I will never, ever be cool.

If you watch the news, you know that what’s hot right now is a drug that simultaneously kills brain cells, rots your teeth, gives you wrinkles, makes you crazy, and gets you pregnant. And all your of 12 year old children are huffing it behind the jungle gym.

If you read fashion magazines, you know that what’s hot right now is eating nothing but kale until you are skinny enough to fit into that itchy, wool shawl that makes you look 30 pounds heavier anyway.

If you have ever talked to me for more than 5 minutes, you know that I have no idea what is cool.

The whole “liking something because other people don’t” fixation makes little to no sense to me. Does this mean I shouldn’t be caught dead eating Twizzlers anymore? Or that if I’m seen wearing pants I’ll become a social pariah? I’m not sure if anyone has noticed, but Twizzlers and wearing pants are pretty popular.

I have never been able to keep up with trends. It’s not that I’m some elitist that refuses to take part, it’s just I never really “get it” until it’s too late. I started listening to bands that would be considered emo years after all the scene kids abandoned their black hair dye and jelly bracelets. I only realized how much I liked PBR once the hipsters decided it was too mainstream. All of my friends are posting Facebook statuses in the vein of “Ugh, I’m so tired of dubstep” while I’m left exclaiming “Hey, this Vaski guy is pretty neat!”

It seems like you can only like something if everyone else hates it. This is something I have trouble with, as I have the tendency to like things. Horrible, I know.

If I had to guess what is in right now or what may become the new “it” thing in the future, this is what I would guess:

Oil paintings depicting hardcore bestiality

Poison-laced harmonicas

Dildos made of repurposed vinyl records

Polka

Those sneakers that light up when you walk

Diets consisting only of foods that have been genetically modified

Body hair (this one is actually wishful thinking, I hate shaving)

Dudes in dresses (also wishful thinking, I dig thighs)

I’m kind of just taking a stab in the dark with this list. Maybe stabbing people in the dark is cool, too. You never know. I really hope that at least one of these things become hip. Then, when an old gentleman asks me what’s all the rage with the whippersnappers these days I can respond with confidence and the hope he has delicious caramel candies in his pocket that he will reward me with for being such a nice young lady. Little does he know what a terrible, uncool person I am…haha, gotcha, gramps!

I know I’ll never be chic or contemporary. This is something I was forced to come to terms with in my angsty teenage years. When I was 14, I tried really hard to be a metalhead. I refused to listen to anything that didn’t have a “kick-ass breakdown”. I wore heavy black eyeliner that would streak down my face when I sweat and pants with an unreasonable amount of zippers and chains. I started saying things like “Fuckin’ A” and “Man, you just don’t get it.” At family barbeques, I’d sit inside so that I could keep my complexion a nice pasty white. I put this incredible amount of pressure on myself to fit into this mold and when I finally felt like I had fully embodied this subculture, everyone in my high school was listening to Taking Back Sunday and “skunking” their hair. Now that I am older and (slightly) wiser I have to admit: I never really liked death metal all that much. There are a few bands I love to this day and I’m a big fan of those who are on the border between hard rock and straight metal…but for the most part, death metal kind of just gives me a headache.

After realizing I liked wearing clothes that weren’t strictly black, I drifted into this odd 80s obsessed phase. I began wearing brightly colored plastic hair accessories and a single dangling earring. I can’t even begin to describe how much animal print was incorporated into my wardrobe. At the peak of this atrocity, I chopped all my hair off and dyed it red in an effort to look like Molly Ringwald. After that, I slowly morphed into a sort of modern day hippie, going as far as scribbling peace signs and Fleetwood Mac lyrics on my jeans with permanent markers. I even started going barefoot everywhere, school included. That one stopped abruptly when I saw someone spitting on the hallway floor (besides, I was tired of getting my toes stepped on). When the allure of being a wannabe hippie faded, I thought I was punk for awhile. I replaced pants with plaid skirts and ripped stockings, I knew all the words to my Ramones greatest hits album, I had a ridiculously short, hot pink mohawk, and I briefly dated a shaggy-haired skateboarder who was in this like, super awesome band that you should totally check out on myspace! I thought I was really, really cool. I was a trend-setter! But I just looked like kind of an idiot.

