Things I Did To Avoid Completely Losing My S*** While Locked Underground and Physically and Mentally Abused For Three Weeks

1. Sang “Someone’s Waiting For You” to myself
2. Took showers as often as possible
3. Kept a picture of my cat on my bedside trolley-table (drawn by my roommate)
4. Wrote many letters threatening to sue all my doctors
5. Tried as hard as possible to draw realistic colored pictures from a magazine (left by the same roommate who drew my cat)
6. Played Plants vs. Zombies on the computer (the only game on it)
7. Wrote on the computer
8. Ate sweets
9. Masturbated often
10. Replayed Jenna Marbles videos in my head
11. Read novels
12. Thought about Gulf War POW’s and about how lucky I was to not get beaten up every day
13. Ran on a treadmill
14. Crossed off days on a calendar

Adventures With Periorbital Cellulitis: Unverified Medical Information Filtered Through My Limited Understanding (I am not a doctor and I have no medical training whatsoever)

Periorbital cellulitis, also known as preseptal cellulitis (and not to be confused with orbital cellulitis, which is behind the septum), is an infection of the eyelid and portions of skin around the eye, anterior to the orbital septum.

Periorbital cellulitis must be differentiated from orbital cellulitis, which is an emergency and requires intravenous (IV) antibiotics.  CT scan may be done to delineate the extension of the infection.

Affected individuals may experience the following; swelling, redness, discharge, pain, shut eye, conjunctival injection, fever (mild), slightly blurred vision, teary eyes, and some reduction in vision. – Wikipedia

VOCAB:

Preseptal: an infection involving the superficial tissue layers anterior to the orbital septum

Orbital septum:  a thin membrane that forms the fibrous portion of the eyelids. – Wikipedia

 

I. How Infection Occurs 

The body has lots of mechanisms and barriers in place to prevent infection. The main organ in charge of preventing infection is the skin. You hear a lot of talk about the immune system, but the immune system is just in place to trounce the invaders that got past the skin.

This is why most people can use the filthiest public restroom toilets and not acquire an infection: because the skin on your butt can protect you from most pathogens.

Since the skin is so boss at doing its job, pathogens can only penetrate the body at points where there is no skin, or the skin is broken, or there is an opening in the skin.

Points where there is no skin: Mucus membranes (eyes, nose holes, mouth, ear holes, buttholes, peeholes, vaginae, maybe something else I’m forgetting)

Points where the skin is broken: An injury (a scratch, wound, broken bone, etc.) or an irritation (eczema, itchy insect bite, etc.)

 Openings in the skin: the pores (which are the openings in the skin for the hair follicles, and also sebaceous glands)

source: commonsensehealth.com

If you look at this rather cute and possibly a bit inaccurate diagram right here, you will see that the hair follicle penetrates quite deep into the skin layers – deeper even than the heat receptors, which is one of the slowest types of receptors to respond to stimuli (this is why a person might take a moment to jerk their hand off a hot pan handle, while the same person would instantaneously shriek and jump on a chair if a cockroach brushed against their leg – the touch receptor is much higher up on the skin layers than the heat receptor).

You will also note that the hair follicle creates a relatively large opening in the surface of the skin, just begging for pathogens to penetrate it and have a sex party inside the skin, and multiply like wildfire.

Normally, the immune system (as previously mentioned) can trounce invaders that get past the skin. HOWEVER!! If one or more of the following conditions occur:

1. The individual is immunosuppressed (the immune system is weak)
2. The skin is irritated
3. The invader pathogen is particularly strong

Then the pathogen will have their sex party inside the body.

This is exactly what happened in my eyelid about a day or so ago.

II. Etiology; or in layman’s terms, How The Hell Did This Happen? 

Now, it is impossible to say with complete certainty what are the exact factors that led to the bacterial orgy inside my eyelid, but I have some guesses:

1. I tried out some cheap mascara and eyeliner – this possibly created irritation in my eyelid skin and weakened its defenses
2. I slept and bathed in a dirty place – this may be when the bacteria started sneaking its way into my eyelid, via the hair follicles of my eyelashes
3. I did not get enough sleep or eat well – this is when I began to be immunosuppressed
4. I spent time in an establishment full of smoke – the irritation grew worse, allowing the bacteria to overcome my already distracted and suppressed immune system
5. I was further sleep-deprived and thus immunosuppressed- this is when the infection mounted and began to attack my cells full force.

III. Back to the Main Topic At Hand 

As per the definition given at the beginning of this…  whatever this is, preseptal cellulitis is an infection of the front of the eyelid. It is called preseptal because it is in front of the orbital septum. Behind this septum is the orbit of the eye.

