Suck and Blow

I know I've been MIA as of late. And by MIA I mean, missing in action, not been in Miami. But while I was gone, I did a lot of thinking. And by a lot of thinking I mean I just sat and brooded over things.

I've come to the conclusion that like 96.29% of people suck. I'm being generous here because I honestly think the percentage is higher. And sucking does not mean a girl/boy gets down on their knees and sucks. It can mean a multitude of things. I mean honestly, why do so many douche bags roam the streets? It's really getting to the point that I don't want to answer my phone or leave the house. Then I stopped to think and that was very serial killer-ish and I don't want that reputation. Also, one of my top ten fears is being killed by a serial killer and no one wants to be one of their fears.

I'm going to compile a list of examples of things that make people suck. (thecheerleader helped me on this part. two brains are better than one, usually)

• People who lie consistently. There is no need for that. Just because you live in a distorted reality, doesn't mean you have to pass that along to others. Don't spread the love.
• Homophobes. Don't be mad because we can please your girlfriends better than you can. We mean you no harm. It's not a disease. You aren't better than us. You are just ignorant.
• Serial killers. I think this one is self explanatory, but I don't know any serial killers. At least I don't think so. I'd rather not know.
• Kids who walk into schools and shoot them up. Honestly, no further words necessary.
• People who just change for no reason whatsoever. One day they are sweet, friendly and the next day they are cold hearted and distant. How can you do that? Also, if being cold and distant is how "you usually are", don't pretend to be something you aren't to make people like you. Be yourself.
• When someone exaggerates in a repetitive fashion (i.e. "That guy lied so I fucked him up," "That girl looked at me wrong so I fucked her up," "My mom yelled at me so I fucked her up")
• When desperate girls talk shit about the guys that won't give them the time of day but its so obvious that they want them.
• Ex-girlfriends who IM current girlfriends to "warn them". Listen buddy, I know you just want your ex back. You aren't doing me any favors, so go back to looking at pictures of ex on your computer, while playing 'your song' and crying.
• 'Friends' who try to make out with your younger brother. Just...no.
• People who talk incessantly during a show or movie that you are really watching. Quit asking me what the movie is about and pick up the dvd case and find out for yourself. I hate pausing every 37 seconds because you feel the need to play twenty questions.
• Katharine McPhee. She's so hot, but she married Nick. We all know you are a lesbian. Kellie Pickler was in your wedding party for a reason and it wasn't to hold your flowers.
• People who make excuses for everything. Something must be your fault at some point.
• The "Mafia". Seriously?! Fucking Scarface. Cubans don't even sound like that.
• Girls who are ugly, but think being a whore makes them hot. Herpes doesn't equal delicious. Sorry.
• Significant others who think you are in love with your best friends. Seriously?!?!?! If I wanted to be with my best friends, I would be with them or at least try. Don't be insecure towards me because you want your ex back.

Okay, so there you go. That list could probably go on for another three days, but I am choosing to stop now. Quit being morons and irritating the world.

Until next time kids,
-Jess

you'll go out in style

"Nothing happened. But don't you see..." He shakes me. "Something could have happened and it would have happened because you weren't here, because there are things more important to you than being with me. You never want to be with me." He shakes me harder and I have to think of something else, something that can make me feel like this isn't happening. "You don't care a thing at all about being with me, really being with me, and all of a sudden, she comes up and she wants it! Yeah! You know some people really do want it! Everybody's not like you, Jo. Everybody's not frigid and unfeeling. You're fucked up all by yourself. Don't you see? The crying, the way you never say anything -- you're crazy!"

The smallness comes back, like being wrapped in cotton, so fragile; I can't feel my heart, my breath, can't find a thought, can't cry -- numb and black spots -- light too bright.
-Jill McCorkle

And so it goes, right? He's an asshole who's cheating on you or getting way too frustrated because you're not begging him to drop his pants every five seconds and then YOU'RE labeled cold and unfeeling.

