Fourteen

Nearly eight years ago I made one of the biggest decisions of my life. One of my best friends, Emily, and I sat near the edge of a table at lunch in school. It was my second or third week of high school and Emily and I were just starting our blossoming friendship. Yet, even as young and naive as we were back then we knew the strength of our decision.

London.

It seemed so far away back then. As though it were some far off dream that would never become a reality. A sort of torture that would never end. As though I had insomnia and all that stopped me from achieving my dream was sleep. Despite knowing that I wanted to be a writer, I had no clue as to how to start the process of getting myself to London. How would I get there? For school? For work? For a person?

It never seemed to matter how, the only thing that I truly cared about back then was reaching this place. A place I’d fantasied about since I was so small.

The dreary skies. The large puddles. Umbrellas galore. Not to mention the birth place of Harry Potter. (Seriously J.K. Rowling is goals as fuck).

At fourteen, what seemed so far away, always felt as though it would stay far away. As I grew up I noticed that the dream seemed stagnant. Always too far out of reach. I was young, disheartened that high school held me back from where I wanted to be. Disappointed by my terrible test taking skills and how I would never be able to achieve anything near my dreams.

Then, I took a creative writing course with Professor Enzu Castellano. It would be extremely cliche of me to say a single professor changed my entire outlook on life but it would also be a lie if I didn’t. I remember his class rather vividly, long talks regarding many fictitious happenings. Mostly importantly I remember the last time I saw Enzu as my professor, the day he returned to me my portfolio. He told me I had talent I should pursue but that was nothing new.

Until he asked, “you’re a junior right? Got any plans for grad school?”

The look I gave him caused him to chuckle softly, and now I understand why. A year and a half ago when I took his class I knew very well I would not go to grad school. How could I? The GRE was practically a necessity and I seriously don’t test well. When I relaid my worried thoughts to him, he explained that for Creative Writing most schools didn’t require a GRE score. He handed me the portfolio and said, “consider it. I know you would enjoy grad school greatly.” Just like that he sent me on my merry way, with a mind full of what ifs and a heart weary of failure.

That night I went home and thought long about his words. Then I thought about my dreams and what I hoped to achieve in life.

London.

Quick as a rabbit, I googled universities in the UK, opened ever so slightly at options outside of my dream city. I clicked on 6 random schools, including the one that I am going to be attending in the fall. It was when I saw Kingston University’s page and their Creative Writing MFA program that I knew everything I’d ever hoped for was possible. It was within my grasp, within my sight. I could see it, feel it as I scrolled through page and page of the schools program.

I was determined. My goal set. This was it. I could do this, and while I wish I could say this was the moment that propelled me to grad school, it wasn’t.

It was the moment I told my soulmate and other best friend, Montese. The moment I sat her down, and I told her directly of what I was planning (after months and months of hiding it from her). I was terrified she wouldn’t like the plan, wouldn’t want me to leave her and honestly if she’d asked me to stay in that moment I would have. Without another thought. Without another word.

But she didn’t.

She smiled and told me how proud she was of me, and how exciting it would be that I was moving forward with my life, moving into a brand new chapter unafraid and relentless. Then she told me she’d joined me, eventually, and I swear I’d never felt happier than I was in that moment. Leaving her behind in Miami was undoubtedly the hardest thing I’d ever had to do (it trumped the Calc AP test that wrecked me senior year), but knowing that it’s temporary keeps me stronger than I could ever describe. It’s her voice that drives me, and her soul that fills mine. I couldn’t have written a trilogy without her pushing me to finish it. Couldn’t have rambled on for hours about characters without her listening. Couldn’t have given her eternal heartbreak for having to kill her favorite character. Couldn’t be half the person that I am today without her. Wouldn’t be taking this step if she didn’t support me.

My grad school journey has been far too long already, with school not even starting for another month and a half. From always telling myself I could never amount to grad school, that I wasn’t smart enough or good enough, to actually be going, well it’s quite a shock to that fourteen year old I used to be. In a way, this is a letter to that little girl, who dreamed so large but hoped so small in case it all came crashing down.

