Saturday, May 30, 2015

Let's Start a Wedgie Revolution

My name is Bekah, and I get wedgies.

I imagine that you also get wedgies, as does every person on this beautiful earth. There’s no shame in admitting it; take a moment, say it out loud. This is a safe space.

When you get a wedgie in the privacy of your own home, no problem. You pick that buddy out of your crack without hesitation. But what happens if your undies slowly creep up into your cheeks while you’re at the grocery store, walking to class, or waiting in line at Target? If you’re lucky, you’ll duck down an aisle where no one’s behind you and take a quick little pick and carry on, or maybe you can discretely delude the situation as you take a seat in the coffee shop, hoping no one notices or they just think you’re smoothing out your shorts before you take a sit. No matter the situation, one thing is clear: public wedgie picking is met with fear, shame, and hesitation, leaving you with fabric in unwanted places for far too long. 

Well folks, I’m here to start a wedgie revolution. Who’s to say public wedgie picking has to be off limits? Who’s to say that we should be forced to walk around with fabric in our nooks and crannies just because someone might see us?


I don’t mean to insinuate anyone walks around with wedgies all the time, but it does happen to the best of us once in a while. In recent weeks I’ve resorted to picking wedgies in public, and let me tell you, it’s freeing. My rear is happy, and I’m happy, and that’s all that matters.

Join me. Pick your wedgies in public. You deserve it.


Wednesday, April 15, 2015

An Open Letter to the Man That Whistled at Me Today

Dear sir,

Hi. I’m the young woman that you whistled at today on 52nd street when you were zipping by on your bicycle and I was going to get paint out of my car during art class. I’m writing to let you know that I didn’t appreciate your whistle, nor did I appreciate you turning around and looking at me after you’d already passed me and started pedaling away, as if you were waiting to see my reaction.

What reaction did you think I would have, exactly? Did you think I would blow you a kiss? Run after you and ask for your number? Flash you? If so, you need a reality check. I’m not so sure if you would have appreciated me riding by on my bicycle, whistling at you while you were minding your own business. I know, you probably think it was flattering. Why wouldn’t a young female want to receive some attention from a twenty-something male riding a bicycle while wearing crispy white tube socks? Well, you’re wrong. This young female does not want or need your attention. And for the record, your tube socks are nerdy.

Perhaps you think since I was wearing leggings and bending over slightly while I reached into my car, it was as opportune of a time as any since my tookus was primely exposed. Maybe you thought you were doing me a favor by letting me know you thought my butt looked good in my leggings. Well dude, here’s the thing: I know my butt looked good in my leggings. And I don’t need anyone, let alone a stranger on a bicycle, to tell me that. Furthermore, I should be able to parade around without pants on and reach into my car without the threat of the male gaze and objectification of a whistling bicycle man. But back to my great butt…

Don't mess with me, Tube Sock Man
I know that I have nice wide hips, and I know my thighs look good, and I know I have a really nice, bangin’, juicy booty. I know how my hips, thighs, and butt look when I wear leggings. I like how they look. I love my body and acknowledge that these parts of me could be attractive to strangers, but I don’t necessarily care to know that. I think these parts of me are attractive, and I sure as hell don’t need your fleeting whistle and over confident look over your shoulder to remind me. 

Now I’m not opposed to genuine compliments. I love complimenting people, especially strangers. But there is a difference in telling someone kindly and respectfully that they are beautiful or handsome verses whistling at them as if they are an animal or object whose attention needs to be gotten.

Your whistle was the first time I’ve been aware of being whistled at, and honestly it didn’t make me as mad as I always thought it would, but as I’m sure you’ve gathered, it was a dick move and I didn’t appreciate it. The way you addressed me today was rude and stupid, and neither one of us gained anything from the experience. I suggest that next time you find any part of a female attractive and you want to vocalize this, get to know that person a little bit first and give them a genuine compliment. And if you want to receive the same respect and generosity, ditch the tube socks.

Bekah 'Bangin Juicy Booty' Pollard

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Stop Bashing Your Body!

It’s Tuesday afternoon, and as I walk through the hallways of my sorority house, I encounter a friend trying on a dress. She looks in a mirror in the hallway, and in my humble opinion, she looks great. The dress is champagney-pinkish with an intricate fabric with a nice design woven in. Basically, she looks lovely. Clearly dissatisfied with the fit of this dress, the friend calls out, “I hate myself!”

About five minutes later, walking through the hall in the other direction, I overhear two other friends talking about borrowing each other’s clothes. Friend One asks Friend Two if she can try on a dress of hers to wear to formal this weekend. Friend Two says yes, but I don’t know if it will fit you, implying that Friend Two’s clothes would be far too large on Friend One. Full disclosure: friends one and two both have great bods and could definitely share clothes any time they want to.

