"I don't think that being a strong person is about ignoring your emotions and fighting your feelings. Putting on a brave face doesn't mean you're a brave person. That's why everybody in my life knows everything that I'm going through. I can't hide anything from them. People need to realise that being open isn't the same as being weak."

- Taylor Swift

Monday, July 27, 2015


Now Playing: Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift (give me something that will haunt me when you’re not around)

We should talk about sparks.

(I am aware that this ramble might make me come off a little cuckoo.)

Girls like me – not-white, not-skinny, not-cool, not-pretty girls – are supposed to settle. I see it all the time; I know a slew of insecure girls who introduce me to their distinctly uninteresting boyfriends and can’t even think of a redeeming quality aside from ‘he’s nice’. Which is code for ‘he picked me, he has a penis, and isn’t deranged, so I can’t complain’.

The long story short of why I’m still single is that people generally don’t settle for me, and so I returned the favour and refused to settle, too. I don’t settle. Because I like sparks.

The only way that people talked about ‘sparks’ when I was young and stupid was that the deranged said it was love and the cynical said it was rubbish. They were both wrong.

When you’re a nerd – even a nerd of the distinctly artsy persuasion – you hang around with a lot of science geeks, and the science geeks like to babble on about the chemistry of kissing, of sexual attraction, of falling in love; analysing the oxytocin and saliva and bacterial exchange of those moments when you feel like your veins are turning into pure sunlight. As much as all this talk of germs and neurochemicals is kind of unpoetic, I do think they’re onto something; the spark is a chemical, physical, visceral reaction that is entirely irrational.

One of the most dangerous things I was told when I was younger was that that rush, that spark, is falling in love; as in, you’ve met the right person and they will treat you right.

I didn’t get that spark for my first kiss. The only thing that comes to mind is just total absolute shock followed by extreme guilt and then emotional overload. But it came, eventually, after a couple more kisses, punctuated with a lot of rambling and mumbling on my part. It felt like surrender. That was the start of ignoring reality and all the red flags that came with the real world. I had my spark.

It is difficult and painful to think about that time, and how so much hurt has tainted that golden rush of three years ago. But it was still there; I still remember it. With the benefit of retrospect, I know now that neither of us loved each other; but the chemistry was there and the life experience was not so we called it love.

And for the people who asked me why I stayed in a toxic, abusive relationship, yes, the spark was part of it. I didn’t know what it meant, but it meant something. I wanted that rush again.

There was a period of the most aggressively vapid, disconnected intimacy after that relationship went down the toilet that I don’t like to think about, and then the spark, again. I remember everything just sort of clicking into place, that strange, surreal moment when the two most unlikely people collide. I remember the scent and sound and feel of the moment; I remember, for the first time in a long time, arms around me that felt like home. And that was when I finally connected the dots that the spark is just something that happens in the moment, and that it doesn’t say much about the other person other than you have good chemistry; and god knows you can’t build a whole lot on that. This friend and I; we don’t talk much. We have nothing in common and fight all the time. But when we are alone together, quietly, the chemistry is undeniable, and that was when I learned to accept things that only work in the moment, things that don’t really have a past or a future, just a present.

And the spark isn’t really necessary, you know, in those fleeting relationships that happen in the blue hours before the sun rises. I remember meeting someone and having one of those painfully awkward conversations that you can only have when a slightly drunk engineering student tries to chat up an arts student nearly a decade younger. But we ended up having a good time, even with no spark. It was just like hanging out with a friend. A friend that you just met, that you have sex with.

I was eighteen, don’t judge me.

But you can’t build a whole lot without the spark, either; and sometimes the spark just doesn’t happen, even on people you’re dead keen on. I remember meeting someone at a party, and I just wasn’t feeling it. Objectively, he was very attractive; out of my league several times over. And he was lovely, as far as pretty strangers go. But no spark. He just kind of grew on me, later, when we were doing more talking and less aggressive face eating. We were both smooth talkers, which is a bad mix.

The spark never came, but we still managed to go down in flames. And when people constantly badger me with ‘but you did want something, didn’t you?’ or ‘but you were jealous, right?’ I really, really wish I could tell them about the spark, or lack thereof, without sounding crazy. There wasn’t any spark; and even as friends, we never really clicked. And even when I had a crush, even when I was in over my head, I knew nothing was going to happen and so I tried very hard to ignore the gossip and focus on my friendship. And now I just focus on trying to not sound crazy.

