Thought for the day

I have a fondness for “The Pick Up Artist” and the winner, Cosmo, loudly proclaimed that he’s not a jerk, not a player, not a pimp, but a pickup artist. Can someone tell me, what’s the difference?

Let it burn

Of course, when I have issues that’s when I get sick. I’m Murphy’s law when it comes to getting sick. I don’t get sick that often, but when I do, it’s really bad, and it’s always when I don’t have health insurance.

I think I may have a urinary tract infection (UTI). I don’t have all the symptoms but the best way to explain it is like this: I have to pee a lot, and when I do, it burns. I’m sure my vagina is in hell right now, and I have no idea how this happened. I’m good to my body, at least when it comes to being hydrated. I drink 15 to 20 glasses of water a day. Not, ounces, glasses. So that’s over 100 ounces a day. As I’m sure you can probably tell, I go to the bathroom a lot already, but this is the first time I’ve gone back and forth to the bathroom over 5 times in one hour, and I have to be near a bathroom at all times. I had a bit of an accident on the bus, and I was wise enough to bring a change of clothes, but I’ll just say this much: I make fun of the all the catastrophes that happen on the 1R, and now, I’m a part of that action.

The last time I failed to make it to the bathroom was when I was five, so I know that something is wrong with me. I called my boss to see if I could go to a doctor, but before I go anywhere I have to get an insurance card, and of course, my request for the card hasn’t been processed yet. Now I have Usher’s song “Burn” stuck in my head, and it makes me laugh a little bit, all while doing the gotta go dance at work. So I was left with two choices: either leave and go home, or stay at work. I don’t want to take a sick day, so I ran to Walgreen’s got some AZO and came back.

It sucks that I’m sick right now. Last week I spent most of my time trying to fend off the cold and flu fairy, and I guess something else got me — down there. There are a lot of people I want to talk to, and a lot of people that want to talk to me, but I’m inevitably slowed down since I need to be near a bathroom at all times, and I don’t need any more embarrassing accidents happening. Sigh. I guess I’m just returning to my sweats and chillin with Carol’s dogs for a little longer than I’d like, until I can find a health care provider, or an insurance card. Until then, it’s AZO, cranberry juice, and bringing some extra clothes with me. I’m not sure if I’d wish one of these things on my worst enemy.

You know what, I still would.

Free Write 9: Summer

Doesn’t that seem to be the best time for the best songs about love, sex, sex, and well, more sex? And hot dogs and beaches, warm afternoons, fourth of July, cookouts and barbecues, constant boredom and Popsicles? I don’t even know what I’m writing about summer, since it isn’t my favorite season. Autumn is, which most people don’t say, since it’s usually spring, because it’s soft and pretty, but so so busy, and at least during those times of Autumn it mellows and slows down a bit.

But this is meant to be an ode or a freewrite to summer.

I guess that summer time has been on my mind a lot, since it’s almost over. It doesn’t even feel like it’s going to end, since I still run around in flip flops, and without a jacket in the morning, and that cold Berkeley air just envelops all of my space, so it’s not like the other time when I deal with the pesky air before. It’s like that’s just the quality of Berkeley, equally tranquil. But now I’m thinking of summer since I went through a play list, and found all the best songs. Makes me nostalgic for those times, and to find somewhere else that’s like that. When else are songs like throw some d’s on it popular? Or kids wandering around in the downtown areas, younger ones playing double dutch on the sidewalks and couples endlessly making out? I can’t think of a better time. During recess today when a shadow of sun appeared in Piedmont I jumped in and playing double dutch with a few fifth grade girls, and did some new hand clap routine to it…whew is all I can say. I forgot how physically draining double dutch can be. But at that moment, I felt like I had the wisdom of a 23 year old, and the body of one which doesn’t feel all that great, but the energy and mind of a 10 year old. It’s like my older me was engaging with the younger me. Maybe that’s how summer collides in my mind.

Although summer is one of those things that’s like a hindsight. Most summers I was bored, and had little to do, so I sat around, watched TV and thought. And last summer I spent a lot of time with my Americorps buddies, just getting together and watching tv, and now, even when I got to wonderful dinner parties, I want those moments back, because there was a slow quiet nature to them that I can’t get back. And it’s one of those things that just visits, and it’s like I just live for that, even though it can be busy at the same time. Maybe people are like that when it comes to summers. Is that why things that remind us of summer, like Popsicles, cold drinks, ice cream, pools, busting fire hydrants and long kisses inspire us? Maybe it’s like making love. Sometimes I feel I got about my daily tasks, anxious for the chance to make love again, and I never know when it’s going to happen, I just hope for it. Maybe summer is like that, nine months of waiting, anticipating until I can get to that moment again.

