Inspirational, Life, Love & Romance

YOU’RE NEVER REALLY UNLOVABLE AND YOU’RE NEVER REALLY THAT UGLY

Friday, February 26

“Also, I was fat this week, and that really sucks.”

It’s minute 42 on what should have been a thirty-minute meeting with my psychiatrist, where we would ideally—like, idk—talk about my medication and stress levels. Instead, with the blind ambition of Donald Trump, I barreled on through a hefty dissection of what had happened to me in the two weeks since we last met.

I’m a relatively busy person—I write for this old whore of a blog, I contribute to an online publication, I’m an editor for a campus magazine, I work out five times a week, I am taking classes, I have a job, and I try to find time to watch Netflix because god knows I’m still only human. So, all in all, that really does actually take up quite a lot of time to relay.

I’ve been taking meetings this week with a couple of new writers for my section, which requires me to meet them and talk about what we “do” and what I’m “expecting” from them, and I’m not sure if it’s the stress getting to me, or if I’m actually turning to wax, but my mouth kept doing this odd, robotic twitching—almost a lock-jaw—because I was so hyper-aware of how I was talking. So with my weird mouth and my penchant for talking, the roof of my mouth has become that sick mixture of too dry but also too saliva-y after yammering on for 42 minutes.

And at the end of a long diatribe about housing for next year, I decide to tack on the sentence about feeling fat.

An acute dislike for my body—body “issues”—has always been a facet of my personality, long before I realized that it wasn’t normal to hate your body and think that you look like a troll baby. Apparently I’m dumb as rocks, because it also took me 18 years to realize that being super depressed and constantly bottling up one long scream isn’t normal either. But there’s a learning curve. And with my psychiatrist, the ideas of dating and body are always intertwined.

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Source: Imgur

And because I felt fat, I felt undeserving of even thinking about other guys. There was this guy at the gym who is a total LA beach Ken-doll twink (not exactly my type but I’m mesmerized by his bleach-blond tips) and I was like, “Who do you think you are, you Joey Fatone, looking at him?” Which is absolutely the most fucked up thing that I think. Because I’m not nearly as judgmental of other people as I am of myself. And even the guy that I’ve liked the most, even though he was so cute—omg, you guys would dieeee—it was his humor and how smart he was and his ambition that made me interested.

And I went to lunch with a friend after the meeting—well, first, I went to the gym—and I ate a salad. I hate eating salads. I like salads with attitude, with panache—a little smattering of caramelized pecans or a slab of goat cheese or a sick dressing—but dining hall salads only serve to make me feel like I’m gnawing on a piece of Astro-Turf. And so when I was thinking of stuff to cook for dinner, I was kicking myself for not defrosting a chicken. And I thought to myself, “Well you can’t have pasta, you little tubby Howard Taft” and then I got mad at myself and said, “Fuck that,” and I ate pasta.

(Actually, hold on, I’m going to defrost a chicken cutlet right now.)

Literal minutes go by.

(I put it in the refrigerator to defrost; the cutlets were all frozen together so I had to 127 Hours one away from the rest.)

I think that this casual disdain I have for my body is almost as negative as me outright protesting against it. Because this way, this subtle “fuck you” thinking, sinks into my skin and my brain and my way of processing. And I want to get to a place where I can eat pasta and work out and not feel guilty or stressed or vile for having done one and not the other.

And so I’m going to type this out because Lord fucking knows that I don’t believe it. But sometimes writing out positive things helps to balance out the Macarena of Negativity in my head—also that’s totally the next big dance craze. So I’ll say this: you’re never really, really, really that ugly. You’re never unworthy of talking to someone or looking at someone. And you’re 1000x harsher on yourself than you are on anyone else or than anyone else would be on you, aside from if you were a contestant in that beauty pageant in the “Pretty Hurts” music video. But regular life isn’t like that.

Like yourself even when you don’t love yourself. Find one positive thing to say about that old burlap sack of meat you call your body. And maybe start by not calling your body an “old burlap sack of meat.” Call it a “human clothes hanger” or “a moving mannequin” or something funny. Respect your body because it’s how you interact in this world. Acknowledge the fact that millions of years of evolution—yeah, I went there—have coalesced into a four-limbed, fragile, resilient human body with the capability for love and hate and passion and fear and bravery—respect that your body is the product of a billion years of test-drives until you arrived on the scene.

Don’t treat yourself like a test-drive or a crash course. Treat yourself like a Mercedes G-Wagon—beloved, cherished, and competitively stalked by me from the sidewalk.

