The Perfect Storm

Things I Must Do in the Month of April:

1. 5 page term paper for Italian Renaissance Art

2. 10 page term paper for History of Modern China

3. Part 2 of short story for Writing Fiction (length subject to change)

And of course, the list does not include activities such as attending French language tables twice a month, finding a job (still?!), finding scholarships (still @_@), an exam for Italian Renaissance Art, 2 cultural activities for French, and a French test.

Can I please go back home? NOW?

An Itch I Can't Scratch

Warning: The following post contains material not suitable for younger viewers. If I were to assign this post a film rating, it would be a hard R. Perhaps X if I decide to be really frank.

That is all.

~~

You make me feel hot. Like the surface of the sun hot. Like Brokeback Mountain hot. Like make-up sex hot. You let me boss you around and tell you where to touch, how to touch, and for how long. You make me want to give back as you much you do, which NEVER happens with any of my encounters. I'm normally very selfish (or just plain uninterested), but there's something about the way you bite me...

And pull my hair. And grip my hips. And blow into my ear. How you tell me that you've never been with a non-white girl before, let alone a college student. How you growl when I yank your hand away from my pants zipper (No, never that. I don't care how good you are.) And how we casually greet each other at work, the others blissfully unaware of our late night rendezvous.

You piss me off so badly. You're perverted and vulgar, and use the n-word liberally (even though you try to excuse it with a feeble "I've got black friends so it's okay." Are you kidding me? It's never okay.) You bait me until you have me near-shouting at you and wringing my hands in frustration. You're cocky and arrogant with a smirk to match, and just when I think you've reached maximum level of macho chauvinistic pig offensiveness, you always manage to exceed expectations.

So I piss you off. I don't tell you what I'm thinking, or repeat what I mumbled under my breath. I try to trip you while you're walking with a full tray of drinks. I call you out on your bullshit. I make fun of your truck. And I tease you mercilessly. All of these things aren't much, but when I do 'em, I'm in full Bitch Mode (which, incidentally, turns you on.)

I can feel you look at me sometimes. Your eyes seem to peel my apron off, pull up my uniform shirt, slide underneath the underwire of my bra. You never stare for more than a couple of seconds though. I don't let you see me shiver.

You make the possibility of me being a lesbian completely absurd.

Exhilarating. Absolutely unreal. Definitely Something New.

So it's too bad I'm going back to school in a few days. I could have had more fun.

I could have written more posts like this.

Homewrecker: Asian Edition

I admit it: I haven't been the most Goody-Goody Two Shoes I can possibly be. I mean, I've partied. Drank. Smoked. You know, College Student Stuff. But what happened the night before...was an entirely brand new level of Badness. Hell, I surprised myself. I really think I did not have it in me.

SHIT.

Oh well. It happened. In a car. At midnight. On the House of China II parking lot located across a well-lit Huddle House from which people could file out, turn around, and spot two silly little adolescents sucking face in an innocent-looking Chrysler.

SHIIIIIIIIIIIT.

I'm not the one at fault @_@ He should be the one at fault. He's the one with "prior commitments," not me. NOT ME. NOT MEEEEEE. Also, I'm dwelling on this too much. Why am I dwelling on this so much? It wasn't awkward the next day. We didn't do anything *too* out of bounds. I should just forget this whole thing ever occurred. Right?

HE WORKS FOR MY MOTHER O______________O

Now I remember why I'm freaking out. Shitty McShit. SHIT. And ASS.

This wasn't supposed to happen. I turn into Ugly Chinese Girl when I go home. At college, I'm hot. In Georgia, I'm really really not. This does not make sense. White redneck males in rural Georgia don't go for liberal freewheeling Asian girls like me. Can somebody explain this to me?!?!?!?!

Pretty please?

