sisters

There is supposed to be an unshakeable, indescribable bond between sisters.  You grow up together, are both girls so presumably can understand each other and get along with each other (slash fight and beat up each other in the most loving of ways) in a way that doesn’t happen between brothers and sisters, or even between best girlfriends. There is no one else in this world who knows exactly what your childhood was like, and what flavour yogurt is your favourite, whose physicality and neuroses were shaped by the same two humans, and who knows everything that happened the night you ran into a doorknob, needed stitches and almost literally poked your eye out (yes, I almost validated this myth parents tell their children). As the younger sibling, you admired them in so many ways just by virtue of the fact that they were older and just knew stuff and did stuff before you. However, there comes a time when they cross a line. When you grow up with these sisters, it is the BIGGEST deal when they take your shirt without asking, even though you weren’t planning on wearing it anytime soon, and probably don’t even wear it at all. It is THE PRINCIPLE. You fight, yell, scream, cry, throw the standard tantrum, and scream, “I HATE YOU” and you mean it. There is no one you love more or hate more than your sister because while they get you in ways no one else can, you have no boundaries with them, and most importantly, you also did not choose them. They were thrust upon you, or inflicted upon you (depending how you see it), when you were born into this world as the younger sibling. When I was little my sister was my default best friend, and was my companion in my house and when my family went away on vacation. She was the person to whom I made (and still make) goofy faces when my family went out for dinner and my parents started talked about something boring like golf swings. Accordingly, when I was younger, shortly after the “I hate you” would be thrown into the air, I would pretty much instantly get bored. I would sit in my room for a bit. And by bit I mean 5 minutes. I would then realize that I wanted to play and needed my companion back. So I would come back into my sister’s room and ask to play and then, the fight would be over. From this tradition was built the idea that our fights would never last long even if they were the result of really disgusting behaviors and were brutal and cutting and psychotic invectives were thrown. A recent altercation is causing me to wonder if this should change. But then again, I will probably get over it in 5 minutes. 

oldie but goodie that never fails to remind me of my place in this world

do right woman, do right man

dear men, this is all we want

brb, re-watching this movie for the billionth time

true love is just a stone's throw away

things to do while waiting for a text message from someone you like

1. turn your phone upside down so you do not see the blinker immediately, and thus, appear coy and busy
2. do not check your phone like the psycho freak crazy bitch you despise yet are afraid / in danger of becoming by doing things to bide time like shower,  run, watch tv, or make dinner
3. check your phone
4. pretend like it’s cool either way
5. pretend to study
6. pretend to read
7. turn your phone off
8. turn your phone back on
9. check again
10. Repeat steps 1 through 9. 

raven gets it.

Philip Zimbardo: The demise of guys?

do I look like mother theresa?

Heather #1 perfectly represents the way in which strong, more intense women are often perceived by outsiders: as beautiful, yet aggressive, scary, intimidating, and awe-inspiring. Most importantly, better kept at a safe distance.

http://rookiemag.com/2012/05/youve-got-the-power/

http://rookiemag.com/2012/05/youve-got-the-power/

and why am I trying to go to law school again?

is my blinker on?

At the most recent werewolf meeting, we concluded that only when a guy is already interested in a girl or when a girl is already  dating somebody (whatever that term means these days), do girls get unprecedented attention from men. Girls often go through several bouts of nothing that sometimes last months or even years. However, the second somebody shows vague interest, all of a sudden girls become man magnets. 

With the advent of laptops, the internet, faster planes, railroads, cars, and smaller phones, as well as our enforcement of gender and racial equality and democratic values, we are left under the impression that we are better than animals because we make complex things and think in more complex ways. However, I am convinced that we are just as animalistic as before. However we deny this animalism, and this fucks us up. Why is it that the second one guy decides to text a girl continuously, does another guy who showed vague interest months before, all of a sudden just appear in the girl’s life, demanding attention? 