And, I think, cherish things beyond your body. Because when you acknowledge how amazing you are—inside—it becomes easier to accept your outside. Think of yourself like how I thought of that boy—smart and clever and yeah, maybe his cuteness was an added bonus, but his substance was infinitely more enticing—and treat yourself like a g*ddamn queen.

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LGBTQ

WHY “FLAMBOYANT” IS THE WRONG WORD

The other day, I was put in the position of having to explain what The Wunderkindof was to someone who had never read any of my work (also “work” is purposefully vague, since most of my posts consist of me transcribing my word vomit). If you’ve ever had to advocate yourself to someone who doesn’t know you, the act is masturbatory narcissism.

“It’s…funny…? It’s like…politics…and pop culture…and my thoughts…?” I said, like I was waiting for her to tell me what my blog was. Our mutual friend stepped in and described it as a sort of “flamboyant Jon Stewart.”

The second half of that compliment almost made me forget the first, because being compared to a late night host is as close to me weeping of happiness as I’ll probably get. But the first half of the compliment made me uncomfortable, as the word “flamboyant” always does.

Flamboyant. It’s been frequently assigned to me. When you have a voice that increases iN VOLUME AS YOU GET MORE EXCITED, and know anything about fashion, and you are a guy who’s into guys, then you run into this term often.

I actually Googled it before starting this post, because I’m not pulling a Michael Scott (get that reference?). “Flamboyant: tending to attract attention because of their exuberance, confidence, and stylishness; (especially of clothing) noticeable because brightly colored, highly patterned, or unusual in style.” Sure; I get why it’s associated with gay people; if you’ve seen pictures of me in high school, then you know that I was the pinnacle of “brightly colored” and “unusual in style.” The unusual part was that I didn’t have any style (drum and cymbal noise).

And I don’t even blame my friend for using that word. Because I don’t think she knows why it would be offensive. And truly, I didn’t know until I had really thought about it. Why it rubbed me so the wrong way. But I did. And now I know.

I make no attempt to disguise being gay. I regularly discuss boys and liking boys and being a boy. This isn’t “gotcha” journalism. It’s “duh” journalism. Imagine if I were straight. Just for a second.

Imagine a straight me, writing about politics and pop culture and music and—and this is important—dating relationship perils with girls. He wouldn’t be called “flamboyantly straight.” It wouldn’t even be noteworthy. But the fact that I am outwardly myself, and that being “myself” means being gay, it implies that being outward is somehow being flamboyant. But if I were straight, those same blog posts replacing a “he” with a “she” would never be called “flamboyant.”

And so the thread comes back to societal internalized homophobia. This notion that being openly gay is being “flamboyant” when being straight is just being normal. Not even noteworthy. And that’s why it’s so offensive. Why it’s so perverse. And it’s hard to stomach that even now, that me being outward and unapologetic is somehow being confused with a brash flamboyance. But if I were straight, would I be classified like that? If I were straight and wrote about dates with girls, would I have to weigh the pros of starting a dialogue versus the cons of being too open with my identity?

And the very use of “flamboyant,” this “showcasing my sexuality” implies that my sexuality is something abnormal and that me putting it forward is somehow impetuous and unusual and bold.

I’m tired of this double-standard. I’m tired of the fact that in equal situations, gay people are persecuted in a way that their heterosexual counterparts are not. Yes, my sexuality is an integral part of my identity. Just as a straight person’s is. That’s not a gay thing—it’s a person thing. Calling me “flamboyant” when what I’m doing is something that every writer does, just because I’m gay is problematic. So the fact that I was described as a “flamboyant Jon Stewart” proves that above all, my worth is placed in my sexuality. That my defining characteristic is not in my cleverness, or my comedy, or my cultural discussions. It is in who I am attracted to. And that is something that would not happen if I were straight. I would not have to defend myself, or correct people, or deal with the effects of “being open,” if I were straight.

It is so ingrained in our heads—to other and to categorize. We as writers put ourselves out there as a part of the deal. But we as queer writers deal with unnecessary and unwarranted speculation and analysis; what is unremarked-upon for a straight writer because “flamboyant” for a gay writer in the same way that what is “ambitious” for a man is “aggressive” in a woman.

It’s as simple as this. If I become a Pulitzer Prize winner—lol—I don’t want to be “that gay Pulitzer Prize winner.” I want to be “that Pulitzer Prize winner who wrote on LGBTQ issues, politics and pop culture” or “that Pulitzer Prize winner who faked his death by diving out of his private helicopter.”

Don’t let a facet of someone eclipse their entirety.

