Can We Discuss Disney Princesses Though


I was on the phone with my dad yesterday crying (surprise) over my lack of romantic luck recently. He gave me some really wonderful advice, the most hilarious of which came when he said, “The worst thing Disney ever did for society was write those stupid happy endings.” Or something to that effect — I tend to describe things a little more sassily than he does.

Anyway, it got me thinking: according to Disney, everything works out in the end if you’re a quiet woman in a patriarchal society. I am not quiet, and I’m actively attempting to smash the patriarchy at every turn, so I’m a little concerned about what this means for my love life. Also, I’m not exactly straight so I just wanna know what Disney would recommend if I’m trying to woo a mermaid, but I doubt I’ll be getting any answers on that front any time soon.

I’ve never wanted to be a princess, but I’m realizing that in a Disney world, I would have to be in order to fall in love, so uh…here we go. Now, there are a few (million) necessary adjustments I must make to my life in order to attain princess perfection:

  1. Become tiny. Which might be difficult since I’m 6′ and not exactly slender. Maybe I can cut my legs off at the knees, which would successfully reduce my weight and height in one fell swoop. It would also allow me to become helpless. Maybe my prince would be down to push me around in a wheelchair for the rest of eternity (which is obviously also how long our love would last).
  2. Replace my sweet mother with some horrible woman who wants to lock me in a tower or make me mop her floors and take care of her fat, evil cat. I could probably start looking for that type of woman at the local Chicos clothing store. The more chunky jewelry, the better, I’d assume.
  3. Become straight. And probably develop a dwarf and/or squirrel fetish.
  4. Don’t leave the house unless I look immaculate (note to self: find fairy godstylist). Only do housework if forced to. Allow mice to take up residence in my apartment.
  5. Immediately unlearn every self defense skill I’ve ever been taught. Walk into forests alone at night. Take food from strangers. Make deals with weird octopi in ocean caves. Make out with frogs even though they probably have weird swamp bacteria all over their bodies. Totally wander into random cabins in the woods without worrying about some racist hillbilly coming in and axe murdering me while I’m fast asleep.
  6. Let teacups teach me about love. Employ candlesticks for both light and therapeutic advice. Become easily impressed by silverware. Become way too obsessed with my hair for anyone’s good (this one might not be too tricky for me).
  7. Stop talking. This might be hard, as I don’t think I’ve spent more than 3 hours in silence at any given time. I even talk in my sleep, for goodness sake.
  8. Assume kissing men will always be magical and totally save my life. Because obviously everyone knows how to kiss me the way I’d like. None of them will shove their tongues down my throat (princes don’t actually possess tongues, anyway) or drool on me (and yes, before you ask, that has happened to me and I really don’t want to talk about it). Let random twerps kiss me just in case it helps my situation in life.

I think that’s it.

And yes, I’m super serious about the squirrel fetish.

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7 Signs You’re A Crazy (Awesome) Cat Lady


  1. You frequently wake up to your cat head-butting your face for kisses and immediately oblige, no matter the hour.
  2. Your Instagram feed is entirely composed of photos of you and your cat.
  3. You spend an enormous amount of time showing people the above mentioned pictures and/or talking incessantly about your cat.
  4. You choose to stay home and have an “evening in” with your cat instead of going out.
  5. Your cat has started jumping in the shower with you and you’re kinda okay with it.
  6. Your cat insists upon peeing in her litter box while you’re peeing. And you’re kinda okay with it…
  7. All photos of your cat are sassily captioned:
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Luna is experiencing ennui

 

Beauty School (Dropout)


I should not be awake. I also shouldn’t be sick and full of snot and coughing like a choking dog, but such is life. 

I started cosmetology school yesterday. Surprise! I didn’t tell y’all…possibly because I haven’t posted in like 4 months because I’m a failure working gal and got busy getting my life in order. 

