2012

It is the end of a year. This year was really wonderful. I made new friends, studied abroad, learned Italian, partied, worked, moved into an apartment, added two minors, and of all the things I did I think the most important thing was that I fell in love. You were my first love, longest relationship, and my best friend. And whether you and I end up together in a year, in 10 years or never, in the year 2012 you were my everything. And that alone makes 2012 a triumph. I don't know if you feel the same but then I realize that's not really the point now is it? The point is I loved you wholly then. Now on the brink on 2013 we are not together. And I am learning that one year at a time, one day at a time, is enough for me. I will only remember 2012 fondly because you were in it. I will not blame 2012 on the follies of an imperfect world nor on the inadequacies of two imperfect souls.

I'm not perfect. But I am perfect for someone. 2012 taught me that. I can only open myself and hope someone will fall into place beside me.

As for 2013, I think I'm ready. Please be gentle, I have a cold but fragile heart. I need warm hands with kid gloves.

Cowboy Sunrise

You rode off into the sunrise before the adventure had begun. You aren't much of a cowboy are you?

Leather boots pulled over jean cuffs as the morning dew nestled between the folds of leaves.

From the bed frame the tsth tsth tsth of spurs against worn wood floor boards faded away with the night.

You were gone with the pale moon and me at your back and the glaring sun reflected in your wrinkled eyes.

I want to throw up on my future...

I don't want to study.

It has come to the point where I would rather do research for grad programs than study. So at least I'm being productive...

Only after reading, texting, tweeting, watching tv, eating, and doing all other manners of procrastination.

I must now answer the sickening question of whether I follow my head or whether I follow my heart as I have narrowed down my options to two radically different fields of study: Business or English.

As I hone in on my two different options one thought pops into my head: "I'm going to throw up."

I was overwhelmed by college applications when I was in high school. Truth. But I also had my parents and my teachers and my friends and my high school adviser and my high school college adviser (yes we had both) and my SAT tutor and my neighbors and my mom's friends and my extended family and- and- and...

I basically just nodded my head and took notes and then did what they said. And then, look, now I'm in college. The only thing I really did by myself was pick which school I went to, and even that was highly influenced by other people and other variables.

I'm a junior and I don't even know what I'm doing in a year and a half. And I know I could look that shit up by myself, but there's no like do to list on google. I checked.

When I was a junior in high school I had this shit locked down.

Now I'm floating in this abyss of options and I know one thing:

I either want to do Business or English.

I don't know where, I don't know how, but at least I *almost* know what I'm studying.

I looked up schools. You know how many programs I have narrowed it down to so far? 26.

26 programs, 15 in Business and 11 in English.

I figure, first I have to decide what kind of program, and then I have to decide which school.

My head or my heart.

"I'm going to throw up."

My head or my heart may be misleading. Some of you may blink at me and say naively, "always follow your heart".

I have two dreams, essentially. Which isn't true because I have many, many dreams, one of which is to be a pirate, another of which is to be an archaeologist. Then we have president, princess, rancher, cowboy, actress, hair stylist, interior designer, event coordinator, explorer, chef, mariner, spy, rock and roll star...

But I have two dreams I think I could actually be feasible. And before you blink at me again and say "you can be anything you want", I don't actually think I could be a rock and roll star, I have tried learning to play instruments and I got bored.

I know I have strengths as well as weaknesses. And instead of vainly trying to become a princess or a pirate in this modern age, I will be wise about my dreaming.

My two dreams. The dreams that are lucid, that I can control.

1. I want to be a small business owner.
2. I want to be a novelist.

Both dreams are just dreams. And both dreams can be helped by grad programs. In either Business or English.

I know that an MBA is far more practical, and thus I have labeled it my head option. Because regardless of my dream, I know I can functionalize it.

And I know that I write everyday and want to for the rest of my life, so regardless of whether my dream of becoming a novelist comes true, I will be following my heart with an English program.

Thus, my head and my heart.

"I'm going to throw up."

Oh, and there is the added bonus that I have no undergrad experience in either. No extracurricular experience in either. No brilliant internships or work experiences. I will be applying to these programs as an underdog.

Everyone loves an underdog....

Precipice

I am on a precipice and you are watching me wobble.
You will watch me fall and walk away.

Bare feet stand on the razor's edge.
The blade cuts thin against steadying soles.

If I fall forward, unending abyss will envelope me.
Backward, and my body will slide into thick, hardening concrete.

To be free of it all or to be locked into fate.
Or to stand forever on the high peak of unsteady indecision.

You are on a precipice and I am watching you wobble.
I will watch you fall and walk away.

I could push you forward, but only you can fall back.

Heart Garden

Lay fallow thine heart, for it is safer amongst the weeds
Tucked under some packed dirt in an empty garden

Dig deep a hole so big and empty nothing will reach it
Plant it far within infertile soil so nothing grows

Let prickers and choking tendrils cling to the hollow heart
Let your soul go to seed

Soul Size

Here are some things I should do, in order of urgency:

Study for international studies final
Study for Italian final
Fill out application to language learning scholarship
Fill out application to study abroad program
Fill out application to honors program
Look up graduate school programs

What I have done today, chronologically:

Woke up (late)
Showered (quickly)
Went to Italian class (late)
Went to international studies lecture (didn't take notes)
Began reading Stardust (not homework)
Fell asleep (in public)
Went to scholarship meeting (meeting began early, thus, late)
Drank bubble tea (sugar high)
Stalked friend from bedroom window (creepy)
Watched Supernatural (not homework)
Read half an article on Israel (didn't finish)
Ate cookies (fat)
Ate fried rice (eh)
Looked up a bunch of info on the stuff I did have to (didn't actually do anything with that information)
Listened to music while blogging (not homework)

And let's not mention all the twitter, texting, and facebook I did today. I need to get rid of that shit. Really. It's stupid.

Is it sufficient to say that I have lost all motivation for this quarter?

I don't think finals should happen at the end of the quarter. We are all zombies. We should have all our finals and papers due like during the fourth week. Cuz after that, we loose all our steam.

Remember like a month ago when I gave a shit? Yeah, I'm just gunna do what I know will let me slide by.

In other news, it's December and I've resurrected this freaking blog. Huzzah! I know I keep saying that but it seems like it's actually happening. So let's cross our fingers the inspiration continues.

It'll be my pre-New Year's resolution.

Same with yoga. I'm going to go to yoga as often as I can until I go home. In a week. Haha.

The BAY AREA!! For three weeks.

I am expecting it to be both more dramatic and less eventful than I expect it, if that makes sense. We will see I suppose and I will try to keep you updated.

I'm a little hesitant. Mostly excited, but a little anxious. Home is where the heart is. That's what they say.

Oh God, am I heartless? Because I don't feel at home anywhere.

I love going back to my home town but it's not the same. I mean it is functionally the same, this is small town living, nothing changes much except maybe the kind of SUV popular amongst soccer moms.

