100

I've had some issues since this is the 100th post--I mean, I was hoping I'd have something brilliant to post, but I don't have anything particularly brilliant, and I've let that stop me for entirely too long now. So!

I've been having these issues with [who I am] and [how that relates to JM]. Because.... He has issues with my short hair and being mistaken as a guy (and thusly, we look like a gay male couple).

"Girlfriend"

I feel myself freaking out again. It's the word "girlfriend" that does it to me, I think. I really don't know why! It's just a word! "Just" a word, huh.

"Boyfriend" bugs me, too. Lover, sweetheart, my boy, my man...

These just have...images associated with them, and I don't enjoy those images. "Girlfriends" have always been this decorative creature hanging about boys' necks who are very dependent and cute but not terribly self-sufficient. And I notice that I tend that way when I think of myself as a "girlfriend". I'll get over it eventually, but in the meanwhile, I just need to get away from becoming that.


Publicity

That's another thing we've got bugging us: publicity.

I have short hair. I look like a guy--I'd guess maybe 90% of people on the street who see me think I'm a guy without a second thought, and 5% think I'm a guy and bother with a second thought. Maaaybe 5% think I'm a girl. Maybe.

So when I'm in public with JM... well, in all honesty, we were only in public for maybe two days in total, but MAN what two days!

A few incidents happened on the bus: people giggling and pointing; an old man who was outright hostile to gays ("Are you gay? You're holding hands... Michael Jackson was gay... he died..."); general snickers and odd looks; a few turned-heads when we walked down the street (IN THE GAY VILLAGE, OF ALL PLACES, but there was an event going on, so maybe there were more "foreigners").

JM has expressed his discomfort at this. It bothers him. Moreso, it bothers him that it bothers him. He doesn't understand why it bothers him so much. He said to me that he wants to get to the level of comfort that he can say, "This is Charlie, I fucking love her and I don't give a shit what anyone thinks."
(dated 5 Jul 09)

Montreal

I went to Montreal this weekend. AB and I stayed in the gay village, there's this fantastic bed and breakfast in the heart of it all; gorgeous. (The only thing that might make it better: JM.)

We went to Unity, which is a huge gay nightclub--two levels indoors (or is it three) and a terrace-type bar/smoke pit on the roof. There were also a lot of men (AB wanted more girls, who could blame her). There were *also* a lot of gay male couples.


Charlie

I've mentioned before, I'm sure, but there's a part of me that's definitely, undeniably masculine, and I'm suspecting there may be part of me that's actually, well, male.

Aside: Coursemates

Two of the girl coursemates think it's so sad that, at the age of 20, I'm confused about who I am. I guess it is sad, but no sadder than anything else, I think. I just wanted to put this out there while it's on my mind, because one of those girls is not worth my time.

I remember when I first came to Kingston and JM and I would chat for hours and we were under the agreement that four months is a LONG time and whatever happens, well, happens. I remember thinking he ought to find a man while I'm gone, because a gay man could give him more pleasure than I could (well, even if I were physically with JM).

And I wonder... What if tomorrow I woke up and I had a penis? What if tomorrow I woke up and my body was male? What would change? Anything? ... Well. JM's already seen me naked, so I guess some things would change. Aside from freaking out and wanting to get medical attention and figure out wtf just happened, if I decided this was a gift from God and wanted to stay in that body... then what? Some things would be different (penetration for one thing) but I'd also be able to practice what I'd do to him, on myself.

Aside from sex, what would change? Image...


JM, again

He's such a sweetie. He's an intellectual--which is awesome!--and he's not shy/introverted--which is so rare, he's definitely a keeper--which balances my social shyness and awkwardness quite well. He has some traditional/classical views, he's chivalrous (he bought me a dozen red roses when I went Home to visit for a week), but he's very, very open and comfortable about his sexuality and can be very forward.


...post abandoned


post from 5 Jul 09
Dream

I had this dream last night, and I've had it at home, too.

I'm walking with a friend (AB last night, and someone else the other time) through downtown at night, and we're trying to find a place or go somewhere. We end up in a building, it's very tall with lots of glass windows, glass automatic doors and escalators. There's also a lot of security: cameras, sensors, that sort of thing, because it's got some classified stuff inside.

My friend asks something like, "Are we there yet?" or "Where is it?" so I take lead and start navigating through the escalators (we're usually going downward) and automatic doors, careful of the security. Suddenly, an alarm goes off, and I book it to the outside, ground level. The dream ends when I'm outdoors.


Interpretations?

I'm not sure! When I hear that alarm, I panic and just bolt. I've always thought it was my friend who accidentally set off the alarm and I just want to get away from him/her and any trouble. Were we not supposed to go through that building? I'm not sure! Maybe.

I'm actually really not sure.