You know what else is crazy? Smell. You know when people just smell…strange? Like, not after-gym BO, just not right, and nobody else seems to notice? I think that’s the opposite of a spark. The physical chemistry is off.

It’s the most surreal feeling, when you kiss someone and you get that spark. On my birthday, it just sort of happened, with a beautiful stranger who was all kinds of strange and uncouth and trouble. And for the first time, I didn’t think about after. I didn’t think about maybe. I didn’t think about what if. I didn’t think it was love or anything other than just this spark of chemistry that just meant that on a visceral, physical level we connected, but everything else was all rather ethereal. I just went with it and it was beautiful, and then it was shitty, but I remember that spark and that made it special.

I get a lot of shit for being fussy. I often do the kiss and then politely leave thing. I haven’t been blessed with love, yet, but I have been blessed with a few precious moments. Some of them are marred by pain or fading into memory, but they happened and I am always happy that they did. Because quite separate to the many other joys in life – falling in love, curling up with a good book, dancing to hip-hop in the shower – the spark is something we don’t talk about, or we misunderstand, or we don’t give enough credit to.

I’m still young and reckless. I’m living for my next spark. I don’t know when, or who, or how, but I know it’ll happen and there will be something exciting to think of in my moments of nostalgia. People come and go, but that rush…there are no words, sometimes. And when people puzzle over why someone like me could stand to think well enough of myself to not settle, it’s got less to do with arrogance or confidence and more to do with the fact that I know what I would miss out on, if I settled for less than the spark (and also less than, you know, a decent human being). And that’s a price I’m not willing to pay.

Thursday, July 16, 2015

embracing brokenness

Now Playing: Like Real People Do by Hozier (I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask it, neither should you) 

I think I've finally reached a point where I am secure in myself.

I've always lived in a state of malcontent. I remember being in primary school, finding increasingly obscure places to sit and mope, feeling like this time of my life would never end.

I read a collection of Buddhist tales around this time. One of them talked about This too shall pass. Some famous prisoner wrote this over his bed in jail, and then again when he had cancer. I felt like that. This too shall pass. But I didn't believe it. By the time I left primary school I had spent three quarters of my life in that place, which is a big thing to process for a twelve year old.


I did this through high school, too. Always pushing myself. I wouldn't be happy until I went to uni, no, until I'd graduated, not even then, not even until I went to school in England, and even then only after I'd finished with a handful of fancy degrees. I wouldn't be happy until I had a dream job and a dream house and a dream spouse and a dream child and I just wanted perfection, you know? I would look at my sheets that didn't match my pillowcases and my spotty adolescent face smeared with cheap makeup and the fact that I didn't have many friends and didn't have a boyfriend and I just wasn't happy.

(I realized later I had depression. But back then I just had a serious issue with mismatching pillowcases.)

I've always had a broken body, and I've had to learn to live with brokenness. I've always been acutely aware of the many ways my body has failed me, and my teenage rebelliousness was always tempered with an uncomfortable sense of my own mortality. It's not just how you look, but how you feel; and not just emotions and shit, but when breathing is hard and shitting is hard and just everything is hard and painful it's really hard to not hate yourself.

But you learn to live with brokenness. I think that's the most important thing I've learned so far. My body will not magically heal itself, it's just sort of patched up enough to keep on keeping on; and that's what you have to do, too. Just keep on keeping on. My physical limits don't bother me anymore. I don't think about how I'll never be in the Olympics or walk on the moon because, you know what, you probably won't either.

When I was fifteen I started a relationship that I thought would make me 'happy', because I understood happiness as a state of being rather than a quality in a certain moment, or an element of a particular worldview. And in exchange for total lack of control, debilitating insecurity and endless rages and tantrums yes, I suppose I had a few fleeting moments of giddy joy.I also developed severe panic attacks and social anxiety.

Dating...is not something I've seriously considered since this relationship ended. The idea of being alone in a cafe or a movie of whatever with someone I like is just too scary for me. I really struggle with basic things, like ordering food or making phone calls. Panic attacks are mortifying and scary but a daily reality for me, now.

And this was really frustrating to deal with, as a young person who really, really, really wanted a boyfriend. I was frustrated and humiliated and, you know, nerds aren't great at taking failure very well. I felt like a failure. When I was very small I was somewhat shy but I'd always been a people person up until now.

