Category Archives: General Musings

Your Parents Sex Life is a Fun Way to Not Think About our Goblin President for Like, One Minute

“Having sex with your father is like trying to get a worm through a key hole.”

“It’s just that I’ve always had a very sensitive gag reflux and your dad has always been…endowed.”

“Feels like the last time I came I was watching the Mary Tyler Moore Show.”

“Most days it feels as dry as a librarian’s basement down there.”

“I know your dad wants to have sex because he only had two Manhattans with dinner.”

“The good thing about it is I haven’t had to wash our sheets for years.”

“I think I might have that medical thing where your hoo-ha just closes up…what’s that called, pussy teeth?”

These are all things I prefer hearing over anything that comes out of Trump’s hateful gremlin mouth. His face makes me long to be blind. It looks like what happens to your cervix when you leave a tampon in too long. Trump is like your racist dad who has someone to help him spell McCarthyism which is very dangerous.

Okay, so honestly, nothing can distract us from the trash fire that is this current administration but maybe that’s a good thing. We literally can’t look away. Idk guys, hold your loved ones close and join the resistance I guess. Also, parents should have sex but maybe we don’t hear about it so much.

 

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Throwing My Liberal Vagina Into the RING and You Should Too

Three years ago I spent days on end at the Texas Capitol fighting to preserve a women’s right to her own body in Texas.  I mocked Rick Perry’s ignorance for not being able to list the THREE agencies he wanted to get rid of in our country. Wendy Davis lost the battle. Texas women raged on. Women raged on. But it was a lot harder.

The fight is now national. The enemy happens to be our President-elect and the war is most certainly not just on women. If anything, I am fortunate to be born as a white woman, a biological factor that has given me a life of white privilege. A privilege I have hoped to use for good: to champion for those without a voice, to fight for those unable to do so, to stand with POC, LGBTQ and all oppressed groups. I am not perfect. I am so fucking far from it. I catch myself in judgmental thoughts. I stop myself when thinking problematically in stereotypes.

I’m pissed off. You should be fucking angry. You should tell your white friends how angry you are and why. You should speak up for your friends that don’t have the privilege of waking up in today’s America feeling unequivocally safe if not a bit off-put by the results of this beyond fucked election. If you did not vote — shame on you. How dare you throw away a right that so many people in this country do not have! People that have lived here their entire life, worked their asses off, yet are unable to stake their claim in America in one tangible way: our electoral process because of the legality holding them back.

My mom called me crying on Tuesday. She’s not the politically active type. She is half Mexican yet 100% American. She never learned to speak Spanish because my grandmother never taught her; My grandmother instead, spoke as little Spanish as possible to avoid discrimination at the time. She lost her language very early on in life. Racism forced her to lose her language. My mom cried for this and for her feelings as a subjugated woman. She has been abused. She has been assaulted. She has persevered. She has taught me my value and continues to do so. She works as a cashier at a grocery store and talks to every single person who comes through her line. People love her positivity and her kind heart (despite them wishing she would just shut up and bag every now and again). I love her for her foul mouth and for my young exposure to crime dramas.

Now here we are. In a world where an accused rapist AND a proven sexist, racist bigot is poised to become the President of the United States. And here I sit as a woman afraid of losing agency over her body; as a teacher afraid for her students of color, as a friend terrified for her LBGTQIA+ friends. As a Muslim ally terrified for their safety AND religious freedom. I never thought I would feel so betrayed by my country.

Years ago while attending a protest against the School of the Americas (click for more info) I listened to countless accounts of Latinos who lost loved ones in their country due to American-backed attacks. I felt so guilty yet so lucky to live in America because I could defend these people and yet still be safe from persecution. This thought was ignorant.

The war is on our soil and it has been for a long time. It’s time we started doing something about it and fighting for the good side.

P.S Does anyone else feel like dumpster baby Donald and his ignorant AF wife Melania shouldn’t even be allowed in the same room as the perfection that is President Barrack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama? K cool.

You can volunteer or donate money and if you can, you should (lists taken from Jezebel and Man Repeller):

The ACLU: “For almost 100 years, the ACLU has worked to defend and preserve the individual rights and liberties guaranteed by the Constitution and laws of the United States.”

The American Immigration Council: “The American Immigration Council (‘Council’), established in 1987, works to strengthen America by honoring our immigrant history and shaping how America thinks about and acts towards immigrants and immigration.”

Black Lives Matter: “An affirmation of Black folks’ contributions to this society, our humanity, and our resilience in the face of deadly oppression.”

Emily’s List: “We ignite change by getting pro-choice Democratic women elected to office.”

