Confessions of a Self-Depreciating Fangirl, Part 2

As I was saying, something happened the other day. I became suddenly aware - and obsessed - with a new celebrity.

In case you haven't noticed by his sudden appearance/mention on this blog, it's Benedict Cumberbatch.

Yes, poor Benedict Cumberbatch, poor, poor Benedict Cumberbatch, who has girls declaring themselves to be his future wife because he, unlike so many celebrities fangirls pine over, IS UNMARRIED.

Not that it stops fangirls from obsessing over married celebrities but, you know, the potentiality of this situation not ending tears is slightly less from the fangirl perspective. Here's how it reads to them:

He's not married! He's so talented! He's so handsome - and those cheekbones! And that voice!* If I could meet him - it'd be perfect!

*They always mention his cheekbones. And his voice. Yes, I did bring up his voice before - he sounds like he could be related to Alan Rickman and it's fucking brilliant. But the repetition of the cheekbones thing... yes, he has a very nice facial structure. But talking about slicing tomatoes with his cheekbones... too far, girls. Way too far... 

I had some variation of this thought the other day (minus the cheekbone bit). Part of it ended up in my Sherlock post, as you might have noticed. Which was nothing abnormal - I talk about celebrities. A LOT (and dammit, he DOES have a fabulous name). But I found myself realizing I'd latched on to this fangirl idea of getting married to a celeb. And I freaked.

Okay, a brief history of me as a tween. I began my earliest fangirling when The Lord of the Rings movies came out (Aragorn all the way, baby). And I went pretty hardcore when Gerard Butler played Erik in The Phantom of the Opera. However, I was fourteen, and had absolutely no interest in dating anyone, no matter how wonderful and famous they were. Because I was fourteen and really yet unaware about life in general. Point is, I was not like other teenage girls who were buying shirts that said, "Mrs. Pitt" and "Mrs. Affleck" from Claire's and convinced that somehow, despite the thousands of girls who were wearing those shirts, they were all going to end up married to said celebrities. Even at the age of fourteen, I thought this was baloney.

So somehow, between the ages of fourteen and twenty-one, I've regressed immensely, to a prior state I was never actually at (well, there was a sort of similar instance where for a few days I thought I might actually get an acceptance letter to Hogwarts, but that didn't last too long for me. I wasn't feeling too secure about my studious nature at the time).

Here's probably how it happened: I'm on Tumblr, ensconced amongst all these photos of celebrities, and suddenly I start seeing all these posts about peeps being fanatic about their favorite celebrities. It starts to look normal to me, and I find myself slipping in and doing the same thing. I found who Benedict Cumberbatch was in part BECAUSE OF Tumblr. But here's where it went different, where it didn't morph into a previous favorite actor obsession: the first thing that really caught my attention wasn't just a photo; it was a quote from some article where Cumberbatch - according to a Tumblr user quoting the article ("I saw it on the internet, it's definitely true.") - said that his biggest regret was not having kids by the age of 32.

Whomp. Just like that I was suddenly, emotionally attached to a man I've never met. This is not unusual - this has happened a bajillion times. What WAS different was how I reacted to it, that I didn't just care that he was attractive and intelligent and talented; no, I also cared about his emotional well-being on a level I can honestly say I've never reached before for a person I've never met, never seen in person, never in lived in the same country as. That was warning sign number 1.

Warning sign number 2 was spending more time on Tumblr than on anything else - even my fictional writing. Not because I talk to people on there (I really don't; I don't get how that works with just an ask box and a bunch of photos). No, it was because I wanted to see all of these new photos of my new favorite actor and share in the experience of people knowing who he is. And slowly, I realized I was getting jealous of the other people out there who I once sympathized with; where once I felt we bonded, I suddenly felt jealous of; as if they were trying to prove themselves a better fan than me. Big old warning sign number 3.

And then yesterday, I was on Tumblr and I saw this gif set I'd seen before: Cumberbatch dancing to "Thriller" at a party. Only there were a bunch of comments talking about how it had been stolen from a Facebook profile and that it was not meant to be shown to the public. Tumblr people were asking for it to be deleted and not reblogged and to address whoever had originally posted it it. But it was too late. I was incredibly creeped out.

I began wondering... How may of these other photos out there are NOT supposed to be released to the Internet? And not just for Cumberbatch - for Michael Fassbender, David Tennant, etc. etc. etc. What do these guys actually think of their fans? I mean, I want to be a famous writer - how would I feel if people posted this sort of stuff about me? (Freaked. Totally freaked. I'd appreciate it at first but then once I started seeing stuff about me everywhere, I'd totally flip out.) So why would we treat actors any different than we'd treat ourselves?

Because we idolize them. Honestly, if I met one of the actors I've mentioned, I have no idea how I'd react. I can't truly imagine it. Well, I mean I do imagine it but it's not authentic. In my mind, I'm all cool and collected. In reality, I'd probably be having a fit and pass out or just be too nervous to even say anything.

So there's this conundrum here - the want to treat actors like you would anyone else (because, after all, that's probably what they want and if you want hang out with an actor, you don't want to be the crazy one who's built a shrine out of printer paper and teacups in your room), but also the need to respect them, to express your admiration (which then gets totally carried away here). And you get stuck in fangirling.

So why do we do this to ourselves? Well, fangirling is easier than some other options. Let me explain:

1) As I've mentioned before, it's less riskier than actually getting involved in relationships. Here, the only person who can break your heart is reality - and even that can be eluded for an extended period of time.You keep telling yourself that anything is possible and that you could totally wind up marrying someone famous someday. And you keep those voices in your head telling you you're just being silly silent a while longer.

2) It's easier to let it go than fight it, especially if you're in school. I mean, I sat through 30 plus minutes today in a lecture, discussing the flaws in an experiment. 70% of the things students said were confounds WEREN'T and we spent forever discussing why so. Unfortunately for me, I get this stuff within the first five minutes. And for some inexplicable reason, even as a junior, college is boring for me. So I spend the rest of class bored out of my mind and daydreaming, wishing for an escape. It's no wonder that I want to be swept off my feet by some dashing actor.

