"Did you write a birthday card for your mother yet?"

"No"

"Were you planning to?"

"Yes"

"Really? Were you actually?" [aka I am surprised at your capability in remembering to do the task you've had to do since your date of birth despite (I believe) absolutely no evidence of you having forgotten to; i.e. I think you're incompetent]

Shut up.

Please.

Shut – up.

Do you even have an off switch? Honestly, what would possibly possess you to think that it is necessary to narrate the entirety of the world to me?

Shut up.

How silent do I exactly have to be for you to understand I have no interest in interaction‽ Did I say anything to you? Am I responding to you?

Do you just have a complete inability to register whether body language is even occurring‽

SHUT – THE FUCK – UP.

It astounds me that being silent and hardly responding somehow translates to "I need to talk to you more. If I just keep at it long enough, you'll open up! Like a piñata," for my dad.

I'm sick of being assumed that I'm wrong or that I don't know what I'm doing. When I'm successful, this shouldn't be surprising to you.

I also don't appreciate my opinions about things being pushed aside or being considered invalid. Those are rejections of me, in turn labeling me invalid. Assume I actually know what I'm talking about, or, at the very least, grant me the respect to acknowledge my differing.

My brother and I were discussing who was the favorite child for each parent today (despite constant repudiations from our mother). We both mutually agreed that Nathan was her favorite, Natasha second, I last, without question. When it came to my father, we both agreed Natasha was first. Both of us thought we were the least favorite child.

I have no doubt that they love all three of us equally. But it's telling that both of us felt so utterly rejected by his actions as to think we were the least liked. Perhaps it's more we're all equally loved, he just respects Natasha more (though I still kind of want to contend that I'm the least respected: he finds Nathan somewhat selfish and hot-headed, I think (which is humorously ironic given his own anger), but he finds me incompetent. I may be the oldest, but I couldn't do anything on my own (four years of college away from them didn't really have anything trying for me; after all, I can't wake up in the morning for anything, so I must've had someone else help me; and one instance of oversleeping in four years proves the precedence)).

I've always insisted that, in most cases, what was intended is more important than the result. However, my parents provide ample example, that the result can outweigh the intention. I just don't know how to justify a good deal of the actions my father partakes in. They so frequently go against any reasonable logical assessment of how to treat fellow humans, that I'd be tempted to guess he were mentally impaired. However, if he were mentally impaired, he'd have an excuse and reason. He's not, which makes him unjustifiable.

When You Say "Slut" or "Whore", I Don't Know What You Mean

I've hinted somewhat here and there on this Xanga that I find those who deem it necessary to judge other people's sex life perplexing, slightly hypocritical, but – above all – naïve.

Of course, when I refer to the term whore in the above title, I mean when it is used in the same sense as the word slut, rather than the profession (though I could have a good rant about prostitution, really).

And the largest reason why is simply that what you apparently think a slut is probably is entirely different from what someone else thinks it is. Let me first point out that I do not mean someone who sleeps around with other people's significant others or any other revenge fantasy that you may have. This is often a conflation with the larger, constantly there in every incarnation, factor of a person who has a lot of sex. And that is what I want to address.

With what do I have an issue? Am I apparently an advocate of do-whatever-you-please life aims? Rather, I want to ask, have you ever had sex? Once? Was it just petting, even? Was it after years with a significant other to whom you felt terribly close? Was it one night at a late party?

Regardless of your answer, according to my mother, you are a slut. Why? Because opening your legs once means you have no morals. Not that my mother would tell you this to your face, despite having had premarital sex herself.

You see, when terms like slut or whore are used, I don't understand what a person means. For some, it's sex just one time. For others, it's sex for pleasure. For others, it's casual sex. For others, it's the amount of sex, regardless of whether its meaningful to the person or with committed boyfriends or girlfriends at the time.

