I have now, officially, checked my privilige.

I’ve been told, several times to check my privilige. A blogger I am following, transgender and nice person all around, has checked her privilige using this checklist and so have I.

“I am white” Yes, I am.

“I have never been discriminated against because of my skin color.” yes, I have, I’ve been told that because I’m white I’m irrelevant.

“I have never been the only person of my race in a room” Yes, I have.

“I have never been mocked for my accent” Yes, I have. my dialect is not well appreciated in other parts of the country.

“I have never been told I am attractive for my race” No.

“I have never been a victim of violence because of my race” No

“I have never been called a racial slur” Does whitey, cracker or marshmallow count? Or are those concidered to be pet names?

“I have never been told I ‘sound white'” I am white, how do I sound?

“A stranger has never asked to touch my hair, or asked if it was real” Nope.

“I am heterosexual” Nope.

“I have never lied about my sexuality” Yes I have.

“I never had to come out” I have had to come out.

“I never doubted my parents’ acceptance of my sexuality” Never, my parents are awesome.

“I have never been called ‘fag'” Wrong gender.

“I have never been called ‘dyke'” Several times.

“I have never been called ‘fairy’ or other derogatory slur for homosexuals” Again with dyke, rugmuncher etc. etc.

“I have never tried to hide my sexuality” I did, before.

“I am always comfortable with P.D.A. with my partner in public” I used to be very squeamish

“I have never pretended to be ‘just friends’ with my significent other” Once.

“I have never been ostracized from my religion for my sexual orientation” I turned Atheist for a reason.

“I have never been told I would ‘burn in Hell’ for my sexual orientation”. Every day in the media.

“I have never been told my sexuality was ‘just a phase'” Not by people that matter at any rate.

“I have never been violently threatened because of my sexuality” Never face to face, luckily.

“I am a man” Nope

“I feel comfortable in the gender I was born as” Partially.

“I still identify as the gender I was born in” Yes.

“I have never tried to change my gender” No.

“I have never been denied an opportunity because of my gender” Not explicitly enough to where I can mention it as a certain fact.

“I make more money than my professional counterparts of a different gender” Nope.

“I have never felt unsafe because of my gender” Several times.

“I have never been catcalled” Not often.

“I have never been sexually harassed or assaulted” Yes, I have. Harrassed at any rate.

“I have never been raped” Nope.

“I work in a salaried job” Nope.

“My family has never lived below the poverty line” I know my parents sometimes had ends that needed meeting, but I don’t think we were ever below the poverty line methinks.

“I don’t have any student loans” Yes, shit tones.

“I have never gone to bed hungry” Yes, but never due to lack of food.

“I have never been homeless” My parents saved my ass when my ex kicked me out.

“My parents pay some of my bills” Yes, they do.

“My parents pay all of my bills” No, they don’t.

“I don’t rely on public transportation” No, I don’t.

“I buy new clothes at least once a month” No.

“I have never done my taxes myself” Yes I have.

“I have never felt poor” Of course I have.

“I have never had to worry about making rent” Yes I have,

“I have never worked as a waiter, barista, bartender or salesperson” I still do.

“I have had an unpaid internship” No.

“I have had multiple unpaid internships” No

“I went to summer camp”Scout camps, do those count?

“I went to private school” Nope.

“I graduated high school” Yep.

“I went to an elite college” Lol, what have you been smoking?

“I graduated college” Yes, I have a BA.

“My parents paid (at least some of) my tution” Nope.

“I had a car in high school” Yes.

“I’ve never had a roommate” Several.

“I’ve always had cable” Nope.

“I have travelled internationally” Yes, but living in Norway that’s hard to avoid.

“I have travelled internationally at least once a year” Hahahaha, no.

“I studied abroad” No.

“I’ve never skipped a meal to save money” Yes.

“I don’t know what ‘Sallie Mae’ is” Nope. I don’t live in America.

“I spent Spring Break abroad” Nope.

“I have frequent flier miles” Nope.

“My parents are heterosexual” I assume so.

“My parents are both alive” Yep.

“My parents are still married” Yep.

“I do not have any physical disabilities” Asthma?