3) In relation to the first point, there's this predominate feeling that a lot of these fangirls don't have boyfriends and can't get boyfriends, for whatever reasons. Boys ignore them, they get "friend zoned," they just have bad luck... you get the idea. You know my story. So, it's like this decision that since they can't get a normal guy, they might as well reach for the stars and dream of something impossible.

This all sounds rather sad and disturbing and disheartening, I know. I'm sure all fangirls aren't this way, but the more time I spend on Tumblr, the more I see girls like this. It makes me realize that this part of myself - this repression of obsessing with actors, inability to get a normal boyfriend, dreaming of perfection - isn't as abnormal as I'd thought. But now this powerful, potent release is no longer comforting. It's terrifying. I'm no longer alone, but I still feel the urge to run away from myself. I hate myself for acting this way. But I just feel more insecure, more trapped by my own life - trapped by school, trapped by circumstances, trapped by things I have to do but don't want to - and I'm back to wanting to escape as I was before.

And as much as daydreaming can be fun and wonderful, it can also be dangerous. You've got a good picture of why. My friend [X] once said that most of her life is lived in her head, which I found profoundly sad. Not having actual actions, just dreaming out what you want to do rather than actually being able to do it. While the importance of imagination is great, its power can go too far.

Perhaps my want for action is what made this situation different. I had the sudden urge to meet Mister Cumberbatch. Okay, obviously fan girls want to meet all of their favorite celebrities. I want to meet John Barrowman, but more out of a "wow, we'd be great friends; I feel like I already know him" vein. This current case is markedly different. This is more like, "Hey, I know nothing about him, but I feel like I understand him better than anyone else." Which is totally weird. And probably what 80% of other fan girls feel. So tough shit for me.

However, also in combination with this is the whole issue with photos and videos being released that aren't supposed to be, in which I feel the desire to prove that not all fans are not so incredibly creepy. Which is impossible to do while feeling like a creep. So of course I found myself trying to not be creepy, to try to be a fan without being totally mental about it - an elegant, mature adult who just happens to fancy an actor. While all the time, in the back of my mind, I'm trying to figure out how I could get to London and "stumble across" Cumberbatch during the Olympics or something as equally absurd (because, you know, out of 7 million people there plus however many millions will attend the Olympics, I'm going to be able to find ANYONE). It's a like a constant battle, trying to not feel like a tween about this (it's interesting that all the imagery about fangirling comes from young girls. But that's a topic for another time). And now all this self-reflection, and reflecting upon reflection, is a bit much. I've just got a whole lot of words on a page and no clear idea of where to go from here. All I know is that I want to be recognized for who I am, not a mindless, faceless fanatic. So I'm limiting my time on Tumblr, reminding myself that actors or people to (unlike what Max Bialystok might say in The Producers), and that I am young and naive and very good at being both things and that I might as well accept that I'm going to do stupid stuff. But the least I can do is limit the embarrassment I cause for myself and for others. Because these actors I adore so much deserve better than... whatever this attempt at explanation and apologizing this is. Sorry, great thespians, and, while I won't pretend that you're reading this, I extend an apologia for this league of fangirls. And an extra expression of regret to the fine Mr. Cumberbatch as the unknowing example in this RIDICULOUSLY LONG post (many apologies, dear sir... you've been dragged into the realm of cultural theorizing.). And since this really is an on-going tale and I've no idea how to close this, I'm just going to stop... right... here.

Confessions of a Self-Depreciating Fangirl

I am in denial that this semester is happening. Really. I just remembered today that I have an essay due in my Comedy class (which sounds like a lot more fun than it actually is) next Thursday. And I have a test on Monday in Research Methods. And I have to find research articles for my Research Methods paper. And I have to accept myself that I'm back in school and that, yes, once again, I have found myself swamped with work and sick and living half of my life in mental fantasies that will never, ever happen - this week's includes John Barrowman singing Cole Porter and Benedict Cumberbatch reading great English literature to me while I curl up all warm and cozy on the couch, sneezing (elegantly and lady-like, as if such sort of sneezing was possible) and drinking Earl Grey tea. Like I said, totally impossible. The best I can do is hole up in Espresso Royale between classes and drink Spanish Lattes and read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Charlotte Bronte and try not to panic over having absolutely no control over this semester. And life in general.

I mean, where the hell is this year going? It just started and already we're in the first full week of February! I'm sitting here, with a watch around my neck, and time's all just ticking by me. It's kind of unnerving.

Oh, and I think I got Mo, [Львица]'s cat, sick. I know that diseases aren't supposed to transfer from human to cat, but Mo slept on my bed last night and it was fantastic and comforting, but now she's sneezing. I just feel like everything I'm trying to do to make things easier for myself backfires.

Like writing this blog. I should totally be doing some homework, or essay writing, or research planning, or internship hunting. But I just can't make myself care about those things right now. I need to stop working for a few minutes, to breathe and relax and tell myself I'm not going to break down (and all in the back of my head, I'm thinking about all the stuff we're talking about in my classes, about how the Industrial Revolution has made us all machine-like and it's freaking me out). I go on Tumblr to chill out and see fun pix of my favorite shows and movies, but instead I just get visually attacked by totally beautiful European men - okay, okay British and a couple Irish men, you win, [Львица] - (Barrowman, Cumberbatch, David Tennant, Ewan McGregor, Michael Fassbender, Colin Firth, Martin Freeman, James McAvoy, the list continues and seems to grow everyday...) and I feel stalker-ish and, well, for lack of a better word, weird.

