Abuse Is Abuse

I feel nauseous as I type this. However, since it's honesty hour (12:37PM. Yepp, definitely honesty hour) I feel like it's time to pour out my feelings about this particular experience.

It's been about a year and a half since this happened to me. I'm over it, I'm okay, I'm happy. So please, if you finish reading this wondering if I'm okay, I am.

I was sexually abused.

Yeah, that feels super not okay to say, to type, to think, to feel.

Someone (who I least expected) violated me and it disgusts me on so many levels I can never begin to describe them. I was not raped. I was not physically hurt. I was not abused in the way many of you are probably thinking. But I was abused.

Go back to title: Abuse Is Abuse

I am currently enrolled in a women's studies class that covers every single aspect of men and women sexuality that I could ever imagine going over in a formal educational setting. This past week we've been discussing sexual abuse, and I have been fighting back unbelievable feelings and tears each day that we review what sexual abuse entails. Every day we talk about it, every power point slide we go over, I can say part or all of it applies to me.

This is my story. This is how it made me feel. This is how I feel about it now.

I felt the moment it happened that I was violated, abused, taken advantage of, whatever. Now that I am being formally educated about it, I know this to be true. Any form of sexual or physical contact that happens without consent is considered abuse. And with that being said, I was abused. (I think I've said it enough times now that we all get the point)

So.

One night, a friend of mine decided he and I would have a low-key, fun night at home. We made some white russians (that's an alcoholic beverage made with booze and milk for those who aren't aware) and hung out in my room talking and laughing and having a good time. My roommates got home (a couple who lived in the master bedroom of my house together) and the girl, who was a friend, went to bed while her boyfriend decided to hangout with my friend and I in my room for while. We continued making white russians and having a good time.

You can imagine milk doesn't mix well with alcohol.

I felt sick, so I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I was drunk.

I was throwing up, feeling awful, trying to power through the unease I felt in my stomach. I was in my own bathroom, in my own house. My roommate (the guy who lived in the master bedroom with my other roommate, his girlfriend) came in the bathroom and asked if I was okay.

I vividly remember resting my arm on the edge of the toilet and my forehead was resting on that arm. I heard my roommate enter and ask if I was alright and immediately heard the bathroom door close and lock with the finish of that question. I remember lifting my head just enough to see him walk towards me and sit down next to me, draping his arm over my shoulders. My heavy head dropped back onto my forearm and I instantly felt my roommate put his hand on my thigh. I was sitting criss cross in front of the toilet, drunk and vulnerable, hardly able to move, just waiting for my sickness to pass. My roommate asked "Tatum are you okay?" as he slipped his index and middle finger up my shorts and past my underwear, into my vagina.

At that moment I remember snapping my head up so fast. I reached for the towel rack and grabbed on to lift myself up. I pulled my entire body weight up, pulling on that towel rack, asking him "what are you doing?!?!" The towel tack tore off the wall, I stumbled around, squeezing between the bathtub, the toilet, and my disgusting roommate. I yanked on the doorknob which was, in fact, locked. Once I got out of the bathroom I ran into my room and dropped to my knees on my bedroom floor, sobbing. My friend was so confused. I learned later that he heard some sort of commotion in the bathroom. But how could he have possibly known what was going on? All I could do was cry hysterically while he held me, telling me it would be okay.

When I finally choked out, bit by bit, what had happened, he stroked my arm, telling me I was strong, I could get past this, and I was not the type of person to let this ruin me.

My roommate stood in my doorway and asked my friend why I was crying. I was so mind blown that he could act like nothing had happened. I remember my friend saying "I think it's time everyone just goes to bed." And my roommate went into his room and went to sleep next to his girlfriend.

I never knew until now how powerful my friend's words were.

That friend, and he knows who he is (if he is reading this) saved me. He saved me from letting some piece of shit break me down. He reminded me of the strong, independent, insanely hard-headed person I am immediately when I needed to be reminded.

And so I woke up the next morning and decided I would tell no one.

I had just moved in to this house that I found on craigslist. I didn't know the people who lived there very well. I was just getting to know them. I moved in June of 2013 and in July of that same year is when that creep came on to me.

Everyone in the house knew each other for years. The couple I shared a house with was two years deep in a relationship. I felt like if I expressed what he had done, no one would believe me. They didn't know me, they had no reason to trust me over him. And I was strong. Yeah. I convinced myself that all of this meant it was better to keep it all a secret.

Eight months later, that couple that I still shared a house with was on the rocks. They were fighting constantly, breaking up a couple times a week, and unhappy.

Fast forward a bit, I finally told my roommate, and now really good friend, what her boyfriend had done to me. I told her I was afraid to tell her before, that I never thought she would believe me, that I wasn't sure what her boyfriend would do if I told, and that I hoped she could understand the insane disgust that I felt from that violation.

Needless to say they broke up, she kicked him out of our home (thank goodness) and she stopped speaking to me, looking at me, or acknowledging that I existed at all.

