On One Hand

October 28, 2003

Punch Camel

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 12:39 am

Ugh… that was the worst cigarette I’ve ever had. The smoke burned as I breathed it in and the limited buzz was hardly worth the discomfort and the smell. I think I’m pretty safe from getting addicted, because the more often I smoke, the more shitty it makes me feel. Once cigarette every two weeks or so seems like a comfortable maximum. I enjoy smoking when I limit myself.

On the topic of leafing through old time trackers, I found something in one of them that caught my attention. I wrote it more than a year ago and I guess I was in a depressed state. I don’t know if I can call it a poem or what, it doesn’t read quite like a poem so maybe I’ll refer to it as prose.

I wish you had just punched me in the stomach.
Then, I would at least know why it hurts.
I wish I had something better than “my life is shit” to say
because then I would know that my depression isn’t the reason
you didn’t love me the way I wanted you to.
Of course you’d say it’s just a phase, and I know, as you know,
that this won’t last forever.
But the silver lining is so damn far off.
I want to tell myself it was just a matter of circumstance
that everything happened the way it did,
but it’s hard to think that it’s just circumstance
when the same old story comes around yet another time.
If love is really the best thing in life
then there are going to be a hell of a lot of disillusioned people
Hitting reality hard in the worst possible way.
The only guarantee is that there’s always another high and another low
that you haven’t even dreamed of yet.

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October 26, 2003

Home Sweet Home

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 11:31 pm

I went home Saturday afternoon and stayed through Sunday. It was nice to be back home for a while, but I couldn’t avoid a few minor tiffs and serious discussions with my parents. My mom got mad when I told her I left a book “at home,” meaning that I left it in my dorm, because she is not ready for my “home” to be anywhere but with her. Both my parents were dissapointed when I talked to them about getting drunk. I never thought I would tell them about drinking, but my mom asked me if I “have ever tried alcohol” and I can’t lie. I explained that I am not getting drunk very often, but anything at all is too much for my parents. Before I left home this fall, my mom told me to refrain from drinking “at least until you get out of college.” My parents demanded more information after hearing the news so I started explaining the night I got drunk from beginning to end. (I picked the most recent get-together since it was still fresh in my mind.) I got to the part where I had taken three shots when my mom gasped and said that three shots is a lot. I decided to stop talking there. So my parents think I took three shots. I’m sorry mom, I’m sorry dad, I’m not the innocent five-year-old wanting to be a weather man that I used to be.

While I was standing next to my sister in the kitchen, she bent down to pet the dog. I leaned over and messed up her hair. She stood up quickly, smacking my face with the back of her head. “God damn it” I yelled, rubbing my nose and teeth. It hurt like a bitch and my lip was swelling in the shape of a cherry on the right side. My sister was angry and demanded an apology. As anoying as I may have been, I don’t see how she could be acting so wronged when I was the one who was hurt.

I went up to my old bedroom and decided to clean up the books and school papers scattered across the ground. Seeing as how I’m not living at home anymore, there isn’t any good reason to have a mess in my room. I took a few moments to flip through two old time trackers from my junior and senior years of high school. Much more than popularity contest-filled yearbooks ever could, old time trackers remind me of what I was doing during high school and make me nostalgic for those years. I originally got the time trackers with the intent of keeping track of assignments but always filled them with notes and drawings instead. As I fliped through the pages, every poem or sketch reminded me of someone I was thinking of when I made it, someone who saw and commented on it, something that was on my mind that day. I had so many plans. I was dying for a highschool relationship. I was planning to change the culture culture of the school with the diversity club, hoping to win the respect of some people I really admired in spite of being gay. Oh God I wanted so bad to move to New York City after high school. New York to me was the only truly perfect place – I would be allowed to be eccentric and still fit in, I would be allowed to be queer and not feel the judgment of the world pressing in on me. If I didn’t find my soul mate in high school, surely I would find him at some library or coffee shop during my first few months in New York. I have hundeds of drawings of Manhattan skyscrapers scattered throuought the pages of the time trackers.

