Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Flying
I hate flying. I especially hate flying over an ocean. I especially hate flying without close friends or family. I will be doing all of these things in 2 days, and I'm really not looking forward to it.
A discomfort with a situation has quickly manifested itself into a full-blown phobia. Great. I'm trying to be as excited as I should be about visiting France for the first time and spending 5 weeks in a completely different culture, living with a foreign family, and not knowing anyone. Unfortunately, when I start thinking about these exciting new experiences, my brain stop before then and only focuses on the long plane ride across the large Atlantic on the airline that claimed the lives of over 200 people just a few weeks ago.
I used to love flying as a kid. We used to go to Florida every other year as well as random other places on vacation, and it never really bothered me. My dad was in the Air Force forever ago and used to have his pilot's license so I always felt pretty comfortable since he was. Well then I wised up. I stopped flying as much, therefore becoming less comfortable. Oh yeah and then that little incident on 9/11/01 happened. My next couple of flights after that were more nerve-wracking than fun, and when I went to New York 2 summers ago, I was pretty nervous. But even when I was completely OK with flying, I was never OK with the idea of flying over a freaking ocean. I guess it doesn't matter where you fly. Either way, you're dead. But the whole idea still freaks me out. It didn't help when the AirFrance plane went down in that same ocean recently.
Yes, I know the statistics. 1 in 11 million. Yes, I know it's more dangerous to ride in a car. Yes, I know that I'm being a baby. But I can't help it. It's a phobia, which is an irrational fear. Getting on that plane is going to be the hardest thing I've done in a long time.
Good thing I got tons of sedatives to numb my mind. At least if the plane crashes, I'll be blissfully unaware of my death.
A discomfort with a situation has quickly manifested itself into a full-blown phobia. Great. I'm trying to be as excited as I should be about visiting France for the first time and spending 5 weeks in a completely different culture, living with a foreign family, and not knowing anyone. Unfortunately, when I start thinking about these exciting new experiences, my brain stop before then and only focuses on the long plane ride across the large Atlantic on the airline that claimed the lives of over 200 people just a few weeks ago.
I used to love flying as a kid. We used to go to Florida every other year as well as random other places on vacation, and it never really bothered me. My dad was in the Air Force forever ago and used to have his pilot's license so I always felt pretty comfortable since he was. Well then I wised up. I stopped flying as much, therefore becoming less comfortable. Oh yeah and then that little incident on 9/11/01 happened. My next couple of flights after that were more nerve-wracking than fun, and when I went to New York 2 summers ago, I was pretty nervous. But even when I was completely OK with flying, I was never OK with the idea of flying over a freaking ocean. I guess it doesn't matter where you fly. Either way, you're dead. But the whole idea still freaks me out. It didn't help when the AirFrance plane went down in that same ocean recently.
Yes, I know the statistics. 1 in 11 million. Yes, I know it's more dangerous to ride in a car. Yes, I know that I'm being a baby. But I can't help it. It's a phobia, which is an irrational fear. Getting on that plane is going to be the hardest thing I've done in a long time.
Good thing I got tons of sedatives to numb my mind. At least if the plane crashes, I'll be blissfully unaware of my death.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
I got a migraine at work
Cons: I was at work and was unable to drive home due to the migraine blindness that I get when this happens. No comfy bed or parents/roommates to love on me when I'm feeling sick.
Pros: Paid naps in pitch black empty doctor exam rooms. Being taken care of by Mallory's mom/my favorite co-worker.
Pros: Paid naps in pitch black empty doctor exam rooms. Being taken care of by Mallory's mom/my favorite co-worker.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Gay Pride
So I attended a gay pride parade yesterday. For those of you who don't know me and just creepily read my blog, I'm not gay. Also, before anyone starts thinking it was really big of me to attend a gay pride parade even though I'm not gay, it was an accident. The truth of the matter is, it doesn't really matter why I was there (it happened to be on the walk back to the metro station) or who I was with (my heterosexual romantic partner). But what matters is how I felt about it.