My other roommates had learned what had happened. If I or my roommate told them first, I don't remember, but I do know they took my side and I was grateful. Well, two of them took my side. One of them said some awful things to me. (More on that later)

Throughout the next YEAR I fought with my roommate about what happened. She and her friends thought I had done something to deserve what happened to me. They said I must have been coming on to my roommate for him to think that was okay. I probably wasn't telling the truth. Something was going on that she was not aware of. She used her breakup as a crippling experience. She moped around, saying her life was in shambles because her boyfriend had "cheated on her" and her friend (me) had betrayed her. Imagine how SHE feels. Feel bad for HER. She's so depressed because she was going through a hard time.

Each time she threw it in my face, I tried to tell her I lived in a house with a guy who violated me without my permission, and begged her to see it from my perspective too, and all she could say was, "Tatum, you CHOSE not to tell anyone for all these months so it's not my fault you lived with him. I lost my boyfriend of two years. Feel bad for me."

She was supposed to be my friend. She made me feel like it was my fault that her boyfriend abused me. It was my fault I was living in a house with him. It was my fault her relationship ended. It was my fault because I kept it a secret.

She then turned that secret into a lie. I lied to her all those months. Pretending to be her best friend, never telling her what her boyfriend had done.

The 4th roommate found out about the experience through the one whose boyfriend it was. I will never know what the story was that she heard, but she told me it's sad that I would get drunk and let my friend's boyfriend touch me inappropriately. LET HIM. Like I let him do it to me.

I have never been so angry in my entire life. Even the eight months that I carried that experience with me I was not as angry as I was after I told my friends about it. They made me feel like I was dirty, a liar, stupid, whatever. Treated me like it was all my fault. And let me just say, I wasn't prancing around asking for sympathy. If I wanted that I could have asked for it right when it happened. I was trying to tell my friend what type of creep she was dating and save her from that awful relationship. Then I became the bad guy.

Here's where I want my experience to hopefully help someone who has been through something similar.

In my lectures about sexual abuse, my professor keeps stressing the importance of believing your friend when they tell you what happened. Do not judge them based on their experience. Many people have ideas about girls getting drunk and "asking for it" or dressing a certain way and "asking for it". No. I don't buy that. I was drunk, sure. But I was in my OWN home with people I thought were friends. Good people. Support your friend if they need it. You don't have to smother them, they may not need that kind of support. But calling them a liar or eliminating all sympathy for what they went through is a little much. (Even if you have those opinions, keep them to yourself). I cannot stress enough how much it helped me to have just 2 or 3 friends take my side completely and feel for me, believe me, support me, hug me.

And if this has happened to anyone reading this. It's okay to feel awful. But you don't have to let it define you. You don't have to let it break you. You don't have to listen to those who judge you, who tell you it's your fault, who don't believe you. It is never your fault if someone touches you without your permission. Drunk, not drunk, sleeping, awake, male, female, friends, not friends, boyfriend, girlfriend. Whatever. If you don't want your roommate to touch your vag then he doesn't get to.

Majority of the time, sexual abuse happens between people who know each other.

That's not to say you shouldn't trust anyone around you. But you don't have to go around thinking it's not that bad or it's not abuse or it's not hurtful just because a "friend" touched you in a way you did not want.

You also don't have to accept people minimizing what happened to you because "Well at least he didn't rape you. At least you didn't get hurt. At least you didn't get pregnant. At least it wasn't a stranger. It could have been worse."

Just because I was only touched for a second, doesn't mean it didn't disgust me. It doesn't mean I should get over it faster than someone who was abused much worse. It doesn't mean it shouldn't bother me as much as it does. I have spent all this time telling myself it isn't a big deal, I didn't let it destroy me so it must not have been that bad, I wasn't physically hurt so I suppose it could have been worse.

But emotionally, I was hurt. The things my so-called friends said to me crushed me. Someone I lived with came on to me when I was vulnerable and that hurt me just has much as a punch in the stomach. It's sickening the things that were said to me. And I know I am strong enough to get over those things. I am tough enough to get over my abuse and live my life, brushing off the awful thing that happened to me and brushing off the awful things that were said about it. I never showed how much my experience affected me. I acted much stronger on the outside than what I felt on the inside.

I've debated a lot since I started blogging whether or not to share this story. I've moved on and don't particularly love to recall all the overwhelming feelings of disgust that come with telling it. But I realized recently that there are probably plenty of people out there who have been through something like this. I can only hope that sharing this story reminds those people that even if they were not raped or hurt badly or something of that sort, what happened to them is not okay, it's not to be minimized or diminished because it could have been worse. Abuse is abuse and no matter what kind of abuse it is, it should never be tolerated. If anyone reading this WAS raped or physically hurt... share your story too! Sexual abuse is wrong on every single level.

