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Thursday, July 23, 2015

A Trip to The Gyno

Recently, I, a twenty-one year old proud owner of a vagina, took a trip to the gynecologist which is something that a responsible twenty-one year old vagina owner is supposed to do. It started off fine the nurse was incredibly kind and respectful, giving me all the answers I needed and requested. All was well.

All was well. Then the Doctor showed up and I immediately contemplated fleeing that exam room wearing nothing but the flimsy paper vest. The first thing that she said to me upon entering was a comment about how my height to weight ratio, BMI, was in the overweight area so I needed to make sure I lost those extra pounds. The literal first thing. No lead in nothing. Just, "Hi, I'm your doctor. You're fat." She had a double chin for tit's sake. Something I wouldn't even take as an indication of her being fat because the skin on the bottom of your face has to go somewhere when you're constantly looking down on people.

After that she asked about my reasoning for coming in. Queue the following exchange.

Condescending Doctor: So why are you coming in now?
Me: I figured it was about time.
Condescending Doctor: Well, we suggest 21 or sexually active.
Me: That's why I'm here.

She was literally looking at my chart while this exchange happened. My chart that said I was 21 years of age and a virgin. Did she think I just wandered in off the street like, "You know what I'm gonna have a random stranger look at my junk for no reason." (Why would I be in a gynecologists office if I didn't know that I needed to be there?)

When she finished and I had my clothes back on, She mentioned that when it came time for me to be sexually active I needed to see her about birth control. To which I replied about that not being much of an issue due to my overwhelming gayness. It's amazing how much a statement like that can boost the uncomfortableness level in a room. She froze before wincing out a, "Well, you never can tell."

After that I asked about the HPV vaccine because it's something that is probably not a bad idea seeing that amongst  queer woman it's a fairly common STI (mostly because sex education doesn't teach anything about safe sex between two women). She shut me down pretty quickly. She started off with saying it's not without risks and instead of clarifying any of these risks she gave me a pamphlet. Then she dove into a lecture about while I may never sleep with anyone that's not a woman I could sleep with a woman that has slept with someone that's not a woman and blah blah blah. I responded with "I'm aware." (That's why I asked for health's sake.)

(This pamphlet, by the way, contained nothing more than an explanation of what HPV is, how it's spread, and several grotesque pictures of what happens to your junk when you get it. It had a sentence of possible side effects for the vaccine which are consistent with possible side effects for pretty much any vaccine.)

I could spend my days staring at vaginas. I could even go to medical school so I could get paid for being an authority on staring at vaginas. But never would I be that condescending and rude to a healthy polite person attached to the vagina I was staring at. I left that exam room and was so visibly pissed that my sister sitting in the waiting room, immediately asked about it.

I may have baby face. I may dress unconventionally. I may be a virgin. I may being gayer than my Netflix viewing history. But regardless of all that, I am an adult that went to a medical professional to make sure I was healthy. I didn't go to attend a condescending lecture while nude. (That's what nightmares are for.) I deserve as much respect as the heterosexual, happily married, conventional looking, suburban house wife that comes in after me. So to all the gynecologists out that that understand how not to be condescending ass hat I salute you and will be actively seeking you out come time for my next visit to a gyno.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Ah, Gay Television

I as a gay person, I know my fair share of queer media and have come to the conclusion that it can be categorized into a few basic categories. (Warning: There are spoilers ahead.)

Straight Shows Being Inclusive

This category usually occurs within television shows. They designate an episode or two where they throw in some gay people. This way they can make some gay jokes and show how supportive the straight characters on the show are. Sometimes this is done really well and we get some great episodes of television like in the episode "We Will Rock You" from That '70s Show.
This was a bitch to find. Googling "Gay" and "That '70s Show" just leads to Laura Prepon.
We not only got respectable gay jokes, but we also got a Brady Bunch joke to make everyone happy.

Other times we get episodes not so great like that episode in the last season of Scrubs where Turk's patient is a lesbian. The episode sucked for many other reasons (mostly being that the last season just sucked), but a half hour of Turk being unable to talk to them like actual people was pretty much torture. There might actually be a circle of hell where watching that episode for all eternity if the punishment.

