The United States has become a palate of decisions and opinions as November 4th approaches. While the presidential race is at its height, another issue has risen concern from our nation: California’s Proposition 8. The proposed ammendment addresses marriage rights in the Golden State, defining marriage as between a male and female, eradicating same sex marriage. If passed, a section will be added to the California State Consitution declaring, “Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid and recognized in California.”

Although Prop 8 will directly affect only the state of California, people from all corners of the USA are speaking, creating an unprecedented national passion to a cause on the west coast. Commercials are streaming on the airwaves and internet, proclaiming “Vote Yes,” or “Vote No,” “Save Marriage,” or “Save Love.”

I do not completely understand, however, how human beings, citizens of the free world, could possibly vote yes on the proposition. I have seen pictures and read opinions of those supporting Prop 8, and I do not understand. Traditional marriage? Enter WTF? here, because as far as I know, marriage is for love, not procreation or for whatever else “traditional marriage” ideals were originated. These Vote Yes-ers define traditional marriage as a union between man and a woman, but honestly, why is that absolutely necessary for marriage? We live in the 21st century, not the 1600s. It is seen even more frequently now-a-days that men and women are having children before marriage, in which case “traditional marriage” would be pointless. While the mix of church and state is, unfortunately, inevitiable, it is disgusting to see how far people will go to make the USA look frightfully similar to stories of the bible. Bible-schmible. These supporters need to get their heads out of their God’s butt and show some compassion, because people are people. – and isn’t God supposed to love everyone? What do I know? I do not know enough to discuss religion, but I know enough in my mind, my heart, and my sociology classes to know that this is WRONG.

I cannot comprehend the Vote Yes-ers reasons for support. If voted no upon, how will the man-woman relationship be effected? How will it be corrupted? If a marriage is already intact, how will it be effected by the support of same-sex marriage? And to the engaged/dating man-woman couple, will it change their choice to get married? If so, then they are stubborn, one-sided, ignorant asses. I hate that straight, conservative, Jesus-loving, God-fearing people can not recognize that people are people. Black, white, gay, straight, nice, mean, blue eyes, brown eyes, blond hair, red hair – we are all people. Aren’t we entitled to the same rights? The same equalities? Aren’t we in the land of the mother-fucking free?!

I guess not.

Why would anyone take away the right to marriage based on something as meager as sexuality. One’s sexual “preference” (because is it really a choice?) is personal and should not be stirred in a salad bowl of politics and government. Why don’t we challenge heterosexual marriage? Why don’t we create Prop Mystery Number and ask if the definition of “marriage” should include different-sex couples? Why don’t we remove the right to marriage all together?

As a heterosexual, I know I would never want that right to be taken from me. The idea of marriage rights being eradicated from someone based on their attraction to another human being hurts and alters the lives and dreams of people.

Please, whether you are from California or out of state, learn the facts about this issue; however, be weary.

ballotpedia.org/wiki/index.php?title=California_Proposition_8_(2008)
www.voterguide.sos.ca.gov/title-sum/prop8-title-sum.htm
www.NoOnProp8.com

Note: I will be adding to this post as soon as I am back at my apartment. Please check back.

Today, I am 21. I should be excited. I was really excited leading up to today. Every birthday at UConn has provoked unexplainable emotion. I don’t know why I get sad. I can’t explain why I want to cry.

I’ll be excited later at three. My friends and I are going to linner at three. My friends from home are coming at five. We’re having a huge party at my apartment at 9:30.

What is wrong with me?

Well, I guess now I can legally drown these sorrows in booze…

The lives of the rich and famous; aka the lives of the people living out our fantasies of wealth, fame, and fortune. I am not one to outwardly care what goes on in the lives of superstars and their mothers, although, it has been mentioned that I am a faithful Perez Hilton reader. I can not explain why I enjoy websites citing the downfalls and uprisings of the rich and arrogant; I’ve been sucked in. However, unlike my fellow readers, I do not make these stories of Britney, Amy, Miley, blahblahblah the focus of my conversations. Label me a hypocrit, I take no offense. Perez Hilton is just another one of my unhealthy addictions; add it to the list (see “oh senior year” for another fine addiction).

