Why the fuck should I care if anyone thinks I'm pretty?

I was at a pub with some awesome people - five girls and one guy. He said he didn't really feel like 'one of the girls' so I lent him my alice band - which had a big black bow on it. (He totally worked it, for the record.)

We had a few laughs and a little while later he handed it back. 

Then some random middle-aged man came up to me and said, "Give him back the bow - he looks much cuter in it than you. No offence, hahaha!"

Naturally, I smiled. I do that when I'm nervous. Then I told him to fuck off. I do that when I'm not happy. And then, because he thought I was joking, I ignored him until he went away.

The conversation in our group was a bit stunted by that rude and awkward encounter, but it started to flow again. More jokes, more shots, more silly stories.

But I wanted to take the bow off.

I couldn't WAIT until I could take the bow off. 

In fact, the only reason I didn't reach up and pulling it off  right away was anger. Anger that some fucking random douche in a bar thought he could a) tell me what to do, b) insult me in front of my friends and c) make me feel like shit because...?

Because what? 

Because I let my mood - nay, my entire self esteem - be dictated by the whims of a random stranger.

Because it's normal for someone like me to feel completely collapsed by a smidgen of negative attention from someone like that.

Because he thought he - as a male or a white guy or king of the universe or whatever - believed he had the right to dictate how I should look. 

Because every single day, society tells me that I'm worthless unless someone thinks I'm pretty.

And what the fuck is up with that?

I don't think I'm really under the thrall of mass media. I roll my eyes when big media posts a picture of a woman existing, and declares that she's flaunting or bravely baring her body. Like every moment of a woman's life is spent trying to project her hotness to the general public. 

Like the idea that a woman might just fucking BE instead of obsessing about how she looks is inconceivable.

But clearly, some of those messages stick like splinters in my subconscious. From Seventeen to CNN, every institution tells me: 'To justify your existence, you must be beautiful."

It's also something that bothers me about the fat positive* movement. Of course, as a fat girl I appreciate the acceptance and understanding that fat positivity brings. BUT it bothers me that so much fat positive stuff boils down to "Look -  fat girls can be beautiful! Fat girls can be sexy! ALL THESE MEN approve of plus-size women! Yaaaay!" No. Not yay. Boo.

Boo for "but at least SOMEONE thinks you're pretty" being the bottom line.

Boo for that raw inner nerve that's still struck by a random man being rude to me. That tiny belief that if only I were beautiful, I'd be safe. 

That nerve that's still there even though I know I am smart, talented, and loved. Even though I know in my head that I am a valuable human being who has a right to exist - no matter what I look like.  

Confession: I thought about ending this post with a picture of me in the offending big-bow alice band. It's tempting to end on a note of "But that guy was wrong, I DID look totally cute!" 

But I won't.

I don't have to prove to anybody that I'm pretty.

I don't have to care.

I don't have to give my power away.

And I'm going to keep telling myself that, until that raw nerve is healed up by my self respect.

*Obviously this is only a single facet of the fat positive movement - and I do think it's important as a whole. I just think the "don't worry - fat girls can be pretty too!" thing is misguided.

Sail: An Open Letter To Myself

(Disclaimer: I have never been sailing, nor do I have a clear idea of what a boat looks like. But just go with it.)

The more I stay here, the more I see that destiny is only the direction of the breeze.

It's up to you to hoist the sails, get on the water, build a fucking boat.

You could go your whole life procrastinating, letting your nerves and doubts keep you safe and sad.

Moving forward, getting something done, creating something worthwhile, is not something that happens to you.

It comes from hard, unsexy, uninspired work. It's about choosing a sense of accomplishment over comfort.

Comfort is lovely.

Comfort is a dangerous narcotic.

You must work on something that makes you happy, otherwise the work will exhaust you.

Everyone is built for something. Everyone has that thing that pushes all their happy buttons at once - being a stay at home parent, a game ranger, an entrepreneur. 

But finding that thing doesn't mean being high all the time. It doesn't mean that confusion, frustration, or fear will never return.