...post abandoned

Army Crush and Thoughts

So, Charlie has an "army crush".

He just happens to be two years older than me, too. But I... I don't know what to make of anything, of any of him.

Well I'll start with the superficial first. He's damn hot, and he has an accent, and he's "crazy" (there's some story about how, after having stepped on a nail, he dug it out with a knife rather than go to the hospital) and has at least one eccentric hobby (it involves a wheel).

What's under that? I have no clue. There's something.....strange, or different at least. He did a tour and came back. That in itself is gold. He told me once that he had hoped it would change him, that he would win huge medals or awards or make the news or at least come home in a box. But, no, nothing has changed, except maybe he's a little disappointed now.


We talked a little tonight. He makes idle conversation, and he seems to be aware of chivalry (let the girl win the first game when you're playing pool; open doors for others; let others through first in a narrowing, things like that).

Then he told me something strange: He likes to "mindfuck" with people--to tell them insane batshit crazy stories, because they'll believe them. Like, when he was overseas, all he did was eat Pop Tarts, but people don't want that, they want to hear outrageous war stories, so he'll make them up for them.

He also said I need to drink--at very least, have a drink in my hand to show "support" for those who do drink, or show that I'm one of them, something like that. He said to get a beer next time.

"I don't drink beer, I drink hard--I don't drink, but when I do, I drink whiskey, vodka... Beer is too light, I flare up--I'm Asian..." (I ramble.)

Somewhere in there, he said, "I like to live dangerously," in his thick accent--it gave me shivers. I wanted to seize the moment and say something uninspired and crazy and spontaneously and profoundly... Silence. Too long a silence--too thoughtful or appreciative to be honest. So I put on my "army accent" and asked, "What sort of crazy shit do you do?"

A pause. A hesitation, sizing me up. "Ehhh, that's a not so good question to ask me." There was a suggestion that I ask something different. He went on.

He'd had two beer, and perhaps it was showing. It's hard to say--but social drunkenness and my empathy is another topic for another day.

Twice, he made comments I couldn't hear, and then explained they were jokes, then quickly added that they weren't very good ones so it was okay. Before I left, I told one of my favourites:

"Infinitely many mathematicians walk into a bar. The first orders a beer. The next, a half beer; the next, a quarter; an eighth. Before the next can speak, the bartender says, 'You're all idiots!' and pours two beer."

He laughed--he got it and found if tunny, I was impressed! He'd said he'd taken Calc (and Stats I, Physics, Chem, Linear Algebra, and maybe Comp Sci, because he knew a bit about Java or C and object orientation and functions...).


There's something in me right now that seems to crave companionship. I'm alienating myself and convincing myself there is no one for me and that I should get used to this fact. But instead of motivating me toward independence, it depresses me and right now I just want to scream. Or jack off--but the basement is bug-infested, and jacking off won't solve anything. Does screaming solve anything? Crying?

My own caring undoes me, it seems. If I could either overcome my problems, or not care for them so much, I think I might be happier.

Well, I'm going to get a snack.
--Charlie

Opinions

So it turns out I have some weird ideas about my image as a woman, and I never knew I had these ideas! One of them I had mentioned before: Hetero penetrative sex.

Charlie on Pregnancy (personally)

Right now, I can't see myself having children--in the future, even. Sure, aside from being beautiful and wonderful, there's probably a lot of fulfillment and pride and other great things... But me--Charlie--pregnant? I feel that would only propagate the idea that women are factories for creating more humans.

People see pregnant women all the time and--though maybe this is a bit of a stretch--the sight of a pregnant woman causes people to stop and think about pregnancy and creation of new humans. I think it's MUCH more rare for someone to see a non-pregnant woman and think, "Oh look, there's a woman who isn't pregnant!" and think about women and how they could be non-pregnant.

Another thing: in a couple joined in civil union, there's an expectation to have a child--by birth or adoption, or what have you, but there's a cultural expectation, I think. And if a couple goes long enough without children, the norm is to ask, "Are they infertile?" "Don't they want kids?" "What's wrong with them?"

Whenever that question--"What's WRONG with them?"--is asked, there is usually a lot of assumption going on. Here the assumption is: it is normal to have children, it is normal to want to have children. Thus, a couple that has not conceived must have either some physical defect, or some mental defect for not wanting to procreate.

So, by becoming pregnant, I further the image and idea of women as carriers of new humans; and further the normality and expectancy of pregnancy in women. So.... Charlie won't be pregnant--at least, for a LONG time!


Charlie on Hetero Penetrative Sex (HPS)

HPS is gross and unfair. As a woman, there is no sex organ (long enough) I can use to penetrate--invade the internal space of--a man's orifice(s). As a woman, I cannot derive the same physicality of pleasure that a man can derive, by sticking a body part into someone else.