But I feel differently from when I was in high school or middle school or elementary school. I know it's normal, but my parent's house is like a sanctuary that you run to when you need a break or miss your family. It's not a place you live normally.

At the same time, Seattle is getting more familiar as much as I resist. The weather still kills me but actually this year has been pretty mild. Now that I've said that... shit is gunna get vengeful.

This year has been more fun than last year, although nothing compares to my freshman year. I know the break up didn't do tons for my morale, but I've made new friends, grown closer to people, and even felt closer to the city itself.

I am starting to relax into life here. The apartment helps. Having a place, my place, that I get to myself and can staple as many posters as I want to the walls.

I have learned a lot about myself in the year that has passed. I have learned a lot about what love is and what it means, what I want in the future, what I want my life to be, who I want to be associated with and who I don't, among other things.

I have embraced my nerdiness in ways I hadn't only a year ago. I have recognized the importance of honesty, and how it drives me nuts when people aren't honest. I have learned about how I interact with other types of people, especially people I have to spend lots of time with. I have begun to understand what it means to love and be loved and re-prioritized my understanding of love only in the last couple of months. I have learned how to live with myself as well as with someone else, and realized that although I yearn for companionship, I am functional on my own.

I know there are still things I need to improve upon. Being braver when I have to venture alone. Being more open to new people and new experiences. Being more understanding of people who operate differently from myself. Being more rational in stressful and emotional contexts, especially in interpersonal relations. Being more careful with myself and realizing that I am numero uno when it comes to my heart and my happiness.

Some of these things people will agree on, maybe even recognize that these are things they should work on too. Other things people may not agree with. That's okay.

The one thing I realized, stepping out of the shower a few weeks ago, was this:

You don't have to constantly be growing.

When this thought filtered through my morning thoughts I stood dumbstruck in a towel dripping water on the bathroom floor.

Wait what? My brain asked my... brain...

Yeah, you don't have to be constantly improving yourself. Just because you are technically a day older, doesn't mean you have to be a day better.

Yes I do.

Why? You were 20 yesterday. You're 20 today. If you fuck up today in the same ways you fucked up yesterday, no one's gunna think you are a failure. And furthermore, if you did really well yesterday, but fuck up today, it's not gunna be a tragedy. No one's gunna think you are going backwards.

I will be going backwards though.

No you will not be. You CAN'T go backwards.

When that thought hit me, it really changed my perspective. I need to relax a little. I'm a little too introspective. I'm a little too concerned with growing up.

I'm 20. What am I doing? I need to act my age, not my soul size.

Match

The lipstick smears from her mouth make her look like she's bleeding. Her mouth is closed and her jaw is tight, each molar clinging to its mate like they are puzzle pieces. She rubs her face and her chipped nail polish shines in the moonlight. Her mascara is running following the curvatures of her cheeks.

She is walking home in the rain and her high-heeled feet pound as she pounds the pavement. The bag on her arm is filled with an empty bottle, a cigarette stub, half a tube of lipstick, and the crumpled foil of a condom wrapper.

One hand holds an umbrella while the other fumbles around in the purse. She finds the bit of cigarette and lights it with the matchbook in her jacket pocket, juggling the umbrella ungracefully. She tosses the match, still lit, on the wet pavement.

For a moment it flickers, and then it goes out. She blinks and keeps walking.

Waking Up

Waking up in your arms she thought, I have never felt so comfortable.

It wasn't the blanket or the bed, but your body that made her feel at home.

Ten hours later she is in tears on the bed she woke up in, and you are holding her tight. The air doesn't fill her lungs all the way up, that is how tight you hold her.

Ten days later she is gone and you lie awake at night wondering what she's doing.

I know what she's doing. She is sleeping.

She has a dream and you are in it. The bed she lies in is not yours and she rolls from her back to her side, folding her body up against the nightmare.

You lie among red pillows and black sheets and she watches you break promises she wondered if you would keep when you made them.

There's no such thing as an honest man. And honest women are a dying breed.

She can feel herself dying as she lies in the bath. Drinks a beer. Smokes a cigarette. Bathes in the lies.

Her heart skips a beat while she's asleep. Pauses for one moment to catch her from falling.

She dreams of him. A new man with your eyes and your mouth and your promises.

He is lying on red pillows and black sheets and he is lying. She lies with him but the cigarette smoke in her lungs and the beer in her blood wake her unsteadily.

You are living and breathing without her and you are surprised by this.

She is living and breathing without you and she is not surprised.

I am living and breathing and I watch her body move. Her chest moves up and down while she sleeps.

I am living and breathing and choking as she cries.

She cries for weeks. And then she stops.

She stops breathing and her heart stops beating. And she falls.

You lie in your red and black bed and you dream of her. Her pale body is lying with you as you watch her sleeping. You try to wake her.

He comes and picks her up. You watch as he wakes her with a kiss.

She goes with him. He is holding her tight. So tight her lungs can't fill up all the way.

You wake up and you are lying in a different bed. A different woman by your side who thinks, I have never felt so comfortable.

It is not your bed but your body.

I watch you and the new woman living and breathing and I wonder if she believes the promises you make.

I wake up and you aren't there. But I'm there and he is there and he makes no promises. He breaks no promises. He lives and breathes and I watch him lie on my red pillows and black sheets.

New Day

I don't want to open my eyes. If I open my eyes it means the night is over and it's a new day. If I open my eyes I have to admit to myself that I'm awake, which is not what I want to do. I don't want to wake up right now.

Why is it that the most tired moments of my life happen right after I have spent literally hours sleeping? How does that make any sense? I am not my hungriest right after I finished eating. Nor am I my dirtiest right after a shower.

I wish I could wake up and throw my covers off, jump out of bed like a kangaroo. I'm awake, I'm up, I'm ready!

Instead I'm sitting in class an hour later, a yawning sloth, because I am so tired.

[[today I have coffee and spend my first class feeling anxious for no apparent reason. That's some sort of psychological problem right? Unexplained anxiety?

Reasons to be stressed:

1. I am writing a novel (just finished)
2. I have a term paper to write and research for (hopefully not in that order)
3. I have a take home final exam
4. My room is a mess (how many pairs of underwear do I have anyway. And why do people call them pairs of underwear. They don't come in pairs. They are singular)
5. It is almost Christmas
6. I had a presentation in Italian during my first class (so yeah, maybe warranted anxiety after all)

There I said all the things I am stressed about.

Oh, also I'm single.

I think I mentioned that in my last post.

Yup. Single. And loving it.

Anyway moving on.]]

Don't open your eyes. If you open your eyes you have to admit consciousness.

Flashback:

I'm in Italy. It's night and my professor is going to sing us some Italian folk songs.

We just spent the day driving around southern Italy to end up at an empty beach resort where we spent the afternoon cavorting in the sea. Not the ocean, mind you. The sea.

