Let’s Face It Women, Even After All This Time We Are Born Losers.

il_340x270.419270049_k587As a feminist, there is no level to merit the disgust invoked in me by the Christa Dias situation. For those of you who haven’t heard Christa Dias, was a teacher employed by a Catholic school as a teacher. She was promptly fired for being “single and pregnant” after asking about maternity leave 5 ½ months into her pregnancy. Representatives of the church are now claiming her firing was due to the WAY in which she got pregnant (artificial insemination).

The rep for the arch dieses that enacted her termination stated that ALL employees are under contract to adhere to the principals of the Catholic Church as a condition of their employment.Excuse me?!?!?! The last time I checked The Church was strictly against abortion… So a woman who is raped and abused and becomes impregnated is forced to carry a reminder of that trauma for nine months at the least, more if she keeps the child… AND NOW, A woman is also to feel ashamed because she refuses to lower her standards and marry any old bloke off the street because she is ready to have a baby. Christa, at 31 yrs old, decided she was ready to have a baby. With her experience as a teacher, I think she was more than qualified and hell, we need some more babies to support social security lol!

I just do not understand how we are supposed to be proud to be a woman in the spheres of religion. It seems like faith is constantly pushing us down when we are an amazingly capable chunk of the population. This issue also begs the question of out-of-wedlock conception. If a man had impregnated her the “old fashioned way,” would she still have been fired? Or what if she had adopted? What if her husband had shagged the secretary and left her with the baby? Would she be criticized for being a strong and independent woman fully capable of having a fulfilled life then?

gloria steinemHonestly I feel that this is such a masculine issue. The men are offended because we don’t need to cater and bow down to them in order to reproduce. Yes, it is amazing and wonderful to make a baby and share in a pregnancy with a life partner, no matter what the sex, but if someone is in a stable point in their life and ready to pass on the lessons they have learned and build a piece of a legacy in a child, WHO IN THE HELL, makes that your call. If there is a God I cannot imagine that he would disapprove in any way of Christa’s brave decision. And it is a brave decision to raise a child alone FYI. I only see disappointment falling on those who judge and those who discard the lessons of Christianity, which is tolerance, and acceptance. I feel like I read somewhere that we were ALL God’s children… How can you throw your sister out on the street to raise a child with no job?! That is soooo holy….

The Rules of Engagement

The boundaries and rules of the girl code are completely lost on me. And I think when you live in a small community they can be lost on a lot of people. In college, being part of the Greek system and the same hundred or so people being in the same organizations, give or take a few, it became damn near impossible to meet someone that had yet to date someone I knew or keep from falling for an ex of one of my friends.

Emotions grow when you are shoved in tightly confined spaces/ environments.

 

But, as I am back in my hometown and I am running into a lot of old acquaintances. I find myself talking to guys I never would have glanced at in the past. It begs a second glance at my standards and why they have changed from who I use to be. Am I so desperate for male attention that I would go back to high school leftovers?!?!

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Answer: Apparently. The pond is small in the south… Lord help me.   

Advice is welcomed…

Loving When Something Unexpected Comes Along to Clear Your Mind

I recently came upon this video of Lana Wachowski accepting the Visibility Award from the Human Rights Campaign (one of THE most amazing organizations I know). And, listening to her speak about growing up and finding the courage to do what she wanted to do and be who she knew she could be was really inspiring to me.

Since, moving back home after college graduation I felt utterly and completely lost. I was shattered when I received my denial from the NAVY and it took a while to pick up the pieces. I have wanted to be in music and to write since I could hold a pen and over the past few years, I gradually begin to lose my way.

From the death of my mother, the ever changing pace of being in an unfamiliar city, making friends, losing friends, and all of the drama and change that comes with living life I lost sight of many of the amazing things that I discovered about myself. College helped me to grow and build and identity but the last year of college and the year after graduation completely fogged the vision I thought was so clear. I realized that I have to re-assess what is important to me and decide what I want, who I want to be… something that every person has to do a few times in their lifetime.

