You Treat Me Like a Stranger

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I'm hesitant about writing this since I recently advertised my new blog on Facebook and the fact that Google + has officially and finally changed my name to my actual name on here. But, based on the fact that I haven't gotten any backlash as of yet and that most of my friends don't talk to me on Facebook let alone read my blog, I don't think I have anything to worry about. But still, I feel like a backstabber. A bad friend. A traitor. All because I need a place where I can pretend someone is listening to me because I don't know how to deal with one of my closest friends becoming a stranger.

Last night, [X] and a co-worker of her's were in town for a comedy show at Coffman Union - "An Evening with Bo Burnham." Now, I didn't know anything about Burnham and [Львица] and I just decided to go because it seemed like a good gesture, to meet up with [X] and see her since I haven't spoken to her since Christmas.

Except that it was totally awkward. Namely because both girls from out of town felt the need to compare everything on our campus to their school. And because [X]'s co-worker didn't seem to like us (paranoid me wondered if perhaps [X] had already told her a thing or two about us before they arrived). And Burnham wasn't my cup of tea. At all. (You can read about that on [Львица]'s blog, if you're so inclined). 

The chance I did get to talk to [X] felt forced, meaningless small talk with me rambling on about psychology or Sherlock or how Benedict Cumberbatch is the greatest thing ever, only to have [X] either say little in reply or have her correct me that, in fact, Cumberbatch is ONE of the greatest things ever (not the point. Not even close). Even bringing up the Scotland trip felt sort of weird and forced, as if that wasn't us, that was some other life, some other world, not ours. Maybe it was because her co-worker was there that she didn't talk to me much. Or maybe I should just accept that she no longer puts me first in terms of friends, she probably never did, and I should just get over it. But sometimes I wonder if anyone's ever put me first, or at least equal to someone else, and it's a nagging sense that I don't amount to anything and that I've failed somehow. But I know that isn't true - I gave it my all with [X] and it just didn't turn out. She and I will never have the deep conversations we used to have on occasion - the deep conversations [Львица] and I now have at least once a week (thank God for [Львица] and [the Question]. I don't know what I'd do without them). Even conversations with people I've just met or acquaintances from my classes (like [amante della musica] and Ellie, a girl in my music as discourse and comedy class): seem simpler than talking to [X] now. Maybe she really just has become someone that I used to know.

Single Ladies, or: Why I Don't Hate Valentine's Day

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I can always tell when it's that time of year again: the shops get full of things pink and red and white, Victoria's Secret bombards me with ads like nobody's business, and I get the impulsive urge to read Jane Eyre.

Yeah, you read that last part right. I've accidentally started a routine where I feel the sudden urge to read my favorite novel around February 14th. I did it last year, I think I did it the year before, and I'm reading it now. It was kind of by chance. But it's a tradition I rather like having started.

As the sort of girl whose most exciting Valentine's Day has comprise of getting the stomach flu from my dentist my junior year and watching my friend [uber gay] get pissed off at us all for sending him singing valentines my senior year, I like treating this day kind of simply. This year, I'm staying home, drinking wine, and watching a movie with [Львица]. I like this trend, just staying in and treating myself ("treat yo self!" as Tom Haverford says on Parks and Recreation).

God, I love this show...

Anyway, as I was saying, I kind of like this staying in thing. I mean, as long as I'm single, I'm not going to sit around and mope and be all like "This is Single's Awareness Day!" and wear black like I did in high school. Because that only made me feel feel small, stupid and unimportant; while I may be unimportant, I am not these other things. So I am gonna have a good day, dammit! I love myself and I'm gonna show it.