I am so sick of men. I hate romance. I hate that just because I'm scared and need a second to breathe before I sacrifice my life for you I'm a bitch. I hate people who say they're in love just because they don't know better. I hate people who can never just be alone. I hate people who make me feel bad or weird because I just want to be alone. I hate that I feel like everyone else is ahead of me and I'm constantly rushing to keep up. I hate that this makes me have boyfriends that I don't give a shit about. I hate that I don't give a shit. I hate that it only hurts me because I'm embarrassed. I hate that I knew it was going to end before it really even got started. I hate that I have a million and one questions running through my head but he can't even give me the decency to answer them. I hate that I always feel like its my fault. I hate that sex has become such a big deal. I hate that no one understands how easy it would be to make me fall in love with them. I hate how low my expectations are. I hate that I am called low maintenance but really I don't care and sometimes I'm too selfish. I hate that I can sit here and write this list of things that make me think of him and he couldn't even pick up the phone. I hate that I fixate. I hate that I sometimes second guess myself. I hate that I cry about things that sound good because I don't know what I'm supposed to be feeling. I hate that I think I could write this down but other people always make it sound so much better. I hate that sometimes I think what he did is my fault. I hate that this fucks with me so much. I hate that I look back and change too much in my mind. I hate that my life would be a great lesson for other people but it won't stop so I can't start from anywhere. I hate that people can't see that I'm trying to open up. I hate that I don't want to tell anyone why I'm scared. I hate that I think it would make a difference if I just said I don't trust anyone. I hate that I seem so capable of being hurt and falling right back into this hole. I hate that one minor setback with one guy reminds me of what he did to me and makes it hurt way more than it should. And I fucking hate that this list is so damn long.


Peace, Love & Bianca Ryan (may she fill her tiny body with hate)

Dear American Idol

Dear American Idol,

I have watched you for almost seven long years now. I have dealt with the ridicule of fellow friends my age. I have dealt with having to hear how much everyone just LOVES Clay Aiken. I have dealt with with Taylor "I'm You're Dad" Hicks winning over Katharine McPhee. I have dealt with haters talking ish about Kelly Clarkson. I have dealt with the moronic fans of the people I actually like (re:Carrie Underwood and Kelly Clarkson).

But, let's get something straight here between you and I, Idol. I understand that you gave me Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood to obsess over. I appreciate the stunning voices and flowing golden locks (mainly from C. Unds)...also cowboys hats. I know you also gave me Katharine McPhee to watch and grow as a person. And by grow as a person I mean become hotter each and every single week, but not speaking words. You made me question my sexuality and I WENT WITH IT. I blushed as Carrie Underwood arrived on the Sin Wagon and Katharine McPhee humped the ground and had wardrobe malfunctions. I thank you for that. I thanked you for that for days upon end with sacrifices to the lesbian gods (Ilene Chaiken and Betty).

I still weep when I see these moments or think about them. Here's the issue. Idol, you tend to disappoint me sometimes. And by that I mean always. You gave us Kelly Clarkson, but then ruined her life. (Thanks 19 Management. But not Ann Edelblute. Holla!) You produced Clay Aiken and Ruben Stuttard (IN ONE YEAR!). You gave us Fantasia, who couldn't even read. The Brittnum twins whose spirits had been brok-uhn, also shattered my soul. Why is Paula Abdul still a judge? Whose her drug dealer? Give me their number. Remember Lisa Tucker and how she sang Kelly Clarkson and thus ruined her life? She screwed over all sixteen years olds (Paris, ...uh Paris?) after that, minus Jordin Sparks, but still her. Selling twelve CDs (Taylor Hicks, Jordin Sparks, ...Constantine?) does not make you successful, obvs. Also, can we talk about Constantine and Corey Clark being the fucking creepiest people in all of history?

Um and let's not forget the mess of life that is Jessica Sierra. (Please catch her on Celeb Rehab on VH1. It's gold.) Thank god for pregnant crack whores everywhere. They have an idol to look up to.

I'm willing to try and overlook these faults if you do me a favor. Fuck all the dumb ass auditions. Fuck all the ugly people who can sing. Give me hot bitches. I mean, honestly, who takes you seriously anymore anyways? Just let me be shallow. Give ME a reason to tune in every week. Give me low cut dresses and no morals. Show me knee high boots and wild, curly sex hair. Give me bitches who don't talk, just look hot. Give me two girls "innocently" flirting, but actually make out backstage. Give me lesbians with flowing locks and who flaunt skin to get votes. Give me someone who will work to make me vote (less clothing, more cleavage). Give me Katharine McPhee before she spoke and had a fifty year old gay man fiance. Give me girls without eating disorders (just one). Give me hot bitches who just don't give a fuck. Give me something to make me believe in you again.