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Inspirational, Life

THINGS I’M EXCITED ABOUT

So I’m stressed to impress right now. It’s a combination of lots of homework, the vague impending threat of midterms, personal ish, a lot of writing but little of me, and just the general state of the world. And usually when I’m stressed, it’s reflected in my writing. I focus on more negative topics, or I write about being stressed. Spoiler alert: that was going to be my topic for today. But I’m over feeling this way, and I know that if I write something negative, rather than have it be cathartic, it’ll just make me feel more stressed.

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Source: Tumblr

So I’m doing the opposite. Instead of focusing on the things in my life that could easily make me want to pull my hair out, I’ll focus on the good things; the things that I’m excited about.

 

Things I’m Completely Jazzed About:

 

1). RuPaul’s Drag Race: This season (season 8) will mark the second time I’ve watched a RPDR season while it’s current. I watched last season while it aired, and then caught up with seasons four, five and six over the summer. But there’s something I love about watching a show week-to-week. Bingeing is amazing, but it can’t account for the fun of counting down days or making time in a hectic schedule to sit down, unwind, and indulge for an hour.

2). Broad City: I love Broad City and the new season has aired. The premiere episode wasn’t, for me, something to write home about, but I can’t wait to see what they do with the rest of the season. Abbi and Ilana are so funny and sharp and clever, and I think that they’re going to completely add to the pop culture landscape this season.

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Source: Bustle.com

3). The Amazing Race: I’ve never watched The Amazing Race before, but this season is “Internet Influencers” and I love me some digital peeps. Again, I’m very into episodic TV-watching, and even though I hate waiting a week in between, it makes each episode more rewarding.

4). The spring: Usually, I find spring boring. It takes too long, and it’s unsatisfying, and it just feels like one long waiting game. Also I’ve never been completely secure with my body—actually I’m actively insecure about my body—so I normally hate any season where it means I have less fabric to wear. But I’ve become less and less in love with winter the older I get, so I’m actually looking forward to spring. Also, I’ve been getting more into fashion lately—like, actual fashion, and studying trends—and I want to implement what I’ve seen online in an actual springy reality. Also I want to wear shorts. And I want to be okay with my body. And I want to wear these really cute J.Crew olive green shorts with an oversized denim shirt and my sick white Stan Smiths. It’ll be so cute, with my hair (hopefully) grown back to a sweet swoop and some metallic sunnies.

5). Smoothies: Warmer weather makes me think of icy fruit smoothies after workouts with my sisters. I don’t really do smoothies at any other time of the year, but something about the summer, and the free time, and the indulgence of preparing a smoothie and enjoying makes me feel happy. And it’s relatively healthy. Plus most fruit skeeves me out, so I try to make up for that with smoothies.

6). This trash heap blog: It’s not really a trash heap. I just don’t know how to express affection. But I’ve really enjoyed experimenting with different styles and topics—did y’all notice how I talk about politics now??—and I think it’s help me to rebrand the blog, at least in my mind. But I think I want to reincorporate some personal essays like I used to. I’ve laid off a bit partially so that I could store up some life experience and partially because I wanted to try other things, like What Happening RN and such.

7). Finding new Spotify playlists: Spotify does a pretty decent job of coalescing artists I might like into those “Discover Weekly” playlists. I’m listening to one right now, and I don’t think there’s anything quite like discovering a song that you didn’t know but really loving it. I’ve also been branching out into different genres, specifically rap, which are excellent for working out to. Plus they’re insanely clever. Childish Gambino is wicked smart. And Kanye, for all his ego faults, knows his stuff. I would’ve said “s***” but I’m trying to curse less. It really puts me in a bad state; it primes me for negativity.

8). Not needing a number 8: I really like doing things in eights now; 10 is usually the number we strive for but I like the roundness of 8. So this number 8 is a non-number, because I want to have 8 points but I couldn’t think of an actual 8th thing. I have tricked you.

*****

This actually helped a little. Do you ever watch those YouTube gurus who do Q&A’s? they always get a question about how they stay so positive, and their answer is always, “It’s definitely work. But you just have to work at it.” And you’re gripping your screen, thinking, “What an asshole.” Because that’s actually the most unhelpful advice ever. But there is something to the madness. I didn’t give in to my stress and focused on the positives. And that made writing this post really fun. Because at the end of the day, this blog isn’t supposed to be work. It’s supposed to be pleasure and creative and my outlet. It shouldn’t feel like a job.

