I Have a Chronic Need to Explain Myself

1. Tonight is my last night in the Philippines. I will miss Biblical flooding and laying on the bed being too hot to move and being too shy to speak too much in public and getting drunk in my grandma's house after she insists that I eat lasagna.
2. Last night was my second to last night in the Philippines, and it was wonderful, and it reminded me feel that I have a lot to come back for.
3. There are gays here. As a general statement, they're cute and always willing to talk to my drunk ass.
4. Have you received your postcard yet? Well that's because I didn't send it. Here's a preview!

For anyone who doesn't know about Katrina 'Asian' Casino Postcard Project 2009, here's a brief explanation.

A couple of days before I left, I collected addresses of people who wanted postcards (this part is relatively straightforward). Now, I was going to write you all personalized rap songs, but as I have a tendency to always insist on being embarrassingly honest, I decided to put a spin on it (the postcard project, not the rap songs. That could come later though). I collected the names, and drawing them at random, assigned the recipients to one another. I also threw in some extra people who I haven't been talking to/didn't ask for a postcard. Just for funsies. And because I didn't have any dark secrets to reveal to some people. Everyone who's receiving a postcard is receiving a confession, secret, or general pointless rambling/crazytalk to another person. Just something I've never told them because I'm too awkward or shy or lazy or I have social tact or something (this is a lie, I have no social tact). Each postcard begins with "You don't know this, but" and then continues on to whatever one-sided conversation I wanted to have. I feel like this post is going to turn into some absurd Filipino post-secret ripoff, but sometimes that's just how it is.















Also I tried to get the tackiest postcards available.
Also I'm a really poor planner, and these will probably be mailed from New York.

So without further ado, I bring you a series of really serious statements followed by really hilarious pictures.

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You don't know this, but...

Sometimes I get a little scared that we'll never be who we were on that first night.

You're one of my favorites, but I'll never admit this to you because I'll always be too afraid to hear I'm not one of yours.

Everyone knows it's always been about you.

And I don't know if you'll ever believe it, but I'm fine.
(The rice paddies that my ancestors slaved on so that I'd never have to wear sunscreen in the summers)

Once I was lurking your Facebook page, and I accidentally liked one of your wall posts, then freaked out because I was way too high to figure out that I could unlike it.
(Alternatively: Meeting you was like meeting myself.)
(Fuck yeah, tigers!)

You and I both need to calm the fuck down.

I'm fully aware that all I really do is break promises to you.

You're the reason I question anything at all.
(Am I the only one who finds proud eagles of all nationalities to be hilarious?)

You're the reason for the flowers in my hair.

Every action that has defined our relationship has also perfectly and explicitly conveyed my deepest personality flaws in a way that I never could have anticipated or expressed.

When I was younger and thought that I wanted to get married and thought that I wanted to get married to a man, that man I pictured was just like you.
(Mabuhay a las Filipinas! We sell slippers, brooms, fans, and...wedding cakes made out of beads?)

Sometimes I find you to be so unbelievably plain that I can't help but find you irresistibly attractive.
(Hello, favorite.)

Though you probably do, I should have kissed you right when I had you.

I love you...not like that, not really, anyway.
(I don't know if I just haven't been paying attention, but I have never fucking seen one of these.)

I'm really sorry we didn't get to talk in the brief time we were together, that time we existed in 3D.
(I have no idea why I don't own one of these hats yet.)

I wasn't even really sure if I liked you until recently.

I think you're really beautiful.

You should stick around.
(Hi, drag show this year plz?)

You're a little boring, but you're so so sincere, and I guess that's okay.

You might well be the reason I don't regret coming home this summer.

(I ran out of photos/postcards, so here's a picture of me getting attacked by a crab at my grandma's house.)

