Mind says goodbye, body says hello

I could not stand TVD’s Season Three finale the first time I saw it, and it derailed my recapping for a majority of the summer. Two weeks ago, I forced myself to look with fresh eyes, and found I couldn’t tear myself away (I ended up watching it twice just to soak up the nuances). Though my efforts to cover last year are rendered pretty much irrelevant at this point, here is Better Late Than Never Part 3, the official quick-and-dirty version of where “The Departed” leaves out three favorite females (because this is a girl blog, dammit, and we can do more than drool over pretty boys. Though these guys made it hard to look anywhere else this episode…)

Bonnie is “done getting pushed around”

Between surviving Storage Wars with Damon and pulling one hell of a Hail Mary-switcheroo, I think it’s finally fair to say that Bonnie has come into her own. The necessity of Klaus’ existence v. the necessity of his extinction seemed an impossible conundrum to resolve (did we ever sort out whether he was the founder of The Bloodline? Was that one of those “hiding-in-plain-sight” plot-points?) but the writers teased an unseen Door Number Three with Bonnie’s rundown of the Original Hybrid’s many sins over the season – “so what do I with you?” – that culminated in a mind-screw of a final scene between her and…TYLER?! While this initially inspired “I-can’t-believe-she-didn’t-break-the-Gilbert-device” levels of horror, the more I think about it, the more disturbingly awesome it becomes. Obviously Bonnie’s gonna have to answer for this one, but this is the year she at least has a credible, non-Jeremy related excuse, and all those dead witches can just get bent.

Caroline “would go anywhere with you”

The “Romeo and Juliet” vibe of Tyler and Caroline’s relationship went literal this round, with the added twist of their mothers telling them to run (the hunters pursuing them feature into one of my most anticipated plots of the new season). Even though we TV obsessives know that any plan to flee made in the first act will be tragically thwarted in the third, it was sweet to see these two make the admittedly smart plan to get out of dodge. My major question is why Tyler insisted on seeing Bonnie before going, unless the answer is the obvious one  (self-sacrifice). Either way, this supernatural spin on The Host will be a great addition to the show’s “Times When Forwood’s Relationship Turned Utterly Twisted” Hall of Fame.

Elena fears that “every time someone walks out of this house, there’s a chance they won’t make it back home”

So Elena and the men in her life had a bit of a time this year:

On the family side, Matt went from second-string boyfriend to first-class confidante; Jeremy became a medium while trying to come into his own; and Alaric struggled with his demons before ultimately succumbing to a far more evil force. Matt’s eventual place in the circle surprised me at first – he was always portrayed more as Tyler’s bestie than any real friend to Jeremy – but then when you consider that his best friend and recent ex are now sleeping together it makes sense for him to find himself on the Gilbert side of things (plus he and Jeremy have the almighty Vicky connection). Their initially fake plan to get Elena out of “Mystic Mayhem: Part V” once and for all was inspired on two levels – as both a gambit to throw Alaric off, and a solution to the ongoing “doppleganger danger” issue, they exemplified the appropriate way to rob loved ones of their agency. Jeremy’s man-of-the-house status was further cemented by that final, beautiful scene with Alaric’s ghost, a moment that served the dual purpose of a farewell and a passing of the torch. Conversely, Damon’s having to lose Alaric all over again only highlighted the hell of a day he was having.

Said hell can best be explained as the brothers Salvatore, who reversed roles in every conceivable way over the course of this season, remaining in Elena’s eyes in exactly the same positions as always, in spite of all Damon’s efforts to sway the odds in his favor.  More specifically, Damon can play the boyfriend part to realistic perfection and still be (admittedly) The Guy That Snapped Jeremy’s Neck, but Stefan’s near-crash off Wickery Bridge (this is what BREAKING UP looks like, Elena) did nothing but…send Elena off Wickery Bridge while on her way home to him. While we’ll never know if choosing Damon would result in Elena’s eventual vampirism (I’d call that one about 70-30 in favor of his mantra to protect her life at all costs) we can without a doubt say that if turning around to say goodbye to everyone but him didn’t seal her fate, Stefan’s choice to let her make life-and-death decisions while drowning shoved her off the mortal coil with a vengeance.

