In the Gutter: Stop being judgy twats

Tonight's article should be an interesting one, (and not just because I'm dipping into the wine) that I will personally be surprised if it doesn't draw in debate.

Tonight, I want to discuss age differences in dating.

So, from most movies, we are given the example of young women, and older men. Recently, in the past decade, we've seen examples of older women with younger men, but in both of these examples of relationships, the interplay is flawed, and there is generally the common consensus that one or both of these individuals is using the other as a means to an end. Sometimes it's sex, or stability.

The epitome of smoldering hot older man. (YUM.)

Here's a mind-blowing proposition for you; maybe, just maybe, these two people are interested in each other.

This topic came up while one of my coworkers was describing the age difference between her parents. I mentioned that I didn't see the big deal, because it was only a few years. My coworkers were curious to know why I had this frame of mind, and I mentioned that I had dated someone who was 26 years older than me.

Well, that blew up quickly.

They wanted to know details, like, did he pay for me when we went out on dates, or, did I stay at his place, and what was dating him like, but really, why did it end?

Well, first of all, we dated. It wasn't really a relationship, since his divorce really did a number on him. Enough so that one night I was over at his place, and heard all of his "girls" on his voicemail. Other than that, we split the bill, I had my own apartment, and we talked about our day, our dreams, ambitions, wants, needs, and disappointments.

So yes, like a regular "relationship". I wasn't a golddigger, I just liked spending time with him. But, I was too young for him to want to be seen in public much with me. We would hear the usual things, like "dirty old man" or "silly little girl" and when you hear that often enough, sometimes it gets to those who aren't possessing of a great backbone. (The wimps.)

Long story short, he picked an "age appropriate" girlfriend out that he wasn't worried to be seen in public with. (His loss, really. My butt was the nicer one.)

That sucked. It hurt, and it did a number on me, too.

But here's the thing; another coworker had dated someone 30 years older, and she was also in it for reasons that worked for her. They went on vacations, they had a car, and a house.. It was what she wanted. But, he also wanted marriage and children but she was not ready for that.

So yes, there are different reasons to get into a relationship, but it applies to all relationships. When you date someone, be clear about what you're looking for, before you decide to make a commitment.

I know people say that major age differences in a relationship means it's likely to fail, but I disagree. I think any relationship can fail if you are going to be so silly as to not communicate appropriately.

Long story short, age differences only matter to those who let it matter. A relationship is a relationship, and it's up to both partners to make it work, and not let the dirty little things others say about them in.

Food for thought, neh?

In the Gutter: Dick pics

I'm back! Happy Thursday, everyone. I love you so much, I decided to stay up late (for me) and write you this weeks' sexuality column.

Today we're going to talk about... *drumroll* Dick pics.

Dick pics are part of everyday life now. The majority of my friends, male or female, have been sent one. I have been sent several. The last time I was sent one was back in, oh, I'd say April or May. But here's the thing...

I'm not a big fan of dick pics. And you know what? Most of the time, neither is the girl you're sending it to.

I've had some disagreements on this point. One of my friends says she's not attracted to it, but she likes getting a sneak peek of the package, before she actually does anything with it. It's her way of checking to make sure everything's all clear and ready to go. Plus she likes checking for girth.

TMI. Moving on...

Another one of my friends says she couldn't care less about the actual picture, but it does turn her on, knowing a guy is turned on enough to send her a picture like that. It's like a mutual pleasure thing. So she's happy with it.

(I'm betting the guy is too, if he's sending dick pics. I mean really, who would send limp pics? Actually, don't answer that.)

Limp... Or not...?

I do not like receiving dick pics. I especially hate receiving any kind of unsolicited sexy pics. I have two reasons for this. First, I'm a hands on type of person. Really, if anything is going to happen, it's not going to be over an internet or phone connection. Either I get to see IRL and touch, or I'm not interested. That's just how it is.

Secondly, the next part of the equation with dick pic is that I am always asked to send a pic in return. All right then, you asked for it. Continuous hourly pics of cute cats it is! Seriously. with all the leaks that seem to happen with celebrities alone why would I want to risk anything like that? I have a reputation, tattered as it may seem to others, and nekkid pictures of me online are no part of that. Either you get hands on too, buddy, or you're out of luck. I have had a mostly textual relationship before, and I am uninterested in returning to it.

