“A” is for “Abortion”

I’ve always been vaguely pro-choice. Basically, I just didn’t care what women decided to do with their own bodies. It didn’t really seem like it was any of my business. I was detached. Not emotionally invested at all. Get an abortion, don’t get an abortion, not my decision. Didn’t affect my life, so I just stayed out of it.

Well, Karma decided to get me back for being selfish and self-involved, because it’s possible that I am currently carrying a bean that will develop into an alien that will shoot out of some part of my body in nine months.

I am never this late for my period, and I threw up this morning.

This is not good.

I do not want children. I am not maternal. I am not just, “not ready for parenthood right now.” I am not a baby-name-wielding, bottle-vs-formula-deciding, parenting-book-reading human being that’s waiting for the right moment to hear people chanting my name as I’m wheeled into a delivery room for a fun-time endless amount of pain. Motherhood is not my bag.

I am the fun, unstable aunt who shows up to parties and tells people who are stuck with their own gremlins stories about my ridiculous life choices. I entertain little monsters. I do not raise them.

And yet here I am, very possibly with child. A pregnancy test is sitting ominously on the sink in my bathroom, waiting for me to take the plunge. I am so nervous that I can’t get my body to release any urine so that I can either be devastated or throw a gigantic party.

And if fate decides to spite me, I’m going to get all these congratulatory messages as I’m sobbing into my cat’s fur.

Schrödinger is going to be less than thrilled.

Yes, I named my cat Schrödinger, and he’s the only baby I want.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I did everything I was supposed to do to keep this from happening. It’s not even like I’m shacking up and/or having fun with a new piece of ass every five minutes. I only sleep with one guy, and not exactly on the most regular of bases.

I am terrified. I can’t get an abortion, but I can’t be a mother. I cannot do it.

Help.

High School Principal Declares School Cannot Choose Sides in the History vs. Mystery War of the Holocaust

Let’s set the scene:

Florida. 2019. Slavery has been abolished. Racism is frowned upon. Documented Historical events are accepted as truth.

And yet, an educated humanoid in The Sunshine State of the Free World expressed that his school could not take sides or force the student body to accept the Holocaust as an absolute part of history.

One of the parents had spoken up and asked why the genocide was not in the school’s history curriculum, and her kid’s dear old headmaster claimed that there are many differing opinions on what the true story is, and the school couldn’t lean either way.

Just like schools couldn’t “lean either way” back when Scope was having his students get down with evolution.

Just like schools can’t “lean either way” when discussing Donald Trump’s behaviorClimate change.

After receiving an unwelcome response to his comments, the principal hastily expressed that he was not saying that he did not believe in the holocaust, but rather that the school was avoiding controversial topics to keep conflict at bay.

Basically, some of us believe in Roswell, and others don’t, but no one is going to force kids to pop the champaign for the next UFO that visits our planet.

Say hello to the green little men. We’re just trying to be hospitable.

The Truth about Being Awful

For the majority of my life, I considered myself generally a nice person at heart. I’ve always done nice things for people, gone the extra mile to make others happy, been sort of a push over pretty frequently. I was no angel, but I was good. I was a good person with a bit of a dark side.

I was delusional. I am actually a shitty human being. I do and say shitty things, I make stupid mistakes, and I self-sabotage like it’s my job. Yes, I do many nice things, but those things do not overpower my crap-tastic tendencies. I am, by most definitions of the word, kind of an ass.

I’m not saying I’m evil, but saints and angels would laugh in my face if I tried to join their ranks.

And that was a really difficult realization to come to. It’s like going to bed thinking you’re a bad ass Snow White, and then waking up to a mirror telling you that you’re that bitch out here feeding people poisonous apples. It’s a depressing epiphany you can never quite stop thinking about.

But here’s the kicker, we crap-stormers are pretty much the majority. Only a select few of the world’s population are genuinely “good people.” Most of us are screw-ups who can’t stop pissing people off or putting every appendage we have in our gigantic mouths. We sometimes double-cross people, and sometimes we trip over our own egos. Sometimes we’re even more plastic than the face politicians put on in the morning before work.

And maybe it’s time to just be okay with that. It’s okay to be a sinner. It’s okay to mess up. It’s okay to make mistakes.

Yes, some mistakes are worse than others, and some mistakes are more intentional than we’d like to admit, but so what? Everyone has bouts of horrible misdeeds, and the sooner we learn to forgive ourselves for the egregiously awful predicaments we create, the easier our lives will be.

