To: Mr. Anonymous Sitting in the Last Chair on the Third Row to the Left

I was thinking of you a lot today…
And, seriously, why must you be so damn perfect?
Why do I have to look at you and question my morals?
There was that awkward moment last week…you probably don’t remember it, but I do… the prof was passing out the tests and I turned around to get my binder and you smiled at me. So I smiled back. And, as soon as it was there, it was gone.
That was a moment, and I took it in.
I saw the gold flecks in your brown eyes.
I found myself thinking about you all during class.
The sound of the prof’s mutterings on about Milton’s Paradise Lost didn’t seem relevant in the least to anything anymore… I didn’t care about Heaven, and I didn’t care about Hell anymore. You took up the majority of my mind, while a vision of a little house on the coast of Ireland took up the rest.
A little cottage, right there, on the coast.
And whose is it?
It’s ours.
Why am I thinking this?
Am I a complete idiot?!
But I see it so clearly!
I see it, right there, in front of my mind like a movie projected on a giant screen:
There’s the little cottage, nestled sweetly beside a cliff, white-washes with a little garden along the side. The cliff plummets right down to the ocean, the green grass sliding off the edge as if it is ready to spread wings and fly. There is a whistle in the wind, carried up from the foaming surf below, which rises up and down and slaps and splashes.
And I am standing on the cliff, looking out into the eternal vastness of the ocean. The sun is dipping slowly downward; the sky is pale colors, like dishwater from a paintbrush. I am wearing a white dress, with bare feet, a shawl wrapped about my shoulders. My hair is fluttering behind me like fine strands of gold.
You are there, watching me cautiously from the window of the cottage.
I turn back, I see you, and I smile.
But class is over…
And you’re backing up your books as hurriedly as you can, to get out of class before you expire of boredom.
No, no, wait!
Wait, I want to talk to you!
But it’s no use…
My mouth can’t motion the words.
So I just raise, gently, the last to leave the room…
I mutter a sweet word or two to the old prof who, for all of his efforts, couldn’t manage to entertain my mind, or pull it away from you.
I take my leave.
The ovation is gone.

Disney Channel & the “Tween Exploitation” Problem

Is it just me, or does every other female child star that comes out of Disney Channel turned into a rehab-center regular/promiscuous scalawag?

Women, and “The Body” Issue

So you’re sitting down in a cafe with your friend… take it, she’s not the brightest bulb in the box, but you tend to love her nonetheless… she’s sort of glaring at a muffin she just picked up from the counter. You’re finishing off your piece of lemon pie without shame, and here she is still staring at this little old muffin.
A muffin, you observe, that doesn’t even have butter on it.
So you put down your fork and you kind of raise an eyebrow and ask if she’s going to eat the damn muffin, because it’s not a life or death situation.
She whines and tosses it down and says the dreaded phrase that no sensible woman wants to hear from a girl-friend:
“I’m so fat.”
All you can do is roll your eyes, and not respond to that comment.
You don’t want to hear it, not again.
It’s gotten to a point where she pulls this shit and says stuff like that so that I’ll look at her, appraise her with a fake smile, and tell her that she’s perfect in every way. That her body is so thin you can see her bones through her tank top.
You can look at her and clearly see that she isn’t fat… but in all honesty, she isn’t a waif.
Would that upset her, if you told her she wasn’t a waif? If she was healthy in appearance? If she was the perfect weight for her frame?
No.
No, no, no.
Women want to hear that they’re “Skinny”, and they want that word precisely.
What the hell is this whole misconception coming from?
In my eyes, personally, I think a woman’s beauty comes from more important factors than WEIGHT.
I’ve read more than a few books concerning body image. It wasn’t because I was looking to feel good about myself, because I do every day. I read these books so that I could understand from the P.O.V of other women, why is it so important to look a certain way? Why is it so crucial to fit into a mold of what consumer-driven assholes want you to look like?
I mean, sometimes I have to physically bring myself in front of a mirror and slap myself in the face and say out loud “hey, you’re beautiful. Just the way you are.” But that works for me!
I’m always brought back to the idea that I don’t look like your average girl.
I’m not skinny, and I like it.
I have skin, and I have muscle, and yes I have fat, but that’s healthy!
I’m comfortable with myself… and I think I’d enjoy female company better if most of them thought the same way.