This speech reminded me of the support that I had forgotten and the friends that I thought were lost because I had moved to such a secluded environment. It reminded me of my own memories of overcoming injustice and my desire to fight for equality and most of all the burning desire to get back to what I love: writing. Because doing what you love the most is when you can see the light at the end of the tunnel and when you can get lost in your true identity, shedding all judgments that can be such a heavy weight in day to day life.

She also reminded me that we can’t be ruled by our fear, fear of failure or embarrassment, and fear of doing something we must simply because we would rather not. So I thought I would share.  Peace be with you guys and dolls!

We Are Teenage Dirt Bag Non-Conformists’ Just Like Everybody Else…

ImageIn an age where the starving artist has become the trendy-hipster-in-a-coffee-shop it seems what artists are really starving for is attention… Unless you’re Texan…then its attention, sweet tea, and some southern cookin’!

All artists are contradictory specimens in a nutshell. We see things in a different perspective and we cash in on that by showing it in some way, but we are also stiltedly immature and have a constant need for some sort of recognition. Whether it be the approval we never received in childhood or an undying need to be right, compliments to replace the flattery we are missing in daily life…. Things are published to be shared… and hopefully given a stamp of approval. And writers are the worst…

Writers, performers, artists, and even fashion designers, we all have a burning need to be the best, to be right, to be the one you turn to, and I am not sure what fuels it…I think a combination of different variables for different people. But, it all boils down to us being a baby Skrillex-esque nerd hipster, or “popular outcast” that needs to scream, “Look at ME dammit! I know things! I can do this!!!” (insert twirling five year old in a tu-tu).  And then we artistically call it “self-expression”.

I can say this like I say crap about black stereo types because I am part of the community and I have super secret inside ninja perspective…and also because I think it will gain attention… “Hello, read my blog, I’m controversial! Ooooh!!”

 But writers, maybe I should say autobiographical writers and bloggers, but that would leave out Stephanie Meyer. Writers spend their whole time brainstorming ways to be themselves but “cooler”. We build fiction by writing caricatures of ourselves and people in our environment in a passive aggressive attempt to convey what we really need to say but cant bear to speak for whatever reason.  This whole blog is an attempt to explain why I write what I do, the way I do… And I want someone to hear it. I want someone to hear me.Image

 The great thing about art, especially literature and blogs, is that a person can get out what they need to say in whichever way they need to say it and even if they don’t have vocal confirmation, or approval it’s possible to pretend because they have sent their piece of work, a small fraction of their fragile being into the great world, to be judged. And then they pray that someone might find that message in a bottle and relate to it entirely, and in that single spark of a moment, we are not alone. We are seen in a fraction and as a whole like no one in our daily lives’ truly sees us…. And we are content until the urge to be seen rises again like the need in wolf to hunt; and we are forced to scream at the top of our lungs…”I am here.” 

Sometimes, History Repeats Itself Whether You Want It To Or Not…

I find myself constantly asking “why do I repeat history?” Is saying that “I didn’t know what I was doing at the time” a cop out, because in some cases I really didn’t. I torture myself and waste priceless moments masochistically going through hell only to realize two years later that I had done it before.

            Fact one: I am “the good girl.” It’s as simple as that. Inherently, under the leather jacket and tattoos, under the make-up and music, the edginess and sarcasm, under the rebellion I am ultimately “the good girl.” And I will never be anything else because, for all the trouble it’s caused me, it truly is who I am. Empathetic to a fault, I can seamlessly become a martyr, the annoying kind that you want to shake and scream “YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF!!!!”

            Fact two: I like bad boys. Not really bad, but its something I love to blame on my genes, and horrible influences of pop culture that I think I can “save” a man, when what attracted me to him in the first place, was that he was screwed up. Sometimes, I have actually helped, but then I realized that was their only attractive quality and off they were sent.  I would also like to include that I am a self loathing feminist for this characteristic of myself.  I realize it perpetuates awful stereo-types but I AM discussing inherent traits of my personality save your judgments.

            Fact three: I am a Scorpio and I have an obsessive personality. It is what we Scorpios lovingly call “passion” and being smack in the middle of my astrological sign I am extreme in those personality traits. Whether I fully believe in astrology is another story for another time. But I know that I fill the descriptions well. When I fall for someone, I can obsess, idealize, fantasize, etc on minimal interaction with that person. If I want something then I am determined to try and get it….which can be admirable in business, but inconvenient in love. I am unable to move on and let someone go even though I know that it is headed for disaster…

So here is a piece I wrote about that!

