“What’re you a girl now?”
For some reason, when I wear pink I get this question. I don’t think I dress like a man, I don’t think I act too manly, but when I wear pink, those guys closest to me ask why. If I wear black, I’m not asked if I’m going to a funeral. I think it’s really unfortunate that some colors are pigeonholed into being one thing, typecast into that one role they only took because their agent thought it would be their breakthrough. Orange and Black had struggled with their boldness and finally found the part of a lifetime in Halloween, only to be abandoned the rest of the year, but that’s another issue entirely. The subject at hand is why (oh why!) am I not thought of as a girl by some of my guy friends.
I must admit first and foremost, that I do not help my valiant cause. I always push away from “girly things” but in truth, I can’t stand to not have my nails painted. Unfortunately, I work at Woodworth, the campus dining hall that insists that even though I’m wearing gloves, a tiny bit of my nail polish could chip off, work its way down my tight and sweaty plastic hand casing and fall into an innocent patron’s food and killing them in a dramatic show of anaphylactic shock. Hence, while I’m on Ball State’s campus, my nails are free of any of the beautiful colors and lacquered shine that make me smile. I also wear makeup regularly, blow dry and straighten my hair, and cook, all marks of a true woman. According to Wikipedia, a reputable source if I’ve ever heard of one, cleavage is seen to be a sign of femininity, and I certainly don’t shy away from that. As a 20 year old when else will my breasts be so damn perky?
From the outside, I am, if not the picture of femininity, a shining example of the average girl. Until I open my mouth, and words come spilling forth, free from any sort of filter or forethought. I’m the one who takes the perverted joke one step too far, to that awkward laugh-less no-man’s land where jokes go to die. I’m the one who not only makes the jokes that much more perverted, but in such a way that you need to visually map out the logistics and anatomy of such a scenario. It might be my negativity; I’m not the bubbling ray of sunshine that my sister’s sorority friends seem to expect. An even better explanation may be that I don’t really like girls, all my friends are guys, I have maybe a handful of good girlfriends, and one is my sister. I’m ok with that, but it is inconvenient.
I have to wonder, what exactly is the definition of femininity? Why are some girls considered feminine and others not? The majority of the definition in America is physical appearance. It’s not fair to those poor lazy girls who can’t drag themselves out of bed to straighten their hair and meticulously apply makeup. Girls who don’t wear makeup and do their hair in the morning are judged as being lazy, at least by me, honestly it’s not that hard, and it doesn’t take that long. My attitude makes me part of the problem, those that give in to the pressures of society just end up perpetuating them. I don’t really see this as a bad thing in moderation. It’s just a general respect for yourself and your self presentation to the world. Who doesn’t like beautiful people?
Girls are expected to be positive, smiling and happy, willing to brighten your day with some inspiration drivel about how it takes more muscles to frown than to smile. I, personally, enjoy the work out. Is anyone really impressed by those inspirational Facebook statuses? Did you know that great girls don’t have boyfriends because girls are like apples? Yes, apples. Apparently, all the rotten apples fall on the ground and the lazy boys pick them up because they’re easy. The beautiful, perfect apples on top feel like they’re not good enough but in reality, a wonderful boy hasn’t come and taken the effort to climb the tree and pick those perfect apples. I don’t get it either, don’t worry. I’d rather be a juicy juicy mango, or grapes, who doesn’t like grapes?
It just seems as though girls play into an image of being positive and naïve. It’s very possible my pessimism is to be blamed for my equating being positive with being naïve, but either way the woman is supposed to be the hope in the hopeless, the light in the darkness, the pimento in the olive, the little thing that makes it all better. Jiminy Cricket may help Pinocchio figure out what to do, very unsuccessfully might I add, but it’s the beautiful Blue Fairy who makes that happy ending possible. She magically glows appearing in Pinocchio’s most desperate moments, an ethereal beauty wasted on a wooden boy.
