Sexy Back: Do Not Know How

WARNING: This post may or may not contain TMI (too much information), depending on what you consider TMI. Me? I can never get enough. But you know me. I am weird. So proceed at your own risk.

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There has been a disruption.

I have not been totally honest with you, dearest blog readers. My self-inflicted title of "sexless and cynical" was destroyed. For a day. Yes that's right. I did it.

I did something heartfelt and genuine.

Just kidding, I would never do such a crazy thing.

No, actually, to be honest, I had sex.

Before you get your panties in a bunch, don't worry, I am already back to being sexless. Let's just consider this a little hiccup of my sexless existence. Hey, what can I say? Shit happens. But probably not again for a good long while, considering how all I do these days is work and pole dance. And before you say anything, yes, they are two separate things. Anyway, because I have no life and therefore no chances at meeting anyone at all, this blog can keep on going strong. Can I get another 14+ more months?? Hell yea!

Let me explain. I'll be brief, because even though as I have stated that I am very comfortable with sharing on the internet, this is still probably a subject best kept discrete. For the sake of any of my family reading. Also because this topic is totally in the realm of girlfriend talk, and I don't want to stain the purity of any man out there that may be reading. It's ok men, you can continue on without worrying you might start menstruating.

Alright, now that that has been cleared up, let's begin.

I have failed at men again. Big surprise. Chalk up another one night stand on my bed post. The ratio of one night stands to actual relationships I have had of any kind is starting to concern me. You may be able to start considering me a slut, unless you actually know me. Then you probably know better than that. I am just stupid.

Remember how I posted about all those internet creepers that talk to me on Facebook all the time? Not too long after I started this blog I got extra attention from several, including one in particular--an acquaintance that I had barely met previously almost two years ago and not spoken to since-- who stated that my openness about sex on the blog was what drew him to me ...Um, right. I had my doubts about how carefully he actually read this blog, but I went with it.* The level of arrogance I was experiencing from this interaction was the kind I had only heard about but never believed I would truly encounter. ...Rumors...whispers on the wind...legends handed down from woman to woman...all of the kind of man who was so secure in his sexual ego that he would ask you about pretty much any sexual subject and then respond to your indignation in the classic "explana-brag" fashion vaguely about his own sexual experiences... It was like an episode of Sex and the City. It was so thrilling. I couldn't help but be intrigued. Also don't forget about the attention. I was getting lots. I really can never get enough of that stuff.

So I played around. Hey, it was harmless fun, being many miles away and having the complete confidence to deny any bullshit Skype sex. Seriously guys, I cannot stress enough how stupid I think Skype sex is. This is why I do not feel bad about playing with my food. I don't think their desires are legitimate enough to really warrant any respect from me. Men, go find some porn to entertain yourself. That is what that kind of stuff is for. We women can take care of ourselves on our own goddamn time without having to pose for a low-quality webcam and arch our necks to see your highly creative response of "oh yea baby" as pixels on a screen. It's not fun and it's not sexy. Unless you are our boyfriend and put up with our bullshit and hold our hands and you know, actually talk to us about normal stuff, you are not worth it because you really haven't done anything to deserve it. End of story. Ok, I'll be getting off my soap box now.

During these conversations, I tried to be straightforward about my lack of appreciation for being treated like nothing more than a potential romp. I mean, I appreciate a well executed facade of general friendliness or really just anything as a forerunner to "let's fuck," you know? I like it when people can at least pretend they actually want to know me and not just my genitals. I feel as if I can make better conversation than my genitals, but I guess that depends on your personal preference. Let's be real though, it is a little insulting when someone tries to only get with you just to get with you. I enjoy sex as much as the next person, but I think I have a lot more to offer. I am a social clique drifter for goodness sakes! I can make fairly decent conversation about anything from children's cartoons to philosophy to stories about inhaling last night's liquor and spewing it back out the morning after on a street corner like total white trash. I am pretty versatile, just try me! Really, it's like if you go to a 5 star restaurant and all you order is a glass of water and maybe a house salad that you will idly pick at for an hour or so before leaving a mediocre tip and going home. I suppose if you are on a diet of boring and bland that is just fine, but personally I would go for something with a little more spice, if you know what I mean. The water and salad already comes with the meal. Order the best thing on the menu and make the most of it, not just the bare minimum! It gives the cook pleasure to cook for you, so order something nice, dammit! That being a metaphor, of course. I hate actual cooking and if any man asked me to make him a sandwich, I would bitch slap him silly.

I could continue on with this analogy, but I think you get the idea. It wasn't like I was asking him to put a ring on it, just a little something besides just sex talk. It was rather futile though, as that did not really seem to have much of an affect. And by some amazing feat my dry sarcasm and disrespect did not entirely ward him off, so this sort of went on for awhile. A lot of "lets talk about sex!" and me asking "why?" until my head wanted to explode. Actually, I had an experience just recently with a camper at my work that I think illustrates how I felt about this experience in a slightly more appropriate way. The following conversation I had just yesterday afternoon, word for word, I kid you not:

Camper: Hey, have you ever been in a tornado?
Me: No. You asked me that last week.
Camper: What about a cyclone?
Me: No.
Camper: Oh. Have you ever been in a tornado?
Me: No. You just asked me that.
Camper: Oh. But have you ever been in a tornado?
Me: No. Why do you keep asking me that?
Camper: I just want to know if you have ever been in a tornado.
Me: Well I haven't.
Camper: You haven't been in a tornado?
Me: No, I haven't been in a tornado.
Camper: You have? What was it like?
Me: What? I just said I haven't been in a tornado.
Camper: Oh, I thought you said you have. ...Have you ever been in a tornado?
Me: (about to bash head into wall) Oh look at that, I need to go talk to some of my campers... (walks away)

Just imagine that but with much dirtier subject matter. I would get the same questions about my favorite position or what behavior I preferred in bed over and over again. I guess the difference between boys and men is that boys like tornadoes and men like blow jobs. But we all know one thing is never going to change: the male species can't pay attention to save their lives. I have yet to figure out whether it is because they really can't or if it is just because they don't want to. Further research is required.

Despite all of this obnoxiousness, the potential of actually having sex with this person always loomed in the back of my head. I mean, it was being offered after all. I couldn't help but contemplate it. As time went on, we eventually wound up in the same town at the same time. It was as I was listening to radio ad for a match-making service on the way home from work one day that I decided to throw in the towel and see what would happen if I actually caved in to his ridiculous come-ons. The ad blaring on the radio said something along the lines of "The perfect person for you is out there somewhere, jus waiting for you to find them!" I heard this, thought about it, and then thought "No. That is bullshit. Maybe whoever I end up with--if I ever end up with anyone--is out there, sure, but I'd bet the big toe of my left food they have another 5-10 years of growing up to do before they are ready to be with me, and vice versa. I don't want a serious or life changing relationship right now. But that doesn't mean I am going to sit around idly while I wait for all that time to pass. I am going to have my goddamn sex cake and eat it too!"

