Here is a short transcript of a conversation between my mother and I.
Mom: So, we need to learn how to tie the obi on your kimono.
Me: Well, didn’t you figure it out before?
Mom: Sort of, but not really. We need to know how to do it properly.
Me: Okay, well, you can just look it up on the Internet. Everything’s on the Internet.
Mom: Except the release date for Sherlock Season Three.
Me: ………… *upset glare*
Mom: Sorry.
Me: We don’t joke about some things, Mom.
Hi, everyone! This is my first Life Lessons video, where I’m going to share with you guys my stupider side and the mistakes I make when I don’t think things through, so you guys can learn from me and not do the same things. Because I love you, and I don’t want you to be stupid like me. 🙂
Also, I’ve decided to post videos/vlogs more regularly now- I’m thinking one every Monday, but I’ll have to see how that works out. It’ll definitely be once a week, though.
Love,
The Femme Fatale Farmgirl
Dear 2012,
Everyone says it’s rude to break up with someone in a letter, that break-ups are something that need to be done face-to-face, or at least over the phone. But you know what? You don’t deserve any better. The only reason you’ll get this much from me is because I plan on telling you everything you did wrong.
Oh, sure, on the outside, you seemed perfectly nice- fun even. Hell, you gave the world Call Me Maybe and Thrift Store and Gangnam Style. You gave us Assassin’s Creed 3 and the Walking Dead in video games, as well as The Amazing Spider Man Movie, Wreck-It Ralph, and Les Miserables on the big screen. You gave us the second Venus transit of the century- the only one we’ll ever see. The Olympics happened in Britain- they were fun to watch, and the athletes were amazing. The rover Curiosity landed on Mars, and is expected to be there for 23 months.
I’m not going to deny that I fell for you pretty hard. You seemed amazing, not only on a world-wide level, but a personal one, too. You made me a lot of promises- none of which you upheld.
I started to think you might not be as nice as you seemed in early March, when one of my grandfathers was unexpectedly taken to a hospital. I was devastated, but the doctors worked hard and helped him. He recovered. I didn’t think the worst of you- every relationship has it’s ups and downs, right? I thought that pain was the worst I’d feel.
But then things got worse.
Over the summer, you gave me a job- a good one. (One of the only things I’m keeping from our relationship.) But in return for that, you threw my personal life into upheaval, with Oyster and I fighting constantly, the distance between us making it so much more difficult, never being able to see my family because of my job, and KiwiMasque and I at constant odds over belief systems. But once again, I didn’t leave you. I figured that this was life, with all its hardships included, and that I was just growing up. I wasn’t so naive at this point to think our relationship would last forever, but I was hoping it would at least end on good terms, that we could walk away from it as friends. I was hoping I’d be able to look back, and say, “Yes, I enjoyed that.”
But no. Instead, literally the day before I traveled back to L&L to start training as an RA, you put my other grandfather in the hospital- the grandfather that I hadn’t seen in two years, not since I turned 18. My family and I didn’t know what was wrong with him, and neither did the doctors. It didn’t help that we were far away from he and my grandmother, and that I could not go with my family to be with him, since I had to be at training. But I was holding on to some small hope that he’d recover and be fine. But I guess that was too much to ask for twice in one year. His condition worsened for two days straight, and I mentally prepared myself for his death. I was still with Oyster, and talking to him helped more than he will ever understand.
But then, suddenly, my grandfather’s condition became better. He was able to talk and eat again, though not often or strongly, but the doctors told us to have hope- there was a chance he could recover, even though they still weren’t sure what was ailing him. When my dad called to tell me, I was so excited. All my hope that I’d be able to see my grandfather returned. I just wanted to be able to see him again, to tell him I loved him. But you weren’t about to let that happen, were you. Any pretense you still had of being nice, or having any decency at all went out the window. You called me away from two hours to participate in a required RA meeting before dinner and then bed, and the next morning, my father called me to say that my grandfather had slipped into a coma. That there was one thing the doctors could try, but they weren’t sure if it would work. That my mom and grandmother were deciding if they should even go through with the procedure. I was shocked, and unable to really process what was happening. And then, a day later, without any answers or giving me even the slightest chance to tell him goodbye, you took my grandfather from me. He died without my even getting a chance to tell him I loved him.
I went to the funeral a few days later, and came back to L&L. I was hoping that would be all- that our relationship would just end. But no. You couldn’t just leave me alone. You had to kick me when I was already down. Not two weeks after my grandfather died, Oyster and I broke up. One day later, he was hitting on another girl, and a week later, he was making out with her in public. He promised me that he would be there to support me, to be my friend, but he didn’t even attempt to try to be. Because of everything that happened, my grades dropped and I suffered two mental breakdowns. My adviser asked me if I was feeling too pressured at L&L. My father asked me if I wanted to come home.
And at that point, I knew you’d won the battle. You beat me, 2012. You beat me down, and crushed my soul, and made me wish I was dead. But, eventually, even as beaten as I was, I fought back. I wasn’t going to let you win without scoring a few points. Not without letting you know I would fight you with every piece of my soul I had left.
