On Writing

I am a horrible writer. I didn't realize this until about an hour ago, so I'm feeling particularly dismal.

My precious "personal edification" of writing skills that I teethed on throughout sophomore year must have leaked on to the linoleum hallways one day while I was wrapped up in high-school emotions and a janitor must have mopped it up while my back was turned.

My grand ineptitude is officially not limited to the subjects of history or french, making it actually a GRAND INEPTITUDE. I ought to tattoo the phrase "disadvantage: unable to funcation" on my forearm just to alert whoever is within a yard of me.

**Sigh**
Being an International Baccalaureate student means that not only do you have to metaphorically kiss-ass by not sleeping in class and wearing cardigans everyday, it also means you have to do real work. Essays nd shit. There probably hasn't been a succinct definition of the word "wastiod" since 90's MTV, but I fit the link.
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My life hasn't been manic-depression sucking lately. I haven't been sleeping more than eight hours a day, and I saw three people who make me uncomfortable and my stomach did only a half-flip.

The Ignore Effect

Photo by Joshua D White

Recently, I've decided to sever my friends who are actually not my friends from my life. It's like bonsai-trimming of the soul.



This morning, my friend chauffeured me to visit my ailing ex-boyfriend at his house before he ships himself back to college. I don't really know why we made the trip (because all we did was talk about track for fifteen minutes), but on the way home we went into a deep analysis on why it's semi-impossible not to dick people over on a relatively normal basis.

"Like, even if you don't fuck anyone over, for, like, a whole week; you're still going to get fucked over. You'll probably get fucked over harder because you're being so nice."

"True. I hate it. I hate everyone. We're all double-faced facades who suck. At least pretty people get have something going for them. All us normal people are normal and cruel. It's glamorous to be pretty and cruel."

I think most of my suspicions and distrust is based on ostensible facts my anti-friends or so-called-friends gesture towards. I'm on the epic quest to squelch the paranoia and dread I get from said rumors (ex: Yeah, I don't think she really likes you; she was at that party and did this thing; etc, etc), so I must take my sheers and clip the unruly limbs.

It's a difficult yet satisfying process to watch people whom you're fully exiling from your life blindly fall into the rabbit hole that is your rejection. But I'm almost 18 and can't handle myself, let alone kids who are belligerently inducing my anxieties + don't make me laugh.

Moral: life would be easier if you were pretty because you can do just about whatever you like.

Being a Feminist And a Feminisnt

If a guy ever punched me I'd so hit him back.
But really? Maybe.

I'm writing my extended essay and internal assessment on feminism. The problem is I'm the most conservative combat-boot clad girl I know.

I don't believe in holding doors, playing guitar, or paying for food. Don't get me wrong, I don't in any way practice what I preach, I'm just into chivalry and peter pan collars.

Is that not Generation-Z? Do I have to succumb to wearing hot pink bras to get attentions of boys who will treat me like a Barbie? How come men never know where they want to eat? Why are you listening to Drake and Jason Derulo and talking about how "angsty" the Ramones are (of all bands... really)? Why is your favorite movie Zach and Miri Make a Porno, while I frequently quote Dawn of the Dead? Where have all the men-men gone?

I find solace in the fact that 17 year olds do eventually mature and stop wearing neon Nikes with lacrosse socks and snapbacks, but how come misogynistic masochists gotta dress like hooligans?

WHY CAN'T DECENCY AND ALPHA-NESS BE MEASURED ON THE SAME AXIS?

Why am I disparaging the girls from Valley of the Dolls for being thrown into seedy situations? I want to be like Neely.

Photographs from Amsterdamn, the Hague, The Netherlands, Europe, Earth

The pursuit of happy

Recently I've been balancing out my social life between marathons of anything on HBO and trying to flirt with boys.

Today I sent a guy a text that read "Today I met someone who has had a phobia of bugs for ten years". I'm such a fucking great conversationalist it kills me.

(It wasn't even true I met said character two days ago, his name is JR and he likes watching Comedy Central and talking about the politics behind South Park and Family Guy - the only time I chimed in was to proclaim "Liberals are noisy" but I can't differentiate between a socialist and a liberal.)

I'm so prone to crushing on all the wrong guys.

Cliche lady No. 5243589 "I'm an asshole magnet". The guys I talk to aren't even assholes they just always have to have something that hinders any type of decent future.

My last boytoy dropped out of community college, poured bleach down an ice cream machine to get out of work early (thrice), and is currently saving his minimum wage for a tattoo sleeve of Vans logos. The only lingering wisdom he left me with was "Don't think you're cooler than anyone else because you listen to Pains of Being Pure at Heart".

No, I think I'm cool because I lost my virginity to them, duh.