you know how in some movies the bride/groom calls off the wedding to be with the person they truly love and then they live happily ever after well it’s pretty shitty that the person they were getting married to doesn’t actually get a happy ending but no one seems to care about it to the point that he/she is not even mentioned afterwards as if that person didn’t exist or had feelings at all yeah just a thought
i personally want to see the movie about what happens to that person. it begins with the end of that movie, and then the bridge/groom is like “shit. well. i have to start over.” the church is silent. one of the cousins goes into a coughing fit because he’s thirteen and he’s trying not to laugh. it echoes, ricochets against marble and stained glass. the left-behind closes their eyes and breathes.
they can’t cry. it’s not really one of those times.
and maybe they had teamed up with their parent to finance the wedding (or they paid for it all themselves, or their parents paid for it) and now they’re stuck with a bill and are single and are out of a place to live too, probably - just paying off a ring that’s been tossed, a deposit they’re never gonna get back, and why am i still wearing this
maybe the bride is like, “fuck this shit,” and fashions her wedding dress into a hella cute cocktail dress, and maybe she goes out and dates around, or maybe she just wears it for herself. (maybe she burns it. or at least entertains the idea.) she gives her mom back the necklace she borrowed, and her mom tells her to keep it. the old garter snapped anyway. she hangs up the blue framed mirror above her ikea dresser in the apartment she lives in, alone, thank god
and maybe the groom bought the tux and returns it, keeps the vest as a laugh for the weekly guy’s night (“remember that time kara totally bounced on our wedding for that guy who i had no idea existed? that was pretty classic, right?”), and uses the money to fix the goddamn brake on his car because it keeps stalling and he’s been putting off fixing it because of “don’t worry baby, when we’re married we’ll sort it out” and some things, you just have to do for yourself
maybe someone else comes along - someone like their ex, someone completely different. maybe the bride meets a cute guy in the subway who keeps messing up his sudoku, or the girl barkeep at the bar she goes to with her friend always makes her free cocktails. maybe the groom clotheslines the new girl at work, or he catches some hippie dude’s wayward frisbee. maybe they are content to a life of singularity, of a cat, or a dog, or a fish, or an empty home that smells like those candles they got on sale.
the one thing that’s certain though - they’re never getting married again.
you know what i hate about those shock comics like frankie boyle and jim jefferies (there are countless unfunny american examples, but those two comics permeate my household)
you know, beyond the obvious fuckery that exists in their brand of humor
their subject matter is fucking lazy.
it’s not innovative! it’s not. it’s the easy way out, really, to make the offensive joke, to laugh at another person’s expense, tell a racist joke when people are being killed for their race, tell a rape joke when one in six women will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime, tell an anti-trans joke when trans people (particularly trans women) are being murdered and committing suicide on the regular
it’s easy to tell the joke when you’re safely outside the situation.
it shows real effort to think outside that box, to transgress that, to use imagination like we were once able to do so easily as kids. adults taught us that differences were to be mocked - we’re not born with that instinct. it shows creativity. it shows that you care about your art form, your job to make people laugh, but want things to progress.
and when the crass joke is utilized, it should be to make that audience question why they are laughing at this joke - is it from a certain learned experience, from the privilege of living outside that box, or a reclamation of what’s been done to you?
oh man, this is so real. i always feel bad about disliking girls because i’m unlearning my internalized misogyny. but i’ve worked out a system that is a step in the right direction:
if i’m judging her for her appearance (clothes, hair, body, face) or her mannerisms, such as her voice or demeanor, that’s definitely misogyny on my part. when i was in junior high and into part of high school i prided myself on not being “one of those girls.” i made fun of girly girls and girls who i thought were dumb, who listened to bad music, whatever. called them all sorts of nasty names. mainly i was envious of them, because they were dating and i was not. i had low self esteem, so i pushed it onto other girls.