My personal favorite examples of this are the straight main character gets hit on by a gay person. The hilarity of a slightly homophobic (but not the offensive slur slinging type) occurs before they have a discussion with the gay person about how they're flattered, but not interested and they'll still be friends.
Remember this episode.
Then that character is never mentioned again and everyone just pretends that that never happened.

By all means kudos to any show that wants to throw in some gay characters regardless if it's only for an episode. Representation is a great thing, but it gets really frustrating when you are trying to find a show to binge watch where you feel represented. Of course you could just watch every episode of every show with gay themes in a row, but this possibly leads to insanity.

The Ratings Booster

These are the episodes that generally appear around the time when a series is starting to dwindle. (That's not always the case, but it happens often.) What do producers do when they want to make people watch? They throw in a lesbian kiss of course. The most notable example of this would be Heroes.
Seriously, the hell was this?
 I enjoyed Heroes (well as much as anyone did), but the plot point of the lesbian roommate both went nowhere and was slightly creepy. It was there to add unnecessary drama and everyone really would've been better off without it. Either that or they should have actually done something with it. I don't know about you, but I feel like murdered roommates, a chick with superhuman regeneration, and everything to do with the carnival was enough convoluted drama for everyone. (And that's just the Hayden Panettiere story lines)

Another notable episode would be in the Friends episode "The One With Rachel's Big Kiss." This is a much better episode than the one mentioned above. Far be it from me to complain about a kiss between Jennifer Aniston and Winona Ryder, but that episode sort of has a really depressing ending sandwiched between two kisses so we forget all about it.
Yay! Big Lesbian Kiss!
Slightly depressing yet still kind of funny moment trying to act nonchalant like she didn't just confess her love.
Yay! Lesbian kiss!
There like a million and four other episodes of television with big gay kisses sandwiched in there just for the sake of it. Some don't even have as much plot around it as Heroes managed to muster. Sometimes there is no reason for the kiss. It's literally just there because. (*Cough* Crossing Jordan *Cough*)

The Depressing True Story

Let's step away from television for a moment and take a look at all those movies based off of true stories. There are a lot of them and just about every True Story about a gay person is guaranteed to depress the hell out of you. If someone doesn't die or at least contemplate suicide at some point then I can almost guarantee that you are not watching a true story about a gay person. There are good legitimate reasons for this, those mostly being that the true stories they are based off of involve actual hate crimes. I definitely get the need to tell those stories and I will be the first to admit that movies like Milk and Boys Don't Cry are amazing, but is it to much to ask for a true story film about an LGBT person that wasn't brutally murdered?

Let's start with a film on Jackie "Moms" Mabley, one of the first female trailblazers in comedy. Comedy and Drama! It would be wonderful!
Hollywood, you have your next assignment.

The Questionable Material

These are the movies and television shows we watch because we hear that it's about gay people and then proceed to have a love hate relationship with it that rivals a Buffy/Faith storyline. The most notable one I can think of would be the lesbian series The L Word. Here are the stages of watching The L Word.

     Stage 1. This isn't so bad.
     Stage 2. Jesus Christ! Why is everything so dramatic?
     Stage 3. I'm done. Not watching anymore.
     Stage 4. Eh, might as well finish it so everyone will leave me alone about it.
     Stage 5. Bawling eyes out.
     Stage 6. Was Jenny always this annoying?
     Stage 7. God, I love the hell out of Alice
     Stage 8. What the fuck was that story line?
     Stage 9. Why am I still watching this?
     Stage 10. That was actually a really well done episode
     Stage 11. Will no one put Jenny out of our misery.
     Stage 12. Lucy Lawless! Cue more excitement than all previous seasons combined.
     Stage 13. I would've killed Jenny if you hadn't?
     Stage 14. Well that was the cheesiest ending ever.
     Stage 15. I am never getting those hours of my life back.
     Stage 16. At least all my friends will leave me alone about it now.