Are we sensing a common theme here, people? Within a period of less than ten minutes I heard two friends of mine talking negatively about their bodies. Now I don’t think that my friend trying on the dress actually hates herself, and I know that once Friend One tried on Friend Two’s dress they would both see they are indeed capable of sharing clothes. I think this “bad-talk” isn’t necessarily always serious, as displayed in these two examples, but whether or not it is, it’s damaging for young women to so readily and casually bash their own appearances. (I think it’s also important to point out that men also experience bad-talking themselves and self-image issues, but since I’m a female and have experienced mostly my female friends exhibiting this kind of behavior, that’s what I’m going to focus on.)

As long as I can remember, I’ve encountered my friends and acquaintances bad-talking themselves…like I’m pretty sure back in like fourth or fifth grade this was a thing. Let’s think about that for a minute: that means young girls pointing out things they dislike about themselves from the age of about nine or ten years old. What the flip, Chip?! I remember hearing friends casually say things about their bodies that they disliked, and I remember feeling weird when I had nothing to say about myself. It's like that scene in Mean Girls when they're all in Regina's room looking in the mirror saying things they dislike about their bodies and they all turn to Cady and wait for her to bash herself too. It’s such a normalized thing for young girls and women to dislike certain aspects of themselves that when we don’t, we either feel like there’s something wrong with us, or someone else does. That’s messed up.

I’ve always been passionate about practicing self-love, and I think it’s essential for fully loving your life and others. If you don’t know how to love yourself well and accept the not-as-great aspects of your being, then how in the world can you know how to love others well? How will you know how to give a friend a meaningful compliment when you can’t compliment yourself? How can you truly feel someone love you in a way no one has ever loved you before if you’ve never allowed yourself to be loved by the person who knows you best?

Surely there are things about my outward appearance that I’m not always super jazzed about, but I try not to dwell on it. There are so many more important things in life to worry about! And there are way better reasons to be dissatisfied with yourself than if your stomach sticks out more than you think it should. I’ll condone disliking oneself if you’re a major asshole to everyone you meet, or you shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. I will not, however, support you disliking yourself because your thighs rub together when you walk. Dude, EVERYONE’S thighs rub together when they walk. 
Excited to digest spicy foods!!!!

Our bodies are far too magical and intricate to truly dislike them. We breathe without thinking about it, we speak without thinking about it, we move our arms or scratch our face or laugh without thinking about it. That’s incredible. We are able to feel sensations and taste food and experience happiness, sadness, fear, excitement, and all these other great emotions throughout our entire beings. We can properly digest food for crying out loud! Seriously, next time you eat spicy food, thank yourself for breaking it down properly so you’re able to enjoy it.

My point is, human bodies are beautiful, and incredible, and far from perfect. Everyone has off days where they feel crappy about themselves, but don’t dwell on things you dislike about your outward appearance. Your body is doing secret magical things in order to work well, so allow yourself to love and appreciate that. Focus on being a kind person who loves what they do and who they know. In that process, allow yourself to love who you are and accept that you are not perfect, and that no one is.

Rather than focusing on how your dress doesn’t fit like you want it to, take a moment and rejoice that you can eat spicy Indian food whenever you want and your body won’t explode.

Sunday, February 1, 2015

My Crying Consciousness

I cried yesterday. I teared up a few days ago. I’ll probably cry again sometime in the near future. Am I abnormally sad or upset about something? Am I weak because I keep consistently crying? No and no. I’m simply human.

Until fairly recently, I never was a crier. Whenever I got upset about something, I would internalize it and feel sad enough to cry, but never actually allow myself to do so. No matter how badly I wanted to feel the release of sobs and water dripping from my eyeballs, I couldn’t quite allow myself to feel it. One of my best friends is really good at allowing herself to cry. My friend is an incredibly passionate person and thrives on deep connections with others and with things she does for herself. Since she feels everything so deeply and intentionally, she does a great job of allowing herself to feel tears as well. I admire anyone who allows themselves to feel their emotions so intentionally and purely. When I used to struggle with crying, my friend would always congratulate me whenever I’d allow myself to cry about something. That’s a sign of true friendship, folks. For whatever reason, basically since the end of the summer, I’ve been able to allow myself to cry whenever the feeling comes over me. Crying when I’m upset, or when I’m happy, or sometimes when I’m not sure why I’m crying has become a thing more familiar to me recently than it ever has been.