I would like to call this the “guy must pee on girl” problem. Despite the fact that previously, guy 2 did not take any sort of action regarding his desire for the girl, only when proper ownership or "dibs" of the girl in question was threatened did he make a move and figuratively decide to try peeing on the girl. I wonder what it is that girls project or where the blinking light is located that goes off when they are already receiving male attention, and why it is that that attracts more male attention. Or, alternatively, I wonder if single girls emit desperation vibes somehow and that in itself is a turn off? All of this makes ZERO sense in the grand scheme of things. Logically speaking, if someone is already involved with somebody, men should not be more attracted to that person, but instead go for somebody who is single and available? If the western world is to sustain itself and not replicate children of men, guys need to stop only going for girls who aren’t available, and pursue girls who are down. Seriously, the world’s population is at risk. Ignore the blinkers. Just go for it. 

death awaits us

"In [A Confession], Tolstoy related a Russian fable about a man who, being chased by a monster, jumps into a well. As the man is falling down the well, however, he sees there's a dragon at the bottom, waiting to eat him. Right then, the man notices a branch sticking out of the wall, and he grabs on to it, and hangs. This keeps the man from falling into the dragon's jaws, or being eaten by the monster above, but it turns out there's another little problem. Two mice, one black and one white, are scurrying around and around the branch, nibbling it. It's only a matter of time before they will chew through the branch, causing the man to fall. As the man contemplates his inescapable fate, he notices something else: from the end of the branch he's holding, a few drops of honey are dripping. The man sticks out his tongue to lick them. This, Tolstoy says, is our human predicament: we're the man clutching the branch. Death awaits us. There is no escape. And so we distract ourselves by licking whatever drops of honey come within our reach."

Excerpt from The Marriage Plot, by Jeffrey Euginides

I don’t know. anyway. whatever.

Girls primp themselves, put on makeup, and wear nice, “form-flattering,” i.e. accentuating, clothes for a number of reasons. However, they primarily do this to attract a sexual partner. That is why when girls are around people they are comfortable with like their best friends or family, people who they aren’t trying to seduce, they are able to just go without these things and just be. Meanwhile, guys really don’t have to do much. I would say maybe they have to shower every so often, maybe brush their teeth sometimes, put on a clean shirt on the rare occasion, but on the whole they will get laid regardless if they do any of the aforementioned things. This, I do not understand. Has society not told us on several levels throughout our lives that men are the ones out for sex more so than women, and that they need women to do this (going to stay heteronormative on this one). Accordingly, they should ostensibly be the ones putting on colorful, tight clothes that show off their bodies, and strutting around hoping that we choose them and grace them with our presence and our participation in any sexual act or relationship.  Humankind has deviated from the animals in many ways, but a most striking way is in gender relations. One notable example is birds, where for the most part as far as I know (take note- I am not a biology student nor an expert on animal life), the male birds have colorful feathers and use this to attract the ladies. Why are we prancing around, begging for the attention? Also, once that attention is FINALLY gained (after agonizing hours of text message games), why is it that so many men decide they are over this shit, and move on to the next person. Also, why can men seemingly do that "on to the next one" thing so much more swiftly and carefree than women? We try SO HARD to achieve that level of nonchalance and yet it rarely seems to transpire, and when it does seemingly for other women, we doubt its veracity.  Several women I know, and I assume countless others, wish  they could go about sexual relationships in this manner:

Girl 1: Hi. I would like to have sex with you. Are you interested?
Boy 1: answer a) Yes. I have a penis. You are moderately attractive. Let’s go to whoever’s apartment is closest and use some form of pregnancy stopper.

answer b) no I have a girlfriend / wife / boyfriend / husband

answer c) No thanks.

And then, ideally, if this were to happen, and the boy’s answers were either b or c, the girl could just proceed to this conversation, somewhere else, later that day, without any major drama.