Let me set this up for you: I have this absurd desire to be famous. Wow, okay, who doesn't, right? Actually, I never used to care about that sort of thing (well, maybe I did, but I'd convinced myself otherwise). Then something happened - A) I realized that 75% of the people I knew in high school didn't know who I was,* B) I wasn't going to be able to me a music teacher and change lives in a small, sweet way like Mr. Holland, and C) If I couldn't do what I originally planned, then dammit I might was well go big and become the next big American writer. Or some shit like that. And people were finally going to appreciate me and care and it didn't matter that most of my teachers couldn't remember my name and I never got asked to Homecoming or Prom and that one little asshole in my AP Psych class insinuated that I'd never get married. No, none of that would matter when I could roll up to our high school reunion as a fucking millionaire and a best-selling author. And that the fact that they never thought I was cool was an utterly moot point. This is not original. I know. But it's how I've felt since graduation, and it's how I still feel now.

* I'll never forget the time [Broadway Baby] was trying to convince me that people liked me and he asked this guy named Sam who was walking by, "Hey, Sam, do you like [La Maga]?" To which he replied, "Who's [La Maga]?" I'm pretty sure this was a common reaction for most people. Even in my graduating class (which had around 400 people, mind you. My school had 2000 students, so maybe I should stop whining and be glad anyone knew me at all).

So I have an obsession with fame. How American. In turn, I have an obsession with famous people (which I have discussed multitudes of times and will continue to discuss, because I'm a CSCL major and that's what we do. And I just have a lot of feelings). I also have an unfortunate trend of thinking that actors who happen to play my favorite characters or characters I grow to love, who are very handsome/charming/dashing, and say something that I happen to agree with are suddenly the EXACT MAN I AM LOOKING FOR IN MY LIFE. I am not alone in this happening - I see it all across Tumblr. Which is a great sort of, "Hey, look, I'm not alone!" tool - which is nice for the first few weeks. But then you - okay, I - started to get creeped out. Because it's just SO MUCH FANGIRLING.

I can understand a little bit. Okay, John Barrowman is one gorgeous man - I have stated that far too much on this blog. In fact, I had a page in which to try to focus some of the fangirling so as not to make a bunch of nonsense posts. But then I looked at it today and thought it was creepy. So sadly, it is no more. You're welcome, John Barrowman. Not that you read this. Unless you do...

See? See what I did there? FANGIRLS THINK THIS ALL THE TIME. They think that their favorite celebrity is secretly reading their blogs. They think that for some reason, Mr. Famous Talented Handsome Celebrity will swoop down from his very busy, hectic life into their very dull, mundane ones and sweep them off their feet to some exquisite life full of roses and awards shows and awesomeness. I am not making fun of fangirls out of spite. Because I find myself wishing for these same things.

And you know another thing that's stupid? Oscar Season and Valentine's Day - two things that should NOT be this close together. For the sake of the fangirls, it's very, very dangerous. I was wondering if anyone's ever tried to crash the Oscars in order to see their favorite actor (probably yes. I feel like it'd be pretty easy - get a nice dress, tell them you're a Baldwin, you're in). Also, Valentine's Day produces a deep melancholia for most people who are of the single state. Which only doubles the power of the fangirl obsession.

I could very easily let myself continue down this path of constantly blogging photos of celebrities I have crushes on and flipping out over them and being totally obsessive, like a little kid watching a puppy in a shop window (wow, nice self-depreciating imagery there, right? Demeaning actors into puppy-like images. I can't decide if that's truthful or too harsh a way of describing this phenomenon). But the other day, something happened. Maybe it's because I'm tired of feeling stuck between the ages of fifteen and thirty. Maybe it's because my mind is being enlightened because of my On Television class. Maybe it's because my fangirling went to a whole new level.

Regardless, this the longest blog I've written this year. But it's a bit too long. So I'm going to continue this in part two. Readers beware.

Revealing [La Maga]

So, if you regularly read my blog (which I don't think anyone does, but if you do, I owe you a coffee and infinite adoration) you'll notice I'm no longer [Nazi Vampire Hunter]. I'm now [La Maga]. Of course, none of this really matters because I still identify myself by my first name. But it does matter... oh, yes it does. Because defining one's identity in words is fun and cool and hard to do but I'm driven to do it anyway because I'M A WRITER AND GODDAMMIT I WILL CONQUER THESE WORDS!

I had coffee today. I'm sorry. (No I'm not. I really love coffee).

The deal is, [Львица] changed her name. You see, she was [the major was a lady] but that name has now been switched in all previous posts and, accept for the fact that I love recalling past things and had to mention it here, it will no longer appear on this blog. And, because I'm a copycat and felt like changing mine to something that won't connect my blog to Twilight, Nazis, or Nazi Vampires eating babies, I decided to go with something new. Yes, [La Maga] doesn't sound as kick-ass, but trust me: it's cool in it's own right. At least, I think it is.

Here's where it comes from: back in the day, my compatriots and I got really into tarot somewhere between graduation and the summer after my freshman year in college. I really grew to like [novel killer]'s deck, a design called Paulina Tarot (which you can check out here, if it behooves you). While I'm probably getting scorn for being into tarot from all sides (assumptions that it's all about the occult, assumptions that I'm trying to predict the future in a way that's no more legit than horoscopes and fortune cookies), I DON'T CARE. For one, it's actually based of a European card game and is not inherently about witchcraft, Satan worshiping or any other not-so respectable hobbies. Also, I feel it's a lot more complex than horoscopes, considering it's not just giving you a description of basic personality types that could fit anyone; tarot descriptions are actually pretty particular, there's 72 cards, and the meanings change depending what sort of deck you have. Look, I'm a logical, rational human being, but sometimes, things in life can't be explained by science. I like to think tarot is one of those things. However, I don't expect you to agree with me. Honestly, I have a furious love for the mysterious - I thrive off of these sorts of things.

Anyway, [novel killer] used her deck to answer some questions I had about life. And I was totally blown away. Like it was accurate. Really freaking accurate. And because I like odd, not-so-normal things, I got interested in tarot and decided to buy my own deck. [novel killer] gave me some advice about it, in particular saying to go with the deck that jumps out the most at you, the one you can't get out of your head - because that deck is choosing you. And it happened that the deck I liked most was the same style [novel killer]. So I bought it. And it was brilliant.

http://www.paulina.ws/tarot/1-magician.html

There's this whole series of weird stories I could tell you about my deck - and [novel killer]'s because they: a) each have their own personality and b) are related, but I've probably weirded you all out enough thus far. So I'm going to cut to the chase and talk about the major arcana. The major arcana are twenty-two cards that represent personas, so to say. Death, The Chariot, The Fool... these are all major arcana cards. Anyway, each person has a card that represents them. And when you get a deck and get to know it, you find out which card it is (via a long drawn out process With my deck, it's The Magician - hence La Maga, the Italian for the same word.

