Lily’s College Lesbianage #15: Post Grad Limbo Is Where I Wanna Be

Autostraddle! Remember when I used to write a blog about college? You probably don’t because it was a long time ago and you’ve grown so much in the past two years…

But to refresh your memory, this was the blog I wrote. And then stopped writing. Because life happens and being 20 was weird and school was hard. And also, I was probably a little lazy. And definitely super procrastinate-y. A trait, might I add, that does not go away after graduating college (who knew?). Because despite my excitement for writing this article and despite the numerous article idea bullet points I have scattered across different notebooks and electronic devices, I still waited until the last minute to start writing this. Why did I think that painting my nails while watching Extreme Couponing (and then cutting coupons out of the newspaper because my new goal is to be on Extreme Couponing) every night of this week was a good idea??

But I am not here to make excuses. I’m here because I miss you all and now that my college experience is over, it might be a good time to fill you in on my last two years of school.

The Past Two Years: Highlights/Lowlights/Lights in General

Junior year:

I’m pretty sure that my junior year of college threw me off the Internet. I hardly checked my social media outlets, I never sent “happy birthday” Facebook comments, I stopped contributing to any website/blog/publication that I had ever written for before, I forgot to watch season three of Sister Wives, and I disregarded dozens of emails from my school about the overdue copy of Gargantua and Pantagruel that I owed a forever growing amount of money for.

My reasons for falling off the Internet during junior year were not exactly rare for a twenty year old college student—I had strep throat like every single day. But actually, it was out of control! I also started taking medication for anxiety, which totally helped my anxiety buuuut also made me fall asleep in Spanish class. Like a lot. It also didn’t help that I turned 21 and started going out a lot (a lot for me means I would sometimes go out twice in a weekend, maybe even once during the week, and I would have alcohol more than once a week, so basically I was out of control). But above all else, I met an amazing lady who I wanted to spend all of my time with. It was wonderful! We dressed up as Santana and Brittany from Glee for Halloween! It was so gay!

Towards the end of junior year I slowly began to get back to the swing of the internet world: I swapped Sister Wives for Mob Wives (JK I totally watched them both, I mean can you imagine?), I used my school email and job-finding website to apply to summer internships, and ended up landing one at the digital department of the Dr. Oz Show.

That summer, I stopped taking the above mentioned anxiety medication because it started turning me into a zombie and I’d kind of rather be anxious than one of the bad guys on The Walking Dead (I’m assuming the zombies are the bad guys? I don’t know, I’ve seen one episode). I spent my internship researching diseases that I thought I had and buying supplements that I was convinced I needed. I still take a super overpriced fish oil supplement every day! I’m fairly certain it makes me immune to all diseases and also turns me into a superhero.

With my newfound superhero powers of not being sick every day, I managed to start my senior year in a very positive light. My last year of college was a mixed bag of everything. So many emotions! So many wonderful things! So many not so wonderful things! It started off on the wonderful side when I found out that I was hired to be a production intern at The Colbert Report. Everything about that internship was spectacular and I still feel like it was one of the coolest things I have ever done ever. The internship was quite time consuming and because I still had to take a full course load at Barnard and work my campus job, my GPA ended up dropping to an all-time low that semester.

But a lowered GPA was a small price to pay for everything I learned and everyone I met—I mean I got to watch Mavis Staples, Jeff Tweedy, and Sean Lennon sing “Happy Christmas” live, at least 10 times. Like it was my actual job to watch the spawn of John Lennon and Yoko Ono sing their Christmas song. And because I was on greenroom duty that day, I got to hang out with all of them! I mean in my head I was hanging out with them, in reality I was bringing them room-temperature water and trying not to blurt out “Do you know who your parents are?” to Sean Lennon. Obviously he knows who his parents are but I really just wanted to keep reminding him.

But as my internship ended and the realities of the last semester of college began to hit, things started to fall into the “not so wonderful” category. I had no idea just how absolutely terrified of graduating I would be. I was as prepared as any college student could be. I worked as a student career counselor throughout college, made good grades, and landed great internships. I knew how to get a job. I showed people how to do it every single day. But I was too scared to even apply.

I saw two different types of senior students emerge as graduation approached. One type could not wait to graduate; they were completely over college and ready to start their “real” lives. The other type was like me: scared shitless. There was so much about college that I wanted to do over, so many things I should have actually learned instead of cramming into my head for an hour, and so much free toilet paper that I needed to steal before moving onto a life where I would have to go to the store to buy toilet paper. There were student events I should have gone to, groups I should have joined, and untapped skills that should have been tapped. I never took African dance. Maybe African dance was my calling but like a dummy I decided to take yoga instead (bad choice, I am NOT flexible), and because of that decision I never had the chance to see my talent blossom. These were the thoughts keeping me up at night.

As my fear of graduation and entering the “real world” grew larger, I did what any sensible human would do and panicked, quickly running away from many of the things that had made me happy. The first thing I ran away from was my girlfriend. And by ran away, I mean turned into a complete asshole and broke up with her. Why is this the reaction that humans have? Obviously running away will make things worse but for some reason our brains suspend reality and think ,”Yes, run from what makes you happy—that is the key to happiness”. It’s as if the message of every Nicholas Sparks-type movie becomes completely irrelevant. I saw The Notebook, I should have known better.

Instead of feeling better after the break up, like my dumb brain told me I would, I was still terrified of The Future. All of the sudden any drive I had ever had to be a successful career woman went out the window. Probably because I never wanted to be a “successful career woman” in the first place. I wanted to be a “successful empress of everything I find enjoyable in life including but not limited to making people laugh, television, and watching professional figure skating”. Oh and I also wanted to be known for creating “fantasy figure skating” which is like fantasy football but better. Also I don’t truly know what fantasy football is but I am pretty sure it is not what I picture in my head every time I hear the term Fantasy Football (in my head it is a bunch of miniature football players wearing their outfits/uniforms flying around in the air with little wings because they are fairies, which is how the whole fantasy thing fits in).

My campus job was to help my fellow students find jobs and internships but by the second semester of my senior year, counseling other students became torture. Every person I counseled became another conversation about what I planned to do after graduation. And every conversation ended with the other person telling me “aww don’t worry, you’ll find something”. I always nodded and smiled and thanked them for their encouragement but all I wanted to do was scream “IT’S NOT ABOUT THAT! I DON’T WANT TO FIND SOMETHING!”. It wasn’t about finding a job. I wasn’t even applying to jobs. It was about wanting more time. Just a little more time before I had to start figuring out my life. Unfortunately all of that stress started eating away at the one thing that had kept me going since I decided I would become a Spice Girl in the first grade: my drive to become empress of everything.

Columbia Decries Barnard’s Dumb Man-Stealing Lesbian Sluts’ Success Snagging Obama For Grad Speech

Barack Obama at Columbia University in New York

I woke up this past Saturday morning to the sounds of my girlfriend, a current Barnard College senior, shouting excitedly on the phone with her Dominican relatives. Between her high-pitched screams and nonstop jumping, I could hear her speaking to her mother,

“¡Oye! El presidente Obama va hablar en mi graduación!!”

I’m pretty terrible at Spanish, but I knew what she was saying: President Obama will be giving the commencement speech at Barnard College’s upcoming graduation ceremony.

My first thought, after wondering how I could convince my girlfriend to give me her last available graduation ticket (instead of giving it to her Abuela), was: Oprah made this happen. Followed by: Columbia is going to be pissed.

Let me explain.

We all know that Oprah is queen of the universe and that she got Obama elected and that she cures blind people with just the touch of her hand (duh). A couple of weeks ago, this deity woman came to Barnard to tape a special feminism episode for her show, “Oprah’s Next Chapter.” She brought Gloria Steinem to interview, set up her camera crew in Barnard Hall and taped the show in front of an audience of about 40 Barnard students. By the end of this magical morning (I was there, I made eye contact with her, I shared my feelings about lady gay stuff, my life has been changed forever) both Gloria and Oprah were in tears—happy tears because they had been so inspired by us Barnard women.

Here’s where Obama fits in. In my mind, Oprah and the Obamas have a dinner date every Sunday night to discuss how wonderful they all are. During one of these dinners, Oprah entertained the Obama family with tales of her inspirational visit to Barnard College. She also mentioned that she decided not to give Barnard’s commencement speech this year because she is waiting to give it next year, the year that that nice gay girl who was wearing the salmon-color shirt (ME!) is going to graduate. She then of course suggested to Barry (that’s what she calls him) that he should give the commencement speech for the Barnard class of 2012. Because Oprah is his spiritual advisor, the President picked up his phone and called Barnard to tell us the good news.

Ok, so maybe that whole conversation didn’t happen (I mean I think it did, but whatever) but Obama is coming to speak at Barnard in May and I couldn’t be more excited. However, our friends across the pond/street at Columbia University are decidedly less excited, as reported by The New York Times:

Ivy League schools usually cloak their jealousies in politesse, but President Obama’s decision to give the commencement speech at Barnard, and not Columbia, his alma mater across the street, has unleashed online exchanges as nasty as any hair-pulling, eye-gouging schoolyard brawl.

Yikes. Okay then! Let’s get into it.

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Columbia Tensions

The relationship between Barnard College and Columbia University is a confusing one. Barnard is an independent women’s college with its own president and board of trustees but it is still technically under the umbrella of Columbia and is considered an undergraduate college of the University. Because of this, Barnard is often subject to a lot of criticism and mean-spirited jokes that come from the Columbia side of Broadway.

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Common Criticisms and Jokes Include:

+ Barnard is the backdoor of Columbia: because Barnard students get a degree that comes from Barnard College of Columbia University but went through a different admissions process.

