Friday, July 31, 2009

Buying me a drink does not permit you to touch me.

Oh, I'm cute? Great. Thank you. But no. I'm beautiful? Aw, you're sweet. Still no.

Why is this a constant? Men who seem to think that because they pull out a couple of 20's, or drop some money on a few rounds that it's okay to start getting touchy-feely with a woman you just met. Or better yet, heaven forbid a woman find you interesting and make eye contact when conversing. This is not a sexual, come hither stare. By my social standards, it is courteous to look someone in the eye whilst talking to them.

I love to converse in social settings. It is called being social. I like to drink alcohol while conversing in social settings. This in no way gives you license to start putting your arms around me or trying to pull me in and kiss me. I do not want this. If I wanted to kiss you, I wouldn't constantly walk away, or verbally say, "No." No amount of "Come on." or, "Please." is going to work. I do this to be nice, but apparently you don't take to subtlety very well. This then results in my getting bitchy and forces me to defend my personal space by publicly humiliating you. I don't want to get to that point, but you usually leave me without a choice.

If pulling out your wallet is your way of getting women to warm to your sexual advances, then you need a new game plan. Maybe it works on other women, but no matter how intoxicated I get, if I don't want it, I will say it. And then if you continue to be an asshole about it (like grabbing my face and trying to redirect toward yours), I will kick you in the balls. It's that simple.

Want to know a little secret? I know I'm good looking. I know that I am beautiful. I know that I am friendly. I am a gregarious person by nature. Throw a couple of drinks in me and that magnifies. However, until I start touching you on my own terms, my friendliness toward you is nothing sexual or romantic. I simply find people interesting and am fascinated with learning about them. If you want to take this as a romantic gesture, then fine, but the joke is on you.

If you're the type of man who seems to think that any women who dress sexily are out for something, then fuck you. Perhaps we dress up to look nice for the men who aren't trying to grab our asses.

Thanks.

~ Lahnna

Thursday, July 23, 2009

espanoles suenos

yo no estoy segura
por que me despierto ahora
pero yo se que yo puedo mirar
tu cara en mis suenos

tal vez que es el razon
mis ojos me impugnan

en los dias que estoy sola
yo querio nada mas
que a ver tus ojos
se parece las olas

la espuma rellena mi corazon
y en la manana
yo tengo que tragar el orgullo
para vivir

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

so beautiful it hurts.

Kuroshio Sea - 2nd largest aquarium tank in the world - (song is Please don't go by Barcelona) from Jon Rawlinson on Vimeo.



this video is unreal. it hurts my heart to know that we humans feel entitled to capture and encase something this beautiful. and yet, to be able to see this, right next to you... there are no words. my eyes water every time i watch this.

we don't deserve things like this.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

music for animals.



I met these guys at Beauty Bar last night. And they were awesome live.

I love small venues. Where you and everyone else packs in tight, trying to get close enough to feel the music run through you. Sweat is in your eyes, your hair is matted, and your mascara is running. But you don't care. All that matters is that feeling. The feeling of the bass rippling down your spine and the drums beating to the time of your heart.

And there is always that moment when the lead singer opens his throat. The sound that comes out draws you like a magnet. You and the sound meld together. It's euphoric. A drug. You move and shake and sweat in time to the music because there is simply no other natural response. Your body knows what to do. You let go. Sweet release.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

earthly journey

i wade northward
toward ice floes
and glaciers
swimming in this sea
of magnetic currents
pushing
and pulling
all the way
depositing molecules
expelling vapors
making my mark
upon the surface

(6/30/08)

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

A slight dip in productivity.

"Siddhartha wandered into the forest, already far from the town, and knew only one thing--that he could not go back, that the life he had lived for many years was past, tasted and drained to a degree of nausea."

black leather journal v.3

i grow weary of my daily routine. i would travel further every day were it not for the rain. then again it is not as though i have somewhere important to be. calmly waiting under a tree is not a problem.

it is officially spring here. it's raining quite often, thundering and lightning at night. sometimes so loudly my bed shakes. in a way the storms make it feel more and less lonely. rain during the day is intermittent. then a moment later one can hear the birds again.

i was reading in the square today and this little greek boy came up to me. he leaned on my leg and spoke to me in greek. i have no idea what he said or what he wanted. he repeated the same sentence a few times, then ran off. no adult around. i checked my things to make sure he had not taken anything.

it was strange yet simultaneously adorable.

(4/5/07 Greece)

Monday, July 13, 2009

San Diego exists 1 mile from the Sun. I am sure of it.

Something. Something. Something. It's too friggin' hot. Something. Going to North Park.

Bleh.

Effin' funny.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

I know I'm no astrologist, but...

I manage to find numerous reasons to stay out at all hours of the day and night. Last night's excuse was a new friend, delicious beer, a diner breakfast, and one of the best animations of all time, The Brave Little Toaster.

I do not meet many who understand the sheer magic and nostalgia (mastalgia?) that wells up inside me when I think of this movie. This flick instantly takes me back to the days when I ran around barefoot on the hot pavement, pretending I was some equine-related creature.

All this complicated growing up certainly aids in my need for these nostalgic moments. Not in a yearning for days long gone way. Simply to honor and appreciate what a relatively happy childhood I did have at that time. When all my problems centered around maintaining friendships and whether or not I had enough change when the ice cream truck rolled through.

Ah, and here I sit, typing with an air of sobriety, as though my youthful days have passed me. In reality they are far from over. I have accomplished much in my near 25 years of existence and I'd be short-changing myself to think that there isn't more to do. Silly, Lahnna.

It is interesting to observe how quickly a feeling can change.

