Thursday, November 30, 2017

Throwback Thursday: 2003

I met my husband on stage, but I fell in love with him online.
He had me at 
"James Dean...
smelling of whiskey and coke 
and some breakfast sausage."

Photo: T Max
Photo: Rachel Berman

AOL AIM INSTANT MESSENGER

Sunday, November 26, 2017

"...see because cloaking was a Romulan technology..."

Telling Joe about the online discussion I'm in, started by a dude who finds parallel between Star Trek TNG and Harry Potter. Mostly based on the Starfleet uniform colors and Hogwarts houses, the fun ideas being raised are, for example, that the Hogwarts green (Slytherin) aligns with the Romulans.

"By that logic, a Slytherin must have originally charmed the Invisibility cloak---"

That's as far as I got before Joe's eyebrows did the thing. 🚀

Saturday, November 25, 2017

I'd buy greeting cards from the Hallmark Fugelsang Collection.

💝
Get in line early for the iRony collection for Capitalism Month
before they sell out.

Browse the Just Sayin' cards for the new year, perfect to send people you told to fuck off at Thanksgiving.

[The un-Valentine collection has been discontinued 
because everything is ruined.]
👉👈

Thursday, November 23, 2017

In Love With A Girl Named George

❥❥❥

Throwback Thursday: 1974

I had this blue dress when I was four. I hated that dress so hard, I needed all five senses to hate it with, and maybe another half a sense I made up during a tantrum.

The color reminded me of something gag-reflexingly bad, but I don't remember what that was, exactly. I wonder if maybe I associated the sky blue hue with those "wedding almonds" that my grandma Maggie always had, for some reason, in a bowl in her house. Revolting, yet I had to keep checking to make sure I hated those almonds. For more information on me and my perpetual fatness, see chapters 18 thru 24.

My blue dress was made from stiff, unforgiving material, like it was originally meant for outdoor furniture or shower curtains. I bet if I burned it, that thing would simply melt.

The fabric felt unpleasant to the touch, but that was nothing compared to what it felt like against my skin. Especially around my back and shoulders, it felt like being tickled all day with Brillo pads. The collar scratched my neck.  So uncomfortable! 

Not only was I uncomfortable in literal sense, but I felt totally pantsless every time I had to wear that dress. It was so short! Even though I was only four, I did not approve of these underwear-showing dresses. My underwear were nobody's business. Such a fierce, serious little bambina.∎ 

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

The verb you're looking for is EXACT.

VerifiedPolitics.com
You don't extract revenge. 
You exact revenge.

RELATED: 
A friend who knows I'm looking for a new gig
sent me a lead on a job: Editor of a thing. 
I'm a great Editor, of lots of different kinds of things.
Rate of pay? $12.50/hour.

Do you want everyone to make fun of your content?
Because that's what's gonna happen if you think 
making it better 
is only worth 
$12.50 
an hour.

Just...whatever, at this point.
I'm going to Five Guys.

Sunday, November 19, 2017

Rape Culture Infographic

WomensMarchMN


Is there a more morally corrupt, 
soulless group of people 
than the self-appointed 
Purity Police?

Reprehensible.
Deplorable.
Dangerous.

Sunday, November 12, 2017

DONALD TRUMP: AMERICAN TRAGEDY

For decades, women had been risking their careers and reputations coming forward to tell their stories about being cornered and assaulted by Donald Trump, the tacky New York luxury real estate guy turned TV show host. When the Access Hollywood tape was made public in October 2016, Donald Trump was caught bragging about his self-appointed right to sexually assault any woman that he happened to find attractive. 

"I did try and fuck her...I moved on her like a bitch."

The daft, unqualified Republican candidate simply scoffed away the seriousness of these accusations with his usual braggadocio. He appeared in public rolling his eyes and smirking, mocking and denigrating any and all, but especially women, who reported the facts. Any individual who spoke out against his habitual sexual misconduct became a "hater" spreading "fake news." Every crowd of protesters became paid actors or shills for the liberal agenda. Unbelievably, this clumsy tactic worked. He should be in court today, but he is, absurdly, in the oval office. With no experience at all and a cartoonish platform, this buffoon has become the leader of the free world. On a platform of what? There was hatred for Obama, the notion of a wall like something out of a Roadrunner cartoon, and in his own words, "I am very very rich" and "I married a beautiful piece of ass." 

