“Meat.”

“Meat.”

It says “wifey” right there on my Instagram bio. That never stopped a bunch of guys from sliding into my DMs because they wanted to tap that. Do these people NOT have parents? Do basic manners not exist in 2019?

Apparently not.

I ran an Instagram social experiment and paid to boost one of my posts. This is the photo I “boosted”.

As you can tell, there’s no skin show. Just my hands, my face and my phone. My phone isn’t showing any skin, either. I’m not someone that ever wears clothing that shows a ton of cleavage or arms. I’m not someone that even has a bikini body to begin with, so I don’t wear bikinis. And despite being so covered up, stuff like this didn’t hesitate to show up.

India has this rampant rape culture and my photo is PROOF in the pudding, that it’s not about what you’re wearing. You could be in a potato sack and your hair could be a greasy mess, and you would still get objectified and propositioned to, even flashed. There have been no naked photos in my DMs – yet – and I consider myself very lucky.

What does all of this mean?

That there’s something seriously wrong with India. If you happen to be a woman, you will be – invariably – treated as meat. There will be human versions of rabid wolves fighting to sink their teeth into your skin. To claim and to maim. To destroy, pilfer and damage beyond repair.

I hate to think of what would happen if I posted a photo of mine from my workout sessions.

And it’s terrifying to me that WOMEN, and sometimes men, have to live in constant fear of the possibly of getting attacked if they don’t go into hiding. The whole social experiment proves that it’s not about how you’re posing on your Insta, it’s not about how you talk, it’s got nothing to do with your personality – you’re basically just someone’s meat. And that’s the bitter truth.

This is what scares me to death.

When Did The “BODY POSITIVITY” Movement Get Hijacked?

When Did The “BODY POSITIVITY” Movement Get Hijacked?

I’ve been seeing a lot of “body positivity” posts that are promoting plain simple obesity to be honest.

It is one hundred percent okay to love yourself but it’s kinda wrong, you know, to stuff yourself and never get any exercise. I know people that follow unhealthy lifestyles, and fall prey to diseases like hypertension and diabetes type two. They justify their behavior and call themselves curvy and they’re leading you to believe that morbid obesity is the new normal.

When I think of body positivity, the first thought that comes to mind is accepting yourself, all of your imperfections. Albinism. Crooked teeth. Heterochromia. Freckles. Birth marks. Unibrows. Everything you were born with. Body positivity doesn’t mean making yourself unhealthy by neglecting yourself and taking a drum to the streets, announcing that being morbidly obese is the new normal. There’s a lot of obese people all over – sporting beer bellies, with BMIs that are over thirty, and having to battle things like atherosclerosis, because they INSIST on eating pizza every day rather than choose something healthy. They’d rather go drinking every weekend, than actually hit the gym to stay in shape. And they body-shame people that run Instagram fitness accounts. And they have hijacked the body positivity movement and they are now insisting that being unhealthy is super cool because that’s what being curvy looks like. I beg to differ. Here’s what curvy looks like:

And she’s far from being fat or unhealthy.

As opposed to this:

Your heart is only programmed to pump so much, don’t make it overwork and don’t kill yourself. How hard is that? It’s so important to cut back on alcohol and sugar, both of which do zilch for your body. I feel so strongly about this only because I used to be overweight and I was super unhealthy. But now that I’ve changed my eating habits and made a lot of lifestyle changes, I actually feel and look good. And it makes me happy.

What’s your take on this? Do you think the body positive movement has somehow been hijacked by the over-promotion of obesity?

Friday Binge: Movie Recommendations! *contains spoliers*

Friday Binge: Movie Recommendations! *contains spoliers*

It’s Friday, and it’s probably raining where you are – or it’s really really HOT, and you’re tired from a long week at work. And if you’re like me, you’ve also got zero inclination to leave the house. Which is why, you’re probably going to binge watch a lot of stuff and binge eat and then chill.

Here are five movies you might like:

• The Queen’s Corgi.

This one has to be my absolute favorite. An animated movie, about a Corgi called Rex, that belongs to the Queen of England, animated versions of Melania and Donald Trump AND cute little puppies? Yes, please. Also, Rexie gets caught up in the underground world of dog-fights. If you’ve watched Fight Club and loved it, you’ll love this cute movie.

• Murder Mystery.

Aniston and Sandler (sporting a mustache) are a husband and wife duo that get involved in a very Agatha Christie kind of plot. Hilarious, fast paced and witty, and not to mention that Aniston made me question my sexuality while she was driving the Ferrari, this is a must watch in my book.

• Cecil.

