The easiest feature to get started is obviously two-cent Tuesday. You know why? Because I'm basically bitching about what really gets me going. Or commenting on why I love/hate a song...or generally speaking letting you in on the know how.
Getting you in the know.
Broadening your horizons.
Keep your penny, my two-cents are free.
~'Tis the Season~
You all know how much I love music, so it's not a stretch at all to figure out how joyous Christmas season makes me (see what I did there?) what with the carols, jingles, and other shmoopy stuff.
It warms me in my left chest region. I do love a good jingle. Not to mention that hearing the similarities and differences between American and other songs/practices/whathaveyous makes the fun a learning experience. It's true, and since I've semi-officially crossed the line from bilingual American over to multilingual you can trust me. I'm basically better than you. (I don't mean that. Well, not all of it).
You know what bothers me? This Santa/Father Christmas person! I'm on board with another reason to give kids to make them behave...but did anyone else ever get more than a little scared?
Think real hard...
There's this huge fat guy who basically has a super-power (okay, so the reindeer and the sleigh fly, not him, but he controls it) and pops in and out of people's houses whenever he pleases? He supposed to know your wants and wishes? And if that wasn't enough he sees us when we're sleeping and knows when we're awake?!
That's enough to make sleeping with 'extras' under the pillow a necessity.
We couldn't have been the only kids that were more than mildly creeped out by this.
To add insult to injury think about the slave ship he runs! You think those poor little dwarfs (elves, whatever) want to be there? I seriously doubt it. Would you want to be stuck making toys forever on some chunk of ice? Nope. They only do it because they can't figure out how to work the sleigh, otherwise they'd jack it and be gone! Make your own damn toys!
I'm just saying.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Somewhere between Love and Hope
There is something inexplicably lovely about Paris. There is a reason why it's the City for Love, once you're there it seems as if there is nothing else to do but drift in the feel-good. But that is not why I went. I can't explain why exactly I chose Paris over all of the other places on my list but, a year later, I'm starting to wonder if it's second name had something to do with it. The City of Light. I was desperately seeking some light, and maybe subconsciously I thought it would be a great place to start. After all, it was broadcasting what I was seeking...
For the past couple of months whenever something would get really good here (honestly, things have only been improving...minus the living situation) I'd ask myself
"Why France? Why did you go there first?!"
I finally sat down with my journal and waited for the answer. The above is part of my answer and I have to say I'm pretty proud of myself.
You see language is only part of it, I can't let myself believe that I did all of that for a language! French must have been a--very welcome--bonus. And a way to take more than negative from my experience there.
I won't go so far as to say that I've been 'enlightened' but it was definitely an eye-opening experience.
So if that theory holds true for France, perhaps it'll work for Florence?
I don't know what Florence is the "City of" but I do know that Venice is about 3 hours north and Rome is about 2 hours south.
The City of Love and the Eternal City.
So love is above me and eternity below?
My eternity below seems a bit too damning...so I changed that. Everyone says that "Hope springs eternal" so I'll go with hope.
Allora...
I'm closer to Hope than I am to Love
Love's harder to reach and located above
Hope's loud, dirty, stinky and sometimes a maze
but I'm drawn to it, as if in a daze
Love's there but I don't think of it much
it's close enough if I need it and such
so while I'm in Italy--this is no joke
I'm between sinking Love and sex-riddled Hope
but somehow...I don't think that's the answer I was looking for. Maybe I'll know next year.
PS That sex-riddled bit also came from Eat Pray Love when she was talking about using 1 word to describe a city, and for Rome someone said 'sex' so, yeah. It's still fitting either way.
For the past couple of months whenever something would get really good here (honestly, things have only been improving...minus the living situation) I'd ask myself
"Why France? Why did you go there first?!"
I finally sat down with my journal and waited for the answer. The above is part of my answer and I have to say I'm pretty proud of myself.
You see language is only part of it, I can't let myself believe that I did all of that for a language! French must have been a--very welcome--bonus. And a way to take more than negative from my experience there.
I won't go so far as to say that I've been 'enlightened' but it was definitely an eye-opening experience.
So if that theory holds true for France, perhaps it'll work for Florence?
I don't know what Florence is the "City of" but I do know that Venice is about 3 hours north and Rome is about 2 hours south.
The City of Love and the Eternal City.
So love is above me and eternity below?
My eternity below seems a bit too damning...so I changed that. Everyone says that "Hope springs eternal" so I'll go with hope.
Allora...
I'm closer to Hope than I am to Love
Love's harder to reach and located above
Hope's loud, dirty, stinky and sometimes a maze
but I'm drawn to it, as if in a daze
Love's there but I don't think of it much
it's close enough if I need it and such
so while I'm in Italy--this is no joke
I'm between sinking Love and sex-riddled Hope
but somehow...I don't think that's the answer I was looking for. Maybe I'll know next year.
PS That sex-riddled bit also came from Eat Pray Love when she was talking about using 1 word to describe a city, and for Rome someone said 'sex' so, yeah. It's still fitting either way.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Five-for-One: The Good, Bad, and Ridiculous
You know all that stuff I didn't want to bore you with yesterday?
I just put it off for a day and now you get to see it anyways!
~~Ummm...what?~~
Let's start with Kt. Ahh, Kt. We were chilling on Wednesday, per usual, when she told me one of the weirdest things she's heard walking around here in Florence...
"Are you American, or Chinese?"
I was rolling! Once I stopped I looked at her, and started laughing anew.
Kt is what you think of when you think of the Cali beauties.
Except the tall part, I think she's 5'7, not 5'8-5'10ish.
Anyhow, she has the long dirty blond hair (and it's her real color!), a nice permatan (seriously, it never fades), and oh crap, blue or green eyes. I wanna say green (okay, I suck, I don't know her eye color).
"Well, I had my beanie on."
At this point, I couldn't breathe. Too much, just too much.
And on to Kels.
For those of you that are new (or maybe never knew) I have this thing with rhymes. I love them. They make me giggle and I feel like I'm being playfully chucked under the chin by God.
So, to amuse myself, I sent the following text to Kels:
"Sounds great, if after eight, I'll prolly be late" (hehehee)
The reply still makes me happy...
"It will be after eight, a little late. Maybe at ten if not after then. At least by eleven, call you before seven.
Thanks to these two I had the giggles all day! They're keepers.
