Anger

This has been a confusing year. I struggle to write, I’m afraid of what will come out. I am angry. Very angry. I try to push aside the reasons why I’m angry, but some days they hit me all at once while I’m taking a shower and of course that’s fucking useless. It’s hard to get myself to sit down and let this all out because it’s not a pleasant feeling. Sitting here, at my computer slamming on the keys so loudly I might wake Kaker up from a sound sleep. But here we are, so let’s see if I have the balls to post this.

I went to a great school for writing. I don’t think going to Boston University necessarily made me a better writer. I think I learned useful tools and I became a lot more savvy in formatting and ‘tricks of the trade.’ I learned how to create a polished script. I met people who will probably be successful someday because they went to Boston University. But no, my education did not make me a better writer and I’m not sure if that’s even what I was expecting in the first place.

I was (do people still use italics in this way?) expecting help in my career. WHY ELSE DO YOU GO TO COLLEGE OTHER THAN FOR HELP IN YOUR CAREER? PLEASE ANSWER ME THAT QUESTION WITH ANYTHING LOGICAL OTHER THAN TO RAGE YOUR FACE OFF.

The main reason why I ultimately chose Boston University was because of the LA Internship program. In a sick and twisted turn of events I can honestly say that internship program was one of the most hellish experiences of my entire life. That’s not entirely BU’s fault, it was a combination of things (eating disorder, long distance relationship, being broke as shit, eating disorder.) Let’s talk more about BU for a second though.

Boston University sells you on the idea that they will hook you up with your first internship. They will give you the proverbial “foot in the door.” They sell you on the 500+ LinkedIn connections the internship program coordinator has developed across the industry. What they don’t tell you is that at the end of the day your internship quality depends entirely on the bias of that program coordinator (and that she is insufferable and unhelpful.)

I told her my interests (horror films, death, and violence) and she gave me the names of 3 people who I had to reach out to personally and set interviews up with. I guess you pay for this ludicrously expensive program on the hopes that she hooks you up with a solid email address? I didn’t get anyone solid. The one interview I set up from her ~contacts~ sent me to a small apartment in mid-city with three middle-aged men and a small yappy blind dog named Tiberius. They called themselves a production company, I call them four weirdos who were too delusional to get a real job. The only upward mobility at that place was into one of their beds as their night time companion. I don’t even mean that in a sexual way, I mean in the “let’s stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and talk about hypothetical philosophical scenarios” way.  

For the BULA program I had to “take initiative” (entertainment folk are big on taking initiative which really means doing someone else’s job for them) and go find my own internship. I found mine by browsing Entertainment Careers (the equivalent of entertainment Craigslist.) The only reason I chose to intern on The Jeff Probst Show was because they hired off the phone and it was with CBS distribution and at least I’d heard of CBS before. Everyone had, Jesus.

I don’t really want to talk about either of my internships other than to say they were utterly useless and demoralizing. (Has the highlight of your day ever been walking onto the empty set of Judge Judy to avoid being yelled at by an angry cab driver you refused to give your cell phone number to?) My night classes with Boston University were no better… At one point my “professor” (a washed up entertainment lawyer) gave us a breakdown of how much money we should expect to make our first year out of college and how far that income would take us in LA. He literally drew out a pie chart of all of our expenses. This wonderful chart showed us that we would barely make enough to live on. And that was IF ANY ONLY IF we were lucky enough to get our dream job as a Production Assistant. For reference, the average PA makes $15 per hour which is roughly $30,000 per year. For more reference, the cheaper end of rent in a safe part of Los Angeles is $1,000 per month… Meaning over a third of your income is devoted solely to making sure you’re not homeless. Again, that’s if you are #blessed with such a sacred opportunity.

Fuck. At the time I thought this was all worth it because I loved writing so much and it was the only thing I REALLY knew how to do. Since I was a little girl (who looked like a boy) writing stories of my cat taking a dump so large his litterbox couldn’t contain it. Since my second grade teacher praised my mediocre story about a penguin following a trail of pizzas to a cave of jewels. Since my sixth grade teacher gave me my only A+ ever and told me that he wanted a signed copy of my book when I was a famous writer someday. Failure wasn’t an option because so many people expected me to succeed. Failure was never an option.

Until it was. I felt myself failing, I felt myself accepting that I was failing. Since I officially gave up on writing as my career I have not shared a single new piece of writing with anyone. That was on June 1st of 2017. Since that day I’ve tried to reconcile who the fuck I really am behind all of this anger and pain.

