"Sexy!" - "Please, With Every Move."

At one of the comedian Dara O'Briain's live shows he happened to be miming out "random buzzwords" the audience shouted out. One last suggestion comes from a lady with a jolly melodic voice – she shouts "sexy!". In a blink the skilled comedian stopps, and replies in a very matter-of-fact, respectable tone, saying: "please, with every move". 

The question for 5,000 Respect Points from a guy whom you’ve seen once before but whose colleagues you’re having a drink with, is:

How come you’re hanging out with the employees from our company yet I don’t know you? Is it:

a)      You’re friends with someone in the group?

b)      You’re “friends” with someone in the group, although I’m not sure you’re hot enough?

c)      You’re a random lunatic who our group is tolerating and indulging out of kindness?

d)     You’re new and I haven’t had the chance to meet you yet, (although I’m still not sure you’re hot enough)?

[Answer: a combination of c), a), and I’ve had a job interview here but they didn’t take me in. No Respect Points won, but who said it was a fair game?]

“Why didn’t you get hired?”

A stream of long-reflected, sappy, self-deprecating accusations scroll through the mind while gaping around at the people who were both the inviters to that job interview, and the rejecters.

Some Clarity Points are hanging in the balance now! For 10,000 of those, is it:

a)     I was shit.

b)     It was my first “real” job interview.

c)     I was immensely overhyped by one of them, who really overrated me for unknown reasons.

d)     I’m pretty sure I just wasn’t hot enough.

[Answer: wonder if any of those decision makers are listening in, and mumble something about not having been ready – then try to diffuse the misery of how that sounded by saying you’re getting the benefits of the job now without having to do the hard bit anyway, haha!]

“The ladies in the office are– they tend to hire a certain type.”

“Well I’m not the type.”

“To an extent.”

Yeah my chest could be a double-D if I’d stuffed something extra in there that day, I’ve left the fake eyelashes at home, I’m in some fairly comfortable clothes, and I deliberately didn’t glaze on the make-up like I’m a layered-coloured candle this time.

Also none of you are drunk enough at the moment. That’s the extent.

I swear I'm not sponsored by Mad Men, but this is the idealistic image of an office for guys in everywhere ever, for real. I'd be the Peggy, obviously.

Do you - you, reading this - ever consider where you’d have ended up if you were simply born a different gender? I mean of course you have, but what do you think of most of the time? How easy or hard it would be in general? The variety of wonderful other ways you could masturbate?

To appease a frequent sense of unfairness I like to imagine I’d be the dude really into his fashion, and makeup, maybe wigs and heels, and that I’d be wishing to have been born a lady for some reason anyway. 

That’s the only perk of being a chick – the trinkets. 

The tolerance from society for you to try and look as good as you can, because obviously that’s what men want from you. And men are the bosses, right?

So for our last question, for 100,000 points of Realization, what is it actually like in the professional world for a young woman? It is:

a)     Being assessed and valued first and foremost by – nope, not that – your work experience. The X-out-of-five stars, the IMDB review of you, the YouTube views and rating ratio of your likeability. How popular you have been. How professionally slutty you are.

b)     Being chosen by your fucking looks, yes. Boys’ toy. Long shapely legs = swift learner, large juicy breasts = astounding social skills, cute pretty face = captivating personality, - continue the list yourself.

c)    Getting commonly infantilized to a degree where even expressing a thought non-conformist to the consensus of the decision makers feels like a daring, reckless challenge. Which gets widely ignored because you’re a cute little whatever squeaking at them, thinking yours is a valid opinion, aw.

d)   Everyone knows you just want in the game with the boys to feel like you belong here, but what you really want in life is to cook loads of food and spew out offspring. It’s in your nature, who are you kidding. Come on, sod off to have babies.

It's cool that someone like Dara O'Briain can build a fantastic career while taking the notion of being sexy as a complete joke. Obviously he doesn't have to be, not in a conventional way anyway.

