tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29040204800814263442024-03-18T09:39:59.761-05:00I know, right?Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.comBlogger657125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-65595975241063361132014-11-13T00:00:00.000-06:002014-11-13T00:00:53.667-06:00Anxiety about my anxiety...I never planned on having children.<br />
<br />
It was not something I desired. I'm not a kid person. I don't dislike children. I'm just not a kid person. A year ago, the thought of holding a baby made me balk. Whenever there are children in the room, I'm polite to them and I think they're super cute, but I don't really interact with them unless necessary.<br />
<br />
That's just me.<br />
<br />
Last year, my dad spooked me by telling me he thought birth control pills cause breast cancer. He's in the cancer field and he had studies and his own speculation to back it up. I freaked out.<br />
<br />
That same week, I underwent a scan at the doctor's office which revealed my body probably didn't want kids either. My doctor told me that my chances of conceiving a child naturally were slim to none. She told me when I decided to start a family one day, I needed to make an appointment with her to discuss my options. I wasn't upset. I just shrugged and said "okay" and went on with my life.<br />
<br />
Less than a year later, Neill arrived.<br />
<br />
I love Neill. He's a part of me. I can't imagine life without him. I went from being completely clueless about babies to kind of knowing what I'm doing. That's a big step for me. I'm also looking forward to when he's a kid. Because even though I'm not a kid person, I'm a Neill person. I can't wait to learn more about him. Discover his interests. See his personality. Play with him.<br />
<br />
He's my favorite person in the world and I feel like the luckiest woman in the world to be his mom.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I feel guilty though. One of the main reasons I never desired children in the past is because I didn't think it was fair to bring more people into this world. There are already too many people. There is so much unhappiness. There is violence everywhere. People starving.<br />
<br />
And don't even get me started on the war against the LGBT community taking place right now. I don't know if Neill is gay. If he is, obviously that's fine with me and Rian. But it would break my heart for him to experience hatred and discrimination and ignorance just for being who he is. Will acceptance be better by the time Neill is an adult? I don't know.<br />
<br />
I have so many anxieties for Neill. I worry about bullies. I worry about injuries. I worry about everything that is going to happen and everything that probably won't.<br />
<br />
People tell me I should live in the moment, enjoy Neill while he's a sweet little bundle of joy. They tell me I shouldn't worry so much about the future, because that just eats up precious brain matter.<br />
<br />
It's not that easy. I can't just turn off my fears. I can't switch off the guilt.<br />
<br />
I honestly don't think the anxiety is ever going to go away. Like, I really think I'm still going to feel overprotective about Neill when he's a middle-aged man.<br />
<br />
I guess this is motherhood?Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com366tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-53858358601811122792014-11-06T11:10:00.001-06:002014-11-06T11:14:48.114-06:00I'm the best mom in the world! (but you're not)I've learned a lot of things in the past year. Most of those things involve bodily fluids.<br />
<br />
But one thing I was shocked to learn is one thing that shouldn't have really shocked me at all:<br />
<br />
Mean girls grow up to be mean moms.<br />
<br />
(Moms who are mean to other moms).<br />
<br />
It's as competitive and catty as high school, except uglier and colder. Because it involves your children.<br />
<br />
I came across this creepy phenomenon the moment I got pregnant. You see, I had turned to the internet for help. I knew nothing about babies. I didn't really have a support network of moms-to-be around me. I wanted to be a part of a community of women who understood what I was going through. And maybe make some friends in the process.<br />
<br />
On Facebook, there are hundreds of pregnancy/motherhood pages. And in the past year, I have seen five major ones get shut down. All because of mommy-shamers.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qnum7yaMuAs/VFsWBRkag1I/AAAAAAAAOoQ/b37Kx0N1mR8/s1600/mommyshamer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qnum7yaMuAs/VFsWBRkag1I/AAAAAAAAOoQ/b37Kx0N1mR8/s1600/mommyshamer.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
What are mommy-shamers? They are:<br />
<br />
Moms who call each other nasty names. Moms who criticize other moms for not doing things "the right way." Moms who think they know more than any other mom in the history of mankind. Moms who are, to put it bluntly, just bitches.<br />
<br />
On the internet, mommy-shamers (much like trolls) are brazen behind the safety net of a computer screen.<br />
<br />
On a Facebook page, a mom will write a question, seeking advice from other moms. In most cases it's something benign, like "Is it okay to give my four-month-old water?"<br />
<br />
Some responses will be normal. "I don't think babies under six months should be given water. My pediatrician warned me against it because water can affect how the baby digests milk or formula."<br />
<br />
Helpful, right?<br />
<br />
Then, come the mommy-shamers: <span style="color: white;">"OH MY GOD, ARE YOU RETARDED? THIS IS YOUR FIRST CHILD, RIGHT? NEVER GIVE A BABY WATER! YOU WILL PUT HIM IN THE EMERGENCY ROOM! WHAT KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU????"</span><br />
<br />
Or, the question might be: "After a six-week-long maternity leave, I'm heading back to work next week. Any advice for full-time moms?"<br />
<br />
Normal responses will involve breast-pumping tips and how to find the right child-care provider.<br />
<br />
Mommy-shamers: <span style="color: white;">"YOU'RE GOING BACK TO WORK AND YOU'RE GOING TO ABANDON </span><span style="color: white;">YOUR BABY?! HOW COULD YOU? I COULD NEVER LEAVE MY CHILD IN THE HANDS OF STRANGERS FOR SOME STUPID JOB! PLEASE RETHINK YOUR DECISION. YOU WILL NEVER GET THESE PRECIOUS MOMENTS WITH YOUR NEWBORN EVER AGAIN!"</span><br />
<br />
Etc.<br />
<br />
But the mommy-shaming isn't just online. It's in person. Well-meaning friends and acquaintances, and even strangers, think it is of the upmost importance to tell you how to raise your baby.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;">Breast is best! If you give your child formula, you might as well pack your bags, because you're going to hell.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;">Vaccinations are the devil's autism juice.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;">Circumcision is CHILD ABUSE.</span><br />
<br />
Etc.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, I haven't been subjected to that extreme kind of mommy-shaming (knock on wood). But just witnessing it everyday on forums is enough for me. It's the main reason I have been too terrified to post anything in any forum anywhere.<br />
<br />
Being a bitch in high school is bad enough. But at least your excuse is, um, you're in high school. When you're an adult and have children, there is NO excuse.<br />
<br />
It's even harder when mommy-shamers do it unintentionally. They genuinely think they're being helpful by offering (unsolicited) motherly advice.<br />
<br />
When Neill was two months old, I was sitting in an auto shop waiting room, feeding Neill a bottle (I'm not comfortable breast-feeding in public yet). The receptionist in the waiting room walked up to me and told me I was using the wrong brand of bottle.<span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: white;">"All three of my children used Playtex bottles," she told me. "Honey, you need to switch. You're not doing your baby any service using Dr. Brown bottles."</span><br />
<br />
Um, what?<br />
<br />
When Neill was three months old, I was in line at the craft store and he started wailing. The mother in front of me turned around and glared at me. <span style="background-color: black; color: white;">"You're not feeding your baby enough if he's screaming like that," she sneered.</span><br />
<br />
Excuse me?<br />
<br />
And finally, last week, I was at the grocery store when I walked by the elderly woman who passes out samples. After cooing over Neill, she glanced into my cart and told me, <span style="color: white;">"You need to put that carton of ice cream back in the freezer section, darling. Sweets aren't good to be eating when you're feeding that little baby! Shame on you!"</span><br />
<br />
She literally mommy-shamed me. Er, grandma-shamed me?<br />
<br />
Anyway, it made me go from a beaming new mom to a beet red buffoon. I was embarrassed and I couldn't come up with a good comeback right away because I've given most of my brain cells to my child.<br />
<br />
Why can't mothers just be supportive of other mothers?<br />
<br />
New moms are already so fragile, clumsily learning the ropes of child-rearing through sleep-thirsty eyes. We don't need you to chastise us on what worked for you. Because what worked for you might not work for me. Every mother and child and situation is different. <br />
<br />
Don't make us feel bad, when we already have the harshest critic breathing down our necks: ourselves.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-34264104928244195082014-10-31T00:47:00.000-05:002014-10-31T00:49:12.604-05:00I'm back!I think it has been a year since I left. Strange.<br />
<br />
I knew I was going to resume blogging after the pregnancy, but I wasn't sure when or where. I spent months wondering if I should jump-start this blog or simply start a new one.<br />
<br />
After all, I've changed completely since last fall. I'm not the same person. I've gone through an emotional and physical transformation. I guess having another human being ripped from your body will do that to you. I also just think I've been forced to grow up the past year.<br />
<br />
But in the end, I decided starting a new blog would be too exhausting. All my friends are here. I don't want to confuse my readers. My posts aren't going to be much different. This isn't all of the sudden going to turn into a I'm-just-another-cool-mom blog where I post organic gluten-free recipes and conduct detailed reviews of strollers. Well, maybe I would do a stroller review. If the stroller was free. (I'm still poor.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, it just makes sense to stay.<br />
<br />
I actually went back and read every single one of my previous posts. That's five years worth of blogging. Talk about cringe-worthy. It was like going back and reading my middle school diary. Lets just say stuff that happened in 2009 needs to stay in 2009, amiright?<br />
<br />
I also categorized most of my posts (which you can view on my sidebar), so it's easier navigate in case you're looking for something specific. Another reason I decided to stay was because during my absence, I still had a lot of people commenting on old posts or stumbling across my blog by accident. It's eye-opening to realize something I wrote three years ago still touches people today.<br />
<br />
Before I sign out for the night, I want to tell you about my son. He was born in July and his name is Neill. He's super cute and he likes to giggle when I say any word that starts with "p" like "pumpkin" or "poop." For some reason, he thinks it's hilarious, so I roll with it.<br />
<br />
I debated about posting a photo of him here (I recently came across a story about creepy instagram trolls who steal photos of babies off blogs and pretend its theirs). But, you know what, screw them. I have hundreds of photos of Neill, so I'll let the internet have one.<br />
<br />
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<br />
That's my baby. He's going to be four months old in a week! Where does time go?!Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-80892066516224877092014-02-19T15:56:00.000-06:002014-10-25T23:56:06.041-05:00Since I've been gone...I fell off the grid.<br />
<br />
I thought it would be fitting to come back here this afternoon, seven days after my blog's five year anniversary.<br />
<br />
You see, back in November, my life kind of turned upside down. I was already incredibly unhappy at the time. My depression has snowballed over the past few years. I stopped being interested in things that interest me. I had no desire to write anymore. To read books from my favorite authors. To even hang out with friends very much. Nothing inspired me.<br />
<br />
Then, I found out by accident that I'm pregnant.<br />
<br />
I was covering a city council meeting and right when the big issue came up, which was supposed to be my big story, I ran to the bathroom and threw up for more than an hour. I thought I was dying.<br />
<br />
My dad took me to the hospital. We found out that I wasn't dying, but in fact doing the opposite by creating life.<br />
<br />
Since Rian still has another semester of graduate school left and he's living on campus two hours away, I gave up my apartment and moved back in with my parents so I could use my measly freelance journalist paycheck to pay off my debt and save up for my inevitable medical expenses.<br />
<br />
It has been a huge shock and it took me several months to come to terms with my situation. I found out a little while ago that I'm having a boy. I'm due in late June or early July.<br />
