, the only thing making him wait at all was that he wasn't sure if I had any condoms.) And then we did. We got home at 2am, and went to bed at 730 in the morning. The sex itself was good. He liked when I took charge, which isn't something I usually do, but this time it felt right. And then he'd be in charge. You should see my neck - he leaves DARK marks. They're STILL black. And all over my neck, and my tits, and there are even a few bruises on my arms from his hands. I wasn't expecting that from him. In my mind, he was essentially a virgin - and in my experience, virgins aren't often so... forceful.

I know this isn't as graphic as I sometimes am. I think it's because I'm not totally comfortable with what happened yet. Well, not exactly with what happened, but more with what that means. We had the Talk today. He apologized for springing it on me when I was dealing with other things, but I knew it needed to happen. We talked through what we were feeling: He's hung up on the fact that he thinks he would actually like to date me, but his family (and he) has a problem with him dating a white girl, and he knows I'm bad at relationships, and we're both moving away in four months. And I'm not sure why things feel so different with him. I still don't want a boyfriend, but I have trouble being able to file him in the friends-with-benefits, or even lovers -who-I-love, file that people like Jacob and Friend fit so perfectly into. Things are more complicated with Bear.

So I still don't know what to do. For now, I'm listening to a lot of music. And still thinking about Kirsten, because I can't escape it. And it makes everything else seem less important. I called my parents today. My dad is funding a trip to the City next week and weekend so I can see my friends there, one of whom also knew Kirsten. I need to be away from school for a little bit. Be away from everything, be somewhere I feel fabulous. That means the City, for me. Or home. But the City is MUCH easier to get to. So I'll be heading there this Thursday. Hopefully when I come back, my head will be clear.

As my iTunes was on shuffle today, I stumbled upon this song, which I don't listen to much. But as soon as I heard it, I had to replay it four times, until I had all the words memorized. It seems to describe me so perfectly. There may be another post about my conversation with Bear, and about his honest questions as to why I believe I'm always the problem in every one of my relationships. It breaks my heart a little when he's so... naive, I guess. I just don't want to hurt him, too.





But I AM a girl like that.