This is what girls want:

(TENDERRRNESSS)

“Are we simply romantically challenged, or are we sluts?”

I can tell you for a fact that I am not a slut.

And this fact, simply, is because I consciously strive to avoid the dreaded title. I won't hook up with guys that have any questionable morals (which leaves few) or anyone thinks questionably about (which leaves none).

I have to ask myself: what am I doing? Instead of living life the way I want to, giving in to whatever desires and impulses I see fit, I'm living life the way I think I should so that I can fit into a certain stereotype.

Something else I've noticed: people choosing to have "things" instead of relationships. What defines a relationship, and why have we eschewed the traditional title in favor of something more befitting of scattered moral standards? Do we believe it's easier to break a "thing" off? Do "things" entitle us to a little extra booty on the side? How long until a "thing" becomes a relationship? Will it ever?

C

I don't want you on my mind.

confusion is how I describe my natural state. completely untrue is the truth of my self-analysis. analysis, I believe, is essential for growth. self-preservation is no longer necessary: I reserve all rights to make an ass of myself. I have no shame, or so I like to think. my heart is twisted up into knots and the words can't seem to make it out onto paper. fifty percent thought and fifty percent action. music constantly streaming, constantly searching, searching for anyone, someone, him. "the one", my one and only.

James Dean.

I think constantly about love and soul mates and relationships and sex and crushes and kissing and romance. I like how boys make me feel. I hate how boys make me feel. boys break me down and tear me apart. they make me feel inadequate, worthless, preposterous, strange, sexy, interesting, fantastic. a week can go by and every feeling you rest your weary feet on can go from good to worse. suddenly your rock is the weight holding you down. suddenly you just can't wait to break free, to start the cycle once again, the cycle we all love to hate and hate to love.

dating.

I haven't had a boyfriend in a really long time. I've stopped trying to figure out why.

I didn't understand.

and so continues the cycle, the homework, the friends, the work, the forced conversations, the easy conversations, the dry eyes, the teary eyes, the hugs, the late nights, the early mornings, coffee coffee coffee, add music as your sugar substitute and stir well.

swallow.

everybody needs somebody. my somebody is tall, thought-provoking, witty, nerdy, musical, talented, intelligent, well-dressed. my James Dean.

my romantic ideals leave me heartbroken and alone more often than not. soul mates are not always found. until then i'll "live the questions."

C

weekends seem to drag on until they're done.

A slice of one mind delivered to another. A story. A succession of events strung together by one common thread: hope. I didn't write this but I believe in it. I didn't edit this for fear of contaminating its pure state. I brought this here for you.

You Must Be an Illusion, Can I See Through You?

Because I am normal. That is why my life got out of control. Because out of the whole entire world I was the only one who could see people for what they were… I was the arc angel. I was the chosen one. I was the saint among sinners. I was the one guiding light. No one was able to see through these old urchins. Everyone in this town believed in what they saw. If I told them there was a far away land made of ice and snow, they wouldn’t believe me that it could exist. Until that one winter where we got 3 feet of snow. Then and only then did this magical place have any probability of existing. This is how I became who I am.

With nobody ever believing you, life can progress to a place where you don’t believe yourself. All of your thoughts that come into your being aren’t real. They are just those damn chemicals acting up again. Making you hallucinate into oblivion. The first sixteen years of my life was made up of hallucinations. Fantastical visions of nothing real or so I was told. I’m not really sure anymore. I mean my life could have been lived in India, Afghanistan, Quebec, or Ghana. Who knows at this point. These illusions stopped however, thanks to a boy. He showed me how to take off the rose colored glasses, and live my life, for me.

I met him on my sixteenth birthday. My best friend had a get together at her house for me, a complete surprise of strangers. How thoughtful my friends are. She really just wanted a party, more of an excuse to alter her mind into the state mine was. This is how she tried to bond with me, she would take a puff and it would make her feel like I didn’t, or she would take a snort and feel like I wanted to feel. None of it made sense I know, I was confused about all of this as well. As she and these other strangers were altering their lives, I tried to alter mine. Unsuccessfully I might add. No matter what I put into my system, I had these hallucinations. I had these thoughts of the universe and questions on why humans act like they do, why simple actions of compassion were commonly misplaced among us.

I really did try to turn them off for this one night. It was my birthday, I wanted to feel special and normal and fit in with the rest of the droids. Going with the usual rituals of the droids, I decided to engage myself in experimenting with another. I was curious to see if my chemistries, plus another, would equal the so called butterfly effect of anticipation and love. With this boy I chose, there was nothing. I gave him the most vulnerable side of me, and there I was feeling completely void of emotions. My illusions were gone temporarily and it was the most naked I had ever felt in my life. Almost as if I was standing on a diving board without a suit in front of a packed crowd and then belly flopping right into the water. What kind of person can create such a feeling without even doing anything? All that was clear was that something was wrong. With me? I didn’t know, with boy? I didn’t know. It just didn’t fit right.

Finally the illusions came back. I put the rose glasses back on. I resurfaced and recollected myself and joined the rest of the droids. At the time I didn’t realize how much of a profound effect this experiment would have on this boy. All I can say is that word of it reached people closely connect with me and they were not happy at all. Harsh words were shared by people who were previously allies. My fault. My entire fault. Sometimes terrible experiences for you are equally terribly for the other one. This boy also had to live with what happened, it would be remembered forever in his mind. My experience with him however was just another notch to add to the good ol’ bedpost. It was neither a significant nor memorable notch.