Well I have news for you, it didn’t come crashing down.

You did it, ya high school freshman, you’re actually going to grad school and more importantly you’re gonna be living in London. You were so hard on yourself back then, tried hard to keep yourself protected by holding back. Not anymore. You did it, Ale, you pushed and were pushed and you fucking did it.

No one can take this away from you.

The First

August! August! August!

Woah. Honestly I’m still in shock that this month has finally gotten here. I’m finally moving. I’m finally taking a step in the right direction. Or what I hope is something close in the right direction.

I can’t help but feel entirely bittersweet that this month has finally come. As packing came to a close and I realize that the only thing I have left is myself and a few tshirts, it’s come to dawn on me. I’m moving this week. Moving across the pond. Across the world from friends I’d made, and relationships I’ve built. (Seriously they’re the best! They got me the pen below and gave me the coolest Darth Vader card! In Spanish!!). I’ve come to realize that moving of my own accord is the hardest part about moving. Plus the actual moving portion.

I don’t want to leave behind the life I’ve built in Miami but I’m more than thrilled to see what awaits me in London. An adventure I’m not sure I’m ready to launch into but I’m more than ready to try. This has been a long time planning and a long time coming. It’s a shock it’s here but hey, time moves on without our consent, even with the social construct behind it.

My suitcase is packed to the brim, first time in my life I’ve traveled with this many things. I even have to leave stuff behind for my mother to bring me later. Packed to the brim as I am, and as nerve racking this flight might be, still I strive to look forward to it. As close as it is, this move has still not felt real, but instead as though it’s some hollow dream too far away for me to really grasp.

I know the moment I’m moved in and everything is settled that I’ll be able to feel as though it’s real. When I start earning money and paying rent. When I start contributing to things more it’ll feel as though I belong, as though this wasn’t all for shits. For now though, without things really glueing to me to one place, I feel lost in a state of limbo. Which way to do I go? How to manage what’s around me? What if I fail? What if I disappoint everyone around me? I feel a struggle to find who am I while not burning the bridges around me.

Yet, I can feel the voices of my friends cheering me on. I can hear them telling me they know I’ll become something. That I’ll make something of myself. These friends that I can start thinking about without crying about how much I’ll miss each and everyone of them. The friends around me this evening. The friends I’ll snapchat and eventually see when they visit or when I visit. These friends, they’re friends for life. I won’t lose contact with people as great as they are.

With their cheers I know I can accomplish anything. I can’t fail the ones I love. I won’t fail you guys I promise!

Here I go!

Waistline

It’s no secret that I struggle with my weight. It’s been years since I’ve had a good handle on my weight but I’m working hard to push past that. I’m setting limits for myself and cutting myself off. I’m learning when’s the right time to say no, when the right time to let loose a little. This is me now with food and my weight, this is me after years of pushing myself to do better with my body. I wanted to be healthy, but it came from a scary place when I was younger.

I don’t remember what I weighed in high school and I’m oddly very relieved that I don’t. I’m sure others do, I’m sure my family remembers, or friends who I spoke the numbers too. However, in my mind they are no longer of importance. They no longer hold any value to me, so I forget them. Don’t get me wrong though. There was a time where all I cared about was the number on that scale. In high school my diet consisted of unhealthy amounts of junk food during the day and skipping meals at night. My metabolism worked triple during the day and night so much. I worked out an entire reasoning behind my actions being okay. I built this wall that I let myself be trapped in. It was easy to look myself in the mirror and degrade myself. It was easy to tell myself I was fat. To tell myself no one would love me. It was so uncomfortably easy.

I remember the way I looked myself in the mirror and told myself I was loved. It was hard for me to grasp the concept at first. Of the person look at me through the mirror, of all the imperfections I could notice. The bulging stomach. The scars. The stretch marks that seemed to run side her leg. The way her arms seemed to flap like wings. I could notice all the things that I would never think twice about noticing on someone else. I was a force on myself, I was the leader of the hate group against me. I knew what I was doing, I knew who I was hurting.