Since before winter break I had been watching Gossip Girl on Netflix (I blogged about that here, check it out). The other night I watched the final episode of the whole series, and I teared up when Chuck proposed to Blair. What the heck? Why in the world was I emotionally moved by fictional characters in a sub-par television show, doing exactly what every audience member knew they would end up doing anyway? These people aren’t real. The show wasn’t particularly moving or emotionally gripping. Any do-do bird watching from the first season would assume Chuck and Blair would end up together. So why did I tear up? The simple answer is I have no idea, but it was weird and cool to feel something in an instant that made water fill my eyes, even if the reason behind it wasn’t super profound. 

Allowing myself to cry lets my emotions explode into a physical, tangible expression, allowing me to partially rid myself of whatever feelings are hiding inside me. Just because I cry doesn’t mean I’m sad or depressed; it means that emotions take over sometimes and cannot be explained. I still feel surprised by my visceral reaction to an emotional situation every time I cry, but I truly just need to accept the fact that me crying about things has become more and more a part of my current self, and that’s a-okay. Just because I haven’t always been one to cry doesn’t mean that me crying is unnatural or unwelcome. I used to never like pickles, but recently they’ve been tasting pretty nice to me; same kinda thing. Just because an aspect of your human person is slightly different than it always used to be and causes you to understand yourself in a different way does not mean this aspect is wrong or needs to be rejected. People change their likes and dislikes all the time, so why can’t emotional aspects and self-perceptions change just as naturally?

This isn’t to say that I just walk around crying all the time, because I definitely don’t, but I certainly do feel my emotions in a more profound way than I ever used to. This deeper understanding of how I’m feeling in a particular way might in fact lead me to tears. Whether they be happy tears or sad tears, I’m glad I’m feeling something deep enough to make them happen.

Saturday, October 25, 2014

Breaking Outside the Bubble

At the end of the summer, I realized that this past summer was definitely tied for the best summer I’ve experienced so far in my existence (the other contender is the summer between junior and senior year of high school. Shout out to The Gals). Coming off such a great summer, I was anxious to begin another school year, learn tons of new stuff, see my friends again, and probably make some new ones. After feeling so free and full of inspiration and life over the summer, I’ve found myself not feeling that same bit of magic since school has started.

Since I’m a junior now, all of my classes relate to my major and minors, meaning I’m in all English and art classes. That sounds so prime, right? Well, for some reason it’s not as fulfilling as I anticipated. Although I’m enjoying creating and reading in all of my classes, I’ve realized that for the first time that I can recall, school isn’t the main thing I want to focus my energy on. After being at school for part of the summer, working a little and having time to spend hours in a coffee shop writing (I’m not an asshole, I swear), or spend the afternoon sitting on my front porch sketching, I kind of wish I had that same bit of time to freely create and do things that make my soul happy. School certainly does make my soul happy, but I suppose I got too used to being more in control of my time. 
The Gals, this summer

I write and edit for a beautiful online magazine called the Lala, and that is quickly becoming something I wish I could spend more time with. I’ve also done several commissioned art projects over the past few months, and I wish I could spend more time on those, rather than squeezing them in between school things. Even outside of creating things on my own time, I crave more time to create and sustain relationships with others. I live with two of my best friends in a small room in my sorority house, yet there have been several times throughout this semester where we’ve gone days without seeing one another because we’re all so busy. Outside of that friendship, I have other relationships that I wish I had more time for as well. It’s just a strange place to be mentally, where I know that all of the people and opportunities I have are because of me being at school, yet I wish I didn’t have school to distract me from these people and opportunities.

This feels a bit like I’m coming across saying I’m not enjoying school, and that’s not the case. I can’t properly articulate how I feel. I guess I’m just lazy and wish I didn’t have things to do all the time. I feel like school is something I have to do, rather than something I’m excited for. I still get excited about school, but not as consistently as I have in the past. I think it’s because I’m straddling the idea of being a student and being in the so-called “Butler Bubble,” and wanting to break out of this bubble and do things “in real life” that I want to do.

I know next year as a senior when “real life” is quickly approaching, I’ll crave more time in the bubble, but this is how I feel now. I’ve concluded that just because I feel differently about school and my focuses are changing, that doesn’t mean that’s not okay. I still love learning. I still enjoy all my classes. I’m still creating things and improving my creative skills because of my peers and professors. I just would like the space to apply these things to projects outside of school.

Do you feel the same way? Stuck in a rut between doing school things and wanting to do outside of school things? Not sure? Think about it. Self-reflection is fun.

Monday, August 18, 2014

Fairy Dust Friends

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the people in my life, and I feel so full of happiness that I might explode. Maybe it’s because I’ve been watching a lot of Real Housewives lately and all they do is argue with their friends rather than enjoy one another, or maybe its because I’m feeling really pensive, but I feel so, so good about all of the people in my life. I feel as if everyone I’m lucky enough to have around me is dusted with fairy dust. They just bring so much joy, magic, and inspiration to my existence.

