Odd Jobs

Well. Someone from my high school posted the sonogram for their second child on Facebook. And because I am still not in the mood for booze (hurrr) after this weekend (hurrr) and thinking about alcohol makes me dry heave (hurrrr) but I still need to drown my sorrows, I've found the next best thing: licking the Hint of Lime off Tostidos tortilla chips. It's helping.

Here's the thing: I'm not ready for a second child. I am not ready for a first child. Like, AT ALL. In fact, lately I've been having some near mental-breakdown issues where I completely doubt everything about the life I'm living. Well, really it's more about my job.

Basically what happens in my brain is this:

Bah, this one part of my job is the worst.
Well this sucks, I don't even like doing this.
Wait, am I going to have to do what I don't like forever?
Wait, am I going to get laid off if I don't do a good job at this thing I don't like?
Wait, why am I doing a job that I'm going to get laid off from when I'm 40 and then can't find something because I've become totally obsolete and I'll be forced to fold socks at Walmart for the rest of my life?!?!?!?!?

And that's when, as Jan Levenson says, I collapse in on myself like a dying star.

Basically this:


These are the times that I start considering my options. And, as I see it, I have four potential other jobs that I would be willing to seriously consider.


1. Puppeteer


Ya'll know my blood runs Muppet. But honestly, I could see myself making a job out of entertaining on stage with a puppet, Muppet-brand or otherwise. There's something in me that just HAS to talk to inanimate objects (cabinet doors, boxes of dry pasta, running water...) and give voiceless things voices. Every pet and baby I've come in contact with in the past 10 years has had a voice. Each with their own personality and timbre. Taxi finished every sentence with "you know, and stuff." Charlie craved attention. Wally has a 1930's gangster voice. Regina is the first one to continuously threaten to kill me. I really think I could make a puppet show based on my pets. And no, I have never written a more depressing sentence.

I'm so serious about this one, I started legitimately looking into Puppetry schools. There's one in Connecticut. Puppet fantasies AND Gilmore Girl fantasies all wrapped into one? Be still my little beating heart.

2. Kindergarten Teacher


And I know this goes against what I just said about not being ready for kids, but Kindergarten teaching is different than owning and operating your own mini human. I'm pretty sure everyone I say this to has laughed in my face, little specks of spittle flying every which way. But I'm serious. I am really good with 5 year olds. BUT REALLY good. I used to nanny two boys and I MAY have learned the name, number, color, size, and wheel quality of all the Thomas the Tank Engine characters.

The most attractive part of being a Kindergarten teacher, though, is that I'm pretty sure it's the exact opposite to being in Advertising. Instead of constantly trying to figure out how to weasel my products into the hearts and minds of people who could give a damn, I would be teaching children how to become better people. In fact, I wouldn't have to spend another single second pondering an ad. I could even try to IGNORE THEM. Also, I could wear vests with puffy paint on them. And who doesn't love the idea of that?


3. Junior High English Teacher


Honestly, I think I may be a glutton for punishment. But I really like the idea of this one. GONE are the days of kids who can't tell the difference between your and you're FOR I SHALL ATTACK THEM WITH THE NORTH if they ever forgot it.

Also, I remember my high school English classes as being one long string of teachers wailing "WHERE IS THE 'SO WHAT'?!" and we would wail back "WE DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU MEAN!" Do you guys remember that? Did ANYONE get it back then? I know Adrienne and I didn't, that's for damn sure. And it wasn't until I started reading books for pleasure again that I actually figured it out, all on my own. And I want to try and pass on that knowledge to the childrenz, before they even hit high school. Because yeah. I'm ambitious.

4. TV comedy writer.



This is my newest idea. It's an interesting one to me right now. It involves me getting to be raunchier and more authentic than I can be in Advertising, which I like. And I get to write long copy versus headlines, which I clearly like. And I could be funny. And successful. And write myself into a show with Future Husband John Krasinski, Amy Poehler and (what the hell) Aunt Meryl and Tom Hanks.


For now I'm sticking with Advertising. I mean, I DID almost sell an ad with a flying squirrel in it the other day, so the job does have its high points.

10 Reasons You Never Considered Why Cats Are Awesome

With the looming promise of getting my very own cat (I'm waiting until I feel financially stable again. Kitty's gotta get fed, son.) I've been thinking about what attracts me to those frisky felines.

