Where Have I Been?

I've been singing to people's pets a lot more which is a good sign of mental health, right? 

Wonderful news! After a few months of a break, I am ready to rejoin the land of blogging magic fun time. I can't tell you how much I missed the added stress of writing for an audience of virtually zero (I didn't), but I have missed feeling like a semi-legit, practicing writer. Because let's be honest, that is the only real benefit I get from this silly little hole in the internet. We have fun together right? Let's pretend it's an indie romance movie, where it's all quirky and cute and way better than it actually would be in reality, because you can't ever smell weird hipster beard sweat through a movie screen. (Smell-o-vision though? Who wants to bring back that million dollar idea?)

A lot has happened in the past few months and most of it is way too serious for me to really dive deep into without getting all existential and melodramatic and serious and possibly offensive to certain people. Instead I'm going to skim the surface. You know, like a real journalist would.

What Have I Been Doing for the Past Two Months? 

Traveling to California 

I went to Orange County/Los Angeles at the beginning of March. It was like going to a ghost town. There were all these buildings full of memories, but to me, they felt empty. I had lunch with my favorite professor, stayed with the only friend I'm still in relative frequent contact with, and avoided the crap out of my old school. I even took the bus up the road next to it and wore a hood and sunglasses in case anyone got on and might recognize me. I was that neurotic. The way I feel about my art career still very much feels like a huge break up and relationship fall out, and I'm still recovering. Also I hate explaining to people where my life is going. Because it's not. 

Competing in the Pacific Pole Championships

I competed and won my division, which was rewarding, but only in the smallest of ways because I only had one competitor, and let's be real, I totally kicked ass in comparison. People responded really well to my routine. It was great to feel like a winner for about 5 seconds, but it was a little overshadowed by the fact that no one actually watched. Here is a shortened but very real account of what happened the day of the competition. 

Me: Wakes up in the morning. Excited to perform with a bunch of friends watching this year, unlike the last year where I was all alone 

Friends #1 and #2: Oh! By the way, our flights leave before your performance and we're going to have to miss it. 

Me: That's ok, plenty of other people will be there! 

Later at the venue 

Friend #3: (Calls on the phone) I'm sorry, I'm not going to be able to make it, I can't afford a ticket (She was also my ride back to OC) 

Me: That's ok, I know lots of people here, I'm sure I'll get a ride with someone, don't worry about it. 

Friend #4: I can't wait to watch you perform! And sure. you can ride back with me. I have to be back in OC by 5. 

Me: Oh, I'm performing at 4:30. I guess you won't be able to make it. But don't worry, I'll find a ride with someone else. 

Friend #5: Oh I wanted to watch you, but our car has a flat and we need to leave now. Sorry! But #7 and #8 will be there and video it for me. 

Me: That's ok, I understand! 

Friend #6: Good luck in your performance, I have a flight to catch this afternoon. 

Me: Well it was good to see you!

Friend #7 and #8: Oh we want to watch you, we'll be there don't worry!  

Friend #9: I'm totally here today just to watch you. 

I go on and perform around 5 pm.

Friends #7, #8, and #9: Oh no! We all just missed it because we were out to eat and didn't make it back in time. 

I did get a ride back (which was very nice because I got to connect with someone I haven't seen in awhile) and I did have about 3 people who actually watched, but damn if it wasn't a disappointing and difficult day. Trying to maintain focus while periodically going to the bathroom to cry is never easy. 

Speaking of which...

Crying into pillows 

Lots of pillows. February and March were difficult months. 

As my coworker pointed out one day, pole was all I had to live for. It's been that way for awhile now. I seriously might be dead in multiple ways now if it weren't for it. 

Getting all existential and deep 

Ugh god. Did you see my last post on this blog? 

In a lot of therapy 

I somehow signed up for this with perfect timing, as my first appointment was the day after I broke up with Old Crow. As someone who spent a lot of my teenage years in and out of various counselor's and therapist's offices, it's been going surprisingly well. I guess the secret is to find someone with a sense of humor who will actually make fun of Boulderites and other people who are mean to you. She also makes me do stuff like clean my room. Kind of like a mom-for-hire. 

Drinking a lot of lattes

For awhile I decided to totally indulge myself and spend way too much money on sugary drinks that have no nutritional value for me. Seriously. I probably racked up at least $100 worth on lattes in the past few weeks. I need to get my own espresso machine. 

Things should calm down a little more now that I've realized caffeine is probably what's been causing me so much nausea

Performing in Denver for Elevated Art

Me being all bizarre and drag-gy. 