Can I still be a writer even though this town has essentially told me, no? Do I even like to write anymore? Am I even a good writer? Was I ever a good writer? Am I just a simple white girl from Minnesota with made up problems and excessive angst?

The only thing I knew for sure this year was that I am an athlete. I could not prove anything else. I embraced the one part of my identity that was clear and obvious to me. I slowly chipped away at the parts of myself that detracted from being an athlete. I quit drinking, I ran screaming from all things entertainment, and I embraced those who accepted this new version of myself. The brooding and pseudo-artistic part of me took a backseat, only escaping for brief moments of “what the fuck?” My frustration turned slowly but surely into unbridled anger. All negative emotions were recycled into a giant heaping blob of Anger.

Kaker lovingly calls me an angry bitch. My male teammates tell me I play best when I’m angry. My coaches are begging me to channel my anger. You’d think at this point I would constantly be foaming at the mouth. Unfortunately I am a complicated woman and my brain often does the opposite of what I’d like it to do. But I’m sick of suffering from my own mentality. I’m sick of being victim of my own insecurity.

I’m sure as hell done being a victim of other people’s insecurities.

I have nothing to lose anymore. I’ll never be someone’s assistant again. I’ll never serve as another woman’s emotional punching bag. I’ll never be that resume that someone looks at and thinks “I’ll hire this girl because at least I know she won’t quit after putting up with my bullshit.” I’ll never comprehend why any of those women thought it was ok to treat another human being the way they treated me and every assistant they had before or after me. You call yourselves feminists but I call you imposters.

I wake up on Saturday morning for my tackle football practice and I think of these women. I think of the 10 dollars per hour I killed myself over, I think of the walls of iMessage I would receive at 2:00 am on a Saturday, I think of the lies and deception I witnessed firsthand but stayed silent for. I feel myself growing angrier and angrier.

When I line up across from a girl in a tackling drill, I think about my first boss in Los Angeles. The one who started it all. I visualize her name, I repeat it over and over again in my head. I can feel it stuck to my tongue like spoiled milk. I think of how many times I had to clean up pee soaked potty pads from the floor of her apartment, how many plates of disgusting microwaved dog food I had to concoct and make palatable for two dogs with a higher net worth than me, how many useless tasks I was assigned on half-baked ideas that would never amount to anything. It’s hard not to want to beat the shit out of someone.

The problem with my anger is that sometimes it gets stuck and forms into a funnel cloud in my brain. That funnel cloud grows more and more ominous each time I fuck up. After enough frustration and failure I’ve got a full on tornado swirling around in my brain. The tornado that screams

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Why are you so stupid?”

“Why can’t you figure this out?”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

The easiest person to be angry with is yourself. I find myself randomly frustrated that I chose to go to school for film, I find myself randomly frustrated that I drank myself stupid most weekends since I got to college, I find myself randomly frustrated that I allowed employers to treat me the way they did for so many years. What do I do with this anger? How do I move past my own transgressions when the laundry list seems to grow by the day? How the fuck do I turn around the goddamn funnel cloud?

If you are similarly struggling with these questions, I encourage you to stop living in the past. Stop fixating on the things you did wrong and focus on the things you’ve done right. Realize now that you are on the top of a mountain, you are looking over the destruction. It’s easy to get stuck in the chaos and never pull yourself out, but you have done that. Being angry at your former self does not help your future self. Anger is not the opposite of happiness, but you still cannot let the anger consume you.

I have a hard time admitting that I’m proud of myself because I still feel like I haven’t done enough. I don’t feel like I can truly be proud until I have accomplished the things I set out to accomplish. I am happy that I am moving in the right direction but I’m not done. I’m not ready to sit back and accept this. I have grown stronger from the bullshit of the last 5 years, even the self inflicted bullshit. All of the bullshit was worth it to feel like I have purpose and a future.

Writing this didn’t feel great, but it’s a start. My instinct is to make sure this never sees the light of day, but who knows. Maybe someone else can benefit from reading this, or maybe someone who was wondering how I am doing behind the social media facade will feel enlightened. If you didn’t feel like reading every word- the summary here is:

  • I’m angry
  • I’m going to write again
  • I’m scared

 

Women Don’t Hate Porn

Glad I can take a month long hiatus again and come back with a post about pornography. Whatever, I’m taking a break from the shitshow that is the American Political Scene… Can I just pause for a second and ask you to think about the fact that some day our children will be studying this in school? I know that’s a funny prospect in abstract but I’m serious…

I’m picturing my 15 year old self in A.P United States History class. Picturing how maniacally stressed I was memorizing all of the fucking treaties and compromises and edicts and other words/concepts I no longer remember the meaning of. Just imagine that nervous little girl, back in the classroom, with Ms. Clark asking us to write a Document Based Question (DBQ) on Donald Trump’s tweets.

