Today is really hard.

24 Apr

And I am grateful for:

1. Phone calls from my mom

2. Taco lunches with my dad

3. Late night phone calls with my brother

4. Facebook chats with my friends

5. Snuggles from my dog

6. Red lipstick

7. Compact mirrors

8. Playlists featuring Amanda Palmer and Fiona Apple

9. Love

10. That I’m so much stronger than I used to be.

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Weekend lists

22 Apr

Because I am totally an adult (totally), I have yet to actually get internet at home. And I kind of hate blogging by phone, so my weekend lists aren’t being added until now. Because I’m an adult and I do what I want (including but not limited to eating Pop-tarts for 2/3 meals yesterday).

Saturday:

1. Misfits (seriously, have you guys seen this show?!)

2. Delivery sushi

3. That my birth control comes in the mail.

4. Milk crates (finally got all of my books unpacked!)

5. Books

6. Walks with friends and coffee and dogs and gossip

7. Box wine

8. Being old enough to refuse to go to Civic Center Park for 4/20, thereby avoiding getting shot.

9. That no one I know was injured in Civic Center Park on 4/20

10. That my friends still like me even when I admit that I don’t really like going to record stores.

Sunday

1. My dog lets me sleep in.

2. That my birth control comes in the mail.

3. Pop-tarts. With butter. (This is not as gross as it sounds.)

4. Craigslist furniture

5. My normal grocery store was surprisingly, magically, blissfully empty on Sunday morning.

6. Cut-rate photo shoots

7. Double dates

8. My bedtime is whenever I want it to be.

9. Clearance dresses

10. A night devoid of terror-sleep or stomach pains

 

 

On Friday, I am grateful for…

19 Apr

1. coffee

2. video games

3. tiny memo books

4. temperatures above 40 degrees

5. friend dates 

6. dog-friendly offices

7. Spotify

8. haircuts that make it look like I give a shit when I really don’t and vice versa

9. that everyone I know in Boston is safe (and resolute. and pissed off)

10. this fucking week is almost over.

 

Today I am thankful for…

18 Apr

Things are not as awesome as they could be. They aren’t terrible, but they could be better. I’ve been dealing with one very frightening realization (I might be able to write about this at some point, but for now I’m still hardcore processing), and some more general doubts and unpleasantness that comes from being in your late twenties. Also, we’ve been having non-stop blizzards, and it’s fucking April, and that’s bullshit.

Earlier today, I read this article: http://www.xojane.com/relationships/make-your-life-better-gratitude It talks about making yourself feel less shitty by finding the things you’re grateful for. Every damn day. So today, I’m thankful for:

1. High cubicle walls

2. Snuggle dogs

3. My apartment

4. My room full of books/escapism

5. Impending dinner with two of my favorite friend-people

6. Weird goat milk lotion that enables me to walk around in a cloud of orange smells

7. Leftovers

8. My Aunt Carol, an amazing nurse who keeps the family informed whenever anyone gets sick (like, serious sick).

9. My mom

10. The vodka tonic I will be drinking at some point this evening

What are you thankful for?

Image

Love is Love.

26 Mar

Love is Love.

I killed some time this morning making my own little piece to show my support for marriage equality. It’s every couple I could readily think of, gay, straight, bi, trans, queer, etc. Everyone’s written the same, because we all deserve the same chance to marry or not. There are couples on here that I know support marriage equality, there are couples on here that probably don’t, and might be pissed that I used them without permission. The inclusion of these names doesn’t mean that they support marriage equality, it simply means that I think they deserve the right to marriage equality. It’s coming for you, whether you want it to or not.

When is a hug not a hug?

25 Mar

Trigger Warning: Discussion of rape culture, sexual assault

 I’ve been thinking about rape culture a lot lately. Fun, right? But with Steubenville (and its appalling coverage) in the news, it’s kind of hard to avoid. I’ve been thinking a lot about the advice I’ve given and received over the years about being a single gal in the city. Don’t walk around drunk by yourself, stay out of dark alleys, be aware of your surroundings, always have a weapon (or something that can be used as a weapon) handy. Don’t make yourself a target. To some degree, this is just common sense to try to avoid any kind of assault/mugging. And while I don’t want to support a society that actively tolerates rape culture, I also thoroughly enjoy not being assaulted. How do I find the balance between not making myself a target, and feeling like that shouldn’t be solely my responsibility? I’ve been thinking about this even more after a recent incident.

A couple of weekends ago, I found myself having a delightful late-night stumble through the alley behind my apartment building, clutching a box of freshly-procured pizza. I had moved in earlier that day, and celebrated by having some friends over for drinks.  By drinks, I mean that I single-handedly consumed an entire bottle of white wine, leaving me pretty incredibly wasters.

