I don’t usually remember my dreams, but when I do…

I’d be really cool with it if I remembered 0% of my dreams because on the rare occasion that I do remember my dreams, I wonder what in holy hell is wrong with my brain. It ruins my day.

Once I dreamt that I broke up with Harrison for a guy I work with and we lived in a house that resembled something one might see on Hoarders, and there were lots of cats. I imagine excessive cat keeping is also something that happens on Hoarders. Everything in my dream looked a little bit brown, like my whole dream was in sepia tone. Now, this makes no sense for a few reasons. First of all, thanks but no thanks on the dipping of my pen in the company ink. And second, this particular fellow is allergic to cats. It would never work.

Another time, I dreamt that Harrison went to jail for something horrible. Harrison really gets screwed over in my dreams. What the hell, subconscious?

I blame Ghostbusters for last night’s bizarro nightmare. I had a dream that a paranormal entity had invaded my house and tried to inhabit the bodies of my cats for purposes of cat murder. I had to protect them in my dream because no one (dead or alive apparently) messes with Miles and Billie. Do you have any idea how hard it was to leave for work this morning? They were all alone all day, probably hiding from evil cat killing ghosts.

And that is why it would be fine if I remembered exactly none of my dreams.

P.S. Totally see Ghostbusters because there are four hilarious and amazing women in it. I hope you do not have weird dreams about pet possession like I did.

 

 

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My relationship is really a prison of judgment

Me: Can you get me a La Croix (pronounced La Crotch, which is what my co-workers decided on since no one seems to know how to actually pronounce this) out of the fridge?

Harrison: Ugh, I don’t know if I like that (meaning how I pronounce the brand of delicious sparkling water). Are you up to like three of these a day now?

Me: So? It’s zero calories.

Harrison: The only thing you’ve done more than drink these is watch this show. (He’s talking about the almost 4 whole seasons of Billy on the Street I’ve watched this week.)

Me: That won’t be the case much longer because I’m almost done with it. Also, they’re short episodes, and there’s only like 10 episodes a season.

Harrison is really judgmental.

P.S. I bet someone will judge my relationship based on the contents of this post. It’s a never-ending cycle.

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I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m pissed.

I haven’t been as active here in the last month because I can’t find it in me to be funny at the moment. It seems like every time I open up Facebook or Twitter and scroll through the news, there is something awful happening somewhere in this country, and I am so incredibly exhausted. In the last month, I’ve posted about toxic masculinity in reference to a privileged piece-of-crap who raped an unconscious woman and more or less got away with it, 48 people who died at a gay bar in Orlando because of an evil human who was able to get a gun despite the fact that he was suspected of being dangerous. Oh and then I wrote some half-assed, poorly written crap about how much I like the Hamilton Soundtrack. I really do like the Hamilton Soundtrack, but I was just looking for something that wasn’t awful to write about, and even in that, the underlying sentiment was that we have the ability to make things better because they’re kind of awful right now.

So what the fuck are we going to do about it? Seriously. I’m asking. And if you’re not in the mood to read another opinion about any of this—Bye, Felicia. It’s my blog, not yours.

If I see or hear one more white person say, “All lives matter,” or post some fucking meme on the internet about Blue Lives or some bullshit about “playing a race card,” I may actually scream. I seriously saw a meme that said, “How about all lives matter? Not black lives, not white lives. Get over yourself. No one’s life is more important. Put away your race card and grow up.” I was so infuriated when I read that. I’m infuriated just thinking about about it. I also just corrected the grammar of what was actually on the meme. I mean, if you’re going to post something so idiotic, you could at least make sure the grammar is correct. The person who posted this is the same former co-worker who told me I should be getting married, so I think our Facebook friendship is over. Ignorance may be bliss, but ignorance also makes you an asshole.

I am pissed that black men are repeatedly murdered because some shitty, racist police officers operate from a place of fear and hate. If you’re a cop, I think it’s time to take really hard look inward and be honest with yourself. Do you have a fear of black men for no reason at all? Do you make assumptions about their character? Yeah? GO DO SOMETHING ELSE! How about we take this one step further? If you peaked in high school, are pissed off that no one gives an ounce of a shit that you were the quarterback of your high school football team located in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and you want a job that gives you power over people, leading you to victimize poor people and minorities, you should also GO DO SOMETHING ELSE! You could work your way into management at a Walmart where you’ll also work shit hours but make a bunch of money while your employees are all on government assistance. Seems perfect, but you don’t get a deadly weapon. So we’re all better off.

I’m also pissed that some loner/psychopath/shit stain on humanity decided the answer to this problem was to kill and injure a bunch of cops who were doing their jobs the way it’s supposed to be done. THAT IS ALSO NOT FUCKING OKAY! That moron delayed any productive conversations that had been started about this issue.

