I love my friends.
I have friends who like knitting, libraries, philosophy, drinking, sports, adventure, techno music, rap music, nature...My friends don't always like everything about each other. They don't always like everything they like at one time.
But the one thing my friends have in common in their passion. They are all incredibly passionate about something. E is passionate about law. M is passionate about books, literature, and libraries. J is passionate about music and film. I am passionate about the human experience and how our sexuality plays a part in that.
I love having the kind of friends that you can really argue with. Not petty fights, but full-on actual factual arguments. There is a line between asshole intellectual and spirited debater that we all walk really well. I don't ever feel as though anyone is being disrespected or talked down to, and that's why I think our debates always end well.
M and I, even though we're a thousand miles away from each other, spend a lot of our time doing that. She's the logical side of the team, I'm the emotions. So when I'm hoping, she's laying out figures. When she's she's following the facts, I try to sway her with feelings and gut reactions.
In that way, we are a really good team. Surprisingly enough, we travel really well together. She does maps, I do motivation. The two of us always find ourselves in wonderful, life-affirmingly insane situations.
Today, we're chatting about the Occupy Wall Street movement.
We've talked Tea Party comparisons, the aim of both movements, the rise of the 53% as a reaction to the 99%. We differ on our opinions of the effectiveness of Occupy Wall Street.
I think that even though the movement has no official structure and that even though it supports a wide variety of interests, it has the potential to foster positive dialog about the political system in this country. A lot of people don't know the specifics about corporate tax law (I certainly don't know much), and a lot of people choose to ignore things they don't understand.
My hope for the Occupy Wall Street movement is that it will raise the voting rates, particularly among the youth. I hope that these protests foster a sense of hope rather than the prevailing despair. Think "peaceful progress" rather than "might as well keep slogging on."
I am so pro-protesting. I may not agree with everything (and they've been very clear to say that no one has to agree - everyone is autonomous within this movement), but I agree that things need to change. As they chant, "corporate greed has got to go!" I feel proud of my peers, of my fellow citizens. Peacefully, they've mobilized a nationwide movement (granted, its origins are rather interesting) that aims to shed light on the current financial situation.
There are no quick fixes. There are no concrete solutions. But there is positive discussion, the spreading of information, the ability to feel as though your voice has been heard. And "this is what democracy looks like."
There are Tumblr accounts that I'd like to highlight:
http://the53.tumblr.com/ and http://wearethe99percent.tumblr.com/
Both show people holding up signs talking about their statuses in the world. We are the 99 Percent talks about the struggle and The 53 is a reaction to the perceived "whines" of the 99 Percent.
I get that.
The We are the 99 Percent Tumblr is a constant downer. But it's what really made me realize how difficult things are for people. I mean, I complain a lot, but I'm educated, employed, not drowning in debt, and stable. I'm happy. I'm not looking to drive a sick Aston Martin (or am I?) but I'd also like to really start buckling down on starting my IRA (2012, baby).
They talk about forgiving student loan debt. That's impossible. You knew you'd have to pay those loans back someday, and you signed for them. Sorry, it's true.
They talk about corporate bailouts. They're completely correct.
The 53 talks about, as M put it, lying down and taking it. They talk about not being a part of the 99 percent. They talk about how Wall Street has no part in their lives.
They talk about how they have jobs and no tattoos. About how they're sick of paying for the 99 percent.
But I argue that the 53 percent are conceding that the system is a mess, even if they don't realize it.
I argue that the 53 percent don't understand the impact that the financial sector has on their lives. We are all tied together; there is no way that any single person is removed from the actions of their government. We are collectively responsible for the decisions that are being made, even if it appears that we have no say. As an American abroad, you will be subjected to questions about your president, your bills, your wars, your legislation. Don't you think you'll want to be able to explain it?
I attended a private college and graduated with no student loans. I have worked since I was 16. I got scholarships, grants, and am very blessed to have a family that adores me. I currently work full-time in a job I don't want to do forever, but it pays my bills. I am constantly learning new things. I love the people I work with. I am respected. I babysit on the side because I don't make enough to cover everything. I have no savings. I am fully responsible for every single one of my bills, except for healthcare, because my mom is awesome. I am financially independent. I belong to a credit union and maintain zero balance on my credit card.