Life isn’t some Disney movie where the line between good and bad is clearcut and you’re either one or the other. The truth is, we switch sides. Every day, we switch sides. Sometimes we’re on the right side, and sometimes we end up on the left, where we willingly do some pretty bad things.

And that’s just what it means to be human. I am fine with engaging in suckfests that are spawned by my own hand. As long as I’m not wreaking havoc everywhere I turn, I think I’m okay.

And so is everyone else. Forgive yourself for that lowlife thing you did that one time years ago that people probably still fucking hate you for. Let it go.

Remember when we were younger, and we would watch Disney movies and root for the unlikely hero underdog fighting the evil overlord? Well, watch them again as an adult, and you’ll find yourself pretty much siding with Hades about how much of a little bitch Hercules is. Also, Zeus was a douche.

Anyway, we are awful meat suits, hear us roar.

Outrageous Opinions of Old: Of Race and Privilege

I am not a writer for social justice. I do not fight the denigration of basic moral codes and I do not work to eliminate complacency. I do not incite political action.

Most of all, I do not blame any person for the actions of their race, and I do not at all hate white people or even the WASP elite.

But I feel compelled to discuss the ridiculous reality that there are people who actually believe that racism is rare or nonexistent.

I realize that extreme sensitivity toward each other must die if we ever hope to achieve peace, but do not be so condescending as to claim that privilege does not exist–that people are not significantly treated differently based on the color of their skin and the nature of their beliefs. The content of their character is often overlooked.

I am the first to point out that I have privileges that many others do not. I come from an extremely rich family. I am very, very fair. If I am not wearing a headscarf, I pass easily as just another white girl. Unlike my brother, I have the option of stepping out of my other-worldly celestial stereotype almost flawlessly.

But I do not. I wear my scarf like he wears his skin. Blacks, Arabs, Muslims, Hispanics, South Asians, and many others, we are marginalized groups, and we are judged so harshly when we point out someone’s actions as “racist.” We are too sensitive. We are looking for a fight. We just hate white people.

Nothing grinds my gears more than the constant claim that we are compulsively assuming that all acts of unkindness are acts of racism. Not everyone who does bad things is racist.

To this, I will concede. That is true. Not everyone who does bad things is racist, but please do not spout your bullshit bigoted holier-than-thou god-complex-induced spiel depicting this situation as a mass of angry people victimizing themselves.

If you have never been pulled over without cause, if you have never been searched multiple times at an airport because of your skin color or clothes, if you have never been afraid of a police officer, if you have never been watched in a convenience store, if you have never lost out on a job you deserved because of your name, you cannot begin to understand what it means to constantly try to discern a friend from a foe. Almost all the racists have two faces. Just ask Hamlet. They’ve been given a face and they make themselves another. I plot twist the meanings. It’s still there.

And for all the people in the back nodding indignantly as I write this, I have a criticism for you, too.

There is nothing more counterproductive, insulting and bigoted than trying to compare the severity of your consequential pain created by a racist society to others. It does not make you better, to be more marginalized. It does not make you more rightfully indignant, to believe that other people’s socially ignited upset is collateral damage in a system specifically geared to destroy your group above all else.

It does not make you cooler to be hurt the most.

And for all others, if you truly believe that there is no white privilege, no systematic adulation toward white men regardless of their icky mistakes, then consider this:

This U S of A was built on the death and enslavement of those who already populated it, and the very people who caused and perpetuated this genocide have had their faces carved into a stolen land. They are celebrated for the success of outrageous agendas. We have a real-life example of how we justify the means so long as we enjoy the ends; We still until this very day celebrate the voyage of a man who did nothing but murder droves of people whose only crime was to show kindness to a bloodthirsty warmonger.

Let me sell you on Columbus Day, where the weekend never ends, there are no Miserable Mondays, and friendly all-inclusive neighborhood cook outs are hosted to mask the unpleasant underlying white guilt.

Batteries not included.

Swallow my Doubt & Turn it Inside Out

I discovered that a teacher at the school I work in played “I wish they knew” with the kids. The point of the game is to anonymously put in “I wish they knew” comments in a hat about a particular person. I didn’t know my name came up, until today.

Apparently, one of the kids wrote, “I wish she [me] would smile more. She has such a pretty smile.”

We also played name charades, and when a student pulled my name out of the hat, she said, “This person is really sarcastic and reminds all of us of disgust from Inside Out.”

Everyone immediately yelled out my name.