Ok, maybe those weren't my EXACT thoughts, but close enough. The point is I made it happen. It did not blow my mind, by any means. But I learned something very valuable from my "no strings attached" experience that lasted all of one week or so: my blog-induced cynicism has consumed me. I no longer know how "sexy" works. It did not take long--one hook up and a week or so of what I am sure was deep reflection and contemplation on his part, to be exact-- to be rejected with no explanation. That is always fun. There is nothing like being dumped by a one night stand. In some ways I have already kind of been there before. It makes you feel super confident about yourself, let me tell you that. Honestly, my theory is that is was somewhere between the "sexting" that went a little something like:

Him: So are you horny right now?

Me: Well, mostly bored. But sure, sex sounds like an appealing occupation of my time at the moment.

or

Him: I want to be inside you.

Me: That's nice.

and during the actual deed where I described his penis as a "novelty" to me and then pointed out my lopsided vagina** that he realized that being open about the idea of sex does not exactly make me a super sexy "vixen" or whatever he was expecting. I am not 100% sure about this theory though. Those texts I sent were pretty dirty, don't you think? I tried really hard to be as slutty as possible when I sent them.

I swear I used to be better at this sort of thing. I think so, anyway. My memory is hazy. I have vague memories of actually wanting to please whoever was on the receiving end, rather than just spending all of my time thinking of the snarkiest thing to say. So surely that must be the reason I got left behind. Or perhaps he found someone else. Or he caught wind of the crazy train. Or all of the above. Who knows? Who cares? Is it really going to change me if I know?

But I guess that makes it official. In an ironic twist of circumstance, in writing the blog about my lack of a sex life I have unconsciously obstructed myself from potentially actually having one. That is just awesome. I lost my sexy. I need to get it back, Justin Timberlake style. But I do not know how. Or if I even really want to, because that would take a lot of effort and who knows what I would really get out of it anyway? But one thing is for sure. I will clearly be very lonely until I find some weird person who actually appreciates my strange, sarcastic behavior... This could be a very rough, long road ahead of me. Oh dear.

I guess the REAL real lesson here though is to only sleep with people you actually like? That might be a good idea? Maybe? Getting blown off after finally giving it up is so cliche, I should have seen it coming, considering the cliche of it all is what gained my interest in the first place anyway. So I am not too upset, although it is tiring to think "another one bites the dust," to myself in my head, because I am not vocally skilled enough to sing Queen songs out loud. I would stain the name of all things just and right in music. So I just have to think that to myself and wonder yet again what it was about me that was not good enough. I like my current theory best though, because it implies that I am just too awesome for most of the men in the world and they aren't ready to handle it. Yes, I like running off that theory. It's definitely a keeper. The unfortunate part is that it means it is going to take one hell of a man to step up to the challenge that is my personality. It's a good thing I have a fair level of patience.

So anyway, off I go again, back into the world of sexlessness, ready for another long haul, this time with just another new pinch of experience to tuck into my backpack of wisdom that I carry with me along the way.

...Is it just me, or is wisdom freaking heavy?





*He also asked me if my blog was meant to be funny. That probably should have indicated something to me at the time, but I ignored it.


**I am officially going to write a book about growing up and cynical womanhood titled My Vagina is Lopsided. I hope my future publishers are ok with this. Don't steal it, ok? It's such an appealing title, it'll definitely hit the bestseller list in no time. I am sure it'll be all the rage with the hardcore Christian fundamentalists and the Mormons.

Sharing on the Internet

I recently posted my first pole dance video to my regular youtube channel (see below). I only have one channel mostly because I am too lazy to log in and out of accounts all of the time, plus now you sign in with your gmail account and I only have one of those anyway, so yea. I don't really know how all this mess works. All these stupid mergers. They break my brain.

 I was putting together the video for my tumblr in which I account every little detail of my pole progress. I do this for myself mostly, because I have found recording everything and watching my progress is one of my biggest exercise motivators, but I also enjoy watching and sharing with the pole community on tumblr as well. As I was doing this I thought, why don't I make this kind of fancy and put it on youtube? Then I thought about how my youtube channel is already so random. I have several really old, shitty animation tests, some newer shitty animation tests, a song by Brasstronaut (ironically my highest viewed video), and a handful of my disappointingly unpopular poetry vlog videos (seriously, I have to harass my Facebook friends into watching them). Besides, I have been trying to keep my pole life separate from the rest of my life. I want to scream every time someone mentions by fall back career to being an artist and go on a rant about pole dancing's undeserved bad rep. Well ok, pole dancing has deserved a bad rep. But it also deserves a good one too, for so many reasons, but we won't go into that right now.

Of course, I caved in to posting it to youtube, and also my Facebook, because I couldn't stand the idea of having to faction myself off into personalities. It always sounds so appealing, having some sort of mysterious second life. It is like being a superhero! Or Hannah Montana!! ...Or something like that. But no matter how hard I try to be mysterious and secretive on the internet, I just can't. For some reason, I feel the burning desire to share just about everything about myself on the web.

This is ironic, because I am well known for being an unreadable wall of bitch-face in real life, and also because most people are the complete opposite side of the fence as me. To a lot of people, revealing personal information on the internet feels incredibly risky and rather foolish, whereas talking about it in person is no biggie. I have been questioned before about how I can possibly share so much information about myself in this very blog, particularly the information about my sex life (or lack thereof) and other such things. My answer to this is actually somewhat complicated, so let me explain my opinion on sharing on the internet.

First of all, the biggest reason why I don't worry about what I say is because my blog does not get a lot of traffic. In the grand scheme of things, I am a blip in the internet world. Not even. I am more like a grain of sand on the beach of the universe. I may have a Klout score of 51, which is higher than the average, but I still only get on average 40 views per blog post (then again, Klout is also really dumb). Most of these people coming to this blog already know me in real life, enough so that they actually like me and therefore will probably automatically like whatever I have to write about. They also already know many of these things about me, and if they didn't, I wouldn't be afraid to tell them. So it doesn't even really count. The real fact of the matter is no one gives a shit. I have 400 Facebook friends, but only 10% are evidently actually paying attention to anything I post. And I post nearly every day. I am a freaking internet attention whore! This is the thing about the internet. No one is reading your every post, tracking you down, stalking you, whatever. Except maybe your mother. Or Grandmother. And that creepy guy from high school. But other than that, no one cares about you. Everyone on the internet only really cares about themselves. That is how social networking works. Unless you somehow manage to go viral or be someone important, whatever you post on the internet is just going to end up in internet oblivion. People are too busy paying attention to themselves. Remember those surveys we all used to fill out in our notes or  on myspace? Guess what? No one ever read yours, unless they copied and pasted it as a template to delete your answers and write in their own. So if you are ever worried about writing something personal, just remember: 90% of your dearest friends will completely ignore it, 9% will probably think you are obnoxious and pretend like they didn't read it, and maybe 1% might actually care. Half of those people might even "like" whatever you said.