<br />
Well, now that the shock has worn off and the distraction is no longer a novelty, I'm back to facing my pre-pregnancy demons.<br />
<br />
I need inspiration. I long for creativity. I wish I could regain that passion I used to have for, well, anything.<br />
<br />
But instead, I go through the motions of everyday life. I do my job. I watch television. I spend most of my time staring into space, not really thinking about anything until I realize half the day is gone.<br />
<br />
Exciting, eh?<br />
<br />
What do you do when you need to get out of a slump? When you seek creative inspiration? When you want to jumpstart your ambitions?Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-43813559079491607392013-11-09T23:35:00.000-06:002014-10-25T23:54:50.620-05:00Choose Your Own Chick-Lit Adventure!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PvU3wsjTDOg/Un8Y6HqFJ8I/AAAAAAAAOY4/rgPNtkLJiRc/s1600/chicklit4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PvU3wsjTDOg/Un8Y6HqFJ8I/AAAAAAAAOY4/rgPNtkLJiRc/s400/chicklit4.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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</div>
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Have you ever wanted to write your very own chick lit novel? Have you ever dreamed of being the next Sophie Kinsella or Jennifer Weiner? Well, guess what. You can be! Your hand-crafted chick lit novel is only one simple little recipe away.</div>
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I've provided all the main ingredients. The rest is up to you! Have fun!</div>
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<br />
What is your heroine's name?<br />
<br />
A. Emma<br />
<br />
B. Jane<br />
<br />
C. Elizabeth<br />
<br />
D. Sophie<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1-mFiffGGII/Un5gP7EqnWI/AAAAAAAAOXM/CeD1a2b5m0w/s1600/chicklit5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1-mFiffGGII/Un5gP7EqnWI/AAAAAAAAOXM/CeD1a2b5m0w/s400/chicklit5.jpg" height="320" width="400" /></a></div>
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Where does she live?<br />
<br />
A. London<br />
<br />
B. New York City<br />
<br />
C. Los Angeles<br />
<br />
D. Toronto<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0VQGf97a3hQ/Un5klhcAHQI/AAAAAAAAOYE/f3KlhVZQl9o/s1600/chicklit10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0VQGf97a3hQ/Un5klhcAHQI/AAAAAAAAOYE/f3KlhVZQl9o/s400/chicklit10.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
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What is her job?<br />
<br />
A. Journalist<br />
<br />
B. Publicist<br />
<br />
C. Fashion Blogger<br />
<br />
D. Casting Agent<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ItHxLmqe39A/Un5geOb72xI/AAAAAAAAOXc/uzmbZBU-TPM/s1600/chicklit3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ItHxLmqe39A/Un5geOb72xI/AAAAAAAAOXc/uzmbZBU-TPM/s400/chicklit3.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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Who is her sidekick?<br />
<br />
A. Fabulous gay bestie! (he's a hair stylist)<br />
<br />
B. Straight male best friend (your heroine has known him her entire life, but would NEVER fall in love with him...or would she?)<br />
<br />
C. Chubby female best friend who is married with two young children (she envies your "glamorous" single life!)<br />
<br />
D. Thin, sarcastic dark-haired best friend who is an attorney and dresses in all black (she's cynical of men and never wants children)<br />
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<br />
What is your heroine's main goal?<br />
<br />
A. Fall in love<br />
<br />
B. Get promoted<br />
<br />
C. Be famous<br />
<br />
D. Lose 20 pounds<br />
<br />
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<br />
Who is your heroine's enemy?<br />
<br />
A. Her perfect, gorgeous engaged little sister (that spoiled brat!)<br />
<br />
B. Her overbearing mother ("When are you going to get married? You're nearly 30!")<br />
<br />
C. That tall ice-cold blonde bitch co-worker (she wants your job...and your man)<br />
<br />
D. The ex-boyfriend (he cheated and now he wants a second chance? Yeah, right)<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ML_79WYrg98/Un5gtXy88hI/AAAAAAAAOXk/h3AdbrXQjCg/s1600/chicklit8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ML_79WYrg98/Un5gtXy88hI/AAAAAAAAOXk/h3AdbrXQjCg/s400/chicklit8.jpg" height="272" width="400" /></a></div>
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Who is your heroine's love interest?<br />
<br />
A. Her hunky boss (he's sophisticated, charming, and filthy rich)<br />
<br />
B. Her straight male best friend (she's adorably oblivious that he's her soul mate)<br />
<br />
C. That annoying businessman who spilled coffee on her at Starbucks and now appears everywhere (she despises him and refuses to acknowledge that she's attracted to him)<br />
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D. That casually cute Jeep-driving vegan with moppy brown hair (he's secretly wealthy!)<br />
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<br />
What is your conflict?<br />
<br />
A. Your heroine tells a little fib that snowballs into a hilarious avalanche of disasters!<br />
<br />
B. It's a case of mistaken identity and your heroine doesn't realize it until its too late.<br />
<br />
C. She's chasing after true love, without realizing it's right under her nose.<br />
<br />
D. Fish out of water scenario! Your heroine is shipped off to a foreign country (or a different time period) and she has no idea what to do! Poor girl.<br />
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<br />
What is your book's ending?<br />
<br />
A. She falls in love<br />
<br />
B. She falls in love and gets promoted<br />
<br />
C. She falls in love and gets married<br />
<br />
D. She falls in love and gets pregnant (oooh, sequel alert!)<br />
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<br />
What is the title of your book?<br />
<br />
A. Confessions of a Thirty-Something<br />
<br />
B. A Chocoholic's Guide to Dating & Other Disasters<br />
<br />
C. Must Love Martinis<br />
<br />
D. Tripping in Heels<br />
<br />
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Now, tell me about your book!!Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-25401671219723920652013-10-28T10:10:00.000-05:002014-11-06T12:19:44.000-06:00That One Word<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
He was the most physically perfect human I had ever seen in real life.<br />
<br />
Yellow blonde hair. Baby blue eyes. A chiseled face that couldn't have turned out more beautiful had it been crafted by a meticulous sculptor.<br />
<br />
But he was filled with hate.<br />
<br />
In middle school, that hate was directed at me.<br />
<br />
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<br />
You see, Jake was the most popular boy in school. He was at the very top of the food chain. Even his cool friends didn't seem as cool as him. None of them, not even the beautiful cheerleaders, could match him in the looks department.<br />
<br />
It was my first day of eighth grade. I had just transferred from another school. Because of our last names, Jake had to sit next to me in homeroom. He took one look at me and sneered, "I have to sit next to the squaw, great."<br />
<br />
I was so stunned and mortified, I didn't even correct him that I wasn't Native American.<br />
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<br />
Jake seemed so repulsed by the mere presence of my face that he couldn't help his outbursts every time he saw me, whether it was in class or in the hallways.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: white;">I had dandruff. My long brown hair was ratty. I was weird. Shut up, what you are looking at squaw?</span><br />
<br />
All his words.<br />
<br />
Of course, I wasn't the only victim.<br />
<br />
Other kids were disgusting for being "fat." Another girl had "Muppet lips." The boy sitting behind us in homeroom "smelled" because he was "poor."<br />
<br />
Out of all his insults, the one that had the greatest and most long-lasting impression on me was when he glared in disgust at my face during homeroom one day and called me "ugly."<br />
<br />
It broke my heart.<br />
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<br />
Nobody had ever called me that to my face before. It confirmed my biggest fear, the one gnawing at the back of my mind since elementary school. I was ugly.<br />
<br />
It's amazing how one insult, no matter how untrue, becomes your truth. Your shrunken confidence allows it to scar you, to brand you. <br />
<br />
A billion people afterwards could tell you you're the most beautiful woman in the world, but you'll never believe them. Because when you were 13, the most popular boy in school called you ugly. And you believed him first.<br />
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<br />
A year later, in high school, Jake and I didn't have any classes together and he eventually moved on to mocking the physically and mentally handicapped kids. When he passed me in the hallways, he pretty much forgot I even existed. I was relieved.<br />
<br />
My dad's job was transferred to another state and I moved away at 16, never to see Jake again.<br />
<br />
But I still see Jake's face and hear his words when I want to forget them. I don't believe people when they say I'm attractive. Instead, I see Jake telling me otherwise. Even now, in my late 20s.<br />
<br />
I don't know what angers me more: the words themselves or that I allowed those words to destroy me.<br />
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<br />
I was visiting a childhood friend at the hospital a couple days ago. She had her appendix removed.<br />
<br />
I was sitting by her bedside, reminiscing about people we used to know in middle school, when she suddenly exclaimed, "do you know about Jake?"<br />
<br />
I looked up, startled.<br />
<br />
"Know what?" I asked.<br />
<br />
She pulled out her iPhone and showed me Jake's Facebook profile. I had never seen it before because, obviously, I would never friend request him.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.<br />
<br />
Jake is gay.<br />
<br />
Not just gay, but he's an entire fruit salad.<br />
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<br />
Photos revealed him kissing a haughty looking male model next to a Fashion Week runway, drinking a pink cocktail on a sandy beach, and straddling a pole at a gay bar. His interests include "poodles," "fashion," and "cuddling." A status revealed he's "here and queer and you bitches better get used to it." He lives in New York City and he works for Vogue.<br />
<br />
During high school, Jake always dated the cheerleaders. It never occurred to me that he really wanted the football players.<br />
<br />
Seeing the de-closeted Jake in front of me, on that little screen, didn't change my opinion of him. That look, that mean streak, that blinding arrogance, remains in his icy blue eyes. He might be gay, but he's still Jake.<br />
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<br />
He's still the boy who ripped my heart out and left it bleeding in my hands with one little insult.<br />
<br />
And I still haven't put it back.<br />
<br />
I hope one day I do.<br />
<br />
Because I want to believe I'm beautiful.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-76927429840778611552013-10-11T01:01:00.004-05:002014-10-25T23:52:15.332-05:00I've been exposed.Several months ago, a blog friend of mine accidentally posted a link to his lingerie blog to his personal Facebook page.<br />
<br />
It freaked him out so much, he deleted his entire blog. This was a good blog too. An encyclopedia of lingerie, I used to joke to him. It was one of the most impressive fashion blogs I knew. Several years had been put into it.<br />
<br />
My friend had good reason to freak the fuck out. He was an alpha male with an explosive secret. If I remember correctly, only his wife knew about his guilty pleasure: wearing pantyhose underneath his jeans. His friends, his family, and his coworkers finding out about it? That would have ruined his life. I felt bad for him. While I was deeply saddened he was leaving the blogosphere, I understood he really didn't have a choice.<br />
<br />
There's nothing like a cold splash of water in your face to wake you up.<br />
<br />
Recently, I discovered that somebody I didn't want to find out about my blog found out about it.<br />
<br />
Of course, my situation isn't as worrisome as my friend's. In fact, I really don't have a big secret to hide at all.<br />
<br />
But my privacy has been compromised. A large group of people I didn't want to know my inner most thoughts now know this blog exists. My soul is exposed.<br />
<br />
I have always been comfortable writing about my life on this blog. It's kind of like getting to be naked in public and not worrying about it. That feeling is incredible. It's freedom.<br />
<br />
But now that feeling has been snuffed out. My privacy has been violated.<br />
<br />
I suppose it's my fault. I started this blog anonymously, but with photos and stories and whatnot, it eventually got more personal. I kept that distance from any identification, however. But I grew careless. I linked it somewhere I really shouldn't have. Silly me.<br />
<br />
It's the same mentality that has kept me from completing my memoir. Some of my stories are so intensely personal, so morbidly raw, that I can't bring myself to write them down next to my name. So I leave the book unfinished, sitting immobile in a folder on my laptop. I'm not ready to have everyone in my life exposed to everything in my life.<br />