Laundry Cling

I'm really tired. And I'm also really sorry. I'm sorry for always bothering you, even though you say that you'd tell me to go away if that were really the case. You haven't yet, but I'm waiting for it. I know I can be paranoid and sensitive and constantly in need of reassurance, but sometimes I can be very endearing...I think. I'm just scared that you don't consider me your "best"/"closest" friend here or something similar to those labels because if you didn't, then my only best friend would be all the way in Georgia. And then I'd be really lonely in college.

Truth is, I just want to feel needed. I just want someone to need me as much as I need them. I'm sure there's a better word than "need," but I've been running on 3 hours of sleep all day so screw you dudes.

I don't think it's hard to understand that I don't want to be "that expendable, forgettable friend."

(Non)sense

A list of buildings in Middlebury College that I will never, EVER, be able to navigate through:

1. Freeman International Center (Around and around it goes...)

2. The Ross Complex (It's riot-proof and also gets you lost in 2 seconds! ^_^)

3. Gifford Hall (Why the hell are there so many random nooks and crannies!?)

4. Center for the Arts (All that random wasted space!)

5. Coffrin Hall (I don't even know where to begin for this one @_@)

DePantsing, or the Equivalent of That

I feel like I have just poured most of my Deep Dark Secrets and Shames and Insecurities to you over a 7 month period only to have them aired out in public and used against me in one of the worst ways imaginable.

Oh wait. I feel that way because that is what has just happened to me.

My bad. Really, my bad.

Is This It?

Please don't think that I'm jealous of you, that I don't want you to be happy. Because I do. So this thing, my all-telling silence at your experience, isn't your fault. It's completely mine. I don't particularly want him, but I want what you're feeling right now. I want to feel thrilled, intrigued, excited. I want be into someone too. I just want to feel. I've been kidding myself since I got here in September. I've been trying to fool myself since I got here in September. After all those weekend outings, after all the parties and the booze and the weed and the loud thumping humping music that blasts my eardrums to pieces--

I go back to my room, brush my teeth, and sit on the computer for a couple of hours before going to bed. It's as if I never went out. I don't squeal over that One Person whom I danced with most of the time or shriek over the phone to my friends, telling them about The Hot Guy I made out with. I don't think about these things at night. Oh, I'll tell you in the morning at Ross, embellishing a few details here and there, widening my eyes and clutching my face like I'm recounting the Juiciest Story you'll ever hear, EVER, but let it be known that I'm lying. Don't believe me when I say shit like:

"It felt sooo good."

"I hope I see him again."

"Do you think he remembers me?"

"It was so great, with his hands all over my ass and my hands running through his hair and blah diddy blah blah blah."

I'm lying through my teeth. It doesn't feel good. It feels mechanical, medical, like I'm performing a procedure. Move hips to the right. Do a little dip. Tilt my head towards his. Let him kiss me. Let his tongue probe around the inside of my mouth. Hold breath as he does so. Attempt non-tongue kissing on my part. Realize he only wants tongue. Pull face away. Rock hips some more. Repeat cycle.

You must think what an idiot I am by now. You are not incorrect in your assessment. I am an idiot. I am an idiot who doesn't want to acknowledge what might be the problem here and what might be the most perfect solution in the world for me. But I'll say it out loud, if only to jar myself into realization:

I might be a lesbian.

I mean, I'm already bisexual so what's another step to the left? I wouldn't act much differently from how I am right now. Except, of course, that I'd try to dance with girls. Right. And my family would disown me. They don't even know about my current swinging ways. So yeah, I'm a coward. I don't want to think about this small, very real possibility that I might exclusively prefer girls because then that would mean the end of Me and My Family and My Life. I'm scared to death. I don't want that.

Th more I think about it, the angrier I get. I rage at myself. Why can't I just pick a gender (or two) and be done with it? Why can't I seem to decide what I like and what I don't like? Why don't I like kissing these people? Why don't I like them to touch me? Obviously, the solution to this dilemma is to simply not go to these hook-up events or go to them and dance by myself the whole time. But guess WHAT? I start complaining. I start whining that I'm not attractive or no one likes an awkward Asian girl leaning against a wall of the Bunker. I feel unwanted and nasty. And then someone grabs my hand for a dance. You know what happens next.