Give me a reason to be shallow again.

I know some parts of this letter may have been harsh, but you have to know it comes from a loving place. I want to believe in you again. I want to be excited that it's Tuesday night. I want to laugh at Ryan's corny jokes and fat Randy. I want ghetto stages and Justin Guarini. Make me love you again. It can be done.

I hope you take into consideration everything I've said.

From the bottom of my heart,

Jess, the littlest lesbian.

Dig Deep

This blogging thing is kind of difficult. It's a lot like when you get a diary/journal/whatever you call it so you don't sound like Harriet the Spy and you say (usually as a part of the first entry) that you're going to write in it constantly and blah blah. That lasts for about 3 days and then the next entry happens about four months down the line and starts with "Sorry I haven't written in a while..." To prevent this, Jess and I talked about what shows we could talk about seeing as our conversations are mostly serious discussions (ha) about things we're watching/reading/listening to...however I do not have cable at school. So in the meantime I will just continue to write down things about my life and cringe as I read them back. I'm learning I do not fair so well on a computer screen. I embarrass myself. Speaking of that...

I love to come home and, once again, end up the butt of the gay joke. You know what Jess? You say plenty of creepy things and no one RECORDS you just to make you feel exposed and vulnerable at any opportune moment. This is like the time you wouldn't believe me that I was gay. And just because it turns out I'm not doesn't mean you can't let me dream. It's called tact my friend. I'll send you a coupon and you can buy it with your next bottle of tequila you Cuban. Gosh, I love you. But I really mean I less than three you because I have affection issues and I hate typing those words. Ha. Hm.

So this weekend I went to my roommates house to celebrate her little brothers 6th birthday. And, yeah, we got his ass drunk. And by that I mean I'm lying. But anyway there's a little ish with going to her house -- her mom looks like fucking Jennifer Nettles. If you don't know who this woman is, please look her up. It might do you good. So we exchange pleasantries (and no Jess I did not cop a feel) and I sat on the couch to take the leap into self loathing for a little while. And I would have wallowed in it way longer only there was this awkward little other issue I was having...

Ok, so, you know when you get the feeling that your friend's dad is hitting on you? My roommate actually lives with her mom and step dad who's only about 10 years older than us. I think he's still in the "young" bracket which is why he was being a little flirty with me. And I mean --knee grabbing, staring at you till you look back, get you in an empty room-- kinda flirting. Ok maybe that's not flirting, maybe that actually is him being two seconds away from slipping a rufie (roofie? roofy?) in my koolaid? Whatevs man, I ran like the wind when he came around. Also, when you get the feeling this is going on...trampolines aren't the best idea. Trampolines by windows where said stepdad can stand behind curtain -- you're just asking for it. Clearly I asked for it, vomited, and then asked for some more with a smile. Totally giving those Lifetime girls a run for their money.

Also speaking of conversations that make us laugh/vomit I'd like to share the conversation my roommate and I were having about our bitchy weight lifting teacher:

JC: ...yeah you could show her the strongest muscle in your body!
Roommate: NO! I don't want to show her my vagina!!
JC: ...


And also, Jess (yes, I have to write you on the blog because we haven't spoken in like a fortnight -triple word score- ) have you forgotten that you lose the computer after 9? You're being warned that payback is a bitch. Mortified doesn't begin to describe my feelings. And you bet I tried to go in and edit but it won't let me. Bitch.

Peace, Love & Bianca Ryan (may she thank me in her Grammy speech) - JC

Maybe I'll meet a lesbian in weight lifting....

Well, today was sadly lacking in the lesbian department. However, my friend did tell me that her professor began class by saying "Go around the room, say your name, and something interesting about yourself. I'll start. I'm a lesbian. OK, go!"

Ok seriously, if I had been in that class I'd be presented with two problems. The first stems from the fact that, no matter what, when someone tells me they're a lesbian they become a little more attractive to me. (I say "no matter what" and by that I mean the girl has to be generally attractive, but that's besides the point.) I realize this is a weird thing for a straight girl to say but it's like when I find out a semi-attractive middle aged man is a teacher and suddenly he's George Clooney. The second problem I have is I'd want to be friends with her and check out the female students in class and laugh with her about it but I'm sure she'd be all "You're not a lesbian, this is not allowed" and then I'd be alone...still checking people out, but laughing to myself...like a weirdo.

