Category Archives: lists

I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut

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This blog post was going to be about the election.

This blog post was going to be about why I don’t think any of the “nasty woman” t-shirts and tote bags or “pussy” related jokes and projects are helpful or funny.

This blog post was going to be about how none of it is fucking funny.

This blog post was going to be about all the times I’ve watched other women diminish themselves for the comfort of men.

This blog post was going to be about all the times I’ve diminished myself for the comfort of men.

This blog post was going to be about all the women I know (myself included) who accomplish amazing things through incredible effort, and then expend equal effort to tell everyone around them that they’re not all that amazing, that they didn’t do that much, that they had a lot of help, that really it was just luck.

This blog post was going to be about my ability to anticipate and accommodate the needs and wants of people I love and care about.

This blog post was going to be about how I’ve been conditioned to think that my wants and needs aren’t anyone’s problem or responsibility but mine.

This blog post was going to be a list of horrible things that boyfriends have said to me–why am I such a drama queen, why do I always have something to say, why do I always have to cry when I get upset, why am I so loud, why can’t I find someone else to talk to,

This blog post was going to be about how I felt when I read about the woman who was groped on an airplane and then told by the police that “it’s not the crime of the century.”

This blog post was going to be about when I found out that someone didn’t believe an acquaintance about what she said happened to her, and it made me cry in the tote bag aisle at Target.

This blog post was going to be about what happened to me.

This blog post was going to be about how every time I tell a friend what happened to me, she says, “It happened to me, too.”

This blog post was going to be about the time I tweeted “BELIEVE WOMEN,” and a man whom I thought was my friend responded, “Let’s ask Rolling Stone about that.”

This blog post was going to be about the time I was walking with a group of male friends, one of them made a rape joke, and the others laughed; I was the only person who called him out on it.

This blog post was going to be about how I can’t watch debates or news footage without having anxiety attacks.

This blog post was going to be about the sob that fell out of me without warning when I heard Michelle Obama say,

And to make matters worse, it now seems very clear that this isn’t an isolated incident. It’s one of countless examples of how he has treated women his whole life. And I have to tell you that I listen to all of this and I feel it so personally, and I’m sure that many of you do too, particularly the women. The shameful comments about our bodies. The disrespect of our ambitions and intellect. The belief that you can do anything you want to a woman.

It is cruel. It’s frightening. And the truth is, it hurts. It hurts. It’s like that sick, sinking feeling you get when you’re walking down the street minding your own business and some guy yells out vulgar words about your body. Or when you see that guy at work that stands just a little too close, stares a little too long, and makes you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

This blog post was going to be about the great lengths it appears people will go to to avoid voting for a woman for president.

This blog post was going to be about how my excitement at the prospect of voting for a woman for president is diminished by my terror at the prospect of having as a president a candidate who thinks I am inferior, unworthy of respect, an object to be used.

This blog post was going to be about the fact that that candidate probably would say that I’m not attractive enough to be an object worthy of use, and would see nothing wrong with that statement at all.

This blog post was going to be about the fact that women already knew. We knew. We fucking KNEW that society was like this, that people were like this, that many, many men were like this, but nobody believed us until now.

This blog post was going to be about the fact that most people still don’t really believe us.

But I’m crying now, and I’m tired. I’m so tired. And if you already agree with me, you know what it would say, and if you don’t agree, I won’t be able to convince you. So I’m not going to write it.

things learned on a mayan riviera vacation

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1. Lots of people really don’t care how they look in a bathing suit. Like, REALLY don’t care. They wear bikini tops that are too large or bottoms that are too small or Speedos you can barely see. They walk around shirtless with splotchy sunburns on their chests, or they walk around topless with their boobs hanging out. While you’re sitting there in your beach lounger in a tankini top that hides your stomach and boy-short bottoms that cover your butt, suntanned octogenarians shuffle past in string bikinis. They don’t give a shit.

You find it reassuring. Not because you enjoy looking at stranger boobs, but because you like knowing that there are people out there who aren’t as ashamed of their imperfect bodies as American advertising wants them to be. You like that other people aren’t as burdened with self-consciousness as you are. Maybe one day you’ll stop giving a shit, too.

2. Your tendency to wake up at 5 o’clock in the morning can be fixed by getting exercise. Seriously, get some exercise. No, seriously.
Also, your recent heartburn episodes are from a thing you didn’t eat much of in Mexico, and that thing is cheese.

3. White liberal guilt is not a myth. You are white, liberal, AND a former waitress, so you tip all the service people at the resort like crazy. When you’re not tipping like crazy, you’re wondering if the service people are genuinely friendly or if they’re just good at hiding their contempt for all the damn tourists.

You would not be good at hiding your contempt for all the damn tourists.

4. You also spend time speculating about the personal lives of the waiters and waitresses you meet at the resort. Does Silvino have a wife and kids? Where does Arsenio live? When Claudia gets home from work, does she refuse to cook eggs because that’s what she has to do all damn day and if she has to look at another fucking egg she’s going to scream?

5. As your friend Dusty says, the ocean may as well be outer space for how vast and unfamiliar it is. As you say to your sister and brother-in-law when you surface after your first official scuba dive, “There’s a lot of shit down there, you guys.”

6. To do long exposures when it’s pitch dark outside, raise your F-stop really high and turn off the auto focus. Shots with the moon in them will take 20-30 seconds, and shots without the moon in them will take up to 90.  If you can’t find a makeshift tripod, the ground works just fine.

7. Traveling is your psyche’s bread and butter. You are rarely happier, more relaxed, or more inspired. You knew this already, but it’s nice to be reminded.