Simple Joys and Christmastime

Today I went to a second-hand clothing shop in Cambridge called The Garment District. I bought 11.6 pounds of clothing for $11.60. I bought three more shirts for around $9 bucks each (they were deemed too nice to go into the dollar-a-pound pile) and also, a hat. I love a good hat. And I love a good bargain. Some of the clothes are, well- understandably discarded by others. But I can make them into something cool, I think. I think almost anything can look cool. It's all about the confidence of the person wearing it.

It rained today: it should've snowed. But even without the snow, tomorrow is still Christmas Eve, and I'm glad. I've discovered something about being home that I never used to know. Since college is in New York and the only time I'm ever home is during school break, it's become a lot more enjoyable of a place. The only things I associate home with anymore are hanging out with people I love, sleeping late in my old bed, playing with my dog: just relaxing. It's really lovely. I like being home so much more now than I ever did in high school. I like it a lot.

I drank a lot of coffee today, far too much- I can't really have caffeine anymore since it does terrible things to my body, but I'm indulging because it's the holidays. Currently I'm in my favorite pajamas (my favorite pajamas always consist partially of worn, faded, over-sized t-shirts.) They're not sexy pajamas, my friend pointed out to me. She said she could picture me, married someday, writing, wearing my skirts all day and then getting home to my cold apartment and climbing in bed with my laptop and my oversized t-shirts and my glasses next to my husband...She can picture my whole life very well. Apartments and the city in the winter and simple joys, takeout meals and candlelight and cheap living all around. Book-reading and throw rugs and things that are broken and things that are recycled and creative and homemade and a lot of making do. I think it sounds like an okay picture.

I'm sitting in my bed, surrounded my my secondhand clothes, watching Bridget Jones' Diary, which is a fairly terrible movie, except I love Renee Zellweger and I love Hugh Grant and I love Colin Firth, and I love Jane Austen remakes too, even crappy ones. And anyway, BJD is one of those crappy movies that I love to indulge myself in once in a while. I'm watching it and eating homemade fudge: one of the perks of having a mother whose a 2nd grade teacher: at Christmastime she gets lots of presents from the kids, and one of those presents is always, inevitably, fudge.

I'm also listening, while I write this, to my winter playlist. Right now it consists of Feist's new album, "Metals", particularly the songs "Graveyard" and "How Come You Never Go There". It also consists of Greg Hansard and Marketa Irglova's song "Falling Slowly", The Civil Wars' song, "Poison and Wine", Lana Del Rey's song, "Video Games", Kate Nash's song, "Nicest Thing", Snow Patrol's song, "Set Fire to the Third Bar"...and well, a lot of other music I'm not going to list right now. But it's beautiful stuff, and it's perfect for the mood I'm in right now. (It's not all depressing, I only listed the sadder songs, because they're what I'm listening to now. They seemed fitting.)

I wrote a long post about tattoos and things, and I'm sorry I didn't post it last week like I said I would. It needs editing and such, but I'm off to watch the rest of the movie now, and eat more fudge, and enjoy my new clothes, and enjoy the rest of my evening. I'll post it in the near future, but until then, Merry Christmas to you all. Take baths while you're home, listen to "Metals", light candles, gaze at your Christmas tree, go into the city at night, try to ice skate if you get a chance, wear scarves and hats and mittens, see old friends, hold hands, sleep late, and drink coffee. Let your souls be brightened, because it is that time of year. I wish you all peace and happiness, if only for this holiday. Tis the season.

Meanwhile, if you're desperate for some good reading and this blog has once again let you down, maybe this will satisfy you till I get some better stuff posted up: http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/one-sentence-love-story/. I certainly enjoyed it.

With Apologies to the People Who Expect Quality Posts on a Regular Basis

It's early Sunday morning, which means technically I missed updating this week. But you'll have to forgive me, it's been a terribly, terribly busy week. I've been doing lots of things and every possible moment of free time has been spent, well, napping. Deep, all-consuming, really restful kind of naps.

The kind of naps it takes a while to recover from. So that's my excuse, pure and simple. Also this weekend, a friend from Mass actually came and visited me, which is really insane, and cool. She goes to RIT, and she's friends with one of my friend's girlfriends. I think it's pretty crazy that I can go to school eight hours away from home, in the middle of nowhere, and meet up with a friend, who just happened to befriend the girlfriend of a guy I just happened to befriend. I love when life works that way.