This series is beyond questionable. Had it not been for the fact that we craved any sort of representation on television I have a feeling this series would have died right around the time we were listening to Alice bawl about Dana over the radio. But boobs are a powerful force, so the series went on and we got some really amazing episodes from it. Unfortunately they were hidden amongst Jenny Schecter being obnoxious enough that everyone wanted to murder her in a swimming pool and various other plot points that were just plain painful. It's a show that every lesbian is supposed to love, but mostly we just pretend most of it never happened.

The Terribly Dramatic

I don't know what it is about gay media, but damn it is dramatic. There is about a 70% chance that the LGBT character you have just grown to love will die. I get that we want the audience to feel, but can we please kill someone else for a change. There are straight people to spare. Please shoot them. (Preferably not in reality. No heterophobic violence please.)

I feel that there are a few underlying factors as to why in every piece of pop culture we are the go to person to kill. The first one would stem from the days of lesbian pulp fiction where the only way to keep it from being labeled as porn was for it to have a moral message, so at the end they would either die or turn straight. Our society still hasn't gotten used to not writing that ending, so it's dead lesbians as far as the eye can see. The second one would probably be that writers in general are pretty dramatic. I know I'm dramatic as all hell. The mere mention of pizza, puts me in a melodramatic state of bitch and moan.
Tomatoes are evil! Just sayin'.
When you combine those two factors the default reaction when you ask yourself who should I kill? You go straight for the jugular with the significant other of the main gay character, if not that character them self.  It took me a year to figure out which one of my characters I should kill off in order to destroy everyone's hopes and dreams, without making it the gay person. (Writers really are kind of terrible people.) 
The writer decides that more tears are needed, so he decides to kill someone. He contemplates it for a bit and the next thing you know we're watching Tara get shot and Willow turns evil. Whedon deserves extra credit for covering those two core stereotypes of lesbian pop culture back to back. The one thing I will give Buffy The Vampire Slayer credit for is that everyone's significant other dies at some point in this show not just the lesbian's.

The same can't be said for Pretty Little Liars however. When the series killed off Maya, I was so pissed I was actually on my feet yelling at the television. It's not so much that they killed her off, it's the fact that every single one of the straight main characters gets an incredibly romantic and adorable scene with their boyfriends. Then they're all walking home and what romantic gesture does the gay character get? "Uhm, someone murdered your girlfriend in your backyard." Then the next season, "Oh, yeah, and before I forget, that guy you hang with, killed your girlfriend and is about to kill your new one." (Cue maniacal laughter from writing staff.) Unlike Buffy, the writers get no kudos since all the important people everyone who is straight dates always remain alive. (Also just a passing observation, but every black character that has been on the show is now dead.)

For an example that doesn't involve people dieing and that I just find to be endlessly entertaining. Grey's Anatomy. The show actually made a complex and healthy lesbian relationship and didn't mess it up with stupid crap. In order to do that they were relying on all the drama of everyone else on the show, but the writers managed to work out  most of the relationship drama they had created leaving all the characters relatively happy. So, what do they do? They crash the mother fucking plane! Yes, people died and it was sad and they made you believe for almost an entire episode that they killed off the lesbian (and we all believed it because that's what we expect). The writers actually made a couple so perfect that it took a plain crash, the death of two close friends, and a lost limb to give them serious relationship problems. That is is just the most beautiful example of over dramatic writing I have ever seen.
Just, seriously writers? A plane crash?

The God Damn GBF

Everyone is familiar with the concept of the GBF. The Gay Best Friend. The ultimate status symbol of a straight person that needs to prove how awesome and open minded she is. This concept makes me want to curl into a hole and die just a little bit. Partially because I spent part of high school as the new and improved Best Friend: Lesbian Model, but mostly because it is just plain annoying.

