Looking For Alaska–John Green


Go fuck yourself John Green. Just go right on and fuck yourself.

I’m pissed at this guy. Supremely.

Hear me out: this book is fucking amazing. But where the HELL does he get off making me read a book about falling in love and have me fall in love with the characters and then pull a stunt like killing off someone in the middle of the damn book like an asshole.

This book is so well written, and there is a countdown going on and I’m like ‘Awww, it’s a countdown until they kiss! How cute!!! Sqqquuuueeee.”

No. No it’s not a countdown until they kiss.


You don’t get to make me feel feelings John Green. You don’t get to write a book that’s about falling for someone and then the results of unfinished business and how you are trying to see that person for what they were after they are dead and gone and how other people react.

No. You don’t get to play those games you brilliant bastard.

Fuck, he’s good.

Fuck, fuck, fuck he’s good.

I can’t stop swearing.

Constant vigilance!


Keep Moving Forward: The Scarlet ‘V’.

Dear Puny Humans:

This is a long one today kittens, and if you can’t handle reading, take a hike.

I am on a journey of self-love [I should probably tack on ‘Get Ego in Check’.]. On this journey I’ve decided I need to rid myself of my scarlet letter.

It’s something I don’t talk about anymore because of various reasons. 1.) It’s not really anyone’s business but my own, quite frankly. 2.) The reactions were varied, some respectful, yes, but still leaned towards eye squinting and forehead slapping. 3.) I was getting tired of it being up for debate with people and them guessing the reasons why, so I just ended the topic.

I AM A VIRGIN. Scarlet ‘V’, bitches. That’s right, this mouthy, tough talking, jay walking, whiskey drinking, son of a bitch is a virgin.

I have never had anything betwixt my nether regions. I have never gone further than kissing. And I haven’t done that in nearly 10 years. And it’s all for one simple reason. Something most people don’t even think of, which is sad. Everyone automatically assumes it’s because I’m waiting for marriage, the perfect guy, or because I’m intensely religious.

Let me give you the 411 on this. I used to be waiting for marriage in high school because I genuinely thought that I was going to fall in love at 17 and get married by 19. I never in a million years thought that I would be closing in on my 30s with such little experience.

And thank the fucking good Lord that I stopped being so naïve about how my life would turn out. Things happened the way they were supposed to and I’m so grateful for that.

‘The Perfect Guy’ never came. (And neither did I, heeyyyyoooo… … … I hope any family that’s reading this stopped before I made that joke. Although my mom would think that was funny.)

I’m not intensely religious but I’m spiritual. Now, I know people say that as a cop out to going to church, but I really mean it. Which is why I’m on a journey to change the way I talk to/treat myself and I’m asking not just the Universe for help, but my favourite G.O.D. …We’re cool like that, we have nicknames for each other. He calls me The Big V. Which isn’t very flattering, but He’s God, He does what He wants!

The reason is: I’ve never been in love.

Boom. This rarely came up in conversations when this topic was put on the table for discussion.

I have been asked if I’m a lesbian, been told that I should date guys that are my “level of experience, you know, high school guys” [This I hear at 27.], had this dissected between complete strangers because one of my sisters friends brought it up to her group of friends, and thought to be “A-sexual”.

You caught me. I’m A-sexual. A Sexual Being Who Has Never Had Someone Love Her Enough to Bust Down Her Walls and Try To Be With Her. THANKS FOR THAT REMINDER RANDOM PERSON I’VE NEVER MET.

Okay. She WAS trying to defend me in a nonchalant way against someone who shouldn’t have even brought this subject up because it’s none of her damn business what I do with my basement business.

“You’re too picky.” That’s not a thing.

This is why I don’t talk about it anymore because it has become my Scarlet Letter. I feel like people can see it branded onto my forehead.

It’s not that I’ve never had the opportunity. I have. I just didn’t take it because things like this come out of guys mouths:

“I don’t want you to get clingy.” Oh, I’m sorry. You’re a sex god that changes peoples personalities with your penis? Magic!

“I don’t want to take your virginity. That’s a big responsibility.” I can’t even articulate how much that one enrages me. I’ve spent the last 10 minutes trying to figure out a response, and it’s not happening. You can’t take something that I don’t want to give.

“So, you’re a lesbian then.” * Slaps forehead *  No. I like dudes. Although right now I’m wondering why.

