8 Reasons Last Night Was Really Good via FUZZBEED

1. I LEFT MY HOUSE ON A WORK NIGHT!

I DON'T KNOW WHO THIS GUY IS BUT HE LEFT HIS HOUSE ON A WORK NIGHT TOO!

2. I GOT TO SEE TEA LEAF GREEN FOR $16!

 UNFORTUNATELY THEY WERE NOT COVERED IN MUD. YOU CAN'T HAVE EVERYTHING.

3. I LOOKED REALLY CUTE

WELL NOT THIS CUTE.

4. I WAS OUT WITH MY BEST FRIEND!

IT WAS FUN AND NO UNNECESSARY FOREARM TOUCHING WAS INVOLVED!
5. I GOT TO DANCE!

I HOPE THIS KID DOESN'T SUE ME.

6. THERE WERE CUTE GUYS!

OKAY NOT THAT CUTE.

7. I WAS LESS THAN 10 FEET AWAY FROM THIS GUY!!!!!!!1!1!

CLEARLY WE ARE SOULMATES BECAUSE WE ARE BOTH HOTTER IN PERSON THAN IN PHOTOS. 

8. WE MADE EYE CONTACT SEVERAL TIMES. BECAUSE I WAS IN FRONT OF HIS KEYBOARD. LIKE A CREEPY FANGIRL.

I ACTUALLY BEHAVED LIKE THE MEME SAID I WOULD

via FUZZBEED

Leave the Cat Ladies Alone!

If you live in the country, it's almost inevitable that at some point in time you will end up dripping with cats. They show up at your house, you adopt them from a neighbor, you have a mouse problem, another one shows up at your house.

As a current reluctant and confused suburban dweller, I've downsized to one cat, the fluffy, chubby, toothless and loveable Oscar Meyer Weiner-Lockman. I am madly in love with him, as I was with Sadie, until my dad fell madly in love with her and decided to keep her in West Virginia forever. Oscar is my Colorado cat and my life would be much gloomier without him.

At this point, I'm somewhat of a caricature of a cat lady in-training. There's a litter box in my bedroom. If that isn't a deterrent to potential suitors, the fact that Oscar loves to step on faces and jugular veins could be. I don't know. I find it all hilarious and loveable.

So why do women who have cats that they love get so much flack? I mean, I love a good joke at someone else's expense as much as the next person, but there's nothing wrong with a woman who has a cat. Or even two or three. Everybody needs to love and be loved, and sometimes a pet is the easiest way to guarantee that you'll get and give love. Just imagine if every person who is sometimes lonely and has a pet to help combat that loneliness, had a child instead of that pet.

We'd be overpopulated in a millisecond.

That's not to say that pet ownership is only for people who are lonely. That's obviously not true. But the lonely are the ones who get the most shit about it. And the women who have cats, especially women who are single or live alone, get even more shit about it than men. Because, I don't know, it's unnatural for a woman to have a cat instead of a child. (I have no idea. I'm assuming that's why there's this sexist stigma around "cat ladies").

You see, some people are young or old or sick or brokenhearted or going through major changes or busy or happy and for any or all of the above reasons, pets become almost as important as the people in their lives. Sometimes, as much as their bodies want them to be popping out babies left and right, their brains know that having a cat to love on is much wiser than entering a relationship with someone they meet on OkCupid! whose religion is "Dude-ism."

I have no doubt that when the time comes for me to have babies and another significant other it will happen. But for now, sharing my bed with Oscar is as much as I can deal with. It's not because I'm crazy. It's because I can move the litter box when company comes over. It's much easier than trying to find a baby sitter, or ignore the crushing weight of loneliness.

So come on over boys!

Oscar's waiting to snuggle....

