Adventures of a Postmodern Feminist

2012-08-09T13:03:00.002-04:00

So, this Turkish columnist complained that female Olympic athletes don't look feminine enough. I'm not going to try and criticize him because that seems a frivolous waste of time; everyone on the internet is already doing it for me, and I'd hate to reinvent the wheel.

But it got me thinking about the frustrations I had just trying to find a decent workout video recently. I don't know much about Turkish culture; I know what I stand for in terms of feminism and human rights and being fuuucking tired of women being objectified, especially when they're a little busy doing magnificent things like winning gold medals - and I am not particularly educated on the obstacles Turkish women face with jackasses like this guy complaining that they don't look pretty enough while they are accomplishing shit that I'd have to imagine this columnist never will.

But really, is it just culture? Lots of times we attribute commentary like that to a different culture and different set of expectations for women in other countries - but every single workout video I own tells me not only that it will make my body look sexy, but also that I'll look sexy while doing it. Seriously, I need to look fucking sexy while getting my lazy ass in shape? I got bored of my collection of...maybe 7 aerobic and yoga work out videos, so I headed to the library to look for some more and, perhaps not so shockingly, not a single work out video directed at men had to do with sexiness, but almost every single one targeted at female audiences highlighted how 'sexy' I'd look while doing it.

First, it's awkward when your 10 year old sister wants to work out with you and the workout instructor comments 17 times how sexy you must look while doing this move. Secondly, fuck anyone who thinks women should look sexy while working out. Who the hell looks sexy while working out??

2012-08-08T16:13:00.002-04:00

I repeatedly promise myself that I will become a consistent blogger, then fret when I feel what I have to say is repetitive of other (awesome) soapboxers that have opinions on things. So today, I've decided to just blog the things I've been pondering today.

Is McDonalds an official sponsor of the Olympics because they think it's good press, or do they secretly want all athletes to develop type II diabetes?

Am I the first person who has sat in the Severna Park branch library and cried while watching (moving) youtube videos?

Is my hair really so bad that the saleslady felt compelled while I was shopping today to thrust a flat-iron into my hand before she even began her push sales speech? Did she not notice my hair is already about as flat as humanly possible?

Could I pull off a shaved head?

I get that nonprofits are often working on limited budgets, I do. And I am looking for work with one and understand it may not be the most lucrative job and I am okay with that. But why is it okay to ask for 5 years of experience for a job that pays $35,000 a year and requires a Master's degree that probably cost twice that in student loan debt? Why is that okay???

Will my name move up on the library's waiting list for Pretty Little Liars today? Holding steady at 9, maybe we'll get to 8 tomorrow.

If libraries are quiet spaces, how come there's a children's section?

Should I join the library knitting club and sit with 20 women ages 65+ every Tuesday morning and hear about their grandchildren? I'd probably get alot of work done on my blanket.

It's Wednesday at 4pm. I clearly need a job. What is this post. Why.

2012-08-04T11:31:00.000-04:00

I always love to see people supporting The Trevor Project. Not just because they are awesome at saving lives and supporting young LBGTQ people in crisis, but also because, without question - any one of those Lifeline Counselors would talk patiently and lovingly with uber conservative anti-LGBT folks, too. Love, compassion, and support surrounds all that they do, and they'd never want to deny civil rights or compassion or crisis intervention to anyone.

Eat-More-Veggies

2012-08-02T12:58:00.000-04:00

I swore I wasn't going to do this. Blog about Chick Fil A. Maybe I have years ago, because I've known for years that they donate money to anti-gay causes and being vegetarian/vegan that entire time, I've had little reason to spend money there anyway (oh plus, I like my arteries... even if Chick Fil A donated money to super awesome queer causes, I'd probably skip the fast food and donate directly to...super awesome queer causes). Anyway, every once in a while I go back through my blog, get self-conscious about my writing, and delete all the old posts. Chances are good that I've already vented my feelings about Chick Fil A, and chances are that I have nothing new to say given the 15K+ articles streaming through my facebook news feed every day, most leaning left, a few that make me question why I'm facebook friends with anyone who is proud of their lack of support for civil rights and equality.

But naturally, my desire to have the last word or the best word or just MY word has taken over, so here it goes.

Yesterday a relative said to me something about people should spend their money where they want, he respects both sides and people being informed consumers and all. Great. That makes sense. Until he continued on that people could do that without sharing their opinion and just keep it to themselves. He wishes gay activists and allies would just stop talking about it.

I'll admit, even I, queen of never letting things go and always wanting to continue conversations on any social issue (until I win), have gotten a little exhausted of reading incessant facebook comments and article shares on one side or the other of the Chick-Fil-A issue. But by no means does that mean people should stop talking about it.

I'd venture to say that anyone of the opinion someone should just 'keep it to themselves' that they are upset about systemic, societal discrimination that withholds some of their civil rights - is probably not one of the ones lacking this civil right. That this person might feel differently if Chick-Fil-A was donating millions of dollars to "Don't let hetero couples get married" type of causes, which I'm fairly certain...don't exist. If you think someone should just get over something, or keep it to themselves, or stop talking about a social issue - please ask yourself first, why do I feel this way? Is it because I'm on the privileged side of the issue and NONE of this affects my life negatively in any way? (Hint: If you are one of these people and answer no, you're in denial).

Okay, end rant that says nothing new on the Chick-Fil-A issue and is clearly my need to vent to a relative that I can't say things to in real life. Eat your vegetables and continue supporting civil rights for all (as I'm pretty sure my blog is not popular with the anti-gay community and I'm just preaching to the choir).

Eat kale chips. They're delicious.

We're not in Kansas anymore.

2012-06-25T20:02:00.001-04:00

Thankfully.

If you're wondering why this is my first post of my roadtrip adventures that has no pictures, it's because there's nothing worth taking pictures of in Kansas.

I know that's harsh, and rude, and I apologize - every place I visit, even if it's not my favorite, I try to be respectful of the fact that people live there, and there have to be some redeeming qualities everywhere. There must be some good qualities of Kansas, but they are certainly not visible from I-70. Unless you think pretty landscape is grass, dead grass, and wheat.

Yesterday I drove the 846 miles from Denver to St Louis. This wasn't quite the plan - I stopped in Kansas City, Missouri, where I had a hotel room for an employee rate thanks to a relative. Of course, they wouldn't let me use the employee rate without a staff ID card, which I obviously didn't have, so when I realized it would cost me 2.5 times more than expected, responsible unemployed citizen that I am, I drove across the street to a no-name motel advertising rooms for 40 dollars a night.

I'm not totally naive - I know that 40 dollars for a night won't get me a continental breakfast, plush cozy bedding, Wifi, or a pool. All I really ask for is that bedding be clean, the door be lockable, and a functioning smoke detector be in the room.

