Sorry we’ve been slacking off on the blog. No excuse. Unacceptable. Won’t happen again. Mer and I are actually getting ready to finish up finals, pack up our stuff, and head on home for a while. As I was cleaning my room like a schizophrenic freak of nature, studying for my last two finals (screwed for them, in case you were wondering), and saying goodbye to some of my friends that have already left for home, I started thinking.
I spent a lot of my first semester in college thinking about boys. Big fucking shocker right? I’ve always spent a lot of time thinking about boys. But it was different now. It was a new ball game. And no, I wasn’t in the game. I was the umpire. Calling out my friends on bad calls (random, sketchy hook-ups) and fouls (sleeping with people that you just shouldn’t sleep with). I don’t mind being the umpire. Well. I kind of do. Sorry. On a tangent.
As I was saying. I realized I spent too much time worrying about meeting guys. Wondering what guys thought of me. If I looked good enough to catch a guy. If I was as pretty as the girl next to me at the party, who by the way looks like a malnourished child from a third world country. So much time wasted on that one guy. The asshole that doesn’t see you the way you see him. Just like in high school. Hours wasted deciding if a skirt makes you look like “shamoo” or if a shirt makes you look like a “disgusting whore.”
I have a question for all of you. And for myself. WHO IN THE HELL CARES????
Ladies, I don’t mean to go on a women’s empowerment rant. But I want all of us to realize that the time we put into ourself, the make up we so carefully paint on our faces, the stupid ass way we degrade ourselves just so our friends will boost our ego and pretend they don’t know we’re fishing for compliments- all of this stupid crap is just… stupid. But if you’re going to do it, cause let’s be honest here sweetheart, you’re going to, at least do it for YOU.
When you decide to dress up and look hot as hell, do it because YOU want to. Not because you want some douchelord, belligerently drunk, frat house fucker to want you. Go out when YOU think you have enough make-up and YOU think your skirt is short enough. NOT when your friends have painted your face to the point where you look like a acid-tripping character from Moulin Rouge and your friends have convinced you to pull your skirt up to the point where you’re “almost a whore, but in a good way.”
I’m just so sick of us always doing things for men. For the benefit of men. If they don’t like what they see, they should get their eyes plucked out. We need to do things for ourselves. Be confident in ourselves.
And ladies, trust me, i’m not saying that I practice what I preach. Half… okay more than half of the shit I do is for the benefit of the male species. A species otherwise referred to as apes. I’m as low self-esteem as they come. Trust me. Pathetic.
And one more thing, no more of this degrading ourselves. There’s just no point. NO. GOD DAMN. POINT. If we don’t like ourselves, why should anybody else?
Now, I know i’m being preachy as shit. And no, this isn’t a gospel church. I’m not reading from the book of psalms. I’m just sick of living my life in fear of what men think. They’re just as fucked up as we are. They have just as many flaws. Probably more.
In closing, i’d just like to say a word to all those random assholes we tried to impress on Saturday nights, and even those few guys that we really, REALLY thought we loved but just wouldn’t notice us……..you weren’t worth it anyway darling. You’ll most likely have a future working in a SOLO cup factory. Enjoy your benefits. Fuck yourself.
NICE GIRLS DO NOT FINISH LAST,