It was my first paid performance experience and probably the best time I've ever had on stage. I did a silly Charlie Chaplin routine that came out of my weird obsessive comedic animation background. As I was backstage putting on man clothes and drawing a mustache on my face, standing next to a bunch of girls in pretty underwear doing their hair all fancy, I couldn't help but think how bizarre I can be sometimes. I got weirdly anxious about this before I went on. I kept thinking "Why am I so weird?" It turned out a lot of people really loved my performance and I felt very warm and fuzzy inside. I love performing for a supportive audience!

Being a Pole Celebrity Handler 

O.M.G. Natasha Wang, one of the highest of high pole idols, was the celebrity performance for the Elevated Art show and somehow I was in the position to be her chauffeur/handler. I gave her rides and made sure she knew where to find coffee in the morning and recommended places to eat, of which I am terrible at and got a lot of anxiety about, but damn did I feel legit. It was way better than that time I carried David C. Owen's backpack for him. I also took a few of her workshops which were fabulous, and when I told her I was preparing for a competition in a week, she went out of her way to watch my routine and give me some feedback. I couldn't help but freak out a little on the inside having Natasha Wang sit down and personally watch me alone in the studio. I am someone who avoids private lessons and don't even like choreographing or training in front of people because I just prefer my space to experiment and make mistakes without being embarrassed. But it was a great opportunity and great practice, so I am very thankful. She was lovely to have in Colorado and I hope I didn't scare her away from us by being well, me. 

Being a cat handler

This was not as successful as being a pole celebrity handler, which is weird because I'm usually much better with animals than I am with people. That Fucking Cat, which is the unofficial name of my employers/friends adorably fluffy kitten, tormented me with her feces while I was house sitting. All I ever showed her was love and adoration, thinking she simply was not getting enough and what did she do in return? She pooped and peed on the bed I was sleeping in. Three days in a row. One time while I was in the room with her and had my back turned. Natasha even thought I might have peed the bed…for…some…reason? There is nothing like having your pole idol assume you wet the bed. She was dead to me after that... for about a week. But I can't resist her fluffiness. I'm still mad at her though, and my love is a little more abusive now. I feel really bad about Viv's mattress. I did more laundry that week than I do in a month. 

I am weak!

Going on a few very lame OKCupid dates

The site has altogether ceased to be entertaining to me, even in a bad way. It's just boring. I went on a date with a guy who spent 5 minutes explaining the rules of shuffleboard to me about half an hour into our first date. (Men, if a woman tells you she doesn't know anything about shuffleboard, it is not necessarily an invitation to explain it to her, unless you are 75 and that is your 'move'.) 

The best irony, however, is that a week later I went to the very bar with shuffleboard in Denver that was the whole reason he rambled on about it. It was across the street from a bar I went to on my second date with Old Crow, where we drunkenly did amateur swing dancing and made out and it was totally an indie romance movie and I felt super shitty about the whole thing and basically bolted out of there as fast as I could. Irony is so much fun. 

Oh yes, please keep going 

Performing in Oklahoma in a Legit National Pro Competition

I applied to Miss Pole Dance Oklahoma in January and did not make it in, but last minute I received an email saying someone had dropped out and I was the 11th place finalist. They offered me a spot and so of course I took it. I felt way in over my head, as I think I am just on the cusp of actually being pretty decent at pole, but I'm not quuuuite there yet. Like I said, Natasha Wang gave me a few pointers and even though I was swamped preparing for two other big performances that month, I dove in head first and put together a routine. At the actual competition many things went wrong. I did not land my big move and my shorts got caught in the last minute of the performance, becoming very distracting and keeping me from hitting a few extensions for fear of flashing the audience with my vagina. It was irony striking once again because a girl backstage had been passing out body tape telling everyone she learned the hard way a few months earlier when her labia slipped out to the audience and she had pointed deducted. I remember thinking I'd be fine, I'd never had a problem with the kind of shorts I was wearing. More irony in the fact that I had changed my shorts last minute at the advice of Natasha so they'd be a more "performance" appropriate cut, even though they were still one of my familiar brands. Bleh. 

Anyway, there were a couple of notable experiences here. Besides the performance learning experience I met some super nice pole people. At first it was very intimidating, as everything felt like a catty dance movie because we all sized each other up and watched during the practice time. As soon as the competition was over though, everyone just wanted to get drunk and have a good time together. I mean seriously, these people were super nice. Everyone was supportive and gave me positive feedback on my routine even though it was not my best. And Michelle Mynx, bless her, told me something I will not forget because I feel the same way. "I can't wait to see where you will be in a few years." Me neither, Michelle, because I am pretty at this rate I could be pretty damn good. 