“Using President Trump’s tweets, please analyze and dissect exactly which monumental events led to the outbreak of World War III.”

Seriously it sounds like I’m kidding, but this is actual history in the making and we are part of it. This could ACTUALLY be a legitimate historical question. We are the generation who elected Donald Trump into office and watched him unintentionally lambast himself using a social media platform frequented by 11-year-old fangirls. Adorable. So proud that we have a democratic system of checks and balances, really couldn’t be happier with America.

Speaking of America. I watched the first episode of a Netflix docu-series last night called Hot Girls Wanted: Turned On. It sounds sexy, and it sort of is…I highly recommend it so far. The first episode made some interesting points about the current state of pornography. The idea that women “hate porn” is a misrepresentation of how we actually view it. We don’t hate pornography; we hate the way pornography depicts sex.

I remember the moment in my life where I realized it wasn’t an “if” but rather a “how” when referring to a man’s porn consumption. Sure- there are outliers but for the most part every single man you look at either IS or WAS a regular consumer of pornography. That used to bother me back when I was young and naive and thought love was enough to make a man never want to look at another female specimen for the rest of his life… but at this point you HAVE TO realize that the moment a boy hits puberty, porn becomes a necessary ‘evil.’ Pornography is sadly our biggest form of modern sexual education.

This wouldn’t be much of an issue if average pornography gave a realistic depiction of a sexual relationship. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.

I’ve never actually sat through more than 3 to 5 minutes of pornography because it makes me physically ill. This is coming from a girl who regularly watches the Saw series and purposefully pours over Reddit lists about the “most disturbing movies EVER.” Nothing has ever irked me quite the way pornography does.

Why?

Because sex should be mutually enjoyable. Does ANY widely consumed pornography show sex that is enjoyable for women?

“But she’s moaning and screaming like she loves it?! Maybe YOU just don’t enjoy sex.” Some white, upper middle class, romper-wearing, frat bro with a wallet full of magnums he will never use or fill, might tell me.

Female porn stars are satisfying common male desire. They’re nothing more than objects in a twisted “domination” fantasy. They’re props to make a man feel like a king. It’s not anyone’s fault (I won’t go there), that’s just the type of material we’ve conditioned men to enjoy from age 13 onward. And as they get older, maybe that’s not always enough. Maybe they start watching aggressive shit like forced blowjobs and “swirlies.” The double edged sword of the Internet: For every weird fetish there’s a porno out there. For better or worse. 

Can you imagine walking into a sexual situation with a woman having viewed porn like that your entire life? (Maybe you don’t even have to imagine it, maybe it has happened to you.) How exactly are you viewing this naked woman you’re suddenly across from? Is she a person? Or is she your ticket to acting out your own version of what you’ve watched for years?

Maybe you’ll tell me “That’s different! Porn is one thing, sex is another!”

Well that woman in the porno you’re watching is no different from me. Except she’s getting miserably railed by some 40-year-old failed actor who took too much viagra. She’s worried about pretending to enjoy it and pretending to actually get off from it. She’s sick of getting her hair pulled and her face slapped. But she stopped caring about all that shit a long time ago and is just doing her job.

Women wouldn’t take issue with porn if it made us look like something other than robots designed to fulfill male desire. We wouldn’t take issue with it if it didn’t make us want to throw up after 3 minutes of watching it. We’d maybe enjoy it if it showed any semblance of our ideal sexual encounter. But since WE are not the customer, WE are not relevant. We are constantly getting the message that we do not matter.

Do you think you might be annoyed by that too?

 

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Here’s this to lighten the mood.

Insecurity Manifesto

On February 9th I remember feeling particularly horrible. It was one of those days where I didn’t necessarily know why I was so upset, but everything seemed to set me off. The biggest emotion I experienced was intense insecurity, just being incredibly unsatisfied with myself. I felt alone, afraid, and beaten down.

In the New Year I’ve tried to make it a priority to escape from these lows by finding strength within myself. I haven’t been great about that, I rely a lot on other people to help me out. It’s ok to depend on other people, but it’s essential to have a sense of stable security from within. On February 9th, I wrote up a “manifesto” of sorts to remind me of the things I wanted to change that were causing me to feel insecure.