He doesn't have to be. 

[Picture: http://cbsnews2.cbsistatic.com/hub/i/r/2014/04/11/cd87958d-ddc4-4020-beb2-720f6f583376/thumbnail/620x350/330ffaeec4f47db19c5c0b246b2cc499/ff178663-a8a8-298b-fbcd-867d4aa84525-mad-men-stairs-jon-jessica-elisabeth-january-kiernan-christina-1153-1182-v1.jpg]

And APOLOGIES for turning this stream of blabber into such rotten underinformed feminist bullshit lately. I promise to read some and be nicer so that something better comes out linguistically next time. GIFs and all, maybe even an attempt at wittiness at some point. (Which we women are so bad at! Hey, pa-dum-tss.)

Repentance, Acceptance, Forgiveness

Could be a mantra for the overly self-critical neurotic of today. Oh the guilt.

I've been thinking how adults blatantly syringe all sorts of guilt into our young minds as we develop. As a teenager you're, apparently, a (borderline) psychopath, physically incapable of empathy. According to some dude on the Internet (very reliable, trust me, and the dude):
there are a significant number of research studies that indicate the prefrontal cortex is the last to develop and doesn't become fully formed until a person is in his or her mid twenties (the Internet: 2012). Actually, it's "there is a significant number"... but never mind.
But it is well known teens have little regard over others. And that's... fine.

I faintly remember any riskier activities me and any friends would undertake as if through a cold corpse-coloured filter, like we'd all could've just died at any second and it wouldn't have been too shocking. I suppose that's why they recruit soldiers young.
At the time it all felt both like an enlightenment and a persistent existential crisis, both clarifying the way forward, and setting it in thick mist.

Remember how much you'd hate yourself though? Even if you're the cheeriest jolliest chum around, you would still do something embarrassing, or fail at anything important, and would feel it burn inside like you're Iron Man.
Seriously, that thing emits so much energy it must emit heat too. Look how fucking bright it is!

And you know, you're still idealistic, and everyone's trying to keep up to those impossibly highly set standards. Because well, you have little empathy and you actually don't know why Susan could just sit at home all day doing nothing social, or, like, how Stephen would eat another hundred pounds onto himself in just a few years – because you have little empathy. So with this extra stress and keeping up appearances, with every mistake you just want to bash your own cute and way too fresh looking face in.

Often after I fail at something I remember the Costa Concordia and its captain, from 2013. You know, the immense cruiser ship with all the technology, and the modern equipment, and the training? And the ship randomly tipping over after the captain wanted to show off a bit? Also if you're thinking "that's not funny, people died!" Exactly.

Forgiveness. That's what comes next. Not for the Concordia captain, probably, but for teenagers, and people, and all creatures. Look, the dude from the website (2012) writes thus further in his unbearably famous, worthy, and honourable thing on the thing:
the prefrontal cortex is last to develop because it allows the average person to focus on self mastery before becoming fully conscientious about the welfare of their respective communities.

So, like, you, like, totally need to, you know, like understand yourself first, and then, sort of like, help others, you know. You fuck up heavily - or disappoint yourself - enough times, and what it comes to naturally, especially as your brain develops physically too, is the thought that we're probably all fuck-ups to an extent. You know, all your rock stars are drug addicts with serious insecurities, all your hot babes have... well, the same problems plus daddy issues, and I suppose the first heroes to fall at all are your parents. Who've ridden you with guilt, except that now it's actually sinking in.

Why haven't I finished my studies? I've wasted so much money.
I should clean my room.
Shit, that girl was crying when I kicked her out of my room in the morning. <- Lol, just kidding, men don't develop empathy for women until their mid 30s, if at all.

But you know, you start really thrashing yourself with stuff that never bothered you before. As a 7 year old, I dreamed of thriving in my stuff everywhere in the room - because then you can see it all! Now the more stuff I have lying around, the more of a sombre reminder it is of the uncared for responsibilities in my life. How miserable.