And, if you've had sex (regardless of whether it was saving it for that special someone you never married, even if you plan to eventually do so), you've been allowed to make a privileged choice that – at one point in time – would have casted you entirely undesirable on any level by every facet of society.

Many fought for your right to decide what sex should mean for you – including whether it might not be the right decision for you. That's your personal choice for yourself, not to cast on others.

Note: I wrote this 24 hours ago, but was only able to reach internet to post it until now.

Long time readers will remember that I attempted the Überman sleep schedule sometime roughly around last year. After one of my posts, I simply ceased mentioning it, not mentioning whether I failed, decided I didn't like it, or succeeded.

I had intended to give a quick detail, but I was in the middle of my semester at the time. And my temperance has become more and more a slave to tempering my mood these past few years, as I've mentioned before.

I forget if I mentioned it them but, while others tend to feel immense tiredness during the process, I didn't have that problem as much. But I've noticed, as I've played with sleep deprivation more and more these past three years, that I seem to be able to handle myself without sleep shockingly well (even when I anticipate there being a problem). The main problem was the same problem I've always suffered with: not staying up but waking up.

Every so often I'd wind up oversleeping my alarm and, interestingly, wake up three hours later on the dot. Notably, I think such a pattern might fit in with the Everyman-3 schedule, which shocks me since I have skepticism of anything between a siesta sleep schedule and the Überman. Regardless, not only was such oversleeping problematic (I overslept two of my classes during that time), it was reduntantly pointless; overshooting my naps was not going to break me into the Überman, only provide a slightly uncontrollable sleep schedule that didn't yield the same clarity and lack of exhaustion that I could more often achieve on a monophasic sleep schedule (in retrospect, it's interesting to note that one of the reasons I ditched monophasic sleep was that it was, for me, disgustingly bloated and kept me feeling groggy every time I first woke up. The only time I actually seemed coherently energized to my fullest was when nighttime hit, so maybe I didn't actually lose anything during my polyphasic sleeping given that I was tired in both cases and my appetite for 12+ hour naps isn't exactly the definition of control either).

Given this situation, I decided to ditch the schedule given my certainty I would need a partner to even reach a point where I could finally determine if this thing was even possible, considering my inability to wake myself. No one at school was going to sign on to that.

Recently, I decided to rescind this decision. Notably, the smart decision would have been to start trying to accomplish this before three (going on two now) weeks until I go back to school. But I suppose it gives some slight comfort to know that jumping into things and discovering what can go wrong along the way is an impulse which hasn't died entirely in me yet.

However, there are other reasons why I need to do this. Once again, the amount of time I'd gain from only getting 3 to 2 hours of sleep per day are unspeakable. Particularly in the advent of upcoming school? I'm pretty certain that I couldn't have gotten done first semester last year had I not been operating on the Überman. It just opened up so much more time.

Which, of course, beats my need for over 12 hours of sleep (something continually set back until the weekend each week as I must wake up for class each day)…only to wake up groggy and, half the time, sore (not to mention the weakening of back muscles).

However, more than anything, my depression needed it. If you've read my xanga from its very beginning, one of the things I've continually lamented is – at times – a seeming slip in control. At first it was emotions and, I think (funny, no?), memory. Recently it's simply been life. For the past 2 months straight, I've been bogged by a consistant depression. As in, it has not lifted. There was no change, alteration, or simple peace for the past two months. It's like hitting a rut and just staying at that low.

Add to that lack of control my sleep schedule (plus the depression at times). I missed Easter Mass simply because I could not get out of bed. Muscles were working fine, but the brain seemed terrified by the very notion. I stayed in bed for 24 hours that day because of a combination of depression, anxiety, and exhaustion. And, of course, these things feed on each other. Stress and depression make you tired. Being incapable of making arrangements with friends makes you bitter, feeding the depression. And, above all, a feeling of lacking control is not something I can tolerate.

