Exactly What Does A Girl Want In A Boyfriend?

There are so many projects I’m doing for school. And guess what? I care about the topics very minimally. [Well, I’m doing a research thing on evangelicalism which is rather interesting, but that’s besides the point.]

Here’s why I need you: I’m doing my own little research. It’s actually for a friend, but I’m interested in collecting the data myself, because I’m INTERESTED in it. The topic is "Exactly What Does A Girl Want In A Boyfriend"? I know, I could dig through my collection of Cosmopolitan and Seventeen magazines, but I want some input from girls living the everyday life. I’d appreciate your help.


Here are some questions I’d like you girls to answer, and you can be completely inexperienced in the field of dating [in case you don't understand the question, I provided my own answers as an example]:



1. First of all, what kind of girl are you? I hate to use the cliched stereotypes, but under which social group would you place yourself [preppy, nerdy, rebellious, etc.]? What are your hobbies and interests?
I’ll say I’m a super-liberal nerd with an unusual sense of humour and a rather large ego. I’m most likely what you would call a new-age hippie, from my spiritual way of thinking to my goals of world peace and human rights shared with everyone on this planet. I’m loud and radical with my friends, though around strangers I am quite shy and bashful. I enjoy writing a LOT, and I want to be a novelist when I grow up. I’m irreligious, I will forgive you for anything [from giving me a bruise to stealing my boyfriend] which probably makes me a pushover, but in the instances when I can’t take being stepped all over anyway: watch out, because Kayteezilla is armed and dangerous. I want to major in religious studies or philosophy, but I would also make an excellent magazine editor. [You do not have to be so extensive with this question, but I was because I like talking about myself.]
2. Physically, what do you first notice about a potential boyfriend?
In guys, what I first tend to notice is their shape. But the way I see their shape is very unusual as compared to the way the average 15-year-old girl would see it. I will under no circumstances be able to stand a guy who has insane abs - I take it to mean he cares to much about what people think of him [actually, he could be in that shape because he’s a heroic firefighter, but I still think they’re ugly]. I like a little chub, a smooth back, some chest hair [but not an insane amount], nice eyes, NICE lips, and big teeth! I’m not kidding, I love big teeth. And not perfect ones either. Just...big ones [see: Freddie Mercury...perfect example]. But despite all these preferences, in the end, looks don’t matter to me when I’m in love [if I date a guy who isn’t all that attractive, I’ll think he’s the hottest thing ever once I fall in love anyway...it is guaranteed].
3. Personally, what qualities do you look for in a potential boyfriend?
Mostly, compatibility. I want a guy I can talk to all night about everything: from why phones suck so much to my very personal longings for spirituality and knowledge of what is to come. I want somebody who stands out from the crowd of guys who are and aren’t trying to stand out. I want a compassionate and sensitive dude who cries during chick flicks, even though he claims that it’s because his contact is being weird. I want a guy who is devoted to me and who I can devote myself to. Somebody to trust. Musical talent is welcome. Even better, writing talent is also welcome.
4. What are your turn-ons and turn-offs?
Turn-ons: chub, dorkiness, liberalness, worldly, different, very intelligent, sensitive, BIG TEEEEEEEETH!!!! Oh, and I would be so turned on if he actually listened to Queen with me, and actually enjoyed it, and actually learned the lyrics so we could sing together.Turn-offs: popularity [I dunno, I know some popular guys are like that because they’re so sweet, but a guy with 392 Myspace friends...no], 6-packs, shaggy blonde hair, conservative, religious, narrow-minded, too quiet, very pessimistic, complains about how crap he is.
5. Where would you recommend a guy to draw the line between way too clingy and not there enough? Describe in as much detail as possible.
Way too clingy: calls me more than once or twice a day, even if I don’t answer [if I want to talk, I’ll call him back; plus, everyone who dates me should know how much I truly HATE talking on the phone]; expects me to cancel girl nights for him; has to see me everyday [I would much rather not go to school with him: absence makes thy heart groweth fonder, or whatever]; he actually tries to change himself to be more compatible with me.Not there enough: Doesn’t even bother to call me or message me on myspace at least five times a week; see him mostly in group settings; unable to go to one another’s houses [it would be mostly a parental problem, but a problem nonetheless]; not obligated to open up to me [emotional thereness is much more important to me than physical thereness].
6. If you had, in your eyes, the hottest guy you’ve ever seen, what would he have to do to make you break up with him?
Oh man. Since I am not a looks person, it could be anything, from cheating on me [I’m a person who believes a relationship can be saved after cheating, but if the guy had bad intentions all along, then he must GO] to telling my mom she’s an annoying bitch who should stop being such a paranoid tramp and let him hump me [even though she pisses me off a lot, no one talks to her like that except me, since I at least know her reasons for being so].
7. If a rather unattractive guy was interested in you, what qualities would he have to have so that you would consider dating him? [Besides money, people...]
Again, since attractiveness isn’t important to me much, all he has to do is have most or all of the qualities I described in question three. As I said before, when I fall in love, I think the person is the hottest thing in the world...besides Freddie, but that’s an impossible standard that even I know is unrealistic. As long as they have those qualities, they can look like fucking Quasimodo and I would want to SEX THEM UP!!! UGH YES! I would so fucking go out with Disney Quasimodo. The sweetest motherfucker ever. He’s a bit creepy in the book.
8. Describe the ideal date [the activities, not the guy himself].
Well the whole cliche coffee date thing at some indie cafe that plays underground music or JAZZ. So we talk about everything all night, and finally end up walking through some nice park downtown on a breezy and slightly chilly night, still talking. Then we somehow find ourselves at the local beach [which San Antonio does not have, unless you count the riverwalk, which I don’t] and gaze at stars and talk about the universe, and then I feel all these butterflies and so does he and then we snog lightly. And then he asks if he can see me next weekend.
9. What do you consider to be romantic?
To be best friends with your lover. I SO want that. I don’t want a sex buddy or just a boyfriend for the hell of it. I love the idea of talking and goofing off and joking around and arguing with the guy I go down on when my mom isn’t looking [lol...]. I also think it’s romantic to run out of your wedding with some crap guy that you don’t love who you were only betrothed to or just pressured by friends and family to marry to elope with the weird poor guy no one you know approves of. Also, seeing your love for the first time in ages and having mind-blowing "hello" sex. xDDD
10. How do you feel about chivalry? When is it and when isn’t it appropriate?