I never planned on sharing this, but I’m feeling confident today. Very confident. I have worked on maybe 4 or 5 of the bullets on this list and I already notice progression in myself. While maybe this is a cheesy Seventeen-esque list, I figure if I can get some value out of it maybe someone else can too.

I have made progress with some of this, but there are several things on the list that I blatantly disregard on a daily basis. Change comes slowly but surely, and I’m optimistic. Oh did I really just say that? I feel optimistic? What a breath of fresh air!

Take a look at my list, and decide for yourself. You can follow mine, or you can make one for yourself. You don’t need to tell anyone, you don’t need to make any promises, just refer back to it once in a while to remind yourself what matters. Remind yourself what gets you to that negative place, put those reasons on your list and attack them.

Let’s fuck shit up, I say!

My Personal Insecurity Manifesto

  • I vow to communicate clearly and express my needs without fear
  • I vow to not invest time worrying about what people mean, but rather will listen to what they say
  • I vow to demand respect from a partner, sexual and romantic alike
  • I vow not to let the way a man treats me define how I go about my day and feel about myself
  • I vow to value myself and celebrate my strengths
  • I vow to stop calling myself an idiot when I make a mistake
  • I vow to stop apologizing when I’ve done nothing wrong
  • I vow to start taking the advice I would give to a best friend in my same situation
  • I vow to stop making exceptions for behavior that bothers me
  • I vow to stop placing my personal worth in the way others view me
  • I vow to stick to my priorities and quit shifting them to accommodate other people
  • I vow to recognize when I’m spreading myself too thin and make an effort to lighten the load in any way possible.
  • I vow to stop projecting my insecurities into my interactions with other people
  • I vow to acknowledge when I’m feeling lonely and learn to be okay with feeling that way
  • I vow to enjoy myself and be fully present when I’m with friends, not letting my mind drift to negative places
  • I vow to stop being so hard on myself when things don’t go the way I want them to
  • I vow to use my mistakes as learning experiences, rather than replaying them in my head over and over.
  • I vow to actually take action on my insecurity rather than pushing it aside
  • I vow to stop giving in to my vices to numb the pain I’m feeling
  • I vow to be patient when I slip up
  • I vow to make my self confidence a priority in my life

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Great Ways to Confuse the SHIT Out Of Women

This is probably the tenth time I have attempted to write a new blog post in the last few weeks but I’m confident that this one will make it past the initial stages of me reading it, rereading it, hating it, and exiling it to the darker part of my Google Drive folders. This time I have purpose. And honestly, this one tags directly off my last post “The Games Men Play.” It’s a hybrid of a lot of different things I have written about, inspired by my personal experiences as well as the experiences of my close girlfriends.

Let’s talk about the different ways you, as a man, can confuse the shit out of a girl you are dating, banging, texting, friend-zoning, or otherwise interacting with. Because nothing can just be easy and fun these days, let’s analyze things.

1.) Ask her if you can “take her to dinner” (because you did something that annoyed the shit out of her) then make no motion to offer to pay when the bill comes.

I’m sorry, I’m all for ~equality~, but if you are the asker in this situation, and you make the specific language “take you to dinner” the assumption is that you’re paying. I don’t care if I’m a feminist who feels highly uncomfortable at all mentions of money and formalities… If you are going to “take me” out to dinner I am assuming that you are going to pay. Because otherwise I might have suggested we go do something else. The devil is in the details, dumbass… Now I’m sitting here thinking you’re a poorly adjusted dick-stick who potentially isn’t even trying to date me? Chivalry is not dead, and holding the door for me when I’m easily 30 pounds stronger than you doesn’t count.

2.) Make absolutely no physical contact with her unless she initiates it.

You know what a great way to tell a girl you like her is? Refuse to touch her. Even if you’ve been on a few dates before and sacked up enough courage to kiss her (ON THE LIPS!!!), make sure to not ever hug her or greet her in any way on the subsequent dates. She will definitely NOT be wondering if that weird joke about animals mating at the zoo she made yesterday has changed your opinion of her… She will NOT be thinking that you felt how hairy her legs are and are appalled by her physically… She will not be mentally running through all of the reasons why she is undateable. Once you have initiated physical contact with a girl on a date, you should probably continue to do so on later dates or she is going to think something went wrong. And if something DID go wrong, how about you let her know and then you can stop seeing her and confusing the shit out of her?

3.) Text her a question, then when she sufficiently answers it… Wait about an hour to respond then give a short, curt response as if you’re annoyed she’s talking to you.