Sigh. I wish there was some way to capture it, but I think the best way is in ridiculous songs, double dutch and maybe those occasional moments. I just miss the bright sky, the sun, those long and languid moments when it feels like time is on my side for once, when I can look up and find constellations and great sights and just meet everyone I can…and now I sound like an endorsement for summer camp. I just want those moments back, even though, if I’m going to get all technical, I’m in it right now. Perhaps it’s just one of those moments where I’ll appreciate it even more when it’s gone, when I’m going about my work and household stuff and the only thing that can take me back to that feeling are those things, or those songs. I just want that moment back o r maybe to feel an eternal summer.

Health care or sick care?

Last Friday after another roommate interview I went to see Michael Moore’s Sicko because I love Michael Moore, because I was curious about health insurance, and more so because I didn’t have anything to do on a Friday night and I didn’t feel like resorting to going to another bar. I won’t summarize the film, but for those who don’t know what it’s about, it’s a documentary about American health insurance, how it’s so difficult to get, but even more so, how they don’t want to pay for anything.

The second half of the film Moore goes to England and France to ask about their health care, which is free. Their infant mortality rates are lower and life expectancy rate is higher than the US. The US is the only westernized industrial nation in the world that doesn’t have universal health care, which I think is just pitiful. We’re also a nation drowning in debt, doesn’t have free college education, where we worry a lot about paying bills and loans, where we don’t have a national plan for maternity leave, where our standard of living and life expectancy is smaller and lower than the generation before us.

And yet we’re supposed to be the most resourceful, the richest, haves and have mores? American health care isn’t about taking care of someone’s health, because it would cover preventative care, not just when someone is ill. And even then there’s no garuntee that they’ll cover that.

I have some personal experience with this. I was turned down for a health insurance policy because I’m moderately anemic and vegetarian, which they said would be a health risk. A few years ago when I was under my mom’s plan, my tooth fell out. It was due to decay, since my mom’s insurance had a strict policy on dental visits, and when it fell out one of my nerves was exposed and I couldn’t chew on the right side of my mouth. I resorted to a liquid diet for two months because eating became so painful. And her insurance refused to cover it, so I had to get a root canal in Mexico. That was $500 cash. If I had gotten that done in the States, it would have been at least three times that much.

I’m sure her health insurance could’ve covered me, but they said it wasn’t life threatening, so I should take care of it. So even when I was sick (a liquid diet from a decayed tooth counts as an illness. it was unbearable for me to talk to anyone, and i worked in customer service at the time.) they didn’t want to cover me.

As much as I hate to say it, this kind of goes with the American way of a false indenpendency. We’re supposed to take care of our own, and not care about anyone else, even though there are definitely those who can afford to take on a bigger share. This is evident in health care, since it’s about paying the least amount of money to the insuree. It’s obvious in other places. Since I’ve taken this job, I’ve met a lot of homeless people. A lot of them. Sometimes they’re nice, other times not so nice, but I’ve lost count of the times when I’m either jogging or running off to work and I’ve literally tripped over someone sleeping on the sidewalk.

Something about that feels so wrong. Shouldn’t there be more of an effort to find those people homes? Is my anemia going to hinder me from getting health insurance in the future? Hell, did I have to hop the border to get my tooth fixed?

I don’t know. Seeing that documentary reaffirmed my belief that if anything should be afforded to everyone in the country, it’s free health care. I’m tired of those have mores getting deductibles for turning people away.

I’m out and proud to be a (blank)!

A few nights ago when I was on my way to go to bed, my friend Aaron had called and asked me to go down to Indian Rock with his roommates for a few minutes, and because, it sounded like a I was sneaking out of the house and this excited me, I did. I hadn’t seen Aaron in the a week or so because Life, Responsibility, Family, Job and girlfriend (his girlfriend) occupied both of us respectively, so I used this time to tell him about my date last Friday. I’m not sure how it went, and I don’t think my date was either. The date was okay, but it took a slight wrong turn when my date was flirting more with the waiter than he had with me all night. He had said that he’s bisexual, but it didn’t start to affect our date until the moment he mentioned it, saw that waiter, and well, at that point I was more invested in the organic cider (which is amazing).

“I don’t know how I let this happen,” I told Aaron. His roommates cracked up laughing at it, and at this point, I was too.

Then, one of his roommates announced that he was bisexual, but he doesn’t tell many people because he didn’t see coming out as a process. It was more of just who he was. Like another component and there was no need to make a big deal out it. I wanted to ask him more questions, since honestly, male bisexuality is still an enigma to me. I don’t know many males who openly identify as bisexual, and the ones who do mostly adopt a gay lifestyle. That wasn’t the time to ask really personal questions about his sexuality, so I didn’t, but he did say he prefers girls to boys.