Now, as I stated here when discussing the idea of going to Greece in order to experience CATS EVERYWHERE, I'm pro-fuzzy things. I like cats AND dogs. And chimps and chipmunks. Not so much horses, because they are mildly terrifying...but that's another story for another day.

What I'm saying is, I am not trying to convince anyone that cats are BETTER than dogs. I'm just saying, y'all have to learn to appreciate.

We've all heard the they're cleaner and easier to take care of mumbo jumbo. You know that. You can see that by looking at them. But if you've never taken the time to really get to know a cat, you wouldn't see those little things. And those, my friends make all the difference.

1) Their Meows sound like questions. Questions you can answer.
"Meow?" "I don't know. What do YOU think Mel Gibson will say next?"
"Meow?" "We might. Check the refrigerator."
"Meow?" "HOW DARE YOU, SIR. You know I'm sensitive about that."

2) There is nothing funny about a person sitting in the middle of an empty room. There is EVERYTHING funny about a cat sitting in the middle of an empty room.



3) They are cuddle-factories.
I think some people are anti-cat because they've really only experienced the kind of cat that just sits in a corner and hisses. Those cats are lame. But I can tell you right now, Monica's cat, Charlie is renowned for breaking down those stereotypes. He is like Martin Luther Kitty. And when you find yourself in the middle of a snugglefest with the likes of him, you might find it a lot harder to fight against their power.



4) Pest Control.
A few years ago, Sara and I fostered two cats for a summer. We had a good amount of bugs just from living on the first floor. One day, there was a TERRIFYING spider in my bathroom. The foster cat took one look at it and *WHOMP!* One paw came down on that son of a b.

Conversely, my family's dog, Sugar, once befriended an entire army of ants.

5) You know the phrase, "You always want what you can't have"? Well, cats know it, too.
They know how to keep you wanting more by being aloof. And that's a good thing. I mean, have you ever thought that someone was really attractive and mysterious, and then when you actually talked to them, you found out that they weren't actually a cultured Italian man, but another stupid Chicagoan with a nasally accent and all that time you spend oggling him at the train station was totally wasted?

No? Just me then?

Okay well you know what I mean. Sometimes a little mystery and distance is a good thing. Sometimes your cat doesn't want to hang out with you. And you know what? Sometimes your best friend doesn't want to hang out with you, either. But at least your cat has the decency to be honest and hang out in the dining room.

6) The adorable noise they make when they drink their water.

lick lick...
lick lick lick lick....
lick lick lick lick lick lick lick.....

[Editor's note: #7 and 8 comes from Laura]
7) I will never accidentally send an email again.
As many of us know, cats enjoy computers. They especially enjoy computers/laptops when you are using them. I have come very close to sending some very weird emails to people with 900 Ws and 70 backslashes. So I started waiting to put the recipients name in until after I've typed and edited the email. I also do this at work even though I'm pretty sure my cat has never been there. Either way, I consider it a good thing. My cat was just protecting me from embarrassing myself.

8) They remind you to pick up after yourself.
I'll admit it. I don't enjoy cleaning. And I also have ADD. So often when I do clean or try to organize something I get about halfway through and then wander over to something else. Recent example: I recently realized that I'm an adult. And being an adult means you have important documents. So one afternoon I sat down to organize all those documents. When I was done, I straightened them into a nice pile, and left the pile in the middle of the living room floor because I decided that was the exact moment I needed to go take a nap. (Organizing is hard.) When I returned to the living room I was faced with the following scene. So now I know not to leave anything in the middle of the floor unless I want it messed with. She was just being helpful.




9) Being licked by their tongues is like receiving a free sand exfoliating mask.

Seriously, my arm hair has never been smoother.

10) They keep you on your toes by stalking you wherever you go.
And when you look back, they freeze as if by staying still you won't notice them. Like perhaps we have the brain and eye capacity of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. And it's never not hilarious to watch.



SECRET REASON #11! is this.


Special thanks to Laura, Adrienne, and Hannah for their contributions to the list.
Comments welcome! Any other reasons why cats shall not be overlooked?

Near to Heart Attack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack

Welp! I'm all moved out! Have I told you all how great my family is? They are pretty great. Even the ones who didn't help. But really, mostly just the ones who did. Sorry Hannah.