I've had too much sun, too much good food, too many laughs with friends.

And my professor, my sweet professor, who is too kind even for his own good, is singing Italian folk songs and strumming the guitar.

All my friends, all these Italian students sitting around me with their sun kissed cheeks and their full bellies and their laughs, they are all listening.

I start to cry. I can't help it. I don't even understand half of the lyrics because some of them are in Italian but I am listening to the guitar and the sound of my professor's voice and I am looking at the other happy students and it is a warm spring night in southern Italy.

I am crying and I don't want to be. I want to be filled with joy but now I'm over full and it's overflowing from my eyes and down my cheeks.

I am crying and wiping away big salty tears as covertly as I can. I have no idea who knows, and I desperately want them to ignore it if they do know.

I am crying and my eyes have once again betrayed me.

Don't open your eyes. It's not morning yet.

Cold

The cold is sobering. Three glasses of wine later and I'm not drunk, just sad, but the cold helps.

I started this blog little over two years ago after my high school ex drunk dialed me on Halloween. I was drunk too, enjoying life as a Freshman in college, and I spent 20 minutes on the phone with him bitching him out. Later that night I went into a hot tub with my halloween costume on and played would you rather with a bunch of people, one of which is one of my best friends in Seattle today.

Tonight I was the one drunk dialing my ex. Oops. After almost four weeks of being broken up I called him cuz I missed him. And my phone died while I was saying goodbye.

Both times I ended up outside in the cold Seattle air, and I realized, Seattle is frigid.

And it makes me feel frigid.

I know I'm less beautiful when I frown so I always walk home with a scowl. Girls don't get raped if they look unhappy, right?

But I still get hit on.

Tonight: "Hey, you're really beautiful." from out of a car window. Then once he noticed I was unimpressed "Do you like girls? I have a really hot cousin."

Seattle freezes you until you are worried your heart will just stop. And when you cry the tears freeze to your face.

Icicles hang from the edges of my soul and frost nips at the corners of my mind.

In balmy Bay Area my friends called me the ice queen. But a thousand miles north my breath comes out in steamy wisps. I watch them curl up and away.

I feel like a passenger of the Titanic. Jack is gone, and I've got to wait until someone rescues me with a blanket and a cup of tea. But what if no one comes? What if I float away into the Atlantic forever?

I feel like Frankenstein's monster. Ripped apart and put back together. Wanting some one like me to share a life with until I find myself in the Arctic alone, freezing to death.

I thrive on companionship. I'm not someone who can maintain lots of little friendships. I've always had one person to confide in. Matt, Laura Jean, Antonio, Lauren, Tina, Maddy, Sarah, Haley, Claire, Caitlin, Meghan, Kristina, Bridget, Kellyn. Half of these people I don't even talk to anymore.

I don't know if I am prone to be lonely but I feel lonely right now.

I need someone I know will be there.

I need someone who wants to be there.

My mom told me if I felt really sad after the break up I should think about seeing someone about it. Like a therapist or something. A professional. But I don't want a professional. I want a friend. I want a best friend.

I'm really good at putting people first.

I've gotten better at putting myself first.

But I want someone else to put me first.

I've been my best friend longer than I've known you, and yet we keep talking like we don't know ourselves. I've never had a problem knowing who I was. I've had a problem finding anyone else who does. And still wants to be around after they find out.

I know I'm beautiful. I get hit on even when I scowl. Thinking about it later, I don't understand what that guy meant. I was wearing four layers of jacket. What, does he have X-ray vision?

And I know I'm funny. And I know I'm smart. And I know I can be too blunt but I hate liars. I like diplomacy but I don't like two faced bitches. I take showers every day and I am clean. I have straight teeth and shiny hair and small feet. I am loving and kind and ambitious. I don't drink too much or smoke or do drugs. I like children and kittens and books. I like nerdy things and movies and writing.

And I keep waiting for someone to drop everything and say, "Hey you're really beautiful."

Fucktober First

October 2002. I got a Happy Halloween card from my grandma. Later that day my mom, my grandma and myself get run off the road by a guy who fell asleep at the wheel. Our car flips off the freeway, travelling over 150 feet in total, to land, thank God, right side up. We find ourselves in a field. Two Spanish-speaking men, probably illegal immigrants, find us first. Once the police arrive they have already disappeared into the hot afternoon. I feel hazy as I rewind the last four minutes over and over-- a bump- my mom says "Oh God"- panic- relief- another bump- harder- panic- and then- side- top- side- bottom- dust and glass fall around my face like spring showers without the cool relief. The dry October grass crunches under my feet as I hike up the side of the hill we just flew from. Traffic flicks by and my mom calls for me, afraid for how close I am to the flow of cars. But my dad is coming to get us and I need him to hurry. Suddenly my floral shorts are innapropriately cheery for today. My grandma is being harnassed into a stretcher and I can't know if she is going to be okay. I don't even remember anyone asking me if I was okay. I know my mom did, but I can't remember what I said. The guy and his girlfriend from the other car are lying in the grass, thrown from their shiny silver sports car. The police said that because they didn't wear seatbelts, their lives were probably saved. I feel sick, like I swallowed too much dust and glass. Someone up there likes us, my mom says. That's how I am supposed to feel. Saved. Safe.

October 2004. My dad, grandpa and two neighbors go missing while on a camping trip. For a week I do not know if I will see them again. I pray to God for the first time in my life. I don't remember what the last thing I said to my dad was, but I wished it had been more profound. There are news trucks on my street, so many my mom and I can't drive up to our house. My mom is on TV talking about it. My grandma is playing golf. People at school don't know what to say to me but the principle is very concerned with how I am doing. I had never liked her much until then. When they find them lost in the snow I make welcome home signs with my neighbor in the principle's office until my mom can pick us up. When I see my dad again, I can't remember what it was I said to him, but I wish it had been more profound.

October 2005. The first time I saw Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring was with my best friend from middle school, her brother, and her brother's best friend. Less than three years later her brother's best friend committed murder. For the first time in my life I knew a criminal. Not just knew a criminal. Spent time with a criminal. A murderer. How could I know a murderer? How could I ever have sat next to someone in a dark living room watching Lord of the Rings who would then go and kill someone. It simply wasn't possible. I rode home on my bicycle crying, with the fantasy of defending him in court. This man is innocent. I know, I know him. He couldn't have done it because he knew me. I rode home on my bicycle crying, with the fantasy of visiting him in jail years from now. Maybe wearing a red and white dress and lipstick like in film noir. Asking him, why? Why? How could you do this? You were a good man, a good man. And good men are not supposed to go bad.