<br />
So, what do I do now? I thought seriously about deleting this blog. But that would be pointless. They've probably already read everything. And why should I delete something I'm proud of?<br />
<br />
I've thought about abandoning this blog. My readership has dwindled significantly. I'm not passionate about doing biographies anymore. I already spend a lot of hours working on stories for a newspaper and getting paid shit for it. The thought of putting even more hours into a doomed starlet post, and not get paid anything for it, makes me want to vomit.<br />
<br />
But a part of me is so attached to this blog. It's like my child. How can I give it up? I just can't. It makes me so sad to even think about it. Even if it has become a ghost town. Even if I don't post here very often anymore.<br />
<br />
I really shouldn't let this group of people, who now know this blog exists, win. I mean, I need to stop giving a fuck what everyone in my life thinks about me. I need to have courage.<br />
<br />
Because this is ME.<br />
<br />
I shouldn't be ashamed of being human. Of having feelings and experiences and thoughts that aren't pure, perfect.<br />
<br />
I'm a romantic. I'm a bitch. I'm a storyteller. I'm hurt. I'm exhausted.<br />
<br />
But more importantly,<br />
<br />
I'm hope.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-48337945527803916092013-10-07T14:23:00.000-05:002014-10-25T23:51:37.879-05:00The Pretty Girl Complex<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
You know a girl like Sara.<br />
<br />
A pretty face without much substance.<br />
<br />
She's not very smart. She's not very witty. She's not very original.<br />
<br />
Sara lacks that special core, that uniqueness. Her personality is based solely on how people react to her outer beauty.<br />
<br />
Growing up, she didn't take time to nourish her soul. She didn't read books. She didn't treat people nicely. Everyone kept saying she was beautiful, so she knew that was her power. That's what made her special. That's what made her better than everyone else.<br />
<br />
Boldly placing yourself on top of a superficial pedestal is easy when you think everyone else is beneath you. Beauty trumps brains. It trumps money. It trumps creativity.<br />
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<br />
Sara craves people worshipping her. She only feels human when men are fawning over her. She only feels worthwhile when other women are jealous.<br />
<br />
While most people have hobbies, Sara spends a lot of time staring in the mirror, putting on makeup or just admiring herself.<br />
<br />
Guys are obsessed with her. It makes their day when she flirts with them. They tell their girlfriend "she's not my type" but secretly wish Sara was in her place. They would ditch their girl in a second if Sara batted her curled Maybelline eyelashes in distress. It would make their dick feel bigger to have such a stunning girl on their arm. A girl who looks like she stepped out of a movie.<br />
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<br />
While Sara is flaunting her youthful, trendy beauty, other girls her age feel invisible.<br />
<br />
They don't realize they're attractive too, but in a more fascinating way. They're most beautiful when you take the time to study every crevice of their face. Those oddities in their features, the kind that might seem imperfect next to Sara, are what make them perfect. These girls have bumps on their noses. Freckles on their cheeks. Gaps between their teeth. Dark, creamy skin. Their beauty is so poetic, it's mesmerizing.<br />
<br />
But immature guys don't pay attention to real beauty. They're programmed to want the obvious, whether its Heidi Klum or Megan Fox.<br />
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<br />
And while most girls hate Sara, they don't realize how much it would suck to be her.<br />
<br />
Guys don't chase after Sara because she's interesting. They chase after her because she won the gene pool lottery. They don't want to learn everything about her. They just want to fuck her.<br />
<br />
Eventually, Sara will no longer be able to triumph over the other girls.<br />
<br />
Even her beauty won't hold a candle to reality.<br />
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<br />
Men might be attracted to shiny objects, but they get bored with them quickly. Real men want a partner who can stimulate them physically, mentally, and emotionally. They want someone with fiery passion. They want someone who can make intelligent conversation. They want someone who can make them laugh. They want someone who shares the same interests. They want someone who isn't bloated with arrogance. They want a lover who is their other half.<br />
<br />
A best friend and a soul mate, wrapped up in one.<br />
<br />
It might take a while for them to figure it out, but they eventually do.<br />
<br />
And that's why it sucks to be Sara.<br />
<br />
She never wins in the end.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-26238327746221109992013-09-19T19:00:00.001-05:002014-10-25T23:47:30.348-05:00Oh, Frankie!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
When I was in middle school I had virtually no self-esteem.<br />
<br />
Of course, I wasn't alone. But when you're 13, it feels like it.<br />
<br />
I had been a really cute kid. But then things drastically changed. My teeth grew in severely crooked, thanks to a gum surgery (a benign tumor was removed). My front teeth grew in sideways. When I opened my mouth I looked like a freak. I stopped smiling when I was nine.<br />
<br />
I hadn't grown into my nose yet. It was wide and had a hump and not at all like the dainty little upturned noses my blonde peers flaunted.<br />
<br />
My hair was long, stringy, and frizzy. The humid south Florida weather promised I would never see a good hair day, no matter how many products my mom gave me.<br />
<br />
I was pretty damn miserable.<br />
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<br />
I had crushes on boys, but they were pretty cruel to me when they found out. One popular boy even shouted "woof!" when he discovered I had the hots for him. If that doesn't shatter a sixth-grader's self-image, I don't know what does.<br />
<br />
I suppose you could say being an awkward, unattractive pre-teen developed my character. I became extremely sarcastic. I didn't have many friends. I holed myself away at home, spending weekends writing humorous stories and fake magazine articles on the computer, instead of going to the mall with other girls my age. The Jennifer you know today was founded on that time period.<br />
<br />
But I desperately wanted a boy to like me. I didn't even want a boyfriend. I just wanted a boy to LIKE ME. I wanted to feel pretty. I wanted to feel like I wasn't the biggest loser on the planet.<br />
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<br />
On the first day of seventh grade, that changed.<br />
<br />
Frank, the new kid, sat next to me in algebra class. He was cute, in a non-threatening sort of way. He didn't use hair products and he didn't dress like a douchebag. He wore flannel. He had a strange accent. He had kind eyes.<br />
<br />
I cracked a joke in class, and while my other classmates stared at me blankly, Frank laughed. Not at me, but at my joke! I couldn't believe it! It was a miracle!<br />
<br />
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<br />
Later that day in the cafeteria, my friends and I looked up to see Frank holding his lunch tray, hovering over us.<br />
<br />
"Can I sit here?" he asked.<br />
<br />
I nearly knocked my milk over the table, I was so eager to make room for him.<br />
<br />
"Everyone here seems really superficial," he said, narrowing his eyes at a group of popular girls applying makeup at the next table. "I'm from New Jersey. I'm not used to palm trees and all these fancy houses."<br />
<br />
After the girls I was sitting with went to hang out in the sunny quad, Frank and I talked. He was so easy to talk to, which surprised me. Other than my cousins, I didn't have much experience talking to boys my own age.<br />
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<br />
We became fast friends. He ate lunch with me every day. He laughed at all my jokes. He talked a lot about New Jersey. He was clearly very homesick. I didn't mind though because I didn't know much about the east coast. I found it all very interesting. I couldn't imagine not going to Disney World every weekend. I couldn't imagine a beach without palm trees. It all seemed very odd and exciting. Industrial and cool.<br />
<br />
We started hanging out after school. I even went to a school dance with him, as friends, and taught him the Macarena. I couldn't believe Frank had never done it before! It was like hanging out with a Martian! Even President Clinton knew the Macarena!<br />
<br />
And of course, from the moment we became best friends I knew I was madly in love with him. I had never been treated so nicely before by a boy who wasn't a relative. He made me feel so special.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Suddenly, my life changed.<br />
<br />
My parents took me to Bennigan's for dinner during a weeknight. I should have known something was up because we only went there for special occasions and never during the week. I was halfway through my delicious hot wings when my parents dropped the bombshell.<br />
<br />
We were moving to Nebraska.<br />
<br />
Haha wait, what?<br />
<br />
My dad had been offered a much better job up there in Omaha. One he simply couldn't turn down.<br />
<br />
I was devastated.<br />
<br />
I awkwardly parted ways with my friends. Saying goodbye to Frankie was the hardest. He promised me he would write. <br />
And guess what. He did.<br />
<br />
For a month, we wrote each other once a week. Neither one of us had e-mail back then. It was all snail mail, which, looking back on it, made his correspondence even more impressive.<br />
<br />
But I was miserable in Omaha. I thought about Frankie all the time. I slept with his letters underneath my pillow. It was torture knowing he was there and I was here. That I was in love with him and he didn't know.<br />
<br />
So, I decided I needed to tell him how I felt.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I recorded myself singing "Don't Let Go" by En Vogue onto a cassette tape and I mailed it to him.<br />
<br />
It seemed like a really good idea at the time. It seemed so rational!<br />
<br />
I didn't take into account that my singing voice sounds like a dying cat. I didn't realize that my wailing "there's gonna be some LOVE-MAKIN', HEART-BREAKIN', SOUL-SHAKIN' loooOoooOoove" was severely inappropriate.<br />
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<br />
After I mailed him the tape, I never heard from him again.<br />
<br />
I was crushed.<br />
<br />
At the time, I couldn't figure out why. Didn't he like me back? Wasn't my message obvious? Did he not like R&B?<br />
<br />
I was flummoxed.<br />
<br />
Of course, looking back now, I realize that I pretty much made the worst decision in the history of the world. And I laugh hysterically thinking about it.<br />
<br />
Oh, man. Poor Frankie. I wish I could have seen his reaction when he hit play. I must have scared the shit outta that poor boy.<br />
<br />
I wonder if he still has the tape.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-29105683373664463912013-09-16T10:44:00.000-05:002014-10-25T23:46:35.104-05:00Miss America (behind the backlash)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Yesterday, history was made in my country.<br />
<br />
The first woman of Indian descent was crowned Miss America.<br />
<br />
As an American who also has Indian blood, I was incredibly proud. But that taste of victory was short-lived. From the moment Nina Davuluri was named the winner, articles started to appear all over the Internet revealing racist tweets against the 24-year-old.<br />
<br />
There was no time to smile. No time to feel pride. Nope. It was here's the crown, and then a barrage of hate.<br />
<br />
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<br />
What really pisses me off is that these racist tweets only represent a tiny, pathetic little fraction of the United States (.005 % of the population) but when you put all those tweets together, they seem like the entire country is on a full-blown rampage against brown people. Because the media magnifies it and blows it entirely out of proportion.<br />
<br />
What a lot of people don't realize is these articles are meant to shock other Americans by saying "Look! There are still people in this country who are jaw-droppingly ignorant!". That's all.<br />
<br />
But, unfortunately, now the entire world is horrified of people in the United States. They don't understand that these tweets represent a tiny percentage of uneducated Americans.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I think it is very important that people all over the world understand that most of these racist people on Twitter do not really hate Indians in particular. It's a general racism which stems from something much more abstract and complex. These people are uneducated. They were raised in a hateful environment. These are people who can't afford to go to college. They are not book smart. They couldn't point out France on a map. And seeing more and more brown people come here and do incredibly well (i.e. become doctors living in huge houses) makes them bitter.<br />
<br />