+ Girls who go to Barnard just couldn’t get into Columbia: maybe this is true for some but I know a number of girls who were accepted to both schools and ultimately chose to attend Barnard.

+ Barnard girls are sluts: Ugh. People suck.

+ Barnard girls are lesbians: Many still take this as an insult, which is in itself incredibly insulting. Also, there is already so much drama between the like 50-100 lady loving ladies at this school that I’m pretty sure the school would self-destruct if we were all lesbians.

In a nutshell, Barnard girls are unintelligent lesbian sluts who are out to steal all of the men at Columbia. So that makes sense.

I wholeheartedly believe that most Columbia students do not take part in these jokes and criticisms but unfortunately those who have negative opinions are often the most vocal.

So when I heard that President Obama would be speaking at Barnard College and not his Alma Mater across the street, I knew that outrage would ensue. Within minutes after receiving an email from Barnard that announced the Obama news, I found that the Facebook statuses of my peers were ranging anywhere from “OMG OBAMAAAA!” (a Barnard College senior) to “This is ridiculous and unfair” (a Columbia College student). I knew, however, that the anonymous comments on Columbia’s various campus blogs would be far more vile and insulting than what I found on Facebook.

There are over 750 (and counting) mainly anonymous comments on the article that Columbia’s own bwog.com wrote—an article that merely announces the news that Obama would be speaking at Barnard. Many of the comments are full of scathing words about Barnard, Obama, Columbia, Women, and anything else that a stressed out college student could think to complain about.

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Some Fun Samples of Lovely Comments:

Though I know that most of these negative comments were written by bored Columbia freshmen who had nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon, they still suck to read. I am tired of constantly feeling like I need to prove my intelligence to Columbia.

I have spent so much time in the past couple of days sticking up for Barnard and for Obama that I haven’t been able to think about the other issues surrounding this news. Like, why is a man speaking at a women’s college graduation? Why isn’t Michelle the chosen Obama speaker? What does it mean when a women’s college bumps a female speaker for a male speaker? (Barnard had originally chosen Jill Abramson, the executive editor of The New York Times, to give the commencement speech). Granted, I think that the answer to all of these questions is quite simple: If the President of the United States offers to give the commencement speech of your college, you say yes.

The Barnard/Columbia/Obama “controversy” seems to be rooted in nothing deeper than jealousy. I hope it blows over soon so that I can focus my time an energy on a much more important matter—figuring out how to steal an extra graduation ticket from someone’s grandmother.

What is the Gender of Beyoncé’s Unborn Child: The Flowchart

Lily’s Team Pick:

When I was ten years old, my friend took me to a Christina Aguilera concert (this was the Genie in a Bottle years so I’m feeling pretty old right now). Opening for Christina was a little known four-person girl group called Destiny’s Child. That’s right. I saw the original Destiny’s Child in concert–I’ll give you some time to deal with your extreme jealousy.

Anywho, what I did not realize at the time was that I was in the presence of royalty. I feel like it is pretty much agreed upon by all people that Beyoncé is our Queen. The 60 year old woman who sat next to me on my flight back to school last week agrees with me so it must be true. Our glorious Queen is now having a baby which is basically the best news the world has received all year. I wouldn’t be surprised if that baby comes out glowing. If Bey-Be grows up and tells everyone that it is the second coming I will undoubtedly believe it, become one of its disciples, and help it write “The Biblé: Part II”.

Although I firmly believe Beyoncé’s child probably won’t follow the gender binary and will instead use the preferred gender pronoun of “Diva”, the fantastic people at good.is have created a flowchart that asks “Is Beyoncé Having a Boy or Girl?” It is wonderful.

Lily’s College Lesbianage #14: Libraries, Gay Marriage and Therapy

I am currently sitting in Butler Library, the extraordinarily beautiful Columbia University library that I never, ever step into. I generally hate this library. For one, I cannot get work done in here because it is too pretty and I end up spending an hour taking pictures of how pretty it is. I then spend another 20 minutes figuring out how to send those pictures to my friends from home as if to say “Ya, this is my library, isn’t it gorgeous? Don’t you wish you were here? Aren’t you jealous?” (I never get texts back).

It's so pretty!

Another problem with this library is that during the school year I can never find a seat. I am generally that asshole who wears heels to the library, a fact that does not exactly make my treacherous library excursions go any smoother (I just want to feel pretty and tall!). Unfortunately, a crowded library means a lot of walking around in quiet rooms while desperately searching for a seat. I am forced to walk around multiple rooms, my heels loudly click-clacking on the floor, while 100 pissed off faces stare up at me as if to say, “I hope you die in a painful high heel-related incident.”

But the main reason I never study in here is because of all the smart people. I feel inferior to everyone. I know that I am not, I really do. But the second I step into this goddamn library I feel as if my IQ has dropped 50 points and that the highest number I can count to is 10—maybe 11.  Every time I have attempted to do my work in here my mind doesn’t seem to want to focus on whatever vaguely-gay-related paper I am writing but rather on whatever the person sitting next to me is working on. My brain does a whole “oh god, I’m sitting here writing nonsense while some grad student next to me is figuring out a cure for AIDS.” Whenever I see a lot of numbers and weird symbols I just assume that it is the formula to cure some previously incurable disease.

Yet here I am sitting in Butler Library, not curing AIDS. Why? Because it is a thousand billion trillion fucking degrees in New York City and my tiny jail cell-like dorm room has no air conditioning, directly faces the sun and is a generally unfun place to hang out in. Butler Library has air conditioning, spacious tables and books! Also, it is summer and I feel like library people are way less judgmental during the summer.

Gay Marriage NYC

A couple of weeks ago my friend and I decided it would be a good idea to go downtown to watch people get gay married. Is it creepy to casually eat your breakfast while watching people you don’t know get married? Maybe. But it is 100% worth it. The plan was to stay for an hour and then go to the beach, but the sky was dark, the beach was far and the couples were too beautiful to miss. We stayed for almost four hours.

This Summer Is Going By Super Fast and There’s a Bunch of Stuff I Didn’t Get Done.

I had many lofty goals this summer, including:

1) Find a gym and go to it. (Did not happen.)
2) Become someone who “does” yoga. (Nope.)
3) Read a bunch of books. (I read half of one!)
4) Write a screenplay about a 20 year-old girl on summer break who realizes that her life long dream of becoming a child/teen star will never be realized because she is no longer a child/teen. Also, she has no acting talent. Call it “That’s Not So Raven.” Pretend it’s a work of fiction even though everyone knows it’s about me. (I have written two lines of this future Demi Lovato-starring and Oscar-winning picture.)
5) Find a therapist. (See below.)

For the last two years I have felt as if I have been in constant search for a therapist. The reality is that I just tell myself (and countless other people) that I am in constant search, when in actuality the most I ever do is compile names and numbers on my “Therapi$tsss” word document and think really hard about calling them. This summer I told myself I would actually pick up the phone and dial some numbers. It took me a month and a half but I finally began calling and meeting with ladies who charge me $150 to sit in a chair and talk for 40 minutes about my fear of accidentally stepping on small animals. (I really hope I conquer that fear soon because there are a TON of small birds who walk extremely close to my feet and I truly fear for their poor little lives).

I have read enough books from the psychology section of Barnes and Noble to know that many of people (read: lady memoirists ages 20-45) have compared looking for a therapist to dating. But it has taken me years to experience what that actually feels like. One therapist didn’t call me back for a week and I thought about it every single day. Did I say something wrong in my phone message? Did I come on too strong? Are we moving too fast?

The one question that I couldn’t stop asking was why I wasn’t just “clicking” with someone? It’s really not hard to “click” with me—all you have to do is laugh at my jokes. Seriously, if you think I am funny I will like you. That’s my one requirement for a therapist and my one requirement for a potential romantic partner.

I just recently found someone I think I’ll stick with. My school insurance covers her and she laughs at the jokes I make so basically it’s a match made in heaven.

Perhaps I should start real-people dating instead of just therapist dating. But the thing is, I have this very strong feeling that I will one day marry Ellen Page. I tell people this in jest (like, haha what a silly notion, look how funny I am!) but I am actually 100% serious. So really, there is no reason for me to date people now when I am just going to end up with Ellen later.  I am quite lucky to have that kind of security in my life.

Wisdom Teeth and College Wisdom

In less than two weeks I go back home to Florida to get my Wisdom Teeth pulled out. I am scared for the pain and chipmunk cheeks, excited for the pain meds and even more excited to get a quick break from the hectic environment that is New York City.

Also, if any of you wonderful people have questions about Barnard, college or what it is like to look and sound exactly like Beyonce, feel free to message me or ask me questions in the comments! I certainly don’t have the answers to most life questions but I can try and do my best to answer any of your college-related questions!

Fun Things to Do With Your Period (Besides Cry)

Lily’s Team Pick:

I first read Katie Heaney’s “My Period Takes Me Shopping” a month ago when I was extraordinarily PMS-y. Like playing Adele’s “Someone Like You” on the guitar/piano and singing the lyrics to myself all day type of PMS-y. After I read the piece I laughed and then I cried and then I did the weird laugh/cry combo where you’re not quite sure which one you are doing because you have SO MANY FEELINGS. It is now a month after that initial read and here I am, having the same laugh/cry/Adele problem.

Some highlights of the article:

“Together we headed to the mall. My period tried to steer me into Forever 21 because it’s a valueless skank who doesn’t care that their clothing is ripped off from independent designers or that their owners secretly paste Bible verses onto their bags. It was all, ‘You need some clothes for going out! Except you pretty much never go out because barely anyone likes you!’ I redirected us to Express, which is another good place for purchases you’ll come to regret within a week, unless you’re presently a popular sixth-grader.”