Ann Patchett's Truth & Beauty: Crying & Friendship

For me, one of the delights of not being in school has always been rediscovering my love of reading. Armed with a library card, a decent used bookstore, a friend or two with a good library, and adequate free time, I can disappear for hours and hours. I resurface feeling slightly bleary-eyed, empty yet more full. The best books always leave me a bit sad, even if their contents made me laugh so loudly that I attract the attention of folks in airports or my sleeping cat. While I've asserted in this blog before, that reading does not count as writing, the two are closely intertwined. When I'm reading a lot, I write a lot.

Today I devoured Ann Patchett's novel Truth & Beauty, her memoir about her friendship with Lucy Grealy, a poet and the author of Autobiography of a Face. I'd never heard of Lucy Grealy or read anything that Ann Patchett had written. Bel Canto stares at me every time I look for something to read at my parents' house, but I'm always daunted by the description on the back and the awards it has written. I don't instantly relate to the description on the dust jacket, but I do relate to a story about friendship.

I used to cry a lot when I was growing up, but it's become a rarer occurrence. It occurs when I've had too much to drink and not enough to eat, or when I'm talking about myself and my future. I avoid it as much as possible. I don't like to burden myself or others with my sadness, as from an objective standpoint, I have very little to be sad about. Movies and TV shows provide a free pass for tears. If I can project sadness onto an episode of How I Met Your Mother, I am safe. Books on the other hand, are a more personal matter. There's no sense in crying if there's no audience to provide a possibility of relief. When you finish a book, there's no tangible evidence. People don't hear you reading it. Books may put me into a mental state of sadness, but they seldom bring on any physical symptoms of it. But when I finished Truth & Beauty an hour ago, I cried.

The last time I remember crying after reading a book, I was 13 or 14 and I'd just finished one of the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants books. Both books are about friendship and loving a person unconditionally. I think I sometimes have difficulty forming romantic relationships because it's hard to comprehend loving anyone more than I love some of my friends. I'd think long and hard before moving somewhere for a romantic partner, but I'd move to live closer to friends in a heartbeat. In fact, friendship is one of the biggest reasons I moved to Boulder.

The thing is, Lucy Grealy sounds like a difficult person to be friends with. She requires constant reassurance and seems to provide little in return. I've have a few friends like that, and while I swear up and down that I would follow them to the ends of the earth, I haven't. I've distanced myself from them very deliberately in an act of self-preservation. I'm not sure I have the strength or wherewithal to stand by a friend in the same way that Ann Patchett did.

This also reminded me of what I'd like to call Lockman's Transitive Property, and makes me worry about where I fit into it in regards to friendship.
Lockman's Transitive Property goes as follows:
a. If you don't have a weird roommate, you are the weird roommate. (This is almost always true in groups of 3 or more)
b. If you don't have a gay cousin, you are the gay cousin. (This one is less often true, but thought-provoking nonetheless)

So can it apply to friendship as well? If you don't have a friend who is difficult and incredibly needy, are you the friend who is difficult and incredibly needy? Have I become this person for some of my friends?

These are the kinds of thoughts that occur most often after spending the better part of a Sunday reading a good book. It's too far past my bedtime to develop many deliverables beyond the following list.
1. Write more
2. Get a library card
3. Cry sober
4. Be a good friend
5. Go to sleep

Good Neighbors Make Great Fences

If you've seen the news recently, you'll know it's flooding in Boulder. My house and all of my friends are currently fine, but because floods are incredibly rare here, houses, yards, roads and emergency services are not very flood-proof.

When we first realized that this wasn't just a bit of rain, there was a weird sense of jubilation, like the feeling of a snow day. It was reminiscent of all of my childhood fantasies of being stranded at school due to snow. In typical 20-something fashion, my roommate and I drove gleefully into the storm to rescue our other roommate from work. We stopped at a liquor store on the way back to stock up on beer. Typical 20-something emergency preparedness. We made jokes about building an ark. We were fine.

