The 10 Best (and Worst) Thiıngs About Living in Istanbul

This upcomıng Tuesday I wıill officially celebrate my one month anniversary of moving here to Istanbul, and man has it been a crazy month! But rather than try and make a long lengthy post about my adventures thus far, I've decided I would much rather take the time to tell you about what I love (and hate) about this new city I call home.

I wish I saw it this up close :(

1. Get to see old historic sites every day on the way to work (+)

I still can't believe that every day I get to pass by the old city of Istanbul and see history alive in front of my eyes. Maybe its because I'm from america that I still live in awe that people live alongside century old walls and near incredibly important historical monuments and don't seem to give it a second thought. Needless to say, I love being able to see gorgeous scenic views like the Hagia Sofia on my way to work, though I really think Istanbul is full of beautiful views with all of its rolling hills.  Istanbul is such a beautiful rich city, and I'm glad to be a part of this next legacy of Istanbul

2. Lack of communication (-)

This downside could honestly merit its own entire blog post, but as each day moves on I begin giving less and less fucks about the disorganized way things work here I begin to forget just how frustrating it is which is why I have settled on a paragraph. I thought it was hard to get answers when I was living in laid-back Hawaii, but Istanbul makes them look like Germans in comparison! The main experiences I have stem from my new school and beginning to teach here at Kent State/Avrupa Koleji' but sometimes I experience it elsewhere. One of the people at the agency I got hired for always uses the phrase 'nothing is set in stone here until its in the past tense, and even then things change' to describe the way Istanbul operates. Its so ridiculous sometimes--from the lack of answers the school administration has concerning curriculum to the way they organize carpooling and all the unnecessary red tape and ass kissing to get proper help and support as a foreigner. Obviously there is the language barrier factor that I totally acknowledge, but even so. The lack of preparation and clear procedure for things is unparalleled to any place I have ever lived before. And people are ok with having close to no answers and finding out last minute and adapting--which is definitely something I am continuously learning to adapt to.

Zincirlikuyu metrobus stop. E'ery day!

3. Heat/sweat (-)

Look, this is a simple one. Istanbul is ın the Middle East, ergo it is supremely effing unpleasant in the warm summer/beginning of fall months. Words cannot describe how much sweat drips from your body as you try to navigate the public transportation system crammed into small cars with     other warm-bodied people. There was one night we were going out to Taksim to visit friends after a football match had just ended and everyone was trying to get home...horror. Complete horror. Windows completely fogs up, smell of beer and sweat and righteous victory in the air, your hands awkwardly reaching for anything to hold onto so when the metro lurches forward from the crazy incompetent driver you don't move from molestation to full on rape of the people on all sides of you. Needless to say, this factor alone is a great motivating factor for becoming nocturnal.

4. Hills (+/-)

So this one is a mixed bag, because hills are both great for creating breathtaking views but they are still fucking hills that must be climbed up, and with my fat ass that is quite a thing to ask me to do all the time. I still remember the last time I was here back in May with Brandon and every day when we would come back to Burak's place--a home with a gorgeous view but the most steep and horrible hill. To this day I still think twice about visiting Burak as a friend JUST so that I don't have to climb that hill. It's that real. But then you also have beautiful places like Camlica where you can take in romantic views of Istanbul, but with a price. All I can say is I expect a perfect ass in this next year of living here and walking up and down all these hills.

Mmmm...Iskender :O

5. Food (+)

Basically Turkish food is the best, and as someone who lived in France I can definitely say that there is some real competition over here in Istanbul. Whether it's pide or döner, iskender or balık ekmek, köfte or baklava--this country knows how to send you to bed fat and happy (and for pretty cheap too). My favorite dish is anything having to do with turkish eggplant that has been soaking in spices and delicious olıive oil with a side of pilav and some nicely prepared green bean side dish. But even if you're not eating somewhere fancy, there are still delicious things to try--like the many oyster carts dotted around the city allowing you to slurp a few freshly opened lemon juıce splashed delights that make for great drunk food (I know, I was hesitant at first as well). All in all, though I miss the culinary melting pot that America truly is, I feel that I am just as spoiled here.

6. Night Life (+)

If you didn't read about my amazing experience at a turkish gay bar back in May, then you obviously are out having a life and I applaud you. But seriously, when it comes to going out on the town in Istanbul there are so many cool areas and bars and little nargile cafes to hit up that I feel it could take a lifetime to truly feel satisfied. Just the other night Farhad and I went to another cool random bar in Taksim that I wouldn't have found on my own and Hamid took me to this cool Karga Bar in Kadikoy--each one with a different vibe to set up a whole new adventurous evening. I'm excited to be back in a city and hopefully convince myself to go out and be more social so I can take advantage of all of this great night life.

Not this year!