Here's the description of the card for my deck:

Infinite possibilities, self confidence, personal power, determination, concentration, action, focus.
Reversed: lack of courage, destructive use of powers, manipulation, confusion.

Do I think that sounds like me? Well, I sure as hell want it to. Look at that card - it's gorgeous. But seriously, out of all of the major arcana card descriptions, this one fits me best.

http://erinmorgenstern.com

But enough of me going about tarot. The reason all of this is on my mind is that I just read one of the best books I've ever encountered in modern fiction: The Night Circus. IT IS AMAZING. I bring it up because it's all about magicians and a tarot reader and a guy who's card is the Magician. And it's absolutely such an amazing, sweet, powerful, romantic book. Everything I want my writing to be, as a matter of fact.

So, long story made longer, I decided to call myself [La Maga] because it encompasses all sorts of things for me. And I'm all about creating stuff - what represents creating better than the infinite possibilities of a magician?

And, yeah, it's one of the first words I ever learned in Italian. Judge me at will.

Also, many many many thanks to [Львица] and [The Question] for dealing with my name change. It's super annoying to go through all those posts. Thanks guys :D

Resolved

http://www.decibelmagazine.com

Well, it's New Year's Eve. And you know what that means: resolutions. Usually for me this means going to a friend's house for a New Year's Party, feeling awkward, hearing everyone talk about how they feel overweight and how their resolutions for next year are to loose weight and find their soul mate, and then feeling like a douche when you make a witty or personal resolution.

You can see why I'd be a little reluctant to make my own. But I'm going to. Because I know what I'm capable of and what I want. And I know what I want to challenge myself to do. It's not going to be anything simple or petty or what I think people want to hear or what my insecurities make me think. It's going to be legit :D So here we go.

1) Work Out: I don't mean loose weight. At all. I don't need to loose weight, goddammit. That said, I would like to feel more fit. I can't help wanting to get rid of my love handles and maybe feeling like I could be a ninja, work for Torchwood, or survive a zombie apocalypse (or at least, you know, run without hurting my pathetically weak ankles). Namely, I want to feel more bad-ass and build some more self-esteem. So gym time it is.

2) No more putdowns directed at myself: There are enough people out there putting me down each day without me needing to do it myself. I don't know where this whole negativism thing started (Catholic school humbleness gone wrong, too many friends who've ditched me, too many friends who have insecurities themselves and reverse it by slamming me) but there's no use for it. There's no reason to blame myself for things THAT WEREN'T MY FAULT. I know what my faults are. And they don't need to be over-analyzed or blamed all the time.

3) Write a goddamn novel: Self-explanatory. I've got two started right now. If I can finish at least one (not totally finish, but get an end and a solid draft) I will be pretty damn proud of myself.

4) Be What I Am: I'm already doing pretty well this but, you know, it doesn't hurt to remind myself to stick with it :)

So Happy New Years, world - I'm gonna sign off and eat some tacos and drink some champagne. See you in 2012!

Strength

http://www.paulina.ws/

So [Львица] stayed up late last night, having a conversation about how I was feeling in regards to the situation with [X]. She told me to stop beating myself up and blaming myself for things. Along with many other genius thing, which I will attempt to briefly reiterate here.

Like how people who used to be shy (I am certianly one of those) aren't used to no one liking you; we're afraid of making enemies when it's time to say our own opinion. It's why [X] is afraid to say her opinions, afraid of what it's going to be like. Because she doesn't want to lose people. And it's the same for me.

But we're going to lose people. We're going to make mistakes. That's why regret exists in the world. We have to fight. Because it's sadder to let someone win without a fight

There is something to be learned from how [novel killer] acts - she doesn't concede. I wouldn't want to be that extreme (especially in light of recent events). But she at least what she gets what she needs to say out there. Otherwise, as [Львица] it's like a film on top of the water, with people not saying everything they want to say.

"I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did," [Львица] told me. She described to me how we're a lot of different people in our lives and, as we grow up, we have to let one go and it's like grieving for a person who's died. We have a fantasy of ourselves in our heads, a fantasy that [Львица] said she lived for eight years of who she could be. Yet she never touched who she was - she had no real idea. She was a soul untouched and the time to find out who she was had arrived. She likened it to idealizations of love - how after you really fall in love, you read books and hear music in a different way. You can think about what it will be like, but you won't really know until you know.

There's a barrier between us - a barrier of time and life. But you have to press up against the glass, to make it your own words, to make it your own.

http://tuttoinbiancoenero.tumblr.com

So it was with these thoughts that I started today. And started it very well, I might add. Until the shit hit the fan once more. [novel killer] has sent me a message about doing Secret Santa for the Christmas part and I told her this:

I think [X] is still in charge of Secret Santa, actually. [Львица] and I weren't planning on doing it.

And then she said:

All right. She said you wanted to be in charge, so I figured I'd ask.


And then I said:

Well, we just offered to let her have the party here and she misinterpreted it as us wanting to take over the party; we just wanted to offer our apartment as a venue. Sorry for the confusion
.

And then it ended up at this from [novel killer]:

Stop stop stop. No. [X] informed me last night that you had messaged her asking if it was okay if you did, and said said it was fine if you did, but she'd be upset about it but if some something she had to work out by herself. That would be you wanted to take over the party. Which is fine, there's nothing wrong with it, so that's why I asked you this. And yes, she was upset, but it was more of because she'd been doing it for years.



