I think something I've come to realise in the past year os that in order to find happiness, I've had to remind myself of things I loved as a kid because it brings back a juicy, gummy and delicious piece of nostalgia that is incredibly addictive. It's untainted, it's a reminder of a time fuelled by discovery, innocence, purpose, liking what I wanted and authentically falling in love with parts of the world.
It makes me think this is one reason people must love and want kids. I think of what that potential 'unconditional' love and dependance could have felt like. Is it like realising small parts of your own self are in a mini skin sack that shares half your dna? Seems pretty amazing.
I keep constantly repeating myself; going through old messages between friends, exes and lovers I can see a distinct pattern in my own behaviour that I'm not impressed with. Learning is becoming more a necessity to get myself out of the house and not spiral into a pit of despair, because unlike my parents, who were married, mortgaged, 3 kids deep and running a business, I am somehow at 25 year old dyke working in digital media, who ate fruity-bix in bed for dinner, playing sims and listening to old Lily Allen songs to remind myself of being 16 again.
So when the fuck and how does one grow up? Because while that description sounded cute and edgy for a character in a shitty tumblr piece of fiction written by a 14 year old, that is actually me right now!? Atrocious. What is the right way to do this thing? Because all I know is what I don't want and I'm far too afraid to grasp what I 'could' want and I'm far too impulsive and irrational to make sound life decisions. Hell, I can't even sort my finances out, sleep properly or deal with being out in public 75% of the time.
In a game of 'who is going to _______ first' I would be most likely to die. Let's put bets on how it might happen and when so someone can profit off it. It'd make for a good speech at my funeral!
So far, adulting has been great for learning, understanding, analysing and deep reflection. So why does it seem like I've taken steps backwards? And the only way to yank myself out of that direction are things like birds or the colour orange. It's as if all this extra 'great' stuff is really part of the problem, so much concern with these little tiny meanings in what is essentially little sparkles of time that are wasted, when you could just strip back and simplify. But then you consider the work that'll be and that just makes me want to order uber eats and sad wank myself to sleep.
Moral of the story? Point of the blog? I guess that adulthood = depression = fear to do anything = anxiety of slowly failing = adulthood. That's my equation, but too be honest I've never been too hot with math.
Book yourself into something expensive if you can afford it, prepay it so you have to go and get out there. It's my current solution and is a good start to stripping back.
Welcome back. It's been a while.
A few years, I think? Since Pizza, Sex & Other Shit was a thing. There was that one blog I did last year on white feminists (it went viral among white feminists!! I even got fan mail) And I know what you're thinking - WHERE THE FUCK DID IT ALL GO?
Well, I honestly don't know. I couldn't remember the login details, I keep changing emails, phone numbers, locations, jobs, sexual preferences - I mean who can really keep up? Definitely not Wordpress. So while my painfully entertaining single tales of 2015 and my brilliant abortion blog of 2016 has disappeared into the archives of a lesser than CMS platform for peasants, I shall rise again.
And I'm not doing this for myself, hell no. This is for you, because you've put up with terrible writing from white feminists, racists, boring ass content and people with no talent for too long. I haven't done jury duty, and now I am pretty sure I never will because this is my way of serving the nation. You're fucking welcome.
I guess the best place to begin is with my current status and then pray that your bad aunty gets her flow back. I'm glad to say: stable, non pregnant, pretty gay, 100% an asshole, very good at cooking but usually only order uber eats, semi lonely, a bit chubbier, down 3 wisdom teeth, substance abuse reduced greatly, new friends = many. Lost friends? At least one, I think. Creatively juiced up like a dude bro at the gym, 10/10 fucked off and nothing gets me going like arguing with dumb people on the internet.
One thing I have come to learn recently, is that I am not valuable to anyone here. As in, where I live. In Wellington, you are considered someone if you've got an adult job or working in hospo; studying political science, spouting off some pseudo-science bullshit you read in an old ass textbook, mashed in with some backwards theories about Marx or white feminism - all while in the El Horno smoking area.
"Jade, you're being incredibly offensive in not listening to this theory about Māori people I memorised for POLS101. Also did I tell you I'm learning Te Reo? I say Pēpi instead of baby and aroha instead of love. I'm fucking intersectional, I totally get it, babes!"
For someone reason, everyone in Auckland seems to be really clean; they've all got cars, seem to always have money and don't really smoke, they've never heard of pegging and they couldn't give a flying fuck if you're successfully balancing crippling mental illness and substance abuse with your semi grown up job. They call themselves entrepreneurs (code for: I don't have a job but I've got some ideas my parents are funding)
It had me pretty shook for a while. And then I realised: I'm 25 - I should probably stop arguing with trolls on the internet and do something better with my time. So, I'll attempt to grow up just a little bit and just shade the fuck out of it here.
Xoxo Bad Aunty Jade.
