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The First Time You Are Dehumanized

22 Jul

This post includes crude language that is not intended to be used lightly nor in a joking manner. The crude language used in this post is meant to express feelings and educate people on the problem that is dehumanization, misogyny, and racism. This post is written by an extremely angsty feminist who was recently called a cunt. In this post I will not be censoring words that are otherwise known to be extremely offensive and politically incorrect. This post is not for children nor for people who think words like “cunt” are okay.


The first time you are dehumanized, you more than likely aren’t aware of the phenomena that is dehumanization. The first time you are dehumanized, you become aware of the fact that there are people in this world who still revert to old-school tactics of racism and misogyny. For some, the first time you are dehumanized, you become aware of the labels that are sharply thrown at you and label yourself as a crusader in anti-racism, sexism and misogynistic thinking. For me, the first time you are called cunt, you become inspired to write an angsty blog post about it because the person who called you such names isn’t educated enough to read a blog, none the less understand that some things just aren’t “A-Okay”.

There are some words that I choose to not put into my vocabulary. Many people tell me I’m a “spaz” or a “prude” (okay, let’s look up the definition of prude) because I choose not to say words like retard, nigger and cunt or partake in use phrases involving “that’s so gay” or “you’re a fag”. I have no shame in telling the people I’m around to not use certain words around me because I do find it highly offensive and if you’re going to use words that are extremely offensive to me, you’re clearly not going to be around me for much longer. The hardest part about choosing not to use certain words and try to remain as politically correct as possible is quite a double-edged sword. At my age, I am looked at by adults (i’ll be one in six days so ha) as a “feisty teenager” who is still undereducated about the world. By my peers, I’m looked at as an “uptight bitch” who can’t “be chill”. For me, I feel better about myself because I have a core set of beliefs that I like to uphold. Everyone has beliefs, right?

Before I dive right in, let’s define some words and terms that will more than likely be used frequently through the post.


verb \(ˌ)dē-ˈhyü-mə-ˌnīz, (ˌ)dē-ˈyü-\

: to treat (someone) as though he or she is not a human being


noun \mə-ˈsä-jə-nē\

:  a hatred of women


noun \ˈkənt\

1 usually obscene :  the female genital organs; also :  sexual intercourse with a woman
2 usually disparaging & obscene



: the belief that men and women should have equal rights and opportunities

: organized activity in support of women’s rights and interests

Now that we have some terms defined, let’s dive right into the problem at hand. THE WORD CUNT, USED IN A NEGATIVE MANNER (is there a manner in which it isn’t negative?), IS NOT OKAY.  There are many words used in the English language that are commonly scrutinized, and understandably so, for their negative use and connotation. The question remains; why do we still use them? Why do we still use words that demean other people? Why do we use words that do nothing to benefit ourselves nor the other person? Now in the case of the word cunt, I choose to take a very…upfront approach towards the word. I do not think it is an appropriate word in any context. Many different types of groups identify themselves against the word, as well as for the word. Yes, I claim myself as a feminist. Why not? I think everyone should claim themselves as a feminist. Hell, I think everyone and their mother could claim themselves as a masculinist (that’s now a word). Do you know why I believe everyone should call themselves a feminist in some respect? Because as defined above, a feminist is someone who believes in equal treatment and representation of BOTH genders. Who doesn’t want that? As a feminist, I don’t believe that every male needs to be castrated and every male is a chauvinistic pig who thinks with his penis instead of his cerebral cortex. Contrary to popular belief, as a feminist, I don’t burn my bra (not all the time, at least) in a ceremonial manner. Now, that being said, as a feminist, I do not believe that the word “cunt” should be used in place of other degrading words. There are many arguments out there discussing the fact that the word cunt has historical roots that simply refer to the vagina. While that’s all fine and dandy, why must we continue to use the word cunt in place of vagina? If that is the context in which you are using the word, of course. Now, when using the word cunt towards a woman, you have to look at what is trying to be accomplished. If someone decided to call me a cunt, I would have to ask myself this: are they calling me a cunt in place of slut, bitch, whore, etc. OR are they truly saying that I am a 17th century slang word for a vagina? Chances are, they are not calling the latter. So, why is it so offensive to be called a 17th century slang word? The same reason it is offensive and not okay to call someone a nigger. Words change and evolve over time. If you look of the history of African-Americans and the terms they have been referred to over the years, you see an evolution that has gotten worse and worse over time. What started out as Negro, evolved to negre from modern French times to later be used as negress and finally, nigger was established and further used as a derogatory term by early Americans. The word started out as niger, a latin term meaning black, and evolved to nigger, which is now used as an attempt to define and entire race as means of dehumanization. Someone please explain to me how that is okay? So when we look at words like cunt, the same process applies. What started out as a slang word for female genitalia is now being used to describe a woman who is seen “disrespecting” someone or something, not conforming to social norms or acting in a way that someone would otherwise not agree with. So let’s ask ourselves…is the word cunt being used to attack my character because I am an old-time vagina? No. Cunt is being used because there is no other word that can compare in terms of demeaning a woman. Now, as a disclaimer, I am NOT saying that men do not face other types of discrimination with words. As well, I am not saying that other races and ethnicities do not face discrimination with words. What I am saying is that out of all the types of social problems, what discrimination is brought into light the most?

