Show people dying

Sure, I frequent a lot of "cool" wedding sites. That doesn't mean I don't heartily enjoy a little fuck you every now and then.

Found via a facebook friend. Imagined via the brains of Fred Armisen and Carrie Brownstein 

Dear This Week: you suck.

• My step-mom's cancer is back again with a really scary prognosis


• Our house closing was delayed again. And again. The move we had scheduled is not going to happen.


• Brandon Roy is retiring??

Your mom, This Week. YOUR MOM. 

Worst wedding/people ever

It's rant time, y'all.

Maybe you have heard of this wedding?* The wedding between a white man and a white woman, in South Africa, that had a "Colonial Africa" theme? The wedding that was raved about on some photography website for how authentic it was and how neat it was that the couple used actual "colonial artifacts." THE WEDDING THAT FEATURED A STAFF OF BLACK SERVANTS DRESSED UP LIKE SOME IDIOT'S OUT OF AFRICA WET DREAM??

Yea. It makes my head explode with rage and my mind fold in on itself in sorrow. THE. FUCK. 

I spent years studying the ravages of colonialism on the continent of Africa (I could say countries because I hate it when people treat the continent like a country, but the country barriers are colonial vestiges anyway). I lived in a post-colonial country.** Even if you f you can get past ignoring cultures to create your own country boundaries for financial and political gain, assimilating people so they make better servants (which, why would you get past that without seeing how it is offensive?) you still have: cutting off children's hands when they don't collect enough rubber on your plantation, raping, killing, enslaving people and sending them across the world in deathships only to suffer even more and longer upon their arrival to some terrible foreign country. The list goes fucking on, people. 

Listen. I usually don't get wrapped up in these flash-in-the-pan Internet hysterics. It is not my nature to freak out in the comments of other people's blogs about some terrible thing they did. I know that a lot of things come off wrong, especially on the Internet. Part of me (a very little part) wants to give these people the benefit of the doubt. Like maybe they are just extremely stupid and not the total pieces of shit I imagine them to be. But, NO. You cannot be a white person marrying a white man in South Africa and NOT GET why having a "Colonial Africa" themed wedding is all kinds of fucked up. That is not stupidity or innocent ignorance, it is willful denial of white privilege and it is exactly the kind of shit that causes pain and trouble all over the world. 

Ugh. I hate them. That is all. Sorry for being such an anger ball.

*I am not linking to the photography blog that posted the wedding because my hatred for them right now is such that I cannot give them more press right now. The source is in the link above if you want to go to the original post. Thankfully most the commenters feel the way I do (how often does that happen?)

**And strove every day to be aware of my situation and privileges that I had as a white American. I tried very, very hard to be aware of the circumstances that allowed me to be there and the responsibilities that meant I had. I knew that I was walking a very thin line between honest attempts to get to know another country/peoples/cultures and a shallow fetishism of the "Other." I can't say that I always succeeded but at least I thought about it (a lot) and at least I tried. 

My feminist husband

While D$ and I were cleaning up from dinner tonight I somehow got onto the topic of Anthony Weiner* and what a first-class idiot he turned out to be. I was bemoaning his poor wife - who is clearly awesome and D$ said:


                  "Well. I like to think that smart, powerful women don't let themselves be held
                    back by the stupid shit their husbands do."

Word is bond, yo.

*Quick synopsis for you Brits: young, up-and-coming Democratic congressman from New York who is also considered to be a potential NY Mayoral candidate is caught sexting and sending lewd photos of himself to underage girls (and of-age women) via Twitter, text, e-mail. Happens to be married to a kick-ass woman who is in Africa with her boss HILLARY CLINTON when the scandal breaks...oh and also happens to be pregnant. 

A bone to pick

Normally I avoid talking about work on the blog because, well: the internet is scary, I work in the public sector and I would like to keep my job. I also deal with a lot of confidential information. Tonight, it just so happens that I need to vent.

I am really struggling with my job right now. The work I am doing is intense in both content and amount but that isn't really the issue. The issue is that I am working on a team with two people who make me crazy. Two men who make me crazy, to be more exact. 

When I am being diplomatic about these men I say that we are very different. When I am bitching about these men (which happens a lot these days) I say much, much more. 

We are very different and that is a lot of the problem. They are both young, from small towns, married with pregnant wives, and very, very sheltered. That isn't just the problem, though. The problem is (just a few examples):

Both of them talk about their pregnant wives like they are fucking disabled. "Well, she's pregnant so she doesn't make any sense," "Well, she's pregnant, so..." It makes me want to punch them in the face.

