Ladies, Stand Tall and Stand Together

So I ran across this blog a couple of days ago, which is entitled "Why I Am Personally Offended When A Slut Walks Into The Room"


Through a liberal use of the word "slut" and the application of basic economic principles to dating, the girl who wrote this managed to not only slap herself with a big old "rude, ignorant, moron" sticker (if you even begin to read the comments, you'll see what I mean), but to degrade the entire rest of her gender in the process. 


The post basically berates any woman who has any sort of sex life, and complains about how women have allowed men to reduce them to sex objects... all while bitterly objectifying women and treating sex as a commodity throughout the post. 


As a woman, I just need to say WE NEED TO STOP DOING THIS TO EACH OTHER! 


Are we really all so jealous, bitter, competitive, and insecure that we have to waste our time degrading the women around us? Because guess what girls, that doesn't make you any more attractive. To refer back to a movie we've probably all seen (and one that we clearly didn't learn from, if we're still pulling this crap), calling someone fat doesn't make you any skinner. Calling someone stupid doesn't make you any smarter. 


All it does is make you look bitter. 


So instead of sitting around and ragging on everybody else, calling each other "sluts", "whores" and "bitches" when 90% of the time, the terms don't actually apply and we're just trying to be mean, and then complaining about how no guys ever treat us right, why not actually treat each other the way you want guys to treat us. 


Like we're special, like we're beautiful, and like we're worth respect. 


Yes, some guys will still be total and complete assholes. Believe me when I say I get that. And some girls will still be total bitches too. And yes, some of them will sleep around, and engage in unhealthy activities. 


But why let that have any effect on you? Does it really impact you in any way? 


Ladies, stand up with confidence that you are worth it, and stop working about tearing down everyone around you to make yourself look good by comparison. There's a reason guys think we're crazy - a lot of the time, we are. 


Stop calling each other "sluts". Embrace the fact that some people make different life choices, and the fact that there's nothing wrong with having a healthy sex life. Same goes for the word "whore". If we can't stop treating each other like this, how can we expect men to stop treating us like this? We're sitting here holding ourselves back because we can't get over our stupid disagreements with each other. 


Live and let live, it's as easy as that.


I hope that my point has come across somewhere between the movie references and the overused bold face and italicized font. 


~Jessica

I'll See You On The 7 Train

I never take the 7 train, except to see you. I never have. In fact, I think I subconsciously avoid it just so I can continue to make that statement. 


But my quirky subway habits aren't really the point here. 


The point is, that I still can't see the train and not think of you. You'd think that after you ripped my heart out, not once, but three times, I'd have mustered up the courage to not care anymore. 


No such luck. If ever I am in the Queensboro Plaza station when a 7 train rolls into the station (only the local, the green circle that I could always see from around the bend) my heart rate still accelerates. 


Which is pretty fucking stupid, let's be honest. I'm not getting on it, and even if I did, you're not home.


And yet, I still want to. I want to take the train to Bliss Street, (I'm so not even joking, my life is THAT ironic) and walk down the stairs, two blocks down, and two blocks over, knowing that by the time I've hit the last corner before your building, I'll probably already be able to pick out the scent that I associate with you. 


I'm not sure what it is, actually. But your whole building smells like it. When I open the door to your lobby, it's a kind of comforting, familiar thing and it follows me as I get into the elevator. It's on you when I collapse into your arms when you open the door, and it's on my clothes for a couple of days until I wash them. It smells warm and clean, and just the tiniest bit spicy.


Clearly, it's all some sort of psychological mind fuck, because I couldn't possibly pick up on that from half a block away, but I do. 


I've also been known to full on stop in my tracks if someone passes me on the street carrying a similar aroma. I've literally jerked my head 180 degrees expecting to see you. 


And all of this, all this bullshit I'm rambling about, sparked by seeing your stupid train pass mine in the station. I haven't seen you since June, and there have been two other men who have happily taken your place in breaking my heart, so I'm not really sure why I still care. I'm not sure why I'm hoping that, come January, I'll find myself on a 7 train again.


Because I never wanted to be this person. I never wanted to be that girl that can't let you go. 

~Jessica

Finding Beauty At 10,000 Feet

I flew back into New York today. 


I've done a lot of flying in the past year. Between a need to abuse the one perk of my crappy retail job, studying abroad, and being involved in a long distance relationship, I spent a lot of time in and out of airports. And in that time, I learned a couple of things.


Never check a bag if you can avoid it, don't wear shoes you have to tie, hide your sexy underwear in case they search your bag, and always go for the window seat, because wherever you're leaving from or going to is prettier from 10,000 feet up.


My favorite time to leave on a flight is in the late afternoon. If I pick my seat right, I get to watch the sunset out the window, which is one of the most beautiful things in the world, and I get to glide into whatever city I'm arriving at when it is lit up for the evening. 


I'm a New Yorker, and there are a lot of things I like about living here. But a concrete jungle isn't really my idea of a beautiful place to live. The skyscrapers and the traffic feel cold to me. 