Anxiety is something I have to live with. I've had to re-learn a lot of things. Good days are filled with little milestones that make me incredibly proud of myself, and bad days are filled with, you know, bad stuff. But in not being able to date, I learned something really important; I don't want to date. I'm not ready to date. Anxiety or not, this pressing desire to have A Boyfriend was no longer a priority. I grew up a little, and there's the silver lining to that story. You learn a lot, when you reach a roadblock. Anxiety used to be one of the ways that I was broken, and I really fought against it. But in embracing brokenness, we learn more about ourselves, and I think there's something special in that.

But the biggest one for me, so far, has been vaginismus, which is when vaginal penetration is extremely uncomfortable. It is almost entirely psychological.

In our patriarchal society, it is hard to be a cis-woman with vaginismus and not feel like a failure, like something's broken. And it's incredibly defeating when you use your agency as a human being to consent to things with another human being and then you quite literally can't. And it's really hard to know that subconsciously something is wrong, but you can't get to it because you really, genuinely, feel fine.

I don't identify as asexual, so my sexuality has had to exist around vaginismus. And I've learned a lot. I've learned that sexuality exists outside of heteronormativity, even between a cis-man and a cis-woman. I've learned that there's more to sex and sexuality and being sexual than what people let on, and in being forced to set boundaries and just be really frank and honest about sex and consent, I've become a more mature person, and I've watched my partners grow in their respect for bodies and the people they belong to. It's actually less of a problem than you'd think, you know, having sex without actually having The Sex. When I first got vaginismus, I'd totally lost faith in humanity, in sexuality, the whole thing. But in navigating my life through brokenness, I've met some amazing people and had some incredible experiences and learned that, despite everything, there are people out there who respect boundaries and understand consent.

In embracing brokenness, we learn to imagine ourselves and other people more complexly. People are forced to see you as a human being with flaws and baggage and bits that don't work, which is a difficult lesson to whack into people, because it is confronting to care about someone who is living in a state of brokenness. And then you learn to care about yourself, in your own state of brokenness.

Fixing what's broken might be an option. I don't have the energy or the resources to fix some of what is broken now, and that's okay. I've never been more okay with myself, and I think it's important to accept who you are, where you are, as you are. I get so frustrated so easily; and whilst I've never let go of my need to improve myself, to be better at more things, I have also learned to accept and to live with some of the ways that I am not a perfect person.

I'm not saying to live in a state of disrepair. If something's broken, fix it...but understand healing as a process rather than as an event. My anxiety is better than it was and will continue to improve, just like my depression did. One day I will be in a situation where I feel ready and safe and secure enough to deal with vaginismus. But I have learned that there is great value in embracing brokenness, in understanding that perfection is an illusion and that we are not machines.

We are so afraid of brokenness in all its forms; we hate it in ourselves and we hate it in other people. We've become so impatient, so unwilling to see disability, illness or disadvantage with empathy and respect. It is possible to live with brokenness. It is possible to live with pain. We all do it, all the time, and in embracing brokenness, in accepting that some things take time to fix, and some things cannot be fixed at all, I think we learn a lot about ourselves and the people around us.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

The State of Being Connected

Now Playing: All You Had to Do Was Stay by Taylor Swift (people like me are gone forever when you say goodbye) 

relationship (noun): The way in which two or more people or things are connected, or the state of being connected (Oxford English Dictionary)

Why are people so afraid of the r-word?

Dan Savage, something of a hero of mine, once said something along the lines of 'everything is a relationship'. A one night stand is a relationship. Your girlfriends have a relationship with you. You have relationships with everyone you know and meet, however fleeting.

We tend to think of 'relationship' as that big, elusive, monogamous, we're-going-to-break-up-get-knocked-up-or-get-married THING that I don't have, as a single person. Everything else is just 'everything else'. We refuse to define things for what they are. Relationships.

I think about all the times that I've been screwed over, and every single time the person has been adamant that we are 'not in a relationship'. Yeah, maybe not a 'relationship' in the big sense of the word, but if someone is in your life, you have a relationship with them. You have rights and responsibilities, the whole she-bang. And when we refuse to acknowledge our relationships with other people as actual fucking relationships, when we refuse to honour the capital-R Responsibilities of our capital-R Relationships, that's when people get hurt. You might not owe the girl you met at a club the same that you owe your wife, but you owe them something. All human beings owe it to all other human beings to try very hard not to fuck up.

