Vacation interlude

You know how some people go on vacation and schedule guest posts from their awesome bloggy friends so that people don't lose interest in their blogs while they are gone?

Well. I go on vacation and while on vacation I guest post on other people's blogs while ignoring my own blog just as much as I normally do. It's a special skill I have. I like to call it "doing things backwards."

Which is to say: I'm over at Jehara today writing about a book you should read. Also, oral sex.

You should probably check it out.*

*Sorry I can't link to the specific post because I am scheduling this in advance and will be riding a whale when the post on Jehara actually goes live. Look for a post on August 29th. 

Vay to the cation

I left the office at 1:30 today, concealing neither the shit-eating grin on my face nor the spastic dance of joy I did in front of a co-worker's cubicle.


Just now I walked, bra-less, into my kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Glancing at the contents I selected the ice-cold IPA on the second shelf, flicked it open, and took a long swig.


What the hell, I said out loud to myself. It's after four o'clock...and I'm on fucking VACATION. 


D$ and I leave tomorrow for a camp wedding (I'll be b-maiding it up) and then a week - a full fucking week - by ourselves. In a cabin. On an island in the ocean.


Thank you, universe, for being so kind to me. Thank you, Self, for scheduling this vacation those long months ago. You knew I'd need it, and you were right.

A bowling alley installed in your head

You remember this guy.

Sometimes you have a fun breakfast with your step-mom, you walk the awesome dog, and then throw your mom a surprise 60th birthday party. La di da, family is so nice and everyone is so gosh darn supportive.

Other times your 19 year-old niece tells your mother to fuck off via Facebook.

Get with the (marriage equality) program

Let's face it. Every single reader I have has found me through A Practical Wedding. So what I am about to talk about will come as no surprise but I'm gonna say it anyway.


Meg is, once again, doing something incredibly ballsy and doing it with a level of competence that baffles the mind. I'm talking about Yay New York! and I'm fucking impressed. She describes it better than me so go to the link if for more info but the jist is: free marriages for two lucky same sex couples and a big-ass party in NYC to raise money for an organization working towards“achieving full recognition of the civil rights of lesbians, gay men, bisexuals, transgender people and those with HIV through impact litigation, education and public policy work.” 


They are selling tickets and they are selling tote bags. 


I do not live in NYC and I have a fucking gajillion tote bags. However, (with inspiration from a friend) I bought a ticket and a bag. You should, too.


Over and out. 


*heh. Accidentally posted this first with the title Get with the (marriage quality) Program. I mean...that, too, I guess. 

Guest postin'

Blind Irish Pirate temporarily lost her mind and asked me to write something for her blog while she is on vacation. I'm over there today talking about this little guy. Check it out.

So...that was intense

So, sorry about the rage-fest in the last post.

To make up for it, here is a baby koala. Try to be mad at me now.

Image from Zooborns via CuteOverload

Is CuteOverload a totally lame website to visit these days? Whatever. I refuse to be shamed out of my love for baby animals.

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.