But I guess it doesn't matter because she is not my teacher. I have yet to meet my weight lifting teacher (by the way why the fuck are we taking PE in college) so, yeah, fingers crossed there.

Anyhoo today was the first day of classes and because these first day sessions are a bunch of bullshit I was slowly cultivating a list of aggravating things profs do on the first day. I'm going to do this top ten style because it makes me feel like a late night host and I've always wanted my own talk show, duh.

10. Please don't assume that because it's a 100 course we are all freshman. There is this thing called a requirement that forces all students regardless of their age to participate in courses far below their competence level (and sometimes not). There is nothing I can do about it. Trust me.

9. Stop acting like your class is the most rigorous one at the university. You will not scare me into dropping the class -- and the students you're trying to "weed out" by saying stupid shit like this either aren't listening, sleeping, or not there. Save your breath.

8. When it comes to course books -- don't stop class, roll up your sleeves, and soften your voice to tell me the "secret" about you hating textbooks. Every professor says textbooks are too expensive and then promptly shows me the lovely new books I need to buy. And seriously what is with professor's hawking their own books? You wrote it, why can't you just summarize that thing for me? I'll take the money I saved and feed a country in Africa. Also, don't try to offer me solace by saying I can sell them back at the end of the semester. Do you know how much you get for a book that's over $100 dollars? About $3.50.

7. Please don't make us go around the room and introduce ourselves. Your attempt at an icebreaker is useless. Students make friends in their classes by going out, getting wasted, and screaming across the bar, "Like, OMGz, you're in my WOMEN'S STUDIES CLASS! Let's SIT TOGETHER!"

6. Do not force us to stay the entire first class period on the first day. Everyone expects to leave early, that's not too much to ask. Throw us a bone. You have our souls for 14 weeks, man.

5. Sending out an email with homework BEFORE the first class period is lame. Very lame. Most kids aren't checking their email. They're out drinking before being forced sit through the first session of your own personal form of torture.

4. Today, to get our attention, the professor starting chanting Tarheels. Just...don't do that.

3. If you don't want to have any actual contact with me, fine. But, there is no reason for you to get on your high horse and shove us towards your teaching assistants as you moonwalk out the door. It's YOUR class kimosabi.

2. What is with professors getting so angry over people tape recording their classes? Out of the 3 classes I had today "No tape recorders!" was in huge black letters on each syllabus. What exactly are they going to say that we can't put on tape? I could see if they said don't bring tape recorders to office hours or something. That would be helpful because then you'd know some freaky shit might go down there and you could stay away from that mess. i.e."..Is that a tape recorder in your pocket or..."

1. This is a serious issue I have -- if YOU as the professor are not going to show up on the first day, therefore canceling class, send out a DAMN email. It is not hard, I promise you. Today I walked around a sweaty, boiling hot gym for 45 minutes only to find out we had lecture in a different building. Again, weight lifting in college? --...and now it has lectures? What is this shit? Well, then I get to this supposed lecture sesh and no one is there. Lady, you have a class list, use your super weight lifted body and flex those finger muscles. Email me, call me, send smoke signals...I don't give a shit. Just don't make me walk my ass down there for nothing.

The sad thing is, now that I'm done with my list I actually have to do homework and I have yet to document my walk with a maybe lesbian. It included squirrels and future homes. I don't know about you, but that gets my mouth watering for a damn good story.

Peace, Love, & Bianca Ryan (may she hit puberty gracefully) -JC

The Second One

Well I am currently not feeling as witty as Jess (please see the title for this post) but I agreed to do this because Jess is Cuban and I bruise easily. But also because I have a feeling that there is a side to being a lesbifriend that few talk about (that would defeat the purpose I suppose) but many experience.

You remember that boy that everyone thought was gay in high school? You and your friends frequently got changed in front of him and might have told him all about you and that shower head? I am that boy. Well, no, not really. I am a girl. But somewhere along the journey from blushing as Carrie Underwood introduced me to my first girl crush (oh the days of crimpy hair and flannel shirts) and befriending an interesting gaggle (yes, a gaggle) of lesbians I have come to admire my fellow females and their ambiguous nature. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that makes me laugh a little inside when a not-so-knowing (and sometimes an interestingly knowing) friend tests the boundaries of modesty and friendship. Call me Kinsey, but this happens more often than you'd think.