Yes, I was called a cunt. There is much debate within the feminist community, and in many other communities, in fact, about reclaiming the word cunt. While I cannot say whether it is right or wrong, I can question it. I’m all for being a sassy independent woman and taking charge of my body and being proud of it. Yes. I have a vagina. I am proud of having a vagina and although it bugs me from month to month, I am not ashamed of myself nor my body parts. Being proud of my vagina does not mean I am proud enough to “reclaim” a word that has such a negative connotation and begin renaming my vagina, my cunt. That is not okay with me. If it is okay with other women, own it and be proud. But for me, I shall stick to vagina and will continue to crusade for cutting out the c-word.

Could I have chosen to sit back and act like it didn’t happen, that I didn’t get called a cunt? Yes. Could I have chosen to not speak my mind about it? Yes. Could I choose not to post a picture of the instance in which I was called a cunt? Well, I could but where the hell is the fun in that?

I asked a simple question. I asked someone to please stop disrespecting me publicly via social media in a way that was demeaning to me and it showed my face in the act where people could openly see that it was myself who was being disrespected. I asked a male to stop disrespecting me and so in return, I am a cunt? It doesn’t matter what the background story is. It doesn’t matter who the person is. What matters is that people still think that calling a woman a cunt is an acceptable form of insult. Can I handle being called a bitch? Yes. Can I handle being called a slut, whore, skank, etc.? Yes. Can I handle being called a cunt? No. Here’s why. I don’t like to glimpse into my past, but I believe that if I can help other people, then I am helping myself.  I learned at a very young age what it is like to be controlled by the likes of a male. I was in a physically and emotionally toxic relationship that I experienced way too young and I will experience the repercussions of that experience for the rest of my life. I remember the first time I was told no. I remember the first time I wasn’t allowed to leave the house and I remember the first time I learned how to correctly ask permission. I remember the first time I was told to go back and change my outfit because I looked like a slut. I vividly remember the first time I was hit because I didn’t respond to a question in an appropriate manner. I remember being held so tight on a leash that I began to fear for what would happen if I were to unclip my collar. I remember what it felt like to pick myself and leave that leash behind and from that moment on, I promised myself I would never allow myself to be controlled by another man or put myself into a situation of control. I promised I would never let another pea-brained man tell me who or what I am. Back that up. A man does not call a woman a cunt. An uneducated child calls a woman a cunt.  Any man who believes it is okay to call a woman a cunt is not worthy of my time, my attention or my love. As well, any woman who thinks it is okay to call another woman a cunt has lost my respect. Out of all the words in the english language, why choose that one?

The first time you are dehumanized, you realize it is wrong. The second time you are dehumanized, you do something about it. The first time you are called a nigger, fag, cracker, cunt and countless other derogatory terms, you take it in. The second time you are a called a nigger, fag, cracker, cunt and countless other derogatory terms, you let it all out.


I’m Feeling Really ******* Sad

14 Jul

Coming up with a good title to a post is always the hardest part. Because the process usually goes something like…

*type type type* Everyone is Dicks. *type type type* My Period is making me write this. *type type type* My Vagina is Holding Me Hostage.

So all in all, I end up surrendering to my vagina and make a more suitable title. In this instance, there was nothing I could possible say that wasn’t banned by public broadcasting and most censorship regulations. That being said, there was nothing that I could possibly say that wasn’t NC-17 rated. For those of you not familiar with your MPAA ratings, look it up.

