Alright queer community of Brown University, it’s time for you to square the fuck up. Yeah, you heard right, this is a callout post. The gayest thing of my whole goddamn STUPID FUCKING LIFE happened to me and I can’t even talk about it thanks to YOU. Yes, YOU. Continue Reading…
In imagining my perfect junior year life, my mental wanderings have all included two key features: (1.) living off-campus (2.) with some sort of creature-companion. As I recently received notice that I am #217 on the waitlist for off-campus housing, the former is looking potentially dubious, but I hear nothing leads to more change than blind hope in the system—so here’s to hope!! This potentially disheartening news, however, hasn’t stopped my internal considerations (and notebook doodling) of what would be the best pet to have while in college. So, please refer to this detailed pros/cons list the next time you’re faced with the tough decision of which pet to (potentially illegally) harbor in your ramen-riddled abode. Continue Reading…
Listen up, world. It’s Dana here, your girl. Long time, no see—and by “long time” I mean approximately the last 24 hours and by “no see” I mean I have only left my room once to trek up Thayer (headphones in and listening to The Carpenters) to procure the sweet nourishing nectar of a tropical smoothie from the creatively named Tropical Smoothie Café.
And to riff off the soft words of Karen Carpenter, just like she, I’ve longed to be close to somebody. It’s ~Valentine’s Week~ after all. ;D But (*le sigh*) the only bae I’m cuddling on this long February night are some spiteful germs that want to dull my iridescent shine (influenza is my #3 hater, right after low rise denim and lactose).
That’s right. I’ve fallen ill, just when I am meant to be at my most Powerful: I love kitsch, I love craft, I love Love. Despite logic and some foundational Marxist theory, I buy into the commercial zest of Valentine’s Day every year. I’m not entirely proud of this, but most February the 14ths, you will find me wearing some Peter Pan collared frock and handing out homemade, heart-shaped confections. Days where it is acceptable to dress and live ~in theme~ are my World Series and I’m batting .400, bby.
And yet, here I lie. Dressed out of theme and drifting in-and-out of consciousness. Writing these words in the dark sanctity of my room, basking in the isolating glow of my MacBook as the world outside me Burns in Love.
But guess what? The typing fingers of two strangers who recently matched on Tinder aren’t the only things hot with revelation. In my fevered state, I’ve made a couple of enlightening realizations about relationships, love, and orange juice. Here they are:
- The word “babe” is an abomination and will be banned as such under federal law as soon as I am the Executive of this country.
- Your exes have definitely looked at your LinkedIn profile. If you haven’t had any exes, use this as motivation to finally actually set up your LinkedIn profile beyond just creating the account. Let them know that you are a young, hot professional (#YoHoPro) when you inevitably breakup (#YoHoPros don’t! have! time! for anything long term).
- Orange juice, with a whopping 33g of sugar in a 12 fluid oz serving, is one of the unhealthiest Marketed as Healthy Things of all time. With this knowledge in mind, I will continue to drink it, vigorously and unbothered, thinking of the Vitamin C (that I could realistically find from better sources, like an actual piece of fruit) flooding my senses.
- In fact, lemme take that back. Perhaps societally projected notions of love and romance, with all their sticky-sweet connotations that leave me with a bit of a grumbly tummy, are the unhealthiest Marketed as Healthy Things of all time…and yet, I will continue to drink it, vigorously and unbothered, thinking of all the Serotonin (that I could realistically find from better sources, like an actual reconciliation with my own mental health) flooding my senses.
(Haha lmao too deep, too deep, it’s the flu talking. Gotta go drink some fluids, take a NyQuil, and love myself or something).
Image via Sarah Clapp.
Recently, VICE published a piece called “Let’s End Flannel as a Lesbian Signifier Once and for All,” in which Erin Sullivan, the author and presumable head lesbian, calls for an end to the use of the “lesbian flannel stereotype.” Sullivan argues that the trope is at best “corny” and at worst “downright offensive” and that it has no place “in 2018,” a year which we all know is praised for its total competence in protecting openly queer womxn. 2018 has been a baller year for gender equality! Aziz Ansari whomst? Louis C-qué?
Sullivan says there’s a flawed perception of what womxn who like womxn look like, and so she says the flannel’s gotta go. In response, I have compiled a list of other ways with which queer ladies could potentially present their sexuality so they too can convey that they are #gay. Continue Reading…
The only things George Lucas and I have in common are our poor taste in men and our luscious, flowing hair. I’m here with you today to speak to the former. Anakin Skywalker: Sith Lord, ruler of the Death Star, and my first imaginary boyfriend.
Perhaps it wasn’t that original that I commandeered someone else’s intellectual property for my imaginary boyfriend, but hey, can you blame a girl? Anakin stole my heart like he stole the lives of hundreds of innocent people throughout the Star Wars series.
Anakin Skywalker, or as I like to call him, Anny, was indeed my first ever true-to-Jesus crush and subsequent imaginary BF. I guess there’s something about watching someone fall into darkness and begin a murderous rampage that is tantalizing to a 10 year old. Continue Reading…
I have three main fears in this life:
1) I will tell someone I love them and then they’ll laugh in my face.