NB: This is an old post from PS&OS - one of the only ones I have. It's tame, but its something.
This week I nearly missed a train to my parents place because I thought I had enough time to drink half a pint of melted, lightly salted chocolate ice cream and masturbating multiple times.
In fact, I was so fucking satisfied afterwards, that I celebrated with buying a brand new shiny pack of Dunhill switches (treat yo’self). As I strolled towards the train station post multiple orgasm, listening to Joan Jett and death staring at attractive people, I thought about myself and sex.
I have always considered myself to have the libido of a desperate stereotypical white teenaged boy from a tasteless ‘coming of age’ film. The thirst never seems to cease, which means I am a big lover of porn, masturbation and copius amounts of sex.
In relationships, I can never get enough sex. Once a week just doesn’t cut it for me, neither does standard missionary or making love – it just ain’t my style. Being single and navigating my ferocious sexual appetite has been interesting. You see all these things in the media about girls having ‘5 date rules’ or some kind of strategy to help people stick around.
I went on a date this week with a very cute, introverted intelligent being, who enjoyed food and Wes Anderson films like myself.
It was enough for me to decide taking them back to my apartment (which is an absolute honey pot) would be a good idea. But when we got there, all of a sudden I lost my nerve. I had only met this person once before this catch up, and I kinda liked them. All of a sudden, I felt this weird pressure to not sleep with them in order to impress them, despite my absolute thirst for their body to be on my body. They ended up leaving, texting me “sweet dreams x” and I said “Let’s hang out again soon”, then proceeded to jack myself off since the mutual enjoyment of analysing Wes Anderson films left me feeling like I had Niagara falls between my legs.
I woke up and kicked myself for being a fucking idiot, but also incredibly excited that another human could make feel something, even if only it was very minuscule. Because I have zero chill, I half jokingly invited them to hang out that evening with me in another town (I was away on work business) enticing them with ‘pizza and wes anderson’ to which they replied “I’ll bring the whiskey”.
After this, I started to question my self respect. I counted the amount of sexual experiences I had enjoyed since my break up, evaluated how I felt as a person and whether this was a bad idea. In the end, I felt powerful, happy knowing who I was as a person and knew that this was going to be a really fun, interesting experience. In the end, it was better than expected, not only did we enjoy in depth discussions around feminism, but I was pleasantly surprised when I was presented with a rather large gift later.
I love sex, and I have never been in the position to enjoy it with whoever I wanted to before. It’s so fucking fun, so long as you are safe and respectful to those you’re enjoying it with (consent is king).
I refuse to ever think less of myself because I enjoy that or watch porn, or to feel like I am a ‘bad girl’ or ‘tainted’ in some way because of these things. Hell, I have been planning a sex-scapade with someone not even in the country for months now and I can’t wait.
It’s incredibly empowering to be sexually open minded and free, but it’s not for everyone. Whatever floats your boat, that’s all good. Just always remember, you are a garbage can, not a garbage cannot.
NB: This is an old post from PS&OS - one of the only ones I have. It's tame, but its something.
We’ve all been that person lying awake thinking deeply about life. I am really well known for it.
Despite the usual antics of the weekend (I am pretty sure my blood is pure wine), I woke up this morning feeling more refreshed than normal. I was introduced to some legit chill music that set my mind into reeling, and I also had a deep, hungover feminist rant to the girl I’d been seeing (who had stayed the night) which really fuelled the fire.
In one of the songs playing, it says “Everybody wants to go to heaven, but you’ve got to die first”.
Heavy shit for a Sunday.
It sounds morbid, but it was true. Then I started thinking about how people look forward to heaven (or any after death thang you fancy) and they haven’t even lived their life yet.
I have a lot of beautiful people in my life doing their thang, some of them love a norm structure, some of them are like me and go for the extreme opposite. Either way, I believe that we should always push our comfort zones.
Evaluating the risk of things too much can be dangerous and it encourages you to stay put because it can be scary. But if you jump into something, chances are it’ll be an adventure – it might not work out. It doesn’t mean that you’ve failed, because you gave something a go.
Put it this way, do you want a beige cardboard life that is easy to assemble but lacks the lustre of adventure, snap decisions and beautiful memories? I sure as hell don’t.
I want snap trips overseas, or even just a squad ride to the nearest greasy fast food place. I want a lone retreat in a cabin surrounded by big beautiful trees. I want to get high and go rowing on a lake.
Push yourself. Make yourself experience new things. I know its terrifying because its not familiar, but that’s the beautiful thing about it. We all have dreams and things we want to do, but never feel like you have to be a certain way because its normal or ‘you’ve always been like that’.
Because imagine when you wake up in heaven (lets be real, I am going to hell), and reflect on your life. What does that look like? If its fucking boring, change some shit.
Now if you’d excuse me, I am going to live my life and continue eating my cold cheeseburger in bed with an exceptionally beautiful human.