Shitty People.

I promise my blog will eventually melt back into my alcoholic tendencies and dumb jokes, but for now I have another bone to pick with the world.

People really piss me off.

Hear me out.

I have a secret. I'm obsessed with pop culture. I love reading really bad articles about all the latest goings on that somehow managed to become news. But every now and then I manage to stumble across something of note. Today it was this article. To over simplify- It is the story of two parents whose little girl decided at the tender age of 2, that she was a boy. She constantly questioned why god made her like this, and she lived a very confused little life. When she reached the age of 5 and her parents realized that this wasn't simply a childish stage and she wasn't just a tomboy, they embraced him for what he was. They cut his hair and started to refer to him as a male and were met with a much happier child (and a bunch of assholes who turned their backs on the family....but why waste your breath on them.) This story made me really happy.

In a world where we are constantly told about the suicides of children struggling to understand the world in which they live, of parents who can't cope with the real identity of the children they created, this made me genuinely smile. It made me so happy that this little boy would grow up knowing that no matter how many cruel words were thrown at him on the playground, no matter how many asshole kids put him down, that he would always have a haven in the arms of his parents. It made me happy that maybe just maybe this would show other children that it isn't such a scary thing, admitting who you really are, for those who love you will always love every single part of you.

Then I read the comments.

I hate people. These parents were not forcing a little girl into a life changing surgery, they were simply supporting their son in becoming who he was by doing something as little as letting him cut his hair and referring to him as a male. If he grew older and decided maybe it was just a phase, he could make that decision, they were simply showing him they would love him regardless. 

These commenters are grown adults. Grown adults that don't think that supporting your child, making them feel loved and showing them that no matter what they are, you are their number one supporter, is a good idea. I hope with every single fiber of my being that every last one of these commenters do the world a favor and forgo parenthood. 

I'm not a parent, I wouldn't be for quite some time but I know that above anything my child will be loved. I can also promise that I will never be a grown adult/keyboard warrior who bullies a little boy from the safety of my own home, a little boy who is 100 times stronger than they will ever be.

No but seriously, people are assholes. 

I need my daughter to be a boy.

I have constantly stated that if I ever fall pregnant I would spend every waking moment hoping that I am gifted a boy. When I tell people this and they ask me why I feel so strongly, I jokingly tell them it was because I was a terrible teenager and I couldn't handle a little girl just like I was. This is only half true. The real truth to my desire lays in one simply fact; this is a mans world.

We live in a world where instead of teaching men not to objectify, we teach woman to not be objectified. These men (though I struggle to even classify them as such) who spew their remarks at a woman, probably think we are asking for it. They are paying us the highest compliment. For every woman wants to hear such eloquent words being spat at them, our hearts a flutter. They are doing us a favour.

I don't want my little girl to have to deal with this.

I want her to live in a world where she feels free, where she is more than two breasts in a tank top. I want her to work hard and be rewarded for it as much as any man would be. I want her to go out with men, without feeling like she owes them anything physically. I want her to wear what she wants to wear, and do what she wants to do. I don't want her to worry about being labelled a prude, I don't want her to live in fear of being called a slut, I just want her to be her. I want her to know her decisions are her own. I want her to be a boy.

I want her to be a boy so I can make sure he is a gentleman for someone else's little girl. So he can be that boy that the old ladies rave about. I want him to be one of those men. The men that seemed so hard to find amongst the cat calls, the men who offer a lady's father a firm hand shake and who promise to respect every inch of her mind, body and soul.

This idea has been so heavily on my heart recently due to the events that happened in Isla Vista. Elliot Rodger was a sick man, on many levels, with sick world views that may sadly fester within other boys all over this slightly twisted globe. That is distressing enough, but that is magnified 100% when you scroll through the comment section of any article on the topic.

Somehow, even though this man (again struggling with that word) slaughtered other human beings, it is still somehow the woman's fault.

"Maybe if woman weren't so shallow"

"It's kind of true though, If you aren't over 6 foot and hit the gym, woman don't pay you any attention."

It's littered with comments just like these. Comments from boys who grew up believing they are entitled to a woman's body, boys who I wouldn't want anywhere near my little girl.