To be fair: nobody knew Elena had vampire blood in her system, and the episode did its best through those lovely flashbacks to show us that she cares about the feelings of others above all else (if she felt too guilty to dump Matt back in the day there was no way she was letting him drown the same way her parents did, especially when he’d spent his night driving all over Virginia attempting to alternately keep her happy and save her life). But while I love Matt, and he wouldn’t exactly be going out in a blaze of glory, I ask both Stefan and the writers “what is his purpose here?” To the latter, If we killed Mason Lockwood, a character hoarding a host of information salient to an entire subplot, within five episodes of his introduction, we can let the quarterback go, right? And to the former, 1) yes, Elena’s death was the only way to rid the gang of Hunter Alaric ( a plot point so neat it’s a repeat, from last season), but you guys are the kings and queens of Plan B;  2) as stated above, times arise when the desires of the endangered have to be overruled, and this was Stefan’s moment to do so.

The fact that he doesn’t epitomizes a difference of opinion dating back to season one, that one brother will attempt the impossible to make Elena happy while the other will do the unthinkable to keep her alive. Up until now their combined efforts have produced a successful, if emotionally uncomfortable, result, but this night Stefan over-relied on the capacity of Elena’s lungs and the extent of their luck, and now must face what failure looks like – an Elena whose eyes are pried open by forces beyond her control, whose fate has caught up with her. What will she see when she looks at him?

Next: The Season 4 premiere, “Growing Pains”.  I’m finally getting caught up, show me that smile again!

Oh, I’mma get mine

Before Sunset is a sequel to the equally gorgeous Before Sunrise, a mid-90s talkie centered on a night-long interaction between two proto-hipsters in Vienna. It is the wrap-up, the exploration of lost potential, missed opportunities, and the lessons we learn from both. Episode 3×21’s version performs a similar taking of stock – has anyone really learned? Changed? In the face of all the plotting and loss and hooking up, has the Gang accomplished anything? As this cataclysmic year comes to a close, Better Late Than Never (pt 2 of 3) is a final exam on surviving Mystic Falls with head and heart intact:

Alaric: Fails by default because he died, though he couldn’t help the whole transition thing – the witches offered Bonnie’s neck on a platter.

Learned: That the show never lets us down when it comes to delivering a year-ending Bigger Bad. The question of “Who will supplant Klaus?” was answered brilliantly by creating an enemy from within (the group and Alaric himself). Esther’s avenging angel brutally exploited his former connections (see Elena’s entry for the nastiest bit) in his quest to take down vampire-kind, going so far as to out the Mayor and Sheriff’s hypocrisies to the Council. He’s so dangerous that his defeat isn’t even factored into everyone’s declaration that the episode is a “win” – Elena’s role as his lifeline renders him untouchable, and a good day is just one where he decides to leave them be.

Elena, our title provider, comes out about 50/50. She acknowledges her shortcomings…but isn’t quite ready to face the consequences of resolving them.

Learned: That hurt can come from inside too. Her fatherly figure’s transition was the most painful in a long year of undead parental drama; it took seasons’ worth of loss and confusion about Elena’s family and threw it back in her face.  “How many times have I told you not to trust vampires?!” Alaric, her former Watcher,screamed at her, now including himself in that number. “…Do you think your parents would be proud of you?” he sneers later, after calling her a child and giving a with-us-or-against-us-type admonishment about her choice of friends. Her indecision is causing similar distress, a fact she acknowledges to her pair of pseudo-lovers as they all try their hardest not to look directly at one another on her porch. “If I pick one, I lose the other…and I just can’t lose anyone else.” Lame and manipulative? Absolutely, but at least it’s the truth. Lost: The understanding that superhumans are cool in a crisis, so call some once in a while. I don’t care if the bad guy tells you to come without backup, at least leave a note for your two boyfriends, your brother, and your best friend the Bennett witch. Then maybe they won’t have to dodge debris until the bad guy calls to inform them of your whereabouts.