I am not bitching or complaining (today) but I worry about my future. I want to be able to retire and to send my kids to college.
I want to live in a peaceful world. I want to be satisfied that my government has my best interests at heart. I want to believe that my representatives are competent. I want to have faith in our humanitarian efforts. I want to feel as though I am a productive member of society. I want to leave the world a better place than it was when I entered it. I don't think that corporations should get to make the laws, or pay the people who make the laws. I don't think that CEOs should receive multi-million dollar severance packages.
That's why I am a part of the 99%. I believe in hope.
(Cue the Angels in the Outfield kid. That's really what the world needs...)
This weekend is a Mom and Katie Away weekend. We're headed up to Winter Park to use a Groupon I foolishly purchased in the summer. (Never buy Groupons that are for anything but food! The Tommy's Thai Groupon: best purchase of my life. Weekend in Winter Park? Undecided.)
I am excited for hiking, for swimming, for sleep, and mostly, not to have to deal with anything for a couple of days.
I got my new phone today, so I'll be testing out the camera on it. Be excited to finally have a blog with pictures on it again! (I know I certainly am!)
Friday, October 14, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
On Competitive Edge
I play a lot of trivia.
It must have started with Knowledge Bowl in high school. Mullen did horribly at every meet we went to. We were never in the running for any trophy, but we did have a lot of fun. At that point in my life, I thought Knowledge Bowl was the greatest thing in the world. I still think that, actually.
I don't necessarily think I know a lot of stuff (although, shameless self-promotion: officially in the 90th percentile for MAT scores, so I must know some stuff. Or be really good at guessing).
I suck at sports questions. I suck at science questions. I suck at 80s hair metal and geography.
I rock at weird stuff.
Once, the question was something along the lines of "What does Kim Jong Il have the world's largest collection of?" And I knew it. Without even batting an eye I threw down the answer.
We played in Chicago at Hamilton's. That's where we met the first set of Irish. That's where we drank, and lost, and drank some more. The Battle of Hastings. 1066.
We played at O'Donovon's. Maddie and I were always Team We Put the "Rad" in Colorado. I still think it's cute, but you're welcome to disagree. Whenever I eat a miniature corn dog, I am immediately transported back to that bar. Miller Lite and corn dogs and mustard = my college heaven.
We played in Boston. "Frank Sinatra is not Daniel Craig." That was a great night. That's the night I learned never to yell anything about the Patriots coach. That's the night we put Mickey Avalon on for the entire bar to hear. That's the night we wandered around in the rain forever with no cab in sight.
We play weekly here.
I always save the answers I don't know for S, and then he tells me the answers immediately. (They're usually sports questions. Or questions about Australia or Chicago or history.) It's our Thursday night thing.
We usually do well. I think a lot of it is a result of the team spreading the age gap between 21 and 60 (give or take a few years on either end). A lot of it is that some people are history majors, others communications, others do computer programming, massage therapy, medical work. All of us have different life goals and are passionate about a wide array of different things. But that works to our advantage. And that's how we win.
It must have started with Knowledge Bowl in high school. Mullen did horribly at every meet we went to. We were never in the running for any trophy, but we did have a lot of fun. At that point in my life, I thought Knowledge Bowl was the greatest thing in the world. I still think that, actually.
I don't necessarily think I know a lot of stuff (although, shameless self-promotion: officially in the 90th percentile for MAT scores, so I must know some stuff. Or be really good at guessing).
I suck at sports questions. I suck at science questions. I suck at 80s hair metal and geography.
I rock at weird stuff.
Once, the question was something along the lines of "What does Kim Jong Il have the world's largest collection of?" And I knew it. Without even batting an eye I threw down the answer.
We played in Chicago at Hamilton's. That's where we met the first set of Irish. That's where we drank, and lost, and drank some more. The Battle of Hastings. 1066.