None of these dreams came to pass; nobody gets out that easily. New York was too expensive, and I was apprehensive about the idea of leaving home. I never met a guy in high school, and never found my niche of friends until I learned to appreciate the friends I already had. I graduated from school, leaving behind a student body that uses the words “queer” and “faggot” just as often as they did before (if not more often), and the jocks still look down on the punks and the skaters. I guess I was just asking for too much.

October 23, 2003

Anne Coulter

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 12:20 pm

Hey everybody, Anne Coulter is coming to my school. How exciting this is. On November 13 she’ll be addressing “liberal lies about the American right” in Macky auditorium. Tickets are free for students. Hmm…

Student Buff Bulletin:
Talk by Ann Coulter

Ann Coulter: Liberal Lies About the American Right.
November 13, 2003 at 7:00 p.m. in Macky Auditorium. Doors open at 6:15 p.m. Tickets are $10 for adults and free for CU/Boulder students: Limit 2 w/valid Buff One Card.
They will be available beginning October 27, 2003 at 10:00 am in the UMC Connection. For more info call (303) 492-****.
Contact: Jolene Wallace

October 19, 2003

Vomitarse el estomago

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 10:08 am

Last night I had about eight shots of vodka, spaced over enough time (about an hour) that I thought I wouldn’t get ahead of myself. It was apple flavored, which the girls’ said tastes like shit but to me it all just tastes like alcohol. I have no idea how much vodka was in each shot. My first had been poured by Tony in the bottom of a plastic cup. He poured what he thought was about one shot, which I debated (it looked like more), but drank it anway. I later figured out that it was eqivalent to about three fillings of the shot glass we were all using. (Four if you count the stuff that splashed down my shirt because it was too much to swallow at once.) After the first hit, I decided to use the shot glass instead of the plastic cup so that I could be better aware of how much I was drinking.

A few minutes into the festivities, everyone else was getting all drunk and I wasn’t (although I have a feeling that at least one person ..AHEM.. was exaggerating). I had started as soon as everyone else, I drank more than they did, and had less drinking experience than any of them, but they were still more out-of-it than I was. I decided to pick up the pace because it’s weird being around drunk people when you’re still relatively sober.

Mind you I am not an experienced drinker; not counting last night, I’ve only been drunk about twice. I’ve never passed out, thrown up, or even fallen over. I was sitting on the couch smoking a cigarette, pretty dizzy and relaxed, figuring that the apathy was more of an effect of the cigarette than the alcohol. Not long after I finally flicked the cigarette butt out the window, the nausea hit me. I must have gotten ahead of myself after all. I went over to the kitchen sink (the bathroom was being used) just in case I was going to puke since I didn’t want to risk throwing up on the carpet or furniture.

The sick feeling only got worse. I ended up leaning over the sink for more than a half hour. “Just puke and get it over with, then you’ll feel better,” the girls were saying. As someone who hasn’t thrown up at all since I was eleven years old, I hardly remember how to do it or what it feels like. “Oh, just stick your finger down your throat, or chug a glass of water really fast,” they told me.

I drank some water, stuck my finger down my throat, leaned against the counter so the edge jabbed into my stomach and made the nausea worse, but nothing happened. The bathroom was empty now so I ran over to the toilet.

Unaware of the passage of time, I leaned over the toilet, periodically tried to gag myself, and said goodbye to the girls as they left. Alexis came over to see if I was okay. I told her not to worry about me, and kept trying to gag myself with my fingers. I started with one finger, moved up to two, and finally resorted to shoving three fingers down my throat as far as I could, wiggling them around to get the full effect. I wanted to shove my whole fucking arm down there and scoop out all the alcohol with my hands this was getting so ridiculous. What could be so damn complicated about throwing up? I don’t even know if I have the capability. I know that’s not a good thing; I am probably more susceptible to alcohol poisoning than other people if it really is impossible for me to throw up when I need to.