There is an invasion of personal space--even if there is consent, in HPS, I as a woman would be receiving the (repeated) entry of another person into the confines of my body.

I guess I want to "level the playing field". There is this sex toy I've seen, the Feeldoe (http://images.google.ca/images?q=feeldoe), used for girl-on-girl penetrative sex. One end goes into the vagina of the penetrating woman, who holds it in place with her muscles. There are little nubbies that ride along her clit (which is the female analogue to the male's head of the penis). The other end goes into the woman to be penetrated, like a penis would in HPS. I like this idea--especially about stimulating the clit, because it simulates (maybe) the feeling of penetration--ie, the nubbies on the clit imitates the sensation that the head of the penis gets from being inserted and withdrawn repeatedly.

Woots.



Thoughts

I used to be mysterious. I used to be so involved in myself that I didn't care about anyone else--and people were drawn to me! I guess I started taking that for granted, because I'm beginning to lose more of myself to others. Well, I was worried I had, but maybe that worry isn't as justified now as it was then.

I used to be such a Scorpio. I don't mind Scorp--except for the crazy sex drive. It drives me nuts sometimes and I need to keep it in check.

But now? I don't know what's happened. After the Summer of Eric, I deconstructed myself and tried to start anew. I don't know how much I rebuilt after tearing down, but it seems to have held so far. I'm a bit wary right now, though, that perhaps the foundation was less sound than I'd thought. It's always hard to.....remake oneself, since we are continually adding new bits, and perhaps even losing old bits.


So, this guy...

So this guy, he's an interesting fellow, something like Neek, but more...compassionate. Neek is a justified asshole. SW is.... he cares.

Hah, I'd mentioned to SW... There's a scene in Heroes where Peter meets Matt for the first time, and Matt tries to read Peter's mind, but Peter starts mimicking his ability and there's this feedback sound like you get with mics. I imagine that's what SW meeting Neek would be like!


SW

I dunno! I've already told him I like him; and he's said he likes me at least a bit more than as a friend... But he doesn't want to get into a relationship until he sorts some stuff out--which I think is noble and honest of him.

But... I dunno?

I feel very comfortable with him--which is good and bad. I trust him entirely too much for not knowing him. And, I guess this is where the "mysterious Charlie" thoughts come in--like, I used to be him. It's pretty freaky. Had I decided that [things] were important to me and decided to pursue them, I might have turned into SW. Crazy!

But that's another thing, he's young--not much younger, mind, but...maybe young enough. And I think I'm sick of waiting for people to grow up. But I'm waiting for....something anyway, so I may as well wait for another thing? I don't know...

Besides the familiar "me" in SW, there's something else familiar about him--something that reminds me of Eric vaguely. Not that SW is necessarily similar to Eric, but something reminds me of him. Argh.


Relationships?

I've been thinking about polygamy again, and--if I'm honest with myself--I can admit that I'm a jealous person. I also enjoy positions of authority and power--not necessarily for the sake of dominating others, but it feels....good within me. Like, "I am a full human being, I am as I am, I am fully myself, I am wholly myself, I satisfy/sustain/fulfil/enjoy myself..." -sort of thing. But I do also enjoy being in positions of power so I can better care for others, and I suppose, for security...

SW is a giver. I am a giver. But I think SW is more practised in giving and enjoys it more than I, so he would hold that position more easily.

Giving is easy--in some respects, I'm talking very generally in terms of what it requires of character to give. Receiving is less easy. Receiving requires grace and...a knack for making the other feel appreciated. I lack grace, generally. About the most graceful I can get is Milonga del Angel (Astor Piazzolla) on a good day and when my fingers are sufficiently warmed-up.

But that skill of receiving is perhaps more useful? In giving, I make the other feel good. In receiving, I can get AND make the other feel good. ...My old self would take advantage of this. Me, I don't know.


I've been sitting on my arse too long. Time to do something else.
--Charlie

Augh

Kevin

Went to see a play Kevin was in, last night.

Sigh. I keep forgetting that about Theatre Kids. I absolutely love Theatre Kids--but I'm not entirely sure why. I mean it's partly because they're analytic and observant--generally--and cerebral. I love cerebral...ness.

In this play, Kevin's character gets to cuss and be an angry/angsty gay teenager who cusses and gets into an ideological fight with his parents. I wuv it!

What really confuses me is why this turns me on. I mean, I know I have a little soft spot for that "brooding man" idea, and I love Theatre kids... Maybe it's the idea of duality. Heh. "You never could be just one thing!"... That he could be both such a Virgo and a brooding, angsty teenager--complicated...