I want to thank Marco. For texting and being there; and I love you. This is our little can-and-string moment. 😉

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Celebrity Sunday, Politics, pop culture

WHAT’S BEEN HAPPENING: FBI, KANYE AND #FREEKESHA

This week has been somehow slow on news and heavy on bad news. Also I’m fairly certain I’ve blocked out this entire week from my memory for no reason, because I don’t know anything that happened. Why did I do this? Trauma? Drama? Llama? I don’t know if we’ll ever figure it out. But anyway, here’s your lookback and roundup of what you might’ve missed while you were trapped in that bathtub a la Howard Taft.

 

WHAT’S HAPPENING RN:

 

1). #FreeKesha: This is honestly heartbreaking. On Friday, a New York Supreme Court Justice moved to uphold Kesha’s deal with Sony Records for an additional six records. Kesha was asking to have the contract broken amid her allegations that her producer, Dr. Luke, sexually and emotionally abused her for years. She claims he drugged and raped her after her 18th birthday and bullied her so severely that she developed an eating disorder, for which she entered rehab in January 2014.

I think what I find most upsetting is the fact that Kesha, in this case, wasn’t even asking the judge to send Dr. Luke to jail. She just wanted to get out of her contract, because she’s legally obligated to make another six albums with him, which she won’t, and because she won’t, her career and livelihood will falter. Apparently Sony offered Kesha a deal to work with another Sony producer, but she says that that is a placation and that they will not promote her music unless it is made with Dr. Luke. Not to mention, that if she is mired down by lawsuits, her career is effectively over without the opportunity to record, produce and distribute music.

The Justice, Shirley Kornreich, said Sony would suffer irreparable harm if Kesha were allowed to break her contract. But what about the irreparable harm caused to Kesha? What about the irreparable harm of telling a rape victim that she is legally bound to her rapist? That her career, her everything, depends on a man who emotionally abused her to the brink?

Fans and celebrities alike are gathering around Kesha. Demi Lovato, Lady Gaga, Janelle Monae, and Kelly Clarkson have thrown their support behind her. And we should all step behind Kesha. This is tragic and scary and heartbreaking, that we could live in such a barbaric world. Because it is barbaric. It is fucking barbaric that we could allow this to happen. I hope that somehow Kesha will get out of her contract, because I know that if she cannot, then the subtle endorsement of rape will have won. And it can’t win.

#FreeKesha.

2). Jeb Bush Is Audi 5000: After disappointing losses in Iowa, New Hampshire and South Carolina, Jeb Bush has suspended his campaign for president on Saturday. I think Jeb thought he could ride easy on his family name and easygoing politics, but that came across as bland and uninspired. And against the flaming maxi pad called Donald Trump, Jeb became meek in comparison. After putting $100 million into his campaign, he stumbled and slogged his way through the other candidates.

 

I can’t say that I’m sad to see Bush go, but I’m sad for what it means for the GOP race. Bush provided a somewhat tempering, if passive, presence, and in the last Republican debate, relatively held his own against Donald Trump. Now, the race is largely split between Donald Trump, Ted Cruz, and Marco Rubio. Rubio is expected to pick up a lot of dejected Bush supporters, which may turn the tides in his favor, since he’s largely competing with Cruz. But the scariest part is that veritable politicians are dropping out one by one, and Trump is steamrolling his way forward. The hope that he would burn out has faded and soured into a fear that he might be unstoppable. It’s like when Phi Phi O’Hara made it into the top three of RuPaul’s Drag Race, even though she was literally the devil incarnate that season. Somehow, good things are happening to bad people.

3). Hillary Clinton Wins Nevada: More political news, because now I’m a political junkie. Hillary won the Nevada caucuses after losing New Hampshire to Bernie. The votes were split pretty evenly, with Hillary getting almost 53% to Bernie’s 47%. However, while this is a victory to Hillary, it also is kinda of not. Nevada was supposed to be an easy sweep, but with Bernie nipping at her heels, it’s proving that he’s picking up steam.

In her victory speech, Hillary talked about her new plan for immigration—a path to citizenship for illegal immigrants and protection from deportation—as well as slicing away at Bernie’s plans. She focused on the young voters, basically saying that Bernie’s ideas of free college tuition are unattainable, but that she wants to work with young voters to create a better future. Bernie used his concession speech to basically say that while he may have lost the battle, he’s gonna win the war. But they were both cordial and nice to each other, which is nice. I like that Mom and Dad aren’t fighting.

4). Kanye West: I feel like I literally keep talking about him, but I’ll stop when he stops doing interesting things in the media. So The Life of Pablo is out, but apparently Kanye’s still tinkering with it, and it’s been called the messiest release in history. People who bought it didn’t get it; some people were charged twice with no product. Some people—me—claim satanic forces are at play. Additionally, he will never, ever, ever put TLOP on iTunes or anything other than Tidal. And I just read an article that said that only Beyoncé putting her album exclusively on Tidal will save the flailing music service. And if that happens, I s2g I will leave the country. Because I need that album.