I'm open to talking about my experience. I hope anyone and everyone feels free to share their thoughts with me about my situation or their own. And I want to stress the importance of telling your story. It's a huge part of healing. Share it with a friend. Share it with me. Write it down, even if it's not in a blog you share on the internet.

The most important thing is to heal.

xo Tatum

News Flash: College is pointless

And so is everything else in life.

Woah. What's the point of life? What's the point of anything? Why am I here? Why are you here?

Let's get weird.

I'm so glad I'm not a sociology major. I would just be in tears every day. Sociology classes were put into the education system to punch people in the face with reality about society. And not everyone is going to get that little bit of wisdom dropped in their ear. We can't let EVERYONE in on the secret. (I'm about to let all you people out there in on the secret so you don't have to take sociology classes to find out). All 200 of you that will read this blog. (We'll leave the rest of them in the dark).

It's already getting weird. Do you feel it?

My soc professor asked us to describe our dream home. Where will we be in 10 years? What state or country? How big is our house? How many Range Rovers do we want? Beach house? Guest house? Man cave? Mini bar? Wine cellar? Horses?

Then she's like, "Great! Plan on having none of that."

What?
*hopes and dreams crushed into a trillion pieces and fall to the floor of room 637 in Saunders Hall*

Today was the most inspired I've ever been from an adult. And in my years in Hawaii (as well as years before that) I've gotten a lot of inspirational talks from adults saying I can do anything I want, be anything I want, it's my life, love it, live it, blah blah blah. I have gotten motivated and inspired over and over again to chase my dreams (once I think of some dreams). Being told I will never be rich, I will never have a mansion, I will be drowning in debt from college forever in my tiny apartment with my crying babies and spaghetti-o's made me SO HAPPY.

Because it's real.

Ok not happy like yay I'm going to be broke forever and hate life yippee. But like appreciative happy that we weren't getting fed the same "you can do anything" bullshit. (sorry mom)(and grandma)

Student loan debt is at an all time high. People are taking on debt they will literally never be able to pay off in their lifetime. And degrees are getting more and more worthless. You couldn't get anywhere with a high school diploma. Then you couldn't get anywhere with a bachelors degree. Now you can't get anywhere with a masters degree. So we are going to school for longer and longer, accruing more and more debt, just to get lame jobs that won't pay them off. But hey, I can put

Love,
Dr. Tatum

on my letters because I will have a PhD. Fancy. Woo.

So what the actual eff yew see kay are we doing? (I am really heated right now, I want to drop F-bombs but I respect my mother too much to post that word on the internet so just imagine it's there and feel the passion) Why do millions of people go to college with the same idea that they are going to get a degree and get an excellent job and make loads of money when only 1% of the population is actually wealthy? How many of us millions are going to wedge ourselves into that 1%? I'll tell you. All the pretty ones who marry rich guys.





^ Advice for the rest of us.

College is literally just a way to pass time. (Like a large amount of time. 4+ years usually because finishing in 4 is bullshit too) (Please shut up all people who finished in 4. It's impossible and you're just not human). It's something for us twenty-something year olds to do to prolong the inevitable search for said lame job and start our lives.

Feel inspired yet?

On the up side, we are learning. I mean WHAT IS the point of life? In the grand scheme of things, we're born, we live, we die. So in the middle, during the living part, we just find shit to do. I chose going to college. And to be honest, I didn't even go to college for any particular reason. I changed my major a billion times. I've told people "I don't know what I want to do with my life" more times in college than in my entire life combined. At least when I was little I could say I'm going to be a dolphin trainer with full confidence and no hesitation. Now it's like, well I work at a pretty cool bar? That's stimulating my mind enough for now.  Can I just do that forever? I didn't go to college with any real goals besides to just graduate college. (May 2015 is coming in hot. Now what do I do?)

So with absolutely no real reason for life, why not just do shit that stimulates your mind while you're alive? Forget the unrealistic and unattainable "go to college, get a job, get rich" goals. Just go to college because it's something to do. Learn about things you are interested in. Learn about things you love. You'll probably never pay off all your loans before you die, your kids probably won't pay off theirs, and their kids won't be able to pay off theirs. But they will try. And they will be intelligent. And they will be happy!

Like hello! The meaning of life is BE HAPPY.

I just revealed it to you. Put it in your pocket and keep it forever.

College makes me happy. Sometimes it makes me quite sad, like during exam weeks. My job usually makes me pretty happy. My friends make me happy. My family makes me happy. My new roommate's puppy makes me really happy. Someday I'll find a new job that hopefully makes me happy. I'll make monthly payments for my student loans and I'll do it with a damn smile and a mouth full of spaghetti-o's and I'll call my mom constantly and tell her not to worry because I'm paying off my loans and she'll be happy and then that will in turn make me happy.

It's endless. I'm almost confusing myself. What is this even about?

The meaning of life. Oh yeah.