7. Electronics (-)

If you are a technophile living on a budget, don't come to Istanbul looking to make good on the amazing exchange rate. Electronics are RIDICULOUSLY priced here, the latest iphone 5 running for something around 1,000 USD (2,000). And that's just for the phone. After doing some simple research that is about 200 dollars less than it would cost to fly roundtrip from Seattle to Istanbul for Christmas (hint hint, nudge nudge). And the craziest thing though is that people still buy it. Ballin on a budget over here until I get paid, I just can't imagine having the same enthusiasm for a new ipod if I knew it was going to cost me twice my rent payment. Case and point: stock up before you come. Or encourage friends to come and visit and deliver :)

8. Facial Hair (+)

So yeah, ME men are kinda hairy, and 5 o'clock shadow isn't so much in 'vogue' as it is a fact of life. And why shouldn't it be? These men are pre-hipster moustache fad, and as such are obviously leagues ahead of everyone else on owning its sexiness. So forget Saudi, this is my Mecca.

Love meeee!!!!

9. Cats (+)

One of the best perks of living in Istanbul as a cat lover is that you are never quıite alone. I'm not joking when I say I have never seen so many wild cats in my life--they are everywhere, on the streets, in the parks--and they come in hoards. While some are thin and sad looking, many times people come and leave food and water for them to continue on their path to total lazy happiness so they are fat happy cats of all ages lounging around enjoyıng the middle eastern sunshine. In previous times when I came to Istanbul I used to think it was just Boazici University which claimed itself as a feline paradise, but after moving here to Pangalti I see that is far from being the case. And luckily for me I now live right around the corner from what I like to call Kitten Park--a beautifully shaded park in the middle of the hustle and bustle of Osmanbey where cats come from far and wide to be admired. It is siımply impossible not to go to this park and immediately have your heart explode with joy as you watch baby kittens frolick with one another in the grass, marvel at the aerodynamics of older cats as they jump down from their naps up in the trees, and be accosted by every single one looking for a free pet. The amount of free cat love ın Istanbul just makes this city that much more diviıne.

10. People (+)

So I feel so cliche saying this, but I really think that Turkish people are pretty nice. Don't get me wrong, there are definitely a lot of stuck up rude people--that goes with any country/big city, but I still get good vibes from the Turks as honest and good people. For example, just the other day I went to the atm to get out some money but ended up cancelling the request because there was an atm fee, or so I thought. As I was halfway down the street however someone came running after me waving 100 TL in their hand to give me the money I had left in the slot. Now maybe I'm just cynical, but I feel like that's not something that happens all the time in 'murica. That's just one recent example, but obviously the overwhelming generosity of all of the host families who took care of me in past visits add up to a great perception of turkish hospitality.

When I'll know I've made it

I think I'll know I've made it
when i've become a republican
when i have found god
when i have adopted one of those african poster children
to hang up on my fridge as a prideful trophy to my humanitarianism.
When I can explain the difference between who and whom.

I think I'll know
when I can sit down in a restaurant and order anything that looks delicious
when i can take a shower every day without regards for
shampoo and conditioner rations
when the 1st and the 15th of each month
become just days on a calendar
when friends birthdays
no, not friends--acquaintances
pop up in my fb notifications
and i can order them that starbucks gift card because
what the hell, everyone deserves a pat on the back for being born.

I think I'll know
when sick days become "sick days"
when i can finally start paying for porn
or movies, or music, or wifi
when my BMI is higher than my credit card score
and i stop getting back all my taxes on April 15th
when i don't have to air my dirty laundry walking across the street
every sunday afternoon, a chorus of quarters
serenading me in my pocket and
I can look my future children in the face
and tell them I'll still pay for that private liberal arts college because
I support their creative talents.

I think I'll know
when i come back relaxed after the 2nd, or 3rd, or 4th Christmas vacation
to beautifully exotic locations
when i can fill my tank to the top on holiday weekends
or any week day for that matter
when i can look free food in the face
after skipping political science to crash that 4th straight pizza party biology grad lecture
and walk away with some degree of dignity.
When I can delete my ex's number without any type of hesitation.

I want to know that I'll know
I want to know that I'll grow-- tangible proof
that I'll be able to learn
and to see

so this is
to years of living on ramen
to years of shopping at goodwill
and scouring the ads in freecycle
to years of finding myself in the wrong beds
if only to have one for the night
to years of self-inflicted abuse
to years of saying yes when i wanted to say no
to years of drinking shitty carla rossi
to years of drinking shitty four locos, for the matter
and anything else to numb the pain away
of years of socioeconomic bullemia

and this
is to to years of wining and dining my own stubborn will
so my mother wouldn't have to sign a check and
for the day when I won't look back
because my life is moving forward
and I'll know it.

A New Chapter

I have officially made the biggest decision of my adult life this far by moving to Istanbul this year. It's really kind of the first time that I've kind of gone off the planned track to do something for me, and it's both extremely exhilarating and completely nerve racking.

