I’m engaged to Matt, and I couldn’t be happier. I knew that I wanted to write a blog about it, because it’s been all I can think about since he asked me to marry him last Friday. Unfortunately, someone’s ignorance that I can’t just ignore means that you’re getting this instead.
Left anonymously on Kayley’s boyfriend’s formspring:
“Actually, Lauren is bisexual. At least that’s what she claimed a couple years ago. Perhaps there’s hope for all us gays that we can change back from the dark empire. Whatever Lauren! You turned your back on the gay community! FUCK YOU!”
Since someone apparently needs a refresher on what it actually means to be bisexual, let me google that for you.
What is “a bisexual”?
A strict definition of a bisexual would be someone who has romantic and/or sexual relations with other people of more than one sex (though not necessarily at the same time). However, since not everyone has necessarily had the opportunity to act on their sexual/romantic attractions, some people prefer a looser definition; for instance, that a bisexual is a person who - in their own estimation - feels potentially able to have such attraction. This could be anyone who has erotic, affectionate, or romantic feelings for, fantasies of, and/or experiences with both men and women. A bisexual may be more attracted to one sex than the other, attracted equally to both, or find people’s sex unimportant.
Are bisexuals equally attracted to both sexes?
Many bisexuals feel they have a “preference” for one gender over another, but they do not deny their attraction for that other gender. Some bisexuals, however, have no such preference, and instead focus their attractions on qualities they see in an individual regardless of that person’s gender. Sometimes these qualities involve gender, sometimes not. For example, some people find men attractive as men, and women attractive as women; others find people’s gender irrelevant.
Do bisexuals have to have lovers of both sexes to be bisexual?
People who call themselves bisexual are saying that they are attracted to both men and women. They don’t necessarily have to act on that attraction.
But if they’re monogamous, how can they be bisexual?
A bisexual deciding to be monogamous is not deciding to be “gay” or “straight.” He/she is still bisexual; he/she has chosen a PERSON to live his/her life with, not an orientation, preference or idealogue. It is important to recognize that he/she still FEELS bisexual.
According to this person who didn’t even have the balls to say this to me, someone who has been in a relationship with and decides to marry one of the two genders that bisexual people, by definition, have erotic, affectionate, or romantic feelings for, fantasies of, and/or experiences with, is no longer bisexual. Huh. Am I supposed to marry one of each to keep my identity, or what? Would you like to explain that to my fiance? And then you can explain it to me, because I was under the belief that I am free to decide who I want to be with, just like you are.
I’ve heard all kinds of stereotypes, misunderstandings, and general confusion regarding bisexuality, and this is unfortunately one of them. It is also the first time ANYONE has expressed anything more than support and happiness for my coming out as bisexual, and oddly enough, it’s coming from a misinformed gay person as far as I can tell. Apparently we’re just as guilty of being as shallow and closed-minded as everyone else. Good to know.
Honestly, the bottom line is that my erotic, affectionate, or romantic feelings and experiences are really none of your business. I could cover my ass and list all of the people I have ever been with or attracted to, but let’s face it. In all probability, you’ve probably never even spoken to me. My parents don’t even know these things, and they’ve been there for me my entire life. There’s no reason for me to prove anything to you or to anyone else. My sexuality is mine, and anyone who thinks that it belongs to anyone else or is up for public debate seriously needs to reevaluate what it means to be a part of the LGBT community in the first place.
I have never done anything to hurt you. I have never given anything but my love and support for the LGBT community, and it breaks my heart that this means absolutely nothing to you. If you think I’m turning my back on the community that has helped me to find myself, just because I love someone, you’re no better than all of the people who are still trying to take away your rights, just because you love someone.
I wanted purple hair. I paid for some kind of black mess, and I’ve been washing my hair in scalding hot water like it’s my job ever since. Finally, I have all of the supplies I need for some lovely purple highlights, I’ve painstakingly picked out all of the blonde streaks that are left throughout my head, I’m wearing several towels that I’ve decided to sacrifice for the occasion, and one would assume that I’m all set to make with the purple.
Apparently, fate doesn’t want me to fix the botched dye job I got at the salon two weeks ago. Maintenance suddenly decided that it’s time to replace the toilet in the only bathroom available to me. So here I sit, covered in towels with random blonde chunks separated out of my hair, hanging in my face, wondering if I’m going to have to take them out and start all over when it comes time for me to walk across campus and hand in my paper in three hours.
Since I am a senior and I obviously no longer care about what anyone thinks of me, even my professors, I have just sent this:
Dear Dr. Roy,
So I was in the middle of dying my hair purple in my quad bathroom when maintenance decided to pay me a visit and replace my toilet. Until they finish, I have no way of making myself presentable enough to go outside (considering that towels are not exactly an appropriate item of clothing for someone who is not in his or her own home), walk across campus, and hand in my intro and methods.
Oh, the good old days of communal bathrooms when it didn’t matter who was taking up one of the stalls.
