Category Archives: Blogging

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Leave My Uterus Alone, Rick Perry

*This was originally posted last summer after spending a lot of time at the Texas Capitol groaning and eye rolling as Rick Perry’s team played for a dirty victory where the prize was women’s reproductive rights. Today I will be going to see Queen Wendy, House of Davis, Mother of Dragons and I thought it was about time to revisit all the reasons she MUST win the governorship.

***

Let’s get real for a second.

Hey Rick Perry, do you remember that time you said you pray because you’re “prone to make a lot of mistakes” and also, when in front of America, you claimed there were three very important agencies of the government you were going to get rid of and oh wait, was it the EPA? I still don’t know because you never remembered.  Also, remember when you said you hoped to be the Tim Tebow of the Iowa caucus? (Sad about his career now, huh?) Or when you said OUT LOUD that the minimum voting age was 21? (Gotta get that apathetic youth vote!)

I guess you really are prone to make mistakes.

See, that’d be funny and all if you were my 103-year-old senile grandfather peeing on the lawn and not the person who runs the state I live in and who is holding my reproductive rights in your hand like a soft tomato (are you surprised I didn’t call it a delicate flower? Well, fuck you.) You’re own republican friends have called you “Bush without the brains” so I think you should tread lightly when passing judgement.

You’ve been talking a lot about Wendy Davis, who has recently been described as a “former teen mom” — which is so great because we usually only hear about teen dads. Nope, that’s not true…

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You claim she clearly hasn’t learned from her own example as a teen mom. Obviously, as a middle-aged white man you would have a lot of expertise on being a teenaged girl. Now, you are calling a second special session — because all those people flooding the capitol to protest your BS was just a coincidence — to push through the draconian bill that would close 37 out of our 42 reproductive health clinics and make abortions illegal after 20 weeks. Because why wouldn’t five clinics in the massive state of Texas be enough for over ten million women? Oh right, because math. But you claim that you are fighting for human rights by passing this bill. That’s weird. It didn’t seem like you were fighting for human rights when you vetoed the bill that would assist women in the fight for equal pay because you were afraid it’d hinder job creation. Yay! Human rights! Let the free market work itself out!

See the thing is, Rick, people like Wendy can’t just pick and choose the human rights’ issues that’ll best serve their political agenda like you and your conservative cronies. People like us don’t have that freedom. Because you exist. Because you think it’s your right to determine who gets married and what I can do with my own body. Do you hear me telling you what to do with your penis? No, that’d be creepy and invasive. Yes, Wendy Davis had a baby at nineteen — she chose to have a baby. That’s the point here. Pro-Choicers are just that. We are not pro-abortion. We are for women’s abilities to make an informed, educated choice about her body and her health (which will be soo easy to do when there are only five women’s health clinic in the entire state).

So no, old white haired men, I’d rather you not tell me when and when I cannot have a baby and I’d rather you listen to some ladies. I want to be clear here, though, that I think any baby-having decisions should ultimately be discussed with both parties involved and not just up to the female. With that said, if it’s the responsibility of both parties then we should make a law where men must wear full prosthetic baby bellies for the entire gestation of the fetus and/or microchip every man so his whereabouts are known and therefore, he is unable to leave his pregnant partner until the baby is born. Because that doesn’t seem like an invasion of privacy or anything.

RickPerryCorndog

Wendy Davis already schooled you once, filibustering like hell so ya’ll wouldn’t cut tons of money for education. And you know what? Filibustering in Texas is hard! This isn’t no reading the telephone book Congress bull shit or handing it off to your colleague when you’ve run out of lines from Alice in Wonderland. Sister couldn’t even lean on her desk! What I’m trying to say, Rick Perry, is that you’re a hairdo and a nice face on an ignorant republican robot body so get the corn dog out of your mouth and back the fuck off my uterus. Or I’m gonna go get Wendy.

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Share Your World – 2014 Week 17

shareyourworld

Howdy fraaannnnnds! I decided to jump on to the Share Your World train because I sense the need for you all to get to know me on a more intimate level. And also because I love talking about myself. Weird, right? Thanks to Cee for some great questions!