I felt like I actually did a decent job being social, which is something I'm working very hard on with my therapy. Apparently my inability to make friends is the main source of my unhappiness. Who knew. 

In any case, I can officially say I've competed in a professional national competition, even though I kind of sucked, I still feel a little more legit than I did before.

Doing a lot of math and programming homework

I'm not getting as good grades as I did in high school, but I realize now it's not as important as I thought it once was and besides, I'm still getting pretty decent grades. It's difficult stuff for my brain and if I do code before I go to sleep I have the weirdest dreams (sometimes I try to program pole dancing or pulling up the blankets). However it feels really good knowing I am learning marketable skills and have serious potential to have steady jobs in the future. Plus! I know I am expanding my genius in new directions and I'm going to be that much better at life when people decide to pay me a bazillion dollars for being me. One day. 

I always feel really good when I get a program to do what I want, even if I can't see straight for a few hours afterwards.

Getting ready for my first legit aerial performance

It's not paid, but it's my first solo aerial performance on a real stage. I'm doing it for a friend from high school as a part of her undergrad thesis, so I am happy to help out another artist for free, even though I know it's about time to set some standards if I want to be taken seriously. Oh well. It's for a friend. Plus it finally forced me to buy my own equipment, which is super duper exciting. 

It's in 2 weeks at Naropa. If you're in town you should come see it! 

Training up a storm

My latest big goal is to make it to the Boulder Theater stage for the Colorado Pole Chapionships this September. This is scary to admit out loud because I am aware there is a very real possibility it could not happen, but I gotta try. It's all about mindset yo! (Tell that to the happy pills I'm taking) 

I'm also planning to apply for the professional training program at my aerial studio this summer, which is a year of circus fun time school I have no way of paying for. I have to be able to do 3 pull-ups and 5 leg lifts though and I have no idea if that'll actually happen. I can currently do 2.5 and 0. I'd be a shameful female Marine. 

Every few months it's like someone invents some new way to put my legs above my head that I can't freaking do. 

Having Serious Dog envy

I'm currently like a married 30 year old woman who is just ready to blow up with a baby. I can't stop seeing cute dogs everywhere and I waaaaant one. Even though I have no money or time or my own place. I don't care, they're so fucking cute! I am weak, I tell you, weak! 

Me and a giant fluffy malamute I'm pretty sure I have to kidnap

Editing my novel 

I am trying to make an actual career happen here, people. I've been working at this novel for over a year and determined to make it happen. I'm 1/4 the way through the first hand edit, then a pass through the computer where I make the actual changes, then get some people to edit it for me, change things, and then maybe I'll start looking for an agent. 

IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN I'M GOING TO BE A REAL WRITER DAMMIT I KNOW I CAN DO IT. 

Heck yea! 

Real writers make loud declarations of their dreams in all caps on blogger websites. 

Being Not So Sexless and Cynical

Ambiguous reference here! But I'm back on the horse and getting my feet rubbed without even having to ask and sleeping on the opposite of the world's shittiest bed and it feels pretty nice. 

Enjoying springtime 

God it feels so good. I know they're weeds, but fucking love them dandelions. They just make me happy. I'm like a little girl and will pick them and put them on my dashboard so I can drive around and feel satisfied. 

I love spring time. And it's not just a seasonal affective thing. Eternal spring in California was no good to me. I just love seeing things change and come alive. I feel like I come alive with the world. 

Strange Sea, Plus Bonus Cute Things

When I was younger, before my parents got divorced, I used to travel to South Carolina every summer and vacation at Edisto Beach for a week. We never took big, lavish international vacations like a lot of my rich white kid peers, which is weird because I am also totally a rich white kid, but I am extremely thankful for the memories I had at that humble little island anyway. It was a beautiful place.

I used to spend hours out on the beach. Sometimes I'd make fake pasta with seaweed and bits of pool toys in holes I dug in the sand with my cousins because grown up shit was somehow always really cool*. Little did I know that was the universe foreshadowing my future as a young adult shrouded in misery and darkness, making nothing but pasta all the time because I was not fortunate enough to be one of the few to which cooking brings joy. Damn you, universe. I thought making food was going to be fun and not a task which would cause me to become existential on a routine basis!




I digress.

