I am fucking crazy. But I am free.


“I was in the winter of my life- and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell sleep with visions of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour and memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times. I was a singer, not a very popular one, who once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet- but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again- sparkling and broken. But I really didn’t mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what true freedom is.

When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I had been living- they asked me why. But there’s no use in talking to people who have a home, they have no idea what its like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lay your head.

I was always an unusual girl, my mother told me that I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing me due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide as wavering as the ocean. And if I said that I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying- because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one- who belonged to everyone, who had nothing- who wanted everything with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about- and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.

Every night I used to pray that I’d find my people- and finally I did- on the open road. We have nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore- except to make our lives into a work of art.

Who are you?
Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies?
Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them?
I have. I am fucking crazy.
But I am free.’


Mean Girls should only ever be a parody.


Mean Girls should only ever be a parody.

Mean Girls should only ever be a parody. In real life, that Mean Girls movement is not sustainable, at all. I believe it is meant as a social commentary on how women grow up and are trained to compete and tear one another down from the time they hit high school. I don’t feel it was meant to be seen as a behavioral model for young girls and women to aspire to.

It’s a step backward for grown women to constantly demean other women, even subtly. Don’t we have enough of that from the upper echelons of modern day society? It is basically taking everything which women who pioneered for us did in various fields, and doing a silent flushing of an entire movement down the proverbial toilet, undoing a lot of blood, sweat and tears endured by previous generations of feminist stalwarts, so that our gender can progress. In reality it doesn’t serve a purpose other than spreading and creating unnecessary hate , but yet it happens, mostly out of social conditioning and general insecurity. As Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie points out, society raises women to see each other as the enemy. A conditioning which is engineered to get us to be so busy breaking each other down, that we don’t utilize that energy to be GROUND BREAKING WOMEN.

I want to be a ground breaking woman.

As women, I feel we often miss the opportunity to create allies out of one another in the form of support and encouragement, in favor of just being mean spirited with snarky remarks and subtle snideness. We victimize one another without realizing it, then we turn around and shout SISTERHOOD. I have been guilty of this a while back but I feel that with growing up and changing your role in society, with younger folks looking up to us, comes a LOT of responsibility. So I am cementing my position as a SUPPORTER of women, not a BREAKER of them.

“We raise girls to see each other as competitors
Not for jobs or for accomplishments
Which I think can be a good thing
But for the attention of men
We teach girls that they cannot be sexual beings
In the way that boys are
Feminist: the person who believes in the social
Political, and economic equality of the sexes.”

arm her.

She navigates the labyrinths of her mind and in every dark , smoky room she’s faced with two things:

Him and Her Dreams.

Every time she chose him.


Blind to this he fed ambitions, selfish as Summer’s first storm.

For her he went to battle but did not stay until the fight was over.
For him she went to war;

And stayed in the trenches till the battlefield fell silent.

She drifted from life injured by love but armed with sweet re-soul-ute.

purple heart



Today is a Converse hi-top day, yesterday was Ugg boot day, tomorrow will be sky-scraper stiletto day and Wednesday would definitely have to be a cutesy peep-toe day.

By now it’s pretty obvious that I’m clammering on about shoes. Am I going to use my love of shoes as a metaphor for a relationship? Never! Will I compare womankind’s lust for feet adornment with our feelings towards the opposite sex? Blasphemy!! I’m simply going to put into perspective our uses for different shoes in comparison with the purpose served by the different men we stumble upon at different stages of our lives…

I’ll start with the sneaker, you know the pair, the ones you’ve had for years, the ones who have literally been put through their paces…the all-abiding, long-suffering SNEAKER. Safe, reliable,scruffy but comfy, just like good ‘ol “Four-years-of-what?”. You went through a truck-load, always there when you needed him but it became too comfortable, so much so that you wear a hole through the toe! So you just stop wearing those trainers, you still have them, they’re just too old to wear with functionality but too familiar to throw out. “Four-years-of-what?” still calls, you text him, but for the same reasons as above, that’s as far as it goes.

Then there are those cute pointy court shoes which make you look good in anything, able to transition from office,mall or club in one swift go and with equal style-standing, though not quite formal enough for a huge ‘do. Also quite comfortable, this one definitely refers to Mr.”Nearly-but-not-quite” down to the last detail. Like the shoes, he is a classic – versatile, comfortable, stylish and neat. Makes you feel great anywhere because it’s a relationship built on love and trust. In fact, you didn’t need any other shoes, but you being well, YOU, simply couldn’t resist the next pair flirting with you all glistening and encompassing that new shoe smell (yes, that’s a thing)….