I can put up with people, most days. I can put up with everyone disagreeing with me or even the stupidity that humanity (particular en masse) can exhibit. But I need control. Part of why I can stick by what I say, think, and do is because I know backwards and forwards why I do it. I believe in it. I can back it. That's all I need to know. As long as I know I'm in control of what I'm doing and have a grasp on my surroundings, I'm okay. Being thrown into a new environment (college) and reliving just how socially awkward I am and incapable of doing things when uncertain of myself (mark that with being sociable in general) obviously doesn't help this. Adding depression and an inability to get out of bed? That's too much.

These past two months I've been drifting, more so than even I would want to. I've been distant, I've not bothered to instigate meeting up with people, and I've been beyond my usual un-initiating distant that I usually have with people. Sure, I've always maintained that I friend more extroverted and outgoing people because I need people who will remind me to meet up and keep in touch. But I've fallen behind in nearly all correspondences I've even started. I flat out missed meeting up with Allen this summer. I still have a slew of FB catch ups I need to respond to (including catching up with Emily Lin, for fuck's sake!). I've avoided IM to avoid talking to people. I've just been distant, too thoroughly comfortable with isolating myself like this. I have duties, such as working on Williams Catholic and the Moocow band's websites. But no.

As I've said before, I need purpose, and I need direction. For whatever reason, I lack at the moment. Since starting to try to jump into polyphasic sleeping again, I've broken that depression after two months; I have a goal, and I'm actually trying to accomplish it. Part of it too is, again, how my mood is affected. Having less time in a day exacerbates a feeling of being unable to do anything, which worsens my depression, which worsens my ability to do any of of the simple tasks in the paragraph above.

I need all hours of the day. I work in the night, when it's peacefully beautiful, and I can be alone. The morning, again beautiful, lets me rejuvenate. The day is generally dedicated to everyone else's needs (work, club responsibilities, shopping, etc.). Remove one of these and I don't have enough time. And my depression makes doing anything that belongs during a different time of the day grating because, simply, my depression doesn't want to do it (aren't mood swings fun?).

As to the drawbacks, I've never quite understood them. Sure, you have 6 half hour naps placed throughout the day. But they're only 30 minutes. I don't drink, as it is, so I don't have to worry about it crashing my drinking. If I was staying up, I can't imagine anyone I would hang out with would really be bothered by it. Further, if you're staying out for, say, 6 hours – you only miss a half hour of it. Plus, you can nap anywhere (if how they describe your reaction to the schedule is correct). And all the other benefits completely sideline this.

Further, I've already said I handle sleep deprivation fine. I already have to stay up to make up all the responsibilities I have to get done usually, so why the Hell not. Lastly, I have depression – living is a health concern. I get more stress than I normally should. Like I've said before on here, I will be shocked if I don't get type II diabetes by age 25. Shocking me in terms of everything I know about how I treat my body already, the doctor has told me the only thing wrong with me is my good cholesterol (it's scarily low) – so why not free up some time to do the exercise I need to fix that? Lastly – I'm young. And clearly my depression is the only one in favor of doing anything slowly, burning out like a candle.

And, like I've said before, death just doesn't scare me. Not that I don't think it's around the corner (everyday I feel like I could grab it and put it in my own hands, actually) – my quarter life crisis should make that one clear. If anything, I feel far older than I know I have any right to feel. I just…don't give a damn; and, really, this is the best choice. I need this.

I've kept oversleeping the first two days. I thought I found a fool-proof method by using headphones so that the alarm would shock me awake, but I would up sleeping through it for an hour and a half past my wake-time this morning at 8 (which probably wasn't any good for my ears, either…). I don't want to give up yet, though. If I can get past the first two, maybe three, days, I think I'll be golden. We'll see.

Earlier in the summer, I met up with Victoria and Laura. I forget the surrounding discussion but, at some point, Victoria mentions that Michelle and I should happen as a couple. This was, if my memory serves, shortly after Jeff's graduation party, during which Michelle and I wound up shoving cake down each other's clothes, make snide remarks at each other the entire time, and wound up watching the movie Jeff wanted to show us with me sitting on top of her the entire time (at first in an attempt to annoy her, then not bothering to move because apparently the pressure wound up helping some sore muscle). So, admittedly, I can see where she might've gotten the idea.