October 2008. What was supposed to be a minor injury is diagnosed to be a severed Achilles tendon. I cry, looking in the mirror over my shoulder for the last time at my un-scarred ankle. I am recommended for emergency surgery and am under the knife within 24 hours of being diagnosed. I have never, ever felt pain like this. I miss school, I miss parties, I miss my friends, I miss doing my own laundry, I miss taking normal showers, I miss standing, I miss walking. I am drugged, weak, and immobile. I am lonely, depressed and cannot cope with being permanently damaged. I still do not know if I will ever fully recover. When I get my stitches removed and see the scar for the first time I think, it is so long, who will look at that and still think I'm beautiful?

October 2012. I walk home from class when a man finishing a sandwich balls up his wrapper and throws it at me. He is angry and he frowns at me and I have nothing to say as I stare at the garbage at my feet. He steps toward me and I pass him quickly and he yells "have a good fucking day" at me. I feel the heat of his anger rise in my cheeks and I hear myself squeak back, "you too". A ridiculous response to a man who clearly does not want my to have a good day. An older man watches with vague interest as the situation sinks in. I am embarassed and mad but that shifts to sadness. This man has just thrown garbage at me. I feel defaced, disrespected, and violated and I am overcome with emotion. Twenty years old and nearly six feet tall, I am walking down the street with tears rolling down my face. I hiccup as I trip over a curb and the tears jerk and drip on to the cement. I pass a busy busstop and for every pair of eyes that stare at me, a pair of tears stream down. I stand at an intersection and recover myself. Of all the shitty things that have ever happened to me in the month of October, I realize none have them have been personal attacks on me. All of them were situational. All of them could have happened to anyone in the world, and have. But today was different. And it was not a good start to this motherfucking month.

I'm Back B*tches

It's August 3, 2012 and I haven't posted on my blog since May. A lot has happened since then and I won't waste your time rehashing old news. The important thing is the now, and that's what I'm here to talk about. Don't panic duumshit readers. I'm still here.

But I am re-vamping. I know I said I wasn't going to talk about what happened since May, but a lot has changed and I am changing with it. I had been discussing the pro's and con's of the blog title "duumshit" since it's inception (it's a blog within a dream within a blog) and I finally gave into a change.

I lamented the change only because I didn't want to confuse people. I didn't want to lose people. But given I haven't blogged in what feels like years, I think that anyone I would have confused/lost in a name change are probably gone, and definitely irrelevant at this point.

I changed my blog's name to Kierisma. There is a very simple reason for that. My name is Kiera. Maybe my blog should be Kier(ism)a. In any case, as a Kiera I am wont to make Kiera-isms; I say things only I could or would say, and usually I write them down. Right here in fact. I also think as a writer it is important to have charisma. In an effort to be clever I have smooshed those two concepts together and made Kierisma.

This is a rebirth. I have been grappling with the writing process for... about a year actually. I have been struggling with lack of inspiration and lack of motivation. I have been feeling pretty robotic in my writing. It's time to change that.

I hope you enjoy the revamped version of this blog. Things might be looking and sounding different very soon. But I'm still here. Searching for myself. Searching for truth. Knowing both of those things will reveal themselves at the opportune moment.

Dear John Green,

I have been a fan of yours for less than a week. Five days ago a friend who is studying with me in Italy right now posted a video of yours, Crash Course World History: Rome. After having studied in Rome for five weeks, I knew a lot of the history you covered in your video, but it took me five weeks of stumbling through Roman cobblestone streets to learn what you said in approximately ten minutes. I haven't decided which way is better, but I think probably the stumbly way. Never the less your Rome Crash Course video caught my attention and I decided to watch more. 

In the last five days I have watched every single Crash Course World History in order (minus Rome) to date. Being busy bounding around Italy during the days, this means the last several nights have been packed with history, and less packed with, like, sleeping. You have also cut into my reading time-- of Harry Potter in Italian and rereading Treasure Island. What I'm trying to say is your videos have taken over my life much in the same way Buffy the Vampire Slayer took over during freshman year of college. 

Besides watching all the Crash Course World History videos, I have watched several of your vlogbrothers videos, including Hank's videos. The friend who introduced me to your videos informed me today that you guys have been at this video blogging thing for a while, but for some reason I missed the band wagon until now. 

But what I'm really interested in is the Crash Course videos. You hooked me with history, man. I watched about 30 seconds of Hank's sciency show and he lost me in his sciency mathy thingys. But the history kills me. I have always been a history nerd. Admittedly, more of an American history nerd, but I never turned down an opportunity to learn about cool things dead guys (and girls) did. 


I got into college thinking I was going to study history. The only problem is history is not incredibly applicable to the world unless you become a teacher, a researcher, or a writer of history. Instead I choose sociology because as everyone knows sociology is way more applicable, allowing you to be a teacher, a researcher, or a writer of sociology. 

Anyway, I quickly found that everything I looked for in history, I found in sociology. Questions about how things work, why they work, and how they came to be entrenched in our lives is the end game of sociological research. And I found it to be much more broad in scope than history which focuses on political and religious climates of different time periods-- or at least when I took European history it always felt like someone was either dying/ killing/ marrying/ conquering for a political or religious reason. Sociology focuses on politics and religion, of course, but it also looks at the institution of education, family and gender dynamics, economic principles, etc, etc. I mean it covers EVERYTHING that involves
society. 

And no one knows what sociology even is. I mean, even I didn't until I took my first class and said, hey, maybe if people knew all this stuff it would save the world. Everyone has an opinion about what is going to save the world. Knowledge about history is good, so we can attempt to avoid mistakes that have been made before-- but we know that is easier said than done-- look at how many people have tried to invade Russia. Knowledge about science is good, so we can attempt to make innovations in technology-- but we know that is easier said than done-- look at all the poopy things we've done to the environment via technological innovation. In my opinion, the thing that would save the world if everyone knew about it is sociology. 

It's like psychology for the world. Sociology plops different societies on a big ol' metaphorical couch and whips out the sociological equivalent of Freudian theory. Sociology can diagnose almost any facet of a society. Why gender relations are set up the way they are 'here' in contrast to 'there'. Why deviance occurs and can actually be beneficial for a society. Why political and economic systems work for some peoples and not for others. If everyone knew about these things, maybe they would then have the tools to fix them. 

This is where you come in. I think it would be really awesome (and I use this word very sparingly so you know I mean it) if your next "season" of Crash Course was about sociology. I mean, I don't know you, I didn't even know you existed until five days ago (which I hope you find refreshing, not insulting). I am an average, relatively healthy, upper-middle class woman in college, studying abroad in Italy right now. I have it pretty sweet; I am happy. In all honesty there is no reason to kowtow to my request, other than IT IS A REALLY GOOD IDEA. But that's just my opinion, and I write to you, via e-mail, and implore you to listen. 

