My Memoir

Hello.

               

     Twenty years ago in about five months, you were born. Twenty years and nine months if you count the period you were a guest in her womb. When they loved each other enough to make love, you’re not sure if the goal was a child, or just the pleasure of being intimate, being in love and wanting the whole building, the whole city, the whole world to know that love blossomed from each of their bodies and into one another. Months passed quietly, love and work, both activities consumed them entirely. A forgettable day became memorable. She was pregnant. 4 months.

                

Love was made recklessly and in the process life was created. But two lives were already in full progress. Climbing up the corporate ladder, consumed with better, desiring for more. Desire rejected the new life, it would be a hindrance, a roadblock to what those two lives in full progress were destined to achieve.

               

But in the midst of love they decided to love the life now living in her body. Timing was wrong, plans were obliterated, but desire still abided in both lives. They worked harder, became less invested in each other and more invested in a future that needed to be created for the life that was already changing their lives and their love.

                

You were born. It was a blizzard. Just the two lives, nervously starring at the new one. The freezing precip fell from the sky, a cold chill ran up their spines, the love that seemingly had inferno strength left them freezing.

                

The city was left for suburbia. Culture for cookie cutter. But hey, who said the American dream incorporated culture? Love was left in that small studio apartment, where love made a life that changed two. You worry they resent you.

               

Months passed, the new life grew. You walked and talked, you said dad first, then mom. And then they left. Desire never left either of them, while love slowly did. They went back to work, started where they had left off. A nanny became your parents. She was nice though, lovely woman. She loved the live the two had created, the life they left to continue their own. The two lives would quietly stop in your room, as if they were visiting you in their own home. They loved you, they really did.

One Christmas after another, they weren't there. The two lives off pursuing goals, attaining some America dream, which was a fucking joke. Your dream was sitting in front of a massive pine covered tree opening presents with a fucking nanny. Love never filled that house the way it did the small studio apartment where they carelessly made love and life.

              

 Facades became a daily ritual for the two lives that no longer loved each other. Oddly enough they cared enough about the life they made to stay together, try and stick it out or whatever. You grew up, went to school, and made friends. Lived the typical American life, you were beginning to blossom while the two lives had been slowly rotting.

               

The nanny left, the new life wasn't so new anymore. The house got cold, almost like the blizzard you had been born on. It’s not that love wasn't there, but love for each other was gone. The two lives no longer loved each other just the one they created. How could you not love the person you made life with?

Divorce. They had rotted into corpses of who they had been in that studio apartment ten years prior. You didn't cry, you expected it. You lived, held your feels deep in the crevices of your heart and lived. Because although this is an autobiography they are your life, they gave you life and they took life from you. The emotional pain killed inside, you never think your family will be the one to explode. But you lived, made it through middle school then high school.  

That was life. They offered objects instead of affection. You love them but you hate them. They should have tried harder, did better. Now you look for love in every fucking person because you didn't experience enough at home. Because the two people who had once loved each other so much couldn't even show you, their kid what the fuck love was.

You’re in college now.  A pretty cool kid; you have no idea what you want to be. But you know you want to contribute; you can contribute to society, to the world, to art? Who knows what institution you’ll truly make your mark on. You love your parents, you know they want the best for you, and just like how you’re trying to navigate through the highs and lows of young adulthood, they did the same trying to figure out how to raise you. In no way is this autobiography a massacre of them, of those two lives because they were and are human, they’re growing. We’re actually growing together. I love you. 

Housewife ≥ Any Other Profession

There is nothing wrong with a woman wanting to be a housewife just as there is nothing wrong with her wanting to be a corporate drone. I can't understand how an individual can represent "feminism" but not respect a woman of sound mind to make her own lifestyle choices.

Sadly, third wave feminism is not all inclusive of every woman, and I guess that's probably true, to many social institutions...leaving out persons they claim to benefit. But whenever you notice the people or institution who claims to represent you, start to degrade you, take a minute to question if that institution even respects you. You don't have to hail "third wave feminist" to attain the respect and equality you deserve.
A woman can and should be respected in her household just as much or maybe even more than in the boardroom.