That means that when a patient has preseptal cellulitis, the only thing between that person and a raging infection of the eye itself (literally) is: their immune system, and a thin membrane.

This raging infection of the eye itself is called orbital cellulitis, and it is definitely no fun to have.

Orbital infection can be extensive and severe. Subperiosteal fluid collections, some quite large, can accumulate; they are called subperiosteal abscesses. Complications include vision loss due to ischemic retinopathy and optic neuropathy caused by increased intraorbital pressure; restricted ocular movements (ophthalmoplegia) caused by soft-tissue inflammation; and intracranial sequelae from central spread of infection, including cavernous sinus thrombosis, meningitis, and cerebral abscess. – Merck Manual 

Quick lay translation: Orbital infection is a huge bacterial orgy inside your eye socket, wherein bacteria multiply like crazy, creating large amounts of bacteria sludge that can create enough pressure to make your eye pop outwards and make you blind. In addition, the infection can also spread to your sinuses and your fucking BRAIN.

Obviously, preseptal cellulitis and orbital cellulitis are not the same thing. However, they can occur on a continuum – meaning preseptal cellulitis can lead to orbital cellulitis – which should be obvious since, as I’ve stated, the only thing separating the infection in preseptal cellulitis from the orbital is the thin septum.

Additionally, preseptal cellulitis and orbital cellulitis often look so similar at first, that most medical articles online lump them together in one article and emphasize the importance of distinguishing the two.

The danger of preseptal cellulitis progressing to orbital cellulitis is real and present enough that emergency referral – EMERGENCY FUCKING REFERRAL – for preseptal cellulitis is required for the following conditions: 

• All children
• Any patient with any indication of possible orbital cellulitis
• All patients who are systemically unwell
• Occasions where there is doubt over the diagnosis
• A patient not responding to treatment; or
• When drainage of a lid abscess is required

 

IV. The Terrifying Night When I Realized That Bacteria Were Having a Sex Party In My Eyelid

At around midnight, my eye had inflamed to the point where I could no longer see out of it. I had visited a doctor earlier that day, who had prescribed antibiotics, and I had taken the two tablets required that day.

I am familiar with most types of inflammation and skin irritations, and have various creams and oral medicines on hand to treat the common ones (such as eczema, fungal infections, acne, allergies, etc).

I also have an unusually high pain tolerance, such that various professionals who inflict pain for a living (e.g. dentists, salon waxers) have commented on it. Corporal punishment was frustrating for my parents when I was a child because I refused to cry no matter how hard they hit me. I can walk off blows and wounds that would incapacitate most other women. It’s not that I don’t feel the pain, it’s that I can force myself to bear it without complaint if I think I have to. (Perhaps this imperviousness to moderate physical pain is compensated for by my psyche with a heightened sensitivity to emotional pain – but that’s a topic for another time.)

Given these two things about me, I became utterly terrified when the inflammation only got worse and worse despite all the medicines I had taken, and the pain was excruciating.

At around 2AM, I decided I’d better get help. I decided to go to a hospital.

I chose [redacted hospital] for the following reasons:

1. It is a hospital for rich people, and I knew that doctors would be too busy with more serious cases to help me at a hospital for poor people
2. It was nearby
3. I was admitted to that hospital once, three years ago, so there was a chance that they would still have my records
4. My psychiatrist is a consultant at that hospital

At this point I was half blind and streaming discharge from one eye. I wanted to call an ambulance but I figured that I would get to the hospital faster if I used an Uber.

This was my first mistake, as I arrived at the hospital looking somewhat chill – that is, not screaming and lying down on a gurney.

Since I lacked a health card, though I entered through the emergency room, I was put in a corner with other people just chilling.

I had started crying while talking to the woman at registration, and she completely ignored this, along with my pleas to let me see a doctor.

I was only loaded into a wheelchair when I began sobbing from the pain. I could no longer see. Vaguely I heard someone protest, and the man wheeling me said, “Umiiyak na e.”

The resident ER appeared, and during the short talk with me, she let slip that admission and intravenous antibiotics were advisable for my condition.

Then some complete asshole of an ophthalmologist appeared. I told him that I needed to be admitted; I needed antibiotics, and I needed painkillers. He ignored this and began examining my vision. I reiterated that there was nothing wrong with my vision; I had an infection in my eyelid. He gave me some stupid bullshit about there being lots more bacteria in the hospital than at home, and advised me to take some meds and put on a hot compress, all of which I had been doing already for more than a day. At some point during the discussion, which was growing heated, I said: “So you’re saying that you want this infection to get worse before you’ll treat me?”