I meant to blog about my memories traveling around the US to visit friends before coming to Istanbul, but at the end of the day I just felt like too much had stacked up and I didn't want a long recap. Needless to say, it was a nice bon voyage to the United States--made me actually feel some love and loyalty for my country being able to see the variance across different states/coasts. And being able to catch up with old friends is always the best part of traveling--I was very blessed to be so spoiled by their hospitality and love.

You give up on life in the hot NYC metro

But after two weeks of travel, I was honestly ready to settle down. I kind of feel like I didn't put enough space in between my Mediterranean trip in May and then US trip in August to super enjoy being on the road again. I blame it on that, but I also blame it on the fact that I can feel myself becoming an old crotchedy woman. And so with some apprehension, but mainly a lot of exhaustion I caught my plane to Istanbul to start my life over as a kindergarten english teacher. With two layovers, it wasn't the most pleasant plane ride I've experienced--but it was cheap, and that's all that matters.

When I arrived in the airport terminal, went through customs, and picked up my bags I went to the location where I was supposed to meet the agency I was hired through who was picking me up. In a typical laid-back polychronic cultural fashion, they arrived 2 hours late and then made me wait another hour to connect with another person who had just flown in. Thinking that was the worst that happened, I then found out to my dismay that instead of driving us to our hostels/friends houses they were taking us straight to the office to sign paperwork. That lasted for about 4 hours, in which my school was switched yet again and I was asked to skype interview with my future employer after not sleeping for almost 48 hours and looking like shit with all my traveling. I wasn't the happiest camper, but at the end of the day it was what it was. At least this new school gave me the following day off of training so I could sleep in, so that was a bonus. Overall though, I was just happy to be here and wanted to settle in.

Went straight from the office to my Iranian friends Hamid and Farhad's house out here in Seyrantepe on the European side of Istanbul. Passed out presents, played with their brand new kitten, and enjoyed the great company catching up. The next day we lounged about the house and took it easy before heading back to the office (where I had stupidly left my purse) and hanging around the Şişli business area of Istanbul where I picked up a sim card and istanbulkart for public transport. On the way back we picked up some food so we could be fat, lazy, and happy with a movie night. I got to make some of my famous family popcorn, which the boys loved and I was happy to introduce them to (also introduced them to cheez its). Gorging ourselves on snacks and Pirates of the Carribbean we had a properly relaxed evening.

Getting my arts and crafts on

The next day was my first day of orientation at my new school in Acibadem (pronounced ah-ji-bah-dem) which is actually on the asian side, so I got to go between two different continents just to get to work. After typically getting lost on the way to the school, I finally arrived and got to know some of my fellow teachers. I'm the only first-year teacher this year, everyone else has a year or more of experience, so that is always a little daunting. We didn't do much that first day, just cut out things to decorate our classrooms, which was a little weird considering that the school isn't even done being built yet and we don't have all of our books. Personally, that would be on my priority list. But the part of the school that is finished being built if beautiful and classy, so I'm excited that I'll be able to work in this brand new kind of environment. The rest will hopefully work itself out next week.

That night I went to visit my turkish friend Burakhan and his family who I stayed with last time I was in Istanbul. They're like my second family over here, so nice and hospitable despite the fact that I speak little turkish and they speak little english so it's mainly a lot of smiling and miming. That night I got to indulge in some delicious homemade cooking from anne, which only solidified my desire to be a turkish housewife. The food is SO delicious, you don't even know.

The next day I went to training but it was in our sister campus in Çekmeköy. Luckily we had a service bus come and pick us up from Acibadem so we didn't have to find a way to get to that campus in the middle of no where. Got there, sat around for a while waiting for our lecturer/boss to come, and then were taught about lesson planning in the format they want us to fill it out. Considering my lack of experience, I was glad they went over this as it was the thing I was most worried about. After that we went back to our campus in Acibadem and continued to cut out things to decorate our rooms.

Never have I ever...

Since it was now officially the weekend and I could catch up socializing/sleeping Hamid invited some mutual friends over for a nice dinner party in which he cooked us delicious Iranian food. Luckily for me, everyone was fine with conducting the night in mainly english, so we were able to have some good laughs and conversation. After dinner we sat around playing a "Never have I ever" drinking game and laughing over each other's confessions. Around 11pm the rest of the party wanted to go out to Taksim to drink/party, but being the old people that we are Hamid, Farhad, and I decided to stay home and continue to indulge our internet addiction.

Ladies, he's availiable.