And, because I am a deep, deep, crazy romantic (not Romantic, like Baudelaire - I've been reading him and that dude has issues with the ladies. But that's a topic for another post), I believe in Valentine's Day. I don't believe you should buy a bunch of stuff for people you care just to show them you care. Because that seems phoney. It shouldn't be about the buying of stuff; it's about the love. It isn't about money or lingerie or candy or jewelry; it isn't about loving more just because it's a special day of the year. It's about taking aside one day, one special day to celebrate that love you have everyday and linger over it a bit more. About being thoughtful - not necessarily consumerist - and getting something for the one you care about. That doesn't mean buying stuff - it could mean making dinner. It could mean just calling someone up and talking to them. It's not about the stuff; it's about doing what you feel to express your love. However, I still think giving someone a rose is one of the most goddamn romantic things in the world. Just so you all know ;)

I'm also not one of those people who feels threatened by happy romantic couples. Okay, so yes, there is a lingering seed of jealousy and a bit of angst, but overall, I'm happy for them. Just because I'm single doesn't mean I'm pissed off at all the people that aren't. Because that doesn't seem to make a whole lot of sense. And because, one day, that could be me. And if it's not, well, I'm buying myself roses. TREAT YO SELF!

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.

Strength

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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. :)

To Myself, In the Future

Hello Future Me,

I certainly hope that, wherever you are in space in time, that it is not in a little apartment infested by centipedes and mice. Or some place worse. I have decided to write this little post because I feel suddenly struck by a fear of making mistakes that are not worth making - not the good sort. And I would like to try to provide you with a source of some perhaps helpful advice in lieu of the insanity that certainly lies ahead.

First off, I have no idea what you will be doing in general. Hopefully it will not involve being a hobo. Regardless, whatever it is, do it with passion. Don't give in to doing something safe just because you know you can do it. TRY NEW THINGS. The worse that can happen is that you will fail, and we both are plenty familiar with that.

I will never be this cool. But goddamn, I can try.

Of course, I'm going to bring up relationships. If you remember, I'm on the edge between being a full-blown romantic and a nihilistic hermit. So, I'm hoping things are a little more steady on your end. If you're queen of the Ryan Gosling Swagger (à la Crazy Stupid Love), kudos. If things suck, keep a stiff upper lip. Remember what it was like to not understand love, to not even have any experience with it. To wonder why you saw so few relationships work out, why everything seems so simple, until you become part of one. I know I sound down about it all but I'm just showing - you knew more than you thought you did. Don't sweat it; it'll work out. I believe it will.

If by some strike of fate you find yourself in a long-term relationship, don't take it for granted. Just don't. And if by some terrible, incredible miracle you have children, remember not to be too hard on them when they act up. Growing up is tough - it might seem long ago, but I remember it pretty well. It's brilliant and brutal. And whatever your kids do, you probably did once too. Don't blame them too much for their mistakes, economic troubles, mistakes you made. They'll listen... maybe too well.

Wherever you're living, I hope it feels like home. I know when you were younger, you likened yourself to a turtle - adaptable, movable, able to fit in anywhere. Know that I'm glad you had that adaptability but that you shouldn't be afraid to put down roots. No one belongs here more than you.

Fresh off a 21st birthday, I had some crummy feelings in the days shortly before. It got me worried, it got me thinking. I hope you're strong and confident - I hope that I'm establishing that now. I hope you still have a warm fuzzy feeling for sci-fi shows and Broadway plays, and a penchant for shortbread, Earl Grey tea and Nutella. But most of all, I hope you look back at all of this and don't regret a thing.

Love and Other Laments

Life is weird.

Just the other day, I had this dream that [X] was going to propose to her boyfriend. And what do I see on Monday when I log on to Facebook between classes? That she's broken up with him.

I have to admit, I was surprised. I mean, she went back and forth in her words about their relationship, but it seemed like she was planning on the long haul (but honestly, who doesn't?) Just over the summer she was talking about grad school in Milwaukee to be near him.

And yet another relationship ends. He was her first boyfriend, after all, but still... it didn't even last a year. The only two people I know well who aren't single are [shortage of perfect breasts] and [action is eloquence] - a friend I made in the early years of high school who is getting married(!!!).  And, according to [X], [shortage of perfect breasts] is still with her boyfriend only because she's settled for her current boyfriend because she doesn't think she can do better.

Other than [action is eloquence], not much of this is very encouraging for one who has yet to enter the realm of dating. The whole endeavor begins to look rather futile and impossible. Also, everyone has chosen this week to complain about how alone they are in the world and say that love doesn't really exist. But I refuse to believe that.