Klaus: I know he’s the ultimate enemy, ok? I know he should fail by default. That does not mean I didn’t get choked up when his heart stopped beating.

Learned: Being a good guy has perks. Not only does teaming up with the Gang mean he gets to play hero to Caroline (swooning does not make me a traitor) but he gets to out-Damon Damon while protecting “their” bloodline (nobody believes it, but whatevs) from the only monster scarier than he is. Lost: Loyalty goes both ways. Rebecca tries to call sibs-over-doppleganger-dibs at the top of the episode, but Klaus’ focus on ensuring the survival of his potential “backup” family comes back to bite hard when he abandons Operation End Alaric for his own two-punch plan: exsanguinating Elena kills Alaric and gets him his hybrid mix to-go. His sudden reversal (ok, reversion to normal) forces not only Tyler’s reveal of their broken bond but betrayal by his recent allies, who decide that pursuing their usual mission of ending his miserable existence is the more realistic goal today. He ends the episode even drier than he would’ve left Elena.

Bonnie and Jeremy: Pass with an asterisk. It’s weird that they spent half the episode together and never really talked.

Learned: “Grown-up” looks good on them. Baby Brick House is helping Elena paint over their loss in the middle of the night, taking this “man of the house” thing seriously even if his request for a vamp-free day was literally thrown back at him in the form of Klaus pseudo-bombing their house. Bonnie puts aside her difficulty with…everybody, from her mother to her ex-boyfriend to Damon, her friendly neighborhood nemesis, and corrals the Salvatores and Klaus for a joint venture (this time it’s not her fault it failed). Lost: Their ability to communicate? Her spell involves stopping his heart and there’s no “hey, remember that one time I brought you back from the dead? Let’s hope this ends better”? I know this is just my little shipper heart talking, but C’MON. There’s getting shafted, and then there’s this relationship. Significant glances are not enough, show.

Tyler and Caroline: Pass with flying colors, because they are so freakin cute

Learn: A power couple is only as awesome as the sum of its parts, and this episode found Tyler finally holding up his end, blowing the cover on his broken sire bond for the sake of Elena. Caroline’s early-episode meeting of the minds with Rebecca gives me hope for a world big enough for two fantastically bitchy blondes, and her end-of-ep victory party at Elena’s with the original group was beautiful, both in its simplicity and in reminding the audience that there was a time before the Salvatores. Lost: The gory torture scenes are one of the things that help TVD keep pace with True Blood, but usually we save the casual mutilation for Damon, who at least snarks through it. Please stop making Caroline cry. Those pencils kinda took us to a place.

Damon and Stefan: Oh, big pass. I couldn’t stop smiling whenever they were onscreen

Learn: A refresher in Things We Already Know and Love: Team Salvatore firing on all cylinders is the best work the writers of this show will ever produce. Stefan’s “return to sanity” as Damon so happily put it, also meant a return to his role as peacemaker between his brother and the rest of the world, and Damon was visibly relieved to have the freedom to sit back and smirk. They divided and conquered with ease, Damon backing up Bonnie with her mom (he really has grown!) and Stefan dealing with Klaus, ex-best friend and present Shipper on Deck (that’s two to Damon’s one for the scorekeepers at home). Watching Stefan watch Klaus die was a lovely piece of silent acting – we see the horror and a bit of heartache as he forces himself to see his tormentor’s imprisonment to the end – that was complemented by both brothers’ honesty in the porch scene. They know that Elena knows that they know this triangle has no truly happy ending, and their road trip to drop Klaus in the Atlantic (Once more with feeling! We WON!) underscores just how loathe they are to see the other cut to pieces on its sharp edges. Just because they fought for a century doesn’t mean they enjoyed it. Lost: Nothing yet, but Alaric’s still out there, and when are they ever really done with Klaus?