Anyway she came and visited, for just about 24 hours, which was nice, just to see her and catch up, so far away from home.

Um um um, that's not what this post was supposed to be about though. I don't have a whole post's worth of thoughts regarding my friend's visit.

Let's compromise okay? This isn't a cop out, I promise, but it is the Christmas season, and it's also finals week, so you've got to cut me some slack and let me just post a list of my top ten Christmas movies ever. That way you can go out and watch them while I study my butt off (who am I kidding, I think I've studied my butt off maybe once in my whole life) and then we can reunite next week, when I've flown back home to good old Massachusetts, and I catch my breath, and I have something interesting and worthwhile to write about again.

...

Who am I kidding? I am the most indecisive person ever and as a result of that I don't that I've ever been able to successfully make a top ten list. So just go, go on, put in A Muppet Christmas Carol and drink egg nog while you set up your tree and think of me being hungry and wanting to put my head through a wall for the next five days.

Until we meet again my friends.

The Top Ten Ways To Turn Off Your Man (Are BS)

I came up with a post topic! (Stave off the tears, I'll keep it brief.)

I want to address, just shortly, the problem I have with certain kinds of articles and/or ads that I have been seeing a lot of on the internet lately.

I'm sure you've been exposed to it too: you go to your Yahoo! home page and the first article that catches your eye is something with a headline akin to, "Top Ten Ways Women Turn Off Guys" or "Ten Things You Want to Avoid Doing In a Relationship". I could give you endless variations, but the gist is the same. There are a million different articles out there trying to tell women what we're doing wrong in relationships, why guys dump us, or don't want to be with us, all the ways we're turning them off and scaring them off and basically just screwing ourselves over.

I find it a little bit offensive, and more than a little bit sad, especially considering the fact that I know there are women out there who read these articles, and more than that, believe the things they tell them.

I know when I was young and desperate, I used to fall prey to that sort of thing. I'd click some article, certain it was going to give me all the secrets to why that relationship didn't work out the way I wanted, why that guy dumped me, what I was doing wrong. Each article gives different, often contradictory advice: you're coming on too strong, you're not coming on strong enough, you don't pay enough attention to him, you give him too much of your attention, you need to be less needy, you need to act like you need him more...the list goes on and on and on. I've read some that have said women are too family-oriented, they are not good enough "home-makers", they spend too much time with their friends, they nag, they don't communicate, they're possessive, they don't attempt (enough) to be attractive, and they are even too religious. All these things and more seem to be the reason that us girls are getting the shaft left and right these days.

Honestly, I think it's all a load of crap. Almost every one of these articles I've read, whether coming straight out and saying it or doing so in a more roundabout manner, encourages "mind games". They don't want you to be yourself or let the guy you're interested in know what you're really thinking. They want you to play "hard to get" but not too hard to get: they want you to hide all your quirks and craziness and shave your legs every single day. Act like you want kids and a family someday, because if you don't he's going to think you're a cold, heartless vixen with whom he could never settle down, but don't talk about the family or a future too soon or he'll go running for the hills.

Basically, suppress everything about yourself, and you should be fine.

It's disturbing to me, it really is, that women feel they have to play these games to lure a man in and finally get him to marry her. I'm not down with that guys. I don't believe in playing games like I did when I was younger. Those games, they always left me just as alone and empty as before.

Basically, I think 18-year-old comedian Shelby Fero* might have said it best in a brilliant little blog post entitled: Go ahead and look desperate.

Obviously this is not me trying to tell you to run up to the guy you have a crush on and tell him you want to marry him. I don't think that'd really be very advisable.

But stop playing games, Girls. And stop wondering what's wrong with you, when guys don't call you back, or ask you for a second date, or break up with you when you thought it was going splendidly. It's not you. It just didn't work out this time, and that's okay. Let's face it: the majority of your relationships won't. You only really need one that will. So please, stop reading these articles and basing your behavior off the things these idiots have to tell you. If you have to win your guy through games and mindplay, is he really the man you want to be married to for the rest of your life?

Maybe I don't really know what I'm talking about, maybe I'll be single forever, never married, never even engaged, but you know what? That's okay with me. I think I'm secure enough in myself to know that it's okay to just be myself with a guy and if he's worth my time, if he actually matters, he'll stick around anyway.