I will not give into the cynical. I will stand my ground. I believe in romance. Despite all odds.

Cue the triumphant trumpet fanfare! Release the doves and sprinkle glitter everywhere! I know this may sound hokey. I know this may sound repetitive. But I need to remind myself of this stuff and not get all hopeless and give up.

You see, I've rarely seen people make love a priority in the life.  No where outside a romance novel, at least. And in romance novels, it borders on absurd, because nothing else matters - hell, the plot doesn't even matter except for the relationship between the two main characters. But that's not what I mean here. What I mean, is, it's rare that I've seen love regarded seriously in my age group - being more important than school, more important than work, more important than the trials of everyday life, for just a minute in their days. Maybe I've spent too much time around [X] - she once told me that love made her feel bad, weak, out of control. Of course, that was reciprocated love (which I too have felt... and yeah, that's actually true). As for mutual love - well, I can't speak for that, but I certainly hope her opinion is different now. When I talked about crushes (in high school, that is - I wasn't as close to [Львица] as I am now) I always felt like people (meaning [X] and [novel killer]) thought I was just being silly and never seemed to treat my crushes with same importance they treated theirs. Even with [No-Mr-Darcy] I felt a somewhat lack of sincerity. Perhaps it's because I've had a lot of star crushes (Heath Ledger, Paul Bettany, Ewan McGregor, John Barrowman, you get the idea...) that they just don't take me seriously. Have I had an unusual amount of star crushes? I don't know... but I digress. Again.

Originally over Thanksgiving Break, [X] invited me to go along with her to interview [action is eloquence] about her work as a photographer for some class that [X] is in. I was kind of excited about it - I mean, I have my issues with [X] but we can have really good heart to hearts and I was hoping to  maybe talk honestly about what happened this summer (and once and for all put the cap on this whole jar of [No-Mr-Darcy] business. God does that feel like a light year ago...). But then I didn't hear anything from her and I saw the thing about the break-up on Facebook and I told her via comment on the relationship status (wow, how personal of me) that I was hear for her if she wanted to talk.

Nothing. Not a word. Her ex has been babbling away on Facebook like nothing happened. And she hasn't been online at all. I wonder if he broke up with her... He is living with his ex-girlfriend. Yikes.

Okay, okay, gossipy speculation not important. What is important is that not all things are bleak. Though there is a somewhat dim history of relationships with my high school friends: [foxy lady] dated a douchebag for way too long, and [shortage of perfect breasts] has "settled" for a guy who won't accept my friend request on Facebook (what did I do to you?! We've met like four times and we had a conversation about Torchwood and Doctor Who! Okay, so it was more like you said something, [shortage of perfect breasts] said something, I said something, [shortage of perfect breasts] said something, you said something, etc but STILL. Why?!)  [tiny dancer] has had her fair share of hardships with boys (somewhat thanks to [shortage of perfect breasts]? 'Tis a rumor. And another story) and [uber gay] has dated more men than the rest of us combined and seemed to have gotten pretty badly upset by his boyfriend breaking up with him (a first - usually he does the breaking off).  [mind ninja] has had problems, as has [the artist] who loved a man who can never be hers. And [it's a twin thing] - well, neither of them have shown much interest in dating. And then [novel killer] likes to complain about her ex-boyfriend from high school and dreams of the Spaniard from London but also makes out with [musical queen] in her spare time (which is described by [musical queen] like Santana and Britney from Glee. OK...) (By the way, I will be shot for having this knowledge. Just an FYI). And of course, [musical queen] has her own dating issues too. And [wolf woman]  - who knows. I don't really know her any more, honestly. And of course [Львица] has had major ups and downs. And then that brings in [The Question]. And... and... and...

You get the picture.

Of course, that's NOT to say everyone around me has only had totally depressing relationships. [shortage of perfect breasts] seems happy. [Львица] and [The Question] have taught me more about relationships without their knowing it than I ever thought I could learn without actually being in one (so... weirdly enough, thanks guys). All of these guys and gals above have thousands of opportunities before them. They are all great, wonderful people. There is absolutely no reason why they shouldn't find somebody out there in this wide, wide world.