“I do not have any social disabilities” Social anxiety ftw.

“I do not have any learning disabilities” Nope.

“I have never had an eating dissorder” What is a disorder?

“I have never been depressed” Am. Currently.

“I have never considered suicide” Of course I have.

“I have never attemped suicide” Does actively taking risks count?

“I have never taken medication for mye mental health” Nope.

“I can afford medication if/when I need it” Sometimes.

“I have never been told that I’m overweight or ‘too skinny'” Bitch too fat.

“I have never felt overweight or underweight or ‘too skinny'” Bitch too fat.

“I have never been shamed for my bodytype” Yes I have.

“I consider myself to be physical attractive” That depends on my mental state.

“I can afford a therapist” I don’t know.

“I’ve used prescription drugs recreationally” I have.

“I have never had an addiction” I have several.

“I have never been shamed for my religious beliefs” Of course I have.

“I have never been threatened violently for my religious beliefs” Only online.

“I have never been violently attacked for my religious beliefs” Nope.

“There is a place of worship for my religion in my town” Nope.

“I have never lied about my ethnicity as self-defense” Nope.

“I have never lied about my religion as self-defense” Yes, when I believed in Jesus.

“All my jobs have been accommodating of my religious practices” They never knew.

“I am not nervous in airport security lines” Aren’t everyone?

“I have never heard the statement ‘You have been randomly selected for secondary passport control'” Nope.

“I have never been called a terrorist” Nope

“Nobody has ever tried to ‘save’ me for my religious beliefs” Often.

“I have never been cyber-bullied for any of my identities” Of course I have.

“I was not bullied as a child for any of my identities” Yes I was. Tomboy.

“I have never tried to distance myself from any of my identities” I have tried to be more feminine.

“I have never been self-concious about any of my identities” Of course I feel self concious when the people around me keep expecting femininity.

“I have never questioned any of my identities” No.

“I feel privileged because of the identities I was born with” Idunno, does this sound priviliged? And if yes, how many of the criteria that weren’t my fault, such as my parents being alive (yay), my parents being married (yay), or perhaps the country I was raised in is my fault? How does any of this invalidate my opinion? And I notice they never said shit about my ethnicity, because I get shit every time there’s a school shooting in America I get shit because my dad is from the US… or when they make stupid elections and shit. Oh, and my mother is from an island community on the west coast. Inbred jokes much?

Yay. I am so priviliged. Now give me my avocadoes.

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I’m sick: now give me your misery

“Hello everyone, look, look at me, look at my drama and ask me questions about it so I can feel superior when I tell you that I don’t want to talk about it” – that, that right there is what I get when someone starts some shit and refuses to finish it.

“I’m so mad!
“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Get done bitch. See if I ask next time.

Status: … [Insert name here] is feeling frustrated
Oh, nothing.

Right, because your dumb ass is feeling frustrated because of nothing and because of that nothing you wasted time and effort in posting a status consisting of an ellipsis.

My thing is that I enjoy other peoples misery and frustration, almost to a sick extent. If you show some sign of misery, frustration, sadness or anything of the ilk I want to know why, how, when and where and then scuttle off and just not care because I’ve gotten my kick and we’re done now. So I’m partially pissed that you’re being an attentionwhore, but also because my sick ass ain’t getting my kick of watching you virtually cry on whatever social media you’re using.

I think I live in a perpetual state of schadenfreude, and boy do I love the Germans for coming up with a word like that. Makes my life easier, and it really should be, because I am totally going to hell for laughing at other peoples misfortune on a regular basis.

I need mental help, coffee and avocados.

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I made it and Poetry

So… I made it! This week has been hell on wheels, if hell was indeed a caravan being dragged about by a five story monster truck. Obligatory school, work, hand ins, muses that bother me like the fucking whooping cough, fucking yay.

But I made it. I managed to wake up and go to college in time for my lectures, I managed to keep my yap the fuck shut and not yell at my worthless idiot of a boss, I handed everything in on time, and I got to write something for pleasure, not just pain.