So today is cleaning day. I have a suitcase, some random things, and an air mattress left in my apartment. I am not officially gone yet because frankly, I'm paying for the gas bill and damn me if those pilot lights burn for no one.

Hey, you know what's not awesome? Having a billion tiny Charlie cuts while using cleaning supplies. If I die, someone please tell them it was probably the ratio of Scrubbing Bubbles:blood in my veins.

Sigh... I think I've breathed in too many cleaning supply fumes. But at least this dump shines like the top of the Chrysler building.

Also I've been singing Hard Knock Life while scrubbing.

Okay yep. I'm going to stop typing things now and let my nose breathe in some real air.



also this

Vintage Luggage Hunting

So I went luggage hunting today. I only have one suitcase, and it is roughly the size of Portugal. I feel ridiculous taking it somewhere for only a weekend because I am SO not "that girl" who needs a big suitcase to cart around 80 pairs of shoes, and that monstrosity makes it look like I am.

On the other hand, I do tend to fill it up anyway, because I AM "that girl" who has four different face washes and uses them all daily. Excuuuuuuuuuse MEEEEEEEE.






I decided that I want a vintage suitcase. Why? I don't know. Because I like to make things difficult for myself. And because I am slowly turning into a hipster. SO! First I stopped in a vintage store in Wicker Park. Just a heads up: don't ever do that. If you want vintage things, try to go to a store that is not on Vintage Hipsters Avenue, Vintage City, USA (Population: Vintage). They had full sets of luggage (that means like 4 varying sizes) that were adorable, but $150. Which probably isn't even that much for luggage but what can I say? I am cheap. Anyway, what am I going to do with a hat box? Who am I, Fraulein Maria?

So I hiked my ass all the way over to Lakeview, to a store that makes no sense to me whatsoever: It is a normal clothing store on the first floor, shoes on the second floor, Army surplus on the third, and vintage on top. What the hell? Make up your damn mind, building.

So I climbed all the way to the fourth floor because I'm pretty sure there's no elevator and I was too lazy to look for one (but not lazy enough to skip the four flights...this is my life.)

They had two that I thought would suffice, both for under $40. One was red leather, very 70s feeling, and it had a belt to close it. And then there was another one--a hard two-piece set. On the outside, milk chocolate brown. On the inside, chartreuse. There was one big suitcase (what I was looking for) and then a little one which I think used to be a kind of carry-on bag. I imagine it being filled with rouge and handkerchiefs for women to wave out the window of the train as they pulled away. You know what I think it's good for? A kitten bed perhaps?

I stood there for maybe half an hour trying to decide. That is not an exaggeration. This is why I no longer go shopping with other people. It took me so long to decide which suitcase to buy I think I actually started to grow a beard, a la Rip Van Winkle.

I mean, on the one hand, the luggage set was brown. Ew. But on the other hand, it looked like a Hershey bar. Yes please. On the other hand, it was old and worn. On the other hand, chartreuse. Char. Treuse.

I walked around...I looked at jackets. I almost dropped an old ice crusher. I walked back to the luggage. Finally, I made my decision.

Of course I chose the brown luggage. I walked all the way back down to the first floor. And right when I got there, after having carefully selected my luggage, spending possibly hours agonizing over my choice, paying for my non-refundable, chartreuse-lined future kitten bed, and passing a crowd of cute boys I...dropped my luggage. on the cement floor.

CLATTER BAM BOOM SMASH.

God damn me.

Well anyway, I got the luggage home safely otherwise. Here it is!


Charlie was very curious about this luggage. It had a mystery smell. The smell is, as humans call it, decades of cigarette smoke. Whoops. I didn't think it was that bad in the store. But took it home and opened it up and WOW. It's smelly. Hence the Febreeze in the background. This luggage will be getting a good dousing.

Anyway, all this to say, I go and visit Michelle this weekend! And now I have proper luggage to do it! I'm excited to see her, yes, but we have all kinds of food plans that I am also pumped for. There is to be wine and cheese AND guacamole.

...

Sorry, I just passed out there for a second. But I'm back. Oh, and I am also hoping to make Brussels sprouts because I have discovered that they are NOT disgusting, and you should, too. So here.