Finding it just means that the wind is in your sails. That's a big deal, a big relief, a big chance to be the best person you can be.

But it's just that: a chance. Not a promise or a money-back guarantee.

Actually doing it, choosing the forward motion instead of fighting with your crew or bobbing around the water in a place that looks good enough.... that's up to you.

So go.

Sail.

Critical Drinking and other discoveries

I've been at my job for a month now.

These are some things I've discovered.

I wish we had one of those Antique Roadshow type shows so I could find out if these discoveries are worth anything...

1. Everyone is numb, and everyone's resigned to that fact.

Though there are no sad little cubicles and flickering fluorescent lights, my job's still at an office and there are still the hum of monitors, bored sighs and and furtive glances for managers followed by monotonous gossip*.

Back in the day, my young, impressionable, only slightly perverted mind saw Joe Versus The Volcano and believed that nine to five was just as may-as-well-commit-suicide-ish as Joe's experience at the beginning of the movie. But now that I know all about magical realism and have dealt with my crush on Tom Hanks, I know that it was ever so slightly exaggerated. But, like all bad-in-a-weird-but-kinda-good-way movies, it was based on truth, man.

Fuck yeah corporate life.

There must be some neurological speed camera that could measure how much duller I get throughout the week. On Monday I'm like Perky! Happy! Lunchtime already, woo! and by Thursday I'm like Oh. Hey. Yeah. No. Huh? No.

2. Pretending to work is even more tiring than actually working.

You would think I'd have learned this in varsity, but when you're working on an essay and decide to take a 'refreshing study break', you can sit on the couch, eat ice cream and put in a Friends DVD. At work, if you're not in the mood to put in that last 45 minutes of effort before home-time, you can't just grab your Kindle and go chill on the couch in the lobby. Firstly, because there are always weird ladies sitting there and they never talk to each other, just glare at people and judge their vending-machine choices. Secondly, did I mention there are CAMERAS EVERYWHERE?

So if you're not in the mood, the best you can do is sit at your desk and stare out of the window, wiggling your mouse now and then so that the screensaver doesn't come on. Yaaay.

3. I suddenly understand the appeal of going out every weekend and getting incredibly intoxicated.**

 I call this Critical Drinking, because it's as close to critical thinking as I've gotten over the last few weeks, and by that third tequila it feels pretty critical. Red-wire blue-wire big red numbers COUNTING DOWN kinda critical.

While I enjoy the odd party, I never really got clubbing until now: the loud music drowns out your thoughts, the dim lighting hides your flaws, and the alcohol makes you brave in a world full of limits. It's a strange alternate universe that serves as an antidote to the quiet, sensible sameness of what's become my everyday life.

You know what else I didn't get until now? Hangovers. I had my first bona fide hangover the other day, and it was so unexpected that at first I didn't know what was going on. I woke up (at like, two in the afternoon) and thought MAN WHO MADE THE WORLD LOUDER, COME ON GUYS. NOT OKAY. It wasn't cute. Don't drink, kids. And if you do, take painkillers and a big glass of water before bed instead of falling asleep drunk like a dumbass.***

4. I actually sympathize with people who want to DO STUFF in their spare time.

I still see myself as the mossy, fuzzy rock that rolls her eyes at all those rolling stones for having so much energy. But now that I HAVE to sit around and stare at a computer for most of the day, it's sort of lost its appeal as a low-impact hobby.

I actually want to feel alive in my spare time. I'm exercising. I'm steaming veggies. I've signed up for roller derby, ffs. Me. Doing a sport. That requires a mouth guard.

So that is the handful of unexpected discoveries I've made as I slowly morph into a tax-paying citizen. And they said it'd never happen because of my forearm tattoo!




*I feel like my writing's gotten worse. FMWC. (that's fuck my writing career, y'all.)
**I haven't been around cool kids in a while so I'm not sure if the term "wasted" is still in use.
*** Somehow I don't think that clause is going to make it onto many high school sobriety pledges.

A Fascinating Glimpse into the Psychology of Dasia Has A Blog!