Saturday more or less followed the same routine--stay up late, sleep in late, and wake up/get ready when the hot sun has gone down so we can leave the house not in a pool of sweat. Saturday night the agency I was hired through put together this little social at a bar in Taskim, so the three of us decided to head out to that to meet new people. The night before Farhad and I had made a pact, because one of the gifts I brought him was a pin from the Feminist Majority Foundation that says "this is what a feminist looks like," and I told him wearing it would help him get women (lets be real, what woman doesn't love a man who loves women's equality?). So he actually wore it out to the bar in Taksim to use as an ice breaker, which actually worked and made me so happy. Met some cool fellow teachers, swapped frustrating experiences about organizational issues/resettling in a new place, but the bar wasn't very good and was overpriced so we only stayed for about an hour.

The beautiful boys

After the English bar we went to a succession of bars with our friends Ekin and Urun and the Jamaican backpacker Sammi they are currently hosting. It was a great group of people and I particularly enjoyed the last bar we went to, Karakedi bar. At first it seemed like we were being lead to our imminent death in a sketchy abandoned building in one of the side alleys of Taksim, but once we get up to the 3rd floor we see there's a really classy/laid back bar with live music setting the perfect mood for conversation/drinking. That's the thing I love about knowing people here---like with any city you get to go and visit a lot of places you might have otherwise not been able to go as they are hidden away. So we stayed there for a bit drinking while Sammi got hit on by this very creepy Iraqi guy, who Farhad kept making fun of. The band played a lot of old american classic songs, so that was fun to sing along to. Overall though we were having a great time celebrating Urun's last night out in Istanbul before he goes to study abroad for 5 months in The Netherlands, a great way to be welcomed back to Istanbul on my first weekend back.

I'm using the religious Sunday is a day of rest card today, so besides waking up and introducing the boys to pancakes it's going to be a lazy one to prepare for long days of orientation next week. While there's a lot of stuff to think about/do here, so far I'm happy with my decision and look forward to seeing how the city will influence me in the next year and what kind of paths I may be inspired to follow.

Male Peacocking

So I'm sitting with my friends Matt and Jess on the NYC Subway, probably one of the better places to people watch in the safety of an air-conditioned space (in August, this is a godsend) and a man across the aisle from us catches our eye. Granted, this man would never be on the cover of GQ, but immediately he catches my eye as something to be desired, which Matt quickly confirms and we both know why. Without a second thought, Matt says "What would that man's beard equate to in breast size?"

I like me some beards, which shouldn't be a surprise to anyone who knows me well. But this wasn't always so--being one of the many girls who grew up in the 90's with fresh faced boy bands I was subconsciously bread to use them as the benchmark for the pinnacle of everything that was to be desired in a man. But then by about age 14 things started to change...basically, puberty. I distinctly remember we had this orchestra TA my sophomore year, Mr. Sokolik, who was the biggest jolliest looking man I'd ever seen. He was obviously going bald, but what he lacked on top he more than made up for with his gloriously full facial hair and, needless to say, I found it fascinating. Men can grow hair on their face, I thought, that's so badass. It was a weird kind of worship, the epitome of I-can't-do-that-so-therefore-its-cool envy (sorry Freud, you had the wrong kind of envy). Beard=man=good. For me, that was the beginning of my love affair. Ever since then, I've had a deep fondness in my heart (and parts ;)) for beards. It's just my preference. Only lately, it's not just my preference. Beard lovers are everywhere.

Work it, boy.

Which brings me back to the NYC Subway. As we began objectifying this man based on his beard length, fullness, and style with which he accentuated the beard (we gave him a solid C) it began to sink in what my friend Thomas asked me months ago after the hipster fad seemed to have pretty definitely claimed beard-love as their own.

Are beards the new form of male peacocking? 


The fact is, males over the past 30 years have become cultural sexual objects. While it still may not be to the level that women experience, the fact is men are being looked at as needing to be aesthetically pleasing--meaning that men are re-entering a level of consciousness about their own sex appeal and need to impress outside of the evolutionary biology traditional narratives we give men as being desirable only to the degree to which they can "provide." There are many opinions about whether or not this is a good or bad thing, which I'm not going to get into now, but the fact is that today men are being asked to step it up.

 #team USA  #conceited ass hole

And with this latest hipster fad, they are. They really are. In this whole shift towards a more trendy-backwards-hippy-natural-traditionalist youth culture we have right now, beards have become the way men establish their manliness and sex appeal in a pretty straightforward way. It's a way of embracing the obvious difference men and women, accentuating a trait that is all man--basically the definition of peacocking to a T. And men know it, and men proudly sporting facial hair have popped up all around the country--so much so that there is not only just a culture of obsession around them, but an actual economic market. There are fb groups, there is merchandise, there was a tv show, and there is even an entire month dedicated to mustache worship as well as international competitions dedicated towards the art of growing facial hair as a way of increasing ones sexy-factor. It's even become so popular that studies have been popping up proving the benefits of facial hair (yeah, science bitch!), not to mention lots of celebrities have started popping up sporting the unshaven look, setting a new standard for sexy. And ladies are taking notice.

