The Chronicles of Narnia : Prince Caspian

"Is that supposed to be irony?" -- Reepicheep

I use Facebook. Really, who doesn't these days? My mother has a Facebook account, and she is probably the most disconnected person I know, other than my father, who is in sucha  drug-induced haze that I'm not even sure he knows my name when I go to see him most of the time. I love Facebook. I love the freedom it grants me to exchange ideas, and to meet new people, and to keep tabs on the lives of friends, and family all over the world. I love multiple aspects of Facebook. Sure, I may not be addicted to Farmville, like some people I know. I may not upload 80 photos every afternoon, and I may not respond to every tag I get in a given note, but I still appreciate and admire Facebook for what it is, a social networking site, the likes of which have far surpassed previous incarnations of such, including LinkedIn, Friendster, Myspace and Livejournal. Shut your face right now dammit, You had a livejournal, don't even try to act like you didn't. The only online journal that has zero stigma is KillingMachines, and you weren't cool enough to have one, so just shut your face and deal with the fact that I just dissed LJ. By the by, I had an LJ too, it hasn't been updated in about two years, and even then it was rarely paid attention to.

There is a disturbing trend on Facebook though that I am starting to find even more obnoxious than requests from my friends to water their plants in Farmville. Changing one's profile picture for a cause. Have you not seen this one? I first saw it about eight months ago, it seemed like a passing fad, and of my ~300 friends, only a handful even took part or participated in said activity. It seemed to be an extension of the '99% of people won't repost this because they don't love Jesus' statuses, which I also loathe. Last week though, on December 1, 2010, this status started popping up.

"This week, change your default Facebook picture to a cartoon from your childhood. The goal? To not see a human face on Facebook until Monday, the 6th of December. Join the fight against child abuse, and invite your friends to do the same."

Don't get me wrong. Child abuse is wrong. Being a recovered victim of abuse myself, I promote healthy relationships regardless of age. I fully support the spirit of this status, what I don't support is how pointless it is. I seems to me like this is a pathetic attempt to make yourself feel better by performing a mundane action that serves to do little more than to clutter up my news feed. Frankly, were I the heartless beast I pretend to be, seeing these statuses clutter my feed would probably prompt me to beat a child just for the sake of solidarity.

How many child abusers did this stop? I'm being serious. How many men and women who beat their kids looked at Facebook in the past five days and said to themselves, "Well, geez, all these cartoons sure are making me not want to get drunk and hit my kids! Thanks Facebook!"

It reminds me of people who dress up for church every Sunday, and perform their religious duties for the sake or forgiveness, only to go home and start the sin-cycle all over again. Sunday Christians are not Christians at all. Likewise, people who take part in these meaningless activities seem laughable to me because they honestly think they're doing something to stop child abuse. I understand the argument that they are raising awareness, but come on people, who in the world isn't aware that children get beat on? Really? You show me a person who doesn't know that children are abused and I will show you a person who just came out of the womb.

I already posted this on my Facebook, but maybe the next time you want to raise awareness, or you want to do something to help combat child abuse, you could do a quick search on google. You could donate to [Child Advocates], [Love Our Children USA] or [Prevent Child Abuse]. There are a number of government websites out there that can connect you with local, national and worldwide organizations that are dedicated to any cause you can imagine. Why don't you stop changing your Facebook picture, get offline and go volunteer at the local women's shelter? Perhaps go to Big Brothers Big Sisters of America and apply to be a mentor. There are a thousand things that you can do, including donating your time, and your money to stop child abuse and help those recovering.

Like I said, as a victim of child abuse, I support the theory, not the practice of what you're doing. I myself volunteer when I have the time, and try to make donations yearly to help those in need who happen to be in situations far less comfortable than my own. Hell, I've even been known to open my home, cupboards and arms to people I know need a safe place to be. As a side note, if you know somebody who is living in an abusive household, old, young or in-between, the best thing you can do is report the abuse, and let them know they have a pair of warm arms waiting for them when they're ready to leave.

That is all.

Zoolander

 "I'm pretty sure there's a lot more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking. And I plan on finding out what that is."-- Derek Zoolnader

So, I have sex from time to time. I'm sure you may have pondered or suspected as much, because, in case you weren't sure the entire universe spends every waking moment wondering what is happening in my life. Likewise, in case you weren't certain, having sex often results in the potential of downsides, or negative side-effects. By which I mean that earlier this week, I got a phone call from a previous boyfriend of mine, who shall remain nameless for his own protection and my sanity. During said phone call, he revealed that two weeks ago, he took an HIV test and the results came back positive for antibodies.

Now, this young man and I broke up sometime ago. We also hadn't engaged in any risky behaviors in the last month or two of our relationship, so I was fairly confident of my status. Regardless, anytime there is a scare, especially in the gay community, it is a good idea to make certain that everything is alright. We are a community of bitchy, self-centered, self-involved and holier-than-thou cunts. I say this with nothing but respect and affection for the gay community, but let's face it, it's true. We're not nice people for the most part, and when it comes to sex, we're downright rude sometimes. I am no exception.

So, the first thing I do after the phone call is turn around and call the people I've done anything with since the breakup. it leads to a number of awkward conversations and several unusual explanations, as well as reassurements (not a word) that I am about 80% confident of my current status. Surprisingly, it leads to reconnecting with some people I've lost touch with, and allows me the opportunity to force my mind away from the dark place that it is destined to go to. Ok, I lied. The first thing I did was freak out, and cry on Katrina's shoulder for a few seconds before collecting myself and making the phone calls. I also got angry for a second there, but I recovered from that rather quickly. Sure he waited two weeks to tell me, but hell, I'm the first person he told.

