“And I said I know it well- that secret
that you knew but don’t know how to tell.
It fucks with your honor
and it teases your head.”- Bon Iver
I am so fucking tired of having to censor myself. Or set disclaimers for my profanity. Or to just fucking breathe the wrong way. Heaven forbid me for being “whiny”. Excuse me, but if those who claim I’m subjected to some type of naivete, if otherwise was known, they’d sew their fat mouths shut. Oh, and another key phrase- “over it”. Hell yes I’m over it, but who the fuck is gonna care other than myself? I keep my shit to myself, and the world is a happier place. Buzz off if you’re uninterested in brutal truths from a hopeful realist.
A common trend that I’ve fallen victim to hearing lately is “men aren’t the same as they used to be”. Fair enough. I get it. The newer generation of men (including my age group) are not our fathers. They’re not our granddaddies. They’re not the chivalrous, blond-haired knights on white horses saving us from burning towers. No. However, we can’t blame them for those hardened shells that they’ve enveloped themselves in.
When the fuck did women become so God-damned codependent on men? Women’s movement? I’m rolling my eyes and shaking my head in disbelief at the amount of women who seek out a meal ticket in the form of one simple word: employed. Honey, would you like my stiletto in a place that doesn’t prefer non-vibrating, non-stimulating inanimate objects? Didn’t think so. So yes, take care of yourself. Hone up to your own responsibilities. Stop ruining it for the women like myself, and the handful of amazing ladies I associate with, who can actually provide for themselves.
Bottom line with women is, well most now can’t seem to grasp the concept between being feminine and being helpless. I can be a damsel in distress at times, but hot damn, really…I am too innovative and too independent to wait on someone to save me from my messes. I create my messes and I clean them up. Woman up. And you wonder where all the “nice” guys went? Hmph. You don’t appreciate the opened door, or the umbrella on a rainy day, or hell, you don’t even appreciate the small things in life. How disappointing.
And Dudes, on the other hand, they’re not off the hook either.
So, the objective of “getting over being fucked over” is to fuck other women just to turn them out like revolving doors? Eh? Really. That’s fascinating. I suppose their philosophy is “well since she isn’t appreciative of my efforts/slept with my friend/took me to the cleaners for all I was worth, etc.”, then all women will do that. I have one thing to say to you…
FUCK YOU.
Seriously? Ok. This is why men haven’t treated women well. They think every woman is gonna dick them over. Fine, I get it. We’ve all been hurt sometime in our lives. I know travesty happens. I’m sure the severity of some situations has completely devoured anything I’ve been through with former lovers. Dude, I get it. However, those co-dependent, trashy girls have ruined men. And they’ve ruined the nice ones for us civilized, well-versed ladies. So yes, there’s the logic behind it all.
Women don’t appreciate men opening doors and men don’t appreciate a woman who can open the door for herself. See? It’s not even about a tangible door.
It’s exhausting to sit here and analyze this shit. We all know that women are too fucking emotional, get emotionally attached and have to have a mental connection with a man in order to show him her more intimate parts. As for men? They’re not as emotionally connected, and they’re rather indignant about their pasts with hateful women, therefore they’re going to maximize on a hunger that is only satisfied through sexually empowering themselves. Not to mention that fuckface probably passing venereal diseases like Denzel in the movie, “Fallen”.
Here’s your Chlamydia! Enjoy!
And you can sit there and judge people about their lovelorn Facebook statuses and song quotes, but it is what it is. It’s there. Personally, I’m strong, intelligent, passionate and a well-established woman. I have a business to run. I have a home to come home to. I do well for myself, and if you can’t handle it, that’s your own loss. I chased boys on the playground when I was in the second grade. I would believe now, twenty years later, I’d need not be chasing again.
Movies and music are influential. Love stories give women false ideals on love. Hence, the Notebook. That movie doesn’t govern what the definition of any damn romance has. I don’t care how long you’ve been apart. Gimme a break. I don’t believe in that. Perhaps I’ve lost my faith in most things for a long time. My faith hasn’t guided me properly over the past few years, so why should I trust the damn thing now?
Anyway, as stated in past entries, I do ramble. I have no apologies for it.
Absolutely no regrets.
If you want to judge me for having an opinion on the matter, then fine. I’m still never going to shake the timid feeling I have when I post my blogs, or certain things on facebook, (i.e.- ‘there’s Moe whining again’). Nah. I’m just a real gal, doing my real thing.
empower:
[em-pou-er]
warrant, commission, license, qualify.
