INDIEchouette


INSPIRATION ALWAYS COMES TO ME IN THE SHOWER…WHEN I’M NAKED

If you want to take the title line analytically for a second, you can gather that being nude allows me to take a moment or two to assess my body.  If you don’t want to take the title analytically, then I am just trying to put images into your head.  Much like Ali does every time she writes me a letter.

THINGS I AM SICK OF:

1.  Inadvertent accusations of fatness.

Britney Spears at the 2007 MTV VMAsThis rarely comes from people in my life (except sometimes from my roommate when she accuses herself of being so fat).  No.  More often, it comes straight from the media.  Today, Virginia (my roomie) and I were channel-surfing during CSI commercial breaks when we came across some documentary on Britney Spears and how she was so fucking fat during her performance at the 2007 VMAs.  Sadly, not only did the celebrity gurus assert that she looked terribly un-sexy in her underwear getup, but Spears herself added that she looked like a “fat pig.”  I have a few problems with this.  One, I have a “fatter” belly than she does–in fact, those photos of her puffed-out tummy and less-than-toned arms are reminiscent of my own.  But I could never rock that underwear getup like she did.  I’m too pale (and in love with paleness).  Two, I think she looks perfectly healthy and sexy, so what’s wrong?  I don’t even want to mention that Spears isn’t acting like a super-good role model (though really, Paige, when does she?) by putting down her own perfectly healthy body, or that the media’s expectations of celebrity women are really just fucked up.

If I got this from you, shoot me words and I will link to your site.

Why am I talking about Britney Spears, though?  Don’t you expect me to be talking about some indie goddess?  Thing is, indie goddesses don’t give me these sorts of problems.  Sure, I’ve been confronted with photos of Jenny Lewis in near-undies and Chan Marshall unveiling her pubes.  But the media simply doesn’t comment on their figures, however nice they are.  This is probably because they’re not pop-icon formulas.  Jenny Lewis does not make me feel bad about my body.  The media pressure on female celebrities does.  And it puts women in competition, too.  I am sick of sizing up other women to determine how much better their bodies are than mine.  I am sick of feeling in competition with my own female camarades on occasion.  That’s something that I feel should never, ever have to happen.  But it does, because instead of accepting many different body types as beautiful, the media accepts one:  thin.  I’m not arguing, by the way, that thin bodies are not beautiful, or that we should apply pressure on thin women to gain some weight.  Thin bodies are beautiful.  But voluptuous (I am not talking Beyoncé; I am talking Gabby Sidibe) bodies are beautiful, too.

I choose to fall in love with women such as Jenny Lewis because I can relate to them.  She is perfect in her imperfections.  We saw her evolve imperfectly in the limelight.  She makes mistakes, she writes about them, she is relateable because her goal does not seem to be being sexual or stunning or unrealistically beautiful.  Her goal seems to be being.  I can do that, too.  That’s where the problem comes in for people like Britney Spears.  Their goals are unattainable, even for them.  Or if they are attainable, they are fleeting.  You can’t hold onto a perfect body forever.  Eventually, even George Clooney will sag a bit.

Another thing is that maybe it’s just a morbid curiosity, but because everyone is telling me I’m fat all across the board, I have gained this terrible, insatiable interest in the way my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriends look[ed].  It’s not to make myself feel good.  It’s to make myself feel like shit.

2.  Hating on body hair.

If this is yours, hit me up and I will linkety link link link.

I have not shaved since early September [EDIT:  My mom has compelled me to shave twice since then]!  My legs are hairy.  My armpits are hairy.  And my mom will flip if/when she learns this information, which is why I have to shave on November 24th or November 25th before I return home for Thanksgiving break.  Refraining from shaving has made me a little more comfortable with myself.  Body hair is natural, even on women.  Why do we shave it?  We do it for men because we think men like it.  Why do we think men like it?  The media projects expectations on us to look like prepubescent girls.  Sometimes when I leave my apartment in shorts, I have to prep myself as to all the reasons why I don’t need to shave, but it’s not like I get to explain the political context to people.  They just believe I’m hairy or dirty or a crazy feminist without even really thinking about any other possible reasons.  I am a crazy feminist, but I’m resigned to the fact that a woman does not need to be hairless to be beautiful, especially if the hairiness comes so naturally.  I’m done with fighting my body on that one.  Unfortunately, I’m even more resigned to the fact that my mom will not take any explanation for this, and that on the sight of unsightly body hair, she will yell and hand me a razor tout de suite.  The only comfort she would probably take in this is the assumption that I’m not getting laid, because what man wants a hairy gnome?