“I finally convinced my period that we should leave the mall. We walked to my car, hooked up my iPod, and turned on a playlist specially demanded by my period — a three-song rotation: “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” by Céline Dion, “If I Were a Boy” by Beyoncé and “Bleeding Love” by Leona Lewis. The Trifecta of Tears. Needless to say, it was going to be a pretty emotional drive. I headed home, but my period shouted, ‘Take the next exit! We’re going to Target.’ I rolled my eyes; I should have seen this coming.”

I’m going to go back to playing sad songs on my guitar and looking at pictures of puppies now.

Ten Years of Purgatory: A.K.A. Ages 20-29

I know that most people consider twenty to be a relatively young age. But for my fellow twenty-year-old, panic-stricken friends and me, twenty is really fucking old. Like, what happened to our childhood? And as happy as I am that Nickelodeon has decided to start re-airing my favorite childhood shows, it also sucks to realize that my childhood is now considered vintage.

Twenty is a strange age. I’ve been told on multiple occasions that the whole twenties decade is a weird time—so yay for nine more years! My mother does not talk about her twenties. Ever. I have no idea what she did. I imagine weird artsy jobs, loneliness, and a lot of drugs. I’m 93.5% positive that I’ve made an accurate assumption.

I feel like the brilliant lady resident who runs “Fuck! I’m in my Twenties” has actually hijacked my brain, taken all my thoughts and emotions, and spit them out on this website. Obviously she did not do this and is actually just super talented/hilarious but I’m twenty and overwhelmingly self-centered. So. Yeah.

These are some of my favorites:

Lily’s College Lesbianage #13: I Have Some Issues With Growing Up

Last night at one in the morning I decided that it would be a really good idea to cut my own hair. It was the kind of night where you know you’re not going to fall asleep so you become consumed with a toxic mixture of high-anxiety and previously bottled-up energy. I wanted to do something drastic without it being too angsty so I thought that cutting my hair was the perfect option—enough drama without going completely overboard. I wanted to give myself bangs but then I remembered what I looked like with bangs in high school—it wasn’t great.

When I was 16 and decided it would be a great idea to break every dress code violation at my school so I could pretend to be Fergie. Yeah.

I searched for my special hair-cutting scissors (I get the urge to cut my hair late at night at least once a month) but could not find them anywhere in my embarrassingly cluttered summer-dorm room. I settled on my favorite pair of rather dull left-handed scissors (if you are left-handed and do not have left-handed scissors go out and buy them now—they will change your arts-and-crafts-life for the better). Unfortunately, I quickly learned that such scissors are not ideal for cutting hair.

But I mean, if The Real L Word has taught me anything it is that all lesbians are hairdressers—so why didn’t my hair look awesome after I took scissors to it? Perhaps I do not have enough tattoos…

Oh well.

Unfortunately, my bad fashion decisions didn’t stop last night with my hair. This morning I somehow came to the conclusion that it would be totally respectable for me to wear a shirt with poodles on them, my two-prescriptions-ago glasses, no-make-up, and what can only be described as “mom-jeans.” Despite having a grand total of 20 dollars in my bank account, I was forced to step outside in pure daylight to put my last five-dollar bill on my laundry card. In the two minutes it takes to get from my dorm to the place with the laundry card machine I ran into a woman who was either drunk, homeless, or both. She told me that I should put sunscreen on my pale face and then added, “you could be pretty if you put some make-up on.”

Sooo, that happened.

The past couple of days have just been a series of “one of those days.” The days where you get caught in a torrential downpour of rain on the way to volunteer with little kids only to show up to the job in a soaked and completely see-through white sundress. Or the days where you get lost in your head about “feelings” and “emotions” about someone you have only known for two weeks (yes, I am that kind of girl). The kind of day where you have a complete mental breakdown in the middle of a place called “Manhattan Mini-Storage” or as I like to call it, Fresh Hell.  I managed to yell/cry at everyone who was helping me move that night, including a perfectly well intentioned janitor, my ex, and my ex’s new girlfriend (ya…I know…).

But, this column is about college and not about homeless people who do not think I am naturally pretty. (Homeless people often tell me I have pretty eyes so I am just going to pretend that she could not see my eyes because of my glasses…)

The end of my Sophomore year of college came and went in a rather boring fashion. This is my take on my last month of school:

“Blah blah blah I am stressed blah blah oh look I have strep throat again blah blah finals are not fun blah blah why did I take oil painting as a class blah blah I am stressed blah blah how did I pass Spanish with an A- I must be a genius (or should I say un genio) blah blah I have too many shoes to fit in this storage space blah blah I am stressed blah blah.”

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South Florida Is Sunny and Likes Plastic Surgery

I went home to Florida for two weeks, got super tan during the first week and in true Lily-fashion came down with an ear infection IN BOTH EARS during the last week. How does that happen? Especially since I am not toddler and from what I know about medicine and science and stuff (read: nothing) only little kids get ear infections.

I have to go to multiple doctors every time I go home for whatever illness I have come up with that month. This time I had to go to the tonsil doctor. Here is the thing about my tonsil doctor: He doubles as a plastic surgeon because I am from Palm Beach and that is just how we roll down there. Every time I go to his office I not-so-secretly hope that he will ask to take a picture of my “perfect nose” (his words, not mine…in my imagination) to put on his wall for inspiration.  Of course, this has not yet happened. Instead I left his office with a cold/double ear infection. This was karma, I believe, for having such a damn egotistical imagination.

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My Little Brother: The Wannabe Lesbian Superstar

While at home my brother and I attempted to record another song to put in this post. Mainly because my brother loved the attention he received last time and now believes that he is a superstar in the lesbian community. He talks about it a lot. Unfortunately our attempt at “Cry Me a River” did not go very well. It turns out that Justin Timberlake can sing a lot of notes in multiple registers while I can only sing about 7 and my brother can do like 5 soooo it didn’t really work out. But my brother won’t give up on his newfound fame so I am sure we will have something relatively exciting in the near future.

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Summer In The City

And now here I am, back in New York with a job as the Nightlife Editor for a publication called Inside New York.  The fact that my title is “Nightlife Editor” is quite hilarious–no one would ever describe me as any sort of “queen of the night”. My idea of a perfect night would include Penelope Cruz and I curled up in bed while watching a marathon of 30 Rock and eating some sort of ice-cream/cookie combination. Unfortunately, Penelope Cruz is not in my job description. And because I am 100 years old (proven by the contents of my purse which includes Advil, vitamins, gum, and kleenex) being in charge of NYC Nightlife has been rather exhausting. BUT despite my senior-citizen-like lifestyle, I have been having a wonderful time at my summer job.

It is weird feeling like a “real person” who has a job that pays money and comes with real-life co-workers who have actual gatherings to happy hours at local bars. Granted, we are basically just pretending to be grown-ups as we are all college students and our office is tucked away on the Columbia campus. But still. I am not sure how I feel about this pretend-real-world-experience that I am living in right now. Obviously, I have some issues with growing up.

Inside New York Staff Pretending to Be Grown-Ups

I may not turn into a grown-up this summer but I have a feeling that the next few months are going to be full of interesting stories that I will make sure to report on as often as I possibly can. And by interesting I mean random sightings of past America’s Next Top Model contestants or how often I listen Demi Lovato while riding the subway–normal stuff like that.

Lily’s Team Pick: Better Book Titles

I’m sure many of you internet and Tumblr savvy people have come across a tumblr called Better Book Titles but I, until very recently, had not. So when I happened across it the other day I just assumed I had “discovered” it–much like Christopher Columbus “discovered” the Americas and Oprah “discovered” The Secret. Anywho, it is exactly what it sounds like—a collection of “better” titles for famous books.

Here are some of my favs:

Virginia Woolf: Mrs. Dalloway

Alice Sebold: The Lovely Bones

Nathaniel Hawthorne: The Scarlet Letter

Judy Blume: Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret

Lily’s College Lesbianage #12: Quarter-Life Crisis and Red Carpet Ricky Martin

lily just caught napping

My friend has this theory that everyone has their own unique way of letting the world know that they are busier than everyone else. I know a ton of people who never text anyone back, their way of saying “I’m too busy to even type a response.”

Apparently my way of letting the world know that I am, in fact, the busiest person on the planet, is to put off writing this column.

I do not mean to. Writing this is always on my mind especially when something awesomely gay happens, or when I make what I believe to be a funny joke and/or witty observation. I’ll write these things down and then never expand on them. I like being busy, it makes me feel important and it gives me less time to think about all of the possible ways I could die and/or lose all of my limbs. It almost forces me to be a sort of strangely spiritual and positive version of myself.

I often find myself repeating phrases that my mother steals from her acupuncturist. It is a strange thing to realize that you are becoming more and more like your mothers acupuncturist.

Unfortunately it’s possible to be too busy. If multiple people including but not limited to, your friends, your mother, your therapist, your advisor, your invisible friends, and your professors, think that your workload is too unnecessarily heavy, you should probably just go ahead and lighten it.

After being forced to drop a class last semester due to the deadly combination of an extremely high fever and midterms, I felt like a complete failure (who drops Japanese Art? Like really). I decided that it would be a great idea to take even more classes, join even more clubs, and work even more hours this semester.

It was manageable for a while but now everything is crashing in and I do not see the end anywhere in sight. I also do not know Spanish or Cognitive Psychology no matter how often I listen to “Las Hijas Del Sol” while attempting to read my Cognitive Psychology textbook.

I turned 20 somewhere between my last article and this one. 20 is one of those birthdays that means absolutely nothing but at the same time means everything. For me, it was horrifying. I do not feel emotionally developed enough to be two decades old—a real adult. I still want it to be acceptable to have full on temper tantrums in the middle of the street. I’d very much like to be four again.