It's so easy to see how wonderful everyone else is, but when I think about myself, I can't say I easily think those things about myself. I see how other people act in relationships and I wonder how that could ever be possible for me. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't just be easier to be like my friend [amante della musica] who just seems to have a really close gay guy friend, like Will and Grace, than trying to understand the modern dating world, which totally baffles me (maybe I should have been reading Cosmo in my teen years instead of Jane Austin, to at least help me understand what's going on, instead of the sort of culture shock I seem to find myself in).

This whole conversation, however, leads me utterly off topic. Let's save this for another time, shall we?

The good news is, I'm officially playing flute at a wedding - at [action is eloquence]'s. She's the first of my high school friends to get married, and though it seems a little strange (she's only a year older than me! Marriage - ahhhh!) for her it seems right. She acts far older than her young age and she and her fiance have been together for several years. Also, she just seems... ready. Unlike my cousin who just seemed to do it for paternal obligations. [action is eloquence] is doing it because she really loves her boyfriend.

You feel that warm, flickering feeling like a tea light candle? That's called hope.

How To Insult Everyone At Once

So between writing about [uber gay] and writing about the Saloon, I ran into a term that I'd heard before but never in context. After coming across a website that defined it, I got kind of upset. So this post is going to be all about "fag hags."

Here's one of the Urban Dictionary definitions just so we've really got it down: 

You Are A True Fag Hag If...

-You are a straight girl who has a best friend who is gay and spends a lot of time together
-You would rather go to a gay club than a straight club
-Your fag gave you your own drag name
-You know all the gay guys at the local gay bar
-Your fag takes you shopping for mac makeup and then puts it on you
-Your hair and makeup are always flawless
-You dress up in his drag gear on saturday night or dress in drag together
-You even dance with all the fags on stage when Britney Spears comes on
-You learned to vouge from watching your fag
-You fall in love with your fag (which is a bad thing)
-You try to convert your fag (this will only ruin your relationship with him)
And lastly... you find your self not being able to live without him because you have so much fun with him.

Or, for simplicity's sake:

A woman who likes the company of gay men. It can be affectionate or offensive, depending on the usage. 

Poor Grace... she has no idea what she's wrought.

 Sometimes I hate culture. Really I do.

I mean, how do you even BEGIN to deal with this? For one, I LOATHE the word fag. Mostly because when I was younger, I rarely heard it come out of someone's mouth who wasn't being offensive. Perhaps since then there has a been a "reclamation" of the term and thus has gained a non-offensive connotation. But I still hate it.

Also, I'm going to be an uber feminist for a moment and express how much I hate the word hag. While the history of the word is a mix of connotations between friendly witches and creepy, nightmarish women, the latter meaning has stuck more. So as funny as the two words sound together, it still pisses me off. And "queer deer" or "fruit fly" aren't too complementary either.

The problem is, I'm sure there are some pretty legit reasons for wanting to call someone a "fag hag." Trying to convert a gay man into a straight man smacks of such misunderstanding of sexuality that it makes me want to scream. But creating such a name doesn't sound so great either. Not to mention calling every girl who has a close gay friend a "fag hag" is ridiculous - that's like half the women I know. Plus who said the girl had to be straight? What, lesbians can't be friends with gay men? And referring to a person's friend who happens to be gay as "your fag" creates this whole weird ownership thing. Which is degrading, to say the least.

OK, seriously, I know this is just Urban Dictionary and not the authority on modern lexicon, but who wrote this entry? Who said all gay men like going shopping? Who said a girl with flawless makeup and hair MUST be BFFs with only gay men? Better yet, WHO STILL LISTENS TO BRITNEY SPEARS? Ok, that's harsh, she has made quite a comeback.

I should probably just let this slide and accept that this term is what is. I've done that. But sometimes, I just need to complain.