It was almost as if I was pushing myself to my limit, just to see what would happen.

I know what could happen. It’s been whispered around me. I know the consequences of a dark path. I seen it with my very eyes. Yet still, as I dig into the first real diet I’ve done since trying to stabilize my eating habits, I’ve come to terms that I may always have to think those negative thoughts away. I can’t let the way I was bullied into believing I was affect who I am today, and who I’m hoping to be in the future.

I’m trying to eat better. I’ve bought some frozen veggies that work pretty awesome for someone like me, who doesn’t eat many veggies. I’ve found alternatives to things I crave. I eat more fruit in my life. I also let myself have sweets. I have to be careful though, I’m a dangerous person around sweets. I can devour anything in a short amount of time.

However, if I pay attention to my breaking habits and I work hard I know I can get past this. I can’t give up.

Forty-Three Days

Woah. I honestly can not believe that a day like this has already gotten here. Before I get started I want to refer to this picture below.

I was in France when I took this picture, and I wasn’t enjoying my time there. I was more than excited to return home, to Miami where I knew I had more fun than I ever have before. Now, it’s the same amount of days before I leave, and now I’m going back to France. It’s just a step though before the ride becomes to London, and then suddenly London becomes home.

As the countdown nears, I find that I am not at all prepared for this trip. I still have no idea what I should pack and what I should not. I am in awe of what I am supposed to plan ahead for. Yet, the closer it gets, the farther I want it to be. I know it’s coming, and that in itself is exciting beyond belief. I want to treasure the time I have left here, however, and that has made me think about the house that I’m leaving behind.

I’ve lived in the same house since I was 11, and for the last 11 years, it’s been a rollercoaster of a ride. My room has gone through almost as many changes as I have, and I love looking back at those changes. There’s a specific mark I’m fond of,

I made this when I was around 12, and we were repainting the room. All the walls were that color, and the entire room except this one spot is perfect. This is my favorite spot. I made it on purpose, letting the roller with paint get away from me. I wanted some clear point that I would remember forever, something that made this room more of our own. By our I mean my sister and I’s.

It’s sad letting this room go, especially for an unstable room with a new bed and an uncomfortable environment. Yet, I’m happy to be leaving this place behind. I’m going to miss the hell of it for a very long time and probably look rather fondly on it back when I’m older, but I can’t deny that I am ready to leave this part of my life behind. I am ready for this countdown to hit zero, even if it means having to start over.

I know who will be staying in my life and those who I will never see again. Just as I know that I will see this mark again, it’s not the end. Only a see you later.

And I will see you later.

No more… deadlines?

I have by some miracle completed my bachelor’s education. I know, I know. I already talked about getting accepted into the Master’s program I wanted but this is completely separate. I turned in my last assignment yesterday. The last test was taken yesterday. In all regards, I have completed my bachelor education, I have graduated.

Yet, next week I will need to officially graduate in front of my family and about a thousand other people I have absolutely no connection to.  If you haven’t already been able to tell, I’m not entirely fond of graduations. They’re long and awfully boring, not to mention the fact that it’s all to see the graduate walk across a stage for five seconds while they are given a fake diploma. If we’re given anything at all when we walk. I’m not entirely bitter about that situation though I am nervous about falling flat on my face. It’s the same fear I had when walking about my high school graduation. Hey, at least I didn’t fall then!

This feeling of completion, however, has left me without a deadline over my head. Up until this moment, my entire life had been based around deadlines. Deadline to graduate. Deadline to complete assignment. Deadline to work on papers. School was surrounded by deadlines, which is fine, after all it’s the only way that we’re able to learn, but I was terrified yesterday.

I had no idea what to do.