Something needs to change...everything needs to change.

Coffee Club

Sometimes I get really stressed out.

I think it's an age thing that has me constantly worrying about what I'm doing, how I'm going to do it, and what I want to be. I'm pretty sure it will never end....Your worries just shift and you keep on stressing. I'm starting to accept it is simply a part of life that you slowly work through and combat.

When moments of hair pulling stress flood my mind and leave me close to tears ( or let's be honest, already knee deep in tears...I'm a wuss), I need to pick myself back up. If I was a regular adult, I would pour myself a large cup of coffee and just sit for a moment, letting the caffeine perk me back up and send me pinballing in any direction.

But I'm a child...and a child with stretch marks.

So I instead choose to rub those same coffee beans all over my bod.

As an avid blog reader I heard about Frank many moons ago, yet was always too lazy to try it out. Eventually whilst bored online shopping naked one day, I spotted some little imperfections, and since I had my credit card already in hand, I ordered my little coffee pouch.

A little back story, I feel like I became a woman very quickly. One day I was a lanky 8 year old and the next day I had chubby thighs and boobs. Seriously, when I was 12 my best friend told me her Mum even commented on how mature my figure was. This blink in time left me with some stretch marks on my thighs which I have never really been fussed about because I had big boobs and that was totally better. 

In fact, I have always liked my whole body, and aside from one time my mum pointed my stretch marks out in an Old Navy and I almost clawed her eyes out, I haven't minded my little stretch marks either. But I figured, if for $15 I can rub some coffee on my bod, feel all zen, lie in my cool bathtub reading for 10 minutes a day and have my skin be all smooth and even...why the heck not?

It's vegan...and Australian!

And it there is two things I love it's Australia....

And bacon.

(Thought I was going to say vegan hm?)

Nap game too strong.

Today my roommate informed me he finally read my blog and it wasn't so bad...or as he so eloquently put it, "I finally read your blog...it's actually pretty funny!" I'm not sure whether to find that flattering or offensive....but since I did put up a picture of him shampooing his feet (I'm sure he missed that one), I'll let it slide.

So I have a confession to make.

I just woke up from a 6 hour nap and it's 9pm at night.

Whoops.

This alone wouldn't be too much of an issue (well for me..normal people might think otherwise) but I was supposed to meet someone at 6. I swear to god I would probably sleep through my own wedding if I had the chance....Actually I may have to have someone strictly in charge of making sure I'm awake if I do ever throw out my commitment-phobe ways and make it to the alter. But alas, tonight there was no wake-upper and I awoke to 8 text messages and three missed calls that get increasingly more aggressive as the hours rolled on.

When I finally did get back in touch, I would like to say I truely mended the situation...but...

Pissed off ditchee: So do you want to just meet somewhere now?

Hopeless ditcher: *looks at disheveled being, hears sound of belting rain* ....but rain!

*click*

Hey, this girl isn't dying in a flood for no man!

So I did what any sane person would do. I rummaged my alcohol stash, dressed up like an extra from a Britney Spears video (sports bra and oversized sweats incase you were curious) and I cooked brussel sprouts.

Super cool party people bid you super cool adieu!

Oh and today I also learned that the security camera at work is pretty much just a Clevage cam to match the mirrored ceilings that work very similar. Sometimes it gets quite nipple tastic....send turtle necks!

Tuesday's child is full of grace.

It's reached the time of the year where I live in my bikini and my roommates and neighbors have to constantly put up with a half naked Jordyn.

What lucky ducks!

So how was everyone's Tuesday?

I spent all day laying around in my sunshine soaked bedroom reading, writing and jamming out to 90's Silverchair.

Throw me on a beach and you have unlocked level: "Jordyn's perfect Tuesday".

I like relaxing, it's one of my best qualities, I'm a good relaxer. I've noticed a lot of my friends can't seem to switch off. They live in a constant bubble of work or friends or nightlife or appointments. If they are not physically surrounded by people, they are digitally surrounded in a sea of texts or new media. They need constant stimulation. A life so hectic must be exhausting. 

I don't do exhausted well.