“You’re really intimidating. I feel like if I kiss you you’re going to punch me in the throat for touching you.” To be fair, I DID pistol-whip that guy with my phone because he jumped me like a dog humping someone’s leg. And I’m not talking an iPhone. I’m talking those gigantic flip phones that have walkie-talkies in them. But here’s the thing: Coward.

“Wait…you mean to say you have never had sex? Don’t you want to just get it over with at this point?” Uh. No. I still have not just my legs crossed, but also my fingers crossed that a decent human being will come along.

And my personal favourite: “I’ll take your v-card, it’ll be like doing you a favour.” I’ll do you a favour. I’ll walk away instead of horse kicking you in the junk for being such a fuckwit.

Don’t get me wrong, I do get nice comments, healthy minded people with lovely thoughts on it, and people who just GET that losing my virginity isn’t about getting rid of it at this point just because I’m hitting the tail end of my 20s.

For so long I’ve been using it as a shield against assholes, drop that bomb and they run off. For awhile that was kind of fun. I’ve been embarrassed by it. I’ve been ashamed of it. And I’ve wondered what the fuck is wrong with me that no one would love me enough to share in that experience? I’ve wondered this so many times it’s like a fire in my guts when I think about it.

I have to remind myself that it’s just because of one tiny flaw in my system:

One where I want to be loved.

Which is not a flaw. That’s fucking awesome, responsible, healthy, and down right human of me.

But it can be isolating. I don’t get to talk to my friends when they bring up sex unless it turns to the “So why haven’t you lost it yet?” string of that talk.

I want to be able to trust someone enough that when they see me naked they won’t make this face:


In regards to my lack of experience, lack of romantic love, and lack of self love about this topic, I say to all you other unicorns out there:

Your journey is your own and you can live the life you want and if other people don’t get it, that’s perfectly fine. You aren’t living your life for them anyway. You are here for you. You are here to learn lessons, love, be kind, and to grow as a person. You aren’t here to pander to morons who are hell bent on NOT understanding you.

I don’t slut shame, so don’t virgin shame me.

I’m supposed to be doing this on my own for now, and someday I’ll grow enough that I won’t feel petrified if someone sees me naked. Because THAT person will be my person, they will already have shown me their kindness, their patience, and their controlled lust for me where they are also being respectful of my wishes and not trying to pressure me into anything or make me feel like a fucking twat for not having my twat fucked.

Oh gross. I can’t believe I just wrote that. I was doing really well in being normal for a hot minute.

…I use jokes to cover up my obvious embarrassment.

I won’t ever lose my virginity. I’ll know where I put it, and it’ll be tucked away safely with someone I trust.

Keep moving forward in any direction you bloody well feel like it.

Signed, Big V.


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The Great Divorce–C.S. Lewis

I tend to accidentally avoid the ‘Classics’ shelf on my bookcase because they are older books and most of them are the hardcover fancy pants kind so I leave it be.

Which is a mistake because then I never get anywhere with my classic writers.

So I spent an evening one day going through and putting my bookshelf in order of how I want to read it. Which meant that instead of having my shelf go:

Shakespeare, Classics, Specials (Ie. J.K. Rowling and Tolkien.) and then miscellaneous nonsense, it now goes: Specials, Organized in how I want to read them, Oops I bought Too Many Books at a sale and Now I’m Just shoving Things Places.

And my closet has all the other books that I’ve read before so that I won’t be tempted to reread books again.

Admittedly, I’ve been on a book series craze for the last year. Starting with Games of Thrones, going through The Women of the Otherworld, and finally landing on the Percy Jackson series.

So! I decided that I should probably pound out some individual books so that I’m not only reading series’.

So here I am reading a C.S. Lewis book that I thought was going to be about divorce and it turned out that it was about deciding to go to Heaven or Hell and can you tell which place is which?

I couldn’t. I probably would’ve ended up in Hell, it sounded more fun.

It was short, a bit all over the place with it’s information and what each place was like, didn’t get very wild (you would think Hell would have nudity and rock music and Ozzy Osbourne greeting you at the door. Oh wait, he’s not dead. Whoops.) and was just okay in my book.

I probably won’t read it again, and weirdly enough, it made me miss Narnia.

I will not read another book series. I will not read another books series.

At least not one I’ve already read.

Constant vigilance.