They put me on a gurney. I looked at my watch. It was around 3:10.

I decided to give them 10 minutes to find me help, after which I would leave and try my luck somewhere else.

10 minutes passed. I began to get up from the gurney.

A nurse or possibly a doctor stopped me. I said, “If you’re not going to help me, I’m going to go somewhere else.”

Perhaps frightened by the possibility of  lawsuit, they then began actually trying to ascertain my condition. Most importantly, however, they had to find out if I would be able to pay. Since I had no money on me, and the hospital records had been wiped recently, the only thing I could do was name-drop my doctor, who was a psychiatrist.

At that, they called the resident psychiatrist, who started asking me questions to find out if I was a violent mental patient. (“Do you have thoughts of hurting yourself or others?”) I told her that I was properly on psychiatric meds and stable, I just had an infection.

Finally, fucking finally, they administered a painkiller IV. It was around 4AM. I finally got some sleep, as the pain had been keeping me up all night. They wheeled the gurney to an empty corner surrounded by those slide-out divider things. There was a yellow sign on the wall that said FALL RISK, which matched the yellow bracelet on my wrist also marked FALL RISK.

V. In the Morning: I Bully Lots of People 

Because no one loves me, and also because I had lost my phone in my haste to get to the ER, I only had a stuffed dog for company that I had brought with me in my backpack. I cuddled it for the few hours while I slept.

When I woke up, the resident psych told me that my psychiatrist was on the way. A nurse brought me a paper tray of food, with the most disgusting fish fillet I had ever tasted in my entire life. (Hospital food must be completely sterile, and this unfortunately involves heat-bombing the fuck out of the cooked foods.) The banana was edible, though. I ate that, along with some wafers in a tin that I had also brought with me. I don’t think they provided any water.

I asked someone for an eye patch. I put it on my eye. I asked for another one to take home with me. I said I’d pay for it. They didn’t give it to me.

My bill for their stupid “care” and “facilities” came to P8,000. I bullied a man at Billing Counter and a woman at Credit Counter before they let me go. The woman at Credit tried to take all my money. I told her, “I still have to get a cab and eat. Do you want me to starve?” She started talking to someone else on the phone, and I walked away from her to try to find the resident psychiatrist. I got all the way back to the ER before someone caught up with me and brought me back to her. I started raising my voice and cursing at her to handle my payment already and stop fucking around. At that, she called her supervisor, who called my doctor, who talked to them, who finally let me go without apologizing at all.

Outside, a doctor in a car yelled to a guard to find me a cab, but he did not.

No one was at the Grab taxi stand, and the line for cabs was about 20 people long. I could not stay in the heat and dust of the streets, as the infection would flare up again.

I walked out of the hospital grounds and tried to hail a cab, but none stopped.

I stood on the island in the middle of the street in the sun. I considered taking off my clothes. Luckily, just a minute or so before I did that, a cab stopped for me. I got in and we talked about our country and how hard it is to live here, me practising my best Filipino accent and pretending to be poor so that he would not overcharge me. It worked.

I went to school because I thought it might be finals. No one was in the room. I went to my professor’s department to try to find him. All the professors there were busily laughing about how they wouldn’t be able to tolerate Duterte as president, while I sat there with my bandaged eye and bandages on my arms from the shots and the IVs, and two hospital bracelets, because nobody knew where my professor was. When I got tired of waiting, I said, “You don’t have any kind of system to keep track of what your schedules are?” The professor I was speaking to, a middle-aged, bespectacled man, said no. I asked then if I could use one of their computers so that I could message someone and ask for help. He said that they were busy with grade checking. Behind him, a bank of unused computers were on. I replied that the library computers were constantly broken because the IT personnel never updated them and never junked old files. He just mumbled something.

I wanted to slap his glasses off his face. Instead, I just put my hands on the table in front him, on top of the papers strewn there, and leaned forward for a moment. I fixed him with my one eye. He stared back. Then I pushed off the table and left.

I needed to find a cab from school to my dorm. I walked into another dorm to ask for help. Upon seeing my bandages and bracelets, the receptionist asked dully, “Mag-iinquire po ba?” I said fuck no, I needed a cab. (Politely.) She told me the guard outside could help me.

The guard outside helped me.

I got a cab. I paid. I went up to my room.

VI. Epilogue 

I’ve borne this ordeal with relatively little complaint considering the circumstances, and with fairly good humor. However, I’ve been cursing at a lot of people and I’ve decided to break up with my girlfriend for not taking care of me.