2) The fact that my skin is ALWAYS growing and that if my skin cells didn’t periodically fall off, they would just build up until they surrounded and subsequently suffocated me.
3) Tentacle porn.
This list breaks down pretty easily. The first reflects a deeper fear of rejection and of my inherent worthlessness. (Haha just kidding…. I know how to have fun. I’ve seen Glee.) The second reflects… something. I’ll get back to you on this one, but in general it’s just a reflection of the specific way my OCD chose to manifest itself (SO. MUCH. FUN.)
The third is where it gets interesting. Basically, it’s a reflection of my fear of the unknown.
I can’t recall the first moment I came across the term “tentacle porn”, but I’m assuming it was somewhere on Twitter or (ugh I can’t believe I’m publicly admitting to using this website) tumblr. But even though I definitely have heard the term, I still am entirely unsure as to its definition/significance/meaning/whatever/you get my point and its function within the already existing realm of porn. It’s this exact uncertainty– nay, this MYSTERY– that speaks to me– calls to me, even. But, unfortunately, my deep desire to know what tentacle porn looks like is at constant odds with my deep fear of ever having to actually watch tentacle porn.
In an attempt to become a Real Official Serious Adult, I’ve begun to confront my fears. So far I’ve:
- Listened to three Black Eyed Peas songs that I closely associated with my cringey middle school days.
- Watched 1 romantic movie without pausing it even once due to severe second hand embarrassment. Don’t worry, I definitely still felt it.
- Watched the Kylie Jenner pregnancy video in its entirety despite the pressing fact that pregnancy TERRIFIES me and that, also, I find Kylie Jenner’s entire persona to be slightly disturbing.
- Ate one vegetable a day. (Only for a week. But still. An accomplishment.)
You get the gist. I’m facing my fears and the next one up on the list… watching tentacle porn.
As I write these words in this exact moment, I am still a tentacle porn virgin. My eyes remain unsullied. And my mind, untarnished. However, in a few short moments I will be a tentacle porn virgin no more. For I, a sole crusader against the foggy unknown, shall soon bear witness to the intricate mysteries of pornography of the tentacle variety. Thus, with one click of my mouse, in the middle of Barus and Holley no less, I take one small step for womxn. One giant leap for womxnkind.
*Insert the 4 minutes it took me to watch the tentacle porn*
Okay…. So…… That just happened.
I realized that no words could accurately describe my experience so I made a video. But, before I present you with that, I will leave you with these words. Sometimes you don’t know something. And, sometimes, that’s okay. Sometimes, it was unknown because it should’ve stayed unknown. Forever. And I mean FOREVER.
I hope you enjoy:
Image via Sarah Clapp.
It’s too early to think about Valentine’s Day, you say? I beg to differ. It’s never too early to think about the overly hyped, cacao-production inducing, rom-com sale boosting holiday that is Valentine’s Day, because if nobody was thinking about it in advance, there’d be no reason for the killer chocolate sales 02/15. For some, Valentine’s Day is just like any other day. For others, it’s a dreaded day. And for a select few, it’s their favorite day of all (I can’t say I’ve ever actually met anyone from this faction). Despite the large part of society which carries on as usual on Valentine’s Day, there’s an overpowering manufactured hype (thx capitalism!!) that strives endlessly to convince us all that Valentine’s Day is most certainly not just any other day. As a result of this comes the odd behavior and stereotypical attitudes associated with ‘Love Day.’
For single folks, Valentine’s Day can take one of two routes: a celebration of your freedom (much as every day should be) or an odd disparagement of said freedom (internal dialogue a la “you need to be tied down!! Evolution says we must reproduce—where is your mate???”). Many of the proud solo peeps have redubbed 02/14 as National Single Awareness Day.
In the words of one single Brunonian, “Honestly being single is so ingrained in who I am I don’t remember which day Valentine’s is anymore.” Hey, maybe they’ve got the right attitude! Why should 02/14 hold such significance to us?
Plus, when people are either just in the throes of a romantic relationship or any of the awkward stages of a pseudo-relationship, Valentine’s Day can bring about a fair deal of weirdness. Do they buy their not-not significant other a gift? I mean, they aren’t dating but do their weekly hookup and polite pillow talk rendezvous mean absolutely nothing? At the very least they should get each other some of these:
If you’re in a relationship, the day becomes a great source of leverage for that special gift you’ve always wanted (like these). Or, maybe the day just becomes a point of contention because you can’t find the perfect place to have a Valentine’s meal, or can’t seem to buy the perfect gift. Or maybe the crushing weight of societal expectations is coming down a little too strongly.
Regardless of one’s relationship status, why should Valentine’s Day matter? There’s nothing all too great about Valentine’s Day beyond elementary school. It’s as though everyone forgot that love is for you and your friends, too! Nobody really wants a fancy dinner at a restaurant packed with other couples pretending they’re having fun when instead they could be sitting with their friends making some of these.
2018, the year of the return to the true meaning of Valentine’s Day: chocolate and friends.
I’m not sure how it happened, but they’re always there. Watching me. Following me. Taking care of me. Continue Reading…