We can look at the naïve Little Red Riding Hood, gallivanting through the forest to see her geriatric grandmother. When meeting a wolf she thinks nothing of it and picks some flowers while he runs to the grandmother’s house, terror ensues. Recently, while driving around Muncie at 2 am, two guys came running up to my car while I was stopped at a stop sign. I cracked my window down and they begged me for a ride to Riverside. If I had given them a ride, would I have been overtaken on the drive, savagely murdered and cut into little pieces to be neatly deposited in black Hefty bags? Probably not, but unlike Little Red, I’m not comfortable with those odds, my friend, however miniscule.
I think the heroines of our stories now are no better. I have never pretended to be a fan of the Twilight series, because I think it’s much cooler to not like it, so why pretend to? What disturbs me is the fact that this piece of teen harlequin romance-esque “literature” is giving out terrible messages for girls. I also must admit, that I hate giving a lot of credit to the media for shaping our children. It’s the parents responsibility, but you can’t chose your kid’s friends, and if those friends have idiot parents who think Twilight and its bastard siblings are worthy of the small attention span their children have been able to cultivate, then it just might rub off on your children, despite your best efforts. But I digress, in the second book in the Twilight “Saga,” Bella, the pale, limp, personality-less main character is dumped by the equally devoid of personality, Edward, but he’s just so damn sexy who cares? After a few days they fell madly in love and when he dumped her for reasons I don’t feel the need to know, she is so distraught that she goes to any lengths to get him back. Does she say, write him a love letter expressing her feelings? Make a personal appeal, telling him how much he means to her? Or does she do what Stephanie Meyers would do, throw herself off a cliff in the hopes that Edward will swoop in to save her? Is this the new feminine ideal? The beautiful Bella, while different from our typical woman by being depressed, is still helpless and borderline pathetic while at the same time being certifiably insane. With role models like this, I’m glad to be a little androgynous personality wise. We can do better than this ladies, or am I just being too optimistic?
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The Voices of Creative Nonfiction Writing
I'm under no illusions that my voice is particularly pleasant. I cringe when I hear myself on answering machines or on video, clinging to any hope there may be that my voice doesn't actually sound like that. I sound like a child when recorded. It's really just embarrassing trying to record your voice mail message for work when every time you sound like you snuck into daddy's office and started playing with the phone.
My creative nonfiction writing class is full of annoying voices. One girl, a honey blonde, accompanies her voice with nose scrunches. Her voice is low and hollow, airy and patronizing, as if she's your kindergarten teacher and you're the silly kid who always eats the paste. Overly concerned with not offending anyone, her sing song voice creeps into a small giggle at the end of her literary criticisms and she seals it by smiling in such a way that her face collapses like an accordion. Her lips contort into a rosebud smile, pushing her nose up, creating little crinkles along the bridge. For some inexplicable reason, she closes her eyes. Her eyes are not being squished closed by a big smile, she voluntarily closes them, perhaps having once seen the expression she makes in a mirror, and hoping to never catch a glimpse of it again.
My assessment of another girl may be biased. Whenever we have a workshop, collaboratively critiquing someone's essay as a class, most people try to point out things they liked, plot points that were confusing, or areas that need more clarification, only seldom adding in critiques of grammar. But not this girl. In her cynical, sarcastic drone, her only effort at class participation is to tell someone that their sentences were too long, or there were too many commas. This all changed when she was the one being critiqued. I never noticed her voice to be particularly annoying, but probably because she rarely talked. Our teacher has us read our essay aloud before it's discussed, and she, regrettably, started off with an insufferable monotone. There are few things worse than a monotone voice. One of them, is someone who talks, or reads, too slowly. We have 50 minutes to discuss two essays. She took up around 10 minutes reading two and a half single spaced pages. The slow rhythm accented a little problem with inflection. Every sentence had the slightest upward inflection. Not enough to form a question but just enough for me to want to stuff her thick black glasses down her throat.