Despite all of the very real angst about family and friendship, “Before Sunset” was fun. All of my favorite television dramas, from The OC to The Wire, understood that good tragedy is made sweeter – and more poignant – by the presence of good comedy. Having a sense of humor makes you more human that any bus crash or budget crisis or murder plot ever will; those things are news stories that happen to other people. Rolling your eyes, laughing at your pain, making fun of the cosmic joke that is your own miserable life? That to me is the mark of humanity, because to laugh is to move on, if only a little bit. From top to bottom people’s sarcasm, eye rolls, and ridiculous poses couldn’t fail to make me laugh, and almost made me forget the finale. Like last year, part of me wishes Episode 21 was it.

Next week: Better Late Than Never, Pt. 3 of 3, “The Departed”. Mark Wahlberg is not responsible for what happens next.

Louis CK is painfully relatable. I relate to him and I am the complete and total opposite of him. I am a single, black female in her 20’s, with no children. Yet some how, I find myself watching his TV shows and standup, feeling like he is is my best friend. He is brutally honest about the world around him, and that is something I connect to. It was somewhere between feeling pity for him and his amazing ability to fuck up every good opportunity that comes into his life, and adoring his dopey hazel eyes that i realized I’d totally bone him if given the chance. For sneaking a crush under the door and into my life, I say Eff you Louis CK.

Here at the suite, we love ourselves some men. Particularly intelligent, charismatic, attractive men who destroy our lives and make us question our very existence. They usually have charming smiles and sparkly eyes that could charm the pants off Condoleezza Rice. But every once in a while we find ourselves attracted to a less “traditional” style of male. Like a divorced, balding father of two.

He’s gotta know that a man that can raise and protect two little girls is disgustingly sexy.

If you aren’t familiar with Louis CK, I suggest moving the rock from whence you crawled, and enlightening yourself. He hilarious, incredibly witty, and insightful. Its hard not to melt while watching him look after his daughters on his hit show Louie. Week after week you see him in awkward situations ranging from dating, bizarre sexual encounters, and trying to find work as a comedian while staying true to himself.  It was after Episode 6 of season 2, where he confesses his love for his friend Pamela, that i officially wanted to hurl my box of chocolates, Elle Woods style at the TV and shout at his beautiful transition into my heart as an official crush. View that magic through a shitty Youtube vid here:

And as if watching him be all loveable and exposed on his TV show wasn’t enough,  he has taken on Ticketmaster and their bullying ways by booking a tour where they’re not involved…meaning no crazy service charges! Swoooon. He also took on pirating, by selling his Beacon theater special for FIVE BUCKS. After making a million dollar profit, he personally wrote a letter to his fans, letting him know just what he was doing with that money. He used a quarter of it to pay for what the special and his website cost to produce, a quarter of it went to bonuses for his staff, a little more than a quarter went to charities, and he kept a little less than a quarter for himself. Lets just throw this into the pot of Louis-is-awesome-stew: he seems to lack greed, which puts him into a category with mother Teresa as far as I’m concerned.

Fuck off Ticketmaster!

Little known fact: Louis is actually Mexican, and Spanish was his first language. I am waiting with baited breath for him to bust out some Spanish during an interview, or hell, even do a special in Spanish. Louis, if you are reading this, please make this happen. I can hear the sound of panties dropping now. But more importantly Louie, keep doing what you’re doing. Its your raw, fearlessly honest perspective, that always leaves us wanting more.

