Penny Hero (dot) Net

I never thought that going to a school-sponsored party would be fun. My body is so sore right now, especially in my hips from dancing (3? 4 hours straight? w00t!). A group of us went to see Scary Movie 3, in an almost completely empty theater, then went out for food. Then we all went to West Hall and watched people dance, and waited for the rest of the group to show up so that we could all leave for another party together. George and the rest were sooper late, so finally Ethan grabs some people (including me) and basically says “fuck waiting. Dance-time.”

Wee. I think we made up a good half of the dance-floor, which was cool. They played shit-music, the kind you’d hear at high-school proms (except remixed to dance-beats), but it was still fun.

I started noticing something though, about an hour or so later: I was the only white girl there. Everyone else was at least part Asian, either from Hawaii, or an international student. There were some white guys scattered around, but I was really the only girl. I started to notice how people seemed to act differently to me on the dance floor. For example: when one of the guys would start dancing with one of the girls there (freaky or not, it didn’t matter), the rest of the group would cheer, scream, whatever “Go JusTIN, go JusTIN!” and things would get a bit wild. But when they decided to dance with me, everyone got strangely quiet, or distracted or something. (Btw, for the record: Tommy was the most fun to dance with. *swoons*)

Now, I’m pretty sure my dancing doesn’t suck that badly. And, from hanging out with them lately, I’ve also come to understand that most of these guys are just simply not attracted to American girls. *sigh* So, I put two and two together and made the disheartening realization that I am simply not hot, cute kitty ears or no. At least… that’s how it seemed. I felt kinda genderless, and that’s ok because then I didn’t have to worry about getting hit on in the bad way. But it’s not a very good feeling if you’ve been trying so hard to be cute and attractive for someone dancing a mere five inches away, and you suddenly realize that he’s only looking for a girl who was born with a name written in Chinese (or Korean) characters. But, the loud music, strobe-lights and all the bodies pressed around me for so long didn’t let me dwell on it until I came outside for fresh air.

Now, I’ve never actually wanted to be Japanese. I’ve wanted to be the unexpected American girl who could use chopsticks well, and speak the language. But for the first time in my life last night, I actually thought to myself “I wish I was Asian,” because apparently, in order to be an attractive girl to these people, you can’t be white.

I could be totally wrong though… the lack of sexual attention I’m getting might not really be because of my ethnicity. (but I doubt it.) It could be because I’m into gaming, and saved George’s computer from a crash last night. It could be because I didn’t have to be dragged onto the dance floor and came very willingly. It could be because I’m not so conservative, and maybe a little bit smart, or something. Maybe. But I think the fact that I didn’t learn English second has a lot to do with it too.

I don’t know what I’m looking for anymore. I’m glad that I have some species of social life now. But human interaction is like a drug; you have some, and then you want more. Then the same level of interaction isn’t enough, and you feel like you want to take it up a notch higher. Having this silly silly crush probably is really inflaming and magnifying what I might naturally feel at this point too.

Despite what I’ve just written. I am in a good mood. I just want to reflect on what I felt and saw last night, and keep a little record. Maybe next week, after I bust out my super-sexy-seductive moves on The Boy, and he finally caves, I’ll be writing about something completely contradictory. (but I doubt it.)

My dream cheated me.

It was one of those dreams where each moment progresses normally, and rational things happen. I was there and then stuff happened in a normal way. Conversations, feelings, kisses. And then I went home and went to sleep in my own room. It was so vivid, and so real that when I woke up, I was completely convinced that it actually had happened. I got up thinking “I can’t wait to go to class, because then I’ll see him again.”

But then I found the rolled up taco-bell receipt in my jeans pocket and realized that no, it hadn’t. I had gone to taco-bell last night, and then had come home to work on my essay.

Stupid dreams. Evil evil dreams. They should come with disclaimers saying “this is fiction.”

, you bastard!

My LiveJournal Trick-or-Treat Haul
starladear6 goes trick-or-treating, dressed up as James Iha.
amanojyaku tricks you! You get a toothbrush.
cepcion tricks you! You get a piece of string.
landslider tricks you! You get a piece of paper.
li_kao tricks you! You get a pencil.
maruchan tricks you! You get a used tissue.
nimm tricks you! You get a block of wood.
pottedplant gives you 14 dark green tropical-flavoured pieces of bubblegum.
puddinhed gives you 1 light blue blueberry-flavoured pieces of taffy.
pukeboy tricks you! You get a pencil.
vanbeast tricks you! You lose 13 pieces of candy!
starladear6 ends up with 2 pieces of candy, a toothbrush, a piece of string, a piece of paper, a pencil, a used tissue, a block of wood, and a pencil.
Go trick-or-treating! Username:
Another fun meme brought to you by rfreebern.