One show we can really thank for this is Will & Grace. Don't get me wrong I like Will & Grace. Mostly in small amounts spread months apart, but it's not really a bad show. It just plays up the gay jokes, so much I wan't to punch my TV. (The show averages at about seven gay jokes an episode. That's one every four minutes if you count commercials.) The jokes just get old so quickly. Seriously, how many times can you reference flannel?
It should be noted that I own no flannel, but my straight sisters do.
Will & Grace is great because of all the representation it's got going. It's not so great in the fact that it runs off gay jokes and stereotypes (there is also alcohol).

The concept of the gay best friend is everywhere. Hell, the beginning season of Glee, which now has a more diverse cast of characters than my entire home county had Kurt start off as a pretty stereotypical gay best friend type character then sprinkled in the complexity later.
The GBF at it's finest.
My guy friends that happen to be gay do enjoy musical theater. My guy friends who are straight also enjoy musical theater. (Okay, I met them all doing musical theater.) However one of those friends is a dedicated science fiction nerd and the other is into cars. The science fiction guy's a bit into clothes, but is far more content wearing a snappy catchphrase t-shirt than a sweater vest and tie (what is with that by the way?)

Now what the world needs is a television series with the best friend who happens to be gay, loves musical theater and is a big fan of something entirely random and not typically associated with sexual orientation. How come television characters never have more than one interest?

Everything We Love

There is a fair amount of LGBT movies and shows out there, you just have dig through them all to find the gems you love. It's hectic, painful, and really dramatic, but eventually you will find something to watch. However if you never do find something to watch then help to create it because damn it I can only cry so many times over the dead girlfriends of fictional characters.

Thursday, July 3, 2014

The Thermostat War

I have convinced myself that my younger sister is a bug person from outer space. Now, now, don't start calling me crazy until after you hear the theory and take into account that I have been watching a lot of sci-fi lately.

Our apartment constantly suffers from being too freaking hot. However, no one agrees with me. I am aware that I am still fresh out of the car from Colorado, but Christ people they invented AC for a reason. On any given day I will find myself hot and sweating while sitting in my bedroom which is arguably the coldest room in the apartment. That's when I go to sneak a look at the thermostat.

Here's the thing about the thermostat. My sister polices it like her life depends on it. On any given day, we'll all be chilling in the living room and my sister will just passingly mention that she is cold. That's when I start cursing because there is a 95% chance that the thermostat is already set to eighty degrees and all hope of my survival has been tossed out the window like a the contents of a chamber pot. It's like an episode of Farscape up in here. I'm the Peace Keeper trying not to die from being over heated, while my sister is the space bug that doesn't understand that heat is not my ideal habitat.
My sister in this story.
Every time I get caught messing with the thermostat, I get chastised. In retaliation, have made it my personal duty to make sure that it never makes it above 80 degrees for an extended period of time. Every time I walk by the thermostat and no one is paying attention to me, I check to make sure that it is set to a temperature humans appreciate. This usually means turning it down from 90 at least once every two days. I know I now live in Florida, but come on people. The reason we don't go outside is because it's too damn hot. Can we at least make sure that's not also the case inside?

Its gets a bit absurd adjusting the thermostat every few hours, but my well being is at stake here. I am a sweaty enough person without adding in extra reasons why. Deodorant can only do so much people. My sister's boyfriend may not complain, but since he's a dude he gets to strip down to his boxers and chill on the couch. I on the other hand get the, "Avert your eyes!" reaction when I decide to hang out in my knickers and bra. I as of right now am challenging the bug people I live with to end this war. You keep the thermostat at a reasonably temp and I will avoid romping around in my underwear for extended periods of time. Sound fair?

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

I will not survive the zombie apocalypse. That's right I said it. I fully admit to my inability to live through the inevitability of zombies eating us all. No one ever wants to admit that they will die the painful death of zombie food. Even I, proclaimer of my own demise, still have a plan to keep myself out of the zombie snack box. That being said, I will die because of reasons completely unrelated to the ones that will kill those of you who are terrified of spiders and have no idea how guns work.
POSSIBLE DEATH ONE (Except this one. This might be how some of you will die.)

The most likely cause of my demise will simply be that I'll have no idea that zombie meal time is going on outside, until one of my roommates comes in and eats my face.