I checked into this no name motel (actually, it has a name I'm considering reporting to the Department of Sanitation...as well as the local Fire Department) and proceeded to room 120, and called Amanda to let her know I'd safely arrived somewhere from the night post-Denver.   Oddly, it was while I was on the phone with this fire protection engineer friend of mine that I noticed the smoke detector was sitting on the floor, battery-lessly, next to a wall with distinctive black burn marks.   Her response was "No, you can't stay there," but I decided to first check for bed bugs and if I didn't see anything gross or alarming on the bed, it was do-able for the night. Though I didn't find bed bugs, I quickly noticed the burn marks on the comforter and sheets, followed by some hair on the sheets that....we'll just say confirmed my suspicions that they weren't washed after a previous visitor. Er, visitors - plural, probably.

This is when I ventured back to the motel office to let them know I'd need a refund and would not be staying there that night.

I hate being that person - I really do - it's not like I didn't know I was getting some shady accomodations for $40 - but as I mentioned, the only basics I expect for that low price are clean sheets and a room where I am sufficiently warned if there is a fire.

"Um hi - listen, I don't mean to be difficult - " I started with the staff person who checked me in "but there are a few problems with that room."
"Give her a different room," spoke a man nearby that I quickly realized to be the manager.
"Well actually...," I started to say, I just want a refund and to get the hell out of here before bed bugs start climbing on me. But I never got the chance.
"Oh that's okay, we'll just give you a refund."
"Oh um - perfect. Just so you know, the smoke detector in that room..."
But again I was interrupted.
"Oh sure, there are some problems. But look at our clientele. That's what you get."

A second later, I did indeed get to look at the client(ele), as she burst through the door screaming that they let someone else into her room.   A woman, probably no more than my age, wearing the uniform of a nearby retail store, erupted into a screaming rant about how she just got back from work and someone else was in her room.

"I paid for a WEEK," she started "I don't have to be out until TOMORROW, and you *&#*% # gave my room away!!"

I watched as she and the manager, who had politely, almost psychically accomodated my request, both screamed at each other, arguing about whether she had to be out Sunday at 11am or 11pm. Though the client was obviously wrong, I didn't stay to see whose screaming finished last, and quickly scrawled my signature on the refund receipt the staff person printed for me and bolted for the door.

Now to be fair to Kansas - this ordeal was actually in Missouri, which misguidedly allows itself to have a city named after the most boring state in the Union (again, apologies to any Kansas lovers). But after wasting 6 hours of my life driving through possibly the most boring landscape known to mankind, and witnessing up close how this business owner legitimately did not care whether impoverished long-term clients died in a fire or not in own of his rooms, I was pretty done with the whole region.

So I trekked on another 4 hours to St Louis, where I planned to arrive on Monday evening, to stay with a friend, Abby, from grad school.   Though this meant skipping my hippie-town adventure planned for Westport, Mo on Monday, I am perfectly okay with this. And will be satisfied if I never venture into Kansas, or Kansas city, ever again.

What I'm doing in Denver

2012-06-21T16:04:00.000-04:00

Many of you have asked what I'm doing in Denver. Or, like 2 people have asked that but I'm sure everyone else is wondering and I don't know what else to write about today, but feel that I should write something as I set that pesky goal for myself of consistently writing and it's been about 4 days since that has happened.

So, here's what I'm doing in Denver.

1. Taking some time off of my 2700 mile drive home, the first 1000 miles of which looked something like this (why yes, I am drinking iced coffee out of a pink sparkly Las Vegas travel mug). Don't worry, I was parked when I took this picture.

2. Getting a pedicure while drinking 1/2 priced wine. Best Thursday evening activity ever. At least, I think it will be. It hasn't happened yet...as it is not yet Thursday evening.

3. Touring the Celestial Tea Factory, and wondering why you'd give away free tours of your factory if you're so concerned about spies that no photos are allowed inside. If you're concerned about spies - don't give out free tours. Am I right?

4. Marveling over how stylish I look in a hair net at the tea factory.

5. Baking the same cake Ellen Degeneres and Portia DeRossi eat, from Vegan Cooking for Carnivores, by Roberto Martin (Ellen and Portia's chef). Then eating cake for lunch.

6. Watching the entire series of Arrested Development (for the 15th time or so) in Amanda's living room while she's at work. While searching for jobs online, of course.

7. Taking life advice from the mother of a 10 year old while lounging in the hot tub at 9:30pm. Hearing about how terrifying it is to have a pre-teen in days where kids are becoming sexually active at incredibly young ages. Making plans to bring wine the next time I visit the public pool/hot tub in Amanda's apartment complex.

8. Making friends with Sparkly people.

9. Exercising at high-altitudes (mile high city!) in Amanda's zumba class so that exercising feels incredibly easy when I don't want to pass out at over 5,000 feet altitude. Seriously, high altitudes kick my ass.

10. Waiting for Amanda to be off work for the weekend for some quality friend time!

Happy Thursday!

Arches, hippie food, and 549 miles

2012-06-17T23:15:00.001-04:00

Yesterday, I drove from Salina to Arches National Park. Proof that I was there:

The park was gorgeous. See my facebook album with dozens of poor quality photos. After completing a 2 mile hike in 93 degree weather, I approached my car and overheard what I thought was a gay male couple speaking in French. Then, I overheard one of the men tell the others that I was pretty - an awesome compliment to hear as the beads of sweat dripped down my back.

Then I headed over to the Peace Tree Juice Cafe (did I mention when I planned this trip, my first step was googling "Hippie Towns USA"??) for a tasty hummus wrap and Desert Nectar smoothie. Next time you're in Moab - stop there for some deliciousness (and if my hippie vegan tendencies in food don't appeal to you, never fear, they have animal products too).

It's a wonder I made it over 500 miles yesterday considering I felt compelled to stop every 20 miles or so for photo ops. Utah is freaking beautiful.

It is ALSO a wonder I made it to Denver; as I drove through the mountains in Colorado while my car refused to venture over 50 miles (when the speed limit was 65 to 75 mph the entire way) an hour up the steep grade, I patted it on the dash chanting "I think you can I think you can I think you can."

Luckily, my car agreed with me and she did in fact, make it over the hill.

In Denver for a fun filled week with my friend Amanda, then 1689 miles to go!

Sand Angels

2012-06-17T00:26:00.000-04:00

My last week in LA looked a little something like this (and my previous post on Pride):

Yes, that is me laying face down in the sand, making upside down "sand angels." After saying important goodbyes to the beach and to lots of awesome people, I headed out yesterday for my first leg of the trip.

