Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Pop, Lock, and Stalk It

Facebook stalking.

I've done it, you've done it.
We've all done it.
You can admit it. This is a safe space. 

Day Three of My 30 Day Blog Challenge: One of Your Favorite Shows

Facebook. What a shit show!

Facebook is such a disaster, and yet somehow it seems to have become an absolute necessity to get through life. It's weird, right? The fact that we have to log in every day to see what our friends, family, and coworkers are doing? That we have to see everyone's photos and posts, and that we check it at midnight or in the morning now to see what we were Facebooking about at this time one, two, even eight years ago? 

I mean, I'm guilty. Don't get me wrong. I am active on Facebook. I like Facebook. I think it's fun to see what my friends and family are doing today, and I like being able to check in with everyone by one click and some scrolling as opposed to sending 100 how's your day text messages. Or, God forbid, making all those phone calls!

Facebook is, despite all of it's negatives, a pretty decent way to feel connected to your friends and family who may live out of town, or have kids you don't see often, or live on opposite schedules of  you. It is also a really good forum for getting a blog out in to the world...just saying.

But here's where it gets weird. 

When you start stalking people that you don't even know.

It gets even weirder when you start to monitor your own posts based on the strangers you know are checking in on you. WHAT?! Like, for some reason we feel like we shouldn't post something because somebody you know is creeping your profile, would be bothered by it. It makes literally zero sense to be wary of what I say on my Facebook page based on what somebody I'm not even friends with, may have to say about it.

In real life, stalking is pretty taboo. It's not really okay. Stalking people you don't know in real life is actually pretty frowned upon. Would you just sit outside you boyfriend's ex-girlfriend's sister's house for five hours a night hoping to get a glimpse of her? (and if so, please find another blog to stalk).You wouldn't. Because it's weird. And also illegal. 

And yet, because it's on the internet, we somehow think it's okay.

Well, guess what. It's kinda not okay. It's actually quite inappropriate. And we really shouldn't be doing it.

Be honest here - has anything good ever come from your addiction to cyber stalking? If your answer is yes, I don't believe you. Nothing good comes from Facebook stalking. It makes you look like a freak when you keep an eye on your ex-boyfriend's mom's uncle's cousin. Stop that.

I recently had this epiphany, where I realized I had close to 500 "friends" on Facebook. Only about 90 of these people are people I purposely speak to in my real life; meaning 410 of them I am friends with on social media exclusively. I decided one day, after I found myself editing a post to appease someone I barely even know, that it was ridiculous. I went on a deleting frenzy, and I removed anyone from my friends list that I am not actual, real life friends with.

And people got mad!!!

What in the fuck...

You don't get to be mad that you are unable to see my posts, if you don't know me.


You don't get to be mad that you can't stalk my photos and insert your agenda into the things I say.

Stalker times two.

It's weird. It's weird that people get offended or insulted when they are unfriended by someone they don't even know. It's weird that people spend this much time stalking other people on the internet, just because it's available.

Facebook. Both my least and most favorite show of all time. 

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

What If a Baby Happens?

My whole life, I've felt like I wasn't meant to be a mom. When I was a kid my cousins and I played make-believe house, and we always had pets and animals, but I don't remember lots of pretend people babies. My Barbies were always out on dates with GI Joe; they were never really home with their families. I grew up in a home day care, and I loved playing with the kids my mom watched, but they were definitely more of a fun accessory than something I wanted to take care of. I liked being able to play with them until they cried. I liked pushing them in the stroller at the mall. I liked to dress them in goofy outfits with my friends.

Thinking about it now, by the way, Barbie was really just such a hussy.

I've just always felt I was meant to do other things with my life than raise a child. I've felt I was meant to go new places, to see new things. I've felt I was meant to do something else, to make waves, to live in the moment. Kids have always been something I don't want. And I've really never swayed from that. I've just preferred more...well, more interchangeable accessories. I get bored of my purse in like 90 days, and I hear you can't trade kids in for an upgrade.

But then...what if??

Day Two of my 30 Day Blog ChallengeWhat is something you always say "what if" to?

What if I get pregnant on accident?

What if I change my mind? What if I get pregnant on purpose?

What if I watch all these other women mom-ing (yes, I made that a verb), and I think I could do it as well as any of them? What if I decide that mom-ing doesn't mean your life of excitement and passion is over?

What if I tell my family I might want a baby someday, and they all actually die of shock? With them all wiped out, who would help me?

What if I miss my period and totally freak out and have myself completely convinced I'm pregnant, and then what if for a brief second, I'm not completely horrified at the thought? What if a part of me reacts with, that might not really be so horrible?

What if a doctor confirms that I am unable to make a baby of my own and I'm sad instead of relieved? I mean, I have't been on any birth control in almost two years, and I'm not knocked up yet.

Then what?

I have always said, being a mom is not in my cards. Always. I've never wanted to mom. I've been too busy wanting to travel, to work and get promoted, to grow, to learn. I've been too consumed with my desire to live just for myself, to spend money selfishly, to spend time on myself. My desire to sit in silence with a stack of books has far outweighed my need to change diapers in the middle of the night.

And yet, this is the subject in which I always wonder, what if.

Despite the fact that I don't actually have a desire to parent a child, I do believe I'd be a really good mom, should I ever become one - accidentally or on purpose. Aside from the fact that my mother is the actual Baby Whisperer, and aside from the fact that I was raised in a home where she cared for a multitude of small children at a time, I think instinctively I would be good at mom-ing. I never thought that before until recently. I always thought I'd be overly paranoid about things, overly aggressive about others, and just overly selfish in all areas where a good parent is selfless instead.