What are some words that just make you smile?

The phrase “wicked frigan pissah” because Jimmy Fallon, and also ’cause it reminds me of my mom. My mom would describe most of the accomplishments in my life as “wicked frigan pissah” and that’s why she is better than your mom.

I need to second Stuphlog’s word choice, “caddywhompus” because if that word doesn’t make you smile then you should reevaluate the the value of silliness in your life. Also, codswallop because I imagine a Cod hitting a baseball in an underwater Cod baseball league. I also love morphing the educational program Rosetta Stone to “Rosetta Stoned” because it evokes a vision of people getting high off of knowledge and that’s cool.

cod

When you lose electricity in a storm, do you light the candles or turn on the flashlight? How many of each do you own?

Thanks for making me super anxious about an impending catastrophe…It’d have to be candles but I definitely don’t have enough! I have one with a cross on it that my student regifted to me from her First Communion and thought I wouldn’t notice. Oddly enough, it made me like her more. Mostly I use the flashlight app on my phone but if the power was out I couldn’t charge it so I think I need to reconsider some life decisions for a moment…

What is the longest book you ever read?

1q841Q84 by Haruki Murakami so yeah, I’m pretty cool. And by cool, I mean I’m a total nerd. And by total nerd I mean I’m a wannabe nerd. We named our dog Tengo after one of the main characters in this book, so yeah, it’s worth a read. Also, this book literally blew my mind. I’m still putting the pieces back together (explains a lot, huh?).

So you win a pet monkey at a fair, but this isn’t just any old monkey. It can do one trick for you whenever you want from getting a pop out of the fridge to washing your hair. What would be the trick?

Ughhh this is so difficult because there are so many tasks I’ve imagined a monkey completing for me! The monkey would absolutely brush my teeth for me every day. It must not wake me up or make me expend any physical energy in the process otherwise it’s not worth it. If brushing the teeth wouldn’t work then it’d have to be running to Wheatsville to get me a vegan, gluten-free peanut butter cup and a dark chocolate sea salt and almond bar whenever I want because Matti’s done this enough by now.

Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

I’m thankful for discovering the chiropractor and her miracle massage table that feels like a wave is assaulting your back in the BEST way possible.

Looks like You Need an Adjustment…

nobody got timeSometimes I like to think I’m invincible. My definition of invincible basically being the song “U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer. My fiance often likes to joke that he gets nervous when I have a random ache because I have such a high tolerance for pain that I let a lot of stuff slide. I like to share this with a lot of people because it makes me sound like a totally bitchin’ badass, which, let’s face it, I am. I once called a healthcare hotline while nannying when I didn’t have health insurance. The conversation went as follows:

“How can I help you, today?” Super nice (and I imagine super cute) nurse lady who helps people without health insurance.

“I have some pretty severe pain in my stomach. I’m pretty sure my colon has been inflamed for about a week now but I wasn’t sure if it was that serious.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to go the emergency room… like yesterday.”

“But do you think I’ll have to wait long? I need to be at my other job at 1:45.”

So, when last week, my back was all like, “oh hell, noooooo” to the whole walking thing, I decided I should probs see someone. The problem is, I keep asking myself, “it is worth it?” as in “is it worth paying money to feel healthy?”

Ahh, and then I understood (clouds parted and healthcare angels began to sing in hushed, angelic whispers). It could just be me but as a member of the (hashtag)millennial generation, I’m going to say it: we suck at taking care of ourselves. But it’s not completely our fault. Amidst the whole growing-up-and-living-on-your-own-and-being-responsible thing, we all kind of thought: hey, we’re young, we created Youtube and Twitter, we can handle a little chronic back pain, a little Strep throat, a little [insert sickness here]. Couple this with the whole skewed health insurance system in our country and it’s a recipe for a generation that is not taking care of themselves. I mean, we’re the first generation who thought searching symptoms on WebMD constituted a physical check-up. Self-diagnosing your vertigo via the interwebs is not helping anyone, people.