Regardless, I immediately told her no (I think my exact response might've been cocking my eyebrow and asking, "Why?"). I told her, for one, that I had a strong feeling that Michelle would say no right out the gate. And, even if that wasn't the case, Michelle and I – I think, at least – wouldn't be a good match. If she was also interested, sure, why the Hell not. But there isn't enough incentive for me to go out on that limb as things stood. Neither of us were so let's leave it at that.

Yesterday (alright, two days ago technically), I came across Michelle's OKCupid account. And I still have no idea what the Hell happened. I was amused and messaged her, both of us bantering as usual. And then…I started looking at her differently. And, again, I have no idea why. I don't know what exactly changed at that point from the other 5 years of our friendship, let alone the time between talking to Victoria and now.

So, it seems I've got a crush – which even I can admit is irresponsible and unwise. Why?

First and foremost, as I said before, Michelle and I don't really make matches for each other. While not a comment on it's supposed accuracy, even OKCupid ranks our chances of being a match at only a 67%. Yeah, I know, people don't have to match up on everything to be a fit but – in my case – they tend to have to.

I don't think I'd describe Michelle as a distant person; we've had serious moments in our friendship where we've really connected, though we haven't spent much time at all expanding that (though, admittedly, I realize now that our friendship hasn't been developed in a lot of ways, which is why we tend to stay on the annoying each other waveline most of the time). That said, though, Michelle even says in her profile that there needs to be a fair level of teasing in the relationship (if Larry was any indication, nothing too different that Michelle and I's friendship right now). And she at least says and puts on a higher self-esteem by far than me (though I do have slight reservations on that assessment). While I seem to be drawn to those with at least a somewhat extrovert personality, I like (really, need) someone with a fair dosage of insecurity, in part to balance my own and in part for other reasons I've listed out here in the past. Laura, jess, and Allison are all perfect examples of this.

Because, while clearly I can have an animated personality and my xanga is a perfect example I can be tersely caustic and raise a little Hell, I'm more often…not. I'm an introvert at heart, and I like myself that way. But, more pertinent to the point we're discussing (and as I said before), I'm insecure. I'm hesitant. I'm, all too often, severely emotional. I have a habit of taking care of others and need to be close to people. And – more than anything – if you're looking for someone wholly independent, I'm not. I've got baggage, a good 15 years of it.

Of course, I could be wrong. Our personalities might mesh just fine. But, from my very limited view, it seems to me that what we would want and need out of a relationship would vary too greatly for us to work long term.

There's also the timing of the stupid thing. Two weeks before I go back to school, I remind. While, actually, I might be more willing to do long distance with her while I explicitly didn't go chasing after other people for that very reason, distance was the splitter for her and Larry. While it seems she might've burned out her need to kinda run freely (again, me guessing), I wouldn't want to launch into something as restrictive as long distance can be on her, especially when that's the opposite of what she wanted out of college to begin with.

Then there's also the fact I've had a crush on Margaret since before she went abroad – and I've been waiting for a semester and a summer until she came back. Of course, while to not the same degree as Michelle and for different reasons, I have a suspicion that Margaret and I aren't quite a perfect fit either. But I know too well what fruits come from constant hesitation. Besides, not like anyone else at Williams has caused me to linger for so long.

But, the overall block that makes any other consideration superfluous is that I'm pretty certain that, even if I asked Michelle out, she'd say no.

And, while I don't really have anything to give evidence that Michelle would do this (and, hence, will not bother to contemplate if such is the case), this whole conversation highlights in my mind a trend I've been noticing with just about anyone I've had an interest in or who has thrown a bit of interest towards me since Laura.