Since, I don't have cable television in my apartment, the only way I keep track of what goes on in the world is over the internet and most of the time anything not having to do with pop culture gets skimmed over for more exciting things like "The Top Ten Guest Roles Of George Takei." (Not sure if that's actually an article, but probably.) So I will scan right over the one titled, "Zombies Have Captured Orlando" assuming it is some stupid publicity stunt and continue on with binge watching Star Trek on Netflix.
Me only moments before my zombie sister eats me.
Now to all you people like, "Won't the power go out at some point?" And to that you are absolutely correct and I still won't notice. I am in fact half mole so I have managed to not notice that the power was out for hours on end. I never turn on lights, and even if I did, I don't have any light source other than the window in my bedroom. (I actually kind of need to remedy that.) With my current living arrangements, I will just be sitting in my room on my computer or reading and will only notice that the power has gone out when I either get up for food and open the fridge or try to plug something in to charge. And in that case I will just assume that it will come back on in a little while and will resume reading by flashlight with my tasty snack. I could go on like this for days without thinking much of it.

There are only few things that will keep me from being the unaware hermit in my cave.

Option 1. I finally decide that I need electricity and get off my ass to go talk to the leasing office in which case I'll be immediately eaten by my super (or whichever one of my neighbors decides I look tasty).  This will take about 1-3 days depending on how much food I have that is actually dependent on the fridge.

Option 2. One of my roommates, the one that is not my sister, will insist we all go the park (because he's basically a puppy with human levels of  hygiene). We'll put on pants and bras (on some occasions he might put on a bra as well) and we'll step outside and then get eaten while we're waiting for him to unlock the car.

Option 3. It will start raining, and my sister will step outside to prevent her bamboo from being rained to death (that is actually a thing when you leave plants on the balcony). Then notice that there are a bunch of dead guys shambling around the neighborhood. This is our most likely chance of survival. But that will only last until the zombies realize there are snacks inside and climb in from out neighbors balcony to eat us.


Assuming my sister's bamboo has saved us from being eaten by our neighbors and we manage to barricade ourselves inside long enough, there will be the problem of food. Once, we eat through the last of our ramen, rice, and canned beans we will have to brave the outside world for food. This will be about a week into the zombie apocalypse (We eat a lot and just don't have food). Our weapons will be a historically accurate tomahawk I own from reenacting, a couple decoration swords my sister's boyfriend owns, a couple wooden practice swords that I own, and possible a hatchet for splitting wood. In other words, we will make it to the car by the sheer luck of a Walking Dead character. Let's just hope the real zombie apocalypse specializes in television suspense.
Luckiest bastard ever!
Assuming we make it to the car and from there make it inside the grocery store. The next challenge is finding the foods that aren't expired, we're not allergic to, and haven't already been looted. In order to avoid being eaten by a zombie while reading ingredients (seriously it takes like two hours to grocery shop), we'll have to just take everything that is left (probably not much) and pack it into our car.

Then when we get it back into our apartment and again by Walking Dead luck make it back inside with all our food, I guarantee my roommates will have twice as much if not more food than I will. They'll have cans of lots of things that have tomatoes in them. Then they'll have lots of things that have potatoes in them. Heck they may even have real potatoes because those things last forever. While they are all eating canned chili, I will be eating the last of the cat food and will starve to death in the corner of our apartment ashamed that I even bothered eating the cat to survive. (I actually probably wouldn't eat the cat. She'd probably eat me though.)
Yeah, probably...


The next possible way I will die is that somehow while we're all surviving the zombies I'll manage to get stung by a bee. Since there are no hospitals and zombies prevent us from getting anywhere I'll just die of a bee sting. Just 'cause other things are trying to kill us the normal things won't stop trying as well.


Assuming we've survived long enough to get out of our apartment and find some guns. I'll actually be able to shoot one well. (Yay! Crazy backwoods middle of nowhere families!) At this point I'll be super impressed at my zombie movie survival rate. By now I should definitely have been caught up eating people, but who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth. Then the next thing to kill me will be my clumsiness. We'll be running from the zombie hoard and will even be way ahead of them. That's when we're running up that hill to get away I trip, or slip, or just plain suddenly decide basic motor functions aren't for me and before you know it I'm tumbling down the hill headed to be dinner for my future friends.
Says my body to myself.