On the fateful day that marked the beginning of my 20^th year, I had what I like to refer to as a “quarter-life crisis.” Already feeling shitty, I walked into my Art History discussion section with the sense that I would probably start to cry sometime during that hour.

I sat there staring at ancient Greek architecture and thought, “this is not the main thing that I want to study.” I love art and I’m good at writing about art, but I do not want to write about art for the rest of my life. So I sat there, not answering any of my TA’s questions, while having my own little private cry. The kind of cry where you have to keep your eyes open as wide as possible so as not to let the tears fall from them. It felt so stupid, so trivial—it is just my major in college, not my major in life.

All I really want to do in life is write funny things that make people (read: my mom) laugh. To do this well I should probably know a thing or two about the English language. So now when people ask what I am studying in college I can officially (meaning it is on a bunch of documents somewhere) tell them that I am majoring in English and minor-ing (is that a word? I do not think that it’s a word, maybe I’ll learn that in English at some point) in Art History.

When they ask what I’m going to do with that I tell them the truth: I am going to become really, really famous. Like Queen of England/Elton John famous (I am also going to become British). I can’t help it that I am destined for stardom. My life has already played out much like the movie Glitter so like, I’ve got a lot going for me.

I Will Never Have a Career In Covering Award Shows

Something I did not do very well while everything else seemed to be crashing down was covering the GLAAD Media Awards in New York for Autostraddle. Special correspondent Jessa and I were sent to the red carpet (which was actually a blue carpet–a major disappointment) where we took super professional pictures of the backs of semi-famous people’s heads with our cell phones.

We of course should have put something together to post the day after the awards but alas this did not get done until weeks later, far too late to report on. But here are some of my observations from that interesting afternoon:

+ Best thing about being at the red carpet: Breathing Ricky Martin’s air while listening to him talk about gay stuff in Spanish—I pretended to understand every word he said. ¡Mi vida es loca también, Ricky!

+ Worst thing about the red carpet: Being trampled over by the vicious big magazine people and their large scary cameras while they all take pictures of Ricky Martin’s beautiful face/hunky bod. It quickly became apparent to me that you cannot be a tiny passive lady human who just walked off of a traumatizing plane ride and ALSO be a red carpet photographer, you just can’t.

Jessa was a much better reporter, managing to use her height and normal social skills to get herself to the front of the pack, snapping pictures of people named Ricky.

Ricky Martin!

Ricky From My So Called Life!

Covering the GLAAD Media Awards was fun but my mind was not exactly present. I’d just gotten off of a plane ride from spring break at home in Florida. I can only handle plane rides if I am heavily medicated. Unfortunately the only medication I was on during this flight was Dramamine, so while I did not suffer any motion sickness I did convince myself that the plane was crashing on at least ten different occasions causing me many tears and heart palpitations. That kind of stress plus the drowsiness that Dramamine induces does not bode well for functioning like a healthy human being. That whole day is really just a blur to me, but a beautiful blur full of Ricky Martin and Drag Queens.

Mandy Moore

I didn’t do much during my spring break other than lay out in the sun and learn ’90s pop songs on the piano. Because my brother loves being included in my articles, I thought I’d share with you the little video we made of Mandy Moore’s “Candy.” Note my tan (RIP slightly dark olive skin that my German/Italian heritage allows me to achieve). I do not understand my Mac and I do not understand YouTube, this is why our heads are cut off.  But if you are dying to know what the rest of our faces look like I’ll give you a hint: they are really, really beautiful.

Pure Poetry #9: Shel Silverstein

Pure Poetry Week(s):

#1 – 2/23/2011 – Intro & Def Poetry Jam, by Riese
#2 – 2/23/2011 – Eileen Myles, by Carmen
#3 – 2/23/2011 – Anis Mojgani, by Crystal
#4 – 2/24/2011 – Andrea Gibson, by Carmen & Katrina/KC Danger
#5 – 2/25/2011 – Leonard Cohen, by Crystal
#6 – 2/25/2011 – Staceyann Chin, by Carmen
#7 – 2/25/2011 – e.e. cummings, by Intern Emily
#8 – 2/27/2011 – Louise Glück, by Lindsay
#9 – 2/27/2011 – Shel Silverstein, by Lily

Aside from a period of angst ridden obsessions with Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton in high school, I do not know much about poetry. I wish I knew more about poetry. This is why Autostraddle is the most amazing and revolutionary website/life-form ever. They are teaching me (and you!) about poetry.

Here’s what I do know about poetry: You are never too old for Shel Silverstein.

This animated version of The Giving Tree, with narration by Shel Silverstein himself, made me cry. Right now. I am crying. It was my favorite book as a child and is still one of my favorites as a 20 year-old college student.

The thing about Silverstein’s poems is that they are not just for kids. They may be accompanied by child-like animation and they may on the surface seem simple and easy, but it is in their simplicity where genius is found. Children see the world in a way that most adults, too consumed with the headaches of life, are unable to easily see. Silverstein writes what children see. He reminds us all of what it is like to view the world in its purest form. A world without stereotypes, biases, and social norms.

As someone who often feels lost somewhere between childhood and adulthood (much like Britney Spears, when she was not a girl but not yet a woman), a read through Where The Sidewalk Ends or  Falling Up helps to clear my mind and reminds me that “where I am in life” is not a real thing. There is not a definitive physical timeline for life.

I was only eight when Shel Silverstein passed away but I remember the genuine sadness that came over me when I heard the news. I thought he was going to write me new poetry forever. As an eight year-old I was still pretty sure that some people could live forever and I wanted those people to be Shel Silverstein, Ginger Spice, and me. Unfortunately Shel the person did not live forever (I’m still crossing my fingers for Ginger) but Shel the poetry did.

Top Five Shel Silverstein Books

by a Twelve Year-Old Who Lives with Laneia

Shel Silverstein has been my favorite poet since I was little, basically because of all of the humor and pretty strange pictures. I think I first started looking into Shel’s writing when I was very young and my mom had A Light in the Attic, which is my favorite of his books. Here are the others, in reverse order, plus their best parts.

5. Falling Up

The Castle

It’s the fabulous castle of Now.
You can walk in and wander about,
But it’s so very thin,
Once you are, then you’ve been—
And soon as you’re in, you’re out.

4. The Missing Piece

“Hi,” it said
“Hi,” said the piece.
“Are you anybody else’s missing piece?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, maybe you want to be your own piece?”
“I can be someone’s and sstill be my own.”
“Well, maybe you don’t want to be mine.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Maybe we won’t fit….”
“Well…”

3. The Giving Tree

The entire book is the best part.

2. Where the Sidewalk Ends

from Me-Stew

I’ll stir me around with this big wooden spoon
And serve myself up at a quarter to noon.
So bring out your stew bowls,
You gobblers and snackers.
Farewell–and I hope you enjoy me with crackers!

1. A Light in the Attic

from The Meehoo with an Exactlywatt

Yes, exactly!
—–Exactly what?
Yes, I have an Exactlywatt on a chain!
—–Exactly what on a chain?
Yes!
—–Yes what!
No, Exactlywatt!

Share your Shel Silverstein feelings in the comments!

Lily’s College Lesbianage #11: Life Plans, Cuddling – A Jedi Craves Not These Things

Hello everyone! I’m at home in Florida right now enjoying the sun and old people. This winter break has provided me with a close up look at what I will be like when I am 85. It’s not looking good.

Multiple holidays have gone by since the last time I wrote. Let’s see…I went to a Halloween party in Brooklyn the night before Halloween (I mention this solely for the purpose of it making me sound cool) and then spent actual Halloween in bed watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians (this is closer to the reality of my coolness). Thanksgiving this year was an exact repeat of my Thanksgiving last year. It included my Catholic father, my stressed out mother, my absent minded brother, my Alzheimer ridden nana, and our in-no-way related to us 91 year old neighbor who cannot walk but refuses to use a wheelchair. We had the same conversations over and over again, including one about the pope’s decision to support condom use in Africa. A very fun conversation to have with the elderly over turkey and pie.

Other than my Nana, no one in my family lives close by so holidays are usually pretty small in my household. But this year we had twelve extra guests fly down here from my mother’s side of the family for Christmas. Despite the hectic nature of this event, it did remind me of just how lucky I am to have the family that I have. There were no huge fights. No disputes over politics. No weird racial or gay slurs. My grandmother even had her gay neighbors over for one of our family dinners.

Just like any family, mine isn’t without flaws. My grandma managed to insult everyone’s ego by either commenting on their weight or lack of musical talent. She was also keen on lying down on the couch, putting her hand on her head, and exclaiming to no one in particular “oh lord, I probably won’t be here tomorrow.” She did this roughly four times a day, always ending with a loud sigh. I now know who I inherited my dramatic tendencies from.

Adorable Things My Slightly Dysfunctional
Family Did Together Over Break

My parents’ favorite holiday tradition is picking out Christmas songs for the family to perform. Yes, to perform. It is my parents dream to start a family band and every year they think that the family is going to start said band over Christmas. Their dream is to have us perform the “cool”, “rock n’ roll” Christmas songs because everything about a family of four singing Christmas songs screams “rock n’ roll.”

Generally, they want me to play the piano and my brother to play the guitar while they sing “Merry Christmas, Baby” to one another. Every year my brother and I flatly deny their request. But this year, with my self-proclaimed “artistic” family gathered in South Florida, my parents dream of forming a family band finally came true. There were five guitars, one banjo, one Ukulele, one mandolin, and one melodica—a silly looking instrument that I played until I almost passed out—all strumming along to Frosty The Snowman. We may have sounded pretty awful (my grandmother had to leave the room because, “I cannot handle anything that is not perfect”), but at least we were ridiculously cute.