Buuuut anyway, I had my first day of class yesterday, which consisted of:

1. Going through my kit (it was like a stressful Christmas morning involving way too many different curling irons and sharp objects that I will no doubt be impaling myself with at some point in the near future)

2. Getting my hair done by an older student (who, as I walked up to her, declared, “I’m gonna give you an Afro” and the rest was history) and subsequently missing my entire lunch hour because she got so into it. I shoved a scone in my face real quick, guys, don’t worry

3. Logging into a million different programs while trying to forget that there were mannequin heads in my kit that could spontaneously come to life and eat my face while looking at me with their dead eyes

4. Walking to my car in the pouring rain as my “Afro” deflated, only to discover that my battery was dead

5. Waiting for AAA while shoving trail mix in my face because I was starving and had a cold

So let’s hope day two is a little less insane! But I’m having fun so far :) This is a really exciting step in my life and it’ll be really interesting to see where it leads!

Dove Lures Women


Is anyone else totally weirded out by that new Dove Real Beauty commercial where they make women shower in public?

Here it is: http://ispot.tv/a/7rVc

Basically, for those of you too lazy to click the link, this is the official court testimony of one of the women subjected to this sick stunt:

We were asked by a very peppy Dove representative if we’d like to have a free makeover. Yay! Who doesn’t love a free makeover? This seems awesome and fun and we’re all just a bunch of gal pals hangin’ out at the mall on our day off! We’re so happy to be around other women, because we’re bar tenders and get hit on by creepy dudes who ask us to have threesomes with them and their bros, which is flattering for .5 seconds and then very offensive. I’m a person, not a piece of meat. 

So the peppy lady brings us into a back room and we’re all giggling and bonding over our favorite American Girl Dolls, but then we see we’ve been lured into a room full of showers. All my friends were in this daze and said dreamily, “It’s a showerrrrr!” My first reaction was to check for hidden cameras, but they wouldn’t let me. They made me get in the shower.

They gave us our own “private” shower and told us we wouldn’t be filmed, but I know now that I shouldn’t have trusted them. And then we were told to smile and lather up with Dove Deep Moisture Body Wash. I smile all day at the bar. I just want two hours at the mall where I can frown. After we’d finished, they gave us towels and interviewed us on how we liked the product. “I hate this,” I wanted to scream, but I told them I loved it so they’d give me my clothes back.

——

Now we all know the real truth behind the Dove Real Beauty campaign, and I think we can all agree…this is just wrong.

Happiness at the Hands of a Band


I saw a Neutral Milk Hotel concert recently and ran into a friend of a friend who had been a fan of the band since 1999. She’d waited 16 years to see them in concert, and was so excited (and incredibly intoxicated) to finally be there.

She said, and I’m quoting here: “I cried all day today thinking about this concert. When it’s over, I’m just gonna kill myself.”

It cracked me up so much, and it also touched my heart. It’s nice to see someone radiate so much joy over something so simple as music. It reminded me of when I cried at my second Death Cab for Cutie concert. I was sober. I had no excuse. But it was the best concert, so I suppose I’m justified.

I love you guys. Just know you bring me a lot of joy all the time :) xo

If You’re Ever Feeling Ugly


Maybe you look in the mirror and notice that your chin hair (mine’s named Vern, so don’t be ashamed of yours) is growing back with a vengeance. Maybe you have a huge zit right in between your eyebrows, and it’s totally blocking your third eye. It’s possible that your butt grew two sizes overnight (sort of like the Grinch’s heart but in a really inconvenient butt way) and you suddenly can’t even fit into your sweatpants. Or perhaps your lips are so chapped that they’ve ripped apart and you can see the earth’s core in them, the cracks are so deep. Maybe your hair, which is typically voluminous and bouncy like a perpetual shampoo ad, is sticking up in 50 different directions and the when you try to comb it your brush gets stuck and now you have comb hair which isn’t even in style right now…

In any case, here are a few ways to feel less ugly!

1. Pluck your eyebrows. Sometimes they get scraggly and you don’t even notice until suddenly they’re covering your entire face and you have to go at them with a bush whacker.

2. Use a face mask to hide your entire face from the world. They usually feel nice and have weird things like peppermint bobos or teatree monkeys in them. Mine has volcanic ash in it, and that isn’t even a joke; my face is slowly turning into a volcano.