Now I've never had a problem with gay people, but I've always had a people who have had a problem with them. This post isn't going to be about that, though. This is no debate. We'll just leave it at the fact that I, personally, have no problem with homosexuality. However, I've never really understood these gay pride parades. I understand working towards gay rights, but gay pride? What is there to be proud of? So you're gay. I don't have straight pride parades. What's the deal?
Well I got my answer last night, and it pretty much bitch slapped me right in the face.
After leaving (a very nice and romantic) dinner with my boyfriend at a restaurant in Washington, D.C., we walked out the door and walked towards the metro station that John'siPhone was giving us directions for. At the block where we needed to turn, I heard a loud amount of techno music and cars slowly going down the street while lots of people were on the side. "A parade!" I squealed. "I wonder what it's for." At that moment, I realized the only float I could see was carrying about 10 shirtless men with six packs and cowboy hats. Then John told me that he remembered someone at work talking about the gay pride parade. I was immediately excited to attend this sort of function since I am always open to new experiences, and as luck would have it, the route to our metro station happened to be on the parade route. For the next 15 or so minutes, I experienced homosexuality all around me, and I loved it.
Gay men holding hands while walking small dogs, men wearing only speedo bathing suits, lesbians grinding on floats, the most wonderful drag queens you've ever seen being escorted by gay mostly naked men wearing bowties and tiny underwear, men and women on motorcycles wearing all leather, priests with signs that said "God invented rainbows." I walked past that parade with a huge smile on my face soaking in the sense of community that I kind of wish I could have been a part of. Every restaurant or store had a rainbow in the window. Everyone was hugging and kissing each other. I felt like a minority as I held my boyfriend's hand dodging the men in pink tight shirts and women in wife beaters. Even as we reached the metro station, I couldn't help but feel kind of sad that I was leaving the party in the streets.
And that's when I realized what gay pride is all about. I thought about the thousands of people who are in the closet and deathly afraid to come out because they would be ridiculed. I thought of the people that feel like they are unlike anyone else and something is wrong with them. I've never felt such a sense of community in my life last night, and if attending one of those parades won't get you out of the closet, nothing will. I felt pride for everyone I knew who was gay. Every other day of the year, they might feel uncomfortable holding hands with the person they love in public. They get stares as they kiss their soulmate goodbye. Yesterday was their day to express themselves and they should be proud to do that.
Now I've never had a problem with gay people, but I've always had a people who have had a problem with them. This post isn't going to be about that, though. This is no debate. We'll just leave it at the fact that I, personally, have no problem with homosexuality. However, I've never really understood these gay pride parades. I understand working towards gay rights, but gay pride? What is there to be proud of? So you're gay. I don't have straight pride parades. What's the deal?
Well I got my answer last night, and it pretty much bitch slapped me right in the face.
After leaving (a very nice and romantic) dinner with my boyfriend at a restaurant in Washington, D.C., we walked out the door and walked towards the metro station that John's
Gay men holding hands while walking small dogs, men wearing only speedo bathing suits, lesbians grinding on floats, the most wonderful drag queens you've ever seen being escorted by gay mostly naked men wearing bowties and tiny underwear, men and women on motorcycles wearing all leather, priests with signs that said "God invented rainbows." I walked past that parade with a huge smile on my face soaking in the sense of community that I kind of wish I could have been a part of. Every restaurant or store had a rainbow in the window. Everyone was hugging and kissing each other. I felt like a minority as I held my boyfriend's hand dodging the men in pink tight shirts and women in wife beaters. Even as we reached the metro station, I couldn't help but feel kind of sad that I was leaving the party in the streets.
And that's when I realized what gay pride is all about. I thought about the thousands of people who are in the closet and deathly afraid to come out because they would be ridiculed. I thought of the people that feel like they are unlike anyone else and something is wrong with them. I've never felt such a sense of community in my life last night, and if attending one of those parades won't get you out of the closet, nothing will. I felt pride for everyone I knew who was gay. Every other day of the year, they might feel uncomfortable holding hands with the person they love in public. They get stares as they kiss their soulmate goodbye. Yesterday was their day to express themselves and they should be proud to do that.
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