So when I found a chiropractor, who I’m pretty sure moonlights as the soothing voice in every late night telemarketing ad for a neck or body massager, or “being your whole self,” I knew I struck medical gold. She gets me, in the way that she wrote a note to my boss saying I can no longer lift the heavy boxes of sodas that Staples delivers every week. I’m also an advocate of healing yourself without using medication — could be the whole substance abuse thing that runs in my family but hey, to each their own. (But seriously, everyone, stop relying so much on prescription drugs).

So back to my question: is it worth it? Well, when your doctor tells you your neck is in the shape of an “S” and no, that’s not how it should look and oh, see this pinched nerve, that’s probably the reason you’ve been losing feeling in your hands, then I would go with a solid yes, it’s worth it. I’ve been twice so far and I felt very proud when she said my “back was adjusting really well” — my spine high-fived itself for being so responsive to treatment. keep calm I’m not saying everyone should go to a chiropractor — I still feel weird about it myself to be honest. But let’s at least make a promise to ourselves to take care of our bodies. And no, I don’t mean finally getting that adderall you’ve been trying to trick your doctor into writing you a script for. I mean like, putting down the In and Out burger fries and The Call of Duty controller and going for a walk or some shit. Ugggh, did I just sound like my grandmother talking about Call of Duty like that?

How often do you go to the doctor? Have you ever been to a chiropractor? Is your neck also shaped like an “S”?

Sunday Update: My dog reads The New Yorker

It’s Sunday and you’re wondering, is leaving my couch necessary today orrrrr would it be acceptable to re-watch the entire series of Workaholics in one go? Take two: It’s Sunday and you’re one of those people that likes to do things like go to brunch or try your hand at paddle-boarding and you’re wondering: there’s so little time to show everyone how active and busy my rewarding life is! (Guess which one of these I am!?)

Fear not young weekenders, you can do it ALL and you can look at this picture of my dog. Oh! And you can also head over to the sidebar area and like my page on Facebook because we all want to show those bitches in high school how accomplished we are now. Help me get revenge, Facebook style. (I know I’m late to this party but I’ve finally come to accept that my future mother-in-law is probably going to hear me talk about dicks at some point so why prolong the inevitable?)

Now, by popular demand, here’s Tengo reading the New Yorker:

tengodoggy

Now go like my Facebook page so I can quantitatively prove my worth to my family and friends! Thanks for putting up with me!

A Discussion on Workplace Etiquette (or Don’t Steal my Lunch, You Jerks!)

Let me start off my addressing the thief who ate my frozen pad thai lunch. Who do you think you are, the decider of the future of wayward frozen meals? What do you just wait for the moment everyone has gone home and  you think, “yeah, now’s my chance! I’ll show them!” in the voice of Brain from Pinky and the Brain? And then you proceed to sneak into the break room and siphon off people’s lunches one small delicious bite at a time? Well sir, I’ve heard of the missing PB&J and deli meat sandwiches and I have heard of the souptastrophe of early April and may I just say… HOW DARE YOU?

Look at it! Look at what you stole from me!

Look at it! Look at what you stole from me!

Not only am I upset by the cahones you seem to have in the lunch thievery department but I am also offended for a multitude of other reasons. Like, where were you during fridge clean outs when I threw out five pounds of pinto beans and watered down coleslaw from that corporate luncheon? Where were you when that leftover chicken sandwich squirted it’s musty juices on my just washed denims? Were those leftovers not good enough for your thieving bear claws?!

And what confuses you about a frozen meal labeled Aly 4/14/14? Look at all those fours! It was so much fun to write! And it was a g-damn gluten-free veggie pad thai! You’ve now forced me to walk around the office aimlessly, like those birds who mysteriously found their way into a mall or a parking garage and cannot get out, searching for an answer. There will be payback and it will be tenfold. You’ve made a girl who cannot eat gluten VERY hungry and you know what they say about people who give up gluten…(you know, just that we’re cranky about not eating gluten but our bodies ultimately feel much better).

