My Life Is Bullshit

     I just want to be a singer, God damn it! That is all. Why is that so hard? I can sing. I have a great voice. There is no reason for me not to do this. What is wrong with me? Why am I so clouded with negativity that I cannot accept for myself that this is what I was born to do? I guess I am scared: terribly, terribly scared. Isn't that lame? To have the ability to open one's mouth and make beautiful music come out at will and entertain myself for hours and be too scared to use it? How pointless is that?
     I am a good singer. I have always loved to sing. I need to pursue this wholeheartedly. I can do it if I set my mind to it. I can be great. I do not necessarily have to be a struggling street peddler, but if I am, who cares? I have already stated before that I am not a "stuff" person, so the lack of money certainly wouldn't bother me so much as doing something I hated would.

Happiness in a Hand Basket

     I don't fit in with this consumerist culture and I've had enough. God damn it! I think. I think critically. I feel. I feel deeply. I am not a "stuff" person. I don't like stuff. I've come to the realization that I don't need a bunch of material possessions to be happy, never did, and therefore am not afraid of being poor. Since I am not afraid of poverty, I am free to live. I get to do what makes me happy, whether that means singing, writing, whatever. I don't have to pigeon hole myself into a consumerist category. I don't need to be imprisoned by the system and I won't do it. I'm going to do what I love and say what I feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind. (Like that bit of Dr. Seuss I slipped in there?)

Feminine Hygiene Conspiracy

     Can someone please tell me why, why, why, why, in this day in age do they still sell scented tampons? Or any scented feminine hygiene products at all? It has been said over and over again, by doctors everywhere, that putting any kind of fragrance in or around the vagina, vulva, labia, urethra, or even the asshole is not only unnecessary, but fucking harmful? Wow, I'm on my period, so I think in addition to my regular discomfort, I'll further disrupt my pH balance and cause a plethora of genital infections, so that I can feel fresh.
     I mean, does anybody even like these things? I don't understand the point. I guess, if I stoop my thinking a little and remember there was a time when women were so afraid of their smell ruining their marriages that they douched with Lysol (that's right, Lysol! That shit you clean your bathroom with! In your vagina! Ain't that appealing! Kills 99.9% of uninfected vagina!), I can understand why some dipshits might use a scented maxi pad or pantyliner, both of which are equally unappealing. At least a maxi pad or pantyliner collects menstrual fluid from the outside and can, if left too long, begin to smell--not that adding synthetic flowers to the mix camouflages it any batter. But, one of  the perks of tampons is that since they're internal, they don't have an odor. So, why would anyone need a flower scent to cover it up? Come on, people are pretty hygienic these days, sometimes unhealthily so. Americans are obsessed with daily showers. This is not eighteenth century France, when people never bathed. I think that if you think your vagina smells so bad during your normal menstrual period that it needs perfume, you need to either see a gynecologist to have that shit treated or a psychiatrist to figure out why you're so ashamed of your body.
    So, because I've come to the conclusion that no conscious woman would ever buy these vaginal air fresheners willingly, the only way they still get sales is when someone accidentally buys them, like I just did, and doesn't notice until they use them and have opened the box. The manufacturers write "fresh scent" in teeny tiny letters on an otherwise normal-looking tampon box and count on the idiot consumer to overlook this detail and then be too embarrassed to return an already-opened box of tampons. Then, either the disgruntled woman must use them or purchase an additional box of normal, overpriced, and unscented tampons. That means these greedy corporate bastards get twice their monthly profits. Aha! It's a conspiracy! I know it!

Back to The Old Ways

It's 1:18 a.m. On a school night. You bet your ass I should be in bed right now. But, I'm not. I'm sure if you're reading (which you totally aren't by the way), you're probably sick of hearing me yammering about my goddamn menstrual cycle already. Too bad. I'm yammering anyway. Get over it. It's not that I always complain about my period and what it entails, I just only work up enough rage to actually complain about things that annoy me when that time of the month hits. I'm PMSing again, which means nothing is going right with my life. I'm retaining more water than the Hoover Dam, I'm extremely horny, I alternate between anger/bitchiness and sadness/crying jags, I get at least one new pustule on my chin daily, and my sleeping schedule's all fucked up. I either can't go to sleep or can't stay asleep and that's with the addition of medication. I give up.