Another fun family activity that my family engaged in was watching The Sound of Music together, adding 100 points to our adorableness score. The Hallmark-esque magic of this moment dissipated after two minutes when every boy under the age 17 left the room and my father started doing a German accent. But watching the movie reminded me of my undying love and man crush on Captain Von Trapp. I hate the idea of calling someone Captain but I would tooootally call him Captain, he is that beautiful. When he sings Edelweiss it’s like he’s singing just to me…me and Austria. It’s as if I am his own personal Austria.

Also, my brother has a haircut that makes him look like a lesbian. He looks like a lesbian who looks like Justin Bieber. It’s pretty exciting.

So, What Are You Going To Do After College?

Apparently, winter break of sophomore year is when every person over 40 begins asking what you plan to do after college. I’m still unsure of exactly what I am going to major in so it’s pretty hard for me to have an idea of what I’m going to do after college. I now just tell people that I am majoring in art history but plan on working in some aspect of the entertainment industry. It sounds relatively legitimate. I am not 100% sure what it means, but it has a nice ring to it. I’ve always just assumed that my whole life would work itself out. I’d just be super famous for no apparent reason and then write an action movie starring Ricky Martin and Enrique Iglesias as rival choreographers. Normal life goals like that.

My life plans thus far are as follows:

• Graduate with a degree in “extended knowledge of African American girl bands circa 1985-2000”.
• Get “discovered” on an elevator while singing the theme song to That’s So Raven.
• Become the perfect cross between David and Amy Sedaris.
• Marry Captain Von Trapp.
• Divorce Captain Von Trapp.
• Marry Helena Bonham Carter.
• Have some kids.
• Be the sensible, yet hilarious housewife on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
• Die happily in my sleep at age 103.

It’s sort of a foolproof plan.

Completely Unrelated To Winter Break And Cute Family Time

I have a question. What does cuddling actually mean? I have never been a very touchy feely person and I’m a big fan of personal space. It has taken me years to give people regular hugs and not just awkward idontreallyknowhowtohug hugs. So when my friends get together and cuddle with one another in a completely platonic way, I’m like “What?! I don’t understand?! Don’t they felt weird?”

I think my bafflement of this phenomenon might stem from the fear I had in high school. You know, the fear that once people know you are gay every one of your girl friends is going to assume that you are coming on to them. I avoided locker rooms, changing in front of my friends, and sleeping in the same bed as many of my girl friends because of this fear. And although I no longer am afraid of these situations, I still do not know where the lines of physical contact between women are drawn.

So here’s the thing, I really enjoy cuddling, like a lot, buuuut I don’t feel comfortable cuddling with friends. Is there something I could do to change this? Like, wouldn’t it be fun if “hooking up” sometimes just meant “cuddling”. For instance, you go out one night to a party or some other sweaty deviant venue and at the end of the night you take a lady home. But instead of getting all hot and bothered and taking off all of your clothes, you just pop in a DVD of Greys Anatomy season one and cuddle the shit out of each other. THAT is my ideal night. I’m putting it into my life plan right now.

The End of This Post: A Picture of My Brother

So my 16 year old brother has this haircut, the kind of haircut that sort of makes him look like a lesbian and also sort of makes him look like Justin Bieber. Therefore, it makes him look like a lesbian who looks like Justin Bieber (is that still a thing?). So here is my brother standing next to his twin, the accidental lesbian icon J-Biebs.

Lily’s Team Pick: Sexhibition and Cat Massage

Hello ladies, do you go to Columbia/Barnard or live somewhere sort of close to the Morningside Heights area of NYC?? Then you should join Take Back the Night, Columbia’s sex-positive and anti-sexual violence organization at their annual Sexhibition Health Fair. And then later join them at their Sexhibition Movie Screening of “Orgasm, Inc”.

Isn’t sexhibition a really cool word?? I think so! Go to these events!!

In completely unrelated news (or maybe somehow related if your mind does some weird contortionist-like thinking), watch this video. You may have seen this before today because you are cooler than me but I really think you should watch it again.

Lily’s College Lesbianage #10: Words and Music Videos

1. The Second Year IS Better

This school is full of crazy, scary, really well-dressed overachievers who intimidated the shit out of me last year. But I am a new woman now! (or so I keep telling myself) and thus have decided to join the ranks of well dressed overachieving ladies. Apparently if you join clubs, publications, and other student groups, you can find friends and a sense of purpose. Who knew?

Photo by Cass Bird

Soooo I decided to take 18 credits, accept a 10-15 hour a week job, and join as many groups as possible. Needless to say, sophomore year has been ridiculously busy and I have (mostly) been enjoying it.

Unfortunately, no one told me that I would be stuck in bed with a fever during midterms.

This strong, independent, look-at-me-I-can-do-everything persona I’ve built up is going to have to find some serious Brandy-as-Cinderella inner magic to stay alive. Who wants to study Japanese art while feeding me soup!?

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2. The Dreaded Lesbian Question

Because I’ve been so sick, I had to muster up enough courage to go down to my school’s health services center. Here’s the thing: I hate doctors. Yes, they are great people who want to make you feel better, blah blah blah. But I absolutely despise them because in my experience they just make you take off your clothes, put on a gross paper dress, and then sneak attack you with a million shots. It is a highly painful and embarrassing experience.

For that reason I had been successfully avoiding the health center since the beginning of last year. But this obnoxiously high fever set in and I had no choice but to pay them a little visit. They didn’t make me take off my clothes, which was nice, and they didn’t give me a shot, which was doubly nice, but they did ask me that question that makes my insides close up and my mind produce a high pitched “eeeeeeeeee” noise:

“Are you sexually active?”

Baaaaaagggghhhhh. What does that even mean? I believe my answer went a little something like this…

“Umm well, hah that’s a tough one. Um yeah, I mean yeah but like with girls (no, Lily, that sounds like you have sex with children) I mean women. Yeah, uh just with women.”

It was sufficiently awkward to say the least. Luckily the Nurse Practitioner didn’t find it awkward at all and was 100% normal. So, at least in this case, the sexually active question was a much bigger deal in my head than it was in real life. Doctors hear everything; at least you are not sexually active with roller coasters or ice cream or elephants (maybe you are but that’s a completely different issue that I don’t even know how to begin addressing). I still hate going to the doctor, but I do love the antibiotics.

3. Boring Town, Population: Me

By the beginning of October, the semester had been going so smoothly that I really wasn’t sure I had anything interesting to write about. Sure, I could discuss my newfound dream to join the CIA (because of that show, Covert Affairs). Or show you what I’ve learned in my elementary Spanish class—Hola, me llamo Lily. Yo soy muy intelligente y bonita. (I can practice my positive affirmations in two languages now!) I could even share with you some random thoughts I tend to have during the day, like…

“Is anyone else in the world listening to Destiny’s Child complete discography in a totally un-ironic way right now?”

and

“Every girl in this class is super hot. How is this possible? What do I do? OMG STOP STARING, LILY, YOU ARE SO CREEPY.”

But none of those ideas seemed important enough to use as an update of gay life in college.

Luckily (though not actually lucky), various dramatic instances involving:

1) An ex

2) unfortunate run-ins

3) inappropriate age differences

4) public yelling

5) me making dumb decisions

… came back into my life and inspired me to write yet again!

I was honestly trying to avoid a lot of crazy emotions this year. This semester was supposed to be about being too busy with work for real life, making friends (NOT making out with those friends), and just moving along at a steady rate of sheer contentment. That is all I wanted.

I’d planned to stay away from anything that might impede on my ability to learn about feminist art movements and basic Spanish (my favorite two classes, in case you were wondering). I see now that my goals were rather far-fetched and that life will always manage to creep in no matter how hard you work to push it to the side. You just have to deal with it, which is something I’m still learning how to do. But I am getting better at it!

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4. On a Brighter Note, Everyone Is Gay!

The Barnard and Columbia class of 2014 have turned out to be way gayer than my freshman class, which I think we can ALL agree is due to my presence at Barnard (JK, kind of). Slowly but surely I will use my queen-of-the-lesbians power (I just made that up) to turn Barnard College into my very own New York City version of Smith College. You’re welcome, Morningside Heights.

But for real, it is extremely comforting to see this relatively large presence of openly queer freshmen on campus. Perhaps it’s just an example of the socially liberal, younger generation who is open and comfortable with their sexuality, or maybe 1992 was just a really gay year to be born. Whatever the case, I am certainly thankful to see Barnard heading in a slightly gayer direction this year.

5. I Do Not Have The Answers

While meeting those freshmen, I somehow got into the habit of thinking, “Oh they are so much like me last year! I have so much to teach them!”…as if I was some sort of wise elder who knew all of the secrets to homogayness and college life. But then reality settled in and I remembered that I absolutely do not have all of the answers. I may have a tad more experience than I did last year, but I certainly can’t claim to hold the keys to gay college success.

SUCCESS = TWO CHICKS AT THE SAME TIME

And while I do have two pretty good pieces of advice (don’t sleep with your roommate, don’t drunkenly come out to your parents via text message), I still have two times a billion questions. I don’t even know what I’m going to be for Halloween. I mean really, who am I?!?

This is an option.

It’s humbling to hear from people who say reading my little column has taught them a thing or two or, more importantly, reminds them that they’re not alone. And really that’s all I could ever ask for. I may not have all/any of the answers. I may not turn out to be that overbooked Superwoman I set out to be, but if you can read this, and read Autostraddle and feel as if you are connected to something bigger than your own sadness/fear of you’re surroundings, then that’s perfect.

I’ll most likely continue to procrastinate writing these articles and always have girl/ex-girl/dumb decision problems, and I’ll forever continue referencing 90s girl-band pop groups in everyday life but, imperfections intact, I know that I’m not alone, because of you! And hopefully you know that you’re not alone. I promise.