Now to you, man with lots of questions at our hour-long sexual harassment training. We get it, we get it, you’re REALLY into freedom of speech. So when someone tells you that explaining why same-sex marriage is wrong cannot happen in the workplace, you get all butthurt about it.

inigo

You: But the 1st Amendment guarantees I can say what I want without being penalized for being a pompous asshole who doesn’t understand how the law or morality and office etiquette works. (Stomps feet on the ground and shakes a baby rattle)

Big lawyer guy from NY office that knows more than you because he is an actual lawyer: Sure, you have freedom of speech but when you’re in the workplace there are other factors to take into consideration…Like how your speech effects the feelings of others. Is it offensive? Is it appropriate?

Me (to myself but pretending I’m the big lawyer man): And you know what is not in the constitution, Mr. dumbass —  may I call you Mr. Dumbass? — is a right to be employed, (Hence the whole, millions of people unemployed thing). [Drops mic]

free speech

Take it from me, a person who isn’t offended THAT easily (unless it’s something sexist, or racist, or anti-Dog Whisperer): No one wants to hear your slightly hateful rhetoric defending the First Amendment. And I get it, because I’m white and privilege is deep ingrained into my psyche as well, that you think you should be able to say WHATEVER your little-man-penis desires but that’s just not the case anymore, sir. You can, however, find hope that Mad Men still has a new season for you to “spank the monkey” too as Don Draper and his cronies use their free speech to degrade every woman they come into contact with. Hey, you could even make it into a drinking game — that seems fun and well-suited to your douchebag dispositions. Enjoy liver failure in ten years! Free speech rocks!

What sort of workplace injustice have you overcome? Was “hugs happen” also a takeaway from your workplace harassment training?

 

About that Time I Met Mindy Kaling

Did I wake up that morning thinking I’d meet her? No, I did not, but there was a chill in the air from the North and I was having a good hair day, so you could say there were some signs.

If you haven't watched clips of this play yet while then I actually don't want to hear from you...

If you haven’t watched clips of this play yet while then I actually don’t want to hear from you…

And of course I had imagined it the way I still imagine sitting front row at the off, off Broadway production of Matt and Ben (curse my high school self’s sense of social importance for preventing me from seeing this work of gold!.) I’d walk up to her majesty and pretend like we had met before. I could see it all now. I’d call her red jumper “bold” and she’d tell me she liked my new Zara coat — “classic yet current,” she’d say. Soon enough we’d be chatting about her time playing Ben Affleck, the writer’s room at The Office, and the struggle of being a woman in comedy.

Somebody would snap a picture of us assuming I was also a celebrity because of the comfortable and candid nature of our interaction. The picture would get retweeted endlessly by the like twelve followers I have till it inevitably ends up on Perez with the caption “Mindy and her new bestie, Aly, a writer currently living in Austin” and then he’d say something cheeky like, “watch out Mindy, that new bestie has some serious styleZz” or “this girl gives writers a GOOD-LOOKING name.” Seriously, I could be like Karlie Kloss to Taylor Swift, except for the whole me not being a supermodel thing.

Chic, right? Right?!?!

Chic, right? Right?!?!

The day it happened as I said, I was wearing my new Zara coat because I recently decided Zara was super chic and also so it wasn’t obvious that I was not in possession of a festival badge. (SXSW Hierarchy breakdown: badges get you in to everything, wristbands get you into almost everything, having neither gets you in a line for three hours to see some random indie band from fifty yards away.)

So as I approached the Austin Convention center with Matti, badgeless save for the press badge I consistently imagine myself wearing, I readied myself. Sure, even existing in the same building as Mindy Kaling was enough to brag about for days but I needed to actually see her, breathe in her full-bodied, female talent or whatever. When we entered the building it was clear that security was ready for me — every possible entrance to upstairs, (or heaven as I came to see it) was guarded by some volunteer who’s only job was to shame people without badges into not asking if they could go upstairs. I eyed my target by the elevator, an innocent looking young man who reminded me of the skinny Conor Oberst fans I used to make fall in love with me in middle school — so, I had this in the bag.

“How do I get upstairs?” I asked the the fifteen-year old guarding the elevator.

“Probably by using that elevator.” Well, that was easy.