When I wasn't playing in the sand I was out in the waves. I was bragging to this to a guy the other day who seemed super impressed, so I'll repeat it now: I was an amazing boogie boarder. In fact, I might have to add that to my dating profile. Because seriously guys, I was friggin' awesome at it. My 8 year old self got such an adrenaline high from catching those 3 foot Atlantic waves. That is what I'd look forward to most of all during summer vacation. Well, that and the giant plastic containers of cheese puffs my aunt and uncle would bring on the trip.

But when I wasn't catching mad redonk surf with my board, I'd sometimes turn around and launch myself off the wave as it rolled past. I'd pretend I was Pocahontas when she jumped off the waterfall into the canoe and then get to go meet hunky dunky John Smith with his sexy 90s boy band hair. Sometimes, I'd let the boogie board drift to the side while I let the waves lift me up and I'd twirl around and pretend I was a ballerina. I never would have admitted to fantasizing about being a ballerina, it was way too girly for me at the time, but it's true, I wanted to dance. I always have.

And then other times, I'd just sit there, cling to my boogie board, look at the ocean, and think about things. I'd often wonder what would happen if I got caught by the riptide and it took me out to sea. What it might be like to sit all alone in the ocean by yourself with nothing but a cheap styrofoam boogie board to hold on to. How it would be to not be able to see land at all. Would I get cold? Would I get tired? Hungry? Thirsty? Would I get eaten by sharks? Could I swim back to land? Would anyone come save me? Would they be able to find me? Would I be afraid?

How long would it before I would give up hope completely?

It's funny, the universe had once again foreshadowed to my future. These days I let my mind drift a lot. I can't focus on anything and I constantly feel like I'm floating in some massive strange sea. I legitimately get dizzy and images sort of get fuzzy if I don't concentrate hard enough frequently. I keep thinking about the things I want to do, what the next steps are, and it's like I am walking on jell-o, except it's way less cool and for some reason I'm not allowed to stuff my face with it. Meanwhile, I have to keep doing the things I am supposed to do, like taxes and laundry and math homework.

Then I get these bizarre moments of solidity. I feel like I can do whatever I want if I just believe in myself and work hard enough, that I am amazing and nothing is going to stop me, this is just the part of the movie where the going gets tough. You know, where I'm all like "I am woman, hear me roar," and all that jazz. The world gets all amazing and inspiring and I can feel dance inside of me to beats in the music I'm listening to and every emotion I have is teeming, yes teeming, out of my fingers and the color of the sky makes me want to weep. I'm so artsy and everything is so meaningful. It's deep, yo.

Of course, then something frustrating happens. Sometimes it is when my homework is hard, or if I think about any one of my failed relationships, or I have too many boogers in my nose. Suddenly my world comes crashing down again and I'm floating in my quarter-life crisis ocean once more.

It's been a very unforgiving cycle.

I haven't written in awhile because not only am I beyond stressed out by the pressure of performing thrice in one month has put on me, but also because I haven't been able to think many positive thoughts about my life or life in general, and it gets very difficult sometimes, because that isn't who I want to be, at least not to other people. So I am going to remain not writing anything, because I can only do so much, I only have so much energy (in other news I wonder if I am anemic?), and mustering the amount of energy it takes to be positive to an internet full of strangers is a hell of a lot for me right now. So when things get a little better, I promise, you will be the first to know.


I'm not going to draw anything because I have a bunch of homework to go do, so here is a collection of cute animal things I totally stole off tumblr.

I hope they improve your day as much as they improved mine.


*I used to play "jobs" with my friends all the time. We'd just sit there for hours and pretend type on fake laptops and be endlessly entertained. We never did play "taxes" or "student loan debt" though.

Everything Feels Shitty

Not to be a downer or anything but.

I'm going to be a downer.

For the one hundred millionth time. I know I seem like I have a mental breakdown every month, but the truth is, it is just an ongoing thing.

I have sad news.  My last post wasn't my 100th post. I apparently have made 100 posts + drafts, but only 84 of those have actually made it out to you.

Ok but really.

Yes. My shit is purple. 

This is the only picture I could bring myself to draw, and honestly, it's just so there is something attached to my Facebook link. I'm sorry. I just don't have the heart for anything more.

I don't have the heart for anything lately. If I could, I'd melt into my bed and become a sullen little Meri monster that exists in the abstract time and space between the rusting springs of the mattress I've owned since I was three years old. I'd only come out to mingle with dust bunnies and pretend to the boogeyman for small and vulnerable children.