If you need some convincing you should really check out Jennifer Lopez singing en español (that means “in Spanish”!!!)—seriously. It will help. I’m listening to it right now and I already feel better.

Lily’s College Lesbianage #9: Back To School!

Ok, let me be honest, I spent a lot of time this summer doing KENKEN puzzles in The New York Times. So what if I couldn’t find a job? I am now a master of the fine art of Japanese math puzzles. This of course means that I am a genius soooo I’d have to say that I had a pretty successful summer vacation.

When I wasn’t exercising my Einstein-like brain, I was doing free yoga with the 60-and-up crowd at my local library, frequenting craft stores in search of yarn, and buying socks with my grandmother. I do understand that disclosing such intimate details of my steamy summer puts me at risk for crazy stalkers and anywhere between a million and a billion friend requests on facebook, but because I care about every person who takes the time to read my words, I opted to leave nothing out. You’re welcome.

My summer was in fact rather uneventful. I spent it in Florida, a place I have always called “home” but never felt I truly belonged. And although I ended the last school year more than ready to go back home, once there I quickly I remembered why I had been so excited to leave Florida in the first place. I spent my first year of college gaining confidence and becoming more “me” than ever before, but once I got back home I seemed to lose much of the self-assurance that I had gained during the school year. Old fears about not having “enough friends” or looking “cool” began creeping up—my self-confidence was waning. I had to constantly remind myself that it is OK to not have a million friends and to not go out all of the time, I like my alone time; it’s not loneliness, it’s sanity.

Empire State of Mind

The highlight of my summer was my weekend trip to New York to join the rest of the Autostraddle team for NYC Pride (I especially enjoyed bringing coffee and bagels to Riese and Laneia, I felt like a real intern!). Walking around in the ridiculous heat of NYC wearing what was really just a bra and some fabric doing it’s best to look like a skirt, was most certainly a moment that I will never forget. Walking long distances in minimal clothing while waving a rainbow flag really agrees me, I think I’m going to major in it.

more clothes

less clothes

I’d say that it is a pretty good sign that I spent most of my summer wishing I was in New York—it is always helpful to actually want to go back to the place you will be spending a good chunk of the next three years in, if not more. I managed to get a job on campus so I was allowed to move in a week before classes start and take some time to settle in before the craziness begins. I’m living in a single this year so I’d really like put a life-sized poster of Ricky Martin on my door—I haven’t actually found one yet but I feel like it is sort of necessary for my existence.

Don’t Panic

The day before the freshmen were due to move into the Barnard Quad, I found myself at the Upper West Side location of the store that sells the Barnard uniform, AKA Urban Outfitters. While in the store I noticed a bunch parents with girls who looked EXACTLY like I did last year. But then all of the sudden in the middle of a fantastic sale, my stomach began to tighten and my breathing began to shorten—wtf?? I was having an anxiety attack that was triggered either by the girls shopping with their parents or the twenty dollar boots. Because cheap shoes have never brought me anything but pure joy, I had to guess that this seemingly random attack was brought on by the most-likely-Barnard-freshmen-girls. Was I afraid of them? No. Nervous for them? Not particularly. Scared to go to school with them? Not at all. These girls reminded me of my first week in college and I cried A LOT that week. I imagine that my anxiety was a mixture of a million things pent up inside of me and the trendy young ladies at the Urban Outfitters were just the catalyst to my inevitable panic attack.

Jenny From The Block

Luckily by the time I moved into my new dorm everything felt right. I feel at home in this college, in this city. And right now I am not worrying about where the elevator is because I know where all of them are! I don’t go back and re-read my past “Lesbianage” posts because reading my words makes me cringe, but I sometimes get random comments on older articles with really awesome advice and encouraging words about college and New York—a lot of “everything thing will be better soon, I promise!” You guys are pretty much the most amazing people ever, just so you know. Reading such comments reminds me of the fear and uncertainty that I felt last year and really puts this whole college thing into perspective. It’s nice to know that yes, it has gotten better. So much better!

Life will always have its ups and downs but because I am more prone to write about the sad and scary stuff rather than the exciting and happy stuff, I am going to fight extra hard to highlight the good of this year and not let any happy moment be taken for granted. Positivity is my goal for the coming year and because I’m pretty sure that positive thinking is what Oprah and her religion of The Secret teaches, I know that I am on the right track.

Another reason I know that I am on the right track? J.lo’s music video for “Jenny from the Block” was on the teevee the other day, which I believe to be a sign from some higher power (most likely Madonna) that this year is going to be good. Just like J.Lo, I am still “Lily from the block” and this year is about being as real as possible…no matter all the rocks that I got, you know?

Style Wednesday: Shoes Shoes Shoes!

Hello shiny happy people! Today’s style post is about my favorite article of clothing in the entire world: shoes. Are you excited about shoes? Because you should be! You have no idea how excited I am. Seriously, you have NO IDEA. For me, shoes aren’t just protective wear for your feet, they are for staring at after having a terrible day and for trying on during a “life-is-stressful-and-I-can’t-breathe” moment. You wear your favorite shoes while dancing to Madonna alone in your room. You buy new ones after your girlfriend breaks up with you, and they make you feel REALLY GOOD even though the economy sucks and you have no money.

Shoes do for me what Prozac does for like…most of the United States. You probably don’t share the same intense and slightly romantic feelings towards shoes as I do, but hopefully this post will inspire to put on your favorite pair tonight and dance like crazy to Madonna’s “Immaculate Collection.”

Note: I am a short person, but I really enjoy feeling tall which means that there are a lot of heels in this post. Tyra Banks and I both understand that many people cannot walk in heels. As long as you’re not in the running to become America’s Next Top Model, we’re totally cool with that. I prefer a girl in sneakers anyways. I just don’t want anyone to feel as though Autostraddle is forcing you to wear heels. We are not. We love you forever no matter what you have on your feet.

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THE SUMMER SHOE:

Sandals

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It’s still summertime, which means that our feet can still breathe, yay!

These strappy sandals from nastygal.com may not be great for the beach due to their four inch heel, but they are perfect for a summer barbecue or an outdoor wedding/commitment ceremony/babyshower/Bar Mitsva.

For cute, cheap, simple, and low to the ground, Target is always a good place to go.

If you’re planning on channeling your inner Greek goddess this summer, then these MIA sandals are the perfect shoe to match your toga.

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FOR COLDER SEASONS:

Boots

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Fall is going to be here before you know it, so if you’re in the market for new boots, you might just want to buy them on sale now before the prices go way up in anticipation of chilly weather.

Knee-high boots are not only super cute, but they are also crazy warm, which makes waking up to go to class/work/the grocery store WAY easier. I found these Dollhouse boots on amazon.com for only $33! That would be so cheap if my only job was something other than babysitting twice a week!

Other fantastic Dollhouse/Amazon finds include these relatively inexpensive combat boots and these scary but awesome buckle strapped wedge boots.

The buckle wedges above look a lot like the pair that this girl is wearing on her crazy animal legs but are way cheaper than the Jeffrey Campbell original!

If you want a shorter boot that you can walk in (i.e. something a bit closer to the ground), MIA has some great options, including these super cheap western style boots.

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SHOES THAT ARE

Terrible/AWESOME

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Boat shoes can either make you look like my pompous high school English teacher or they can make you look really cool. Chances are you are not a 50-year-old man, so they are probably going to make you look awesome. I’m a big fan of these navy boat shoes from the men’s department of J. Crew.

These MIA lace-up wedges sort of look hideous, but they also sort of look awesome. I’m a big fan of straddling the line between horrible and awesome, which is why I really want these shoes. It is also why I am currently watching That’s So Raven.

These Jeffrey Campbell wedges will most likely break your ankle and your wallet, but they would look great in the Beyonce music video that is my life. I live a really fantastic life.

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BECAUSE YOU’RE A GOOD PERSON:

Vegan Shoes

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Looking for vegan friendly shoes because you are totally awesome and into saving the WORLD?!?! Look no further than modcloth.com. Just type “vegan” into their search box and all of your dreams will come true. They have a wide selection of vegan friendly shoes including these fantastic cowboy boots, these cute little wedges, and these badass high-heeled booties.

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THE UNIVERSAL SHOE:

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Everyone loves Keds. My grandma loves Keds, my five year-old neighbor loves Keds, my dog loves Keds. Keds are the universal shoe. What makes them even cooler is that their website features a tool that allows you to custom make your very own little sneaker by adding color, images, and text! Because it seems as though I cannot write anything for Autostraddle without mentioning the Spice Girls, here are my custom-made “Girl Power” Keds.

Lily’s College Lesbianage #8: Can’t Believe Freshman Year Went By So Fast

It’s been a very, very long time since I’ve written anything for Autostraddle, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing. In the past couple of weeks I’ve written about 18^th century literature for my English class, the problems of moral universalism and relativism for my Philosophy class, and a research paper about sex toy parties for my History of Sexuality class! I did everything I could to put off writing about my own life (which really is quite strange because anyone who knows me well knows that I am a huge fan of talking about myself).

Where Did The Time Go?

It feel like the first week of April lasted 40 days and then suddenly I woke up in South Florida with a thunderstorm booming outside my old bedroom window. What happened? How did I get here? Why am I not in New York? What happened to school? When did it end and did it end well?

There’d been a time warp of some sort: I had yet another break-up and countless school-related breakdowns. That persistent everlasting case of insomina occasionally punctuated by anxiety dreams that were simultaneously about failing school and suffering the wrath of ex-girlfriends.

It wasn’t all bad though; I hung out with friends who I genuinely like, I got dressed up and wore orange heels for queer prom, experienced multiple “I love New York” moments (most of which occurred on sunny days while I drank coffee and walked along Broadway in a sundress), and I rediscovered my love for Hanson.