Added afterthought:  Who determined that head hair and eyelashes on women are sexy and that every other bit of hair (besides some very specific eyebrow hair) must go?  If a woman is completely devoid of any hair whatsoever, she is not sexy.  If a woman has lots of hair, she is not sexy.  It all seems like a game.  You can’t have it both ways!

PS Frida Kahlo is beautiful.

3.  Sexist notions in existential novels.

Want.

Male existential novelists are guilty.  Do I even need to put the “male” there?  It seems like every existential novelist, philosopher, and filmmaker is male.  I am an existentialist.  I love existentialism.  But I am sick and tired of the sexist notions littered throughout the books I’m reading.  Kundera says women are sex objects.  Kierkegaard says women are not to be trusted.  Kaufman writes women as obstacles in life.  You can forgive Kierkegaard a little bit because he probably never expected women to gain access to his novels.  You can’t forgive Kundera of Kaufman, though.  I love them both–Kundera for his animal rights reasoning and Kaufman for his ability to write a kickass film–but I am so sick of this unfair portrayal of people like myself.  Not to mention that besides being predominantly male, existentialists are white, middle class, and Christian or atheist.  I guess it can go one way or the other with religion.  If you’ve found any female existential novelists, let me know!

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that the reason I’m pointing this out is that I’ve been reading loads of existentialism this semester because of a fifteen-page essay I wrote and aced on the influence of early existentialists on modern-day existentialists.  All of my sources were penned by white, middle-class males.

4.  Jon & Kate/Tiger Woods media coverage.

They are simply people living their lives.  I don’t care.

5.  Not being able to level up in Restaurant City because okay, I forgot to feed my staff, but does that mean that my approval rating should drop?

That's mah homeboi.

I like to give my customers a little bit of credit.  Like, if they see that all of the employees in my restaurant are passed out on the floor from sleep/food deprivation (and/or hardcore partying at Erika’s El Paso the night before), don’t you think they’d leave instead of sitting down, waiting for these unconscious waiters and chefs to serve them?  Low approval rating means fewer customers, which means fewer experience points, which means it is going to take me forever to get to level 22.

6.  Songbird freezing.

Meh.  After the latest iTunes update, I’m thinking about converting back to iTunes anyway.  I guess Songbird and Vista just aren’t meant to be.

7.  Ouija Board.

I can’t sleep too well ever since I found out about my apparently long-present secret roommates, Rubi and Zach.

8.  That Kelly Clarkson song.

It is soooo repetitive, SO annoying.

9.  Explaining to people that I am vegan.

Since I’m a mild-mannered, gentle, shy person, I generally don’t want to offend.  In fact, you could say that part of why I don’t want to eat animal products is that I find them offensive.  So it’s a difficult thing for me to explain to people that I am vegan because it is so often offensive.  I won’t eat their food, I can’t share their love for cheese, and I don’t find their jokes about my eating habits funny.  But I’m stuck on the fence because it’s obvious to me that non-veganism is really the offensive route and deviant and just wrong (morally, ethically, environmentally, and taste-wise), but so many people seem to believe that I am the one in the wrong.  Even some of my friends who occasionally declare my journey as noble seem to believe that my dedication is offensive.  Or when they choose a restaurant where I absolutely cannot and will not eat anything, it is I who chose to be vegan, and not they who chose an offensive restaurant.  Fortunately, my mother has finally accepted my veganism and my nose ring.

