let's get physical.

I love panties. I really do. Some girls love their shoes, others love their handbags... I love my panty collection. I have a few sexy ones but the ones that make me happiest are all of the bright, colorful ones in every possible style, cut and pattern. Every morning, it's my ritual to go through the drawer and see which pair calls out to me that day and I let that be the first smile of the day. (I know, I'm kind of goofy, but this works for me.) If today it's the lacey thong, I put on my favorite dress and tights and take the extra time to look sexy today. If it's the pair of light blue and pink plaid boyshorts, today is a day for sneakers, shorts and a cute top. You get the picture. There's nothing inertly sexual about my underwear obsession, I just like them.

I typically shop at Aerie by American Eagle or PINK by Victoria's Secret. Their collections are right up my alley, but lately I've been looking to add more brands to my panty family. So I did what any curious person would do... I googled "cute panties". I expected to see some cute little mini-businesses pop up with people making and selling panties as a hobby for some extra cash. I was ready to browse through forum answers full of different places like-minded people buy their fun undergarments from. Obviously, these expectations were innocent... and consequently, foolish. The first result site that popped up was for what appeared to be girls my age selling underwear that they make - bingo! I get to the site though, and realize that these ladies are in fact selling photos of themselves in the underwear. I hit back and skimmed the next few result and was disgusted that they were all for porn.

See, this is what gets me. I love panties... in a totally normal, unperverted way. I want to find other people that share this love and find out where they buy theirs... spread the love, you know. But this world, especially this country, is so obsessed with sex that it becomes revolting. Everything on TV is meant to have sexual innuendos. Movies are full of it. Half the ads out there are sexual in nature, as are the majority of the songs on the radio. And sexuality isn't what I have a problem with. I have a problem with the fact that if I choose to live my life not numbly feeding my sex drive, I should be allowed to do so without being bombarded by it.

Let's get personal here; I enjoy sex. When my boyfriend and I have sex, I let that be a time when I can really just sit back for a second and relax and feel better. Although it's unbelievable when it happens, sex for me was never about the Big O. Sex should just be about feeling good and sharing that amazing feeling with someone you care about. The end. Sex shouldn't be so casual, so out-in-the-open; sex needs to be viewed with respect, something that two mature people participate in when their feelings are in the right places, not just because they wanna hump until they get off.

I've only had sex with two guys and I know that for most people, that means I don't get how complicated sex and sexuality are. Maybe I don't. But I do know that the way we, as a society and culture, view sex is backwards and twisted to perversion. Cut the crap - there's more to life than fucking, no matter how much you may like it.

So I have to ask and be prepared for disappointment: is there any hope? If I wanted to raise my kids in this world, is there any chance that I can teach them a healthy view of sex and sexual relationships or is the rest of the world gonna undermine what I have to say and brainwash them anyways? Am I the only one who thinks sex itself is awesome but the way everyone acts about it is flawed? Or perhaps, if any of you wanna tackle this one, am I the one who views sex in the wrong light and need to not take it as so wholesome?

7300 and some change.

Yesterday, I turned 20. I called into work, skipped class and spent the day otherwise being lazy. I took a long hot shower, played in the rain puddles outside, let my hair dry itself and watched the movies I've been meaning to catch up on anyways.

People always tell me the older you get, the less birthdays matter. I disagree. The older you get, the less you want birthdays to matter. Sure, the birthday parties get smaller over the years, but that's not what it's supposed to be about in the first place. Then we all obsess about staying young and stopping the aging process. Why? Everyone gets older, every day. No one has found the fountain of youth and I pray to God that no one does. How boring would it be if we all stayed young forever? Thus, getting older is the name of the game and we should all be more than glad to play. It's all in how you look at it.

I was born shortly after the Berlin Wall fell. I can clearly recall everyone's outrage at Clinton's affair in my youth. I was standing outside my 6th grade homeroom when I heard about the World Trade Center being bombed. I was in high school when my peers signed up, shipped off and fought for the bullshit war in Iraq. I was alive for things that are already in history books across the nation... my kids will think I'm the oldest foagie ever when I tell them I remember those events.
I remember moving into our new house. I remember my mom telling us about Dad's alcoholism. I remember dozens of hospital visits for various friends and family over the years. I was there when my parents signed their divorce papers and again when they packed all of Dad's stuff up and said good-bye.

Age is just a number. Getting older may seem like a rite of passage or some dreaded and defining number, but I've realized that age is just a bookmark on the timeline of your life. And your birthday is the best chance to stop for just a second and look around. Look at all that has gone well and all that has failed and accept them all.

I have been blessed these 20 years. I was born into a loving family, with enough money to get by so poverty was never a fear. Even in its current broken state, I still have contact with all of my family. I have yet to lose anyone close to me, a fact that I take for granted daily. I live in America and am shielded, in that respect, from famine and civil war and constant economic turmoil. In the midst of a dramatic recession, I have a job. I have an apartment that I can afford. No, not everyday in my life is sunny and marvelous, but whose is?