I am the boss. And I need to hear myself say that again, so I will: I am the fucking boss. With underlining expletives to really point it out to myself how well I did by not breaking down this week. I am the fucking BMFIC, also known as the: Big Mother Fucker in Charge. I guess all that positive reinforcement in the mirror helped. Also, I am eating again, always an energy plus, because when I stress out I loose my appetite faster than I loose money when walking into a book store. That’s pretty damn fast, just saying.

I’ve been writing poetry and that also helps because the poet in me screams every time I walk into my workplace.

Avocados are rotting in the fridge!

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The Customer Service Voice

That thing everyone in the customer service business does. It’s a voice. You’ll notice that it is at least half an octave higher than the regular speaking voice of the person using it and certain words are bad, bad, bad because we have little kiddlywinks with atrocious manners and awful parents to placate so our bosses don’t yell at us. It’s also characterized by a certain demeanor, perhaps a smile that doesn’t reach the eyes, a laugh that sounds very short and dry, perhaps even exaggerated head movements. It is a thing, and it is a thing that has to happen because people don’t want to realize that it’s people that’s serving them. If we all have the same voice, the same head movements and the same laughs the blathering bumbdingers that swan into any establishment can fool themselves into thinking we are machines that do not feel, and do not react when a customer voices their disgusting opinion – on anything, really.

It’s also a voice that comes in handy elsewhere in life, like when you’re trying to hide how mad you are at someone, perhaps at a dinner party where you don’t want to cause a fuss. Perhaps on the bus when someone sits next to you and won’t shut their fat, useless, gob. Another fine use of this instrument of social navigation and emotional isolation is talking to people who remember you, but you don’t remember them. The horror, the inhumanity, you can’t let someone know you’ve forgotten their faces, names, the existence of the entire world they surround themselves with – it might hurt them! You know, because them walking up to you and starting a conversation with you makes it your fault you don’t remember them, am I right?

The Customer Service Voice – one size fits all, available to everyone in every language. Great for service work, awkward situations and anger management.

The greasy bald man from the next county over comes in to buy water and ends up chatting with you about the delightful Thai massage he had? Customer Service Voice.

The mom with five kids, no social life left to speak of and sees you as her only outlet for her frustrations? Customer Service Voice.

The complete stranger of a man who’s father-in-law just died of cancer and needs to vent to someone? Customer Service Voice

The woman who can never find her favorite cigarettes in any store but yours, but checks all the other stores first anyway and then comes to you and complains about it? Customer Service Voice

The old fart with too much time on his hands has been around to every other shop in the area and is now coming to yours to not only compare prices, but also complain about said prices to staff that can do nothing about them? Customer Service Voice

Some poor dear bought a ware that was priced down because it was going out of date, and it even had a warning label on it, and she comes back and expects to get full price for it because it had too short of an expiration date? Customer Service Voice

Little brat that comes in without her parents and eats candy without paying for it? Customer Service Voice

Parents of said little brat that comes in afterwards and picks her up without apologizing or paying? Customer Service Voice.

If only I could replace every one of those Customer Service Voices with long lasting or irreparable harm.

Avocado dance!

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I worry about stupid S***

No seriously, I worry about the stupidest shit ever. Just look at my bleeped out title, I was wondering if I was going to get flamed for cussing in the tile of my own blogpost on my own blog. That’s the kind of idiotic crap that goes through my mind at inopportune moments.

When someone laughs at what I’ve just said: did they think I was genuinely funny, or were they faking it?

When I post on Facebook: Has it been long enough between posts now so that people won’t be annoyed?

When I wear sweatpants out in public: are there any other people wearing sweatpants, I know it’s acceptable, but what if someone says something. (And yes, this usually occurs to me after I’ve left the house, and I keep forgetting)

When I buy snus (little bags of tobacco one places under the lip): I worry that people are going to judge me on my life choices despite me needing nicotine to calm the fuck down, even my stress therapist said it was a good idea after he made me go without for a few days.

When I wear my favorite hoodies.

When this

when that.

I know my one rule was to not go back on my opinions, and that my ass will be grass at some point, but holy fuck, these self set rules are just so hard to follow sometimes, but they do me good, they challenge my anxiety for well, anything that has anything remotely to do with human interaction, which in turn makes it easier for me to not speak to people in my customer service voice.