I know you don't reply to e-mails, I mean that's what you said on your website, but I hope you are honest about reading every word of them, even though I'm sure you get a lot. I hope you do read them, and I hope if you don't, you at least read mine. I would have tweeted to you, but 1) I still don't believe twitter is a real form of communication and 2) there is a word limit. I am in fact now following you as "duumshit" on twitter, and I will be posting this on my blog at www.duumshit.blogspot.com. Just so if you did want to reply via some other portal of communication you could...

I've never been good at sign-offs,

Kiera Peacock

P.S. I apologize for any grammatical errors, I've been speaking Italian for the last several weeks and my brain doesn't know what language it is in.

Ciao, For Now!

Hello Faithful Readers. I hate to do this to you, it mixes people up and jumbles up their brain but I am taking a break from the writing of "Duumshit" for a while.

Do not fear however! For I am going to stop blogging! I am merely moving to a different blog for the time being. --> http://encounteringmyself.blogspot.com/

I will be in Italy for the next three months and in an effort to encapsulate my experiences, I have made a separate, all Italy, all the time, blog. --> http://encounteringmyself.blogspot.com/

I will blog on "Duumshit" every once in a while, but if you want regularity, check out "Encountering Myself" at --> http://encounteringmyself.blogspot.com/

Read on! --> http://encounteringmyself.blogspot.com/

Did you get that? --> http://encounteringmyself.blogspot.com/

Okay, just making sure ;)

I'm Not Dead, Probably

Sorry that it has been a while since I last wrote. It's the end of the quarter and subsequently chaos has ensued. Last week I wrote a term paper, this week I have two finals, and next week I have another final and move out of my dorm room and go back to the Bay Area. At least for a little bit. I am studying abroad in Italy for three months, right after spring break. I just have to survive til next Wednesday when I leave Seattle.

It's weird to think that I won't be in Seattle for the next six and a half months. Kind of crazy, especially given the fact that a couple Seattle-oriented things have to happen between then and now, while I'm gone. Like find a roommate or roommates and a place to live for next year. And I have to apply to the honors program for sociology. And I have to register for fall quarter classes. It's funny how things don't just magically stop when you are gone. Well, not exactly funny.

In the meantime I am walking along the razor's edge of sanity. I'm pretty good at juggling lots of things but for any of you circus clowns out there, there is always a point where your arms get tired, your focus wains, and you drop something. I'm over-sensitive, over-worked, and over-whelmed. You could knock me over with a slight breeze.

At least I'm happy. Bad things aren't happening which is usually what puts me in this state of mind. Good things are happening, just a lot of them, and all of them require my full attention, which at the end of a hard quarter, I don't actually have.

As my second winter quarter comes to a close I realize that this is the hardest part of school. Each year, this ten week period kicks my butt. The weather is crappy, the work load is heavy, and there's the mental space that comes from having to be smished between two quarters.

It doesn't help that I have an odd version of senioritis that has everything to do with studying abroad. It's hard to study for finals when you know in less then a month you'll be in Italy.

Honestly, this has been a weird school year in general. Recently I realized that I put too much pressure on myself to recreate the experiences of last year. I compared every aspect of this year to last year. And it didn't stand up, I'll be frank. Not because it was worse but because I was grading it on the wrong rubric. I looked at it with the eyes of a freshmen, wanting the newness, the excitement of freshmen year. But instead I came back to Seattle and found stale relationships, and I was disappointed. Academics weren't as exciting, parties weren't as crazy, and making friends wasn't as easy. And the jokes on me, because I realized all this right before I wrapped up my time in Seattle for this school year.

But next year I won't make the same mistake. Junior year will be fresh in that it won't be. I'll be acclimated to Seattle, I'll have my friends, I'll know what to expect in school, and I won't assume that any year in college could be compared to another. I didn't do it right this year, but actually, I don't mind because in the end I learned something important.

Expectations are expected to fail. So don't have expectations, have plans. Don't think, "oh this is how it should be, wah-wah, but it's not working out". Instead, think, "sure, last year was fine, but this year this is how it's gunna be". I waited this school year for things to be the way I wanted it to be. Next school year I'm going to dictate how my life is. Because I'm a fucking adult now, and I don't get served, this life is self-serve, bitches.

Meryl Streep: Oscars

I don't have much to say, really. I love Meryl Streep. I cried when she won tonight. Man. I want to be her a little bit. She goes on the list of bad ass women actresses.

Along with:

Dame Judi Dench
Maggie Smith
Helen Mirren
Diane Keaton
Sandra Bullock

It's a short list because it's so exclusive. But Streep and Dench are on top.

I like Smith and Mirren because they are sexy-- yes, Smith is sexy. I like Keaton because she is sassy. I like Bullock because I relate to almost every character she's every portrayed--especially the one's where she falls in love with a hot man. And if you ever have to ask me why I love Dench and Streep I will slap you so hard, they don't even make an analogy for it.

Congrats Meryl Streep. You should've won your 17th award tonight, not your third.

I'm feeling good about next year though. I think it's Dench's year. I have high hopes for The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. Which might not be a good thing actually.

Fly Me to the Moon

I have a new Valentine's Day tradition. I found it oddly comforting today to listen to my Frank Sinatra/Michael Bublé pandora playlist, wash the mile high pile of dishes on my desk, clean my room, put on make-up--including lipstic... For some reason domesticity hit me today, and it hit me hard. I even put heels on to get ready. It wasn't a wonder I didn't vacuum or wash the windows or tie my hair up in a floral print scarf. Saint Valentine bitch slapped me all the way to 1950.

You may very well be wrinkling your brow thinking, why did Valentine's Day bother you, don't you have a boyfriend. Yes, yes I do. A boyfriend far away in a land I left. Long distance relationships are weird on Valentine's Day. You aren't being taken out, you don't get flowers, or candy, or the other consumer products Hallmark beats men over the head with. You also don't get invited to the singleton party--metaphorically speaking. It's a bizarre limbo in which you, apparently, become the mom from Happy Days... I don't quite understand it yet.

This Valentine's Day was especially...weird... Because I haven't p exactly on the most stable terms with the beau for the last 24 hours... I mean we are all made up but it did mean waking up on Valentine's Day wasn't like waking up in a Romantic Comedy. Or if it was, it was like waking up during the dramatic part where no one knows who will end up with who but there's a lot of heated discussion and you can only pray it ends with a kiss as the credits role.

Well the credits aren't rolling, yet. But after recovering from the relationship icu I spent the rest of the day in a domestic haze. I even gave motherly advice to two friends about their love lives. I still can't believe I washed dishes. I'm glad the day ended, I was about to head down to the laundry room.

You can do whatever psychologic interpretation of that as you want, but I think it might stay a tradition. I quite liked how relaxing it felt. Especially with Sinatra and Bublé crooning their love in my ear all day. Their music flew my to the moon.

The Village People

This post is sort of a non sequitur. It's about the music group The Village People. It is spurred by the startling realization that no one knows who The Village People are. For years I have brought up The Village People in conversations. They are an easy target, given their resume of ridiculous songs and even more ridiculous outfits. 