When we tell people that 'this isn't a relationship', we're just kidding ourselves. You can't associate with someone, you can't be in a state of being connected, and not be in a relationship. What people really mean when they say that is 'hang around, for the chats/sex/money/whatever, but don't expect me to respect you'.

Which might sound like a silly thing to stay in, but we live in a world where we are constantly told that anything that isn't heading towards white picket fences and 2.3 children isn't a relationship, so we stay, in this not-relationship, with its lack of respect and all the shit that comes with that.

We're scared of people who talk about relationships like this, but we have to re-think the way we think about our states of being connected. There's nothing wrong with one night stands, or casual sex, or whatever exists in the spaces between the tiny boxes we confine ourselves to. But they are relationships, and we have to see it that way, otherwise people get hurt.

You can be in more than one relationship at a time - in fact, we are all in multiple relationships all at once, and we have to be okay with that concept and not let my lefty free-lovin' weirdness freak you out. It's not cheating to have a romantic relationship with one person and other relationships of a different nature at the same time; that's just called 'having a girlfriend and also having a social circle'. What is cheating is having a girlfriend, and having a 'this isn't a relationship' thing on the side, because really, that's cheating everybody. If you're scared to label something as a relationship, maybe it's because you know you shouldn't be in one; but you can't make it not-exist by refusing to treat them properly. You don't have 'relationships' and 'this is not a relationship'; you have 'relationships' and 'bad relationships'.

I'm sorry if the way that I talk about relationships makes your bachelor heart freeze or makes your dick fall off; but I'm not going to hang around, doing whatever, being whatever, because that's not a fair exchange. When we force people to exist in our lives in a not-relationship, we are not affording them human dignity; we objectify them, because they serve a purpose to us but we don't return the favour.

People are needy. People are greedy. I've seen the best and the worst in people. It's a weird, confusing world, but sometimes I think we just confuse ourselves. My relationships with the people in my life vary from intimate to cordial, but I don't think I'm short-changing any of them; and the only way I can say that with any certainty is because I'm not afraid of the r-word, and what comes with that.

Relationships end; sometimes when death does us part, and sometimes when the sun rises and it's time to take a taxi back to reality. That's okay. I just want the state of being connected to be okay, too.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

Yo, Where my Boys At?

Now Playing: Bad Blood by Taylor Swift ft. Kendrick Laymar (you've got to live with the bad blood now) 

By far one of my most favourite things to do is lunching with the ladies. This is closely followed by clubbing with the ladies and then coffee with the ladies.

I love my girlfriends. I don’t have many, and things ain’t perfect, but I love having friends I can really talk to.

They’re all straight, I think. I’m not, but it’s never an issue; I pass as straight enough, I don’t make passes at them, and if things get weird hey, we can always talk it out. We’re grown-ups.

Case in point: A guy was being an ass at a club. I retaliated by telling him that the boys were sub-par, but my girlfriend and I were having a great time, and then informed him that he had missed out on the chance to have an amazing threesome with said girlfriend. Poor boy had a meltdown.

An hour later, one straight girl and one almost-straight girl passed out together in bed, after a blur of costumes and cocktails. After a joke of a crowd at a joke of a club, the final joke of the night was ‘look at the threesome he’s missing out on’.

Also, for the record, I’ve made out with a few of my girlfriends. We’ve all seen each other in various states of undress. We have all slept together – like, literally just sleeping. We cuddle, and I’m conveniently boob height for a lot of them, and nobody cares. The queers amongst us make our own arrangements, talk things out with other queers, and the straight ladies do us a favour by not freaking the fuck out over nothing and yelling NO HOMO at everything. Nobody thinks anybody wants to marry anyone else, for the sole reason that I’ve never expressed this intention to any of them. Things are comfortably platonic, because ladies don’t lose their shit over drama that isn’t there. We balance our friendships and our pseudo-lesbianism and our actual lesbianism and our random drunk pashes the same way that I expect all adults of all genders to; by being grown up, by doing the honest communication thing, and by enjoying relationships for what they are instead of freaking out about what they’re not.

Boys? Fuck. Boys.

I don’t treat boys very different to how I treat girls, mostly because I feel the same about both genders. And that, apparently, causes problems.

I refuse to tiptoe around egos and follow the bullshit rules of heteronormativity because some people I want to be friends with happen to have penises.

