“I don’t want to sound creepy or negative but I have to mention this. SHIELD. You make a handkerchief that can reproduce a handprint, a serving tray that sees through walls, and a makeup compact that can hack a computer system. Can you make a sports bra that fits under a cocktail dress? I’m certain that Hill and Romanoff have discussed this with your R&D team. Maybe Gravitonium could be involved? Seriously, think about it. A SHIELD issued invisible, intangible bra would go a long way to explaining some of the costumes in the Marvel universe.”—Agents of SHIELD Recap: “The Asset” (via themarysue)
For 12 hours a week at a bookstore in a small town. Pretty sure I didn’t get the job.
I worked full-time at Borders for 3 years. Part of basically the best book-sellin’ crew that there ever was. This is the first time I’ve interviewed for a job and wasn’t offered the position… I cannot believe that I couldn’t get hired for a bookstore job.
“Some people are born on third base and go through life thinking they hit a triple.”—Barry Switzer, former football coach for college and professional teams, giving what I think is a marvelous definition of privilege. (via whitegirlblog)
“Just a reminder, ladies, that you may graduate from Wellesley, then Yale Law School, become one of the most powerful and influential lawyers in the country, then the First Lady of the United States, then a U.S. Senator from New York, come this close to being the Democratic nominee for president yourself, and ultimately serve as the Secretary of State, but you’ll always be a woman — an emotional, unhinged, woman.”—From the article Here’s the New York Post with the Most Sexist Headline of the Year on the New York Post’s cover of Hillary Clinton (with a scared-looking Bill in the corner) testifying during the congressional hearing over the embassy attack in Benghazi. (via sugaryumyum)
“No one is a slut. “Slut” is a made-up word to keep women from having as much fun as men. A person who enjoys sex is just a person and a person who is a virgin is also just a person and everyone should lay off each other’s sex lives. Retire the word “slut” please.”—
“It’s Okay to be Neither,” By Melissa Bollow Tempel
Alie arrived at our 1st-grade classroom wearing a sweatshirt with a hood. I asked her to take off her hood, and she refused. I thought she was just being difficult and ignored it. After breakfast we got in line for art, and I noticed that she still had not removed her hood. When we arrived at the art room, I said: “Allie, I’m not playing. It’s time for art. The rule is no hoods or hats in school.”
She looked up with tears in her eyes and I realized there was something wrong. Her classmates went into the art room and we moved to the art storage area so her classmates wouldn’t hear our conversation. I softened my tone and asked her if she’d like to tell me what was wrong.
“My ponytail,” she cried.
“Can I see?” I asked.
She nodded and pulled down her hood. Allie’s braids had come undone overnight and there hadn’t been time to redo them in the morning, so they had to be put back in a ponytail. It was high up on the back of her head like those of many girls in our class, but I could see that to Allie it just felt wrong. With Allie’s permission, I took the elastic out and re-braided her hair so it could hang down.
“How’s that?” I asked.
She smiled. “Good,” she said and skipped off to join her friends in art.
“I think Nabokov once said that genius is finding the invisible link between things. And that’s how I choose to see life. Everything’s connected, and everything has meaning if you look for it.”—Michelle Williams in the October Issue of Vogue (via musingsinfemininity)
It's not about money, not about politics. It's about what is right.
We are Americans. We consider ourselves one of, in not the most, developed nation on the planet. We are as much a nation as we are an idea. We should be ashamed if just one man, woman or child dies from lack of adequate care within our borders. We should be ashamed that an illness that we are able to treat, an injury we can heal, claims any life. That you would declare one person more deserving of health than another speaks to an evil, a disease of the soul, that should be addressed. It is unacceptable and unjust.
If someone is ill, and we are able to cure, heal, help or comfort them, we should. We should want to. Medical professionals should not be in the healing arts for money. They should do their job because it is their calling, because it is their life’s work.
For the elderly, the chronically ill, the poor, the young, and all other uninsured Americans, we need to change. And soon.
I’m rarely given to self-pity, so please bear with me. I’m just… discombobulated.
It’s been several weeks in Winona, and I am not able to find a job. I can’t even find a place that is hiring. In Cleveland, it’s possible to have a 30 minute commute to work every day. There are sure to be days that it will take you 45 minutes, but it isn’t unreasonable to expand one’s employment horizons.
Not so in The Nona. The only jobs I can find are at Target and the local supermarket. It frustrates me to no end that I finally had a good job and not a retail job. I made more than minimum wage for the first time in my life. I had good health insurance coverage. Things were good. Then, they laid me off. That’s what happens when you are lowest on the totem-pole. It was frustrating to lose my job while other people who were inefficient or incompetent kept theirs. It hurt when after three months, 117 job applications and dozens of interviews that I had no job. I was, in fact, hired twice. I waited to find out my start date. They pushed it back. Four months. Six months. A year.