More often than not I get blank stares blinking at me. I had looked for a laugh, or a chuckle, or even a smile. But I don't even see recognition in people's eyes. 

I'm not speaking another language. I'm not referencing an obscure hipster band that only I have heard of. Everyone in the entire universe has heard at least one of their songs. 

So let me explain, to anyone else still ignorant to my very simple references, who the Village People are. 

Remember YMCA? Macho Man? In the Navy? All of those are Village People songs. 

 So now you know what I'm talking about when YMCA is played. I'm not talking about a village somewhere, I'm talking about the people singing the song.

Now the other thing of significance about the Village People is that they all dressed in ridiculous costumes. One was a police man, one an Indian--sorry, Native American, one a naval/army officer, one a cowboy, one a biker, and one a construction worker.  As far as I can tell, every member of the group was gay, and every members costume was appropriately sexualized. 

So when I see a cop walk by in tight pants and say, "he looks like someone out of the Village People", again, I am not talking about an actual village. I'm talking about one of the six men who spent their entire musical careers dressed in sexy uniforms. 

There now you know. Go google images The Village People, or watch their music videos on YouTube. 

Shop Til You Drop

So I went shopping for the first time in a long time. Like real shopping. I've actually never gone real shopping in downtown Seattle; at least not until now. I've gone shopping in the mall near the UW campus, but I've never gone down to the center of the city to shop. I was... just like San Francisco... I think maybe all cities are set up similarly in terms of shopping. There is about a 10 block radius in which all the regular stores exist. There are mecca-esque versions of all the stores you are used to; American Apparel, Urban Outfitters, Sephora, Victoria Secret, H&M, and Forever 21. The latter two are the stores I went to yesterday with my two friends.

It was exactly what I needed. Don't kid yourself, ladies, retail therapy works. I new outfit and a little (or a lot) less cash in your bank account really can make you feel better. It might not be a permanent fix, but hey, neither is seeing a therapist. If you're going to spend 100 bucks a week making yourself feel better, wouldn't you rather look simply fabulous? Kidding, kidding. But not really. In a world where therapists and prescriptions come in 12-packs on the same isle as the soap in the grocery store, maybe it's not so bad to relieve stress with a new spring outfit (that's not such a crazy idea either, given the marvelous weather we've been having in Seattle lately).

I know there is criticism about our culture's materialism. Madonna said it simply enough, "We are living in a material world, and I am a material girl", but I think Lily Allen said it more eloquently, "I am a weapon of massive consumption and its not my fault it’s how I’m programmed to function". Madonna, Lily Allen, and I all recognize this materialism. And we all embrace it. We aren't niave, but we also embrace it.

I think we could benefit from thinking about things in those terms more often. If you know something exists, does that still make it bad? If I know that drinking soda is horrible for me, but still drink it, does that still make it bad that I drink it? Yeah, it's still bad for my health but you can't really lump me with the other people struggling with America's obesity epidemic, can you? It's the same with this "disease" of materialism. I know I have this inclination, so does it still make me a bad person to embrace it, not fight it.

I spend too much time fighting things because I know they exist as a stigmatized behavior. I tried to deny drinking coffee because everyone is recognizing that caffeine is bad for you. I've stopped doing that. Don't deny yourself things that make you happy. The last week or so I have had coffee any time I've felt the urge and not only have I been more energetic, I've also just felt better about myself because I didn't feel guilty about having it or even wanting it. But actually, I want to return to shopping before I get too off topic because I want to save this for another discussion.

I like shopping. I feel good spoiling myself. I have a job and I work hard saving money. I don't have many expenses with food and housing and school paid for by my parents. So why not feel good about yourself? Shopping isn't only about that instant feeling during the shopping. You have this final product, these new pieces of clothes that you can cherish for months (or years, as in my case, I hate throwing away clothes. I still have clothes from middle school...)

Shopping is a whole experience, and I know I've already talked a lot about it, but I had so many funny observations yesterday that that's really what I wanted to talk about.

First are the women who go into the dressing room with their friends and spend the whole time monologue about what their friends should wear/try on. There was this one woman who went on and on about her friend's body type and what that meant for the clothes she should wear. Things like, "Well you are tall so you would look good in skinny jeans" or "Given this or that feature, the peasant top style doesn't really work on you". After a while I couldn't help but feel like this woman didn't have a clue what she was saying. It was like she was quoting Cosmo, but... like, misquoting it. She was just throwing out random criticism and commentary. I think this is a common phenomenon and I hope to God if I ever sounded like that with a friend, they would bitch slap that right out of me.

Second are the moms who think it's okay to bring their little kids shopping with them. There was one mom who not only had her infant and toddler with her, but had belted them into a double wide stroller and forced her husband to push them around the crowded store. She wedged through clothing displays saying "Momma needs to shop". Oh hell no, you did not just bring your family into a store. Where's your mom? How about your dad? Or your uncle or sister or cousin or nephew. Just bring 'em all. And dad, what are you thinking? Take the kids, the stroller, and the shamed face and go to a park or playground while momma shops.

Which brings me too third: women who bring their husbands or boyfriends with them. "Honey, do you like thiiiiis?" Is not something I like to hear being whined as a boy slouches around with his phone out, playing angry birds. "Huh? Oh yeah, yeah, that's good." Girls, what was the thought process here? "I need to go shopping; who would hate this the most?" Don't you have girl friends who will A) want to go with you, B) will care, and C) will be able to actually give you proper advice. Do you think by inviting you boyfriend/husband along, you'll be able to tailor your wardrobe to his liking? Because A) If he thinks your hot, he think that no matter what you wear, B) if he doesn't think that no matter what, he's not the right guy, and C) WTF, dress yourself in whatever you want, betch. Boys, what was the thought process? Why did you say yes to this? Did she bribe you? Because otherwise, GTFO this store, you are standing in front of the sale rack. My boyfriend will be comforted in the fact that I will never make him go shopping with me. In fact, I don't want him to go with me. Sorry, dude.

Fourth, are the young women who flock to stores in groups of ten, twenty, thirty. At one point I think an entire middle school was in H&M. They are so funny and I TOTALLY used to be like them. Parents having just let you off the leash, you've got $100 in babysitting money, more money than you've ever had in your life, and all you want is a new shirt or belt from, like, the best store, like, ever. Hell, I'm still like that. They arrive in flocks, spreading across the store like some sort of awkward, yet adorable, mob. They are all size 2, and if they aren't they desperately want to be. They talk about everything we talk about, fashion, boys, school, movies, music... but everything you over hear is like an audio-photograph. It's so familiar, but so distance. I can remember what it was like, it was only a few years ago, but it still feels two dimensional.