Girl 1: “Hi. I find you sexually attractive. Are you interested?”
Boy 2: Yes. I have a penis. You are moderately attractive. Let’s go to whoever’s apartment is closest and use some form of pregnancy stopper.

Girl 1: Cool let’s go.

If you are at a vending machine, and they are out of coke, but you are thirsty, you should arguably be able to just get over it and buy sprite. Or rather, alternatively, go to the dep across the street and buy coke there. But that does not happen. Girls tend to stand outside the vending machine for a while, thinking about why the machine didn't produce the coke. Girl 1 will then tend to mull on the fact that Boy 1 rejected her and think about the number of reasons why this could be the case and about what is wrong with her. Meanwhile, the reason she was rejected could be a number of things, and be entirely on him.

In any case because the world is populated by so many people, one would think it would be easier to adopt this “on to the next one” attitude. However, for some reason, it does not seem to be working for so many wonderful girls. Several of my friends and I have been told, or have just concluded ourselves, that in order to be a part of a relationship, to gain that elusive status, we must give up a part of ourselves. I have heard (mostly from older people. Mostly from parents) that us “smart” girls will meet the right person at some point who will appreciate our intelligence and our weirdness. However, I wonder if we do not need to sacrifice at least a part of ourselves in order to become a part of a “whole,” and also, if it is even worth it in the end when you become this shell of your true self. Are you more truly happy when you are your unbroken, single self, or is there greater happiness achieved in losing part of yourself in a relationship. I don’t know. Anyway. Whatever.

If You Don't Have A Date, Celebrate

At age 23 (fine, I’m 2 weeks shy of 23.  Sue me), I can, on most days, say that I am pretty confident with who I am, both physically and mentally.  I go through each day without being too preoccupied with what others think, because I’m only a little preoccupied with what others think, because I’m 23.  I woke up this morning freaking the geek out about my “future”, and getting a job and whatever, but then I had a coffee, laughed at myself and continued with my day.

Anyway, after years of looking at other seemingly more attractive/funny/girly girls with a “why aren’t I like them” attitude, wondering why they are in relationships while I’m at home watching TLC’s What Not To Wear with my friend on the phone so we can play by play it, I’m pretty satisfied with the woman I have become, and continue to become.

So why is there a little piece of myself that feels inadequate in some way because there isn’t a guy who wants to spend time with me for no reason other than to spend time with me?  Why isn’t loving myself enough for me? 

I know a handful of people who have trouble reconciling these two… things:  being satisfied with oneself yet still feeling lonely and in need of feeling loved/cared for/thought about by someone else. 

And I have no fucking clue how to do it.  And the more I think about it the more I don’t know.  I guess its just on two different planes, the love you give to yourself and the love you get from others.  One is basically completely dependent on yourself and your self-reflection, but the other is just completely out of your control.  If someone loves you then they love you.  You’ll never really know how or why, because they see you in a way you can never see you. 

And as much as it hurts and as much as it sucks when its not reciprocated, I guess you just have to keep trying to love people?  But, like, don’t get me wrong, I am SO not there.  Most people are still the worst for me.  Sorry.  Because I’m 23 and I over-think everything on every possible level, which is definitely a problem (sometimes).  But really, when it comes right down to it, some people love you and some don’t.

So maybe that’s it.  Sometimes things happen and sometimes they don’t.  And I guess we just have to deal.  But most of the time, I think most of us are better than fine.

A Poem Written At a Quarter to 2

I think that I shall never see

A girl as crazy as a textee.

A textee whose hungry thumb is pressed,

Against the blackberry button about to text.

A girl that looks at her phone all day,

Does not lift her arms away;

A girl that may in summer wear

A twee bow or braid in her hair;

Upon whose bosom no guy has lain;

Who intimately lives in pain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can save a textee. 

much love to joyce kilmer. and raven.

Red, Red, Red.

I want to start a new segment. It's called, "How are you, (insert your name?)" and you answer in song.

How are you, Sruti?

