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Tuesday. 3.26.13 11:30 pm

I don't know how it is with other minorities, and therefore I'm not here to make mention. But the LGBTQQAAI community needs to get its STUFF TOGETHER.

So all the sudden, there's a crapload of support for marriage equality (thx Facebook/other media), and that's great! It isn't the biggest problem, but I guess this is a pretty small step that we all see coming, so...I get why we're moving forward here, first. It isn't ideal, but...whatever, it's still great. Good support. I like all this.

WHAT I DON'T LIKE is the poopy members of the community going off on straight people just because they aren't dealing with it in the most radical/aggressive/active way possible.



...I MEAN...SERIOUSLY...STOP... This is a big movement, and I don't care whether you just post the equal sign to your Facebook or if you color all your hair to look like a rainbow and rollerblade around town while, simultaneously, making out with someone of the same sex. I DON'T CARE. ANYTHING IS GREAT. THANK YOU.

This isn't about keeping our community safe from vocal heterosexual dominance. This is about being kind people. This is about representing THE ENTIRE MINORITY.

Just...grkrkjg! Be nice! It isn't that hard!

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Sunday. 3.24.13 2:19 pm

I wake up to sounds of the ocean...the water rushing against the sides of the house, the waves making soft, gentle sounds. I wake up and think I must be at the beach--that, at some point, I entered a long and realistic dream that I didn't even notice.

Can't be.

This morning, the ocean came to me.

Flooding is always kind of daunting, but it happens too often, here, to be a terrifying affair. Sometimes, I find myself wishing I had a kayak, during the worst times, but...generally, it's okay. You get to enjoy living in a waterfront, for a few hours. All the plants look healthier, afterward.

I dreamt about Mike, for the first time. It was flooding in my dream, too, and he was helping me with a garden. He said, "I don't want to do this, anymore," and I just told him I was keeping the dog and that he would have to move out. I prefer that ending to what really happened, since, in this ending, I get a dog out of it and probably am still able to think of him fondly. I hate when things end badly. I hate when someone treats me so poorly that I can't like them as a person, anymore.

I'm not so much sad for myself as I am about the situation as a whole. It's a shame. My friend with a very distinct name and I were talking, the other night, and he asked how I was, and this was my conclusion: I'm a lot better than I was, because now I'm not really looking at my problems from an emotional point of view, so much as I'm looking at them as...problems from my past that now create present distance between two people who could have had a great friendship. I still think about the monster, sometimes, but now it's more like cleaning up the stadium after the Superbowl. How did I really feel about him? Is it really better that we aren't talking? Is he taking it too far by avoiding even looking at me?

I think I did like him, but that maybe it was more like having romantic feelings for a shadow of a person. Sure, there were present things about him that made me care so much, but...I think, somewhere deep inside me, we were still strolling around on a sunny day with our fingers laced together. And that wasn't him, anymore. I don't even know if it was me, anymore. Maybe not. I think we diverged, somewhere, but it was a difficult thing to admit. And, I think I was right to begin with--that it's best that we don't talk. Maybe never again. Maybe just at group events, and nothing substantial. Maybe it's even better that we aren't making eye contact. I feel like we're two magnets that can be held towards each other at a great distance, but, get them just a sliver too close, and they spring together before you can think about it.

And that is no way to live.

I'm cleaning it all up.

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remember that entry when I mentioned that I'm oddly attracted to bio majors
Thursday. 3.21.13 10:18 pm

He has adorable freckles and blushes when the manager asks him if the girl in the picture with him is his girlfriend. Just friends, he says, genuinely.

Quiet, well-spoken, observant. Immediately I'm attracted to him.

Wouldn't it be funny...

"What major are you?" Him.


"EspaƱol," he responds.

Yyep so...

"What's yours?"

He asks me to guess.

No I don't like this game. Because I think I already know, because it's always the same thing, regardless of what college they go to or what they look like or how they dress--

"Give me a category."



"Biology major, pre-med concentration." I say with no anticipation.

"You would be correct."



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If you want to know why my entries come late at night:
Tuesday. 3.19.13 11:42 pm
Clarification: Two presidents, two different organizations. A, K.


Maybe just till ten.

Realize that there's no time, tomorrow, to make bread for bake sale; consider e-mailing president (K) and asking if I can't bring it at the time of the sale. Realize I don't want to go to that trouble. Set out ingredients, mix dry, read over recipe once more, and hatch a plan to get it in the oven by 6:20am and frosted by 7:40. Will carry it around campus till 2pm, when I can set it in the office and reheat the lunch I left in the fridge.

Smile when considering the fantastic lunch I'll have tomorrow.

Make a smoothie for tomorrow morning in anticipation for the hard shift I forgot to not look forward to.

Drink the remnants of the smoothie in the blender. Other half of dinner.


Proceed to cook beans so sandwiches are already half made. Drain, cool, pack. Fill out scholarship applications. Frown, because I never win scholarships.

Frown, because I'm already a junior and no one wants to give a junior a scholarship.


Just a few more minutes.

An e-mail from the president (A) asking me to create fliers, send an announcement e-mail to our school activities system (which sends out a mass e-mail with everything to do on campus), create a Facebook post, and do whatever else I like.


Glance over fliers. Write Facebook post but save till tomorrow. Write e-mail and send right away with a polite "Please" to get the event high on the activities list. Hatch a plan for revised fliers and wonder about gluing label-free pill bottles with slips of paper promoting our Facebook to our fliers.

Choose not to mention the past part in my reply, since I'm still thinking it over. Imagine it might come off as weird...but also think it might be just inventive and catchy enough to work.

Update Facebook group, announce our transition to pages, Like the new page, ask about adding other executive members to the administrative level on the page--don't expect a reply tonight.


They hired the right person.


Realize it's been a month since an e-mail about my California trip graced my inbox. Haven't replied. Take time to research events, take interest in giant science academy, note that, and ask if surfing is burdensome. Take time to talk about father quitting smoking, weather, other happy things.

Lots of love,




Download photos K sent for recent event. Crop out the ass of someone who didn't realize how translucent her yoga pants were. Mentally nickname her Miss Booty and complain about her throughout photo editing process. Add light, darken shadows. Crop. Straighten. Cuss at whoever took these. Crop. No one wants a photo composed mostly of grass and sky. Who are you. I'll find you and teach you photography. Menace to society, crop, straighten.

Finally upload photos. Remind members to tag themselves.

Wash dishes, pack backpack. Pack warm weather shoes for after work.

Wonder how I'm alive.



Get e-mail response from A. Apparently am rocking her socks. Cackle gleefully at own job well done.

Take a moment to brag.


Another e-mail from A's club. Check calendar and reply with availability.

Hardly ever available, anymore. Constantly have to choose date and time for dates and social appointments, now, because people otherwise think I'm trying to get out of it by always saying I have plans. Hope someone will try planning something in June. Not much to do in June.

Set alarm for 5:50.

Pass out.

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