But from 10,000 feet up, New York City is beautiful. It glitters in the darkness like a million tiny Christmas lights. You're not caught in foot traffic, smelling garbage, or missing your train. The headlights of cars are strung together down the streets like diamonds, and everything is quiet. It's the most peaceful the city ever is. 


And while I'm still far above it, I can see the stars.


I had a moment, on the plane this evening. As we were preparing to land, I looked out the window at the city below me, and then up at the sky. There was a single star twinkling in the night sky. I was struck by the beauty of that single point of light in the darkness. 


But my plane descended, below the cloud cover, and the star vanished. I was closer to the ground where I could see all the things I didn't like about New York. I'm always slightly bitter that there is little beauty to be found in Manhattan. Central Park is my one exception to that notion, though it's difficult, even there, to find a place where the skyscrapers don't protrude. 


I pouted out the window at the disappearance of my star as we came in for a landing, but just before we hit the runway, I looked up again. And wouldn't you know it, through a break in the clouds, in the midst of the lights of the 6 other planes flitting this way and that across the night sky, there was a single star twinkling. 


Maybe the beauty is always there. We're just not always looking at it from the right angle. I can't look down on Manhattan from an airplane every time it makes me unhappy, and I can't always see the stars, but someone can. And maybe it makes them smile too.


~Jessica

Football Camaraderie

It is no secret to most people who know me that I am a football fan. I park my ass in front of a television on Sundays, and Monday nights, and if I'm ever stuck working, you can bet I'll be watching the Gamecast on my phone. 


So, despite the fact that I'm down in Disney World with my family right now, at 1pm yesterday afternoon, sporting my Eli Manning jersey, I wandered over to the ESPN Club to park my ass at the bar for a day of football. There was a line to get in, and within moment of joining the line, I was reminded of the really great thing that happens when you get a bunch of people together to watch football.


We all become friends. 


Most of the people who were on line had come alone - fathers and husbands who had escaped their families for the day. (Or at least for as long as the game lasted). A couple had come with friends, and there were a few stray women who either loved football, or loved their man enough to go with him, but for the most part, we were lone football fans waiting to get into one of the few places that we could watch our team. 


I was in line behind a Patriots fan and a Giants fan, who wound up befriending each other as the line didn't move and they traded off leaving to get beers. Behind me were some Saints fans who later grabbed the busy bartender for me so I could get a beer, and then I circled the bar until I found the games I wanted to watch. 


I settled on a spot standing on one side of the bar where the Jets game and the Vikings game were on two TVs right next to each other. However, on the wall too my right was the giant projection of the Patriots game... so I was surrounded by Patriots fans. 


And here I was cheering for the Jets. 


After some playful ribbing about the fact that I was cheering for the Jets while wearing a Giants jersey, and heckling right back about how the Patriots were getting crushed by the BROWNS of all people, we all had a lot of fun. I spent the first game hanging with 4 dads who were Patriots fans, and joining in the group of Jets fans a table away in a few rounds of "J-E-T-S! JETS! JETS! JETS!" as they made a comeback to win in overtime. They talked about their fantasy teams, I admitted to being a closet Brett Favre and Vikings fan (Alright, so I couldn't exactly hide it when I nearly jumped out of my seat when they tied the game.) and it was just a generally fun time. 


One of the Patriots fans kindly surrendered his seat to me when he had to leave, and I wound up sitting there until the end of the Green Bay game that night with a bunch of different drinking companions, including a Lions fan, (Who liked me less when he found out I'd been rooting for the Jets) a Redskins fan, (Who decided at least we could both hate the Cowboys) another Patriots fan, (Who was from Philadelphia?) and a few other guys of undetermined allegiance. (Well, one eventually admitted to being a Bills fan, so... I get that! Haha) 


But the great thing about it was that I spent all day with total strangers and had a BLAST! Everyone heckled everyone else about their team (Though most of them left me alone after all of mine won), but nobody was mean about it. By the end of the night, everyone was buying each other drinks, sharing giant plates of wings and chips, bitching about coaches we hate, talking about players we love, and cheering on other people's teams if ours weren't playing anymore. 


I know everybody probably has a story about how a fan of their rival team did something shitty to them at a game or even out on the street, and maybe it's just because this is Disney World and everybody is in a slightly better mood here, but I think when everybody gets together to watch a game, there's a certain kind of camaraderie that takes over, and lets everybody have a good time.


And I love it! 


~Jessica

Now Bring Me That Horizon

Forgive the Pirates of the Caribbean pun, but I leave for Disney World tomorrow and I'm trying to get myself excited for it. 


For the past couple weeks, I will openly admit that I've been wallowing. I've been wallowing in my troubles with my school (I've been done with classes for over 3 months now and administrative bullshit is holding my degree just out of reach), my bitterness about my job (It had run its course a year ago, now it's just all the things I don't need), my relationship dilemmas (you know what, let's not even go there, that's too long for parentheses), among various physical ailments. I've been curling up into a ball under the covers because dragging myself out of bed in the morning just wasn't worth it. 


And that's pathetic. 


