Listen, “ladies”, if we’re ever going to get our due, we have to go get it. No one is going to hand it to us, and it will be worth it. And while I feel that every woman should have the chance to speak her mind and take what’s hers, I realize that not all women have this opportunity; we must go above and beyond to speak for them as well. We are the lucky ones, the ones that can speak, that may be heard, and that live the lives we want without fear of persecution.
This is going to require a few measures that might be uncomfortable for some, but for women to get what they want in the world, we have to step out of our comfort zones. We have to push to the front, be louder than men, and stop being “ladies” when it comes to what we want. Ladies don’t make history - ladies are history.
So quit cutting eachother down. Don’t like what someone’s wearing? Too bad. She’s your comrade - shut your mouth. Think that women suck to work with? We all suck to work with, men and women. But we can all make this better. We have to start with ourselves.
Women, put up and shut up. If you “don’t like other women”, I don’t want to hear about it. That’s not getting us anywhere. A gender divided doesn’t get respect.
M: Today I learned that Isaac Newton died a virgin.
Me: Damn, think how smart I could have been!
M: I could have… Wasted 12 years on World of Warcraft. Oh, wait…
Someone recently took issue with the fact that I describe myself as a “Single Mama”, because, apparently, it’s not a hardship for me.
Really? I get that I have more support than anyone could have the right to ask for. I get that I have a loving partner that does everything he can to support me and my child. And my child has the most amazing father - you’re right. I’m the luckiest single Mama ever.
You know what is a hardship? Not kissing my daughter every night before she goes to sleep. Not holding her every minute that she’s sick. Sending her away, and knowing that it will be like this for the rest of her life. Did I make that choice? Yes. Was it the right one? Yes. Does my heart still ache every minute she’s with her Daddy? For damn sure.
Everyone’s battle is different. Mine is personal, so don’t judge it.
I honestly don’t believe you owe your parents a damn thing for raising you. That’s their job. They (whether planned or not) conceived a child, and now have the responsibility of providing for your basic needs, with a minimum expectation of guidance, support and affection. However, even if you’re not given all of the above, there is one thing they don’t deserve: to bury you.
That’s all I’m asking. Make decisions that result in you burying your parents, no matter your age. Funerals for the young have peppered my life lately, and I find myself more often than not taking on the perspective of their parents; how do you go on? I don’t know, and I hope I never do. But I do know that I’ll do the best in my power to make sure my own parents never find out. I owe them that.
Here’s the deal about free speech, kids: That’s all it entitles you to. The freedom to say what you want. It doesn’t take away everyone else’s right to be offended or think you’re a dumbass.
Lately, my silly little lady-body has decided that it wants to undergo all sorts of fun changes that are semi-reminiscent of ages 12-17. Here’s why: I started a new birth control pill (I know! For shame!) to regulate some “issues” that were going on, and within two weeks (two weeks!!) I put on ten pounds (ten pounds!).
But here’s the deal: I don’t care. This is new to me, too. I may have been fairly attractive at my “goal” weight, but honestly, I didn’t look like what I consider to be “womanly”. I didn’t mind, clothes fit great, but then… Boobs. And ass. And ass and boobs. A slightly curvier silhouette with a little extra something has made me feel like a whole new person. Sure, I closed myself out of an entire pants size, but the next size up looks great. You know why? Ass. Had to buy all new bras (Woohoo!) and they look and feel amazing! I’m ok with this! And shirts… They fit. Nicely. And as an added bonus? My partner loves it. I’ll admit… That helps.
Moral of the story: ten pounds doesn’t make or break who you are. It’s all in how you look at it. And this is coming from possibly the most body-conscious person I know. Ordinarily I would have lost it (and the pill and the weight) by now, but I’m all about moving forward and moving on - and being a curvy girl from here on out.
“Fat bottom girls, you make the rockin’ world go round!”
Last night I had to tell my daughter that we weren’t going to buy a Bratz-type doll from the toy store because “She looks like a hoochie.” Keep those #moty nominations coming.
