Hate

Ok, I hate a lot of things. I hate a lot of things and people for no reason. Kelly Clarkson, CSI, Dancing with the Stars, Plain White T’s. There isn’t really a rhyme or reason. Generally, I tend to buck the trend, but I can’t even say that because I effing love Grey’s. But Twilight. Oh, hells no. I haven’t read the (entire) book, I don’t intend to, don’t even want to see the movie (and I love movies). I just have this inexplicable, raging, passionate hate for Twilight. And I’m not going to lie to you, if you’ve read Twilight, chances are I’m making fun of you behind your back. I mean, there’s already a fairly good chance that I’m making fun of you behind your back as it is, but by reading Twilight, you’ve upped the chances of that happening ninefold. Really.

I mean, I get it. I know people (and by people I mean sixteen year-old semi emo’s and lonely cat ladies all around the world) get geeked when it comes to vampires. But really? From what painful pages I have read, I can’t belive that this shit is becoming a ‘national sensation.’ Further evidence that this nation is barreling towards the bottom.

Ugh. Anyway, here’s a fun collection of links.

Ha, Ha, The Twilight Movie Sucks [Gawker]
Twilight **1/2 [Roger Ebert]
‘Twilight’ Sucks . . . And Not In a Good Way [PSA]
Twilight Sucks [deviantART]

Studying Is Dangerous

At least on my campus it is. See, everyone’s tweaking over finals, apparently. All not eating and not sleeping, as it were. [Random Interjection: Remember when Mariah Carey recorded that song, "Time of Your Life" but it was only for like ringtones offered through Pepsi? God, that song is amazing, but wtf it's only like :45 long. Boo on your life, Pepsi.] Anyway, it turns out that studying and all this non-eating non-sleeping business can lead to your body getting fucked nasty. Literally. The police found a sex offender living in our undergraduate library. I mean, really? They found out this dude had been living behind the movable shelves. Oh, wait. JK. He just had a blanket which is against ‘library policy.’ Regardless, dude had a three inch knife and a sex offender registration form on him when the librarians called the PoPo. I wonder why he had the form on him. Was he going to be all like, “Don’t worry ma’am I’m a professional!” I mean honestly.

*Yes, that’s our actual library. It’s underground. Pwn.

Useless YouTube

Um…what? Oh, this was brought to my attention due to its similarity to Beyonce’s new video for Single Ladies.

Daily Doodle for November 13th

Man Period.

The Mistress says I’m on my man period. I guess I can’t fault her for accusing me. I have been on edge for the past . . . year. But it’s been particularly worse these past three weeks. See, there’s the Evil One. We dated for seven weeks, and since then he’s made my life nothing but a bleak and dreary place of anguish. Look at me trying to be all English Major about it. Anyway, point is the Evil One has this incredible knack for calling me and ruining my life. Take Halloween weekend. He calls to tell me that he’s moving in with some guy named Pedro.

Wait a minute.

Wasn’t he just telling me the week before that things weren’t exactly over? Or when he called just this past weekend to tell me that moving in with Perdo probably wasn’t a good idea. Why am I his go to person? Why do I have to be the one that he calls for life advice.

Is that fair? He said some of the most hurtful things anyone ever has. That’s why he’s called the Evil One. And I hate him for it. My mom always said hate was powerful word, and to use it sparingly, but I think it applies. He’s made me doubt who I am, and how I fit into the world. I get it, I fell for the Boy, my heart went elsewhere. That’s fine. I accept my part in our breakup, but I think ’shameless whore’ took it one level too far, don’t you think?

So, yeah I guess I am on my man period.

I’m blessed that my life is populated with such wonderful characters. But damned be the Evil One.

Daily Doodle for November 12th

Bisexuality is NOT a Rest Stop on the Highway to Homo

In my mind, it goes without saying that I’m an GLBT Ally. I’m a boy, I like boys. How much more of an ally could I possibly be, you know? It turns out there’s a lot I don’t know. Yes, my heart and effort went into combating Prop 8, but I’m in Illinois, there’s only so much I can do. Well, as an employee of a University that cares dearly for social justice [a term I hadn't really heard thrown around much until I got here] I have all of these wonderful opportunities to broaden my horizons, as it were. So, this past Saturday, I spent time in ally training.