After two days of very little assistance (both physical and financial – my parents only sent me money this morning, after I spent every last peso I have on medicines and food and transportation). I’ve managed to make the swelling go down such that I can see out of the eye again. I am very proud of this.

I am also completely alone, but at least i know for sure now that I know how to take care of myself, just given enough money, and that pretty much no one in my life really cares for me that much.

Where Pedophilia Comes From

I. ANECDOTE TO LEGITIMIZE MY OPINIONS / MAKE YOU FEEL SORRY FOR ME

My [redacted] and [redacted] both made sexual advances for me around the same time when I was a kid (about 9-10 years old). I had nightmares while that was going on. In the most vivid one, I dreamed that I was on a bed and struggling against [redacted]’s grasp; my nails were dug into the skin of his arm as I pushed him away from me. I woke up suddenly and my actual nails were dug into my twisted sheets.

It was years and years before I told my [redacted]. Out of curiosity, I asked her what she thought would have happened if I had told her when I was still a kid. She said, “Your [redacted] might have murdered him.” I said, “Yeah, I thought something like that might happen.”

II. CHILDREN ARE IRRESISTIBLE

Once you begin to see people, really see people, it’s impossible not to love most children. They’re helpless, cute, eager to please. Like dogs. I can’t resist dogs. Most people can’t either. Even though dogs will slobber on you and steal your shoes and pee on your things.

But it’s a “thing” to love dogs – it’s not a thing to love children. You don’t accuse a person of bestiality when they say they’re in love with a dog; but the automatic assumption when you say you’re in love with a child is that you’re a pedophile.

“Well, I can say that you look pretty. You turn my legs into spaghetti. You set my heart on fire.” – Dillon, Thirteen Thirtyfive 

“Take me down to the bridge, where you know that I’ve always loved you… You look so beautiful it hurts me.” – Eisley, Golly Sandra 

The context of these lyrics is a parent-child relationship. But in your mind it doesn’t fit, does it? Because you don’t think an adult could ever feel intensely for a child unless it was pedophilia. There are boxes in your mind: all things INTENSE go into the box labeled SEXUAL. There isn’t any box for INTENSE NON-SEXUAL FEELINGS, aka LOVE, because no one taught you all about love, you know so very little when there is so much to know about it…

III. THEY REPRESS IT UNTIL THEY CAN’T REPRESS IT ANYMORE 

One of the results of this lack of knowledge about love is pedophilia. A parent – a father, about 99.9% of the time, I’d estimate – feels strongly for their child, and they don’t know where to put that feeling. They don’t recognize what they’re really feeling and how to express it, and so a natural, healthy affection becomes perverted into a pathological sexual desire.

They feel intensely, and because society says they can’t feel that way for a child, they repress it. Until they can’t repress it anymore.

IV. SUBLIMATION

It’s not wrong to feel that way for a child, but there are so many different ways to express it, to channel that energy, and sex is NOT one of those ways.

“What are the ways, then, for a parent?” Stop drinking so much. Do your work more efficiently so that you can come home early and check her homework. Buy her a guitar. Improve your relationship with her mother. Start working out. Become a better person. It’s hard work. Now you have your motivation.

There are so many things you can do. Just, for God’s sake, don’t try to have sex with her.

Marketing and Multiculturalism

I.

It’s a predominantly American thing to want to manipulate reality instead of adapting to it (for examples: turning up the heat indoors instead of putting on more clothes, killing inconvenient wild animals instead of learning to avoid them, massacring natives instead of negotiating fair terms of land ownership). And since Filipino culture is mostly derivative of American culture, we buy into that shit too, wholesale.

Australians don’t massacre the frankly terrifying creatures in their land, but fatalities from animal attacks there are fairly rare – certainly much more rare than American fatalities from their fucking insane citizens who are constantly shooting each other en masse.

 

Bedouin tribes in the Saharan desert survive the oven temperatures sans airconditioning because of the design of their clothing. Black and white people can mix without making a huge deal of it in British society. The tendency to be uncomfortable with the unfamiliar / different, and the unwillingness to adapt and coexist without conflict, is a very American thing. I’m of course not saying they are the only culture like that (Bonjour, France!) but American culture is the most infectious of all.

II.

This tendency is the whole basis of marketing as we know it. They openly admit it in one of the definitions: To manipulate demand. Manipulate. Not to understand demand and therefore meet it in ways most advantageous to both supplier and consumer. Not to know the truth, but to force what you want to be true.