I’ll take it.

Dear White People: Labels, Labels, Labels

Watching controversial shows like Netflix Original ‘Dear White People’ has an extreme tendency to spark up a case of the fairly fluctuating fickle feels. One issue that has risen above the fold that I am inversely besotted to is the argument for and against “labels.”

Now, let’s get this straight: Subscribing to labels isn’t necessarily a juxtaposition to being independent and unique, and the opposite is also true. However, we can’t choose to refrain from being clad with specific labels if we don’t know we don’t understand which we would belong to if we did. If we are, we are simply following the newest trend of our society: It’s not cool to subscribe to anything but magazines.

Think Schrödinger’s Cat; The cat is in the box, but you have no idea if the cat is dead or alive unless you open the box. On a much, much smaller scale, we also cannot decide whether the labels really personify us until we actually explore them–i.e open the box.

So let’s talk labels. There are an ash ton of them floating around just south and north of the equator, but let’s simplify the list to our trending top three: sexuality, race, and gender.

Sexuality: an overarching umbrella. In its most basic family tree, you have your heterosexual, homosexual, and (perhaps arguably) asexual. But it gets complicated. You’ve got your Kinsey sixes, Kinsey threes, and just plain old Kinsey ones. You’ve got your zeros and you’ve got your fluids. Good luck counting them.

Next, race. You’ve got your classic black/white/hispanic hushed segregated system, but what happens when you’re biracial? Do you belong to two labels or have you created one of your own? Perceptions are everything.

Finally, there’s gender. You’ve got your cis, your trans, and your androgynous. The list goes on there too, but you belong to one of them, and you can’t escape that.

So, I would be an aromantic asexual Muslim Arab-American cisgender female.

These are labels that I cannot change.

And if we’re getting into the even more detailed form of my personal category, then I am an aromantic asexual epileptic diabetic Muslim Arab-American arguably marginally sociopathic cisgender female with an oppositional defiance issue and ADD.

That is a hell of a category, and those are a lot of labels. I carry each and every one of them, just like everyone else.

The only one I refuse to validate is “heteronormative.” Absolutely not.

Point is, believing that you do not subscribe to any epithets and are simply a unique, kindred spirit is nothing more than a delusion. You are branded by many individual labels. You are simply a compilation of them all.

Yes, you are you, and that is truer than true. Sure, there’s no one around, who’s you-er than you.

But that’s not what the cool kids say.

#DrSeuss

An Anti-Abortion Augury

I am not an activist. I do not rally for anything. I do not push my beliefs on others to control how they act. I do not care about what other people do, especially if I don’t play a part in the outcome. This is not a post about the rightness or wrongness of aborting what isn’t yet a child.

I now recognize that, that statement may convey my actual feelings on the subject, but I’ll move on.

I’m writing this because I simply don’t see why people get so heated about abortion. If you aren’t having the child, why do you care so much about what happens to it? I realize that this sounds insensitive and cruel, but the reality of the situation is, if you are not someone who was personally included in the seed-planting portion of this union, you don’t really have the right to dictate the results. You’re not the one who was throwing free throws and scored.

Some people see it as murder. I get it. Who has the right to take any life? Maybe no one.

I just don’t understand why men get so broken up about it. I mean, if you had a one-night stand, odds are you don’t really care about the person you just soiled with your surprisingly skilled swimmers. It was just companionship, and you were about to face a punishment you probably weren’t ready for.

Bonus points if you’re already dating someone else.

You want to make yourself unhappy just because you believe that keeping an unwanted child is “the right thing to do.” That doesn’t make sense. A woman just gave you an out. You can now walk away, childless and void of responsibility, and be with whoever you want.

I guess what I’m saying is, if she’s going the abortion route, run off and have your fairy tale life and stop trying to make everyone unhappy with your sad-sack beliefs.

I’m not saying abortion is good. I’m just saying that when you get a do-over, don’t be a little bitch about it. Not everyone gets that. Go and live your life the way you were going to live it before. Be happy with the shot you got, and don’t dwell. The kid is gone, now. You can’t get it back.

 

I clearly have no morals.

And Now it’s an Instagram

And now I have an Instagram. An Instagram, I have. My friend made me one years ago that I never used, and now, I’m using it.

That’s how badly I want to be a writer. I’m using Instagram; A platform I have largely criticized since I discovered it.

The username hendhsalah. I’m still building it, so don’t judge my lack of posting, please.

God I need a drink

of water.

I’m such a loser.