Our final (shall we say intriguing..?) voice comes from a chubby, pale, geek who wears a dog collar. No idea why. Can you ask someone a question like that? "What's up with the dog collar?" I just don't know. His voice isn't annoying, because he sounds like Elmer Fudd, who is just a lovable guy, despite his murderous nature. But it's hard to take Dog Collar Boy seriously when he means "brutally" and it comes out "bootally." It's also really difficult to understand someone with a speech impediment reading out loud. Everything is jumbled together, there is no such thing as an "R" in the world of Dog Collar Boy. His wishy washy ways are similar to Batista, from one of my favorite shows, Dexter, which I watch with Travis. Travis constantly makes fun of Batista, and while Dog Collar Boy talks, all I can imagine is Travis impersonating him, repeating everything he says in an exaggerated way. I think my version of hell will be something similar, hearing myself on video over and over for all time.
My creative nonfiction writing class is full of annoying voices. One girl, a honey blonde, accompanies her voice with nose scrunches. Her voice is low and hollow, airy and patronizing, as if she's your kindergarten teacher and you're the silly kid who always eats the paste. Overly concerned with not offending anyone, her sing song voice creeps into a small giggle at the end of her literary criticisms and she seals it by smiling in such a way that her face collapses like an accordion. Her lips contort into a rosebud smile, pushing her nose up, creating little crinkles along the bridge. For some inexplicable reason, she closes her eyes. Her eyes are not being squished closed by a big smile, she voluntarily closes them, perhaps having once seen the expression she makes in a mirror, and hoping to never catch a glimpse of it again.
My assessment of another girl may be biased. Whenever we have a workshop, collaboratively critiquing someone's essay as a class, most people try to point out things they liked, plot points that were confusing, or areas that need more clarification, only seldom adding in critiques of grammar. But not this girl. In her cynical, sarcastic drone, her only effort at class participation is to tell someone that their sentences were too long, or there were too many commas. This all changed when she was the one being critiqued. I never noticed her voice to be particularly annoying, but probably because she rarely talked. Our teacher has us read our essay aloud before it's discussed, and she, regrettably, started off with an insufferable monotone. There are few things worse than a monotone voice. One of them, is someone who talks, or reads, too slowly. We have 50 minutes to discuss two essays. She took up around 10 minutes reading two and a half single spaced pages. The slow rhythm accented a little problem with inflection. Every sentence had the slightest upward inflection. Not enough to form a question but just enough for me to want to stuff her thick black glasses down her throat.
Our final (shall we say intriguing..?) voice comes from a chubby, pale, geek who wears a dog collar. No idea why. Can you ask someone a question like that? "What's up with the dog collar?" I just don't know. His voice isn't annoying, because he sounds like Elmer Fudd, who is just a lovable guy, despite his murderous nature. But it's hard to take Dog Collar Boy seriously when he means "brutally" and it comes out "bootally." It's also really difficult to understand someone with a speech impediment reading out loud. Everything is jumbled together, there is no such thing as an "R" in the world of Dog Collar Boy. His wishy washy ways are similar to Batista, from one of my favorite shows, Dexter, which I watch with Travis. Travis constantly makes fun of Batista, and while Dog Collar Boy talks, all I can imagine is Travis impersonating him, repeating everything he says in an exaggerated way. I think my version of hell will be something similar, hearing myself on video over and over for all time.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
Ulterior Motives and the Folly of Trust
I understand that a good number of guys randomly strike up random conversations with girls because they think they're pretty and they want to go out, hang out, or just get laid. It's just annoying when a guy pretends to be cool: talks to you, seems nice, normal and not a pervert. Then he asks you to lunch and a little flag goes off. He doesn't know me enough to want to hang out because we're friends. So do I awkwardly bring up that I'm seeing someone? Do I go out to lunch and only after he makes a move, do I even more awkwardly bring it up? Or do I get over myself and not assume he wants to eventually get me naked? In my most recent run in with this situation I decided to bring it up then and there on facebook chat. I said that I wasn't sure if it mattered but that I was seeing someone so lunch wouldn't really turn into anything. And with those simple, slightly presumptuous words he stopped talking to me. I don't mean, we finished that conversation and I haven't talked to him since. I mean that those were the last words in our chat box. Period.
