Date whoever the fuck you want.

This is my response to the ever so popular “Date a girl who reads”/”Date an illiterate girl” articles.

Date whoever the fuck you want. You can find them anywhere. They will either be sipping from a wide range of beverages, or not drinking at all. Find them in the nightclub, in the library, at school, at your next door neighbor’s house. Realize that even if she doesn’t know who the hell James Joyce is, it doesn’t make her stupid. And if she does pretend, it doesn’t make her pretentious.

Date whoever the fuck you want, because chances are, they’re not going to call you out on having a type. Search for him or her in the low shadow of the concert hall or in the fluorescent lighting backstage. Understand that just because someone doesn’t read regularly doesn’t mean they’re illiterate. Whoever the fuck you choose will be grateful, because you, my friend, are a paragon of integrity. Don’t know what that means? Well, clearly, you aren’t a girl who reads.

Whoever the fuck you choose will not have a type to comply with, because they will be their own person. They will not be filed under any superficial category, for contrary to popular belief, there is a plethora of people out there who do not strictly fit under either “bookworm” or “partygoer.” She or he might be wearing a short skirt or a full tuxedo. They might be a stripper. They might be a librarian. They might be both.

You will propose to them by doing whatever the fuck you want. Whenever the fuck you want. However the fuck you want. But don’t do it over Skype. (What the fuck? Why would a girl who reads want to be proposed to over Skype? No.) Also, if your girl is reciting Keats under her breath like some sort of psycho I’m worried.

Understand that if you choose a girl who reads, it doesn’t mean that she automatically understands people. If you find whoever the fuck you want, keep them close. Hopefully, they will cherish the fact that you chose them for who they are and not what they do. Whoever the fuck you choose will understand that people develop, as well, and they will be proud of you for getting past the utterly judgmental state of “I’m solely looking for someone who does/does not read.”

Date whoever the fuck you want, because you deserve it. After all this time of reading all these blogs about what kind of attitude the girl you date should possess, you get a break. Go choose on your own. Don’t subscribe to bullshit. Date whoever the fuck you want, because your mind wants what it fucking wants.

Or better yet, don’t date anyone at all.

STRESSBLOG

Now that my first true college finals (as opposed to the fake college finals I took at community college?) are approaching, my writing proficiency portfolio is due by Saturday, the DC Yule Ball is Friday, my last art class is tomorrow and I'll be putting that portfolio all night, and this is a run on sentence...

Well, NOW I've decided that amidst the procrastination, it is a good time to STRESSBLOG. STRESSBLOG is in ALL CAPS because STRESSBLOG insinuates that I am stressed and blogging. Which I am. I know I need to stop this instant. My memoir for nonfiction class is calling my name. This girl in the library needs to stop talking so loud. I got very excited at the idea of the "quiet zone" when finals time came along, but this is not a quiet zone. It is a war zone. It is a STRESSBLOG war zone of little soldiers at their carbon copy computers, shoved in their carbon copy carrels (is that how you spell the computer desk object thing that traps you inside like a cell?)

The soldiers who are marching on the thesis line are hunched over their keyboards, tapping away bullshit to store for later use. It could help them become a doctor. It could help them become a publisher. Or it could just help them graduate and therefore be in debt. Then there's the c.) all of the above option, but no one thinks of that come crunch time.

The lazier fighters, the ones who will probably get executed by the time they stomp forward to the thesis line, are too busy on Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter, Etsy, refreshing their mail accounts, and STRESSBLOGing. People want to know about their lives SO much that they curl into little balls in their faded, mysteriously dirty orange womb chairs and try to escape the pressure. Why do work when they can focus on their own life and talk about the things that have been affecting them as if they're #1 on everyone's list?

Since my last blog post, I've been elected co-president of Prism, the gay club here, with my friend Carina. I'm pretty excited, but also kind of nervous. Prism presidents lead the discussion each week with the group, and once the actual president was absent so Carina and I did it. And it was kind of scary cause people have opinions and opinions are scary. Especially when they're WRONG. Just kidding. Kind of. We're submitting our club budget soon (yeah, yeah, we're late as hell), and gearing up for a Drag Ball in Gaypril. Yaaay!

Here I am, comfortably situated in middle of the soldiers, not quite to the thesis line but not at the stumbling end. I know where I'm going, I've just got to get there. And I guess that's a lot better than a lot of people come finals time. Before I end this blog I also need to stress how proud I am of my college for having four Twitters dedicated to 3 buildings and a road on campus.

I'm living the awesome life.

This turned out to be less of a STRESSBLOG than a MAYBEIMNOTSOSTRESSEDIMJUSTCOMPLAINING blog. But I hope you liked it anyway.

Metal smiles and Hagrid hugs,
Tianna