Thirty minutes and one beer later, the street in front of our house was fairly flooded. One hour later, it was completely flooded. While walking around the area surveying the damage, I ran into some neighbors of mine who were hauling rocks to the edge of the street in a desperate attempt to keep water out of their yard. I had some doubts about the efficacy of their rock wall, but I offered to help. Soon there were 5 or 6 of us moving rocks, helping our neighbors protect their yard.

The flood is by no means over, but seeing folks take time out from their gawking (because honestly, that's what we were all doing) made me feel good about humanity, and scared for the future.

WARNING, SHIT IS GONNA GET SERIOUS IN THIS POST

Because climate change is happening. I have no doubt that this flood following a summer of forest fires is yet another sign of climate change. Whether you deny it or not, we're going to have some pretty extreme weather in the future. And in order for the human race to survive, we're going to have to help out our neighbors. We're going to have to help build those walls, keep each other informed, share our food, water, and time. So know your neighbors and be prepared to help them out. Let's hope they'll do the same for you.

Beating Dead Horses: Miley Cyrus

If you've been paying attention to the internet at all today, you probably will have noticed that Miley Cyrus has been getting a lot of shit. And she definitely deserves it. Cultural appropriation, ignorance, horrible outfits, lack of a butt, her crimes against good taste continue to mount. But we're ignoring two important points about Cyrus's recent transition from Hannah Montana to the girl with bad hair from last night's VMAs.

Point 1:
We Can't Stop is a horrible song. Just terrible. I mean, the chorus is "La ti da ta di, we like to party, dancing with molly (Miley? Nobody really knows, nor should they care because this song is the worst) doing whatever we want." So even though it was written for Rihanna and Miley co-opted it or whatever you want to say about it, it's probably not a bad thing. Rihanna has enough troubles without being responsible for unleashing this drivel on the world.

Point 2:
Dolly Parton is Miley Cyrus's godmother. Dolly Parton is Miley Cyrus's godmother.
Miley is country music royalty. Do you know how many people would kill to have the kind of music industry connections Miley was born into? It's upsetting that Party in the U.S.A was the pinnacle of Miley's career, because with a little training in music, humility and good taste, Miley could have been the next Shania Twain or Loretta Lynn. Dolly issued a half-assed statement about how Miley was just doing her or whatever, but I'm pretty sure she was ASHAMED.

Point 3:
This is why child stars are a terrible thing. Miley Cyrus should be in a liberal arts college learning about privilege and oppression and music theory instead of smoking salvia and wearing stupid outfits. I wish with all my heart that the rumor that Miley Cyrus was going to Oberlin had been true. She'd still be able to smoke salvia and wear stupid outfits, but she'd also learn about feminism and why it's not okay to decide you're "trying to sound more Black" as a white woman.

Publicity, whether it's bad or good, is what Cyrus wants. We're all feeding the monster.
I wish only the best for Miley Cyrus. And the best is that she gets it together, takes some time off of touring to read some books, spends more time with Dolly and less time doing molly, and returns to her glory days of The Climb and See You Again.

Insurance Privilege

While at Oberlin and working for the STAY Project, I learned a lot about privilege and the ways in which I am privileged. I'm about as aware as a straight-identifying, upper middle class, white girl can be about the ways in which I am privileged and others are not. But last night I became fully aware of another way in which I am privileged.

I've been very fortunate to always have health insurance. My dad works for a university and it's pretty par for the course. When I was sick or injured, my parents never thought twice about taking me to the doctor (I had rabies shots when I was 11 for crying out loud. They were like $20. Ridiculous). After graduating from college, my good fortune has continued thanks to Obamacare. So even though I am a contract worker paid for sometimes less than 20 hours a week, I can afford to do things like go to Planned Parenthood and get an IUD. Because it's completely free for me. My impression of Obamacare has always been that it means everyone my age has insurance. Because everyone my age has parents who have insurance, right? No. Completely wrong.

