Archive for the girls Category

Is Gaga a Feminist? (Shouldn’t matter)

Posted in girls with tags , on June 23, 2010 by Anoush

THIS

I will continue to have these opinions for the rest of my life for obvious reasons, but since they’re all on my mind right now, why not:

So, we’re still scratching our heads deciding who’s a feminist and who’s not and, you know what? It’s just embarrassing after a while. The fact that we still have to define the whole thing is doing exactly what feminism is trying to work against. Let’s fix that, ok?

And I’m reminded of how I hear women say things like, “Ohhhh I’m not a feminist or anything” as if they’re saying “Ohhh don’t worry I’m not gonna beat the crap outta ya and remind you repeatedly that I’m right all the time.” <- Misconception #1.

Every woman is a feminist and I know this because they're women. Unless something's really wrong up there, every woman is a feminist in some shape or form. And each version of feminist is different – largely because women are people and people's views of things usually differ from time to time. It's, ya know, the good old, mom-and-pop "being a person" thing. All you have to do is wake up every morning, do good, respect yourself, and constantly believe in moving forward. And, there, you're a feminist – aka a person.

Stop defining all the time and just *BE.* GodDAMNit!

Rants that make sense

Posted in anxiety, girls, random with tags on October 10, 2009 by Anoush

Crisp weather like this reminds me of middle school field trips – and how happy I am that I don’t have to do that anymore. I’d get so anxious and would have to prepare in advance. There was this ONE trip which took place yearly in the outdoors in the woods in Something-Something, Long Island with kids who wore cuter jeans who I felt were entitled to forget my name. (This is not about my name. Enough with that already.)

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A new protagonist of sorts

Posted in girls, random on August 5, 2009 by Anoush

It’s hard for me to like the word, Doodle. I should try just saying it over and over in the mirror ’til it becomes sayable. Its squeaky – birthday – kazoo – clowny sound really downplays what it is. I don’t know what the “it” actually is, but I have some maybe’s: escape, peace, solitude, nourishment, mmmmmeditation? The word reminds me of things that are messy and incomplete and off – like an unfunny joke. I’m gonna go think about this for a while, although I probably won’t come up with an answer anytime soon. Anyway-OH! So here are some things I’ve… done.

Thanks for dropping by and for letting me think out loud.

Anoush1131

Anoush4134

Anoush5135

Anoush7137

Anoush3133

Anoush6136

MAHN-ro

Posted in girls, Happiness, movies, random with tags on July 20, 2009 by Anoush

As a kid, when you get along better with adults, you learn at a young age that the world is bigger than you probably think. (Thank God.) Also, you learn that (most) people your age are idiots. When you’re a kid, I mean. When you’re a kid.

And NOW I’ll tell you about how I learned about suicide.

I was in kindergarten and all I wanted to do was meet Marilyn Monroe. Only to tell her how great I thought she was and that I knew all her songs by heart and that no one in school understood me. Aren’t school kids so dumb, Ms. Monroe? She’d wear that see-through sparkly dress from Some Like It Hot and we’d hang out, one day. I’d never mention my favorite movies with kids at school just ‘cause I couldn’t afford to be any weirder. Even the Armenian kids in weird-Armenian day school thought I was weird and that didn’t help the old self-image. Marilyn Monroe would understand.

I learned a lot of things on the bus. I saw a person naked; homework got thrown out the window; and was called ‘potato’ a lot in Turkish. It wasn’t cute. The guy who called me that was big and scary and I’d get scared of buses until he got suspended (for something else.) Then there was her. She was just MEAN. She’d boss everyone around and say things like, “Well, OBVIOUSLY, Anoush!” And that made me feel weird. Then there was him. He’d talk about Married With Children episodes he’d (be allowed to) watch and say things like “Do sex” a lot instead of “have sex” and I wanted to tell him that that was linguistically incorrect, but I was a polite kid. Tangent: My favorite getting-back moment on the bus was when she said the new girl was a lesbo. I was the only one who didn’t laugh and they said “Do you know what a lesbo is, Anoush?” “It’s a woman who likes having sex with women more than men. Do YOU know what a lesbo is?” I felt like I was surrounded by people who assumed they knew more than everyone else. Who had no concept that there are things out there much bigger than them. And if they DID have any idea, they didn’t even know to maybe…errr I don’t know, NOT LAUGH about it.