So, I got married. I moved from Cleveland, Ohio to Winona, Minnesota. I started my job search over.
I’m a do-gooder. I am compelled to offer assistance to others. At my last job, I advocated for renters living in home that were being foreclosed on. I gathered information on foreclosures in the county. I helped create a database for public and county knowledge, so everyone had the information they needed to inform renters and homeowners of their rights. I volunteered at a crisis care center for small children who had been taken away from their parents, but hadn’t yet been placed in someone else’s care. I love the place I come from. I am a product of my blue-collar, hard-working background. I have seen poverty, disenfranchisement, and small-mindedness. I have also seen these iniquities overcome and mitigated.
Things are different here. Poverty here is rural, not urban. It isn’t as immediately violent. There are far fewer recent immigrants. There are few families affected by manufacturing losses. There is less homelessness in this area. The area itself is semi-rural. Working in another city or town isn’t really an option. The commute would be an hour on country roads, through 300 foot tall bluffs. It would be impossible during the winter, which is essentially November through April. Community organizations, non-profits and local government doesn’t need me or anything I can do for them. They are fully staffed. They have been that way for a decade, and they know who they are hiring when the next person retires. I’m looking but disheartened. I can barely find my way around, the only person in the state I know is my husband. I am completely out of my element.
I don’t really want to go back to working at a place like Borders. I hated it. My job will never be my life, but I’d like it to be something I enjoy. C’est la vie. Right?
Also, when you are using a shared laundry, such as a laundromat, please be courteous. As in, when it looks like your cat exploded in the washing machine, please don’t leave the machine like that. It’s gross. No one wants to use that nasty machine now. It’s $2.50 to wash your clothes, and you can buy Mr. Clean wipes for .75. Skip a dry cycle and clean that shit up.
Bridechkas, Bridezillas, and The Wedding Industrial Complex.
I’ve been a little stressed out lately. Wedding stuff appears to be the culprit, but it’s just an easy scapegoat. My actual issue is living up to (or failing) expectations other people have. Well, that and moving. Oh yeah, joblessness too. Let’s not forget feeling as though that joblessness will lead me to be a drain on my significant other, resulting in tension and disappointment.
I have three female cousins, all around my age, who are also planning weddings. I can think of at least four friends planning a wedding, and a dozen more who are recently married. When they want to discuss wedding planning, I can’t help myself. I get pissed. I become a vessel of rage and react with disgust. The blogs I read, like Feministing and Feministe (even Design*Sponge) are filled with news and opinions about Jessica Valenti, feminist weddings and the like. I’m overwhelmed, beset upon from all sides!
My reaction isn’t to actual weddings. It is to a cadre of expectations I wasn’t aware of before our little adventure. In addition to being treated as an anomaly for not being born with the knowledge of them, my disregard for them is tantamount to blasphemy. Of course, my instinct is to reject weddings on the whole, rail against the Wedding Industrial Complex that has spun the web of corporate greed and sexism and complain. Then the Catholic schoolgirl in me who wants to be a good daughter (or sister, friend, what have you) feels guilty and wants to make everyone happy.
At almost every stage of planning, I have been left with the advice that my efforts are not good enough. There is something I am leaving out, some detail I could have articulated with more eloquence. Whether it is cupcake flavors, fabric colors, the day of the week, who is or is not invited… someone thinks I should have made another choice. People who have never met me before, who don’t know me from Eve, feel it is perfectly acceptable to question my decision making. It is only when my significant other’s voice is added to my own that my decision is rendered allowable. No kids means I’m a monster. Not changing my name makes me a bitch. No veil, no escort down the aisle… why am I bothering with a wedding at all?
In my quest to maintain my authenticity while still accommodating the wishes of other people, I forgot the most important thing about the situation: In two months, I get to be married to my favorite person.
I could just pinch myself. It’s okay to be excited about marrying Brendan. I’d be a fool not to. It’s also fine to think most wedding traditions don’t fit us. I’m doing this for him. He’s doing this for me. We are marrying one another for one another. Not for our friends, families, tradition or the Wedding Industrial Complex.
Forget the television shows, magazines, blogs, and well-meant-but-frustration advice. In a few weeks, when I come home… Brendan will come to the same home. Wahoo!
When all this wedding crap starts to get to me, when I feel overwhelmed by the expectations of others, I will do my best to remember this story. Things are tough right now, and they won’t be easy for awhile. But they could be much, much worse.
My roomie and I annihalated the disorganized mess that was our garage. It is now clean, organized and ex-husband’s-crap free. Oh, and there is more than enough space for me to re-upholster and re-finish my furniture! Wahoo!
After that, while we were still in the “zone,” we cleaned the house and did yard work. The cure for chronic insomnia? Bone deep exhaustion from physical labor.
Additionally, I have made green curry noodles (orgasmic) and done everything I have needed to do all week. Yeah, I know. In-freaking-sane.