I drove 539 miles - from Claremont, CA to Salina, UT. I planned to write this post last night upon arrival at my hotel, but on my drive I decided it would be a good idea to write my blog post from the perspective of my car. Yes that's right, I thought it was a good idea...to write as if I were my own car speaking. Luckily, I realized this was a sign that I needed sleep so I held off on writing until today (which means today's post will ALSO be a day late).

Highlights:

I saw an old guy shimmy face down under a barbed wire fence in Nevada. Do not ask me what he was doing there, I don't know (littering, I think). I literally just watched him once he was somehow already inside the fence contemplate how he would get out and lay down on his stomach and inched his way underneath. He is a fool.

I resisted the temptation to stop in Vegas and live there while trying to make it as a professional poker player. I saw an affordable rate advertised on weekly studio apartments from the highway, and after mentally calculating how long I could afford to live there with my current checking and savings accounts, spent about 10 minutes talking myself out of giving up on my cross-country drive, renting a room for a week, and gambling to make money. All good plans obviously start with gambling to make income.

If I were writing this post when I was supposed to, I'd say that I'm waking up early to head to Arches National Park, then Moab, Utah, then Denver, Colorado to visit Amanda for the week! However, I am a cheater and am already in Colorado. Pictures from adventures today in Utah shall be posted tomorrow!

Commencement regalia is ugly and stupid

2012-06-13T03:55:00.002-04:00

In 2 days, I will finish my last day of work at Pitzer, hop in my car, and begin my trek across the country. Naturally, it is therefore important that I stop to reflect on something (insetad of packing and being productive). Something contraversial that you've all been waiting for me to address.

The topic: commencement regalia.
My opinion: it's stupid.

Tonight while packing, I took every single item out of my closet except for my master's graduation gown, hood, and cap. In effort to not be a hoarder, I debated throwing it out or donating it. But it's hard to get rid of a probably... $150 purchase, despite the fact that it's not flattering. On anyone. Ever. The proof is below. I look like a fool. I'd look MORE foolish if I didn't take this picture on a 5.1 megapixel camera I bought for $29.99 at Target.

First I must say that I LOVE graduation ceremonies. I love them. It makes no sense. I'm not a ceremonial type of person, I don't generally like any other type of ceremonies, and it's rather illogical that the one that's my favorite involves everyone dressing like they're in some sort of Harry Potter wannabe ugly-hat cult. But I still love them.

Yet, here I am, with $150 worth of commencement regalia, quite possibly on the cheap side of Master's ceremony graduation garb, and I'm pissed off that I have absolutely no use for it, but can't bear to part with it because of the amount of money I spent on it. Any Ohio State HESA grads of the class of 2011 remember the hostile string of reply-all email debates between faculty and graduate school staff as to whether we should wear white or blue hoods to graduation? Does it matter now? No, because you still got your degree. And whichever color hood you bought, you looked like a dumbass at graduation.

So, I've decided graduates should be able to wear whatever they want to graduation ceremonies from now on. Making people buy expensive ugly commencement costumes may have some sort of traditional.symbolic significance I didn't bother to look up before forming my opinion, but whatever it is, I bet it's a classist expression of how important educated folk think we are in society (the more special you are with the higher degree you have, the uglier, more expensive costume you get to buy).

On a commencement related note, watch this commencement speech. Because it is the best graduation speech ever.

Pridefulness.

2012-06-11T03:19:00.000-04:00

I spent my last weekend in LA enjoying Pride festivities and hanging with awesome Trevor Project staff and volunteers. It was a good decision.

First, it's much better to march in the pride parade than to find a spot to watch it from the street when you're 5 feet tall. Short people can't see ANYTHING at standing events. However, it's easier for us to sneakily take stalker pictures of Chaz Bono, because we're less noticeable.

<--Chaz in his super secret VIP tent. Sort of. I guess not that secret.

Secondly, rainbows and glitter and sparkles and stuff.

I need this car. It's... a disco ball on wheels. The ONLY thing that could make it better is if it were rainbow colors.

Finally (but most importantly), nothing can compare to walking with an amazing organization full of caring people in a parade while mayyyybe 5 or 7 anti-gay protestors hold up signs and shout homophobic things and your co-volunteers and friends keep waving, smiling, and saying things like "We love you," refusing to be brought down by ignorance or anti-gay rhetoric. Seriously good people. I've learned so much from them.
I experienced 2 seconds of anger today when I saw these protestors (what are you protesting exactly...other people's existence???) targeting the Pride Parade - um, yeah, this event is a lost battle for you, sorry. But it is virtually impossible to see a handful of naysayers shouting silly things to people on the streets - then look around and see tens of thousands of lovely Los Angeles LGBT people and allies - and not feel your anger being erased. You know I like to criticize (yet...you love me anyway!) but in all optimistic seriousness, it was incredible today to see an incomprehensibly large crowd of people be out, and be allies, and be accepting and loving of everyone - so drastically outweight a handful of people that sadly haven't learned love yet.
It made me - well - PROUD.

Roadtrip preparation: T minus 9 days

2012-06-07T00:50:00.001-04:00

Today I decided to buckle down and start packing up my apartment and planning my roadtrip. Here's what I accomplished:

1. Realized I left my (broken) camera at my parent's house in Maryland, and that I'd need a camera to document my trip. Contemplated an old-school disposable camera, but decided I couldn't wait to get film developed because I need to be able to post pictures on my blog daily (ish). Went to target in search of a cheap digital camera (read: low megapixel digital cameras meant for children). Barely resisted buying an AWESOME $40 Crayola camera in favor of a $30, 5.1 megapixel Vivitar camera.

2. Decided I needed a packing snack, so stopped at the grocery store to buy Kale and came home to dehydrate some kale chips. Took a really creepy picture of me eating kale to test out my new camera. Mediocre at best, but well worth the $30 (actuallllly about $27 after discovering a Santa Claus target gift card with just over 3 dollars left on it...presumably, from Christmas).

3. Stopped at 7-11 to redeem a free lottery ticket, that I won on another lottery ticket in December, that I got at my boss' boss holiday party. Contemplated waiting to scratch off my new lottery ticket, then heard Gwen Stefani's "What you waiting for" on the radio and realized for first time that she repeatedly sings "Take a chance you stupid ho." Yelled back at the radio, 'I'm not a ho!' but still took it as a sign to immediately scratch off my lottery ticket.

4. Got depressed at my losing lottery ticket and remembered I could sing less insulting Gwen Stefani songs on my karaoke machine at home. Immediately went home to sing karaoke and cheer myself up.

5. Threw a bunch of stuff on my apartment floor to begin organizing and packing, but realized I was too tired from karaoke. Reasoned that I accomplished alot for the day and gave up to sit on my couch and watch Modern Family reruns.