These racist people were not raised to do well in science and math. They were not encouraged to do well in school. The only jobs they could find were menial work (like tele-marketing) and then those jobs got shipped over to India.<br />
<br />
Oh, and then the 9/11 terror attacks happened. Brown people all look the same to these racist people. They don't know the difference between Iraq and India. A brown person with a funny name is an Arab to them. A Hindu is a Muslim. Even with the world at their fingertips, they don't bother to educate themselves about these things online because they DON'T CARE. They just want to hate.<br />
<br />
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<br />
What is more ironic is that the way the majority of Americans view these hate-spewing rednecks is the same exact way the majority of Muslims view the terrorists. They're disgusted, horrified, and angry. But, the rest of the world clumps them all together anyway.<br />
<br />
Please don't clump all Americans together. These tweets do not reveal reality. They reveal circumstantial stupidity.<br />
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<br />
What breaks my heart is that these few people who tweeted racist remarks are stealing the spotlight away from the winner.<br />
<br />
Our Miss America plans on being a doctor. Did you know that? Probably not.<br />
<br />
There are millions of little girls out there, of Indian descent, who watched television last night, mesmerized by a dream coming true. Proud of where their parents and grandparents came from. Excited for the future because another Indian-American girl proved right there on camera that anything is possible.<br />
<br />
You can be Miss America. You can be beautiful. You can be a doctor.<br />
<br />
That's the real story.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-90052482955945935172013-09-05T01:38:00.002-05:002014-10-25T23:45:54.181-05:00Jezebel?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I know a girl who was kind, funny, and sweet<br />
<br />
But her life was merely deceit<br />
<br />
She had long blonde locks then cut them short<br />
<br />
She might have had babies she had to abort<br />
<br />
I wanted to be her best friend<br />
<br />
I didn't know her presence would end<br />
<br />
(so abruptly)<br />
<br />
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<br />
The lies caught up with the image<br />
<br />
We were left to pick up the wreckage<br />
<br />
Was she...? Did she...? She was, she did<br />
<br />
It breaks my heart the secrets she hid<br />
<br />
Cheating, lying, scandals, and sex<br />
<br />
Paying her bills thanks to horny rednecks<br />
<br />
(it seems)<br />
<br />
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<br />
I want to believe it's not true<br />
<br />
I want to believe that's not you<br />
<br />
In times of desperation I can understand<br />
<br />
But not when it comes to cheating on your man<br />
<br />
Maybe we're wrong, maybe we're right<br />
<br />
But why would you block us out of spite?<br />
<br />
(otherwise)<br />
<br />
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<br />
This is a terrible poem and I know it<br />
<br />
If you're not guilty, why don't you show it?<br />
<br />
I'd like to think you weren't faking the sweetness<br />
<br />
But either way, it's a terrible mess<br />
<br />
I guess you really just don't know someone<br />
<br />
Until you hear the truth and they're long gone<br />
<br />
(without a word)<br />
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<br />
It's okay. Don't cry.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-68552389279130649772013-08-30T02:09:00.001-05:002014-10-25T23:45:06.744-05:00Besties or bitches?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Women always complain about men being terrible communicators.<br />
<br />
Ironically, we're terrible about communicating with each other.<br />
<br />
When men get into fights, there's usually punches, blood drawn, and quick forgiveness.<br />
<br />
With women, our fights are a little more...complicated. And unnecessarily drawn out.<br />
<br />
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<br />
First of all, we often don't tell the other girl why we're upset. That's our first mistake. We just figure, well "she should KNOW."<br />
<br />
We talk shit behind their back. "Omg, she's SUCH a bitch." We complain about them behind their back. "I'm so tired of her crap." We lie to their face. "I love you too!" And then finally, when we can't take it anymore, we often just cut them out of our lives without a single word. <br />
<br />
There's no heart-to-heart chat. There's no rational explanation. The friend is left potentially mystified, devastated, and justifiably outraged.<br />
<br />
And oftentimes the reason for the fight is something so silly, that over time, with all the manipulation and back-stabbing, it has morphed into something incredibly pointless. But in the meantime, the hatred has deepened.<br />
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<br />
Like snowflakes, no two girl fights are alike. Each are complex, messy, and bizarre in their own delightful way.<br />
<br />
I have lost so many friends through this process. Sometimes I've been the victim. Other times, I've been the bitch.<br />
<br />
A few significant friendships of mine were shattered this way. Girls I considered my dearest sisters.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Remember <a href="http://jenniferfabulous.blogspot.com/2012/05/girl-who-made-me-cry.html" target="_blank">Nancy</a>?<br />
<br />
She's a textbook mean girl. She had been talking badly about me behind my back for years. She never voiced to me why she was upset with me. She just simply vanished one day, out of my life, after five years of close friendship. To this day, I'm completely clueless as to what happened.<br />
<br />
What's even worse is that literally, the very next morning after I wrote that blog post about her last year, I went out to the parking lot of my apartment complex and discovered somebody had painted the word "bitch" all over my car. It took poor Rian an hour to wash off.<br />
<br />
Coincidence? I think not.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I wish with all my heart that girls would just fucking communicate with each other. <br />
<br />
I wish that instead of defacing private property, Nancy would have just sent me an e-mail that said, "I read your stupid blog and I hate you. The reason we're not best friends anymore is because _____, you fucking bitch." At least then we would be off to a good start! I could write back either, "I had no idea that's why you were so upset with me! That was a misunderstanding!" or "Oh wow. So that's why you were mad at me? Well I didn't mean to hurt you. I had no idea it offended you. I'm very sorry." And we could have gone on from there. Either patched things up or decided collectively to part ways. I was never given that respect.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I'm not going to lie. I've been guilty of pulling a Nancy in the past. And I regret it. When it comes to a friend, there should always be straightforward communication. Do not be afraid to pour your heart out in a letter. Over the phone. Even through a fucking text message. Anything is better than nothing.<br />
<br />
And what's worse is that this is the reason so many female relatives have fights spanning over decades. I once had two aunts who didn't speak for 15 years over a squabble they couldn't even remember. My boyfriend's mom and her youngest sister stopped speaking several years ago over something petty. You all know what I'm going through with my aunt. Eight months and that shit still hasn't been resolved.<br />
<br />
It's pathetic.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Why are we so good at expressing our feelings with our boyfriends and husbands, but we're so idiotic at communicating with our friends? Our sisters? Our mothers?<br />
<br />
I want to change. I'm trying.<br />
<br />
I'm sick of being a mean girl.<br />
<br />
Are you?Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-38498781250438998222013-08-27T16:25:00.000-05:002014-10-25T23:43:37.390-05:00"Where are you from?"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
People in the United States are obsessed with color.<br />
<br />
Yeah, we're a melting pot. Our pedigrees are like recipes. One-fourth cup of Ireland. One-eighth cup of Puerto Rico. Half cup of Germany. <br />
<br />
But that doesn't mean anything.<br />
<br />
If you're white, you're American. If you're black, you're American. But if you're not white or black...well, you must be something else then, right?<br />
<br />
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<br />
My father immigrated here from India 43 years ago. My mother's ancestors immigrated here from Sweden more than 100 years ago.<br />
<br />
And my entire life, there is one question I have been asked more than any other: "Where are you from?".<br />
<br />
Never mind I have an American accent. Never mind I'm living in the Midwest. Never mind my name is JENNIFER.<br />
<br />
No, no. I simply must be from somewhere else. Because I'm brown.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Some of you may not really understand why it upsets me so much. After all, people are dumb and it's just a question. But to constantly be asked where I'm from in a country that is my home is insulting, frustrating, and sad. When I was a kid, it almost felt like I didn't really belong here, which was a very scary and lonely feeling.<br />
<br />
What hurt even more is that my childhood best friend was a Polish immigrant. She had only been in the country for a few years. Her name was ridiculously foreign. People always fucked it up. But nobody ever asked where she was from. The girl named Jennifer got asked all the time. It was like Katarina was the American and I was the immigrant. Being around her caused a lot of resentment and bitterness for me. Why was she treated like the insider and I was treated like the outsider?<br />
<br />
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<br />
I hated being a mixed race kid. It was embarrassing always having to explain to everyone that the blonde haired, blue-eyed woman standing next to me was my mom. Always. Nobody ever assumed she was related to me. I was always unsure what to checkmark in that box when we took standardized tests. Was I Caucasian? Or Asian? Seriously, what the fuck was I? (This problem was eventually solved 20 years later when I was arrested and the police officer wrote down 'Caucasian female' in his report. I was thankful to finally know the answer, despite being in handcuffs).<br />
<br />
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<br />
Growing up, the world idolized Heather Locklear and Britney Spears. I so badly wanted to be a beautiful blonde American like my mother. No one ever asked her where she was from. I was determined that one day I was going to marry a white man so my kids and descendants would NEVER be treated like a foreigner in their own country.<br />
<br />
(My first serious boyfriend ended up being half-Egyptian and half-Irish. So much for that.)<br />
<br />
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<br />
When I grew up, the world started changing and I started maturing.<br />
<br />
There are now Indian immigrants everywhere in this country. There are gorgeous women all around me named Anika and Ridhi and Navya. There are so many that now when people learn my name is "Jennifer" I don't get asked where I'm from as often. I've become less exotic.<br />
<br />
And I no longer have the desire to marry a white guy. I simply want to marry someone who makes me happy, whether he's black or Chinese or a global mix.<br />
<br />
I love that Rian is a quarter Sioux. The stories that run through his blood are inspiring and heartbreaking. His grandmother, who grew up on a reservation, is one of the most fascinating people I've ever met. And even though I'm not super close to Rian's mom, I feel a bond with her that I don't share with many others. She is also half-Indian (the other kind) and from what Rian tells me, it wasn't easy for her either.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I've learned that to be a part of the melting pot, I need to embrace it. I need to respect it.<br />
<br />
But I'm only one person.<br />
<br />
The United States as a whole is still obsessed with color. My name could change to Jennifer Smith tomorrow and I would still have people curiously asking me, "where are you from?".<br />
<br />
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<br />
And no matter who knocks me up, my kids will be multi-racial. They will have color in their skin. When I was a child, I hated that fact. Now, I adore it. They'll be just like me!<br />
<br />
Except there is one major difference. They will be far removed from India. They will be far removed from Sweden. They will be far removed from the Native American reservation, perhaps.<br />
<br />
And when someone asks them, "where are you from?" they will have to just shrug, with a smile, and say <br />
<br />
"the world."Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-50389120938855597542013-08-22T01:45:00.001-05:002014-10-25T23:42:04.246-05:00Summer of 2006<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I knew what he was going to say before he said it.<br />
<br />
The panicky feeling of dread enveloped me, squeezing tighter and tighter. I nearly collapsed under its clutch. It had started six days before. He took longer to answer his cell. He wouldn't talk more than a minute. He didn't want to make plans. That warmth in his voice, reserved especially for me, was gone. He stopped saying "I love you."<br />