Even so, I claim to be selfish with time and money, as I sit here on the phone with Blake, making a birthday ice cream date and ordering his new Spider-Man sheets on Amazon. I'm apparently not that selfish with my time and money; I always have time for the people in my life under five years old. I call them on the phone, I buy them things, I take them places...and I do all of these things on purpose.

Clearly being a mother is not the same as being an aunt. I'm just using this as an example of my ability to keep a child safe, fed, and happy for a duration of time, thus my assumption that I may be able to do it for longer than a weekend.

More recently than I care to admit, I had to ask myself the big question among single women who try to be careful but sometimes fuck up: what if I'm pregnant?

What would I do?

And by what would I do, I do of course mean, what bridge would I choose to free fall from?

And after much freak out, after much frantic time spent on the phone (and sadly, also on WebMD), after much calming the fuck down, it occurred to me that you can plan your life a certain way all you want. But as I learned from that fucking life-ruining psychic in Vegas this spring, the Universe will find a way to work your shit out for you. You can plan all you want, but sometimes, shit just happens and you have to learn to roll with it.

What if you just calm down, let life happen, and be flexible in your choices?

Also, what if you happen to make a baby that just goes perfectly with that new dress you just bought?


Sunday, July 26, 2015

Do You Love to Hate, or Do You Hate to Love?

Maybe this is why I'm single.

Maybe this is why I don't have very many long term relationships under my belt.

Maybe this is why I've never been married. 

Maybe this is why I'm not bitter, why I don't have a laundry list of "must-have" qualities in someone.

Maybe this is why I can still see the good in people, why I can take someone at face value.

Or maybe I'm just completely, one hundred percent right, and the rest of the world is wrong.

Whatever the reason, I just really, truly think that relationships should not be this difficult. 

Period. If you're working too hard to be happy, you're not with the right person. Your lobster would never require this much effort. And I think you should be able to be with your lobster.

Day One of my 30 Day Blog Challenge: Thoughts on Your Current Relationship, or of Your Current Single Status.

Nobody should be putting so much work into their relationship that it doesn't bring them any happiness. I know so many people who work harder on their relationship than they do on anything else; they put in so much effort, it's exhausting even to watch from the outside. They are constantly fighting an uphill battle, trying to force things, trying to find middle ground or compromise, just struggling to get it together with the person they're with. 

Why? Why are you doing that?! What is the payoff for putting in such a dramatic effort on a relationship that probably just isn't the right one for you? What kind of sadist are you? What is it about this person that makes you think you have to make it happen. that you have to force it to be successful?

Am I the only one in the world who would rather be single and wait for the right guy, than be in a forced, unhappy relationship just to be sure I always have someone around?

I know relationships take work; don't get my message twisted. I know that all relationships (and friendships, and family relationships for that matter) take compromise. And sincere effort. And selflessness. I get it. That's not what I'm arguing. I do know, accept, and understand that it's not always sunshine and butterflies in a relationship, and that there are moments and times that are hard. And that for the right person, you'll fight hard through those tougher moments and come out better on the other side. That happens in the duration of life with someone. 

I'm talking, though, about the people who are ALWAYS fighting to make it happen. I'm sorry, but if your relationship is more work than fun, more bad times than good, more stress than are not in the right relationship. Just let it go and move on; you're annoying everyone else on Earth who already sees this going down the shitter.

At what point, when you're looking at your partner thinking of ways to destroy them so you can be happy, do you stop and think that perhaps you could do everyone (the two of you included) by just ending it? When does one arrive to the conclusion that a relationship should bring you at least some slight spark of joy, and that you haven't felt joy in so long you forget what it's like? I mean, people do get to that point, right? So why does it take so long? Why does it take so much fighting and energy? I just don't get it. It's like, before you can end you miserable, destructive anything-but-a-healthy-relationship, why do you have to destroy yourself from the inside first?

Hang on, we'll break up once we've both lost all hope for anything successful in the future.

It appears that it may just be me, but I would rather be single than date someone who hates me. I'm not sure at what point any of us were convinced (or who it was that convinced us) that a relationship need not bring joy or genuine happiness, but that as long as someone is waiting for us when we get home, that'll be good enough.

Good enough is absolutely not good enough!

Good enough should never be good enough. Not with a meal, not with an apartment or a place to live, not with a vacation, and certainly not with a relationship! Why do people think that's okay? Why do you think you have to settle? Why can't you let go of what's good enough in pursuit of something incredible?

You can.

I can.

In fact, I have.

Gone are my days of settling for something good enough, when I know there are men out there who do actually know how to make a woman swoon; how to really make someone tick. That's who I'm after. I feel like that's what we all should be after.

If you're with someone who doesn't make your heart beat faster, or who doesn't make your breath catch when they touch you, then what are you wasting your time for? If your partner can't understand you, appreciate and value you, or give you one hundred percent of themselves, then why are you wasting your energy? I remember one time my mom said to me, a relationship is not 50/50, a good one is 100/100. And that's so true. Do you give yourself a hundred percent to someone who gives you back the same hundred percent? If not, you're wasting your time. If not, you're selling yourself short. You're cheating yourself out of greatness with someone who will.