10.  Jewelery.

Yesterday I had to go with my dad to a jewelery counter at Boscovs so he could exchange some stuff.  The people who shop here are ridiculous, and they don’t know or particularly care that the blood of children was shed for their shitty-ass diamonds.  Another thing is that I am a fan of handmade jewelery that is askew and imperfect (but I guess it wouldn’t be considered jewelery, per se, because I hate jewels).  Jewelery counters sell shit to people who have sticks up their asses.

THINGS I AM NOT SICK OF:

1.  Camera Obscura.

T & The Fonz in Philly

Since August, my life has been set to the tune of this Scottish group.  I’m not ashamed to admit that I am behind the curve on this one.  Camera Obscura is a sixties-reminiscent indie pop band, and they make me feel legitimately amazing.  When I listen to Camera Obscura, I’m ready for whatever Monday chooses to throw in my path.  When I feel ugly, I listen to Camera Obscura and feel prettier.  When I need to brush my teeth, I tune Songbird to Camera Obscura.  When I am behind schedule in the morning and running late to class because I can’t find my keys (and little do I know that they are in my jacket pocket), Camera Obscura is the band for me.  I am a Camera Obscura kind of girl.

Also, I got the amazing opportunity to see Camera Obscura with Alex in Norfolk the weekend before Thanksgiving and they were awesome, as was expected.

Swans | Camera Obscura
[mf] [buy]

2.  Florence.

Florence Henderson.

Just kidding.

<3

Florence Welch.  Ali and I have been raving about her for many months now, with that stadium-filling voice, but when I passed Ali the Flo-torch, she took it and ran with it.  So now we’ve both got serious lesbian fixations on red-haired women!

Postcards From Italy (Beirut Cover) | Florence & The Machine
[mf] [buy]

3.  Fleet Foxes.

There is nothing to say, except that I never talked about them this summer even though they formed most of it with their sweet crooning ever since I heard them in Paige H.’s car while sitting next to Kelsey in the back seat on the way to Knoebel’s.

Ragged Wood | Fleet Foxes
[mf] [buy]

4.  Bitchfest!

I read it on the toilet, which says a lot because the books I read on the toilet must be captivating and absolutely cannot be nauseating.  Not only does Bitchfest educate me on oft-overlooked feminist issues, but it also teaches me how to write a well-structured essay!  I highly recommend this one to men and women, boys and girls alike.  And if you’ve already read it, I recommend Cunt by Inga Muscio.  BITCHfest made me a better woman, and it will make you a better man, woman, girl, boy, or what have you after you’ve read it.

5.  CSI reruns.

I am not much of a television junkie.  In fact, this (CSI: Las Vegas, of course) and [adult.swim] are the only reasons I will usually turn on the television.  It’s a puzzle.

6.  Gray hairs.

I have a lot of them.  Maybe I don’t have enough to consider myself a gray-haired individual, but I imagine I will get there before long.  I’m excited about them because they constitute a natural change in my body.  Plus, how many under-twenties besides Holden Caulfield get to rave about having gray hairs?

7.  Black pitted olives.

I think it’s the vinegar in the holding solution.

8.  jj.

I can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier.  jj is a mysterious Swedish band that makes incredible dream-pop dreamy dream music.  And hey, don’t take my word for it.  Chris recommended them in the comments section of my last post, too!

It was ecstasy when I heard this song.

Things Will Never Be The Same Again | jj
[mf] [buy]

9.  My roommate, Va.

She just asked me, “Oh man, do you write about me in your blog?!”  Now I do.

10.  Eisley.

Note the velcro shoes.

They are dreamy and melodic and beautiful and even my sister, Rachael, likes them.  I wish that Chauntelle still sang.  Her name, when stretched to French, practically dedicates her to the singing tradition (chanter).  I like to quote them and sing along to them badly.

I Could Be There For You | Eisley
[mf] [buy]

11.  Yeasayer.

With such a sicknasty sound and a great Blogothèque presentation, how could one get sick of them?  Alex introduced me to them, and now they are a staple in my collection.

Wait For The Wintertime | Yeasayer
[mf] [buy]

12.  Vegan cooking.

It always seems like it’s going wrong, but it always turns out so, so right.  I can guarantee that I never would have learned to cook this well on my own, even if I were vegetarian.  It takes the vegan push.

