Tuesday, July 28, 2009

So much wrong with this

Headline: Conn. police: driver blames car crash on snakes.

HARTFORD, Conn. --Police say a 20-year-old man blamed a multi-car crash in Hartford on two pet baby snakes that he says escaped from his pants pockets while he was driving.

City police Sgt. Christene Mertes says Angel Rolon of New Britain claimed he lost control of his SUV Monday when the snakes slithered near the gas and brake pedals and he and a passenger tried to catch them. Mertes says animal control officers never found the snakes.

Police say Rolon's SUV veered into some parked cars and overturned.

Rolon was treated at a hospital for unknown injuries. Police say they gave him a summons for reckless driving and other charges.

There is no public telephone listing for Rolon. It could not immediately be determined if he has a lawyer.
Wow. First off, GREAT cover story. Second, if it's true, you don't try to catch your snakes while you are in the middle of driving. And finally, if it's true, you don't keep your pet snakes in your fucking pocket as a way to transport them in the car.

When Loki is in the car with me, I don't leave him flying around the car because, get this, he could get hurt/killed, I could get hurt/killed, and other people could get hurt/killed. My car could get hurt/killed. It's common fucking sense.

There needs to be a way to charge people with being totally stupid.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Headlines, headlines

Headlines make a difference.

Today, the tapes relating to the Gates arrest were released. Boston.com's headline is simply that the tapes were released. CNN.com says, "911 caller didn't mention 'black' suspects."

But there are two things missing here.

The 911 caller said she thought one of the men might have been Hispanic. So, if people want to be all, "Oh, she didn't mention anything about race!" that ain't true. She did make it clear, though, that it looked as if they were having trouble with the key, but that she just wasn't sure.

Secondly, one of the most important things about the released tapes is this: There is no evidence to suggest that Gates' behavior merited arrest. There is no yelling, no shouting.

To me, the tapes mean that the police had every reason to believe that this was not breaking and entering. They were supposed to go make sure it wasn't one. And when Crowley arrived, and Gates was inside and proved residence, that should have been the end of it. And since Gates clearly was not shouting or being disrupted ... I don't understand why there would have been an arrest.

Except that when it comes to discrimination, anger on the part of the subordinate is blown out of proportion and invalidated. In the case of Gates, he was arrested for being angry. His anger was invalidated through Crowley's refusal to recognize that there wasn't a dangerous, illegal situation. His anger was blown out of proportion by what appear to be extremely exaggerated reports of disorderly conduct.

I'm tiiired of hearing about the race card. There is no card. No one does that. This "card" system perpetuates the completely inaccurate and bullshit idea that victims enjoy victimhood and use it to their advantage. I'm sorry, but I don't like being a victim. I'd rather make the same amount of money as men. I'd rather not risk sexual assault every time I walk alone. I'd rather not deal with having to spend more time, money, and effort into making sure I appear acceptable. And I'm sure that many people of color would rather NOT be discriminated against. There is no race card. There is no reveling in discrimination when you're the ones being discriminated against.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Oh, PLEASE, people

I just saw this headline on the new Yahoo! homepage*:

Black officer supports Gates arrest."

Oh, because I'm not sure if you knew this, but if one, JUST ONE person of color doesn't think an incident is racist, then it's not. I mean, it totally doesn't matter if an overwhelmingly higher number of people of color do think the incident is racist. All it takes is for that one person to say, "No, guys, chill; what happened was totally okay and not racist at all," and then (magically) the incident isn't racist.

And all the white people point at all the people of color and say, "SEE, WE TOLD YOU," before returning to privileged, blind lives.

The President of the US believes there was racial profiling involved. The Governer of Massachusetts agrees. Actor Jeffrey Wright agrees.

I agree, too. I don't think this would have happened to a white person. And all this backlash is further evidence suggesting quite strongly that are nowhere near "postracial."

(There are similar problems, of course, with sexism, either where a sexist woman might say, "I'm a woman, and I thought the joke was funny and not sexist; therefore you are overreacting," or where a sexist guy might say, "My female friend thinks it's okay for guys to rape women if the women are wearing skimpy clothing, so you must be overreacting.")