But what’s the most interesting is Kanye’s Twitter. Apparently, he’s $53 million dollars in debt, and is asking for loans to produce his “art.” And I say “art” in quotes because it’s not music he’s looking to produce, but the jury’s out on what he actually intends to do with the money. Anyway, he reached out to Mark Zuckerberg for a $1 billion investment, claiming that he needs the money more than “a school in Africa” and, frankly, that’s some bad karma. But he wants to lower the prices of textbooks, which I can get behind. He says that he needs the money to provide for his family, but, like, his wife is Kim Kardashian West, who is worth allegedly over $145 million, I don’t think they’re hurting. Also he’s like “I can afford to keep my family in furs, but I still need the money.”

But, to be honest, I really like The Life of Pablo. PUT IT ON ITUNES SO I CAN BUY IT AFTER MY FREE 90-DAY TIDAL TRIAL IS OVER. Pls. I’m ultralight-beaming for your help, Kanye.

5). Deadpool: I don’t know what this is, but everyone’s talking about it. Apparently he’s omnisexual, which is cool, and breaks the fourth wall, which is cool. Also Ryan Reynolds is behind the project, which is cool. What if Deadpool was just a really long, convoluted fever dream sequel to The Proposal? Could that be real?

6). An Apple A Day Keeps the FBI Away: So here’s the hot gossip. The FBI is asking Apple to create a back door—dirty—into the iPhone of one of the San Bernardino shooters, after they accidentally reset the password to the shooter’s iCloud. This means that the normal way Apple accesses data, which they’ve done in past investigations, has been blocked for them. Additionally, the iPhone was set with a special precaution by the shooter Syed Farook’s government employers to self-destruct after ten failed attempts at guessing the password.

Apple CEO Tim Cook said no, that it would set a dangerous precendent, and that Apple has prided itself on its security, and to follow the FBI’s orders would negate that security claim. The FBI is asking FBWhyyyy and saying that it’s “just one time.” Also, they originally blamed the password reset on a San Bernardino county official, when it was later revealed that this official did it on the behest of the FBI. So not cool.

7). Big Ang Dies: Big Ang died on Thursday. She was previously diagnosed with Stage IV brain and lung cancer, and after a false alarm earlier in the night, Big Ang passed away. This honestly hit me so hard, and I think it hit the world hard. Love her or hate her, Big Ang was vibrant and shocking and bold and funny. She was the breakout star of Mob Wives, she became a household phenomenon, and she was the icon of my senior year in high school. I’m sad that she had to go so soon, and that her decline was so rapid. I think we can only pray that it was quick and painless and that her family will, someday, be okay.

Side bar: I went digging through my old blog and the archives of old photos, until I found a cartoon I had drawn of Big Ang my senior year. I’ve been a Big Ang stan since 2013.

Rest in peace.

*****

This has been sort of a heavy news week, but it sometimes can’t be avoided. The world can be a really tough place, and not even I can spin it into something with levity all the time. But I think that that’s a good thing—that some things aren’t meant to be touched by comedy. Some things are just sad. Singularly heartbreakingly sad.

I hope that everyone who reads my blog has a nice week coming up. I hope everyone who doesn’t read my blog burns their tongues on a really hot Starbucks latte. But they won’t even know it’s coming because they don’t read my blog.

Also, to end things on a nostalgic, lighter note, here are some photos I found while digging through my past. Revel in High School Me. Also I’ve been looking through the photos and there are an uncomfortable amount of photos of hot guys that I’ve just saved to my computer. What was I saving them for?

 

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Humor, Life

A MILLENNIAL’S GUIDE TO FRIENDSHIP IN THE DIGITAL AGE

Growing up as a millennial can be a unique experience. You have the constant fear of someone bringing up a bad photo of you from seventh grade, or your mom trying to friend you—my mom does not because she “doesn’t want to see what’s on my page”—or your crush reading a message you sent but not responding.

There’s a lot of articles online about dating in the digital age, or doing your taxes in the digital age, or applying for jobs in the digital age. But there’s really nothing dedicated to being friends with someone in the digital age. And not capital-f Friends. We’re not talking Facebook friends—the idea of Facebook friends overlapping with your actual friends is basically an urban myth.

So since I have to guide you into the light—not in an angel-y way, but in a cool way—on other issues—race, gender, what to order at McDonald’s—then it’s only fitting that I guide you through this process. So are you ready? Are you ready? Let’s go!