My point is, generalizing works in some situations. THIS IS NOT ONE OF THOSE SITUATIONS. You can just sum up everyone with a cute little term - culture is WAY more complex than this. Please, for the sake of humanity, stop assuming that every girl who has a friend who is gay is exactly the same. Please stop assuming that all gay men act the same way. Please try to stop being so stereotypical without being obsessively politically correct and then we can all just relax and enjoy life and the Doctor can dance and EVERYBODY LIVES.

Yes, that was a Doctor Who reference. Sue me. I need something to fall back on so I don't go on a total feminist rant. I'll save that for later.

The Saloon

So Sunday night I spent one evening not being a good little student and studying for shit (because, really, eight hours spent on one midterm is far too much). So I went with [Львица] and [save the panzer] to the Saloon. I've mentioned it before - it was the gay bar we went to after La Cage Aux Folles. Unfortunately, now I can't get the song "Gay Bar" by Electric Six out of my head, and it's sort of distracting.

My shoes :D WIN

Anyway, I decided I would wear my new ridiculous glittery dress that I bought at Forever 21 before Halloween. And damn - it was a hit. A guy approached me and asked why I was so glittery and wanted to trade outfits. Another guy on the dance floor began dancing with me and complimented my attire and his friend complimented my shoes (okay, the shoes were pretty kickass. The fact that I was actually able to dance and stand and MOVE in them at all totally blows my mind). And when the guy who danced with me left the bar, he came up to me and said, "Keep wearing dresses like that and you'll be good to go."

It was the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. I felt on top of the world the rest of the night and the better part of Monday. Perhaps only gay men can appreciate the awesomeness of a sparkly dress. But I think it wouldn't hurt straight men to work on their compliments. I mean, even [save the panzer]'s somewhat obnoxious friend [tower of babble] called me gorgeous and gave me some pleasant compliments (I think he also might have went into a tangent about how if he weren't gay, he'd sleep with me... which was awkward. And after he discovered I wasn't a lesbian, he also volunteered to be my wing man at the bar. Which kind of baffled me - why would you, as a gay man, try and hook a straight girl up with a guy in a bar THAT IS PREDOMINATELY FULL OF GAY MEN? Regardless, I appreciate his enthusiasm). Given all of that, I don't know if you could consider [tower of babble]'s compliments totally sincere, but you know, I'll take it. It's the second time I've been called gorgeous by a gay man (the other time was in Scotland, by one of the students.) You know how many times I've been called beautiful or gorgeous by a straight man? NEVER.

See what you're competing with, straight men? Either you need to step up your game or I need to reassess my priorities. Or I need to stop meeting dumb guys who make the straight male population look bad. And so my promotion of being undateable continues...

Another British TV show for the win

So due to my sudden interest in La Cage Aux Folles (and my attempts to find Youtube videos of John Barrowman in a revival of it) I came across these videos. At first I thought it was John Barrowman talking about loose women. And then I realized I'm an idiot and "Loose Women" is the name of a TV show in Britain. Take a look:

 

I guess this show is comparable to the US's The View. Except that I don't think The View has ever been this fun... not that they couldn't be, with a few tweaks. Maybe they should change their name to something subtly controversial - that might be a good start. Loose Women certainly has a nice ring to it. :)

Daydreamer

I'm feeling a bit inspired by another post I came across today: Footwear as Political Salve and [Львица]'s post on Zachary Quinto. So I feel like talking about daydreaming myself. Especially since today's daydreaming consisted of meeting a hot celebrity (which is generally how my ludicrous daydreams seem to go).

I seriously spent like half of today thinking about meeting this guy:

*smolder* I'm John Barrowman.*smolder*

Yep. Thank you, Torchwood, for making me a John Barrowman fan girl. I am now way too emotionally attached to a TV show few people in this country has heard of, photo-stalking celebrities once more, and have fallen again for a taken gay man. I'm sure Barrowman would be just thrilled to know he has a crazy, single straight white girl blogging about him (hey, crazy single straight white girl wouldn't be a bad title for a book...)

Anyway... God, I can't think with this picture on screen. It's terribly distracting. I don't even remember why I wrote this post anymore. Oh yeah, I remember why...

