Filed under: comics
Wish the chick was the smartypants.
-CJ
In one night I got down with 80s* at a kickass little club near Hometown, saw a punk cover band in a super crappy dive bar, and slowdanced to music that made me cry my eyes out.
What? I’m off my medication right now.
*With a decade’s worth of music, why did I hear Boys Don’t Cry three times?
Irrelevant to music and bars – I feel a lot of things lining up. What has felt like a constant, several year uphill battle against a team that totally outnumbers me and are a bunch of ugly, assholes to boot, kind of feels like a standing chance at making sense and maintaining balance.
Did I say anything right now?
-CJ
Filed under: workplace
Working from the main office once a week, I make a lot of calls to the people I’m used to working with in our little step-child office in OC. I ring my friend to get a quick e-mail address.
“Trader Joe’s, this is Bob.”
I don’t miss a beat. Bob, do you carry many varieties of vaginal cream?
“We do, they’re on aisle five, by the Depends.”
And are those Depends organic?
“Oh yes, they’re recycled, actually.”
Because at 25, genitals and poop are still hilarious.
-CJ
Filed under: music/podcasts
Be it my antidepressants or general unwillingness to acknowledge my more squishy emotions, I’m always shocked to feel tears burn when something gets under my skin.
Can you see the lights?
Can you hear the hum?
Of our song
I hope they get it right
I hope we dance tonight
Before we, get it wrong
Now I see you, til kingdom come
You’re the one I want
To see me for all the stupid shit I’ve done
-Three Rounds & a Sound, Blind Pilot
back of my throat, center of my chest, corner of my eyes, tips of my fingers. I feel this song in a lot of ways and places, all of them good.
-CJ
My friend Ashley supplies an almost constant flow of entertainment from her post in Wyoming. Example: World’s Best Relationship Tips
If you were ever going to learn a thing or two about yourself and your sig-o, let it be from an instructional featuring such images as:
(Note tiny caption: Kee-f*cking-yai, motherf*cker)
Probably the best way to combat jealousy is with macaroni art. Everyone loves macaroni art. It is a symbol for good intentions, thoughtfulness and love. And if you use enough glitter, she’ll forget she ever felt anything less than unadulterated adoration for you.
YES.
“I DIED, and then laughed myself into a second death.” –Ashley
Thank you, love.
-CJ
Filed under: wah
The middle of the night was like most others. Stagger to the bathroom but don’t attempt to function in the dark in an effort to stay ninety percent asleep (as this resulted in bare foot meets dog vomit, a totally romantic comedy due out this summer). But by the time I reached my bed again a familiar pain was throbbing in my lower, right side. I could have burst into tears right then. The pain hadn’t escalated yet but I knew that for the fourth time in roughly two months, I was about to spend several hours wide awake and squriming in an effort to literally get away from the pain.
I bolted to the junk drawer in hopes that my roommate had left some extra strength Vicodin there. It was a losing race against time – beat the pain before it beat me. Not long later I was on my knees on the living room floor, head between my hands, crying just quietly enough not to wake the neighbors. When the pain became nauseating, slight panic set in. It hadn’t been this bad any other time. Luckily I made it to the toilet for my puke, unlike certain bitch-mutts that rhyme with SPRUCEY.
With about forty minutes to spare before my alarm went off, two Vicodins compromising my balance and clear thoughts, I finally drifted to sleep.
This morning brought a dull ache, which I will take for years before those two and a half hours again. At some point it moved into my front, still on the lower, right side.
Are my kidneys failing me?
Where the fuck are my kidneys?
What’s a girl gotta do to get some real pain killers on hand?
This will not happen again. Not on date night.
-CJ
Filed under: LGBT
Mobile Accessible Buying For Equality
On my lunch break yesterday, I settled in with some fried rice and an old Equality magazine that I’ve yet to read. I found a small article about this:
The Human Rights Campaign Foundation, the nation’s largest lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender civil rights organization, today announced an innovative method to access the rankings of hundreds of popular American brands published in the 2009 “Buying for Equality” consumer guide, released this week. By texting ’SHOP’ to 30644, individuals across the nation can quickly determine which companies support equality for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender Americans before making important purchase decisions.
I’ve tried to be more and more aware of who/what I support with my money. I plugged the five digits into my phone and saved them under ‘equality shopping!’ I started immediately plugging big names into it like Target and Old Navy, both of which received a perfect 100 score from HRC. I checked my bank and probably yours (Chase, Bank of America & Wells Fargo) which all came back with perfect 100s as well. There were a few places that were not entered in their guide and few places where repeated attempts had been made to get them into the guide but the company’s had yet to respond.
The only company that the guide discouraged me from supporting, of the two dozen or so that I sent in, was -surprise- Walmart. I needed no other reason not to shop there but now I just loathe the place.
Save it in your cell and make better shopping choices NOW!
-CJ
muliebrity \myoo-lee-EB-ri-tee\, noun:
The state of being a woman.
gorgeous, wide hips, bleeding, cramping, lotion on freshly shaved skin – or not, combat boots or heels and the option of wearing both in the same day, making sixty-three cents to his one dollar, debating on your means to control your reproductive system and fighting teeth and nails for the right to do so, glorifying hot ass androgyny, lipstick, applauding the matriachy where you can find it, reaching out to your sister(s), owning the innate mama bear inside you, contricting your chest with elastic and wires and sighing heavily at the end of the day when the bra hits the floor, slow moving grace, clumsy tomboys, deliciously scented powders and oils from top to bottom…
From an article in the Washington Post, What It Takes To Be a Woman:
Jenny Ouellet, a 24-year-old who has seen her share of hard times, recognizes [the difference between being a girl & being a woman]. She wrote to me a month ago from her home in northern Massachusetts, fed up with a lack of confidence she was seeing in some of the young women she knew.
It’s not that she didn’t know how they felt. When she graduated from high school, she traveled with rock bands, lost the man of her dreams and ended up with 32 tattoos and a baby. She went to work in a music store, started paying off debts, learned how to cook and is raising her little boy, now 3, by herself, with some financial support from the boy’s father.
Making a life for herself and her son, virtually alone, forced her to realize who she was and what she was capable of as a female.
“It’s not what I wear or how I do my hair,” she wrote me. “I’m convinced it’s that I carry myself with confidence. I don’t feel like I’m the all-around perfect catch, but I’ve been through enough to know I’m a great mother, a loving daughter, an honest friend, a great lover and someday, I’ll make a great wife. You grow into the title of woman.”
And then you wear your title forever, with pride.
-CJ