Donald Trump does something new every day to prove he is the symptom of a sick America. Irrespective of whether or not you "like" Clinton, the crackpot notion that Trump could accomplish even one of her successes makes my head hurt. That was the gargantuan Democratic mistake, that any woman at all would be considered based on her skills, talent or experience. It's a nice idea but that's not the America we have been living in for a long time. You know how you can tell? Open your eyes, for one thing. And start listening to women as though we are thinking individuals with our own rights, and our own agency outside of our man-adjacent status. By that I mean, you're not helping if you finger-wag at abusive men and their supporters by reminding them that we are mothers, sisters and daughters. You know how else you can tell? There are other people on that Access Hollywood tape. Not just Billy Bush, but other people too. Was it alarming to them? No, it was not at all alarming that this man, over six feet tall and thick, is at ease talking about assaulting a woman that they are, at the moment, looking at through the windows of the Access Hollywood van. 
A woman is an "it" to Donald Trump. 

"Oh, it looks good."

What happened to him? Did he never develop beyond the teenage mindset? Why is it that he boasts so confidently about forcing himself on women? Is it because he honestly doesn't think he is demeaning (at best) or dangerous to women? Only his therapists know what is happening in the brain of a person such as Donald Trump, but anyone can see that Trump regards women as sexual objects. Women exist as mere scenery, to be ogled and rated.

Women exist for making him look and feel like an important, powerful man. If they don't, they become the target of his lowbrow, imaginative-as-an-11 year old jabs and put-downs. He's such a bully.

It makes sense to Trump that a woman's worth is measured on a scale of 1 to 10. The numbers attached to his sexual conquests, like his bank account and his ratings, are all that Donald Trump can understand. He loves to cite numbers. He loves to look good on paper. Why else does he keep stating the ridiculous claim that his inauguration was the biggest crowd despite proof otherwise? It's the same reason he keeps touting his financial wins even as noted economists explain that, in reality, his business acumen is about as sharp as a wet piece of toast. But what are facts to Trump supporters? 

Trump has spent his seven decades building himself into a vacuous vessel of greed and freewheeling indulgence. All he has ever known is indulgence. But if he'd had to work hard to get into those same top schools, would he be so unfeeling? If he'd had to go to war, would be be so crass and insulting? And if he were living paycheck-to-paycheck right now, would he have voted for a man like the one he has become? Does anyone respect Donald Trump? Does he respect anyone, or himself? Do people with a great deal of self-respect act this terrible way? 

If he'd had to "win" the love of any one woman through personality and words, would he be such a revolting cur openly and unapologetically taking what he wants and getting away with it

Donald Trump is a mentally under-developed brat who was handed everything he ever wanted and told that he was "the best" since the day he was born. He's a six foot man boy who was never told "No." Back in 2012 Martin Sheen said of Republican candidate Mitt Romney that he's a guy who "was born on third base and thinks he hit a triple." Well, Trump is the guy who inherited the stadium and thinks he invented the whole game. 

The Boy Who Would Be King

Donald Trump is solely concerned with the surface of things. Appearance is his stock in trade, personally and in every other part of his life. From his fake tan to his unruly hairdo, from his TV ratings to his taxes, he is consumed with how he looks. How he looks on camera, how he looks on paper. His preoccupation with numbers presents as a man without substance. He obsesses over the need to be crowned "the best" in every situation -- it never matters what it is, or whether it's even real. Golf courses, casinos -- steaks, even. It was never enough to own a building -- he must put his name on it, huge and in glittering gold, his own tacky monuments to Trump the Great. 

Writer/comedian John Mulaney wrote a bit years ago about how Donald Trump is rich in the exact same way a poor person might fantasize over what it would be like to have such unlimited wealth. The joke lands because of the "everything" about Donald Trump. He is his own luxury brand, but all the money in the world won't cover bad taste. From the giant white baby grand piano he can't play to the gold plated toilets that no person could ever possibly need in the real world where the rest of us live, the Trump brand is fantasy. While the John Mulaney-imagined poor person fantasizes over having Trump-level wealth, Trump himself fantasizes that all men want to be him, and all women want to fuck him. Because when you're a star they let you. You can do anything you want. Grab them by the pussy.