It’s a truly magical and powerful thing that we get to choose who is in our lives, and it’s even more magical when we find a friend whose soul holds hands with ours; a friend who you can talk to about anything and they just get it no matter what. I have a few friends with whom I can talk for literal hours about important stuff in life, and when I leave these conversations, I feel so incredibly refreshed. I also have a few people in my life with whom I can spend hours sitting around doing nothing, or doing something as simple as getting coffee, or spending hours at a park, but as I’m experiencing this time with them, that cup of coffee is the most fun, magical cup of coffee I’ve ever shared with someone, and that park is even more enjoyable than any park I’ve been to before.  I feel so inspired and lucky and overwhelmed by the fact that I have those people in my life, and even more overwhelmed that I can feel so joyful from simply existing next to another human, no matter what it is we're doing. Just the fact that as human beings, we’re able to make those sorts of connections with other people without even trying to connect so deeply makes me want to explode with happiness and awe. 

I’ve always been intrigued by human connectivity, but since starting college and being around a whole slew of different people, I am even more fascinated with how human beings relate to one another. I’ve found several people this past school year with whom I’ve unintentionally connected with deeply, and in a short amount of time. Being lucky enough to encounter people who engulf your being with positive vibes, while you engulf theirs, is so incredible. How cool is it that through our relationships with others, we are able to gain so much knowledge, inspiration, and happiness? And it’s even cooler that this intense connection, happiness, and pleasure come from such simple things. If you and your friend love dancing, dance together. If you two really love drinking coffee and talking about feminism, drink coffee and talk about feminism. If you really love talking about your feelings together, talk away. If you really love kissing each other's faces, kiss until the cows come home. These straightforward, everyday opportunities are so simple, yet they bring such intense awe and happiness into our lives. I just can’t get over how lucky that is. I feel very overwhelmed by the accessibility of happiness in my daily life thanks to my surroundings.

I just feel so full of life and light, and surrounded by good people releasing good vibes, and for that I am grateful. 

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Childhood Innocence

Yesterday afternoon I sat perched on a bench, nursing my cup of coffee, feeling the sunshine soak into my skin. I sat observing and listening to my surroundings, when I noticed a little boy prancing around, followed by his mother. They walked into the library then stopped in front of Star Fountain. The boy climbed up onto the edges of the fountain and started walking around it, taking big, full steps while singing, “I’m free. I’m free as can be in the waaater!” He walked around a few times, continuing to sing and swing his arms as his mother stood there expressionless. She kept telling her son, come on, come on, we have places to go, but he just kept dancing around the fountain lost in his own little world. A few weeks ago I walked along the canal downtown and saw a group of kids walking on a raised ledge near some steps. They were so excited and yelled out, “Mom! Look at me! Woaaaah!!” In both instances, these kids were so excited about life; just existing in a space where there was a wall or fountain to climb, and the fact that they could climb it if they wanted, brought them so much joy. 
Me as a child.

I oftentimes find myself completely enamored by children because they are so free. This little boy was so happy and full of life by simply walking around a fountain. I love that. Kids are so excited about living, and they act upon their impulses to find excitement, then seek out opportunities to do so. Children get so excited over the simplest things; things that exist in the world already that we often don’t notice because we are too distracted by our own lives. They explore these things in different ways than adults because they don’t feel inhibited, and they don’t have to worry about jobs, conflicts, making dinner, or paying bills. They see a wall that seems good for climbing, so they climb it. They hear a tune in their head, so they sing it. That’s such a beautiful thing. They’re still young enough that they don’t know curse words, and the worst thing they can hear in a day is that their favorite television show is playing a rerun tonight. (Do you even remember the last time you didn’t say or hear a curse word? Wouldn’t it be magical to revisit a time in your life when “shut up” was the meanest phrase you knew?) As cliché as it sounds, they don’t know the realities of the world yet, and I’m jealous of that. I still don’t know many harsh realities, but I oftentimes wish I knew fewer than I do. I wish I was so innocent and free that climbing up on a wall would stir up so much excitement inside me that I’d have to call out so someone could see me and share in my joy.

I enjoy being a 20-year-old, and I am aware that being my age gives me more opportunities and knowledge than a 10-year-old, but I am a little envious of childhood splendor and innocence. As a child, life seems so grand and exciting, and every afternoon holds an adventure in your neighborhood. This is still somewhat true in my present life, and I try to keep my inner-child alive by wearing my Forever Lazy to class, or by talking to strangers and asking people weird questions, but never again will walking and singing around a modest-size fountain be the most dazzling part of my day. I kind of wish it could be.