Relationships are hard.
They take work and energy and time and commitment.
They take communication. They take openness and honesty. They certainly take effort.
But, if a relationship feels like work and doesn't leave you happy at the end of the day, you're not in the right one.

Keep it moving.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

You're Not an Option - You're My Priority

How much stuff to you have to do in a day?

In asking myself that question, I came up with the following list of things I have to do each day:
Do my hair
Brush my teeth
Do my makeup
Drink a bottle of Spark
Feed Juno her breakfast
Eat breakfast
Drive to work
Check in with maintenance
Work, work, work. WORK
Eat lunch - quickly
Drive home from work
Feed Juno her dinner
Eat dinner
Do my squats
Clean the kitchen
Make my bed
Make breakfast and lunch for tomorrow
Brush my teeth
Wash my face
Go to bed
Watch whatever is on the DVR til I fall asleep

And then of course, there are the things I have to do sometimes, not every day, like running errands and grocery shopping. The point is, everyone has a lot of stuff to do in a day; there's lots of things we have to do.

But at what point do you sacrifice what you have to do, for what you need to do?

Say what?

What I mean is, at what point do you stop and open your eyes to the people in your life who may need something from you? How often do you tell someone you care about that you don't have time for them? How often do you tell someone important that you're busy, that you have too many things you have to get done, that you can't make a moment of time for them right now?

And on the flip side, how often do you drop everything you have to get done in the day, to devote your full attention to someone you care about? How often do you reach out to someone important to you, before they ask, and offer to put aside what you have to do, in order to be with them? When you get to Sunday evening and you're thinking about the week, how many times did you make someone else your priority? How many times did you reach out and make sure that someone important to you, is well aware of how important they really are?

We're all guilty of it; of letting our relationships fall by the wayside because of the daily shit we think we have to get done. But have you ever wondered what it feels like to be the person who is being told that grocery shopping is more important to you than they are? What it might feel like to have someone you really care about tell you that they're too busy to make time for you because they have to shop for work clothes or catch up on Teen Mom?

There will always be a long list of things you have to get done. No one's life is ever just all tied up in a bow, put together completely, without any obligation or requirement. That's not how the world works. There will always be a daily to do list; we'll always have today's list that turns into a longer list for tomorrow if we don't get our shit done. But more importantly, there will always be people in our lives who need us. There will always be a friend who got dumped; there will always be a buddy who needs a ride home when they're too drunk to drive. Someone will need you to care, will need you to make them a priority instead of an option. Are you the type of person who prioritizes what you have to do, or the type of person who prioritizes what you need to do?

Ask yourself what it is that you need to do.

When I asked that of myself, I had a completely different list:
Snuggle Juno in a sunbeam in the morning, and give her chin scratches
Open the blinds and feed the squirrels for Juno
Text Stace and say good morning to Blakey
Facebook my mama
Text good morning to Kattie
Send a funny e-card to Goose
Talk to - and listen to - my team at work, and figure out the best strategy to get us through the day
Listen to people who are speaking to me
Put a "thinking of you" card in the mail
Go home on time
Leave work at work (I am terrible about this one)
Give Juno more snuggles and chin scratches; feed her dinner and feed the squirrels so she can watch
Be available
Be open
Say #iloveyou
Text goodnight before I fall asleep

It's not the same list. Not even close to the same list. Because in all actuality, the things you have to do - the projects and deadlines and errands - are really not what matters. They're things that don't need to happen right this second. They can almost always wait. But the need to be someone's priority? That's not an optional feeling. The need to feel like we're first to someone else? That isn't something that can wait. How often are you making people wait to feel cared about? Do you make your friends and family wait around until you have time to love them on your terms? Or are you practicing that selfless, honest, vulnerable love, where what they need far outweighs what else you have to do today?

The truth is, people need us to care about them. Our friends need to be a priority, not an option. Our family needs to feel included in our busy life. People don't want to feel inconvenient, irrelevant, or disposable. When people don't feel cared about, they stop caring back. And yet, when we feel important, we are far more likely to reciprocate - the people who prioritize me are certainly the ones I prioritize! So the next time you are running through the 25 things you have to get done today, and a friend calls you to please meet them for a beer, don't make an excuse. Don't say you have to go to the store or finish your laundry. Don't let them feel like you don't care. Go. Meet them. Care about them.

Love them.

And remember that truthfully, if it's important to you, you'll find a way, but if it's not, you'll find an excuse.

Don't let the people you care about the most, feel like they're optional.

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Not Every #BabyDaddy is a Deadbeat

I'm not a mom. I've never been a mom.

I have no experience co-parenting, good or bad, with my own child.

I did, for three years, live with a boyfriend and his child, so I do have a limited frame of reference as far as experience in co-parenting with someone else's child.

I don't claim to know anything about being a mother (or a father either, really).

However, I am also not a fucking idiot.

Why is it that women - and yes, I am going to go out on a super sexist limb here and come down hard on my own gender - cannot treat the fathers of their children with any respect?! I'm serious. You all are a bunch of bitches.

I get it. There are a lot of deadbeat, bull shit sperm-donating dads out there, a lot of guys who make a baby and then do nothing to help raise it. I understand that the number of deadbeat dads likely outweighs the number of deadbeat moms in the world. But those are clearly not the ones I am talking about. I'm talking about the guys who have stepped up, paid child support, asked for more time with their kids, remained actively involved in parenting their child. Those guys. The ones you are lucky are dads to your kids. The ones you should be thanking, not berating on the internet.