I will never understand this. If you want to chit chat via text, then just fucking do it. Don’t half ass it, don’t be weird about it. I don’t have the flexibility in my work environment to sit here for 3 hours staring at my phone wondering why the fuck you responded the way you did. And guess what? I’ll probably be screenshotting whatever weird shit you said and sending it to the panel of my weirdo friends who will also offer their analysis OR just tell me I’m being crazy and overthinking it. Either way, if you would just be fucking conversationally coherent and not make me feel like the biggest DOTA playing neckbeard ever… That’d BE SWEET.

4.) Tell her you’re too tired to “get intimate” within the first month of dating (when she’s laying barely clothed next to you in bed.)

No. I will accept a lot of excuses for turning down fun times, but being “too tired” is probably the pussiest of them all. I think I was at least close to a year into my last relationship before I started using the “too tired” excuse. If you’re “too tired” and it has been less than a month, something is wrong. Something is missing. That is a red flag if I’ve ever seen one. Head for the fucking hills. Every man I’ve ever known with a healthy appetite for fun will go to extreme lengths to have that fun. Even if it means being a half awake uncoordinated, poor excuse for a sexual zombie. Even if it means putting off a couple minutes of precious beauty sleep. You little bitch.

5.) Reach out to her and let her know you’d like to meet up, then make it really impossible to ever meet up with you OR just flake on the agreed upon time.

There’s nothing I love more than difficult communication surrounding plans. Especially in this city where it’s so easy to get from place to place on time/efficiently. I never have to plan ahead of time anyway, so when you flake at the last second it’s super convenient for me! Please, if you want me to remain interested in you as a human being… Cancel plans with me as often as possible and make even the easiest coordination a nightmare for me. You’re a dude, you’re supposed to be simple to plan with. You give me a time, I show up. I give you a time, you show up. I find the typical Los Angeles man needs to make it this complicated song and dance (of course, all you aspiring singers and artists) which makes me, once again, want to put on a steel plated chastity belt and close down shop for eternity.

 

I didn’t realize until recently how much I value directness in a man. I value the man who refuses to let me be a stupid head case of a human being. I value when someone won’t deal with petty mind games, says what they mean and sticks to their word. I value the guy who quite literally tells me to stop overthinking everything because he’s being completely honest with me. 

I’m sick of playing the game constantly, expecting a different outcome, and being repeatedly disappointed. We’re all tired of it. We’re all exhausted by it, frankly. I hear other women having this conversation regularly, I have this conversation regularly, the world is having this conversation at every imaginable moment.

Bottom line, fellas, we’re people just like you. We have insecurities, we have depth, we have fears, we have needs. We’re not just going to be there to entertain you when it’s convenient for you, we’re not just going to agree with everything you say. We’re distinct and complicated and that’s what makes us dope as shit. If you think finding the “perfect woman” means finding someone who will stand by and be endlessly supportive while you enjoy your life the way you see fit… Good luck, it ain’t gonna be me and it ain’t gonna be any of the amazing women I associate with.

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The Games Men Play

I’m playing in an all women contact football tournament this weekend, so if you don’t hear from me at all next week it’s because I’m dead. I’ve never played contact football but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get my shit tossed around. Fun life updates ❤

Anyway. We all talk vaguely about how people play “games” when dating, but have we ever really got into the nitty gritty of what those games are? I thought to point of a game was to be mildly enjoyable. Let me tell you, I enjoy none of these games. I’d rather live in the 1500s where the “games” were as complicated as giving yourself a sponge bath, rubbing a bit of baking soda under your hairy armpits, and standing close to a potential mate to express interest.

So what “games” are us ladies ambiguously referring to when we say single dudes in their 20s play stupid games? See below:

The Inconsistent and Unclear Communication Game.

My favorite thing ever is when a guy texts me then I respond and he hits me with a “haha” or something else conversation ending that leaves me wondering if he even wanted to talk in the first place. I’m super down to shoot the shit over text, I sit at a desk for most of my workday and am really good at multitasking. But when you pull shit like this you’ve now sidetracked all of my productivity and I’m trying to figure out why the fuck you reached out to me.

What we also don’t understand is when you are gung-ho about texting us one week, keeping conversation every day… Then you fall off the face of the earth the next, only to reemerge at an arbitrary time (weeks or even months later) that correlates with exactly ZERO events in our lives. The best is when we send you a text or two that go completely unacknowledged. Why the fuck do YOU think we’re confused?

If you are pursuing someone, I don’t care if you’re a “shitty texter” you can figure your shittiness out enough to not be weirdly evasive and inconsistent.

Making Plans Chess Match.