Besides all that, I have also built up quite an immunity to this sort of anxiety, just like my immunity to naked people (or anything to do with sex really). Most of the time, whether it be writing about my vagina or looking at someone else's, I don't even think twice. I have been doing this internet thing for awhile now guys, it's cool. I started talking to strangers when I was 12 (and they weren't even offering me candy!) I have lurked, participated in, and trolled many a forum, from neopets to swanky art sites. I have played and been addicted to many a MMO. I have found in all this time that yes, there are weirdos out there, but just like real life, most people are generally pretty nice and fairly normal. As far as normal can go with people who live most of their lives on the internet anyway. In any case, I have actually made quite a few friends that I have never met before. And some of them I have met, after knowing them for some time over the internet. And it wasn't even that awkward. Only a little bit.

So I guess you could say that typing things on a computer to no one in particular has become so routine for me that it has become meaningless. I don't mind really. It is my chance to actually say stuff, because I am so bad at it in real life anyway. Hey, if I am lucky, maybe someone might actually pay attention. Or care. Or something nice like that.

That being said, that doesn't mean that I don't get attention from everyone's favorite thing: creepy internet guys. Why, just after posting that super slutty pole dancing video of mine I got several messages and comments from random dudes telling me how hot I looked and telling me "whatsup." If only I had a better quality camera, they might have been able to comment on my jiggling belly or the cellulite on he back of my legs as well. That would have been good to throw in there. But as well as they know their way into my heart and pants, I resisted and ignored these comments. However, this wasn't the first time I have gotten attention for posting things about myself that are revealing in one way or another. I have gotten countless Facebook messages and had some really amazing awkward conversations. I think it must be an unspoken rule among guys that if you are afraid of talking to a girl in a normal way and maybe asking her to hang out in real life, you should first try getting intoxicated in some way and/or ask her to get naked on Skype. Or just invite her to watch you get naked on Skype. Because really ladies, what is more exciting than watching a guy jack off? We haven't seen enough of that on chat roulette, right? That is definitely gonna capture our hearts.

I know for a lot of people that sort of situation might be mortifying. Who knows though? Some might actually jump on board with it. I mean, someone out there must be giving positive reinforcement for this sort of behavior. Either that or clearly men are just unanimously dumb. You can decide for yourself, I suppose. Personally, I feel the most entertaining thing you can do is turn them down, yet still egg them on just enough to see how long it goes on for. I guess that kind of makes me a tease or a bitch or what have you. But in my head I rationalize it that they aren't really being very respectful to me, so I can play their game with them if I want. That is totally fair, right? I guess it is my way of seeing how much they really want me. Some guys get bored after a short conversation. Some guys are amazingly persistent however, and even my dry, snobby sarcasm doesn't turn them off... Did I say sarcasm? I meant superior wit. But yes, some of my creepy internet guys have actually turned into friends. In a weird I'm-going-to-keep-denying-you-sex-friends kind of way. I appreciate these friendships. They make me feel powerfu--Er, I mean, liked--I mean... I like having friends?

However, even though all the "what is your favorite position?"s and "tell me how you like it"s are super fun to deal with, I think the most awkward conversations happened when a guy innocently asked me if I thought he was cute. I did not. It's easy to brush off a dude who is being a total asshole and not showing you very much respect, but a guy who is showing genuine loneliness is the worst of them all. Then you actually feel like a jerk. That's never fun. I think I prefer the assholes. You can take out all your pent up aggression and frustration at being ignored by men all the time on them. The irony is fantastic!

So there isn't really anything to be afraid of out there, in my opinion. Sure, take the regular precautions of course. Don't tell strangers you just met in a chatroom (do people still use those? I'm not sure) where you live and remember: Craigslist personal ads are always best kept as a spectator sport. Other than that, I have found that it doesn't really matter what you say on the internet. You are still who you are, and if people don't like it, they can unfriend you, or stop following you, or whatever. They just have to deal with it, and it isn't you problem. The internet is my chance to be upfront and honest about anything I feel like and I am not going to lose something so valuable, because god forbid I ever become good at real life conversation. I will just stick to my aluminum and plastic fortress. It's happy here.

Ah Penis, How I Have Missed Thee

Hello again, internet

Right now I should be trying to fill out my 100 question test in order to pass training in my super cool new job, but I felt I have been cruel to my hundreds of loyal fans who are no doubt waiting with bated breath for my next snarky blog entry.

I am here for you, guys. It's all going to be ok.

Obviously, a lot of things have been going on since I last wrote. I have returned to my hometown and started working full time in a very exhausting work environment (the outdoors). Also, people. I have been catching up with a lot of people. I haven't had an extended stay in my hometown basically since the summer after I graduated high school two years ago. So of course people are clamoring over each other trying to hang out with the great world traveler that I am, wanting to hear all about the wonders of California (no one ever really cares about Canada). Unfortunately, I can really only tell them about the inside of my apartment and a little bit about the grocery store down the street where old folks from nearby retirement communities overrun, but that is ok. I just embellish it a little bit and they eat it up.

Along with all the people stuff in my new/old-found life here in Colorado comes my favorite thing: men!

Yes, I am actually interacting with the opposite sex again. (Ok, I know there were boys at my school. But none of them count. Trust me on that one) It is pretty exciting really, being around so many more boys. I can feel my invisible penis re-growing into the magnificent beauty that it once was. It is a truly glorious, elated feeling

For those of you who have not heard of or experienced the presence of my invisible penis, let me explain.

I discovered the existence of my invisible penis back in late 2010/early 2011 or so when I was living and attending school in Canada. I started to notice my ability to get guys to become very friendly with me, but their adamant determination to stay on the friend side of the line. Rather than assuming it was because I am a terrible flirt and my tendency to recklessly throw walls between me and just about every person on the planet, I theorized that it was because of an invisible penis attached to me that had somehow started growing. It fuels me with good ol' testosterone that drives me to do very manly things like pee outdoors when drunk and never talk about my feelings, but more importantly it signals to other men that I am an awesome bro. But nothing more. Because that would be gay, right?*

I like my invisible penis. Having it around makes me feel way more relaxed about hanging out with dudes because we both totally know we are just bros. And I don't have to feel anxiety about anything more happening. Also I like guys and also hanging out with them. They are often more straightforward about pretty much everything. It balances me. Plus, being bros with guys makes me feel more badass, which we all should know by now is the most important goal in my life.

However, I think my "sexy meter" has possibly also increased, likely due to my pole adventures and the fact that I have turned a noticeable amount of fat into muscle recently (and I am not just saying that--other people are). I say this not because I am totally narcissistic and think I am hot stuff (both of these things are true, but that is completely beside the point) but because of how my interactions with men have been affected in a seemingly conflicting way by my invisible penis and my very real female anatomy. The results have been quite...curious.

Let me elaborate.
Here are some recent interactions I have had with the opposite gender that display said conflict.