Everytown: “Everytown is a movement of Americans working together to end gun violence and build safer communities.”

HIAS: “HIAS stands for a world in which refugees find welcome, safety, and freedom.”

It Gets Better Project: “The It Gets Better Project’s mission is to communicate to lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender youth around the world that it gets better, and to create and inspire the changes needed to make it better for them.”

KIND: “KIND staff and our pro bono attorney partners at law firms, corporations, and law schools nationwide represent unaccompanied immigrant and refugee children in their deportation proceedings. Together, we ensure that no child stands in court alone.”

The NAACP: “The mission of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) is to ensure the political, educational, social, and economic equality of rights of all persons and to eliminate race-based discrimination.”

NARAL Pro-Choice America: “NARAL was founded before Roe v. Wade, before legal abortion was even possible in the United States. We as an organization and as a progressive movement exist to fight for the dignity and equality of all Americans. We hold the line—in good times and in bad—to defend the freedoms that are enshrined in our constitution and that define what it means to be American.”

National Center for Transgender Equality: “The National Center for Transgender Equality is the nation’s leading social justice advocacy organization winning life-saving change for transgender people.”

Planned Parenthood: “Planned Parenthood delivers vital reproductive health care, sex education, and information to millions of women, men, and young people worldwide.”

RAINN: “RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) is the nation’s largest anti-sexual violence organization.”

The Anti-Defamation League was founded in 1913 to “stop the defamation of the Jewish people and to secure justice and fair treatment to all.” Find your local affiliate here and donate here.

Border Angels is an all-volunteer non-profit that advocates for immigration reform and social justice focusing on the U.S.-Mexico border. It offers educational and awareness programs and migrant outreach programs to San Diego County’s immigrant population. Donate here.

The Boys & Girls Clubs of America offers enrichment programs and support for children when they’re not in school. Donate and learn about ways to volunteer here.

Campaign Zero advocates for policy solutions to end police violence in America. Fill out this survey to learn how to get involved.

 

 

More resources:

Ann Friedman: Finish Your Ugly-Crying. Here’s What Comes Next.

The Mary Sue: What to Do If You’re Trans and Live in America Now

Anil Dash: Forget “Why?”, It’s Time to Get to Work

Nicole Silverberg: What Can I Do Right Now?

Huffington Post: If You’re Overwhelmed by the Election, Here’s What You Can Do Now

Jezebel: A List of Pro-Women, Pro-Immigrant, Pro-Earth, Anti-Bigotry Organizations That Need Your Support

Bust: Anti-Muslim Hate Crimes Will Surely Increase. Here’s How to Not be a Bystander

Talking to children about the election result

The Girl Can’t Help It

Your friendly neighborhood feminist here. There’s a lot going on, isn’t there? Like, ALL THE TIME. Like even when you wake up at 5:00 in the morning because Seizing the Day and Following Your Dreams and whatnot. Was I in middle school once? Did we, as women, win the right to control our reproductive bodies in 1973 or did I imagine that? Where am I even? Can I have a do over?

Save us, Ruth.

Save us, Ruth.

The Supreme Court decided last week that a corporation’s right to religious freedom is more important than a women’s right to access necessary healthcare. It decided that a corporation can have religious freedom. Because everyone knows you need to get to church early or those pesky early bird corporations will take all the seats! Nope. That doesn’t happen. Can a corporation have its period? Can a corporation get pregnant? Can I ask a corporation what religion they believe in when they apply for a job? Is it physically possible to kick a corporation right in the balls – just square in the seed holder? The answer to all of the questions is a resounding no.

What this decision tells us is that Hobby Lobby’s god believes that a woman should not be able to regulate her reproductive bodies through the birth control method of her choice but that a man, in whatever scenario that so provokes him, can choose to acquire and use reproductive medicines — vasectomies, viagra, etc. Because apparently god didn’t take whiskey dick into consideration when making Adam and Eve. Their god just feels a little weird about allowing women agency and autonomy over their bodies in the same way that guys have it — something about not trusting women after the whole snake in the garden incident (more on this to come)

And of course we can learn a lot from brave, mind-shattering responses from great minds like Erick Erickson:

Above all, there is a “sucks to be you” mentality at work here. You want to have sex whenever you want, you dirty slut? Well, sucks to be you because you have to be pregnant and deal with the whole birth thing and we’re going to chip away at your access to the one thing that can allow you to take control and agency over that very process. Of course, there are always TWO people involved in an unplanned pregnancy. Yet for the emotional, physical, and financial  burden thrust upon the woman, you would think she got pregnant by herself at feminist camp.

