Why I Smoke

Friendship.  Curious acquaintances have come my way via cigarettes.  The three to ten minutes I am outside, when there is another of our dieing breed, we stick like two gringos in Ecuador. We of course talk of the obligatory “this will kill me” or, in my case, “What won’t?”  But what we say isn’t as important as the ever-cordial time spent with another person. It’s a surprise bonus on my break from reality.

Break from reality. Reality is sometimes, as someone sharp said, “for sucks.”   Someone wants attention I don’t have. There are chores. There are tantrums and sickness. It’s a first world situation. So I smoke. And while the chaos is trapped on the other side of whatever wall, I forget for a bit.

It feels great with alcohol. Alcohol equals yum, yes.  But cigarettes and alcohol, that’s magical fantasy land. I smoke, beer in hand, in a bar (bars here are sweet, sweet heaven) and I feel light yet pleasantly grounded. And during that time, I must admit, I feel a little cool.

Rebellion.  I enjoy, for the most part, doing whatever people telling me not to. I enjoy rebellion in every aspect of life. It’s a sickeningly sweet feeling to anger another person with my opposition. Of course I ultimately realize that nobody can stop me, so I’m rebelling against nothing, and that’s a bit of a let down. That is, until the next time someone makes a comment about cancer or the smell of me.

The sensations.  I love the smell and taste of cigarettes.  I love the immediate body-sigh they bring on. The depression in my muscles. Even the psychic depression that hits immediately with thoughts of Why? and What’s the point? – is interesting due to the unyielding objective nature of the high.  I love the ensuing sleepiness too. It’s all quite lovely.

Anxiety and depression.  Or boredom, which is ultimately anxious or scared or angry, which are also ultimately anxious. What am I anxious or depressed about? Depends. Right now it’s my weight, my various crutches, how I need to exercise and eat soon, finances, et cetera. In that order. The anxiety leads to restlessness that feeling my blood is rushing. As though body seems to be somehow caving in and exploding out from within at the same time.  There’s tightness.   This of course leads to the Devil’s work in an attempt to alleviate it.  I want to alleviate it, I’ve come to decide, because I am afraid of silence, of not achieving, therefore of not mattering, therefore of not being remembered.  Yes, I fear these things and I have a cigarette.  So, yes, I smoke. And when I do it, I do it existentially.

The Top 5 Comedians Working Today

1. Louis C.K.  The above clip was my introduction to C.K., many years ago. Since then I’ve come to relate to his sardonic, often twisted humor more and more. He not only has several stand-up specials, but has created two very funny (yet cancelled) television shows.  One, Louie, defies anything on television you’ve ever seen.  It does not follow a rote story line or do anything that would resemble a sitcom.  Many times it’s almost sad in it’s realistic view of being human. Other times it’s caustically silly.  Recent studies have found that our ability to handle annoyances has rapidly decreased, due to our increasingly limited time in the real world. We cannot change the channel/web page/app/song when we’re super pissed off at the old man who just coughed on the back of our neck or the screaming baby. Assaulting old men and babies is frowned upon, so we have to limit it to our imagination. This, coupled with generous amounts of self-loathing, which we all experience at one time or another, make Louie a damn funny man who gets in our heads and says what we’re all thinking.  Hating people is fun!

2. Brian Regan. Perhaps one of the most well known comedians, best known for his ability to be hilarious while maintaining all clean material. You don’t even notice it’s clean until someone (i.e. me) points it out. With the jaded nature of people today, it’s amazing he’s become so successful. Yet he does it, and he does it well. He has several comedy CDs and televised standup specials. His hyperbolic style covers topics ranging from lack of social-skills to his trip to the emergency room.  Brian uses the inherent humiliation of life to make fun of himself, which makes him endearing and awkwardly charming in that rare way that is usually reserved for clichéd hipster-girl characters.

3. Nick Swardson.  He’s usually known for his gay characters such as Terry Reno 911 and Gay Robot.  He is also a talented writer of hilarious characters and skits for his own show, Nick Swardson’s Pretend Time and the cult comedy Grandma’s Boy, among many others. He has been around for a while, with his first Comedy Central special in 2001, which includes his arguably famous take on old people. What makes Nick unique is not only his smart writing skills but also his lack of pride. He is the smart, non-manic Dane Cook; the man-child making fart jokes. He doesn’t try to be cool and he doesn’t appear to give a shit. He just wants to make people laugh, and that’s what he does.

