Alone... and happy?

Quick note for y'all reading this: It'll be my last post on this blog, before deleting it. I'll be posting the new address on my facebook page, for those of you who want to keep reading me (or send me an e-mail, I'll send you the link).

This post is entirely about me and my inability to date, so if you're not interested in me, you can stop reading. You can also go join a Nickelback fan page, since you're not into interesting stuff anyway, apparently.

I was speaking to my mother about a date I'd been on, and I mentioned that I'd been unimpressed and that I was going to die alone with cats.
"Of course you're going to die alone, you're always unimpressed," was the answer I'd received.

While it wasn't the most heart-warming thing my maternal element could have said, it wasn't new. I was never known as the girl who fell in love. I never got attached. And I was never interested in sharing my life with people.

I could go on about how in high school I was uninterested in boys, and then I realized that putting my walls up and taking jabs from behind my shield at people who had intentionally left their defenses down wasn't being strong, it was being an asshole, ect ect, but let's drop the life story and cut to the chase.

I'm alone because I like being alone. I enjoy manufacturing my own happiness. I buy myself pizza. I take me out for coffee. I write poems describing the inner turmoils and poems who start with "Oh, let me count the ways I love thee" and I'm the only one that feels truly understands me. If I want flowers, flowers will show up at my doorstep. I'll never feel guilty about receiving chocolate but not wanting to eat it because I'm on a diet. I am content.

Of course, there are sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to receive happiness from someone else. A different brand of happiness. Other people seem happy with it. Of course, I get myself a mochaccino if I want, but what about times where I don't know I want a mochaccino and someone gets it for me?
I think there's a difference between the happiness I get by being alone, which is satisfaction, and the happiness I could find through someone else, which is something closer to joy.

Nevertheless, the only reason I try dating is because people around me are so concerned about my non-dating. At Christmas, I received countless comments about the fact that I was alone. I started making efforts, but now that I'm constantly seeing someone new, I receive countless judgemental and uncomfortable silences from people I mention it to. 

I think we all need to accept that it won't work out because I don't want it to work out. I don't want to lose my independence, I don't want to be anchored to someone else, I don't want my decisions to have an impact on someone else. 

I've fallen into a nice routine of having a beer paired with small talk, a couple texts, smiley faces, a inevitable dying out of keeping in touch and a expected, but uncalled for "Hey ;)" four months later, as though they've suddenly run out of options on Tinder or in the real world or wherever people get potentials nowadays and I'm the oasis in the desert. Unfortunately for y'all, I seem to be a mirage, as I am unreachable at that point.

Of course, this whole routine is another subject I want to talk about, but enough for tonight.

I just wanted to get it out there: I won't date. And if other's don't want to date, that's fine. Don't make comments. Don't insinuate things. Let them find happiness in reading a book alone over a coffee exactly as they like it, and let them gently float in the knowledge that the will be able to toss and turn and not feel overheated in their bed tonight, holding their own hand if need be (Uh, hello, we have two for a reason, people.).

Here's My Future: It Doesn't Include Any Maternal Instinct

Well hello there, fellow member of a civilized, modern society.
Surely, somewhere in your head, is a map of your life, and on the horizon, you see things like a career, a house, a partner, children. Somewhere just below the surface of your inner conscious, you see yourself coming to a warm home from work to a loving spouse (or the equivalent of), making supper, and bringing the kids to soccer, or ballet, or theatre recital.
My point is that you have a future in your head and it includes a family. Someone to welcome you home, and also little people to take care of, to love and to teach. And that's normal. And then maybe again, you're like me, and kids... well, they're a no.

