In Which I Go Back in Time and Slap Myself

I've been dating.

I try to keep an open mind, but I also don't want to put up with bullshit.

It's a fine line.

One thing that I can't handle is flattery. I'm not talking about some kind of fake (or real) modesty, insecurity, or a dislike of receiving compliments. I'm talking about:

-false compliments (i.e. "You look sexy" when you just got back from the gym and your booty crack is sweating through your pants.)
-gazing (looking at a woman like she's magic, especially if she doesn't think you're magic.)
-superfluous compliments ("You're really smart" when you are actually smart, but you didn't say anything smart enough to warrant that assessment.)
-over-dramatic moments of affection or admiration (see gazing)

However, I did not always feel this way. A mere 6 years ago I wrote a blog (my second one ever- it was waiting a while to be written) about how flattery (though I didn't use that word) creates confidence, which leads to fun nakedness, essentially. It now seems like a how-to guide for douche bags.

Unfortunately, flattery no longer inspires confidence in me. It creeps me out. It makes me feel like someone is trying to manipulate me. And, doubly-unfortunately, manipulation was the #1 favorite tool of the dude who raped me. I bring that up not in a I-was-raped-and-therefore-traumatized way, but in a this-is-the-behavior-of-a-rapist way. Some guys who flattered me did not engage in any non-consensual sexual acts with me, and I was happy that someone put in the effort to make me feel attractive. Rob, on the other hand, definitely used flattery as a way to gain my trust and make me think that he respected me-- and therefore my body and my limits.

I cannot believe that at one point in my life I did not recognize flattery as manipulation. I had a lot of fun fooling around with various dudes; it was super validating of my idea of myself as sexually potent and desirable. I thought rapists would be douchey and aggressive and were probably hiding in bushes. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they are (seemingly) sweet, gentle, charming people who you know. I want to go back in time and slap myself for my naivete.

But that brings up other problems:
1) Why should I slap myself? I should go back in time and punch HIM! No victim blaming, thank you.
2) Could I handle the fact that some apparently sweet dudes are rapists when I was in my early 20's? People have been describing me as jaded and cynical since I was 7, so I wouldn't want to add more disillusionment on top of that.

This time I don't have solutions to those problems. Normally, this is the part of the post where I'd end with some (attempted) righteous, witty, or wise conclusion. I don't have one of those. There's no lesson here, just shock and mild shame at the fact that the best advice I could give to guys was to flatter women in order to get them naked.

Pay attention to me on the Internet!

A year and a half ago I decided to write a piece about how lame it is that my blog only has four followers.

I still only have four followers.

I originally didn't tell anyone when I started writing this blog, but then I got tired of that. I know people read it, but few have committed to following it. And no one comments.

It's weird how much of our sense of self-worth is based on people's response to what we project on the Internet.

I am aware that I started this blog as a creative some of my more coherent thoughts, not because I wanted more attention. But I couldn't help getting swallowed by the desire for people to validate my existence by paying attention to me on the Internet. And I don't understand why some of my friends' super lame blogs that they never post in anyway have dozens of followers!

I am aware of how idiotic this is, but I have not yet stopped caring.

But it's not only me! I am mildly annoyed at the response to my blog, but some people seem to only own a camera for the sake of posting photos of their fantastically interesting life on Facebook.

This can't be healthy.

I blogged on your face.

My first blog must definitely be about blogging. I have a moral opposition to it. I don’t read any blogs, and I totally judge people who write them. In high school a few of my friends had LiveJournals, and they would write nasty things about each other, in an “anonymous” way. Let me paraphrase an example:

“I AM SO SICK OF BITCHES! SOME people who they know who they are are always TALKING SHIT about me and they better stop. Someone told me someone I thought was my friend said that I was a slut because I had sex with my boyfriend. Obv she is just jealous that I have a boyfriend and no guys ever like her.”

While I sympathize with teenage angst, and while I do think writing is a constructive way of dealing with one’s emotions or challenges, I do not support insulting the English language by publishing sloppily-constructed sentences on the Internet. Additionally, LiveJournal became a place of extreme passive-aggression, which is not healthy for young women.

After LiveJournal, people began making MySpace posts. A friend of mine made a MySpace for me, but I don’t check it or know how to use it, and it kind of embarrasses me. There was one MySpace blog that I read, and that was of someone I used to date. Yep. Blog #1: bring in the ex. Classy, I know. I used to read it when we were just starting to date. He posted all these emo blogs about his last girlfriend, mostly Alkaline Trio lyrics. At some point he wrote one about how he was interested in someone new (me), but he wasn’t sure if it would work out because I’m Jewish and he’s atheist, and we lived on opposite sides of the country during the school year. In retrospect, I should have taken that as a warning that he sometimes feels things that he doesn’t tell me. In fact, he never told me what he was feeling. I think the MySpace posts stopped after we started dating. Perhaps he wrote one about how great I was, but it’s possible I am making that up.

Finally, we have Facebook notes. Now, I love Facebook. Yeah, I said it. Don’t judge me. But Notes were one of the earlier applications that Facebook added—along with an application to upload lots of photos—and I thought it was an evil MySpacization which would lead to the fall of humanity. I still don’t use Facebook notes, but I often enjoy things that other people write.

All three of these forms of blogging are unacceptable to me. Besides that I think keeping a blog is pretentious, my main reason for not writing one is that I keep a diary. Yes, a diary. It’s made out of paper. I use a pen to write in it. I began writing one in January of 1994, when I was just about to turn 8. That first diary lasted 3 years. It’s mostly me cussing at my mom. I am now on my 23^rd diary. I don’t write every day, but I try to write about every day. Unfortunately, the more interesting things are for me, the busier I am, and the less time I have to write. And when I’m bored, I write a lot. It annoys me to read over them and go through pages and pages of me analyzing everything that happened in the day, and then find that I didn’t write for a week and come across a one-page entry that goes along the lines of: “Dear Diary, Sorry I haven’t written in so long! Things have been crazy! On Monday I cut school to drink with my friends. On Tuesday I had a math test that I didn’t study for but I got a copy from somewhere and memorized all the answers during lunch. Remember that guy I said I liked? Well on Thursday we ended up making out for like 3 hours in his car. Today my dad said I was grounded so we’ll see if I can go to the show on Saturday. It’s almost Shabbat I gotta go bye!”

So why, if I am against blogs and I already keep a diary, am I now starting a blog? Because I have a lot of words in my head. This is not going to be a document detailing boy drama or girl drama or my daily adventures or even feelings. I want this to be essays. My diary is largely stream-of-consciousness, and I want something where I can write coherently. Why not just write coherently in my Diary, you ask? Fuck you.