I’m gonna be completely honest here. I’m feeling under the weather lately. Which anyone who knows me would go, “well no shit shirlock, you live in Minnesota. Everyone is under the weather”. But, in true optimistic fashion, I must remain positive. I mean, my life is pretty great. I just got dumped via “the boys” saying “if you don’t dump her, we’re gonna be mad”, which means more time for the cats. All five of them. BOO. YA. Looks like I can’t afford to go to college, AKA more time to spend with the cats. DOUBLE BOO YA. I ordered a considerable amount of clothing via online shopping that is non-returnable for my then boyfriend AND THEN the day he dumped me, the shipment confirmed. At least I know my email is up and running, so that’s a big plus. The car accident left my back really messed up but on the bright side, my bumper now looks FANTASTIC. I got hemorrhoids from sitting in the car for 17 hours on the recent vacation I took and on the bright side… Okay, there is no bright side. There is no damn bright side to having a hemorrhoid. There is absolutely no bright side to having something so small and painful on your not-so-bright side. But hey, at least I’m not constipated.

You know, everyone always talks about how there’s always a bright side. Yes, life is an absolutely beautiful thing and there are generally bright sides to every situation in life, it just depends how you look at it. But, there a moments when life doesn’t always have a bright side. We’ve all been there at some point in our life; nothing is going right and there’s no point to anything. Anyone who says they haven’t ever felt that way is an L7 weenie. But when do you draw the line between not wanting to take the effort to find the bright side and not being able to find the bright side? I’m going to be completely honest, I’m sure you can guess the topic and I’m sure a lot of you are trying to click away as fast as possible because hey, who want’s to read about being really fucking sad? Well, we need to talk a bout being really fucking sad because even though it’s a topic people are trying to familiarize society with, it’s not talked about enough and it’s not accepted enough. First, we need to realize that the stigma of being “sad” or “really fucking sad” or “mentally ill” is never going to go away. No one is truly going to understand your shoes because no two shoes are exactly the same. Second, we need to realize that it’s time to stop being afraid to talk about it. We need to stop using “it” as a filler for technical terms. Yes, there are so many different programs and campaigns that try to educate people and teach those with mental illness to not be ashamed. But at the end of the day, people suffering from mental illness will always be ashamed. We will always feel lower than those who are not mentally ill. And do you know why  we will always feel lower than those not affected? Because we can’t help it. I love that today’s culture is trying to understand and appreciate people with mental illness, I really do, but how many of you with mental illness feel comfortable talking to people about what you’re dealing with? How many people feel safe enough to confide in someone and not feel scrutinized? How many out there can openly say, “Well, this new dose of Zoloft is really giving me the shits”,  without being looked at funny for being on Zoloft…not even the fact that we openly admit to having the shits. No wonder why people with depression have a hard time getting out of the funk…our medication leaves us with the shits and a half-limp dick (that’s for you my male friends).

I’m pretty open with the state of my brain. I’m pretty open with the fact that sometimes I can’t get out of bed because it is physically and emotionally painful. I’m extremely open with the fact that most days, I don’t answer telephone calls or text messages/social media notifications because the anxiety gives me heart palpitations enough to kick-start a lawnmower. Somedays, I don’t eat because the though of food makes me cringe and somedays, I can’t stop eating. I’m crabby, then I’m happy and then I’m stuck on the couch. I admit that I like to have control of my life and I don’t like change. I can’t handle fast-paced decisions and I don’t particularly enjoy hanging out with large crowds of people anymore. I wasn’t always like this though, and that’s the most mind-boggling fact of this entire ordeal. I never thought that I’d be the type of person to sit in bed all day, literally speaking. I never thought I’d be the type of person to instantly let a situation make me sad and cry instead of fighting back and staying strong, like I normally did. Being open with who I am doesn’t make it any easier, though. And as a disclaimer, who I am isn’t comprised of what I have. That is the most important part to remember when you’re dealing with any sort of mental illness. You are not your mental illness. You are not another statistic and you are not anything that you don’t want to be.

In times of crisis or trauma or just a straight up bad day, finding the bright side to any situation can be extremely hard because if you’re dealing with any sort of mental illness, there may not be an attainable bright side. I believe that the human mind is capable of SO many things and I think that people are capable of a lot of things. I have a strong belief in a sense of self and relying on your inner strength to get you through tough times, but I also know that sometimes, inner strength isn’t enough. I’ll be honest in saying that recently, thinking about the future is impossible. Thinking about continuing life like this and not being able to imagine tomorrow is exhausting. Not only is it a physical type of exhaustion, but my mind is tired. The pit in the bottom of my stomach has fell asleep and sits there weighing me down. I know deep down that i’ll get through this, because I always do, but it’s extremely hard. So before you think that there is always a bright side to everything, take a step back and realize that sometimes, bright sides are hidden by really stormy clouds.