Not a moment ago, my mother, who is lending me a bit of money, just called to request that, because she is doing me this wonderful favor, I do everything in my power to ensure I will get one of these job positions. A bit flustered by her quick transition from yesterday's loving acknowledgment to today's sharp skepticism, I bit back my instinctive reaction and replied with a definitive, "Yes." (You have learned well, Lahnna-san.) After some digging, I realized my mother is herself currently flustered with my sister's continued lack of judgement in areas that require considerable financial conscientiousness.

Despite the overall feelings of hurt and frustration that arise when my mother uses me to blow off steam, I have learned to accept it as an inevitable. It is not my job to parent or instruct her on how to behave. I know that her actions do not mean she loves me less, or that I am the source of her anger. Simply put, my mother fails to reflect before reacting sometimes. Despite that, progress has been made. I remember not too long ago her calls used to come in waves of audible panic and worry, inciting my own anxiety. It has taken immense practice in self-control to respond to my mother's worry with a clear head and a calm voice. Since I have made that change I notice our interactions are no longer two hostile beasts clawing for the jugular of the other, but more bent on understanding one another. The very fact that I see all this in such an objective way makes me all the more responsible for my actions.

I enjoy these moments when I can observe my learning and appreciate the progress.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Part of growing up is knowing when to ask for help.

I am so full of anxiety at this moment. My car needs to be re-registered and needs California insurance.

I had just enough money to pay the deductible.

I need a full-time job and to stop being jerked around by Barnes & Noble. I need to rock these two interviews on Monday.

I can do this.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

"I'm a phlebotomist."

it lingers still...

you are forever
embedded
in my consciousness
locked away
like the pages
of the journals
i keep
locked away.

sometimes
i take them out
to peruse

it fills my heart
like bath water
but i cannot
linger for too long
because the water
grows cold
and i have
things to do.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

black leather journal v.2


i dreamt i was sleeping in my old bunk bed again. but i wasn't home. i was in some other country, a newcomer about to start a new job. melanie was sleeping above me. the bed was surrounded by a thick jungle of leaves and bamboo. natives lived in it. you could hear them throw bird calls to one another. i was afraid of them, of the strange noises. mel poked her head down. i said, "they are so loud." she said, "that's because you are. don't be afraid of them. they watch over us at night, like guardians." i grew calmer.

the next moment i left my bed. standing by the water. you could see the feet of the natives in the jungle. then faces. they smiled at me. their chief came. he drew a line in the dift with his toe, connecting me to him. we played a game with his tribe. he set up small carved figures and a woman rolled a ball to knock them over. inside one object was a map.

next we were on top of a tall building. the tribe was in street clothes. i realized then they were not a jungle tribe, they were only pretending. the chief turned out to be a failed rock n' roll musician with one song to his name. he taught me about history. we looked at the horizon. i looked at the skyline of building tops emitting endless clouds of smog and began to cry because i could not see the sunset.

clouds came. lightning, a hot pink, struck a building. i thought, "how pretty." then i remembered where we were. as soon as i stood up, lightning struck the building and electicity shot through me. i made everyone run underground, to the subway. the chief fell into a coma. i do not know if he wakes up.

(2:30am : 4/20/07 : Greece)

black leather journal v.1

i love the brown skin of the mother downstairs. it shimmers with gold in the sun. her hair is ebony black. she looks Mexican, but i cannot really tell. she seems to always be doing laundry. her son wanders on his bike and looks at me in wonder as i walk by.

Tips, the cat, wanders along the drive, looking for bumble bees with broken wings no doubt. the woman next door is always doing laundry as well. she is heavy set, sturdy. i see her husband ride on his motorbike.

a boy, their son perhaps, does maintenance around the apartments. he has dreaded hair and looks as though he knows how to get some hash.

Tasha's kids are beautiful. her daughter is all smiles when i come around. the sturdy wife next door stares at my bare breasts from the ground.

i can see the mainland crystal clear today from my balcony. the coast and mountainous silhouettes. the sun bakes again. i hosed the salt water from my clothes yesterday. the sun dries them in hours.

(4/12/07 Greece)

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

in a cafe and out of cigarettes

Oh well, I suppose.

This place is full of 20-somethings searching for some semblance of a Tuesday night life. Laptops, mugs, and books. Here I am with Lil' Mac and a delectable slice of Tres Leches, typey-typing, listening in on everyone's conversations, and eyeing the cute, tatt'd guy at the other end of the room.

The Living Room is a wonderful ecosystem. Full to the brim with college students and late night wanderers, but not annoyingly so. Hearing such a concentration of babble makes me think about my own connections with people. Old high school classmates who have initiated conversation after years of distance. How far away I feel from Boston and my family. I want to know that everyone is happy and doing well. :there is some delicious custardy substance in this cake:

I am happy to be here. Perhaps that is what I am getting at. My bones feel settled now that my need of frivolous human contact has tapered off. I am preparing for all sorts of new challenges. They are coming. I feel it in the very depths of my stomach and as electricity over my skin.

:i should have ordered tea with this cake:

free frozen yogurt never hurt anyone...

I am scheduled for two job interviews. One at the Goodwill Bookstore in Eastlake, the other at Nuyo in Otay Ranch. These are not the jobs I really want, but I would be doing myself a huge disservice if I did not keep my options open.

The positions I really want? Assistant Director at Tutoring Club, an after-school educational program; Campus Organizer for another educational program that assists with student visas, job application, etc.; and the best one, the Membership Manager at the Museum of Contemporary Art in La Jolla.

I have spent this last week in agony over my resumes. Various versions now litter my Documents folder, waiting to be sent out to all those important job people. It took several e-mails to mom, constant revision, and quite a few late nights, but they're done. And, not to give myself a hand, but they look pretty freakin' sweet. My mom, being the business savvy woman, gave me a lot of great verbiage and a couple of lovey, mom-style pep talks.

All right, me, let's do this...