* Why does Yahoo! keep doing this? No one uses the homepage anyway.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Rude things people do

Disclaimer: I am in no way suggesting that I'm always polite. In fact, the opposite is probably true.

I ride the train to and from work every morning. The train cars have two benches in each row, on either side of the aisle; one side of the car has benches with two seats, and the other has benches with three (although only on the more crowded trains will you actually see three people sit on a three-person bench. Interesting). People do some rude stuff with these benches.

1. Sleeping

I'm really tired, too. I promise. But if you're absolutely incapable of taking a nap in an upright position, you might want to wait till you get to work, or until you get home (if, you know, you can't get away with the former) in order to sleep. Lying across three seats is rude. Really.

2. Not accomodating

As I mentioned in my not-apologizing-for-my-fat post, I'm not going to scrunch myself into my seat if there's already room for you. But it's rude, when someone is trying to sit next to you, when you are taking up half of their seat. One guy once refused to move when I sit down, meaning I had to squeeze my oversized ass into half a seat. Not cool.

3. Sitting at the aisle

Yeah, it's rude to sit in the aisle seat, not the window seat, when there is no one else on the bench. Move over; I'm trying to find a seat and I can't seem to magically teleport over you!

4. Letting your bag sit next to you

It can sit on your lap, or it could sit on the nifty overhead rack, built for such things as bags. Interesting, I know!

I know that we all just want to get from point A to point B as comfortably as possible. But there's a difference between making it as comfortable as possible for everyone, or just for you. I pick the former.

Things I've learned

Today, I learned that I dislike going to the gym in the morning as much as I dislike going to the gym in the evening. Even though going early means I don't have to go after a long day of work (during an evening better spent in front of the TV with a birdeh), it does mean getting up earlier. Much earlier. And now that I had to wake up at 6, I'm quite sleepy at work!

And so, my love-hate relationship with the gym will have to remain love-hate. But that's okay.

Oy, people, it's normal.

Today, Boston.com has this article: "Did stress cause Palin's thinning hair?"

I am not a fan of Sarah Palin. I disagree with her policies and her opinions. I think she's pretty anti-feminist. I considered her unqualified for the Vice Presidency, not because of her sex, but because of her utter and complete lack of experience and knowledge relating to, say, helping to run a country.

But this headline is extremely sexist and inappropriate. The article itself mentions Palin only as an example of a woman whose hair is thinning slightly; the bulk of it discusses the myth that stress thins hair, and the science behind hair thinning. The article isn't actually about Sarah Palin.

So, why the title? And why the obnoxious, "I feel bad for her" quotation? Because we're making fun of her. We're criticizing her for her position and the decisions she's made. We're saying, "You have failed as a woman because you do things that make you look less feminine."

I don't like Sarah Palin, but that doesn't mean that criticism based on her sex is at all appropriate.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

What is it with my luck sometimes?

In 2005, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, an SUV rear-ended my stopped 1998 Audi A4 at about 20 mph. There was a ridiculous amount of damage to the rear and the passenger's side rear body (the SUV driver had tried to turn off into the breakdown lane to avoid hitting me). It was deemed a total by the insurance company. But we got a lot of money from it. A week later, we found a 1994 Honda Accord on Craig's List, with 65,000 miles on it, for only $5000, and we took it.

Thursday, I noticed a strange noise, like a tapping, coming from the rear of the Accord. When I remembered to check the car on Sunday, I found that the rear bumper had broken off near the tires. I was aware that my car had pretty nasty rust, but I hadn't had any issues with it before. But then I saw that someone had bumped into my car; there were scratches all along the bumper. Great.

Today, I learned that it would cost $500-$1000 to fix the hit-and-run damage, but that it would just break again in less than a year. The best choice was to get another car. And it just so happened that the Autobody in Carlisle had two.

So, next week, I will probably be purchasing, for $4000, a 2002 silver Honda Civic (4 doors, "loaded" model) with approximately 101,000 miles. There is also, for the same price, a 2002 Toyota Camry with 123,000 miles that's also a steal.

So, the moral of the story is that I have awful luck with having to very, very suddenly get a new car, but that I have fantastic luck in finding great used cars at even better prices.

