Life, Rambles


I’m typing this on my blue shag rug, and I think I’ve fucked up my knee from leaning against the wooden floor. I’ve tried to crack it back to normal, but it’s not working. Can anyone else crack their knees? Or is that something I should get checked out?

Today at work, one of my campers came up to me, pushed a used Band-Aid into my hands and asked me to “hold it” for him.

I spent an hour in a black hole of watching YouTube videos of “The Voice” competitors. Also side bar I almost wrote “spent an hour in a K hole” because I just assumed it meant the same thing as “black hole” and then I Screen Shot 2015-07-01 at 9.35.20 PMGoogled it and found out that it’s a drug reference which led me to realize that I’m not cool enough to even know the names of drugs.

I feel like I eat relatively healthy at work—salads, yogurts, water—and I’m essentially sprinting after seven-year-olds today—also wait side bar, I played soccer with my campers today and I thought I was so good until I realized that I was playing against second-graders and then I realized that I might just be okay—but then I get home and ingest a pint of gelato and it seems cosmically cruel and unfair that the bad things I eat count more than the good things I eat. Who thought of this system?

I just saw the interview of Sandra Bullock after she was named the “Most Beautiful Woman in the World” by People Magazine and I A) thought it was weird that we can categorically decide that fact, B) loved her dress, and C) thought it was weird that People Magazine was the authority of this highly contentious and amorphous idea of beauty. But I really loved what she had to say. She said that she only accepted the “title” (?) if she could use the platform to talk about the women who inspire her, who protect and value each other, who support other women against the onslaught of media criticism.

And that’s so important—well, duh—because it makes me nauseous when I think of the pressures of beauty ideals that we put on women and girls. Even with campaigns and role models, I don’t know how much progress we as a society have made to make girls and women feel like they are enough, and are in no need of airbrushing away freckles or photoshopping thigh gaps. And I know saying that veers towards the “you’re beautiful and you don’t know it” territory that has been clearly claimed by One Direction and John Legend, which I don’t want to encroach upon. I’m not trying to be like, “Oh you think you’re ugly but you’re so beautiful,” I’m trying to say that women, girls, men, boys, everyone, all of us, are strong and lovely and fragile and we are twisting ourselves and mangling ourselves for external approval. And that sucks.

And I feel that so much. Do you think I like eating salads? Salads are awesome but I don’t eat them because they’re awesome I eat them because I want to be Kate Moss. And I hate that I want to be Kate Moss because bringing back “heroin chic” is not something I want to be on my Wikipedia page when I’m eighty and doing enough chemical peels to melt titanium. I want “finally made “fetch” happen” and “repopularized pagan rituals in mainstream America” to be so associated with my name that it’s even in the short little summary at the top of my Wikipedia page.

I just spent 20 minutes reading about Holly Madison and her tell-all book about her time in the Playboy Mansion, so I really lost my train of thought. But I suppose she’s related to the notion of women being forced into fulfilling certain ideal in society.

The Episcopalian Church just voted and will now allow religious same-sex marriages! While I don’t anticipate the Catholic Church following suit anytime soon, at least without a bunch of nuns rioting in the streets, it’s incredible for a religious organization to be standing behind same-sex marriage. Religion remains one of the last bastions of same-sex marriage opponents, so without that, they have one less leg to stand on. They’re basically hobbling around on peg-legs at this point.

It’s funny how the world can move so slowly for absolute ages and then within the span of a few weeks, things come to a head. In the span of a few weeks, we’ve seen an Olympian come out as transgender, a woman spark dialogue about racial identity, same-sex marriage become legalized across the country, and so, so much more. It makes me glad that I’m alive to see this. We came from generations of fighters and feminists and equalists and it’s heartbreaking that they didn’t see the fruits of their fights, but they fought for us, so that we could see it, and the fact that we had people who thought so far into the future and saw us and cherished us is enough to make me remember that however fucked up I feel or depressed I am, I was fought for.

Update on my knee, it’s still fucked-up, and I put ice on it, which just served to make it numb and fucked-up. Why does ice make anything better? Because it reduces swelling? Or it is a placebo? What would heat do? Maybe it’ll swell up and then I’ll have a peg-leg just like the bigots! Then I’ll be so #relatable to them and they won’t hate me anymore!

This post was an absolute cluster-fuck of thoughts. But I almost like them as much as my “essays about my life in which I exploit painful memories for metaphorical profit” posts, because this is much more reflective of my thought train. Like, when I’m writing those life essay posts, I’m poised and I edit and I’m so goddamn classy, and when I write posts like this one, it’s essentially like when you give a monkey a keyboard and it just drags its hands (paws?) against the keys.


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