Now here's the thing. It's not that I don't like kids. In fact, I love them. You give me a child and I will have a blast with them for hours on end. I'll colour in Disney princesses and run around in the grass and have conversations about primary school drama. And then I'll really enjoy giving them back to you. I plan on being that really cool aunt who takes her sibling's kids out on her days out and sends them back at sunset, completely sun burnt and hyped up on ice cream and chocolate and with multiple exciting adventures they can rattle off until their parents put a toothbrush into their tiny mouths and send them to bed. But taking care of a child 24/7? Nah. Having a tiny little thing under my supervision and my full responsibility scares the crap out of me.
I mean, I know nothing about life. How am I supposed to help navigate someone clean and bright and new and shiny and trustful and how am I supposed to handle when they get it all wrong and crash and get hurt and it's all my fault? I mean, I can get up and keep going, but brushing dirt off my child's face as they mess up repeatedly through life? I don't think I can handle hurting for someone AND feeling guilty for it too.
And not only that, but I plan on being busy, all the time. All. The. Time. And for myself, too, not doing things for other people. Call me selfish, but running off to drive my child because they forgot to get a sheet signed for a school trip or because they missed the bus or because they plain old forgot, just doesn't interest me (and I'd like to insert a heartfelt apology to my mother here. Sorry for the multiple impromptu begged rides, mom.). What if I want a career? What if I want to pick up and go off to the Caribbean and sip on booze for a week? You can't do that if you have children. I mean, you can't even do that if you have a dog, for Pete's sake.
Oh, and as long as we're being brutally honest here, what if my child doesn't have it easy in life? And by this, I mean, what if I end up with a child that is remarkably non-good-looking, or socially awkward, or not particularly intelligent? I'm not sure I want to deal with the implications that come with that, especially once they start going to school, where there are children. Cruel, cruel other children.
Because children are cruel. They probably don't do it on purpose. But something in their little brains, or maybe a weird version of the Napoleon syndrome pushes them to say dumb things that hurt others and brings them down to their levels. I don't want to deal with that. I don't want to deal with hissy fits and teenage horrors and their rookie mistakes.
Last but not least, I really, really don't want to get pregnant. It just freaks me out. I find the body of a pregnant woman beautiful. The idea that she might create and give life, and the amount of love she will feel for that bundle of human flesh and snot actually, literally makes my heart flutter with joy. But the idea of myself becoming a balloon, and the feel of my stretched skin and the idea of pushing what is essentially a parasite out of my body during several hours makes me cringe. I just can't do it.

So here's the bottom line, guys. When I say "I don't want children.", I don't want to hear any variation of:
- Oh you'll change your mind, you'll see
- Oh, you just don't know what you'll miss out
- Oh, you're young. Of course you don't want kids now.
- What if you fall in love with a man who wants kids?

Keep this in mind. Right now, in this moment, I am not considering having kids in my life. In any part of my life. And it is incredibly frustrating to have to explain it to every single person that I speak to. I know what raising a child is. My mother had 6, and I saw all of us go through the same phases. I extensively took care of my two little brothers for at least four years. I like to think I have a pretty good idea of what I'll be "missing out on". And if I fall in love with someone who wants kids, we'll either talk it out, or part ways if our respective views on offspring outshine our need for each other.

So, no, don't give me a fucking condescending look if I say I don't want a crotch devil anywhere in my life. And don't give me fucking soothing words of advice. I have at least five perfectly good reasons to not give birth and raise a child. I'm not stupid though: I realize I might change my mind in the future. But right now, if you ask me "do you want children?" and I respond with a negative, I will slap that look off your face, and shove your own shirt down your throat if you open it to try to make me admit that I'll want some at some point. Because, according to my point of view right now, no. I won't.

PS: for the sake of not arguing with anyone later on, keep in mind that I have considered foster children if I don't end up having a heavy career and I am also not averse to marriage, even if it's not something that I actively think of or have planned, as demonstrated by the lack of a "wedding" board on my Pinterest.

Dating, kissing, cuddling and other shenanigans... or not

So I've recently joined Tinder. Yes, at the ripe age of 18, I've decided to give up on meeting people in social settings and basically meeting guys who have a) judged me chiefly on my physical appearance and less than 400 characters (and visa versa, to be fair) or b) accepted every single potential presented to them in an effort to match with every girl that's into them, and that includes me.
It's been loads of fun, really. Basically, two weeks in, I've spoken to dozens of different guys with different stories, and all romantic endeavours aside, it's been fantastic to hear about all these different mind sets and life stories and snippets. It's basically a playground of people. Because I've always been the type to make rash and slightly unreasonable decisions for the hell of it, I've so far been on several dates with several men... and it's only been two weeks.

This whole episode got me talking to a co-worker who's slightly older than I am and engaged and just basically wise in the ways of life. We got talking about first kisses and dates. He asked me if I kissed on the first date.
"Sure, if I really want a second one. It's my way of telling that if they want a second date, they can ask without fear of getting rejected."
He paused what he was doing and looked at me: "Damn, woman, you move fast"
He then went on to explain that usually, it's kiss on the second date, sleep on the third.