~~Grimy little Gremlins~~
I'm getting sick. I've been battling it for a while--doing a damn fine job if you ask me--but my body is starting to succumb.
These kids have been sick for a month it feels like! So I've been washing my hands moreso than usual and staying as far from their face as I can. But they can't seem to give me the same courtesy. I've finally stopped flinching when they get close, but I will probably always do that when they sneeze/cough. Bambi thinks it's weird that I cover my mouth when he coughs. Honestly the coughing and sneezing doesn't really truly bother me (that much).
You know what does?
Them constantly trying to touch my face! You don't need to touch my cheeks,you don't need to play with my lips, you don't need to put your hands anywhere near my nose, mouth, ears...you know what? Let's just stick with hugs. Hugs I can do, hugs are nice. You 'helping me' with your diaper then getting mad I won't let you touch me until I've (not you--I'VE) washed your hands is something I can do without. Ick.
On a separate note the kids and I are getting along just fine.
Volpe is like my partner in crime. The LittleLeo and I play, dance, read...it's all good. The more I think about it the more it fits, she looks like a Leo (and Goldilocks, thanks A--but not an angel according to me), she acts like one with the center-of-attention bit (even when she's being 'shy' she still manages it), and the best thing is I can always distract her if she's doing something I don't want her to.
Bambi still irritates me in a way. It's nothing against him, I don't even think he really knows he's doing it (and to press the astro bit, Pisces guys have always rubbed me the wrong way, which is kind of weird to me because I get along with the ladies just fine...normally). Actually I think he does it to annoy Volpe and I'm just a bonus. He's perfectly fine ignoring us. Ignoring us. Seriously? We could all be coloring and Volpe I don't know, sees something shiny, and goes running off. Well, if we're all supposed to play together Bambi do you want to...nope. He doesn't get distracted. He actually wants to finish what he's doing. What the? It's just the way he is.
PS: He's definitely NOT a morning person. I think he hates me a little bit in the AM. But after bath he's all hugs and smiles. It makes me melt a little bit.
~~Gift of Languages & Painful deja vu~~
I'm getting to a pretty good level of Italian. I can't directly translate, but I can normally understand enough to put the meaning together. So, in addition to my people watching, I also enjoy eavesdropping on conversations. I especially like to do this on trains/planes when they assume I'm just some American who can't understand what they are saying (ahh, yeah. Good times) but since I don't normally ride around on trains all day I've found a substitute. I turn on my ipod (always at a low volume so I can hear others) and see how much of the conversation(s) I can understand. It's very enjoyable for me.
Quick question though: why is it eavesdropping? When I was younger I thought it was easedropping, which made sense to me. The ease of dropping into and out of other's conversations, but eaves. What?
I had the worst case of painful deja vu. Normally it's not painful it's pleasant, this time it felt like my heart stopped! I was having deja deja vu. Like not only had I seen it before, but I warned myself that it was going to happen again and I was supposed to be prepared. I wasn't. But then it turned out to be a false alarm (like when you wake up suddenly thinking you had to be somewhere but it's 3am) and this was the first deja, not the deja deja and I still have time. Weird, huh?
~~I am so not smooth~~
I have no tact. Okay, that's a lie, I have it, I just rarely ever practice. I'm...well, I'm awkward. I never really know how to come at people because I've never really cared. Which makes me feel a little bad for the 20somethings. I leave random comments, oh wait, that's it. I leave random comments. I'm sure most think "ummm...what?" when they read them but that's the way I roll. And I'm okay with that. In person I like to think I have a bit of finesse but I just don't translate over the internet. Okay, that's fine, so I don't really try and hope it makes sense if/when I meet them (and if I don't, oh well).
That being said, if you make me wince at your lack of smoothness when I have none myself I feel more than a little bad for you.
~~~BONUS~~~
I'm gonna start having features. To 'shape' my posts.
I just put it off for a day and now you get to see it anyways!
~~Ummm...what?~~
Let's start with Kt. Ahh, Kt. We were chilling on Wednesday, per usual, when she told me one of the weirdest things she's heard walking around here in Florence...
"Are you American, or Chinese?"
I was rolling! Once I stopped I looked at her, and started laughing anew.
Kt is what you think of when you think of the Cali beauties.
Except the tall part, I think she's 5'7, not 5'8-5'10ish.
Anyhow, she has the long dirty blond hair (and it's her real color!), a nice permatan (seriously, it never fades), and oh crap, blue or green eyes. I wanna say green (okay, I suck, I don't know her eye color).
"Well, I had my beanie on."
At this point, I couldn't breathe. Too much, just too much.
And on to Kels.
For those of you that are new (or maybe never knew) I have this thing with rhymes. I love them. They make me giggle and I feel like I'm being playfully chucked under the chin by God.
So, to amuse myself, I sent the following text to Kels:
"Sounds great, if after eight, I'll prolly be late" (hehehee)
The reply still makes me happy...
"It will be after eight, a little late. Maybe at ten if not after then. At least by eleven, call you before seven.
Thanks to these two I had the giggles all day! They're keepers.
~~Grimy little Gremlins~~
I'm getting sick. I've been battling it for a while--doing a damn fine job if you ask me--but my body is starting to succumb.
These kids have been sick for a month it feels like! So I've been washing my hands moreso than usual and staying as far from their face as I can. But they can't seem to give me the same courtesy. I've finally stopped flinching when they get close, but I will probably always do that when they sneeze/cough. Bambi thinks it's weird that I cover my mouth when he coughs. Honestly the coughing and sneezing doesn't really truly bother me (that much).
You know what does?
Them constantly trying to touch my face! You don't need to touch my cheeks,you don't need to play with my lips, you don't need to put your hands anywhere near my nose, mouth, ears...you know what? Let's just stick with hugs. Hugs I can do, hugs are nice. You 'helping me' with your diaper then getting mad I won't let you touch me until I've (not you--I'VE) washed your hands is something I can do without. Ick.
On a separate note the kids and I are getting along just fine.
Volpe is like my partner in crime. The LittleLeo and I play, dance, read...it's all good. The more I think about it the more it fits, she looks like a Leo (and Goldilocks, thanks A--but not an angel according to me), she acts like one with the center-of-attention bit (even when she's being 'shy' she still manages it), and the best thing is I can always distract her if she's doing something I don't want her to.