That's just what I think about it.

*If you haven't checked out Shelby Fero yet, do it. Now. Go. Do it. Look through her tumblr archives, look her up on Twitter, read her articles on Cracked.com...(I'm pretty sure she's written for other places too, but I'll let her do her own further promoting...) Just check her out. You won't regret it.

**I realize at the top I said I'd keep it brief. Well I didn't really. But if you're reading this, then I guess you plowed on through anyway. Thanks for that.

The Deal

It seems that, unintentionally, I've begun doing weekly blog posts. I just want you to know now, how sorry I am. I really never meant to do this to you, I never meant to subject you to the inner workings of my mind on a regular, weekly basis. It was so much nicer for everyone, I know, back during the summer when I only posted once, maybe twice a month. Or how about the past year, when I didn't even have a blog at all, after I deleted my first one (I DID have a blog before this, believe it or not, but thank God, nobody has access to it anymore, not even me.) So anyhow, I'm sorry, but I just can't help myself. I've come to the conclusion, this week in particular, that it's just too exhausting to be me, to have to hear the incessant thoughts going on in my own head all the time. I honestly can't stand it. So I need somewhere to unleash it all, and I think that my friends, as much as they love and adore me, kind of want to punch me in the face...

So here I am, blogging my thoughts instead.

I have nothing further to say here, maybe I'll come up with something in the near future (your screams of protest are noted). I just wanted to let you know what the deal was gonna be from now on.

Once again, my deepest, sincerest apologies.

Mainers

My relatives from Maine are a strange assembly of people. I could do a really long, detailed post about it and analyze exactly how growing up with this bunch of characters affected my father and how that, in turn, affected me. Not gonna do it though. I just want to give you a brief rundown of my family right now:

Conrad: My father. Average-sized man. Full head of hair. White goatee. Tells bad jokes. Drinks coffee with three creams and three sugars. Quotes a lot of Bible verses. Doesn't understand almost any pop culture references, even a little bit.

Tammy: My father's sister. Redneck Ellen DeGeneres.

Roland: Second son. Construction worker. Kills deer, and moose, sometimes. He fell off a roof last February and his left eye still looks smaller to me, like the swelling never went down. Gruff.

Rick: Born Ricky. Legally changed to Jonah. Hairdresser turned banker. Loves his iPhone more than any person should. Flamboyant. Lives in two bedroom apartment with one ex-boyfriend, one fat chihuaha and...well I don't really know what else.

Steve: Unemployed. Divorcing. Beet-red face, from being outside all the time. Beer and cigarettes. Misses his kids. Loves my little white dog. Lives with my Nanna now. Crier.

These are my father and his siblings. They all grew up with an alcoholic lobsterman father and a mother who was probably too young. Now, they are all so very very different from each other. They all live in Maine, except my father, who got religion and went to Gordon College in Massachusetts, became a youth pastor and married the assistant youth leader.

Seeing them all in the same room together is very odd. They get along well enough. My dad is just talkative; he will talk to anybody. Uncle Rick is that gay man we all know: hysterical, probably should use a filter more often. Aunt Tammy makes everyone laugh. Uncle Roland never cracks a smile: he's got that deadpan sense of humor that's kind of scary till you're used to it. Uncle Steve teases everyone, like a child, maybe because he doesn't know how to be a grown up, maybe because it's easier not to take anything seriously. My Nanna bustles around trying to feed everyone and treats them as if they were still little kids, saying things in her backwoods Maine grammar, like, "You gettin' into trouble Connie?" to my father, or "If you wasn't so busy watching that foolish television, maybe your food would still be hot, Steven." They all laugh and joke and fool. To mask the pain, to mask how hard it is, for them all to get together and put aside their issues and their memories and their huge, gaping differences and get along.

I wish I had a conclusion to draw, or even one measly thought to offer up on all I've just written. I don't really. It's just, interesting that's all.

I Didn't Wash My Hair

I want to write tonight about home. Home is such an abstract concept and I don't even really think I understand it, or have the words to describe what I think it is.

