Creatrixsblood's Weblog

The truth about “Complimentary” cat-calling
April 4, 2014, 3:33 pm
Filed under: beliefs, Journaling, journalism, opinion, writing | Tags: , , ,

Hey baby, I’m feeling frisky.

I recently read a rant by a young man who thinks  it’s pretty silly that women get offended when random men whistle after them as they walk by, or lewdly inform her that she looks like a good sex partner.  He went on to posit that most men would enjoy these sorts of “animalistic shows of support” from women.

First, let me distinguish that there is a big difference between compliments and cat-calls.  There certainly is a way for a man to give a woman who is otherwise a stranger a compliment and/or express interest without being sleazy or creepy. In general, it does not involve: Yelling at her so everyone in proximity can hear, staring her down, saying “nice (body part)”, pickup lines, or making animal noises.   The fact is, receiving a cat-call is pretty weird and awkward.

I want the men in the audience to imagine this with me: You’re being hit on by loud, obnoxious and largely unattractive women most of whom, if they wanted to, could drag you into the nearest alley and rape you with a strap-on… That’s a little bit more what it is like to be a woman cat-called by men. Don’t complain. It’s a compliment!

Recently, British journalist Leah Green took to the streets to see how random men would respond to some of the tactics used on women. She asked male bartenders for lap dances, asked pairs of men if they had ever kissed, and told them their pants would better on her floor. It turns out, most of them did not, in fact, seem to enjoy it.



Beauty comes in many forms, and they envy each other.
March 19, 2014, 3:45 pm
Filed under: beauty, emotions, essays, love, Weight Issues, writing | Tags: , , ,

Last night while getting groceries, the checker paid me a random compliment. She was a cute, short, thin young lady with what appeared to be natural light-red hair: the sort of girl who effortlessly looks good in unforgiving uniforms of form fitting white button-ups tucked into khaki pants, the sort of girl whose waist I stare at enviously.

“I love your look,” she told me, scanning my diet soda. “It’s probably a weird thing to say, but I think it every time I see you come in.”

“Thank you,” I said awkwardly, “I like compliments.” I was wearing form-fitting ripped jeans, (which have these wrinkles where my belly ends that I absolutely hate) a black camisole under a pink accented zipper hoody, lots of random bits of cat hair, and no make-up. I let my barely-brushed naturally curly hair frizz out under my skull and cross-bones bandanna.

She smiled, and related an instance in which she noted that her sister had gained some weight, and she said something about it, meaning it as a compliment. “It’s just that I’m so small,” she concluded, briefly glancing at my cleavage.

We continued talking while she finished scanning my items, and we smiled warmly at each other before I left.

Reading and writing before adult education
March 1, 2014, 9:59 pm
Filed under: autobiography, books, creative non-fiction, essays, writing | Tags: , , , ,

Blank pages used to be somewhere I would go to feel free, and leave feeling I had created something worthwhile.  While the latter still holds true, I do not find the same solace on the page.

Since my third year in college, 2006, it has taken me a concerted effort to not pain-stalkingly analyze any and every piece of fiction I am reading or in the process of writing.  As a result, I get a lot more out of what I read, and what I do write is pretty solid;  but I miss the days of devouring books in hours, simply enjoying the ride, as well as being able to sit down and free-write a piece of fiction without caring if it sounded like complete nonsense.

At a very young age, I decided that I wanted to write for a living. While I am doing that in some sense, it is definitely not what I had in mind.   I thought I’d have books in stores by now.  While I do have plans for a novel series, they are no where near ready for prying eyes. I used to think I wanted to be like R.L. Stine or Stephen King…Mainly the having the quality of churning out prolific amounts of good quality writing.  Then I got to college.

I realized Stephen King didn’t think he was a particularly good writer…and honestly, compared to the depth existing in the works of numerous authors across all genres, he really isn’t.  Before studying fiction writing in a formal setting, all I really wanted to do was entertain myself and others while making money in the process.  Afterwards, I decided that rather than light amusement,what I really wanted to write was entertaining fiction loaded with meaningful messages, prompting the reader to reflect.

Suddenly, writing became much harder.  And not as much fun. I didn’t want my writing to stay like it was.  I wanted it to be more…better…

It is never good enough; the want for perfection is crippling, both for my writing and my soul.



According to the following link:

America is a Bureaucratic/Representative/Socialistic Democracy.  What should it be?