Let me just explain something: I don't care who the fuck made that rule up, it is a dumb rule. I'd comment on the stupidity of such a time frame, but I have a point that's more important to make.
Sexuality is a deeply intricate and personal subject. Whether you sleep with every man you meet, or you've had one partner in your life, it's your choice. It's a gut feeling. It's something that happens, and whether it is magic and emotional or you're just going through the motions, as an adult, you make your own decision.
I'm not sure if my co-worker was thinking that I make out with them on the first date when I really meant I give them a peck on the lips as a "I just wanted to let you know that this was nice", or if he straight out thinks that a kiss is too much after meeting someone. In that case, since three dates is also only a hand-full of hours, why is it ok to go all the way? Actually, I don't care what he thought. Whether you decide to kiss them, make out, have sex, explore fantasies, whatever, it's between you and another consenting adult. Not between you, a consenting adult, and the rest of the damn world.
So no, I will not wait until the second date to kiss you if we have fantastic chemistry and I will certainly not sleep with you the next date if I don't want to.
I will make out with you within the first few minutes if I want to, or I'll make you wait until I feel I can do it without lying about my will to do it. I will have sex with you on the first night if I feel like it, and I will make you wait three months if that's what it takes for me to trust you.
What makes me angry isn't the time frame. It's that other people think that they can tell me who I allow in my bed and into my life and what point. I'm not following a social convention when it comes to something as precious and intimate as my sexuality. Society has nothing to do in my bedroom.

50 Shades of Nope.

I'm rather angry at 50 Shades of Grey. Or perhaps the fact that it made that E. L. James grossed 33M in three years, (not counting the film industry) and it's not only poorly written, but it also portraying a glorified image of a growing and alarming issue.

Here's what I have to say about the trilogy: 

I'm going to start out with the fact that this book made literary erotica cross the line from socially taboo to socially acceptable and main-stream is wonderful. I could write an entire post about erotica, and I might, but that's for another time. In summary, however, erotica is a great alternative to pornography, especially in a generation that has access to it long before they have a first sexual experience and have distorted ideas about sex. 

I also love the fact that it got BDSM out there. I'm not a part of the community, but through research and talking to people who do participate in the practice, I have come to understand that partners who partake in BDMS have a relationship based on trust and profound and growing intimacy with their partner. After all, it takes a special bond (no pun intended) to give someone a weapon and say, "here, find the point where you hurt me, but stop before the pleasure goes away." E L James also put a light on the subject and popularized this idea, and I also think she shocked society into the knowledge that alternative sexual options are open to them.

The trilogy rustled my jimmies when I realized how she portrayed such a relationship between two characters.
I haven't read the trilogy because I refuse to vote for it with my money, but I feel I have done enough research on both sides of the argument to stand by my point that what Ana and Christian have is not a healthy relationship.
And that's the point. Surprise, the book would have no plot if there was no character development. Oh wait... there is none, after all.
It seems that James tried really hard to write a book about redemption and growing love while putting a twist in the form of an exciting and hardly known sexual enticement. In theory, she manages just that: Ana "fixes" Christian, who, because of his love for her, ultimately pulls through childhood issues and stops with the violent loving. Ana is willing to put her fear of pain for her love for Christian. She is a heroine, suffering for love. In the end, their relationship has endured hardships and violence and abuse and come out stronger. It's the typical love story, with a shocking, sexual component. Of course people would lap it up. 

However, unfortunately for common sense, Fifty Shades of Grey shouldn't have struck the winning formula to a best-seller. In fact, the writing is quite poor and repetitive. She seems to prefer the words "gasp" and "blush" and use them at an annoying rate. Furthermore, the couple does not "make love" or "have sex". They fuck. Congratulations on the super deep emotional level, James. I mean, I can think of seven synonyms for "gasp" off the top of my head. Also, gasping is not the only thing you can do to express pleasure. The only thing I'm taking away from this piece of literature is that James has a rather poor sex life or a limited vocabulary and no access to the Internet thesaurus. Maybe both. 