-to delegate power to; authorize
-enable or permit; give ability to
“If a woman is committed to her job, she is presumed to have a deficient personal life. But if she has a fulfilling personal life, she is seen as not committed to her job. It’s particularly cruel because men aren’t subjected to that.”- Marie Claire magazine
In the Fortune 500, there are only 15 female Chief-Executive-Officers, yet 50% (and sometimes more) businesses are managed by women. Irony.
In my own personal life, actually a series of unfortunate events in the workplace, I’ve really come to the conclusion that as women we’re not respected as much as men are. I know that “times are a’changin’” and blah blah, but honestly, that above quite is true, and whether you are a male for female subscriber of mine, you know it withholds truth. There’s one particular morsel of information that stuck out with me in that article that I read. It stated :
MC: How could being a team player favor men over women?
Lynn Cronin (author of Damned if She Does, Damned if She Doesn’t): When working in teams, women just don’t receive recognition commensurate with their contributions. But when a driven, competent woman says, “They don’t know how good I am, I’ll show them!”, she’s perceived as not being a team player.
/shaking head in confusion.
There are two things that I come to a personal, humble conclusion about:
- The stereotypes will still exist.
- Women are the ones who believe these stereotypes the most.
And now you’re probably thinking: “Did this hussy really just contradict herself? Did she really just jump onto the Hypocrite Wagon?” Simmer down, and I’ll explain myself. As I am well aware that women aren’t treated fairly in the business world and “bigger scheme of things” overall, as women we’ve got to stand back and analyze maybe WE are the reason we’re not as renowned and respected as we should be. We’re always preaching that we want respect and burning our bras, or joining the military, or fixing our own automobile hardships, whatever, but what are we actually DOING to get it?
Put on your Big Girl Panties and listen.
Ready?
Skirty. Nerdy. Flirty.
- If you want respect, prove yourself and hone your talent. Look, having the vagina gives us a lot of pull in the courting and dating world. We know this. We can unbutton our blouses enough to show decolletage so the cute little Barista in the coffeehouse will give us extra caramel for free in our low-fat latte (shhh), or we can pretend we don’t know how to change a flat tire, and flag down the muscle bound Mustang-driving Toolbox, bat our eyelashes at him, and make him get all dirty for us. However, flirting with your boss to get what you want? Wrong answer. Showing skin at work? Wrong answer. Wearing a suitable suit, standing tall and confident, and having pep in our step? Right. Nailing a presentation without stuttering? Yes! Going out of your way to mail something for your superior? You get the idea…
- If you want a raise or recognition, eliminate the emotional factor. What should be factored in, is your increasing talents. Your ability to multitask. Your sharp memory when it comes to ordering your boss’s favorite latte (that most people can’t pronounce). Your wise attributes to team meetings. Yes. If you want a raise for what you’re doing, or tons of recognition that is WELL-deserved, tell your superiors about it. Tell them you’ve worked hard and would like to know HOW to attain more compensation and ways to advance in your organization. Damn, the last thing we really need for our already feigned gender is the whole “poor crying little pitiful girl” sitting in her office whining. No. Get a tissue, fix your mascara, march in there and demand what’s owed to you with grace, charisma and charm. You got it.
- Treat yourself as an equal to a man. You’re worth just as much as they are. Granted we can’t pee standing up
or the fact that we scratch our eyes in the morning because we don’t have balls, but you get the idea. Yeah. Eeep. I think I just shuddered a bit on that statement. Anyway, what I am proclaiming is simply this- you’re worth just as much as a thing with a penis man. Especially in fairly streamlined jobs. Stop acting helpless with the printer goes AWOL. Take that biddy outside and pull an Office Space massacre on it. If you are intimidated about giving a lecture or presentation in front of a group of men, close your eyes, breathe deeply, and imagine they’re all Channing Tatums. It works, trust me. Comedy aside, just remember, you’re just as good as the man in the cubicle next to you. Don’t give up. Try new things. Fix things, and then you can bat your eyelashes at him to give you the last creamer at the coffee station. - Smile. Breathe. Laugh. Go forth with confidence.
There are many other things that I could mention, but you get the idea. We’re bound to be more respected if we just do what we’re best at in our chosen paths. Also, it’s still possible to use feminine charm to receive what is owed to us.
