#grlauren

Recently a few women that I care a great deal about have shared some things with me that, while I’m so grateful that they shared at all, has broken my heart and simultaneously made my skin crawl. 

There is nothing more heinous in this world to me than rape.

I’m sure many people will second me on that, but what really gets me is just how much rape varies. It isn’t always a strange man in an alley with a knife in his coat pocket. It can be a friend, a boyfriend, a husband. It can be once or repeating. It can be intentional or oblivious. Some women hold onto their secret for thirty years, others need an outsider to help them realize exactly what just happened. Either way, the result is the same: a woman had sex against her will and she is forever changed because of it.

If you know me at all, you know I’m a self-proclaimed feminist. For me, feminism isn’t about women having power over men. I think that viewpoint is just as harmful to society as men having power over women. What I try to advocate is gender equality…and sometimes that’s interpreted as a girl power, pro she-male, domination-of-all-with-penises kind of mentality. It sucks that my opinions have been skewed, even mocked at times, but it’s worth it. When a friend comes to me saying she should have done more to stop him, I can tell her with every fiber of my being, she did.

It’s never the victim’s fault. Never.

I’ve heard women inadvertently defend their attacker. They say, “I was wearing a really short skirt…,” or, “We’ve always been kinda flirty with each other...”

Well, you’re wrong. Plain and simple: if you had sex against your will, you were raped and you did nothing to deserve it. People talk complete and utter bullshit about what women wear and the type of “message” they’re projecting. Really? What about the message she projects with her voice? To me, that’s probably a bit more important.

Guys, it’s pretty easy to tell if a girl wants to have sex with you. One sure fire way to know is to ask. Ask her if what you’re doing is okay and if she starts crying during sex, stop what you’re doing – even if she doesn’t tell you to stop. This is part of being a respectful human being and has very little to do with the act of sex. And if she does tell you to stop, well then stopping would be a good idea. It doesn’t matter if you’ve slept together in the past, every time is a new time with a new emotion and a new consequence. If you can’t handle that concept then for the love of god, please stop having sex.

I’ve always had long hair. Well at least past my shoulders so it was able to get tangled in my armpits. It was feminine, pretty. Then something happened my freshman year of college and I needed a change. I don’t know, maybe I felt like I had no control over some of the things that were happening in my life and I needed to regain some power. Who knows.  But regardless of the reason, I decided to cut my hair. And just like that I went from hair that would get caught in my bra to hair that couldn’t fit into a ponytail.

  It may sound dramatic, but I think my fellow females will get what I mean. That hair cut changed me. It changed how I perceived beauty…how I perceived myself. Being a girl, we’re told round faces need face framing layers, or warmer seasons require highlights and beachy waves. If you have curly hair, try straightening it…straight hair? Here’s a curling iron.

  And it doesn’t stop there.

  Pear shape? Forget pencil skirts.

Big chest? No pretty bras for you.

Flabby arms? Make sure you always have a cardigan handy.

Cellulite? Try this apricot scrub infused with caffeine and seaweed to cover those unsightly dimples.

  Blah, blah, blah. Shut up, society, you’re a bitch.

  Who made these rules? Seriously, I want to know. Was it men? Do we follow these guidelines so we’ll attract a guy? Or did we do it to ourselves, girls? We just have to be prettier than the next girl? Either way, it’s dumb. Every time I hear a friend in a dressing room say, “I can’t wear this, I’ve got too many rolls.” I just want to scream. Too many rolls to wear clothes?  

  Now I’m not an idiot, I know no one wants to wear something that’s unflattering. I just think so many people get something stuck in their head, like a law written in stone that regulates which styles you can pull off and which ones you should keep a conservative 30 foot distance from at all times. But we make them up in our minds; no one will stare in disgust at your rolls if you decide to wear a tight shirt one day. Trust me, no one cares what you wear.

It’s happening.

  I’m shaking.

  My eyelids flicker to

erase the spots

littering my vision.

  My heart shifts,

no longer in my chest

but instead in my throat.

                        Do you know what your pulse tastes like?

    I’m shaking.

  My chest is struggling to inflate.

I have forgotten how to breathe.

                        Do I even need air?

    Why.

Why this head-on collision

with my adrenaline.

  If there’s no reason

then I’m crazy.

  Tell me,

what is the reason?

Does it exist?

  Reason saves me.

                        I own my body,

                                                only me.

    I remember to inhale.

My heart retreats to its cage.

My finger tips cease their shiver.

I’m back

hy·poc·ri·sy [hi-pok-ruh-see]  

noun, plural hy·poc·ri·sies.

1    a pretense of having a virtuous character, moral or religious beliefs or principles, etc., that one doesnot really possess.