I think most girls will agree with me when I say that it depends on the setting: in a casual setting, such as movie theatre or dining out to some informal restaurant or something like that, chivalry is to be put aside. I know perfectly well how to open the car door, thankyouverymuch, and I fucking TOLD you I would pay for myself; don’t INSIST on paying for me, because I feel uncomfortable about it, and please don’t make me tense. And fucking christ, what am I gonna do with those flowers? Is it my wedding or something? Actually, a lot of girls wouldn’t mind flowers. But girls like me would [this is where question 1 comes in handy]. In formal settings, such as prom night or a wedding, it might be okay. I’m in a long dress, so open the car door if you want to spare me from tripping and ripping the thing down its seams. Give me flowers, so I can stick one in my well-groomed hair. Pay for me, since the food is fucking expensive and I can’t afford it and I know you can [heh]. BUT...that’s most girls. FOR ME...chivalry is never called for. Even in those formal settings, I would get annoyed if the dude acted like a gentleman. Just act normal, but a little more sophisticated. That’s it. Thank you.
11. In what manner would you like a guy to ask you out?
Spontaneously. I have a total crush on him, and I don’t know it’s coming, but it does. For instance, we’re at a school function or something, and we’re sitting next to each other at, say, Ninerpalooza or some shit like that, and we’re talking about music, since that’s obviously the environment in which you’re supposed to talk about music. And he says, "Next weekend, my friend’s band is playing at this bar. You need to be 18 to get in, but the owner and I are old buds. I told them I’d be there, and it’d be pretty cool if you could accompany me. They’re pretty awesome. I think you’ll like them." Or if he’s more literary and new, we’re just chatting each other up at the public library where we just met and he goes: "Dude, I know, Stephen King kicks ass. There is actually a showing of the movie ’Pet Sematary’ at this old theatre downtown, if you’re interested in coming to see it with me. It’s an old movie, but the effects are so shit that it’s more funny than scary. And we could get some coffee after, or something."
12. What kinds of activities would you and your ideal boyfriend do on a regular basis? What kinds of things would you talk about? How often would you see each other?
Mostly, we would do things like go for a bike ride, sit on the swings at the park and chat, go to Fiesta Texas to ride the scariest ride over and over again until we feel sick and have to walk all the way across the parking lot and highway to Palladium to watch a movie in the air conditioning, share our music, etc. And, of course, make out and stuff. But not ALL the time. We would talk about everything, as I said. Music, friends, religion, Osama Bin Laden, literature, philosophy, death, family, emotions, ETC. ETC. ETC. And ideally, I would see him once or twice a week.
13. How do you know when you’re in love?
I know I’m in love when that little-girl feeling with the butterflies and giggles goes away and is replaced with a hugely powerful bond of best friendship with lots of chemistry and sexual crap. I know I’m in love when I actually find myself running off with him to elope in India or wherever, even though I am completely against the institution of marriage for personal reasons [as in, you can get married for all you care, and if it lasts, more power to ya. But it’s definitely not for me]. Stuff like that.
14. When you know you’re in love, how do you express it to your guy, verbally, physically, and any other way?
Verbally, I, of course, say the cliched three words. I also might tell him the insanely powerful words, "I think I love you more than Freddie Mercury." Now THAT is fucking strong love. Also, I might say something corny like, "If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t be self-realised right now." Physically, I would kiss him slowly and lightly, and caress his face, and cuddle into his chubchub and wrap my arms around him. Also, I have this sick masochistic thing where I like to be mean to him and make him feel bad so that I can say something that totally changes his mood and makes his day, making me seem heroic. I know, it’s messed up, but I do that.
15. You know a guy loves you when he....
Tells me really personal things that even I wouldn’t try to pry from him; drives all the way to my house when I’m sick to watch chick flicks with me, since I’m always in the chick flick mood when I’m sick; buys pads for me at the store when I’m crumbled up in the car suffering from major PMS cramps; I can just tell by the way he looks at me. It’s not psychic, it’s just intuition that every girl should and probably does have.
16. What sorts of behaviours do you believe a guy should possess to make any girl fall in love with him?
He should be open-minded and free-spirited. Intelligent and independent. Shy, but with a wicked sense of humour when he becomes comfortable. Spontaneous and obviously not on the prowl.
17. What sorts of behaviours are total no-nos for guys looking for love?
Clinginess, whinyness, tells you every flaw about him, has very high standards, and has a record of violent behaviour.
18. How long should a guy wait to move to the "next base" with you? [Here is the field for you: "first base" is kissing, "second base" is touching you in your girly spots, "third base" is any other sexual activity besides intercourse, and "home" is, of course, the Full Monty, All the Way, the grand S-E-X.] You may divide the categories into sub-categories if you’d like [i.e., under kissing: pecking, then smooching, then frenching, then just sucking face].
Every couple is different. For me, I have noticed that in my relationships, the faster things happen, the shorter it lasts. My shortest relationship lasted two weeks, and we got to 2nd base on the third day of becoming "official". My longest relationship was a year and a half, and it took us six months to get to 2nd base. On average, here is what I think if I’m looking for a long-term partner: I will kiss on the 1st or 2nd date, but not too heavily until later in the 3rd or into the 4th date, or when we’ve become "official", or something like that. We should wait 2 to 3 months to get to 2nd base, maybe 3 more months to get to 3rd, and finally from about 10 months to a year to experience home for the first time with him. I’m talking my age group-wise. Adult wise, I would probably screw him after one month. But I know my boundaries. Well maybe I don’t. But I do. I know MY boundaries, not my mother’s or whatever.
19. What are some simple but effective ways for a guy to show you his love?
Kiss me totally spontaneously when I’m kind of acting wild and hyper and need something to calm down, automatically be playing [and enjoying] Queen when I hop into his car, actually read something I’ve written and tell me what I could do to improve, etc.
20. Finally, what piece of advice would you give to a guy with severe relationship and intimacy issues of any sort [clinginess, heartbreak, high-maintenance, prudeness, etc.]?
Believe me, if you don’t love yourself first in a non-conceited way, us girls can sense that, and we will wonder why, and if it’s because you know that you’re not that great. We love confidence. We love security. Don’t be overly macho, but be true to yourself. If you’re a stranger to yourself to find love, you won’t find it: you’ll only find an imposterous relationship with tension. Not everybody is going to like you. But somebody will. I promise.