We played at O'Donovon's. Maddie and I were always Team We Put the "Rad" in Colorado. I still think it's cute, but you're welcome to disagree. Whenever I eat a miniature corn dog, I am immediately transported back to that bar. Miller Lite and corn dogs and mustard = my college heaven.
We played in Boston. "Frank Sinatra is not Daniel Craig." That was a great night. That's the night I learned never to yell anything about the Patriots coach. That's the night we put Mickey Avalon on for the entire bar to hear. That's the night we wandered around in the rain forever with no cab in sight.
We play weekly here.
I always save the answers I don't know for S, and then he tells me the answers immediately. (They're usually sports questions. Or questions about Australia or Chicago or history.) It's our Thursday night thing.
We usually do well. I think a lot of it is a result of the team spreading the age gap between 21 and 60 (give or take a few years on either end). A lot of it is that some people are history majors, others communications, others do computer programming, massage therapy, medical work. All of us have different life goals and are passionate about a wide array of different things. But that works to our advantage. And that's how we win.
On things that make me laugh
Ha, I read this today and thought it was cute. Sometimes hanging out with your boyfriend's exes can be really fun, and sometimes it can be really awkward. 80% of the time it's really awkward. And sometimes you end up being great friends. My rule is to never bring up the man in the middle. From there, you can bond over most anything else.
In college, the most recent ex (they'd been together 2 years) came up to me at a party and asked me if H still snored. I was like, "um...." She proceeded to use the word "tummy" (which gives me the heebie-jeebies even in polite conversation) and then provided feasible solutions to the problem. It definitely makes the list of most awkward moments of my life.
I'm still friends with all of my exes (except one). I feel that if you put them in a room together, you might not have the most cohesive group of people, you'd at least have entertaining conversation and a few funny stories. I'd also like to see each and every one of them eat a crust-less-sandwich while wearing a floppy hat. They'd all complain about the same things: messy car, messy room, squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom, my lack of subtlety, blah blah blah. It'd be cute.
I'm still friends with all of my exes (except one). I feel that if you put them in a room together, you might not have the most cohesive group of people, you'd at least have entertaining conversation and a few funny stories. I'd also like to see each and every one of them eat a crust-less-sandwich while wearing a floppy hat. They'd all complain about the same things: messy car, messy room, squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom, my lack of subtlety, blah blah blah. It'd be cute.
Introducing The Ex-Girlfriends Club
OCT. 10, 2011
There are so many beautiful stages to falling in love. There is the meet cute; there is the crazy infatuation; there is the first time you see each other naked and love all the little lumps and bumps they hate; there is the time you think “They might be the one;” and then there is the time you start hating the living hell of their ex-girlfriend, sight unseen.
And there are so many beautiful stages to that, too. There is the masochistically asking questions about her, because you don’t want to know but you really kind of do; there is the stalking her Facebook/ Googling her and ridiculing everything you see; there is the sharing pictures of her with your friends and being like, “Am I right!?” And then, if you’re really lucky, there’s the moment where you actually encounter her in real life and have to let out the most utterly false, “Heyyy, how are you?” of your life.
It happens to all of us. As we troll the pictures and the Facebook wall of this girl that has done so much to wrong us without even realizing it, we take umbrage with and utterly detest such strange, innocuous things: “Marine Biology? What the hell kind of major is that? I like Shark Week, too, but I’m not about to dedicate my academic career to it.” We become obsessed with what she is doing now, what stake she had in our boyfriend’s life, and why she wears her hair in that awful updo. (I think she was going for Amy Winehouse, but she ended up with Snooki.)
But why do we hate her so? Is it just because she once had sex with him, once kissed him, once rested her head on his chest the way we do? That can’t be it. Is it because she gave once him hickies all over his neck like some kind of white trash suckerfish? Is it because she forced him to wear that sweater that made him look like a pretentious, hipster Mr. Rogers? Maybe, but that still isn’t all of it. No, if we are really being honest, it’s because he loved her. At one point, those incredible things he’s feeling about you and can’t wait to tell you as you lie in bed, staring into each others’ eyes, were things he told her — and meant just as much. And we feel, on some primitive level, that there’s only so much love to go around. Somehow, having experienced it with her makes us less special. And we can’t hate him — he’s wooonderful — so we hate her instead.