I miss my guyfriends. I miss having guys to talk to and mess around with. I’ve had great relationships with a lot of really cool guys and it is endlessly frustrating and exhausting that a bizarre mix of ego, heteronormativity and misogyny has ended the good times.

I also hold men to the same standards that I hold women to because I am a feminist. I expect that all people of all genders are not perfect. I expect that all my relationships with people of all genders will have ups and downs and awkward moments and messy feelings that will need to be sorted out. People are complicated. Relationships are complicated. And complicated things need a lot of communication or things are going to go belly-up very quickly.

I can’t deal with this whole ‘men don’t talk about their feelings’ shit. Fuck, in my experience, men don’t talk about anything. Any tension that would have been sorted out after a few strong cocktails with the ladies builds and builds and builds until it is a MASSIVE problem that *I* was meant to solve with my secret lady-powers of mind reading or some bullshit.

News flash. I cannot read minds.

Men also tend to rely on social norms to define and protect a relationship; but if I followed social norms I’d be speaking Canto and doing a science degree and listening to K-Pop with other K-Pop fans, and I don’t. That’s not me. I don’t do social norms; I do what is comfortable for me. And if that’s not comfortable for you, for fuck’s sake, talk about it. See point a) I can’t read minds.

Another thing I love about the ladies is that, because we are not conditioned to see everything between two girls as inherently romantic or sexual, they don’t read into things. A hug is a hug. A kiss is a kiss. It is whatever *we* want it to be. If you’re not sure, fucking ask. If you’re not comfortable, fucking leave. It’s really that simple.

I get myself into trouble a lot with the whole ‘falling in love with your best friend’ thing; but lately the problem has been more ‘my best friend thinks I’m in love with him because I broke this unspoken rule, cannot read his mind, and he refuses to believe anything I say’. My feelings are my own. I am single, I’m staying single, and I haven’t met anyone who has changed that for me; and if I did, I’d tell them. Maybe I’m being cuddly because I have a crush on you. Maybe I’m being cuddly because I’m a cuddly person and it doesn’t really matter if you have a penis or not. If I don’t explicitly say I am in love with you can we have a little forever together, then that’s not what I want, and that’s not what you should read into anything I do or say.


It’s also insulting to say that, by virtue of our differing genitals, we can’t have an intimate non-romantic, non-sexual relationship, or varying combinations of the above. The thing is, women are perfectly capable of relationships that are intimate but not romantic or sexual. Or sexual but not romantic or intimate. The only people who can define a relationship are those who are in it and, oh look, you do that by *fucking communicating*. I was doing the casual sleepover thing, a while ago, and I got sick of constantly having to confirm that no, I was not looking for anything else. Why is that someone, by virtue of owning a penis, is capable of casual sex, but I, by virtue of not having one, am not?

I have girlfriends who don’t like hugs. Don’t want to talk about certain things. I know about these things because we talk about what makes them feel unsafe, and I don’t do those things because I am a decent human being trying very hard to be a good friend. I know how to treat my friends, I know what kind of friendship they’re looking for, because the smart way to navigate relationships is to be open about your needs and boundaries, instead of letting people accidentally trigger you over and over, or letting something bug you, unaddressed, until you blow up and shit hits the fan. If you want to set boundaries, set them. And then fucking tell me about them, so that I can respect them. But set these boundaries for you. Don’t make up rules with the design of preventing me falling in love with you, because frankly, that’s so offensive.

Whoever told men that they can’t be friends with single women? Why do men have it stuck in their heads that single women always have ulterior motives? I can’t believe I’ve lost so many friends over this bullshit, and I can’t believe that they’ve all been men.  

What hurts the most is that I told this friend of mine, over and over, that I am single, that I am staying single, and that I am learning to be happy, as a single person; only for him to turn around and accuse me of chasing him, of being jealous of his romantic pursuits, of putting myself between him and the girlfriend he didn’t tell me about, because he was afraid that it would hurt my feelings. No. What really hurt my feelings is that he didn’t trust what I said, didn’t respect that I have made decisions for myself.