I was the last one to get dropped off and D was the stop before me. We lived in the same town, got along really well; and had a good fifteen minutes of peace together at the end of the busride. The subject of movies came up and I felt like the setting was safe enough to talk Some Like it Hot, and if she thought I was weird, she was quiet and wouldn’t tell anyone. I told her the whole plot. Quickly, of course but was detailed about it. She laughed a lot. She actually seemed interested. I never thought Some Like it Hot, D, and I could ever be in the same room together. Til I said, “Wouldn’t it be great to meet her?”

But you can’t meet her. – Why not. – Cause she’s dead. – No, she’s not. – Yeah she is. Ask my Dad. – When did she die, then? – Before we were born.

(I was sad but embarrassed more because this seemed like common knowledge I just wasn’t aware of. Earth is flat; Armenians think it’s funny to namecall in Turkish; and Marilyn Monroe’s dead.

How, then? Did someone kill her? – She killed herself. She also did bad stuff. (Huh?)

The bus stopped and D stepped out and waved g’bye from her front lawn. I kinda waved sorta.

First my grandfather, now Marilyn Monroe. My face was paralyzed. My Dad opened the front door and I had a million questions for him.

My dad never pronounced her name correctly. It was always Marlon MAHN-ro. I found out Marlon MAHN-ro was never happy and Marlon MAHN-ro wasn’t always smiling like she did in movies. “You know how WE are sad?” (Yes.) “Marlon MAHN-ro was a lot sadder.” Then he said, “And no one helped her.”

I should’ve invited her over and cheered her up, I thought. Ah, right, I wasn’t born yet. It was ALWAYS me not-being-born-yet. It happened a lot with stuff.

Years later, in second grade we had a dress-as-someone-you-admire-and-do-a-report assignment, and the librarian asked my mom if she was SURE she’d want her daughter doing a report on Marilyn Monroe. Ahh, the old patronize. Ehhh, depression-hopelessness-death whatev-SEXISBAD!) What an idiot. She would’ve gotten along real well with the schoolbus kids.

Just Rawr

Posted in anxiety, girls, Happiness, random with tags on May 12, 2009 by Anoush

I’m short. I didn’t realize it until people told me. I feel like people (mostly girls cause they say it more) actually ENJOY it but make it sound like it’s a flaw. It’s a way they can easily be different from everyone else in the room and disguise it all as an inconvenience. But it’s not THAT big of a deal to be shorter and it’s not something to be self conscious about. So SAYING it as if you’re admitting to vulnerability or flaw sounds more like, I dunno, like you’re trying to get attention. Not that attention’s bad, but if being short were truly vulnerability, what’s stopping you from pointing out more? “Don’t mind me, I’m just ugly.” What? Would you EVER say this? No. So THINKKK about it. And really? A woman being 5’1’’ or 5’2’’, yeah it’s shorter, but it’s not an unusual thing to happen on a female. It’s like drawing attention (trying-to-be-funny attention) to something that’s already kinda common. And wishing you were a couple inches taller or BEING a couple inches taller isn’t going to change your life in a drastic way. Maybe a few things, but not DRASTICALLY. (I’m still the same self conscious person whether I’m dealing with a tall, lanky person or a shorter-than-me petite person.)

People don’t care if you’re short. And if you point it out, they don’t see your shortness, they see your need for attention. OH! I can’t stand how people think there’s this need to make up for shortness with being funny or having a personality or how uglier (or society-standarded) ugly people think they have to be funny to make up for something. I don’t like that kind of “funny.” I like confidence. So if you’re gonna fake something? Fake your confidence, not your funny. Fake-funny is awful. If it had a taste it would be a pink jelly bean. Oh and that also implies that beautiful (society-standarded) beautiful people do not need to have personality. That’s so very wrong. I mean I guess it’s right if your goal is to sleep with that person, but after a few sleepings with, there’s a chance, I don’t know, you might wanna talk to this person about something besides the movies, money and TV. Cause I mean it might get rough. Unless you’re able to just talk about money and TV which most people can. They can survive on it for YEARSSSS. I can’t though. And my friends can’t. Well, they’re not all my friends. I mean, most of them I’m friends with cause I think it’s rude to click ignore.

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From the heart (…Goddamnit!)