Neek says it's probably/mostly "misinterpretation of arousal", where I associate my general liking of Kevin to specific things he does. For example, if I'm already nervous/anxious and happen to talk to someone bald, I might think that bald people make me nervous. More specifically, I already like Kevin, and being aroused by his portrayal of someone angsty makes me think brooding people turn me on.

I'm going to back up a bit, because I forget if I mentioned this earlier.

Backstory

Mark and I went to see a play with Kevin, and afterward, we went over to Mark's place and watched Van Helsing. I sat next to Kevin, and as the movie went on, leaned on him and snuggled up against him. At one point, the cat came to sit on his lap, so we both petted it, and sometimes our hands would connect and we'd momentarily be stroking the other's hand, and he never pulled away or put effort into preventing this.

So when the cat left, my libido was all, "TOUCH HIM NOW!" so I made a show of saying, "Oh, the cat's gone now. Hmmm," and petted his forearm. And then I brushed the back of my index along up his arm just above the elbow. And he pulled away and crossed his arms over his chest, inhaling a little frustratedly.

I cocked my head at him. "Are you ticklish, or offended?"

"Not either, really, just..."

"Are you going to finish that sentence?"

... So, I know I wrote earlier that I was going to be less aggressive and back off Kevin for a while, but this was incredibly aggressive of me.

"Well," he began, "I'm just uncomfortable."

So I didn't explicitly touch him again. However, the cat came back and situated herself on his lap once more, and we began petting her, and again, our hands would connect. So, either he didn't care, or he didn't mind. In the back of my mind, I hope it's the latter.

This was the night before I left for the bikeathon. The following morning, I wrote up an e-mail, basically explaining that I like spending time with him, as a friend, but that I'm also physically attracted to him, "and that, combined with cyclical hormones, proximity and an ambiguous relationship can make me, well, aggressive. So I hope I didn't freak you out too much."

He wrote me back a few days later and explained that he liked me, too, but only on the level of friendship, so, hey, let's be friends.

I'm not sure this has lessened my attraction to him. It has, though, made me very aware of it. It's even challenged me and, being of a competitive spirit, I have to now damp down the urge to fight for him.

Sometimes I'll ponder him and think: "Kevin, I want to give you so much; and yet to take so much from you."

And then I wonder what I could possibly offer. Really, until I think a little deeper, the only thing I can come up with is "I want to give him the physical pleasure with my body", which is pretty shallow.

What could I possibly offer? I cook, I'm good with my hands, I'm intelligent...

I'm trying to focus now, but in my mind, I'm on the phone with Kevin, asking him if he wants to go biking, because it's a beautiful weekend, and he's saying yes, and I've secretly got a picnic all planned out

And then, in my mind, we're biking out to a beautiful stretch of land, no traffic for several kilometres around, shade, a slight breeze, fresh, springy grass; and I say, "Let's stop here," so we dismount; and after locking our bikes, we walk over near the tree line, under a dappling of shadow, and I say, "I brought a blanket," and unfold a large red and white checkerboard blanket and spread it around and invite him to sit with me, which he does; and he starts to think to himself, and I catch him and look him in the eye and smirk as I say, "I also brought a picnic," and produce a box of strawberries and cherries and raspberries and small slices of cake and chocolates.

He's uncomfortable now, and hesitates. He starts to ask me if I'm courting him, but he's not aggressive enough, so I interrupt him and tell him to try the strawberries--I picked them myself--so he tries one, and indeed, it's delicious, but wasn't there something he wanted to ask--so I smile at him and say, "Kevin, I must be a horribly selfish person, because I'm courting you even though you've already told me you're not particularly interested in me that way, yet here I am. Ever since I sent you that terribly awkward, but honest, e-mail, I'd been thinking hard why I like you, so I was, perhaps unprepared when I read your reply; and, being possessed of a competitive spirit, took it as a challenge.

"I used to think that romance didn't take effort--that, hey, if I loved someone who loved me back equally, then everything would be perfect. Turns out, it doesn't happen this way; most relationships demand effort. And, Kevin, I am willing to work at this and even fight for this, if you'd let me. I can give you my enthusiasm and pledge to you my honesty--there is so much I want to give you, and at the same time, to take from you; I'm kinda crazy for you that way. ... So! Unless you are very and unchangeably intent on not liking me (which, I suppose I could be convinced of if you were to put it very bluntly and directly), or if you have very good, logical reasons not to, I'd ask, Kevin, please, would you least give me a chance at this?"

Immediately, I'm scared shitless that he's, I dunno, terminally ill, or has a crush on someone else, or finds me or women to be physically repulsive. It's got to be the longest and worst five seconds of my life: I'm entirely helpless; everything is totally out of my control, I can say nothing, I can take nothing back, I'm completely exposed, vulnerable.

...

And I don't know how this story ends.

Change of subject!