Frankly I think everyone needs to get over their hatred for the little stuff. It's stupid. Everything's not about you (as in individuals). It's about together. [X] being upset about losing control is not about you wanting to take it over, it's symbolic of the fact that the times have changed and she's trying to deal with it. It's Christmas. I don't need this, no one needs this. I have familial stuff going on right now that's going to be a huge sour note during Christmas, so the last thing I want it to have a petty party with friends that I won't enjoy the company of because they're all being petty. And it's not just you. You'll probably take it that way and tell [Львица] and then people will hate me, but whatever. Just try to remember the things people do usually have nothing to do with you as a person. (That goes for everyone.) I would give everyone this speech, but unfortunately you're the message I got this morning and therefore you get the brunt of it.



I know you're not very happy with [X] for whatever reason, but you know what? Whatever it is, I guarantee it's a stupid reason. I don't even know what it is, but I know it's stupid. So you know what? Get over it. Everyone should get over their stupid things with each other and move on. Why? Not because it's Christmas. Not because we want to be the bigger person. Why? Because we're friends. And good friends should love near-conditionally. {I think she means non-conditionally.} Because people fuck up, and your friends are supposed to forgive you for it. Like if I yelled at you for an hour because I was so angry from outside sources and your little thing happened to be the thing that set me off? As a friend, I would expect you to forgive me without be having to say anything once we cooled down. Because that's what friends do. And we were great friends. Unfortunately college has separated us. And now we're not during the year, but we still should have that bond. And if we don't, why are we having Christmas with one another? Because if we're not friends enough to forgive each other of expressing opinion and not get catty and guilt-trippy, then we shouldn't have Christmas at all.



And that's the reason I haven't even posted on the Christmas thread yet. I wanted to see how this played out. And I hope my friends prove me wrong, but we'll have to see.



Also, thanks for completely ignoring [musical queen]. (note the sarcasm). I know she can be a handful, but she is our friend, and either you or [Львица], since you decided the date seeing as it's your place, could've politely told her that you can't have the party when she's in town because of [Львица] not being in town.



Anyway, I hope you give this some thought instead of taking it as [La Maga]-bashing and hate me forever instead of something our entire group needs to work on. (Except for maybe [foxy lady], and ha, ironically [musical queen] who has never passed judgement on any of you because she genuinely likes you.)


Needless to say, this kind of tore me up when I saw it. Okay, that's a lie. IT FUCKING DEVASTATED ME. This isn't the first time something like this had happened between [novel killer] and me though. She sent me a really terrible message on Facebook back in my freshman year, one that made me hate myself so much I actually toyed with the thought the thought of jumping of the Washington Avenue bridge because I felt like entire world loathed my guts. I don't think [novel killer] realizes how much power her words have - especially over me.

We didn't exclude [musical queen] from party plans - [Львица] talked to her separately. As for the rest of it... I don't know. She clearly blames me for everything that happened here - and then some. A lot of it doesn't make sense. How can she say my problems are just stupid without even knowing what they are? How can I non-conditionally care about a person when they write poisonous things like this and don't seem really reciprocate that? Why is okay for people to take out their cathartic problems on me but when I actually have a problem, it's stupid?

Beats me. I think it's crap. Really, I do. Despite how shitty I felt during social psych (which was ironically about female aggression, in which we discussed Mean Girls - which I'd actually just seen) I was feeling much less shitty and blame-worthy. I'm not gonna take it, dammit. I have feelings - I have rights. I am my own woman. And though I did what she expected I would - I showed it to [Львица], I don't hate her as a person. I hate some of the things she does but I don't hate HER. I'm just worried about her. Because this and what she was telling [Львица] isn't healthy. There's a lot of hate built up there and I'm worried for her.

Good thing is, I talked with [X] tonight and straightened some things out. We're back on friendly terms and I feel like we could be moving to a much stronger, healthier relationship. I hope so at least. And the funny thing about anger - once you get an apology, you can't remember why you were mad in the first place. This new bridge into... wherever....It's not going to be easy, but I'm going to stick to my guns. I'm going to find out what's going on with [novel killer] and I'm going to keep working to be the strong, fabulous woman I know I can be. I've seen it. I can do it.

I'm worth it. :)

Blue Christmas

http://pic.blackberryseeker.com

Well, [X] has done it now. She's now tainted one of the few sacred things I've got: Christmas.

Here's the deal: my group of friends have this annual tradition of having a Christmas party at [X]'s house every year. Although, because of insinuating circumstances, [X]'s family now lives with her grandmother and she doesn't feel comfortable/isn't allowed to have guests over. And, because I realized that I hadn't heard anything yet about a Christmas party, I messaged her about it. She wasn't sure whether she was up for it, but I told her that [Львица] and I were certainly interested and so she sent out a Facebook message about it. Because she said she couldn't have guests over, [Львица] and I offered up our place. She seemed okay about it, but when I did message her, she sort of flipped out. This was the message:

Me:
Hey, you seem busy and I don't want to pressure you into doing the Christmas party if you don't want to, so if you're not interested in doing it, Sarah and I would be cool just hosting a little get-together at our apartment. I don't want to take over the Christmas party from you or anything and we wouldn't do Secret Santa or anything like that; just dinner and hang-out-ness up here. Lemme know what you think.


[X]:
I don't want to sound like a bitch, but I want to be honest. It's really hard for me to turn over running the Christmas party to anybody, since I've been hosting it since I was in the sixth grade--before I even knew you or Sarah or most of the people who are invited to it now. It's been my way of giving my friends a holiday gift, hokey as that sounds. So not being able to throw it makes me feel really irrelevant.

(Some period of time later)
With that said, I'm not eleven anymore. I know that more people than me feel a sense of ownership over the concept of a "Christmas get-together" now and have every right to host it. And the truth is, I don't really have anything to give right now. I don't have a home to welcome anyone to. I don't have a lot of time or energy. I don't even feel like I have the right "spirit" to do this. So if you and Sarah want to host this get-together, then I'll honestly be okay with that. I may even be relieved. Just please don't think badly of me for not getting to the point of being absolutely ok with not hosting this immediately. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty by being honest with you, I just want you to see all my cards laid out on the table so that nothing gets bottled up to fester.