Posted in anxiety, girls, random on April 29, 2009 by Anoush

I was killing time, right? After class-but-before-drinking and I stood there in Penn Books. Next to Perfumania. Looking through shelves of what I (maybe) should be reading when I saw them. The Little Miss / Mr. books on a lazy susan spinny thing. and “HAHA!” I tell myself. HAHA in the sense that… LOOK! Your childhood. The part you liked! I stood there and read each tiny, square book. Mr. Messy still pissed me off; Mr. Funny was still charming; and Mr. Mischeivous was always more fun in theory. (And you know what? I sympathize with Mr. Forgetful.) I know people who resemble these guys, old, young, and WHOA WHOA WHOA you guys… your stories are here – here in Penn Books. I’m not Little Miss Sunshine, but I KNOW her. And I’m not Little Miss Busy (At least in the way that THAT book defined busy). And I wasn’t Little Miss Bossy (I wasn’t.) Then I saw it. And hesitated before picking it up, like as in… I… I… can we stop, now? I don’t think I’m ready for… for… Like Scrooge on his 3rd ghost. She was a round, blue-face. Round, blue held up by skinny blue ankles and trembling hands over her mouth. If illustrations could move (sometimes they can) she’d be trembling.

“Little Miss Shy didn’t leave the house.”
“Little Miss Shy grew her own food in her garden.”
“One day she receives an invitation to Mr. Funny’s Party and keeps changing her mind about whether or not to go.”
“Then Mr. Funny arrives and drags her to the party and she has fun. And meets Mr. Quiet.” (Yes. This is the story.)
(*The “never leaving the house” one though may not pertain to me, unless it’s figurative.)

“Madame Timide” in France
“Dona Timida” in Spain
“Unsere Susi Schuchtern” in Germany

I’m afraid of what might be self indulgence, the gross undeserved kind. Afraid of plaque and sentimentality and bravado that turns into green puss oozing through my pores, turning my skin green and cold forever.

I’d talk out loud to people about the moment in Penn Books next to Perfumania, but I think it’s more of a me-thing. Something needs to change. Although, I dunno, I’m really into the Madame Timide thing.

Overdoing it.

Posted in girls, movies, random on April 22, 2009 by Anoush

Ok, so the reason I’m doing this is because I hate the word, “Bitch.” Hate it because I LOVE it. It’s a great word but its overuse makes me hate it. It’s become so second-nature to everyone that it’s losing its… flair, pow, bam, you know?
Like,
“Oooh Nice dress!”
“H&M bitches!”
(Ehhhh…. cringe… not worth it.)

Here’s an example of POW/BAM (the good kind):
“Wow you get to leave in a half hour.”
“Yeah… I was here since 10.”
“Cause you’re a bitch!”
“HAHAHAHAHAAHAHA… Yes.”
(See? So much better!)

What I’ve done as an exercise is taken a bunch of TV show (and some movie) titles and substituted BITCH for certain words. Kind of like, when something makes you uncomfortable, throw yourself in it and see what happens! Ok, Here we go!

Saturday Night BITCH
How to Marry a BITCH
BITCH you think you got talent
Good BITCHES
Family BITCHES
Saved by the BITCH
The Barefoot BITCH
Martha Stewart BITCHING
Step BITCH Step
BITCH House
BITCH Prince of Bel Air
A BITCH of Their Own
Never BITCH Kissed
BITCH Like it Hot
BITCHfest
Deuce Bigelow Male BITCH
The BITCHlot
SuperBITCH
The BITCHheads
101 BITCHES
BITCHES (Beaches)
Isn’t She BITCH?
Mad BITCH
BITCHED (Scrooged)
The Sixth BITCH
Riding In Cars with BITCHES
Fried Green BITCHES
Mystic BITCH
The BITCH Who wasn’t there
BITCH (Psycho)
The BITCHcrashers
Keeping up with the BITCHians
Gossip BITCHES
Whose BITCH is it Anyway?
BITCHless
BITCH At Nite (tv channel)
Family BITCH
American BITCH
Waiting for BITCH
BITCH Bill Vol. 1
BITCH Bill Vol. 2
Sanford and BITCH
Ordinary BITCHES
How the BITCH stole Christmas
A BITCH Story
About a BITCH
Ferris Beuller’s Day BITCH
Pee Wee’s BITCH Adventure
Notting BITCH
9 BITCHES
28 BITCHES Later
Grumpier old BITCHES
Wayne’s BITCH
Sister BITCH II: Back in the habit
The Breakfast BITCH

😉
(I think it’s working.)