Bambi still irritates me in a way. It's nothing against him, I don't even think he really knows he's doing it (and to press the astro bit, Pisces guys have always rubbed me the wrong way, which is kind of weird to me because I get along with the ladies just fine...normally). Actually I think he does it to annoy Volpe and I'm just a bonus. He's perfectly fine ignoring us. Ignoring us. Seriously? We could all be coloring and Volpe I don't know, sees something shiny, and goes running off. Well, if we're all supposed to play together Bambi do you want to...nope. He doesn't get distracted. He actually wants to finish what he's doing. What the? It's just the way he is.
PS: He's definitely NOT a morning person. I think he hates me a little bit in the AM. But after bath he's all hugs and smiles. It makes me melt a little bit.
~~Gift of Languages & Painful deja vu~~
I'm getting to a pretty good level of Italian. I can't directly translate, but I can normally understand enough to put the meaning together. So, in addition to my people watching, I also enjoy eavesdropping on conversations. I especially like to do this on trains/planes when they assume I'm just some American who can't understand what they are saying (ahh, yeah. Good times) but since I don't normally ride around on trains all day I've found a substitute. I turn on my ipod (always at a low volume so I can hear others) and see how much of the conversation(s) I can understand. It's very enjoyable for me.
Quick question though: why is it eavesdropping? When I was younger I thought it was easedropping, which made sense to me. The ease of dropping into and out of other's conversations, but eaves. What?
I had the worst case of painful deja vu. Normally it's not painful it's pleasant, this time it felt like my heart stopped! I was having deja deja vu. Like not only had I seen it before, but I warned myself that it was going to happen again and I was supposed to be prepared. I wasn't. But then it turned out to be a false alarm (like when you wake up suddenly thinking you had to be somewhere but it's 3am) and this was the first deja, not the deja deja and I still have time. Weird, huh?
~~I am so not smooth~~
I have no tact. Okay, that's a lie, I have it, I just rarely ever practice. I'm...well, I'm awkward. I never really know how to come at people because I've never really cared. Which makes me feel a little bad for the 20somethings. I leave random comments, oh wait, that's it. I leave random comments. I'm sure most think "ummm...what?" when they read them but that's the way I roll. And I'm okay with that. In person I like to think I have a bit of finesse but I just don't translate over the internet. Okay, that's fine, so I don't really try and hope it makes sense if/when I meet them (and if I don't, oh well).
That being said, if you make me wince at your lack of smoothness when I have none myself I feel more than a little bad for you.
~~~BONUS~~~
I'm gonna start having features. To 'shape' my posts.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Oh crap! This technology business.
After two amazing they-know-what-they're-doing eloquent guest bloggers I'm back.
I'm back with loads to vent about...but I don't want this to be a marathon post so I've picked tech stuff.
You know what I care the most about tech-wise? Music and movies. Oh, and being able to call home for free is nice too.
I've mentioned that I don't like myspace, but it serves it's purpose so I'm alright with it. Facebook I got into but it does all of the work for you so my profile will always look just like everyone else's, well, mainly.
However since I've started blogging I've realized that there's a whole mess of crap out there. Damn. I joined 20something a little under 2 months ago.
Bad choice for me.
FB is full of people that I've met (minus 1) who, odds are, I'll never see again (minus 20), and don't read my blog (minus 3).
20something is full of people that I've never met (minus 1) who, odds are, I'll probably never meet (although I think it would be fun to), and don't read my blog (yet).
And most are amazing bloggers, with some pretty kick-ass 20 and blog profiles/layouts/whathaveyous. It's amazing! I think about maybe beautifying my stuff, but just figuring out the Google reader made my eyes cross and head hurt!
PS~ What's the point of the Google profile. It's not like I can do anything with it. Or can I? I'm seriously asking.
I'm just going to accept the fact that I'm tech un-savvy and hope for the best.
Besides I have stumble, flickr and picasso accounts that I don't use (I don't even know how to use the stumble(r?)) and the stuff I need to know--you know, how to find other blogs, write mine, and contact home--I already know.
I'm willing to learn, but can you make it un-boring?
I'm back with loads to vent about...but I don't want this to be a marathon post so I've picked tech stuff.
You know what I care the most about tech-wise? Music and movies. Oh, and being able to call home for free is nice too.
I've mentioned that I don't like myspace, but it serves it's purpose so I'm alright with it. Facebook I got into but it does all of the work for you so my profile will always look just like everyone else's, well, mainly.
However since I've started blogging I've realized that there's a whole mess of crap out there. Damn. I joined 20something a little under 2 months ago.
Bad choice for me.
FB is full of people that I've met (minus 1) who, odds are, I'll never see again (minus 20), and don't read my blog (minus 3).
20something is full of people that I've never met (minus 1) who, odds are, I'll probably never meet (although I think it would be fun to), and don't read my blog (yet).
And most are amazing bloggers, with some pretty kick-ass 20 and blog profiles/layouts/whathaveyous. It's amazing! I think about maybe beautifying my stuff, but just figuring out the Google reader made my eyes cross and head hurt!
PS~ What's the point of the Google profile. It's not like I can do anything with it. Or can I? I'm seriously asking.
I'm just going to accept the fact that I'm tech un-savvy and hope for the best.
Besides I have stumble, flickr and picasso accounts that I don't use (I don't even know how to use the stumble(r?)) and the stuff I need to know--you know, how to find other blogs, write mine, and contact home--I already know.
I'm willing to learn, but can you make it un-boring?
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
What the tourism guide doesn't tell you...
This is Lacey, not Stacy. Dun dun DUN!
I'm from Perks of Being a JAP, and this is all part of the 20 Something Bloggers "Blog Swap 3".
Now go over to Stacy's post over at my site.
Go!
Since Stacy is abroad, and I'm in NYC, quite possibly the tourist mecca of the United States, we decided to touch on the art of being a tourist - both the good, and bad. And since I work right by Times Square, what better person than me to give suggestions on how to NOT be a horrible tourist (in NYC).
My mom has always said that tourists should have certain hours in which they can't be out roaming the streets. Between the hours of 7:30am - 9am, and then 5pm - 6:30pm, send them to a museum or something. There's nothing more annoying than trying to get to work (or home), only to be stopped in my tracks because a tourist is taking a picture of SOMETHING, in the middle of the sidewalk. (When I took the above picture, I made sure to stand on the side... out of the way.)