Or maybe I could just be nothing.

I think I might prefer that, actually.



It all started with community college.

When I was in high school, I always thought of community college as the dumping ground for students who failed to live up to basic academic standards. Since I was always reassured I was smart by every grown-up who was relatively familiar with my writing and reading comprehension scores, I scoffed at the thought of ever going to such a place. I was in mother-fucking Gifted and Talented when I was 13, yo, community college had no place in my life. I would much rather expand my horizons by going to an out of state college where everything was so miserable that I would never leave my apartment. That was definitely a better life path.

I mean, being as insanely intelligent as I was, I knew community college really was more than just that. It is also an economically logical school for attending and useful for people who want a new or different start, not just a place where all those kids who smoked cigarettes by the road in front of my high school went once they finally realized the horrible life choices they'd made. But it still had that stigma in my mind when I stepped foot inside for the beginning of the spring 2014 semester one month ago.

I felt like a failure and it did not help that everyone around me in the hallways looked like kids I used to know in high school, AKA not weird looking art students. Oh and the fact that there were actually people in the hallways. Like a normal school. Haven't seen that in awhile. On my first day I passed two people talking seriously in the hallway and this is the actual conversation I overheard:

Boy: Well, what can you do?
Girl: Die.
Boy: ...Yea. True.

It was like they were speaking to me. It was a sign. Because I wanted to die right then very much.

I did not feel right about being in the whole place until a series of other shitty events made me dead in the eyes just enough to fit in with everyone else. Now I can walk with my head lowered in defeat like the rest of the student population. I even bombed my first math exam like a real high school failure.

The first math exam of the semester should be the easiest, since in theory it mostly covers review material, but it was not so easy for me. I spent the entire 2 hours and 15 minutes to work on it and bullshitted at least 8 out of the 42 questions because I ran out of time, writing down equations and random answers hoping I'd get some partial credit for "showing my work" (I did). By some miracle I managed an 80%, which is the very bottom rung of "acceptable" in my universe, but that did not mean I didn't want to burst into tears during the test because I could remember anything about the difference quotient. Which I first learned about when I was 15. Eight whole years ago.

I know I can be a good student. I've done it before. So why am I seriously fucking things up so much for the first time ever?

It's not that I didn't study. I studied for hours. I studied my little anxiety-ridden student heart out, the way a girl who always haughtily thought she was above community college would. In theory I should have nailed it. I am chalking it up to the fact that last week, a day before the exam, I was dumped for the first time ever.*

As it turns out studying through a literal veil of tears isn't quite so effective.

Well alright, that is not 100% accurate. I've been dumped before. But I've never been dumped by someone I didn't already want to break up with. Hey, I wasn't very mature about communication in high school, alright?

This time around it really stung however, and on top of watching another dream job fall into pieces in front of me during the same week, I haven't been doing so well ever since. I don't even know what I want to say in words-- my precious words that I usually have so many of-- because I feel so hurt. There simply aren't any words for it, just memories in my head that I run through over and over again wondering where I could have done better and stupid pointless hopes lingering in the back of my head like hungry stray dogs waiting outside of a restaurant that already know there aren't any scraps to spare. And the desire to melt into my bedsheets of course, of which my face is working very hard to achieve.

On the whole, I am unsure of how I am processing. This is what I do know:

1. My feelings towards the universe change every six seconds, with the default being my standard "I hate everything" and at best things are "Maybe one day somehow things will get sort of kind of ok. Maybe." 

2. I almost got through a whole day yesterday without crying (almost).

3. When I hit a mood of "I want to go out in my badass ponytail and yoga pants and fuck some shit up," I felt like I was making a breakthrough. 

4. I can't tell if I am overreacting or not. I probably am. I overreact to my whole life. In a very quiet, unassuming way. Somehow. 

5.Other than that I have thus far resisted the temptation to surprise my family with a new dog. I've been missing my ex-boyfriend's previous male friend with whom I spent most of my free time and went out on dates on a regular basis and was intimate with's** dog and I realize I can no longer stand to live vicariously though other people's pets. So it's probably only a matter of time. 

6. I went on a date on Sunday hoping it would help me deal with things or at least distract me. It was alright until the guy kissed me goodnight and I nearly lost my shit. He hasn't contacted me since. Yup. Definitely way too soon. 

7. My only consolation prizes are that I am saving a fuck-load on gas money not driving to Denver multiple times a week and I no longer have to sleep on the world's shittiest bed.