True Story Tuesday



Hey kittens, little note: I realize that I promised a video last week, but my laptop decided it doesn’t want to be my friend anymore. Hopefully I can use my brand new iPhone for that! (I’ve been bragging about it since I got it because my old one was so useless that I can’t even believe something so magical exists. Sorry I’m not sorry.)

So, tomorrow I’ll be posting a book review since I missed yesterday, Thursday will be a KMF, and Friday will hopefully be the debut of a new series called DirtyBirds.

Stick with me, and you’ll never go hungry again!

….I realize that I’m quoting Scar from the Lion King and he was the villain, but you have to admit: He was powerful and had swagger.

I have problems.

Constant vigilance!

Keep Moving Forward: Adulting

Last week I promised you a topic that I had a brief discussion with my piano teacher about, something that I find pretty interesting, and a double Keep Moving Forward this week was mentioned.

So here we go!

We were talking about being adults.

I shall also be renaming my teacher…Giles. Not because he is as mature numerically or British as Anthony Stewart Head, but because he kind of looks like a young version of him. And he teaches me things. Most of the time. I’m usually thinking about food, so he has a hard time getting me to concentrate.

And I obviously look like Buffy. (Haw. Haw.)

Anyway, anonymity aside, Giles is turning 34 and I’m heading into my 30s in a year and a half. [Saying that just took all the air from my lungs.]

He said something that makes complete and utter sense to me because I’d been feeling the same way for a while.

He said, “Adults do not exist. We are all just pretending.”

Now, I know some real adults. Like capital ‘A’ adults. I consider my parents and grandparents adults, but I also know they all have that childlike side to them that sneaks out every once in awhile and I’m wondering if they are just pretending too.

I’m in my late 20s and my little cousins consider me an adult, while I most decidely do not.

Carol said to me once that I am every age, and that’s crazy and wonderful for them because then I’m not always being a grown up while also not always being immature and annoying as I spend the day with them.

That’s high praise guys. High praise. [Insert Nicholas Cage face.]

Now, since I’m in my late 20s, my friends are all getting married, talking babies, some have already made babies, and there are houses, real careers, and cars in their lives. They’ve found love and happiness and all seem (on the outside) like real adults to me.

I feel insecurely immature compared to them because I still live in my parents house, I do not own my own vehicle, I have never had a high paying job, I have never been in love, I’ve never even just made out with someone for the hell of it.

And spoiler alert to next weeks KMF: I still hold my V-card.

So that whole baby thing is lost on me. Even though I have my part time baby Daryl over here. Who I just watched lick a hashbrown for ten minutes without actually eating any of it.

Here’s a shocker: That’s enough for me at the moment.

I spend a lot of time thinking about how I could become an adult, how I could be doing more, being more, and generally living up to the expectations of my grandparents and family.

It kind of hurts a little when you aren’t considered an adult by your family because you haven’t hurled a human out of your lady parts. That’s not my fault! I want to wait for love! I don’t just want some randoms baby! Sorry I haven’t found a gentleman to fornica–

I’m getting a little all over the map here so I’ll just copy and paste my mic drop to my best guy friend, who shall be renamed…Thor.

I need to confirm with people if they actually enjoy these name changes someday.

We talked about this topic together after my lesson because it really hit a note with me. [Heyo, pun not intended.] Hit me so hard that I ranted like a motherfucker.

Thor pointed out that there will be a bit of anxiety lifted when we leave our twenties, like we will have that deadline of accomplishing so much by the time we are 30. There IS no deadline. You just have to live your life the way you choose.

Here’s my response:

“I think so too. Like, this is my life and I can do what I want. And that is just the most relieving thing ever. There’s so much pressure when you are in your 20s to do it all before 30, but who the hell made that rule? I’ve never owned my own car, I’ve never had a house, I’ve never been in love the way it apparently matters, but I live with my family and we have fun even when we are fighting, and I don’t mind living with my family because of that. I like being close to them, it’s very isolating not being included in what’s happening with them. And so I’ve never been in romantic love? But I’ve loved leaps and bounds with people. I never thought that other loves would matter besides having a boyfriend or significant other, and I think that’s the lesson that all these years alone has taught me. Love isn’t one section or person in your life. It’s all the sections. If you don’t live your life with love and light than what the hell is the damn point of doing anything?

If you don’t have that person that doesn’t mean the rest of what you are doing doesn’t matter. It just means that you get to learn about all the different kinds of loves and most of all how to become more yourself without someone else, which I think is actually really important.

