When your significant other cheats on you, it hurts. Like hell.
What follows is a particularly hard question to answer- Why?
I’ve been asked if I will ever tell a friend that her boyfriend is cheating on her. “No.”, I said. Because when you tell someone that the person they love is cheating on them, their whole world falls apart. If that happens, the shock is equivalent to a blind sided attack, a car crashing into you from the opposite junction. And here the guilt becomes mine to bear, the bearer of news now embroiled in the ensuing mess. Relationships will change in an instant. And no matter how much you theorise notions of truth and freedom, that hurt and anger will fumble deep within. Somewhere along the way, you might find a way to forgiveness. Sometimes you don’t, the betrayal will always haunt you like an echo in the hollowed mind.
"Because he was bored?", a friend offered. "But why? What did I do wrong?" She couldn’t understand.
Funny how this is a female response to infidelity, as if something was wrong with us to have warranted his straying eyes, dick and heart. Funny how we also like to justify cheating and its constituent betrayal with some kind of mind/body dualism. “He didn’t mean it.”, “He was just flirting… they didn’t fuck.”. Well if fucking was such a clear delineation between love and a mistake, what does it mean when you fuck each other? I have a terrible pun to answer that- a fucking mistake. But amidst the jokes, why indeed do we tear our bodies apart trying to answer for what is inarguably his mistake? Or if we’re trying to be rational, our mistake? If a problem is to be ascertained, its in the relationship. And then I have friends who say that cheating, or straying to be more exact, is normal in relationships and is often a test of commitment. When a girl sleeps around, she is definitely a slut. When a boy cheats on you, you take a while before you put a finger on his “manwhore” status. Sure there is anger, but mostly I’ve found remnants of shame and hurt from being left behind; from being compared to the other woman, and that nagging anxiety of “What does she have that I don’t?”. Who is she to have warranted his un-love for me? We begin to calculate our bodies in comparison to his assessing attractions, trying to understand how his mistake might have stemmed from what we didn’t do and in that vein, his mistake becomes my mistake. These flaws open up from time to time so even a happily attached girl reborn with another man’s all-encompassing love will ask, “Why did he cheat on me?”
There is a question of ownership (and a very Western ideal of the entirety of Self) that muddles gendered lines. Here I am talking about girls who get cheated on and how “yours” seems to take precedence over “mine”.
Commitment, trust, fidelity. They’re all serious stuff. So cheating is a one-time, an ephemeral affair, something fun. Here is probably where she will stand, half in derision but mostly in fright - “So I’m no fun?”, “So I have to be a slut?!” With some girls its even, “But I’m the slut?!”. The hurt cuts deeper and deeper into some kind of haunting self-deprecation until infidelity becomes an intuition. This female intuition we speak of is hardly biological or mystical. It is sharpened by our constant self-assessment and the ball of insecurities the airbrushed, 6-pac beauties of the pornographic imagination have supplied us with. The woman’s jealousy, her burning intuition suffers the same fate as her vagina, reduced to mere biology. “Can you not be so paranoid?! There’s nothing going on.” Nothing becomes a hateful word, she unpacks it inside her head over and over again. Until the mistake unfolds itself before her very eyes, or on the wings of a well-meaning friend, the slap stings as “I knew it. I was right all along.”. Strong are those who leave, but equally strong are those who stay. She who learns to forgive, in whatever sense she makes out of that emotion, is magnificent. Everyday, she deals with a whole sea of questions left unanswered, too afraid to probe. But most likely she already knows. In that moment she was suddenly un-lovable.
The worst of all are those who forget their own mistakes, speak nothing of it and bury it within time. And when he tries to slut-shame the very girls he played around with, she goes mad, trembling with sheer anger. “How dare you, how dare you.” The heart wags its broken pieces at his careless demeanour, suddenly she embraces the other woman in overwhelming betrayal. Mostly she means, “How dare you take my hurt so lightly?”. The male ego suffers no emotional liability hence his wandering ways fulfill his risk-taking profile, but the woman suffers the consequences of such risks. A more aggravating case of the male ego’s philandering dick is the idea of “She was nothing.”, “I still come home to you.”. In both cases, who exactly is the substitute? The only constant is him.