That's why days like these are my bread and butter. Days where I can just hang out, do whatever I so desire, no boy drama, no friend drama and especially no work drama.

Now, it's really pretty out, I'm in an amazing mood and it is nearing my favourite time of the day so it's time to potentially ruin that mood by forcing myself to go for a blister footed run....#alcoholicwithanafflictionforstillettosproblem.

(I have been phone blogging these last few weeks, which is why my formatting is all but royally eff'd. Apologies!)

May the 12th be with you....what? That's not how it works? Balls.

New York has been killin' it even more with the weather these last few days.....like it makes me want to cry.

Something else that makes me want to cry but for a very polar reason? The fact that I spent my entire Monday looking through the security footage at work because I kept losing things and had to rewind my steps. After the 3rd time (literally) I just gave up handling important documents as I'm obviously 2 years old and my Mum isn't around to find them. 

Speaking of Mum she came to visit this weekend....because it's Mother's Day and I'm her favourite child.

(My Aunty was here aswell. She came specifically to teach me all about meat paste and sardines on toast....my life is now better).

It was a flying visit yet she still managed to force Hillary and I into about 34 selfies...seriously, if there is one thing that woman loves it is a selfie....and checking in on Facebook.

Oddball.

Also, New Zealand 2014 is officially booked and ready (I mean I didn't book it...my Dad did...because hi, poor...sidenote:I'm his favourite too...I'm fabulous) so I thought I should probably get all my shit together aka passport aka passport photos aka seriously does anybody look good in these? I came looking my very best with my fanciest greasy bun and dead person face. I'm just too good looking sometimes.

Let us now pray for ugly TSA officers.

I like netflix and birds.

I find people exhausting.

Well....mainly people who are better at faking togetherness than I am. People who have a perfectly planned path and don't need to write make a list on the top of every to do list to feel accomplished. 

I've always wondered if they really are so aligned. Or if they are just better at cleaning up their clutter. The ghosts of their past might be friendlier and their demons much more forgiving. 

I will never know.

But people exhaust me.

I don't exhaust me.

Puppies don't exhaust me.

You don't exhaust me.

But people as a whole exhaust me.

My exboyfriend called to let me know he misses me this morning....he also exhausts me.

I've had a bad day.

....like a really bad day.

I woke up late, couldn't find my Hunter boots, I forgot my keys so I had to run home,the train was crowded, the alarm at work kept going off, I couldn't open the office door because I'm a human who can't key, and I didn't have time to eat anything.

I was cranky, and that was even before the work day had begun!

But when it eventually did start, boy did it freakin' start. At 9am a shaggy haired painter with a pink diamond grill (sick bro!) came to get my signature for some work bullshit. This is how our exchange went...

"Hi, I was told to ask for Jordyn?"

"Yes?"

"Is he here?"

"I'm Jordyn."

"Oh really? I was expecting like...I dunno a basketball player."

Seriously, 23 me one more time world!

Then I was lucky enough to spend  a good hour trying to do payroll before the computer decided to freeze. I had to start all over again, just in time for it to crash completely....super swell.

That was swiftly followed by a passerby knocking over a mannequin and splintering it all over 35th st. 

After I scooped up her battered body, a man came to install this picture of Adriana Lima whilst I sat there eating a bagle. It didn't help that we were wearing the same dress.Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels? Bagels....and my tears.

Oh and I have a blister....

And a headache...

And I don't have wine....

Or cake...

Or wine.

And to top it all off my friend is dragging me to some random bar to do some random bullshit with some random people.

I keep sending her sad selfies so she will let me stay home.

No dice.

Ugh life man.

Pale and proud (No but really, make me tan)

We have officially reached my least favourite time of the year. I have loving labeled said time, "Yay it's summer...fakey no it's not...wait it's summer!...noo -20 degrees?....Wait no it's summer....oh look it's snowing."

Ok fine, it's a little wordy but it's a work in progress.

Luckily for me though,I'm really good at not giving a hoot.

Who is that confused girl wearing a summer dress and a wool coat? Why are her pale legs flapping in the breeze, yet her toes are still firmly planted in winter boots?

I call it blissfully confused.

Now to aid in the bliss, it's quesadilla and margarita time! 