Want to mark yourself visibly as a tourist? Make sure to rock one of those "I heart NY" t-shirts. It'll also give the pick pockets an easy target.
New Yorkers walk fast. Keep up. If you walk slow, you may get kicked in the shin. Possibly on purpose. And in the subway - here's the key to the escalators - left sides for walkin, right sides for standin. Don't mess it up. You may get kicked in the shin.
You run into The Gap, Ann Taylor Loft, and Urban Outfitters like they don't have these stores everywhere. Granted, our taxes may be cheaper than yours (not most of the time), but there's no need to act all excited like it's something you've never seen before in your life.
Green lights mean go. Red lights mean go, as long as there are no cars coming.
Don't walk down the street more than 2 people across. I'm all for holding hands, but if you're preventing me from walking past you, I will Red Rover your ass and run through.
New Yorkers will generally be more than happy to give you directions. But please, if we don't know where something is, don't look at us like we're a failure. Sometimes we just don't know the entire grid of the city.
Only ask people who don't look busy if they can take your picture. If I'm walking really fast, chances are I don't have time to take a snapshot of you and your family in front of the McDonalds at Times Square.
And because I can't be completely mean...
Find the Naked Cowboy and take a picture with him. I've lived in NYC my whole life and still want to do this. Go up to Top of the Rock. The views are incredible. If you want to shop, walk down 5th Avenue. If you don't, walk down anyway. Take a stroll through Central Park, but skip the carriage ride. It's overpriced and you just smell horse poo the whole ride. Look up. A lot. Enjoy the city.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
It's finally here...the secret
As you all (should) know, I'm participating in BlogSecret. Here is the anonymous secret that I'm posting...feel free to leave comments (in fact, I encourage it).
For more click here. Happy reading!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Burden of Knowledge
For the last year and a half, I’ve been carrying a secret. Its owner is no longer in my life, and although I am free of him, I will never be able to free myself from the information he shared with me.
We were on vacation when he told me; drinking beer, sitting by the fire, talking about the past. He wore his past like a hunch on his back. It distorted him, but he couldn’t rid himself of it. It offered some sort of security, and an excuse for his actions. He used it to explain why he “was the way he was” and “did things the way he did.”
I knew he had been a latch-key kid. I knew his older brother had gotten him into trouble when he was young, encouraging him to lose his virginity at 13 and pursue every avenue of promiscuity. I knew he had accused his brother of sleeping with his college girlfriend. And I knew his brother had convinced him in his 30s to have the girl he was dating sleep with one of his friends so he could fantasize about it.
I knew Nate’s brother had major issues—sexually and with drugs and alcohol. But I had met him and he had been kind to me, so I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt. Mostly for Nate’s sake.
But that night, something came over Nate and he told me just how bad things were when he was a kid. He told me that he remembers his brother and sister doing things together when no one was home. Things that have, in adulthood, estranged them. I asked if his brother had done things to him, too. He replied, “Probably.” I asked if his family knew. He said yes. His sister had exposed the secret when other allegations came out against the brother. Then he simply said, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
I felt sick.
Nate and I had been together a year. Things were rocky, but I cared about him deeply, and at the time thought we had a future together. In that moment, all I could think of was what this might mean for any children he had down the line. Nate had obviously not worked through any of this. And neither had his brother. I worried that the cycle could repeat itself.
The rest of our vacation was strained. And when we came home, Nate broke up with me. He admitted to cheating on me and we both knew there was no way to repair the relationship. I was brokenhearted but also overcome by a feeling of relief. I knew the weight of all his baggage was too much for me to bear.
But now, so many months later, I’m still carrying it with me. I’m still thinking about it, inviting that same turn of my stomach each time it enters my mind. I wish I could somehow forget. I wish I could stop wondering if Nate will be okay. If he’ll talk to a therapist and work through this instead of using it to explain future behavior.
I do not know how to process it. I do not know who to talk to about it. I do not know how to erase its mental images from my mind.
Any suggestions?
For more click here. Happy reading!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Burden of Knowledge
For the last year and a half, I’ve been carrying a secret. Its owner is no longer in my life, and although I am free of him, I will never be able to free myself from the information he shared with me.
We were on vacation when he told me; drinking beer, sitting by the fire, talking about the past. He wore his past like a hunch on his back. It distorted him, but he couldn’t rid himself of it. It offered some sort of security, and an excuse for his actions. He used it to explain why he “was the way he was” and “did things the way he did.”
I knew he had been a latch-key kid. I knew his older brother had gotten him into trouble when he was young, encouraging him to lose his virginity at 13 and pursue every avenue of promiscuity. I knew he had accused his brother of sleeping with his college girlfriend. And I knew his brother had convinced him in his 30s to have the girl he was dating sleep with one of his friends so he could fantasize about it.
I knew Nate’s brother had major issues—sexually and with drugs and alcohol. But I had met him and he had been kind to me, so I chose to give him the benefit of the doubt. Mostly for Nate’s sake.
But that night, something came over Nate and he told me just how bad things were when he was a kid. He told me that he remembers his brother and sister doing things together when no one was home. Things that have, in adulthood, estranged them. I asked if his brother had done things to him, too. He replied, “Probably.” I asked if his family knew. He said yes. His sister had exposed the secret when other allegations came out against the brother. Then he simply said, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
I felt sick.
Nate and I had been together a year. Things were rocky, but I cared about him deeply, and at the time thought we had a future together. In that moment, all I could think of was what this might mean for any children he had down the line. Nate had obviously not worked through any of this. And neither had his brother. I worried that the cycle could repeat itself.
The rest of our vacation was strained. And when we came home, Nate broke up with me. He admitted to cheating on me and we both knew there was no way to repair the relationship. I was brokenhearted but also overcome by a feeling of relief. I knew the weight of all his baggage was too much for me to bear.
But now, so many months later, I’m still carrying it with me. I’m still thinking about it, inviting that same turn of my stomach each time it enters my mind. I wish I could somehow forget. I wish I could stop wondering if Nate will be okay. If he’ll talk to a therapist and work through this instead of using it to explain future behavior.
I do not know how to process it. I do not know who to talk to about it. I do not know how to erase its mental images from my mind.
Any suggestions?
Sunday, November 16, 2008
It's getting close...
I have been informed that to know me is to love or hate me, with my personality there is no gray area. Huh, not sure what to make of that.