I've decided to sprinkle Jess's blog with the frequent (yes, I'm a magnet, frequent) accounts of my run-ins with friends, roommates, coworkers, acquaintances and others. If this doesn't sound interesting please remember...I'm straight. And I have a slight blushing problem. And I flirt to overcome it. Yeah.

Peace, Love, and Bianca Ryan (may she always wear undies) -JC.

The First One

I'm hungover and it's almost eleven o'clock on a Sunday. On a whim I decided to start this. I think it's going to be stupid and maybe three people will read it, myself filling one of those spots. But obviously, negative thinking won't get me anywhere or something like that. (Also, I love AutoWin. Go read her, like yesterday. No, she didn't pay me to say this. I've never even spoken to her, but she's a genius.)

I should maybe introduce myself. I'm Jess or Jesticle, if you are drunk. Never call me Jessica. It's just not kosher. I'm twenty years old and I may or may have not created awesome. I'm a lesbian and completely okay with liking girls more than boys. Boys are good for penis references (lots of them), Tenacious D movies, and buying lots of beer. Obviously, they are also good for more things, but I don't have the time to devote more time to the things that boys are good for. Just take my word for it.

I just told someone that I'm feeling enlightened. And by someone, I mean my girlfriend Ashley. (Introduction of first person. I feel like I am going to put in my random thoughts/tangents in parenthesis. Just go with it.) Why is it after you drink and you don't throw up the next day, you feel like the world just makes sense? I mean, obviously, it doesn't, but maybe for a hot minute it just does.

For example, last night there was a party at the boys' house. (I'm going to just have to introduce the characters that take part in my life as they come up because they are so worth knowing.) (The boys equal Ryan and Steven. Also may be referred to as: the twins.) It was pretty chill, which made me happy. I like just drinking, dancing, and discussing life in general. (The three D's. I made that up off the cuff. Jealous?) I totally was able to gauge my alcohol intake so I was feeling a nice hearty buzz the entire night without getting sick. This maybe have been the beginning of my enlightenment. Anyway, as I was being made fun of for the thirty seventh time about making out with Jose, I realized how much I just love my friends. (Yes, Jose was a male. I mean, still is, but whatever. We made out because I was extremely intoxicated like maybe three months ago and they still have yet to let it go. Apparently being a lesbian and making out with a boy is hilarious. I disagree, but that's just me.)

I mean, everyone loves their friends, but sometimes you just don't realize how much. Friends who just take you as you are. No questions asked. I was terrified of coming out because I knew my family wouldn't react well and if my friends shunned me, who did I have left? I don't know why, they totally were like "yeah, we knew" and moved on to talk about LiLo or Britney Spears or world hunger. One of the three. I was bracing myself for being thrown into the ocean or tied to a tree and being left to die. Maybe that's an exaggeration, but you get the picture.

The boys were also cool. They treat me as one of the guys. Steven once asked me what my perfect 'boob' size was. (A handful if you were wondering. Which if you were, is a little weird.) Girls just wouldn't ask you that, unless they were also lesbians.

Anyway, before my three thousand tangents, I was discussing enlightenment in my hungover state. So, I fell asleep on the boys' couch around six am and woke up around eighty thirty or so, which was obviously the universal time because everyone trickled out into the living room one by one. Monica was the first to speak to me. (Monica is my best friend. She's Cuban and Italian just like me, so it's like destiny. Plus, she was the first person to speak to me when I transferred my senior year of high school. And she is obsessed with Dora the Explorer, which is irrelevant, but is relevant so you can picture the type of awesome that she is.) Ryan came out after Monica. (Ryan and Monica are dating. Without Ryan there is no Monica, without Monica there is no Ryan. I got that in a Fortune Cookie once. Maybe...) Danielle was soon to follow because Steven was furiously pacing the house because he was leaving to go pick someone up from the airport. (Danielle's nickname is D-Whore, which I made up last night. Everyone used to tell me that she was exactly like me, except straight. Now that we've met and hung out a few times, I see it. Obviously, I am funnier. I was voted funniest in my graduating class. That totally counts for something, right? Lie to me.) We were all lounging around the living room, consuming as much water as our stomach could hold so we wouldn't be so hungover.