I liked his style, direct, to the point. As I hopped on to the elevator, Matti was caught by the Connor Obersty looking temple guard as he exclaimed, “Badges, only, people, badges only!” Apparently, the boy had turned in to an angry Newsie after I entered the elevator.

I felt unjustifiably avenged as I rode the elevator to my ultimate destiny while Matti was left behind in the figurative dust. “Female comics unite!” I repeated over and over under my breath like my own personal Captain Planet mantra.

The older, badge-holding woman standing next to me in the elevator chimed in, “he’s not going to get up here without a badge.” and then as the statement left her lips lined with a magenta pencil, she started to look me up and down, “wait do you even have a badge?”

“YOU WILL NOT RUIN THIS FOR ME,” I loud whispered at her as we exited the elevator.

The closest I got to Perez Hilton stardom was a mini photo shoot Matti took of me posing with a signed picture of Mindy. Things could be worse..

The closest I got to Perez Hilton stardom was a mini photo shoot Matti took of me posing with a signed picture of Mindy. Things could be worse..

And then I saw her. Doves flew from under the table she was signing at and I could have sworn I heard Beyonce live-singing “Who run the world? Girls!!!” in the background like I was slow-motion-walking into my future or some shit.

After waiting in line for about 30 minutes the devil dressed in a “Volunteer SXSW” t-shirt came up to me and the others in line, put his hand straight out in front of me and said, “this is where the cut off will be to meet Mindy, but you’re welcome to stay and see if she has more time!”

I immediately hated him and all of the decisions that led him to this exact moment, denying me access to the my idol, my future writing partner and best friend. Of course I stayed and waited. And as we inched closer and closer in line she was right there in front of me. Her teeth were more imperfect than I had imagined which only made our bond stronger as I like to brag that my teeth “have character” that way people are less inclined to poke fun at my snaggle tooth, you know, because I choose to like it.

True to the devil’s word, the lucky rotund seventeen-year old with a badger her daddy probably bought for her (or I just have to imagine this to make myself feel better) was the last person in line to have a converstaion and picture taken with Mindy.

He's even sassy in black and white!

He’s even sassy in black and white!

“Not so fast!” I said to myself, apparently audibly. I ran out in front of the table where Mindy was signing and started to bow. For some reason, bowing was the one thing that came to my mind to do. Do I regret it? No. I regret nothing. (Except for that time a couple of days ago when I saw Daniel Esquivel from Project Runway at the local food co-op and I didn’t tell him how much I loved his purse).

“Mindy…I just… wanted to…”

“INTERACT WITH HER!?” Some blockhead yelled from behind me, as if this were her moment with the queen (of course, her instinctual completion of my sentence was completely accurate but that’s beside the point).

“Hi!” Mindy mused, like an angel, “well it was a really good interaction.”

And then I bowed again because apparently that’s my thing when faced with overly exciting, fabulous situations. I just bow it out.

I was not lying about the jumpsuit...

I was not lying about the jumpsuit…

I then convinced Mindy to sign her remaining head shots to give out to the rest of us mere mortals. She thought it was “the best idea!” so you could say we’re friends now. I may still be waiting for that whole Perez Hilton story thing but at least I came away with an almost friend in Mindy and a new found confidence in wearing loud jumpsuits. So, win-win.

 

 

 

P.S. – I also met Stephanie Beatriz and Melissa Fumero from Brooklyn 99 after. They told me “they liked my whole outfit I had going on.” Despite not really knowing if that was a compliment I’m pretty sure they’re going to look me up when they’re back in town. brooklynn99

Just what you needed on a Monday…

I was about eight minutes into scrubbing the pork and bean juice stain out of the carpet in the large conference room in hell at work when I began to wonder what my life had come to. Countless hours examining the gender stereotypes embedded in the American power structure, unlimited sleepless nights staying up to write a collection of short essays meant to illuminate the spirit of the liberal Gen Y female experience, and i’m currently earning my way by cleaning up meat remnants from a corporate lunch I wasn’t even invited to (OKAY, FINE I had the leftovers when everyone was finished). ANDDD…This is usually how Monday goes.