<br />
It was so out of the blue.<br />
<br />
There had been no fight. No obstacle had presented itself.<br />
<br />
But there he was, standing on my parents' doorstep that sweltering summer day, looking sheepish and grim at the same time. He shuffled on the welcome mat. He didn't even want to come inside.<br />
<br />
I grabbed his arm, desperately. Too desperately.<br />
<br />
"I bought your favorite bagel," I cried out. "And that jalapeno cream cheese you love so much! Come eat lunch. Please."<br />
<br />
He reluctantly stepped inside.<br />
<br />
"I can't stay," he said, awkwardly. "I need to do something. I wanted to do it in person. Please don't make this any harder than it is."<br />
<br />
I stood there in shock. A large mass blocked my throat from uttering any sound. Tears welled in my eyes.<br />
<br />
"It's over, Jen," he said.<br />
<br />
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<br />
There were other words. I think there was even a fucking speech. I'm not sure. All I remember is crumbling on the floor in my white sundress like a giant tissue.<br />
<br />
I was so pretty back then. Ninety-nine pounds. Twenty-two years old. Long brown hair.<br />
<br />
"You can have any guy you want," he comforted me.<br />
<br />
"But I want YOU!" I wailed back.<br />
<br />
A panic attack arose in me. I begged him to reconsider. I told him he just needed time to think. He didn't even have a reason, other than he didn't think we were right for each other. <br />
<br />
"WHY?" <br />
<br />
"I just do." <br />
<br />
Pride didn't exist that day. I threw myself at his feet. He didn't care.<br />
<br />
When he left, I ran into the kitchen and threw the bagels against the wall. I picked up the carton of jalapeno cream cheese and smashed it on the floor, glaring at the white and green clumps against the beige tile.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Your first broken heart is the worst one. I heard that somewhere recently. It made me half-smile, because it's true. You honestly think the world has come to an end. It's a shock. It's grief. It's your soul trying to readjust to life without him.<br />
<br />
I didn't eat for eight days. I forced down juice. I dropped down to ninety pounds. I was putting on a bikini in my bedroom when my mom came inside. "How can you be so sad when you look so amazing?" she marveled, staring at my body. I looked in the mirror. I had never been so thin. It didn't matter though. Nothing did.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Eventually I ate because my hunger returned against my will. But I was like a prisoner, trapped inside my aching mind. My head physically hurt to think about him.<br />
<br />
Later that summer, I got my first real job at the newspaper. It distracted me a little bit. I went on a bunch of first dates and then hit ignore on my cell when the guys called back.<br />
<br />
That fall, a guy I knew from an American Literature class in college randomly Facebook messaged me and we became pen pals, sharing our lives and deepest secrets. We fell in love through black and white and have been together ever since.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I'm with the person I'm meant to be with now. It's a comforting feeling amidst all the other troubles occurring in my life.<br />
<br />
But that doesn't erase the past.<br />
<br />
Today, my dad bought me lunch and the minute I took the first bite, an overwhelming sense of sadness smacked me in the heart. A distinct feeling I hadn't felt for seven years. I looked down.<br />
<br />
It was that damn jalapeno cream cheese.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-12872440660843480272013-08-20T23:58:00.000-05:002014-10-25T23:39:46.644-05:00The truth.I've been gone for a really long time.<br />
<br />
Have you noticed?<br />
<br />
I know I don't really owe an explanation of sorts. I mean, bloggers are entitled to a break, right?<br />
<br />
But if you're still reading this blog, it means you probably care, so I'm going to tell you.<br />
<br />
I'm depressed.<br />
<br />
There it is, in black and white. Well, pink.<br />
<br />
I have several (fifteen to be exact, I actually made a fucking list) major problems going on in my life right now that cannot be easily solved. It's a complicated hot mess involving mistakes I made in the past, a severe lack of finances, and family issues.<br />
<br />
And I'm crushed underneath it all.<br />
<br />
As a result, I just don't care about anything anymore. I avoid my friends. I have no desire to write personally or blog. I'm not in the mood to learn about anything.<br />
<br />
When I'm not working, I'm guzzling black tea and listlessly reading Jane Austen fan fiction novels. Or, you know, sobbing into a pillow.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I thought you should know the reason for my unexplained absence.<br />
<br />
Tonight is my first step back into writing. I don't have the energy to research doomed starlets or fabulous gay men anymore. I'm sorry.<br />
<br />
But since I can't afford therapy, perhaps spilling my soul onto this screen will help me in another way.<br />
<br />
I can't let my unhappiness win. <br />
<br />
I don't want it to.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-85352884817474713562013-07-27T12:01:00.002-05:002014-10-25T23:38:35.231-05:00The Tale of a Little Bunny<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It was a dream that seemed completely unattainable.<br />
<br />
Ever since I was a little girl, I desperately wanted to catch a wild rabbit and make it my own. I wanted to play with it. Pet it. Be a friend.<br />
<br />
I would chase them, but never catch one.<br />
<br />
I gave up the hope, but never the dream.<br />
<br />
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<br />
On Monday, my mom called me and asked me to come over because she had a surprise.<br />
<br />
A surprise, indeed!<br />
<br />
She had rescued a little baby bunny from the razor-sharp fangs of a blood-thirsty hound. The wildlife center where she volunteered simply didn't have room for him. So, she was going to take care of him herself and release him in a week.<br />
<br />
I couldn't believe it! A baby bunny! A wild rabbit!<br />
<br />
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<br />
He wasn't much fun at first. He didn't move much and barely ate. He didn't like being held. But as the days went on, he brightened up. He started eating (loved apples and hated cabbage). He loved to snuggle in my lap (his favorite was getting his ears rubbed). He was curious and would hop all over the couch, ears perking up at all the colorful sights around the room. He even licked my arm, which is the ultimate sign of affection from a rabbit. It means they've bonded with you to the point where they want to groom you.<br />
<br />
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<br />
It seemed he was finally ready for release, so we had planned to take him to a nearby park this afternoon. I was crushed we had to let him go, but I figured that perhaps it was for the best. After all, he would meet new friends and perhaps have a family of his own one day.<br />
<br />
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<br />
But he died this morning.<br />
<br />
His internal injuries must have been worse than we thought. His eyes were open, which meant he probably had been awake until the end.<br />
<br />
It breaks my heart. I can only hope that I provided him some happiness and comfort during his pain. I hope that he knew how much I loved him.<br />
<br />
Goodbye, baby bunny.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-43318602129956430492013-07-21T09:24:00.001-05:002014-10-25T23:36:23.685-05:00Are you a dirty girl?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I'm going to be completely honest.<br />
<br />
Dirty Girl is not the greatest movie in the world.<br />
<br />
The dialogue is syrupy. The premise is cheesy. The music is awkward.<br />
<br />
But none of that matters because this movie is FUN.<br />
<br />
It's kind of like the theatrical version of a strawberry Starburst. It's a unnaturally sweet. It's just a tiny bit sour. It's not good for you at all. But when you look back, you don't regret opening that wrapper.<br />
<br />
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<br />
This 2010 film revolves around Danielle (Juno Temple) who is the ultimate dirty girl. She's a promiscuous little bad ass suffering through high school in the mid-1980s. As if that isn't bad enough, she lives in a little trailer with her crazy mom.<br />
<br />
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<br />
The sassy blonde is forced to partner with a miserable overweight gay kid, Clarke (Jeremy Dozier), for a homework assignment and the two realize they have more in common than they thought: they're both outsiders and hopelessly misunderstood.<br />
<br />
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<br />
When Danielle realizes her mom intends on marrying a creepy religious man, she persuades Clarke to drop everything and cross the country to search for her real father.<br />
<br />
There's bad singing. There's dancing. There's heartache. There's realization.<br />
<br />
It sorted reminded me of Napoleon Dynamite fused with Mean Girls.<br />
<br />
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<br />
The cast of Dirty Girl is pretty amazing. William H. Macy, Milla Jovovitch, and Mary Steenburgen are just a few of the big names. Plus, I was pretty impressed with the two young stars.<br />
<br />
It's important to note the film highlights the struggles of gay acceptance, which is obviously our civil rights movement right now.<br />
<br />
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<br />
It's a poignant little film perfect for a girls night in or lazy afternoon.<br />
<br />
I highly recommend netflixing it.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-63195110837854471842013-07-07T11:28:00.002-05:002014-10-25T12:09:46.201-05:00The most iconic woman you don't know<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
She's a legend.<br />
<br />
And chances are, you probably don't even know her name.<br />
<br />
Moms Mabley.<br />
<br />
A stage name, of course. But one that became a household name and world-wide sensation in the 1950s and 60s.<br />
<br />
She was once deemed the "funniest woman in the world."<br />
<br />
But her childhood was far from humorous.<br />
<br />
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<br />
The great-granddaughter of a slave, Jackie "Moms" Mabley was born in North Carolina in 1897. When she was 11, her father, a businessman and volunteer firefighter, died when his fire truck exploded. Soon after, her mom was killed by a mail truck on Christmas morning.<br />
<br />
By the time she was 15, the orphan had been raped twice, once by an older black man and another time by a white sheriff. Both rapes resulted in pregnancy. Both babies were given up for adoption.<br />
<br />
Her step-father encouraged her to get married, but her grandmother convinced her to strike out on her own. After all, she had singing and dancing talent which couldn't be ignored. Following her grandma's advice, Jackie ran off to Cleveland to join a traveling show.<br />
<br />
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<br />
It was the best decision she ever made. Realizing her sense of humor was far more spectacular than her dancing gams, Jackie turned to comedy. It wasn't long before Jackie was discovered by a famous vaudeville duo and they asked her to join them.<br />
<br />
Soon, Jackie was performing at legendary venues, such as the Cotton Club, the Savoy Ballroom, and later, the Apollo Theater. During the 1920s Harlem Renaissance Jackie had become part of an elite circle of performers and jazz musicians who would shape the world. <br />
<br />
And although she was having relationships with both men and women, Jackie kept her sexuality to herself. After all, she believed sexuality was something to be expressed, not defined.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Her risqué stand-up comedy routines shocked and delighted audiences who had never encountered someone like her before. She dressed like a man. She talked openly about subjects like racism.<br />
<br />
In 1960, she made history by performing for a white audience at Carnegie Hall. It was so successful, her career took off even further, earning her guest appearances on all the hottest television shows of the era.<br />
<br />
Her persona, as a frumpy grumpy ol' woman, became one of the most recognized characters in showbiz.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Well into her 60s, Jackie was already shaping the future of comedy for women...and for everyone. She went on to record more than two dozen comedy albums. At 75 years old, she even became the oldest person to ever have a top 40 hit.<br />
<br />
In 1975, Jackie passed away from heart failure. She was survived by four children (in addition to the two she had given up for adoption).<br />
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Strangely and sadly, her status as a comedic pioneer vanished into thin air after her death. When we look back on the history of comedy, we think of other names first.<br />
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Fortunately, Whoopi Goldberg is going to change that soon.<br />