You don’t need a fucking iPhone to be happy, but they’ve made you believe it. I walked down the seaside boulevard once without a bra and no one grabbed my fucking tits (I think they will do that in Bombay or Calcutta, though). I look tired without makeup? I am, your girlfriend kept me up all night.

Heh.

III.

They talked about the best thesis. “They were so passionate! The panel asked them why they chose a bear for packaging and they had the research on hand to prove that bear shapes hypnotize people into buying cookies…” You think you can run a business on passion and trivia? Show up to  the SEC with a briefcase full of passion, fill out your tax returns with the trivia you memorized? Your product will sell, or it won’t. That’s it.

IV.

The problem now isn’t not enough goods manufactured, but not enough goods sold. Do you realize what a GREAT problem that is to have? That we humans have made production so efficient that supply far outweighs demand? The role of marketing is supposed to be the efficient distribution of goods – to make sure everyone can have what they need and nothing’s wasted – but now we use it to sell people stupid shit. We have people spending thousands on concert tickets, clothes, movies and dinners out,  when their houses are so dirty and poorly maintained, they eat fucking garbage all the time, they’re at work all day, then stuck in traffic, they never see their children anymore. Because they’re so convinced they NEED those things that they don’t, at the expense of things that they do.

Don’t get me wrong, I think a lot luxuries are nice to have. But it is absolutely fucking insane to neglect one’s basic needs to attain the nice non essentials.  And that’s exactly what marketing now seeks to make people do. So fuck them. I’m in this field and I know its purpose. I am different. I will do things differently.

Victim Blaming Vs. Victim Responsibility pt. 2

The selfish lifestyles of the middle / upper class have created nasty inhuman individuals whose lives are so wretchedly poor that they no longer have anything to lose.

I’m sure someday we’ll solve this complicated social problem because we’re obviously the smartest people in the world. But for now, unless you’re rich and smart enough to be kept safe all the time (you always have your own car / driver, you have people around to look after you, you know what situations to avoid) you WILL face these inhuman individuals, and they WILL hurt you if they can.

Those slogans you see around? “My clothes are not my consent”? Those were created by rich white girls who have approximately 0.00000% chance of being gang-raped and left for dead. They don’t know you. They don’t know your situation. Why would you let them influence your behavior? They’re not your mother, they’re not your best friend, but most importantly, they’re not you. You owe it to yourself to understand your situation and protect your weaknesses.

I don’t want this online movement to make you ignore the danger of your reality. Like I said, someday we’ll solve everything – I’ll make the feminist equivalent of The Playboy Mansion where we’ll all live happily ever after and bond in sisterly love or whatever. You gotta stay alive for that. I’m barely in my twenties, dammit, give me some time. For now, I have these tips for you:

1. Glasses lessen the slut factor of any outfit by about 70%. If you have 20/20 vision, use a pair without lenses.

2. Fix your walk. It’s probably the most little-known yet significant factor of how criminals select their victims.

3. During events that end late at night, do not rely on transportation from vague acquaintances or flaky friends. If there’s no other transportation available, skip the fucking event. It won’t kill you, but a rapist might.

4. About 90% of guys who approach you when you look hot are just brimming with shit. Say you have a boyfriend or something. (Note: if you want a boyfriend who likes you for you, try dating someone who sees you often not looking your best. Like a PE classmate or something, god I don’t know.)

5. Become healthy and strong. work out a lot. eat vegetables. i’m sleepy

Sex, Solved

I.

What’s the difference between a partner and a fuck buddy? (Barring stupid games of sexual manipulation)

PARTNERS

Person 1: I’m headed to this place.

Person 2: I’m headed there too.

Person 1: Wanna go together?

Person 2: Sure!

* * *

FUCK BUDDIES

Person 1: I’m headed to this place.

Person 2: I’m headed somewhere different, but I can go your way for a bit. Want me to come?

Person 1: Sure!

II.

There was someone, once, who would see me when she was around. She promised me nothing. We knew there was no future at all for us. She made it clear for me in the sweetest way.

She touched me and held me outside. Sent me money when I was broke. (That was nice.) Fucked me just how I like it. Toasted me with sweet wine at brunch, and said: Everyone here knows that I want you.

She was never mine, and I was never hers. Everything was so… good…

So many people have promised me the world. No one has delivered. It’s somehow all worse when they try and fail, than if they never try at all.

III.

In this society, people want everything to be simple. It’s ALWAYS or NEVER. It’s THE WHOLE SHITLOAD or NONE AT ALL.