(Disclaimer: I am definitely not exaggerating or reading WAY too much into my interactions with these guys. They all clearly want me)

1. My new job requires me to sword fight with foam swords at least 4,267 times a day. Right now, I have just been in training with the other staff members, none of which I have ever met before, but all of them are really awesome, albeit incredibly geeky. The staff is about 50/50 male-female, so obviously I am meeting and interacting with a lot of new dudes, which is totally cool. But is it me, or are they wailing on me with particular vigor? I just keep getting completely beaten in sword fight duels. I think it is clearly some kind of advance on me. I mean come on, that smile on their face after victoriously beating the crap out of me with the sword is totally flirtatious! Totally. They may run off to face other opponents after they are through with me, but they always come back to me for more.

2. Almost every guy I have talked to in the past week and I have had some seriously intense and flirtatious conversations about cartoons. It is so sexy, the way we can excitedly relate about television created primarily for children. Right?

3. The other night I attended a beach/bonfire party after dark. Beach and bonfire being a relative term here in Colorado, of course, but you get the idea. It was classic: young people sitting around a fire on a lakefront, roasting hot dogs, hanging out and doing young people things. You know. Anyway, I was expressing my desire to have myself a nice, juicy wiener, but my laziness to get up and grope around in the dark for one. Without any persuasion at all, a guy immediately offered to get me one and then did so. ...All I am going to say is that you can read into that however you want.

4. The same thing happened with a marshmallow about an hour later, with a different guy. Once again, take from that what you will

5. And once more, that same night I was sitting in fairly close proximity with one of the male species. It was getting kind of windy and cold at that point, so we were sitting pretty close. In a very romantic gesture, I lent him my girl scout camp hoodie. He graciously accepted it. We talked for pretty much the rest of the evening after that. It was like out of a movie. Kind of. Almost. If I were a man.

6. At a different party I recently attended, a guy was flirting(?) with me. I am pretty sure. Or maybe he was just very high. He kept finding me to talk to me for some reason, which is usually what I interpret as flirting.  In any case, after telling him I am an animation student his flirtation mainly consisted of pitching me a cartoon idea about a superhero who has super-PTSD powers. As much as this seduced me, I managed to ward off the temptation by aptly saying I needed to pee and then avoided him for the rest of the night.

7. Speaking of being high, finally I received the greatest of all romantic gestures: being invited to share a joint. This is Boulder, after all. It doesn't get more romantic than that. I was flattered, but I also turned this one down.


So yes, clearly you can see how difficult it has been for men to interpret what kind of behavior to exhibit around me. Should they be hitting on me, or just hitting me? Should they be retrieving me wieners, or just hot dogs? Is it weird to want both? Poor guys, they must be really confused. Suffice to say it has resulted in some entertaining situations for me. It will be interesting to watch this battle between my genitalia to see which set will win them over. I wouldn't hold your breath though, given my track record and the title of this blog, my penis is probably going to be victorious. I guess we shall see...


*Not that I am saying there is anything wrong at all with being gay!

MILFs

(I meant to write this on Mothers Day, but unfortunately I was driving across the desert like a beast all day. 800 miles in 12 hours anyone? And that is including stops. Yea, I know, you are jealous.)

Older MILFs...they seem to be everywhere these days. What is up with that? I always thought when you hit 40 you started to shrivel up and let the world claim your physical stature in return for boundless "wisdom," otherwise known as complete cynicism and a notebook of lame regrets. But no, that doesn't seem to be the case anymore. I think MILFs are on the rise, what with so many Craigslist ads looking for cougars because of their "experience." Seriously, have you looked at the m4w ads on there? Every 1 out of 4 listings is looking for an older woman. I worry that it is really going to start hurting my chances of ever finding my true love on Craigslist. Alas, poor me. If I can't find a man on Craiglist all hope must really be lost. Or maybe I just now started to pay attention because of all these ads, because really, everywhere I look is some hot old woman ready to kill it.

Actually, the concept of MILFs has been on my mind for quite some time...basically ever since last February when I joined that hiking club full of old people and I went on a hike where a 68 year old woman beat me up the mountain, and then bounded off to go train for a marathon afterwards. The woman looked not a day over 45. She was not just a MILF either, but a GMILF. At the time I just felt shame in that I could barely lug my own 19 year old ass over the Californian hills, but looking back I just feel awe. I am in awe of all the hot older women that are taking the world by storm these days. I see my friend's mothers, my own mother, and all of their friends and think "wow." Old people really have no excuse when standing next to these people. They are straight up, legit MILFs.

...The only MILF I am not in awe of is the stupid woman who walks up and down the road outside my apartment every weekday afternoon for two hours. She bobs up and down in her tight little pants with her well toned hourglass figure and hair that looks blonde from far away but is actually kind of whitish grayish when you get up close. And every time you pass her she looks straight at you and says "HI!" in a strong, smiley voice. Ugh. Don't talk to me like that lady, can't you see I'm running? I can only ever wheeze back "hi," in a high, breathless voice, revealing that much more of how much I am struggling. Damn her. Seriously though...why does she walk up and down a half mile stretch of busy road every day? There are tons of nice parks and trails nearby...it baffles me. Anyway, she might not even count as a MILF since I have no idea if she is actually a mother or not. If she is, then her boobs are totally fake. Just sayin'

Yes, it initially bothers me that older women can be in better shape and look better than I am. They are supposed to be dying, their bodies are in decay!  I mean come on, these are supposed to be my prime years. I don't like to think this is going to be the best it'll ever get. That thought kind of makes me want to cry and eat a pint of ice cream and hide on the internet for the rest of eternity. Which doesn't hep. On the other hand, looking at all the hot older women gives me hope that there is still time to be super awesome and look great. And with that thought I have formulated a new goal: become a MILF. Because really what is a higher honor than pushing one or more 10lb pink goblins out of a small hole in between your legs and then feeding it and attending to it's every whim for 18-40 more years or until you die and STILL looking stunning? Maybe being president or inventing some important shit, but other than that! MILF is the only way to go. And I am going to become one, or so help me god.

Here is my detailed and outlined plan for becoming a MILF that really breaks down the process into achievable steps. I think it is really helpful in simplifying the whole process.

1. Tone up really good before the whole thing starts so we are at least working with some good framework
2. Find a man
3. Attack him
4. Have his babies
5. Hand the babies off to the man, tell him to make me a salad, and then go for a long run and do some weight training after. (You can't just do cardio only to have a really nice bod, after all)
6. Repeat step 5 every day for the rest of eternity

BAM! MILF status achieved. Doesn't that sound easy to you? Most of the work is in the first step, which according to my plans should last another 10-15 years. So this should be a cinch. I hope it motivates and helps other people out there become certified MILFs as well. Happy belated Mothers Day everyone.

Child Comic Prodigy

Hey guys. You are in for a real special treat today, as I have something really amazing to share. 

I don't mean to brag or anything, but I was basically a childhood prodigy when it came to art and writing. My teachers always put my stuff on the wall in the hallways. Well, usually. And ok, so maybe I only got a "check" mark on my cactus coloring page in the desert unit in 3rd grade when that smarmy Isabel girl who everyone loved got an O (for outstanding) but still. I was pretty talented.  