I don’t have to choose a fucking side here. As a matter of fact, if you are of the opinion that this is an issue requiring people to choose sides, YOU ARE PART OF THE PROBLEM! I want racist piece-of-shit cops on a power trip to lose their fucking jobs and go to prison when they MURDER people, and I want good cops to be able to serve and protect without some lunatic shooting them from a fucking parking garage.

There’s no easy answer, but there will be no answer at all until we all wake the fuck up and accept that we have a problem here.

Hey white people! Racism is still a thing, and I don’t give a shit if that makes you uncomfortable. Yeah, sure, all lives matter. What you aren’t hearing is that not a single person ever said otherwise. But your indifferent, apathetic, unfeeling ass does not get to speak unless you are willing to recognize that there are people in this country whose lives are treated as less valuable than yours. Period.

Hey Police! You have a problem, and you need to address it. You have shitheads working for you. No, not everyone, but clearly, there are enough people who suck at this job that this is a repeated issue. How is it that I have training in de-escalating difficult situations with other people at my cubicle farm job, but this seems to be a novel idea for cops who deal with things that actually matter, like whether or not they should fire their gun?

Every single person has a choice every time they interact with another human. You could be a dick or you could not be a dick. Please make the right choice. I am so exhausted with human beings and their bullshit right now. Stop fighting. Put your fucking guns down. Stop killing each other. We really need to get our shit together. If I’m being honest, I dislike more people than I like, and I don’t really care to make new friends beyond the few close ones I currently have. I’m a cynic, I’m skeptical about everything, but somehow I find it in me to NOT BE A FUCKING DICK ALL THE TIME. I say “please” and “thank you,” and I fucking treat people like humans. I don’t have to like someone to respect their existence. If I can be nice to people, I promise you can do it too.

As much as I believe in the power of kindness and respect, I also recognize that it only goes so far, and the people in charge need to do their jobs. Here’s the thing—they’re doing fuck-all right now, so it seems we’re on our own. What choice will you make when you leave your house to go be among other humans?

Maybe I’ll be back with something funny next time. Have a nice day.

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It’s Pride weekend in Denver, and it feels a little different.

This week has been a little off for me, and if you’re a living, breathing, human, maybe you’ve felt it to. When I woke up last Sunday and picked up my phone to see the news of what had happened in Orlando, my heart sank. I spent the morning crying, and the rest of the day was spent trying not to cry.

I spent a significant part of my early 20s in gay bars with my gay friends. They are the people who I’ve shared some of my life’s most complicated and fulfilling friendships with. What happened in Orlando may have been on the other side of the country, but it felt so close and so personal. I could picture what that club looked like at that hour. I could picture the people waiting to get one more drink at last call or pay their tabs. I could picture the clothes they were wearing, the dancing, the smiles. I could hear the laughter. When the names of those who were killed started being released, I felt like I was hearing the names of people I know.

I’ve spent a lot of time this week thinking about the ugliness of the world and trying to figure out how I can channel how I feel to something positive and helpful. It can be so paralyzing for someone who just wants to fix things. I’ve thought about what more I can do. I even felt guilty for not being as present and involved in the LGBT community as I once was. When Paris was attacked, I wrote about how easy it is to feel helpless, and the one thing we can control is how we treat other people. That’s still true, but it only goes so far.

I don’t want to make this a political post. The only thing I’ll say is that getting rid of hateful ideas is near impossible, but it is possible to get rid of or severely restrict the tools that hateful people use to unleash their hate on innocent people. I’m talking about guns if you didn’t get that. Write your representative, and most of all, vote in November.

It’s been a few years since I’ve been a full participant in Pride festivities because I have a harder time with crowds of drunk people in 100-degree heat than I did in my early 20s. I still think of my friends every year. I hope they are having fun, not getting too hammered, and staying hydrated. Seriously you guys, it’s called water. Drink some.

I want to wish all of my LGBT friends a Happy Pride. Know that I am in your corner, and I am here for you. I may not see all of you as much as I used to, but nothing has changed about my love and support for you. I will support you with my words and with the way I  cast my vote. I vow to never allow anyone to speak hatefully about you in my presence and to promote love in all its forms.

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Whitney1 Comment

Educate yourself; educate your kids

I’ve been absent for a bit. Sorry about that. I was on a vacation that was not nearly as relaxing as I hoped it would be and went back to work less than 8 hours after we got home from the airport. That means burnout, folks. Basically, I haven’t felt like opening my laptop or communicating with anyone I wasn’t obligated to communicate with.

#introvertproblems

I feel that I must say something about the big story in the news this week. I’m talking about the Stanford rape (yes, it’s rape) case. Most stories that go viral on the internet lead to comments sections full of ridiculous arguments. This seems a bit different because it would appear that the people of the internet are on the same page with this one.

