This isn’t meant to apply to anyone in particular, just a random muse. I’m finding that some of my creative side is coming back after a miserable hiatus.
This is pretty general so I’m sure that most people that have been a designated driver, exasperated significant other, drunk babysitter, annoyed friend, etc. can find something in here. I find it odd that when things like this happen, a lot of people have these really tough, mean thoughts. Then later the thoughts more than likely pass. But then you still feel guilty for having such mean thoughts in the first place. What if the frustration is warranted-where is the line to which you allow your mind to go?
(Be nice regarding length, stanza, and all that other poetry jazz. I don’t care, this is mine).
I Hate You (When You’re Drunk)
I’ve seen all of this before
And it’s always such a bore.
Existing as only half a person
I question if you’re even worth it.
Everything can go just fine
Then destroyed by just one time.
I can’t hear any more ignorant excuses
You refuse to see that you’re useless.
It’s making me become so mean
But you’ve no idea what I’ve seen.
Coldly watching you fall to the floor
I don’t want to do this anymore.
Gagging on your rancid vinegar stench
And how your hands find me a wench.
Baby you have no idea how much
I ‘m hating each and every touch.
You’re starting to speak slow
And turning into such a man ho.
Sickened by everything that you do
You’re drunk and I hate you.
Oh yes, everyone around us knows
And my humiliation can only grow.
I won’t be just like them and you
I’ve got much better things to do.
There’s only one way for me to feel
The only thing in this room that’s real.
Funny how simple things become complicated
And my disgusted hatred even more understated.
Even with eveyone telling me, insisting
But I can’t even get you to listen.
Lately I can only keep one thing straight
You give new meaning to the idea love/hate.
I want to be anywhere else instead
Especially when you tell me it’s all in my head.
I can’t tune out your idiotic fake laughing
I almost wish you never happened.
10/26/2012 original work
Don’t worry, this won’t be a blog about where has Prince Charming gone, whining about the shock that life isn’t exactly like romance movies. This is a blog written by a woman who would rather watch alien movies than “chick flicks” because aliens are more believable for me. I’m also not a complete cynic. I do believe in love, just that it’s never as clean and perfect as the movies make it seem. This is about living as a twenty-something at a time when the eras of courting have been forgotten. Instead, we’ve regressed a few evolutionary steps to the cavemen times. In addition to my observations of the disturbing, but admittedly amusing, quest for a mate, I’ve also noticed the aggression and violence that has accompanied it, which can’t all be blamed on this caveman era.
In times before (but after the idea of love in marriage), to find a potential relationship, men would ask for a lady’s company and spend initial time just talking (under the supervision of parents, historically). After both had become comfortable with the other, they would then progress the relationship, which if positive would often result in marriage.
Next, instead of visiting within the confines and supervision of a parent’s home, people went on dates. These dates would involve going to the movies, having dinner, or perhaps doing a fun activity together like hiking or miniature golf. After however many dates, the relationship would progress in seriousness, resulting in breakups to find better-suited people or marriage.
Today that has gone. Maybe not for everyone, I’m sure there are still twenty-somethings that go on dates as explained previously. However, I’ve noticed two patterns in relationships.
First is a variation of the before-mentioned dating. Instead of going to movies, dinner, etc. to get to know each other better before progressing the relationship, couples will spend their first or second date “hanging out.” This entails meeting at a local bar/pub, often with friends. It serves as a casual gathering, with the couple interacting with all of the attendees instead of really getting to know each other personally. Interaction is even further limited by the loud music preventing any conversation. Talking mostly involves a lot of smiling and nodding, hoping you’re reading the other person’s lips correctly. After one or two “hangouts” and/or shots of tequila, the couple’s interactions are then often limited to hanging out and having sex. The relationship can either progress, become “friends with benefits,” or become serious with eventual cohabitation and maybe moving even further later.
Second is the greatest tragedy, which I’m going to call “club hookups.” Where do twenty-somethings have the opportunity to meet like-aged people to date? Work relationships are almost always a bad idea and school is always the best “pond” to fish out of either. So you go out, to have a good time and maybe to meet someone. But it isn’t about really finding someone to speak with or get to know. It’s about which person to pick out of a crowd, like a lion picks out a zebra from the herd, that you can grind and rub yourself on and hopefully ply with enough liquor to make her come home with you (see my blog on “Peacocking” for further fun on male clubbing activities). This involves either a one-night “hook-up” or rarely an actual relationship that may eventually settle into dating. Not my cup of tea.