{Edited To Add: If you're at this post to see Benedict Cumberbatch weequashing, kindly skip to question 19, and from there read until the end, and then stop. If you hit the comments, you've gone too far!}

I know it's Writing Wednesday, but the thing I was going to post today was super lame. And this post is about blogging, which is sort of like writing, EXCEPT WITH MORE ALLCAPS.

I've realised far too late that today is the SOPA and PIPA blackout day. While I totally support the fight against this, I can never be as hilarious and on point as The Oatmeal about it, so check out his page today and learn more about why American censorship would break the whole internet.

Meanwhile, I've had this in my drafts for like a month...

Community Meme from Sunday Stealing! I can never resist a meme! Found through The Geeky Shopaholic.

1. As a blogger, what do you draw inspirations from for your posts?
Generally when a rant in my head / to my sister starts forming itself into bullet points, it'll turn into a post. As a rough guide, anything that excites me or pisses me off will make for a good post!

2. If you could swap blogs with another blogger for a post, who would you switch with and why?
I'd love to post on Yearning For Wonderland once, because Anna's blog a) is really awesome and b) has a vastly different tone from mine. She's all whimsy! fairies! fancy hats! and I'm all CRASSJOKES and SNARKYREVIEWS and MASHBOOBSONKEYBOARD. Come to think of it, it'd be funnier to see what she comes up for my blog rather than what I'd do for hers!

3. If your blog had a theme song, what would it be? Why?
IT'S THE EYE OF THE TIGER IT'S THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT.
Excuse me for the text-karaoke, I can't resist allcaps when it comes to this song. Not only is it hilariously motivational on its own, please observe this very beautiful man doing a very silly lip-sync to it.

4. What is your writing process for a post?
I usually decide on the topic about a week before it's due. Then I draft it up and feel really productive. Then I forget about it and freak out on the day it's due and spend about two hours re-reading and previewing it until I finally post. Then I hyperventilate until someone comments on it. Healthy, huh?

5. Your blog requires a cute, new, mascot - what would it be?
Well I'd be hard-pressed to find something cuter than a momonga, which was my first mascot!

squeeeeeeeeee. (source)

6. Do you feel you express your "true self" on your blog?
In a way. I'm far more honest and - erm - expressive here than in real life.* But I'm also aware that people on the internet don't care about the stuff that real-life people have to care about. So when I'm a sadface I don't post about it, I JUST SQUEE THROUGH THE TEARS.

7. What is your biggest online pet-peeve?
Oh, so many. The biggest ones are probably when people on twitter beg for followers (OMG I'm nearly at 1000 followers I just need 998 more PLS RT!!!!!!) and when bloggers put cheesy, distraction animations up - snowflakes falling, bats flying around, etc - I saw one recently where a poorly-animated twitter bird actually flew around the screen and sat in front of the text. It irks me, I feel like there's bugs on my screen!

8. If you could live in a fictional universe, where would you live? Why?
I'd live in the Pokémon universe because there isn't any intense fight-for-the-world thing going on, but it's still pretty magical. Also, you don't need an education and nobody ever dies. I'd totally apply for Team Rocket, they were my favourite. Prepare for trouble! And make it double!** 

9. You're having a bad day, you're upset, you're angry, or you're sad - what is your go-to comfort?
Tin-roof ice-cream or emo rock - I know, I know, I'm a walking cliché! 

10. What is your favorite inspirational quote?
Oh, so many. I love quotes, don't make me pick my favourite! But here's one I dig, by Goethe:

Plunge boldly into the thick of life, and seize it where you will.

11. If they were to make a movie based on your life, who would play you, your leading lady/man, your best friend, and your rival?
I would be played by Merrit Wever (the amazing ball of awkwardness who plays Zoey on Nurse Jackie) and the movie would be me in a padded room with a laptop surrounded by gremlins who represent the voices in my head. It'd be deep.

12. Do you think the world is going to end in 2012?
Did you know that 150,000 people die every day?  So a lot of people's worlds are going to end in 2012, when you think about it. And that number's probably gonna go up once the zombies take over. 