About two hours later, after much chair shifting and a few bathroom trips to clear stomachs (not me obviously), Steven decides to turn on the CD player, which held Third Eye Blind. We were all jamming and singing the lyrics under our breath, when Ryan and I catch eyes from across the room and both of us go: MONTAGE! We both were on the same wavelength. The vibe in the room with the music going just screamed montage that we started creating it to the horror of everyone else in the room. We got so into this montage sequence that I'm pretty sure everyone else was rolling their eyes at us. We entitled it: The Morning After Montage. We decided it would have us all sped up while we went through the normal Sunday morning routine. It doesn't really matter what we envisioned (just imagine perfection paired with a Third Eye Blind song), but it was just one of those moments where everything was clear. I know montages are cheesy and ridiculous, but sometimes they just are perfect. Why waste time on all the insignificant moments? Just focus on amazing times that should be immortalized in a montage of awesomeness.

Ryan and I kept up with the montage theme for the rest of the day. We were laughing each time we brought it up. (Also, we sang the montage song from Team America.) It just made me want my life to be a series of different montages set to songs that meant something in my life.

For example:

"Summer Wind" - Frank Sinatra: When I was a baby, my dad used to put me on his shoulder and slow dance with me to this song. It is the first song I remember ever recognizing.

Various 90s Pop and Dance Songs (Re: Britney Spears, Spice Girls, 98 Degrees, MC Hammer, Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, etc.): I loved being a 90s kids and all my montages from this time should be set to the best music from this period. Also, inter spliced should also be clips from Nickelodeon shows (Are You Afraid of the Dark?, Salute Your Shorts, Hey! Dude, All That!, Legends of the Hidden Temple, etc.) just because they define my life a little bit.

Rap Songs that Basically Define South Florida (Re: Pitbull, Daddy Yankee, Ying Yang Twins, Ludacris, TI, etc.): I realize I am a twenty something white lesbian who lives in West Palm Beach, Florida, but rap is an essential part of my life. What would we have to dance to if we didn't have rap? And don't tell me techno because I might throw up. Besides, my best friends and I (JAMN: J-Jess (me), A-Annie, M-Monica, and N-Nicole) used to drive around blaring rap and trying to learn the lyrics. It was just awesome.

Songs That Makes Me Cry (Re: David Gray, Sarah McLachlan, Tracy Bonham, Butch Walker, etc.): I know that's depressing and everything, but that's the point. These montages wouldn't be legit if they didn't show hurt. And trust me, I've had a lot of hurt. It's a part of life and obviously deserves it's own set of montages. I also hope they are done in black and white or sepia, because when montages are done in those colors they mean business.

The Theme from St. Elmo's Fire: I know you are probably shaking your head and cursing David Foster right now, but just calm yourself for a hot second. First of all, if you haven't seen this movie, go buy it right now. It's brilliant. Rob Lowe plays the sax like no other and Demi Moore does crack and has the best hair I've ever seen. But back to the point: the theme. That masterpiece plays in the background when anything life changing happens to one of the seven hundred characters. Who wouldn't want an inspirational song to play softly in the background when something major was going to happen to them? I want a montage of all my life changing moments accompanied by this song.

End Example Here.

I know that was quite a long list of examples, but once I started I couldn't stop. Actually, this entire blog is a lot longer than I originally had planned it and by originally planned I mean, I actually didn't plan it at all. Isn't life also like this? See! Enlightened I am telling you.

I don't really have a genius way of ending this blog. The only thing I know is that life isn't a montage. It isn't neatly packaged into a three or four minute song with inspirational swirls and sepia tone. It's long and drawn out and isn't usually accompanied by a soundtrack. (Unless you walk around with a boombox. I am talking about 80s/90s type of boombox that would probably break your shoulder if you tried to carry it around. I think I may start doing this after I pump some iron. How awesome would that be?) It's messy and hurts. You cry and problems aren't solved in an hour and half. But sometimes, you want to forget all the in between. You just want to see your life in a series of montages, if it's only for a second.

So, here's to montages. Here's to putting our lives to songs and cutting out all the bullshit.

Until next time kids. -Jess