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Frustrated that nobody had ever heard of the comedienne who inspired her entire career, Whoopi decided to produce and direct an HBO documentary called "Moms Mabley: I Got Something to Tell You," which will air this fall.<br />
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A little late for her legend to be remembered, but better late than never, right?Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-55708276995570690222013-06-25T16:55:00.001-05:002014-10-25T12:08:55.755-05:00Walk on the Wild Side<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: white;">“I'm a thousand different people. Every one is real.” </span></div>
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Her eyes glittered with the drunken rush of old Hollywood glamour. Her pouty red lips brought grown men to their knees. Her dramatic, self-indulgent wit made her an icon.<br />
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Her name made people smile.<br />
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Candy Darling.<br />
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She was born a male. In the 1950s, people knew her as little Jimmy Slattery, the boy with the drunken gambling father and sweet, but timid mother.</div>
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To escape her stifling blue-collar life in New York City, the future diva drowned herself in old Hollywood films. She worshipped Kim Novak. She envied Elizabeth Taylor. She dreamed of being Marilyn Monroe.</div>
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By the time she was a teenager, Candy was putting on her most stylish dresses, perfecting her makeup in the mirror, and strutting out the door to party at all the hottest gay bars in town. She changed her name and never looked back.</div>
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As a gorgeous woman with an outgoing personality and loads of confidence to boot, Candy was naturally drawn to the stage. She wanted to be beyond famous. She wanted to be a STAR.</div>
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She was starring in a burlesque show (featuring a talented, but virtually unknown actor named Robert De Niro) in 1967 when she caught the attention of pop artist Andy Warhol.</div>
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Intrigued by her addictive charisma and overwhelming sexuality, Andy asked Candy to act in his next film, Flesh.</div>
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Soon, the pair became best friends. Candy was a staple at the Warhol Factory. With the famous artist by her side, she lit up the most glitzy nightclubs in the world. She mingled with movie stars. She was the subject of several extremely famous rock songs. She was at the height of her fame.</div>
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But it was too good to last.</div>
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It wasn't long before Andy grew bored with the "chicks with dicks" theme. It was so last year, he decided. So, he ditched the transsexual. Candy went from being his BFF to being shunned by the man who had made her a superstar.</div>
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Suddenly, she was all alone. It was cruel and shocking to the 20-something performer.</div>
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Using her Warhol boost, Candy managed to keep her career afloat for a while during the early 1970s. She had small roles in low budget and even big budget films. She starred in a smattering of plays.</div>
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And then the inevitable occurred.</div>
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Candy was diagnosed with leukemia. It was the result of the hormones (mostly estrogen) she had been taking to maintain her feminine appearance during the last decade. The cancer ate away at her body with incredible speed.</div>
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Instead of being depressed, Candy saw her deadly illness as the role of a lifetime. The 29-year-old played the dying femme fatale with so much style and flamboyance, it would have made her old Hollywood idols proud. She even posed for a deathbed glamour shot.</div>
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She quite possible left the most charming death note in celebrity history:</div>
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<span style="color: white;">To whom it may concern</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">By the time you read this I will be gone. Unfortunately before my death I had no desire left for life. Even with all my friends and my career on the upswing I felt too empty to go on in this unreal existence. I am just so bored by everything. You might say bored to death. It may sound ridiculous but is true. I have arranged my own funeral arrangements with a guest list and it is paid for. I would like to say goodbye to Jackie Curtis, I think you're fabulous. Holly, Sam Green a true friend and noble person, Ron Link I'll never forget you, Andy Warhol what can I say, Paul Morrissey, Lennie you know I loved you, Andy you too, Jeremiah don't take it too badly just remember what a bitch I was, Geraldine I guess you saw it coming. Richard Turley & Richard Golub I know I could've been a star but I decided I didn't want it. Manuel, I'm better off now. Terry I love you. Susan I am sorry, did you know I couldn't last I always knew it. I wish I could meet you all again.</span><br />
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<span style="color: white;">Goodbye for Now</span><br />
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<span style="color: white;">Love Always</span><br />
<span style="color: white;">Candy Darling</span><br />
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And just as she dreamed, Candy Darling has become a legend. She was the first drag queen to take over pop culture. Her influence can be found in movies, famous drag queens, and reality shows to this day.<br />
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With her fabulousness and cheerful glamour, she changed the world...and made it a more special one.<br />
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Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-51178364982876087572013-06-17T11:24:00.002-05:002013-06-17T18:03:14.461-05:00Guest Post: Kinky Boots!I am very honored to present you with a guest post this week from my hilarious real-life (and bloggy) friend, <a href="http://thepreviewreviewing.weebly.com/my-preview-re-viewing-blog.html" target="_blank">Duffy</a>.<br />
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I think you will notice his post fits nicely into my LGBT Pride series. Plus, it's all about fashion, which I think might be a very slight interest to a couple of you. Haha.<br />
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Enjoy!<br />
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<span style="color: white;">The pReview Re-viewing Re-Living True Story of Kinky Boots:</span><br />
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<span style="color: white;">(warning: This may make you go buy shoes.)</span><br />
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<span style="color: white;">by Jeff Finck</span><br />
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<span style="color: white;">Steve Pateman may not be a name that most people know. Nor will most people know his company W.J. Brooks Ltd. Allow me to educate your face! In 1979, a young man called Steve Pateman began helping his father make shoes at their shoe-making firm in Earls Barton, England, near Northamptonshire.. A city well-known for its shoe-making. (Apparently, as many as one third of all men in the city were shoe-makers by 1831!) Little did Steve know at the time, his shoe-making roots were going to make history not 20 years later.. All thanks to drag queens.</span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;">Little known fact: 20 years of hanging out with drag queens WILL make you fabulous.</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">W.J. Brooks Ltd. (est: 1889) would continue selling and exporting quality men's footwear until the great market flood of 1990, when cheap, godawful, imported shoes started gaining momentum. Couple that with the British Pound increasing in value, thus losing a lot of their export trade, Steve and his company struggled against the odds. It got so bad by 1997, Steve had to give in and start cutting staff, many of them friends, in order to make ends meet. Even after cutbacks and redundancies in staff, W.J. Brooks was getting beaten up pretty badly in the shoe game.</span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;">Not unlike a certain shoe-magnet/former President.</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">But in 1998, a fetish shop in Folkestone, England came a-calling and they needed a ton of women's shoes in men's sizes, STAT! Steve saw an opportunity with this nearly untouched market, and thus began the Kinky Boots Factory! Actually.. BBC wouldn't dub W.J. Brooks' new footwear The Kinky Boots Factory until 1999 when they featured their Divine Footwear on an episode of their Trouble at the Top documentary series. BBC really prides themselves on coming up with clever names for things.</span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;">CBeebies may have blown my mind.</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">After MacGuyvering metal struts into stiletto heels, specially made to handle the sheer magnitude of a man's superior weight (it's science.. look it up in the Geneva Convention..), Steve attached those heels to various designs he had for wider, bigger leather boots. In order to send out a catalog, though, he needed a man to model the boots. When no one else would volunteer, Steve became that man. With a catalog completed, a BBC documentary spot in the bag, and an appearance at a Düsseldorf footwear show, W.J. Brooks' Divine Footwear line would turn out to be a wild success.. For a time. At its absolute height, the line accounted for nearly 50% of the company's profits!</span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;">Lesson learned: If money's tight, figure out how to shove metal into something feminine and sell it to men.</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Steve Pateman's story has actually garnered much exposure over the last ten years, resulting in a movie AND a musical on Broadway! The 2005 movie, Kinky Boots, starred Joel Edgerton ( The Great Gatsby, Warrior) and Chiwetel Ejiofor (Salt, Serenity, Children of Men), and was loosely based on the actual events. Even though the movie was only a moderate success, it did earn Chiwetel Ejiofor several nominations for best actor, including the 2006 Golden Globes! The 2013 musical, also titled Kinky Boots, is based on the same (slightly changed) premise as the movie and has met a bit more success than its predecessor, recently winning six Tony Awards, including Best Original Score and Best Musical. The play was written by Harvey Fierstein and features music and lyrics by freaking Cyndi Lauper!</span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;">Ah, two people who could be picked out of a line-up by voice alone.</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">This story does have kind of a bittersweet ending, though. In 2000, W.J. Brooks was saddled with such a massive debt by an (from what I can tell) unnamed American firm.. Plus, the fact that the crazy, cheap shoe-throwing industry had tracked his company down and followed them into the whole fetish line.. Steve was forced to halt production on his Divine Footwear for men. Despite all of that, with the exposure of his struggles and successes, it would seem that a light has been re-shone on the city of Northamptonshire and many shoe-making factories have managed (as of 2011) to continue hugging the shoe-shaped balls out of the industry through the adversity.</span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;">Just like me!</span></div>
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<span style="color: magenta;">Duffy likes to revel in the fact that he thinks he is a very funny person.</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">See how funny he thinks he is at his movie blog:</span> <a href="http://thepreviewreviewing.weebly.com/my-preview-re-viewing-blog.html" target="_blank">http://thepreviewreviewing.<wbr></wbr>weebly.com/my-preview-re-<wbr></wbr>viewing-blog.html</a>Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-62375210319859819862013-06-06T15:45:00.000-05:002014-10-25T12:07:46.745-05:00The Lady Lesbian<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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She was born into a world of scandal.<br />
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Her mother was the gorgeous mistress to King Edward VII and her father was a shadowy figure who was barely around.<br />
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By the time Violet Trefusis realized what was going on around her, she had already decided her life was going to be MUCH different than that of her promiscuous mother.<br />
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Unfortunately, the pretty little child had absolutely no idea that her future would not only eclipse her mother's famous affair, but shock the entire country.<br />
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When Violet was a teenager, she fell in love with a girl a couple years older, named Vita. Their flirtations came to a close when the king died and Violet's mother decided to take her family abroad for a couple years as a courtesy to her royal lover's grieving family.<br />