8. I made a tiramisu for a date night awhile back (think Superbowl time) and brought it back home with me after things ended thinking it might still be ok and maybe someone in my family would want it. It has sat untouched in my fridge for a week but I refuse to throw it out until I feel more emotionally capable of letting go… I am pretty certain it will rot in there. 


It was a lucky coincidence that the day after shit hitting the fan I started therapy, something I have long avoided. Everyone kept telling me to do it and feeling trapped in a corner, I foresaw a shitty future, so for once in my life I was on the ball about my emotional health.

And then I went and wrote this super personal post and we can all see I'm turning into a train wreck. So that undid all the good steps I've made so far.

Anyway. Take me setting foot in community college, losing a job I've been working to have for months, getting dumped by the first person that made me feel genuine happiness and gave me chronic nausea at the same time, having a severe reaction to that, therapy, and well... All of these events have made me begin to face the fact that I ended up in community college not because I am an academic failure but because I have mental health issues.

There. I said it.

A lot of things in my life are because I just don't know how to deal with people or with my own emotions. It is not because I am not smart or good at the things I do. There is just some bridge in my brain that got knocked out somewhere down the line…. y'know, the whole "social intelligence" bridge.

So here I am. Everything feels shitty. Nothing anyone has said to me in the past two weeks has made me feel even remotely better. When I turn off my lights and lay down at night I feel like I'm being strangled in the chest, if that makes any sense, which is why is almost 1 AM and I persist onwards in writing.


I dunno. "Everything feels shitty." That is just all there is right now. And that is probably all there will be for awhile. Maybe hopefully one day it kind of sort will be ok. If I'm lucky. I don't have any choice but to wait and see, do I?


I'm going to try to write a lighter take on this next week that will hopefully make the both of us laugh.



*Not to mention two days before valentines day and two weeks before my pole competition, of which the latter makes me more upset because now I have no focus and seriously decreased motivation to care. 
**Because apparently that doesn't make someone your boyfriend. Also sorry if I don't know how to properly use "whom" in a sentence. I can never remember the rule. And frankly, I don't give a fuck because you know what I meant. So actually no. I'm not sorry. 
***Hooray for passive aggressive footnotes! 

Walls (100th Post Go Me!)

Sometimes in life, we decide we want to do things and stuff.

But while going down the merry path of things and stuff,

we run into walls.

The walls, being walls, stand in our way from going down the merry things and stuff path.

They're not usually very nice about it, either.

That is when we come to a point where we have to make a decision.

We can try and do something about this wall, or we can turn around and go back down the merry path of things and stuff and find a different things and different stuff path.

Often this is a difficult decision. I've chosen both before.

I once ran into a wall I've so aptly named "getting rejected to my dream school."

It made me sad.

But I decided to sit at the wall and work on my foundational art skills for a year. Then I turned back to the wall and tried to hurl myself over it.

I ran into it again. I was rejected the second time.

So I decided to get creative, since art school taught me about that shit.

I went to a different art school. And so I was back skipping down the merry path of becoming an artist.

Then I encountered another big wall. This wall was called "competence crisis."

It was a bitch of a wall.

I contemplated for awhile. I could try to overcome this wall, but because it was so big, I had no idea what would be on the other side. Perhaps even bigger walls.

And so I considered what would happen if I turned away.

This can be difficult, especially when you've put so much effort and time into going over the previous walls. It can be heart-breaking, too. However sometimes, you just have to be realistic about the outcomes. If I climbed this wall and became "the artist," or "the animator," I may be broke and forever in debt with no job security for the rest of my life, which could obstruct my abilities to explore other paths I wanted to see, like world travel, having a nice home, or having a family. I may be able to find great success on the other side, but with this I knew, again, I would also sacrifice my entire life.

And so I turned around and found other paths for myself.

It was a really, really difficult thing to do.

Maybe one day, I'll be able to find a new way around this wall. When I undoubtedly approach it in other realms, I will learn new tactics to deal with it.

Walls are just problems for us to solve. They challenge and test us, and our responsibility is to learn and grow from them.

But sometimes when we run into walls, they just topple right over us.

And crush us underneath their weight. We are trapped inside of them.

It just gets darker and darker as time goes on.

OR YOU COULD JUST BE LIKE THIS MOTHER-FUCKING BUNNY AND GIVE NO FUCKS.

The end.


PS Sorry I can be so dramatic sometimes.

20 Something Girls vs. 30 Something Girls

First off, I am a wizard.