But think back to one of your ex-boyfriends, one you may very well have loved at some point, one who now conjures in you this vague feeling of “Yikes, dodged that bullet.” You know, when you see him out and get that brief, nauseated feeling in the pit of your stomach as you think, “That was inside me at one point.” Shudder. But that feeling, and the true happiness for him that you feel when he finds someone else who is a billion times better for him — the ex you hate so much probably feels that way, too. There was a reason they didn’t work out, and she’s probably happy to see him with someone who can stand the way he bites his nails or leaves his dirty dishes to “soak” for days on end.
There is no reason to hate her, no reason to take this absurd “Me vs. Her” stance on something so benign. So I propose, for the mental health of girlfriends everywhere, the Ex-Girlfriends Club.
We would meet once every three months, have tea and crustless sandwiches (hell, you can even wear those big, floppy, Easter egg-colored hats if you want), and talk about that man who is no longer with us. And current girlfriends will be invited, too — it is important, in fact, that they come. We can trade tips, share stories, and complain about that awful way he rolls himself like a taquito in the sheets until you’re left shivering in the corner of the bed with a handkercheif-sized piece of blanket over you. And, most importantly, we can reallize that we’re all just human beings. We all may have shared sentiments and fluids with the same guy, but that doesn’t mean we’re in competition with each other — on the contrary, it should give us something to laugh over. We can all revel in how hapy we are to be rid of that douchebag — except current girlfriend, for whom we are sooooooo happy, she is perfect for him.
So put down the laptop, stop asking the evil questions, and let the gossip go. There’s no reason to fear the ex-girlfriend, just come to the Ex Club and get to know her as a person. We’re all good, intelligent, strong women and there’s no reason to get catty over a man who likely couldn’t care less about the stupid rivalry.
That is, of course, unless she’s trying to get him behind your back now that he’s all shiny and desirable again. Then that hot mess is not invited to any club, and her butt isn’t even that cute anyway. 
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
On the 30 - 50% Rule and the date.
"People only listen to 50% of what you say," I tell J.
We think about that for awhile. Half of what you say, you're saying solely for yourself. That's alright, because 50% of what you say isn't being processed by your audience.
It's the 30-50% rule.
And it's awesome.
You never have to worry about what you say in front of people, because it doesn't matter. Chances are, they weren't paying attention in the first place.
***
"You're not at all like I expected you to be," he says.
We think about that for awhile. Half of what you say, you're saying solely for yourself. That's alright, because 50% of what you say isn't being processed by your audience.
It's the 30-50% rule.
And it's awesome.
You never have to worry about what you say in front of people, because it doesn't matter. Chances are, they weren't paying attention in the first place.
***
"You're not at all like I expected you to be," he says.
"How so?" I ask.
"You wear a lot of black...You're not conventional at all. You look like you would be. You don't even have any tattoos."
Inwardly, I groan. I hear the "not conventional" bit so often that I'm not sure it's even a compliment any more.
Outwardly, I laugh. "I have two," I tell him.
He's got me pegged: "Such a strong personality coming from such a petite girl," he says. "People don't expect that. I bet you don't get along with girls." He's not wrong. I don't. They scare me.
As last night wore on and the bar got slowly more and more crowded, I found my eyes wandering. I love to look at people, to watch them shift uncomfortably, embrace happily, stand still sipping drinks. I watched the businessmen come in, all shiny shoes and Oxford shirts. I made eye contact, then shyly looked away.
He was telling me stuff about his passions, his dreams, his art, and I was listening, sort of. Conversation was good, time passed easily. I got tired - it's the vicenarian curse. Adolescence slips away and all we're left with is the hope of eventual maturity. I'm doomed to be tired from now until the day I die.
It wasn't as horrible as I'd predicted. In fact, it wasn't horrible at all. He would like to see me again. I will. But I'm not sure I'm feeling any sort of promise, any sort of legitimate future frisson. As we said goodnight, I wondered what it'd be like to kiss him. Then I realized I didn't want to.