I actually feel very conflicted about the concept of home right now. I've just returned to my little town in Massachusetts for the first time after leaving for New York three months ago. We drove in around nine o'clock last night. Everything was dark and sparkly, the lights were on and there were cars were on the road, lots of them actually. It felt nice to feel, I don't know, like I was in the world again. I love my college, but it's easy to feel like you're lost there sometimes. Or like the world is rushing on and leaving you behind. Maybe that's because I'm young. I think when I am old, I will like the feeling of being tucked away somewhere, untouched by the world as it goes faster and faster and faster, like the Tucks in Tuck Everlasting (a movie which, let me tell you, absolutely broke my thirteen-year-old heart the first time I saw it).

I looked at all the familiar road signs. The stretch of highway I'd seen before, my father's white beard and the driving glasses he's so proud of, the fast food restaurants in exactly the same location I'd left them. That ugly mustard-colored house that sits across the road from the complex we live in. The sight of my little dog in the headlights, because my mom was walking her to the mailboxes when we pulled up.

And then we got into my house and it was exactly the same but exactly different. The living room, so comfortably messy, as its been as long as I can remember. I went to my bedroom, and it was...empty. My nightstand was gone from my bed, and there were new fancy pillows on the sheets. I set down my laundry bag and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at my sister unhappily. "This feels wrong," I said to her. "This feels all wrong."

"It's the same old room," she said and settled right into her bed like she'd never left it for a second.

Today I saw friends. I went to my old high school, and saw how it had changed. I visited my old band teacher: this man was like a second father to me, I don't know that I would've survived high school without him. He sat at his desk and I told him not to judge me because I'd slept through my alarm and hadn't had the time to wash my hair that morning: he showed me pictures of his daughter, who is one now, and has teeth in her head and blue eyes like him. I hugged people, people I never used to hug. We were too familiar to hug, if that makes sense. But today, I hugged them all.

I watched my best friend step off a bus and walk toward a car, where his girlfriend and his best friends were waiting for him. His girlfriend couldn't contain herself, she flung the door open and climbed out of the backseat and toppled into his arms. It was really like those reunifications you think only happen in the movies. They were so happy to see each other. They stopped hugging and kissing finally and he gave me a big long hug. We never used to hug much, only one or two notable times in high school. It felt good, but strange.

"What's wrong?" he asked me when he pulled away.

"I didn't have time to wash my hair this morning," was all I could say.

We talked a bit, but it was freezing in the wind and every time he'd catch sight of Lindsey again, he'd grab her, pull her back to him, like he couldn't stand to be away from her another second.

We went to school then, and I saw my old best friend from forever. I don't really know what to call her now. Our relationship used to be too close and then too far, and then just confusing. We've had a lot of hurt and misunderstanding and that sort of thing between us: we've been through everything together, and I don't really know where that leaves us now. I don't know what to do with it now. It was good to see her, she didn't care that I hadn't showered. She hugged me and told me to save time for her before I left. I mean to.

I walked through the hallways of my old high school and remembered what it used to be like to go there. All the things that happened to me there. All the things that changed me there. I thanked God that I didn't have to go there anymore. It had changed, and I felt an intruder, but I didn't mind that. I don't want to be familiar there anymore.

Anyway. This is just a lot of recounting and I don't know exactly what the point is. I don't have much to say about it. I just, wanted to write it down I guess, maybe to figure out how I feel. I'm not sure. It's just all surreal. It's strange.

It's strange not to know where your home is anymore. I've lived in this little town in Massachusetts for my entire life. My family's never even moved houses, not once. Suddenly, I left, for three months, and moved to New York. And now I come back here and everything has changed. I miss being home. And by saying that I don't mean in Massachusetts and I don't mean in New York.

I guess, I mean, I miss that comfort. I miss being certain of my life, certain at all, of anything. I miss feeling like I knew where I was going. I miss feeling like I wasn't scared of where I'd end up. Growing up has many lovely aspects to it, that's for sure.

But I'm frightened too, I won't pretend.

The Quin Sisters and the Lesbian Culture

I have long been a fan of the Canadian twin sister musical duo Tegan & Sara. In fact, our history is more long and convoluted, more passionate and committed than that of most relationships I've had. It makes it so that writing a blog post about them is an overwhelming task, to say the least.