Like if you want to stare at your phone all day and play on instgram and candy crush and flappy bird and then watch hours of netflix after your phone dies and never go outside or read a book. DO IT. If you want to stimulate your mind in other ways like ride a bike or go hiking or run a marathon. Sweet. Lay in a tanning bed. Don't wear deodorant. Shave your head. Post 30 selfies on the internet. Whatever.

Want to go to college? Awesome. Don't want to? Cool. You'll probably end up having more money than me and my fancy bachelors degree anyway because I will be paying off my loans forever and you won't have any.

My parents are going to buy an ice cream truck. AN ICE.CREAM.TRUCK. And drive it around and sell ice cream to kids. That is (insert F word) cool. My mom takes zumba classes and dances her little booty off every week. They do shit because it makes them happy. I love my parents so much.

The real point of this is just so I can share with all of you how mind blown I was that my professor just hit us with such a straight forward message about how not rich we all will be and how not big our future home will be. She told us we are the first generation that is actually going to be worse off than our parents. Usually it evens out, but nope! Not us. We are going to be so broke.

So no, I don't know why I'm going to college aside from the fact that I love to learn. I don't know what I'm going to do after college but I do know I'm not going to be wealthy. I'm just going to strive to be happy instead. (That was already my plan, but now it just makes so much more sense).

You're welcome for sprinkling you with inspiration.

xo, Tatum

Arizona to Hawaii: talk about change

Anyone who moves to a new place experiences change. Anyone who grew up in the same place most of their life and then moves to a new place (me) likely has a pretty difficult time adjusting to those changes.

For me, the changes I experienced and underwent were for the better. Living in Hawaii gave me a whole new outlook on life, myself, my beliefs and values, the earth, the island, everything. The best thing for me, though was the changes I made as a person; for myself and my self-esteem.

Inspirational, wonderful, beautiful, mushy post. Woof!

No. (Okay it's a little mushy)

Get ready to get offended, people I grew up with. I love you all. Just remember that. 

(And this doesn't apply to the entire state of Arizona so everyone relax while I generalize)

When I was growing up I didn't consider myself stuck up. I didn't think I was up tight. I thought I was pretty laid back and carefree. And I was, to some extent. But present me vs. past me are two completely different people.

Back home in Arizona, I wouldn't be caught dead outside of my house without makeup on. I rarely went out in my pajamas. My hair was always neatly straightened or curled. It was rare I even wore a ponytail. (Okay I dressed pretty weird sometimes. I was a dancer. Other dancers understand). 

Just kidding, this was 80's Day for spirit week.

This was a typical day going to dance. Layers!!! Love 'em, miss 'em.

Anyway! Even if I was going swimming or to a water park, you better believe I was caking on the waterproof mascara. My eyelashes are outrageous, why did I need that?

When I moved to Hawaii, same rules applied. I did the only thing I knew how to do. Get ready, put makeup on, do my hair, leave the house. Going to the beach? Waterproof mascara. (Mix that with salt water and let me know how your eyeballs feel) Just woke up? Hungry? Shower and get ready, endure the pain of hunger until I'm spruced up. 

I was so worried about what everyone thought of me. I was the exact opposite of laid back and carefree. I blame Arizona. I blame Mountain Ridge High School. I blame cheerleading. But hey, I'll take some of the blame.

I don't know when I changed. I don't know when I finally let my hair down (figuratively and I suppose literally). I don't know when I stopped caring.

Stopped may be the wrong word. I definitely still care what others think of me to some degree. Don't we all? But I know I look around this island and see so many people in their pajamas. It's harder to spot a girl with makeup than a girl without it. So I joined the party.

(hehe)

At a club in Scottsdale, Az, 99% of the girls are wearing tight dresses, high heels, and a full (and I mean full) face of makeup. There are times I go to a club here in Hawaii in jeans and slippers (that's flip flops for those back home). I'll dance battle any girl that's wearing high heels. Blow me away by batting your fake eyelashes. I can shuffle better than you in my chucks.

My best friend and I show up matching when we go clubbing on Mondays.
We make it "theme night". 

This was "we are 5 years old" night. 

This was "World Cup" night. 

Below we have "we have basically the same shirt so let's wear it" night. 

#mondayfunday

We think we are hilarious. And granted there are still tons of girls here who get all done up to go out. We still wear the occasional dress and heels if we are feeling frisky. I didn't give up all aspects of being a girly girl. But I relaxed a lot.

One million percent of the time now, if I wake up and I'm hungry, I find some pants (likely some that are one the floor) (even more likely they were the ones I wore yesterday) and walk out the door. I've sat at a bar wearing a little boy's ninja turtles shirt drinking a bloody mary. I'll go anywhere without makeup on. And I don't even think it's fully because I don't care, but because when I do that, I fit in.

Back home, I had to do my hair and makeup and all those things in order to fit in. It's the norm. Humans follow norms. In Hawaii, it's the norm to wear slippers every day and cruise around with no makeup on. Regardless of which is normal. Regardless of the fact that I feel I fit in here. Fitting in, in a place like this that truly is carefree, feels so much better than fitting in where I have to make sure I look my best everywhere I go.

