so this has been a long time coming, and I’m not going to post my actual exam results here and circumstances have changed such that I’m not even sure of the significance OF the exam results themselves, but SUFFICE IT TO SAY that y’all remember that horrible icky science exam of doom I procrastinate-blogged about for 4 miserable, organic soaked months? WELL.
I think I will have myself a hershey’s chocolate drop.
x
F.
The picture included in this has nothing to do with anything other than the fact that I love Tangled, and I love these books, and I love mashups of things I love.
Back to the grind.
F.
You know how you’re supposed to be proud of your family no matter what, but it is super hard when your cousin is drunk and starting every sentence with, “I’m not a racist or anything, BUT…” (Note: if you have to start a sentence with that qualifier, STOP. DO NOT PASS GO. DO NOT COLLECT $200.)
That’s kinda how I feel about my country. Occasionally we are awesome. But most of the time, within 2 minutes of opening a local newspaper, I have to go watch a youtube video of a cat with its head stuck in a bucket to remind myself that there is good in the world, and life is worth living. (I’m only half exaggerating).
Jamaica has the dubious distinction of being the most homophobic country in the world. We’ve (rightfully) gotten a lot of flack for it. I myself, have nothing against homosexuality. I never have. I didn’t realise it was a big deal until I moved back here in 9th grade. When I openly stated this in Bible Study class (yeah – not the best idea) the room audibly gasped in shock and the teacher swallowed, put down her book and told the class to join hands in prayer. (You know, I exaggerate a lot, but this isn’t one of those times. I actually had whole classes praying for me. On MULTIPLE occasions. Bless my heathen soul.) In any case, the only struggle I have with accepting homosexuality is that Neil Patrick Harris is gay, and I am in love with him, and that makes me sad. Other than that, though, we cool. Cut me, I bleed rainbows.
My island is slightly different. Homosexuality is a problem here, a big one, and they’re not afraid to say it. (Or shout it. Or write it in numerous poorly constructed letters to the editor.) This has not won the Jamaican community many friends. So, they’ve changed tack.
In a brilliant PR move, those who disagree with an LGBT lifestyle down here have decided to fight offensiveness with being offended. The latest campaign, now spattered all over the newspapers and my facebook news feed like a violent and ignorant chicken pox, takes issue with the word “homophobia”. Someone, finally, picked up a dictionary and realized that phobia means “fear of”. This has made the rounds, and the anti-gay community want to clarify a couple of things.
On a purely logical basis, if not a moral or reasonable one, I can see the grounding behind the first argument. It is nitpicking and obnoxious, but kind of accurate. Okay. So if Nathan Lane happens to walk into your house, you’re not going to jump on a stool, start screaming and call your significant to ask them how to get him out of the house. Clarified.
As for the rest of it -
You know, this post was much longer, but I realize where it is going and I have to do things do so here: watch this cat eating a watermelon.
In the end, China will take over the earth and none of this will matter.
F.
I have 6 drafts of posts sitting, waiting to be completed. 6. And they’re all things I want to say and some of them even have jokes and stuff, but I’m so swamped by the myriad things I am attempting to accomplish before August I don’t have time to make them suitable for the general public. My blog posts are all little Aladdins right now. (For those of you who saw Aladdin 10 or more years ago, the obscure reference was that the big talking sand tiger repeatedly referred to our heroic ragamuffin as ‘a diamond in the rough’. BOY I TAKE LONG TO SAY THINGS.)
Anyway.
Does anyone else notice that young adulthood is a lot of responsibilities too important to ignore, but too unimportant to talk about or write about? In fact, forget it. That is ALL young adulthood is.
Here have a lion cub that is expressing solidarity.
“Love what you do. Get good at it. Competence is a rare commodity in this day and age. And let the chips fall where they may.”
- Jon Stewart
I got stuck in rush hour traffic today and was subjected to that Rihanna song where she tries to give attitude to the world about it giving her attitude for condoning domestic violence, and I tried to muster enough energy to try and formulate an opinion on either side of that debate, but honestly. Rihanna? Really? If anyone woman is looking up to Rihanna in the first place, she’s got bigger problems.
Also I don’t know what’s with the resurgence in these “marry a girl who reads, date a girl who reads, girls who read are awesome” blog posts and tumblr posts and whatevers. And this is coming from a girl who reads. As one of them, I can tell you, my world isn’t stitched with Nabokov or whatever other tacky phrase keeps appearing in those tirades. Mostly because a) Nabokov wrote about pedophilia (yeah you can’t just use author’s names when they sound pretty, internet. ‘Lolita’ was WAY GROSS) and b) I don’t have time to stitch my world with Nabokov or Chekov or anyone else-ov. I’m BUSY. Being a girl with a brain. You know, that thing that I use to read. ThoughtCatalog should try actual reading before they talk about it.
I went out for dinner, and after went to the pub, had a single frozen margarita and came home at a sensible hour. I guess I’m an adult now.
I’m either going to read the Chronicles of Narnia or my GRE book before bed tonight. Was gonna do work but I just looked at my big stack of stuff to research.
x,
F.
Today’s post is not my own. It is rather a story by another very talented writer who I have come to admire very much indeed (and whose hilarious novel you can find here, if you’re looking for reading). [Edit// Just realized I didn’t ask said author for permission to reblog this. If it isn’t, would said admired author be so kind as to message me and tell me I have violated copyright or propriety? Merci.) It is one of my favorite stories, and one which we could all probably do with hearing. Original can be found here.
X,
F.
learning to love; helen crawford.
.
Let’s face it, we all have issues with self-image.
This story starts here: One evening I came home from a late shift at work, poured myself a glass of wine and went on the internet.
For some reason I thought it would be a good thing to volunteer to be on a “reality TV” show. It may have been the wine’s idea.
The show was about buying houses. At the time, I was thinking of leaving my job and moving either to France or to another part of England. So it seemed the ideal opportunity to get some ideas, maybe even to find the perfect house.
So my daughter and I duly trundled off for our screen test and the next thing we knew we were in Provence (and Suffolk), where we had many adventures… for another time…
Then of course, we were sent a copy of the final edit. I didn’t want to watch it. I was terrified, knowing how they can manipulate the footage to make people look like complete idiots. I told myself it didn’t matter, I had learnt a lot, that was why I’d done it. If I looked like an idiot, so be it. In any case I was an idiot…
(Though if I’d realised that it would still be showing on obscure satellite channels all over the world, to this day, I might have thought twice)
But when I watched it, I cried and cried. Watching an objective version of myself seen through a third person made me warm so much to this idiot woman, towards whom I have always been so hostile and unforgiving.
She tries so hard. She means so well. She can be quite funny.
She’s nice, she really is. She really is.