But I'm going to attempt it, mainly because I want to address a problem I have. A problem with the lesbians, actually. A problem with the lesbians stealing Tegan & Sara all for themselves.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe I should give you a little background history about my relationship with the Quin sisters. I was first introduced to the girls my sophomore year of high school. Fifteen years old. It was love, instantly. At the time, the name "Sarah" was a sort of inside joke among my close friends (we thought dumb things were funny then; we still kind of do), and so when my best friend stumbled across a youtube movie about a lesbian named Sara, he sent me a link:

The song, called "Creeping Out Sara" by NOFX, details, through the use of lewd lyrics and the employment of several derogatory lesbian stereotypes, lead singer Fat Mike's (fictionalized?) encounter backstage at a German music festival with Sara Quin. The situation proves an embarassing one for Fat Mike who (in my opinion) crudely attempts to hit on Sara before realizing just who he is speaking to and her lesbian identity.

While I could go on about the inanity of that particular satirical song, I won't (afterellen.com covered it pretty well for me, I think*), I can't hate entirely on what NOFX did, simply because, were it not for their idiocy, I may never have heard of Tegan & Sara myself. I find that an unlikely assertion, because I've been around the music world enough to feel like it's safe to say I would've found out about T&S eventually some other way. But I do think it's interesting to note that this right here is a real-life example of the mantra "any publicity is good publicity". Watching that stupid movie my sophomore year of high school ushered me into the world of Tegan & Sara, a world that would welcome me with open, alluring arms and never let me go. Seriously, T&S is like a drug to me, and no matter where I've been in my life, I haven't been able to get away from my intense love for these gay Candian girls.

But now I finally get to my point. Yes, we're talking about The L-Word (no, not love, and not the TV show either,) but the actual word. Lesbians. The lesbians have taken Tegan & Sara for themselves. And it's a problem.

This blog post is not and I repeat not meant to assert any sort of opinions or judgments on lesbians one way or the other. Gay culture is a hugely loaded topic and not one that I want to tackle at this time, for various personal reasons. The point at hand is the stigmas associated with listening to (and loving) T&S.

Now I'm someone who listens to a lot of different music, and a good deal of it is music more commonly associated with gay culture. What can I say? Lesbians have some good taste in music. So does it make me a lady-lover, because I love to listen to lady-lovers?

Absolutely not. But that doesn't mean it hasn't been challenging. Listening to Tegan & Sara, admitting they're my favorite band, has been something that has changed in meaning for me over the years. I have a problem with two of the reactions I've seen.

If you're a heterosexual and you love Tegan & Sara, the assumption is you must be closeted.

If you're a lesbian and you love Tegan & Sara, the assumption is that you're just fullfilling the lesbian stereotype and why don't you go find a new band, get a little bit original for a change, and not be just exactly like every other lesbian this side of the Atlantic.

Either way, you can't win.

It's frustrating to me, because Tegan & Sara's sexuality influences so much of their fan base. It either draws people in or pushes people away, and if you listen to them, that sends out a pretty definitive message about your sexuality in our culture's eyes.

What I want to know is why can't I just listen to Tegan & Sara because they make lovely music, because their lyrics speak to me in a profound way, and because I just like them? Why does it have to say something about me? Why does it have to mean that I'm either keeping a secret or subscribing to a cliche? Why can't it just be about what it is: music.

This may always be a losing battle. Tegan & Sara are pretty open about their sexuality and politically, they're very involved. I don't reprimand them for this; on the contrary, I appreciate their honesty. But it has made it so that they've developed a sort of cult-lesbian following, an ever-growing group of frighteningly obsessive she-stalkers. And it's a little unfortunate, that one can't listen to Tegan & Sara anymore (I've found) without incurring a million different judgments from different people, no matter whether you're gay or not.

I think it needs to be said that some of us just like T&S. We just think they're great, plain and simple, all sexual preferences aside. We may even just blow out the remaining $62 of our old bank account on a pre-order of their new tour DVD and included signed posters. Cause we may just really appreciate some good tunes and talented artists.

Can't we just leave it at that?

*http://www.afterellen.com/blog/stubbs/pop-punk-band-nofx-writes-a-song-about-creeping-out-tegan-and-sara

**On a side note, if you've never listened to Tegan & Sara before, look them up. They're one of those bands that's so very diverse, it's hard not to find something you can like about them. Or many things you can fall in love with about them.