HL-meme-11

We are told to accept our biology and embrace the limitations imposed upon that very biology because some God decided it to be that way. He originated the “sucks to be you” reasoning in his conversation with Eve:

“I will make your pains in childbearing very severe;
with painful labor you will give birth to children.
Your desire will be for your husband,
and he will rule over you.” (Genesis 3:16)

Man’s punishment for listening to Eve (a woman apparently made from HIS OWN RIB yet he was still unable to talk it out with her before eating the poisonous fruit): You’re going to have to work really hard to get your own food and work, you’ll have to rule over all women, and one day you will die and return to dust.

I don’t know, given the whole human mortality condition this punishment doesn’t seem entirely on par with the women’s punishment.

personperson

Religious freedom is one thing but freedom on its own is entirely separate. Freedom to be a person and not be ruled by any other person. Freedom to be seen as more than a rib taken from a man that was written about in an old, old, book. Freedom to have SEX without comment from the purity police — because we all know that a MAJORITY of our country has sex for reasons besides PROCREATION (Like say, pleasure and intimacy?). Freedom to make informed, educated choices about my body because you don’t see us trying to take away your Viagra. Believe me, we have way more important things to do. 

More Hobby Lobby hypocrisy:

The Guardian

Mother Jones

 

 

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.

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”?

Here’s Some Fiction on a Saturday

It’s funny how writing about personal experience felt so difficult after training my brain in fiction but you know what they say, get a girl talking about herself and you can’t shut her up! (And by they I basically mean Sean Hannity). I’m gonna stop talking about myself for a little bit here, or not completely, I’m gonna start talking about the characters in my brain, y’all. They cannot be silenced. Also, there’s only so many times you can write about walking to Starbucks with your dog. I hope I make up characters smart enough to buy their coffee local.

***

It’s 9 am and most functional, employed adults are awake. Gia is, instead, under a cascading, too-heavy, sale-rack Anthropologie quilt dreaming about having a life.

There is a friendly knock at the door. After the third time, it gets aggressive. Picture Danny DeVito locked out of his apartment with just his boxer briefs (I know, weird, I always  pictured him in whitey tighties, too…).

Eyes crusted over, Gia answers the door.

“Ugghhh, I was having the most delightfully pretentious dream about hosting a Ted Talk about achieving your dreams…” Her hair is matted to her head, being held in a pony-tale by a seemingly invisible hair elastic.

Tara enters, scanning the room, a visibly disgusted look on her face. “Jesus, what did you do last night? Go beyond the wall and get into a fight with a White walker or some shit?”

“Are you Game of Thrones insulting me right now? Is that what you’re doing? I think getting into a fight with Peter Dinklage would’ve been funnier.”

“You’re the worst,” Tara says, picking a bra off the ground with her foot, “can we go now? I waited as long as I could but I want to get to the pool before all the bald men in your apartment complex start showing up and claiming chairs. Bald guys have a thing for me.”

“Since when are there a lot of bald guys at my apartment complex?”

“Since every time we’ve ever gone to your pool.”

“I’d like a specific example.”

“OH, LET’S DO THIS. Cue the damn flash back music!”

“I hate you for so many reasons,” Gia says, sniffing at her arm pits to get a feel for how she should proceed with the day.

“I’m imaging the Game of Thrones theme song, what about you?”

“Of course you are. Your mom got you into Game of Thrones, didn’t she?

“Yeah, cause I make decisions based on what my mom likes.” Tara gives a Tina Fey eye roll as her screen lights up with a text from her mom: “How could they let Arya see her family die like that?!” She replies: “MOM!! YOU’RE SUCH A SPOILER! STOP SAYING THINGS ABOUT G.O.T.”

“I’m going to ignore you texting your Mom about Game of Thrones. Now get back to the bald guys.”

“Yes yes, it was a Friday…”

[Game of Thrones theme starts playing]

There are two bald guys in the hot tub and one thirty-ish year-old women feeling proud about her bikini body. Gia and Tara look at each other, daring the other to go in first.

The bald guy with the plaid shorts is talking about his recent trip to India:

“I found a driver that spoke English! He charged me 100 Rupees and I gave 120 and said to him ‘that’s for speaking English!” As the words came out of his mouth, another racist angel was born.

[Back to present]

“Wait a hot second, was that guy really that racist? I don’t remember him being that racist.”

“I haven’t even gotten to the part where he tells that woman not to sue her boss for sexual harassment because she doesn’t have enough money.”

“Okay, okay,” Gia gets indignant, “can we agree here that it’s not exactly the QUANTITY of bald white dudes that live at my apartment complex but the QUALITY that makes the difference here. I’m actually a fan of Howie Mandel, his idiosyncrasies are super endearing.”