You can email me your answers at wilddreamer_luv_freddie@yahoo.com.
You can also contact me via Myspace, for which my URL is www.myspace.com/freddiemercury777.

A Secret for You.

My secret isn't...it isn't a secret really, but just a painful observation. And that's that people don't seem to care about my opinion, even though I'm one of the few people who seems to have one, or at least the nerve to express it. But maybe it's because...not influential. Are influential and popular synonymous? Must you be one to be another?

I think some people are under the impression that I shove my opinion down people's throats, thought I beg to differ. When people are trying to understand me but feel intimidated by my incessant persistence to get them to see the way I do, that's different. THAT is shoving my opinion down people's throats. But I don't do that! I haven't! Whenever I try to talk about an important issue, people roll their eyes and block me out! They won't stand to hear it! I know that some of my friends don't even like me much anymore because of my rants. But it's not like I'm forcing them on anybody. Just because somebody disagrees with me doesn't mean they have to accuse me of bigotry and then ignore me! The problem is just that! I begin to discuss something, but by the time I get to the part that people MUST hear, the part that is the entire point of my going off in the first place, the moral of the story if you will, I know I am being tuned out. How do I prevent this? How do I get people to want to know what I have to say? How do I speak, but ensure that I being heard?

Obviously, if this really is a problem, no one will know much about it, since this IS my blog, and this IS what I want people to know about me. And if somebody is actually reading this, I thank you.

Did you know that before I decided to just keep up with a written blog entirely (okay, typed, same difference), I wanted to express myself with vlogs? As in, video blogging. But I would record myself going on spools...even though vocalizing is not one of my talents. Writing is. I don't often stumble over words when I write. I can usually get my idea across quite clearly, whereas when I speak, I never seem certain about what I am saying, even if I am. I had to take speech class in kindergarten, but since it had been determined that I hadn't needed much, they lasted a mere six months. But as shown later in life, I had.

But why does it matter when I've got two functional hands to type and a keyboard? All I'm asking for is an audience.

Unhappy? GET THE FUCK OVER IT.

The thought is a common one, and one that, without a doubt, can cause lots of trouble in our diverse world: “If people thought like I did, everyone would be happy.” Thoughts like these can, in fact, be destructive if people actually attempt to make it so. One example is the effect of communism: in theory, it creates a utopian society. The truth is, however, that it causes more problems than necessary. People fail to realise that people are thinking the exact same thing, but with completely opposite stances. There will always be a large group of people who will stand in your way in your attempts of conforming people to your way of thinking. Humanity being the way it is, something like communism could never exist without an overdose of trouble.

So when I say all that I will be saying for the next couple of weeks, keep my views on this in mind. The way I approach personal dilemmas definitely work for me, but they may not work for you. Even if you do want to attempt to abide by them, it won’t be easy. I, of course, had to experience the suffering first-hand before learning how to deal with them. I’m not sure how unique my methods of coping with typical stresses are, but judging by all the whiny emo brats I see everywhere, it isn’t common.

If you are offended by the title of which I named this mini-series I have begun in my blog…continue reading. It gets worse, and you need to learn to stop taking things so personally. If you’re still too weak to face the facts, or just too narrow-minded to accept another person’s approach, stop reading if you want, but the fact remains that you are indeed weak-minded and not mature enough to handle even the simple rants of a 15-year-old.

Do you even know what this is about? To be thorough but simple, this my version of a counseling-session in blog form. Ideally, it’s for teens who are suffering from typical adolescent troubles, but because this is not an ideal world, there will probably be older people for whom this could be of use too –sadly. But even though reading might feel like a bitch-slap, actually acting upon comes as quite relieving. You don’t need Jesus, or even Freddie Mercury, but you do need to be open-minded and searching for a way to deal with your problems.

While it did help me to have a savior at my side, my newly adopted way of seeing and experiencing things has made me one of the happiest kids you will ever meet. Sure, I may seem a bit downcast at times, but that’s just my melancholic temperament, a phenomenon beyond my control, and something I do not want to change. My mind is a constant carnival, and radiantly whole-hearted smiles are common in my world. Your smile is beautiful; I’d like to say the same about you. Unfortunately, smiling doesn’t seem to be something you do often enough, does it? There’s something tugging at your happiness and pulling it deeper into oblivion, isn’t there? Whatever it is, let it go.

Get the fuck over it.

Loving Him Ain't Easy

So here's another one, people. This time, it's for "Leaving Home Ain't Easy", and it's much more melancholic than the last one, and gives you an even greater idea of the misery this obsession puts me in all the time. =]

Loving Him Ain't Easy

Like a widowed bride

I drown in my despair

Cuz the man I adore

Has gone on his way

I may seem so lame

To a man with such fame

But my heart still aches

And I'm dressed in black

Please something distract

Me from this endless shame

He can see in my eyes

He can see through my tears

I'm not just a fan

And yes, I know it's cliche

Though there's so much to lose

I want him instead

I want my heart to be his home

Ohh but it is

Loving him ain't easy

Oh I never thought it would be easy

But I don't feel alone

Oh I know the whole thing may be whack

Loving him ain't easy

But his heart it is my home

Sway with me my love let's sway

Play my love let's play my love

Tonight, my love

Ohh loving him ain't easy

I think I will go on believing
But I don't feel alone
He's done so much, I'll give him that
Loving him ain't necessary
He's gone on his way
Loving him ain't easy
But I know he's gone away

Sex On Two Legs

Here's my parody of "Death On Two Legs".The syllables might not work out upon reading them, but if I sang them to you, it'd work.The themes of the actual song and my parody are like opposites: the song is about an obnoxious employer, and this is about, of course, my attraction to Freddie Mercury.