3. Make new pants out of your curtains. Who said only nuns can get creative with draperies?

4. Wear a cat on your head. We’ve all heard the story of The Cat in the Hat, but what about The Cat IS the Hat? That’s a long lost tale from biblical times, I think. Esther had just saved the Jewish people when she suddenly realized she was having a terrible hair day. She knew that she could not be taken seriously if her hair looked bad, so she picked up an alleycat and went about her day. Women are so resourceful!

5. Chuck all of those other tips in the trash. You’re not ugly. Ugly is a stupid social construct, and lately I’ve been on a “damn the man” kick. So say it with me! My chin hair is beautiful!

Folw Yur Drms


It’s 11:30 p.m. I went to bed at 9:30 (after I graduated from college I turned into a grandmother and am perfectly okay with that). When I can’t sleep, I think about weird stuff:

1. I was walking home at night one time when I ran into a few (very drunk) people sitting on a roof (not exactly the safest spot for drunk people). They yelled at me until I sang part of a song from Pocahontas. College is weird. Drunk people are super weird. It made me laugh, though.

2. A lady at a coffee shop told me that the sun has been turning yellower over the past few years because of the government. She said we all need to watch out because the sun is heating up and getting closer every day. I trust her, because she seemed to have gotten this information from credible sources (her own delusions). She was sweet…just very confused about the sun. And heat.

3. My roommate and I ordered pizza once and our delivery boy was so adorable it hurt. He asked us how our day was going and then told us to follow our dreams. I’m pretty sure he was very stoned, but that’s okay. Except that he was driving. Oh God…

All those things made me laugh for various reasons, but I do see a trend. Everyone being delightful and lovely (minus conspiracy theorist lady) was intoxicated in some way. Maybe we should start trying to be silly and let loose and make each others’ days when we’re sober. Just force people to sing and tell them to follow their dreams sometime. Maybe don’t say that the sun is burning us alive in a very scientifically inaccurate way, though…

Night night! xo

I Gots Opinions


Blogging three times this week may be breaking my record for the year. I miss you guys, and I really hope you missed me, because without you I’m just typing to myself while shivering because this apartment is so damn cold…and that’s just depressing. So hi! I love you all, and I’m really trying to get back to my blog-y self!

I realized recently that in the past two years, this blog really has changed. It started out as a humor blog, but as I grew up I faced a lot of real challenges: depression, anxiety, confusion about my sexual orientation, traveling abroad and getting e. coli, just being in college, dropping out of a sorority… It felt hard to be funny, you know? I’d sit down to blog and I’d either:

A) Have no clue what to say because my brain was so exhausted from my stats class that all I wanted to do was eat pie and sleep. Or…

B) Totally know what I wanted to write about but feel restricted. I think I feel like I’m not allowed to write about certain things because my parents and family read this, or because friends of mine subscribe and I wouldn’t want to offend anyone by what I say. Of course, there’s always the “I need a job someday so I probably shouldn’t swear too much or talk about any suspicious activities” but then I remember that I very rarely act suspicious and to my knowledge have not committed a crime (unless you count being too damn sexy). I’m an adult. I’m 22 years old, and even though I don’t feel 22 (Taylor Swift lied), I’m at least qualified to talk about things in a very direct and sassy way.

I gots opinions, y’all. They’re hilarious and totally worth your time, so here it goes:

1. Should you choose to be a dude and let your chain hang low (whatever the hell that means), maybe pull up your damn pants. If I have to see one more guy waddling around with a belt around his thighs with his little booty cheeks sticking out for all the world to see, I will scream. I will scream at your butt, sir.

2. Maybe we could all just stop driving trucks, because unless you need that truck to haul logs or move hogs or to dig out bogs, I would really appreciate you not getting 8 mpg just for the hell of it. Save your money and go on vacation or something. On a similar note…

3. Could we all put this “I’m country” act to bed? I grew up on eight acres of field with a little orchard. My neighbors lived far away from me. I went to school in a farm town. Technically, of all of us, I’m country. (Except dear God I’m not.) You grew up in downtown Seattle and dirt is a foreign concept to you. Have you ever seen a cow? Have you been to the county fair? So I know we live in a town near some wheat fields, but maybe stop talking with a totally unexplained southern accent, and take off your damn Carhartt.