Rachel's Challenge

     Today, I sat through a program called "Rachel's Challenge." I was the lone voice. I was the only asshole to criticize such a seemingly good-natured pro-kindness school outreach program. And I didn't cry. At least not during the presentation. I cried later. But, I didn't cry because of Rachel Joy Scott or her message or the tragic loss of life or the Columbine Massacre or the stories of horrific "bullying".
      I cried because it's a lie. Nobody really cares about how they treat people. Nobody will call themselves "bully". Nobody is genuinely committed to kindness or acceptance of others. It's fake. It's shock value. Rachel's Challenge is emotional manipulation and nobody is questioning it. Nobody but me. I questioned it. I asked a fundamental question that nobody could answer. Haven't we all been told that the Columbine shooting was caused because two misfit boys were bullied and decided to kill their bullies? 
      If so, wouldn't that have made Rachel a bully? I've asked this question to as many people as I could, but no one can give me a straight answer. Nobody knows and nobody else is asking why. I would honestly love if everybody would actually make a consistent effort to not only be kind people, but to do it for the right reasons. One shouldn't be kind because a professional speaker in a high school gym told them to do so or to get the most "chain links(paper links with kind deeds written on them)" of all the high schools or simply because it's trendy. People should be kind because they want to, because it's right, because they believe it. People have to want change to make change. They have to put in the effort. They have to try. But, nobody wants to try.
     No one is thinking about the reasons why. Critical thinking is lost on these people, too clouded by forced emotion. No one is really sure why they should tolerate others or who they should really tolerate. It is impossible to be tolerant of everything without being intolerant. (To accept everything is to accept intolerance and things that contradict all the values one supposedly holds.) They only know that "kind" people accept everyone--unless of course it's someone who holds values that are dramatically different from the ones they are taught. Where's the logic in that? It's very hypocritical and it's not very smart.
     Rachel's Challenge, as a whole, is not a very great program. It's way over-exaggerated and it's making some big corporations a lot of money (These seminars aren't free), as well as being heavily Christian. And, most of all, it makes kindness a fad--a novelty that will fade away by next week. People aren't going to change because of it. Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do but make the best of it, be the people we want to be, question as much as we can, and accept the scam for what it is. How others choose (or don't choose) to act or think or believe is completely out of my control and I can't let it get the better of me. I can only observe and be entertained.

 

The Freak Show

     I hate people--all people. This includes me. I have clinically low self-esteem to the point that self-loathing has become my own personal sport. But, I assure you that my esteem for others is drastically lower. I am not impressed with my species. I believe humans were given great gifts: highly capable and rational minds, autonomy, and language, just to name a few. What did they do with it? Nothing. We have made no progress. We are not very evolved and have accomplished very little. Our humanity has gotten in the way--gotten the better of us. We are far too driven by greed and power and arrogance.
     So, what's an intelligent specimen to do? The answer, I suppose, would be to separate myself entirely from this stunning array of pod people and simply observe their ridiculous shenanigans as a form of entertainment. George Carlin frequently said, "When you're born, you get a ticket to the freak show. When you're born in America, you get a front row seat." Now, old George has been dead for five years and can longer sit around with a notepad and observe the human experiment. I intend to pick up where he left off and record my own observations, slowly tapering off my emotional attachment to the homo-sapiens until I at last have no stake in the results.
     And so it begins. 

It's Four O'Clock in The Morning, DAMN IT!

Here I am, nonexistent readers! I, Taylor Wilstein, blogger and night owl, am awake at four a.m. writing this crap and watching Friends reruns. This is how I spend my summer, folks! Don't judge me! So, what went wrong today that left me awake and blogging at four a.m.? Menstrual cramps. (I know, TMI, get over it!) While I am happily no longer cramping, I spent most of my day curled up on my bed, in the dark, poppin' ibuprofen, while Wolverine metaphorically clawed me out from the inside. Now, I'm not sure if you nonexistent readers have ever suffered from "the curse", but if you have, you know that one of the only ways to get rid of the pain, at least temporarily, is to sleep it off. So, after sleeping until one in the afternoon and waking up in throes of pain from the bowels of hell, I took some ibuprofen, drank some water, and ate some peanut butter toast. I felt okay for about twenty minutes before my uterus decided I'd had a little too much fun and needed to suffer some more. Back to bed for me! So, with my cat by my side, I took a cuddly four-hour nap and then got up and ate dinner. I've simply been woozy, lightheaded, and nauseous ever since. But at least the cramps are gone! Long story short, fourteen hours of sleep are not exactly conducive to an early bedtime the next night. So, alas, I feel like I might actually be getting sleepy albeit a bit anemic. Off to bed with me! Goodnight, imaginary readers!