13.  My RayBans.

Myow.

I was going to get wire-framed cheapo glasses, but the woman at For Eyes told me that my prescription is so high that even with a thinning procedure, the lenses would be too heavy for the frames.  So I “had” to get RayBans Wayfarers.  While I used to wear contact lenses every day (and night), I now wear glasses all the time.  I’m materialistic in this sense, but only because I can see…clearly…in all directions…without my eyes drying up and shriveling within my eye sockets.  It’s also been established that I have worse eyesight than any one of my friends.  It’s also also been established that I am happy to do a five-second trade with any glasses- or non-glasses-wearer who wants to try on my funny-looking, humongous glasses to try out my horrible vision.  I have been told that it’s like wearing drunk goggles.

14.  Tamagotchi.

His name is Fart.  I got him for 5 bucks at Five Below.  I’m sure some of my readers know that I’ve been an on-and-0ff Tama user for years now, especially since my junior year of high school.  Well, now it’s on and I am not ashamed.

15.  Skirts.

I will wear them for the rest of my life.

16.  This.

Presented to me by Nim, who left me a beautiful comment.

I also wanted to tell you all that I love you.  Yes, you.  I will not leave you.  This particular absence was a vacation to stupidity.  I will write you more petty things very soon.  The whole being-professional thing just doesn’t work for me.



EARTHLINGS

A friend wants to go vegetarian.  I have advised her not to go by PETA’s terms, but I’m not sure that she understands the gravity of the situation, and how labeled she will ultimately be if she does choose that path with her animal rights journey.

Here’s my thing.  I watched Earthlings with her yesterday, narrated by Joaquin Phoenix, yeah yeah.  Many of the video clips in the film were reminders of just why I chose to go vegetarian in the first place.  And now that I look back at them, I wonder why I didn’t just go vegan from the start.  A lot of the clips were new, especially those pertaining to the dairy industry.  But I wonder how someone can watch all that, listening to Joaquin’s eerie voice, and seriously not immediately think, “I need to go vegan.”  I mean, vegetarianism is a serious jump for some.  But Earthlings covers everything involving animal use, from Pets to Food, Clothing, Entertainment, and Research.  There’s no room for argument.  Once you’ve seen it, you have virtually no excuse in the whole world.  Pescetarians have no good reason as to why they eat fish.  You have no backing behind your leather belts.  And “kosher?”  Come on, America is capitalist.  Capitalism treats animals as resources, as things.  And do you really expect capitalists to regard things with any respect, even relating to any religion (ya, even Christianity)?

So I’m saying watch it at your own risk for enlightenment, but watch it anyway.  And some of you (Travis) will disagree with me.  Some of you will think I’m being an extreme terrorist, but when coupled with the narrative, I think this provides essential information.  And I’m not really one for handing out extremely graphic animal rights videos.  But when you hear those screams, when you picture all the organs as though they’re hanging from your dying best friend or beloved cat just like they did from that “kosher” cow, you have to pay attention.  When you consider the agony of the dolphins being separated from their kin and see the schoolchildren walking by unperturbed as these dolphins are slaughtered, you’ve got to wonder what’s wrong with us.  We don’t want to know what goes into our food, our foolish whims, but for the record, we’re already desensitized anyway.

Oh, and also, you can’t help but wonder what kind of a life your cat led before you.  And I guess you’ll never know, either.  You’d just like to imagine it was good, or that you saved her.

For the record, I’ve known and loved Babygrrl since she was born.  For the record, the cats I live with at home are spayed.



VERDE

Fuck going green when there are far more important immediate crises.  Example:  Conditions in third-world countries.  Example:  Homelessness.  Example:  The conditions of animals living on factory farms or in puppy mills.  Global warming will have extreme effects years from now.  These things are already having extreme effects right now.