Passion in many aspects is knowledge, and here we have the girl who doesn’t know. I’ve seen it- if there is such a thing as secondhand betrayal I felt it even under glasses of booze. Perhaps the most terrible reason for cheating is one that doesn’t explain anything- “I don’t know how you even found out.”. As if that changes anything, as if cheating only happens with knowledge. But in his dickhead logic, that actually makes sense. If he, in all his testosterone and stereotyped emotionless-ness, can somehow continue double lives of infidelity and fidelity, your world will still be the same.
The easy way to answer the “why” question would be that he was horny. But if we allow biology to explain his behaviour, we let him define our moods- and therefore our jealousy and “paranoia- as PMS. The tenuous answer to that can be found in how you repair that broken relationship- whether by leaving or staying. Repair has to be made to understand that betrayal, rather than making excuses for it not being a betrayal. Because it was and will always be.
There’s a dollar in my g string
THAT IS YOUR D STRING. G IS ALL THE WAY ON MY LEFT.
EXCUSE ME you uncultured swine. That IS my G string. LEFT TO RIGHT IT’S: C G D A ON A CELLO. And if you notice the dollar is wonderfully tucked in my G STRING.
DO NOT DOUBT MY SIX YEARS OF EXPERIENCE.
THEY’RE NOT CALLED VIOLINISTS THEY’RE CALLED CELLISTS
IT,WAS THE VIOLINIST THAT THOUGHT IT WAS THE WRONG STRING JESUS CHRIST
This is just one massive train wreck
String players can be a bit high-strung.
y’all need to cellout
We all need to calm down before this gets violin-t
Large fried chicken (by EssG)
Popular taiwan street food
- One of the first women to start her own independent production company.
- Earned her way to stardom without sleeping with executives for roles.
- Refused to date people for publicity just because 20th Century Fox wanted her to.
- Left 20th Century Fox because she refused to let them get away with treating her badly and paying her a tiny wage, just because of her “dumb blonde” image.
- Was only paid a fraction of her co-star’s wage even though she was the star of the movies and the biggest box office pull, but still went ahead with the movies because she was so passionate about acting.
- Studied method acting at the Actors Studio with Lee Strasberg, who said that she was one of his best students along with Marlon Brando.
- Had a personal library of over 500 books and rarely read fiction - she was desperate to learn and educate herself.
- Was sexually abused as a child but then went on to encourage the sexual liberation of women in the 1950s.
- One of the first people to speak openly about sexual abuse.
- One of the first people to openly support gay rights.
- Supported many charities such as the Milk Fund, March of Dimes, Arthritis and Rheumatism foundation.
- Donated her time and money to these charities.
- Visited orphanages and hospitals on her own time to surprise the people there.
- Married one of the greatest literary minds of the 20th century
- Suffered two miscarriages and one ectopic pregnancy and still put on a brave face for her fans.
Sorry, did you say she wasn’t a role model?
marilyn is my biggest role model so don’t even go there
and let’s not forget this
Ella Fitzgerald was not allowed to play at the popular Mocambo, in Hollywood, because of her race. Marilyn, who loved her music and supported civil rights, called the owner of the Mocambo and told him that if he booked Ella immediately, she would take a front table every night. The owner said yes, and Marilyn was there, front table, every night. After that, Ella never had to play in a small jazz club again.
"She was an unusual woman – a little ahead of her times. And she didn’t know it." - Ella Fitzgerald about Marilyn Monroe
OH SHIT YOU JUST GOT SERVED
I got goosebumps reading this. Amazing.
im pretty sure the person made the picture as a joke just to get a reaction and you guys really supplied them with one hell of one omg bless it
“Screw writing “strong” women. Write interesting women. Write well-rounded women. Write complicated women. Write a woman who kicks ass, write a woman who cowers in a corner. Write a woman who’s desperate for a husband. Write a woman who doesn’t need a man. Write women who cry, women who rant, women who are shy, women who don’t take no shit, women who need validation and women who don’t care what anybody thinks. THEY ARE ALL OKAY, and all those things could exist in THE SAME WOMAN. Women shouldn’t be valued because we are strong, or kick-ass, but because we are people. So don’t focus on writing characters who are strong. Write characters who are people.”
Iranian photographer Hossein Fatemi, offers a glimpse of an entirely different side to Iran than the image usually broadcasted by domestic and foreign media. In his photo series An Iranian Journey, many of the photographs reveal an Iran that most people never see, presenting an eye-opening look at the amazing diversity and contrasts that exist in the country.
Very happy about this