Not only was keeping up with these self-imposed stereotypes tiring, but it eventually dawned on me that none of these things were ever fashionable with my age group and most people just thought I was strange and probably a little creepy. These days my interests reflect what I actually like, not just an urge to rebel against the mainstream or alternatively to fit in with such. On occasion I attempt to look like a normal member of society (to make shoplifting easier, of course). I do the majority of my shopping at thrift stores so I’m always getting “last season’s” clothes. I didn’t grasp what the cool thing (or uncool thing, if you’re a hipster) to do was when I was younger and I certainly don’t now. Trying to do so just seems futile with my low attention span. I still love John Hughes movies, The Ramones, walking around barefoot and I think that I will always have an affinity for both animal prints and knee-high combat boots. Both my mother and my boyfriend think said boots are ridiculous but whatever, they just don’t get it, man!

Point is; I like way too much weird shit to ever commit to a style or fad. Hopefully being a self-loathing, sarcastic bitch will become the new hot thing but until then I guess I’ll just keep being myself and not worry about it.

The Unattainable Pursuit of Beauty: Weight

I apologize to anyone who actually reads this. My lack of updates mostly stems from the belief that my time is better spent reading or doing push-ups these days.

After a pretty eye-opening conversation with my boyfriend, I've been thinking about body image even more than I usually do.

Perhaps a week or two ago, Mike and I decided to spend our day carousing through Barnes and Noble (side note, it's sad times when the closest known bookstore is a large chain the next city over). We ended up in the cafe section of the place, he with a stack of books so large I was impressed by his ability to balance them all and me with the second issue of Sin City and a book of essays called Feed Me!: Writers Dish About Food, Eating, Weight, and Body Image. As far as representation of women goes, these two things are obviously quite different as, if you've never read it, Sin City's depiction of female beauty is pretty stereotypical. Not that I'm necessarily complaining, I'm a huge fan of anything Frank Miller.

So here we were, sitting across one another, reading with no intention of making a purchase. Mike would occasionally read aloud an interesting fact or opinion while I stayed relatively silent, immersed in my graphic novel. When my eyes tired of the monochromatic art, I switched over to Feed Me! and read the first essay entitled "He Called Me Fat; It Set Me Free". A thought rose in my brain, a thought that does so pretty often but I never voice in fear of sounding insensitive or politically incorrect. I considered stifling it for a moment but that would go against my ever increasing practice of radical honesty. So I set my book down and spoke.

"I'm always somewhat torn on how issues of body image are represented. On the one hand, I'm in full support of accepting what a person looks like no matter what and think society's standards are ridiculous. On the other, I feel as though recent portrayal of 'fat' being beautiful in media gives people an excuse to behave gluttonously."

At this point, Mike closed his own book and looked at me quite sternly.

"I don't think you really understand unless you've been big yourself."

I was taken aback by this admission. Unless we are discussing something that directly relates to our relationship or relationships in general, Mike is one of those people who uses cold logic to make his points (which is something I very much like and respect) as opposed to his own emotional experiences. So for him to say something like this, I was totally thrown of balance and forced to see things from a different perspective.

I have not, in fact, ever been "big". The most I've ever weighed is 135lbs and, while this was due to poor diet and inactivity, I have never had a BMI that would be considered overweight for my height. Even so, my weight has fluctuated enough that a number of people have commented upon my recent weight loss. At first, I was thrilled that I suddenly seemed to be more attractive in the general public's eyes. That got old quick. Those making said comments are good people, often people I am close friends with. They mean in it as a compliment but it only serves to slightly devalue my lifestyle change as a superficial matter rather than one based upon health and practicality (for anyone who is unfamiliar, I've been working out and eating better to get in shape for roller derby and parkour). I now have little to no interest in being skinny, I only want to be strong and I don't give a crap how that is reflected in the shape of my body. The point I'm making with this is that it bothered me to know that others apparently noticed a relatively subtle weight change and I can't even imagine what it's like to be judged that way for those who are truly considered to be "big". So no, I really don't understand.

Often times when I think of someone being big and beautiful, I think of my best friend Sabrina. Sabrina and I have been friends since the 8th grade and throughout the years she has gone through too many diets for me to really recall. When you have a body type that is considered to be large, you pretty much have two options for how you portray yourself in our society: You can either be fat with a self-deprecating sense of humor or fat and desperately trying to become skinny. For the first few years I knew her, Sabrina didn't seem to know which one she wanted to be and ended up in some unhealthy middle for a long time. She has always been "loud and obnoxious" and generally considered to be hilarious. She comes off very confident so it was very odd to witness her "eat nothing but Eggo waffles or toast with fake butter spray" phase. During her stint with the South Beach Diet, I was encouraging and even decided to give it ago myself when I thought I could "stand to lose 5 pounds". I'm pretty ashamed of my attitude in the past but alas, that's what being a teenager is all about.