Sex On Two Legs

You blow my mind when you sing, you've got my heart by a string

I can't have you and it hurts, you're my reason to live, honey

But I want more...

Beautiful jewel with your style and cool

With your mindblowing good looks, you're the reason for my vision

Sex on two legs, you're breaking my heart

Sex on two legs, I really wish we could be alone

Play boy, oh my, sex walking, loud sigh

I want to be your pride and joy

I want to be your naughty toy, can you chase me, then embrace me?

And then you can kiss my lips good night.

Feel good, I'd be satisfied, if I felt our bodies collide (Don't it feel good?)

Is your absence all right? Well it plagues me at night

I want to feel good feel good

I would take you at noon or maybe under the moon

Just let me show you I can, all I'm asking is this one high

Let me feel you inside

Show me some ease, why must you be such a tease?

I'm a fan girl and you're in show biz, but let me give you my all

How's that for a deal? (Score!)

Sex on two legs, you're breaking my heart

Sex on two legs, I really wish we could be(we've never been)

Alone (Tears me apart)

Insane I should be put inside

I've been saving myself all for a rock star who's died

Though my chances are destroyed and without you I'm a void

I hope to feel good, I feel good

The TRUTH About Bisexuality

http://lgbt.studentaffairs.duke.edu/faqs/bisexuality.html

The above link is a Duke University list of myths and facts about bisexuality. And ALL OF IT IS TRUE. Except the myths of course.

I myself am bisexual, and I if I relate any more to this article, I will probably get sucked into it and will have it stamped word for word all over my body. But I'm not going to do that. Who knows what the orientation of the author is? I'm here to legitimise it. Because I know firsthand what they're talking about.

[Although the author already came up with his/her own answers for these myths, I am going to respond with my own.]

Myth: Bisexuality doesn't really exist. People who consider themselves bisexual are going though a phase/ confused/ undecided/ fence sitting. Ultimately they'll settle down and realize they're actually homosexual or heterosexual.

My truth: I get so much of this, and obviously it is not true. I do consider myself bisexual, but I am not going through a phase. I have ALWAYS liked both women and men, and I can date my first girl crush back to 2nd or 3rd grade, before I even knew what sexual orientation was. To be honest, I have TRIED to settle down and realise I'm one or the other, but I'm neither. When I am having a sexual fantasy about a man, chances are that a week from then I'm going to have an equally steamy fantasy about a women. I can't help it.


Myth: Bisexuality doesn't really exist. People who consider themselves bisexual are really heterosexual, but are experimenting/playing around/trying to be cool/liberated/trendy/politically correct.

My truth: Although I have definitely come to terms with my bisexuality and will be honest when anybody asks, it's not a lifestyle I would have chosen on purpose. Dude, think about it. I've known I've liked both girls and boys since I was 8. You really think I would have even known it to be "cool" or "trendy" to be bisexual at that age? Even though I was the first person I ever heard of to like girls even though I was one?


Myth: Bisexuality doesn't really exist. People who consider themselves bisexual are actually lesbian/ gay, but haven't fully accepted themselves and finished coming out of the closet (acknowledging their attraction to people of the same gender.)

My truth: Believe me, if I was a full-fledged lesbian, I would have come out a long time ago. Sometimes I try to force myself to feel attracted only to women, and vice versa, but it's never going to happen. If I ever tell you I'm straight/a lesbian, DON'T BELIEVE ME (I don't think I will though)! I have done it before, and everyone knew I was lying.


Myth: Bisexual people are shallow, narcissistic, untrustworthy, hedonistic, and/or immoral.

My truth: Oh please, and the next person isn't, straight, bi, OR gay? If you know me well, you should know this is a laughable myth, since I am none of those things (maybe a little immoral though...hehehehe). And if I WAS, it has nothing to do with my bisexuality. I mean come on, how can anyone DENY the fully straight and gay people out there who have those traits as well? Those traits are completely IRRELEVENT to sexual orientation.


Myth: Bisexual people are equally attracted to both sexes. Bisexual means having concurrent lovers of both sexes.

My truth: Um, not. There's NO WAY you can be attracted to each sex equally. You see, I see human sexuality as a spectrum. There are two extremes, absolute heterosexuality and absolute homosexuality. And then there are bisexual people, like me, who are somewhere in between. But rarely is anyone completely 50%. Myself? I'm probably 40% straight and 60% gay. And that concurrent lovers is bogus. I am currently* in a committed relationship with a dude, and I don't plan on cheating on him for anyone, boy or girl. But if I ever break up with him, whether it be for a girl or not, it's not because I ABSOLUTELY NEED to have a girlfriend. It's just that I've found someone else who I feel can fulfill my needs as a human being. Or that I haven't found anyone, and I'm just sick of being in a relationship, period. I wouldn't be in concurrent relationships.


Myth: Bisexual people are promiscuous hypersexual swingers who are attracted to every woman and man they meet. Bisexual people cannot be monogamous, nor can they marry or live in traditional committed relationships. They could never be celibate.

My truth: Like there aren't straight sluts out there!! People - MOST OF THE WHORES I HAVE COME ACROSS HAVE NOT BEEN BISEXUAL. And although I have no desire to get married or to stay with someone for a long time, again, my bisexuality isn't the cause of these feelings. People fail to realise when they brand bisexuals with these stereotypes that there are people of their own sexuality that are like that. And not all of them are like that, right? Same here. And although I'm not a slut, what's wrong with not being celibate? Even if I was straight, I'd still think celibacy is a load of crap.


Myth: Bisexual people spread AIDS to the heterosexual and lesbians communities.

My truth: Ho, ho, ho. I've actually heard this one for purely gay men rather than bisexuals, but both are ABSOLUTELY ridiculous. First of all, sexual orientation is, ONCE AGAIN, completely irrelevant. It has to do with honesty and responsibility. No matter who you're having sex with, you should be protected and getting checked up annually by a gynocologist. Also, who the hell are you to BLAME this horrible epidemic on anyone? If you care so fucking much about AIDS, why don't you DO something about it rather than bitching about gay people who spread it, especially since that is false and you're ignorant as hell. Being tested HIV-positive may no longer be a death sentence, but it still feels like one (I so imagine). At least have some SYMPATHY for these suffering people. It shows how truly ignorant and immoral a person is when they blame something like this on a certain group of people. Who cares who started it? We should be focused on who and what's going to STOP it.