Also, if you’re going to go green, if it matters that much to you, then go vegan or even vegetarian and encourage your self-proclaimed green friends to do the same.  Not only will you kind of “save” some animals (I don’t like to refer to it in that manner because it’s not like Superman’s coming to the rescue…you’re just lowering the demand or maybe even just not contributing), but you’ll also “save” the environment (ditto).

Oh, but if you take my advice, don’t do it on PETA’s terms, please.



BIRTHDAY EVE

It doesn’t feel like tomorrow (Thursday) is my birthday.  I’m really reluctant to let go of being seventeen.  I feel like I’ve built up so much to be this age, kind of like when I was twelve and fourteen.  Those were ages which, for one reason or another, I aspired to be.  I figured I would savour them and in truth, I did.  I went through a lot of major changes at those ages.  Now, though, I don’t know what age I aspire to be.  Seventeen was kind of it for me.  I love being a teenager, save for all the misconceptions.  Fortunately, I still have two years left, even if I’ll legally be an adult.

I guess part of this whole it-doesn’t-feel-like-tomorrow-is-my-birthday business is that I’m away from most of my family, so it’s not like we can really celebrate.  And I need to make my own cake if I want one.  I’ll probably forego that because…

Okay, first, my sleeping habits are all fucked up.  I’m always tired on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and I take long naps in the afternoon.  Naps are very French, so I’m okay with that.

My eating habits are pretty fucked, too.  I don’t really want to go into that because it will scare those of you considering veganism or even vegetarianism.  NO, it is not hard to be vegan or vegetarian.  YES, VCU does offer a plethora of vegetarian options, as well as a few for vegans (which is really nice, considering that some restaurants aren’t even that considerate).  The problem with my eating habits has more to do with time management and being busy and slightly lazy.  If I have lost weight over the past two weeks, it is only because I do not feel like boarding the bus to go over to Shafer Dining Court or walking there.  I do eat in my room, though.  I’ve had fruits and nachos and occasional granola bars and cereal.  Also, I guess I do get a lot of exercise, especially on days when I am motivated enough to make the 1.5-mile “trek” between the MCV campus (where I live) and the Monroe Park campus (where all of my classes are and everything happens).  Okay, so in just two weeks, I have gone from being a health-conscious “leafy green” vegetarian to being a lazy-ass junkfood transitioning vegan.  That definitely needs to change as soon as I’m more settled.  Fortunately, I’ve been researching good grocery stores in the area.

Muzak, though!  I haven’t written about music in so long.

Okay, the first tune, I have been spinning (lolzers, more like “telling my iPod to repeat”) constantly for the past few days.  It’s not only the catchiness and the depth of the lyrics, but it’s that little background noise.  Some MGMT, I didn’t like at first because it’s pretentious and it sometimes reminds me of of Montreal (nothing wrong with a little of Montreal, but I can only handle so much), but you have to love “Kids.”  It just feels right.

Kids | MGMT
[zshare] [mediafire]
[buy] [direct link]
MGMT’s Site
MGMT’s MySpace

So now I’m giving MGMT a second chance, because I always used to get pissed reading that people thought Animal Collective was “artsy for art’s sake.”  Come on, now!  What’s wrong with being artsy for art’s sake?!

The next track I must present to you is one of the most desperately catchy songs I’ve ever heard, again.  Except I’d venture to say that Van She is far more pop-friendly than MGMT is, and I predict that you’ll hear more from them in the mainstream soon.

Virgin Suicide | Van She
[zshare] [mediafire]
[buy] [direct link]
Van She’s Site
Van She’s MySpace

In the meantime between now and when I’m legal/now and my next post probably, I’ve got to write an Argumentative Diagnostic Essay.  Fun stuff.  Um, Explosions in the Sky soon, as well as maybe some French sheittt for all those fellow francophiles (I know, there are so many…).