Now excuse me whilst I adjust my thigh highs & garter belt and put on my high heels for work. My briefcase is organized and I’m ready to take on the day. ;)
“What kind of paradise am I looking for?
I’ve got everything I want, and still I want more.”
-Ani DiFranco
Everytime I blink, I have a tiny dream.
There has to be a solution to the way I’ve been feeling as of late. I’m wondering if I have some sort of wires crossing in the incorrect areas, and I’m learning how my own emotional process is formulated. I tend to feel completely emotionally vested into someone in the beginning, try to win affection, and then, as sad as it sounds, I slowly feel detached. I’m unsure if it’s because I’m fearful of getting close due to hurt, or if I am just strangely unable to understand the concept of compassion towards somene else. I am starting to think like a stereotypical man. Sometimes I wonder if I just want the temporary closeness to soothe some sort of “need”. However on the contrary, I’m wondering if I convinced myself that I’m not going to attach to people simply because I know they’ll end up hurting me regardless.
As you can see, I’m fairly confused, sour and bitter, and perhaps the correct word is just jaded. Normally I’m rather upbeat and cooky, as most people know me as. I’m rather sarcastic and silly. I suppose this is part of that whole “human emotion” crap. Being human. Sometimes with the way I’ve been treated by some, you’d think I was some sort of mythical creature, or some little unicorn to be roped into a pen and kept under watchful eye until I do something magical. Bleh. You know, though, I really don’t seemingly care today, what others think of my writing, or my opinions. I’m giving my raw insight, my vulnerabilities. You can judge until your judgment day if you wish. I really am apathetic about it.
Getting back to what I’d originally stated prior, I’m in firm belief that I am the cause of my problems in my whole “courting” process. It’s not these guys to a certain extent. If I end up accepting attention from a man who believes I’m some sort of conquest, I’d become his conquest. If I take attention from a man whose only interested in a particular activity, then that’s what I’m going to get. I’m the product of my own thinking, so now I have to change that.
But God damn, some women have ruined it for us good ladies, I tell you. As I’ve mentioned before, maybe I need to grab my goggles and a shovel and start digging all of these disgruntled nice guys out of the Friendzone. Bleh. I didn’t realize that this didn’t make much sense today, but it always plays out well in my own mind.
Bottom line is, sometimes I wish I could emotionally detach without feeling guilty and I wish that I’d be more of a priority than an option, but…it is what it is, right? Am I asking too much?
I can’t get my feet up off the edge. I kind of like the little rush you get when you’re standing close to death.
“Like when you’re driving me crazy…
Hold on as we crash into the earth
A bit of pain will help you suffer when you’re hurt, for real
‘Cause you are driving me crazy.”
“I can’t keep your voice out of my head
All I hear are the many echoes of
The darkest words you said
And it’s driving me crazy
I can’t find the best in all of this
But I’m always looking out for you
‘Cause you’re the one I miss
And it’s driving me crazy”
I’m sure most women are exhausted with hearing the phrase “You’re a typical woman”.
My response would be something along the lines of, “You wish you were a literal douchebag. Then you’d be up in a vagina, but since you’re just an adjective, describing a poor excuse for a man, you may want to simmer down”.
Psst. Sorry for a vulgarly painted mental photo, but you get the idea. Not that I’d use that thing, but hey, to each her own.
Ladies, let’s turn “typical” into FASCINATING. Gentlemen, compliment ladies.
And of course I mean LADIES, (not whores. Which, I’m sure you’ll distinguish this by a few factors- her choice of attire, how well she treats you and your wallet).
Seriously, if I was a dude with a child, I would totally tell him three vital things about why it’s crucial to be honest with women, and genuinely compliment them.
- Women are beautiful creatures and give your eyes exercise. I mean, yes, I know you’ll encounter either the “big, fat friend” in a group of broads at a club, but you only get two eyes in your lifetime that work, so use them wisely. Be nice to girls.
- Boobies. Everyone loves those fun mounds of joy. Fun bags. Montezumas. Dirty pillows. Sweet tits. Delicious Ds. Whatever, you get the idea. If you’re nice to a girl, compliment her, show her you’re a real man, you’ll get to feel up the goods and see some nip action.