Normally if a guy abruptly cuts off the conversation, I don't blame it on what I said, but instead the idea that he's probably busy. If he cuts off the conversation after something like that, what am I supposed to think? Does the fact that I just said something important really change the likelihood of him suddenly becoming busy and moving away from the computer? I don't think it does, but how am I supposed to not think that influenced his disappearance at all? Is my current feeling of hate unfounded? Am I really reading into it too much?
Unfortunately, I also read things into the innocent happenings of everyday life. After class I sat on a bench to wait for the bus. I was focused on getting to the bubblegum center of my Cherry Blow Pop, but I had noticed out of the corner of my little eye that I had sat on a bench that was next to another occupied bench. A dwarfish looking guy sat there, glasses, wavy brown hair, and acne scars on his pastey skin. I sat, minding my own business, and he looked over at me.
"Is it good?" he motioned with his eyes to my Blow Pop.
"Yeah... it's Cherry" I hoped this was all he had to say.
"I always preferred Green Apple myself" he continued to ask me if I had any classes left and since I didn't, where I was headed. When I responded that I was going home, he asked where I lived, which I find to be an inappropriate question to ask a stranger at the bus stop. I continued the chit chat until we got on the bus, when I sat one person away from him. He felt the need to tell me his name was Daniel, I of course responded with my name and when he left I said it was nice talking to him, which wasn't completely untrue. He told me to enjoy my lollipop.
Maybe it's the way he started his conversation observing that I was sucking on a hard candy on a stick but at first I though "Oh crap. How is this conversation going to turn insanely bizarre very quickly? Am I going to have to maneuver through painful attempts at flirting?" As he talked more I thought he might be gay, simply because of his voice and mannerisms, but then he explained how he wouldn't be able to swing dance with a guy as his partner, so that hypothesis was shot. He was perfectly nice and friendly but I was constantly waiting for an ulterior motive. What does he want? Is he wondering if I have another lollipop? Is it shallow of me for assuming the chubby kid is only talking to me for candy?
I used to think that I felt so out of place in Indiana because I'm originally from Massachusetts, where random acts of kindness and social interactions are not met with the same attitude as they are in Middle America. When I say random act of kindness and the like, I mean from strangers; who doesn't love when someone they know does something sweet? I don't know if I can always blame my aversion for friendly strangers on my Masshole upbringing. Am I just not a trusting person? Probably. I equate being trusting with being stupid. The summer after my senior year, my dad had a little known man named Walter from Peru come live with us so he could help my dad with his photography business. It was disastrously unsuccessful, he almost burned the house down, let our dog out without his leash to run and frolic in the street, and was just offensive and an idiot. I'm going to have to explain Walter later, probably the story of how he called my mom fat and I was kicked under the table when I went off at him. If that's not a ringing endorsement to look at everyone with a suspicious eye, then no such thing exists.
Do guys randomly Facebook friend girls they don't know for no reason? Maybe, but I'm not going to just assume that's so. Does every guy who strikes up a conversation while he's bored and waiting for the bus want something? I doubt it, but the thought can still cross my mind. I don't think keeping people at a distance for a while is going to be my downfall, but bringing people in too quickly definitely can be. And a woman should always err on the side of caution with suspicious men.
Normally if a guy abruptly cuts off the conversation, I don't blame it on what I said, but instead the idea that he's probably busy. If he cuts off the conversation after something like that, what am I supposed to think? Does the fact that I just said something important really change the likelihood of him suddenly becoming busy and moving away from the computer? I don't think it does, but how am I supposed to not think that influenced his disappearance at all? Is my current feeling of hate unfounded? Am I really reading into it too much?