Myth: Politically, bisexual people are traitors to the cause of lesbian/gay liberation. They pass as heterosexual to avoid trouble and maintain heterosexual privilege.

My truth: I don't. I'm totally out and fighting for gay liberation. And come on, like completely gay and lesbian people don't sometimes do it? Right. It depends on the person, not their sexual orientation (haven't you noticed this trend? You can't stereotype any group for something, because those traits can be found in anyone).


Myth: Bisexual women will always leave their lesbian lovers for men.

My truth: It's not they're leaving their lover for a man, they're leaving their lover for someone who could better fulfill their needs in a lover. Gender may or not be a role in this. But I can tell you that this is false. Bisexuals can be fully committed to someone of either sex.


Myth: Bisexual people get the best of both worlds and a doubled chance for a date on Saturday night.

My truth: I loved Duke's answer for this one and I'm going to paste it after I write mine. I read in Cosmopolitan magazine (since it is obviously the source of all truth) that for 100 single women, there are 116 bachelors. Just thought I'd throw that stat out there for anyone interested.

Duke's truth: Combine our society's extreme heterosexism and homophobia with lesbian and gay hesitance to accept bisexual people into their community, and it might be more accurate to say that bisexual people get the worst of both worlds. As to the doubled chance for a date theory, that depends more upon the individual's personality then it does upon her/his sexuality. If a bisexual woman has a hard time meeting people, her sexual orientation won't help much. (QFT!!!)


Myth: Bisexual people are desperately unhappy, endlessly seeking some kind of peace they cannot ever find.

My truth: Are you serious? Ever since I came to terms with my bisexuality in ninth grade, I've been happier and happier. I'm probably happier than most people my age, gay, straight, or bi. Also, Duke said that if you care so much for how a bisexual feels, stop being such a fucking homophobe and join the fight for gay liberation, since it is homophobia that mainly causes a great majority of the misery for GLBT people out there.

I hope I have opened your mind to bisexuality (of course, if you were homophobic from the beginning and very close-minded, there's probably nil hope for you. But for those who are gay tolerant but not so much bi tolerant, maybe I have changed that). It is a very legitimate sexual orientation, a very real one. Even if you hate the concept of bisexuality, at least you know there is a concept.


And there you have it,
Kaytee.

*This blog was originally posted on January 19, 2008, and this relationship has since ended. However, keep in mind I am only 15, and a year and a half is miraculously long compared to relationships other people within my age group have.

Radically Rad

What usually ends up happening is that I will think of something spectacular to blog about, type a few paragraphs in Microsoft Word about it, and then decide it's utter crap. There are so many things I have a lot to say about, I just find myself losing...the mood, I suppose. I've just decided to start a little weekly series or something called "Unhappy? Get the Fuck Over It" about crap teenage depression and the way I deal with silly adolescent dilemmas. It's very in-your-face and has attitude, and will most likely make the reader feel even worse upon reading it, but the point of it is to introduce my way of thinking.

Also, I, in a way, promised in my last blog that I would give my thoughts on conformity, mainstream, and Goth kids. There isn't actually much to say on the latter, except that they are unnecessarily melodramatic and annoying. That's all there is to it. But maybe I'll think of a way to expand on it, seeing as how I once tried to be one. I'd already written a blog about bisexuality before I created this site, so I'll share that when I'm not so lazy.

There's also: how I feel about preaching abstinence in sex ed, real intelligence, my religious views, etc.

(If you can't tell already, the only purpose this post serves is to organise my thoughts.)

*gasp* I also wanted to relate Harry Potter-world to the real world! There's so much I have to say about that. I'm currently re-reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and there is so much linkage from the magical world to the muggle world, it is insane. Obviously, J.K. Rowling must have had some of these on her mind as she wrote. In case you should know, I was once a Harry Potter fangirl. I'm not one so much anymore, since it's over and I've just got other interests. I was just bored the other day, and the book looked so tempting from my book shelf that I had to.

Enough of that. I've now got something to do.

And there you have it,

Kaytee.

An Admissible Addiction

Just so you know, I wasn’t always so comfortable with myself. Once upon a time, I took things so personally, and cared a great deal what other people thought. As a matter of fact, things only began to change for me at the beginning of this school year. It mattered less and less what other people thought, especially people who meant absolutely nothing to me – my philosophy is that you should only accept the criticism of people whom you know truly know you. From what I witness and once experienced, I know that a complete stranger can approach somebody and call her a whore, causing the victim to dwell on that person’s bogus opinion for ages, even if it isn’t true (it usually isn’t, but people still dwell, for some reason). But even though I could care less what people think, I still want to be understood. And I’m positive that a VERY tiny population truly understands my obsession with the singer, Freddie Mercury. If you don’t belong to that very small population yet still have heard of me, you are probably rolling your eyes at this moment, thinking, “Not this now.” But why not this? The only person I only really talk to about it is my best friend. And the only reason she understands is because she feels the exact same way!

Last year, when I showed up at high school with only one person I’d known and befriended previously, I had an especially complicated time when it came to trying to make people understand. Around strangers, I’m extremely shy, so it’s not like I would explain why I felt the way I did. All I could do was listen to his music (“I think Queen songs,” he once said, “are pure escapism, like going to see a good film.”), and in my loneliness, I literally depended on this man, with whom my existence has never even paralleled. Inevitably, this obsession made me infamous; people made it out to be a bad thing.