As a student I wished to have my own income, (even though I did finish it), and was able to enjoy the financial support in the first year or so. But  in the later years it started banging inside my head like a pair of trainers in a dryer, that you know are still dirty after washing, and have been destroyed by the water and the soap and the heat anyway. Also your dryer hurts now.


I've written earlier here how some church services offer the much needed guilt relief. They lull you into compliance and a forced authoritative rapport, then they try and bring your guilt all up, and then they aggressively assure you the guilt is taken away, almost as if by a large leech that had decreased your blood pressure by sucking some of the superfluous juices out of you directly through all the layers of your beautiful dermis. Or then, as if by blatantly hypnotising you into letting go of some of your own worries.

"I come in da name a Jesus!– repeat it after me, bitch!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9pPlFrmkXlE
This guy will FUCK YOU–...r sins up. Out. I don't know, but he scares me.

So the question this comes up to is this: why try and instill so much guilt into people, basing all moral values and duties on the backside of almighty guilt, if exactly that becomes one of the main psychological hurdles in all adult life? And from childhood on it becomes an act of performance art to forgive yourself, and others. Thanksgiving would do good in becoming Forgiveness day (no one remembers what they're thanking for now anyway). 


And you can forgive yourself for not getting out of the house too much, or for gaining the weight of a petite person onto your own fragile skeleton. You're here just like the rest of us – fucking up, pretending you didn't. Patching things up, trying again. Could be a mantra for the overly self-critical neurotic of today.


Sources:
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/promoting-empathy-your-teen/201209/is-it-normal-teenagers-lack-empathy
Costa Concordia: http://www.top13.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/costa-concordia-shipwreck-a-genuine-mistake-o-L-8X4ufL.jpeg
Unconventional preacher gif: http://stream1.gifsoup.com/view/68895/crazy-preacher-o.gif
The ancient video the gif is from (sweet beat too, you'll like it):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9pPlFrmkXlE

Spending My Own Money

So I’m under 25. In the adult world, meaning not including any kiddiewinks, or teenagers, because they pretty much live in their own separate society anyway, someone under 25 is largely considered a drooling, boggy-eyed, snotty bag of incompetence. One with much too soft an epidermis, covering that dumbo bimbo cranium, let alone those naive and pointlessly hopeful eyes. Fucking young people.

So when it comes to expenses, the reasoning behind what to get consists of either an unbridled urge to grasp, get hold of, (and then listlessly throw away) anything that seems exciting at the moment, or relying on the competence of authority figures, vaguely thinking “what would mommy buy”? 

The word itself creeps me out now, and only Whovians will get this. If you're not one, try and imagine the mask is the child's actual face, and he's calling you his mummy. Okay, never mind.

What's really odd at this point is getting into a cycle of financial self-sustanence, and actually being able to assess how much you'd need in hours, of labour that is, in order to acquire a new desireable, if not quite necessary, purchase. Say, I want a velvet cape I've found on Amazon that would really help me live out my being-a-wizard fantasies (before I get too mature, and until I am mature enough for this to be socially acceptable again). If it's cheapety mass-produced and of typical Amazon quality, you're looking at, maybe several hours.
A whole day if you're me, but I can bitch about that on other media.

Thing is, there is no sweeter assessment of the worth of an object than by one's own work and effort put into being able to acquire it. I'm sure even thieves feel this way: if you've nicked something quite shiny, new, and potentially hefty-priced, you'll be glad even if you'd had to climb trees, cut through  layers of window panes, disabled the alarm, chloroformed the family - and the dog - and only then pocketed the daughter's tiara. It's just so precious!...