Not a single day passes where I don't see something on Facebook, posted by some mom, bitching about her child's dad. It's a daily thing on social media. Rant after rant about everything these guys are doing wrong. They didn't feed them the right thing, or they dressed them wrong, or the kid got a little bit of a sunburn or missed his nap, or he stayed up late or got up too early, or he let her watch the wrong movie, or whatever other insignificant, minute, stupid mundane thing you feel like being an ass hole about. Nobody wants to see your #babymamadrama blasted on Facebook. It's rude and disrespectful, and it makes YOU look like the idiot. All of us who see your drama, know you're the one making life difficult for yourself. We know that in reality, your kid's dad likely is just doing his best to help you raise a child, and you're being a control freak about how he's "doing it wrong."

For the record, outside of negligence and abuse, I'd argue that there's really not much of a "wrong way" to parent a child...but that's for another day.

Listen bitch. Be a little more grateful that the guy keeps your kid clothed, comfortable, and safe. You don't get to be such a jerk and tell someone else how to raise your kid. You're raising this child together, and you may not be doing it exactly the same way, and that's really not a big deal. If you want to be the be-all-end-all decision maker in the life of a child, literally try to make yourself one all alone and see how that works out for you. My mom and dad did not parent me exactly the same as each other - and guess what, I didn't die. My brother and I are now two functioning adults, despite the fact that my mom spanked us and my dad didn't. or the fact that my mom said no and my dad bought me a car. It's not going to kill your kid that you and your ex don't do things exactly the same. It really doesn't matter. Your kid will be fine.

I got into it recently with a single mom, who is famous for posting condescending, passive-aggressive deadbeat-dad memes on Facebook, like at least once a week. I know her, and I know her son's dad. Neither of them is a bad parent. They are both effectively parenting; but they sure as shit don't make it easy on each other. I finally just had to say something - girl, your kid's dad is a good guy, get off this tirade! Was he a great boyfriend to you? Doesn't sound like it. Was he making some poor choices earlier in this kid's life? Could be. But to be honest, you maybe were too. Because  *shocker* neither of you is perfect. Just let it go. Open your eyes and see what he's doing now, and stop hanging on to your past drama. You look petty, and you also look mean. And a little bit pathetic, to be frank.

I just honestly, have had enough of seeing women bash and chastise these guys on such a public forum, when they're really just trying to be a damn dad to their children. He's likely not doing it perfectly, but guess what bitch, neither are you. There is no perfect parent out there, no perfect way to be a mom or a dad to a kid. All of you moms who are demanding perfection from your child's father based more on your own fucking ego than anything else, please take this as a reality check. You are being an ass hole. You look like an idiot every time you post something mean about him. You're doing a disservice to your child every time you say something nasty about their daddy. You're the one your kid will grow up to resent for putting them in the middle.

Just seriously, stop it.

Sunday, May 31, 2015

PSA: Stop With the #DickPics

Because I am lucky enough to have this blog as a platform to make my voice heard, and because not all women are fortunate enough to have such a public voice, I feel that I need to make this firm statement for all of us. It's what we're all thinking, I assure you, and I'm comfortable confronting this issue here, for all of us.

Men of the Universe, please. Stop sending us your #dickpics.

Seriously. Just stop it.

At what point did this become a thing? Who was the first man to be standing in front of a mirror thinking, I bet my girl would love to see a picture of my penis right now...and why did he think that?

There is nothing sexually stimulating about a dick pic. Honestly. It isn't what we want to see in the daylight. I'm at work. I'm on the phone. I'm dealing with someone at my desk. And you just blew up my phone with your penis. Really?! Why?? Just, please no.

This isn't to say that we want you to go away. Don't take this message as an attack on you personally; we like you enough to sleep with you, clearly (unless you're sending unsolicited pictures of your junk to girls who haven't even seen it in real life, in which case, just seriously, stop that immediately...a snap chat is NOT the way to reveal this to us for the first time). Do we like your dick? Of course we do. It's probably part of why we're putting up with half of your bull shit, actually. We like the things you do to us with it, for sure. We even like most of the things you want us to do to it. But, it's not like a visually attractive part of your body that we want to see blast across our cell phone in the middle of the work day. It's too much; there's too much going on. Pictures of your dick are just a little...intense, fellas.

I can fully understand the confusion. I mean, you ask us for sexy pictures all the time, and when we oblige, you're thrilled. But how often, when you've requested a pic from your girl, does she send you a full frontal, between-the-thighs photo of her vagina? Umm...almost never. I can assert this with confidence, as I have never known one of my girlfriends to tell me about the hoo-ha picture she emailed earlier this morning. You're far more likely to receive a little teaser...some cleavage, maybe even a nipple, some sort of look-what-i'm-doing suggestive snapshot, in which we're able to totally turn you on without actually sending our lady biz through the internet. Nobody needs such intensity in their day. We're not in porn, people, this is real life.

Don't get me wrong. I can also fully appreciate the effort. You're simply trying to make us a little hot in the middle of the day. Just trying to make sure we're thinking of you. Wanting to get some foreplay out of the way before it even gets to be lunch time. And that's kinda sweet of you. But the thing is, an uninvited photo of your partially-aroused-but-also-still-sorta-tucked-into-your-boxers situation, is just not the best way to get the ball rolling (see what I did there?). We want something a little more put together, a little more, what about a picture of your abs or your shoulders, a little shirtless action maybe? What we don't want, is just full-on dick. That's not sexy. Nothing says, I'll pass, like a boner in my text inbox. Less is more, man. Less dick, please, and maybe just a little more of your Man V.

