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.



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.

Why Isn’t This the Twenties?

The movie was terrible, but I think we can all agree that Robert Redford made a very handsome Gatsby.

Pull up your pants, boys, and get ready for the ride of your life, because I’m about to learn you a thing or two. I’ve recently realized that there aren’t enough lovely boys in my general vicinity, and this needs to change. So, I am now going to complain for about 300 words, after which you are to knock on my door and make me swoon. Good? Good.

WHERE THE EFF IS JAY GATSBY? Where is Augustus Waters? Because the universe seems to have misplaced them. Now, I will admit that men who care too much about their lady love can get reeeeally obnoxious (and/or creepy) pretty quick, but I would like to see a little more chivalry and a little more…well, general kindness. So here are a few tips, because really, I’m getting a little tired of the slim selection I’ve got.

1. As I’ve said before, pull up your pants. I think it’s great that you wear underwear, but I’d rather not see them unless you accidentally drop your laundry on the floor in front of me or something. Also, get a few sweaters, because those are cute and also classy.

2. Either shave your face or don’t, but don’t go halfway. It’s disgusting, and (shocker!) can chafe a bit if you’re kissing someone. Plus, the spotty-stache is never a good look, nor is the neck beard.

3. Open the damn door for a lady, if only so you can get a good look at her bum. That’s the one thing I love about going to school in a semi-rural area; everyone’s related to a farmer and has that part of chivalry down pat.

4. Take girls on dates. Don’t just “hang out,” because there’s plenty of time for that when you’re married and living in a rest home. Take her out somewhere fun. Dancing is always a good way to go (if you don’t dance I will shun you so hard it’ll make your teeth fall out).

5. Don’t you dare grab her ass. Ever. Caress? Sure, after a while. Grab? Never. Same goes for her chest region. Grabbin’ ain’t sexy, yo.

6. Educate yourself. Read a book, take a sociology class, go to lectures from famous people. Nothing is sexier than the brain…except maybe a good smile. If you educate yourself, though, you’ll have more reason to smile! See how easy that was?

7. Walk her home. Don’t slobber on her when you kiss her goodnight. Also, don’t lead girls on, don’t make unwanted advances, and…I mean really…don’t roofie her…

I feel like that list was extremely obvious, but I just wanted to educate you all. Basically, act like this is the twenties and you aren’t a gangster, bankrobber or drunkard.


On Feminism

Dear Men,

You can open the door for me. You can pay for my dinner. You can walk me home at night. You can carry me over puddles (do people still do that?).  And anyone who won’t let you is off her rocker.

Every human being on the planet wants independence, even those who think they don’t. Grownups don’t ask people to pick out their clothes every day, live with them at all times, enslave them, etc etc. Once you’re past the age of 16, you don’t want people helping you with every little thing you have to do. But there is a line I draw between independence and self-righteousness. Why in the name of  Gandalf’s burning bra would I get mad at you for being nice to me? Yeah, I bloody well will walk through the door before you, because the people inside probably want to see my pretty face, not your balding head.
Just kidding. But really…

As a woman, I want to make my own living, have my own ideas, and be independent of men (and other women…and my family). But I also want to be taken care of. Opening doors and walking me home at night is how you (men) show me that you care.
I want to write my way to the top, but it doesn’t mean I want people to let me get there simply because I’m a woman. I will make no excuses for my frailties…because I do have frailties, but it doesn’t mean that as a whole I am frail. I can do things on my own. I will not ask you (men) to help me out if I don’t need it. But when I do, I’ll expect you to be there (smiling and looking handsome) to give me a hand.

I want to wear short skirts. I want to look beautiful, and I want people to tell me so. I understand that wearing short skirts and being attractive have certain benefits and drawbacks. I understand that I am more likely to get whistled at by creepy men on the street when I wear short skirts than when I wear a potato sack and a bag over my head. However, I also expect men to keep it in their pants and contain themselves when I walk by and don’t look completely ugly. If I can walk by an attractive man without calling out and/or whistling, you (men) can too. At the same time, I am completely aware that I have no right to complain if I get called out for looking like a total tramp.

In a time when I have more rights than any of my female ancestors, I’m thankful for the sacrifices feminists made for me. I’m thankful that women were risking everything to call for women’s rights. I’m proud of what those women did for our society, and I’m glad that women are still working hard for my rights as an individual. But I’d like to stop being put into the category of “first woman to do this” and “second woman to do that.” As someone once said (but I forget who they were), it’s time for people to stop counting how many women have achieved things.

I am not a feminist. I am also not a child or an idiot. It’s time that extreme feminists realize that allowing people to do things for me does not mean I am weak, controllable, or unable to do those things for myself.  

So men, I am a person first and foremost. I am not strictly a woman. With that in mind, I expect to be treated as your equal. I also expect you to tell me to shut up if I get angry when you treat me nicely. There is nothing wrong with you holding a door open for me; I promise I will not slap you if you do. But promise me that if I want to open the door for you sometime, you’ll let me.



I Re-Love You.

Dear Cappy,
You are so amazing and wise. I love you. You make me jump for joy in public areas, you make my hair more bouncy, and you make my nose tickle in the best way possible.
A Reader.

I made that up. But really:

Dear Cappy,
I have been recently broken up with and I am sad. Should I go back to loving someone I used to love before all this happened?

Hopefully she won’t mind that I kind of paraphrased.

Dearest R.W.
In a word, no. In six words, no no no, bad sex kitten. You have about sixty-five million emotional ties to this person (probably…I don’t really know), and each of those ties is a good reason to not go back to loving him. You’ve probably forgotten all the reasons he sucks by now, so you only remember good things (like that he smells good or how your tummy got all fuzzy when he spoke). But somewhere in your subconscious, he’s loud and obnoxious, doesn’t treat you well enough, is married, something, ANYTHING…
If he’s not pursuing you, you’ll torture yourself over him until your eyeballs pop out, since we all know that we women-types like to analyze everything to death. And if he IS pursuing you, I say you should smack him upside the head, ask him what the hell he’s playing at, and move on. Don’t get rejected twice. It sucks.


I like to think this is him.

Right, I am not so diluted that I think I can actually obtain a man this perfectly WONDERFUL, but one can dream.

If anyone out there is this person, knows this person, is the father/sibling/cousin/great auntie of this person…let me know.

George (that will be his name) should:

Be Tall – I would rather not feel like I am towering over him at every moment or like I’ll crush him or something equally weird.

Be funny – I don’t want to tell a joke and have him think it isn’t funny. I WILL BE CONSIDERED FUNNY AT EVERY TURN.

Be half British-half Indian – That tends to make for a nice combo. Good accent, nice tan, usually a pretty nice nose. I can deal with that (see photo for reference).

Match my outfits – If I’m wearing a pretty dress, I don’t want my date/husband/man-servant to clash with me! That would be so embarassing.

Be able to reproduce any accent i desire at the moment – What is the point of having a manservant-uh, I mean boyfriend- who can’t speak to me in nice accents whenever I want? He’s British already, but what if I want Australian? Actually, I will never want Australian. But Southern might be nice sometimes. Or Spanish? Or Italian. Yeah, Italian might be nice. 

Have the wonderful ability to write poetry while simultaneously working out – I’m talking Fabio type action. Although, now that I think of it, Fabio was in I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter commercials…

Or, you know, he could just be an alien. How’s that for foreign?