So I apologize to all the times I've been like "Just go to the doctor if you're sick! Insurance will pay!" or "Get this fancy expensive birth control! It's FREE!" or "How do you NOT have insurance?" These statements were not only moronic and insensitive, but totally ignorant. We have a long way to go until everyone can pay for medical care that they need now or will need in the future. It's really upsetting to me that many of my friends currently have to worry about caring for aging family members who they cannot simply send to the doctor with a $15 co-pay. Say what you will about universal healthcare, but it's pretty silly that in this day and age something as simple as setting a broken bone could cost someone without insurance $7,000. We need to work to make sure that our entire population can afford basic healthcare, because we can't be very productive as a nation if our bodies are falling apart. Going to the doctor when you're sick, or getting access to the family planning services that keep you in the workforce should not be a "privilege." It should be a right.

Seldom Right, Never in Doubt

I come from stubborn people on both sides. It's a running joke that the Lockman family motto is "Seldom right, never in doubt." My favorite story of familial stubbornness comes from my mother's side. My late grandfather once researched and wrote a book about Pocahontas and her descendents just to prove my grandmother's assertion that she was related to Pocahontas wrong. The book is kind of a snore, but the hardheadedness that I've been raised amongst is all there.

It's a miracle that my parents got married as I imagine it would be hard for two people from such stubborn stock to admit that they wanted to try to spend the rest of their lives together. In fact, they dated for 10 years before it happened. And hardheadedness definitely did not skip me. I spent much of my solo cross-country road trip being lost because I was sure I knew where I was going. I hated asking for help in college until it was too late. I don't mind being bad at things, but I don't want suggestions on how to get better. I just want to struggle until I find my own way. So it's no surprise that it has been difficult to admit to myself and to others that I'm worried that I've made a huge mistake in my post-college life.
 
The truth of the matter is, I don't really love Colorado. It's not like Oberlin or Eastern Kentucky or Chicago where I took to it immediately. It's been a lot of struggling with sunburn, suburban living, and the fact that I can't drink more than one beer without getting silly because of the altitude. I'm having a somewhat rough transition, and I'm not someone who that happens to. I can make friends with just about everybody, go with the flow, and find my place pretty quickly. Maybe it's the weird combination of college students, homeless people and yuppies, my lack of interest in smoking the legalized marijuana or even the fact that I work remotely and don't have an instant community of people that I know. It could be that I'm far from home or just moved away from a place that was, for better or worse, home base for 5 years. Maybe it's because I didn't get paid until mid-August for work I've been doing all summer. Or it could be that this is just not the place for me, in the same way that New York or the Philadelphia suburbs are not the place for me. Whatever it is, it's been hard for me to even say that I'm not quite as enchanted by Boulder as most of the people around me seem to be. I mean, I'm terrified of rock climbing and I'd just as soon drink a Miller High Life as something from a local brewery.

 My time in Boulder has by no means been terrible. I've reconnected with some old friends, made some new ones, have a wonderful cat and a great little house in a cute neighborhood. I'm in the best shape that I've been since high school and have been doing many of the things I love. But it's as my wise mother who gave me half of my stubborn genes told me, "If I went to heaven I'd probably hate it for the first year." These things take time and my stubbornness is coated with impatience. If it's sink or swim I try to fly and I usually succeed. And it's hard to admit that maybe I'm really sucking at living in a town.

So I guess this is just to say that I'm doing okay, but am a little sad and confused and may or may not have actually gone to a palmist for life advice a few weeks ago. I don't think this is really special or different from anything anyone else feels when they move to a new place or make major life transitions. Luckily I'm not alone. Between old friends who I want to spend all my time with, a roommate who gets that sometimes you just need to be a cat lady, another rural transplant and appreciator of pop music who understands that sometimes you just need to be snarky, an Oberlin friend who is a force of positivity in my world and a cat who likes to sit on my arms while I type, I've got the companionship necessary to make it through the winter. I'll work this rough patch out. I'm too hardheaded not to.