While not all woman may love the full beard look, I don't know any who aren't at least a little turned on by a bit of 5 o'clock shadow. Whether it's biological or cultural, the fact is beards are having an impact on the way that men promote themselves as objects of lust and the standard by which some women determine their partners attractiveness. The fact that I can sit there as a woman and rate different men's desirability on a scale to which men have equated women based on another uncontrollable biological predisposition with breasts is an interesting turn of events and roles within the mating-game.

I'm not saying that the latest facial hair fad is here to stay, or that I completely reject men who don't grow facial hair, or that we need to perpetuate this cycle of domination with the objectification of the male body. But I will say facial hair is playing an interesting part in the mating game right now, and in terms of peacocking the one's who do grow facial hair definitely stick out to me in a crowd. Whether its the sexy scruffy look or full on homeless beard, nothing screams "look at me, I'm a man! Take me!" more than facial hair.

And frankly, I kinda like being impressed.

Faith

I didn't go looking for sadness, so it didn't come looking for me
like the laws of physics the object that was my life
continued in motion, unperturbed by the smooth surface that allowed my
suspension of disbelief to continue into adulthood.
I believed people were kind, or at least my people were kind
the friendly faces at the door, the gentle hands that tucked me in at night
like the air filled butterfly I was being bread to become, not seeing the
cage my cocoon had formed itself into. It was easier to imagine
that everyone was right than I was wrong, the night air feels cooler on your skin
when you choose to leave your coat at home and find solace in the arms of a creator.

It didn't make sense to leave, to know god was to hold fast
to hold fast was to move fast, to beehives to mia maids to laurels to relief society
never really relieving yourself from the inevitable call to womanhood
I knew by body would one day be called to serve. There was stillness, to be sure
everyone knew god came as a whisper but sometimes
he came to me like a scream and I awoke from terrors at being found
not worthy. Of being found uncounted among the flock.
Of being left out of the flock altogether.

And so I read myself into faith as was promised and found joy. I found
people and places and miracles that proved that I
was no different but that I could be different if I only chose
to follow the iron rod instead of curiously wandering into the great and spacious
for a glimpse of coveted independence. That was not to be done.
Apples can only be cut on teethbone closed against the
same questions that tore the original mother away from her promised land
by the tempting serpent. Knowledge is the greatest gift of god
only saved for the next life Sydney,
and you are no serpent
you were chosen in heaven.
Be patient. Everything will make sense in the temple.

There was this idea, this idea that I was above
no beside, no behind, and I never quite knew what papers laid in front of his
warm pudgy hands as he leaned over his desk sizing up my worthiness card.
Pictures of whitewashed men looming behind him in an incandescent glow
of superiority with all-seeing eyes reading over his list of depersonalized qualifications.
he wanted to know everything that time, even when I felt it wasn't between us
he wedged himself like a hammer between me and my god
the hierarchy had been decided, it wasn't just today it was eternal
and I better get used to it if I ever wanted to wear white again.

Sometimes I wonder what would have been, what could have been
with what god gave me under the circumstances of who I was meant to be,
of who I am in the process of becoming. With knowing how blindness ended up being a virtue,
how forgiving and forgetting sounded a whole lot like denial how
not asking too many questions sounded like not swallowing too many hard answers.
I won't lie and say it was easy, I won't lie and say
sitting on fences didn't cut my legs some days leaving me crippled and bleeding like the
Jew we're all supposed to look after as good Samaritans,
though none of us were ever allowed to play the part of Jew. It's not that I needed saving,
it's that I didn't need celestial closure that my life had an organized purpose. I guess no one told them
books are meant to be read from front to cover and life
maybe isn't supposed to be planned, and maybe the meaning of salvation
happens along the way and maybe none of us are right in saying
we know. We testify. We affirm.
Maybe we should just wait until the end of the novel before we start forming discussion questions.

I didn't go looking for sadness, but it finally came looking for me
in the hands of lovers I could never have, of lands I could never see with a baby on my back
of power I could never feel without being labeled a heretic and it hit me like a thick brick wall
halting the momentum I had spent my whole life accumulating. It didn't feel like falling from grace
but every sidelong glance became a silent weapon letting me know
I had questioned the wrong answers. I was no longer one of us.
I had become them, and I guess you can never really explain
to people who are drowning that they're drowning while still in the water they have to
feel the rock of salvation for themselves to know that redemption
is validated in the soul, not in a pew.
That forgiveness doesn't come from a desk, but from a mirror
that love isn't offered in a piece of bread but in the way
you let someone love you for the scars
you never wanted to forget were part of who you have become
because god loves all his children full stop.
and I know that days will pass, and well meaning prayers will still be uttered
in temples around the world on my behalf
and nicely pressed suits will continue to knock on my door
asking if I need any yard work done but the day will never cease
when I won't fight for my right to the eternal, in whatever form it may come
asking all the right questions without the curtain of Oz making
beautiful illusions for how I am supposed to get there.