What a Beautiful Mess

10 Mar

A mess. What a mess my life has turned into lately. What a beautiful mess. It’s quite strange though because amongst the rubble and chaos of my life, I’m still trying to find beauty? I’ve sat and dug through the heaps of hurt and picked open old wounds in attempt to try to make sense of this mess, this beautiful mess. It’s so strange to think because out of the 17 years I’ve been in existence, this is the lowest I’ve felt on the proverbial totem pole. But still, among the rubble and ruins of my shattered life, I’m still trying to push through. You know the movie Wall-E, the one with the little robot and he’s all alone in the world with no one to have by his side? Then all of the sudden, Wall-E finds this frail little flower and he immediately scoops it up (in a boot, nonetheless) and treasures it with his life. I feel like a little Wall-E who is stuck in miles and miles of garbage just waiting for the stupid little flower to make the rest of my life worth it. It’s not event the fact that I don’t think my life is worth it already, but I feel like everything is at a stand-still. I’m pretty sure this isn’t “just a phase”, because I would have a lot more faith in the human race if everyone goes through this exact “phase”. I feel lost, like I’m in the middle of an identity crisis or something; I know who I am and what my social security card says, but I don’t know who I am. If I were to be sliced right down the center and left open to bleed, no means of identifying my exterior, I would not be able to identify myself from the inside. Majority of you are going to think that’s absolutely disgusting, like why would someone want to split me down the center and take a gander at my intestines? It’s the fact of digging deeper into that thought though. I mean, if you get rid of the blood and the guts and the gore, I’m pretty sure there’s some sort of soul way down in there? I know that in Grays Anatomy they don’t have a section on “the soul”, but I’m pretty sure it’s something that everyone has.

Then all of this makes me question if people do have souls or not? Do all people have souls? Part of me wants to put so much faith into the human race and in the blink of an eye I want to take it all away.

Mahatma Gandhi

“You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is like an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.”

―     Mahatma Gandhi

Gandhi, you sneaky bastard. It is one of the most fantastic things to ponder, though. Scary, but fantastic. Who is to say that just because of a few bad eggs, the entire carton is bad? Faith is such a mind-boggling phenomena, in my opinion. So much of faith is blind and relies on trust. When you put faith into something, you’re going in blind. Not just blind, but you’re going in deaf and blind and mute and you have no clue what you’re getting yourself into. I just find it so astonishing that so many people blindly put faith into so many things; not necessarily even religious types of faith, but just…faith. People put faith into the fact that the two dollar lottery ticket that they bought could win them billions of dollars. It’s simple acts of faith that keep a person moving, I think it’s human nature to want to be able to put faith in and get out exactly what you receive. But what happens when you put so much faith into something, or someone, and you get reciprocated nothing. When Gandhi said that humanity is like an ocean, you have to then wonder what type of faith this man put into the world? As humans, we expect a pay-out or  a return; it’s human nature. Every move, moment, action is propelled by a want, wish or need. Someone is not just motivated to do something for no reason–they make a decision to either benefit themselves or someone else. When you put faith into something, why are you putting faith into something? Is it to benefit you, or to benefit someone else?
How many times does it take to put faith into something and come out with no return before you give up? But wait, if you give up, you’re labeled as someone who gives up; someone who’s cynical on life and left with a callused heart. But wait, is it your fault that you poured yourself into something and never got something back in return? No. The answer is no. When you put faith into something, you do it blindly. I feel like when you put faith into something, you don’t care about the fact that you’re traveling into the metaphoric cave with no lantern, all you care about is the fact that you’re going into that cave whether or not everyone told you to do so. You’re making your own decision and the fact that you walked into the cave in the first place, THAT is the biggest step in itself. It’s the thrill of the unknown. It’s also the fear of the unknown. Here’s the thing though; if the threat of the unknown was so large, no one would take the first step. No one would venture into the cave. But people still do it. You know why? We want to go into the cave, trip and stumble along the way and feel the smooth walls and the sharp edges. We want to go into the cave and feel lost, alone and afraid because we know we’re doing it on our own and that at the end, we will be the strongest person we will have ever been. We want to go into the cave because we have so much hope. We have hope that when we get into the heart of the cave, the reward we find will be worth every single stumble and sharp edge, every panicked moment and every lonesome step. As humans, we put so much faith into the fact that the reward will make up for every hardship along the way.
What happens when it doesn’t? What happens when you tripped and stumbled your way through the cave and cut your hands feeling the sharp edges? What happens when you get to the heart of the cave, after stumbling in miles of darkness, and find that the reward you were looking for was simply a dead-end; not an exit. What the hell do you do then? You spent so much time and effort making this journey, feeling every single drop of blood drip from your body and then what? There is no manual for what happens then. There is no explanation for this. No one ever tells you what happens when you put faith in something and it turns out to be a dead end, not worth putting faith into in the first place. There is not one explanation that helps with that. So what do you do?
What do you do? How am I even able to devise a plan to explain what to do then? You do what humans do. You pick yourself up, dust yourself off and keep moving. Even if you’re sitting at the bottom of the cave, bloody and crushed, you pick yourself up and you turn around and find your way back to the beginning. You started from somewhere, you can get back to somewhere. If you can put so much blind faith into something so uncertain, you can put faith into something so very certain. You walk back up the cave, saying goodbye to every sharp edge and jagged turn and you say goodbye. You say goodbye to all the good moments, all of the strength you built in that goddamn cave and you say goodbye. You curse every single rock you tripped over and you let go of every memory you had a long the way. Then finally, you make your way to the opening. You stumbled back up for miles to get to this point. You open your eyes after being shut off in the darkness for so long and you open your eyes. You let the simplest of sounds fill your ears and you finally speak. You came out of this cave and survived. So it’s time to open your eyes and look at the beauty around you. It’s time to open your ears and listen to reality and it’s time to start speaking after being silenced for so long. You’ve been in the cave for too long; it’s time to come out.