I PLAN TO JUMP OFF THE FENCE
9 August, 2008, 809 pm
Filed under: My Experience with Existence | Tags:

Here’s why I’m so strongly considering veganism right now. Vegetarianism is a slightly hypocritical stance. Supposing you’re in it for ethical reasons, you’re trying to limit the suffering of animals. You’re trying to cut down on the contributions, but only to an extent that is convenient for you (because vegetarianism is actually one of the easiest changes I’ve ever made). If you really cared that much about the animals, then you’d go all the way and be vegan. And as a teenager, I understand that this is hard (but not impossible, of course) when you live with an unsupportive family that is willing to starve you back into at least vegetarianism, but as an adult, you really have no reason not to be vegan yet. I’ve looked into it, and really, the conversion is no more difficult than vegetarianism. You’ve just got to substitute, and things are not always necessarily more expensive. You can work on the same budget as you did before. You’ve just got to choose things wisely.

And whenever the vegetarianism conversation comes up with people, I’m compelled to mention that I’ve been considering veganism, and then they’ll mention something about cheese or ice cream or whatever. Milk. How difficult that must be, right? No honey. Impossible. And I’ll smile and nod and vaguely agree, maybe, but this is my way of attempting to stay connected to someone I have little in common with as far as ethics go. The truth is that I don’t drink all that much milk to begin with because I find it disgusting. I feel real raw guilt every time I consume eggs or something with eggs in it. I try to deny and justify, but I already know where this stuff came from, and I know the suffering that will continue to go into it. It pisses me off when people think that’s such an extreme route. Veganism. I have the utmost respect for vegans not because what they’re doing is difficult, but because it’s right.

A part of me tugs me back and tells me that the system will be corrupt no matter what I choose to do, but I know that at least I’ll be limiting my contribution to the problem as much as is reasonably possible.



FREAK

Recently, time has been crawling closer and closer to when I planned to go vegan.  I had decided that I either had to be eighteen or in college.  Since college comes first, my initial effort is about a week away.  I’m anxious, though.  I can’t wait to have the freedom to eat whatever I want, and yet I feel completely unprepared.  I know what I can’t eat.  I think the issue is more what I can eat when I’m vegan.

Well, I recently remembered about this gift certificate to the independent bookstore downtown which I’d received as a graduation present from neighbours.  Today, I hit up the shop and browsed titles before I made my decision.  I initially planned on investing in some hardcore Vonnegut or maybe Palahniuk or something, but I normally gravitate to the pop culture section of the store, and you can find Palahniuk and Vonnegut at the library.  This time, I wanted to check out everything to make a wise investment, and I came across a whole section on vegan literature that I had somehow overlooked before!

I went back and forth from book to book–I wanted this one, and then I thought that this one might be a better investment, and then I considered that I don’t generally use cookbooks, even ones for lazy people, so I wanted some hard literature.  I eventually came across one titled Vegan Freak.  The testimony on the back claims that I will find:

-how to easily go vegan in three weeks or less
-the arguments for ethical veganism
-how to get along with family, friends, and others, including other vegetarians
-tons of practical tips for traveling, shopping, and living as a vegan
-tips for surviving the grocery store, restaurants, and dinners with omnivores
-how to respond when people ask you if you “like, live on apples and twigs”

And as if that’s not enough, the authors aren’t afraid to drop the f-bomb AND they listened to fantastic music while writing (see:  Death Cab and the Arcade Fire).

Just thought I’d share.



“RABBIT RABBIT” FOR MAY

Going to the art show made me realize that I should have submitted more art.  Also, my friends are artistic wonders.  I especially enjoyed flipping through Paige’s sketchbooks.  I’ve been thinking about starting a sketchbook for quite some time; I’ve now decided that I must.  It is imperative.  I also want to take art classes galore in college, even though fuck, my major has nothing to do with art.  It’s really a release for all of the visual creativity I’ve got built up.  I write every day, but it’s rare that I get the opportunity to visually represent what’s on my mind.  And in elementary school, I was an art buff.  Some part of me thinks that perhaps I shouldn’t have traded art for band in middle school.  I’m in love with music and at least I’m glad that I learned to play mallets.  CONSOLATION for choosing oboe.