Okay this post started from nothing and has really spun out of control from there. So I'm going to stop. Happy Lost Day, everyone!

Charlie's Memoirs

Argh! Last night I woke up at 4am and my brain was like, "Oh, you're awake! Good, let's think about all the stressful things that are going on in your life that you can't change because it's the middle of the night. So how 'bout them taxes, hmm? WHAT are you going to do about THOSE?"

That has nothing to do with today's post, I just needed to vent. It was obnoxious.

Today's post is actually all about Charlie! Yay! For those who do not know Charlie, he is Monica's cat. And he is a notorious cat-hater converter. Even my roommate was anti cat when she went to the Humane Society for a rabbit for her friend. But when Charlie walked over, curled up in her lap and fell asleep, I believe her exact words were, "And I shall name him Charlie."

I've been living with Charlie for over a year now, and it has been a lovely time. Charlie is full of very odd quirks, including the fact that he loves the taste of tape, and he loves to hide little things under the rug. His favorite thing to hide under the rug are pens. It was quite a mystery to us. Why pens? Why the rugs? Until I figured it out: he is hiding the pens for safekeeping so that when we leave, he can write his memoirs.

And what would you know? This morning when I woke up, I discovered those memoirs! It's quite a thick manuscript, so I thought I'd share with you some excerpts.

Ahemahemahemahem:

My Life: Meow
By Charlie Cat



Today was sunny. My friends the birds were out in full force. I meowed at them to come play with me, but they twittered obnoxiously and flew off. Typical.



Found a bottle cap today. Put it away for Mom. If she ever needs it, it'll be where she can find it, under the couch.

Emily tried to pick me up, so I climbed on her back. Did you know there are things on top of the counters? Astounding.



Travis tried to push me over, but I showed him. That's the last time he'll rub my belly without permission.

What a great day. Found a new sunbeam.



Emily's arm hair was especially dirty earlier. It's a thankless job, making sure she's properly groomed each day. I had to give her a few nips to remind her who's in charge.

Tried to keep everyone from leaving by rolling on the carpet and being completely adorable. Sigh...they'll be back.



Ate too much cat food, had to work off the extra calories by running from the living room to the kitchen and back four times. Note to self: show Mom the place I puked when she gets home.

Did NOT fall off the couch on accident today, and anyone who says otherwise is lying.

Someone left out scotch tape! On a separate note, stomach feels a little weird.



Chapter 6: Things That Are Mine: The dresser is mine. The fridge is mine. The computers are mine. The DVDs are mine. The lamp is mine. All shoes are mine. Emily's nose is mine. The door frames are mine...

Helped Mom put the sheets on her bed and fold laundry. There was a mouse in the sheets, I'm sure of it, but it got away. Next time. Next time.



Walked into the living room and ignored everyone. Next time maybe they'll remember to save the tuna juice for those in need.

Whoever this Trader Joe is, he makes a quality cat cave.



Bounding skills in tip top shape. May have left claw marks on Emily's stomach.

Brought Mom two balls and a glove last night. She didn't even seem impressed. Better meow louder tonight.

Found a box. Sat in it. Tasted great.

8 Things I Have To Do Today That Have Come Between Me And JTT

You guuuuyyyys...I have things to do and it's harrrrrrd....

Seriously, I've been mostly unemployed for a year and my tolerance level of doing simple, everyday tasks has slipped its way on down to empty. If my motivation had a face, it would be Bruce Vilanch.



The simple fact is: the things I need to do today are all either fun, simple, or all of the above. But the mere fact that I have to do them is just a huge inconvenience, considering what I'd LIKE to be doing: curling up with Charlie the cat, eating a bowl of mac and cheese and watching a marathon of one Mrs. Jill Taylor being exasperated-yet-forgiving in a way that gives me comfort and hope.

But instead, here is my HORRIBLY INCONVENIENT to-do list:

1. Wake up at the ass of dawn (aka 7:45 am, when the sun is nearly mid-sky.) Eat a bowl of cereal.
Ugggnnn, why meeeee?

2. Get on the el, transfer to a bus.
BOTH? At easy, safe locations? Why don't you just rip open my chest and pull out my heart?