Where it gets weird is strangers buying you stuff sometimes, just because! It's one thing to volunteer to cover the price of tickets for your date, or cuffing your employees with pint handles (how good am I with this metaphor thing, eh?!), but it's plain odd after you've just got used to buying stuff that's your own, to have someone just chip in, and join in on your expenses, as if you're married or they've adopted you for a few hours or something. It's like they have too much, and just feel the need to level things out with you. You know, because you're just so... unbearably poor.

I bet the stylist on the show makes a bunch twice as big for a single shooting of this.

I've never been bought anything ludicrously pricey by a stranger, but surely it must feel like someone seeing you knitting, for example - like you do (beer bottle close by, Top Gear in the background of course) - and them suddenly hugging you from behind and sort of angling their fingers through yours to knit a few loops in as well. First off, they're really not adding much overall, regardless of how skilled they are. And secondly, the whole process will only serve to freak you out, or even worse, will allow you to become complacent with intrusions like that, and to begin to rely on volunteered assistance. Soon enough you'll be widely known as the feeble-fingered knit-digger on the block whose sweaters and beanies only come from a borrowed sets of hands over yours. You slut.


Again, if you're at a starter (at life) age, you're probably broke as hell, and are still finding this whole complete independence thing quite raw, maybe even brutal. So, you know, if someone wants to buy you a drink, if someone's insisting on paying for you cab, if they refuse you chipping in to the birthday funds for Dave the new guy - heck, let 'em. There's always hope you will pay them back some day, right? When you're properly settled and comfortable enough about your income and outcome ratio to let kindness take over and buy others something too sometimes, just because. I mean there is always hope, right? Guys?
There's hope for everyone?

...Right?

[Kid in mask: http://basementrejects.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/doctor-who-season-1-10-the-doctor-dances-are-you-my-mummy.jpg
Sarah Somebody throwing fake stage-money on stage, demonstratively: http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20140105070830/degrassi/images/3/31/Sarah_money.gif
Desperation from Michael Scott: http://www.crushable.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/The-Office-Michael-Scott-bankruptcy.gif]

Privacy

What with all the exceedingly media covered hooplah about the leaked sensitive information on iCloud–

#2014AppleFail 

#TheFappening

#TheIlluminatiAreReal

#ThanksObama

–and especially a year after Ed Snowden's heroic gesture exposing pretty much everyone being surveilled or under threat to be, it's hard to avoid assessing today just how much information about themselves one should trust putting out there.

It's obvious these leaps in technology, especially regarding communication, is making us increasingly relaxed and consequently trusting, without much regard about where and how the magical electric impulses are sending out our oh-so-trivial messages. Mostly because most of us have hopelessly lost track of the how a long long while ago. And deeply trusting we've become of global corporations running certain websites or producing several ubiquitous pieces of software too, let alone the makers of our computers and smartphones themselves.

That to me appears very akin to "just going with it" regarding genetically modified and highly preserved food. It's so challenging, impractical, and costly to avoid all of it that you feel it'll be less fuss to just accept the mass trends, and risking to havie all the mysteriously appearing allergies, and the cancers, or your grandchildren being born with two extra livers or something.

Or ending up like this. Which I guess is kind of nice.

[On a mini side note, wasn't she already sort of naked through most of the X-Men films?]

Anyway, so granted you still talk to someone in person sometimes. Hopefully. (Lucky socializing you, if I may interject so). But just what proportion of all of your friendly/professional/intimate/socially (in)appropriate interactions just happen to have been documented on some "cloud" on a Facebook server somewhere? Or Snapchat? Yeah, they say it's all safe and they really do swear they don't go through your stuff. 

But say your closest BFF asks if they could access your brain, for example - suspend yur disbelief for a jiffy here, and imagine the technology exists - is there anyone you would ever, ever, allow to enter into any corner of your brain? Again, not to experience the entirety of your brain, but only some highly selective lines of files of folders of the drives of your mind's operating system, overall reflecting precisely only the mind of the person viewing, and not the entirety of the information viewed which ultimately comprises you. 