Yep. I'm productive.

Road trip 2012

2012-06-06T02:12:00.000-04:00

Despite my blog title starting with 'adventures,' I've been thinking lately that I rarely write about... adventures. It's more my soapbox to discuss politics, ideas, and criticize people for not doing things my way (yeah, I can admit that. It's not easy always being right. I think I get it from my mom).

So, in anticipating of my big road trip home (you know, the one where I quit my job and decided to drive across the country to move back into my parents' house, unemployed and not sure what I want to do next) I've decided that I should obviously blog about it.

The goal: an extended roadtrip on the cheap - consistently documented in my blog (as you may know, I have issues with writing consistently...). While I COULD do the 42 hour drive in 4 10.5-hour days of driving (or 3 14-hour days, or 5 8.4-hour days), the obvious choice is to extend my "vacation" as long as possible and delay the realities of unemployment, extending my drive into a 2 week long extravaganza in which I explore hidden middle USA hippie towns and forage for vegan food at gas stations.

Because I want to be a role model for the kids, I will document everything - how to fundraise for a roadtrip you can't afford, how to survive cheaply, and um...any sort of adventures I can scrounge up along the way. It has just occurred to me I'm not actually very adventures. But I'm gonna give it a try. Please read my blog. I'm one week and 3 days away from unemployment, and it'll help my self-esteem to hear your validating comments (even if you don't mean them).

Love,
Stephanie

Why I don't care that Obama supports same-sex marriage

2012-05-10T03:50:00.000-04:00

Alright that title's a bit misleading. I care. And I'm glad he supports it. Finally.

But can those of us who support same-sex marriage please not forget how long it took him to decide to be assertive on the issue - to do the right thing? Yes, yes I know you all want to celebrate this historical moment and it needed to happen. But when I look back on this historical moment, I'm not going to forget all the history that led up to it. The fact that Obama supported same-sex marriage in earlier days as a politician are not an indication that his views have been 'evolving' on same-sex marriage.    We know his consideration of same-sex marriage is about votes and electability - please don't be deluded into thinking otherwise.

And yes, I know, electability is an important thing for a politician to consider - if you're not re-elected, you can't make some of the changes you want to make and blah blah blah.   But am I the only one who feels insulted that it is only NOW important enough for him to stand behind an issue that he likely has supported personally for decades? Now that the Vice President made some pro-equality comments that made Obama look ass backwards.   Thanks for finally making the decision to be an ally to the queer community on the issue of marriage - we appreciate your time and consideration. I hope you've enjoyed your nearly 20 year marriage in the meantime.

In a position as influential as say, President of our country, are we really willing to dismiss the fact he ignored and avoided this issue for years, when he likely has been quietly on the side of same-sex marriage for a long time? I guess it's an easy issue to avoid when you know your wife could make decisions if you were hospitalized and vice versa. It's not an easy issue to avoid for many.

Think of all the horror stories you've heard about same-sex couples being denied rights over one another - the partners who couldn't attend funerals because the partner's family wouldn't allow it. The partners who couldn't make decisions on behalf of a loved one in the hospital. The partners who lost the children they raised with the biological parent - because once s/he dies, partner has no legal guardianship over the children. Obama speaking out for same sex marriage today does NOT erase the fact that he could have - um, SHOULD have - pushed for progress sooner.

Am I glad Obama finally found his integrity and spoke what needed to be said? Of course.   I don't know if pro same-sex marriage or anti same-sex marriage voters will rally harder - I don't know if this will affect his electability this fall. But I assure you he's thought long and hard on that consideration.

Please don't accept "Ok, now I support same-sex marriage" as repentence for his years of apathy and avoiding the subject when he damn well knows better. I'm not saying that it isn't a good thing that Obama spoke out in support of same-sex marriage, of course it is. But as a leader, as a President, as a person who claims to be an ally to queer communities - I think he deserves a little criticism here - not just the enthusiastic pride and excitement from queer communities and allies that I've seen throughout the day. Let's celebrate when action is taken. I'm not giving anyone a cookie for making the sensical statement that, hmm, maybe equality and civil rights are a good thing.

Is freedom free?

2011-01-29T12:57:00.003-05:00

So I've been pretty closely following the uprising in Egypt the last couple of days. It may not surprise you that I love a good protest and power to the people and all that - though I worry about what will happen and particularly about more people getting hurt or killed.

Today I was watching a news story about some Egyptians using social media to organize. Though they can't currently get online and cell phone service is shut off, apparently cell service has been working intermittently and some people can use apps to access social media. It's hard to not feel stupid using facebook to announce my annoyance with classes or my excitement to see a friend when people in Egypt are using it to organize resistance to the government.

Last night I was out with some friends, listening to a cover band at a local bar. We all had a good time, but the one song I couldn't make myself dance to was Superman that Ho. I support the Egyptian people in their quest for free speech and all, but some of the assanine shit that people come up with in the US thanks to our free speech just astounds me. At some point it occurred to me that the dance floor was crowded with 20-somethings lewdly dancing to a song that frankly is not so covert in its message about subjecting women to the sexual dominance of men while thousands of miles away, Egyptians are sneaking onto facebook and twitter to build solidarity and support in their movement for a better country and government.

"Do you think our lives are trivial?" I asked Jenn
"Yes." She responded immediately.

I'm feeling a little torn on the issue of free speech because I've heard too many people rationalizing sexism or blatantly singing about the sexual objectification and domination of women to be able to detach myself from it this week. I think usually it's so easy for all of us to become desensitized to inequitable power dynamics that are so much a part of our every day lives, but sometimes, it's just all you can see. And do I think people should have the freedom to perpetuate messages that are racist, sexist, homophobic, and so on? I guess, because if they couldn't then the rest of us couldn't spread our messages opposing white capitalist patriarchy (thanks for that language, bell hooks).

People in Egypt are using their freedom to speak out against the government, calling for combatting poverty and joblessness, as well as demanding rights to free speech and access to methods of communication. And what are we doing? Using our free speech to Superman that Ho.

Custom made vinyl pants

2011-01-17T18:03:00.000-05:00

The only way I can keep a straight face right now is by documenting this, so that I am distracted with a task that does not involve laughing at/with the conversation I'm overhearing right now. Ok, overhearing might be less accurate than eavesdropping on, as I have headphones in and am listening to nothing to make it look like I am not eavesdropping.

"Have you met Molly?"
"I think so. Was she at the flogging thing?"
"When was that - right before Christmas?"
"No, no, the flogging party was right after Christmas."