This is from barrowmanilove, a Tumblr page discovered by [Львица]. This conversation,  posted under one of the millions of pictures on the blog, is between barrowmanilove and another Tumblr fan/follower:

barrowmanilove: Sigh… I wanna passionately make out with John Barrowman…….*pout*

phantomjoy: You and me both darlin’ ..you and me both. *sighs*

barrowmanilove: He has been known to kiss a couple ladies to see them blush. ;) 

phantomjoy: yeah, and i wish i were one of those ladies!!

Thanks, barrowmanilove, for putting that idea in my head for the rest of the day. I don't obsess over celebrities to the extend of barrowmanilove... but that doesn't mean I don't obsess at all. I'm blogging about it, goddammit. Clearly it's occupying my thoughts a lot more than other things today. (And a brief note and a tangent; I'm incredibly easily embarrassed. You want to see a lady blush, John Barrowman? All you'd have to do is stand there and I'd be turning redder than a sunburned ginger {my apologies to [Львица] and all other gingers. I couldn't think of any other similes. My brain isn't working so well today if you haven't noticed}.)

Glasses... kilt... puppy in a sweater! Now I think he's just doing this on purpose..

Because I have an overly critical sense of introspection, I of course feel like some sort of pervert for having celebrity crushes. But we've already done this song and dance (see Starstruck). So I won't harp on it again. However, I will awkwardly describe an issue I seem to have. It's called the need to continually be daydreaming about a guy.

See, I've been pretty good about not obsessing over celebrities a ton for a while there. I went through a Paul Bettany obsession after I got back from Scotland, but that was it. It helped me get through the worst of whatever happened between [No-Mr-Darcy] and me. But I swore to myself, no more of the endless needing/clinging to the feeling of crushes, wanting to be in love, etc. I was going to be totally single in my mind and be totally fine with it.

Fail. Total fail.

Not just because I started watching Torchwood. I would have crushed on someone eventually - another actor, a classmate, who knows. But Barrowman is a much better alternative. And he's incredibly good-looking. And I just totally suck at not thinking about being single. I mean, it's like trying not to think of a pink elephant - because then you totally do.

I think this stupid funk I've been in has been greatly due to the fact that I haven't allowed myself stupid daydreams like this. I'm trying to pretend that I'm 100% happy being single when I'm not. And even though it's stupid to compensate with something false, I did feel 200 times better today than I have in quite a while. Less like I'm becoming numb. More like a good old Romantic me and less like a cynical nihilist.

Of course, I'm still not satisfied with that answer. I mean, I still feel like a creep. Lemme put it this way - would you like being in a serious relationship and having people say they want to make out with you all the time? Weird, right?

But considering what I just saw on Facebook like five seconds ago, I'm suddenly really really glad that today was the day I caved in to the hotness that is John Barrowman, as much as it might give me some sort of cognitive dissonance or morality issues. Because I just found out [No-Mr-Darcy] has a girlfriend. Actually I think he got back together with his ex. How about them apples. You know how I feel about that? Relieved. She deserved a second chance. And I could tell just from Facebook that she really f-ing likes him. More than I did. Good for you, girl. I'm glad this saga is done with.

Of course, I'm trapped in another celebrity crush. But what the fuck. Maybe I deserve a little stupid girly fan-girl rampaging. I am my own woman - I know that. So why not kick back and be a bit daft for now? And randomly use British slang...

Let's Talk

Dear [X],

I know you don't read this blog, but if you by chance you do, let's just come clean here and now. You called me last night with the intentions of talking to me about some issues I won't discuss here (you asked me not to mention it to anyone; I'm trying not to but easier said than done, you must know). The only problem is: I caused those issues. I did. You SAID the things you don't remember saying, and I told the parties involved that you said them. Why? Because I thought you meant it. You seemed serious. But now you don't even recall saying it, ever, to anyone. Are you really that flippant about what you say about your friends? Are the conversations we had together really that forgettable?

I don't know why you call me to discuss these sorts of things. I really don't. Do you expect me to tell you that you're wrong, that you don't sound like a bitch sometimes and that people always misjudge you? I can't let you play the victim; I don't want to pity you. You put me in the middle of something that shouldn't have sides and it's very difficult for me to deal with. You expect me to agree with you on everything, but I don't. I never did. I don't know what you want from me. I DIDN'T cause these problems. And if you know that I told someone something that you didn't want repeated, how was I supposed to know it was secretive if you don't remember saying it in the first place? If you're trying to subliminally cause me to feel guilty, I refuse to. Yes, I do have a tremendous ability to blame myself for things I didn't do - don't use it against me.

This isn't even a problem with the people whom you've had issues with. This isn't because of [Львица] or [mind ninja] or even [the artist] or [shortage of perfect breasts]. This is because of you. I don't mean this as blame; I mean this because you're insecure with yourself, you're worried anytime anyone says something bad about you, you can't seem to understand that the things you say HURT people. I know that - I'm hurting you right now. But whenever anyone calls you out on something, you never stand by it. You never defend what you say. You just give in and get upset. Maybe you should explain WHY you think the things you do. Because if you can at least defend your ideas, people will be less likely to hold it against you; they'll see that they disagree. But when you just give in, you make yourself feel worse, you make them feel worse and you cause more misunderstanding. I've done it in the past, I KNOW how this plays out. That's why I'm trying to be honest with you now, even if it's only starting here, in a place you don't know exists. I have to be cruel to be kind.

Here is the sad, unfortunate, brutal truths of the world: people are going to dislike you. People are going to see the world differently than you and you may not like what they see. People are going to say hurtful things about you. Especially if you say things that can be taken badly first. Words can be beautiful and dangerous tools - we should know; we're writers.

I cannot help you any more than that. I don't know how to tell you that things have changed between us, that we aren't as close as we used to be, that I'm not the same person that I was four years ago. I don't know how to do this without pushing you away. It'd be easier if we'd both excepted the changes and just moved on. But if told you the truth, you'd just cling to the present, to all the great and terrible things I've said. It's an issue with time and opinion we've got here, but I have to make myself clear: I believe what I believe. If we disagree, we disagree. And we're going to have to accept that maybe our differences set us apart now. Maybe it's time to go.

This doesn't mean I think you are a bad person, or that I don't like you or that I don't in some way still consider you a friend. It just means that I don't know you anymore. I'm not really sure you know yourself. The girl I went to high school with would never have been called the things people said about her. So the fact that people are makes me doubt you as much as you seem to doubt people's recollections of events. I can't defend you if I don't know you. And I won't defend you anymore. I'm busy trying to defend myself from other events that have erupted in my life. You need to learn STRENGTH, dear [X]. It isn't easy, it isn't pleasant, but it's the only way. If you can't believe in yourself, what can you possibly believe?

I can't tell you how to do this, [X], anymore than I can tell you how to resolve the weirdness we're now facing. I've stated my opinion enough here. And now, it's time to hear yours. We're going to disagree, but it's the only way we can possibly find understanding, the only way to get through to each other.

But I can't make that decision. It's up to you now.

Every 4th week

This pretty much says it all. And it's cute.

A fight for realism?

"Hollywood always wanted me to be pretty, but I fought for realism." ~ Bette Davis

It seems like talking about British culture has become today's theme. But then again, I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Mainly because I've been watching a lot of British television and missing bits about Scotland (the rain every day, the beer, the feeling of everything being foreign and yet so similar...)

Among those things, another sort of thing has enchanted me about British media, something I've noticed in novels and on TV shows. There seems to be a sort of trend of using female leads that aren't your traditional Hollywood types. They seem to appear in mysteries series or sci-fi genres (the ones I'm thinking of are the books The Eyre Affair, The Dead Lie Down, The Likeness and, you knew this was coming, the TV show Torchwood). They feature quirky, not-traditionally beautiful women who aren't afraid to speak their minds and do what needs to be done, even though they may not want to. They make mistakes. They're compassionate while still strong and not overly sexual. But they're still sensual and feminine - just not over the top. Over the top like how in CSI, Catherine Willows is always running around in tanktops and all the guys are in their full investigation gear.

Catharine Willows, CSI

Gwen Cooper, Torchwood

See the difference?

This is even a more glammed up version of Gwen, I feel like. I mean, the first time we meet her on the show, she's in full police gear with her hair all tucked up under her hat. No Catharine-like waves in sight.

Of course, I have to remind myself that England was also the country that gave us Twiggy. And thus in association, pants that will never fit women's hips. Of course, I guess the really scary thing is I look at Twiggy and think, "Oh, she's not that skinny." Then I take a closer look at her arms and I'm like, "Fuck yeah, she is." But then I think again, "No, not really - there's girls in my classes who look like that." Then I just feel weird and pissed off.

Twiggy, you're wonderful, but I hate you.

It's true that super skinny women have become WAY more common. Not so much in college, because people have finally realized that you can't walk a mile to class each day and not eat more to compensate. But high school totally sucked because it seemed like what like 50% of the girls (but was probably more like 10%) were frightfully skinny. And I, of course, was not. Example of what some of the girls at my school were like. One of my classmates got treated for bulimia and when she came back to school from rehab, the first thing one of her so-called-friends said was, I kid you not, "She looks so fat." And people wonder why kids hate going to school.

So, to say the least, it's certainly nice to see women like Gwen Cooper on TV, who are beautiful not because they're scantily clad or because they're super skinny or shit like that. It's nice that Gwen has imperfect teeth and seems to be of normalish body weight. Girls need to see more of this on TV, in books, everywhere. Why can't women be the way they look in real life? There's a difference between creating an imagined world and representing one person's idea of a utopia. Besides, beauty isn't the same think to everyone. Perhaps we're looking for it in all the wrong places. Maybe it's something simpler, more in line with this:

“The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman is seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It's the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows and the beauty of a woman only grows with passing years.” ~ Audrey Hepburn

It's not that appearance doesn't matter; it clearly does. But it's all about belief, confidence and your eyes. If YOU believe that you are beautiful, if you truly TRULY LOVE yourself, it will show. Of course, this is all easier said than done. But I believe it to be true. There is no one definition of beauty, and if there was, all of the people we consider to be beautiful would all look the same. And people like Paris Hilton would be more popular than Angelina Joli. But I think Audrey Hepburn's idea of beauty if more spot on and more of what these British female characters are beginning to show more of. So work on this, American TV. I'm a little out of touch with some of your shows, so maybe you've gotten better about this. But then again, we've still got this goddamn show:

To the douchebag who broke Adele's heart

Dear Dickwad,

I know I'm being a bit harsh, since I don't know you or really anything about you at all. The only thing I do know, actually, is that after you and Adele broke up, you quickly moved on and married some other girl. Low, dude. Low. Nothing says, "I really didn't care about you" than doing something like that. I have to ask - what does your new girl think of this? Does she know? If I were her, I would feel totally awkward about this... but I digress. Truly, I don't care if you're actually the nicest person alive - this makes you sound like a righteous asshole. Of course, I'm not exactly the best person to have judging your actions - I'm not particularly forgiving of men doing stupid things. Also, Adele is pretty much my favorite female vocalist alive (tied with Sara Bareilles, FYI). So you breaking her heart totally did not help your image for me. Tough shit, man.

However, even though I pretty much hate your guts for what you did and making the male gender look damn awful, there is one thing I have to thank you for. You were the inspiration for the lyrics of one of the greatest albums I've ever heard. And even though I'd probably punch you if I knew who you were, you twistedly helped create some of the best, most beautiful, most heartbreaking music I've ever listened to. If anything, that should be inspiration to women - and men, because I know that there are some real bitches out there - that beautiful things can come from misfortune. So thanks for that. Even though I wouldn't be too proud of it - I mean, a Grammy-Award winning singer just immortalized you as the biggest fucking douchebag since Carly Simon sang, "You're So Vain." And you're not going to be escaping this expression any time soon:

So, maybe do some self-reflecting, send some flowers, do some apologizing if you're feeling that your relationships with people aren't quite the same for some reason or other now.  I might hate you, but you sir, are human. Humans make mistake. Learn from yours.

Sincerely,
a pensive feminist