I get to be so many things, and just because ‘girlfriend’ or ‘wife’ isn’t on that list doesn’t mean anything. All it says is that I love myself enough to wait for the real deal. So when I leave my 20s that’s the most important thing I’ll take with me. And that age doesn’t matter, you are who you are no matter what age you are going to grow to.

What matter is that you GET to grow older and wiser, and to feel like a shit head just because you haven’t “achieved” all these “things” shouldn’t exist in your mind in the first place. YOU make the rules. YOU make your life. Just because everyone else is driving in the lines doesn’t mean I should ever be ashamed that I’m painting on the sidewalk.”


Keep moving forward, live your life without the pressure of accomplishing so much when you are meant to just ENJOY life.

Which is why I’m taking piano and singing lessons at 28 years old.  I do what I want.

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Keep Moving Forward

I want to share something with you that I find very important. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to express myself about this particular thing for so long and this sums it up in one sentence. It’s a scene from a television show that has really helped me and made me think about a lot of stuff, self-judgment and my skewed views on my body, and it came from an unlikely source.

The Mindy Project.

The set up: Danny has seen Mindy naked for the first time (when they weren’t dating) and it’s the point where they are talking about it. They could have made this scene awkward and uncomfortable and provided jokes and shenanigans for every one, but what they did was one of the most poignant television moments and messages I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

Mindy has always been a dynamic and self promoter of healthy body image, she says she loves her body, she’s hot and exudes confidence at all times. Which makes this scene all the more special to me.

Mindy gets vulnerable and shows a side of her we rarely get to see. While she is still a confident person, she shows that even she has a skewed view on what men and people want from her. From what she thinks she should be like.

To be the typically perfect beauty standard of blue eyed, big boobed, and thin.

Danny says the most important thing I’ve ever heard to her and solidified my love for him and how to accept my body:

“You’re a woman, and that’s good. Look like a woman.”

There is no right or wrong way to look. There is only healthy and unhealthy.

As Mindy says, I fluctuate from being chubby and curvy. I like being curvy, but I would like to be fit. And sometimes I get jealous of people who are the typical beauty standard and get mad at myself for not being like them.

In my heart of hearts I know I am beautiful, I am a woman and I look like a woman.

But when my clothes are stripped off and I get to see what no one else does the bad thoughts take over:

Too much cellulite, gut could be flatter, boobs should be higher, legs could be thinner, slimmer this, slimmer that, tanner, higher butt, smooth lines on my back.

I stand there and judge myself because I think I should be different than I am. Because I think that no one will like what I have and that’s why I don’t put myself out there.

My personality is magical, and I’m a wonderful unicorn, but my packaging is all wrong and that’s why guys don’t ask me out.

I worry about this because I don’t generally meet guys, I spend a lot of time with my family, and when I do meet a guy it goes nowhere. I’ve even gone so far as to try to scare them off because How could anyone like this body when I have to talk myself into loving it?

So for Danny’s character to say something so lovely about body standards in one sentence? That changed so much of how I talk to myself and is something that I need to share, I just hadn’t found the words yet.

I might not have written this out as perfectly and thoughtfully as I wanted, but it was time to share this. It’s a constant struggle to find the confidence in my body and myself and I don’t want to think of it as “dealing” with this situation or thinking that I am supposed to be better than this body.

This body has done nothing but care for me, so to shame it constantly is being a traitor.


Carolina Isle–Jude Deveraux

After some in depth reading of a YA series, I need some serious adult time.

I was a moron to pick this book of all the Jude Deverauxs on my shelf.

The book itself sounds like it’s going to be fun, two cousins meet, they realize they look practically identical and decide to switch places in life since one is an overworked lady with a tyrant for a boss and the other is an underworked over life-styled princess with an overbearing mother.

What’s weird was that the promised switcheroo was bland and didn’t play out in even a quarter of the book.

This book would’ve been better if she ditched the romance and just made it into a murder mystery because it was creepier than a bunch of her others and probably would’ve played out better to an audience. (Not her general one since she writes romances.)

Anyway, not my favourite, probably the worst of her books that I’ve read, but hey, everyone writes terrible books every once in awhile, even the greats.

I’m looking at you Stephen King.

…I don’t know why I just called him out. Mea culpa. Mea culpa.