Pathetic Tactics of a College Guy

Men are adults who sometimes act like dogs, young men are dogs, and boys are puppies.

The guys you’re meeting in college fall under the category of young men: dogs. This is not to disrespect or denounce men, young men either, but I’m here. I see it. And by George I’m blogging about it.

Pathetic Tactics of a College Guy:

1.      Roll up to the scene with his ceiling meaning, i.e.: attempting to woo you with his lack of charm and severely acne covered face. He calls you “beautiful,” says all the right things…to you and YOUR friends because getting in good with the females you surround yourself with only makes for better standings when all the girls gossip about him later. 
2.    Meet the boys. Now it’s time for you to meet his crew, so now they too can gossip but now about you and pretty much let him know whether or not you’re worthy his time, and anatomy. Usually done in a causal setting like a party, perhaps a late night dinner, or an evening of smoking/drinking. Whatever your vice or scene he wants his boys okay…unless you’re going to be the fuck buddy he hits and then forces to leave at 3am before sunrise.
3. Sleepover PG-13 addition. You've moved up to a sleepover; but usually you don’t come over under the premise of a sleepover but this night, suddenly he wants deep conversation…intellectual or otherwise. He wants to “know” the girl he’s been fawning after (LOL) who you are, your moral code, which usually will be a good indicator of how far you’re willing to go sexually too. You hang with the guys again, as they get a better view of you in a better lit room, perhaps you even bring over some girlfriends to even out the playing field and offer some comfort so you’re not totally this new guy. And after all this conversation, and possibly food if he has some, I mean damn at least some water, it has suddenly become too late for you to go home and he’s simply too god awful tired to walk you home [insert body in bed]. “You can sleep here tonight.” The fatal words that solidify your location for the next several hours. He’ll be sweet and nice, and offer you half his bed, a shirt to sleep in, and a toilet to piss in. After all it’s just two friends sleeping in a bed together…
4. The OFFICIAL sleepover. Now he has officially invited you to his place of residence, otherwise known as a 12’x12’ dorm room. Odds are he’s gotten too ballsy to even pick you up from your dormitory hall and you make the trek alone. You get there and he seems more douchbaggier than
   
   ever, he’s under the impression he’s going to get some tonight, and in some cases he will. He’ll attempt to entertain you with some mindless, mundane activity, like tv before taking it to the bedroom. Some more mindless gibberish will come out his loose lips and before you know it he’s putting on the moves fast and furiously. Kissing, making out, he’ll probably want to be orally copulated, which probably won’t be given in return, and I mean if he can get a home run he’ll try it too! But odds are the buck will stop at his own satisfaction and he’ll proceed to pass out after his physical expression of pleasure. 
5. The OFFICIAL sleepover: R rated addition. Now this is the           second option within the OFFICIAL  sleepover. After oral is received by the male participant, he might be ready for the main course.  (Oral was just an appetizer, the Hors d’oeuvre if you will) Anyways he goes in for the catch and hopefully has some form of protection, some guys are less inclined to wear any, and other guys actually realize their in college to get a degree not bring home a bouncing bundle of unwarranted and undesired bliss. But let the in flagrante delicto ensue, and after the humping, groaning, and moaning, it’s over, and he’ll  proceed to pass out after his physical expression of pleasure. Depending on how good it was, this  action might happen a few more times on different occasions before he deems you boring and the process will start all over again with another unknowing participant. Although some females know exactly what their getting into others, usually freshman claim they have an understanding of the situation but being in a dark room within such tight proximity and hard objects around soon realize they had a very distorted understanding of the situation they had dug themselves into.

And that in a nut shell is the tactics young men will use in an attempt to increase their “body” count
Again this is an opinion of my own, based off experiences I've observed and witnessed, so don’t hate me!