I was gonna share about my week, but I don't want to. It's important and special to me, if you needed to know about it you would know by now. Although I'll mention that I never thought I'd hear 'Hey Woman' while I was outside the US. It's crazy how it actually warms my heart (region) to hear my aunt say that while here! I expected it with A and the 'rents, but was mildly surprised with the other(s).
Forget the gifts (wait, gimme those back), just hearing 'woman' 'lady' and basically anything that my sis said made me feel loved. {tear} But don't let that make you think I'm soft. Nuh-uh. No way. I'm a tiger. Grrr.
I can't decide if I should go home for Christmas. For me it's bad enough to have to miss my favorite holiday (that's Thanksgiving, if you didn't know), and odds are I'll have to miss it every year that I'm abroad, but to miss Christmas too? I just don't know. I thought this year would be fine; I was gonna have someone visit, if not I was gonna chill with the others that are here without family...well, Kels was the only one and after a bit of back-and-forth she is officially going home. I don't want to do the holidays alone but I also don't want to waste money for a 2 week vacation that is only 1 month away! Help me!
For the first time ever...
All my life I've been told that I look like my mother, my aunt, Miracle, my sister, basically every black female that so-n-so had seen. After all 'we all look alike' don't we?
Not according to M! For the first time in my life someone has said the opposite! She said that there are little similarities, but not enough to know that we are related by blood just by looking at us, but hearing us talk and joke she could tell that we are definitely a close family. Which is true. From the very beginning I remember my mom, my aunt, sis, and my cousins (they may as well be my brothers and sisters). And that's not a bad thing.
I was gonna share about my week, but I don't want to. It's important and special to me, if you needed to know about it you would know by now. Although I'll mention that I never thought I'd hear 'Hey Woman' while I was outside the US. It's crazy how it actually warms my heart (region) to hear my aunt say that while here! I expected it with A and the 'rents, but was mildly surprised with the other(s).
Forget the gifts (wait, gimme those back), just hearing 'woman' 'lady' and basically anything that my sis said made me feel loved. {tear} But don't let that make you think I'm soft. Nuh-uh. No way. I'm a tiger. Grrr.
I can't decide if I should go home for Christmas. For me it's bad enough to have to miss my favorite holiday (that's Thanksgiving, if you didn't know), and odds are I'll have to miss it every year that I'm abroad, but to miss Christmas too? I just don't know. I thought this year would be fine; I was gonna have someone visit, if not I was gonna chill with the others that are here without family...well, Kels was the only one and after a bit of back-and-forth she is officially going home. I don't want to do the holidays alone but I also don't want to waste money for a 2 week vacation that is only 1 month away! Help me!
For the first time ever...
All my life I've been told that I look like my mother, my aunt, Miracle, my sister, basically every black female that so-n-so had seen. After all 'we all look alike' don't we?
Not according to M! For the first time in my life someone has said the opposite! She said that there are little similarities, but not enough to know that we are related by blood just by looking at us, but hearing us talk and joke she could tell that we are definitely a close family. Which is true. From the very beginning I remember my mom, my aunt, sis, and my cousins (they may as well be my brothers and sisters). And that's not a bad thing.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Life is Good Again! :: An ipod story
First let me take a moment and {insert happy dance} they're here they're they're here! Sunday was chill, yesterday we went to Venice (yum yum gondola guys) and today they're in Rome--I've gotta work (no taking time off 1 month in!)--so we'll meet up again tomorrow morning. So of course later you will be able to read stories about our shenanigans, whether you want to or not.
In the meantime I have one that is quite important because it has to do with the 5th element: Music.
I firmly believe that 90% of things can (and should!) be done with musical involvement. I need music to feel right. Which is part of the reason why I just don't understand my ipod history...
The first was small yet powerful, this little piece of metal that could hold the majority of my feelings, of which, as a college freshman, I had an overabundance. We had successfully survived the first quarter and were getting ready to head home to celebrate when the most unfortunate thing happened. The gloves I had on to protect my delicate (well, as delicate as a gymnasts hands could be) hands from the harsh cold were much to soft, and as I attempted to put the ipod in it's protective sock (remember those ipod socks? too cute!) it slipped!
Everything went in slow motion: the small ipod hurtling through the air, the sock fluttering to the ground, the ipod landing 2 feet from the grass, on concrete, and cracking.
It's just the screen...I can still hear music...but I can't select my songs to match my mood...it's okay, we can fix it...no, you can't...{sigh}...RIP my poor baby. I'm glad you made me happy (and someone else happy, someone who doesn't need a screen, just puts 10 songs on and shuffles).
It was time to move on to
Ipod video. The 2nd was amazing, not only could I listen to music but it held almost half of my music library AND I could watch music videos! Score! There would be no dropping of this bad boy. And there wasn't. Someone else decided to assist.
This may be the most painful of all the stories to share.
I was doing the good thing and working. Yessir I was a'making the coffee and smiling my way through my shift. Until I walked into the back room and was greeted with an unsmiling coworker, a coworker who had spilled MY coffee into MY coach bag (which was an expensive-for-me bag that that week's check paid for) and onto MY ipod.
Say it isn't so! A crime against coffee, music, AND fashion in one swoop! The pain, the horror, oh, the humanity! (movie trivia, anyone?)
She replaced the drink (damn straight), couldn't replace the bag (grrr), and didn't have to replace the ipod because once it dried out it worked. Liquid spots on the screen, but everything worked perfectly. And so, she is still alive.
Fast forward a year. I'm being the good student (naturally) and studying at Starbucks before I start my shift.
Up walks a different coworker.
Reaches over to taste my kickass drink.
Sets it down.
And it promptly spills!
All over my finished French essay, half-finished lab, and partially started psychology paper!
And. My. Ipod.
My ipod, my coffee, and 4 hours worth of work! Bitch is going down! But the essay was easy to rewrite, the lab hadn't been transferred yet, and I enjoy psych and was only on page 1 so...after the ipod dried and continued to work all was almost forgiven. Completely forgiven after she bought my lunch.
Another 6 months later I am once again studying at Starbucks before work. This time I take two small tables instead of one big so the drink can be kept at a safe distance and if someone wants to sit they are far from my work and music.
I safely finish my coffee. Mmmm.
I finally finish my school work. Miiah.
I set my ipod down to put dispose of the cup that contained the safely finished coffee and put my finally finished work into my bag.
I bump the table and spill my water onto my ipod! I just didn't see it coming!