I have gathered that the people sitting at the table next to me in the coffeeshop are swingers, or some other label one might use to describe people who are sexually open and attend various types of fetish and sex parties.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not judging. In fact, I kind of admire their ability to meet up at a coffeeshop and discuss their sexcapades, fetishes, and comfort levels with different sexual practices in not so hushed tones.

I've gathered so far that the man next to me is comfortable with topping, and that the woman admires vinyl pants - which are sexier and more comfortable than leather. I've also gathered that both of them are impressed with someone's penis, which "was a big hit" at a recent party. I think the nice penis belonged to the person who wore custom-made vinyl pants, but I can't be sure. It's all I can do right now to not actually pick up my chair and move a little closer, or to start asking them personal questions about their sex lives - which I find much more interesting than writing a case study for class. It's not every day I get to hear this sort of conversation in a coffee shop, and I'm finding it much more entertaining than the racist situation I witnessed earlier (see http://safaristeph.tumblr.com/). I haven't heard talks this good since I worked for a fairly radical nonprofit that worked to affirm sexual freedom. So - I guess it's refreshing that these people feel safe enough to have this sort of conversation in a public space.

I'm as cuddly as a cactus

2010-12-25T01:09:00.005-05:00

Confession: I don't like Christmas. It's my least favorite holiday, not just because I have a grinch-like personality, but also because 1. I'm not Christian so I don't see why I'm supposed to celebrate it   2. I hate excessive American consumerism and 3. all it means for me personally is running around to 3-4 different houses in one day to fulfill familial obligations, and I firmly believe that holidays should be relaxing.

So, I was slightly annoyed when I had to wait 4 hours to use my kitchen this evening because it was filled with older women bickering with each other over the proper way to mash potatoes (by hand, with a masher, or with an electric mixer). I had lots of vegan cooking to do if I wanted to have fancy food to eat for Christmas (and, while I'm not a huge fan of Xmas, I am a fan of vegan feasts, and I'm definitely NOT a fan of watching other people gorge on animal products while I have nothing tasty to eat). I began prepping my food in the kitchen only to get all but kicked out, because it's tricky to cook when literally every single kitchen utensil is commandeered by one of two crazy old ladies..... even though I started cooking first.

I found myself up until 1am finishing my tasty vegan menu (traveling to 3 different places to celebrate Xmas leaves me little time to actually cook on Xmas day).   On my 4th glass of wine, I realized that cooking was getting more and more challenging, but in the end I hope it'll be worth it.

The menu:

Cinnamon rolls (for xmas morning)
Butternut squash and apple soup
Cashew nut roast with sage and onion stuffing
Quinoa salad with tomatoes, basil, and chickpeas
Pumpkin chocolate chip cookies

I think my Mom may also prepare one batch of green beans with margarine instead of butter, so I can eat them. She's so flexible and concerned that I have something to eat (for those of you who need the clarification, yes that was sarcastic).   I love her anyway though.

The items I picked to make were somewhat laborious, and definitely pricey.   In fact, my check-card was declined at Safeway this afternoon when I spent over $100 on groceries, and I stood at the check out line feeling embarrassed that I had no other way to pay.   Before I left for the grocery store, I had logged into my bank account online and intended to transfer money from savings to checking, knowing I'd be spending alot of money on dishes that required a plethora of ingredients.

I stood at the register, insisting to the cashier that this made no sense; it obviously wasn't her fault but we needed to call my bank or something.

"I just checked my bank account before coming here. In fact I transferred money into my account just in case!"

I had the pleasure of calling my mom and asking her to come to the grocery store and pay my $70 grocery bill (I paid the first 30 in cash), and her thinking I was a moron for not managing my money well.

Shortly after calling her, I realized I have a somewhat smart-phone, and logged in to check my bank account online.   I quickly realized the problem; my absent-minded self transferred money from checking to savings instead of the other way around, leaving a mere $20 in my checking account.   I fixed the problem almost instantly (yay, internet!), explained to the manager that I'm a moron, and he laughed, allowed me to pay my bill and take my food and leave. Undoubtedly his impression of me went from deadbeat to ditzy spoiled moron in 2 seconds flat. I'm actually not sure which impression I'd prefer people have of me, though I was glad to have my overpriced goods.

For my first vegan Christmas, I feel a decent amount of pressure to show my relatives that being vegan doesn't mean I don't eat, and in fact I eat alot of tasty dishes.   How does Christmas become about dispelling myths about veganism instead of Jesus, loved ones, and Santa?

Easy. I'm a heathen.

Before you finish reading this post with the impression that I'm a grinch with a heart 3 sizes too small (or is it 2 sizes...?), tonight I helped my sisters type up letters to Santa.

My 11 year old sister (yes, she still believes in Santa) typed a letter essentially saying "Dear Santa, Thanks for stopping by, but we have alot of relatives and alot of gifts here already, I don't think we need much more. Enjoy the cookies!" I teared up (yes, literally) at her selflessness, though I remembered shortly after that she's manipulative and it could all be a ploy to get Santa, admiring her lack of greed, to leave her MORE stuff.

My 8 year old sister left a slightly bossier note, one that I typed up for her and debated whether to point out to her that it was rude (I didn't).

"Dear Santa,

I hope you traveled safe.   I just wanted to let you know that Stephanie's old stocking is now MY stocking, because Mom said that Stephanie doesn't need presents from Santa any more because she's grown.   And Stephanie's old stocking matches Rachel's better than my old stocking, so I'm taking Stephanie's. You might not know it, but last year you kind of messed up and switched Rachel and Stephanie's stockings. Make sure you put Rachel's gifts in the Moose stocking and mine in the Teddy Bear stocking. Also, I hope you brought me what I wanted..... a dress.

Your friend,
Jordan"

Children's notes to Santa make my heart grow at least 1 size. I'm slightly less grinchy now.

Ways to feel like a terrible person: #1 - Sick your dog on the housekeeper

2010-12-23T14:15:00.001-05:00

My family dog, Ubu, is a playful lab that pretends to be super protective. He growls when anyone nears an entrance of our house, and as soon as someone actually walks in the door, quickly begins wagging his tail in hopes of getting some attention and love.

Because of his fierce attitude when potential bad guys are at a distance, but his enthusiasm and friendliness when anyone actually gets near him, my family and I play a game with Ubu when anyone knocks on the door.

"Get the bad guys Ubu! Get the bad guys!" We rile him up, to see how much we can get him to growl and bark at the door, and whether it might actually scare the person outside, who is always someone that we know.

Last night my mom told me to make sure to pick all my stuff up off the floor in the morning, so that Dala the housekeeper could vacuum. After doing this, I immediately forget that Dala is coming, sit on the couch drinking my coffee, and when I hear a car pull up in the driveway, begin instructing Ubu "get the bad guys!!"