It goes along the line of, "You're a really nice guy and very sweet, etc. but…"

not good enough.

There is something which just holds the person back, makes them willing to pass over me. Now, I know I'm not usually in the habit of building myself up, unless it's clearly joking hyperbole. Excluding a few particular traits, I'm usually willing to find fault. That said…I'm not that bad of a guy.

I'm nice and you basically have every guarantee I'm not going to cheat or deliberately hurt you; any person who's known me since Sophomore year of high school knows that one. I've worked for it; I've been very loud and public about the need to make sure others are alright – there's a reason that's how most of my friends describe me, there's a reason people I've met tend to wind up confiding in me more or coming for advice.

I'm patient; I'm understanding. I'm compassionate. Apparently there's a decent contingent of people who even find me funny.

And, no, even I wouldn't call myself the best catch out there. If you want confidence, probably not best to make me your first choice. I'm eternally awkward in oh so many ways. And, sure, you have to put up with my many high principles; I've got my fair share of what people might call odd habits. I don't fit mainstream appeal, sure.

But if you're asking me to shave, or "do something" with my beard, I have to wonder if you're even acknowledging me.

I've always been very loud about my feelings toward physical appearance. I've written on the subject here God knows how many times. I'll run your ear on the subject if you let me. I actively am particular with my language on account of it and am quick to explain it if you ask me a question along its lines. It's kinda my hallmark crusade, other than Queer rights. It's what I've come to be known for, for some people.

So I cannot understand people who continually ask me if I'm going to shave it, or ask over and over it again why it's a big deal. It's like asking a religious person, "Oh, I know this means a lot to you but could you please urinate on your holy text, for me?" This is one of the central tenets of my ideals. Like, it's very fundamental reason for existence is based on how I feel you should treat others – you remove or violate this and you basically stab everything I hold dear. There's no reason for me to give a damn about anyone else. I mean, I usually like to think there is no one out there as bad as my mother but you operate with the fundamental stupidity she seems to possess when you do this. Because she asks if I'm willing to shave, I explain the whole point of it all, then she asks, "Well, how about we just trim it? See, it won't be that much." And then I explain it again, and we repeat this process indefinitely.

How little it is isn't the point.

And her complete inability to use basic logic to take my explanation and understand why I refuse demonstrates her limited intelligence – people give a complete damn about their appearance, everyone. It can't even enter her head otherwise. And, the mainstream and majority of people she meets do as well. So it must be true. Therefore, it doesn't matter what I say. In her mind, the reason I refuse is because of how much hair I'm cutting. Because, from her mindset, this is the only piece that fits.

And that is the brain-dead intelligence you wield when you ask me the same question.

But more importantly, I can't remember if I've discussed point of view on here much. People's inability to see things from other people's point of view is one of my biggest complaints. It would resolve a lot of misunderstandings and hurt feelings, for one. But, two, it doesn't seem like such a difficult ability to me; yet it seems to be.

But I'm fascinated by other's point of view. My obsession with the human personality (and, thus, a person's life experiences) fascinate me. I'm willing to try to understand where someone is coming from. I might not agree with them in the end. But I'm interested. Notice that I've described here a willingness to date a person if they also show interest (admittedly, as Dodi once said, someone liking me can often go a long way in having me like them). I might be hesitant to try it otherwise, but I'd certainly be willing to try it out if they're interested in me.

I'm willing to give it a chance.

It just seems to be that no one is really interested in even bothering to consider what I hold dear and what I find to be amazing. I mean, sure, if it was something like archaeology and no one else found it interesting (not that no one would date me because I like it, because that'd just be stupid of people), I would say, "Fine, fair." And this is not me asking rando number 3 off the street, either. This is, for one example, Monica, someone I've known for years now, someone (of all people) who should know my politics by now. Yet the very most fundamental aspect of me, the one to which – I would argue – you have to understand in order to understand me, comes with an "Well, if…" criteria.