Growing up Feminist with a Sexist Dad

My mom, whether she'd admit it or not, is a feminist. She's the one who told me if I ever got pregnant, she'd go with me to Planned Parenthood (although she also made it clear that she expected me to try not to get pregnant). She's the one who gave me her own copy of The Feminine Mystique when I needed to read it for class. She's the one who made it clear she didn't like it when my dad gave her an actual gold star for balancing her checkbook, and that she appreciated it even less when he took it away when she was off by a few cents some time later (I shit you not). She was the one who told me that I should live on my own, off of my own finances from my own job, and learn how to be independent before I ever moved in with a significant other. She was the one who told me that she would always love me, no matter who I fell in love with, and that she understood her own discomfort with same-sex sexual relationships was something she needed to get over. And she was the one who left my dad.

My relationship with my dad isn't much better than my mom's relationship with him. I didn't speak to him for three and a half years (for several reasons, but this particular stretch began after he criticized my driving, when he himself is the most dangerous driver I've had the misfortune to be in the car with), and I only began speaking to him again when I figured out exactly how I needed to construct our relationship so that I wasn't completely powerless. After all, I had figured out how to live without him for almost four years; I could now choose the distance.

But now that I've grown up, now that I can better understand how my dad ticks, and now that I've graduated as a Women's Studies major and embraced feminism, it's easier to tell when my dad's being a sexist assfuck, and harder not to say something to him.

For example, after my graduation ceremony, where I graduated as a Women's Studies major (and not as a Biology major), I sat through lunch as he made nasty jokes about the field, and about some of my classmates (such as how our one male major must either be gay or desperate to have sex).

Today, when I called for help regarding a car situation (specifically trying to figure out whether or not I should pay to have my current car fixed after a hit-and-run broke the bumper, or if I should buy another car), he mentioned that I needed to figure this out on my own, since I hadn't gotten experience with it in college, like he and my brother had. I asked what he had meant (specifically, "Dad, there's no 'car insurance' major in college"), and he explained that Biology and Women's Studies didn't exactly lend themselves to the situation. He added that he was pretty sure my brother had taken at least one Economics class.

I'm pretty sure a non-feminist might say something like, "Well, it's true that neither Biology nor Women's Studies is practical when you need to make a car decision." But GEOGRAPHY (my dad's major) isn't that helpful for it either. Neither is Economics, especially if you take an intro class (which is what my brother would have taken). Now, my brother was a Math student, which might have helped, but I don't think I need to understand linear algebra to deal with the car situation.

The fact is, I know how my dad feels about my choice of major, and my passion for feminist issues. And I know how he feels about what women should do (clean, cook, take care of the kids; they can work if they, you know, have time). And so I know better than to say, "Oh, my dad doesn't mean anything by it."

Because he does.

So, it can be difficult figuring out how to proceed with him, how much distance and what boundaries I need to reinstate, and how much he could possibly understand and respect as an anti-feminist parent of a feminist.

But I feel lucky that I have a feminist mom, that I have many feminist friends, that I discovered Women's Studies at school, that I became involved in violence prevention, and that I understand that my dad is the one with the problem. Things could be different; things could be worse.

Like I might have to buy a new car when some assdick hits mine, causing damage that won't ever stay repaired--OH WAIT, I do.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

No, I would not.

In today's Globe, there are a bunch of articles detailing the arrest of Henry Louis Gates Jr., the Director of the W. E. B. Du Bois Institute for African and African American Research and a distinguished and respected Harvard professor. He had just arrived home from the airport and was having trouble getting into his house. A woman saw Gates and his driver trying to push open the door, which was stuck in its frame. By the time a policeman arrived, Gates was safely inside the house, trying to have someone come over and fix the door. He was arrested for disorderly conduct when he got angry at the officer, who, after Gates gave him his driver's license and Harvard ID, insisted that they go outside. He suspected aloud that he was being treated this way because of his skin color.

I think he was right.

Yvonne Abrahams details the incident in an article entitled: "The Gates Affair: Would you stand for this?" I think this is a beautiful, simple question. Would you?