 

            Running into you was more than I would have thought. It made me realize that sometime while we were apart, I had forgotten about us. I pushed back those moments after you first left that I spent pining over what could or should have been. But seeing you now, I think your life would have been so much better if you had chosen me… I made you better. However, you made me weak so I’ll accept where the chips fell because I am not her anymore.

            At least I thought I wasn’t. I thought I had grown until the drive home… when thinking of you made me think of him. There on that back road with the radio on, surrounded by one past and thinking of the other I had just left behind, I realized that what I became with you I had become with him. The only thing that makes it worse is that we were young and stupid. He knew what he was doing and what I wanted. I should have remembered that sacrifice is always a risk. 

            I helped you, saved you, for a time. I made sure that you got where you needed to be, because I loved to see that transformation of effort and reward on your face. I loved the way I could make you see the possibilities of what you could become. I showed you that your future was not set in stone, that you… that we all were capable of greatness. At the time, that conviction was the only thing getting me through, and because it is so much easier to believe in someone else than to believe in yourself.

            But now, seeing you, reliving those moments, I realize that I did it again. I gave myself over to him and suffered through the passive aggressive attacks on my heart while he used me to get to where he needed to go only to drop me in the wind and walk off into the sunset with someone so much… less.

             With you it was more drawn out. You left first…not leaving me on purpose but disappearing none the less and now you are stuck in your decisions… imprisoned by something I would and will never understand: a marriage of convenience and fear completely devoid of trust. But he is happy which is even worse. While I supplied him with hours of my time, working into the hours of the night to make sure he was ready, listening to his stories/problems/life…. he saw me as nothing more than that girl with a crush, just another tool to achieve his next step. Leading me on with moments of intimacy and lost looks….

            Is it time to embrace those decisions and realize that this is who I am…until I am not? A stepping stone for these beautiful disasters, birds with broken wings that fly away when they are healed after I nurse them back to health? Or is it time to rise up against those habits that I see forming in my life? That shadow of my mother that I always detested as pathetic weakness? Do I let go of the harsh reality because I have understanding or accept the past but try to break the cycle? Am I repeating history because this is just “who I am” or because I was unaware at the time…?

            Now that I am older I see that these relationships are universal staples, cinematic stereotypes that I have lived and as long as good memories are made and lessons are learned they will not be seen as mistakes. But I refuse to be made a stepping stone on purpose when everyone deserves to be the endgame. ..

 

A Serious Introduction of a Writer in the Morning

As a writer, actually as a human being, we all have to put pen to paper sometimes, in order to deal with things we cannot fully grasp, to escape these ripping memories or question that tear at our insides. We vomit up vocabulary, strung together in some sort of poetic verse and hope to make sense of it later but mostly expel it from our hearts so that we may find a sliver of peace, so that we may survive the day’s menial tasks without shattering into pieces in what others could perceive as random insanity: a meltdown.

 

In the middle of the night, I am haunted by infinite questions. My mind wakes me from sleep to relive my past and analyze my decisions. Decisions that I now realize were bad or maybe more insignificant than I felt before. My mind wonders to how I am perceived, and as I question who I am, I am simultaneously driven to the brink of chaos worried over how others understand me… MISunderstand me. I question my seemingly reasonless cruelty and how, though it happens less often, why I purge these judgmental snippets of evil onto people I love, why I repeatedly hurt my friends with insults that I cannot stop and why they put up with it.

 

I am enraged at the multiple facets of my personality that confound my everyday and make me hesitant. And I am reminded of all those times I tried and the pain that shredded through me as I failed once again… In this darkness that I live in for hours at a time, those screaming silences before the sun rises, I am a total stranger and more myself than at any other time. I can embrace the doubt and the lack of self knowledge that ultimately lead to new self discovery. These sessions of pain and, on rare occasions, fantastic joys are a pathway to truth for me. They show me that I have changed but am still the same basic being deep inside. 

Because I live in the Kind of House That Drives a Girl to Argue Over Vitamins and Hide Razors, That Doesn’t Make Me Seem More Crazy at All….Right?