I speak differently than I used to. I think I realized it when my friend said, "Sheesh, not everybody is as open-minded as you!"

I'm less articulate these days. I'm not sure if that's from lack of writing. I think I'm scared to commit. Yes, yes, and I know it's better to have a record than to not have one; but the thought of a record still makes me... too self-conscious? I don't know! I say things like, "Well, if [something], then maybe it's not such a good idea to [something else]."

... I've lost where I was going with this; something about how I tone myself down or something. I need to sleep.

--Charlie

Ice Skating

I learned how to ice-skate today!

More specifically, I got to practice stopping, which is something I'd never really practiced. I'd tried that "push out with your heels" thing, but I always ended up falling or slipping or something that wasn't that ice-scratching stop I was trying for.

Today was a very strange day, and I miss days like this.

Today, I woke up for church, and I wanted to cry. Last night, I don't know, I felt free--for even just a moment. It's amazing that I could forget I'm a human being and capable of creating art, or of expression or of something meaningful... And yet, I had forgotten. So, last night, when I was listening to my music--which I hadn't heard for months--and making sketches--something I hadn't done seriously for months--I realized how much I had lost.

I lost so much of myself when I moved up from the water damage. I lost my room--my computer with my writings, my journals, my morgue of pictures that brought me joy, my music... And to have it all back--that wasn't what made me cry. It was the thought: "I don't have time for that now, I need to get up early tomorrow" that made me cry.

I don't know what's happened these past months, but it scares me.

I went to church today, and the wife of one of the pastors, she came up to me and asked how I was. Mokai, my friend, has told me that she is a wonderful counsellor, and I believed him, but in a "head knowledge" type of way.

She came up to me after the service, and asked me how's life, how's my mom, my dad. I told her I'm running three jobs, at least one of which is terribly unsatisfying. I told her about Dad's leg, and that I didn't know much about it (because I try not to think about it so that I can go to work the next day without crying--but I didn't tell her that).

And then she prayed for me. She had even forgotten my name, and yet she still knew my face enough to know that I hadn't been here for a month, and that something must be up. After she said Amen, I looked up and thanked her, and then had to leave because I was starting to cry.

I went downstairs to the washroom, and tried to cry soundlessly. It felt awful--crying silently in the far bathroom stall in the basement of my church. I decided I needed to cry properly--which wouldn't have been possible, since I was scheduled to work today.

I called in sick.

"I'm not feeling well," I told the scheduler.
"Get better," he said to me.

I went to Mark's house.

I called him first, and although I knew I was intruding, it's technically his house, so as long as I'm not intruding on him, I'm not intruding. It was so good for me. I just sat and cried, and cried, for about half an hour. He'd play piano or watch TV or throw cats at me. "They're very comforting," he said, and he was right.

We went to an outdoor hockey rink and his brother took shots on him while I tried to skate.

I've ice-skated before. Twice. It's like roller-skating, but you can slip. And where roller-skating has wheels and friction, ice-skating has blades and considerably less friction!

The first time I ice-skated was with James, while we were dating. To his credit, he did all he could to teach me; but he's not a very good teacher for me. I didn't know how to stop, so every time I wanted to stop, I'd just glide into a snowbank and start walking until I felt my momentum die down.

I learned something about myself today.

I learned I was afraid to fall.

Mark's brother seems to glide naturally on the ice (of course, when you play hockey, I guess that skating is the last thing you should need to think about). And I saw him fall!

I got over myself--my fear of falling. I mean, what the fuck, it's ice, and I'm wearing a fucking ski jacket! It's not going to fucking hurt that much!

So I kept my eyes on some of the parents who were teaching their young ones to skate. At least two were extremely good: natural and even a little showy, as if to demonstrate to their kids that skating is fun and exciting and full of impressive tricks; and also to instruct. I liked that.

There was this one little girl in a baby pink jacket who was also trying to learn how to stop. She was skating around, falling over; and at one point, she called to her guardians, "Look, I can stop now!" as she sat awkwardly on the ice.

The one method of stopping that I wanted most to try was pivoting on the toe, and sliding the heels out by 90 degrees and coming to a full halt. I knew that wasn't going to happen immediately, but I also recalled another method where the skater is going forward, and then suddenly swings around 180 degrees, the skates describing a circle, and stops. I wanted to try a combination of both.

Most fortunately for me, by this time, everyone else had left, so I had half the rink to myself! I can't count how many times I fell, but it was so worth it.

I realized that I had been afraid of scratching the ice; like if I put my skates that way, I'd simply fall over instead of halting. And sometimes I wouldn't even be trying to halt, because I was scared that trying to stop would make me fall over--so I'd be only changing directions or only slowing down, instead! What dumb fears!