One of them told me that he likes his cul-de-sac because you know right away if someone is on the street who doesn't belong. When I - trying to piece together a response that didn't betray my horror - mentioned living in the city because there are lots of people around his response was, "Oh, you'll change your mind when you have kids and start thinking about their safety." I was unable to stop myself from saying, "No, I won't. I want my kids to grow up and know how to interact with lots of different kinds of people." (Note: this man is not white.) (Double note: I was able to stop myself from asking him to please not assume anything about my desire to have children and/or my ability to keep said hypothetical children safe.) He also micro-manages me like a motherfucker.

The other guy is three years younger than me but gets to act as my in-charge when cul-de-sac man goes on paternity leave (Quote: "I'll probably end up getting bored and coming back to work early." GRRRR) because this was his first job out of college. This man told me that the only woman he would ever be alone with outside of work besides his wife (who he married at 21) is his mother. He goes to the kind of church that encouraged him to stop carpooling to work with another woman from the church because she is single and he is married (something about avoiding the appearance of evil, I don't know). He unabashedly doesn't care about politics, loves to hunt, and either talks down to me or jokes with me like I'm his buddy.  He is completely unaware of the insane amount of White Male Privilege that has afforded him almost everything that he has. He thinks he the world is owed to him and that he has earned it.

Phew. I could go on but I feel I may have said too much already. I have a meeting with my mentor tomorrow to ask her advice on how to handle this situation as I have to work with these men (and pretty much only these men) for another year. I am trying to sort out what is really an issue and what is my own snobbishness/oversensitivity. I am also trying to remind myself how lucky I am to have made it through 28 years and many jobs before encountering people like this.

Any suggestions welcome. 

Oh HELL naw

Tonight I am supposed to be in Seattle, drinking copious amounts of cheap beer and karaoke-ing "Birthday Sex" for my best friend.

Instead I am collapsing at home after 9 hours in the children's surgery ward of the local hospital.

On Tuesday, doctors found a huge tumor in the abdominal cavity of my 12 year-old nephew's stomach. Thursday night they discovered enlarged lymph-nodes in his body, and his sisters and I lay on the hospital bed with him while he played video games and got a blood transfusion.

Today, after three separate surgical procedures (and a barrage of tests that we don't have the answers to yet) the doctors unofficially confirmed their initial guess of lymphoma.

Hey, Cancer: FUCK. YOU.

Sold down the river

So I did it - I signed up for the personal trainer thingy. Unfortunately I am now feeling bad about it because it did NOT go as planned.

Buoyed by all of your comments and encouragement I was planning on waltzing into that gym and saying, "Yes, please!" Unfortunately I forgot that the minute I enter the gym and have to actually talk to a Fitness Person I transform from "Competent and Assertive" into "Mute, Socially Awkward and Totally Unable to Advocate for Myself."

Here is what happened.

1. After saying I wanted to sign up, and after starting the paperwork I see on the screen (I am not told this, mind you) that there is a $99 processing fee. I start to balk but think: listen, you really want to do this. You can afford that. D$ will be annoyed but you are not D$ and it is okay. I say okay. I let them run my card and sign some stuff. Mr. Personal Trainer who I thought was not sketchy and who at this point I still like goes to print out my agreement.
2. Upon viewing my agreement I am find out that I just signed up for a year-long agreement. If I want to get out early I will owe 50% of the monthly fees I would have owed. My heart starts to sink, but I am an Mute and Socially Awkward phase and am unable to say, "Wait, you didn't tell me that!" Mr. Personal Trainer is sitting right there and he is so FRIENDLY. I don't want to accuse him of swindling me and I still want to like him because he is going to be the one working with me each month. Right? Right?
3. No. Again, after signing up to this program that has hidden fees and makes me commit for a year I find out, why NO, Mr. Personal Trainer will NOT be working with me. In fact they are going to assign me someone I have never met before and NO no female trainers are available for the time-frame I want.
4. The trainer they assign me is named RICARDO. Even as I sit there and feel bad about how I am getting swindled, I wonder if his being named RICARDO means that I am contractually obliged to have an affair with him.

What is weird is that I don't get mad, I don't protest, I just sort of make faces and very passively let it be known that I am not happy. I do tell Mr. Personal Trainer that I feel like I am being sold down the river but I say it sort of jokingly because he IS still being really nice to me, I will be seeing him at the gym all the time and I don't want to feel awkward EVERY time I see him for the rest of my exercise-filled life. Still, I hate how passive and push-over-y I am being.