My self-esteem covers a lot more ground now that I can feel confident with or without mascara. I'm happier now, not worrying so much about who is staring or who is judging me based on my appearance.

I have to give a shout out to my first friend in Hawaii, Chelsea. Although we aren't friends anymore, she helped me to understand the chill aloha vibe of the islands. She's a local girl who had the privilege of growing up in Hawaii for her entire life. She taught me that there's so much more to life than getting ready every day. There are adventures to be had, beaches to be played at, sunshine to be soaked up.

Don't get me wrong, I love Arizona. I'll never be upset about where I grew up. I am who I am today because of the places I've lived and the people I know. I appreciate the snootiness of my hometown because it makes me appreciate the carefreeness of my current town more.

And one more thing. 

I'd like to point out my previously mentioned best friend, Jen. She grew up in Japan basically her entire life. (Cool, I know) She moved to the states straight out of high school and attended college in Washington. Now she is here in Hawaii. One culture to another and to another. (Props, Jen. That's not easy.) She speaks two languages fluently. Living in Hawaii she uses both frequently. I've heard her switch from English to Japanese in one sentence! (That never stops being cool to me) She's lived in the constant rain and the freezing snow, as well as the warm tropical sunshine. That's someone to look up to. I admire her so much for being so cultured and being the person she is. She teaches me so much about Japan, the culture, and even some of the language (I try but its hard) Daijobu. But also she teaches me how to live life to the fullest here on Oahu.

Where you come from, where you've been, and where you go will continue to shape who you are and who you become. I'm so happy to have found a place that is so accepting. (Ironic because there is still some racism and prejudice here).

I wish everyone could have the chance to experience life in Hawaii. That's why I've had such a hard time deciding whether or not to stay here when I graduate college in May. (I'm staying). This is my home now and I can't imagine leaving. I love myself more now than I ever have.

I mean, who would give this up?

xo, Tatum

Sorry Mom

This is a sincere apology to my mother. And I think many other girls my age will be able to relate and then apologize to their own mother.

Mom, I am you.

I notice in moments when someone is being a "me" that I have become more and more like my mother. In those moments I think to myself, wow is this how I was when I was arguing with my mom? It's so frustrating!

The answer is always yes. And wow is it irritating.

I like to think that I am always right. It's a genetic mutation all females possess, I believe. But when I am genuinely right, and someone is arguing with me to the point of me just giving up and letting them make their own mistake, I am on the verge of homicidal. Why won't they just listen to me?! They are going to regret this later. They are making a mistake and if they just trust that I have their best interest in mind, that mistake won't even happen.

Argument ensues. I give up from constantly fighting the same battle. They make mistake. Tell me I was right all along and they should have listened. I proceed to add that to the list of reasons I need to apologize to my mom. Because I was ALWAYS like that. She must have been so frustrated dealing with my teenage  drama. Only one person was right all the years I was growing up and it wasn't me.

Mom, you were right.

Now I am growing into an adult (pre-adult). I am learning to care for people in my life more deeply than I ever could as a child. When I see that they are going to make a mistake I fight so hard to help them before they do. Just like my mom did for me since the day I started making mistakes. And back then I fought back. (Okay I still do) I am stubborn and always have been. I am determined to be right and make my own decisions. I can only imagine the agony I have caused my poor sweet mother all the times I refused to give in.  I feel that agony when someone won't give in to me. It rips me apart and crushes my soul (I'm still pretty dramatic) because I know it's just karma, giving me the same shit I gave my mom all those years.

No offense to any mom out there, but us offspring generally make it our life goal to be nothing like our parents. I won't ground my kids, I won't give them curfews, I won't make them go to school on days they really don't want to. 

At age 23 I look back on my 16-year-old, probably grounded, self and just laugh. My mom was on her A-game when she was raising my sister and I. As the oldest, I'm even taking on the mother hen role already, advising my sister on how to get to age 23 without making any of the same mistakes I made. Although I do many things in life my own way, I notice when I'm telling my sister to never ditch class, or asking my roommates to please close the shower curtain (lol mom I know that's your fav) that  I have become a version of my mom without even trying.

I'm okay with it.

My mom has always put me before herself. She has always put me before anything. And all the times I put someone else before myself, I think of my mom and how inspiring she is. How I'm so grateful that I have become so similar to her. That she taught me to be a good person no matter what. Our house rule was "be nice." I used to roll my eyes when she said "what's the only rule?" because it seemed so simple, silly even. But being nice isn't always easy.

So mom, I'm sorry for being stubborn and not listening to you. I'm sorry I thought I was right when I, very clearly, was not right at all. I'm sorry for arguing.

I am you. And the "Tatums" that come into my life remind me often that I am you. Those "Tatums" are a pain in my ass sometimes. But they are usually people I love too much. They remind me to tell you once in a while that I'm sorry for being a typical teenager and that I love you no matter what.


xo,  pre-adult mom-like Tatum

An Open Letter to All Roommates

If you've ever lived with someone (or multiple people) this is for you.

