I haven’t posted a feminist rant here in a really long time, so PULL UP A CHAIR. I’ve been feeling really irritated about the whole self love thing lately, and it took me awhile to articulate why to myself, but I think I’ve finally figured it out.
For most of my adult life, I lived in very expensive cities on about $30k, which means that I lived in small spaces with several other people, and my furniture was generally of the found or scrounged variety. I was always fairly comfortable in my surroundings (if you discounted the auditory and olfactory senses), but I very rarely spoiled myself with a new Nice Thing.
A couple of nights ago, I finally got around to checking out Silicon Valley, and about three minutes in, I realized the show was going to be a total sausage fest.
I hope everyone had nice holidays. My Christmas was fantastic, but I’d rather skip over that and bitch about the horrible time I had flying home. On the first leg, I was sitting next to a woman in her 50s who had a giant wad of bubble gum in her mouth and who blew big, cracking bubbles for the entire flight. I have already expressed my feelings about open-mouthed gum chewing. I could hear her even through my earplugs.
Whenever you learn something, you should share it. Particularly if you learn something quite time-consuming, painful, irritating, and complex. I just learned how to register a car in New Mexico.
My friend Chris has been fighting the good fight, writing letters to various corporations to hold them accountable for their sins. Tonight, we joined forces to preach truth to Target, on behalf of rabbit owners everywhere: Dear Target, The name of your company is apt, as we’re certain that many dreams across these United States involve hurling sharp projectiles at your architecturally uninspired retail locations. We assure you, however, that we’re unlike such dreamers. We are unlike such dreamers, for we can no longer dream. Read the rest at Gunky.org.
Since my senior year of high school, I’ve been a runner. This does not mean that I enjoy or take pride in running, or do it well. This means that I shove myself out the door anywhere from once every other month to six times a week and trot miserably around the neighborhood or park for anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour. I do this because if I stop doing it for more than three months, when I jog up a flight of stairs, I feel like my lungs are going to explode.
Yesterday, I had occasion to call the IRS. This is because they sent me a letter saying that I had made a mistake on my tax payment and they would be sending me a refund of $34.94. Then, they sent me a check for $2,807.86.
Say that you’re trying to get work as, I don’t know, an elephant. Because, while it wouldn’t be your dream job or anything – maybe you’d really like to be a tiger – you’ve actually been working as a vole for the past however many years, and elephant would be a big step up for you, and you think you’d be a really good elephant, because every time you’ve done it for free, everyone’s been really happy with you, but it’s impossible to get work as an elephant if you don’t have over 5 years of professional experience as an…
Having had the opportunity to try on several pairs of jeans lately, and being reminded of how frustrating that activity usually is, I have made a definitive sketch of what most clothing designers seem to believe the dimensions of the average woman are: Now personally, I’ve never seen a woman who looks like this, whether in real life or on the catwalks, but apparently, they are legion. In reality, my figure looks more like this: