Monday, May 2, 2011
Fine day for America
Oh what a fine day. I'm not particularly political, but Osama Bin Laden's death made my night, and is making my day. Obviously this does not solve the issue of terrorism, but it is one step closer to eradicating the source. President Obama's speech warmed my heart and soul last night and made me proud to be an American for the first time in years. I've been feeling particularly political lately. It's strange... I guess I really am getting older. I found myself fretting about clean water the other day after watching Josh Fox's film, Gasland. Not only was a fretting about the water supply of this nation, but it really made me think about how much I overlook the fact that necessities like water have been provided to me without question, since birth. People die all over this world from contaminated water or lack of water, and here I've been able to trust the water flowing from my tap for 23 years without question. I felt so politically motivated after the film, that I considered joining the Peace Corps to serve the world that has served me. However, that idea was quickly shot down when my mom reminded me of the time I cried because I went to a friend's house when I was 5 and their parents smoked. I thought they were bad people as a result, and called my mom crying. She picked me up and later asked what the problem was. I told her they smoked and she shook her head. I've always been a crier, what can I say? I cried watching Shiloh when his owner hit him, I cried because I wanted to get married and be in love when I was 3 and couldn't. Naturally, seeing impoverished families or animal/human cruelty would never fly. I'd be a wreck. Also, I read several articles about how the peace corps can be really dangerous for women in certain areas of the world, because they are extra prone to sexual assualt. That wouldn't fly with me either. That and I'm terrified of bugs... all of them. So, for now I think I will find ways to contribute to the causes and efforts I feel strongly about from my own soil. Maybe I can just start spending more time volunteering or working with children. I have an entire summer ahead of me. But I do need money. Desperately. As soon as I have these two, 12-page papers written, my one 5 page paper written, and my presentation done I will seriously job search. I must find the motivation, and I must find it straight away. I cannot wait to see my bf... that should be motivation in itself. Seeing him without worrying about school work to do should prompt me to do my school work...but I hate it so. If I had money, I would bribe myself, but I can't go around blowing 200 dollars on a pair of shoes or sexy dress right now. Making matters worse, all of my paper subjects are on emo issues. I'm writing one on Billie Holiday, a sexually abused prostitute and drug addict who couldn't keep a man to save her life. The next paper is on lynching...and how the women left behind were affected by the loss of their husbands/sons/brothers. And the third paper is on a book by Eric Gansworth called "Smoke Dancing." A book about Tuscorora Indians on a reservation who have well water contaminated by leech beds and barrels of pollutants buried near by. I may become an alcoholic writing about these issues. haha. Oh well, I will do it because I have to, and I will do it well.
College- Self Portraits Over the Past 5 Years
I've always had a minor (major) obsession with taking pictures of myself. I don't know why... I'm a freak. My habit of taking mirror pics started Senior year of high school, and once I got my (at that time) brand new Mac, the built in camera made self-portraiture extra convenient. Whenever I was bored with homework and at my desk at FIT, I would do the best thing I could think of.... take a picture of myself. They're all in my computer now, and looking through all of them the other night made me think about how much I've grown and changed, and how different the 'real world' seems to me, 5 years after graduating high school. Below are the pictures in reverse-chronological order (newest to oldest).
For the first time since the age of like 8 (don't ask... I did Acro), I'm getting abs... I don't even know how... I am seriously lazy... I don't deserve to have them. I have been walking a lot and eating like, no sugar- but still.
I was waiting to go out to one of the seediest local bars... you can't tell but I'm wearing harness boots and a GD moomoo... I like to dress as asexually as possible when going out to the local watering holes so as to deflect predators.
My friend's Bday party: I sent my bf a pic of myself before I got too trashed since he couldn't be there. This is my fave sexy dress ever, and before I let my ears close up (for the third time...I'm giving up piercing them). It was a fun night.
The sick Halloween costume I never got to wear. I made this baby from scratch (minus the corset). This was right after my gma passed away and I spent an entire weekend sewing to distract myself from my thoughts. I'd also dropped a shite ton of weight because I was too sad to care about food.
I couldn't believe that they were peddling this slutty playboy set at Claires (a store targeted to little girls and teens). Naturally I had to scoop one up for myself.
Right before Christmas, 2009... I was so innocent.
A boy who, for the purposes of privacy remain nameless, had just broken my heart. He invited me on a date, got me super high and drunk, attempted to take advantage of me... and when I resisted called me a bitch. I never heard from him after that day (which I realized a year later was for the best), but nonetheless, I was sad. I even made him some sick cookies. I was probs day drinking and wearing heels to make myself feel better when I snapped this little pic. My chest also looks huge here... why would he ever mistreat this? lol
Looking alien.
This is a real freaky deaky picture as well. I had just transferred from FIT to SUNY Oneonta and it was a major life change. I am pretty sure this was the first day of classes and I came home and changed into comfies, consisting of the red dragon tshirt I mutilated to fit my style. My skin was luminous and the only make up I was wearing was mascara (otherwise I'd look like an egg).
2007: Emma was still nice to me.
I look like a baby here. I can't believe I was ever that young.
What a sexy lion's mane I had going on.
Fall, 2006: One of the very first pictures I took with my Macbook. School had just started and I was home on a weekend break from FIT. Dustin and I were both ickle freshies.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Why War Why?
Apparently I had too much coffee or tea, I just can't sleep. It's been a day, let me tell you. Yesterday I was vicious and sick as fizzle de dizzle. Today, I went from savagery (justifiable, I'll explain in a minute) to a natural high, in which I could not stop laughing and spliced the song "Suck my Dick" by DJ Valentino, to a silent clip from Broke Back Mountain of Ennis and Jack making out in front of Ennis's wife.... hysterical, let me tell you. Anyhow, yesterday I stumbled across a picture of some local chick who is a 'promotional model' (mhmm, honey, aren't we all?) on facebook. Her default picture was of her, naked, wearing a body-painted, cropped shirt. I could clearly see everything under the paint, and let me tell you, if my tits were at all saggy and my stomach was not as flat as a board, I would not be wearing body paint in the public, nor would I proudly display this picture as my default. Naturally, every horndog male with bad taste commented on it... but they were not much more attractive than the girl and were probs meth users (typical of rural and impoverished upstaters).
I attributed my sour mood to my cold. However, today I woke up feeling much better, but quickly realized (upon entering the outside world) the savagery had not subsided. No, today, my vicious mentality was only encouraged by the incompetency of my insurance company and state/national politicians. First, I made a little trip to a store called 'Plato's Closet.' I'd never been, but had heard good things and seen a number of advertisements, which made the store out to be a cool place for style-conscious individuals of my age. When I entered, I quickly realized it was about one step above a local thrift store... name brands my ass. I do NOT consider rue 21 and forever 21 to be name brands. Nor do I consider Aeropostale or American Eagle to be name brands. I had a full bag of things to sell that I no longer wear and they only took a few items. They didn't even want two pairs of Steve Madden Brand shoes that were hardly even worn and in style currently. They claimed that they 'weren't taking pointy toe shoes' at this time. The girls working there looked straight out of 2001, so clearly they are not aware of current fashion trends. On the way home, I ran several errands, including a stop at my local pharmacy to pick of a prescription refill of BC. They told me that I could not get it filled and have the cost covered by my insurance until next week. I told them that was a major issue and the ladies working understood why and told me to contact my insurance company.
Once home, I immediately contacted my insurance company who then transferred me over to the branch that covers prescriptions. First, I was hooked up with some man who's southern drawl voice was barely even audible. I was ignorant as fck and I don't think he even understood what the problem was. I was not about to explain to a grown man how the menstrual cycle works and how it often fluctuates, so I hung up after a frustrating five minute conversation and decided to call back. The next time I reached a human being on the other end, it was a female. "Relief and understanding at last!" I thought to myself... a woman who will know where I'm coming from and help me. No, sadly, even after explaining the dilemma thoroughly, she said there was nothing I could do and that I would have to wait until next week. Ok, I'm sorry my body is not functioning on a 28 day mode atm, but BC isn't exactly a painkiller, and it's not like I'm abusing my prescription. FUCKING HELL. I was so angry. First
I attributed my sour mood to my cold. However, today I woke up feeling much better, but quickly realized (upon entering the outside world) the savagery had not subsided. No, today, my vicious mentality was only encouraged by the incompetency of my insurance company and state/national politicians. First, I made a little trip to a store called 'Plato's Closet.' I'd never been, but had heard good things and seen a number of advertisements, which made the store out to be a cool place for style-conscious individuals of my age. When I entered, I quickly realized it was about one step above a local thrift store... name brands my ass. I do NOT consider rue 21 and forever 21 to be name brands. Nor do I consider Aeropostale or American Eagle to be name brands. I had a full bag of things to sell that I no longer wear and they only took a few items. They didn't even want two pairs of Steve Madden Brand shoes that were hardly even worn and in style currently. They claimed that they 'weren't taking pointy toe shoes' at this time. The girls working there looked straight out of 2001, so clearly they are not aware of current fashion trends. On the way home, I ran several errands, including a stop at my local pharmacy to pick of a prescription refill of BC. They told me that I could not get it filled and have the cost covered by my insurance until next week. I told them that was a major issue and the ladies working understood why and told me to contact my insurance company.
Once home, I immediately contacted my insurance company who then transferred me over to the branch that covers prescriptions. First, I was hooked up with some man who's southern drawl voice was barely even audible. I was ignorant as fck and I don't think he even understood what the problem was. I was not about to explain to a grown man how the menstrual cycle works and how it often fluctuates, so I hung up after a frustrating five minute conversation and decided to call back. The next time I reached a human being on the other end, it was a female. "Relief and understanding at last!" I thought to myself... a woman who will know where I'm coming from and help me. No, sadly, even after explaining the dilemma thoroughly, she said there was nothing I could do and that I would have to wait until next week. Ok, I'm sorry my body is not functioning on a 28 day mode atm, but BC isn't exactly a painkiller, and it's not like I'm abusing my prescription. FUCKING HELL. I was so angry. First
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Sentimentality Killed the Cat
I've been in a most sentimental mood today. I suppose it's the fact that the sun was shining, and even though it was still far too cold for someone of my fragile frame to deal with, a hint of Spring whispered through the air. I took a drive in between my classes, and as the sun warmed me through my windshield, and I played a CD I made last year around this time, tons of wonderful memories came back to me; the kind of memories that overwhelm your senses, and launch a hostile takeover of your sensible emotions. I recalled the newness of my relationship then, the newness of everything I was experiencing in life. Ups and Downs; ups and downs of the most elated heights and the lowest lows. But when I look back, I somehow forget how the lowest lows felt, and in retrospect, that was a beautiful time in my life. I partied way more than I should have. Wino Wednesdays, which had started out as a girls night only/weekly ritual, had turned into full out parties by that point. Not only was every friend I had invited, but they generally took it upon themselves to invite other friends to my apartment in addition. Even if we started out with wine, it seems we always ended up drinking hard liquor (Baccardi 151, Absinthe... Germ-X :p ) and the boys usually made a beer run at some point. The music was played too loud, pot was usually acquired and smoked... I'd often end up pissed because I was supposed to be relaxing after a hard day at school and Claires and I'd end up playing babysitter (seeing as how the event always took place in my apartment). But I wouldn't trade any of it for the world. I remember the night I built a tent out of sheets above my bed, complete with an ornate chandelier I constructed with fake flowers and strands of mardi-gras pearls. With my paper star lantern in the middle it was an enchanting, magical tent... and after consuming Bacardi 151, that tent managed to house not only myself and my boyfriend, but two of my girlfriends as well. I assure you it was non-sexual; we just decided we all wanted to sleep there. But by the time the liquor wore off in the wee hours of the morning, I realized a Full size bed just was not large enough to accommodate us comfortably and I ended up on the couch, my boyfriend on the floor. The next day we all had class and kept the pact we had made the night before to get up at 7 am and finish our respective homework. It was rough, to say the least. There were so many nights at that apartment that were so perfect. Parties, nights with girlfriends, nights with one friend or two friends, nights with my boyfriend. I think at the time, as stressed as I was juggling a heavy course load, practicum, and work at Claires, entertaining became a bit of a chore; but a year from that point, it looks so fun and easy. Especially now that my crew of friends is dispersed, and I am about to graduate. I guess I took for granted the fact we wouldn't always be so carefree, or careless. The fact we wouldn't always be in the same town. I know there are plenty of good times to be had ahead, and I am sure I will make more friends down the road, but I can't help feeling a bit melancholy looking back; it's as though I've watched myself grow- and I have, and that part of me, that carefree, slightly (or heavily) neurotic and crazy part of me that was at an all-time high last Spring, has been repressed. That's not necessarily a bad thing- I mean, my grades were back to their stellar standard this year, and I feel waaaayyyy healthier without the stress of having to entertain on a nightly basis, and without alcohol being my major dietary staple. It's just that, when one has noticed self growth and maturity, it really knocks you down, and makes you take a minute to reflect on how and why you have changed.
I remember when I was the queen of making out in the Fall of 2009. I think I was desperate to find a boyfriend, or someone who would understand me. I was sick of being the only one of my friends to still be a virgin, and to have never had a boyfriend. It was seriously depressing, but even more depressing was the realization every guy wanted to bone me and nothing more. Id make out with someone, and never hear from them again- no one even gave me a chance (which is fucked up- I am an awesome girlfriend, I must say). I was so very naive too, in thinking love was going to save me from myself (I was seriously crazy at the time, my diet of alcohol really didn't help encourage a positive mind frame). When I finally realized the love I harbored for my current boyfriend, it was months after we'd initially met, and I'd gone through many many crisis in the wake of my realization and acceptance of love. I'll keep that private for the sake of this blog, but my good friends know what I mean. However, the point I think I started off writing about, is that I was naive. Love is a powerful thing, and it has definitely changed me in a lot of ways, to love and be loved by someone other than my family or friends. However, did it complete me the way I thought it would once upon a time? Helllz no. I think it's human to always want more. And even though I have this love in my life now, that I formerly only so desperately craved, I have realized that though it is uplifting, empowering, comforting, and generally has made me much more self-confident, it is not going to make all of my dreams come true. Only I can do that, and it's going to take a whole lot of determination, will power, work ethic, time, and effort. That is way easier to do knowing that my family, friends, and bf support me though. I am still really naive in a lot of ways, but I guess that's just me. It certainly makes reality a little softer when every other thought is a pleasant daydream or fantasy of the future, and it really gives me incentive to strive for.
Back to the change, though. I wish sometimes, I could go back to my former self and slap myself. Yes. Slap. How could I ever let some of the uggos I made out with break my heart? Goddamn, it's not like I had sex with them... I'm not sure how or why I ever felt an emotional connection at all. Most of them were straight up douche bags and hideous. I won't name names, but I hope the few who really hurt my fragile, tender, pure heart, will see me years from now, in the prime of my life and success, and I hope they are alone, or with fat, sloppy, busted girlfriends who can't do shit in the bedroom or cook an awesome meal like I can, and I hope they slap themselves for not giving me a chance (even though I wouldn't want to be with them now, at the time I probably did).
I remember when I was the queen of making out in the Fall of 2009. I think I was desperate to find a boyfriend, or someone who would understand me. I was sick of being the only one of my friends to still be a virgin, and to have never had a boyfriend. It was seriously depressing, but even more depressing was the realization every guy wanted to bone me and nothing more. Id make out with someone, and never hear from them again- no one even gave me a chance (which is fucked up- I am an awesome girlfriend, I must say). I was so very naive too, in thinking love was going to save me from myself (I was seriously crazy at the time, my diet of alcohol really didn't help encourage a positive mind frame). When I finally realized the love I harbored for my current boyfriend, it was months after we'd initially met, and I'd gone through many many crisis in the wake of my realization and acceptance of love. I'll keep that private for the sake of this blog, but my good friends know what I mean. However, the point I think I started off writing about, is that I was naive. Love is a powerful thing, and it has definitely changed me in a lot of ways, to love and be loved by someone other than my family or friends. However, did it complete me the way I thought it would once upon a time? Helllz no. I think it's human to always want more. And even though I have this love in my life now, that I formerly only so desperately craved, I have realized that though it is uplifting, empowering, comforting, and generally has made me much more self-confident, it is not going to make all of my dreams come true. Only I can do that, and it's going to take a whole lot of determination, will power, work ethic, time, and effort. That is way easier to do knowing that my family, friends, and bf support me though. I am still really naive in a lot of ways, but I guess that's just me. It certainly makes reality a little softer when every other thought is a pleasant daydream or fantasy of the future, and it really gives me incentive to strive for.
Back to the change, though. I wish sometimes, I could go back to my former self and slap myself. Yes. Slap. How could I ever let some of the uggos I made out with break my heart? Goddamn, it's not like I had sex with them... I'm not sure how or why I ever felt an emotional connection at all. Most of them were straight up douche bags and hideous. I won't name names, but I hope the few who really hurt my fragile, tender, pure heart, will see me years from now, in the prime of my life and success, and I hope they are alone, or with fat, sloppy, busted girlfriends who can't do shit in the bedroom or cook an awesome meal like I can, and I hope they slap themselves for not giving me a chance (even though I wouldn't want to be with them now, at the time I probably did).
Saturday, March 26, 2011
FFFFFFUuuuuucckkkKKKKk
I knew it was going to be a bad day when I woke up and walked into the kitchen to get my coffee and my father said "how are you feeling today?" My response: "I was feeling good until you asked me that question." Can you say SAVAGE? Well, at least I am able to acknowledge the fact I am a raving bitch today. He should have known to not ask me a question that would imply I woke up hung-over because that immediately pisses me off- people making false assumptions. Just because I came home at 2 am and binged in the kitchen does not mean I'm hung-over. Would I drive home drunk? Hellz no. It hasn't been a rough day though, or even a rough week; in fact, it's been a rough month. Now, I know some of you reading this will be like "why is that bitch so pessimistic.... blah blah blah..." You wanna know why? BECAUSE I HAVE REASONS. Yes, I have many, many reasons. The reasons for my mood as of late are as follow:
1. I fucking miss my boyfriend. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to deal with others rubbing their love and the fact that they get to see their significant others on a daily basis in my face. I deleted approximately 10 people not just from my Facebook newsfeed, but from my friends on FB because I could no longer stand knowing that they "miss [their] wonderful boyfriend" when they've been apart a fucking HOUR. I don't wanna know that you're spending "a week with my honey on the beach cause he's the best boyfriend ever <3" when I haven't seen my boyfriend for almost a month. Furthermore, I don't wanna see mobile uploads of the roses your bf sent you 'just because,' nor do I want to see a picture of you making out with him... especially when you're both obnoxious and unattractive. I was celibate for nearly 22 years of my life by choice, and now I'm celibate for fucking weeks at a time and it blows. I wish I was Asexual; life would be so much easier.
2. Dumb ho's everywhere giving women a bad rep. I am so sick of seeing these sorority girls and the general population of dumb sluts inhabiting Oneonta walking around town like it's 70 degrees and July. Honey, how are your lady bits not getting frostbite when it is 27 degrees on a good night and you're prancing around without a coat and a mini dress WITHOUT tights? Who are you really trying to impress by dressing like that and where exactly do you think you are geographically speaking? This isn't fucking Miami and you are not going to a hot night club... you are going to a seedy college bar in Oneonta, NY. And if you are trying to impress boys, it's not worth it because they only want to fuck you and chuck you. Do people not respect the sanctity of their bodies at all today? So shameful. Half the bitches I see shouldn't even be wearing what they are. I'm sorry but body-con dresses are made for people with flat stomachs. And to the girls making out with other girls to impress boys... I thought 2003 was 8 years ago. The other day when I was working in the costume shop (more on this in a minute) some girl was down there talking to her friend about St. Patty's Day. First off, can I just say she was wearing a Tiffany Charm bracelet- as I recall, those were cool in the year 2000, when my sister, her entire sorority and myself HAD to have one. She was talking about a particular St. Patrick's Day shirt that a fraternity/sorority was selling for the occasion that read " Oneonta is DTF, St. Patty's Day 2011". In case you don't know, DTF= Down To Fuck. To this I say: WTF (What The Fuck)?! How degrading. Honey, maybe your skank ass is 'down to fuck' any guy who spends 10 dollars buying you drinks at one of Water Street's classiest establishments and who has shown he's into you by grinding your ass to a Nikki Minaj song on the dance floor, but I can assure you that not everyone in Oneonta is DTF. Some people respect themselves more than that. Furthermore, when did it become cool for sluts to let everyone know how slutty they were? If someone can handle casual sex emotionally, fine. Maybe they feel liberated, maybe they do respect their body and just enjoy sexual pleasure with partners to whom they have no connection other than physical. I'm not one of them. But to announce to the world on a tee-shirt that you are 'DTF,' what kind of message does that send out to the general public? Let's face it, most college age boys (NOT ALL, mind you, but the vast majority) only want to bone anyhow. But when you walk around in a shirt like that, it gives people the idea that everyone is DTF, and nothing need be expected to come out of your sexual rondez-vous. On one more feminist note, can I just say that this email both offends and disturbs me on every level? http://jezebel.com/#!5779905/usc-frat-guys-email-explains-women-are-targets-not-actual-people-like-us-men
All of this brings me to my next complaint:
3. The prevalence of sexual harassment. There is a fine line between flirtation (and who doesn't like to be hit on every now and then?), and straight-up harassment. Take last night for example- I went to a concert with a good friend at the Oneonta theatre and I noticed this guy staring at me while we were getting drinks at the bar. PS. I was dressed relatively asexual as to avoid such interactions in the first place last night. Anyhow, I later noticed this same guy staring at me while at the bar in the theater lobby had somehow found me in the crowd and sidled up next to me. I was polite and made casual conversation but the next thing I knew he was unbuttoning his flannel to show me a tattoo and kept trying to put his arm around me. I had already told him I had a boyfriend, and even made it a point to tell him how much I loved my boyfriend, thinking he would get the point and go away. This seemed only to encourage him, and he kept saying (while trying to put his arm around me) 'but if you weren't with him..." I finally became frustrated and said that if I wasn't with him, I'd be a lesbian with my friend. He proceeded to tell me that I needed a guy, and I told him I had a profound emotional connection with my friend and that if I wasn't with my boyfriend I'd be with her. LOL. This either scared him off or got the point across and he finally left. TG. A few months ago, I was hit on while driving... some guy kept honking at me and making kissy faces. When we both pulled up to a red light in our respective vehicles, he motioned for my friend, who was in the passenger seat, to roll down her window which she did. He then proceeded to compliment me repeatedly, ask me out on a date, and became very insistent when I told him 'no, I have a boyfriend whom I love.' I'm really starting to think that having a boyfriend makes other guys want you more because competition is rooted in their intrinsic male behavior. One more example, getting hit on by construction workers in the scene shop. Ew... you're old enough to be my father, let me do my work. Now, to reiterate, I'm not saying I don't occasionally like to be hit on or to be paid a flattering compliment- who doesn't? What I'm complaining about is harassment... people touching me when they have no right to, continuing to pursue me when I've made it clear I am in love with my boyfriend, or straight up stalking me (had an incident this summer with some guy in the mall walking by Claire's and staring at me almost daily; he kept telling the girl working at the kiosk across from me how hot I was, and she eventually told mall security). Can't I just be free to be me? In all of these cases, I wasn't even dressed 'slutty' like the girls in the above complaint.
4. Oneonta Theatre department. I somehow ended up working in the costume shop yet again this semester to fulfill my 290 practicum credits. I'm not sure how the same people are cast over and over again when they have minimal talent and lackluster looks, but that's another story (there are exceptions to this statement- there are some actors with considerable talent, and it must be said looks aren't everything). Anyhow, it's always a pain in the ass working in that costume shop because the costume teacher never seems to have the help she needs to build elaborate costumes from scratch in a matter of 2 months. I'm not sure why more people aren't coerced into working down there, but alas, the majority of work falls on the teacher, and me. Not only did I fill my 90 necessary hours, but I was conned into working about 30 hours over my 90 mandatory. And, not only will I only be listed on the program as a 'stitcher' when in fact I did like 40% of the total workload (cutting patterns, piecing together, sewing, hemming, detail work, alterations, minor design decisions), but some of the actors wearing the costumes really need a lesson on being polite; or just not taking for granted that even though they put in long hours and considerable work during the rehearsal/performance process, they are doing something they undoubtedly love to do. I would love to be on that stage and in the spotlight any day over being forced to zip an actor in and put on their smelly shoe in the costume shop like a mere servant. sigh. By production week, the costume shop teacher was so over-tired and stressed she was a raving bitch and started to take for granted the fact that I'd already put in my required hours and was, at that point, working out of the goodness of my heart because I knew she really needed me to. How dare she have the audacity to tell me I didn't use the correct stitch on a fucking under-dress that isn't even visible when the stitch I used worked just as well/if not better than the one she failed to tell me she wanted me to use initially? How dare she raise her voice in anger when I have been nothing but dutiful and dedicated? How insulting and disrespectful. I don't care how tired you are, you're working in the costume shop of a fucking state college, not a couture house in Paris, so don't act like you're Karl Lagerfeld. On a side note, after finding need to add multiple bust seems, and butt seems into the dresses to accommodate the generous curves of our 'normal' sized actresses, I now know why designers prefer to work with anorexic models and straight up boys (andrej pejic).
Well, after writing all of this my anger seems to have significantly subsided, so I suppose this blog was not an entire waste. And like I always say, if what I've written here offends you, just remember you decided to read it. Hopefully next time I write it will be much more positive and uplifting.
1. I fucking miss my boyfriend. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to deal with others rubbing their love and the fact that they get to see their significant others on a daily basis in my face. I deleted approximately 10 people not just from my Facebook newsfeed, but from my friends on FB because I could no longer stand knowing that they "miss [their] wonderful boyfriend" when they've been apart a fucking HOUR. I don't wanna know that you're spending "a week with my honey on the beach cause he's the best boyfriend ever <3" when I haven't seen my boyfriend for almost a month. Furthermore, I don't wanna see mobile uploads of the roses your bf sent you 'just because,' nor do I want to see a picture of you making out with him... especially when you're both obnoxious and unattractive. I was celibate for nearly 22 years of my life by choice, and now I'm celibate for fucking weeks at a time and it blows. I wish I was Asexual; life would be so much easier.
2. Dumb ho's everywhere giving women a bad rep. I am so sick of seeing these sorority girls and the general population of dumb sluts inhabiting Oneonta walking around town like it's 70 degrees and July. Honey, how are your lady bits not getting frostbite when it is 27 degrees on a good night and you're prancing around without a coat and a mini dress WITHOUT tights? Who are you really trying to impress by dressing like that and where exactly do you think you are geographically speaking? This isn't fucking Miami and you are not going to a hot night club... you are going to a seedy college bar in Oneonta, NY. And if you are trying to impress boys, it's not worth it because they only want to fuck you and chuck you. Do people not respect the sanctity of their bodies at all today? So shameful. Half the bitches I see shouldn't even be wearing what they are. I'm sorry but body-con dresses are made for people with flat stomachs. And to the girls making out with other girls to impress boys... I thought 2003 was 8 years ago. The other day when I was working in the costume shop (more on this in a minute) some girl was down there talking to her friend about St. Patty's Day. First off, can I just say she was wearing a Tiffany Charm bracelet- as I recall, those were cool in the year 2000, when my sister, her entire sorority and myself HAD to have one. She was talking about a particular St. Patrick's Day shirt that a fraternity/sorority was selling for the occasion that read " Oneonta is DTF, St. Patty's Day 2011". In case you don't know, DTF= Down To Fuck. To this I say: WTF (What The Fuck)?! How degrading. Honey, maybe your skank ass is 'down to fuck' any guy who spends 10 dollars buying you drinks at one of Water Street's classiest establishments and who has shown he's into you by grinding your ass to a Nikki Minaj song on the dance floor, but I can assure you that not everyone in Oneonta is DTF. Some people respect themselves more than that. Furthermore, when did it become cool for sluts to let everyone know how slutty they were? If someone can handle casual sex emotionally, fine. Maybe they feel liberated, maybe they do respect their body and just enjoy sexual pleasure with partners to whom they have no connection other than physical. I'm not one of them. But to announce to the world on a tee-shirt that you are 'DTF,' what kind of message does that send out to the general public? Let's face it, most college age boys (NOT ALL, mind you, but the vast majority) only want to bone anyhow. But when you walk around in a shirt like that, it gives people the idea that everyone is DTF, and nothing need be expected to come out of your sexual rondez-vous. On one more feminist note, can I just say that this email both offends and disturbs me on every level? http://jezebel.com/#!5779905/usc-frat-guys-email-explains-women-are-targets-not-actual-people-like-us-men
All of this brings me to my next complaint:
3. The prevalence of sexual harassment. There is a fine line between flirtation (and who doesn't like to be hit on every now and then?), and straight-up harassment. Take last night for example- I went to a concert with a good friend at the Oneonta theatre and I noticed this guy staring at me while we were getting drinks at the bar. PS. I was dressed relatively asexual as to avoid such interactions in the first place last night. Anyhow, I later noticed this same guy staring at me while at the bar in the theater lobby had somehow found me in the crowd and sidled up next to me. I was polite and made casual conversation but the next thing I knew he was unbuttoning his flannel to show me a tattoo and kept trying to put his arm around me. I had already told him I had a boyfriend, and even made it a point to tell him how much I loved my boyfriend, thinking he would get the point and go away. This seemed only to encourage him, and he kept saying (while trying to put his arm around me) 'but if you weren't with him..." I finally became frustrated and said that if I wasn't with him, I'd be a lesbian with my friend. He proceeded to tell me that I needed a guy, and I told him I had a profound emotional connection with my friend and that if I wasn't with my boyfriend I'd be with her. LOL. This either scared him off or got the point across and he finally left. TG. A few months ago, I was hit on while driving... some guy kept honking at me and making kissy faces. When we both pulled up to a red light in our respective vehicles, he motioned for my friend, who was in the passenger seat, to roll down her window which she did. He then proceeded to compliment me repeatedly, ask me out on a date, and became very insistent when I told him 'no, I have a boyfriend whom I love.' I'm really starting to think that having a boyfriend makes other guys want you more because competition is rooted in their intrinsic male behavior. One more example, getting hit on by construction workers in the scene shop. Ew... you're old enough to be my father, let me do my work. Now, to reiterate, I'm not saying I don't occasionally like to be hit on or to be paid a flattering compliment- who doesn't? What I'm complaining about is harassment... people touching me when they have no right to, continuing to pursue me when I've made it clear I am in love with my boyfriend, or straight up stalking me (had an incident this summer with some guy in the mall walking by Claire's and staring at me almost daily; he kept telling the girl working at the kiosk across from me how hot I was, and she eventually told mall security). Can't I just be free to be me? In all of these cases, I wasn't even dressed 'slutty' like the girls in the above complaint.
4. Oneonta Theatre department. I somehow ended up working in the costume shop yet again this semester to fulfill my 290 practicum credits. I'm not sure how the same people are cast over and over again when they have minimal talent and lackluster looks, but that's another story (there are exceptions to this statement- there are some actors with considerable talent, and it must be said looks aren't everything). Anyhow, it's always a pain in the ass working in that costume shop because the costume teacher never seems to have the help she needs to build elaborate costumes from scratch in a matter of 2 months. I'm not sure why more people aren't coerced into working down there, but alas, the majority of work falls on the teacher, and me. Not only did I fill my 90 necessary hours, but I was conned into working about 30 hours over my 90 mandatory. And, not only will I only be listed on the program as a 'stitcher' when in fact I did like 40% of the total workload (cutting patterns, piecing together, sewing, hemming, detail work, alterations, minor design decisions), but some of the actors wearing the costumes really need a lesson on being polite; or just not taking for granted that even though they put in long hours and considerable work during the rehearsal/performance process, they are doing something they undoubtedly love to do. I would love to be on that stage and in the spotlight any day over being forced to zip an actor in and put on their smelly shoe in the costume shop like a mere servant. sigh. By production week, the costume shop teacher was so over-tired and stressed she was a raving bitch and started to take for granted the fact that I'd already put in my required hours and was, at that point, working out of the goodness of my heart because I knew she really needed me to. How dare she have the audacity to tell me I didn't use the correct stitch on a fucking under-dress that isn't even visible when the stitch I used worked just as well/if not better than the one she failed to tell me she wanted me to use initially? How dare she raise her voice in anger when I have been nothing but dutiful and dedicated? How insulting and disrespectful. I don't care how tired you are, you're working in the costume shop of a fucking state college, not a couture house in Paris, so don't act like you're Karl Lagerfeld. On a side note, after finding need to add multiple bust seems, and butt seems into the dresses to accommodate the generous curves of our 'normal' sized actresses, I now know why designers prefer to work with anorexic models and straight up boys (andrej pejic).
Well, after writing all of this my anger seems to have significantly subsided, so I suppose this blog was not an entire waste. And like I always say, if what I've written here offends you, just remember you decided to read it. Hopefully next time I write it will be much more positive and uplifting.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
This isn't me.
I've decided blogs are a bit, self-absorbed. And if you know me, despite the fact I feign insecurity, I am, at the end of the day, a little bit too into myself. Or am I? I don't know, honestly; I feel like I alternate by thinking I'm fat and busted and thinking I'm pretty decent. Hell, maybe I fake being into myself to cover my insecurities....perhaps they're really interchangeable. I don't know. All I know is that this blog was NOT my idea; it was my sister's idea. She practically held me at gunpoint to do one. I'm not sure why, I don't find myself funny. In fact, if I were you and you were me, and I was reading this, I'd be annoyed at you. I might even hate you if you were me and I was you. But alas, I am me, and you are you. God, this is so ridiculous. If you read this, you can expect my entries to be few and far between. This is harkening back to the days of my emo blues writing insane thoughts in diaries and journals that I would later look back on and wonder WTF I was thinking. Pathetic. This is shameful behavior. I should be working right now; lord knows I need money to afford the lifestyle I demand. But times are tough, and this economy blows hardcore. I've considered stripping, but my dignity is too high for that. I would love the sexy little costumes and outrageously high heels, but my sweet ass is too classy for the 'gentlemen' in these parts of upstate. Besides, I'd come home feeling degraded and dirty... and my bf would not approve. Nor would I want him to approve (what kind of bf would be ok with their gf prancing around naked in front of nasty men?). I've considered selling my artwork recently, but I don't think that the market in upstate New York would be very profitable. My work is a bit, 'emo,' and I doubt the old farts buying artwork here would want anything other than a watercolor of a barn or landscape. I need to find a way to make money in order to finance my addiction to lingerie and sky-high heels and to visit my bf and get out of gloomy upstate asap though, because the grey trees, grey ground, and dirty roads just aren't caressing my fragile soul the way it needs to be coddled. I have a couple of new ideas for comic books.... one of which is based loosely on my alter ego, Emo Max, and is titled: "I want you to WANT to fuck me, But I don't wanna Fuck you." My other current comic idea is titled, "Mrs. Griggles; the drunk party clown." I'm feeling pretty blah today though, and starting this blog has been a pretty combative effort betwixt me and my sane mind, so I'll say I've already been productive enough for my Wednesday.
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