13. If you could change anything about yourself, what would it be?
My self-worth or my thighs. I can't decide. My thighs think my self-worth would be the more mature answer.

14. What is your favorite season and why?
I love Autumn because the world cools down.

15. You've been bitten by a vampire. Would you fight it with all your undead being or would you embrace it for all it is worth?
I'd embrace it. I'd finally have an excuse to sleep in all day! And kill people all night!

16. Have you personally met any of your blogger friends?
Yes! I know Ali in real life. Though I knew her before Linguisticali Speaking was even a thing so I'm not sure if that counts. I bet it does though.

17. What does your favorite pair of underwear look like?
Your mom.

18. Have you ever drank something right from the container in the refrigerator knowing other people will have to drink out of the same container later?
 Yes, it's the first step in my plan for world domination.

19. What is your favorite word and explain why?
Oh no you didn't just ask a writer to choose a single favourite word. A short sentence is the best I can do:

Benedict Cumberbatch weequashing in crisp twilight.  ***

• I might have mentioned that I like Benedict Cumberbatch, and his ridiculous name is one of the things I like the most about him.
• Weequashing is a lost word I came across in The Phronistery, which is an awesome site. It means 'spearing of fish or eels by torchlight from canoes.'
• Crisp is one of the best words ever.
• I've always loved the word twilight and its abuse is just one of the many, many reasons I dislike Stephenie Meyer.

20. 2011 is soon coming to a close (told you I took forever to post this), is there anything you'd like to do different on your blog in the year 2012? 
Well I made the biggest change late last year by starting to post regularly and, um, putting more effort and thought into my posts. This year I want to read more about comedy and decide if I want this to be a comedy blog or an everything-blog.

If you guys are bored and you have a blog (what am I saying - everyone has a blog!) you should post this and link it back to me so I can read it!


*Although I'm quite inappropriate in real life as well - but because I don't have a week to edit the things I say in real life I come across as awkward and deranged rather than witty and ironic.
**It makes me sad that I had to google the exact phrasing of that quote. I'M SO OLD. 
***If  somebody would photoshop this scene, I'd love you forever.

EDITED TO ADD 

The Amazing Stasia has proved her amazingness once more...

Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you...

The picture that made me laugh until I cried tears of squee...

 BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH WEEQUASHING IN CRISP TWILIGHT!!!

:D :D :D

View the larger, fancier version of this epic piece of art at my facebook page - and while you're there, click like! 

Awesome reader Lair Sapir also made a version, in which the good canoe itself announces Benedict's mission! Those eels better watch out!

MOAR WEEQUASHING

So yeah....
I LOVE YOU GUYS.

Here's the thing about Misha Collins...

Let's have a disclaimer first: I haven't been in the real world in a long time. So over the past year or so, my fangirl tendencies have sort of, um, intensified. It's not dangerous or creepy or anything – I mean, I don't know exactly where Benedict Cumberbatch lives. But it's not for lack of googling.

I haven't really mentioned Benedict or any other recent boyfriends obsessions because this blog is supposed to have some measure of – I don't know – self-respect? Shame? Um, no, that can't be it. I think because I just hate reading uncritical, unchecked squee and I can't bear publishing it under my own name (and Anonymous Has A Blog! didn't have the same ring to it.)

So here is my first entry of Checked Squee*. I really like this term because it sounds like a small fowl that rich people eat. Go on, doesn't 'Checked Squee and Plums on Wild Rice' sound like a recipe for a pretentious main course? It does? Good. I love writing, you can't hear the people who disagree with you.

So here's the thing about Misha Collins...

We could just leave this here.

I started watching Supernatural because of him. He plays the angel Castiel, which is a pretty name so I'm already on his side. I'm superficial like that.

He appears in the fourth season, looking like a disheveled office worker with his hair a little mussed and his tie a little loose, as if he's just finished fucking a secretary over his lunch break. Rawr. He also appears with terribly dry lips for reasons best known to the stingy make-up crew. I assume it's in their contract that only series regulars get complimentary lip balm – or maybe the catering on set only has low-cal sand and dust to keep anyone from looking bloated. We may never know. The point is, he shows up and it's good. (Just to be clear, Castiel is an angel, but like a BAMF** angel.)