Here’s rule number one, right off the bat. Group chats are literally Satan’s asshole, but they’re a necessary evil. Just, for the love of all things holy, put it in Facebook so I can at least mute the conversation. I’ve turned a deaf ear to at least half of the groups I’m in.

Rule number two: Do your civilian duty and take yourself off “private” in your social media. The very fact that you’re on social media implies, at least a little bit, that you’re a fame monster (Buy ARTPOP on iTunes). We live in the age of media-stalking, so just assume that someone wants to get a cute look at you.

In fact, the Golden Rule of Social Media: Do unto your social media as you would wish others to do unto theirs. I.e. if you’re stalking, you better open up the digital gates so people can return the favor.

Rule number three: Follow people back on Twitter and Instagram. The only time it is acceptable to not follow people back is if they’re strangers or if you’re a celebrity. If you’re not a celebrity, and I follow you, it’s because I know you. Don’t throw shade and not follow me back. That happened to me once. I met a really cool girl, had a good conversation with her, and then followed her on Twitter. She didn’t follow me back, and now she is on my List. You’re not Madonna. You can afford to alter your ratio. I’m stretching out an olive branch.

Rule number four: But conversely, don’t feel obliged to Favorite, Like, or Retweet everything I do. Sometimes I have an off day and my tweet is a little sloppily crafted. You don’t have to placate me with a flurry of Likes. Save those for when I’m really funny (which is 99 times out of 100).

Note: This does not apply to Instagram. Like my Instagram or I will hunt you down and gut you like a fish.

Rule number five: I will allow you to crop me out of photos if you look really good. I don’t anticipate it happening often, and be careful how you crop. If it’s a simple group chat, go nuts. But if we’re entwined in some sort of gymnastics, and you crop the living sh*t out of the photo to the point where if you click on the photo, it’s just a small square of your face surrounded by black, then we have a problem. I understand that good photos are like shooting stars—they happen only ever so often. But have some sense of decorum.

Rule number six: Landscape, never portrait. Don’t play with fire.

And because I need to preserve my sanity, rule number seven: keep conversations to one medium. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had a conversation with a friend in Facebook, and had a separate, distinct conversation with the same friend over text. Okay, it’s only happened twice. But still, it’s a thing.

Rule number eight: Ghost with integrity. If and when you decide to stop being friends with someone, it’s a little harder than just ducking or avoiding them on the street. No. Now that we’re living in an age where nothing ever dies online, you need to learn how to ghost with grace. Ghosting is basically—it’s a trend, and I’m hopping on the trend—when you slowly slip out of someone’s life. You take longer to answer texts. You can’t FaceTime anymore. You “forget” to tag them in your popular blog posts that everyone loves but is too afraid to say that they love, so they ask things like “What’s the Wunderkindof?” and “Oh, I didn’t know you blogged” and—oh, I’m projecting. It’s fine when you want to ditch people. We’ve all done it. Just be smart about it.

Rule number nine: Tag me, but don’t drag me. I look good from approximately two angles. So I can’t tell you how visceral the fear is when I see that little notification pop up in the “Photos of You” tab in Instagram. You can tag me in your photos—actually, please do—but realize that if it’s an unflattering angle or me doing something “hilarious,” that you are putting your life, the lives of your future children, and the life of your iPhone at risk.

Also side bar: No one ever looks good in “funny photos.”

And lastly, rule number ten: social media isn’t a substitute for quality time. Yes, I love tagging Jenny in funny Instagrams, or texting Shelby whenever something salacious happens in the celebrity world, or g-chatting (gay-chatting) with Marco, or sending ambiguous emojis to Mitchell. But that is just a complement to being with them. So rule number ten-b: don’t let social media rule your life. Let me rule your life. Through social media. I understand how confusing this might be. Just give me your Social Security number and everything will be okay.

Living in the digital age is hard; everything should be quicker and more immediate, but it often ends up lost in a haze of misinterpretation. Did he mean to send me that winky emoji? How long is too long for me to return someone’s text? What is “fam” and how is it being used in the vernacular? All of these things are questions that I know that I have.

Ew, bye.

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Humor, Life, Rambles

CATCH-UP AND MUSTARD

I ordered a tapestry off Amazon. It’ll be here tomorrow. Who am I?

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Source: Disqus.com

I realized, looking through the last few posts of my blog, that I’ve done a lot of promo for other people. And if you know me, you know that I like attention. So instead of giving more blog-space to any of those wannabes, I figured you could use some catch-up on the haute-dog of my life. Because I’m the real queen bee.

