Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam...

When will Green Day just shut the fuck up? Hearing a 15 second clip of "21 Guns" officially ruined my day. And it's only 11:00 am. On a happier note, my step dad just made some bomb ass vegetarian breakfast burritos...and I never use fratty phrases like "bomb ass" so you know it was good.

So why buffalo? I get this question a lot so I thought I would take this opportunity to elaborate on my love for this drooling mammal. I will start with the totem pole theory. Everyone has a totem pole, you know, like a spiritual hierarchy of things you feel connected to. Buffalo are my totem pole animal. In the past few years I have had some strange coincidences with buffalo. It's like my good luck charm. For example; the other day at work I went to the break room to heat up my soy chorizo only to find that someone stole it out of the fridge (someday soon I am going to post a picture of our fridge at work...people actually carry their lunch in luggage...it's bizarre). Anyway, right when I was about to track down this tofu thief I looked down and there it was...a necklace pendant with a buffalo on it. Fate. Things like this happen to me all the time. Over the past year I have collected buffalo memorabilia that I've stumbled upon accidentally.

Besides the fact that buffalo are freakin' cute and cuddly, they are also considered to be very spiritual animals. Just Google "buffalo totem meaning" and you can read about the different beliefs associated with them. Buffalo represent strength, selflessness, sacrifice, wisdom and patience. The buffalo bring people confidence to achieve their life goals, and it is said that buffalo come to those who are going on the right path in life. Yeah sure, it may sound cheesy and maybe I'm slightly delusional, but it brings meaning to me. There are some days when I feel a little lost and confused (yes, I know I'm a natural blonde so the "confused" part is just in my blood) but it's affirming to me to know that at the end of the day...Mr. Buffalo's there to let me know I'm doin' alright.

So that's it. The meaning behind the buffalo obsession. One day I want to ride a buffalo. Preferably off into the sunset with a rainbow somewhere in there, amongst centaurs playing wooden flutes and owls flying overhead (owl are another totem animal but I will save that for another day).

Below is a photo of buffalo falling off a cliff. Quite tragic really...but a powerful photo none the less.

Jesus don't want me for a sunbeam, sunbeams are never made like me.

Tucson sunsets are so damn beautiful. Sort of makes a girl want to shake off her cynicism, grab the hand of a nice boy and live happily ever after. Now if only I can find one. Kurt Cobain is on TV right now. GOSH I forgot how much I love Kurt Cobain. Now that's a guy I would walk off into the sunset with...well, I suppose it would be more like a drug induced stagger into the sunset. While I wait for my deceased, imaginary boyfriend to be resurrected, I will just watch the sunset from my front steps.

Even though I may not have someone to fucking frolic in the wind with doesn't mean I'm not happy. I'm loving Tucson more and more everyday. I have to admit, after moving here from the progressive Northwest, I was a bit skeptical of this desert town. There are parts of Oregon I miss but I'm finding beauty in this mass of dirt. Even though I finally feel at home in Tucson, Arizona, I would say the thing I miss most about Portland, Oregon are the people. Not to bash on Tucson (I cannot say enough about how much I really love living here) but Portland totally one ups you on the quality of people. That is NOT to say that I haven't met some amazing people in Tucson, I'm just sayin'. Kind of like how New York is known for it's fast paced, jaded jerks; Portland is known for it's friendly, environmentally aware, hippies.

Now I know every city has it's fair share of douche bags, yes Portland, even you have a handful of d-bags running the streets (they're usually located at Dirty and McFadden's). But why is it that I seem to meet EVERY douche bag in Tucson? I swear someones playing a bad joke on me. I must emanate some sort of pheromone that attracts assholes. Or maybe I just have really awful taste in guys. This desert heat has got me seeing mirages.

I'm taking a little hiatus from the bar scene. It's just getting more and more disappointing every time I go out. And now that the college kids are back in town there's even more d-bags running wild...I feel like I'm in an Ed Hardy/Affliction nightmare. Have I mentioned how I love referring to people as d-bags? I'm so mature. I miss going out with a group of friends and meeting new people who are actually genuine. It all seemed so much easier in the city of roses.

Tucson, you may get a 6.5 on the dating scene scale, but I'm in love with your sunsets. Who needs boys when you've got a gorgeous view of the skyline, a good book, and a box of Tofutti Cuties? I'm happy just daydreaming of dead rockstars.

Intro yo.

Here it is. My first online journal entry (I refuse to refer to these things as "blogs").I guess this is an attempt at a modern-day therapy. I am well aware that posting your journal for the world wide web to see is slightly narcissistic .I debated on whether or not to publicly display my tangential thought process for several reasons. First off it puts you in a vulnerable state. We already live in a society where people put on artificial facades and hide behind their emotional walls; posting your innermost thoughts only exposes you to ridicule and judgment. Well....bring on the salt. Second off, what ever happened to privacy? I remember in grade school I had a diary with a lock on it. In bold purple crayon it read: "Stay the fuck out!" Even as a young girl I understood the importance of privacy (and the importance of the F word which I've grown to love and appreciate very much). Thirdly, I'd like to think of myself as an old fashioned girl. I don't own a microwave. I still check out books at the library. I collect antiques and old trinkets I find at thrift shops and garage sales. Transferring my journal from paper to screen is just me succumbing to another modern-day trend. Damn you new millennium...you've won again. So with the whole technology and convenience aspect aside, why is it that people these days feel the need to online journal? It's not like people fifty years ago wrote in their journals, tore out the pages and posted them around town.

One time at the Portland International Airport, security took me aside and put me in a plexiglass box for twenty minutes. It was right in the middle of baggage check and everyone who walked by stared at me like I was a giant Barbie Doll on display. I felt exposed, embarrassed, laughed at, judged, accused.

Overall, I would say I'm a pretty open person. I don't really believe there is such thing as too much information (or "TMI" as my generation calls it). I'm honest. I'm blunt. I rarely sugar-coat things and often lack a social censor. I'm very impulsive and say what's on my mind. My mother says I never think of consequences, that I would rather just deal with them. I wear my heart on my sleeve and spill my guts to just about anyone. I have few secrets and if you're my friend for the day you will probably know all of them by midnight. Although I am very open with my thoughts, I am very uncomfortable with being in the spotlight. I love being in social situations but become paralyzed if all eyes are on me. I was one of those chatty, social girls in school who morphed into a deer in headlights when she had to give presentations in front of class. I don't like talking in front of crowds. I don't enjoy being on stage.

I'm putting myself in the virtual spotlight. Like I said before, it's my therapy. I already used up the ten free sessions my insurance plan allows. My therapist was an overweight bitch who was always in the middle of some chicken dinner or pasta extravaganza when I came to my appointments. That, and she used outdated therapy techniques from the 80's. No one digs for repressed memories anymore....there is a reason they're repressed you idiot! So my options are to pay someone $50 an hour to pretend to listen to me, or journal my thoughts and post them online using the WiFi I steal from the old guy across the street. I think it's important to sometimes go out of your comfort zone; step outside the box (or...inside the plexiglass box) in order to learn something new about yourself.

So...hi. I'm Crystal.