If you want to meet up, rather than carry on pointless banter via text//Tinder//fuckall app… Ask us to hang out. If we aren’t available right at the precise moment that you ask, then let’s fucking find a time that works for both of us. The chance of you catching a self respecting woman available at a random moment on a Saturday afternoon is miniscule. Even if she is just laying in bed listening to the Spotify playlist “Move On and Don’t Look Back” on loop, she’ll pretend she’s doing something worthwhile. Here are a few lines to try out with a woman in order to ask her to hang out:

“Hey, what are you up to this weekend?”

“Hey, are you free any night this week to meet up?”

“What are your plans this week? Would love to hang out.”

“Let’s find a time to hang out!”

As you can see, you have some options. And if plans don’t work out and one of you has to cancel? Social etiquette requires the canceller to reach out to set up the new encounter. This is because cancelling plans could be a sign of disinterest, in order to refute that assumption you must be the one to reinitiate.

But before we even get to that point, we’d need to get to the baseline of you getting your dick out of your hand and making plans for once in your life. I don’t care if you’re “not a planner” be a considerate human being, because some of us enjoy having our shit together.

The End of Date Ultimatum Game

Sort of like Deal or No Deal but more awkward and less shiny bald Howie Mandel head. On the first date, you have to make a decision at the end of the date. Either you had fun and you’d like to see this person again, or you are pretty certain you’re better off not meeting up again. You should make this decision clear. Here are some ways to show you DO want to see this person again:

  • Say: “This was fun, we should do it again sometime!”
  • Mention a specific event you’d like to invite your date to, then see if they might be available to go to that event with you. (Bonus points if the event includes a shared hobby!) 
  • If you’re pretty damn sure the date went well, go for a kiss.
  • Send a little follow-up text saying you had fun once both of you have headed home for the night. (Bonus points if you bring up something the two of you talked about.)

If you don’t want to see the person again, just be as polite as possible and initiate NO PHYSICAL CONTACT. I repeat… ZERO PHYSICAL CONTACT. Unless you wanna be a dickhead and go for the handshake. (Nothing says “fuck me” quite like a good firm handshake at the end of a date.) Here are a few things you can do to confuse the shit out of your date and leave her wondering if she’ll ever hear from you again.

  • Give her a weird diagonal armed hug, bonus points if you pat her on the back. Slap her on the back if you want to also make her choke on her own spit while you’re at it.
  • Mention something the two of you could do together, then don’t follow up on it at any point in the next week.
  • Remain radio silent for several days after the date, even if she reaches out.
  • Add her on Facebook, but still don’t text her or communicate in any other way. (Same idea with following on Insta, SnapChat… etc.)

Both parties are responsible for dropping stink-bombs (not the cutest title for it but let me have this one plz) at the end of the date that clue the other person into whether or not they’d like to hang out again. I personally like it if the dude makes the first move, because I am so far stuck in my own head that the tiny people from Inside Out went on strike and a team of mice have taken over for them. Literally my brain is crawling with mice, someone send help.

Actions Not Matching Up With Words- A Riddle.

If you tell me that you had fun with me and want to hang out again, then are consistently flakey and weird about making plans… I’m gonna get confused. If you’re just swamped with work and need a few weeks to really focus… JUST TELL ME THAT. I won’t be personally offended if your work life is interfering with your social life, I just wanna be kept in the loop so I don’t reread our text conversation 500 times looking for something weird I said.

This riddle is especially relevant when clarifying a purely physical relationship versus an actual dating relationship. Don’t tell your parents about me, make “we” statements that are weirdly far into the calendar year, and exclaim to me that you “deleted all of your dating apps,” then be weirdly withdrawn and bitchy to me two days later. What the fuck am I supposed to make of that? Whether or not I shared the excitement in the first place is irrelevant, you’re sending MIXED SIGNALS.

Ghosts n Pussies (Same Thing, Different Game.)

If you can tell a girl is super into you but you’re not really moving in the same direction, just tell her. I know every woman says this but then reacts poorly when it happens, but honestly…I’d way rather just know that you’re not feelin it than guess for weeks why you suddenly dropped off conversation. There are several guys I have “dated” where I still have no idea what happened because communication just died after 4+ dates. If we’ve gotten past the 3 date mark, you should probably not ghost me if you are a decent human being in any capacity.

On the other end of the spectrum, if you’re super into a woman and she continues to say yes to (and show up for) dates, she hasn’t mercilessly friendzoned you, and she returns your attempts at affection… PROBABLY A SAFE BET THAT YOU CAN TELL HER HOW YOU FEEL WITHOUT DYING. I’m a forward person and I’m not afraid to admit when I like someone. I know it doesn’t come as naturally for guys to express feelings like that, but if you really want a woman to know you’re interested… Tell her.