So, Katrina and i decide that I need to go get tested. The soonest we can do it is Thursday. (That would be today, or if you're reading this at a later date, the other day that isn't today.) I spend the entire night staring at the insides of my eyelids and writing my gleecap. My heart is going insane, and my head is running at least eight-billion miles per hour. I'm calculating dates, looking at WebMD and doing things that are only making it worse. I ended up getting less than an hour of sleep before going in to work. This was the first time that I've ever had a conscious want or desire to go to work. At least while I'm at work, my mind is focused on the needlessly mundane task of sorting DVDs.

The next night is more of the same, until this evening when I hop into the car with Katrina there for support. We drive down to the Nebraska AIDS Project facility. It's just a few blocks from the McDonald's on 78th & Dodge. It's a pretty uick drive, and fairly easy to find if you know what you're looking for. It's a beautiful building, with the ugliest carpet known to mankind. I would have taken photographs, but I felt like it would be kind of insensitive to the anonymous nature of HIV testing. The lobby is pretty simple, a few chairs, an attractive secretary sitting behind the desk, and a TV playing the worst television programs known to mankind. Ok, I take that back, it was playing Scrubs when we first walked in, which kicked ass.

So, I take my number and have a seat. Katrina and I sort of chitchat for a few brief moments. There is a deafening silence in this room. She and I are sitting in a corner, down from us is a hairy man with a scent akin to nothing ok. Across from us is an adorable gay couple who look worried and a little flustered. Likewise, there is a grown woman wearing a letter jacket from 1998 and her gay besty.

I'll pause and say that earlier today, Katrina and I were just talking about people who can't let go of their high school triumphs. I have NO RESPECT for anybody who wears a letterman jacket after the summer following graduation. Period.

So, we kind of act nonchalant, and interject humor where possible to make things as not uncomfortable as possible. I feel a bit like Tyler Durden making single serving friends in the abnormally shaped lobby area while we listen to make-believe med interns be witty and share bromantic moments. Eventually, after what can safely described as an eternity, I am summoned through an imposing door, and into a long hallways which leads to a sterile looking room with the tackiest linoleum ever, and a little chair.

After a quick signature and my initials, I get stabbed in the finger with a force that suggests unspoken rage on the part of my tech. She explains everything that has already been read repeatedly. She eventually tells me that she'll be hiding me in a side room to wait for counseling and that my results should be done within the next fifteen or twenty minutes.

So, she deposits me into a room that is vaguely reminiscent of an airplane bathroom. It has three chairs, and a number of the worst paintings/rints and photographs known to mankind. Seriously, they must have stopped in at the nearest goodwill and just bought everything they could find. It's very ... eclectic. It's just plain outrageous, and the tiny trashcan in the room is just plain filthy. Before leaving, she asks if it is ok for the trainee to sit in on my counseling session.

After a few minutes, and text messages to/from Katrina, I hear a knock on the door. Why knock? Seriously. I know it's polite and all, but you obviously know that there is somebody behind the door waiting for you. A middle-aged man with an attitude problem enters, followed by a younger guy named Trevor. We exchange pleasantries, and he learns more about my sex life than I share with most potential boyfriends. It is interesting to note that situations like this are what I live and breathe for. I love when people attempt to maintain a sense and facade of respectability in situations where it is painfully obvious that neither party really wants to be having this conversation. There is a lot of apologizing, and awkward looks over our shoulders. The awkwardness is beautiful and fills me up. It's like a drug to me. You can tell he's expecting the other person, (me), to lie about everything, and when I give straightforward answers, he stares at me incredulously. All in all, it is delightful.

So, he tells me to wait in the lobby, and I rejoin Katrina. While there, i meet a charming blonde woman with a peasant demeanor and charming personality. We discuss current trends in television. We share a brief moment while watching some outrageous show where people who can't sing have to guess the lyrics in a song they're singing, If you know the title, let me know. I intend to watch it from now on.

Shortly afterward, I'm summoned into that imposing hallway, and ushered, by Trevor, into a different creepily tiny room, with different ugly paintings, to be given my results. After a brief conversation about drug use, condoms, and just how accurate my test is, I am encouraged to come back again sometime. I didn't want to  spoil the surprise, but suffice it to say that I tested negative for HIV antibodies in my rapid results test. I opted to have blood drawn, and an additional cheek-swab to be sent to two different labs in the area to make absolutely certain that everything comes back negative. I will know for certain in about 10-14 days. In the meantime, I'm satisfied with the 99.76% certainty, especially considering that I was tested shortly after our breakup.

All joking, bitchy commentary, and kidding aside, I would like to break for a PSA. Go get tested. If you don't know your status, or think you know your status, but have even the slightest tinge of worry or doubt, it's a great way to give yourself a bit of a pick-me-up. Luckily, here in Nebraska, we have the Nebraska AIDS Project which is a sensational public resource that offers free testing for HIV and low cost testing for other STDs. All in all, from start to finish, I was in the office for less than 30 minutes, and came out of it with a resounding sense of relief and comfort even with my previous surety that I was safe to begin with.

Hell if you need somebody to go with just for the sake of solidarity, call me, and I'm there.