The last month of our relationship was nothing but a power struggle. You threw everything you could into my face, from Oyster toying with my feelings and emotions, not to mention he and the Slut, to RA troubles, to finals, to family problems. I knew at that point that you had no boundaries in what you would do to hurt me, but I also knew that I could and would fight back. I started this blog. I made new friends. I refused to go down without a fight. I may have lost to you overall, 2012, but I didn’t lose myself. And that’s really what you wanted most of all, isn’t it? You wanted me to give in, to be officially beaten once and for all. You even thought you had that for a while. But I wouldn’t let you take over who I am, and for that, I say that I win. I can say that, in the end, even though I was battered, bloodied, crying, and scarred, I beat you, you bitch.
And, so, you piece of shit year, I’m leaving you now. Truth be told, I was already shopping around for someone new when we were about halfway through our relationship. And I’ve found him. His name is 2013, and I’ve got high hopes for us. We’re already making plans of fun, amazing things to do together. I can’t say I think my relationship with 2013 will last forever, but I do expect that I’ll be much happier with him than I ever was with you, if only because I know that, even at my lowest, I didn’t let you beat me, and that makes me respect myself and expect more from 2013.
If by some chance, you see me out and about, don’t bother trying to speak to me. I know you’ll want me back eventually, and you’ll crop up to try to make me fall back into your arms. But it won’t work. I don’t want you back, not now, not ever. If I see you, I won’t acknowledge you, except maybe to flip you the bird really quick before walking away.
I win, bitch. I’m leaving you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me, nothing you can say to make me reconsider. You don’t control me, 2012- I refuse to let you rule my relationship with 2013.
With absolutely no love at all to you (but plenty to my readers),
The Femme Fatale Farmgirl
Recently, I have been seriously considering getting a tattoo.
Not a big tattoo, mind you. And not something crazy or tacky or anything. I’m talking something fairly small, easy to cover up if I want to, and, most importantly, that means something to me. I don’t want to regret getting it.
Now, I don’t know how much tattoos cost or anything, but I have some idea of what I might want to get, and where I might want to get one. Like I said, if I got a tattoo, I’d want it to be something that would always mean something to me, to represent something important in my life. And I’ve already kind of narrowed it down to several categories of subjects I might want.
The first category would be traditional Chinese characters. My family heritage is a huge part of who I am, and it would be very cool to have a phrase that means something to me tattooed somewhere. Phrases/words I have considered would be “beautiful” coupled with “dangerous,” “Daughter of the Dragon” a variation of what some Chinese call themselves, the word “dragon,” or the word “phoenix,” which is my favorite mythological animal. The trouble I have with this idea is mostly just the fact that I don’t actually speak Chinese, and trusting the Internet will most likely lead to me getting “naked soup bowl” tattooed on my leg or something, which would not be fun.
The second category would something Harry Potter related. Quick trivia time: I FUCKING LOVE HARRY POTTER. (Everyone who thinks that makes me a devil-worshiping, spell-casting heathen, please take this message to heart: I WISH! Feel free to start spamming my inbox now.) I think it is arguably the best book series ever written; if not that, it is most certainly a phenomenal series with fantastic characters, an amazing story arc, and an entire world that truly feels like it exists whether or not you’re in it. I am a HUGE Harry Potter fangirl. I would love to have a Harry Potter tattoo, but I wouldn’t want it to be obnoxiously huge or colorful.
The third would be a Star Wars tattoo. (I’ll be fangirling here for a moment, too, just to warn you.) I love Star Wars. I know it’s now basically a cow that developers are milking every last drop of milk in the form of money from, and you know what? I don’t even care. I mean, I spent actual money to play Star Wars: The Old Republic when it first came out, and had to quit because it took up too much of my time and my grades were falling. When I heard it was now free to play, I probably would’ve started playing it again if I had access to a computer it would run on. I know it wasn’t a great game. I know the PvP was unbalanced. I didn’t care. When I heard Disney bought LucasArts and were going to make an Episode 7, my first reaction was not “Oh, no, they’re going to fuck it up even worse than Jar-Jar Binks did.” It was not “Please don’t try to convince us that Padme and Anakin had chemistry.” Â It was “I need to audition. I’ll be a Jedi! Or a Sith! Or a bounty hunter! Or an extra! You know what? I’m willing to be the first casualty! JUST LET ME IN!!!” So, yes, getting a Star Wars tattoo would be right up my alley.
The last category is the largest in terms of the amount of things in the categories, but also probably the least likely in terms of me actually getting one: Disney. I love Disney movies, especially the animated ones. The problems I can see with it? Well, a lot of Disney tattoos are large and/or complex and/or brightly colored. I’m not fantastically excited about that. I can see getting a very small one: maybe an “Eat me” cake from Alice In Wonderland, the paopa fruit from “Kingdom Hearts”, or the quote “Keep Moving Forward” from Meet the Robinson’s. But overall, I can’t see immortalizing a lot of Disney things on my body, no matter how much I love them.