“You’ve only heard the first bald guy story! And I didn’t even finish! You have at least five more that I know of. Remember that one who let us smoke some of his joint. Actually, I guess he wasn’t so bad.”

“What is going on here? Can we get into your creepy fascination with bald men some other time. I’m going to ruin every part of Game of Thrones if you say the world bald one more time. And honestly, I think you may want to talk to like, a professional, about this.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Will they make it to the pool before all the lounge chairs fill up? And will Tara ever stop talking about bald guys? But more importantly, will Gia ever actually make her bed? Check back next week for more weekend fiction y’all.

A Brief Open Letter to the Woman at the Dog Park

Is your name Starlight? Or maybe Rainbow-serenity? Let’s go with Starlight. I hope that’s okay, Starlight. When I was little I’m pretty sure I dreamed of your free-spirited ease of being and penned a song about you entitled, “Why can’t the world be free?” More than anything, I think the song scared my dad into fearing my future liberal political and social endeavors. I have a few confessions, Starlight, and since you’ve shared with me that you’re moving to “the new high rises downtown” I feel like it’s a good time to get them out in the open.

First, my fiance saw your boobs. I know! I know! Do you also feel a lot closer now? I do. I feel great getting this off my chest, (see what I did there?!?). He didn’t comment much about them which inevitably means they were impressive and I can see that, Starlight. Like, literally I can see the outline of your breasts because you’re never wearing a bra — the nipples too. And that’s okay! Bras are just a cagey nuisance of underwire and female suppression. And you know, if only all of us women could be so open as to share our boobs with the world via our patios maybe, just maybe we’d be a freer place.

I just found out this is called "African Style" and I'm left wondering... why does everyone hate Americans so much?

I just found out this is called “African Style” and I’m left wondering… why does everyone hate Americans so much?

When did you have your adorable baby, Starlight, and do you also think he has the head of Rob Reiner? Like, not in a bad way, he just has the biggest baby head I’ve ever seen. And this concerns me, as the level of shape your body is in would put Cosmopolitan’s “How to lose (insert area of body that any women has ever complained about)…” section out of business.  Is it because you are constantly carrying that nugget on your back using a tie-dyed sheet and a few overhand knots? Wait, did you secretly grow up in Laguna Beach, CA where your father taught you to sail and do things like tie knots properly? Now that I think of it, your red hair did not seem all that natural (because women born there can only be blonde. And rich. You know, because, Laguna Beach). Were you friends with LC? How about her and that Kohl’s deal, amiright? I’m sure you’re happy for her. Because, you know, karma and good vibes.

I have to admit that I’ve often thought about the nature of your family, like in the way that I could’ve sworn your baby daddy was a homosexual male. And it’s obviously none of my business, except for the times he yells “hi!” when I’m out on my balcony which is an obvious open invitation to examine your personal lives. It’s just, his hair is so perfectly unkempt and also that time I swore he was holding hands with a man. It’s confusing! Are you guys pulling an The Object of My Affection starring late 90s Jen Aniston and Paul Rudd? Because who wouldn’t want to raise her child with gay Paul Rudd? If so, no judgment here!

Because wouldn't we all marry gay Paul Rudd?

We’d all marry gay Paul Rudd.

Mostly, I just want you to know I’m thinking of you and how much you look like Jenny Lewis and how jealous that makes me. Oh, and I also wanted to know if all of your friends also look like a combination of the Lost Boys from Hook and members of an up-and-coming indie band or is that just you? And also sure, your baby is a pretty fucking loud crier (But still totz adorbz!).

Apparently, the Lost Boys may have actually formed an Indie band already...

Apparently, the Lost Boys may have actually formed an Indie band already…

Enjoy your new home in downtown Austin, Starlight! (Remind me again how you mysteriously make enough money to live in downtown Austin yet could pass for not having a shower in your home…)

Love,

Your nosey neighbors! xoxo

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.”

Mondays Aren’t that Bad (and other deeply profound observations)

Mondays are good for things like counting how many bills are past due in your head, or tallying the number of days it’s been since you’ve last moved your body in a way that could be construed as exercise. It’s also ripe with awkward exchanges: You get stuck riding the elevator with the unruly looking man who always answers your mass emails to the office with inappropriately personal tidbits about his life — “It’s Birthday cake day today? That’s funny. When me and my sister were six we also had white cake with strawberries on top. And then we swam in the lake with our grandfather who ended up having an affair with our old nanny!” Cool C-dawg, thanks for letting me know.

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Mondays are certainly not dignified days.