So without further ado, I apologize in advance to all you future zombies that I eat. Hopefully my jacked up jaw will give you a better chance of survival and I'll just drool zombie juices without actually breaking the skin.

Sunday, June 29, 2014

Can I See Your ID?

Lady's and Gentlemen, I have baby face. I always forget that I have baby face until I try to be an adult then suddenly the world reminds me that I look pretty much like I'm fifteen. When I tell people this I hope at least one people will be like "Nah, Dude, you look at least eighteen." Sadly 'tis never the case. Instead what I get is, "You totally do." Sometimes this is a nod of agreement that someone has obviously noticed before, but never mentioned and other times it is a sudden realization all How I Met Your Mother style with glass shattering.
My sister however is the loud chewer.
Like every other child, I managed to make it through middle school with people generally aware what my age was. (This may also be because I never met anyone new in the time period and thus never had the baby face discussion.) Then I started high school and I was good for a couple years. Then suddenly everybody thought I was twelve for the next two.


The summer after my sophomore year of high school was the year when I was 16 and the year that everyone thought I was 12. That was the year I learned all about the hardships of baby face. (It's a serious condition people.) It started when a friend of mine and her family were staying in a hotel in our hometown because they were in the process of moving to Germany and the crazy relatives invading my house made it uninhabitable. (There is way more to that store, but some other time perhaps.) Anyways my older sister, my friend, a friend of my sister, and me were all hanging out in the hotel lobby. Just talking about, to be honest, really boring things in between the flirting of my friend with my sister's friend. Then at some point however we ended up talking about how he's a writer and he writes these deep things. He of course asked if we wanted to read some of it. He pulled out his phone and passed it around showing his writing to my sister and my friend. Then when it got to me he was like, "Well, my writing's a little mature, I don't know if it's really appropriate for you."

Uhm what? I was sixteen at the time and went to high school with his sister who was literally only a few months older. I didn't even get to answer with a "How old do you think I am?" Because my older sister chimed in with the answer of how I was a mature teenage person not in fact a little kid tag along. Which allowed me to read the thing on his phone (I think it involved a reference to sex or something. I don't remember.), but really just made me seem much more like a little kid tag along trying to hang with the big kids. Also I didn't contribute a whole lot to the conversation before that either because A) I'm not a talker and B) It mostly existed for the sole purpose of my friend and him flirting.

Moral To The Story: Next time stay in the room and watch cartoons with friend's six year old sister.


When I was seventeen I had mostly forgotten about my baby face's existence because again I never met anyone new often enough for it to come up and I had at least one friend who was shorter and had more of a baby face. It had completely slipped my mind that people outside this bubble thought I was twelve until, I took a road trip down to Texas with my younger sister and mom for my grandmother's funeral. When we were at her wake (which in a way only my family could do was held at a podunk cowboy church) I was standing around nibbling at cheese cubes and a friend of my grandmother came over to say hello. And then she proceeded to inform me of what a beautiful girl I was and how all I needed to do was get my hair out of my eyes, maybe wear some more color and boys would be all over me. Again I was at a wake.

I was smiling politely when my mom came up. My grandmother's friend after introducing herself, continued the topic of the length of my bangs with my mother. (I had been having this same argument, debate, and on one occasion a half step away from being hogtied in the bathroom while my mother cut them for three years.) When my mother mentioned I was in high school somewhere in this conversation. That surprised the lady immensely and she turned to me and asked my age. To which I replied, "seventeen," in the most duh voice a teenager could possibly muster. To which the lady replied, "Oh, I thought you were twelve." From then on the discussion of my bangs ceased for the rest of the wake. 

Moral To The Story: Wearing black and having bangs covering your eyes at age 12 = I can make you into a lady one day. Wearing black and bangs covering your eyes at age 17 = Oh, nevermind. How about these cheese cubes huh?