That’s tough… I think I’d like to write, not just for fun, but for something purposeful, yet I’ve never given myself the time (or attention span) to do so.
Can you still call yourself a writer if you just write random things all the time? Oh, yeah. This is tumblr. Of course you can!! (: Thanks for asking this - I really didn’t know the answer myself!
Here’s the deal: If you initiate a divorce and follow through, I think you have to be prepared to be alone for the rest of your life. You have to be aware that it was at least half your fault that things didn’t work out, and realize that maybe no other human being on this earth should be put through your misery. While you are fully grasping this fact, you come to know a few things about yourself, which come in handy should someone ever decide to take a chance on your sorry ass ever again. In this case, please let me save you the trouble of the first few steps, if you’re a little martyr like me.
I really, really like it if people read my mind. I like it if people want the same things that I do. I like it if they just do the things I want without me asking. I also like to wake up to goblets full of diamonds and just having lost 20 pounds, but that doesn’t happen, either. So I’ve learned to actually tell people what I want. I’m not going to say it’s easy. I felt way too superior in my marriage when I’d “suffer in silence” and do everything myself, but what I really did was make myself a martyr and be acompletebitch without ever giving anyone reasons why. I do it to friends, family… SO unfair. SO me.
I tried it again this week with the poor SOB that has convinced me that love is indeed possible and that he’ll take me on for the rest of his life. He pretty much called bullshit, and good for him. I was one haughty little hooch until he brought me down a few pegs. I needed it. I could have gone on thinking that I was the only one qualified to or interested in running the show, but what would that have gotten me? For one, a giant ulcer, and for two, probably laid a lot less.
Remember how I (semi)facetiously complained about finding out my cousin was having her bridal shower based on her comments on Facebook? It gets better. A couple of months ago, my cousin emailed about 5 gals, including myself, asking for recommendations for a make-up person for her Big Day. My Best does make-up for weddings and bridal parties, so I hooked them up.This convo just happened:
Best: Hey, on Saturday, do you want to go down to your cousin’s bridal shower a little early? I have to practice her makeup and don’t want to go alone.
Me: What bridal shower? When? Where?
So, yeah. Skated by on the notion that there was another shower coming up. Not invited to this one either. Awk-ward!!
I’ve always used the term “single Mama” a little loosely when applied to myself, because I have such an awesome support system in place. My parents are fantastic, my partner is the best, and my daughter has a dad that loves her more than his next breath. However, over the last few weeks, I’ve learned how the other half live, and I want to say that you’re better women than me.
My daughter’s father has been ill and unable to take care of her; my parents have been traveling extensively; my support system went to hell in a handbasket overnight. Suddenly, I was the only one there to handle sick days, deal with preschool events, birthday parties, accidents and Build-A-Bear. Please, please don’t get me wrong - I’ve loved the opportunity to have my girl all to myself. However, I will decline to talk about the last time I’ve shaved my legs, sat down with a cup of coffee, or read anything that wasn’t sent home from school or depressingly research related - because I honestly can’t remember.
The hardest part is not seeing my daughter except for in the rearview mirror! We are on the road so much, we only get an hour in the morning and maybe an hour and a half before bed - most of which is filled with the day-to-day minutia that doesn’t exactly count as quality time. I make the most of our car trips, and we do have fun, but it gets old telling her that I can’t do something right now because I actually have to watch the road (you’re welcome). I don’t see the opportunity to move out of rural suburbia arising any time soon, so in the car we go… And go, and go.
Moral of this story? Good on you, single moms. We’re all a different set, and we all have different circumstances. I’ve always known I was ridiculously blessed to have come out of a difficult situation with so much, and that’s never been more true. Please forgive me if I actually burst into flames with rage or drive into a garage door (yeah, that happened); I’ve got a little going on.
“Seriously, you say a few hateful things and they don’t let you within a hundred yards of the Oscars. You could literally beat the shit out of a nominee and they’ll ask you to perform TWICE at the Grammys.”
-Seth Rogen commenting on Brett Ratner being kicked off producing the Oscars and comparing it to Chris Brown beating Rihanna.
Hell yes he does.