Me:
Okay, this is not what I expected at all and it makes me really sad. I think you, [Львица] and I need to have a talk about this.

http://mendokusee.deviantart.com/

So she called me and we talked. Sort of. I don't know why but every time I get on the phone, all of my gumption fails. Oh, wait, I know why. Because I'm a coward.

Yep, that's the truth. I'm a sniveling little coward. I can say exactly how I feel about [X] to [Львица] but when it comes to actually telling [X}, I hear her voice, that sound like she's on the verge of tears and suddenly I'm back to square one. I can't tell her that I'm pissed - though I did tell her I was upset and was audibly angry on the phone yesterday. But somehow, I just can't manage to find the words to tell her how I actually feel. Despite the fact that when her I read her message I was shaking and ended up taking out my rage gnashing Cheerios angrily and cathartically writing all kinds of poisonous thoughts for fifteen minutes. When she starts her talk about feeling unworthy of her friends and how bad she feels about herself and how she feels like all of her problems are insignificant and thus won't talk about them (which then makes them more-so - and more dangerously - important because they get all muddled up in stuff like this), it hits the little part inside of me that feels the same way and then I make my stuff unimportant so at least one person thinks her stuff is important (instead of having an equal, two-way street of a friendship). And then because I try to understand her and support her, I can't criticize her without her thinking I hate her - which she's pushing me to only through self-fulling prophecy. Because she thinks everyone hates her, I begin to hate her because I can't be honest with her. I don't hate her - I just want her think before she speaks, to want to change herself for the better. But instead, I don't tell her this; I just talk about her behind her back. Just like she does. In my inability to be honest with her, I become exactly what I hate about her.

And I don't know what to do.

Ironically, we were talking about relationships and aggression (two separate topics that accidentally overlapped due to too much material) in my social psych class on Monday, which was really too much. Sometimes, my psychology classes oddly mirror my life. What it did tell me was that I can't stay this way. I can't passively wait for us to finally grow apart or stick by her even if I get hurt. That's what I've been doing; it doesn't work and it feels wrong. I don't know whether it's best to try to actively work through our problems, because that would take time from her and she seems to damn busy to care about that sort of thing. Besides, I don't know if it's worth trying to work through and save. Which basically gives me one option: tell her it's done. She's pushed me too far away and that I'm done unless she steps forward herself. But that's not just something you can spring on someone. It's not like you can just break up with a friend (I dunno - maybe you can; I've never tried it). But I have so few friends these days, I feel reluctant to do so - because if I piss her off, I piss off everyone else who still talks to me from high school, [Львица] and [action is eloquence] and [uber gay] probably being the only exceptions. And [save the panzer]. Because fortunately for him, he has nothing to do with this shit.

So right now I just feel ansty and stressed and crampy because it's nearly finals time and I literally have cramps. Yay. But I know I can't stay this way. I mean, after I talked to [X] yesterday, I felt like a terrible person. She makes me feel bad about myself. And then "I am what I am" came on my iTunes and I started crying, because I couldn't have felt farther from what I am after that conversation. I was glad [Львица] called me to save me from wallowing in self-pity.

But bloody hell - IT'S CHRISTMAS. I shouldn't feeling bad about myself. I shouldn't put up with [X] totally misconstruing her friendships and, through trying to not make anything about her, totally make everything about her. I SHOULDN'T BE FEELING LIKE A PILE OF CRAP AGAIN. I was so happy before I got that message, thinking all about a holiday party (because I've never hosted a holiday party. Ever. In fact, I think I've only hosted six parties in my entire life). I want that carefree happiness back. Am I going to let [X] get me down. Not anymore. No, I shan't! It's Christmas.

http://my-girl-friday.tumblr.com/post/13713307091/no-i-shant-its-christmas

Me of Many Moonstruck Meanderings

I saw this in one of my psych books and love it for unknown reasons.

So I realize that in my long word vomit about my friends' relationship experiences, I failed to talk about any of my own. And if I'm going to tell all about my friends, it's only fair that I do the same for myself. Of course, there's really not much to discuss. But then again, maybe there's more there than I think. So, being a creepy psych major, I'm going to talk it through and come to... some sort of consensus. All for the benefit of those publicly judging me.

I guess I could start at the beginning, in preschool, when I'm pretty sure I had a crush on a kid named Jordan (one easy way to tell if I have a crush - I talk about the person A LOT). But then he tattled on me for playing with clay during storytime and, though our teacher said it was fine, it was like he knew my real intentions (I had it because I wanted to take it home with me because I didn't have any clay at home. But then I left it under a dining room chair and it got all dry and useless. One of the only two times I've stolen in my entire life - and both times were an epic fail. But I digress...) Anyway, I never really forgave Jordan for his betrayal. Not the most positive start, eh?

I had a crush [quick disclaimer - I wouldn't really regard these as crushes because I didn't recognize them as such until much later. In fact, I don't think I ever recognized I really liked a guy in a romantic-sort of way until high school. It seems the late bloomer thing is a common theme with me] on a kid named Michael in 3rd or 4th grade until I moved. And then there was an awkward incident with a boy named William. Girls seemed to know more about him than I did, but I once heard a rumor that in second grade he forced a kiss upon one of my friends (but I never asked her about it because I felt like it was inappropriate. And because I'm awkward enough regarding small talk). One rainy day, we were stuck inside for indoor recess and playing some game that William wasn't happy with. He wanted me to play something else, but I didn't want to. So he tried to coerce me through pleading and inching his hand up my leg. I was wearing a skort or a skirt or something and so part of my thigh was exposed. Once his hand got there I was totally freaking out and I had no idea what to do. I didn't know what he was doing, I don't know if he knew what he was doing, and it was definitely not making me any more willing to play with him. He finally stopped touching my leg (probably when it looked like I was going to start crying) and left me alone and I was relieved. I however was terrified of him for the rest of my time at that school.

