Rut. Definitely Rut.

same coffee shop. same situation. however, this time, i'm absolutely SURE i boned my interview. there was even something kind of grandiose and tragic about it all. the apt metaphor, is getting out of the starting gate, tripping over the first hurdle, continuing to roll along the ground for several minutes, tripping up nearby racers, and somehow, things escalate to the point where you're left watching the last prop of the Titanic dip below the water. it was that, awesomely, bad.

maybe not.

but still, the first question was about working with people with different backgrounds. now, despite taking it for four years and living in south texas, i don't know spanish, so i feel unable to say that i'm proficient in working with people from the non-white culture i'm most likely to encounter here. i don't know the language. i'm like, automatically disqualified. beyond that, i mean, i deal with different people, of different races, etc, all the time. whatever. its not like a big deal for me. which is totally NOT meant to be interpreted as me saying "I ain't no racist!" because i'm totally racist. we all are. its part of being a product of american culture. i'm racist, you're racist, lets all deal with it, try and improve ourselves, teach our children better than we were taught, and just go on living. done.

but so i stumbled sort of hard on that question. because i've never been a missionary in the third world, or worked crisis management in a place where my skin tone is the odd one out. my daily life is a constant attempt to treat everyone with basic human dignity and respect, and beyond that, i'm not like, any more qualified as "racially sensitive" than anyone else. though i do try to keep the slurs to a minimum.

like, "spic" isn't part of my vocabulary, really. aside from like, "the kitchen is spic and span!" and i don't think that's the same thing, is it? like, "my kitchen is hispanic and span!" "my kitchen is hispanic and an unsupported length of material!"

and i really, really, really just want to type the word "nigger" right now. just to do it. but i CAN'T! i feel comfortable saying "spic," but nigger isn't all right. that's some fun racism right there! slurs against hispanics, fine. slurs against blacks, nope. huh. really though, the word nigger has this horrible sound to it. its like a horrible dull "thud" in my head when i say it. its as unacceptable as "cunt." they both make that "thud." its the sound i imagine a toddlers head would make as it hits the floor after being swiftly removed from the rest of the toddler. with a sharp sword. its that "thud" that makes it not all right to say nigger. or cunt.

should we have a discussion about how the history of the word nigger, how it takes everything, all the people who say it, all the people who hear it, right back to a time when it was possible and in fact encouraged to sell black human beings like livestock? it has four centuries of insane, indescribable societal racism behind it. that's what gives it that "thud". spic is like, a newborn two-headed freak baby next to that. still horrible in its own right, but slightly more divorced from our society.

um... what was i saying?

justifying my internal racism what?

sigh... anyway, to cut a long story short, i think i actually boned this interview. if i get the job, i'm going to say, "wow, thank you so much! you know, i left last friday thinking i had TOTALLY boned the interview and i could kiss this job goodbye! thank you!"

i'm feeling the deep and strong urge to be really, painfully inappropriate. and not in the way that the use of racial slurs above is inappropriate. like, i feel the need to be the hub at the center of a massive wheel of breakdowns in the fabric of prescribed and acceptable social interaction. i want it all to be traceable back to me; the crying children, the shivering adults, the yelping dogs and disgusted elders. i want it, i want it bad, i want it now, AND I WILL NOT BE DENIED!!!

i've lost my mind. i've finally just lost my mind. i lost it last night, when my friend E decided she and another friend and i would all go play bingo some night soon. that was what pushed it all over the edge. the hysterical laughter, the near-tears excitement, it all traces back to our decision to storm "flamingo bingo" and play that game-o. i told her, and i'll tell you, that i want it to be like ft. lauderdale when we step inside the parlor. i want old people in track suits and sunglasses. they need to have names like abner and estelle, and they need to look at us like we're scum. they need to totally pwn us at the game. they need to make us feel like the n00bs we are. i have really high expectations for bingo night. i think you can tell.

also, since this entry isn't schizophrenic enough, i'm trying to slowly end my long burial. i went to ground for a long while recently. didn't sign into any message programs for two months. didn't call friends. didn't respond to e-mails, went home to live with my family, etc. i've been completely gone, like the earth swallowed me whole. and i know its not a mature way of dealing with life, and i know that there are people out there who are probably worried about me, but it still feels good. it feels really good to just drop out of sight. to be a non-person. you even start feeling like an outside observer in your daily life. you're disconnected from the things going on around you. you find all this breathing room.

but i'm trying to come back now. i'm trying to come back, and its so far been all right. i still need time outs after interaction, but i'm interacting in the first place, which is a nice change. i wrote a letter to my cousin A, and i talked to T for the first time in months, which is really nice. i want to talk about T right now, actually. and you're going to indulge me because its my blog and you can't really argue.

actually, it feels strange to talk about people. i don't want to drag them into this whole blog fiasco. actually, i'm probably more worried about T finding the blog, figuring out who i am, and realizing that i'm talking about him. not that i care if he knows that i'm talking about him, but rather, what i SAY about him might be something i don't actually want to share with him.

oh, i'm gay, by the way. i'm not sure if you knew that or not. i might have forgotten to tell you. its just one of those things. i don't actually like the word "gay," just cuz it has a lot of baggage, but its easiest for people to understand. queer is nice, in the re-appropriated sense, but not many people have a positive connotation of it. i could break it down and say that i'm a male who is interested in other males romantically and sexually, but that takes a lot of words. we could have a long conversation about sexuality, but we won't right now. what you need to know: i'm gay.

i really hate coming out to people. because i keep, having, to do it. it's never ending. you think its just your family and it can end, but no. every day, you might get the chance to tell people personal information that may TOTALLY change their perception of you. its tiring. it gets so old. you want the "issue" of your sexuality to be taken care of, but it never is, because you're always meeting new people and finding yourself in new situations, and its suddenly the topic of the day AGAIN. whatever.

also, i'm addicted to internet dating and profile sites. which i find interesting, given my hermit-like nature. i want the possibility of community and relationships, but i like keeping it all at a safe distance also. its one of those stupid things that doesn't make sense, and its fucked up, and i'm very proud that my most recent dating profile has kept almost anyone from contacting me. which is sort of the opposite of what you want your profile to do, but i got really tired of being approached by well-intentioned (usually) people who were either idiots, or just really not that interesting, or at times simply horribly inept socially. ***irony alert***

T is someone i met on one such site. and at this point, i'm too tired to even want to talk about him at all. or something. but suffice it to say, it was very nice to talk to him again.

he lives very far away from me, and neither of us believe in long distance relationships. you can see how i enjoy shooting myself in the foot, can't you...

err... i might be done. this entry feels really long.

in other major news, i think i'm actually capable of love after all. i've alerted the media. photos of my newly discovered "heart," which apparently does not resemble coal, in color or texture, will be published with my next entry.

good day to all.