Today I woke up before 10:30 in the morning, and as such, I am exhausted and it’s only 7:30 p.m. My sleep schedule has become so erratic that the Courts are considering taking me out of its custody. There, I did a bad joke. See? I’m so reliable. I went to meet people at the gym at 9:15, rolled in at a hard 9:20 and realized that no one was there and I had gotten up for nothing. I did fifteen minutes each on two different types of elliptical machines before chatting for twenty minutes with my friend Thea while she exercised and I lounged on the machine.

All in all, I was at the gym for almost two hours, and did approximately 35 minutes of cardio in that time. I think that’s an improvement. My ratio is getting much better.

My family was over this weekend, which meant that my sisters nosily poked around my stuff and noisily made comments about the décor and size of my apartment. I decided to order two tapestries off Amazon—I lied before—and some of that colorful washi tape to get all DIY. I’m thinking of putting “FUCK OFF” in washi tape over my toilet. Also how many washi tape demonic pentagrams is too many washi tape demonic pentagrams for a space? I feel like, just in case I’m not in good with God, I might try to hedge my bets and get in Satan’s good graces too. My mom told me it’s never bad to be over prepared. She wasn’t speaking specifically about devil worship, but I’d like to think that her sentiments still apply.

These last four days have been a whirlwind of weather. The weekend was into the double-digit negatives, then it snowed yesterday, and today it was 45 degrees and rainy. My body doesn’t know how to cope, and my wardrobe is suffering. There is only a limited number of times I can wear L.L.Bean boots before the Lumberati—the outdoorsy cousins to the Illuminati—convert me to a full-time heterosexual. Lately I’ve taken to putting a picture of Lady Gaga in a locket and wearing it close to my heart. Wearing lockets is very gay, so I think at the very least, the two extremes will balance me into a mellow bisexual.

I’ve already tweeted about this (follow me on Twitter, you peasants), but I downloaded Tidal. I didn’t really mean to, and I don’t really actually know how it happened. I heard, through the Tumblr grapevine, that Beyonce was releasing her song for free. I Googled it, followed a trail of links and somehow tumbled down the rabbit-hole. Suddenly, I had the Tidal app on my phone. I got the Beyonce song and 90 days of free Tidal, but I worry. I worry that, somehow, since Tidal now has access to my Facebook, that they now have access to my entire life. It’s only a matter of time before they trap my soul using old profile photos and some serious Picture of Dorian Gray-voodoo magic.

I’ve listened to Kanye’s new album, and I like it, but I don’t know if it’s worthy of his accolades. Also, accolades tend to not mean anything when you give them to yourself. It’s like being valedictorian of your home-school; it doesn’t really count. Also I’m not sure if you guys are following him on Twitter, but he’s saying some crazy stuff. Treat yourself.

Somehow I’ve slipped into the pop culture promo, so I’ll stop. I’ve started writing for The Odyssey Online again, so click here for a link to my author page. Y’all, I’m like famous.

Side bar: my last few articles for the Wunderkindof were more like “legit” so I couldn’t use wacky gifs, so I’m making a promise to myself that when I format this post (I write in Word, not online, if you cared at all) I’ll use ~~wACkY~~ gifs.

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Celebrity Sunday, Politics, pop culture

WHAT’S BEEN HAPPENING: VALENTIME-TO-GO

Okay, so if you live under a rock—PLEASE LET ME JOIN YOU. I CAN’T HANDLE THE PRESSURES OF MODERN SOCIETY—then you might not know what’s been happening this weekend. And luckily for you—PLEASE I’M JUST A CHILD—I have the scoop—literally, my mother brought me up an ice cream scooper from my house this weekend—on what the hippest, hoppest happenings are.

 

WHAT’S HAPPENING RN:

 

1). Formation: No surprise, but I listened to “Formation” more and discussed it with people. I even discussed it a little with my mother, which involves a lot of avoiding talking about the Illuminati and me not playing her the song because I refuse to witness my mother hearing anything about Red Lobster.

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Source: Danny McCarthy

2). I’m a target for the Illuminati: I downloaded Tidal to get “Formation.” And I might be paranoid, but I gave them access to my Facebook to sign in—because I’m too lazy to type out a username and password. I’m afraid that Queen Bey will see that I tweeted about Kanye on SNL last night, so frankly I have a limited time left. They’re not going to kill me, but I feel like they’re going to very Kirstie Alley to my Leah Remini.

Even though I love Beyoncé, I’m concerned that my outspokenness on the Illuminati will make me soon disappear. In all likelihood, they’ll just take away my phone. BUT I WOULD RATHER THEY TAKE AWAY MY FREEDOM THAN MY PHONE.