Without a single deadline to think of, apart from my actual graduation next Tuesday, I was left in the blank putting meat into zipblocks in order to save and separate it in the freezer. Things I used to avoid doing I now have no excuse but to do. It brings a feeling of emptiness which is strange since I am completing something.

I’m ready for this change, however. I am ready for school to not feel as though it’s a part of me but something I accomplished. I don’t want to be defined by how well I retained information in school or not. There’s so much more to life than just going to school and having the reading comprehension to pass my courses.

I like that I’m no longer truly defined by what my grade is. Graduate School is different, and soon enough I’ll be able to learn just how different, but for now I am more than happy to be moving on from college. I’m ready to start on a lasting impact, to control my outcome and fund my own happiness. College has helped me in so many ways and I’m eternally grateful to all of my friends and Professors who have helped me along. College has also held me back. It’s taken my muse and my inspiration. I struggled with it while attending school, but I’m happy to be able to dedicate myself to my writing for the summer.

Maybe even later, who knows? I certainly don’t, and I’m learning to accept that.

Fishing For Compliments

I first heard this term when I entered high school and it had a predominantly negative history behind it. It took me a few years before I was able to grasp the concept of ‘fishing for compliments’. Essentially, someone (or more precisely a trans/cis woman) will say something negative in regards to their appearance, thus forcing all men around them, to compliment them. As though they are forced to change the view they have on themselves, based on their words.

I found this completely ludicrous.

Seriously, as a cis-woman who has struggled with self-worth and weight for a majority of my life, I gotta call bullshit on this whole ‘fishing for compliments’, want to know why?

Because we’re not saying these things to get compliments. We’re saying them because we believe them.

At least I remember that’s why I said them.

Back in high school, my self-esteem was at an all time low, and constantly berating myself was something I did rather often. It wasn’t something I did strictly in front of others, or in order to receive compliments, but something I saw as necessary. Hating my body is still one of the easiest things I can do, because the first thing I think of when I look in the mirror isn’t how great I look, but how much better I could look if I did a multiple of things.

I was unhappy with the vision in the mirror, though I refused to do anything about it, as though all I could do was tell myself how worthless I was. How large my body was. How uncomfortable it must be for others to see me in this regard. All of these things were a constant in my brain. So calling myself fat in front of others, or telling them to ‘let me know if I’m crushing your legs’ was a sign of respect for me. Of letting those around me that I was aware of my imperfections, I was aware of the belly rolls attached to me, aware of the way my arms flapped when I raised them. I was aware of it all, and there wasn’t a need to take that away from me.

I had no need to hear ‘oh you’re not fat’ ‘you’re skinny, what are you talking about?’ because these things never helped me. All I heard when people spoke to me like this was, ‘we’re lying to make you feel better’. I took this to heart, I let it affect every area of myself. I wanted someone to agree with me, but I didn’t want them to do it harshly. I wanted to call myself ‘fat’ and I wanted someone to say that yeah, it was true. I wasn’t skinny. I wasn’t a size 2, but that I was still worth something.

I wanted someone to tell me I worth something despite my weight, not because of it.

It took me years in order to differentiate the truth and it took me even longer to look in the mirror and not let the destructive things I thought crush me. I started to tell myself the same truth I’d always had. Yes, I am fat. But I’m not disgusting. I’m not vomit-inducing. I’m beautiful, still, yes with the weight. I am worth my own time and someone’s else. I stopped letting the weight on the scale affect me the way it shouldn’t have. I stopped letting ‘be skinny’ be the best goal I could offer myself. I stopped doing this because it wasn’t good for me. It wasn’t something I wanted to focus on for the rest of my life.

I didn’t want every conversation I had to come back to my weight. I wanted to be free from that enclosure, to be free of the measures of ‘fat’ and ‘skinny’, I didn’t want to be in these labels anymore. So I broke free of them.

I’ll still catch myself, fishing for compliments that is, when I’m feeling down about my own self-worth. I’ll catch myself looking in the mirror and pointing out everything I hate about my body. I’ll probably be catching myself for the rest of my life because these thoughts don’t just go away, they take time to push past, to grow beyond.

