What A Man Wants

I've had this project going on for a long time, and so far I have yet to be fully successful. Before I can tell you precisely what my project is, I must explain my former physical demeanor.

A little over a year ago, I had platinum blond hair that was big and wavy. I had the perfect California girl tan, with a trim waste and busty chest. I always had my finger and toe nails done to perfection. I wore my make up in a smokey sexy fashion (be it day or night). When it came to my attire, I wore mini-dresses and skirts with heels too high. Beneath my clothing I always wore push up bras to create enchanting cleavage with all of my plunging necklines. I shaved my legs every single day so that they would be baby-butt smooth (whether or not somebody besides myself would be touching them that day). Basically, by traditional California standards, I was beautiful. It couldn't be more obvious, with the haters and cat-calls and all. Plus, everyone (with a penis) seemed to like me.

BUT I DIDN'T LIKE THIS.

I drew up a plan for myself that I seldom spoke of (and when I spoke of it I never referred to it as my plan). I was going to make myself ugly. And the purpose of this? To discover exactly what constitutes attractiveness.

This was so much easier than maintaining a life dedicated to beauty. First things first, I dyed my hair black, and this didn't make a difference in even the smallest of ways. I looked the exact same with different hair, and this is when I realized no one gives a shit about hair color.

My next step was to change my dress attire; I increased the length of my hemlines two-fold! (Whatever that means.) I also started wearing turtle necks in Winter instead of tube tops. (This benefited greatly when it came to the outside temperature.) I also started wearing flats and sneakers more often than heels. As I predicted, this made me seem uglier (per say) and I received less attention from all those penises with bodies attached.

I still thought there was too much attention, so I wore less make up and stopped wearing bras entirely (which doesn't help at all, when breasts jiggle more as you walk it's apparently more attractive). And the make up tactic seemed to be unsuccessful as well.

Now we're at how I look right now sitting in front of my computer. I have glasses and hair shorter than most penis welding males in California. I lost weight so that my breasts would shrink, and now my chest is barely an excuse for tits. I still don't wear bras or very much make up. I now wear high waisted bottoms and loose tops. I try my hardest to look ultimately androgynous (which sometimes works because I have been mistaken for a man on multiple occasions). However, despite the fact that I now have the physical demeanor of a man, real men still think I'm attractive. Thus leading me to conclude that physical appearance is absolutely pointless when you have the one thing all men want: A vagina.

Teenage Lobotomy

If a lobotomy could successfully work with no real mishaps, then science is truly revolutionary. But there is one problem, wouldn't anyone who signs up for a lobotomy not recall getting one post procedure? After all, he/she has an all new mind with all new memories and background. So whatever they encountered in their life pre-lobotomy would be erased. But wouldn't it be more interesting (this is assuming lobotomies actually are perfectly successful already) that at some point in childhood we all receive one but cannot recall the event since our new mind does not remember going into surgery? Our earliest memory that our body actually went through (if lucky) would be waking up in a hospital bed confused and frightened. So basically, it's possible (but not probable) that we have all been living lives that we haven't actually lived.

This theory is flawed. I'm currently arguing with myself to work out the kinks.

Bipolar

I was having solitary midnight hot tub time tonight, and found myself thinking about bipolar disorders which led me to think about Holly Golightly. Clearly she was bipolar, but based off of his writing style Truman Capote is not. So I wonder, how he was able to portray a bipolar woman so effectively in Breakfast at Tiffany's? Certainly he must have been familiar with the disorder, perhaps from dealing with someone personally. Regardless of how Capote knows, it made me realize something: no bipolar person would be able to write about other bipolar people. Perhaps it can be acknowledged and touched at, but the writing itself would be sporadic (assuming the writer is relatively manic while writing, which in my case happens a lot). With such intense bipolar sounding writing, it would be difficult to focus on what the character is doing that is manic and depressive. All in all, I thoroughly confused myself during my relaxation time, and am now finding possible and plausible solutions as to why it's so difficult for me to calmly explain the bipolar disorder. And right now, it's really bothering me the numerous times I have written the word "bipolar" in this paragraph. Bipolar.

Theory #567

A few days ago I bought a pair of mom shorts (vintage denim shorts with a waistline up to the belly button). I realized one thing about them: It would be very hard to sexually "fool" around with someone while wearing mom shorts. And then I developed a theory as to why the waistline for both male and female entities has lowered so drastically in the past few decades: Young people wanted to have sex, and it was too hard to do so while wearing high cut trousers. So basically, what I believe to be true, is that a bunch of kids were so horny that some clothing designer made bottoms with a low-rise waistline so that teenagers would instinctively purchase them to meet their sexual needs. Could this be related to teen pregnancy? Perhaps.

What you see when your brain slows down.

Today there was a moment between 7 and 7:30 AM. I was sunken into my depression, lying on my backyard stoop, wearing an over sized cardigan and nothing else, beneath a 5 dollar Old Navy blanket. This moment was meaningless in every other place around me (assuming no one was shooting anyone around me), but for me this was a grand beauty. Never have I seen the world as such a beautiful place. Never did I love so much.

The clouds were patterned. Those 30 minutes were also the rare 30 minutes of the morning where no one on my street is walking to their cars and starting their engines. It was silence all but the few birds chirping. I remember seeing pigeons on the roof behind my house, and they were beautiful. I hate pigeons, but I thought these particular set of two were miraculous. My dogs were still half asleep nudging and licking at my body, not knowing to avoid the cigarette. And the cigarette was beautiful! It's smoke was eerie and mysterious, making trails in the air. If it could burn longer, it may have asked me to follow its trails to somewhere even more beautiful than my backyard stoop. One dog kissed my face, and it was like the love you feel on ecstasy.

I've never been the type of person with the "reach for the sky" kind of attitude. But today, I reached my hand up, and tried to touch the fucking sky. Only problem is I realized why I never tried before: I knew I couldn't do it. I failed. I was depressed again. And the beauty was lost.

Put that brain on a leash!

I've never lost my mind...it just keeps running away from me.

Found Piece

Typically, this is something I'd never do. I like to reserve this blog for my own thoughts and quirks, but these lyrics have been written by a very talented unknown musician who goes by the name J.PEOPLEMOVER. Check out two of his originals, and a cover on his Myspace site myspace.com/peoplemovertheband. Friend him, fan him, molest him. You know, whatever you're supposed to be doing on those sites to express what you like. His work reminds me a bit of Daniel Johnston, and if you don't know who that is, don't read my blog anymore. Love you crazy people out there.

I Wanna Be A Go Go Dancer

I wanna be a go go dancer
Incognito, my name is ma'am, sir
I'm a leo and you're a cancer
And I wanna be your go go dancer
And I wanna be your go go dancer

I'm working my way through school
Decided to pick up something new
I'm the best at making men drool
And I'm here to make you my fool, because

I'm your go go dancer
Incognito, my name is ma'am, sir
I'm a leo and you're a cancer
And I'm gonna be your go go dancer
And I'm gonna be your go go dancer

I don't want a relationship
I'm trying my best just to fake it
I just want to have something to do
And that something sure isn't you, because

I'm just a go go dancer
Incognito, my name is ma'am, sir
I'm a leo and you're a cancer
And I am just a go go dancer
And I am just a go go dancer

Screw law school, screw the bar
I'm gonna make myself a star