Assuming it was my mom walking in from running some errands, I continue to get Ubu all worked up when I hear the door open and someone step inside.

"Get her! Is it a bad guy Ubu? Get her!!"

To my surprise, Ubu continues growling, though by this point from where he's sitting, he should be able to see my mother and be jumping all over her and giving her kisses.

A woman starts muttering quickly and fearfully in a language I don't understand, and I get up off the couch and walk near the door to see the woman that must be Dala.

"Oh my god -I'm sorry! It's just a game.. I thought you were someone else!! I'm so sorry!! Ubu, sit!" I try to apologize and keep the dog away from her.

Dala walked past me without saying a word, and to be fair I'd be kind of pissed too if I walked in to be underpaid to clean someone's house and they sent their dog over to attack me.

The inner workings of Stephanie's brain

2010-12-23T13:59:00.004-05:00

People often ask me, or I can tell from the puzzled looks on their faces that they're wondering, What goes on in your head?

To partially answer this question, I've provided snippets of interactions I've had recently that prompted me to retreat into my own brain and ponder things.

Tonight my step-dad showed me a car he was looking at online, one that I pointed out cost more than my college education.

"Well... it's 400 horsepower."
"Did you just compare the value of this car to the value of my college education?"
"Yep...I mean not just any car. This one is 400 horsepower."

I wonder what "horsepower" even means, as it's a word I've never cared enough to think about before tonight. Does this mean a car with 400 horsepower has the capacity to move at 400 times the speed of a horse? That it would take the strength of 400 horses to move this car? I decide no on the second theory, as people often have to push dying cars to the side of the road and usually don't have 400 horses to help them accomplish this. It must be the first theory, I decide. If I google it and get a boring answer that doesn't support my theory, I'll be disappointed, so I've decided not to.

In making some cooking plans, I started to google a question, to the effect of Is such and such brand of something or other vegan.

After typing the word "is," I see that google has already generated a list of questions I might intend to type.

Is facebook down?
Is Beyonce pregnant?
Is Lady Gaga a man?
Is Mariah Carey pregnant?

I tried to imagine caring about the answers to any of those questions, except of course the facebook one. I immediately checked to see whether I could log into facebook, and with a sigh of relief when I successfully did, I closed out the site anyway and returned to cooking plans.

I became a big fat introvert when some distant relatives came to stay for the holidays. One of them, a woman who commented on how I'm such an adult since she last saw me, (I'm not convinced we've actually ever met before today) prides herself on seeing how many consecutive sentences she can utter before having to stop for a breath. While I know I am occasionally guilty of doing this myself (my record is 2.7 minutes without having to breathe), when others do it I sort of want to crawl into a hole and die.

So when my grandma (no, not the Mormon one) asked if I wanted a glass of wine at 4pm, I replied "Yes, please!!" and sipped a smooth red wine (one that's likely far out of my price range when my family isn't footing the bill) while mentally drowning out her ramble about democrats ruining the world. I fantasized about a future holiday spent with an unknown future significant other and their well-adjusted, gay-friendly, anti-racist family - who perhaps also start drinking delicious wine at 4pm.

This evening I was accused by my grandma of not following my vegan diet when I used chocolate chips to make cookies.

"Milk is just something the Europeans put in our chocolate to water it down for us and keep the good stuff for themselves," I explained, "like the English did when they sent us beer."
"Is that true?" she asked.
"Basically. I mean... pretty much.These are semi-sweet chocolate chips. They have cocoa and sugar... but they're not processed with milk. You just have to know the right brands to buy."

A quick taste-test passed my chocolate-addicted grandmother's test, and I wonder how it is that a chocolate fiend like her never realized that milk chocolate ISN'T the good stuff, and if any of the stuff I just claimed had any partial truth to it.

My eavesdropping step-father looked at his beer, undoubtedly pondering whether he should head to England for a better pint.

Behave children... Or Santa will curse you.

2010-12-22T00:51:00.003-05:00

Santa (this dude on the left, if you're unfamiliar) recently asked me to help him with a Christmas project for my sister, Rachel. He plans to hide her main present in a certain room of my house, and asked me to create a scavenger hunt in different rooms of the house, ending with her gift.

Today I wrote up five clues to be attached to Candy Canes, the first of which she'll find in her stocking, the last of which will lead her to her new bike.

The second candy cane she finds will have this note attached:

Congratulations! You're well on your way,
I want you to work for this gift I brought on my sleigh,
Here's another clue to help in your looking
You'll find it in the room where your Mom does the cooking.

The scavenger hunt continues, and even includes a fake-out, in which Rachel will receive one clue that says her gift is in the basement, but then will arrive in the basement to find a note:

Ha! I got you… you thought your gift was down here!
Santa has a sense of humor, my dear

Eventually, Rachel will get to her bike. I decided there needed to be a final note on the bike - to bring closure to the scavenger hunt. My writer's block kicked in after the first five verses, and I struggled to find appropriate rhymes for the last one.

Hoping for some helpful feedback from my friend Amanda, I sent her this:

I hope you're excited, you've found it at last!
Be careful not to drive it too fast,
Always wear a helmet - safety first
Merry Christmas dear Rachel, I hope it's not cursed!

I then proceeded to laugh about the word "cursed" (which I obviously did not intend to use in the real poem, but I had to entertain myself through my writer's block) for several minutes. I tried to find alternatives, interjecting the word fun into my poem, but my useless rhyming dictionary only suggested that I rhyme "fun" with "Satan."

In fact, I frequently use Satan in my methods of achieving fun: my mom has decorative letters she puts out every Christmas that spell out Santa, and I tend to make a game of re-arranging them to spell "Satan" and waiting to see how long it takes her to notice. She gets really mad.

When I told Amanda how hilarious I found my "cursed" poem, she suggested that perhaps I need more sleep. I pointed out that between 12pm yesterday and 12pm today, I slept for 18 hours (don't judge me for my gluttonous sleep habits, blame the surgery and the meds).

In my well-rested state and with a clear mind, I've decided to become a writer of children's books.

First titles to include "Fun with Satan," and "Behave, or Santa Will Curse You."

I have the break-up skills of a 14 year old

2010-12-19T23:16:00.002-05:00

I recently signed up for a netflix account, mostly so that I could stay up until 4am every night watching 24. But last night I needed a break from the addiction, and instead opted for a Swedish film about teen lesbians (no, not porn).

I read the subtitles as popular, attractive Elin struggled with her sexuality as she fell for Agnes, a nerdy socially rejected lesbian at her school. After the two made out, Elin freaked out and started dating Johan, a boy who had been relentlessly pursuing her.