My Life Is A Fucking Dolly Parton Song: Part 1

My Own Personal Jolene

Women are insane.
I ought to know.

We will kill for love, among other things.

But what happens when you’re a gung-ho southern woman who can’t hold onto her man?
I found myself in the middle of a Dolly Parton song, about a year ago.
God, I hate to even reminisce about it, it was such a silly sort of juvenile position to put myself in… I mean, seriously, when a girl begins to date a guy she ought to prep herself for the worst, right? Yeah, well, I was “in love” and when you’re young and “in love” your vision of True and False becomes distorted.
It began towards the end I suppose. We’d be dating for an awfully long time, me and this fellow, and we acted as if we had been married for a good ten-fifteen years: dinner, sitcom, bed.
Yeah, it was as bad as it sounds. We had no common interests anymore, but out of curtesy we didn’t want to bring the issues to the forefront. No one wanted to be the bad guy in this sort of situation…yet…
Count on the idiot bozo to go and fuck it up even more, eh?
Well, I knew that my boyfriend at the time (we’ll call him “Athol”) had waning affections. Yes, his affections were waning quite quickly, and I found myself pulling back with force. I felt like I loved him, sure, and I didn’t want to lose him.
Well, Athol had other plans.
In fact, I discovered he didn’t even care about how I felt as all of this unfolded.
While we were still in a committed relationship, he was introduced to a little girl (and little is true, she was a good deal younger than him) that he began to regularly correspond with over the computer, phone, and the like.
I didn’t really like it, but there was nothing I could do about it without going psycho.
Then came the fateful day when he proposed that we “take an undisclosed break”.
Fine.
Athol and I parted ways, and made a “vow” to get back together in good time, once we had reasoned things out a bit for ourselves.
Hmph. Sure.
I’m a little antsy, because I know that they’re talking to each other. And this little girl looked like she could hold her own around a guy. I’m not saying I’m ugly, but out of my own general spite I began to refer to her as the “belle petite fille”.
I was bitter.
I wanted to know what was going on, because by his short telephone calls and inattentiveness to me in the days that followed, I knew he was becoming less interested in getting back together with me- and more interested in this little harlot who had just paraded onto the scene and busted my nice little domestic bubble.
Well, about a week later, I’m still optimistic about seeing Athol at a concert that we were supposed to go to. We were going separately, but meeting amongst a group of mutual friends.
The day rolls around, and I’m excited.
So I show up, and he’s not there yet, I’m hanging out with a group of friends.
And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world… In swaggers Athol with the little girl on his arm… They’re clinging to each other as if it’s Armageddon and they’ve got .9 seconds to live…
My stomach grows sick, but out of courtesy, I decide to approach them both and be as unassuming as I can manage.
I start by greeting him with a hug, and then turning my attentions to the little auburn-headed, eyeliner-clad youngster at his side.
I say
“Hi, I’m Ash! I’m so ready for tonight, they have amazing bands playing.”
I proceed to list the bands, while she stands there looking at me with glazed eyes as if she’s bored out of her mind.
I’m finished talking, and I’m waiting for her to say something.
So that little hot mess looks at me, and rolls her eyes, and says in a staunch, haughty tone-
“Oh… well I don’t know any of the bands playing here.”
I smile as cheekily as I can manage through clenched teeth and reply
“Yes, well, they were popular before you were old enough to get in here.”
I turn, as my friends come up to me, in a desperate attempt to get me away from the scene. But before I do, I glance back, and reassure her with a last line:
“You should really take a look in the mirror after playing in your crayon box all day.”
I added a nice hair flip, for measure.
Then I went home and drank my weight in vodka.



Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene… I’m begging of you-
TAKE MY LEFTOVERS, YOU DESERVE THE CHEATING BASTARD!