Obviously, it’s infuriating, sickening, disgusting, revolting, and any other adjective one might use to describe something heinous. I think what upsets me most is that this shit stain of a human was caught in the act and his narrative his still that of blame instead of taking responsibility for his actions. Somehow he seems to be the victim in his mind, his father’s mind, and the judge’s mind. How does this happen? How does his lawyer sleep at night? It’s mind-boggling to me. How can his father have the audacity to talk about how his kid doesn’t eat rib-eye steak anymore? Are you kidding me? This woman lost her sense of safety and security because of these “20 minutes of action.” Those are basic human needs, and you’re talking about red meat? What the literal fuck is wrong with you?

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What courage this woman has, though. I hope that you have taken some time and read her statement. If not, please do. This woman possesses so much strength. The world needed to hear her story in the detail she gave. She put an indescribable event into words, and thank goodness for her.

The layers of shit in this case are bountiful. Not only does the lack of appropriate punishment here reveal the mistreatment of campus rape cases even more, but there are issues of race, privilege (the kind that comes with money and being white), and the value that is placed on a man’s well-being over that of a woman’s. You know, a harsher punishment would have a “severe impact on him.”

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I thought about a documentary I watched recently about how we raise boys. Clearly, this steaming pile of feces resembling a human was raised to believe that he could have whatever he wanted, because money and because penis. If things are going to change, it has to start with boys. Women can be told their whole lives that they can do anything and be anything, but if 50% of the population consists of humans who are raised to believe emotions and sensitivity make them less masculine, and instead they are told to “be a man,” “grow some balls,” and “stop being a pussy,” change will never happen.

This isn’t about alcohol, and it’s not about girls dressing in such a way that they are “asking for it.” That’s not a thing. This is much bigger. I beg of anyone who may read this, educate yourself, and if you have kids, educate them. If you have boys, teach them that women are not things to be attained but humans of equal value and worth.

Here’s trailer for The Mask You Live In.  Seriously, I highly recommend it.

 

I don’t want this to seem that I’m making light of anything, but it seems like as good a time as any to share this video as well. If you have any questions about consent, I hope this clear something up for you.

Copyright ©2015 Emmeline May and Blue Seat Studios

Whitney1 Comment

Beer + Fireball = Bloated Fire-breathing Dragon

I haven’t posted here in almost 2 weeks. It’s been a busy couple of weeks, people. Sorry about that, but here I am to tell you a story of how I was reminded why I don’t partake in certain activities and drink certain kinds of booze.

Remember this post from WAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYY back when I started this thing? I’ll wait.

You good?

Great. Let’s talk about Saturday night.

I went to a yoga class at 5:30 (more on this topic later). I was feeling pretty damn amazing about myself for getting to a class on a Saturday, at a studio that I don’t particularly enjoy, due to the height of the horse the yoga-bitches who work there seem to be on, so I wanted to get out of the house and take advantage of my momentary confidence. I ended up with a friend who was out celebrating with her friends celebrating a birthday.

This is a big fucking deal for me? I spent several hours with a bunch of strangers. Catch me on the wrong day, and the thought of this makes me curl up in the fetal position and sob.

We left a perfectly acceptable restaurant/bar with a lengthy beer list and moved to an awful place in the middle of Downtown where the worst people in Denver and ill-advised tourists go on Saturday nights. At this point, I had consumed 2 beers in 2 hours – the pace of someone who prefers to remain mentally intact. But I was in shithead territory, so of course, a couple of 21-year-old twerps plowed into me as a result of a hug turned tackle, spilling part of beer number 3 onto my friend’s husband.

I’m going to take this moment to address all the young, peppy, bar-goers who still have energy after 11pm. Stop. Please stop. Yes, I was on your turf, but someone needs to help you before you bring your shit behavior to the places adults go to drink. If you are in a crowded bar, it is not the time to run to your friend and aggressively hug them. They’ve probably been drinking for a while, making you the bowling ball to their wobbly pin. People will topple. I would also be pleased if I never saw a group of girls take a selfie in the mirror of a bar bathroom again. You look ridiculous, but at least that doesn’t cause injuries.

Later, my friend’s friend, whose birthday party I sort of felt like I crashed, REALLY wanted to do shot with everyone. Fireball. I don’t remember the last time I did a shot of any kind, but I didn’t want to be rude. And as much I loved the craft beer I’d been drink all night, craft beer comes with a price. You will pay in the likelihood that someone will mistake you for pregnant. See where I’m going with this? Bloated fire-breathing dragon.

dragon
This seems like an accurate representation.

I left that bar with a beer baby and cinnamon lingering on my tongue, but I was mentally intact even after the shot. I had an engaging conversation about feminism that I clearly recall. I came home and went to bed, feeling proud of myself for not sitting on the couch all night and for socializing with strangers.

At about 6:30am on Sunday morning, I was hovered over toilet.

Thanks, body. And also, fuck you.

The End.

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