I won’t lie to you, I often forget aboout the BT in GLBT. Shit, I forget about the L. [Ew, lesbians.] But I spent a lot of time learning terms like “Gender Fuck” and “Ze and here.” For instance. Ze doesn’t like to go to WalMart because they don’t carry here’s favourite bread. It’s about using more inclusive terms, and not assuming that a person identifies as a man or woman. And I know a part of sounds like some hippie bull-shit, and it can on times, because it’s like you’re making all these changes and excpetions to cater to like 0.02% of the population; But you know what? As a super-minority I feel like it’s worth it. And I know what’s it like to be in uncomfortable situations because people make assumptions about me.

And this whole Prop 8 business has weighed so heavily on my mind. I can’t tell why. As I’ve told the Mistress, I don’t often feel the plight of the gay community. I’ll be honest. I’m just in it for the butt sex, but that one hurt. Prop 8 hurt because I felt like it was a double blow. Not only was marriage taken away from GLBT Californians, but it was taken away on a day that should have been celebratory and monumentous. Barack Obama, a black man, was elected president. 150 years ago, he would have been property. Now he’s the fucking president. It’s wonderful. But it’s tragic, that his victory, the civil rights victory that he represents, is marred by the passage of laws in four states that oppress gay and lesbian people. It saddens me.

More than I thought it would.

The Evil Psych Building

There it is. The Psychology building. It kind of looks like a jail doesn’t it? With its ominous rows of perfectly square windows. It’s evil. Swear to God. It’s where hopes and dreams go to die. I entered school as a psych major; ready to pick apart the mind, and help troubled adolescents, such hopes. And you think you’re going to take these classes that inundate you with the collective knowledge and wisdom of our “world-renowned” psych program. But then you get to class, and you have Pedro, a PhD candidate from Ecuador that can’t speak English trying to explain Maslow. Wait a minute, didn’t I learn Maslow like . . . eight years ago? Oh, that’s right. I did, when it was free. Now it costs $20,000 a year.

The Players

I recognize that a blog about solely one person probably wouldn’t be all that interesting. Thankfully, my life is populated by a wide array of interesting characters. The Players, we’ll call them. For instance, there’s the Bestie, who, although we’re hours apart, is still my best friend in the entire world. My hag, if you will. The Grace to my Will. And there’s the Mistress, a new friend with whom I click ridiculously well. Her name given because the Bestie feels threatened. And there’s the Boy; Who I pine for daily, yet my love goes unrequited. And there’s the BossLady. Pretty self-explanatory, I think. I shroud names in semi-anonymity partly because I think it’s cute, and partly because I really don’t want to get Heather B. Armstronged. I really like my job(s). Anyway, you can use the links on the left for a brief bio for each of The Players.

Mykal Bloom, Pt. II

If you’ve come here, chances are you were googling around for naked pictures of Brad Pitt and somehow you ended up here. Trust me, I know, I read the SiteMeter data. So, it is with a tinge of sadness that I announce I’m no longer covering the thrilling life of celebrities. I think it’s better left to those with enough time on their hands. As for me, working two jobs on campus, one at home, trying to be a student, and you know . . . have somewhat of a social life, hasn’t left me with enough time to properly devote to Britney, Madge and the girls.

But I’m not giving up.

Far from it.

I’m relaunching, reimagining, as Hollywood would say, the blog. While you may disagree, I’ve come to the conclusion that my life is far more interesting that anything Hollywood could produce. Ever. So, I’m going to write about me. And little by little, piece by piece, you’ll learn more about me. My only hope is that this doesn’t end up like Heather B. Armstrong. Although, things worked out well for her . . .

Anyway, welcome to Mykal Bloom, Pt. II. I hope you enjoy it.