Blogger's Paradise

there are certain things that a woman needs, one of them being a place where she can go on and on about a boring topic without being cut off by some self-righteous asshole telling you to get over it. some people just don't understand that need to rant, but luckily, i'm not one of them.

i love ranting. in fact, it could be said that it's one of the most satisfying past-times i've ever experienced. it reduces stress, it calms you down, it helps you think a bit more clearly (afterwards, of course). what more could a girl want? ranting is the next best thing to chocolates and oil massages.

why can't some people (majority of them being male) see the benefits of having a good rant? some people like to keep their opinions to themselves, but a woman like me just can't sometimes. i HAVE to get it out in the open, preferably to a close female friend, or even an unwilling boyfriend would do. it's impolite to say no, you know. there's no escaping a woman with something on her mind that's bothering her to kingdom come. it's either blurt or bust. it's not to say that we're not reliable when it comes to secrets, it's just saying that sometimes it helps to think out loud to a sounding board. a friend who is willing to listen to me and my hand gestures for an hour is a good friend indeed. how many willing friends can you name?

men need to understand that not all women are like them. in fact, i can say that almost none are. women don't have caves (quoting doc john gray), women need to let it out and not bottle it in. men don't talk about things that bother them... they prefer to withdraw into themselves and think it over and over until they feel they have it all sorted out. but women can't do that most of the time... we need to think outloud, even if it's to a mirror. don't blame your girlfriend or your wife when she's ranting to herself while she's in the shower (so loudly that you're neighbor told you to turn down the tv), or when she has her girlfriends over to a three-hour coffee and cake while you're trying to watch sunday sports. it's her way of coping. she needs to talk to a friend when she has something on her mind. may i make a suggestion? give her your credit card and send her and her sister/best friend off to a day spa. seriously. she'll be so relaxed that she won't feel like talking very much at all. and where there's no talking, there's serenity. isn't that what we all want?

Switchin' it off

there're a lot of things in life that require some form of self-control: food, exercise, the net... but the main thing i think a lot of us have absolutely no desire to control, is emotional expression. we don't really wanna repress our hugs just because it's a social no-no (especially when that person's committed to a relationship), or blow up in a god-awful driver's face (for that attractive hole he/she made on the passenger side), or sob in a movie theater during previews (hey, the dad could've stayed home with his family instead of flying off to some business meeting). however, in some special cases where there has been a transition - where instead of blowing up when you're angry, you cry - there really is little or no control.

there comes an age in every person's life when we stop experiencing teenage angst, and become sobbing idiots instead whenever we feel like bashing someone with a pillowcase (reinforced, of course) full of bricks. i'm talking about when we should be standing up for ourselves, talking back at the boss, finally putting our foot down on the plumber who was due to fix the toilet three weeks ago, and getting angry for something or someone who deserves to feel the heat a tad. i don't know about you, but i hit that stage at 17 (kinda early, but yeah).

so why do we feel the need to switch off that button that allows us to be the emotional hothead? because we don't feel like fighting anymore for our rights and what we want? no... cuz we just don't wanna fight, period. we learn, eventually, that when someone yells at you, and you yell back, it's just gonna spark off another set of yelling matches. we're sick of the spit coming out of those heartless black holes. so instead of enduring a whole hour of spit, we only endure a few minutes. let them yell till they're blue in the face (pardon the cliche), smile (or grimace) and walk away with the satisfying thought that most people yell and scream because they're simply not evolutionarily advanced enough to articulate their thoughts in a coherent and civilized manner. when they pick fights, it's because they have something to prove... usually to themselves. but still, that logic doesn't feel as good as it should. i wouldn't mind being able to come back with a biting remark of my own (without the yelling and screaming of course), or something ingenious and sarcastic to boggle the mind of the Neanderthal with the black hole.

The Jetplane

it's true sometimes that when we watch someone get on a plane, we fear that we might never see them again. i credit those fears to the horrific song "leaving on a jetplane", and the fact that the person who sang it actually never landed alive. that, and the era of plane crash movies supplied by hollywood during a century in which we depend on 747's to get us from A to B. who in their right minds would ever fly again?

just this week, i had to watch my parents and youngest brother go through customs and get on a plane headed for home. it was agony. as soon as we got to the airport, that song played in my head. as unreligious as i am, i instinctively called on god to take them home safely. they got home safe, but my fear of planes crashing is still uneased. is the fear of crashing in a monster of a machine spiralling thousands of meters down towards the grounds at hundreds of kilometers per hour... unrealistic? perhaps. we're more likely to be killed by bulls than to crash in a plane, and that's a fact. so why am i so scared everytime i get near the airport? i'm telling you... it's that damn song!

it's not just a common fear of flying... it's a fear that causes you to lose sleep and your appetitite (and everyone who knows me knows i LOVE food), your hair starts to drop off at an even more alarming rate (school stress started it first), your cat hisses at a zombie pacing up and down the hallway, and you end up rocking yourself back and forth sitting cross-legged on your bed, mumbling, "there's no place like home, there's no place like home" over and over again. granted, that's an exaggeration, but i must emphasize it nonetheless. it's not madness. it's a strain of stress that evolved over the years to turn a normal human being with all the normal stresses into the living dead with abnormal blips on the heartrate monitor. am i obsessed? absolutely not. but i should sue anyone who is still re-recording that damn song and selling it to the flight-loving community. that's all i have to say.