So what I'm saying is, even if it's the only way you can talk to people, is it worth writing it down into a text, or an e-mail, or a message, pack it up, and send it out into the skies? What if everything gets hacked? What if it already has? And it has! What if someone decides they really need to know if you did cheat on your wife in 2011? Remember? Oh, well you didn't sleep with her, but those texts - all 1452 of them - do sound juicy! Here you go, Mrs Cheater, we have transcripts of all of it, 120'000 pounds please.

Then again, are you paranoid enough to not tell your friends anything remotely significant over social media and messages then? Will you not respond to Suzie's texts now just because of what someone somewhere may or may not think about you because of it?

...

And what if Suzie's a psychopathic cunt though who will ruin your marriage on purpose? Yeah, yeah, and I think the mailman is putting some lead dust on all of your letters, so you develop severe raspiratory diseases and die soon enough, coughing blood and all, because you didn't say "good morning" back to him that one day. 

What if you  do have a Tyler Durnen peeing into your soup in restaurants? 

What if there is a Slim Shady working in a Burger King, spitting on your onion rings?

Okay, how about simply not getting into the habit of telling poeple everything? 

Whoah, whoah there! You mean in the age of communication, the decade of #sharing? But how? Surely thou shalt be cast away and shunned from the religiously socializing society for your secluded ways! 

Well, what if you don't, and what if you're not?

Okay, here's an idea:

Selective candour. You classify everyone that you know or tend to meet into several groups, and gauge your level of informational intimacy depending on their status to you:

1. The distant ones: most of your colleagues, casual acquiantences, communities on the internet, and the bartender that you like in that place you frequent - as far as serious matters go, and we're assuming the worst type of betrayal and backstabbing imaginable - these people don't need to know much about you. They usually come and go, and there's no need to provide them with easy access to your most vulnerable information.

2. The loyal ones: some of your work partners - the ones you know for a length of time capable of making you both feel ancient when mentioned out loud, or someone you're forced into close and constant relationship because of dependent responsibilities and/or due to legal reasons. 

Same with your personal solicitors, and doctors. Let these people know all about the matter they're linked to you by, but leave it at that. When the work, or trial, or the surgery is done, the convo shifts to that new hot actress in that cool new show, and about how ridiculous 70s perms looked. 

See, you're already imagining people in tight faux-leather buttox-hugging pants, and shirts with necklines way too low, swaying awkwardly to a monotonous synth. Not a trace of a thought about my general lack of insanity, an aching lack of friends or a significant other, or whether I maybe drink too much! Um...

This is one classy show.

3. The significant ones! You know: your mom, your dog, your kids if you decide to have any... and that's it. Obviously your spouse may eventually get his feet around where you stash both of your money, or your sisters may get close to finding out you've actually have the opposite reproductive organs on you your whole life. None of that means you must always tell everything to any one person. Especially to acquired statuses, like your wife or husband. (That would include your dog too, I know, but if you have released your suspense of disbelief by now, I think we can agree on most canines being fairly good with secrets).

Your mother is genetically programmed to work in your interest in any case, so she's alright. Unless you're a superhero - in which case don't tell anyone anything, are you crazy! 

Your kids? Well... I suppose that's the only weakness you're allowed to have sensitive-information-wise. Oddly enough, you yourself get to programme how loyal those buggers are to you. So they're pretty much your minions, which makes them eligible for knowing the stuff you do too. Again, not all of it. 

You twisted fucker.

Really though isn't it... mostly protecting others from your data, and not yourself from others acquiring it? How deep is that.

So don't forget to delete your browsing history, erase and block all cookies on your browser, make private all information, interactions, and searches, delete all files, and never ever talk to anyone again! Stay super duper safe, little ones.