Would you consider it reasonable, if you were in Gates' situation, to have an officer ask you step outside your home after you've shown absolutely no signs of criminal activity, and you've proven your identity and your residence?

I certainly wouldn't. And since I'm white, I doubt that the officer would have asked me to step outside in the first place. He might not have even asked for me to prove residence with my license.

But this article, its title, and its point got me thinking about my sexual assault. Not just mine, but other peoples' as well. When I tell my story, some people get uncomfortable and ask me, "Well, come on, it doesn't seem that bad." And other people, when they've courageously shared their stories, or when they're explaining why they don't feel entitled to share and be heard, have said the same sort of thing: "Well, I guess it wasn't that bad."

But when I think about it, of course it's all "that bad." When someone asks me why I'm making such a big deal out of my assault, I wonder, what reasonable person would think it was totally within normal human behavior if their so-called friend started to stick his fingers into their crotch, pointedly ignoring their repeated and firm and loud, "No, seriously, stop it?" What reasonable person would think it was totally okay for this so-called friend to insist that the only way to get the already non-consensual behavior to stop would be to let him squeeze a breast? What reasonable person would find it acceptable to take the blame for this situation simply because they didn't scream for help, attracting the attention of every single counselor and camper, and possibly getting in serious trouble?

So when people doubt me, or minimize my experience, or chalk it up to gender stereotypes or "miscommunication," I say no. I say it was assault, just like I say that what happened to Gates was racism. Yes, it is that bad. And no, I won't stand for it, no matter how many times you accuse me of "playing the ____ card," and no matter how many nasty things are said about me.

Because I am a reasonable person.

Overly Proud Mommy

I think it's fair to say that I'm an overly proud mommy.

I went up to Wilmington yesterday; Loki had been staying with the breeder over the weekend while I was at the Cape, and I had to pick him up.

I walked into the dining room, where the breeder, Laurel, keeps boarders. Loki was crouching on his back perch, holding his Triforce possessively. He seemed surprised to see me ("Oh, wait, you're back ... and I OBVIOUSLY wasn't doing anything ..."). But he was puffy and happy, and the only time he was bad was when we tried to pick him up. We had to hold him anyway to get him in his carrier box, but Laurel noticed his wings were growing out, so she decided to reclip.

Well, we ended up having to take him into the bathroom to grab him because he was so crafty (more evidence in support of my Loki Might Be Ganondorf theory). But even when Loki was screaming bloody murder, Laurel was commenting on how good he was being; he wasn't fighting (just whining, apparently), and he wasn't biting (so, evidence against the theory). So, I was proud of Loki for not being a total bitch.

And when we were chatting after we got Loki in his box (at which point he'd calmed down and started busying himself with eating paper towel (even less support for the theory), Laurel talked about how well-behaved and sweet he had been the entire weekend, especially when he came out to play. If this weren't enough to make me beam with pride, she also told me that when she had people over, they all thought Loki was adorable and very handsome.


And now, budgie is home, sad, listening to the radio while mommy works and then goes to the gym. But it's good to have him home so I can watch his crazy might-be-an-evil-mastermind antics.

Monday, July 20, 2009


To the asshole who hit my car,

A "hit and run" is when you hit my car and run away because you're too much of a coward to leave your information. This isn't actually legal. And that's what you did, you jerk.

You might not have thought you did any damage to my car, or that the damage was superficial. Well, that ain't the case. You've basically broken my entire back bumper. I had to duct tape it to the body of the car to keep it from falling off.

My insurance company refuses to send someone out to appraise my car, so I would have to not only PAY to have it appraised, but I'd have to take time off WORK to get it appraised. And my deductible is apparently shit, and it's too high considering my car isn't worth that much money. So in order to get ANY money from the insurance company to help pay to fix the car, there has to be a ton of damage, and if there's enough damage to get money from insurance, then it's highly likely the car is totaled.

So, thanks to you SUCKING at PARKING, my car is severely damaged, and I probably can't afford to fix it. At the very least, you could have left your information. But no. You didn't. And now I'm screwed.

Fuck you very much,

Cape = win

The Cape? It's awesome.