We went our ways. Said our good byes and good nights and continued on with our lives. Or so we thought? The pathways of our lives met up again that night. Different place, different time, same people. We all sat. And sat. And sat. Me and him awkwardly pressed together on a couch with one too many people on it. Seeing me cringe, a fellow stranger named J came to my rescue. He held my hand through the uncomfort and whispered sweet nothings and happy birthdays into my ear. For a moment, suspended forever in time, I felt like a birthday girl. Every part of my life that distraught me was gone. He walked me to the car, gave me his jacket and held my hand the whole way. We kissed in a back seat quietly and discreetly. Sweet and soundless. To this day I get butterflies when just thinking about it. Perfection is the only way I can really describe it. Crammed on a couch we slept. I felt his embrace for the whole night; we woke up to see the sun coming up. He gave me a kiss goodbye on the forehead and one last birthday wish as I half asleep told him thank you for everything.

From this moment on he would always be familiar to me, I always thought I had see him swimming laps or digging through the crowded hallways at school. He was everywhere. Except, I was never really sure if it was him or not. He wouldn’t look at me or smile or wave. I was a stranger. Then I would look over and see my phone blowing up with his number asking me to swing by his house. Obediently I would go. My anticipations would get high hoping that the night of butterflies would be recreated.

Orders.
Commands.
Rules.
Quick.
Impersonal.
False promises.

That night was gone. It wouldn’t be recreated. It was a hallucination. But it wasn’t of my playing, it was his. He tried to be like me and have an illusion of the world; he had to change himself to feel compassion. He wanted to be wanted. I wanted to be wanted. Just because I wanted to feel wanted, didn’t mean it was what I needed. We wanted each other. Circumstantial was all it was. I couldn’t accept this. Repeatedly I tried to feel that night again. Failing every time. Making up lies and excuses to myself as to why it wasn’t happening. It was my entire fault. Everything was my fault. Never his. It couldn’t be his. He couldn’t be defective. The way he looked, my illusionary perception of him… was too perfect to be defective.

I couldn’t let it be. I couldn’t let that night escape me. I kept trying feverishly, desperately, and depressed all the while. It wasn’t working. Finally, after one too many tries I gave up. I deleted him from my life. I deleted him from my mind, forgetting him until he would pop up again in the car behind me or out front of his house when on my way to a friends’. For the most part however, he was gone.

…Well I thought he was. It was months since any sighting of him and I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe one last time. Maybe this would work. Maybe the night would be back. It was good. It was as good as it would get. The night was pushing its way back into my life, almost up for a breath of air. Almost. Almost. Almost. Then he left. He left. He left. I did nothing wrong. I knew this. He did it this time. For the first time I knew. I knew. I knew. There was nothing I did. I could have no blame. He wasn’t perfect, neither was I. My illusion of him, was gone. I took off the glasses and finally saw him for what he was. A human. Not a droid anymore or a stranger. Just a fellow human being. I cannot hold him responsible for my reactions to him. The fucking glasses wouldn’t let me see any of the truth. But now with them off, I can accept him. I can accept that night, the other boy, my friend, and myself. Circumstances and humans is all we are.

No perfect human exists. No one can right all the wrongs of the world, but no one can create all the wrongs either. We are not perfect in perfection or imperfection. We all simply exist because its what we do. We make the best of it as well as we can and try to do what our minds tell us to do. Illusions or no illusions. We try our fucking best to live our lives how we want.

How he reacted to me was a result of him. That was how he thought it was appropriate to handle the situation and I handled it how I thought appropriate. Both of us not wrong, but very conflicting. I know next time to make sure that I am ready for whatever I get myself into and to make sure the other person is ready as well. No one deserves this to happen. No one deserves to be so lost and confused over a single human being. We should do what brings us joy. I should do what brings me joy. I may not know what that is yet but I am learning.

I do know one thing now; he is gone, just an illusion in my mind. Only a memory now. Fleeting, but forever real to me.

Naivety Pt. 2

LADIES AND GENTS!

i met a boy the other day and i can't stop thinking about him. we had a cutesy fumble and then while waiting for rides (cause im lame and don't drive) ended up chatting and then i practically told him my whole life story! WHAT! and he showed me his stash! how did this happen? we met in a super weird place (which im not gonna tell you about so you won't judge me) but keep in mind this is proof that you can meet boys ANYWHERE! the grocery store, the parking lot, the park, the pool, the theater, yadda yadda, as long as you're not a hermit you will meet boys! a connection happens and BAM! you know the drill. or maybe you don't, but until then you'll keep reading jane austen novels and hoping it will happen. don't stop hoping. you're great.

i didn't get his number (you reserve the right to boo and hiss right now. go ahead. it was lame of me) but if i see him again theres no way its not going to happen. i really want to make out with him. it's all cool.

IMPORTANT- if you're into reading my blog then you should seriously think about PROMOTING IT! get the word out! getting some feedback via comments would be super sweet too. yes, I am talking to you. do it! you won't regret it.

love you,

C