4. Enough with Tinder. You aren’t going to find the love of your life on that stupid dating app, and to be honest you probably won’t even find someone to make out with tonight. I used it once, and ended up getting stood up like 3 different times and going on a few dates with a complete jackass. If you want to date someone, just walk up to someone in class or at the bar or in the freaking grocery store. If you want to hook up, walk up to someone in class or at the bar or in the freaking grocery store. You’re only ever going to find a bunch of weirdos who send you unsolicited pictures of their penises without warning, and nobody wants to deal with that.

5. If you insist on using dating apps, utilize spellcheck. Your phone has autocorrect for a reason, and that reason is: you can’t spell worth a damn. “Hay girl your hott” literally makes me want to vomit, especially if you’re a 26 year old elementary school teacher. Also, if you’re a 26 year old, stop looking for random college girls and start making friends your own age. It’s like when people would graduate from high school and come visit the sophomores at lunch. Everyone thought it was cool until they realized that those high school graduates were reeeeally lame.

6. Speaking of dick pics…what the hell. I still don’t get it. I’ve tried so hard to understand the motivation behind sending them, but I just cannot understand. There’s nothing inherently wrong with male genitalia, but I can assure you that it is much more pleasant when it is seen in person. When you want to see it. When it’s attached to a guy you like. Who is being nice to you. And who doesn’t just whip it out willy-nilly (get it, willy? HA) without any warning.
Basically, think of it this way. I have no idea what to do with a picture of your penis except yell, “OH DEAR GOD” and immediately show it to all my friends who also think it’s icky. You just sexually assaulted me via telephone, and my brain just exploded because why did you do that I can’t figure out why you did that and then it takes every ounce of my self-restraint to not throw my phone across the room in horror.
Most recipients of dick pics don’t sit there staring at the picture for hours pining for it. Most recipients feel violated and dirty and just want you to stop virtually rubbing your genitalia all over their phone.

xo

Let Us Take a Trip Through Time


Let’s go back — far back (and I mean faaaar back, like a whole 4 years ago). Look into my crystal ball to see…

Teenage Cappy: writer, high school student and Strokes fan extraordinaire. She had long blonde hair, bangs, and was just learning how to do a cat eye (oh, so young with so much to learn about brow pencil and lipstick).

We’ll zoom in to April 2011, when Cappy was finishing her novella, Dark Blue, which showed promise to be one of the most forgotten works for young adults to date. Though…even I must admit, it was still a better love story than Twilight. Dark Blue told the story of a girl who found out her father had cheated on her mother with the mom of her crush. Confusing? Check. Bizarre and uncomfortable? Possibly. Unique storyline? Admittedly, yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Regardless, it featured some of the most contrived banter-dialogue known to man. See for yourself:

Screen Shot 2015-05-14 at 10.38.05 PM

Notice how frequently high-school-Cappy mentions and/or describes hairstyles in this particular excerpt. Classic. Believe me, there was a lot of “disheveled hair-flipping” and probably a few more brooding looks coming from Mack in that chapter, much less in the entire 116 page novella. The reader (whoever that is, unless the NSA hacked into my creative writing computer file) later finds that he was looking at her intently WITH HIS DARK BLUE EYES. OH LOOK, THERE’S THE TITLE.

Skip forward a bit to Bea and Mack realizing their parents had an affair 10 years prior. Slowly (really quickly within the span of about 15 pages) they fall in “love” even though Bea initially thought he was a stupid jock (he was just misunderstood!) and bond over their intense infatuation with The Strokes and other various indie/garage rock bands. Bea argues a lot with her dad (it’s weird to go back and see how much of my own life is reflected in this story) and Mack does something that makes Bea mad. Bea goes on some dates with a British exchange student who ends up only wanting her for sex (he is a total stock character if I ever wrote one) and Bea feels conflicted! OH GOD THE ANGST. Maggie’s character really only exists to serve as a stark contrast to Bea, and so fully embodies the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope that I’m surprised I didn’t actually know that trope existed until years after I wrote her character.

Dark Blue is fun to read over again, because it gives me a little glimpse of Cappy from 4 years ago. She just wanted to fall in love with a boy who liked music and played soccer and had dark hair, regardless of how FLAT HIS PERSONALITY WAS (oh my God it’s almost embarrassing how boring Mack is). It’s nice to see how far I’ve come (I now date jerky guys and pretty girls with long hair, so it’s kind of a step up).