By the time Mark and his family were ready to leave, I had gotten the gist of stopping. Mark had fallen over from exhaustion (it's normal, he says), so I skated over to him and halted. Oh man that felt good.

"You can stop now? Let me see!" he managed.

I skated around and stopped by him. I was so happy!


[post abandoned]
--Charissa

Margaret Cho and Me

Margaret Cho

I've been watching some of Margaret Cho's performances on YouTube lately.

I think Margaret Cho is my hero now.

I was watching "I'm the One That I Want", and so much of it resonated within me. Expectations, Asian mother, bisexuality, low self-esteem, more expectations, uncertain identity...

(Aside: I find the way YouTube displays "Related Videos" on the side of a video to be terribly annoying in the way it truncates the title, so if you're looking for "Part 7/10", it usually gets cut off. So, I've made quick tables for myself and others to use!)

"I'm the One That I Want" (YouTube)
Part 1	Part 2	Part 3	Part 4	Part 5A, 5B
Part 6	Part 7	Part 8	Part 9	Part 10

"Assassin" (YouTube)
Part 1	Part 2	Part 3	Part 4
Part 5	Part 6	Part 7	Part 8

Me

I'm finding myself lost again. I had my best friend come over last week (or so). It was...good, but also frightening. We still have this thing, where we just know what the other is saying, or is trying or wanting to say, even if the other is stuck on the word or whatever. And we still have the ability to surprise eachother--we tell jokes, which are maybe five words long, and the other can't stop laughing!

At the same time, he'll be moving to either Hartford or Miami for school, which is sad and... I don't know what the word is.

In my graduating year, I wanted to be an Acoustical Engineer. I was actually considering going to Hartford for my education, too.

I'm not sure what happened, though.

And that... sort of scares me. I'm not sure what happened.


I was chatting online with an old classmate from high school. She's into some of that "New Age" stuff, like homeopathy, and has pretty radical but forward ideas.

We talked--inevitably, about me, because I'm such a windbag sometimes. I'd said something about having no motivation, and she said that lack of motivation comes from repressing what you want. And this struck me as true.

The unfortunate side of this, is that I am a First Generation Canadian, and my parents have "Old World" expectations of me:
- go to University
- become a "professional" (ie: letters behind my name, a job that requires an expensive education; eg: doctor, lawyer...)
- support them until they die

Aside from these, are more implied and less action-oriented:
- marry a nice man; having kids would be very nice (my two older brothers are not married)
- have a license, drive a car
- don't be fat
- be pretty
- be proper (polite, etc)
- achieve things that have documentation (eg: awards, certificates, grants, scholarships...)

Reminds me of something Margaret Cho said in ITOTIW. A reporter had asked her whether or not it was true that she had been made to lose weight, to play the part of herself, on her own television show.

Sometimes I feel I'm being pressured to [do this] because it's "who/how I should be".

I should be assertive. Sure, no problem with that one.
I should be world-wise. Ennh, maybe, sometimes, maybe.
I should not get upset over other people's problems. Uhh...
I should not trust people. Okay, shut up.

Sometimes I wonder what it means to live as a Christian. Sure I know why I can call myself Christian--that's on a personal level. What do Christians "look like"?

This is one of the reasons I don't want to be "wise in the ways of the world". Whenever I feel that way, I also feel... out-of-character and as though I don't fit or belong that way or belong in that "worldly" world.

I'm very mental. ...By which I mean, things happen in my mind more than anywhere else. This is why I love doing math problems or proofs--I see through to the other side, and while I'm doing it, I'm writing down a physical record of it.

But because I'm very mentally active, that is the first thing I try to shut up when I'm trying to relax or calm myself down. Thus, I rarely get anything finished. Thinking gets me excited, sometimes upset. I'm pretty passionate in that Scorpio way.

I feel--sometimes I just have to hate. Not so much that "it's okay to hate", but "it is natural to hate things". And my first reaction to this is always, "No, hate is bad!" However, I find, that as soon as I allow myself to be angry, I'm no longer angry.




This post has carried on pretty long and I should sleep. I wanted to upload Strip Calc v. 2c, but it'll have to wait, I guess
--Charissa

Interviewing

Work

The market research gig is pretty great. I got my first racist comments on Sunday, and that was a little disheartening. For me and most of my generation (who got the "stereotypes are bad and false!" lectures in grade school), it's always a shock to see that the stereotypical people do in fact exist.

Also, one of my supervisors, let's call him Don; we like to chat! It's great! And I told him I'm queer today! He seemed shocked; but he also defended himself with the, "Well, we're not supposed to ask" blurb. Hehe.

I've been telling him a lot about my parents, lately, it seems. Don had actually monitored me on that particularly bad survey, where, instead of just hanging up, decided to stick around and finish the entire survey, which is normally five minutes, in 15 minutes.