In short, the next time you're trying to arouse a woman, just stop yourself for one minute and put some thought into it. Ask yourself what she'd do if you walked in the front door and put your penis in her face without so much as a hello? I'm sorry, but that doesn't tend to be the best course of action. Would you come home from work, walk up to your girl, and just shove your dick right in her face? I really don't think so. Maybe look at it from that perspective. A dick pic on her cell phone, is a little bit like a nonchalant t-bag to the face. We're not ready for it, we're really not into it, and we're actually a little grossed out by it. No man gets laid that way. So again, the next time you get the urge to photograph what's growing in your pants, please remember that ladies just can't get on board with full penis blowing up our cell phones all day.

Repeat after me: Just say no to #dickpics.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

The Friendliest Lobsters Have the Worst Breath

I was told this week that my relationship with one of my closest male friends is comparable to Ross Gellar and Rachel Green (from Friends, in case you were raised under a rock). Initially, I didn't see it and laughed it off; Ross and Rachel are an on-again-off-again couple, who break up and get back together countless times over the course of, what, ten seasons, before figuring it out. 

It didn't make sense initially, because we've never broken up and gotten back together. We've been friends for far longer than we've ever been romantically involved; we tried that briefly and it didn't work. We haven't had any knock-down, drag-out fights, nor have we had passionate moments of making up like Ross and Rachel repeatedly have throughout the show. We've dated other people, we've gone weeks without speaking...Ross and Rachel never spent a full day apart. And then eventually, they got over themselves, fell in love, had a baby, and that was that.



So at first? Nah, I don't see it. 

That said, I let myself keep thinking about it these past few days. Between a function with our company, an after-hours work project, a movie, and a sleepover, I've spent a number of hours with this fella this week. And while we are friends, and while I appreciate that invaluable friendship, I am also smart enough to see the boundaries that we cross, the lines that we blur. We're definitely mutually guilty of that.

We had a too-drunk-to-drive-home sleepover at my place last night. We didn't have sex, didn't even kiss - we didn't cross any of the physical lines we've put in place for our relationship. But we shared my bed, we held hands, and we cuddled close all night long. We then laid in bed together this morning watching TV while spooning, snoozing off and on, and sharing the quiet. 

The question is, where are the actual boundaries? Where do you draw lines that separate you from being Just Friends, to dating casually, to hooking up, or to being in a relationship? Life used to be so easy, where if you made out with someone, you had crossed a line. But now here we are, 30 years old, and the opportunity to blur physical boundary lines are prevalent. I wasn't allowed to have boys spend the night at my house when I was in high school, so those boundaries were just always in place. That's no longer the case. If I have too much to drink, I often crash at a friend's house, and the same goes both ways. So, where are those limits? What boundaries do you have in place to protect you heart, guard yourself from accidentally catching feelings you are not prepared for? When you parents aren't there telling you to be home by midnight or to make sure there is never a boy in your bedroom, how do you decide what will keep you from getting hurt?

My best friend texted me this morning, jokingly asking if I'd made a "good or bad decision" last night; meaning...when we all parted ways after the movie, did I go home alone or with company. I was sharing a warm, clammy cuddle at the time - the kind of cuddle that fits with a hangover. A looming headache, morning breath, makeup in the corners of your eyes. We laughed when I read the text aloud, responded that I'd made a good decision but that I was not alone in bed...

"Mmmmmm...I feel like just sharing a bed together is way more confusing than straight up having sex." 


Again I ask, where do you place boundaries with your friends of the opposite sex to keep things on a platonic level. How do you maintain a friendship more like Joey and Phoebe as opposed to Ross and Rachel? When you are determined to be Just Friends, how do you make sure that it works that way, stays that way? 

The reality is, when you start seeing all of the ways that your relationship is, in fact, similar to Ross and Rachel, you also start to see that Ross and Rachel are really not friends. They are two people who have deeper, non-platonic feelings for each other, who take years to realize and act on them, but who fail at other attempts at love in the mean time. Ross and Rachel have a chemistry that can't be avoided, they blur lines and cross boundaries that they don't cross with their other friends. And that's because Ross and Rachel were never Just Friends in the first place. 

Because, Lobsters. 

There isn't really any rant or rave here, nor am I attempting to make any real point; I am mostly just looking back over the past year with this amazing fella in my life, trying to remember at what point he became this vital to my world. Trying to think back to the moment that we transitioned from casual friends to two people who know each other better than anybody else. At what point he became the person who knows what I'm thinking before I even realize it myself. At what point he realized I was one of the few people in his life who can interpret him, as opposed to the people who just know him on the surface. There was a moment just a week or two ago that he told me he was looking back (probably the same way I've been doing today) and realized that he and I are, as he put it, cut from the same cloth. We understand each other's weirdness, the way we each tick, what we like and what scares us. I'm grateful for it. don't get me wrong. Every complicated blurred line, every ignored boundary, every emotionally charged conversation is a reminder that he isn't going anywhere, that we get each other, and that we need each other. 