Maybe I can salvage some plot points, rewrite some of the characters (literally every single character) and fix the dialogue (which may take the rest of my life, if we’re being realistic). I didn’t start this post with the intention of ripping apart the story I wrote when I was 17 years old, but it just happened. It’s so good to laugh at myself a little.

To be fair…it’s a damn good attempt. I wrote something with a beginning, middle, and end, and it was 116 pages long and took a year to write, and it made me feel accomplished. It’s better than some actual published books I’ve read (sorry E.L. James, but I still think I was a better writer than you when I was 17 and I didn’t even have to rely on bondage to make my plot at least somewhat interesting). I love going back and seeing where I was, because at least I can point to some new stuff I’ve written and say “I’ve come pretty freaking far.” It doesn’t discourage me from writing; in fact, it encourages me, because it shows me how much I can grow in a short time if I just keep writing.

Am I the first writer to give her own novella a bad review? Probably not. And anyway, I’ll just keep on keepin’ on.

xo

Oh…did I mention that I began each chapter with a song lyric that embodied that chapter? Because I did. The prologue describing Bea’s parents’ divorce started with a Tupac line. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.

One Time, A Guy Sang At Me


I always feel really conflicted when men come up and do things that they clearly think are nice when really they’re just making me uncomfortable.

So…for example, one time a guy sang at me. I say he sang at me because I sort of just sat there, bewildered, while I was accosted by Justin Bieber lyrics. He had approached me in the student union, asked me my name and told me I had a “beautiful smile.” He then proceeded to ask me if I had a boyfriend, because he’d “seen my boyfriend this morning. In the mirror.”

Clever. Also why is this happening?

Then he grabbed my hand (stop stop I do not do well with random strangers touching me please stop) and sang “Boyfriend” by Justin Bieber. I think at that point we might’ve gotten engaged, but I really don’t know because I think maybe I have PTSD and also I was focusing on trying to extricate my hand from his grip while simultaneously not seeming like a bitch.

And that’s the issue. I didn’t want to seem like a bitch. He was invading my personal space, particularly because I was trying to do my homework and didn’t really want to have a weird conversation with a random guy. But somehow I was concerned with making him feel comfortable in the situation; my entire life I’ve been subtly told that it’s my job to make sure that men feel comfortable, which…barf, no.

This is the type of thing that women navigate daily. It can be really lovely when people come up to you and say nice things and or just want to brighten your day by giving you a compliment. But it’s can also be really frustrating, because sometimes men assume that women want that sort of thing all the time, and we don’t. Sometimes we just want to get on with our lives without someone assuming that it’s okay to invade our space and make us uncomfortable. I didn’t know that guy. I didn’t want to go on a date with him. I actually told him I had a girlfriend, which was a total lie, and I still don’t totally know why I did that. I wanted to show him that I was both uninterested and unavailable for him while not having to actually say that out loud (thinking back, I probably should’ve just told him I wanted him to leave me alone). But even after I outed myself as not heterosexual to a random stranger, he stayed. That was when he started singing to me and holding my hand.

I laughed about it later with my roommate, because it was so random and out of nowhere, but I definitely felt more bewildered than happy about what had happened. Often, women have interactions with men that make them uncomfortable, and we just walk away from those encounters feeling bad and confused. I think we typically don’t feel justified in being upset about these types of things, because often men’s response is “why can’t you just take the compliment?”

I don’t want to be “complimented” like that. I do not want to be touched by strangers. I do not want to be sang to by strangers. I do not want to be hit on by strangers when I’m minding my own business at 4 pm in the student union.

I don’t know. This post was originally going to be a funny story about a weird thing that happened to me, but I couldn’t write it that way. As I wrote, I just felt weird. I don’t want people to do that; I don’t do that to other people. I just want to go about my life without people touching me without my permission simply because I’m a woman and they assume that I’ll be flattered. It was kinda creepy, to be honest. And I’m aware that some doofus is going to comment on this post and tell me I’m being a bitch, but at least people on the internet can’t try to hold my hand.