There’s nothing unusual about someone sprinkling pepper on his food, but if you see that same person eating bowls of pepper, then you know he’s got a problem. In some aspects of life we do understand the concept of moderation. Right? So why do people think they have to be BORING NERDS or STUPID SHITS? Why is it ROSS or JOEY, when Ross is a martyr whose goodness is unsustainable and unhealthy, and Joey is disgustingly selfish? Why is it that people think I must feel only SWEET PLATONIC ADORATION for someone or WANT TO USE THEM LIKE A FUCKING WHORE? No one seems to understand how it’s possible for me to respect and admire someone and also desire them sexually.

The question isn’t how I combine the two, but why they were ever separated in the first place. If everyone felt and nourished sexual desire only for people they respected, that solves the whole problem of rape culture / sexual harassment / “it’s complicated” – type relationship where one is screwing the other emotionally. That’s how sex is supposed to work between humans, because of this whole society thing that we have where we aren’t compelled biologically to fuck everyone all the time to propagate the species. (See: every other living thing on earth.) We have these complex brains that make sex a socially complicated thing. It’s not just for making babies anymore. It means a lot of things. It’s difficult to handle. That’s why children aren’t allowed to have sex. That’s why you need to think and act like an adult if you want to have sex. And that all starts, again, with consideration for another person’s thoughts and feelings.

“But we agreed it was just sex!” Shut up. Humans rarely ever say what they really mean. Most communication is nonverbal. Babies and children understand situations and build relationships with others without knowing a single word. You communicated things without words. You made promises with your kisses. I know you didn’t mean to, but you did. Your words don’t excuse you. And if someone did this to you, their words don’t excuse them either. If you’re going to nitpick a previous agreement to escape your obligation to take care of the feelings of the human being you’ve been fucking, you’re not a person who’s trying to have a connection with someone else; you’re a freaking lawyer. Put your dick away and take your shit to court where it belongs.

IV.

I have sex with someone now. She reads this… (Hi!!!) We talk. I like to make sure that she’s fine, and she does too.

I know it sounds like bullshit, but I really do think that someone else can make her happier than I can.

I won’t claim a heart that I can’t care for.

Your dear heart is probably more precious than you think. And if I stole it by mistake, I’m going to give it back because hearts belong with whoever (whomever?) can care for them the best.

But since we’re both going this way…

Victim Blaming vs. Victim Responsibility pt. 1

 

this is gonna make him stop when he’s got his dick out

Buried this for a long time because I am having a lot of trouble polishing this concept but I’ve seen a recent resurgence in anti-slut-shaming whatevers online and I’m going to rush this series to help sort out this issue, before lots of girls decide to join y’alls in your hallucinatory world where real rapists can be fended off with catchy slogans.

Concept introduced to me by Jason Pargin.

* * * * * * *

I. Definition and Examples

Blame is an accusation leveled against a person for some undesirable situation (whether true or untrue). Blame implies guilt; that the person has done something wrong and should be punished for it. For example, if a thief broke into your house and stole your stuff, he is to blame for the crime.

Responsibility is an obligation for someone who has the ability to prevent some undesirable situation, or to bring about a desirable situation. Someone can only be held responsible if they have the ability to take action. For example, if a thief broke into your house and stole your stuff because you didn’t lock your door, you wouldn’t go to jail for it. You didn’t commit a crime. But you will still bear the consequences of your irresponsibility. If he is caught, you might be inconvenienced by the legal process of prosecuting him. If he isn’t caught, say goodbye to your stuff.

Another example: Terrorists are to blame for 9/11 because they bombed the towers. The US government is partly responsible for 9/11 because they created international policies that inadvertently made it easier for terrorist groups to form in the Middle East.

Another example you won’t like: Rapists are to blame for rape because they committed the rape. Victims who voluntarily put themselves in vulnerable situations are responsible for their own rape because they had the choice not to, and they did not make that choice.

II. Purpose 

The purpose of outlining responsibility is not to assign fault but to understand what actions are necessary to prevent the situation from happening (again). The alternative is to keep getting your stuff stolen, keep getting your citizens killed, keep getting raped all the time, because the world is cruel and life is unfair.

Lessons From Tending Fish (Where I Say “S***” a Lot)

A few months ago, while wandering around at the mall looking at stuff, I saw a breed of fish called golden mollies in a pet shop. There were perhaps two dozen or so of them inside a tank. They looked like glittering gold flakes. The sight was one of the prettiest I’d ever seen, right up there with Malena Morgan’s piercing blue eyes.