Then, like magic, she didn't care. She didn't care if she was fat. She didn't care if she gained weight or lost it. She still referred to her size in her humor but now it consisted of "I'm fat and I'm hot as shit" jokes. It made me realize that I never really thought of her weight as a flaw, I never considered her to be anything less than beautiful. My concern and encouragement towards her diets came purely from the fear of how she may be perceived by others. Furthermore, if that's where my line of thinking stemmed from, whose to say that's not really how we ALL feel (or at least a strong percentage of us as human beings)? Maybe no one truly finds "fat" unattractive, we just think everyone else does. Her not giving a fuck made me want to not give a fuck. It made me want to accept myself and work towards it everyday. Sabrina unintentionally lead me down the road of healthy body image and as I was teetering over the line of "I still want people to think I'm pretty" and "Who gives a fuck?", Mike gave me that last push.

I am still very much of the opinion that people should treat their bodies well for health issues, but who am I to say what that entails? Perhaps the increase in the our society's average weight is merely human evolution, maybe climate change will soon cause an ice age that will kill off all us skinny bitches leaving the big and beautiful to roam free with no fear of judgement. It doesn't matter how ridiculous that sounds because the point is, it's not my place to decide how a person should live. If I was really as accepting and progressive as I like to think I am, I would never notice what a person was eating or how much exercise they were getting because when it comes down to it, it doesn't affect me in the least (with the exception for someone I cared for that had serious health concerns that were lifestyle related).

These days it makes me genuinely sad to hear my friends discussing dieting or wearing "slimming" clothes. After my conversation with Mike, I notice these things constantly. Men, women, those in between, we are all so image obsessed. Can you imagine what we could get done if we weren't all so busy reading about the benefits pomegranate juice has for your metabolism or cutting carbs? I really wish I could.

If you really want to be healthy, instead of dieting, I suggest you follow this simple guideline from Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food: Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.

To sum this exceedingly long post up I'd like to share Feed Me!'s I-Love-My-Body Pledge.

"I pledge to speak kindly about my body.

I promise not to talk about the size of my thighs or stomach or butt, or how I have to lose 5 or 15 or 50 pounds. I promise not to call myself a fat pig, gross, or any other self-loathing, trash-talking phrase.

I vow to be kind to myself and my body. I will learn to be thankful for its strength and attractiveness, and be compassionate towards its failings.

I will remind myself that bodies come in all shapes and sizes, and that no matter what shape and size my body is, its worth kindness, compassion, and love."

I don't have much to update on. I've been writing quite often so all of my creativity as been spent elsewhere. I would like to share an awesome article though: http://jezebel.com/5800899/sluts-like-me


"If someone calls you a slut, there's nothing you can say to refute the claim because it never had any cognitive content anyway."


That is all.

I'M FEELING SUPER MANIC AND THEREFORE FEEL THE NEED TO WRITE IN CAPS LOCK. IT'S NOT THAT OBNOXIOUS, RIGHT?

I'm beginning to think it's impossible for me to write creatively when I've actually slept. Mike sent me a link to the National Novel Writing Month site and I'm feeling crazy inspired. By crazy inspired I mean very inspired. And also crazy. It takes place in November but I've got free time now so Ima just roll wit' it.

AWAKE FOREVER.

P.S. Happy birthday, Sabrina. You are incredible and I love you dearly!

It's 6AM as I begin to write and I, as usual, have not slept yet. I've had too much coffee to do so and not nearly enough rest to write well. You have been warned.

My weekend was lovely, as always. Bars, rolling around, cute guy with a cute dog, finally getting my Nook to work, sudoku, skating, spending time with Nicole, cooking, flooding my kitchen. Today (or yesterday, in non-gamer days) was spent productively. I wrote, worked out, read, registered for this summer's social justice institute in Denver, and ordered a copy of my birth certificate.

There are things in my life right now that are overwhelming and complicated. Nothing is quite as simple or as easy as it seems these days. But it's kind of amazing. I feel more like myself than I have in years while still being the person I really want to be. It's always been one or the other for me. I am, of course, not thrilled with how things turned out with Dan but I am pleased that he has been so honest and mature during our rare instances of recent communication. We're both slightly bitter, which is healthy at this point, but we've done well not to lash out at each other. Him even more so now that he is aware I am serious with someone. That being said, I am looking forward to when we can move on to a real friendship rather than the inevitable limbo of forced, polite conversation.

I'm also very grateful to be with someone who understands how tricky the situation is. I certainly don't believe it to be anything that should be a cause for concern but I do, however, realize most people aren't too happy to know their significant other is speaking with their ex. Especially during the beginning of a relationship when insecurity is at it's peak.

I'm rambling so I'm now going to abruptly finish this post. Goodnight (in gamer nights).