     I recently had to move back into my family’s house to help with financial issues and though it isn’t as bad as some of my previous experiences (one roommate circling the house in her car afraid to come in because another roommate half her size “was going to stab her…”). I am still at that one year mark where I am starting to lose my shit on a daily basis, both figuratively and literally…I am seriously becoming frustrated about the magical logic that seems to apply under our candy coated roof. Actually, if the roof WAS candy-coated, I might be a little more inclined to bitch less….but probably not. I say candy coated because, while my aunt was previously, married she rented her house to a family that must have thought this was Miami because they painted every room a different bright ass color that makes the house nearly impossible to relax in. I am a very picky hoarder… in other words an artist! So in accordance to making my “pieces” (also known as crap) seem less cluttered I like a neutral house. It also aids my constant need to redecorate. But I Digress.

     The first nail biter that has come to make me twitch is the passive aggressive attack on my accessories.  My aunt refuses to borrow my jewelry because it is in my room and that would be an invasion of privacy.So instead she just assesses everything I wear, giving me a constantly growing list of all the things she wants, “in case I get tired of them.” And I am forced to repeat the same phrase, that “I’m not getting rid of this, but you are free to borrow it any time” and she does her typical reply of smiling sweetly and changing the subject. I thought this weird as it became a habitual occurrence in our weekly routine until I confronted her about it and told her that I didn’t mind her going in my room. But I figured respecting my privacy was better than completely disregarding it, so I let sleeping dogs lie.

However, the real problems began to occur a few weeks ago. I spent an exorbitant amount on gummy vitamins, because A: they are fucking delicious and I could eat them like candy! B: I am a child who hates vitamins and this is the only way I can regularly commit to “vitamin responsibility” and an incentive to take the rest of my supplements. And C: My fucking hair is falling out everywhere since I went blonde and I cant get an appt with the right hair stylist…

So here I am enjoying my daily dose of strawberry heaven AND being healthy, feeling like I just mastered a cheat code for health and then I notice… These things are disappearing awfully fast… And only one other person lives in the house… But I brush it off. Until a week later half a bottle is just gone! GONE!!! My gummy vitamins… I know this is dramatic, but this should shed some light on how broke I truly am…  ANYWHO, I calmly ask my aunt if she had been eating my vitamins and she innocently replies “I thought they were mine?!”….

“Really?,” I reply in my head but also with a thinly veiled facial expression of annoyance, “Because they fucking come in a small green bottle and yours taste like rubber stamps in a giant orange brick!” I think this is the point when I realized that I clearly need more sleep and also may have developed and unhealthy vitamin addiction. I gruffly replaced my empty vitamin bottle spot with her shit vitamins, that admittedly are probably better for me and have less sugar, but still.

Two days later, my vitamin B12 disappeared and I swear my whole face turned red. Partially because you shouldn’t discover that you are out of the one thing that can get you through the night is missing five minutes before you begin a ten hour overnight shift. “YOU ATE ALL MY B VITAMINS!” Innocently again there is just a look from the couch as I stand in the kitchen doorway…

“I was going to buy more tomorrow…” she replies.

“Well that doesn’t help me now, does it? I wish you would tell me if you use the last of my stuff…” And then I storm off like the child that I am when exhausted meets angry.

But the real nail on the coffin is the multiple times I keep finding my razor has gone missing. More than a couple times now I have caught her using my razor and each time asked her not to, and it continues. Finally I exploded. “How the hell is eating my vitamins and not replacing them, and using my razor, sharing my blood not count as an invasion of my privacy when you won’t even borrow a necklace? A necklace you can just put back, those razors are expensive!” I will admit I didn’t pay for them, but I am trying to spread them out so I don’t have to buy more, so the point still stands. And to this I get the cleverest of remarks… “Your jewelry is in your room…”

“YOU. ARE. INFURIATING!!!! Stop using my razor!!!!”

Laughter. “But I don’t have any razors…”

“I DON’T CARE” I shout from the back of the house as I search for a box to hide all my shit in…

This is life after college folks. This is what your advisers are trying to prevent when they tell you you need to make a plan…