It hasn't worked since.
Number 3 wasn't mine, it was a loaner until I could buy another one. Small, like the first, could only hold a couple hundred songs, but better than nothing. It accompanied me to France then, as a 6 month anniversary, I dropped it while running to the train, or on the train, or someone helped me lose it while I was rushing to make sure I didn't miss it (it was the last one to Paris that morning! I was not getting trapped anywhere P could find me. Shit. Au revoir, mon amour.
The fourth was perhaps my favorite, and not just because 4 is such a great number. Oh no, it was the fantabulous iphone. Works in every country with just a switch of a chip. Music, videos, other stuff I had no need for, and the ability to hold about 1/4 of my music. But the phone works universally without the butt-effing rates and I could listen to music. Score. I paid for that myself without whining or even attempting to sucker someone else into doing it. After all, it will last all the years I'm moving around the world.
Or it was going to until some asswhipe stole it from San Lorenzo when I was visiting Kels at work. Effer. I hadn't switched it to Italy yet so hopefully they couldn't use it, or it gave them a headache and in the end they didn't even like my music (sure, my music is great, but maybe they have bad taste in music). That was 2 months ago. I was slowly going insane and wasn't sure when I'd have portable music again...
But now my lovely Lilac (the new nano) is here! She's cute, she's purple, she doesn't hold much but I can have movies, tv shows, music videos, and (naturally) my music! Yessssss. Life is good again.
And the only way someone is getting her is if they pry her from my cold dead fingers.
(Or I find something better and she is discarded. But that won't happen. I am infatuated with my Lilac!)
Portable music in a nice little package. Bliss.
In the meantime I have one that is quite important because it has to do with the 5th element: Music.
I firmly believe that 90% of things can (and should!) be done with musical involvement. I need music to feel right. Which is part of the reason why I just don't understand my ipod history...
The first was small yet powerful, this little piece of metal that could hold the majority of my feelings, of which, as a college freshman, I had an overabundance. We had successfully survived the first quarter and were getting ready to head home to celebrate when the most unfortunate thing happened. The gloves I had on to protect my delicate (well, as delicate as a gymnasts hands could be) hands from the harsh cold were much to soft, and as I attempted to put the ipod in it's protective sock (remember those ipod socks? too cute!) it slipped!
Everything went in slow motion: the small ipod hurtling through the air, the sock fluttering to the ground, the ipod landing 2 feet from the grass, on concrete, and cracking.
It's just the screen...I can still hear music...but I can't select my songs to match my mood...it's okay, we can fix it...no, you can't...{sigh}...RIP my poor baby. I'm glad you made me happy (and someone else happy, someone who doesn't need a screen, just puts 10 songs on and shuffles).
It was time to move on to
Ipod video. The 2nd was amazing, not only could I listen to music but it held almost half of my music library AND I could watch music videos! Score! There would be no dropping of this bad boy. And there wasn't. Someone else decided to assist.
This may be the most painful of all the stories to share.
I was doing the good thing and working. Yessir I was a'making the coffee and smiling my way through my shift. Until I walked into the back room and was greeted with an unsmiling coworker, a coworker who had spilled MY coffee into MY coach bag (which was an expensive-for-me bag that that week's check paid for) and onto MY ipod.
Say it isn't so! A crime against coffee, music, AND fashion in one swoop! The pain, the horror, oh, the humanity! (movie trivia, anyone?)
She replaced the drink (damn straight), couldn't replace the bag (grrr), and didn't have to replace the ipod because once it dried out it worked. Liquid spots on the screen, but everything worked perfectly. And so, she is still alive.
Fast forward a year. I'm being the good student (naturally) and studying at Starbucks before I start my shift.
Up walks a different coworker.
Reaches over to taste my kickass drink.
Sets it down.
And it promptly spills!
All over my finished French essay, half-finished lab, and partially started psychology paper!
And. My. Ipod.
My ipod, my coffee, and 4 hours worth of work! Bitch is going down! But the essay was easy to rewrite, the lab hadn't been transferred yet, and I enjoy psych and was only on page 1 so...after the ipod dried and continued to work all was almost forgiven. Completely forgiven after she bought my lunch.
Another 6 months later I am once again studying at Starbucks before work. This time I take two small tables instead of one big so the drink can be kept at a safe distance and if someone wants to sit they are far from my work and music.
I safely finish my coffee. Mmmm.
I finally finish my school work. Miiah.
I set my ipod down to put dispose of the cup that contained the safely finished coffee and put my finally finished work into my bag.
I bump the table and spill my water onto my ipod! I just didn't see it coming!
It hasn't worked since.
Number 3 wasn't mine, it was a loaner until I could buy another one. Small, like the first, could only hold a couple hundred songs, but better than nothing. It accompanied me to France then, as a 6 month anniversary, I dropped it while running to the train, or on the train, or someone helped me lose it while I was rushing to make sure I didn't miss it (it was the last one to Paris that morning! I was not getting trapped anywhere P could find me. Shit. Au revoir, mon amour.
The fourth was perhaps my favorite, and not just because 4 is such a great number. Oh no, it was the fantabulous iphone. Works in every country with just a switch of a chip. Music, videos, other stuff I had no need for, and the ability to hold about 1/4 of my music. But the phone works universally without the butt-effing rates and I could listen to music. Score. I paid for that myself without whining or even attempting to sucker someone else into doing it. After all, it will last all the years I'm moving around the world.
Or it was going to until some asswhipe stole it from San Lorenzo when I was visiting Kels at work. Effer. I hadn't switched it to Italy yet so hopefully they couldn't use it, or it gave them a headache and in the end they didn't even like my music (sure, my music is great, but maybe they have bad taste in music). That was 2 months ago. I was slowly going insane and wasn't sure when I'd have portable music again...
But now my lovely Lilac (the new nano) is here! She's cute, she's purple, she doesn't hold much but I can have movies, tv shows, music videos, and (naturally) my music! Yessssss. Life is good again.
And the only way someone is getting her is if they pry her from my cold dead fingers.
(Or I find something better and she is discarded. But that won't happen. I am infatuated with my Lilac!)
Portable music in a nice little package. Bliss.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Here's how I feel about Prop 8
I do care about this, so I'm participating. I'm not married (hell to tha no!) so instead my flower will have to work.