What’s that you say? I’m not the only disillusioned millennial whiny baby with a decent corporate job and an ultimate inability to make my creative dreams come true (SO FAR, OKAY! I STILL HAVE TIME GRAMMIE SO GET OFF MY BACK!).

With that being said, Mondays still suck. And can this just be a universal thing? So the following videos are for you, art student who now works as a receptionist at Aloha Dental. And here’s to you, girl that works downstairs at Floyd’s, because I’m sure your dream wasn’t to remember that I get an Iced Soy Chai Latte every morning (although, thanks for making me feel like I’m in an episode of Cheers every morning) and I’m positive it also wasn’t listening to me elaborate for far too long on the “relative flakiness of your gluten free bread” as compared to the Udi’s Brand. This is for you, and me, and the all of us who’d rather be in bed dreaming then at work pretending to be busy so your boss doesn’t see you writing on your blog. Side note: After recently meeting Richard Socarides, the Head of Public Affairs at the company I work for (he also worked for this guy you may have heard of — his name’s Bill Clinton) and subsequently finding out he often spends time at work blogging for the New Yorker, I feel absolutely justified in my blogging work breaks.

Now take a few brief moments away from the menial task you’re trying to mindlessly complete and watch these inspiring/cheesy/makes-being-a-human-worth-it videos. For your health.

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s post on how I  managed to meet Mindy Kaling (the Queen, to you mere mortals), the annoying neighbor character from Up All Night, Sinbad, Shawn White, and watch a live taping of Comedy Bang Bang all in one week! (All for the low, low price of staying on your feet for at least 9 hours a day for like, ten days in a row. It’s called #SXSW, people.)

YOU GUYZZZZZZ. This kid is everything. He has SO many more videos. Watch them all you assholes.

If you’re not crying you have no soul and I don’t want to hear from you. You and Marnie from Girls should go on a date together you heartless animals (And yes, I know that Marnie actually has a heart but that societal expectations and an extremely low sense of self-worth has gotten her into some UGLY situations. But still..)

What’s in an Age?

me pup

“This is 25” — Hit me up, Judd Apatow

Basically what they tell you in general about age and experiences is you have more of them when you are older, you know, like cumulatively. Which would mean that by the time you turn say, 25, or a quarter-of-a-century-old for us obsessed with their own mortality, you’re just wiser than the average 18-year-old punk because you know, you’ve experienced more. Which if we’re boiling it down, means basically, you’ve now been able to drink legally for four years, and you’re body stopped being able to tolerate heavy drinking, say, 3.75 years ago.

So what makes up 25 years, you ask?

It’s mostly vague memories of every time you forgot something at the grocery store.

It’s 25 reasons why you should have stuck with that whole “science career thing” because I guess science was cooler and more lucrative than you thought in 7th grade. (Bill Nye on Bill Maher, anyone?)

25 means paying your own cell phone bill but still being on a plan with your brother and being extremely judgmental to friends whose parents still pay their bill (I’m looking at you guy-at-work who thinks buying things from Groupon automatically thrusts you into adulthood).

You probably cook for yourself and someone else at this point and you’re probably massively in debt and completely ignorant to how massively in debt you are but at least you’ve started complaining to your friends about how in debt you are (which is better than avoidance, right?).

25 years means you’re actually pretty impressed that you haven’t lost that “child hood spirit” which allows you to still skip in public.

adult25 years is 9131.05 days of not accidentally dying on a treadmill or hopping a fence or using a fork to get your bread out of the toaster, which, let’s face it, good for you. (Side note: Want to be intimately and immediately aware of your own mortality? Google how many days you’ve lived and enjoy.)

25 is the amount of years it has taken you to buy shoes that cost more than $10 a pair.

25 is the age your mom was when she married, had two children, and a mortgage and you still can’t sew on a button.

25 is the age you are when your fiance buys you adult things like a fabric steamer for Valentine’s Day and it’s the best present you ever received in your entire life.

At 25 you have bunions like your Grandma but you still hold out hope that your retainer from Junior year of high school will fit.

At 25 you are no closer to buying a Lumosity subscription to work out your brain but at least you contemplated searching for an exercise ball on Groupon.