I need avocados.

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Anxiety Attack Deluxe

Oh fun. I’m in college at an obligatory screening of Dogma, one of my favorite movies, as a part of my religious art class, we’ve watched the movie, I laughed at all the times Loki shot some one, good times, good times. Then the hurdle comes: my boss calls. Normally this isn’t that much of a problem as I can either accept the extra shift or say no, depending on what I need to have done at school. Today, however, he called me, his heavily accented speech had become even more unintelligible due to stress. I couldn’t understand him, and, as usual, he couldn’t understand me, which led to him asking me to come by work, briefly, so we could sort things out. What he wanted was this: I need you to go to the neighboring county tomorrow for a seminar I forgot to tell you about. The seminar is for people who have received training in the rules and regulations for selling alcohol, and in our store, that’s you and MLL. Of course I freak out, because I’m never good with rapid changes of plans. Both me and MLL should go to these courses, so MLL fixed it with the municipal council so that the both of us can attend next year instead. Yay for bosses who have no clue about when exactly to inform their workers about things like this.

My problem with this? Rapid change gives me anxiety, which in turn makes me angry, which in turn exhausts me.The result? I went home, fell into bed, woke up at 11 PM with no hope of getting back to sleep. I hate that it takes such a little thing to completely fuck up my rhythm in life. I have school work to complete, two shifts at work this weekend and two oral presentations coming up this month. I don’t have time for anxiety-anger induced exhaustion dammit!

I need a shower, and an avocado.

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I want to be alone

Seriously. I want to be alone. I love solitude. If I were Superman I’d forego the entire second identity shindig and just stay in my fortress of solitude… after I installed Wi-Fi because I need access to my fanfiction or I’d die. When I tell people I want to be alone they ask me if something is wrong, if something is bothering me, or, even worse: is it something I did? That last one always manages to set me off, because, guess what, honey, my life doesn’t evolve around you. At all. I’m awfully self-centered in that respect, and I like it that way.

I do want to be alone, but I do not want to be lonely. Those two terms are not mutually exclusive, despite it being a common misconception in society. I know that people have a peripheral awareness of the fact that those two terms differ and just how they differ, but in real life they equate one with the other. Welcome to an extroverted world. I want to have my space, my alone time, and long, drawn-out inner monologues that take up a lot of time and require both good booze and good music, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want my friends or family. I just don’t want them in close proximity, on facebook, skype, discord or whatever right now. I still love them and want them in my life.

I do not hate people. Well, I do not want everyone to drop dead this very instance. Either way. I just don’t want to be surrounded by other people, not in the physical world, not online, I just want a blank page, my own damn good company, and perhaps a cup of coffee. It’s not that hard, is it? I don’t need the constant flow of other companionship, in fact, despite loving it when it happens, it exhausts the living daylights out of me. I need me-time to recharge.

No, nothing’s wrong, I swear to God. I just want to be alone with myself. And no, that is not an exclusive euphemism for masturbating, even if that sometimes occurs in that slotted alone time. I mean it, no conversation pressure, no one interrupting the wonderful thought flow I’m experiencing, no one to tell me this, that or the other, because honestly, sometimes people just give you the most useless of information and expect you to give a coherent reply.

No, it wasn’t something you did. Because if it was, I’d make damn sure to tell you. I’ve stopped being overly cautious about offending people, if they are being annoying crabwaffles, by all that is holy, I will write “annoying crabwaffle” on a piece of paper and hold it up in front of them. Or call them walnuts as I kick them out. Whatever.

The point is: I want people in my life, I need hugs, kisses, conversation and all that shit there that we’re biologically required to want, I just don’t want it as often as everyone else, and most definitely not with more than a handful of people.

Avocados baby!

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Miranda Sings Award

Hello! I’m usually not the re-poster type, but tryingnottohate, who is someone I respect and admire for being so open about their life and issues, nominated me and that made me feel all fuzzy inside. I kind of wish it was someone else that nominated me, because then I could totally put tryingnottohate in my bloggers-I-love list, because so many of the things in that blog resonate with me, deeply.

