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.

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:

All these angry feminists in my timeline today. I thought Sam Alito ordered them all home to make sandwiches this morning.

— Erick Erickson (@EWErickson) June 30, 2014

If you think #HobbyLobby introduces America to Sharia, I’m sure we can raise the funds to send you to Saudi Arabia.

— Erick Erickson (@EWErickson) June 30, 2014

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.

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.

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

 

 

Real Talk: To Poo Pourri or not to Poo Pourri

The other day, as I innocently watched television via my friend’s parent’s Xfinity account computer, I was taken aback by some gratuitous poo talk. Granted, the commercial was for a poo-smell-negating product but it was offensive nonetheless. OKAY…have you guys heard of Poo Pourri? If you haven’t, it’s a lovely little spray you use before said pooing occurs, which eliminates that yucky odor that tends to remind us humans that we’re all slowly rotting away from the inside out — some worse than others.  (SPOILER: in the following paragraphs I may hint at the possibility that girls poop.)

I know what you’re thinking right now: Aly, you’ve literally talked about bowel movements in 75% of your posts, what’s so gross about a well-mannered Brit elaborating on her poop processes  First, check it out for yo’self:

 

So, my beef is with the Orbit-esque nature of the ad — the whole concept that a prim and proper British lady with a pearl necklace is the the only qualified female able to talk about “unladylike” stuff like pooping because the overwhelming nature of her refinement neutralizes the words “tenacious skid marks” when they flow out of her mouth. And sure, it’s not like I wanna live my life obsessed with the literal act of shitting:

Exaggerated enactment of what life would look like if I only talked about my digestive mood:

“Hey, Aly, how’s it going?”

“Well, judging by the box of pizza I’m still pretending I didn’t eat last night, today’s going to be loose and uncomfortable. But enough about my bowels, how are you doing, Bob?”

No one wants this– not Bob and not me.

The ad just makes me think of a room full of advertising executives throwing out ideas and one of them yells out, after watching remembering how cool the “put a bird on it” episode of Portlandia was: “Hey, let’s put a British accent on it! That’ll make it watchable!” And thus, poop was classed up a bit. Made more ladylike and acceptable for those men still uncomfortable with the idea of a women sitting a toilet, emptying her tiny, fragile, lady bowels.

And then I come to find out that Bethany Woodruff, the poo actress, is actually Scottish. Alas, the British nature of this ad is totally purposeful and a lot creepier. Should we blame Mary Poppins? Is it our fault?

There’s a larger problem at work here — the problem of society not accepting women for anything besides being female and all that the term implies. Femininity is obviously not synonymous with taking a shit but if we put a pretty, proper girl in a nice dress, throw on some pearls, and plop her on top of a toilet, voila! It is now acceptable for her to talk about her bowel movements.

Take her out of that scenario, things get weird again:

Clearly, this guy is a little uncomfortable with the topic at hand. It’s like he’s not sure if it’s okay to ask the agreed upon questions for the interview.

Interviewer: What was the hardest line for you to keep a straight face?

“I think tenacious skid mark… not often do you hear a female say my skid marks are tenacious..know what I mean?”

“I’ll take your word for it because I don’t know how tenacious they are…”

Awkward laughter ensues until the camera goes to a female newscaster who says:

“Just for the record, I don’t do that.”

So yeah, girls talking about poop is still awkward. Even if she kind of sounds like the Queen. We’ve come a long way.

 In all honesty, I’ll probably try this product because why not? And if we could take the stink aspect out of poop, maybe us girls would feel more inclined to join the conversation. 

Would you Poo Pourri? Does one of your coworkers need to Poo Pourri? Potty humor welcome. 

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…

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.

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

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.

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?

1Q84 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…

Sometimes 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. 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 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!

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.

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]

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?

 

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?

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!

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…

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

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…

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?!?!

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..

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!

“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 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. 

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..)