I am:



I don't understand about complimentary colors
And what they say
Side by side they both get bright
Together they both get gray

But he's been pretty much yellow
And I've been kinda blue
But all I can see is
Red, red, red, red, red now
What am I gonna do

I don't understand about
Diamonds and why men buy them
What's so impressive about a diamond
Except the mining

And it's dangerous work
Trying to get to you too
And I think if I didn't have to
Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill
Kill myself doing it
Maybe I wouldn't listen so much to you

I've been watching all the time
And I still can't find the track
And I wanna know is it okay
Is it just fine
Was it my fault
Is it my lack

I don't understand about
The weather outside
The harmony to the words
That somebody lied

There's solace a bit for submitting
To the fitfully cryptically true
What's happened has happened
What's coming is already on its way
With a role for me to play

I don't understand
I'll never understand
But I'm trying to understand
There's nothing else I can do

Love to Love You Baby  - Donna Summer

Naughty Girl - Beyonce

I'm Good at Being Bad - TLC



RIP Donna Summer :(. Been listening to you and loving you ever since I was a little girl and would inappropriately sing your lyrics.

Case of the Fake People

Ever since elementary school, I have grappled with the concept of what it means to be cool, and why it is a quality that people often try to achieve. Do people who are cool know that they are cool? What actually constitutes “coolness?” When I was in elementary school, being cool meant having the most butterfly clips and bracelets from this silly accessories store at our local mall that was essentially comprised of this one store, a muffin shop, and a pirate ship. When I got to high school, those who were cool were the girls who wore makeup first, drank alcohol at bars first with fake ids, and those girls who linked arms in the hallway and stood in front of the mirror while pointing out what they found ugly about themselves. I know, fucked up. But that is what it was (private school. It’s a thing).  Essentially, those considered cool were those who feigned adulthood before they were anything near that in actuality. By the time I entered cegep and then university, being cool meant something entirely different.  Rather than celebrating assimilation, being cool now meant making yourself stand out in some way. I found this particularly refreshing, because I never felt that I was able to “fit in” as they say with the people in my high school, and thus found this new environment so much easier as it allowed me to be my weird self and not feel insecure about it. I find it so fascinating that we spend our childhoods trying to fit in, and our adult lives trying to set ourselves apart from the masses. Perhaps it is a result of our impending adulthood that we come to realize that we are not immortal. As a result, it is my understanding that as we get older, we seek to distinguish ourselves from others as a means of survival, and in effect, do this to achieve whatever form of immortality that is at our disposal. Thus, I believe that those who upon entering adulthood, put on this facade of coolness do so purposely perhaps because they are afraid and insecure about their existence and place in this world (hipsters, I’m talking to you). The "cool" ones are no different than everyone else and are not even cool. Just a bit more afraid of death. 

- Beyonce

Satellites
Flashing by.....
It's a beautiful state were in
But, how can we love in isolation?
Think how happy we can be when we just try

We're nothing like we seem
Passionate words are never spoken
You don't know how I bleed when I leave your side

In your eyes, love's alive
I've come untied 'cause we're flashing by
Like satellites
Satellites......

Take all the rules away
How can we live if we don't change?
We're always on display...let's run and hide

In our eyes, love's alive
We've come untied 'cause we're flashing by
Like satellites
Satellites......

If we don't communicate, we'll exist in our own space
We have all the love we need
While we're apart, I cannot breathe

Satellites.....
Flashing by.....
Satellites.....

#DOPENESS #MYLIFEASOFNOW #TRUTHS

crazy in love

"That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe.
'It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud,
Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while;
The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd
With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile:
The strongest body shall it make most weak,
Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak."