if i’m judging her for her opinions, her actions, or how she relates to others, i think disliking a woman is justifiable. if she is disrespectful to me or someone i care about, if she purposely hurts someone and shows no remorse, if her opinions show ignorance and a lack of kindness, i find that a justifiable reason to dislike a woman. if she’s just plain mean, that’s justifiable. you can be a good woman and still do bad things, too. god knows i’ve said and done horrible things, but i don’t think i’m a bad person overall.
i have difficulty with this tumblr adage of “all women are fairy princess goddesses uwu~!” because it’s simply not true. yes, it’s vital to value women in the way that men are valued by society. however, women are multifaceted, good and bad, all a grey area. they are capable of cruelty. you can just be a rotten person and happen to be a woman.
in college i worked on a show and there was a girl in the cast who, upon walking in, i thought “oh fuck, no, noooo”. she was really hot - petite with insanely long brown hair, big hazel eyes, freckles, all curves all day. her voice was gravelly and she was sarcastic and funny and weird and dressed really cool. basically, she was the dream.
but she was super straight. she was the kind of girl who would talk about how much she liked her boyfriend, who was in one of my classes, and how “i’m totally straight but i would bang rose mcgowan” you all know what i’m talking about (i swear, it’s always rose mcgowan). i wasn’t fifteen anymore, i knew (and know) better than to get a crush on a straight girl. so i pushed out all my thoughts and just did my thing like i always do.
anyway, the show about about lgbt issues and the girl was playing a lesbian, and she made a big deal about “i’ve never kissed a girl in real life before lol,” whereas the other girl who played her gf was very nonchalant about it. after rehearsal one night, i did the whole “btw i’m bi lol” because i felt it was probably necessary for the show. everyone reacted well and embraced it and it was cool to be out in a professional situation.
buuuut after that she started acting flirty around me - standing a little too close to me backstage, sharing her tiny umbrella with me and our hands brushing, her sentences were at times more playful than a platonic interaction (entendres, i’ve done it, y’all have done it, you get my meaning), her eyes were not always on my face, etc.
i ended up having a little bit of a crush on her because she was doing these things, which made me giddy but also made me feel a little sick and guilty. because i thought i was being crazy and self centered, that i was trying to flatter myself, and i was so terrified of making her feel uncomfortable when we were kind of becoming friends.
but i needed to tell someone, so i told the director (who was a good friend of mine) about it, kind of being like “i’m being a paranoid queer lol” and she was like “no i’ve noticed it too, she’s definitely flirting and it’s really weird”. it made me feel a little better about the whole thing.
the show’s short run went well. she didn’t go to the cast party and i lost touch and she got an awesome asymmetrical haircut, but i occasionally think about that and wonder about alternate realities. i’ll never know fully what was going on and i think that’s fine. ambiguity is interesting and perhaps i am not undesirable as i think i am.
(p.s. if you’re the person i’m talking about and you’re reading this, i still think you’re cute. that can mean a lot of things. just sayin’.)
a guide to christmas songs, from a curmudgeon whose birthday is the day after
hello friends. if you know me, you know that I am "person least likely to" when it comes to christmas cheer. holidays were never big in my family, as my father is the master of cold logic and my mother is an extreme introvert. this is coupled with an aversion to most christmas songs.
except for the following.
here is my informal list of songs I am fond of during this season. some you've heard, some you haven't. enjoy.
acceptable christmas songs:
okay, we’ll get this one out of the way, it is so obvious: my chemical romance’s version of all i want for christmas is you. infinitely better than the original, and not even because i hate mariah carey (i don’t know her so i can’t hate her, but her falsetto is actually just her screaming and she’s a shit live performer.)
italian christmas donkey. it’s a regional fave. i am from an outer borough of new york city.
feliz navidad. it’s a simple and memorable tune and i am a huge fan of mariachi and that style of singing.