I ended up telling Don about stuff:

Last year, my other supervisor wanted me trained on this specific type of customer satisfaction survey ("c-sat" for short), but it meant that I had to be put on other c-sats first. Unfortunately, several things were going against me.

First, you have to understand, that c-sats are usually completed with people who don't necessarily like surveys. They're just completing it because you're representating a company they use or like or at least, deal with or own something from. So they don't understand the "unwritten" rules (they're actually written, on this end) that go with saying, "Okay, I'll do your survey."

One question went something like, "So, how did you find out about [company]?" The fellow on the other end said, "Yellow pages." The next question was, "And how did you find the phone number for [company]?" He hung up profanely.

Second, earlier that day, my father had said something pretty stupid and careless and it would have been abusive had he said it on purpose, but I just can't tell if he's that dense, or if he actually realizes what he's saying. It was something along the lines of, "I love you, even if you're not in school", or more basicaly, "I love you, even though you're flawed!" Gee, thanks. And I guess I take those things pretty badly. I hate being called worthless. I'm tearing up even now, with at least one year's distance, just writing this all.

Anyway, I had to leave work crying that day.

Eventually, I got trained on the specific c-sats that is one of our biggest clients. I'm pretty good at it! Just, on Sunday, I got my first two racist fellows.

First guy couldn't understand what I was saying. We were calling into the States--the deep south, too! He couldn't understand me. Just before he hung up, I chould hear him say, "God damn foreigns!"

Wow.

Next guy stuck around for fifteen minutes. He made me spell out my name, the name of the company I work for, and then asked me--get this--"Where were you born?"

"Canada," I told him, rather forcibly. "Ca-na-da." Do you know where that is? It's up. Up. North. There. Yeah. Good for you!

Apparently, he (let's call him Billy) had called [company]'s call centre, and had gotten a fellow with a strong accent. And Billy just needed a number from the accented fellow, so that was all Billy understood, and it was all Billy needed. But Billy's biggest concern was that [company], which is a good ol' American company was putting call centres in this, that and the other country. Why should a good ol' American company have call centres located in other countries?

I was quite tempted to tell Billy that there are people who live in America who have accents. And I really wanted to suggest to Billy that, "Hey, maybe it would've been better had no foreigners come to America at all!" But I don't think he would have understood that.

Ah well.

Well, Don had monitored that call, and we chatted, and I talked about my parents and stuff.


Past experiences with supervisors

On my first actual day of work, I was supervised by, let's call him Bob. This was summer of 2006, I should add.

Well, Bob introduced himself to me, since I was new, and, for some reason, suddenly asked how old I was.

"Seventeen," I told him.

"Oh," he said. Then, "When do you turn eighteen."

Uhh.... Well, I told him my birthday, and then he made some comment about Scorpios being passionate. I think I just excused myself from any further conversation.


[post abandonned, unfinished]

Reminiscing

I found my old poetry box from grade twelve English.

I carved it from an old Nintendo system. Heee. My brothers weren't exactly thrilled about that.

But now, two years later, it's amazing.

Mostly, it's amazing what I could write and...create back in those days...

Charissa Reminisces About Highschool

When I was in highschool, I was totally arrogant. I thought I was da shizz. I was invincible; omnipotent; amazing stuff. I wasn't afraid of anything. Whatever I wanted to do was justified by my wanting to do it.

Not so anymore. I don't know what caused that; was it James, was it the Army, was it the lack of school; my desk job reading scripts... I can't talk anymore. I stutter, I stumble, I have no vocabulary. I doubt myself, I'm noncommittal, I'm lethargic.

And I have no social life.


Reflections on the Poetry Box

I made a poetry box in grade nine, too. It looks like a "hat box", people keep telling me, and it's covered in red fabric. On the top is a large piece of white paper with the small-written word "PRETENTIOUS". Hah!

I like the Nintendo box, though.

I was going for a sort of "It is past, but it is to come" or "The past will meet up with you again soon" or "You'll remember me in (fifteen) years."

Contents

Editorial - "FREE Rolex, Viagra and Designer Handbags!!!"
about spam and ham and e-mail stuff.

Short Story - "Alex's Art"

• horrible, horrible piece of crap I squeezed out just before the due-date.

Monologue - "Banquo's Descent"

• portrayed as a typical blog, complete with profile picture, "biography" and calendar of updates.

Narrative Poem - "Stipper and Jo"

• stuffed into the sleeve for a 8 + 1/2 inch floppy disk.

Cinquain - "I hate spam"

• in the pink "e-mail" envelope

Note Poem - "I just wanted to say..."

• in the pink "e-mail" envelope.
  
• our teacher really liked this "I just wanted to say..." concept; as though a poem could be a note left somewhere--or a note left somewhere could be a poem. I have no love for this "poem".