And I'm not talking parents, grandparents, brothers, or sisters. I'm talking left home and moved in with friends, with a boyfriend or girlfriend, or like me, found some strangers on craigslist and moved in with them.

Dear self, Love self. (seriously none of this excludes me)

This is going to be full of what might seem like common sense. It's going to be passive aggressive at times. It's not meant to hurt feelings (as I generally do not write with intentions to hurt anyone's feelings). Trust me, if I want to hurt your feelings I will go straight to you and do so.

I don't have an overwhelming amount of experience with roommates. I'm about two and a half years deep in living with people besides my family. But in that time, I've had a grand total of 9 roommates, and every single one of them was completely different. Every single one of them (aside from 1) was a complete stranger when I moved in with them. We all come from different places; Big Island, Oahu, Arizona, California, etc. Being in Hawaii you meet a lot of people from around the world who lived and grew up completely different than you.

However, if you grew up in Glendale and moved in with friends from high school who also grew up in Glendale, this still applies to you! Keep reading.

Dear Roommate,

I'm sure you're a really good person. I'm sure you're nice. I'm sure you're really easy-going. I'm sure you're super easy to live with. I'm sure you're a good friend. I'm sure you're really clean. 

I'm a really good person. (I gossip a lot but who counts that?). I'm nice! (Oh besides when I'm PMSing. Stay away). I'm super easy-going. (Okay it drives me insane when the shower curtain is left open or when empty cups are left on the coffee table or when dirty socks get left in the kitchen). I'm so easy to live with. (Well I work at a bar and get home late sometimes. Like 4am late. And sometimes I talk too loud and forget the rest of the house is sleeping. But only sometimes). I'm a really good friend, I swear. (I do forget to call sometimes, but just know I'm thinking of you). I'm pretty clean, too. (Okay I like my living room and kitchen to be clean, but don't go in my bedroom, you can't see the floor). 

You see? I'm all of those things too. But sometimes not to the best of my ability, and I know the same goes for anyone who has ever shared an apartment, house, or bedroom. 

It's not all about you, you are not the only person in the house, your schedule is not more important than your roommate's across the hall, your sleep is not more essential, your job is not more stressful, your life is not busier, and your preferred way of living is not always the best way. It's just different.

I've been talking a lot about that lately huh? Different. Ugh. So hard to deal with anything and anyone that is different than what we are used to. Different classes, different jobs, different people.

Differences cause us to butt heads with others. I'm more guilty than anyone when it comes to snapping at my roommates. Whether it's to their face or saying it out loud to anyone who can hear me, passive-aggressie as ever, "SURE WISH THE KITCHEN LIGHT WASN'T ON WHEN NO ONE IS IN THERE!" It's just sassy and rude and unnecessary. 

On the other hand, someone left the light on and we all have to pitch in on electricity bills (and anyone who pays those knows they are hefty). We don't have AC in our house, due to the weather rarely changing here in Hawaii. My heart goes out to those who need heat in the winter and air-con in the summer. We just need fans or blankets. Anyway, it all goes back to being considerate.

Dear Roommate, (and again, dear self)

Be considerate.

Be conscious of leaving the lights on when you only pay a fourth of the bill. Your other three roommates didn't use that light you left on in the kitchen and they have to split the payment evenly anyway. Be nice when the light does get left on. A simple, "hey roommate, make sure you remember to flip the switch when you leave the room" goes over much better than "ROOMMATE CAN YOU TURN THE LIGHT OFF FOR ONCE IN YOUR USELESS LIFE?!" (I'm working on it okay?)

Be considerate of the household sleep schedules. If your roommate has to wake up for school at 7am and you get home from work at 4am, be quiet. No one, especially me, can remember 3 different people's work or school schedules. I'll never get home from a late night shift and remember that one roommate has class early the next day or another has an interview tomorrow. Solution: just be quiet every time you get home late. 

Make good habits.

Be quiet when it's late at night. Put your dishes in the sink. Close the shower curtain after you shower. No one wants to be woken up in the middle of the night. No one wants to drag your dishes out of the living room every day. No one wants a moldy shower. 

Any hey! We all screw up, we all forget things, we all are guilty. I've left my dirty socks under the kitchen table plenty of times. But making good habits as best you can is the quickest way to achieve a happy household. 

Pets. Pets are hard. They are like children except they won't poop in a toilet, which almost makes me want a toddler more than a dog at this point.

 

 We had Hoku the little bitch.

We had Genepaul the chameleon. 

(RIP) 

(JK he escaped and jumped off our 2nd story lanai and has a wife and kids now somewhere in the wild, I know it).

We had Timmy the baby bird.
I rescued him and brought him home to my roommate who is basically an animal doctor.
(RIP Timmy). 