Within sight of my door, I heard a slurry male voice, “Hey, can I have a hug?”

I turned to see a dude (dare I say bro?), arms slightly extended, ambling towards me. Let me restate, I was drunk. So drunk that I was literally hugging my pizza box flush to my chest in order to avoid dropping it. And the first thoughts through my head were, Stupid, stupid, stupid. This is the night you get raped. This stupid fucking asshole is going to grab you and rape you in a dark, puddle-y alley, and probably steal your pizza. I could barely walk straight, yet I was trying to see if he had a weapon in the hand that was angled away from me.

Spoiler alert: I did not get raped.

I backed away as quick as I could and made Wolverine claws with my keys (years of leaving campus after midnight have made me especially good at this). I told my new pal Huggy McInappropriateReactionsToSocialCues that no, he could not have a fucking hug, and that it was really creepy to lurk in alleys asking people that. He in turn told me I was a hateful person.

“Why, because I don’t want a complete stranger invading my personal space? Because I don’t know you and don’t want you anywhere near me?” (I’m a surprisingly articulate inebriate – ask any of my friends, the drunker I get the more impressive my vocabulary becomes.)

He stopped walking towards me. “Why are you so hateful? Your heart is filled with hate.”

I know, I know. Don’t feed the trolls. But I find it hard to keep my mouth shut when confronted with them in real life. I told him to go away and stop harassing innocent pizza-carriers in alleys. He continued to yell after me that I was a hateful human being who would never find happiness (which apparently only comes from hugging creepy strangers at one in the morning).

At this point, I would like to hop back on my rape culture-point with a handy graph:

What I drunkenly thought:

What Drunk Bro drunkenly thought:

Oh fuck, a random dude is approaching me, asking for close physical contact. Will he back off if I say no? Probably not. Where are my keys? Can I swing them at his face and run before he has time to grab me? If I give him my cash will he leave me alone? I shouldn’t have come back this way even though it’s a half-block closer. If I scream, will anyone hear me? Will anyone help me?

Hey, it’s a lady. I want a hug. If she doesn’t hug me, she’s a hateful bitch.

I’m not sure this graph really needs explaining, but I’d like to expound on a couple of points. First, I have grown up in a society so deeply entrenched in rape culture, that if a random guy asks me for a hug, I will automatically assume that his intention is to hurt me. This is dangerous because it makes my adrenaline flow. Because if he hadn’t stopped walking towards me, he would’ve gotten a complete janitor-ring of keys in the face. Or a kick in the balls. Or pepper-sprayed. And this makes rape culture dangerous for everyone.

Second, Drunk Bro has grown up in a society that is so permissive of rape culture that he is incapable (at least while drunk) of seeing any woman who does not want him touching her as anything but a hateful bitch. I’m assuming this would be the same guy who would, in a more sober state, tell me to smile when I walk past him (What if my dog just died? What if I just don’t feel like smiling? My facial expressions are not here for you aesthetic amusement). Who would not stop hitting on me until I said the magic words (“I have a boyfriend”) because he couldn’t fathom a woman who would be able to pass up his manly charms unless she was already spoken for. And I know I’m making a lot of assumptions, but damn it, I should be able to walk home without dealing with this shit.

I don’t think that Drunk Bro is representative of the males in my neighborhood, or men in Denver, or men in general. The friends I was drinking with were all guys, all of whom got just as shit-faced as me, and managed to not invade my personal space. My boyfriend was appalled when I told him this story, interrupting when I related that Drunk Bro had asked to hug me to say “You mean grab you? Because when a stranger wraps his arms around you that’s not a hug, that’s a grab”. And maybe Drunk Bro didn’t have any intentions past hugging the random lady he saw walking by. But it didn’t occur to him that I would perceive that as a threat, and I couldn’t afford to give him the benefit of the doubt.

8 Mar

A fantastic response to My Private Feminism post. “Maybe they won’t take us seriously now… but if we don’t fight for equality, they won’t take us seriously ever.” Chills.

Penny Gets Lucky

My brilliant friend Caitlyn posted this on her blog last week. It essentially posits the question, “Would more people be open to feminism if we simply called it something else?”

And I think… maybe? But is that really a good thing? Or more to the point, does that really mean we should call it something else?

Maybe this is a tinfoil-hat moment for me, but I think the hesitance to identify with feminism as a movement is an indicator of oppression. Think about it. Much in the way that a Muslim fears to identify as such in our society, for fear of being lumped in with terrorists and extremists by the average ignorant ass, so too do women fear identifying as feminists to avoid being lumped in with “a bunch of angry, unshaven man-haters.”  I can almost hear the patriarchy going, “But you’re cool, right? You’re not one of those

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