Fifth, there are the women who work at these stores. They are so funny, they know spot on what look they are repping, usually a bastardized version of the stores look. Honestly, I am more than a little jealous of them. I don't have a "look". I've already kind of talked about projected identity, and when it comes to fashion I get a little lost. But they have this made into an art form.

So those are some observations I had while shopping. I have some more superficial ones, like when did stripes and lace get so popular? Or fucking CROP TOPS that I think are so ridiculous. But those are about fashion trends that don't last. Social currents that will pass. These observations are social facts, they are here to stay, even if they are a little ridiculous, and a lot materialistic.

Happy Groundhog Day

I always forget about Groundhog Day. It's kind of a silly holiday, really. Why does a groundhog need to decide the weather? Why is it his shadow that he must see before it is established that there will be six more weeks of winter? How can they tell if he sees it or not?

I think that if a groundhog saw his shadow it would mean that there would less winter because the sun is out. But it's the opposite of that, and that just doesn't compute for me.

But I like it for one reason, the movie. I love the movie Groundhog Day. I just do, it's a comedy, it's a romance, it's philosophy. And that's kind of it actually. I wish I could watch it today, but it's been a busy day so I think I'll wait until tomorrow.

Crumbling Confirmations

There is a legend of a wall that existed long ago in a city. It was one of those castle-y type cities surrounded by walls made out of stone. More of a town really.

The wall on the south side of the town was the tallest, thickest part of the enclosure. For years it protected the city from invasion from the southern adversaries. The townspeople, over the years, had turned this trusty wall into a monument of sorts.

The walls were covered in reasons. Little tid-bits of paper, stuck onto the stones or between the cracks, with reasons scrawled all over them. Reasons to get married, reasons to become a black smith or a baker, reasons to have children, or go to war, or sing a song.

The most common one was unspecified; "Because I'm ready".

Soon the reason wall attracted outsiders. People from all parts of the world would visit and read the reasons people had for living their anonymous lives. Visitors were also allowed to add their reasons to the wall.

The most common one for them, was why they came to the wall; "I needed to know why".

Centuries past and the wall became filled with reasons. Reasons to buy a cat, reasons to fill a prescription, reasons to order Chinese food for dinner.

But the wall was old and tired of carrying the burden of people's choices. It began to fall apart-- brick by brick. A wall of crumbling confirmations.

People began to live listless lives. Not knowing why they did things, they stopped doing them. The wall was giving up and why shouldn't they.

That wall had protected them. That wall had bravely carried the weight of all their confirmations for hundreds of years.

And all the stones eventually rolled away. And all the little pieces of paper blew away. And a gas station was built in it's place. Because the people needed fuel, now more than ever, to keep going on with their lives.

Rain: Come Again Another Day

Rain is everywhere in Seattle. Or, put more simply, rain IS Seattle. I am constrantly wet. I'm usually cold. And I am often lazy because of it. It's been weeks since I have woken up, thrown open the curtains and upon seeing the day outside, say, I am ready for this day! Usually it's more like I shrug and say, I can do that.

I have this idea that people are often thrown into a hunter-gather-esque, primal, survival mode when they are outside of their comfort zone. When someone doesn't feel totally at ease, they will enter this mental state: just get through the day. Just survive from sun up to sun down and you win.
This leads to people to eat, breath, and sleep... But not much else.

I have this in Seattle in the dead of winter. I wake up (barely), I go to class, I eat, and I go home to my dorm and do homework until I sleep. I do the minimum of everything I have to do. I hit snooze until the last second to get up. I eat whatever is closest or cheapest. I do the homework that is immediately due the next day.

It's like mental hibernation. Last year, I wasn't aware of how much this affected my life. This year I came back to Seattle prepared. Not that stopped it from happening, but at least I can recognize it. This January has been awesome, actually. I have tried to see a friend everyday, and I've done it relatively well. But now I've started falling off the bandwagon and I recognized it! Probably just in time! Last week I got sick and spent a lot of time in survival mode and by Sunday I was essentially better. I knew that this week was important. This week is going to make or break my mental hibernation.

There is something called S.A.D.-- seasonal affected disorder. Many people who move north can get it-- Like from San Francisco to Seattle. So I've decided to come up with a list of personal goals (like second New Years Resolutions) for the next two months of Seattle.

1. Stay out of your dorm room as much as possible. Be with people in public places. Study in the library or in a quiet building.
2. Be outside as much as possible. The fresh air will do you good. It might be cold wet but it will clear your head. And any vitamin D will help.
3. Take vitamin supplements. Seriously. You bought them for a reason. They aren't there for decoration.
4. Eat better. I know you said you wouldn't care about your diet but you had a salad at the salad bar tonight and those tomatoes and cucumber were literally (and I do mean literally) the best thing you've tasted this week. I don't think it's chocolate you've been craving lately...
5. Make friends. Nothing feels better than fostering new friendships. You've got some great prospects, do what needs to be done. When you are laughing and smiling, it's hard to feel tired.
6. Go the fuck to sleep. Seriously, you are the worst at not watching a million episodes of How I Met Your Mother. I know they are only 20 minutes long but when you hit the snooze for 20 minutes in the morning... I know you've never liked going to sleep but your brain won't turn off if you don't let it. Drink some tea, read some boring ass homework and knock out, dude.
7. Use caffeine to your advantage. I know they say you shouldn't drink a lot of caffeine but you are in fucking college. Drink as much God damn coffee as you need to get through the day. Three lattes is a lot better than falling asleep in class everyday.
8. NEVER EVER TAKE 8:30 CLASSES AGAIN YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOT. I DON'T CARE HOW COOL THE ELECTIVE CREDIT IS, I DON'T EVEN WANNA HEAR IT.

There, that needed to be said.

But also, I'll note that the dead of winter is the dead of winter. No matter what, at least in Seattle, it's gunna suck. Remember the fall months and the spring months on either side. And remember that you are leaving the country in two months so it doesn't even really matter. (Oh, yeah, um, I'm going to Italy in March... I guess I'll talk about that later... Since you probably didn't know that.)

The Christian G.O.D: Gottabe Old Dude

I was at an open mic and two poets referred to God as a her. I think it was some sort of modern interpretation of God as mother(Earth) or perhaps it was a feminist gesture saying, why the hell couldn't it be a fucking woman God anyway?! In any case it seemed a little overdone. If not overdone, definitely not original. Making God a female didn't make the poem more powerful or anything, which is why it was brought to my attention, and not in a good way. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for women as deities. That's not my issue.

My issue is, in a Christian context, I can feel the masculinity in the representation of God. God was written as a male by our beloved Bible authors and that's the plain historical truth. Jesus is the son of a male God. Christians worship a male God and if they don't buy into that historically significant fact, they might want to consider a different faith.