That probably sounds like the perfect place for someone like Doctor Phil to be like, "See, that traumatized you and scarred you and changed you." I don't know if it did. Honestly, I've never told anyone about that before. Maybe it did. It never really troubled me - well, it troubled me, but I never really thought about it as possibly, you know, important to my psyche until I started studying psychology. It's probably not. It's probably just an awkward, uncomfortable growing up experience. Did it have much of an impact? Who the hell knows...

Then the move to Minnesota. Despite like half of my friends and my grandmother's belief, I never had a crush on [uber gay]. I just didn't. He annoyed me at first, actually. I did have a crush on a guy named Ethan, who moved to California and I never saw him again. He deserves more than this simple sentence, but I was twelve, so... not really much to say.

AND he's a Celtic fan? Goddammit... (from people.com)

And then in junior high I met [Broadway baby] and became really good friends with him. He was the closest guy friend, other than [uber gay] and maybe Michael, that I'd ever had. And then in high school, for our first homecoming dance, he gave me an corsage, an "extra one" that he said he'd had, even though my parents were convinced he bought it on purpose. It was the only time a guy has ever bought me flowers. I realized that I might just have a crush on [Broadway baby] in sophomore year. The same year he came out. Alas.

Somewhere between 8th grade and freshman year of high school I had my first star crush, on a Scot no less. Thank you, Gerard Butler, for making the Phantom of the Opera ridiculously sexy. You were supposed to have a scarred appearance,  you were supposed to a crazy murderer. And yet you were still hot.

Then there were the awkward high school years, which I'd rather not talk about but probably don't have a choice (actually, I do, but this is my blog. And I have this whole honesty bit going on...) I had some weird celebrity crushes (Jason Issacs, Hugo Weaving, Heath Ledger only after I'd seen him in The Dark Knight), some random comedy infatuations (looking at you, Stephen Colbert and Craig Ferguson) and other various actor obsessions (Hugh Jackman, Colin Firth, Paul Bettany). And then I saw Ewan McGregor in Moulin Rouge and my life was forever changed. Or ruined. I'm not sure, exactly.

Also amongst high school were weird awkward feelings of I-don't-know-what for a teacher or two. It was probably more intense admiration but I didn't know how to process it and thus stupidly told [X] and [novel killer] about one of them at the end of high school and thus became known for having a thing for authority figures. It was not an encouraging step towards actually talking about my feelings.

But wait, I'm forgetting something... there was that week at a summer music clinic at the University of Wisconsin, where one of my instructors was an opera grad student in music, specifically opera. He was gay, I'm pretty sure, but I couldn't help getting a tiny crush on a guy who can tell you the plot of Tosca in modern, exciting terms and then sings fantastic tenor solos at the class's urging. Between this and McGregor, I think I have a thing for vocalists.

And I'm totally forgetting a whole thing with [hahahaha SHUT UP] which I've never really spoken about. That deserves discussion... but probably not here. Because it would take far too much discussion and explanation.

Then college. Star crushes on Michael Fassbender and Christoph Waltz in Inglourious Basterd. And on James McAvoy after Becoming Jane. And obviously John Barrowman... because of reasons.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Because last year I fell hard for one of my instructors, [tedesco]. I was pretty much in love with him. As much as you can be with someone you don't know super well, someone who's older than you and will never reciprocate what you think you feel. I say think because it's actually hard for me to recognize that I felt that way about him now. [X] had an nice little explanation for this when I talked to her about it, after I'd fallen for [No-Mr-Darcy] which you can experience here. I think I was just happy to find someone to talk to in a new major, who was cute and funny and not afraid to say what he was thinking, even if it was awkward and I disagreed. I think it was just nice to meet a guy who actually liked deep, intellectual conversations.

And just as the school year ended and I was trying to work through my feelings regarding [tedesco], I met [No-Mr-Darcy]. It was honestly the first time I had a crush on someone who was my age since [Broadway baby]. It was the first time I actually felt NOT scared to tell someone how I felt, given the right time (though that never came). But I don't have to tell you all about that. You can read it all here. And here. And pretty much anything in August or September.

So that's that. There you go. We could do this by terms of firsts, but I don't know if that's a good way to approach my life. As my first serious crush that wasn't on celebrity wasn't really until... senior year of high school. And my first date was a non-date with [No-Mr-Darcy] that ended with a hand shake. And my "first kiss" was an awkward cheek peck from [hahahaha SHUT UP]. And that William and the random neck licker from Friday Night Paint Fight and [slightly pansexual, mostly annoying]'s backrub are the most intimate any man has ever been with me (and two out of the three were totally unwanted... and the back rub was grudgingly accepted. Actually, [slightly pansexual, mostly annoying] might actually have a bit of finess for back massage on awkward trips from an apartment to the Saloon while his friend [save the panzer] is currently trying not to turn around and strangle him. But I digress). And then there was the forced cuddling from [one-complicated-lesbian] who was distraught to find that I had never cuddled with anyone before, even with a friend, and then forced me to experience it in a bunk in our Fort William hostel. God, that sounds bad. It was nonsexual, but still totally awkward. (How do I get myself into these situations? Really?)

See what I mean? It sounds really bad - like the plot to some comedy-drama.  It sounds even worse when you've had a bad day and the weather sucks and you can't sleep and you're home all alone and you feel crappy and you think you're going to be alone forever. Which is an assumption. And a stupid assumption. So fuck that. Seriously. Yes, I have a zero relationship experience. Yes, I am a total romantic who has no notion of what modern dating actually consists of. But something will work out. There are 7 BILLION PEOPLE on this planet. 7 BILLION. Somewhere out there, there has to be someone else who's not a royal jerk, who isn't socially awkward, who isn't trying so hard to prove his manliness or show how smart he is or just get in some girl's pants. Who's just comfortable being who he is. Am I really that naive to think that not all my romantic notions are false? But really, I'm not asking for this:

http://www.doodlekisses.com/forum/topics/things-to-do-if-the-lights-go-out-during-the-hurricane?page=9&commentId=2065244%3AComment%3A2673482&x=1#2065244Comment2673482

I don't want that. That freaks me out. And it just seems... false. I'm just asking for this:

This has been another romantic musing by the Vulture. I beg your indulgence.