Check out this article about a woman who got drunk six weeks back and broke into the elephant enclosure in the Denver zoo.

Sound familiar?

I wrote about it in a blog last November. Sure, maybe not exactly the elephant enclosure, but pachyderms are pretty close. They're both grey and leathery and gigantic and can totally rip your head off very easily.

This post was made November 9, just a little over a month before someone stole my glory.

I can't decide if I was beaten to the punch or if I possibly inspired and changed the life of an individual.  I like to think the latter, leaving out of my conscience the probable ailments and court date she was assigned.

Just another days work for us at Sexless and Cynical!

Second, today I am taking a break to talk about my meaningless personal life to rant about television again. Yay! I bet you are excited. It is a long overdue post I outlined awhile ago before school hit me like a brick. I've been trying very hard to stay on top of it and prove my worth as an intelligent human being, all while trying to fight the feeling of mediocrity via community college, so blogging hasn't been a priority. You'll hear more about it later. But please excuse the fact that this blog will mostly be other peoples images, because I simply don't have time to draw anything. I'm trying to stay stretchy and also sane right now.

Here is what I'm going to be ranting giving an analytical and open to debate discussion on:
(because that sounds way more intellectual)

Girls vs. Sex and the City

Once upon a time I made a status update on Facebook, as per my usual boring life behavior. This post was about my guilty pleasure and undeniable love for Sex and the City. Someone commented back saying I should just watch Girls, because it is the same thing except with younger women. I scoffed. I didn't care that Sex and the City was an outdated 90s show that applied to literally nothing in my life. It held a special place in my heart.

I started watching Sex and the City on TBS in high school when my mom finally put a TV in my room, mostly because there was nowhere else to put it and it was about 12x12 inches and no one else wanted it. It came on for an hour every night at 10, and I was soon a devotee to the sage-like words of Carrie Bradshaw. It taught me what being a woman was truly all about. Kind of.

The basis of the show is four women with inexplicably endless piles of money* to spend on designer brands of everything and bitch about how men don't like how whiny and needy they are. They search for happiness and true love through sex and marriage all while upholding the true, untouchable "BFF" bond.

I justified my watching of it by claiming that every woman, no matter how "down to earth" she was, had a secret inner need for fabulousness. I'm not the "fabulous" type myself, despite my stunning grace and beauty, but there was a little part of me that always sighed in desire while viewing the show. It filled that tiny space in me that ached for expensive shoes, cosmopolitans, and rich boyfriends in New York City.

Ok. I know. It's basically a complete and total fantasy world. Maybe that is why I liked it. It is not exactly an…empowering show for women. The four main characters, despite what careers they have chosen, act more or less like airheads at least half the time, more for Charlotte, who is more marriage obsessed than the rest. Strangely enough though, she is the only one who ever dresses in relatively normal looking outfits? Their focus on men is a headache at best and screaming at the television screen at worst, along with some really sub-par moments of acting that make even me embarassed. The only character that is bearable is the nymph-o, Samantha, and only because she is crazy. So that is at least fun.

Despite this, I still enjoyed it. It was a romp, I suppose, in a world I'll probably never know. (Unless I get super internet famous and earn piles of money, move to NYC, and can pay people to be my friends).

But the years did pass and eventually I decided it was time to give in and watch Girls, because it clearly wasn't going away and I needed something new to watch. I got over my laziness and scrounged up the links online and sat through all 20 episodes, which was peanuts compared to the nine? seasons of Sex and the City, plus two movies, that I had seen all of which multiple times before. So this might not be the most thorough of comparisons.

Everyone makes this comparison though, right? Girls and Sex and the City. OooOoOh the controversy. I'm sure I'm breaking new ground here.

As stated on the Girls wikipedia page, which I looked up because I'm such a legit writer I do my research. On wikipedia. Apparently Girls was inspired by Sex and the City, mainly by the women striking out and trying to "make it" in NYC thing. Girls aimed to fill the gap in between being the rich teenagers of Gossip Girl and the rich 30 something women of Sex and the City by being broke 20 year olds. How that works, I'm not sure. The point is, the show is aware of the ties. In the very first episode there is a little nod to SatC, both highlighting the comparison but also blatantly trying to separate itself as a production. What it said to me was "We know about Sex and the City. And we know we are similar. But in fact, we are different."

