Guys I'm donnnneeeeeeeeeeeeee.

This election cycle. Stanford. THE EFFING GORILLA SITUATION.

In case you don't know, I work in social media so about 115% of my time is spent trying to ignore the utter trash that is the internet. It's exhausting, but I don't think I've ever been at my wit's end like I am this week.

I try to be a rational human on social. I really do. I try and keep my opinions to myself and not go ham on the (frankly) crazy stuff I see plastered across Facebook, but it's come to a boiling point. Either I have to quit social and spend the rest of my days hiding in a mountain cave or I get my rant on. So here goes puppies. Feel free to not read this if you:

• Have a problem with me being a Christian
• Have a problem with me being a Feminist
• Have a problem with the hottest of takes...

My very favorite clip from Girls is one from the first season where Hannah, Jessa, and Shoshana are eating froyo in the park talking about what else? Boys and how they treat girls. Shoshana references a book about relationships that sounds a lot like a parody of He's Just Not That Into You (a book that was literally too painful for me to read. I made it through one chapter before I couldn't do it. It's hard hearing all your relationship problems read back to you.) and a hilarious, but painfully realistic conversation ensues...


And so lately I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be "the ladies" and if I even want to be described that way.

A couple of weeks ago I had a conversation with another woman about the implications of a girl going home with a guy on the first date. I'd been heading out for a first date and she concernedly said to me "if you like him don't go home with him." Now whether or not I had any intentions of going home with this guy became totally irrelevant to me as I thought about that statement.

Let's break it down. If you like a guy. Don't go home with him. It seems like great advice. If you like a guy you want to make sure that you act in a way that will ensure that he has the best chance of liking you back. So be a lady. No brainer. But in my experience, it's most often if not always, the guy who will ask you to come home if a date is going well. And for me I guess I just wouldn't entertain the possibility of saying yes to someone I didn't really like to begin with. I mean, whose thought process goes like this...

"Hey, well this date was kind of sucky, I suppose I might as well go home with this guy who is annoying and I don't want to see again, because... well... I probably won't see him again."

But, according to the woman I was speaking to, going home with a man on the first date negates you completely as a potential girlfriend candidate. < I mean say whaaaaaa? You ASKED me to go home with you!

The whole concept buried itself like a seed in my mind that night, and its done nothing but grow since. And I've been asking questions, of both men and women, on the subject.

The results have been interesting. The vast majority of men I asked said that even if they were really into a girl on a date and proactively asked her to go home with them, that after the fact they wouldn't consider dating her because "who knows how many other guys she's gone home with."

OMG GUYS. THAT IS RIDICULOUS  Particularly because the same guys don't see asking a girl to go home with them as a deal-breaker for her. They, in their own minds (and probably hers since she liked them enough to stay the night to begin with) are still completely legitimate boyfriend candidates. I don't know about you, but is hard to justify in my head.

By that logic men in these situations simultaneously have a higher and lower moral compas than women. They just can't help themselves in the moment, but after the fact look back on a night that, how shall we say? Took two to tango, and arrive at the conclusion that it's the responsibility of the (now unsavory) woman to keep the relationship on track.

And that's only half the issue.

Here's the other problem I've been wrestling with... I'd like a relationship. I'd like someone to call after work who cares to pick up the phone and hear my voice. I'd like a plus one to my cousin's wedding, and I want a Facebook photo album of me and someone doing fun stuff this summer. And I know I'm not the only one. But when you go out with someone it's hard to say that because so many guys are like "woah, woah let's take this slow now."

For some reason there seems to be this undetermined  typically quite long, period of time where you just "hang out." Even if your goal is a relationship, even if it's really what you want, it's seen as desperate to ask for exclusivity and respect from day one.

But wait... so if you go home on the first date you're a totally undatable pariah slut, and if you hold out for what you're really looking for then you are a needy stereotypical woman who is just trying to nail down any man and rob him of his God-given freedom?

I'm confused.

I refuse to be both the man and the woman in a "relationship" while the guy gets to be a child. I don't want the weight of having to navigate the tricky waters of how to end up actually dating someone on my own. Should this process not be an open, honest discussion about what two people want that either ends in them together or not?