The purpose of the award is to let all of your blogging friends know what makes you happiest when thinking about yourself.
The rules for this shindig are as follows:
– Announce your win with a post and link the blogger who nominated you.
– Include the featured image on your blog post
– Nominate 10 bloggers (or as many as you can think of) and link your awardees in the post
– List 7 things you love about yourself (This can be about your appearance, your personality, your achievements, etc.)
– Don’t use negative connotation. (I.e. Don’t say things like – I’m prettier than an average person or People have told me I’m smart. You ARE pretty. You ARE smart etc!

Oh boy… here comes the 7 things… this is kind of hard for me, because where I live people cut you down for bragging so I’m not used to it.

  1. I love how I can take the simplest of ingredients and make a feast
  2. I love how I’ve learned to cut negative people out of my life… it took a long time, and a lot of effort.
  3. I love how I can cut and style my own hair
  4. I love my artistic sensibilities
  5. I love my vocabulary, both the good, the bad, and the ugly.
  6. I love my control over my anger, even though that control is tested daily.
  7. I love my tattoos, I designed them myself.

My Nominees:

Musings of An Insomniac for brilliantly putting thoughts that are incredibly hard to express into words.

Rylan Lanz at A writers path because the tips and tricks in this blog are amazing and well thought out. Seriously, every budding writer should check it out!

Kelly Stillwagon at I do and Adieu because her entire blog is just adorable, her posts are a bright spot.

Frank Solanki at Frank Solanki because the poetry is awe inspiring, truthful and worth re-reading, several times.

The blog BeautyBeyondBones because it’s uplifting while dealing with serious issues and the appropriate memes are always on point. Self love and self discovery wrapped in a well written package.

Sorry bros, that’s 5, not ten, mostly because these are the blogs that I follow and enjoy so far (I’ve just recently started this entire blog adventure) and I didn’t feel like betraying whoever ends up reading this by finding some random blogs I haven’t developed a connection with yet.

I’m back to loving avocados.

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Midnight madness

I need to stop with the alliteration in my blog titles, but it’s 4 am, I’m drinking Canada Dry and a trance song is giving me conflicting emotions, so I’ll worry about alliteration later. I am, once again, gripped in the struggle of existential angst. All of the feel-good, social-media-shared, written-by-wannabe-journalists tell me that intelligent people stay up longer, intelligent people have a greater risk of depression, all the things intelligent people do, because apparently everyone with more than two brain-cells to rub together act the same, right? If I follow the postulations laid before me by these, quite frankly, awful articles (and there we go with the alliteration, again) then I’ll presume, for the sake of argument, that I’m quite intelligent.

If this is the payoff intelligence gives me: sleepless nights, existential angst, vivid and weird imagery when I listen to certain songs, a never ending stream of consciousness that even plague me when I do sleep… then I don’t want it. I sometimes think life would have been easier if I was stupid. Not like lower double digits stupid, but just not brilliant enough to where people saw me as someone who could, and should, not waste their talents doing things “below their intelligence”… because that’s apparently a thing – the pressure to achieve when people discover that the fluff we’re born with between our ears has condensed and developed a sentient mold culture is immense.

My mother once asked me when I was going to stop studying and get a real job.

A real job.


As if the one I have now, as a part-time cashier, doesn’t bring home the bacon, give me valuable work experience and excellent anger management on account of all the assholes that swan through our store on a daily basis. I did get angry, and she did apologize, but she confessed I had to do something that befitted my intellect. What is this something that befits my intellect when a) I can’t even know if I’m average or not, b) have very little productive interests, c) struggle with bouts of anxiety on a regular basis and d) I’m just tired of everything.

I want to write, paint, draw, sing, sleep, read, eat, drink, and play.

I know it’s a selfish list that ultimately won’t contribute much to society, but this is what I want. I know I won’t be able to have it, but it is what I want. Also: I want to learn how to keep my potted plants alive. I am a simple human being, despite my purported intellect (which is a perceived notion from others, mind you, not a self made observation), I don’t want much from life. I just want to be average. I don’t care for glory, I don’t care for the entire shooting for the stars business, I just want to hold my head above water and learn how to swim.