Now, I mentioned violence in this new hunt for relationships, remember? It occurs in the second form of dating. Lately, when at the clubs/bars (and various types, not just the rough ones), I’ve noticed how aggressive and sometimes abusive men can get with women they are trying to “court.” Gone are the days of no-contact until a full exclusive relationship, or the exciting first kiss outside your door at the end of the date. Now when women are dancing, men will not settle with dancing next to them. Instead they creepily stare at them for a minimum of five minutes, then grab their hips or waists (sometimes so hard they bruise), and force-hump on the woman, often with wondering hands. It takes strategic dance moves, good friends, a strategically aimed elbow, or an act of Congress to get away sometimes.
I know some of you may be thinking I’m over exaggerating, that this doesn’t really happen. So I will give you a personal honest account of one of my nights out. A few weeks ago, my friends and I decided to have a girl’s night out. We got dressed up and went to a new, upscale nightclub. Since we were all in committed relationships, we honestly just wanted to dance and have fun with each other. (Yes, some girls really go to clubs just to dance). As we are dancing in a circle, I notice that a guy is starting at me, never breaking eye contact. I try to ignore him, hoping that would signal that I was not interested. If only I was that lucky. He comes over to dance. I think if he just wanted to dance next to me, that was no big deal. However, he grabs my hips, so hard I can feel each individual fingertip bruising my skin, and humping me with such force I am almost falling forward. My first reaction was panicked and I considered elbowing him in the face. But my friend saw and rescued me and we went to dance on a raised portion of the dance floor. The guy takes my leaving as the greatest slight. His friend comes up to the raised floor where I was and sits a finished drink (in a glass) on the side. Then he starts slowly pushing the glass towards me. I realize that he is trying to get the glass under my foot so that I would step on it. As I watch him I’m stunned, thinking that if I step on it, that’s glass and that could seriously injure me. I made sure not to put that foot down. In a spark of temper I kicked the glass into the back of the man’s head.
Convinced now? When I later told me boyfriend about that event, which is one of the reasons I’m on a hiatus from the nightlife, he said it happened because I was a pretty person. While I’m flattered, I think that is similar to the excuse that if a woman is raped it is because she was dressed provocatively and therefore “wanted it.” Pretty extreme example, I know. Regardless of appearance or dress, a woman should never be subjected to that. Every time I have gone out in the past year I have had to physically defend myself, and that’s seen as normal. This is not right. What if my dad, mom, and other relatives and friends had never taught me to fight? What if I had not been a kickboxer in college? It’s not like I’m walking down a dark alley looking for trouble. I’m in very public places with lots of people and nothing is done because this is seen as normal behavior.
Men aren’t the only ones to blame, women are guilty as well. Some encourage this behavior by going home with them and supporting these people. In addition, instead of supporting a fellow assaulted female, they berate her for whatever physical flaw and strive to take her place with the abuser. This is a time to stand together and raise our standards.
I sometimes wonder if there is a relationship between the decline of courtship and dating, aggression in clubs, and the impersonal aspect of beginning a relationship with the rise of domestic violence and high divorce rates.
Another example of the regression of relationships is the language we use. We no longer say dates, instead it’s just hanging out. We don’t have relationships or boy/girlfriends, we are just “talking.” We don’t discreetly say making love, instead it’s a blaring…well, you know.
I’m not asking for relationships to be just like romance movies. (Although I would love a head injury where I woke up to Channing Tatum as my husband, but what girl wouldn’t?) But I would like dating a little more personable. I understand that there are plenty of women out there, but get to know me like I’m an individual person and maybe you’ll understand more of who a person is and whether they are compatible or not, as well as form more meaningful relationships. And for god’s sake, stop humping people on the dance floor.
I’m not one usually for overtly “feminist” things, but rape and the associated stigma is bit of a sore spot for me.
I love this graphic seen on atolemdro’s blog. It’s kind of a cheeky reply to recent ads that it’s women’s fault that they’re raped and it’s their responsibility to prevent rape but not drinking too much or dressing too provocatively.
It amazes me that there are still people, in 2012, that honestly believe it’s women’s fault they are raped instead of the rapist. They use similar excuses as rapists to do place blame elsewhere, “She wanted it because she dressed like that,” “She was alone so she was looking for someone,” “She was so hot and that’s her fault,” etc. There are worse ones but I don’t wish to be graphic or give them any credit. And there’s still a stigma on victims of rape. If someone is shot in a home invasion/burglary, there is no stigma and they are seen as a random unfortunate victim. Understandable. But if someone is raped, the questions begin…did she lead them on? Is she a “loose” person and had it coming?” Inexcusable.
I’m not sure as to what kind of solution to offer, only that this outlook and stigma has to stop. Now.