One day, Elin was hanging out with Johan in her living room. She retreated to her bedroom, closed the door, and called him on his cell phone.

"I don't want to see you any more. You can leave." She said (though not in English).

The next day, Elin called Johan again.

"I'm sorry... but I'm in love with someone else."

Wait... did this girl really dump him via phone from the next room, then call him the next day to dump him again and mention that she was in love with someone else? Elin is a little harsh.

Still, I couldn't help but think that I'm not any more gifted when it comes to rejecting people. Perhaps it's because my first boyfriend (in 8th grade) dumped me in a letter, and I subconsciously desire to achieve such horrendous ways of breaking up with people. Or maybe it's because I lack general social skills, I don't know. I feel badly about the ways that I've ended things with some people; I've never been mean to someone out of malice, but I'm sure my lack of willingness to be forward and blunt has come across as bitchy in the past.

It's cool though. I know my strengths and weaknesses, and while I may not be a good breaker-upper, I am good at watching hot Swedish lesbians break the hearts of straight teenage boys.

Never trust children

2010-12-18T18:54:00.001-05:00

I've been wearing one of my step-dad's tee shirts for the last two days, from a 2001 "Pig Roast" my entire immediate family attended... except for my youngest sister, who was not yet born.

My family finds it ironic that the vegan is the one walking around in a Pig Roast tee shirt, and I have to agree, but it's the most comfortable baggy tee-shirt I've been able to locate after my surgery.

As a child I was dragged to these annual pig roast events; I never had much interest in them as a vegetarian and just generally as someone who thinks seeing a dead pig is disgusting.   But the host of these parties made them family-friendly events (if you consider watching a pig spin like a rotisserie chicken in a large bonfire kid-friendly), and went out of his way to make it a fun shindig. There were moon bounces, games, lots of other food, and one year - a dunk tank.

The 2001 Pig Roast - the shirt which I'm currently wearing - was the year that I volunteered to be in the dunk tank for a few hours.   As a 14 or 15 year old, I constantly bitched about any event my parents dragged me to, and the whining was particularly bad if it involved watching an animal roast with an apple in its mouth. I suspect that asking me to sit in the dunk tank was a way to curtail the whining a little; if I was under water, no one could hear me complain, plus I was far enough away from the pig bonfire that I wasn't quite as grossed out as usual.

As the product of my mother's first marriage, I have always been signficantly older than the kids of my parents' friends.   Family/friend events growing up were not so much entertaining for me, as they were an opportunity for people to use me as a free babysitter.   I sat in the dunk tank on a chilly Saturday in October, as a bunch of kids under the age of 10 skipped the part where they were supposed to throw a ball and see if they could knock me in, in favor of just running up and pushing the button so that I'd fall into the water every time I had barely even taken a seat inside the dunk tank.

I considered this an easy baby-sitting job, as the children were all uninterested in leaving the area around the dunk tank, and while it was exhausting to constantly fall and have to climb back up on the bench, at least I didn't have to chase children around the large backyard. Rachel, my middle sister, was 3 at the time, and already learning how to torment her big sister. She was perhaps the worst perpetrator of "cheating" at dunking me.

Today the tables turned a little; as my mom left to run some errands she yelled as she walked out the door
"Rachel! Watch your big sister! Make sure she walks around."

Engaged in an intense game of battleship with me, my sister mutters "Sure," then refocuses on sinking my submarine (she won, but only because once again, she cheated).   Positive that my sister would forget by the time we finished our game, I ignored the fact that my mom told my 11 year old sister to babysit me. Mom and I have had a debate over the last several days as to whether I've been walking enough (as this activity is supposed to prevent me getting blod clots), and I guess she trusts Rachel to manipulate me into walking.

Understandable, as yesterday she successfully manipulated me into going for a walk around the house.

"Steph, come here I have to show you something!" Rachel called me up to her room, and I dragged myself off the couch after she refused to tell me what she wanted to show me, as I have a weakness for mystery.

I get into Rachel's room, and she exclaimed "Oh, I think it's in Jordan's room." We walked over to our other sister's room together.

By the third room she dragged me to, I realized there was in fact nothing to show me and that she was manipulating me into going for a walk against my will.

Normally, this is the point where I would tackle and tickle her, or pick her up and hold her upside down, but that seemed unwise given my stitches and the fact that I'm not supposed to lift more than 5 pounds.

For now, I just have to accept that my 11 year old sister is good at manipulating me, and good at cheating. I'd like to say she learned from the best... but I think she's better than me.

People can't drive

2010-12-18T00:09:00.000-05:00

Last night one of my closest friends got in a car accident on her way to visit me, while I was on the phone with her.

I heard a loud banging noise, then the phone drop, Amanda exclaiming "crap!" and at some point picking up the phone to tell me she was in an accident and would call me back. She texted me later to let me know that she had her parents come pick her up, and I was relieved to know that she was okay. As was pointed out to me earlier today, "cars are replaceable, Amandas are not."

My mom came into my room this morning and woke me up, having seen Amanda's facebook status about air bags and texted her (yes, my mom has both a facebook and texting relationship with MY complicated facebook lover), telling me:

"She's okay.... don't freak out.... but Amanda was in an accident last night."
"Yea I know."
"You know? How do you know?"
"She was on her way over here last night."
"Oh so it's your fault?"
"Thanks Mom, I didn't feel guilty enough as it is."
"So you talked to her last night after it happened?"
"Not exactly..."
"Oh my god! You were on the phone with her!"
"Yea..."
"So... it's actually your fault! I can't believe you called her while you knew she was driving!"

Eventually, I convinced my mom that I had called Amanda to ask her to make a quick stop on the way to my house, NOT to conspire with the jackass who parked his car, lights off at midnight, in the MIDDLE OF THE HIGHWAY (yeah, I imagine that would've been a hard accident to avoid regardless of whether she was on her phone).

I learned three things from this incident:

1. Amandas (and other friends) are irreplaceable. They should not get into car accidents.
2. Blaming people is annoying. Unless they're parked in the middle of a highway, in which case they're idiots who deserve to be blamed for stuff.
3. Amanda should get a job in Annapolis, so she doesn't even have to get on the highway to come over to my house and hang out.

I like sparkles

2010-12-17T03:07:00.002-05:00

In no way did I expect to get pre or post-op gifts, but I've gotten a handful, though the most interesting one came today.

My boss gave me a book a couple weeks ago, one that she found particularly inspirational and suggested I read it while recovering and bored. My step-mom and Carolyn both gave me Victoria's Secret gift cards for the bra shopping I'll need to do soon, and Carolyn also gave me a delicious jar of homemade jam that serves as a great Percocet chaser.

Today Emily came to visit me, bearing a small gift bag with a bottle of body glitter inside.