If you remove the television drama, the marriage in Vegas, the accidental daughter, and some over-the-top details, Ross and Rachel are really just two friends who know each other better than anyone else. I mean outside of the fact that they are secretly in love with each other and take ten years to figure it out, I suppose we're a bit more like Ross and Rachel than we thought. They're two people who have each other figured out, who can be a friend, a therapist, a guide, or who can just be there.

And I couldn't appreciate that any more than I do. 

Even (maybe even especially) when I wake up to the smell of stale Corona and unbrushed teeth, after falling asleep in a complicated, confusing, comfortable cuddle next to the fella with whom I share a fear of what's most comfortable.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Bring That Baby Mama Drama

It's no secret that I watch a lot of trash television. I don't watch many thought-provoking shows, I rarely listen to the news, and I prefer to just run endless syndicated episodes of How I Met Your Mother than anything else.

Among the crap I watch on a regular basis, that takes up coveted space on my DVR, is MTV's Teen Mom - specifically, this season's Teen Mom OG; MTV has brought back the original teen mom's from their first season of the show. Now 22-24, the four girls are back, and we're getting a glimpse into their version of life 3-4 years later. The overwhelming message? Life is still full of baby-daddy drama.

There are 4 girls from the original cast who are back for another season: Catelynn, Farrah, Maci, and Amber. Catelynn and her still-around, now-fiance Tyler, gave their baby up for adoption. Maci and her then-boyfriend Ryan co-parent semi effectively, as much as you can co-parent with someone you can't stand. Amber is no longer with her once-fiance Gary, and there is very little effective co-parenting going on through all of the fighting. And then there's Farrah. Farrah's baby-daddy died before the original show ever aired, and she has since been super judged for leaving her daughter with her own mom in order to pursue a rousing porn career.

Yes, I've Googled it. Yes, I watched it (I had to, my curiosity got the best of me). No, it's not sexy. And no, it is by no means the accidental sex tape leak that her and her doe-eyes would want you to believe.

Anyway, why am I bringing up my slightly embarrassing obsession with horrible reality television shows?

Because when the OG season was scheduled to begin shooting, Catelynn, Amber, and Maci refused to participate if Farrah was allowed to be on the show. They were embarrassed by her, disappointed in her choices as a mom and as a woman, and unwilling to be associated with her any further.

On the one hand, I see their point of view. I would argue - with my limited expertise on what makes a "good" mom - that Farrah has not made the best choices in parenting Sophia. She's been in porn. She's more plastic body parts than real ones. Her face is so full of botox she can barely alter her expression. She even sold a mold of her own vagina to a porn site, so anyone and everyone who wants to spend the money can, in fact, put their D in Farrah. It's gross. I get it. She once left her kid across the country with her mom (her mom who was arrested for abuse just a year prior) so she could pursue God knows what and "find herself."

So I understand the desire of one of these other moms to have nothing to do with her. As a viewer of the show, I could do without Farrah too. I don't fault the other moms for their opinions or their expression of said opinions.

That said, can we all just think for one minute about why we're not okay with Farrah and her vagina-selling being on the show week after week, but we're okay with Amber being there? Amber who spent time in prison for beating her fiance? Amber who got her daughter taken away from her following an addiction to prescription narcotics? Amber, who screams and yells and is unable to control her emotions in front of her toddler?

Why are we willing to watch an hour of domestic violence, to tolerate a man being abused by a woman...but we are unwilling to watch a young woman exploit herself sexually for money?

What in the actual fuck?

First of all, let me just make my own opinion blatantly clear: I believe that MTV has handled both the violence and the pornography pretty well, considering they are mostly after the ratings. But they do use the Teen Mom show as a platform to educate other young people, and I see that reflected in the show. So overall, I am supportive of both Amber and Farrah remaining on camera, because MTV does use them to share information on what to do if you find yourself in these similar situations.

And honestly, I don't really care that Farrah did porn. I mean, it's not good porn. It's not well done porn. It's not something I'd actually watch in an effort to do the things you're intended to use porn for. But really, whatever. To each their own. Someone's gotta be out there having sex on camera for the benefit of the rest of us, right? I am less okay with the fact that she abandoned her child for several months. But again, I don't have a child and I don't know how hard it is to be a teen parent. If I had a baby to support and no one supporting me, can I honestly say I wouldn't get that desperate? I don't know. Farrah's mom once physically assaulted her and was arrested; during this time, Farrah was much more independent - because she had to be. There was no one else to do it for her. In those moments, in those episodes, we were able to see Farrah as a more determined mother - because there was no one else there to raise her kid for her. And those made for the coachable teen parent moments that MTV was after when they created the 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom shows in the first place.

Amber, however, continues to exist in a hostile, angry, and violent lifestyle, where she assaults her child's father regularly. And there are no other moms refusing to be on TV with her. None of the other moms are taking a stand about what emotional damage is being done to the little girl sitting idly by as her mom berates her dad day after day. This kid lives in violence. She watches violence. She watches abuse and will grow up thinking it's okay. That's what happens to kids who witness abuse; they become immune, tolerant, and accepting. They let people abuse them. Or they become abusers. Why are these moms so busy judging Farrah and her money-making lady biz, that none of them have stopped to judge Amber and domestic violence?

Because domestic violence is something people turn their heads at. It's easy to call a woman a whore because she sells her ass on video (or as my equally-obsessed-with-the-show friend calls it, her "butt-hole money). It's less easy to admit that someone you know is abusive. We are raised to judge women based on the number of men she sleeps with, the clothes she wears, how she does her makeup. Society dictates that when women are raped, it's because we somehow asked for it. It's just the way it is. It's much more taboo, though, to openly discuss domestic violence and abuse. People think it's shameful and we let it skirt by like it isn't happening right in front of us...on television...week after week.