Round One: Monday in the bathroom

Monday morning is where I find myself, hurriedly brushing my teeth in the women’s bathroom at work because I’m late, when all of the sudden I’m listening to the primal grunts of a fellow human struggling to eliminate dead animal remnants from their bowels. Besides the twinge of jealousy I feel toward this person for producing normal bowel movements so early in the morning, I’m generally displeased with what’s happening. In these moments, there is no higher power saving us from the hideous beasts we biologically are deep down inside. Not even a courtesy flush could save me from the guttural moans of a woman thrusting aside gender norms for the chance to maintain her digestive normality— WAIT A HOT SECOND, there’s a fucking guy coming out of that stall. In a construction helmet. He smells of bologna sandwiches that have been heating up on a hot sidewalk mixed with the dirty mop water that used to collect at the end of my driveway from the makeshift car wash service that Di-Di the homeless crack addict started when I lived on “the bad side of town.”

“Uhh…ohhh…this is… Is this the girl’s bathroom?” I wasn’t buying the act. You heard me clack in here, man, all pigeon-toed in my heels like a grown-ass woman.

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I shook my head up and down as my Sonicare toothbrush glided unpleasantly over my half broken fillings. (Sidenote: It’s never worth it to go to the “wholesale” dentist just because you have a chance to win the Free Trip to Hawaii Sweepstakes. Chances are, the contest never existed in the first place.) At this point, I’m fighting the urge to spit my toothpaste all over him repeatedly as if I were filming hilarious outtakes for a show called My Life Monday (The screwball sequel to His Girl Friday).

Round two: Monday at the pump

Later that day, on the way home from work, I decided to finally acknowledge the lit up emergency light on my dashboard, indicating “Your father is not coming to do this for you. Please put air in your tires, you irresponsible brat.” Obviously, like most civilized people, I needed to buy something in the gas station to get cash back and have change for the quarter-operated air pump from 1963. As I walk out of the gas station there is a Mercedes SUV inching uncomfortably closer and closer to my car, which I have intentionally parked an inch away from the pump, until the Mercedes appears to be human centipeding my car.

“She wants your car to buy her a drink first!” I said to the woman now exiting her car and moving toward the air pump. Apparently she was not amused by the personification of my white Chevy Aveo. She was also unaware, like most Mercedes owners I’ve come across, that having a Mercedes doesn’t automatically disqualify you from having to wait in a line or you know, being a decent human being.

“I was actually about to use that,” pointing to my car that was positioned in the only spot allotted for the air pump.

10 out of 10 Mercedes are that asshole that just cut off 100 cars and is now trying to merge into your lane..

10 out of 10 Mercedes are that asshole that just cut off 100 cars and is now trying to merge into your lane..

“Yeah. Well, I’m going to go ahead and use it. And it’ll be a few minutes and then i’ll just pass it on over to you.” I was astounded and exponentially impressed by her ability to make cutting me in line sound like a favor she was doing me. When I regained consciousness as a human being able to stand up for herself, she was already discarding the pump from her hand, there was no “passing it on over” that took place. I imagined giving her an atomic wedgie in her Lulu Lemon yoga pants for most of that night. But not before I met JJ.

Enter JJ

JJ really wanted a Sirloin Sandwich combo from Jack In The Box and I was standing in his way. By standing in his way I mean I was crouching down, pumping air in my tires like a self-sufficient adult woman. That’s when he came rushing to my aid like an unkempt, hungry Prince Charming of the Streets.

“hey-hey-hey, let..let.. let me do that for ya. I got some gloves on — make this real smooth and easy for ya.” Granted it was 41 degrees in Austin, which meant there was a “Severe Weather Alert” already in effect.

“I’m actually pretty okay all by my lonesome. It’s just this tire really—“

“Aww no, ain’t no lady as pretty as you getting her hands dirty on dees tires.” As he grabbed the air pump out of my delicate lady hands I thought about how many people JJ has met at this pump. Obviously, he lived his life with intention and purpose. Instead of wasting time begging for change like others struggling to make a buck, he camped out at the one place that doesn’t take credit cards and went from there. I liked his drive, although I resented the superior demeanor he possessed when claiming my tire was “full enough, mama.”

Despite the fact that JJ’s help was thrust upon me like an unwanted work email at 4:59 p.m., I gave him a dollar. And when he asked me for another dollar because he’d been “dreamin’ ’bout dem Jack fries” I gave him another dollar.  It was a Monday after all, and I was happy to spend the end of it making JJ’s dreams come true. And as I drove home, weaving through the mass of deplorable Southern drivers, honking at the inevitable douchey bro in a hummer and then at the irresponsible douche with a dog loose in his truck bed, I thought, ughh, well, I guess Monday could be worse.