However, poor writing is not my main concern with this book. To put it bluntly, it's the glorification of abuse in the book. Hang on with me here, I'll walk you through it:

Christian Grey is the personification of an oxymoron: Rich, handsome, independent, he has his life together. Except, represented by a room full of weapons, he has dark, red demons. But Christian Grey is not a masked murderer or an openly abusive partner. Oh, no. Christian Grey, hurt and suffering from childhood issues, takes his frustration out through violent pleasure. At the risk of getting lynched by BSDM adepts, it seems to be a consistant feature in members of the community: they would rather take out their demons through rough sex. This is not definitive in a an abuser, and if done right, BDSM is the opposite of abusing. So let's look at the definition of an abuser, according to the Free Dictionary, shall we?

1.1 someone who regularly or habitually abuses someone or something, in particular.

1.2 someone who sexually assaults another person, especially a woman or child.

Christian Grey makes Ana sign a contract which she cannot negotiate, refuses to stop when she asks him to, takes no heed of her fears and does not confort her after a particularly violent session, punishes her for standing up to him and blows a gasket when she uses the safe word. Instead of a back and forth relationship between a dom and a sub, it's all about him. He dominates, sure, and she's submissive, but it goes further than that: she does it out of fear, because he gives her an ultimatum: "Accept that I am as I am because I was hurt as a child, or leave." She fears leaving him, and she fears the sex. Forcing someone to do something does not equal consent. And no consent during sex has one definition: rape.

So how is it that if a man does not wear a condom when asked to during intercourse, it's considered rape because it is not total consent, but playing on basic human instincts and emotions in order to force someone to do something they're not fundamentally confortable with isn't? 

There is also of course the fact that outside the bedroom, Grey is completely inappropriate. He takes over Ana's life, buying the company she works for, stealing her car and blaming her for it, marrying her so that she is his and his only. In return, Ana is never appreciated on her own in the books. She is a sharp-tongued and smart, but her shyness, her plain demeanour and her willingness to slink behind Grey's much more impressive shadow shine through in the novel; the moments when she is not with him, she decays into what is a pitiful and sad form of a human (which is where James meets Meyer, I suppose.) and she seems to do everything for him instead of out of pleasure or internal motivation.

The problem is not that these themes are in the book. Literature should shock, literature should explore taboos, and abuse is a very present problem in our society. In fact, we should applaud any author who tackles the problem head-on and calls it out. But James doesn't. Which is where lays the problem. The problem is that these over-whelming and strong themes are undermined in the writing. Never is it mentioned that this behavior is wrong. Never is it mentioned that this is not what a normal relationship is (and before I'm confronted, I know it's the whole point of the book, but it is never explicitly said, and it seems the fact flew over most reader's heads). Never is it mentioned that the audience shouldn't applaud Ana for standing up to Grey, when really, she is just acting as a normal human should when confronted to something that she doesn't agree with. Instead, James glorifies Grey, and it works: several millions of readers have fallen in love with him and fantasize about a man that could be just as rich, handsome, and - especially- as dominant as Christian Grey is. 

That is where my true issue with the book lies. I'm calling society out on the fact that they think that it's okay to idolize a man whom treats his girlfriend and wife as a man should never treat a partner. I'm calling out society on the fact that that is what they will think is acceptable in a partner. I'm calling them out on the fact that we blew this up to ridiculous proportions and we applaud a woman who wrote not one, but three books whom not only have no plot, use the same impersonal and bland words to describe what should be a vastly multifarious and intimate experience, but who also eulogizes a human that has no respect for someone he loves... and the fact that it's ok that a woman cannot extricate herself from an abusive relationship that ultimately and in any context outside of a fantasy, would destroy her. Real life is not a book. Real life is not Grey and Ana. Real life is dangerous, and very few people truly change, even for love.
What I want to see is a book where, sure, the excitement and suspense of violent love hooks the reader in, but it's also made clear that the victim can get out, whether they be man or woman. Abuse is a rising problem in our society. Let's not pretend that it's justifiable with love, and let's certainly not idolize it. 

A Guide On How to Handle Rejection; By a Girl Who Can't Deal With Self-Entitled Douchebags Anymore (A rant)

I'm fairly certain that at a certain age, people have a large repertoire of ways to say "no thank you" to a date. I'm not sure how it works with guys, but I have had to take out rather heavy artillery at times. And I have no problem with a persistent guy. I mean, someone who doesn't give up after the first time is kind of sexy. Someone who doesn't give up after the third time is downright annoying.