Domestic violence towards men is equally - if not more - taboo than toward women. It's practically unheard of, and often it becomes a joke. If your female counterpart beats you, assaults you, belittles or otherwise hurts you, you're a pussy, not a man. Because of course, men can't fall victim to women.

The whole thing just irks me. How is it still, in the year 2015, possible that domestic violence is such a hush-hush issue? People don't want to talk about it; it makes us uncomfortable and we tend to look the other direction because we don't know what to do. We watch it unfold in front of toddlers on our favorite shows every week, while we simultaneously refer to someone else as a slut. It doesn't make sense and it's wrong. Domestic violence happens every day. Someone you know is currently being abused. Someone you know has been raped or assaulted, or her boyfriend is hitting her, or his girlfriend has him in a choke hold.

Every day a parent is abused in front of their child.

Just let that sink in. Violence begets violence. And Amber Portwood's daughter, will - statistically - abuse, or be abused. We watch the grooming weekly on MTV, but no one says anything. We're too busy talking about how disgusting Farrah looks with all her botched plastic surgeries. #priorities, right?

I know, I know...I just wrote a blog about Teen Mom. I'm as embarrassed to have written it as you are to have read it.

But really, the next time you sit down to watch an episode of this season, ask yourself why it's okay to abuse your daughter's father, but not okay to get plastic surgery and make a little bit of pornography, anal style.

Just saying.

Sunday, April 19, 2015

I Think a Zombie Just Read My Mind

I don't believe in psychics. I think it's absurd. Crazy. I think people who claim to be psychic are just trying to scam people out of cash, and they latch onto gullible people who think someone is telling them the future when in reality are simply asking the right questions and giving vague answers.

I think psychics are fake.

Until they approach me in Las Vegas and without asking me anything at all, begin explaining who I am as a person, down to the nitty gritty, and hit every nail on the head. Until they read my best friend like a book, pointing out qualities in her that I would use to describe her only after having known her for several years. Until they tell me the exact same things a paid therapist has been telling me for the past twelve months.

At which point, I I just a skeptic? Is this shit real? Am I too drunk? What just happened?


And then I proceed to wander through Planet Hollywood all night, drinking moscato, trying to connect the dots of the mind fuckery that just took place outside of the V Theater where I'd spent two hours in a dark room full of zombies performing an epic burlesque show.

***Side note, if you are ever in Vegas, see the Zombie Burlesque show at Planet Hollywood. Yes this is a shameless plug, but it was possibly the best $50 I've ever spent. Pay for VIP seats and enjoy it. It will blow your mind.

Anyway, back to my actual point. After seeing a show and having dinner, I was simply meandering the casino with Kattie and her sister Danielle, popping in and out of shops, maintaining a mellow buzz, people watching...nothing major. I feel like it is imperative to mention that I was not wasted at this moment; my logic was not out the window here. We were walking towards the casino floor from the miracle mile shops when this woman approached us and asked if we'd ever seen a psychic (nope). She asks if we believe in them (nope). She asks if we're interested in a reading (nope).

Then she just starts talking to Kattie. And I mean telling Kattie who she is as a person, what she is struggling with, what she's succeeding at. She is literally reading Kattie to us as though she's known Kattie forever. She did not ask us one single question - not even our names - and she is spewing things about Kattie that I thought no one knew but me. How is this happening?!? I'm trying to pick my jaw up off the floor when she turns to Danielle and starts explaining her personality to her, offering her insight to the big life decisions she's trying to make - after telling her what her life problems are, mind you. Because remember, she didn't ask us one damn thing at all!

It was insane. My eyes were as big as saucers and Kattie's jaw hit the ground, while Danielle just stood there shaking her head - all of us in disbelief, and all of our skepticism fading.

After giving Kattie and Danielle the life 4-1-1, she turns to me and starts talking. About my family, about the way I feel about them. About the traumatic past relationship I was in that left me with a huge wall up around me. About the ways I can let that wall crumble and move on with someone who has been there through it. About who I am and what I'm doing, and about how to come through it to be a happier person on the other side.

At this point, I am honestly believing her. She's accurately assessed all three of us in a matter of minutes. She hasn't asked a single question. She hasn't asked for money or an appointment for anything further. She is just speaking, in the middle of a shopping mall, and literally breaking it down to each of us. I'm shocked, but I am buying it. This lady is a legit, honest-to-goodness, can-see-into-your-soul, psychic medium.

And then she drops the bomb on me.

"You've been blessed with a large family, and you will continue to add to your family."

This bitch right here.

She goes on to tell me that I'm going to have twins. Twins. Yes, me. Twins. Like when you have two babies inside you at the same time, and then have to shove them both out of your lady business in the same day. Twins, like, not ever sleeping or being alone in a room again. And she follows up that little gem with the fact that not only will I have twins, but that then I will also have a third child, just to round out the reality of my worst nightmare: being outnumbered by babies.

I refuted at this point. I told her I don't want kids, that I never want to have them, that I've never wanted to have them. She doesn't care, she reaffirms that she is sure of it. Only half-joking, I explain that I'd like to get my tubes tied this year. I am met with, "that won't help - if God (I'm not sure I believe in God, ma'am) or the Universe, then, desire to you to be a mother, it is out of your hands."