All my life I wanted to be someone other than ‘the fat girl’ and I realized the only way to break that label, was to break it for myself.

Even now, as I’m nearing my leave for graduate school, I’ve felt inadequate about my accompliments. I’ve felt as though graduating from college isn’t enough. As though, moving across the pond and studying at my dream school isn’t enough. It’s not enough because I’m not where I want to be weight wise. I hadn’t thought about it this way before, not until writing this article down, yet it’s true. I don’t feel as though I’ve accomplished much. I had though. I’ve accomplished so much more than I could have hoped for myself,

While still being ‘fat’. I’m not ashamed of my body anymore and I’m sure as hell not ashamed of being bigger. Me losing weight has nothing to do with not wanting to be ‘fat’ anymore, it’s about wanting to be fit. I don’t care if the scale says I’m fat, if I look in a mirror and I see a fit girl living life, that’s all I’m going to care about. It’s all I should ever care about, just me living life. That’s what matters, not your compliments nor your insults.

Reasons I Love: FailyTail

It’s been about a two months hiatus since Moons (my best friend) and I watched some FairyTail. We go into it late 2015, and our interest really picked up around Jan 2016 when we were watching four to five hours of FairyTail in a row. Yeah, we were very serious about watching it all. Eventually we ran into a wall, but it’s okay, the hiatus is over. For both the show and for us!

Here is a list of reasons/things why/how I love FairyTail:

1. The name Ezra sends chills down your spine.
2. Always being ready for a fight.
3. Power comes from within.
4. Who does Miss Levi pin for late at night?
5. You accept wise words from your elders.
6. Can Gray ever keep his clothes on?
7. “How do you know Igneel?” “He’s my dad!”
8. I JUST WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY TOGETHER. FOREVER. NO EXCUSES.
9. Being S-Class is no joke.
10. Godslayers ain’t got shit on Dragonslayers
11. Cobra and his cobra need to find one another again.
    The angst is real.
12. Juvia’s obsession with Gray is both super relatable and super creepy.
13. Erza’s backstory was a one of a kind turbulence of emotion.
14. It’s sometimes best to storm through a situation than stay silent.
15. Mira-Jane’s evolution.
16. Family means always being there for one another.
17. No one understands Zeref’s pain.
18. We all know these two deserve some peace and alone time (With Happy!).
19. Lastly, you’re more than well aware Ezra is not to be fucked with.
20. Even as a child. Not to be fucked with.

That is all my loves for today! Let me know how you felt about posts like these and maybe I’ll make some more!

100 days to go

It’s an hour before 2pm and as always my heart picks up a bit. It’s a blend of nervous and excitement, a distinct sort of thrills that pass through every inch of my body. In exactly 100 days, at this time, I’ll be sitting in an airport waiting to board a plane into Europe.

A plane trip that will leave my life back in the United States a memory. With the exceptions of family matters (like my sister’s wedding in ’17), I don’t plan on returning here ever again. I’ve got different life plans than those of Americans, and I’m hoping to achieve what I can around the world, not just from one location.

As of the moment though, as I wait for the 100 days to run out, I’ve thought about my situation. In moving, I have to plan what I will take and what will have to stay. It’s a lot to think about, not to mention stress about. I haven’t found a room to stay in when I move and that’s a problem in it of itself. Yet, it’s more than planning or stressing, it’s also a life change that I made completely on my own free will.

When applying to Graduate Schools there was not a single person who told me where I should apply. There was no one to guide me, no one to relate too. This isn’t because no one would give me advice if I asked, on the contrary, my sister and best friend where quick to let me know I should pursue whatever I chose. This left me to only myself and what I wanted. When I found my school it’s been a complete accident, even by some random show of fade. Whatever the reason was, I was more than thrilled in finding where I wanted to go. I remember stressing over applications, with an absolute need to get in. Others would tell me I could always apply other places but that’s not I wanted. I only wanted to go there, I was dedicated and focused and eventually I was given an unconditional offer, which I accepted promptly. Despite my excitement, I wasn’t ready for the amount of nervous once applying was out of the way. Once moving became a reality.