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When Violet came back to London, she was outraged to learn that Vita was engaged. To a man! To make Vita jealous, Violet flirted mercilessly with men at society parties and even got engaged a couple times to get her crush's attention.<br />
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But, it didn't work.<br />
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<span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;">Vita</span></div>
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Vita remained happily married, giving birth to two sons. But then one day Vita's husband had a confession. He was cheating on her...with men. Stunned by her husband's homosexual liaisons, Vita made an agreement with him: he could have sex with as many men as he wanted, but she got to do the same...with women.<br />
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Thrilled by the turn of events, Violet once again declared her love for Vita and much to her astonishment, her wish came true! The two women spent every waking moment together, holding hands in the lush green countryside to frolicking on the beaches of South France.<br />
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Gossip of their affair traveled back to London, much to the dismay of Violet's mom. Even though the middle-aged woman had once been the mistress to the very married King of England, at least she had done it with a little dignity and discretion! Not prancing around Europe without a care in the world! With a woman, nonetheless!What was her daughter thinking?!<br />
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She threatened to cut off her daughter's finances until she married. Violet was torn. It was 1919. She had no skills to get a job. There was no way she could support herself alone. She begged Vita to leave her husband, so the two of them could run off together and live as a couple freely, without the hypocrisy of fake marriages disguising their true love. They would worry about money later, but at least they would have each other, honestly.<br />
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But Vita refused. Violet was asking something of her that wouldn't be socially acceptable until nearly 100 years later.<br />
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Frustrated and bitter, Violet agreed to marry the man of her mother's choice, only as long he agreed to never consummate the marriage. Here she was entering the hypocritical life of her mother, something she promised herself she would never do, but it seemed she wasn't being offered a better choice.<br />
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Her handsome new 20-something husband agreed to the platonic marriage, simply thinking that Violet was merely a pure and innocent girl who was terrified of sex. After the marriage was finalized, Violet finally confessed to her husband his worst nightmare: she was a lesbian.<br />
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When she tried to leave her husband to go back to Vita, however, she had her entire family as a roadblock.<br />
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Her younger sister, Sonia, was engaged to a very wealthy and respectable aristocrat (together, they would eventually become the grandparents to Camilla Parker Bowles). Violet's parents were adamant that their openly gay daughter not destroy the union by flaunting her homosexuality in public. Violet fought so hard to be able to see Vita, that it destroyed her family. Both her father and sister stopped speaking to her.<br />
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By the time her sister was married, it was too late for Violet and Vita to rekindle their romance. Someone had spread a rumor to Vita that Violet and her husband were sleeping together. Even though Violet insisted to Vita that it simply wasn't true, Vita was already too hurt. She ended their relationship, leaving Violet in anguished, broken-hearted despair.<br />
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In the late 1920s, Vita would go on to have one of the most famous lesbian affairs in world-wide history with writer Virginia Woolf.<br />
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<span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;">Vita & Virginia</span></div>
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Violet, however, turned into a ghost of herself after the break-up.</div>
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In the 1920s, she began a long-term affair with the sewing machine heiress, Winnaretta Singer, who was married to a prince. But instead of wild passion and dreams of running away, the romance was much more discreet and controlled.<br />
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Violet's mother actually approved of this affair, because not only was it being conducted in good taste, but Winnaretta was one of the wealthiest and socially acceptable women in Europe. If her daughter was going to insist on being a lesbian, at least she was now sleeping with the right woman!<br />
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<span style="color: white; font-size: x-small;">Winnaretta Singer</span></div>
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But Violet was miserable. She was living the lesbian version of her mother's life. She was nothing more than a mistress to married royalty.<br />
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Whatever happened to living free? Defying hypocrisy? Being PROUD of who you were?<br />
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Sadly, those were feelings way before her time. The world wasn't ready for it yet.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(</span><a href="http://www.curvemag.com/Curve-Magazine/Web-Articles-2011/A-Fresh-Take-on-A-Lesbian-Classic/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">source</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">)</span></div>
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After World War II, Violet and Vita reconnected and rekindled their romance. They remained close friends for life.<br />
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Vita eventually passed away in 1962 and Violet passed away ten years later.<br />
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But their forbidden and tortured love remains the source of legend.<br />
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Books, movies, and history have preserved a bond forever.<br />
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A bond that couldn't even last for the people who created it nearly 100 years ago.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-81758308369479830232013-06-01T13:47:00.000-05:002014-10-25T12:08:10.381-05:00"Modern Art on Legs"<span style="color: white;">June is LGBT Pride month. To kick off the celebration, here is a profile on the glam-fucking-tastic gaylien force, Leigh Bowery. I hope you enjoy the series on LGBT icons I have in store for you these next 30 days.</span><br />
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Leigh Bowery grew up in a blue-collar neighborhood in Australia.<br />
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Miserable in his working class town, he shied away from boys his own age who were more interested in playing sports or sneaking a delightful peek at pornographic photos. Instead, Leigh hid under his covers at night pouring over the latest fashion magazines and kept his weekends filled with classic films, especially those starring his idol, Elizabeth Taylor.<br />
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When he graduated high school, the chubby teenager attended fashion school in Melbourne, but got bored after a year and moved to London in 1981, with nothing but a suitcase and sewing machine. He was ready to take on the world.<br />
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He moved in with two guys who were hip to the homosexual party scene and he started his career as a fashion designer. His outfits were so outrageously loud, colorful, and bizarre, he got noticed by the industry immediately.<br />
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Everywhere he went, whether it was out to the grocery store on a lazy afternoon or partying at the hottest dance club, people stared. They had never seen someone like him before!<br />
His wigs! His face paint! His shoes! Who was this Leigh Bowery?!<br />
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He showcased his collection at London Fashion Week and all over the world. His clothes were sold at Barney's. He even designed stage costumes for a hot new pop star named Boy George.<br />
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While he was on top of the world, Leigh started a disco night club called Taboo. It became the hottest place to be in London, with orgies practically manifesting themselves on the dance floor. The drunk DJ spinning without a record. Celebrities getting high...or down. And as the queen of the ball, Leigh lit up the room every night with his jaw-dropping attire.<br />
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He wore everything from white lacy nightgowns to an actual disco ball on top of his head. His most popular outfit involved a glittery Chanel-inspired jacket with a plastic toy policeman's helmet.<br />
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In 1986, however, the club closed down when the tabloids revealed the "shocking" exploits carrying on every night.<br />
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But it didn't matter because Leigh was bored with it all already. He was in the midst of moving on into another career: performance art.<br />
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Without much trouble, the party monster booked gigs all over London.<br />
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He did everything from pretend to give birth on stage to channeling Jewish persecution in World War II.<br />
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In 1993, he added another job on his resume when he started a pop band with a few friends. Their single, "Useless Man," became a hit in Europe.<br />
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But while he was busy shocking the world with his bold artistic expression, Leigh's life was literally falling apart.<br />
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In the mid-1980s, he had been diagnosed as HIV positive. He only told a couple friends at the time, begging them to keep his secret. He didn't want the deadly disease to overshadow his work.<br />
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He even married a close friend, Nicola, as performance art, and never even told her what was going on with him.<br />
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But by late 1994, seven months after their marriage, the tired artist could no longer keep his illness in the dark. He grew increasingly sick, having to cancel gigs and spend weeks in the hospital.<br />
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It was time to tell everyone.<br />
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In January of 1995, Leigh passed away, right after pleading with his friends to simply tell people he had moved to Bolivia to become a pig farmer. He still didn't want the disease to be his legacy. It just didn't seem fair.<br />
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Fortunately, his wish came true.<br />
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Since his death, Leigh has been remembered in three books (two biographies and one photo collection), a documentary, countless art shows, and in Boy George's Broadway musical, "Taboo."<br />
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His eclectic style has influenced artists like Alexander McQueen, Vivienne Westwood, John Galliano, and Lady Gaga.<br />
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People remember his spirit. Not his death.<br />
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Not bad for a "Bolivian pig farmer," eh?<br />
<br />Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-92109373884669010862013-05-18T22:16:00.000-05:002014-10-25T12:06:25.953-05:00The Tale of Two Lovers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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With his mischievous grin and saucy wit, Joe Orton could get away with just about anything.<br />
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So when the working class 20-something Brit moved to London to try his luck at acting, nobody questioned it.<br />
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Although he was a fair actor, with impressive physique and genuine charisma, it soon became clear the stage wasn't meant for Joe. He was an incredibly talented writer and his dark, dry humor shocked and delighted everyone who read his essays or short stories.<br />
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In 1951, Joe met and fell in love with an older, middle-class guy, Kenneth Halliwell, who seemed lonely and lost. Life hadn't been very fair to Kenneth. When he was 11, he had watched in horror as his mother was stung by a wasp and choked to death in front of him. When he was 23, he woke up one morning to find his father dead from a suicide in the kitchen, his head still in the gas oven. Both incidents had left the shy kid devastated.<br />
