I did a thing.

I did something yesterday, which I will be able to share with all of you very soon. I learned some stuff while doing this thing:

1)      The bar for being a writer is very low (thanks, Internet), so if people are going to call me a writer, I better step up my game. I never studied journalism or English in school, and I’ve only done a few incredibly basic writing jobs in my life. I am far from excellent at this, but I really really want to be an excellent and interesting blogger. That is a perplexing statement, I realize.

2)      There is a reason I use the Internet as my platform. Coherently formulating thoughts while talking to another human is not my strong suit. I like barriers. Again, thanks Internet.

3)      I’ve really done a lot of random shit in my life, and I have no idea which thing I’ll end up sticking with. I might even try something else altogether. Who knows?

4)      In order to make this interesting and turn it into a conversation instead of a spewing of my idiotic thoughts, that for some reason, a few people have taken an interest in, I need a favor from all of you. If you like anything you read here, please tell a friend or five. Please tell me what you’re interested in. What do you want to hear about? What do you want to know about me? (Keep it non-weird please). This is something I started in order to give myself an outlet to say whatever I want and to feel a little less restricted, but if I can make someone’s day better, that makes it completely worth it. I might bitch about stuff a lot, but I really am a nice person.

Now, while you wait for the thing I did, here’s a four minute mashup of cat videos.

Whitney2 Comments

Dear everyone, please shut up.

Harrison and I celebrated 5 years together last week. We celebrated with cheap Mexican food and a liter of Margaritas. We’re just about the fanciest people I know. We are pretty relaxed about most things in our relationship. Yes, 5 years is a big deal, but talk to me when we hit 50. Even so, I often post a little something on Facebook to mark each year together. I try to make it clever and unique to who we are as people and as a couple. I’ll admit, maybe posting things on Facebook opens me up to comments of the ignorant kind. However, we would all be well-served to think before we post.

One of the things that pisses me off most when people comment on my relationship is when people ask, “When are you getting married?”  “When’s the wedding?” “Why aren’t you married yet?” If you have any of those questions for me, please keep it to yourself. I don’t owe anyone an explanation, and it’s none of your business, especially if the extent of our relationship is that we used to work a crap retail job together, and/or I don’t like you that much, and I am too lazy to delete you from my list of Facebook friends.

FBSS

My response was snarky enough, but it did not capture the level of rage I was feeling when I read that comment. Seriously, don’t be this person.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

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Happy International Women’s Day!

Over the last year or so, I’ve found my way to comfortably calling myself a Feminist. Recently, someone said to me, “I don’t understand why this needs to be a thing. How about we just call it humanism?” Sure, it sounds nice, but this is kind of like responding to the Black Lives Matter movement by saying that all lives matter. Of course they do, but not acknowledging that some lives are treated as though they don’t matter is the same as shrugging off a very serious problem. I don’t know if I’m opening myself up to criticism by making this, albeit loose, comparison. My point is that I wish we could all just be humanists, but not all humans are treated equally to other humans. That’s why we have Feminists, Gay Rights Advocates, and movements like the Black Lives Matter movement.

I’m still working on articulating exactly what being a Feminist means to me because the truth is that some days I don’t know. I think it’s different for everyone. I will say that I don’t plan on burning any bras in the near future despite the fact that I would love nothing more than to light that sucker on fire at the end of the day.

What I know it does means for me is that I won’t give people the  comfort of my silence anymore because I don’t have to. Subsequently, I argue a lot, and that’s okay. This especially applies when someone spouts uneducated crap about women’s health issues (a subject I have proactively educated myself on) like that using contraception means you’re a slut. Spoiler alert: That’s bullshit. It also means that I try really hard to look at situations on a level playing field. I don’t think women are always right just because they are women, and I don’t think men are always wrong just because they’re men. I think anything other than that is the opposite of Feminism. Both genders have an equal propensity to fuck up.

That’s what Feminism about for me. Just plain equality—the reality that women are capable of doing the same things as any man because we are, and we should be compensated equally when the same work is done. Sometimes, women may even be better equipped to handle a task. It’s about speaking truth to myths and normalizing the female experience instead of continuing to make some things so taboo. Seriously, when do I get to walk to the bathroom with a tampon in my hand instead of shoved in a pocket or up my sleeve? It’s fucking biology for Christ’s sake.

Anyway, Happy International Women’s Day to all of the women of the world of all shapes, sizes, and colors. You are all amazing.

Being a woman is really pretty rad.

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It must be true love

This is an actual conversation that occurred between Harrison and me. The names of the friends I was talking about are changed to characters from Daria to protect their privacy, but also because I feel like it.

Me: I know I talk about keeping the house clean a lot, but it’s because whenever I go to Jane’s house or Quinn’s house, everything looks so nice. They even make their beds. I feel inferior.

Harrison: You don’t think they feel the same way about you sometimes?

Me: What do you mean?

Harrison: You’re in a stable relationship.

Me: You think we’re stable? So you don’t want to break up anytime soon?

Harrison: Do you know what a pain in the ass that would be at this point?

He loves me.