One day, as Selena and I entered the school in our usual amorous state upon seeing his face on my locker, we were flabbergasted by what we saw as we drew nearer: on my personal property, somebody had scrawled, “TOO BAD HE’S GAY”, along with a terrible pen mustache on his face (the photograph had been taken in the 70s). I don’t know to this day who had vandalized my locker poster, much less what was going through their heads. Maybe it was a stupid joke and they didn’t expect it to upset me as much as it did, or they just hated me for some reason. Either way, I nearly burst out in tears in public (which is something I NEVER do) and tossed it out, heartbroken. I’m absolutely certain that the attack was personal and not just a mockery of Freddie; any idiot should know that to insult him is to insult me. Which is why I was so dumbfounded. What miscreant would do such a thing with such cruel intentions? Obviously, the words weren’t what offended me. If anything, they only make the violator look like an even stupider asshole than he or she probably is: OBVIOUSLY, I am more than aware that Freddie was indeed a homosexual…but why did they use that? How ridiculous! The man is DEAD, for the love of god! Don’t you think THAT is what hurts me the most? If he was alive, I wouldn’t care less if he made love with pickles! Considering that the comment was written in the present tense, they probably didn’t even know this. But I’m certain that they did, which means that their grammar is a disgrace.

The reason I was upset was because the person or people who did it intended to hit my core. They were malicious and callous and completely unaware of my humanity. They failed to realise that maybe I already had a lot on my plate, what with my feelings of isolation and the sense of my peers’ contempt for me. Besides which, they didn’t know anything about me. They didn’t know my story. They didn’t care.

And finally, I was upset because the attitude of the violator represented the attitudes of most of the people around me. I knew that people who had never even heard my voice were talking about how annoying my obsession was. I knew that a few people with whom I had discussed it were trashing me for my weird devotion to a rock star. I knew that people had grown sick of it, even though I only talked about it to people who brought him up. I never brought him up, except with Selena. People would ask questions about him to me. People would ask me why I thought he was so attractive, despite his not having biceps or emo hair or any other disgusting feature teenagers like these days. And then they would ask me why I liked his music so much, to which I would reply, “Because his voice is like an angel’s. It has an insane range that no other singer can compete with. He also didn’t stick to one genre: Queen is various and it’s hard to place them in one specific area. And to me, he pwns all the crap that people listen to today.” And they would blow my words way out of proportion by telling their friends that I insulted them and was intolerant of their musical tastes.

Give me a break. It’s not like their musical tastes are their religion.

Because the fact is, mine aren’t either. But Freddie himself, which people should know, is more than a rock star to me. He’s a savior.

And that’s why I’m writing this blog. I want these people to at least comprehend why my love for this man runs so deeply in my veins. It makes sense, and if they only knew, they wouldn’t make such a big deal of it (well, they haven’t lately since I NEVER talk about Freddie at school, and besides which, people seem to sense that I know my place, that I’m much less vulnerable and much more kick-ass than I was last year). All I want is for my story to be heard and understood. And maybe, if you’ve ever criticized me for it, you’ll repent.

***

The summer of 2005 is probably one of the most memorable times of my life. I was about to start my last year at middle school, and I felt like I was the Queen Bee (even though I was still as freaky as could be). I thought I was sizzlin’. That year, I had received my first kiss, and was in my first relationship. During that summer, I would spend time with both of my posses – the dorky one with some of my oldest friends, and the wild one which influenced me rather negatively, though I loved both.

One day right as seventh grade was ending, me and my dorky crew were in the car on the way back from Fiesta Texas to Selena’s house for a slumber party. Selena said, “Hey guys, I wanna show you this cool band.” She slipped a CD into the music player and sat back smugly. I was a girl of style, and only knew what came on the radio, so it was my first time listening to one of those most famous songs in the world: “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality. Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see…” For most of the song, we had already arrived at Selena’s house, and sat in her garage listening to it. I remember staring at a portrait of an African boy hanging on the wall as I patiently listened to the unusual song. Honestly, it was pretty amazing, even though it wasn’t top 20 (of course I didn’t realise it had been #1 for weeks in its time).

“Who was that?” I asked curiously.

“They’re called Queen,” replied Selena, and she showed me a picture of them from the CD’s booklet. “My mom says they were all gay.” (As we became more knowledgeable about them, we discovered this wasn’t true, and teased her mom endlessly.) I took the booklet and studied it. Standing behind a chair were three men: one with wild curly hair, a good-looking blonde, and a timid brunette wearing a scarf around his wrist. But the guy in the chair was the most interesting. A bunch of grapes were in his hand and he looked as if he were about to eat the lot of them. He was wearing outrageous clothing and had a teddy bear in his lap. And his long hair was gorgeous – it looked like a woman’s.

A few weeks later, I went to Mexico with my family. Before we left, I had my dad burn the Queen’s greatest hits album he had from his computer to a CD so I could listen to it while there. The entire car-ride, I replayed it over and over again. It sounded nothing like Usher or Maroon 5 or John Mayer or Mariah Carey, but it was still pretty freaking good. During that trip, I declared Queen my favorite band (though I did this every few months with other bands – before that, the Red Hot Chili Peppers had been my favorite).

When I returned from Mexico, my boyfriend dumped me. I was devastated, and even though my friend set me up with her ex (what a mistake!), I was down in the dumps and cried for the guy all the time. My friend Amy invited the dorky crew to spend the night at her house, which was a very long car ride into the hills beyond San Antonio’s city limits. Because of the break-up, a girl’s night out was just what I needed, and it was one of the happiest times of my life. The entire ride there, we listened to Queen. The songs I associate with that day most are “You’re My Best Friend” and “Bicycle Race”.

Eventually, summer had to end, and I started 8th grade. The year was hell from the start. My friend who had set me up with her ex now hated me because she realized she still wanted him, though I was already too infatuated with him to give him up. Meanwhile, I could tell that my plans to become popular were not going to happen. The entire student body seemed to dislike me, and now the girl who wanted her ex back was turning everybody against me. I became worst than a geek – I was a social climber who tried too hard, but who was hated by all no matter what. Meanwhile, I was learning all I could about Queen, listening to the greatest hits 1, 2 and 3, falling more in love with the lead singer, Freddie Mercury. I would often go to Selena’s house and we would do our research. I am ashamed to admit that I actually believed that Zoroastrianism, his religion, was a branch of Islam. I know, I know, it’s stupid. But I knew very little about world religions besides Christianity. And I was going through a phase where I HATED Christianity. It had raised me to believe that homosexuality was disgraceful, though I was bisexual and was in love with a homosexual man. I claimed that it was full of shit and everything about it SUCKED, and I was devoutly atheist. Better to dismiss it and have my Catholic family hate me, than for me to hate myself for being bisexual (which, even still, I did – I had come out to Selena and a few others, but I had yet to admit it to myself). It was no wonder, being the odd girl out, that over the winter break that year, I changed my wardrobe completely from girly and preppy to somewhat Gothic. I thought I’d try out Wicca since I thought “witchcraft” was as rebellious as you could get. I went from trying so hard to be conformed and accepted, to trying as hard as I could to stray from the mainstream (I’ll give my thoughts on “mainstream” another time).