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Joe and Kenneth felt a deep understanding to one another. Joe, being so outgoing and joyful, brought Kenneth back to life. Kenneth, reserved and observant, brought out a more serious side in Joe. It was a perfect match.<br />
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The two started writing stories together, such as <a href="http://books.google.com/books/about/Lord_Cucumber.html?id=oOHZ983fwcsC" target="_blank">Lord Cucumber and the Boy Hairdresser</a>. Their honest and humorous accounts of homosexuality raised eyebrows but didn't get them published at the time.<br />
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Bored by their lack of success, the two young men became pranksters.<br />
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In their spare time, they stole more than 70 books from the public library and defaced the covers before returning them. For example, on one cover they drew a naked middle-aged man with tattoos. Unfortunately, the library system didn't think the vandalized covers were very funny and both men were prosecuted. They spent six months in jail.<br />
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While Joe was in jail, something about being alone in a cell changed him. He had hours upon hours to think creatively and ponder about the world. His writing started to change. It became more mature and fresh and exciting. By the time he was released from jail, Joe was a changed man.<br />
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He started publishing unique and hilarious plays, such as<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Complete-Plays-Joe-Orton/dp/0802132154/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1368931622&sr=8-1&keywords=joe+orton" target="_blank"> Loot</a>, which were gaining national attention. Critics either loved or hated him. Celebrities wanted to hang out with him. It was swinging sixties London and he was one of the hottest figures in town.<br />
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Unfortunately, his boyfriend couldn't bring himself to bask in the success. <br />
<br />
Kenneth grew more and more jealous of Joe's growing fame and talent. He was bitter that Joe seemed to have moved on professionally, away from him. Whatever happened to writing stories together? He felt left behind, even though he was always at Joe's side, invited to the hottest parties and traveling the world on exotic vacations.<br />
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Kenneth started taking anti-depressants to ease the pain. His sulky, resentful attitude turned off most of Joe's new famous friends, who would invite the hot 30-something playwright to parties on the condition that Kenneth had to stay home. The two men began to grow distant.<br />
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On a warm August night in 1967, Joe decided he was going to break up with Kenneth the next day. After all, their lives were going in opposite directions. Joe had already fallen in love with another guy and wanted to see where that relationship went. It wouldn't be fair to string Kenneth along anymore. Plus, Joe was on top of the world. Tomorrow, he would be meeting with The Beatles to discuss a screenplay he had written for them.<br />
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But tomorrow never came.<br />
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While Joe slept, Kenneth took a hammer and bashed his boyfriend's skull nine times. Blood splattered all over the bed, the walls, and the floor. Then, Kenneth took an overdose of pills, killing himself instantly.<br />
<br />
Heartbreakingly, Joe remained alive in his bed for several agonizing hours, before finally succumbing to death himself. The bodies of both men were found by their chauffeur the next morning.<br />
<br />
Today, it still remains one of the most gory and disturbing crime scenes in London's history.<br />
<br />
And just like he feared all along, Kenneth has been forgotten. He is merely a footnote in literary history.<br />
<br />
The muse and murderer to a brilliant mind that was simply crushed too soon.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-81822842813385733452013-05-09T10:50:00.001-05:002014-10-25T12:05:46.174-05:00Where's Rachel?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was a little girl, my parents quickly learned that sending me to my room as a punishment was, in fact, not a punishment. I loved my room. All my Barbie dolls were there.<br />
<br />
So, when I got in trouble, they started sending me to the home office.<br />
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At first it was boring. But after rummaging around on the desk, I discovered a massive carton filled with pens and pencils.<br />
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Putting my twisted imagination to work, I began to play with the writing utensils like they were dolls. Each pen and pencil had a name, a personality, and a family. For example, the blue pencil, David, was in love with the State Farm pen, Denise. But he was already married to Megan, the chewed up red pencil. The faded pink eraser was their daughter, Lindsay.<br />
<br />
The pens and pencils in that carton were an entire village. It was like a soap opera, filled with family drama, romantic scandals, and even a random bank robbery when an erasable pen stole a bunch of paperclips at gunpoint.<br />
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I was so caught up in the little world I had created that I started to prefer playing with the pens and pencils over my own Barbies. I would rush home from school, running straight past my bedroom, into the office and dump out the carton of pens.<br />
<br />
The anticipation was killing me. Would Rachel, the Yellow Pages pen finally realize that her husband, the Dr. Epperdink MD pen, was cheating on her with a pink highlighter named Gwen?! Was Rick, the black Sharpie, going to get cold feet at his wedding with Sarah, the red Bic pen?<br />
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I couldn't wait to start the show!<br />
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One evening, I dumped out the carton, ready to play, when I let out a gasp.<br />
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Where was Rachel?!?<br />
<br />
RACHEL WAS MISSING.<br />
<br />
I scoured all over the office. How did she disappear?<br />
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I ran into the living room, where my dad was watching the news.<br />
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"Where's Rachel?" I demanded.<br />
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He looked up, perplexed.<br />
<br />
"Rachel who?" he asked.<br />
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"Rachel, the, the, pen," I sputtered, in panic. "The Yellow Pages pen! Where is she?"<br />
<br />
My dad stared at me.<br />
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"The Yellow Pages pen?" he repeated, blankly. "That pen wasn't working this morning. The ink is out. So I threw it away."<br />
<br />
I shrank away in horror.<br />
<br />
"You what?" I whispered. "You threw her away?"<br />
<br />
With tears streaming down my face, I ran back into the office.<br />
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"Where are you Rachel?" I wailed, digging through the trash can. "I'll find you! Oh my god!"<br />
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She was nowhere to be found. I ran into the kitchen, rummaging through that trash can, throwing garbage all over the floor, desperately seeking out the Yellow Pages pen.<br />
<br />
My parents ran into the kitchen.<br />
<br />
"You're making a mess!" My dad roared. "You better clean that up!"<br />
<br />
Finally clutching the discovered Yellow Pages pen, now covered in ketchup, I glared up at him.<br />
<br />
"You killed Rachel," was all I could manage to croak.<br />
<br />
My parents stared back at me, speechless.<br />
<br />
Then they had a long talk in the living room.<br />
<br />
They came back into the kitchen and told me I was no longer allowed to play with the pens and pencils.<br />
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I was devastated.<br />
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To make their point, they hid the carton from me in a locked desk drawer.<br />
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<br />
That moment marked a changing point in my life. Staring at the locked drawer, I realized that playtime was over. It was time to grow up.<br />
<br />
I moved on.<br />
<br />
But I never forgot.<br />
<br />
And now sometimes when I look at a pen, for a split second, I think I see her personality stare back at me and she winks. And it jolts me back to life.<br />
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But then it fades away as quickly as it appeared.Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904020480081426344.post-1172516765397984442013-05-06T11:14:00.000-05:002014-10-25T12:04:15.030-05:00Hipster Racism<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Most of you, well probably all of you, might not know, but I am dating a member of the Sioux tribe.<br />
<br />
Rian is a quarter Sioux and received the official recognition from the tribe a few years ago.<br />
<br />
Anyway, Rian and I once joked that if we have children, they're going to be the ultimate hippies.<br />
<br />
And the more I think about it, the more I realize it's true.<br />
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Both of our Indian ethnicities are considered "new age" and "sexy" in the western world. Our ancestral backgrounds have become a novelty. <br />
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Think of how many young people do yoga, consult gurus, and brag about spending a summer in an ashram, only in a desperate attempt to be cool. Or do peyote or go to rainbow gatherings, without respecting the rituals or understanding the meaning.<br />
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And then there's the fashion.<br />
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For example, just sift through photos of Coachella outfits.<br />
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While Rian's sweet little Indian grandmother spends hours carefully crafting bead work for legitimate pow wows on Sioux reservations, these 20-something girls are flaunting the native style like they own it.<br />
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And both Gwen Stefani and Lana Del Rey were called out for using Native American style to sex up their appeal in music videos.<br />
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When the videos came out, people in the Native American community were outraged. The head dress is not a fashion accessory, they cried out. It's a symbol for an entire culture. They saw the videos as a mockery of their heritage.<br />
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Meanwhile, on the other Indian side, we've had everyone from Julia Roberts to Selena Gomez wear a jeweled bindi on their forehead. And everyone from Pamela Anderson to the Pussycat Dolls waltz the red carpet in sarees.<br />
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When Selena recently wore a bindi during a seductive VMA performance, the incident received worldwide negative press and tweets from Indians who were offended. In fact, officials at the Universal Society of Hinduism insisted Selena should apologize for making a mockery of the religious symbol.<br />
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Now, I'm not saying that fashion trends or style influenced by these cultures is completely tasteless.<br />
<br />
But I do think there's a fine line between borrowing customs for style and creating costumes as style.<br />
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I own a pair of Minnetonka moccasins. They're adorable. And I love wearing feathers in my hair.<br />
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But you wouldn't catch me going to a music festival in full headdress. I think that's disrespectful.<br />
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<br />
The same goes with the other Indian culture. I love wearing mehndi in the summer. I own a stash of decorative bindis. <br />
<br />
But then again, I kind of cringe when I think of pop tarts using a religious symbol, such as a bindi, as a form of sexualization. Maybe I'm too critical, but that does seem culturally insensitive to me. There's a difference between making a fashion statement with respect and making a mockery of it with sex.<br />
<br />
The same goes for any other culture.<br />
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But the line is really up to us. And unfortunately, it's located in different places for different people. What I don't find offensive might enrage a devout Hindu.<br />
<br />
After all, nothing is black and white.<br />
<br />
There are millions of people all over the world who genuinely adore the Native American culture and find it an inspiring influence. Just like there are millions of people all over the world who do yoga for the health benefits and pursue Hinduism because it genuinely speaks to them.<br />
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<br />
But when it comes to fashion, the line is there.<br />
<br />
What are your thoughts on hipster racism? Is your style inspired by other cultures? Have you ever been unsure where to draw the line?Jennifer Fabuloushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07521908385026885699noreply@blogger.com21