Pointier than the courts, steel-capped and with a notably higher stiletto heel, way more stylish, and makes you look like you mean business and yes..alas..you succumb to it’s allure. That exactly describes what happens with Mr.”Whose-Ego-Is-it-anyway”. sex-appeal-check; high voltage energy & presence-check, x-factor-check. Totally what you need to give yourself a boost at a time when perhaps your self-confidence was lacking.

It’s usually a short but passionate love-affair with those shoes..but like all trendy buys..they go out of style and is replaced with the next big thing on the market..needless to say that pretty much sums up the end of THAT story.

It was now time for my shopping spree, the period in which I went on a spending rampage buying, trying, wearing everything and anything I wanted. I didn’t have any favorites,though, there were adorable kitten heels (“The Saint”), the painful to wear sparkly sandals (Mr.”All-Bling-No-Brain”) and the once-off gorgeous satin ankle-strap sky-scraper stilettos (Mr.”Hot-but-tries-to-hard-to-be-mysterious”) and then the interestingly attractive courts (“Sir.Gab”).

Soon my shoe collection was thriving and I thought nothing more could excite or interest me, then the season changed,fashion changed, and again…I laid my eyes on the most sexed up stilettos I’ve seen: The Clear Heel..It was lust at first sight and I just HAD to have it. As impractical and impossible it seemed to walk on those, kind of as impossible as it was to actually have an intellectual conversation with Mr.”Smoking-Hot-Mitts-For-Brains” I suppose.Like those clear heels , a guy like the “The Bod” doesn’t come come along everyday, so I had to um..grab hold of him when I could..and I did! Every tanned, muscular, toned..ok…Mel! FOCUS!! The shoes had no substance, no depth , it was transparent for petes sake!! So was he, between innings, third base and unmentionables..I don’t remember much about that fling…The shoes are still one of my favorites though, speaking of favorites, the Ugg will always be one of mine.Just as comfy as the sneaker, but warm and safer as well as Uber trendy (for like 5 minutes!) the Ugg is definitely one of a girl’s best friends .No matter how much our boyfriends hate them (guys just don’t understand!). Kind of reminds me of my “Straight-Gay-Best-Friend”. Goes with everything, great all year round and understands you. My Ugg boots are a constant in my wardrobe,so is my SGBF. Staying in boots season, I can think of another of my many favorite boots, the super sexy, super hot knee-high black pointy stiletto, or more lovingly known as the crassly named “F*** Me Boot”. Ooh la la! The ones you only pull out on special occasions when the um..wattage needs to be increased! Nasty girls they are, the dominatrixes of the shoe world which is who you morph into when I see Mr.”In-Between Tide”. Not many of your mates know that you own such a sexy pair of boots, not unlike the agreement/contract between myself and hottie in question, and that’s the way you want to keep it. Alas you have not seen love until you’ve seen those hot-pink Chanel tweed peep-toe stilettos. They’re class incarnate, sexy, sophisticated, conservative but stylish, not one to be worn everyday as the height would cripple you but it is a beautifully crafted shoe..Yes, I am making reference to Mr.”Commitment-Phobe-Cynic”. The first half of the night, you’re confident, stylish,utterly sophisticated,the latter part of the evening,though, is spent tip-toeing on blistered feet all because you forgot one vital rule when it comes to wearing new shoes: It is vital to practice in them first! Exactly my anecdote for “The Cynic”, which I discover many blisters later..on both my feet and my heart!