I guess I just don’t have a gag reflex. People have been telling me that it’s a good thing, though I can’t figure out why. One girl said it wouldn’t be a good thing if I weren’t gay but since I am it is good, but she wasn’t making sense so I nodded and faked a laugh when she looked like she was expecting one. It doesn’t matter that much. I’ll just stop at six shots next time.

October 17, 2003

Super Stud

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 1:54 am

Hello everyone, allow me to introduce myself. I am Matt, the Super Stud.

I wish. All my attempts at masculine chivalry result in total disasters. Today I went to a gay rights rally on Pearl Street in downtown Boulder. (Which, by the way, was awesome.) Everyone was loud and angry and outspoken. I, on the other hand, felt uncomfortable just raising my voice. I am a fan of passionate rowdiness but this time I was uncomfortable participating in it personally. I’d rather win with reason, or, at the very least, with sarcastic wit. Besides, I found some of the cheers everyone was shouting to be lame. I got more into the spirit as the rally went on, but the event still seemed somewhat pointless – one would expect that such a controversial event would be met with, well, controversy. In Boulder, everyone just cheered back at us in support or gave thumbs-up signs. So much for being aggressive and powerful.

After the rally, there was a social in the Student Center for those who participated in the rally. A friend of mine, Lorelei, who is handicapped and can only walk short distances, couldn’t have functioned at the rally but had expressed an interest in the social. I ran back to the residence hall get her. She said I was sweet for taking the time to run all the way back. We started to head to the Student Center, me walking alongside Lorelei, who was driving her electronic cart.

We hadn’t even gotten outside the residence hall when her cart broke down. I offered to carry her, but she was reluctant to let me, explaining that I would undoubtedly hurt myself. I insisted she ought to let me try and she eventually gave in. As I was trudging down the sidewalk with Lorelei on my back, a group of guys walking by said hello to me, gesturing, in a way, in approval of what I was doing. They said something to the effect of “nice job, dude,” the details being non-important. It was quite a rush, getting that kind of attention from attractive straight guys.

About a third of the way to the social, I needed to rest so started to put Lorelei down to walk on her own for a while. She had a walker that I was carrying in my hands with her on my back, and as I put her down, her foot got tangled in the walker. As she started to fall backward we managed to sustain a temporary balance, but we would both tumble over very soon if I couldn’t find a way to prevent it. We were near a chicken wire fence so I turned sideways and leaned her against the fence to catch her fall. It prevented her from falling, but we happened to be against the one part of the fence that the spending-crazed school had allowed to fall into disrepair. Jagged wires protruding from the fence tore into her arm and she was cut pretty badly – a fact we did not discover until we were already at the social and finally pulled up her sleeve. Yes, I am a stud.

At the social, there was a guy who would probably seem average to most people but I found him particularly attractive. I stared at him for a while, found an excuse to say hello, and spent much of the evening awkwardly trying to find ways to get to know him. I couldn’t personally express an interest because I am so socially inept. I can’t flirt. I don’t have a clue how to go about doing it, and even when I can think of something appropriate to say, I can’t bring myself to talk to the person I like. I don’t know if it’s a fear or rejection or something else. As far as flirting goes I am at the level of a third grader; my first impulse is to grab something of theirs and run away so that they have to chase me to get it back.

After the cute boy left (I did manage to catch a conversation with him and discovered we can stay connected through a common friend, in case anyone was wondering) Lorelei was complaining about wanting to go home. When we left, I didn’t carry her. She trudged along very slowly using her walker as we discussed sexuality and gender archetypes. After we got back to the resedence hall, I stayed in her dorm awhile. I said I was hungry so she offered me some of her food, and after asking her what she least liked I chose a banana flavored moon pie that she claimed was disgusting. I took a few bites and agreed. Honestly, someone ought to have a contest to see if anyone can actually eat one of those without throwing up. I still haven’t gotten the industrial taste out of my mouth.