We have a few hours to go, obviously, but in case they’re here late and I don’t end up out of this awkward state by 2pm, would you accept my paper by email instead of a paper copy in your mailbox?
Just planning ahead as I sit here, wondering when I’m going to be able to leave again, heh.
Graduation, please? Thanks.
Update: Hey random drunk guy who broke into our quad last semester at 4am to use our bathroom? They found your ID in our old toilet.
When today started, it looked pretty bleak. I didn’t want to drive three hours to Poughkeepsie, NY for the show we were scheduled to play, but I’m so glad that we ended up having these plans today. I guess the sucky morning gave me something to compare such a great show to, and that made it seem even better. I’m very lucky that I have things like wizard rock shows to remind me that I’m super blessed, even when I don’t feel so great.
The people at the show today were more enthusiastic than I’ve seen an audience in a little while. I looked on as a girl who was so happy to be talking to Matt that she started to cry happy tears. Several awesome groups of friends told me how excited they were to be able to meet me and see me play. I guess after being so upset this morning, I immediately decided to make it my personal mission to give them a reason to be so happy and excited (or even moreso than they already were).
A few years ago, I was completely in love with Kelly Clarkson and her music. All I wanted for a while was the chance to give her a hug and tell her how much she meant to me. When I was sixteen, after a few years of waiting outside stage doors and entering contests, I finally won a meet and greet pass through the Kelly Clarkson fan club. I had seen her play nine times before that night, and I was so incredibly excited to finally be able to talk to the person who made me so happy with her music.
The one thing I worried about was that she wouldn’t be as great as the person I had always thought she was, since after all, I was only watching her on TV and enjoying her music. Immediately when it was my turn to meet her, I was so overwhelmed with happiness that all of those doubts went away. I ran up and hugged her, gave her a big kiss on the cheek, and told her how much she meant to me, and instead of being creeped out or annoyed like she probably should have been, she looked so genuinely happy that I was incredibly ecstatic to meet her.
I noticed right away that our conversation felt like it was happening between old friends rather than strangers. For someone who had no clue who I was, she definitely made it feel like she had known me for years. The truth was, Kelly had been a part of my life for a few years. I hadn’t entered hers until that minute (and I haven’t seen her since), but she still treated me as if she had known me all this time.
There’s no way I could have predicted all of this, but that night I told myself that if I ever ended up in a position where I could make music that makes people as happy as Kelly made me with hers, I would do everything in my power to make their lives the way she made mine that night. Sometimes, I’m busy or stressed out or I just plain forget how much her music did for me, but on days like today, it’s all I can think about, and all I want to do is make other people as happy as she made me.
Today, with all of the wonderful people I met reminding me of my younger self, I was totally channeling Kelly. And while I do hope that I even came a little bit close, I’m finally realizing something that I never could have imagined that night almost six years ago. Just because I hadn’t met Kelly before doesn’t mean that I haven’t changed her life just as much as she had changed mine. The wizard rockers and nerdfighters I spent this afternoon with are the reason why I’m even able to have shows like this. You guys are why I’m here, and while I’ve known that for a while, I just made the connection that even though we may have never met, you have touched my life. And the truth is, I’m honored to have touched yours.
I know I’ve complained loads about my roommate all year, and I can deal with a lot of those issues, but this one has just brought me to my last nerve. She makes it nearly impossible for me to get a good night of sleep, and I’m getting pretty freaking tired of it. Excuse the pun.
Every single night, I go to bed between midnight and 1am. This is pretty late by most people’s standards. And then I lay in bed, trying to fall asleep despite the glow of her laptop screen and the sound of her typing and clicking her mouse constantly for one to two hours until she decides to go to sleep, or realizes that she should maybe go downstairs because she doesn’t want to go to bed. And then, when she either shuts her laptop and goes to bed or leaves and closes the door and doesn’t come back up to grab things she forgot eight times, I am able to fall asleep.
Every single morning, her ridiculously loud alarm clock (the girls living across the hall hear it every morning) goes off at least two hours before she needs to leave for class, usually around 8am. If she wanted to get up early so she could take a shower and go to breakfast, that would be okay with me because it allows me to go back to sleep. Instead, she spends those two hours on her laptop or walking back and forth in the room or clipping her toenails at her desk two feet away from my bed, making just enough noise to keep me awake until she leaves for class at 10am when I either go back to sleep until she comes back an hour or two later or I just freaking get up because I don’t care anymore at that point. I’m lucky that my classes don’t start until 2pm, or else going back to sleep wouldn’t even be an option.
Since you’re probably asking, yes, she really doesn’t get sleep. Luckily, if she still hasn’t gone to sleep by 2 or 3am, she does relocate to the living room downstairs, but I have been woken up by her coming in at 5:30 or 6am to go to sleep, followed by her alarm clock at 8. People keep telling me that I need to talk to her about this, but the truth is, I have. Two weeks into us rooming together, I was already sick of not being able to sleep and I talked to her about it. I let her know that I can be a very light sleeper and asked her very nicely if she could move downstairs if she wants to stay up late or get up early. She did it for a little while, but eventually went right back to it again as if I only really wanted sleep for the first month of school, and the request did not apply for the rest of the year we’d be stuck living together.