Anyway, after that I got some fish and learned about taking care of little fish from various pet shop folks. Which brings me to lesson 1:

1. Take Advice From People Only When There Is Objective Evidence That They Know Their Shit (you’ve actually seen them doing the thing you want to learn how to do / a reliable source tells you that they know how to do it)

This is because:

2. People Are Full of Shit. 

For example, look at these two nincompoops on Yahoo Answers:

This information is irrelevant to everyone except an expert fish breeder, and an expert fish breeder would know all this by herself. The question-er is obviously an amateur, and has no intention of becoming a professional (same as me).

First of all: What is this stupid shit about separating fish by sex? Platies and mollies are tiny fish that sell for around P15- P20 in most pet shops, and thus it’s completely not worth anybody’s time to find out their sex. (The question-er stated the sexes of the mollies, of which there were only two, but not the sexes of the platies, of which there were fucking half a dozen. That’s because it doesn’t fucking matter).

Second: One of the most important things about a fish’s environment is to give them shit to hide in, like plants and those little ceramic castles. Not giving them that shit is kind of like if your parents never gave you your own room and everyone in your family just lived in one big room – one room for sleeping, showering, eating, shitting, masturbating. Stupid. Nowhere does answer-er mention that. Instead he talks about fish harassment. Of course they’ll harass each other if they don’t have anywhere to hide in and be alone and write fish poetry or whatever, and are forced to hang out with each other all the time.

Third: What is this brackish water shit? There’s no way an amateur can reliably maintain the salinity level of water. I don’t even know what device you would use to measure that, let alone be willing to buy it.

There’s more stupid advice below that, but I’ve made my point – that many “experts” will just fucking confuse you and give you stupid, useless advice.

Moving on.

3. Even People Who Know Their Shit Will Also Tell You Stupid Shit. Thus Rely Only Partly on Other People’s Advice, and Find Out the Rest From Empirical Evidence. 

(Empirical Evidence is fancy-talk for “You Actually Saw The Shit Happening”)

I live in a small-ish room and don’t have space for an actual aquarium, so purchasing a conventional glass aquarium for keeping my fish was out of the question. While looking for alternatives, I saw this:

This is a plastic tank usually used for keeping large insects and reptiles. It has: narrow slots for ventilation, a lid that snaps on tightly, a handle, and a hinged flap for feeding. It was priced at P165.

A conventional aquarium has: four glass walls. The smallest (which are only a little bit bigger than the plastic tank) are normally priced at no less than P1000.

Given the features of these two things, naturally it was hard for me to decide. Surprisingly, I found myself wanting the plastic tank. I don’t really know why.

Anyway, I asked Mr. Pet Shop Dude (who had given me other helpful information) if I could keep my fish inside the plastic tank. He said no because plastic would get too cloudy when filled with water.

Not having managed to keep any fish alive for any significant period of time in my whole life, I decided he knew better, and purchased the mini fish tank he recommended. Only much later I realized it was fucking made of the same plastic and had the same manufacturer – it was just smaller, more expensive and lacked the convenient features of the larger plastic tank. Fuck.

He wasn’t trying to trick me – he didn’t know either. I only knew because I fucking paid attention and Googled the items. He didn’t bother to find out because he has nothing to gain from finding out. He’d get paid all the same whether or not he tells customers that plastic releases endondomic biohazard toxins into the water, and glass releases probiotic crystals. “Wait, is that true?” Of course not. Endondomic isn’t even a word. On the other hand, I’m pretty poor and have an immediate and pressing interest in knowing how to save a buck. The knowledge of plastic vs. glass, in this case, is literally worth at least P800 (the difference between the price of a glass aquarium and plastic tank, in case you weren’t paying attention). For him it was worth nothing, so he didn’t find it out.

 

Roles People Play

I.

The question this generation is struggling (and mostly failing) to answer is “Who am I?” – the question of identity. This is because a strong identity is built on only two aspects of a person’s life: their work (the things they accomplish) and their relationships (the people they love and care for). Since most “work” taken up by people these days is useless. and their relationships are weak and shallow, they desperately seek for other things to define them: their favorite music, favorite writers, job title (from doing useless work), clothes, hair, school, social network, etc.

II.

Last week, [redacted] was losing her mind over the stress of planning an org event. Is it an accomplishment to pull off a successful event? Sure. Is it one significant enough to build your identity on? Not unless “event planner” is one of your lifelong goals. That’s perfectly valid. What’s insane is when you want to be “event planner,” and “yoga guru,” and “person who gets the most drunk at every party,” and “dean’s lister.” If you try to be all of those, you’re going to be none of those (except maybe the drunk person).