So you hit the mid-season sales, mark-downs etc donning trainers, flip-flops and Uggs of course, returning home empty handed each time,until you make that dreaded Impulse Buy…

There it was, just unpacked, I wasn’t sure if it suited me, I wasn’t even sure whether it matched any of my clothing, but I was alone, desperate for a fashion fix and had nothing to lose but to take that risk.
I should’ve seen the signs,they were all there, and looking back in retrospect they were all indicating one thing: The shop assistant’s unwillingness to attend to me,the strap breaking at my first attempt of trying it on, the unavailability of my size, all pointing in one direction, but I was determined to have this shoe.I draw congruency to none other that “The Dictator” who else? The signs were evident, me being over-zealous and upbeat at our initial introduction so clearly my judgement was distorted, even the first date should’ve been a prophecy. Could there be a more disastrous first date than on Friday the freaking thirteenth??? I mean, COME on! I ignored the signs and ended up with a shoe that will be out of season quicker than you can say “faux pas” and a guy who didn’t only break your heart but instead broke the record for Biggest Douchebag this side of the galaxy!
The shoes weren’t long term,they’re brown suede platforms,I should’ve known.I DID know.Neither was “The Dictator”, I know about that too but went along with it regardless. An IMPULSE BUY-a complete disregard for common sense and good taste.

Do we women ever think straight when it comes to both shoes and men? Sometimes it seems like all rational thinking is discarded when face with these two vices. Men, like shoes, are our adversaries as well as our friends. EQUALS. No fashion fundi or relationship guru can make sense of this phenomena. One thing is for sure, though, while the opposite sex will forever be a mystery to me, I pride myself in the fact that I’m a woman who knows her Kenneth Coles from her Loubs.




*disclaimer – this is a piece I wrote 8 years ago. Hope whoever reads this has a laugh at my naivety 😉

The ‘F’ word

I’m a Feminist.

Oh no.

Oh, so you’re a man -eating, man -hating, ball -breaking, nut -crushing, Hilary -lovin’, muff -munching, granola -crunching, ovary- screaming bitch, right?


Feminism today seems to be stigmatized as a binary battle, you’re either burning your bras at a naked bonfire or you’re June Cleaver with a bratty Beaver. But it doesn’t have to be a bi polar concept, or a defined concept at all, which is hard to grasp – so let me try and break it down the way I see it.

Straight up Feminism
If I was to put the word feminism in a nice nutshell (that you can later crush with your ball-breaking inner thighs) I would talk about it the way I do in the classroom:

Feminism simply gives a woman the right to make her own choices, which may or may not challenge the roles assigned by society.

So, that means that we have the right to sleep with 2.5 million men or wait ’til we get married. We can choose to have 12 kids, a dog, two hamsters, a weasel and be a stay-at-home mom, or we could be as free as a fiddle. We can also inhabit all the spaces between those dichotomies.

Societal Expectations
If you’re reading Healthy Bitch Daily, than you’re already breaking through certain norms set upon you by society, and you’re developing new norms for women moving up in the same space. For years and years, thousands of outside influences, from education and trash TV to politicians and your grandma, have been making choices for who you’re supposed to be and what you are supposed to look like.

We understand this.

As women in this world, which is verifiably patriarchal, we’re pulled and prodded in one way or another, and as *whisper* feminists, we have every right to alter, reject, maintain, accept, challenge or bitch our way through in order to find ourselves.

So tossing a pint of beer into some guy’s face at a bar after he calls you, openly, without knowing you who are, sweet tits, doesn’t make you a feminist bitch. No, because by virtue of making your own life choices, you are already a feminist. And he’s just a stupid dick.

(Note: if you haven’t seen Missrepresentation, you’re missing out.)

So even though you’re automatically a feminist in my book, there are women who are standing tall and shouting their feminism from the top of a building. So are they the REAL feminists? No, they’re just louder than others. Most of the time they’re just women shouting for equality and encouraging other women to be beacons of empowerment. Which you can do from a rooftop or from your twitter feed, BTW.

This summer Senator Wendy Davis fillibustered a bill that she felt strongly against. And in the process, millions of women and men rallied in support of her heroic actions. And political pundits on television and in the blogosphere praised her for her bold stance. So she’s a REAL feminist, right!?

No. Just a different kind of feminist.

Wendy Davis, Hillary Clinton, my high school english teacher and I are feminists. We carry our F word loud and proud. We’re not here, however, to dissolution others or to bully men, but to fight for equality and fair treatment – to ensure that our whispering voices are heard among the myriad of monotonous, male mouths. For me, and for other women who like to carry the F word loudly, it isn’t about me vs. you, single girl vs. married mom, or activist vs. run of the mill trying to survivist.

Naw. The F word is about equality, empowerment, justice and discernment; whether you’re loud and proud or just plain proud to be a woman.

Written by Rachel Linda Escamilla for healthybitchdaily.com