~We welcome supporters of gay rights to snap your own photo showing your wedding ring on your middle finger. Spread the word that this fight isn’t over. Whether you’re gay, straight, bi, white, blue or tan — show your support by letting freedom ring on your blog! Please forward this page to any friends and family who may find it of interest.~
Is it just me or do I have really long fingers? No wonder instruments were a breeze.
Anyways, not the point!
Check out the movement yourself HERE.
Seriously, if you don't like gay marriage, then don't get one.
You have no right to take someone else's.
Spread love.
~We welcome supporters of gay rights to snap your own photo showing your wedding ring on your middle finger. Spread the word that this fight isn’t over. Whether you’re gay, straight, bi, white, blue or tan — show your support by letting freedom ring on your blog! Please forward this page to any friends and family who may find it of interest.~
Is it just me or do I have really long fingers? No wonder instruments were a breeze.
Anyways, not the point!
Check out the movement yourself HERE.
Seriously, if you don't like gay marriage, then don't get one.
You have no right to take someone else's.
Spread love.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Most Powerful Man in the World
So don't you think that other countries should have a say?
M mentioned this today at lunch. She said that almost every person from every country that she has talked to was rooting for Obama and, if he had lost, they would have lost all faith in the US.
You see he isn't just the President of the US, he's considered the most powerful man in the world (and she said that was also just proven by the US crisis that quickly became a world crisis--the US coughs and the world gets a cold, it's true--) and, after she got rolling, as such shouldn't the rest of the world have a say? Even if it's just 'endorsements' it should be taken into consideration.
Huh.
Anyhow, on the Italian news it showed Obama meeting with Sarkozy; the citizens of Obama, Japan rooting for Obama; and Kenyans having a grand ol' party.
History. Is. Made.
Now this is a day I will never forget.
You have quite a task ahead of you, make us proud!
M mentioned this today at lunch. She said that almost every person from every country that she has talked to was rooting for Obama and, if he had lost, they would have lost all faith in the US.
You see he isn't just the President of the US, he's considered the most powerful man in the world (and she said that was also just proven by the US crisis that quickly became a world crisis--the US coughs and the world gets a cold, it's true--) and, after she got rolling, as such shouldn't the rest of the world have a say? Even if it's just 'endorsements' it should be taken into consideration.
Huh.
Anyhow, on the Italian news it showed Obama meeting with Sarkozy; the citizens of Obama, Japan rooting for Obama; and Kenyans having a grand ol' party.
History. Is. Made.
Now this is a day I will never forget.
You have quite a task ahead of you, make us proud!
History is Made!
First black president of the US: Boom baby!
Wait, that deserves a repeat...
First Black President of the United States! And it feels so good.
It is Wednesday morning for me and I just got the best phone call ever...
I can't believe we did it! I have to admit I had my doubts but
we did it we did it we did it we did it!
{There goes my sister's old childhood dream of being the first black and female pres, but she can still be the first black female pres}
I'm so happy, there are no words.
Just an abundance of energy and permasmile.
It feels so good.
Wait, that deserves a repeat...
First Black President of the United States! And it feels so good.
It is Wednesday morning for me and I just got the best phone call ever...
I can't believe we did it! I have to admit I had my doubts but
we did it we did it we did it we did it!
{There goes my sister's old childhood dream of being the first black and female pres, but she can still be the first black female pres}
I'm so happy, there are no words.
Just an abundance of energy and permasmile.
It feels so good.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Silly American
He-ey, it's a two-for-one Tuesday!
Go ahead, let loose, be a creepster. That's our mini-motto. Well, actually that's just mine. Y'see, to entertain ourselves (and we are fairly easy to entertain) we decided to pick a couple of things and see how long it takes until someone mentions something. I got creepster, she got stalker, he got starer. Apparently I suck at this b/c no one I repeat NO ONE has called me out on this! I hate losing. Every game that I lose at officially sucks! But in my defense I got the hardest one. Italian guys could give me lessons in being creepy, and just thought that I was hitting on them, it doesn't translate through the internet (and yes, I actually tried, damn), and well, that's that. He was called out fairly quickly, but it got him a date because he's basically gorgeous, and that's how guys pick up guys around here. And she got us a new hang-out buddy, because face it, if you can laugh off this little angel face stalking you you deserve a chance to kick it with the current fab five. But, I didn't lose. I was so good at being creepy that no one commented on the creepiness because it could provoke even more creepiness in the future. Hah!
Anyhow...
::Silly American::
I know the looks I get. I can feel your eyes staring at me, into me, through me. I feel them as they travel down, down, down, and finally settle on...my shoes. Correction: my rubber rainboots.
Hello, have you looked up? It's raining (it's pouring, the ol--okay, moving on then!). It's raining buckets. It's not like I'm wearing my boots when the sun is shining and there's no chance of rain! So how dare you look at my rubbers with such disdain (how dare you sir). I wasn't even doing anything weird (like puddle-jumping. Which I enjoy, and everyone should do at least once in their adult lives) I was simply walking around, minding my business, doing a bit of shopping. And then there you were. With your vowel store clothes and your fancy jacket giving me the eye of shame. Let's get some perspective people, it's not like I was cutting the spaghetti again!
PS: Never EVER cut your spaghetti (or any noodles, for that matter) while in Italy. You eat them how they are served to you. You'd better master the swirl, scoop, and set, otherwise you'll get the gasp, eye, and head shake all at once.
Okay, back to topic at hand.
And besides, you see that puddle you just avoided? I don't have to. And all those splashes you desperately attempt to avoid (even though your shoes and legs get wet anyways)? I can walk easy.
Oh, and when you get home just to realize that you have ruined your Manolo slingbacks and Armani pants I'd like to remind you that I DIDN'T. Y'know why? Because I'm wearing rubber boots, bitches!
Go ahead, let loose, be a creepster. That's our mini-motto. Well, actually that's just mine. Y'see, to entertain ourselves (and we are fairly easy to entertain) we decided to pick a couple of things and see how long it takes until someone mentions something. I got creepster, she got stalker, he got starer. Apparently I suck at this b/c no one I repeat NO ONE has called me out on this! I hate losing. Every game that I lose at officially sucks! But in my defense I got the hardest one. Italian guys could give me lessons in being creepy, and just thought that I was hitting on them, it doesn't translate through the internet (and yes, I actually tried, damn), and well, that's that. He was called out fairly quickly, but it got him a date because he's basically gorgeous, and that's how guys pick up guys around here. And she got us a new hang-out buddy, because face it, if you can laugh off this little angel face stalking you you deserve a chance to kick it with the current fab five. But, I didn't lose. I was so good at being creepy that no one commented on the creepiness because it could provoke even more creepiness in the future. Hah!