Sonnet - "Sonnet no. 1"

• this really was my first sonnet. I'm so happy it turned out almost exactly as I wanted. My only annoyance is with "Thus, twenty born in time soon die in dearth" which is supposed to mean, "Even though 20 infants are born at the same time, they die in a bad / unfulfilling life.
  
• it is attached to a Lego flying-vehicle, which is a toy of something that doesn't exist yet. I wanted to be sort-of representative of "something from your youth will meet you in the future" and have a sort of "You were once happy--purely and innocently happy. That was called Joy" to fit with that last couplet. Mm.
  

The "Your.Blog.Net" is a monologue. Monologue can be read here; snippets of it can be viewed here (Flash).

Stipper and Jo can be read here, with an explanation at the bottom.

Inside that pink envelope are two poems:

I hate spam, a Cinquain

>>OPEN

Get a FREE car!

Your Diploma Awaits!!

Miss Tiffany Wants to Meet You!!!

>>Delete

and

I just wanted to say...

I have longer hair now
and I'm
some two inches taller.
Mom says I'm getting fat.

I still like Chopin and Ellington
but I've started on Radiohead and
Orbital.
I found your Pink Floyd collection.

see you this summer.

Attached to a Lego^TM ship is a sonnet. It can also be read and appreciated artfully (pfft!) here.

Sonnet no. 1

Wild, screaming and bloody was I at birth,
Where nineteen other mothers might share screams.
Thus, twenty born in time soon die in dearth:
Our lives, all substance, wealth--no thoughts, no dreams.

We're beaten gently by nurses, sometimes
If our independent lungs refuse air.
We cry, bewildered, not knowing our crimes,
Suck in air to cry--we breathe unaware.

We grow, we learn to love, live, and commit;
Somehow, our brains can overcome all frays:
Nights unsleeping; throes of death's counterfeit,
'Til all giv'n effort untangles ablaze.

How'ver wraught with pain and with griefs to cloy,
It is life and I live and it is joy.

In other news

I tried to donate blood again today. Augh, disaster! The nurses poked around my left arm a bit, trying to feel for usable veins/arteries. That took ages. They finally found one, but it was deep down and they were a bit worried. I'm not sure if it was foolish, but I told them to go ahead anyway.

OUCH. She hit a nerve, and it sent a bolt right up to my thumb--like when you "hit your funny bone", except there's a 2mm metal tube sticking into your arm. Ooooch! Out of all the times I've tried to donate, that was the ONLY PAINFUL experience! She withdrew.

After some ice and a brief cool-down, I suggested they try my other arm. My blood-test-doctor is very good and can always get blood out of this one, very visible vein off to the side. Unfortunately, the nurses couldn't feel the vein. Since the alternative was to blindly poke into the centre, I mentioned that, at least you could see this vein!

Well, seeing wasn't enough. They tried, but it just wouldn't bleed fast enough.

I ended the day with a very, very, FRUCKIN' SORE left arm (still hurts when I move too much), and a few millilitres less blood. Fruck!


Sleepy time!
--Charissa

Quick Sketch

I made this sketch tonight.

On Tuesday, I got this haircut. It's incredibly butch. That's what I wanted.

My parents, however, must think it's a good way of pointing out how different I am from the idea of Girl, and saying how I shouldn't be this way and that I should change and be a good girl.

I hate that. So much.

So, I took a good look at myself in the mirror, and, I liked what I saw! Quickly, I grabbed a board and paper and drew as I saw in the mirror; it shows, with the right hand and the funny posture. But I like this picture. I like my face. I like myself. And I don't have to care who else likes it.

Though, because I like the face so much, I may finish it, one day, holding a bazooka or crossbow or something. Yeah!

--Charissa

Issues

As much as I want to keep this from being angsty and personal, I sort-of want to write about my state-of-mind.

I've been so apologetic ever since getting the survey job; I haven't spoken fluently and with conviction, it seems, for ages. My sentences are full of "maybe"s and "I think"s and "I believe"; and "it might be"s; and more "like"s than ever before.

I wonder if it's mostly a self-confidence issue, or if it's something else?

I also wonder if doing more proofs will be helpful in gaining more self-confidence. Probably will!


Week so far:

Oct 29

I'm now 19. Hoorays, I guess. For my birthday, I paid $200 in Utilities.

Oct 30

Learned how to properly wear my Army uniform! Woo-hoo!

Had my first "class" in the Army (Dress and Deportment; and Rank Structure).

Oct 31

Started playing Brood War again. Sigh. What a wonderful way to waste time.

Received e-mail from the teacher, who said I should go over the Quiz in class with the students--WHICH IS OMG HOORAYS!!

O, Time...
--Charissa