Well shit!

Here's the thing. Had she just come at me with that, or had she asked me anything about my life, my body, my choices, my birth control...oh I dunno, my NAME even...I would have written this off as some drunk broad in Vegas trying to scam me for a buck. But I am telling you, every single other thing she said was 100% on point for all three of us. And then, though we'd parted ways going the opposite direction as her, we then ran into her again about an hour later in the casino. And again she didn't want any money. She did not appear to want anything from us, did not seem to have any ulterior motive. It was like when that Teresa lady from the Long Island Medium show approaches strangers because their deceased parents are talking to her at Target or Starbucks.

As insane as it may seem, I feel desperately like I need to discuss this encounter with my therapist. Unfortunately she is on maternity leave, so my next appointment isn't until July 6th.

Hopefully I'm not knocked up with my twin babies by then, decorating a nursery with a baby-daddy I finally admitted I was in love with. I make this joke, of course, despite my growing fear of it being my impending reality.

What in the actual fuck?!?

This brings a whole new meaning to the phrase, what happens in Vegas...

Monday, March 30, 2015

#TamponFails and #CumShots

I'm sure everyone saw the Instagram photo of the girl in bed in her sweatpants with her period leaking out the backside, because of course #womensrights to #grosseveryoneout. Instagram had deleted her picture because it was fucking disgusting, and then came back, tails between their legs, apologizing for offending women everywhere by censoring her, blah...blah...blah.

Before I go any further, let me clarify: I am a feminist. I am very often on my soap box about a blatant inequality between men and women, and I blog frequently about things like slut-shaming and women's rights to fair treatment. I believe very strongly in a woman's right to control and make decisions for herself and her body, I'm pro-choice, I'm all for birth control accessibility, and I don't think The Suits in politics have any place in women's health care rights whatsoever; nor do taxpayers.

So don't get your panties twisted when I say that posting a photo of your leaking period on Instagram for the world to see, is fucking gross. Some things are not "women's issues," but rather they are just nasty and have no business on the internet. Your period is a prime example of just such thing. Keep that to yourself, ladies, nobody wants to see how many hours it's been since you crawled out of bed to change your tampon.

That said, this chick's #tamponfail, along with a hilarious article on Buzzfeed this morning, have really got me thinking about periods, and specifically about why everyone thinks they're so disgusting, when they're really just part of the whole "being a woman" dream. At what point did it become so gross to have a period? We've had them for bazillions of years; has it always been gross? More specifically, when did society decide that women on our periods are too fucking gross to have sex with?

Everyone with a vagina has a period every month. Okay, not every single one of us; there's birth control stuff and medical stuff that eliminate a period for a certain percentage of women out there. But for generalization, most of us bleed out of our lady parts. 
Let's say we have our period for an average of 5 days out of every 30, starting at age 15.
Let's say we hit menopause at 50.
That's 35 years.
That's 420 months, or 2100 days of vagina bleeding in our lifetime.

And at some point, someone (probably a man) decided that in those 2100 days, we are off limits for sex. Because, gross!

But that's my question. When did that happen? And why? Did you know that the most effective way to eliminate menstrual cramps is to have an orgasm? And that instinctively, women are the horniest right around that time? We're also more attractive to men, pheromone-wise, when we're on our periods. And on top of all that, a great percentage of females are most able to reach orgasm from vaginal intercourse, while we are on our periods.

So of course, yuck, don't do it.

I obviously don't have the answers to any of these questions, but my feminist ass will get back on my soap box and admit that I do not wish to surrender 2100 days worth of potentially great sex because some immature boy thinks it's yucky. Please. You know what's yucky? Cum!

And yet, no woman is out there refusing to have sex with her man 2100 times over the course of their lives together.

Because society (and pornography) are not telling us that cum is disgusting. They're too busy telling us that periods are disgusting. And that's because society apparently hates women. Society and Porn want us to carry on thinking a hot sticky mess is far superior to a little bit of blood. Society and Porn want us to continue thinking that somehow a wet spot created by male ejaculation is sexy, while a wet spot left by period blood is cause for a HazMat team. Porn takes it a step further, really, trying to convince us of places we as women should actually want cum. But I'll let you Google that on your own time.

I feel like I may be getting slightly off track, because now I'm thinking I could write a whole post about how much more disgusting cum is than blood...but that alone, is truly a disgusting thought that no one wants to read. My point really, is that I have almost zero interest in being with a man who can't handle period blood. I mean, really. Grow up. It's not like we're hemorrhaging all over the place; nothing is spurting or spewing anywhere. It's a little bit messy, sure. It's not the sexiest thing to have to be like, oh hang on while I get a towel to put down here. Period sex isn't generally as spontaneous and there's less foreplay, for the obvious reasons. But the reality is, it's also the time in the month where you're less likely to have to pause for any bottled lubricant, and where you're the very most likely to have an orgasm (despite missing out on all the aforementioned foreplay).

So for real, get over yourselves. After all, if I can deal with the sperm that comes swimming back down my leg as I stand up to go to the bathroom when we're done - every. single. time - then you, my dear, can tolerate a little bit of blood two or three times in a month when all I want is for you to relieve me of these torturous cramps.

And then maybe bring me some chocolate.

That said, please accept this as my promise and commitment to not ever post a photo of my period on the internet. Whether it be before, during, or after sex.

Because, actually fucking disgusting.