I had been writing short stories (mostly about horses) for years when I started developing my first comic. It was based off one of my long standing OCs (that means original character for the less artistically inclined of you who are reading), which was a horse that I drew everywhere. I named her Daisy and I tossed in some horse friends for her to converse with in their little horse universe. In the original series the characters were all teenage horses. This allowed me to steal plot lines from Disney television shows such as Kim Possible and The Proud Family and reiterate them scene for scene and word by word, but with teenage horses. It was gonna be big.

This was WAY before My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, mind you. I was ages ahead of my time, really.

 I know what you are thinking. I AM brilliant, aren't I?

What I wouldn't give to be able to find those lost pages of possibly the most amazing comic ever, but alas, they are lost to time (my parents probably threw them out when we moved, because trust me, I've looked). In any case, at one point I decided to widen my demographic market and turn all the horses into baby/toddler age. Instead of interacting in a high school setting, they were in kindergarten and had their own cubbies. Except they all said and did the exact same thing the high school horses did, because I still wanted them to be hip and edgy. It also meant I could still steal plot lines from episodes of popular Disney channel shows. The name of the comic was "Baby Blurb," which has no real meaning except that I stole the title "Baby Blues," and then changed it a little bit, even though the comics have really nothing in common. 

Today I present to you what remnants of the comic I discovered in my basement. Try not to be blown away. You can obviously see that I was born to be an artist, and a character designer in particular. 

Model/Expression Sheet

Look at those riveting character designs! Each one so unique. I like the differences between Matt (the bully) and Claire (a normal horse), it really speaks to their character. I really knew their personalities well, too. "Popular," and "Normal," ... they were all clearly very complex horses. And the dynamic movements! Look at Daisy covering her face with "embarresment," --such comprehensive anatomy! You could pretty much put this in a book called "Character Design 101."

Here are also some test panels/sketches I drew out 

I really have to say, I was quite insightful and precise with my dialogue. Just think about it.

Josh: I have a game
Courtney: I will be there, unlike the other girls.

What subtext.
Or perhaps if that isn't riveting enough, try these:

Daisy/Courtney: hihihihihihihihihi

Courtney: This is talking

Matt/Claire?: Yo dude wassup?

Wow!
And the backgrounds...don't ask me about what all those numbers are! Probably a reference to classical literature. I would do something like that at 9 years old.
Don't forget about the random seahorse drawings that I threw in the mix (yes, those are seahorses). They never appeared in the comic, unfortunately, but I think they also demonstrate my talent as well.

So what do you think? I have considered rebooting this series before, but I worry MLP is monopolizing the pony/horse market right now. I dunno though...there is just so much good stuff here, I think I really have something. I think it could be really successful, especially if I convince people on the internet that I am still 9 years old. Then they will really be amazed.

I hope you feel glad to have had this insight into my artistic talent. It is very exclusive content, mind you, so careful not to spread it around too much. When this series gets big though, you will know you heard about it first!



...
Also, my handwriting still looks like that. I guess I was a born calligrapher as well.

My Long Overdue Post about Pole Dancing

In the middle of finals, you think my brain would be hitting critical levels of overloaded thoughts of drawing...animation....maya....portfolios...perspective...volumes! Oh the volumes! They're all wrong! Everything in this animation is warping, make it stop, oh god please make it stop!

Ok, so maybe some of my brain is a little on the fritz about all my art finals. And the liberal arts too, at that. Can anyone tell me how the ideologies underlaying Russian Communism in the early 20th century were seen through the relationship between humans and the environment? I bet not. I can't even tell you, which is bad because I have to know by this evening. That is what I should be doing right now. Instead I am writing this blog. 

 But only a small fraction of my brain is freaking about finals in comparison with the amount my brain is thinking about pole dancing. I can't stop. It is starting to get to the point where it may or may not be a serious problem. It is very distracting in any case, so I guess I can count myself lucky that I am good at getting most of my work done early, or at least in a timely manner, because if not I'd probably be screwed. Or at least very tired. 

About 4 or 5 weeks ago I was browsing living social, a site where you can find local deals and coupons to varies services in the area. I was on the prowl for a decent massage deal, not because I was in any particular pain, but mostly because I wanted to spoil myself with something besides food for a change. You know, positive feedback for all this exercise I've thrown myself into. Instead I signed up for more exercise. Figures. But when I saw the deal for 2 pole classes for $30, I just couldn't say no. I'd be so rebellious! It would add to my badass status for sure. Also, everyone on Facebook told me to do it. I just couldn't say no to the internet hoards. Besides, it was a bargain. And we all know how cheap I am. I mentioned my ratty, two year old converse shoes with all the holes in them before, right? Yes, I still refuse to shell out $40 for another pair. Just can't do it.

Anyway, so I bought the classes and that meant I had to go through with it. Because of the whole cheap thing. Can't waste a dime. Right. Actually, I was really excited. I didn't know what to expect, but I was being so rebellious! Yea! Badass! 

On the website it said that the class starts off with a 40 minute "warm up." That is a lie. It is basically an entire workout in and of itself. Sure, there is some nice, fun stretching and "sensual movement" (lots of hip thrusting in various positions) but then there is the insanity of what is something similar to a pilates workout. I think. I've never really done pilates, except in gym class my freshman year of high school. I think. But I am pretty it is what pilates is supposedly like. This is the order in which things burnt with a fiery hate: my butt, my legs, my arms, my abs, my abs, my abs, my abs. 

Ok, so that is probably incorrect. It was mostly just my whole core. There are more than just abdominals down there. I would know. I finally learned anatomy in figure drawing. So now I am an expert. Clearly. 

Right so, basically everything hurt a lot. We did bicycle crunches and scissor kicks at a very fast pace non-stop for what felt like an eternity. In my version of real life it was more like 3 minutes. In the real reality it was probably half that time. Nevertheless, it felt like an eternity. Then finally that whole misery was over. I've noticed over the past few weeks that after each workout there is always at least one student who will say to the instructor "you were evil to us today with that workout," as she changes it up a bit every week so it is a slightly different workout each time. I find this odd, because that statement implies that sometimes the workout is easy. I have yet to see one of these mythical easy workouts. They are all evil, in my opinion. And somehow the instructor can literally dance through the entire workout. I am not even joking. She will bounce to the beat while doing planks like it's no big deal. 

Actually, as humiliating as it can be to see someone dance their way through a workout that makes you feel like you must have done something truly horrendous in past life to deserve this torture, this is one aspect of the class that I really, really like. By that I mean the dancing. And the music. The music is loud enough to burst your eardrums. Which is great, because no one can hear you pant like one of those sad little pugs in a doggy sweater vest. Also, the lights are really low so no one can see you sweating out enough liquid to drown a small child. Basically everything I am insecure about when I exercise is hidden. Why didn't I do this earlier?? Anyway, with all the low lighting and loud music it is a wonderful environment to get your dance on. And since other people are already doing it, it feels like no big deal.