Once again, as if no one quite gives a damn; as if my very principles (and cares) are negotiable and excusable as far as the world is concerned.

I just feel alone.

J: If I were a fermata, would you hold me? 

    Btw, I'm sensitive and you have a habit for teasing, it seems. Do you think that could feasibly be a problem??

M: With a beard like that, NOTHING is a problem. But I'm going to have to call you ducky. Do you like purple drink?

J: Haha, well, I think ducky is a small concession in comparison to that *last* question. But you're too tempting for me to resist, my belle Juive.

M: There is no way you could handel me, ever. But nice try. I am faster better stronger smarter prettier and I win more. You will never beat me. NEVER, I SAY!

J: Who said anything about beating you?! That's completely a fabricated stereotype about black males in relationships, you must know that!

    However, it seems you're issuing me a challenge. And I can be quite stubborn on principle.

M: You know what, Jawn? Suck. My. Cock.

    While you're at it, order me a pizza and tell me I'm pretty.

J: Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty.

    And have I ever told you how you always just seem to glow? Your graciousness and joyous nature inspires everyone in the room. It's no wonder they hang on your every word. Aphrodite herself would blush deeply red in jealousy of the way your eyes catch the light, or the coaxing passion of your smile. You are radiant, m'dear.

M: Why thank you, vagina face. I love you, too. YOU NEED TO HANG OUT WITH US BEFORE YOU GO BACK TO SCHOOL, YOU ASSHAT D:<

    I miss being mean to you ):

I hate the phrase "I'm sorry".

Sorry is what my friend says when she knows she's fucked up yet needs my support, like usual; it's an excuse phrase so that – despite being wronged in the situation – I have to take care of her in her hurt over having hurt me.

Sorry is what my dad says when he's screwed up again for the 4,000^th time, not bothering to learn from his mistakes and apparently incapable of understanding basic human interaction – and the fact that there are some ways you should never treat anyone.

Fuck sorry. I don't want to hear it. I don't need to dwell on the shit you did, nor hear your attempts to appease me.

Grow up, gain some maturity, and don't do it again. I don't need to dwell on it; I don't want to dwell on it. Change. If you need to say it, say it once and then drop it. I don't want to hear it. Change and don't do it again.

End of story.

My father stomps down the stairs today and asks, "Are you aggressively looking for a job this summer?"

The implication is simple (as it always is). He has assumed that I am not, that I haven't even bothered. Like always. Because when I usually do respond with the affirmative to something, he responds with a surprised, "Oh." Honestly, I don't understand how some people are completely unaware to body language.

Respect, for me, is huge. How you conduct yourself towards others means a lot to me. I try to be the best person, always, that I can to anyone else I meet. I consider that a duty and an obligation on my part. Ask any of my friends about my character and they'll respond positively (or, at least, I would hope that they do; I certainly aim for it).

Insult me, belittle me, I'll ignore you. I'll even probably let it slide the first couple of times. But I will not repeatedly tolerate such abuse. I don't want it, I don't need it. But, more than anything - out of the pathetically minuscule self-confidence that I have -, I have worked for my respect. Every day, every hour, every minute. I am patient, I am consistently willing to listen to others and give aid when applicable, and I consider my conduct in respect to others.

I will not be deprecated.

So, when you ask me, "Are you aggressively looking for a job this summer?" while every bit of your body language, down to your vocal inflections, tell me that - as far as you're concerned - you know the answer to this question, when you go on to tell me that I "need a little more pushing and guidance than others" to remind me that everything I do - no matter how badly I try - just doesn't live up to your expectations, do not expect me to respond.

I don't particularly appreciate being implicitly told that your love is conditional on whether I choose to tuck in a shirt or put on a belt, or whether I happen to do poorly in school despite putting in my best effort.

