You guys.

You guys. Oh my god.

My long-time readers may remember, back in 2005 (when I was a widdle baby college freshman), I posted about the hilarious and distinguished micronation of Molossia. Amanda discovered the website, and we spent hours pouring over it, laughing and making plans for our own micronation, right there in our dorm room. I remember being impressed by the thoroughness of the site, amused by the quirky eccentricity of the President, and generally excited about the idea of making your own country.

Last night, I was sitting at my computer when an email popped into my inbox. I opened it.

And blinked.

And blinked again.

Subject: An Invitation

Greetings.

Some four-plus years ago, you (at least I think it was you) commented very favorably regarding the Republic of Molossia on your blog. I don’t know how I missed it all these years, but I just noticed the entry this evening. I truly appreciate your kind words. Thus, I would like to invite you to come and visit our nation, located some four hours east of San Francisco, over here within the wilds of Nevada. I will gladly escort you around Molossia and show you the sights; it would be an honor.

If you are so inclined, let me know when you might wish to visit – I recommend September, as July and August can be a bit warm. I hope you will favorably consider my invitation and come see our great nation!

Warmest regards,
His Excellency President Kevin Baugh,
Republic of Molossia

I blinked again.

And then I started shrieking.

"Oh. My god. Oh. My god."

I tried calling Amanda, but it was late on the East Coast and she was already asleep, so I called Katie, and we squealed about it for a bit. I'm currently composing a response. Of course I'm going. It's so close, and so awesome. How could I say no?

I never did post about my birthday.

It was perfect. Lovely and low key. Slept in late, stayed in bed with the boy until 2pm, ate insanely decadent and piping hot Cheese Board pizza for lunch, went and saw Up!, and then met Frances, Jonathan, and Emily for a late dinner at Zachary's.

I had been trying to plan something bigger and more exciting, but in retrospect, it was about as perfect as it could have been.

Last year, I set some personal goals at my birthday dinner.

1. Get some poetry published - legit, paid-for-it, in-a-magazine published.
2. Get properly settled into my new city Apartment, job, dog. Done.
3. Be more fiscally responsible (open up an ING Direct account for savings, etc.) Savings account/nest egg growing as we speak.
4. Possibly meet someone There's a boy / his name is Paul / he's cute and sweet / and very tall.

And I'm making progress re: the publishing - submitting things every few weeks.

So... new goals for this year!

1.) Study for the GREs and do well
2.) Get into graduate school
3.) Continue writing and the quest for publication
4.) Continue to save teh monies
6.) Exercise more

Woo-hoo!

Karla! Karla!

I FOUND IT.

Based on your viewing history and ratings, Netflix provides categories of films that it recommends for you. This is my list:

Dark Dramas Featuring a Strong Female Lead
BBC TV Shows
Cerebral Foreign Comedies
Critically-acclaimed Visually-striking Movies
Suspenseful Independent Horror Movies

Oh Netflix. You know me so well.

I'm 23 today. ^_^

My lovely, lovely, long-time friend dustthouart has a restaurant blog. It's called THIS IS A RESTAURANT BLOG. Check it out! Add it to your feeds!

My friend Rebekah has organized a workshop, and I wanted to spread the word to any Bay Area folks who might be interested.

Another World Is Probable Presents:

Peace is Probable, a Nonviolent Communication Workshop with John Kinyon, co-founder of the Bay Area Nonviolent Communication organization.

NVC works off the premise the best way to create a peaceful world is to start with the way we communicate with one another. The more we talk to one another in a compassionate, understanding way, the more peace we promote in the world.

July 11th from 1-4 p.m.
YWCA
2600 Bancroft Way
Berkeley, CA

$25 for pre-registration
$30 at the door

(She would love to make this free but this is John's livelihood so unfortunately they have to charge.)

Go to www.meetup.com/another-world-is-probable to pre-register and to find out more information.

Today's thoughts...

• 11:47 D&D, musical theater, pride parades, nudity, friends, delicious food. Awesome weekend. #
• 16:06 Writing about queer identity. Woot. #

Automatically shipped by LoudTwitter

Pride was this weekend. I went with Paul, Amanda and Todd (who were in town visiting), and Rebekah and Jonathan.