This postcard was discarded because I couldn't verify its truth:

I'D LIKE TO KNOW what you think of this. What you think of that, that thing I just said. I'd like to know if you knew, and if you knew then when you knew and why you haven't said anything, and come to think of it, why I haven't said anything either, but I suppose that's not for you to answer. I'd like a lot of things. I'd like hot nights with rolled down windows and loud music. I want to sing along. I'd like questions without answers and open ends and true belief in possibility. I'd like the fifty-yard line. I'd like a deluge, a rainstorm, silencing the world outside my car; I'd like to drive with no headlights. I'd like to know the corner of your jawline and what it feels like to thread my fingers through your beltloops. I'd like the rooftop where I learned to smoke and sneak and eventually not get caught. I'd like my hometown nostalgia. Fuck, I'd like any nostalgia.

And I don't know if you know this, but when I'm gone, I miss you the most.

We're Sorry to Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Programming

This has nothing to do with the Philippines.
I've been writer's blockin' a little lately, and all I have to show for myself is a bunch of unfinished observational pieces (including a sequel to this one) and some uninspired afternoon poetry (actually a great concept if you like irony and facetious postmodern fuckery).

This, like my last post, is going to be sort of a clusterfuck, as my mind has been sort of a clusterfuck.

So I've decided to drop a lexicon post.
And then I realized I missed school a lot. So I'm dropping my first picture post as well.
Hi, I'm Katrina, and I can't focus anymore.

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interrobang (v) – 1. to engage in sexual activity resulting from ambivalent attraction; to commit the act of a questionable hookup. May result from drunkenness, desperation, poor judgment, or Welcome Week at American University.

2. though usually hypothetical, to engage in sexual activity with a person who is contrary to one’s “type.” May result from the same factors as definition #1, but is usually less embarrassing, as individual in question is probably at least a little attractive.

X: So you think she’s hot?
KC Danger: Yeah she’s pretty cute; I just don’t usually dig redheads.
X: So you wanna interrobang her‽
KC Danger: Yeah, I guess.

Origin
In collaboration with X Fantastic Walters

#smallearth (n) – 1. conceptually, a small-scale model of planet Earth. Although the exact dimensions of #smallearth have never been determined, it is commonly accepted that the planet is small enough that such nonsense as 12-hour time differences simply cannot exist, resulting in a cohesive society of #smallearthlings

2. a community that is so small, that it is entirely feasible for all or most of its members to somehow come in contact with each other, regardless of actual physical location; a significantly less lame way of saying “small world, eh?,” a community where an unspoken set of rules/tendencies exist

See: the lesbian community, the AUniverse
Origin
In collaboration with saintmodesto

AUniverse (n) – the self-sustaining microcosm existing at American University, also known as “the AU Bubble,” an example of #smallearth. Katrina Fucking Casino lives here. Rules of the AUniverse include: I’m-making-out-with-you-because-you’re-making-out-with-me, you’re probably gay, let’s get high and talk about gender, sorry I’m crashing from my uppers, Apex Thursdays, drinking on Tuesdays due to classless Wednesdays, and TDR at 2 y/n?

S.W.I.M. (n) – acronym for Straight, White, Ignorant Male, a privileged individual who outright ignores the existence or opinions of women, racial minorities, or gays. Essentially the reason you felt really uncomfortable during high school, that guy who keeps making ignorant comments in your gender studies class (what the fuck, why is he even in this class?)

50s House Dyke (n) – a lesbian who aspires to be a traditional stay-at-home mom. A 50s house dyke is not an assimilationist; rather, she is a well-educated, articulate feminist who simply chooses a domestic lifestyle

In collaboration with ilikeyourshirt
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Oh hey, remember that time I was short-haired and freshly pierced?

We were alone for the first time

And in love with everyone we met.

We were so curious about each other

That we forgot to wonder about ourselves
And who we'd be in a few short months.

So...

We got drunk

In public

A lot.

We got drunk in public a lot.

And no one ever slept alone.

I am sometimes embarrassed because I'm prone to getting really emotional (ex. short-term nostalgia) late at night, but for everyone else, it's just the middle of the day.
This would never happen on #smallearth.