Because, in spite of my depression (something I seem to've inherited from either you or mom, I might just add, seeing as all of my siblings have it), I manage to make my deadlines, do at least decently well in school, and do the tasks I need to (regardless of whether you bother to notice or realize). And I might not wake up before noon on days that I don't have any responsibilities but you always did have a hard time understanding anything that did not meet your precise and arbitrary demands and expectations.

However - more than anything - when I get angry, I hold my tongue to those who were not involved or to blame. When I have a bad day, I watch what I say. I put others before myself and precisely be sure that their respect is properly regarded and treated.

Out of what little I have in this world, you will not take my dignity from me. I get - that - much.

Love always,

Love always,

I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond I will not respond

I suppose I haven't done a thorough (nor, often enough, coherant) personal entry in a while.

If you want to know a fundamental aspect of me (that, actually, I don't really talk about often), I consider how one acts (all the time) to be the embodiment of their sentiments. In other words, practice what you preach. If you wouldn't say it in front of the person, what in the world makes you think it alright to say it when they're not around? Or, to use a familiar example, – if you're being monogamous and it's not an open relationship – you shouldn't be thinking/fantasizing about other people when dating or married to someone else. I am in no way a supporter of, "You can look, but you can't touch."

And, as I've mentioned on here in probably plentiful heaps, I am not a supporter of physical attractiveness. It's basically wired into us genetically, yes, but – like, for example, choosing to have sex or not – it's still a choice as to what decisions you make surrounding the subject. Simply, such a system (and the way we've made how we react in society to it and the way we talk about it and the way we treat it have truly have made it a system) that excludes others I can never give approval to. I have played with the idea (in part because I've noticed that our actual obsessions about attractiveness tend to be unhealthy and also very narrow, thereby skipping over many aspects that I don't understand why they don't receive more attention – read here for full understanding) of every person pursuing the totality of their own personal tastes in attractiveness (since, – arguably – in a society that treats attractiveness in a healthy and nonjudgmental way, the diversity of everyone's tastes would be wide enough that there couldn't possibly be significant overlap when comparing person to person) since the theory would be that the result is everyone gets covered somewhere in being considered attractive. However, if I'm being honest, everyone wouldn't. That's the entire reason behind my protest to begin with. And, even if everyone wasn't, if there's only someone in Asia who would find someone in North America attractive (let's assume near worst case here) and neither person moves, that person in North America will still overwhelmingly likely die alone.

The fact of the matter is that there will consistently be people who are cheated out of this system because they didn't fit the bill in requirements that they had absolutely no control over – their genetics.

So, knowing all this about me, I'm having dinner with my friend Chelsea and my cousin Dominique earlier today. I forget at what point the conversation changed but I remember Chelsea or Dods asking me if I'll shave.

For those who don't know me in real life, I provide photographic evidence of my hairiness:

I've never shaved. I started growing facial hair around 4th or 5th grade, and I've never dissuaded the little guys. As you might imagine, my beard didn't exactly grow in perfectly. It came in patches (which, looking back, looked pretty damn ridiculous – more so than now – back in the day). Not trimming it means I have over-confidant strands that try to stick out by being longer than the rest.

As you might imagine, I've had people try to convince me to get rid of the food collector. Every time I go back home – guess what my mom and aunt talk about? My friends (as Chelsea and Dodi might have given you clue to)? You bet. People I've just met (though I actually tend to get the affirmative from people I just met more often)? Oh, definitely.

Some people even just downright amuse me (and infuriate me intellectually). Some people, believe it or not, actually get angry at me. Like, visibly frustrated as if they're talking to an ignorant, stubborn individual (forgive my over-self-confidence). I've seen that type of frustration and determination before. It's generally the reaction that my dad gets when I happened to not iron a shirt. "Why have you disobeyed society's rules?!?!" It's the frustration of someone who is doing something simply because they've been told to and don't seem to have the will-power to remotely question it (or, at least, allow others to autonomously deal with the situation in the way they choose and not simply accept the fact that the other person's decision isn't going to effect them anyway). I'm not saying that everyone reacts that way. But some do.

