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2011: A year in posts

December 23, 2011

Cut the hair short and update that Mac by a few years, and this could nearly look like me.

2011 marked my second year as a blogger, but it was also one of my least active and most conflicted. I was not nearly as prolific as I had been in 2010. I would blog in bursts, between breakups and grad school deadlines. While I accomplished more this year in grad school (a landmark paper for my Ph.D., for instance), I lagged in blogging. When I did blog, though, it was often heavy and rarely light.

The breakups:

OUCHOuch (again?). ARGGGH! *sigh*

The year of the Indian man:

Count them: three. Vikram. Madhav. Anand. That’s a lot of garam masala.

The getting over the breakup:

Where I praised the get-over-him kiss. A few weeks after breaking up with Rafael, easily the biggest heartbreak of the year, I wrote about hope, then took a solo road trip. To Yellowstone, via Utah, Wyoming and Nevada. This was so immensely cleansing, it took me months to finally understand what happened on that road trip.

Meta-posts (blogging about blogging):

This year’s Valentine’s Day was an active one that involved a friendly love triangle. But when one of the men found my blog and confronted me, I had a choice: to move forward with the blog or to halt. I knew this wouldn’t be the first time I would discuss my blog with a boyfriend, so I made a pivotal decision to continue blogging:

I let go. I am proud of this blog. I am proud of who I’ve become through a year of writing this blog. I will not retreat. This is my mouthpiece, my foghorn, my “beating heart on my ever-present sleeve.” I will proceed to write, and as I do, I will protect – sometimes successfully, sometimes not – those whose hearts are also divulged in the lines of this binary code.

In August, September and November, while going through a new and healthy relationship with an Indian architect in Los Angeles, I didn’t blog once. I also dropped off of Twitter. After those two months had passed, I wrote again, only to say that I was:

no longer interested in the page hits, or number of comments I receive on blog posts, or number of friends I meet on Twitter, or even which of my exes are still reading. Because I’ll write this blog the way I wrote it in the beginning: for me, a couple of my friends, and whoever else stumbles over and decides to read. No advertisements, no Tweets announcing its arrival several times a day, and no guarantee I’ll even blog that frequently as graduate school demands more of me.

The post I can’t neatly categorize:

The time I dated and fell in love with a paraplegic. I still can’t see stairwells or handicapped parking spots the same way

Finally … the funnies:

A blog post on kissing that I still re-read with great mirth. The winner of worst kisses, if we can call it a “winner,” was the “Face Bath” kiss.

That time I went to a nude beach with a blogger who, after applying spray sunscreen to me, complimented me on my “nice ass.”

This sacrilegious photo always makes me laugh out loud. And this one makes me feel patriotic (though I can’t imagine why).

Another blogger’s (friend’s) recap of 2011:

TurnJacon: “Reflecting on 2011

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