- They repair your hunger. Women will make you sandwiches if you’re nice to them. Hell, I’ll even throw on my apron, some sexy stilettos and wear my hair in a bun. Simmer down, it’s just your fantasy talking to you…
Now that you’ve been educated, or if you’re a hot femme reader, you’ve enjoyed that last segment with a chuckle and nodding and empathizing.
SO, let’s try that conversation again.
Him: “You’re a fascinating woman.”
(make sure to pause, lean in closely to him, so he will feel your breath on his neck, and whisper into his ear…)
Me: “You’re welcome.”
AND….then walk away. Put some pep in that step!
So, here, for your literary pleasure is my list of the things that would make women go from “typical” to fascinating.
- Make the most vital decisions in your life, for your own good, based on facts rather than emotion. Just because he tells you that your strawberry blonde hair puts the summer sunshine to shame, and it makes you melt, it doesn’t mean he’s really honest. He’s trying to get in your pants. Besides, who wants to lay a dude who smells like cheap cigarettes and Bud Light in her crisp satin sheets? Le eiw.
- Wear your sexiest, frilliest, laciest, pushup bra underneath your schlubby clothes once in awhile to unleash your inner sex vixen, even when it’s just doing laundry or working on your truck, as it is in my case. Stilettos are fun to vacuum the house in once in awhile too.
- Don’t man-bash. Just ex bash. Your ex is the douchebag, so don’t group the entire specimen into that category (even though it’s oft quite tempting). Which leads me to the next point of advice…
- Pull the nice guy out of the Friend-zone and examine his potential. Sure you might not be attracted to him at first, but who knows. He might pull out some moves in a way you’ve never seen before. Besides, nerds make better lovers.
- Use profanity. Change your own oil. Drink Johnnie Walker….in heels. From my own personal experience, doing the things men do creates a common interest, and also, makes us more reliable to ourselves. Self-sufficiency. Understanding of self. Besides, I know certainly well that I get an audience when I’m in my denim cut-offs and a bikini top working on my truck. I use it to my advantage. Makes me feel sexy too. Put a girlie twist on so-called “manly” activities and always remember you can ask for help.
- Make his ass work for your sweet ass. Reel him in just enough, but don’t let him enjoy the fruits of the labor right away. Give him just enough to work with, and then see what unfolds. Of course, you shouldn’t ever feel guilty for enjoying good sex once in awhile, either. Just don’t ever let him make you feel devalued. You’re amazing. Better yet, you’re fascinating because you don’t allow him to take advantage of you.
- EAT. Eat things you love. When you’re out on a date and you order a salad because you’re afraid to eat something, you’re lame. Being raised by mostly European women, we learned to cook for our men as a way to impress them, but also because we’re fucking starving. Besides, I know I’m not some toothpick. I can handle a STEAK salad, thank you. And bread. And Nutella. So just indulge.
For now that is what you get. Summing it up, just relax, stop hatin’ and embrace your inner sexy.
xoxo
Moe.
“But everything here is telling me I should be fine.
So why is it so above as below
That I’m missing you every time?”
God dammit. You know, I really had this eloquent though process running through my head and it’s halted. This always happen and I don’t open my damn computer quickly enough to compose it. Le sigh. Whatever. Anyway, let’s examine a few thoughts, shall we? Meh. Fuck it. Love my French? Good. Great. I’m splendid. Can you sense sarcasm via computerized genius? I surely can. Huzzah. Don’t worry, I won’t bite too hard tonight, although I’m rather ravenous.
<rant>
Lessons of the season: Quality over quantity. Priorities over options. Blah blah. Uhm, promises mean nothing unless fulfilled. Yada yada. You are destined for greatness. Why yes, I knew this. Oh, and my favorite of all- don’t worry, you’re perfect just the way you are. Uhm, hello. Are you nucking futs? Infallibility lies in no one. Thanks for playing. Can I just vote you off the island? Like really. Go play in traffic. Whilst you’re at it, you might want to be naked in the middle of winter traffic in NYC. Gimme a break. I’m feeling a bit snarky tonight.
I’m going to start carrying sweaters in my Pandora’s box and hand them to girls who can’t dress themselves in fifty degree weather. First you dress like a two-cent worthy homewrecker, but expect to be treated like you’re worth a million bucks? I don’t feel one bit of pity on your merciless soul when Jackass Joe at the bar decides to put his hands all over your scatily clad, pale, shivering soul. Go ahead and laugh. You’re laughing because of two reasons- you’re that girl. OR, you’re that guy.