X-Men gif: http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lphhtrRjtM1qc4utoo1_500.gif

The Office gif: http://31.media.tumblr.com/2e9f6f8d870bf2ce068fd0a1afc26e6f/tumblr_n9u63yrYnU1r2r6qqo1_400.gif

Idea Channel gif: http://31.media.tumblr.com/4156762025d99745d0a5c13fe91f17f7/tumblr_n5806be88Z1sdu1x4o1_400.gif

Mad Men gif: http://media.tumblr.com/0b68e5410d87c0072e4a820c9c29d5c7/tumblr_inline_mgngnl5kF31rq6v17.gif

The Orbit of Bullshit

Regular adulthood activities seem to perpetually revolve around splattering, blabbering, and spitting out verbal spew in the name of appropriateness. It's as if everyone's brought about some traumatically punishing consequence by being brutally honest about something once, and now they're just not risking it again, nu-uh. What's with all the affectation, the pretence, and the same single-digit number of droned out phrases drawn out through grinded teeth in harrowingly fake smiles?

"Ah, sah sahrry to hear thaaaat" =
"Ah ma Ghad, let's totally meet up some taaaahm" =
"Ahm so happy for you, congratulatiaaahns" = ...

I'm not saying that angrily. At 23, I feel the need to conjoin any significant newly gained experiences with my rapidly distancing teenage angst, and to develop a progression of understanding of the universe, in my mind, to feel as if my change of outlook in those years signifies I've actually learned something. As opposed to, my brain as a physical organ, has simply finished growing and developing now, and certain glands in my body have stopped producing insane amounts of certain hormones so that the system is regulated to much more stable and rhythmic existence altogether. 

Which is why all adults don't care anymore and are full of bullshit. I agree, teenage me. They are! For all I can remember, we were insanely mean and insensitive to one other, but that was also a time when we knew our generation was in this briefly suspended moment with a vague consensus of misery and helplessness joining us, at least partly leveling everyone out. Then the moment everyone finished school, the comparing began: who got into what university, who's acquired a better job, and who's managed to move away from our mostly be-hated home town the furthest. Bottom line, that was the last time that I can remember being fairly sure I knew what people were actually living like, let alone what they might actually be thinking. 

Look at them! I bet they at least get called "emo faggots" and get advised to "kill themselves already" collectively! Where were my fellow emos when I was a tubby, casually jeansed, vision-impaired-by-hairdo teenager? Solidarity by style, that's whatI'mtalkin'bout.

Now, alas, social life of the current generations has become solely about bragging - and I don't even want to get into that in the context about social media! But even in the professional world it's not about your academic achievements or skills you can demonstrate so much now, but more about just how cool you think you are, and in how many various ways you can phrase it. As someone currently going through the wringer of applying for and "performing" at job interviews quite frequently, I'm getting the itch of shedding this new snakeskin of a 2-dimensional "Worker No 4" character that they seem to be behaviourally conditioning me into. The faker and more predictable a character I "play" while talking to them, the better it all seems to be received. And no funky hair colours! Because that's... different! (And how absolutely dare you be different!)

Fit in but stand out, show confidence and determination - even tenacity - but stay humble and respectful, wear a skirt and giggle but be professional and focused. Seriously, women are expected to adhere to myriads of layers of said cow manure even beyond the usual dose, and often beyond basic logic: show him you like him but don't let him know, look fantabulous but not like you are trying to, be independent and stand up for yourself but also be submissive and quiet next to your man (otherwise you're embarrassing him and looking silly trying to take control). But I don't mean to get into the feminism talks right now either. 

This is how an applicant is to measure her hiring potential, although to help through the interview, bra pads social skill classes are advisable.

Final point is, adults seem to try too hard to be accepted and fit in (while standing out) and consequently get lost in their identity. A lot. As teenagers we were at least aware of being uncertain, but now it's just not allowed apparently. Sure, all of a sudden I'm all "determined, resilient, and motivated". Because that's how humans work, of course: one day you just know, everything, as soon as you turn 20-ish or something.