It was amazing. It was happy. People danced and shouted and wore costumes and families waved to the crowds, organizations that support a thousand different, awesome causes (women's health, trans health, gay adoption, queer groups from every geographic region conceivable...) and, in probably the only instance of corporate endorsement that I find heartening in any way, major companies sponsored gigantic, rainbow colored floats. HELLS YEAH. It was so happy.

I was happy. I wore my "Gay on Tuesdays" shirt (I'm gay on Tuesdays, straight on Thursdays, and queer the rest of the week) shirt and my rainbow wristband and within ten minutes of standing next to the parade route I had rainbow beads around my neck*. And I was HAPPY. Seriously. Ask the people with me. I was grinning from ear to ear and doing little dances in the street. The energy was infectious.

As the day wore on and the excitement wound down, I started giving some serious contemplation to my own identity.

I still remember my first crush on a woman. I was in high school, and madly in love with a freckle faced soccer player who sat in front of me in English class. We were good friends, and spent our spare time discussing the merits of Moulin Rouge and Fried Green Tomatoes.

I still remember the feeling that I had when I realized that I liked her. (Or, as a high school student would say, I LIKED her, liked her.) It was physical and emotional, it was strange and exciting. I felt all of the ropey bits of my insides twisting into impossible formations when she walked into the room, when she stayed over at my house. Nothing ever happened. But I still remember the thrill of the crush, the giddy desperation of want for the unattainable.

When I came out in college, I immediately identified as bisexual. It made the most sense to me, at least then. As time progressed, and I continued to live and explore and learn and read, I increasingly referred to myself as "queer," because (unlike bisexual) it didn't imply that my attraction fell on either side of a gender binary. And I liked that. It worked well on me.

But other things were happening around this time, too. A good friend told me, unequivocally, that she didn't believe that bisexuality existed (but was rather a "path" to being gay or straight). A woman who I was interested in (who identified as a lesbian) rejected me not on the basis of who I was, but rather the fact that I still liked boys. "I don't date bisexual women," she said. "It's just more trouble than it's worth." Some men became more interested when they learned that I liked girls, some girls became less interested because I liked boys. Some people didn't care. And some people didn't understand.

And thus began my struggle with visibility.

Visibility was a concept I'd never given much thought to, until that point. After all, I knew I was queer, and my friends knew, and after a while, my family knew, and what else really mattered?

And sometimes it didn't matter. Most people that I encountered didn't really blink at my sexuality, when it became apparent (thank you, God, for hyper-liberal university campuses). But I still felt... I don't know. Strange. Like, I felt the need to prove that I'm queer, even when I'm dating a boy. My well-intentioned family struggles with this; the sentence "You're dating a boy... so, you're not gay anymore, right?" comes up WAY too often. I wish I could just say "Even if I married Johnny Depp tomorrow and lived with him, monogamous, until we both died fifty years later, I would STILL be queer" and have it be understood.

The other issue is that of privilege. Straight people have privileges that gay people do not have. I fall into this weird middle category where I don't actually have these privileges, but I sometimes accidentally co-opt some of them without intending to, simply because I'm dating a man. Example from the linked-to list:

I can walk in public with my significant other and not have people double-take or stare.

I - me, specifically, at this moment - can walk in public with my significant other and not have people double-take or stare. But this isn't because I'm straight; it's because I'm a queer woman dating a man. Those things are different, but similar. I don't know how to reconcile that.

And it makes me feel weird. It makes me... unhappy. Not because I relish in the struggle of being queer (no one enjoys suffering, after all), but because it makes me feel like an outsider. It makes me feel like I'm unfairly co-opting straight privilege. It makes me feel like I'm not visible enough, or not queer enough.

And that is why I love Pride. I love Pride because it gives me a chance to run around and celebrate my queerness*, and not feel like I'm hidden or invisible simply by being.

Maybe this is a manifestation of my own insecurities. Maybe I'm handwringing over how others perceive me far too much. Maybe I'm blinded by my own privilege, and I can't suss out precisely how I feel as a result. But I want to be understood for who I am, not who people think I am.



*This is why Pride is infinitely better than Mardi Gras: you get beads for just being happy and cheering, and not flashing your breasts at strangers.
*And to be completely supported in all of this by my awesome, awesome boyfriend.

Today's thoughts...

• 15:36 Jackson dies, nearly takes entire internet with him. bit.ly/XbrYP #

Automatically shipped by LoudTwitter