October 16, 2003

Some favorites…

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 8:54 pm

I ran across some political cartoons I really liked. Don’t visit them if you don’t care about politics.

Click To See The Links

My Anti-Drug

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 3:07 pm

What's YOUR Anti-Drug?

October 14, 2003

Vulva

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 11:43 pm
Tags: ,

The focus of last Thursday’s sociology class was a video of several women lounging in a small room on pillows and couches, looking at, and taking pictures of, each others’ genitals. The video included close-up shots of different vaginas and the group therapist, an older, curly-haired woman with large glasses, describing the organs and their constituent parts.
“Oh, this one is a renaissance vulva if I ever saw one. Look how the inner labia has those gorgeous flamboyant frills. It’s truly beautiful,” she would say, with the enthusiastic voices of the other younger women in concurrence in the background.
“This one – this is an art deco. Look how clean-cut and simple it is. Look at the pink color. Look at the well-defined shape of the clitoris. Incredible.”
When the video was finally over and the lights came on, the topic of conversation was which guys were the most flushed. Some were hunched over with legs crossed or their books placed conveniently in the upper part of their laps, but most were just red-faced and uncomfortable. “Oh, he’s not blushing at all,” one girl said, indicating toward me. Personally, I found the video enlightening. I had never known what a vagina actually looks like spread open like that. I guess they were, in a way, kind of cute.

After a few days of wild shapes vaguely resembling soggy flowers flashing through my head, I finally had a dream about one. It wasn’t a full-blown sex dream with the sudden need for a change of clothes and possibly new sheets, but it was nonetheless very charged. It involved a naked female figure lying on some hard surface in front of me, myself, one finger extended, trying to get the individual off, and some sort of sliding-glass door and blur of other irrelevant objects in the background. I’ve never had more than the slightest heterosexual inclinations my entire life, yet here I was doing my business not thinking that anything was unusual about the situation. I was simply trying to bring the lifeless body to orgasm by rubbing the tiny button above the hole with my index finger. Nothing weird about that. She was lying completely still; she only expressed a twinge of motion when she finally came. I woke up like I normally would after a sex dream that hadn’t come to completion; my alarm was going off so I got up and got dressed as usual. Nothing unusual went through my head. It had just been a sex dream like any other.

It wasn’t until I was walking to my sociology class this afternoon that it occurred to me that the body in my dream had been female. I was kind of shocked by the realization and I think I may have laughed out loud. I figured that during the dream I wasn’t doing anything to a person per se, rather, to a soulless body, but it was still female, which is entitled to at least a certain degree of contemplation. I vaguely remember during the dream the thought that this was a male individual in a female’s body, which would lessen to an extent the implications of the dream, but my mind probably just added that aspect later on. I would expect to have been taken aback by the female body, but during the dream I wasn’t. I’ve always been inspired by the suggestions that no one is one hundred percent heterosexual to think that maybe no one is one hundred percent homosexual either. It’s possible. Whatever the case, I know that I still like guys. I definitely still like guys.

Bible Verse of the Day… 1 Corinthians 11:3

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 9:54 pm

But I want you to know that Christ is the head of every man, and a husband is the head of his wife, and God the head of Christ. Any man who prays or prophesies with his head covered brings shame upon his head. But any woman who prays or prophesies with her head unveiled brings shame upon her head, for it is the same as if she had had her head shaved. For if a woman does not have her head veiled, she may as well have her hair cut off. But if it is shameful for a woman to have her hair cut of or her hair shaved, she should wear a veil.
A man, on the other hand, should not cover his head, because he is the image and glory of God, but the woman is the glory of man. For man did not come from woman, but woman from man; nor was man created for woman, but woman for man; for this reason a woman should have a sign of authority on her head, because of the angels.

October 13, 2003

Best Quiz

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 11:13 pm

OMG this is the BEST QUIZ EVER!

Click To See The Quiz

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