Clearly some of this is my fault - I should have asked a few more questions before I jumped in. On the other hand, this gym is inhabited by money-grubbing jerks. Right now I am trying not to let my annoyance over the sign-up bullshit color my enthusiasm for starting a new workout regime. I do have three days to cancel if I want (Friday at midnight) but I don't think I will. I really do want someone to help me work out, and maybe it will be good practice to learn to be comfortable in Fitness Land and around Fitness People. The year-long commitment sort of gives me hives - do you have any idea how long that is??! - but I came to a decision this morning. If I hate it or don't need it after six months, guess what: I can still quit. I will be out a chunk of cash but it will be a sunk cost and I will do my best to not feel bad about it.

My first appointment with RICARDO is Friday morning and I plan on going in early to talk to the manager to tell her (read: complain) about my experience AND to make sure that Ricardo is going to do what I want him to do. Mainly: make me a work out program and then change it for me each month as I progress. If that is not the deal then I am going to cancel.

But, who knows? RICARDO could be awesome.

Vagina Vagina Vagina

I have decreed that the following post is about marriage...if only because D$ is the one who sent me this article.

Yep. D$ sent me an article about tampons. Apparently, Kotex is "hoping to break down the stigmas and embarrassment surrounding feminine care products" in their marketing of a new product "U by Kotex."* However, they were informed by three different TV networks that they couldn't use the word "vagina" in their advertisements. When they substituted "down there" for "vagina" two of the three networks still rejected the ad.**

As a response (or maybe not as a response, but as a part of their general campaign), Kotex released the following video.

Now, I realize that this video, and the whole "U by Kotex" campaign, is really just another advertising shtick. And by talking about the ridiculousness surrounding feminine care products they are simply trying to tap into another market. (I can just see them, "But how do we get those damn frank-ass feminists to buy our products? How?). And they still aren't saying vagina. But. I really like that video.

Excuse my while I go put on my white spandex.

*By posting this, I am promoting something I really hate: the purposeful misspelling of words. Please note that I do not approve of the use of "U" for "you", or any other purposeful misspellings.

**I'm almost happy about this. Because, I mean, "Down there?" Really? How childish can you get, people?

WARNING: It might turn into vagina-week around here, so watch out. The fates have aligned to create a Vag-theme in my life this week and it is highly likely that I will be sharing it with you all. After I get around to the blog awards I have been neglecting, of course.

Self-Care, Schmelf-Care

You know what is really good to do?

Eat a piece of chocolate cake EVERY NIGHT at 9:30 p.m. right before you go to bed. It is even better to use the extra frosting to slather the whole side of the piece, so that no bite is devoid of frosting. This adds extra health factors.

You know what else is really good to do? Sleep in instead of going to the gym three days in a row. And then go out for Jucy Lucy's*, french fries and cheap beer with your husband even though you are so bloated from your lunch that you have to do the "try to fart" dance in the car on the way to the restaurant. (Bonus points for making your husband think you are leaning over to cuddle him when really you are just trying to get your ass higher in the air).

The best thing to do, though, is after all of that to go home and binge-read WPM blog archives until after midnight, resulting in feelings of not-worthiness and another morning where sleeping in wins out over exercise.

Oh - it is also best to do this one week before you have to fly home for a wedding that will be attended by many long-legged sorority girls who will have better outfits than you.

This is guaranteed to put you in a good mood ladies. Guar-an-teed. If by a good mood you mean fat-feeling and self-loathing, that is.

* For those of you not in the Midwest, a Jucy Lucy is a hamburger that is formed around a chunk of cheese. So the hamburger is cheesy from the inside out, resulting in the most delicious, cheesy- oily goodness that man has every created.

Oh, and?

My step-dad got laid off yesterday. From a company he has worked for for over 40 years. 9 months before he is eligible for full retirement.

WHAT?

Project Good Attitude is putting me through the ringer this week.

The good news is that my step-dad hated his job and it is clear that the company is becoming more and more evil and incompetent, so it is probably good for is soul to get away from them anyway. And if my parents stick to a budget they will be okay.

As my mom just said on the phone to me, "Well, as soon as we can stop feeling like we've been fucked in the ass when we weren't in the mood for it, I think we'll be okay."*

I'm off to gorge myself on homemade chocolate chip cookies and wine.**I promise not to be such a Bad News Betty Sad Sack next week. No more sympathy baiting from me, I promise. I may even write a post that is about marriage (will wonders never cease).

*Clearly, I get my tact from my mother

**Homemade by ME! I cooked twice this week y'all. Carrot-Sweet Potato Soup and cookies.

***Image from here.

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

My step-mom's Leukemia is back.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

I'm so screwed, you guys.

Some study just found out that feeling guilty is actually physically bad for you - in that it makes you have a weaker immune system.

I am totally going to die young. And probably feel guilty about it.

A link to a brief overview of the details (and some other ranty stuff) here.