I don't get why adults often emit this embarrassing squeaky wheeze when talking about how innocent children are, and that they can't lie (proven to be false [1]). Everyone lies, or embellishes, all the time. Let's just... adorn the bullshit cake with a nugget or two of straightforwardness, casual no-makeup days, random confessions, and occasional miscellaneous candour. Though I understand being completely candid is a little like going out in a plain snow-white shirt: one tiny smear, and it's ruined. And everyone thinks you're a clumsy slob all a sudden, and you're embarrassed and sad and all that. But I don't believe an occasional moment of being real with each other, even at work, is going to bring down civilised society. (Though we can always try and see).

*Slenderman, I mean Slenderman, look him up.

1. This is just a fringe study, but proving my statement anyway: http://jbd.sagepub.com/content/24/2/213.short

Ha, it actually says: "Conclusions: Lying is common for 6- to 8-year-old children, but more frequent for males." Deceitful little bastards.

[Gif: http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m79i44atZ61r3ty02o1_250.gif

BEWBS: http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/23/3f/cd/233fcdb620784fca3d938dc1f22d2a2e.jpg

Slenderwoman:http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2013/090/3/1/slender_woman_by_manga51-d5zvanr.png] 

Being Ignored SUCKS!

Remember Blink 182 told us how nobody likes you when you’re 23? Well, I’m 23 now, and I say it’s a shack of a boll-ack. A loady of boloney. A bunch of a… lying crunch. 

I’ve decided not to swear in this one – and no, those aren’t actual words – but bear with me. 

 

The truth is, usually there’s someone who will approve of your demented and morbid outlook, meaning they like you to some extent. 23 or not. However what I have found to be universally true, is if you decide you like someone, they will go ahead and ignore you. Me, anyway. 

It’s about them vibes, you see. You start giving off a vibe. A kind of a resignation of mystery, and trickery, and extra charm around the person, in the hopes that they will be attracted to you just because you are to them. I’m not sure if the latter ever happens. 

But about those vibes – “desperation” is a term commonly thrown around. Ooh, and “creepy”! According to a guy with an avatar of someone who looks like a modern Jesus, commenting on a comedic website (so the dude’s gotta be reliable), “there is a world of difference between being persistent and being creepy, and between being confident and a douchebag”. Does sound wisdomey, dunnit? So that got me thinking: shall I try and find that essential line between persistent advances, and my apparent creepiness which makes all the guys back away until they disappear out of perceived existence just so they don't have to deal with my annoying presence again?

Wait, or does that magically only apply to men for some cave-people instinct reasons? I’d happily pursue a man if I find one worth pursuing. But then… are there some clever really indirect ways to do that? As in, maybe, watch a few exciting movies with Robert Downey or Ewan McGregor or something to get your body exude those famous pheromones that guys can reportedly sense from miles away, and then hang around his workplace or something? Pretty much like a freaking antelope in heat? Caveman rules, ammiright? 

There’s always the option of ignoring, of course. But it’s really difficult to ignore someone who’s already avoiding you in the first place. What is that? Fear? Of dealing with someone else’s emotions if you openly reject them? Is it laying the whole “thing” off because you just don’t feel like dealing with it right now? Just dumping that whole person out of your mind? I wish I could do that. Sounds amazing. 

Maybe men’s apparent inclination to sociopathy in that way, meaning giving significantly less… crap about people they have nothing to gain from, is why they end up in higher positions at work? It’s how they manage to achieve more? While most women get caught up with spawning offspring, and all the little details of family needs, while men just stride on? So then that women care about themselves, their men, and all of their children, and men care about themselves. I don’t know. Maybe this is all just sexist ramblings.

Maybe I’m taking rejections too personally. Or maybe I should blame myself for liking anyone at all? It’s the men’s job, isn’t it. Unless no one likes you at all. When you’re 23. Or am I just being immature? 

What’s my age again?

What’s my age again?

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