Anyhow...
::Silly American::
I know the looks I get. I can feel your eyes staring at me, into me, through me. I feel them as they travel down, down, down, and finally settle on...my shoes. Correction: my rubber rainboots.
Hello, have you looked up? It's raining (it's pouring, the ol--okay, moving on then!). It's raining buckets. It's not like I'm wearing my boots when the sun is shining and there's no chance of rain! So how dare you look at my rubbers with such disdain (how dare you sir). I wasn't even doing anything weird (like puddle-jumping. Which I enjoy, and everyone should do at least once in their adult lives) I was simply walking around, minding my business, doing a bit of shopping. And then there you were. With your vowel store clothes and your fancy jacket giving me the eye of shame. Let's get some perspective people, it's not like I was cutting the spaghetti again!
PS: Never EVER cut your spaghetti (or any noodles, for that matter) while in Italy. You eat them how they are served to you. You'd better master the swirl, scoop, and set, otherwise you'll get the gasp, eye, and head shake all at once.
Okay, back to topic at hand.
And besides, you see that puddle you just avoided? I don't have to. And all those splashes you desperately attempt to avoid (even though your shoes and legs get wet anyways)? I can walk easy.
Oh, and when you get home just to realize that you have ruined your Manolo slingbacks and Armani pants I'd like to remind you that I DIDN'T. Y'know why? Because I'm wearing rubber boots, bitches!
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Do these guys have 'Know-a-Ho' knowledge?
Man I love it when I'm right!
This is Aspen pt. due...but I couldn't bring myself to write about these past two weekends because I don't yet know how to put it--not nicely--but neatly. Y'see I'm not very good at sugarcoating, but I don't intentionally want to say hurtful things about everyone, that's just rude. But she does make it easy.
Anyhow.
How many times do 'incidents' happen before they're officially a pattern?
Apparently for the past year or so Aspen has been the 'other woman' in her-dare I say-relationships. She'd find out around the 2 month mark, they'd split, then she'd move on to the next one. This does not a ho make.
She's been sactive (that's sack active) for 4 years...averaging 5 people per year. Again, does not a ho make (but this, when combined with the above, is when I officially started to let her know that I was judging).
I winced, but didn't brand her after finding out how many men she's been with since she's been here in Italy (she's been here for 2-3 weeks now). The thing that makes me wonder (get ready) is her talk. It's true, actions speak louder than words, but insecurities scream louder than some other things. And she has them. One, in particular: Am I a whore?
Naturally, I said no. Luckily it's the truth because she's fun to be around and I doubt friendships progress after calling someone a whore, even if it's true. I think she's a bit easy, sure, but hasn't entered the 'dom'. The number doesn't bother me, it's her being bothered by the number that gets me. I'm still fairly new to this girltalk business but it gives me the chills when she brings it up because I feel like I'm on a tightrope. But I share the words of wisdom that normally makes everyone feel better about their choices (Paul Arden, like I mentioned)
It's better to regret the things you have done than the things you haven't.
In her case, people. Hehehe.
Anyhow, one of the guys is one of my Italian pseudo-friends (meaning it's not really a friendship, but we chill because it's fun and why not? Besides the fact that we don't really really get along) and why her?
He just knew...something.
Could this possibly be the 'know-a-ho' knowledge?
I didn't know that European men had this! Because face it the majority of European women are very open and giving with their sexuality so why would they need to develop this?
To help 'em out with the American women, and knowing which women are worth what kind of time and energy.
Go figure.
I have to say, being a very passionate person myself, I try not to label as quickly as I judge and I do believe people should embrace their sexuality. But if you need someone else to tell you it's okay, you're prolly doing something you shouldn't be doing.
I've read somewhere that your greatest fear has already happened to you in some form.
And one of her fears: Putting the 'ho' in whore.
This is Aspen pt. due...but I couldn't bring myself to write about these past two weekends because I don't yet know how to put it--not nicely--but neatly. Y'see I'm not very good at sugarcoating, but I don't intentionally want to say hurtful things about everyone, that's just rude. But she does make it easy.
Anyhow.
How many times do 'incidents' happen before they're officially a pattern?
Apparently for the past year or so Aspen has been the 'other woman' in her-dare I say-relationships. She'd find out around the 2 month mark, they'd split, then she'd move on to the next one. This does not a ho make.
She's been sactive (that's sack active) for 4 years...averaging 5 people per year. Again, does not a ho make (but this, when combined with the above, is when I officially started to let her know that I was judging).
I winced, but didn't brand her after finding out how many men she's been with since she's been here in Italy (she's been here for 2-3 weeks now). The thing that makes me wonder (get ready) is her talk. It's true, actions speak louder than words, but insecurities scream louder than some other things. And she has them. One, in particular: Am I a whore?
Naturally, I said no. Luckily it's the truth because she's fun to be around and I doubt friendships progress after calling someone a whore, even if it's true. I think she's a bit easy, sure, but hasn't entered the 'dom'. The number doesn't bother me, it's her being bothered by the number that gets me. I'm still fairly new to this girltalk business but it gives me the chills when she brings it up because I feel like I'm on a tightrope. But I share the words of wisdom that normally makes everyone feel better about their choices (Paul Arden, like I mentioned)
It's better to regret the things you have done than the things you haven't.
In her case, people. Hehehe.
Anyhow, one of the guys is one of my Italian pseudo-friends (meaning it's not really a friendship, but we chill because it's fun and why not? Besides the fact that we don't really really get along) and why her?
He just knew...something.
Could this possibly be the 'know-a-ho' knowledge?
I didn't know that European men had this! Because face it the majority of European women are very open and giving with their sexuality so why would they need to develop this?
To help 'em out with the American women, and knowing which women are worth what kind of time and energy.
Go figure.
I have to say, being a very passionate person myself, I try not to label as quickly as I judge and I do believe people should embrace their sexuality. But if you need someone else to tell you it's okay, you're prolly doing something you shouldn't be doing.
I've read somewhere that your greatest fear has already happened to you in some form.
And one of her fears: Putting the 'ho' in whore.
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