And we had Layla the little shit.

Dogs. Chameleons. Birds. Whatever. If you have a pet, take care of it. If you want a pet, anticipate it being A LOT of work. They eat, they bark, they chew things they shouldn't, they throw up said things, they poop and pee and have accidents in the house when it's raining outside, they escape from their cages and get lost in the house. Pets are not all fun and games and cuddles.

I now know from my experience with pets (and these pets were not even all mine, just extra tenants in my house that I helped care for) that I am way too much of an immature idiot to have a pet right now. Feed self. Bathe self. Repeat. Throw a puppy in the mix and I'm in shambles.

It's one thing to sleepover at a friend's house and politely ask your roommates if they mind feeding your dog and letting him out in the morning. It's a completely different thing to leave for an entire weekend without telling anyone and hope your animals get fed while you're gone.

Be responsible.

I wanted to say "be an adult" but I haven't quite mastered that one. I'm still learning what being an adult entails. You can be pre-adult (yeah, like pre-teen but pre-adult) and still be responsible. For your pets, for yourself, for you house, for your roommates belongings when borrowing them.

If your dog eats my underwear and barfs it up, just clean it up. No argument about how busy you are or how I shouldn't have left my underwear out needed.

Be calm.

This is a big one. Getting angry, getting sassy, getting heated, getting loud, it never solves anything (dear self again). If you have a problem with your roommate(s) talk about it CALMLY like the pre-adult you are. Arguments happen, we get upset at each other here and there, it's the result of living on top of another person in the boxes they call apartments. But wow is everything a million times better when you aren't screaming over each other.

A new one I learned while living in my current house. Talk, don't text.

I'll keep this one short and sweet. Everything always gets blown out of proportion when you bring up issues through text messages. Just talk face to face and skip the 10 pages of drama. This is for all you non-confrontational roommates out there. I know it's hard, but try it.

And the list goes on and on. I could talk for days about all the things that make a good or bad roommate. It's all about learning to be considerate of others. It's a simple concept but a difficult task. I am still learning to do it myself. I've lived with people I consider to be the absolute scum of the earth and I've lived with people who were strangers turned best friends.

At the end of the day, be quiet.

Just kidding.

At the end of the day, just be nice! Be clean. Be calm. You know the drill. Just don't be an asshole roommate because literally no one likes those.

My current roommates: Miranda and Corisa

 We are the best friends ever and the biggest asshole roommates around. 

Practice what you preach,  right?

xo, Tatum

I Hope My Parents Come To My Wedding

As the years go on and generations of kids get wilder, something is becoming much more prevalent, a little more accepted, but still generally frowned upon. 

Tattoos. Tattoos. Tattoos. Tattoos.

It always starts with the ever-so-popular question, "What are you going to do when you're old?" 

Oh, I'm going to be old and wrinkly (I laid in a lot of tanning beds and spent my college years on an island, I'm going to be extra wrinkly) and I'm going to look badass. I mean I'm either going to be old and gross or old and gross with tattoos. This guy wears it well.

Here's what really gets to me though. It isn't so much the "what about when you're old?" question. It's the, "What about on your wedding day if you wear a backless dress or a strapless dress, or a dress with a slit, or a dress with no sleeves?" Etcetera. Etcetera. Etcetera.

Well, Close-Minded Probably Mildly Religious Personal Preference Of Not Liking Tattoos Who's Opinion Probably Isn't Super Relevant To Me Person (besides my mom), I'm going to wear a wedding dress on my wedding day. I have a lot of ideas about the type of dresses I like.

These are nice.

And they have slits and are backless and missing a couple of sleeves and all the people I love who come to see me get married may be able to see some of my tattoos if I wear a dress like any of these. And I'm still going to get married, and it's still going to be the happiest day of my life, and I'm still going to be surrounded by people I love, and I'm going to have tattoos.

Why does having tattoos have to be so hindering in so many areas of life? We already have to be conscious of potential jobs and future bosses. Maybe it will be so professional an environment, visible tattoos simply won't be permitted. And that's fine. There are still a lot of paying customers on the planet who prefer to be taken care of by someone who looks "clean cut". (I have a lot of opinions on that as well but I'll leave that alone for now and get back to the point). On MY wedding day, why should I be put down by those who don't think I will be beautiful in my dress because my tattoos are showing from all angles?

These girls are GORGEOUS. They are happy. More happy than I can probably imagine since I've never experienced a feeling like knowing I'm about to spend the rest of my life with the person I love most. And they have tattoos.

How can someone look past that smile and think she isn't absolutely beautiful in that white dress?

If you ask me, I think it adds color, art, accents, and flare to the entire ensemble. A porcelain doll with contoured cheeks, a corset tied tight, flowers in her hair, and art covering her arms or back that tells stories only she truly understands.

What's better than a bride with tattoos?

A bride and groom with tattoos.