ingrid michaelson’s cover of “mele kalikimaka (hawaiian christmas)” (actually, please look up any christmas song she does. she’s so good at christmas. i love her. this is totally not biased at all nope why would you say that)
eartha kitt’s santa baby (there is literally no other version of this song, i refuse to accept any other version, except andie erin’s but i’ve yet to hear it so)
rockin’ around the christmas tree bc it’s so cute
sufjan stevens does really good songs about having anxiety during christmas (his versions of religious songs are the only ones i really like)
darlene love’s song, the one she does every year on letterman, she’s so good omg
have yourself a merry little christmas, judy garland exclusively
what’s this from nightmare before christmas (it’s totally a christmas song shut up, i am adult emo trash)
simple christmas wish, which is the most theater song to ever exist it’s so specific. the chorus starts with “i want to be rich, famous, and powerful” which is a sentiment anyone can get behind imho
we need a little christmas from mame. hella good song. suuuuch a good musical in general, i love mame, musical theater trash through and through
shitty christmas songs
please burn any michael buble christmas songs ever, i want to destroy any sound system that plays his music
that christmas shoes song, what garbage
that one song by george michael or boy george or one of those (i like both!!! but not when they do xmas) “laaaaast christmas i gave you my heart!” well maybe you shouldn’t have made that rash and maudlin decision you dummy fuck
i saw mommy kissing santa claus/all i want for christmas is my two front teeth/pretty much any holiday song sung by a child, i want to wring their necks
o come all ye faithful/most religious songs - “christ is the reason for the season!!” christmas is arguably secular take a breath go for a walk friends
this is not an absolutely comprehensive list, but it covers pretty much everything. have a happy holiday season, no matter what you celebrate, and a happy new year.
I'm turning 23 this month, an age that my much more depressed and manic younger self thought I'd never reach. In the spirit of that, as well as having read Mara Wilson's version of this, which is a really great read, I'm going to answer a bunch of questions for my younger self. Thank you, Mara, for this inspiration, and to David Ives, who inspired her.
I imagine talking to myself at age 13 (the vampire pale girl on the right), around the time that photograph was taken (February 2005). I know that's specific, but stay with me, here.
You're just going to have to guess what the questions are.
Dear Newly Pubescent Hilary,
Hey girl. It's me. Rather, it's you, ten years from now. You're sad right now, and at a bit of a crossroads, and very nervous about a lot of things. I'm writing to tell you that a lot of great and terrible things are going to happen to you over the next decade. I am also sad right now, and at a bit of a crossroads, and very nervous about a lot of things, but I think perhaps a bit of cosmic reassurance can go a long way. Lay it on me, baby.
No question is off limits.
I know they're going to be random. We are the same person.
Yes, but you already know that; you nailed the audition. Say yes.
Not as short as you are now, but pretty short.
Not until you're in college. Sorry.
It's cool, right? You're gonna feel so much more like yourself without all that hair.
Less colors, more shades and tones. More jeans. But basically still like you're a twelve year old boy.
Yes, and you didn't even have to duct tape them. They smell horrible. You love them.
No, you move back in with them after you graduate from college. You're way more okay with it than you thought you'd be.
He works and goes to school and grew into his sense of humor. You like each other more. He likes himself more, which is more important.
Because not everything (read: pretty much nothing) is about you, and you're gonna have to realize that fast.
About the same, except he doesn't live at home anymore and he's a bit better at voicing his dissatisfaction. It's better for everyone.
Happier.
About the same, but you're better equipped to handle it.
Emma is still alive! She's old and not as quick as she used to be, but she's still the best.
There was another dog, but she died a few years ago. There's a cat who you share more in common with than you'd like to admit.
A really lovely young family lives next door now. The place looks absolutely nothing like it used to which is why it's fine.
Part time, but yes.
An art gallery. You used to work at On Your Mark.
I know right?! 5 years!
No, but your interests and talents are a little different now.
Ultimately, yes, that's what you want. You've always loved writing, and even at 13, you're really fucking good at it. You're only going to get better.
Yes, you are still friends!
Aside from minor changes that are a result of gaining life experience, she's pretty much the same awesome girl you kick it with right now. She lives in Jersey now, though; you both can drive, so this isn't a huge issue.
Not so much, now that you've hung around with a few. You were a virgin forever, honey.
Those are two different questions.