My grandparents own a house on the Cape (they also own two houses in Vermont. Yes, I know). For years, when I was a kid, we'd go and stay there for a week or a weekend, as a family; we'd play on the beach, sail in my dad's Sunfish, grill burgers for dinner, and go mini-golfing. It was awesome.

And then I stopped going. At first, it was because the only week or weekend that my dad could get was the one week or weekend the entire summer where I couldn't go. The pattern continued for at least a few years; my siblings would invite friends to join them, and I'd be stuck like some loser in the suburbs. So not cool.

And then I stopped talking to my dad, and the use of all of the vacation houses sort of ended. After all, I hated skiing, so I had no reason to go to the Vermont house (by the way, this is still true). And I really had no idea how to go about using the Cape house, and I certainly didn't feel entitled to its use. After all, my paternal grandparents owned it, and I wasn't talking to the pater. Interesting. My siblings would still go (my brother with friends, my sister with our dad or friends). I did not.

Finally, this year, I managed to secure a weekend. I hadn't been to the Cape in 10 years, so I had to ask weird questions about the house (the beach was still private, right? Could we build a bonfire? How do you use the grill? Where can we go if we run out of food? Is the washing machine working? How many beds are there?). But in the end, four of my friends came with me, and we headed out to the Cape.

It. Was. Awesome.

I've brought back with me s'more fixings, a slight sunburn, about 20 bugbites, considerable quantities of sand, clean laundry, and my brother's iPhone charger. And now, I'm wondering when I can next go to the Cape, relax on the beach, chill with my friends, and really feel like we're all alone in the world.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Yeah, because this sounds fair

I'm reading an excellent piece by Ellen Goodman in today's Boston Globe about the Sotomayor confirmation hearings. Here's something that Goodman points out:
The would-be first Latina justice faced a committee with only two women members in order to get confirmed by a Senate with only 17 women for a seat on a court with only one other woman. And yet Sotomayor had to prove that she wasn’t biased: “Men and women (are) equally capable of being wise and fair judges.’’
Uh, yeah. For those of you who think that sexism and patriarchy are a thing of the past? If that were the case, how do you explain these numbers? ("Men are obviously better suited to politics than women are," by the way, is not an acceptable explanation because it's ridiculously, obscenely sexist. Duh.)

Goodman also reports on and writes about this whole bullshit "AAAAH!" that's going on with the "wise Latina woman" comment that Sotomayor had made previously.
Also at stake - or at bat, if you prefer - were the judge’s earlier musings about the importance of different life experiences: “I simply do not know exactly what that difference will be in my judging. But I accept there will be some based on gender and my Latina heritage.’’ She also said: “I wonder whether by ignoring our differences as women or men of color we do a disservice both to the law and society.’’ A horrified Sessions called this “philosophically incompatible with the American system.’’ (emphasis mine)
(The "at bat" thing is Goodman making fun of all of the baseball references that have been used in the hearings.)

What Sotomayor says about color/sex blindness being harmful, not helpful, is inherently and blatantly feminist (and also blatantly anti-racist). The problem with ignoring difference is that we don't live in a culture or society where people are treated equally regardless of sex, gender, sexuality, race, ethnicity, religion or lack thereof, class, etc. Because these inequalities exist, being color-blind, or sex-blind, etc., allows the dominant groups to pretend that these issues aren't a problem, and it allows for victim-blaming and invalidation. So, if a black woman says, "I was discriminated against in this context because of my skin color and/or my sex," the general consensus will be that she was not discriminated against because we're all color- or sex-blind. What?

I'd like to restate the last line of the last paragraph I just quoted: "A horrified Sessions called this 'philosophically incompatible with the American system.'"

So, basically, Sessions believes that refusing to ignore sexism and racism (and by association any other type of discrimination) is how the American system works.


Thursday, July 16, 2009

Are you SURE that's who gave it to you?