I’m Sorry, I Was Too Busy TWMP, Viewer Discretion Is Advised. (Men, This Is For You)

16 Jul

Are you curious to know what TWMP means? THAT SUCKS BECAUSE I’M NOT GONNA TELL YOU UNTIL THE END OF THIS. Well, I can assure you that I am never guilty of TWMP. Nor am I guilty of TWMV because quite frankly, I’m better than that. If am ever were to TWMV, it would be for a pretty good reason, too.

Are you curious yet? Well that sucks because I am particularly crabby right now and I feel like taking it out on every poor soul that clicks on this. Suck it, life sucks and SPOILER ALERT everyone dies anyways.

I’ve been reading these wonderful books lately. Have you heard of them? They’re called FIFTY SHADES OF PORN. Have you ever read them? Oh they’re just fantastic! Did you know that your butt isn’t just an exit? WELL I DO NOW. IN VIVID ADJECTIVES. The book honestly has a great storyline and i’m all for reading about romance and things of that nature but WOW. I might as well go watch some hardcore kinky porn because ever 3 page there is an elevator, a belt and silver balls (Yeah, you heard me. Silver balls. And they ain’t used as jingle bells, that’s for damn sure).  I love the books, but this guy turns into the poon slayer every 3 pages. I can’t handle that. Like who does that? Handcuffs are meant to be used as handcuffs for bad people! Not bad people. I put that in italics because it’s supposed to insinuate that it’s sexual. Unfortunately Word Press hasn’t invented a frickin “Innuendo” button.

Men. Men are really strange creatures. Who thinks it’s okay to turn your underwear inside out and wear them again? I’m sorry, if you got skid marks all over one side, you’re gonna get skid marks all over the other side. WHY WEAR THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE. Males, do you think it’s cute to pee on the toilet seat? Do you think it is funny? No, no it’s not funny at all. It’s not cute. Should I just start leaving period remnants all over? Is that funny? DO YOU FIND THAT CUTE?

Oh! Don’t even get me started on periods. Can you not handle that I bleed out of my vagina on a monthly basis? YEAH WELL NEITHER CAN I. If I need a tampon, get me a damn tampon or else you’re going to find a very large foot placed firmly in your butt! (Remember, I learned that it’s not only an exit. Thanks, E. L. James) If you’re going to the store to pick up tampons, there is not a single man in that Wal-Mart that is going to go “Whoa dude, you have a heavy flow. Why the supers?”. NO NO NO NO. He’s gonna say “Oh, what a kind and considerate gentleman you are picking up feminine products for your woman. WHAT A NICE GUY”. I have a civil war in my uterus every month, I will have babies, I wear bras (still waiting on boobs), I brush my hair and wear pants. WHAT THE HELL MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME. BUY ME TAMPONS. IS THAT SO HARD. TAMPONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Where can I buy rebel tampons. Anyone?