The movie From Homeless to Harvard is Liz Murray’s story, her journey, from drug addicted parents, group homes, to school, and eventually, Harvard. Everyone has a journey to college or wherever they go in life. Murray’s is an extreme example of what hard work and iron will can accomplish regardless of environment. (This gives away some details of the movie, but due to the title, I can’t really completely call spoiler alert).
One message I see through her story is that your environment does not have to make you. YOU make you, you make your own decisions, and you get yourself wherever in life through fight, work, stubbornness, and sometimes sheer luck. Murray’s parents were drug addicted, spending their welfare checks on heroin while her and her sister starved. Yet even after becoming homeless at age fifteen and stealing food (and self help books) to survive, she never did drugs. She never fell into that never ending cycle of abuse and dependency. Sure, I can see how if that’s what you see when you grow up, you may be more likely to repeat those actions. But it doesn’t automatically mean you have to. It is YOUR choice. As a child of a parent with an addiction, I almost become livid when young adult addicts, murderers, domestic abusers, etc. say none of their actions are really their fault because their parents weren’t the best role models. You still made the choices. It’s not about oh poor me, give me everything. It’s about being able to be proud of how far you’ve come. Break the cycle, be the change.
Murray’s story also tells of the power of encouragement and how the fact that someone cares enough to push you can mean the world to you and help you keep going. When she was a little girl there was an older lady, who was as poor as her family, who would dig in the dumpster to give Murray tossed out encyclopedias and books to read. The lady would tell her that she better go to school if she didn’t want to be an idiot. Whether it be that one special relative, an attentive teacher, or encouraging friend, that person who gave you the initial push to pursue your goals serves as probably one of the best gifts in life. I was so lucky to have several of these supportive people. In elementary and high school, I had those teachers who used to give me harder and different work than my classmates, offered to send me to science camp to get me away from my home life, filled out college scholarships for me, and gave me the approval and encouragement I so desperately craved. In college, it continued with supportive professors who took the time to praise my work, had me read my essay test answers aloud to the rest of the class, informed me of scholarships, and spoke brutally honest regarding my work. While much of this sounds like I’m a little narcissistic and an academic snob, it wasn’t about that at all. I started college on my eighteenth birthday and as an insecure, shy, timid, worried girl, I had no sense of self, nor what I was capable of. That encouragement gave me the first inkling that maybe I could do something great. Like in Murray’s story, after encouragement from her teacher she began to think of bigger, grander goals, asking herself, “what if I worked harder?”
Murray wasn’t always the model student. She rarely showed up to school, often because she took care of her ailing mother and because she didn’t know how to learn in a classroom setting. She never really thought of school, telling her terminally ill mother that she’d go back to school when she got better. But then her mother dies, and Murray calls it the slap in the face. She talks about how she always waited for her mother to get better so she could take care of her, like a real mother-daughter relationship. But instead she was always taking care of her mother, who was like her baby. After her mother dies, her teacher tells her “now it’s time to take care of yourself.”
Everyone has a reason, that one driving force, for them to go to and graduate from college. Whether it be that you truly love learning, don’t want to work in retail/food service jobs, or you know the harsh reality of a non-educated life (for some), always hold on to that reason. That reason will be the key to your dedication. When you’re tired from working multiple jobs to pay your tuition, you’ve pulled three all-nighters, or you’re just emotionally drained, remember your main reason for your goals, for your dreams. If that thought isn’t enough to keep you going then it isn’t strong enough and you need to do some intense soul-searching to find the real reason to keep going.
I had a professor in my first or second year of college, after realizing that I hadn’t taken the traditional route to college, said it was probably an interesting story of how I had gotten there. I had never thought about it before. I knew my previous life experiences were probably different from my classmates, after hearing them speak all semester but I never thought of my journey to college as “work.” I was so excited to be there, happy and eager. Now that I’m a professor, it astounds me to hear how much people not only hate being in school, but they hate physically being in a learning environment. It makes me so thankful that I had a little bit of a rougher journey so that I can better appreciate the opportunities and experiences I have had. I’m sometimes told that I make things in my life harder than they need to be. After thinking a bit, I replied that if anything is easy, it’s not worth it. After Murray’s teacher learns of her overload of courses he says, “You’re going to kill yourself.” She replies, “No, I’m gonna live.”
There are several messages that can be learned from Liz Murray’s story in Homeless to Harvard (which is based on a real person with those real experiences). Overall, it serves as an example of taking control of your life, working as hard as inhumanly possible to achieve your goals, and appreciating the journey along the way.
“I knew at that moment I could make excuses for the rest of my life. Or I could push myself and make myself good.”