The Goth thing did nothing for me except express to the world how miserable I was, and how much I hated everybody. This drew people even further from me, until I found myself friendless, except for Selena and very few other people. The guy who had cost me one of my closest friendships dumped me, and I would throw myself at him every day, begging him to take me back, telling him I would do anything. Because I put myself in such a position, he agreed – he had his way with me, then tossed me out and stopped associating with me completely, claiming that he couldn’t speak with me during school hours for his reputation’s sake (his exact words: “I’ll go out with you outside of school, but not during school, because face it: I’m cool and you’re a freak. Guilty by association, know what I mean?” He wasn’t even cool!). Even my dorky friends ditched me: the fact was, they were no longer dorky, and were trying so hard themselves to be at top. Basically, I was too much of a loser for anybody to want to talk to me. All I had left was a best friend, who hurt me by still talking to the girls who ditched me so violently.

Inevitably, that’s when my love for Freddie Mercury exploded into full-fledged obsession. I learned all the Queen songs because I couldn’t get enough of Freddie’s magnificent voice. Every night, after flinging myself on my bed to punch my pillow in a rage of tears, I would turn on Queen and lie on my bed with my hand over my heart, listening and every now and then saying, in my mind or out loud, “Freddie…you’re all I have to live for.” He really was pure escapism for me. I basked in the beauty of his voice. I cried because it was so beautiful and I couldn’t get enough. I would write letters to him.

March 29, 2006

Dear Freddie,

I miss you so much! Don’t get freaked out, but sometimes I feel like killing myself to see where you went. Love of my life, where are you? If only I were there to help you when you were sick.

Do you know what will happen to me when I die? Are you in Heaven? You better be. That’s what you deserve. Hopefully I’ll meet you up there. Doubt it. All I can do is hate, because you’re gone. I love you and only you.

You will visit me, right? I feel your presence. Your hand is on my shoulder, and you’re watching me write. You’re singing in my ear.

Even if you were still alive, you’d never want me. You were gay. And you had Mary and everyone. I can’t imagine how terrible they felt when they lost you.

I didn’t even know you, and I love you. How they must cry, when I do too.

I’ve gotta go. Love you.

Kaytee.

Maybe it’s crazy to say, but I really believe that if I hadn’t had Freddie, I might have ended my life. Back then I didn’t realise it, but now I understand people for whom Jesus is their savior. Freddie saved me. It possibly could have been anybody, actually. It could have been Johnny Depp or Mick Jagger. But it was Freddie, and I can’t imagine it being anybody else. The point is, I really needed somebody to talk to, and because I didn’t believe in god (actually, I think I did believe in god – I just hated him), there wasn’t anybody else. Everyone else would judge me, but Freddie couldn’t speak to me. I couldn’t hear him saying nasty things about me. I felt that he could see into my mind since he had the power to do that, being a spirit, and knew where I was coming from. Sometimes, the feelings of his presence got so strong that I would be sobbing one moment, and completely content the next. Physically, I was always alone, locking myself in my bedroom and having few people to laugh with at school, but spiritually, I had hope. He became all I could think about, and it was for my own safety. Whenever I felt like making everything stop, I would have conversations with Freddie in my head. I might have been mentally insane, but at least it was insanity that saved my life.

Me: They all suck.
Freddie: Don’t talk like that.
Me: Well they do! Men especially.
Freddie: Oh. Well. Us men can be pains. Now I know how you really feel about me.
Me: You know what I mean!
Freddie: Do I?
Me: Yes, as a matter of fact, you do. You’re my true love. My obsession.

Also, I lived by what Freddie told me in songs (“Don’t try suicide! You’re just going to hate it…” and “this could be Heaven for everyone”). I was irrational. I was out of my mind. I truly in the pits, and would believe ANYTHING to get out.

Miraculously, things started to look up. I was accepted into Comm Arts, and lived with the idea that I no longer had to associate with all these idiotic people. I could start over. The worst year of my life was over, and it was followed by a dramatic and terrible summer. Then high school started, and I was in a different world. The school was small and easy to get around, but now I had to work at being liked. Selena and I had no classes together, not even lunch, so I really had to get my ass moving. Well, as shy as I was, it didn’t work out too well, but because I had Freddie, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I made my locker a shrine to Freddie Mercury on his 60th birthday, and after that, I became known as the freshman who was obsessed with Freddie Mercury. People would always joke around with me about how unattractive he was (right…I’m pretty sure we’re seeing different people – how is there ANYTHING unattractive about that man?), but until just before the locker incident, I thought all of it was in good heart. I knew that I wasn’t very popular or well liked, but it wasn’t until I arrived at school to see my locker poster marred that I realized that it was all a humongous joke to these people. Of course I didn’t expect them to understand my spiritual connection to Freddie, but I never expected for my savior to be used against me in an act of cruel mockery.

And it was then that I promised to myself to respect other people’s beliefs. Jesus, Muhammad, Zoroaster and other prophets weren’t such foreign concepts anymore. Though my obsession isn’t quite at the religious level, I began to identify with people who declared such people their saviors. They had their reasons for “walking” with those men, just as I had my reasons for “dancing” with my man. I’m only hoping that, instead of scorning my deep respect and love for Freddie Mercury, people can understand where it came from – the worst of times, when I had fallen into a hopeless, nearly-suicidal pit.

But even though I’m out of that pit, I still hang on to Freddie for dear life. Whenever I’m feeling just slightly angry or sad, listening to his voice instantly cheers me up. I owe my life to that man. I owe him my happiness.