I had a dream that I was working at the theater again.

I suddenly found myself there unexpectedly, wearing my pink Regal Cinema shirt and thinking to myself “Well, it’s a good thing I wore my black shoes to school today, or I’d be written up for not being in uniform.”

It was odd.

Today I had one of those moments, when something in my core fell into place. Walking from composition class, where I had become all brain-tingly and stuff due to the discussions and writing assignments, I suddenly realized that I would very much enjoy being a writing instructor. It was such a shock that I actually stopped walking completely and wondered why I’d never thought of it before. Declaring myself as an English major, I had inherited the confusion that comes with working toward this degree because it does not translate well to any specific job. But during my moment I suddenly re-realized how how important writing has always been to me, and how instructors in writing will always be needed… and so yeah. I am less confused.

Working in the writing center is pure glitter. I’ve never had a job, or even a hobby where I really felt “in my element”, but I think this is it. I enjoy it far too deeply to consider it work. I love the people I work with, who spend off-time comparing Faulkner and Bruce Springstein or giving each other writing advice using words like “clarity”, “structure” and “characterization” instead of “I liked it. It’s good.” And I love the coordinator. He is the first human male I’ve ever met who is more enthusiastic about grammar and language than I am. (and he speaks Japanese!)

Today in particular, I had a session that left me tingly all over, and very happy. He was a strong writer, but had concerns about his structure, his thesis and his conclusion. I felt his thesis was strong, and told him so, but I found that while his paragraphs never departed from exploring his thesis, some of his transitions were unclear, or non-existent. What was so great about the session was the fact that I would begin to explain something, (”I’m confused between these two sentences…”) and he would barely let me finish my thought before he caught where I was going and began talking about possible solutions. He seemed to have an intuitive grasp of the finer points of writing; whether or not he had ever had formal instruction wasn’t clear. It was just impossibly satisfying to work with him. He was so open to making changes, revisions. He scratched up his pristine copy until it looked like a rough rough draft. (so sexy) We explored his entire paper so quickly and efficiently that we had a good 20 minutes left before the session was over, so I launched us into a discussion about a possible new conclusion. I find that it’s super cool (and rare) to meet a student in that in-between place where they are just exiting the old-school “Conclusions restate your thesis and sum up your essay” and are open to the idea that conclusions are a place where you can say something more about the topic and leave the reader with some new thought. I can’t tell if he was familiar with the concept or not, but he dove right in to writing something new when I asked him “what would you do if you were to re-write Carter’s piece?”. He was enthusiastic. He was open. He seemed to take things from the session. It was a great session and made me feel like I wanted to do something like this for the rest of my life.

In Other News: My weekend was also glittery. Glittery and reflective, and fun and full of sunshine. I must say a special thank you to for being who she is, because she’s taught me lots of things, and I’m now a much more confident girl. *wink wink* I owe a lot too, because he served as compass and anchor for our weekend adventures, and he actually drove all the way out here to kidnap me and all the way back to drop me off. (wow.) So yeah… public livejournal thank you to them for a happy happy weekend.

I’ll say it again: Squeamish men should look away.

I’m so sick and tired of the world’s attitudes about our menstrual cycle. Having a period is not some dirty thing that needs to be hidden or kept secret. There is nothing to fear in them. The fact that so many young girls are really scared about their first period reflects the attitudes about menstruation that are being impressed on them. I hate that the vast majority of girls are so embarrassed about their periods that they turn on the water-faucets full blast to mask the noise of changing their pad in the bathroom. (Seriously, I had no idea why girls did this until someone called me a bitch for turning it off on them. “I need to change my pad!” I thought someone just left the water on again)

The world should stop thinking of periods as some kind of traumatic event, and make it a positive experience. It’s bad enough that we have to feel stabbing cramps and headaches and dizziness. We don’t need the rest of the world imposing its fear on us too. First periods should be celebrated like birthdays. The rest of the world needs to get over their “dirty bleeding woman” complex and stop treating periods like some kind of interruption to life.