Unfortunately, I also read things into the innocent happenings of everyday life. After class I sat on a bench to wait for the bus. I was focused on getting to the bubblegum center of my Cherry Blow Pop, but I had noticed out of the corner of my little eye that I had sat on a bench that was next to another occupied bench. A dwarfish looking guy sat there, glasses, wavy brown hair, and acne scars on his pastey skin. I sat, minding my own business, and he looked over at me.
"Is it good?" he motioned with his eyes to my Blow Pop.
"Yeah... it's Cherry" I hoped this was all he had to say.
"I always preferred Green Apple myself" he continued to ask me if I had any classes left and since I didn't, where I was headed. When I responded that I was going home, he asked where I lived, which I find to be an inappropriate question to ask a stranger at the bus stop. I continued the chit chat until we got on the bus, when I sat one person away from him. He felt the need to tell me his name was Daniel, I of course responded with my name and when he left I said it was nice talking to him, which wasn't completely untrue. He told me to enjoy my lollipop.
Maybe it's the way he started his conversation observing that I was sucking on a hard candy on a stick but at first I though "Oh crap. How is this conversation going to turn insanely bizarre very quickly? Am I going to have to maneuver through painful attempts at flirting?" As he talked more I thought he might be gay, simply because of his voice and mannerisms, but then he explained how he wouldn't be able to swing dance with a guy as his partner, so that hypothesis was shot. He was perfectly nice and friendly but I was constantly waiting for an ulterior motive. What does he want? Is he wondering if I have another lollipop? Is it shallow of me for assuming the chubby kid is only talking to me for candy?
I used to think that I felt so out of place in Indiana because I'm originally from Massachusetts, where random acts of kindness and social interactions are not met with the same attitude as they are in Middle America. When I say random act of kindness and the like, I mean from strangers; who doesn't love when someone they know does something sweet? I don't know if I can always blame my aversion for friendly strangers on my Masshole upbringing. Am I just not a trusting person? Probably. I equate being trusting with being stupid. The summer after my senior year, my dad had a little known man named Walter from Peru come live with us so he could help my dad with his photography business. It was disastrously unsuccessful, he almost burned the house down, let our dog out without his leash to run and frolic in the street, and was just offensive and an idiot. I'm going to have to explain Walter later, probably the story of how he called my mom fat and I was kicked under the table when I went off at him. If that's not a ringing endorsement to look at everyone with a suspicious eye, then no such thing exists.
Do guys randomly Facebook friend girls they don't know for no reason? Maybe, but I'm not going to just assume that's so. Does every guy who strikes up a conversation while he's bored and waiting for the bus want something? I doubt it, but the thought can still cross my mind. I don't think keeping people at a distance for a while is going to be my downfall, but bringing people in too quickly definitely can be. And a woman should always err on the side of caution with suspicious men.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Talking is Just Masturbating Without the Mess...
I may be a narcissist, because if I'm being honest, the only reason why I got a blog is because I can't fit my ramblings in my facebook statuses. Sure, I can get little snippets, but let's be honest: the people want more. If no one thought they were funny, I wouldn't have a blog. You should never feed a narcissist, especially after midnight...
My mom thinks the quote, "Talking is just masturbating without the mess." is just disgusting, but I think, when you get the sticky implications wiped clean from your mind, it's actually quite... poignant. It's from the song "Happiness and the Fish" by Our Lady Peace. You talk because the reactions you get from people, or the reactions you think you get, make you feel good. Simple, and at least for me, true.
I think the majority of things in this blog will be shallow observations, mean comments and things I hate, but I've realized that if you add humor to all these things, people don't think you're a shallow, soulless person. Someone who hates everything is a bummer, a Negative Nancy that no one wants to be around, but if you can make it relatable, you're golden.
How to Legitimize the Awful Things We Think
Step 1. Chose from the millions of mean and shallow comments and opinions you formulate throughout the day.