"Shockingly," the NRA opposes the Sonia Sotomayor nomination. Why, you might ask? And I would answer:

"We believe any individual who does not agree that the Second Amendment guarantees a fundamental right and who does not respect our God-given right of self-defense should not serve on any court, much less the highest court in the land," said a joint statement by Wayne LaPierre, the NRA executive vice president, and Chris W. Cox, executive director of the NRA's Institute for Legislative Reform.
Now, I don't own a gun. And I do believe that gun control can save lives. But as I've made it clear to my friends who are NRA members, own guns, and/or otherwise cling steadfastedly to their Second Amendment right, I don't really care if you want to own a gun. It doesn't bother me, especially since you're not breaking the fucking law. Whatever.

So, why do I take issue with the NRA's statement? (And what does it say about me that I accidentally typed "RNA" first?)

The right to bear arms is not a "God-given" right. Not at all. It's a right provided by the Second Amendment, which was written by a bunch of guys a long time ago. God isn't giving you the right.

I'm tired, again and again, of hearing "God" invoked in politics. For those of us who don't believe in a god, or believe in a faith that involves multiple gods and/or goddesses, this "God" talk is automatically exclusive; does, then, the Second Amendment not apply to, say, Hindus?

And since the First Amendment provides freedom of religion (and from religion), it is completely and utterly inane to argue that the Second Amendment is a "God-given" right when the First Amendment says, "Except that God and goverment have nothing to do with each other."

The United States was not created by God. Laws cannot be made to serve any particular god or goddess. No religion can be favored over other religions (or no religion at all).

And yet we're still doing this fucking stupid dance.

Update on anti-child sentiments

No, I'm not changing my position on kids. I still don't want your kids bothering me.

I just felt it would be appropriate to update to say that while walking to the train today, the group of moms with kids and strollers were back. But this time, they left a very, very wide gap between them and the non-street side of the sidewalk, with plenty of room for me to pass through. Yay!

I'm not thankful because I don't think it's really that necessary to, say, thank someone for doing something that they should have already been doing (which is why I don't thank my roommate for vacuuming 3 days after I left the vacuum out for him, and he only did it because I had to ask him, and then he didn't dust or do anything else to clean).

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

And no, I'm NOT sorry

It occurred to me today as I was walking to work that I'm not very apologetic about being fat.

But before I continue, I want to make this clear:

The things I consider apologetic about being fat are things that I consider apologetic when I do them. If you do any of these things, I'm not calling you out. Whatever works for you is what you should do. It just so happens that the things I was doing were because I was deeply insecure, and felt guilty among other people for being fat. There are plenty of things I still do that other people might consider apologetic, like wearing a tankini instead of a bikini. It's not apologetic behavior for me; it might be for someone else. I hope I'm being very, very clear because that's the key to this rant: I learned the ways in which I, personally, just me, not you, just this person here had been "apologizing" for my fat (and, very specifically, for my female fat).

So, yeah, I'm fat; I've been fat since high school. And for a while, I've felt as if I have to apologize for it. What are the ways in which I've apologized for being fat?

- Eating obviously healthy food, like vegetables and salad and stuff that just screams "health nut" if I'm eating around other people (like eating salad on dates or avoiding candy at work functions)

- Not talking about food, or what foods I love, or what foods I've eaten with people who are not fat (for example, not mentioning that I spent Saturday after the gym eating Edy's ice cream right out of the container*)

- Not wearing shorts or skirts, or tank tops, to avoid showing off my not skinny thighs and my not skinny arms

- Squeezing over as far as possible on public transportation**

- Considering myself unsexy or ugly because of my weight

- Seeing how long I can go without eating as a way to prove that I have will power

- Avoid discussions of exercising

- Avoid discussions of health issues

Here's what I do now:
- I eat what I want to eat; if that means eating 3 times a day at work so I'm not hungry, then fine. And if that means going out on a date and eating fried calamari? Well, I already did that, and it was totally delicious and worth it. I was putting up a front before, not because I always eat healthy, but because I assumed people were judging me when they saw me, a fat girl, eat. Now, I don't care if they're judging; I earned this Twix.

- I consider it pretty standard that my favorite foods fall into the "full of sugar, typically served for dessert, and always eaten by me in super-large, diabetes-inducing amounts," and I'm no longer afraid of sharing it. I love dessert; that makes me normal***, not fat, weirdos. And while I'm still careful about mentioning the entire-container-of-Edy's-fun-time-party I had over the weekend in front of the likes of my mother, trainer, and doctor, clearly, I don't mind YOU knowing about it.