The story of a nine year old with a lisp will have you rolling on the floor laughing in certain places. The movie has a lot going on: from selling names at Horsey Orsey and a twisted principal and Michael Jordan, and the most adorable protagonist, ever.

• Shazam!

A fourteen year old that turns into an adult with a bajillion superpowers may not seem like much of a movie plot, but Zachary Levi is hella charismatic and has some of the best lines on screen. If you haven’t already watched, what are you waiting for? Also, you get cameo performances by Ross Butler (Reggie Mantle from Riverdale) and Adam Brody!

• After.

A coming of age teen drama, with “young Voldemort” Hero Fiennes Tiffin as the male lead is something you need to watch if you’re into romantic movies. His eyebrows do a lot of talking and the British accent is delectable. After also stars inspirational YouTuber Inanna as bad girl Molly, and she nails her character down to a T.

Have you seen any new stuff lately? Leave me a comment. Have a wonderful weekend, you guys!

Stray Bird

Stray Bird

I was never one to fit in,

I was always meant to stand out

And never in a good way.

People do things for clout

And I don’t even know what I want

I don’t know what I seek

I have no ambition

I’m often powerless, often weak.

My parents told me I was a fluke

That I was a mistake

They taught me so much

But funnily, it didn’t take.

I try to fly with the other guys

And that never happens right

I fall back and I die on the inside

Every time I fall from a height

I don’t have a purpose

No goal that I want to achieve

So far I’ve been a lonely parasite

Only taking, with nothing to give

I don’t know when my life ends

But I hope it does soon

It’s lonely to be a stray

Nursing at your own meaningless wounds.

Under The Influence

Under The Influence

I looked at the young man swaying in front of me, flanked by two people he didn’t seem to recognize.

One of them, the woman, who was in tears, tried to say something. She couldn’t seem to form words. The man, close to tears himself, tried to calm the woman down, while maintaining a steady grip on the boy’s arm.

I looked through the case file in my hand. I had this football-sized headache. Took me a second to read properly.

Name: Blank

Age: 20

Chief complaints: Swelling in left arm, with some obvious bruising and pain since an hour.

Fever since morning.

HOPI: Patient was apparently normal when he suffered a trauma to the left arm, following a seizure in the bathroom…

I closed the file and tried to calm myself down. This was the fourth time I was meeting Blank and he had no idea we’d met before. He didn’t remember he’d threatened to beat me to death if I didn’t prescribe him extra Clonazepam pills. He didn’t remember he’d been here before, where I was on duty, at two in the morning, with nearly the same complaints.

I ordered an X-Ray.

Blank couldn’t stand but he kept saying things that were incomprehensible. At one point he said he needed more pain meds. And more weed. And more alcohol. We never found out what he wanted. We never found out what he was going through. He just kept going, and going, and he kept sourcing pills from places unknown.

And that fateful night, under the influence of medication meant for seizures, a ton of what smelled like an unfortunate mix of way too much alcohol and a crap ton of coke, he had his last seizure and passed away. I don’t remember going home. I don’t remember what I said to the man and the woman – the parents. I don’t recall any of it. Heck, I don’t remember how I got home.

Two weeks later, on yet another miserable night shift, I saw Blank walk up to me. In my own weed induced haze, I had a long meaningful conversation with what my nurses tell me was a solid wall of the bathroom.

Here’s a question for you: WHO was under the influence, really?

Pie.

Pie.

They met by accident.

He was taken, she wasn’t.

He had a tattoo of his pregnant girlfriend’s name. He was at the bar one Saturday night after a long day at work and the bartender was cute.

Numbers were exchanged.

The bartender was a rich heiress who liked to go incognito and pick up guys on Friday nights. The longer the commitment, the better. She had a fetish for men that had been claimed by other women. She loved to chew them up and spit them out. She loved to build them up, and then tear them down. She had a theory: you needed to know their story before you got into their pants.

Sexual freedom was something she was obsessed with.

She’d set sights on him the minute he walked up to the bar and downed his first tequila.

He loosened up after a couple drinks and said he needed to get away from his girlfriend of seven months. She said she wanted him. All seven inches of him. He was taken aback. He’d never met anyone who had such accurate assessment of the human anatomical calculations, before. She said she was a pro at it and they left the club, together, his drunken arm around her waist.

She took him home.

He was aroused and wanted to do it. She said she was hungry and needed to get some dinner. He suddenly remembered he was famished too, and asked her what was for dinner.

The last thing he remembered was a butcher’s knife and her saying, “You”, before he passed out.