Yes, I had a crush on him. They were not feelings I was going to act on. I was hurt, and still hurting, when we became friends. Debilitating anxiety and scars from emotional abuse are not easy burdens to carry, and I relied on friendships like ours to give me something to power through; I didn’t want to compromise that by dragging uncontrollable, and definitely unrequited, feelings into it. I was trying to save myself from more pain; instead, he hurt me more than I thought anyone could. And, above and beyond any other feelings, I loved him as a friend; I loved his friendship, I loved his company, and it destroyed me when that all fell apart. I was far from a perfect friend and we had a far from perfect friendship, but to watch it crumble over some non-existent bullshit problem that he had dreamed up was horrible. He had sacrificed a friendship that had meant a lot to me because I was a convenient villain in his fairy-tale love story. Because a girl cannot love a boy in any meaningful way that isn’t sex or fantasies of white picket fences, right?    

We believe men right off the bat when they say they are not looking for a relationship right now. We assume they’re still having sex. We assume that they still have friends. We assume that he is not, in all of this sex and friendship, covertly running Operation Find Me a Girlfriend Because I'm So Lonely. We give them the dignity and the agency to make their own choices, and to not impose our own opinions or values onto them. We believe their intentions or lack thereof. Why can’t I get that same respect? Why is it that a single woman is a liar, and doesn’t mean what she says, or needy, and can’t possibly be happy the way she is?

I miss my boys. But more importantly, I am nostalgic for a non-existent time when I can do what I like with who I like, and not have people over-think and over-read. I am nostalgic for a relationship with a guy where all cards are on the table, when we talk about our feelings and boundaries, when there are no misunderstandings. I wish guys would not jump to the conclusion that we are in love with you, or want to get in your pants, and then freak out about the emotional drama and commitment issues that we don’t even have. These are not problems I have with ladies, so gentlemen, please, grow the fuck up. 

Thursday, June 11, 2015


I saw your painted arm today
And I didn't have to see to feel your eyes on me

It took me back to another time
Took me back to your Cheshire Cat smile

Do you remember our reckless daybreak adventures?
I wonder...

(Is my stocking still on your floor?)

I don't remember you, I remember the rush

We found Wonderland, my friend.
We were Romeo-

No, I was just Juliet.

Tuesday, June 09, 2015

Honest Blood

I wonder how many other girls like me
Have asked boys like you to hit them

I still remember sitting here, typing those words.
I remember brutal, bloody, frustrated honesty

I remember you saying you wouldn't,
That you would never,
You paragon of decency, you

And I still stand by what I said
All those years ago

I wish I had a scar to show them
Because my words are lies

But all bodies bleed the same.

Sunday, May 31, 2015

Penis Guy.

So, like, feminists get sprung a lot of weird questions, which to me have the same kind of inexplicable logic of 'if man evolved from monkeys why are there still monkeys?'

and the one that pops up - a lot - is 'does size matter?'

Firstly, since when do feminists do sex a special way, or that all feminists do sex the same way?

Secondly. Heteronormative bullshit.

Thirdly, since when does the admission that one is a feminist make it permissible suddenly spring an out of context sexual question.

Fourthly, I know this is a trap. If I say 'no', guys always think I'm lying, and if I say 'yes', they cry misandry. YOU ASKED MY OPINION DON'T GET UPSET AT THE ANSWER.

But because I get asked it a lot, I've had to think about it a lot, and I feel like this is a good teaching point. So bear with me.

Society dictates what is and isn't attractive for men and women. I know that no matter what people say to me the media says that women should look a certain way and I certainly don't tick all boxes. I also assume that men have enough brain power and life experience to gather that literally nobody looks like the models on billboards, including the models themselves, and that there is a difference between fantasy and reality.

The lack of body diversity in popular culture also gives the impression that there is one way to be attractive, which is totally not true. I've met some women who are attracted to men who I personally think are not attractive, and not all my girlfriends approve of my taste in men, and that's okay. It's not like I'm an 8 and you're a 5 and that will never change and dictate your life forever. You might think I'm a 10; you might think I'm a 2. Attraction is weird.

The answer to this question, for most people, is aesthetically, I have my preferences. They are influenced by the media, and also my own personal taste. But it's not very important, and doesn't really matter. Physical attraction and chemistry is important to me and I'm not going to pretend otherwise, but I will turn down Ryan Gosling if I have to if he's being a dick. A pretty dick only gets you so far if you are an actual dick.

My friends and I also agree that, if a guy is really nice/kind/cool/considerate/etc., nobody's going to bring up any...physical shortcomings. The guys for whom this topic becomes fair game are normally shitheads who have fucked up. Girls will bitch about anything and we will literally go for the low hanging fruit if we can.