The Ultimate Intellectual Woman's Mancandy: James McAvoy

Name: James Andrew McAvoy

Nationality: Scottish

Birthday: April 21, 1979

Current Age: 29

How Many Years Older He Is Than I: 9

Does That Mean It Would Be Creepy If We Married: No

Qualities That Make Me Love With Him:

- Intelligence

- True Humor

- Wicked Cute Scottish Accent

- Insanely Beautiful Blue Eyes

Notable Roles:

- The Chronicles of Narnia

- Becoming Jane

- Atonement

- Rory O'Shea Was Here

- Penelope

- Wanted

Is it really, really evil of me if I hope his wife randomly falls in love with another man and leaves him desperately starved of love and in need of attentions?... Attentions from an ambitious American female, nine years his junior, full of life and looking for love?...

Got Milk?: Opinions on the Homosexual and Bisexual Agenda

Upon finishing the movie Milk, starring Sean Penn...


The other day it occurred to me, everyone is going Bi.
Bi is the new black.
I, personally, prefer the male anatomy, thusly concluding that I am, indeed, straight. But it’s sort of unfortunate that I’m hetero, because I find women to be absolutely stunning.
There’s something about the female form that has a way of being alluring- no matter what orientation you are.
Here’s the break-down:
Since I was very little I was taught it was a grave and dangerous sin for one person of sex to have feelings for/sensually love/and/or be drawn to a person of the same sex. I was raised in a very traditional Catholic household, and so of course I felt weird about the whole ordeal, noticing more and more of the people i know making out with their own gender.
It only proved to fascinate me more than frighten me.
That’s when I sort of began to rethink how important it is for these sort of things to be addressed.
It doesn't bother me at all to believe that persons of the same gender can fall in love, and want to be together. In fact, I believe that every person, at one point in their life, is drawn to a person of the same sex. It's only human. As a person who often considers themselves a pseudo-psychologist, I believe it is simply a part of our mind state, and is NOT something we should be ashamed of.
Another thing, I choose to detest those people who believe that treating gay, lesbian, and bisexuals with little or no respect. It's cruel. It's wrong, and it's NOT something I support in the least of respects. I dislike people who are so closed-minded and immature about the situation at hand. Those people who think this is dangerous to our society are wrong as well, it’s not dangerous.
I would rather for Abortion (which, in my opinion, is actually murder) to be illegalized, and Same-Sex Marriage to be legalized.
Abortion is TAKING AWAY LIFE, and Same-Sex Marriage, in my opinion, does nothing but PROMOTE commitment, and love.
I mean, really, what's the world coming to?! I'd prefer to see two men holding hands in public, than a topless girl whoring herself on public television, like CBS or ABC.
So yeah, let’s let people make out and hold hands.
And stop killing fetuses instead.

The Rape of Sexuality

I always have very strong feelings about these sorts of things… don’t ask me why.
I’m shameless, sure, and unabashed, but if there’s something that I’m always clear about:
I have respect for myself, and I have respect for others.
So as I sit here, flipping through the channels on TV, ignoring my only class that I have on Friday (Political Science, fun stuff), I stop and stare in amazement. Why, it’s none other than Rock of Love: Bus on Vh1. I’m gazing at the television screen, fixed, and I’m completely distracted, but not in a good way.
The first thing I don’t understand; why are these women unloading music equipment in lingerie?
Second; why are grown women not only:
1.) doing this on a nationally-broadcasted reality show?
2.) competing for the love of Bret Michaels?!?!
Mmmmk, seriously, what is the world coming to…
I’m sorry, but where has the “New Attitude with Old Values” gone to?
Don’t get me wrong, I think that sexuality is very important. In fact, it’s huge.
I have no issue with moving forward, being daring, being SEXY! There’s nothing wrong with being aware of your natural sexuality! My god, sex appeal has really nothing at all to do with what a person wears; it’s how they protract their energy!
I just feel like the whole system is completely Fruged.
Women dress like sluts.
Men like women who dress like sluts.
That leaves no room for the rest of womankind that treats themselves with dignity, and esteem.
Mind you, there are a very small percentage of guys and girls who catch my drift, and I’d like to say to you: THANK YOU SMART PEOPLE OF AMERICA.
But, I suppose it’s whatever floats one’s boat.
I’m sorry, but I’d feel as if I was cheating myself if I felt like I had to take off my clothes and dumb myself down to attract a man…
Perhaps that’s why I’ve never really dated all that well.