- My lack of shorts has more to do with my general discomfort with them, and because I also get a huge red mark on the back of each thigh when I wear them. But if it's hot out, you bet I'm wearing a skirt and a tank top. You see these arms? More muscle than you think! And how big they are? Bigger is better, right? As for the people who are actually offended by my fat, I consider fat-chick-wearing-a-tube-top to be an excellent kind of immersion therapy, or whatever it's called.

- I'm sitting on the train, just trying to get to work or to get home; I'm already sitting in my seat, and not taking up all your space; I also was polite enough not to do that thing where I take up the seat(s) next to me with my bag. What more do you want?

- I'm aware that I'm pretty and attractive. In fact, you can thank my AWFUL HORRIBLE FAT for giving me nearly perfect breasts. Bwahahaha!****

- I do not like the feeling of being hungry. So I eat. Not all the time. But I need to eat SOMETHING every few hours. That's actually pretty healthy. Will power, also, is for losers.*****

- I no longer avoid discussions about exercising for two reasons. 1) I actually exercise, so it comes up, and 2) the best way to get motivated to start moving is by talking to people about exercise and asking questions. Also, I not-so-secretly love how surprised people are that a fat chick works out (please note that I work out because I'd really rather not get diabetes, which I am at risk for, NOT because I'm apologizing for being fat, aaaaaah).

- One reason why I've avoided discussions of health issues in the past was that there's a very, very nasty stereotype that fat people are unhealthy, and all of their health problems are caused by fat. WRONG. So while I don't just blab about every little health issue I've ever had (I'm pretty sure people at work would rather not know that when I had UC, I was on the can a million times a day, often times crying), I don't keep them hush hush. My calves hurt and make running difficult frequently; this isn't caused by my fat, guys (although it's helping to preserve some of that fat, haha). And yes, I have a crazy, fucked up immune system. Unrelated to fat. Makes eating peanut butter bad (and therefore makes me sad!). But if it's relevant to the conversation, I'm not afraid.

I'm not sorry that I'm fat. I'm not even sorry if it bothers you. I'm not unhealthy, or at least not in ways that are related to my weight. I'm not causing you any trouble (if you're upset that I'm walking slowly, it's probably because I'm sore from the gym and have extremely short legs). So, get over it. I did.

And speaking of the gym, if I don't stay fat, who cares? I'm not switching sides. I will always be a skinny chick stuck in a fat chick's body. If I lose weight, then I'll be a skinny chick stuck in a fat chick stuck in a skinny chick.

* Fully Loaded Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. That's right.
** It's polite to, you know, sit in your own seat and not take up the seat(s) next to you; this one guy on the train the other day did not move over at all and was taking up easily half my seat. That's rude. But if I'm sitting in my seat, not taking up yours, I'm not scootching over. I'm fat, but I'm not taking up your space.
*** Normal is a subjective term. If you don't like dessert, you're not abnormal. In fact, we'd make good friends because there would be a bag of candy and you'd be like, "No thanks, I'm set," and I'd be all, "YES, I LOVE CANDY."
**** By no means do I want people to say, "Well, you're fat, but you've got great boobs, so we'll accept you as a member of the human race." That's not my point. The point of my boob comment was that the American-boob-standard (skinny + huge boobs) requires that you have no body fat ... except in your boobs (and sometimes your butt), which is just stupid. The point of the entire - though is that being fat doesn't negate beauty, especially since beauty is subjective and encompasses more than exterior looks.
***** All right, not for losers. But I'm tired of the idea that "eats candy" = "no will power" = "loser." So I called you all WITH will power "losers." It's just what the Republican party would do.

If you read through all those asterisks, you win a prize. True story.

Monday, July 13, 2009



Also, you know you're getting your ass kicked when you do three circuits and you're sweating more than you were that time you ran two miles straight.

And then you went RUNNING? What were you THINKING? My ass feels like it's going to fall off.

If my arms aren't sore tomorrow, I'm going to kill someone. If my thighs ARE, I'm going to kill someone. Figures.