At 25, brushing your teeth qualifies as leaving the house.

At 25, the Olsen twins are 2 years older than you but you still watch Full House.

At 25, you’re old enough to tell Miley Cyrus to put that dirty tongue back in her mouth.

In 25 years, you’ve established a larger collection of half-filled diaries and Forever 21 receipts than you’d like to admit (But good times, right?).

In 25 years you’ve learned that paper towels are a luxury for the well-to-do.

At 25 you’ve stopped self-deprecatingly pointing out your grey hairs, because now it really is just sad.

But mostly, at 25, you feel the same as 24 except you’ve just realized you have a year less to show the world how awesome you are. And less time to be famous with your youthful breasts and mostly even complexion (‘sup Loreal anti-wrinkle eye, tone evening cream, I see you on that shelf). So I mean, in the omniscient words of B. Spears, “you better work, bitch.”

I’m Back and I Have Something to Share

new years 1“You guys, I’m gonna be so much better this year!” Is what I said on January 1st about writing a post every night after work instead of, for example, watching the entire season of House of Cards in one sitting while shoveling vegan, gluten-free chocolate macaroons into my abnormally small pie hole. I’m sure you’ve noticed how it’s now February. And cue what I am now trying out as the theme of my new year — the year of giving up before I even sta-, er… the year of coming back from behind!  Because what’s even better than starting off strong? Starting off horribly and still winning! That way, you already know what failure tastes like having been so close to it  — it’s sour and the texture is a lot like uncooked tofu sitting in its’ own white frothy liquid.

The underdog spirit gives you resiliency! That go-getter from college that just wrote a Facebook status about her seventh promotion doing a job she actually got a degree in can’t get you down. Never mind that  you just posted a picture of your dog curled into the “tiniest, tightest ball you’ve ever seen!” for the hundredth time. You have the determination of a chronic late bloomer and it’s going to get you places! And after you make it big (well past your physical prime, obviously), when those severely creative people come up to you with their pixie hair cuts, ironically puffing a cigarette and say, “I knew you could like, put it out there if you tried,”  you’ll curse them inaudibly under your breath for not inviting you to their writing circle and say, “cool cigarette.” like Ray said to Shoshanna in that episode of GirlsI can almost taste the delayed success now and it’s a lot like cake batter without the raw eggs.

worryIn all seriousness, I blame my struggles with moving successfully into the future on my tendency to dwell (others refer to this as “anxiety). That coupled with a crippling necessity to romanticize nostalgia relegates me to a consistent state of dwelling on why I can’t and don’t want to grow up. Then I get stuck on the what-if past, like what if my mom breast-fed me? Would I be better at math? Or what if my parents embraced my love for dramatic monologue instead of my ferociously competitive appetite for winning at organized sports? Would I feel more comfortable with imperfection?

So, basically, I’ve always got a foot in the door, just, you know, in the doorway behind me. For me, this is why I need to embrace the existence of the underdog. Because at some point my brain always stops me from playing the fun game of  “Who would I be if my parents enjoyed Scrabble as much as the Patriots?” and makes me realize “Oh yeah! Making life decisions outside of coordinating Miralax doses with my intake of cheese is actually a positive and rewarding experience!” I’m just hoping the feeling is gonna stick. And sure, hoping has turned into some actual trying. Like the other day at work, I let it be known that I have larger career aspirations outside of bringing La Croix back to the break room or finally getting Almond Milk stocked (although, good for me, right?)

And then, a few days later, driving to work, wishing I could go back to sleep, something amazing happened. I was distracted by an oddly inspirational sign:

goal

I got angry at first because obviously this was a personal attack against my tendency to delay goal-getting. Then I got nostalgic about my childhood which led to questioning my upbringing: If my parents didn’t buy me a television as a child would I have grown up to be an early bird? But then, in true underdog steed, I was like, “Fuck. That quote’s actually pretty deep. I should probably get some shit done today.” And then I did. 