Regardless, I have formulated an opinion on actresses, actors, and “musicians”.

While the trend of artists infultrating another art has been ongoing for years, the 2000’s (c. 2005 on) arise a pop-culture phenomenon set to destroy eyes, ears, and intellects everywhere. It seems that upon fame in the moving pictures, actors and actresses feel it necessary to test their obviously talented vocal skills. Unfortunately, record producers and companies seem to embrace the arrogance, not testing or questioning. “Oh Lindsay Lohan-Hillary Duff-Lindsay Lohan’s little sister-Hayden Ponettiere-enter actors name here, please come to our studio and record your song. We are sure that an overdone made-for-clubs/made-for-Disney Channel electronic-house-pop song is totally your forte and definitely not cliche at all.” Hold on, let me go vomit. Everyone of these pop-tart-ho’s songs sounds the same – no talent and computer generated. Give a producer a keyboard and an iBook and I am sure that they can make even Tony Danza have an angellic voice with a hip extasy beat. It seems that with fame in the movies or TV comes the necessity to release a CD. The “E True Hollywood Story” always conveys the same, mundane story about how so-and-so was meant to act and was always a talented performer, meant to sing and dance, too.

This is not solely for actors-turned-to-music; the same goes for certain musicians-turned-actors. While I truly believe that many singers have a bit more acting skill in that they are required to exert some sort of acting talent in their music videos, some need to stick to their initial goal. There are exceptions, such as Jennifer Lopez. I am not a fan of her music, however I recognize her talent. Similarly, most of her movies feature decent acting on her part. Britney Spears, though? I reluctantly admit I was a fan of “Crossroads,” but she should stick to singing or drugging or drinking or dancing or whatever it is she does.

Moving on to the combination of it all: the singer-actress combo. The Miley Cyrus. The pop-tart-ho that makes me want to vomit the most. She cannot act and she surely cannot sing. Hearing her speak is like having someone with mucus stuck in that area between your nose and your mouth try to talk. And yet, she is 16-years-old with bajilliions of dollars and an enormous fanbase, and I can only assume, a Playboy Centerfold and cover the day she turns 18. But why? She has nice hair, is that why? Her singing is mediocre and her acting is less than that and she is more successful now that I can ever wish to be. Seriously, someone in power needs to recognnize her lack of talent, and even worse, her lack of good PR, and get her out of the lime light.

People need to stick to their art and quit trying another because it’s hurting our ears and making us that much dumber.

Today, I was almost run over by a bike.

It’s been a while, eh?

I’m in Connecticut for another 8ish months of attempted education with a heaping side of underage binge drinking (well, come early October and then the “underage” becomes “of age”). This welcome week has felt like a welcome decade. Reminiscing all the way back to last Friday, it is awfully hard to believe that it was 9 days ago because it surely feels like nostalgia. Maybe the lengthy week is due to the introduction of new classes or possibly the wonderful apartment I have come to call my 8-month home. I am going to attribute this never-ending week to everything horrible that happened. Without reliving this week via text, I am going to simply state that anxiety sucks and magnifies every issue, problem, and emotion. One thing worth noting is that if you do not have anxiety or have never experienced true anxiety, you have no idea what I am talking about. Trust. Anxiety is a bitch but worse. Hopefully the overwhelming worrying will soon subside, because this on-edge, churning stomach, constant teary-eyed feeling is nothing I will ever get used to and I am over it.

I am officially and happily over C. He is a wonderful friend, but I am no longer goopy and wide-eyed when I see him, and the butterflies have seemed to fly far, far away.

B is home from his over seas working extravaganza. We talked most of the summer and half the time he was away, but since he’s been home I haven’t heard from him. I knew it would never be more than a sexually-based friendship so I’m okay with his absence. Who knows if he will ever talk to me again. I hope he doesn’t disappear, but I don’t think I would ever hold it against him…well, there’s a lie.