Of course the pride my entire family has in me for completing a bachelors degree, which means I must be so smart (not fucking really, any half-assed idiot could do it… I did!) doesn’t help. And I’m just annoyed, really. That and I have issues asking for help. I want to ask for help, but then I’m also afraid to hear the thing I’ve heard all my life: “But you’re so smart…”… I’m not smart, I’m not intelligent, I’m just a human being breathing water and it feels horrible.

Fuck the avocados, I’m done.

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Normalicy is a subjective lie.

I saw a post by Brad Takei, as I’ve been holed up in my apartment with school work. For the past few days facebook has been, unfortunately, the window to the outside world as I’ve been buried in well over a thousand pages of course material. Mr. Takei’s post was a snapshot of the yearbook of one Sigourney Weaver, which showed her as a young woman with the words “Please, God, please, don’t let me be normal”. I, in my morbid curiosity, started reading the comments. And, as I suspected, the comments were sad. One comment went on to describe her movie roles and use that to set her apart from the hoi polloi, while another talked about the “bravery” that is associated by not being normal. Let me rephrase: the bravery of actually just being oneself.

Let me point out some of the fallacies that accompany the concept of normal.

A wise Addams once said, “Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly”. Basically: what is normal for once person might not be normal for another person. As similar as some people might be there are always discrepancies, even within such small and close-knit groups as families. Sometimes I feel that fictional characters teach us a lot about things, which is the joy itself about reading fiction and seeing underneath the underneath. You can look at me and think that everything I do is abnormal, weird, awful or just stupid, that’s fine, because, to me, you’re the abnormality. Normal changes from person to person, even if two or more peoples normalcy might align, the perspective of each person within a group is still slightly different from the rest. What prevents outsiders from seeing that is that the aligning normalcy of a group of people act like a blanket that can conveniently cover every member of the group so it’s easier to see them as a bundle and judge them thereafter – instead of a collection of individuals with aligning normalcy patterns. No matter what sort of person you are, there is possible to find someone with at least a smidgen of your normalcy pattern. We’re over 6 billion people on this planet, with more arriving or departing by the second, your normal will be replicated by someone, somewhere. There aren’t that many traits of the human psyche, and there are only so many combinations. Hang in there, you’ll find someone who hate yellow rubber ducklings just as much as you do.

The standardized normal that everyone thinks about when the concept of normalcy enters thought, conversation or the public media, is not just a group of individuals with aligning normalcy patterns. It also means that at some point, the group of individuals blanketed by their aligning normalcy patterns purported the “house, dog, white picket fence” way of living as the goal, the dream, and a measure of success. This is where the concept of normalcy gets tricky: everyone has their own normal, their own median, that might, or might not, differ from people around them. People tend to gravitate towards people within their median range, birds of a feather and all that, so that they create sub groups of their own normal where they can feel at home. The problem with this concept comes when one of the sub groups have more power than the other sub groups, and thus get to establish an unrightful claim of superiority pertaining to their way of life. Power can be status, money, knowledge or all of the above – if a subgroup, within a larger subgroup, has anything to hold over the groups with an inferior power-base then there are two outcomes: the ones that want to assimilate to the powerful group or the ones that distinctly remain on the outside either by choice or force. The concept of normal drives a deeper wedge between people than most realize – after all, is religion and belief not just a question of normalcy?

I always get so sad when people have to affirm their non-conformity, because it’s not possible for someone to conform, not completely. If you but two blond girls, 5 feet 1, in the same school uniform, with the same shoes, the same accessories, and the same make-up there is a chance that both would hate it, both would love it, or one would love it and the other would hate it. Even if their patterns of thoughts and feelings aligned, either on the love, or the hate side of things, the chance of these two girls preferring or disliking all their newly given clothes and accessories the same way and ranking them by preference identically, is slim to none. So please, don’t ask a deity for help to not conform to normalcy, because all you’re doing is creating a new parameter for your own normal. Sorry, you can never escape.

Also: love avocados, because they are delicious.

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