Viva Las Vegas

Now that I'm settled and nearly dying from heat stroke in Utah, it's time for a recap. Because last weekend was awesome.

So I set out from Los Angeles last Wednesday in order to meet up with my friends Harley, Chloe and her boyfriend Hank. Harley's friend Etta from Washington also came down for a few days of vacation to hang with us in Coronado. For those of you who have never been to Coronado, it's an amazing little island/cove right off of San Diego that you can get to via bridge. It feels a bit too white upper class planned community, but it's also a really nice place to live. So Hank and Chloe invited us to come and help them pack for moving out/just hang out in SD before heading to Vegas on Friday morning. It was a fun couple of days helping Chloe to finish school assignments, sushi eating, packing, and playing card games--nothing too riveting since we all wanted to be prepared for Vegas.

Friday morning we set out in Chloe's car at around 10am so we could get to Vegas by check in at 3. Chloe's car is super nice, but also completely ridiculous for road trips. A two door sporty little thing, the 5 of us packed in there like sardines with all of our luggage pushed into every possible crevice. I'm pretty sure purgatory could be equated towards the feeling of being in that back seat with one midget (Harley) and one over 6 foot tall albino (Cole). You could feel every breath that the person next to you took with your arms pressed against their ribs, your shoulders hunched inward in a way that promoted scoliosis and cracked collarbones. Combine that with the occasional overheating of the car which required us to turn off the air conditioning while driving through 113 degree weather, and Chloe and Hank's hilarious game of "lets roll down the window and suffocate/burn the prisoners in the back" and you've summed up our journey from SD to Vegas. Thank God it was only 5 hours.

We get to Vegas and check into our hotel room while trying to plateau the level of mounting bitchiness from uncomfortable car rides and hunger. Throwing our stuff down into our very nice hotel room at the MGM Grand (thanks, Hank), we begin wandering around the hotel avoiding going outside on the strip just yet (literal hell). Finally settle on the Rainforest Cafe where I order my first drink, which anti anticlimactically they didn't card me for. Oh well, that's Vegas. The 'Panama Punch' was delicious though, Bacardi, Rum, Peach Schnapps, Banana Liquere, and other various juices. Ate to our heart's content and then us girls went back to the room to get ready while the boys went out and bought the alcohol to pregame with. Hank had been adimant about introducing us to his signature "danger juice" who's potency can be surmised from the name.

Us girls get our sexy on (basically an hour or so of Miley Cyrus's "We Can't Stop" on repeat--guilty pleasure) and the boys return. In natural male standards of dress, they're ready to go so we start drinking. Hank's two friends from Reno come up to party with us so it's a grand old time of getting to know everyone and getting psyched out for Vegas. Danger juice (otherwise known as jungle juice) is flowing freely, with Cole and I trying to match each other drink for drink because we're poor and want to be as ready to go as possible before we leave. It should also be noted that we were consuming said beverage from an old gas container which only solidified its sketchy nature.

After we are thoroughly pre-gamed we venture out onto the casino floor, and straight to Fat Tuesdays for a yard slushie. I'm pretty good at this point, but hey--it's my 21st birthday. Good isn't good enough, apparently that means trashy. So Hank generously buys me my first yard and I couldn't even really tell you what was in it it but it was delicious and it was a lot of alcohol and sugary deliciousness. We didn't really have a game plan for the night, so we just start walking around the maze that is our casino/hotel looking at everyone playing and stopping here and there at the slot machines. Also happen to hook up with some friends from Washington, Reed and Omar who came to get away as well for the weekend. I'd like to say this is the point at where I went to some crazy bar/dance club and started going Coyote Ugly on everyone's ass, but being the old grandma that I am and being a tad worried that my only form of identification was my passport, I wasn't trying to get too too rowdy in unfamiliar/far places. So we walked around...a lot. And with so many people navigating the casino floor, you could basically call it a dance. It was crazy.

Next day we woke up and I had no idea who was in which bed. Luckily we all ended up back at the hotel, including Reed and Omar who had paid for and yet not slept at their room at the Stratosphere way farther down on the strip. Said goodbye to them, freshened up, and went down for the breakfast buffet. Words cannot describe the delicious food that we consumed at that meal--anything you could ever possibly want, there. And we ate it all. Harley and Hank decided mimosas were a better hangover cure than anything else, but I abstained. All I saw was bacon and creamed cheese bagels with smoked salmon. My life was complete.

With still very little energy, we peeled ourselves from our post-breakfast food coma to go lounge by the pool and float in the lazy river. It was the first time I had ventured outside of the MGM grand in almost 24 hours, and it was hot. You come out of the water and within 5 minutes you are burning and completely dried from the sun, so naturally Cole the Albino stayed inside to sleep off his hangover. Sleep off, die. We weren't really sure, but he looked comfortable so we let him lie like a vegetable upstairs while the rest of us admired all the sexy bodies at the pool.