4. Eugene Mirman. Probably the least known comic on this list, though he has been involved with both Flight of the Conchords and Comedians of  Comedy. What is so impressive about Eugene is not just his interesting background as a Russian Jew and wry humor but also his stage-presence, which exudes some guy we all know, the one who lacks any sort of self-consciousness despite his sloppy, decidedly unattractive appearance. The one you can’t make laugh. His level of comfort on stage eclipses many famous comedians. You feel like this guy is your snarky friend, one who may very well make fun of you viciously, but only if you deserve it.

5. Nick Kroll. He is one of those prolific writers/comedians you see in small rolls everywhere including Children’s Hospital, Reno 911! and just about everything else that’s funny. He may be best known as Ruxin on The League.  His recent standup special, Thank You, Very Cool, demonstrates some of his best standup as well as his various characters. While many comedians attempt character comedy and fail, Kroll has created several memorable personalities to include the stereotypical Latino radio host El Chupacabra, flamboyant “Craft Services master” Fabrice Fabrice, douchebag bodyguard Bobby Botleservice, and these two.  In both his writing and performances he manages to mix both juvenile humor with the most adult material and keep people laughing. Plus, he makes fun of stupid people. Everybody loves that.

Ten Once-Loved Shows and Movies Revisited (and Suck)

1. Felicity. I absolutely loved this show when it originally aired, to the point of planning my schedule around it. I could be out at dinner with friends and say, “Oh, I have to go, Felicity is starting soon.” It got to be a running joke with everyone.  I recently re-watched the first two episodes and realized what trite crap Felicity and her friends had to “go through.” Oh no, Felicity, your mom and dad wanted you to go to Stanford, had it all paid for and you chose to go to NYU.  Now they’re, well, disappointed in you. Disappointed! Oh and her friend has to meet her biological mother. That’s why she came to NYC.  Fascinating and tragic, I know. One example of the true depth of this show is when she “takes a leap” and cuts her hair off.

2. My So Called Life. Basically Felicity almost 10 years earlier but in high school. The same types of “strife” are survived such as Angela having an unrequited love. Oh my fucking god, really? An unrequited love.  Wow, tough one there Angela.  It’s so, so intense.

3. CSI. Ok, I understand how you have to explain everything technical to each other in order to have the audience understand the “forensics” of your work. I get that.  But really, constantly?  Like we can’t figure out that’s a DNA swab?  Or we can’t use the internet to look it up.  How many people stop the show and go get online. Not many. We either get it or we don’t and if we don’t then fuck it.

4. Every other show like CSI (Criminal Minds, any of the other CSIs). Please stop with the formula. The constant red herrings are obvious. As Joy, a fictional (and dumb) character in My name is Earl states “I figure out who did it by 45 minutes into every episode.”  Most of us have figured it out earlier.  Maybe switch it up a bit?

5. Donnie Darko. This was listed as my favorite movie upon asking for years.  Then I watched it again. This movie makes no sense.  Not only that, but the acting is sub-par.  Please, if you want to watch something mind-bending and not just try to act like you get it when there isn’t any way to get it, try Memento or something more, um, smart.

6. Labyrinth. I loved this movie as a child.  I attempted to watch it again with and as an adult. At that point I realized I was a complete idiot for loving it, at any point. I put such thoughts into my friend’s head until inducing my own paranoia by the end of the movie. I could barely look her in the eye after the tepid acting and slow going of the plot. Even David Bowie in tight pants, a cod piece and Muppets singing to bad 80’s rock couldn’t make up for all the boring.

7. Twin Peaks.  This show was such a mystery to me.   I didn’t have cable at its first release so all I could do was hear my “rich” friends talk about it and read The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer and masturbate (that was porn for a 7^th grader!) and have no clue as to any of the references in the book.   I have recently attempted to watch it and really people, what the fuck?  Just because something is bizarre does not make up for vapid characters, bad acting or give the story and likeability.  It’s as if Lynch throws a bunch of ideas into his blender of a brain and spews them all over the page.  Then (tada!) red rooms and strangely speaking butlers and whatnot and it are a magical show. Sorry kids, no it’s not.

8. Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It isn’t scary.  Undoubtedly I’ve been desensitized by torture porn and whatnot. However, when I was a child this movie was horrifying. I mean horrifying (so was E.T. but that’s another story).  Now, as I attempt to watch it, I cannot ever make it through it because it’s just….sooo….slow.  I don’t particularly care about a bunch of gore but I don’t particularly care about the story line all that much either, especially if it holds together so loosely, such as in the case of this movie. This applies to most horror flicks I saw before the age of 10.