I'm not trying to say that every guy I go on a date with should want to be with me. That's kind of the point of going on a date to begin with. You're figuring out if you like someone and want to see more of them. It's kind of really cool.

I'd like to be able to come to the table with what I want and at the very least have it respected, if not returned. The point is to find someone who is on the same page, and not to have to lie about "not wanting something serious." I've done that. I've pretended to be ok with casual in hopes that the somehow the person I was seeing would magically realize that I'm wonderful and we'd seamlessly transition into exclusivity. I'd rather start coming to the table with my honest desires and have them rejected than keep playing these stupid games.

So I'll leave you with a parting clip. Because sometimes a musical from the 1940's can say it better than I ever could.

Love,
K

Been thinking a lot about Boston. I've never felt this way about a tragedy before.

I wrote a while back about what I felt like on 9/11 and it was pretty clear that it didn't affect me in the way that a lot of people were affected. I didn't take on the trauma and anger and sadness of others. Maybe because I was a kid. I don't know for sure.

It's really different this time. Maybe it's because I walked across that finish line on Sunday morning when I was walking to the T to get to South Station to catch my Megabus home to New York. Maybe it's because the group of us who were in Boston celebrating my little sister's 21st birthday stopped there on Saturday night to ask a cop who was overseeing last-minute setup whether we needed to head inbound or outbound to get to to Fenway, but I don't think it was my proximity.

I'm not afraid of being blown up. I'm not afraid of dying, and for the most part all of the people I love don't live in cities, so I'm not afraid for them. I trust that they are going to be safe.

This morning one of the first things I did when I got to work was to read an article about the 8 year-old boy who was killed. His name is Martin. I saw a picture of him holding a sign with his name on it all dressed up at his first communion. I saw another with him holding a sign that said "No More Hurting People" on it. He had a big grin and funny 8 year-old teeth that he definitely hadn't grown into. He had freckles like my little brother, Jerome.

I only read the one article before I made myself stop. I was supposed to be productive today, but I wasn't really.

I couldn't get Martin's face out of my head. His mom and sister are critically injured in the hospital. His father issued a statement telling the world how much he loved his son and asked for privacy to grieve.

I've wanted to cry all day, but felt frozen. All around me people are reacting to the tragedy differently. Some people seem unaffected. Others have a fascination with every detail as it unfolds. I've even heard a few jokes... We're all coping I suppose.

I've never lived in Boston, and I don't have a lot of connection to it other than I've always thought of it as a place my sisters love and as a city where people who aren't ready for NYC go. It's scrappy and plucky and a little more rough-around-the-edges than I prefer. But I'm really mourning with them now. Particularly with Martin's family.

All I wanted to do today was go home and hug my family. I just wanted to feel them close to me for a second because I'm sad right down to my core. I did get to cry finally, in front of my best friends and a friend I haven't seen since high school practically. It was a little strange. I felt self-indulgent, as if this isn't my tragedy to be a part of. I can't claim this heartache as my own, and it's confusing.

We will see how the coming days allow me to work through what's happened. There's more than one way to handle grief, which is something I'm seeing very clearly right now.

But I'm praying for Martin. It's weird to say that because even though I've become much more in touch with a sense of faith recently, it's not my way to talk about it. It's really private at this time. I'm nobody's example.

For now though, it's the only thing that feels right.

Love,
K

I was in a pop-up American Apparel outlet in SoHo when I knew.

It was embaressing at first.

I've had thoughts about Lena Dunham... and how (even though Girls is basically the story of my life) she's a sell out for being a secret rich kid. I love fair trade coffee, and I own an embarrassingly large collection of black leggings.

In fact, the truth is, I'm probably the biggest hipster you've ever met. And you wouldn't even know because the ways that I'm underground are even more underground than "normal" underground. I mean I was home schooled for 10 years for pete's sake. I listened to awkward Christian bands you've definitely never heard of. I was wearing stirrup pants at age 4. I owned a black beret that I loved.

So I'm official coming out hipster. I'll say it. I'm hipster and indifferent! < that's a joke. I couldn't care less what you think about my love of shirts that are longer in the back than in the front or the fact that I really really want a pair of tortoise shell Warby Parker glasses.