  From the time I was old enough to ask questions of actual substance, I realized religion and I are not on the same page. Even as a kid, I remember praying at night and say things like, “God, I love you” only to think afterwards that if there is a god out there then he knows I’m lying. But I tried anyway. I went to church and Sunday school, youth group and retreats, only to feel like this path with God that I was supposed to be on was going nowhere.

  In catechism class, I remember asking why two people had to stay married if they didn’t love each other anymore. And why couldn’t women be priests. And why does saying twelve Hail Mary’s erase my sins and being genuinely sorry doesn’t.

  So I decided around the age of thirteen that I was officially not a catholic. I started going to my dad’s church, which is Methodist. I had a lot of fun there and made some lifelong friends, but my internal doubts were still there. I asked my Sunday school teacher why someone in the middle east who had never been exposed to Christianity would go to hell if they died; after all, they hadn’t accepted Jesus as their lord and savior. I asked, why are we the right ones? Why is our belief system the truth, the light, the way? What if Buddhists are the ones who have it all figured out? Would I spend eternity suffering then since I denied their way?

  He didn’t have an answer.

  So I decided maybe there isn’t one way. Maybe religion is specific to each person and what they believe alone at night is what is their truth. If they don’t believe in God, maybe they’ll die and never see one. If they are Christian, they’ll see Jesus welcoming them into heaven. If they’re Buddhist, they’ll keep striving for Nirvana.

  As for me, all I know is that I believe in a higher being. I think life is too complex to be chance. I think the universe is weaved perfectly in sync, all of us breathing each breath as intended by some great plan. I wonder frequently if we could use 100% of our brains if we’d see God sitting next to us on the bus or at work. Who knows.

  But with my belief system I try to lead a life without hate and with minimal judgment, which is something some “religious” people could try. I don’t mean to say my way of life is better, I just mean trying new things can lead to great personal discoveries. I think a lot of people get hung up on the title of “Christian” and if someone deviates from the title, then they themselves are a deviant. In actuality, there are so many people who live more generous, accepting, altruistic lives than the religious people do. I mean, how can you preach about loving thy neighbor, not judging for God is the only judge, and doing what Jesus would do, only to turn around and ostracize gay people for wanting to marry?       

I’ve been single a long time. Okay, I’ve been single my whole life.

  There are times when it gets old. I’ve shed my fair share of tears and encountered more rejection than I care to, but after this long I find myself caring a lot less about being single. Something shifted in me and I suddenly view being single as a beautiful opportunity: I get to do whatever the hell I want. I don’t have to answer to anyone and it’s pretty awesome.

  Have you ever noticed those couples who have rules? I don’t mean the stay faithful kind of rules, I mean the Can-I-Drink-Tonight kind of rules. The My-Boyfriend-Would-Be-So-Pissed-If-I-Cut-Off-My-Long-Hair rules…the I-Can’t-Hang-Out-With-Him-Because-My-Boyfriend-Gets-Jealous bullshit. Now, I get the whole compromise thing. Really, I do. But I tend to think that comprising dances around a fine line between healthy and toxic. To make it even trickier: that line is different for everyone. I know people who have sacrificed, or are willing to sacrifice, things I would never be able to. I’ve spent a lot of time on my own and it’s put some things in perspective. I’ve arranged three of my sanity-saving mantras in a convenient list for your viewing pleasure.

1.      1.  Emotions are fickle and can change without reason. Emotions don’t follow the rules of logic and so getting upset with someone about their feelings is pointless. Only get upset if they handled their emotions poorly; actions are the only things we have control over.

2.      2. Never let someone take too much of you. Due to point number one, giving someone too much of yourself means you’re willing too loose that much of yourself should their feelings change one day. Hold onto that piece of you that you don’t give, it’s what will keep you level headed when shit hits the fan. And it will hit the fan, in one way or another, the shit will fly.

3.      3. Someone who cares about you will only compromise your time and not the fundamental aspects of who you are as a person.

His black lacquer shell is shattered,

bits of anatomy resting beside its host.

The strength that once held fifty times his weight

has escaped him

as he graduated from being,

                                           to not.

  He is insignificant, we say.

He knows nothing but instinct;

no thoughts of tomorrow, or love lost.

He has no place in our world,

                                          Our homes,

                                                                                    Our lives.

  But he knows more than us.

He knows the great secret’s truth.

For he has felt the breath of the reaper

Warning: Many of you will read this and think either a. I’m crazy, b. I’ve got too much time on my hands, c. that’s really cool, or d. boredddd. But here goes nothing.

Lately I’ve been noticing that some words are lovers and some words are liars. The ones that are lovers are exactly what they say they are; they look like what they are and they just make sense. Others are liars. They aren’t what they say they are; some are actually the opposite of what they are. Who knows, maybe this is me actually going insane, or maybe it’s the result of too many writing assignments but it’s definitely something I’m intrigued by.