I've had my fair share of Velcro guys. It's rather my fault, I'm afraid, as when I was younger, "no" was so damn hard to say. As a classic example of an ugly duckling, any attention at all was welcomed. Therefore, when boys asked me out, it was my ultimate goal to say no without losing their full attention. There is, of course, also the fact that I just generally don't want to hurt feelings. And

I find it incredibly unfair that if I try to mitigate the mess of your feelings when I reject you (because rejection hurts no matter what), you get to call me a bitch.
No, you don't get to be mad at me for not wanting to go on a date with you. Hard as it may be for you to understand, I don't find you attractive. You're not my type. Get over it.
And if you do ask me out, and I say no at first, you are 100% allowed to ask me out a second time. Just to make sure I'm not playing hard to get or want to reconsider. I get it. If I'm into you but too shy to say yes, I'll appreciate the second chance. If I'm genuinely not into you, I'll accept it as such, and know that the door is open if in the near future, I can sheepishly ask you for a date because I was too dumb to appreciate your value the first two times. 

However, gentlemen, if she refuses two times and you want to risk it a third time, you better make sure you fucking nail it. I mean, if she's said no twice, you better have a really good argument for why she should say yes, even though she's clearly not interested in you without it. And if it works for you, then, please, by all means, all the power to you. I'm patient that way. I'll understand. Third time might be the charm, after all.

But. BUT, after three times, you don't get a fourth chance. And I can't believe I actually have to write that down. It just seems ludicrous. After four times, I've probably used a weak and personal reason ("Oh, I don't date costumers", "I'm not sure we have anything in common", "I'm super busy lately") and a smile the first time. These are usually stories that can be easily challenged, especially if I want a second chance. Usually, if I want one, I'm not satisfied with how you asked me, or we're around people I don't want to say yes in front of, or I'm just not sure. That's your cue to ask a second time: just challenge what I've said. If I deny it a second time ("No, really, I don't date costumers. Ever. And I don't make exceptions", "Haha, well, I'm actually seeing someone else, and I'm not sure he'd appreciate it", "No, really, it's absolutely hectic, but I'll let you know if my schedule clears up?"), we're done here. You'll recognize them as lines that are harder to object to.
If the issue was the context in which the date was suggested and I actually want a date or change my mind, I'll be sure to contact you again. The door is open. Congratulations. Now go lick your wounds.

However, if you decide that I'm missing something, and that I'm missing out on a fantastic relationship, you get a third chance.
"Yeah, but I have a fantastic cooking talent that you didn't know about." Oh, you do? Well, I suppose I can agree to one supper, then. Blow me away. 

But, if I'm really, genuinely, completely not interested, at this point, I'll write you a three point essay. I'm not sure how other girls react to this (and proceed at your own risk), but I'll still try to protect your feelings by writing you a full-out, three point essay with arguments and references, but still keeping from anything along the lines of: "You're blatantly boring", "I hate your facial hair and it disgusts me to the point I don't want to look at you", and "I just really hate your dad and I know you'll turn into him at some point, so I'm not even going to go there." but I'll be rather clear about my intentions. At this point, it'll probably hurt a bit more than the other times, simply because someone putting their foot down hurts, whether it be physical or figurative. 

If I do this, and you ask me a fourth time, I have every right in the world to say "No. Fuck off."
I won't. But I could. And some girls will. 

I'll be rather sharp, though.
And here's the thing. Some guys will turn around, at any point in this whole fucking process, and call the girl a bitch. No. No, you do not get to call her a bitch, especially if she protected your feelings this whole entire time. Unless she looked you up and down the first time you asked her, smacked her gum, and went "um, ew. No." you don't get to call her anything. You get to shut the fuck up and respect that not everyone will be your type. And if it hurts to be around her without being with her, then respectfully back away out of her life. Otherwise, put your big boy pants on, man up, and decide to be cool. Maybe she'll fall for you then.
But I am so fucking tired of having to pull eight hundred excuses out of my ass (If I have to say [and it's happened]: "I'm actually off to Montreal to study in a convent", ITS TOO DAMN FAR. YOU'RE TOO DAMN FAR. TURN BACK.) just to protect your fragile little overblown ego, it's too far. I'm just not into you. There are certainly other girls who will be. Stop harping on me and go find them. No wonder you're still single. 