9. The Little Mermaid.  I have sung the songs from that for years. (Screw you). So, yeah, I’ve sung them for years and imagined how beautiful her voice was and what a sweet and romantic story that all was. Well, watching it again as an adult I realized that not only was it creepy (um, she suddenly has a vagina people) but she’s 16 and getting married. I cannot even begin to get into the misogyny of the movie. Her voice gets taken away. Of course, her voice.  By a woman, so to speak, but with encouragement against speaking, anyway. And of course the prince falls in love with her without it. Who wants to hear women speak or get married at a rational age? Not Disney viewers!  Also, you fall madly in love forever and they fall in love with you equally as much, if you kiss. Remember that.

10. Blossom.  I once received a concussion riding my bike home so quickly to catch Blossom.  Another show of great depth that really spoke to America’s youth’s real problems. At one point “everyone is saying she … went all the way!”  OMG! It will “ruin my reputation,” she says.  A show essentially without depth or much to remember besides the character’s hats. Her brother’s catchphrase, somehow at one time hilarious to me, was “Whoa.”  That is all.

On Getting Scammed and Dating

I consider myself an intelligent person.  Not one who is easily taken advantage of. In retrospect it was so obvious that I was about to get seriously ripped off that it made me angry at myself for some time. There was this truck that I HAD to have (first mistake).  I went to look at it, buying it from a private party.  He, strangely had no address or drivers license number, though he had clearly told me earlier in the day he was, “driving his kids to school.”  The truck had all kinds of missing pieces and didn’t start easily.  What an awesome truck, I told myself. All obvious flaws were pushed aside in my mind.  This truck was perfect!  Much like many of the dates I’d been on where the person across from me is picking their teeth or talking about how the “Mexicans are ruining this country.”  Oh but how cute s/he is! I’d think. This is a powerful time, filled with elation.  Then comes reality.

By the second day I had had the truck reviewed. Like when I have consulted my friends about my dates, sure something is very wrong, I don’t really want to know that’s true but I need help. The garage fixed some “minor” problems and sent me home. I was shocked at how it looked inside.  It was much like many a second date where I start to see the cracks and fill them in with that lovely putty called denial.  Sure the alternator needed to be replaced. Sure he was a flipping idiot. But they are both so cute, I thought, I can fix this one.

Of course that is not the case. Once a lemon, either a person or a car, always a lemon.  A leopard cannot change its spots or whatever. The truck continued to zap my resources, leaving me tired, abandoned and frustrated much of the time.  It is impossible to not compare it these feelings are like many relationships I’ve had, however short. But I kept putting my time into it, all my energy, hoping for the best.  Sometimes hope is a big mistake.

I eventually attempted to retaliate with while maintaining my integrity, or at least get a little bit of it back. This is usually impossible. I’ve contacted the garage. I tried to track down the scammer who sold it to me. I’ve contacted so many exes I can’t count. Each time with threats either outward or slathered in civilized language, somehow designed to prove time travel should occur so we can go back and fix this thing. Again, got me nowhere.

I’ve become futility angry with myself and the person who sold me the car many times, as well as many exes or even one time dates.  In both cases, the person is long gone, along with my money and my faith in the process is just a little darker. And, as with many dates and the incompatibility that came with them before this, I hope to make the truck someone else’s problem.