That seems to be a central theme surrounding the main character, Hannah, in fact. How different she is. She's overweight and weird and so artsy and writer-y that it makes my head want to explode. She is basically like every illustration major I've ever met. As the show progressed I couldn't help but get that little itch in the back of my mind that there was something I did not like about it. It wasn't the writing. At times it could be very poignant and beautiful, which was a deep contrast to Sex and the City, where the writing was more or less an afterthought between sexual innuendos. The stories were fine, and the characters were complex enough I suppose. And then I hit episode 5 of season 2, where Hannah shacks up with this stranger she randomly meets for a couple of days, and well, obviously it doesn't end in happily ever after. Mainly due to the fact that she gives this long speech that makes the guy think twice about her. I don't blame him, either. It made me pretty irritated.

Here is more or less the transcript, because I couldn't find the scene on youtube: 

"Please don't tell anyone this, but...I want to be happy. ... I didn't think that I did. I made a promise such a long time ago that I was gonna take in experiences, all of those, that I could tell people about them and maybe save them but it gets so. tiring. Trying to take in all the experiences for everybody, letting anyone say anything to me. 

I realize I'm not different. You know. I want what everyone wants, I want what they all want. I want all the things. I just want to be happy. 

...

Something is broken inside of me. 

You know what I think I didn't realize before I met you that I was like, lonely. In such a deep, deep way. You know and I was reaching for all this stuff but all I really needed was to be able to look at a person and be like "oh that person wants to be there after I'm dead," you know?

You think I'm a crazy girl? 

If anything I just think I'm like, too smart and too sensitive and too like, not crazy. So that I'm feeling all these big feelings and containing all this stuff for everybody else and it's like... Ok I read this article about Fiona Apple in New York Magazine and where she said, "Oh everybody acts like I'm nuts. I'm not nuts, I just want to feel it all." It's like that is what I'm like, I just want to feel it all. You know? "

These people, the main character especially, are so wrapped up in themselves. It's all about them. And their needs. Every time they have to be supportive for someone else they complain and say "People just need me all the time and I can't do everything for everyone all the time! Blahblahblah."

This show is clearly aiming to give a more realistic portrayal of the young woman of New York City. I suppose women with less money is honest, sure. And maybe they aren't quite as sex and relationship obsessed, by you know, having conversations not about men once in awhile. But christ! These characters aren't airheads, no, but their heads are still up their asses. "I'm too smart and too sensitive" Please. Just stop. You have people looking to this show and this quote like it's actually a good thing to feel that way. At the end of season one/beginning of season two, Hannah dumps the guy she's been chasing for an entire season because she's "afraid." When he tells her "We're all afraid," she responds, "Yea, but I am more afraid than everyone else."

At least when Sex and the City has it's earnest moments, they have a sort of purity to them. That makes us not want to completely slap characters upside the head. The acting isn't great, but at least she isn't ignorant about other peoples feelings.

THIS is why I don't like the show. The characters are all selfish and unrealistic as human beings. Just LOOK at Shoshanna for goodness sakes, and tell me real people act like that.

Ok but I do kind of love her just like I love Samantha.

Maybe there is a rawness to the lives they live, but that doesn't make it real. Maybe there is some very eloquent and poetic scripting at times, but it all still exists in the magical fantasy land of NYC, where people only move to so that they can be broke and wish for their dreams to come true their whole lives. IF they do, their heads just go right up their asses because somehow they've "made it" in NYC and can afford an apartment bigger than a toenail and that makes them better than the rest of us, who prefer to not follow our dreams and live in homes with room to do cool stuff like make pillow forts and have crazy dance parties to 90s pop.

…

Or perhaps I don't like the selfishness and dysfunction of the characters because it is so realistic, and I don't like facing the truth of reality. The truth that people are self absorbed and sad all the time. Maybe I don't want to admit it displays a reflection of who I am and I just don't like who I am.

Or maybe I just think these 20 something Girls are kind of stupid, just like the 30 something girls of Sex and the City, but with less exciting and romantic plot lines.

So, in conclusion, my overall assertion is that both shows exist is magical fantasy lands where women have inflated heads and are full of shit and care too much about men and wear really weird fucking clothes. Like what the fuck? People don't dress like that.

I prefer the over the top, sickly sweet shows about women and lives so far out of reach we don't have to despise them, but that is just me.

And now this, because I think it's funny:

*Not counting those few episodes where a writer realized that the main character, Carrie, writes a single column in a newspaper for a living in one of the most expensive cities in the world and still manages to live a high end lifestyle, so they put "money problems" in as a plot device, but then forgot about it after a few episodes when the conflict had run its course just like every other relationship Carrie has.