Ladies get a bad rap for being overly analytical and hypersensitive, but men have to admit their part in our fucked up communication. At the end of the day all we want is to be told the truth and treated with respect. Dating is terrifying, it would be a hell of a lot easier if we could all get on the same page.  

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Being a Single Lady in Los Angeles

Sorry I had to take a break from this for a bit because I started a new job. Fun fact, I got this job even though my (at the time, future) boss pulled up this blog in the middle of my interview and started reading a few of my posts, including my fake cover letter. The world works in mysterious ways. 

I don’t feel like I need to reiterate the fact that I am single, but for anyone who just started reading, that’s the waaaaaaay the news goes. I’m off the apps, so I’m as close to “off the grid” as you can get in 2016. Dating culture is an unsightly beast in Los Angeles, one that would have to wear a bag over its head because it would make children cry due to the sheer magnitude of its physical deformities. Why? Let’s explore:

Single women are not a hot commodity

There are plenty of us. In fact, we come in droves. I’ve met so many women I would want to date if I were a straight guy that I’ve relegated myself to a third party category of women called “Trolls named Wanda.” If you are an eligible bachelor in Los Angeles your options are limitless. You can be picky because there are a lot of amazing, badass, beautiful women out here. I would like to say I am one of them, but if you see my feet you will agree with my aforementioned categorization.

Almost any guy you meet who you might be remotely attracted to will possess one of the below major flaws:

  • Has a girlfriend: This is the most common one, tbh. You meet a guy who seems cool and fun and down to clown then you stalk him on Facebook for two seconds only to discover he’s been FBO with some beautiful model, who doesn’t even know how beautiful she truly is, for like 5 years and is on the brink of getting married to her. Yeah, nothing turns me off more than someone who is unavailable. Unless you’re unavailable AND love Dave Matthews Band. Then you’re scum.
  • Socially inept: This applies frequently to men you meet on the dating apps. They hide behind their dating profile because in reality they have no idea how to treat a woman or function in daily adult life. I dated a guy who didn’t even know how to ride a bike. And when I told him I would teach him, he was a little bitch about it. He was kind of a little bitch about everything though, so no surprise there. LA is a city full of man children with strange relationships with their mother.
  • Actor/Model/Comedian: THIS is actually the most common one. I’ll meet a guy who I’m attracted to (a tall beautiful douchebag) and then find him on Facebook where his entire page is littered with links to his personal website, inaccurate headshots, and mediocre YouTube clips from all the student films he has credits in. (AKA his ‘reel.’) I think I would be ok dating an actor if he wasn’t terrible, but I have yet to meet an “actor” who isn’t terrible. Also my ears already hurt at the idea of me dating a comedian. No one would be able to stand being around us and I probably wouldn’t think he was funny.
  • Works in some financial field: Guys who work with money are kind of the worst (sorry Will.) Especially in LA because they have a huge complex about not being in the Entertainment Industry. They make 4 times your yearly salary in a matter of months and they still make you pay for drinks on the first date. Because they are doing YOU a favor by taking you out. One of my favorites said to me “Yeah I make good money but I also work really hard for it!” Bro what do you think I do to make the SHIT money I (used to) make? Sit on my own thumb for 10 hours per day? Just because you work hard and get paid to do it doesn’t mean other people don’t also work hard and get paid in ‘experience’ and executive’s spare turds… You hairy sack of shit.

You start to wonder if you should change something drastically about yourself.

Yesterday I spent a good 4 minutes contemplating whether or not I should dye my hair blond. Of course, the answer is unequivocally HELL NO…(My skin tone is totally wrong for it.) But I feel like if I were a true “tall blond” then I could trick some guy into listening to what I have to say.

Nah, that’s not how it works. The only way a guy will listen to what you have to say is if you pretend you don’t care if he hears.

You decide you’re not going to care about it anymore, then accidentally care about it for a few minutes each day.

As much as I enjoy falling asleep to my stupid cat sleeping under my covers digging his claws into my legs, I really resent the fact that I’ve become the cat lady stereotype that everyone expected I’d be. I decide to stop giving a fuck, but then I realize something trivial, like the fact that the only person who I can look forward to cooking protein pancakes for on Saturday morning is Mary. And my cousin Nick. Both of them are better cooks than me anyway so it’ll just be like back in the day when I’d whip out the Easy Bake Oven for my family over Christmas break and they’d pity-eat my shitty Devil’s Food Cake.