Today, Selena and I were somberly discussing the bizarre fact that our lives have never paralleled with Freddie’s. I suggested, “Do you think…that Freddie would have saved me if he were still alive?”

“Are you saying that everything happens for a reason?”

I sat in silence for a few seconds. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Maybe it does.”

“The thing about Freddie not being here physically is that he could really be anywhere now.”

“We can’t wonder, ‘What is he doing right now? Is he recording something new?’” she added.

“Which is really what I think what saved me. If he was alive, I would know that I don’t matter to him. He wouldn’t be able to see what I’m thinking. But he’s dead. So maybe he can see into my soul. I could write letters to him and feel like he was actually reading them and nodding along.”

That’s why I don’t think this obsession is so crazy. It’s rational and safe, but spiritual and mysterious as well. Although I can’t know for sure, I feel a presence, and I like to think that it’s his. He’s with me all the time.

I’ll never be alone again.

Strangers

Am I stressed about being a stranger to myself? Nah, I know who I am. Whenever I look at myself in the mirror, I don't freak out and wonder, all Mulan, "When will my reflection show who I am inside?" For the most part, I am content with what I do and don't know about myself, and I know I'm much further along on my quest for self-realisation than most people my age are. Many women don't truly discover themselves until post-midlife crisis.

Here's the thing that kind of drives me insane: the fact that very few people know who I am. The majority of the world has absolutely no idea of my existence, and even those who read this and yet still have never met me only think of me as just another human among billions with something to say. I'm nobody to the planet. Most people probably feel this way. Whenever I watch TV, I wonder about the people on commercials and reality shows. How do they act around their friends? What are their views, religiously and politically?

But the weirdest thing about it is that people who I experience -for lack of a better word - from day to day don't really mean anything to me. They're just walking flesh with cloth hanging from their limbs, and even though I probably walk past them every day, I hardly notice them. When a person becomes a crowd, they blend in, no matter who they are. When there's only one stranger in a room, they are no longer a stranger. Their presence is deafening: I can hear their breathing in the awkward silence and know that they are gazing off into space, thinking about their lives just as I am. I know what I'm thinking. But there are so many things they could be thinking about. This stranger becomes the center of my attention, and I'm probably theirs, and he or she is probably wondering about me too. But how could they? I'm OBVIOUSLY me!! Can't you see that?

But I know they can't. I know that in a crowd, I'm only a blurred face. Nobody knows that I am feeling. They can't prove it. They just assume that I am real. Let me rephrase that: they just assume we, the crowd, are real. They assume nothing about singular, outlandish me. Truthfully, I'm not so outlandish.

When you're driving or riding in a car and looking out the window at the passing vehicles on the freeway, what are they to you? Just moving pieces of metal going from point A to point B? Do you ever realise that inside each of these vehicles is a person or two with an entire life and family and set of personal complications? Do you ever wonder about how they feel about the music that is inevitably playing inside their car, about who they're on their way to visit, about what their purpose for being on the same road as you is?

Even though the majority of people I see in my lifetime are strange to me, I always know that they are who they are. I never want to devalue them and see them as less than what they probably are. I can't know absolutely for sure - nobody can - but I'm going to assume that they can be sad, they can be overjoyed, they can feel terrible about themselves, they are going through a rough time, their lives are outstanding. I'm going to assume that however different their values and views are from mine, when it comes down to it, we're all humans and we all have to learn to live with each other. We're not really all that different. We all have our reasons for trying to over exaggerate our accomplishments and minimize our faults.

We need to stop dehumanizing each other and learn that we're all susceptible to harsh criticism and appreciative to kindly charity. Is the woman who had an affair with your husband really just a home wrecker? Or did she fall helplessly in love with an unavailable man and felt almost as terrible as you did? Is the man who robbed the corner store really a violent scumbag? Or was he just in a desperate financial situation and only doing what he felt was the only thing left to do?

I have no idea who you are. And you have no idea who I am. But if I swore to you that I have my reasons for doing what I do and feel about them as anybody else would, would that make me less strange to you?

The Usual Introductory Post

Blimey - the worst part about blogging: the first post! There are so many ways this could go. I could rant on about issues that make my blood boil; I could write sob stories about the hard times; I could document my self-discovery; I could gossip about celebrities that I love and hate...or all of the above. Though I don't quite know at this time what the purpose of this blog is, I'll just assume that it is genre-less. Whatever is on my mind will be here.

I don't want to move right into something important because I've probably ALREADY bored you half to death, and the things I do consider important will have posts all to their own. So I'll just do what I do best: talk about myself.

Assuming I am a stranger to you, my name is Kaytee. As of right now, I am 15 years old, and in 10th grade at a magnet school (public, but to which you have to apply - it's a great school, but it's not like it's very hard to get in). My GPA is disgusting, but because I have high ambitions, that is something I am trying to fix before it's too late. Just thinking about it causes me stress, but what else is school made for? I'm easy to get along with if you're either liberal or moderate or a tad conservative, but hardcore conservatives probably wouldn't be able to stand me. I'm a right-brained leftie, and perhaps a new-age hippie without the drugs.

My life revolves around the following things: Freddie Mercury, liberalism, writing, self-discovery, agnosticism with Buddhist influence, my best friend Selena, and Myspace. Most of the time, I find myself scorning other people in my age-group; they seem so shallow and so preoccupied with their clothes and hair and boyfriends, not seeming to grasp the concept that in all honesty, nothing they do is important. But then I have to slap my own wrist and remind myself that they're just doing what they do, that they'll grow out of it, and that one day, I'll be able to engage in meaningful conversation with them.

Sometimes I feel like a poseur, and I hope that I don't give you a self-important vibe. It's not that I think I'm better than anyone else, because if you could look into my soul, you would see that I've got as many problems as they do. But somebody has to be rational. Somebody has to watch as the world falls into the hands of idiots who keep knocking each other up and hating others just for their style of dress. And, fortunately or unfortunately, it's me. Living with these people is tedious, but I have to live with them, just as they have to live with me.

I'm feeling rather pessimistic, so I'll stop here before I make a fool of myself. I've got work to do.


And there you have it,
Kaytee.