Yes, that's exactly what I meant by that.
You can like both. Like, it's allowed. It happens.
It's okay!
Fiiiiiine, 19, for both. You'll be happy you waited.
Immensely, for different reasons.
There's nothing wrong with you. Nothing.
16.
You don't know him now and you don't really know him anymore. It was not Matt. You haven't spoken to Matt in about a decade.
5. Stop making that face, that's not a lot.
Let's see... peroxide+haircut. You wear pants that fit you better. And you cry slightly less now. But no, not very different.
You're not this nosy forever, you know. Okay. You're much more of an introvert than you thought you were. You're not going to be a vegetarian for your whole life. You are able to sleep in any kind of conditions, barring planes.You don't actually like On The Road but you still like Catcher in the Rye and both of those things are fine.
Once. Maybe twice, but definitely once.
For you, it's gonna hit you in the chest like a punch. For you, it also leaves as suddenly as it comes.
In ways. Being a part of something, mostly. Also, his mother.
Your feelings on marriage are pretty much the same as they've always been: nah.
Yes, you do, but then again, you always do.
Nope, due to fear. Yeah, that hasn't changed much either. Sorry.
A bridge on your left shoulder blade and you are saving up for more.
No, not even your ears anymore. You continue to be terrible at accessories that aren't hats.
You've completed a poetry chapbook and two one act plays, as well as an award winning short story, so yes, you are capable of finishing things.
Yes, you do still write songs! You're better at instruments now, too.
That's way too complicated to tell you about here but it's going to be a surreal magic.
Well, Mom is always going to say it's because you're tough and smart, and you're going to think it's because you're too much. It is both of these things, but it's also neither. Perhaps it's because you simply won't let it happen.
Yes, you do get to meet him, you enormous dweeb. God.
He's beautiful, kind, and much smaller than you thought he'd be.
Twice!
Nope, that's still there.
That too. Nobody has noticed, and if they have, they don't care.
Freckles are adorable and very in.
No, believing in God is still not a thing. But as for the otherworldly... nothing is created or destroyed. It can only change forms.
You're still a bad dancer, yeah. You don't care anymore, though.
Surprisingly no. You're very good at being invisible when it suits your needs.
I have no idea. This is not a good thing.
No, you're not more or less mature than anyone else. You're a bit more quick witted and are good at context clues. You're also very pretentious and an idiot about a lot of things right now. This will change.
You still apologize excessively. Sorry. This is a societal thing and not a you thing, though.
Katie and sometimes Jillian. That's it.
Forget anything you think you know about permanence.
Define relationship.
With those parameters, I guess.
It was all my fault.
It was both our faults.
It was his fault.
In the heat of the moment, it's really fun, but I can see why you'd be repulsed.
You will do "worse" things. By worse I mean societally worse. They're fun as hell.
Yes, it is socially acceptable to wear leggings as pants and yes, you do wear them as pants. Don't knock it till you've tried it.
It's not that you want to fuck him; it's that you want to be him. I know that's confusing.
You swear a little less, but still quite a damn bit.
Yes, you're still sad sometimes. And yes, some days feel hopeless still. But you're getting better at accepting you, and realizing that you're of value. Even at 13, you are. You just have some growing up to do.
One last bit of unsolicited advice: for the love of god, embrace sneakers with sole support. They're not that ugly.