3). The GOP Debate: As a pop cultural junkie, advocate, altar boy and anthropologist, I’m obviously drawn to messy, scandalous situations, and right now, the presidential race is more appealing to me than the Twitter beef between Yolanda Foster and Lisa Rinna about the most recent episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I’m actually alternating between listening to Kanye’s new album and watching last night’s GOP debate.

The GOP candidates seem to me like the biggest pack of Mean Girls. When they discuss Justice Scalia’s recent death, they are all of the opinion that Republicans need to block Obama from nominating anyone, because they’re afraid of losing a conservative majority on the Supreme Court. But like isn’t that so shady? This is how we end up with a fucked-up country and a heavily polarized government, because the parties are so consumed with getting their way that they completely forget to do what’s actually good for the country. And not directly undermining the President would be good for the country.

And I was about to type, “But that’s none of my business,” but it literally is my business. It’s our business. We’re going to be stuck with this country a lot longer than the old men on that stage.

But “let’s dispel with this fiction” that the GOP does what it’s doing. Omg, am I making a political dig? I’m so smart.

4). SNL slaying the game: I thought that SNL was actually really funny this year. And the short about Beyoncé was so on-point, it’s scary. Because conservative white people who were outraged by Beyoncé were just essentially outraged by her crime of being “black on TV.” Yes, I think there were definitely homages to Black Power, but I think that people are afraid of Beyonce actually utilizing her incredibly powerful platform to be political, strong and unapologetic.

Also, their cold open with Hillary and Jeb was funny and kind of cringey, but in a good way. I miss SNL’s portrayal of Donald Trump by Darrell Hammond. I need to figure out a way to make Hammond playing Trump saying “Yuuuuge” as a phone ringtone.

5). I changed the background on my phone: First it was John Krasinski shirtless because HE’S SO HOT I’M GONNA CRY and now it’s a picture of fries. And I actually Googled “fries” and sifted through the results before arriving at the perfect picture of fries.

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Source: Danny McCarthy

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Source: Danny McCarthy

6). Valentine’s Day: I only thought about dying alone once. Okay, twice. And my family and I accidentally went to the single most romantic Valentine’s Day restaurant in Boston, where I annihilated a crème brulee. No regrets.

7). CRUCIAL NEWS: I NEED SOMEONE TO TELL ME IF KIM KARDASHIAN WEST’S HAIR IS DYED OR NOT; OR I WILL LOSE MY MIND. At first, when I saw the photo of her, alongside her sisters, at the Yeezy season 3 show, I assumed it was a wig. It looked amazing, but it looked like a wig. But I was so happy to see her out and about that I didn’t do my proper research, which I regret. Then I was looking on Kylie’s Snapchat and I saw her in her now-classic braids—not personally a fan, but not what we’re discussing right now—and she was still in her platinum hair and you could see the faint shadow of dark roots mingling with bleach. So what is the truth? How was I not aware of this? Who—of my staff—is to blame? Answer: all of them. I love Kim’s platinum moments, and I hope that this lasts a little longer than the last one.

 

8). King Kylie: Kylie Jenner is making Snapchat masterpieces. I missed her last one a few weeks ago, but if you scurry to tonight’s, it’s veritable cinema. Kim is doing a better job acting than her Drop Dead Diva appearance + “Jam” song combined. She says “staff” more times than a Planned Parenthood employee (staff, STAPH, get it? Amiright?). And although it was supposed to be satiric, I fully believe that Kim takes selfies with an entire entourage of photographers, music guys, light guys, and possibly a hype man (it was quite the group, I can’t be sure). It’s a love story to rival Titantic. Do we have a new director on our hands? A Va-Jay-Jay Abrams? Omg, you have to admit that that’s a hilarious pun.

9). Making Waves: Is what I can’t call this one, because Kanye’s new album is actually called The Life of Pablo. I’ve started listening to it, and I like it, and I’m getting dragged into the deep, swirling black hole that is Tidal. Also, on a completely unrelated note:

10). Einstein (Not the bagels): I’m not too knowledgeable about this, but somehow Einstein was proved right about his theory of space and time being interwoven concerning gravitational waves. A billion years ago, two black holes knocked into each other, causing a ripple effect that has shot across the universe and has finally been picked up by scientists. So basically, Einstein is…well…an Einstein, but we all knew that. It’s actually really cool.

Whew, this was a big one. Hopefully you’re all caught up with things. How are things with you? Good? That’s good. Tell your mom I said hi. Kk. Cool.

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Source: Danny McCarthy

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