Last week, she fell asleep around 10pm one night. I got super excited, brushed my teeth, washed my face, changed into my pajamas, and was in bed by 10:30 for the first time in I don’t even know how long. Immediately after I got settled, she was up again and did not go back to sleep until five in the freaking morning. There have been times that I’ve just gotten out of bed, grabbed my pillow and a blanket, and set up downstairs on the futon. She usually apologizes when she sees me doing this, but that hasn’t been enough of a reason for her to, you know, let me sleep in my bed during normal human sleeping hours. Midnight to 9am is all I ask. Maybe even 10am every once in a while if I’m up late doing work (which, by the way, is never what she’s doing when she’s up all night).
I’ve been falling asleep in nearly all of my classes for the past few weeks because I can’t catch up on sleep and it’s impossible to nap during the day because she very rarely leaves. Just because she doesn’t need sleep doesn’t mean I don’t either. Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to understand that people don’t all work on two hours of sleep the same way she does, and from what I’ve gathered, the only way to get her to realize that is to ask her every night and every morning if she can go downstairs because I’m trying to sleep. That is not something I’m okay with doing, so I guess I’m stuck with this for another month and a half. I’ll probably continue to go home or to Rhode Island on the weekends, where I can actually get a full night of sleep, and maybe even a morning if I really need it.
With that said, she is very nice and very quiet. She is extremely preferable to the Hannah Montana-blasting child who threw a tantrum at even the slightest mention of headphones who I had to live with for one semester of my sophomore year. It’s just getting more and more difficult to motivate myself to do work as it is, and being exhausted all of the time is just making that more impossible. Graduation please?
A week or two ago, Kayley wrote a blog entry that hit me and has stuck with me ever since. What started out as a comment to tell her that she is not alone ended up being a place for me to vent, which I haven’t had in quite a while. The truth is, I no longer share my venting online and as a result, am becoming a very bottled up, cranky person. I don’t like this.
People have been whining at me because I am no fun in videos anymore, or because I don’t talk about my wonderful life in my videos. I don’t think people realize that I am a) a real person and b) completely miserable at college, still. Why would I want to talk about something that makes me miserable? They also seem to get upset at me when I talk about what I’m up to with my music stuff and shows I’m playing, because apparently talking about the one exciting thing in my life counts as whoring myself out. There is no happy medium and people can’t just deal with who I am and what I want to say in my videos. I get yelled at for being honest and for leaving out things I don’t want to talk about, because then I’m not being honest enough. I’ve even been yelled at lately for refusing to make a video in front of my roommate, despite the fact that I don’t want to share that with her or subject her to listening to me play the same song two hundred times or talking about random crap that means nothing to her. It’s like these people create a picture of me that they think is real, and then take it out on me when I say something in my videos or blogs that contradicts the celebrity goddess that they think I am but I certainly am not.
It’s why I don’t blog about my life anymore, and maybe I would if I made it friends only and my friends would actually read it. Videos should entertain people… that’s usually my first priority there. Blogs should be honest, and I’m done listening to people telling me that they are disgusted with who I really am.
So you know what? I’m gonna do it anyway. And you can’t leave me comments, so I can and will express myself, whether you want to judge me or not. Thanks.
I enjoy science. When I was in high school, I was seriously considering a career in biology or genetics and I was actually in a club that met after school where the especially nerdy (see also: awesome) students got together and did college-level bio labs to solve challenges and such. We watched Gattaca once. Fantastic movie.
However, that interest never really extended to Physics. This might have had something to do with the fact that my high school Physics teacher, hilarious as he was, spoke with a thick Romanian accent that took me about a semester to decode. I would blame my confusion on this, but even once I figured out what he was saying, I actually realized that it was Physics that I couldn’t understand.
So, here I am, in college and in need of a lab science. I’ve already taken (see also: failed) Neuropsychology and crawled my way through Neuroscience, but the psychology-related science class selection is pretty limited here. And that is why I was enrolled in How Things Work, a Physics class for people who don’t get science or math. Or in my case, a Physics class for people who don’t get Physics or Calculus, since I technically kick ass at most types of science and math.
Today, we began a unit on Physics in Music. I thought this would be pretty cool considering that I love music and the professor has already asked me to bring in my guitar on Tuesday. Unfortunately, this particular class period consisted entirely of a bad 1980’s educational film in which the voiceovers repeatedly mispronounce the word ‘timbre’ and proceed to simplify something as beautifully complex as music into, essentially, a picture of a wave and some numbers.
Way to make one of the most interesting concepts into a bland, impersonal, emotionless scribble, Physics.