Gender neutral faith is great, and if it's about spirituality or, heaven help us, the truth then I think it's safe to say that it's just as likely for God to be a woman as for God to be a man. And in my opinion, it's probably even more likely that God would be ungendered, given that God is an individual representing the holiness of both men and women. How could God represent men if God is a woman and visa versa. And that's assuming there is only one God. If there are more then its probably split 50-50 or maybe it's the same ratio as women to men on Earth (in which case more women dieties).

If you are a Christian though, if you read the Bible or go to church, it becomes hard to argue that God is a woman. What woman in power is going to ostracize her sassy gay friends, for example?! (Okay, maybe not the most serious example but you get it...) The best argument I can give is that a She-God isn't going to belittle women. The Christian doctrine, like it or not, is misogynistic.

So don't tell me your God is a woman. He's an old white male, an angry man with biases and presumptions that don't a female dispostion.

Bus Man

I know. I just wrote about how women are high maintenance and how men (and women) should give them a break, and I hate to sound like a harpy but I had a moment at a bus stop that I had to share with y'all. 

It all started innocently enough; I walked up to the bus stop a couple nights ago after hanging out with some friends. There were only two people at the stop, a man and a woman. The woman was short and kind of stubby, with curly hair cut straight at mid-neck; puffy. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with a hood. The man was tall but had posture, hunched against the wind, or more likely, against God's desire for him to tower over everyone. He had black hair and black jeans and a oddly pointy black beard that wiggled up and down when he talked and that he stroked occasionally. They clearly new each other because they were in the middle of the kind of conversation you have just met someone. 

When I strolled up they were in the midst of talking about his sick dad. Well HE was talking about his sick father. Every once in a while she tossed in a "yeah" or a "right". This man had a talent for transitions because by the time that I had settled on the bus stop bench he was talking about having kids. He used the transition, "I just want my kids to know their grandfather". "Right" says the woman. "But I'm not ready for kids. I feel like I should do it soon so he can see them".  

Stop, I thought. He glanced over at me conveniently and I took the time to think at him, if you're not ready don't do it. It's not like they are going to remember that their grandpa lived until they were two anyway. I hoped maybe he was psychic and had heard me plead for him to not rush into a 50-odd year commitment. 

But I'm getting off topic. What I really came here to talk about is what he said next. He was yammering on and I was letting his words float in an out of my consciousness until he said, "Women always want to know what my plan is for the future." He continued, talking about living in the moment, being spontaneous, etc. 

That is so cliche. And the worst part is that he actually thought he was being original. He was spouting things like a newly discovered geyser. But these weren't new thoughts. And the more I thought about it the more I disagreed with them altogether.

Women don't want a plan. They want action. We don't need to know what's going to happen a year from now. Or ten or twenty years from now. As long as we know that today something is happening, we are happy. 

Women are impatient creatures. If we see a stalled man, or potentially stalled, we want to know what they are doing. It might seem like we are asking for a plan but that's not true. If you sit on your ass we will wonder, obviously. But if you are busying yourself with work, or school, or travel, or extreme sports, we will leave you the fuck alone. As long as you are doing something now, we don't care what you're doing in five years. 

I guess that was a big lead up to a simple thought but there you have it.

2x Decades

I'm twenty now. It's nice. Not much else to report. Got some more stuff in the mix coming at you soon though. Watch out.

High Maintenance

Men always complain that women are high maintenance. They act like they are the only people in the world who recognize this. But what they don't understand is that women ALSO always complain that women are high maintenance. Seriously. We hate how high maintenance we are. And you know why we are high maintenance? Because it's fucking hard to be a woman, both physically and psychologically.

I spend a huge portion of my day being high maintenance. Self-improvement and/or up-keep is the most common. Do you realize how many hours I spend plucking, shaving, brushing, moisturizing, adjusting, covering, filing, painting, exfoliating, primping, and just generally FIXing in a given week? In a given month? I checked my bank statement last month and had spent more money at the drug store than I had at the grocery store.

Women are needy in this department. Last time I checked a man was considered sexy with a five o'clock shadow. But if I forget to shave before going out in a dress the excess spikey-ness is... well it's not considered sexy...

Women are expected to be smooth and clean and sweet-smelling and it's assumed that it's just a natural part of being a woman. But my eyebrows don't naturally look elegant and arching. When left to their own devices they look a bit like they are trying to take over the world ("Zeus eyebrows", I've been told). And the good-smelling rumor is THE worst. The worst BO I have ever been exposed to were from women. Women don't do that sweaty-sexy stud thing. We do the limp hair, racoon-eye-runny-make-up, and oddly onion gross thing. If I wake up at 7AM (which I now due Mon-Thurs for school), by four I need a shower, new make-up, and a comb.

Another part of what makes us high maintenance is our obsession with having an "identity". Whether it is "modern", "traditional", "feminine", "girly", "butch", "sporty", "straight", "queer", "straight-edge", "sweet", "sexy", "strong", etc. We love categorizing ourselves and we love categorizing each other.

And, yea, men have to grapple with similar identity issues and I don't want to belittle them but I am arguing that women have become obsessed with maintaining a desired "identity". The perfect example of this is The Spice Girls. As far as I know there is no Spice Boys (although I would not be opposed). Each Spice Girl had a well manicured, identifiable, separate "identity". They acted within the range of there "identity" and they couldn't act outside of that for fear of muddling what they wanted to be--Posh, Sporty, or SCARY (don't get me started).

Women spend a lot of time thinking about what identity they are projecting. That why whenever you try on clothes with friends they comment by saying "that makes you look slutty/trashy/classy/pretty/sexy/butch/feminine/etc". Rarely do I get a simple good or bad, and if I do my immediate reaction is the person isn't really trying. "But do I look slutty/trashy/classy/pretty/sexy/butch/feminine/etc enough?"

This can get very tricky and high maintenance, especially when the variables are increased. The more people involved the more obsessed we become. If I want to have the "identity" of... Classy with a few friends at my dorm room I'll slap on a skirt and mascara, I'll cover my mouth when I yawn, I'll sit up straight, I'll try to tone down the swearing. But if I'm going out to dinner with my boyfriend and I KNOW lots people will see me in the fancy restaurant he is taking me to, I'm going full dress, heels, lipstick, bronzer, I'm sipping wine and sticking my pinkies out everywhere, I'm speaking about golf or country clubs and I'm laughing daintily.

It also gets complicated when there are higher stakes for identities to be developed and produced. If I need to be... Funny with my little cousin I probably can resort to peekaboo and sponge bob impressions. If I need to be funny as the MC at open mics I need to pump up the volume a little.

It's hard to wake up as say, well what should I be today? In class: in history I'm argumentative, in Italian I'm shy, in sociology I'm inquisitive. With friends I vary from funny, to intellectual, to relaxed, to feminine... I'm always moving from one variation to the next but nothing is accidental. I calculate every interaction and it is High Maintenance!

So if you're a man complaining about a woman or a woman complaining about a woman (or yourself), know that it is a physical and psychological predisposition. And give us a break.