It is well known that I become attached to boys quickly; I fall hard and fast. Well, I have come to believe that in my long, long, long week of hell, hell, hell that my feelings of drunken/sober lust are no longer followed by the butterflies and longing. Instead it is emptiness and the slightest feeling of regret and disgust that follows. Don’t take this in the wrong way; so far my grimacing anxiety has not replaced the adorable butterflies…give it time.

The boys in my apartment have friends over all the time, and the other night I found myself attracted to one tall, broad boy from the always wonderful Garden State (a turn on in itself). Saturday night brought the inevitable drunken attraction that was undeniably ever-present the night before. Walking with the group to Celeron Apartments, we kissed. (Some trivia for you: I love kissing. I can make-out and snuggle forever, but beyond that, well, that’s a rarity for me. I am the drunk hookup every boy dreads, because they expect more and I just want to cuddle. I am an admitted tease and damn proud of it.) We kissed and kissed well into our drunken night at Celeron. Most of our night consisted of me trying to convince him to stay in Celeron and him trying to convince me to go to Carriage. Eventually everyone that had gone to Carriage came back and my conversation with boy turned to “You come back to my place,” “No, you come back to my place.” I won.

I woke up this morning not feeling lovey and adorable, but instead desperately wanting him to leave. This has never happened. He was good looking – tall, muscular, nice eyes, a Mets fan, a non-fist-pumping Jersey boy – not to mention, he was kind of an ass, just my taste!
In a bout of self discovery, I have figured out my weekendly “need” to kiss and cuddle, blah, blah, blah. It has been three-years since my last real relationship. I want to feel wanted. I love to feel wanted. These make outs serve as a drug. They give me a short but pseudo-fulfilling feeling of being wanted…of being needed…of being desired. Unhealthy? Absolutely. Truly fulfilling? Hellz no.
So why did this weekend’s drug not bring on those annoying feelings of attachment that normally follow the high? I am scared that I have either turned into a college boy, void of any emotion except for those in the morning: “Get the fuck out before she wakes up!” Similarly, I am scared that my feelings for C that have finally subsided have robbed me of my ability to enjoy the opposite sex. I do not feel that sexual necessity that horny, drunken college boys feel – the feeling their penises tell them they feel. I feel the need – the desire – to be wanted, to be loved. But what if I can’t love back. It is clear that I am not willing to settle; I could have done that by now. I am not exactly your big-ole-whore, although my need for money ASAP may lead me straight into prostitution. I just have an addiction.

I am absolutely, positively pathetic.

But all I really want is true, undeniable, real love.

As the Summer of 2008 nears the end, so does my magnificent Manhattan internship. Today is my last day, and although I will not miss the morning commute, I will miss the people terribly.

I walked into this internship not knowing much about the company or my duties, and I am walking out with a bit more knowledge, some amazing advice, and the great feeling of having met some incredible people. I fit right in with a provocative and loud sense of humor that was equally countered by almost everyone else. I will miss laughing a little too loudly and cursing a bit too much for any work environment. And yet, in spite of this pseudo-corporate environment, the laughing and the cursing and the sarcasm and the slight faux homosexuality was not only accepted, but embraced.

As five-o’clock hit yesterday, eight of the eleven people in the office headed to the bar across the street to get silly with one another. It was an amazing night with some amazing people, and although they kindly asked me not to post pictures on my blog, I am going to anyway so my world of readers (three people if I’m lucky that day) can see how horribly silly my coworkers are and all of the reasons why I will miss them forever.

This is dedicated to Tim, Kat, & Matt: Got ittttt.
James

Matt receiving ‘Goodbye’ smooch from Tim

James failing to fight Tim’s ‘Goodbye’ smooch

Kat (co-intern) & Matt

Lauren

Kat, Tom, & Lauren

Tim, Me, & James

Goodbye to Us…

…well, hopefully, just see ya later.

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