Call me naive, but I welcome my birthdays. I embrace them as a chance to remind myself that it's only natural to age. I see them as an opportunity to sort myself out and redirect myself, if needed. Because, whether we like them or not, our birthdays are lined up and coming in... we can open the door and accept them as an old friend or we can try to hide and lie about them. I like to think that I'll always welcome old friends... what is life without them?

timeless-ness.

Unless you have siblings, you don't understand. Sure, you have close friends that feel like siblings, but unless you truly grew up with them and always had them there, it's not the same. And unless you're the oldest, you can't even begin to understand the way you love your younger siblings. No one understands when you say you feel like you protected them and raised them and stepped in as a mom for them when they needed it. "The Twins" as they became known entered the world two years after me and they were my constant best friends.

I told my brother once that I wished he had never been born. Another time I told him he was making my life hard because he was a loser. I called my sister a slut when she found out she was pregnant at 15. We refused to talk to each other for two years after as a result. (Mind you, I'm not even 20 yet... 2 years feels like an eternity.) These hateful things I've said, these horrible ways I acted, still haunt me and I wish more than anything I could take them all back. I wish I could rewind time and stop myself from saying them and keep protecting my brother and sister. But that's the cruelly beautiful thing about life: time forgets and heals.

When we were all really little, I had a huge queen-sized bed. Every night, Michelle would lay on my left and Tyler on my right and I'd read to them. My dad was usually at work and mom was too frustrated with us by that point to be there, so I stepped in: I would lie with them and read a chapter every night. We'd all goof around and fight, like usual, but it was our time together.

They attended a different middle school, but they still asked me for help with their homework from time to time. The dining room table was always covered in my mom's art supplies, so we'd hunker down upstairs or in the little playroom and work for a bit together. I doubt they even remember these events, but I carry them with me always, as if to remind myself that memories are our way of holding on to the things we can't bring ourselves to let go of.

When my parents divorced, it was like everything came crashing down. My dad moved out and we weren't to see him. My mom was rarely at home, she preferred to go out with friends. We were in high school at this point, and I was working everyday after school. When I got home at 11, Michelle and Tyler would be the only ones there. We'd salvage what little meals we could from the things in the fridge and freezer and we'd eat in front of the TV until Mom came home, angry at us for still being up.

In my darkest hours, they were there. In my phases of teenage cruelty and angst, they stood by. In my few shining moments, they were present and supportive. Through our parent's divorce, Mom's bipolar mood swings and Dad's alcoholism, we had each other. If things got too hard, we just turned to one another and toughed it out. You'd be amazed what kids can handle when they're together.

Tyler and I used to hop in the car and just drive. He'd put in System of a Down or Three Days Grace and we'd roll our windows down and crank the music as loud as possible. The frame of the car would rattle as we tore down the highway, the wind whipping through the car. We didn't ever have to talk, just be there. Just be together and know that, for even the briefest of moments, we were not alone. We didn't have to be anyone special, just ourselves, singing along to the lyrics in the night.

Michelle and Mom fought all the time, and the fights would step to the verge of violence. I'd jump in, knowing full well that I was turning all of Mom's fury on myself. I'd tell Michelle to go to her room and just let the whole thing go. Mom would get so mad at me, but the shift in the fight would be enough to keep her from hurting either of us. She'd yell a bit more and then give up, worn out and wanting us "out of her sight". I'd sit with Michelle afterwards and try to soak up her tears and make her feel better. I know I always came short, but I never stopped trying.

I moved to Corpus Christi to get away from my mom: the teachers I had confided in and the school counselor all warned me that staying near home could be devastating for me and the best choice would be to get as far away as possible for college. So I packed my life and drifted to the coast and got caught up in school. Being away from mom made it easier to live and I finally understood how nice controlling your own life could be. But I couldn't shake the constant guilt: I had gotten out. Our childhood house was a far-cry from a home and everyday things with Mom got more and more out-of-control. Dad offered little solace as he tried to pick his life back up and had limited time for us kids. I had escaped all of this and started over in a new city, with new friends and new chances. I had left my brother and sister, thrown them to the wolves, let them fend for themselves. But going back would mean giving up the happiness I had finally constructed for myself and admitting I was never gonna do anything but clean up after my family.

These days, my dad has the twins. He still drinks too much and they're all mixed up in drugs, but they're making their own happiness. My mom lives alone and she seems to be happy with this as well. I go home about once a month for only a weekend, just to see them. I want more than anything to move back home and be with them... I'd give anything in the world to be close enough to see them regularly and be part of their lives again.

It's easy to forget what's important in life. It's easy to get caught up thinking about money and bills and ourselves. Everyday, I thank my lucky stars that I still have a relationship with them and that I still talk to Dad regularly. Because, first and foremost, the most important thing in life is love. It's getting through all the shitty days, all the people who step on you and put you down. It's having your siblings close, these people who have constantly been there and will never stop loving you. The bonds between siblings are unbelievably strong... their stories are intertwined and run together and tell the same tales. This is the one reason I wake up everyday and force myself through. How can you look at your siblings, who have faced the same demons and come out alive on the other end and tell them "I gave up. Sorry."?