I don't hate very often (actually rarely), but when I do, I mean it whole-heartedly. I hate myself in these moments. I hate my indecisiveness, my swaying, my inability to figure out what the fuck do I actually want. I mentally beat myself up over and over until I suppress these murderous thoughts and prepare myself for another weekend.

And this self-hate, like so many other things, only gets deeper and uglier.

Sometimes I wake up to completely uneventful mornings. I go to class, eat lunch, go to class, do homework, eat dinner, sit in front of the computer, go to bed. I have scenes with my friends in between my robotic actions in which I laugh and all is good. And then there are days when I have too much homework, or I haven't seen anyone in a while, or I am just tired. My thoughts wander and go wild then. I get so tired, you know, and I get so frustrated with my life in Academia that I wonder why I'm here. Not here in Middlebury. Just here in school, studying. For what? To get a job? And then what? To make money? Then marry and have kids and grow old and die? That's it?

It only gets worse. I think about wanting to go home, but remember that I would go to work and take care of my little brother and other sisterly activities. Then I don't want to go home, but neither do I want to stay in school. So where can I go? My mind wants out, but there is no place I can retreat to. Not even the weekends help stimulate me. I grow bored of them, to be honest. What's the point of hooking up with someone at a party? What's the point of finding out my sexuality for sure? What's the point of all of this? Someone please get me out of here. I wish I could detach myself and float away. I might not even come back. Maybe there's something more interesting Out There than what I've been forced to live through since my conception.

I think about killing myself again, but for different reasons this time.

This isn't a cry for attention, and neither is it for revenge. In stupid terms, I contemplate it because I'm bored. Disillusioned. Tired. That's the perfect word. Tired. I'm tired of going to school and going home and thinking about my future and maintaining friendships and thinking about stupid retarded romance crap that gets me abso-fucking-lutely nowhere. There's nothing interesting or exciting about life. All of it feels so automatic and predictable. I don't feel unique; I don't feel like an individual. What do these problems matter once I'm old and feeble and dying? Nothing. In the end, I'm going to die anyway, and I probably won't even remember the good times/bad times. So what's wrong with wanting to escape now? I can cut the mind-numbing process called Life in half and be done with it. I won't have to play Neopets. I won't have to refresh Facebook a million times. I won't have to hide within myself when I'm out on Friday/Saturday nights. And I won't have to wake up to uneventful mornings anymore.

It's the only thing I know that I want. So can you blame me? Seriously, can you?

ZZzzz

This week has so fucking boring. Jed, you are so riiiiggghht. Nothing has been going on.

SOMEONE GIVE ME DRAMA. SOMEONE GIVE ME ENTERTAINMENT. SOMETHIINNNGGG.

@____@

Mojo Love

I was at Bunker tonight. I wore all black and danced by myself most of the time. I didn't look for anyone to dance with. I wasn't trying to win/seduce anyone for once.

I do not like anyone. I am not interested in anyone.

Wow. My life is so fucking boring now. What am I going to write about? There's no one I can fixate all my attentions and fantasies on, no one to long after, no one to get off to, no one. I have writer juice. I have no inspiration.

I HAVE NO MOJO O____________O

Going Once, Going Twice

I'll be your perfect friend, your best friend, if you'd just give me a chance.

I'll listen to anything you say without judgment and bring you food from the dining halls when you're too sick to even sit up on your bed. I'll help you with your homework and assuage you with reassuring comments about your self-image when you have one of those days. I'll trail behind you and let you have the spotlight when we're talking with our other friends because I'm the sidekick, and you're not. I'll take your side on any argument, no matter how wrong you may actually be. I'll be your rock. I'll bear any insult/low blow you throw at me without comment. I'll be the one person, the only person, to whom you can be a complete asshole. I'll be anything you want me to be.

Because I am that perfect friend. I am that best friend. So don't replace me. Please.