Turning eighteen was really the most maddening part of  having a baby face because I wanted to go do things and be out in the world. Of course all my friends were underage so that never happened, but whatever. The saddest part though was just how udderly ridiculous it is being the oldest one yet the one only one who gets asked for ID.

One time I was with my aunt and younger sister bumming around target and I came across a five dollar copy of V for Vendetta, so I was all 'I'm going to buy this." Then we went to the checkout counter and I was all set to pay with my money and stuff and then she asked for my ID and I just went "huh? Why?" Because that movie is R rated and I look like a bleeding fifteen year old! Both of these are facts I forget because A) I don't think about my looking fifteen until someone brings it up and B) I don't categorize movies I like by maturity rating. (The zombies and guts sits right next to the cartoons and butterflies. So long as it's alphabetical of course.)

That one simple step of show my your ID to prove your not being a delinquent totally messed me up. I was not prepared! It totally frazzled my brain. I am an adult dammit! If I want violence, explosions, and dystopian societies, it should not be this difficult! But yeah, what should have been two minutes down the express lane took ten. I had to fight my ID out of my wallet because it decided this was the moment when it was going to cling onto the sides for dear life. Then I got it back and was like "now what?" That's when you pay stupid. In other words it was a clusterfuck and I now own a wallet with a clear viewer thing for my ID just in case of such a situation. (I also use adult grown up words like clusterfuck to prove my adultness.)

My younger sister, however, has managed to buy violent R rated movies without being ID'd.  I still have yet to master this and gone to buying R rated things online.

Moral Of The Story: Become a dude so I can grow a mustache and look older.

There was also the time when my younger sister and our friend were planning to go see Cabin In The Woods, but couldn't because I didn't look old enough so they asked for IDs and they didn't have theirs because they don't drive and high school IDs don't have your age. Also our friends mom doesn't look like our friend because she's white and our friend is half Saudi Arabian. So we gave up and went roller skating instead. Read about it here. 


I am now twenty years old I still get ID'd for everything. In my entire adult life I have not been ID'd for a thing once. I bought a bottle of NyQuil and the cashier didn't ID me. I was so freaking excited that I practically danced home. (And then I coughed a bunch and passed out because I really needed that cold medicine.

While I no longer look like I'm twelve. (Yay! Boobs!) I still get told I look way young. When I was working on the set of a music video for school, the twelve year old actress was surprised that I was older than my co-art directer because according to her I look like I'm fifteen. So, I'm moving up in the world people. I now look old enough to drive a car with adult supervision.

I turn 21 in in two and a half months and I might as well just tape the blasted ID to my forehead for the festivities. This is why people need bar-codes tattooed on their arms. One little scan and boom you never have to fumble through your wallet to pull out your ID to prove you're an adult and can handle the responsibility of NyQuil again.

Monday, June 23, 2014


Tetherball is an incredibly dramatic sport. Requiring almost ninja reflexes and skill. At least that is what I discovered after I lost my epic Kung-Fu battle with one.

It started simple enough with an afternoon walk to the park. After the basic tomfoolery of jumping off swings and climbing things, we discovered the tether-ball. Standing there majestically calling our names to come and play with it.

The tetherball was up to no good however. It coaxed us in with the promise of a fun children's game, but left us (and by us I mean me) with only pain.  Round one was my younger sister and her boyfriend. It was a one sided battle where my sister spend the entire time cringing and ducking as though the inanimate ball on a string was going to eat her. If I had only headed that as a warning
An actually less terrified expression than what befell my sister's face.
I of course being an older sibling had to mock my younger sister for her terror. It was a ball on a string what possible horrors could it be hiding?

Then it was my turn to battle my sister's boyfriend in this game. The first round was well, sad to say the least. He served and the ball wrapped itself around the top of the pole where me and my shortness could not reach. Leaving me to leap upwards in an attempt that didn't even let me tap it with my finger tips.
After such a  fail that it can only be described as steering the Titanic, it was round two and my turn to serve. So that is exactly what I did. It went well and wrapped around the pole a couple times. There was even some decent volley. Then WAMP! It came careening back at me with vengeance and what I can only assume was it's evil plan all along. Where was I hit you ask?