Part of Misha Collins' appeal in Supernatural is that he’s a great contrast to the two stars. Jared Padalecki (Sam) just a cutie – he has these puppy-dog eyes and these dimples and this overall sweetness about him. I bet he'd hold his girlfriend's hand during The Notebook instead of rolling his eyes and asking what else is on. Jensen Ackles (Dean), try as he might to deepen his voice and square his shoulders, is goddamn beautiful. This is a guy who could have had a long and happy career in soaps because he's pretty like a girl. Frankly, I don't know how he gets anything done, because if I looked like that I'd spend all my time licking my own reflection.

And then you have Misha Collins: handsome but not overgroomed, serious, with this deep smoky voice and a strong soldier vibe. The character of Castiel is also well crafted and perfectly suited for Misha – he has a wicked sense of humour and really shines when Castiel is unintentionally hilarious. This video won't let me embed *shakes fist at the sky* but here's a great moment: Cas runs out of minutes.

Castiel also has fangirl appeal because he's mysterious – his appearances brief and unexpected, his message important and his morality ambiguous. Nobody screeches the car to a halt and demands to know how Cas feels inside. He's refreshingly stoic and his appearances bring a lot of gravity to a story otherwise skipping towards the apocalypse. (I'm talking about seasons 4 and 5 here, because in my mind seasons 6 and 7 are pretty much a big-budget fanfic.)

So maybe I got a little into Misha Collins. That's fine, perfectly manageable, and usually sorted by  the youtube cure – watching a few interviews with the actor in question. 

The thing about actors is that they're usually so disappointingly ordinary, and while you might enjoy watching them pretending to be fascinating characters, it's easy to cancel your plans to marry them once you see them umming and awing through a Q&A panel or a red carpet question-assault (I hate red carpet interviews – I don't like seeing anyone feeling rushed and overdressed.) Past actors I've stalked liked include Jim Parsons (Sheldon from Big Bang Theory) and Zachary Quinto (Sylar from Heroes) (shut up, I know they're both gay, but I can change them with my love***) and the youtube cure worked quite well for both. Jim Parsons, bless him, is so easily flustered and distracted that it's quite painful to watch him being himself. Zachary Quinto takes himself a bit too seriously and dresses badly. He's also made several Funny Or Die videos, most of which fall into the Die category.

I might mention Benedict Cumberbatch here, but a) I'm still not over him even though he's cheating on me, and b) he is so special and British and delightful, he's going to get his own entry soon.

So I looked up Misha Collins, and guys, the youtube cure didn't work. It just made everything a million times worse. This guy is – see, if this were unchecked squee I'd say things like 'amazing', 'epic' and 'extraordinary'. But since my blog is all critical and snarky and pseudo-intellectual, I'm going to say he's nuts. Media people keep calling him 'eccentric' and the term 'Misha being Misha' is a fandom tag – and when the fandom is lost for words you know you've got something special. But I'll try to put a finger on why I can't get him out of my head: he's funny and smart and witty and random and completely self-assured and basically everything you want in a boyfriend.

My obsession snowballed from youtube. How is this guy not A-list when he's got leading-man looks and can string a sentence together and not bump into the furniture? Ah, here's the critical part of this entry. I'm not going to say 'because Hollywood is unfair MISHA FOR PRESIDENT' because, come on.

Part of the answer might be that it's easy to make him break – there are so many stories of the cast and crew, especially Jared Padalecki, (whom the youtube cure did work on because he seems to me like a bit of a douchebag now) pranking Misha, resulting in dozens of ruined takes. So maybe cruel, heartless sabotage has followed Misha throughout his career? 

Then again, it could just be that he makes poor decisions. I recently watched Divine: The Series which he stars in and helped create. And while I approve of the Misha Collins as a priest kink role, the rest of the series was fairly rubbish. In fact, it was so rubbish that I couldn't summarise the horror in a few sentences, so you can look forward to a terribly unkind review of it in the near future. Oddly enough most people think Divine is alright, so maybe that's just me with my troublesome critical thinking.