Call your siblings. Pick up the phone and let them hear your voice. Remind them of all the good days you had together. Let them know you're right there, even if you're miles apart, in case they ever need anything. And never let the memories fade... those are what remind you of what's worth the most at the end of the day.

get lost.

Everyone has something. For some, it's the early morning air, a quick run in the park. For others, it's the late afternoon sun, yoga on the lawn. For me, it's the crisp evening breeze, windows down, speakers bumping out my latest favorite song. We all have to find a way to protect ourselves, to create an inner sanctuary where no one can get in. We all have enemies and secrets and we all have to find some way to live a double-life; keep our secrets tucked away and our enemies at bay while the rest of the population idly believes each of us is happy and content.

I call it "getting lost". I've lived in Corpus for a little over a year now and still don't know my way around this damned city. So on days when the weather is nice and I'm really into my music and I have a full pack of cigarettes, I get behind the wheel and let myself get lost. I turn down any street that looks appealing and fly down the tiny back roads. My weak speakers rattle trying to push the music out and the wind threatens to rip out the innards of my car.

And yet, I drive. There's something in this, something that keeps me sane. Miles of white-painted lines fly by my window and I can imagine I'm peeling off every layer of hate and pain and letting it out. With other drivers minding their own business, I can finally cry or scream the lyrics of every song. As I drive, I let my thoughts sort themselves. Our brains need no guidance to make conclusions - they will find the answers on their own. It gives me a minute, with no worry or fear of being lost, when I can truly relish in the ideas around me. I can make sense of the people around me and of their actions. I can be confident and make big decisions on my own, without fear of failing. I can be someone I'm not... someone I dream of becoming.

For that hour, with just my cancer sticks, music and the road, I have found paradise. I have found the safest place for myself, a place where the rest of the evils in the world can't gain access. Where all the wretched people who live around me, where all the hateful two-timers I've had the misfortune of knowing, where all the people who talk forever and get you more upside-down than ever, can't come in. Home base; safe.

The trick, though, that I'm sure everyone knows, is to hold in the back of your mind the notion that this is only temporary. When you peel off your running shoes or roll up your mat or park your car, you have to step back into life, back into the demands of your boss, family and professors. Back into the world of neighbors that will never know each other, back into the struggle of daily living. It is this that makes life so bittersweet. This half-way high of peace. A high we are forced to come off of. And if you have ever known an addict, you know how much farther down they slide when the high wears off, until they're worse off than ever and asking "was it worth it?".

We're all addicts, in a way. Addicted to keeping sanity and control and finding a way to handle life's daily mispleasures. So I leave you with the only question I can't find an answer to: is it worth it? Is pushing through life numbly worth it because somehow it'll all pay off later down the road or in Heaven? Maybe, in the end, we all have to stop kidding ourselves and come to terms with the fact that this is it. Karma may or may not pay off for us, we may or may not be alright when we get through the tough stuff, Heaven may or may not exist and accept us. Regardless of what may or may not be, I think we're obligated to realize one thing: today is it. Make the best of everything, no matter how treacherous it is. Roll with the punches and find contentment in leading a less-than-movie-star-fabulous life. Because it's all we have and it's only what we each make of it.

"Yesterday has already passed. Tomorrow has not yet arrived. We have only today: let us begin." -- Mother Teresa

it starts.

I don't know why I'm doing this, to be honest. Maybe because I've been feeling lonely and I can pretend there are people out there who care. Or maybe because I've got too many thoughts in my head and need some way to get them out. Maybe I can't wait to hear other points of view and collaborate with people more intelligent. Or maybe, and most probably, I'm just one of a million Americans, hoping and believing we all deserve our 15 minutes in the lime light... at least on-line.

"In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes." --Andy Warhol

I'm almost 20, in my second year of college towards a psychology major. When I graduate, and if all goes well, I intend to join the Peace Corps and take advantage of their master's program, simultaneously. From there, if the Corps is my true calling, I'd be prepared to give up my life of American leisure and become dedicated to taking those baby steps to making the world better. If I decide the Corps just didn't work out, I'll come home for that doctorate and open up a practice somewhere. Magic 8 Ball: Either way, outlook not so good. But we can all use a little hope, right?

"If your energy is as boundless as your ambitions, total commitment may be a way of life you should seriously consider." --Joyce Brothers

Although life has a tendency to shit-storm all over me, I try to stay positive. I guess I'm a natural-born-optimist, but the more I see, the more cynical I become. Maybe it's just my naivete slowly dissolving and I'm not ready to come to terms with that. Or maybe I'm just a really unlucky kid who tends to get lemons and water, but no sugar. Either way, the world looks more depressing every day.

"The more I see, the less I know, the more I'd like to let it go." --Red Hot Chili Peppers (Snow (Hey Oh))

I'm living with my boyfriend, Stephen, and our relationship has been a ray of sunshine in my life. He's a truly amazing person and things have been going quite well. I must admit, though, love is a crazy little thing.

"Our time is short, this is our fate: I'm yours." --Jason Mraz (I'm Yours)

I know there are no readers, and I doubt there ever will be, but if I imagine some up, I imagine they must be rather bored by now. Besides, I have tests to take and classes to study for.

si vis pacem, parra bellum : if you want peace, prepare for war.