Pretty sure my mom JUST threw out my Easy Bake Oven last year. We kept it around for an uncomfortably long time as a joke, then a few Christmas’s back from college I would still cook with it. I think we finally realized the entire situation was a little sad so we trashed it. I might be wrong, we might still have it.

The fortunate result of it all: you decide to work on yourself.

After fighting the good fight for the last 6 months, I have finally thrown in the towel. I am legitimately going to work on bettering myself. So many times I have told myself I would do it, but this time I really mean it: I am going to read a lot of books. I am going to become that montage in the movie where some Girl Power anthem like “Fight Song” plays and the lead reads tons of books about being a woman, works out so hard that she barfs, throws her full Kirkland wine bottles in the trash can (what a waste, at least gift them), braids her best girlfriend’s hair, and somehow becomes infinitely sexier.

A good example of this:

Please excuse the subtitles, not sure what language they are in.

Before the 3 people who read this jump down my throat for all the sweeping generalizations and stereotypes I just threw at you- I’m mostly kidding. Obviously in this city of a million something people I can’t possibly speak for the entire population. I am speaking from a set of exaggerated anecdotes and personal testimony. Because if I wrote any differently it wouldn’t be entertaining, would it?

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(my mom’s favorite movie ever.)

I Don’t Want to Sit Still and Look Pretty

Sometimes when I am having a particularly unflattering naked-face day I listen to this embarrassing playlist on Spotify called “Confidence Boost” and one of the songs today was Sit Still, Look Pretty by Daya. I’ll admit, the song is massively overplayed… But it’s really catchy. For some reason listening to this song made me realize just how much I’m going to miss Michelle Obama. (My thought processes are even more disjointed than normal when I start my morning preworkout, just ask Mary.)

We all lost out in some way when Donald Trump won the presidency. Since I am a white woman I can only speak with authority for how it affects me, that’s not to downplay the impact it has on other groups of people. It’s also not to suggest that the impact on me is any more important than any other demographic. I’m aware that I am lucky in many respects, but the only point of view I can express with real insight is my own. So I’m going to.

Michelle Obama is easily one of the most influential First Ladies we’ve ever had. She worked hard to be a positive role model for young women as well as make lasting changes in our country to build a brighter future for them. Her entire platform emphasizes the fact that girls are just as badass as boys and that we have power. She’s even got her iconic “Michelle Obama Arms” which are toned and obviously strong as fuck. She was a partner both in marriage and in policy to Barack Obama, nothing less.

Now I see Melania Trump… Donald Trump’s third wife. She’s beautiful, objectively. She was hardly involved in his campaign from the start. She has made no statement to indicate she has ANY strong point of view toward anything. A Slovenian immigrant herself, I’ve watched her grimace through his campaign and justify the things he has said. She dismisses his comments as if they do not impact her, even though they (should) personally offend her in more ways than one. She’s a puppet on his strings. She’s inextricably tied to him in what appears to be an abusive and unhealthy marriage.

While young women used to be able to look up to Michelle Obama and relate to her, now they will see Melania Trump. A former model, rumored to have had multiple cosmetic surgeries, who is willing to keep her mouth shut… She will quite literally sit still and look pretty. And we will all watch like it’s normal. When asked what her role would be if Donald became president she said:

“I chose not to go into politics and policy,” she said. “Those policies are my husband’s job.”

Melania Trump, whether intentionally or not, will reinforce the roles women have worked so hard to break out of for the last hundred something years. She has one of the lowest approval ratings of any first lady EVER. She reeks of indifference. She turns a blind eye to facts, much like her husband does. Donald Trump’s relationship with Melania speaks to the way he views a woman’s role in the American society and that terrifies me.

I’m never going to sit still and look pretty. I hope that men’s attitudes toward us don’t change in this new Trump era, but I have to assume they will. I’m already sick of feeling insecure every time a guy makes a comment about what I wear to work, I’m sick of gritting my teeth and staying silent when I hear someone blatantly speak disrespectfully about other women, I’m sick of the negative connotation associated with the term “feminist.” Does Melania Trump even call herself a feminist? Or is she okay with the way things are?

I know none of us are. So whether or not we agree with the results of the election, we can never shut up. We have to keep fighting for what we believe in, even if we aren’t really sure what that entails right now. As Hillary Clinton said:

“We have work to do, and for the sake of our children and our families and our country, I ask you to stay engaged, stay engaged on every level,” Clinton said. “We need you. America needs you, your energy, your ambition, your talent. That is how we get through this.”

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