I'm going to ride this trend until I get bored and love every minute of it. I like the fact that dresses are in, that perfection is not, and that I can have hair that's dark at the top and bleach blond at the bottom because, gosh darn it, I'll never be a girl who keeps up with her roots!

I do promise this... No matter what I will not live in Williamsburg or own a cat.

Love,
K

The last few weeks have seen an alarming spike in my television consumption, partially because I now live somewhere with a TV (first time in a year) and partly because I've completely surrendered to a obsession with the reality singing show The Voice.

After my bitter, bitter break up with American Idol over commercialization/completely missing the point of it being a singing competition I had basically stopped watching singing shows. I was coerced (partially due to the pretty face of Adam Levine) to start watching the voice because I was curious about the "blind" audition portion where the judges pick contestants while only listening to them sing. I am fully aware that contestants are screened previous to appearing on the show and therefore looks are still a factor, but I liked the idea.

Show aside, it's got me thinking about why I've lost touch with my music. I've been involved in singing since I was a 7 year old kid hiding under the pianos during my first children's choir rehearsal. (The group is called The Essex Children's Choir and I literally owe Mrs. Price, the director, every iota of what musical talent I have managed to develop)

I continued to be involved in the arts through choral music, theater, visual arts (drawing and painting) and I even learned to dance a little which was against the odds since I'm about as naturally graceful as a beached whale. Or a angry water buffalo. You get the picture. Anyhow, since college ended I haven't sung in any capacity. I went on tour in Italy after graduation and then kissed my love of music goodbye.

This past summer I got to sing a little with friends while just sitting around in their back yard. A little Adele or something. Nothing serious. Recently the father of my friend made some kind of a nice comment about me being discovered here in NY and I took it as a complete joke. I made some sort of self-deprecating comment before I realized that he'd really meant it. Whether or not I measure up here in the city or anywhere, he thinks I'm a good vocalist.

So I've been thinking about why I abandoned those things that I love. I could sing. I'm classically trained and there's nothing stopping me from practicing. I could probably audition for a church choir in the city and even get paid a little to sing in an adult chorus if I tried.

Then I think about The Voice. I'm not that kind of singer and I never have been. But it's true that something deep inside of me is fulfilled by music and art in a way that it's left dry by any other activity.

I had a professor in college who ribbed on me constantly for not being a Theater major. He always said to me "Theater is a lifestyle, not a hobby." It seemed as if he really couldn't understand my motivation to pour out creativity into shows and be so obviously in love with the arts without making them my life.

I've wondered many times if I didn't pursue an artistic career out of fear alone. Am I a coward?

 I don't think so, and I'll tell you why.

I love the arts too much.

My spirit soars onstage. I feel light and airy when I draw. I go to another place when I sing in the car. Those things all do something for me that nothing else does and I'm not sure I even want to share that with the world. Singing and art in particular are not things I do in front of other people. I tend to jealously hoard them away as an escape.

I honestly can't see myself putting so much stock in my own talent that I would trust that talent to support me for the rest of my life. I want those things to be available to me to help me escape.

I truly believe that there are people born to share their talents with the world, but they are few and far between. The sad truth is that not every girl who thrills at the thought of standing center stage and belting On My Own is built for it. Not every person has what it takes to be successful in a performance capacity. There are people you meet who just have that thing that makes you want to watch them. How they move and speak and interact with others. Those people are born to be watched, and I am not one of them.

I think that a lot of people might find that cowardly. We've been raised to believe that we can achieve our dreams. And there are people out there who lack innate star qualities who make it anyhow because of pure determination, but again, I am not one of those people.

I dearly love to write. I found public relations and communications in general because it's a career path where I can play with language. I feel like, though I may love it less than performing, that I can excel at the things required to be brilliant at communications.

So I've chosen not to chase a pipe dream that makes me thrill. I don't want fame. I don't want recognition. I want to be able to pursue my artistic loves on my own time without putting pressure on myself by placing my financial eggs in that basket.

I admire those who chase their dreams, but I ache for those people who I doubt will ever get what they want. Dreams are a double edged sword. The bring out the best in us, but the lesson that no one wants to learn is that your best (and I hate myself for saying this sometimes) may just not be the best.

Love,
K