  Lovers

It’s one of the most satisfying experiences when a word looks the same on the page as it does when it’s pronounced. I realize I sound crazy but think about it before you ship me off to the loony bin. A word like…I don’t know…book. When you say “book” out loud your lips burst outward, much like the way the letter B bubbles out on one side. The double O’s force your lips into little circles. The K makes your tongue bend in a subtle yet awkward way; it goes up, nearing the roof of your mouth, before dropping back down behind your lower teeth, kind of the way the prongs of a K stick out from its post.

Now try: circle, icicle, tall, snake, orange, cactus…

Am I making sense yet?

  Liars

What about words that are liars? These are satisfying in entirely their own way. Words that say one thing but are actually not at all what they are claiming. I’ve come up with a few of my favorites; I know you’re itching to read more. Patience, young grasshopper.

1. Nothing. Nothing is one of my favorites because as soon as you say it or write it or think it, it becomes something. Its essential definition is the opposite of what it actually is. It is something.

2. Future. The second you say this word it’s already in the past. As soon as it solidifies, it’s a liar. You can’t say future without it being in the past.

3. Long. This one is just dumb. The word “short” is longer than the word “long.” Just stop.

              I’ve spent a lot of time people watching. I mean it. From my comfortable secluded window seat in any given coffee shop, I sit back and classify humans into categories and subcategories, like a scientist grouping beetles in a lab. I have no authority to do this, I’m not trained in sociology, nor have I done any kind of formal research. But I have learned a thing or two through simple life experiences. These experiences have helped me develop a fool-proof method of making sure I don’t make the same mistakes twice. Well, at least with guys.

            You can tell everything you need to know about a guy from the coffee he drinks.

  ***

  The Espresso

            This guy is probably in his thirties. You’ll smell his cologne before you even she he’s wearing a designer suit. He’s on the fast track to becoming the CFO for some Fortune 500 company and goes to Starbucks to feel in touch with us common folk. He’s the kind of guy who will spill said espresso all over said suit, when he returns to the office his assistant will find herself jobless. Alright, that probably won’t happen, but he’s a high-strung guy regardless. He has a lot of power and responsibility and most likely thinks pretty highly of himself. Why shouldn’t he? He’s doing quite well for himself these days. He goes out to exclusive clubs on the weekends and buys the prettiest girl there all the drinks she wants. This dude gets laid on the reg. I can’t even dislike him when we make eye contact as he leaves and flashes me a quick grin of phosphorescent teeth. Damn.

  The Chi Tea Latte with Soy Milk

            He breezes in, hair perfectly tussled in that teen heartthrob vampire kind of way. He probably has a hobo-esque floppy hat hanging off the back of his tresses. His jeans are too tight. Scratch that, his jeans are perfect. His white v-neck dips just low enough to reveal the edges of some kind of tattoo. His shoes are some kind of thrift store find that on anyone else would look creepy but on him they’re unique, quirky, geek chic. You’ll want to check him out, but resist. He’s all too used to having women ogle him, don’t give him the satisfaction that he got you too. Of course he’ll order the hippest thing on the menu and make it even more hip by opting for soy milk. Maybe he’s vegan, maybe he’s just too damn hip for 2%, either way it works for him. Bastard.   

  The Caramel Frappuccino 

            This guy is in middle school and popped into Starbucks to wait for his mom after school/practice/study hall. Poor kid feels awkward enough, don’t stare.

            If he’s not 12 years old, then he’s a bro. His foundation is burly yet he’s not the meathead bro it’s impossible to hold a conversation with. No, he’s the life-of-the-party bro. His name is Mike…or Brad and he is absolutely hilarious. Sure he’ll make his fair share of “that’s what she said” jokes, but you’ll find yourself laughing regardless. He’ll shamelessly slurp his whipped cream through the straw, plastic cup and dome lid dwarfed in his robust hands, and you’ll instantly like him. I don’t know why, either.  

  The Grande Triple Skinny Half-Caf Cappuccino

            Gay.

  The Regular Coffee:

            This one can be tricky to decipher. The Regular Coffee can range from the most genuine guy you’ll ever meet to the biggest douche on the planet. He’s either the kind of guy who genuinely likes the taste of coffee and drinks it for a simple pleasure in his hectic life, or maybe he just needs a little caffeinated boost and doesn’t need anything fancy for his fix. He’ll add a drop of cream and sugar depending on his mood, but he’s sticking to the basics for sure.

Or he’s the guy who’s got something to prove; he drinks his dark roast black coffee and hides his pucker every time he takes a sip. He pretends to enjoy the harsh bitterness of the ground beans to prove his masculinity. This, friends, is a douche. He’ll pretend to care about free trade issues and will only drink organic coffee to validate his position up there on his high horse. He’ll make you feel guilty for not caring about the coffee bean cultivation horrors that are still happening on a daily basis. Don’t get me wrong, he’s probably right. But he sucks, so no one gives a shit about what he says.

  ***