A Brief Interlude to Talk About Hanson

I should probably take a moment to really thank Hanson for helping me get through the home stretch of my first year of college. At first I was afraid that my sudden reawakening to the music of my past may have been brought upon by an anxiety induced regression back to my early childhood. But then I realized that Hanson is just a really good band of brothers who wrote, and continue to write, awesome songs and who just so happen to have once looked and sounded like girls.

So thank you Hanson for writing “A Man From Milwaukee” so that one day a desperate college student could listen to it on repeat as she taught herself an entire semester of Statistics in one night.

No More Drama
(This one’s for you, Mary J.)

I have one short term goal that will hopefully lead me to greatness in the rest of my college career and that is a “no girls” rule for at least the first semester of my sophomore year. This is an odd rule for someone who attends a women’s college but let me clarify…it’s a no-romantic-involvement-with-any-human-being rule. This is not to say that I believe myself to have flocks of interested candidates running after me in hopes of snagging a couple of intimate moments—it’s more the other way around. I tend to seek out ladies who will engage in intimate moments with me. This, I have learned, has been the root of many of my problems.

Ladies distract me because I love them so much. If I’m going to become BFFs with Rachel Maddow I need to concentrate on my studies so that I can carry on intelligent conversations with Rachel. I also desperately need to rid myself of distractions because I have to learn how to be an independent woman;the Destiny’s Child type of independent woman who buys her own cars and rings and dances around as if she owns the world.

My freshman year of college is over with and I am not sure what to think. It was great and it was terrible. I couldn’t wait to go home but now that I am here, I find myself desperate to go back. I am stuck where most 18-25 year olds are stuck right now…at home and looking for a job. I can only fill out job applications that require me to talk about my passion for overpriced tank tops so many times before I become distracted with something far more fun…like eating food, or watching I Dream of Jeanie on TV Land.

But after each melodramatic phone call home to my mother, I would come to my senses and remember why I was in college: to learn cool stuff and to make out with people.

The Big Picture: Graduation and Famous People

Many times this year I questioned my place in higher education. I thought it might be a good idea to drop out of school and pursue my dreams of recording 3LW cover songs and putting them on Youtube (this is an actual dream and it will happen someday).

But after each melodramatic phone call home to my mother, I would come to my senses and remember why I was in college: to learn cool stuff and to make out with people.

I was so focused in high school because I had one goal, to get into a prestigious college (so I could do both the learning thing and the making out thing).

After I attained that goal I wasn’t really sure what to do with myself. I got to Barnard. Mission accomplished. So now what? What goal drives me through the next four years?

After watching bits & pieces of Barnard College’s 2010 Commencement Ceremony I finally settled on a goal — to meet whatever famous lady Barnard chooses to deliver a speech at the 2013 commencement!

This of course means that I have to do something notable during my time in college so I can give some sort of speech and it also requires that I graduate. Eek!

Meryl Streep spoke at this year’s graduation…MERYL EFFING STREEP! And Hillary Clinton spoke last year. My class’s chance to get Rachel Maddow is really looking up. Unfortunately the ladies at Smith called dibs on Rachel this year, quite the appropriate choice on their part, but hopefully they don’t think that they are getting her every year. But if Rachel can’t be booked then I guess I would be cool with Michelle Obama or Geri Halliwell—either way I have three years to do something awesome for Barnard or for Autostraddle to really take off (thus granting me a Lesbianage interview) and then to graduate in order meet one of these ladies (there is no doubt in my mind that the speaker will be one of the three women I suggested above).

Summer Lesbianage Anyone?

I don’t know how this summer will go but if anything exciting happens I will tell you all about it. In the meantime I’ll be around contributing to style articles and slowing my anxiety roll.

If you happen to be in New York City between the months of September and December and see an obviously knowledgeable and independent woman walking your way, that’s probably me.

And if you see her cuddling with another lady—kidnap her, it’s for her own good!

Lily’s Team Pick: Hulu Meets The Spice Girls

If you’re alive, then you probably own Spice World on VHS. Unfortunately computers have taken over our lives and VHS players have become virtually extinct. Luckily Hulu know’s that everyone is a nine year old girls at heart, which is why they are playing Spice World for free! Enjoy!

Miss Lola Loves Tiny Dresses and Her Northface

Welcome to “I’ll Have What She’s Wearing,” when we pick a queer lady with hot style and ask her how she got so fly.

Meet Miss Lola (A.K.A Mary). Miss Lola is perhaps the coolest person I have met in college and most certainly the smartest. She has been fierce since way before Tyra stole the word—there’s really no better word to describe her. And although small, she’s not one you’d ever miss in a crowd; she’s the one wearing a tiny flower print dress and an oversized Northface jacket. This South Florida native is here to discuss piercings, floral, an alternative to shampooing, and the clothes that just magically appear in her closet.

So tell me a little about your style.
A South Florida Lolita. Laziness meets flower print. I wear lots of baby dresses, but not necessarily for any feminine effect -it’s all about function! Looking cute should be a consequence, not an intention. And if you’re like me and wake up 20 minutes before class, throwing on one article of clothing can satisfy your deepest desires to be lazy, despite a busy lifestyle that restricts leisurely behavior. Be lazy; wear dresses! Come on, Homer Simpson would have my
back on this.

Do you have a favorite piece (or pieces) in your clothing collection?
Most recently, I’ve come to the conclusion that I should simply switch my major from History to Winter Apparel, concentrating on Northface. As a Filipino-born South Floridian, I never had the privilege of wearing functional, comfortable, and cute winter clothes. I now fill my Northface pockets with every necessity (Burt’s Bees, cell phone, college ID, iPod, lollipops, pens, post-its, forks, spoons, etc.) and can no longer see myself living without it. Spring will be beautiful, but I will have a hard time parting with my favorite jacket and the hat I regularly use to mask bad hair.

Where do you get your clothes?
Ooo, this is tough. I don’t, um, shop? My clothes come to me. I’ve had them, I’ve been given them, and they just generally appear in my closet without my realization.

Do you have a style icon?
Nudists. I think they offer valuable points in the discussion of fashion and style. Also, Henry David Thoreau: Distrust any enterprise that requires new clothes (from Walden).

What would you never be caught dead in?
Not opposed to most articles of clothing, but I have constantly struggled with turtlenecks. Trust me, I have tried. But my neck is short! I always find myself ripping off the sweater and cutting off the neck portion halfway through the day. So if you ever see me in one, I’m probably trying to win a bet. Or a girl who likes girls in turtlenecks.

Is there anything you would never wear but like seeing on other girls?
Obnoxiously high ponytails. I feel like there’s a proportional correlation between how high a girl’s ponytail is, how much it wags side-to-side, and how mischievous a girl behaves. I don’t know, I cannot explain this phenomenon more than that it’s hot, I like it, but I hate it on me.

Let’s talk about hair!
Oh, my hair… what a life. For one, this is the longest my hair has ever been since 7th grade. I’ve had my sides buzzed to a mohawk, one side shaved/other side long, a pink tail, a grown-out bleached-blond tail, a close-cropped pixie cut, pink highlights all over, blue and pink stripes, and now I have bleach-blond stripes and a blah haircut.
I’m bored, give me new ideas!

Did I mention that I don’t use shampoo? I have been on the no-poo method for almost three years. Essentially, I use pure baking soda as shampoo and apple cider vinegar as conditioner. Just imagine never paying $6 for shampoo every four weeks or having to wash your hair every four days… yeah, that’s me. I think you can trace the pattern of laziness now…

So you have a couple of piercings…would you like to tell our fabulous readers where they are and why did you get them?
I have my septum pierced, ears stretched to a 00g, and one of those piercings you’d only see if you saw me naked. I think they’re all beautiful! I really like how they can be visible or invisible whenever I choose  (the ) and that I effectively have more options for ‘accessorizing.’

If you had a lot of dollar bills, what would you buy?
Jewelry for my piercings! I always manage to lose my plugs. Now I am left with five pairs and sad ears.

How has your style changed since moving from sunny South Florida to chilly NYC?
I… still wear the same thigh-length dresses, haha. Except I throw on thick tights and socks, a sweater, my Northface, snow shoes and a winter hat. Winter apparel is so neat! Every layer has a function to keep you warm, but also adds more depth to the look. Plus, intense winter gear tends to balance out the overt ‘femininity’ of my outfits and I like that masculine/feminine + intense/casual aesthetic. However, I am opposed to the extra time I spend on winter mornings to layer up. And the cold, ahh!

Lily’s College Lesbianage #7: Smart Girls, Spice Girls & Girl-Dates to School Dances

Eek you guys it’s been over two weeks already since I last wrote! My previous post sparked a crazy awesome amount of feedback and conversation that I wholeheartedly enjoyed watching unfold. You guys seriously amaze me every single day.

First order of business: Chopin’s 200th birthday was March 1st and was definitely worth celebrating. If you don’t know who Chopin is I will just tell you that he is THE MOST AMAZING composer of classical music of all time. I’m a dork when it comes to classical music; it just makes me feel so many things! My piano teacher at Columbia (one of the best piano teachers I have ever had) decided to put together a little concert to celebrate the legend that is Frederic Chopin. I played a piece that I had eagerly learned when I was 14 but made sure to keep in my repertoire all these years; not only because my grandmother requests I play it every time I see her, but because playing it reminds me why I am alive. Seriously.

So just in case you are interested in feeling lots of emotions, here is a recording of the great Pollini playing what I have deemed “My Nocturne”.

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Yes I am trying to convert you all to being Chopin lovers. Also his music WILL help you woo the ladies…I swear!