Two hours later, she added some garnish to the human meat pie and drove down to the suburban home he shared with his girlfriend. She left a box on the porch with a note that read:

“I did you a favor: your loyal ass deserves better. He was a cheater.”

Beard.

Beard.

Silvio hated life. It was the same old routine, every single day.

Eat, sleep, hustle, die, repeat.

He’d been on his own since he was sixteen, when his parents divorced. His mum died while he was still in college and his dad was beyond just absent.

His very first job at the pizza joint around the corner taught him that being an immigrant wasn’t ever going to work in his favor. His boss was rude and Silvio managed to graduate school and joined a law firm. It wasn’t fun, being a criminal lawyer. None of his relationships lasted and he kept going into a dark place.

One night, on his way home after a quick briefing with a client, Silvio got stuck in a God-awful thunderstorm.

The traffic was insane and he checked his watch: twelve forty five AM. He’d been stuck for almost two hours. He scratched his beard and turned on the music. It was going to be a long night. Most days he would get first grade a-holes, but his newest client, Tom, seemed harmless. If only he knew if Tom was actually innocent! The guy had such an open face, and to be accused of murder at twenty was too much.

Silvio was sharply awakened by a loud tapping on his window. The clock showed three AM and he must have dozed off. It was Tom. Pleasantly surprised, Silvio rolled down the window – only to be horrified as Tom, with livid eyes and a suddenly evil face, pointed a gun at Silvio’s head.

“You better keep me out of jail, you stupid old man. I killed my ex because she deserved it, and I will kill anyone that tries to have me arrested.”

Silvio put his hands up, trying to stay calm.

“Tom, put the gun away. We can talk about this.”

Silvio looked around out of the corner of his eye: the streets were deserted and the storm had cleared and there was no way anyone would come help. Heck, his phone was out of arm’s reach too. Calling 911 wasn’t an option, either. And his beard was really scratchy. He was both annoyed and scared. Tom was still pointing the damn gun at his head.

“Are we clear? I don’t wanna go to jail!”

The kid’s hand was steady and Silvio wondered how he’d ever been convinced that he’d finally gotten an innocent client. He was doomed to deal with criminals. For the rest of his life.

“I can’t promise that. I still have to look through your files, Tom. Manslaughter is a pretty serious offence. It’s a crime!”

“Then I have to kill you too. What kinda lawyer doesn’t defend his own clients?”

Tom pressed the cold muzzle of his gun right between Silvio’s bushy eyebrows. The metal felt cold and menacing, and Silvio closed his eyes, preparing to die, wondering how badly his blood would stain the customized interiors of the brand new BMW. And he didn’t want to die at forty-three.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, he felt a sharp tug on his beard and something whipped the gun out of Tom’s hand, knocking it to the ground. Something salt-and-pepper looking, something keratinous, wrapped itself around Tom’s neck and Silvio watched, horrified, as something choked Tom to death. Silvio felt his face and his beard purred. He looked at his reflection in the rear-view mirror: his tough, scratchy beard was no longer close-shaven and tame-looking. It now resembled a ravenous snake.

That was the first time the Beard saved Silvio’s life.

(Inspired by Rohan’s Beard .)

A Different Kinda Love

A Different Kinda Love

My hands won’t stop shaking.

My anxiety is flaring up like crazy today.

It’s become a thing.

It started back in the day when I was dating this amazing man, almost a decade my senior, and he loved me. But he also hated a part of me. He hated it when I had mood swings or couldn’t function. He hated it when I couldn’t hold my pen to get a story out for the papers. We were struggling.

I called it off.

He called me a gold-digger and he trashed me all over social media. He dragged my community and he called my family names. He loved to hate me. And I didn’t retaliate because somewhere I knew, I deserved to be killed and yet, here I was, alive, breathing.

Epileptic.

I knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it – not when I had those random falls in the bathroom during my shower. I’d hide things. I would lie and say my bruises were from rigorous gym sessions. Only because I didn’t want pity, all I wanted was a little pampering. A whole lotta love, maybe. But then you can see the feelings shift in a person’s eyes – specially when you’ve been with them for five whole years. And we weren’t getting any younger.

I was twenty-five when I left him. He’s now thirty seven and still very available. I’m on medication and his bank balance stays healthy because he doesn’t have to spend on my diseased body. The only availability I hope for myself is bioavailability.

It’s been two years since I married my doctor. He gives me everything: comfort, cuddles and my regular dose of carbamazepine.

Meanwhile my ex is out there, hating, but blissfully unaware of what happened to me. I’m glad. Someday he will move on. I hope it happens soon. I hope he meets a nice, healthy woman, someone that doesn’t give him seizures to deal with, but gives good morning kisses instead. I hope. And I pray.