"Ugly girls are a waste of space"
Step 2. Focus on one aspect of that thought, one sect in that group, zero in on something.
Girls who look like men in dresses.
Step 3. Decide how that makes you feel, or the thought that pops into your head.
What. The. Fuck? They have boobs. So why do they look like men? Saying some of them look like men is insulting to men who look good in dresses. How can this be? What happened to them? Is it contagious? Am I right in avoiding these women, if we really want to label them that way? Should I spread the word? Develop Public Service Announcements to save our children from this unfortunate fate?! What can I do to stop this madness?!
Step 4. Decide if this emotion or impression is appropriate.
Eh, this part isn't important.
Step 5. Twist it all up until it sounds good, and you feel that, if you said this to a group of properly emotionally adjusted people, they wouldn't look at you funny.
"I want to figure out what exactly makes some girls look like men in dresses" This makes it seem as though I'm trying to help these women, which in a way, I would if I could. If there was some linebacker shoulder reconstructive surgery, I would recommend these girls. Sure it might be painful, but they'd look good in a dress. They wouldn't scream "I'm a virgin because men find my body intimidating or too much to handle" That thought might be a little mean, but that's an example of what not to do, and if put through the steps it has potential.
These are simply helpful tips, if you don't have the gift, I'm sorry but you will fail. Yes, I find myself funnier than anyone else does, but... There's really no "but" to that. It's sad and I need to get over it. I'm still going to try to write in this blog though, and if you read it and chuckle once or twice, or just find it interesting, or if I can add to the list of things you hate, I'll be perfectly happy.
My mom thinks the quote, "Talking is just masturbating without the mess." is just disgusting, but I think, when you get the sticky implications wiped clean from your mind, it's actually quite... poignant. It's from the song "Happiness and the Fish" by Our Lady Peace. You talk because the reactions you get from people, or the reactions you think you get, make you feel good. Simple, and at least for me, true.
I think the majority of things in this blog will be shallow observations, mean comments and things I hate, but I've realized that if you add humor to all these things, people don't think you're a shallow, soulless person. Someone who hates everything is a bummer, a Negative Nancy that no one wants to be around, but if you can make it relatable, you're golden.
How to Legitimize the Awful Things We Think
Step 1. Chose from the millions of mean and shallow comments and opinions you formulate throughout the day.
"Ugly girls are a waste of space"
Step 2. Focus on one aspect of that thought, one sect in that group, zero in on something.
Girls who look like men in dresses.
Step 3. Decide how that makes you feel, or the thought that pops into your head.
What. The. Fuck? They have boobs. So why do they look like men? Saying some of them look like men is insulting to men who look good in dresses. How can this be? What happened to them? Is it contagious? Am I right in avoiding these women, if we really want to label them that way? Should I spread the word? Develop Public Service Announcements to save our children from this unfortunate fate?! What can I do to stop this madness?!
Step 4. Decide if this emotion or impression is appropriate.
Eh, this part isn't important.
Step 5. Twist it all up until it sounds good, and you feel that, if you said this to a group of properly emotionally adjusted people, they wouldn't look at you funny.
"I want to figure out what exactly makes some girls look like men in dresses" This makes it seem as though I'm trying to help these women, which in a way, I would if I could. If there was some linebacker shoulder reconstructive surgery, I would recommend these girls. Sure it might be painful, but they'd look good in a dress. They wouldn't scream "I'm a virgin because men find my body intimidating or too much to handle" That thought might be a little mean, but that's an example of what not to do, and if put through the steps it has potential.
These are simply helpful tips, if you don't have the gift, I'm sorry but you will fail. Yes, I find myself funnier than anyone else does, but... There's really no "but" to that. It's sad and I need to get over it. I'm still going to try to write in this blog though, and if you read it and chuckle once or twice, or just find it interesting, or if I can add to the list of things you hate, I'll be perfectly happy.
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