It wasn’t the first time I had heard anyone say they didn’t feel the need to announce their sexual orientation, but it had been the first time in a while when I had heard such a laid back approach to it. I started thinking about how people own their identities.

But the first question is, can they even be owned to begin with? And in what places can or can’t they be owned.

I ask this question first, not in terms of my sexual orientation (I still don’t know what it is, but that’s another blog) but in terms of food. I’ve been a vegetarian for the past year, but I don’t tell many people. This is probably why I eat alone, so I don’t have to do any weird seat shifting, or frowning or frantically searching the menu for the most non threatening, non meat item. If they catch on, I’ll usually say that I am. Most of my reasons for not announcing it though, have more to do with the first vegetarians I had encountered. I’m not going to go into big generalizations, but you know the ones I’m talking about: the ones that only buy vegan organic, who roll their eyes when someone eats meat in front of them, who preach constantly about how they’re being so self righteous and humble because they show compassion for animals. The work they do is fine, but I really dislike self righteousness that’s to the point of insulting others. So in my efforts of not offending anyone I just won’t tell people I’m vegetarian, and if they ask why I became vegetarian I’ll tell them, but in the mean time I figure it’s my business.

I still wondering if that’s doing enough with the reason I became vegetarian in the first place.

Somehow I feel that conversation of owning an identity is a difficult one to have, because there always seems to be a particular right way to do it. Especially when it comes to matters of sexual orientation. I thought I was going to have my chance to do my big coming out happy dance when I was in undergrad, but I got tight lipped. I never did it. There were people I knew who did come out, and they were happy, but it seemed more like they had a grounded community to return to before they came out. Most of the people I knew who came out at an early age had a partner, had an amazing sexual experience with the gender of their final choice, had friends of that same orientation, had a dating or social circle they could return to of some sorts. Even now I’m older (23) unpartnered (and probably’ll stay that way for a while) don’t feel comfortable discussing my sexual orientation to my friends (especially my gay friends because most think I’ll be married in 5 years) have had okay sexual experiences (that light bulb of ‘this is what i really want’ hasn’t gone off while I’m in bed, because I’m thinking of other stuff, like bills, loans, my next work project)and have few gay friends (but few friend who are lesbian or bi identified women — I seem to be repellent for them). I don’t have the same resources available, not to mention I don’t have enough experience with anyone. I’m not sure what I would come out as, and I attempted to embrace that uncertainty, but most of my (gay) friends said I was just in denial of who I really was and my internalized homophobia is stopping me from accepting myself (although I doubt few would accept me as gay because I’ve been in the I’m not sure category for so long).

There might be this desire to categorize and label identities because there’s a clear picture of what a sense of ownership would look like. It’s usually where the identity is clearly worn on the other person, like some badge of oppression, cheering for the victory of whatever identity you’re claiming. As an African American woman there are all sorts of identity issues even in that, but once something such as vegetarian is thrown in, the picture may look a little different. I don’t want to be one of those hard core radical animal rights activists who sneers at people if they have a chicken sandwich or a piece of cheese, but I do still purchase no kill traps for mice and put spiders outside when I find them in the house. I mean, they didn’t do anything to me, so why kill it?

But when it comes to being gay (or queer) I still have this picture of what it looks like. It mostly looks like a girl I knew named Tatiana, who’s a serial monogamist, an activist, who’s experienced and intelligent, and wears her queerness proudly, whose sexuality has evolved with her, but she still has gay friends, a gay circle, and is always welcome. Or maybe like Kathy and Janine, who kinda look alike, call each other partner, identified as lesbian since they were 17, have a condo and puppies and kitties. That’s what being gay is supposed to look like.

I asked a friend about what it should look like. She’d said, “Now [they're] gay. I have no clue what you are.”

And I guess that’s my point when it comes to owning identities. Owning an identity can almost absorb who the person is, so it’s less about the person, and more about what they represent. I do think that owning identities is important when it comes to increasing visibility of minority communities, but sometimes that need for a strong presence can leave out other communities or groups of people who may not be sure about adopting in that particular identity, especially in such a loud or strong way. Sometimes that line of rigidness can leave little space for those discussions, and of course, all this is a paradigm of dichotomy. When Aaron’s roommate told me he hardly ever reveals his sexuality to people, I immediately thought of him as a cop out, but that has more to do with my expectations than his decision. It’s his choice, not mine.

This is something I could on in circles about for hours (probably will), but is it ever okay to say, ‘I’m fine and I like being (blank)’ even if I don’t know how to express that blank at the moment?