"Venus and Adonis," by William Shakespeare

"So with the slow graceful flow of age, I went forth with an age old desire to please"

my girl: the movie that fucked with my expectations of love

Do it, do it, do it, like Beyonce

a woman like me

this scene single handedly fucked up all my expectations of how men treated women they liked

games

No matter how many times we seem to get fucked over when it comes to love, sex, romance, etc, we consistently throw ourselves back into the game. “The game.” I am still trying to come to terms with what exactly that is. My early twenty-something friend recently asked her older, wiser friend if people play games. Her friend replied with a sympathetic sigh, “Oh, honey. Of course.” There are rules, apparently. Everybody plays games. Yet, it seems like no one really knows the rules, who the players are, and what the ultimate goal is. Is it casual sex (whatever that might be), love (whatever that might be), a meaningful relationship (seriously, whatever that might be), or a weird hybrid of all of it? Regardless, it seems like everybody is playing games, but with different rules. Growing up, I liked games. They usually involved sports, or hopscotch, or board games (not monopoly, that shit gets too real). Now, games involve mindfucks, pretending, waiting around a couple of hours or even days before sending reply texts, thinking about how to strategically place punctuation and emoticons, playing it cool, and being chill. Basically, doing everything in your power to not appear crazy. I am not entirely opposed to playing games per se, mainly because it could just be another way for us to communicate with each other with less conflict. However, what I am not okay with is how everyone has different understandings of how to play, which thus, creates major barriers in how we interact and prevents people from doing what I think humans were intended to do, which is form partnerships and build relationships. Or at least, have regular sex, because human bodies, biologically speaking, are built to fit together.  

lessons from great songs.

An education

Don’t make me cry. Don’t tell me that I can’t cry. Don’t tell me that crying makes me crazy. Don’t pretend like we haven’t been introduced several times. Don’t pretend to not know my name when you have facebook stalked me at least ten times. Don’t call me fat behind my back. Don't call me ugly behind my back. Don't call me things, period. Don’t belittle me. Don’t exaggerate. Don’t fuck me up. Don’t call me stupid behind my back. Don’t treat me badly. Don’t ignore me. Don’t make up shit about me. Don’t make up anything about me. Don’t speak to me like you are better than me. Don’t think you are better than me. Don’t try to beat me. Don’t try to make me feel badly about myself. Don’t take the side of assholes. Don’t break my heart. Don’t hurt my feelings. Don’t kick me when I am down. Don’t mistreat me. Don’t tell me what to do. Don’t try to be me. Don’t tell me who I am. Don’t pretend you are my friend. Don’t pretend.

who needs therapy.

The eternal question. Who does or does not need therapy? Who is considered normal, i.e. not needing therapy, and who is the abnormal, the weird, confused, depressed. Could we not all benefit from talking to somebody who is entirely objective about our problems, unload it on them for an hour, and hear their perspective on it. Their judgment wouldn’t be clouded by the fact they love us, and are scared of hurting us, like our friends and family would, who we regularly go to in times of crisis. Talking to a stranger probably could do everyone a bit of good. Why then is there the stigma of going to therapy? Why, when discussing with a friend about how I cried the past two times when I have drank more than usual, did he interrupt me to say, “maybe you should think about therapy.” This struck a nerve. Why me? Am I not normal? Is crying a bad thing? Have I crossed the threshold from cute to scary? I am currently scared that my friend may be right. That yes, I may need therapy. However, I am also of the opinion that I know what is wrong. Or that I am in my twenties and know nothing and that I am okay with that. I don’t need a therapist to delve into my psyche to tell me why I feel a certain way, why I feel alternatively angry, sad, and then happy again when I block out the former feelings. I continue to be disappointed with the way people behave around me and I cannot help but feel sad about this. We are all going to die, and yet we behave in such a way that suggests that we will have all the time in the world to correct our mistakes. This is not the case.  People should be more aware of their mortality, because then perhaps they would act accordingly, and be kinder to others and more considerate. People might take more action, go for what they want, be daring, take risks, build relationships, be friendly, be better. However, people don’t. People do not know how to be. This angers me. Do I need therapy? Maybe. But then so does everybody.