I will say one thing - what they say is true. It really is what you do with it. And the rest of you. A lot of best selling luxury sex toys are much smaller than the average penis, just saying.

Also, penises are not a first impression thing - unless you are the kind to try and whip it out in a public place to prove a point, which has happened to me, believe it or not (keep reading for the Delightful Tales of Penis Guy). Penises are not like breasts; you can't really see them, unless you have terrible taste in trousers, until you get down to it; and if you get to that point with someone you'd hope that you have good enough taste not to sleep with a judgemental weirdo. So, girls do not turn you down at the first pick-up line because your dick is small.

A little while ago, at a party, the whole boy meets girl thing happened, and I swear to God, this guy was obsessed with his penis. I literally found out nothing about him that wasn't about his penis; I still don't know his name. All he would talk about was The Penis, and all I was allowed to say was Praise for The Penis. He was not interested in me having fun; hell, he wasn't even interested in himself having fun, it was just constant penis validation. When I got disinterested at the prospect of hours of Penis Talk and tried to go away, the first thing he said was 'you think it's small, don't you?'

I don't know what kind of insecurity and entitlement you have to have for this to happen, but I took off pretty quickly, and he physically tried to stop me; and let me tell you, karate chopping your way away from Penis Guy is not fun. I don't know anything about him, I don't remember what he looks like, all I know is that this guy was obsessed with his penis so no matter how well endowed he was (WE WERE FULLY CLOTHED IN A CLUB I DON'T HAVE MUCH OPINION ON PENISES BASED ON DESCRIPTION ALONE), I obviously don't have a very high opinion of him.

The size question seems to be, to me, a way of asking if you are good in bed, which is an incredibly subjective, personal, intimate question that random girls you meet on sweaty dance floors can't answer. But what I can tell you is that Penis Guy is absolutely, 300%, guaranteed, terrible in bed, and I would not sleep with him for a million dollars. So how do I know that? Someone who doesn't care about you, doesn't care about what you want, doesn't respect that you are a person with needs and wants and opinions, an doesn't care about himself enough to introduce any part of himself aside from his penis, would be absolutely terrible in bed. Any kind of interaction involves communication and respect, and someone like that is incapable of either.

So what I'm trying to say is, stop worrying about your penis. I can't say with complete honestly that size absolutely does not matter ever under any circumstances, because the truth resists simplicity and women (and men - you can fuck those too, you know) are complicated as fuck. I'm telling you to stop worrying so that you  don't become that guy. Whatever you do, do not become Penis Guy. That is a bad way for a woman to remember you.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

Soiree on the Moon

I feel like a balloon on the ceiling
Privy to, but not part of

And I am not free
Not free to rendezvous in the clouds
Or to burst into the heavens

Are you afraid
That the sun will catch my eye?

I an not a planet in orbit
You are not the centre of any universe
And certainly not mine

There is a soiree on the moon tonight
Let me be there

I am tired of smoke and spilled drinks
Tired of noise and broken vows

Let me fly away from here

Friday, May 08, 2015

This is Not a Love Letter

I don’t particularly want to wax lyrical
Over a boy who grows mould in his sink
But I should elucidate, I think

The great affection I have for you.

I have not yet had the time, or the words, to tell you
My friend;
How grateful I am for your constancy; how

Despite time and distance
Come hell or high water
Your sincerity never fades or falters

I know you will not slander my good name, or yours
By misunderstanding my intentions
My affection for you exists on a purer plane
Than the rabble can imagine

And the things in my heart that I explain to you once
I never have to say again.

(There are too many people, my dear
Who see Cupid lurking in every shadow;
I cannot tell you how glad I am that you don’t)

I wanted to say, old friend
That I am thankful for your solidarity
And your smile

It is a hard world to not have big arms around you
And I am glad of yours, when you are mine.

for Brady. 

Saturday, May 02, 2015

Here's to the Sun Streaming Through Your Second-Floor Window

I remember, tangled on the dance floor
Meeting a rather confident boy

And I remember, tangled in the bed sheets
You made me swear to be your friend

Well, my dear
I am still here.

I must confess, my friend
There is a lot I object to
About you

But your easy generosity
And your deadly smile

Is not a thing any woman can resist

Believe me when I say
I cannot love you

And believe me when I say
I always will.