Let’s Debunk: Normalcy & Dysfunction. 

When I went away from college, I decided to leave any problem or issue that happened at home, at home. For four years, I chose to focus on myself and what I was doing and where I was going. What I didn’t know at the time was that at the end of those four years, that was exactly where I’d end up: back at home. So imagine my surprise upon entering my old room and realizing that the place where I was at that moment, was no longer the same place I left.

There was an odd air of tension; not unlike those moments when you walk into a room and realize that the people in there were just talking about you. It wasn’t that I felt victimized, it was more like a huge battle had happened and I so happened to walk into the scattered remnants of bodies and cannon fodder. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like the home I once knew.

For weeks after, I would go on mini rants about how this “new” home I somehow wandered back to was dysfunctional and “not normal.” The entirety of my college career, I could calculate that I went home no more than thirty times and the home I would come back to, was unchanged. A façade. Smoke and mirrors. If you would like more cliches, I’m sure I can fabricate some. The wools were pulled over my eyes (there you go). I’d walk through the garage door to happy faces and welcome back hugs, completely unaware that anything had happened or anyone had just fucked up big time.

This blissful ignorance kept me in check for four years. It held itself together in the form of a dam, keeping the waters of “dysfunction” at bay until I found myself in a semi-permanent position. At that point, the employees quit and the dam was demolished. The waters of truth overwhelmed me in one fell swoop and I had to learn how to swim in less than five seconds.

I’ve been home for a little over a month and what I realized was that the idea of a normal family is just what society wants us to believe a family is (I know i’ve written on social constructionism before, but at the time of this realization, it had decided to take a backseat). Every family has to be The Brady Bunch; no drama, no fuck ups, no bumps. Then you realize, no family is The Brady Bunch. I’m just upset that it took me so long to realize that not one family is really exempt from this. Everyone is affected. It doesn’t make my family any less of one than my neighbors and it doesn’t make me any happier that someone else out there probably has a much dire situation than my own. Fact of the matter is, in this world, normalcy is having dysfunction.

Anything functioning is simply a façade.

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Let’s Rant: Whose Last Name is It Anyways?

One day, I want to get married. This much is true.

Being twenty-two, I am of course pondering this as a legitimate possibility. Having a husband to hold with whom I can begin a family; what twenty-two year old isn’t thinking of that (hint: most twenty-two year olds aren’t thinking about that, so let’s call me a special case and move on)? It hasn’t been until recently that I have seriously delved into the thought of marriage. Up until a few months ago, I hadn’t even received equitable rights if I were to marry someone. Now that I have the option and the freedom to do so, I have one serious question to ask: Whose last name do we take?

It’s a silly thing to wonder, isn’t it? For most people, it’s simple: take the last name of your husband. Done deal, sign the license and get to your honeymoon. But when both of you are the same sex, what then? Do you hyphenate? Do you switch? Who gets the honor of being before the hyphen? Does it all matter? The idea of marriage has only recently become progressive that the inner workings are still a bit traditional. My thought process began there and proceeded to creep its way through the crevices of my brain and plant itself deep within the hippocampus, too stubborn to move and too strong the leave me alone. The idea that the woman has to take the last name of the man is about as regressive as it is archaic. Even now as a society, we are barely grasping the idea that we can do what we want. If Zoe Saldana’s husband can take her last name, why can’t we do the same? Why not pull inspiration from the ‘They’re Just Like Us” spread of your favorite gossip magazine and make an attempt at being different? Why not disregard tradition?

There are so many things society is willing to abide to for the sake of tradition. That being said, what constitutes a tradition and are those bylaws allowed to be broken? Just because your mother and father did it one way, are you supposed to be attached to the idea that you should follow suit? I feel like traditions should be seen as suggestions as opposed to strict rules. This newly imbued malleability allows a person to pick and choose what they feel is relatable to them. If you don’t want to jump the broom, don’t do it. If you want to have sponsors at your wedding, have sponsors. Don’t be confined to such limitations and obligations set within one word.

Where was I again? Oh yeah, whose last name would I take?

Seriously, whose do I take?

Fuck it. I’m hyphenating…

Let’s Avert Our Gaze: Attractive People.

Aren’t people just so damn attractive?

Let’s just, for the sake of this post, leave our knowledge and notions of the male gaze at the door and ride along the stream of consciousness. Buckle in, we wouldn’t want anyone to fall overboard.

I’m about to get extremely candid with you, dear reader, so be warned. If you are a family member who doesn’t mind or has a strong stomach, keep reading. If not, then, well, it won’t be so bad. I’ll try to keep it PG-13…R, at the highest.

When I first meet an attractive person, I can never make contact. I haven’t fully deciphered the reasons why, but here are three that I have come up with so far:

  1. Their beauty is actually a special ocular repellant made especially for my eyes.
  2. Little me in the southern region is calling my eyes lower, because he wants to look too.
  3. I am simply not worthy of their presence.

This always happens and it’s what I’m patenting my “Radar of Sexiness.” In the event that I go blind upon encountering someone, please make sure they marry me because he needs to pay for taking my sight. I first realized the actions of this radar when I went to Trader Joes with a friend of mine. We were about to check out when I caught eyes with this extremely attractive man working the cash register next to ours.

He was tall, pretty athletic looking, and had hot pink hair.

Okay, that last part probably had some deeper meaning attached to it. Maybe he was involved with Susan G. Komen or was really into switching up his looks. Both of these unsubstantiated truths are ones that I can get on board with, so I am sticking to them. Regardless, my eyes darted straight to the contents of the cart and I immediately pulled my friend in and said, “Holy shit…I can’t. I just can’t.” With no further context clues beyond those words, she understood me perfectly.

However, with my luck what happened next seemed almost too appropriate. He came over and asked if he wanted us to move to his line, which was now open (a fact I didn’t bother to realize because he was too good looking for my own good and I just can’t look in his general direction). My friend, after a five second pause, told him we were good and we went on to pay and leave.

All that being said, I feel like I should’ve just bitten the bullet and gone to that line. Said “Hey. When are you off? Want to grab a drink? Want to go to the restroom and not rest?” Then again, those are only phrases I would write out and never say out loud to someone. I mean, what good would that have been if I actually said it? If those words were uttered, they’d be to the card scanner as I entered in my PIN number. I feel like that’d be very awkward considering I’d rather have sex with the pink-haired adonis and not some machine that gets swiped every five minutes.

Am I alone in this? Does anyone else avert their gazes at the inconceivable beauty of random strangers? Or am I doomed to this radar-related curse?

Better yet, I should just learn how to properly talk and flirt with a man. I think that’d be best. Until then, you can guarantee that if you spot me looking at the ground, someone very attractive is near.