It got me started thinking about sparks. Instantaneous sparks. There are great moments in life when something beautiful begins. It begins with a look across a dark bar, a chance comment at a party, the fortuitous arrangement of time and place. Sometimes it begins with an internet email. A first date gone well.
I've never forgotten those beginnings. That couch on Carmen St. That New Years' Eve. That party in the snow in Chicago. That night we walked around the city. The night in Cape Town at the pool hall. The road trip where we stayed up most of the night. The first date that never ended. The first time you feel the frisson, the slow curling inside your stomach, the safe knowledge of feelings. I've not known those for some time now. Am I doomed to stir up those memories in the hopes of never losing that feeling?
That feeling is what I crave. And what I'm determined to wait for. Patiently. Or at least until I'm 25 and I get on match.com, whichever comes first.
***
Today's song:
West Coast by Coconut Records
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qlYGEaeoBWw
He was telling me stuff about his passions, his dreams, his art, and I was listening, sort of. Conversation was good, time passed easily. I got tired - it's the vicenarian curse. Adolescence slips away and all we're left with is the hope of eventual maturity. I'm doomed to be tired from now until the day I die.
It wasn't as horrible as I'd predicted. In fact, it wasn't horrible at all. He would like to see me again. I will. But I'm not sure I'm feeling any sort of promise, any sort of legitimate future frisson. As we said goodnight, I wondered what it'd be like to kiss him. Then I realized I didn't want to.
It got me started thinking about sparks. Instantaneous sparks. There are great moments in life when something beautiful begins. It begins with a look across a dark bar, a chance comment at a party, the fortuitous arrangement of time and place. Sometimes it begins with an internet email. A first date gone well.
I've never forgotten those beginnings. That couch on Carmen St. That New Years' Eve. That party in the snow in Chicago. That night we walked around the city. The night in Cape Town at the pool hall. The road trip where we stayed up most of the night. The first date that never ended. The first time you feel the frisson, the slow curling inside your stomach, the safe knowledge of feelings. I've not known those for some time now. Am I doomed to stir up those memories in the hopes of never losing that feeling?
That feeling is what I crave. And what I'm determined to wait for. Patiently. Or at least until I'm 25 and I get on match.com, whichever comes first.
***
Today's song:
West Coast by Coconut Records
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qlYGEaeoBWw
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
On Dating. Sigh.
The story goes like this:
I meet K, M, and J at a club one night. A DJ dude who I'd been introduced to earlier walks over, proceeds to start talking to me (yelling at me, same difference), and then spills my drink on me. Nothing says I'd like to date you like gin on my skirt. So I give him my phone number. Mistake One.
I mean, he's nice, educated, employed, but not really my type. Lately, my type is business-y men. You know, slacks and a tie to the office. Yum.
He calls me. We schedule date. After the breast cancer stress hell that was last week, I reschedule date.
You know when you push something off into the future because at that point, you can't imagine anything except that exact moment in time and you think "next week" will never come? Yeah, it was like that.
Well, next week is tonight. It'll be nice to get out, but I'm not looking to start anything until everything else sort of resolves itself.
Last week, B met up with us for "one drink, Katie, then we're going home." Of course, we run into the DJ dude who, coincidentally, has the same name. So I panic, hard. Dude I'm dating and dude I'm going a date with. Looking at each other. Naturally, I introduced them.
B1 met B2 and thought B2 was gay. Problem solved. No awkward explanations necessary.
Anyway, after I posted that blog about B(1) last week, I did some thinking. I took it down, because I thought, "Maybe it's not him. Maybe it's me. I'm not giving this 100%." I realized that since I don't know where I stand with him, I've sort of put him aside as something I don't want to get too attached to. So I decided to be more attentive, more open, less cynical.
We'll see. I'm still standing by my original thought, but I'm trying to try. I've been trying to be cute. Learning to bat eyelashes and whatnot. (Kidding.)
I meet K, M, and J at a club one night. A DJ dude who I'd been introduced to earlier walks over, proceeds to start talking to me (yelling at me, same difference), and then spills my drink on me. Nothing says I'd like to date you like gin on my skirt. So I give him my phone number. Mistake One.