I Went To Burning Man

I received a last-minute ticket this year to attend the infamous festival known as Burning Man. All I’d read or seen suggested this would be a week of full-frontal debauchery. I enjoy debauchery. What I found was nothing like what I expected.
The basic principles of Burning Man were foreign to me and as I found there, contradict themselves sometimes. For example, I was told upon my arrival that Burning Man was about “radical self reliance.” There is no money exchanged, only goods and services, if others decide to share. The people there seemed set on making this newcomer learn the hard way. If I didn’t have it, tough. After a few days, however, the saying “the playa (the Black Rock Desert) provides” started to pop up. I began to wonder if people realized that it is in fact them, not the playa, that would help me with food water or getting around. And soon enough some started helping.
The experience was described as overwhelming prior to my arrival. I prepared for that overwhelm. I ended up hiding for most of the first few days due to an injury but mostly due to how underwhelming and frustrating the daily experience was. It was as if someone had lifted high school and placed it in the middle of the hot, salty desert and told us to fend for ourselves. I did not want to do this. Lying in the cool tent seemed my best option. It was simply too exhausting to go out and have fun.
The debauchery was around, but not unlike the case in real life, you had to be part of the clique to imbibe. I was new this year so I had no clique. I expected drugs handed out like table candy. I found I was never offered any drugs beyond occasional marijuana. I rode around in our “shuttle craft” as no vehicles are allowed unless they are built by man into “art” and are called “art cars.” Mostly I got around by bicycle. I would see naked people, here and there. Surprisingly less naked people were present than I expected. There was everything from dance clubs and a roller rink, built sparingly on the playa floor to “Gay” areas. Just like in any city I’ve ever been to.
This year was the first year that Burning Man sold out, making up a city of over fifty thousand people. People whom I wouldn’t usually be friends with, I wasn’t, and those that I would normally gravitate toward, I did. I observed that people come for different reasons. Some come for the radical self-reliance, wishing mostly to be left alone. Some come to shave their heads, paint their faces and just be beautiful or strange for the sake of being beautiful or strange. Every type of person was there. People were selfish, cruel, cliquish and artsy but also giving and open and compassionate. They worked at Microsoft, were lawyers et cetera. Some were complete hippie slackers, like I expected. Some, like us, came in with an old truck and a new tent and some flew in private jets directly to enormous RVs, arriving only for only the burning of the man (which at the end of the event).
Burning Man is described as a spiritual experience by many. I went to Burning Man because I could. No other reason. Nothing deep about it. I expected, somewhere within me, something would be triggered by this experience; I’d have some new intuitions or insights. This also did not happen. The heat and the people and the activities kept my mind in a cave-man state for 10 days. I wanted nothing but to make it to the bathroom and spend time with very few people.
So Burning Man, like life, is what you make of it. Perhaps eliminating money and any sort of carbon footprint from the event allows for some freedom unfound elsewhere, but also some restrictions. I didn’t walk away with anything profound. I found that people are people, and will act as so, no matter how perfect a utopia you attempt to create.

Fuck Threesomes

There are some unpleasant realities when it comes to threesomes. Firstly, when you have sex with one person, you can focus entirely on them, or entirely on you, if that’s your thing. You can even focus on whatever else you want to, inside or outside of your head. Point is, you can focus on something.  When in a threesome, each time your mind attempts to center on some luscious point, a body part comes at you that is just one too many to make sense to your brain. This happens just long enough to distract you. This happens over and over, resulting in a frustrating spiral that does not equal sexy.

 

Not to mention the low level hum of awkwardness. Threesomes (much like 69) are too distracting to really get anywhere. Much of the time one person ends up thinking they’re the third, uh, genital. And you’d think a third genital would be a great thing! In general I’ve found that to be wrong.  Someone ends up half-heartedly rubbing at themselves, while avoiding eye contact. Threesomes with two other men (as a woman) are the worst.  They avoid eye contact, body contact and often times contact with your  body, just as a way to avoid any possible gay that may be obvious while they’re having sex with a woman.

 

Of course there is a competition factor. Who moans the loudest? Who makes whom moan the loudest? Who has the biggest cock, the best tits? Who tastes better?  It’s like the Olympics of sex once you get three involved.  Someone has to step down on that humbling lower step and just come in third.

 

Then there is the non verbal communication, especially if a couple is involved.  When asking for (or asked for) a certain act, couples will signal each other with their eyes and facial expressions.  It is a great study in sociology, but it’s not very subtle.  Neither of them wants to let you down, but they have their rules. If you’re part of a couple you have unspoken rules, too. And you can’t say, “Do not put that in there!” as that may insult the other person. Again, all awkward.

 

Of course there is the wonderment.  The sense we all had as children that all was intriguing, was simply because all was new.  Very little is new to us now. And, on the new-to-you scale, for most of humankind, threesomes are up there with world travel.  You stare in awe at moments at all the tangible hedonism. You often are detached, almost objective, not because it isn’t pleasurable but because it’s so fascinating. Being this detached again makes it hard to enjoy yourself, no matter how good you are at multitasking.  There’s just too much to take in.

 

And there is the pressure. There is so much trust involved in this activity.  If a couple is involved, this is so in added ways. This act could bring you closer to them or destroy your relationship entirely.  It could, and possibly will, destroy their relationship.  Nobody is going to be running for office. You all know this and you do it anyway, not just for pleasure, but also curiosity and often simply the want to be reckless and trust two people almost completely, for a short period of time. This hardly seems worth it.