I am one who can never get enough of dancing. I am the one who would stay until the very end of all the lame high school dances because I actually thought it was more fun than going to someone's house to eat ice cream/party (depending on what grade I was in). I am the one who will burst into dance in the middle of campus, or in any awkward situation ever. And if you have or could have seen me at the dance parties we used to throw at the good ol' girl scout camp, you would know I can freaking pop til I DROP yo. Here is a picture of me in a killer outfit working my killer moves at said all girls camp last summer. Brace yourself. 

Don't you love those leggings? I did too. That is why I totally stole them from the costume room. (+1 badass point?) Although I still have yet to encounter a situation in which I can actually wear them into public without having people think I am a time traveller from the 90s. Or 80s? Sadly, I am too young to determine what era these leggings belong in. I just know this: they are akin to God. With a capital G.

I really enjoy a dance-y atmosphere. I've never been to a real club, but I always thought I would have a good time at one. And I always wished I could have taken dance classes as a kid, but that was probably the one physical activity I never participated in when I was young. Seriously, I did almost every little kid sport there was, besides maybe karate. Soccer, softball, basketball, tennis, track and field, ice skating, horse back riding, swimming. None of them stuck. I don't know why I didn't do dance. There were a lot of things I wanted that I could probably just have asked for, but I didn't know that I could. Like that one time I wanted plums at the grocery store, but instead of just asking my mom to buy plums, I tried to smuggle one out in my dress. As I was scheming how I would eat it without my mom seeing me when I got home, I looked up and saw a squished plum at the end of the aisle. The plum from my dress was gone. Mission plum-snatch failed. And so did mission ask-for-dance-classes, although that was never a real mission. It just never really occurred that I really wanted it until what felt like too late, when everyone I knew who danced had been doing it for years and years and were all competitive and stuff. I just wanted to dance casually, but that didn't seem like an option for a girl in her mid-teens. 

That is why pole dancing class actually seems like the perfect way to fulfill all the lost dance classes of my youth. No one can do it until they are 18, so no one really has a "leg up" on being a child prodigy or whatnot. (see what I did there?) I don't feel like some old fart when showing up to a class. It's nice. I know all the older people reading this blog probably think I really have no concept of what it actually feels like to be an old fart, but we had campers last summer who didn't even know what VHS tapes were, so I think I have at least started down that road by now. 

After the so called "warm up," the real pole dancing business begins. Actual pole dancing is like gymnastics, acrobatics, yoga, pilates, and dancing mixed together but all sexy-like. You even add in lap dance moves, which I can proudly say I've been instructed in now. I must remember to add that to my resume.

 All the beginner tricks basically go like this: walk around the pole being sexy, grab the pole in some variation, hold on for dear life, and let gravity do the rest of the work. The hard part is holding on for dear life, which you think would be easy, since it is your dear life after all, but it isn't. The tricks all have fun names like "goddess," or "siren," or "dirty goddess." Yea, they get really creative. Actually no, they do. I am pretty sure I heard some more advanced students talking about a trick called "thumb up the butt" ...oooor maybe they were talking about something else. I don't want to know. More advanced moves involve climbing, hanging upside down, and basically being a freakin' BAMF because sometimes I see people 10 feet in the air spinning around holding on to the pole  with nothing but their armpit. Wha...?!?! How does that even work?!

At the end of the class everyone does a little dance. New students perform a simple routine. Older students get to do all the really cool freestyle improv. This is one of the best parts of the class, being able to watch everyone move so beautifully. Because it really is beautiful, and not just in the "pole dancing is hot" way. I think I have mentioned how I appreciate human bodies before. They are just so magnificent, especially when they practically defy gravity and move in ways that just seem so...natural. It is truly stunning, and you really learn to appreciate it when you know how hard the tricks that they are doing are.

Have you ever seen the movie Suckerpunch? Hopefully not, it isn't a very good film. Zack Snyder really should have just made a video game, because that was basically what it was. It would have made a great video game...or maybe just a decent one. Anyway, there is this huge plot point in which the main character, Babydoll, can apparently dance in such a way that it completely entices and distracts every man watching from anything else going on. You never actually get to see the dance in the movie and that always really bothered me. What kind of dancing could she possibly be doing to be so amazing? How is it possible?? Well, now I get it when I watch the other students and instructor dance. And whenever it is my turn to dance, I feel kind of like Babydoll in those scenes. It is really weird. But cool. 

When the class is done it does not mean things are over. There is of course, the being sore for several days after each class in the kind of way that makes you feel a little bit like crying every time you have to get out of your chair. Oh, and don't forget the bruises.  Here is a picture of the bruise I got *during* the first class I went to. Not after, during. This baby was forming and also throbbing terribly before I even walked out of the studio that first day.

It came from bashing my leg very ungracefully into the pole about a dozen times. Nothing says sexy like a giant purple, yellow, brown, and pink lump on your leg. I haven't had any more bruises quite this big since, but my left knee has permanently looked like bruised, rotting pear for about a month now and I currently have over 20 bruises on my legs just from last night (I counted). There is a particular move where you have to hold on to the pole with your crotch as tight as you can while spinning around and prancing your legs that makes your crotch biscuits (wobbly inner thigh triangles) look diseased after. The first time I did it, I had a giant bruise on my inner thigh that was pretty much jet black for a solid day. Sometimes these bruises are little speckles, seemingly indicating to any potential lovers that you might have some sort of weird STD and to stay far, far away. Also, sometimes when I am on the toilet I like to push all the bruises on my legs like buttons and pretend I am operating a fork lift or a super computer and am hacking in to the government system because I am in a really cool heist movie with George Clooney.

 I know, I do really cool things in the bathroom.

I am sure you are wondering why on earth I apparently like this so much if it causes so much pain. Well, besides the fact that I think the bruises make me feel like I have real battlescars, rather than just all the snot and sweat wiped on the front of my shirt when I run, I have to say that I REALLY DON'T KNOW. It is perplexing. I have never been this into any form of exercise before. Sure, I talk about running a lot and how much I like it,  but I still have to make myself do it. I still feel miserable during the run if I forget and let my brain turn on. The good feeling only comes from accomplishing what I set out to do afterwards. This is a whole different slice of cheese. 