Donald Trump was blessed by happenstance to come of age in a world where he could have matured into a great man. He had access to the best education. He had all the benefits and no obstacles. He had the time and resources to travel the world and learn a dozen languages. He could have achieved a lifetime of noble goals worthy of the next Mount Rushmore-level adoration. The worst part is that we now live in an America where there are people who support this clown as though he did do all those things. 

His supporters believe in a Trump that is powerful and brilliant, despite the evidence. They believe that all women must want to fuck him, so if they're "complaining" they're either lying or seeking attention, despite the facts. It is fake news because Trump said so and they won't hear of any other truth but the one they've been fed by this guy. How are we supposed to have a conversation now? You're the America that has curated a Trump in the white house. You did that, and we all let it happen. He's a loudmouth and a fraud, nothing but an educated caveman in a good suit, and that's the chronic insecurity that makes him so cruel and petty. He sits there alone hunched over that gold plated throne of lies obsessing over himself, grunting and rage-tweeting. Mama Trump's golden boy is the Baby King of America now, seated right where he was destined to be all along.

Related: Dear Donald Trump: Thank you! 

Saturday, November 11, 2017

And now for the weather

It is currently "brrrrr" degrees, with a wind chill that makes it feel like "fuck this."

Friday, November 10, 2017

Asking

Ya know, if I had like, $7000, my whole entire life would be different.

I wonder what it was like centuries ago when there were patrons supporting artists. Should I finish The Art of Asking by Amanda Palmer? I keep thinking magical thoughts. Like, "Maybe seven thousand people will give me a dollar." That's how it works, right, Amanda? I only read the first part. Okay, I only read the cover. At the bookstore and I didn't buy the book. I don't have any extra money. Maybe I'll hit the library, but I have the feeling that the big take-away is gonna be, "Start by being Amanda Fucking Palmer."

I just wanna finish my first book and launch my Diary of a Low Budget Superhero blogcast.

Because we didn't have a lot when I was a kid, me 'n my family always just sort of had to roll up our sleeves and push forward anyway. When I found the Arthur Ashe quote, it sang to me, so I wrote it on a piece of paper and taped it to my wall. It's the one that goes, "Start where you are, use what you have, do what you can." It's basically what my mom always tried to tell us, only she used different words. But same thing. Be fierce, claw your way out. Eye of the tiger.

But I'm so tired. The thing is, I'm getting too old for this perpetual hamster wheel. You get a small raise at work, same week you get hit with another increase on your health insurance that wipes out the raise and takes even more out of your check so you're worse off than before. Then you get a Christmas bonus and it's just about enough to cover the extra taxes you owe because of whatever. Pay off a bill finally that sucked up $50 every month, then the rent gets raised by $50 a month. You get an extra pay check in a month that happens to have three pay periods in it, your car dies, along with any hope of ever collecting any real savings. Repeat until exhaustion sets in and you go insane.

Fuck everyone that says you just have to work harder. Fuck you, seriously.

I'm so tired.

Need a new laptop, need some software I'll never afford at the pace I'm going. Everything is sky high — rent, food, meds — and I don't understand how people are doing it. We don't even have kids, or a car, or even a hamster. I need new glasses. I can't see. I'm worried about myself, I'm worried about everybody. And I need more sleep than I used to need back in the days when I did the things. So tired, while hopes and dreams gather dust on the proverbial vine (EDIT: holy ballz, that metaphor doesn't work at all and I don't even care. Wow, that's shite. I'm leaving it in because why not, at this point. Is this thing even on? Is there anybody out there?)

I dunno, you guys. I dunno what to do or how it all works anymore. It's all just a sour ambrosia of mid-40s angst and all my heroes are dead or settling out of court.∎

#FirstBookProblems #PodcastWoes #EyeOfTheTigerIsBloodshot #Declawed #HardTimes

If you like me, you can click here to send me money. 

Help get Michelle a new pair of glasses.

Sunday, November 5, 2017

"

“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” 
Mae West 

Wednesday, November 1, 2017

:: SIGNAL BOOST ::

Will Andrew Smales please check in? 

It me! "lexikahn"! From the thing! 

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