In this PMS rant, I want Nutella, rye bread and a hug. Thanks.
I’ll make sense later. Just wanted to get this eloquent nonsense out of my system.
“His ghost is living in the walls
I heard him crying while you slept
I heard him breaking things after you left
Now I just sleep beneath your floor
My ghost just tries to keep you warm
I’ve seen the end, I’ve lost the war.”
-Radical Face
I descend from a long line of visual artists. Granted my grandmother was a Metropolitan opera singer in New York City, my grandfather and my father had a large impact on the way I operate, now, as a visual artist. Pop-pop was an amazing sketch artist, airbrush artist, and completely illiterate when it came to writing in cursive. He was deaf in one ear from a firecracker exploding near him, and a raging alcoholic, but most importantly, he encouraged me to “stay in the lines” when I colored in various coloring books, and he told me to always follow what I’d believed in.
My grandfather had a booming business of designing ads on Greyhound buses (and other various companies) with his own hands and ideas. He worked with the Mars company (you know, M&Ms) and Revlon (beauty). The one day that he was approached with taking his designs to computers, he refused to continue on in his business. Stubborn mule, oh yes, to most people. I mean he would have had our family set for a long time, considering his talents, but I understand why he refused to take the “easier” route.
People approach me all the time and ask me why I don’t operate on a MAC because I’m an artist. I often am asked why I operate with the equipment I do…why I don’t utilize THIS certain version of Photoshop or THAT certain setting on my camera. I often get asked “Why didn’t do you do this..and that…and more of this?” Well, simply stated, I am comfortable with embracing the talent I have, and I don’t need fancy showmanship to prove that I’m a superior artist. The judgments that artists endure from OTHER artists sometimes are often quite cruel, but I can’t just CEASE all that I love because YOU don’t approve of my working process. Sorry.
Anyway, I probably had something way more profound to say. It sounded better in my head.
It ALWAYS sounds better and more eloquent in my head.
The media (i.e.- movies, mostly) have put such a stigma on “artists”. I mean there are legit artists and then there are “artists”? Whatever. If you pick up a paintbrush and run it across a rippled canvas, enjoy it, and create something, you can consider yourself an artist to appease your inner self. If you write a book and publish it, I believe that qualifies you as an author. Relatively same idea, in my opinion. However, the media definitely makes artists look naive. It makes us look like we’re social outcasts.
Just remember, all those movies you enjoy, the songs that speak to you, and the art you admire hanging on your walls (regardless if it’s Michaelangelo or scantily clad Megan Fox), all came from an artist or entertainer of some sort, and you have a liking to it. And NO, I am NOT some angsty, “where’s-my-motivation” starving artist who throws herself around like it’s the end of the world if she can’t create something, but yeah, I am starving for new ideas. I can’t help it. It’s how I thrive.
If I have to be some sort of social leper because I create photographs and I speak in my own creative language, then so be it.
I miss my grandpa, something fierce today.
{meow.}
“People always ask me, did I ever learn anything when I was a stripper? Yeah, I did. One man plus two beers equals 20 dollars.”- Anna Nicole Smith
“A dame that knows the ropes isn’t likely to get tied up”- Mae West
“Some of the things people have said about me, well, they’re unbelievable.”- Christina Hendricks
“stripper”: ecdysiast, peeler, stripper,
sprigger, striptease artist, exotic dancer,
striptease, harlot.
Fuck mathematics. I’ll just go be stripper.
Hello! Media inspires the “ideal” life as an exotic dancer. Look at music videos. Movies. Popular men’s leisure magazines (which I may add, I’d rather skim through than those ‘how-to-please-your-man women’s magazines). They’ll portray these women as lustful, delicious little morsels of perfection- tight bodies, long legs, pouted pillow lips, and most importantly- sans clothing. Fine, I believe if I was a dude, I would totally want a woman whose aesthetically pleasing to a high power. However, from studying their lifestyles, and befriending some girls in the industry, it’s not always…peaches and cream.
As much as most of societal norms won’t accept their lifestyle, essentially, I believe they’re quite the opposite.
Also, may I add, that the ones I’ve known are the most sweet, maternal, intelligent souls I’ve ever encountered?
They’re courageous. They’re innovative. They’re intuitive. They’re creative. They’re business-oriented.