Nanyway.  Over the past few days, I’ve been regularly hitting up the Last.fm group for the Rilo Kiley concert on June 8th.  People (twenty-somethings, mainly) are afraid of people my age turning it into a fucking sing-along.  How RIDONKULOUS do you think we are?  And why wouldn’t you want to sing along?  I mean, look.  My freeenz and I live by the wisdom of Jenny Lewis.  We want to marry Blake Sennett (or something).  We realize that Jason Boesel is the rational voice of reason, and I guess Pierre de Reeder makes us dance or something.  I don’t know.  I guess I understand why you wouldn’t want a sing-along, but call me a “teeny bopper,” and I’m peissssed.  Just because I’m seventeen and a female.  Seeeriously?  Come on, now.  Reserve that term for someone who listens to one fuckin’ FOB song and goes to the concert.  All those pretty thirteen-year-old jelly-bracelet-wearin’ chicks at a Dashboard concert.  But please, never call a hardxcore Rilo Kiley follower a “teeny bopper.”  Please.  You will get beat down.

That being said, I have lately realized that I have two qualities that are automatic negatives.  One:  I am seventeen years old.  Thus, I’m not quite an adult and still insanely naive.  Two:  I am a girl.  This is like a double whammy, because it disallows many people from taking me seriously.  For example, people on Last.fm who think this is my first fucking concert or something.  The kind who call me a “teeny bopper” resentfully.  You don’t knoooow me!  And you also don’t know how committed I am to Rilo Kiley.  Committed, seriously.  Favourite band.

But when I’m writing, I have none of this in mind.  I don’t constantly think, “Oh, I’m seventeen and a girl.”  I just think about my passion for music, my passion for art, my passion for writing.  My passion for other people and details.  I also never have vegetarianism on my mind unless I’m at the grocery store.  And even then, it’s like, “Oh.  Today, we’re going to try to avoid cheese.”  Yeah.  And for the record, I would probably never buy or create a shirt declaring my vegetarianism.  Delia*s disappointed me in selling these.  It’s honestly nothing to brag about–kind of like wearing a shirt that says, “I dye my hair” or “I shave my legs.”  If you wear a shirt declaring it, people will think you’re pretentious.  High-and-mighty.  Holier-than-thou.  While I did constantly think about it two years ago, it’s now just part of life.  I don’t make it a point to tell everyone or rub it in everyone’s faces.  My point is that these shirts are for sellouts, mainly.  People who do it for the credit, or as a conversation starter.  Well, fuck that way of life.

Also, fuck PETA.

Hm, what else?  Oh.  The main downer point of my day.  I typed up my senior project paper, right?  All fancy and long.  Nice-looking.  Of course, I have had to guess and check on most of my project, because every time I asked them for clarification, they were extremely vague and unhelpful.  Well, I brought it down to Guidance in a spare moment.  And the woman.  At the desk.  Tells me.  That I did my paper wrong.  That it was supposed to be a five-paragraph essay.  With a cover sheet.  Telling about what I learned.

I almost screamed in frustration.

I’ve been making shit up as I go along ALL YEAR because Guidance has been the biggest lump of shit as far as help goes, and after I’ve done all of my hard work and put in many hours of organization and creativity, they have the BALLS to tell me that I did it wrong.  The fucking balls.

On my way out of Guidance, I felt tears welling up in my eyes.  They were not tears of, “I have to rewrite my paper.”  They were not tears of, “Poor me.”  Not the usual tears of sadness.  They were tears of frustration.  I was actually angry.  There was steam coming out of my ears.  I was soooo pissed.  Because Guidance can sit on their asses all day long and turn in my college applications over a month after I gave it to them after promising me “ASAP.”  They can give me the fucking PSSAs senior year.  They can force me to do a graduation project in less than half the time everyone else did it–and then threaten me with In-School Suspension (ISS) if I don’t turn it in on the same day as the senior slacker delinquents do (who have had about three years to complete their projects–over three times the amount of time I had).  But they can’t do their fucking job right.