Now, we all know I have an affinity for shiny, sparkly things.   Emily admitted that she found this in her room, and had purchased it who knows when for someone else, but found it and thought I'd like it.    She was right.

What I found most entertaining was Emily's comment shortly after I opened the package with glitter.

"I think it's edible, too!" Emily then took the body glitter from me and read the package to confirm that it indeed, is edible.

Edible body glitter is pretty awesome. Now, perhaps it doesn't have the most utility in comparison to Victoria's secret gift cards or Jam, but it is indeed the most creative gift related to... things I could do with my body after surgery. Am I to have someone lick it off my new, perkier boobs?   Lick it off someone else? Decorate my home-made jam with it? Dip my percocet in it? The possibilities are endless.

I haven't decided yet. But I do know... that Emily is awesome.

In other news, today my mom gave me medicine that expired 5 years ago, AND I showered for the first time since Sunday.   I feel both sick to my stomach, and really clean.

My surgery wasn't vegan.

2010-12-15T12:15:00.001-05:00

Two days ago, in case you missed my continual facebook updates and people's comments about "the girls," I had breast reduction surgery.   I walked into the "pre-op" room, where I was instructed to change into a gown, anti-embolism stockings, cozy slipper socks, and... extremely ugly, baggy, "surgery panties," which were G-string style.   G strings... are not necessarily sexy. The good news is I never soiled them.
Terrified that the anesthesia wouldn't work on me and I'd be awake through surgery, Grey's Anatomy style, I spoke with the anesthesiologist before my operation, who asked a series of questions about what I am allergic to, to make sure she didn't poison me to death.

"Are you allergic to eggs?" She asked.
"Um, no... but I don't consume them, I'm vegan," I responded.

Apparently egg lecithin can help prevent blod clots, which I suppose is a good thing. Obviously if I had said I was allergic to eggs (or that I refused medicine with eggs in it), the anesthesiologist would have given me some sort of alternative drug, as presumably even people who are allergic to eggs need surgery now and then. But, I allowed the anesthesiologist to give me the egg medicine, thinking it was probably ideal that I go with her first choice recommendation for anesthesia.

You know how in movies/tv, people always get to count backwards from 100 when they're being put to sleep for surgery? 100...99....98.... then they're out.

I didn't get to do that. And I have to say I'm a little disappointed, I wanted to see how long I could make it.

"Are you tired yet?" The anesthesiologist asked me as I laid flat on the table in my g-string surgery panties, underneath an ugly blanket.

"Um no... should I be? Don't operate yet!" Still have that episode of Grey's Anatomy on the brain.

"That's okay... sometimes it takes a few minutes."

The last thing I remember is the nurse, Connie, holding my hand while the anesthesiologist injected more drugs into my IV.

"So how long have you lived in Ohio?" Connie asked.

"I don't know... I'm not good at math." I guess that was my "counting backward," because the next thing I knew I was in a different room. Alone, and wrapped in some bandages.

I had three immediate reactions when I woke up from surgery:

1. Where the fuck am I? Was I in an accident... am I dying?
2. Oh sweet, my boobs are smaller! Joy. (There may have even been some happy tears).
3. Oh my god, I'm a terrible vegan.

Connie walked back into the recovery room a few seconds after I woke up, telling me that I did great while feeding me drugs.   She helped me get into a wheelchair, wheeled me out to my mom's car, where I professed my love for her.

"You're the best nurse ever... I love you. I know you think it's because I'm on drugs, but even before the drugs you were just the best. Seriously, you're amazing. Thanks for holding my hand." I told Connie.

On the way home, my mom had to assure me that I wasn't a terrible vegan.   It didn't mean a whole lot coming from her, as she thinks my veganism is stupid in the first place. I have since recovered from my vegan guilt, and accomplished the following:

1. Taken three days to write a blog post, because I got too sleepy to finish it each time I began writing.
2. Eaten 3/4 of a jar of jam all by myself.
3. Flashed Amanda my bandages and said "Say hello to these!"
4. Insisted that I could walk by myself, and been caught by my step-dad as I nearly fell to the ground.
5. Played "Snake" on facebook at least 300 times.

Once again, my percocet is kicking in, I'm losing my mental coherence, so I think it's quitting time for now.

Happy Percocet Week! I love percocet.

Say goodbye... to these.

2010-12-12T01:03:00.003-05:00

If you're an Arrested Development watcher (like you should be), you probably remember Kitty. Kitty is the secretary of the Bluth company, who at one point had an affair with George Bluth - who purchased her implants after she publicly flashed her breasts for a "Girls with low self-esteem" video, and embarrasingly, was cut out of the tape.

The next Spring break, armed (chested?) with larger knockers, Kitty finds a reason to flash someone practically every time she leaves a room, shouting "Say goodbye... to these!"

I wanted to share one of these clips on my blog, as the language and excitement that Kitty expresses are appropriate to my sentiments right now - though for an opposite type of change in my breasts. But of course, this is the only time in life that youtube has failed me in my search for an entertaining video.

Today, I haphazardly packed for my flight home to Maryland an hour before leaving for the airport. I threw 3 or 4 bras into my duffle bag, but quickly realized.... I don't need them. I have one more day of wearing my current bra size, and then my stash of practical bras and sexy lingerie will both become useless to me.

After picking me up at the airport, my mom asked whether I was ready/excited/nervous for my surgery on Monday. We talked about the importance of communicating with doctors and surgeons to be sure we're on the same page, and my mom referenced a news special where she learned the advice that if you get one of your limbs removed - and it's one you have two of -that you're supposed to write in sharpie on the one you want to keep "NOT THIS ONE." This way, if the surgeon misreads which limb s/he is supposed to remove, s/he will be reminded upon undressing you.

"So what am I supposed to write on my breasts? 'Please reduce the other one too'?" I asked her.

My mom just laughed, and agreed that I probably want them to end up somewhat symmetrical.

I briefly contemplated having a flash-a-thon (at Amanda's brilliant suggestion) the day before my surgery and shouting "Say goodbye to these!!" as Amanda escorted me into various public places. But, as I've agreed to babysit my sisters tomorrow and take them to a neighborhood Christmas party (perhaps the least I can do as my parents shelled out nearly 6 grand for my operation), I've opted not to engage in this activity. Though, as my parents are working on remodeling our basement and have not yet enclosed the two stripper-like poles that my 11 year old gymnast sister has realized are "fun to dance on", I think me flashing strangers would be the least of their parenting problems.

Still, I've decided that I've outgrown my flashing days, and too few people would get the reference if I ran around town asking people to "Say goodbye to these!"

Perhaps I'll just write it on my breasts Monday morning.