Was it the face?

Was it the nads?
Just kidding. I don't have nads
Or was it just a sudden increase in gravity that caused me to land on top of the ball?

Actual Google image result for getting hit by a ball.

I'll give you as much time as it takes to read this sentence to confer with you team. (Were we actually playing with teams?)

The answer is the Solar Plexus! Ding ding ding! Do we have a winner? (Seriously do we?)

So that is how I lost my Kung Fu fight with a tetherball. Napoleon Dynamite, I salute you for surviving such an ordeal without mass amounts of pain.
I have come to the conclusion that tetherball is the boss battle of the playground and there is a very good reason that no one ever ever played it. Few are prepared for such an ordeal.

Thursday, May 29, 2014


I am a member of the human race that was given the incredibly luck of having obscene amounts of hair. It works out well for me though since due to my pasty white ancestry the hair in places it's not supposed to be is blond rendering it near impossible to see unless you are looking for it. It works out well for me since shaving your legs is one of the biggest wastes of time humanity has ever come up with (and it's not even a good waste of time like the internet). That being said, the hair on top of my head is completely controlled by evil gnomes that don't believe I should ever look like a normal human being.

On top of my head is one full fledged enchanted forest of never ending hair.  When I grow my hair out it only looks a step or two down from StarFire in the 1980's.
Me: Pre-hair-cut
I have such insane thick hair that half an hour in a humid environment mixed with a lack of hair cut leads to me looking like I have some giant fluffy animal eating my head.
Sort of like that.
That second photo there is pretty close to the hair style I rock whenever I am in between hair cuts. My hair grows like a weed. A magic hair weed that consumes my head and I'm pretty certain if I didn't chop it off every few months it would just start eating people like the plant from Little Shop of Horrors (have to feed those hair gnomes someway I suppose).

My older sister actually tested the theory of what happens when you don't cut hair in our family. She doesn't even have as thick of hair as I do, but she has enough that if she was stranded on a desert island she could use her hair to make rope to lasso sea turtles (like Captain Jack only it actually happening. She cut her hair off once and cried at how short it was. Now she never cuts it and I have seen her hair eat a curling iron. (Not even joking it got stuck and took my mom three hours to excavate without just chopping it out.)
Less screaming than real life.

I had long hair up until the summer before eighth grade when I finally got sick of my head looking like a squirrel had made a nest simply by my having gone to gym class. I also sort of sucked at getting out of bed in the morning with enough time to actually brush my hair. It was a nightmare of hair. Judging by the amount left on the floor I'm pretty sure it joined together to love and pet and call a bunny George.
Pictured: my last hair cut.
I doesn't even matter if I've gone over a year without a hair cut, like the one I got last Christmas. Or if I've only gone four months. There is always so much hair on the ground. The lady that cuts it once suggested that she should just charge me by the pound. Not going to lie if barbers and hair dressers did that they would make a killing off me alone.

While my longer hair goes full fledged monster, my short hair prefers to go action anime. While my longer hair still manages to defy gravity my short hair doesn't even bother believing in it's existence. It's an old wives tale that the ends of my hair have passed down to the roots. While everyone with short hair gets that your hair will spike if you sleep on it wet, all I need to do is sleep on it. I can have showed, shaped it to look nice, let my hair dry entirely, and even attempted sleeping while sitting up, yet when I wake up in the morning it always manages to look like a cow attempted to lick the hair right off my head.
Mythical head licking cow the teleports into my room while I sleep.
On same days I get lucky though and I manage to not have just that one gravity defying spot of hair, but my entire head. On those occasions I happen to look very much like Goku from Dragon Ball. Gravity be damned!
Also, my actual face when woken up
I'm pretty sure that's how they designed his hair. They just took some kid with a god awful amount
of hair, had them take a nap, then drew it. What's sad is I don't even have to have been living in the woods for months without parental supervision for it to happen.