3. Read picture books to kindergarteners on the South Side.
Hey, you know what's awesome? Eager Kindergartners named Raphael who think you are the bees knees. You know what's NOT awesome? Reading Green Eggs and FREAKING Ham three times on the day you forgot your coffee. Also, I am sorry, but "I would not, could not, with a goat" is the dirtiest sentence ever, and you should be ashamed, Dr. Seuss.

4. Travel back home.
Argghhhhh...sitting and letting other people transport you places is such a terrible endeavorrrrr.

5. Immediately rip off comfortable, baggy, 5-year-old jeans for pj pants from Aeropoastale that are so old you got them FROM AEROPOSTALE.
That one isn't so bad, but they're under this pile of clean clothes...what if I never get to them?

6. Sit in said pjs, nom a sandwich, and edit sentences so they are simple enough for a 9-year-old.
But I can't do that AND play Facebook Scrabble! This is like torturrrrre.

7. Create a hilarous flow chart about mustaches so you can raise money to help inner city kids learn to read.
Ugn, the stress of my life is making me whither away into nothingness.

8. Go to a bar where there are free drinks to hang out with nice people and Adrienne and laugh about mustaches.
More traveling? And putting on real pants again? What kind of life do I LEAD?

God, life is so difficult. But this is one cross I'm going to have to bear if I want to be a productive, helpful member of society who one day DOES have a job and works hard to keep things as such. So here I go with the work and the things and the stuff!

After this nap.

As I Recall: Moses Lets His People Go...Past a Whale.

Ahh, home sweet home. Today I returned from a stint dog-sitting for three dogs. Three of them. Let me explain to you something: in the math world, three is one more than two. In the dog world, three is actually about twenty million more than two. It's a complicated world, the dog world.

But now I am home, and my roommate's cat, Charlie, is back to lovingly appreciating my warm lap.


My trek from a foreign land where I was held captive by an evil ruler (Hildy, the jumping beagle) to my home, where God gives me manna from heaven (Charlie gives me arm-hair licks) has reminded me of another story. That of Moses.



I include this picture from Prince of Egypt, because, while I have heard the story many times, let's be honest. As soon as something is turned into a movie, that's how things look in my brain. Example: What does Hagrid look like? ...I rest my case.

And I apologize, for I have never seen the DeMille/Heston version which is a travesty and I shall add it to my Netflix. Right after Fern Gully and Memoirs of a Geisha.

But, in case you haven't seen the story (or would just like me and my admittedly terrible memory to recount it,) here you are.

So last we last checked in on the Bible, We had Noah, his family, and two of everything else. Except that raven that never flew back. He left a widow bird. And that's why today we don't have ravens. Wait...

Cut to roughly 80 gajillion years later. Noah's descendants have grown into God's Chosen People, the Hebrews. And somehow they have gotten themselves into a bit of a pickle. They are now slaves of the Egyptians. WHOOPS! Oh, God, the hijinks you get into time and again. You should write a book.

So okay. Slaves. That sucks. But the things is, these aren't no Woody Allens being whipped and forced to make papyrus. These are some broad-shouldered Jews. And the Egyptians are scared. Or maybe the Pharaoh caught wind of the whole Chosen People thing...I'm not sure. Maybe both. Important thing here is that Pharaoh gets his headdress in a twist about it and, in order to keep them from an uprising, demands every Hebrew baby boy is murdered. Because as we all know, the way into your slave's hearts and keeping them calm is by killing their little newborn miracles.

So in order to save Moses from assured death, his mother submits him to mere probable death by putting him in a basket and letting him careen down the river. As luck would have it, baby Moses floats on over to the Pharaoh's domain, and is adopted by the fine fine people who brought you such ideas as "Hey I know, let's kill all the Hebrew babies!"

Cut to years later. Moses is a grown royal prince and there's a new Pharaoh in town. One who is still not real keen on this whole pack-of-strong-Hebrews thing, and insists they remain as slaves.

So Moses is walking around by himself, probably petting a cat, trying not to get sand in his eyes, when WHOOSH!! The bush next to him catches on fire. This is the middle of the desert so spontaneous combustion isn't uncommon, I imagine. But then--get this--the bush starts talking. THIS, Moses will notice. So once he wipes himself, he realizes that this is God talking to him. And God is telling him that Moses needs to lead all the Hebrew slaves out of Egypt to their Chosen Land. Err, Promised Land. Whatever. To the land that God has been promising them since...um...since somewhere between Noah and Moses, I guess. Moses, like everyone in every Bible story, basically tells the bush that what God wants sounds hard as hell and he'd really rather not. God says, "Too bad! No takesies backsies!" and goes back to Heaven.