No, most people, I'd say, tell me to shave (or at least trim) out of a sincere desire to see the best for me or because they earnestly believe in the notion of shaving. I don't view them as being intellectually retarded (I am using retarded by its definition, not as a swipe at the mentally disabled/retarded), at the very least.

Now, let me explain why I refuse to shave. As I said at the beginning of this, I feel that all your actions (private and public) should reflect your beliefs. As you might imagine, I take to heart Gandhi's words, "You must be the change you wish to see in the world." So, I partially will not shave because, for that minority out there that literally have their entire world view challenged when they encounter the ferocity of my androgens, they inspire my perilous fight every time they visibly become utterly uncomfortable. I feel it's every living individual's duty to challenge them and better them.

The other reason goes back to my other continuous fight – attractiveness. Apparently, I'd be really attractive if I'd just shaved. I've been so told many times, often in an attempt to convince me to shave (apparently my very public stance about physical attractiveness somehow doesn't invalidate this as an argument point in people's minds). In fact, this was the stressed part in Chelsea and Dods argument. I seem to not "realize the opportunities that are open to [me] at the moment." Apparently there's a very attractive girl that's within my reaches if only I'd just shave (to quote Chelsea, were the girl gay, she'd totally go after her). Also she seems to be intelligent according to the two (a better selling point, in my humble opinion, than the previous one). And, considering that I've been single for the past three years (roughly), what's not to like about this situation? All it would take is a simple shaving. 5 minutes of my time for a badly done job.

However, I refuse to accept or endorse this system. I don't like it. Not one bit. And I don't want to support it. Others may believe in it – fine, they certainly have every right to. But don't make me do so. Because, as I've said, someone gets cut out of this system. And, frankly, that's all I need to know. That's all that governs my life; there's no way you will ever make headway with me if someone else is getting disadvantaged. I'm a humanistic Catholic; I promise you, all further arguments are useless on me if the integrity and respect of each individual is not kept in mind. It honestly gets no more complicated than that.

And if principle isn't enough to sway you, then consider this. You want a companion that will care more about you than just what you look like? Take both Emma and Laura, if you will. Laura hated my beard and Emma tried (though not too hard, nicely enough) to convince me to shave too. Both dated me in spite of the beard anyway. Know what that tells me? Despite my position and my unwillingness to budge on it, they still were invested or interested in me enough to put that aside. Sure, it can be scratchy and, therefore, unpleasant. That's a reasonable argument. However, part of also why I keep it is to weed out where the attention is being placed in my relationships. I could safely shave with either Emma or Laura, were I still dating either, without worrying about such a minimal change being a maker or breaker for the relationship.

Now, honestly, I'm flattered that someone apparently would be willing to consider to date me (tells you how much attention I usually get, don't it?). I was thoroughly amused by Chelsea and Dodi's pleading. But, in the end, I still stand where I've stood in the past. I'm not willing to sell out to this pathetic system or lower my standards just because I'm lonely. If someone can get me an argument, fine. But no one has been able to convince me in the 7 some years I've had these opinions.

And, if you're unable to still get behind the appearance argument, consider this. The beard is not dirty. Hell, I don't have dry skin around my chin, so it's not like there's even dandruff. Basically, the fuss is just being made over unkempt hair. If we apply this to the top of my head and pretended I didn't have a beard, it's the equivalent of someone not wanting to date me just because I don't comb my hair. I can be successful, a good student, kind, considerate, funny, etc. But I don't comb my hair.

Yeah, I really want to date her too.

[note: I should mention that this is all under the very tentative knowledge I've been given of the girl. She may not actually be interested in me and it's just my cousin and friend getting all in a twixt and jumping the gun. However, if she is interested in me and simply will not go forward with that due to my beard, I honestly think that's shallow. I don't generally like slinging insults but, if I'm being honest, that's what it boils down to. However, given my overall lack of concrete knowledge here, who knows where things actually stand]