Ok so as you listen to the Nocturne (have you pushed play yet, have you??) I will begin to relay my thoughts on the past couple of weeks. Starting with a question: Did you ever get to attend a school dance with a same-sex date? And I don’t just mean as friends but as a for real, obviously together date? Well I never did until last weekend.

I’m a sucker for tradition. I grew up thinking about what my prom dress would look like, what my wedding dress would look like, where I would get married, etc. After I came to the conclusion that “oh goodness, I’m really gay,” I was afraid that I would never be able to truly experience such traditions.

Although my core beliefs seem to go against such heteronormative societal customs, I honestly don’t really care…I went to both of my proms and pretty much have already designed my wedding dress. Unfortunately I never had the chance to go to a school dance with a girl as my date.
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My Date Was a Girl! A Real Lesbian Girl!

Luckily I was fortunate enough to meet a girl who happened to go to a university that was having a university-wide school dance. I was able to go as her date and not feel at all ashamed, embarrassed, scared, or anxious. Going to a dance with a girl might not have been the dream that my ten year old self had, but it was the dream my 16-year-old self had and luckily an experience that my 19-year-old self was able to enjoy.

Ah we look so traditional!

On a completely unrelated note…

COLLEGE IS HARD

I miss being a big fish in a little pond and not a little fish in an everyone-is–ridiculously-smart-and-hard-working pond (not that my high school was lacking in talent or intelligence, it just wasn’t part of an Ivy League University).

“These women are why I wanted to go to the school, why I felt I belonged, but also why I am suddenly freaking out about my abilities for success.”

It has taken me a while to figure out why everything isn’t just easily coming together for me academically. It used to be that if I applied for a position in a club, some sort of fellowship program, or wanted to volunteer for an organization—well all I had to do was apply and get the job. I had confidence in my skills; I worked hard and I felt as though I simply deserved these things.

I read a book, I understood the book, I took a test on the book, I got an A.

I had the Florida public school grading system figured out by the time I was 10 and knew exactly what to do; everything went according to plan. But after I was accepted into my top choice college, my work ethic began to wane. What do I have to work towards now? What is my goal?

I was hit hard by reality this week when I didn’t receive a position that I really wanted and actually worked quite hard to try to get. I just didn’t fit the part and while I understand the decision, I’m not used to not being rewarded for my efforts.

Barnard is full of such incredibly hard-working women who not only do well academically, but also often do well socially, have leadership positions, jobs, internships, get regular exercise, eat well, act, dance, sing, and attempt to save the world all while looking really, really good. These women are why I wanted to go to the school, why I felt I belonged, but also why I am suddenly freaking out about my abilities for success.

Smart Ladies!

Later in the week I attended a career fair not knowing what to expect. My resume, I realized once I got there, was a complete mess. It didn’t even say that I went to Barnard College and listed only my school address even though I was looking for summer work to do while at home in Florida. I choked on my words when talking to the different representatives. When a Summer Camp head asked me if I had experience, I somehow completely forgot that I’d been a camp counselor before!

I’ve been complaining for a while now about the seemingly inhuman work ethic of my fellow classmates but have come to realize that I need to quit my whining and start working hard again. What do I want to do with my life? I tend to tell people that I don’t know, but in all honesty I’d like to be a mix between David Sedaris, Whitney Houston (pre-crack/Bobby Brown) and Ginger Spice. I’d also like to win some awards, I don’t care for what, I just want trophies. Barnard apparently does not offer that major. So I’ve decided to suck it up, start working hard, learn things, apply for jobs, get my resume intact, and try hard to be less cynical.

It’s Like Being Elle Woods, Right?

Unfortunately my cynicism is still a bit of an issue. For example, I convinced myself for an entire week last week that I was going to become a lawyer. I saw that the Columbia Law School has the only Center for Gender and Sexuality Law in the country and decided “well hey, I can do that!”

Then I heard Judith Butler speak at the law school.

While I thoroughly enjoyed the lecture and love me some Judith Butler, I couldn’t help but wonder why everyone had to use such large words and ask such overly complicated ten minute long questions. In my mind being a lawyer would be like this: I wake up, put on my powersuit and lipstick, take my name-engraved briefcase to the firm where I’m a partner via shiny car, I walk in, point to the evidence, declare, “that, Mrs. Judge, is why my gender non-conforming client is right and that bad person over there is wrong.” I then win my case and get paid lots of money.

Apparently this is not how law works (I asked my lawyer dad).

So what I’ve learned in the past 14 days is that there is probably a good chance I won’t become a lawyer. But hey, I got to go a traditionally heteronormative school dance with a girl as my date and celebrate Chopin’s birthday with one of my favorite pieces to play. I’ve been hit by reality but I’ll make it. Bring it on Barnard/Columbia/World…I’m going to dominate you one Spice Girls song at a time.

Lily’s College Lesbianage #6: Lesbians Are Scary

Hello all! Today’s post is my first attempt at writing this blog on a biweekly schedule. Granted it’s probably been about three weeks since my last post, but hey, nobody’s perfect.

The past two weeks have been pretty eventful, inspiring me to come up with a variety of topics I’ve been VERY excited to write about. The problem is that my successful writing life only exists in one place: within the confines of my mind/imagination. I’m extremely observant in social situations, constantly making witty commentary to the audience in my mind (in turn the audience applauds me for being wonderful, laughs, buys me stuff, etc.). But once I actually sit down to write? Not much comes out.

The actual quality of my writing is questionable (prose, syntax, grammar — the important stuff), and the content often only makes sense in my mind. This is probably why I don’t write  as often as I should.

This is also why I want to thank you all for reading and for at least trying to follow my thought process. You are awesome!

Much of what I thought about writing for this post doesn’t necessarily have to do with college but has more to do with everyday world questions.

For instance, “why the hell are lesbians so goddamn scary?” And “why don’t girls hit on me but guys hit on me even when I tell them I’m gay?”

photo by Ellen Von Unwerth

A couple of weekends ago, I somehow managed to go out two nights in a row; a huge deal for me as “going out once” generally renders me comatose for the rest of the weekend. I’m convinced I already have the body of an 80-year-old.

So it was during this tiring weekend that I started thinking about the Scary Nature of Lesbians.

“Girls are scary no matter what their sexual orientation is — we size each other up whether we mean to or not.”

The first night proved to be a very stereotypical Columbia/Barnard freshman outing at a couple of… um… liquid-serving gathering places. It was all very heterosexual. A couple of guys asked me to dance and some others wouldn’t stop talking to me even when I mentioned that no, I do not have a boyfriend — I date girls. I don’t mind talking to these guys and will admit that they do a lot to boost my ego no matter how much I imagine I might still find them unattractive even if I was straight… but it gets old pretty fast.

However, lest my slowly growing ego expand past Friday night’s initial boost, the events of my second night out managed to completely shoot me right back down to my bell jar of insecurity. This is ’cause Saturday night was a lot gayer, and a lot more of what I like to tell myself is “my crowd.” This makes it scarier.

Actually caring if the other people in the room like you or not makes being in the room so much scarier.

We visited two different locales during our night of alternative fashion, and at both places, no one seemed even slightly interested in me — but they were extremely interested in the girl I was with! Okay, fine. This will teach me not to let my ego become a hindering pain on my still-developing personality, but it still doesn’t change the fact that lesbians are really, really, scary!

via bobster1985 @flickr

The second place we visited that night was more of a lesbian “gathering place” and the minute I walked in I felt… weird. Girls are scary no matter what their sexual orientation is — we size each other up whether we mean to or not — so being in a room with a bunch of women who are most likely looking to hook up with other women? Well that just takes the experience to an exponentially greater level of absolute terror.

But I’d walked in confident enough from the night before. Then when I realized the girls weren’t hitting on me but instead hitting on the girl I was with, I lost my confident stride.

And then I learned something even more frustrating: apparently, I look like “the straight friend.”

Perhaps I’m overthinking the situation. I guess I live in this constant fear that my sexuality isn’t being taken seriously, probably because guys keep hitting on me despite my disinterest in their entire gender. So that’s part of why I’m terrified in these situations.

Look, I know it’s totally politically incorrect to say this, but guys just seem so much easier than girls. I’m sure they have real feelings and are very smart creatures, but they don’t scare me.

Guys don’t seem to be looking at me in a way that suggests that they are:

a) trying to figure out if I’m gay
b) wondering if I’m a threat/going to steal their girlfriend
c) judging my outfit/hair choice and finally
d) deciding whether their feelings include wanting to have sex with me, wanting to be friends with me, or just wanting to look like me.

I’m pretty sure straight college guys aren’t wondering where I got my shoes or what my sexuality is. But perhaps the reason guys are so nonthreatening is because I have no desire to sleep with them. I’m not trying to impress them. I’m not frustratingly trying to “prove” my sexuality to them.

photo by Ellen Von Unwerth

In my womens-studies-heavy curriculum, I often come across readings about the horrors of the “male gaze,” but let me tell you — there’s something to be said about the “female gaze,” too. It’s different though — whereas the “male gaze” is associated with power disparity, the female gaze is just kinda … judgey! Maybe all of us lady-loving ladies can make a uniformed effort to stop looking so scary! Or really all women in general should just stop judging anything & everything that we can find to judge in other women.

My idea may be idealistic and undoubtedly hypocritical but we have too much shit to deal with in the world, we might as well at least try to love one another. It’s strange how being close to a woman can be such a rewarding experience — but until you get to that point, it’s really anything but.

The remainder of the last few weeks I haven’t spent thinking about scary lesbians included my birthday, my birthday party, cats, and snow!

Question: Why isn’t snow fluffy and soft like it looks but actually cold and wet? It’s deceiving and mean. It’s lucky it’s so goddamn beautiful or we would  have found a way to get rid of it already.