(This post is brought to you by Synergy Exercise Clubs, kicking my ass since last Saturday, ow ow ow.)

Aaah! My thiiiighs!

I just joined a gym this weekend. It's not a gym where you sit around, watching TV, and you keep thinking, "Man, I should go to the gym." Not only do you have to go online and make appointments, but the whole thing is personal training (small group level). For 25 minutes, you're running around, doing all these exercises that the trainer has you do. It's always different, and you'll work every muscle. You're going fast enough, from exercise to exercise, that you don't stop and rest much. So the workout is far more aerobic than, say, lifting weights normally is.

And then you spend 25 minutes on a cardio machine.

Saturday was my first day, so they didn't have me do the 25 minutes of cardio at the end. I did stuff like reverse lunges and jumping jacks and curls, among way more stuff.

Well, my thighs have never been this sore. Walking up and down steps? It's not okay. And my lower, lower abs are sore, so yesterday, if I was lying on the couch and had to get up to, say, pee, it would HURT to sit up.

Tonight, I'm doing it all. Over. Again.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Sleep deprivation

I seem to have lost my ability to sleep through the night.

Most nights, no matter how tired I am, and even if I haven't had any sugar or caffeine before bed, the only way I can fall asleep is by taking a Benadryl tablet or gelcap (I have both; I have more antihistamines than God, and that guy has terrible allergies). Frequently, although not every night, I wake up around 2 or 3 or 4, at which point I do fall back asleep. And now, every morning this week, I've woken up at 6 am. Today, I woke up at 6:00 on the dot.

The weird part? I'm much less groggy when I wake up and it's 6:00 than when I wake up and it's 7:00 ... and my alarm is beeping and my bird is beeping.

Loki was very, very alert this morning. As soon as I took his blanket off his cage, he wanted to come out. Not just his little doe/wet-eyed, puffy-feathered "I love you, please play with me" look (along with "Are you ... leaving me?" chirps). No, he full-out Kiwi'd: he launched himself to the front of his cage and started beeping. So I let him out, and he ran around for about 10 minutes while I got ready for work.

I wonder how it is that he's more energetic, alert, and enthusiastic after getting 7 hours of sleep than I am; after all, I only need 7-8 hours, and he needs 10-12.


Saturday, July 4, 2009


Since I started work, Loki has become less and less satisfied sitting and playing in his cage when I'm home. If I leave the cage door open, he'll probably climb out eventually.

Sometimes, he does it when I'm not in the room.

But that's okay! Because now, I can somehow tell the difference between his, "I'm just havin' fun, bein' a birdeh" tweeting, and his, "MOMMY, COME GET ME!" chirps. Inevitably, when I hear the latter chirp, he's out of his cage.

Places where I've found Loki after his Great-Escape chirps:
- the hallway, walking/bouncing into the living room to find me
- latched onto the side of his cage, trying to crawl around it
- on his boing (the flexible, "boingy" stand next to his cage)
- in an upright shopping bag
- on top of a pile of laundry

Friday, July 3, 2009

I dreamed a dream

I've been known for either not remembering my dreams, or remembering the really, really weird ones.

Last night (or this morning, I guess), I dreamt that it was Sunday morning, that my brother was graduating from college and I was still in Boston, and my mom told me I had to wear a dress to the graduation. So I had to shop for a dress and still somehow make it up to fucking Vermont in time for the ceremony. I was trying to search online and see what I could find, but my computer kept crashing. And, in the dream, I had to wait till Sunday to go dress shopping because I had work all week, and stores were closed for the 4th the day before.

When I woke up, I was surprised and confused to find that it was Friday, not Saturday (once I fully came to, I wasn't so surprised). And I acknowledged several things: that if I had to wear a dress to a graduation, I had some I could wear; that it was not Sunday; that Brian graduated three years ago; that he would have been graduating in May, not fucking JULY; that I would never have made it to the late morning ceremony in time if I were still in Boston that morning; and while my computer crashes on a semi-frequent basis, I would have just gotten up and gone to the mall instead of searching "Natick cocktail dresses" online.

Oh, and when I got up for real, I did that search to see if it meant something, you know, BEYOND its face value. It did not.