Why My Cat Is Inherently Cooler Than You

A few months ago, my mom brought home a free cat she found on the side of the road somewhere. I'm not much of an animal person, but animals, such as cool-ass cats are not as awful as people. I named my new gray kitten Daria, after my favorite '90's cartoon character and cynical teenage sarcasm muse. I've had many a cat, but Daria is fucking awesome. As I type, she's sitting right next to me, watching as I type all this mundane bullshit. She's made me realize that while humans may be shitheads, cats are good people. They make great companions, easygoing friends, and don't require a whole lot of maintenance or emotional support. Daria doesn't voice her opinions to me. She doesn't seek my attention. She comes and goes as she pleases and only asks that I provide her with a lap to purr on, a little food and water, and a clean litter box. I think people could learn a lot about common decency from my cat, who is now profusely licking my stench off of her fur. If only people were that hygienic. Occasionally, she gets a little pissed off or perhaps she's just curious, and will try to climb on top of me and then scratch me. But, unlike dog bites, cat scratches don't scar me up like a domestic violence victim. I have deeper scars from shaving nicks. I'd honestly like to take my cat with me when I go away to college next year (One more year of high school, one more year of high school...), which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for my school friends and immediate family members.

PMS is REAL, You Idiots!

You know who I'd like to throw down a flight of stairs? These degenerative bullshitters who are running around spreading this misogynistic propaganda that premenstrual syndrome, aka PMS, doesn't exist. That's right, folks! There's no such thing as PMS! It's a myth, a fairytale, a medical unicorn! How fucking convenient! It was perfectly real when it was merely the butt of sexist jokes, but as soon as women actually started seeking treatment for PMS, otherwise known as, speaking up for their reproductive health, it's not real anymore! It's "all in your head." It's "just as an excuse." It's recognition "pathologizes our reproductive systems" and "trivializes our thoughts and feelings". Oh, and above all, it "allows men to believe they are biologically superior". Oh, it's all clear to me now! I have been imagining every single physical, psychological, and emotional symptom that I have evidently not been experiencing every month since I was thirteen. I, like most women, am a lazy masochist who invents ways to make myself suffer as much as possible for ten days each month so I can get away with murder and fit a cultural mold. Thank you for showing me the light. I should have known to take heed to Megan Fox's words of wisdom in the cinematic masterpiece, Jennifer's Body:

"PMS isn't real Needy, it was invented by the boy-run media to make us seem like we're crazy. "

That's it, Megan Fox! You really hit the nail on the head there. Liberate us, Megan! Please continue to help us fight male supremacy by stripping in cheesy Michael Bay action films. Educate me more about how the media is lying to me about my body and convincing me that I have a condition that doesn't really exist. Megan Fox should be cast in more movies that publicly condemn the media and all of its evil lies. Then all will be right with this world. I'd take Megan Fox's gospel over, say, medical dictionaries that define PMS as an actual, physical, officially recognized, medical condition that is experienced by a great number of obviously delusional women. PMS is just an excuse to be a bitch, right? That's why it was "invented" by the media to allow women to be irrational and for men to blame her bad mood on her hormones. Never mind the fact that hormones actually do affect both sexes' behaviors. The only difference is that women's hormonal fluctuations cause them to behave in certain, sometimes undesirable ways, on a monthly schedule that happens to include a few days of bleeding from their genitals. And that does make a difference in how the condition is phrased. It's called "Pre-Menstrual Syndrome" because the symptoms occur in the two weeks prior to menstruation. By definition, a syndrome is simply "a set of symptoms occurring together." That doesn't pathologize anything. PMS is just a collection of shit that happens between ovulation and menstruation. They don't call it "Hormonally induced mood alterations" because (1) PMS actually has physical symptoms in addition to the mental/emotional ones and (2) that terminology isn't specific enough, since both sexes as well as non-menstruating females all experience mood swings due to hormones. PMS isolates the cause, pattern, and possible treatment options for these specific symptoms. The definition and recognition of PMS provides support and a concrete premise for women who either want to seek help for their premenstrual symptoms or at least voice their experiences to share with others. And that's why PMS doesn't trivialize our thoughts and feelings, but rather allows them to be taken seriously, as an actual medical condition, and not just a quiet shameful women's issue. If we want men to take us seriously, we have to be able to speak honestly about our health and well-being, even if it makes men uncomfortable--because that's what talking about reproductive health does. It makes men uncomfortable. If men can convince us that what we're feeling isn't real, that our health doesn't matter, that it's all in our minds, then men have control over us. PMS scares most men shitless as it is, the last thing they want are intelligent, well-informed women talking about it and empowering themselves. By not discussing our reproductive health, women send the message to men that women's health isn't worth talking about. Women's bodies aren't important and they should be able to "control themselves and be pleasant" at all times. If PMS is discredited, then men are allowed to disregard women's health altogether and objectify us as brood mares for the state. After all, as long as we're constantly getting pregnant, we won't reach the premenstrual stage of our cycles, anyway. Our only function will be pregnancy, and then child-rearing, which we will then be enslaved to. Imagine how "biologically superior" men are going to feel when they realize they can just impregnate us whenever the fuck they want and force us to be mothers to their bastard children! If women's health is ignored, men will take back all the careers women have worked so hard to attain, and we will be back in the kitchen, pregnant and oppressed, where we fucking belong.