More things about Misha Collins... he's smart. Like, went-to-college, had-jobs-where-nobody-told-him-what-to-say smart. He goes to Tibet or someplace for ten days every year to meditate. Enlightenment is hot. He built his house and most of the furniture in it himself. He's a carpenter. LIKE JESUS. And he plays an angel? That can't just be a coincidence.

No seriously, I want my money back on the youtube cure. Part of its purpose is to cancel out the scary fangirl trains of thought that involve moving to LA and advertising to be a dogwalker in your beloved's neighbourhood on the off chance they might pick up a flyer and say “Dasia... hmm, that sounds like the potential name of my future wife. I think I'll give her a call.” More often than not, that train's derailed successfully when I confirm that my beloved is a cock enthusiast whom I probably can't change with my love.

In Misha Collins' case, he's married, with a kid. Aw, that's nice. Wouldn't want to break up a family with my feminine wiles and mad dogwalking skills****, would I? Of course not. What's his wife like? She's a psychologist. She looks smart. They must be happy. Oh, she wrote a book.

About threesomes.

Lord, give me strength. How am I supposed to get over this guy when I know that he and his smart wife regularly invite guest stars into their bed? Excuse me while I book a stow-away spot on a fishing boat to LA.

Oh, um, looks like I’ve let the squee out of its pen and now it’s running around unchecked. Something negative, something critical… well, for one thing I imagine that like anyone smart and witty, Misha Collins can really be a bitch when he wants to be. But that’s purely conjecture, seeing as googling “Misha Collins being a bitch” didn’t yield any relevant results – in fact, the very first entry that came up was titled ‘Misha Collins is a sexy bitch.’

Damn right he is.

*Make sure to stress the 'ed' : checkED squee. Now say it five times fast.

**For a long time I thought this acronym was in the MILF family, and sprained some creative muscles trying to figure out what it meant... BAMF... big... ass... must... f-?! No. It stands for BadAss MotherFluffer.

***I know I can't. Shut up.

****My skills are mad, not that I can walk mad dogs. Which I can't. Or regular dogs. Any proclamations of mad dogwalking skills are false.

NOTE: This entry includes 2 pictures that aren't copyrighted to me. I found both via google - one on blogspot, the other on tumblr, and credit wasn't stated in either 'original' location. I'd love to credit, so if you have original credits, please let me know! And Misha, if you're reading this, fuck off, no you're not.


EDITED TO ADD:

Hey there, blog wanderer!

Thanks for visiting, but if you're looking for something a little fresher, go visit my new site ThatDasia.com.

Here you'll find my YouTube videos, new blog posts, reviews, social media insights and even my freelance offerings.

See you there!

Tempting the universe

Things are good, I think!

I can't really tell because I have this ambient anxiety, but when I question it I realise I don't actually have anything to worry about*. It's weird.

As for my ever-flowering writing career, I've joined up on Jottify so if you want to feel some secondhand embarrassment and read some of my stuff, go ahead.

It's hard not to be embarrassed about the stuff I write, because there are so many feelings and the grammar is always awkward and nothing is ever good enough. But life's too short, right? A while ago The Onion had the headline 97-Year-Old Dies Unaware of Being Violin Prodigy. I found it oddly poignant. I don't want writing to be an opportunity I missed out on because I desperately avoided the temporary discomfort of feeling judged and vulnerable.** So there!

*I don't believe in jinxes, but this just feels like tempting the universe. Don't be surprised if next post is about a gang of rabid otters*** taking over my building.
**This is also why I'll never be a stripper, but I think that's a good thing.
***Joke shamelessly stolen from the amazing John Finnemore. And yes, this is a footnote within a footnote. It's a toenote.

ETA: I think I was being silly with the whole 'tempting the universe' thing. All is well. Give me a minute, someone's at the door. Oh look, it's a friendly otter! It's so cute and whiskery. I wonder why there's foam around its mouth though...