 

Balking Heads: Why Being on Television Does Not Make You an Expert

john stosselIt could be residual shame from repeatedly forcing my mom to call me out sick at Stop and Shop when I was fifteen until I eventually stopped showing up, but I can no longer miss work without a swelling wave of guilt and unrealized goals washing over me like a scene from The Endless Summer. Except this wave is called anxiety and i’m not hanging ten, man. I just can’t do it. It’s something about my self-deprecating self-obsession that sweetly allows me to believe I don’t deserve to take a sick day when I’m sick while maintaining the assumption that things will fall apart if I’m gone. However, if I am sick then you are not sick. It’s just that simple, have some empathy people.

With this in mind, you can imagine my infuriation when John Stossel’s mustache recently spoke out about health insurance on Fox & Friends, claiming that women use the service more because they are hypochondriacs. Wrong again, you mustachioed blockhead. Sure, maybe women are more responsible and more proactive about their health but since when did that become a bad thing? Oh, right, when our communist President took office and passed a comprehensive health care bill is when.

First off, preventative health care is less expensive then reactive and there’s also that thing, what’s it called, oh yeah! Childbirth! To which host Steve Doocy replies, “And as a number of Republicans have made the argument, why should I pay for — I’m in my 60s, why should I pay for your maternity coverage?”

Click is you can't see --Their expertise is astounding.

Their expertise is astounding.

I’m sorry, Mr. Doocy and sixty-year-old or over republicans who don’t want to pay for my maternity coverage, has your penis stopped producing semen? Is there a rule I’m unaware of that disallows men over 60 to screw young women and get them pregnant? Hugh Hefner, anyone? Did the women you’re speaking of get pregnant on their own? Did all those man-hating liberal feelings just knock them right up? Am I also allowed to stop paying for your Medicare and Social Security because I’m 24, in debt from student loans you told me to take, working full time and can barely afford my rent?

The fact that a woman’s insurance shoulders the financial burden of childbirth is in of itself offensive and telling of the unequal nature of our society as a whole. Stossel, who would’ve been better as a professional Freddie Mercury lookalike claims, “if it’s insurance, you ought to be able to charge people who use the services more, more.” Or, how about if you’re a douchey Libertarian who thinks he has any authority over women’s healthcare costs, you should have to spend one day as a pregnant or menstruating women to determine whether you’re man enough to be a woman. Then we’ll talk about who has to pick up the bill.

Stossell-Organs

Because what could go wrong with selling your own organs?

After reading that article and many like it, a rage of pent up aggression from a lifetime of “are you on your period?” jokes came over me like that time an old man corrected my skating at Roller World — those “men” that stick their fingers in their ears and sprint away at the hint of the word period like I’m about to open an envelope of Anthrax only transmittable through the ear canal. And then I realized a main reason I’m resentful toward those men that react with such ignorance is because they’ll never have to deal with curses of the female body, never have to suffer through a horrible bout of irritable bowels just as their period is starting — when this situation occurs angels look down and weep at the poor helpless female souls who are on on toilets wondering how in the world anyone will ever find them attractive after such an atrocious act.

Sure, it’s the miracle of life, sort of. It’s the poisonous snake. It’s why I will ALWAYS keep talking about my period even when your penis-holding self tries to embarrass me in front of everyone on our sophomore dorm floor by saying, “Ewwwww, no one wants to hear that,” or “go watch The Notebook or call your mom or something.” Because yes, the douchebag in this story is not only sexist and immature but also really bad at comebacks and no, I don’t feel one ounce of sympathy for you having to pay part of my health costs or having to hear about the evil miracle happening inside of me because that’s ALL you have to do is HEAR about it. And I’m SO SURE that you’ve never sent disgusting pictures of your shit to your roommate in a bragging way. My shit’s probably so much bigger than yours, bro. (And I can say this because an upright and successful young man has already formulated a proper marriage proposal, the dowry is all lined up, etc.)

*I’ve been away a while and the rambling nature of this post may speak volumes to that but to those who have stayed to read my insanity unfold, I am very grateful and as a reward, I’ll wait a couple of days before mentioning my period again. Stay tuned for my next post, where I realize I’m turning a quarter-century old and get nostalgic about nostalgia and Gilmore Girls.