 

Lastly, there are the stories.  They’re the awkward stories you can only tell a few people because, come on, threesomes are awesome, right? No. For example, I once lived in an old building in Seattle, which was the scene of one awkward threesome. The end of which entailed my toilet tank erupting onto the other female, leaving her, and the entire bathroom, drenched. The male of us rushed around her – I’m pretty sure high on cocaine from the frequent trips to the bathroom he’d made that night – manically sopping up random bits of water with all of my towels. I, meanwhile, attempted to hold myself upright with the shower curtain as I buckled with laughter. I wish I could say I learned that time but I didn’t.  I’m perhaps a lost cause, much like threesomes.

On Modern Medicine

I have spent the last 23 years chronically ill (scoliosis and degenerative disc disease). The excruciating pain of this has amped up, leaving me nearly immobile the past ten months. I also watched both my mother and father go through near death experiences last year. Along this journey through hospitals, clinics, recovery centers built for family only, chiropractic centers, pain specialists, et cetera I have learned some things.
Firstly, not having insurance is not the end of the world. It could be the end of your bank account and of course that dreaded word bankruptcy (which also isn’t that bad, but that’s another story). If you have a chronic condition such as I have had, then you know the body’s power of telling you when to go to the doctor. Go, you need to. My experience has been the longer you let it go the worse and more expensive it will be to fix it. The bottom line really is: So you lose everything? You’re alive and walking around.
Secondly, medicine is far from an exact science. (Remember there was a time with heroin was the cough medicine of choice and frontal-lobotomies were a 10-minute outpatient procedure.) I went into these hospitals, clinics, et cetera (see above) in order to see someone to “make me better.” I noticed that doctors tend to go with whatever has worked, formulaically, before. A lot of times this means you will get medications or procedures suggested without ever being heard. We all know this, but it’s hard to talk to doctors, right? They’re always rushed and seem to know the best solutions. After many fits and starts, doctors have slowly ruled out what does not work for me. No one had the answer and the first of many treatments were not correct. So, let your doctor know what you experience and want. If you cannot, find a new doctor. You may have to try a few doctors out before you find even decent beside manner.
This leads me to number three: You are responsible for your own health. The longer you spend time around doctors, the more you’ll realize they are unwilling to take responsibility for the outcomes of their work or whatever it is they do to you. You will get really big bills, especially if you’re without insurance, like me, but not necessarily a lot of help or answers. This means you have to outsource and look at things from every angle. You have to look at your diet, your lifestyle, even your psychological state. You have to read books, look at alternatives. You have to really look at it all and research and find out what’s best for you and do it. No doctor is going to do that.
Number four is along these lines. I have seen practitioners over the years who both under and over utilize medications (i.e. being looked at like a junkie when in horrible pain), but mostly I’ve seen overuse of procedures. The doctors are talking back surgery at this time. Nothing I’ve read sounds promising except that other things can be tried, again, at this time, prior to surgery. No doctor has told me that. No doctor told my mother the risks of her minor hernia surgery, which turned into internal bleeding and a month in the ICU. Nobody told my father he could lose his voice permanently when they operated on his neck, much less that the cancer would remain.

Things are done simply because that’s how they’ve always been done or, more importantly, what is the most cost-effective way. It’s not usually their fault. We’ve all seen Sicko. We know the trickle-down roots of this problem. And knowing this, we must take responsibility.
Lastly, though I have little faith in the current American medical system, there are people who will and can help. There are nurses and doctors who know they’re not going to get the hospital money from you. They are all over worked and still sometimes slow down and really listen. These are the people who will keep you sane enough (sometimes just barely) when you’re dealing with something physically or emotionally awful. These are the people who show up right before you give up. Look to them and thank them tremendously.

How Some Cities Are Humiliating

New York:  I haven’t been to New York City so I’ll just make a gross generalization and assume that NYC is all the things I’ve ever heard about it (edgy, cool, progressive, a shit-ton of people). Humiliation: For me, probably very, very high. Hence, I haven’t been there.