Finally after the pool we actually ventured off of the property and went about exploring the strip--the Luxor, Venetian, Caesars, Paris--the lot. And they were super cool themed, when I was in the Paris one I was legitimately surprised at how authentic it was aesthetic wise. Made me miss it. The only thing that sucked about these hotels was that, although the strip isn't very long, you don't want to be oustide in Vegas ever. It's so unbelievably hot (109, when we were out) and so you say to yourself "that hotel isn't too far--lets just walk there" and you want to kill yourself 20 feet later. For fellow fat girls like me, don't walk the strip without spanks. Chaffing is real, don't do it. And on top of the heat? You'll thank me later.

Finally we make it all the way down to Caesars and fall heavy into a booth at Planet Hollywood. Delicious grub, cool atmosphere, and we move onto the Stratosphere for the ride Hank has been looking forward to all day that I refuse to go on because 1) I'm afraid of heights 2) It's expensive and 3) I don't want to die of a heart attack. Despite my resolved stubborn nature, Hank insists he will make me go. And like a sign from the gods, we get there and it's closed for about an hour. Exhausted, but looking to make the most of the situation we settle on playing a bit of 21 and blackjack which is my favorite. You don't win every time, but you also don't lose every time. I played for about 20 minutes, gaining and losing money before I walked away and we headed back towards the hotel for the night--exhausted from the heat.

Here is where happy Vegas trip ends. The next morning's entire mission I swear was to elevate my blood pressure.

So I'm supposed to take a greyhound bus from Vegas to Salt Lake to meet up with my friend Anson. Get there an hour early from my 7:55am bus and get in line. When there is about 20-30 of us left they close the door and tell us that there are too many people, we will have to wait until the 10pm bus going to Salt Lake City. That's right, they overbooked us by that many people. And didn't apologize, offer alternatives, or even refund our money. They. were. assholes.

So I'm fuming, thinking I'm about to go to jail for arson or murder when I meet two other passengers in my situation and we decide we need some food. The girl is from Argentina, traveling the US for 6 months while the other guy is Tongan from SLC. They're super nice, and we have some great conversation about interculturalism and stereotypes before heading back to the bus station. To wait. For over 12 hours.

3 hours in and I'm looking for sharp objects to "fall" on. The bus station is hot, stinky, and I'm pretty sure filled with sketchy alcoholic homeless people. Since I've made friends, I feel comfortable enough going to the bathroom knowing someone is watching my stuff, but even so. Not where I wanted to be stranded.

About 1 o'clock is when things really start blowing up. So this black girl about my age comes in and starts charging her phone, no big thing. No one notices anything crazy about the girl. A half hour later two white male cops come in and start talking to the girl. I'm in my usual computer addicted state and not paying enough attention, though when I start hearing her yell "I didn't do anything violent!" and I look up to see the cop twisting her arm at an ungodly angle, I perk up. Next thing I know, they push her down into the floor face down and one is straddling her while the other keeps her arm twisted and she's not letting them pry her other hand from her armpit. She keeps screaming "I didn't do anything violent!" and they keep yelling at her to remove her hand, part of which is resistance but part of which is also the angle at which they've pinned her down and she can't  move.

A circle of us have now formed watching this happening in shock and a few get out their phones to start recording. Next, the police officer not straddling cups the back of her neck and pushes down, popping her head back like a sick pez container. It's getting way out of hand and I start screaming at the police officers to get the fuck off of her and that I'm calling the cops on them, grabbing my phone to make the call. While the girl is still not being violent but wriggling trying to breath from the officer pushing down on her neck, the police officer gets out his mace and shakes it as if he is about to shoot her in the face. This is completely where I lost my shit and start yelling even louder, at which point he looks up and sees the circle of us angrily recording and shouting and puts it aside, barely letting up. They finally pry her hand away with a baton and cuff her, taking her away to the police car.

I'd already called the police to report the unnecessary brutal force with which they treated the girl, and soon the sergeant was on the scene questioning the girl, officers, and the rest of us. It becomes pretty apparent pretty fast whose side they are on with issues of race, gender, and general corruption come into play. She takes my statement and listens to stories and watches video, but still she is wary. Others don't even bother writing down a statement, so disillusioned by past experiences to believe any justice will be served. They say they are releasing the girl, but by the time they left I didn't see her walk free. Meanwhile the police who arrested her however are laughing and looking at shit on their iphones while she sits shaking in the back of the police car hyperventilating. Fucked. up. shit.