So Moses hikes back to the Castle/Pyramid/wherever it is Pharaohs live and lets the guy know that he's going to go ahead and take all his slaves away, lol winking smiley face. No, no. What he says is, "LET MY PEOPLE GOOOOOO!" All overdramatic and with true conviction, so that the Pharaoh will concede. The Pharaoh isn't super pumped about this and tells Moses exactly where he can take the slaves (which I won't repeat here.) So Moses is like, "Alright man. You asked for it. Prepare for some freaky stuff to start happening."

AND OH, DOES IT.

Upon the people of Egypt comes a whole bunch of plagues. In no particular order (because, of course, I can't remember the order) we have:
- Frogs raining from the sky (cutest rain ever?)
- A bunch of locusts (and if you live in Chicago you know those cicadas are NOT AWESOME)
- And I think flies or some kind of bug. Those last two probably ruined the crops, and probably also made for some very lethargic rain frogs.
- Then he turned the river into blood,
- And killed all the livestock (But really, there's no water and no plants. Were the cows going to survive much longer anyway? Really?) and...
- Okay and then there were definitely a few more plagues but I don't remember them. So key part here is: Hell Hath No Fury Like A Yahweh Scorned.

The important thing is the FINAL plague. God tells the Hebrews to kill a lamb (which I guess were not part of the dead livestock thing) and spread the blood over their doors. That way, when he sends the Holy Spirit through the town that night, he'll know by the blood that the house belongs to one of his People. Because nothing screams "JEWS LIVE HERE" like a splash of lamb's blood. So the Hebrews do this, but the Egyptians do not. And that night God goes through the town and kills the first-born son of each household without the blood. SERIOUSLY the Bible is really into killing baby boys.

This final act is what convinces the Pharaoh to let Moses lead the Hebrews out of Egypt. The slaves pack up all their stuff quickly. This whole ordeal is what Passover is all about: "Passover" because God passed over the Hebrews houses. And they eat matzoh because the Hebrews didn't have time to let the bread rise. Okay...my Jewish tradition knowledge gets a bit hazy from here but let me just say: matzoh + horseradish + apple butter = hhhhawesome. So yay for Moses and yay for the slaves. The end.

SIKE!!! Jaaaaaay kaaaaay. While the throngs are exodizing, the Pharaoh has a change of heart and decides to go after them. CRAP! Run, millions of people! RUN!! So they're running and the Egyptians are close behind and there are chariots involved and it's all very exciting until they get to the Red Sea. BAH! WHAT NOW? So Moses finds a rickety hanging bridge and they all get across until the last person and then the bridge falls off and the one guy just barely makes it!

SIKE AGAIN!!!! You guys are seriously gullible. No, Moses takes his staff (if you are going to lead a multitude, you will need a staff. FYI.) and he raises it in the air and he says the magic words and he plunges it into the river and God makes the river part, and the people walk across.

And here is where we must pause. Because here marks an important moment in Emily's life. It is the moment when she came to terms with a great and mighty fear. A fear which clutches her entire being. A fear which she will explain in another post. The fear...of whales.

AVERT YOUR EYES, ALL WHO HAVE A SOUL!


This is another picture from The Prince of Egypt, where the people are walking past the wall of parted water, and the lightning illuminates the water. And a whale swims by. Apparently this is an awe-inspiring image to some. To me, it is bone-chillingly terrifying. If I was a slave walking by when that happened, I would be like, "Welp! That's about as much as I need to see. If anyone needs me, I will be back there, learning hieroglyphics." When I saw this moment in the movie, I think it was the first time I realized how scared I am of whales. It's been downhill since there. I will explain more later, promise.