So what’s holding me back from getting a tattoo? I am a huge freaking coward. I am so scared it’s going to hurt! And people don’t even lie to me when I ask! They all seem to go “Yeah it hurt a lot, don’t get one if you have a low pain tolerance.” Well, what’s a low pain tolerance? I mean, I’m not weak and I’ve done some stuff in pain that a lot of people wouldn’t be able to (ie ran half a mile on a sprained ankle, and finished a basketball game with two broken fingers.) But I also hate having my hair pulled, so much so that I literally tear up every time I get my hair cut and washed at a salon and they yank the knots out of my hair. So can I stand the pain? If I get a small tattoo, that’ll hurt less, right? Maybe some of you will know. (Feel free to leave a comment, either terrifying me or telling me to go for it.) I’ll probably grow some balls and get a tattoo eventually, but I’ll definitely be terrified right up until I’m finished.
Maybe as a birthday present to myself this year. That gives me a few months to get braver.
Love,
The Femme Fatale Farmgirl
Once upon a time, in a small rural town surrounded by miles of cornfields, there was a girl. A stupid girl. Well, maybe stupid isn’t entirely fair. She was an above average student, with more than enough intellect to get her places. She had enough street smarts, even living in the country, that she was quite safe whenever her family visited a city, which was often. No, she was stupid for a different reason. She was stupid because of her willingness to trust.
(This would almost kill her later.)
Because then the girl fell in love.
The guy she fell for was not particularly attractive in any way. He was somewhat rotund, his skin was pale and marked with acne, he knew way too much about computers, he harbored a somewhat obsessive love for Star Trek, and he spoke with a lisp. But he was kind to her, and funny, and she fell for him, despite all her friends warning her not to, saying that she could do better.
We’ll call him Trek.
She thought it was romantic that he would text her and tell her she was pretty and sexy and hot. (Though he never said beautiful.) He would send her good morning texts, and good night texts. Sometimes, he’d even call her to say good night. She’d catch him watching her at school and blush. She found herself looking forward to the times they’d pass in the hall. And maybe if that’s all that had happened, this would be a happy story.
But it’s not.
The girl and Trek confessed their feelings for each other over the summer, and before the first day, decided to start a relationship. When they saw each other, they went to lunch on their break. They kissed for the first time in his car before they ate. After they ate, they did more than kiss. They touched and licked and bit in the back seat of his car. It made them late getting back to class. The teacher raised an eyebrow as they walked in. The girl blushed, but she was too elated to really feel shame. After practice, she couldn’t find the guy. He wouldn’t answer her texts, and she didn’t want to call. Finally, he sent her a text, saying he didn’t want to be with her. That it wasn’t right. She was so sad. She thought the feeling was her heart breaking.
(She was wrong.)
She couldn’t talk to her friends about it, because she didn’t want to admit that their relationship had lasted less than 24 hours. She couldn’t look at him the next day. Halfway through, she locked herself in a bathroom stall to cry. She didn’t want her friends to see her sad. She didn’t like them seeing her as weak.
The girl couldn’t get over Trek. He had several short-lasting relationships in these months. One cheated on him, sending him back to the girl for comfort. She provided it, hoping he’d stay. He did not. Another refused his advances multiple times, hurting him. It broke her heart to hear him complain about, but she refused to make him go to someone else. Maybe all he needs is time, she thought. Eventually, he’ll realize that I’m the one who’s right for him. Then we’ll be together forever.
Finally, one day, something happened. Her parents went out of town. She invited him over. She told her sister not to tell.
He came, parked in the garage. She was excited to see him, but so nervous. She’d never had a boy in her bedroom before. After all, she was barely sixteen. She didn’t even have her license yet. He was a full year and a half older.
They started out just kissing, but it quickly became more than that. Of course it had. The girl was determined to make him stay this time. She would prove how much she loved him. He knew what she was doing, but it did not mean the same to him.
The girl had only bought a box of three condoms, thinking that would be plenty. She didn’t realize how much trouble they would be to put on. The first one ripped, the second leaked, and the third finally went on.
And they had sex. It was painful for her, and didn’t feel right. He kept thrusting too hard, and then falling out, no matter what position they tried. When he finished, it was rough and fast and held no pleasure for her at all.
But the girl didn’t care. She was glad that she was with him- this time in a way that could never be taken. He was hers, she was his. Surely this would last forever.
They spoke only a little over the next three days- they were both nervous because of the trouble they’d had with the condoms. If the one they’d used had broken, and the girl was pregnant… they hadn’t considered that.
But the three days passed and her period started. She was relieved, and she texted him. He didn’t answer. She assumed he was busy, or asleep. When Trek finally did text back later that same day, she was so excited. And then she read the text.
The text read that he was ending their non-relationship for good. There was no apology. There was no remorse. There was just an earth-shattering, soul-crushing end. And that’s when the girl knew what heart break truly was.
She lost her ability to trust anyone, including herself. She lost her innocence. She lost her view that humans, when pushed, would do what was right. She lost herself. The woman was in a void of her own making, and she did not know how to pull herself out.
And I knew I’d never be a girl again.
The Femme Fatale Farmgirl
Femme Fatale Farmgirl 