Of course, the biggest problem with dick pics is that YOU ARE SENDING DICK PICS WITHOUT ASKING IF THEY WANT ONE FIRST. OMFG DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT SEXUAL HARASSMENT IS?!

*deep breath*

Okay, long story short, some people like them, some people do not, but you should always ask before clicking send. Otherwise you're setting yourself up for a possible rage induced rant, and a direct link right to straightwhiteboystexting and yes, it is as painful and shameful as it sounds.

Have a good weekend. And remember, Snapchat and iCloud was hacked for nudes.

Depression is a lot of work

Today wasn't too bad, but it could have been a lot worse. I should have had more sleep, more sunlight exposure, and more social support. Those would have improved the day somewhat. But lately, it's becoming harder and harder to fight off my low moods.

Depression is a lot of work.

I'm not sure when I could have become legally diagnosed with depression. There were jumps all over my life where I ended up miserable and unable to leave bed. If I were to try to put a time period on it, I would have to say grade five at the earliest. That year, I strongly remember attempting to call the Kids Help Phone.

Last year in March, I spent three days laying underneath my desk wrapped in a blanket, alternating between crying until it hurt, and staring blankly off into space. The next day, I went into the cafeteria, where there was a Peanuts' inspired therapy booth. I sat down, and something caught my eye; the information sheet on depression.

The volunteer helping with the booth asked me how I was, and I responded by handing her info sheet and telling her "I think I have this."

Turns out that I was right.

Now, I spend a lot of my days paying close attention to a checklist. I opted against taking antidepressants because I had been on some earlier in life, and all I remember is fog out of an entire 6 months. This checklist is made even more hardcore by my crazy schedule.

If there is anything on my daily checklist that has not been fulfilled or completed, I can pretty much expect to be in a low mood during the day. I refer to this as a downswing. Upswings and downswings meaning how low or high my mood is.

True story, if I had at least a half hour of cuddles every day, it would improve my mood drastically.

I know this is all a little bland and boring for you to read, but I need to explain the beginning. I need to somehow find a way to wrap around you all my terrors, hopes, broken promises and dreams so that you might understand for just a second what it feels like to suffer from depression.

I don't think there will ever be someone interested in me, because of how broken I feel. I'm never sure if I'm actually suceeding at my dreams or just talking myself up. Any little thing, like a comment said in the wrong tone, can easily make me low.

But I am not just my depression.

I am giggling on my bicycle as I go flying over a speedbump, racing dragonflies. I am there to encourage everyone I know in whatever endeavor they strive towards. I am calm and reflectful while drinking my morning coffee. I'm goofy and silly, telling dirty jokes at work. I'm smiling down at my phone because someone I like just texted me.

Please don't assume that if I'm not sad all the time, I don't truly have depression.

I am more than my depression. It's a part of me, but it is not me. 

Thank you for reading.

In the Gutter: The Return! (Or, how do you get a partner?)

Sex. I miss it.

Uh, writing about it, I mean. Yeah. >.>”

I've come across some people on my university campus who have said something along the lines of “I know you! You wrote the Sexuality column last year! I loved reading it!”

Thank you, thank you very much. /elvis

Honestly, I do kind of miss writing the column, and I find it was a great motivational tool to improve my writing overall, so I've decided I'm going to bring it back, but only on this personal blog of mine.

The tones this year will be a little different, because, as some of you know, I was in a committed long term relationship last year when I was writing this column. But I will happily bug the crap out of my happily (or not so happily) taken friends in order to bring you the best responses to your questions, queries, and problems.

Spoiler alert; yes, yes I will eventually write about buttsex.

But today, we'll start off slow, with the strangest query I expected to hear from some people; how do you get a partner?

*snorts* I am single. Holy crap, why are you asking me? Clearly I done fucked up somewhere along the road.

All right, all right. Listen, my personal opinion is you should be happy spending time with yourself. Think Gerard Butler in “The Ugly Truth” (you totally watched it, shut up) when he says to Katherine Heigl's character, “Because if you don't wanna have sex with you, why would Colin?”