He’s a good man. He deserves it.

Oh, Jaclyn

Oh, Jaclyn

Oh Jaclyn, why are you slackin’

Making lipsticks full of holes?

Tacky silver packaging with that rhinestone

With the actual product covered in mold!

Oh Jaclyn, why are you lying

Selling contaminated lipsticks from twenty fifteen

Your company name doesn’t match the logo

Are you sure you didn’t go thrifting?

Oh Jaclyn, you’re so problematic

All your launches and collabs always have some issues

Then you go on Snapchat, crying

Crying fake tears, reaching for overpriced tissues

Oh Jaclyn, I’m so sorry

There are drama channels talking about you

People are speculating, formulating theories

Why don’t you come out with it, just say what’s true?

Oh Jaclyn, you need divine intervention

And a break from trying to make a quick buck

Maybe go on Kasamba because you need it

Since you’re running out of luck.

Oh Jaclyn, I wish at this point

An actual microbiologist would come through

With photos of what’s going on with those lipsticks

A logical explanation, with concrete proof

Oh Jaclyn, please recall your products

Do some damage control as soon as you can

Your lipsticks are a health hazard,

You might be losing followers: you need to go save those Stans.

Backstory.

The beauty community can’t catch a break. There’s a new scandal each week. Jaclyn is a twenty eight year old YouTuber that’s recently come out with her own makeup line, and she’s been teasing about it since 2015.

Four years later, we have her brand, Jaclyn Cosmetics.

What’s the issue? Um, her first ever product, a cream lipstick, So Rich, that has twenty shades to pick from, also comes with hair, holes, bits of plastic and mold. Actual mold. The logo on the lipstick doesn’t match the logo on the unit carton. This led YouTuber Raw Beauty Kristi to theorize that the JH (for Jaclyn Hill) on the product must have been PRE-Jaclyn’s divorce from husband Jon Hill. The brand is called Jaclyn Cosmetics but the tube says JH:

Jaclyn Cosmetics is the shadiest new brand on the Internet:

• People that paid for expedited shipping never received their products early.

• Jaclyn never sent out PR packages ahead of time – to push sales because there were no negative reviews to begin with.

• Negative comments have magically disappeared from every Instagram post of theirs.

• As if all of that wasn’t enough, there’s been no damage or quality control and Jaclyn has been caught lying about gloves used in her lab. She’s also neglected coming out with an offices statement to clear all the air. Shady, hella shady. The lipsticks also keep balling up in places. Solid balls. And they have holes like I mentioned, plus filaments that look suspiciously moldy. Of course, a normal lipstick never does that.

There’s a very important lesson to be learned from here: don’t put anything out into the market till it’s perfect and don’t announce it to the planet when you’re not even ready.

Are you following the drama? Ooh, and did you like my poetry?

Netflix Recommendation: Good Girls

Netflix Recommendation: Good Girls

Keeping it short today, folks. I’ve actually managed to stay in my room, for forty-eight solid hours, without sleep (I’m exaggerating but you know what I mean) and binge watched on Good Girls. This is an NBC show that premiered last year and a friend recommended it to me, and boy, oh boy, is this show GOOD.

If you watch and love Dynasty, you’ll love this. Here’s five reasons why.

• BODY POSITIVITY.

The first thing I noticed was that none of the leading ladies looked anything like a Victoria’s Secret model. Say what?

The show centers around three suburban mommies – two sisters and their best friend – Beth, Annie and Ruby, and both Beth and Ruby are curvy and Annie isn’t six feet tall. They’re relatable as heck. I love this!

• Female friendship.

We’ve been led to believe that only dudes have each other’s backs. Uh uh. Watch the show, you’ll see what I mean.

Kickass quotes.

Whoever writes the dialogue is a genius. There’s this line that Annie says to her ex, “You loved my eyebrows because your wife plucked hers to death,” and it had me in literal tears. There’s so much you can actually put on a tee shirt and be totally inspired.

• Amazing plot.

From being “boring and dumb” to being money launderers to drug dealers to car dealers and back and forth and back again – it’s fast paced and hella intense.

They cover everything. I love how the show has includes transgender kids, consent, real and raw human emotion, how far people will go for money and for their families.

Chemistry.

I love how Rio is such eye candy with his mmhmm and his refusal to make the first move and let the lady come to him. And I love how, for a change, you fall in love and root for the bad guy.

I love the sexual tension between Beth and Rio – you’ll notice it right away. It’s almost palpable. And you can feel it. It’s that tangible. I mean, holy whoa.

Are you watching yet? Go. Go. GO.