Where can I buy rebel tampons. Anyone?

I can’t even fathom some of the idiocy. Do people wonder why some people turn to cats? Because men are chauvinist pigs. Ladies and gentleman, TWMP means…Wait. Gentleman. GENTLE-men. THATS REALLY FUNNY. It should be Ladies and un-gentlemen-who-pee-on-toilet-seats-and-only-cuddle-when-there’s-some-cuddy-involved. That sounds about right. If you’re a man and you’re reading this, I would say I’m sorry BUT IM NOT. (Okay, I may feel slight remorse later if you’re actually a nice person but no. Tell your fellow brethren to be nice and stop the cycle of TWMP).  For all you skitchs who think that Aunt Flow is visiting right now, she’s not. This is me on a daily basis, just with a much larger emphasis on tampons.

So men, stop the cycle. If you think you are showing signs, ask yourself, “Do I Think With My Penis?” Try thinking without your penis for once in you life, because it’s letting you down. Not to mention, it’s not going to be any use when you’re older. SO, dust off your brain and stop being dumb. If you think you are at risk and have to ask yourself if you suffer from TWMP, remember this home-made mantra I created just for you. Think of it before you do something stupid.

“Remember that woman who cut her husbands penis off?”

I Shaved Both My Legs Today

7 Jul

I usually feel some sort of remorse for people who actually read this shitty blog (damnit. I’m sorry for swearing…shit. I did it again. Fml) because I always write a title that makes you believe you’re going to be reading some sort of prelude to a porn flick and then I actually end up writing about bellybutton hair. My sincere apologies!

Actually, I just feel like dumping my brain. Not like that angsty teen relationship dumping, but releasing all of my thoughts through my fingers and giving the world wide web a heap of poop to read. So in the general fashion of this heap of poop blog, I will give you a list accompanied by a few graphics of things I need to dump out of my brain.

Miley Cyrus

Can we just take a moment to acknowledge the girl crush I have on Miley Cyrus. Now this new song speaks to my soul although I cannot attest to all the lyrics being “my lifestyle”. All you haters keep on doing what you’re doing, because every time you search for Miley or watch one of her fantastic twerking videos, you’re just giving her more views! But let’s all just take a moment to realize that I really do enjoy Ms. Cyrus.


For those of you who don’t know the pleasures of twerking and all that it entails, I have inserted a very lovely video twerked by my favorite twerk team to the song “Love Sosa” by Chief Keef.


Now that you have a little insight of what twerking is, form your own opinion of it. Miley Cyrus has made an empire for herself among twerkers everywhere. Twerking has swept the nation from every street corner to every white girls bedroom across the nation. Now please feast your eyes on my all-time favorite twerking video. These girls truly are talented.

Enough said. Just enough said.

Shaving legs is actually really hard

Does anyone actually realize how hard it is to shave your legs? Well girls, of course you do (unless you don’t because you don’t shave your legs which in that case, rock on) but do guys actually understand the agony I go through just to shave my legs? I’m thankful that I got real short legs because I don’t know how girls with those long gams do it. Don’t even get me started on trying to shave your shin.  Remember that guy who walked to wire over the Grand canyon? Yeah, that’s my razor every time it’s trying to shave my shin. If it falls off the beaten path it’s a bloody mess. And does anyone ever tell you how you’re supposed to shave the back of your leg? No, of course they didn’t because the world is just an abnormally cruel place and whoever created me decided that putting hair on the back of your upper leg was a good idea. Did I mention it doesn’t grow in the same direction as regular hair? Of course not. Of freaking course not. I always have to make sure I shave my legs because god forbid if I don’t I’m not DTC (down to cuddle). Stupid legs.

Amish Skirts

Must I just say I have a slight obsession with skirts of the amish nature. Now to the rest of the general public, you might call these skirts “maxi skirts”. No. They’re amish skirts and they protect my modesty. Not to mention they cover up my legs when I decide not to shave them. Pure genius. I don’t really have much to say about said skirts, I just really wanted to throw out how much I loved them.

Alright. I don’t have much more to say and I don’t know how to not end this in an awkward fashion. So I will leave you with a small dose of wisdom that I have created for you. Enjoy.

“Man with one chopstick go hungry. Man who breaks chopstick eats splinters.”