Side comment: I just remembered another star obsession I had: Rupert Everett. Ah, yes... Thanks to him I now a fan of Oscar Wilde. For the win.

Psychology Student Syndrome

There's a major issue with being a psych student, especially one who's taken abnormal psychology. There's a tendency called psychology student syndrome, also known as"generalized disorder disorder." It goes basically like this: You learn about a disorder, you suddenly recognized parts of yourself in it. And you totally flip a shit.

For example, last year I learned about borderline personality disorder and what it consisted of. The definition in the DSM is as follows:

Pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image, and affects, and marked impulsivity (5 or more):

• Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment
• Pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships
• Alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation
• Identity disturbance; unstable sense of self
• Impulsivity in at least 2 self-damaging ways (sex, spending)
• Recurrent suicidal, self-mutilating behaviors (inc. gestures)
• Affective instability, reactivity of mood
• Chronic feelings of emptiness
• Inappropriate expressions of anger
• Transient, stress-related ideation, dissociative symptoms

I, of course, instantly starting if it could apply to me. Dumb, right? I don't really match the symptoms very well. But when you start looking at them loosely, it gets kind of scary. Have I ever frantically been worried about being abandoned? Well, yeah - that was like half of high school there, wondering why people actually wanted to be friends with me and wondering when they would leave (because, truthfully, I've never had friends that lasted very long. [uber gay] takes the prize - ten years, man. I can hardly believe it). My whole sudden extreme obsessions/crushes on people seemed to fit bullet number 2. Also, I've been known to totally love something, then hate it (Twilight, anyone? But I think that's a special case).

The unstable sense of self... that's the one that worries me. I remember talking about this in AP Psych, about how some people think Marilyn Monroe was borderline because she wanted to be like the characters she portrayed; she wanted to become who she was playing. Some theorize that she didn't have an actual sense of self, so she had to envelope herself in a fictional persona to ground herself in a personality.

This freaked me out as a teenager, mainly because I was changing so much. Who I was as a person changed from year to year (well, it still does in some ways) and nothing felt consistent. Also, it doesn't help that when people ask me to tell them something about myself, I sort of freeze (because the question is so ponderous - where to even begin?) I think I misinterpret this as NOT having a clear personality, when in fact I just have a slightly complex one - and that I'm not good at spontaneously giving personal answers (seriously adding in the new blog description up there took like half an hour tonight. Also, this blog has changed like ten million times... God, don't even start, [L Maga]... don't even start).

I could go on, describing how I've felt the semblance of all the other symptoms at some point in my life. But I'll spare you. But that's the key issue here - these are all things that people may feel at some point. We're all human and have similar experiences, after all. Having a disorder of this nature means these symptoms are experienced in the EXTREME, that totally interrupt your life and may be harmful to yourself and/or others. That's something my professor emphasized on the first day of Abnormal Psych. But it's easy to forget that when your reading your textbook and, suddenly, a description of a disorder sounds exactly like what happened to you last Thursday. It's a slippery, slippery slope. So be nice to psych majors - there's a reason why some of us are a little weird (but do stop freaking out that we're constantly psychoanalyzing you. Don't be silly - we aren't. We're just doing it to ourselves :p).

Changes

I was standing in my room on my birthday, looking out the window and watching it snow, listening to "Science and Religion" from the movie Angels and Demons playing on my iPod and I felt like everything had changed. Changed for the better. I mean, just a few days before, I was feeling a bit down. I felt like I was a bad friend, unable to connect and comfort when those I care about need me. I felt misunderstood, for about the two hundredth time in my life, and for no obvious reason. I was having that stupid fear again that I'm actually borderline (this needs more explanation than I can provide here. Later, my friends. Later). I was wondering if I actually can understand people or if I'm just some kind of alien being that pretends to understand but really doesn't get it because... well, because I'm an alien.

This is, of course, ridiculous. And not true. Just because I feel misunderstood and cut-off and confused every once in a while does not make me not human. I think that's just a basic part of humanity - to fear that you don't understand. When clearly, it seems I do. [Львица] keeps saying all these wonderfully kind things about me, showing that all my worries are unfounded and baseless. All the well-wishing I received on my birthday made me realize that people do not in fact dislike me or ignore we or not care about me. And that I am a nice person who should be nicer to herself.

For some reason, I've been waking up in the morning feel like anything is possible. I mean, I'm not really that pessimistic - but I'm never this much of an optimist. I feel like all my dreams could come true. I feel like I took the right step, did the right thing, am finally moving in the right direction. Towards what, I don't know. But it all feels like this:

Sitting in O'Donnovans on my birthday, hearing Mumford and Sons and Van Morrison blasted out of the speakers above me made me feel oddly magical. There I was, sitting in an Irish pub on my birthday that was somehow magically a bunch of my favorite songs, like they were doing it on purpose. It was ridiculous, but I felt like I was supposed to be there at that moment, that I was chosen for something, that everything was happening for a reason. It was probably just birthday elation getting to me, but I don't know... I went to the gym to work out today, for the first time since high school, and I felt this odd sort of determination I haven't had in a long time. It's not that I've been totally lackluster about things - I mean, I have been bored with classes and going through mood swings (but that's rather typical for me). What I've been feeling is some part of me awakening that was some dormant, or some new part of me I'm no longer afraid to show. I kind of feel... well, I feel utterly comfortable with myself. And it's a nice change.

So fuck that shit about not feeling good enough, about thinking that there's something wrong with me and that, because I'm different I'm not right, not normal, not human, that because people don't talk to me much and because I have few friends that it means I'm a bad person. Fuck that. None of that is true. There's a difference between helpfully criticizing yourself and being a hazard to your personal well-being. I think I've been too much of the later. But no more - none of that. I know I'm a crazy, moody Scorpio but this time I think this attitude is going to stick around. Maybe 21 is the age where I finally stop being so negative about myself, for once and for all. Maybe, this time, I'll live up to all my talking and actually walk the walk and be what I am.