[Flash of Insight: If I ever have a daughter, her first period is going to be a big thing. Celebrated. She’ll wear red, and flowers, and mommy will throw her a special party with other Women. It will be one small step in the fight against these stupid negative attitudes.]

Now, I know that our society is “improving”, or whatever. I know that just a single generation ago, tampons and pads were not advertised anywhere outside of medical circles. All those commercials you now see about your period? Nope, not allowed. They were too “dirty” for public consumption.

I also feel a little frustrated with the way my gyn. seems to feel about periods. When I first started seeing her, she seemed to treat them like some kind of “minor inconvenience”, and told me how to use my pills to change when I’ll actually have a period. (Since I’ve only seen her for short periods of time, and only once a year, I may be greatly imposing unfair judgements on her.) I’ve since then read a bit of witchy things, and read a bit more feminist things, and I think that my attitudes about women and her attitudes about women severely conflict. My attitudes have changed so much that I’m seriously considering going off those pills, because I feel this urge to understand what and who I really am… not what those pills make me.

(But, I also know that going off BC is stupid… because despite the fact that male-contraception has now been proven 100% effective in studies, it is still not available for general prescription, and I find it unlikely that many guys would really opt for it. )

I love being female. I really do. But I hate that the person I know I am inside is different from how the rest of the world sees me.

Happy Coming Out Day!

I’ve just finished the first draft of an essay. It’s supposed to be about a place that you feel is important to you. (It can’t be “home” but needs to have some aspect of it… or something. The instructor talked about “home” a lot before we were assigned this essay.)

*aside* I think I’ve written on this same topic in writing classes half a dozen times…

I’m looking for opinions, critiques… suggestions for strengthening. I worked really hard to actually craft something, instead of just writing something. Anyway, I’ve never tried to do this thing before, and don’t know how well it will go.

This is a “first finished draft”… I know I currently hate the ending. It has no real closure, but dunno yet. Tomorrow is the beginning of our workshopping sessions, so we’ll see.

What do you think?

Yellow Facing East

I found it because I felt cold that morning. Chilly nippy early a.m., the sun hardly up. But where it hit things like east-facing rocks or sides of buildings, it was warm. You could pass your hand from sun to shadow and feel the change. So that nippy morning, stamped my feet in irritation, and sought out the building on campus facing the most sun.

It was behind one of the portable classrooms, at the very end of the row. Why they are still called portables is beyond me. They never move, and apparently never have. Some teachers even claim they were used as classrooms while the rest of the school was being built.

The school was old now, and still using infant things. How dumb.

But they were also bright yellow, which is good for reflecting warm sunlight onto your backside if you are facing east in the early morning.

That first morning, I sat there like a desert lizard. I didn’t move, except maybe my head once with my eyes closed, to see if I could still tell where the sun was from the glow inside my lids. (I couldn’t.) I imagined I was frozen cookie-dough baking. The sunlight tingled on my cheeks and arms, and I thought maybe I could turn to glitter if I stayed there long enough. The reason I was there that first morning really was because I felt so cold. But there aren’t that many cold days in Hawaii, so the sun had to think up other ways to get me to come.

Sometimes, my friends were stupid and I’d want to be alone. I probably came back a second time on a day like that. The building blocked almost all the noises from school. Out here, there was only an empty P.E. field, its grass thick and cool. Beyond that was a grove of lychee trees, where some of my more interesting friends would sometimes go to cut class. Beyond the trees, there were a million tiny houses, probably full of people. And then, things got too fuzzy to really make out. I know there was a highway past that, and more trees, but I don’t remember actually seeing them. From that yellow wall, if I squinted, I could see that the island ended just before the horizon, and I could make out ocean just below the sky. The sun comes from beyond that dividing line, not just where your brain thinks the world stops.

One introverted morning, I decided I would talk to the sun. I had her undivided attention anyway, and while I could never maintain eye contact for long, I knew she knew that she held mine. At first, I talked just about me. And I talked about dumb things, like boys, or teachers. I probably complained about my parents, my curfew, and my stupid friends. At first it was just silly. But back then, it was relieving some kind of water pressure, and I let the liquid fall to the ground where it could dry up, and blow away.