I’ve moved before, twice in my childhood and twice in adulthood. This will be my third move, fifth overall, that I’ve done but the first one that I do because I want to not because of any other reasons. The first two I was underage, which meant lugging along with family. The first one in adulthood, l’d had no other choice as only got accepted into that school. The second was to help my family with their move overseas, this one was voluntary to an extend. This move will be completely of my own doing. I chose the country. I chose the school. I’m choosing where I will stay. It’s a lot of things for my to handle and I’m not entirely sure if I’m ready.

But I’m excited. I’m more than excited. Im thrilled to live where I’ve wanted too. There’s few things that stand in my way, primarily money but I’m working past that and if you wanna help me in that you can donate at the bottom of this article!

That’s basically all I have to say about my move. Like I stated I’m nervous but I’m also excited. I can’t wait to start my life over there but I also long for a bit more time with those who I’m leaving behind. It’s a mixture of emotions I’m learning to handle but I will work past it.

There’s more to come with this addition in my life and it’s a step I was never really sure I would take. It’s an adventure of sorts, an adventure that didn’t seem possible a few years ago but now it’s within my grasp and I’m ready to tear through it. I’m ready to have my adventure in London. There’s still 100 days to go, however, and I’ve got to pack them with loads of unforgettable moments with the people I love.

CLICK ME TO DONATE!!

The Easiest Bread You’ll Ever Make

This is coming from one of the laziest beings on the planet. You’ll thank me later.

The ingredients you will need:
2 1/4 cups of flour
1 cup of water
1 teaspoon of yeast
2 teaspoons of sugar
1/2 teaspoon of salt
Butter or Baking Spray

Making the dough:
Put a cup of water in any small bowl or container and pour the yeast in it. Set aside for now. I usually sprinkle the yeast over the water, but simply dumping it in there is okay as well.

Measure out 2 cups of flour and place in a separate bowl.

Add in the sugar and salt, mix thoroughly. Once again I sprinkle over the bowl, but simply pouring it in there works. Once you’ve mixed, make a little hole in the middle of your bowl, the hole should not show the bottom of the bowl. Pour half the yeast water into your dry mixture and mix.

Pour the rest of the yeast water and mix.

It will look really wet still but no need to worry. Measure out the last remaining 1/4 cup of flour. Sprinkle in about half and mix.

Continue to sprinkle in the flour until your dough looks more together and doesn’t completely stick to your fingers.

Let the dough rest in the bowl and cover with plastic wrap or a dish towel. Try not to use paper towels as the dough will stick to them as it rises. Set aside for roughly half an hour. I usually take this time to clean up my area, meaning you can go ahead and return almost all the ingredients back to their location. The only things you’ll need from now on are the baking spray (or butter if you prefer), a baking sheet to place the dough in, and the actual dough itself. We’re more than half way there really, well at least all the parts that require effort are done. This is how my dough looked after rising.
   

Baking the bread:
Once you’ve let the dough rise, spray your baking pan with baking spray. Make sure you cover all the areas you want the dough to rest in. Cover the dough and let it rise once again for roughly the same time, 20 – 30 minutes.
   

Before you step away from your dough, preheat the oven to 400 F / 200 C.

We’re almost done! Once the dough has risen for a second time coat the top of it with either butter or the baking pray, then it’s ready to be placed in the oven. I usually cook it for about 25 – 35 minutes, but depending on your oven the time may vary.
   

And voola! Let it cool or jump right into it hot, either way let me know how your bread came out in the oven! I use this bread for sandwiches as is, however toasting it is fine, just be mindful of that when picking the bread’s mold. Also, this bread works great for paninis! If the mold is too big then your bread may not fit in the toaster.

What do you think I should bake/make next? Let me know in the comments below!