"You just want to watch, dude."

True story. Except apply it to yourself in matters other than sexytimes. Confidence is really key for this kind of thing. Establish yourself, who you are, what you're interested in, and when a possible partner comes along, you'll know what you consider desirable in a relationship. And what gives you red flags, and sends you running for the hills.

I'm not going to lie and say this is an easy thing. I have terrible luck with dating. I'm normally the person who just straight up says shit like “Hey, I like you. Let's go out.” It's effective, but not really all that romantic, and let me tell you, the times I were rejected were not fun. But it tended to work. It was how I ended up dating my last boyfriend.

Now, the next problem in this scenario is you're interested in someone, they're interested in you, or at least seem to be, but you don't know how to take it to the next step. I'm going to admit straight up that I can't help you out here, because I am having this problem myself. I'm old fashioned in that I think you have to go through the bases in chronological order (you know, kiss, grope, under clothes grope, home run) but a few people have completely shot that idea down. One of my coworkers flat out told me that she tends to get to first base after second base. Not going to lie, I'm likely going to try this route next time I get the person alone. #noshame But really, most of the time, I find it just tends to happen.

As for the progressing into a relationship, I still can't offer any sound advice, other than to be clear with the person about whether you're looking for something casual or something more. If you don't spell it out for them, you're going to run into complications, and one or both of you are going to end up hurt and angry.

Phew. That was a tad painful. Next week, can y'all ask me easier questions? Pretty please?

See you all next Thursday!

A Recap of my Week

I have been more depressed than even I should be, for the stupidest of reasons that my subconcious could apparently think of.

Saturday, I had a really bad migraine. Bad enough that I laid down on my couch at night, with sunglasses on. I missed a friends' potluck, and was useless all day because of this migraine.

Sunday I finally kicked down and was able to get all kinds of household chores and homework done. Then I went to hang out with some coworkers, before my last destination; my best friends' going away party. She's currently driving out to Calgary to start a new life. I ate some appetizers with her, talked about random times, and her plans, then said goodbye and went home.

I woke up Monday morning with a temp well over suitable range. I dragged my icky self into work, and tried to tough it out, but I was sent home rather quickly.

Same thing happened on Tuesday. After both days, I just went straight to bed and hoped my good old method of sleeping and sweating it out worked.

See, I really don't like hospitals or doctors. I refuse to go in unless I absolutely need to, or I get dragged in.

More often than not, I'm dragged in.

So clearly, I had no intention of going to the ER, or an afterhours clinic just to sit around in an uncomfortable position for hours, just because my thermometer told me my temp was too high. How high?

I only share this now because no one can drag me to the hospital. My temp hovered around 99 to 104 for two days. I had no appetite, I was sick to my stomach, and I wasn't sleeping properly because my bones were aching so much.

Well, luckily I had Wednesday off. Even luckier, I finally managed to fall asleep. Really fall asleep. I woke on the couch to my cat Saga licking my big toe, and my coworker texting me, reminding me to sleep in.

I've been shaky and depressed all day. I'm so behind on my work, I didn't pass in a project for my human rights course, and I completely forgot to email my profs and let them know what was going down.

I forced myself to bike to Kings Place Mall today, so I could catch a bus up to CBC and work on some assignments. I was so weak, I could barely kick off.

When I got in, there were a few classmates around, asking me how I was doing. I replied "I feel like shit," because I do. Not just out of physical weakness, but out of guilt for feeling useless and unproductive.

Then there were a ton of sirens outside. We all looked at each other, and ran out to see how bad the crash was, what was going on, you know, typical Journo nosiness. Just like that, my depression started to melt away.

Yes, I'm aware we're kinda morbid people, for running towards a fender bender. But it's what we do, even if there's nothing there.

Maybe this is terrible to admit, but running towards that fender bender with my fellow journalists, made me feel like I was home. After a while, sometimes all depression feels like is a lack of mattering, a lack of belonging.

Journalism makes me feel like I serve a purpose, like I belong to this exclusive little club of overcaffeinated, twitchy, morbid folks who just want to observe what's going on, and tell others about it.

Sorry for the long and emotional post, y'all. But at least this clears up the answer to the question of whether or not I enjoy Journalism.