Happy Cinco De Mayo!

(Ok fine, I actually had my first margarita at lunch today...this really is an amazing holiday!)

Spring is here.

Today was a gorgeous Sunday in the ole' apple, which would normally mean you couldn't pay me enough to not slam mimosas and eat waffles with some gals. Buuuut unfortunately for me, I'm starting a new job and due to horrible circumstances in pay periods, I will be broke until late May.

Which means no brunch :/

Very few fabulous spring outings :/

And even fewer new pretty summery dresses :/

But it does mean plenty of time for a little spring cleaning.

When I clean, I cleeeeean. At around 11, I spent many a night organizing and fixing up my lovely little room. Pushing my king sized bed around from corner to corner like it was nothing. Creating sitting nooks and desperately trying to push my bulky desktop around my "study zone". I would get lost in my own little world, singing a little song, doing a little dance.

Today was no different.

It took a little longer than planned because my apartment is full of such a large assortment of crap, it's sometimes hard to find a home for it all.

If anybody has a handbook about where to properly store a pez dispenser and a tech deck...pass it this way.

Luckily for me, I didn't work alone though.

She mainly handled the nibbling, whilst I worked on the scrubbing. But we had a lovely little chat and she didn't really mind that I belted Disney songs whilst I worked.

Ok...well she didn't mind at first! But a few hours in she called it quits, hit the bottle and posted up in the breeze, now annoyed by my tunes.

Pissed.

Sorry babe. I'll get you some wet food to make it up I you!

I really hate bodies.

Let's talk about boobs.

Or more specifically the fact that my left boob weighs about 5 pounds more than my right. After many long hours of mirror scoping, I honestly can't see much of a difference but boy do I feel it. For years I was convinced there was a tumor or something festering within it's fleshy compounds, weighing it down.

( I have also noticed that men seem to like it way more that it's fraternal sister....probably TMI)

I'm not sure if there is really any massive difference between the ladies and I'm not sure there is any proper way to measure and see but something I do know is that the weight pulling at my left side chest as I walk constantly makes me think of the heart it protects.

Once I notice it, I can't stop. I walk in step to the beat and the rhythmic pulsing drives me as close to insanity as possible before easing on the gas. My mind races and ponders that this drumming, like heels on the dirtied Manhattan streets, is all I really am. When I get flustered or nervous, it races to try and keep up with my mind and when I'm calming down it eases up to coo me off to sleep. If it stops, I stop. 

By this stage of my walk, I'm so deep in the rabbit hole I can no longer see the top. I suddenly feel pools of blood beneath my heels, my skin suddenly feels like a thick wax coating and the saliva in my mouth feels dense enough that I'm almost sure it will drown me.

I feel disconnected from this sack of blood and fibers, and it's the only time I think there may be life after this body crumbles. 

Have you ever seen the Scooby Doo movie? Where the souls are sucked out of the gangs bodies and appear as ominous,silvery orbs. That is what I feel like, a puddle of mercury gliding around inside a being, yelling at the epicenter to wiggle it's toes to make sure I'm still in charge of this thing.

...I have weird thoughts.

I have also spent the last 3 hours listening to Jagged Little Pill on repeat and writing in one of my journals. So I'm knee deep in thoughts right now.

Something I noticed as well, is that if I'm having writers block it's generally because my brain is too full and I need to make some room. It's normally made by taking the person I was studing on the Subway this morning, out. But general little shapes work too. 5 minutes of pen scribbling and I'm cured. 

Don't worry. I'll definitely stick to words over image!

K. I have to go eat lasagna now.

You scream, you leeaaaaaarrrrrn.

Hakuna Matata

I came home with the singular goal of napping and watching Tangled. But when I walked into my room I was met with a heartbreaking scene...a pile of laundry the size of a small island taking up residence on my bed. I couldn't throw it on the floor as that was covered in dirty laundry and sorting it would be too much work. I couldn't put it away because that would cut into nap time and be too much work. I couldn't sleep on the couch because I had already walked into my bedroom and that would be too much work.

So I just napped on top of it.

Boom Mcguyver.

Oh and I have dry cookie crisp.

It means no worries for the rest of your days.