Two people who understand each other inside, and quite literally, out. A man who can look past the "I was 17 when I got this ugly dolphin on my ankle" and see the love of his life walking down the aisle toward her forever. A woman who can see beyond the "I thought I was in a gang when I was a junior in high school and got 'thug life' on my knuckles in my friend's garage" and see the man of her dreams waiting for her at the alter.

You see? It isn't about the tattoos. It isn't about the white dress or the color of the flowers or anything else aesthetic. It's about being there for someone you love, supporting their decision to enter the next chapter of their life. It's hard to think that far ahead when you see your daughter or son's new tattoo and think (or say) "but what about your wedding day?!" 

But I urge you to try.

Try to accept it.

In fact, it's a new year. Why not try to accept anything new? Whether it's people's decision to put ink on their skin or their decision to marry at age 19 or their decision to move to Hawaii or their decision to try to be an astronaut. 

As the old saying (somewhat) goes, there is SO MUCH more than meets the eye. Humans are beautiful creatures. Even the ones with full sleeves and nose rings.

Opinions. Opinions. Opinions. Opinions.

There are so many different ones. We are all entitled to our own. All should be considered and valued. But guess what. They all don't have to be agreed upon. It doesn't make anyone a bad person. It doesn't mean he loves his mom any less because he got a tattoo on his arm and she doesn't approve. It doesn't mean she loves her daughter any more because she will be tattoo-free at her wedding, just like she always hoped she would be.

It just means we are all different.

And I plan to be ecstatic on my wedding day. Tattoos and all.

xo, Tatum

Population Control?

This post might seem harsh. It's not, I promise. It's just something I've been thinking and wondering about lately.

I suppose lately my mind has been wandering in the direction of how the universe works. You know, what goes around comes around. Be good and the world will be good to you. Why can people who don't want children have babies and others who want them so badly cannot? I've been exploring (in my own mind) the way the world works, who is up there controlling how it works (if anyone) and why it works the way it does. And that brings me to my latest theory about the universe.

Population control.

There are over 7 billion humans on this earth now. More than the human race probably ever imagined would exist at one time. Did we ever think our planet could even hold this many people? Can it? Or are we just over-crowding Earth baby by baby, birth by birth, discovery after discovery of medicines and other things that elongate life.

Back in the day you were lucky to live to age 40. You got married at 15, had babies by 17, some of them lived, some of them died of dysentery or measles (Oregon Trail anyone?), you churned some butter, swept your dirt floor, died by 35 and called it a good life.

Now we are sticking 97 year olds with Alzheimer's in hospices and saying "yeah, cool humans can live for 100 years."

Woo, they don't know their own name, can't change their own underwear, don't recognize their family and we say we have improved the longevity of life? Someone please euthanize me if my husband (assuming I find one of those) pops out my dentures and feeds me mushy soup every day and I don't even know who he is. Put me out of my misery, and put that poor man out of his misery.

I do not need or want to take up space on this planet if I can't care for myself. What's the point? Make room for the 7 billion and third human. You don't even have to make a space six feet under for me. Cremate me and scatter my ashes in the Pacific. (Dear anyone who still knows me when I'm 90 ((Emily Moore)) this is an open letter to you).

So that actually brings me to my theory.

What if the Universe or God or Buddha or whoever, made some women infertile and some men sterile for a reason? Maybe humans (as well as other animals, I'm sure) are unable to have babies because if EVERYONE could have them, we really would have to just live on top of each other.

Unplanned pregnancies are at an all time high. Orphanages, group homes, and foster homes are overflowing with children of all ages who don't have a home, don't have a family, and don't have parents. If every human were able to bare children, how many more babies would be born unwanted?

Now, I don't mean to offend anyone. As most of you know, I have someone very dear to me who is in that group of women in the world who cannot have children on her own. I volunteered to help her do so, and am not, in any way, against in vitro or anything like that. How many times in life do people pay thousands of dollars for someone to help them have a baby and then say "eh, never mind I actually don't want this."

Those babies are more wanted than any other, I think. (Mom, I know I'm very wanted)

But have you ever thought about why they can't? For every woman (ok maybe for every 5 or 10 women, I didn't actually research this) who gets pregnant by mistake and gets an abortion, gives their child up for adoption, or God forbid, abandons their infant at a fire station, there is a woman who couldn't get pregnant even if she wanted to.

And maybe that is just natural population control. Maybe this is crazy and I made it up in my head and it makes no sense. However, I do still wonder. Humans are incredible creatures and we have grown and evolved into a very complex, very advanced species. How can you not wonder if we are this way for a reason? Just how newer generations are all having to get their wisdom teeth removed because our mouths are getting smaller, maybe more women and men are becoming infertile or sterile because our space on Earth is getting smaller as well.

I don't apologize for what I believe or my thoughts that are recently becoming blog posts. I truly am sorry, though, for offending anyone that may think this idea is incredibly insensitive. It's just a thought.

Cheers to those with a mind that wanders as much as mine.

xo, Tatum