So I'm trying to change my outlook a little. There's a light somewhere at the end of this god forsaken tunnel, and there's an unlimited horizon in front of me, waiting for me to sail out to it. And parking my ass on my futon eating take out is never going to get me there. 


I have two jobs coming up. I start training to be a sub dresser at an off-Broadway show in two weeks, and I'm on the costume crew for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. If I'm lucky, I am going to be able to join the wardrobe union within the next couple of months. The administrative entanglements surrounding my degree will be resolved as soon as a few transcripts find their way to the proper offices, and I will officially have my Bachelor's Degree. And who knows, maybe in the coming months I'll be in a position to quit my retail job. 


The point is, I have something to look forward to, and if I don't make it better, it's only going to get worse. 


Though, frankly, it's a lot easier to pull the covers up over my head and say "Things just aren't working" and refuse to face the world. But things aren't going to work if I just sit here, so all I can do is try my best at everything. 


I think that if there's one thing people should know about me, it's that I'm passionate. I don't half-ass things. If I'm in it, I'm all in. 


I want to work to the best of my ability, and love to the best of my ability, and live to the best of my ability. Which is really admirable to sit here and say, but I suppose we have to wait and see the follow through...


~Jessica

Wonderful Day In The Neighborhood

I don't walk to work in the most logical way. 

The most logical way to walk the 8 blocks to work would be to walk to the corner, turn left, walk 8 blocks, and turn left again. 

However, I like my route slightly better.

I walk to the corner, and turn left. I then walk 3 blocks, I stop at "my" Starbucks and say hello to "my" barista. (He was working on my way home last night, we made faces in the window at each other while he cleaned up.) I get some sort of tea. 

I walk one block further, and then turn left and walk down the street I used to work on. I pass the pizza place my friends and I used to frequent, and wave to the guys inside. (I bought a slice there last night. The owner and I chatted about the new place he's opening a few blocks away.)

I continue down the block past the restaurant where my friends and I would hang at the bar, and where the bartender showed me his sweet motorcycle. Sometimes I run into people I used to work with outside the theatre. 

This is about halfway down the block. At this point, I cross the street and walk through a breezeway under a hotel. This is more habit than anything else now. I used to do it to listen to the Sinatra music that played in the breezeway, and to say hello to my friend Riley who worked in one of the stores, but the Sinatra show closed, and Riley's schedule hasn't lined up with mine in some time. 

I cross the street midway and walk through the breezeway under the theatre I sometimes sub at. If I'm lucky, I run into my old boss outside and get to say hello.

I cross the street again and land myself in front of the bagel place. To my coworkers it literally is just "the bagel place". Surely, there are about 20 other places to get a bagel around work, but this is the bagel place, just like the deli is the deli, and if you say you're going to the deli, everyone knows which one. 

At this point, I turn left, walk to the corner, and turn right landing myself right in the middle of Times Square. I weave through tourists for the last 2 blocks, and land myself at work. 

So why bother? Why take the longer way to work? 

Because this is my neighborhood, and I like that. I like that the guys at Starbucks or at the pizza place know me. I like that I can run into old coworkers. I like that, if I take my route, somewhere along the way to work someone will greet me with a smile and a wave. And if I'm having a bad day, that might just be the thing to cheer me up. 

I think it's one of the things I've inherited from my dad. When I was little, I would go with my dad on errands. (I still do occasionally, when I'm home. Just for old time's sake.) Whenever my dad walked into the cleaner's, or the bagel place, (Different bagel place, but the bagel place of my childhood. They don't taste as good if they come from anywhere else, I don't care what you say.) or the fish market, he was greeted with a smile and a wave. The people who work at the stores in my neighborhood know my dad, and they all like him. And you know what? When I walk into the cleaner's with my dad's laundry bag, they greet me with a smile and a wave too, and ask how I am, and how my father is. I love that. And I love that now I have that in my own neighborhood, even one as big as New York City. 

So even if it takes me a little longer to get to work, I'd rather have a smile and a wave along the way. I'd rather have that moment of personal interaction before I turn into a robot for a few hours. And for that, I'll take the scenic route.

~Jessica

NaNoWriMo

So after a couple of years of hearing about it, but sitting on the sidelines, I've finally decided to participate in NaNoWriMo. 


For those of you who don't know what NaNoWriMo is...


"National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30."


Good thing I have no IDEA what I want to write! 


Writing a novel should be no big deal, right? Goodness knows I can never shut up, and all my blogs are too long for the average reader to want to bother with. 


But rambling endlessly on a blog is totally different than trying to write a novel. I mean, I know I'm an interesting character and all, but god knows the storyline of my life is full of plot holes, loose ends, and requires a good deal of suspension of disbelief. 


I probably shouldn't have decided to do this without a clear plan in mind, but then, maybe figuring it out along the way is half the fun. 


At the end of the day, there's a lot of things I'm trying to take my mind off of lately, so I figured a new place to channel my energy would be good. 


Have you ever participated in NaNoWriMo? Where did you find your inspiration? Did you reach your 50,000 word goal? Were you ashamed of the resulting manuscript, or were you a total badass who managed to get it published?


~Jessica