No, I will not watch Batman Vs Superman.

Stop asking. Seriously. I’ve done this explanation in person countless times as it’s a question a lot of people ponder when they find out I’m a Batman fanatic. I figured it would be best to get out all the information right here, and if anyone else asks well you’ll be directed to here (as you most likely have already)!

1) I can’t stand Superman.

I’ve tried, if I’m honest, multiple times to get into the Superman trend but there was always something off with the superhero for my taste. He seemed rather unenthusiastic and boring to me, not to mention the fact that he’s an alien from outer space trying to fix the problems on a planet he doesn’t belong in. Before you get all butthurt though, let me explain why I don’t like this. It’s the fact that Superman feels entitled to save the planet because he’s the ‘most powerful’ creature on it. He doesn’t feel as though it’s his responsibility (otherwise Clark would have started being a superhero much earlier on, I mean seriously? Strange superpowers and it never crossed his mind?), Superman shows that as soon as he puts on the cape it’s his mess to clean up. It doesn’t matter if Lex Luthor made the mess, Superman’s gonna clean it up. He’s more like a housemom determined to clean the house every time her toddlers spill some water on the ground to me than anything.

2) Ben Affleck is not Batman.

No, I’m sorry. I really am but I can not devote myself to Ben Affleck being the new Batman. He’s just not Batman! Bruce Wayne is a dark, brooding man with absolutely no ties to the world itself, only the reason to save it when it gets into undeniable trouble. So why can’t Ben Affleck scratch the itch that is Batman? Well, he looks like a house-dad. This isn’t to say there is something wrong being a house-dad, or a father figure at all, simply that Batman is not supposed to have that look. The casting of Ben Affleck was rather sloppy and unthought, not to mention that even critics believed Christian Bale was too old to play Bruce Wayne the billionaire and Batman the hero. So to respond to this critique correctly, the casting directors of Batman vs Superman do the only smart thing. They higher than even older actor to play Batman. How come we get a 43 year old man while Superman gets to be 32 years old and impossibly sexy? Yeah, I’m not very thrilled about that.

3) Plot? Consistency? Anything?

I’ve watched multiple Batman vs Superman trailers in an attempt to get me more involved in the film and more energetic towards it. I’m really trying here, ya know? I love Batman more than a lot of things (hell, his symbol is tattooed on one of my ribs) but as much and as hard as I tried to get into this movie, I seemed to push myself farther off. Usually the plot of the movie, or at least an interesting story arch within the film, is semi revealed during the trailers to push the audience to be more interested in buying tickets for it. That last trailer linked above shows what I’m talking about, it’s all just fighting and explosions and sexy times. Where’s the plot Snyder?? Where’s the pull towards the box office to purchase tickets?? To me, it seems as though they’re trying to play it off as another Batman, Superman movie in hopes that will rack up tickets. However, there’s nothing more annoying that a shitty Batman movie with no real viable plot, talk to Clooney or Kilmer about that, they’ll tell you.

4) Enough DC. You tried.

I don’t even know where to start with this, ever since DC had Clooney play Batman, their films have just barely scraped the bottom of the pool. I understand that they may be looking to battle Marvel in this subject but it’s not working out. At the very least, DC has millions of more characters to focus on theatrically, there’s not need to return to the same two. It’s been over 60 years since these two superheroes have been battling it out on the big screen, I think it’s time they took a nice long rest and let the other heroes of the DC universe have a shot. The reason Marvel is surpassing you DC is because they’re more diverse in their characters, and that’s not even talking about the characters themselves but just different characters. Think about it.

The only thing I actually enjoyed about the trailers was the parts were Alfred was introduced because Jeremy Irons is a right fit for Alfred. Don’t get me wrong I miss Michael Caine and all his perfect glory as Alfred, but if anyone had to follow in those footsteps I’m glad they at least got that right. All in all, these are the reason why I don’t be watching Batman vs Superman, and if I do I am without a doubt not paying 13 dollars to go see it.