Last night, I returned from an extended weekend trip home to Orlando, Florida. I’d been waiting to get back to Florida since I left the day after Christmas heading back to New York City, and the days passed exactly as I had hoped they would; slow, lazy, soaked in the heat and humidity that has become a character of its own when I think back on my adolescence. There wasn’t a moment I was standing beside my mother when I wasn’t hugging her, and I spent a lot of time being a complete creeper and just staring at my family so that I could remember what this felt like, to save up the love like a bear about to hibernate through a long, lonely winter. It may be exclusionary but I saw the people there who truly matter, my immediate family, my two surrogate brothers, and my dear friend Ian, my love for whom I’m oddly incapable of expressing other than to say that it’s real, and that he knows how to be a friend better than anyone I know.

I spent my last day sitting at the dining room table with my siblings and Ian, eating, cracking jokes and telling stories with the kind of ease and familiarity I know I’m blessed to have. When I got into the car so my parents could drive me to the airport, I had no desire to cry. I had spent time with my family and felt all the better for it, recharged and ready to take on a city that is so persistent in its attack on my being.  But before I knew it, I was sobbing in the backseat. My dad held my hand from the driver’s seat and I had half a mind to fling myself from the car, into the Florida heat and rain and just disappear with the humidity.

The last of my fortune ran out in Florida; I was upgraded to a business class seat and spent my flight sitting cross-legged and staring out the window. When I landed in New York City I was welcomed with the news that I would have to wait an hour for a van to pick me. This turned to two hours. I felt again the desire to disappear, but it was held off by the thought that, here, no one would hesitate to forget me. I felt the desire to cry at my misfortune, but it seems my body has decided that since my breakdown at work, New York doesn’t deserve my tears.

I was dropped off at Grand Central and took two trains home to my quiet neighborhood in South Slope. It was 12:53AM. I lugged my suitcase up the three flights of stairs to the space I share with our beloved Pumpkin. I realize now that I didn’t hug her, I just asked her why the dishes that were there before I left were still on the table. We talked for two hours, about what I can’t even remember. Probably Tom Hiddleston. Whiskey. Grocery shopping. Newsies. As I lay there in bed afterward, unable to sleep, staring up at my ceiling while the sun came up, it occurred to me that if not for Julie, I would have spent the night weighing the pros and cons of quitting my job and going back to Orlando.

To Julie: You are an amazing roommate. You are exceptionally talented, and make every day of my life in New York City better. You’re kind and patient and your facial expressions are priceless. You put up with the fact that I haven’t done much to clean the bathroom. You’re an enabler to my sweet tooth and I refuse to regret eating an entire pint of Talenti Caramel Cookie Crunch or Ben & Jerry’s Red Velvet because HOLY SHIT THEY ARE GOOD. I love that you’re a bizarre night owl because for some reason it makes me feel safe. You accept me for whom I am and believe I can be who I want to be, all the while choosing to overlook the worse parts of me for the better. You listen to me complain about a job that I think you might murder me to have. You believe in a world where we don’t have to compromise to live happy lives, and while I think it’s a pipe dream, I need you to keep believing that because it’s people who believe that way who make the world a better place.

Life gets rough. We take jobs we hate to avoid feeling worthless. We quit jobs we hate to avoid feeling useless. We put ourselves on the line and attempt to take the pitfalls in stride no matter how much they tear us up on the inside. I can’t tell you how much it means to know that after everything has fallen apart and life has shown us how little we matter, I can come home and spend two hours discussing how Tom Hiddleston needs to just stop it already and Andrew Garfield needs to just show himself already because he’s definitely been within a three block radius of us  at some point and is obviously just consciously avoiding us now and how can these bitches not eat hamburgers because what the hell is wrong with them they are delicious. When I’m with you I feel the same quiet sense of accomplishment that I felt sitting around that dining room table on my last day in Florida. Like I’ve acquired something worth envying. I feel like I’m home. I love you.

Btw, I bought your lunch for you. You’re such an idiot.

I could spend a long time explaining and extolling the value of this song and video, but just suffice it to say that it’s about damn time someone told everyone to calm the fuck down about interracial dating. Now go get your summer swirl on.

I don’t even know how to begin this. Ultimately it will end up sounding like another jaded, self-aware millennial complaining about their situation. It will share the same cynical, yet hopeful, yet somehow unabashedly enthusiastic tone seen in countless blogs and Facebook posts. It will contain references to things that were maybe once niche and would make me seem alternative, worldly or well-educated, but are now just common knowledge thanks to the internet. I have no revelations to share. I don’t think my current situation is interesting enough to share with anyone but the people who love me enough to listen. Real life love, not “omg, love her tumblr” love. I’m not able to put the blandness of my situation into an art form that others can relate to. I’m not wonderfully beautiful nor do I possess any kind of ‘it’ factor or quality that demands that I be paid attention to.

Some people have told me that I have the talent to create something that could change the world, but I don’t see what they’re talking about, and our ‘participation trophy’ society has me thinking that they’ve got me gassed up, Willie Loman style. I’m just a normal girl. I’m not exceptional in any way. Somehow, that’s not allowed. If I share this sentiment with someone, they go on a long tangent to convince me that I possess greatness – that I’ll find my calling and suddenly be reeling in a world of fulfilled potential and recognition and being soul mates with a quirky guy that everyone says is just so perfect for me.

Because we think that everyone who has potential lives to see that potential fulfilled. But what if I’ve missed the boat? What if, even at just 22 years old, I’ve missed my opportunity to live up to something? Folks keep reminding me how young I am, as though there aren’t people who peak in high school or college; as though there aren’t people whose peaks are hardly peaks at all, but small hills in comparison to what so many of us expect. Or whose lives are more cliffs than hills – nothing particular to note until it suddenly drops off. I’m not somehow exempt from this because I try or something. My being mildly attractive and above average intelligence doesn’t guarantee a greener pasture any more than the amount of work my parents put into trying to get me off the ground. Hard work ≠ big time pay off. It’s bleak, I know, but it’s the kind of thing I think I have to acknowledge to even stand a chance at being happy with the life I’m most likely to end up leading.

Which brings me to my real question: Am I allowed to be sad? Like I said, I’m 22, mildly attractive, above average intelligence. I have a job working in New York City with a livable salary. I know at least 15 people personally who would maim someone to get my opportunity. In an economy where no one is getting hired, I found a job. I found a good job, in the field I studied in school, with full benefits and after hours perks and the possibility for upward mobility. You don’t even have to delve in to the under privileged youth of America or the starving children in Africa to point out that I’m an ungrateful shithead. I’m over here ruefully contemplating the validity of my existentialism like that bitch in Eat Pray Love while I should just be grateful I had the means to travel to three separate countries just to “find myself.” I should just shut the hell up, sit at my desk and do the work requested of me until I learn to appreciate what I’m given. Who am I kidding? I have health insurance!

How much does it really matter that I think the work I do is pointless and I spend every evening psyching myself out for the next morning? That New York City as a whole is so overwhelming that I never really recover from it? Sure there’s a lot of great stuff here, and I know that if I left I would miss it, but here in the middle of it all I can see is the storm. All I can see are the people who didn’t miss their opportunity, who are still working towards some great finish, who will fall in love one day, working dutifully to their end while I get carried out to sea. It’s as though one day everything will settle and somehow everyone will have ended up exactly where they should be and I’ll be standing right where I was, all alone, proverbial dick in hand, and all anyone will be able to say is how I had so much potential. I won’t have any great stories to keep me company in my old age, no artifacts of a better time; just the notion that maybe, if I’d paid better attention, or wanted it more, I could have had everything I ever wanted, and I only have myself to blame.

I’ve been on the verge of tears for over a month now – every time I’m in a room alone or riding the subway home I have a moment where I think it will all come rushing out, a great wave of cathartic tears somehow washing everything away the way it used to – but it never comes. Even if I were to cry, it wouldn’t fix anything.