I think a lot of it comes from how fun it is to dance and "fly" around a pole (it is more like straggling around in the air, but you know what I mean). The pounding music and low lights only add to this. I like to think that I am dancing for myself, needing to impress no one, and that frees me. But I also think that there is more to it than that. I have been doing a lot of reading on the internet about this activity and people who do it all seem to say the same things. They got hooked right away. They are addicted to it. It gives you this sense of empowerment, strength, and inner-sensuality that makes you feel incredible. When you dance, you are inside yourself, feeling and flowing through the movement without ever using your brain. All of this seems to be unanimous among pole dancers. I know it sounds like corny bullshit that you spew out to sound deep, but it's real, I swear to you! I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. Maybe Jung was right, maybe we all do have a collective unconscious, and maybe dancing allows us all to tap into that stream together, where we all feel the same thing. There are women who even say that it makes them feel closer to God, ironically enough (There are women in Texas who "pole dance for Jesus," I kid you not, click here for the article) 

I buy it. If I am this into something physical, something that takes this much strength training--an activity that has always been grueling for me--there must be some worth to it. I don't understand this addiction, but I love it. I have been spending way too much time looking at pictures, pole dancing blogs, watching videos, and browsing pole dancing trick dictionaries. I had trouble even getting this blog written because it is so distracting. Every song I listen to I have been assessing whether or not it would be any good to dance to, and looking up more music that would be fun for dancing. I feel inspired to draw pole dancers, to paint them, to animate them even! I have been scheming how I can do it more, how I can convince my parents to help pay for classes, how soon I can get my first paycheck for my summer job so I can afford more classes. It has completely engulfed me. All I want to do is improve. I look forward to class all week and count down the days just like I am waiting for the next episode of one of my favorite TV shows or my mandated Mac'n'cheese night.

It is all slightly scary. But I think it is also good. I feel stronger, and every week I get a little bit better at the tricks I've been taught. I'm fairly certain it has even helped my running. On Monday I ran 3.5 miles like a breeze and even ran entirely up the half mile, 18% grade hill without stopping or walking. I've never been able to do that before. I beat the dragon!! When I got to the top I had this dopey smile of joy. This mixed with my beet red face and pouring sweat probably concerned all the passengers in the cars going by, but I didn't care. I just feel so damn good lately. It has even made me forget about my plight of men, or lack thereof (mostly). That is an amazing feat right there. 

I don't know guys, this thing may just be the most badass thing I've done yet, besides my mud run of course. I'm really excited to go broke for this hobby. I really am. I just hope I can keep it up.

Ok, now I REALLY need to study. Excuse me while I go try to not fail an environmental history test. 

I am Moosicorn

Last January, I began a course required at my school called "Critical Reasoning." I have found this name to be a little misleading. Personally I think the class should be titled "Random trivia and an essay about symbols," or maybe just "how to bullshit 101," or even possibly, "everything you learned from IB that you really don't need another class for but since we don't recognize IB we don't know you are already a master of bullshit." Seriously though, I didn't need the class. I should have realized this the previous semester when my teacher to the precursor class (English Composition) introduced me as one of his "star students" to his girlfriend at a poetry reading and told me at our final review I would breeze through the next class. Also, I think my 107% in the class also speaks to that idea as well. And I'm barely even trying.

Anyway, the only assignment for the semester focused on an 2,000-3,000 word essay where we had to take existing symbols based off of artwork that inspires us and our life experiences, alter them, and create a new symbol that represents some aspect of ourselves or our lives.  Seriously. That was our only assignment. Welcome to art school folks, where we work SO hard and students complain at the very slightest reading or writing assignment and therefore get out of most of them! I bet you are thinking you should have gone to a private art school now, huh? Instead of taking the assignment very seriously like most of my classmates, who wrote about serious aspects of their fundamental personality and experiences that made the person they are today, I decided to write about the entire theme of this blog: being a badass. And now I present to you that essay. Because I can. Think of it as the foundation of this entire blog. The origin draft of this was much more lewd and, in my opinion, funny, but my teacher made me tone it down since I GUESS this is an academic paper. Or something. Whatever. 

Also, I totally got an A on this. Just sayin'

I am Moosicorn

Believe it or not, I am one incredibly nerdy and awkward white girl. Call it part of my inherent nature, or perhaps there is some psychological reason that I have never been capable of communicating in a functional manner with people, but, whatever the cause, I am sick of it. My social anxieties will reduce me to a whiny, melodramatic mush no longer! From here on out, I want to dedicate all efforts towards transforming into a badass. This is my greatest hope and dream, as it will mask all my ineptitude into something awesome. I want to be “cool,” whatever that is. I want to be strong and brave; I want to have endurance, both physically and mentally. I want to be uncaring, level headed, and unattached to the world and other people. I want to be above regular human flaws, with an air of mystery surrounding me. I want people to look at me with respect in awe and whisper to each other “Who is that? What do you think she does when she goes home? Wrestle bears?” Because if I can’t have regular relationships with people, they might as well think I am just too awesome for them.

Fig. 1, Dark Knight Movie Poster,
Movieposter.com

It isn’t enough to just want to be a badass. Not only do I have to put the effort into it, I have to make a symbol too; because if I don’t know what represents a badass, how will I ever be one? The first thing that comes to mind when I think of what a badass is would be Batman from Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight (see fig. 1). I have never been a huge Batman fan, but I saw this movie three times during its opening weekend. The character of Batman in the film is the pure embodiment of badassery. Unlike any other super hero, Batman doesn’t have any super powers. He makes his strength out of exactly what he is, which is why I hold even more respect for him. He is all about business, and no one can take him down. So what symbol to derive from this film but any other than the classic Batman logo? It is what everyone thinks of when batman comes to mind (see fig. 2). It reads immediately as the symbol for everything Batman stands for: justice, strength, stealth, and the ability to stand up for yourself in a powerful way, even when the world is against you. All of these things fit into my own definition of a badass. Beyond that, though, the Batman logo means even more. The yellow oval, in traditional Batman costume, is worn on his chest. Not only is this symbolic of the bat signal, and also a simple, striking representation of his trademark, but the bright yellow oval was meant to act as a target to Batman’s enemies. According to Robert Greenburger, author of The Essential Batman Encyclopedia, it was located on his strongest piece of armor- his chest plate- so at to attract enemies to shoot there rather than his face (29). The symbol thus becomes a representation of not just who Batman is in general, but his cunning and strength.

Fig. 2, Batman Logo

Fig. 3, Batman Logo sans Bat

This symbol would be quite fitting for what I want to be when I one day become a badass. However, since I do not dress up as a bat and run around to incite justice, I would obviously want to remove the bat. Instead, for my symbol I kept the yellow oval (see fig. 3), which is what works at the target and distraction to Batman’s—or my—strongest point, which in this case would be my badass nature. In place of the bat, I have chosen to place another animal that will come to represent me: the unicorn (see fig. 4).

Fig. 4, Unicorn Symbol, Unicorn Games Studio Logo

            According to Dr. J Michael Stitt, “In Medieval times, unicorns were representative of purity and thus Christ” (1). Do I mean to represent Christ? No. But do I want to represent purity? Yes, because a badass, while perhaps is not pure in the traditional sense of morality, is pure in the idea that they are not tainted by typical human flaws and emotions. The unicorn, of course, holds other symbolism in more modern times as well. Kate Trudeau, of the University of North Dakota, states that “the unicorn generates tremendous power and energy, the image embodying great magic, mysticism, and wonder” (1).  As I said, I want to be a badass that has power and mystery, which, by this account, is also what the symbol of a unicorn contains. Unicorns are also known to be “peaceful creatures who try to avoid contact with humans. They prefer to remain hidden” (Hedden 24), which also adds to the idea of a badass being unattached and unaffected by other people. An Illustrated Encyclopedia of Traditional Symbols further lists all the things a unicorn has come to symbolize feminine principles  of chastity, virtue, and strength of mind and body, as well as incorruptibility (Cooper 183).  All of these things are a part of the badass I want to be: a girl with strength and ideals that no one can upset, although perhaps the whole idea of chastity can just be for my public image.