If pulling off a successful event isn’t a significant enough accomplishment to base your identity upon, then not being able to pull it off shouldn’t be a significant enough failure to undermine your self-perception. If it matters to you that much, then devote your time and effort to it. If you want a reputation as a successful event planner, then actually, you know, plan the event; allot time and delegate tasks. Don’t leave it all to chance then run around at the last minute screaming at people. (Also, don’t commit to planning an event without the assurance that you’ll have all the resources you need. If it’s miraculously successful no one will know or care what you went through to make it happen, and if it’s a failure you’ll look like an incompetent fool).

III.

After her birthday party, which we had thrown at unspeakably tremendous expense, [redacted] called in tears. She had overheard her friends telling each other that another blockmate’s party was way more fun because they had a lot more alcohol. These are her friends – the people she sees every day, tells everything to, spends all her time with. In other words, significant factors of her identity.

Look at their relationships: their pleasure in each other’s company is such that they need to be intoxicated out of their minds to find each other funny / sexy / exciting / not boring as hell. And she trusts them so little that a comment like that could deeply hurt her instead of just annoying her a bit or whatever.

 

IV.

One of the barriers to developing a strong identity is the unwillingness to play roles. This is what people usually mean when they say, “I won’t change who I am,” in response to a circumstance that requires them to do things that they normally wouldn’t do (for example, a guy who refuses to shave his beard to apply for jobs). They are saying, “I refuse to play a different role from what I am comfortable with playing.”

What’s wrong with this viewpoint of identity is that the human character is not made up of one aspect – one “face” – but is a complex conglomeration of many different aspects, each suited for playing a different role. Playing a role does NOT mean you’re “not being yourself”; you are displaying an aspect of yourself – like turning a particular facet of a gem towards the light – that is appropriate for the situation.

V.

If a military sergeant yells her recruits out of their bunks at 5AM, and yells at them all day in field exercises, then goes home and plays pretty pretty princess with her daughter, was she necessarily not being herself at one point or another? What’s the “real” her – the one who forces a recruit to do 50 pushups for an unmade med, or the one who sings “Let It Go” in a fluffy pink tutu?

Answer: They’re both her, because neither of those aspects are incongruous with the other. Like different facets of a single gem, she carries both these attitudes as different aspects of a person who is essentially a responsible one. She’s being responsible for the performance of her recruits. She’s being responsible for the happiness of her daughter. She’s not always going to be a sergeant, and she’s not always going to be the mother of a toddler, but this responsibility for others is who she is, and it will manifest itself in whatever form it needs to take.

(some clarifications to follow, I think)

Why Women Need To Learn How To Give Themselves O’s

Alternative Titles:

• Why You Should Masturbate As Soon As Possible
• Why You Should Masturbate Every Day

1. You Will Stop Being So Irritated (With Me)  

Research has demonstrated the association between vaginal orgasm and better mental health. Some theories of psychotherapy assert a link between muscle blocks and disturbances of both character and sexual function. (Nicholas A., et. al, 2008).

Disturbances of character. Freaking DISTURBANCES of CHARACTER. Could it be that your bitchiness and inclination to gossip about other people and bite the head off anyone who looks at your boyfriend the wrong way is all because you don’t have enough orgasms? Trinity says yes.

(Note: I’ve been too often on the receiving end of gossip and jealousy from straight women, that’s why this part sounds so bitter.)

2. You Will Save Money and Eat Healthier

Instead of reaching for comfort food and making stupid purchases when you feel upset and need something to make you feel better NOW, have an orgasm TOTALLY FREE of charge and with no repercussions whatsoever.

3. Like, So Many Health Reasons, You Guys 

4. You Will Date Better People 

Having taken care of your sexual urges on your own, you’ll be much less tempted to have sex with people who aren’t right for you because your hormones won’t be screaming at you to have sex. You will be able to consider your choices with much more clarity.

Also, if you happen to meet someone who’s smoking hot, you won’t reek of desperation and insecurity because you will know that you are a sex goddess and you can make yourself come like no one can.

5. You Will Have Better Sex

It’s usually much harder for women to achieve orgasm than men, obviously. It’s sort of a complicated procedure, for most women. If you learn how to do it to yourself, then

a) you can teach your partner exactly how to do it to you and thus preclude weird, stupid guessing games where your partner feels pressured to make you orgasm, and you feel pressured to have an orgasm

b) you can accept that your vagina is one difficult customer and have sex for purely non-orgasmic pleasure

How-To to follow, maybe.