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Booty-lifting jeans are lies

Consider this a Public Service Announcement. Do not buy booty-lifting jeans unless you are a size 2-6 and have cute little skinny-girl ass shaped by years of yoga. Aside: I’m not shaming skinny girls or yoga addicts. I applaud your efforts and your metabolism. I guess in that case, no one has a reason to buy them because if you have that kind of ass, it’s already plenty perky. They tell you that putting these jeans on your body will give you the perky yoga ass affect. What actually happens is that all of your dimply ass-flaws will be exposed because they are mostly spandex-like, and it will look sort of like you’re wearing a diaper under those jeans. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate some stretch in my jeans, but there’s a point where they just aren’t jeans anymore. They aren’t even jeggings, and I would know because I own some quality jeggings (Banana Republic, ya’ll).

If you already have a sizable rear, but not the J.Lo kind that almost makes twerking acceptable, don’t. Just. Don’t.

You’re welcome.

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It’s okay to feel all the feelings, not just the happy ones

A little over a year ago, I was having dinner with my parents to celebrate my 28th birthday. I was scheduled to have surgery a few weeks later to remove an ovarian cyst that had been found unintentionally during an ultrasound purposed with locating missing IUD strings (because there are exactly zero birth control options that do not entail some sort of bullshit). During dinner, I mentioned how annoyed I was with the impending operation, its interruption to my routine, and the general unpredictability of recovery time and whether my doctor would have to remove the entire ovary or just the cyst. I don’t like not knowing things. Underneath my irritation, I was also very scared, but fear is not something I generally admit to.

My stepmom looked up, seemingly annoyed with me, and said, “Well, you just need to think positive about it.” The way she said it was quick and biting. It was as if to say, “Shut your mouth, you big baby. You’re ruining my street taco trio with your harrowing negativity.”

Communication 101: This is the WORST way to respond to someone who is upset about something. If you can’t think of anything to say, just say something like “I’m sorry, that sucks.”

I didn’t know how to respond, and I think I kind of froze. I felt judged, and that my feelings were in some way unjustified and invalid.

Please let Parks and Recreation show you the way…

 

My parents came to my apartment the day after my surgery to bring me some food and things to keep me busy while I couldn’t do much else but sit around with a lengthy Netflix queue. Side note: Laparoscopic surgeries are actually fucking terrible despite the shrugs they usually get from people. “You’re having surgery? Is it laparoscopic? It is? Oh.” *shrug* Sometimes it felt like my skin was about to rip apart at one or more of the four incision points including the one in my belly button. Not to mention not the inability to use your core to support yourself and the stress that puts on your arms and back.

The care package included a book about unlocking human motivational drives…or something like that. There was a note inside the book about how I deserved the best and could have it with “positive action.” I knew this gift was given to me as a result of the dinner conversation. Maybe I’m being an asshole about this, and my stepmom just gave me a book she read and enjoyed. But getting a note about positive action a few weeks after being barked at to “just think positive” was a little too obvious and very passive aggressive. It was clear someone thought this was a problem that I needed a self-help book to fix. It made me realize how little my parents know or understand how I process things, and they certainly don’t know that I have a pretty good handle on it. Maybe being understood by your parents doesn’t matter anymore when you’re almost 30, but if you’re going to give someone a gift like that, know your audience. I haven’t read the book yet, and I’m not sure that I will.

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Yes, the note is sweet, and I might be an asshole.

I stumbled upon a quote recently that made me stop for minute. It read, “The best thing one can do when it’s raining is to let it rain.” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said this. I’ll be honest, I’m mostly unfamiliar with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I know he was a poet, and that’s about it. I also don’t know what rain represents here, but for me, the rain is my feelings. In a way, this helped me figure out how to articulate to others how I feel about my feelings.

I’ve noticed that the willingness to acknowledge and sit with your feelings, however difficult they may be, is often misconstrued as being negative or pessimistic. It’s even worse if you tell the wrong person how you feel. It’s one thing to uselessly complain (we all know at least one person who does this). It’s another to tell someone how you feel because you’re looking for someone to trust and treat your feelings with the respect they deserve.

I’ll admit that hyper-positivity (I don’t know if that’s a phrase that people actually use) irritates the hell out of me, mostly because I have my doubts about how genuine it is. It’s like there’s happiness broom sweeping all of the shit you don’t want to deal with right now under a rug that’s supposed to hide all that is undesirable, but eventually, nothing else will fit under that rug. Then you have a big fucking mess to clean up when you could have dealt with it before you swept it under the rug. Maybe it is genuine and incredibly naïve at the same time. It’s the person who says, “I thought the world was a better place,” after a tragedy occurs, and you look at them with your head cocked to the side, like they are brand new to the planet and respond, “Oh, honey.” Then you feel like you need to hug them because, let’s face it, these kinds of people are huggers, and you’re doing okay (sad and angry maybe, but dealing with it) because already knew what a shit place the world can be. Except you’re not a hugger, and you kind of want them to suck it up and deal with it because that’s what you’ve been doing for basically your entire life.

Only the people closest to me know the extent of my optimism. I believe that most people are good, some are well-intentioned but uneducated, but the bad people who do exist can cause irreparable damage. I believe in the power of kindness and treating people with respect, and I hope with all of my soul that love and goodness will always win. I look for the good people who emerge in bad situations because they always do. I am also willing to acknowledge when things just suck and let it be for a while until I figure out how to make it not so.

It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to be annoyed. It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to feel however you feel because you always work through it, and you’ll be okay.

After all, it doesn’t rain forever, but you can’t force it to stop. Eventually, the sun comes out, or better yet, a rainbow appears among dispersing clouds. Then you know that everything will be fine.

 

Whitney2 Comments