Not saying I would pursue this because I’m not as brave, but I’ve compiled a list of things that have been on my mind about it.
The Six Secrets about Strippers*
(*according to Moe)
- They’re self-conscious. As women we’re always dissecting our physical attributes, more so than our other traits. We’re always detailing everything we do- from perfecting the red nail polishing from chipping on our toes, to keeping our stockings smooth of seams, to keeping our hair in place on windy, days. Well, dancers are similar in their profession. Regardless of what is being displayed for public (or very public) view, respect them for the fact that they may not have perfectly-aligned hip bones, or jiggle a bit more when they walk, or perhaps they’re simply wondering if they missed a spot whilst shaving or waxing (hey it happens to the best of us), they’re still worried about appearance, even if they’re drop-dead, storybook, movie-star gorgeous.
- They’re more courageous than most women. Try to recall that dream, where you’re sitting in your classroom, perhaps in high school, or earlier college days, and suddenly you feel a strange chill over your body, when everyone stares right at you, you look down, to realize you’re naked. Well, most of us would be completely mortified in that situation. No, she’ll just march right up and tell people how it is. Well, honestly, look at it this way, with this tying into my first secret stated, she’s courageous enough to deal with all of the criticism, chauvinistic behaviors of sex-crazed gawkers, and the hater women. Seriously, I commend her for being strong enough to be so vulnerable. Oh, and might I mention they’re also the subject of many women’s green-eyed monsters?
- They’re business women. They’re business women in many senses of the word. For one, they’re smart enough to utilize their beauty. Two, they’re able to control an audience, and pick their clientele. And believe it or not, most ladies who used to strip are now very successful in something not relative to exotic dancing. So, honestly, they’re able to, basically, TELL they’re clientele what their clientele wants.
And some men are so gullible.Aw, fellas, take a joke.
Als0- I will throw in my seven cents here too- those girls in those music videos and magazines that are draped all over men like suits- they’re only doing that because they’re making money. Also, they’ll steal that spotlight run from under you. Pretty girls > poorly dressed, untalented men. Get a clue. - They have the sexiest shoe collection. Yes, we’re all aware of the “staple” shoe of all strippers- the clear, platformed glass slipper, but…if they can rock the 7 inch stiletto with the 5 inch heel, they’re liable to own many other sexy pairs, and know how to flaunt them. Not to mention, most of them have a very eccentric, sexy collection of unmentionables. Of course I’m a woman so I look for most things to be aesthetically pleasing, regardless.
- They’re in a profession associated with power. Believe it or not, it is a powerful situation to be in, as in the aforementioned, but seriously, this profession is associated predominantly with women, and usually quite attractive women (despite the fact that beauty is relative). I mean, women are obviously better looking being scantily clad. Women look better in small skivvies. That’s the way it is. They own the lingerie market, and most of them are quite tasteful in their wardrobe choices, despite what is depicted in films and media.
Lustful object + Lust-ers = money = power. - They are tangible fantasies- for womankind. So now that we’ve established that men are the easiest targets to utilize in their profession, I mean, men are their target audience, let’s focus on why women secretly envy and emulate strippers. I mean, how many girls out there have give their significant other a lapdance, or how many have adorned skimpy clothes and super stilettos just to feel wanted. Surely there is all that emotional “self-worth” shit behind it, but since this entry is moreso dedicated to the forbidden, let’s just save that for another day when I’m feeling girlie. Hell, I even feel empowered writing this piece, and I’m nowhere near brave enough to show people my vulnerable goodies. Anyway, long story short- they’re an enigma to women, too.
This is why I’ve adopted wearing my sexy, lace unmentionables underneath my torn jeans and tank tops when I work on my truck because I feel naughty and sexy.
So, now am I going to start dancing? Unless it’s ballroom dancing where I’m continually stepping on my partner’s feet- no. However, after befriending many girls who have been related to this industry somehow, I’ve gained a whole new respect for them. Many of them aren’t just objects of lust. They’re smart. They’re kind. They’re more than just aesthetics.
I say this now, as I’m sitting here in my ratty, white-t-shirt, boyshorts and 70′s style orange-striped knee socks I have on thick black-rimmed glasses, and my hair is on a pile on top of my head.
I can name my favorite color in hexidecimal color codes.
Nerd sexy. Hello. Where have you been?