So, amazingly, none of the Hebrews turns back around. They just keep on walking past the lightning beast. And when they all get out, the Egyptians are hot on their tail and still in the sea bed. So what does God do? Well, as a caring, loving God who appreciates all creatures great and small, he releases the parted sea and drowns every Egyptian in sight. HOORAY! *Our Godddddd is an awesome God, he reeeeeeigns from Heaven above with wiiiiiisdom power and LOVE, our God is an awesome Goddddd.*

So Moses and His People are free! Free to roam that is. Which they do. For a seriously long time. I think 40 years. Probably more? I don't really know why they can't just get over to where they've been promised. Clearly large bodies of water aren't an issue. But they roam, and I guess God gives them manna which is some kind of food. But it's pretty bland, considering he made it from rocks.

Oh, and some time during the Roaming, Moses goes up on a mountain and comes back with 10 Commandments from God. Thou shalt not kill, that kind of thing. And when Moses comes back down, he sees that people have built a golden calf and are now worshiping that instead of God. And Moses screams, "What the HELL people?! Do you realize how hard it was for me and God to get you here!?!? KILL THEM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAALL!!!"

And that (all of it) is why Moses is my homeboy.


Thanks for reading guys. Thanks for the encouragement. Thanks for existing, frankly. May I put in a little request for you--leave a comment here on the blog! It's easy! It's fun! And if you leave your first name, I'll know who wrote it! Exclamation points!

Feminism, from The Talkgirl to Facebook Ads.

I have been against pink electronics for as long as I can remember. My first memory of it was at age 8. I watched Home Alone 2 just like everyone else. And, like everyone else, I was DEEEEESPERATE for the Talkboy that Christmas. It was amazing. You could change your voice to trick your sister from behind the couch!! You could record things! You could play them back! What lonely, deranged middle child WOULDN'T want such a device? FINALLY! The attention I deserved!

Imagine my chagrin when, not long after the Talkboy came out, Mattel (or whoever) put out what they believed to be an equal opportunity electronic: The Talkgirl.

Ohhhhhhhh, The Talkgirl. You haunt my nightmares.

Now this was nearly twenty years ago, so the details might not be totally exact, but if I recall, the Talkgirl was exactly like the Talkboy in every way.

But it was pink.

Oh, and the dot on the "i" was now a flower. How precious.

My outrage was clear. When I was younger I considered myself a tomboy. I requested short hair at the salon. I owned nothing with ruffles. I refused to play run-from-the-boys and instead played my own version, hip-check-the-boys. And I hated--HATED--the color pink.

At the time, I didn't really know why I hated it. All I knew was that it was girly, and anyone who embraced it also seemed to be embracing an attitude of "I'm too dainty for that" which annoyed me to no end.

I found myself confused: adults everywhere were proudly telling me that girls can do whatever boys can do. But then they were laughing at my short hair, rolling their eyes when I complained that lace is itchy, and handing me electronics that had been specially created for my daintiness.

I told you about a few of my asinine pet peeves back here but this one is my I'm Going To Change The World pet peeve: indoctrinating children into their socially afflicted gender roles.

Okay, and I've officially gotten too SOC 101. I'm going to take a step back.

Yes, I hate that kids are told how to be since birth. But the reason for this post actually came about because of Facebook ads. See, I thought that all this indoctrinating had stopped by now. That I am able to see sexism and point it out. But, indeed, I cannot. And I have learned this harsh reality through Facebook ads. Here was a random group of ads from today, one that is not atypical:



I don't know WHY Facebook continues to think that I am a mother, nor why they give me ads for Sorority Life. No matter how often I check the x and tell them "Irrelevant," here they are, day after day, informing me of who I SHOULD be...which is apparently a single mother in a sorority whose debt is piling so high she is willing to exploit her children.

Now before I show you the next set of ads, I must explain who these are for. They are for a cat. I needed another facebook account for (NERD ALERT) a flash game I play. So I made an account for my roommate's cat, Charlie. He has no other friends but me [EDIT: The Charlie in real life has many, many more], and his page has no use but to cheat at this game. However, Facebook requires certain information in order to have an account. Namely, age and sex. Charlie Cat is a male. And he was born the same year that I was, making him also 25. So, given the simple fact that these ads are for an imaginary 25 year old male, here are his ads:



I'm not sure which gender should feel more outraged: the girls who get "Tee hee! I'm a girl! Babies and chocolate and lipstick!" Or the boys who get "Rawr! I'm a boy! Burgers and war and babes!" All I know is, as a feminist I feel insulted. And as a human, I want that damn brownie.