Some People Drink, Some People Eat Meth Cookies, Some People Do Cats

24 Jun

If you’ve read the title, you’d think that I’m trying to encourage the act of zoophilia and i’m here to tell you that i’m not. What is Zoophilia do you ask? It’s closely related to Bestiality actually. Here’s what our good friends at Wikipedia define Zoophilia as:

“Zoophilia is a paraphilia involving sexual activity between human and non-human animals or a fixation on such practice. The term “zoophilia” derives from the combination of two nouns in Greek: ζῷον (zṓion, meaning “animal”) and φιλία (philia, meaning “friendship” or “love”).

Although sex with animals is not outlawed in some countries, it is not explicitly condoned anywhere. In most countries, bestiality is illegal under animal abuse laws or laws dealing with crimes against nature

Now that you know information that you didn’t need to know, you’re welcome. If you did know what Zoophilia was, I’m going to question you. BUT let’s get back to the real topic of today’s post. Let’s talk about drugs and drinking (I feel like I’m just a bucket of good influence today, you’re welcome). I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately (Ha, that’s funny. Thinking.) and I’ve been thinking about choices and things of that nature. I met up with a very close friend of mine and we were doing the normal gossip session and they made an interesting comment that really made me think:

“You sure are hanging with a different crowd these days”

That actually really got me questioning who I am and what my morals are because believe it or not, I’m a regular (ha, that’s funny, too) human being who does care what other people think of me. I can’t tell what holds people back from making decisions; themselves or other people’s opinion? Personally, I ask myself what I think is right and go for it, but then the other half of me doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, especially the people who’s opinions I value. Being a teenager is really confusing stuff because you never know which crowd to fit in with. It’s not even the fact of which crowd to fit in, it’s which crowd you want to fit in with. I can proudly say, whether or not people choose to believe me or not, that I lead a life above the influence. It has it perks and it definitely is a personal choice that not everyone makes, but it is a choice that should be respected. You don’t have to agree with anything, but just respect it. Whether you drink/do drugs or don’t, it’s a personal choice. Yes, it can be quite an illegal choice depending on what you’re doing and what age you’re doing it at, but respect it. Here are my following thoughts that are plaguing my brain at the moment:

  • The people you hang out with are not always a reflection of the person you are. I hang out with a lot of snooty bitches who reflect their love for Jesus every chance they get. Does that mean I’m a snooty bitch who includes Jesus in every one of her conversations? PLEASE SAY NO. In the same respect, if I choose to hang out and support people who dabble in drugs and drinking, does that mean I automatically drink and do drugs? I can tell you that, no. My philosophy is that I’m strong enough in my inner faith, my convictions and my morals. If I didn’t start doing drugs then, why would I do them now? Yes, you could counteract that with “well there’s a first time for everything” and I’d reply back with “Well I’m not choosing to have the first time be now”. I’m proud to say I’m above the influence and it’s nothing that I’m embarrassed about.
  • People are so caught up in judgement that they never look past the choices to see the person, they see the choices and let that define the person. I can honestly say that for the longest time I treated kids at school who were labeled as “the druggies” like a whole different race of people. All you ever hear is “don’t go near those kids, they do drugs”. I’m sorry but if I was a parent, I probably wouldn’t let my child around me because I’m “that chick that talks about nudism way too much and posts at least 500 pictures with her cat on every social media website possible”. I’d put a restraining order on me and tell my children to run. That being said, after choosing to associate with people who make different choices than I do, I really learned to look past choices because their choices don’t define who I am. Now that I’ve finally started to come to the realization that people are going to judge me and I just need to stop caring, I don’t care if people judge who I hang around. I’m still the same person, it’s not like I’m walking around naked, intoxicated and wasted. Let’s be real. I’m the same person and I am going to stay the same person.
  • Does anyone ever look at the people who do drugs and wonder why they started? Has anyone ever had the pleasure of sitting down with a drug addict and asked them why they started? Yeah, you think your life is bad? Ha, I think my life sucks when I have a hemorrhoid. Listen to the reasons why an addict started doing drugs, then you’ll think that hemorrhoid isn’t so bad after all. It is such a humbling experience to listen to the stories of other people. It’s really humbling to then think of what they’re going to suffer through the rest of their life and then be thankful that you didn’t make the choices they did. Be thankful that you lead a sober life (now if you are a drug addict or you do drugs and you read this, this is really awkward and I’m sorry that you don’t lead a sober life. I’m here if you need someone to vent to). Look past the choices, look past the judgement and get to know the person. Believe it or not, the person might not be as bad as you thought.
  • If you are around someone who does have a drug or alcohol problem…did you ever think of getting them help if you are gonna be judgemental and concerned? If you honestly think they have a problem and you aren’t going to be their friend anyways, let a trusted adult or their parents know. You could totally be a jerk and be like “hey, jimmy totally eats meth cookies everyday and I’m pretty sure he wakes up and does lines on your kitchen table” and leave it at that. People are so caught up in judging “the druggies” that they don’t ever think hey, maybe Jimmy needs help. Yeah, did you ever think of that? Jimmy eats meth cookies. That’s not right. Meth cookies aren’t okay. METH COOKIES AREN’T OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So when I look back at everything and the choices that I make I just remind myself my new mantra:

Some people drink, some people eat meth cookies, some people do cats”

Which I think to better suit my life I would change it to:

Some people drink, some people eat meth cookies, you do cats”

Yeah that seems about right. So let’s just re-cap on the important things that you should walk away with today!

  1. Zoophilia is not okay. So just stahp.
  2. Keep your children away from me, it’s probably safer that way.
  3. Be thankful you lead a sober life.
  4. Look past the choices to see the person, don’t let the choices define the person.
  5. Meth cookies aren’t okay. Meth cookies are never okay.

I could be doing work but…I chose to blog instead

28 May

People ask me “are you like, actually smart?” and I usually reply with “Yes, I should actually be in MENSA”. Just kidding. Clearly if I was supposed to be in MENSA, I would’t be sitting in the middle of my media center blogging on what looks to be a two year old’s domain, balloons filling up the entire baby blue page. But they ask me if i’m smart because I “Blog”. C’mon people, this is my fourth post and now there’s some stigma attached to this damn thing that makes me intellectual? To write is not to be “smart”, just as skinny is not to be model. Writing takes passion, not brain cells. Sure, good grammar and correct spelling/punctuation is pretty swell, but you don’t have to use a lot of thought when writing. The cool thing about writing is that it doesn’t have to even have to be for scholarly purposes. Facebook statuses, that’s writing. Ladies, if you have diary’s and journals, that’s writing. All you hoodlums writing on the bathroom stalls, that’s writing (Well, I wouldn’t consider “slut” scraped into the edge of the toilet paper dispenser very passionate but hey, whatever sinks the ship).  The main point is, people have a pre-concieved notion that if one writes, you are automatically some intellectual brain who spends their time nose down in websters looking for “big words”. I don’t write to look smart or to gain attention, I write to release passion. I would say for most kids in my generation, writing would be the safest place to “release passion” (Insert your own innuendo there). I don’t know the moment that I ultimately defined myself as a writer either. Is there some sort of brand? A logo I should tattoo on an obscure part of my body? (I all of the sudden have the image plastered in my head of “WRITER” tattoo’d behind my left knee). Well, whenever I decided. I like it.

What comes after death?

25 May

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in the past few weeks about life and things of that nature. Within a very short span, my community has faced so many different tragedies and obstacles. We’ve had deaths, accidents and injuries. What really never ceases to amaze me is the strength our community has to blend as one family. I’ve grown up in this town for majority of my life and i’ve still never felt like one of “the towns own” because of my lack of a certain heritage. While I don’t feel part of this community, I do feel one thing; compassion. I’ve always been taught to Treat everyone with kindness, regardless of who they are and whether you like them or not and that has stuck with my entire life. In the face of hardships, that’s exactly what this town does, it smiles and waves and moves on. That makes me happy. Slightly emotional and sentimental, but happy. We stick together, love together and learn together. With that being said, I will brush over a “touchy” subject. When a life is lost and moves on to a greater place, what do we as the people “mourning” do? When I mourn, I cry and get angry. I don’t like death. Not even so much death, I don’t like letting go. One thing I’ve noticed in this town is that when people “mourn”, they roll em’ up, light em’ up and smoke em’ up. (Not everyone, but i’ve heard stories of people lighting it up right outside of the funeral home) I don’t know about you, but white-girl-wasted doesn’t exactly seem like much of a celebration about life. Celebrate life in a way that doesn’t harm your life. I’ve been the type of person to deal with death in different ways. Believe it or not, i’m not that much of an emotional person in public. I don’t like crying and all that jazz. Not my thing. I have cried at funerals, yes, but i’m the bottle-it-up type. In light of the recent deaths, one hopes that the family and friends find piece and DON’T bottle it up. It’s a sad time, but the community comes together. Unfortunately the ways of mourning aren’t all the same. Death. It’s a strange phenomena but it happens.

“That’s what comes after death, a memory treasure.”

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