It’s not as though I know what I want. I don’t have a dream that I could set out on the road towards, I’m just decidedly unhappy with where my life is now. The little engine that could knew exactly what he was working towards, so he knew to put everything into it. I don’t know where to put my attention because I don’t know what I want. Every time I think of the Little Engine that Could, I think of a girl I knew in elementary school. She would write ‘I think I can, I think I can” at the top of all of her test papers. I don’t think I ever saw her get higher than a C.

Part of me thinks I should just commit and throw myself into this career because at least it’s a direction. At least this way I’ll know to commit and make the most of something, instead of possibly wandering through life never certain of anything. But another part of me remembers that I promised myself I would start making decisions, not just letting life unfold in front of me, and that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I just resigned myself to this life.

I’m not sure if I’m allowed to be saddened by my life, but of course that doesn’t matter. I am sad. I wake up and I wonder how each day will make itself worth living through. Other days I wake up and can’t remember anything I was ever excited about. I keep waiting for life to surprise me with a divergent road, so I can make the decision to take the one less traveled by. But I’ve been so focused on looking for the road less traveled by that I’ve forgotten that the roads least traveled never really become roads at all. There may be a bit of dead grass, or a bent branch somewhere in the wilderness, but the roads least traveled remain overgrown, wild, precarious and fearful. Completely indiscernible from the jungle that surrounds them. There is no way to take one of these roads with any kind of certainty. There is nothing there to guide you through except the stories of those who have successfully – and unsuccessfully – gone before. This notion taunts me, reminding me that at any moment, if I only pay attention and want it bad enough, I can have everything I ever wanted. And that if I don’t go for it, I only have myself to blame.

I’m a 27 year old adult female that is mildly obsessed with societies recent fascination with vampires and mythical creatures. Vampires, Werewolves, fairies, wizards, witches and goblins.  Not one ounce of shame or fucks are given to anyone that has a condescending finger to point in my direction. It is my guilty pleasure, and I loooove it. Recently, while watching an Episode of Being Human (shout our to Sam Witwer’s mouth) I was hit with an epiphany. Werewolves are real. Allow me to explain.

His mouth is a thing of beauty.

Werewolves aren’t the way we hear about them in stories. They are very real, but transform into a different kind of monster. Werewolves are females during their period. The comparisons that can be drawn between a menstruating female and a werewolf are endless.  I could just stop at the word bitch, which I frequently feel like on my period, and oddly enough means female dog; but lets dig a bit deeper and evaluate the facts: a werewolf is a being who once a month, because of the cycle of the moon, uncontrollably transforms into a beast not fit for society.  These beasts are looked upon as dangerous predators, when unfortunately were probably helpless victims, thrown into a cursed life, no choice in looking back. For the duration of their lives, they are controlled by the cycle of the moon, powerless to stop these transformations. Sound familiar?!

Women, like werewolves, had no say in the curse that is their monthly cycle. Once a month, caused completely by forces outside of their control, women become something else. they become a much more temperamental, emotional, and sometimes volatile version of themselves.

I for one know that during my period, I don’t like the person that I become. I become a complete beast. I’m hungry all the time, cant seem to get enough sleep, and don’t even think of crossing me. A few days out the month, for my good and the good of those around me, I hide away in my room with a heating pad, plenty of Midol and pickle chips, and sweet tea. When I feel the edge of the sting of reckless emotions and physical pain start to wear off, I’ll text my poor boyfriend and let him know its safe to come around again.

Calming the beast one chip at a time.

As the full moon passes, and the shedding of the uterus lining comes to a close, we begin to regain the being in its true form, whom we have come to love, and miss so much. We cling on the the things that we love about this being, lest we be driven away by their scary alter egos.

Just to clarify, in a literal sense I do not believe that females are werewolves. And as much as I’d love for mythical creatures to be real, sadly I have not had an experience yet in my life to prove that to be true. But where ever and when ever the myth of the werewolf came to be, it is my belief that it was probably inspired by a menstruating female. And that seems pretty cool to me.

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