I'm going to be honest, it was that moment that race became real to me. Not in a theoretical intellectual way, but as a straight up honest truth. As the sergeant went around taking statements, visibly disregarding statements by the black bystanders I finally internalized their frustration, seeing my own very real privilege as a white woman. Shaking myself, I was very doubtful that anything productive was going to come from these conversations and even more enraged by the lack of awareness of the officer's privilege and the way these issues of gender, race, and class played into this whole scene. Their  mind was made up, she was obviously in the wrong.

As I kept talking with the sergeant, she kept on telling me "If I told you she assaulted a cab driver before coming here, would that change your perception of the events?" to which I was horrified. I wanted to respond with "Would the officers have acted to violently if the woman was white?" but knew from other similar statements made by others in the station that she was not willing to see it as a factor in this arrest and I don't think anyone deserves that kind of retaliatory violence. And that's only going along with the "hypothetical" situation they gave me of her first act of violence. Who even knows if the girl did anything? She looked just as scared as the rest of us by the officers sudden arrival.

Needless to say, after that I knew I had to get the hell out of Vegas. Within 6 hours my friend Anson had driven all the way down from Salt Lake to pick me up, and I said adios to the most bittersweet weekend of my life in Vegas. Once in a lifetime trip--can't see it repeating itself any time soon or wanting to, and I'm ok with that. Pretty sure these stories are enough to last a lifetime.

Feminist Majority Foundation Tribute

So today is my last day as an intern for the Feminist Majority Foundation and woman, what a crazy summer it's been here. Between campus visits, blog writing, speakers, and summits it's been a great journey in understanding my own experience as a woman and how others connect with my story. My fellow interns are some of the most creative and knowledgeable people I've met, and sitting in the intern pit with them dissecting underlying gender politics in different articles and getting rallied around an activist social group has been completely inspiring. Love these connections I've been able to make and the ways in which my mind has been opened up to all of the inter-sectional complexities of the feminist movement. There were ups and downs of couse, but overall it's really been a really rewarding experience.And without getting too mushy, I also just wanted to shout out to all you crazy feminists out there--both in and out of the organization--who help to remind me that I'm not alone. That will probably be the biggest thing I take away from all of this. Love you all <3

So I didn't expect to write a tribute poem, but several weeks back when we were in Santa Barbara and I was trying to fall asleep I just got this weave of inspiration and have been working on it ever since. And though I'm not sure whether or not I'm comfortable with it just yet, I figured I pass it on as kind of a "thank you" to the FMF and my internship this summer.

________________________________

Don't be that girl
by Sydney Odell

They didn't want us to talk about it, the night we rode the midnight blur

of the express train because they thought proximity was dangerous.

if they only knew the deeper cuts they tore into the

parts of our bleeding hearts that were never really yours to begin with because

you couldn't possibly understand as you are a little girl

and everyone knows god only speaks to his little boys

whose orifices are the only ones divinely sanctioned to make policies for ours.

You tell me I’m more than a number, that this

fetus is more than how many weeks you can point to on a calendar

but you continue to degrade my body into a mathematical equation,

So here are some numbers for you

where I come from, one plus one means subtraction

means lost in action

trying to find the enemy lines through the thick fog

of all the post racial political bull shit I see draped as closure

over a 16 year-old black teenage girl still looking for a home

after growing up to find that not all mothers are born into white picket houses.

Covering the mother of three who found that four

could keep the door to safety locked by the same hands that leave her blue at night.

Holding the 1 in 5 whose skirts must have asked for it because

in these instances the body did not find a way and their

wombs are forever forced to be cultural baptisms

for horny men’s "nature."

You tell me you don’t want to hear

but I don’t want to see, don’t want to feel the way 

your noose feels tight around my neck every time he’s taught

he’d rather not, it’s more pleasurable this way.

Tell me the choice in this. As if agency

was something we decided on in theory

but like communism fall apart in practice because

all I know is the day man invented the wheel was the day woman got left behind

and we’ve been running in circles ever since chasing a horizon only meant for a few

but promised to all.

Forgive me if I don’t regurgitate the preferred statistics

the 1 in 4, the 75% though none of it means anything

if you can’t acknowledge that I bleed when you do

that actions mean more than the words you profess to

believe in because our bodies are battlefields being pulled to the right and the left and

don’t you know red is on its way out

it's time to bleed humanity blue

it’s true that I am more than a number and you

are more than the physician you profess to be, but

to see the way out we have to know the way in so

This is for the women, this is for the men,

this is for those who are too busy loving to care

and the ones who don’t project blanket assumptions but instead use their arms

to cover the wounds of strangers,

to pull the stitches out of other people’s mouths

this is for the ones who feel too fat, too tall, too dumb, too black, too white

too loud, too poor,

too tired to keep fighting for a humanity you no longer believe in

but wake up each morning with forced amnesia towards past failures

in order to create a more perfect union

and this is for that girl on the train and the

story she was able to tell when she fell from grace

and finally saw the face of God in her window’s reflection

and saw that it was good.