What we think of others.

You'd know what I like? I'd like a lip ring. I won't get a lip ring, because the reasons to not get a lip ring are far greater than the reasons to get a lip ring. One of these reasons is the way that people will see me.
And yet, I have a tattoo on my breast. It is sexually suggestive, even though that's not why I got it. It sends a certain image, which certain people can see as being a negative image. And yet, I have a tattoo. On my chest.
This tattoo means a great deal to me. Which is why I got it even though it changes the way people see me.

See, the thing is, society sees a person the way that they present themselves. And while I really don't have a problem with that, many people do. Why? Why is it wrong to not be attracted to morbidly obese people or skeletically skinny people, which are both embodiments of bad health? Why is it wrong to find piercings or tattoos agressive? Skimpy clothes provocative? Why is it wrong to act upon this?
I'm not saying to lynch everyone that doesn't physically appeal to you, but is it wrong that I, at almost 5'10, appreciate boys who are at least two inches taller than me and will therefore be much more easily attracted by a boy who is 6'? And while I wouldn't appreciate a boy straight out asking me how much I weigh (Especially that I seem to have rather generous curves and dense bones, so weigh much more than I should), I don't mind them judging me on what they like or don't. Maybe they don't like my hair, or the fact that I have hips, or no butt. Maybe they can ask me my body fat percentage, and I'll say 23%, but I'm working towards 21%, and if they know what that means, they can decide whether or not that's something they appreciate.
I don't have a problem with that. As long as I don't get publicly ridiculed for it or for something else I can't change, or am unwilling to change (heads up, I like my roots: I'm not dying them. I don't like my nose, but I'm not willing to get surgery. I also don't like my thighs, but I'm working towards it. See where I'm going with this?), I don't judge you on your preferences.

We must stop judging others on their private, personal thoughts. It's rude, and really quite none of our business.

"Do your best. Chances are, your best is average. That's ok. Do your best, and then sit back and have a beer."

My whole life, I was told I was extraordinary. To my parents, I was the kid who hadn't screwed up. To my boss, I was part of a two-women dream team. To my colleagues, I was the efficient one. To my peers, I was intelligent. To my teachers, I was the straight-A student with multiple extra-curricular activities. I was the star student with an amazing fight reputation in Tae Kwon Do. My singing teacher assured me I could go far if I wanted to. My mother kept telling me that coming from a family with money and a heritage meant I was more priviledged than anyone else. My father kept telling me that I knew how to succeed and rise ahead of everyone else. I strolled through life, convinced I was going to make it. I don't think anyone was more surprised then I was when I turned out to be really quite average.

I guess I've always known I was borderline. I've always known that I was smart enough to write well, but not to be a math gizmo. Pretty enough to impress people, but not to model. Nice enough that people warmed to me after a while, but not charismatic. I suppose I'm lucky that I'm well rounded, but I knew that I wasn't the top in anything. I would never excel. And yet, through my childhood years, I always had a strong support system. My parents, although not exactly there emotionally, were certainly there to give me the tools I couldn't acquire myself yet: finances, life experience, drive. I had teachers who believed in me, coaches who told me I had potential. And whatever I didn't excel at, I would avoid. Dancing? Pass. Drawing? God forbid they asked me to draw anything in school, I would get a friend to do it for me. Of course, intrisect motivation pushes one to do what they are best at, but I suppose that always having everyone around me telling me how good I was, was enough. And then I found myself without all those little bars and strings and ropes and people holding me up. And that's when I found out just how fragile my own two legs were. The first six months in particular were hard. I wasn't sure who I was, I wasn't sure which part of myself I wanted to focus on. I'm afraid I made rather poor decisions and that my priorities weren't straight. Instead of focusing on success, I focused on appearance. With it came vanity and a sense of self-entitlement. And yet, I figure I needed to go through that. It's part of my experience, as a child, as a person. I just wish I'd done it a little sooner, when I had people to help me back up when I crumbled.

Picking myself up was hard. Going from indestructible to brittle was painful, especially when I did end up breaking in multiple small pieces. But I now understand that if I work very very hard, and give my very best, and always reach for the stars, I am sure to stay average. Because average people are what make the majority of the world. And probability says that I'm in that majority.