Fig. 5, Unicorn and moose in combo become
the almighty "moosicorn."

One thing I would do to add a little more edge to the unicorn—because let’s face it, people often don’t take unicorns as a very serious idea, just look at the humorous game “Robot Unicorn Attack,” as an example—is add on a pair of moose antlers. This would thus transform the unicorn from just a regular old ordinary unicorn into a moosicorn: a beast that knows no bounds in its power (see fig. 5). This addition would be made for a few reasons. First of all, “Moose,” is my nickname and has been so for the past five years ever since I became a counselor in training at a Girl Scout camp in the Rocky Mountains. I picked this name as it seemed fitting for my location, and seeing as how I consider the Rocky Mountains my home, it has become an important part of my identity. My experience growing up in their habitat has informed me that they are quite a sight to see. They are large, intimidating, and very dangerous beasts to take caution around. It is difficult to detect when they are agitated and thus they are responsible for trampling people to death every year (Conger 2). This is exactly how I envision a badass to be. And besides, if there are any aspects to being a badass that I have already acquired, it would be that. I mean, ok, I’ve never actually trampled someone, but you know what they say about if looks could kill. Overall, this combination of a unicorn and a moose into a moosicorn represents a powerful beast that any badass would be proud to channel.

Fig. 6, Calvin and Hobbes illustration, Bill Watterson

For my next symbol I have drawn inspiration from one of the greatest comics of all time: Calvin and Hobbes (see fig. 6). I know what you are thinking. What is badass about a little boy and his imaginary friend/stuffed tiger? I’ll tell you: just about everything. How can one not see how epic it is that a kid can have so little restraints in his imagination and actions? He can dream up just about any situation and actually carry it out in real life, despite what his peers or other adults may think or could possibly do to him. Besides, did you ever see him go sledding or get in that little red wagon downhill? That kid had guts. And when he inevitably crashed, he would just shrug it off. There is nothing more badass than having that kind of youth, spirit, and creativity. Because of this creativity and spirit, Calvin and Hobbes could easily be represented by the symbol of the fountain (see fig. 7). “It is said that water gushing forth is a symbol of the life-force of Man and of all things” (Cirlot 113). Calvin has a superior life-force in his youth and creativity, and so will I, one day, when I become as badass as him. Also, it is stated in Cirlot’s Dictionary of Symbols that, “[Jung] links [the fountain] with the ‘land of infancy,’ the recipient of the precepts of the unconscious, pointing out that the need for this fount arises principally when the individual’s life is inhibited and dried up” (113). Hey, that is just like when I mentioned how my life needs to be improved it in the beginning of this essay, isn’t it? Perfect, the fountain is just what my badass self needs to get going.

FIg. 7, Fountain Symbol
Innovation-creativity.com

The fountain is traditionally depicted as flowing upwards, as this is usually how fountains work. When I place the fountain into my new badass symbol, I will have it sideways. I not only want to spurt my life force up, but all around me, in the direction as others. Perhaps I mean this in the way that I want to share my strength with others or maybe I mean this in the way that I want to kick ass and take names with my strength. That is just another part of the mystery, isn’t it? All you need to know is that is propels me forward, towards my destination of the badass kingdom. I will also triple the image of the fountain, so as to assure all that my life-force is that much more superior (see fig. 8).

Fig. 8, Altered Fountain Symbol

Fig. 9, An early Masonic version of the Eye of Providence
with clouds and a semi-circular glory, detoxorcist.com 

            My final addition to my mega-symbol would be the all-seeing eye (see fig. 9). The all-seeing eye pretty much explains itself, as it is an eye that sees all. It is most noted as the symbol of the seal of United States currency, and is also popularly known as the symbol for the fraternal organization, the Freemasons. According to Dr. S. Brent Morris, “The eye on the seal represents an active intervention of God in the affairs of men, while the Masonic symbol stands for a passive awareness by God of the activities of men…Its meaning in all cases, however, was that commonly given to it by society at large -- a reminder of the constant presence of God” (3-4). Once again, I have unintentionally given myself a large religious link, although in this case it works as it is a little more broad in its meaning. Because this time it is not just a representation of Christ, but God himself. Yes, a badass should have power that rivals that of God, because truly, what can be more badass than that? Also, written in Sunstone Magazine by Allen D. Roberts, “The idea is that his eye is all seeing, or ‘all searching,’ …Power is also implied” (44). God’s eye seeks out everything, and so will mine. Part of being unattached to the world is about being able to be objective and observe that which you could not if you were among the regular ranks of men. The badass I hope to be will have this power that God holds, as seen through this symbol.

Fig. 10, The all-seeing lazy eye

            However, just because I will one day see all will not mean that it will process or even that I will necessarily care, seeing as how a badass does not care about many things. I think the perfect way to represent this is to give the all-seeing eye a visual deficiency such as amblyopia, or lazy eye (see fig. 10). According to the National Eye Institute, “Amblyopia is the medical term used when the vision in one of the eyes is reduced because the eye and the brain are not working together properly” (1). Once again, my brain does not necessarily want to use the eye to see all. It is overwhelming after all, to know all that goes on, so thus this dysfunctional eye serves as an accurate representation of my vision as a badass. Besides, people with amblyopia often have to wear eye patches to help cure their deficiency. And if an eye patch is not badass, then I don’t know what is.

            So how do all of these come together? First, the yellow oval will encircle all the other symbols, as to keep them all constrained into the “strongest point,” as on Batman’s armor. The moosicorn will serve at the centerpiece to the symbol, as I feel it is the closest representation of me because of it’s moose antlers and also because it is representing a living thing, or in this case, me. The eye will be super imposed over the moosicorn and become a part of it. The fountain will be bursting forth from the moosicorn, symbolic of how it is my life force. And there you have it. The badass I hope to be, all contained into a single point of strength and power (see fig. 11).

Fig. 11, "I am Moosicorn," the new symbol to represent my soon to be found badass nature

            So all these symbols have come together and now are blossoming into their own symbol lifehood, and it needs a name. As I said before, it all centers around the moosicorn, who is truly supposed to be me.  This Moosicorn stands for all the power, the unfeeling and incorruptible strength I will one day come to acquire, with it’s eye that sees all but doesn’t quite get it, and the fountain flowing forth of spirit and abundance. All of this fits into who the mooiscorn is. Tie this in with the Batman oval, and suddenly, it all comes together in the greatest Batman quote. “I am Moosicorn.” Because when Batman says “I am Batman,” he is saying everything who is, everything he has ever done and stood for, his strength and justice, are all a part of his identity as Batman. And so is the same for the moosicorn. When I say “I am Moosicorn,” I mean to say that I am all of these things that this symbol means to represent. It says “I am a badass.” And with such a firm statement, who would dare question it?

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