I know I came to that wall crying a few times. Just like any 14 year old, I didn’t like my life. But the sunlight, even if it was late morning, would pull me in, and I’d relax. If I calmed myself and made my breathing deep, I could even almost feel a physical thing, like arms wrapped around my shoulders. Once I skipped a class, because that day was just too bad, and I could hear a teacher in the portable classroom behind me, teaching Spanish. For a second I couldn’t remember if there had been a sun-worship culture in ancient Mexico or not, but I thought there should have been. There was something spiritual about sitting still in sunlight. Soothing like a choir, or stained glass windows.

I knew the world was big, but the sun told me how small it really was. She reminded me that to her, we were just a tiny dot. All our genes, histories and power were confined to a blue marble. A small cold marble, long ago, until her rays and her strong arms finally warmed and comforted the earth until life was woken up. But even she was not important. She and Carl Sagan reminded me that the sun was just a star, and there were more of her than there were grains of sand. The most obvious creator of all known life wasn’t a god at all. I wondered if those other religions were just ways to try to balance how important we feel with the fact that we are so small. I remember thinking if maybe I was a sun-worshiper, leaning against that yellow wall. I loved her; I knew that much, but that yellow wall was no temple.

* * *

Eventually, things like essays, beach-trips, clubs and (a little later) parties took up most of my time, and I visited that yellow east facing wall less and less. On cold mornings, I’d have coffee with a girlfriend at the Wiki-Mart, or ask the art teacher to let us play cards in her classroom. Nothing seemed quite so big anymore.

From that east-facing building, I had told her about my life, and after she warmed up my brain, I had thought about the world. But I don’t know if I ever said how I felt about her. I wanted her to know how much she made my skin tingle, and how much like hugging it really felt. I wanted her to know the physical things that kept me there, because I was sure she already knew the other stuff. (I’m sure she planned that part.) I wanted to say ‘thank you’. But I probably never did.

*smirks*

There are these two girls who apparently are in the beginning web-design class…

They can’t figure out how to “send it to the internet”.

I know that I shouldn’t laugh, but I can’t help it… especially when one girl said “no, see? I saved it in my public H-T-L-M folder.”

They’ve almost figured it out. Their file is named incorrectly I think. I thought about helping them, but they already went and asked a laboratory aid.

I’ll let the aid do it. She gets paid to do things like this. :)

Update: Meh. I helped. The aid couldn’t understand their question.

So, my ISP crapped out on me. I thought it was because I was late paying my bill… but then I discovered that I wasn’t late. (I paid my bill anyway though) The access number I use hasn’t changed, as far as their website can say. So I’m confused. And without internet. Grr. As if the fact that it is 56k isn’t bad enough.

I’ve tried leaving a “users helping users” support request, but I’ve received no replies in the 4 hours I’ve been in the lab doing homework. Gah.

Anyone feel like helping me troubleshoot? (Didn’t think so.)

In Other News: Since I don’t have internet, I needed something else to distract me from constructive work. So I dug through the games I’m borrowing for something I had not yet tried. *drumrollplease*

“Breath of Fire” (4?? I don’t even know for sure which one I’m playing) for PS1 is nifty. I haven’t looked at any reviews or opinions, nor had I even ever heard of this game before I found it in my giant binder of borrowed discs, so you know that my opinion really is my own. (Does that mean anything?) The dual-plot and perspective changes do much more than just give players a “hint” about where their main characters could go. (This kicks FFVII’s little “Ooh! Sephiroth’s in my party in one of Cloud’s dreams!” plot-twists IN THE ASS, btw.) They serve as intermissions for the main plot, and make my tummy tingle with the things they reveal about the state of the world. Instead of having some boring cut-scene where you see your characters traveling across the desert in a box (or worse, a fade-out/fade-in two weeks later), you spend that down-time discovering more about the God/Dragon Fou Lu on the other side of the planet, and what his relation to your main party really are, plus furthering his own journey to “The Capitol City”, random battles ad nauseum.

It’s like telling a story from two directions at once. The end may come when the two plots meet in the middle, but getting there is pure Cool. It’s the most entertaining adventure RPG I’ve ever played because of the shifting point-of-view, and the magic-filled fantasy plot-line. :)

I’m only 8 hours into the game, but I’m just all about it right now. Its single-disc nature gives me hope that I’ll be able to finish it before any pressing homework is assigned.

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Ok… back to writing my “crappy 2-page essay draft” (direct quote) that’s due tomorrow in Comp.

And… I suppose I have no idea when I’ll be back online… for those of you who talk to me via IM… Go kick FlexNet for me, will ya? I will miss you all dearly.