I mean, he's nice, educated, employed, but not really my type. Lately, my type is business-y men. You know, slacks and a tie to the office. Yum.
He calls me. We schedule date. After the breast cancer stress hell that was last week, I reschedule date.
You know when you push something off into the future because at that point, you can't imagine anything except that exact moment in time and you think "next week" will never come? Yeah, it was like that.
Well, next week is tonight. It'll be nice to get out, but I'm not looking to start anything until everything else sort of resolves itself.
Last week, B met up with us for "one drink, Katie, then we're going home." Of course, we run into the DJ dude who, coincidentally, has the same name. So I panic, hard. Dude I'm dating and dude I'm going a date with. Looking at each other. Naturally, I introduced them.
B1 met B2 and thought B2 was gay. Problem solved. No awkward explanations necessary.
Anyway, after I posted that blog about B(1) last week, I did some thinking. I took it down, because I thought, "Maybe it's not him. Maybe it's me. I'm not giving this 100%." I realized that since I don't know where I stand with him, I've sort of put him aside as something I don't want to get too attached to. So I decided to be more attentive, more open, less cynical.
We'll see. I'm still standing by my original thought, but I'm trying to try. I've been trying to be cute. Learning to bat eyelashes and whatnot. (Kidding.)
Monday, October 10, 2011
On Getting Re-Tweeted by the Denver Police.
Occupy Wall Street: #OccupyDenver Gains Momentum In Large Weekend Rally, Endorses American Indian Movement Proposal (PHOTOS)
First Posted: 10/10/11 10:45 AM ET Updated: 10/10/11 11:27 AM ET
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The Occupy Denver movement is gaining momentum. Even as the weather turned cold and rainy this weekend, a diverse group of approximately 1000 protesters gathered at the state Capitol Building and marched peacefully to the Federal Reserve at the 16th Street Mall on Saturday -- the largest group gathered since the first rally more than two weeks ago.
The Denver Police Department were there on Saturday, but there were no arrests, Fox31 reports. The DPD were so accommodating to Occupy Denver that protesters even tweeted thanks to the police:
@ KatieMaryBarry : @DenverPolice have been amazingly accommodating. So much gratitude for their help today at #OccupyDenver. Thanks guys!
Proud of the peaceful marches, DPD tweeted their own pat on the back:
@ DenverPolice : THE RIGHT STUFF: "Occupy Wall St" marchers praise DPD. "They did a fantastic job of keeping people safe - they were clearly there to help"
The momentum began Friday night when hip-hop artist Lupe Fiasco stopped by the Occupy Denver camp donating tents, tarps, propane and other winter supplies, according to the Occupy Denver Facebook page. Fiasco was passing through Denver, playing a show at the Fillmore Auditorium, just a half mile from Occupy Denver’s campsite at the state Capitol.
Donations of food and other supplies kept the campsite growing all weekend. 9News reports that Occupy Denver has a large working kitchen now feeding those involved for free. Patrick Mardsen, a professional cook, said to 9News that a steady supply of food and supplies are being brought in by local restaurants, but mostly from individuals in support of the protesters.
Sunday night also brought a big development for Occupy Denver as they joined forces with the Colorado branch of the American Indian Movement (AIM) -- according to the Occupy Denver Facebook page, the occupiers unanimously endorsed ten AIM demands, which can be read in full here.
The protesters have yet to make any official public demands, but it’s not that they don’t have any, rather they are simply weighing all ideas brought forth by those involved in the movement. Brett Starr, a Denver organizer said this to HuffPost about the work-in-progress demands:
There has not been a specific demand(s) laid out yet. The media would like to squeeze one out of us, but we are not going to give them one until we come to a final massive democratic decisions on what that demand(s) should be.
Starr also said that any organizer can go to Coup Media Group’s website and vote on the proposed demands being laid out.
Occupy Denver is not alone in Colorado either, other occupations have broken out all over the state over the last two weeks. There are now protesters organizing in Boulder, Pueblo, Greeley, Colorado Springs and Fort Collins.
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