Chicago:  All kinds of the adventure that I didn’t want to have.  The polar caps (aka sidewalks) do not appear to be melting there.  And then there’s the wind. I’d wander in from each winder outing, haggard and red-faced like a wino.  I had never seen a homeless person prior to Chicago (yes I was country) and at worst I imagined a pathetic cardboard sign, not me as hostage between two arms against a city wall, all things of man coming into my senses from six inches away.  This wasn’t an outright mug, mind you, just a scaring the meaning out of my life situation. No one looks at anyone it seems and the autonomy quickly becomes loneliness. Humiliation: Painful, acute and frequent. If not falling on said ice, being scream-cursed at for not having exact change for the bus did the job.

Los Angeles: Dirty and sad. Well, Hollywood anyway. Like its inhabitants, it’s uglier all the time. Hurry up and wait appears to be the motto.  I’ve spent much time among LA friends, who seemed unmoved by driving or walking as fast as we possibly could, to get to a place where we could wait. Shortly after arriving in LA I am always sure I am bipolar.  Plus, glares I get as an averaged size women, in any of the many hipster used clothing stores, not so fun. Humiliation: Slightly overshadowed by rage yet constantly pricked by “help” staff.

San Francisco: Seriously, SF? You are so overrated. I spent an hour and a half looking for a toilet I could PAY to use. There’s a serious infestation of crotchety vagrants.  These hobos have spit and snotted at me in the street. Snotted at me. Fuck that. Humiliation: Um…I had snot on me…from a hobo.

Seattle:  Pretty much wants to be San Francisco. Has been called San Francisco’s “sister city.” So, a duplicitous twat who doesn’t get that politically correct is still politics. Under that emerald facade of very slight warmth is the “progressive” judgment. Humiliation: Low, eclipsed by humor via endlessly offending people.

Washington DC:  Suits everywhere. An occasional suit can be sexy or commanding or whatever but thousands just feed the drone-like sensation.  Everything is huge, an overcompensation. America-The-Best! Humiliation: Strangely low, due to feeling of hive-ness and the high levels of narcissism.

Las Vegas:  Like most of Nevada it’s completely backward. While underage I could get drinks any time I wanted or pay a whore a visit, should the mood strike me (for the record it never did). But I couldn’t gamble, or even have the appearance of gambling, which left a lot of wandering around drunk, careful not to sit on any slot seats and passing out in my hotel room at 3pm. Vegas is the Ed Hardy of cities, a douche convention.  Also, it’s fucking hot. Humiliation: Endless.

Photo: Mr. Peel’s Sardine Liqueur

Some Dos and Don’ts of Being a Bisexual/Bicurious Woman

Do resist gender roles.  Maybe you have a stereotypical butch look or fall in the femme spectrum or any combination or variation of the two.  Being bisexual doesn’t make you any less or more married to any sort of physical standard. Know that people will judge you and guess your sexuality based on your appearance. I’ve run the gamut from butched-out to relatively femme and I’ve never had any trouble.

Do act on your urges.  If you’re like me, you have urges for a long time (ahem, ten years) and don’t act on them.  Who knows why? Could be any reason.  Ignore those reasons (unless you are in danger of bodily harm) and act!  You’ll never know until you do.  And even then, you’ll struggle. You’ll struggle with attempting to label yourself anything but bisexual, because we all know how bisexuals are.

Do be proud to be bisexual.   Yes, you are bisexual. You like, and sometimes love, both women and men.  You lust after the slope of a nice set of Man Shoulders and you can’t stop staring at the woman’s ass in front of you.  You want her.  It’s cool, really. Of course some women won’t date you. Some men won’t date you.  Just like everybody else.

Don’t worry if you fit a stereotype.  So you and your boyfriend just broke up and it happens to fit into a time when you’re ready to act on those urges (see above).  It’s a general stereotype – and there’s a reason for it – that women are caregivers.  If a man (not a caregiver, also a stereotype) breaks you a bit, feel free to find a woman, if that’s what you want. People will say you’re “just experimenting” or that you’re a “man hater.”  Maybe that’s true.  Or maybe you’re bisexual.

Don’t make out with women just to impress boys.  Please don’t do this.  Please.

Don’t think that cheating with the other sex doesn’t count.  Obviously just because you’re bisexual doesn’t mean you think this way, but I’ve heard it used as an excuse more than once.

Don’t be afraid of lesbians.  Yes, some lesbians can be scary if you are bi and want to date one. Know that many lesbians will be afraid of you or hate you because of how you identify. But a lot of lesbians are hot and fun and will kiss you and stuff, which is totally worth it. Overall, just try not to set us back.  Only be as much of as asshole as anybody else.

photo: Rex Wallpapers

Why You’ll Love “The Voice”

@ Thought Catalog