and you drink your beer, and we smile at each other at a run down dive bar, and i think i love you more than words can say, and i make jokes about it, and i don't want to be with you, and i never have really,
but i want you to notice me the way i notice you, but i want you to be so intertwined with me as i am with you, but i get so stupidly jealous, but i don't know if i've ever loved anyone this much
(well i can think of a few people actually) (well i can think of days spent lunching on a lawn, daily, hugs across a quad) (well i can think of so many things about shared smiles and checking in)
so i wave goodbye metaphorically, so i weep on city streets, so i feel your hand on the small of my back, so i let you move on, so i learn to not miss you, so i unlearn what it is about you that gets me started
i found some gold dollars on my desk, they are heavy in my hand, as i listen to ads on spotify
my thoughts are wandering, always changing
he called me to redo our prior conversation since he was not awake and i was sensitive
i like that he does it, i like it, it makes me feel less rotten
i'm always feeling rotten, it's an echo, and the chapped nature of my hands leads to cuts that i've grown accustomed to
i welcome you, friends of my sullen winter
maybe i'll round the corner, buy a few beers, fall in love with my reflection in a bodega window
the fireball is too sharp on my swollen tongue for today, and i need the nerve to see a lover face to face, cheek to cheek as we don't kiss because i have cold sores
how do i make it hurt less, i wasn't given the standard manual
i felt you creeping in my skin in some dream somewhere somehow
and i'm reminded of west side story but everything loops around to a pop culture reference as i gulp jack and coke out of a salsa jar because i'm an adult who makes her own choices
i wish they were good choices
i wish i felt your breath against my neck and your hands around my waist and a promise within an inch of my life because i'm pathetic aren't i
aren't i just the cutest thing, all red faced and doubtful
and you envelope me and i feel at home as the soda fizzles against a sealed top, sounding like crickets outside in the dead of winter
i felt like a ghost long before i met you, and will long after
so save your writing please, save your kindnesses for the afterparty
i am not worth the dime in your pocket for a '50s coffee, the fingerless gloves on your cracked palms, the looseness in your heart after being let down
things that remind me I should probably stop smoking: ii
my tongue tastes like ashes again.
I want it to be more like cinnamon
or incense or maybe even
the dampness of the air after rain
but it's essence of Camel
mix it with some Stella, I'm not complaining
I find it kind of funny anyway, I get the joke
smoking a brand of cigarette that is distinctly American
outside of a bar in Soho (London, not NYC, and I am reminded that I'm nothing more than a transplant)
my phone died about an hour ago, but my friends will know where to find me
i fucked up the address to the hole in the ground, but i see the rockabilly kids and their biker babes and know I'll be okay
cal is well into manhood, his contours catching my taken eye
and we settle into the crowd to watch the show, a ten piecer with a Swedish Luis Guzman.
I look at Jessie, Crohns-y and feelin' low, but still smiling
and I think about another life in which maybe we could have been
not in love, not quite, i don't think in any universe that is possible
but something akin to connected, moreso than now
i’m on the bus and i’ve decided against calling my mother.
i see her face hard at work, paint spackled and on the edge of a stroke of brilliance, and i wonder how long it will take me to be like that. but i am not afraid, i don’t think. i drift and dream instead of the coors that awaits me when i get home, the potential of my boyfriend’s arms, his sweat scent wafting from him, nurturing me like the ocean. i am a machine. i am a mess. i am the child wanted but the grown up stuck between the sheets and springs of a long worn mattress, pressed and gazing at obscenity in mirrors. yesterday was legs wrapped, skin grazed, and face against chest as tears of stress rolled onto barely hairy skin. “you need to sleep.” i can’t say he’s wrong. i feel my love as a cloudless sky, so quite not blue, blanketing restlessness.
figuratively shouting from a rooftop
"do you like me check yes or yes"
that say anything grind, boombox with an ipod deck
and i'm an expy for a different girl/time/life
why don't you why can't you why won't you
i think about the person i was
four years ago
and i'm not sure if i like her better
but i think i like the way she looks
the way she moves in that looser skin
do you like me now, check no or no
and there's something contrived in our patterns
but what would i know about it anyway
i'm too tired from my little tastes of grown unknowns
that i can't get a taste of my own rhythm
i haven't shaved my armpits in two weeks
and i probably smell like those dank crust kids you see hanging around old city during first fridays
the clunky phrasing that isn't quite poetic but neither are they really
but they are art in a way, in the way that they beg for change in order to support willing homelessness
i'm not sure how i feel about it
but then again i'm not sure how i feel about a lot of things
i've let myself go in ways and kept track in others
because if you're gonna love me you're gonna love me for me
ya know
what a funny place to rupture! @hilarydavies - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