So I put my head in my hands and pretended to sleep when in reality, I was stressed.  I am normally an expert at repressing tears, but this time, they leaked into my hands, I guess because of the pressure or some sheeeittt like that.  I just sat there and thought, “Oh, shit, how am I going to wipe my eyes off without making it look like I was just crying.”  But people knew because my face was all red, and I was acting like a pissmonkey, and I had to keep wiping my eyes.  If I had had someone to talk to, I think I would have been fine, but again…all of my friends were at the art show, and here I was stuck at school.  I never, ever, ever cry at school.  The last time I cried at school was probably sophomore year when the janitor pissed on me.  Well, he didn’t literally piss on me, but he yelled at me for something I didn’t even do, and made me clean it up, and called an administrator to supervise me, and it was humiliating.  Oh, and when my mother called the school about it, the Assistant Principal told me to get new friends.  It was actually laughable.  I laugh about it now because it was so ridiculous.  Fuck Guidance, seriously.

Also, I haven’t been so justifiably pissed in quite a long time.  I get frustrated with our school system, but I have not been this pissed at anyone for a good year, maybe.  And I haven’t been this justifiably pissed since the janitor thing.  Or when we got kicked out of the mall for wearing black.

Of course, I was pissed off for the rest of the day.  Rewriting the paper is no big deal.  I’m just frustrated with Guidance.

When I got home, of course it was a fucking Cryfest, boo-hoo, Guidance, blah blah, nyeeehhhh.  I was pissing at everyone.  And then in the middle of telling my mom this, she goes, “Look, you really need to wear coverup every day.”  And she pointed to my acne by my mouth.  So fucking superficial, I can’t even stand it.  Yes, I know that I have acne, mom.  I wash my face three thousand times a day.  You stressing me out is not going to cure anything.  You telling me that I shouldn’t have acne is not going to magically cure it.  And fuck, if I touch my face, I am not going to sprout a fucking pimple right there on the spot.  And for the record, my face is fucking dry.  Yeah, fuck astringent.

I went for a run, then.  And after that, we went to the grocery store.  And then I decided to work out for an hour.  I made my abs hurt.  I worked my arms hard.  I wanted to run again and do a million more reps, but there’s really only so much a person can do.  Exercise makes me happy.  It makes me feel thin and healthy.  I like that feeling.

Granted, I took some routines from Seventeen.  I used to think that Seventeen was so great.  It is, if we’re talking about body image.  But it does two things I don’t like.  One, it ignores the environmental situation.  In one issue, they specifically recommend aerosol hairspray for a style.  In another, they recommend packing a bottled water in your bagged lunch.  I’m sure there are other examples in every issue.  I just didn’t look.  Two, it stereotypes guys.  It tells you signs that he’s into you.  It tells you what subtleties he won’t pick up on.  It tells you why he likes you.  And really, this makes girls generic, too.  I picture the same girl for every write-in.  She is thin, well-liked, and beautiful.  Clean and naive.  And really, it makes me sad that anyone can think that they fit into a certain category.  You’re so different from anyone else, in a million ways.  The way you are, how you were raised, where you grew up, who your parents and siblings are, your aspirations, your tastes.  What you look like.  Just embrace it already.  Stop trying to look like Brittany Snow.  You’re beautiful on your own.  Or handsome–you’re stunning on your own.  Also, I find that Channing Tatum is an oaf.  Where the hell is the appeal everyone talks about?

Men.  Do you really think that every girl judges a man by his body?  Do you seriously think that every girl wants someone with a six-pack and bulging biceps?  Here’s a testament to the opposite.  I pay no attention to physical “treats” like that on a male.  I really don’t.  Partially because I would have no idea what to do with it.  Partially because a body like that would make me feel extremely self-conscious about my own body.  Also, I do not think that a toned, built man would go for me when I look like this.  But the main thing I look for in someone is something insightful and different.  I’ve found that more often than not, a guy who builds up his body is too busy conforming to what he thinks all girls want to have time to be insightful for me.

Well.  Huh.  Here’s my favourite track to work out to.  Brittany showed me the glory that is Santogold, and I fell in love.  Ali even said that on “L.E.S. Artistes,” she sounds like she is the baby of Tegan and Sara and M.I.A.  Funny, Santogold and M.I.A. are biffs.

Creator | Santogold
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Might I add that Santi White is exceptionally beautiful?!